Ask me how to strap a giant whale to my minivan and drive 1600 miles home with it! I'll tell you how. Ask me to define the word sharing. It's different than what you might expect. Ask me how to get your child to learn there's more to life than pb&j. Wait, don't ask me that. Ask me what it's like to have an autistic child. I'll try to help you understand. Ask me to show you my Mom of the Year award! Oops, usually I'm out of the running for that about 10 minutes after getting out of bed.
Yet, it's all good. Sure, the paycheck is lost in the mail but I still wouldn't trade this life, quirks and all. In my posts, I'm hoping you'll find humor and honesty and that you'll be able to relate to my humble acceptance of motherhood's ups, downs and in betweens.
Welcome to my world!
One End of the Spectrum to the Other
Today was one of those “I just cannot win” days and here is why:
I found myself enjoying single parenting this weekend. Hubby off guarding the nation. Patience wearing maybe just a wee bit thinner than it does on weekends where I actually get to have a life outside of desperate mommyhood…you know how it goes. Anyway, this morning Adam was having a spectrum meltdown over every last crumb that fell off his breakfast plate, and I mean every.last.one. And when you’re just trying to get five minutes of peace reading the Sunday paper, you know, maybe you get a bit irritated with every “FIX IT! FIX IT! OH FIX IT!” that comes hurling your way. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that with autism, when it is yelling “FIX IT!“, you must indeed FIX IT. If you want to avoid a nervous breakdown anyway (yours and his). So… intimate and personal I become with my kitchen floor, making sure every stray muffin crumb is cleared from sight as to ensure Adam’s ultimate dining pleasure. A prayer is uttered to the gods of sanity to please help my son get over his fear of making a mess!
Ah ah ah! (picture finger wagging here), not so fast, Mama!
Fast forward a couple hours later to the moment I’m drying my hair in a vain attempt to look halfway decent for a 7 year old’s birthday party I’m supposed to attend in about an hour. Oldest boy, Logan, appears and stretches himself out on the ledge of the tub (because when you’re trying to dry your hair, you need your 8 year old staring you down, right?).
“When are we going to leave?” he asks, careful to make sure that he leaves a nice palm print on the freshly squeegeed glass shower door.
“Um, as soon as I’m done getting ready” I reply and if he picked up on a bit of the HELLO! Do I ever leave the house with wet hair? factor than I just may be getting good at this job after all.
“Well, I’m going outside to ride my scooter until it’s time to go.” Fine, FINE! Out you go…just give me a few minutes already!
“Oh, hey, you know what?” is the afterthought that comes along with his exit from the room. “I forgot to tell you that I had a snack while you were in the shower.” Which, as you’ll need to understand here in a minute, was over a half an hour ago.
“Um, ok…”
“And I forgot to tell you that I bumped into my chocolate milk and spilled it all over the floor. Some went on the wall too. I couldn’t find any paper towels so it’s still there.”
Large sigh from me as I have a mental image of what lies ahead for me downstairs in the kitchen.
Be careful what you wish for, Hillary. Somewhere there is a happy medium between OH FIX IT! and chocolate milk that has been left to fend for itself for over 30 minutes.
