That Time I Threw My Busted Styrofoam Cup Out The Window In Impotent Rage: Mother's Day Edition

This was yesterday.

I almost tweeted my summation of the sad state of affairs, like I needed to put my ownself in time out, but I thought better of it to preserve my dignity. Which is why I'm blogging about it today.

The day started off so well:  we made Sarah's preschool drop off on-time-ish, made a Mother's Day card run and Dollar Store drop-in without incident, and then had school time with J.  He actually started the first of the Early Reader Phonics books in our curriculum and read each word on his own... like score.  I am winning at this whole thing.

We pick up Sarah, and since I really want to get those cards off and I want Sarah to add her developing penmanship to the card, we stop over at Chick-Fil-A to grab a bite and let her sign those cards.

Fail proof, right?

I get our meals ordered, divvy them around and anticipate feeding myself after all the ketchup has been squeezed, chicken cut, and fruit preferences honored.  Then: "Mom, I've got to go potty!!!" from Sarah.  The urgent kind of potty.  "Of course you do,"  I remark a wee bit sarcastically, as we've already had a bathroom session leaving preschool that involved the changing of garments.

I bark to get her shoes, carry her to the bathroom, and hope J and Rachel remain seated at the table.  Of course, she "can't go," so I slap her shoes on, and as we are exiting, J is at the restroom entrance.  If I had been in good humor, I would have rightly concluded that he too needed to go.  I'm not sure if I asked him or not, but hauled both of them back to the table to make sure Rachel was still in her non-highchair seat.  She was.  Perfectly contented with a big chicken tender and hadn't even thrown anything.

A table of college-aged sorority sisters sits behind us and I remark, "Really makes you want to have kids, right?" with about as much sincerity as you can imagine after the proceedings.

"Actually, we were watching your baby.  She's precious."

"Oh, yeah.  All of them are.  Especially when we're not running to the bathroom," I graciously reply.  (Sarcasm font).

I resume enjoying the wonder of those red bell pepper/tomato crunchies on the salad when I look over at J and I get it.  He really had to go.  He has to go now.  He is going.

I jerk him up and drag him in the the ladies room and use that crazy, hushed voice that scares even me and I'm sure anyone in the next stall.

I call the outing a loss and tell him to wait by the front door as I pack up the food and explain that no playground time will be had as I'm regaled with ice cream dream laments from Sarah.

We're out the door and I relent, agreeing to get ice cream through the drive through.  And then I grab my water cup and the straw has poked its way through the bottom.

At which point I LOSE IT.

My window is open after having just placed my order in the drive through line and I chuck that empty cup out the window, saying some things and generally looking like an unhinged maniac who should not be driving a motor vehicle containing children.

You'll be happy to know that the ice cream cone later falls out of the cup holder up front and I handle that with equal grace.

Then I give the kids an early bath, mostly so they can splash in the tub and I can watch my show in the next room as I check in on them and pretty much check out from the day.

As they are exiting the tub, J's system finally processes the last of the major system flush we started this Sunday and continued all week and well, leaves an EPIC mess in his room.  EPIC.   That's all I can say and remain in any sort of taste.  But he thoughtfully took himself to the restroom to clean himself up so that counts for something, yes?

We limp through a hasty meatball and spaghetti meal as Alex steam cleans J's room and mercifully get them in their beds.

And we awaken to do it all over again.

Hopefully with less blow-outs.  By all parties.

And I share this pitiful anecdote to remind myself that sometimes it's great and sometimes it's hard and sometimes it's boring and sometimes you just keep showing up.

Let's keep showing up, Moms and Dads.  They'll be adults one day and we won't know any of the details of their bathroom habits.  God willing.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

April Is The Cruellest Month

I didn't write any autism posts in the month of April.  At least on this blog.  In my head?  Many.  Working titles include "You're a Grand Old Flag" for my son's great enthusiasm of our nation's symbol, very much tongue-in-cheek;  "State of the Union: Our Second Year With Autism" and "Autism Junction, What's Your Function?" on functioning labels, such as high or low functioning autism and my ambivalent feelings about them.

I may go back and write those posts because belieeeeve me, I've got lots of words to work through.

What I want to share about our particular experience down this road is summed up beautifully by Jim Walter of  Just A Lil Blog in his post Love for NT Parents  (parents of neurotypical children):

"I'll probably realize I'm wrong at some point, but I feel like I've reached a really good place with Lily.  I feel like I accept her completely.  But before I got where I am with Lily today I wondered how to accept autism.  Before I wondered how to accept autism I wondered how best to spread awareness.  Before I wondered how to spread awareness I wondered what had caused it.  Before I wondered what caused it I wondered whether I shouldn't have vaccinated.  Before I wondered about vaccines I wondered about cures.  Before I wondered about cures I didn't have an autistic child.  Each new thing I 'learned' either built upon the last, or completely razed it to the ground and rebuilt it from scratch.  I was totally adrift and I needed to understand.  Needed to because my daughter was autistic.  No other reason."


This the paradigm through which I am working.  This year has been spent wading through the incessant causation theories (though a new one will slap me upside the face from time to time) and taking another view of autism by listening to autistic voices.

The very word autistic really tripped me up.  It felt like an insult.  A lesser-than, thinly veiled synonym for the "R" word.  I would hear it and assume the speaker had narrowed my child's existence to his scores on the DSM IV: Difficulty with social interaction. With communication.  Repetitive behaviors and obsessions.

But I read something that shed some light on what was really bothering me.  The word autistic simply reflected back my own fears about my child: that he would been seen as something other. And on some selfish level, that would reflect poorly on me.

I wish I could find the exact quote that started this shift for me, but an autistic adult, as the writer self-identified, used the example of a child's superhero toy.  The toy comes WITH special additional features! Removable cape!  Anti-gravity belt!  The writer pointed out that the person-first terminology  "individual with autism" makes it sound as if the autism is separate from the individual, something to be picked up and put down again as needed.  And if you've read my earlier thoughts, you know I agreed with that wholeheartedly.

But the thing is autism isn't an accessory.  It cannot be taken off.  It's a way of seeing the world.  A way of being.  A very human way of being and thinking.  A different way, granted.  A challenging way of being to understand as an outsider.  But not other.  Not less than.

And I began to be okay with it.

I can use the term to describe my son.  In brief interactions in public with new people, it can be helpful.  To the waitress who is trying to win J over with charm and questions, who turns out to be a parapro in an autism classroom when I share his autism superpower.  Life can be cool like that sometimes.

I always use "on the spectrum" or ASD or "with autism" with discussing the topic with other parents like us, but I've made my peace with autistic.  Baby steps.

I've suffered some autism burnout, perfectly explained in Bec Oakley's stellar resource, Snagglebox.  Most nights I've come to bed with a new theory or treatment to fret over as Alex listens, sometimes chuckling that "Babe, you worry too much." Still other times holding me, like he did on my birthday after our date night.  The dinner that I have to excuse myself to the bathroom to pull it together. Back at home on the couch as I just sob from trying to play god while simultaneously worshipping at the altar of AUTISM, a mysterious entity that consumes my thoughts and emotions.

Autism is a terrible god.  Anything other than God is a terrible god.  I very clearly got the message that the place of highest affection in my life was solving autism for J.

So this year, after the big April autism awareness and acceptance push has ended and other worthy causes take its place, I still work toward the goal of  fully accepting my kid, just as he is.

Spoiler alert: He's a great kid and we've done big things together.  In more ways than one, we've made it to May.

"APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain." T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Frail

Today we celebrate Resurrection Sunday, Easter, the most important date on the Christian calendar, what Jesus followers believe is the most important event in human history.

I've read at bit this week in the blogosphere about various observances of this holy day, opinions ranging from "Don't force me to evoke an emotional reaction on Easter... I can worship Jesus every day" to "Chocolate bunnies and new dresses are a mockery of the profound suffering Jesus endured for the sin of the world".  And I can relate to both ways of thinking.

What touches me today about the death, Crucifixion and resurrection of Christ is his frailty.  As we sung a victorious anthem in church today, the slides were superimposed with scenes depicting the Passion.  Those images always provoke a gut reaction, a desire to look away, in me.  The stark suffering, the weakness in the actor's face as he portrays Jesus being heaved skyward.

Frail.  Our God made himself frail.  He came to us in a form we would recognize.

And all the secret shame we carry--addictions, hangups, pain, disappointments, fears, all of our darkness, the things we hide--he bore publicly. The things we cover up with our smiling faces and pretty garments, Christ held up for the world to look on... physically, emotionally, and spiritually naked. Alone.

And today my family still wore our fluffy dresses and bows and took pictures and ate yummy food and enjoyed the privilege of living in a nation of political freedom.  And if that was all  Easter was to me as a Jesus follower, it would be a mockery of the suffering Savior who gave his life as a ransom for many.

I'd like to think that wearing my Easter best and having fun with eggs and candy in a small way honors the newness of life that Jesus purchased for sinful humanity by dying a criminal's death. We can be intentional in teaching our children what's just for fun and what's life and death to us. The pretty symbols are not the main attraction.  Of course not.

My human flesh, and my spirit, is frail.  But now, because I belong to Jesus, I am clothed on the inside, made clean by his blood.  And you can't see that in my Easter pictures (in which I can't get us all looking at the camera to save-my-life), but it's there.

Life, on the inside. Proof that He lives.

Books and Covers and Gymnastics

The two big kids started a beginner's gymnastics class a few weeks ago and they are loving it.  Tonight in the waiting room, I noticed another mom outside the windowed door to the preschool gym.  I quickly inventoried her supple boots, slim jeans, cute bangle bracelet, flawless makeup (me: worn Levis, flats, muffin top but cute haircut and necklace so bonus) and subconsciously filed her under MOM > SUCCESSFUL, PUT TOGETHER and left it at that.  Pretty much not me, very much in the working file of MOM > HOMEMAKER >FRAZZLED, SOMEWHAT FRUMPY BUT TRIES OCCASIONALLY.

I moved to the bench next to her a few minutes before class ended to peek on my kids as they did a circuit.  I noticed J only wanted to do the "high" beam station, and kept shortcutting to return to this line.  I had to laugh and said something like, "That's your brother," to Rachel.

The pretty mom I was sitting by noticed Rachel, asked her age and remarked on her cuteness as you do with toddlers. Hearing my remark, she asked if that was my son.  "Yes, the one in dark grey... He's autistic... sometimes he has trouble following the instructions," I answer.

"That's my daughter," she points out.   I noticed her little girl on the low beam in a black leotard and sparkly peach gauzy skirt.  Petite and adorable.

Her mom tells me this little girl is missing half her brain, and thus has speech and learning delays, as well as hearing loss.

This woman is like me on the inside.

In the next few minutes, we share bits of our stories.  Her, how her daughter now has 20 words.  How she loves the little boys in her class.  How she's struggling to keep up in her special needs class, and is moving to another school.

Me, and homeschooling and therapies and learning to toughen up.  Sharing about a new language app that she might be interested in.

Both of us with that thing in our voice.  The love and the unknown and the vulnerability.

"But she's great," she assures me, after initially sharing the diagnosis.  "That's right.  That's right," I respond, recognizing my own tag line.

Our children have hidden disabilities.   Hers wears sparkles.  Mine wears button downs and sweater vests on Sundays.  We are careful to put their best foot forward.

We see their insides, which the world cannot.

And I'm reminded:

Snap judgements are alwaysALWAYSalways wrong.

We are more alike on the inside than we know.

The Most Awesome Awesomeness the World Has To Offer

Hiya, Blogosphere! What's shakin'? Remember when I got all ambitious and started blogging recaps about my fave PBS shows (inquiring minds NEED to to know moi's thoughts on Downton, m'kay) and then totally stopped? Yeah. Sorry about that. I realize not reading my deep insights into Sherlock's latest derring do may have left a few of you bereft. (I kid.) Season 3 was just crazy by the way... um, no more psychological intrigue. Just case solving, please. And really no more face licking criminal masterminds. ew. But thanks for bringing back Moriarty. He's crazy smart/scary.

Okay, so, the awesome awesomeness.  I've got a backlog of AllTheDeepThoughtsandFeelings posts that require way too much thoughtful analysis to process coherently in written form at present, so I'm gonna jump back in with some newly rediscovered passions.  Brace yourself.  I'm a dynamo.

1.  BOOKS

A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet: Southern Stories of Faith, Family, and Fifteen Pounds of Bacon by Sophie Hudson

"You may have picked up on the fact that I tend to operate at extremes. I'm either fighting my way through vehement opposition or trying to convince everybody I know that I have singlehandedly discovered the most awesome awesomeness the world has to offer," Sophie Hudson declares in her pitch-perfect memoir.  A mama/teacher blogger, Sophie caught my attention a few years ago, though she's been around awhile... like she's tight with Pioneer Woman and Beth Moore.  So basically, a member of the Christian Woman's earthly trinity.  What I loved about this book is the way she has a ear for family conversations.  Though hers is steeped in the South, all families have their peccadilloes.  This recalled conversation could have taken place, verbatim, in my Mamaw's den with the his and hers Lazy Boy recliners with protective towels covering the headrests:
 "Mama and Chox took care of most of the talking during our thirty-minute car ride, focusing primarily on a little conversational segment I like to refer to as People We Know Who Have Died.  The best part of  any People We Know Who Have Died conversation  (PWKWHD for short) is the inevitable constructive criticism/evaluation of the funeral service centering on.... people's funeral fashion choices....If you show up in jeans, I guess the good news is that they actually won't talk about you at all. Because as far as they're concerned, your ancestors are to blame for that one."

This writer is my lane of funny.  She deftly balances humor in her slice-of-life observations with honest poignancy.   When she includes Scripture to highlight a recollection, it doesn't feel forced.  She's the just-a-shade-of-a-season-ahead-of -you friend who shoots straight.  Highly recommend.


When Calls the Heart series by Janette Oke and Where Courage Leads
by Janette Oke and Laurel Oke Logan

 I picked up this series after getting wrapped up in the TV series of the same name.  These stories are in the vein of Christy and Dr. Quinn.  I'm a premature Granny, I suppose, but I love 'em.  In fact, my new friend in Bible Study, who is probably in her late sixties to early seventies, is a fan. She's quite a spitfire, so maybe being a bit of a Granny's not the worst thing ever.  A little clean living, a dose of chaste romance, and a whole lot of sound theology is a good mix.  Sweet and fun.





This book, written 30 years later by the author and her grown daughter, is even better and the basis of the new Hallmark series.  The plot and dialogue are much more sophisticated and satisfying.  Another Lis must-read.











Austenland by Shannon Hale

I've already plugged the movie once in a short post, but I'll say if you like Austen, read this.  It's just fun.









The Honest Toddler: A Child's Guide to Parenting 
by Bunmi Laditan

HT (Honest Toddler) and his mama are straight up legit.  If I could build my own peer group of role models (Beth Moore), mentors (Sophie Hudson, PDub) and mama friends, Bumni Laditan would be in my playdate group. I love her "voice".

HT on "tantrums" or "loud responses" in HT approved language:

"Homework: Go to the grocery store with your child at five thirty P.M. When the loud response starts, scream, "EVERYONE SHUT UP, I NEED TO HELP MY CHILD." Then open four large bags of chips and a juice box. Let your child feast."

Since I just got each of my kids their own jumbo Panera chocolate chip cookie so I could enjoy my own bagel in peace and not share, and since my middle child will have a LOUD RESPONSE if I split a cookie, clearly I'm winning at this whole thing.

I read aloud a post of HT's to my husband at least once a week.  Check it out.


2. THE LIBRARY
Did you know you can check books out for free?  Place holds online?  You can. There's this place called the library.  My county has terrific branches.  We've started stopping in about every week lately.  The librarians/media specialists are always in fancy hats leftover from storytime; they plan activities for all ages of the population; it's a thriving place.  I love a culture of learning.


3.  THE HALLMARK CHANNEL & MY CURRENT TV FAVES

When Calls the Heart series

I mentioned the book series above, so all I can say is: Mounties=swoon.  Dudes, I know you can't really ride in to literally save the day anymore.  But like Brad Paisley encourages, women want someone whose "still a guy."  I'm just sayin', there was a gentleman in my age range that I saw recently wearing THE SAME EXACT SHOES as me.  Granted, they were TOMS, and yes, obviously TOMS makes Men's and Women's shoes, but it was a wee bit of odd.  TOMS wearing men, not trying to question your manhood; just be sure to wear 'em with flannel.  No belt. Shirttail untucked.  Let's go for rugged or sophisticated, but please pick a lane.  I believe the wise Cher from Clueless said it best: "They thrown their greasy hair in a backwards hat and we're expected to swoon? As if."


4. THE BIG STORY

What's in the Bible DVD series

Oh, I loved it.  You will not waste a cent on this.  If you take any of my suggestions, please take this one.  It is on the money and then some.  A three-year-old and a seminary student alike could learn something from this.  It's deep theology, bible history, and entertainment.  The entire series walks through the major points of the Bible in 13 DVDS.  I will be collecting them.  I think this is a great tool to come alongside parents trying to seize opportunities to show that the Bible is living and active and God is very much living and active in our world. Love, love, love this!  Perfect for the upcoming Easter season.





5. HAPPY LITTLE MOMENTS

Back to the opening quote about going back and forth from "vehement opposition to... the most awesome awesomeness...."  That seems to sum up parenthood for me.   The vehement opposition would be all the energy-crushing repetitiveness and responsiblity that caring for little humans necessarily entails.  But the little moments of love: the most awesome awesomeness.  Today, we were finishing up one appointment with some time to kill before another.  In our little town, we could cross the grass to the drugstore to pick up some much needed kiddie toothpaste.  The dogwoods are in bloom; I'm holding my toddler's hand as the bigger two (okay, slightly bigger) walk in the store, and I think something like "I'm happy."  Of course, we enter sans buggy cart, one's beelined for the candy checkout, the other's jonesin' for a princess toothbrush and the toddler's thoughtfully rearranged the mouthwash section.  But.  I was happy.  The contentment of ordinary days.

Thanks for reading and holler if you take me up on any of these suggestions!