Gives Me Hope

Well....

I've just lucked into the greatest little blog. Matt is an Aspie like my boy. Matt also likes to cartoon, just like my boy. Matt is an adult Aspie that has managed to build himself a pretty decent life, be comfortable with himself and appears to be a well rounded guy. This gives me hope. My boy is hyper-creative. Plasticene, Kinects, Lego, Cartooning, Claymation - you name it, he can create in it. I've bought more books, videos, clay, plasticene to support my boy's habit than I care to admit. HOWEVER, I've yet to find a social group that I can sign my boy up for so that he can find other people who love to do what he does - until Matt.

You give me hope Matt. Hope that my boy will find his way. Hope that he may someday make a living out what he loves to do. Hope that he will continue to grow and learn and appreciate his uniqueness like I try to.

Thank you Matt for your story. I've sent your book to my son's teacher to provide her with another resource to help my son understand himself and hopefully help others to understand him better. THANK YOU !!!

Great - September .....again .....

Well....

The day has come when we have to face September again. I have one child ready and raring to go. Thomas, not so much. He seems to try to get excited because he sees that his sister is, I think. I try to pump him up about the technology that is coming and how much easier this year will be. Doesn't seem to be working so much yet. I'm hopeful.... that I don't have to be medicated myself this year..

So far he has actually done quite well. This is a child who has Asperger's, ADD, short term memory issues, fine motor integration problems, asthma, allergies and dyslexia. Doesn't get any better than that in this gene pool. He is pleasant, friendly, loving, caring, witty, creative, funny, cute, daring, brave, empathetic and many other things. So I guess the two go hand in hand. I couldn't have him the way he is without having the "issues" that go with him. While they don't define who he is or what he can do, they do make up parts of his personality. And while he drives me two types of crazy, I love his personality. He is quirky. He is interesting. He worries me.

I worry that he won't make friends this year. I worry that he won't care that he doesn't have friends. I worry that he will care he doesn't have friends. I am starting to worry about his being able to get a decent job. Or hold any job at all.

So this September I will try to embrace his personality. I will try to embrace his learning issues. I will try to remember to hold off putting on the shit kickers until absolutely necessary. I will try to remember to be patient and polite with the school board.

Great. It's September. Again. Woohoo....

Say it with me now ... preventable !

Well....

My son has distinct issues with listening. He cannot retain things for long periods of time if they are instructions. Or most things for that matter. He can remember things to do with TV shows or movies or books. He can remember things that have to do with him growing up, etc. However - day to day instructions just seem to baffle him. Hence our story for today.

I preface this by either illuminating or reminding our readers that Thomas' latest adventure included lighting a match in the boy's bathroom at school. This ties in to our word for tonight - preventable.

Michael and I are sitting on the couch TV surfing. Loads of mindless for the masses reality TV that quite frankly makes me ill. Who gives a flying crap about Kim Kardashian anyway ? She looks like a brainless idiot who cannot fathom that the world does not owe her squat. Or Dina Lohan who is the world's worst mother next to Mommy Dearest. But I digress ....

As we start to head for bed it's now after 10pm and this little voice calls down the stairs - Mommmmmmm. Quite rudely I say "What ?!". Please bear in mind I've had a long day. The little voice says - "You're going to be mad aren't you ?" At this point I'm already annoyed so I say "yes." I then discover that my son has taken his lovely putty which has been given to him by the occupational therapist and has somehow got it in his hair.

I preface this by saying I have repeatedly asked Thomas not to keep the putty in his room. I have repeatedly removed the putty and put it downstairs. And I have repeatedly found it back in his room. Now we go back to the whole instruction thing which we've already covered.

So I see his rather large clump of silver shiny goo firmly ensconced in my child's georgous auburn hair and I say, "idiot". No pretty language. No feel better language. Just "idiot". I swear. Idiot, idiot, idiot. So we head to the bathroom and under brighter lights I see that Wile E. Coyote has got this stuff matted in his hair and at this point it's not coming out quietly. So I decide to go to town on the hair. We comb and comb and comb. Putty is coming out but so is hair. Not a lot but enough that the eyes start to water and the boy starts to beg for Daddy's brilliant suggestion of shaving his head. To this I say no. To this I start to sing a little song which goes to the tune of It's a Small World. Sing it with me won't you ??

It's a world of laughter, a world of tears
It's a world of hope and a world of fears
There's so much that we share
That it's time we aware
To leave the putty downstairs

Then we go to the chorus. Quite original I think:

Leave the putty downstairs
Leave the putty downstairs
Leave the putty downstairs
Or it will get in your hair.

My son at this point is not finding this amusing. His head hurts. He is tired. And his mother is making unholy fun of him for getting putty in his hair. At this point I take further pleasure in using this moment to define Preventable. Our word for the day. I say to my son, "how many times have I told you to leave the putty downstairs ?" He replies through tears and snuffles - "About five thousand". "Close" I say. "This, my son, is a perfect example of preventable". I go on to illustrate that he and I both could have done without this moment in our lives and I ask him again what Preventable means. He forgets. I illustrate again how the fire at school was Preventable. I ask him again what Preventable means. He remembers. As we go to bed, "What is our word for tonight Thomas ?" "PREVENTABLE Mom - I get it !"

Sometimes my son has to learn things the hard way. I did too. Sometimes it doesn't pay to be super sweet and smothering when he pulls a bone headed move because he won't remember the lesson in all of it. Sometimes it pays to sing a little song about the word of the day: Preventable. Sing it with me won't you ? I'm just hoping my next song won't have the word Contraception in it.

Worth the Fight

Well....

Doesn't that sound like an imposing title ? Worth the Fight ! Is she going to get her butt kicking boots on again and tirade against those who don't help her son ? No.

This is something that I needed to explain to my son one day. A few months back, he asked a question that I've since forgotten which prompted me to reply, "Because you are worth it." I explained to him that I will fight his whole life to get him what he needs. As my mother has proven time and again, you never stop caring for your kids. My children will be no exception. My son requires a little more effort but I fight for my daughter as well. She is currently being bullied by a "queen bee" who has admitted that she finds Vanessa threatening. She says she is jealous of what my daughter can do. GOOD ! My daughter has a lot to be proud of and she shouldn't be made to feel bad about it. We ended up having a long talk about jealousy and being true to yourself. I looked her in the eye and said, " I believe in you and I will always believe in you. You are smart, funny, loving and cute and you have no reason not to believe in yourself." She seemed to get it and appreciate that my sentiments came from the heart. Having said that, I would like to take little miss Queen Bee and knock her chicklets in.

Back to my boy.

My son will be getting approved shortly for technological help in the classroom. He will be receiving a laptop, scanner, printer and four different softwares so that he can achieve his potential in school. It has taken me three years to get this but it will be worth the fight. My son is smart. My son is creative. My son loves to read. He does not like to learn in the classroom. He cannot retain what is being said to him as his memory is so poor. He cannot follow directions well as his ADD takes him to places far beyond the walls of his classroom. He needs this help and I have great hope for it. He will now be able to show them what he is capable of. All along the school has said, we know he can do more - thank God they hadn't completely written him off ! There will be a special place by the hobs of hell if that technology does not come through and God alone will not be able to protect those who deny my son what he needs. The shit kickers will come out.

But let's be positive. I am going to be cautiously optomisitic that the school board will fulfill it's obligation to help my son and implement the recommendations of the psychologist. I am going to remain hopeful that the special resource team will continue to get the support they need in order to continue helping my son. I am going to remain certain that if any of this falls apart and hinders my son's education, that not only will they be aware that he is worth the fight but they will feel the steely toe of my shit kickers right where it counts.

My children will always be worth the fight and I hope that my actions on their behalf prove this to them. I hope they grow up confident knowing that I will back them up and be there for them always and forever. I think I am succeeding as evidenced by this little tale - One day we were discussing the importance of stranger safety. I was drilling in to their heads that not all strangers are friendly and some might try to take them from me. My son piped up and said, "I don't worry about that Mom. You'd find me." Then my daughter piped up and said, "Yeah - and then she'd kill them". Out of the mouths of babes....

Happy Tears

Well...

So my son got his second psychoeducational assessment today. In our home, on his medication, relaxed and feeling fine. I was amazed. I got the best news that any parent of a child with special needs can get - there is hope. Now that sounds kind of negative as well. Didn't we have hope before ? Well, yes and no and here is why.

Thomas' first psychoed did not go well. He was not medicated. He had to be taken for three weeks to a new environment that he never appeared totally comfortable in. We were trying to wean him off dolls and the psychologist was using them as a reward. This created more anxiety when Daddy came to pick him up. Thomas did not want to cooperate and the psychologist didn't seem to know how to work with him. At the time, we thought things were going well. Then the results came in. The psychologist's two conclusions ? That my son was borderline retarded (her wording not mine) and that he was afraid of his father. Both of these observations were not helpful and none of her suggestions were either. They did provide a foundation but we were going in the wrong direction because of her. The testing did little to alleviate my fears for Thomas' future and did more damage I think in hindsight than it helped. I saw the window closing on Thomas' future and that caused me great anxiety. No - Thomas' life is not all about me. No - I do not make his woes my whole life. No - I was not willing to accept this. No - I did not accept it at all. Just while writing this and after discussion with the psychologist this morning, I've come to realize that this has been the major part of my stress issues for the past two years. That damn report.

I let that report dictate my son's future. I let that report decide where things were going to go for my son. I let that report change the way I looked at my son in that I allowed it to make that window smaller. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong and yet I let myself believe it. She had the education. She was the professional. I knew it was wrong and I let it beat me. But maybe not as much as I thought. Once the report had been delivered, I immediately put Thomas on the list for ErinOak to do an assessment. I knew the wait would be long and I knew that report was wrong. I would wait to prove it. And the wait was worth it.

Hallelujah my son is dyslexic !! Hallelujah he has memory issues !! Hallelujah WE CAN WORK WITH THAT BECAUSE HIS INTELLIGENCE IS NORMAL !!! Why is that a big deal you ask ? It is a fault of mine. I value intellgence. I link a good future with a certain amount of intelligence. The first report relegated my son to "Would you like fries with that ?" . Now that line of work is honorable, honest work but I resented that being his only choice. I resented that window being shut. I resented his choices being taken away. I let that damn report steer me to thinking that way.

Now another thought occurs to me. I am letting this new report shape my thinking as well. Not about my son as a whole. I love all parts of my son. Some parts more than others but overall he's a kid I enjoy. I like his imagination. I like his cuddles. I like his acting. I like his unique thought processes. I think the way my kids' mind works is kind of cool. I won't like him any less or any more based on this report. What has changed is the stress about worrying about his future. Thoughts of his future besieged me. The uncertainty was driving me nuts. I realize that all kids futures are uncertain. I get that. But something about his was just off the map. I just couldn't put my finger on what the issue was. This was it - the sentencing of that damn first report.

What this new report gives me is hope. It opens the doors back up. It gives me something to work with. I realize that no matter what I will do everything for my son. I will support him in whatever he decides to do. Report or no report, he is my son and I love him. I will do whatever it takes to make him happy and a new report doesn't change that. What it will do is give me more ammunition to fight the school with. They had started to write him off. They started to tell me that this was all he could accomplish. They started to believe that report and they started to falter in helping him. They stopped seeing his future as it could be but rather what they thought is should be. That just won't do.

Now I have the proof. I told them all along that I had problems with that first report. I told them all along something was missing. I told them all along that my son could do more. And now I can prove it. Now they will get back on track to the future that is waiting for him and not one they feel he deserves. He deserves whatever he can get out of life. He deserves to be whatever he wants to be. I've told him he can be a doctor, a nurse, a mechanic, a baker.. whatever he wants. And now the school will know it too.

I called my friend to tell her. I couldn't stop crying through the happy tears. My son has his future back and what a bright and shining one it is. My boy. My heart. Damn reports.

The Life I've Lived

Well...

When this life ends and I go to whereever I'm to go, I will know that I did it with love and I fought for what I believed in.

Sounds deep huh ? I was watching TV tonight which is my guilty pleasure. I don't drink. I don't smoke anything. I can't eat chocolate anymore. I don't take anything prescription. TV is my drug. Those 7 pulses per second put me in to a lovely coma that let's me escape from my brain. Occasionally I learn something. Tonight I learned two things and one didn't even involve TV.

I was watching Private Practice which I greatly enjoy. Towards the end a gentleman sits in hospital and while I didn't catch the beginning, the ending involved him espousing a life lesson. Fight the good fight. If you need something in this life, if you want something in this life, fight for it. If it is important enough to you, make it worth the fight. This is what I have done for my son. I have pulled on my steel toes every day and fought for him. This is what I have done for any battle that I feel is worthy. I have had lawyers disbarred. I have won lawsuits. I have beaten employers at the sexual harrassment game. Lately, I have had car repairs covered. If someone is doing something wrong to me or my family, I fight. They are worth it and I am worth it. I will go the end of my days and look back and know that I have fought the good fight.

Then I got a phone call. This is precipitated by an old acquaintance from highschool whom I haven't seen in 20 years ordering a cake from me. She had seen my cakes on Facebook and ordered one for her daughter. I was a bit stumped but was quite pleased by the request and so I've been baking and making icing and fondant. I will make the very first birthday cake for her very first child. This is quite an honor. The phone call tonight was from the acquaintance who wanted to touch base. As we chatted we got around to the cake. She said to me, "When I saw those pictures I knew the cakes had been baked with love." I was stunned. I greatly enjoy baking. I love that I use quality ingredients and that people are not going to be eating loads of chemicals and junk. I love that they smile and that I am chosen to be a part of their special day. I love how the eyes light up in the children whose day I've helped to make happy. I do bake with love but never realized that it showed.

So what did I learn you ask ? I've learned that fighting for what is right is worth fighting for. I've learned that had I not fought the good fight, I would have looked back on my life and regretted it every day. I can take pride that I am small part of the wonder that are my children. I will own that accomplishment. And I will know that I did it with love and that it showed. My beautiful children, my loving husband, my cared for mother, my clear conscience - all are because I choose to fight the good fight and I do it with love.

Time

Well...

Time is an interesting thing. Some days it tends to pass incredibly slow and others it just whizzes by. Some years seem to take forever to end and others are over before you know it.

The same can be said for kids. I always believed I would have a hard time conceiving. After a couple of accidents where there is no way I should have escaped un-pregnant and the fact that my husband was bodybuilder, I believed it would take a while. Flash forward to one year wedding anniversary and bam - bun in the oven. Flash forward five months after Thomas was born and bam - another bun in the oven. Now I like to bake but this was getting ridiculous.

I remember alot of when Thomas was baby. I remember holding him and having a quiet tear as I thought of what my dad was missing. I remember saying to him, "Grandpa David would be so proud of you." I still choke up when I think of what a good grandad my dad would have been. He never scored high marks in the parenting department but neither did his dad. As a grandad, my Grandpa Barrass was one of my favorite people in the world.

I remember the first time Thomas rolled over - it was in his playpen outside and I remember cheering like a mad woman when he finally made it. I remember when the sky turned green and I quietly pulled his bassinet out of his bedroom in case the window crashed in. There are happy memories and there are some scary memories.

Vanessa's babyhood is a little more of a blur. I have some distinct memories like when I was breastfeeding her. One time she burped up something black - ick. I remember placing her ever so gently against my knees, cooing to her and have a nice chat as I called the doctor's office and spoke to the nurse. I remember her snuggling in to me. I remember her brother pushing her lovingly in the swing and she looking at him like no one else existed. Even at that age they adored one another.

Flash forward and we are in the midst of assessments, appointments, hospitalizations, asthma attacks, and steroid creams. Toddler hood for both my kids is a blur. I was constantly on the run to various doctors and naturopaths and osteopaths and chiropractors. Anything to help my son. My daughter doesn't know any other life than what Thomas needs and who I am speaking to next about him. She doesn't know that most kids don't have to spend their lives visiting their brother in the hospital or being bribed with juice and cookies to sit quietly while Mommy talks to the doctor - again. I sometimes wish I had had more time to enjoy them at that age. All the time was consumed keeping Thomas alive and hoping Vanessa would forgive me for the time I couldn't give her.

She doesn't know her brother any other way than how he is. There was a time when I knew him before we realized something was wrong. I knew him when he was shiny new and nothing was more pressing than watching him sleep. I knew him before the dreams I had for him had to change. I knew him when the world lay at his feet and his future was wide open. Then time passed.

Now we are in the present and time still slips by. I remember holding my babies for the first time. I remember watching Thomas walk and having to hear about it on the phone at work for Vanessa. I remember taking them apple picking for the first time. First days of schools, first bike rides, first time on a roller coaster... I remember so many firsts and I am grateful. I am grateful that I have had the time to experience those firsts. I am grateful God did not see fit to take my son away the first time he had peanuts. I am grateful for every day that I get to know my son and see the gift that he is. I am grateful for friends that point out to me those gifts and remind me that the time will come when he will find his own way in the world. I am grateful God granted me my daughter so that I can see myself as I was and know that she in time will find her way as I did. I make the time to be grateful every day even when I don't want to. That is time I will always need.

Time. It gives us so many things even when we think things are being taken away. It gives us a chance to reflect on the past. It gives us time to live our life and be grateful for the time we've had. It lets us contemplate our future and see what we can do with the opportunities ahead. I look forward to seeing my kids grow and knowing that I've had the time to be there.

Upsie, Downsie, All aroundsie

Well...

I have a friend. We share alot of things in common. We are both strong willed. We both believe we are mostly right most of the time. We both have children with challenges. We both have the need to "complain". I take umbrage at this word. I like to call it constructive catharsis. Women overall need to vent. We need to share. We need to GET IT OUT. When you find someone to whom you can GET IT OUT and that person doesn't think you are completely damn mental - you hang on to that person for dear life. And you share moments of constructive catharsis together.

Sometimes I feel like I should join a club like AA - Hi My name is Elizabeth and my son has challenges. I wonder how that would feel. To have a group dedicated to constructive catharsis but maybe with drinking games or something to shake things up. I don't share easily. When my dad died, I went to Bereaved Families of Ontario. My therapist at the time said I had "anger issues" I needed to deal with. Well duh. I refused to share at this group. I refused to cry at this group. The one time I did cry, I left and went to the bathroom to do it. These people did not believe in constructive catharsis - they believed in wallowing in pity and despair. Forget it - not my bag. Myself and another participant kept looking at each other like what the hell are we doing here ?? Hence my fear of support groups. If I want to feel worse than when I started my day - I'll stay home.

I like discussions where constructive catharsis takes place and I get to hear how someone is handling their issue. I get to learn. I get to feel empathy and empowered. I get to share my woes and issues and how I have dealt with them. I like leaving a conversation knowing I am not alone and that other mother's will go the mat for their children even if it does include dribbling spit down their shirt. That I respect. That I get. That is the kind of person I like to share with.

The last couple of weeks have been like no other. It's been a long time since I've wanted to crawl in to my bed and never come out. The stress has been killer - the kick ? My son is doing better and better. At a time when my stress from outside sources is at an all time high, my son is making progress. I see hints of maturity. I see him trying to take charge of his stuff. I see him remembering things that I have forgotten. I see him taking his medication without being reminded. I see him keeping his room tidy - although I fear to look in his closet. I see him doing better in school even though he still doesn't like it. I see him growing and changing. He still drives me mental but even when my life is upsie, downsie, all aroundsie thanks to the gift of constructive catharsis, I can take a step back and appreciate my boy. Because I have been able to vent out all that crap that is going around in my head, I am able to read quietly with my kids. I am able to remember to count to 10 before asking Thomas to do something again. I am able to lower my voice and not immediately go for the shout when I'm asking for the third time. Because of constructive catharsis I know I am not alone. I know that others share my fears and aggravations. I am not so hard on myself because of constructive catharsis. I am not so hard on others as I see their life is all upsie, downsie, all aroundsie too.

So thank you my friend for sharing your constructive catharsis. Thank you for listening when I need to share mine. Know that I will never tire of listening to you. Know that I will always lend an ear, a shoulder, a hug if you need it. Know that I value you and all your stuff you need to let go of. Know that I can empathize and sympathize although I will never truly understand. Know that I care from the bottom of my heart. If you need to call me for some old fashioned bitching - that works too.

Steel Toed Boots

Well...

I have begun to search out other bloggers. I have run in to some odd ones in the past so I steared away for a while. I read one today and she posted the awful things people said about her generating a thank you. That kind of language just makes me ill. I cuss. I could make a trucker blush kind of cuss. But some words just shouldn't be said and others don't need to be used to make a point. Ick.

However, on my journey today I met Wacky Mom. She has been blogging for a bit. While I haven't been able to delve too far into her history, she reminds me of me. A fighter. Strong willed. Fierce. Someone who will go the mat for her kids and take whomever is in the way down with them. I am glad to know that there are other mothers out there like me. I am sad to know we even need to fight this hard. I commented to her that when I was born, God gave me permanent steel toed boots. Of course upon my entry into this world I never realized I would have to spend the rest of my life kicking and screaming. I guess He knew what I would need in this life and started me off with the right equipment to do the job.

I need them to kick the butts of all the doctors who told me my son's skin would never get better. I need them to kick the butts of all the doctors who told me to let it go and just drug him up. I need them to kick the butts of all the people who didn't do their job for my son. I need them to kick the butts of all the people who stood in my way and told me it couldn't be done. I need them to kick the butts of the parents who still send peanut products to my son's school and endanger his life. I need them to kick the butts of all the school board officials who fight me every year about what my son needs. I need them to kick the butts of anyone who tells me what I don't want to hear.

Some days I just want to take the damn boots off and rest. Some days I just want to kick back and not have to fight. Some days I just want to lay like broccoli. To have peace from worry and fear. To pass a day where my son is not taking up most of the room in my head. He can have my heart. He had it shortly after he was born. He will have it for the rest of his life. But my head is my private space. My thinking space. My dealing with it space. Sometimes it gets very crowded in there as my emailing at 2am this morning will attest.

I will fight for my son for the rest of his life. I will wake up every day and take up my steel toed boots to battle the world. He knows this. He has said to me when we discuss about strangers - I don't worry Mama. You would find me. You know what - I would. And they had better watch out because I will have my steel toes on. And I will take them down kicking and fighting.

My son causes large emotions in me. He frustrates me. He scares me. He fills my heart. He squeezes tears from my eyes. He makes me laugh. He makes me shout. He makes me proud. He makes me think. He makes me ponder my place in this world. I guess my place in this world is right where it should be. Right here. Right now. Putting down the steel toes for a good night's rest so I can be ready to pick them up again tomorrow and fight the good fight.

Thank you Wacky mom. I look forward to getting to know another mother who proudly wears her steel toes.

Getting Some Perspective

Well...

I've been fiddling with my blog. Having a look around. Cruising past posts. You see I've opened myself up to the MyBlog phenomenon. I think I'm ok now with letting people have a look. After all they are strangers and won't know who I really am anyway. That started me thinking about perspective.

Trippy thing perspective. It's all relative to your current state of mind. Right now I am feeling good. I had a good day at work. I've got money in the bank - for today anyway. My son had a good day. I gave my daughter a nice suprise by being at her assembly. It was a good day. So today my perspective on the world is relatively bright and shiny. I can see clearly now, if you will. But looking back on my blog, I see where and when my perspective was skewed. Not nearly as shiny and bright as today.

I see the days when the world was dark. When I was the worst parent on the planet. When I felt like a bad daughter, a worse mother and passable wife. I was seeing the world and my life from the bottom of a very large, very dark, very awful hole that seemed to get deeper as the day wore on. I saw the future of my son having to include that God awful clown with a big shiny yellow M stamped on his butt. I saw my future without my mother and felt a touch of the pain that will exist when that future comes to fruition. I saw my future as a place that I didn't want to be in. That I wanted to run from. That I wanted to just go away.

Perspective can mess you around. It can give you a dysmorphic image of yourself. It can make you faulter as a parent. It can make you question your worth as an employee and indeed as a card carrying member of the human race. Trippy.

Perspective can pick you up. It can make you feel happy. It can help you see things in a way as to make you feel positive and light inside. It can make those pair of pants you just bought look damn good. Even trippier.

I like to think that overall I have a good sense of perspective. That I am able to balance the days of darkness and light. I like to think that I can see my son as he is rather than what I thought he should be. I like to think that I see my daughter as younger version of myself and am able to not cringe at the thought. I like to think that my life is pretty darn good right now and things are looking up. But it's all a matter of persepctive isn't it ?

Slippery Slope

Well...

I can feel it. I am standing at the edge of a very steep precipice with my son and we are deciding what to do. We could turn back and walk calmly towards safer ground or we could jump and slide right down that steep slope. I am hoping for the safe walk but that remains to be seen.

He is at the edge of developing an anxiety disorder. I have seen in the past two weeks at least two meltdowns including calling himself stupid, tears, anxiety and frustration. I believe that he is finally starting to recognize that the other kids don't have the same struggles as he does in school. He is now able to look around and see that other kids write better, read better and grasp the classroom thing much easier. I think.... but as Thomas can't vocalize abstract feelings very well I could also be blowing smoke. I realize in the grand scheme that two meltdowns in an Aspserger kid is very good. I have read of kids where this is a daily if not hourly occurence if there is rigidity and routine involved. Why this concerns me so is that we have not had that so far. Thomas has been quite flexible. He needs help with transition but can manage it. This is more.

I found out today that my son had a meltdown in class and called himself stupid repeatedly. He could not keep what was going on in the class straight. He could not accept that he was being taught how to study, not that he was having a test. He could not hold it together any longer and let it go. I've also discovered that his teacher, as per an earlier agreement, is not allowing him to take breaks. Teacher has now been told off politely via email. Teacher will be told off in person not so politely if my son does not get his breaks. Insert previous reference to Holy Hobs of Hell here. Teacher obviously does not know me well enough yet or he wouldn't try this I'll do what I think is best crap. DO WHAT I TELL YOU - I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS A LONG DAMN TIME. End quote.

My son. What to do ?? Well, Mama is going to have to go to battle again. Politely, constructively, being a strong advocate, being nice. Mama is going to have to go in and make sure that we don't get pushed over the precipice by people not getting my son. It is imperative that you get my son. It is imperative that you fear me in a healthy way. It is imperative that you listen to that little voice in your head which advises you not to piss this mother off. I will take you down to sit with the nice doctors who don't treat my mother properly in the Holy Hobs of Hell at Satan's feet to be his whipping toy if you don't at least try to get my son.

Many who know me have seen me in action for my boy. I have been told I get a little scary. I like that. I like knowing that I exude something that makes people want to get me out of their office so they will do what my boy needs. I have no issue being known as "that mother" if it gets my boy what he needs. I will strike up a personal relationship with the guardian of the gate to the Holy Hobs of Hell if that is what it takes to get my boy what he needs. I pray every night to the Good Lord above to help me get what my boy needs but people tend to be more afraid of the Hobs of Hell.

So back to that slippery slope. Some days I want to jump off and fly free. Some days I want to run right up to the edge and then hang on for the thrill of it. Some days I want to crawl back to safety and keep a very long distance between me and that edge. Always I will protect my son from the precipice. Always I will fight, bite, kick and scratch to get my boy what he needs. Right now, he needs to be away from that edge. He needs to feel safe and protected. He needs to have confidence that he can succeed.

Apparently I am going to have to grease the palm of the guardian to the Holy Hobs of Hell once again. I think I can stand the heat. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. By now I'd make a pretty good diamond.

When the Parent Becomes the Child

Well...

Most days I want to write about my son and the adventure that is our life together. Occasionally I want to write about my husband and daughter who are along for the ride and add great moments to the adventure. Today I want to write about my mom.

Mom. I waited so long to hear my kids say that word and now sometimes it makes me cringe. That is usually because it is followed by a May I have ? or He's bugging me. Other than that I love it. Beats the heck out of hey you. As my kids age, I look back at my past and my relationship with my mother. It has had it's ups and downs as all relationships do. She has been my most avid supporter and my worst detractor. She has helped me financially, emotionally and many other ways. My kids adore her. I mean running up the stairs, big hug, Hi Nana ! adore her. And I love that. I love that my kids love my mom as much as I do. I love that she loves them right back. I love that I can prevent her from doing the same things to them that she did to me - a revenge of sorts. I love that I have learned from her what to do and what not to do. I love that from some of things I've chosen not to do, new traditions or ways of parenting have grown. I explain to my kids. I apologize to my kids. I tell my kids more often than they want to hear that I love them. I act silly with my kids. I take them to all kinds of places that sometimes I enjoy, sometimes they enjoy and sometimes we enjoy it all together. The flip side of that is that I yell at my kids, I snap at my kids and I sometimes am not as selfless as I'd like to be. I get that from my dad but that's another blog. My mom did not have the support that I do in a husband. She did the raising for better or for worse essentially on her own. I haven't had to pay a lot for therapy so I can safely say she did a pretty good job. She questions herself when she sees the state of my house but I think mess can be a good thing. Unless it moves on it's own and then it's time to tidy. So far we have no errant piles of unknown origin running around the house so I can live with that.

I am far more like my father than I like to admit but it has also served me well. While my mother is an extremely intelligent woman, she is low on guts and confidence. I like to think I am intelligent and have guts to spare. I am working on the confidence. I do not back down from a fight. I say what I mean and mean what I say. I take on a challenge and generally succeed. I like a good fight and generally win. I like for someone to say no so I can say why ? I like things done my way - it's better and easier anyway. I'll just do it over my way so you might as well. This type of personality has served me well on many levels and it has helped me with my mom. God love her she can drive me bendy. She did not stand up to her mother. She allowed Grandma to speak to us anyway she wanted. She allowed Grandma to discipline us. She allowed Grandma to be critical and unfair. I do not. If my mother steps out of line I show her to the front of said line. This is my house, these are my kids and this is my marriage - thank you for the advice anyway. She gets that which is also good. Over the past 15 years my husband has come to love her as much as I do which says alot. This brings us to time...

As I've grown up, my mother has aged. Goes with the territory I guess. It has creeped up. What has slowly happened is that our roles are starting to reverse. I think she sees it. I fight for her. I advocate for her. I protect her. I guard her. I support her. All the things she did for me. I don't think I gave her much cause to have to fight, etc. but she stepped up when she needed to. She sent the Daytona police a nasty letter when I got arrested and paid my fine. She lent me money to buy my house. She was there for the birth of my son. She is there when it counts.

Lately my mom's health has been troublesome. When I say lately, it's been for the past 15 years. My mom fought the great fight and beat alcohol. I will respect her for the rest of my life for that. She has had fallout from her alcohol abuse and cigarette habit. She affected her gross motor coordination with her drinking. She has essential hypertension which is exacerbated by her smoking. She has high cholesterol which is exacerbated by her crappy diet and lack of exercise. This has precipitated numerous late night visits to the ER, specialist appointments, hospitalizations and doctors appointments. For her last hospital stay, I got my knickers in a knot. Her first meal for a suspected heart attack was mac and cheese. What the hell ???? I went down to the dieticians office after having been in the hospital until 3am that morning and said to them - What the hell ??? I then spent the next 1/2 hour personally picking her menu for the next two days. This is what I do. I fight for my mom as I fight for my son. I take my fighting spirit and say to these doctors - you will take care of her. You will protect her. You will do your job or by God I will drag you down to the hobs of Hell and personally lay you at Satan's feet with a bow on your kicked ass. You will not force me to lose her before I am ready or hell will look good from where you will be standing.

Her health scares me. Losing her terrifies me. It can send me to tears when I think of my life without her. I speak to my mom just about every day. She babysits my kids two or three days a week. She is such a large part of my life that I alternate between parent and child relationship on a regular basis. I fight for her and fight against her. I support her and stand supported by her. She makes my life work. I can't even contemplate a moment in my children's lives that has not had Nana in it.

I see my role changing and I look at it two ways. My mom has had to struggle her whole life. Things have not been easy for her. My life's wish is to win the lottery and make her happy. She is at the top of the list for myself and my husband when we discuss our winnings. We are looking at buying a house that is renovation friendly for my mom to live with us. I alternate between feeling 12 when she is around to feeling 100 when I'm at the hospital again with her. Yet I relish the chance to develop this relationship. I am thankful that I get the chance to spend so much time with her. And I will be devastated and inconsolable when I can no longer call her every time I want to. I see my role now as a chance to give her happiness. I want to make her proud and I want her to feel safe. I want her to know she is loved deeply and I want her to know she loved me enough.

I hope that as she continues to age that I continue to benefit from our relationship in whatever form it takes. Mother to child, child to Mother. I'm just glad to call her Mom.

Keeping up with the Jones'

Well...

So my friend says to me she says - well you must see my new blog. I says to myself I says - ok I must. Well it's so darn pretty I immediately think - I must keep up. So off I trot to keep up and of course I can't pick the damn available templates, I have to go in search of "the" template. It's now been over an hour and after wiping out my previous blog but not quite, I found my new template and set it up. And quite frankly I like it - it's kind of weird like me and my boy. Colorful, quirky, fun, different - there are worse things to be called.

It's funny how I'm funny about change. I like it and loathe it. I want to keep up and I don't. What I fail to realise is that I have a choice and my son doesn't. It strikes me sometimes as I write the challenges he will face and he doesn't even know it. I don't think it enters his conciousness - thank God. If he knew what he faced he'd start drinking. God knows I've often thought of that particular coping method. But I think my son has the right idea. He deals in the here and now with a little foray into the past every now and again. He doesn't worry about the next day, never mind next year. He just is. He just goes along his merry way and doesn't worry about the small stuff.

One then has to examine the small stuff. What is small stuff really ? Does it matter that he wanted to wear his long johns under his pants in 26 degree heat today? Yes and no as he was going on a field trip to the RBG. Can you say hot and itchy ? Does it matter that he relates all things according to how old he was at the time ? Not really. That's just how he puts things in place for him. Does it matter that his ears are for decoration only ? Yes and no depending on which side of the desk you are sitting on. God Bless you Mr. Highley - you had no idea did you ? Does it matter that he talks about babies ? Hell, at least it isn't fire he perseverates on. Does it matter that my heart breaks when I think of what lies in store for him ? Yes and no - it's my problem not his. It only matters when I let it out in front of him - the worry and the fear. It can manifest itself as frustration and bad temper. Then I make the small stuff into big stuff which is kind of dumb of me.

My son has the right idea. Why sweat the small stuff ? Why indeed.

To His Success

Well...

So as per my last blog, my son was at camp and I was sitting here quivering with the need to go and get him. I controlled my quiver and remained home with my daughter. Focusing on her for a day was nice and I think she enjoyed it as well. Suprisingly, I really missed my son. When you have a special needs child and don't get a break, a couple of days apart are a dream. My husband and I have had one weekend together, child free in 9 years. Not a ton of time to focus on being Michael and Elizabeth and not just Mom and Dad. Thank God for Cubs and camping trips.

The Cubs and camping trips have given my son many things. He comes home proud of his new skills. He gets the chance to work on group skills and social skills. He is able to demonstrate his growing maturity. He is able to find some independence in a safe environment that doesn't freak me out. He is able to make friends who get to see him as more like them than they may have thought. Because I work full time, I am not able to give Thomas everything I think he needs. Sounds odd, but I can't run him around to groups which he would probably benefit by and I feel bad about that. I'm sure I'm short changing him somewhere. Cubs gives him some of what I can't and I hope to keep him in it for life.

As the story continues, I am still sitting at home all a quiver with anxiety. Slowly that fades and after no phone calls, I know he is ok. Turns out he was better than ok. Despite one small impulse accident, we are advised that he was one of the best behaved kids all weekend. He helped out, he went fishing, he paid attention. All without Ritalin I might add, which I had sent for him. Both Michael and I lavished him with praise and told him how proud we were. You could see he was too ! Something that is hard for Thomas is to be proud of himself. He doesn't seem to think about it all that much and might not really understand what it means, but when it happens it shows. I don't think it's a need for him like typical children. If it happens, great. If not, life goes on. What a great philosophy. The downside is, it doesn't really give him any ambition. We'll work on that.

So after all my quivering and worry my son scores another notch on the belt of life. He shows that he is maturing. He showed that he is changing and growing. When it happens right in front of you, sometimes it's hard to see. These times away from him give us that chance to see him in a new light. They give him the chance to grow and learn which is what he really needs. It benefits not only him but our family which is fabulous.

So let's raise a glass and give a cheer. To Thomas and all his successes. May you grow strong and proud and know that we love you just the way you are.

Necessity is the mother of Invention

Well...

As I am walking the dog this morning pondering our financial state, it was one of the few times I was able to see the benefits of being "financially challenged". We are not poor by any stretch but things have been tight for a few years. My husband is an apprentice and I've never been in a position to make loads of coin. I'm not high powered executive material.

I started thinking about what we've had to do in order to make ends meet. Over the years, I've dragged my kids in to fields to gather field stone for the garden. I've called my husband very excited about piles of patio stones on the side of the road. Heck, my daughter's chest of drawers came off the side of the road. I buy things on sale. I comb Value Village. I cruise Goodwill. These things never would have happened a few years ago.

I was raised upper middle class. Everything for my father was about how it looked, how much it cost and what name was attached to this. It gave me a superiority complex which was not a nice thing. I thought I was better than everyone else because my family could afford these "things". What we never had was time together. We never had movie night. We never went to the park. We never went on hikes or walks by the lake. Things that have been borne by our financial situation. We've had to improvise in order to spend quality time together. Some of the things we have experienced might never have happened if we were more financially affluent. We might be running around to all kinds of activities. We might be trying to keep up with the Jones rather than each other.

By being honest with our kids about our financial situation, they are learning some valuable lessons. They are learning that important things in life are not measured by how much they cost. They are learning not to judge people by what they wear or drive. Believe me, my husband has driven some doozies. They are learning to think outside the box in order to achieve things that they want. They've watched us scavenge. They've helped us scavenge. They've watched their father repair the foundation to the house, redo the entire house roof himself, dig out a driveway extension, build garden beds and renovate the basement all by himself. That is the short list. They've watched their mother shop frugally, bake endlessly, recyle tirelessly and donate constantly.

I'm hoping that they are learning the lessons far faster than I did. Learning to be independant. Learning not to judge. Learning not to value things over people. Learning to cherish time with each other. Learning that we are here to help one another.

My Uncle Alan, ironically my dad's older brother, has done a lot for me in this life lesson thing. The life I live now is far more like him than my dad. I sent him and my aunt a thank you letter a couple of years ago. I wanted them to know what kind of impact they've had on my life and in turn my children. My aunt called me and sounded quite choked up so I know they were suprised and appreciative. That wasn't the goal but it was nice none the less.

So maybe the point of all of this is that money is not everything. Would I like to do more for my kids ? Yes. When Thomas was little I spent thousands trying to fix his skin. Since then, I've spent thousands again trying to help with his Aspergers and other issues. I'd love to be able to afford tutoring and other things like that. Can I afford a new car ? No. Can I buy expensive clothes ? No. Do I care ? No. My kids have lived a life far richer than what money can buy. They've learned that they are valued. That they are important. That they are worth spending time with. The value on that - priceless.

Can I protect him ?

Well....

My son has gone camping with Cubs. Not your girly in a lodge camping, but on the ground in a tent with wild things around camping. He has done this before and had great success. Right now, with every fibre of my being I want to run up there, snatch him up and bring him home. I worry that he is cold, I worry that I didn't send enough clothes, I worry, I worry, I worry.

I realize that parents of children without challenges worry but as a parent of one of each, I can honestly say it is different. I'll tell you a story - once upon a time, I had a dad. One day when I was 20, he died and I no longer had a dad in the physical sense. Shortly before this time, I had "lost" my dad to divorce. There were hard feelings, bad circumstances, etc. But he remained on this earth and was there to be reached out to when I was ready. Apparently it wasn't going to be for long, so several life lessons were learned during this time. I had experienced losing him in two ways which were distinctly different. I had a friend whose parents had divorced tell me that losing your dad to divorce and death was the same thing. As her dad was still walking the earth, I vehemently disagreed having experienced both and greatly preferring the loss to divorce. So when I say that I see things from both sides, I honestly mean it. I tend to look at things from as many angles as possible so I can have a real picture of the situation. Then I store that information for future references as hopefully most people do.

I look at both my kids as distinct individuals. While I have compared my son to other boys, I don't tend to compare him to my daughter. They are as unique to one another as siblings as they would be as strangers. I do worry about my daughter but I don't tend to get as shirty about her. Right now she is sleeping safely upstairs and I have no doubt in about half an hour she'll come tripping down the stairs with a Hello Momma. I still worry that my son will wake up. I still worry that he will be able to see a new day. I still wonder if his allergies will get him in the night or if his asthma will kill him quietly while we sleep. Up until a month or two ago, I still checked on both of them while they were sleeping. I still went in and put my hand on their backs to make sure they were breathing. I've even gone so far as to put my hand in front of Thomas' mouth to make sure the air was making it's way out.

Now I've sent him out in to the woods, in a tent, in a bag to keep him warm with men who will teach him how to survive in said woods for two nights and two and a half days. I've piled him up with sweaters, socks, hat and mitts, long johns, medications and warm blankets. I've sent snacks and a fishing pole and rubber boots. And all I want to do right now is get in the car, drive the 40 minutes just to put my hand on his back and make sure he is breathing. That he has awoken to see this new day. That I still have my son, my heart, my all.

Having said all of that, I know he is fine. We have camped as a family in this kind of weather and he was just fine. He is gathering skills, he is having accomplishments, he is making friends and building up his confidence. He routinely gets very positive feed back on camp outs. He loves it. He loves the fishing and the fire making and the hiking. He comes home dirty and smelly and proud. I will go in to hock to give him that feeling. I will keep him in Scouting as long as he will stay to give him that feeling. His Aspergers makes it hard for him to get that feeling. He routinely feels bad about himself for whatever reason. I am usually not to blame but have on occasion contributed to these bad feelings via frustration and irritation. Mild Aspergers kids are notoriously hard on themselves and he is no exception. Experiences away from us helps to give him the memories he needs to get over the bad feelings. It gives us field of reference to say - Look what you did buddy ! You did that so yes, you can do this ! He remembers, he smiles and he tries whatever it is we need to do.

So I will control my fibers. I will stay out of my car. I will sit at home and continue to send him positive loving thoughts as I've been doing for the past hour or so. This is one occasion where being psychic comes in handy. I can tune in to my son and know that he is fine. I can visualize my son and know that he is fine. I can send my love and hugs to him and know that he feels it. And I will wait to see him Sunday and see how much he has grown. And he's not going to be the only one who is proud.

What Could I Do ?

Well....

So I've come to the conclusion that I am not a good parent. It has come on slowly but gradually and I've come to accept it. I don't mean I beat my kids. I don't mean I neglect them but I see now what I could be doing and am disappointed to discover that I have not. I do not have it in me to play games, to listen endlessly to odd stories, etc. Lucky me: that is one of the characteristics my father has passed on to me. I love spending time with my kids but I need to be interested to enjoy it. I hate sitting around. I hate building lego's. I love taking my kids to the movies. I love taking them to museums. I love taking them to the theatre. I love taking them to the library. I love watching movies with them. But it's all on my terms which is sad. I do alot with my kids but if I don't want to do it, I don't which is also sad. I am not one of those self-sacrificing moms who will give up all of her time and energy to endlessly amuse her kids. I just can't. And this is biting me in the ass huge.

My kids have very good imaginations. They play well together. They are relatively computer savvy. They are learning to read, etc. but I'm not sure how much of that is to do with me. I look back now and realize the amount of time that I have wasted not drilling them about school work. How much time I have wasted not practicing math facts and reading out loud and everything else a good parent should do. I did read to them at night but listening to them read is like needles in my eyes. Homework is like torture because I don't understand why they can't get it and I don't know how to help them do that. This is my big failing as a parent - no patience. Yeesh.

My son cannot play board games. He gets frustrated, bored, jumpy, etc. It drives me nuts. But again, part of that is my fault. I have relied too much on TV for a distraction. I tell myself it's a treat for them. I carefully screen what they watch and expose them to Discovery channel, Learning Channel, etc. but still it's not for them, it's for me. It's for the lazy parent in me that needs a break after working all day, that needs a break from cleaning, etc. It's an easy out which again is biting me in the ass. As a result, he has developed no patience. He has not developed good skills at sticking with something which doesn't interest him. Part might be who he is given his mother's disposition but I wonder if I could have done more to build up those skills. I like to blame his Aspergers to exonerate myself but that is a cop out as well.

I need to start looking for other ways to have a break. I don't want to look back in 10 years and realize that while I recognized the problem, I didn't do anything about it. I have made changes but certainly none which have stuck as well as I would have liked. I have cut back TV for my kids but on rainy days we are stuck. It struck me this weekend. We are tight on money and couldn't really go anywhere. I could not bring myself to amuse my kids. I had to cook and clean and whatever else mom's do to get ready for Thanksgiving. I thought, heck, I'm doing all this and you want me to amuse you too ? Sheesh. What an idiot I am.

My kids still want to spend time with me. They still want to share their dreams and show me their accomplishments. They still want to go out with me and be seen in public. So in light of that, maybe I haven't done too bad a job. I've obviously somehow established a fairly decent relationship with them. They come to me with questions and ask me to help them. But do I help them emough ? I bark and I bite and I growl. I shush and I shoo. Help is on my schedule and kids don't work that way.

What could I do ? Well I could start by opening my mind and keeping it open. I could start by remembering that there will be a when they won't want me to help them but I will want to help. I could start by remembering that I will be running after them to spend time with them soon and they won't want to anymore. I could start by remembering that one day they won't have any more questions for me but I will have answers that I want to share. I could start by accepting the fact that my son does things differently and to stop placing unrealistic expectations upon him.

What could I do ? I could accept the fact that he won't be what I expected him to be and to stop blaming him for that. I could accept the fact that I need to find a way to relate to my son and my daughter before they won't care if I do or don't. I could accept the fact that I need to keep trying to be a better parent and not be so hard on myself when I mess up.

What could I do ? Love myself as much as I love my kids. Remember that saying I love you doesn't mean as much as showing that love every day. Find ways to have fun with my kids that don't involve a screen. Have realistic expectations on all of us and follow through on ways to improve my parenting.

What could I do ? See the chance to change and take it. I don't want to let life go by and keep missing it. I have two valuable, loving kids who think I am great. Maybe I should start deserving that opinion it a little more.

Just one more thing...

Well...

So we go to the developmental pediatrician for a check up. Just to see whas' up and check meds and all that good stuff. After a brief discussion, we get on to some concerns. Concerns lead to a small test. The small test leads to just one more thing. That one more thing is now called a fine motor visual integration disorder. But to the doctor it really isn't one more thing because it was probably always there but is just surfacing now so really it isn't anything new per se but ... it's just one more damn thing.

She reveals the concrete evidence to me in the middle of the lobby. I start laughing hysterically and she looks at me like I'm about to go postal, which unbeknowst to her I probably am. To her it's nothing, it's minor, it's no big deal. To me, it's one more thing. I look at her and I say, "I really was hoping not to hear the phrase - Would you like fries with that ? in relation to my son's career choices." She laughs. Haha - very damn funny. I point out to her that while it may have been there it is one more damn thing. This boy is anaphylactic, allergic, atoptic dermatitis, asthmatic, aspergers, add and now his brain doesn't want to talk to his hands. Well hell. Who does his brain want to talk to ? It doesn't want to tell him how to behave. It doesn't want to not kill him if he eats peanuts or nuts. It doesn't want to tell him how to make friends. It doesn't want to help him read properly. It doesn't want to help him breathe properly. So what may I ask is his brain supposed to actually do ? It appears to be going on strike on a regular basis and quite frankly I wasn't aware of a union. We also discover that he has been holding his pencil wrong for five years and at this late stage may not be correctable. Well hot damn - let's add just one more thing to the other thing that we've added today. Why not ? There seems to be a special on disorders and dysfunction today and apparently we are in the two 'fer line. Hot diggity.

So the day continues.

At one point I am on the phone crying hysterically and wondering what the heck is going on ? Much stronger language was used but who knows who might read this. God forbid I offend. The hysterical laughter soon follows and I commence high pitched what the f#!%'s in order to relieve my mounting hysteria. Thank God for my friend with an A child. She gets it which is what I really need to hear at that time.

So the day continues.

I get home and the husband does not get it at all. He does not see the port hole to my son's future shrinking. He does not see the added stress and added anxiety. He does not see the need for any of this. He does not see the need for me to have a moment. He believes he has it in perspective. I believe he is delusional but that is another story. My husband comes at this from a unique perspective because he himself is learning disabled. While not Wile E. Coyote, I am fairly bright and find reading and writing as easy as breathing. He does not, never has, never will found either of those skills easy.

It has taken me a long time to separate the ability to read and write from intelligence. My husband helped me with that. It has taken me a long time not to judge a person based on what they read or how they write. What I need right now is someone to throw me a freaking bone and tell me that my son's future is not mandated to include McDonald's as his only career choice. What I need is someone to show me that he can learn but needs to learn differently. What I need is all those people who told me he was bright all those years ago to go soak their head because they set me up for this fall. The "professionals" who over and over again said he was bright - he had problems, but he was bright. Well if his future career includes being a light bulb then we are on the right track.

Like it or not, this is just one more thing for Thomas and I to deal with. I guess I had hoped all his other issues would exempt him from any more things. A get out of hell free card if you will. This may turn in to a gift. There will be a positive from this I'm sure. But for right now, it's just one more damn thing.

Laugh until I cried

Well....

As the parent of an A child you have many moments where the floor does not conveniently swallow you up and you are left to deal with whatever has just popped out of your ever lovin' childs mouth. Most times the other party laughs it off - some times they don't. I just read Jess' blog about sexy Spencer and have to share my story. Thanks for the laugh Jess - I needed that.

So we're in the doctors office - again. Thomas is about 3 and has learnt the power of frustration. We are helping him deal with that as best we can. Apparently there are those in our house who are not dealing as well as they should as I am about to discover. My son is happily playing with those dirty, nasty, make you cringe doctor's office toys. He is getting frustrated and I mention that calming down might be a good choice. In a stellar moment of childhood my son stands up, puts his hands on his hips and says none too quietly - Oh for F#!ks sake ! Hmmmm, say I. I guess someone has been cussing in the house and I guess Thomas' hearing is not as bad as we thought. We didn't know at this point that he actually has hyperacuity. So I say to myself, Self - whose fault is this really ? And myself says - yours you potty mouth. So I call my son over and congratulate him on the proper use of the term, remind him that we need to speak to Daddy when we get home and calmly advise him not to use that phrase again.

Damn that Daddy ! Can't he learn to control his f#!$ing mouth ?

More change...

Well...

For the first time EVER, Thomas threatened violence against a doll. For anyone who knows Thomas - this is monumental. His Asperger's fixation has been babies and dolls since he was 2. Loved them, rocked them, stared longingly at them in stores, owned one, lost one; you get the idea.

At the Medieval Faire yesterday, he says to me, " Mom, can I have a broad sword so I can chop the heads off of Vanessa's dolls ?" I was astounded. Not only becuase this was a violent act but because this was Thomas speaking. He who is still championing to get his own carriage for his sister's dolls !

I take this as a milestone for Thomas. A sign that he is indeed maturing and changing. He is loathe to give up his babyish readers. He is loathe to pass by the dolls in the store without looking. He is loathe to pass by a baby and not ask questions about it to the parents. BUT - he is now willing to cut off dolls heads or at least consider it. Some say future psychopath - I say ahhhh. My boy is growing up. Thank You God.