My son L has been saving up for a Lego Agent set. It was about $135 retail when he first decided he wanted it and he madly set about thinking up jobs he could do for us to earn a few extra bucks. Over the past two months, L has put every cent aside for his Lego Agent set and has dedicatedly set about putting mulch around trees, watering the new garden, weeding, washing the cars, cleaning the insides of the cars, helping his brothers with tasks, helping move rocks to a retaining wall etc to earn a few dollars here and few dollars there.

One day he put fliers in all the neighbours letterboxes advertising a “dog walking service”. He didn’t get any bites (pardon the pun) but mostly because our neighbours were worried about the size of L as opposed to the size of their dogs. One day a couple of Pomeranian dogs wandered into our yard and L looked after them with gusto. When the owners came to claim their dogs, they gave him $15 which wss quickly added to his stash.

He had saved over $100 and so, the other day, Wayne went out and bought him the set and we hid it away in our cupboard. Wayne asked him today, to bring out the money he had earned and count it for us. So out came the box and every cent was counted, but there was $17 missing. The $17, it turned out, had mysteriously made its way into A’s piggy bank. A was adamant that he had found it under the bed. L was angry and upset that his precious money had been taken from his room but we calmed him down and explained that A simply didn’t understand the value of money (we were secretly glad that L did now).

Then Wayne brought out the lego set. L’s eyes went wide. We told him that he had done such a fantastic job of saving that we had decided to get it for him and pay for the rest (about $15 difference in the end). He sat there and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked over the huge, shiny, box. He was so overwhelmed with joy and disbelief, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe it. He finally had his lego set after saving all this time. He couldn’t believe that we had already bought it for him. Money was exchanged and a very happy eight year old set about putting the set together. He’s still going and probably won’t stop for hours.

At lunch L very spontaneously turned to us and said “Thank you for getting me the Lego Agent set.” My heart swelled with pride.

It’s not easy for most children to save, be gracious about a theft, understand the importance of a gift well earned and say “thank you” on their own terms but it is even harder for a very ego-centric child with Aspergers Syndrome. I am so proud of L. Not only has he learned the value of earning money, he has learned the value of working for something, the value of the different notes and coins, he has learned how to market his services and promote a business and he has learned about grace, kindness and love.

I haven’t done the peak hour commute to and from the city for nine years but last Thursday, I had the opportunity to don some “work” clothes, park my car at the train station and get the express to Central Station.

Not a day has gone by that I’ve missed going into the city for work. I’ve been into the city on the odd day to see Wayne at work or to attend an appointment at doctor row on Wickham Terrace, but walking around, watching office employees as they went about their daily grind, seemed really surreal to me. Everyone was dressed the same and had the same look of “just get me to the end of the day so I can self-medicate” written on their faces. To think, I used to be one of them, religiously following the same routine every morning. Nine years ago, I would get my muffin from the Muffin Break shop as I waddled to work (I was pregnant) on the other side of town. I would always take the same route and would always wait in the same place when catching the train home. Routines provide some comfort in a world full of strangers.

I could tell, last Thursday that I was an unwelcome site in the train carriage, an extra person taking up a precious seat, someone they hadn’t seen before. Who is she and will she be coming back again? I wondered what I would think if a stranger wandered into my routine world like that, unannounced.

When I headed for Central Station in the afternoon, I watched as everyone grabbed their free daily paper and rushed to their platforms. On the train, I looked out the window at a view I had not seen for years, mused over how that view had changed in nine years, and secretly admired the skill in some of the graffiti lacing the walls. Most just read their papers, head down, eyes averted, until they could escape the carriage and head home.

When I got home, it was 6.30pm. Wayne, who had taken the day off so I could speak at a conference, had made me dinner and the boys were bathed and ready for bed. I had seen them last at 7am but they were happy and running around as usual. Had they even missed me?

Soon, I may be faced with the prospect of having to make this experience my own routine and it’s a daunting prospect. I love my rural home, the activist work I do and raising my boys myself. I love working a few hours a week in a paid job that doesn’t infringe on my family’s needs. I love working from home and having my lunch breaks out on the deck, overlooking the river valley. I love working in solitude and silence. The thought of having to hand my boys over to others for 12 hours of the day so I can join the daily rush, surrounded by strangers is heartbreaking for me. Can I really do this? Do I really have to? On the flipside though, I’m curious about this other world. I’m curious about whether my experience from the last nine years– doing on and off PR work and research work, some paid, some not—will be taken seriously or whether I’ll be cast into the box of “mothers trying to return to the work force” forever more.