Unfortunately, at times, this has affected me in ways that I did not foresee. The constant grind has hardened me to other people’s hardships with parenting, because I think about the hurdles that I personally maneuver each day.
The other day, someone who lives down my street was having a rough day. Looking back, I probably should have handled the conversation better than I did. I was driving back from teaching class, and I knew that I had about two hours of quiet before I had to jump back in the car again to pick up Broden from clinic. When I saw my neighbor down the street, I slowed down, and rolled down my window to check on her, “Hey! How are you doing?” She turned towards my car, dripping with sweat as she was tearing bushes away from the front of the house. Looking exhausted, she walked over to my car. We talked for about 20 minutes discussing how hard it is being a parent, and talked about the dream of retirement. Before I drove away, I said, “Well, if you’re having another rough day, just think of me. I’m trying to figure out how to shave my 18-year-old son or ways for him to shower himself.” Once those words left my mouth I thought, “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I said that. Of all the things to say, I said that.” If I had a choice, I would have said something different. I should have said, “I’m sorry you’re having a rough day. I hope you have a better day tomorrow.”
I’m trying to remind myself that no one chooses their hardship. There isn’t a measuring stick of hardship. If it’s a rough day for her, then it’s a rough day period. It is not my job or position to decide who has it worse. Our trials are ours and we’ll work through them in our own time. With autism, our nemesis is change. Each day presents new battles. Some of the security guards are familiar with me and know that Broden has autism. This afternoon as I drove through the gate and rolled down my window, the gate guard could hear Broden crying. He looked back at him and smiled, then asked me, “How are you doing?” I looked back at him exhausted as he scanned my ID card, “Autism is winning right now.” He nodded back and waved to Broden, whose crying was muffled as I rolled the window back up. Broden continued to cry and scream, so I let him go upstairs. I slid outside under our pergola and shut the door, because I knew Broden was inconsolable. If I had asked him what was wrong, he would have told me to leave the room. Sometimes, I think he just wants to cry. I can only speculate what was bothering him. His favorite RBT wasn’t at clinic today, so he had someone he typically does not see. There was change and he was upset about it.
Yesterday morning, I was late taking Broden to clinic. His RBT met me near the car, “I was getting worried that something happened. You’re usually on time.” I opened the back door where Broden was sitting, to show her his clean-shaven face with a few nicks around his neck, “His facial hair is growing in so fast and thick, I need to figure out how to give him a nice close shave.” As he jumped out of the car, the sun was shining on his face which showed all the facial hair I had missed. I sighed as I watched Broden walk into the clinic with half of his mustache shaven and half still above his lip.
I wasn’t completely telling the truth as to why we were so late. Yes, I was shaving him, but I took longer than I could have with his selfcare. While I shaved Broden, I would make faces, and he would try to mimic every face I made. I contorted my face in so many ways, and took joy in watching him try to create his facial expression like mine. After I shaved him, I looked down at his feet and realized his toenails desperately needed to be clipped, “Broden sit down on the toilet.” Even though we were running late, I knew I needed to clip his toenails before he left the bathroom. I grabbed the clippers and sat on the side of the tub. Broden stretched his left leg out, as I tried to clip his large toenail. Now that I’m 50 years old, my eyesight has worsened to the point that I can’t see his toenails, “Broden, I need to run into the office and grab my reading glasses.” I got my glasses, ran back into the bathroom, and sat on the side of the tub as I clipped Broden’s toenails. For a moment I paused while holding his foot. There were so many reasons why I could have wished he could do these things on his own, but I couldn’t help but feel grateful. I was grateful that I was able to share this intimate moment with my son. I had the ability to ensure he was cared for. That was special.
There is a quote that has rung true with me this week, and I even felt compelled to say it to my neighbor. “Behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.” There are many times that I feel like I’m screwing it up, and I’m not the only mom who feels this way. The hidden joys are in the everyday living, and although we’ll screw it up from time to time, there will be those moments that make it worthwhile. We just need to take the time to notice them, even when they feel hard.
ABOUT OUR JOURNEY IN CAMO
Shelly Huhtanen is an Army wife stationed at Fort Jackson, SC. She enjoys sharing her experiences of her day-to-day life caring for her son with autism. Shelly authored Giving a Voice to the Silent Many that encompasses many stories of raising a child with autism in the military. She also teaches Public Communication at the University of South Carolina and has contributed to EP Magazine for over 10 years.
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