The Prize at the End of the Obstacle Course

I often think of my life with autistic twins as a bit like an obstacle course.

The starting gun was fired at diagnosis - and we were off! Weaving in and out of appointments, crawling under the net when it came to teaching social skills in a gentle way...jumping through hoops to get them Statemented, crawling through the tunnel of language acquisition slowly but steadily, climbing a tall wall to understand the whys and wherefores of behaviour, with all the slipping points along the way, and splashing through the sensory quagmire that defines Alec's brain.

Some weeks it feels as if I'm on an obstacle course like this 24/7. You've just emerged triumphant from one little issue and another pops its head up. To use another analogy, it's a bit like playing ping pong by yourself with a few too many balls.

I felt like this this morning, as I knew that I had to be in two places at once. Drop Bobby off at school, then drop Alec at school, then whizz back to Bobby's school for his first appearance in assembly for about a year. He had made a special request that I turned up, and being late obviously wasn't an option. The whole operation that involves getting Bobby to stand up in front of people hangs in such a delicate balance that a little thing like me crashing in ten minutes late could upset the entire (momentous) occasion.

As if sensing my hurry, Bobby pipes up in the car: "Mum, what is God?"

Because that's the sort of philosophical question that I really want to answer at 8.45am on a Friday morning when I have to be in two places at once.

Still, I made a passable attempt at an answer that nodded to his need for something that wasn't too abstract.

Flying back from Alec's school, I was cut up on a roundabout by some rude woman who had no idea that my life was an obstacle course. "YOU CERTAINLY AREN'T IN AS MUCH OF A HURRY AS ME, LUV!" I cursed, as my car skidded on two wheels towards the school.

Jumping inside the school hall, I was just in time to witness the opening moments of assembly and experience the warm feeling that happens when Bobby's little face recognises mine and adopts an 'all is right with the world' expression.

There aren't many moments when you get to see very clearly how far your little person has come in the last five years - this was one of them. Bobby, the one who was always doing the opposite of everyone else; Bobby, the one who used to fly off the stage the minute his line was over, or who refused point blank to join his friends at the front. The one who not so long ago had dragged a fellow cast member off the stage by his leg...Here he was, introducing the class presentation. Saying his lines loudly, clearly, with feeling. Then leading the singing right at the front, at the top of his voice - remembering all the words, confident and clear.

And then finally, the piece de resistance...running to centre stage at the end and thanking all the parents for coming (including his mum, who got a special mention), finishing with a deep bow.

Sometimes I stagger under those obstacle course nets, I climb those tricky walls even when I really don't feel like it, I crawl through tunnels when I've had better days and it seems like everyone else has it so much easier.

And then he does that.

And it's all worthwhile.