postaweek2011 Archives - Page 4 of 8

Small Bloggers In A Big Pond

October 8, 2011 By Kirsten

Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend an event called Social Media Masters. It was a one-day conference featuring experts from all over North America, who gave presentations about how businesses and entrepreneurs can effectively use social media. I went in my capacity as a freelance writer, to see if I could learn how to leverage tools like Facebook and Twitter, not only for myself, but for clients.

The sessions did not disappoint. Some of them were geared more to large corporations than to individuals trying to make it on their own, but I learned from all of the presentations and exchanged contact information with some people who could play a pivotal role in the realization of some of my goals.

Interestingly, the refreshment and lunch breaks provided just as much of an education as the sessions themselves did. I found myself talking to all kinds of people about how they use and monitor social media. These breaks provided a fertile ground for the exchange of ideas.

At one point, I was sitting drinking my coffee, listening to the conversation around me but not actively participating in it. It became clear to me, from the snippets of conversation that I was hearing, that there is a definite pecking order in the blogging world. I have been vaguely aware of this before, and I have in fact read blog posts addressing the subject, but I had not really appreciated just how cutthroat the blogging world can be.

At the top of pile you get the “big” bloggers, the ones who attract thousands of visitors a day, and whose posts generate hundreds of comments. At the bottom are the new bloggers who are trying desperately to gain some kind of following. They religiously comment on other blogs and they tweet like crazy in order to drive traffic their way. And somewhere in the middle are the bloggers who have been at it for a while. They have a few subscribers and most of their posts will generate a handful of comments. But try as they might, they just cannot seem to hit the blogging big time.

Many of these bloggers are perfectly content to stay where they are. Perhaps they feel that a huge following would put them under pressure to cater to what the blogosphere masses want instead of being true to themselves. Or maybe they just don’t have the time to read and respond to hundreds of comments.

For those who are trying to make it big, though, the road can be tough. The blogging world can be an incredibly cliquey place, kind of like high school. If you’re a big fish, you hang around with the other big fish, and the circle is so tight that it’s virtually impossible for the not-so-big-fish to break into the ranks.

This is not intended as an indictment against the big fish – I know several of them and like them a great deal. I am simply stating a reality of human nature. We tend to spend our time in circles of people we have something in common with. The more common grounds there are, the stronger the circle.

So where do I fit in with all of this? I am a not a big fish, not by any means, but I am not a baby fish either. I am a medium-sized fish. I put up a blog post three or four times a week. I have some subscribers, and many people follow my blog through social media. I get several hundred hits a month and most of my posts generate comments. A decent number of them gets shared or retweeted. Sometimes a blog post will earn me a new subscriber or a new follower on Twitter.

I am content to be where I am in the blogging world. I feel that my blog and my online presence are growing at just the right pace. I care about my readership and I want to continue to create content that engages people.

This blog is mostly about parenting, autism and running. But from time to time – like today – a different topic will grab my interest. I am very fortunate to have a forum where I am free to talk about the things that are important to me.

I am grateful to everyone who takes the time to visit my little kingdom to read what I have to say.

Filed Under: blogging, Social Media Tagged With: big fish, blogging, postaweek2011, social media

A World Of Anguish

October 5, 2011 By Kirsten

CRASH!

The entire house seems to shake as my seven-year-old son screams and bangs his head on the hardwood floor. He raises his head to bang it again, but I reach him first. I have no idea what has triggered this meltdown, and right now, I don’t have the time to try and guess.

My son is long and lanky: he is far too big for me to carry, but I have to get him away from the hardwood. Yes, I know what the so-called experts keep saying. When a meltdown happens, you have to ignore it. Paying any attention to him while he’s melting down will reinforce the behaviour.

Yeah, well, while I’m ignoring the meltdown, my child could be giving himself a concussion. This frantic headbanging isn’t anything I haven’t already seen. There are so many dents in my drywall that the inside of my house looks like a giant golf ball.

I half-lift, half-drag my son into the carpeted living room. I grab cushions and blankets – anything soft that’s within my reach – and I pad our immediate surroundings to stop my boy from hurting himself. Using a technique borne of experience, I wrap my arms around him and use my body weight to keep him still, to keep him safe.

While all of this is happening, he is kicking and screaming. They are not screams of anger, but of frustration. They are the screams of a child who is locked inside his own head and cannot find the way out. He looks directly into my eyes, and his expression is one of desperation. I am reminded of a caged animal who wants nothing more than the ability to run free.

As I look at my beautiful child, as I see him in such anguish, I want to cry. I fight back the tears. I have to be strong right now. Later on, when this has passed, I will have my chance to cry.

In my mind, I start talking to Autism as if it were a real person and not merely the name of the condition affecting my son.

“Damn you, Autism. There are times when I don’t mind you so much. There are times when I am completely comfortable with your presence. Hell, sometimes I even like you. But at times like this, Autism, I hate you like you wouldn’t believe because of what you do to my child.”

My son and I lie there on the living floor for what seems like ages. Slowly, so slowly that it’s barely perceptible, the screaming becomes less intense. The weight of my body provides him with the physical pressure he needs to become grounded again. And eventually, the screams stop altogether and I can loosen my hold on him. We curl up on the couch together. The silence is punctuated by an occasional hic.

I look at my child’s angelic face and tenderly smooth my hand over his hair. His eyes are closed and I think he’s gone to sleep. But then he opens his eyes and a special look passes between us, a look that no-one in the world apart from the two of us would ever be able to interpret.

You know what it’s like, he says to me with his eyes. Sometimes you can see into my world.

Yes I can, my eyes say back to him. But it’s only because you trust me enough to let me in.

And secure in the knowledge that he is not alone, he falls asleep in my arms.

This week’s Indie Ink Challenge came from FlamingNyx, who gave me this prompt: Describe “that” look you got in a secret moment of knowing. That look that no-one in the world would understand and can only pass between you and “that” person.
I challenged The Drama Mama with the prompt: Tell the story of a policeman who died in the line of duty, from the point of view of his eight-year-old child.

Filed Under: autism, Empathy, Indie Ink Writing Challenge, life, Meltdown, parenting Tagged With: anguish, autism, meltdown, postaweek2011

Rain In My Running Shoes

October 3, 2011 By Kirsten

I have never been one to let the weather stop me from running. While I prefer clear, cool conditions, I have been known to go out in the rain, wind and snow in order to rack up the miles on my running shoes. From time to time, the seemingly adverse weather conditions have worked to my advantage. It is amazing how refreshing a light shower of rain can be during a long run.

And so, when I woke up yesterday to the pitter-patter of raindrops against the window, I was not deterred. I had a long run planned, and nothing short of a meteor hitting my driveway would stop me. This was to be my last long run before my half-marathon on October 16th, so I really needed to get out there and get it done.

It was cold enough for me to abandon the running shorts in favour of my longer fall-weather running pants. I stuck to the short-sleeved tech shirt, but added a lightweight running jacket. Although the sun was not shining, I wore my hat: the peaked cap is a great way to keep rain out of my eyes. I stocked my fuel belt, cued my music, laced up my shoes, and hit the road for a 20km run.

Sometime during the second kilometre, I became aware that the gentle rain had intensified, and that raindrops were now hitting my face from the side, hard enough to feel like tiny little pellets. By the time I had completed 5km, I was running in a torrential downpour. The wind was buffeting me from side to side and I was wishing that I had brought my gloves. Worst of all, my socks were squelching inside my running shoes. I had to stop twice to pour water out of my shoes.

Still, I soldiered on. People driving by in their cars were looking at me with astonishment, as if to say, “You’re running in this?” I felt validated when, in the fifteenth kilometre or so, I saw a fellow runner braving the elements. It always helps to know that I’m not alone in my running insanity.

After more than two hours of running, I came to a stop in my driveway, having run my allotted 20km. My hands were so cold that I struggled to fish my front door key out of my pouch. Fortunately, my five-year-old son was waiting just inside the door for my return, so he spared me the necessity of actually having to unlock the door myself.

Twenty-four hours later, I am still hurting. My legs are chock-full of lactic acid, and my left ankle is aching. I feel as if I will never walk normally again (I will, of course, be fine by tomorrow).

There are those who wonder why I put myself through this, what possesses me to go out in dreadful weather conditions for the privilege of having sore legs for the next two days.

Part of it is the joy of the sport, the sense of freedom that comes with being out on the open road, the “Runners High”, and the sense of accomplishment when the run has been completed.

Part of it is that I don’t have a naturally fast metabolism like some people, and if I don’t stay active I fall out of shape very quickly. Running is the only form of exercise that really works for me.

The biggest part of it, though, is that I’m doing it for my kids. In two weeks, I am lacing up for my third annual Run for Autism. All funds that I can raise leading up to this event will go straight to the Geneva Centre for Autism, to be used for much-needed services for children and youth with autism.

It is services like the ones provided by the Geneva Centre that have helped my son achieve phenomenal things in the four years since he was diagnosed with autism. In order to see a continuation of the progress, we need a continuation of the funding. This facility really does help people with autism to touch the stars, while also providing support for their siblings and parents.

Ultiimately, I run so that I can do my own small part in making the world a better place for my children. I think that’s a pretty darned good reason to go running in the wind and the rain every now and then.

To sponsor me for my half-marathon, please visit my fundraising page. All sponsorships are being matched by a donor who wishes to remain anomymous, so any funds raised will be doubled!

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13013135@N00/5879848337. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, fundraising, Geneva Centre for Autism, Rain, running, Running for Autism, Weather Tagged With: autism, postaweek2011, rain, running, scotiabank toronto waterfront marathon, training, weather

Reaching For The Rainbow

September 30, 2011 By Kirsten

George admiring the rainbow

Three days ago, I saw a rainbow. It was big and bright, a perfect arched gate in the sky. I was in the company of my husband and my older son George, for whom the world is sometimes a source of wonder, sometimes mystery, sometimes bewilderment.

For George, the rainbow fell into the category of wonder. In his eight years, he has seen other rainbows, but none that stretched all the way across the sky like this one did. He clambered out of the car and hoisted himself onto the seat, grabbing onto the roof rack from the open door. He seemed to be trying to get himself as high up as he could go, as if he wanted to reach out and touch the rainbow.

The magic of the rainbow followed George around for the rest of that day.

In the evening, when it was time for him to go to bed, I tucked him in and, as always, spent a bit of time talking to him, asking him simple questions about his day. These bed-time conversations tend to be a bit one-sided: out of all of George’s autism-related difficulties, poor verbal communication is one of the most troubling. Usually his responses need a lot of prompting. On this particular day, though, he had no trouble at all. When I asked him what he had seen today, he whispered, “Rainbow!” and drifted off to sleep with an angelic smile on his beautiful face.

I sat there for a while watching him sleep. I hoped he was having blissful dreams about rainbows.

Filed Under: autism, Dreams, Rainbow, Wonderment Tagged With: autism, conversation, dreaming, George, postaweek2011, rainbow, sleep

The Man In The Black Cloak

September 28, 2011 By Kirsten

“…and you’re next…”

The man in the black cloak pointed at me with a long, bony finger and smiled. It was not the smile of someone sharing happiness. It was the smile of someone who enjoys inflicting pain.

“I think I’m in the wrong place,” I said, my voice echoing in the huge room. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

“Honey, you don’t need a bathroom where you’re going,” said the man in the black cloak.

That sounded far too ominous for my liking. I could only think of two places where I wouldn’t need a bathroom, and both of them started with H. As I turned to leave, two enormous, angry-looking men materialized from the shadows and blocked the double doors that I had just come through.

Curiously, the people who had entered those doors before me were not in the room. There did not appear to be any other exit. Where had they gone?

The man in the black cloak fixed his gaze on me, extended his hand, and gestured for me to move towards him. I found myself rooted to the spot, as if my legs were set in cement. A shove in the back from one of the angry men set me in motion, and with shaking legs, I slowly walked the length of the room.

“So,” said the man in the black cloak, “how would you like to go?”

“What?” I asked, my voice barely able to go above a whisper. “I get to choose?”

“Well, the journey isn’t pleasant. You should at least get to choose how it begins.”

“Um, what do you have?” I asked, as if I was picking something from a menu.

“Gun, arrow or electric shock,” said the man in the black cloak.

“Erm, electric shock, I guess.” This was bizarre. Was I actually choosing how someone would kill me?

“Good choice,” said the man in the black cloak. “A lot tidier than the other ones.”

His hand started glowing ominously as he pointed at me.

“Wait!” I said.

He lowered his hand. “What now?” he said, irritably. “There are other people waiting, you know.”

I looked him square in the eye. “Please let me go. I’m not ready to die.”

“Die?” said the man in the black cloak, incredulously. “You’re already dead. I’m trying to send you back. If you wanted to stay you should have gone right to the end of the hall.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, he pointed at me. Instantly, I was thrown across the room by a bolt of lightning. And then I was falling, falling faster than I could ever have imagined. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to throw up. I just knew that the impact was going to hurt.

All of a sudden I was crash-landing amid another bolt of lightning. I was lying on my back, reeling from the impact and trying to catch my breath. I found myself staring at a man in a white coat hovering over me with defibrillator pads.

“She’s back,” he yelled over his shoulder.

As I closed my eyes and drifted to an exhausted sleep, I found myself wondering who would be next to see the man in the black cloak.

This week’s Indie Ink Challenge came from Kurt, who gave me this prompt: …and you’re next. I challenged eveningreddress with the prompt: The voice on the other end of the telephone uttered five words that would completely change my life.

Filed Under: And You're Next, fiction, Indie Ink Writing Challenge Tagged With: angry men, bolt of lightning, death, falling, life, man in the black cloak, postaweek2011

Is Finishing The Race A Good Enough Goal?

September 26, 2011 By Kirsten

When I came back to running two and a half years ago, I came back from a zero-level of physical fitness. For several years my body had been completely devoted to growing babies and then nursing them. My mind had been devoted to trying to survive post-partum depression, the loss of my father, and my son’s autism diagnosis. With everything that I had going on, physical fitness just wasn’t on my list of priorities.

Therefore, when I started running again, speed was not an issue for me. My only goal was to simply get out there and complete whatever distance I was aiming for. Standing at the start line of my first half-marathon for autism, I was realistic enough to know that I wasn’t going to be a speed demon. I did not aim for any particular time. I just wanted to finish the race; I did not care how long it would take me.

Since that first half-marathon, I have run 12 more races. My approach to each of them has been the same: stumble across the finish line in whatever time I can manage. I have looked at my races not so much as competitive events, but as training runs with added zing.

Two weeks ago, though, I came to within a minute of my 10K PB (personal best) at the Energizer Night Race. This was a race run at night, on narrow park trails, with this weird headlight thing on my head. Most amazing of all, I actually had energy to spare when I crossed the finish line.

That race was a turning point for me in two ways. The first was that it made me re-evaluate the role of music in my runs. The second was that it made me ask the question: if I can put in a performance like that without really trying, what will I able to accomplish if I push myself beyond what I am used to?

I have been a somewhat complacent runner, being happy with just finishing the race. I still advocate that approach very strongly for beginner runners. But I am not really a beginner anymore. Perhaps it is time for me to start pushing the boundaries a little.

Tomorrow: read about how a change in race strategy this weekend worked out for me.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tdd/3524924669. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Energizer Night Race, goals, pacing, Race, Race Strategy, running Tagged With: Energizer Night Race, goals, postaweek2011, race, running, strategy

Stupid Or Just Different?

September 23, 2011 By Kirsten

While I was having lunch with some work friends today, we started talking about an incident several years ago in which a kid was mauled by a wolf at a zoo.

What happened was that the child, who was maybe ten, climbed into the wolf enclosure. The leader of the pack, understandably upset about the invasion to his territory, attacked the child. The child suffered serious injuries, and the family had to fork out thousands of dollars for expensive medical procedures.

The family was desperate to recoup some of their expenses, so they filed a lawsuit against the zoo. They claimed that the zoo was responsible for the injuries suffered by the child. None of us could remember the outcome of the case.

As we discussed this story today, several opinions emerged around the table. The person who raised the topic believes that it was ridiculous for the parents to sue the zoo. After all, if your child climbs into an enclosure occupied by wild animals, what do you think is going to happen?

I pointed out that if it was so easy for the child to get into the enclosure, maybe the zoo was responsible. There clearly were not enough safeguards in place to prevent the incident. I mean, zoos are full of kids, and kids are not exactly predictable in their actions.

The guy seated to my left had an opinion of his own: the zoo would have been entitled to sue the family because the child was so stupid.

This remark offended me more than a little, and I think my lunch companions were a bit taken aback with the intensity of my reaction.

Here’s the thing. My older son George – the one who has autism – is streets away from being like a typical kid. He does not respond to things the way other kids do. He has his own special blend of needs, wants, perceptions and anxieties. He has a view of the world that the rest of us do not necessarily understand. And because of the way he is, because of his autism, he sometimes behaves in a way that would be widely regarded as counterintuitive. He will do things that do not make sense. Only they do make sense. Just because his actions do not always make sense to anyone else, we have to respect the fact that they make sense to him.

I have fairly very through-the-roof strong feelings about the idea of anyone daring to refer to my child as “stupid” just because he doesn’t do things the way other kids would do them.

I am not necessarily saying that George would climb into a den of wolves, but I can understand how a kid with autism could look at the wolves and see dogs. I can get how that kid’s mind could tell him that these “dogs” are no different from the friendly dog at his grandma’s house. And I am totally see how a child with autism may not have the sense of danger that other people do. He may not read the cues of bared fangs and growls.

All I am saying is that it is wrong to assume that a child is stupid just because he does something that most people wouldn’t do. You never know what is going on with the child or his family. There could be a lot more to it than meets the eye.

What are your thoughts on this? Is it ever OK to label a child as “stupid” on the basis of actions that are undeniably unwise? Is my outrage at my co-worker’s remark justified?

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ell-r-brown/4691235153. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Animals, autism, Children, Stupid, Thinking Differently Tagged With: assumptions, autism, children, postaweek2011, seeing the world differently, stupid, wolves, zoo

Night Running: Tuning In To Myself

September 16, 2011 By Kirsten

It was like a scene from Alien. A park at night, full of people with red lights on their heads talking to an oversized bunny that was Pepto-Bismol pink.

OK, maybe it wasn’t exactly like Alien. There are people, though, who regard runners as a strange breed – particularly runners who voluntarily pay money for the privilege of running on narrow park trails at night when the mosquitoes are out in full force, while wearing strange headlights on their heads.

I arrived at last Saturday’s Energizer Night Race about an hour before the designated start time. As I stood in line at the bank of Porta-potties (race day means epic hydration, which results in, you know), I suddenly realized that I had forgotten an essential element in race preparation.

Eating.

I had forgotten to eat my standard pre-race snack. I gave myself a mental slap in the head. I can understand people forgetting to turn off a light or mail a letter, but forgetting to eat? How do you even do that?

What this meant was that I would have to run this race fuelled by a ham sandwich hastily consumed almost eight hours previously.

I headed over to the water table and drank a bottle of water as well as a couple of cups of Gatorade. I’m not really big on Gatorade, but I reasoned that I needed calories in order to run this race, and Gatorade was my only available source. I resigned myself to the idea that the race would be a tough one. But it was only 10K. I could handle it.

Before I knew it, I was standing at the start line switching my headlight from the red-light Alien setting to the spotlight see-where-you’re-going setting. And then, cheered on by a cheerfully waving Pepto-Bismol pink Energizer Bunny, we were off.

The first few kilometres were fairly slow, not because I wasn’t feeling good, but because we were on narrow park trails and there were more than 700 of us. This enforced pacing meant that, when the runners became more dispersed, I had plenty of energy reserves to run the second half of the race strongly.

During this run, I rediscovered the art – lost to me a long time ago – of running without music. My MP3 player is loaded up with playlists of music that with a beat I can run to, and I have been more than a little reliant on this in my training. For safety reasons, participants in the Energizer Night Race were not permitted to wear earbuds or headphones. Not only did I not miss the music, I believe that I ran better because of its absence. For the first time in ages, I had to pace myself not according to the beat of the music, but according to what my body was telling me.

In fact, all of the conditions of this run resulted in the need for me to be completely aware of every little thing around me and within me. Navigating the narrow trails among hundreds of other runners in the dark – albeit dark that was broken by headlights – put me in tune with my body in a way that I don’t think I have ever experienced before.

In the end, my time was 1:06:14. Considering all the ways in which this run was so different to the norm, I am very happy with that time. It is a mere minute off my personal best time.

At my next race, the Oasis Zoo Run 10K, I am going to try and reclaim that minute and get myself a new personal best time.

Thank you to the organizers of the Energizer Night Race for creating an event that has, I believe, helped me become a better runner.

(Photo credit: André Van Vugt)

Filed Under: Energizer Bunny, Energizer Night Race, Listen to your body, Night run, Race, running, Running without music Tagged With: ban on earbuds, Energizer Bunny, Energizer Night Race, headlight, night running, park, postaweek2011, race, running

Autism Meltdowns: Six Strategies For Helping Siblings

September 10, 2011 By Kirsten

It is a scenario that parents of children with autism are confronted with countless times: the child melts down for no apparent reason while his or her brother or sister stands by helplessly, not understanding what is going on. Autism meltdowns can be particularly bewildering for younger siblings who may not fully understand what autism is or why the meltdown is happening.

The strategies that I am describing today are based purely on my own experiences. I did not read them on the Internet or get them from any parenting books. I learned these in the best way possible: from the School of Hard Knocks.

1. When a child with autism starts having a meltdown, the primary concern should be for everyone’s physical safety. The child is going to lash out wildly, hitting or kicking whatever or whoever he comes into contact with. He may run around with no real direction and bang his head on objects or people. Children going through an autism meltdown seem to have superhuman strength, and there could be a real threat to siblings who are standing too close. Therefore it is imperative to ensure the safety of the siblings as early as possible in the incident. This can be accomplished by taking them to a different room and making sure they have enough toys or books to see them through for what could be a couple of hours.

2. Siblings should never be punished while a meltdown is happening. This may seem intuitive, but it can be really easy to fall into the trap of yelling at siblings who happen to get too close while the parent is trying to deal with the autistic child. We are, after all, only human. If a child wanders up during a critical moment, we can have a knee-jerk reaction to yell, “Get away!” or “Go to your room!” Doing this may make the sibling feel that he is somehow responsible, and that is not a burden any child should carry. A better strategy would be to ask the child to leave the room, promising that you will go to them as soon as their brother or sister is OK.

3. Recognize that the siblings are not only bewildered and confused by what is happening, they are also in all probability deeply concerned about their brother or sister. In the scenario described above, where the sibling is getting too close, it may be helpful to verbally acknowledge this. Tell the sibling that you know how scary this is for them, that you know they are worried. This simple strategy will validate their feelings and give them permission to feel the way they feel, and it can go a long way to helping them weather the storm.

4. When the meltdown is over, take the time to explain to the siblings what just happened. Talk to them about autism and how children affected by it sometimes have difficulty processing emotions or sensory overload. It is fairly common for siblings to start apologizing in the aftermath, worrying that something they did caused the explosion. They have to be reassured that this was not their fault.

5. More often than not, the sibling is going to need some post-meltdown reassurance that their brother or sister is OK. Bear in mind that they have just been witnesses to an extremely intense melting pot of emotion. They may want to see or talk to their brother or sister. Exercise caution, because meltdowns that have passed can flare up again, but is important for you allow (but not force) interaction between your children.

6. Reserve some time to spend exclusively with your autistic child’s sibling. It can be tough, being brother or sister to a child with autism. There are many times when the needs of the typically developing children are sidelined because of the special needs of their sibling. Meltdowns definitely fall into this category. Because of the nature of these explosions, parents have no choice but to mostly ignore one child so they can focus on the safety of another. When the meltdown is over – be it immediately or later in the day – that time should be given back to the sibling without autism. Read to your child, watch his favourite DVD with him, let him choose a game to play, or simply spend time snuggling with him.

Managing meltdowns involves so much more than taking care of the child with autism. We have to consider our typically developing children as well. Even though they don’t have autism, they are still children, and they look to us to protect and reassure them. Using these strategies consistently can help them develop their coping skills and enhance their relationship with their autistic brother or sister.

Do you have any tips to add to my list? Please leave them in the comments!

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/nicolesfromtheheart/4290444513. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, Meltdown, parenting, Siblings Tagged With: autism, coping skills, meltdown, parenting, postaweek2011, reassurance, safety, sibling, weathering the storm

The Angst Of Back-To-School Shopping

September 6, 2011 By Kirsten

I’m a last-minute shopping kind of girl. Despite my annual promises to the contrary, I am still running around doing Christmas shopping at noon on Christmas Eve. While my husband greets family members as they arrive for our annual Christmas Eve dinner, I am upstairs frantically wrapping presents.

When it’s back-to-school time, I put myself through a variation of the same thing. It would make far too much sense to get the necessary shopping done early in the summer, when the stores are less crowded and the people are less manic. But instead, there I am, the day before Labour Day, scrambling to get shoes and backpacks for the kids. The only reason I don’t do my shopping on Labour Day itself is that nothing is open.

You’d think I’d know better. You’d think that I, special needs Mom, would take reasonable endeavours not to expose my autistic son to last-minute crowds of frenzied children and their equally frenzied parents.

But no. Try as I might, I just cannot seem to get myself into the stores until I absolutely have to. Either I have some kind of illness or I thrive on the pressure of last-minute shopping.

It therefore comes as no surprise that I found myself and my two boys in a shoe store on Sunday afternoon, along with every other family in the Greater Toronto Area. The kids’ feet were measured without incident, and then we started browsing the aisles for shoes that would fit them.

I started with George, just because the display of shoes his size happened to be right where we were standing. Initially, I had trouble distracting him from the girls’ display, where he had seen shoes with castles on them. Once I got him looking in the right direction, he picked out a pair of shoes that he wanted to try on. He put them on, and then, in a moment of verbal clarity that was utterly astonishing, he said, “The shoes are too small.”

While internally celebrating the fact that he had clearly verbalized a problem instead of simply melting down, I found the same shoes in the next size up. They fit, and George was happy.

While all of this was going on, James was walking down the aisle, removing shoes from their boxes and leaving them on the floor. My stern warning looks morphed into verbal reprimands that gradually increased in intensity and desperation. James’ innocent explanations that he was “just looking” did nothing to dissipate the cloud of dark thunder that was slowly but surely gathering above my head.

I succeeded in getting him to stop and put all of the shoes back in their boxes by threatening to take away his Bumblebee Car. He did, of course, cry and loudly declare me to be a Mean Mommy, but there you go. Sometimes a Mom’s gotta do what a Mom’s gotta do.

James ceased and desisted from crying when I told him it was his turn to pick out shoes. All of a sudden, I was the best mommy ever and he loved me “all the way up to space”. The Plight Of The Bumblebee was forgotten.

As we waded through masses of squiggly kids, I held firmly onto George’s hand. He was not having a meltdown, but he was visibly restless, and I could tell that he was itching to make a dash for it.

James picked out a pair of Lightning McQueen shoes and tried them on. I let go of George for a moment to help James with the Velcro strap, and just like that, George had taken off at the speed of light. Yelling at an assistant to keep an eye on James, I took off after my firstborn, dodging and leaping acrobatically over children. I flew after George into the stockroom as startled assistants looked up from their stockroom tasks. I finally caught up with him at the end of the stockroom. He only knocked down two large piles of shoeboxes. I crouched down and started picking up the shoes, but a kindly man with an Irish accent waved away my efforts and said he would take care of it. I apologized for the extra work we had caused, and he gently said, “Looks like you’re the one with the work, love”. He added that I should go and get myself a lovely cup of tea.

He was a nice, nice man.

Fortunately, James was sitting exactly where I had left him, and the Lightning McQueen shoes met with his approval. We paid for our purchases and left.

Calm gradually returned, and later that night, I took the advice of the kindly Irishman. Except instead of tea, I had wine.

Next year, I will do my back-to-school shopping at the beginning of summer.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/8136496@N05/3900289380/. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, back-to-school, Children, School, Shoes, Shopping Tagged With: autism, back to school, children, crowds, last-minute shopping, postaweek2011, shoes, shopping