You touch my cheek, tell me I’m beautiful and hug me fiercely. You crawl up in my lap at just the right times and you snuggle with me when I need it the most.
You giggle when I wiggle my eyebrows at you or cross my eyes. Sometimes all it takes is a smile to get a full belly laugh out of you.
You point out booboos and tell me they’ll be okay. You kiss my bruises and my scratches and offer to get me a bandaid for everything whether it needs one or not.
My tears bother you. You don’t like to see Mommy cry at all. You will wrap your little arms around my neck and hug me tight. You sit in my lap and let me sniff your hair as I regain my composure.
No one can tell me that you don’t have empathy. You love me like no one else. You are so sweet and caring. Even when you’re in the middle of a meltdown and your body is moving like a tornado, you will melt into me. You like nothing more than to be curled next to me as we sit on the couch together.
Early in the mornings on the weekends, you come to my room and wake me with little hands in my hair or a tiny voice that asks around fingers in your mouth if you can climb up. You lay beside me with your cold feet stuck to my legs, your arm around my head, your hands and face buried in my hair. You bring your stuffed animals and we all snuggle in together as you take each one and tickle my cheek with it.
You are fascinated with bugs and like to watch them crawl around fly all over the place. You will watch a necklace rocking back and forth on a display for as long as it moves. You love to watch the wind blow in the trees and make the leaves shake. You love to roll cars on the edge of the table and watch the wheels turn.
You like to line your breakfast up across the table in front of you or stack it in perfect little piles. You are fascinated with buttons and can’t keep your hands away from them. You hate for your sister to ride her toy towards your feet. You’re terrified that she might try to run them over. You will chase after the huge spiders that have been getting into the house but as soon as one comes toward you I hear shrill squeals and feet pounding against the floor as you run away.
I took you to the Monster Mash at your new school. You stayed close to me and your Mamaw because the kids running in circles was just too much for you. You found a little boy with a “Scream” mask and you were so fascinated with his mask that you walked right up and touched it. He was startled at first but then he figured out you were harmless and so he played with you and your brother. I could tell he recognized that you were a little different but he put the effort into playing with you. I’m so grateful he looked past the little boy jabbering incoherently at him and saw your curiosity. He made your brother giggle and squeal as he would sneak around and poke his head out at him. He wasn’t afraid and was actually enjoying the game. He loves to be chased, after all.
I’m proud of you for not having any meltdowns even though I know that was overwhelming for you. You all did so well. You are all doing so well. Mommy is proud of you. So proud of you all…
Monday, October 31, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Autism really is a spectrum...
Today at lunch I was discussing my boys with my mom. We were talking about the upcoming IEP meetings and some information I had gotten from an IEP book I have about functional behavioral assessments and what they would mean to my boys.
In this discussion, I can see the true differences in my boys; things that are universally recognized by everyone who deals with them as well as traits that they share.
Noggin, my Twin A, is more affected by Autism. He is quieter. His language and comprehension are further behind (around the level of a 2 year old). He can say some big words but he doesn’t necessarily understand what they mean unless he can see what you’re talking about at that moment. He rocks, spins, rolls on the carpet, makes repetitive humming-type noises as he rocks, flaps his hands when he’s excited or when he’s just focusing on something in general, and he’s the hardest to reach when he’s in his own world. He has fine motor difficulties. He only wants to be hugged if he initiates the hug. He likes to have his hair rubbed but only if he comes to you for you to rub it.
He loves to wink at you and wiggle his eyebrows at you. He likes to make funny noises or faces to get his brother to laugh at him. He holds his hands back and wiggles his fingers before he reaches for something. He talks very loudly, at home and in public (sorry, guy at the table beside us who was trying to read a book on his Nook). He hates for his food to touch. He loves to pick the meat out of everything from spaghetti sauce to ravioli to Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. He has the sweetest little smile when he wants you to hug him and he will jump off of almost anything fearlessly. He hits a lot because he doesn’t have the language to communicate what he wants or needs all the time. He doesn’t look very many people in the eye and Noggin doesn’t respond to his name very easily.
Screech, my little Twin B, is also on the Autism spectrum. He has a high-pitched voice, is very loud and demanding, and doesn’t hesitate to tell you very sternly if he doesn’t like something. He melts down transitioning between activities (almost any activity) and he shuffles his feet and flaps his hands when he’s excited. He has multiple oversensitive sensory issues. He hates to have his hair and body washed because of the bubbles, he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, and he packs food in his jaws when he’s eating anything that doesn’t basically dissolve as he’s chewing it up (think meat, apples, and rolls). He loves to cuddle in close to you and be hugged tightly. He hates to be picked up off the ground for any reason. He could eat his weight in apples, oranges, grapes, cheese, bread, and any carb except potatoes.
He loves to smile at you and be tickled. He gets very excited about petting animals but can’t control himself very well when he’s excited so I have to be right with him when he’s petting one so he doesn’t accidentally hurt them. He hugs his brother and fights with his sister and sleeps curled in a tiny ball. He loves the movie Rio and will sing along at the top of his lungs with any song that he knows. He will spend his entire bath just trying to keep bubbles from getting on him and wants his shirt changed immediately if he drops something wet on his shirt or pants. He has nightmares occasionally and has had one sleepwalking incident. He’s the one who loves the fiercest but fights the fiercest, too. He covers his ears at loud noises or people yelling or cheering or singing too loud. He blinks and sneezes every time we walk outside in bright sunlight. He has to know everywhere we’re going and every stop in between. If I change his routine any at all you can guarantee he will have a royal meltdown. He talks basically nonstop from the time he wakes up until he goes to bed and makes “mmm” noises as he eats.
Grabby, my baby girl, chatters all the time. She’s determined to be the boss. She comes out with all these things that never fail to amaze me. She already knows her colors (her brothers don’t yet) and she was speaking in sentences before she was 2 years old. She asks questions about everything and has an opinion on everything, too (almost like a tiny teenager). She has a temper that is very fire and ice and will shoot daggers at you from her eyes when she’s pissed. She loves dresses and princesses and pink (exact opposite of me). She knows how to unlock the screen on my brother’s cellphone if he leaves it lying around and she is very opinionated about having people touch her if she doesn’t want you to lay a finger on her.
She likes to make massive messes with toys and blocks and stuffed animals and blankets and food and anything else she can get her hands on (ad infinitum). She’s a mama’s girl who is so attached to me that I often hear myself telling her that they didn’t put a zipper on me so she could climb back in my uterus. She lives for our nighttime cuddles and kisses before she goes to sleep. She thinks she can do anything her brothers can do physically and she isn’t afraid to try. She’s scared of the Halloween decorations right now and she loves to chase her brothers up and down the hall and under my kitchen table. She has learned the power of “NO!” and abuses it quite regularly. She’s just beginning her journey on potty training but she’s already determined that she should be wearing her pretty panties (especially the pink ones). Did I mention that she will tell me she’s the boss almost every day?
Each of my children requires me to be a different kind of parent every day. I find myself switching from one method of parenting to the other faster than a flip of a coin. Some days I am at my wit’s end trying to figure out how to make everyone happy all at the same time. What works for one child, doesn’t work for the next one and it’s a battle of wills almost every day at my house for which one of my children will get the most of my attention. I am literally pulled in 3 different directions some days. There are nights I go to bed asking myself if I’ve done enough for them. There are nights I go to bed knowing I did exactly what they needed me to that day. Most days fall somewhere in the middle of this with me feeling like I overdid it with some things and didn’t do enough with others. I’m spread thin and I’m not afraid to admit that but I am doing the absolute best I can.
I’ve recently found inspiration in myself to see them progress. My life has become less about how well I will do and more about how much I want for them to do well themselves. I’ve pushed the aspirations I never really tried that hard for to the side and I’m pushing myself to do for them the things that they need me to be doing right now to the give them the best start possible. The only thing I’m pushing for myself is awareness of my own condition(s) and my health. I need to figure out why I have my own issues and try to keep myself healthy for my kids.
On this journey, I’m learning that life with children on the Autism Spectrum and children who are not is a never-ending lesson in flexibility, patience, celebrating the small victories, and finding happiness in the everyday moments. I’m letting smiles, hugs, and snuggles carry me through my life right now and I’m fine with that.
Life is a spectrum, Autism is just one part of it.
In this discussion, I can see the true differences in my boys; things that are universally recognized by everyone who deals with them as well as traits that they share.
Noggin, my Twin A, is more affected by Autism. He is quieter. His language and comprehension are further behind (around the level of a 2 year old). He can say some big words but he doesn’t necessarily understand what they mean unless he can see what you’re talking about at that moment. He rocks, spins, rolls on the carpet, makes repetitive humming-type noises as he rocks, flaps his hands when he’s excited or when he’s just focusing on something in general, and he’s the hardest to reach when he’s in his own world. He has fine motor difficulties. He only wants to be hugged if he initiates the hug. He likes to have his hair rubbed but only if he comes to you for you to rub it.
He loves to wink at you and wiggle his eyebrows at you. He likes to make funny noises or faces to get his brother to laugh at him. He holds his hands back and wiggles his fingers before he reaches for something. He talks very loudly, at home and in public (sorry, guy at the table beside us who was trying to read a book on his Nook). He hates for his food to touch. He loves to pick the meat out of everything from spaghetti sauce to ravioli to Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. He has the sweetest little smile when he wants you to hug him and he will jump off of almost anything fearlessly. He hits a lot because he doesn’t have the language to communicate what he wants or needs all the time. He doesn’t look very many people in the eye and Noggin doesn’t respond to his name very easily.
Screech, my little Twin B, is also on the Autism spectrum. He has a high-pitched voice, is very loud and demanding, and doesn’t hesitate to tell you very sternly if he doesn’t like something. He melts down transitioning between activities (almost any activity) and he shuffles his feet and flaps his hands when he’s excited. He has multiple oversensitive sensory issues. He hates to have his hair and body washed because of the bubbles, he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, and he packs food in his jaws when he’s eating anything that doesn’t basically dissolve as he’s chewing it up (think meat, apples, and rolls). He loves to cuddle in close to you and be hugged tightly. He hates to be picked up off the ground for any reason. He could eat his weight in apples, oranges, grapes, cheese, bread, and any carb except potatoes.
He loves to smile at you and be tickled. He gets very excited about petting animals but can’t control himself very well when he’s excited so I have to be right with him when he’s petting one so he doesn’t accidentally hurt them. He hugs his brother and fights with his sister and sleeps curled in a tiny ball. He loves the movie Rio and will sing along at the top of his lungs with any song that he knows. He will spend his entire bath just trying to keep bubbles from getting on him and wants his shirt changed immediately if he drops something wet on his shirt or pants. He has nightmares occasionally and has had one sleepwalking incident. He’s the one who loves the fiercest but fights the fiercest, too. He covers his ears at loud noises or people yelling or cheering or singing too loud. He blinks and sneezes every time we walk outside in bright sunlight. He has to know everywhere we’re going and every stop in between. If I change his routine any at all you can guarantee he will have a royal meltdown. He talks basically nonstop from the time he wakes up until he goes to bed and makes “mmm” noises as he eats.
Grabby, my baby girl, chatters all the time. She’s determined to be the boss. She comes out with all these things that never fail to amaze me. She already knows her colors (her brothers don’t yet) and she was speaking in sentences before she was 2 years old. She asks questions about everything and has an opinion on everything, too (almost like a tiny teenager). She has a temper that is very fire and ice and will shoot daggers at you from her eyes when she’s pissed. She loves dresses and princesses and pink (exact opposite of me). She knows how to unlock the screen on my brother’s cellphone if he leaves it lying around and she is very opinionated about having people touch her if she doesn’t want you to lay a finger on her.
She likes to make massive messes with toys and blocks and stuffed animals and blankets and food and anything else she can get her hands on (ad infinitum). She’s a mama’s girl who is so attached to me that I often hear myself telling her that they didn’t put a zipper on me so she could climb back in my uterus. She lives for our nighttime cuddles and kisses before she goes to sleep. She thinks she can do anything her brothers can do physically and she isn’t afraid to try. She’s scared of the Halloween decorations right now and she loves to chase her brothers up and down the hall and under my kitchen table. She has learned the power of “NO!” and abuses it quite regularly. She’s just beginning her journey on potty training but she’s already determined that she should be wearing her pretty panties (especially the pink ones). Did I mention that she will tell me she’s the boss almost every day?
Each of my children requires me to be a different kind of parent every day. I find myself switching from one method of parenting to the other faster than a flip of a coin. Some days I am at my wit’s end trying to figure out how to make everyone happy all at the same time. What works for one child, doesn’t work for the next one and it’s a battle of wills almost every day at my house for which one of my children will get the most of my attention. I am literally pulled in 3 different directions some days. There are nights I go to bed asking myself if I’ve done enough for them. There are nights I go to bed knowing I did exactly what they needed me to that day. Most days fall somewhere in the middle of this with me feeling like I overdid it with some things and didn’t do enough with others. I’m spread thin and I’m not afraid to admit that but I am doing the absolute best I can.
I’ve recently found inspiration in myself to see them progress. My life has become less about how well I will do and more about how much I want for them to do well themselves. I’ve pushed the aspirations I never really tried that hard for to the side and I’m pushing myself to do for them the things that they need me to be doing right now to the give them the best start possible. The only thing I’m pushing for myself is awareness of my own condition(s) and my health. I need to figure out why I have my own issues and try to keep myself healthy for my kids.
On this journey, I’m learning that life with children on the Autism Spectrum and children who are not is a never-ending lesson in flexibility, patience, celebrating the small victories, and finding happiness in the everyday moments. I’m letting smiles, hugs, and snuggles carry me through my life right now and I’m fine with that.
Life is a spectrum, Autism is just one part of it.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
It makes sense to me...
I’m gonna talk about my rituals. My routines. Things that bug me. Things that I can’t help but to correct.
I have a routine for loading the dishwasher. The plates are in order from biggest to littlest. The silverware is mixed in the different sections of the tray because two spoons…ummm, spooning, don’t get as clean in the dishwasher because their large flat surfaces are touching. Knives go in the section closest to the back so little hands can’t get to them. Glasses go on the top rack only unless they are just too big to fit. At my house we have the dishwasher baskets for the all of the sippy cup parts. I have a place for each specific color and I don’t move them. Glass cups go can’t go in the middle because they don’t stay standing up and will get broken. The dishwasher pouch goes in with the liquid-filled part facing up. The dishwasher always gets ran on heavy wash. I want those dishes clean.
The light switches in the stairwell going to the basement have to both be facing down when the light is off and when on, the switch at the top of the stairs is the one that faces up. If someone changes this, I will go through the trouble to climb down the steps and flip the switch back the way I like it.
My hand towels and bath towels are always hung so that they are even and if there is a lose string, it’s facing back where you can’t see it.
I always sweep and mop the house in the same pattern. Sweeping goes kitchen, boys’ room, hallway, living room, my bathroom, my bedroom, Grabby’s room, hallway bathroom followed by finishing up in the hallway where the dirty laundry basket sits. Mopping goes kitchen, living room, my bedroom, Grabby’s room, boys’ room, hallway, my bathroom, hallway bathroom where the mop bucket is emptied.
My kids and I have a routine that we follow when we come home in the evenings during the week. I park, get Grabby out of the car, put her in the kitchen where she will pull her jacket off and put it on the table. I get her brothers out of the car, bring them in, they pull of their jackets, and then the little ones get a cookie. Grabby will not settle for anything less than an Oreo. She only wants the cream filling. They go sit on the couch with their cookies while I run back out and check the mail and retrieve book bags and other items from the car. I go back to the living room and start them a movie. Then I go to cook dinner and check their book bags for dirty pants/underwear and notes/artwork.
We have a bedtime routine, a bath time routine, a dinner routine, a potty break routine. I have my own routines for unloading the dishwasher, putting groceries away, putting food in the refrigerator, getting dressed and undressed, putting on my jewelry, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, cleaning the bathrooms, doing laundry, folding clothes.
Almost everything in my home has a “place”. The towels go in a certain place in a certain order. I have certain washrags for cleaning, bathing the kids, and wiping the kids down after meals. I have a specific order for getting the kids out of the bathtub based on who will sit on the potty, who is most likely to pee in the floor, and who will stand still to be dried off the easiest. Everything on my desk is in a certain order both and home and at work.
I can tell you down to the exact spot where to find most things in my environments. The inside of my car is as organized as the inside of my house. I have spreadsheets for my bills. (I really love Excel…) My life is filled with lists and patterns and routines. I count steps when I go up and down them and I really like when they stop on an even number. I line things up and I like things parallel or at right angles to each other. I can see the print in a signature line on a check.
Clutter and haphazard artwork bothers me. I can hear the high-pitched electrical whine that a TV makes when you turn it on or change the channel. I can hear the hum of fluorescent lights and I know exactly when the a/c or heat kicks on at my house. I can even hear my phone when it exchanges data with the network. I absolutely hate strong smells; cinnamon, pumpkin spice, strong perfumes (especially Charlie Red, I can taste that shit). On the other hand I like other smells when they’re strong; garlic as it’s cooking, a laundry mat with its detergent/dryer sheet smell, light perfumes, orchid scents, leather, and motor oil (don’t ask, I just like the smell of a garage).
I listen to the beat of music and pick individual instruments out of songs. I love Linkin Park so much because of the variety of beats and instruments they use. I really like to pick a piano out of a song. I can picture mentally in my head what is happening as the piano is played. Fingers hitting keys, hammers hitting chords, pedals pushed. I adore the smooth curves and even lines of a Grand Piano.
I can watch a density timer drip colored oil through water ALL DAY LONG. Screen savers that shift shapes and colors will captivate me for hours. I can block the world out when I’m reading a book or watching TV. I get so engrossed in a story that I may not notice even if people are standing directly in front of me. I will literally sit and lean to the side to see around them and not even pay attention to the fact that they are trying to get my attention. It bothers me if someone's tag is sticking out the back of their shirt (to the point where I will fix perfect stranger's tags). I can drive long stretches of road and not be able to tell you what I passed but I can describe the condition of the road itself perfectly. I like to walk on patterned tiles only if the pattern is facing the direction I’m walking. I avoid cracks, too. I love to watch the way sunshine lands on the ground when it shines through the leaves on the trees and the way shadows stretch at sunset and sunrise.
I’m a special snowflake and I like it that way.
I have a routine for loading the dishwasher. The plates are in order from biggest to littlest. The silverware is mixed in the different sections of the tray because two spoons…ummm, spooning, don’t get as clean in the dishwasher because their large flat surfaces are touching. Knives go in the section closest to the back so little hands can’t get to them. Glasses go on the top rack only unless they are just too big to fit. At my house we have the dishwasher baskets for the all of the sippy cup parts. I have a place for each specific color and I don’t move them. Glass cups go can’t go in the middle because they don’t stay standing up and will get broken. The dishwasher pouch goes in with the liquid-filled part facing up. The dishwasher always gets ran on heavy wash. I want those dishes clean.
The light switches in the stairwell going to the basement have to both be facing down when the light is off and when on, the switch at the top of the stairs is the one that faces up. If someone changes this, I will go through the trouble to climb down the steps and flip the switch back the way I like it.
My hand towels and bath towels are always hung so that they are even and if there is a lose string, it’s facing back where you can’t see it.
I always sweep and mop the house in the same pattern. Sweeping goes kitchen, boys’ room, hallway, living room, my bathroom, my bedroom, Grabby’s room, hallway bathroom followed by finishing up in the hallway where the dirty laundry basket sits. Mopping goes kitchen, living room, my bedroom, Grabby’s room, boys’ room, hallway, my bathroom, hallway bathroom where the mop bucket is emptied.
My kids and I have a routine that we follow when we come home in the evenings during the week. I park, get Grabby out of the car, put her in the kitchen where she will pull her jacket off and put it on the table. I get her brothers out of the car, bring them in, they pull of their jackets, and then the little ones get a cookie. Grabby will not settle for anything less than an Oreo. She only wants the cream filling. They go sit on the couch with their cookies while I run back out and check the mail and retrieve book bags and other items from the car. I go back to the living room and start them a movie. Then I go to cook dinner and check their book bags for dirty pants/underwear and notes/artwork.
We have a bedtime routine, a bath time routine, a dinner routine, a potty break routine. I have my own routines for unloading the dishwasher, putting groceries away, putting food in the refrigerator, getting dressed and undressed, putting on my jewelry, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, cleaning the bathrooms, doing laundry, folding clothes.
Almost everything in my home has a “place”. The towels go in a certain place in a certain order. I have certain washrags for cleaning, bathing the kids, and wiping the kids down after meals. I have a specific order for getting the kids out of the bathtub based on who will sit on the potty, who is most likely to pee in the floor, and who will stand still to be dried off the easiest. Everything on my desk is in a certain order both and home and at work.
I can tell you down to the exact spot where to find most things in my environments. The inside of my car is as organized as the inside of my house. I have spreadsheets for my bills. (I really love Excel…) My life is filled with lists and patterns and routines. I count steps when I go up and down them and I really like when they stop on an even number. I line things up and I like things parallel or at right angles to each other. I can see the print in a signature line on a check.
Clutter and haphazard artwork bothers me. I can hear the high-pitched electrical whine that a TV makes when you turn it on or change the channel. I can hear the hum of fluorescent lights and I know exactly when the a/c or heat kicks on at my house. I can even hear my phone when it exchanges data with the network. I absolutely hate strong smells; cinnamon, pumpkin spice, strong perfumes (especially Charlie Red, I can taste that shit). On the other hand I like other smells when they’re strong; garlic as it’s cooking, a laundry mat with its detergent/dryer sheet smell, light perfumes, orchid scents, leather, and motor oil (don’t ask, I just like the smell of a garage).
I listen to the beat of music and pick individual instruments out of songs. I love Linkin Park so much because of the variety of beats and instruments they use. I really like to pick a piano out of a song. I can picture mentally in my head what is happening as the piano is played. Fingers hitting keys, hammers hitting chords, pedals pushed. I adore the smooth curves and even lines of a Grand Piano.
I can watch a density timer drip colored oil through water ALL DAY LONG. Screen savers that shift shapes and colors will captivate me for hours. I can block the world out when I’m reading a book or watching TV. I get so engrossed in a story that I may not notice even if people are standing directly in front of me. I will literally sit and lean to the side to see around them and not even pay attention to the fact that they are trying to get my attention. It bothers me if someone's tag is sticking out the back of their shirt (to the point where I will fix perfect stranger's tags). I can drive long stretches of road and not be able to tell you what I passed but I can describe the condition of the road itself perfectly. I like to walk on patterned tiles only if the pattern is facing the direction I’m walking. I avoid cracks, too. I love to watch the way sunshine lands on the ground when it shines through the leaves on the trees and the way shadows stretch at sunset and sunrise.
I’m a special snowflake and I like it that way.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Morning Routine...
I get up after smacking the alarm clock several times. I go in the bathroom, pee, turn on the shower. While I’m waiting on the water to heat up, I take off my pajamas and sneak up the hallway to turn the heat on. Back in the bathroom I check the water temp, turn it back a little bit, climb in and wet my hair. I follow my own step by step routine for washing, turning off the water, drying, back to the toilet to pee again, clean the water out of my ears with a q-tip and fix my short hair. Put on my deodorant, brush my teeth, clean off my glasses lenses, then return to my room.
I walk across the room and turn on the overhead light, walk back across the room and turn off the bathroom light. I pick out what clothes I’m going to wear if I haven’t done it the night before. Underwear (perfectly aligned), socks (perfectly aligned), pull pants over legs and put on tennis shoes or dress shoes depending on what pants I’m wearing, stand up and pull pants up, bra, shirt, necklace, earrings. If I get out of routine in any of this, I’ll forget something important like my earrings or my “fidget” necklace. When I put on my necklace, I have to line the clasp up perfectly on this one particular spot on my neck.
I walk down the hallway and turn on the kitchen light. I open the door to the boys’ room. I turn on the light and say good morning to Noggin as he pops up in bed happy as can be unless he can’t find the toy he fell asleep clutching then I go on a search and rescue mission for the toy. Once he’s happy, I pick his clothes out from his dresser. Sometimes he will stand with me and pick his shirt, sometimes he runs off down the hall to either take his pajamas off or rock on the couch. I put his clothes on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom and then open his sister’s door and get his shoes off the changing table. Going back in the bathroom, I either call him to come to me or he will already be waiting for me. We either take his clothes off or if he decided to undress himself, we pull his overnight pull-up off and he “makes bubbles” in the toilet. Once he’s done, we wipe, flush, then start his dressing process. I lean over to help him get his feet in his underwear and he rubs his face on my hair. I get his underwear pulled up and he tells me what’s on his shirt. We put his shirt on and then I help him get into his pants. He climbs up on the toilet lid and sits down so I can put his socks on (perfectly aligned) and his shoes. He stands up, gives me a big hug and goes to bounce on the couch while I go back down the hall and wake his brother up.
I get his brother’s clothes out for the day. Uncover him, tickle him, tease him with his bunny rabbit before he finally gets up and crawls out of the bed (worse than waking a teenager up). He walks slowly down the hall, bypassing the basket that his pajamas go in so that I can pull them off of him myself and put them in the basket for him (I think he has me trained). I get his pull-up changed as he fusses about the cold wipe, the cold air (even with the heat on), and me picking up his bottom to pull his pull-up up to his waist. I put his socks on (perfectly aligned or he sets off the yodel-wail siren), put his pants on, put his shoes on, sit him up and pull his shirt over his head. Sometimes he chooses this moment to protest the choice in shirts and request the one he wore the day before because he would wear the same thing every day if you let him. I pick him up in a tight hug and tell him that “Mommy gets the best hugs EVER!” which he says the ever part with me almost every time (even with his fingers in his mouth). I sit him down and he runs off to the living room to show his brother his shirt and then to rock on the couch beside him.
I ask his sister what she wants to wear (her answer is always a dress even when it’s below zero outside). I tell her she has to wear pants because it’s cold. I pick up two or three pairs of soft jogging pants. She will usually choose the pink pants. If these aren’t available, she might choose purple or she will refuse and pick jeans. I open the shirt drawer and pull out each shirt one by one until she agrees to wear one. Sometimes I go through every shirt in the drawer and she still refuses so I just pick on that matches and make her wear it. Occasionally this will cause her to finally make a decision or have a major meltdown and try to take all her clothes off as I’m dressing her (demanding a dress the entire time). I get her up and listen to her tell me that she does not need her soaking wet overnight pull-up changed the entire time I’m trying to change her. She rolls around and tries to get away and I finally wrangle a pull-up onto her and then her pants. She sits up before I can put her socks on and then critiques my sock application skills as I’m trying to get them on her wiggling feet. Once they are on, I grab her shoes so she won’t pull the socks off before I can finish dressing her. I get her shoes on and then grab her shirt and pull it over her head. As I’m trying to get her hair out of the back of her shirt, she’s trying to escape again. I finally sit her down and she runs to the living room to show her brothers her pretty shirt.
I go back down the hall with a handful of wet pull-ups to put in the trash. I toss them in and close the door to the cabinet to usually find my girl on the other side asking about her vitamin. I open the door, take book bags to the car along with my purse, fire the car up, come back in and do medications.
The medication routine goes as follows: Take dropper (because they haven’t figured out the medicine spoon yet) and give each child their Zyrtec. Next we do inhalers for each of the boys (2 puffs for Noggin, 1 puff for Screech because we are on the winter dose which is higher). After that I give Grabby and Screech their Singular chewable which they toss back like they’re pros at pill-popping. I open the vitamins and pour some in my hand and then let Noggin and Screech choose theirs. I have to remind Screech several times to chew his vitamin up. I open the other bottle of vitamins and pour some in my hand. I let Grabby choose which one she wants (which will almost always be whatever one there is only one of in my hand). I put away meds, put coats on each kid, the take the boys out to load them in the car first.
They run around, climb in, I buckle each one as they play with my hair. I remind Screech one last time in my firm voice that he has to chew his vitamin up then stand there for an extra minute waiting on him to bite into it. He finally bites it but is mad at me after this.
I go back for their sister, lock the door, then load her in her seat. She wants to climb in but is still a little too short to get in her seat so I let her climb the doorway then pick her up and deposit her into her seat. I buckle her in as I’m working around her baby. She pouts because she didn’t want me to pick her up.
I jump in and we head off to daycare followed by the school drop-off line...
This is just my morning routine. We stick closely to it or things get really messy really quickly. My kids have a need for structure and the ability to predict what comes next. They have a big problem with changes in their routine and don’t tolerate transitions from one activity to the other very well. We are almost a slave to our routines. Introducing potty training to the routine has been a monster of its own but we’re working on it one child at a time. I couldn’t handle transitioning all 3 at the same time so we’re working each one in slowly. I have Noggin on the routine now. I’m prepping to start Grabby next because Screech has some underlying issues we’re investigating at this time. Once I have more info on his issues, I’ll start him on the routine, too.
This is my life. It is very repetitive but I like it, my kids like it, and we all do better with our routine in place. This is living with Autism daily.
I walk across the room and turn on the overhead light, walk back across the room and turn off the bathroom light. I pick out what clothes I’m going to wear if I haven’t done it the night before. Underwear (perfectly aligned), socks (perfectly aligned), pull pants over legs and put on tennis shoes or dress shoes depending on what pants I’m wearing, stand up and pull pants up, bra, shirt, necklace, earrings. If I get out of routine in any of this, I’ll forget something important like my earrings or my “fidget” necklace. When I put on my necklace, I have to line the clasp up perfectly on this one particular spot on my neck.
I walk down the hallway and turn on the kitchen light. I open the door to the boys’ room. I turn on the light and say good morning to Noggin as he pops up in bed happy as can be unless he can’t find the toy he fell asleep clutching then I go on a search and rescue mission for the toy. Once he’s happy, I pick his clothes out from his dresser. Sometimes he will stand with me and pick his shirt, sometimes he runs off down the hall to either take his pajamas off or rock on the couch. I put his clothes on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom and then open his sister’s door and get his shoes off the changing table. Going back in the bathroom, I either call him to come to me or he will already be waiting for me. We either take his clothes off or if he decided to undress himself, we pull his overnight pull-up off and he “makes bubbles” in the toilet. Once he’s done, we wipe, flush, then start his dressing process. I lean over to help him get his feet in his underwear and he rubs his face on my hair. I get his underwear pulled up and he tells me what’s on his shirt. We put his shirt on and then I help him get into his pants. He climbs up on the toilet lid and sits down so I can put his socks on (perfectly aligned) and his shoes. He stands up, gives me a big hug and goes to bounce on the couch while I go back down the hall and wake his brother up.
I get his brother’s clothes out for the day. Uncover him, tickle him, tease him with his bunny rabbit before he finally gets up and crawls out of the bed (worse than waking a teenager up). He walks slowly down the hall, bypassing the basket that his pajamas go in so that I can pull them off of him myself and put them in the basket for him (I think he has me trained). I get his pull-up changed as he fusses about the cold wipe, the cold air (even with the heat on), and me picking up his bottom to pull his pull-up up to his waist. I put his socks on (perfectly aligned or he sets off the yodel-wail siren), put his pants on, put his shoes on, sit him up and pull his shirt over his head. Sometimes he chooses this moment to protest the choice in shirts and request the one he wore the day before because he would wear the same thing every day if you let him. I pick him up in a tight hug and tell him that “Mommy gets the best hugs EVER!” which he says the ever part with me almost every time (even with his fingers in his mouth). I sit him down and he runs off to the living room to show his brother his shirt and then to rock on the couch beside him.
I ask his sister what she wants to wear (her answer is always a dress even when it’s below zero outside). I tell her she has to wear pants because it’s cold. I pick up two or three pairs of soft jogging pants. She will usually choose the pink pants. If these aren’t available, she might choose purple or she will refuse and pick jeans. I open the shirt drawer and pull out each shirt one by one until she agrees to wear one. Sometimes I go through every shirt in the drawer and she still refuses so I just pick on that matches and make her wear it. Occasionally this will cause her to finally make a decision or have a major meltdown and try to take all her clothes off as I’m dressing her (demanding a dress the entire time). I get her up and listen to her tell me that she does not need her soaking wet overnight pull-up changed the entire time I’m trying to change her. She rolls around and tries to get away and I finally wrangle a pull-up onto her and then her pants. She sits up before I can put her socks on and then critiques my sock application skills as I’m trying to get them on her wiggling feet. Once they are on, I grab her shoes so she won’t pull the socks off before I can finish dressing her. I get her shoes on and then grab her shirt and pull it over her head. As I’m trying to get her hair out of the back of her shirt, she’s trying to escape again. I finally sit her down and she runs to the living room to show her brothers her pretty shirt.
I go back down the hall with a handful of wet pull-ups to put in the trash. I toss them in and close the door to the cabinet to usually find my girl on the other side asking about her vitamin. I open the door, take book bags to the car along with my purse, fire the car up, come back in and do medications.
The medication routine goes as follows: Take dropper (because they haven’t figured out the medicine spoon yet) and give each child their Zyrtec. Next we do inhalers for each of the boys (2 puffs for Noggin, 1 puff for Screech because we are on the winter dose which is higher). After that I give Grabby and Screech their Singular chewable which they toss back like they’re pros at pill-popping. I open the vitamins and pour some in my hand and then let Noggin and Screech choose theirs. I have to remind Screech several times to chew his vitamin up. I open the other bottle of vitamins and pour some in my hand. I let Grabby choose which one she wants (which will almost always be whatever one there is only one of in my hand). I put away meds, put coats on each kid, the take the boys out to load them in the car first.
They run around, climb in, I buckle each one as they play with my hair. I remind Screech one last time in my firm voice that he has to chew his vitamin up then stand there for an extra minute waiting on him to bite into it. He finally bites it but is mad at me after this.
I go back for their sister, lock the door, then load her in her seat. She wants to climb in but is still a little too short to get in her seat so I let her climb the doorway then pick her up and deposit her into her seat. I buckle her in as I’m working around her baby. She pouts because she didn’t want me to pick her up.
I jump in and we head off to daycare followed by the school drop-off line...
This is just my morning routine. We stick closely to it or things get really messy really quickly. My kids have a need for structure and the ability to predict what comes next. They have a big problem with changes in their routine and don’t tolerate transitions from one activity to the other very well. We are almost a slave to our routines. Introducing potty training to the routine has been a monster of its own but we’re working on it one child at a time. I couldn’t handle transitioning all 3 at the same time so we’re working each one in slowly. I have Noggin on the routine now. I’m prepping to start Grabby next because Screech has some underlying issues we’re investigating at this time. Once I have more info on his issues, I’ll start him on the routine, too.
This is my life. It is very repetitive but I like it, my kids like it, and we all do better with our routine in place. This is living with Autism daily.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Set yourself free...
I moved my kids and I out into a 2 bedroom apartment with the help of my mom, my brother, and a couple of my cousins. We moved everything in one day while he was gone to work. When he came home, we were gone.
He called and yelled at me for taking half the food. Asked me how he was supposed to get by. I told him that he was lucky I split the food, that I should have taken it all with me for the kids. He didn’t deserve anything nice I did for him but I was determined to try to keep things civil for the kids. I took my boys over to let them spend time with him and I drove back and forth to feed my daughter who was breastfeeding at the time. He would spend the entire time I was there to feed my daughter running his mouth at me and trying to piss me off. He played a ringer on his phone that he had downloaded for when I would call that called me a bitch.
He called and asked if he could come to my house to play with the kids while I was cooking them dinner one night. I let him come over. He played in the living room floor of the apartment with the kids for a little while until I was busy cooking and then he came to the tiny kitchen doorway to make snide comments about me finally cooking and someone needed to take a picture because it didn’t happen very often (which was a lie). I told him if he was here to run his mouth at me, he could leave. He went back to playing with the kids for a little while and then started running his mouth again. I went to my computer and fired up a song that my cousin had sent me. It was called “Echo” by a band called Gorilla Zoe. It talked about being all alone and hoping that he enjoyed the sound of his own echo because I wasn’t there to hear his complaining. He got pissed and left, slamming the door behind him. I didn’t let him come over again after that.
Things went back and forth for a while with him never giving me any money to help with the expenses for the kids. I finally had to call him to ask him for money to buy diapers. He refused saying he didn’t think that was what I would spend it on. I told him to go buy a pack of diapers and bring them to me if he didn’t want to give me money, that the kids needed diapers. That was the only thing he bought to help with the kids for months before I finally took him to court for child support and custody.
After the court date, he tried to stiff me with two car payments because they were both financed in my name even though he was still driving our van. I went and got the van (with barely any gas in it and 4 bald tires). I had to sell my SUV (which was a year from being paid off) because no one wanted to buy the van for what I owed on it. After I sold my vehicle, I took the van and traded it for another SUV so I would have a four wheel drive to get to work in the winter. He was pissed that he hadn’t managed to screw me out of more money by stiffing me with both vehicles. I was just glad I was able to save my own ass because I had decent credit when he didn’t have any credit left.
I found a house for rent that is beautiful. We moved (in December when it was freezing cold outside). My boys now share a room that is huge and my baby girl has her own little room and I have my own room. They have room to play and run and enjoy themselves and I have room to put up a Christmas tree and a place that isn’t tainted by memories of my ex-husband. He has only been inside my home twice. That Christmas when he came to pick up the kids I let him see what toys I had gotten them and one time he stood in my kitchen while I was getting coats on the kids for their visitation with him. He got mad at me and slammed my door as he left so he was banned from ever entering my home again.
I’ve managed to maintain my home free of him and his hate for a long time now. It’s a much happier home than I ever imagined it could be. There are so many wonderful things that have happened behind those doors that my ex will never have the joy of experiencing. There have been birthday celebrations, Christmas mornings, bath time splashes, pictures drawn, books read, movies watched snuggled together on the couch, first steps, first words, hugs, kisses, and tons of I-Love-You’s.
We’ve shared meals with friends, chased each other up and down the hall, played under a blanket fort under the kitchen table, kissed booboos, talked about dinosaurs and butterflies, seen therapists, decorated for holidays, lived, laughed, and loved.
I made a better life possible for my kids and for me. I’m making it better for us every day that we’re together. I’ve found strength that I didn’t know I had and an ability to keep going and adapting to what we need every day.
I left an abusive home with my children and we survived. We’re thriving even. If you’re in an abusive situation, I’m begging you to leave. Get out. Find help anywhere you can. It’s out there. Never let anyone treat you terribly. We are all human and we deserve to be treated with respect and decency. That’s just the least of what we deserve from each other. We deserve compassion, friendship, support, and love. Don’t settle for any less. Create a better life for yourself because a life without fear of being abused and mistreated is a life that you deserve.
I’m here to offer any advice that I can. I’ll listen. I’ll give you a shoulder to cry on and an encouraging voice to support you on your journey. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here and I understand. I’m no longer being hurt or abused by anyone and you don’t have to be either. Set yourself free. You can do it. I KNOW you can…
He called and yelled at me for taking half the food. Asked me how he was supposed to get by. I told him that he was lucky I split the food, that I should have taken it all with me for the kids. He didn’t deserve anything nice I did for him but I was determined to try to keep things civil for the kids. I took my boys over to let them spend time with him and I drove back and forth to feed my daughter who was breastfeeding at the time. He would spend the entire time I was there to feed my daughter running his mouth at me and trying to piss me off. He played a ringer on his phone that he had downloaded for when I would call that called me a bitch.
He called and asked if he could come to my house to play with the kids while I was cooking them dinner one night. I let him come over. He played in the living room floor of the apartment with the kids for a little while until I was busy cooking and then he came to the tiny kitchen doorway to make snide comments about me finally cooking and someone needed to take a picture because it didn’t happen very often (which was a lie). I told him if he was here to run his mouth at me, he could leave. He went back to playing with the kids for a little while and then started running his mouth again. I went to my computer and fired up a song that my cousin had sent me. It was called “Echo” by a band called Gorilla Zoe. It talked about being all alone and hoping that he enjoyed the sound of his own echo because I wasn’t there to hear his complaining. He got pissed and left, slamming the door behind him. I didn’t let him come over again after that.
Things went back and forth for a while with him never giving me any money to help with the expenses for the kids. I finally had to call him to ask him for money to buy diapers. He refused saying he didn’t think that was what I would spend it on. I told him to go buy a pack of diapers and bring them to me if he didn’t want to give me money, that the kids needed diapers. That was the only thing he bought to help with the kids for months before I finally took him to court for child support and custody.
After the court date, he tried to stiff me with two car payments because they were both financed in my name even though he was still driving our van. I went and got the van (with barely any gas in it and 4 bald tires). I had to sell my SUV (which was a year from being paid off) because no one wanted to buy the van for what I owed on it. After I sold my vehicle, I took the van and traded it for another SUV so I would have a four wheel drive to get to work in the winter. He was pissed that he hadn’t managed to screw me out of more money by stiffing me with both vehicles. I was just glad I was able to save my own ass because I had decent credit when he didn’t have any credit left.
I found a house for rent that is beautiful. We moved (in December when it was freezing cold outside). My boys now share a room that is huge and my baby girl has her own little room and I have my own room. They have room to play and run and enjoy themselves and I have room to put up a Christmas tree and a place that isn’t tainted by memories of my ex-husband. He has only been inside my home twice. That Christmas when he came to pick up the kids I let him see what toys I had gotten them and one time he stood in my kitchen while I was getting coats on the kids for their visitation with him. He got mad at me and slammed my door as he left so he was banned from ever entering my home again.
I’ve managed to maintain my home free of him and his hate for a long time now. It’s a much happier home than I ever imagined it could be. There are so many wonderful things that have happened behind those doors that my ex will never have the joy of experiencing. There have been birthday celebrations, Christmas mornings, bath time splashes, pictures drawn, books read, movies watched snuggled together on the couch, first steps, first words, hugs, kisses, and tons of I-Love-You’s.
We’ve shared meals with friends, chased each other up and down the hall, played under a blanket fort under the kitchen table, kissed booboos, talked about dinosaurs and butterflies, seen therapists, decorated for holidays, lived, laughed, and loved.
I made a better life possible for my kids and for me. I’m making it better for us every day that we’re together. I’ve found strength that I didn’t know I had and an ability to keep going and adapting to what we need every day.
I left an abusive home with my children and we survived. We’re thriving even. If you’re in an abusive situation, I’m begging you to leave. Get out. Find help anywhere you can. It’s out there. Never let anyone treat you terribly. We are all human and we deserve to be treated with respect and decency. That’s just the least of what we deserve from each other. We deserve compassion, friendship, support, and love. Don’t settle for any less. Create a better life for yourself because a life without fear of being abused and mistreated is a life that you deserve.
I’m here to offer any advice that I can. I’ll listen. I’ll give you a shoulder to cry on and an encouraging voice to support you on your journey. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here and I understand. I’m no longer being hurt or abused by anyone and you don’t have to be either. Set yourself free. You can do it. I KNOW you can…
Thursday, October 20, 2011
When he hurt me...
The first time he ever hurt me, he didn’t lay a hand on me.
We were arguing two days after we had just moved six hours away from all of our family and he shoved a glass-topped coffee table against the back of my legs, knocking me to the ground and leaving big bruises that would be there for weeks. I sat there on the floor and glared at him. He stormed out of our apartment. I should have let him stay gone. I followed him out and begged him to come back. He did.
For the next few weeks I wore those bruises like a badge of honor, proof that he couldn’t break me. I wore shorts at home just so he would see them and remember what he did. It didn’t help.
Things got better for a little while. He started working, I started school, and we were getting along great. We were getting along so great that we decided to start a family. We weren’t married but we already had a date set and we decided to just go for it. I got pregnant quickly and found out shortly after that it was twins.
Parents of multiples have a 50% higher chance of divorce according to some random research I read a few years ago. I can believe it. I was in the hospital for 4 weeks before my twins were born. This is where the major stress started. He was left responsible for everything at home. My twins were born very early. They were tiny and hospitalized for months. We were stressed to the maximum but we weren’t arguing, yet.
The boys came home. First, my big boy, the one who was a peaceful baby who slept well and smiled easily. Then 5 weeks later, his brother, who cried every time I put him down, didn’t sleep anywhere except on my chest at night, and had a cry so high-pitched from being on oxygen for so long that it would vibrate your eardrums every time he screamed (which was often). I was sleep deprived. He was sleep deprived. It was leading up to disaster.
We moved back home, in with my mom, until we could find a place of our own and he could get a job. It wasn’t long before we were at each other’s throats pretty regularly. We didn’t argue in front of my mom, but we didn’t have to. You could cut the tension with a knife. We argued one day while no one else was home. It was bad. He was in my face, shoving me. The boys were screaming, scared of all the yelling. I put one of my boys down on the couch in a pillow so that I could try to get him to back off, to get out of my face. He shoved me backwards on the couch, on my baby, and kept coming. I turned my back to him and covered my child, making sure he was ok even as I was trying to block what I knew was coming. He grabbed my arm and dragged me over the coffee table. I swung my arm back and connected a solid slap right against his cheek. It surprised him, but only for a second before he pinned me against the wall.
I screamed at him to get out or I would call the cops. He refused to leave. I knew my mom would be home soon. I grabbed the baby and ran into the bedroom and locked myself in. My other twin was already in the room in his crib, crying. I pulled them both into my lap on the bed and sat rocking them telling them it would be ok. I think I was trying to convince myself as much as I was them. He yelled outside the door then left. I wasn’t sure if he actually went out the door or not so I didn’t come out of the room until it was time to feed the babies. He was gone. My mom came in as I was making bottles and asked why I was upset. I played it off as just an argument. I still didn’t tell her. I still haven’t told her either.
He came back later full of apology and begging forgiveness. Fighting my own instincts, I forgave him. Things went well again for a while. He started working, we moved into an apartment again, and the kids grew to be easier to manage as they got bigger.
Silly me thought things were going well, so we decided to have another child. This time, I didn’t even have time to deliver her before we were arguing again. He went out with his brother one night and got severely drunk. I was waiting up on him when he got home. I had dealt with enough. We argued again. He came within inches of hitting me, swinging his arm back and grabbing things off the wall. He threw all the DVDs off of the stand and then crushed the stand, smashing it against the floor followed by stomping it to splinters. He screamed and yelled at me, in my face towering over my 5’3” of height that was curled into a ball on the bed protecting my unborn. I still don’t know how my twins didn’t wake up screaming from the next room. He was so loud I figured someone would call the police, but no one did.
He left to go to work that morning after passing out on the couch for maybe an hour. Once he was gone, I called my mom and we packed as much of my babies stuff and some of my clothes as we could and I left. I left him a note saying I would meet him when he got off work to talk but that I wasn’t bringing the kids back that night. That was the first time I tried to leave. We talked and he agreed not to drink again. He lied.
My daughter was born. We moved into a bigger place the day I came home from the hospital with her. We weren’t there long before he started sleeping on the couch just so he wouldn’t have to hear our daughter cry when she woke in the middle of the night to eat. We started arguing again. It wasn’t long before he was back to throwing things at me again and yelling in my face. The 4th of July came and he had spent the day sneaking drinks of hot beer that he had hidden outside the house. I didn’t know it. He stayed out of my face and chewed gum so that I wouldn’t smell it. We started arguing again because he didn’t want to take the kids to see the fireworks that night. My boys were 2 years old. My daughter was only 4 months old. He got pissed and left me to load the car by myself as he sat stewing in the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the driveway and romped on the gas making the rear end of my SUV swing around and over an embankment. He over-corrected to get the car back in the road and drove up on the opposite embankment, barely missing our mailbox and scraping the side of the SUV. Once the vehicle stopped moving, I started screaming at him to get out. I checked on the kids to make sure they were ok. They weren’t hurt but they were crying because they were scared.
I had finally had enough. I got out of the SUV and walked around the front end to the driver’s side. I opened the door and tried to drag him out. He finally got mad and climbed out, yelling in my face. He got closer and closer to me, pushing at me. He waited until he had me facing with my back downhill and shoved hard. I tried to brace myself with my hands, fracturing my wrist, and leaving gravels in my palms, elbows, and the back of my head. He picked me up by my wrists hard enough to leave marks and shook me, screaming at me. This time someone heard my screams and his yelling. He went back to the open door and snatched the keys out of the ignition and threw my purse to the ground. As I was trying to find my keys (that he had taken out of my purse and thrown in the floorboard), he climbed into the passenger’s seat. I got back in the car after seeing my keys while I was squatted down digging in the gravels. I told him to get out and he refused so I told him he could ride to the police station with me. We made it a short distance down the road before he made me stop and let him out. I drove away as fast as I could. He started calling my phone trying to get me to come back. I called my mom and told her I was on the way. I was hysterical by this point. She was ready to kill my ex by the time I got to her. We took care of the children, sat through the fireworks display while my ex texted me and had the police officer call me, and then I went to the ER. I met the police there. The officer who had came to my house after getting a call that there was an argument going on, who had seen my at-that-time-husband walking back to the house and picked him up. My ex had told him some story about it just being an argument. I told him the truth about what happened.
The cop was probably what made me wake up and realize what I needed to do because he told me he answers calls like this all the time and it only gets worse. He was practically begging me to leave my ex. He stayed with me at the hospital the entire time I was there, even sitting with my daughter while they did x-rays on my arm. He followed me from the hospital to the sheriff’s department so that I could swear out a protective order. He was one of the nicest men I have ever encountered.
I left my ex for 4 weeks. He called and begged me to come back. He asked me to bring the kids up to see him. He asked me to come over for dinner. He cried on me. I finally agreed to come back. We made plans to move again and moved into a smaller house in town. We were there for one week when I decided I was done. He had spent the entire time sleeping on the couch and staying up late on the phone. Ten days after we got back together, I moved my kids and I out for the last time. I didn’t look back. I was done.
Come back tomorrow for part two of the story…
We were arguing two days after we had just moved six hours away from all of our family and he shoved a glass-topped coffee table against the back of my legs, knocking me to the ground and leaving big bruises that would be there for weeks. I sat there on the floor and glared at him. He stormed out of our apartment. I should have let him stay gone. I followed him out and begged him to come back. He did.
For the next few weeks I wore those bruises like a badge of honor, proof that he couldn’t break me. I wore shorts at home just so he would see them and remember what he did. It didn’t help.
Things got better for a little while. He started working, I started school, and we were getting along great. We were getting along so great that we decided to start a family. We weren’t married but we already had a date set and we decided to just go for it. I got pregnant quickly and found out shortly after that it was twins.
Parents of multiples have a 50% higher chance of divorce according to some random research I read a few years ago. I can believe it. I was in the hospital for 4 weeks before my twins were born. This is where the major stress started. He was left responsible for everything at home. My twins were born very early. They were tiny and hospitalized for months. We were stressed to the maximum but we weren’t arguing, yet.
The boys came home. First, my big boy, the one who was a peaceful baby who slept well and smiled easily. Then 5 weeks later, his brother, who cried every time I put him down, didn’t sleep anywhere except on my chest at night, and had a cry so high-pitched from being on oxygen for so long that it would vibrate your eardrums every time he screamed (which was often). I was sleep deprived. He was sleep deprived. It was leading up to disaster.
We moved back home, in with my mom, until we could find a place of our own and he could get a job. It wasn’t long before we were at each other’s throats pretty regularly. We didn’t argue in front of my mom, but we didn’t have to. You could cut the tension with a knife. We argued one day while no one else was home. It was bad. He was in my face, shoving me. The boys were screaming, scared of all the yelling. I put one of my boys down on the couch in a pillow so that I could try to get him to back off, to get out of my face. He shoved me backwards on the couch, on my baby, and kept coming. I turned my back to him and covered my child, making sure he was ok even as I was trying to block what I knew was coming. He grabbed my arm and dragged me over the coffee table. I swung my arm back and connected a solid slap right against his cheek. It surprised him, but only for a second before he pinned me against the wall.
I screamed at him to get out or I would call the cops. He refused to leave. I knew my mom would be home soon. I grabbed the baby and ran into the bedroom and locked myself in. My other twin was already in the room in his crib, crying. I pulled them both into my lap on the bed and sat rocking them telling them it would be ok. I think I was trying to convince myself as much as I was them. He yelled outside the door then left. I wasn’t sure if he actually went out the door or not so I didn’t come out of the room until it was time to feed the babies. He was gone. My mom came in as I was making bottles and asked why I was upset. I played it off as just an argument. I still didn’t tell her. I still haven’t told her either.
He came back later full of apology and begging forgiveness. Fighting my own instincts, I forgave him. Things went well again for a while. He started working, we moved into an apartment again, and the kids grew to be easier to manage as they got bigger.
Silly me thought things were going well, so we decided to have another child. This time, I didn’t even have time to deliver her before we were arguing again. He went out with his brother one night and got severely drunk. I was waiting up on him when he got home. I had dealt with enough. We argued again. He came within inches of hitting me, swinging his arm back and grabbing things off the wall. He threw all the DVDs off of the stand and then crushed the stand, smashing it against the floor followed by stomping it to splinters. He screamed and yelled at me, in my face towering over my 5’3” of height that was curled into a ball on the bed protecting my unborn. I still don’t know how my twins didn’t wake up screaming from the next room. He was so loud I figured someone would call the police, but no one did.
He left to go to work that morning after passing out on the couch for maybe an hour. Once he was gone, I called my mom and we packed as much of my babies stuff and some of my clothes as we could and I left. I left him a note saying I would meet him when he got off work to talk but that I wasn’t bringing the kids back that night. That was the first time I tried to leave. We talked and he agreed not to drink again. He lied.
My daughter was born. We moved into a bigger place the day I came home from the hospital with her. We weren’t there long before he started sleeping on the couch just so he wouldn’t have to hear our daughter cry when she woke in the middle of the night to eat. We started arguing again. It wasn’t long before he was back to throwing things at me again and yelling in my face. The 4th of July came and he had spent the day sneaking drinks of hot beer that he had hidden outside the house. I didn’t know it. He stayed out of my face and chewed gum so that I wouldn’t smell it. We started arguing again because he didn’t want to take the kids to see the fireworks that night. My boys were 2 years old. My daughter was only 4 months old. He got pissed and left me to load the car by myself as he sat stewing in the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the driveway and romped on the gas making the rear end of my SUV swing around and over an embankment. He over-corrected to get the car back in the road and drove up on the opposite embankment, barely missing our mailbox and scraping the side of the SUV. Once the vehicle stopped moving, I started screaming at him to get out. I checked on the kids to make sure they were ok. They weren’t hurt but they were crying because they were scared.
I had finally had enough. I got out of the SUV and walked around the front end to the driver’s side. I opened the door and tried to drag him out. He finally got mad and climbed out, yelling in my face. He got closer and closer to me, pushing at me. He waited until he had me facing with my back downhill and shoved hard. I tried to brace myself with my hands, fracturing my wrist, and leaving gravels in my palms, elbows, and the back of my head. He picked me up by my wrists hard enough to leave marks and shook me, screaming at me. This time someone heard my screams and his yelling. He went back to the open door and snatched the keys out of the ignition and threw my purse to the ground. As I was trying to find my keys (that he had taken out of my purse and thrown in the floorboard), he climbed into the passenger’s seat. I got back in the car after seeing my keys while I was squatted down digging in the gravels. I told him to get out and he refused so I told him he could ride to the police station with me. We made it a short distance down the road before he made me stop and let him out. I drove away as fast as I could. He started calling my phone trying to get me to come back. I called my mom and told her I was on the way. I was hysterical by this point. She was ready to kill my ex by the time I got to her. We took care of the children, sat through the fireworks display while my ex texted me and had the police officer call me, and then I went to the ER. I met the police there. The officer who had came to my house after getting a call that there was an argument going on, who had seen my at-that-time-husband walking back to the house and picked him up. My ex had told him some story about it just being an argument. I told him the truth about what happened.
The cop was probably what made me wake up and realize what I needed to do because he told me he answers calls like this all the time and it only gets worse. He was practically begging me to leave my ex. He stayed with me at the hospital the entire time I was there, even sitting with my daughter while they did x-rays on my arm. He followed me from the hospital to the sheriff’s department so that I could swear out a protective order. He was one of the nicest men I have ever encountered.
I left my ex for 4 weeks. He called and begged me to come back. He asked me to bring the kids up to see him. He asked me to come over for dinner. He cried on me. I finally agreed to come back. We made plans to move again and moved into a smaller house in town. We were there for one week when I decided I was done. He had spent the entire time sleeping on the couch and staying up late on the phone. Ten days after we got back together, I moved my kids and I out for the last time. I didn’t look back. I was done.
Come back tomorrow for part two of the story…
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Vivid...
I have very vivid dreams. I always have for as long as I can remember.
I dream good dreams. Some so wonderful sometimes I hate that the alarm clock went off.
I dream bad dreams. The kind that wake you in a full-fledged panic and tear you from sleep so violently that they are still with you for a while after you wake up.
I dream ironic dreams about things that only make sense if you know me and how I would find them ironic…like being in a 1950s café with all my ex-boyfriends and talking to everyone of them like we’d been friends for years.
I dream some dreams that make me get up and sit between by twins’ beds or beside my baby girl’s bed in the middle of the night and cry, grateful that they’re sleeping and fine.
I relive some of my life in my sleep. Terrifying experiences, fun experiences, and things that were weird when they happened but were even weirder in my sleep.
I get no control over where my mind goes in the dark. Sometimes I can tell you image for image exactly what I dreamed about, sometimes I’m only left with a feeling that it was either bad or good. Occasionally I will write down a note in the middle of the night about what I’m dreaming about. The last one I wrote down said something about people not liking to be controlled. (haha…little did I know, right?)
Lately my body has been interrupting my dreams. My shoulder has been hurting frequently and I’m up a lot during the night to use the bathroom now. (Meds maybe?) This is causing dreams to intermingle with each other.
I will begin a dream…wake up…lay back down…try to begin back where I started and end up in some place really weird to where my dreams feel disjointed. I know I’m not resting well. My dreams tend to be what keeps me sane. When I’m having a hard time, my dreams usually get violent or scary. When things are going well, my dreams tend to be peaceful and relaxing. I can usually tell what’s bothering me because it plays itself out in my sleep.
Last night my dream was about arguing with my ex over changing jobs and not reporting where he was working so he wasn’t paying child support for my babies. I know where this anxiety stems from, his child support is late right now and I’m hoping he hasn’t done this again right before the holidays when it would leave me wanting for money and mess with my children’s Christmas.
He hasn’t seen the kids since February and I know he doesn’t care about them. He’s moved on to his new woman and his new baby and he’s forgotten that he started with three kids that he already had. I don’t understand how someone can just up and walk away from their children. I could never do that, no matter what the circumstances are.
Right now I’m the mother of two boys with Autism and a little girl who is right smack in the middle of her terrible twos and I haven’t walked away. I’m actually digging in even deeper to do what I can to make all three of their lives better.
Why does everything have to be so hard? Why does my ex have to be such an asshole? How is this going to affect my kids. They already ask where daddy is. What do I tell them as they get older that they will understand? They may never grasp why he won’t see them and it will leave them hurt every single time he comes up in their minds. Sometimes I hate him so hard for doing this to my sweet babies.
I wish my dream for a perfect partner in life would come true. My kids and I need that dream to become a vivid reality...soon.
I dream good dreams. Some so wonderful sometimes I hate that the alarm clock went off.
I dream bad dreams. The kind that wake you in a full-fledged panic and tear you from sleep so violently that they are still with you for a while after you wake up.
I dream ironic dreams about things that only make sense if you know me and how I would find them ironic…like being in a 1950s café with all my ex-boyfriends and talking to everyone of them like we’d been friends for years.
I dream some dreams that make me get up and sit between by twins’ beds or beside my baby girl’s bed in the middle of the night and cry, grateful that they’re sleeping and fine.
I relive some of my life in my sleep. Terrifying experiences, fun experiences, and things that were weird when they happened but were even weirder in my sleep.
I get no control over where my mind goes in the dark. Sometimes I can tell you image for image exactly what I dreamed about, sometimes I’m only left with a feeling that it was either bad or good. Occasionally I will write down a note in the middle of the night about what I’m dreaming about. The last one I wrote down said something about people not liking to be controlled. (haha…little did I know, right?)
Lately my body has been interrupting my dreams. My shoulder has been hurting frequently and I’m up a lot during the night to use the bathroom now. (Meds maybe?) This is causing dreams to intermingle with each other.
I will begin a dream…wake up…lay back down…try to begin back where I started and end up in some place really weird to where my dreams feel disjointed. I know I’m not resting well. My dreams tend to be what keeps me sane. When I’m having a hard time, my dreams usually get violent or scary. When things are going well, my dreams tend to be peaceful and relaxing. I can usually tell what’s bothering me because it plays itself out in my sleep.
Last night my dream was about arguing with my ex over changing jobs and not reporting where he was working so he wasn’t paying child support for my babies. I know where this anxiety stems from, his child support is late right now and I’m hoping he hasn’t done this again right before the holidays when it would leave me wanting for money and mess with my children’s Christmas.
He hasn’t seen the kids since February and I know he doesn’t care about them. He’s moved on to his new woman and his new baby and he’s forgotten that he started with three kids that he already had. I don’t understand how someone can just up and walk away from their children. I could never do that, no matter what the circumstances are.
Right now I’m the mother of two boys with Autism and a little girl who is right smack in the middle of her terrible twos and I haven’t walked away. I’m actually digging in even deeper to do what I can to make all three of their lives better.
Why does everything have to be so hard? Why does my ex have to be such an asshole? How is this going to affect my kids. They already ask where daddy is. What do I tell them as they get older that they will understand? They may never grasp why he won’t see them and it will leave them hurt every single time he comes up in their minds. Sometimes I hate him so hard for doing this to my sweet babies.
I wish my dream for a perfect partner in life would come true. My kids and I need that dream to become a vivid reality...soon.
Friday, October 14, 2011
What she doesn't understand...
“Noggin, say goodbye to Grabby. Noggin? Noggin?!? Wavy bye, Grabby.”
He never looks. He never tells her bye. Sometimes he smiles but he never looks towards her. He bounces in his seat and hums or makes repetitive noises and stares straight forward.
I can tell it bothers her but I don’t know how to explain to a 2 and a half year old that her four and a half year old brother isn’t ignoring her. He just doesn’t respond the way other people do.
I can remind her brother Screech to say goodbye and he will. He’s also higher-functioning on the Autism scale than his brother. If I don’t remind him, he won’t tell her goodbye either though.
She knows her colors. She’s attempting to count. She can tell you her name and her brothers’ names. She will argue with you about her age.
She “talks” to Mamaw on her phone and tries to order chicken nuggets at every drive-thru we pull into. She “feeds” her baby dolls and she tells me stories. She has such an amazing imagination.
She was using full sentences long before the other kids in her daycare class. She is so smart that she figured out how to unlock the screen on my brother’s phone the very first time he left it laying down where she could reach it.
What do you do when your two year old is out-pacing her two older brothers? She almost weighs as much as Screech. He’s so tiny. She’s started trying to interpret for Noggin, filling in answers when I ask him a question, doing things for him because he doesn’t understand. They butt heads so much. She wants to be the big kid because she’s the smallest. He doesn’t know how to express himself so when she’s trying to help, he’s hitting her to get her to back off.
She loves her brothers fiercely. I can see it already. They love her, too. They won’t let strangers touch her or get too close to her if we’re out in public. She may be beginning to say things they can’t yet but they are still her big brothers, her protectors. For now…
He never looks. He never tells her bye. Sometimes he smiles but he never looks towards her. He bounces in his seat and hums or makes repetitive noises and stares straight forward.
I can tell it bothers her but I don’t know how to explain to a 2 and a half year old that her four and a half year old brother isn’t ignoring her. He just doesn’t respond the way other people do.
I can remind her brother Screech to say goodbye and he will. He’s also higher-functioning on the Autism scale than his brother. If I don’t remind him, he won’t tell her goodbye either though.
She knows her colors. She’s attempting to count. She can tell you her name and her brothers’ names. She will argue with you about her age.
She “talks” to Mamaw on her phone and tries to order chicken nuggets at every drive-thru we pull into. She “feeds” her baby dolls and she tells me stories. She has such an amazing imagination.
She was using full sentences long before the other kids in her daycare class. She is so smart that she figured out how to unlock the screen on my brother’s phone the very first time he left it laying down where she could reach it.
What do you do when your two year old is out-pacing her two older brothers? She almost weighs as much as Screech. He’s so tiny. She’s started trying to interpret for Noggin, filling in answers when I ask him a question, doing things for him because he doesn’t understand. They butt heads so much. She wants to be the big kid because she’s the smallest. He doesn’t know how to express himself so when she’s trying to help, he’s hitting her to get her to back off.
She loves her brothers fiercely. I can see it already. They love her, too. They won’t let strangers touch her or get too close to her if we’re out in public. She may be beginning to say things they can’t yet but they are still her big brothers, her protectors. For now…
Thursday, October 13, 2011
I spoke out...
for all the women who fear the men they are supposed to love.
for the single mamas who are doing it on their own but who aren't having to deal with the yelling, screaming, cursing, hitting...violence.
for all the women who should never have been hurt.
for all the daughters I never want to see in the position I was in.
for all the sons I want to be raised in a world where you don't hit anyone.
for you...
Go here.
for the single mamas who are doing it on their own but who aren't having to deal with the yelling, screaming, cursing, hitting...violence.
for all the women who should never have been hurt.
for all the daughters I never want to see in the position I was in.
for all the sons I want to be raised in a world where you don't hit anyone.
for you...
Go here.
Friday, October 7, 2011
I LOVE MY TWEEPS...
I was telling my mom last night about an app I had plans to download on the kids’ new iPad for them and I asked her what she thought about it. Her response…”What do your peeps say?”. (She meant my tweeps but we’re working on her technology vocabulary. I actually have her typing "LOL" now in texts…progress, I’m telling you.)
She made me think about the fact that I have an entire community of friends in my pocket all the time now. Parents who understand what it means to have a child (or two children) on the Autism spectrum, friends that understand what it means to struggle with stress and depression, and friends who are currently living with Autism or Aspergers Syndrome themselves. All of these wonderful people are there for me whenever I have a question, or a statement, or a thought about how my life is going.
They are there sharing their own experiences. Talking about battles with cancer, about their children, about their spouses, about single parenting, about their friends, about their daily lives, and about the impact that the world is having on them. They are sharing their blessings, their fears, their pasts and their futures with me.
I’m a source of enlightenment, inspiration, laughter, tears, thought-provoking questions, support, protection, and friendship to people all over the world with just 140 characters. I have been hugged, kissed, kicked, giggled with, cried with, and smiled at all through the power a few tiny characters on a keyboard.
I’ve said prayers for friends I’ve made on Twitter. I’ve met some amazing people that I wouldn’t trade now for anything in the world. There are people who have my phone number with the understanding that they can call me, text me, email me ANY time they need me. I’ve made friends with people I wouldn’t hesitate to have over for dinner.
So I just wanted to write to say, THANK YOU!!!! From the bottom, top, front, back, and center of my heart. You are what makes this world wonderful. For those of you who are new to my blog, come and find me on Twitter. I'm @TwinsMa and I'm always up to make a new friend or two. Check out who I'm following, too. They're all pretty great. :)
I love my tweeps.
She made me think about the fact that I have an entire community of friends in my pocket all the time now. Parents who understand what it means to have a child (or two children) on the Autism spectrum, friends that understand what it means to struggle with stress and depression, and friends who are currently living with Autism or Aspergers Syndrome themselves. All of these wonderful people are there for me whenever I have a question, or a statement, or a thought about how my life is going.
They are there sharing their own experiences. Talking about battles with cancer, about their children, about their spouses, about single parenting, about their friends, about their daily lives, and about the impact that the world is having on them. They are sharing their blessings, their fears, their pasts and their futures with me.
I’m a source of enlightenment, inspiration, laughter, tears, thought-provoking questions, support, protection, and friendship to people all over the world with just 140 characters. I have been hugged, kissed, kicked, giggled with, cried with, and smiled at all through the power a few tiny characters on a keyboard.
I’ve said prayers for friends I’ve made on Twitter. I’ve met some amazing people that I wouldn’t trade now for anything in the world. There are people who have my phone number with the understanding that they can call me, text me, email me ANY time they need me. I’ve made friends with people I wouldn’t hesitate to have over for dinner.
So I just wanted to write to say, THANK YOU!!!! From the bottom, top, front, back, and center of my heart. You are what makes this world wonderful. For those of you who are new to my blog, come and find me on Twitter. I'm @TwinsMa and I'm always up to make a new friend or two. Check out who I'm following, too. They're all pretty great. :)
I love my tweeps.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Don't let go...
No one has this. This thing we share. I can look at you and give you the slightest little smile and you will grin from ear to ear and laugh.
I can rub your hair and snuggle you in the crook of my arm and you will rest against me as if you have been there my entire life.
I can nuzzle your neck early in the morning and you will smile and snuggle closer to me.
This is motherhood. Hugs so tight I can feel the strength of the world in your grip.
This is a blessing. You are all three my angels.
I can rub your hair and snuggle you in the crook of my arm and you will rest against me as if you have been there my entire life.
I can nuzzle your neck early in the morning and you will smile and snuggle closer to me.
This is motherhood. Hugs so tight I can feel the strength of the world in your grip.
This is a blessing. You are all three my angels.
Monday, October 3, 2011
I can't do this...
When I saw those 2 bubbles on the screen in the doctor's office my first thought was, "Oh my God, I can't do this.".
When they took me to the hospital and said, "We may have to deliver your babies today (at 26 weeks).", I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they kept me in the hospital for 4 more weeks before they delivered you and I listened to your heartbeats disappear every time I had a contraction I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they delivered you, Twin A cried at birth, Twin B didn't make a sound. I was so scared that he never would. I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they took me to my hospital room and I had to wait for hours before I finally got to see you I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they told me it was time for me to leave and go back to my room I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they wheeled Twin A, my little Noggin, to neurosurgery I openly bawled my eyes out and I whispered, "I can't do this.".
When they let Noggin come home before his brother and we had to leave the hospital with just one of my sweet babies I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I had to stay home during the day alone with Noggin while Twin B, my Screech, was at the hospital alone because I wasn't allowed to bring his brother back into the NICU to see him I thought, "I can't do this.".
The first night at home with both my boys running on barely any sleep and exhausted I thought, "I can't do this.".
Moving us 6 hours away from the hospital where they were born and getting married I thought, "I can't do this.".
Watching my sons go through speech and physical therapy when they weren't meeting their milestones I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I brought home the boys' little sister and watched them run circles around me while I was breastfeeding their sister I thought, "I can't do this.".
When things got really bad and I had to take the kids and leave I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I moved from our tiny apartment to the house I rent now with barely any furniture and higher rent I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I took my son to his pediatrician and she told me that he needed to be evaluated by a doctor two hours away I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked out of that doctor's office with Twin A diagnosed with classic Autism and a request for a referral to see his twin brother I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked out of her office again with Twin B now also diagnosed with Autism more on the Asperger's end of the spectrum I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I finally read the finished reports from all the various evaluations that my boys had been put through I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I realized that I was letting my mind live in the past, I wasn't moving forward and taking care of what I needed to for my kids, I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked into the psychologist's office and I started telling him everything that was stressing me out and making feel so overwhelmed I told him, "I can't do this.".
When I started taking Prozac and my hands began trembling I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I looked at everything I was dealing with, I decided to cut some of the things out of my life that weren't helping me. I looked at my boyfriend and said, "I can't do this.".
I wiped everything away and gave myself a clean slate. I decided it was time for me to start over again because my kids deserve to get the best of me and not what's left after I finish worrying over every little thing. When I looked at all that I was allowing to hold me back I thought, "I can't do this.".
I'm determined that I'm going to do everything I can for my babies. I know I'm a strong person. I've had to be strong for too long to start becoming weak now. Today I'm looking at my life and I'm saying, "I CAN DO THIS!".
When they took me to the hospital and said, "We may have to deliver your babies today (at 26 weeks).", I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they kept me in the hospital for 4 more weeks before they delivered you and I listened to your heartbeats disappear every time I had a contraction I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they delivered you, Twin A cried at birth, Twin B didn't make a sound. I was so scared that he never would. I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they took me to my hospital room and I had to wait for hours before I finally got to see you I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they told me it was time for me to leave and go back to my room I thought, "I can't do this.".
When they wheeled Twin A, my little Noggin, to neurosurgery I openly bawled my eyes out and I whispered, "I can't do this.".
When they let Noggin come home before his brother and we had to leave the hospital with just one of my sweet babies I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I had to stay home during the day alone with Noggin while Twin B, my Screech, was at the hospital alone because I wasn't allowed to bring his brother back into the NICU to see him I thought, "I can't do this.".
The first night at home with both my boys running on barely any sleep and exhausted I thought, "I can't do this.".
Moving us 6 hours away from the hospital where they were born and getting married I thought, "I can't do this.".
Watching my sons go through speech and physical therapy when they weren't meeting their milestones I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I brought home the boys' little sister and watched them run circles around me while I was breastfeeding their sister I thought, "I can't do this.".
When things got really bad and I had to take the kids and leave I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I moved from our tiny apartment to the house I rent now with barely any furniture and higher rent I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I took my son to his pediatrician and she told me that he needed to be evaluated by a doctor two hours away I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked out of that doctor's office with Twin A diagnosed with classic Autism and a request for a referral to see his twin brother I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked out of her office again with Twin B now also diagnosed with Autism more on the Asperger's end of the spectrum I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I finally read the finished reports from all the various evaluations that my boys had been put through I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I realized that I was letting my mind live in the past, I wasn't moving forward and taking care of what I needed to for my kids, I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I walked into the psychologist's office and I started telling him everything that was stressing me out and making feel so overwhelmed I told him, "I can't do this.".
When I started taking Prozac and my hands began trembling I thought, "I can't do this.".
When I looked at everything I was dealing with, I decided to cut some of the things out of my life that weren't helping me. I looked at my boyfriend and said, "I can't do this.".
I wiped everything away and gave myself a clean slate. I decided it was time for me to start over again because my kids deserve to get the best of me and not what's left after I finish worrying over every little thing. When I looked at all that I was allowing to hold me back I thought, "I can't do this.".
I'm determined that I'm going to do everything I can for my babies. I know I'm a strong person. I've had to be strong for too long to start becoming weak now. Today I'm looking at my life and I'm saying, "I CAN DO THIS!".
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