I’m a single mama who is definitely single, and plans to stay that way for a long while.
I’m giving up on dating until I get my life into some semblance of organized. I’m so stressed dealing with everything that has to be done to care for my children and my everyday life and my job that I don’t have the time to devote to properly dating someone.
I don’t have a reliable babysitter. I don’t have the energy to try to care for and split my time between one more person.
I didn’t feel the same way about him that he did me. I didn’t want to hurt him but I would have hurt him worse by not being honest and stringing him along.
So now I’m going to finish what I need to do for me and my kids. I’m going to devote my free time to creating a PEC system for my boys. I’m going to get my funds together to order the things they need at home to begin some therapy with me.
I’m going to take a little time just for myself at least once a month. I’m going to get out of the house and go do something that makes me happy for a little while.
I’m going to get that damn camera I want so bad when my taxes come back.
I’m going to get the iPad for my boys and get the apps downloaded so that I can work with them and build their language and their comprehension.
I’m going to turn this around and make it something better. I feel like I can do this. I can do this myself. I’m a warrior mama. I’m gonna DO this.
Cheer me on, my friends. I need inspiration. Autism mamas and daddies, tell me a story about how much your kids have improved and what you did to help them. Share your favorite websites with me. Tell me the toys that have worked for you. Tell me the things that didn’t work for you. Lay it all on me.
Push me to be a better parent. Push me to do this the way that I know I can. Force me to get off my ass and be the change I want to see in my kids. I need to do this for them. I need to do this for me. I need to prove to myself that I’m everything my children need me to be and more.
**RAWR!!!!**
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Confirmation...
“limited interaction with his peers”
“cried and threw himself on the floor”
“did not respond to verbal redirection”
“communication was primarily focused on his wants and needs”
“limited meaningful eye contact”
“the amount of give-and-take conversation was limited”
“flat affect”
“object-oriented and limited response to questions”
“demonstrated mildly anxious reaction”
“tasks were similar to those of a three-year, four-month-old child” (They are almost 4 years 6 months.)
“lack of fine motor skills displayed in use of writing and drawing tools”
“transitioning and initiating tasks can be difficult”
“Below Average”
“Delayed”
“0.04 percentile” (Highest was 18th percentile)
“as he opened and closed scissors to cut, his mouth would open and close simultaneously. This indicates difficulty with disassociation of muscle groups.”
“has difficulty connecting puzzles, including a 4 piece puzzle of a little boy”
“no part in discussions”
“will not name colors or pick out correct color”
“difficulty sharing”
“seems to prefer being alone or playing alone”
“he repeats the question and does not give an answer”
“some hand flapping was observed”
“produced speech characterized by jargon, scripted words and phrases, and echolalia”
“observed to spin in circles several times after the other students had stopped”
“lines the toys up side by side and examines them closely”
“failed to respond to direct questions much of the time”
“unable to provide basic information including his name, age, and gender”
“demonstrates frustration by hitting other children instead of expressing himself verbally”
“he exhibits difficulty being attentive during circle activities”
“performed at a level consistent with a one year five month delay”
“Moderately Low”
“Low”
“0.01 percentile” (highest was 7th percentile)
“meets the criteria for Autism”
“cried and threw himself on the floor”
“did not respond to verbal redirection”
“communication was primarily focused on his wants and needs”
“limited meaningful eye contact”
“the amount of give-and-take conversation was limited”
“flat affect”
“object-oriented and limited response to questions”
“demonstrated mildly anxious reaction”
“tasks were similar to those of a three-year, four-month-old child” (They are almost 4 years 6 months.)
“lack of fine motor skills displayed in use of writing and drawing tools”
“transitioning and initiating tasks can be difficult”
“Below Average”
“Delayed”
“0.04 percentile” (Highest was 18th percentile)
“as he opened and closed scissors to cut, his mouth would open and close simultaneously. This indicates difficulty with disassociation of muscle groups.”
“has difficulty connecting puzzles, including a 4 piece puzzle of a little boy”
“no part in discussions”
“will not name colors or pick out correct color”
“difficulty sharing”
“seems to prefer being alone or playing alone”
“he repeats the question and does not give an answer”
“some hand flapping was observed”
“produced speech characterized by jargon, scripted words and phrases, and echolalia”
“observed to spin in circles several times after the other students had stopped”
“lines the toys up side by side and examines them closely”
“failed to respond to direct questions much of the time”
“unable to provide basic information including his name, age, and gender”
“demonstrates frustration by hitting other children instead of expressing himself verbally”
“he exhibits difficulty being attentive during circle activities”
“performed at a level consistent with a one year five month delay”
“Moderately Low”
“Low”
“0.01 percentile” (highest was 7th percentile)
“meets the criteria for Autism”
Monday, September 26, 2011
Building walls...
Inside my head, the world has always been a challenge. Look at me. See me.
Do I please you? Do I piss you off? Do I make you feel something? What do I make you feel? What do you want from me? What do I want from you? Why won’t you look at me? Can you see past my bristly exterior and my unfiltered commanding words? Can you see what I struggle so hard to control?
I hate to cry. It pisses me off because it opens my heart up and pours it out my eyes in front of the world. When I’m really angry, I cry. I can’t control it. I hate not having control so it just makes me angrier. It’s a vicious cycle.
When my brother died I was the strong one. I was the one who kept the family going. I was the one who talked to everyone who came over about my brother. I didn’t cry until we buried him. I was scared. I was angry for having my brother taken away from me because of the bad choices in people that he always made. He had a heart that trusted too many people that led him down the wrong paths in life. I wish his heart would have trusted me a little more so that I could have led him down the right ones. When I finally cried, I cried until I was hoarse, dry to the bone. My heart broke and spilled down my cheeks in a shower that I thought would never end…and I was alone.
I lock a lot of things inside. I am a pain in the ass to understand because I don’t make it easy on anyone. I’m indecisive. I try to turn my emotions off like the flick of a switch and then I rage in the late hours of the night because I couldn’t turn off the hurt or the hate or the happiness that makes it hurt.
I love someone. I love him so hard my heart hurts like it’s been kicked repeatedly with a pair of steel-toed boots. He’s not here. He left and he isn’t coming back to stay. I want to rip my life up and move it across the country to be with him. I can’t. He probably doesn’t want me to anyways. There goes that damn boot again.
I’m trying to date someone else with this ghost in my heart. I can feel myself pulling away even though this guy is a good guy. He isn’t the good guy that I want. He is nice and sweet and gentle and my kids have him wrapped around their fingers but I’m not wrapped around his. I don’t want him the way he wants me. He wants me for forever…for old age and porch swings and grandkids and long walks holding hands. I want someone else pressed against me in the dark. It’s not fair to him but I can’t figure out how to tell him. He is a nice guy. I KNOW he is. He’s just not what I want. This sucks more every day because he’s here and I can’t seem to force myself to do anything about it.
He’s one more person I’ve introduced my kids to and I promised I wouldn’t do this. I swore I wasn’t going to drag a string of guys through their lives. I can’t figure out how to date without involving my kids because to get to know someone you have to spend time with them but to spend time with them alone you have to have time alone. I don’t. Not much. I know I’m grasping at straws. I’m looking for a reason to break up with him but he won’t give me one so I’m looking for one of my own.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not really sure if the lack of feelings is entirely his fault either. It could be the meds I’ve just started, or it could be me. I don’t expect a fairy tale love. I don’t expect someone to come in and carry me away into the sunset on a white horse. I just expect that the person I want will not only be nice and good to my kids but he will drive me wild and push me to be more myself. I’m not getting that right now. I don’t know that I ever will.
So I’m here, spilling to the internet, because I can’t make a fucking decision again. This sucks.
Do I please you? Do I piss you off? Do I make you feel something? What do I make you feel? What do you want from me? What do I want from you? Why won’t you look at me? Can you see past my bristly exterior and my unfiltered commanding words? Can you see what I struggle so hard to control?
I hate to cry. It pisses me off because it opens my heart up and pours it out my eyes in front of the world. When I’m really angry, I cry. I can’t control it. I hate not having control so it just makes me angrier. It’s a vicious cycle.
When my brother died I was the strong one. I was the one who kept the family going. I was the one who talked to everyone who came over about my brother. I didn’t cry until we buried him. I was scared. I was angry for having my brother taken away from me because of the bad choices in people that he always made. He had a heart that trusted too many people that led him down the wrong paths in life. I wish his heart would have trusted me a little more so that I could have led him down the right ones. When I finally cried, I cried until I was hoarse, dry to the bone. My heart broke and spilled down my cheeks in a shower that I thought would never end…and I was alone.
I lock a lot of things inside. I am a pain in the ass to understand because I don’t make it easy on anyone. I’m indecisive. I try to turn my emotions off like the flick of a switch and then I rage in the late hours of the night because I couldn’t turn off the hurt or the hate or the happiness that makes it hurt.
I love someone. I love him so hard my heart hurts like it’s been kicked repeatedly with a pair of steel-toed boots. He’s not here. He left and he isn’t coming back to stay. I want to rip my life up and move it across the country to be with him. I can’t. He probably doesn’t want me to anyways. There goes that damn boot again.
I’m trying to date someone else with this ghost in my heart. I can feel myself pulling away even though this guy is a good guy. He isn’t the good guy that I want. He is nice and sweet and gentle and my kids have him wrapped around their fingers but I’m not wrapped around his. I don’t want him the way he wants me. He wants me for forever…for old age and porch swings and grandkids and long walks holding hands. I want someone else pressed against me in the dark. It’s not fair to him but I can’t figure out how to tell him. He is a nice guy. I KNOW he is. He’s just not what I want. This sucks more every day because he’s here and I can’t seem to force myself to do anything about it.
He’s one more person I’ve introduced my kids to and I promised I wouldn’t do this. I swore I wasn’t going to drag a string of guys through their lives. I can’t figure out how to date without involving my kids because to get to know someone you have to spend time with them but to spend time with them alone you have to have time alone. I don’t. Not much. I know I’m grasping at straws. I’m looking for a reason to break up with him but he won’t give me one so I’m looking for one of my own.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not really sure if the lack of feelings is entirely his fault either. It could be the meds I’ve just started, or it could be me. I don’t expect a fairy tale love. I don’t expect someone to come in and carry me away into the sunset on a white horse. I just expect that the person I want will not only be nice and good to my kids but he will drive me wild and push me to be more myself. I’m not getting that right now. I don’t know that I ever will.
So I’m here, spilling to the internet, because I can’t make a fucking decision again. This sucks.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Lost on a path I did not choose...
I woke up with this in my head at 3am. I’m just now getting to type it out 12 hours later.
I feel like I’m standing in the woods. I was walking a trail that I thought I knew well. I could tell you where the bumps were, where the roots of the trees stuck out of the ground, and where the rockiest parts would be found. I had my life somewhat planned.
Suddenly a fog has rolled in and night time has fallen. I can’t see where I’m going. My path has washed out from so much rain and the trail beneath my feet is no longer familiar. I’ve cried my path away. I trip, stumble, and move slowly because I have no clue where I’m headed. My path isn’t the same one I was on before. I can’t turn around. I’m too far down the path to turn back now. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve got for anything in the world.
I have two children diagnosed with Autism. I have a little girl who is trying to learn her way in the world herself. I’m not alone on this trail. There are brambles, thorns, and branches that seem to come out of nowhere and smack me in the face. Diagnosis followed by diagnosis followed by some self-discovery and a search for a diagnosis of my own. I’m cut, my heart bleeding onto my sleeves. I’m scared, unsure if I should even trust my own instincts. I have three little people relying on me to find our way out of these woods and into the clear where we can see the moon, the stars…the future.
I keep hesitating, faltering on the path. I am taking in so much information that I can barely process it all. I look for a sign. Where should I go? Occasionally the fog breaks for a moment and I can catch a glimpse of my surroundings. I read something that strikes me as important or I find a friend who has been there and is willing to help guide me. I move forward just a little before I run into something else on the path that I wasn’t expecting. Financial concerns, procedural requirements, people with training who question the training of others when I’m supposed to be able to rely on what these trained people are telling me.
There are people along the path that can help. I can hear their voices ahead. They are the doctors, speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, and psychologists that are testing my children. They have some of the answers I’m seeking but it takes time to reach them. Time is of the essence and I’m wasting it by being trapped in this fog on a trail I no longer know. Early intervention is supposed to be the best thing for helping my sons, who are trapped in a fog of their own that is completely inside their heads, but I have no access to help until I reach the voices ahead on the path.
I’m working my way towards the people who have some of the answers. This path is blocked in part by bureaucratic red tape. There are timeframes that these people are given to do their evaluations and they don’t seem to be in as big of a hurry as I am. There are places I can’t go without taking the long way around. In the process of trying to begin getting my sons help, I have had to stop and start over because I can’t figure out how to balance work, therapists, school and regular life. There aren’t enough hours in the day and there isn’t enough money in the bank to do what I’d truly like to do to help my kids.
I want to put them with the best therapists, in the best schools, and be able to devote my time and my life to teaching them and making them as independent as possible because I know I won’t be here forever. I also want to live a little in the mean time. I can’t seem to strike a balance between their needs, my needs, my wants, and life’s requirements.
I hope there is forgiveness in the end if I falter, fall, or fuck this up. I’m doing all that I feel like I can do right now in the current state that I’m in. I know I sound like I’m making excuses as to why I can’t go further down this path. I know it may seem like I’m just plain lazy sometimes. I’m tired and I’m not really at my best right now. I’m trying to make the most of what I have to offer my kids, which isn’t much at the moment outside of my loving arms to wrap around them and a promise to be there for as many days as I’m given.
So be patient with me while I try to find my way down this new path I’ve been placed upon. Give me time to take in my surroundings, feel my way down the trail, test each step before I fully take it because I need to make it down this path in one piece with my three little people intact, too.
I need your understanding when I tell you that I want to do something, try something, find something…anything…that will help. I just need the time to figure out if it’s what I really need to do to get further down this path or not. I need to research it. I need to determine if it is even going to help me find my way to helping my children to the best of my ability. Just please be patient with me.
Please.
I feel like I’m standing in the woods. I was walking a trail that I thought I knew well. I could tell you where the bumps were, where the roots of the trees stuck out of the ground, and where the rockiest parts would be found. I had my life somewhat planned.
Suddenly a fog has rolled in and night time has fallen. I can’t see where I’m going. My path has washed out from so much rain and the trail beneath my feet is no longer familiar. I’ve cried my path away. I trip, stumble, and move slowly because I have no clue where I’m headed. My path isn’t the same one I was on before. I can’t turn around. I’m too far down the path to turn back now. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve got for anything in the world.
I have two children diagnosed with Autism. I have a little girl who is trying to learn her way in the world herself. I’m not alone on this trail. There are brambles, thorns, and branches that seem to come out of nowhere and smack me in the face. Diagnosis followed by diagnosis followed by some self-discovery and a search for a diagnosis of my own. I’m cut, my heart bleeding onto my sleeves. I’m scared, unsure if I should even trust my own instincts. I have three little people relying on me to find our way out of these woods and into the clear where we can see the moon, the stars…the future.
I keep hesitating, faltering on the path. I am taking in so much information that I can barely process it all. I look for a sign. Where should I go? Occasionally the fog breaks for a moment and I can catch a glimpse of my surroundings. I read something that strikes me as important or I find a friend who has been there and is willing to help guide me. I move forward just a little before I run into something else on the path that I wasn’t expecting. Financial concerns, procedural requirements, people with training who question the training of others when I’m supposed to be able to rely on what these trained people are telling me.
There are people along the path that can help. I can hear their voices ahead. They are the doctors, speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, and psychologists that are testing my children. They have some of the answers I’m seeking but it takes time to reach them. Time is of the essence and I’m wasting it by being trapped in this fog on a trail I no longer know. Early intervention is supposed to be the best thing for helping my sons, who are trapped in a fog of their own that is completely inside their heads, but I have no access to help until I reach the voices ahead on the path.
I’m working my way towards the people who have some of the answers. This path is blocked in part by bureaucratic red tape. There are timeframes that these people are given to do their evaluations and they don’t seem to be in as big of a hurry as I am. There are places I can’t go without taking the long way around. In the process of trying to begin getting my sons help, I have had to stop and start over because I can’t figure out how to balance work, therapists, school and regular life. There aren’t enough hours in the day and there isn’t enough money in the bank to do what I’d truly like to do to help my kids.
I want to put them with the best therapists, in the best schools, and be able to devote my time and my life to teaching them and making them as independent as possible because I know I won’t be here forever. I also want to live a little in the mean time. I can’t seem to strike a balance between their needs, my needs, my wants, and life’s requirements.
I hope there is forgiveness in the end if I falter, fall, or fuck this up. I’m doing all that I feel like I can do right now in the current state that I’m in. I know I sound like I’m making excuses as to why I can’t go further down this path. I know it may seem like I’m just plain lazy sometimes. I’m tired and I’m not really at my best right now. I’m trying to make the most of what I have to offer my kids, which isn’t much at the moment outside of my loving arms to wrap around them and a promise to be there for as many days as I’m given.
So be patient with me while I try to find my way down this new path I’ve been placed upon. Give me time to take in my surroundings, feel my way down the trail, test each step before I fully take it because I need to make it down this path in one piece with my three little people intact, too.
I need your understanding when I tell you that I want to do something, try something, find something…anything…that will help. I just need the time to figure out if it’s what I really need to do to get further down this path or not. I need to research it. I need to determine if it is even going to help me find my way to helping my children to the best of my ability. Just please be patient with me.
Please.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Hearts so pure...
Your arms are almost always open for a hug. Your smiles are the most sincere a person can ever see. You never hesitate to point out something that you like about a person, no matter how small or big it is. You open your hearts completely to everyone. Strangers on the street are accepted as easily as your Mamaw. You see kindness and love in everyone.
You never hesitate to talk to others and you are almost always so animated that they can’t help but smile back at you. You point out the things that you are fascinated with and you don’t think twice about touching someone’s shirt or hair or face if you have the urge.
You have hearts so pure that I can only continue to wish that this world never breaks them. When someone refuses to acknowledge your waves or doesn’t respond when you say hello to them a dozen times, it makes me want to smack some sense into them so that they can see the love you’re trying to share. Nothing makes you happier than a wave from a stranger, a smile or a kind word. If only the rest of the world could be made so happy with simple kindness.
You go into your days with your eyes wide open, taking in everything with a look of amazement. You have brought the wonder back into my world and I am forever grateful for this because everyone should get to hold on to their childhood just a little bit longer. I see the world through your eyes and it’s a place full of outstanding things that boggle my mind. The sheer essence of the world as a whole is breathtaking in your eyes.
So, remember…when a child waves at you or smiles at you, they are only offering you kindness and love. Give a little back. It can’t hurt.
You never hesitate to talk to others and you are almost always so animated that they can’t help but smile back at you. You point out the things that you are fascinated with and you don’t think twice about touching someone’s shirt or hair or face if you have the urge.
You have hearts so pure that I can only continue to wish that this world never breaks them. When someone refuses to acknowledge your waves or doesn’t respond when you say hello to them a dozen times, it makes me want to smack some sense into them so that they can see the love you’re trying to share. Nothing makes you happier than a wave from a stranger, a smile or a kind word. If only the rest of the world could be made so happy with simple kindness.
You go into your days with your eyes wide open, taking in everything with a look of amazement. You have brought the wonder back into my world and I am forever grateful for this because everyone should get to hold on to their childhood just a little bit longer. I see the world through your eyes and it’s a place full of outstanding things that boggle my mind. The sheer essence of the world as a whole is breathtaking in your eyes.
So, remember…when a child waves at you or smiles at you, they are only offering you kindness and love. Give a little back. It can’t hurt.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Tangents and Autism...
Inside you is the place where tangents intersect.
You are the starting point. The spot where “it” comes from.
We all have millions of tangents, each tied together in one place. Some of us have the ability to explain what caused us to branch a particular way. We have a reason for a tangent.
And then we don’t. Some things we do we can’t even understand ourselves.
I fold my towels a specific way. The way the seams meet calms me. The linear appearance of crisp corners and colors that blend into each other like a rainbow pleases my sense of sight. It doesn’t hurt my eyes so see things lined neatly.
Chaos and disorder bother me. They make me edgy. I need clear spaces and clean surfaces. I need blank canvases to begin my work on.
My kitchen must be clean before I can cook. I have to have everything in an orderly manner. I have a place for everything. The pictures on the front of my refrigerator are even squared off and placed according to a particular structure in my head that only I understand.
My keys on my key ring all face the same direction and are in an order that makes it easy for me to find the key I need even when I can’t see the keys themselves. I put my jewelry on and take it off in the same order every morning and evening. I take my shower in the same order each time. If I get out of order it messes me up for the entire day.
I get my ruler out and place it facing the same direction on my desk each time I begin working with my papers at my office. I do four lines, no more no less, then move the ruler down the page. I line it up perfectly with the lines on the paper, then I continue to the next four lines.
I look at letters and symbols in words and group them by two’s. I will keep going until I can end on a group of two. I count steps in a staircase and steps that end in even numbers please me. I notice the ticking of a clock in every room and the high-pitched electronic sounds that come from a TV when it is turned off and on. The hum of a refrigerator running and the electronic flashes of a fluorescent light as it heats and flickers on.
I have the paperweights on my desk in a specific order, facing a certain way, because it makes the prettiest sides face me. I roll the sleeves on my sweatshirts because the edges of a sleeve on a hoodie bother my wrist if I don’t. They make my skin feel raw like someone is trying to rub the flesh off.
I can tell you every crease or indention in my teeth. Every trip to the dentist leaves me inspecting my teeth for weeks until I have memorized the way they feel after a filling. I always turn the bow on my shoes over after I tie them so that it lies the flattest against my foot.
I like a certain type of ink pen because it doesn’t bother the knuckles in my fingers when I write with it and the way the ink lies on the paper doesn’t bunch or splotch. I like clean smells because strong scents burn my nose and make me feel confused. I will completely lose my train of thought or become very agitated if I am in a room with someone who is wearing a strong perfume.
I pick my clothes based on whether they are comfortable. Style is not high on my priority list. A shirt can’t be too tight under my armpits. It has to reach a certain point on the top of my arm if it is short sleeved and a certain point at my hand if it is long sleeved. Pants can’t come up to my ankles when I sit down. They have to be long and they have to cover a good portion of my feet.
I load my dishwasher by a particular order and if someone else loads it, I will redo it until it is my way. If I load the dishwasher at your house, I will do it the same way I do mine at home. I have a place for everything in my home. Stuff sits in certain places and is arranged in particular ways because I can find it the easiest. No one folds my laundry but me or I’m not happy about it.
My fingernails can’t be long enough that they touch the keyboard keys before the pad on my fingers does or it feels like I’m typing them into my hands. It hurts my fingers. I hate to have things stuck between my teeth. I always have floss with me and only a certain type of floss or else I feel like it doesn’t work as well.
I like round handles and knobs on drawers and doors. I hate the feeling of chalk dust on my hands and I have to wash my hands frequently when messing with a lot of paper because I feel like my hands get too dry from the paper dust.
I like the smell of a new book or a freshly printed paper from a laser printer but I hate how newspaper print rubs off on your hands. I like to run my thumb over the ridges created by the seam of my jeans when I sit down. I trace a pattern on my hands when I’m nervous. I pick at scabs because I like for my skin to feel smooth. Any imperfections are picked at until they bleed or come off because the roughness bothers me.
I’m odd. I have a hard time looking strangers in the eyes. I like music for the beats in the background and only sometimes for the words or the way the singer sings them. I love the sound of a piano because in my mind I can picture the motion of the sound from the time the key is pressed until the hammer strikes the cord and the vibrations that follow. I love music with lots of bass because the vibrations are soothing to me.
I like heavy blankets that settle around me and don’t let any air under them. I like smooth sheets that have cool spots when I need one but stay warm when I want them to. I like cotton that doesn’t pill when washed. I like soft colors because bright colors cause my eyes to contract sharply. I like the dip below the scroll bar on my computer mouse and I like a laser mouse because a roller ball gets dirty too easily.
I hate to find other people’s hair on my clothes and I like the way my fingerprints swirl. I can stutter if I get very nervous and I bounce my legs and feet a lot when I’m thinking. I can stare at a Newton’s Cradle rocking for hours. The sound of the balls clacking together soothes me, too.
I understand why my boys have certain things that they like and certain things that they cannot tolerate because I’m the same way. I’m the same way. Welcome to my world of tangents. Welcome to the worlds of tangents that my sons exist in.
You are the starting point. The spot where “it” comes from.
We all have millions of tangents, each tied together in one place. Some of us have the ability to explain what caused us to branch a particular way. We have a reason for a tangent.
And then we don’t. Some things we do we can’t even understand ourselves.
I fold my towels a specific way. The way the seams meet calms me. The linear appearance of crisp corners and colors that blend into each other like a rainbow pleases my sense of sight. It doesn’t hurt my eyes so see things lined neatly.
Chaos and disorder bother me. They make me edgy. I need clear spaces and clean surfaces. I need blank canvases to begin my work on.
My kitchen must be clean before I can cook. I have to have everything in an orderly manner. I have a place for everything. The pictures on the front of my refrigerator are even squared off and placed according to a particular structure in my head that only I understand.
My keys on my key ring all face the same direction and are in an order that makes it easy for me to find the key I need even when I can’t see the keys themselves. I put my jewelry on and take it off in the same order every morning and evening. I take my shower in the same order each time. If I get out of order it messes me up for the entire day.
I get my ruler out and place it facing the same direction on my desk each time I begin working with my papers at my office. I do four lines, no more no less, then move the ruler down the page. I line it up perfectly with the lines on the paper, then I continue to the next four lines.
I look at letters and symbols in words and group them by two’s. I will keep going until I can end on a group of two. I count steps in a staircase and steps that end in even numbers please me. I notice the ticking of a clock in every room and the high-pitched electronic sounds that come from a TV when it is turned off and on. The hum of a refrigerator running and the electronic flashes of a fluorescent light as it heats and flickers on.
I have the paperweights on my desk in a specific order, facing a certain way, because it makes the prettiest sides face me. I roll the sleeves on my sweatshirts because the edges of a sleeve on a hoodie bother my wrist if I don’t. They make my skin feel raw like someone is trying to rub the flesh off.
I can tell you every crease or indention in my teeth. Every trip to the dentist leaves me inspecting my teeth for weeks until I have memorized the way they feel after a filling. I always turn the bow on my shoes over after I tie them so that it lies the flattest against my foot.
I like a certain type of ink pen because it doesn’t bother the knuckles in my fingers when I write with it and the way the ink lies on the paper doesn’t bunch or splotch. I like clean smells because strong scents burn my nose and make me feel confused. I will completely lose my train of thought or become very agitated if I am in a room with someone who is wearing a strong perfume.
I pick my clothes based on whether they are comfortable. Style is not high on my priority list. A shirt can’t be too tight under my armpits. It has to reach a certain point on the top of my arm if it is short sleeved and a certain point at my hand if it is long sleeved. Pants can’t come up to my ankles when I sit down. They have to be long and they have to cover a good portion of my feet.
I load my dishwasher by a particular order and if someone else loads it, I will redo it until it is my way. If I load the dishwasher at your house, I will do it the same way I do mine at home. I have a place for everything in my home. Stuff sits in certain places and is arranged in particular ways because I can find it the easiest. No one folds my laundry but me or I’m not happy about it.
My fingernails can’t be long enough that they touch the keyboard keys before the pad on my fingers does or it feels like I’m typing them into my hands. It hurts my fingers. I hate to have things stuck between my teeth. I always have floss with me and only a certain type of floss or else I feel like it doesn’t work as well.
I like round handles and knobs on drawers and doors. I hate the feeling of chalk dust on my hands and I have to wash my hands frequently when messing with a lot of paper because I feel like my hands get too dry from the paper dust.
I like the smell of a new book or a freshly printed paper from a laser printer but I hate how newspaper print rubs off on your hands. I like to run my thumb over the ridges created by the seam of my jeans when I sit down. I trace a pattern on my hands when I’m nervous. I pick at scabs because I like for my skin to feel smooth. Any imperfections are picked at until they bleed or come off because the roughness bothers me.
I’m odd. I have a hard time looking strangers in the eyes. I like music for the beats in the background and only sometimes for the words or the way the singer sings them. I love the sound of a piano because in my mind I can picture the motion of the sound from the time the key is pressed until the hammer strikes the cord and the vibrations that follow. I love music with lots of bass because the vibrations are soothing to me.
I like heavy blankets that settle around me and don’t let any air under them. I like smooth sheets that have cool spots when I need one but stay warm when I want them to. I like cotton that doesn’t pill when washed. I like soft colors because bright colors cause my eyes to contract sharply. I like the dip below the scroll bar on my computer mouse and I like a laser mouse because a roller ball gets dirty too easily.
I hate to find other people’s hair on my clothes and I like the way my fingerprints swirl. I can stutter if I get very nervous and I bounce my legs and feet a lot when I’m thinking. I can stare at a Newton’s Cradle rocking for hours. The sound of the balls clacking together soothes me, too.
I understand why my boys have certain things that they like and certain things that they cannot tolerate because I’m the same way. I’m the same way. Welcome to my world of tangents. Welcome to the worlds of tangents that my sons exist in.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Some mornings are harder than others...
You wake up crying. You can’t find your car.
Based on the car you are holding in your hand, it has to be the other blue car that the paint is almost worn off of. I search your bed. Look under your blankets. Check between the bed and the wall.
No luck.
You get increasingly upset while I look around the room without turning up your car.
I ask you if you had it when you went to bed. You can’t answer me.
I ask you if you maybe left it in the living room. You can’t answer me.
I go down the hallway to check the living room as you wail from your bedroom. I still don’t find your car.
I’m out of time to look. I walk you down the hall to the bathroom and take your pajamas off. Put your shirt on. Ask you to go pee in the potty. You are still so upset about the car that you flop down on the bathmat and refuse to get up. I stand you back up and try again to convince you to pee in the potty. I tell you how good you did by staying dry all night. I ask you to make bubbles in the water (which is what happens when you pee like a racehorse in the mornings.) You are still pissed.
I sit you down on the small blue potty and tell you to stay there so I can get your brother and sister dressed while I’m waiting for you to pee. I go get your brother and sister ready to go and come back to you. You have gotten up, found some other cars to play with, taken the cup off of the small potty and thrown it in the bathtub, and are still upset.
I stand you in front of the toilet. You finally pee after defeatedly sighing and giving up on finding your car. I put on the rest of your clothes. You go to bounce on the couch with your brother as I load bookbags, my purse, and a few other random things into my car and start it so it will heat up.
I come back inside and we go through the morning routine of inhalers, other meds, and vitamins. I kiss both of you when you breathe deeply for your inhalers. Sometimes we have trouble with that. You pick the red vitamin and your brother picks the purple one. Your sister keeps picking anything but the purple ones and her bottle is almost all purple vitamins now. I see a fight in our future over not having another color to choose from.
I tell your sister to go get her “baby” after putting all of your jackets on. I take you outside to load you and your brother in the car while she’s gone. I get you in your seat and buckled, lean over you to buckle your brother, and as I’m moving back to get out of the car, you hug me. I’m grateful that forgiveness is that easy some days.
I gather your sister and her “baby”, lock the door, put her in her carseat, and get in myself. I buckle in with trembling hands because all that work kind of wears me out. I find a song you like on my iPod, turn it up (but not too loud), and smile at you as you try to bounce in your booster seats to the beat. You love music. Your sister kicks the back of my seat. I just ignore it. No use arguing about it this morning.
I stop and drop your sister off at daycare. She actually lets me leave without pitching a fit.
I get back in the car, drive you to school, get in line with the other buses and parents dropping off kids, unbuckle you both and get your bookbags on. I smile and tell you to have a good day. The teacher shuts the door. I pull away after watching you walk through the doors.
I crank Linkin Park and scream my lungs out on the way to work.
I think about how I wish you could understand what I’m asking you. I think about how easy it is to take an answer for granted from someone who can easily answer your questions.
Some mornings are harder than others.
Based on the car you are holding in your hand, it has to be the other blue car that the paint is almost worn off of. I search your bed. Look under your blankets. Check between the bed and the wall.
No luck.
You get increasingly upset while I look around the room without turning up your car.
I ask you if you had it when you went to bed. You can’t answer me.
I ask you if you maybe left it in the living room. You can’t answer me.
I go down the hallway to check the living room as you wail from your bedroom. I still don’t find your car.
I’m out of time to look. I walk you down the hall to the bathroom and take your pajamas off. Put your shirt on. Ask you to go pee in the potty. You are still so upset about the car that you flop down on the bathmat and refuse to get up. I stand you back up and try again to convince you to pee in the potty. I tell you how good you did by staying dry all night. I ask you to make bubbles in the water (which is what happens when you pee like a racehorse in the mornings.) You are still pissed.
I sit you down on the small blue potty and tell you to stay there so I can get your brother and sister dressed while I’m waiting for you to pee. I go get your brother and sister ready to go and come back to you. You have gotten up, found some other cars to play with, taken the cup off of the small potty and thrown it in the bathtub, and are still upset.
I stand you in front of the toilet. You finally pee after defeatedly sighing and giving up on finding your car. I put on the rest of your clothes. You go to bounce on the couch with your brother as I load bookbags, my purse, and a few other random things into my car and start it so it will heat up.
I come back inside and we go through the morning routine of inhalers, other meds, and vitamins. I kiss both of you when you breathe deeply for your inhalers. Sometimes we have trouble with that. You pick the red vitamin and your brother picks the purple one. Your sister keeps picking anything but the purple ones and her bottle is almost all purple vitamins now. I see a fight in our future over not having another color to choose from.
I tell your sister to go get her “baby” after putting all of your jackets on. I take you outside to load you and your brother in the car while she’s gone. I get you in your seat and buckled, lean over you to buckle your brother, and as I’m moving back to get out of the car, you hug me. I’m grateful that forgiveness is that easy some days.
I gather your sister and her “baby”, lock the door, put her in her carseat, and get in myself. I buckle in with trembling hands because all that work kind of wears me out. I find a song you like on my iPod, turn it up (but not too loud), and smile at you as you try to bounce in your booster seats to the beat. You love music. Your sister kicks the back of my seat. I just ignore it. No use arguing about it this morning.
I stop and drop your sister off at daycare. She actually lets me leave without pitching a fit.
I get back in the car, drive you to school, get in line with the other buses and parents dropping off kids, unbuckle you both and get your bookbags on. I smile and tell you to have a good day. The teacher shuts the door. I pull away after watching you walk through the doors.
I crank Linkin Park and scream my lungs out on the way to work.
I think about how I wish you could understand what I’m asking you. I think about how easy it is to take an answer for granted from someone who can easily answer your questions.
Some mornings are harder than others.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The stories we tell...
Here I sit telling my story. Telling the story you do not have the ability to tell yet.
Oh, you tell stories…dinosaurs and motorcycles and many fanciful tales of wonder. Yet the greatest story still lies to be told by you later. I often wonder if I am doing your stories justice or if there is more that I’m just not seeing.
You move like angels in the morning light…approaching slowly to lay your soft hands on my cheek. You are always hesitant, as if awaiting an order to leave. I’ve never sent you away. You are welcome in my arms, even when dreams are still mingling with reality and I’m stretching away the concrete of darkness.
I’m enjoying this. I get frustrated with the bickering but I also realize that you don’t know loss as I do. I want you to see how precious these siblings of yours are but I don’t want to you to understand the full why of it. I don’t want you to know my hurt. No one should ever be taken from you (and I say taken because Lord knows we don’t ever give them willingly…).
I realize I am only sharing my point of view. I can’t share your story in its entirety because we only intersect at certain points in our day. I know not what you have seen, what you have heard, out there in the world without me. I don’t like the realization that you may be seeing and hearing things that would break my heart. There is only so much innocence that I can foster in you before the world plasters itself upon your hearts and minds, laying its filters over your eyes.
So, in my prerequisite state of prose, this need to fill my story with words big and small, I will write about you. I will write about you, and you, and you, and myself. Without me, there is no explanation of you. Those are some powerful words. To think that you can paint a person exactly as you want them with nothing more than a collection of letters on a page.
I draw you with beauty, hope, sincerity, loyalty, audacity, aggravation, pain, sweetness, and love. I tell you as I see you, through my eyes filtered by the world I have seen or have had forced upon me. I hope I am doing your stories justice. I hope I am telling it as you would tell it, minus all your innocence, for mine is basically gone.
I love you, my tiny babies. Go forth and conquer the world. Write your story any way you wish. I will never stop reading it.
Oh, you tell stories…dinosaurs and motorcycles and many fanciful tales of wonder. Yet the greatest story still lies to be told by you later. I often wonder if I am doing your stories justice or if there is more that I’m just not seeing.
You move like angels in the morning light…approaching slowly to lay your soft hands on my cheek. You are always hesitant, as if awaiting an order to leave. I’ve never sent you away. You are welcome in my arms, even when dreams are still mingling with reality and I’m stretching away the concrete of darkness.
I’m enjoying this. I get frustrated with the bickering but I also realize that you don’t know loss as I do. I want you to see how precious these siblings of yours are but I don’t want to you to understand the full why of it. I don’t want you to know my hurt. No one should ever be taken from you (and I say taken because Lord knows we don’t ever give them willingly…).
I realize I am only sharing my point of view. I can’t share your story in its entirety because we only intersect at certain points in our day. I know not what you have seen, what you have heard, out there in the world without me. I don’t like the realization that you may be seeing and hearing things that would break my heart. There is only so much innocence that I can foster in you before the world plasters itself upon your hearts and minds, laying its filters over your eyes.
So, in my prerequisite state of prose, this need to fill my story with words big and small, I will write about you. I will write about you, and you, and you, and myself. Without me, there is no explanation of you. Those are some powerful words. To think that you can paint a person exactly as you want them with nothing more than a collection of letters on a page.
I draw you with beauty, hope, sincerity, loyalty, audacity, aggravation, pain, sweetness, and love. I tell you as I see you, through my eyes filtered by the world I have seen or have had forced upon me. I hope I am doing your stories justice. I hope I am telling it as you would tell it, minus all your innocence, for mine is basically gone.
I love you, my tiny babies. Go forth and conquer the world. Write your story any way you wish. I will never stop reading it.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Dismantled life...
I’ve been dismantling my life for some time now.
I tear it down, fix what’s broken, and start putting it back together. Usually I don’t get anywhere near having it back together before something else breaks and I’m elbow deep in parts again.
In high school I picked my life apart slowly in little pieces, writing poetry. I would pick one feeling, one thought, one moment and pull it in every direction I could muster. I would wrap it in words, both elegant and crude, examine it in its essence. I can still remember the first poem I ever wrote. It was magical.
I cut open a gaping hole in myself twice giving birth, and even though these holes were sewn shut, you can still see my heart clearly beating as it wanders around in fractured pieces that are clenched tightly in the tiny fists of my children.
I ripped my marriage clean apart. I tried once to reassemble the pieces. For 10 days I pressed and prodded, trying to shove things back in where I thought they belonged. When I realized the pieces didn’t fit anymore, they were too swollen from all the tears I had cried, I left my marriage lying broken on the floor. I have no interest in trying to fix that part of my life.
I took apart my ideals. The images I had in my head of how things were going to be, how life should be lived, and my definition of the perfect child. I keep pulling these parts out and rearranging them. They’re rather pretty when you mix them up anyways…and they still look perfect to me.
Now I’m dismantling my own brain. I’m pulling out the hurt, the pain, the sorrow, the worry, the anxiety, and the fear. I’m smashing and squishing and shaving these down to smaller pieces, much smaller pieces, before I put them back. I don’t want them to take up so much space anymore.
I’m feeling better. I’m stopping to examine exactly what’s bothering me and I’m deciding to either let it go or to deal with it. No more letting the thoughts control everything I do. I’m making a conscious decision to be happy instead of stressing over everything. I’m sure the medicine I’m taking is the extra piece that’s helping with that but I’m doing it. I feel like I’m resurfacing after a long time underwater.
So tell me, my readers, my friends, my supporters, my confidants…what broken parts would you like to dismantle and fix in your life?
I tear it down, fix what’s broken, and start putting it back together. Usually I don’t get anywhere near having it back together before something else breaks and I’m elbow deep in parts again.
In high school I picked my life apart slowly in little pieces, writing poetry. I would pick one feeling, one thought, one moment and pull it in every direction I could muster. I would wrap it in words, both elegant and crude, examine it in its essence. I can still remember the first poem I ever wrote. It was magical.
I cut open a gaping hole in myself twice giving birth, and even though these holes were sewn shut, you can still see my heart clearly beating as it wanders around in fractured pieces that are clenched tightly in the tiny fists of my children.
I ripped my marriage clean apart. I tried once to reassemble the pieces. For 10 days I pressed and prodded, trying to shove things back in where I thought they belonged. When I realized the pieces didn’t fit anymore, they were too swollen from all the tears I had cried, I left my marriage lying broken on the floor. I have no interest in trying to fix that part of my life.
I took apart my ideals. The images I had in my head of how things were going to be, how life should be lived, and my definition of the perfect child. I keep pulling these parts out and rearranging them. They’re rather pretty when you mix them up anyways…and they still look perfect to me.
Now I’m dismantling my own brain. I’m pulling out the hurt, the pain, the sorrow, the worry, the anxiety, and the fear. I’m smashing and squishing and shaving these down to smaller pieces, much smaller pieces, before I put them back. I don’t want them to take up so much space anymore.
I’m feeling better. I’m stopping to examine exactly what’s bothering me and I’m deciding to either let it go or to deal with it. No more letting the thoughts control everything I do. I’m making a conscious decision to be happy instead of stressing over everything. I’m sure the medicine I’m taking is the extra piece that’s helping with that but I’m doing it. I feel like I’m resurfacing after a long time underwater.
So tell me, my readers, my friends, my supporters, my confidants…what broken parts would you like to dismantle and fix in your life?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Bones...
As I sit here at my desk, listening to the wind blow around this old building I work in, I can feel it. I can feel Autumn all the way to my bones.
The clouds that are crowding the sky above me are like a blanket for my soul. I needed this. I needed for the heat to lift for a while. I needed a cool breeze against my skin.
I can’t wait to feel leaves crunch beneath my feet, to listen to the rain falling on the roof at night as my children’s soft breathing mixes with the sounds of their humidifiers running in their rooms, to enjoy days of mild heat and evenings that require a sweatshirt.
I needed for my mind to be free for a little while from all of the things that have had me so weighed down lately. My mind is tired. I want to find my happy place again; the place where I stop and see the beauty in everything. I feel like I’ve lost touch with my muse lately. Maybe all of the thoughts in my head are drowning her out. It’s time to stand still and hear her voice travel through the trees because I need inspiration to make it through all this without becoming bitter.
I don’t want to hate the world I live in. I want my mind back.
The clouds that are crowding the sky above me are like a blanket for my soul. I needed this. I needed for the heat to lift for a while. I needed a cool breeze against my skin.
I can’t wait to feel leaves crunch beneath my feet, to listen to the rain falling on the roof at night as my children’s soft breathing mixes with the sounds of their humidifiers running in their rooms, to enjoy days of mild heat and evenings that require a sweatshirt.
I needed for my mind to be free for a little while from all of the things that have had me so weighed down lately. My mind is tired. I want to find my happy place again; the place where I stop and see the beauty in everything. I feel like I’ve lost touch with my muse lately. Maybe all of the thoughts in my head are drowning her out. It’s time to stand still and hear her voice travel through the trees because I need inspiration to make it through all this without becoming bitter.
I don’t want to hate the world I live in. I want my mind back.
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