Blank, Not Boring

I've come and stared at this blog every day for a week. I click on "New post" and look at that big blank space. Then I walk away. Because filling that space as seemed both alluring and very, very scary.

Writing, for me, has been about vulnerability. Sharing a piece of yourself is nerve wracking. It's like saying Hello, here's my heart, please try not to stomp on it. Add in the extra layers of being in the middle of the divorce process and not feeling like I could really say anything about anything, and you've got the biggest case of writer's block that you ever did see.

So, what's an autism mom blogger to do when she doesn't feel like she can write about her kids? There is so much more to talk about, but I'm not quite sure what to do with it, how to begin the conversation. I always thought of this blog as an autism blog, but maybe it isn't. Maybe it's just a my life blog, and my life is full to the brim of many, many more things. I still get daily views on my coming out post, and I'm pretty sure there isn't just a bunch of autism moms coming over to peek at that.

I attended an event last week that featured one of my favorite writers and human beings on the face of the planet, Glennon Doyle Melton. She is the reason I keep coming back here and staring. And she is the reason I am actually writing today. Because she made me realize that I need it. I think everyone has a way to tell their story. Some people draw, some people take photographs, some people cook, some people film, some people tweet, some people dance, and some people do sporty things. It may not always look like story telling, but anything can be, really. I hear that there are even some people who are really good at verbally expressing how they feel. Weirdos. But this seems to be my way.

So. Hello. To old friends, and new. Welcome to a new chapter. Stick around, it's bound to be interesting. Because a lesbian mother of three children with autism, who works and is a full time student and is going through a divorce, can't possibly be boring.... right? I'm sure I'll find something to write about.

Tirelessly

Oh, how I've missed writing. I've missed talking into space and occasionally hearing something back. I feel a bit like this safe space got jerked away from me, but today when I thought about it I realized that it is only because I let it be.

So.

Today I have a bit of a rant. A rant against a word I hear, time and again, that drives me crazy.

You hear it in speeches, you hear it when people talk of their admiration of someone. "So and so has worked tirelessly..."

We need to retire this word.

No one is tireless. No one. No autism parent works tirelessly against the maddening and frustrating systems of healthcare and schools. No advocate works tirelessly to stand up and speak out. The progress makers and law changers and life embracers all get tired. They aren't some special brand of better human.

The word has been used to describe me before. Though the person meant it as a compliment and a testament to my hard work and dedication to my kids...it felt like a ton of pressure. I felt put on a pedestal that I knew I would come crashing down from in only a matter of time. What would happen when I did get tired?

What I've found out is that we all get tired. We all need a support system and a pat on the back. We all need people to vent to and cry to (and people who will kick us in the butt when we need it.) We need to know we can get tired and it is okay.

Let's work tiredly instead. Working tiredly means that it is hard, and you want to give up, but you keep going (and by keep going, I mean that sometimes you stop for a good cry and a nap and ignore the issue entirely for a little while until you are ready to deal with it again.) Yawning all the way. Yeah, working tiredly is more my speed. And I have a feeling, if you're reading my blog, that it is more your speed too.

Today is my break. I'm healing from sickness and I'm in need of a little heart and soul work. So I took a luxuriously long shower and primped to my heart's content. I spent at least ten minutes trying to get a perfectly winged eyeliner look. I'm ignoring the dishes in the sink and the laundry in the basket. I'm getting a few extra kids cuddles. I'm prettying my body and my soul today. Because I got tired, and it is okay to admit that. Tomorrow is a new day and I will tackle it when it gets here...but today belongs to the repair of the weary.

Keep on keepin on, friends.

My eyeliner game is on point today. Just in case you didn't notice.

A Writer?

Everyone keeps telling me that I'm a writer. I've never thought of myself as one. I'm just a girl with a blog, with an "interesting" life.

I started blogging, years ago, to talk about life with Diva Girl. Mostly just out of town friends and family read it to keep up with her, but it was very much for myself. I loved writing about our daily life, knowing that I could look back for years to come on those early days. As the diagnosis came, I went silent for a while. And then? Then, I started blogging to deal with it all. It has been the best therapy I could ask for. 

Over time, we have added more kids. More special needs. And more than just family and a handful of friends read this. 

In the last few months, I've gotten comments from many telling me that they love reading this blog. It always comes as a surprise. And they say "You are such a great writer!" Ever since diagnosis number three, I've even been told that I should start writing a book (HA!)  And I just kind of laugh and shrug. Because I can't help but think they are just being polite, giving a compliment they don't really mean. I mean, I'm not a writer. My husband is a writer, working on both fiction and non fiction, as well as his blog. My dear friend A, who is working on a trilogy- she is a writer. Me? With my little posts on how my daughter is a cat and birthday parties and head colds? Not so much.

But then, I find myself realizing that I really do love to write these little posts. In the last week or so, I've thought of several different things to write about. I just can't seem to get my thoughts organized and written down. I can't seem to be able to get a grasp on how to write about these subjects, since I am feeling rather emotional about them. I thought to myself- maybe I'm just done with this whole blog thing. Maybe I don't really have anything left that I want to say, maybe I just need to keep all this stuff to myself. But I realized that I didn't want to quit, because day after day I click on "New Post" and try again, often writing a sentence and then deleting it immediately. So today, as I stared at the blank space, a phrase came to mind. Writer's block.

Huh.

I guess it's time to stop fighting the title. I may never write a book. I may never write a post that gets pinned or makes the rounds on facebook. Maybe I don't use big words and start to many sentences with "But" and "And" and suck at sentence structure. Maybe I overuse bold and italics. But I love to write. I love to share my thoughts and feelings and experiences with people near and far, friends and strangers. 

Thank you for reading. Thank you for making me feel a little less alone and a little less misunderstood. Thank you to my Autism Moms who read along and commiserate. Big hugs to my friends who read to understand my life and my kids. Many of you know that I've been all about a journey of self discovery lately. Thanks for helping me discover one more thing- Like it or not, I'm a writer.

Free To Change

I've always been a rather opinionated gal about certain things. Opinionated and, um, enthusiastic.

When I first started having kids, I was practically a hippie (not really, but that's what people tend to call us natural minded types.) I think all I could talk about during Diva Girl's first year of life was breastfeeding and natural birthing and vaccines and cloth diapers and baby carriers. I plunged head first into what was essentially a new culture to me.

Then autism came along. And while I was still having babies and caring about all of those things above, my focus switched. I inhaled books and studies and therapy ideas. For a solid three years, my focus was on autism, and early on I formed just as many strong opinions on how to be an autism mom as I did when I was focused on being a good attachment parenting mom.

Oh, how time changes things.

I think I may be both a less and more judgmental person now.

I gave up on cloth diapering with Vlad. When he weaned himself at 14 months, I was relieved. I am even reconsidering my stance on vaccinations (insert gasp here.) My kids eat chicken nuggets more than is possibly healthy. And for a woman who was allllll about attachment parenting and had planned to homeschool, I am more than happy to wave goodbye to all three kids every Monday morning. Getting in the highest  amount of therapy is no longer a priority. I go days without reading anything autism related, and even actively avoid reading the latest "Scientists discover the maybe, thinly possible, not actually proven link to the cause of autism!"

Admitting some of this is hard. Nobody wants to be the person who shouts an opinion from the mountaintops, only to recant later down the road. It makes me feel like a flake.

But the truth is, change is good. Change means that you are a growing, living, learning person. I'm still a judgmental person because I judge the person I used to be, and those who I meet who are like that. The ones who know it all. Who think that being right is better than being nice.

Honestly, I'm still there. I have those moments. You know, when someone says something on facebook and I see it as my duty to let them know just how wrong they are. Ugh, I can be utterly obnoxious.

I am learning. Learning how to change without being embarrassed by it. How to look at how other's are doing things differently without feeling as though it is a statement against what I am doing. I'm learning how to check out of the grocery store without being embarrassed by the dichotomy between the organic baby spinach and dino shaped chicken nuggets. Embracing being a happily public schooling attachment parent.
Learning how to adapt. And how to own up to my shortcomings both past and present.

I'm sure I will be passionate about something again, only to change my mind later on. Feel free to not point that out to me. Just love me anyway, flaws and all. I'll try to give you the same courtesy.

When They Are Well

I've been quiet. Too quiet.

Why?

Well, for one thing, things were chaotic for a bit. I moved a bit growing up and I never considered it to be such a major life event. When we had little enough stuff to throw into boxes in a couple of days, moving was not a huge deal.  Now, however, with three children...it was kind of a massive undertaking.

But that isn't the sole reason for my silence.

See, everything has gone fairly smoothly. The kids transitioned to the new house extremely well. They are adjusting to their new schools surprisingly quickly. And I have found myself without anything major with the kids to worry about.

What am I supposed to do with myself now?

I'll tell you what I did. Took a good long look at myself. And then I had a mini break down.

Guys, it turns out that I have some issues. And when I'm not 100% focused on my kids, these issues decided to pop up and say "Hey there! We're the stuff you've been repressing for a while. We're coming out to play!"

As it turns out, throwing myself into my kids is just another form of escape. I know I'm not the only mommy out there to do this. I mean, there is always something to worry about, to agonize over, to research and implement, when you are a mom. The laundry list of serious concerns for an Autism Mom is about a mile long. And how easy is it to hide behind that? To use that as a reason to put off dealing with your own inner struggles. But if there is one thing I've learned in the past month, it is this: My kids are my world, but they are not my identity. There is a woman behind the Autism Mom label. A woman with a past and a future, hopes and fears, passions and loves. I'd already been working on that woman for a little while, and I think that the stillness of a happier home I found more to deal with than I was quite prepared for.

And yes, I'm being purposely vague. There are some things that are still not fit to be shared with the whole of the internet. But I will say this- don't you worry about me. I'm okay. The thing about taking the time to really look at yourself, is that while it is terrifying...in the end, it leads to a richer life. A muscle, stretched and worked over time, becomes stronger. That is my hope.

So, thanks kids. You're doing alright. And so will I.

For the Love of Money

Money. It makes the world go round. You need it, you love it, you hate it.

If you've ever known poverty, you may understand what I mean when I say that money is my obsession. My life often seems to revolve around our lack of money. I am constantly trying to think of how I can stretch it, where I should spend it, and how I can make more of it. Nothing can make me feel more ill or bring me to a panic attack more quickly than thinking about finances, or our financial future.

I keep expecting things to change. I keep looking to the future and expecting to be in a better spot, only to find myself still struggling when I get there. I was never one to think I was going to end up with some large house and a nice nest egg. I did marry a pastor, so I knew that in all likelihood, there would be a whole lot more "poorer" than "richer". But autism changed not only how we would spend our money, it seriously impacted our ability to bring it in in the first place. And with each diagnosis, I felt our future financial stability crumble bit by bit.

Autism families struggle to pay the bills. Whatever money we have goes to giving our kids the best shot at success. I've seen families that are easily middle class still struggle with keeping the lights on. It happens much more than you would ever believe. To add to the stress of the now, we also look to the future and have no idea what to expect and what kind of help our kids may need for the rest of their lives. My kids may grow up to be financially independent. Or they may not. I can't count on either, but have to prepare for the likelihood that they will need us. Considering that I am currently able to provide for them fully, this thought overwhelms me. Every bit of pride I have just cowers in shame and fear.

I don't feel like a bad parent because I sometimes yell. I don't feel like a bad parent because I let them watch plenty of Disney movies or don't play outside enough. I feel like a bad parent because I need help just to keep them clothed and fed and housed and therapied (is that a word?) People tell me all the time that my kids are lucky to have been born into this family and so often I think that if they were lucky, they would have been born into a family that had plenty of money to care for their distinct and sometimes overwhelming needs.

I know that money holds too much power over me. When I drift off to sleep, night after night, trying to calculate how much I need to sell to make ends meet, I know that I've reached an unhealthy place. When a little light blinks on the dashboard of my minivan and it causes an instant pounding in my heart and drop in my stomach, I've reached an unhealthy place.  The fact that money brings about such strong feelings of shame and embarrassment and jealousy...well, that's not the kind of person I want to be.

I want to be the kind of person that works hard and goes to bed at night knowing that I've done my best. And letting that be enough. I want to be the kind of person who looks at pictures of my friends on vacation and is happy for them, not envious. Yes, our financial situation needs to change. There are things I can do to work towards that, and I am doing them. But more importantly, my attitude about money needs to change.

I don't want to let money (or my lack of it) rob me of joy. Life won't get put on hold until my finances look better. And let's be honest- would I suddenly find myself full of happiness the moment my bank account has more zeros? Probably not. Especially if I spend my whole life obsessing over money and feeding into negativity and misery.

So, today I'm going to start. I'm going to be grateful for the help we've had instead of ashamed. I'm going to be grateful for the home we are moving into instead of obsessing over what we can't buy for it. I'm going to enjoy my children today and hope for the best for their futures.

There are so many people in my life to cherish...I'll save my love for them.

The Help

We are on week two of The Husband being out of town (Read: Just Us)

Everyone is still alive and I am still very sleep deprived. I did have enough White Chocolate Mocha to keep a normal person awake until tomorrow morning, but I'm just hoping it gets me through the kids' bedtime.

The truth is, I've gotten a LOT of help. Like, people have bought and delivered groceries to our door kind of help. They have sent dinners, watched a kid or two, and checked in on me daily. 

Does that sound a bit ridiculous to you? A bit of overkill considering that women go without husbands all the time and survive without a small army of aid?

To be honest, I was a bit embarrassed at all the help I've been getting. I mean, really, what does it say about me? That I can't raise my kids on my own. That I'm incompetent. That I have no idea what to do when The Husband is gone. That I am a total drama queen. Yes, at first I felt, well....ashamed that I couldn't function just fine without him for a week or two. 

But when I expressed this to a friend, she put things in perspective for me. First- my kids aren't normal. That's just a fact, and there's nothing to be ashamed of in that fact. As awesome as my kids are, they also make even the most basic of everyday tasks incredibly difficult at times. Have you ever tried to go grocery shopping with three kids on the spectrum? I have. It ended with a lot of tears, no groceries, and made for a really good session with my therapist. Autism times three is just plain hard. I don't say that for pity or back pats. It just is. And I have enough friends with kids on the spectrum that understand that having a child with autism can be difficult, and knowing that I am home, alone, with three of them....well, is it any wonder that many have stepped up and stepped in to help? 

Which leads to the second- People want to help, and they deserve a big thanks for it, not just me being embarrassed over their generosity. I'm flat out in awe of how many people, some of them not even particularly close to me, have made sure me and my kids are fed and happy this week. If you are one of them- THANK YOU. From the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much you have meant to me.

Truth is, I worry a lot about the fact that taking care of all three of my own children is often just too difficult for me to do on my own. I try to tell myself it is simply their ages, and that as they get older it will be easier. I'm not entirely convinced, but it keeps me from wanting to vomit when I think about the future. It makes me so incredibly sad that if I want to go somewhere with my own kids, I can't do it on my own. A trip to the zoo? A morning at the library's storytime? A quick run to the store? I have never done any of those things with all three children by myself. At least not successfully. And I know that this is because I shouldn't, because it simply isn't safe to have three kids who don't even respond well to their names and have zero sense of danger out of the house with only two hands to manage them, but that doesn't make the reality of it any easier to swallow. As a mother, feeling like I can't even take care of my own flesh and blood is just plain heartbreaking at times. There is still a part of me that feels like I should be able to manage on my own. But I know that part of me is just my pride speaking and my pride is completely impractical. I'll have to shut it up with some reason. And maybe a baseball bat.

So yeah, I will happily accept the boatload of help that has come our way this week. I will gladly shout my Thanks from the rooftops. I couldn't do it on my own, I needed each one of you. Maybe one day I won't need it. But while I do, I am so very glad you are here. You, my friends, ROCK. 

Just Us

Today is day three. Not that I'm counting.
Three days of Mama and Kiddos, no Husband in sight.

Well, we're all still alive, so that counts for something, right?

So what if I am even MORE sleep deprived than usual? So what if I just yelled "USE YOUR WOOOOOOOORDS!" at Diva Girl? So what if Rascal has been back in pull ups since yesterday? So what if they've been eating a steady diet of chicken nuggets and oatmeal cream pies? (Oatmeal- that makes it healthy, right??)

We are surviving. And for that, I totally deserve a medal.

Yes, we've had friends helping. Amazing, wonderful, life saving friends. They have watched, played with, and fed my children. They have come over at 10:30 at night so I could run out and grab a prescription. They have ensured that I am fed and caffeinated. This is why I say it takes a village to raise my children. Because it does.

But even with that village at my disposal, it doesn't quite replace my partner-in-crime. I feel lonely. There is no one to talk to. No one to show the stupid things I find on facebook. No one to talk into bathing the kids so I don't get soaked. No one to bounce ideas off of when one of the kids start doing something new and insane.

How on earth do other women do this all of the time??

When I thought about these two weeks without The Husband, I thought it would be hard. I knew that dealing with the kids would be tough. I knew that nights would be miserable. I knew that I would feel a bit trapped in the house. But to be honest, all of that has gone much more smoothly than I thought it would. What I didn't expect was to miss him so much anyways.

I'm not cut out to be alone in this world. And I am so very glad that I don't have to be. Sometimes I think we tend to take community for granted. So many of us walk around this planet feeling like we're in it alone. We're not. From my virtual world to my day to day life, I have others helping me in little ways and big. I have fellow Autism Moms from all over, making me laugh and cry and relating to me in ways that no one else can. I have my church family, praying for me and stepping up beside me. I have my best friends, listening to my whining, treating me to sushi and coffee. And The Husband. Who drives me crazy and who I drive crazy and we love each other anyways.

So, here's to surviving a few more days. To friends who bring me coffee so I can make it through a few more horus. To The Husband, whose return I await with bated breath. And to the kids who are impressing me as well as driving me insane. Here is to sleep, however we can get it. And to junk food, quick showers, and Disney movies.

Here's to us!

The Line

There's been a lot going on in my world.

I could tell you about the various why's- the meetings, the sick kids, yadda yadda yadda. Instead, we're going to talk about the result of the chaos.

I'm tired. So very tired. I'm half asleep as I write this, and I doubt I will bother doing too much proofreading before posting (aren't you glad I do my very not-best for you?) And this tired isn't just from Vlad deciding to scream for 2 hours in the middle of the night. See, I am having a lot of time laying in bed, wide awake, worrying.

I worry about everything. What's going on now, next week, next year, next decade. And it all seems to come flooding in at midnight, while I try to get a decent night of sleep. The days are filled with meetings and therapies and work responsibilities, and the nights are filled with thoughts of them.

Thanks for the silver hairs, worrying!

I know I need to relax. Maybe I should pencil that into the calendar. My husband, my therapist, my friends...they all tell me how stressed out I am, and that I need to calm it down. And during those moments at midnight where I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, I think that maybe they are right.

But I feel guilty. I get out of the house and go out for coffee, or dinner with the girls, or just OUT, much more often than The Husband. I probably get away from my kids far more than many of my friends with typical kids. I spend money that we don't have to go out with friends. I spend a ridiculous amount of time on facebook. I'm a slacker in the housewife department.

So, where is the line? Or, is there a line? At what point does my search for sanity start to hurt my family? Sometimes I feel like I toe that line, but then I realize- I am not at a point where I am doing well. Insomnia due to anxiety is not healthy. And THAT can't be good for my family.

I just don't know what the answer is. Do I go to a doctor and try to find the magic pill that will ease my anxiety? I would guess the success of that would be dependent on whether my issues are situational or neurological. Do I make a point to step away a bit more and try to find happiness through little moments of light conversation with friends and dinner dates with The Husband? Those aren't exactly easy to attain either.

I know I need to be well. Heck, my job is basically preaching to women about the fact that they need to take care of themselves. But it's just so much easier said than done. It all seems to be a trade off...take care of me at the expense of them. I get time out of the house and The Husband endures hours of screaming. I spend the evening decompressing and the laundry piles up. There is just no winning, it seems.

Things need to change, that much is clear. I can't get any more high strung. And life isn't likely to calm down anytime soon. Seven days until Vlad's big evaluation (not that I'm counting.)

A problem without a solution. Another thing to worry about in bed tonight.

My Name is Mama

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. In case you couldn't tell from the bajillions of people talking about it.

I was perusing my photos to find one of both me and my mom, and now I'm feeling awfully nostalgic. So many pictures of my mom, beaming with pride as she holds one of my little ones. Baby pictures of each child, pictures of me looking like I swallowed a beach ball. Going back and back, younger and younger, until I get to the first picture of Diva Girl, a 3D ultrasound of her perfect face.

To you? Looks like a sea monkey. To me? Perfection.

I never thought motherhood would be like this. So amazing and terrifying at the same time. No one ever told me that I would never feel like I had it all together, all figured out. That I would just be making it all up as I went along. And you better believe that no one told me, as I held my beautiful first child, that it was possible that one day she would have special needs. It was unthinkable.

Thank you for making me a Mama, Diva Girl

Now that I'm a mother with some years under my belt, I can't help but find new significance to Mother's Day. I wish I could throw my mother a parade. Because now I get it. I get that she probably didn't know what she was doing either. I get that she loved me so much she could never put it into words. I get that she worried about me and my future, that she still worries about me, and will until the day she takes her last breath. I get that in those awkward teenage years, she wasn't lying when she told me that I was beautiful- to her, the goofy hair and awkward limbs didn't change that I was perfect in her eyes. I get that she sacrificed for us, that she hurt for us, and even then she doesn't regret us for a second. I get why she still calls me her baby.

My Mama and Rascal

I often worry about what my kids will think of me one day. Will they resent the decisions we've made for their treatment? Will they remember the time I spent in front of the computer instead of the time I spent reading to and playing with them? Will they focus on the times that I've lost my temper instead of the times I've cuddled with them? Will they wish that I had been nicer, prettier, smarter, stronger?

Right now, no matter what I do, they call me Mama, and they say it as though Mama is something perfect and precious and wonderful. I don't think I can ever live up to the way they say Mama. But I take comfort in one thing- I know my mom isn't perfect, but she is my best friend. I can't go more than three days without talking to her. She is my cheerleader, my guardian angel...my Mama. If I end up as half as amazing as she is, I'll consider that a win. I just hope that my kids won't compare me too much to Grandma....because I'm pretty sure she has that one in the bag.

If I end up half as pretty as her, I'll be thrilled!

So, from one imperfect mother to another, Happy Mama's Day!

Understand

Dear Folk Who Tell Me I'm Awesome,

I really debated with myself about posting this. A few days ago I had this long, written out draft...and deleted it. Because I'm a chicken. Because I'm afraid that if people really knew what goes on around here, they would judge me.

Well, today I'm putting on my big girl panties and getting real with you all.

On Thursday evening I completely lost my mind.

Yes, you may have seen my annoyed and exasperated comments on facebook or the pictures I posted on instagram. Maybe you pitied me. Maybe you laughed (I tend to coat my reality with a bit of humor to make it easier to swallow.) But you don't know the whole story.

The Toothpaste incident of 2013- Part I

It began with toothpaste. Rascal discovered the joy of coating his hands and the carpet with my toothpaste. He did this as I was having to deal with Diva Girl having turned on the kitchen sink, which is very much frowned upon ever since she completely ruined our dining room floor with 18 gallons of water.

The Water incident of 2013

So really, it began with The Sink. Then it was the toothpaste. Then it was about 5 other incidents involving damage to property or siblings within a few hours, the first few hours of The Husband being away for the weekend.

I was tired and frustrated, but keeping it together. That is, until I tried to put Vlad down to sleep for the night. That's when Rascal and Diva Girl found the other tube of toothpaste (that I wasn't even aware existed.) Without going into too much detail- I couldn't get Vlad to sleep due to all the squealing. I emerged from the bedroom to find toothpaste everywhere. Walls, carpet, doors, hands, hair, noses. There was yelling. A lot of crazy woman, terrifying the children yelling. And, much to my shame, there were swats to butts and rough carries to the bath tub. And of course, they started enjoying the bath so I had to yell some more- "THIS IS NOT A REWARD, MOMMY IS ANGRY!!!"

 By the time the older 2 were clean and on the couch downstairs, they were crying. Vlad was still in the bed, exhausted, screaming his head off. I became aware of all the screaming and crying and become slightly afraid that the neighbors that we share walls with are going to call the cops.

I walk back upstairs. I look around our now minty-smelling hallway. I realize that there is toothpaste all over my sweatshirt and since I'm still furious, I have this ridiculous battle with it to get it off. Once it's over my head, I hold it in my hands and just throw it on the floor. And I kneel on the floor, sobbing in rhythm with my three children, beating my hands against the toothpaste encrusted carpet, until the fight is out of me. Until I'm left with nothing but regrets for how I responded and this overwhelming feeling of helplessness and heartache.

It's not about the toothpaste. I know friends of mine with neurotypical kids will tell me about how their toddler has made a similar mess, I've seen the pictures! But for me...the toothpaste is just another messy incident in a string of them. The lotion, the hand soap, the makeup, the vaseline. They all have at least one story. It never seems to get better and they just get bigger and more able to reach things that I try to hide from them. They never seem to understand that what they did was wrong, which just makes me more angry.

It's the overwhelming feeling that things will always be this way, however irrational that may be. It's the fact that I promised myself the next time that I would react more calmly, and each time I seem to explode a little bit more, and I say and do things I swore I never would. It's the sheer exhaustion of having at least one child awake from 6am-11pm on average. It's the insomnia, when I finally do get to lay down, from the anxiety. It's the filthy home that I can't seem to get on top of and the self loathing that I have from living this way.

THIS is autism parenting awareness.

We need respite care. And more therapy for the kids. And then some more respite care. And a weekend AWAY. Maybe a week.

This is an ugly point to reach, and I know I'm not alone. We are an overwhelmed bunch, and on top of it all we are constantly told that we are doing SUCH a great job. We must be amazing parents, right? Lemme tell ya, I don't feel even close to amazing when my kids are staring at me with tears streaming down their little faces because they don't understand why their latest discovery of sensory play has Mommy yelling like a banshee. 

So, that's it. The ugly truth about me, as a parent of three special kids. I need help, as does every other Autism Mom that I know. But where are we going to get it? Right now I just have no idea, and no time or brainpower to figure that out.

Love,

The Woman Who Must Run And Clean Up The Water From The Leaking Dishwasher

Never Read the Comments

That is my motto. Whenever reading any article or videos about Autism, the first rule is Never Read the Comments. Because it is inevitable that the scum of the earth appear and say horrific things. And then some ignorant people show up and say things that are, well, ignorant. And then different people pop in and point out all the ways that those people are Doing It Wrong. And then my head explodes.

Well, I made the mistake of breaking my rule. Oh boy, do I have regrets. I didn't just read any old generic Autism article comments, no sir. I read the comments to a YouTube video that was a brief piece about my family, Diva Girl specifically. This video was on a few different sites and was viewed thousands of times. So sure enough, with that much traffic you are bound to get some bad apples.

Yes, there were some nice comments and some people who could really relate to our family, which was wonderful. But then there were the people who say things about autism just being a made up disorder for kids who have bad parents. And the people who post to tell me I should stop vaccinating my kids. And the people telling me that I need to stop having a pity party for myself. And the pervy guy who said that my SIX YEAR OLD is hot (if I ever met that guy in a dark alley he would not be making it out alive.) I'm not going to lie, some of those comments can really sting and make me sick to my stomach. They are talking about MY precious children, MY beautiful family. Two minutes of video and they think they know enough to judge my parenting and how I view my children. It's amazing how vicious some people can be behind the safety of a computer screen.

I started out today thinking about the fact that this is Autism Awareness Month. I have mixed feelings about the idea of  "Autism Awareness", maybe because it seems to mean something different to everyone. The Autism community is so fractured and divided (much to my dismay) and because of that, the world gets some very different ways to view autism thrown at them. And really, autism isn't exactly a little known disorder- everyone has heard of it. So, what's the point of Autism Awareness?

But then I read those comments. And now? I can't help but think a little Autism Awareness is exactly what we need. I also think that we in the Autism Community need to step it up and come together. Are we all going to agree 100% on everything? No. But we can stop being so divisive and we can stop pointing fingers at one another and telling each other how wrong those autism folks are. While we are busy slinging mud at each other and refusing to support one another, we miss opportunities to educate people outside of our bubble. We fail to come together to get laws passed to help the people we love. The fact that there seemed to be an almost equal amount of venom from people within the Autism Community as there were from people who are not...well, that says a lot, folks. It's like we're giving people permission to be hateful towards us since we seem to be just fine with being hateful towards one another.

Obviously, I know many amazing people within the Autism Community to whom most of this won't apply. You guys are amazing and I am blessed to call you friends. And of course, there will always be idiots out there who can meet 20 individuals with Autism and still not "believe" in it and spew their ignorance on the interwebs. Tis life. But maybe, just maybe, one person will read this and decides to do their Autism Awareness a little bit differently this year. Maybe he/she decides to support a fellow Autism Parent regardless of if she has a sticker on the back of their minivan that is a blue puzzle piece or one that says "Nuerodiversity Rocks!" I can live with that. I can live with that just fine.

It's Not Your Fault

This is for my Autism Moms.

Last night I read a blog post from a fellow mom of a child on the spectrum. And what she had to say brought me to tears.

She listed the ways in which she caused her child's autism. If you've been around Autism World for longer than a week, you can probably guess what was on the list. I'm not here to debate the validity of those claims, or the current research, or biomedical treatments. That's not what this post is about.

This post is about guilt. The way this mother spoke of her guilt, her absolute assurance that what she exposed her child to is directly responsible for his autism. You could feel the weight of it. It seems as if it haunts her.

Oh, how that breaks my heart.

Not all that many years ago there were doctors who told the world that the cause of autism was Refrigerator Mothers. These children didn't connect with the world around them because their mothers were cold and uncaring. It was all her fault. Can you imagine? Imagine the shame and heartache of those women who suffered under such a label, on top of the concern they had for their child. Now imagine what they would think if they saw us today...free of such a condemning label, yet still trying to heap the guilt upon ourselves.

I want you to read this, again and again, until it reverberates inside your head and your heart. It's not your fault. It's NOT your fault. It's. Not. Your. Fault.

How do I know? Well, for one thing, almost every single thing I have ever read as being even partially responsible for autism does not apply in my daughter's case. Ditto with my son. And yet, here I am. I truly think that for my family, autism was unavoidable. It may have been for you, as well.

But even then, let us say that all of those things, for your child, DID contribute to their autism. I've seen and heard from too many mothers to believe otherwise. Well, here is the thing...it's still not your fault. You did not hand your child a vat of toxic goo and encourage them to drink up. You did not medically neglect them. You did not ever mean to cause them the least bit of harm. You're a good mother.

Read that again. YOU'RE A GOOD MOTHER. You are now. You were then.

Let go of this guilt. What good is it doing you? What good does it do your child? And what message does it send to your child about who they are, what message does this send to the medical community, to the world?     Be careful. I've met women that were so sure of their guilt that they tried desperately to convince me of mine. They wanted so badly to find a reason that they actually tried to examine my history and that of my children's to pinpoint the exact moment in which I dealt  them their autism blow. When I was new to Autism World, I felt as if I had to deal with not only whatever guilt I walked in with, but also the guilt that other women tried to heap upon me. Is that really what we want?

So, with what little power I have, I attempt to absolve you of your guilt. If you insist on being guilty, the least you can do is forgive yourself. Then let it go. Let if go for yourself, for your kid, and for all the other autism moms who need to know that it's not their fault either.

It's not your fault, you amazingly wonderful mother. It's not your fault.