So her whole life seems to be extremes of highs and lows. The kid can amaze me with her wise and considered insights into the world and life, yet bring me to tears with her absolute lack of understanding that other people perceive things differently. That the worst attempt at lying ever and being caught out easily can't be argued out of.
I hate sending her to school and it seems every term I lose my beautiful, charismatic, confident and happy daughter to someone balancing her extreme emotions on a knife edge. And I feel defeated. I want to hide her away from so much pressure and stress and spend our time immersed in her interests, hobbies and skills, always progressing *her*. At the moment, the smallest thing is a tragedy which results in meltdown. The sheer pressure pot she is since being back in school this week is full to explosion, almost constantly. I dread getting up in the morning knowing she's tired, knowing school seems to be detrimental to her, knowing how much pressure she puts on herself to achieve, the constant confusion of her day there. But she craves it. We've seriously considered the notion of homeschooling. It's certainly my choice - the saddest day of her life for me was her first day at school. I just knew it was going to destroy all that was wonderful in her. But the kid has a choice too and she's chosen school.
I could burst with pride when she talks and talks about her interests, when we learn new things together (currently about constellations and the life cycles of stars), listing the titles and composers of various classical pieces of music which she enjoys listening to, wants to learn, the different types of music over the last 400 years or so. When she recites favourite poem quotes I didn't know she knew.
Then she can try to lie about brushing her teeth when I'm even in the room and can see for myself she hasn't brushed. Or can shout at me and cry because I thanked her for bringing me something from the next room. She can become distressed when eating dinner because maybe the vegetables are not cut to be the same size. Or because a sauce is too thick or thin.
To anyone who doesn't know, she can find across as such a spoilt brat. And even to me, I can see that outwardly behaviour and how it comes across. I certainly don't do pandering to children. I expect and encourage thoughtfulness, collaboration, mutual respect, contribution and responsibility. My kids don't sit in front of the TV and have everything done for them. In return, we share quality time sharing activities, playing games, dancing, talking. Every day. Sounds like a wonderful ideal of family life.
But damn, it's hard when you have to explain everything to the aspie kid. When consequences seem like punishments. When doing your best as a parent makes you the most hated person in her little world. And that's the way it'll be forever. I won't ever stop being her parent. And her only one at that.
And somewhere in all that rush of the rollercoaster, my little toddler boy has to understand that his big sister almost always comes first, totally unfairly but necessary. That his mum will invest more time and effort into his sister than he needs. You might think that with having family and friends who are aware of her diagnosis, things might be easier. But somehow the obvious lack of their understanding only distances them from us. Each day I feel a little more alone in understanding her struggle. And ultimately I'm responsible for her coping, managing, how she'll perceive her life as she grows older.
My motivation, my sole motivation, is her beautifully tragic father. Who's genius abilities were his precious gift and downfall. I've already watched the man I loved dearly lose his mind and breakdown. I couldn't let that happen to the kid. She can't. But it seems so futile fighting against her nature, his nature. And parenting is the one job you can't quit, and even if you try to, you don't lose the title. Much as I want to give up today, I know full well I'll pick her up from school, she'll argue, she'll cry, I'll bite my tongue and try to keep my patience. And we'll do it all again tomorrow.
I hate sending her to school and it seems every term I lose my beautiful, charismatic, confident and happy daughter to someone balancing her extreme emotions on a knife edge. And I feel defeated. I want to hide her away from so much pressure and stress and spend our time immersed in her interests, hobbies and skills, always progressing *her*. At the moment, the smallest thing is a tragedy which results in meltdown. The sheer pressure pot she is since being back in school this week is full to explosion, almost constantly. I dread getting up in the morning knowing she's tired, knowing school seems to be detrimental to her, knowing how much pressure she puts on herself to achieve, the constant confusion of her day there. But she craves it. We've seriously considered the notion of homeschooling. It's certainly my choice - the saddest day of her life for me was her first day at school. I just knew it was going to destroy all that was wonderful in her. But the kid has a choice too and she's chosen school.
I could burst with pride when she talks and talks about her interests, when we learn new things together (currently about constellations and the life cycles of stars), listing the titles and composers of various classical pieces of music which she enjoys listening to, wants to learn, the different types of music over the last 400 years or so. When she recites favourite poem quotes I didn't know she knew.
Then she can try to lie about brushing her teeth when I'm even in the room and can see for myself she hasn't brushed. Or can shout at me and cry because I thanked her for bringing me something from the next room. She can become distressed when eating dinner because maybe the vegetables are not cut to be the same size. Or because a sauce is too thick or thin.
To anyone who doesn't know, she can find across as such a spoilt brat. And even to me, I can see that outwardly behaviour and how it comes across. I certainly don't do pandering to children. I expect and encourage thoughtfulness, collaboration, mutual respect, contribution and responsibility. My kids don't sit in front of the TV and have everything done for them. In return, we share quality time sharing activities, playing games, dancing, talking. Every day. Sounds like a wonderful ideal of family life.
But damn, it's hard when you have to explain everything to the aspie kid. When consequences seem like punishments. When doing your best as a parent makes you the most hated person in her little world. And that's the way it'll be forever. I won't ever stop being her parent. And her only one at that.
And somewhere in all that rush of the rollercoaster, my little toddler boy has to understand that his big sister almost always comes first, totally unfairly but necessary. That his mum will invest more time and effort into his sister than he needs. You might think that with having family and friends who are aware of her diagnosis, things might be easier. But somehow the obvious lack of their understanding only distances them from us. Each day I feel a little more alone in understanding her struggle. And ultimately I'm responsible for her coping, managing, how she'll perceive her life as she grows older.
My motivation, my sole motivation, is her beautifully tragic father. Who's genius abilities were his precious gift and downfall. I've already watched the man I loved dearly lose his mind and breakdown. I couldn't let that happen to the kid. She can't. But it seems so futile fighting against her nature, his nature. And parenting is the one job you can't quit, and even if you try to, you don't lose the title. Much as I want to give up today, I know full well I'll pick her up from school, she'll argue, she'll cry, I'll bite my tongue and try to keep my patience. And we'll do it all again tomorrow.
posted from Bloggeroid
