Should Be

I should be doing schoolwork right now.

The kids are all in bed for the night. The house is quiet and the laundry is caught up on but all I can think of is all the things I should be doing. The dishes. The writing assignment. Sweeping.

There is always something to do. There are always expectations to live up to. The should be train of thought can, and often does, quickly derail into the should have.

I should have cooked dinner instead of driving through at McDonald's. I should have taken that kids to that free event on Sunday that I wimped out on. I should have gotten that picture schedule done last month, the kids would be doing better if I'd just done that. I should have finished that assignment before the due date. For that matter....I should have finished school the first time around. Or the second. And I should have come out of the closet ten years ago.

Should.

I don't want to live a life of should bes or should haves. Should is nothing but a burden. Just over a year ago, my life was ruled by should. I felt suffocated by it. At some point the should's of society and religion and family became the voice in my head. Sure, I bucked it sometimes, if it felt safe enough to do so. But there were many many times when I simply operated under the guidelines that I'd developed over the years of what a good wife/mother/christian/student/worker should do instead of what was best for myself or my kids or my sanity.

Don't get me wrong, we all have to live up to our responsibilities. The kids need fed and watered, the house needs cleaned, and if I want to graduate (finally) I need to do my school work. I'm not saying that I'm advocating abandoning your obligations. However, I'm done beating myself up over the little things I do or don't do. If I want to drink a white chocolate mocha that has as many calories as a full meal, and read a book that has nothing to do with schoolwork, I am not going to pay for it later in guilt. And I'm not going to beat myself up for the big things that are in my past. I can't change those things, no matter how much I wish I could. So laying in bed thinking about what I should have done won't do anything but make me sleepy the next morning.

There are things I can do, things I will do, things I flat out won't do. But maybe I'm kicking should out of my personal dictionary. And I'm going to sit here in the silence and do a bit of online window shopping and netflixing before going to be bed. Because I can. Guilt free.

What do you expect?

This week we had our annual IEP meeting for Rascal. Prior to the meeting, I was nervous. Nervous because I anticipated having to ask for something and I was afraid of a fight. I don't like confrontation. I'm kind of a wimp.

I ended up being pleasantly surprised. Shocked, really, when they already had goals and services added to address the issues that I came in concerned about. I had this moment where I got to look around the room and see, not people I had to fit against, but allies. They aren't perfect (they are people, after all), but they know my child. They love my child.

Earlier in the year I never would have guessed that things would have gone so smoothly. Rascal had a tough time transitioning to his new classroom this year and we even had to call in someone from the district to see if he should be in a different room. Back then, I was hurt. I would have sworn that his teacher didn't like him at all, that she wasn't willing to do the work to help him fit into her class. Honestly, I didn't think all too fondly of her and I didn't expect much of her.

I was wrong.

Looking back, I see that she was a teacher with 20 years of experience who had never had a kid quite like my Rascal and wasn't sure how to help him. She wanted him to thrive and learn, and was worried that he wasn't in the best place to do that. She didn't just look at him and see a problem, she looked at him and saw a little boy who needed more than she knew how to give.

In the end, she got help on how to help him. They learned how to speak one another's language. She grew in her confidence with him and he grew in his trust of her. And oh, I am so glad that he ended up in her classroom, because I can't imagine any teacher doing more. I am almost ashamed of how I used to think, of how low my expectations were and how wrong my assumptions were.

So often I think us special needs parents are in battle mode. We have all seen our kids be treated poorly, we have all had to fight for rights and services, we have all been hurt by the words and actions of people we thought were going to love our kids. I can't help but wonder if sometimes we just get stuck in the mentality that the people across the table are on the other side. And before you jump down my throat with But MamaSab, you don't know what it's like to have a truly awful teacher/team!, trust me when I say that I have.That is where I am coming from and why I had the mentality that I'd had. I've sat in a room and felt like no one in that room had any hope for my child, and it is one of the worst feelings in the world. What I am saying is don't let those experiences color all the future interactions you have with new teachers and new therapists and new teams. Don't always expect the worst and assume you are in for a fight.

Sometimes, you meet people along the way who want to help. Who love your kid. I almost missed out on seeing that. I hope you don't.

I'm Not Lost

Well, I didn't mean to fall of the face of the planet. But as you can imagine, I've been dealing with quite a bit after dropping my big coming out bomb. And, unfortunately, my laptop died and I haven't had a computer for a few weeks. Let me tell you, I have missed sitting at a keyboard and typing.

I think there has been a collective intake of breath and a question hangs on everyone's mind- Now what? What are you going to do?

I've been asking myself that question for weeks, months, years. I never saw myself here. I never saw myself with three kids with autism, facing a divorce. I never saw myself coming out of the closet and being vocal about my uncertainty in the religion I was raised in and professed for my entire life. This was not the plan.

But then, I've made a lot of plans in life and few of them panned out. I'm not really interested in thinking of a ten year plan at the moment. What I am interested in is figuring out what I want, which isn't quite the same thing. I'm interested in continuing to learn about myself and then following through on what I know that I want. What am I passionate about? What kind of life do I want to live? What kind of home do I want to create for my children? These are the questions that I find myself laying in bed at night, answering in my head.

Here's what I've got so far.

I am passionate about people. About changing lives, in small ways and on a large scale. I want people to think of me as a helper. In the year to come, I want to continue doing my job, which is providing women with a space to relax and pamper themselves and just plain feel good. I want to help change the laws in my state, both in the realm of autism insurance reform and lgbt rights. I am eager to help my parents as they begin a non-profit to provide financial assistance to families affected by autism. These are all things that challenge me and push me out of my comfort zone, but I think are completely worthy of my time and effort and discomfort. To know that you have helped people...is there any better feeling or purpose?

I want to embrace all the other things I'm passionate about. Reading good dystopian novels or young adult fantasy. Watching my nerdy shows like Doctor Who and Sherlock and Firefly (you can't rewatch it too many times). I want to keep trying new foods but also come to terms with the fact that I will never be Betty Crocker. And dancing. There must be dancing, there has been far too little dancing in my life.  I know people use the phrase "gay lifestyle" a lot. I don't really know what that means. The lifestyle I want involves nerdy fandom, poetry, red lipstick, cute dresses, dancing, late nights with kids who don't sleep, snuggles with three little loves, binge watching netflix, crockpot meals, holding hands with a woman I love, liquid eyeliner, IEP meetings, and writing in this very blog. I just want a life that embraces all the things that make me, me.

Part of what makes my life good are the three little ones who look at me as their Mama. I spend a lot of time thinking about the life I want to create for them. I want their home, or homes, to be a peaceful haven. I want to teach them about being strong. I want to create a better world for them. Then I want to be sure that I teach them how to navigate this big crazy world that is so much harder for them than I could possibly understand. All three of them have birthdays approaching and I find myself swinging back and forth between nostalgia and looking ahead. It's true that the days seem so long and the years feel so short. Their futures are a mystery to me, much as my own is. I think we will all just have to hold hands and step into our futures together.

Yes, I've got a lot to figure out. I used to feel like that was some kind of weakness. That not having it all together would mean that you are falling apart. But I don't feel like I'm falling apart, I feel like the opposite of that. I'm growing up and taking responsibility and saying things with more certainty now than I ever have in my whole life. Even if the words are "I don't know", I can at least say them with confidence and security in who I am. And that, my friends, is a wonderful thing.

Coming Out

Well, I did it. I threw open the closet door and am now dealing with the fallout. (For the two readers who don't also follow me on facebook....I'm gay. There, you are all caught up!)

And trust me, there is a lot of fallout involved.

So why did I do it? I didn't have to go public. I didn't have to tell my whole world, which mostly consists of varying degrees of conservative Christians, that I'm gay. I could have stayed quiet, kept only those close and supportive in the loop.

Announcing it was a choice, and it was a very deliberate choice.

The first reason was because I have lived a lifetime hiding, sometimes even from myself. I'm done. I have no desire to keep quiet about a very important part of my life. I have no desire to hide who I am. I am proud. Never thought I would say that, but I am. I have probably watched this video a dozen times in the past few weeks, and there are a bunch of parts that really resonate within me. But the main thing is this: "No matter what your walls are made of, a closet is no place for a person to live."

Watch it. Trust me.

And within that reason is another. I wanted people to love me for who I really am. I didn't want to sit and wonder...would that person still be nice to me if she knew the truth about me? Would this person still be my friend? We all want to be loved and to be liked, it is only natural. I don't just want my mask to be loved. And now that I am out, I realize that I also don't want to be liked in spite of being gay. There have been those who have revealed that this is clearly repulsive to them, but hey they still "love" me. Sorry, that just isn't enough for me anymore. Love me, love all of me.

Maybe the hardest reason to verbalize is the fact that I also came out because I wanted people to understand that what they say matters. As a kid, the word "gay" was synonymous with "disgusting", "unnatural", "sinful", "abomination", and "repulsive". I heard it from the living room couch and the church pulpit and the desks in my classroom. As a scared teenage girl, I just wanted to be loved and I never wanted my friends and family to use those words to describe me. And so I repressed as much as humanly possible. I slid into a life of trying to please, a life full of depression and self hatred. What you say has an effect on the people around you, and you may not even realize who you are talking to. You may not realize when you use a gay slur around your buddies that you are driving a knife into one of their hearts. You may not realize that your evident disgust over a couple holding hands makes your friend terrified to be honest with you. These things matter, your words matter.

Two days ago, I got the words "I am significant" tattooed onto my arm. I got it as a reminder, not only of this moment in my life, but as reminder that I don't want to go back, even when it is bound to seem easier. Because it is easier, in some ways, to live a lie. It is easier to make people I love happy, to be able to see respect and admiration in their eyes. Being honest comes at a price. But the price of life as I have lived it has been sacrificing my feelings of self worth. I have felt small and scared and disposable for most of my life. For the first time I feel strong and significant and happy with who I am as a person. Again....a closet is no place for a person to live.

In the midst of all of this, my kids have been a bright light. They don't know what it means to be a heterosexual versus a homosexual. They don't care. They love me, all of me, fully and completely and wonderfully. I am their Mama. They are the definition of acceptance, of every kind of person. They could care less what the color of your skin is, what you worship, or who you kiss. The world has so much to learn from them. In the end...I have no regrets, because life has brought me them. Life has brought me here. And here is not a bad place to be.

This One's for You

It's been quiet here in my blog. It has not been quiet on the homefront. The past two months have been the most chaotic and intense months of my life. There has been a lot of personal growth and a lot of just plain scary life stuff.

And it has been killing me to stay quiet. At one point I realized that I had to write, so I did. And maybe one day I will publish the posts that I have saved. But right now I'm not quite ready to put that much of me and my life out on display, which is really saying something for the woman who puts everything out there, from my struggle with anxiety to crazy vaccine theory stalkers to the process of getting my kid diagnosed with autism.

To come on here and just  talk about the latest goings on with the kids would have felt somewhat disingenuous. And even now I don't quite know what to say. I just know that I felt the need to not just write for an audience of me. I felt the need to reach out and grab a hand. I felt the need to say "I'm here and I need a friend."

And isn't that the beauty about this? This blog has kept me connected to people I haven't laid eyes on in years and people who I have never met in "real" life. It has made friends and family aware of our struggles and our triumphs. It has kept my thoughts and my words alive, it has captured childhood and motherhood and marriage. There were times when I thought of the blog itself as a sort of friend, but that isn't right....it's all of you. And sometimes my words here haven't gone over well and I've been lost in the good opinion of others. There have been those who don't approve of what I've said. And there will be those who won't approve of the changes my life has undergone in the past few months. But beyond that, I know that there are others. The hand holders, the uplifters, the dance partners. I'm gonna focus on you.

I don't need a flurry of well wishes and concerned messages. I'm not looking to be questioned. It's good enough to just know that you are out there. Wishing me well and loving me. That, my friends, can keep a girl going. And that's what I've got to do- keep going.

Love to you all.

Celebrate the Small

I do it all the time with my kids.

Licked a fruit? Celebrate!
Said a word? Party time!
Went to the bathroom? Let's have a freakin parade!!!

With a kid on the spectrum, you tend to celebrate a lot of small victories, because they are no longer small at all. The hurdles are high and it takes all that they've got to get over them. And when they make the leap and land on their feet, I'm there to applaud and rejoice and be proud.

So why can't I do that for my own bruised self?

I was abundantly vulnerable sharing my struggle with anxiety with you all. I don't know that I've ever received such an outpouring of love and support. You told me that I'm not alone. But I still find myself going through a whole lot of mental self abuse.

I make a phone call. And instead of celebrating the fact that I did it, I berate myself for struggling to make it in the first place. Big Deal, Anxiety Me says, So you did something that every normal adult does all the time. And I feel weak and childish for even feeling a moment of pride in the accomplishment.

And if the call doesn't go well? Oh, then I may as well call it a day.

Why do I do this? Why can't I take pride in overcoming my anxiety? Why do I make it another way to beat myself up?

I don't have an answer. But I do know that every day I celebrate victories for my children. I see them struggle so much, so seeing them succeed is even sweeter. Maybe I need to take a lesson from myself here. Maybe it is time to celebrate the small, for myself. Maybe, just maybe, I deserve it. I'll try to get that through to Anxiety Me.

The Things We Don't Talk About

You guys know I'm all about being real around here, so get ready for a big old dose of my reality.

I have an anxiety disorder. (Not sure what that means? Hop over here and get a quick overview)

Yes, it's a mental health disorder. Which means that people generally don't talk about it. And no, it doesn't mean that I'm just a little stressed out with everything (ahem, the three kids) and so I have anxiety.

It started around 2nd or 3rd grade for me. I called home from school several times a week with stomach aches, begging to go home. It got to the point where I had to practically be bleeding from the head to be allowed to go call my mom because I had stomach aches every single day. I know they must have thought I was faking it. But I really did have those stomach aches every day, they were a symptom of anxiety...I just wasn't old enough to understand that yet. I came to just think that's how things were, that I was supposed to walk around feeling like there was a ball of lead in my stomach.

The panic attacks started in puberty.

I've had a brief reprieve from anxiety, a couple of years where the knot in my stomach and the constant worrying were gone. But almost two years ago, it started creeping back. And that is why I am writing about it now.

My anxiety in the past few months has been the worst it has ever been in my life.

My anxiety manifests itself in a fear of calling people on the phone, generally. Yes, that may sound silly to you. Which is why I tend to not talk about this. But "simple" things like calling a doctor's office or a new friend can take a huge amount of effort on my part. This is always, always there...but when my anxiety is "down" I can manage it and make the calls without too much extra effort. When my anxiety is mild, I may have to work up to making the calls. When my anxiety is high, I can't make them.

That's how it's always been.

Well, these last few months have been a whole new level of crazy for me. I've always been able to call my mom, she is my best friend in the whole world. Well, it got to a point where I couldn't even call her. Then, I started being unable to answer calls. And then? Lately, I've been almost completely unable to answer texts and emails.

You have no idea how deeply embarrassed I am to even admit this. I know this makes no sense. I know I should be able to do these things.

The hardest part is that it has been affecting, well, everything. Mainly, our finances. Because, guess what my business requires me to do?? CALL PEOPLE. Every day. Not doing that has made my business pretty much dry up and completely go to dust. Which means that I haven't been able to bring in money. Which has increased my anxiety, because we kind of need that money to, you know, feed the kids. And the more anxious I get about being unable to do my job, the less I am able to do my job.

I have never felt more scared and helpless. It's like being stuck in a loop of self destruction.

So, why am I choosing to go public with such a private struggle? Well, two reasons, really:

Because I know I'm not alone. Maybe for you it isn't anxiety and phone calls, maybe you suffer from depression or some other mental health disorder. Even though I know I am not alone, I need to feel like I'm not alone right now, and I bet someone else needs that too.

And because I'm not above asking for help. Yes, I am in therapy right now. But, to really put myself out there, I need help restarting my business. For my local friends, if you think you can be of any help in that area please let me know. Otherwise, I want you to give me a call. Maybe not today (not sure I could handle 100 phone calls in one day!) but sometime in the next few weeks. I am going to work on answering my phone again, and making calls (so if you get a phone call from me soon, know that you are special to me!) My therapist says I just have to start facing it and break the fear cycle. May sound simple but I'm breaking out into a sweat just writing about it.

So, there you go. I've got issues, you guys. But while I may be afraid of picking up the phone, I don't ever again want to be afraid of talking about this. Because it is real and it is me and it should be nothing to be ashamed of.

Now, give me a virtual hug, I'm going to go eat some ice cream, writing this post has stressed me out.

The image I will be thinking of whenever I get on the phone this week: The road to wellness has a sunset of course

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.

Changes, changes, everywhere!

Well, hello there. Did you miss me?

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. Let's recap:
I went out of town to a conference on 7/24
I came back on 7/28
We commenced moving into our new home on 7/29
Diva Girl's last day at the therapy center that she's attended for three and a half years on 7/31
Diva Girl and Rascal's first day at their new school on 8/1

Guys. I'm a mess.

Now, these changes are all great, grand, wonderful! It's just that they are happening all at once. But, in the end, I'm so very glad things have played out this way. Yes, it's been chaotic and it feels like I can't quite catch my breath. However, the past week has not only stretched my sanity, it's stretched my imagination.

I've never been a big dreamer. I'm practical to a fault. The conference I went to, I have attended once before, and my "practical" side kept me from enjoying it. See, I was surrounded by all of these positive, amazing women...and all I could think was "Yeah right, like I could ever be that successful. Or that happy. They are probably just faking it anyway. And even if they aren't, I don't even want to be like them. So there."

Real mature, right? The green of jealousy does not look good on me.

I ended up quitting my business not too long after that conference, convinced that I didn't have time for it and that it was probably just not for me anyway. Diva Girl was newly diagnosed, and I saw the few simple dreams I already had slipping away.

For the last few years, I've done a lot of focusing on the negative. The challenges faced, the sacrifices, the frustrations. As upbeat as I try to be, the back of my mind is always working on an unhealthy dose of anxiety and pessimism. With the diagnosis of Vlad, my inner voice took a pretty dark tone. All I could really think was- we will never have enough money, they will never have what they deserve, we will have three children who are dependent upon us forever, and poverty and depression will be my constant companions until the day I die. Yes, that was what I thought, behind smiles and the jokes.

And I am ashamed of myself.

That inner voice is bound to whisper again from time to time, but the past two weeks have changed my inner dialog drastically. This time, when I was surrounded by amazing and positive women, I found myself asking "Why not me?" I found myself realizing that I was going home to a new house that I never thought was possible. That my third child would be going to a therapy center that we have never been able to afford, but have been a part of for three and a half years. That week to week, we have people help us and reach out to us. Dreams have been fulfilled before I even knew that I should dream them.

So, why not imagine a better future? Heck, why not imagine a better now? And not just imagine it, but work towards it, sacrifice for it. Why not say "I can. They can. We can." Why not plan a vow renewal for our tenth anniversary (two years away tomorrow!) and a family trip to Disney? Why not plan on three kids going to college? It's all possible. And maybe it won't all happen the exact way I hope it to, but isn't it better to reach for the stars and make it to the clouds, than stay planted to the ground because I didn't even look up? I think it is.

So, here I am. In my new-to-us home. Working harder and dreaming bigger than I ever have before. And it feels pretty good, even if I am still a mess. Don't worry guys- there are some things that never change.

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.

Should Have Beens

It's graduation day!

My newsfeed is full of pictures of caps and gowns and proud smiles. Some of those faces are people who I had classes with just a couple of years ago. Some of them are my age, most of them are younger. One particular happy face belongs to someone I babysat as a teenager. How's that for feeling old.

Today was going to be my graduation day. Again. This is the second time I've watched "my class" go on without me. 

I am a sea of conflicted emotions about all of this.

When I went to college, I had no idea what I was doing. I had zero direction, the only thing I knew I wanted out of life was a family. I never thought of myself as the kind of person who wanted a career. I was an English major for about one semester. Then I switched to Interpersonal Communications (which is what exactly?!) just because I wanted the nice professor to by my advisor. Really solid reasoning, there.

Most people assume that I quit school because I got married young and got pregnant right away. Fact is, I walked away from school (before I was pregnant!) because I had no motivation. I am a perfectionist, so I was killing myself to make straight A's. And for what? Just to say I made straight A's, studying something I hated? I was miserable. And the stress caused me to have a major panic attack one night, and after that I made the decision to just be done.

I told everyone I was taking a year off, but I'm not sure that I ever really intended to go back. I found out a few months later that I was pregnant with Diva Girl, and I dove into motherhood without looking back. There was that one day, graduation day, when most of my friends walked across the stage and I was wistful. But overall, I was happy with my decision. 

And then more life happened. Diva Girl got her diagnosis. The Husband finished his degree. And then I decided to go back and finish, but this time as a Special Ed major. It felt right. I wanted to homeschool Diva Girl, create a homeschool program for children with autism, I had a PLAN! I had a purpose! 

I also had another kid, Rascal, with a new diagnosis. Oooookay, well, then it was just more important to succeed. And then I got pregnant with Vlad. Okay, kind of shakes up the plan a bit. But onward I trudged, determined to make my straight A's, even with 2 kids with autism at home and a husband working full time and the hardest pregnancy I'd had. I'm not quite sure how we all survived that mess.

Of course, I took a semester off to have Vlad. As the date to return to school loomed closer, I was riddled with anxiety. So, I decided to take more time. I still held tight to The Plan, though things had started to change a bit. It wasn't until I actually started to homeschool Diva Girl that the entire plan came unraveled. Turns out she hates it. Not just hates it- cannot, will not, stomach it. She stopped talking, stopped leaving her room, completely freaked us all out. She didn't even want me talking to her after a couple of weeks. Still, I wanted to stick with The Plan. I mean, I always swore I would homeschool my children. I remember making that decision at the ripe age of 16 (and really, what kind of weirdo is making decisions about their future children at 16? This girl!) It may have taken a small intervention from her therapists, but I finally acknowledged that homeschooling is not for us.

And with that, The Plan died. What's the point in going back and completing a degree I'll never use? That I don't even enjoy? 

I have zero time for finishing a degree. I, to this day, have about as much idea of what I should major in as I did the day I entered my dorm room at 17 years old. But still. I look at the pictures. The pictures of the silly hats and the smiling faces and the proud displays of diplomas. And I want that. I want to finish. If for no other reason than to at least get something out of the thousands of dollars in loans that I have hanging over my head. To cross off one thing on the bucket list. To say I did it.

I just need time. And money.

And a clue of what on earth to major in.

Oh wait, I just remembered. Group projects. Nevermind, I really don't need a degree, do I?

See? Conflicted.

Sick Day

Today is a Sick Day. Of course, Mommy's don't actually get sick days off. So today looks like a no-cooking, Disney movie watching kind of day.

My sinuses are making me wonder if my head exploding is a real possibility. My throat hurts so badly I don't want to talk or swallow or drink anything. My nose is both stuffy and running at the same time. I am a total whiney baby right now. Physically, I am a complete mess. And I can't help but wonder if my body is just a reflection of all the inner turmoil I've been feeling. A manifestation of all the stress and anxiety.

Yesterday someone asked me if I am okay. They are concerned because I haven't been my usual goofy self. And the honest answer to her question is "No."

Going through all of this is hard. Over-analyzing everything that Vlad does or doesn't do is hard work. Taking care of several children with special needs is stressful. Not having enough time or money or help or sleep is not exactly fun.

So no, I'm not okay right now. But you know what? I'm going to be.

This is just one stopping point on the journey. I have to go through it. I need to go through the stages, I have to let myself feel it all. There is no suppressing and stuffing down emotions here.

Some days are physical sick days, like today, where I lay on the couch and let my body heal. Other days are emotional sick days, where I lay on the couch and let my mind and soul heal. That may involve some deep breathing to calm my anxiety, or some Ben and Jerry's to....well, it makes me happy, and that's what matters. Either way, you have to take the time to let yourself heal. I promise, I'm not wallowing. I'm just dealing, as best I can.

I'm going to be okay. A little hot tea today, a little ice cream tomorrow. Time goes on, the journey continues, and we're all going to be okay.

More Than Roommates

In case I haven't already made it abundantly clear- Parenting is hard.

Parenting three kids is black belt difficulty.

Parenting three special needs kids is ninja warrior insanity.

The last time we had a family picture- February 2012!

But you know what makes it just a tad bit easier? Having a partner, your best friend, right there in the midst of the chaos with you. I couldn't do this without The Husband. I have a fellow special needs mom friend whose husband is serving our country overseas....she deserves a medal. Or sainthood. Or, even better, a week vacation in the Bahamas, all expenses paid.

Now, I can gush for a decent amount of time over The Husband. He is an awesome father, a supportive husband, and has these blue eyes that still make me a little weak in the knees. But that doesn't mean that we are immune from the realities of LIFE.

He's seriously dreamy

We both work from home, which is much more stressful than it sounds. There are three kids going in different directions every day. Meetings for one thing or another seem constant. Some days we are swapping kids and swapping info and I go to bed that night and wonder- Did I give him a kiss today? Did we touch at all? Did we talk about anything other than our schedules and the funny meme we saw on facebook?

Sometimes the answers to those questions are "NO"

The easy days, just one kid!

If you've been married for more than a month, you know that marriage is hard work. Communication is key. Quality time together isn't a luxury, it is a necessity. Stop spending time together, stop enjoying time together, and just see what happens. It's amazing how quickly you scan start feeling annoyed and frustrated about what, in the end, are minor issues. It's crazy how, in no time at all, you can begin to feel distant from the person you call your soul mate.

Don't mistake what I'm saying here. My marriage isn't "in trouble". There is no Seven Year Itch here. We are just suffering from the same malaise that many couples experience from time to time. But I see the big picture, I see our lives, and I know that we can't simply say "Oh, we'll have a less crazy schedule next month, we'll make a point to go on a date and we'll be okay." Our lives seem to just get more complicated, more jam packed with care taking and obligations. And if we aren't careful, we can end up roommates. Two people who share a home, share a table, but don't truly share their lives. We're not there, we're not even close, but I've seen it in other couples and it terrifies me enough to know I want to make sure my relationship is about a mile from even the danger of that.

I did not sign up for a roommate. 

I want a best friend. I want laughter and passion and joy! And goodness know that with the stresses of a myriad of IEPs and FSPs , we deserve some laughter, passion, and joy!

I've never been more proud

So, what's a girl to do? There is never going to be enough time, enough money, or, you know, less kids. There have been times when my Saint Parents take the older two kids for a long weekend, but we end up staying home and doing tons of laundry, catching up on work, and attempting to wipe off at least the top layer of grime in our apartment. Hardly relaxing or connecting activities. 

What we need is a plan. Like, a weekend getaway to a B&B. Or, even better, a week.

Okay, okay, so what we really need is a miracle!

I don't know what we'll do, but I do know that I will have to figure it out. I have to figure out a way for two very stressed out, very overscheduled, very broke people to have a romantic getaway. Our marriage is too important. We need that time to reconnect so we can come back and be better partners and parents. If you have any ideas, by all means, share them with me!

He's my love, my best friend, my partner in crime. I don't want Kids, Autism, and Work to change that. I won't let it.

We were babies! We were naive! It was perfect.

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

Change

It's eleven o'clock at night and the house is silent, except for the tumbling clothes in the dryer and the soft snores of Rascal.

But I can't go to sleep. Even though I know that morning will come in no time and I will wake with the same wish for more sleep that I wake to every morning.

I can't stop thinking tonight. I'm thinking about change, and how I am no good at it. It's one of my spectrumy traits.

Not just outward change. Not just the change of the time or seasons. Or even the changes of homes and schools that are upcoming events for our family.

I'm talking about a change of opinion. Even a change of heart.

I don't do well with acknowledging these things. It's easier to keep my head down and keep pressing on. It's easier to fight against the winds of change and bury my feelings than to deal with the emotional work of acknowledging that I don't know what to do next. That I may have been wrong. That we need to follow a new path.

What is harder? Venturing off the beaten path into the scary unknown or walking along the familiar road and knowing that it ends up somewhere you don't want to be? The answer may be easier for you than for me.

And so I sit in the almost-quiet and I wrestle with myself. I wonder if tonight's revelations will be tomorrow's changed actions. I wonder if I'm brave enough or strong enough. I wonder if the emotion will get swept away by sleep deprivation and routine and if tomorrow it will yet again just be easier to keep plugging along than acknowledge there could be a different way. A better way. Even if I don't exactly know what that way is.

I wonder.