This blog is about a family of two loving parents, two sister schnauzers, a persian, and a very loved young man who faces severe autism daily, sometimes better than others. We will relive the lows, laughs, and joys of our "normal" life. Always under the hand of God.


Fireworks in July

I got to sit on our front porch with my son this evening.

I actually went running out there when I realized he was throwing everything he could reach over the banister. And just laughing! He thought it was so funny to watch it hit the ground. Especially our new potted plant.

I tried to explain to him that you do not throw things. You could break something. Do not throw. You may hurt someone. We do not … A schnauzer just went through the air. (Thankfully, a carving and not a pet.)

I realized then that my son does not have a clue what “don’t” means. He was trying to please me by throwing, which is the only word he could process. I could tell by looking at his face that he wanted to please me. He just can’t understand.

I have heard that when someone is running at the pool or doing something dangerous, you don’t say “Don’t run!” You say, “Walk.” And that is easier for them to process. But sometimes we don’t have the words to get ideas across to our son.

I rescued everything else in arms length and sat down to enjoy … him. Madison was rocking back and forth just so happy. He looked at me and pointed to the sky, “Pretties,” he said.

‘Pretties’ is his word for fireworks. He wanted to watch the fireworks display for the Fourth of July.

Two problems. First, it was seven-thirty, still daylight. He then pointed to the sky and said, “Black.” Now his daddy will do a lot for him but he will have to go to his bigger Daddy to make the sun go down. I guess he thought we had a switch I could use. Now, Mommy, she can probably fix it.

The other problem, it is the Fifth of July. I guess Madison wanted a repeat of last night. Last night we had three areas near us that kept shooting for about thirty minutes each.fireworks

Several years ago he watched the fireworks from one of our dining room windows and for a week, yes seven days, he would go back at dusk to the same window and sit for several hours waiting. The boy can be very patient.

So I sat with him on our porch and wondered how long we should sit before I tell him they won’t be shooting them tonight. My explaining things to him was seeming to be working so well. But we sat. I talked. He watched the sky calling for black. On the fifth…

Boom! You have got to be kidding me. Boom, boom! Who would be shooting fireworks tonight, after the holiday and rain coming and …


Madison was laughing and rocking back and forth, watching the sky.

And I, I dropped my questions and doubts and sat with my son and watched the fireworks of the Fifth.

Sometimes hope … works.

If you read this and don’t mind, please leave a comment saying “Hi” to Madison. Thanks.