Of Lovies and Comfort...

I was sitting here on the couch with the kiddo last night, watching Tom and Jerry for the 342,892,758,729,514th time this week and for some reason my mind went back in history. I had been having the kind of day where I just kept seeing him in me.

When I was a baby I had a Pooh bear who I could not leave the house without. My mom had told me stories about how upset I would get and the meltdown I would have if he was ever left behind. I had to take my bear anywhere we went.

I went back to look at photos and my Pooh bear shows up in so many of them. I really did take him everywhere... He was with me while I was sleeping. He was my “baby” in the toy stroller. He was sitting next to the mud puddle watching me play. He was often tucked up under my arm. I’m not ashamed to admit that he went to college with me. Even now, he sits in my bedroom watching over me as I sleep.


(Awww.... Yeah, I know.)

If you look closely at the picture below, you can even see the stitching that my 5-year old self did in giving him a new red shirt and black nose.

I remember losing him one fall, long long ago. I was devastated. It was literally the worst thing that could happen to me. I searched everywhere for him. He was gone... I spent the winter beyond depressed, upset that my beloved Pooh was gone. I probably drove everyone to insanity constantly asking and lamenting over him. That spring I was outside playing and kicking around leaves from the leaf pile we jumped in just a few months before. I kicked him. I was beyond excited! I ran into the house with him just screaming. My mom wasn’t so thrilled but (blessedly) washed him and tried to salvage my bear.

(My bear today:)


I will never forget the day a couple of years ago when I was sick with a migraine and couldn’t even get out of bed. I was out and lost to the world, unable to move, breathe, anything without the room spinning. I recall my arm being moved, something being tucked up under it, and hearing footsteps creep away...

I looked up and discovered that Sparky had literally scaled the wall, plucked my Pooh bear from the high shelf he was sitting on, and placed him under my arm for comfort. I asked him why he got Pooh down. He said simply that because he was my bear and I was sick, so I must need him for comfort.

Wow. Just wow...

(No empathy my arse...)

Not once had he seen me cuddle this bear. Not once had I mentioned anything about this bear. He just knew, on his own, what the bear signified and decided that I needed him. He was about 8 at the time.

Sparky didn’t have anything that he was attached to when he was a toddler. He was three before he found something that had that affect on him. Once he found it though... Oh man... I got a taste of what I had put my poor mother through.

My son had come across a stuffed frog at the day care he attended. It was already well loved and was missing an eye. He hated leaving that frog behind every day and would have a major meltdown every day when we left. It was always the first thing he went for when we arrived in the morning. After about 2 weeks the day care staff gifted the frog to him because he loved it so much.

That frog went everywhere... He slept with it. It went to the store. It went to the doctor’s. It went to Grandma’s. It went to parades. It went to the beach. It even still went to daycare. It went everywhere with us for years. If we ever forgot it (which was rare) we had to go back. It was like he couldn’t function without it. I don’t think we ever lost the frog, I was very careful about that knowing how heartbroken I was by my missing Pooh bear that winter.

Over time he added to the posse who left the house. We added in a red puppy and a raccoon. To this day, the raccoon (also the first animal he’s EVER named) is the one he takes everywhere.

(The puppy, the frog, and the raccoon- all ninja’d out of the kiddo’s room while he slept:)

To this day his animals still live just as well as my Pooh bear does. With us in our rooms, by our beds. The frog, the puppy and the raccoon all well loved. And Pooh bear, threadbare and also well loved.





(Editor’s note: I feet it appropriate to tell you that I wrote this whole post with my Pooh bear tucked under my chin. I came downstairs with him in my hands and Sparky looked at me and asked me why I had my Pooh bear. I told him I just need him. He smiled and kissed my cheek. Love this kid!!)

We adjust. We adapt. We overcome.

Often when we talk about our lives with Autism we keep it sunny. We try to show the lighter side. We are hesitant to share the dark moments, the negativity, the trials, the tribulations, the tears.

We are afraid.

We feel hopeless.

We don't want the "stigma."

The reality is, we face some pretty hard stuff with our kiddos.

We deal with self-injurious behaviors. We deal with aggression. We deal with meltdowns. We get hit, punched, bruised, and cry. Sometimes it's a rare occurrence. Sometimes, it can be daily.

It isn't often that anyone speaks about it. Often, when someone does they are criticized and called horrible parents. Those that judge are those who have no idea. They have no experience. They have no understanding. Or, if they have kiddos on the spectrum, they are in a deep state of denial that they cannot possibly admit that they sometimes feel like failures. That they too, do these things and feel what they feel. No one wants to admit that it can happen to them.

We try to know all the answers. We pretend. We fight. We put up a strong front.

I don't care who you are. Mom. Dad. Grandma. Grandpa. Aunt. Uncle. Sibling. Friend. You do it too.

This is the voice that is lost. This is what we are missing. This is the part of our journey through the adventure of life that can help others not feel like an island.

Don't get me wrong here, though. Are things often fantastic? Yes. Do we love our children unconditionally? Yes. Do we accept them and love them as they are for all their quirks and hardships? You betcha. Would we change them? In my case, absolutely not.

But surely the world cannot expect that our children do not misbehave. That they do not have meltdowns (not the same as tantrums!). That they do not have off moments.

That would be as lacking as the assumption that they are not loving, fun, enjoyable, creative, little human beings with a ton of love and happiness to share.

My son loves to be happy. He strives to please. He's very creative. He's even working on the 4th book in his little chapter book series. He is the most loving child I know. He wants to snuggle, play, dote on the cats, and create. He is a great inventor after all. :)

But even we have our off moments. Our not so sunny days. It would be wrong to deny us that admission. It would be wrong to judge us differently or more harshly as a result of it. We aren't any different. We just have different trials.

We adjust. We adapt. We overcome.