The Road Trip

Hi! Remember me? Sorry I've been gone for awhile. Parenting while working during a pandemic has proven to be....well....challenging. But, I haven't wanted to be all complain-y on the blog, so I've been keeping to myself. Besides, do you REALLY want to hear about the minutiae of our daily grind? The good news is that we are all ok, and I am convinced that the past year taught us Important Lessons about life and living in the moment. 

We LIMPED across the finish line at the end of the school year, and then I taught a summer course, and then then there was some drama with Sky's classes, and then suddenly it was late June and time for us to set off on our First Ever Family Road Trip. 

When I first suggested we take a 10-day road trip to the mountains, Falcon lost it. Falcon is my non-autistic kid who handles change well and rarely overreacts, so her response surprised me. Worse, what she said made a lot of sense. She argued that since we couldn't even make it to the grocery store and back without one of the boys freaking out, there was no WAY we'd make it to Colorado and back. She also had some strong opinions about my suggestion that we camp the whole way.  I mean, she's not wrong. We are not known for our ability to be flexible and adjust. That's life with autism. 

Falcon's first reaction was so strong that I nearly gave up on the idea of the trip. But, driving across the country with my family has been a dream of mine for a really long time. Every summer, I tell the kids we are going to do it, and then I chicken out. On top of all of the other logistical challenges of planning a trip like this, we had the added stress of COVID-19 and some big unanswerable questions like: What if Ren's spine can't handle the drive? What if Stow elopes or becomes inconsolable after so many days away from home? These were all real possibilities and would be horrible if they happened when we were 12 hours from home. Still, after sitting on the idea for a month, I decided that we were going to take the trip anyway. Sometimes you just have to face your fears. 

Falcon was still resistant and she didn't entirely come around until I agreed to stay in hotels instead of planning to camp the whole trip. It was an expensive compromise but also one I am sure saved us much heartache. Instead, of campsites, then, I booked quirky "Mom and Pop" motels, and we had three fabulous nights in Grand Lake, CO, staying in a cabin near a lodge where I worked for the summer when I was 20. 

Random trip photos: Needles Highway (South Dakota)

For a first attempt, the trip went surprisingly well. Plus, I learned a few things along the way that I can share with you. So, here I present "Moe's Random List of Things She Learned While Driving Across the Country in a Car Full of People":

1. First--and I don't think I can stress this enough--when you have five more hours of driving to go, don't buy burritos with beans in them for lunch. Seriously. Somehow I did this not once, but TWICE! Given our various food allergies, fast food options are limited, which is how we ended up eating at Qdoba. I'm hoping I've learned my lesson, especially after the second time when it was raining so we couldn't open the windows.  

2. Build flexibility into your plan. Some of us wanted to do things and some of us didn't. Being able to be flexible was vital. The cabin we rented for the three nights we were in Colorado was close enough to town that we could walk, so if a kid didn't want to go, we could take turns being out and about. Similarly, when we were driving through the Black Hills in South Dakota or Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, we didn't force every kid to get out and look at the scenery every time. By being flexible in our own thinking about what we wanted to achieve on any given day, we ended up helping the kids manage their frustration tolerance in ways we haven't seen them do on other trips.

Custer State Park (South Dakota)

3. Be specific about the plan and the possible ways it could change. I know this sounds funny given what I just wrote in #2, but for our autistic kids, knowing what to expect and how things might change goes a LONG way in helping them manage the stress of new situations. On the flip side, not being careful about this can lead to trouble. 

The two biggest meltdowns Stow had on the trip both happened when I wasn't precise with my language. For the first one, I described the Corn Palace in Mitchell, SD as "being made from corn" when really I should have said, "The MURALS ON THE WALLS are made of corn." Since Stow is a kid who deals with change by becoming more rigid, it can be difficult to get him out of the car. He's also very literal, so if you tell him "everything is made of corn," everything better be made of corn! He spent the entire 30 minutes we were at the Corn Palace pointing out all of the things that are NOT made of corn: "Look, Mom, the steps aren't made of corn. The door isn't made of corn. Those tables aren't made of corn. The walls aren't made of corn. NOTHING here is made of corn....." The second time was at Devil's Tower where I made the mistake of saying we would go on a "short hike." My idea of a short hike (1.2 miles around the base of Devil's Tower) was different from Stow's idea of a short hike (from the car to the bathroom and back), so he spent the entirety of our time there becoming increasingly upset that we weren't turning back. Eventually, he stopped walking altogether, and the five of us stood immobile off to the side of the trail for a solid 15-20 minutes while I tried to persuade a very agitated Stow to keep going. By the time we got him settled down enough to start walking again, Sky was triggered, so I spent another 20 minutes sitting on a bench with him as he alternated between crying and being angry with me for not being more careful with my words. So, yeah, be specific.

Rocky Mountain National Park

4. Use boxes. We had three boxes: a cooler, a collapsible box of snacks, and a huge tote for our clothes bags. On top of that, each kid was allowed one backpack or box for the car. Getting in and out of hotel rooms/our cabin was a breeze. Two kids carried the big box, one carried the cooler, and Ren or I grabbed the snacks. In the hotel rooms, our huge tote fit nicely on the luggage rack while the cooler fit under it. This made the nights where five of us shared the same room much more bearable. Further, since we put our bags into the big box every time we left a hotel, it was easy to spot whether or not something was missing. 

5. Finally, if you are married to Ren, pray that a rock won't hit your windshield leaving a starburst-shaped crack on the very first day of the trip. Because, even though you know this kind of thing happens all the time (and you even think the starburst is kind of lovely), Ren will simply not get over it, which shouldn't surprise you given how hard he takes it whenever you have to drive down a gravel road in a newly-washed (or even slightly dirty) vehicle. Bless his heart, though, the man drove nearly 3000 miles with an unforgiving spine, and his ONLY complaint during the trip was that stupid crack in the windshield!

Elk in Rocky Mountain National Park

Stow's Phone Call

Small changes can result in major dysregulation, so I've come to refer to Daylight Savings Time as Devil's Stolen Time. We knew that this week would stink, but we have to keep parenting anyway. Parenting during DST should come with a warning label: Enter at Your Own Risk.

On Tuesday, like most days, Stow didn’t want to stop watching YouTube to do his schoolwork. I’m pretty sure this happens in every household. What is less likely to happen in other households, though, is that when we insisted he stop (after setting a timer and giving him plenty of warning), his fight instinct kicked in. We haven't seen a lot of meltdowns lately, but Devil's Time has a way of screwing things up, killing our vibe, messing with our rhythm. Since I’ve written about Stow's meltdowns in the past, I won’t go into details now other than to say that even after we took his Chromebook, he was still highly dysregulated. And, that's when he decided to “call the police.”

I tried to grab the nearest handset and dial another number before he could punch in his, but I didn't make it in time. And, even though I explained to the dispatcher what happened and that all was fine, 15-20 minutes later an officer showed up. By then, the meltdown had fizzled out--after he spent some time swinging a tennis racket at snowballs (and my car) while wearing flip flops in the snow--and Stow was quietly playing with his LEGO. When the doorbell rang, he ran to get me, color drained from his face, "The police are here!"

Later Stow asked me what would have happened if I just didn't answer the door, and, to be honest, that was my first instinct. But, I believe in facing my consequences, and this time I felt like I deserved this visit because I hadn't managed to outthink my kid and his meltdown. The officer introduced himself, asked if we were ok, asked if he could come in. He wanted my full name and Stow's full name as well as our birthdays. He talked to Stow for a bit and seemed to study me and my reactions. Stow cowered behind me and was barely audible when I made him answer the officer's questions; after all, he called 911, not me. Finally, satisfied, the officer left. 

I did not want to invite him in or give him our information, not because I think law enforcement officers are bad nor because I somehow thought this guy wasn't just doing his job. I know that if someone calls 911, the protocol is to follow through and make sure no one is being held against their will. People I care for deeply are or were law enforcement officers. So, of course, I believe that police officers should be respected and that their jobs are important. Of course, I would like to believe that all law enforcement officers are good people who do their jobs well.

But, I have also read many, MANY stories about autistic or mentally ill people being arrested or injured when police have intervened, and I have in the forefront of my mind the story of one of our Asian American students who lost her brother this past Christmas when they requested police assistance in handling his mental health crisis and the officer put his knee to her brother’s neck. While our local police officer was visiting us, 6 Asian women were being murdered in Atlanta. And, as I worked to put into writing my feelings about this, a sheriff deputy described the white shooter of those Asian women as having "a bad day." So many stories about the unevenness of how people of color or neurodiverse people are treated compared to their white, neurotypical peers illustrate that we are so very far from where we should be. 

I wish that the incident with Stow could have been just a lesson about why he shouldn't use 911 in a non-emergency, but instead, it was a lesson for me about my own hidden trauma. What would have happened if Stow called the police when I wasn't home and Ren couldn't clearly explain the situation? What would have happened if the police officer showed up in the middle of an aggressive meltdown? Stow's phone call could have gone very, very differently, and I doubt I will ever forget the fear it caused me. I long for a time when we have centered neurodiversity and non-whiteness enough that if our freaked-out kid calls 911, our worry doesn’t have to be about his safety or whether he will be taken away but instead can be about how to best help him navigate this world.

*****

After the visitor left, Stow insisted we play Jenga, a game we haven't played in years. You guys know I'm a sucker for a metaphor.

Postscript 1: Every day since the phone call, Stow asks me another question about it. He doesn't want me to bring it up, and he doesn't want me to say anything more than the exact number of words necessary to answer his question. He has grasped that he should never call 911 in a non-emergency again, and he is also very sorry about his choice. Autism sucks because good choices are hard to come by in the middle of a meltdown caused by dysregulation.

Postscript 2: We have asked the school to block YouTube on his computer. I know that makes us the worst parents in the universe, but I'm willing to accept that distinction.

Postscript 3: Up until very recently, my most-read blog post (by far) was the one titled: “My Secret Life as a Japanese Housewife,” and analytics made it pretty clear why I was getting those hits. (As an example: I had to turn off ads because they were clearly pitched to people who weren’t my intended audience—eww.) Recently, my post about Hand Foot and Mouth Disease has outpaced the Japanese Housewife one. It’s harder for me to explain why that one is so popular. (You can see the list of my most-read posts in the column to the right on the desktop version of the blog).