You know the minute someone says “hey this is going great” that it is time to put on your protective gear…..especially when you have kids. It is the reason that I try to leave a kid-friendly party or social engagement shortly after I discover the peak of the event has come. Leave when things are good so the memory lives on in absolute positivity.

My husband called me on Monday during his lunch and made the comment, “Squidget’s in a good cycle right now don’t you think?”  Yes, yes he was and then Thursday came. OK I am not implying that Mr. T is in any way a factor in what followed but I like to make fun of irony so there.

In truth, 95% of Squidget’s Thursday was exemplary. He had a field trip at school during which he managed himself quite well. We just had 30 minutes of chaos right after school. That in and of itself would not be so bad if 500 other students, their siblings, their caretakers, and teachers were not there to witness it all unfold. A miscommunication gone horribly wrong. Last week Thursday, Squidget thought he was going to Mad Science, (an after school program) when I showed up to pick him up he was very sad that I had not signed him up for it. The truth is that the program was too expensive for us especially when sign-ups were at Christmas time.  Additionally, I am not convinced that he can handle staying at school for another 90 minutes especially when there is no one there to assist him AND following two straight days of after school therapy sessions. Regardless, when this came up last week I PROMISED him that next time the program was offered that we would talk about it and do our best to get him signed up.

So yesterday I went to pick him up and he never came to the door. When I looked a little closer I saw that he was in the Mad Science Line. My heart sunk and my eyes started to water – I knew I was in trouble. The classroom-dismissing teacher (not his primary teacher) apparently asked Squidget if I signed him and his response was yes. So when Squidget and I made eye contact he started to cry and scream “Mom, I am going to Mad Science, you promised that you would sign me up”. He then came outside and was exhibiting a lot of unsafe behavior. I was physically holding him down trying to talk him through it. Physically holding him down because there are a LOT of kids of all sizes running around and a steady stream of school buses within 3 feet. Holding him down because I don’t want him to hurt himself any more than I want someone else to be caught in the crossfire of his rage. At some point he got away from me and being a little slower now both physically and emotionally, I felt fortunate that another teacher managed to slow him down until I could catch up.

And this is where tragedy turns to triumph. You have to realize that the whole time this is going on I am trying to keep an eye on Princess Jellybean and a potential run-away stroller that is playing host to my phone, my keys, and my wallet. When I turn to make sure that PJ is not running through the parking lot  or taking another kid on a joyride while I sequester her brother I meet eyes with two of my dearest friends. Both of whom manage to let me know with just a glance and a few words that they’ve got me covered. One runs home to get her car while the other reassures me that PJ will remain in her safety. Simultaneously Squidget’s teacher helps direct us into her classroom where she gives us ample room to work through this horrible misunderstanding. Horrible because I completely understood why he thought he was going to Mad Science and even MORE horrible because I couldn’t do anything about it – we just had to go. Once we got in the classroom it took us 5 – 10 minutes to pull together. When we left I found PJ happily playing with our friends. Squidget joined them on the playground where they all ran off some steam while I soaked up the sun (when it is sunny in Oregon in February – we worship) with two of several women I am blessed to call friends and honored to call family. A year ago, recovering from this would have taken the better part of a day. Right now Squidget can figure it out in under an hour. I won’t pretend that having a child on the spectrum isn’t hard sometimes, or that I didn’t have mascara running down my face after I (unsuccessfully) tried to hide my tears. It is hard. But there is joy in hard. In hard you know and trust your friends and family; in hard you learn; in hard you find measures of success previously unknown; in hard you really enjoy sunshine; in hard you appreciate laughter; in hard we grow and I am thankful.