“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.” Martin Luther King Jr.

Let’s get this straight: I hate autism. I mean really hate, not like I hate olives, or I hate drivers that tailgate. I mean, loathe. Despise. Autism is frustrating and confusing and exhausting. It is burdensome and restrictive. It breaks my heart when I see my kids struggle, and I think of all the stuff they still have to face. I would trade and/or pay just about anything for it to disappear.

But it won’t. So here we are. So let’s just try to look on the bright side of things. When you have two children with special needs, you either wallow, or you try to thank God for your blessings.

My daughter doesn’t know how to hate people, or to judge them. She doesn’t know how to lie or to be rude (at least not intentionally). She isn’t materialistic, and she doesn’t want something because someone else has it. In fact she wants very little — a few of her favorite toys and DVDs, a handful of foods, a comfy bed. And she loves people who love her back, unconditionally. All you have to do to work your way into my daughter’s heart is to see her, I mean really see her. Get down on her level and try to communicate/interact with her, regardless of her inability to verbalize.

My son, who has Asperger’s, is very different from my daughter, with so many wonderful things about him as well. He is the most polite and friendly 17-year-old you will ever meet — I swear. He is super smart. When he becomes interested in something, he learns everything he can about it. And he remembers every detail. He is a musician and a music lover, and he knows the year a band got a new drummer, the album a song is on, where a guitarist was born. He loves movies, and so he learns all the characters and the actors’ names. He knows what day a movie came out or will come out.

Both of them often have it harder than others. Things that “normal kids” — whatever that is — easily learn takes them longer, or need to be taught in different ways for them to understand it. My daughter is being taught words in a backward way — first she recognizes a picture of something, then she recognizes the word under the picture, then they remove the picture and she is taught to recognize just the word. It is a slow, painstaking process.

My son often reads his English schoolbooks listening to an audio version that helps him understand better. He had some social skills challenges that required some group therapy to learn strategies, but the change in him has been remarkable. My kids are incredibly eager to learn, they just need someone willing to teach them in a way they can understand.

In our home, we celebrate every milestone. Every single thing learned is an achievement. My daughter last week began putting her dishes in the sink or the trash (though I have to go through the garbage can afterward because she tends to throw out the silverware with the paper plate). And she taught herself this week to raise the volume on her iPad (though now she turns it up full blast so EVERYONE in the house can enjoy her Sesame Street/Barney songs.)

My son formed a band with some friends last month, and he’s got a gig coming up as well. He’s graduating high school in June and has been accepted into an incredible program at our community college for kids who need extra help.

So in addition to all the amazing things about my very special children, let me tell you about the amazing impact they’ve had on me. I am stronger, more patient, more tolerant, more compassionate and more appreciative than I ever knew I could be.

Some days I feel like Superwoman. With four hours sleep last night, I was up to make sure my son ate before he jumped on the school bus (As it turns out, he was already up, because he wakes up the same time every day without an alarm clock; and he got his own breakfast today). So I got myself ready, then I woke and dressed and fed my daughter before she went to school. Then I’m off to a full-time job that’s fast-paced, stress-filled and somehow perfect for me.

I, though, am far from perfect. I lose my temper, I get frustrated, and occasionally I have to lock myself in my room and just cry. I forget to give my daughter her medication and I snap at my son when he repeats something for the fourth time. I take my stress out on my husband and I’ve been known to drink a bit too much on the few nights my kids aren’t in my care. I make mistakes. And still, I know something without a doubt. I am a good mom and a good person. Better than I ever would have been.