Chicken Soup for a Mom's Soul (Autism Spectrum Style!)

Today was a Chicken Soup for a Mother's Soul moment that I must share!

You may recall from earlier posts that my daughter is somewhat klutzy. She is so aware with every bug crawling on every leaf around her that she doesn't look right in front of her as she walks, or in the case from this morning rides her bike. She had just snapped on her helmet and wrapped a scarf around the bike seat since it was cold to the touch to her and started on her way to school. As lil sis, Sarah and I stood at the door way, we blew kisses and said our bye byes. During one of my blinks, the bike went horizontal and Sienna let our her whale cry. I ran towards her, barefoot and bra-less for all the parents dropping their kids off at school across the street to see. From the panic of Sienna's cry, I was looking for a head that might have been decapitated. At the very least, I expected some bone to be poking out or blood guzzling into the lawn. Luckily, the cry had just been totally exaggerated a little "over the top."

Sienna sat there on the driveway, tears gushing. I helped her stand then she gimped towards our front door. I could hear a little girl's voice shout from across the street, "Sienna, are you ok?" as I closed the door and helped her sit on the chair right inside our foyer. Grabbing three Band-aids, I hoped I could "fix" the situation and get her to school without another tardy this year.

She insisted on putting all three of the Band-aids on herself. There were no scrapes or scratches or dents. She placed them carefully one on each knee and one on her shin. I told her that she still had plenty of time to walk to school. She told me that she was seriously injured and couldn't even walk. GEEZ MOM, DUH!

I responded, well, you have plenty of time to hobble and limp down the street to the cross guard. "Take your time sweetheart," I replied, ushering her to the door. I gently helped her down the porch. reminded her how brave I thought she was and said my second farewell. As she grabbed every thing she could hold onto, she slowly made it down the drive way, then, on the sidewalk, then, hop hop down the sidewalk very very slowly. As I chuckled inside at her thespian performance, I noticed two young girls across the street shouting at Sienna. They started walking away from the school, parallel with Sienna, cheering her on. I then watched Sienna cross the street and meet up with the girls. They both helped her carry her back pack and hold her hands as she waddled along.

Little tears blurred the heavenly vision for just a moment. This was something I had never seen with my own eyes before. Sienna had friends!!! Real, breathing, walking, talking and supportive friends - not just "nap buddies" (stuffed animals) or our pug, Clio to keep her company and hunt for bugs.

How sweet this morning was to me! Any of you other moms out there with children on the spectrum know how special this moment is I am sure! Thank you God for putting friends like that to help Sienna carry her load today.

Feeling like Dirt on a piece of ^%@%!

So, last week at my therapist's I told him that I was thinking of ending my therapy sessions for the time being. There are times when you need therapy - REALLY NEED therapy and then there are other times that I consider therapy a mere luxury. And, frankly, I'd rather get a pedicure.

But my therapist suggested that I pencil something in and see how my month goes. My husband who is naturally tight with money also agreed that I continue to go. Good suggestion! How did I know that I would have caught a pretty bad case of the blues over the weekend?

We took an overnight trip to visit my family. And, on the way home, like almost every trip before, I left with an extra huge suitcase filled with disappointment.

Usually on the drive home, I can cry it off or sleep it off or eat junk food to purge the pain but this visit was different. I'm still swimming in the muck today.

It was all too much for me to bear. One thing I have realized raising two daughters on the spectrum is that I need to surround myself only around supportive people. I do not feel very supportive or accepted by my family. I am not even sure I should be calling them family right now. I am just a step-child really and all that they have given me in my life has been part of a consolation offering. Since my folks divorced when I was two, I have really not been worthy for anything more from a real family.

I actually have matured and forgiven a lot throughout the years. In fact, I believe I have always tried to take the high road. Despite my struggles as a teen and my flirtations with the party scene, I have always tried to gain the attention and approval of my family members. I can remember telling my dad how grateful I was that he was my day and what a good man I thought he was for staying in touch with me after he left my mother.

Um... HELLO? What a low self image of myself that I didn't have the innate knowledge that as my father, he is supposed to not only 'stay in touch with me' in fact, he should have stayed with my mom and dealt with her mental health issues. At age two, I should have not been left alone with her to take care of her for the next 30 years or so while he went along to get himself a new wife and home and family and live happily ever after. (More on this in later posts. I actually love my step-mom and consider her a blessing to my life. I am just sorting out some junk right now so things have to get messy until I get reorganized!)

As we get the van loaded and I try to round up my two free spirited too wound-up daughters whose issues still aren't completely understood by the extended family yet, I notice my dad putting oil in his car, my step mom cleaning the inside of the windows of his car and her father or, "Pappaw" as everyone calls him put white touchup paint on the exterior. I thought what strange timing to be cleaning Dad's car. I wish I had time to do that to our car. Better yet, wish they could move their assembly line over to our van! We have Cheerios and hand prints on the windows that have been there for years!

Then, I realized, they are GIVING my 30 year old brother their car. I also caught a glimpse of them giving my brother $100 for gas money while he picked through all of my dad's watches and neckties. My dad asked him, "When do you get paid next?" He is a corporate attorney in Chicago... HELLO? Does anyone realize how charmed a life he has? Does anyone realize that I, my family really are the ones in NEED gas money? Oh. How I am not feeling the love!

Now that my dad is handicapped, he can't drive and he won't be needing all his fancy clothes and jewelry. I wonder if he throws in his Rolex, I mean, why not? My brother could use it! He definitely needs a Rolex in fact. Why not? He's earned it. He's worked his way up the easy trail of Moochville and is entitled to the Rolex by now. They already have helped him through college, then straight into business school for his MBA and then immediately into law school. He hasn't had to work a day in his life. He has worked, but he really hasn't HAD to work because my parents, or I guess, HIS parents pay for his everything. And, he hasn't gone without much. He frequents the White Sox ballgames at about $80 a ticket, he wears Versace shades and suits, North Face jackets and drives a Maxima and he has always lived in the chic parts of Chicago. He lives a lifestyle like he is a day trader or a drug dealer. And, I think about how he treats my parents - I mean HIS parents. I can't even type it in now because I am so emotional about it. It isn't like he is cruel or abusive towards them, it just seems that he takes and takes and never seems appreciative or willing to give back. He doesn't even buy anyone gifts. Oh, well, he did give my daughters some stuffed animals for Christmas last year. My step mom DROVE him to the mall, helped pick out the gifts, paid for them and then wrapped them for him. Then, she bragged about how he is such a great uncle getting the girls such cute gifts. BARF. He gives birthday cards, sometimes six weeks late. And, when he does give one of his stupid not-very-funny cards, my parents, I mean HIS parents always laugh their heads off and say, "Isn't that so thoughtful?" Double BARF BARF.

I was an A or B student throughout high school. I wanted to go to college but they said I needed to figure out what I wanted to be. Even though Pappaw was the school's guidance counselor, didn't they know that most kids who go to college figure all the out later? The real reason they didn't want me to go to college was because when I was two, the divorce attorney told my dad he had to pay for college for me. My mom told him that she'd hope I'd want to go to Harvard. So, well if they don't encourage me to go to college, they win. Well, I did end up going to college, four years after high school and they paid for it until I was able to get financial aid and scholarships at age 23. I thought all this resentment was washed away in the 'Bye-Gone" file of my mind. I thought I had forgiven them for this. Why am I wasting my precious energy thinking about it and typing about it? To use my daughter's boo-boo analogy, it is still a wound. I thought it was healed but the bone and marrow is still weak that without the proper care, it can still break.

So, here I sit wounded. And, I am reminded that in my family, I am as important as dirt on a piece of shit. I apologize for the swearing. I really try not to do that but I just know no other analogy to describe how demeaned I feel right now. I don't understand how I could have had such a difficult upbringing and now have children who are so challenging. I don't have the proper skills or support from family to manage all of it! My in-laws who only live 15 minutes away are worse. But, another post for another day.

And no matter how hard I try to 'grin and bear' it, I feel so rejected, so misunderstood, so sad and angry. I don't think it is physically possible for me to take this on. I am going to have to call my doctor and get on medication today. I hate that because it is just more money to spend and I haven't been able to find medication that doesn't make me sweat like a pig. I might try to just hold my head up, put a smile on and go about the day running errands as usual. I am putting this personal conflict on a blog shelf for now...

Why don't they love me just the way I am? I love my girls just the way they are.

Why Does God Allow Boo-Boos?

Some of you may recall a post I wrote earlier about Sienna falling off of her bike and what a typical boo-boo drama brings to our family. Sienna has been having a difficult time dealing with her new boo-boo. We can distract her from it most of the time but there are those moments when she obsesses about it. I think for a child on the spectrum, boo-boos can send a blip through the nervous system.

Sienna asked me this morning, "Momma, why does God give us boo-boos?"

I replied, "God doesn't give us boo-boos, but he allows us to have them so that we become stronger."

Anyone else have another answer? Please comment!

A Mommy and Boo Boos

The picture in my mind of a mommy caring for her child when she has a boo boo is seeing the child, sitting on the toilet, seat and lid down of course. The child sobs inhaling a quick one-two breath as a tear falls from her eye onto her leg that is propped up onto the bathroom sink. The mommy has her organized first aid kit ready and applies the antibacterial ointment and then a Band-aid and softly gives the boo-boo a little gentle kiss. The kiss instantly heals both the boo boo and the anxiety of the child as the daughter gets up, says, "Thanks Momma!" and then runs off to play with the harp music fading off in the distance.

OK. So, maybe the harp and the "Thank you" is a little over the top, a girl can dream can't she?!

This girl is learning that what I imagined as a typical mom healing a typical boo-boo to a typical child is merely a fairy tale. As a young toddler, Sienna was very accident prone. She would walk forward, with her head turned backwards and run straight into a glass door knob. She'd panic and scream and run away and hide far away from me. I would try to run to her to console her but then I realized that I just caused more anxiety to her little two year old body and brain that was just learning how to make sense of what just happened. I still get upset when I realize that I can't help my little girl and her boo boos. I have bought all kinds of boo boo packs bulk packaged Band-aids. But, even these don't provide any relief to Sienna when she falls or bumps into things. It is so heart wrenching to be a mom and not be able to comfort my child when she is hurting.

Take yesterday for example. Sienna learned to ride her bike without training wheels last week and we are proud as peacocks for her. She just wheels around and navigates her bike like a six-year-old-on-a-purple-princess-bike-professional. Yesterday as I was getting dinner ready, the front door flew open and I saw Fred holding Sienna like the men held Marilyn Monroe in "Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend." Only, Sienna wasn't draped in diamonds and a red dress, she had her bike helmet on and her butterfly polka dotted sun dress was covered in dust and gravel. She screamed like she was dying so I quickly ran to her. Fred dropped her off on the couch for me to do triage and he left to go get the bikes he had to leave five blocks down the street. Sienna wailed. Her sister Sarah rushed to see what was wrong and started crying at the sheer intensity of it all. I put on my sincere and worry face and asked her what happened. She screamed in a "scratchedy" volume that only a mother could love. It reminded me of the small penguin on Happy Feet, but that is another post for another day.

I told her to try to relax while I sprinted to get my handy dandy first aid kit. OK. So, I am not that organized at all. In fact, the only way I was able to locate a Band-aid was because every time, I mean EVERY time I go to the grocery store or drug store or any store, I buy Band-aids. My daughters go through Band-aids like they go through water. They love Band-aids and tape in fact. Don't ask me, it's a sensory thing... Any way, back to the trauma. So, I grabbed the box of Band-aids and with a leap and a wink I looked Sienna in the eye. I told her I would put a little ointment on the Band-aid and then put it on her knee. You see, with kids on the spectrum, you have to constantly tell them what is happening next. That way, in a world that seems so out of control for them, they are able to have some heads up to what is about to happen next. So, I was just remaining in step with my usual form of communication with Sienna when she let a demonic yelp and appeared as though she was going into convulsions. I tried resting her fears with both hands up to show her I had dropped the weapons, er... I mean the Band-aid and ointment. She then kicked at me, not caring if my face was in the way and shouted, "Get away from me! Get away!" She repeatedly screeched out "No! No! NOOOO!!!!" in a sort of rhythmic chant as if she were being attacked in a horror film.

All I wanted to do was put a Band-aid on. I have never tried using any strong burning antibacterial medicine that might have given her a fear to all future medications. I tried to comfort her with just a wet paper towel which she threw across the room. "How about the soft Nemo boo boo pack?" I gently suggested. Again, "No! No! NOOOOO!" Coupled with a "GO AWAY!!!!!!!"

So, I ushered her little sister and we walked out of the room. I tried to go back to fixing dinner all while Sarah kept asking what was wrong with 'SeeStu." I repeated her question to her with clear pronunciation. Another method I practice in trying to help my two year old's speech. I said, "What is wrong with Sister?" Ummmm....

That my friends is a loaded question! Oh, where do I begin?

And today, I leave you with this quote, "I just want to be a mommy who kisses her little girl's boo boo when she falls off of her princess bike. That's all I want. Is that too much to ask?