I am the proud mother of two very active boys: a senior in high school; an elementary-age kiddo with autism.
The latter keeps me on my toes the most. It’s his favorite hobby to tap into the “no-fear” trait of ASD, and see how daring he can be while: a) my eyeballs pop from the sockets as a result of horror; b)I have a panic attack and turn into a babbling pile of jelly.
In the past, “J” balanced on the back of a chair while I’ve gotten my hair cut and styled, and more recently, disappeared into a crowd of walkers during a Relay for Life event. Did I mention there were over 400 walkers, it was held in a busy mall parking lot during business hours, and there was no security around? Yeah, you get the picture now. This last episode was enough to make even June Cleaver reach for a margarita glass.
Things aren’t always that dramatic. ”J” is a loving, sweet, little guy, smart beyond his years, and enjoys life.
When he was diagnosed with autism a few years ago, I put my writing on a shelf, and focused on “J”. It wasn’t necessary, but subconsciously, I blamed writing for “J”‘s condition–believing if I would’ve been more “in-tune” with my child, the symptoms could have been detected sooner.
“J” has progressed a great deal through the years, and once again, I’ve picked up the pen, or so to speak.
Recently, my first children’s book, Amelia Frump and her Peanut Butter Loving, Overactive Imagination, was published by DWB Publishing Children’s Line. It can purchased there or through Amazon.