Becoming a part of Trusera is an exciting venture for me. While I have been blogging about autism and my family for a few years, this site brings my thoughts into focus on Asperger's as a specific health issue. I like that. Autism is behavioral, yes; but it is easy to lose site of the fact that there are medical and psychological issues invovled that we are not always able to see. As a parent, I sometimes forget that and need to be reminded.

My children have similar autism-related issues, yet these manifest themselves differently in each child. As such, the way I deal with the challenges that arise varies not only between the children but with the circumstances. It isn't an exact science. The medical community certainly has difficulty with this aspect as do parents who want a set of guidelines for dealing with their special needs children.

I know ... consistency is the key to raising children who understand their boundaries. But that is not necessarily true with Asperger's. My young Aspergians cannot explain what motivates their behavior, nor can they accurately describe what is wrong when they feel sick, frustrated, angry, or sad. Each scenario must be examined situationally and dealt with that same way.

Yesterday, I had lunch duty for my daughter's kindergarten class. This was the first time she has seen me at school since the year began, and she was elated ... at first. We hugged when she entered the cafeteria, and she proudly led me to her table. As she began eating, I walked around the room opening yogurt containers and thermouses and helping to keep the children focused on eating and picking up after themselves.

Soon, my daughter got up from her seat and walked over to me. She hugged me and said, "Mom, I really love you." I melted. My heart was butter. As we walked hand-in-hand back to her table, she started to cry. She knew that I would be leaving in the afternoon for a business trip, and she didn't want me to go.

The parent of a typical child probably would have given her kid a hug, sent her back to her seat, and continued helping the other children. (Fortunately, there were half a dozen other moms there to take over for me!) And that would probably work for a child who can understand that their mother would be returning home after her trip. Pat her head and tell her you'll bring her a surprise, and she's already forgotten the sadness that you are leaving and has moved on to the excitement of the surprise that awaits.

But my children cannot rationalize it that way. My absence is such a profound change in the routine for them, that it throws everything off balance, especially for my daughter. Routine is so important. Changing one element of it affects the entire day.

For the remainder of the period, she struggled to keep her sobs quiet, but the tears just came flooding - from both of us. I stayed with her for the rest of our brief lunch time together, then walked her to the recess line.

I asked her, "What will make this easier for you?"

"I want you to be there when I get home from school, Mommy," she sniffled. Although I had planned to leave for the airport before she got home, it was a simple request. Ten minutes would not make a difference to the airline, but it would to her. So I stayed an extra half hour to watch "Little Bear" with my kids after school. Then we hugged good-bye.

No more tears. No more sadness. A successful transition.

I don't always have the freedom to change my schedule or do things exactly the way they want them done, but if I think carefully not only about my children's words but also about the fears and anxieties that are behind them, the answers are almost always there. Listening with my heart is not something I learned to do overnight. It takes practice and introspection, and it can take me to a different level of consciousness that strengthens my understanding of their challenges and of the bond between us.

The one thing I know for certain about all of the experiences with my children, my heart has never been wrong.