Positives: I finished my laundry for the first time in nine years. All of it. Done. We are cleaning our basement and finding amazing treasures and crap. So, that’s great. Struggles: We are all spending entirely too much time together. I feel like I’m not going to know how to socialize after this. Sawyer: ‘Mom, who was your favorite boyfriend besides Dad? Was he better than Dad?’ Me: ? Sawyer: ‘Mom, the baby is in your drawer! You know the one, beside your bed, that I am not allowed to open…
I’m sitting here in my office (hiding), and thinking about how crazy the world is right now. In fact, I keep trying to explain to my children that this has never happened in mommy’s life and it will hopefully never happen again. They don’t seem to understand the severity of it and Sawyer keeps reminding me that last year we had the Polar Vortex and he missed a whole week of school. Which was also awful FYI. We couldn’t leave the house then either because our eyelids would freeze shut…
No one seems to be wearing pants anymore. One is in the hot tub at 8:30 am and is starting to resemble a Frat Boy. One is eating chocolate doughnuts. One is carrying a plunger around and hitting anyone who he comes in contact with. The remotes are missing. Every device is on max volume. Which is almost as annoying as my husband screaming, ‘turn it down, for the love of @#$’, every 30 seconds. The three little ones are always hungry. Always. But seem to hate every food I offer…
LOCK UP THE PANTRY: Yup, you read that right. If your children are anything like mine, they are always hungry. And on chaotic days with no real rhyme or reason, they tend to be even hungrier. I will find little hoard piles of food throughout my house and wrappers hidden in couch cushions. It makes me crazy. Remove the impulse and lock the food up unless it’s meal time. GET OUTSIDE: Go for a walk. Hunt for rocks or leaves. Set up a trampoline or a water table. Go for a…
For the last three and a half years I’ve told you I loved you every night before bed. As a baby I would hold you close in your snuggly swaddle. You eyes would get heavy and your small body would melt into mine. It would feel like an eternity since you hated to sleep. Fear of missing out people would joke. As your beautiful baby blues would eventually close you face would be so peaceful. I would ever so carefully place you in your crib with promises to see you…
I’ve wondered, when did autism purloin you? Did it creep in one night, and snatch the words from your tongue? When did it show up, and make it so hard for you to look at me? I want to hold you. I want to hug you. I want to play with you and sing with you. I want to hear you say you love me… Autism. Sometimes it keeps you from me. You don’t always want to look at me. You don’t always want to be held, or hugged, or…
I find myself talking a lot lately about speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves. For me it’s personal. I feel things now and see things now in a way I never did before I was a mom, but truthfully mostly before I was Brendan’s mom. I often wish I could scream at the world…don’t you see it, how can you not? And then I remind myself, I didn’t always see it either. And not because I didn’t care. I didn’t see it because it didn’t affect me.…
My sweet girl, You have no idea how much I love you. But the truth is, I don’t yet know how much you love me either. We are a mommy and daughter communicating in different languages and I am still desperately trying to learn yours. You don’t hug or kiss me yet, but that’s okay. I just want to know…. Do you feel loved when I hug and kiss you? When I smile and tickle you? When I sit and try to play with you? When I sing for you…
Dear Mama, Do me a favor, and remember every detail of this day—all of the words, sights, and sounds. Remember the tone of the doctor’s voice, and the way the receptionist smiled. Remember the way your heart hammered in your ribcage when you first heard the sentence. We believe it is Autism Spectrum Disorder. It was raining the day my son Jack was diagnosed. The doctor was very gentle, and kind. He watched Jack whirl and spin around the small room and collapse in tears when he bumped his shin…
In the 1950s, it was “refrigerator mother” syndrome. Autism, they said, was the result of a mother’s relational coolness. Today, it’s “toxic mother” syndrome. Autism, they say, is the result of a mother’s toxic burden. I spoke with a homeopath over Skype this week. As I started to tell her a little about my eight-year-old son, who has nonverbal autism, she interrupted me. “You’ve got a face full of acne, eh?” I just stared at the computer screen. “Eh?” she repeated, gesturing to her own face. “Right,” I admitted. “And…
