Check me out at Mile High Mamas!

The crazy canuck over at Mile High Mamas (hey Amber!) occasionally allows me to ply my trade on her site. I thought I’d send you over there for my latest musings.

http://www.milehighmamas.com/2009/09/29/family-and-work-how-do-you-juggle-it-all/

On Sunday morning, I woke up remembering that I’d promised the boys we’d go for donuts. I was Army Wife this weekend so it was just the 3 boys and myself.

The boys were not keen at all on the idea of going to a grocery store to pick out donuts. They wanted to go to a real donut place (probably because that removed the chance that any shopping would be a part of the adventure) so we headed to Lamar’s. Apparently everyone else in the area had the same idea. The line stretched outside of the tiny shop.

Adam was already a little edgy because I’d nixed the idea of allowing him to bring his favorite toys du jour (plastic, light up spiders, don’t ask) out of the car and honestly, I’m not quite sure why I nixed the idea in the first place.  In fact, I sent Logan back to the car to get them and once they were back in Adam’s possession, we actually waited in line like normal people, free of drama.

That is, until an overly friendly gentleman standing behind us couldn’t resist bending down to Adam’s level, getting right up in his face and bellowing, “HEY THERE BIG GUY!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE THERE?! SCARY SPIDERS, HUH? HOPE THEY DON’T BITE YA!”

I wish sometimes I could hang a sign around Adam’s neck that read  I have autism. I like to be left alone. Maybe I’d even go into more detail. Something like Because I have autism, I have trouble keeping it together in public places. I’m trying to do what I’m supposed to do, but it’d be best for all of us if you’d refrain from getting in my face and talking loudly.

The sign would have been helpful because after that man got in Adam’s face, we weren’t Lamar’s customers anymore, we were prisoners in Spectrum Meltdown City. Adam became completely unglued, throwing his spiders at the man, running up to the donut case and banging his head on the glass. After several “Oh Mys” from the other patrons, most eyes turned to me, looking to see how I’d handle the situation.

Here’s where I needed my own sign. It would read My son isn’t an undisciplined brat, he has autism. I’m not a bad mom, oblivious as to how to handle my kids. If that were either of my two other normal children, you betcha they’d never act like that again after I was through with them. The rules are different with Adam. The best I can hope for is that this line will move quickly. Sorry for the trouble. You have no idea how sorry.

Truth be told, the whole event lasted about 5 more minutes, even though it felt like an hour. We got our donuts (a dozen of them, all covered with all kinds of crap. Clearly Logan and Ryan took advantage of the situation!) and were rung up quicker than you could say long johns, as the cashier was smart enough to see the sign that read GET US OUT OF HERE NOW!

Back in the car, headed home on a beautiful fall morning, all was calm, all was bright, spectrum meltdown a thing of the past. I had three happy boys with visions of donuts dancing in their heads.

And on the radio, the song Wonder by Natalie Merchant began to play.

Was that a sign?

This morning Saniya was calling out “Mama, Mama!!!” so I answered her. She came stomping into the room and said “Not you, I want my REAL mother!” I told her that I WAS her real mother. She said “No, I mean Saadia, she was there when I was BORN!” I said “Uuhhh, yeah, so was I!!!” She said, “No, she was there first. We were TOGETHER and you were NOT there!!” So now she has memories from the womb apparently.

Looking around yesterday at my house, I felt… motivated.  Excited even.  We’re back! I’m here! There’s so much to do! Let’s get this family back into our lives again! Yay, laundry! (ok, maybe not “yay” exactly, but not a whole general sigh of despair at the tipped over pile).

Vacations are nice, wonderful even.  The freedom from routine, the lack of responsibility– all these things simmer in a yummy mix of warm fuzzies.  But there is also, amidst all this fun, a slow build up of inconveniences. Sleeping in hotels is great, but the kids don’t settle down as easily and, after awhile, the restless nights add up to grumpy fits during the day.  Eating out all the time is a treat, but by the end of the week, let’s face it, everyone’s tummies are not in the best shape (internally or in terms of squishiness). Truth be told, one of the best things about coming home was the proximity and comfort of our very own bathrooms. I’m pretty sure no one sets out to take a tour of every public restroom in the Midwest, but we did it nonetheless.  Ah, the joys of constipated toddlers with regressed potty training.  Let me count the ways… there is not enough hand sanitizer in the world to wash away my woes.

When we walked in the door, my head filled with all the things I needed to do, all the things that I had set aside and now COULD do. I unpacked all the dirty, wrinkled clothes for the wash and got dressed in something fresh and new-feeling. Turning to the kitchen, I started a tally of grocery items before I could even reach for pen and paper.  The sigh I breathed when the girls ran up to rediscover their very own playroom was epic. For 10 days we were in the utmost of close proximity, which was fun while it lasted.  But being able to let them just LEAVE THE ROOM for extended periods of time was bliss.

The excitement of returning to the comfort of my life and routines is still in the air (though my fervor for laundry is dissipating rapidly). The best part, though? After a week and a half of being together without actually having any time to enjoy each other’s company, my husband and I looked at each other in the vacuum of noise as our children left the room and, with the fervor of survivors, embraced each other and said, “Hi.”

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So, Tiffany and I have to confess that this Redbook article is a big ding-dang deal to us.  If you check out our press page, you’ll see that we’ve been in a lot of really great magazines and online outlets. But this is the first time that a humongous (2.2 million subscribers), mainstream (not mommy-centric), women’s magazine has pimped us.  It’s amazingly gratifying for several reasons…

Most significant among those is that our message is hitting a much broader audience.  And our message is this: “Perfect Parenting Propaganda” is bad for Mommy Sanity!  We like to think of ourselves as the anti-perfect moms, and we revel in our imperfections.  Every time someone out there says there is one “right” way to parent, we want to roll up our sleeves and help the kids smear applesauce on the walls.

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We’d love to hear from you. Comment on any of the blogs or just email Tiffany and me at ma@motherhoodwithattitude.com. You’ve joined a very supportive (and yet irreverent) motherhood group. Welcome!