I’ve really missed writing here, and I hope all you lovely people are well and surviving whatever life has been throwing at you recently. Sometimes survival is as good as it gets.
I’d like to say I’ve not been blogging as we’ve been away on a long, exotic holiday – but that would be a big whopper of a lie 
I’ve been at home with JJ and his dad, playing my multiple roles of emotion-juggler, serial-worrier, people-pleaser, budget-stretcher, financial-magician, flexible-scheduler, brain-fog-athlete and… oh yeah, parent-carer.
But OH, the irony of starting the summer holidays busily re-recording my videos about *coping with distressed behaviour* for my new YouTube channel, and then having to stop re-recording them as we were experiencing *so much distressed behaviour* with JJ and I just couldn’t bring myself to think about it objectively…
So… how’s your summer break been?! 
The summer is always a mixed bag of emotions with a PDAer, and not having too many plans or expectations definitely helps. Lower your expectations people, go on, a bit lower. Lower. Just a bit more…yeah, that’s about right!
For JJ and I, it pretty much feels like any other day/week/month as he’s not been in school properly since March 2020. His dad being home for six weeks is the only major difference in our lives. But, as I’m sure many of you can understand, this change in family dynamics can really alter the vibes in the house. It took JJ over three weeks to acclimatise to Sal being at home, and during that period he was unable to control his emotions very well.
He’s also still coming to terms with the house move which happened at the end of May and will often ask me again and again why we had to move and is quite resentful about some aspects of his new life.
He turned 12 this week, and although the run-up was painful for him (despite all the accommodations) he managed to have the outdoor laser-tag party he wanted. And I can honestly say (as I was playing) that it was the most fun I’ve had in a looong time!
And as he only had three friends to invite, shout out to some wonderful adult friends for mucking in and running around a baking hot field with machine guns and rifles 
He’s also starting school in ten days. TEN days. Just writing that makes my heart rate increase…
We’ve done mainstream primary for three years.
We’ve done Waldorf Steiner for two years.
We’ve done a failed start at specialist for…a few weeks.
We’ve done EOTAS (sort-of).
And we’re about to get back on the horse again at the aforementioned specialist school. I say ‘we’ as this isn’t just about JJ; going to school when you have EBSA affects the whole family. It ripples out and can have lasting negative effects which never truly seem to go away.
But…this is his choice. He says he wants to try again; he’s bored, oh-so-very-BORED at home, and also very lonely. He also – and this breaks my heart – thinks he’s ‘dumb’ as he doesn’t have much education.
Of course we’ve told him he’s bright as a button, and that education doesn’t have to mean school. He knows all this. But, something inside him makes him feel less, and ‘othered’, by not going to school. And I can’t make him feel differently, no matter how hard I try.
We’ve arranged a very, very gentle transition. One hour a day, Monday-Thursday, for the first week. Then we review with him and take it from there. The school have just undergone new PDA training and have a new ‘PDA Baseroom’ for the PDAers to retreat to when they need some space.
It all sounds good on paper… forgive me for being cynical and all that. Sorry, not sorry.
I will wait in the car park.
Shout out to all the parents of neurodivergent children who have spent more time in school car parks than any human being should ever have to! I swear just passing a school car park triggers some deep-seated PTSD in me…
For the first time in JJ’s ‘school journey’, I will keep my hopes and dreams for him firmly to myself.
I will not exert one tiny ounce of pressure on him.
There will be no ‘tough love’ from me.
There will be no bribery and there will certainly be no guilt.
I can honestly say that if he goes, he goes – and we will support him in every way I can.
If he chooses not to go because it’s impossible for him, then we will accept him with open arms.
Being out of the school system for three and a half years is a place I never thought we’d be. Together we’ve had some crashing-into-the-abyss lows and some tiny, beautiful moments I’ve crystallised in my brain forever.
The worst-case scenario isn’t that bad anymore as I’ve lived it. And we’ve survived. And even thrived in some ways too.
Tick, tock, the school car park countdown is on..
A Boy Less Ordinary 