Our Land: Unbreakable

Today’s Our Land was authored by a woman known on the interwebs as Cynk (Cyn K – clever, right?). While I honestly can’t remember where we found one another (Twisted Mixed Tape, maybe?), I’m so glad that we did. She (like me!) assumed she’d be “forever childless,” and, after becoming a mother and seeing how quickly her son was growing up, began her blog with the intent of creating a photo journal of her son.

She planned on posting one photo a day, that would show a unique glimpse into her son’s life. Once he was diagnosed with autism, her voice grew, and now, her intent is to share stories and experiences to raise autism acceptance. She also posts about herself, sometimes. She’s awesome. I admire Cynk’s voice and her commitment to autism acceptance.

Without further ado, here’s today’s Our Land post:

Our Land: Unbreakable

The problem I have with empathy is that it allows me to imagine all the different, conflicting ways that people are judging my parenting.

Upon hearing the phrase “helicopter parent,” I knew people could slap that label on me.  When I take my son to the park, I hover. He cruises the tot lot picking up the trash that catches on the fence. Distracted by colorful bits of debris, he doesn’t watch as he walks directly in front of a child on the swings. Other times he treats the park as a giant messy table. He runs his fingers through the mulch covering, grabbing it by the handful and throwing it in the air. That’s when I worry that, if I sat on the bench and left him alone, some other parent would be thinking: Look at that mom not paying any attention to her kid. He’s throwing things at my little angel.

I haven’t even mentioned how Philip’s autism results in a fascinating combination of anxiety and fearlessness. This means I keep close to both encourage him to try new things and to stop him from breaking a limb because he’ll climb anything.

I love when we have the park to ourselves. There’s no one to judge me or my son.

These imaginary, critical voices linger in my head every time we go out in public. I am at my most anxious when we visit someone’s house. I worry that Philip will cling to me out of fear or explore willy-nilly and get his hands on some precious or dangerous item.

With that in mind, you can imagine my stress level in December as we drove three hours to Michigan to visit my husband’s family? Peter had not seen his father’s sister in the twenty years since his dad’s funeral. To me, Aunt Helen was only a name on birthday and Christmas cards. To her, Philip was a face in preschool photos and a few words hastily written on thank you notes.

The visit got off to a good start. Philip was feeling brave, but not too. He kicked off his shoes and made himself at home in Helen’s living room watching TV with her husband. Aunt Helen, Peter and I sat around her kitchen table chatting.

After a few minutes, Helen announced we were going to her daughter’s house for lunch. My stomach grumbled and then rumbled. I worried how Philip would react to yet another new place. I prepared to hover.

Peter’s cousin, Athena, welcomed us in. There were hugs and coats were taken. The Christmas tree was still up in the front room, so Philip lingered there. I kept moving from the kitchen to the front room to check on him. With all those fragile ornaments, I dreaded hearing a crash. I didn’t want to be known as the neglectful mother who married into the family and let her kid run amok.

“Sit down,” Athena told me. “Relax. He’ll be okay.”

Helicopter parent, I was sure she was thinking.

But no. I was wrong.

“There is nothing breakable in this house,” she stated, “except for my children.”

“Oh,” she laughed at the afterthought, “and my husband.”

With those words, I parked my helicopter self in the kitchen. I took the time to get to know this amazing woman who valued people more than things.

And I wondered what the world would be like if more people felt like her.

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Awesome, right? Go check out Cynk’s blog.  Here’s a bit more about her:

Cyn K, a thoroughly Midwestern working mom, blogs about her autistic son, antisocial stay-at-home husband and adorable dog over at that cynking feeling. She tweets as@cynkingfeeling.