Home is NOT the place for normal

“What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it’s supposed to be.”

I am scared to death.  My facebook page is up to 29 “likes” now.  29 people think that what I write is worthy of being added to their news feed.  Not because they know me or are in my family, just because they like what I write.  Ok, writer’s block.  Oh no wait, NOW I remember what I had to tell you.  Today my son has his best friend over for a playdate.  His best friend is also on the spectrum, although a bit more towards severe than my son is.  So they are playing and having a great, loud, crazy, stimmy time and my ten year old says, “Stop acting that way, act normal!”

Wow.  There’s Grandma again.  Telling him to “act like a big boy”.  Just “act normal” son, and all of your problems will be solved.  That’s so simple, why didn’t I think of that?

OF COURSE I THOUGHT OF IT!!!  Two years ago when he started with his crazy, wacko behavior I thought of trying to tell him to act like a normal person.  And to be obedient.  And not to lick the floor or scratch his legs until they bleed.  I’ve been trying every way I know how to teach this boy to be a normal child.  I failed.  I am a big fat failure.  Happy now, Mother in Law?  Maybe you should just take him off my hands for a few months and see what you can do with him, since you’re the expert.  Go for it.  I dare you.
Bahahahahaha, whoa, just give me a minute to wipe the tears from my eyes because the thought of her trying to care for this boy full time is flipping hilarious.  Whew, ok, better.  That will never, ever happen.  So I guess I’m going to have to have a chat with her.  Again.  About keeping her opinions to herself.  And I am going to have a chat with my daughter.  Our home is NOT the place for “normal”.  Our home, the home I am making for her and her brother and sister, is a place of acceptance.  It will be peaceful and loving and happy and all the things I’ve always dreamed of for my kids but was never able to give them.  When she is in our home she can feel free to put peanut butter on her pancakes no matter how disgusting I think that is.  She can rub her belly button with her thumb in order to help herself fall asleep.  She can have conversations aloud with imaginary people when she thinks no one is looking.  None of those things are “normal”.  Thank God.  Normal sucks.