Silver linings...

I’m trying to see the bright side of things.

Instead of seeing the kids running rabid through the house, jumping all over the furniture, leaving a million toys all over my floors…I see three children so excited about having a Christmas tree in our living room that they want to bring their toys to that room to play because the lights from the tree make everything more fun.

Instead of seeing the mountain of clothes that I have to get washed…I see warm clothing for my children that I was able to provide for them that they can tolerate wearing (even if they are living mostly in sweats because they’re soft).

Instead of seeing more dishes needing to be washed…I see the plates and cups and spoons and forks that my children used to (mostly) eat the dinner that I made for them and the fact that they are growing and getting bigger with more for me to snuggle every day.

Instead of seeing wet towels piled in the floor of the bathroom after bath time…I see towels that were fluffy and warm when my babies got out of the bath when I wrapped them up and pulled their wet faces close for damp kisses.

Instead of seeing an unbelievable pile of meds that I have to remember to administer every morning and night…I see the allergy medicine that keeps my children’s sinuses mostly clear, the asthma inhalers that make it easier for my boys to breathe, the vitamins that help them grow even though they don’t always eat so well, and the medicine that will eventually allow my son’s bladder to stretch to its proper size and let him hold his pee so he won’t wake upset in the morning about being wet.

Instead of seeing an overwhelming amount of appointments on my calendar…I see the people who will help my shoulder heal so I can better care for my children and myself, the doctor who is helping me understand my behavior and the behavior of my children so that I can better help us all, the dentist who makes sure I will still be able to chew my food when I’m older, the impending Christmas break that will allow me to spend time with my family, my mom’s work function that I get to attend with her that will let me see a play (which I haven’t done in forever and I’m so excited!), and the appointments with people who will be helping my boys during the day at school which will be wonderful.

Instead of seeing a pile of work on my desk…I see job security.

Instead of seeing school pictures of my boys where they refused to smile…I see the fact that they smile so willingly for me and it warms my heart.

Instead of seeing a backpack with a blanket and pillow case that needs washing…I see a teacher who cares that my son had to leave school early the day before Thanksgiving break and his blanket didn’t get sent home to be washed so he made sure I got it so I could make sure it was fresh and clean for my son.

Instead of seeing one more time that I have to read a story before my daughter would go to bed last night…I see my daughter excited to point out the things she recognized from the story and the colors she knows now.

For the future, I’m going to try to see the wonderful things about the situation I’m in and stop looking at the hard and negative things. I can look at everything as a struggle or I can be grateful just to get one more day.

It’s time to start being grateful…

Until We Both Can Keep Going...

In the midst of the storm
I throw my arms around you
I press you tight against my heart
And pray that calm will find you

Racked with devastation
Your miserable wailing fills the air
And all I can do is hold you
Keep telling you mama’s right there

I can feel your sorrow
Your body fights itself
You move and tumble all about
Dangling from every shelf

Everything comes at you
All at once in a blinding rush
You get so overwhelmed
And wish the world would hush

I want nothing more than to free you
From the “too much” in your mind
Dim the lights and quiet the house
Make the peace you can’t seem to find

I’ll tuck you in against me
Rock you long into the night
If that is what it takes to help you
I’ll do whatever’s right

Seeing you so anxious
Makes my heart hurt in my chest
I want to find the ways to help you
I promise I’ll do my best

So in this moment I will hold you
Keep my words soft and loving
Stopping for this precious time
Until we both can keep going…

Know thy self...

I have been asked repeatedly why I am chasing the blue puzzle piece...why am I going to a psychologist? Why have I been seeking a diagnosis?

I ask you this, is it enough to recognize so many traits of myself in my sons and not fairly ask myself the hard questions as well? If I am willing to take my children to a doctor to have them diagnosed, why shouldn't I take myself?

Why is it that in reading about Aspergers Syndrome, I could find myself in the pages? I began with a book aimed at helping autistic children, More Than Words by Fern Sussman. The very beginning of this book talks about traits of under-sensitivity and over-sensitivity. This is where I started to relate. This was where I began to see myself (and my sons). I could see my own sensitivity to sound. I hate loud parties, someone yelling at me, nails on a chalkboard (who doesn't hate that one?), and that damn high-pitched noise almost every electronic appliance makes. I hate visually chaotic places with too much clutter, things out of alignment, DVD stands with movies not in alphabetical order, and items not arranged by size or color or shape, etc. I tend to categorize everything. I'm yet to find anything I can't liken to something else. I'm sensitive to touch, too. I can't wear stiff clothing or anything binding. Tags in clothing bother my skin to the point that it is raw and glaring red, my socks have to fit just so or I will change them, and my dress shoes are chosen not just on fit but the sound they make when I walk. I love to feel someones hair when it's shaved close to their skin because of the way it resists bending under the pressure of my fingers and it feels like a soft brush rubbing against my hand. I love soft things and smooth things and sharp corners and gentle curves. They all appeal to my sense of touch or to my sight. I dislike strong scents also, such as cinnamon, pumpkin spice, strong perfumes or body washes, bleach, burnt smells, any type of smoke, and boiling eggs. I hate to be off-balance. I don't ride roller coasters because I hate the feeling of unpredictability in movement. I hate to be picked up by anyone because I lose control over my balance and movement and I feel like I will fall or be dropped every second my feet aren't on the ground. I don't like moving around in the dark either because I can't tell if I'm upright, turned sideways, or falling through space. If the lights go out and I'm standing in the center of a room, I generally have to sit and place my palms on the floor so I don't feel like I'm going to fall over.

The next book I picked up in my pursuit of knowledge about Autism and Aspergers was Pretending to be Normal by Liane Holliday Wiley. This book sealed the deal. As soon as I finished it, I took it to my mother and told her it could have been written about me. It was the book that made me start wanting to seek a diagnosis. It was as if she had followed me around and written a book about my life.

So back to my original question of why am I chasing the blue puzzle piece? I want answers. I want to know why I have all these sensitivities, why I say things to people that hurt feelings when I only feel like I'm just relating a fact to the person, and why I MUST have things in my own order. I want to know what makes me so blunt sometimes and yet so willing to bend the truth into a prettier shape to avoid confrontation. I want to know why I'm expected to look people in the eyes so much when I can gather more from their tone of voice usually. Looking people in the eyes makes my own thoughts scatter to the wind because it feels like a challenge, like a basic animal attack to my being, and I almost always feel cowed into submission. I feel lesser, like I'm inferior to a person who has the ability to watch someones eyes so closely, because I've always equated eye contact with dominance and aggression. Most animals see direct eye contact as a challenge for dominance. If you don't believe me, go make eye contact with a gorilla at the zoo or a tiger. A gorilla will charge you if it feels threatened by eye contact. A snake will strike at you when you get face to face with it and try to make eye contact.

All this to say, I feel a need to know myself better than I ever have before because I feel like in knowing myself I'll be better able to help my sons navigate this world. I want the best for them and I can only be my best if I know myself well enough to achieve the most I am capable of and if I know my own limitations.

Here's to the pursuit of knowledge...may it always be enlightening.

Butchering Thanksgiving again this year...

It’s that time of year again where I butcher Thanksgiving…here goes:

I’m thankful…

that my children are so darn cute because it makes the stimming bearable for my extended family.

that I’m on antidepressants and an anxiety pill. I might actually enjoy the holidays this year!

that my kids mostly let me dress them because I hate it when their pants don’t match their shirts, etc.

that my daughter is such a spitfire because she doesn’t let anyone run over her and she’s only 2!

that I can see the things that interest my children for exactly what they are and I understand why they like the spiny things and the fuzzy things and the bouncy furniture and the way my hair feels and trains and leaves and little things…

that my mom is so supportive because without her I would be sinking in a pit of despair. She is the one who felt it would be a good idea for me to start seeing a psychiatrist because my crying jags and constant stress were scaring her.

for my friends on Twitter. You guys have saved me so much grief and heartache in trying to figure out this new trail I’m on. I appreciate every piece of advice, commiserative head nod, virtual hug, and ironic bit of humor you have all shared with me.

that I feel loved by so many people. My life would be empty without the people out there who have brought me into their hearts. I love you all so much.

that no one has made fun of me yet for sounding like a hippie high on “life”. :-P

that my boys are both getting the help they need now because I want to see them succeed and be happy always. I know that might be asking a lot but I can wish for eternal happiness for my kids as much as I want! ;-)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, my friends! I hope everyone has peace in their hearts and love in their lives!

XOXO,

Me

Thoughts on Aspergers and me...

I went to my psychologist yesterday evening. I was there to get the results of weeks of counseling appointments and hours of psychological testing. I had been waiting on this appointment for weeks. I came seeking answers, truths about myself. I left with more than I bargained for when I arrived.

I now have a diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Asperger’s Syndrome. This was nothing that I haven’t known my entire life. I’ve always been anxious about basically everything. I knew I had Asperger’s before I had a name for it.

I’ve always been extremely awkward in social situations. I’ve always been the one with humor that others didn’t quite understand. I went through school with a small group of friends, the outsiders of our school. We weren’t outcasts. We didn’t stand out in outrageous clothing or march to the beat of a different drummer. We didn’t march at all. We quietly made our way down the hallways, avoiding eye contact and the bullies that had tormented us since kindergarten, carrying heavy books and blending in with a wall of blue jeans and plain hairstyles. We would have melted into the lockers or traveled by secret tunnel if the option was available. We were the unseen (except by each other), acknowledged only when we could be of use to someone or we unintentionally got in someone’s way.

Some of us were relentlessly tortured (and I don’t use that term lightly) by one or both of our parents. Told to toughen up, stop being a baby, make eye contact, in essence, to be what we couldn’t. It was never that we wouldn’t, we wanted to be just like everyone else. We wanted to be popular, liked by everyone, appreciated for our brains and our inner and outer beauty. We appreciated our own strengths; some of us with computer smarts, some of us with strength in written word, some of us with math skills, some of us with musical talent that we shared with very few. We were all different but yet similar.

A few of us made it to the “big leagues”, were able to play off our eccentricities as aloofness or gifted talents gained us acceptance in the popular crowds. After high school some of us moved on to college where we were bohemian book nerds who could get by with wearing clothes that were comfortable because we chose to look a little different in them and yet still blended with others because you were expected to try new things in college and no one batted an eyelash at your choice of clothing much. Some of us were still spending our lives blending in. We struggled through job interviews, nerves so torn up that we could barely speak, our experience or high grades being all that saved us from never obtaining a job. We mostly disappeared into offices or lines of workers who melded together to form a workforce of people we didn’t have to spend much time with. Water cooler and break room talk were things we tended to avoid, preferring to sit alone and read a book while noticing everything going on around us and registering every word said and every gesture made.

We worked jobs that others would consider monotonous and mindless because we liked the routine of things. We didn’t like change so we usually only left these jobs after being forced out by coworkers who liked to cause trouble for us or bosses so overbearing that we spent our days torn to bits and cried in our cars on our ways home. We are that quiet person in your office who avoids social gatherings if at all possible and when we do attend we spend the time mostly alone watching from the sidelines.

I left my psychologist’s office with a piece of paper that I can show to the parent that made my life a living hell as I was growing up. I left with validation that I wasn’t being “difficult” or “overly shy”, I was just being myself. I was handling things the only way I knew how and I was different from everyone else growing up. I am different now. I have a name and a set of symptoms to point people to when they get frustrated with me. I know why everyone says my kids are “just like me”. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I once heard someone quote, “The more you know, the less you understand.” I disagree. I know myself better now than I ever have before. I will know my children better than anyone else ever will. I will help them navigate this world that is unkind to nonconformity. I will teach them to shine in their own spotlight. I will try to shine in mine, too. I’m blurring the lines between neurotypical and atypical. I’m seeing things a lot clearer without this cloud of confusion in my head.

I salute all the outsiders, the loners, and anyone who is “different”. We are here. See us. Really see us.

A typical evening...

It starts off feeling like I’m annoyed, the whining and the constant begging for SOMETHING. I get snippy. I say ok, ok. Just wait a minute. Give Mommy time to get through the door. Let me set this down. I know you want the green koolaid but I don’t have any more so you’ll have to settle for the apple juice. Sippy cup thrown across the kitchen. Now I have a small child screaming at me because that’s not what s/he wanted.

I pick up the sippy cup, sit it on the table, pick up the small child and sit down in the kitchen chair with her/him in my lap. I snuggle her/him close and tell her/him it’s ok. I’m sorry I don’t have what s/he wanted but it’s not the end of the world. S/he had a long day at daycare/school and I know s/he’s tired. S/he calms down so I ask her/him what movie s/he’d like to watch. S/he wiggles down to the floor and runs up the hallway ahead of me as I carry her/his sippy cup and follow her/him to my room where the DVDs are stored.

We pick a movie after much arguing between her/him and her brother(s)/sister over which movie they’re going to watch. Guaranteed at least one of them is crying by the time I get a movie out of the case and carry it to the living room to put it in the DVD player. There is probably screaming and someone throwing a toy while wailing at a high volume and demanding the movie they wanted to see.

By this time I’m more annoyed so I tell the screaming child to sit on the couch at watch the movie before I get mad and whip their butt. Sometimes the threat works, others it doesn’t. I go back down the hallway to start dinner. As I’m pulling out ingredients there is usually at least one child in the kitchen begging for a cookie/candy/anything besides what I’m fixing for dinner. I get screamed at again because what I picked out for dinner isn’t what they want but they can’t tell me what they want so it ends up being a battle I can’t win.

I send small screaming child back to the living room to watch the movie as I start dinner. In the middle of something needing taken out of the oven or stirred so it doesn’t burn there is almost always a screech from the living room because someone has injured their sibling. Since I’m in the middle of trying not to burn the house down all I can do is yell down the hall for the screaming child to come to me so I can inspect the damage. Upon questioning I can sometimes determine who shoved who down or who pushed who off the couch or who took who’s toy or who bounced on who’s head, etc, ad nauseum. The offending child is called to the kitchen and made to sit in the corner furthest from the stove so I can keep an eye on them as they sit and wail/cry/scream about being forced to sit in time out.

I release the tiny offender and get dinner off the stove. As I’m plating everything in divided plates for the kids (because nothing can touch, heaven forbid it), someone always comes in to steal something off of a plate and then to scream when it’s either too hot to touch or I won’t let them take more from their brother/sister’s plate. I finally get plates on the table and I start making drinks. At my house it’s milk, juice, or water usually. Koolaid only if I’m out of milk/juice and water is refused. For the twins it’s “rotorooter mix” w/ Miralax and whatever I can find to mix it in.

Now we have at least one child in the kitchen climbing up to the table and trying to reach their food from a distance too far from the tabletop and screaming for me to scoot them up at the same time. One kid who is refusing to come to the kitchen and the only pee potty trained one saying he needs to poop (which is code for I’ve already shit my pants and you need to change my underwear right as you’re putting dinner on the table). Isn’t that appetizing? So I chase down the child refusing to come to the kitchen and get them set up to eat, change the stinky child, wash up to my elbows, help stinky child get into his chair and then start making my plate.

I sit down at the table and notice that someone is already out of mac and cheese. I get back up and refill every plate with anything that even looks like it is missing a single bite. I sit back down and take a couple of bites of my food only to realize that I didn’t get a drink for myself. I get back up, pour some milk/juice/ice water in a glass and sit back down. I take a drink and my phone goes off with a text message. Now I am back up getting my phone off the counter to see what is needed. I answer the text then sit my phone beside my plate and dig in. I finish about 6 bites while simultaneously telling the kids to eat and stop stimming/playing with their food/throwing food in the floor/trying to be a comedian for their sibling before they spill…I grab my now wet phone off the table and wipe it off with the fresh hand towel I just hung on the stove earlier.

I run down the hallway and grab my clean up towels and start mopping up milk/juice/water while telling the offending child I will make them a new cup in just a minute if they will wait so mommy can clean up the mess before it starts dripping in the…I wet a rag and wipe up the floor. I make the kid another cup with less liquid in it then sit down in my chair only to realize that my plate has milk/juice/water under it and when I moved it to take a bite it has now dripped in my lap. I ignore it and scarf what I can of my now cold dinner.

By this point the kids are screeching that they are done eating and they all three want to be the first one down from the table but no one escapes without a thorough check of hands, faces, clothes, and jaws for packed food and other food that can end up smeared on the furniture. Once they are wiped from head to toe, they get to go play and/or whine about the movie I turned off while we were eating.

As I’m cleaning up from dinner at least one of the kids will start another argument/fight with their sibling and another one will get into something messy that will require cleanup before bath time. By now my patience is hanging by a fragile thread. I finish cleaning up then go figure out what everyone is messing in. Once I straighten out the mess/stop the fight, I gather up pajamas and wash rags for baths.
I get opinionated arguments about wanting to wear last night’s pajamas again as I’m pulling clean ones from dressers then I get running and screaming when I tell them to go to the bathroom and start getting their clothes off. I chase down two out of three kids and remove their clothing with as little trauma as I can manage to them or myself (I usually come out of this with a new bruise or a crying kid because I wasn’t fast enough to catch them when they flung their head back while arguing with me and bounced it off the wall/floor).

I barricade the kids in the bathroom while I run bath water and toss toys in the tub. I put the kids in the tub and start washing. I get through Twin A without a fight. Twin B has sensory issues about bubbles and soap and water in his face and so I begin bathing him as swiftly as possible to keep from prolonging the assault on my eardrums as he screams the whole time (and I have tried everything to help this situation so suggestions are welcome). I finish up with him and move on to my little girl. She fusses about the hair wetting process, tries to take the shampoo bottle out of my hands, splashes water in my face, takes the washrag away from me and proceeds to start throwing toys out of the tub and into the potty that her brother peed in before he got in the tub.

I finally bathe my wiggling octopus and get her rinsed off. She sits on the drain so the water will stay in the tub and she can keep splashing her brothers. I get Twin B out first because the bubbles are driving him over the edge, dry him, sit him back on the potty after fishing out the toy and putting it in the sink to be sanitized, then get his brother out as he whines at me about being cold and Twin A tries to hug me while he’s soaking wet and naked (I totally let him hug me then changed my pajamas later after they were in bed and I was freezing). I dry Twin A then send him to run naked through the house while I’m trying to catch is slick and slippery sister in the tub to get her out and dried off.

Once the bathtub fight is over about trying to dry the girl’s hair, I start the pajama dance of the devil. There is balancing that doesn’t work out so well, heads caught in holes where they shouldn’t have been, both legs in the same pants leg and someone who slips because their feet are wet and cries because their butt hurts now.
I hustle everyone down the hallway to the kitchen where I administer the barrage of meds that are required for the night. I make sippy cups of ice water for their cup holders on their beds, argue with my girl over which color she’s getting after she drinks out of one before I’m done with the other two then decides she wants a different color, then I wrangle them into bed and cover them no less than three times trying to make them stay in a prone position. I refill vaporizers (I hate this time of year) and then kiss everyone good night.

I sit down in the first available chair I can find and stare into space for about 10 minutes until I can catch my breath and stop twitching from the screaming. It has been one hell of an evening. I change my wet pajamas, set my alarm clock (if I remember), go to the bathroom alone and just enjoy sitting on the toilet without an audience, then fall over into the bed to rinse and repeat the next day.

In the middle of all this at least one kid says something so funny I have to call my mom to tell her about it, another kid makes my heart melt by hugging me randomly and telling me I’m beautiful or I’m weird, and I hear someone say something that makes all the hard work with speech therapists, PECS symbols, and Proloquo2Go worth all the trouble.

*victory dance* We survived another day!

Thoughts on the woman I am and dating...

My post yesterday may have shocked some of you. If you’ve been reading for a long time then you know that I occasionally divert from my usual posts about my children and life in general and my mind wanders elsewhere.

I’m a woman. I’m flesh and blood. I’m emotional. I’m present in this body. I’ve had experiences with love, passion, rage, hate, euphoria, illness, sadness, forgiveness, and a long list of other words used to describe emotions.

I like poetry. I look at the world through a filter of words at times that puts a different spin on what I’m seeing. One minute I can be going about my day completely oblivious to things and the next a leaf blowing in the wind and rain with catch my attention. It will make me think about wind. How powerful, pleasing, scary, and wild it can be. It will make me think about rain. How cleansing, depressing, awakening, and messy it can be. It will make me think about that leaf, whether it is new and green or changing colors and holding on to the tree for its last breath.

From there I go to my tangents. I’ve talked before about tangents and how I have a hard time remaining on one topic in conversation. My mind sees and thinks about so many things sometimes that it’s hard to distinguish which one should have the forefront of my thoughts. At other times my mind is so linear and focused on one direct thing that I can’t even recognize my surroundings. Times like these I can block out other people, sounds, sights, smells, and touch. I am do drawn into what I’m doing that has my attention that it truly does have my complete attention and I can give none to anything else.

All this to say that I’m a passionate person who doesn’t always take life lightly. Sex is an emotional thing for me and when it isn’t, I’m not happy about it. The man that I wrote about yesterday felt the same way I did about it. He was focused, fascinated, and intent on finding pleasure for both of us in those moments. It’s a rare thing to find a person who can bring out the visceral animal side of a person. It’s almost like finding a person who knows you on a cellular level. It’s amazing and nothing else compares to that feeling.

So here I am trying to let that feeling go because no matter how good we were for each other, we were both carrying around baggage from previous relationships that would rival anything a Hilton would see entering their lobby area. Sometimes when you’re ready to put your luggage down, someone else is holding on to theirs like it’s a life raft in the middle of the Pacific. It wasn’t meant to be.

Where this leaves me is missing someone who isn’t coming back. Clinging to something that was wonderful for a short period of time and trying to figure out how to let it go and move on. No one will ever measure up to what I had. Now I must find someone else who can replace it with something equally as blessing.

Wish me luck because the search is exhausting and I’m getting to the point of being tired of trying…

Lost in Lust...

If I were a sculptor I would mould a statue of your perfection. Using my hands I would press the smoothest touch into the clay. I would trace the line from your hip to the place where bonds are made with a searing touch. Shape the gentle curve of your back just above your indifferent shoulders where my hands rested when my arms were around your neck. Pull from my memory your hands, calloused from work but devastating when ran along my body.

If I were a painter I would place the beautiful light of the moon as it glistened in your eyes for all the world to see. I would carefully stroke my brush across the canvas to capture the way the shadows lay in front of you as you stood in my doorway framed in the hallway light. I would listen to the sound the brush makes as it softly scratches out your image and remember the way you breathed my name into my neck.

If I were a photographer I would capture your face in black and white and remember all the gray areas between us. Frames of hands gripping sheets and muscles cascading down your legs as you held me against the shower wall, a foot dangling at your knee. Close-ups of water droplets scattered across your cheek and tiny rivers streaming down the center of your back and around where my hands clung to you in a desperate dance between gravity, wet bodies, and passion.

If I could draw you here again, I would. Pressed against me in the dark, your hand relaxed against my hip, lips pressed to my shoulder, our bodies heated but cooling in the dampness of my bed afterwards. I would press charcoal pencil to paper and will you to me, your image burned in my mind as I watched you when you slept, pencil breaking under the need to feel your touch.

I am none of these things. I am simply a woman lost in lust for what was. I can only shape these words on paper, pour them out of my soul, a leave them lying here for you to find. I wish you knew my words existed for you. Maybe you wouldn’t be across the country and I wouldn’t be here wondering if you think about me the way I think about you.

“Burn for me…”, I whisper as I light your memory on fire.

Seeing things...

He rolls the car along the edge of the kitchen countertop, slows, watches the wheels turn. I’m fascinated. I know what made my brother take his little camera apart watching you.

Her hair shimmers as she giggles with her back to me. She turns and looks at me from beneath her bangs, her eyelashes long and breathtakingly beautiful in front of her bright blue eyes, and for a moment I see the woman she will become. It stops me in my tracks. I hope a man aches to get lost in her eyes one day. She deserves nothing less than the most love the world can offer.

He smiles and wraps his tiny arms around my neck. I lift him with my arms wrapped tightly around him so he feels safe. He is light as a feather and yet more grounding than lightening. I hold him like a dream as daylight filters through the window, unwilling to let go but knowing I must because watching him take flight from my arms is watching my love set free.

I open the door to find you covered in children and blankets. It’s a wonderful sight to behold, greater than any painting or sculpture ever created. It is motherhood in its essence. Your hand absently resting on a small head, your eyes dancing as you follow the swift movements of your grandchildren. You are glowing in your element; age no longer a condition of time but a reminder of hands held in youth so many years before.

We sit at opposite ends of the table but share a look that puts us in a single mind. Your mischievous grin is telling of the secret bond you share with my child. You reach over and scoot his cup a few inches across the table, grin in place, eyes upturned in delight at knowing you will get a reaction but never knowing what that reaction may be. You bring him out of his shell and you know how to interact with him in a way that I often find mesmerizing.

I see so many things in the course of the day that I could write beautiful words about but there is no pause button to freeze time so that I can stop and capture it all on paper. Your life is fluid like sand in my hands as the ocean pulls it away from me, try as hard as I might to hold on to it I am still left with only a few glistening pieces of it. I treasure these pieces because they are the light in the darkest of moments for me.

I know why being a parent is often compared to being a drug addict. Some say it is all about the “highs” but I ask you this: is what I see as a high the same as what someone else may see as a high, too? Does the way your hair slips through my fingers bring everyone as much joy as it does to me or is it only so special to me because I helped in creating it to begin with? I like to think that my love for you is entirely unique. No one can ever mean to me what you do and I believe that you can never mean to someone else what you do to me. Drugs may be about the highs but I’m in parenting for it all. I want to be there to pick you up from your lowest point or to catch you before you ever get there and to help lift you to your highest moments, too. What is pleasure without having ever experienced pain?

I’m seeing things. Beautiful things. Painful things. Amazing things. Every. Single. Day.

Thank you for being so magnificent because you are teaching me to see the world through new eyes every day. Thank you for showing me a life I never thought possible, returned anew each time my eyes open. Thank you for being my sons and daughter, my mother, my brothers, and the people that I love dearest in this world.

Unsubscribed...

I’ve been ignoring these emails for at least a year now.

I kept hoping they would become relevant to my life again one day.

Babycenter. I know some of my mommas have been there. We went when we were pregnant for the pictures of how your baby (or babies) was supposed to look in utero.

Those perfect babies. Nothing in the world wrong, growing as they should be, just the right fruit size.

My problems began at 16 weeks. Growth discrepancy. Only slight. It happens all the time so it’s nothing to worry about for now. We’ll see you in two weeks. Two more ounces. Discordinant twins.

As the weeks went by ounces turned into over two pounds difference. Blood flow issues with Twin B. At 26 weeks I was put in the hospital on strict bed rest. No walking, sit to shower, only up to use the bathroom, 1 hour in a wheelchair to get out of my room, fetal heart rate monitoring. Contractions off and on led to an emergency cesarean section at 30 weeks.

While I was in the hospital, I checked Babycenter almost daily. I read everything I could find on the internet about twins, including what can happen with twins that aren’t growing mostly evenly. I scared myself terribly. I cried. I worried. I listened to their heart beats like they were life rafts in a stormy sea. I bawled when one would disappear with a contraction. I wailed when they both disappeared during a contraction shortly before they delivered them. The nurses watched from the monitors at the desk and came to occasionally turn me over or move me around to keep the cords from compressing. I wrapped my hands around my belly begging them to keep on kicking.

When they were born, Twin A came out first. He cried. I cried.

Twin B was pulled out. He didn’t make a peep. They bagged him and rubbed him and shoved a tube down his throat. He was blue. By the time that I saw him again, he was an angry red. He was alive. It was a scary struggle for a while but he made it.

They both made it. They came home from the hospital. We moved back closer to family. The rest of that story is documented here in my blog.

In all that time, I received the emails. Babycenter. My babies weren’t meeting the milestones they talked about in the emails. I contacted Early Intervention and they started working with them. They finally met some important milestones and they backed therapies off. At a little over two years old, they stopped therapies and monitored them until they were three. In that time, no one came back to make sure they were still meeting milestones. I quit comparing them to the emails because I knew they were behind. I got tired of reading about things my boys weren’t doing yet.

Fast forward to the beginning of June of this year. Twin A is diagnosed with classic Autism. He is almost a textbook example of Autism, all except the toe walking. He never did that.

Fast forward to the end of July. Twin B is diagnosed with Autism (more towards the Aspergers end but since he still has a speech delay he qualifies for an Autism diagnosis as well).

Since those two days I have been devouring books, articles, internet websites, blogs, catalogues, magazines, and radio shows about Autism.

I continued to ignore those emails from Babycenter.

Today I opened one. I read it. I cried because my boys aren’t there. They aren’t making almost any of the milestones it discussed.

I decided instead of letting someone tell me where my boys are supposed to be, I’m going to learn to be happy with where they are now. I’m going to help them to learn at their paces. I’m going to teach them the most important lessons in the world: Love, Hope, and Compassion.

Today I unsubscribed…not only to an online update about my children’s milestones, but also from society’s explicit rules of what “normal” looks like.

This is my normal.

Expectations and societal norms…I’m unsubscribed.