Sing it with me...An-tic-i-pation

Every child struggles with waiting.  Christmas, birthdays, special occasions, but most children struggle waiting for CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!!!

The early years in our house were simple. 

Santa brought everything and you had to wait for Santa. 

Kelsey figured things out in second grade.  When she finally asked 'the question'  I turned the tables on her and asked her who she thought brought all those presents every year.

"Grandpa and Grandmas."

Although their grandparents are wonderful people- I had to set her straight on that theory!  No way were they getting total credit for that doll house and billions of dollars in Barbie gear.

Michael was about the same age when it occurred to him that things weren't quite kosher.  We sat him down and explained that Santa was everywhere and more a spirit of giving and loving than a real person.

Kelsey and Mike really seemed to enjoy keeping Santa's spirit in our home for many years.  Although their brother was almost the same age, they played along and it was sweet to see them with big grins on their faces Christmas morning as they watched Andy sing Santa's praises.

Andy was about 13 when it became obvious that this man-child standing in Target's toy section was a bit to old to be telling me that Santa should bring him a new set of Sponge Bob figurines.  I couldn't alter his wish list, but it was getting a bit embarrassing for his siblings.  The tricky part was being certain that he didn't break every child's heart around him.  We practiced whispering about Santa at home, in public, and how we didn't use the phrase "Santa isn't real" anywhere!! 

Once Andy caught on, the holidays became trickier.  I couldn't just put presents under the tree. The first year I tried that- Mike wasn't shocked by a single present.  I went through a whole roll scotch tape well after I was done wrapping because Mike was covering his tracks. We knew what he was doing, and he learned a valuable lesson.  It wasn't as much fun to know what you were getting- before you even got it.

What could I do?! I first tried hiding them at my in-laws house.  Apparently the boys had scoped out our home and found no evidence.  One visit we found Andy searching his grandparents closets- looking for their unwrapped gifts!!  Luckily, we beat him to the hiding place!

One successful year I hid them in the neighbor's basement. Unfortunately- I fell in the driveway trying to bring back a laundry basket full of gifts and almost broke a lava lamp!!  It had to be a sight to watch John and I placing gifts under the tree after shaking each package and checking them for leaks and possible crunchy noises.

The past few years I have developed a method that I find ingenious- my kids think it is borderline cruel.  Over the past few holidays I have:

1) Wrapped all the gifts and wrote a different child's name on the tag.  Kelsey's presents were actually Mike's- Andy's gifts were really Kelsey's- etc.

That year I'm certain Mike was frustrated.  I know he sneaked a peak into one package a day before Christmas that had a hairdryer inside.  Mike had a buzz cut at the time.

2) Numbered all the packages- no names. Just 1,2,3, etc.  I hid the master list and only told a few girlfriends where it was (in case I got hit by a bus, or forgot myself!)

My intention was for each child to take a turn and watch their sibling open their gift.  This solution had its set backs.  For some reason, in the commotion I lost track.  Each child opened at least one gift that was meant for someone else.  It was funny to see Andy open a set of earrings and say "Here Kelsey, I think these are for you."

3) This year- I wrapped each child's gift in a specific gift wrap.  The wrap is gender generic. Each set of wrapped gifts simply has a number on it written with a Sharpe marker.  This is the actual order I want each gift opened to make the planned surprises much better. 

The gifts aren't under the tree this year.  Heck- we only put up 1/2 of the tree.  The 6 month old puppies would eat the ornaments, and Milo would probably try to water the tree if is wasn't tie-wrapped to a side table and protected by a baby fence.  All the gifts are in a pile on my desk in the bedroom.  They are all securely taped, and some are strategically wrapped to throw off any inquiring minds. 

Kids-with or without a label- have a hard time with anticipation (good and bad).  Over the early years, I witnessed massive melt downs because they need to get through 3 more days, picked up one boy from school after being in a fight because he couldn't handle the stress, was told he will die because everyone else already has the game, and said "No, no, NO!" until I am blue in the face.  It never goes smooth, but it doesn't last forever.  We stick to the game plan, ride the waves, and help them practice self control.  If they don't master these skills now- life will be rough. 

Sometimes I sing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Rolling Stones and other times I look them in the eyes and sing "Anticipation" by Carley Simon.  It is my coping mechanism because music soothes my soul.  Warning- it usually invokes death stares from a child. 

Our jobs as parents is to challenge them, reward them, encourage them, and most of all- love them.  Once we lost the 'Santa Claus effect' I struggled to help my boys deal with anticipation, waiting, and patience.  Christmas time generates 'anticipation stress' for them. I don't want to be cruel (although I giggle each year when I come up with a new idea) I just want them to be surprised, happy and think we are the Greatest Parents on Earth come Christmas morning- not some random day in November or December when they took a peak!

Merry Christmas everyone- may you be surprised this holiday and (if you are lucky enough to have children of you own) be declared the Greatest Parents on Earth!

Hope, Strength, Courage, Comfort, and Kleenex.

Something tragic happened in Connecticut. I know everyone has been mortified to witness this horrible event. I have cried for the families, the children, the public responders, and the staff.

This is where my heart went....

Dear teacher, therapists, administrators, paraprofessionals, psychologists, speech pathologist, librarians, nurses, secretaries, reading specialists, police liaisons, guidance counselors, social workers, or volunteer who has shared a single moment with one of my children....THANK YOU.

I don't doubt for a moment that you have done your best for my child.  I may not have agreed with you all the time, but you were patient with me and especially my children.  I know that if something terrifying like what happened on the East Coast were to happen here- you would gladly lay down your life to protect any child you could.

I have the greatest respect for your profession.  I have worked within your realm and marveled at your spirit, perseverance, humor and creativity.  I gave birth to my children...you made a conscious choice to work with them....THANK YOU.

Amy B.

We have been blessed to be in the same school district for over 17 years.  I worked in a few of the buildings for 6 of those years.  

The first few teachers gave me comfort as I struggled with behaviors, sign language, potty training, rude comments from strangers, and frustration that clouded my soul.  They all helped us set goals that were achievable, showed phenomenal patience as we tried to figure out what did and didn't work, and supported us at every turn.  A few teachers even provided loving protection for my daughter during a very dark time in our family.  Years passed and teachers would see positive things in my children that hadn't even occurred to us.  Many times we were feeling beat down, hopeless- but these professionals would force us to focus on the positive progress.  Not one of them have ever given up on us. 

I count many of my children's educators as my friends.  They have come to graduations, birthdays, and someday they will be at a wedding or two.  Some have a valid claim to spots in the front row at one wedding or another.  I have sat and cried with them in classrooms, kept them late after school for numerous meetings, attended one teacher's wedding, drank a beer or two with many of them, fought the crowds on Black Friday, and watched quite a few sporting events to cheer on a sports team (the last few were under the disguise of a neighboring district). 

What each and every one of them did was give us hope, strength, courage, comfort, and more times than I care to admit- Kleenex. 

I honestly don't know where we would be without their support and guidance. 

My heart breaks for the families of everyone involved in Connecticut.  Someday soon, those professionals, educators, and volunteers are going to have to welcome back a group of children and give them a colossal amount of hope, strength, courage, comfort and Kleenex.

Prayers for the world.

Kisses of Normalcy

This commercial is one of the few commercials that I am extremely grateful still shows every holiday season. Amongst all the chaos of raising the kids, there were some special moments too. Every year I am reminded of one through this commercial.

Andy wasn't one to watch much television beyond Barney and Sesame Street. He had to be 4 years old the first time this commercial caught his attention. As the bells began to ring across the screen, he squealed with delight and started to giggle. From that day on, no matter where he was in the apartment, he came plowing towards the television like a bull looking for the matador's red cape. He would knock down his sister, pull down table lamps, and once tipped over his chair during lunch. Nothing could stop him once he caught a note of those bells. He would center himself at the screen and watch the 15 second commercial with awe.

More than once I had to quickly hit mute after bedtime or he would coming running from his room.

We bought bells and left them near the television so he could 'play along' with the commercial. His joy was the same every time. With his big belly giggles and huge smile- he looked....normal. It was a treat to see him so enthralled and focused in his happiness.

But as suddenly as the song ended, the smile faded. He would return to whatever trouble he was pursuing beforehand. The moment was gone. I wish I had the technology back then- that is available to us now. Between DVRs and camera phones, I would be watching that moment over and over again. But perhaps it is better that I didn't have the ability to capture that moment. I think I would be stuck...

Every parent wonders "what if?" "How would he/she look if they didn't have________?" That commercial was the first glimpse of what Andy could have been. He had been diagnosed only a few months earlier. I was busy trying to make him blend into some definition of normal, desperate to crack open his shell and break down the walls of autism.

It is a very hard habit to break- the habit of wishing for something else. Wanting something better. Wondering if it will ever get better. Praying for a miracle.

Slowly I started to push past the wishing and hoping. I moved toward celebrating the small steps forward and forgetting the numerous steps backwards. Andy was Andy, Mike was Mike. Their future wasn't written in stone and thrown into the ocean.

Although I would love to see that little boy standing in front of my television set every time the Hershey Kisses start to play- I have come to terms with my "what ifs". I've moved on to "My god, look at them now!" I am content with my memory, I'm happy with what my boys have become.

But now when that stupid commercial comes on...BAM- I'm thrown back in time- wishing and wondering- for just a moment. It is easier to cope as the years move past me. I know I used to cry quietly the first few years this commercial played. It was painful those next few years because the commercial never captured Andy's attention again. Now, it just triggers my mind's eye. It is 1996 again and I almost reach for the mute button so bed time won't be disrupted.

I wrap myself in the goodness of what it is- a great moment featuring Andy.

Moral of the story- enjoy this time if you are graced with a special needs child. Try to hold on to the good memories, let go of the bad ones. Difficult moments will seem to outnumber the great ones- until one day you will find a way to cope as you look back. I perfer to see the humor. It may take decades to master- but the world is a much better place to be in when you focus on Hershey Kisses and belly laughs rather than diagnoses, backward steps and definitions of normal.

Beanie Baby Hell

When Andy was about 2 years old, Beanie Babies were just coming into the market.  His godmother bought him his first one.  Since then, we have accumulated close to 3 large laundry baskets heaped full of them! 

He has them everywhere.  On his dresser, in his headboard, and his current favorites are in basket at the bottom of his closet.  He knows exactly which ones he has in stock, and is constantly searching grocery store displays, department stores, and the internet for new additions to his collection.

Not one of them are valuable.  When he gets one he immediately cuts off the heart shaped tag and the smaller tag that is sewn into a side seam.  He never forgets their names, and tags just get in the way.

I've taught him to save links on his computer when he finds a new one he would like.  Just last month I looked through his list to buy him some birthday gifts.  He asked for Rex the dinosaur, Stinger the scorpion, and Spinner the spider.

I HATE SPIDERS!

I have an uncontrollable fear of any form of spiders.  Plastic, real, big, small- it does not matter.  If anything ever happens to my husband, I will need to fill the 'spider killer' opening before I plan the funeral.  If I see that the movie Arachnophobia is going to be showing- I write the time and channel down on a note and tape it to the remote.

Andy had Spinner the spider many years ago.  To most- it is this 5 inch soft, innocent little bean bag with 8 legs and gold and black stripes.  To me, it was something that jumped out of no where while I was cleaning his room and picking up dirty laundry.  I jumped every single time and fled like the chicken that I am. 

A friend gladly accepted the donation to her first grade classroom full of brave little 6 year olds a few years ago.  I was glad to be rid of him, and I never told Andy.  Oh sure, he looked and looked, but eventually he gave up the search.

So when he asked for the dinosaur, scorpion and spider for his birthday this year- I started looking online.  Do you know that when you type specific names of beanie babies, the first 12 hits are usually actual images of the beanie?  Well I jumped in my chair every time some one inch photo popped up on my screen (in 12 different angles and distances from the camera).

I couldn't do it.  I decided to tell Andy that is wasn't for sale anymore.  I LIED!

When he opened his gifts the other night, he was thrilled with his T-rex and scorpion.  He said "To bad they don't sell Spinner any more.  Oh well."  And off to his room he went.

20 minutes later he calls down from the top of the stairs-

"Hey Mom!  Guess What!  I found Webster the spider!"

"?!?!?!?!?"

I haven't seen that black beanie baby tarantula in years!  It must have been in the basement baskets. 

I need to go in that room someday soon.  I am terrified!!!





 

How did you do that?

My boys are early risers.  Most mornings are quiet, peaceful and calm.  Each boy has time alone to eat breakfast, brush their teeth, shave, etc.

This morning Andy was running a bit late- 5 minutes late. This alteration meant both boys were at the pill box at the same time.

Andy:  Michael, I need to get my pills!

Michael:  Just a minute Andy-jeez!

(I'm in the living room watching the news)

Me:  Guys...guys...guys!  NOBODY TALK TO ANYBODY!

Michael comes into the living room and plops into the couch. Unfortunately this keeps him in Andy's line of sight and within ear shot.

Andy:  Michael- that's better.  You need to keep out of my way!

Michael:  Andy, who the hell are you to tell me what to do?!

Me:  That is ENOUGH!  Michael, no swearing!

Andy: (in his best sarcastic tone)  Yeah Michael, no swearing!

Michael starts to growl, his body tenses up, his hands turn into fists.  At this point I'm forced to get off my fat arse and stand in front of Michael, demanding eye contact.

Me:  Just... Let... It... Go.

Michael:  He can't talk to me like that!

Me:  Michael, he's autistic. 

Michael:  SO AM I!!!

Me: Not like him, duh!

Michael stops for a moment to ponder that and finally I see his shoulders drop, a smirk crossed his face. 

Michael:  How did you just do that?

Me: Do what?

Michael:  Trick me into wishing I was more autistic?

Me:  What can I say- its a gift!

We both had a chuckle.  Andy however, wasn't quite finished...

Andy:  Miiiiiccchhhaaaeeell...if Kelsey were here, she would agree with me too!

Even Michael had to laugh Andy's attempt to get the last word.  I think my boys are growing up a little more than I tend to give them credit.  I think Kelsey would agree with me when I say "Happy Tuesday everyone!"

A Tale about a Tail

I'll admit that I don't do to much research concerning children with disabilities.  I prefer the 'seat-of-my-pants' method...which is usually followed by the 'weeeeeell-that-didn't-work' attitude.

Every child, with or without a disability, is different.  Reading takes time, I want to read for fun.  I left school 25 years ago and have no desire to go back.  I'm sure there are books out there that can help, but is there really a book to prepare a parent for the moment their child becomes aware of their body?  My son slapped me in the face with it all when he was in late grade school.  

Andy first showed signs by adjusting the crotch of his jeans anywhere and everywhere.  He could be in mid sentence, stop, pull down the center of his Levis, and finish his thought- never missing a beat.  So- to avoid having a discussion I clearly wasn't prepared for- I bought him larger underwear and looser jeans- like any mother in denial would do!

Well THAT didn't work!

I tried scolding him and telling him to put his hands in his pockets.

Well THAT didn't work either!

Finally- I was forced to talk with him and determine what exactly was causing his obvious discomfort and try to find a resolution.

Me:  Andy, what is going on with you.  Why do you keep 'fixing' your jeans.

Andy:  Well Mom, you see- I have a tail.

Me:  A tail?

Andy:  Yep, and sometimes my tail just gets busy and won't stay where it belongs!

Me: Alrighty then.

Off  I ran to Wally Mart intent on buying another set of underwear.  Perhaps the originals had gotten stretched and allowed his 'tail' to wander a bit?  Obviously, going up a size hadn't helped. 

When I consulted my husband about my current dilemma, I got nothing but a smirk and a list of options should I attempt to change the name of Andy's anatomy.

(Yeah- Like I want to call it a Johnson- seriously?!) 

I asked him if this was common among all boys that age- I got nothing.

(Because apparently John jumped from age 6 to age 27 overnight!)

So I went with what I had and what worked in the past.  Cues, reinforcing good choices, and an unzipped jacket in case I needed to throw myself in front of him during a 'tail modification' in public.
 
I eventually discovered his 'tell' was walking like he had just rode a horse bareback for 15 hours.  His teachers were wonderful about the whole thing- they took it in stride.  We shared ideas and tactics and dealt with the moments when they happened.

Then he decided to up the ante in High School- ugh!

Andy:  Guess what Mom.

Me:  What?

Andy:  Sometimes my tail tingles.

(It took me a minute to process what he said.  How was I going to spin this one?)

Me: (cautiously)  Like "Spidey Senses say" kind of tingle?

Andy:  Oh yeah, must be because of that.

One day I recieved a text from his speech pathologist (who was also my good friend).  My son's teachers long ago learned that if everyone is on the same page, Andy will respond faster.

Chris:  So what do you say when Andy keeps fixing himself?

Me: Oh- you mean his tail?

Chris:  Yes, wait- his tail?

Me:  Yep, that's what he calls it.  But I wouldn't worry about him fixing it in his pants.  I would be more concerned when he tells you it is "Tingling"!

Chris: ????

Thankfully, this phase seems to have passed and I understand that I should be extremely grateful. I know some parents have struggled with far more difficult situations in this arena.

I'll take this as a 'Gimme from God.'

Happy Thanksgiving?

This morning started out calm and peaceful.  The daughter is gone, the puppies are laying in the sun, each boy is in their respective room, and my husband is up North presumably hunting for Bambi's dad.

But a storm is brewing.  Not an up-in-the-sky kind of storm.  It is the annual "When are we leaving for Aunt Lois'- I don't like any of this food-how soon can we go home" storm.  The boys have matured, but each year offers a new challenge.

I've just completed prepping my contribution to the Thanksgiving feast- crock pot dressing.  I used 2 burners on the stove just before lunch time.  Andy and Michael have internal clocks that could teach Greenwich Mean Time a thing or two.  These boys are typical garbage disposals whose timers go off at exactly 11:15am every day.

But today- I had to make stuffing.  Michael comes down 2 minutes early to prepare his Hot Pocket....

Me:  Michael (I wait for eye contact) THIS burner is still hot.  Make your plate over there on the counter.

Michael:  What?

Me: I repeat, THIS burner is still hot.  Make your plate over there on the counter.

Michael:  Okay- but what are you making.

Me:  Stuffing.

Michael:  Yuck! I have never liked stuffing.

Me:  So you won't be one I worry about not getting a serving.  I was just hoping this is enough.

Andy comes down the steps at exactly 11:15.

Andy:  MOooooooOOOm!  Why did you make a mess in my kitchen?!

Note- not once in this boy's 20 years on Earth, has he ever called this his kitchen.

(Storm clouds are gathering on the horizon)

Me:  Andy, just make your nuggets.  This burner is hot (pointing out specific burner), so make your meal at the table.

Andy:  Well, we certainly are a bilge rat today!

(Thunder rumbles in the distance)

Andy microwaves his 4 nuggets (always four, never five, always arranged in the same square on his plate) he brings a bag of chips from the pantry.  I have my back to him and the stove as I wash dishes.

Andy:  Ah!  My bag has a hole in it, I'm losing valuable chips!!!

(Whoa baby, I see a tornado to the West!!)

I spin around to see the Andy trying to pick up chips from the edge of the stove I JUST told him was hot!!

He has set the bag onto the glass top burner and melted a silver dollar sized hole in the bag.  The burner is smoking like a chimney.  I throw a wet washrag on the burner, wiping up what I can before the rag starts on fire.

Me:  OH ANDY!  I just told you to make your meal on the table.  Let me clean this up.  You need to go sit down.

Andy:  Well you gorilla headed, magma sucking fool!  I need a drink!

Me:  Let me put the fire out first!

Andy:  Fire?  There's no fire!  Don't you DARE throw those chips out.  Your nothing but a pig headed, bat faced fool!

Michael thankfully doesn't scold Andy for the language...I've decided to let it ride.

(Winds have died down, by the sky is still grey)

I dump the salvageable chips into a bag.  I get Andy some juice and hope the storm is only going to skim the area.

Michael:  So are we taking 2 cars to Aunt Lois'?

Me:  We only have one car this weekend.  Dad has the other one up North.

Andy:  So when are we leaving?

Me:  Around 2 o'clock.  We are eating at 4.

Michael and Andy:  How long do we have to stay?

(Here comes the rain!)

This is the conversation I have been dreading for days.  I usually stay later and clean up after family gatherings while John and the boys head home early.  I enjoy this stolen time with my Aunts, cousins and Mom.

Me:  I'm not sure.  We'll have to wait and see.

(Cue lightning strikes!)

Andy:  Well I'M NOT STAYING ANY LONGER THAN I WANT TO.  If YOU think I'm going to wait around while you clean up after those fools- you got another thing coming sister!!

Me:  I'll bring your video player, chicken nuggets and the iPad to keep you happy.  Aunt Lois probably made you some cookies, and all your cousins will be there.

Andy: Cookies!  Cousins? I like cookies!

(The clouds seem to part, the sun peaks out)

Michael: It's okay Mom.  I'll help out.

Me:  Michael, I do declare- are you sucking up to me?

Michael:  Well I did hear you mention that you are going out Black Friday shopping.  Hate to ruin things now. (Big grin on his face)

Me:  Thanks buddy.  I'll take it where I can get it.

Andy:  I can suck up too...What is it?

(Do you see the rainbow?  Ahhh so pretty!)

Both boys have since returned to their rooms.  I have about an hour of scrubbing to do on the stove- but it can wait.   I'm not certain the storm is over, but I have hope.  This is the first year I haven't taken a shower while angry in a long time.  I might just have to beg off helping the family clean up this year.

Happy Thanksgiving to all the bilge rat, gorilla headed, 

magma sucking, pig headed, bat faced parents out there!

May your stormy days end with rainbows too.

Bandaid Therapy

My 3 children share a bathroom.  For a while we monitored Andy very closely.  That boy could drain a 50 gallon water heater and still be filthy afterwards.  More times than not, my husband has gotten ready for work in a lukewarm shower.

After a lot of assistance and practice, we had him trained to announce he was going to shower (in case anyone else needed hot water and to start my mental timer). He usually managed to clean himself fairly well.  He loves to sing in the shower- cartoon show music, songs he learned at school, songs he makes up himself.  One of the funniest moments I have is listening to Andy belt out an Opera style made-up theme song to Dexter's Laboratory.  

I became lax over time and should have noticed the one Saturday morning when Andy was quiet in the shower.  As I came up the stairs with the clean laundry it dawned on me-

I threw open the bathroom door and quickly yelled "Andy! What the hell are you doing in there?!"

My Andy has a manly, deep voice- but when he is startled he screams like a girl...it is a big game in our house to scare Andy and get him to say "Moooooommmmm (or whoever else might have found an opportunity) you MADE me scream LIKE A GIRL!!!"

But I digress- the last thing I said was "Andy! What the heck are you doing in there?!"
(This is a g-rated blog)

"I'm not doing anything Mom.  I would never use Kelsey's razor."

I threw open the shower curtain to find Andy standing naked, the purple razor laying on the floor of the tub, and blood seeping from bazillion cuts around his sideburns, across his top lip, and chin.

After slapping a hand towel across his face, I shut the water off, and wrapped his body in a big towel.

"Where on Earth did you get this idea?"

"Bugs Bunny shaved Elmer Fudd, but we don't have the same kind of razor, so I used Kelsey's"

At this point I'm questioning the purchase made months earlier of the 7 disc Warner Bros. cartoon series.  Was he going to start dropping anvils out of his bedroom window?  Was he going start digging a hole in the backyard and try not to take a wrong turn in Alburquerque?! Did not see this one coming at me!

Back to the bathroom....

"Andy, you could really hurt yourself.  KELSEY, YOU CAN'T KEEP YOUR RAZOR IN THE SHOWER ANYMORE!"

(Note: I'm not blaming Kelsey at this point, I simply have to disburse important instructions as soon as they occur to me.  If I don't do it right then and there- it will not be remembered later. That also denies me the ability to say "I told you so" for the next 6 months)

I turn Andy to the fogged up bathroom mirror and tell him to look at his face.  He is completely confused since he can't see a single thing.  I do a mental face palm as it dawns on me what I have just said and I begin to wipe the mirror off with my hand.

"Mom, you said we can't do that.  You're making a mess!"

(I want credit for not telling him to shut up at this point!)

The bleeding had slowed to the point that I could get a good look at him.  Only paper cuts, no severe damage done.  He still had eyebrows, but one ear appeared a bit lower since he had managed to take 1/4 of his left sideburns off.  I could have left him air dry and scab up naturally- but I needed to make an impression.

I could pull out the old Bactine (I don't care what the advertisements use to say- that stuff hurt!) But all I had was the spray- I would have some explaining to do if I blinded him.  I'm sure there is some small print on the bottle about "avoiding the eyes or face."

Band Aids!!  I have a lot of brown ugly Band Aids!  This boy hates Band Aids! I can never get him to keep them on a wound.  I usually have to wrap a limp in duct tape in an effort to start the healing process.

So I started to unwrap an assortment of strips. 15 big, small, and circular- I took some of each.  By the time every single wound was covered. He looked like a ventriloquist dummy because I had a strip down the corner of each side of his mouth.  Hey- I left his eyes and nostrils open.  Andy could see, he could breath, and he was yelling!

"MOOOOOOMMMM  TAKE THESE STUPID THINGS OFF MY FACE!"

Well- in all honesty- he couldn't actually yell. He spoke more like the TinMan in the Wizard of Oz before Dorothy oiled his mouth. His lips never moved, but he had impressive volume!

"Not until you have worn them for 10 minutes. You need to stop bleeding!"

Long story short, we went to the kitchen to set the timer. I know I had to restart it a few times while I replaced the band aides he tried to pull off. We had a calm discussion about using razors, scissors, knives, or any sharp implements in his future. He seemed to have learned his lesson, because the first time John shaved him with his new electric shaver, we had to do some convincing that he would be safe and that no Band Aids would be needed.

For the record- I still have Bactine, but there are now Sponge Bob band aides in the bathroom drawer.

How do you say "I love you"?

After I'm gone, I hope my children only fight over 6 words said softly in their ear as they grew up in our home...

"You know you're my favorite...right?"

Lord knows there won't be a big inheritance!  No, I'm not planning to die soon.  I was just thinking today about what a parent like myself wants to leave as a legacy for their children.  I desperately want my children to know that they were loved.

I tried to take time with each child as often as I could- certainly not often enough. I would quietly say that small sentence into their ear.  Kelsey and Michael understood and kept the secret.  Each one would curl into my arms with a soft smile of contentment glowing on their face.  At that moment I knew they believed me with all the love I was trying to convey it with.  

Andy to this day, usually says in a loud voice "Your favorite?!" as his brown eyes light up with the warm word surrounding him. (Gotta love that boy).  He will probably never outgrow that simple phrase- and I'm good with that.  I think of him as my 'forever child'.  Always a bit innocent, forever smiled upon by God.

Sometimes those words were used after a fight, and sometimes it was after a moment they made me proud. But when they were little, it was just before I tucked them into bed.  I used those words not in an attempt to play one against the other, but to give them one small moment when they knew each was the center of my universe.  

Don't we all want to be the central focus of the ones we love?  Every child wants to feel special.  The more chaos in the house, the less love and attention they tend to absorb- no matter how much you try.  So I stuck with what always made them smile...

"You know you're my favorite...right?"

All three of my children are my favorite 'something'.  I have more reasons than I can type here- favorite daughter, favorite singer, favorite son, favorite sports fanatic, favorite skinny boy, favorite soccer player, etc.  Everyone has special qualities that make them especially dear to someone else.  

My kids kept me running day and night for many years.  I was always busy, usually overwhelmed, and very tired when they were young.  As they got older, the opportunities to whisper in their ear decreased.  I moved from "Are you ready for bed?" to "Please wake me up when you come in tonight- and it better be before curfew- and don't call 5 minutes before curfew and ask if you can stay out longer!"    

If I could do it all over again- I would go back to the age when each of my children  accepted those words unconditionally. There came a time with Kelsey and Michael when it occurred to them that I might not be only calling them 'my favorite'.  

Cornering a mother with her own words is a dangerous game to play, but I was ready.  I switched tactics...

"I love you more."

It's the kind of statement that doesn't have to be initiated with "I love you." It has an infinite feel on the tongue.  You can't really enhance it with flowery adjectives.  It stands alone and it is powerful.

Now, when I drop Kelsey off at college, we hug, I give her a kiss on the cheek, and we say good bye.  Almost without fail, I will drive 1 block down the road and my cell phone will chirp.

"Love you Mom."

My answer was typed before I've even started the car, ready to hit send.

"I Love you more."

As Michael became older, and his struggles more complex, I bought a plaque.  It was perfect and I hung in the back hallway for all to see.

When Mike first saw it he asked "Is that for me?"  I said, "Absolutely!  Now don't forget it."  Sometimes after a difficult moment, I look at that plaque and remind myself how true those words are.  When I have a special moment with Michael- my whisper in his ear is now... 

"Forever and always- no matter what."

The original use of 'favorite' has undergone a transformation at my house.  I now tend to use it when I get an unexpected act of kindness- "Oh thank you so much, now you're my favorite!" I may say to one of the kid's friends, just to tease them all- "Alex, just so you know- you are my favorite!"  After all these years, one of my kids will surely exclaim in mock horror, "But I thought I was your favorite!!"  

Not a bad legacy to leave the Earth with...even in my small world.  

How does that taste?

Tracy and Dawn- this one is for you!

I am told that many children go through phases where they experiment with cuss words.  Some children have the sense to use bad language out of ear shot of an adult, some let a word slip while maybe playing a video game, others slap their parents in the face when they mimic what they just heard.  Kelsey was just 2 years old when she first muttered "Jesus Christ" after hearing my father-in-law.  We all became much more vigilant after that.

When Michael was in 7th grade it became evident that we needed to do an intervention.  Asperger Syndrome made it difficult for him to manage his temper.  He had an extremely short fuse and when he exploded- watch out!  As one of his favorite teachers put it- "He will climb the mountain and jump off the peak."  When Michael jumped-he swore aaaaaaall the way back down to the ground.

For reasons I can't clearly recall- John and I got into a heated discussion with Michael one Sunday afternoon.  We were packing up to go to John's parents house for dinner.

Michael: THIS PLUCKING SUCKS!! (only he didn't really say 'plucking')

I know I saw red.  My head spun on as if on a swivel and I snapped.

Me: WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY??? (I'm sure my voice went up 2 octaves and 80 decibels)

Michael:  Well- YOU SWEAR ALL THE TIME TOO!

Me:  I've been known to toss around a word or two, but not that often, and not THAT WORD!  Besides, I'm an adult! (yeah, I pulled that card)

Michael: I don't understand what the big deal is?  

John:  Mike, words like that don't make you sound smarter, they don't make you look better, they just make you sound...stupid.

Michael:  Oh, so now you're saying I'm stupid!  THANKS DAD!!

We quickly realized that we were running down the same rabbit hole.  Michael was going to use every word, every action, any further discussion as a catalyst to flame his anger.  I was mad, John was mad, and Michael was beyond mad. Suddenly- it came to me.

Me: Michael, if you think it is okay to cuss like that- then for the rest of the day, you will finish your sentences with the word- 'plucking'.  

Michael: NO!

Me:  OH YES YOU WILL!  If you don't, I will take your video games and anything else you hold dear.  I will make you watch me drop them off at Goodwill, and I will make sure to get a receipt so I get credit for the generous donation on my taxes!

Michael:  I just don't see what the big deal is!!?

Me:  How should you end that sentence? (with eyebrows raised)  Try again!

Michael:  I don't see why your making a big deal out of this.....(quietly) plucking.

John:  I'm sorry- I didn't quite hear you, say again?

Michael:  Alright, I get the point!  

Me: I don't think you do...how should you be finishing those sentences- or should we be packing up the X Box now?

Michael:  Please don't make me do this, we are going to Grandpa and Grandma's now....plucking.

John: We don't care. You didn't care when you started swearing in front of us.  Why is it any different if we are at their house or ours? 

I ran upstairs to call John's parents and prepare them for the incoming storm.  They have always been supportive of our unconventional approach to parenting- but even my Mother-in-law flinched at this one.

My Father-in-law took it on as a personal challenge- much to Michael's dismay.

When we arrived, Michael tried the silent approach. His mouth was clamped shut.  He slammed himself into the recliner and stewed over his situation while the rest of us played cards at the kitchen table.  After some time had passed, Michael went to get a soda from the fridge.

Grandpa:  Hey buddy, what you doing?  How was your week?

Michael: It was alright- until a little while ago...(through gritted teeth)... Pluuuuuuckiiiinng.

Grandma physically flinched. Michael is giving John and I the death stare, and Kelsey is dying of silent giggles in the other room.

Grandpa: How does that taste coming out of your mouth?

Michael: Not very good...plucking.  I'm never talking to you people again....plucking!

After cards were finished (I'm sure John and I won all 3 games), we sat down to dinner. Michael is red faced and is probably planning how to kill us in our sleep, but he remained silent.  I placed him at the end of the table and all the food was set on the other end.

That boy was going to have to talk if it killed him (or until he killed me).

We all sat down and filled our plates.  Not a single item was passed near Michael.   Conversations about school, work, and the recent football game spun around the table.  Michael looked ready to cry. (Was I seeing the first crack in his demeanor.  Perhaps a victory was upon us?)

Grandpa:  Mike, aren't you hungry?  Your plate is empty.

Michael:  Pass the french fries....plucking. (tears in his eyes)

Kelsey has to leave the table, she can't control her laughter.  My mother-in-law is trying to maintain her stoic face, and my father-in-law is obviously planning his next attack at making Michael talk.

Michael: And the burgers too...plucking!

Finally....

Michael:  This is stupid.  I sound like an idiot.  You all are sitting here laughing at me.  You are making me say this horrible word over and over. Do you enjoy torturing your own child!

John:  Do you get it now?  Does it make you sound smarter to use words like that?

Michael: No!

John:  It didn't feel very good to use that word in front of your grandparents, did it?

Michael: No!  But you made me do it!

John:  No, we made you use it everywhere and every time you spoke. What we are trying to show you is that as you get older, you will learn how and when a small swear word might be okay.  But you have a lot of growing up to do. Hopefully- it never feels good coming from your mouth.  Some people start with bad words and end up hurting people physically with their fists.  You need to learn not to use either thing until you have better control of your emotions.

The rest of the evening passed by with a new sense of calm.  Michael realized that in spite of having the meanest, most cruel, and heartless parents on Earth, he had a thing or two to learn.  I wish I could say that the lesson he learned stuck for the next 5 years.  It probably bought us 2 months of peace. But that night- as Michael started up the stairs- he smiled at us and said-

Good Night...plucking.

 (What a skinny little 'plucking' sh!#)

Where to begin?

For years now I have been told I should write a book.  I love to write- I'm freaky that way. However, I'm not certain there would be a market for my stories.  So- feeling 10% brave and 90% coward- here is an attempt to share how one family made it though the first 22 years of marriage and 17 years of Autism.

Perhaps you are wondering about the title of this blog?  Well, our beloved dog Molly passed away early this summer.  Autism was so prevalent in our home over the years we found each of us had quirks that could fit the definition of Autsim- even the dog.

My husband and I have 3 children- 1 daughter and 2 sons.  Both of my boys have different forms of Autism.  Andy is the middle child whose version doesn't have a specific name.  We just say he functions at a 'moderate to severe level'.  Michael, the youngest, has Aspergers syndrome.  He functions at a very high level- almost too smart for our own good.  Lastly, but not forgotten- Kelsey is our oldest.  We affectionately refer to her as 'the normie'.

If you ask me how I've made it through the last 21 years of parenting I would have to say with tears, great friends, and sometimes struggling to find the humor in a situation.  In the early years everyone else seemed to think my stories were hilarious.  I found very few things fun or humorous.  I just wanted to get through the day. Thankfully, no one was killed, maimed or permanently damaged by mistakes I certainly made over the years (in reality I'm only certain no one was actually killed).

One of my favorite photos of the kids
Michael 6, Kelsey 8, Andy 7
Summer 2000

How about I start at the beginning and just wing it.

Kelsey was born in 1991.  John and I had dated for 4 years before we got married.  Kelsey came along 6 months later (she wasn't a preemie- so yep- we put the cart before the horse).  She was a pudgy happy baby.  Normal in every way and the center of our universe.  When she was 3 months old, John was holding her in the kitchen and commented "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing to have another baby."

I ovulated on the spot and 9 months later Andy was born.  

Andy was a difficult baby from day one.  Turned blue an hour after he was born (forgot to breath), slow to finish a bottle (I struggled not to fall asleep during midnight feedings) and very, very cranky.  I bought a front carrier just to free my hands up but keep him near me and possibly content.  We didn't discover his autism for another 3 years, so we just assumed he was colicky and he would out grow his issues.

I understand shaken child syndrome.  What I mean is- I understand how a mother who loves a child with all her heart and soul could loose control and do one thing in 2 seconds but regret it forever.  Thankfully- my friend Julie saved my from that horror.

If you had 10 minutes of content Andy- you had a short miracle in my home.  If Andy cried, you swore someone was tearing off his arm.  He SCREAMED.  One day, I was exhausted, John was at work, and I'm home with a 16 month old and a 3 month old. I was at the end of my rope after trying to comfort Andy for over 2 hours.  I had him in my hands facing me as I cried as hard as he was.

I almost gave him a shake as my frustration built.  

Instead, I laid that screaming child safely on the bedroom floor.  I closed the door and picked up the phone.

When Julie answered all I could manage was a tearful squeak.  Because we all had land lines and caller ID in those days- I didn't have to say much.  She could hear him screaming in the back ground.  All she said was "I'm on my way honey."  I unlocked the door and sat on the floor with Kelsey playing quietly in front of me.

Julie walked in 10 minutes later.  I looked at her and said through sobs- "I almost hurt him.  I feel so bad!"  She hugged me and said quietly "But you didn't.  You called me instead."  

She packed up both my kids, a few bottles and the diaper bag and took them to her place for a few hours.  She never judged me, she never questioned me, she has always supported me.  I often thank her for saving her Godson's life that day.  I didn't have many days like that (I went on anti-depressants soon after), but I knew that no matter where she was- Julie would always be there for me.

I promise my next post will be more upbeat- but I thought it fitting that my first post be about where it all began. I'll end this with my most heart felt thanks to the best friend a girl could ever have.  Julie- I can never repay you for what you did that day.  You may not think it was a big deal- but to me- you were an angel.