The Buzz of Life: Housewife vs. Burly Lawn Man!

It was a typical day in the office of my life.

My teen son on the autistic spectrum was panicking in the car, and I was about to take on a man who was wielding a chainsaw and huddling by a wood chipper!

It was hiking day at my son’s school, and we were at the same park that I once comically entered its gates driving a red convertible with a guy wearing a cow costume sitting next to me. What can I say?  I’m a junkie for a good laugh (at least that is what I tell myself instead of the other dreaded thought…you’ve finally lost it sista! Click here for the tantalizing story!)

Luckily the mayhem & madness police were off watching Chips reruns and stuffing their faces with donuts on the day I decided to take on a man with a chainsaw, allowing me to improvise in the only way I knew how…

By the seat of my thinned-threaded sanity pants...

And also by intuition that I was learning to trust better as I balanced it against a memory bank of “failed” outings and mothering moments that would leave Mrs. Walton and Mrs. Brady shamefully scolding tsk-tsk and saying:  

“That’s not how we reared you up in childhood when you were glued to our shows!   For goodness sake, get it together!”

I used to view life in an all or nothing way.  Fix it or fail!  Naturally, with this mindset, I was a big failure and I punished myself unmercifully. I admired all the warrior wonder women of the world who seemed capable in my mind of leaping buildings of challenge and angst in a single bound while I just felt like I was perpetually blithering and dithering along wondering how I could get a fast pass to their leader to show me the way as I constantly felt inadequate and ill prepared. Thankfully life didn’t mock me as hard as I did myself and gradually I came to adopt a gentler approach:

If I could just chip away at pain and fear and challenge, even just a little, I was indeed making progress and finding my way for myself and for my family.

In route to the park on this day my son said:  “I can’t wait to hike! It's so much fun!”

Optimistically careening down the hill, the view of a lawn crew working by the parking lot came into sight, challenging the hoped for moment of a carefree school day. The sounds permeated through the windows of our cocooning world of a car, and just like that, my son’s happy anticipation was replaced with panic as we came to a halt in the parking lot. 

He dramatically stated:   “I can't hike!  Take me home! You can’t make me! I hate saws! It sounds like a monster!”  Red faced stomping and continued laments ensued.  Variations of this moment play out again and again in my son's life with intense fear always playing a starring role.  

In the past my only coping tools fell into these categories:

Fantasy - I'm sitting in a Parisian cafe overindulging in wine and bread while bantering with intellectual hotties or riding a motorcycle as I nuzzle Colin Firth while we make plans to shag after the winery tour or galavanting across the globe saving orphans and whispering sweet nothings with Brad Pitt in roadside shacks. 

Denial – This isn’t happening!  Everything will be just fine!  Just smile and be happy!  Has anyone seen my pearls and ruby red slippers?

Bribery – If you go on the hike, I’ll let you watch videos later!  A reward of Skittles too?  Sure why not indulge a sugar and artificial color high to escape this moment! 

Barking Orders – There is nothing to be afraid of!  Now go hike!

At My Wit’s End – Life is over for my son and me.  Give up, book the sanitarium bunk beds, commence wailing and purchase the drool cup emblazoned in gold glitter:  “Crazed & Certifiable!”  

Thankfully on this day I flowed into a new, slowly emerging category that once had consisted of waffling ideas and fuzzy thinking, but now was becoming more fine-tuned: 

Problem Solver.

I met my son in his pain, validating his very real fears and disappointment over being startled by unexpected lawn crews. We considered various ideas that might help him step out of the car as I soothed and remained calm. 

But this story isn’t just about my boy and me.  “It takes a village” is more than a cliché in our world.  

Two teachers were intervening by the car, trying to get my son to open up the window an inch so they could talk to him and ease his worries.  A student with Aspergers even came up and offered his quite logical advice: 

“If you remain in the car you will be closer to the noise of the lawn crews and it will sound louder; if you get out of the car, you will be able to hike and get further away from the sound. Your best choice is to hike.”

However my son remained unconvinced and clung to his most favorite option in the whole wide world: 

Mommy save me and take me home! 

Most of the staff and students took off hiking as my son refused to budge although my “village” didn’t abandon us as one of its members, a 6’4” Viking warrior of a man teacher tried to negotiate with the burly, wood chipping, saw-wielding man to turn off the tools of his trade.  Burly man won round one though as he declared a resounding “no!”

You should know I have always taken “no” as the final answer when dealing with authority figures, and by authority figures I mean anyone other than me.  I in fact have always fallen into lispy, wimpiness in such circumstances with an internal thought process going something like this: 

Okay, you win! I loothe! Now where’th my mommy?  Thomeone?  Anyone? Thave me from the thcary authority boogiemen of the world!

I’m not sure if it was due to a combo of hitting my 40’s with a jaded edge as I've built up a thickened armor to the endless uphill climb and the inevitable tumble-back-down reality for countless years or if it was just looking at my dear boy’s face and knowing I could not quit before trying any and everything to ease his fears, but I managed to find something that day that was normally hard for me to locate: 

Hello inner fight!

Over the drone of saws and wood chippers, I approached Capt. Burly man and asked if he would briefly turn off the buzz.  

He angrily countered:  “I have work to do.  I can’t stop for him.”

I remained calm and repeated.  “My son will miss his entire school day if you don’t give us these few minutes.”  I stared into his eyes, letting go of my own fear and self-consciousness that had often bogged me down in life.  

He frowned. He grimaced.  He huffily walked off and instructed his crew to turn everything off.  He shouted back to me:  “You got three minutes!”  

In a whirlwind of activity, the noble Viking man teacher was whistling down to another teacher to get my boy out of the car, as I was running towards my boy to encourage him one last time. As Capt. Burly Man and his lawn crew stood silent and motionless, we all watched my boy and two teachers gloriously run at full speed and disappear down a trail together to join the rest of the group. 

Every child who struggles should have a village like mine:  it rocks!

I often wonder what it truly feels like for my boy to feel so terrified of everyday occurrences, but I try to contain those types of thoughts as they can sink me into despair.  The helplessness I’ve often felt can be gut wrenching to say the least, but I’m getting better at focusing on the small gains, chipping away at anxiety one fearful moment at a time, knowing that for every obstacle we surmount, we gain strength and fill memory banks with positive learning experiences that propel us forward and empower us for the next time…and the next time…and the next time.    

I got in my car and exuberantly said to no one:

“Wow, we triumphed!”

I drove away feeling like a lioness that harnessed her often-elusive inner roar. 

Later, when I picked my son up at the end of the school day, he said:  

“I did it!  I worked through the fear!  I had a great day Mom!”

Not every outing ends so well, but together, my boy and I are harnessing unimagined powers of resiliency, cultivating our inner fight, and sending out our voices--sometimes timid and fragile, sometimes full of power--into the greater world as we add our unique hum to the buzz of life…

As for the burly, saw-wielding, wood-chipping man, I am thankful that he eventually let go of his hard and fast rules that day.  Sometimes letting down our guard and dispensing with our ideas about the way life is supposed to go can be freeing.  I know for my son and me, we are finding something wonderful and amazing along the way: 

Empowerment!