I’ve tried to live my life by one particular theology, a self-professed mantra sprouted from my favorite quote.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” – Robert Frost

What it has always meant – to me – was that taking the path of least resistance doesn’t necessarily get you where you need to go, or moreover, said path might lead you to the right place but without encountering all of life’s “character-building” opportunities along the way.

In 31 short years I have built a lot of character, sometimes by taking the path less traveled, and sometimes by getting incredibly lost in the Himalayas sans GPS.  I relish the journey of growth in life.  I hate wishing away time, you’ll never hear me say “is it Friday yet” and, believe it or not, I have not one regret.

Every single moment in my life has lead me to this moment.  I can’t fathom changing anything, because were I to “undo” the wrong moment, today could totally vanish.   Besides, I’d like to believe that even the darkest hours added something to my tome and delivered some sort of lesson (even if it’s not yet realized).

I keep taking the path less traveled by.  I mean, what do I have to lose, right?  But then again, what if taking the path less traveled by in respect to Peter’s life is dangerous, is wrong, is damaging?  What if there is a reason that there is a path most traveled, and that reason is because that path is right.

My point, is that how do we know that what we choose for our children is what is best?  I’m fairly sure this has little to do with Autism and more to do with the parenting journey in general.

There are so many varieties of therapies, treatments, idealogies in the Autism community.  I would never be so presumptive as to discount anything as “wrong”.  I’ve made choices based on our circumstances, in the best interest for Peter, or so I believe.

Though I worry that I might’ve “zigged” when I meant to “zag”.  I might not have diversified enough.  I might not have researched enough.  And it seems ever more weighted by the fact that I feel the heaviness of an invisible hourglass, knowing a window is slowly closing and that we have precious time to make an impact.

So I throw a bunch of strategies together, mostly by intuition, and work like hell.  We all work like hell.  I figure if I do a little bit of everything…well…you know?

The whole journey I find myself wondering what the “chemin du jour” is, and if it truly does lead to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  How do I apply my life’s mantra here, when it feels most dire?

Though maybe, it doesn’t really matter, because in all actuality circumstance necessitates that our path be unique and therefore less traveled by indeed.

I’m not feeling well at all and am incredibly exhausted.  I wish I could wax poetic, but I have so much to update on…so strictly business today.

Now that Everybody’s Boy is officially “THREE” (insert sob from Mommy here), we’ve started the implementation of our IEP, which means we now have Speech and OT four times every week!  It’s hectic, but we are grateful and giving it a go.  We really like our new therapists; and are learning lots about how to juggle multiple transitions…not so successfully just yet…but practice makes perfect, right?

But…we got a call to interview for a much coveted spot at the Frank Porter Graham Institute, starting in the fall.  This is just the first step of many.  It’s a highly competitive process, but I like to consider myself, a highly “ambitious” person, especially in respect to anything related to Peter.  Interview is next Thursday, I’ll be updating.

We also went to a Durham Bulls game, with Peter’s Giggle Friends class.  It was a blast.  Peter got to sit in a sky-box and sing “Take me out to the ballgame”, and grandpa had a blast too!

Peter had surgery this morning.  They placed bilateral tubes in his ears.  Hopefully this will knock out the recurrent ear infections (4 in 4 months!).  We also had blood drawn for genetic testing while he was under.  Good thing he was out because they had to stick him several times – finally found a vein but he looks like a tiny pin cushion.  We should have results in a week or so.  Does one hope to find something or not, I don’t even know.

Peter is participating in the Autism Society of North Carolina’s Run/Walk fundraiser.  We’re actually doing the “tot trot” because the thought of running/walking a 5K alone, or especially WITH, a three year old is demented.  Anyway, we’ve set a fundraising goal of $1000.  If you go to the Event home page, I’m excited to report, that Peter is currently the TOP fundraiser!  If you are looking for a worth cause, and have fallen in love with Everybody’s boy, your support would be most appreciated.  How amazing of a statement would it be for our little guy to end up being the top fundraiser for this HUGE event?  All that aside, it’s an amazing organization that does amazing work, on a shoe-string budget and we are proud to be members.  You can find a link in the right sidebar (or just click here) of the blog to donate.  While you’re over there —->, check out my friend Claudia’s research blog on education and Autism.  She’s an amazing, and renowned journalist, mother and advocate who has spent the past year working on great project.  I think you’ll like it.

It’s 6:47 p.m. on a Friday night, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.  I’ll post something with substance soon, I promise.

Dear Peter,

What can I say about the past year?  It’s been an amazing journey; nothing short of miraculous, indeed.  Everything you do reminds me why life is so precious.  I’m constantly in awe that all of the answers to life’s many questions, have come to me in such a small package.  I know now what’s important in life, what success truly is (it’s not about scoring editorial board meetings – in fact, it’s all tied up in an infectious giggle), and I have learned to love fully and unconditionally.  Most importantly, I’ve learned that love doesn’t have to be returned in the traditional ways to be sincere.  Love is in everything you do, even if you can’t say it – yet – you radiate it, which is so much more meaningful.

You are the cement in Mommy and Daddy’s relationship.  You’ve taught us how to grow up, and at the same time, how to be children again.  You make us laugh and cry in ways that we never thought possible.

Peter, I don’t know what it’s like to have Autism.  I don’t fully understand the struggles that you face every day to fit into a world not designed for you.  What I do understand, is that you are the strongest and most ambitious person I have ever known.  If everyone had half of your drive and personality, the world would be a much more utopic place.

Though, it’s probably best that everyone isn’t “everybody’s boy”.  Because it makes you that much more special, not just to us, but to hundreds of people whom you touch – in big ways and in small.

I never thought that Autism could gift me anything.  I was wrong.  It’s given me the perspective to appreciate true beauty, the open-mindedness to see beauty in the unique, the courage to love unabashedly and with every inch of my soul, and the ability to accept that the big things in life are beyond my control.

All of this you’ve taught me in three short years.  I cannot imagine what lies in store for the future, but I know that it will be nothing short of miraculous.

On Sunday, you will be three years old, and you have accomplished so much more in your short life than many do in 100 years.  Your courage and perseverance are an inspiration to everyone who has had the delight of knowing you.  So much of me wants to hold on tight and keep you small forever, but that is selfish, because big things await you my sweet boy.  So I’ll let go of “two” and cling tightly to “three” and know that it’s just one step closer to you changing the world.

I love you with all of my heart, sweet boy.  Thank you for the distinct honor of choosing me to share your special journey.

Love,
Mommy

The boy is going to be Three next Sunday.  The official end of babyhood.  I’m not coping well.  Where has time gone?  I am thrilled that he’s growing and developing and “movin’ right along” (Muppet Movie duet stuck in my head)…but I’m also not ready for this milestone.  Nope, not in the least bit.

He’ll be going to big boy school in the fall.  Four hours a day, then therapy 4 days out of the week in the afternoons.  Where does that leave Mommy?  It’s not that I can’t find plenty to keep me busy during the day; but I want to be busy with him.  Though, at the same time I realize how important the structure of a school environment it, and feel that exposure to neuro-typical kids is paramount…so I can’t imagine holding him back.

I guess we’re about to begin yet another chapter in life.  Ironic, as I’ve just found my footing in this one.

I just crave those cuddles and hugs that other children his age dispense with reckless abandon.  Sure, he’ll give me a kiss if I am in front of him and ask for it, but I want him to notice me walk in the door and run to me so I can take him in my arms and savor every last moment.  But that’s not my reality.  I have to find those moments to savor in more obscure ways.  Tickles and “hold my hand” requests (for help with difficult tasks) and of course bubble baths.

Three just seems so big and ominous…like the unwritten age where using the word “baby” doesn’t seem to fit anymore.  Or maybe it hasn’t fit in a long while and I’ve just refused to accept it.

Maybe I will continue to use the word baby for many more years to come.  If nothing else in our life conforms to “normal” standards why must that?

Still, I’m fairly certain this mother’s day will be bittersweet nonetheless.