May 23, 2012

What Makes You Beautiful

by Alysia, Try Defying Gravity

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.” – Stuart Smalley character, Saturday Night Live

Thanks to a fairly provocative Time Magazine article called “Are You Mom Enough”, the internet was abuzz with “The Mommy Wars” – the notion that mothers are in competition with each other over who has the “better” way of parenting.

But I’m involved in a different kind of “Mommy War”.  It’s not about me comparing myself to the mom down the street or across the country.

This is a war that rages inside my own head.  Not the battle of Am I Mom Enough.  But the battle of Am I A Good Enough Mother?

I know what you’re going to say.  Alysia, you are a great mom.  We leave you those messages all the time on your blog posts.

I am grateful for that, of course. I say it back to you and mean every word when I say it to you.

So why don’t I actually believe it when it’s said to me?

Last week, a friend was telling me a story about her ten year old daughter.  They were out together with another adult, and my friend was gushing about her daughter to this other woman.  She shared how smart and sensitive she was, and how she was an incredible young woman.  Her daughter’s face lit up with a huge smile.  Later, my friend asked her daughter why she had such a strong reaction to the comments. “I tell you all the time how special you are,” my friend said to her child.

“But you always say it TO me.  I’ve never heard you say it to someone else.”

It’s all well and good for people to tell you to your face that you’re great, because that’s the nice and polite thing to do.  It’s another thing to overhear someone else say it ABOUT you.

That’s when you can believe your own press.

Recently, a friend and I have embarked on a new project together.  It’s taking us way out of our comfort zone and we’ve had to reach out to friends and strangers to help us.

The response has been more than overwhelmingly positive. It has been more affirming than anything I could have imagined.  People believe in us, so they believe in our project.

And perhaps now I can start to believe in me too.

**********

I wondered if perhaps I wasn’t the only one who needed help believing her own press.

So I’m going to tell you about some friends of mine.  I’ve told them to their faces how incredible they are.  But maybe they need to hear me say it to someone else before they will believe it too.

I have to tell you about my amazing friend T.  She worked so hard to get the appropriate educational placement for her son.  Instead of fighting and arguing with the school district, she kept a level head and made the conversation about what her son needed, not about what she demanded he should have.  She didn’t burn any bridges but kept gently pushing for the right thing.  And got it.  She is my advocate hero.  I am so proud of her and I know her son will thrive in his new school setting.

Oh, and I have to tell you about my feisty friend N.  She’s a single mom with four kids.  She had no real income of her own when she left, but she quickly learned how to stand on her own two feet and then some.  She’s made an incredibly loving home for her children and is the one I turn to for parenting advice.  She doesn’t take any crap from anyone.  She is blunt, honest, and my hero for knowing that in order for her kids to be happy, she needed to be happy too.

And you must hear about my friend A.  She was my son’s one-to-one aide in preschool, but she’s always been a friend to the whole family.  This year, she was my lifeline.  She watched my boys so my husband and I could go to the movies for the first time since we had kids.  She takes my son without any hesitation whenever I needed help controlling the chaos around me.  She loves my kids like I love my kids and sees the specialness in them in ways that others don’t.  Knowing that she is just a simple text away has made this year survivable. 

Finally, I need to tell you about my own mom.  She took on the role of both parents when my father died 13 years ago.  She worked hard to stay strong for all of us, even while she worked through her own grief.  And have you seen her with her grandsons?  They sit by the window waiting for her to arrive and snuggle up with her when she’s here.  And my kids don’t snuggle with anyone! As a special educator, she’s a strong advocate for the kids she works with.  But she’s the strongest when fighting for her own family.

Now…it’s your turn. In the comments below, tell US about one of YOUR incredible friends.  Then forward the post to them.  Let them hear you tell us how absolutely amazing they are. 

Because you’re good enough, strong enough, and doggone it…this is what makes you beautiful.

“You’re insecure
Don’t know what for
You’re turning heads when you walk through the door
Don’t need make up
To cover up
Being the way that you are is enough
Everyone else in the room can see it
Everyone else but you
Baby you light up my world like nobody else
The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed
But when you smile at the ground it aint hard to tell
You don’t know
Oh Oh
You don’t know you’re beautiful” – What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction

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May 21, 2012

My Way Back From Depression

by Kathy, kissing the frog

Last week, I was out of my little white happy pill.  The pharmacist had to call my doctor, and I knew they would play phone tag all week.  I’ve been out of my Lexapro before, and I knew what was going to happen…

One morning, I wake up feeling sad for no apparent reason.  A sadness that has nothing to do with any tragedy I’ve experienced.  I’m never sure why I am feeling sad, but I sink into it.  It lays over the top of me for a day or so, until it worms its way deep into my heart and mind, festering, slowly turning into anger and despair over every. little. thing.

Anger at all the things I can’t seem to control.

And then it resides there, refusing to leave, affecting my every thought, every action.

My patience with my sons quickly wears thin.  I snap at the smallest mistake, yell over the tiniest indiscretions.  I take out my anger and feelings of worthlessness on them, innocent victims incapable of fighting back.  I scream and yell and say regrettable things that I know I will never be able to reverse.  

I yell at my four year old to ‘Hurry up!!’ We are late for preschool again.  We are always late.  Why can’t I ever be on time for anything?

The baby is getting into everything, and I yank him away making him cry.

With every angry reaction I think,  ’I’m a horrible mother.  This is how they will remember me.’ This plunges me further into my pit of self-pity and negativity.  I can’t believe how quickly I have descended this time.

When Hubby asks me about my day, I don’t even want to talk or even let him look at me and see the sadness and anger in my eyes.  I am ashamed of myself.

My head is jumbled.  I can’t think.  I can’t remember anything.  I can’t organize my thoughts.

I haven’t written my weekly post for Her View From Home, and I can’t think what to write.  I write sentences that make no sense and then delete them in a frustrated and angry tirade.  I know I should write a new blog post, too.  But why should I?  No one reads it anyway.  Every e-mail I get from other blogs I subscribe to makes me angry and depressed.  Why does this blog have so many followers?  Why did everyone comment on this post when no one comments on mine?  It defeats me.  I think, ‘I am stupid to think that I can write, that I have talent, that I have anything to say that anyone wants to hear.’  I resign to just give up writing altogether, thinking only of the pieces that have been rejected.

‘I am a miserable failure at everything.’

I don’t return phone calls, I ignore e-mails and texts and messages on Facebook.  I don’t feel like subjecting anyone to my negativity.  At my son’s soccer game, I set up my chair far away from all the other parents.  I can’t be social.  My friend Katie walks by and asks how my day is going.  Near tears, I tell her, ‘Not good,’  and when she gives me a tight hug, I bristle.  I’m angry with myself for letting people see me like this.  Seeing me weak and ungraceful.

At the next soccer game of the day, my friend Heather sets up camp next to me and babbles happily in her enviable way.   I wonder if she can tell; does she know how I am feeling?  She has said that she needs to run every day.  It is her sanity.  What is my sanity?  Why is my sanity a pill?

At baseball games later that day, I get a rush of joy seeing my six year old make a good hit and run to first base.  My heart warms watching my four year old play for the first time, seeing his short legs run the bases and follow directions and laugh happily.

On Sunday, Hubby asks me to help plant annuals in the flower garden.  The hard work satisfies me for an afternoon.  I’m unsure whether it is because I am learning more about something I’ve always wanted to know or that Hubby and I are working side-by-side on a project, but it brings me temporary reprieve.

But later, I want to be alone with my thoughts, away from everyone.  I know this is dangerous.  I’ve been alone with my thoughts too many times in my life.  Alone with the thoughts that tell me I am worthless, I’m a bad mother and a terrible wife.  I can’t cook or write or take care of my house or maintain friendships.  I’ll never be able to run a race or write a book or complete a goal.  These were the same thoughts that plunged me into a scary darkness three times in my life.

Once in high school when I was so paralyzed by feelings of inadequacy that I stayed in my room wallowing in misery, sure that I was so far beneath everyone else that perhaps I shouldn’t even exist.

Next, after I graduated from college and couldn’t find a job.  I hated substitute teaching, so I stopped answering the phone at all.  I stopped getting dressed in the morning and stayed on the couch all day.

And when I desperately wanted a baby after I was married, and everyone but me seemed to be getting pregnant.  I stopped talking to my friends and avoided social situations.  I remember crying to Hubby, begging him to let me stay home from his high school fund raiser because we would be seated at the same table as someone who was pregnant, and I didn’t want to stare at her swollen belly all night.

Hubby would often come home from work, and finding me in tears and on the couch would say to me, “You sat home and thought all day, didn’t you?”

It feels like the cartoon image of the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other. It’s the classic battle between light and dark, which both reside in all of us.  But in someone who suffers from depression, the dark mostly wins.  That little devil tells me awful things about myself, and I believe him.

In my twenties, my doctor suggested I see a therapist.  I carried around the name and number for about a year before I threw it away.  It was just another thing that made me feel inadequate, that proved I was a failure.  I always thought it was something I had to live with.  It wasn’t that bad, was it?

But as I look back, it was.  It did paralyze me, it does keep me from doing the things I want to do – mainly loving my family and friends and pursuing my dreams.

Monday, I picked up the pills, and took two right away.  Slowly my head cleared, but I was still screaming at my sons and deleting every blog update from my e-mail.  I got back on my pattern of taking five milligrams every other day.  Any more makes me feel like a fuzzy-headed zombie; any less isn’t quite enough.

I have found time to use my treadmill a bit each day this week, and when I am tired, I have gone to bed before exhaustion hits.

This morning, I gave gentle reminders about backpacks and glasses and dressing for preschool and laughed when Baby E took the dirty clothes out of the washing machine.  I feel like my sanity is slowly returning and lightness and calm are winning once again over darkness and anger.  I feel like I am returning to the person I want to be, that I know I am in my heart and in my beautiful mind.

I have three, maybe four posts I want to write, and I am reading all my favorite blogs again for inspiration.  The words are forming themselves in my head, and I can’t type quickly enough.

I do hate that this sanity and clarity comes from a pill, but I thank God I can recognize this.  I thank God that I can recognize when my mind is jumbled and crazy and the darkness is winning.  I thank God for giving me a situation that forced the introduction of the medication.  I thank God that I will never be a Susan Smith-type mom who does the unthinkable to her children because she didn’t realize that she needed help or refused to seek it.

I vow to never let my prescription lapse again.  I vow to not care if society thinks I am weak or lazy for taking antidepressants.  I vow to never think that they are the only answer for these dark feelings.  I vow to take them for as long as I need them, for myself and for my family.

Most importantly, I vow to be honest about my use of them for other women who might think as I used to  – that they just have to deal with that devil character on their shoulder telling them awful things about themselves and believing it.  I vow to talk about it because if I had known anyone else felt this same way long ago, things might have been different.  Different as they are now.  Better.

All I have ever wanted was to be happy; but I have to fight for it, and I always will.  The more I fight, the more I learn.  The more I learn, the better I get.  If that means I need some medicinal assistance, then so be it. That little white pill and I will just keep knocking that devil right off my shoulder.

**********

Kathy is a former elementary school teacher who now stays home with her most important students, her four sons.  She began writing after she lost her oldest son at age six to cancer and as an outlet to dealing with another son’s ADHD and anxiety issues.  At her blog, kissing the frog, she writes about what really happens after all your dreams come true.  You can also find her weekly column at www.HerViewFromHome.com .

This post was originally published HERE and used with permission.

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May 18, 2012

How This Mama Got Her Groove Back, All By Myself

by Linda, Outrunning the Storm

I’ve known I’ve needed it for a long time. But, it seemed so self-indulgent. It seemed like too much to ask for. But, it’s stayed there, circling around the back of my mind, like a far off fantasy.

But, lately things have been different.  Charlie has been doing great. The crisis in our lives is over for now.  It’s time to move on. It’s time for life to get back to normal. It’s just that I haven’t been able to do that. I can’t seem to stop waiting for the next problem to come along. I’m staying in crisis mode. I’m not looking ahead. I am certainly not relaxing.

But, last week, for no reason in particular, something just finally clicked for me. I knew it was time to switch gears. I knew it was time to let go of my constant vigilance and learn to relax again and enjoy the peace. And I knew just what I needed to get there.

So, I went online and I booked a weekend at a local spa hotel. I booked the romance package. The kind that comes with a couple of spa treatments included, plus some champagne, chocolate covered strawberries, and a cheese plate in your room upon arrival.

I was giddy with excitement all week, just waiting for the weekend to come. I put aside some meals in the fridge, I cleaned the house, I rounded up family support for the weekend, all with a smile on my face.

Then Friday afternoon came, I packed my bags, kissed the boys good bye, spent a half an hour talking Charlie back into the house after he seat belted himself in the car in an attempt to go too. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to come, it was going to be pretty cool.

Finally, I kissed The Professor good bye and headed off for my romantic spa weekend

ALL

BY

MY

SELF

{sigh of  relaxation}

It was incredible. I put on my giant fleece pants, I lounged in my king size bed eating my cheese and strawberries and drinking my champagne. I watched cheesy movies, I got two separate massages. I napped, oh how I napped.

And then I wrote. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote.

Not for the blog. Not for anything really. None of it will ever see the light of day. But, it got me to peak out of my bunker. I can accept that it’s time to start to invite friends over to our home again without worrying about Charlie. It’s time to start meeting friends for lunch again without worrying about the school calling.

There is no longer a crisis holding me back. It’s just me and my fear.

But, me not living my life, not taking what I need when the times are good, doesn’t help Charlie if he starts having trouble again.

It just depletes me, drip by drip, of being the whole human being I deserve to be.

**********

Linda is the mother of 5 year old twin boys, one who is on the autism spectrum and one who is not.  She writes a personal blog at Outrunning the Storm and was instrumental in starting the Autism Positivity Day Flash Blog. Her journeys are crazy, maddening, hilarious, and painful just trying to stay one step ahead of the storm.

This post was originally published HERE and used with permission.

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May 16, 2012

Just Like That

by Becky, Building On Joy

Love this! Motivating!
And so I decided to start exercising & that led to starting a running program.  Well, a walk/jog program.  You can read more about how I got started.  About 3 weeks ago, I didn’t plan to exercise. I didn’t want to exercise. I really hated the idea, although I knew I needed it.

Today I did my first full Couch to 5K workout outside, and it was tough.  But I completed the WHOLE program for today.  I’m pretty sure that my jogging pace may actually be slower than my walking pace (ok, not really but, well, maybe!).  The way the Couch to 5K program is structured is that for the first week you walk 5 minutes, then alternate 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds of walking.  You do the jog-then-walk combination 8 times.  I was ready to quit after 2 times.  I was positive that I’d not get through the third jog, let alone move on to the third walk segment.  But I watched my time, and when it was time to jog, I jogged.  All 8 times.  And then I walked, all 8 times.

It was hard.  I was sweaty.  Yuck.  I came home and plopped onto the couch and told my husband that I was pretty sure I was going to die.  But of course I didn’t, or you wouldn’t be reading this post! ;-)

The picture above was going around Facebook this morning and it captured – perfectly – why I started exercising, and why I didn’t quit this morning.

I think we – ok, I’ll speak for myself here, not all of you – I think I live so much of life “because it’s the way I’ve always done it” and that’s just not cutting it anymore.  That’s “mindless living” in my opinion.  There’s nothing intentional in that kind of living.  I know I wasn’t aiming to be unintentional in my living – I probably even decided that I was being “efficient” by just doing the same thing I’ve always done.

But the need to be intentional is currently a big key in my life.  And so it is in this aspect of my life as well, it turns out (imagine that!).  It’s now nearly noon, and I’ve not accomplished as much as I could because I took time out to exercise.  However, I think I’ve accomplished one of THE most important things I needed to do today, because I took time out to exercise.

Are there things in your life that you’re looking to change?  It’s not easy – I’m not here to tell you that it is.  But making intentional choices is the place to start.  Look at what you’re wanting to change.  Decide what you need to do to make that change, and just do it.  Don’t listen to the doubting or the parts of you that say, “No way!”  One step at a time.  One choice at a time.  You CAN do it.

There are so many people out there who will tell you that you can't. What you've got to do is turn around and say "watch me".

**********

Becky lives near Philadelphia, PA. She is married to Tim and they are parents to 3 children – two boys and one girl.  Her second son, “Picasso”, has Sensory Processing Disorder along with an Asperger Syndrome diagnosis. Picasso loves making art using various mediums and sometimes chooses to sneak Sharpies for use on surfaces in the home (read: bathroom cabinet, doors, walls, lightswitches, etc.).  She blogs about special needs, homeschooling, and family life at www.paintingwithpicasso.blogspot.com .  Becky also enjoys coffee, reading, music, knitting, and is working hard at taking better care of herself, in order to care better for her family!  Check out her new blog Building On Joy.

This post was originally published HERE and used with permission.

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May 10, 2012

Dear Diary

by Karen, Confessions of An Asperger’s Mom

Warning: This Post is in exercise in self-pity.

I’ve been a really strange mood lately.  I want to be alone.  I don’t want anyone talking to me because I’m afraid I may bite their head off.  I don’t want anyone asking me any questions about what I’m doing…what I’ve been doing…what I’m supposed to be doing.
Yet, when I am alone I’m still not particularly happy.
I am full of thoughts of self-doubt –constantly questioning my parenting decisions.
I am feeling bad about what my kids are facing.
Feeling guilty that the latest medicines that we are trying with Blue -are not working the way that I hoped they would.

I am so happy with my blog and my facebook community.  I love the work that I am doing in helping others feel less alone.  But then I start looking at our financial situation and all of the things we can’t do because I don’t bring in an income, then I start with the guilt.  We are stuck in the small breaking-down, falling apart house, because we don’t have a second income.  I am driving the 10 year-old car with all of the funny noises, because I haven’t done anything to change that.  I am writing and doing what I love, but I can’t brush away the thoughts of feelings of, you need to get something published.
You need to be making an income.
What the hell happened to you?
You used to be so independent! 

I start thinking about my friendships.  I am blessed to have a lifetime of friends all across the miles, from West Virginia, to California.  My best friend lives a few hours away in Houston.  I love her.  She is my sanctuary. Literally, she provides respite for me every couple of months.  She is the one person that can say anything to, without fear of judgement and she can do the same.  We can talk and text message every day with our most hideous, most ridiculous thoughts and feelings and then laugh and make jokes about them. Then days can go by with no contact, but I never doubt our friendship.

I have extremely close friends in California where I grew up.  I have friends that I have known since I was in middle school, high school friends, friends from my early 20′s and so on.  I am proud of these friendships…how no matter how much time goes by without contact, when we do talk or see each other, it’s as if we just got together yesterday.  There is no animosity about the different directions our lives have taken and how little time we have to get together or call each other.  I love, value and treasure these friendships.

Most of my girlfriends from L.A. have at some point taken time out of their lives to come here and we have great visits together.  Or when I go there, we must see each other and our time together is just…like home, warm and familiar.

Then I have my virtual friends.  I have developed some great friendships through blogging and facebook.  People who think about me…send me special notes of love and support.  People who make me smile on an almost daily basis.  Women who get EXACTLY where I’m coming from because they too are parents of kids with special needs.  I can make quick contact with them when it is convenient for me from my laptop or phone.  In fact, this ability has made it so convenient that I seldom actually have conversations on the phone.  When I do talk on the phone, I am almost always interrupted by one of my kids, my mother, my husband or even by another phone call…like from the school.

I have somehow let my friendships with local friends dwindle down to next to nothing,  which I feel really guilty about.  I wonder if I’ve lost these friendships.  Living in Texas has been the only time in my life, where I have actually lost friendships and been disappointed by people who I believed were friends. Sometimes I wonder if it is connected to being a special needs parent.  Some people don’t get-it…don’t want to get it…get sick and tired of hearing about it.

I have a group of friends I used to entertain all the time here at the house.  We would eat, drink, laugh and talk into all hours of the night.  At some point Blue would become extremely stressed out and ask me,
“When are they leaving?  It’s time for everyone to go home so I can go to bed!”
At which point, I would say, “They aren’t in your bedroom.  Your bedroom is upstairs.  Just go to bed.”
“I can’t!”

So slowly the parties have slowed down.  The invitations have slowed down.  Lives have taken different directions.  Friends have had babies, which certainly changes the dynamic and trajectory of your life.  Others have been promoted on their jobs, family dynamics have changed where both spouses are now working outside the home, which means that time for friends and entertainment has changed.

But when I’m alone and in deep thought…I question myself.
Did I do something or say something? 
What happened to our friendship?
Why am I so paranoid?
I’m a good friend…when I have time to be one.

I am now taking care of my mother who is living with me.  Though she is only 72, and has relatively good health,  she still depends on me to help her take care of all personal business, take her to all of her appointments, both medical and otherwise, take her shopping and entertain her at least once a week.  Otherwise, she would never get out of the house.  This takes away from my time to get together with girlfriends.

I am no longer going to workout on a regular basis, which means I don’t see my Y -workout girlfriends as often.  We do get together every couple of months for lunch or coffee and catching up.  I joined another local recreation center, which is closer to home.  Yet, I can’t seem to make it over there with any sense of regularity.

The last time I had lunch with my workout girls, they asked me to come back to the Y to our Yoga and Zumba classes.  I really want to, but as summer approaches, I doubt seriously if I will have time to work out regularly.

So basically,  my life is totally out of balance and I have to figure out a way to somehow close some of these gaps and get my sh*t together.  All of this while the summer is approaching and I have to figure out ways to keep the boys busy and away from each other as much as possible.  I’m looking at camps,  therapists, social groups and vacations.
Oh yeah…and then there is the house and all of the many little projects that need to be done around here.
It all seems so impossible.
I guess I just have to make a list and try to do one-thing-at a time…
one-day at a time.
I wonder how many days I have left where I can say that?
Life is short and yet it seems to be going by so fast!
If only I wasn’t such a scatter-brained, unorganized, discombobulated mess.

**********

I am a full-time mother of 3 boys (4 if you include my husband).  The boys are ages 24, 16 and 13.  Both teens are on the spectrum. My 24 year-old is thankfully out of my house, but unfortunately, about to be deployed to Afghanistan.  I have been advocating for my sons, with doctors, schools and therapists since they were toddlers. I run an interactive Facebook community https://www.facebook.com/pages/Confessions-Of-An-Aspergers-Mom/113171498759099?ref=tn_tnmn, where those in the virtual autism/Asperger’s community can come to share information, laughter and vent with one another. On my blog I write honestly and openly, often using humor to share the reality of our life. I want the world to understand and accept autism, instead of judging it from a point of ignorance. If that means getting naked for the whole world to see…then so be it.  Hopefully…you won’t laugh too hard.

This post was originally published HERE and used with permission.

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May 8, 2012

Easy Like Sunday Morning

by Jeanie, Reinventing Mommy

It is Sunday morning.  I’m leaning back in my chair, feet dangling carelessly in the pool as my hair begins to stick to the back of my neck.  I lift my head towards the sky to soak in the warm glow of the sun as it kisses my forehead.  Under my watchful eye, my boy plays along the water’s edge.  His squeals of delight watching the water pour are bubbling up beneath the surface.  His hands flutter and his mouth drops open in an expression of joy that is so uniquely Jack.  I find my mouth creasing into a smile and find myself in the midst of heaven on earth.

—

Summer is approaching with a ferocity that seems to be a fact of life in the South.  This time of year, I am taken back to my childhood and the beautiful days of all-too-short summers spent at the beach.

Both sets of my grandparents had beach houses – one on the Florida coast and the other on one of the Georgia barrier islands.  Summers were spent between these two locales embracing all of the sweetness of the season.

I felt so at home on the beach.  As a child, I was an avid body boarder.  I planned excursions down to the beach based on the tidal schedules.  The freedom felt when gravity releases you, as the waves take over, is simply indescribable.  It feels like flying.

I have not gone body boarding in years.  In fact, to do so would probably result in a performance more worthy of America’s Funniest Home Videos than ESPN.  Another thing I have not done in years is take a vacation to the beach.  In fact, I haven’t been on vacation since Jack was born.  The closest I have come to the coast since his birth is when I go visit my Dad about once a year.

This bothers Brian very little.  Growing up, his family’s travels took them all over the place, thus they never developed the same loyalty to a particular location or setting.  When it comes to the beach, I think Brian could take it or leave it.

This year promises to be no exception to our hiatus from vacationing.  My husband will be going up to visit family up North, but Jack still has a self-imposed travel ban placed upon us as a family.  The logistics of traveling with Jack, from the change in routine to rescheduling all of his therapies to working around ESY to the questions of “How do we get there with our sanity?” to finding food that he’ll eat and a place where he will sleep, it all wears down on us when we even attempt to plan it.

So, what is a family to do?  Or, in reality, what is this mama to do?

The answer came in Jack’s Easter basket this year – an inflatable swimming pool.  Sure, it’s just big enough for Jack and my feet, but it will do, my friends.

Sunday morning was to be a warm day.  A scorcher nearing 88 degrees.  For the end of April/early May, that’s hot.  To kick off what Mother Nature had decided herself to dub as the unofficial start of summer, I cracked the pool out and warmed up my lungs for what would be an exhausting 30 minutes of inflating the thing.

At least I know my lungs are nice and healthy.

We found a sunny place in the backyard and began to fill the pool.  Now Jack loves playing with water, but he’s very anxious when it comes to actually getting in.  That’s okay, because this mama has all the time in the world. Sunscreen in hand and a couple of lawn chairs to set poolside, we headed outside for a day of sunshine and water play.  We stayed out there all day, only coming inside to eat lunch and dinner and to take a nap.  Jack had his usual meltdowns and transitioning problems that seem to come standard with the lack of structure on the weekends these days, but for a few moments out by that pool, as he was watching the water fall back into the pool from his cup, there was nothing but peace and tranquility.

It was blissful.

Jack loved the water.  The introduction of a few bubbles to the party was what it took to finally coax him into the water, but he refused to bend down or do anything to get himself too wet.  You’ve gotta love those sensory issues.

He played and enjoyed watching the water pour from a cup back into the pool over and over again.  Sure it was a stimmy kind-of activity, but he was enjoying a few moments of peace and sunshine.

As was I.

For a few moments, I could almost imagine myself back at the beach.  The sand warming my toes and the waves gently lapping my feet.  The heat of the sun enveloping me.  The feeling of letting go.  Yet, this was better than the beach could be this year, because my boy was there enjoying it with me.

Later in the day, after I had fixed myself a lovely frozen beverage, I flopped my feet into the water and thought about how perfect that moment was.  My little boy seemed to be having a good time.  I was relaxed.  I leaned my head back and decided that the little “resort” I had created would suit me just fine.

**********

Jeanie is a former engineer turned stay-at-home wife and mom to an amazing 3-year old little boy on the autism spectrum. After her only child was diagnosed at 24-months with autism and an alphabet soup of special needs, she began to write about life parenting a very young child with special needs with honesty, optimism, and as always, a touch of humor. You can find Jeanie at her regular blog, Reinventing Mommy (http://reinventingmommy.blogspot.com/).

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April 27, 2012

Running In The Rain

By Jeanie, Reinventing Mommy

I’ve made some changes over the past couple of weeks. I’m spending more time on my writing, trying to make some things happen.

I’ve also gotten my hair cut, a move that the majority of my family may or may not approve of once they see it. It actually aged me a bit, which is good, because I’m a lot older than I look. And yes, I’m typing that with a smile. I know I’ll appreciate my “baby face” when I’m in my 60s.

It had been a while since my hair was this short, since the days at my 9 to 5. Once Jack was born and throwing up all over me on a daily basis, I figured that no hair cut could hide the vomit stains on my clothes and the sour milk smell that hung heavy in the air around my person.

Ironically enough, I think that Jack is really confused by it. For example, take this exchange from when I picked him up at school yesterday:

Me: “Hi, Jack!”
Jack: No response, no eye contact.
Me: Trying to prompt him – “Jack says, ‘Hi, Mmmm…’”
Jack: “Hi, Ms. (his private OT’s name)!”
Me: “Nope, I’m not Ms. (OT). Try again. Jack says, ‘Hi, Mmmm….’”
Jack: “Hi, Ms. (his preschool teacher’s name)!”
Me: “No, I’m not Ms. (preschool teacher). Jack says, ‘Hi, Mommy!’”

To which Jack looked at me for the first time in this whole exchange, with a look that said, To hell you say! You’re not MY Mommy!
Yeah, that wasn’t my intent by making changes.

Ultimately, I’ve decided that I needed to do some things for me – to make me happy. I need to discover who I am and what I like and want out of my life.

As a means of getting to that goal, I’ve started running again. I used to run when I was younger. Really, my neighborhood is the perfect place to run. It is very hilly around where I live, but my neighborhood sits on a rare oasis of perfectly flat ground. The main street actually loops around the neighborhood, serving almost as a track, if you wish.

I had not gone running since before I got pregnant with Jack, which was in 2008. Once Jack was born, he always had so many needs that it seemed like running was more of a hassle. I thought about getting a treadmill, but they’re just so damned expensive.

That and I far prefer to run outdoors. I like the feeling of the wind on my face. I like the fresh air and the smells of the grass, the various blooms of the season, and the smell of rain as it is coming in.

Much to my neighbors’ confusion, the time you will always see me running is in the rain. I adore running in the rain. As long as there is no thunder and lightning, I don’t let a little thing like precipitation get in my way. I love feeling the rain roll down my skin. I love the slight chill as the wind lashes against my wet skin. I love the solitude, the peace, of the rain. It is so cleansing, as though the rain just washes away all of your cares, your concerns, and your fears.

I can do some of my best thinking in the rain. I basically write out a piece in my head while running. It gives me a chance to really examine myself. What do I like? What do I want? These are questions I’ve never really asked myself, but I feel like I should after all of these years of being so concerned by the answers others would give. Now, I actually am starting to care about what I have to say.

I’m probably happier now than I have been in years…and yes, that’s with an autistic child. He has a long way to go, but he’s made great progress and I feel like we’ve got the right combination of therapies with the right therapists and we will continue to see progress as he continues to work with them in the years to come. I feel confidence in that. I have proven to myself multiple times that I – and I alone – can fight for Jack and make things happen for him. That has been so empowering. I am doing some things just for myself that make me feel good.

You may look at Jack and some of the issues I deal with on a daily basis and feel either sympathy or sadness, but don’t. I’m at a point where autism is just a “normal” part of my life and, even though some days are harder than others, for the most part I just deal with things as they come and make the accommodations I need for him. Sure, it sucks at times when I see what he can’t do (evaluation time comes to mind), but then I remember how far he’s come.

And I helped get him there.

It’s the same with running in the rain. You might look at me out of your window and think, That poor woman! She’s soaked! She must be miserable! However, if you looked at my face, you’d see a smile as I think about how far I’ve come.

**********

Jeanie is a former engineer turned stay-at-home wife and mom to an amazing 3-year old little boy on the autism spectrum. After her only child was diagnosed at 24-months with autism and an alphabet soup of special needs, she began to write about life parenting a very young child with special needs with honesty, optimism, and as always, a touch of humor. You can find Jeanie at her regular blog, Reinventing Mommy (http://reinventingmommy.blogspot.com/).

This post was originally published HERE and used with permission.

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April 24, 2012

Donning My Mask

by Terri, It’s A Wonderful Life: The Power of One

Okay, I don’t mean to sound like a bragger, but if I’m going to anyway I figured this is the right place to do it! Where to begin? First let me say that I’m sharing this very personal information because I feel like I think many of my hero blogger’s must, that if even one other person can see themselves in this post, and it motivates or encourages them to take better care of themselves or not feel so isolated in their journey, than it is worth it. So here we go…

In November, I decided something in my life needed to change, what could I control, as I was spinning out of control? I decided it was finally time to ask for help, just like Jess at Diary of a Mom talked about in her blog post Avalanche at  http://oxygenmaskproject.com/2012/01/18/avalanche in January.

And let me tell you:

IT IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER DONE FOR MYSELF!

(And yes, I want to scream it from the mountain top!) So, here I am on the mountain top, or as close as I can get for today.

I know there are people that think medications are over used, and in some cases they are; but when used appropriately, they can be life changing, if not life saving. I wasn’t sure at first how to ask for help, because I wasn’t really depressed, and I wasn’t really anxious, I was just really, really, really stressed. I figured, “well, there’s no pill for stress so I guess I just have to suck it up” and I did, for a really long time, until finally all that “sucking” started oozing out of every pore of my being, and quite simply I began to suck. I was irritable, agitated with everyone for even the smallest reason, in fact, I had no concept of the “small stuff” not to sweat, because nothing was small to me. I describe it as having no gauge for big or little insults or transgressions. My irritability shifted from once being only aimed at ignorant strangers who were inconsiderate of others, to those that I loved and were my safe harbor; first my husband, and then slowly to my children. I knew that I had a great life, but I certainly wasn’t acting like it. My wonderful husband, whom I am madly in love with summed it up best, when he said in the most loving way possible, “you were always mean to everyone else, but now you’re mean to me too.” That and hearing myself snap at my adorable 2 & 4 year old sons, who were in all honesty just doing their jobs being really good at being 2 & 4, bit by bit I seemed to lose every bit of patience I had prided myself on as having as a really good mom. Yes I have a child with Autism, this is to be expected right? Wrong. Man was I wrong.

Prior to having children I always said, “I’m just a b&*ch, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to be my friend” and trust me, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but my husband always loved me, even though I’m sure he thought I was losing it at times. For me to hear my best friend say I was being mean to him now too, hurt and shocked me into change. I married my husband because I love him more than anything, not because I wanted to have children. I never wanted children to change “us” (spoken like a person who had never been married with children before). And slowly after the last 5 years of having two difficult pregnancies, then infants, toddlers and pre-schoolers, one of them with Autism, “we” had in fact changed because I had changed.

My husband looked at me one night and said “why are you so miserable, aren’t you happy?” I was so sad. I was happy damn it! What was he talking about? I’m just really stressed! Gosh, how COULD YOU ASK ME THAT! Sounds pretty happy, right? OMG, what is wrong with me? Cue, November 2011, asking for help.

I saw a wonderful psychiatrist who said, you know what? You have some type of mood thing, this is NOT JUST WHO YOU ARE, this is not just your personality, you are not just a b*&ch. With proper medication and therapy you can be HAPPY. That is when my life changed.

Fast forward 6 months later. Tuesday, April 10th, sitting in Panera enjoying a sandwich by myself. Lots of therapy has proven to me in fact – I am not just a b*&ch! I had a lot of stress and a biologically based chemical imbalance in my brain. I’m not crazy, I was just unbalanced. Now with the help of an appropriate dose of the SSRI that works for me, and lots of therapy, and the support of the most amazing husband, friend and children, I can honestly say:

I am the happiest I have ever been in my life.

Did you read that? Yes, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. Those of you who know me, know that means change, true change & commitment to it. I never knew that I could be happier than when I married my best friend, or when I had not one, but two perfect little boys, but guess what? I could, and I am! I am so happy, I want everyone to feel this way. I don’t want anyone to waste another moment stressing over the small stuff that they aren’t even capable of identifying as small. I am excited for the opportunity to have friends, and for people to like me because I’m happy & nice and not overwhelmed by my life. I put my oxygen mask on, and I breathed it in, slowly at first, one small pill, one hour of therapy every Tuesday evening. Then it was as simple as emptying my hot water heater. What do I mean? I took a shower so long that I used all the hot water. When was the last time I did that? Then it snowballed, and every day it got a little easier to take care of myself too.

Every Tuesday evening after therapy I went on a date with myself. I did something just for me. All alone. Can you imagine? I’d go to the bathroom alone, read a book, sit by the fireplace at Panera, browse the dollar aisle at Target, whatever I wanted, all by myself. Since then I’ve graduated, I’m feeling so good, I have such little to report at therapy besides happiness, that I go every three weeks now. But guess what? Every Tuesday night I still go on a date with myself. Occasionally I let someone join me, maybe a new friend. Maybe you, as I sit here typing this. The joy has been contagious, I’ve spread it willingly, lovingly, without resentment; my husband dates himself every Thursday and I’m confident he is happier too because of it.

After 8 years of marriage, and two wonderful sons, I can say with all sincerity that I am the luckiest woman in the world. I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. I feel like my marriage has never been more solid, that I have never been a better wife, friend or mother, and I am a better person for putting on my mask, emptying my water heater and asking for help. I never knew, I never knew, I could be so happy & my sincere hope is that you will be too. See you on Tuesday – I’ll be the one sitting by the fireplace, with the content, satisfied, fulfilled look on my face, I hope you’ll join me.

**********

Terri can be found at facebook.com/Its.A.Wonderful.Life.ThePowerofOne and says: Because I made the conscious choice to don my oxygen mask first, I am a better wife than ever to my amazing husband & partner, and also mother to my two wonderfully, amazing boys, one of whom has PDD-NOS on the Autism Spectrum.  When I’m not busy during the week running my boys around from school, to school, to therapy and back, I spend my weekends caring for others’ loved ones as a psychiatric nurse.  I am busy, and worn down at times, but I am also happy and determined that I will make a difference, not only in the lives of those that I love, but also for others who need a voice.  I believe in the power of one; one person can make a difference.  This is my attempt to do that…one person at a time.
Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives.
When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?
    –It’s a Wonderful Life–

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April 20, 2012

Let’s Go Fly A Kite

by Alysia, Try Defying Gravity

The Mary Poppins Game

I’m going to call this: “The Mary Poppins Game”.

It came to me in the shower this morning.  All my good ideas come to me in the shower.  It’s also where I cry, but I digress…

It has been a very long week here.  My kids were on spring break and although the weather was lovely, we were all just out of sorts.  My kids needed me night and day.  That’s not just an expression this time.  There was not one night this week when all three kids slept through the night in their own beds.  We didn’t do anything very vacation-y either – my husband still had to work and therapy appointments and piano lessons and baseball games went on as planned.

I. Am. Tired.

So, this morning, in the first real shower I’ve had all week, I had this idea.  The Mary Poppins Game.

Let’s pretend that Mary Poppins floated down from the sky at 6am and said “I’m here to take care of your kids for 24 hours.  Go.  Do something for you.”

What would you do?

Now, I know you.  You will say something along the lines of “well, even Mary Poppins couldn’t take care of my kids.  They have very specific needs : feeding tubes and therapy sessions and toileting problems and sleep issues.  And they have soccer games and lacrosse practice and piano lessons and if you don’t cut their sandwich into the perfect four triangles they won’t eat it and for goodness sake don’t let them eat anything with any food dyes or we’ll pay for it for days!”

Did you know that Mary Poppins is an ABA certified occupational therapist/registered nurse/nutritionist/physical education teacher/musician/chauffeur/chef?  She is.

So…

Let’s hear it.

Your perfect day.  From sunrise to sunrise.  Let your imagination run.  You can do anything you want in those 24 hours.

As long as it’s for you.

Tell us all your perfect day here in the comments.  Let us live your day with you.

To get things going (and because it’s my idea) I’ll start:

First, I would go back to bed.  Until I woke up on my own – not by alarm or by crying over the baby monitor.  Next, a long shower when I actually wash my hair.  I’ll put on one of the many Glee episodes that I have on the DVR and watch while I got dressed.  Then, out to the diner for a cup of coffee and Eggs Florentine.  I’ll bring my iPad to catch up on my Draw Something games and order a second cup.  Next, a drive over to the bookstore, belting out a little Adele with the windows down.

I’ll buy a new book and head down to our local beach with a lawn chair.  I would sit in the sun and read.  Maybe I’ll fall asleep.  Nope, I’ll definitely fall asleep.

I know a trip to our local outlet shopping area would be next.  I would actually try clothes on in the store and pick out a new outfit.  Have a chicken salad sandwich on toast and an iced tea.

I’ll return back home and drive over to our town baseball field to watch my oldest play ball.  Yes, this is still for me.  I have yet to see him pitch or stay long enough at a game to cheer him on from the bench.  I want to sit with the other mothers and chat and gossip and jump up and down when my son gets a hit.

I’ll bring him home, tell him how proud I was of him out there, and then take my husband out for dinner.  In my new clothes.

I’ll have a glass of wine.  Or two.

And I’ll smile and laugh and hold his hand.

I’ll get home, actually change into real pajamas (not just passing out in my clothes), and fall asleep without worrying about the pile of laundry in the corner or the dirty dishes in the sink because they would be gone.  I won’t think about which kid will be up in the middle of the night because Mary will take care of it for me.

I’ll sleep peacefully for the first time in ten years.

And I’ll feel like me again.

**********

So?  Who will play The Mary Poppins Game with me?  Tell me what you would do with a whole day just for you?

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Alysia is a stay-at-home mom to three young boys, two with autism spectrum disorder.  She writes about that and other things at her personal blog Try Defying Gravity.  She’s also the managing editor of the SPD Blogger Network, a group blog for parents with children living with sensory processing disorder.  She’s so happy to have found this home here at The Oxygen Mask Project along with her friend Shannon.  (And yes, the idea for The Oxygen Mask Project was also hatched in the shower.)

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April 18, 2012

The Respite Requirement

by Hartley, Hartley’s Life With 3 Boys

I have been a special needs mom now for nearly 10 years. That sounds much more impressive than it is mostly because when my oldest was young, I didn’t believe I was a special needs mom, let alone have the guts to say it. The only thing I really would admit to was that parenting my son was challenging.

Ok not just challenging, but demanding, and unusually exhausting. Which made me feel like an utter failure. I remember having conversations with my husband where I was in tears saying I needed help with everything from the kids to the housework, where I tried to explain how I could be so overwhelmed after a day at home ‘just’ taking care of the kids and running errands. He never understood why I wasn’t giving Mary Poppins a run for her money and reminded me often that it was ME who wanted to be a stay at home mom. He was right  -  I did want to be a SAHM  -  but I never expected it to be so unbelievably hard, and I sure didn’t expect to be so bad at it.

I watched friends and neighbors parent their kids and it seemed like it was effortless for them. Packing up their toddlers and babies and heading to grab lunch with their friends at a restaurant, or heading over to watch the city parade on a whim, or strapping their little ones into a double stroller and hitting the mall to do some shoe shopping. How did they manage that?! Back then I didn’t really understand how incredibly different my life was from theirs. I hadn’t adopted the term ’special needs’ for my boys, or me and I sure didn’t think about respite. Perhaps I was even opposed to it. That somehow my need for a break only confirmed how much I sucked at parenting.

Fast forward a few years, add two more boys to the mix and a handful of diagnostic acronyms, and the picture was a tad clearer: I am a special needs mom.

And with that term came permission for me to acknowledge how much time and energy went into all of the logistics of having a special needs child(ren), not to mention the emotional worry and constant planning for their future that sneaks into your conscious thoughts (alongside the awareness that the future is completely out of your control) and the daily grind of everything from making peanut butter sandwiches with only creamy Jiff, on white bread, with the crusts cut off and cut into four perfect rectangles (or be forced to throw it away and start over) or going through social stories and preparing impromptu visual schedules just to make an unplanned trip to the grocery store. Why wouldn’t I be exhausted? Exhaustion should’ve been a given. Which means respite should’ve been too.

Parenting a child that has special needs requires you to be ‘on’ every day  -  all day. This is not for pansies  -  this is no meet-your-girlfriends-at-the-park-for-coffee type of parenting. This is 100% emotionally, mentally, and physically demanding of everything you have, every minute of every day and it never lets up. Like I said, exhaustion is a given, and respite should be too.

My kids are difficult. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys and wouldn’t trade them for anything, but the truth is, most days, I need a break. Some time when I am not calling the doctor, or filling out another assessment form, or running to the pharmacy, or planning what to cook, or washing the ‘right’ clothes for morning, or picking up Legos, or whatever. And other days? Other days I think running away to Mexico is a good idea, because maybe they won’t find me and my wine-serving taco truck on the beach and drag me home.

Years ago I felt guilty for wanting a break. Not anymore. I still get exhausted, overwhelmed and worn out because I am parenting in a high-demand, insanely busy world, where my ‘bosses’ are three small boys who could not have higher expectations of me. But now I know Mary Poppins has got nothing on me.

So long as I get my respite time, and lots of it. It is a requirement of my sanity and my ability to perform my job. I have to find time to regroup, unwind, de-stress and generally NOT have to be ‘on’.

And after 10 years of this intense parenting stuff, I have learned that needing respite time doesn’t mean I am bad at parenting, it means I am GOOD at it.

You are too.

This was originally published on the SPD Foundation’s Blog  – head over there are read the other amazing posts from great SPD moms and dads!

**********

Hartley Steiner lives in the Seattle area with her three sons. She is the award winning author of the SPD Children’s book This is Gabriel Making Sense of School with a 2nd Edition to be released April 2012, and Sensational Journeys (available now at www.fhautism.com) as well as the founder of the SPD Blogger Network (www.spdbloggernetwork.com). She is a contributing writer for the SPD Foundation’s blog, S.I. Focus Magazine and Autism Spectrum Quarterly, among dozens of other online websites and blogs. You can find her chronicling the never ending chaos that is her life on the blog Hartley’s Life With 3 Boys (www.hartleysboys.com) and on Twitter as @ParentingSPD. When she isn’t writing, or dealing with a meltdown, she enjoys spending time in the company of other adults preferably with good food and even better wine.

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