A Healthy Slice of Reality (choccie flavoured)

A few evenings ago I was chatting to my funny, handsome, clever little brother (...all those yummy traits wrapped in a handy John-shaped bon-bon...God, I'd hate him if I didn't love him so much) and the conversation turned towards my favourite subject of autism. Well, OK, maybe I turned the conversation in that direction, but what's a girl to do? I like to talk. And the silly boy was held hostage by my verbal diarrhoea on the other end of the phone. He really should have pressed the mute button.

I talked about how autism had changed the direction of our lives in an utterly unexpected, but not negative way, and waxed lyrical about the strengths and qualities Bob excavated out of us, from depths we may not have plumbed otherwise. I philosophised about how we were forced to face adversity and how we emerged, broken and battered, but intact on the other side of acceptance.
Kind of like the bionic man, only prettier.

Midflow through my poetic stream of consciousness, Bob appeared before me...not clothed in ermine with a halo of gold (as I would have John believe)...but plastered in soot from head to toe, identifiable only by the whites of his eyes.
The poetry was promptly replaced by a string of expletives, that reflected reality more truthfully than all the flowery language I used prior to the chimney-sweeping that Bob occasionally indulges in as a nixer (hey, there's a recession dontcha know).
A healthy slice of Reality Pie had been served, with cream on the side.

Ya know what, with the saccharin removed, it tasted just fine.

One industrial-strength shower (and a text to John advising an emergency vasectomy to forestall any similar chimney-sweeping issue, which I hope he'll ignore) later, I thought "is this what acceptance is?"


...I'm at the crossroads between the philosophical truth that autism forces you to become a bigger person that you ever dreamt possible; that you can embrace what you imagined would be your demons only to find that they are the source of your deepest strengths...
...that, and the harsh reality that you will spend years cleaning poo, teaching your 5 year old to wave "bye-bye" and explaining to onlookers that "no, my child is not a spoiled brat, he's autistic, now kindly PFO".

My Reality Pie was sweetened by the chocolate flavoured kisses I shower Bob with...there's always a smudge of choccie spread on him somewhere.

NOTE TO SELF
I must talk to John more often XXX