I want to get back to "Simple"

One of the reasons I left corporate America, moved away from the windy city and embarked this new chapter in a small midwestern town was to simplify.

I had visions of writing in my journal more, playing with the kids outdoors, baking with fresh foods not boxed foods, learning about birds, reading books, scrap booking maybe even making soaps. I know, the soap dream may be a little ambitious, but my approach was to take it easy, slow down, care for myself so that I can care for my children.

It's been 20 months since we have moved. In the beginning, I did slow down. It was like I was on vacation. We rode our bikes everywhere, spent many morning hours at the beach and afternoon hours napping. I managed the home easily with simple lists that I would write up that would remind me which days I needed to dust, clean bathrooms, floors, laundry. For some reason I was able to manage all of my responsibilities and my life was happy.

I am not sure what happened though. At what point did it all go awry? When did I stop making lists? When did the laundry pile up to the ceiling? When did my calendar go from clean white boxes to scribbles, arrows and abbreviations that I can't recall and people's birthdays that I still forget to acknowledge? When did I go from feeling like my feet were strong to feeling weak in the knees and a strong desire to sleep in even though my children wake with the sun? Why do I make plans to do all these wonderful activities then dread the days and minutes leading up to them and then resent the moments following each appointment?

It all started last night, my realization that this wasn't the life I signed up for. Perhaps this isn't my first ah-ha moment at realizing the dysfunctions in my life and it certainly will not be my final epiphany either. Sienna, my first grader's spring break started this week. Feeling like there is nothing that my daughter enjoys other than her devotion to her Nintendo DS, I made the decision to do something special with her in hopes to draw her attention away from her DS. We were going on a date, a mom and daughter date. We would get our nails done then go out to dinner together, just she and me.

When I mentioned my idea to her, at first, she became angry. Why? I don't know. I have no idea. So, I just dropped the idea and decided that we would just stay at home - again! Oh well, after all, I have mounds of laundry to tend to.

Then, later in the afternoon, she walked up to me, hugged me and asked if we were going on our date. I said sure! I wanted to grab my keys and leave at that instant, happily wanting to bond with my little girl. We waiting for my husband to get home and the second he pulled in the drive, off we went. I realize that Sienna gets stirred up if I talk too much, and when I am excited, I tend to chatter on and on, so on the drive, I tried to distant myself from her and listen to the radio softly. The sun was glowing and the spring birds were dancing circles around our van as we drove past the fields on a country road into town. Not sure what happened in the back seat, but for some reason, Sienna instantly became demanding and had her angry eyes on. We had a heart to heart and then she said she was grumpy but didn't know why. That seems to be a running theme in her life these days. Mine too.

We pulled up to the nail salon, she walked up to the window, smashing her face into the window. I opened the door for her, warned her that the smells would be strong and then tried to distract her by asking her what color she was going to pick for her nails. She instantly told me she had changed her mind and decided that she DID want a pedicure too. Originally she was afraid of sticking her "feet in boiling hot water." But, when she spotted the fancy leather chairs and colored glass foot tubs, she experienced the powerful temptation of a glorious pedicure. A temptation that will revisit her as she continues her life journey past adolescence and into womanhood. She selected glittery polishes. I selected a basic dark rose color. We both sat in the chairs, quietly smiling and enjoying the sights, sounds, smells and the vibrations coming from our massage chairs. As we sat comfortably on our pedicure thrones, the asian ladies doing our toes just kept giggling at my daughter's expressions. It was one of those motherhood moments that was priceless to share with anyone who witnessed it.

Almost two hours of pampering, and $80 later, we slipped on our shoes and coats and headed to Pizza Hut where we would enjoy a free pizza Sienna earned from her Book It Reading program. As we were waiting for a table, there was a group of young girls also waiting for a table. They were a group of fifth graders we recognized from her school. It isn't like she flinched when she saw them, but she did change her demeanor in a flash. She started talking like a baby, tried sitting in the high chair that was next to us. She jumped up and down, she pulled on me and in trying to help her I compassionately told her that I understood that she was nervous. I suggested she stand like a lady who just had her nails done and be proud and happy to be on a girls night out with her mom. But, she couldn't hear a word I said because she would jet out her jaw and pout out her lips and whine like she was a toddler not getting her way. I asked her if we should just leave and she shook her head saying "no no no no no no!" as if she was having a panic attack or a nightmare. In hindsight, I realize I should have left at this point.

But, the hostess redirected us, handed her some crayons and walked us to our table. My daughter insisted that I sit with her on her side of the booth. I agreed and at first we enjoyed playing some of the games on the back of the paper placemat. Then, the group of girls walked by our table and were seated close to us. Sienna instantly jetted her jaw out again and speak in baby language, while banging her crayons. Again, I warned her to act appropriately or else we would need to leave the restaurant.

Was I too hard on her? At what point do you allow your children to be just children, faulty and quirky and when do you do what ever you can to help them to conform in attempt to help them?

She shut down. She tried melting down to the floor, I sternly told her to sit up, bottom on the seat, feet on the floor. She obeyed but still managed laying down on the booth seat. I decided to move to the other side of the booth, sitting across from her. She acted like I rejected her and went into full vicim mode on the verge of a tearful pout.

This was a familiar experience I used to have with my own mother. I was still playing the mother role then, and she would act out like Sienna. So many scenes were caused with her. Too many public embarrassment moments to mention or even to remember. I do recall the big ones, like at my highschool play, my graduations both from high school and college, my wedding, my pregnancy and delivery with my first born... When I was a child, I was the mother to my mother.

She would give the same looks to me when I would try to set boundaries with her. Such a life that I am more than willing to leave in the past yet still creeps up when I least expect it and least need to be reminded of it.

Anyhow, the pizza arrived and I found myself catching the stares of the people around us. Trying to not accept their judgements, although they did consume me in the moment and I felt as though I was an overstrict mean, terrible mother, not allowing my child to just be a child from some glares from fellow diners. From the other glares, I felt the conviction of not being strict enough and allowing my child of getting away with poor behavior. Public opinion on my parenting is a never ending never winning jury so I decided to take a recess, box up the pizza, tip the waitress and put my daughter's coat on her since she was unable to do it herself - at age seven. As she barked and made mild puppy noises, we exited from the restaurant and were safe from a possible scene, or did we make a scene? I can never tell anymore. The lines are fuzzy. All I know is that when the door closed behind us, the experience was also behind us. Finally. A nice moment to be shared between a mother and daughter in hopes of laughter and bonding, was now turned into an experience that finally had passed. Whew! Regretfully, whew.

We walked in the cool evening to the car, both glad for the change of scenery. Our happy toes and fingers smiling at us with each step. As we approached the van, I reached for my keys awkwardly with my left hand into my right pocket so that with my right hand I could hold on to the moment of holding Sienna's soft, tender hand. She hopped into the van and we both cheerfully buckled up. As we drove home, I told Sienna, "Thanks for going out on a date with me. I had so much fun with you!"

She replied, "Mom? Are we home yet?"

Whoa! Not expecting that tone of disrespect, I thought I would take a deep breath and use this moment as a teachable time. I told her, "If someone tells you that they had a nice time with you and then they even thank you for the time that you shared with them, you could say, "Thanks," or "Shucks, I had a good time with you too" but you don't change the subject with an angry tone. That is rude. Do you understand what I just said?"

With rolling eyes, Sienna replied a hasty "Shucks... Are we home yet?"

"Sienna, I loved spending the evening with you so much. But when you are rude like you are being right now, do you think that will make me want to plan something special like this again?"

She replied, "I said shucks, just like you told me to say." Why did I feel like I did something wrong? What just happened, I thought...

Then, she cried and screamed from the back seat of the van, "I was looking forward to this day for a long time and you ruined it for me. You made me so sad." Where did this drama come from? What is happening here?

Thankfully, we were pulling in our driveway. I opened the garage door, walked inside the house. I felt a familiar confusion, a resentment that a mom is not supposed to feel towards her beautiful little girl. I needed time to process it all. After my husband tucked her into bed, and he and I started talking about the evening, guess what the first thing my husband asked me?

"A two hour manicure and pedicure? How much did that cost?"

I used to get manis and pedis at least once a month at a spa. I used feel so lost in the mounds of confusion not to mention laundry. My life used to be more predictable, goal setting and achieving, rewarding. I used to just be a girl who fought a lot with her mother. I had stresses with being a woman in corporate America. Now, my mom has passed away. And now, my daughter has Aspergers, ADHD and Mood Disorders. I don't understand how to be a good mom to her. I fail so many times at my new role as a house wife. I fail at caring for myself like I want, like I need.

I take it a day at a time. I manage what I got. I cope through writing. Thanks for reading this long narrative.

My life as a parent is like swimming in scalding hot waters, then sometimes freezing waters. I don't even know how to detect the temperatures any more. I don't even try. At times, I even forget how to swim. At those moments, I quit kicking and I cry out to God, "Calm these waters Lord. Help me to endure. I'd ask you to help me to swim, but I would rather you just let me float right now. I am weary, wasted, wet with worry and the waters are too much for me." I glance at my earlier phases of life, I had a great suit, good form, I swam even labs, took even breaths, I was swimming and swimming. I just kept going without knowing where. Now, here I am. How did I get here? What is all this laundry doing in this water?

Entering a New Chapter of Motherhood

Yesterday, as the school psychologist left my home after reviewing Sarah's assessment with me, I realized that I was entering into a new chapter of motherhood.

My youngest daughter, Sarah will be turning three in March and will be phasing out of the 0 - 3 program that is government funded and has been providing therapy in our home two times a week. When a child turns three, there is a transition process that takes place so that another government funded agency can give proper services and therapy for the child to prepare him or her for school. And, after several hours of testing spread out into several sessions throughout the past couple of weeks, the 'professionals' have reported that my daughter will not be eligible for any services.

With one side of my heart I am relieved! I am thankful to know that we no longer need to have our weekly schedule spent doing therapy. I am also grateful that my daughter tested 'Superior' in language and cognitive skills. I mean, I should be proud, right? However, my concerns are honed in that along with those high results, she tested borderline and very low in social and emotional development. She also struggles with sensory issues as reported by the Occupational Therapist. This report only reiterates my original concerns for my child as I have lived this chapter of parenting several years ago with my oldest daughter, now age seven. My seven year old has Aspergers Syndrome, although, we didn't know that at the time. In fact, we just are learning about it as I key this post in.

Asperger Syndrome is such a tricky disorder that has taxed me as a mother. It has changed my life in ways that I could have never imagined. It has given me a mix of challenges and blessings. And, as I am still learning parent strategies to get through each day and learning to restructure my dreams for my oldest child's future, I now am seeing that both my daughters may be walking in the similar paths.

Life is all about choices. We chose what we will believe, how we will live and who we will be. Although I am tempted to chose to be a victim, befuddled, judged and in daily grief, I chose another window to look out from. I admit that there are days when I do glance from the darkened viewpoint and I am overrun with tears and isolation. I do let myself have healthy pity parties from time to time, I mean after all, it's only fair! I am hoping that the pity parties will occur less and less as I grow into my new role as a mother to children on the autism spectrum.

And, as I watch the psychologist leave my home on a Tuesday morning in February, I am thankful that I am able to process and condense my thoughts long enough to realize what are my challenges. And, I come up with a new mantra as I enter into a new chapter of motherhood:

I will accept the quirks of my children and the ignorance of others and find healthy coping strategies while maintaining an eternal vision.

More about this mantra in future posts...

The Fortune Telling Map

What will the future hold?




Let's find out. This is a true story.


The first thing I learned is that I do not know my US geography like I should! You would think that watching endless hours of CNN polling and election results, I should know more. This puzzle boasts that it is for children 3 and up. Whew! I fit in to that category. And the findings are....




A. There will be a loss for the auto industry.
My tot is enjoying putting in the state icon pieces in their correct destinations, such as a palm tree in Florida, the Alamo in Texas, uh oh... seriously, there is NO car for Detroit! Either it didn't come in the box or we lost it. Could it be a sign of our future? Maybe I should call Congress and ask them to send me another one for free.

B. With the help from emerging innovation, there will be new discovery and solutions for the energy crisis.
Here my tot is trying to find new ways for energy. Innovation is the answer. Not long pipes under the ground up to Alaska. "Wind and Sun," spouts my toddler.

C. One pretty step for woman, one leap for humankind
Don't my toes look purty? Even if the bottoms are like Flinstone feet! I haven't given myself a pedi since summertime. I had a dream the other night that my toes were painted a cheerful red so in the morning, I got up and painted them. Self care is important or I wouldn't be able to report on these amazing prophesies readers! Red toes are the secret key to my success! And, there are additional topics to discuss on why and how my toes can look so pretty on the top, but be cracked and calloused on the bottom. Typical of motherhood, eh?

D. What will happen to Florida?
I have had a scar on my index finger since I was seven years old. I got it making Christmas candy. It is in the shape of the United States without Florida. I love Florida. I used to live there. I have vacationed there since my youth. But, I can only report on my findings and here is what I see! Take a look for yourself.




And that's all I can find for now. This is Crazy Jug reporting. And, now, back to you.

A Scream-Free Home: Day 14

During my last therapy session two weeks ago, my counselor encouraged me to stop yelling at my kids. Reluctantly, I agreed to his challenge, with the help of some parenting strategies he suggested.

Please don't judge me, I was raised by a screaming mother and it seems that my yelling is as natural as breathing. Add on to my daughter's lack of attention and sensory issues, it is very difficult for her to pay attention and follow my instructions. After a gentle approach of a calm request like, "Sienna, come to the dinner table." She ignores me. Repeat this process three times and I default to screaming. I don't like to scream, although at times I admit it is a release of my frustration and the success factor is pretty good. Screaming is the only way I have been able to get any type of reaction from her. It is like it startles her out of a gaze and she finally does what was requested, instantly - out of fear.

It has been two weeks though since I have talked to my daughter about not screaming at her any more. She seemed glad, of course and so far, I have been doing a pretty good job.

What has helped me to do this new sans-screaming method? Here is a short list of the reasons I think my screaming has left the building. Perhaps they will be tips that may help you too!

1. Pediatrician put my daughter on medication for her ADHD. I saw instant results in her behavior! Since I have always wondered if I might also have ADHD, perhaps medication could also help me?
2. Doctor put me on medication. From the first day I started taking it, I felt like my thoughts were stronger, almost like they were being funneled together. I felt like I had some self control and I felt more confident like I could take on a new approach to parenting.
3. I went on a sugar-free diet. To read more about my post on my new diet, click here. No more extreme blood sugar highs and lows. I didn't do this solely for the self-control to stop screaming, however it has been an added benefit to my parenting technique!
4. I started taking a first aid kit in my purse at all times. It consisted of gum, Band-Aids, baby asprin and Tums. This helps when my daughter "freaks-out" over small boo-boos. From my perspective, her teeny tiny scratches are no big deal, somewhat ridiculous and her over reaction to them used to make me so upset. Once I realized that they were huge anxiety triggers for my daughter, I learned that these first aid items could calm her.
5. No more PDO's (Public Display Outbursts)! One thing that really caused a fire of rage in me was when she would throw a tantrum in public. I would hold it all inside and as soon as we were in private, I would scream and yell. I am now trying a new approach. As soon as I see she is starting to rev up for a tantrum, I remove her from the public eye. We go out side, in a hallway or into our van. This is supposed to dismantle her power and give the parent more control. So far, we haven't had to use this technique. But just knowing about the strategy gives me confidence that I will use it when the time comes.
5.1 I am learning to put zero value on public opinion. Also, one of the most difficult obstacles for me to overcome in parenting my children on the spectrum is to let go of the public opinion! I have lived a life of thinking about what others think of me. God helped me overcome this worry by allowing me to experience children on the autism spectrum. I am letting go of that worry. It takes a lot of energy that I just don't have any more! Again, don't judge me. But, if you choose to judge, then, oh well. Your judgement doesn't bother me as much as it used to!
6. Stop talking about it over and over. Just do it! Instead of telling her, nagging at her to clean her room over and over again. I just started to silently take her toys away that she was not taking care of. One evening, I had a large bag overflowing with her toys. She asked me what the bag was for. I replied that I was removing them from her room because she wasn't taking care of them. I told her that I was thinking about giving them to the thrift store so that some other child could play with them. I also spent four hours one day cleaning, organizing and purging her room for her. More about organizing an Aspie's bedroom in a later post...
7. Let her be late for school and face the consequences. She's gifted and in the first grade. She is able to get dressed, eat and leave for school on time. I shouldn't have to remind her over and over of what she needs to be doing minute by minute of every morning. I have made her morning charts zillions of times. Sometimes they work but most of the time she loses the charts and relies on my nagging and screaming to get her to school on time. But, by nagging at her every morning, I have become a mute nuisance to her ears. Realizing my growing level of frustration, I have relinquished the morning drill-sergeant role. I remind her gently from time to time throughout the morning now, but overall she knows that I will not get stressed out any more about if she is late. The other day, she tested this new approach and decided to hide under the couch. I finished making her lunch, walked by her telling her I was going upstairs to get dressed so I could walk her into the principal's office. When I came downstairs, in stealth mode, I pulled her from out from the couch, put her coat on and walked her across the street to school. We then walked into the principal's office and I told her to tell him why she was late. And that was that. No screaming. No mommie-dearest! She was tardy, she will learn not be tardy.

These strategies have helped me so much so far! Overall I realize that parenting is a work in progress. I am taking monumental steps in the right direction. There are sometimes when I slip and I start to scream. And then, I say aloud, "NO! I AM NOT GOING TO SCREAM ANYMORE!" I breathe deeply. I recall my new strategies and move forward, quietly and calmly. Slowly I am realizing that I have overcome a lot. I have broken the cycle from the past of screaming and I hope to have a home filled with peace, love and understanding. I have a hope that despite the way I was raised and despite the challenges that autism, ADHD and other sensory issues bring to a family, that I can still have a home of peace.

How about you? Do you scream at your kids? What are your triggers? How do you cope? Or, have you lost hope and just settle on being a Mommie Dearest?

Scarlet A for Autism

As I sat at the peditrician's waiting area, I saw a mother enter, her arms overflowing with a large child. She was probably about seven, my own daughter's age. By her posture and gestures you could immediately see she was severely handicapped. In an instant, I felt much remorse for the mother. Then, as she sat in the seat directly across from me, I saw an amazing interaction. With her warm gentle and strong hands, she embraced her daughter's face and they were nose to nose, giggling and playfully whispering to one another. I saw watched the daughter's face light up with pure bliss.

I wanted to stare in amazement at them. For in that moment I realized how immature and selfish I was. My daughter is seven and I am still in the early phases of acceptance. Accepting my daughter for who she is and where she is on the autism spectrum has been one of the most challenging endeavors I have experienced. Judge me all you want, I am just being honest. You see, autism affects her emotions and behaviors in a way that are socially unacceptable. It's like that saying goes, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." I love my daughter! I hate her behaviors. I have to learn to accept some of the behaviors some of the time. But that is always difficult. I haven't figured that part of the puzzle out yet. I think I am doing a pretty good job at it, maintaining my cool and taking it one day at a time. And as I gaze across the waiting room, I see that mother who has a child with so much need. Yet she is accepting and patient and full of grace and love for her child. I on the other hand am helpless and clueless most of the time, such a klutz about motherhood!

My daughter is able to keep it together most of the time. On most days she is a walking talking Hannah Montana. But, there are days and moments when she struggles and - uh oh - what just happened?

It is on days like today when my husband and I see the clear deficits in her. With her penguin-like waddle, hands and fingers flexed tightly, her eyes squinting, baby talking or talking like an otter or dinosaur, she tries so hard to "fit in" to her surroundings. I am not sure why today she was acting like this. Did something happen at school? I wonder, never knowing. And when she behaves like this, it is so opposite to her typical posture and behavior that sometimes I think she does this for attention. Then, this evening at 6:00 p.m., she had a hair appointment. Here is how that event happened:

5:50 Time to get shoes on and get in van to go to hair salon. Instead, Sienna gets in van barefoot, shoes in arm.
5:58 1-2-3 Magic WORKS miraculously and she puts shoes on and whines and fusses as we walk into the salon.
6:00 Sienna crawls under seats in waiting area. I hang coat up and try to over compensate for my daughter's behavior by smiling until my face hurt.
6:05 Hair dresser is looking and waiting. I write a note that reads: Daughter on autism spectrum. needs a few minutes to adjust. thanks.
6:10 Realizing that hair dresser will be needing to go home after this appointment, I firmly tell Sienna to stand up. I lift her up to her feet and push her feet forward, one foot at a time like they did on Weekend at Bernie's.
6:15 Lift Sienna onto salon chair and she screeches in terror when she sees that there is a booster seat. She refuses to sit in and tries to climb over the back of the salon chair. I quickly remove the booster seat and firmly place her down onto the salon seat.
6:20 Stylist offers her to choose which cape she wanted, Zebra or Purple Silk? Daughter, with chin forced downward, eyes rolled to her eyelids grunts at her. I am appalled. I want to apologize, pick her up like a baby and leave. But, we needed her to have her hair cut and we have made this appointment weeks ago. She pulls the cape from her neck, shakes it out and wraps it around her body tightly.
By 6:40 we were done. WHEW!!! I paid the hair dresser $12 for the haircut and added a $5 tip, although I felt like she earned more like a $50 tip!

After my daughter got home and went to bed, I was telling my husband all about the experience at the hair dressers along with what I witnessed from the pediatrician's office.

Why is it so hard being a mom to a high functioning daughter on the spectrum? I should be so thankful that she does so well most of the time. Why am I still struggling to accept my daughter's behavior?

I feel like I wear the Scarlet A on my chest. A for autism. I am so judged by others in this small town we just moved to. Other mothers don't want to be friends with me let alone have their children be friends with my daughter. The schools don't want to accept my daughter's deficits as a special need, instead they blame my parenting. Even our own family members judge our parenting and think we spoil our children and "if only we would let them play out side and exercise more..." some say to our faces!

Whenever I see parents with children in wheelchairs, I feel instant sadness for them. I would never judge them in fact I think of them as saints. I think about their inconveniences in their lives and how much they have lost because their children are so different. And then today, when I saw the beautiful laughter come from the mother and daughter at the pediatrician's office, I realize that they have learned to deal with their loss and have chosen to accept all of the beauty. I am trying to do this with our circumstance. Still new at it. But I want that special bond with my daughters. I am going to have to work hard at it.

I bear this scarlet A on my chest. My name starts with the letter A and I like the color red. So there! I will just have to look at life differently. If you don't like me because of this A, then you don't get the privilege of knowing how mysterious and wonderful life on the spectrum is for our family!

Relax Mom, Let Your Kid Be a Kid!

While driving home from a counseling session and lunch with some girl friends, I was enjoying the fall scenery and listening to the radio all alone, at the volume I wanted! When you have two daughters with sensory disorders, especially auditory processing, most of the time, the van needs to be a quiet place, free from audio stimulation, much to my own chagrin.

Feeling free and alive, my thoughts took me back to a scene from Finding Nemo.

Remember Marlin, the scared yet determined Daddy to Nemo when he is talking to the Daddy Sea Turtle, Crush? In a panic, wide-eyed and frazzled, as he is in almost every scene, he is worried for Crush's son, Squirt who just fell out of the current into an ocean abyss. Here is how the conversation goes:

MARLIN: [gasps] Oh my goodness!

CRUSH: Whoa. Kill the motor, dude. Let us see what Squirt does flying solo.

SQUIRT: Whoa! Whoa! That was so cool! Hey dad, did you see that? Did you see me? Did you see what I did?

CRUSH: You so totally rock, Squirt! So give me some fin..noggin..

CRUSH/SQUIRT: ..dude!

This picture paints the perfect model of my current parenting world. I am Marlin, neurotic, not able to fit in and meeting only friends that aren't quite my type like Dory or the sharks. My daughter, is little Nemo, cute and spunky, with a "Lucky Fin," (a/k/a Autism and ADHD and Mood Disorders) who despite her circumstances is making friends and growing up.

It was like God was speaking to me today on my drive home. He was saying, "Kill the motor."

Remember Nemo's first day of school for Marlin? I still want my little Nemo to go and play in the toddler bouncy area - not travel with the sting ray teacher to the drop off!!! What if she can't swim like the other kids? What if she needs a sensory break?

God is telling me, "Let's see what she does on her own..."

And, so, I will. At least I will try. Good idea God. Thanks for meeting me today and speaking in my language! You rock!

Why the Disdain?

Why do you disdain me? I have accepted that you have excluded me, excommunicated me but I still wonder why. Although I am your first born, I am not worthy of your presence. Is it because I am a woman? Is it because I am my mother's daughter?

Why does the sound of my voice make you shrill? I can see it in your eyes, although our eyes never connect. We have the same eyes for one another now, hazel and disconnected. I used to want your approval, your love and acceptance. I tried. I called, reached out. I forgave you. Still do.

Yet, I can feel your rejection in my bones. I can sense your recoil when I enter a room. It is painful.

Where did the man go who taught me to tie my shoes and ride my bike? Have I gotten too fat for you to love me anymore? Have I not been successful enough, or too successful. Do I not deserve you and your love any longer?

Perhaps you do not feel worthy of me so you shrill away. Perhaps you see the pain you have caused me and you can't face it. I doubt that you can see that deep.

It was easier to accept you and your flaws when you were stronger, younger. It was easier to set boundaries with you then, easier to shut you out. Now that you are weak and dying, I feel I should be more for you, better to you. But what more can I do? I have tried as much as I can.

Perhaps you feel the same way.

I have already started to grieve you. Years ago I started to grieve you. I had to grieve my own mother before she passed away too. You know her, the woman you once loved then spent my whole life hating and telling me about it even on the day I was on my way to bury her. When you both divorced when I was two years old, I must have still had hope for happiness. Today, I grieve that hope and grieve that happiness.

With my own beloved husband and beautiful children, I find my heart still broken, unable to love them in the way I want. I try. I have spent countless of resources on self help books, counseling, support groups, rehab and Bible studies. Yet, in my mid-to-late-thirties, here I sit writing about the emptiness and sorrow. I chose love and a bright future, but only find loneliness and heartache.

Was this depression and mental instability in our blood, passed through the family tree? Or did your actions spur the insecurities in my heart, breaking it forever more? Now, my own children, ripe with life and the light of their future ahead of them, both struggle with mood disorders, depression and anxiety. Did I cause their brokenness from my actions or was it an illness handed to them from the core of their being found in the womb?

I am not trying to pass blame. I am just trying to solve this puzzle. Also, wondering why the disdain for me, your first-born, your only daughter?

My Mother's Day Pearls

Aren't pearls intriguing?

When you see a strand of pearls, the first thought that comes to my mind, and yours too perhaps is, "Are they real or really fake?"

Or, perhaps you may just go about your lives, never really thinking about pearls and their unique and distinctive existence.

I can remember one day after church three years ago. I was sitting in the passenger seat while we drove away from church. My mascara running down my face like the dark gloom of a loss. As I pulled the visor down to try to take a deep breath and wipe the teared streaks from my face, I saw my strand of pearls innocently hanging around my neck. I had put them on for a special occasion that day. After almost a year of overcoming a severe bout of depression, Fred and Sienna were taking me out for Mother's Day brunch. In the past, I had always planned special Mother's Day outings for our mothers but this year, I was finally learning to try to take care of myself and not worry about everyone else as much.

The spring-like buds tried to color the scenery but the winter's wear of salt-stained streets was still upon us. That day, I was feeling a little claustrophobic in the pews so I decided to get a breath of fresh air. Since my recent struggles with depression, I was still withdrawn and being in crowds only made me more self-aware of my loneliness. I had left church a little early while Fred and Sienna stayed until the service ended and met me in the car parked along the EL tracks. While I was waiting, I decided to phone my mother to wish her a Happy Mother's Day.

Although it was late morning, my mother was still in bed, as usual. She was such a glutton. I fought with my judgmental voices every moment I was around her. That day was no exception. Anyway, we made some small talk and then I told her that I wanted to call her to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. There was a pregnant pause. Then I asked her what she was going to do for the day. She replied, "Nothing. I don't go out on Mother's Day. Mother's Day is the worst day of the year for me."

Trying not to pick up the rope and play a nasty game of tug a war with her, I kindly said my farewell and hung up the phone. And then, that is when I turned on the mascara flood. I tried to take a deep breath and regain my composure as I heard the church bells ring and knew any minute my beloved husband would be walking hand in chubby hand with my curly haired Sienna.

As they got in the car and buckled up and I glanced at my string of pearls in the mirror. They were imperfect but they were real. All through college I wore them proudly. I would even tell my friends that they were my grandmother's. My mom gave them to me shortly after my grandmother passed away. They were one of the only things my mother had given me that wasn't from the Dollar Store or KMart. I think I remember my mom telling me that Grandma had selected the oysters herself on one of her vacations. As a child I thought that was amazing.

As a child, I thought my grandmother was amazing. She used to bring me a large stuffed animal, usually a monkey every time she'd come to visit. My mom would invite her to come and stay with me while my mom traveled the world with her boyfriends. By the time I was about nine though, I realized how abusive and awful my grandmother was. She was a mean drunk. When she would come to visit, my mom would hide and lock all of our liquor in a suitcase. It didn't matter that my mom would hide her own liquor though. Grandma Helen would just have me bring in the special sack from under the driver's seat, the one with the large bottles of vodka. And, if those bottles weren't enough to get her through one visit while she stayed with me, she'd drink all our cough medicine bottles dry.

Just as a young girl who idolized her grandmother because she used to spoil her with stuffed monkeys, I grew older and some would say more disrespectful. Although, I believe that I was just more disrespected the older I got. I can't remember why my grandmother would slap me on the face, usually later in the evenings. I just knew that her slaps hurt more and more the older I got.

And now, as a grown woman who knows the difference between authenticity and garbage, I realized that the strand of pearls although genuine, are still just garbage. Tempted to open the window and toss them out onto the side of the graveled street, I tried to not be over dramatic. I didn't want to cause a scene. I wanted to enjoy this morning with my husband and daughter. I wiped the tears away and tried to close the door to the painful memories as a child. As I started to put the visor up, I caught a glance of my own daughter, trying to catch my eye. I smiled warmly at her and realized that I am no longer the child of my mother but I am now my child's mother.

Crazy Jugs of Broken Childhoods, Broken Motherhoods

I can't organize my thoughts to get a post prepared. I have attempted a few times and just come up with scattered, random sentences that end up in the draft file.

It seems like I have not gotten my life back together since my mother passed away over 18 months ago. I wonder if I will ever be happy again. Will I ever be able to manage my life the way I want? It isn't like my life was easy or happy when my mother was alive. My mother and I didn't even have a good relationship.

Sometimes when I get flustered and frustrated at Sienna, I am reminded of my own mother and how similar their behaviors are. And no matter how I want to ignore this truth, I am just like Sienna and my own mother too. When I feel so disconnected towards Sienna, I can also understand how my own mother felt. She used to try to hug me and I would cringe. I despised her kisses too. She used to say that loving me was like loving a porcupine with needles. Now, when I try to cuddle Sienna, she pulls away. When I try to kiss her on the cheek, she wipes it off harshly as if she's angry with me. There is a significant difference between my mother and me though. I seek to understand my daughter's troubles. I keep trying to be knowledgeable, strong seeking support when needed. At least, that is where I am now. Who knows how much longer I can keep my character strong.

I confess that I am saddened by my daughter's inequities to love me, just as I am saddened by my own mother's inability to love me the way a child needed loved years ago. We all go through our own lives just to cope and survive and both my mother was and my daughter is just trying to get through it as best possible. I somehow feel like I am above the standard of just reacting innately to my circumstances. I strive for more than just survival. I strive for strength. Sometimes however, I fail. I weep. I wail. I am as sad as a small child.

I also forgive. I can understand how Sienna is troubled with her sensory disorder and moods just as I was as a young little girl. How I still am. And, as a mother, I can see how empty my love tank is and I am tempted to walk away, withdraw, regress just as my own mother did throughout her prime years of her own motherhood.

My husband interrupts my daze towards the long empty hall way where my daughter just walked through, down troddened and angered, disappointed once again. He asks me. "What are you thinking about?"

I respond, "I am wondering if I was unlovable. Was I so difficult that my mom and dad just couldn't love me when I was a child? Did they divorce when I was two because the stress I put on both of them? Am I still unlovable?"

Weeping on, striving for survival. Trying to stay above the standard of failure. Taking life one day at a time, one tantrum at a time. God, please help me to keep the standard high and love me just where I am.

And the Crazy Jugs reflect the disappointment. They want to be more than they are. They want to be treasures, yet, there they stand, dusty and yellowed with plastic beads broken. How did they survive through all the years of turmoil? How did they not get lost, broken fully? They survived. They continue to reflect the memories and tell the story.

"School" of Thought

I had a quick meeting scheduled yesterday at 3:05 with Sienna's teacher to talk about the tasks I needed to help with on Thursday afternoons when I volunteer in Sienna's class. So what that meant is that I would wait until Sienna rode her bike home and then we would just cross the street together and head over to Mrs. Banna's class.

But, Sienna didn't know we had this meeting scheduled. And she obviously didn't want to go so she tried pulling her retaliating, stubborn, "I'm not going and you can't make me" routine. After trying to negotiate, I did the 1-2-3 and then picked her up and carried her across the street. I put her down, she froze in place. Sarah, obediently walked along with me, we would both take a couple of steps, look behind us and then do the whole negotiate-1-2-3-pick-up to cross the school drop off drive way. I think I had to do the routine one more time before we were on the sidewalk safe haven. 

There were about 20 random kids and adults lingering around the front doors. All eyes were on us. I felt so judged and ridiculous. I was so angry at Sienna. Frankly, if it wasn't Sienna throwing a fit though, it probably would have been Sarah. It is just a little less publicly humiliating carrying a two year old than an almost seven year old. As we approached the front doors, the aid who normally holds the doors open for the kids both before and after school stood there whispering to another aid who has made inappropriate comments, although possibly misunderstood I have now come to realize. I saw them in one another's ears and more rage filled in me although all I could do was squat to keep Sarah's attention focused on just walking in the doors. She is so distracted by so much. It is a full time job getting eye leveled and helping her to move forward, both in day to day activities and development issues. 

I am hoping that Sienna is following us not caring if she stews or not. "Please do not make a scene today please do not make a scene today," the thoughts were telling one another in my mind not realizing that we already had put on the public show and entertainment just a few minutes earlier. Must have been in denial.

Then, one of the aids leans towards me to say something that soothed my soul better than chocolate on a rainy day. It was as if I were entering into the pearly gates and John, Peter, Paul or Gabriel or whoever that guy is who is apparently standing at the gates of heaven leans over to me and says, "We feel so sorry for you. We don't know how you do it!"

WHAT? I thought those aids were the biggest judges of all of the school personnel towards me! They are the reason I detest going to that school. They represent the entire school to me, the same 'school' who doesn't see anything wrong with my child and who claim it is all poor parenting. These words were like music engraved on my heart. I think I might have even flinched and said something like, "Seriously? I thought... well, I didn't think you liked me." Lame, I know. 

And, a tear welled up in my eye. I wanted to hug them and take refuge in that moment. I pulled it together as soon as I saw the vice principal. I didn't want him to see me teary eyed. I had to look like I was in control, somewhat professional.

It was a blessing. Encouragement. It was exactly what I needed, just some support and understanding. I wish I had more encounters like that to report!

Fred and My Homestead of Bitterness

Just when I thought the fog was lifting and I was feeling more organized and in control of my life, I hit a funk.

I am not sure where it came from but all of the sudden, I was so angry. My anger, deep within, outwardly was pointed towards Fred. It all started yesterday afternoon when he decided to work late - AGAIN.

You see, Fred is a wonderful man. I believe he is my soul mate and that we have a special, true love that God has blessed before we even met one another. We adore one another and are completely honest with each other. We have walked hand in hand through all of the challenges during our 15 years together. We "saved" ourselves for our wedding night, we endured a major Roller Blade injury where Fred almost lost his leg in college. We kept strong through my mother's tumultuous visits, my new business start ups, his inner city school teaching and three houses needing new roofs AND new water heaters, a flood, several snow storms, the typical in-law stresses, two pregnancies followed by two births followed by two daughters on the spectrum. And through it all, we prayed with one another. We loved one another. We accepted one another.

Now, today. I struggle with bitterness. I remember hearing a Christian speaker once in college saying that men will struggle the temptations with sexual immorality just as women will struggle with bitterness. It is one of those flaws from the fall that we were just 'programmed' with.

So, they say the first step is admitting it. Here is my confession. Brutal honesty. I am bitter today because, for the first time in a year and a half, I realize that I gave up my career and my dreams. I gave up my chance at being someone important as the world sees it. I gave up my business lunches and the freedom to meet interesting professionals. My power to influence and my Coach bags are in storage now.

I guess I wouldn't mind it so much if I saw others in our family like my husband and his parents who live only 15 minutes away also giving some things up. But no one else has sacrificed anything, only me. More about my feelings and disappointments about my in-laws in later posts... I feel like I have sacrificed it all for my daughters' special needs. Those special needs that apparently I am the only one who recognizes and is forced to deal with them day in and day out. The school professionals all think I am a gook. They don't respect me or recognize my daughter's diagnoses. Even the other mom's remain an arm's distance from me as not to catch my white trash mothering techniques. (Again, I use that phrase "WT" but I don't like to because I don't think God makes trash. I just use it because it is a term that describes judgement and misunderstanding in social classes.)

So, although I try to be the homemaker diva goddess and manager, I am oppressed to be the garbage collector and the punching bag. I am the one who gets the brunt of my first grader's verbal abuse. I know, I am the parent and I shouldn't allow her to scream at me when she comes home from a stressful day at school, but I really don't know how else to handle her moods and behavior other than leaving her alone. The more I try to discipline her as an exchange, the more it turns into a fighting match and her mood excels and spirals really out of control.

Then there is my two year old who gets special services from the state due to her sensory needs. Two days a week an occupation therapist comes to our home to visit. This OT's voice is so high pitched that is sends chills down my spine like nails to a chalk board. Every time she visits Sarah, Sarah screams and throws tantrums. For a two year old with auditory sensitivities, the OT's every word is a train wreck. I see it as clearly as the nose on my face. But then, the OT writes in her report that all of my daughter's outbursts are from behavior alone. And, I have to endure these visits two days a week. These outbursts, I am told by the 'professional', stems from my parenting.

I just take it all in. These thoughts consume me while I try falling asleep at night and while I try to do housework. Housework that my brilliant mind was not created to do! There has got to be something more interesting than trying to create neat lines in the carpet while I vaccum. And, by the way, I hate carpet. It is so country and suburb like! I am a freakin' hardwood floor city girl. I am supposed to have a cleaning lady that I complain about during my lunch dates in Greektown! Boo hoo. Those were the days. I miss them!

I continue to grieve my life of broken dreams, all while my husband works. Did you know that he leaves the house before we all wake up? He gets a fresh day on his work load. He is climbing his career bent ladder to the top being recognized for his achievements as he works 60 hour work weeks and gets paid peanuts as a private school teacher. He claims that he is working to earn more of a salary. I claim he is working to keep from being part of our circus acts in the home. He has to work dorm duty tonight, Friday night. Another evening that I stay home, alone, with the girls. I used to be social. I thrive when I am networking and making things happen. But, in the home I sit. Waiting. No improvement. Little to no action other than outbursts and anger.

And bitterness.

Feel free to comment how you want - just don't nag at me. Don't tell me there are worst situations out there. I know that I should count my f'ing blessings but right now, I am bitter. Your 'encouragement' won't help. I will come out of my funk in a few minutes. Planning to take my youngest apple picking. If we can do it without a tantrum - PTL. If there is a tantrum however, oh well it will give me something interesting to blog about!

Toodles Blawgers.

The Legacy of a Step Child: Part III

That evening, after our frail attempts to look at my mother's drawer of jewelry, I was realized how ready I was to move forward in the grieving process. I wanted the time alone with my mom's memories. I did not want my grouchy step father hovering me like a security guard hounding a shop lifter. Wasn't it my right as her only child to take my time and reminisce while I ran my fingers through her night stand drawer? It wasn't like I just wanted to take her valuables and run. I wanted to relish the flashbacks to the days when she wore the red garnet charm just above her cleavage during the days of her youth and single-hood. I needed this time, alone and private, innocent and intimate. Not only was it important to my grieving but, my mother's will stated that she wanted me to have all of her jewelry.

I decided that this was not the scene I wanted to take my next steps on my mother mourning journey. Taking a deep breath, I distracted Sienna with her bed time routine. As she hopped in the bath, I pulled out the bed from the couch in Tom's living room and turned on Mary Poppins in hopes that would entertain her to sleep. Tom didn't come out of his bedroom for the rest of the evening. Through the darkened hallway, I noticed the light on Mom's bed side had been turned on and I could see that Tom was still frozen in time, still hovering over my mother's jewelry. It was a difficult moment for him. I understand that. But he had been living in their home for ten months since her passing and now tonight, at that night stand, it was my turn to weep. He actually stole it from me during this particular night hour.

Sienna fell sound asleep with Just a Spoonful of Sugar, as did Fred. Fred handles stress with sound sleep. I usually follow suit but tonight, my heart was torn. I missed my mom and wanted to share some time alone with her and our memories so I frolicked and fumbled through the darkened condo onto the garage. Mom and Tom had moved into this condo a few years earlier. They were downsizing from a large home with several gorgeous victorian-styled guest rooms. They had originally lived in a house in the woods that Tom had designed in his young chap days. They had once discussed opening their house into a bed and breakfast. But, as my mom's health started to deteriorate several years ago, they made the decision to downsize. And, although they did downsize in living space, my mom had refused to get rid of anything. So, the new condo's 2-car garage had become storage for a messy mass of boxes and dollar store sacks. Most of it was junk of old and new. New junk from clearance sales that my mother compulsively attended. And the old junk was from her past, resembling piles and piles of pains from her divorces, her childhood and her self-acclaimed grief of motherhood. (I can remember calling my mother to wish her Happy Mother's Day on the telephone. When I asked her what she was planning to do that day she replied, 'I never leave the house on Mother's Day. It is the worst day of the year for me." I was her daughter. I also was a new mom at that time. I hope I never feel so much resentment towards my daughters that I actually say those words to them. But, that junk is for a different post, let's get back to the part about her junk in her garage.)

As I scavenged through the old Christmas decorations, I recalled making candy and fudge with Mom when I was Sienna's age. We had made hard candy and flavored some with green peppermint and some with red cinnamon. I actually had a drip of hot candy drip on my finger. I still have the scar today. It is in the shape of America, on my index finger. Ahhh, getting lost on memory lane. I wanted those decorations but I was feeling like taking them would be wrong. I then realized that they were in a box marked to sell at a garage sale. Tormented, I walked to the other side of the garage. My feet were numb from the cold cement floor. I should have stopped to go in and get slippers but I was stuck in time. Breathing in through my mouth, I could smell the moldy, musty odor that fumigated their storage area. So much stuff sitting there for so long. So many pretty vintage pieces that I don't remember in my childhood but I thought looked beautiful. No wonder she had a difficult time departing with some of the trinkets.

I started to wonder where the crazy jugs were stored. At that instant, something drew my eyes upward. I am not sure why though because there were at least one million of knick knacks to look at easily on eye level alone. Perhaps it was my mom's spirit that lifted my line of attention towards the top of the top of the top of a stack of boxes stacked on more boxes on a shelf. There I found a note book. One of her journals. Then, about five feet to the right, I saw a shiny green cardboard box. For some reason, I stretched to the tip of my toes to pull that box down. In it, I found my mom's nice jewelry. Her diamond and gold and other gem jewels. How did they get in here? Why were they here? What would I learn from reading her notes in her journal?

Read more in future posts...

The Legacy of a Step Child

As a follow up to my earlier post titled, Feeling Like Dirt on a Piece of $@#*, I shared about my experience from last weekend. We were visiting my dad, recently burdened with a severe disability that has put him in a wheelchair, taken his speech and is slowly taking his ability to swallow food. We joined him as he was awarded into the town's Hall of Fame for his years of service to the community. It was to be a proud moment for him and for our family however, it also marked a memorable moment in our family history when we were all gathered to notice how significant my dad's disability had become.

The discussions around the breakfast table the morning after the award ceremony were all positive and you would have thought they were all optimists however, from my perspective they were just in denial. Afraid to face the realities of what is to become. Afraid to not know or control the outcome of my father's health.

And, although I also fear those things, the most painful points I shudder from is the loss of my father, the only blood relative I have left will soon be leaving me. All I will have left are step families and in-laws.

At face value I have always gotten along with my step parents. I have considered them a blessing to my life. Both my step mom and step dad have added strength and stability to my life that I would have never had with either of my parents alone. But, as my father becomes frailer by the day, I am reminded that I am only a step child with no rights to a proper legacy.

It was just one year and a half that my mother passed away. My step father was the executor of my mother's will and although my mother and I had a tumultuous history throughout the years, it was the two years before her passing that we had become closer and more forgiving towards one another. Prior to that time however, she had done some demeaning and deranged things to her will and her assets leaving little to nothing to my girls or to me. She had left much of her assets to distant nieces and nephews to my step father's relatives. To write about this today, hurts my soul, but it is what it is and I have to learn how to not let it get the best of me and my memory of my mother.

The one item that my mother willed to me was her jewelry. However, the mourning turns even darker during a visit to, now my step father's home (I was so used to calling that place, "Mom and Tom's" to hear it just called "Tom's" place was awkward for me.) We were visiting my step dad around Christmas time. I knew this time would be especially difficult for him and since he had no family of his own, I felt it was my duty to spend some quality time with him near the holidays. I had also called him daily after my mother's passing until I knew he was stronger and had friends near by to help him. I even considered having him move closer to us so that we could look after him. He had been my step father for 13 years and I felt the God-given responsibility to look after him.

It was during this Christmas visit, ten months after my mother had passed that I first received a copy of the will. I had not gone through my mom's things because it was too painful for me yet. In addition to losing my mother, we had been told that Sienna had ADHD and Sensory Integration and I had Sarah as a permanent hip ornament, only one year of age. I also had to let my company of 10 years dissolve since I was unable to keep so many clients' demands abreast while caring for my step father while at my coma-induced mother's bed side. So, after we prepared a holiday dinner, I asked Tom if it would be OK if I looked at my mom's jewelry. Sienna and I opened the night stand drawer and saw the jewelry like a glimpse of my mom's joy sparkling a bubbly smile at us. Queen Bubbly was my mother's Red Hat Society name and it fit her to perfection. Although, the bubbly side of her was only half of her. The other side was burdened with depression and a heavy grip to the past.

More on the story of the passing of my mother, how my step father treated her will and the reality of my legacy in future posts.

The Autism Filter: Part I

When I first heard the "A" word, I didn't quite understand it. I wasn't ready for it. I was still blind. From the time Sienna was a baby, I just thought I was a klutz of a mom. I just didn't have a motherly instinct and felt so much rejection from my first born.
The pictures below capture a typical struggle of me wanting to show affection to my daughter. These photos were taken on mother's day.

The day care teachers and directors first started to suggest to me that I get an assessment from a professional. They said that Sienna, "had trouble with transitions and was a little aggressive with care takers and her peers." She threw tantrums a lot, but I just thought we were still in the "terrible twos." She also didn't speak until the age of three and I blamed this on the two non-English speaking nannies that we had when she was an infant. More about the blame of the nannies for a later post...

So, from ages two until five, I started to focus in on what it meant for a toddler to have difficulties with transitions. I started to become more in tuned to the noises and the bright lights and the crowds that were igniting these tantrums. I found a book on the shelf at a Christian book store, "Out of Sync Child." As I read the jacket cover, tears swelled my eyes. I started reading the book with a highlighter and would read excerpts of how it related to us to my husband daily. We both agreed that Sienna was out of sync. But what now?

The school system at this time was so supportive. They spoon-fed me and held my hand. I will never forget the day I had to sign my first IEP that would give permission to let a bus pick up Sienna from the private preschool and take her to the half day of special services for her. It was a short bus. I used to make jokes about riding in a short bus. Now, the curly blonde little girl, the first child born in this generation on all sides of our family, the one who is so stunningly adorable even strangers stopped us in public to tell us she should be a model was now going to be riding the short bus.

One more year until she starts Kindergarten. She really hasn't started her school career yet I thought. I told myself, "No harm done... if these professionals can help her with her tantrums and transition difficulty, then she will be mainstreamed for Kindergarten when all the other kids in the neighborhood start and we can put all this behind us." Whew. And, that was that. Or was it?

More about how Autism changed our view and blurred our vision for our future in future posts...

It's All My Fault!

There is a small voice inside my heart and soul that speaks to me at times and it shouts at me, "It's all your fault!" Sometimes this voice is from the actual words family, friends and teachers have suggested to me. And, for some reason, I have held onto them. I need to let them go. Sometimes it is just pure paranoia.

Regardless, it is a voice I am always trying to drown out. And, at times, I listen to it and it makes me want to cave in and go away on an emotional coma.

As a mother to two children on the spectrum, it is unavoidable to blame yourself at sometime or another, especially in today's world. If you are a parent with a child on the autism spectrum, then perhaps you too hear a voice that distracts you.

"It is all your fault that your daughter has so many problems. And here is why:
- You didn't take your prenatal vitamins
- You worked and traveled too much when you were pregnant
- You worked and traveled too much as soon as you had your babies
- You had a party when Sienna was only two months old and let too many people hold her
- There were too many flashing lights and electric vibrating contraptions in her baby toys
- You let her sit in her bouncy seat too much
- You nursed her laying down too much, you should have cradle nursed
- You only nursed her for nine months and then you let your milk dry because you didn't want to pump while at work any more
- You partied too much in your 20s
- You were a difficult child so this is pay back time. HA HA HA (But it isn't funny at all.)
- You eat too much and you're too fat and lazy
- You colored your hair that one time when you were pregnant
- You gave Sienna Baby Tylenol too much when she seemed cranky or in pain
- You let your baby watch too much Baby Einstein's
- You didn't spend enough time with your baby even though when you tried, she seemed like she always ran away from you
- The sound of your voice made the baby scream and run away - the sound of your voice makes everyone run away
- You didn't know how to be a good mom so now your child is depressed
- You don't nurture your child like you should and now she is lonely
- You don't spend enough time with your girls even though you left your career to be a stay at home mom and play games, read books and do crafts with them whenever they want!
- You don't spend enough time tucking your daughter in at night and that is why she angrily cries, "I don't want to be alive!" at the age of 6 after you say your final, "Good Night"
- Maybe you didn't read enough to her when you tuck her in - even though you have read to her 1 - 5 books nightly since she was in your belly
- No one else thinks anything is wrong with your kids - they only see a mom who lets her kids get away with too much
- You keep going to doctor after doctor, someone is bound to tell you your child has autism
- Don't you hold your kids?
- Your toddler seems hungry, even though she ate two bowls of oatmeal for breakfast and a granola bar before we came to the store
- Your toddler is just tired, even though, she got a solid night of sleep and her nap time isn't for another 3 hours
- You should tell your children to behave
- You should be a better mom
- You should try to be more rational when dealing with your daughter. After all, you are the parent.
- Why do you worry so much?
- Why are you so hard on yourself?
- Why don't you try to do this?
- You should read this book or that book or this therapy or that therapy, have you tried the special diet?
- Maybe if you tried doing this, she will get better
- Your kids will outgrow this
- This is just a phase
- You have no control of your children
- Other moms talk about you behind your back and think you probably abuse your children
- Your daughter doesn't get invited to parties or play dates because she is probably contagious
- We don't see anything wrong with your daughters; they seem like typical children to us. Maybe you expect too much from them
- You need to love your kids more, they are just kids
- All kids chew on the tables and chairs and books and lick the windows and door knobs
- Maybe you feed them too much sugar and food dyes
- Kids are just kids
- You are blowing it out of proportion

And, I take a deep breath. I remember that God has trusted me to care for these special girls. We are on a different path than most and I believe that God has a special plan for these children and for me. I am taking it one day at a time. God knows my story, he is the author of life. He knows me and my girls and He will guide me as I embark on this journey of motherhood.

Ambition is a Virtue?

When did people stop thinking of ambition as a sin and start thinking of it as a virtue?

This was a quote from a movie we watched last night, "The Other Boleyn Girl." I have struggled with ambition my entire life. In fact, I was raised to believe that if I wasn't ambitious, then I was lazy. And lazy was a sin! I would cram all sorts of activities and sports and social outings into my schedule. I never had time to breathe or think.

That belief system was only fueled more once I entered into my career. It was because of this ambition, I wasn't able to enjoy being a woman or being pregnant. Anything that slowed me down was not an asset but a liability. Being pregnant brought along morning sickness and big frumpy clothes. This only put my once fast track career path on a slow detour. I had my eyes on the prize and pregnancy did not become me. The prized package I had my focus fixed upon was filled with nice designer clothes, hot of the racks, designer purses and vacations to places that some people couldn't pronounce, new clients with the top 100 Fortune 500 companies and invitations to the hottest weddings and fund raisers. I believed that to achieve one of these items from this wish list, you had to have all of the items.

I never quite achieved those extravagances. God had another plan for me. He loaned me two beautiful children. He allowed me to name them Sienna and Sarah but he created each hair on their heads and hand crafted the very nature and laughter of both. Both girls are high spirited with bouncy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that can see the bottom of my soul. They are both on the autism spectrum and they raise the bar when it comes to being challenged as a parent. They slow me down. They force me to have true friends who are ever accepting. They remind me that love from the heart is greater than the clothes on our backs. They teach me new things every day about what is important in life.

They have changed my value system that I had clung onto since I was born until they were born. They have made me realize that ambition is not a virtue. I now strive for the fruit of the spirit which I believe are the truest of all virtues. These are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I want them to bear the fruit in their lives so I am forced to bear these fruits in our home. These virtues do not come easy for me. I was not raised to understand the fruit of the spirit although that is what I truly hungered for as a child. And today as a mother, my ambition is now to slow down and consider the fruit as the prize and legacy to pass down to my children.

Good grief

You ever have an issue that keeps coming up over and over in your mind? It's like you can't have any peace or progress until you realize what it is that is at the heart of the problem, yet you aren't even sure what the problem is exactly.

Here is one of those nagging self talk scripts that I am trying to get my hands on... I think I have it figured out, but it is like that Sudoku puzzle that you know you could solve you just can't find the time, or the right pencil or even the Sudoku puzzle itself.

I've mentioned in previous posts perhaps that I have two daughters on the spectrum. My oldest, Sienna, first grader has been diagnosed with PDD-NOS with probable Asperger's. She also has mood disorder (bi-polar spectrum) and ADHD. I have been on a roller coaster with her since she was about 2 years old, feeling like a failure, like nothing I could do for her was working. She was so 'out-of-sync' and so when I found the book, "Out of Sync Child," by Carol Kranowitz a few years ago, something finally clicked with me. I started the long journey of trying to get services and diagnosis's, let alone just basic acceptance of my concerns from my own husband and family members. Finally, after three years I started getting more understanding from family members. It took a lot of tantrums at family events for people to realize that there was any merit in what I was saying about Sienna. No one wanted to believe that such a bright and blue-eyed blonde little girl had anything wrong with her. All along, my parenting skills and credibility as a mother were weakened through every step during this three year journey.

Then, after Sienna's daycare providers really encouraged me to take the matter more seriously, I finally went privately to get medical diagnoses. In the past 18 months, we have had five professional diagnoses all pretty consistent with one another: Sensory Integration, PDD-NOS, Probable Asperger's, Mood Disorders, Bi-Polar and ADHD. In addition, yet in opposition to these medical opinions, the school's psychologist has observed, assessing Sienna at the school and discovered that Sienna doesn't show any problems at all. In fact, the school professionals claim that she is a bright and cheerful girl that perhaps "her mother is in need of counseling and parenting classes."

And, here we are a year later, and I realize, I do need therapy and parenting classes, ever since the school's assessment in fact!

Every day, I fight with my thoughts and feeling about my daughter being on the spectrum. Is she? Most of the time she is fine. We've learned to adjust. We don't do any thing that will be unpredictable or pressure her socially. So, I can't tell. I am going nuts trying to figure out if something is wrong with my daughter. If so, what exactly. And, once it is determined what, then, how will I help her?

I realize that I am thick in denial. I am also so angry. I have become hardened.

And then, a light bulb went on! It was an ah-ha moment yesterday while we took a day trip by train to Chicago. Sienna was not in her normal element. And, when she isn't in her element, her quirks are more pronounced. She acts strange, says weird things, has odd gestures. She doesn't even walk normal. When she was younger, she would act like a dog as a coping mechanism. Now, she acts like a baby to cope in difficult situations for her. She talks like a baby, wants to ride in the stroller and cuddle, just like a baby. I even made a new age appropriate 'blankie' for her so she could have her blankie in times like these. Frankly, I allow it because when she was a baby, she didn't really sit still in a stroller and didn't cuddle or talk much.

I found myself growing so angry during the train ride. I was so irritable with her. I was so mad at her for acting like this. I was mad that we couldn't do any family fun activities any more. I feel so judged by strangers everywhere we go. Most of all, I was disgusted at myself.

Why do I have to be so superficial? I have been a born again Christian for about 13 years now. I was such a strong follower before having children. I was so close to God, my heart was tender for Him. Now, I am so hardened. I don't even feel comfortable going to church, partly because our children on the spectrum have so many challenges in a church setting, but also because of the condition of my heart. I am starting to cope in unhealthy ways myself. I am drawn to cocktails to relax me and other social subtleties that are not Christian-like.

And I really do want to be that caring, loving Christian woman that I once was. I don't want to be cursing at God for giving me children who are so difficult. Feeling so inadequate for this feat, I let out a yelp of a prayer and I heard God telling me that I was in His Hands. I was just going through the valley of grief. I still am in denial. I am still in the anger phases. It is difficult to have a clear journey of grief with raising children with special needs like what Sienna has because every day is different and I will not know what challenges we will face until we are face to face with each challenge.

I have to trust God even more in the daily crises of raising my kids. More than the typical family would. And, that is a blessing. At least that is how I am seeing it in this light bulb moment!

Momma, did you know...?

As I read this morning's favorite blogs, my daughter Sienna stands beside me. Her blue eyes like saucers, inquisitive yet all-knowing. She asks, "Momma, did you know that the first African to walk on the moon was in 1998?"

I smile. Just last year, she wouldn't or couldn't tell me anything about what she was learning in Kindergarten. And, the year before that when I would inquire about her day, she would just throw a tantrum. There was so much disconnection between us in the last six years. But, today, the first week of first grade, she shares something that she is learning. I responded, "Really? Did you know that the first person to walk on the moon was Neil Armstrong, in 1969 - I think that was the date...?"

She responded with a smile, "I am not sure I have the right date either mom."

I googled Neil Armstrong, and clicked on Wiki's page on him. She saw the screen of his portrait. I told her that was Neil. She said,"Wow, look, he is holding his helmet while he is on the moon!"

"Hon, that is just a backdrop for the photo." And I went on telling her a little more fun facts about Neil. She then noticed that I had the Crazy Jugs setting in the china cabinet. I took them out of storage yesterday so that I could take a photo of them for this blog, then placed them on a shelf and closed the glass doors. Since then, I started remembering little things that I am looking forward to write about in future posts. I had no idea anyone would notice them. But, that girl doesn't miss a beat. She notices anything and everything that has changed from the last time she walks into a room. It is like she has special powers. She even sees every bug on the sidewalk as she walks to school. That must be exhausting yet exhilarating at times for her.

She then gets so excited when she sees the button with Neil Armstrong on one of the Crazy Jugs. It was from a museum in Wapakoneta, OH. I remember going there when I was young and eating "freeze dried ice cream" they supposedly ate in space. I can still remember the taste on my tongue! "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind," she reads as her eyes glow from across the room. I can't wait until she tries some freeze dried ice cream too someday!

Another personal value I need to give up...

OK. So, this has been a year of grieving. Grieving my mother was part of human nature. It was painful and dreadful. It was natural progression, a typical experience that although the details may differ from person to person, we all must endure the grieving of our parents and others we love at sometime or another in our lives.

But the grieving gear grinds onward. I continue to grieve my hopes and dreams.

I tell myself, "Due to a series of misfortunate events..." or "God's will for my life overpowered mine..." or "My girls and their special needs needed more from me than a career minded mother could give." Ain't that the truth.

And, as I learn more about my daughters' special needs, I realize that each day I am giving up more. I really didn't have a choice in the matter. I once was a career driven mother who strived for success so much that my goals surrounded themselves around my idea of the legacy I planned to pass down to my daughters and other women in corporate America. I prided myself as a woman who lived above the glass ceilings. The more the ceilings would surround me, the harder I would work. I was not going to give up on that, for the sake of my own daughters I would say to myself. But, I did give in. I caved. I gave up. I ran away from the prize.

Along with that, I had to give up the six-figure income that I alone provided to our family. I gave up my wardrobe and my designer purses. I gave up my Chicago office address. I still keep my business cards though. No one cares but me. I tried to drag along my professional network but realized soon enough that the professional circles I surrounded myself around didn't have the attention span to keep up with my juggling acts of dropped balls. I give up. Can't run with the wild. It was time to exchange the heels for crocs.

Now, a year later, I realize more and more that I need to give up. I learned at my last counseling session that I needed to "Stop caring what others think of me."

Well. How the hell do I do that? That shakes me at the very core of my existence. I admit, it would be a lot easier to not worry about other people's stares and judgement and opinions on how I parent my children and react during their public explosions. My therapist says that I spend way too much energy being embarrassed and trying to 'control' how other people think of me and my family.

It makes perfect sense. Don't worry about what others think of you. I just don't know how and I don't know where to draw the line. Help.

My Plan VS. God's Plan

We had Sienna (now age 6.5), moved to far west side of the Chicago and bought our first house. Lived there for a couple of years. I started freelancing and that grew into a consultancy, which meant the same thing, I was just able to charge more and feel more important about myself. I had offices all over the place, from the 83rd floor in the Sears Tower to a cubicle in Oak Brook. I enjoyed traveling for business and went to DC, San Diego, Las Vegas, and New Jersey frequently. I was very ambitious and felt more in control of my career than in motherhood. Sienna was in day care and Fred started working at Elmhurst HS. We then moved to Oak Park and Sienna has having a lot of troubles in school(s). So, we had to have her assessed and she received special services to help her with her behavior and sensory issues.

While Fred and I celebrated our 5th anniversary in Aruba, we got pregnant with Sarah. I was scheduled to develop a large trade show exhibit during my pregnancy and when she was 6 weeks, I brought her along with me to Toronto. I was absorbed with being successful and thought that God had a plan for me to grow my business and help other women, especially my own daughters as they grew older, flourish in corporate America. I had a corporate board of directors and we met monthly to help meet my business objectives.

Little did I know that God had another plan for my life. Last January, my mother called me from ER AGAIN. You may remember that she had a lot of issues. One of the most annoying was that she was a hypochondriac. She had checked herself into ER on a monthly basis and this time seemed to me like just the same as the other times. However, an ER nurse called me one Sunday morning while we were at church. We started attending Willow Chicago, one of Willow Creek's satellite churches that met in the loop in an old theater. The nurse told me that due to my mom's diabetes and other ailments that she is having difficulty healing from a bad case of pneumonia and it is possible that they may have to put her on a ventilator. After talking with Fred, we decided that I would take a trip, once and for all, to see just how severe this particular drama trauma really was. Five hours later, while driving down to Cincinnati, she had been placed on a ventilator and was in an induced coma. She finally passed away about 6 weeks later after I convinced my stepdad that she wasn't going to get any better.

During these 6 weeks, I spent a lot of time in the hospital with them. I didn't realize it, but my value system was really being challenged and turned upside down. I reevaluated the quality of life, motherhood and self care. I no longer thought about the new patterns on this season's Coach bags. One evening, after we met in Cincinnati to turn off the ventilator, I had about 20 voice mail messages. Some of the messages were from clients who knew where I was and what I was doing on that day yet they still thought their needs somehow took priority over mine on this dark day. I told Fred that I needed a break and didn't want to return to work for a while. Being the boss of your own agency does not allow for any sick days and there are certainly no days available for bereavement.

There were also no days available for childcare issues. And it seemed that I got weekly phone calls from Savana's preschool about her behavior. As one discussion was said, "She is a danger to herself and other students around her. We need you to pick her up." Another presentation to a team of directors at a Fortune 500 that I had spent months pursuing - cancelled. Vaporized just like that! I just couldn't keep up with the pace of my career. I slowly watched it fade away in the distance behind me. As I pursued my exit strategy, Fred and I decided that I would stay at home with the girls. We were paying over $1000 a month in childcare and we would still need to downsize and move to be able to live on his teacher salary alone. So, we sold our gorgeous home in Oak Park and moved to rural Ohio into a house in Laketown.

During this transition, before we made the big move, I thought I would tap into the rich medical metropolitan resources to see why Sienna was having so much difficulty. Through this time, we received a diagnosis of ADHD and Sensory Integration. After we moved to Ohio, we then got a diagnosis on the Autism Spectrum which is probable Asperger's. Our youngest daughter, Sarah is only two now and is also experiencing very similar sensory challenges.

Our lives have changed so much in the past year. One of the million things I have learned through this chapter of our lives is that you cannot predict or control your life, you can only manage how you respond to it.