The Break that Never Was

Jumping right in today.

It's also why he couldn't look at his newborn brother for the first six months of his life.

It's also why, when I ask him to bring me anything, he sets it *just* out of my reach; he was simply mirroring exactly what I had done to him when he was a babe. (Curse you, baby books, for teaching me to make my child work for everything.  I'm sttiillll reaping the rewards of that great guidance.)

Alright.  I'm exhausted.  My mom came to help for 22 hours, and I know that doesn't ever mean real rest (there are just too many children for that!) but the glimmer of hope followed by the disappointment is enough to leave me feeling defeated at 3:46 in a trashed house alone with the children.

And my baby is awake. 

And that's my 4.  Better than nothing I suppose.

Just Because I Said I Would

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack!  I know. I can hardly believe it myself. 

It's cloudy today.  Perfect day for the playground, but my baby is a hot mess of clinginess this week, and I just can't handle dealing with her, Z's wild boy desires to jump off high things and E's likely meltdowns over bees or kids who can run faster than him.  So, home all day it is!

I woke up at 7 today to the sounds of M howling like a monkey.  I got her up, fed her, and she begged to be back in bed before she even had her usual bowl of oatmeal.  Then she slept until 10.

It was *so* nice having free hands and eyes to hang with the boys for a while.  We did all kinds of fun things for an our and a half, and it.was.glorious. for all of us!  Having a baby in tow who tries to eat all the things, who wants my arms, who can't crawl and find us is hard.  I am envious of my friends with kids my boys' ages who get to activity it up all summer.  But next summer will be better.  And the summer after that?  Life will be gloriously devoid of strollers and diapers will be on the way out and life can be all kinds of fun together, while my friends are toting around drooling, heavy babies.

There is always a sacrifice.

I'm sitting here looking at our newly stained fence.  We went off book and broke the HOA's rules and made it an unapproved shade of brown.  Until they remove the "dirty fence" infraction from our account, I'm going to be nervous.  Being a rule follower is hard.  I know a lot of first-borns get the perfectionist trait and only children even more-so and my racing heart over this fence immediately makes me feel sorry for E.  All the "no, not like this!" that I have given him over the last four years are probably going to create in him this same ridiculous anxiety. "Cannot. Screw. Up. The. Thiiiings!!  I don't know why, but I must.do.it.right. or ... orr... I don't know why, but I must do it right!! Heads will explode!"

I really, really, more than anything want a haircut.  I wish I knew someone who would come to my house to do it since schlepping along with the kids is an impossibility.  My last haircut was over 8 months ago.  In a style that shouldn't be grown out.  I look weird and feel weirder.

Today Ethan asked me if he could be in a spelling bee.  My heart sooooaaaars! I'd love to be one of those mamas out in the crowd.  But I also hope he wouldn't scream bloody murder if he lost.  We've been talking about how all these kids just scrunch up their noses and say "thank you" and some even smile.  That it's okay to lose, and totally flipping out is not what people do, even if that's how they feel inside.  Must teach all the things.

I tutored a neighbor in math when I was in high school.  And I tutored Math and English in college.  And then I taught English as a second language in college and after college, and all those people told me that I should be a teacher. And I always screamed inside because that's not what I want to do.  Even though, it probably is exactly what I'd want to do.  Getting to do it now with my own children, though, is the best.  I will happily be their teacher of all the things.

We're going to the library when M's naptime is over.  I hope she won't be a screaming freak.  I neeeeed to pick up my Asperger books!  Neeeed!  Not that I'll have time to read them, but, you know. They'll be fun to have sitting in the house for three weeks.

I really need to clean up.  My mom's coming over tonight and staying til tomorrow afternoon.  I am not entirely sure how that's supposed to really help me, but it might.  We'll see.  I want so badly to let her see the house how it *really* is when it's just me and the kids, but I'm afraid she'll worry about us.  And the good Lord knows, my Marmee needs nothing else to worry about!  We're totally fine in our pig pen.  It's our own gross, and that makes it less gross.

I miss my husband.  A lot.  But I would much rather have him leave and have the hole than to take him for granted and forget how good I have it with him.  September.  J home, anniversary, birthdays, walking baby (just guessing), moving.   A tidal wave of *LIFE* is coming.  I guess I should be resting up!

The Puzzle Pieces Fit

I'm trying not to obsess, but I feel like a light has finally been turned on after several years of darkness.  My husband said he's still not convinced E has it, but quickly tagged it with "But I haven't read any articles... nor am I around him all day."  Exactly.  Trust the mama heart. I've got this.

Anyway, I've been watching.  Little things are making sense. 

Doctors tell you to not let your kid watch tv.  Yeah, I get that.  But E doesn't just watch tv.  He absorbs it, becomes it.  It's been our joke for years, but it's actually serious truth.  The kid doesn't have a brain to understand some aspects of social life, but by watching characters on tv, he can see how people are supposed to (and not supposed to) act, then repeat that behavior. 

When we see strangers, he immediately says, "Hi! I'm E.  I'm 4 years old. Or 55 months old," then tells them whatever is on his mind.  Kid-appropriate television has taught him what to say and how to say it.  I really believe it's taken the edge off social awkwardness for him, and he's only four!  We have so many years to go, but I am thankful for where he is, and while people tried to make me feel guilty for the tv watching, I finally have words to explain why it's different for him.  Not that he should sit there all day, but it's definitely more beneficial than simple entertainment.

This whole thing also made me reflect on all the times I struggled with his two-year-old self.  He was crazy and wild and would accidentally hit me.  Often I'd end up with real tears, but as I would cry, he'd just look at me.  "E, tell me you're sorry!"  Stares, met with lots of prompting. Finally says sorry.  Finally gives me a hug.  I can't count how may times I had to teach, "You don't have to wait for someone to say sorry.  If they are crying or look sad or are hurt, you tell them sorry, even if no one tells you to."  (He finally does this well about 90% of the time.)

Then I look at his brother, who, at two runs to hug and kiss and apologize to anyone who's hurt.  He sees pain and immediately rushes to comfort.  I didn't have to *teach* him empathy.   And I never understood... until now.   (... which also increases my irritation at people who would fake cry in E's face, trying to get him to comfort them... and then be mad when he didn't.  He couldn't.  Poor kid.)


And it explains why he always tells me what to say when we pretend play.  Everything is perfectly scripted in his head, and we must all do it his way, or there's a tantrum.  He's not trying to be bossy.  He's just traveling his funky neurological pathway.

It explains why he has been totally freaking out that I haven't been saying "please" when I tell him to do something.  He screams that I have "mean manners" and his heart really means it.  He has been expecting to follow all the same rules I teach him, because it's the only way it fits in his brain.  It explains why he so angrily, brokenly, pained-ly yells "NO!" at me over small inconsistencies.  He can't help that those things irritate him so much.  I can teach him to have more appropriate reactions to things, but I absolutely cannot expect him to *not* react to something so monumental in his mind.

And of course, it explains his brilliance.  He has remarkable skills that humble and astound me, and I love that giftedness. It opens up a really special world for anyone who chooses to slow down and step inside.  I love this unofficial diagnosis.  It helps my heart to see all these pieces come together into one big picture.  It has a *name.*  I don't have to grasp at straws anymore; I immediately have words to help other people understand him. 

I know it in my heart.  My son has Asperger's Syndrome.  And it's a really, really great life.

The Sweet Moments

Grace is another word for the sweet moments of motherhood.  I don't want to be one of those church-word writers, though, so I'll stick with "the sweet moments."  Everyone gets that.

With Josh gone, I'm super susceptible to picking up new obsessions (helllooo lonely, wandering mind!), and it seems that Asperger's is quickly consuming me.  Watching E interact now that I have this label to slap on him, seeing if it really sticks.  Mostly I'm seeing that it makes everything about him *finally* make sense.  And I finally don't feel guilt for making exceptions for him.  His brain truly is different, and I can soften some harsh edges of the world for him until he can learn how to cope.  That's why I'm a stay-at-home mom, right?  To teach and train and get them ready to face all of life?

Anyway, yesterday I was lamenting in the shower for our middle child.  Poor, sweet, wild Z, growing up without a typical big brother.  He's growing up with a role model who does things a little strangely sometimes, who refuses to talk about anything he's not interested in. That hurts my heart.  I don't want any of my kids to suffer, and I definitely don't want them to suffer because of each other.

Then I remember that E is leaving the athletic world wide open for Z to dominate.  Z will have his moments to shine, and like a typical middle child, he'd likely develop rich friendships outside of our family, Asperger's or not.

As I was talking myself through this and other things, I looked over at the boys who had stuffed themselves in a recliner that just barely held them both. Z had his arm's wrapped around E's middle, and said, "E-tan. Bess bruddah evah."

The sweet moments.

Then today, I rounded up the brood for E's OT session.  In the waiting area, I met yet another amazing family.  A gangly boy bounded through the doorway.  "HELLO!!"  His tired-looking mom in an Autism Awareness shirt and 7-ish-year-old little sister followed.  He asked her, about us, very loudly, "Are they friends???"  She said yes, and he asked me,

"What's your baby's name?"
-"M---"
"M---?  Great! Her nickname is McStuffins."

Totally endearing. His mom told me they'd been going there for *five* years now, that her son had autism, and her daughter was on her second round of OT, just to work on some motor skills.  You know, when you already live there, might as well sign all the kids up!  I totally get it.

(I absolutely love the therapy community.  No strange looks.  Familes full of the tired and broken, worn out by circumstances you can only try to manage but never magic-wand fix.  Parents who sit down with a sigh, grateful for someone else to push their kids' limits while they breathe and stare.  Where there are no mean looks, just a lot of howling, wild, and often over-joyed children.  I hate saying it, but it's better than church.  It actually *is* church.  Soul-feeding, encouraging, accepting.)

Anyway, Autism's sister was talking about visiting her grandma in Alabama, and Z got really excited.  "Aaallabaamaa! Aaallaaabaamaa" He loves saying that state.  Autism's mom laughed  (Just out of curiosity, I asked Z what his favorite state was.  He said, "Tekas.") and then he told her his name was "Saturn's ring."  The autistic boy perked right up.  "Saturn? I LOVE Saturn!!"    His mom laughed, said Z was really smart; I explained that he learns stuff from his brother, and she nodded.  Her son has four obsessions (space, trains, carnivorous plants and something else) and her daughter knows way more about those things than anyone should because it's all he will talk about.

My heart exploded.  Yes.  She gets it.  And as I watched her daughter, I noted that she looked completely content, happy.  She played well and talked normally with her brother, like nothing was lacking in their relationship.  They were best friends. It was obvious.  Nothing was lacking.

The sweet moments-- those filled with so much undeserved goodness.  I am so, so grateful for these kids God gave me.  Nothing is lacking.  Normal is just a dryer setting.

(And it's a good thing that God shows up all the time around here.  E just locked Z out of their room in the middle of Quiet Hour.  Ugh.  It's too bad there's no manual I could look in to know how to rightly handle situations like that.  Instead, I'll just have to run with my full heart into the chaos and try to make the best of it.  With a space episode by the "Bubble Buckies."  Hahaha!)

Reading

Three months ago I started reading a book that has nothing to do with parenting or Christianity.  A Death in the Family has been on my bookshelf for years, probably from some summer reading list that I never got around to fully doing.
I swear, it's the best thing I've ever read. 

Then I realized it's the *first* thing I've read in months that doesn't rhyme or involve a list of things we're out of.  Oh.  Real writing.  What is this novelty??

Of course, it's been three months and I'm only halfway through, so we'll see if I can finish it before the year ends.  (Laugh with me!)

I am a sweating mess. 

A few weeks ago we got a nasty-gram from the HOA saying our fence needs to be cleaned and resealed, and if we don't do it within 30 days, they're going to start fining us daily.  Wah wah.   I got an estimate from some upstanding company I googled up.  Twenty-two hundred dollars.  Er.Mah.Gerd.  So, I told my dad, who "knows a guy" for any of life's little debacles who should be able to help us out for much less. 

So, I pressed "brew" on my little coffee pot, sat down in this chair for my sacred twenty minutes and as soon as my butt hit the seat, my phone rang.  The guy is coming over today to take a look around.  Also price out painting the exterior aaaand interior, since we'll need to get that done to sell the place.  (Don't ever live in a house with flat paint and children.  Just... don't.)

Anyway, since it's well after 8:15am, my house is sufficiently trashed with food and toys and paper cuttings and crayons and markers and clothes and shoes and books and pipe-cleaners everywhere.  And I was in pajamas.  So... I just did the Insane Woman Speed-Clean so I won't be completely embarrassed when this guy shows up.  Whenever that is.

My children have "Quiet Hour" every day in their room.  A lot of days they just keep coming out and yelling things at me that they need, which makes the whole thing annoyingly pointless.  Today they are staying nicely, but they're screaming at each other so loudly, I expect the baby to wake up any second. 

Other news is that Z's speech therapist, Becca, said he's made such improvements in the past 5 months that she thinks if he tested now, he wouldn't even qualify for their program.  I'm proud of him, but I hate that they might kick him to the curb since he loves it sooo much.  And we'll still be going there every week for E's occupational therapy (yeah, we've got a house full of issues!), and trying to get a two-year-old to understand that is going to be difficult. Josh suggested me getting a cake and having a small graduation ceremony for him.  I looove the idea, just wish I wasn't going to have to do it alone.

I used to do crafty kidtivities almost daily.  Now, I just squirt some dish soap in a pan with the hose outside and call it good.  Wait. I still haven't done that yet because it seems like too much work.  Anyway, yeah.  Let me get riiiiiiight on a graduation cake and fake diploma.  Yeesh.

I think I should title this blog "Come Look At All the Ugly Thoughts In My Head" instead.  Maybe one day I'll prose poetic again.  I cannot believe I actually blogged and wrote poetry regularly just ten years ago.  If I saw that girl now, I'd scowl at her, huff, and tell her she has no clue about life.  "Stop being ridiculous, child, and go take a freaking nap then get your haircut every six weeks because the day is coming when you will only be able to get your hair cut once a year and you won't know how to spell anything or find your belongings after you sit them down!"

Yeah.  So, that's my twenty.

The Intent

I'm trying something new.

My husband is across the country for the next four months and he left me with a mission.  "To survive."  While we're not in a war ravaged country, my senses are daily bombarded by the screams and tears of tiny humans.  M is 8 months today, Z is 2 and 8 months, and E is 4 and 5 months.  These are trying times.

I used to blog.  Write, write and rewrite until my sentences were grammatically sound and something of quality.  Now that is a bunch of Sweet Brown and I'm having to fight the urge to just.keep.typing. for twenty straight minutes and hit "Publish" so there will be some sort of proof that I was here.

I'm forgetting that I exist.  My world is my children's, and that is good and Christ-like (they aren't what I fit into my time; they are what God gave me time for), but nobody wants a screaming, out of control Mombie.  So, here I am. 

So, today I realized that my 4-year-old does not just maybe, jokingly have Asperger's, but probably really, really, truly does lie further down the spectrum than I thought.  (Can you tell I'm still trying to come to grips with this?)  I'm on the verge of literally sweating about it (I should probably be on Zoloft) and wondering "How is this going to affect us going forward??" but then I realize we've been dealing with this since he was a tiny babe.  We're affected now, with or without a label.  We will just.keep.trudging. 

My two-year-old won't stop coloring on himself, and I don't know what to do about it.  No punishment seems to work.  He just doesn't care.  He says he'll only color paper, and every day he liiiiies.  Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiies!!!  He's still stained orange from yesterday's bout and today he turned himself black.  I'm sure they'll all look like awesome bruises when I take him to speech therapy tomorrow.

I have no friends in this city and it blows.  Absolutely blows.  We've been here 3 years, isolated in a civilian town with a husband on recruiting duty.  Our military friends have come and gone (no more husbands with wives in the station) and now we're just here waiting for the next move. Well, *I* am since the hubs is away.  Why is military training so stinking long? I'm sure if they wanted, they could condense all these courses and save everyone a lot of time.

My sweet baby is probably the highlight of my world right now.  She's not crawling yet, which is great news for me, and she loves to snuggle.  After two boys who shoved me off to go exploring the world, her desire for my lap is so, so welcome.  She's been a grumpy little goose the past few days, though, which isn't fun (even the easy babies are work, it turns out), and I'm wiped out.  Wiped.the.ferk.out.

I am with these kids all day, every day, except once a week, my kids' therapy overlaps, and I get a FULL TWENTY MINUTES to spend in a waiting area with my baby.  That, friends, is my break.  Yes, I do want you to feel sorry for me.  Then tell me that I'm amazing for not driving myself into the ocean. 

This is hard, y'all.  Really, really hard.  But I promise I won't whine about it if you decide you want to go to the playground with us. We could really use some friends.

And that is twenty.