Posts by Kate Swenson

Kid, I spend a lot of time thinking about the things you cannot tell me. There are little things. Like why you point to certain clouds or put your ear up to the wind and laugh. There are big things too. Like why you hit your head in frustration. Does it hurt? Do you hear something I cannot? I wonder why you like trains so much. I wonder why you carry the DVD cases but don’t watch the movies. I wonder if you are lonely. I wonder if you get…

My son Cooper, Last night was one of those special nights. I was outside in the backyard pushing your younger siblings on the swings when I heard you come outside. Slow at first. You wandered to a deck chair and sat down. Then to the stairs leading down the deck. I think you found a fly. It must have landed on you because I heard you gasp and giggle than shake your hand to the sky and point. You wandered some more. Never in a straight line. In fact I…

You think the big things are the most important. The ones that will make the most impact. I used too. Speaking. Joining a group or team. Driving a car. Graduating. First job, first love, first house. Those are the milestones we work towards. Right? And yes, of course they are important. But as I grow into being the best mom for my autistic son, and watch him grow into himself, I realize it’s the little things that make the biggest difference in our world. That make the most impact on…

This morning my son Cooper had his first day of 7th grade. He was ready early. I dressed him. I packed his lunch. I put his speech device in his bag. And I wrote his name on his things. He posed for a picture in front of the fireplace holding two train guidebooks and a whiteboard full of his dreams. When the bus pulled up, he gasped. He waved goodbye to me as his dad led him hand-in-hand to the bus. I cried. I cried for his vulnerability. I cried…

‘I’m sorry I’m crying…this is so unlike me. This has just never happened before.’ Those were the words I said to a fellow mom today. I didn’t know her. I just knew it was her children on the raft that my son Cooper was swimming out too. It took me a second to catch my breath. My sunglasses hiding my tears. Then I said… ‘My son. His name is Cooper. He is swimming out to play with your boys. Your husband invited him but he didn’t respond. See he’s autistic…

‘Mom! Did you know that my brother doesn’t talk?’ I’ll be honest when he said it to me I burst out laughing. It caught me off guard. The innocence of it. He had just come up from downstairs. Four years old. Spikey blonde hair. A dimple on his left cheek. A red and blue Spiderman costume a size too small. The younger brother to an older brother with nonverbal autism. ‘For real mom! I was just with Cooper for SO LONG and he didn’t say one word! Did ya know?…

My son Cooper doesn’t have a lot to say verbally. But he’s always communicating. Sometimes it’s a point or a wave. A sound. A facial expression. A click of a button. A stomp of a foot. He’s always listening too. He hears everything. In fact he’s incredibly nosey. He nods sometimes. Or smiles at something we’ve said. Or even scowls. He waves to everybody. And if he really likes you, you will get the nuggets hug. He raises a finger in the air for yes. A fist in the air…

One of the things I adore the most about my son Cooper is the way he gets excited over things. Things that most people may not think are all that big of a deal. Like a cow in a field. Or when it rains. The wind in his hair. A tractor. When we drive by Target. A train t-shirt. A crane. A green light. People who look like Santa. Halloween decorations tucked away in a closet. Photos of mom and dad as awkward teenagers. And when his people join him…

I’m often asked how my son Cooper is doing. Typically it’s from a friend or family member. Someone we haven’t seen in a while. They ask the question entirely with love. I’ll tell them he is doing great. That he rides a horse named Winston. And plays baseball with his brother. And is starting seventh grade soon. I brag about how he is communicating in his own ways and typing words into YouTube and cracking my amazon password. He adores his brother Sawyer and likes to cause trouble with Harbor…

‘Will his autism go away?’ That’s what the woman asked me. In front of 200 people. Honestly, you could have heard a pin drop as the heads in the room snapped from her to me. And I practiced the pause. I was presenting at a conference down south to a large group of folks who work with kids and adults like my son Cooper. The presentation I had just finished was called Finding Joy in the Secret World of Autism. For 90 minutes I shared my story. And my boy.…