Choose To Laugh

As Mark walked into the garage to get in the car, he took a detour. He walked out to the trash cans that had been emptied early by the trash collectors. 

Since I had put two cans out, I suggested he take the one in while I take the other. 

I soon noticed, however, that his hand was on the handle of one of our cans, but his eyes were on something else: the neighbor’s trash can. 

A nearby neighbor had not brought her can in, and Mark must have thought it was time for the empty ones to be put away. 

Before I knew it, he was running to the neighbor’s can and putting it in our garage. 

“That isn’t our can," I said. "That belongs at the neighbor’s house.”

I could read that my boy, who is often flexible, was having trouble in that moment switching gears. 

I knew my embarrassment over the fact that someone might see me walking after my large son to the neighbor’s trash can was real but bearable, but I also knew I was not up for the possibility of a public tug-of-war over a trash can that wasn’t even mine. 

"Mark, I need for you to get in the car," I said. Fortunately, he did.

"Shary, I need for you to walk the can back to its driveway and then get in the car," I told myself. 

By the time I got in the car, Mark was relaxed and talking about the day. 

Ironically, I handle the massive challenges and the heartbreaking losses of autism with courage and class, while the goofy little stuff slowly wears me down. I don’t have time to dwell on these moments, though, and I can’t let myself have chronic stress. 

Mark needed redirection to get in the car and prepare for what he had to do next. So did I. 

If Mark must learn to cope with a trash can being where he doesn’t think it should be, then his mom must learn to cope if the trash can gets where she knows it shouldn’t be from time to time.

Mark chose to get in the car. I chose to laugh. Life’s too hard and too short not to do so.