Adjusting

New and different can be good. It can be bad. It can be both. It can be neither.

It sometimes feels like the majority of my life right now consists of new and different. Ever since I came out of the closet it seems like everything has changed. Almost every relationship I have has changed. I have a new job and a new van and new people in my life and a new outlook.

Anyone in Autism World can tell you that change isn't always the easiest on our families. We begin summer break this week and the schedules will be different and the people working with the kids will be different and there will be a whole lot of new. But among the chaos of their new and my new and our new, there are some things that never change.

Diva Girl is still a diva. She was awarded the "Spunky Spirit" award at the end of the school year, which surprised just about no one. She's a head taller than most kids her age. Playing with beads and her ipad while perched on the top of her dresser is still her favorite past time. And, much to my dismay, she still loves to sniff my armpits as soon as I break out the tank tops. She's still my girl. And she knows her mama loves her.

Rascal is still a rascal. He was awarded the "Best Smile" award, and let's face it...that just means he is still a happy little fellow who is about the cutest thing you've ever seen. He loves to climb and run and be chased. He is a cuddle bug who still can't figure out that sometimes other people need to breathe when you are hugging them (especially little brother...poor kid gets loved on a little too much sometimes!) He is my big boy. And he knows his mama loves him.

Vlad is still my little hoppy happy flapper. You can find him with a pillow or pillow case at any given moment. He still isn't the quickest to smile, but when he does the sun comes out and the birds sing and it is worth the wait. He is still content to just sit and watch a movie with you, especially Monsters Inc or Veggie Tales. And the boy can chug milk like nobody's business. He is my baby (always will be, even when he's 50). And he knows his mama loves him.

And me? Well, I'm still the same friend and daughter and sister. I still love to get completely wrapped up in a good book. I still have a serious affection for coffee drinks. I spend a lot of time filling out forms and juggling therapists and worrying about communication and complaining about cooking dinner. I am their mama. And I love them like crazy.

So, some things never change. Some things are worth holding on to. Some things are such a part of who you are that you couldn't change them if you wanted to. And as the years go by I'm sure some of those things about my kids will change. They will grow and they will evolve and they will learn and discover who they are. But I bet more than a few of those things will always be true, they will always be an anchor in the chaos. So whenever new and different starts feeling like new and scary, I can come back here and reread this and remember. Some things never change.

Spring has sprung

I haven't had a computer for a while, so I have been completely out of the blog writting loop. But a dear friend requested a post, so here I am, typing with my thumbs on the tiny screen of my phone. In other words, no commenting on all of the mistakes that are bound to riddle this post.

Spring is here in all of its green glory. I think the kids and I are spring people. I'm not exactly an outdoor girl. I admire nature until I have to be out in it and am faced with the reality of bugs and itchy grass. But there is something about spring that makes even me want to be outside.

Spring is lush and green and brings the feeling of promise with it. I know the new year is when people tend to make their resolutions and look hopefully into the future, but I find myself doing that on a lovely spring afternoon. This is when I resolve to eat more fruits and veggies (a resolution that never quite sticks) and spend less time on my phone. Spring awakens my optimism and stirs up hope. Sitting on my patio, in the shade of five big beautiful trees, with the breeze rustling through the leaves and listening to the sound of birds chirping and children playing...how can I be anything less than optimistic?

The kids play outside for hours a day. They run and dig and collect branches to swing around alarmingly. They eat outside and play outside and don't even seem to notice that they are surviving just fine on less Disney. There is chase and ball to be played. There are heaps of pebbles to run their fingers through. There is a hammock to swing on. They are happy. I see Rascal close his eyes and lift his face up as a breeze sweeps over the yard and I know he is like his mama. He is a child with spring in his heart.

All too soon the days will grow far too warm for my taste and these beautiful spring days will turn into hot mosquito filled agony for me. So for now I'm treasuring these beautiful days and hoping they stretch out as long as possible. Our first spring with our house and our yard, and the promise of many years to come. Happy spring, my babies.

In a Book

I love to read.

I was always a book worm. I was the quintessential nerd by the age of five, with thick glasses and a book in hand. I devoured books by the dozen, bringing home stacks of new material home from the library every week. There was always something new to learn, a new character to love, a new world to discover.

I was a mousy, quiet little girl in the corner of the room, with her nose stuck in a book. But in my head? I was a heroine on an adventure to save the world. Or an orphan child discovering her true identity. The corner of the room faded away and I was whisked away to some far off land.

As I grew up, my love for reading grew up with me. To this day, I only carry purses that can fit at least a small novel in them. I reread my favorites at least once a year (and if you are curious, among my favorites are the Harry Potter books, The Books of Pellinor by Alison Croggon, Ender's Game, and Pride and Prejudice. Yes, I love young adult fantasy and I will take recommendations.) I love walking into a book store and being able to acknowledge that I know so little. That I have only scratched the surface. I still have so many classics that I somehow missed, poetry that I've yet to discover, and up-and-coming authors to stumble upon.

There is something magical about a good story. It draws you in and makes you care. You care about worlds that do not exists, cry over imaginary people, rejoice in victories that never happened. You travel to faraway places and distant times. You fall in love. You have your heart broken. You feel the threads, the common stories, that tie all of humanity together. These fantastical creations become a part of you and shape how you view the world you do live in.

Oh, there is nothing like a good book.

Today, I find myself hoping. I find myself hoping that one day I can introduce at least one of my kids to Harry Potter. Or Lizzie Bennett. Or Anne of Green Gables. And that they would find the same joy and sorrow and rapture in those pages that I do. It may never happen, I know. But today I just hope, for their sake, that it does. It is the thing I want to share with them more than anything else in this world.

Today, I am going to start reading my books from Samantha: An American Girl aloud to Diva Girl. Maybe she will ignore me. Maybe she will come look at the pretty pictures of a girl who looks a lot like her. Maybe I will feel like I'm talking to myself. I have saved these books from my childhood and have held on to them for my own little girl. So maybe, just maybe....she will like it. Wish me luck.

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.

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.