Today has too many awake minutes.

I haven't written in a few days.  I spent the weekend at my parents and brought home a suitcase full of chiggers. 

I voluntarily traded some of my twenty for cleaning another day.

And another, I think I sat on the couch and stared at the tv.

But today, I absolutely feel like I'm losing my grip, so here I am.

Sweet baby girl turned 9 months old yesterday.  She's so flappy and happy and sweet and shy and snuggly... and screamy.  The lack of consistency is killing her.  I rescued her from her bed one night because she seemed so.darn.sad. and ever since, she thinks the key to gaining affection is to shriek her lungs out.  It's exhausting and painful to listen to, and I'm tired.

I haven't gone to bed before midnight all week, either, which I'm sure only adds to the weary.

E has been a whining fool all day.  Instead of asking happily for things, it all only comes out in whine, and while I usually enjoy his company, today I want to hide in my closet and sleep.

And now for the stuff really on my mind, now that the keys have been dusted...

. . .

I'm well down into my stack of Asperger's books and have become fairly certain that my husband has it, too.  He's so high functioning and well-adapted and social and capable of all the things, that I am not even sure a psychologist would diagnose it, but all the signs are there.

(He doesn't believe me, but I am sure that's only because he hasn't read the books.  He also said I'm allowed to talk about it with other people without it causing marital strife, so I figure the whole internet is a great place to start.  ((Love you, babe!)) :) )

Asperger's is a weird thing.  There clearly hasn't been enough research to determine what I believe in my (ever so wise---HAH!) heart to be the truth about it.  I think it's pretty black and white, not some sliding scale that if you gain enough social skills and tricks of the trade that you just magically no longer qualify for a diagnosis.  I think it's all brain structure and function, and when some parts are smaller or don't work as well and other parts work better than others, sometimes it displays itself as this psychological syndrome we call Asperger's.  I think if we could get a peek inside, a lot more people would have it than we realize.

My husband is so logical.  Somewhere along the line, his family fully adapted the notion that men are logical and women are emotional, so their strength in thinking things through without having to deal with "feminine" things like *empathy* just makes them more manly.  So, when I watch romantic movies or cry during engagement stories or get emotional for no apparent reasons, I hear things "Aww... girls are so silly."  Yeah, girls might be silly, but I might also just be a neurotypical human with an amygdala that lets me look into people's eyes and understand how they feel.

And that's just the *tip* of the giant iceberg.  But I'm tired and can't form any more thoughts at the moment.... so.... there ya go.  I do know that won't be short on material for a long, long time, though, if I pull on this thread.  So... we'll see where this goes.

After Going to Kids Up

I'm tired.  Just spent 2.5 hours at a kid's play place, toting M around while the boys expended some energy.  I think I will lay down this entire quiet hour.  Goodbye!  :)

Well, let me first say that I'm super proud of my kiddos.

E got really, really mad/sad/frustrated today but he followed his coaching and wrinkled his nose and said in a calm, normal-volume voice, "I'm sad" instead of having a giant, screaming fit in public.  I have no idea how his brain can do that, but I'm very, very proud of his hard work. 

And Z wore underwear the whole time, took a potty break, and stayed dry!

I'm raising small humans today!!!  Hooray!!!

(Sometimes I think I'm just raising wild jackals.)

Middle Child

Oh, today.  Always a struggle to seize every moment and enjoy the precious time with small people.

Today they fought over who would get to flush my poop.  I will never be more loved.

Thank goodness, right?  It's hard to imagine that these tiny people who cling to my legs and want my attention for every.little.thing. they do or every.single.thought. that goes through their heads will one day grow up and find me annoying, stupid and embarrassing.  Can't we just have a little balance, folks?  Why must the first twenty years of life be full of pendulum-swings? 

About an hour ago, I felt so trounced upon (I was trying to change the sheets in Makenzie's crib, which, if you are a bad mommy and use a cute fluffy bumper like me, is the most difficult chore in the house. The boys were trying to climb up the mattress as I was struggling to fit the sheet around the corners, after the monumental feat of getting the thing vertical... and before the inevitable fight to shove it back into the bed)... ANYWAY, I felt so trounced upon that when Z crashed into me, I purposefully fell over and pretended to be dead. 

I'm glad I don't really die around here. 

E peeled back my eyelids, lightly slapped my cheeks and asked me no less than 17 times if I would watch him throw a frisbee in the hallway.  Still "dead."  Z chimed in after a couple minutes with, "Let me try!"  His method was taking my arm and letting me hit my own self in the face then screaming Cock-a-doo-doo-dooo!!!" as loudly as possible.  It ridiculousness had me absolutely cracking up. 

So... let's talk about my middle child today. He is hilarious, fun-loving, silly and smart.  He also is trying desperately to figure out his place in our family... and it's breaking my heart.  (Reading that back is a little Seuss-y!)  He's old enough to be capable of doing some things on his own, but little enough that he *wants* help in most of it.  (Unless I'm actually offering help, then he yells at me to go away.  Love those toddlers.)  If he leaves a toy upstairs and asks for it, I tell him to get it himself. 
I know that he really wants the toy, but he also really wants my undivided attention.  He's in constant competition for it.

I hurt for him.  I know it must be ridiculously hard to be in his shoes.

• He has an older brother who gets immediate attention from meltdowns.  They look a lot like tantrums, but E's breakdowns aren't manipulative; they happen when life has totally overwhelmed him and he doesn't have the skills or maturity to cope.  In those moments, I have to stop the world and help.  My child needs me. 
• He has a baby sister with legitimate baby needs (hello, she's 8 months old).  She gets attention when she whines hungry or needs toys or has her brother's cut out paper planets stuck in her throat.  A lot of her needs are extremely immediate, and life must be put on hold to meet them. (I'm a nursing single mom at the moment!)

Z is so smart.  (His speech therapist did a receptive language test on him two weeks ago to see how much he understood, and he worked his way through all the sets of questions that a six-year-old would answer.)  He gets life.  He watches and puts things together. I know he's noticed that crying, whining, screaming "NO! I'VE HEARD ENOUGH!" at me (what E does in the middle of a meltdown) earns his siblings my attention.  He's too little to understand that I stop the world for their need, not because of their behavior.  So, he mimics the behavior, then gets totally frustrated when I don't cater to him. 

I know he's confused.  And hurt.  And needing more attention, especially one-on-one time.  And it breaks my heart because I don't know how to give it to him.  I'm trying, but 10 minutes here and there throughout the day just aren't doing it for him. He needs his dad here.  And I can't give him that, either.

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Squirrels have always been special to me.  I love them, think they're cute, and they make me happy.  When I was in college one day, I went to the park alone (funny how I'd be terrified to do that now, but I used to do it all the time, like a naïve dummy!!), and I sat on a bench and journaled.  I was interrupted by two squirrels chasing each other, chattering, leaping from branch to branch, scurrying around humorously for at least five minutes.  When they got tired, one stopped at a branch near me, hung upside down and looked me square in the eyes.  My heart almost burst.  (My husband would be calling me ridiculous right about now.)  Looking at him the Bible verse about the birds crossed my mind. 

 

"Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?"

And immediately my heart equated it to my little rodent friends.  Since then, any time I see a squirrel I feel immediately, exquisitely taken care of by my Father.

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 I normally blog with the blinds closed (it gets hot in here with the sun pouring in), but today before I started, I cleared off the table to help clear my mind, and thought "God has blessed me with these windows to our happy, private backyard.  I should look out of them while I still have the chance." (And it's cloudy right now, which is a huge bonus!) We're probably moving on post, to the land of townhomes and zero seclusion and solitude; I *must* enjoy this yard while I can!

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I just saw a squirrel eating an acorn on top of the hill in my backyard. 

I don't have any answers; my child is still frustrated and hurting and trying to find his way to be.  I'm still as stretched thin as I was 10 minutes ago, and my other children are just as demanding.  But now my heart has peace. I remember that, in spite of it all, we are exquisitely taken care of.  <3 p="">

Gray.

Let's talk about gray hair today.

I have a lot of it.

First I plucked it.  Then when I got more, each pluck hurt my heart as I thought, "God made me this way, and I'm actively disapproving."  Then I got pregnant.  And I nursed for a year.  And 4 weeks later, I was pregnant again.  Nursed a year.  And knowing baby #3 was in our heart's plans, I just watched the gray come in for four months... then got pregnant again!

Now I'm three months away from being done with body sharing, which would technically make me ready and willing to cover my head in chemicals.  Every time I go to the grocery store, I stand in the aisle and consider throwing a box of brown in the cart.

I did, in fact, do just that before my husband's graduation from OCS.  Being exhausted from single parenting during his few months away, I just really wanted to feel pretty and human at his formal.  I didn't want to feel like the mom of three kids under five.  So, I dyed my hair a week before.  Well, guess I should say I lightly combed through about 2 quarter sized dabs of it just to barely maybe mask some of the gray.  I was nursing, after all.

But now I'm back to the debate.

I want to like myself just the way God made me.  I want to teach my children that the world's standards of beauty and youth-keeping are frivolous and impossible.  I want to feel beautiful and inspire others by my happy, at-peace heart, and embrace the gray and the wrinkles as proof of having lived well and rightly.

At the same time, I don't want to embarrass my children. I hate admitting this, but I distinctly remember being in middle school and thinking, "She'd be sooo pretty if she would just dye her hair!" about a close relative.  I even calculated her age and made a promise to my teenage self that if I started to get gray hairs by then, I would surely dye them.  I thought, "Does she not KNOW? I must pay attention!  I refuse to 'let myself go!' just because I'm married or have kids!"  I really don't want my children to be ashamed that I'm their mom because of how I look.

(I do realize that I have the opportunity by having gray hair to explain to my children my choice in it.  If I embrace it, perhaps that will empower them.  Or... it may just make them less likely to have friends over or go to the mall with me. :(  I also acknowledge that they'll probably find plenty other reasons to be embarrassed by me, even if I had the most gorgeous hair in the world.)

I've really struggled in this city.  It has been harder than I want to admit to make friends (there will be another post about that later), and sometimes, I feel like I would have done better if  I had highlights and manicured nails and pretty spring scarves. I very much fear moving to a new city and having to make friends, only to be instantly excluded because I don't look right.  Lawd knows I'm awkward enough without having a head full of gray hairs to wonder about at first meeting. I really, really need friends, and I don't want the lost pigment in my hair to close doors before anyone has the chance to see my winning personality. ;)

My husband is sweet.  He calls me beautiful no matter what, and just keeps saying that he'd much rather go gray than bald.  Not exactly helpful in decision-making since gray hair on a woman is the equivalent of a man with no hair... but he doesn't understand that.

So... yeah.  I don't know what to do.  The practical side of me has been leaning toward dying until my baby girl gets married... unless I hit 60 first.  (I'm definitely allowed to have gray hair at 60, no matter what my children are doing!)  Then, I stand in the aisle at Kroger thinking "Thirty years? I'm going to be dying my hair for *thirty years.*  This is lunacy!" and keep walking.

I'm thirty.  And I'm going gray.  Our culture would definitely consider that premature.  I just wish, in the deep recesses of my heart, that I could accept it, be confident in it and feel that instead of being early, it's at "just the right time." 

But I don't have that peace.  Or that wisdom. Or that confidence. And if it comes from within, that leaves me without much beauty, either.

Sweet, sweet misery!

My mind has been swirling with Asperger's info.  It's amazing how a little brain wiring can affect pretty much every single thing a person says or does.  I'm having years worth of experiences roll through my mind, suddenly explained, no longer mysterious.  TA-DA!  Everything makes sense now!  And I still have three more books to read, which will only be more enlightening.

So, my mother-in-law watched the boys for 22 hours this weekend.  Twenty-two hours of peace for my ears... and lots of random sobbing, imagining how distraught I would be if they both died in a car accident away from me.  Apparently I have lots of emotions I never have time or energy to express!

But they all came home happy and fine... well, crying and exhausted, but once they settled in and had a snack, they were okay. 

I started potty training Z yesterday.  He's an interesting, hilarious kid.  I've gotten so used to E's quirkiness and parenting a "neurotypical" child full of manipulations and limit testing is an adjustment.  I may look like I know what I'm doing over here with three kids, but I feel like I'm a first time mom *so* often.

I don't think anyone really knows what they're doing.  Except for those loud people who've never had to do it.  ;)

Anyway, Z requires that I only give him two acceptable choices.  Like, "Do you want the underwear with planets or the ones with stripes?"  If I ask anything like, "Do you want to wear underwear?" I'm always going to get a big fat "NO!!" and a naked little boy running away from me as fast as possible.

It's kind of exhausting, coming up with one standard set of rules around here, but having to implement them and train them differently to accept them.  Guiding absolute polar opposite boys and meeting the needs of an infant?  Yeesh.  I'm amazed I can form words.

Today we went to the library and Sonic.  E has moved onto a new love-- The States!  He's already memorized them all by shape and location, as well as their capitals.  That took, what?  Two days?  (I don't know what we're going to do with school.)  The book he got today includes the states and their... what... nicknames?  like..  "The Peach State,"  "The Granite State" and lots of random quirky facts about each one.  That should be interesting to hear him prattle about.

I keep intending to cut us down? off? from excess sugar (like, limit us each to 30 grams a day --- fruits excluded, of course!)... but then I potty train with candy bribes and take us to Sonic because it's too hot to breathe outside. 

I've been watching bits and pieces of the news lately.  So depressing.  And I don't even feel like I can blog about it in case some one is waaaatchiiiiiing.  ISIS, trading a deserter for terrorists, everyone flooding our border because word of the Dream Act got around... what in the world are we doing?   Sounds like the downfall of a country is coming.  I've read The Harbinger. 

But anyway, like a typical American I'll instead talk about how my 3 slushes (and mine, chock full of Nerds) from Sonic only cost $1.27!  Sweet day!  I can poison my body for a low, low price.  :D

Crash boom.

I'm finally starting to feel optimistic about Josh's training.  In two short weeks (and a day), he'll be back in our house for a long weekend visit!  And a week after that is halfway, and everyone knows I just need to get to the halfway point to feel like we're going to be just fine.  *whew*

I almost put coffee grounds straight into my coffee mug a minute ago.  My brain senses my deep need for energy.

Tonight I'm "attending" a webinar about how to get your kids to listen to you without yelling or nagging.  We'll see how that goes.

Great. I just heard a thud and massive pain-screaming.  Let me grab my cape........

Ethan got hurt.  Was goofing around on his bed (Zach said, "Ethan doin' ticks"), fell over somehow and whacked his ear on the sharp wooden foot board. It's red and swollen, but a story and the Kindle perked him up enough that I think it's nothing major. 

Good Lawd.  I gotta go check his pupils.  I know better than to Google... but it always seems so much easier than dragging the herd to the doctor!

Use Your Words!

We spent a year battling E at bedtime.  When the boys were sharing a room and Z was in a crib, desperately needing to sleep in the pitch black dark that E was scared of, we let sleep in our bed.  Which turned into him playing on our computer, THEN sleeping in our bed. 

When my husband went out of town and I had no one to blame my child's poor bedtime habits on, I became more strict.  Z was finally okay with sleeping with a night light, and we made a little tent out of Ethan's bunk bed which allowed him to read with a small light. 

But E still couldn't get himself to sleep at night, and he began sneaking out of his room and playing in our room instead.  At first it was just computer games.  Whatever.  Not ideal, but whatever.  When you're tired after a long day of parenting, you let your kid do stuff they shouldn't as long as they aren't bothering you.  And it worked for a little while.... until E completely his mind and started destroying things, peeing in trash cans, ripping apart the dog's bed and coloring all over himself and the furniture. 

I.Was.Livid.

I would drag my butt upstairs at 11pm, ready to crash only find Ethan still awake and my room a total disaster.  I did my best to stay calm, explain the bad behavior, give a proper spanking, elicit an apology.  Banned him from my room completely.  But he kept sneaking in there and destroying more things.  Night after night. 

I yelled.  I screamed at him.  I grabbed him by the shoulders and demanded to know what was wrong with him. He looked more confused than anything, and I wanted to knock his head off.  Why in the world was none of this scaring my child???  Why wouldn't he see me in a rage and take off running?

Then came the knowledge of Asperger's.  Oh.  He doesn't associate my yelling with my anger.  He just thinks I'm using my outside voice and has no idea why I'd be so loud when his siblings are trying to sleep.  Oh.

I didn't get it.  So many times he'd get in trouble and, while yelling about his punishments, didn't seem to get that I was furious. But now I know.  And we're fixing things!

For the past week, whenever I am upset, I don't just start lecturing.  I say things like, "Ethan.  Do you hear the way I'm talking?  I'm not smiling and my voice sounds low and serious.  I am very, very angry.  I'm angry because (insert reason)."  Almost immediately he pauses and says, "OH!  I'm sorry, Mom!  It was a mistake. I'm sorry."  The kid seriously didn't get it.  Even though he recognizes and rightly labels emotions in books, on tv, and in himself, he couldn't do it with his own mama.

I'm hoping that if I explain my physical features along with the emotions enough times, he'll begin to connect it on his own.  It wasn't enough to just say "I'm angry!" or "I told you, you're not supposed to color on the chair!!"  while being angry.  I have to explain what angry on my face and hands looks like, what it sounds like to ears.  THEN he can actually listen to my words, instead of wondering why I'm acting so bizarre, shouting and waving my arms and slinging him around at midnight. 

Oh, how I wish I could do the past to years over again.  I'd definitely address all the issues in a different order than Super Nanny or Tedd Tripp suggest.  Because discipline only works if your child can *hear* you louder than his own brain.  Quiet his brain by addresing his confusion *first,* then your eager to please rule-following, perfectionist ends up putting his own self in time out!

Yeah.  I'd love to do it over again.

Wait. What?  Toddler with Asperger's?  Nevermind.  We'll just keep moving forward.  ;)