The Autism Awareness Bandit

The other day Rhema casually got out of the minivan, walked around to the back, ripped off our Autism Awareness car magnet and tore it into pieces.

I seriously stood there dumbfounded and disturbed.

What in the world was that supposed to mean?

“But… but… now our van will feel naked, Rhema! How am I ever to find the van in a crowded parking lot without that magnet!”

She seemed oblivious to my ramblings.

I’ll go inside and order another one right away. People must know that we’re touched by autism. People must be aware.

I felt somehow stripped of my identity. “I am of the autism mother tribe. I am blogger. I am educator. I am advocate. I am… in need of a chill pill.” I laughed at myself.

A couple days later we were walking into the grocery store when Rhema suddenly made a beeline for an SUV in the parking lot. I spotted the autism ribbon on the back, and then realized Rhema’s intentions.

“No, Rhema, nooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

The girl has eyes like a hawk – it doesn’t even seem like she’s looking, but she’s sees everything.

I caught her before she could break the magnet into pieces. Hoping no one was watching, I slapped the magnet back onto the vehicle, grabbed her hand and rushed into the store.

When we came out the SUV was still there, and Rhema headed straight for the magnet. But this time I was prepared, and I literally carried her back to our car.

I had to giggle. My child with autism just might manage to remove all the Autism Awareness ribbons from the whole town!

Yesterday we were in a crowded waiting room at her therapy center. Rhema was playing with a train set while her teacher and I talked. I looked up and noticed a ribbon magnet on an office door clear across the room.

Oh no.

Rhema seemed to see it the same time I did because she bolted towards the door.

In mid-conversation, I lunged for her.
Missed.

I tripped over a little kid on the floor, scrambled up, bumped into someone and finally caught up to Rhema. But it was too late. She’d already broken a piece of the magnet. I grabbed the pieces, tried to fit them together and put them back on the door.

I turned around to see the occupants of the waiting room looking at us curiously. No one seemed surprised, they were probably all used to the unexpected. (Speaking of the unexpected, you must read this post!).

“Rhema seems to have a thing for Autism magnets,” I announced.

So if you have one, and you discover it’s missing, call me and I’ll replace it.”

 

By the way, I still have not ordered a new magnet. Maybe something different like Floortime Lite Mama? Maybe nothing at all for a while. For a time, autism or ‘life with autsim’ was all-consuming. It just isn’t anymore… I’m finally finding balance.