Category Archives: Inclusion

this brave boy

Posted on by
2

Who do you advocate for?

Autism moms came together by using their voices this month to demand justice for a child with autism who was abused at his school by a teaching assistant. 

These stories are becoming too much. Children with disabilities are all too often being kicked off airplanes, out of restaurants or church, abused at school or in their own homes.  Each new story stings as much as the last, like thousands of tiny papercuts while watching the evening news.

With each one, I glance at my bouncy, blue-eyed, happy, innocent boy. How could anyone ever treat a human that way? 

With each story, I pull him in a little closer. Silently renewing my vow to protect him from the evils of this world.  

The school district failed to hold this abuser accountable, but our voices were heard. The teaching assistant has resigned.

When people come together, change will happen.

The incident prompted one autism mom, a documentary filmmaker, to reach out to us bloggers to submit a photo of who we advocate for in our lives and communities. You can watch the video via the link below.

I am truly amazed by the power of community.

I also believe that ONE voice can make a difference.

Will you tell us who you advocate for? It can be anyone; a child, a student, a relative, or yourself! Tell us one thing that you wish people would know about this person. Post it in the comments below.

I’ll start. This brave boy. I want people to know that people with autism understand so much more than they may be able to express. They are human, they feel deeply. 

So be kind, always.

link to video (you may have to copy and paste it to your browser):

https://fb.watch/3PEtKfP9gM/

my son has autism & he is wired wonderfully

Posted on by
4

812D391C-D6C9-426C-99AB-85E4F34C0BE6

“He’s just wired differently.”

We heard this phrase often in those first months after Wilson’s autism diagnosis.  We were trying to wrap our heads around this world of autism in which our son was living.  It’s a fairly simple phrase, which was almost refreshing given the complexities of this disorder we wanted so badly to understand. We’ve since learned that for us, autism is in the moment. It’s unpredictable.  Some days it is two steps forward, and one step back. It’s phases you cannot wait to get out of, and moments you want to freeze in time.  It’s taking the long way. Routine and Repetition. Pure innocence. Unconditional love and loyalty. It’s falling down and getting back up.

Wilson is a typical boy who loves being tickled and chased. He’s into anything that involves jumping, bouncing and spinning. The faster the better. He loves music, building, blowing out birthday candles (it doesn’t matter whose birthday it is), and dressing like his daddy.  He loves anything and everything to do with pirates, trains and keys.

What makes him so different? This is where the wonderful comes in…

He is absolutely enamored with his shadow and reflection. Sometimes his mind and senses are so overloaded that he quite simply needs to be wrapped up tightly in a hug.

He says, “You’re welcome!” whenever someone on the television says “thank you.”

Scripting (reciting lines from movies, books, songs etc.) was Wilson’s first major vehicle for speaking. He could recite scenes from his favorite cartoon and sing songs before he could say “mama”.

Eventually, Wilson learned to use some of those phrases to communicate in his day-to-day life. When he wants you to read him a story, he’ll hand you a book and say “Once upon a time…” Every time he finishes in the bathroom he’ll say “Fantastic! All done!” with his arms in the air.

Much of his speech started as echolalia (repeating what he hears, verbatim.) When I would say, “bye, Wilson” he would reply, “bye, Wilson.” Echolalia is a common way for toddlers to learn and practice language, however, children with autism can have echolalia much further into childhood.  There were times it felt as though he would just repeat me forever.

While tucking Wilson into bed one night, I said “I love you” and he replied, “I love you, mommy.” Mommy. He added that all on his own. He wasn’t just repeating me anymore, he was beginning to express his own thoughts and responses.

That one single word fed my soul so much hope that night.  It seems so simple, but for him, it was a remarkable step.  I remember every single moment of that exchange, and it was nothing short of wonderful.

About Wilson’s Mama

Posted on by
Reply

I want to thank each of you for being here. By following along with Wilson’s journey and learning more about autism, you’re helping us in our mission to make the world a more patient, kind, and inclusive place to be and that means so much to us.

One of my hopes in starting this blog was to connect and relate with other autism families and help them not feel alone. The support we have found from this incredible community in return has been all that I didn’t know I had needed.

While I much prefer to talk about my sweet boy, I do love a good name-with-face, or in this case, name-with-a-voice connection so I wanted to share a little about myself, the writer/voice here at Wilson’s Climb.

I’m Lauren, Wilson’s mama, pictured here with the rest of our wild crew: my husband David, and Wilson’s little sister, Charlie. Watch for more on dad and sis in the coming months!

Some fun facts about me:

I majored in Journalism and Spanish.  When Wilson was completely non-verbal, I used to have dreams where we would talk to each other in Spanish.  It was like we had found the missing piece, the connection, and could communicate with complete ease. I’m so excited for that day to come.

I’ve jumped out of an airplane. Surprisingly, once the cord was pulled, that was the most peace and quiet I have ever felt in my life. I am not that brave or reckless anymore.

I love long walks with friends, candles, country music, and afternoons spent at the winery. Now this is starting to sound like a dating app bio so let’s get back on track…

I used to own two ice cream shops. When I drive by them now, I think about all my blood, sweat, and tears that are still in there. Small business owners are some of the most hard-working, persevering souls out there, especially right now. On the day Wilson was born, I was in my hospital bed while on the phone with the credit card processing company because our machines were down that day.

I’ll admit I have a shoe and graphic t-shirt obsession.  Some say I have a graphic t-shirt for every occasion. I can’t help it! I love words. They mean something and they start conversations.

I used to be an adaptive ski instructor.  I got to teach people with diverse abilities from paralyzed veterans, to children with Muscular Dystrophy, Tourette’s Syndrome, or hearing/vision impairments.  The mountains and the slopes are my happy place, and everyone should be able to experience them.  This passion of mine also influenced the name of this blog.

I think seeing yourself in your kids is both amazing and terrifying. My daughter is going to be a handful (remember how I jumped out of that plane?!) and payback is hell. My mom reminds me of that. And my grandma reminded her of that when I was young.

Becoming a mom and autism mom has been the most vulnerable experience of my life. It has been a heart bursting adventure and heart aching at times.

I reevaluate sharing my precious boy on such a public platform all the time.  The world can be big, ugly, and mean. I always come back to the realization that Wilson has changed me in the best ways, and he just might do that for others.

He has so much to share with the world. I’m just his voice, for now.

Cheers to so much love and happiness in 2021!

Xo,

Lauren

The mountains and the slopes are my happy place, and everyone should be able to experience them. 

Our Children Are Not Less Than

Posted on by
8

When it comes to disgusting comments and disgraceful humans, I try to avoid sharing the things that give them air, life, and room to breathe. The notoriety. The truly hurtful stories and events, I want to hide those from my fellow parents of children with disabilities because we do not need that in our life.

Sometimes though, I just cannot.  

Across the country there has been so much chatter about the re-opening of schools. As parents, we are all anxious, stressed, and concerned for our children.  This is no reason to start tearing one another down. To devalue any child or their education to make room for others. 

Now this, a MOTHER truly devaluing other children’s lives. Upset that the children in special education classes in her district are returning for five days a week vs. her child only returning for two days a week, she posts this on social media: “The kids that are going further in life aren’t the special ed kids sorry to say but it’s the truth. Also when I say special I mean head banging, screaming, throwing fits special! My child is going a lot further in life than those children and should be the one going five days a week not two. If you don’t like that truth I don’t know what to tell you!”

In another district, a KINDERGARTEN TEACHER posted on Facebook: “I’m so tired of hearing about special needs kids.  They’ll be fine. They were (SLUR) before COVID and they’ll still be (SLUR) after.” The rant and slurs continued. He, deservedly so, is facing dismissal. 

I am broken-hearted that there are these kinds of disgraceful humans out there. It is truly absurd. Raising and educating children at that.

Another mom of a child with autism suggested that these people could benefit from spending a day with our children, that maybe that experience would show them how and why this world is more beautiful with children like ours in it.

I say they don’t deserve to. I also know they couldn’t do it.

They couldn’t manage the screaming, the medications, the atypical communication, the anxiety, self- injury, and elopement.

No, they couldn’t do that. 

And certainly, they would miss all the wonder of seeing this world differently.  The pure and simple happiness found by dancing with your shadow or chasing butterflies.

They would not notice the grit, determination, and resilience a boy like mine brings to the table every single day to work through communication differences, sensory processing difficulties, and self-regulation obstacles.

Would they join him as he cautiously studies, touches, smells, and examines the world around him? Could they share in this six-year-old’s love of pirates, eggs, paper, and The Beatles?

Do you think they would get to feel that happiness found by joining his world just for a few rare moments? Like when he is busy scripting and reciting and realizes you have learned the script, too?  The way he looks at you, as if saying, “Welcome, it’s so fun here!”

No, I don’t think these people can hear the unsaid like that.

Something also tells me they cannot give more when there is nothing left. Conjure up patience when it has been depleted. No, that is something they would learn from a child like mine.

Oh, the places he will go. I am sorry they are missing that.