Fairy Tale Forgotten

I stop...

2012-01-26T12:05:00.001-05:00

I stop. I’m standing in front of my mirror, the one with the very bright lights. I try on my sexy face. I look constipated. Duck face be damned.

I shift, first to the left, then to the right. I roll my shoulder. I don’t step back. Stepping back means I have to look at more than what’s above my shoulders and I can only take so much disappointment at one time.

I’m trying to let my hair grow back out. This time I think I mean it. I long to feel my daughter run her fingers through my hair, learning to braid. I want to tell her about how she helped her brothers give me those gray hairs. I want to give her back my beauty. I look like a Beatle right now. Don’t ask me which one, I don’t know their names.

Back to my shoulders. They are covered in freckles. Tiny light brown spots that my pale white skin threw out there to try to protect it from the vicious sun. I want to walk barefoot across soft, cool grass, or shag carpet. I have a need to feel the earth under my feet. It’s winter and cold outside. No soft grass to be had for a while. I want to buy a beautiful sun dress. Something that criss-crosses in the front and floats in the breeze so my babies can hide their faces in it and giggle in the sunlight.

I have a need to feel something deeper than myself. I pressed my hand to my brother’s cold tombstone this past Sunday on his thirtieth birthday. It’s almost been 10 years since we lost him. I could feel the time seeping from my skin to wrap itself around his headstone like a ghostly fog on a wet night. I can remember laying my hand on his back. The feel of his soft, tan skin just before I scratched his itches away. He loved for me to scratch his back. I have sharp nails. For a moment I could feel his heartbeat again through that cold stone, his ribs were smooth bumps under the soft tan skin of his back that my finger tips raced across like speed bumps when I scratched just close enough to his side to get a chuckle. I miss scratching his back and petting his soft hair, chatting vacantly about anything that came to mind.

He was wonderful with children. Kids of any age flocked to him. When I stopped in front of my mirror, I realized that I couldn’t see his eyes anymore. We both had brilliant green eyes. Mine are beginning to turn blue for no apparent reason. I wonder if his eyes would have turned blue, too. They will always be green to me.

I can’t see who I am anymore when I look in the mirror. I always just look tired. I think it might be time to quit stopping in front of the mirror so much.

Crisis mode...

2012-01-18T14:47:00.002-05:00

Too much noise. Too much movement. Too many people.

Eyes wide and I can’t seem to make them quit. Heart racing. Hands shaky. Foot constantly bouncing.

Agitated. Restless. Confused. My mind won’t focus on a single thing for more than just a few minutes.

People keep walking past my desk and asking me ignorant things that don’t pertain to my job or anything even remotely relevant. They keep making me lose what little attention I have left. I’m hearing the girl in the office beside me. Her radio, her phone conversations (on speaker sometimes, no less), blowing her nose, rustling papers, walking, opening and closing filing cabinet doors (or should I say slamming shut), and looking at me every time she walks by.

My boss’ boss who keeps randomly yelling at me just to get me to look over in his office to see what he wants just because he knows I don’t want him to do exactly that. He is yet to ask me anything constructive or relevant to my job. (Or even work related really…) I’m sitting here with my ear buds in my ears with a song blasting because I just needed to fill my head with something less scattered. I’m so far past it being helpful. My nerves are frayed to a fine edge from trying to keep from saying something inappropriate to someone because I’m frustrated with the constant interruptions.

I want nothing more than to go outside to my car and grip my steering wheel tightly and catch my breath. This is insanity to me. These are the kinds of things that make my day feel unbearable and they’ve put me exactly where I can’t handle being. I was in an office where I felt like things weren’t crowding in on me, people only came in it when they needed something directly from me, and most of the time the phone was quiet.

This is too much noise, too much chaos for me. Heaven help me to keep from getting fired soon because I am sooooo going need some Ativan if this keeps up. Maybe the excitement of having a new person over here will die off soon? I hope so. I REALLY hope so…

Blending in & being nonconfrontational...

2012-01-11T16:32:00.003-05:00

So, I'm an Aspie. I'm a master at trying to blend into the wall and not be noticed. *see entire middle to high school educational years followed by years of college spent trying to NOT be seen by anyone. Ever.*

Well, my son Screech isn't as big on blending in as I am. He is a unique little drummer who wants to play his own brand of music for all the world to hear...and see...and smell...and feel...etc, etc, ad nauseum. Let's just say he's loud and he's proud and he talks a lot...at a volume that can be heard from space. *Hello, up there! How's it going at the space station, Russian dudes? I know you can't understand him but trust me when I say you probably wouldn't want to even if you could. He's loudest when he's complaining.*

The point in telling you all of this is to recount a trip we recently took to the Giant Retail Store and ask some advice. My little man did not to do well in the Giant Retail Store on this trip. He stimmed, melted down, yelled, screamed, cried, and had to be carried all in the span of about 20 minutes.

Now if you know me in real life, you know that I probably had a few issues with this because of some issues of my own. (I hate retail stores. I hate the public in general. I don't like lots of noise. I hate for crowds of people to be looking at me. Lord, please give me an invisibility superpower?!? Please???) Once I get past my own issues with the screaming, staring of strangers, and craving for a giant blanket with which to cover myself, I am left with trying to mother a child in full-blown meltdown mode in the middle of the Giant Retail Store. I know this is nothing new to those of you who have been doing this for a while but I'm kind of a newb at dealing with the strangers all around aspect of parenting a child with Autism when the autistic traits are so blatantly laid out for all to see.

I think I mostly handled the situation well. I hurriedly got the last couple of things I needed and got the hell out of Dodge while simultaneously not losing my shit with my baby, myself, or a random stranger within cussing distance. I even kept it together when we made it to the car and I was able to strap kids into car seats and myself into the driver's seat and take some deep breaths while telling myself that it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

I'm going to tell you about a trait of mine that made this incident hard for me. My sweet little boy who doesn't know any better removed the tag from something he wanted immediately while we were still in the store before I had paid for the item. This bothered me immensely because I am a strict follower of "The Rules". This was a breaking of one of "The Rules" and I barely handled it. I know that it was "no big deal" and that I did indeed pay for the item and explained the entire thing to the poor cashier, who just looked at me like they couldn't give a shit less about it, in way more detail than they really wanted to hear. To tell you how bad this type of thing bothers me, I took one of my kids in a store to find Benedryl one time because they were having an allergic reaction to something that was spreading fast and I still wanted to pay for the Benedryl before I used it. *Thank God my mother was there to talk sense into me about going ahead and medicating the child and worrying about the paying for it after I was sure we weren't going to have an anaphalactic reaction in my baby.*

Anycrazymommy, I'm looking for suggestions on how you lovely parents, grandparents, and friends of kids with Autism help your children from becoming too overwhelmed going into Giant Retail Stores when you have no option but to take them with you. Do you use noise cancelling headphones? Blinders? Duct tape? Please feel free to share any and all secrets no matter how weird they may sound because I will do anything to keep from having the "anxiety monster" put me in a choke hold in the middle of another Giant Retail Store, ok?

Also, I plan to discuss this on Friday with my psychologist about how to handle my own issues but I'd love to hear your ideas on how to help my little guy deal with being in public with me when we have no other option but to go in the dreaded store.

I love y'all bunches!

XO,

Forgotten

Busy, busy, always busy...

2012-01-09T16:26:00.003-05:00

Well, didn't I just be an asshole and leave you guys hanging with that last post?

Update: Some things have been shaken up at my job. They have me moving around and it has my anxiety at work through the roof. I'm surviving though. It felt like the end of the world but I will get through it, hopefully with my dignity intact (no promises there though, I may cry).

I ended up with a massive sinus infection which left me with vertigo and sick as a dog for 24 hours until the medicine had time to kick in. I'm feeling much better now though so don't panic.

Now that most of the shit has stopped hitting the fan, it's almost time for report cards to come out. There will be more PALS testing. My two Pre-K autistic boys will be tested to see what they know at that particular moment in time. If they participate in the testing at all, I will consider it a small miracle. Here's to progress and the things I'm noticing at home because at the moment recognizing their colors aren't as important to me as the ability to tell me if they are hungry, thirsty, or feeling sick. So far I'm finally getting two out of the three of those. Woohoo! Progress!

When they were originally tested for Pre-K, Twin A could put together 2 pieces of a 4 piece puzzle. He put together a 30 piece puzzle in my living room floor this past weekend. He couldn't tell you what a kid with a kitten in picture were in July. Now he will tell you about what he sees in the picture. When school started, Noggin had very little (if any) pretend play. Now he will make car sounds as he runs through the house with a matchbox car in hand or dinosaur sounds as he chases me up the hall with his giant dinosaur. He talks about playing "castle" and he pretends to need help from his brother if he's under the kitchen table and wants to play like he's being rescued. He can tell me when he wants a drink and he can specify if he wants milk or juice. Noggin tells me when he's hungry and he tells me when he needs to be changed. He is peeing in the potty but hasn't mastered number two's yet. He sings! He never sang a single song before school started. Now, he sings to me in the car, at home, and at his mamaw's house. He knows nursery rhymes and songs that I play frequently in the car.

Twin B would point at pictures and tell you tall tales about what he saw in them but if he was asked to point out the bigger of two objects, he would just stare blankly at you. Now he can pick out the bigger of two objects and he can count to 6 before he starts mixing up his numbers. He recognizes a few colors when he couldn't pick a single color during his testing. Screech can match colors and shapes of objects and he can stack a massive tower of blocks. He can ask you questions more easily and can understand multiple step instructions. He loves to tell you stories about what he sees in pictures and he can recognize people he knows in photographs. Screech sings at the top of his lungs and loves to snuggle on the couch. He is still terrified of being picked up but he is doing so much better transitioning between activities.

I'm proud of all the progress my boys are making. I'm making progress myself in recognizing when my little guys need a sensory break, when they are getting overstimulated, and in discovering the amazing talents that they each are sharing with me. Noggin has an amazing ability to pick up on things on the computer or iPad after just seeing you do them a few times. Screech can do some amazing physical feats with all the energy he has and he loves to show off his dance moves.

My little girl has been amazing me more and more. She can tell you all her colors. She knows her full name. She can follow multiple step directions and ask for almost anything she wants. Grabby is growing in leaps and bounds (she's already wearing some 4T stuff and she will be three in March!). She is such a girly girl, too. She loves dresses and having her hair ponytailed. She loves hair clips and bows and frilly skirts. She likes bright colors and wild patterns and of course anything pink. She still follows me everywhere and is a total mama's girl but she is developing a fiercely independent streak. She's very opinionated about her clothes, hair, toys, and anything else she can state an opinion on. :)

As for their newly diagnosed Aspie mama, I'm still going to therapy. It's helping me to see a lot of the behaviors I need to work on and some that I can help my kids with. I'm seeing myself in a new light and realizing that I need to stop letting all my fears of basically everything stop me from living. I'm still busy with the day to day of life but I'm actually getting on the ball and accomplishing some things that have been piling up while waiting on my attention for some time. Getting things done at home and organized is helping to ease my anxiety about things there quite a bit. I am relieved to have the occasional hand around the house now. I'm dating someone and he's nice and he's good to my babies so I'm taking my time and seeing where it goes. My automatic response to anyone interfering with my routine and changing things has always been to push them away and this one understands me well enough not to let me get away with it. When I push he pulls me out of my comfort zone and points out exactly what I'm doing. He's learning to deal with my quirks and sensory needs and I'm learning to share my routine with someone who really wants to help. I guess I'll see how it goes for now.

Once things has settled down at work and I can get my head screwed back on straight, I'll update a little more. Until then, everyone have a great Monday and don't forget to stop and breathe when your sensational kids are pushing your nerves in a sensational way! :)

XO,

Forgotten

Hackles raised...

2011-12-30T16:19:00.001-05:00

Something’s just not right. I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t figure out what is off but something is just not right.

I get these feelings occasionally right before something bad happens. I don’t think I’m psychic. I don’t think I could even remotely tell you what I think might be about to happen. I just don’t feel quite “right”. It’s a dark cloud lingering on the peripheral of my vision, a specter haunting my thoughts. (And no, I’m not depressed. It isn’t like that.)

It’s a foreboding feeling, a sense of unease, that thing that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. It’s the thing in the woods on a windy, moonless night. The echo of your steps in a dark alley that might not be just your steps, the empty parking structure after everyone else has gone home, and the dream that wakens you with a silent scream caught in your throat as you tug at blankets trying to escape it’s grasp.

It will hurt you. It will bring you pain. It will make you cry.

I hate this feeling because it’s never wrong. I had it before my Papaw died, before my brother died, before every car accident I’ve ever been in, and before I lost my baby. It lingers, leaving its taint on everything until you can look back and see when it started. I’m in the beginning. I can’t look back. My hackles are raised because it’s there waiting and I know it.

Soon enough there will be a story. For now, there’s the waiting…

Plucking the strings...

2011-12-27T16:49:00.003-05:00

One of you broke one of the strings on your new Newton's Cradle...it's replaceable.

One of you tied the strings on my tiny Newton's Cradle in knots...they're replaceable, too.

All three of you keep plucking at the strings to my heart. Those will never break.

"Make me a flower!" "Make me a flower first!" "(Garble...garble...point...) FLOWER!" Playdoh is made for moments like that.

"Draw me a zebra, Uncle Davy!" It was the funniest zebra I've ever seen but she loved it. :)

"I have a utiful hairscut!" Yes you do, baby, but you're "utiful" whether your hair is cut or not.

"I need more chocolate!" I'm pretty sure you ate your weight in chocolate but you were so cute running off with your hands full of peanut butter balls and chocolate covered pretzels that none of us had the heart to tell you to slow down. I'm just glad you never got sick off of all that sugar.

I pressed kisses to your cheeks on Christmas Eve and whispered about Santa and presents and surprises in the morning and I-love-you's then stood outside your doors and whispered to myself about how hard you tried to be good all year and you deserved so much more than I could offer.

We are coming to an understanding about each other. I'm learning about you and beginning to "get" you all three more every day. I'm so happy that you enjoyed your Christmas. I'm accepting that I'm not a perfect parent but I'm the perfect parent for you three and that's all that counts. We'll make a few mistakes along the way but my heart is always open to you.

This past weekend you filled my heart to overflowing with joy and happiness. You were yourselves and you were mostly surrounded by family that cares and wants to be there for you. For these things, I am grateful.

We had a great Christmas. I hope yours was great, too.

XO,

Forgotten

Dear Santa,

2011-12-21T16:32:00.001-05:00

This time of year draws on me like a bucket from a well. I feel like pieces of me are pulled slowly out and then poured all over the place in a messy splash that soaks everyone within range.

I’m angry. I’m insanely pissed that my ex hasn’t seen my kids in 10 months. I knew that the time would eventually come that he would stop seeing the kids but I didn’t expect it this soon. I’m aggravated with my dad for not even acting like he remotely cares about me and my little family. The last time I stopped by to see him he acted like he couldn’t wait for us to leave. I guess I just need to accept the fact that he’s never really going to be the parent that I wish he would be. I had an idealized version of what a father/daughter relationship was supposed to be like but I think my dad is just too damaged for that.

I’m sad. I miss my brother. Tomorrow his birthday will be a month away, ten days after mine. I don’t have him to get a present for even though I almost always see something that I know he would have liked. I can’t have a wrapping paper ball fight with him and my baby brother on Christmas Day. I can’t laugh as he tries to steal everyone’s gifts or sticks a dozen bows to his head. I can’t pick on him when he comes running up and turns his arched back to me begging me to scratch it for him or steal his hat and run off with it as he cusses about everyone seeing his messed up hair. I can’t threaten his latest girlfriend with abuse and a secret burial if she does him wrong. I miss those days.

I’m happy. My kids have made so much progress! Noggin is actually telling me what he sees in books! Screech is trying to write his name…sorta. Grabby is turning into such a little smarty pants that I’m surprised almost daily by the things that she says or does. I’m seeing someone who treats me and my kids like the most precious beings on Earth. I’m actually attempting to turn my routine and my way of doing things into our way of doing things together (this is a big step for me because letting others into my routine is VERY hard for me to do).

I’m worried. I’m worried about my mom’s health. I’m worried about my little brother’s health and his relationship. I’m worried about the progress that I’m also not seeing in my boys. I’m still not having much luck with them recognizing colors, shapes, numbers, or alphabet letters. I’m worried about a few other things that I’m not ready to speak about on here yet. I’m having nightmares and I can’t decide if they’re stress-related or medication-related because I get them when I’m stressed but they’ve been especially vivid since starting the latest med.

I’m lonely. I don’t mean in the sense of not having anyone. I just keep getting the feeling of being alone whenever I’m around other people. I look around and wonder if any of them are Aspies or if they have the kind of issues that I have. I wonder if anyone besides me fights to look at people when they’re talking to them or absolutely hates to shake hands with strangers because they don’t know where their hands have been. I wonder if I can get over the need to control how everything in my world is done because I only feel right if I do things myself. When I’m walking, not really seeing anyone around me because I’m staring at the ground or looking at empty spaces to walk through, I’m not exactly looking around to see who’s also doing the same thing or who’s trying to avoid eye contact with a group.

I feel like I’m slacking lately. My PECS book for Noggin has been sitting at the end of my bed waiting to be worked on for weeks now. I have tons of presents to be wrapping but I just don’t feel like staying awake at night in order to get the wrapping done. I had plans for a big calendar with magnetic PECS symbols so my boys would know what was coming up and weekly/daily schedules and I haven’t managed to complete any of that. I wish I had a completely free weekend with a few people to come over and help me finish all this stuff and hang my damn pictures in the house. I just can’t get it done on my own. I need to teach my boys how to use Proloquo2Go on the iPad but I don’t get much time to sit down with them of the evenings after cooking dinner, eating, cleaning up, baths, pajamas, and meds. They already go to bed much later than other people’s kids and I know more sleep would help them so much.

I’m tired. I need a good day’s sleep and some solid time spent sitting down on my butt for an evening not doing anything. I also need to get rid of whatever this plague is that the kids have given me again. I’m grouchy and I feel like I’m losing my inspiration to write.

So, Santa, think you could drop a few elves at my house? If they can make that many toys, they should be great at laminating PECS symbols and designing calendars! I might have to get them a ladder for hanging the pics on the walls but that wouldn’t be an issue. Hook a Helping Hooker up!

XOXO,

Forgotten

No, not every kid acts like this...

2011-12-16T14:22:00.001-05:00

Noggin sits on Santa’s lap. Santa asks him what he would like for Christmas and he answers in garbled words that only one or two are recognizable and no relation to the question. When the woman with the camera says, “Look over here, sweetie! *finger snaps* “Sweetie? Hun, can you look over here?” *more finger snaps*. I stop her by saying, “He won’t look directly at you. He’s autistic.” and she snapped a picture quickly before Santa sat him down on the ground.

Screech sits before me, one sock on and one sock in his hand. He’s screaming at me. “NO! NO!” I’m trying to figure out why he doesn’t want socks on. As he keeps screaming at me, he grabs his sock and tries to pull it higher up his leg. It hits me that he wants to wear long tube socks today instead of ankle socks. I rush down the hall to grab a new pair of socks as the wailing increases in volume because I left him sitting. I return with tube socks and he immediately calms down, like flicking a light switch.

I’m working on filling their dinner plates with food. I push my sleeves up my arm to my elbows so I can scoop food without getting it on my shirt. As I’m sitting his plate in front of him, Noggin grabs my arm and pulls my sleeve down and then fusses because I don’t immediately give him the other arm so he can pull my sleeve back down on it as well. He pulls his pants legs back down if I push them up to put his shoes on, too.

Screech gets angry if I skip a song on the iPod as I’m trying to find something for him to listen to in the car. He wants to try to sing them all and will yell at me and begin his “yodel cry” if I don’t find a song he knows quickly.

Noggin gets up in the morning and immediately comes to find me if he wakes before I make it to his room. He demands to put clothes on, which means he wants me to get his clothes and his shoes and come in the bathroom so he can pee and then immediately get dressed. If I do not have his clothes ready to go when he gets up, he will cry until I get everything in the bathroom and set up just perfectly to his routine.

Screech will start by asking for something. If I say no, he will start whining and “yodel crying”. If I still say no, he will start screaming yes at me and telling me over and over that he said please. If I still say no, he will throw himself in the floor in the way of whatever I’m trying to do at the time. When I step over him and keep going, he will chase after me screaming and then he will almost always hit me with his tiny balled up fist. When he hits me, I have to take him to his room and lay him on his bed. While he is on his bed he will continually scream and cry as loud as he can until he almost makes himself sick, kicking the bed, the wall, and anyone who dares come near him. He throws anything he can get his hands on and will intentionally hit anyone in the room with him.

Noggin will talk to you without ever looking directly at you but when I tickle him or get his attention doing something funny, he looks me directly in the eye with the most beautiful smile and belly laughs. He gives me hugs in the mornings and always tells me one of three things. These things rarely change.

Screech is terrified of being picked up, to the point that he will scream like his life is being threatened and cling to you as if you are a life raft in the ocean. He is excessively ticklish and likes to head butt everyone. He bounces on the couch almost constantly, bites his nails from anxiety, and “monkey runs” on his hands and feet. He sucks his fingers at night and still picks anything he finds in the floor up and puts it in his mouth. He chews on things that aren’t food, packs food in his jaws if it is hard to chew (meat, apples, gummies), and rubs his face on anything soft (stuffed animals, real animals, strangers’ coats, people’s pants). The smallest cuts or scratches are a major crisis to him.

No; well-meaning stranger, relative, friend, tweep, blog commenter, and random salesperson; not every child goes through these “phases”. They aren’t doing it just for attention. My kids would almost rather that people didn’t look at them like aliens with multiple heads because they don’t want to make eye contact with you. They don’t need their butts busted. Most of the time, they don’t understand why they are being hit if you try to whip them. They aren’t brats and I’m not a bad parent. I am actually more in tune to what my children need than your average parent. They aren’t being disrespectful if they never look at me when I’m talking to them. We connect over the most important moments anyways and those aren’t usually in the store when I’m asking a random question about cereal.

No, not every child acts like this and I’m sure your neighbor with the autistic child would appreciate it if you didn’t give them the death glare when their child is outside spinning in circles and shouting random words into the sky. I bet the woman you saw in Wal-mart with only a couple of items in her hands who had to drop them and carry a 50 pound child screaming out the front doors as you stood by watching and not offering any help or sympathy could have used both in that moment. We all could use a little more sympathy and help every once in a while.

So, in conclusion, I would just like to say, THANK YOU. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Thank you for trying to become more informed about Autism and how it affects my little family. Thank you for not judging me or any other parent when you see them out with a child with special needs, be those needs obvious or not so obvious. Thank you for giving us the benefit of the doubt. Thank you for sharing a compassionate smile.

And if you aren’t already doing those things, I hope you will start this moment. It will change your world…and ours, too. One in every 110 children are diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder according to the CDC. That is much better odds than winning the lottery…or even that scratch ticket you may have bought before.

So…no, not every child acts like this…

but many more than you think.

The Sting...

2011-12-14T16:48:00.001-05:00

I can imagine my palm stinging
After connecting with your face
The feel of the air
As my arm closes the space

Eyes wide with shock
I hope it rocks you to your core
Because to you I’d like to do this
And so much more

You’ve abandoned what was once
Our greatest human feat
Leaving behind small children
Who’s tears drop at their feet

I hope you know I hate you
In only the way a mother can
For hurting my sweet babies
When away from us, you ran

No, I do not love you
Nor hold you in my memory
You mean nothing to me now
And for all eternity

As for my sweet angels
I will give them my very best
Because unlike you
To me they come before the rest

I hope you burn in shame
And in the fiery rings of Hell
For we are free from your abuse
And are doing quite well

And the pain you have inflicted
On three innocent little souls
Will be made up for by their mother
Who will be there as each one grows

PTSD, defined

2011-12-14T10:36:00.001-05:00

divorce

30 week twins

NICU

loss of a sibling

miscarriage

Grade III brain bleed

Hydrocephalus

double hernia surgery

cyst removal surgery

two cesarean sections

speech therapy

physical therapy

occupational therapy

domestic violence

Aspergers Syndrome

Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Autism

feeding issues

panic attacks

shunt

asthma attacks in the middle of the night

seizure brought on by fever

blood sugar crashing in the middle of the night

nebulizer treatments

fractured wrist

IEP meetings

social expectations

depression

developmental delays

learning an entirely new way to parent for special needs

jaundice

Bradycardia

ventilators

dating

financial worries

child support

custody

visitation

dysfunctional family relationships

alcohol abuse

anger

meltdowns

jobs

obsessive cleaning

rituals

bullying

crying

My entire life has led up to this moment...

Zero to Sixty...

2011-12-13T11:05:00.003-05:00

With my son, Screech, there is no middle ground. He is either ecstatically happy, extremely upset, viciously frightened, running from one thing to the next, sensory seeking, or asleep. Even when he is watching a movie, he is constantly moving. He is rocking or bouncing on the couch, sucking on his fingers, or trying to wrap himself really tightly in a blanket while simultaneously trying to arrange it “perfectly” to his specifications.

He can be happy one moment, running through the house playing, and something will strike him that he feels he needs immediately. He has no patience so he will begin yelling from wherever he is until he finds me to ask me repeatedly for whatever it is that he wants. His voice will get louder and more higher pitched the more times he repeats his question. He will pace, run circles around me, head butt me, swing from my arms, hang off my clothes, throw himself in the floor and kick, scream, argue with me, cry, hit, wail, stand in my way, and mess in anything he can get his hands on until I either comply with his request or put him in his room for a timeout on his bed where he can safely meltdown.

If he is given a negative response, he goes from begging to screaming his request at me at full volume in a matter of seconds. He has been taught by someone that saying please should get him what he wants and so he will repeat to me that he said please and no matter how many times I tell him that he still cannot have what he’s wanting, he just becomes more upset. He doesn’t like to have to wait for what he wants either so telling him it is something he can have after he eats dinner or after a specific point later only succeeds in pissing him off further.

I have found that if I only need a few minutes to finish something before I can get what he’s wanting, I can set a small hourglass timer to give me two minutes and he will watch it and wait patiently. I’m still struggling to find a way to help him to not meltdown every time he doesn’t get the response he wants. I understand his frustration. I deal with frustration of my own, some of his making and some of mine.

I understand myself well enough to know that I am easily triggered by too much noise and too much commotion. I like things still and peaceful most of the time. If there is noise, I want to be in control of it, such as listening to music or TV volume. Most of the time that I am home alone, I don’t turn on anything except a song that I like. I don’t have cable and I don’t watch very many movies by myself unless I need an excuse to sit down because I’m tired. I get easily sucked into movies so if I want to accomplish anything, the TV has to stay off.

When my son is in the throws of a meltdown, screaming at the top of his lungs, he is pushing me closer and closer to my own meltdown point. I just simply cannot handle the noise. These two combustible personalities clash quite often in my house and one or both of us usually end up in time out. As much as I love my son, I can’t handle these outbursts very well myself. My brain goes from calm thoughts happening point to point in a logical line, to a mess of thoughts where I’m trying to tune out the screaming, keep myself calm, and figure out a solution to the problem that will stop the screaming all together without losing my schmidt and screaming at him to just shut-up. I’m not proud of moments like that and I’ll be honest and say we’ve had more than a few over the years.

Noise and being screamed at make me do one of two things; if the screaming scares me, I shut down and go into tune out mode where I won’t hear half of what you’re saying unless you approach me enough that I’m afraid you will harm me, or if the screaming annoys me, I will lose my cool and scream back not really taking into consideration what I’m saying, if it even makes sense, and if I’m going to hurt anyone’s feeling by what I’m yelling back.

I also have a very hard time apologizing for situations like this because I feel like I was right in how I handled it even if I said some ugly things. When I feel under attack I tend to strike back. Sometimes I strike back even if the attack was unintentional and my lack of a filter generally gets me into plenty of trouble.

I can remember an instance where I was arguing with my mom on a car trip about a person that she had planned to move into our home. She intended to do this to help the person out and actually give them a chance at a decent life. I saw this person as only a threat to my family because I knew how they behaved and I didn’t want them taking advantage of my mom. In some ways I still feel this way but I’ve learned to tamp down my feelings about it in order to avoid a fight. At the time that I was arguing with my mom, there were some underlying issues involving the death of my little brother who I was missing terribly. I had my own ideas about why this person wanted to move into my mom’s home and my own ideas about why she was willing to let them.

I took it all as a personal attack because I didn’t have any way to escape the argument (trapped in a car), I didn’t agree because of fear for my mom (I’d kick this person’s ass if they hurt her), and my lack of a filter caused me to say some very hurtful things (that if I had known how to explain my feelings better I wouldn’t have worded the way I did). Being unable to describe what I’m feeling because my brain gets all twisted when I’m upset has caused me so much heartbreak over the years. I tend to do something drastic or just flat out refuse to face the situation and run away. I don’t handle strong emotions well. I’m a zero to sixty person, just like my son.

I need to find some middle ground because two people who can’t handle their emotions will cause us trouble down the road. Any suggestions are welcomed. I’ll be discussing this in depth with my psychologist but I’d like to hear from someone who has the same issue with their children and themselves. Who else besides me has trouble with how they handle situations when their sensory issues are pushed?

Invoking the prayer of the parent...

2011-12-09T10:00:00.001-05:00

The need for self-preservation wavers in the light of losing a child.

“Please take me, Lord, and save my baby. Please don’t let him die.” The number of times I have whispered this silent prayer are innumerable. Once after the first drop of blood five days after the positive pregnancy test. Again laying a hospital bed as a doctor wrote threatened miscarriage on a piece of paper and sent me home to lie in bed losing my baby.

Again in a hospital bed after being rushed to a labor and delivery room at 26 weeks pregnant with my twins. Again at 30 weeks to the day when the doctor told me they were going to have to take them, we couldn’t wait any longer. Again laying flat on my back with my wrists strapped down as I was cut open and the life I tried so hard to grow and protect was taken from me. Again as a small cry rang across the room, then again when a second cry was never heard.

Again as I stood wavering six hours after delivery beside an isolette holding an infant no bigger than a minute, dying to wrap my arms around him and press him to my heart but being unable to move him or barely even touch him. Again as his brother was rushed to the NICU to be with him because he began struggling, too.

Again as my child was rolled into neurosurgery. Again as my child Brady-ed, stopping breathing and setting off alarms all over the place causing a NICU nurse to come running. Again as an infection threatened my tiny baby. Again as he was wheeled into double hernia surgery and put to sleep.

Again as pneumonia tried to drown the breath from my toddler. “Keep breathing. Just keep breathing, baby boy.” Again after the third positive pregnancy test. Again on the delivery table just before an angry wail filled the air.

Again as I watched my child struggle to breathe and his eyes roll back in his head after a violent seizure in the back of my car. Again as I watched emergency room doctors and nurses work on my son and try to get him back to us.

This is less a prayer as much as it is an offering. Give yourself to save another. Shield the bullet, the tornado, the fist, the fall, the fury. Take the pain, the hurt, the anger, the grief, the worry, the worst of everything and anything for this love. The ultimate offer of protection from which there is no return. You can’t take this one back. Ever. And you never would.

I love you more than I love myself. No truer words have ever been whispered in tiny ears in the dark of night, in the glare of the brightest light, at the breaking of dawn, in the haze of twilight. This is the prayer of the parent. Let no bad happen. Let no harm come. And if it does, let it only fall upon me.

I love you more than I love myself…and this is how it should be.

Eyes heavy...

2011-12-07T14:59:00.002-05:00

I love the way your cheek fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. Your soft skin feels like touching an angel’s wings. I gently sweep the stray strands of your golden brown hair away from your face and let my fingers trace your jaw line to the tiny folds of skin on your neck.

You have stopped moving, holding still as a rabbit when it senses danger. You are concentrating on just the sensations of my touch. Your tiny body lays limp beside me with your head resting on my belly. You are breathing slow and easy so as not to distract yourself from the feel of my fingers tracing your name on your bare back.

I watch your eyes flutter closed as I continue to spell out my love for you across your spine to the soft spot at the base of your neck. I twirl your hair around my finger and tickle your shoulder with it. You smile and sigh but never open your eyes.

I continue tracing the story of you across your back, printed letters that pause with the breaths I took waiting for your arrival. Your breathing becomes deep and regular, your eyes heavy, your hand gripping your butterfly blanket relaxed as you start your journey to the Land of Nod.

I curl myself around you, shift you to my softest spots as you snuggle against me, and cradle you in my arms as I transfer your easy smile and silken shelter to your pillow. Pulling back the curtain of your hair, I kiss your cheek, your ear, your neck. You burrow against my cheek and I breathe your scent in deeply; baby wash, clean linens, and still slightly damp hair. I tuck your comforter around you then proceed to cover you with your butterfly blanket as well. You pull your blanket up and tuck it under your cheek with your tiny hand.

Smiling, I whisper in your ear that I love you. As I shift to standing, you spring up in your bed demanding hugs. “Mama gets the best hugs ever!” “I love you, babygirl.” I lower you back down to your pillow and slip my hand from beneath the slight weight of your head. I hesitate to leave you but know if I stay you will be wide awake again in only a few moments.

I move across your darkened room and turn the doorknob. As I am pulling the door shut and beginning to lean back to draw myself from your room I hear your precious voice say, “I love you, mommy. Have sweet dreams…”.

I whisper “I love you, sweetie. You have the sweetest dreams, too.” and I pull your door shut. I stand in the hallway outside your door for a few moments listening to see if you are going to try to follow me. Your room remains silent so I place my hand over my heart and walk softly across the wooden floor to my bed with a smile on my face.

“Goodnight, sweet babies of mine…”, I whisper as I tuck my own quilt under my cheek and snuggle alone in my bed, eyes heavy and heart full.

Keep telling your story...

2011-12-06T14:13:00.002-05:00

I tried to speak to you, Mr. Mullet, as you were standing in line in front of me and my three children last night. I tried to tell you my boys were autistic when you shot me that dirty look because my son bumped into you twice. I know you heard me tell him not to bounce off of you because you didn’t like it the first time he did it. When he did it a second time while I was trying to distract his little sister from pulling books off the shelf behind us in the library, you looked at me with a glare and a loud sigh.

Those two actions spoke a thousand words. “Why don’t you get your child under control?” “What is his problem?” “He’s a brat who needs a good ass whippin’, isn’t he?” I could write a book full of the things you probably thought of me as I stood in line with my three excited kids. I’m sure the lack of a ring on my finger made you think I should have kept my legs shut. It probably even made you wonder if they all have the same daddy (They do. I was married to him and he beat me so I divorced him. Simple really.)

I smiled at you and told you that the boys have autism and they don’t handle waiting in lines very well because they have a need to move a lot. You just looked at me with your eyebrows pushed so far down that they were practically crawling off your nose. I’m sure they would have enjoyed swinging on those long nose hairs of yours.
You moved your foot huffily when my little boy sat down on it because he was tired of standing and wanted to roll around on the floor for a few minutes. I apologized and moved my son over so he could sit on my feet. He apparently liked your shoes better because he kept trying to touch them. You just moved further away and turned your back to us.

Your daughters were watching the entire time as you behaved like a jerk, never once even speaking to me. They were beautiful girls with long blonde hair and adorable dresses. They tried to play with my little girl while they were in line and you kept hustling them away from her like you thought we had the plague or something. I could briefly see you looking down with a smidge of fear in your eyes. We’re nothing to be afraid of. You don’t catch Autism from another child. It isn’t a disease, it’s a neurological disorder. I would have told you all about it as we waited in line if you had been willing to listen. I try to take every opportunity to educate others about my sons’ conditions because 1 in every 110 children is autistic. That’s a large number. Your children probably already go to school with several autistic children that you know nothing about. They may even be friends with one. They seemed pretty sweet despite your intolerant attitude.

I’m trying to change the world, one person at a time. I’m only one Aspie mother with two autistic sons and a neurotypical daughter that lives in rural Virginia. People in this area are closed-minded and afraid of anyone who appears “different”. I know this, I grew up here and I’ve come to expect the dirty looks and whispered comments. I wish I could change the way you looked at me. Acceptance is hard to find in a place where the only accepted people are the ones who look and act just like you. Yet I kept trying.

I refuse to let one person in line with a bad attitude silence me. I’m here. I may be painfully awkward speaking to you. I may have a hard time making eye contact and I probably won’t shake your hand but I am sincere in my efforts to share information about Autism and its effects on my children. I would have even told you about Aspergers and how it affects me if you had given me a few moments while we spent an hour waiting in line to see Santa.

You see, my children were excited to see Santa this year. To you that may not mean much but to me it’s a big deal. It’s a huge step brought about from story after story and movie after movie about Christmas and Santa and presents and candy canes and Christmas trees and ornaments and sleigh bells and reindeer. It’s a hard-earned victory from weeks of preparation to stand in line, walk up to Santa, sit on his lap, and have their picture taken. It means my heart hurt when I had to tell the woman taking pictures that my son wasn’t going to look at her because he was autistic and he didn’t make eye contact. I was just happy to get him to the point of not being afraid of Santa. I would have settled for a picture of the back of his head if it meant he wasn’t crying or melting down after waiting in line for so long.

So, Mr. Mullet, I just want to let you know that even though you didn’t take the time to listen to me, others out here on the Internet will. They are taking the time to read this and comment. Some are going to learn that meeting one wrong person who won’t let you tell them about your sensational children is not the end. It is merely a jumping off point for you to tell that exact story to someone who understands; your tweeps, your parents, your friends, your family, your support group (whoever and where ever they may be).

My autism parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, families, and loved ones, please, don’t hesitate to try to educate others about Autism. For every one person who will not listen to you, there are many more who will and who will take away from the conversation a greater understanding and a change of heart. “Pay it forward”. The more people who know about our beautiful, special, sensational children, the better this world will be. Keep telling your story, even if it seems no one is listening, because I promise you I’m listening and I won’t stop until everyone I know learns a little something about Autism. You shouldn’t either.

XOXO and Happy Ho-ho-holidays,

Forgotten

Why I write...

2011-12-05T10:23:00.003-05:00

No one knows what swims in my head all day long. No one but me.

If I don’t write it down, how can I expect anyone to know? My mom has told me that she’s gotten a greater insight into me since I started blogging. She can read what I’m writing about and she knows where my mind is on any particular day. I’ve always found it easier to write than to speak to others. The written word is where my strength lies.

So now, I’ll tell you a few more things that you don’t know about me. I hate to puke. It makes me feel out of control of my body and I hate it.

I won’t eat spaghetti o’s because I got sick one time when I had eaten them and now

I can’t put anything that tastes like that in my mouth without my nose burning.

I don’t like the lotion my mom wears because the scent is so strong that it gives me a headache to be around it for very long.

Any time I’m around cigarette smoke, I feel like my lungs are going to shut down. I can seriously barely breathe. It makes my food taste terrible and I can smell it on clothes even if someone has just walked through a room where someone else was smoking.

I love the sound of someone typing on an old typewriter. The sound of the letters smacking the paper is very purposeful to me and it’s a satisfying sound.

I can’t eat onions because of the texture. I don’t mind the taste that much.

I like crunchy foods and finding a chip in bag that is really hard is like winning the lottery to me. I love jaw breakers because of the crunch when you bite them.
Sometimes I crave meat because I want food that I have to really chew to eat.

I love soft blankets but I like them to be heavy. I want to feel a blanket settle around me so that no air can get under it to me. That’s why even in the hottest times of the summer with no air conditioning, I had to have a blanket to sleep under.

I love the feeling of resistance when it’s really windy outside and you’re walking into the wind. If I could walk in hurricane winds, I would. My favorite times at the beach are when it rains and the sand is packed down hard and cold and the wind is blowing the waves hard against the shore and making a loud sound. It blocks out everything, even the sound of my own breathing.

I hate to be picked up and I’m terrified of the Ferris wheel at the fair because if it stops with me on top I’m afraid I’ll be dumped out. I like the black widow ride though because it squishes me against the side of the car I’m in every time it swings around.

I’ve always been a bookworm because reading allows me to block everything else out. I can tune into a book or a movie and everything else goes to the background because I can hold a very intense focus on either of those. Plus reading a book allows me to keep to myself and not have to interact with anyone if I don’t want to. No one looks at you funny for sitting in a corner by yourself if you’re reading a book.

I love to work puzzles because there is a definitive end point and they can keep you occupied for hours. It’s satisfying to me to be able to see something finished.

I love post-it notes because they are stacked perfectly and all the corners line up. I like certain ink pens because the ink lays on the paper just right. I hate writing with a regular pencil because the lead makes a weird scratchy sound and the erasers leave little bits of twisted up rubber all over my counter top.

I love the sound of an electronic calculator when it prints and I hate a quiet computer keyboard but I don’t like buttons on my phone to make noise.

I have trouble asking for help because I have to ask in person and if I have to borrow money, I spend a lot of time worrying about paying it back until I get the money together to pay back what I borrowed. I will ask someone else to kill a bee or spider for me though because I’m more terrified of those than I am other people.

I spend a lot of time in my car cursing other drivers because they don’t use common sense.

I like mechanical stuff like car engines and clockworks and complex motorized things but I hate to get dirty so I could never work on a car engine.

I hate for my hands to be sticky or sweaty but if I get something like baby powder on them that makes my hands feel smooth and dry I like it. I only put lotion on the outsides of my hands, too.

When someone else uses my computer keyboard or my mouse, I will clean it with alcohol. I don’t like to drink after anyone and I hate if someone eats off my plate unless I offer them a bite because it upsets the sense of order I have for my food. Food shouldn’t touch on a plate either.

I like apples, pears, and peaches because they have a “clean” taste. Chocolate, caramel, and ice cream are “dirty” foods but I like them. I just have to check my teeth after I eat them. Gristle or fat in meat will make me gag, especially if I bite into it by accident.

I only wear baby powder scented deodorant because I can’t smell it and I only wear perfumes that can barely be smelled. I love almost anything orchid scented though.

I don’t like dangly earrings. They have to be small and close to my ears so that they don’t snag on anything. I won’t wear bracelets because they get in the way of my wrist touching the table top when I’m writing.

So, as you can see, I have a lot of little idiosyncrasies. All of which I wouldn’t be able to really describe if someone asked me about them because I would have a hard time putting them into words.

Controlling me...

2011-12-02T15:35:00.003-05:00

Today I made a deal with myself. I will not yell.

I will not yell down the hall when dinner is done, I will walk to where they are and tell them in a nice, soft voice that it is time to eat.

I will not yell when they are being to loud for me to handle. I will try distracting them or redirecting their energy into a song or nursery rhyme.

I will not yell when I have a bathtub full of water ready for baths tonight. I will make a game of coming to the bathroom and getting in the tub.

I will not yell when the kids are fighting or arguing. I will separate them and give everyone some space to calm down and make a better decision. I will offer choices instead of ultimatums.

I will not yell when I stub my toe, step on a toy, trip over my own clumsy feet, or bang my elbow on the counter. I will do the ow, ow, ow dance followed by more dancing if the kids see me and think it's funny.

I will yell if I see someone doing something dangerous that could get them hurt but I want yelling to become an "in case of emergency" thing so that they know when to recognize one instead of everything being a "high alert" issue.

When I get the urge to yell, I'll find a good Linkin Park song in the car and I'll scream my guts out all the way to work. I'll feel better and the kids won't be subjected to it.

It's time for me to start working on my bad habits and finding more self-control is something I need to work on. Wish me luck because I'm gonna need it...oh, and the reminder to count to 10 before reacting... *fingers crossed*

Silver linings...

2011-11-30T11:56:00.002-05:00

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...

2011-11-29T16:15:00.001-05:00

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...

2011-11-28T05:31:00.007-05:00

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...

2011-11-23T10:12:00.002-05:00

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...

2011-11-22T15:52:00.002-05:00

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...

2011-11-16T16:39:00.002-05:00

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...

2011-11-16T11:36:00.001-05:00

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...

2011-11-15T16:41:00.001-05:00

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...

2011-11-08T11:57:00.001-05:00

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...

2011-11-07T14:12:00.002-05:00

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.

Empathy, Autism, & Taking Things With a Grain of Salt...

2011-10-31T10:22:00.003-04:00

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…

Autism really is a spectrum...

2011-10-26T15:21:00.003-04:00

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.

It makes sense to me...

2011-10-25T14:37:00.002-04:00

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.

The Morning Routine...

2011-10-24T16:51:00.002-04:00

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.

Set yourself free...

2011-10-21T09:29:00.003-04:00

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…

When he hurt me...

2011-10-20T14:35:00.003-04:00

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…

Vivid...

2011-10-19T16:30:00.004-04:00

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.

What she doesn't understand...

2011-10-14T08:00:00.002-04:00

“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…

I spoke out...

2011-10-13T10:00:00.002-04:00

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.

I LOVE MY TWEEPS...

2011-10-07T12:01:00.003-04:00

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.

Don't let go...

2011-10-05T17:04:00.001-04:00

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't do this...

2011-10-03T09:00:00.000-04:00

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!".

I'm done...

2011-09-29T13:34:00.001-04:00

I’m a single mama who is definitely single, and plans to stay that way for a long while.

I’m giving up on dating until I get my life into some semblance of organized. I’m so stressed dealing with everything that has to be done to care for my children and my everyday life and my job that I don’t have the time to devote to properly dating someone.

I don’t have a reliable babysitter. I don’t have the energy to try to care for and split my time between one more person.

I didn’t feel the same way about him that he did me. I didn’t want to hurt him but I would have hurt him worse by not being honest and stringing him along.

So now I’m going to finish what I need to do for me and my kids. I’m going to devote my free time to creating a PEC system for my boys. I’m going to get my funds together to order the things they need at home to begin some therapy with me.

I’m going to take a little time just for myself at least once a month. I’m going to get out of the house and go do something that makes me happy for a little while.

I’m going to get that damn camera I want so bad when my taxes come back.

I’m going to get the iPad for my boys and get the apps downloaded so that I can work with them and build their language and their comprehension.

I’m going to turn this around and make it something better. I feel like I can do this. I can do this myself. I’m a warrior mama. I’m gonna DO this.

Cheer me on, my friends. I need inspiration. Autism mamas and daddies, tell me a story about how much your kids have improved and what you did to help them. Share your favorite websites with me. Tell me the toys that have worked for you. Tell me the things that didn’t work for you. Lay it all on me.

Push me to be a better parent. Push me to do this the way that I know I can. Force me to get off my ass and be the change I want to see in my kids. I need to do this for them. I need to do this for me. I need to prove to myself that I’m everything my children need me to be and more.

**RAWR!!!!**

Confirmation...

2011-09-28T12:02:00.001-04:00

“limited interaction with his peers”

“cried and threw himself on the floor”

“did not respond to verbal redirection”

“communication was primarily focused on his wants and needs”

“limited meaningful eye contact”

“the amount of give-and-take conversation was limited”

“flat affect”

“object-oriented and limited response to questions”

“demonstrated mildly anxious reaction”

“tasks were similar to those of a three-year, four-month-old child” (They are almost 4 years 6 months.)

“lack of fine motor skills displayed in use of writing and drawing tools”

“transitioning and initiating tasks can be difficult”

“Below Average”

“Delayed”

“0.04 percentile” (Highest was 18th percentile)

“as he opened and closed scissors to cut, his mouth would open and close simultaneously. This indicates difficulty with disassociation of muscle groups.”

“has difficulty connecting puzzles, including a 4 piece puzzle of a little boy”

“no part in discussions”

“will not name colors or pick out correct color”

“difficulty sharing”

“seems to prefer being alone or playing alone”

“he repeats the question and does not give an answer”

“some hand flapping was observed”

“produced speech characterized by jargon, scripted words and phrases, and echolalia”

“observed to spin in circles several times after the other students had stopped”

“lines the toys up side by side and examines them closely”

“failed to respond to direct questions much of the time”

“unable to provide basic information including his name, age, and gender”

“demonstrates frustration by hitting other children instead of expressing himself verbally”

“he exhibits difficulty being attentive during circle activities”

“performed at a level consistent with a one year five month delay”

“Moderately Low”

“Low”

“0.01 percentile” (highest was 7th percentile)

“meets the criteria for Autism”

Building walls...

2011-09-26T16:51:00.001-04:00

Inside my head, the world has always been a challenge. Look at me. See me.

Do I please you? Do I piss you off? Do I make you feel something? What do I make you feel? What do you want from me? What do I want from you? Why won’t you look at me? Can you see past my bristly exterior and my unfiltered commanding words? Can you see what I struggle so hard to control?

I hate to cry. It pisses me off because it opens my heart up and pours it out my eyes in front of the world. When I’m really angry, I cry. I can’t control it. I hate not having control so it just makes me angrier. It’s a vicious cycle.

When my brother died I was the strong one. I was the one who kept the family going. I was the one who talked to everyone who came over about my brother. I didn’t cry until we buried him. I was scared. I was angry for having my brother taken away from me because of the bad choices in people that he always made. He had a heart that trusted too many people that led him down the wrong paths in life. I wish his heart would have trusted me a little more so that I could have led him down the right ones. When I finally cried, I cried until I was hoarse, dry to the bone. My heart broke and spilled down my cheeks in a shower that I thought would never end…and I was alone.

I lock a lot of things inside. I am a pain in the ass to understand because I don’t make it easy on anyone. I’m indecisive. I try to turn my emotions off like the flick of a switch and then I rage in the late hours of the night because I couldn’t turn off the hurt or the hate or the happiness that makes it hurt.

I love someone. I love him so hard my heart hurts like it’s been kicked repeatedly with a pair of steel-toed boots. He’s not here. He left and he isn’t coming back to stay. I want to rip my life up and move it across the country to be with him. I can’t. He probably doesn’t want me to anyways. There goes that damn boot again.

I’m trying to date someone else with this ghost in my heart. I can feel myself pulling away even though this guy is a good guy. He isn’t the good guy that I want. He is nice and sweet and gentle and my kids have him wrapped around their fingers but I’m not wrapped around his. I don’t want him the way he wants me. He wants me for forever…for old age and porch swings and grandkids and long walks holding hands. I want someone else pressed against me in the dark. It’s not fair to him but I can’t figure out how to tell him. He is a nice guy. I KNOW he is. He’s just not what I want. This sucks more every day because he’s here and I can’t seem to force myself to do anything about it.

He’s one more person I’ve introduced my kids to and I promised I wouldn’t do this. I swore I wasn’t going to drag a string of guys through their lives. I can’t figure out how to date without involving my kids because to get to know someone you have to spend time with them but to spend time with them alone you have to have time alone. I don’t. Not much. I know I’m grasping at straws. I’m looking for a reason to break up with him but he won’t give me one so I’m looking for one of my own.

I don’t know what to do. I’m not really sure if the lack of feelings is entirely his fault either. It could be the meds I’ve just started, or it could be me. I don’t expect a fairy tale love. I don’t expect someone to come in and carry me away into the sunset on a white horse. I just expect that the person I want will not only be nice and good to my kids but he will drive me wild and push me to be more myself. I’m not getting that right now. I don’t know that I ever will.

So I’m here, spilling to the internet, because I can’t make a fucking decision again. This sucks.

Lost on a path I did not choose...

2011-09-21T15:11:00.003-04:00

I woke up with this in my head at 3am. I’m just now getting to type it out 12 hours later.

I feel like I’m standing in the woods. I was walking a trail that I thought I knew well. I could tell you where the bumps were, where the roots of the trees stuck out of the ground, and where the rockiest parts would be found. I had my life somewhat planned.

Suddenly a fog has rolled in and night time has fallen. I can’t see where I’m going. My path has washed out from so much rain and the trail beneath my feet is no longer familiar. I’ve cried my path away. I trip, stumble, and move slowly because I have no clue where I’m headed. My path isn’t the same one I was on before. I can’t turn around. I’m too far down the path to turn back now. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve got for anything in the world.

I have two children diagnosed with Autism. I have a little girl who is trying to learn her way in the world herself. I’m not alone on this trail. There are brambles, thorns, and branches that seem to come out of nowhere and smack me in the face. Diagnosis followed by diagnosis followed by some self-discovery and a search for a diagnosis of my own. I’m cut, my heart bleeding onto my sleeves. I’m scared, unsure if I should even trust my own instincts. I have three little people relying on me to find our way out of these woods and into the clear where we can see the moon, the stars…the future.

I keep hesitating, faltering on the path. I am taking in so much information that I can barely process it all. I look for a sign. Where should I go? Occasionally the fog breaks for a moment and I can catch a glimpse of my surroundings. I read something that strikes me as important or I find a friend who has been there and is willing to help guide me. I move forward just a little before I run into something else on the path that I wasn’t expecting. Financial concerns, procedural requirements, people with training who question the training of others when I’m supposed to be able to rely on what these trained people are telling me.

There are people along the path that can help. I can hear their voices ahead. They are the doctors, speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, and psychologists that are testing my children. They have some of the answers I’m seeking but it takes time to reach them. Time is of the essence and I’m wasting it by being trapped in this fog on a trail I no longer know. Early intervention is supposed to be the best thing for helping my sons, who are trapped in a fog of their own that is completely inside their heads, but I have no access to help until I reach the voices ahead on the path.

I’m working my way towards the people who have some of the answers. This path is blocked in part by bureaucratic red tape. There are timeframes that these people are given to do their evaluations and they don’t seem to be in as big of a hurry as I am. There are places I can’t go without taking the long way around. In the process of trying to begin getting my sons help, I have had to stop and start over because I can’t figure out how to balance work, therapists, school and regular life. There aren’t enough hours in the day and there isn’t enough money in the bank to do what I’d truly like to do to help my kids.

I want to put them with the best therapists, in the best schools, and be able to devote my time and my life to teaching them and making them as independent as possible because I know I won’t be here forever. I also want to live a little in the mean time. I can’t seem to strike a balance between their needs, my needs, my wants, and life’s requirements.

I hope there is forgiveness in the end if I falter, fall, or fuck this up. I’m doing all that I feel like I can do right now in the current state that I’m in. I know I sound like I’m making excuses as to why I can’t go further down this path. I know it may seem like I’m just plain lazy sometimes. I’m tired and I’m not really at my best right now. I’m trying to make the most of what I have to offer my kids, which isn’t much at the moment outside of my loving arms to wrap around them and a promise to be there for as many days as I’m given.

So be patient with me while I try to find my way down this new path I’ve been placed upon. Give me time to take in my surroundings, feel my way down the trail, test each step before I fully take it because I need to make it down this path in one piece with my three little people intact, too.

I need your understanding when I tell you that I want to do something, try something, find something…anything…that will help. I just need the time to figure out if it’s what I really need to do to get further down this path or not. I need to research it. I need to determine if it is even going to help me find my way to helping my children to the best of my ability. Just please be patient with me.

Please.

Hearts so pure...

2011-09-19T12:01:00.001-04:00

Your arms are almost always open for a hug. Your smiles are the most sincere a person can ever see. You never hesitate to point out something that you like about a person, no matter how small or big it is. You open your hearts completely to everyone. Strangers on the street are accepted as easily as your Mamaw. You see kindness and love in everyone.

You never hesitate to talk to others and you are almost always so animated that they can’t help but smile back at you. You point out the things that you are fascinated with and you don’t think twice about touching someone’s shirt or hair or face if you have the urge.

You have hearts so pure that I can only continue to wish that this world never breaks them. When someone refuses to acknowledge your waves or doesn’t respond when you say hello to them a dozen times, it makes me want to smack some sense into them so that they can see the love you’re trying to share. Nothing makes you happier than a wave from a stranger, a smile or a kind word. If only the rest of the world could be made so happy with simple kindness.

You go into your days with your eyes wide open, taking in everything with a look of amazement. You have brought the wonder back into my world and I am forever grateful for this because everyone should get to hold on to their childhood just a little bit longer. I see the world through your eyes and it’s a place full of outstanding things that boggle my mind. The sheer essence of the world as a whole is breathtaking in your eyes.

So, remember…when a child waves at you or smiles at you, they are only offering you kindness and love. Give a little back. It can’t hurt.

Tangents and Autism...

2011-09-15T11:42:00.006-04:00

Inside you is the place where tangents intersect.

You are the starting point. The spot where “it” comes from.

We all have millions of tangents, each tied together in one place. Some of us have the ability to explain what caused us to branch a particular way. We have a reason for a tangent.

And then we don’t. Some things we do we can’t even understand ourselves.

I fold my towels a specific way. The way the seams meet calms me. The linear appearance of crisp corners and colors that blend into each other like a rainbow pleases my sense of sight. It doesn’t hurt my eyes so see things lined neatly.

Chaos and disorder bother me. They make me edgy. I need clear spaces and clean surfaces. I need blank canvases to begin my work on.

My kitchen must be clean before I can cook. I have to have everything in an orderly manner. I have a place for everything. The pictures on the front of my refrigerator are even squared off and placed according to a particular structure in my head that only I understand.

My keys on my key ring all face the same direction and are in an order that makes it easy for me to find the key I need even when I can’t see the keys themselves. I put my jewelry on and take it off in the same order every morning and evening. I take my shower in the same order each time. If I get out of order it messes me up for the entire day.

I get my ruler out and place it facing the same direction on my desk each time I begin working with my papers at my office. I do four lines, no more no less, then move the ruler down the page. I line it up perfectly with the lines on the paper, then I continue to the next four lines.

I look at letters and symbols in words and group them by two’s. I will keep going until I can end on a group of two. I count steps in a staircase and steps that end in even numbers please me. I notice the ticking of a clock in every room and the high-pitched electronic sounds that come from a TV when it is turned off and on. The hum of a refrigerator running and the electronic flashes of a fluorescent light as it heats and flickers on.

I have the paperweights on my desk in a specific order, facing a certain way, because it makes the prettiest sides face me. I roll the sleeves on my sweatshirts because the edges of a sleeve on a hoodie bother my wrist if I don’t. They make my skin feel raw like someone is trying to rub the flesh off.

I can tell you every crease or indention in my teeth. Every trip to the dentist leaves me inspecting my teeth for weeks until I have memorized the way they feel after a filling. I always turn the bow on my shoes over after I tie them so that it lies the flattest against my foot.

I like a certain type of ink pen because it doesn’t bother the knuckles in my fingers when I write with it and the way the ink lies on the paper doesn’t bunch or splotch. I like clean smells because strong scents burn my nose and make me feel confused. I will completely lose my train of thought or become very agitated if I am in a room with someone who is wearing a strong perfume.

I pick my clothes based on whether they are comfortable. Style is not high on my priority list. A shirt can’t be too tight under my armpits. It has to reach a certain point on the top of my arm if it is short sleeved and a certain point at my hand if it is long sleeved. Pants can’t come up to my ankles when I sit down. They have to be long and they have to cover a good portion of my feet.

I load my dishwasher by a particular order and if someone else loads it, I will redo it until it is my way. If I load the dishwasher at your house, I will do it the same way I do mine at home. I have a place for everything in my home. Stuff sits in certain places and is arranged in particular ways because I can find it the easiest. No one folds my laundry but me or I’m not happy about it.

My fingernails can’t be long enough that they touch the keyboard keys before the pad on my fingers does or it feels like I’m typing them into my hands. It hurts my fingers. I hate to have things stuck between my teeth. I always have floss with me and only a certain type of floss or else I feel like it doesn’t work as well.

I like round handles and knobs on drawers and doors. I hate the feeling of chalk dust on my hands and I have to wash my hands frequently when messing with a lot of paper because I feel like my hands get too dry from the paper dust.

I like the smell of a new book or a freshly printed paper from a laser printer but I hate how newspaper print rubs off on your hands. I like to run my thumb over the ridges created by the seam of my jeans when I sit down. I trace a pattern on my hands when I’m nervous. I pick at scabs because I like for my skin to feel smooth. Any imperfections are picked at until they bleed or come off because the roughness bothers me.

I’m odd. I have a hard time looking strangers in the eyes. I like music for the beats in the background and only sometimes for the words or the way the singer sings them. I love the sound of a piano because in my mind I can picture the motion of the sound from the time the key is pressed until the hammer strikes the cord and the vibrations that follow. I love music with lots of bass because the vibrations are soothing to me.

I like heavy blankets that settle around me and don’t let any air under them. I like smooth sheets that have cool spots when I need one but stay warm when I want them to. I like cotton that doesn’t pill when washed. I like soft colors because bright colors cause my eyes to contract sharply. I like the dip below the scroll bar on my computer mouse and I like a laser mouse because a roller ball gets dirty too easily.

I hate to find other people’s hair on my clothes and I like the way my fingerprints swirl. I can stutter if I get very nervous and I bounce my legs and feet a lot when I’m thinking. I can stare at a Newton’s Cradle rocking for hours. The sound of the balls clacking together soothes me, too.

I understand why my boys have certain things that they like and certain things that they cannot tolerate because I’m the same way. I’m the same way. Welcome to my world of tangents. Welcome to the worlds of tangents that my sons exist in.

Some mornings are harder than others...

2011-09-14T11:23:00.002-04:00

You wake up crying. You can’t find your car.

Based on the car you are holding in your hand, it has to be the other blue car that the paint is almost worn off of. I search your bed. Look under your blankets. Check between the bed and the wall.

No luck.

You get increasingly upset while I look around the room without turning up your car.

I ask you if you had it when you went to bed. You can’t answer me.

I ask you if you maybe left it in the living room. You can’t answer me.

I go down the hallway to check the living room as you wail from your bedroom. I still don’t find your car.

I’m out of time to look. I walk you down the hall to the bathroom and take your pajamas off. Put your shirt on. Ask you to go pee in the potty. You are still so upset about the car that you flop down on the bathmat and refuse to get up. I stand you back up and try again to convince you to pee in the potty. I tell you how good you did by staying dry all night. I ask you to make bubbles in the water (which is what happens when you pee like a racehorse in the mornings.) You are still pissed.

I sit you down on the small blue potty and tell you to stay there so I can get your brother and sister dressed while I’m waiting for you to pee. I go get your brother and sister ready to go and come back to you. You have gotten up, found some other cars to play with, taken the cup off of the small potty and thrown it in the bathtub, and are still upset.

I stand you in front of the toilet. You finally pee after defeatedly sighing and giving up on finding your car. I put on the rest of your clothes. You go to bounce on the couch with your brother as I load bookbags, my purse, and a few other random things into my car and start it so it will heat up.

I come back inside and we go through the morning routine of inhalers, other meds, and vitamins. I kiss both of you when you breathe deeply for your inhalers. Sometimes we have trouble with that. You pick the red vitamin and your brother picks the purple one. Your sister keeps picking anything but the purple ones and her bottle is almost all purple vitamins now. I see a fight in our future over not having another color to choose from.

I tell your sister to go get her “baby” after putting all of your jackets on. I take you outside to load you and your brother in the car while she’s gone. I get you in your seat and buckled, lean over you to buckle your brother, and as I’m moving back to get out of the car, you hug me. I’m grateful that forgiveness is that easy some days.

I gather your sister and her “baby”, lock the door, put her in her carseat, and get in myself. I buckle in with trembling hands because all that work kind of wears me out. I find a song you like on my iPod, turn it up (but not too loud), and smile at you as you try to bounce in your booster seats to the beat. You love music. Your sister kicks the back of my seat. I just ignore it. No use arguing about it this morning.

I stop and drop your sister off at daycare. She actually lets me leave without pitching a fit.

I get back in the car, drive you to school, get in line with the other buses and parents dropping off kids, unbuckle you both and get your bookbags on. I smile and tell you to have a good day. The teacher shuts the door. I pull away after watching you walk through the doors.

I crank Linkin Park and scream my lungs out on the way to work.

I think about how I wish you could understand what I’m asking you. I think about how easy it is to take an answer for granted from someone who can easily answer your questions.

Some mornings are harder than others.

The stories we tell...

2011-09-12T14:51:00.002-04:00

Here I sit telling my story. Telling the story you do not have the ability to tell yet.

Oh, you tell stories…dinosaurs and motorcycles and many fanciful tales of wonder. Yet the greatest story still lies to be told by you later. I often wonder if I am doing your stories justice or if there is more that I’m just not seeing.

You move like angels in the morning light…approaching slowly to lay your soft hands on my cheek. You are always hesitant, as if awaiting an order to leave. I’ve never sent you away. You are welcome in my arms, even when dreams are still mingling with reality and I’m stretching away the concrete of darkness.

I’m enjoying this. I get frustrated with the bickering but I also realize that you don’t know loss as I do. I want you to see how precious these siblings of yours are but I don’t want to you to understand the full why of it. I don’t want you to know my hurt. No one should ever be taken from you (and I say taken because Lord knows we don’t ever give them willingly…).

I realize I am only sharing my point of view. I can’t share your story in its entirety because we only intersect at certain points in our day. I know not what you have seen, what you have heard, out there in the world without me. I don’t like the realization that you may be seeing and hearing things that would break my heart. There is only so much innocence that I can foster in you before the world plasters itself upon your hearts and minds, laying its filters over your eyes.

So, in my prerequisite state of prose, this need to fill my story with words big and small, I will write about you. I will write about you, and you, and you, and myself. Without me, there is no explanation of you. Those are some powerful words. To think that you can paint a person exactly as you want them with nothing more than a collection of letters on a page.

I draw you with beauty, hope, sincerity, loyalty, audacity, aggravation, pain, sweetness, and love. I tell you as I see you, through my eyes filtered by the world I have seen or have had forced upon me. I hope I am doing your stories justice. I hope I am telling it as you would tell it, minus all your innocence, for mine is basically gone.

I love you, my tiny babies. Go forth and conquer the world. Write your story any way you wish. I will never stop reading it.

Dismantled life...

2011-09-08T10:02:00.002-04:00

I’ve been dismantling my life for some time now.

I tear it down, fix what’s broken, and start putting it back together. Usually I don’t get anywhere near having it back together before something else breaks and I’m elbow deep in parts again.

In high school I picked my life apart slowly in little pieces, writing poetry. I would pick one feeling, one thought, one moment and pull it in every direction I could muster. I would wrap it in words, both elegant and crude, examine it in its essence. I can still remember the first poem I ever wrote. It was magical.

I cut open a gaping hole in myself twice giving birth, and even though these holes were sewn shut, you can still see my heart clearly beating as it wanders around in fractured pieces that are clenched tightly in the tiny fists of my children.

I ripped my marriage clean apart. I tried once to reassemble the pieces. For 10 days I pressed and prodded, trying to shove things back in where I thought they belonged. When I realized the pieces didn’t fit anymore, they were too swollen from all the tears I had cried, I left my marriage lying broken on the floor. I have no interest in trying to fix that part of my life.

I took apart my ideals. The images I had in my head of how things were going to be, how life should be lived, and my definition of the perfect child. I keep pulling these parts out and rearranging them. They’re rather pretty when you mix them up anyways…and they still look perfect to me.

Now I’m dismantling my own brain. I’m pulling out the hurt, the pain, the sorrow, the worry, the anxiety, and the fear. I’m smashing and squishing and shaving these down to smaller pieces, much smaller pieces, before I put them back. I don’t want them to take up so much space anymore.

I’m feeling better. I’m stopping to examine exactly what’s bothering me and I’m deciding to either let it go or to deal with it. No more letting the thoughts control everything I do. I’m making a conscious decision to be happy instead of stressing over everything. I’m sure the medicine I’m taking is the extra piece that’s helping with that but I’m doing it. I feel like I’m resurfacing after a long time underwater.

So tell me, my readers, my friends, my supporters, my confidants…what broken parts would you like to dismantle and fix in your life?

Bones...

2011-09-07T10:56:00.002-04:00

As I sit here at my desk, listening to the wind blow around this old building I work in, I can feel it. I can feel Autumn all the way to my bones.

The clouds that are crowding the sky above me are like a blanket for my soul. I needed this. I needed for the heat to lift for a while. I needed a cool breeze against my skin.

I can’t wait to feel leaves crunch beneath my feet, to listen to the rain falling on the roof at night as my children’s soft breathing mixes with the sounds of their humidifiers running in their rooms, to enjoy days of mild heat and evenings that require a sweatshirt.

I needed for my mind to be free for a little while from all of the things that have had me so weighed down lately. My mind is tired. I want to find my happy place again; the place where I stop and see the beauty in everything. I feel like I’ve lost touch with my muse lately. Maybe all of the thoughts in my head are drowning her out. It’s time to stand still and hear her voice travel through the trees because I need inspiration to make it through all this without becoming bitter.

I don’t want to hate the world I live in. I want my mind back.

Atypical

2011-08-31T13:47:00.002-04:00

“You know I’m not normal.”

I say this to my mom. She just looks at me with those eyes that say a million things. The only thing I see in them in that moment is agreement. She’s known since I was just little that I’m not your average kid.

I have Googled and researched myself trying to figure out exactly where I stand in this world. I want a label to paste to my forehead that says KEEP BACK AT LEAST 5 FEET for a myriad of reasons. A clear enjoyment of my personal space being just the first one.

I think I have Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD) with a touch of sensory processing issues, possibly Asperger’s Syndrome. I can’t diagnose myself on Google. As wonderful of a tool as the internet is, it isn’t a trained professional.

So, in order to get a diagnosis and possibly a few answers to the impressively all consuming anxiety I’m currently feeling, I’m going to a doctor. On Friday to be exact. I’m going to talk to my family doctor, the one with the compassionate eyes that always asks me after every visit for sinus infections or strep or whatever it is I’m usually there for, “How are you?”. Sometimes I can tell she has been just waiting on me to spill. To tell her how I’m really coping with things. I’ve kept it in for a long time now. Hell, I’m just now telling my mom how I’m really doing. It’s taken me 30 years to admit that something isn’t right and that it’s to the point of being something that is very wrong.

I’ve coped with things up to this point. I coped with middle school and high school where I was teased mercilessly. I coped with moving away from home and starting school in a completely unfamiliar place only to return home within a year. I coped with my parents splitting up and divorcing. I coped with the loss of my little brother shortly thereafter. I coped with drinking my way out of depression. I coped with a miscarriage. I coped with my dad remarrying and adopting 3 girls and then subsequently forgetting about me. I coped with the pregnancy and birth of very premature twins and their following stay in the NICU which left me with what can only be compared to PTSD. I coped with a new marriage followed by the birth of my daughter (only a little early). I coped with the ever increasing abuse, both verbal and then physical, before I finally moved out and divorced the sorry bastard.

I’m coping with raising 3 kids by myself. I’m coping with my twins being recently diagnosed with Autism. I’m coping with doctors and therapists and missing work and cleaning house and constantly worrying about money and trying to cook and trying to learn as much as I can about Autism and losing sleep and trying to date and being dumped repeatedly and getting my boys started in Pre-K and getting evaluations done for services in school and A MILLION OTHER THINGS…

All on top of my own issues. My need for organization and less noise and wash rags grouped by color and fucking perfection. I can’t achieve perfection (or my version of it). I have a NEED to control things. I don’t like surprises or things I don’t know about ahead of time. I just don’t deal well with it.

So, to figure out what’s going on, to figure out if I have finally met the straw that has broken this camel’s back, I’m going to my doctor. I’m going to try to be honest. I’m going to try to tell everything exactly as I see it.

I’m going to ask for a referral to someone who can give me a true diagnosis for what’s not right, what’s atypical, about me. It’s taken seeing my boys given a label, and a place for me to start looking, for me to finally decide that I need a label for myself to give me a jumping off place to start helping myself.

I’ve put my own needs in the background for so long now that they are demanding the spotlight. It’s time to get myself straightened out so that I can help my kids. If I can’t even control myself, how am I supposed to be able to teach them to control their impulses either?

Wish me luck…

This one time...

2011-08-30T11:15:00.003-04:00

when my boys were still in the NICU shortly after they were born, I went to visit them. As I was leaving I had the nurse give me a bag of specimen jars to take home. You know the ones that are clear with the blue lid? The children's hospital used them to store breastmilk in so they could be clearly labeled and easily warmed for the babies.

I was riding down in the elevator with a few other people when a woman got on a couple of floors below mine and stood next to me. She glanced over at me and got this strange look on her face. I was a little distracted so I didn't pay too much attention.

After a couple more stops, she turns to me and says, "So, you're part of the clinic, huh?". I said, "I'm sorry, what clinic are you referring to?".

She points to my bag and says, "The fertility clinic.", then smiles this huge awkward grin at me.

I looked at her kinda confused and said, "No, my twins are in the NICU and I put breastmilk in these for the nurses to give to them.".

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized what she was referring to and as soon as it registered what she was asking me, it hit her that she just asked me if I was using an entire big bag of cups for ummm...specimens.

Both of us busted out laughing. Through her tears and laughter she said, "I wondered how in the hell you were gonna bring that many specimens back in here! I felt sorry for your spouse!"

By then the other people in the elevator had caught on to the conversation and they were laughing their asses off, too.

I can't look at a specimen cup now without laughing...

At arm's length...

2011-08-24T10:51:00.002-04:00

My son is having some issues with personal space and those who invade it.

Too close, too abrupt, too in-his-face and he’s lashing out. A punch, a kick, a slap, or a scream in your face. Angry eyes and then…tears. He cries the crocodile tears and moans the song of the heartbroken. He doesn’t understand why people keep invading his space. He doesn’t understand why it isn’t okay to remove them from your space with force.

This is a limbo that I know well. I get angry. I build walls. I push people away. I shut down emotionally when it gets to be too much to deal with. I’m in that space right now. Almost at this exact moment. I just want to be alone. I want to be left alone. I want to curl up in a hard place with my back shoved against a wall until I can feel my skin pinched between my bones and the resistance of my soul to intrusion.

People poke at me, try to get me to perk up. I just want to say fuck off and leave me the hell alone. I need space. Even if that space is only the corner of a room where no one is touching me or expecting me to act like I give a flying fuck. Why do I have to care all the time?

I understand my little boy’s need to draw into his head and just focus on one thing. He doesn’t want someone touching him. He doesn’t want to be interrupted when he’s trying to play with his blocks or line up his toys or watch the wheels on his Matchbox cars roll. All he wants is to do that ONE DAMN THING.

I feel like I’m ripped apart at the seams right now. I have a head full of thoughts scattered in a million different directions. I’m trying to learn what I can to help my kids. I’m trying to get things straighten out at the school for their therapies. I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life in order to make it easier on all of us. I’m trying to decide if I want to pursue a different option with my education that would allow me to learn more to help my kids while simultaneously learning a career option that would be in high demand in my area. In the middle of all this, I’m worrying about money and keeping the house clean and trying to spend some time with my kids so they don’t feel like I’m ignoring them and trying to figure out what I’m going to do about Christmas this year and a ton of other things that are all pressing on me like an elephant.

Then there’s the other thought that keeps circling like a buzzard over my tired ass…I either need to start talking to a therapist or be put on something to keep me out of the deep dark below because I can see me standing on the precipice of a mental breakdown right now. I’m overwhelmed and I know it and with the holidays coming up, I’m afraid I’m not going to fare very well. There are the other problems that come with it. Where do I cull the time to go talk to someone? I’m running on fumes with my work time and I can’t take any more time off unless it’s absolutely necessary. Outside of work I’m cooking, cleaning, and mothering which might as well be three more full-time jobs.

I need a mental health day away from all my adult problems. I’m dreading what is going to happen when my kids get bigger and have to start dealing with things like this. I’m hoping and praying they have better coping skills by then or I’m going to get hurt.

I guess I just need someone to stop and tell me that everything is going to be okay because right now, it doesn’t feel okay. I don’t feel okay.

The Twins' First Day of School...

2011-08-17T11:09:00.004-04:00

You looked back...

And I was smiling...

Why I haven't failed at forever...

2011-08-11T04:00:00.000-04:00

I’m divorced. I would have been married 4 years today if we had stayed together.

That doesn’t mean I’ve failed at forever though. I got several things from that relationship that I’ll love for forever, my three kids being the most important.

I’ll know forever that I don’t want a man who would be willing to hurt me, either physically or mentally.

I’ll know forever that I am strong enough to walk away and that I can do it on my own. I can do anything I set my mind to on my own.

I’ll never forget the feeling of walking down the aisle for the first time. Most people only have a first time. I might get to do it again one day, who knows?

I’ll never forget the excitement of finding out I was pregnant, both times.

I’ll always have the memory of how he proposed, even if it did suck.

I learned some hard lessons and for those I can’t say I’m grateful but I can say I will have them for forever.

I will love my children forever and I won’t hesitate to tell them about the happier times when they get bigger. I’ll show them our wedding pictures, tell them about how happy their sperm donor was when they were born, and remind them that without him I wouldn’t have them.

I may not have made a marriage that lasted for forever but I damn sure made some beautiful memories that will.

So, though forever may have failed me a few times, I haven’t failed at forever.

Cellphone story #1

2011-08-10T16:10:00.015-04:00

I decided to start a series I'm going to call cellphone stories to send some of my favorite stories I've collected through pictures on my cellphone with you guys. Some of my best memories are grabbed when my phone is the closest camera I can find...

Just to reach you...

2011-08-09T09:43:00.002-04:00

I watch you and my heart unfolds.

Tiny hands flutter in excitement, smiles that always touch your eyes, and the softest touch when your fascination exceeds your shyness.

You bound towards others with arms wide open and words tumbling together. I may not be able to understand all the words you say but I usually get the ones you really want me to hear.

I’m making plans for you, my sweet boy. They aren’t big plans like being president or an astronaut. They’re little plans like learning to refer to others by their names and being able to tell me exactly what it is you want when you want it.

I’m putting plans together to teach you. I’m learning new things and I’m trying to implement some new ways to try to reach you the way you need me to.

And I’m determined. I’m set on making for sure that I learn things correctly so that they can help you. I want to be the one who shows you the world in a way that you will enjoy. I love to see that happiness on your face when you discover something new that you love. I don’t want that look to ever go away so I’m trying.

I want to share the world with you, no matter what way I have to do it in. I’ve already given you my heart, now I want to give you the world and all that's beautiful about it.

I won't walk away...

2011-08-08T12:04:00.002-04:00

…when I know things won’t be easy.

…when I see you having a sensory crisis.

…when you need me the most.

…because I promised you I’d always be there for you.

…because I’m in this until the end.

…when I’m so stressed I can’t see straight.

…because I’ll need a place to run to when I need someone who won’t walk away from me either.

…when you’re doing things just to embarrass me.

…when you are sad.

…when you want to talk too much.

…when you don’t want to talk at all.

…when you think you don’t want me there but you really do need me there.

…because it’s just not what you do.

…because my momma taught me better than that.

…because I need you as much as you need me.

This is all I will say about this...

2011-08-04T08:52:00.004-04:00

Congratulations to my ex-husband who is way behind on child support and hasn't seen his first three children since February on fathering a baby boy with the woman he cheated on me with before we were officially divorced in December.

Congratulations on committing adultery and bringing new life into this world after abandoning the children you fathered before.

Way to go, Deadbeat Dad! You sure are a fucking winner. Bastard.

A letter to my babies...

2011-08-02T10:40:00.002-04:00

I’ve heard you since you were just whispers in my soul, dreams of tiny hands and soft sighs. Laughter like wind chimes, babbles and exaggerated stories about dinosaurs.

I’ve seen you since you were glimpses out of the corners of my eyes, fleeting hints of glistening hair and brightly colored socks.

I’ve felt you since you were an invisible weight in my arms, a belly stuffed with food rubbed in imagining.

I’ve smelled you since you were a story told in a retail store after sniffing a bottle of baby wash, one day you’d smell just like this.

But now, here you are. You fill all my senses in ways so amazing that I never imagined them.

You talk to me and say things I never thought I’d hear. From your first word to “Bye, Mommy!”. I hear you now. Really hear you. My ears are trained to listen for some many things I never thought I’d be listening for, like wheezing for asthma or the right word to describe something that you’re holding in your hands that you’ve never been able to tell me before. I hear your laughter and it is so much more magical than I ever imagined. I hear your cries and they shoot straight to my core in ways I never knew possible.

You are right there where I can see you. You’re breathtakingly beautiful. I love your long eyelashes and your bright eyes. You smile and my world is right no matter how wrong it was only moments before. I see you with your arms reached out to me for a hug and I never knew how easy it would be for you to pull my heart right to you. The glistening hair I imagined in my daydreams can’t hold a candle to how beautiful your hair is when it’s streaming behind you as you play in the sunshine.

You went from being an invisible weight in my arms to a real one. A child I could hold, press close to my heart, and play this little piggy with your toes. You wrap your little arms around my neck for the best hugs ever and you lay your sweet heads on my shoulders when you’re sleepy or bashful. You tug on my shirt and you chase me through the house and you crawl around under the table and every step you take is one more towards the wonderful little people I’m watching you become.

I went from smelling your sweet little heads after your baths to smelling your stinky feet after you’ve played outside in the dirt all day. From smelling horrendous dirty diapers to the crisp scent of your shirts when they come out of the laundry. You’ve gone from smelling like baby powder to smelling like apples after your baths and Oreos after you’ve been in your grandma’s kitchen.

You may be changing and growing up but I will never forget how I felt before you were even here and how much more wonderful you are now that you’re no longer just a part of my imagination. I don’t know how I could love you more than I do now but I also know I’ve said that before.

I love you and I love being your mom.

The hardest part of being single...

2011-07-26T02:47:00.001-04:00

Fingers, rough with calluses from a life spent working with his hands, interlaced with mine. Palms barely touching.

Fingertips running up the back of my arms, barely applying pressure, propel me forward into strong arms that wrap around me as those same hands smooth across my back to hold as much of me beneath them as possible.

A firm chest to mold myself to like clay against brick.

Long legs mingled with mine as we lay on the couch together watching tv. My toes stretched as far as I can get them to reach yours, both covered in socks. Footsies.

A firm grip of hot hands on my hips in animal lust and the feel of teeth scraping skin. Small temporary tattoos of the places where you laid claim to my body like the first settlers' deep footprints on the beach.

The whisper of lips against the back of my neck that makes my thoughts scramble & my breath rush from my lungs.

My cheek pressed against the center of his back between broad shoulders wet with tears when I need to cry but can't stand to be held. Hands laid over the back of mine as I cling to him like a plank when I'm floating in a sea of misery. The need to hold without being held because anymore pressure than that means you'll unravel yourself.

The pulse of the promise of nothing, and yet everything, as he empties his soul inside you.

Promises are sometimes made to be broken.

I miss being touched so much as I lay in the dark.

The Only Parent...

2011-07-21T16:44:00.002-04:00

If you follow me on Twitter, then you’ll know the gist of this conversation from last night. If not, go check me out. @TwinsMa I’ll wait…ok, hurry up.

Anyways, I texted the ex last night to inform him of the doctor’s diagnosis of Autism in relation to my little Twin B, Screech. It was something simple about there being a cancellation, we went, he’s Autistic, I’ll mail you paperwork as soon as I get it.

A few minutes later my phone rings. I wasn’t expecting to hear anything at all. The first time I texted him to let him know that Twin A had been diagnosed as Autistic he never replied. I had to text him 3 days later and ask if he got the text. His reply? “Yea and it sucks”. Thank you for that caring and sensitive response to one of the most life changing words ever used to describe my child, you moronic douchecanoe.

So, when my phone rang I didn’t really expect to see that number pop up on the screen. I answered with that careful hello you use when you aren’t sure you should be answering the phone. You know the one. "Hell-ooooo?" You can practically see the question mark when someone answers the phone like that. It’s more than hello, it’s "Why in the hell are you calling me?" and "What the eff do you want now?" all wrapped into one extended “o”.

I get a distressed, "So you mean to tell me he has it too?". (Umm, yes, dumbass. I don’t send you these messages just to fuck with you. I don’t like you enough to initiate contact just to mess with you. At least that’s what I was thinking.) What I actually said was, “Yes. She diagnosed him today after evaluating him and testing his speech and motor skills.”.

His next question…and you’re gonna spit whatever is in your mouth out when you read this so swallow first…”When will they outgrow it?”.

Now, for someone who has no clue what Autism is, I’d be a little more forgiving when they ask this question. I’ve already been asked it by some well-meaning relatives who didn’t know that Autism is a neurological disorder. The reason this pissed me off is because I mailed him all kinds of paperwork about Autism long before this conversation occurred. He had the doctor’s full report about Twin A’s, aka Noggin’s, evaluation as well as all papers she gave me about Autism and a page of websites to look up online and a list of books to check out from the library. Just the papers were enough to inform him of exactly what Autism is and the fact that it isn’t curable or something they will outgrow.

I wanted to reach through the phone and choke the man to death. He has valuable information about his child, HIS CHILDREN, and he doesn’t even read it. He doesn’t put any effort into learning about what he will be facing with his kids if he ever sees them again. I hated him in that moment enough to burn a whole through his head with my eyes if he had been standing in front of me. He has so much bad karma right now I hope the earth opens up and swallows his ass in an angry red blazing ball of fury one day really soon.

Anywho, I am so over it. I’m done being nice to him. I’m done trying to keep him informed. I will mail him the copy of the report from the doctor, along with any new material she provided me, then I will not inform him of anything else. I’m done. If he can’t take the time to learn about his children in order to help them lead better lives when they may be in his care, I’m done. He’s a lousy excuse for a man.

I will continue to educate myself about how to best care for my kids. I will continue to advocate for them in the school system and with their doctors. I will continue to provide them with the best care that I’m capable of. I’m their mother. I’m their only parent.

This isn't the first time one of you has scared the hell out of me...

2011-07-19T09:58:00.002-04:00

My heart pounds in my ears. My breath comes in bursts between my screams, yelling your name, begging you to stop.

I run. I’ve lost my flip flops. My feet slam the ground, toes digging for grip. In an instant I can feel the dirt and grass beneath my feet, the wind pressing against my face, my own hot breath pulled against my cheek as I call to you. I feel my muscles bunch and stretch as I throw my legs one in front of the other, catching my body with each step as I lean into my fear.

I chase you, blind to anything in my way. I have tunnel vision as I focus on every step you take with your chubby little legs. Every step takes you one more further from me and one more closer to danger.

I keep calling to you as I run, my voice takes on a panicked screech as you move away from me causing others to stop mid-movement and turn to see. The reaction is visceral, a plea for help as plaintive as blood on skin. I won’t stop until I catch you.

As I gain on you, I can hear you giggle. You’re completely unaware that you are closing in on something that can hurt you. Oblivious to potential hurt and pain. I am all too aware of it.

Your hair glistens in the sun as I overtake you. Your cheeks are flushed from exertion, as I’m sure mine are glaring red with both exertion and fear.

I reverse gravity as I force myself off the ground in front of you and turn towards you. I see your eyes widen as I suddenly appear in front of you. In one fluid movement I have wrapped my arms around you, picked you up, and smothered your face in kisses.

I’m crying and I didn’t even realize it. Of all the things I felt in those moments running behind you across that field, trying to stop you from running over the bank into water over your head, I didn’t feel the tears streaming across my face and into my hair. I ran so fast they didn’t fall, they were pulled from my eyes back towards where I first spotted you in danger.

You’re startled, upset that I won’t let you down, yet smiling that I’m covering you with kisses.

We’re a tangled mess of emotions, aren’t we?

Don’t ever do that again. EVER.

Just because...

2011-07-14T11:03:00.002-04:00

I love you…just because.

I put no prerequisites on you to make me love you. I just love you.

You bring joy to my heart just being yourself.

That’s all I need.

I love you.

The sound of my own voice...

2011-07-06T12:08:00.002-04:00

My son was diagnosed as Autistic almost a month ago. Since then I’ve learned so much about his behavior, my behavior, and the behavior of those around us.

I’ve learned about “stimming” behavior, I’ve learned about communication, and I’ve learned about echolalia.

My son uses echolalia as a great proportion of his language. He repeats lines from movies, things he’s heard others say, and scripted lines meant to allow him to communicate his needs to me.

This is where I’ve began to learn about the importance of communication and the words that come out of my own mouth.

There have been a few embarrassing moments when my son has repeated something I’ve said that I thought was under my breath. “Oh, shit!” Oops…

There have been moments that made me stop and take a deep breath. Instances when he’s repeated back something I’ve said furiously in the heat of the moment out of frustration. You never know how mean you can sound until you hear yourself repeated back in the same tone and volume by your child. It’s like a glass of ice water to the face.

Then there are the moments that melt your heart. “I love your hair. I love your shirt. It’s (b)eautiful!”, said not only back to me but also to his sister when she shows him her dress or to his brother when he shows him his shirt.

There are so many people out there that have absolutely fallen in love with my son. I’ve been told numerous times by people that they’d take him home with them if they could.

I know that I may have my moments where I don’t always say the right things, but I’m pretty sure that I’m saying enough of the right things to make a difference. Many of the people who are around my son are hearing what I’m saying to him because he’s echoing me and the other people in his life that surround him.

My son is loving and kind, smiling and happy, affectionate and friendly…thanks to the people we surround ourselves with and the love they have for my kids.

So listen to those things he’s echoing back to you because they may be exactly what you needed to hear.

My freedom...

2011-07-01T16:53:00.002-04:00

The fourth of July is always about freedom. Wild and free, free to choose, freedom reigns, etc...blah, blah, blah.

Here I am. I'm finally free.

I'm finally able to accept the fact that I said I do for all the wrong reasons. I'm free of those cursed words.

I'm able to look at myself and see a better person. I'm no longer constantly unhappy because I'm worried I'll be in a huge argument when I get home. The only thing that is home when I get there now is me. And the 3 most important little children in the world. ;)

I'm free to search for a good man. Just the fact that I can look now without feeling guilty is like the wind in my hair. Oh hell, yea. I see you looking at me. You better believe I'm much more aware of who's watching me now.

I'm free to be. Just be. I can stop and sit without anyone telling me that I'm lazy because I stopped doing everything for just a few minutes.

I'm free from being chained to an alcoholic who was verbally, and in the end physically, abusive.

I AM FREE!!!!!!!

Giving special needs a new meaning...

2011-06-30T08:16:00.002-04:00

Sometimes reality comes in the mail, coated in plastic, blue and white with numbers on it…

And the universal symbol for a disabled person.

It really hit home that I am the mother of a “special needs” child now.

I have been the mother of a “special needs” child now for over 4 years, from the moment he was conceived.

And then I got to thinking. What does special needs really mean?

To people outside of my life, it is a label used to describe the fact that my son will need certain accommodations to make his journey in the “outside world” easier and to allow others a better understanding of what they can expect from him in a broad sense of the word expect.

To my children, special needs means something else.

To my son, his special need is to be able to run his hands through my hair every time he reaches for me. It is something special to him and he needs it to be happy.

To his brother, his special need is to know that when he asks me for his blue bunny rabbit, I will be able to find it and make for sure he is tucked in specially each night with his favorite bunny.

To my daughter, her special need is to be cuddled before she goes to bed, even if it is only for a few minutes. She needs that time with just me so she can maintain that special connection we share.

To me, “special needs” means something totally different.

All three of my children are special needs. I need them in my life to make me complete. I need them to be safe, healthy, happy, and know they are loved wholly and without fail by me. I need to see them smile and feel my arms wrapped around them.

My children are the most special need I’ve ever had and for them I’ll redefine every word in the dictionary if I have to.

I leave things out...

2011-06-29T16:51:00.002-04:00

I leave out things.

The broken pieces. The parts that don’t fit. The things I see in the mirror that I wish I was blind to.

I leave out the parts of me that are forever broken.

The way my heart races if I’m walking at night and I hear footsteps. The way my hands shake uncontrollably sometimes. The way I sometimes can’t feel my fingers.

I leave out the horrible pains I get sometimes just trying to go to the bathroom. Labor didn’t even hurt that bad.

I leave out the parts where I’m afraid I won’t be here long enough for my kids. God, who will take care of them if not me?

I leave out the parts that others don’t see. Sometimes I can’t hide them because they are there, as plain as the tears in my eyes and the quake of my lip. Sometimes I hide them so well, I don’t even see the brokenness myself until it completely snaps and takes me down with it.

I cry sometimes. I look for a good reason to get it out because sometimes it’s just not fucking fair.

I laugh and wave the hurt away other times because I am pretty sure I am the only one who recognizes it. Maybe the only one who even thinks it hurts.

I get tired of feeling so helpless sometimes. I want to be stronger than…everything. I want invincibility to guarantee I’ll never have to worry if I’ll be here tomorrow. No one gets this guarantee. It doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

I hide the broken parts, brushing them under the covers and then throwing another one on top just to hide the lump. They can’t be here. Not here. It’s not acceptable. We all seek perfection.

I sway to the music, sometimes it’s soft and easy, sometimes it’s hard and angry. When it’s angry, it’s less of a sway and more of a tight motion to catch me from breaking myself against something else. It’s times like these that I understand my son’s need for fast and hard contact with someone else. Get it over quickly and move on. Maybe it is genetic.

Today I feel the broken parts sticking out like the brittle edges of a smashed window. To pass through you have to endure pain, get cut, bleed. No one passes through to me when I’m like this. Everyone bristles and backs away slowly, the hair on the back of their necks raised like they can sense a presence. Direct stares and challenging eye contact, practically begging for a fight so I have a reason to get it out.

Will you take it away? Let me throw words at you like daggers? Stand against the barrage of fury and frustration and hurt and pain and everything that makes the nights so long?

Then let me wrap my arms around you and cry? Fold me into a tiny space, press me hard against the beating of your heart until I can hear more than the sounds of my own heart pounding in my ears?

Then still not let me go?

Existential questions and the mommy in me...

2011-06-22T15:16:00.002-04:00

I sit here and I press my words out into the internet. Do they matter? I don’t know.

I may be just one more person who is born, breathes for a while on this Earth, then dies unbeknownst to many.

But I matter to some people.

I am a child created out of two people’s love for each other at a time in their lives when their love was strong enough to move mountains and create life.

I am a woman who created life of my own at a time when I was so violently in love with a boy that I thought loved the idea of raising these beautiful little people we were creating together. It appears that I was only being appeased.

Was it simply baby lust? The need to have children of my own so strong that I was willing to create life with the most convenient source of sperm that I could obtain?

Did I truly and naively believe that it was true love and that I would live a fairy tale life forever after? Or did I know somewhere deep down that it wouldn’t last but that I would still have these angels that I created in a fit of need for life to care for?

Did I feel like I needed someone to lavish love upon that would truly be worthy of it? No one is more worthy of the full, empowering, overwhelming love that I have in my heart than my children. I swear I love them so much that sometimes it hurts.

I don’t know the true cosmic reasons behind why I have done any of the things in this life that I’ve done. I just know that I am here. I’m sending these thoughts out for others to read. I’m creating a memory for someone sitting behind a computer screen who connects to me. You. I’m pressing my words into your brain right now.

Am I worthy of your time? As we all know, time is one of many things we can’t get back. Am I making a memory for you that is worth keeping? I hope so.

I hope I’m creating memories for my children that are worth keeping. I know my mom has made thousands of memories for me that are worth keeping, worth sharing, with the little people I created. Do we live on in the memories of others or do we simply become a story to be shared about a memory worth keeping?

Looking for the words...

2011-06-20T17:02:00.002-04:00

Blank page.

Cursor blinking.

What do I say? How do I word it? How do you tell people how you’re feeling when you can’t explain it yourself?

I’m hurting for the way things are. Not the way they should be. Not the way I think they should have been. The way they are.

At this moment in time, I’m single. I’m raising 3 kids by myself. I have some help from my mom. I have moral support from my boss (as much as he can understand being much older than me and not having ever had children).

I have a man in my life that I haven’t seen in 2 months or more because he’s out of town working and won’t be back for several more weeks. He doesn’t want anything serious. Keep it light, enjoy the moments, then let him walk out the door with my heart in his back pocket. Don’t see or hear from him much in between the times that he’s home. I’m a booty call. Damn.

I’ve tried moving on by trying to go out on some dates. Trying being the key word. I set up the date time and place, I get ready, I show up, I wait. And I wait. No one fucking shows up. I go home pissed and angry that I wasted my time and my mom’s time (since she’s the only one that will babysit for me). Or I set up everything again for a different date. He texts to ask to move the date to the next night because he has to work late. I beg for a change of days, get all that worked out, then he cancels the next day, too. Sick. Or at least that’s the excuse. I’m so sick of this.

I can’t decide if I want to keep trying to date or just give the hell up and settle for being an occasional piece of ass for someone who is good to me when he’s around but he’s not around much.

Then there’s the other thing that’s weighing on my mind. I feel like an asshole for even thinking it though. I’m not so sure that it’s even fair to ask a man to share my life with me. I don’t make much money. I have 3 children already and your average guy wants to have children of his own. I have a child who is considered disabled and who may end up living with me for rest of my life. There really isn’t much about my life that is easy. I just don’t know that it’s fair to ask someone to take all that on.

I’m afraid I may end up needing someone more than they’ll ever need me. That puts another person in a position of power over me if I come to depend on them. And then there’s the entirely fucked-upedness of that entire statement.

I would ask why it is so wrong to depend on someone but I can answer my own question. Because it always costs you something and the question is if you’re willing to pay the price if they screw you over. I’m not sure I can right now.

So, yeah. I’m just feeling sorta messed up right now and I don’t know when I’ll get myself straighten out. I’m trying to get back to writing but I’m having trouble finding the words. Just bear with me.

My son...

2011-06-12T22:43:00.014-04:00

My son is beautiful. He has the most brilliant blue eyes you've ever seen.

His smile makes everyone's day brighter.

He brings everyone around him so much joy. He never hesitates to tell someone how much he likes their shirt, their shoes, or their hair.

He is so sweet to anyone he meets. He loves unconditionally.

My sweet, sweet boy is Autistic.

I plan to spend the rest of my life seeing just how much happier my little angel makes my world and the world of all those around him. He has so much to teach me about happiness. :)

Where my future lies...

2011-06-08T21:54:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow I head out of town to take my son see a Pediatric Behavioral-Developmental Specialist. He is being tested to see if he is on the Autism Spectrum.

I don't know what lies ahead for either one of us.

I will never know what lies ahead for either one of us.

As much as I like to imagine what the future will be like, I have no way of knowing.

When I saw that little pink line pop up on that pregnancy test, I started imagining my baby. Chubby cheeks, healthy, wonderful sleeper, ate like a champ, head full of hair and perfect.

My very first visit to the doctor to confirm my pregnancy confirmed something else. I was getting so sick already because I was carrying twins.

That was the first time a dream for my child died. My easy pregnancy full of the usual milestones ceased to exist right there because as anyone who has multiples knows, nothing about a multiple pregnancy is easy or normal. *shoulder shrug* It was a dream I could let go.

Instead I replaced that dream with 2 healthy babies because the important thing is getting healthy babies that arrive as late as possible when you're gestating twins and you're waiting to see them get here. They stress how important it is that they stay in there long enough for their lungs to develop.

Well, they got here 10 weeks early. Their lungs weren't ready. So, that dream died, too. In it's place I started a new dream. To get them home from the NICU without too many complications.

Well, my little twin A, Noggin, had a Grade 3 brain hemorrhage which resulted in hydrocephalus (water on the brain in layman terms). The fluid in his head stopped draining because the clot from the brain bleed stopped up it's drainage point (called a ventricle). He had to have surgery to have a shunt placed at barely a month and a half old to drain the fluid from his head. He will have it the rest of his life.

Are you seeing a pattern here? I have had to continually let go of the dreams I've had for my children. I don't give up though. I just alter my vision and keep going.

Now I am at a point where I will be altering my vision for my child again. You know what? That's ok though. I'll mourn the idea I had in my head of what I thought was going to happen and then as a line from the movie "The Robinsons" says, I'll "keep moving forward".

It is my job as his parent to be able to adapt to changes in our lives in order to provide the best I can for my child. I will continue to do this. I will keep moving forward because I refuse to turn around.

If I turn around, I'll miss the adventures we will be embarking on together and I wouldn't miss those for anything I can possibly think up on my own.

Consider this another Fairy Tale Forgotten because I'm replacing it with a much better story of my own...

I am...

2011-06-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

A mother
A daughter
A sister
A friend
An enemy
A lover
A coworker
An employee
A terrible singer
A poet
A writer
A suck up
Different
The same
Tattooed
Short
Curvy
Alive
Indifferent
Concerned
Amazed
Disturbed
Lost
Beautiful
Interested
Interesting
Lustful
Argumentative
Smart
OCD
Literal
Figurative
Fictional
Kind
Stingy
Bored
Boring
Empowered
Empowering
Insightful
Vapid
Careful
Wreckless
Dangerous
Loyal
Missing
Missed
Confused
Distraught
Annoying
Persuasive
Unique

Just like you. And nothing like you. And unforgettable.

In my dreams...

2011-06-03T09:06:00.001-04:00

I see you in my dreams.

You’re handsome. Everything I want in a man.

You’re tall but not so tall that I can’t reach up and easily lay my hand on your cheek.

You’re smiling but your eyes hold a seriousness that speaks of deep convictions and hard-earned truths.

You’ve been through the ringer…beside me. You wrap your arms around my waist and kiss my neck while I’m cooking dinner, whispering in my ear how bad you want bend me over the table.

I speak in this place of forgetting my fairy tale. Perhaps it’s not that I’ve forgotten it, I’ve just set it aside to live in a forced situation. I still want you. Where ever it is that you may be, I’d love to find you. I just gave up holding out hope that you’re even out there.

I’m trying to figure out how much of you I absolutely require in a man and how much of you I can live without. I want a love like I’ve seen in the movies but I’m not relying on it.

I don’t mind being comfortable with someone. I like the routine of knowing what comes next. How you will touch me. Where you will touch me. What you’ll say when you find your words.

Then I like to punctuate things with a few surprises of my own. I like to see the way your eyebrow raises when I don’t say what you expected. It amuses me to no extent.

So for now I’ll keep searching, going on dates, testing the waters to see if I can settle for most of you or if all of you is what I have to have.

I want to be loved passionately and without regard to possibly broken hearts. Hearts get broken all the time. They mend themselves eventually. Throw your heart out there for me to find it. I will be as careful with it as I know how to be.

But do stay in my dreams because damn, the sex is great in my sleep…

You lied to me...

2011-06-01T14:47:00.003-04:00

Last night I looked at pictures of us.

I looked at pictures of what was our family. I looked at pictures of my children. I looked at pictures of you and I.

I see it now. The strain. The forced smiles. The fake.

You could put on quite a show for everyone else, but rarely for me. Only when you thought I was leaving for good. Only when reality hit you that you couldn't pay the bills by yourself and your beer money was disappearing. Then and only then did you feign distress. The tears, were they only for the fear of having to handle things yourself?

You can't be alone. You've never done anything on your own for very long. You move from one person to the next, leeching every ounce of anything you can get from them before you move on to the next. You're fucking pathetic.

I once thought you were wonderful. I thought you were going to be a great parent. What a joke. You've never been perfect. You will never be perfect. And you better believe I'm telling every person who will listen what an absolute terror of a person you are.

Your manipulation. Your lies. Your pretending to give a damn if it made someone else think you were great. The screaming. The throwing things. The breaking things. The drinking. The time you shoved the glass-topped table into me and left huge bruises on my legs that I had to cover with a long dress at my cousin's wedding. The time you shoved me down when I was pregnant with my daughter. The time you stood and yelled at me during the middle of the night and stomped our dvd stand to splinters. The night I drove myself to the hospital in labor because I didn't really want you at the hospital anyways. The argument after you drank all day long and then didn't want to take the kids to see the fireworks on the 4th of July. The one that ended with me dropping you on the side of the road, taking the kids to my mom, driving myself to the ER with a fractured wrist and gravels in my hair and my elbows, and then driving myself to the magistrates office to swear out a protective order.

The sheriff that came to see me at the hospital never left my side because he was afraid you would show up. He actually begged me to press charges against you. I only wanted to get away. I got that protective order, I moved out what I could, I stayed gone for a month. You begged me to bring the kids to see you, to have dinner with you where you cried with your head in my lap as I refused to touch you. You begged me to come back. Swore you would get anger management classes and stop drinking. It didn't last 10 days before I called it quits and moved back out. You were staying up half the night to talk on the phone to her. The stupid cunt you were planning on moving on to as soon as you could get a little more out of me. The poor dumb hussy is still putting up with your shit. I'm sure you're still blaming it all on me. Keep dreaming, asshole.

I went to the courthouse and filed the papers myself for child support and you readily agreed with whatever I decided to set up for visitation. You didn't care. You still don't.

You would skip visitation with them so you could move in with the next host organism. She is such a damn fool. You were so pissed at me when I told her everything that you did to me. EVERYTHING. She refused to believe me. I hope when you break her arm or whatever else it is that you do to her, I hope she remembers that I warned her and gets out. I hope in one of your drunken rages one night, some other drunken asshole shoots you. I hate you that much now.

You haven't seen my babies but once since before Christmas. You missed their birthdays. You have no clue what is going on with the boys. You didn't come to the hospital when Screech was sick. You haven't asked once how they are doing. You don't call to talk to them or check on them. You haven't paid child support since you moved this last time in January. I finally got the DCSE to catch up to you and they received the first garnishment from your paycheck yesterday. I know you've been working for 3 months now but you sure as hell weren't going to make a single payment to help your kids, were you?

At least now I can buy them some sandles for the summer and I can get my sweet girl a new pair of tennis shoes that fit. Everything I've done has been for them. I take care of them in ways that you never could and never will. My heart bleeds for my children and I'll be damned if I will ever let you hurt them.

So, all I wanted to say here was for you to go to hell and take your dumb bitch with you. I hate you.

Oh, and I'm a better parent alone than you'll ever pretend to be.

My kids are happy. So am I.

I don't know...

2011-05-27T16:31:00.003-04:00

I've been trying to cobble this post together for weeks now.

I don't know what I want to say exactly. I don't know the words to make my thoughts coalesce into something that feels adequate enough.

I'm realizing one of my worst fears right now. I'm living a personal hell that I prayed would never exist for me. Where do I go? Who do I turn to that can fix this shit because it is broken? I'm broken.

I know plenty of people who have dealt with much worse, and yet to me this is tragic. I don't know where my life goes from here. I don't have a plan. I always have a plan, even if it is to have no set plans at all. I don't operate without a plan.

I have a head full of hurt for things that I know are coming. It's like sitting on the railroad tracks and watching the train bear down on you and not being able to run away. You can see what's coming but you're powerless to stop it.

This fucking sucks. Right now it sucks to be me in some of the worst ways. Nothing in life prepared me to be this scared, this viciously tormented in my own head. There are too many what if's and not enough this is it's.

I need answers like a man in the desert needs water. They are essential to my life. Without knowing, I am left adrift in a sea of what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Dammit. I hate waiting but I'm not sure I'm ready for what's coming either. Can I pull myself back together after the train gets to me?

Can I do this?

My Grabby...

2011-05-25T10:59:00.001-04:00

“Where are my kisses?”, I ask with a big smile on my face because I know what’s coming.

That thumb goes straight in your mouth and you hide your head under your blankets, giggling the entire time.

I lean in snuffle through the blankets and you giggle even harder. In a flash I pull the blanket off of you and you squeal and try to escape me. I grab you up and bury my face in your hair searching for your neck so I can pretend like I’m chewing on you.

You giggle and wiggle and try to push me away. I blow raspberries on your belly and get loud belly laughs in return.

Your eyes twinkle at me, all humor and playfulness. I try to put your pants on your head and you snatch them away and throw them in the floor. I pretend indignation and you giggle and throw your shirt over the side of the changing table.

“That’s it!” and I grab you up and tickle you silly then hold you as you lean towards the floor to retrieve your clothes. We spend the next several minutes in a tug-of-war for your pants, then your shirt, then your shoes as you try to delay getting dressed and continue the play for as long as you can get away with.

I cherish the excuse to procrastinate myself. I could listen to your sweet giggles all day.

Once you’re dressed and standing before me on the changing table, I straighten your shirt and you throw your arms around my neck and give me a tight hug. I’d stay in your embrace as long as you’d let me.

Right now we dance the tango between independence and a fierce need for your mommy. You alternately crush my heart to a million pieces and then melt them all back together with your head on my shoulder.

I do love this dance we share, my Gabberellie…

My Screech...

2011-05-24T10:20:00.002-04:00

You pitter patter down the hallway, fingers in your mouth, blue bunny in your arms pressed tightly against your chest. Your hair sticking out all over your head and your pajamas wrinkled.

“I think I need to go to the daycare.” Yes, for today you do. Mommy has to go to work as bad as she doesn’t want to. I’d rather stay here and play with you all day.

“I think I need my shoes on.” “Yes, baby, but not until Mommy gets your shorts and your socks on.” I smile at you and cross my eyes and you giggle at me.

I grab your foot and try to nibble your toes. You argue with me that I cannot eat your toes, no matter how good they taste. You giggle some more as I try to nibble the toes on your other foot. “No, I can’t eat those either, huh?” “No, Mommy. MY feet.”.

More giggles as I tickle you as I sit you up. You lean straight into me and wrap your arms around my waist, squishing your bunny between us for a group hug.

“I think I need to get down.” I think you think too much. I think you need to sit right here and let me hug you some more.

I remember nights with your tiny frame laying on my chest, my hands cocooning you to me. My tiny terror, scream so loud and high-pitched that my brother called you The Pterodactyl, yet you hold my heart in those tiny hands with that tiny voice.

I could listen to you speak all day in that barely-there whisper that is you. I do love your tiny little self so much, Wee Might.

My Noggin...

2011-05-24T09:57:00.001-04:00

You always wake up smiling. You repeat back to me the words I’ve shared with you in love...”Good morning, Buddy!”.

“I love your shirt. I love your hair.” Followed by your hands in my hair and your cheek pressed to my heart.

“You give me hugs.” And indeed, I do. Fierce hugs with repeated declarations of a love so big it makes my heart hurt sometimes.

“Mommy gets the best hugs EVER!” And she means it.

My love for you, my big boy, is endless. Know this always because it will always be so.

My mother and my 100th post...

2011-05-19T15:33:00.001-04:00

There are days your love wraps around me like a blanket, as palpable as the way you run your hand across my forehead into my hair when I lay my head in your lap.

There are days your love is like a hammer, trying to beat the sense of your wisdom acquired by age into me so that I don’t have to suffer the same fate you’ve already experienced.

There are days your love is as constant as the passage of time, there and present and unrelenting.

There are days your love hurts, like the fear in your voice when you speak of your worries for me.

There are days your love is like diamonds, it shines in your eyes and glimmers like rain drops in the sunshine. Pure and clear and brilliant.

There are days your love is like lasagna, layered, thick, slightly spicy but comforting and filling.

There are days your love is like driving behind someone slow when you’re in a hurry, pressing and demanding with a fierce speed.

There are days your love is like a slap in the face, quick and sharp, leaves you stinging but cannot be ignored.

There are days your love is spoken in so many unspoken ways, the Gatorade in my fridge when I was puking my own Mother’s Day away.

There are days your love is spoken, in my ear as your wrap your arms around me and hug me tightly. I love you, Babygirl.

I love you, too, Mini-Mom.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day…

A day of ghosts...

2011-05-17T16:43:00.002-04:00

Today has been a day of ghosts.

First it was you, Papaw. A story of the death of a grandparent brought you back to me in full force. I remembered the day you sat and told me stories from your blue recliner with your oxygen tube under your nose and your thick nails pecking on the table beside the recliner.

You laughed so hard you had a coughing fit at me asking you questions about when you were little and my reactions to the stories you told me. They were definitely stories because I would listen in wide-eyed wonder and you knew I was eating it up and then you would just laugh and laugh because I believed you until I started to see where it didn’t fit together. You had so much fun jerking my chain. I still chuckle myself to think about it.

Then it was you, little brother. You always come to me at the oddest times. Reading a post from another blogger where she asked people who knew her if or how she had changed since the death of her baby. You came to me because there are ways I can pinpoint exactly how I’ve changed since I lost you. The quiet moments aren’t moments when my heart stills anymore. They’re moments when I stop breathing because the hurt is too great. I’ll never see a lightening bug that I won’t think of you after the night I spent watching a sea of lightening bugs fly in the graveyard where you are buried. They were so beautiful, even through my tears. I talked to you for hours that night and I cried myself dry.

You’ve been to see me today, too. Apparently when my heart grows heavy, you feel a need to help me hold the burden. I’m grateful.

Then it was Chloe. I’ve never spoken your name aloud to anyone because I didn’t want anyone to know how much it hurt me to lose you. I barely knew I was pregnant when I lost you. I had just enough time to dream for you and tattoo your name on my heart and you were gone. I’ll never know if you would have been my red-headed cutie. I’ll never know if you would have liked that outfit I picked out for you. I wanted you. I wanted you so bad. It shattered my heart to lose you and I had so much anger for so long. It wasn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

Here you are, in my thoughts and visiting me. I imagine that my brother has met you and my Papaw has held you in his lap and sniffed your curls. He was a sucker for a baby. I can’t wait to hold you myself. You are a dream to me. My beautiful little girl, trapped in my head and my heart instead of in my arms. One day, I’ll hold you. Until then, you’re welcome to haunt me, my sweet girl.

I just wanted to acknowledge that today I’ve been visited by ghosts…and I’ve smiled some in memory.

Love...

2011-05-11T15:59:00.001-04:00

If I promise not to break you...

will you love me?

My armor...

2011-04-26T14:18:00.002-04:00

You do not see my armor
You do not see my sword
But every day I fight the battle
That keeps us moving forward

Throw your pain upon me
Let me absorb the blows
Because the hurt I’d take in your place
Only Heaven knows

I’ll jump in front of bullets
Stand up for you high and low
I’ll try to stop the hands of time
Though it never seems to slow

I can only be your shield
For a short amount of time
Eventually the hurt moves past
This fragile heart of mine

So for now I’ll ask the questions
Hear what the doctors have to say
Because I’ll have to tell it all to you
When you ask me one day

And when you’re sleeping
In your bed safe down the hall
I’ll cry into my pillow
And let my armor fall

Breathing...

2011-04-06T11:01:00.003-04:00

Every breath I take brings me closer to another moment to remember.

Not every breath is memorable.

Some are moments that took away my breath.

One day there will be a moment when my breath goes completely away.

I hope for someone else, that moment takes their breath away, too.

Keep breathing.

Being your sister...

2011-03-31T14:14:00.002-04:00

Being your sister can be hard.

The times when I feel huggy and you don’t want me to touch you. You’ve never been a huggy person but sometimes I just have to. Get used to it.

The times when I just want to talk. I ask you how you’re doing or how you feel about certain things and you give me the one word answer. I’m not looking for one word, man. Really.

The times when I ask you to come over and hang out. I know I have 3 kids and I know my house can be a minefield of toys, but I promise adult conversation between the diapers and breaking up fights over those toys in the floor.

Being your sister can be easy.

The times I need some help from someone a little stronger than your average girl, I can call you and you’re there, eventually. You move slow, what can I say?

The times you text me to remind me that it's my best friend's birthday because she follows you on MySpace and you thought I'd need the reminder. (Thanks, BTW.)

The times when I need to borrow a good camera and you’re the only person in the family who owns one. You never hesitate to let me run off with it and all its various parts after trying to explain what the big lens is for and how to get it to take the kind of pictures you know I’ll take.

The times when I want someone to gripe to and no one else is around, you will sit quietly and listen to me for a little while and then make a smartass comment to make me laugh. After that, I’m good to go.

Being your sister is easy compared to being your brother’s sister. That’s hell and I know it’s hell for you to be his brother, too. I’m sorry you have to miss him right along beside me.

I’m really glad to be able to be your big sister. You really are a great little guy (even though you’re taller than me you’re still my little brother).

I love you, man. And don’t say “Yea.” or “You, too.” either, Punk.

Somewhere in the middle...

2011-03-29T16:53:00.004-04:00

It slipped in somewhere in the middle. That same ol' fear that starts the shutting down process. I've been burned. Severely.

I'm so tired of being tender to the touch. When do the old scars stop opening up to wounds that won't stop bleeding?

Why am I so willing to cling to any small hope like a life raft? or completely let go and pretend the water isn't drowning me?

Does everything have to be all or nothing? Why do I press so hard when there's a good chance that I'll get pushed back?

Where is the one who will press me just as hard as I press him? Who throws their heart out for the taking and is delighted when someone wants it? REALLY wants it?

Let down your guard. I won't break you if you won't break me either.

I don't want to be Mommy...

2011-03-28T10:51:00.003-04:00

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means that I have to hold you down for a doctor to stick a needle in you. Even though it will make you feel better, the pain I feel in that moment breaks me.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means I have to say no to one more cookie before dinner time because to be honest all I want is one more cookie, too.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means feeling you push me away when I try to hug you. All I wanted was a hug and a chance to breathe your sweet baby smell in for just a second.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means having to hear a doctor tell me that you have a problem and it won’t get better and you’ll always have that piece of foreign matter in your head because without it you’ll die. I can’t lose you.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means I have to let you be independent because I know why you have to be independent and I don’t ever want to leave you.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means consoling you after some unworthy boy breaks your heart.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means consoling you after some unworthy girl breaks your hearts either.

I don’t want to be Mommy when my heart hurts for the pain I know your future holds. I hurt for the things your dad doesn’t even know he’s missing and doesn’t know what missing those things will mean to you in the future.

I don’t want to be Mommy when I have to hear you cry for your favorite bear because your dad was careless enough to leave it at his house 3 hours away where I can’t get it for you.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means having to say goodbye in the morning and hearing you cry for me because I have to go to work and I can’t stay and play with you.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means one day you’ll tell me you hate me, even if you really don’t mean it.

I don’t want to be Mommy when it means I have to be here missing you when you’re there missing me, too.

A day in the life...

2011-03-17T09:49:00.007-04:00

5:00 am: Alarm clock goes off. I roll over, groan, smack the snooze button.

5:10 am: Alarm clock goes off again. I roll over and turn the first alarm off.

5:30 am: The second alarm on the alarm clock goes off. (WTF is with all these alarms? I'm trying to sleep here. Sheesh...) I smack snooze, roll over even though I know this will make me late but I was just up at 2 am doing a breathing treatment that took 45 minutes to complete from start to finish.

6:00 am: I sit up in bed after having turned the alarm clock off and almost falling back to sleep. I grab my phone and text my mom to tell her I'm up because she's my alarm clock back-up. (I love you, Mom!)

6:15 am: I slowly and rather clumsily fall out of bed and walk with my eyes mostly closed to the bathroom. I turn on the water and wait a couple minutes on it to get hot. While I'm waiting, I delete all the junk emails off my phone.

6:35 am: I'm out of the shower, possibly without shaving my legs because really? Every day? Why? No one's seeing my legs but me right now anyways. *insert eye roll here*

7:00 am: I'm mostly dressed and wandering down the hallway trying to avoid stubbing my toe on a toy or running into a wall in my still half-asleep state of mind. I usually only succeed in one of these goals. Today I didn't stub my toe but I did bounce off the door frame on my way into the kitchen.

7:05 am: I finally have my earbud in place and connected to my phone so I call my mom to chat to her as she's getting ready for work. It's basically the only time I get to talk to her during tax season. (CPA's are so overworked this time of year. I love y'all!)

7:10 am: I open my boys' bedroom door, flip on the light, and watch them cover their heads like little vampires. Sometimes I get a good morning from my little morning boy but his brother is guaranteed to only groan and try to hide under his blankets. I get their clothes for the day out of their dressers and then my morning boy, Noggin, follows me down the hall to get dressed.

7:15 am: I open my daughter's bedroom door, flip on the light, and watch her either cover her eyes if she's face up or just completely ignore me if she's face down. Either way she's not getting up yet. I get her brother dressed as he asks me about every. single. thing. on the walls, the floor, the changing table, and the dresser. He likes to talk in the morning. a lot. My mom chuckles in my ear because she can hear him asking me a million questions and she thinks it's hilarious to see me getting a dose of a child as talkative as I was when I was little. (I'm on to you, Mom. Just so you know...)

7:22 am: I go back to retrieve the smaller of my twin boys, Screech, who earns his nickname by doing exactly that all the way down the hall to get dressed because he is not at all happy about it. He is NOT a morning person. I'm pretty sure he would sleep until at least 10am, if not noon, every day if his brother didn't wake him up early on the weekends. I get him dressed and he either goes to the living room to bounce on the couch or he lays in the floor and throws a temper tantrum because he didn't get to wear his snow boots in 60 degree weather. (Reminder: put snow boots in closet out of sight of small, ferociously angry little boy.)

7:27 am: I go over and roll my girl across her bed to get her close enough to pick up as she claws the blankets, the stuffed animals, and the bed rail to try to keep from being lifted out of her nice warm bed. She whines and fusses and tries to kick me in the gut as I'm trying to change her diaper and get her dressed. There is much growling and fussing coming from me too when her little heel makes a connection to my boob. (How do they always manage to kick my boobs? I mean, there have to be rules about this kind of thing. Moms should get longer arms or something.)

7:35 am: Everyone's dressed and I'm carrying the diaper bag, 3 coats, a blanket, a stuffed puppy, and one still angry little girl into the kitchen. I sit down the coats, puppy, and hostile kid (who screams bloody murder at this point) and pick up my purse and take it and the diaper bag out to start the car so it will warm up, without my coat. Did I mention it's cold outside in the mornings right now? Well, it is and my little girl doesn't appreciate it when I've been outside and my hands are cold and I come back in and pick her up.

7:40 am: Meds time. Inhalers for both boys, vitamins for all three, and Zyrtec for all three because allergies and asthma don't mix well. If anyone is sick, this med schedule gets very complicated very fast.

7:45 am: Start loading kids in the car while telling Screech if he doesn't get that vitamin chewed up he's going to have to spit it out. He chews a little and tries to continue sucking on the vitamin. I fuss more and he finally gets it chewed up about one second before he has to either spit it out and get in the car or swallow it. I get everyone buckled in. Climb into my seat. I'm kinda sweating by this point. I thought it was colder than this outside a few minutes ago?

7:53 am: I pull into the daycare parking lot after listening to the boys whine because the train disappeared from view before we got there. (I have mixed feelings about the train.) I unbuckle the boys, go around to the other side and get the diaper bag from the passenger seat, my daughter from the back seat, and then go back around and help the boys out of the car while holding my little girl (who's not so darn little anymore) and the diaper bag. Before I can get Screech out of the car I have to tell him to put back whatever it is he's picked up that he can't take in with him while simultaneously keeping his brother from running off and his sister from slipping out of my grip. Juggling, I'm a master at it.

8:03 am: I'm late. I'm late. I'm late again. I run out of the daycare, strap myself in as I'm backing out of my parking place and try to hustle to work. Putting my name badge around my neck and my work keys in my pocket as I'm driving.

8:07 am: I'm late but I'm here. I hurry to my office and hope my boss hasn't gotten here yet. He's usually later than I am so it works itself out. Luckily today, he's late, too. I go to my office and boot up the computer and get started on making myself look busy. Then I actually do get busy.

9:30am: I realize I'm thirsty so I go get a drink and then chat with a coworker about the breathing treatment I had to do last night and how bad middle of the night wake ups suck. I go back to my office and kill more trees in the name of inventory control.

12:00 noon: The whistle goes off and I realize that rumbling sound is my stomach growling. I grab my phone and call my mom to see if she's going to go to lunch with me. She's not. It's tax season. I hate tax season because I always lose my lunch buddy.

12:10 pm: I enter *insert big retail store name here* and go to all four corners of the store to retrieve three items. I know the math doesn't figure on that but they keep moving crap and I can't find a damn thing in there anymore. I curse under my breath when I figure out the only register open is the one with the old lady that likes to look at and question every item you're purchasing. I wish they'd retire her old ass already. It's time for some fresh meat behind the register because if she asks me one more time why I like a particular smell of baby wash more than the original baby wash, I might have to smack her.

12:30 pm: I'm in the drive thru line at the pharmacy. Thought I was gonna say a fast food place, didn't you? No, I can't get there this quickly. It doesn't work that way. I'm picking up refills on inhalers and more diaper goo because I swear if they ever stop mixing that stuff, I'm going to cry. *all hail the diaper goo makers because they've saved my kids' butts more than once*

12:50 pm: I'm now in line at the grossest fast food restaurant in town because it's also the fastest and I'm almost out of time for lunch. I get behind the guy who is ordering for 12 people at his office. I curse loudly in my car with the window up now because really? Why me? Just, why me?

1:05 pm: I pull back into work. I'm late from lunch and I still haven't managed to eat more than three stale fries. I'm a little bit harried and annoyed at this point. I rush in and clock back in and then try to sneak back to my office with my lunch. I sit at my desk and type with a stale fry in one hand and half a burger in the other hand as I leave greasy fingerprints all over my keyboard.

1:25 pm: My boss walks in my office just as I cram the last quarter of my burger in my mouth so I can type with both hands. I look at him awkwardly and continue typing as I chew furiously and swallow an entirely too large bite of burger so I can ask what he needs. He looks at me with a look that crosses between amused to disgusted and asks me to cover for another area tomorrow which will put me further behind on my own work but I agree because I'm that girl that agrees to almost anything. *facepalm*

5:06 pm: I have been working crazily when all of a sudden I realize everyone else is gone and no one stopped in to ask me if I was going home sometime today. I'm late leaving now. There's one more thing to get fussed at for tomorrow. Oh, well. I grab my coat and purse, turn off the radio station that's been playing the same three songs all damn day long, shut down my computer, turn off the small heater that might as well be the only heat source in the building because I freeze my ass off in here all day long. I hurry out the door after clocking out only to realize it's pouring rain and I left my umbrella in my office.

5:07 pm: I'm in the car, turning on the heat and wiping the water off my glasses so I can see to drive. I'm soaked and I'm cold but I wasn't going back up to the third floor just for an umbrella.

5:12 pm: I pull in at the daycare after waiting on some moron to turn left at the bottom of the hill with three lanes of traffic coming at him. I'm still cursing under my breath as I climb out of the car and then I realize that the owner is behind me because he snuck around the back of his car as I was getting out of mine. He says hi and scares the shit out of me then laughs and jogs off in the rain to the door as I glare at his back.

5: 35 pm: I get the kids loaded in the car after having to put two pairs of the kid's shoes back on them before I could take them outside because heaven forbid that my kids leave their shoes on for more than 10 minutes. As soon as I sit down in my seat and get my soaking wet coat off, it quits raining outside. Someone's screwing with me. I just know it.

5:45 pm: I pull in at home and see that the paper I didn't order has been thrown in the middle of my driveway at some point and is now in a bag full of water and soaking wet. I drive over top of it and pull under the carport, thankful for that one thing that keeps the kids from being soaked because it's raining again. After I get all the kids, the diaper bag, the blanket, the puppy that was forgotten until she made it inside the house and is now standing at the door screaming at me to bring it to her, and the various art work projects covered in macaroni and something that smells like pudding into the house, I go back to retrieve the soaked paper from the driveway and check the mail. I'm soaked again.

6:00 pm: I start dinner as my daughter clings to my leg and begs for one more cookie or goldfish or gummies or anything she sees in my hand whether it's cooked or not. Once the hamburger is defrosting, I go start a DVD for the kids that only one of them will actually sit and watch while one of the boys jumps on the furniture and runs up and down the hall dragging out all his toys and my girl lays in the kitchen floor and cries because I won't let her ruin her appetite before dinner.

7:00 pm: I sit the kids down to eat or only partially eat dinner. I make my plate only to have to sit it down and go back for more bread/macaroni and cheese/green beans/sippy cup refills. As I sit down again, they decide they're done eating so I'm back up cleaning off hands and faces and shirts and pants so that they can go back to the living room and yell at me to come and restart the DVD.

7:45 pm: I sit down and eat my cold dinner, chug my glass of milk, and start cleaning up everyone's plates and cups and booster seats and the high chair and the floor and the wall and the stove. I load the dishwasher and empty the scraps and hand wash the pots and pans.

8:30 pm: I have now gathered up three sets of pajamas (which I had to go down to the dryer and get because I can never seem to fold the laundry and get it back into their dressers before it's dirty again.) and three washrags and am chasing down three kids who don't want to take a bath to get their clothes off them. My daughter pulls her diaper off while I'm stripping her brother. Of course, it's a fully-loaded one and she now has poo from her lower back to her ankles and all over her hands and the floor. I abandon the boy with his clothes half off and grab her before she can smear poo all over the house. I grab last night's washrag, turn on the hot water and hold her still as I wait for the water to heat up. I wipe her down with the wash rag, rinsing it out no less than four times, and then sit her on the potty after she pees on the bath mat because that's totally the order I'd do it in. *insert another eye roll here*

9:12 pm: Kids are bathed, poo is completely cleaned up, pajamas are on, and I'm starting the nightly meds ritual of inhalers and more Zyrtec. I rinse and refill the vaporizers because thanks to the messed up weather, it's a giant snot factory around here.

9:30 pm: Kids are in bed. One of them is screaming from her room because she doesn't want to go to bed yet and another is sneaking out of bed to grab another toy from the floor. I bust in and scare the crap out of the sneaky one and run him back to bed with a firm fussing and he lays down and whines for ten minutes. I stand outside the door of my girl's room and sweet talk her into being quiet and going to sleep.

10:15 pm: I lay down in bed after picking up the toys from the floor in the kitchen and the hallway. I abandoned the living room after seeing what a mess it was and opted to go start more laundry instead. The basket of laundry from the dryer sits beside my bed unfolded. I forgot to wash my face which is still breaking out like a damn teenager's. I hate hormones. I fall asleep with my phone in my hand as I was texting a friend about the tragedy in Japan and wake some time in the middle of the night with my phone under my back. I roll over plug it in to the charger on the nightstand and then fall back asleep.

3:00 am: My girl wakes up and whines for me so I go cover her back up and get her puppy out of the floor and give her the sippy cup she lost under her blankets. I check her vaporizer and go get a bowl full of water to refill it then go refill the boys' vaporizer and cover them back up, too. I go back to bed and cuss when the alarm goes off again in a couple of hours.

Who wants my glamorous life? Anyone? Will someone just take the middle of the night stuff and the dishes? Please???

Being Mommy...

2011-02-24T15:33:00.003-05:00

“Mommy!”

This call awakens me from a dead sleep. One of those sleeps where you are pretty sure you were skirting the edges of oblivion, you were that far gone.

Yet I’m pulled back. This tiny voice, yelling from down the hallway, can bring me back from anywhere. It’s a part of being Mommy, I guess. I haven’t quite figured it out yet.

So now I’m up. I’m bouncing off of doorways and ricocheting into the wall. Staggering around like a drunk after a long night of swilling booze in the corner of a dark, stale bar. Bleary-eyed and still sweeping the cloying dreams away from my mind, I stand above my baby.

It could be my Grabby; tiny and curled into a ball looking for her comforter and her blankie and her puppy and her sippy cup all at the same time. It could be my Screech; doing exactly that, torn from sleep by a nightmare and sitting straight up in bed pointing at the corner that I just entered the room from and screaming for me. I think his nightmares terrorize us both equally. It could be my Noggin; who rarely wakes in the night but when he does you can guarantee that there is either a fever to attend to or vomit everywhere.

Amazingly enough I can go from a sound sleep to wide awake in just a few moments when there is trouble brewing. When sickness makes every breath they take a struggle, I’m there by their bedside in the middle of the night with the nebulizer and a half dozen little vials of medication. I’ve gotten so good at this that I can tell them apart by shape and size. I can practically read the writing imprinted on them like its Braille, rubbing a finger down each one to pick the one with the least writing for my girl and the two with the most writing for my boys. The stop sign shaped one for my little twin and the long thin tube for his brother.

When it is a nightmare that has them calling out to me in the dark, I am there in milliseconds. I throw back the covers and leap toys and randomly misplaced socks while keeping from slipping on the hardwood in my socks so that I can quickly wrap my arms around a scared child. Sometimes just having me there is enough to quiet the yells. Other times there are tears and a half hour of rocking back and forth at the foot of the bed. Either way, I’m there. I’m present and I’m on high alert.

I can remember nights of barely being there. Nights where I was so tired that it took everything I had just to get up and find my way to the kitchen with my eyes closed to mix a bottle for one of my boys. Nights where I would pick my girl up from her crib, carry her to my bed, sit down and get her situated to eat, then fall asleep before she had finished on one breast. She would wake me fussing because she had emptied me and was ready to be switched over. I would trade arms, snuggle her close and fall asleep again, waking up hours later with her still snuggled against me using my breast as a pillow.

I remember nights of crying while trying to get my little ones to sleep because I was so damn tired I could barely stand it. After a night like that, I would call my mom the next day and beg for some relief. A few hours of sleep during the day when you are so tired you can barely function can save your life. I’m pretty sure my mom saved mine more than once.

But here I am. I’m still being Mommy. I’m working full-time to keep a roof over our heads and groceries in the house. I’m the only one getting up in the middle of the night for the high-pitched wake up calls. I’m divorced now. I’m also the one putting the needs of my children first. I’m the one with my heart on my sleeve because sometimes keeping it in my chest is impossible.

I’m Mommy. And I’m rocking that title for all it’s worth. Trust me when I say, it’s worth a hell of a lot.

Awash with words...

2011-02-10T10:20:00.002-05:00

This woman...This beautiful woman.

Kelly at Ordinary Art

She makes me want to wash my face every morning with her words.

Go read her. Discover the beauty in every thing.

My favorite band...

2011-02-09T11:11:00.006-05:00

You were standing in the wake of devastation

You were waiting on the edge of the unknown

With the cataclysm raining down

Your insides crying, "Save me now"

You were there, impossibly alone.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you've known.

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go.

Let it go.

And in a burst of light that blinded every angel

As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars

You felt the gravity of tempered grace

Falling into empty space

With no one there to catch you in their arms.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you've known.

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go.

Let it go.

(Instrumental Break)

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you've known.

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go.

Let it go.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure's all you've known.

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go.

Let it go.

-Linkin Park-Iridescent-

Folding in upon myself...

A little stressed...

2011-02-07T12:02:00.003-05:00

I’m stressed. I’ll admit it. I’ll own up to it. I’ll even tell others about it.

It doesn’t help. I’m still stressed and it’s not getting much better. I see it every day. I have no patience anymore. I fuss at the kids over stuff that if I had half a lick of sense, I wouldn’t be fussing about. I seem to be wearing my constantly frustrated look. Frown, furrowed brow, tensed shoulders, clothes that just don’t seem to fit right.

I’m grouchy. No amount of sleep seems to help either. I can sleep well through the night and get a good 2 hour nap the next day as the kids nap and I’m still a pain in my own ass.

I know why I’m stressed. I have an asshole for an ex-husband and he’s doing everything he possibly can to bring some measure of pain into my life. This time, he moved over 2.5 hours away across a bunch of mountain roads. He didn’t tell me he was moving like he is court-ordered to do. He didn’t tell the kids he was moving again. They have no clue that their sperm donor dad moved even further away from them and didn’t tell them. He complained about driving 30 minutes to pick them up from daycare for visitation. What is supposed to make me think that he’s going to bother seeing them much at all now?

He hasn’t seen them in over 5 weeks. He’s skipped 2 weekend visitations, the first with a lame excuse to cover the fact that he was moving and wasn’t going to tell me, the second because he claimed he wasn’t ready to get them because he had to get things set up in his new house. I’m not figuring he will see them this weekend either. I’m guessing that he will bail and find some excuse to not see them or he will call and try to rearrange the visitation so the he’s bringing them back sooner. I’m not holding out any hope that he will get them at all though.

I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to explain all this to the kids. They are still tiny but one day they will ask me why he doesn’t see them. Damn him for putting me in this position. Damn him straight to hell for being such a piece of shit. I’ve only hated one other person in my life as bad as I hate him and he was responsible for the death of my little brother. That’s saying something. Let’s just say I wouldn’t hit my brakes if he stepped off the curb in front of me right now. I might even hit the gas.

So, I’m not myself. I’m not the person I want to be right now. I hate that I’ve let him turn me into something ugly. I hate that he has that power.

Well, fuck him. I’m going to try harder to put on my happy face and he can go jump in a volcano.

Naked before you...

2011-02-04T20:14:00.000-05:00

I leave myself vulnerable before you. Naked. Legs trembling, breathing unsteady. I open my mouth to speak but you silence me with a look that speaks a million words.

I can’t take it any longer so I turn away only to be met with your hand, soft upon my cheek. A touch too gentle to disregard, I press my face against your palm, close my eyes, breathe out in a quiet decompression. Relax.

My senses return in a rush and I freeze like a rabbit when it smells danger. Muscles tense and I draw in upon myself. You pull me back to you, your voice deep and soothing, simply speaking my name. It sounds safe in your mouth.

How did I get here? This place where you have me at my most accessible but yet also at my most guarded, my walls raised like armor to a soldier. There are so many things left to be said but in this moment, they don’t matter. Your skin against mine says all I need to feel.

But there’s more. There’s always more. The sacrifice I make is great and you seem to know that but you don’t press it. It’s not an issue to you. It’s expected. Required. Demanded.

You make your own sacrifice in admitting to wanting this as bad as I do. This connection, both physical and other worldly. Nothing had to be said. Your thoughts paralleled my own as I moved tentatively forward.

Not to be seen as hesitant, you drag me to you. Press me against your chest and breathe out into my hair. Slipping your arms around me as if they’ve belonged there for all time, you hold me tightly.

I cave in, fall into you and accept the comfort you offer. After all, it’s only a shoulder to cry on, isn’t it?

Why we were late for Sunday dinner...

2011-01-31T15:16:00.009-05:00

My lap...best seat in the house.