With Love, From The Mother 'Hood

Autism Services On Chopping Block

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 17:58:00 +0000

Every time I hear of a government official pushing for cuts that negatively affect the autism community I am baffled, outraged, and left thinking "Obviously this person has never lived with autism." Today, I learned that Pennsylvania Governor, Tom Corbett is proposing cuts to "Wraparound" services ("Wraparound", also known as "Home and Community Services", are therapeutic services that address and treat behavioral issues associated with autism, and can include the entire family within treatment/therapy.) I am not blogging about this just because it is an autism issue, or just because I feel strongly about advocating, but because this hits me on a very personal level. Over the last six years, in addition to other therapies, we had wraparound for our son and today I received word that he no longer needs this assistance. This is HUGE. Unfortunately, so are the proposed cuts.

To give you some perspective: Six years ago, at age two it was difficult to leave home with Max and I had doubts about public school. We fought hard and Max entered kindergarten on schedule, mainstreamed with a full-time therapist attending school with him. Forward to now and in third grade he is meeting expectancies for the beginning of grade level. He no longer requires the therapist in class and has learned through wraparound to self manage his sensory processing differences. One of the few outward signs that he is “different” are his stims (stim: autistic people often fixate on a comforting or compelling thing or action (such as rocking or humming); to perseverate.) and he does these quietly without interrupting the class. The assistance that we received from our wraparound providers is a large part of why Max is doing so well and our family is proof positive that early intervention makes a difference. I cringe to think where we would be today without having it, and I imagine my son would still need care of some kind, possibly for life, had we not addressed his developmental needs and behavioral issues early on. Research has shown that “Providing intensive intervention during these early years leads to a higher degree of independence and overall maximized outcomes” * which in the long run means less outlay financially for treatment and a better quality of life. I will be writing letters to oppose these cuts, and below is information if you care to take a moment and do the same. I appreciate any support that you are able to give as I continue to fight for all children and families affected by autism.

With thanks,

Missy

From Autismlink:

AutismLink has been sounding the alarm for quite a while now about Governor Corbett's potential cuts. WRAPAROUND SERVICES ARE ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK. This is not a rumor -- this is real. YOU WILL LOSE YOUR SERVICES unless we stand up -- NOW. He has already taken the first step to restrict wraparound services to children under 3 who are receiving Early Intervention. I am confident in telling you that he *will* close the loophole. This is not a drill.

Please go to http://www.tomcorbettforgovernor.com/contact/ and tell Gov. Corbett -- NO CUTS FOR AUTISM!!!!!!! Flood the phone lines (717) 787-2500 with your thoughts! Or fax to your heart's content: (717) 772-8284

Governor Corbett's Budget Secretary, Charles Zogby, 238 Capitol Building, Harrisburg, PA 17120

also:
Acting Secretary of the Department of Public Welfare, Gary Alexander, 502 Health and Welfare Building, P.O. Box 2675, Harrisburg, PA 17120.

The Déjà Vu

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 18:12:00 +0000

This is a long post even for me, but it has been a long, dark winter. I did hear the whisper of spring today after hearing that Max is nearly on grade level, when not so long ago I didn't think public school would be an option (maybe it was more of a shout) ~

When Max was little we couldn't go ANYWHERE without a “meltdown”, and they usually started when I tried to put him in the car and would continue when I didn't turn the "right" way, or while walking in the doorway of most stores, and if someone touched something he deemed his (which was anything and everything he touched), well, look out...... I could probably use an entire blog entry just writing a list of his "triggers"; his little body unable to process all of the sensory info we are all bombarded with daily. I remember watching him, time after time on the floor, his whole body stiffened against the assault on his senses, wishing there was some way for me, as his mom, to fix this. I am amazed looking back, that I attempted to ever go out at all (I suffered through depression and massive panic attacks, but the noise in my head has nothin’ on the noise in this house). Screaming could last for hours, and still does . Once, when Max was 6 months old, the relentless screaming (as well as eye rolling and his head snapping backwards) resulted in a frantic call to our oblivious pediatrician (whom we no longer see), along with a trip to the ER ending with everyone thinking I was just some crazy mom who couldn’t handle three kids. I thought he was having a seizure, and now I know it was "just" sensory overload, which I believe, also played a part in the night terrors he experienced – Max didn’t sleep through the night until nearly age 4. Thankfully, Sam isn't as sensory defensive, but he does scream and we still have few nights of uninterrupted sleep (or if we do, we don't sleep past 5:30 am), and it takes me back to the early days with Max. Lately, I have had a hefty dose of this screaming, (a second helping I could do without in this lifetime, thanks very much); ear piercing on a level that makes most people cringe while giving me the "your-such-a-crappy-mom-why-don't-you-deal-with-your-kid" look (on a recent trip to Target, a grouchy employee made the mistake of giving said look AND making comments loud enough for me to hear. Better believe Mama Bear spoke up, but, I digress).

My oldest daughter needed to see her doctor and having five children means that I rarely can accomplish a visit like this without at least one other child in tow, and this day it was with two extra along. Mars has definitely become more manageable on these trips, which is not to say that she is "easy" at this point, far from it, but we are moving in the right direction. Sam, on the other hand, is hitting the full blown, mecca-lecca-high-mecca-hiney-ho (credit to Jambi from Pee Wee Herman, once again, so that I don't get sued for violating some copyright as the cherry on top of all the latest shtuff) high note of the "terrible twos", and with kiddos on the spectrum things are magnified, LOTS – say by about 1000. Terrible doesn't come close to describing the situation that quickly spiraled downward from bad to worst; a repeat performance of two other recent doctor’s office visits when schedules meant Sam had to come with. Since this had happened twice before, I was somewhat prepared, but only in the sense that I was expecting it, not that I had anything in my bag of tricks to diffuse it (who am I kidding? Even with all of my knowledge and experience, my “bag of tricks” often consists of what I can scrounge from the bottom of my purse – lint or a used lollipop stick, anyone? - because I am the mom who waits until the last minute to get ready, and runs out the door without half (most) of the stuff I need). I knew within five minutes of our time there, when he threw himself face down in the middle of the hallway, it was going to get ugly. I wouldn't have moved him had he chosen a better spot to sprawl, because moving him during these "episodes" always prompts the intense screaming, but he clearly would have been stepped on if I left him there (OR he would have tripped some elderly patient, who would inevitably fall and break something, bodily or otherwise, and it would be ALL MY FAULT, resulting in a law suit – and yes, this is the crap that flies through my mind). Once I moved him, Sam's switch was flipped and all I could think was "please let them call us next, please, please, please, puh-leeassssse" and thankfully, they did (this NEVER, EVER happens, so yeah for something positive!), but just before this, a nurse came out and she had to say: "I thought from all the noise someone was hurt - Temper tantrum?” To which I mumbled a reply of "sort of" because in these moments I simply don't have any energy left to explain, when what I really want to say is that, "yes, someone is hurt; actually all of us are ('us' being my family) hurt by autism and its effects." (This is one of the challenges about having kids that are “high functioning” on the autism spectrum – there are often no outward signs or indicators that they aren’t neuro-typical and people may assume that what they are seeing is just bad behavior.) We move back to the exam room, and here is where we hit the dreaded level I knew was unavoidable unless we ran out of the building immediately: Sam screaming so loudly the doctor had a hard time hearing me, a pained expression on her face every time little man hit a pitch that is like a nail to the brain, driving home the fact that, THIS IS NOT NORMAL (whatever normal is). I apologized, profusely, and for what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, fought back tears, embarrassment and a tremendous sense of loss, feeling as if an invisible hand had somehow picked me up and returned me to START. Do not pass GO, Do not collect $200. Thanks for playing.

My oldest saw the tears fall as we walked back to the car. I looked at her, my beautiful, gracious, empathetic girl, who sometimes seems much older than her 16 years. She told me something along the lines of, “Don’t let them make you feel bad. You are an awesome mom – they just don’t know what it is like.” She is a beautiful young woman who will make a difference in this world after having these boys as her brothers. She is, and continues to be one of the proudest creations of my life.

Jump to Sunday evening. It is our wedding anniversary; the day, 12 years ago, we promised “in good times and bad” (having no realization of the road we were headed down, but who does in that giddy moment, right?). The hubs and I are at World Cafe Live in Philly enjoying a much needed adult only dinner, and music by one of our favorite artists, Grayson Capps. Grayson is a musician and singer; a storyteller with a voice that is both raw and pure, telling rich tales of real people living hard lives. He is what art should be about – he moves me (evidenced by my attempt to capture his spirit above in a painting), his voice and words a soothing salve on the open wounds of my heart . We definitely need more time like this, but life doesn’t always allow. Instead, hubs and I do what we have learned over nearly 20 years of knowing and loving each other: we keep on keepin’ on with a strength that is hard won. We fight through the trials our life has brought, hand in hand, to arrive in these “sweet spots”, the result of a lot of give and take from both of us. If you are still with me as a reader, thank you, and if you are not, I get it – I am amazed I am still hangin’ in myself. I have returned to school and work part-time which I know is crazy in the eyes of some, but it is a way for me to reclaim some sanity, a sense of self, along with trying to make some plain old sense out of all that is my life. Listening to Grayson’s words reminded me how important it is to pursue my art and writing – that this is my story to tell, and by embracing and telling it I can let go of some of the hurt, while allowing tears to fall when and where they may, instead of becoming mired while taking in the déjà vu.

Thankful

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 00:55:00 +0000

Photo by Becky Coyle, www.rebeccacoyle.com

"Wait , Daddy!" You would think my 2 year-old son recited an epic poem or some other remarkable, historic piece if you saw my response to his two word command. Simple phrases like this, or "Hi, Mom!", elicit extremely happy responses from me: "Nice talking!", or "Good using your words!", and often to the Hubs, "Did you hear him?!". I am ecstatic to hear utterances that most parents of two year-olds take for granted. At this age developmentally, strangers should be able to understand him 50% of the time, and we just aren't there, yet.

The above picture was taken before I knew 100% that we were dealing with autism for the second time, but looking at it now, I know I was right to be concerned about the episodes of "zoning out" I witnessed, among other things. It is a beautiful photo (thank you, Becky!), but as his mom I see the "stare" and the open mouth that I now know is due to low tone (and maybe I am crazy, but I have noticed kiddos on the spectrum tend to have a certain "look" about their hands). I am fully aware that we are extremely fortunate, once again, to receive a diagnosis on the "high functioning" end of the spectrum. I also know if you talk to any parent dealing with autism spectrum disorder, regardless of severity, they will (if they are being honest) tell you that it sucks, BIG TIME. Multiply "BIG TIME" times number of kiddos diagnosed.... It doesn't do anything for me to pretend that everything is "fine" when it isn't - better to let the tears fall when and where they may (and hopefully allow them to wash away some of the stuff that mucks up my life, although I hate crying in front of others).

Since hearing the second "A" word diagnosis, I have seen expectant moms everywhere, their bodies and minds full of the future, and I long to turn back time. It isn't that I want more kids, but rather to return to an innocence that is long gone; to feel for just one more moment the weight of life safe within myself before it is altered by terms like autism and AD/HD. I ache for those first moments, holding my newborn child and falling in love as if we are the only two beings in the world. Don't get me wrong, I love my children (their shtuff and all) more than anything in this world, and honestly can say I would die for them (ask anyone who really knows me - "Mama Bear" is what comes to their mind), but there are times that being their mom is so very hard. My heart breaks for them (and honestly, for myself), about how things were "supposed" to be, and it still catches me off-guard at times. The worst is when out in public, people (usually other moms with their perfectly behaved children) stare at me while I am trying to control a full-blown meltdown, and all I sense is "What-a-crappy-mom" vibe from them. The most recent episode occurred while my own mom was with me, and she knew exactly what to say: "Every mom [of typical kids] should walk in your shoes for a day."

Beyond my family, autism has brought some amazing, beautiful people to my life, and I am truly thankful for these individuals - they "get it". It has taken quite some time (good wine, and a LOT of soul searching, too), but I am realizing that my life path is leading me towards helping others dealing with the same, and I am finally returning to school in hopes of pursuing a career focused on therapeutic support for individuals and families managing autism and developmental/sensory processing differences. I know from firsthand experience that early intervention is truly a key to opening the door toward functioning in a "typical" world. I received two phone calls this week about my older son on the spectrum, (my now sweet boy, who at age two had so many sensory challenges I wondered if he would ever attend a traditional/public school - and daily, if I would survive being his mom) and because of all our hard work together, he no longer needs speech therapy or special education for reading (HAPPY DANCE!!!!). He is attending public school with minimal assistance, and we were able to drop his TSS (Therapy Support Staff) almost a year ago. Now most people are not immediately aware of his challenges. When sharing with his speech therapist how hard it was to even leave the house with him six years ago, she had a hard time believing we were speaking of the same boy. I still worry about him, and about his future, but I am grateful for the knowledge he has given me. My other sweet boy is ahead of the game because his mama has already walked this path with his older brother. These are the moments that it all makes sense - these are the moments I am thankful.

Knitting Naked for Autism Awareness

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 00:40:00 +0000

We did receive an official diagnosis of autism for our youngest son (which I was pretty much expecting and is the reason behind my "blog neglect"), but before you all think I have gone off the deep end, Knitting Naked is not some sleep deprived, burned out, crazy hobby I have taken up. In fact it is a very real fundraiser, started by a loving grandmother in order to provide her grandchildren on the spectrum needed therapy (Marsha, you ROCK!). It is a tasteful, tongue in cheek calendar, and from the "Knotty Knitters" here is some info: "Have you heard about the Knotty Knitters from Tacoma, WA? When our story was in the local paper, it was picked up by the Associated Press and it has been non-stop since. 8 local knitters and one knitter-designer from New York posed "almost bare" wearing hand knits for a calendar to fund raise for children on the autism spectrum. visit our website at http://www.knottyknittersforautism.com/ Limited Edition, 2011 calendars are selling for $20.00, plus $5.00 shipping and handling." The calendar is also available for purchase at a discounted rate to families of autistic children for fundraising purposes.

The Hubs and I have been talking about fundraising, but with all we have on our plate, I think it may be awhile before we are able to pursue it. I would love to coordinate a 5k race and dinner to follow in honor of my diagnosed boys with funds going towards research. Someday I will. Right now I am pouring my energy into my kiddos as they return to school. Already I have sent numerous emails, requested a change in guidance counselors for one, a change in teacher assignment for another, attended a meeting to discuss a treatment plan for a third, and orientation for preschool for #4 (phone calls from the teacher are imminent for this one), and school has only been in session for two days. I am also applying to return to school myself while juggling therapies for our newly diagnosed son. My ultimate goal is to work with families and kids dealing with autism.

Today, not for the first time, someone said, "I wouldn't know he had autism", about my older son. I know, I should be ecstatic, right? These comments have increased in the last couple of years as he has reached a level of functioning I thought at one time we may never see (It was truly difficult to navigate everyday life with him just a few years ago; I cried like a baby at his kindergarten Christmas concert when he was able to participate with his class in typical fashion - people definitely stared at me - what a mess I was). While this is what I have strived to achieve over the last 8 years, through all the therapy sessions and the tears, it can be frustrating to hear the doubt in someone's voice when I have lived it. Right now I am feeling a little burned out - I mean, raising a child shouldn't involve enough paperwork to wallpaper my entire house (and so far 4 out of 5 have said paperwork), but that is my reality. It is my life, and I don't know that I would change it if I could - in the end I have five amazing, unique children. Is it difficult, often maddening, trying to get them where they need to be? Absolutely, but if it becomes too much, maybe I will just take up a quiet hobby like knitting naked.

Still Here, Mostly

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 23:25:00 +0000

My friend recently said, "Where have you been?!", in regards to my lack of activity on facebook. Once the weather breaks and Spring has really sprung, I am outside, A LOT. My husband is only half joking when he says that I am solar powered. I am definitely one of those people whose mood improves in direct proportion to the amount of sunlight she receives, and my children are much more manageable with a daily dose of fresh air.

Along with my kids' energy, my gardens erupt in Spring, and beckon me with weeds to be pulled, flowers to be tended and promises whispered of sunshine for my soul. It is my escape - there is something so soothing about working the earth with your hands. With Spring also comes the end of the school year, and then the kids are all home for the Summer - with five here all day it never ends: "Mom?, MOM!, MOMMY!!!!" I can't imagine anything else (actually I can imagine a tropical getaway to recharge, or perhaps a week or two in Italy, but I can't imagine my life without my kids (although right now I could do without all the "extras": autism, AD/HD, sensory induced tantrums, and screaming on a level from a certain three year old that tests every fiber of my being as a mom). There are days I feel as if I may actually lose my mind and truly run away(what mom of more than one child doesn't feel this way at some point, especially during the summer months when school is out? (if you really don't, kudos to you). My sanity is still (mostly) intact thanks to my zoloft and resumed running (another escape and mood booster), but there are still times I am convinced that I am (unwillingly) part of some extreme parenting, hidden camera, game show.

I have also started a new diet and am slightly smaller and healthier as a result, and I am glad to say "see ya!" to that part of me - unhealthy weight that needs to go away for good, but it is always hard to change old habits. I am considering a second blog (in all of my free time) to chronicle this weight loss journey, which I hope will be a true success this time. It is amazing what five babies can do to a body (and mind). I have been searching for my pre-baby self for awhile, and the legs are finally returning thanks to the new diet and all of my miles run (portions of my mind may be MIA for years to come).

In addition to my lost pounds, we are minus a few pets (just fish) at this point -"Lucky Bob" a.k.a. "Swimmy" is lucky no more (he apparently didn't like the move to his new digs), and we also lost two of the three new goldfish we added. I don't think we are good "fish people", but better the fish than my dogs or cat. As much as Stella drives me crazy, I know it will be a whole 'nother ballgame when my old girl says "goodbye". She is 10.5 years old, and her age is starting to show in the white fur covering her face, and the way she seems to "zone out", just standing and staring off into space.

Mostly, I have been busy with our new therapists for Sam (Currently OT and Specialized Instruction 1 x a week, PT every other week, and Speech 1 x a month). Our autism evaluation is coming up, and that has been on my mind as well. We may or may not get an official label (obtaining additional services is so much easier with one). There are moments I wish I could go back to the summer that I was pregnant with him, and to the few months after he was born when all seemed to be "normal". I remember thinking how much easier he was than our other son with autism, and in many ways he still is, but there are many differences that I am still navigating.

Lastly, I am looking at returning to school. I have always wanted to pursue a profession that would enable me to help others, and the path my life has taken with my children has made that choice more concrete. All those years ago when the hubs and I dreamed of this life it wasn't quite what it is now, but it is still here that I imagined I would be, mostly.

The "A" Word

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Tue, 11 May 2010 02:46:00 +0000

Houston, we most definitely have a problem. Below is what I had written in mid-April:

4/13/2010 "Early Intervention arrived yesterday for a three hour evaluation and Sam is functioning at about a 13 month level at age 19 months. I was very calm while they gave me the results. (One of the evaluators even commented about my reaction, remarking how well I took the news. I was expecting their results and had been through this before - they weren't telling me anything I didn't already know, even if it was deep down in my heart.) We still have lots of evals ahead, and may not know for several months or longer if we are looking at just a developmental delay or autism, but I have a pretty good idea which direction we are headed toward. I have suspected for months something was "off", but last fall there was not enough of a deficit for Sam to qualify for therapies. We are also participating in a sibling autism study, and experienced the same results: slightly delayed, continue to monitor. Now the delay is too significant to ignore."

Fast forward to May 5th, a mere three weeks later, and I was sitting in the CAR (Center for Autism Research) waiting room with Sam. Looking back, I have suspected for the better part of Sam's life that we would likely hear the dreaded "A" word, for the second time as parents: "Autism". I remember crying to Marc last Fall as he tried to reassure me, and me saying to him "I know what I am seeing!" My fears were solidified last week when I drove Sam to CAR to meet with one of the doctors who is part of the sibling research study we have been participating in since Sam was six months old. We were not scheduled for a visit, just an 18 month phone interview, but because of his increasing delays, our growing concerns, and the red flags that showed up on his M-CHAT (The Modified Checklist for Autism in Toddlers), they requested to see him.

Within the first 5 minutes, I knew what the doctor would tell me, but there was still that sliver of hope wedged in my mind that refused to budge until she uttered the word. I wouldn't say it for her; no, she would have to be the one to utter the word. After she said "Hello" in the waiting room and spoke with me, she then attempted to engage Sam several times, saying his name over and over, but he did not turn to look at her or even acknowledge her presence. Before we left the waiting area she said to me "You look concerned", and I thought, 'Autism', but I said, "I just want some answers". I didn't want to sway her perception and I wanted a truly objective opinion.

We walked the hallway back to the same little exam room we had visited for his 12 month eval. Two other women, part of the research team, stepped out to say "Hello, Sam!" as we passed their doorway. He didn't respond. Sam also had no interest in the toys laid out for him, and instead chose to focus on my bag and water bottle, poke at the door stop, and smash his face into the office chair that was every autistic child's stim dream - it would spin, had a texture to the seat with holes he could look through, and wires across the back. ( A "stim" is a self-stimulatory behavior; they can be very disruptive and all-encompassing). When he did use the toys it was in a repetetive manner - turning the dial on the toy phone back and forth, without purpose.

The doctor turned to face me, and the look of sad understanding in her eyes told me all I needed to know. We were scheduled for a two hour visit, but it took her less than a half hour to assess Sam and say, "He needs more intervention". I said something like "So, you think that it is...." trailing off, and she replied, "I can't give you an exact diagnosis of where he will fall on the spectrum, but yes, I believe we are looking at autism". It suddenly felt like she was talking to me from very far away and I had landed in a place that I had hoped we would never visit again. She called me an "expert" when I told her through my tears, I had suspected, and she added, "unfortunately science has not caught up with a mother's intuition". I had prepared myself for this, yet I still was holding on to the slim chance that I was wrong up to the moment she spoke that dreaded word. Sam will have a full diagnostic evaluation in the Fall at age two and then we will know exactly where he is on the spectrum. A formality really - the label isn't as important as making sure he receives the necessary therapies.

I know in my soul that there is a greater purpose within all of this, and in helping the other parents I reach out to, I have glimpsed the direction my life is meant to take. Right now I am grieving and moving towards acceptance. At any given moment, I cry, [a lot] but I know it is part of healing, so I let the tears fall. Anyone who has had a child diagnosed knows there is a tremendous sense of loss upon hearing "autism", but I know from our journey with our older son that many moments of beauty lie ahead, waiting for us - different, but still beautiful.

*Please see www.firstsigns.org for info on early signs of autism.

What I Know for Sure

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 14:13:00 +0000

"Cocoon" by Max, age 7

Here we go again.... Phone calls made, Early Intervention (EI) has done their intake interview (for the second time - Sam didn't qualify the first go 'round last year, because there wasn't enough of a delay) and now we are set up for another in-home Speech/Development evaluation in April. I am not freaking out over this - probably because I have been through it all before and it was so much worse with Max - we couldn't leave our house at this age with him (well, we could, but I often chose not to because of how difficult it all was - see previous blogs about that one - there is a reason I jokingly refer to him as "Linda Blair" in my writing), and because I have had suspicions that something was up for a long time with Sam, so it isn't as if I was blindsided. There are still hard days with Max, and although right now I don't know if we are looking at the dreaded "A" word with the baby, it is a strong possibility and at the very least we are looking at a speech delay (most of his communication is signing right now). Siblings of kids on the autism spectrum, as well as boys, have a higher chance of being diagnosed, so Sam has two checks against him. Add in the fact that two of our other children are diagnosed AD/HD and it is a no-brainer he will likely end up diagnosed with something. There have been some "soft" signs here and there, and some things are not on an autism checklist,.... things that make you go hmmmmm.....maybe.... - parents who have been through this know what I mean - later milestones, odd behaviors like staring at lights and windows, the sometimes blank stare, the way he has always done this thing with his thumb on my arm, or the newest - crawling on the floor with his head pressed to the ground (Max used to do this, too), and some signs that are harder to ignore - like his loss of the few words he had, and the fact that at 18 months he has no solid words, and usually only attempts words when I prompt him. This isn't meant to be a woe is me piece - There are things much worse than autism in this world (believe me, I am not saying it doesn't suck or make me sad to think of my baby boy being diagnosed, just that there are far more horrible things we could be dealing with), and I try to remind myself of that when I start feeling overwhelmed. The hubs often says to me, "This shouldn't be so hard", referring to all the shtuff with the kiddos - AD/HD, Autism, delays, depression, other health issues, and the piles of paperwork that comes with it all..... and he is right - it shouldn't be this hard - no couple sets out to have children thinking about these things, anticipating children who come with more paper work than a major corporation, but it is what it is, and our life is what we choose to make of it. We try to make it light and fun whenever possible and Marc is great at making me laugh (the zoloft doesn't hurt either).

To add to the fun, we recently adopted "Sushi", a Siamese/Snowshoe mix kitten into our family - A "Sweet Sixteen" gift to our oldest (hey, she has been asking for one for months and it was waaayyy cheaper than a car). Sushi is another strong personality, alternately affectionate and feisty (she fits right in with this crowd). In the past, we have not had good luck with cats - I have owned three others in my adult life, two of them with the hubs; the first two were pure evil and the third turned nasty when we moved to this house. Sushi, so far, is a love bug chatter box that acts part cat, part dog and part baby - she stands on her hind legs to get my attention, comes when I call her, follows me, tells me when she wants food, likes being held on her back and right now is snuggled on my chest as I write. The ultimate test - which she passes every time with flying colors - she doesn't make a peep when the baby grabs her and carries her around like a rag doll. This is a good cat. I know some think "Are you crazy?", adding to the chaos that is our life, but I always say it is a "good crazy". We are adding a puppy to the mix in a few weeks as well - I was hoping for a Boston Terrier, then was leaning towards a Pug after meeting my neighbor's sweet trio outside with our kids. They are a "sturdy breed" and "Good family dogs" from what I have read. "Sturdy" fits the bill in this household, but the hubs wasn't thrilled with the idea of a snorty, smushed face pooch (he gets major points because he would have let me get one anyway) and I want us both to be happy with our choice. We found an ad for West Highland White Terrier puppies, and he was a goner - he had one growing up, and after meeting the sweet mama of our puppy, I was hooked too. Names are still floating around for our little puppy girl (Lily and Sidney are at the top of our list) but I bet she will fit right in no matter her name along with "Swimmy, a.k.a. Lucky Bob" the fish that begs for food like a dog, "Patches O'Hoolihan" the hamster, "Stell-A!" the 10 year old golden retriever that thinks she is still a puppy, and "Sushi" the cat that isn't sure if she is cat, dog or baby.

So, here is what I know for sure - I love my life, and as hard as it all is I know the struggles my children bring to it have made me a better mom and person. AD/HD and Autism don't define my kids - my kids are each a tiny, different definition of what these challenges can look like, and it is only one small part of who they are as people. I have tried to stop asking "Why?" and try to ask "How?" - "How can I bring about positive change and make a difference?" Raising awareness and educating others is one thing I strive to do - Hopefully this blog is one small step in that direction as I share our view of life with autism . This life isn't always what we envisioned all those years ago before five kids, but from where I am sitting, it looks pretty good and I think I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I want to leave you with a link to a piece by Cammie McGovern called " A Different Kind of Happy Ending"

http://www.cammiemcgovern.com/articles_happyending.html. She nails it.

Gandhi, Life, FISH and Barns

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 17:30:00 +0000

Photo by me

"Be the change you wish to see in the world." - Gandhi

Such a great quote - and what I have been striving to do - at least within my little corner of the world. On the surface, a seemingly simple task - I mean, it isn't like I am going after world domination, but at times it feels like it. Lately it means managing my children's atypical needs and advocating for the Free Appropriate Public Education (FAPE)* they are entitled to, and hopefully pushing for some positive changes within our district for all children in the process. Managing their needs and education can eat up A LOT of time and energy - and the blog took a back seat for awhile. So, the answer is "Yes, I am still writing the blog", even though after two months of no posts I am sure it doesn't seem that way. Ironically, this quote was included in an email from an educator; a person who doesn't seem to live by it, at least in the capacity of "teacher". We are on the same page now after I used that magic word, "appropriate", in an email reminding her of the education plan in place for my child. I have also had the opportunity to help two other moms advocate for their children, and while I am grateful for the path my life has taken, I am saddened by the necessity of this advocacy. In regards to their education, my children come with more paperwork than some corporations. I often wonder what it is like to just send a child off to school, minus the meetings, forms, evaluations, management and worry that comes with it all.

I haven't written a single word since December unless you count the paperwork, and I prefer not to. Seems I've had a bit of stress induced writer's block - when it rains, it pours, and it seems to have been raining for awhile here (not going into the details, just major stress going on concerning health of much loved extended family). There are some huge rainbows in all of this, though. I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first nephew this weekend - nothing more beautiful in life than a newborn baby. My short story submitted to FISH Publishing has been "longlisted" this week, which means it has survived the first cut from 1800+ down to 350-450 stories. There will be a party if it is shortlisted (even if it is just me dancing in my kitchen to 80's music, drinking pinot noir), and a major celebration if it is published. Honestly, I am thrilled that it was deemed fit to be longlisted. I've learned to take what I can get, and enjoy it - although right now is a bit of a roller coaster ride, with such polar opposite events happening all at once.

Even with all of the current stress, Marc and I are in a good place, and in celebration of our 11th wedding anniversary, we purchased some work from a local artist, "The Barn Lady" (check out her work at http://www.barnlady.net/). We bought a BIG giclee titled "Perfect" as our gift to each other and my sweet husband bought me one of her smaller original oils for Valentine's Day. I also had the pleasure of meeting her at a gallery opening, and talking about a barn near my house, promising her some pictures. She liked them, a lot actually (her response made my week), and I am hoping she paints it; Marc maybe not so much after I told him "If she paints it, we will have to buy it!" - only because of our recent purchases, not because he doesn't love her work. I may show some of my photos in the CCAA Gallery at her encouragement. I also geared myself up last weekend to start some paintings of the barn and a pastel of a goat named "Angus" - he has the most beautiful horns.

I know I make some people scratch their heads, and suspect I always have - the difference is I am comfortable in my skin now. My passion for art has been reignited, the long ago art major emerging from her hiding place. If you happen to see a woman running along a country road with her camera near a barn, racing the waning light, wearing knee high garden boots (for wading through the snow) and a fluorescent orange hat (to avoid being hit by a car), this is happily me. A woman driving by was clearly laughing at me in my getup as I took my photos, and I thought, Laugh away. I am leaving my stamp on the world, and in my mind it is beautiful, fluorescent orange hat and all.

*For more information on advocating for appropriate education please go to http://www.wrightslaw.com/ or the book, Wright's Law, From Emotions to Advocacy.

Iris

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 19:12:00 +0000

Light Iris by Georgia O'Keefe

"Engrossed is the bee of my mind/on the blue lotus feet of my Divine Mother"

-Paramhansa Yogananda, yoga master

Looking at my blog tonight I realized I only have one post for December. One friend recently asked, "Are you still blogging?", and the answer is yes, very much so! But, that may leave you wondering why I haven't posted much, and the answer is, I have been busy watching the unfolding of my life, promising myself I would slow down a little, much like the unfolding of a beautiful flower. Irises are my favorite. Calling to mind the Divine Feminine, tall statuesque stems topped with the soft curl of petals that evoke delicate strength, both revealing and protecting the inner most beauty. Irises have captivated me since I was a very young girl, anticipating the rebirth of the bed at the front of my childhood home every year, waiting for the beautiful full bloom, the petals gently folding back on themselves.

I can't help but feel that the intertwining of my girl self, having finally found her feet, and my woman self embracing that girl and helping her on her way is the key to the good place I am in, enjoying this new sensation of moving forward instead of remaining mired in the past. At the recent yoga class I attended the instructor shared an inspirational quote, picked randomly by me from a set of cards. If I am remembering correctly, mine read: "When you marry action with intention, miracles happen". So reflective of where I am in my life. I loved the class and enjoyed inner peace, finding balance while providing myself with some much needed "me" time. I was going to say "On a side note" before this next bit, but I feel all of this is part of the bigger something I am moving towards, and "side note" sounds inconsequential. The yoga instructor is a friend from high school whom I haven't seen in 20+ years; and through reconnecting with her (LOVE facebook!) I have discovered we share mutual friendships, some of which have been rekindled because of our interactions on facebook. I am amazed we never ran into each other, minus the time I now know I saw her at the mall, but was too chicken to ask if we knew each other. This, along with discovering other old friends from home also live here or have connections in the area has been a grounding force. We hale from a VERY small town - still trying to wrap my mind around anyone from home living here or having family here. (I guess it is just the place to be - Us kids from WLSV are cool like that.) I could go on and on about the connections - It is like my own personal version of six degrees to Kevin Bacon.

This has been a year of discovery for Marc and me as partners and parents. With our recent major milestone reached, helping Max to gain independence from his TSS, (TSS = Therapy Support Staff; a woman that attended school with him full time up until this year to address behavioral issues and implement his treatment plan) I have been thinking a lot about the progress he has made in regards to his autism and all that we have overcome. I said to Marc, "I really don't know how I got through some of it" - it was that bad. I often didn't leave our house because it was just too difficult to manage his behaviors; he screamed about everything you can imagine from the tag in the back of his shirt, fluorescent lights in stores, the smells of the chemicals used to treat new clothing, to left turns made while driving just to name a few - and sometimes he would just scream for no apparent reason. The "tantrums" that would result from his sensory processing disorder were a 100 on a scale of 1-10 (many children have coexisting disorders with autism; Max also has Sensory Processing Disorder or SPD; please see http://www.spdfoundation.net/aboutspd.html for more information).

He is my third, so for quite awhile, two years in fact, I convinced myself he was just "the hard one" and I had lucked out with my first two. Deep down in my mom heart I knew there was so much more wrong, but it was easy to remain in denial when every time I approached the pediatrician about his milestone delays I received answers like "he is a boy, wait and see" or well meaning friends, trying to ease my mind would say "Oh my child does that too, sometimes". If you are reading this and have any doubts about your child's development don't "wait and see", it is the worst thing you can do. I am confident that all of the early intervention Max received is a huge part of his success. http://www.firstsigns.org/ is a wonderful site for info and if you have a child that is school age and need guidance, Wrights Law, From Emotions to Advocacy is a wonderful, easy to understand book detailing special education law, your child's rights and how to effectively advocate for them within the complicated system of public education. I hope my determination to be an advocate for my own children allows me to reach other families as I go.

I remember the day the Early Intervention team arrived at our home like it was yesterday. I had invited them, but definitely did not want them there. I knew before they uttered their heart crushing results, that everything was about to change. As I look back on their findings I am amazed at how far Max has come. He was 28 months old, and the results ranged from the highest, 22 months for Expressive Language, 17 months for Cognitive Development, 16 months for Social/Emotional Development, 15 months for both Physical Development and Receptive Language to the lowest - a gut wrenching score of 11 months for Adaptive Development (self help skills such as feeding, dressing, etc). At this point all we had was the SPD diagnosis, and the Occupational Therapist that evaluated him said he was one of the most sensitive children she had seen; not only was he highly sensitive, but the number of things he reacted to was remarkable. I remember Marc saying to me as we lie in bed that night, holding hands "Maybe it isn't as bad as they think" and me, tears streaming down my face in the dark saying "It is a thousand times worse than I ever imagined." Max hadn't even exhibited his worst behaviors that day, in other words, they had seen him on a "good" day. It would take another 10 months to obtain an official diagnosis of autism. By that time the diagnosis was something I was seeking instead of denying. I think any parent that has gone through this will tell you, there is a grieving process your mind has to go through, and denial is a huge part of it, and unfortunately some become stranded there, the enormity of realizing something within your child is "broken" too much to bare.

Milestones that we took for granted with our first two took on a whole new meaning with Max. We have reached many, and I truly believe we are better people and parents because of this journey. I know we are fortunate that he has come so far and I know in my soul that despite all the heartache I am a better mom because of it. Within the last month I connected with another old friend from home, and we have so much more in common than our roots. She is someone with an amazing amount of grace and goodness, although I don't think she feels that right now. As we shared bits of our lives, that opening, folding back feeling was immense and it was another moment that brought my life into perspective, and as I watch my son unfolding before my eyes, blossoming and becoming more than I ever dared to hope for, I know I am on the right path.

Call Me What You Will

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 14:01:00 +0000

What someone calls you isn't important, it's what you answer to that matters.
- Anonymous

I read this quote while visiting my sons' school. It was hanging in the hallway for all to read and I found myself wondering how many had read it and understood. I imagined the person that produced such a thought must be an open-minded individual, and likely a great communicator - too bad more people aren't. I'd be willing to bet that person knows how to handle life's curve balls, too.

We have learned to laugh at a lot of what life throws at us - a lot more fun than the alternative, wallowing in self-pity. What we can't laugh at we try to talk through, (Marc and I have made great strides these last few months, as we both have stretched out of our comfort zones, resulting in less fighting and more meaningful communication. An amazing gift not all are capable of giving - the willingness to look within and acknowledge faults and change them to better a relationship - so much easier to point the finger of blame than accept and change your part), but laughter is usually only a knowing look, gesture, or utterance away. It is one of the things I love about us most as a couple - our senses of humor are so in sync and we often use humor to diffuse tension. We jokingly refer to ourselves as "The Griswolds" (that is why "Holiday Road" landed on my playlist) because of all the whacky stuff we seem to attract. Marc and I have found and accepted, if it is going to happen, it usually happens to us. This isn't glass half full, we just come prepared with all of our "life experience". I am thinking about getting vanity plates for the bus I drive: "Griswold". I already have an embosser for gift tags that reads "Happy Holidays, The Griswolds". Cheap thrills carry a lot of weight around here.

Lately, in a round about way, individuals have been calling me, let's say, "chubby". Marley declared, "Mommy, you big butt!" as she, Sam and I were partying in the bathroom. Let me scar you for life, as I paint you a picture of me trying to pee, Sam climbing on my lap and Mars assessing my bare bottom as if it held the meaning of the universe. I fantasize about being able to "go" uninterrupted, in peace and without reference to my apparently big behind. Baby got back. Clearly it is time to call up those old friends, Weight Watchers and the YMCA and schedule some quality time; (as I write this, I remind myself that at one time I had, what I now consider, a very hot bod. In light of all the poor communication from those days of old, I will take confidence and healthy relationships over physical beauty any day, hands down, but since I have the improved communication under my belt, might as well go for the hot bod, too - or at least a new, improved version of the one I've got, right?). Add to Marley's assessment, the fact that my 7 year old keeps asking me if I am having another baby as he eyes my belly mush, and lest I forget, the cherry on top - the guy at the Chinese buffet we frequent, happily asking me "another one soon?" In my defense, I am minus a major abdominal muscle after having a freakish "aggressive and invasive" tumor removed along with the muscle itself in 1996(betcha didn't know Snarky Girl has a little bionic woman in her - a giant piece of mesh replacing the muscle) and it was after I had eaten and I was holding the baby, so the flab-abs were smushing out more than usual, but really? Didn't anyone ever teach buffet boy you NEVER, EVER ask a woman if she is prego unless you either:

A.) are 110% sure she is or
B.) you see a head crowning?

When I said "no" he said "Oh, just kidding." Riiigght. The food wasn't so great that visit either, so I paid for crappy food and being called fat. We haven't been back since, but it was the food, I swear.

"So, are you going for number 6?" is the other thing I keep hearing (these people obviously received the memo that my belly is the result of the 5 kids I already have, not one on the way). I usually laugh and politely say "no" (and I really MEAN it this time - I am, like dinner, DONE!!), but what I am really thinking is, "Are you on crack!?" Some might call me crazy, but I'm not that crazy - I have hit my limit with #5. It isn't that I don't love my kids - anyone that really knows me will tell you, I love them tremendously, and I truly love being called "Mom", but that title is hard earned. "People say we will miss this someday." Marc always says this to me, during the worst moments with our kids, and we both look at each other knowingly and kind of snort - those "people" don't know jack. My kids could scare most mortals into not having children. I have offered them up as natural birth control on more than one occasion -call me if you want to give it a try and we can work something out. (**Warning: Marley can scream at a pitch that may render you temporarily deaf.)

Words can be powerful, but they only hold as much power as you choose to allow them. Sticks and stones and all that (talking adults here - children are another beast entirely; their skin soft, hearts tender - teach and treat them well). Life is short, and there are instances I swear I can hear the whisper of precious time slipping through my fingers, but I remind myself, as I think of the hard year mostly behind us - can't change the past, only move forward on a better path. I look at my beautiful family and all we have overcome, and I know what is important. I am making conscious choices to change or eliminate what doesn't work in my life - I have too much I am juggling not to. Negativity and the people that harbor it will suck the life out of you - Twilight has nothing on these real life vampires that roam the earth, often in the form of miserable narcissists. It is amazing how much better life is for Marc and I with the recent positive changes we have made. Right now I would call myself "Happy, Content" and above all "Confident" - confident in the love I give and receive and especially confident in those whom I choose to call "friend". I have been called many things throughout my life, thankfully, most of them cherished names assigned with love. I will answer to a lot, good or bad, so call me what you will but if the bad outweighs the good, I'll be taking my Griswold self on down the road.

Before and After

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 20:31:00 +0000

** Just an FYI note - I think you may be able to choose what song you want to hear while reading if you scroll to the bottom of the page to my player and click on your choice.**

This is a long post, but I have been MIA for awhile - amazing how much time sick babies, laundry for a family of seven and diffusing tantrums can suck out of your day. Before the school year started my kids were all well, but now that they have returned to The Germ Pool for 5 days a week, it has been non-stop coughs and a fast flowing river of boogies here. Marc said "There is just something about this time of year for us," and he is right - far beyond simple colds, it has always been a defining time in our lives. We are usually fine before it hits, bringing with it more than falling leaves as we struggle with issues across our relationship as partners and parents, but each year we have managed to get through whatever pops up and move on after, despite the bumpy ride.

Life with kids is one big series of befores and afters - the obvious one being before I had kids and after, but each day is filled with these moments. "Brush your teeth before bed, wipe your hands after you finish eating, put on your coat before you go outside....you get my drift. Yesterday, I took Mars my 2.5 year old to have her hair cut, wedging the appointment in before nap time after lunch. Before we arrived she was pretty good and she was mostly ok in the chair, considering her age. After the cut is another story, as she progressed to near tantrum level (my kids are not the average bears when it comes to meltdowns - they are exceptional at it) while we waited for the agonizingly slow woman in front of us to pay and make her next appointment. I was trying to keep Mars next to me when she yanked herself free. It was all I could do not to say, "Could ya speed it up a little, lady?!" as I managed to avoid a trip to the hospital by catching Marley's head before she hit it on a glass shelf full of hair products. I sensed bigger trouble brewing as I payed and Mars attempted to leave without me. Twice just before exiting, and again as I was opening the door, I reminded her to hold my hand, but still had to grab her as she broke away and nearly ran into the parking lot. I was also balancing the baby on my hip during all of this. Thankfully I was smart and bought myself a cute messenger bag that I can wear the strap of across my chest - one less thing to juggle, making my efforts to not drop the baby in these crazy situations successful.

Mars, still intent on escaping, was NOT happy with me when I reeled her back in. I've developed pretty quick reflexes with five kids (I think managing a 2.5 year old and a one year old in public should be an event in the Olympics with a special category when you toss in autism, AD/HD and whatever else is waiting around the bend for us - I would so win Gold). She was adamant that she was NOT holding my hand, NO WAY JOSE, continuing to pull away from me as I tried my best, literally single handed, to keep hold of her and move her forward without hurting her - (I am always so afraid of dislocating an arm in some way when they pull in the opposite direction so insistently), all the while imagining launching her across the parking lot. I am pretty sure I may have a cracked molar from all the tooth gritting and grinding I have been doing.

A few more steps and she decided to hit mach level tantrum, throwing herself down, landing in a puddle - actually pausing for a few moments in her tirade to paw at the water. At this point I am trying to pick her up without dropping her or the baby (score two for my smart mom bag that did not end up in the puddle) and I manage to scoop her up on the second try into a superman position (now I can really imagine her flying across the parking lot - "Up, up and away!! or better yet, "To infinity and beyond! Come back when you can be nice to your mom!") and finally get her to the car. I set her down and she attempts to run again, so I have to pin her to the car with my knee, giving me a free hand to fish my keys out of my bag (this is one of those moments when the ability to sprout those extra arms would be great, hellloooo evolution?). I get the car unlocked and meet my goal of getting her in before she can run kamikaze into some unsuspecting driver's path.

I am sure to the casual observer it probably didn't look very much like I was being a good mommy, with me, grabbing the waist of her pants and a handful of her shirt to pick her up with one hand, laying her on the floor of the small bus I drive and with Mars, screaming as if I were beating her, but when you are one handed trying to protect your kid from getting squashed you do what you need to do and get her in the car, even if it means looking like a kidnapper. I am beginning to think the baby has learned the fine art of ignoring her. He happily babbled through it all, even after I buckled him in and I restrained the screaming banshee that is my daughter in her seat. We finally left the lot, and she was nearly asleep less than 5 minutes later - the kid can go from zero to sixty and back again amazingly fast when she wants to - I wish my frustration would dissipate so quickly - I was focusing on not clenching my teeth.

I dialed Marc on my cell before we left, looking for his sympathetic ear. During our conversation he told me "Two kids died last night in that accident." Suddenly, my day didn't seem so bad as I said, "that's terrible," thinking immediately of their mothers and remembering the crash we missed by a minute or two at the most. We were driving home, sans kiddos, from a quick trip to buy new cell phones when we came upon 3 or 4 cars stopped on the road. It appeared traffic had stopped the other way as well. It was a dark stretch, no street lights, so it was hard to see what was going on. Marc said "Maybe it's a deer." As I watched more closely, a man urgently paced up and down along the shoulder while on his cell phone and I said, "I think it is more than a deer". I imagined we would be there for a very long time if we couldn't turn around, and I wanted to get back to our kids. Thankfully Marc was able to maneuver a 3 point turn and we were on our way, but not before I saw, illuminated by the first stopped car's headlights, a mangled pile of metal and the silhouette of a tire pointing towards the dark sky . An unnatural spotlight on a nightmare come true. That image will remain with me for a long time. It was one of those things you see that takes you a few seconds longer to comprehend, and when you do, it is still hard to wrap your mind around what you are seeing because of the enormity of wrongness present. I remember asking Marc, "is that car upside down?" but before that, before we came upon the aftermath, when we were still driving unknowingly toward it, I had asked him "what was that big noise?" He said he didn't hear it. I think it was probably the sound of the SUV (that according to the news, carried 6 young men, boys really), colliding with an oncoming car after the SUV hit an embankment, flipped, and landed in the opposite lane, causing the head on crash. I haven't been able to stop thinking about those boys, and especially their families and how the rest of their lives will be defined by before and after that night. The silence of their sons' lost voices must be deafening.

I hope we never, ever experience a before and after moment of that magnitude; the violent silencing of life. I don't think I would be able to breathe and I imagine my heart would shatter into irreparable pieces. Seeing what I did, and then hearing the news of what had taken place, gave me pause to consider that as hard as my kids are, there are things in life so much worse than raging tantrums and autism, things like a permanent void. Doesn't mean I won't still complain, cry or yell when things are at their worst with them, I'm only human, but this Thanksgiving I am grateful for the intenseness my children bring into my world because it means they are with me and alive. There are days I count us as very lucky that AD/HD and autism are the worst things to have come our way. Today is one of those days. I'll take all the noise and craziness that comes with my life of living with a moody teen, Linda Blair and The Cruise Director, and two babies who are determined not to be left out of the mix, I think to myself as the babies are settling, albeit loudly, for their naps. All of the super hard, loud, in-your-face stuff with them is just part of our life. I turn up the monitor all the way so that I may listen to their reassuring breaths and hear them wake after they sleep.

Life In The 'Hood

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 17:09:00 +0000

Marc looked at our new Last Supper table and said, "We even have room for one more kid." Baby factory is Closed, with a capital "C", remember Honey? I know I gave him one of those "you're not funny" looks, as the kids poured cereal and the craziness that is our mornings ensued. It went something like this: Marley became upset about, (well, as far as I can tell), life (what's new, right? Must suck being two - probably why we are unable to remember that age) so she starts singing Lady Gaga's "My Poker Face" in a very angry tone (I am not making this stuff up, and one of the hazards of having children ages 1 all the way up to 15 is that the little kiddies sometimes listen to the teen's music and whatever mama forgets to censor in the car - Lady Gaga slipped through the cracks along with everything else we listen to, and probably shouldn't within their earshot), then the baby sneezes and Jack says, "Ewwwww! Mom, can you get that?!"
"Get what?" I ask, moving in to see what is the big deal. "Sam blew a snot rocket!" Jack says, with glee of course - what 8 year old boy doesn't love a snot rocket? I look on the tray of Sam's high chair and see only a piece of mushy cereal, the apparent "rocket". I wipe it up, telling Jack "It's just cereal" and he says "No, not there, there on his pajamas!" I look where he is pointing, "Oh, that is a snot rocket" I say, as I giggle and clean said booger off of the baby, before it ends up somewhere it shouldn't - like on my furniture. (Wouldn't be the first time a stray booger found it's way there. I apparently do have a sixth child, goes by the name "Not Me", and he does all sorts of disgusting little boy things like wiping boogers where he shouldn't and missing the toilet when he pees, forgetting to flush all the time and the list goes on and on...... Not Me does a lot of unsavory things around this villa.) Back to our morning - Jack is being his usual "Cruise Director" self, trying to tell Max what cereal he can or cannot have and why. Haylie rushes out the door, grabbing lunch money, pecking my cheek, and wearing no coat because the one she has is definitely no longer "cool". The baby is still in his high chair, minus one snot rocket, fussing for more banana which he has rubbed through his hair, and Marc and I move around each other like two synchronized swimmers, dancing a crazed kitchen ballet as we weave through the river of children, both eyeing the coffee maker to see if that magical brew is done yet. Max, beyond expressing his frustration with the Cruise Director, was blissfully calm this morning - I DO NOT need a repeat of last nights exorcist-esque tantrum from him. Glass half full, Missy - find the good stuff.

I finally get our coffee poured (I make Marc's for him too - he likes the way I make it and I like doing something that makes him happy - just a little thing, but it is special to us). Our coffee maker makes great, although nuclear hot, coffee (not to be confused with hot coffee, please try to keep up), and one of us in our haste to caffeinate almost always forgets how hot it is, ending with me actually spitting my mouthful out on the counter one other recent morning. I meant to do it, really - I was trying to make Marc smile. Riiiiight. He smiled and laughed at me that day, alright. All fun and games until someone burns her mouth on the nuclear coffee. Don't worry, he's had his fair share of mouth scalding brew, and we both laugh at each other when it happens - we have had the stupid thing long enough to know better. Add to the glass half full - no spewed coffee this morning!

Soon it is time for Marc and the boys to head out to the bus, and I am doing my happy dance because the Cruise Director and Linda Blair are under the watch of someone else for the day. Before you go labeling me "Crappy Mom of the Year" for feeling this way and admitting it to the world - my kids are hard (I once joked to my dad that I could be the poster child for birth control - hey, they are my kids, and I've already made it very clear PC is out the window with this crowd), and both older boys need a lot of extra help in the form of specialized instruction, and in Max's case, his therapies as well. There are some things better left to someone else, not because I couldn't do a lot of it, but because of the "Mom factor" - my kids tend to let it all hang out with me, but are able to pull it together for school - it works out for all involved. I get a break and they get the extra help they need, without the meltdowns. I also spent about 3 years having therapists come to my house for Max, and for the moment it is such a relief not to plan my weeks around therapy schedules.

I am left for the day with Mars, our crazed-two-year-old-warrior child (the level her tantrums are reaching has me reaching for those all too familiar phone numbers to start scheduling evals - I guess on an upnote, I don't know them by heart, yet), and Sam, our baby that we are watching very closely because he has some delays (they both just want to join the fun, be part of the group, I jokingly think to myself). Sam's delays are minor compared to what we went through with Max, and he is being monitored monthly since he hasn't qualified for full on services (again there is that nagging yet). I find comfort in the fact that, if either of them is diagnosed with some developmental glitch or another (likelihood is high) I have weathered these storms already, and know exactly what to do. I dread it becoming a reality, but have no doubt I will fight for them as I did the older kids if it does become another chapter in our lives. Marc and I are so far ahead of the game this time around. As I finish this up, the babies are laughing with each other, and I smile thinking of all the crazy and funny things my kids say and do - all the great things that make the really hard stuff bearable. I know Marc and I will continue to find the laughter and get through it all with our newfound strength, one day at a time, coffee mugs in hand as we make our way, learning to love this life in The 'Hood.

Maybe It's Not Home Sweet Home....

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:37:00 +0000

ADJUST. Marc is way better at this than I am - he is the one that has dragged me kickin' and screamin' from the dark side to his optimistic, glass half full view point, although he sometimes falls off the edge into that great river, Denial - and then I have to pull him out and remind him that everything does not "cost 20 bucks, take 5 minutes, or just magically happen". Our entire life together has been about adjustments - some the natural course of any relationship, and some, things we have learned to laugh in the face of, (for those of you brand new to the 'Hood, Marc and I have had more than our fair share of crazy hard stuff with our kiddos) because if we don't, they would suck us into a black hole, and we've learned it is so much easier to avoid those damn black holes rather than have to claw your way back out.

One of the biggest adjustments we've made was moving to our new neighborhood and a big reason for the move (besides the fact that due to my role as baby factory, we had outgrown the old place) was to give our kids a place to grow up with other children** the old house was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, and I am now convinced was in another dimension after all the crazy shtuff that went down there, and the whacky neighbors, can't forget them - twilight zone really has nothing on that neighborhood!). Ok, I had my own selfish reasons for wanting to move, and pretty much told Marc - we're movin'. In true form, he went along for the often bumpy ride (multiple houses loved and lost) of finding a new house and selling the old (I could write a whole book about that little journey). We eventually landed here and it all worked out for the best in many ways.

There are things I love about this house, like the fact that it is huge (by my standards at least) but I hate the fact that it looks like every other house on my street and I have to drag charm in the door, since the former owner opted for "builder basic" (I have a house full of brass - do you know how much I hate brass?). The previous owner also had a thing for brown and a color I can't really describe - well, maybe I can - mauve cat vomit - there's a paint color name for you. My family room, before we painted, was a cave like brown with the cat vomit color on the ceiling. She must have loved that cat vomit color, because she painted the ceiling in not one, but two rooms (actually the powder room is cat vomit, floor to ceiling - on our list of projects, believe me) plus an accent wall in my teen daughter's bedroom. Nothing major, just stuff that makes me say "huh?" - and we are slowly doing what we always do, making changes and adjustments as we can. Making it "us". (Funny side note: at closing the woman asked me how I liked the cat vomit cave. Bet you can tell by now I am not a very good faker - I think I said something like "It is a little dark and I'll probably paint". She had just painted it to look "cozy" - exactly what I think of cat vomit filled caves - "cozy".)

My latest addition for the house is the above pictured sign which now hangs prominently above the kitchen window for all to see. I laughed out loud in the store - it is so perfectly, us. When I saw the $3.99 price tag, I knew it was coming home with me. My son asked "What does that mean?" It means a lot of things - it means if life isn't working for you make some changes, rise to the occasion, work with what you've got, appreciate the good stuff and be thankful - it could be much worse (to my kids - stop your bitchin'! Life is good, dammit! Don't make mommy launch into one of her speeches about "When I was a kid"!). Joking aside, I truly am a mom that fights like hell for her kids needs, and Marc has worked so hard to give us the wonderful home we have, so it is also a little tongue-in-cheek wink. For me, it completely embraces that we've learned to survive all the really hard times this crazy life has brought us with love and laughter; that Life is what you make of it, and if it isn't sweet, ADJUST.

**Post note - I meant "among" other children, "with" sounds like I farm them out, although I am seriously considering offering a certain two year old up for loan as natural birth control to anyone interested because of the tantrums.

Running Full Circle

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:15:00 +0000

My 15 year old daughter grouses about being the oldest (she is really preaching to the choir on this one - mama is the oldest, too), the one that has to "break me in" as Mom, but I think I have done an ok job in ~~some~~ most areas, especially in teaching her to face issues head-on instead of running from them, which is my tendency - like I said before, trying to raise winners, here. (It is hard to break habits that hail from childhood, but I'm workin' on it. The chicken suit is off, just don't know if I am ready to throw it away just yet.)

Running and I became intimate friends the year I was 12 and discovered my town summer track program. It was perfect - I could easily walk the mile to the cinder track from my house, I thought the ribbons they gave out were super cool and it was seemingly, FREE. I was hooked. Glory called as I imagined how many ribbons I would win, and I coveted that silky blue. Around and around she goes. Elusive silky blue passed by time and time again, and soon that track wasn't enough. I found myself running through town all the time, and the steady beat of my cheap sneakers on old, cracked sidewalks in harmony with my rhythmic breathing carried me away. Cut-rate ribbons quickly lost their allure, becoming nothing more than faux gold-stamped, polyester reminders of what I chased. Those ribbons are long gone, but I still have cinders in my knee from a fall on that track. Three little dots you can barely see, but I know they are there. Sometimes I can feel them through my skin.

I continued running on that same track all through high school, long after it stopped being fun - secretly dreaming of running fast enough to capture my worth. The off track runs were different - I became great at that kind of running. Those open road journeys became my go-to escape when things weren't right in life, but no matter how far I ran, nasty ol' self-doubt was always right there, nipping at my heels. It's no wonder I was so skinny back then. Often, my treks took me down Main Street at night, stolen glances affording a glimpse into the windows of grand old homes, and the perfect lives I imagined contained within them. Facades often misled me in the coming years, but I eventually grew to know deep down is the home of what matters.

In the 17+ years we have known each other, Marc and I have done our share of running in circles with each other. Once again, with the help of our amazing therapist we have explored how our childhoods affect us as adults and partners - looking at all the shtuff we bring to this crazy love - and how to effectively communicate and move past emotional roadblocks from our youth. Like I said in my previous post, we've learned sometimes "it isn't about you", but when it is - own it. This maxim has proven pivotal to our growth as a couple and parents.

This brings me around to the recent split from my best friend of the last 12 years and although this has been hard for Marc (we were friends as couples), he understands where I am coming from. Without going into all the really gory details, I'll just cut to the quick of it: this divide was building for quite some time, and would have eventually happened in its own time, but a landslide succession of events sped it up, culminating with me having the Grand Mal Mother of all anxiety attacks after 3 scary nights spent in the hospital with our son, arriving days late to our less than ideal (I'm being extremely generous here) shared vacation locale (her choosing) following weeks of her telling me “this is how we do it, and it works really well for us” while trying to hash out details of the "vacation". We tore out of there after Marc made an executive decision (I love him so much for this) to rescue what was left of our break and head to a better locale with his extended family to finish out our trip. That vacation ended up costing way more than we planned but in the end it bought us the precious realization that we needed to make some major changes, and we're working on them.

For me that friendship has run it's course. I have a really hard time with people who can't recognize and own their part of something and say "I'm sorry". This is HUGE for me - own your shtuff - loud and proud! (Yeah Marc!!! - for working so hard towards becoming better at this!!! Compliment about awesome Hubs - Check!) After we returned home I emailed a lengthy heartfelt explanation and apology to my friend and also shared without blaming her (I even had my therapist look it over to help me eliminate anything potentially blaming), where all of my built up hurt feelings had come from and the response I got was definitely not "Sorry my words made you feel this way", but rather something along the lines of "maybe we will talk in a few months and find the friendship we used to have once you (that would be Zoloft poppin' me) are feeling better." Huh.

Well, I feel great. Marc and I are the best we have ever been together in so many ways. I can honestly own my feelings and say, with confidence, “I don’t miss her”. Speaks volumes to me.

I recently began running again and it has been wonderful - a much needed break for me as a mom, and the pounding of my feet and sound of my breathing are welcome old friends, but instead of feeling like I am running away, trying to escape life, I feel strong, knowing I am running in the right direction, at peace with the recent choices I have made to eliminate what isn't working. (I have spent far too much of my life trying to squeeze myself into acceptable molds, hiding in that damn chicken suit. 1 ugly chicken suit shed - CHECK!! Again, this is me, take it or leave it.) I often think of all Marc and I have overcome, especially in regards to autism, and it pushes me along on these runs as I silently chant my mantra I am bigger than this. I am stronger than this. I imagine myself this whacky heroine and my super power is my snarky sense of humor - it certainly has carried me this far. I even have a blue t-shirt with a big "S" for Snarky (okay, it is Marc's Superman T we gave him for Father's Day that I scammed after it shrank in the wash, but it works).

Now, looking at the beautiful young woman my oldest daughter has become, and the amazing life Marc and I have built together despite all the hurdles (and those we have yet to cross, as I sit here writing, watching Max's increasing stims**) I know in my soul I have arrived exactly where I belong, and wish I could go back and tell that 12 year old girl: keep running dear heart -you'll get where you are going and speak your truth, even if you are the only one listening, and one day you will own it all, loud and proud. Maybe I'm ready to throw that chicken suit out after all.

**For those of you wondering what "stim" means: to self-stimulate; (specifically) among autistic people, to fixate on a comforting or compelling thing or action (such as rocking or humming); to perseverate. Also n., a (self-)stimulating thing or behavior. Max's stims have evolved over time, and presently he exhibits a complicated combination of hand and eye movements often combined with sounds.

Getting To Know Me Redux, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 17:34:00 +0000

25 More Random Tidbits About My Whacky Life.....OK, if you want to get technical, there are way more than 25 things because of my hyper-drive thought process, but this is me, take it or leave it.

1. I unfortunately have intimate knowledge of what a terrible combination bunk beds and stomach viruses are.

2. Because of this combination, on more than one occasion my boys' bedroom looked like a scene from CSI. I am convinced after cleaning up said scenes (although not the worst I've ever cleaned - we had a poop smearer for awhile - that task would bring me to tears, sobbing the whole time I cleaned it up, day after day "this...isn't...my...life") I could be a CSI, or maybe a Saint - thankfully we don't live in that house or twilight zone-esque time of our lives anymore. I hated that house --which I realized on the first full day we lived there after meeting the Neighbor from Hell at the bus stop (she is a blog unto herself)-- but I giggled last night when Max said "Mom, remember the time Jack was sleepwalking and peed in the hallway at the old house?" It is funny now because I'm not living it, but the sleepwalking was scary, and we had to lock Jack in at night after the morning we woke to find cheese and jelly on the table (disgustingly funny combo) and the front door wide open --not remotely funny, especially since we lived in the midst of miles of forest and game lands adjacent to a state park. I can laugh about that house with ease now that I am not imprisoned by it and all the bad stuff that went down in it (autism paved a very rocky road for awhile). On a side note, while recently looking under the bottom bunk for some lost something or other, I noticed some splatter we must have missed - ewwwwwwww, two year old vomit splatter, get the clorox wipes!

3. Most days I dream of running away to a tropical island for some peace and quiet not because I don't love my kids, but because I know I would be a better mom after such a break (it has been about 5 years since we last had a kid-free getaway - much too long. Addt'l. note to self: Run away, far, far away). Thankfully, after nearly 11 years of marriage and 14 years together I still want to take Marc with me.

4. Sometimes locking myself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine works in a pinch, but I can still hear them through the door .

5. For those of you who don't know me well enough, #4 is complete sarcasm not child neglect; I use it often and believe it helps keep me sane with 5 children - sarcasm that is, not neglecting them.

6. I am not a winter weather person (Marc says I am solar powered) and I avoid going outside in this type of weather if at all possible. The fact that I grew up in Upstate New York and ran around back in the day without nearly enough clothing on, oblivious to the frigid temps, helps me in no way to withstand the cold now. I do force myself to go to the gym despite the cold. Since my tropical getaway isn't happening, I have to go somewhere to search for my sanity.

7. I believe little boys are genetically programmed to rip holes in the knees of all their pants, pee on the back of the toilet (and sometimes on the floor - or apparently in the middle of the hallway on the carpet if they sleepwalk), pick their noses and wipe their hands and faces everywhere except the napkin, placed ever so thoughtfully by me, directly in front of them.

8. Sometimes I miss my pregnant belly, but I definitely don't miss all the discomforts that came with it. I LOVE Babies and shamelessly fawn over newborns (I'm careful not to fawn to the point of creepy "I want to steal your baby" - believe me I have enough of my own!), and if I could bottle that newborn smell I would wear it as perfume.

9. I really ~~like~~ love writing, but find it extremely difficult to share what I write with others (obviously I am overcoming that fear as I blog away, revealing all of my deep, dark secrets), and when reading aloud turn a deep shade of red. Any sort of public speaking terrifies me - not exactly sure what I expect to happen, but if I have to give an actual speech I'm like Cindy Brady in that episode when the camera light comes on and she goes deer-in-the-headlights on everyone. In the same episode Mama Brady says "You shouldn't put down a loser, Cindy, because you might be one yourself someday. Just remember that." Nice. Thankfully I don't plan on giving any speeches in the near future, except to my kids - "Mommy speeches" are a whole 'nother beast, and I'll bet if my kids could find the words they would tell you I am the Queen Mother of the "Mom speech" all too apparent from their typical response "I KNOOOWW Mom!" Which I often promptly respond to with "NO, you don't know because I just told you!" Trying to raise winners, here.

10. I hate when people watch me eat - one of my anxieties that likely heralds from some deep seeded memory better left forgotten from my childhood - no idea what it could be, though. I love food and have grown to accept the mushy abs. I used to have A LOT of anxiety for a really long time - say, since approximately birth- about way too many things- so many things it would probably be quicker to list what I didn't have anxiety about - and am so thankful for the little pill I take everyday. I am a much better version of me with my Zoloft - just ask Marc. Neither one of us wants the other me to come back - she wasn't very much fun.

11. I wish I could become organized - this I am afraid is something I am not genetically programmed to be, but I am working on it. Thinking we might have to call a professional in on this one, too.

12. I believe when I run into people by chance, repeatedly, or when there is so much coincidence surrounding our connection --like an old friend I just reconnected with from high school in NY via facebook (which I love) and a new friend I met, that both happen to live here in PA and are also friends with each other, as well as both having connections to other people I know, combined with the fact that I think they are amazing women-- means these people are supposed to be in my life - no brainer. There are exceptions - the people from Crazytown I seem to attract and run into repeatedly (must be my sweet, understanding demeanor)- not so sure this rule applies to them.

13. My husband won't play checkers with me anymore because I always win. He says I cheat - I don't.

14. I hate to lose. I have come to appreciate that the losses and bad stuff in life make the good stuff all that much better, though.

15. I can't stand white walls. I also can't stand what a mess my house is, but I can no longer use the excuse, "We just moved in" when it has been about a year and a half. I would call the professional organizer a friend recommended if I could find her number in the mess that is my desk.

16. I love good wine and I don't think it has to cost a fortune to be good, but I think box wine is disgusting and it gives me a killer headache. Upon sharing this with a wine aficionado friend, she said "Oh sweetie, don't ever admit that you drank box wine." Well, it was just that once (and that was all that was offered), and in the interest of writing the blog I will put it out there - really the least of what I'm letting out of the bag these days, wouldn't you say?

17. I also enjoy beer, but never in a can - also disgusting.

18. I don't like beer in a can and many other things because I have a very sensitive sense of taste and smell. I am also sensitive to certain noises - ok, I have sensory issues, but we all do (some of the kids have sensitivities that can be frustrating, but I get it). Thankfully Marc tolerates mine - or at least is very good at pretending to.

19. My husband can't smell anything. Makes me wonder how he is able to cook so well. He also "forgets" things. We joke about this all the time now - beats the alternative of fighting about it, although at some point his memory will get so bad that he will forget that too, and I will be able to yell at him all I want.

20. I loathe cooking most of the time (I do enjoy cooking with Marc. I don't enjoy cooking for children who complain about what I've made and who think a PB & J sandwich is sooooo much better than pasta with chicken and homemade creamy parm cheese sauce with just the right amount of garlic and peas thrown in, that is one of my specialties), and cleaning the bathrooms (there should be no question about this given the fact that I have boys and I married one), folding socks (do you have any idea how many socks a family of 7 has?!), telemarketers, and people who knock on my door looking to "share" their religion with me. Also, after what my kids brought home from trick-or-treating, I dislike the handing out of religious pamphlets at Halloween. If you don't want to participate in the devil's holiday then turn off the porch lights and don't answer the door.

21. Even though I hate to cook most of the time I am not a bad cook, but if it weren't for my kids and my husband's fabulous meals, I would live on sandwiches, granola bars and cheese sticks.

22. I have by choice given birth to 4 of my 5 kids without drugs or epidurals, even after 18 hours of labor with #5 (what the heck was his deal!?! - I thought he was never, ever coming out), but I still think people that run marathons are insane or on crack - no offense, but we all know that like Whitney, I think crack is whack!

23. In Redux Part I, I said I really miss my brother - I should add I really miss my sister, too, but now she lives much closer so it isn't as hard to see her and we love spending time with her and her Hubs. I love both siblings tremendously and we laugh A LOT when we are all together.

24. I believe in ghosts.

25. When I was little I wanted to be a nurse, then for a brief stint a neonatologist, and then going into college an art therapist - always the mother, I guess I found the right job. When my kids are bigger and I have to get a "real" job I know it will be doing something that helps others, but for right now I'm happy being "Mom" (sitting here enjoying the music of Journey as I write, but not so happy to be listening to the weird, new sound the toilet is making when flushed) and of course legend in my own mind that I am, happy to be, "Blogger Extraordinaire".

Getting To Know Me Redux, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:15:00 +0000

Bit of a remix of random things about me from my facebook - it is changed up enough if you are reading for the second time it shouldn't be a snooze and if this is virgin territory for you, it will give you a peek into what life is like at Villa Vallino, and further insight into my sometimes warped mind.

1. Answer to World Peace in a nutshell: Everybody play nice. I am really bothered by inconsiderate people, and parents who don't teach their children to treat others with kindness, or at the very least, respect. Especially bothersome (because it hits so close to home) are kids that make fun of peers that are atypical or have special needs. I tell my kids, "No big deal if you don't like someone, but it isn't ok to be mean." I believe everyone is entitled to their opinions, but not entitled to force feed them if we differ on our views. No mistake, I'm not raising a bunch of doormats - they know it's ok to stand up for themselves, but to also consider that people who are jerks might not have the best life - sometimes it just isn't about you.

2. I already established I am not always PC (making fun of my own kids is fair game if it gives me something to blog about), and I probably swear too much (although I do refrain in front of the kiddos, little parrots that they are. Marc is the one that has a harder time remembering this, and the kids tattle about all of his bad habits "Mommy, why don't you drive fast like Daddy?" Love you Hon - slow down!). It is also completely ok for me (I've earned it), my family and friends to laugh at the crazy-ass stuff Max does because of his autism (A friend and I looked like two lunatics one night while out to dinner as we swapped stories of our sons' behaviors and "stims" -some things you can't explain unless you actually act them out, so the two of us were demonstrating for each other - needless to say we laughed until we cried) but if anybody laughs at him in a cruel way, the reason my family nicknamed me "Roller Derby Queen" will become all too apparent. Don't mess with my kids. Ever.

3. I have a child with autism and two with AD/HD, and two more with at the very least some serious attitude - time will tell with them if it is more. Wild things other than my children come and go, all of them "special" in their own way. Currently, we have Stella, a 10 year old 80lb freak golden retriever I am convinced has OCD, (Stella is the perfect name for a dog that you have to yell at all the time -"STELL-A!" Much more fun than "Sparkles" which I immediately vetoed all those years ago, knowing I would probably be the one chasing her through the woods at the old place. I didn't need yelling a sissy dog name like "Sparkles!" added to my list of "Things That Make Me Look Crazy". Good thing I had that foresight - Not long after, the boys were born, 18 mos apart, and I was dished up a full plate of crazy, complete with a child that pitched fits of epic proportion everywhere we went because of his sensory issues. Yep, I had more than my fair share of stares from people, who I am sure were making assumptions about what a crappy mom I must be to have a kid like that - definitely didn't need to add 1 crazy dog named Sparkles to the list.), a fish that begs for food (he really does) named Swimmy, a.k.a Lucky Bob (lucky he lived to go from feeder fish, to Fun Fair fish, to being our fish), and a hamster, first name Patches (by the kids) surname O'Hoolihan (by me, a la Dodgeball). She is my favorite and I love her (way more than my dog). Go figure - best pet we've ever had is a rodent. Used to have 2 cats (at different times) but I have very little tolerance for animals that bite my kids or pee all over my house. When Marc tried to place the one cat with a rescue organization the woman there said "Well, you wouldn't just get rid of a child if they misbehaved." I told Marc he should have said "Depends on the day, lady - just ask my wife, and my kids don't bite people and pee all over the house when they misbehave!" (well, sometimes they do pee where they shouldn't, but I don't have biters). Oh, yeah and a dog that was a pee-er, growler, and would-be biter - to let you know how long she lasted, my kids often just remember her as "that little dog". (Any animal lovers that wish to chide me, go ahead, I can take it - I'll just tell you now, I'm a kid lover and my kids (and what is left of my sanity) come before the pets, always.)

4. I am a better mom because of autism and all the other crazy shtuff my kids bring to the table.

5. I love that my husband cooks - he missed his true calling as a chef. Men that can create amazing meals are sexy (I should start keeping track of when I compliment him in my entries - in the event we have a spat I can say "But I said "x" about you in my blog", and sexy holds a lot of weight. Note to self: throw random complimentary comments about handsome husband into blog. Check.).

6. When I decide to compete in/at something I am very competitive.

7. I am running again - sort of. I can run a mile in about 9:17 but fantasize about running like I did as a teen. That 5:52 mile I ran long ago doesn't seem so slow now.

8. I need to lose weight, and I have lost 40lbs so far (sadly, all baby weight from #5. Some people are "all baby" when they are prego, but I am "all I-ate-everything-under-the-sun-with-complete-utter-abandon-and-it-shows", but I'll get to the baby weight from the other four - eventually). Goal for the coming year is 25lbs more, so I can attempt #9 without achieving a runner's high due to lack of oxygen to my brain.

9. I want to run a 5k (my first) once I am strong enough.

10. I love that Marc and I make each other laugh so much and that we have grown so much as a couple over the last few months.

11. I wish I played piano - my daughter does and I love hearing her play.

12. I am thinking of going back to ~~school~~ bed.

13. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up but "writer" has risen to the top of the list.

14. I am afraid of certain breeds of big dogs - they seem to like the way my daughter and I taste. To my dog lover neighbor, who allows their "friendly" dog to roam the neighborhood (I've already addressed it in person once), from this kid lovin' Mom: the next time Mr. Crazy decides to charge, growling and snapping at me and my babies in their jogging stroller, he is going to get a face full of pepper spray -the dog, not the neighbor.

15. I love that my new house is big enough for our BIG family; I don't love that it isn't the quaint, old house I dreamed of. I also love that it is finally starting to feel like "us" instead of like we are living in someone else's home - it is coming together bit by bit. Latest addition - a kitchen table large enough to host The Last Supper. My friend said if Jesus decides to show up to make sure he brings the wine.

16. I wish I could go back and do it all over only to tell the younger me to be kinder to myself - to tell myself stuff like "great abs - you'll wish for them some day after five pregnancies turn them into mush!"

17. Mushy abs aside, I love my kids more than I could ever have imagined.

18. I used to say "I'm never having kids!", now I have 5. You were right Dad (isn't that music to your ears Jimbo?), but I didn't quite meet your prediction of a dozen - no reality t.v. sized family for us! We are done. Unless Mother Nature has some sick, twisted joke up her sleeve, I really am done this time - which is what I said after #4, but I wouldn't trade my "Surprise #5" for anything - Sammy, my sweet little "shy guy". I wouldn't mind trading certain body parts in though - mushy abs are just the tip of the iceberg.

19. I can't stand snobs or people who look you up and down. Whatever.

20. I really miss my brother - he is much too far away.

21. I want to write a book and now I am going to try with NaNoWriMo - google it.

22. I want my daughter's ~~red~~ beautiful auburn hair - it is the perfect shade.

23. I have a painting in my head, now if I could just find the time to paint something other than walls. I also have some I want to buy - maybe someday when I become a rich and famous writer, but for now I buy prints we can afford. Marc and I fell in love with a painting we found on our summer vacation until we saw the price tag - 4000 smackers - not really in the budget, 5 kids or not.

24. I wish someone made a great california roll here - I would pay really good money.

25. I want to go to Italy, instead I am going crazy most days .....

China, Peanuts, Flip Flops and Hot Coffee

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 19:40:00 +0000

**Note this entry was edited post-publication to include further explanation of "Hot Coffee" since so many of you asked so nicely; other minor changes were made for continuity.

Oh the things kids say! I am sick right now, and Jack must have sensed I needed some comic relief this morning. He had one sock on and asked me to help him find a match in the mountain of unfolded laundry on the couch. I quickly located one and handed it to him. Jack followed me into the kitchen and said "Thanks for finding it Mom, I didn't want to be "One Sock Jack" and without missing a beat he said "It is a really good thing my name isn't Scott; "One Sock Scott". Now maybe this isn't the funniest thing you have ever read, but in that moment it was very funny to the two of us and was exactly what I needed.

All of the kids make us laugh and each seems to be developing their own sense of humor, even the baby who laughs at just the right moment with the rest of us when we joke around at the dinner table. Marley though has been on a roll lately, and rarely does a day go by that I don't say to Marc "listen to what she said today!" At 2.5 years her language and speech are still developing, so not everything is crystal clear but her pronunciations and train of thought (when you can follow it) have provided endless laughs. In a previous post I mentioned her new boots or in Marley-speak "boobs!" and her favorite, her bright pink flip flops - well, lets just say that "flops" sounds distinctly like another "F" word (which we definitely don't say lest anyone sick the potty mouth police on me ((ok, we are both guilty of the occasional "F" bomb, but only said under duress and not in front of the kids (((well, except for that one time Marc slipped and Jack ran around saying "F?" "What "F" Daddy?" Good job, Honey))) but being the not always PC mommy I am, I find endless amusement in asking her about them.
"What are those on your feet?" I ask, "My Flip F@!#&!!" she proudly proclaims (I know, bad mommy, but I only do this at home).

Recently while changing the baby, (whom Marley insists on calling "she", as in "she needs hers diaper changed, Mommy" even though "She" is Sam and he is definitely a boy; we're working on pronouns) Marley looked at Sam's penis and said "what is that?" I don't believe in assigning silly names to body parts, so we call things what they are. "His penis" I told her to which she promptly replied, "His peanuts?" and then proceeded to point to her own diaper and said "My china?" (These are the mispronunciations I LIVE for!) Stifling my giggles all I could manage was a "mmmm-hmmmm" until Marley said "His peanuts, for Patches?" and with this I let out a whoop of a laugh. Marley's mispronunciation and thought process in that moment were comedy perfection. Patches, you see, is our hamster and the kids feed her peanuts as a treat - it took me a minute or two to stop laughing at that one.

As I sit here sipping my coffee, writing this I remember when Jack was learning to talk and we were teaching him "hot". I had coffee every morning back then too, and often I would say "hot coffee". Jack said "hot" perfectly, but "coffee" didn't come out quite right, in fact the word that came out of his mouth was nowhere near coffee. It was a word no mom wants to hear her child say. **Now, I wasn't going to tell you what "coffee" sounded like when Jack said it, because I worried it may be a bit too vulgar for some readers, but my friend Andrea pointed out to me "it's what it sounded like, not what you were teaching him to say," so here goes: "Coffee" sounded just like a slang term for a certain female body part, rhymes with "wussy". My husband found it hilarious and he was the bad, not PC daddy saying "say, coffee!" and then "say, Hot Coffee!" (part of why we are still together after all these years - we share the same twisted, sarcastic sense of humor).

Who knew when Marc and I set out on this amazing journey years ago that everyday things would bring such laughter into our lives? So often we get caught up in looking for more or focusing on what's not right when directly in front of us are these amazing moments that are "just right", moments that I think too many miss. With that, before I get too sappy, from The Land of China, Peanuts, Flip Flops and Hot Coffee I say, laugh with your kids it is ~~good~~ great for the soul or as my dear Dad would say "it's good for what ails ya". Indeed it is.

May The Force Be With You

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 21:54:00 +0000

"Boys will be boys" and I know this all too well. Besides having three boys of my own, growing up it was me and my dear brother (I also have a sister, but she wasn't born until I was 13, and off in my own teen world). I could write a short book about our adventures, and living in a neighborhood full of boys. My brother was "all boy" which in short means he didn't own a pair of pants without holes in the knees (of which I was reminded this morning, looking at my son's brand new jeans with a gaping hole) and saw more than his fair share of our hospital's E.R. (thankfully we haven't seen as much of this, but among our few visits there was "the bean incident" - another post to come). I would wear a dress my mom had made, but no guarantees that I would act like a lady in said dress. Dress or not, I was likely on a bike, up a tree or racing my brother around the neighborhood or through the nearby field of milkweed (which I now know is poisonous if ingested; thankfully we didn't eat it and just made a mess by releasing all of the seeds). Usually I was dressed like the boys though, and hanging tough, dirty as any of them, and so far because of all my tomboy days, my boys haven't surprised me, too much.

As I sit here in my pajamas, sweaty and slightly feverish battling a nasty upper respiratory infection, I know two little boys I can thank for it. As a matter of fact, there is an entire school of little boys I should thank. With the recent flu outbreak, the school staff has done a great job of telling the children to wash hands, cough into a tissue and discard, or into the crook of the elbow, etc., but if most boys are like mine (and I'll bet they are) they need to be told to do these things, repeatedly. Little boys do things, gross things, when we aren't looking. Sometimes we catch them and tell them "GO WASH YOUR HANDS!!", but apparently at school this year there was a new game that went unnoticed by staff. Jack gleefully told me about it one day after school:

Me: "How was school - Do anything fun?"
Jack: "Well, everyone played a new game called "The Force".
I was intrigued - Max loves Star Wars, so this could be good; something they could bond over.
Me:"Cool, how do you play?"
Jack looked at me with a huge grin, promptly LICKED his unwashed hand, and shoved it in my face. "May the Force Be With You!" he shouted in triumph. Score one for the boys.

"GO WASH YOUR HANDS!!!!" was my immediate response. Score one for Mom. Before you start thinking I have a severe germ phobia, I don't, but with five kids it makes sense to prevent blatant spreading when possible. While he was in the bathroom I giggled to myself, and shook my head, remembering some of the far more dangerous things my brother and I did as kids. When Jack emerged, clearly disappointed I didn't see the greatness of "The Force", I explained why it wasn't such a good idea. "Ohhh-kaaay" was his glum response. If you read this story or have little boys yourself then you know as well as I do, the moment his little 8 year old body was on that playground with his friends again, everything that ol' Mom told him was out the window. I would bet my house that they were right back at their game, licking dirty hands and shoving them in faces, "May the Force Be With You!!" Oh, it is with me all right.

The Greenest Grass

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 18:08:00 +0000

I was talking to a dear friend today about the struggles that can come with being a wife and mother and how as women we tend to put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect. Perfection is overrated, and exhausting to try to achieve. Marc has taught me to see that at the end of the day if my kids are fed, all snug in their beds and relatively happy and clean we are doing ok. Through a lot of effort (14years together has given us lots to work on!)we have learned what a huge difference effective communication makes. I once equated a successful marriage to a beautiful garden; both require a lot of love and care and sometimes the work is hard, (especially the darn weeding part), but the results can be fabulous. So often we get caught up in the day to day things with kids, work, and just LIFE that we can lose sight of our role as partners, and our sense of self. Inevitably at times stress rises,and communication can falter. Throw anything extra in the mix - unexpected shtuff like an ill child, a partner who has to work long hours or constantly travel for work, financial problems - anything that you weren't really signing up for when you said your "Happily Ever Afters" - and things can go downhill quickly. Suddenly, the grass is looking greener everywhere else.

I don't think anybody takes their marriage vows and thinks about the real situations we are promising to stand by each other through (really, would anybody get married then!?): "I promise to stand by you through countless weird medical issues with our family, autism, AD/HD, ungodly work hours that come with trying to build your own business, being poorer long before richer, and some whopper arguments that nobody wins, proving just how strong headed we both are". Marc and I probably would have looked at each other and calculated how quickly we could make a break for it - see ya! Thankfully we have weathered a lot and learned to find the good, even in the bad, or at least to let the laughs carry us through the stress. Our kids do make us laugh - Marley with her new boots running around saying "my boobs!" and Max running into the kitchen when I blew my nose saying "What sounds like [whipped] cream?" - these are the moments that make the hard ones easier. We have fought hard to be where we are and things look pretty good these days, but I know we have to keep an eye on those weeds.

One thing I want to share that has worked tremendously for us during times we are really disagreeing (in addition to our fabulous therapist) is email. It may sound really impersonal at first, but it cuts out a lot of reactivity. Marc tends to have "angry eyes" and my hands fly around as if I was born Italian instead of marrying one, and we both tend to shout. Email cuts all of that out, and allows you to really take your time to say things thoughtfully in a way that can be heard. The whole point is to communicate without inflicting further hurt - too often the message is lost in the hurt and anger of an argument.

With that I will say Happy Days! and for my dear friend - I love you and when you read this know that you inspired me. You are beautiful and worthy of happiness and you do have it within yourself to find it. Sometimes the greenest grass is right where you are, you just don't see it under your feet.

Happy Birthday, With All My Love

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 17:25:00 +0000

Today is my husband's birthday, and I have a gift for him - something he will enjoy, but it just doesn't convey everything he deserves on his special day. Birthdays are important to me - we are celebrating the day we entered the world after all! I think birthdays should be a celebration of all that person has brought with them into the world and reflected upon with some reverence. Racking my brain for a perfect gift, I thought what better way to tell him how I feel than to shout it out for all the world to "hear"? So here goes:

Marc, I am so grateful for this day! Because of you my life has known great joy and love. You are an amazing father and husband and I am so proud of the family we have created together. Things certainly rarely go "as planned" for us, but after all these years I think we have found our own rhythm and have learned that laughter can carry us through a lot, along with the hugs and more than a few tears. We have grown immensely because of each other both as a couple and as individuals and you have brought me strength through countless challenges. We have shared the amazing joy of our five children and I have no doubt that many more moments with them are waiting for us.

I love all of the thoughtful things you do, like helping so much with the kids or cooking fabulous meals (go ahead ladies, be jealous, he is a fantastic cook!! (Lest you think I don't contribute I can and do cook, although I would much rather get my hands dirty with spackle and paint - I paint a mean wall!) and especially for acknowledging how hard I fight for our kids needs. Most of all I want to tell you I am proud to call you my husband, my friend and the one I will spend my life with. I am so grateful for you in my world! Happy Birthday Sweetheart, With All My Love!
Always,
Missy

Grand Mal Tantrums and Life on Mars

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 12:57:00 +0000

Marley was the sweetest baby - chubby cheeked and happy with a thick crop of auburn hair. She slept through the night at about 7 weeks (before you hate me here, let me say I have paid my dues in spades with regards to lost sleep with my three boys) and she smiled and laughed more than she cried. Marley (as in Bob, not the dog) seemed like such a happy, laid back choice for a name. Marley at 2.5 years old still has tons of auburn hair, but now her sole mission in life seems to be world domination, at least of our world and her nickname "Mars"(as in the Roman God of War) is so much more fitting to her strong personality. Yep, "Mars" completely fits the bill, and let me tell you there are days with this girl I wish I could escape to Mars, just for some peace and quiet from her tantrums (never mind the fact that life isn't supported there - I am just imagining quiet!). I have warned Marc, "If you come home and I am gone, you know I couldn't take it anymore". Humor is what gets us through a lot of days with this crew.

In the seven years since Max was born, I have seen some whopper tantrums, especially when he was younger and experiencing a lot of sensory processing difficulties (very common in kids with autism; so thankful he has very few tantrums these days and the sensory processing is a lot easier to figure out). I have carried that child out of many a place kicking and screaming "I want my mom!" I am your mom! I was often worried someone would think I was kidnapping him, but people probably thought "why would anyone other than his mother try so hard to take a kid that is pulling her hair out and clawing at her face?!", and that was before I tried to put him in the car - sometimes that took up to half an hour, ending with me battered and sweaty and Max screaming all the way home from wherever I was leaving. Unfortunately, the same was true of getting in the car at home, and he would scream from home to wherever I was crazy enough to attempt going to. Max's tantrums make typical two year old tantrums look like a party, but what doesn't kill us, right?

Marley's tantrums are thankfully not sensory induced, but they are still frustrating and challenging, although at times definitely humorous. I am calling the big ones - the meltdowns when she looks like she is attempting to break dance and do "the worm" across the kitchen floor (she does a mean version) - her "Grand Mal Tantrums" (told you I'm not always PC, but it's my own kid I'm making fun of, so....). She has seen more time-outs in the last couple of months than her oldest sister saw during her entire childhood, and if what someone told me about toddler behavior being a predictor for adolescence is true, then we are in for a wild ride with this one. She looked right at Marc one recent morning and said "You shut up right now Daddy!" - at 2.5!! I think her butt landed in the time out chair at mach speed that day. She also has the ability to scream at a pitch that I am convinced could be harnessed into a weapon of mass destruction should the sound fall into the wrong hands. Very challenging, indeed.

Maybe it's Karma - I was also a tough kid (although maybe not quite this tough!) and my Dad finds endless pleasure in the tales of our adventures with Mars, which we often refer to as "little Missy". One of my mantras is "she will be a strong woman someday", knowing that my strong personality has served me well, and has carried me through a lot of challenges, especially when it comes to parenting kids who are "more" everything. So, you go ahead Marley Grace - make your presence known in our world - Your mom is one tough cookie, and I can take it. These shoulders have carried far more weight than your 80's dance moves bring, but the world at large better look out - I have no doubt your already big voice will be huge someday, and if I do my job right, you will learn to harness all of that power and make a positive difference, loud and clear. I love you Mars - my little warrior.

Evolution and Elusive Binkies

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 11:22:00 +0000

"Ma-MAAA". He was awake again. Our one year old, Sam, loves his binky (for those of you not in the know a binky is a pacifier, but if you are reading my rambles you probably have kids, so you most likely know what a binky is). Anyway, during the last two months, since I've stopped nursing, Marc has been AWESOME about getting up with the kids, morning and night, trying to help me catch up on some zzzz's - the first 10 months with Sam were not filled with sleep for me. During that time, even more than his beloved binkies, Sam loved to nurse (big surprise, another boob man) ALL THE TIME, with no regard to the fact that this mama bear does not do well with less than 8 hours of sleep. When my mother heard of his sleeping habits (how could this child be genetically mine!?), my mom's instant reply was, "Oh honey, you so aren't a person that can function on less than 8 hours!" She knows me well, and at that point I was getting by on a meager 4-5 hours of uninterrupted slumber, fantasizing about running away to the closest place with a bed, sans baby and the responsibilities of being a mommy to five. Thankfully, at some point Sam realized the binky was a good second to the boob.

"Ma-mahhh". I was still up and Marc had already gone to bed, so I trudged in there to begin the search for the elusive binky. I gently moved my hands around inside the crib, hoping it had just fallen out of his mouth. Nope. Down on my hands and knees to begin the blind, in the dark carpet sweep. Even though he loves the binks, Sam has a bad habit of chucking them all over the room and under his crib. I shoved my hand and head under the crib (didn't we have about a dozen of these in here?! Where did they all go!?) and all I came up with was a lone sock and carpet fuzz stuck to my lips.

As I started the full body search of the floor, trying to find the darn thing before he woke into full blown Ma- MAHHHH Mecca Lecca Hi, Mecca Hiney Ho mode (maybe I'll get in trouble for my reference, but really what mom couldn't beat up Pee Wee Herman and Jambi? (I could just drop kick Jambi - Look Jambi, you can fly, too! - I know, totally warped), my thoughts turned to evolution (Yes, really - this is exactly how my tired, mommy brain operates, but if you live in the 'hood you'll keep up), and why, for instance, don't moms have night vision? Just "Blink!", night vision on, oh there is that pesky little binky" I mean, our bodies can do all this cool stuff - creating other people, and then producing enough milk to feed a small country in my case (I'm not a big girl up top, but grew to a DD this time around, and probably will write at some point about my amazing ability to reproduce and lactate; now that we are done nursing those DD's have skipped town though, so I guess I can strike "stripper" off my list of ways to earn some extra cash ). Or, another thought, why can't we just generate a couple extra arms when we are trying to juggle more than one child? - but maybe that is becoming a little clone creepy. Perfect for the older boys - they love creepy. I can hear them now, "Cool mom! Do the arm thing again!" Not the baby though, my little "shy guy" is quiet and sweet, except when he loses the binky in the night.

Sammy, I'd like to share a little about evolution with you here, buddy - we have developed these wonderful things called THUMBS! They are right there on your beautiful little hands, and they are soooooo much better than a binky because you can't lose them in the night. We love you so much and we would do anything for you, but Daddy and I want to sleep, so why don't you give it a try? All your siblings did it, but no pressure. I have to warn you, Mommy is tough love with things like pacifiers - one day I will say "all done", but for now sweet dreams, buddy. Oh, and here is your binky, right where you left it in the one spot I missed during the crib sweep.

Taking the Plunge

noreply@blogger.com (With Love, From The Mother 'Hood) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 19:31:00 +0000

So, here I go "taking the plunge": Putting my words, life, dirty laundry and all, out there for all the world to see. Will I regret it? Maybe, but probably not. At this point in my life I try to not have regrets - We can't change the past; what's done is done, and really, either you get me and like me or you don't. Instead of regretting what isn't, I think aspiring to what may be is a better way to go about things. No point in beating yourself up about life - vent and move on. It isn't always easy to do this, but I'm working on it. (Let me say here that my therapist is worth every penny I pay her for helping me to attempt to get my shtuff together!)

A Little About Me:
I was going to say I am a blogger virgin, but I don't think "virgin" works as a descriptor for a mom of five kids in any capacity. I'm a perfectionist, but far from perfect. I tend to be sarcastic, and you may or may not get my sense of humor ( you definitely need one to live in this 'hood) and sometimes I may not be completely PC, but I mean no offense. I speak my mind, and when it comes to my kids those closest to me would probably tell you I have a "mama bear"ness about me. I have 5 kiddos ages 15, 8, 7.5, 2.5 and 1, so all in one day I know everything and yet, I know nothing. Each child is beautiful and unique, a little piece of my heart that I gave birth to, and love so much that it hurts sometimes. Then, there are days I wish I could gather them up and shove them back in my uterus, like one of those nesting dolls, in you go! for some peace and quiet, but that is what bedtime is for. I am truly thankful for a glass or two of good wine at the end of most days. My husband Marc jokes (to me folks, not the kids), "Mommy drinks because you cry".

The two older kiddos have what I would call "mild" AD/HD (no meds) and our third has autism (PDD-NOS or PDD depending on the day and who examines him, also no meds;), and we are watching the youngest two closely for any issues. We are very fortunate that our son with autism is "high functioning", and extremely verbal; a lot of people say "I would never know". You will see me write a lot about our journey, and see that if you lived it you would know all too well. We are so lucky that he has made the progress he has, and I am grateful that I have been able to appreciate the good things autism has brought into my life (yes, I said "good" - more on that later), but autism, and the struggles our life presented in the past tested our marriage on more than one occasion to a near breaking point. Thankfully, Marc and I both fight for what we believe in, and we believe in us and our family. I hope this doesn't come across as "woe is me" or hackneyed - it's my life and it is what it is. We try to make the best of it and have fun along the way, often poking fun and laughing at ourselves (better watch out for mama bear if you try to poke fun, though). I guess the first thing I will share (this is a big leap for me!), is a poem I wrote about my son with autism. I hope you enjoy!

Maxwell's Dance

Tip toe, to and fro-
Your hands flutter through the air,
jubilant butterflies
tethered at your wrists-
Hickory, dickory
try as they might
true flight denied.

Mind's eye tapestry woven,
gossamer wings whispering,
song.
Light trip fantastic,
creating
swirls of dust above your golden head,
a sunlight crown
streaming through the window,
sparkling shards winking,
a teasing spotlight on your world,
little king.

Perpetual puzzle,
born of my body,
longing for more than a glimpse
I imagine the creations of your mind,
rare, fine lace;
A spider's web adorned with morning dew,
unexpected jewels hang in offering,
as you dance your beauty
through my world.