Time, Leave Me Be

The realization slapped me across the face last week when I was talking to a few friends about our sons. I will have a freshman in high school next year. *insert vomit sounds*

I may need to increase my therapy sessions.

I have been out of high school for 15 years. Yup, that still hasn't fulled wrapped its sticky tentacles around my brain yet. 

While the orthodontist was discussing with Logan and I about his new braces routine, another realization punched me in the throat. This was a similar conversation I had when getting my braces on back in high school. 

What the frack?

When did this happen?

Why?

Where?

How?

Not that I object. I am thrilled with my almost 13 year old independent kids disposition. His younger years were spent in hospitals, doctors offices, and specialist buildings so really it is quite a medicinal blur. Now, he is almost has tall as I am, makes his own food, and has firm beliefs and opinions about everything. And, I mean everything.

I always thought I would be the type of mother who would never cry when their child went to school or would count the days until he moved out and went off to college. That was before I gave birth to the most amazing kid ever. I love spending time with him. We aren't friends or buddy's, that won't happen until he is much older, but I am sad that time is going by so quickly. 

We have been in North Carolina for almost a year. Insane! Logan's growth, both emotionally and socially has been awesome to watch. 

Time.

It's a phantom. 

Just sneaks up behind you unknowingly and swipes the days away.

As we begin our climb toward those conversations of drivers license, dating, and jobs, I will absorb each moment. Because the other realization that hit me was that my parents and grandparents are growing older. 

The stress about my book and homeschooling is so small compared to what truly matters. Because, every time I allow stress to come in, I am taking time away from the people I love. I am not okay with that. 

Lost time is never found again.

Benjamin Franklin

So very true, Ben. So very true.

Until next time.

Keep it real, peeps!

What Autism Means To Me - We Are Having A Rough Day

Logan wrote an amazing piece about what autism means to him on his blog, The Quirky Mustache. Here is my piece which by the end will hopefully give me some peace.

Today, is a rough day in our house.

I am told all the time, "Logan seems so normal. He doesn't act like he is on the spectrum."

Yes, Logan is high-functioning and for the most part all is kosher but if you don't live with us 24/7, you just don't know what it is like for us on a daily basis. Some days are smooth-sailing. School is a piece of cake. No tears are shed. We end the day with a nice bowl of chocolate ice cream.

Other days, like today, are agonizing. Logan cries in my arms with such force he is gagging on his own saliva. He is trying to talk, trying to tell me what he's feeling but the tears are pouring out. His body shudders against mine and I try to soothe him with rocking motions and small circles on his back. Through hiccuped cries he manages to say "I feel stupid." 

That sound you heard, was my heart cracking down the middle. I swallow back my own tears because if he sees mine or hears a slight tremor in my voice, his emotional breakdown will escalate. My words are not soothing to him. I need to let him release it all as a torrent of muddled sentences push out and I squeeze him tighter and pray. Pray for him to find God's solace, to find His peace because I can't. I grasping at it with all that I have but failing.

This is my hell. Watching my son crumble in my arms and there is nothing I can do. 

This is his hell. Crumbling in my arms and not being able to stop it. 

This is our reality.

And today, our reality sucks big time.

I try to absorb Logan's rampant emotions. I whisper prayer in his ear and fifteen minutes later, he begins to calm down. I tell him "Breathe with me, Logan." 

I want his breaths to even out.

I pull back for a moment and his eyes are swollen and red. His face blotched from forehead to neck. I remove his glasses so I can wipe his face and clean his glasses. 

I'm glad Phil is at work. It affects him deeply and kills his soul.

Twenty-five minutes later, Logan is exhausted from the emotional flood and I am exhausted from damming mine. 

Logan is eating lunch and I am sitting here vomiting out my feelings. An occasion tear escapes but I quietly wipe it away.

What autism means to me is....it's part of my son. 

My beautiful, sweet, loving, innocent, compassionate child. 

I could say I hate it but than I would be hating something that is part of him and I can't do that. I can't include the word hate with reference to Logan. I just can't. Days like these are draining and I wouldn't wish them on anyone. 

Not matter what your opinion about the autism spectrum is, if you know or see someone who is struggling, don't judge them. Encourage them. Love them. Raise them up. Pray with them. Pray for them. 

My emotional breakdown will come later tonight. When everyone is asleep. 

Tomorrow is a new day and I know it will be better then today.

I'm just keepin' real....
Until next time.

Remembering...Six Years

Six years. It doesn't seem possible. Six years ago, my aunt, Blenda Jean Johnson Alexander, left this world very unexpectedly. The impact of her loss shook our family to its very core. When my dad phoned me that Easter morning 2007, deep within me I knew tragedy struck our family. I didn't want to answer the ringing phone. Phil stood in the kitchen watching me. In a gut-wrenching sob my dad said "Blenda, is gone." What came next was something I would never wish on my worst enemy. After dropping the phone to the floor, twenty minutes of my life remain absent. Hysterics took over. Months later, I asked Phil what happened. I screamed. I cried. I ran to the bathroom and collapsed on the floor yelling. Phil consoled me. Every automatic function like breathing was no longer involuntary. Phil had to coax me to breathe. 

My family in South Dakota prepared themselves for the journey to Texas. We had just moved to Pensacola, Florida, and we planned to drive to San Antonio. Numb. I was numb the entire drive there. I was asked to write and read a poem at her funeral. I brought along my favorite notebook knowing the words would come to me when it was time.

And they did. 

While driving from our hotel in San Antonio to her house in Blanco, her whispers came and I started to write.

Rejoice For Me

By Andrea Johnson Beck

Why do you weep for me my weeping ones?

Your eyes filled with such sorrow

Listen to me when I say

There will be a brighter tomorrow

Why do you have such anger in your hearts?

They beat with such disdain

Feel me when I say

For I beat there as well and I bear no pain

Why do you feel compelled to ask the words of Why

Trust me when I say

When you look to the Heavens I am your Angel

Watching over you deep within the sky

Why do you not celebrate my full and joyous life?

Hold tight to one another when I say

I celebrated every breath being a Mother, a Daughter,

A Sister and a Wife

Why do you hold on so tight with every muscle and every bone?

Love one another when I say

I may be gone but my spirit is free

I am home

I am finally Home

When I read those words before a packed church, my eyes stayed focused on my son and husband. If I tore them away and looked at those who were sobbing and sniffing, I wouldn't have finished. I almost didn't make it through it all but Logan's baby blue's pushed me forward. 

I never wrote in that notebook again. I can't. I keep it safe. 

I never wrote poetry in any notebook since that day. Until last night.

I grabbed a new pad of paper and started writing. And, it felt so good. The words glided from the pen with ease and grace. I will type it out later on the computer and share. The poem is about memories. Some we wish we could banish forever and others, we beg to stay but over time flutter away. Memories are our worst enemy and our best friend. But, they are apart of us. 

The memory of that horrific week is fresh, as if it happened just yesterday but there were times, while sitting in her house, I felt her presence and it was one of peace and hope. The words I read at her funeral were not mine. They were my aunts. 

It brings me peace knowing that she is Home.

Either Get On The Acceptance Train or I'll Boot You Off

I was asked many questions at the autism spectrum meeting I recently attended.  I was dubbed the “seasoned” mama out of the group. My responses were what we went through. We discussed therapies, medications, psychologists, schools, etc. The one question that tugged at my heart strings the most was “You have been at this awhile, how do you deal with negative people, especially family?” 

My answer was simple: Either they accept your child or they don’t. And if they don’t, then that’s their loss and you need to keep moving forward. Negative people will only hold you back.

Harsh? Perhaps. Truthful? Yes.

I have severed ties with people for that exact reason. My son comes first. Period. End of story. If you cannot love, accept, and embrace my child then you need to take your ignorant self elsewhere.  My filter long evaporated when it comes to this. In the beginning it was different. Just as it is for those mothers and families who are receiving new diagnoses. They are fresh and they are scary.

Most of the time you stand there asking “What now?”

Just like any child, on the spectrum or not, each one is different. They are unique. They have strengths and weaknesses. The have favorite hobbies. Some enjoy competitive sports others like chill soccer games with friends.

Every child is different.

My goal is to ensure that Logan is independent and can function on his own when that time comes. Riding a bike or swimming is just a bonus. Not a requirement.

If you can’t accept or embrace your child, how do you expect your child to accept and embrace themselves? Or others, for that matter.

I was also asked “Do you tell people?”

In the beginning I did. I guess, for me, it was some kind of justification. I am really unsure. But, I don’t now unless something happens or I am asked about it. Autism doesn't define Logan. It never has and it never will. And really, it is no ones business.

I am amazed how people can make you feel like a bad parent. They know what to say to twist that guilt knife deep in your heart and it hurts worse when it is a close friend or a family member. Remember that old saying; if you haven’t walked a mile their shoes…zip it. Okay, that’s my version but you get the point.

I felt their emotions sitting there; it rolled off of them in waves. My heart ached when they would share their stories and frustrations. And I wished that I had all the answers. All I could do was pray for guidance so that I may offer them proper advice and encouragement.

I made them laugh (inappropriate humor) and it was great to see their smiles. Whether you are “unofficially” officially diagnosed or officially diagnosed or starting the diagnosis process, it is emotionally draining. You are filled with more questions than answers.  And it is downright terrifying. Ours took close to three years.

Repeat after me: You are a good parent. You will get through this. You will survive.

Logan was unofficially officially diagnosed close to seven years ago and I am still standing. We are still standing, together. And seven years from now you will be too.

Accept, Embrace, and Love your child, quirks or no quirks. 

Scold Thy Thighs

Over two years ago my husband and I collectively dropped 120lbs. No. I won't shut up. Wait. That was my inner dialogue saying "Shut up!" It's seems like ages ago. 

Guess what happens when you move to a different state. Stress. Have major house issues. Stress. Movers break your treadmill. Stress. Publish your first book. Stress. Sit on your tushy and write the second book. Stress. Cold weather happens. Homeschool. REBELLION happens. Body rebellion.

I have gained back fifteen of the fifty that I lost. My weight rides the roller coaster diet from hell. I know what I need to do. I've done it before. I now have a new treadmill. The weather is nicer. Other stresses linger but my body rebellion is in full shaking fist action. 

That above, doesn't motivate me. In fact, I find that stupid. I will never have skinny boobs, skinny hips or skinny thighs and I don't to but I want my body to stop being an annoying hag. Allow me to enjoy my wine and chocolate and leave me the heck alone. 

If anyone who loses weight, tells you it's easy to get back on the healthy horse is full of crap. Celebrities. Full of crap. Jillian Michael's voice is nails on a chalkboard for me. Let's be real about it. Eating healthy 24/7, exercising 7 days a week for an hour, and tracking crumb sucks. It does. I hate it. I don't have time for that every single second of my existence. 

Before you start the pom-pom chants, I know what I need to do and I am going to push through it. The weather is warming up and I can't hide underneath my hoodies any longer. I will grit my teeth and slap the rebellion out of me. I won't but I'll try. 

 I am now going to remove my butt from this chair and get on my treadmill. 

Check in with me soon. I may have gone homicidal and demolished the chocolate aisle at Target.

Until next time.

Keep it real, peeps!

Marriage Advice That Will Save Your Life

I have been married for 13 1/2  years and over that time my husband has become a quick learner. 

He has learned to never, EVER tell me calm down. 

Because, this will happen.

He knows that I have friends that are loyal and love me and will help me bury the body.

Telling a woman how to feel is a big no-no. When I would get asked "What makes your marriage work?" Before I would tell them humor and strength. Humor is important and also the strength to fight for each other but knowing when to just zip your lips is just as important. 

My husband has also learned that chocolate, wine, and coffee (the occasional new Coach purse) cure a craptastic mood. That and not cooking dinner. 

Phil doesn't touch the chocolate he purchases for me either. I'm not what you call a "sharer." My son stays away as well.

So men, pay attention to this advice. If not, then hide all shovels or other digging tools. 

Until next time.

Keep it real peeps!

It's About That Time, Yo!

April is Autism Acceptance Month and April 2nd is Autism Acceptance Day. Or, you may see it as Awareness, either way, this is a month of education and information. Almost on a weekly basis I receive emails or private messages asking me various questions about the autism spectrum. How is the process? How do we cope? When did we start the diagnosis process? 

Let me start by saying that every child is different, whether they are the autism spectrum or not. Children grow differently, flourish at different times, and develop in their own ways.

Logan is high functioning on the spectrum. It does not define who he is, it is part of our lives but he is an intelligent, active, and growing twelve year old boy. 

During April, not only will Logan share his stories here and on his own blog but we will have stories from other families. I will post educational information and continue to spread the word ACCEPTANCE. 

If you cannot accept Logan for who is, then peace out and don't let the door hit you on butt on your way out. 

This is a passionate topic for not only me but for Logan as well. He has had to face a lot of adversity and has always handled himself in a mature and awesome manner. He is the voice for those who can't speak and he will educate those who have questions or opinions. And set those people straight who have something negative to say.

April will be a month of awesomeosity and of course, colorful staches;-)

Until next time...keep it reals!