Last Monday I walked through the grocery store feeling like a weight was crushing my chest, a tight lump in my throat the only thing between me and tears. And part of me wanted to self-indulgently sit there on the linoleum floor under the flicker fluorescent lights and cry, much the same way that I'll both fear and crave the relief of vomiting during a wave of nausea. For the second time this year, a babysitter had dumped us because she found my son Austen's autistic behavior too difficult to handle.

The grocery store I was in wasn't the one closest to my home. It was an additional twenty minutes further away, because the one closest to my house was all out of strawberry Yoplait, one of the three foods Austen will eat (and not just eat reliably, but eat at all). I'd had a clerk check the stockroom and then check with the store in the next town before making the drive to the store in which I now clutched my cart wanting to cry.

It had been the sitter's first attempt at watching the kids, and I'd been satisfied that everything went just fine.  She had experience working with autistic children in the past, and both children seemed to take to her from the start.  There seemed to have been a few rough patches, but it didn't strike me that the kids or the sitter had a particularly difficult night and the sitter, even at the end of the evening, seemed interested in learning more about how to work with Austen.  But this morning I'd been informed that she did not want to come back because the job was too difficult.

Too difficult?  Is that what my life is?  Here I was having driven an extra twenty minutes each way to the grocery store because my son's eating issues are so severe, and I have a babysitter who has worked with autistic children before seeming to say to me (through her actions) that my son is worse than any of them.  Am I in another one of those situations, like living with an addict, where we start to think that everyone secretly drives raging drunk or tries to pick up prostitutes or does drugs with their kids because that's all we see, where the bizarre and unacceptable become normal?

I remembered the babysitter asking about whether Austen's behavior was better at school than at home and wondering, "Was she saying it was my fault?  Did she think if I'd worked harder, if I were smarter, if I were more skilled, if I set up a different structure, if I were stricter, if I trained him better, everything would be different?  (I'll work harder, I'll do better, please love me!)  Does she think I'm a bad mom?  But the beloved sitter she was replacing used to tell me what great work I was doing and how blessed our family was..."

And I actually started to tally the sitters up: "Two quit this year, but three started and love us.  One stayed on from last year (the one who had just moved, whose eyes would glow with enthusiasm when she talked about our family) and in past years no one had ever quit; they got pregnant or moved or started school... But maybe things are getting worse?  Oh, this isn't helping!  Am I in denial?  Is my life crazy or just life?  Am I bad or am I good or am I... (damn!) looking to other people to tell me what is real and whether I'm doing the right thing for my son."

It didn't help that tightness in my chest or that longing for tears to dissipate to know that I was looking to other people (rather than myself and my God) for definition and approval.  I still desperately wanted to know what I couldn't know: that I was doing the "right" things, that my son would be ok in the way I (not God) wanted him to be ok, that he'd be able to get along in the world on his own someday.  But it did help me to see that, wherever I am on my journey as a parent, the answer is not going to come from taking a tally of what babysitters think of my family, but in feeling confident in myself and my higher power.

Just as we've found a method that works for us for finding childcare for our son Austen, who is autistic, we've (slowly) developed a method for training our sitters so that the visit goes as smoothly as possible both for our children and the sitter. Needless to say, that doesn't always work, but it didn't take many unpredictable, colicky, newborn days with my son to realize that all I can do as a parent is increase the odds of success, not guarantee them.

Step one begins before the babysitter walks through the door. I schedule new sitters' visits for a day on which Austen knows that Mark and I usually go out for a date or a meeting. Sitters are aware prior to arrival that Austen is autistic (I tend to pick sitters who already have some familiarity with autism) and they are also informed as to how he prefers to be addressed. (New people make him nervous, so it helps if I can get them to placate him right from the start.) Of course, Austen also has to be informed that a new sitter is coming, and -- much in the same way I handle the dreaded doctor's visits -- I prefer to tell him about ten minutes before the sitter's arrival. This gives him a little warning, but not enough time to work himself into a panic (or a frenzy of excitement). He is almost always thrilled to hear that a favorite sitter is coming and almost always despondent when I tell him someone new is scheduled to arrive, but I've reminded him so often that his old favorites were once new too, that he will sometimes repeat this mantra to me before I do.

When the sitter arrives, hm, I'd like to say that I'm well prepared and welcome them cheerfully into my orderly home, but I think I come off as flighty, at best, as my own overtaxed system is pulled in a thousand different directions by competing demands. That's why I have it all written down. So, I don't have to think on my very tired feet. Some people have emergency phone numbers posted in the house, I leave sitters with a reference manual and a house labeled with post-it notes. I may talk at the sitters in a scattered way until their eyes glaze over, but like an instructor doing a quick introductory overview of detailed course material to come, I leave them with documentation: a textbook, a course outline, notes.

Want to know everything from my kids' bedtime routines to how to work the television? It's written down and posted where babysitters can access it. Training is a walk through the house, with guide book in hand, as I point out the little snags that may come their way: "This is the kitchen. Beware the microwave! Although it is necessary for food preparation, it is also a source of OCD rituals, as detailed in the affixed post-it. Here is the bathroom. Be aware that children may enter this area fully clothed, but leave naked from the waist down. A verbal reminder is sometimes sufficient, but the visual cue of pants themselves may be necessary. Consult your manual for details. This is the kids' room. This light must not be turned off under penalty of death. Note the post-it. Also, do not lose the lovies. I'm showing them to you now. Memorize their plush faces, monitor their movements at all times and guard them as if they were another child, for there is no sleep without them. I've documented a harrowing tale of terror called 'The Babysitter Who Couldn't Find Gigi' for your edification." That's all slightly tongue in cheek of course, but only slightly. (She says, slightly tongue in cheek yet again. Or not.)

The most common comment I receive from new babysitters is "Wow, you're organized," which I always take as code for "You're a completely insane control freak." (Although when Austen melts down, Mama's careful prep work starts looking a whole lot less crazy.) Once sitters complete the initial tour, I leave them for a while to get acquainted with the kids while I putter around. After all parties have successfully survived the orientation and getting to know you phases -- if all is mutually satisfactory, and if my gut check checks out (I always trust it) -- we're ready to try leaving them, instruction book and emergency cell phone numbers in hand as we head out. Given the amount of time that goes into finding, training and getting everyone used to each other, I try to cling to the good sitters -- the ones who quickly get him without the guide book -- for dear life.

And of course, all of this reminds me: we have a new sitter coming, and given the meltdown that led to the last sitter's departure, I know my manual needs revising.

When my son Austen was two, my husband disclosed his addiction and spent a morning on the phone desperately looking for a marriage therapist willing to see us on a weekend. But once we had that appointment, having no family nearby, we had to spend another crazed interval looking for someone who could watch Austen while we went out. And I still remember how I, unable to bear speaking to anyone, I covered my puffy, red eyes in sunglasses and waved from the car, like a devastated celebrity, while Mark dropped Austen off with some friends of ours.

There's nothing like having your marriage almost fall apart to scare you into spending time working on it (and nothing like falling apart yourself to scare you into working on yourself). And thus began our own need for regular, reliable childcare. But where to find the right person? We've tried a number of methods, as have other friends with special needs children, and (without giving away any anonymity blowing details) here are some things that have either worked for us or for others:

• Post "sitter wanted" notices at local colleges, universities or training schools. Look for places that offer programs in child development, nursing, occupational therapy, speech therapy, psychology, etc. Students in these programs will be most likely to be interested in (and most likely to be skillful at) caring for children with special needs.
• Ask friends with special needs children if they know a good sitter.
  
• Ask your child's teacher or school for leads.
• Use a private nanny or sitter agency. Private agencies can sometimes help find caregivers for children with special needs. There are even some agencies who specialize in finding help for special needs children. Be sure to let the agency know what your child's needs are so they can help find the best match.
• Check for respite services available in your state.

The advantage of using an agency or service is that most will do some type of pre-screening in the form of: an interview, a background check, a reference check or some combination of all of these. (When hiring my sitters I make sure to do all of these, either myself or in combination with an agency.) The disadvantage of private agencies is the higher cost of their services, while the disadvantage of state or local agencies is that you may not have the same individualized choices available with your own search or a private agency.

In addition, some states subsidize respite care services for individuals with disabilities, so getting out may not be as expensive as you think. I was not able to find a nice, easy nationwide "who to contact" database, but a state Department of Health and Human Services or Social Services or a state agency dealing with disability services is a good place to start.

In the six years since that day when we dropped Austen off with friends for an hour to rush out to the emergency therapy session that started us on the road to saving our marriage and sanity, we have made an effort to go out kid-free (for therapy, meetings, religious/spiritual services or just date nights) once a week. So, we've had ample opportunity to try many of the methods above for finding sitters. We have had a number of wonderful sitters, who were with us for years and whom we've been deeply sorry to lose when they had to move on, and we've had some truly awful ones who didn't make it past the first visit. And we've found a method for finding sitters that works for our individual family. So, in spite of the fact that we lost a sitter recently, I do know that we have a very good process for replacing her.

Next up... Training a babysitter to watch a special needs child...