A New Anniversary

I can't believe it's been a year. A year ago I wrote this and I pretty much decided to completely change my life. I was naive and scared and I had no idea the roller coaster I was in for.

I have no regrets.

Change isn't easy. You don't just wake up one day and think "you know, I think I'll make my life harder today!" But starting over, for me, was first a realization. Then that realization grew and one day I did wake up and said "I'm ready." And now, looking back, I realize that I wasn't ready at all! There is no way to prepare yourself for a total life upheaval. There just isn't. You take the step and feel the air under your feet and hope beyond hope that you land softly.

So, I think the thing people want to know is how the kids and I are doing now.

Me? I still find myself in awe when I describe myself and my life. A year ago I didn't even have my own bank account. Now I just started a new job at one of my favorite places in the whole world (Starbucks. Of course.) I had to learn how to pay bills, along with how to shop at Home Depot and how to kill spiders. And I learned the pride that comes with seeing that paycheck and watching it provide for your needs. Sounds so simple, but it really isn't. Last year we had a Christmas tree with presents all around it. And every one of those presents was provided by some amazing people who love our family. This year, there will be one present for each kid. Those are the presents that I bought and picked with care, and I have to say that I am bursting with excitement over the upcoming Christmas morning. While I am beyond grateful for what we received last year, I am so very proud of our "pauper" Christmas. And I have no doubt my kids will smile just as much.

My new job is coming with two big advantages. One is that I will have insurance. I have not, in my adult life, had dental or vision insurance. When you have my faulty teeth and eyes, that is a major problem. I could weep with relief. The second advantage is that they will be paying for the completion of my degree. Yes, finally, I'm finishing that up! I've already got a semester under my belt and I'm loving it. Yes, the deadlines might kill me and finals gave me an ulcer, but I'm loving it, I promise!

And those are the labels that I find myself wearing. A part time employee, a full time student, and a full time mom. Because even when you share custody, the mom thing is always and forever. I am still getting used to the custody part. While I'm not yet officially a divorcee (which sounds like such a cool word, very misleading) we do have a parenting plan in place and I'm glad. The kids get great quality time with each of their parents and I think they are thriving. While this isn't what anyone plans and hopes for when they first have kids, it isn't as horrific as I'd once thought. My little loves have consistency and they have a Mom and Dad who love them. It isn't all sunshine and rainbows, but it never is. It never was. The progress that they have made in the past year is just astounding to me. A year ago I was worried about regressions and possible behavior problems and speech troubles and all the things that might happen. The road hasn't been bump free but these kids are rocking life right now. I'm so proud of the people they are and the people they are becoming.

There is also this big part of my life that you don't hear me talk much about but that doesn't make it any less. I love a woman. And she loves me. She has a little boy with autism and I love him too. I want everyone that reads this to know that just typing this tiny little paragraph makes me smile like you wouldn't believe.

I didn't know that life could be this beautiful and this hard and this rewarding. I'm so very glad I took the step. I know I'm one of the lucky ones. If you are thinking about changing your entire life, think hard. Because it is hard, in case I haven't mentioned that enough. But for me? Worth it. Oh so very worth it.

Belated Birthday

For those of you who didn't notice, I had a birthday this past weekend.

For those of you who did notice, I'm sure you're thinking This is a grown woman, when will she shut up about her birthday already? Soon, I promise you.

Last year I wrote a little diddy about what I wanted to do before I hit thirty. I have another year to go, but it's fun to look back and see the things on that list that I can cross off. But even more fun is to look back on the past year at all the things I've done that didn't make it on that list.

- I got a job. Like, a thing where I show up and someone pays me for doing things pretty decently. I hadn't had a job outside of the house since the day I went into labor with Diva Girl, and I was so nervous. Nervous no one would hire me, nervous I couldn't do the job if someone did hire me. But I found a great spot for myself with really wonderful co-workers and the most understanding boss in the entire universe. Not too shabby.

- I filed for divorce. Big, scary, grown up thing to do. Not a fun process to say the least. But it needed to happen.

- I figured out what I like. It turns out that for many years I've just sort of absorbed what other people liked and never took the time to figure myself out. And you know what? I'm pretty awesome and pretty lame at the same time. I LOVE pop music, winged eyeliner, rum and coke, high waist A-line dresses, and trying new places to eat. I still don't like driving.

- I've grown as a Mama. I used to always be afraid that I was a bad mother. I'm not anymore. I love my kids with all of my heart and have had to do a lot of hard things for them this year, including some of the things listed above. The time I do spend with them now is more precious to me. And maybe they were even a wee bit too dependent on their Mama. Watching them grow is a beautiful thing.

-I got meds. You guys, this is really one of those things that people don't talk about but I go there anyways. It turns out that crying a lot and being kind of mean and not wanting to do anything is not really me! That is Depression/Anxiety Mamasab. The real me is here! The real me still cries over ridiculous things, but not all day long, and she is actually this really motivated and humourous person who likes sunshine and rainbows and singing really loudly in the car. I feel like myself. Meds don't magically make your life better, but the right ones can enable you to handle your life better.

- I got my nose peirced. Wanted to do that since I was 15. Also, I did get that tattoo and I will get more as soon as humanly possible (in other words, I need mo money.)

-I made a bunch of new friends. Met a ton of new people. That isn't an easy thing for socially inept me, but I'm so glad I did it.

-I kept a handful of old friends. The people who have been through the tough stuff with me and are still around? You are priceless. Many people either dropped me or had to be kicked out of my life because they were downright destructive. But I fought for some friendships, and they are absolutely worth it.

- I went back to school. Third time is a charm, right? But seriously, this is my time. I'm still pretty sure I must be crazy to take this on right now, but playing it safe hasn't been in my vocabulary this year.

-I loved. And have been loved in return. And that is the best gift I could have given myself.

Next year is the big 3-0. I can't possibly top the major spoilage that happened this year, but I'm thinking I can't imagine anything better than a big party. Who's in?

Me smiling the big birthday grin I had all weekend

OK

His eyes are huge, framed by these long gorgeous lashes. And he looks up at me, face all innocence and voice like a little cartoon character. "It's ok buddy!"

He'd been bringing me the jug of milk and he'd lost his grip. The jug dropped to the ground and it made a loud thunk and I saw emotions flitting across his face in the flash of a second. First, surprise. Then for the briefest of moments, panic. And finally, by the time he looked at me, calm had kicked in. "It's ok buddy!"

He knew the words to say. He knew that his Mama would know it was a mistake. He comforted himself with the words he'd heard us say so may times. "It's ok buddy!"

And it was ok. No harm, no foul. I picked up the milk, poured him a glass, and his world was right again.

But I can't get that moment out of my mind. Today is a hard day. I'm in my head this morning, I'm worrying and overthinking and making mountains out of every problem. And just when I think that I want to curl into a ball and cry, his little voice pops into my head. "It's ok buddy!" And somehow, the words meant for him are now comforting me. I can just imagine him here, patting my back and giving me the kisses that my little Rascal is famous for. The picture, the memory of that little voice saying such simple words, brings a smile to my face.

Yup. It's ok buddy. Thanks.

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.

Who You Are

We sat down at the Parent Teacher conference with hopes of hearing good news. What I didn't realize at the time, was just how good the news could be.

They love my girl. Diva Girl has won the hearts of the entire school, it seems. Her two teachers, one regular education and the other special education, were eager to show us her progress but also to just talk about her personality. And let me tell you, the girl has personality. In fact, one of the first things said about her is that "She has such a big personality!" Ain't that the truth. The other words phrases we heard? "I love how sassy she is!"  "All of the kids love her." "She is so full of spunk!" "She is a hard worker, she loves to work." "She is so smart."

Those words just filled me up to the gills with pride. 

Yes, Diva Girl has autism. Yes, she has struggles. But that isn't what we focused on. We focused on these other words, these other descriptors that show every bit of who she is. I felt like they could see her. Not just her disability, but the whole of her. I am in no way ashamed of her autism, but she is so much more than just one label. She has many labels, many words that make up who she is.

All I want are for people to see them. Truly see my kids for who they are. I want them to see Diva Girl's sassy confidence. I want them to see Rascal's sweet heart. I want them to see Vlad's inquisitive mind. There are so many words to describe each of them. Smart, contemplative, beautiful, funny, silly, eager, hyper. She is a daughter and a sister, they are sons and brothers. They have depth and character and the capacity for so much more than one word could ever convey. 

So, when people see what I see in them, I get pretty excited. Really, I think that anytime anyone is truly seen for who they are, that is a beautiful thing. Diva Girl has no qualms about showing her truest self to the world. In her childish honesty, she has won the affection and love of everyone from the kids in her classroom to the vice principal. I couldn't be more proud.

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.

Ordinary Moments Turned Into Beauty

I've been quiet here for about a week. Why is that? Because I'm terrified.

I had one crazy stalker person. I had one post that got a bit of attention. And that is scary, because in the world of autism blogging, attention is a double edged sword. It seems that no one can escape being raked over the coals for one thing or another. I've been honest enough in my blogging, honest enough in my struggles, that the idea of people looking over this with a critical eye makes me feel a bit sick. I've seen it happen to others, been watching it play out in the blogosphere all day.

I'm not sure I have the stomach for that.

You see, I'm not the kind of blogger that writes all about how my life with kids on the spectrum is sunshine and rainbows. I don't present Autism as a gift given to my children to make them extra awesome (they got their extra awesome in various ways, obviously.) There are times I indulge in a bit of self pity, and there are times I indulge in a lot of humor. I write from my heart, and my heart isn't always pretty. Life isn't always pretty.

I'm okay with that.

If everything was beautiful all of the time, would it be possible to truly appreciate beauty? It seems so often that it's the difficulty in life, the strife, that pushes the ordinary to be exquisite. And as I make our struggle  public, I attempt to make our joy public as well, and pray that it is all the sweeter for it. That's what I've been reminded of tonight.

Tonight, Rascal handed me a toy. He handed me a princess phone and hopped up and down, grinning ear to ear, looking me right in the eyes. And that's when it hit me. He was inviting me to play.

I put that phone to my ear and said "Hello? You want to talk to Rascal? Oh, okay, here he is!" And I handed him the phone. Rascal stopped hopping long enough to hold the phone up to his ear and answer "Hello?" He grinned at me again, and handed back the phone, and we went back and forth for a minute before he ran off. No big deal, right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong. This was beauty.

This was the first time my child truly invited me into his play world. The first time I was handed something without being reduced to a mere fixer or fetcher. It took me a second to even recognize that he wasn't handing it to me for me to turn it on or off or change it in any way. He wasn't handing it to me so that I would get him something. He gave me a toy so that I could play with him. With him. The moment I realized that, tears came to my eyes and I was in absolute awe.

It was an ordinary moment. Children do this all the time, every day all day. Children much younger than he is. Mothers all over the world take it for granted. And for us, it was a moment I will never forget, a bloom of beauty at the end of a hard day. Perfection.

You know what's even better? Half an hour later, he handed me Buzz Lightyear. My heart, it overflows. I'm crying with pure joy as I write this. Some of you reading this will understand. You've had these ordinary moments that were far from ordinary.

So yeah, I'll fess up to all the moments of feeling sad and alone and overwhelmed. I will talk about the lows, the ways that autism affects my marriage, the moments that I lose my cool. And then I will sing from the rooftops the highs, the moments that people step up and help out, the moments that I get to brag on my kids. I don't think I'd trade such high highs for anything. Not a darn thing.

And this kid? My little playmate? He's a Rascal.

Officially Official

Yes, it's happened. I have the diagnostic report to prove what I announced almost two months ago (read: On The Road Again) Vlad is, just as I predicted, Autistic.

I've written and deleted and written and deleted different posts today. Did I want to talk about how Vlad is still the same awesome child? Did I want to talk about how, regardless of that fact, I am still heartbroken? How about talking about why having three kids with autism is either ridiculously hard or ridiculously awesome? About how I didn't want a typical kid anyway, because how boring would that be? I could even talk about how a part of me feels like I am mourning for the neurotypical child that we will never have.

None of that felt right.

Instead I am going to tell you three stories.

Story 1:
I was five months pregnant with Rascal, walking down the aisles of Publix, debating the merits of store brand cereal versus name brand. My phone rings, a local number. I answer and the nurse from my daughter's pediatrician's office greets me. Then she begins to give me the dates and times for an appointment with a local neurologist. Confused, I ask her what on earth she's talking about. Her reply? "This is for your daughter, Diva Girl. You know, the one with Childhood Disintegrative Disorder? Dr. Psychologist called and asked us to set up this appointment for you....." Maybe more was said, I'm not sure. I think I may have politely thanked her and hung up. Then, I sat on the floor, in the middle of the aisle, and sobbed. See, my meeting with the psychologist wasn't until the next morning. This poor clueless nurse was the first one to tell me my daughter's diagnosis. And let me tell you, hearing the words that I most feared, connected to her name...I was beyond devastated. I remember people looking at me as they rolled their carts on past. Someone asked if I needed help, if the baby was okay. I think I called The Husband. After that, it's all a blur. Days, maybe weeks of crying on and off. I couldn't talk about her diagnosis without tears being involved for some time.

Story 2:
I was four months pregnant with Vlad, nervously rubbing my growing belly while answering the psychologists questions. I kept saying "Well, he does that, BUT...." It felt like everything I said was being weighed and just one little word could tilt him into a diagnosis that I didn't want. When it's all said and done, they have some intern playing with Rascal while pulling me aside to a table. "Mrs. MamaSab, Rascal is an amazing, adorable kid with a lot of good skills. But he does qualify for an Autism Spectrum diagnosis today..." I remember feeling like I was going to panic and I tried to keep it all together. I remember asking how sure they were and the sympathy in her eyes as she responded that they were very sure. A little tear may have betrayed me then.  And maybe a few more times over the next week, but this time the tears were brief and hope was plentiful. We knew what we were doing, he was already receiving therapy, this time I didn't feel so adrift and lost.

Story 3:
I was greeted like an old friend. They asked about Diva Girl and Rascal, and couldn't believe how much Vlad is looking like Rascal these days. The evaluation is almost a formality, and everything about this was oddly casual. In the end, she pulls up a chair and says "Well, you already know this, but we can confirm that he has a diagnosis of Autism. No point in going through the whole spiel, you probably know more about what to do from here than I do." There were no tears, just a sigh of resignation on my part. We chit chat for a while and I leave with a smile on my face. The tears come later, while I lay in bed. And honestly, they were more for myself than for the bright, loving child sweetly sleeping next to me. And since then? There are twinges of sadness, but even a few days out they are fewer and further apart.

If someone had told me three and a half years ago that I would have three kids on the spectrum and that I wouldn't cry for days on end about it, I would have been shocked. But boy, does life has a way of changing you. For me, these stories are their stories, of how they came into their diagnoses and telling, in a strange way, how different they all are. But it's also my story. The story of becoming a mother. The story of learning acceptance, strength, and joy.

His Story. My Story. Our journey together is what matters. And you know what? He's going to be ok. And so am I.

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.

A Day

Today is just a day. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing new, nothing to make it special.

It's just a day.

After last week, I welcome just an ordinary day. Last week was full of evaluations and blood work and stress. It was full of strained conversations and headaches and, to be frank, PMS level overemotional meltdowns. There was an incident where I literally cried over a browned pizza. Not burnt, just a bit more brown than I like it. Yeah.

Today has been simple. Get up, take Rascal to school, come back and eat breakfast with the other 2 littles.  I clean, and despite the futility of it, I feel accomplished. Vlad naps, Diva Girl drives me crazy. I relieve my cramps with chocolate and Pinterest. 

I'm the kind of girl who loves to get out of the house. I love meeting a friend for coffee or taking one of the kids somewhere or, my favorite, Mom's Night Out. In fact, my weekend included an evening event that kept me out until almost 1am and involved dancing. I may have briefly wore a blue wig and ate my weight in blue colored candies. It was glorious. 

So, I tend to pack out my days. That isn't hard to do because I very often HAVE to do a lot. But after a week like last week? Today, I treasure some peaceful moments at home. I smile at Vlad happy flapping as Kaa from The Jungle Book hypnotizes Mowgli. I laugh at Rascal as he uses the mountain of laundry to create a slide from the couch to the floor. I roll my eyes as Diva Girl tries to convince me to give her yet another pack of fruit snacks. 

There was still a To Do list of emails and calls (my recent irritation with Diva Girl probably has something to do with a medication change, and I was desperately calling her pediatrician to get a prescription called in!) But overall, today is a simple day. I could use a little simple in my life right now.

I'm sure tomorrow I will be itching to get out of the house. But today? This couch is plenty comfy and my kids are especially cuddly, and that's good enough for me.

My Loves

Everyone who is facebook friends with me knows that I was ridiculously excited to have fewer kids over the weekend.

My parents took Diva Girl and Rascal for a long weekend, allowing Vlad to be the only child for a while. Since his number one goal in life is to sit in my lap, completely undisturbed, he was thrilled with the change, I assume. Well, he was thrilled until we shipped him off for a night too!

As a dear friend took good care of Vlad, The Husband and I had our very first completely-kid-free night since....well, since the kids came into existence. It was glorious. I took a bath. A BATH. Sat around in my pink fluffy bathrobe, eating Reeses minis, and just enjoyed the quiet.

Oh yeah. It was good.

And I slept. For ten hours. Without any little feet kicking my side. I may have even woke in the middle of the night and thought "Oh, this is so wonderful...why did I ever have kids?!" before drifting back to sleep.

But then the next day we got our little squishy Vlad back and he just held on tight and looked at me with those big eyes and I couldn't help but kiss him like crazy. From there we left to go get the eldest children, and during the three hour drive I was practically wiggling in my seat with impatience. The van couldn't go fast enough.

I missed them. I missed their noise. Their chaos. Their hugs and kisses and high-fives. I almost even missed their horribly annoying stims that involve MY body (Diva Girl digs into my armpits, Rascal fiddles with my ears, and Vlad snaps my bra straps.) I missed them so much that I swear my heart literally ached to hold them. Of course, Diva Girl refused to even let me near her for over an hour, as though resentful of me intruding upon her special time with Grandma, but I digress...

Motherhood is crazy. These kids drive me to the very brink of sanity on a daily basis. But take them away for a few days? Well, I have a blast at first, obviously. But then I remember that I love these children more than anything else in the world. They are my little loves. They give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a reason to push to succeed in my business, and a reason to try to make the world a better place.

So maybe tomorrow I can manage to be a little more patient. Maybe I can take a deep breath and remember, when they are screaming and tugging on me and hitting one another, that there was a moment in time where I missed them.

And if I need that moment back, I can always ship them back to Grandma.

After an hour and a half, she forgave me!

Reunited with my boys