The Zoo

Today was a great day. Our family visited the zoo for the first time and we had a wonderful time. Some of you will remember that my boys referred to Petsmart as "the zoo" until they were about four, so this was quite an outing for them. The weather was great. There were no crowds. The monkeys were playful and the birds were talking. There were no meltdowns. 

While I feel so blessed to have had such a lovely day, I found myself choking back the tears as I remembered my last zoo experience. In Uganda. With Leticia. 

I really am trying to avoid being whiny while still maintaining honesty when sharing about our adoption. I understand that we are blessed beyond belief and our gratitude list is darn near infinite. I do get that. Can I just be real right now? This wait is killing me. There are times that I can almost see her with me. The grocery store, for example, although I have no idea why. As I push the cart, I can clearly visualize Leticia sitting in cart kicking her legs and pointing to things on the shelf as she signs "sweet!" 

Or today at the zoo. What fun she would have had. As much as we enjoyed the time together, her absence was palpable. At least it was for me. 

People ask what is going on. What we have heard from our lawyers? The answer, unfortunately, is nothing. And this limbo is for the birds. I know she's in very good hands in Uganda, but I worry what she thinks and how she feels. This legal mess doesn't make sense to me, how is she supposed to understand it? Is she healthy? Does she know we love her and are fighting for her? We can pass the message on through others, but I'm sure in her heart she wonders. If we care so much, then where are we? 

On the bright side, we know that God is in this. A dear friend of mine is also playing this dubious adoption waiting game.  We have decided to ask friends to take time to pray and fast for our situations this week. Thank you for participating. If you haven't been praying, there's no time like the present! Prayer changes things. Please keep them coming. 

I trust that one day soon Leticia will be home and we may even understand and see the value in the wait. Until then, I have to agree with Stephen and Daniel's sentiments as they darted off for the exhibit they'd been eagerly anticipating. "Let's run to Africa!" 

To twine own self be true

I hate twine. And cotton balls. And burlap. Especially burlap. I hate them with an eternal, white-hot hatred. I have no idea why. I don't believe I was wrapped in burlap as a child, but who knows. The why isn't important. The point is, I cannot tolerate these things. 

Last night at VBS (that's Vacation Bible School for you unchurched heathen) I came face to face with my nemesis: TWINE. It all came about innocently enough. 

"Can you help with crafts?" 

"Sure. Why not?"

All the usual suspects were there: paints, Styrofoam plates, wooden treasure chests, sparkly jewels, pipe cleaners and roughly a zillion children. I was up for the challenge. Until I saw it. My Kryptonite. 

The idea was that each child would roll their precious Bible verse into a scroll to place within their treasure chests and then we would help them tie the twine around the scrolls. I stared at the pre-cut pieces of the vile little rope waiting in front of each child. I felt a little green. I tried to joke with my co-workers. I don't do twine, I told them. They chuckled. 

Inside I was screaming NOOOOOO!!! You don't get it! I don't DO twine. I CAN'T do twine. 

But this was VBS for goodness sake! And I love Jesus, and want these little guys to love him as well one day, so I soldiered on. When a sweet fourth grader handed me her scroll and asked me to please tie her t-t-twine around it, I jumped right in. I smiled sweetly, as VBS workers are required to do, grabbed the scroll and the t-word from her outstretched hand and got to work. 

I realize that people often use hyperbole and state that they do not have words for things, but I swear, I cannot describe to you the intense feelings that surged through my body after simply touching this heinous rope-like substance. It would be a bit dramatic to call it torture, but I have to tell you, it was physically painful. My arms turned to goose flesh. My teeth hurt. I could hear the twine touch my skin. I tried. I tried really hard. But in the end, I had to pass the job to a baffled friend and admit defeat. Goosebumps are popping up now just talking about it. 

If you are still with me, I do have a point. As the mom of a kid with ASD, (Autism Spectrum Disorder) I often hear of sensory issues. I have often tried to imagine what certain things are like for him. Or sometimes when he is really struggling, I try to take note of what is going on around him. But I have to say, until last night, I sympathized, but I didn't "get it." 

I watched as my experienced VBS co-workers tied those wretched pieces of twine around the scrolls like nobodies business. Easy peasy for them. I felt at that moment that God (not audibly, don't stage an intervention. But if you do, I insist on somewhere coastal for my  twine rehab) was talking to me through the discomfort. As an adult helper, I was unable to do what was expected of me. Why? Twine. But more specifically, because of my reaction to twine. My sensory issue. 

Sensory issue. It just sounds so made up. If you aren't familiar with ASD, it can seem like some kids are just controlling brats who want their own way and their parents are eager to slap a diagnosis on them to make themselves feel better. I have heard that from more people than I care to number.

I started to think about my son and all of his sensory glitches. Food being the most severe. It seems that almost since birth, this child has has a bologna sandwich on a Martin's potato roll for lunch. Sometimes, he asks for his sandwich at odd times, like in the shower. Who wouldn't want a bologna sandwich in the shower, right? Anything goes in our house, I guess, 

My sweet boy is as particular and specific about his dislikes as he is his likes. Apples are hated. Applesauce is acceptable. Carrots are unacceptable. Strawberries, grapes, oranges, completely beyond the pale. The lists go on. They are long and rather boring. 

Here is the point just in case you were wondering if I would ever come around to mentioning one. Because of ASD, my son feels that same intense feelings in reaction to many things in his everyday life.

Watching him break out into goose flesh of his own after eating a non-preferred food item has given me an enormous amount of empathy. I know how intensely uncomfortable I was for just a few minutes. I wonder what his life must be like. I am always demanding hugs that he doesn't care to give and requiring him to eat foods that he hates. The last time I saw him eat a carrot, his reaction struck me. I could see that it was literally painful for him. He wasn't being a picky brat, he simply could not tolerate a carrot in the same way that I can't tolerate twine.

I feel like my nasty encounter with my old friend twine has been a wake up call for me. A call to patience. What if someone expected me to use twine everyday and I HAD to do it? What would I do? I would meltdown, that's what.  I felt like I was in his place. It was uncomfortable, painful, and embarrassing.

The point (FINALLY! ) is this. We hear the term "sensory issues" and think that it is a load of crap. That people simply don't care to feed their kids good food or train them to do A, B or C. With the help of twine (ewwwww) I have learned that true sensory issues are HUGE. 

The positive is that I felt like it was God telling me that this is how many things feel for Stephen. Some kids just don't want to eat veggies. And then there are the kids who want their bodies to be healthy but would rather be hit by a truck than eat a carrot.

I pray that the Lord will give wisdom in parenting and discernment to know when our kids are just being themselves. May my old foe, twine, remind me to be sensitive and show me how to relate to my son.

To twine own self be true. 

You Can't Outbid God

So much has happened since my last update. Since we had to return to the states without our daughter Leticia. I am not going to lie. Some of our recent days have been dark. I mean, D A R K. If you are one of  *those* friends who've been fortunate enough to witness one of my breakdowns, you know. I have been tested, and one things for sure. Although my faith has been severely lacking, God has consistently shown himself faithful to me.

If we are friends on Facebook, our family may well have worn our welcome thin on your news feed. Three friends decided that they were going to host an online auction to support the mounting legal costs of our rather complicated adoption. These chicks were sent by Jesus himself. Let's just say that when these ladies join forces to get something done, well, you may as well hang your hat and take a nap, because it is DONE, sister. Wow. Over three hundred and fifty people participated in our adoption auction. THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY!!! 

Some of these people I don't even know. I might never have the opportunity to meet them in person or adequately convey our thankfulness. Not only for the goods/services that they donated and/or bid on, but just for caring and giving. For thinking about and praying for our family and our daughter during this time. You simply cannot put a price tag on that. 

Out of approximately one hundred items donated for our adoption auction, one thing in particular caught my eye. A beautiful, quirky antique barn wood organizer made by one of my favorite creative geniuses. I just loved it. I had to have it. I had a plan for it. But, I mean, the auction was being held for our benefit. I bid anyway. 

A sweet Facebook friend (and friend IRL) Randy also began bidding. Although I was ALL about the trash talk and grandstanding that drove some of the items sky high (Thirty dollars for a dozen eggs!) this was different. Darn it, I wanted this organizer. And Rocky, I mean Randy, obviously wanted it too. I bid $36, he bid $37. I bid in Aramaic, he apparently used Google translate. He was unstoppable. Eventually, I stopped bidding. 

But Randy had a secret. No matter how high I bid that gorgeous antique barn wood organizer, he was going to bid a little higher. And despite all of my smack talk and threats to pummel him like a side of beef in a Philly locker circa 1976, in the end I was down for the count. Randy's secret was that he had contacted my friends. He wanted to know what I wanted. He was outbidding me on my own antique barn wood organizer because he wanted me to have it. 

I have been thinking about how my bidding war with Randy is kind of symbolic. God has given us so much. We are blessed beyond belief. But sometimes, I want what I want when I want it. End of story. I bid. What I think I need is out of reach. I bid again. And again. My end game might be something that I feel will bring me peace. God might be trying to give it to me. Telling me that it has been mine all along and that I can stop the searching, or in this case, the bidding. That I need to just wait. Or ask him. 

I cannot put into words how devastating leaving Leticia has been. Honestly, it still is. Emotionally, financially... I fear the toll on her as she waits. She must wonder why we aren't coming for her. We pass messages as we are able and have Skyped, but how is she supposed to comprehend all of this red tape. I don't get it myself. 

Through the love, support and prayers of our sweet friends, we are able to hold on. To stop trying to outbid God on what we want and trust that what he has is best. We know that Leticia is our daughter. We do not like it one bit that she isn't here with us right now, but what comfort to know that God has us all right where we need to be. And trust that he is preparing us all as we wait. 

I am happy to report that my antique barn wood organizer is now hanging in the hallway, exactly where I pictured it the first time I saw it. Hanging on it are the flip flops that fell off of Leticia's feet as she was driven away the last time we saw her. I was sobbing too hard to even notice them, but John did and picked them up from the roadside. The necklace that I mailed her after the very first time we met. The little pink sunglasses she posed in that somehow ended up in my suitcase. A dress that I absolutely love on her. 

Everyday as I pass by these things, they will be a constant reminder that our little girl is in the palm of our savior's hand, and we have faith that she will be home with us soon. She will be wearing her flip flops, hamming it up for the camera in her pink shades, sporting her pretty dress and butterfly necklace.  But most of all, a reminder that we can never outbid the goodness of God. 

Thank you all so much for your support. We love you!

Leaving Leticia

Many friends have called, messaged and emailed me asking how we are doing and what is going on. Not feeling up to an extremely coherent post at this point, but here is what is on my heart. 

Since our departure from Uganda, the last few moments we were able to spend with our daughter have been running on an endless loop in my brain. Although much of the time we spent with her as a family in Uganda was so sweet, this reoccurring mental video is far from pleasant. 

As most of our friends know, because of an immigration denial to classify Leticia as our immediate relative, we were forced to return to the states early to appeal before their deadline. Looking back, we were so naive going into this process. 

After our intense nine hour stint in a Ugandan court, we were elated when the judge awarded us legal guardianship on the spot. I cried, our six wonderful Ugandan friends who showed up to testify on our behalf rejoiced with us, and we were sure that the hard part was over. When Leticia asked if she would finally be flying home to America with us this time, I nodded enthusiastically. 

"John, Kris, Stephen, Daniel, Leticia, Family, airplane, America!" I signed. We were all so excited that she was officially ours! She was a Detrow. We hugged our Ugandan loved ones and the five of us headed to our van, Leticia rolling her little backpack behind her, all of her little things packed and ready to go home to America. 

If only I had not been so presumptuous and answered a little more cautiously. I should have said something along the lines of eventually you will come home, or very soon, or let's pray about that... I could have said a hundred different things. But I told her yes. Essentially, I lied to her. 

The following week held some challenges. One of our boys developed a high fever that involved emergency care and we experienced  some significant issues with our accommodations. Although it was scary and frustrating at times, we were together. And in our minds, in no time at all we would be flying home as a family of five. 

Then we learned of the denial and the tight deadline we had to appeal. How do I tell her? I asked myself. How can we leave her? Already, she would not let me out of her sight. If I had to run to the hotel office or go outside to hang clothes, she was practically my shadow. It was so obvious that she was afraid of being left. Which was exactly what we were preparing to do. 

Over the next few days we gently introduced the idea that we were going to go back to America to "talk to the leaders" about letting her come home. This was the only way I knew to interpret what was going on. She would nod and smile, and then hop back in my lap or ask if we could resume our coloring or go for a walk. Once, when I was again explaining that she would go back and stay with her friends while we figured things out in America, she literally started petting my head and my face, and then proceeded to stroke Daniel, Stephen, and John's heads as well. As if she believed that if she was kind and gentle enough, we would change our minds and bring her home. 

With our immigration appeal deadline rapidly approaching, we changed our ticket dates and made arrangements for Leticia to return to school. Because we are now her legal guardians in Uganda, we had to find someone who would take custody of and be responsible for her on our behalf. Thank God for Pastor Joel. This man has loved Leticia since she was a toddler. He has traveled to remote villages on our behalf to start our adoption process, spent time away from his own family for the sake of ours, and has never stopped encouraging us in this journey, even as he ministers to deaf children in desperate circumstances. 

The day we were to leave Uganda, I remember sitting up in bed and looking at Leticia through the mosquito netting as she slept and wondering if she would ever trust us again. I could hardly wrap my brain around all of the red tape, how could she possibly grasp it? I remember Joel advising me not to show emotion. To be strong for her so that she could also be strong. 

We got up, had a bite to eat and packed our things. As Leticia emptied her drawer, I reiterated to her that she would be staying with Joel and her friends. That we were leaving for now, but I would be back as soon as I possibly could to bring her home. She nodded and smiled. 

Joel and I had decided that it would be far too painful for Leticia to go to the airport this time. Instead, we met at a cafe in Kampala. Traffic, always a nightmare in the capital city, delayed Joel and we sat and ate as we waited. Leticia colored happily. Our driver, all too familiar with the unpredictable congestion of Kampala's streets, started to express concern about getting us to the airport on time. 

Joel finally arrived, and after some brief conversation, he knelt and waited for her to meet his eyes. Again, he explained what was going to happen. Here is where the video that has been looping through my mind starts. I watched as the realization of it began to wash over her beautiful little face. Her lip quivered and tears gathered in her eyes. Leticia, who is tough as nails and does not easily cry, started to wail. 

Working hard to keep my emotions under control, I picked her up, carried her out of the cafe, and tried lamely to console her. I sat her down at one of the outside tables and tried to reassure her that this was temporary. I would be back. We love her. She is our family and we are not abandoning her. That I was so, so sorry. The tears rolled down her little cheeks and despite my best efforts, I lost all composure. 

I will never forget how it felt when Leticia wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me as she sobbed. I sobbed with her. The boys tried to say goodbye and tell her that they loved her and then went to the van with our driver to wait. Joel led John and I down the street to the boda he had taken to meet us. Leticia held on to me so fiercely. Her body shook and she fought for breath as her cries intensified. 

Joel knew we should have been well on our way to the airport. He motioned for me to set Leticia on the boda between him and the driver. Her screams drew a crowd of concerned Ugandans. She would not let go. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to pry her hands from behind my neck and step away. Her arms flailed and she grabbed for me. The boda driver sped away with Joel and Leticia. All of the sudden, she was gone. John and I stood there for a moment until we became aware of the stares of the crowd that had gathered. 

I apologize if this entire post is a mess and comes across as a woe-is-me type thing. Since we have been home, our house has been flooded by a hot water heater, I have been on outpatient (thank God)IV antibiotics for a nasty infection, and Stephen has had an awful allergic reaction to something requiring medical attention. All of it pales in comparison to leaving Leticia. 

Updates from Uganda are sparse due to frequent power outages and the fact that they have to pay for their internet time. Yet another thing we take for granted. The first update I had was that she was crying when she spotted a plane overhead. Sigh. I don't even know how to process all of this. 

Pain has always drawn me closer to my God. I have to say that unfortunately, this seems to have been the exception. I love Him. I trust Him. I know that He is in control. I just feel numb and far away right now. Just honestly where I am. 

Many friends have brought food and sent scriptures. Thank you. Psalm 34 is my staple right now. Please pray with us that we will get the approval from the US that we need to complete our adoption. Please pray for Leticia's spirit and heart as she waits without understanding the details. Thank you for standing in the gap and loving on us. 

The Impossible

As most of my friends know, our family will fly out on Tuesday to be ready for court in Uganda on Friday. Many people have marveled at how everything has fallen into place, and through the lens of retrospection, I can certainly see that. But waiting for passports that came on the very last day, having to finally get our congressman involved with an immigration mess, and the threat of a zillion inches of snow before we take off, well, I guess you could say that we have been a tad bit stressed.  

I know God is leading us. He is teaching us through this to rely on him. That he is in control. That even he, and only he, can cut through the bureaucracy of the US Department of Immigration or the United States Postal Service. (Sorry, John.)

The last month has been filled with doubt for me. We love Leticia and are praying that she will join our family. To us, she is already our daughter. But the last year has brought some daily struggles that leave me feeling like I am not enough. That I can't do this. 

This morning in church, our pastor and friend quoted the late great Charles Spurgeon. "God doesn't want your best," he said. "God wants the impossible." 

Those words were salve to my anxious heart. I have been trying to do my best, giving up, trying again, pushing, pushing, trying, crying, pleading... And then I wonder why I am depleted and feel like a failure. God does not want Kris to try and try and try. He wants me to trust and trust and trust. And although I KNOW this, I get so stuck in a rut of self-reliance and effort. This is one of those lessons that I need to re-test on quite often I'm afraid. 

And by saying that God wants the impossible,  my pastor was in no way implying that everything always turns up roses just because you put your trust in an unfailing God. People get sick, and sometimes die. Way too young. Not because they didn't trust. Things happen. Life is brutal, both for believers and non-believers. Our circumstances in no way dictate our level of faith. 

What he meant by the impossible, to me, this morning, was that I need to stop pretending that I can handle those circumstances in my life that break my heart and make me want to quit. Instead of white-knuckling it, I can walk in his power. And even if no one else knows (because many of our struggles are private), I will know. I will know that my God got me through this. He did this for me. That he did the impossible when I stopped selling him short by trying "my best."

Thank you all for praying for us. We feel those prayers. I especially want to thank some very special friends, Mrs. Karen and Mr. Lyle, who have decided to dedicate half an hour each day to learning sign language so they can communicate with Leticia. That is about the sweetest and most thoughtful thing that anyone has ever done for our family. Thank you. Thank you for the cards, the wonderful shower, the practical support... Everything. 

Anything can happen in the world of international adoption. We are desperately praying that in a month we will fly home with our sweet Leticia. No matter what the outcome, I feel encouraged and strengthened to live out the next month in Uganda through God's strength instead of the feeble best of this most blessed mess. 

Here we go!

Weary and suddenly COLD, I trudged along with my fellow passengers off of the plane that had been our home the last twenty-eight hours. I had set out on trip number three to Uganda with two complete strangers and returned with new friends for life.

I am proud to report that this time I only wept VERY briefly at the airport. Leticia, usually so spunky and full of character and life, just stood there holding my carry-on bag and looking at me with those beautiful dark eyes. So solemn. I wonder if she still trusts me. I know she doesn't understand why she can't come this time. I have tried to explain it, Joel and his wife have tried to explain it, teacher Madrine has tried to help me explain it, but I am afraid to her, the process just makes no sense. 

There are really no signs to adequately convey the steps to her. So in the end, I just told her that I love her, I will be back soon, and that we are praying that the judge and police (not really the best translation, but she doesn't really have signs for court officials, so we just went with that) will allow her to join our family in America forever.

She just blinked and stared at me with those eyes. She seems doubtful. I hug her tightly, but she doesn't return my hug this time. And then they slowly walked away. The teachers disappeared down a stairway, but Leticia stood there at the top, staring at us with her sad eyes until Madrine gently took her hand and coaxed her down. Her eyes were still locked on us until her head bobbed out of sight. 

During the long MISERABLE flight home, I could not get her sad little face out of my head. What was she doing at that moment? What was she thinking? I know her little heart has endured much pain and rejection in her short life. I prayed that she does not perceive my leaving as yet another rejection. 

As I trudged down the plane's narrow isle, I turned on my phone to let John know that we'd finally landed. I was shocked to see an email from our lawyer. We have a court date. With the judge that we have been praying for. On March 7th. As in, LESS THAN ONE MONTH. 

We had been praying for soon, but HOLY COW! This is SOON! So many things to do. The boys need passports. Of course, we should have applied for these sooner. Now they will need to be expedited. We all need plane tickets. The boys need Yellow fever and meningitis vaccinations as well as anti-malaria meds. We need to file an eight-hundred-dollar form with immigration that would make Leticia a citizen and allow us to obtain her passport. We need to figure out where we are going to stay while in Uganda. And on and on and on. The details and arrangements seem endless. 

We have made the decision that we will fly over as a family and attend court together on the 7th. Then the lawyer will give me power of attorney so that John can fly home and work and the boys and I will stay in Kampala to wait. And wait. In a perfect world, they would be able to stay home with family members, but we aren't blessed with any of those who watch the boys, so this seems like the only option. 

If you know our family, you know how much this will STRETCH us! I don't think that I have ever come across a kid that is a greater homebody than my guys are. We don't take vacations. They have never been beyond Ocean City. On those rare occasions that we venture past Frederick, we must always keep a bucket handy, because without fail, one of them will throw up. They don't travel well, and for them, there is no place like home. So, staying in Uganda for weeks on end ought to be... interesting. 

I apologize for being all over the place. My brain is scrambled these days. Happily scrambled. Friends from church have thrown together a shower for Leticia's homecoming, which is such a sweet blessing for us. Many people have been asking what we need. I know that people love to give gifts, and we will need a few things like clothes and shoes. 

Most of all, we need prayer. Prayer that God will provide for every need. He has been so faithful to provide through every step of this very costly process. Prayer especially for my boys. This is going to be tough for them. Shots, insanely long plane rides, their first time in a "third world country." Being away from home, and Daddy and their friends for so long. Please pray that our time there is sweet and that we'll grow closer. That we find a safe and reasonable place to stay. That the boys are able to see this time as an adventure. Also, please pray for their health, both physical and emotional. 

Thank you friends for coming along with us on this journey. We couldn't have made it this far without your generous support. When we first started praying about adopting Leticia, we crunched the numbers and knew that it was impossible. I remember hearing from families that have been through the adoption process already that we should not let the prohibitive cost stop us from pursuing adoption if we felt that we were called to it. At the time, that sounded a bit silly, but looking back, we see the truth of their statement. 

Please continue to pray for us. For Stephen and Daniel. For Leticia. Transitions are tough. Several people have asked if they can still give. Ummm... YES! You can use paypal on our website at http://ironclads.wix.com/signsofhopeuganda. Just comment that the money is to be designated for adoption or send me an email so I know. 

We will do our best to keep you posted. Thanks again! 

The Detrows. John, Kris, Stephen, Daniel, and Leticia. 

The Talk

My husband and I recently decided that it was time to have "The Talk" with our son. Well, not that talk. The autism talk.

At the age of three, one of our twins was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). We immediately scheduled a second opinion. Then insisted on a third. All three experts independently confirmed what we feared. Our son had autism.

We had no clue what this meant. I had never known anyone who had autism before and I'm ashamed to say that the term conjured images of people rocking and growling and refusing any social interaction. So I did what any mom does in such a situation. I googled. My feeble attempts at unraveling the mystery of my boy left me more confused and disheartened than I had been before.

I love the quote, "If you've met one person with autism, you've met one person with autism." Although there are many similarities and symptoms that clinicians use to diagnose the condition, it is considered a spectrum disorder for a reason. The diversity within the spectrum is vast and there is no one-size fits all approach to treating a person with autism.

We have made many mistakes along the way. I read one parenting book insisting that your child make eye contact as a sign of respect and to prove that they were listening. I remember trying to force him to look me in the eye and becoming so frustrated when he refused. I saw it as outright rebellion and it infuriated me. If only I could go back and do things differently. How much kinder, gentler and more patient I would be with him. With both of them, in fact.

Our son (and his sibling) have attended therapy and weekly social skills group since the age of three. We have been blessed with the most amazing and helpful therapist on this earth. What a blessing and encouragement she has been to not only my son, but to us and his twin over the years. Her sunny disposition,  positive outlook, and making much of his strengths while working on his areas of struggle have been invaluable to us. He doesn't remember ever not going to therapy, so I don't think it ever occurred to him that not everyone did. It was just our normal.

But, for the last few years, it has become glaringly obvious to my sweet boy that he is different. He didn't know how to verbalize it, but I could see his frustration. He would watch his twin effortlessly master a skill that he wasn't even ready to start. The give and take of friendship that came naturally to his brother was much harder for him. He required much more direction and discipline. I noticed that he was setting up a system in his mind where he was the bad one, and his twin was the good one. With him, and most kids with ASD, there is only black and white. There is no grey.

The last few months, many of his behaviors have escalated and become much more extreme and obsessive. I won't go into detail in order to respect his privacy, but we were at a loss. When we rang the new year in with yet another horrific meltdown instead of the embraces and merriment that I had envisioned, I knew it was time. Weary and worn, my husband and I decided that tomorrow was the day. We had to have the talk.

We had discussed this previously with his therapist. When was the right time to tell him about his diagnosis? The right way to tell him? Concerned that he would fixate on it, she encouraged us to wait a bit. But we felt that January 1, 2014 was the day. We could no longer allow our boy to believe that he was "bad" or "stupid" or any of the other things that he would often call himself when he failed to get something. And we believed that the negative perception of himself  that he had developed was a huge contributing factor to his behavior.

I wanted to share this (with his permission) for all of the other moms out there in the same boat. I have met many of you in the waiting room at therapy or chatted with you on message boards. Many of us struggled with how to tell our kids that they have a diagnosis. What was the best approach? What was the optimum age? Here is what I did, and so far, I think that it has been a positive thing for our son. There are many strong opinions, especially in the Christian community, about labeling kids. Each parent needs to prayerfully make their own decisions about what to tell their kids and when. For us, the time had come and we see this "label" as no different than a child with diabetes or a peanut allergy.

We decided to divide and conquer. My husband took our "neurotypical" son out to talk to, as well as let him him voice his feelings about being the sibling of a person with ASD, which is often a difficult and frustrating role. I took the other one to his favorite dive, Waffle House, to have our little chat. My palms were sweaty and I think he could tell that I was nervous. I did not want to screw this up and scar him for life.

In preparation for our talk, I had listed approximately ten of the more common symptoms of ASD on a piece of paper. For example, difficulty maintaining eye contact, fixating on objects or subjects of interest, difficulty with fine motor skills... I explained each thing on the list and gave him a highlighter. I asked him to highlight the areas that he felt described him. After much thought, he highlighted each one.

On the other side of the paper, I listed the positive and wonderful things about him. For example, his unparalleled memorization skills, his interest and knowledge about fascinating things such as Angler Fish, the game of Clue and Rod Serling. Oh, the trivia that I know because of this child!  I explained that God had made his brain different than most people. That in some ways, it was better. And that he struggled in certain areas not because he was bad or stupid, but because it was just the way he was wired. I told him how grateful we were for the unique way that he thought and for his perspective on things. I gave it a name. Autism.

I tried to gauge his reaction. He seemed relieved. After asking a few questions, he enjoyed his waffles and didn't say another word about it. Over the next few days he flooded us with questions. Great questions. He openly discussed autism with his twin, who had known about his diagnosis years before. It felt so good to have it in the open instead of tip-toeing around it and treating it like a dirty secret.

His struggles have not magically ceased, but I do believe that he perceives himself in a much more positive light. He gives himself more grace. He has become fascinated with Dr. Temple Grandin. We have watched her movie many times as well as clips of her speaking about the wonders of the autistic mind. He likes to quote her. "Different. Not less."

I share this for parents of kids like my boy who are grappling with when and how to divulge this sensitive information to their special kids. There isn't a lot of out there on the subject, and every child is completely unique. It is so fitting that a puzzle piece has been chosen to represent autism awareness. These kids are indeed precious puzzling creations of God that baffle, amaze and keep us on our toes. Pray, ask for the opinions of those who know your child best, and trust your instincts. God has given you this child for a reason, even if you are, like me, a most blessed mess.