Accomplishments (and not so much)

I'm closing out a week without kids. Well, five days, really, but still...the boys are at camp, sleeping in cabins and swimming in a lake and running around being silly, loud little boys the way little boys used to be before we all got tethered to televisions. They are most likely having the best. time. ever. They will come home a dirty, bug-bitten, tired mess. I will smother them with kisses anyway.

I accomplished nothing this week. Good thing my only goal was not to cook (check!). I didn't even buy groceries.

When I wasn't working or spending too much money eating out, I was watching the Olympics. I would have watched more, but I knew I'd regret sitting at home watching TV all week when I could be out playing.

Just another day at the office...

But when I do watch, I am of course awed and inspired (inspired to do what? I don't know), but what I think is, "Wow, there are people rowing kayaks/running the track/flipping through the air/etc. right now and that activity has been their singular focus for the last several months/years." It seems both amazing and crazy.

If you devote your life to, say, table tennis and then you DON'T become an Olympic athlete, have you wasted a large portion of your life on a useless skill, or is it still rewarding somehow? I'm not making a judgement, I'm just wondering. It seems risky.

I'm actually watching the kayaking right now and thinking how great it must be to spend your days outside on the water. I mean, I'm sure they do other exercise, too, but to have your "job" essentially be to get out and row a kayak as fast as you can is just so drastically different from my life that I like to try to imagine it. Sort of like joining the circus...I don't really want to, but it's a fun thing to imagine.

These Days

These are the days that make me want to build a cocoon around our house and just stay inside...maybe forever...at least until my kids are adults.

I look at Owen and he is fine...more than fine, happy, sweet, smart, playful...good. Great. He is great. We are lucky because he is so great.

And yet, whenever we have to let him out into the world without us (say, to fish camp this this week), he's not so great. He gets mad and he gets frustrated and people don't understand why he is so loud. And I hate other people then. I hate that he is a problem for them. I hate that they aren't able to help him. I hate that he feels scared and overwhelmed and that I can't always be there.

I hate that I can't always be there.

But maybe what I hate more is what it does to Aidan. Because Owen feels bad for a bit, but when the fit is over, he's pretty much over it. He'll tell you he had a great day. He can be happy as quickly as he can be mad. And he doesn't really care what people think about that.

But Aidan...Aidan cares what people think. He is acutely aware of the eyes that are on him when his brother is screaming about not being able to tie a knot or whatever the the meltdown is about that day. He wants to crawl into a hole and it's not fair.

It's been a bad week at fish camp. I can't tell if Owen has actually been having a harder time at this camp, or if these instructors have a lower threshold, because if it had been this bad at other camps (if it had been reported to me as being this bad), I probably wouldn't have sent him to camp this week...or possibly ever.

What kills me is that he likes camp. The fits don't bother him nearly as much as they bother everyone else. When I tell him maybe he should just stay home tomorrow (should he? I have no idea),  he gets upset about what he'll miss. And then I've got Aidan agreeing with me because all he wants is to do is go to camp and not be the brother of that weird kid. And then I cry and Aidan cries and even Owen, with his supposedly limited ability to empathize, comes and sits next to me and says he'll try really hard. And you see, I'm back to hating everyone outside of my house.

Is he getting worse? That's what I keep wondering. Am I being unfair or unrealistic by thinking he can cope in these "typical" camps for "typical" kids? I check all the boxes and answer all the questions and hope for the best and this time it's just especially bad. Maybe this is the exception and not the rule...but I can't help feeling like maybe I've just been in denial about the way it's been going at all of these other camps. Maybe they just didn't have the heart to tell me...or the energy.

Next year I'll send them to separate camps. It won't solve the issues with Owen, but at least it will allow Aidan to be carefree.

Or maybe camp is overrated. Maybe we'll just drop off the grid entirely until they emerge as adults whose eccentricities are valued because they're so brilliant...I have to tell you that I like that scenario a lot better than this one. Today, I do, anyway. But this is one of those days...and these days are fucking hard.

Panic at the nerd camp

The boys started science nerd camp today! To see all these little brainiacs arrive, carrying armloads of broken electronics, which they had lovingly stockpiled over the past year so that they would have more parts from which to realize the inventions of their little imaginations, filled my heart with joy. 

Plus, I knew my socially awkward children wouldn't have to worry about bullies. 

But, as with every new camp or class or lesson, came the dreaded question of "Do I tell them or not tell them?" about Owen's diagnosis. I've mentioned this question before, but it still remains an area of uncertainty for me. Take today...

We arrived at said nerd camp and met the boys' group leader, a maybe 18-year-old named Eddie. In this case, I'd already disclosed Owen's diagnosis on the many forms we were required to fill out in order to register him for camp, so I said to Eddie, "Maybe you already know this, but Owen has high-functioning autism." Honestly, I figured that in a science camp for gifted and talented kids, autism (or at least Asperger's) would be a familiar concept. 

The look of panic on Eddie's face suggested otherwise. Shit, I thought. Shouldn't have said anything. 

"He'll be fine," I continued. "All it means is that he gets spacey and might need some extra reminders - especially during lunch...I don't want him to run out of time and not eat." (This actually happened at a different camp last summer.) 

The color seemed to be draining out of Eddie's face. "He'll be fine," I repeated. "If he's not fine, you can call me," I offered, trying to make him feel better.

Well, apparently as I kissed the boys goodbye, Eddie had time to gather his thoughts, because on my way out, he came up to say, "I'll make sure he eats." Ok, good. Maybe next time I will just say he gets distracted during meal time and keep the autism out of it. 

It's not that I don't want people to know or that I'm trying to "pass him off" as typical, it's that I don't want people to freak out. Nothing about Owen requires any freaking out. 

And so I'm still left unsure about whether it's really worth it to tell people. Could a scenario arise in which knowing Owen has autism would help a person who clearly knows nothing about autism, help Owen? Or am I just setting him up to be treated differently unnecessarily? 

I don't know the answer to those questions. What I do know that both boys had a fabulous time at camp. I did, however, find a barely-eaten sandwich in the lunch box this afternoon...only this sandwich belonged to Aidan. 

Big Kids

We all survived the first day of camp. The school bus pulled up and on they went...like big 5-year-olds. (sniff, sniff) 

I suppose I can rest easy knowing I've now survived the equivalent of our first day of kindergarten moment -- only my kids actually won't be riding the bus to kindergarten, so if I'm going to get teary-eyed it will have to be when I wave goodbye to them in their little classroom. 

It's funny because I never would have thought I'd get weepy about these things...then again, I used to be able to watch ER without sobbing. Stupid hormones. But it's not that I'm sad that they are going off and doing things independently, it's like I'm so amazed and simultaneously freaked out by it that it makes me emotional. 

I know all of you with older kids can relate, but it's just so weird to think that my tiny babies are off doing things without me all day. Before I had kids, a 5 year old would have seemed so little...now it feels like 5 is so grown up...like college is right around the corner. 

I hate to say it, but I kind of sympathize with those helicopter parents - it's hard to let your kids not need you. But don't get me wrong, if any of you see me turning into one of them, I fully expect you to smack me upside the head. That's an order.

**Unrelated note: I am saying goodbye to my long, long hair today. Chop, chop , chop. More on that later...maybe.**

Camp

My tiny boys are going to camp tomorrow...on a bus. And they are staying for the whole day. 

A chipper camp counselor called this evening and asked to speak to Owen. "You want to talk to him?" I asked in disbelief. "Yep!" she persisted. "Um, okay."

So I put him on the phone and he actually held a conversation for approximately 30 seconds before saying, "Okay! Bye!" and handing the phone back to me. Aidan wondered why she didn't ask to speak to him...turns out they got put in separate camp groups. I am nervous. 

I have to pack them lunches. And bug spray. And sunscreen. And swimsuits. I keep wondering if there's been a mix-up...if these crazy camp people think my tiny boys are actually big boys...big boys who know how to put on bug spray and sunscreen and swimsuits all by themselves. I am nervous. 

I am resisting the urge to write my cell phone number down their arms in permanent marker. They have gone to plenty of half day classes. They have always been fine. I have always been fine. But now they are going away on a bus, with big kids, with strangers, from 8 a.m. - 3 p.m., like it's their job or something. And I am nervous. 

I'm the one that signed them up for this. I want them to go and have fun. I want them to love camp. When they are bigger, I want to send them to camp for a week. But tonight, I am nervous. Because it's big and new and out of my control. I'm being irrational, yes. But love isn't always rational...in fact, usually it seems like it's not.