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Divorce Doesn't Have to Destroy Your Kids - 50 Guidelines For Divorcing and Divorced Parents

Should Neuro-Typical people be Girl Scout Leaders?

 

Today was the day. The dreaded meeting. It was going well, I was trailing along behind the group, keeping my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets. Then a funny thing happened. My co-leader, who had planned the entire meeting by herself, had the girls play "pass the orange" as a way to get them to bond as girl scout sisters. If you don't know what that is, here's a pic I found on the web to demonstrate:

 

Image courtesy of: jessetree.wordpress.com

 

To play this game you have to get really close, cheek to cheek and neck to neck. Addie told me later she loved Daisies except for "that weird game that was almost like making out"!!!!!!!! And there you have it my friends. Karma in all its glory. I videotaped the entire game, of course, and will be happy to pull it out and demonstrate how "offensive" having the girls touch each other in these ways was to me, as a parent. Not that it really was, of course, because I am not an uptight drama queen.

 

Go ahead Jen and Meg. Just say ONE word to me. I dare you.

 

 



Should an Aspie be a Girl Scout Leader?

I've been pondering that question quite a bit lately. I am one of the leaders of my middle child's Daisy troop. This year we are working on earning petals. The girls get one petal for each of the lines of the law, once they can demonstrate that they understand it. Being a Girl Scout leader is one of the greatest joys of my life, but Asperger's is getting in the way. This is my third troop, and the first one with such little girls and so many helicopter moms. Last week one of my co-leaders called to tell me that one of the moms was appalled at a joke I made to the girls in passing during one of the meetings. THREE MONTHS AGO. As a result, she was pulling her daughter from the troop and my co-leader asked me to stop coming to the meetings.

What was the joke? Good question. Back in January when I was teaching the girls how to sell cookies for the first time, I told them that it is super easy to sell Thin Mints because when a grown up sees a Daisy with a box of Thin Mints it's like crack, they just can't resist. Ever since that day, my two co-leaders and this mom have been upset with me and I had no clue. I mean, I knew they weren't really friendly, but I just focused on the girls and assumed the adults didn't like me because I was fat or new to the school or something. I never really expect to be successful with peer relationships, so their behavior wasn't out of the ordinary. In retrospect I see how they were cold and at times disrespectful, but in the moment I was clueless.

So now I'm faced with a dilemma. My daughter wants me at the meetings and I want to be there for her. I said a stupid thing, and won't ever say anything like that again, obviously. I've requested a meeting in person with the other two leaders multiple times, but have been ignored or received texts instead. I sat in my car during the last meeting, feeling the entire time like a first grader in time out. I'm frustrated that I haven't been able to do anything to fix it, and I'm frustrated that once again my big mouth and lack of filter has gotten me in a place where people are mad at me.

On the other hand, I'm also a part of an organization that tries to teach people to be honest, fair, friendly, and kind. The last line of the law says that we will be a sister to every girl scout. Is this how they treat their sisters? Keeping this from me was not honest or fair. Having multiple gossiping conversations about me is not friendly or kind. Do I have a right to be just as upset with them as they are with me? AND...would it do me any good whatsoever to tell them that I'm an Aspie, and do the very best I can, but sometimes I am going to need somebody to catch me and remind me when I'm being "inappropriate"?

One other option is walking away, and leaving my daughter in a troop run by two women who think her mom is not worthy of spending time with them. Finally, I could get our Neighborhood manager involved, who I've known for several years, and I know she would make them at least sit down and talk to me, but that would really disgust me to have to go there. How old are we? Can we just sit down and have a discussion? Can't they just look me in the eye and tell me what I did scarred their child for life and they will never forgive me? I jest of course, because it's three months later and none of the girls have had to enter rehab for a crack addiction.

Now it's up to you, dear reader. What should I do? The next meeting is two days away. The clock is ticking and I am out of ideas.



How to cope when your daughter wants to live with her dad

As promised, the amazing wisdom that comes from my Facebook Page :

You will get through this. Everyone needs space. Everyone of every age. We all need room to breath and to think about our lives. Maybe your daughter will do what I did: keep a journal. Many HUGS. I'll be here if you need anything. <3 Becks

It will be ok, glad it's working out. I'm sure it was hard, hang in there! You're a good mom who loves her children Give it time, and don't feel guilty. :)

You did what you needed to do for your family, especially for her right now...It will suck...little things like having breakfast together, talking about every little thing and just hanging out but in the long run it will be better for everyone...I'm thinking of y'all *hugs* I'm here to talk if you need to!

 ((Hugs)) . I know it's SO hard right now, but she will figure it out...that her Mommy is the one that she can count on. Being away will only have her discover this sooner.

My son is living with his adoptive father. He and I both want to live together, but well, dad has money and you know how that goes. But the happiness is the best gift you can give your kids, so when they get old like us they can look back on their childhood and say, hey It was great and it was fun!

It will be ok. You need to do what is best for her and right now, this is it. She still loves you. She still needs you. It will be tough - never hold it against her if it works out that she does better with her dad. It is not a reflection of the love between you. Stay strong!

You do what you have to do for your children. if you didn't do this, she wouldn't be happy, you and your other children wouldn't be happy. never doubt you did the right thing, you did.

And it's a time thing...within the next year or two she'll decide Dad's house sucks, moms wasn't so bad after all, and she'll be ready to move back. You will however need to set some concrete rules for her to follow for her to move back in, or else she will make everyone's lives hell again. Been there - done that!

i would tell me daughter to figure out for herself how to be comfortable at both our houses . if honestly she is doing good in school & lives with her grandparents/dad then u are doing right by her but that decision where she lives was made by the adults, not her and so is the decision that she has to fit in & be happy when she does come over to your house . my problem is opposite yours, i had to "convince" my daughter to go hang out with her dad . any of her complaints (bored, nothing to do) are the same she has at home . if it means spending a day a week in "misery" for her too bad for her she's gotta make the most of it instead of waste it . 11 ain't far from 12 13 14 . u gotta be the boss of that girl even if it's from a distance . my friend told me she's gotta know what your expectations for her are and make HER work to keep em that high . for me tho, i HATE when my daughters have to be responsible for their parents feelings . you're not a sensitive growing pains teenager, she is, work around her feelings & what her responsibilities of being a daughter/big sister/kid are . don't let her go tho . even a 5 minute phone call every evening goes a long way, a the tleast once a week

 I went down this road With both my girls they're starting to come around it takes time. It hurts like hell for me but there was no fighting it they were safe there otherwise I wouldn't of allowed it but it ended up strengthening our relationship in the long run because now they realize their dad was not such a prince so I say go for it... Don't beat yourself up over all of this... It will get better I promise. I think it changed my life too and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

I'm sorry sweetie! Just give her time and let her know you love her. My son used to get mad at me and tell me he was going to go live with his dad, until I went to grab the phone and call his dad to pick him up. It didn't take long for him to see that his dad's complaining about me "taking his money" was BS. Maybe that is the root of it for you? Not the money, just the feeling that he broke your heart once and is now doing it again by using your daughter? He sounds selfish to have her thinking you were taking all of his money when you are working hard to support your kids. Wait... sounds like my ex.

My baby girl moved in with her dad, and other horrors.

I haven't written a new post in quite a while. Life has been rolling along really well, and I've been making do with Facebook statuses. But then there comes a moment when you just have to get the thoughts out of your head and down on paper or you are going to explode.

Katie is eleven years old. When she was three and we were considering a second child, I was firmly against it. I had this precious little angel, and another kid would come in and take half of everything my girl deserved. Half the time, half the resources, half the space would go to the new baby, and Katie would have to take a back seat. I knew in my heart that I couldn't emotionally handle additional kids. That's not easy to admit, but it's truth and so I admit it.

My ex was determined, however, and I backed down, as always. So we had another little girl, and then after much debate and attempts by me to get out of it, a little boy. My son is on the autism spectrum. My younger daughter is gifted, and, at times, a nightmare to deal with. Katie has had to suck it up, help, be quiet, skip playdates, and make thousands of the little sacrifices that come from having two younger siblings.

I will never forget the pain on her face when she asked me if I still loved her daddy and I couldn't say that I did anymore. Every moment of every day since I left her daddy December 26th, 2011 she has let me know that she doesn't want to be in the home I have tried to make for her. She wants to be with him, she wants to live in grandma and grandpa's house like he does because it "Feels like home." She claims they understand her better and that they are easier to talk to. She loves having her own space there, here she shares her room with her sister. I've tried every way I could think of to convince her that I wasn't the bad guy, but since I refused to bad mouth her dad, I didn't have a lot to work with.

Last Thursday it all came to a head. I was dealing with Girl Scout Leader drama (I'll write about that in a separate post), and she starts begging to go to Dad's house. I was so raw and hurt and wrung out, I told her to go and not come back until she actually wanted to be with me. We didn't fight about it, there was no screaming or drama, there was just me saying, "Enough."

She left for the night, and that's when I realized. If I really wanted to wait until she wanted to be here, I was probably going to be waiting for a very long time. What is happening? How can this little girl that I have given my life to be so indifferent about spending time with me? She walked out the door with a smile on her face and a skip in her step. I have to ask again, what is happening? There is nothing in me that can understand this.

Check it out!  My very first "Published" article!!  Oh, happy, happy day!

http://www.lifeivy.com/post/7-ways-get-rush-shopping-without-spending-dime/

I'm baaaaack...

Hey everybody, just wanted to take a moment and update you. I've just moved all my old posts from Wordpress to Blogger, which will make it so much easier for me to keep up with it. All the entries posted before this one are from the Spring of 2012. When summer came I got so busy with the kids and my new writing career that I had to let the blog lie. No more. I'm committed baby!  I am here to entertain, enlighten, and inform. Along those lines, I had the following conversation with my five year old Aspie son today:

Him: MOM!!! Come WIPE me!
Me: When do you think you will start wiping your own rear end dude? When you're six?
Him: No.
Me: Seven?
Him: No.
Me: Eight?
Him: No.
Me: Nine?
Him: No. Wait, wait, wait, how old are you Mommy?
Me: 38
Him: I'll do it when I'm 38.
Me: In that case, I'll be sure to warn all your girlfriends to stock up on baby wipes, now bend over kid. Let's get this over with.

And on that crappy note, goodnight.

www.facebook.com/fairydustandflapjacks

10 Terrific Traits of People with Autism

TOP 10 TERRIFIC TRAITS OF AUTISTIC PEOPLE

You may be sick of hearing about all the "deficits" challenging people on the autism spectrum. But for every down side to autism, there seems to be a positive -- an unusual trait that rarely appears among the "typical" community, but shines out among autistic folk. These plusses are well worth celebrating...

1. Autistic People Rarely Lie: We all claim to value the truth, but almost all of us tell little white lies. All, that is, except people on the autism spectrum. To them, truth is truth -- and a good word from a person on the spectrum is the real deal.

2. People on the Autism Spectrum Live in the Moment: How often do typical people fail to notice what's in front of their eyes because they're distracted by social cues or random chitchat? People on the autism spectrum truly attend to the sensory input that surrounds them. Many have achieved the ideal of mindfulness.

3. People with Autism Rarely Judge Others: Who's fatter? Richer? Smarter? For people on the autism spectrum, these distinctions hold much less importance than for typical folks. In fact, people on the spectrum often see through such surface appearances to discover the real person.

4. Autistic People are Passionate: Of course, not all autistic people are alike. But many are truly passionate about the things, ideas and people in their lives. How many "typical" people can say the same?

5. People with Autism Are Not Tied to Social Expectations: If you've ever bought a car, played a game or joined a club to fit in, you know how hard it is to be true to yourself. But for people with autism, social expectations can be honestly irrelevant. What matters is true liking, interest and passion -- not keeping up with the Joneses.

6. People with Autism Have Terrific Memories: How often do typical people forget directions, or fail to take note of colors, names, and other details? People on the autism spectrum are often much more tuned in to details. They may have a much better memory than their typical peers for all kind of critical details.

7. Autistic People Are Less Materialistic: Of course, this is not universally true -- but in general, people with autism are far less concerned with outward appearance than their typical peers. As a result, they worry less about brand names, hairstyles and other expensive but unimportant externals than most people do.

8. Autistic People Play Fewer Head Games: Who was that woman, and why were you looking at her? I know I TOLD you I didn't mind if you went out, but why did you believe me? Most autistic people don't play games like these -- and they assume that you won't either. It's a refreshing and wonderful change from the Peyton Place emotional roller coaster that mars too many typical relationships!

9. Autistic People Have Fewer Hidden Agendas: Most of the time, if a person on the autism spectrum tells you what he wants -- he is telling you what he wants. No need to beat around the bush, second guess, and hope you're reading between the lines!

10. People with Autism Open New Doors for Neurotypicals: For some of us neurotypicals, having an autistic person in our lives has had a profound positive impact on our perceptions, beliefs and expectations. For me, at least, being the mom of a son on the autism spectrum has released me from a lifetime of "should" -- and offered me a new world of "is."

By Lisa Jo Rudy
Thanks @ Single mothers of Children who have autism!!  I am so happy to be able to say every one of these traits apply to me, and I am NOT one to shout out the positive about myself very often so THANK YOU!!!

Facebook is my favorite place to play

Come join me!

www.facebook.com/fairydustandflapjacks

Mommy had a Meltdown

I no longer wonder what a meltdown feels like.  I know.  It’s indescribable, but I am going to attempt to describe it anyway.  For the past month I’ve been getting emails every day or so from my dad warning me that my dear, sweet, never hurt a fly, always loving everybody, Grandpa was dying.  Most of my family lives several states away from where I do.  I’ve been pretty frantic, and trying to figure out some way for me to go.  Last Tuesday Southwest Airlines was having a last minute sale on flights there so I called my Mother-in-Law to see if she would take care of the kids for a few days so I could go and be with my family.  My ex is still working in California so I didn’t even bother to ask him.  She said no.  She said, “What can you really do there anyway?”  and I didn’t push it because that’s me.  I never stand up for what I really need.  I will kick and scream for my kids, but never for me.  She said she had decided at the last minute that she and my father in law were going to San Diego to soak up the beach for a few days.  They need a break from their oh so difficult (insert sarcastic tone here) life.  I wanted to go home on Saturday.  Grandpa died Sunday morning at 6:35 a.m.  I would have been there.  I would have gotten to say goodbye.  I would have gotten to cry and mourn with people who really understood the loss because they knew him.  Instead, I am alone.  That hurts.
Sunday morning, Mother’s Day, I awoke to a child tapping on my face at 6am to ask me to open a jar for her.  I checked my phone and saw my Dad had called at 5.  I called him back and got the news.  No time to cry, though.  Gotta get up, get going to church because if I just lay in bed and drool all day the kids will pester me to death and destroy our home.  So, we went to church.  Then brunch.  Brunch was amazing and totally worth the one hour wait in line.  To die for.  While I was waiting in line I started getting really irritated that I had messaged my ex when I got the news and he hadn’t responded yet.  It had been five hours!  So I sent him another text:
Are you going to say anything to me about Grandpa dying?  Or about me giving you three children?  WTF?
He responded:
Chill, I just woke up.
Nice.  Sorry to interrupt your peaceful slumber.  Poor you.
Later that evening I went on his Facebook page and saw a picture of some lovely roses some girl had posted, with a message thanking him for the Mother’s Day flowers.  For the record, this girl was the ONLY Mother that got something from him this year.  Not his birth mom, not his adopted mom (my MIL), not the mother of his children, just “Deanna”.  Poor Deanna, she has no idea what she’s getting herself into.  So, in summation, Mother’s Day was difficult.
Then came yesterday.  Yesterday was just impossible.  The air was too hot, the kids too loud, the television like fingernails on a chalkboard.  My ex told me him dating a girl four months into our separation was none of my business, nor was him leaving the kids with his mom for five hours last weekend so he could go out with her.  When they only see him maybe three days a month, a five hour date is none of my business.  I stewed in my anxiety, misery, and confusion all day.  What was he doing?  The “rule” is that you don’t start dating somebody until you are divorced, isn’t it?  My Aspie side was in a constant state of turmoil.  And then it happened.  I can’t tell you what exactly triggered it, but one minute I was bringing the kids home from the pool, planning showers and dinner, and the next minute I was screaming like a raving lunatic.  I didn’t hit, push, or spank but the girls later told me I sounded like the Incredible Hulk, or something out of a “horror show”.  I screamed and cried and wailed and railed because the house was a disaster, they ate waffles on the coffee table….how could they?  The “rule” is food at the table!!!  The “rule” is no TV before school so WHY would you even eat there anyway, unless you were watching TV?  The “rule” is dirty clothes go in the hamper and trash in the trash can!  This has been common sense since day one, why, oh why, oh why is our house such a mess?  There are three of them and one of me, why should I have to follow these little slobs around all day long picking up the flotsam they discard with no thought or care?  And if I don’t, I have to live in a shithole.  Until I pop.
I was so angry, I was so yucky inside.  I wanted to stop, but I absolutely couldn’t.  I was powerless before the waves of rage and anger and sadness.  I screamed out every single rule they had broken that day.  I demanded to know what I had to do to them to get them to understand and clean up after themselves.  I made them clean up their room, screaming when I saw my six year old just piling trash into a toy box.  I screamed when I left the room for a minute and came back and they were sitting motionless.  I screamed at them to move, pick up, get going…and they cried.  I saw their tears and hurt even more, which made me even more angry.  Why should I hurt?  Why do I have to hurt and be mean to them just so we can have a home not covered in trash and filth?  The whole episode lasted maybe 20 minutes, and then I sat down on the bed and it all drained away.  I was spent, I felt nothing.  No anger, no sadness, no life, nothing.  I sat and stared while the kids orbited around me.  I felt like I had taken a big dose of Valium, but I hadn’t taken anything.  For the rest of the night I was agitated and easily stimulated.  I shut myself in my room and let my ten year old be in charge for a while.  I came back out and cried with the girls about my Grandpa.  I hugged them and kissed them and tucked them into bed, all the while wondering why God gave them to me.  Why they had to be given a Mother who was so powerless over her emotions. They deserve better.

The effects of bullying do, indeed, last forever.

Looking back at pictures of sweet little five-year-old me, I see a little girl who was pretty, smart, and shy. I loved to learn. My daddy was so proud of me because I had an identic memory, and could recite entire storybooks word for word. I was so excited to start school and learn how to read for real.  First grade was a thrill, everything was so easy! Second grade came and with it the usual childhood dramas that played out on the playground at recess. I never felt comfortable with the other children; I walked home for lunch whenever I could. Home was safe. Home was peace. Home was love. School was not. Over the next ten years, school became fear, anxiety, and hate.

            I don’t know when it was that Jared, Carrie, and Jolene decided that I would be the target. It’s entirely possible that I, the oldest child at home but the youngest in my class at school, was bossy. It’s also possible that I made them feel stupid because I loved to show teachers how smart I was. For whatever reason, I became the one to attack. I was the one to call ugly names, trip in the hallway, extort money out of, gossip about, and abuse. I remember standing in the lunch line in junior high and feeling a sharp pain in my back. I looked behind me and there was a girl I didn’t even know holding a straight pin between her fingers. I was so confused. Why?  Why had she done that? Who was she? Should I say something? Ultimately I walked through the lunch line sideways that day to keep an eye on her, but never said a word about her stabbing me with a pin.

            Don’t tattle. Be a nice girl. Follow the golden rule. All of these guidelines were pretty strict in my house, but none of them helped me to survive in the wilds of the public educational system. What if I had turned around and shoved that girl so hard she took out three other people as she crashed to the floor, and then I had leaped on her and punched and clawed and fought until the teachers had to pull me off? I probably would have been suspended, but looking back with adult eyes I am sure nobody would have ever done something like that to me again. I didn’t though; I backed down; it wouldn’t be the last time.  The cycle continued throughout high school. I was hospitalized twice during high school for depression. I contemplated suicide on more than one occasion because I just couldn’t find a way to stop the pain.   

            I never attempted suicide, though, because I had adults who cared about me. Life at home was just as hard as it was at school but I knew my parents loved me. I instinctively found adult mentors in every new environment I entered into. I have a picture of me in sixth grade stamping papers with happy faces for my favorite kindergarten teacher. In junior high I worshiped my Sunday school teachers.

In high school it was “Mrs. R.” She saved me in every way it was possible to be saved. She was my English teacher freshman and sophomore year. By junior year I was staying after school every day to sit in her classroom and help her grade papers or just chat. Senior year I spent study hall in her classroom as her “assistant”. She trusted me to babysit her beautiful little girl. Her oldest son, Brad, was one of the most popular boys in school, and she treated me as if there was no difference between him and I. Before that, I felt I was the slimy mess trailing along behind the rest of the student body. She was the first person that I can ever remember validating me. I could sit down and read an entire Shakespeare play without using the cliff notes translation because she told me I was smart enough to do it and I wanted to please her. She gave me the complete works of William Shakespeare as a graduation gift. I treasure that book. It was my first proof that I could make a friend.  I was worthy of the time and attention of someone like her. She threw a rope ladder down into the pit I was in and yelled encouragements at me until I finally grabbed ahold and started to climb. 
After high school I struggled with social phobia for a long time. When I start to feel that anxiety creeping up I try to remember these three things:

1. I have value simply because of who I am. I don't have to do anything to earn validation or affection or friendship. You either like me or you don't. If you don't, somebody else will.
2. Nobody is as interested in anybody else as they are in themselves. Nobody cares if my jeans are too short or my hair looks weird. They are worrying about their own problems.
3. What is the worst that could happen? They reject me? I look like a fool? Those things have happened many times and I survived. It's better to try and fail than to hide in my home and be "safe". Life is for living.

 The experts are correct when they say that the effects of bullying last a lifetime. I am 38 years old and am still feeling them every single day. I will say this though, my current friends have in me the very best friend they will ever have. I treasure every friendship, every sign of affection, every moment of time they share with me. I am still a nice girl. I still live by the golden rule. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My life as an Aspie

I didn’t know that what I “had” was Asperger’s until my four year old son was diagnosed just a few months ago.  I began researching like a mad woman, trying to understand him and find ways to help him, and just found things about me.  Extremely uncomfortable in social situations?  Me.  Trouble sleeping, colicky as a baby?  Me.  Difficulty making eye contact?  Me.  Difficulty picking up on social cues and following unwritten social rules?  Me.  Extremely intelligent, excellent memory, good verbal skills?  All me.  Wow.  Maybe the reason I had NO friends from about fifth grade on was because I just do not understand how to connect with people, but it also could have been that all those kids were a**holes.  One or two social misfits like myself became my “friends”.  By friends I mean we banded together at a lunch table so we wouldn’t have to be alone, I do not mean that we actually liked each other or anything.  Now that I have this information, this diagnosis, I can look back on my life and think, what could it have been like if I had been “normal”?  Do I wish I didn’t have Asperger’s?
The truth is, I can’t imagine not having it.  The thought of being typical and having lots of friends terrifies me.  I don’t know any other way to be other than this person who tries not to be noticed and doesn’t talk to strangers unless they say, “Hi, Welcome to In-and-Out Burger, Can I take your order please?”  I like the fact that academics were never a struggle for me.  I like that I could read Shakespeare in the ninth grade with the same ease as I could read any other book.  I like that I can read or hear something one time and remember it.  There is a flip side to that though, I find it EXTREMELY difficult to be patient with people who don’t learn as fast as I do.  Namely, my ex-husband.  He’s dyslexic, and has a really poor memory, and I really struggled to still be able to respect him even though he was not as smart as I was.  Which makes me sound like a bitch probably.  Which I am, because I honestly have no respect or regard for dumb.  Smart is sexy, witty is wonderful, and intelligence is inspiring.  Dumb is….a disaster.  How much of that lack of respect caused my marriage to end?  I would say at least a little, maybe a lot.
Someday my beautiful, bright, energetic little boy will ask himself this same question.  Do I wish I didn’t have Asperger’s?  Although by then he’ll just say Autism, because we all know Asperger’s has a limited shelf life.  When he asks, I hope he can say Autism is just a part of who he is, like his red hair or his beautifully shaped feet.  I hope he will be so comfortable in his own skin, that he would laugh at the question the same way he laughs now when he comes into a room and I pretend to not know who he is.  I hope he loves to read, like I always did, and that he can use books to escape whenever things get too painful.  Too loud, too bright, too demanding, too real.  I hope he can find a friend.  Somebody who knows him inside and out and loves him anyway.  I hope he can find a lovely girl someday who can keep up with him and who loves lining things up in perfect rows.  I hope I can find a smart, witty, patient, understanding man who will love me someday, just for me being exactly who I am.  Asperger’s and all.

Why this single mom doesn't homeschool her children

I don’t ever remember a time in school when I had a friend.  I don’t ever remember a time in school when I felt comfortable.  I didn’t discover the joy of learning until college in my mid-twenties.  I graduated from college in 2007 with two Associates Degrees and a BA in Philosophy.  That means I am highly qualified to think deep thoughts and pick apart the carefully crafted arguments of others.  The irony that he sent me to college to learn how to argue was not lost on my husband.  He became adept at the “Whatever”/storm out of the room combo because verbally and intellectually he was no match for me.  This ended abruptly when I began discussing my deep desire to homeschool our children.  My oldest was in first grade and struggling with a learning disability that was severe enough to cause failing grades in spelling, math, and reading but NOT severe enough for her to qualify for extra help.  We were spending tearful hours every night trying to complete her homework.  Words that she could spell ten minutes before would, upon review, be a mystery.  I had a newborn baby who wouldn’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time, day or night, and I was exhausted.  I wanted her home!  I wanted time with my precious big girl that was happy and carefree.  I wanted to help her learn to read, and to love reading as much as I do.  I love to teach, and really believed that God had given me these children with the responsibility to teach them everything I possibly could.  It was MY job to teach them.  It was not the job of strangers, no matter how well meaning they were.

Most importantly, the thought that my child could be bullied sent me into panic attacks the likes of which I had never felt before.  I absolutely could not handle it.  She would come home from school and tell me about a problem she was having with a little friend and I would have NO idea what to do.  None.  Not a clue.  Zero.  I had few social skills of my own, how in the heck was I going to train her in the art of getting along with a bunch of smart ass, spoiled, little first graders?  My husband would tell me it was good for her, would toughen her up.  My heart would tell me she was still a baby, there was plenty of time to fight the world’s problems when she had the knowledge, skills, and strength to do so.  So, I announced to him that I wanted to bring her home at the end of second grade.  I showed him statistics, outlined my planned curriculum, introduced him to other homeschooling families, and the answer was no.  Homeschooling, in his uneducated and practically illiterate opinion, was for “dorks and social retards”.  That is a direct quote.  Well, sign me up then because I am both of things.  I graduated from college with honors.  If I had social skills, I would have friends, right?  So homeschooling was for me, but not for him.

After a few months of arguing, pleading, begging, my daughter began spending every math class in the nurse’s office due to psychosomatic stomach pains and I told my husband I was doing it, and didn’t care what he said.  He refused to learn about homeschooling pros and cons, and so the choice wasn’t up to him anymore.  I pulled her out of school three weeks before the end of second grade and headed from Arizona to Illinois with the kids for the summer.  That summer is a blog post ALL its own.  Let’s jump ahead.  Christmas 2011.  My marriage is over.  One of the huge reasons for that is because he never supported me in homeschooling, and never became part of this huge part of his family’s life.  He never met our friends, never asked about school work, complained about being embarrassed to tell people at work that we homeschooled, and just generally undermined me at every opportunity.  So, I was done with this jerk who wouldn’t help me teach our kids.  I won the fight, but lost the war.  My middle child has glimmers of the same learning disability that my oldest does, and she refused to learn from me.  So at six and a half she still couldn’t identify the alphabet letter names or sounds.  The family was in chaos, I was going to be a single parent, I needed help.  For the past four months the girls have been going to the local public school.  Thank the good Lord, it is a wonderful school.  My six year old is reading.  My ten year old is doing much better work for her new teacher than she would ever do for me.  I have time during the day to figure out what I am going to do with my life.  For us, for now, this is the right decision.

I loved every single minute of my time teaching my kids.  I would homeschool again in a minute if I could.  But for now, I am so thankful that God put us in a place where I can let them go every morning and feel no guilt.  I can take my son for his appointments and evaluations, and not worry that the girls are sitting there in the waiting room with us, accomplishing nothing.  I can play with him and give him his sensory diet needs without anyone else losing lesson time.  The picture below was my mantra for a very long time.  I don’t feel that way any longer.  Maybe it’s because I found a new village.  I can accept help from this village, and I do accept it with a heart full of gratitude, joy, and peace.

I will never lie to you

Everything will be ok in the end.  If it’s not ok, it’s not the end.

I got a letter from my dear husband’s lawyer today.  She seems nice.  I think she’s about to be in way over her head.  My lawyer scares even me.  I can’t wait until she gets to interrogate my ex.  When I first threatened divorce, two years ago, I was terrified that he would take me up on it.  18 months ago I began reading:

I loved it.  I dreamed about being free and able to make my own decisions again.  I fantasized about not facing constant judgement and failure to ever be enough, or do enough, to please the man who was supposed to love me unconditionally and forever.  9 months ago my husband announced that he was moving us from Indiana back to Arizona.  This would be our fifth move in five years.  This would be moving me across the country from my family, when I’d only been able to have one year with them as it was.  This would mean me giving up my Girl Scout troop, 18 of the most amazing young women who I adored completely.  Leaving friends, ripping roots, breaking hearts.  I begged him to let us stay.  I told him to go without me, I wasn’t going.  And yet in the end, I went.  I cried and cut ties and packed 18 suitcases and three kids onto a plane and did what he wanted.  Again.  So we could live near his mother and step-dad.  Again.

Six months ago I stepped in between him and our oldest daughter to protect her and ended up with bruises on my arms.  I became afraid of him for the first time.  I had been beaten down emotionally and criticized into the dust, but now I was genuinely afraid of what he might do next.  I still didn’t end it.  It wasn’t enough.  I needed him to give me permission to leave him.  I wished he would cheat on me, then I could leave.  But after living with erectile dysfunction for most of our marriage I knew that wasn’t likely.

Five months ago he told me a lie.  A thoughtless, insensitive, meaningless lie.  And that was it, I was done.  It wasn’t a big lie, but the pain of it hit me and all three of the kids, and I had my “permission”.  I am a typical Aspie in that I almost never lie, and when I do you can tell.  It’s tattooed all over my face.  I also have zero tolerance for being lied to, and if you want to really enrage me, call me a liar.  I have so many flaws.  I have so many weaknesses, it is comforting and exhilarating to be able to say:  No, I will NEVER lie to you.  You can count on that.  No matter how much it hurts me or you, I’m going to be honest.  My true friends love that about me.  My husband hated it.  He would rather have the polite lies than the painful truth.

My message for me today is, even though my life is far from perfect, it’s peaceful.  It’s honest.  It’s free.

Here's the thing

So, I put my big girl panties on this morning and called my Mother in Law.  I was shaking, literally, and of course my mind went blank the minute she answered the phone.  Thanks social phobia, once again you are a delight.  I did manage to stutter out what my daughter had said, and how hurt I was that she had caused my daughter to lose trust in me.  She apologized, didn’t mean to, blah blah blah.  We had a nice calm conversation and hung up after five minutes.  The problem was, it STUCK.  I went on with my day all the while thinking, what if she’s right?  What if I am crazy?  What if he’s just a spoiled brat and none of the people in the special needs community want to tell me?  What if they’re just humoring me and then talking about me, and him, behind my back?  What if I just go crawl in a hole, curl up in the fetal position, and rock for a while?

Every Wednesday morning is the women’s bible study at my church.  This semester I’ve been going just to get out of the house and out of my thoughts.  I never do the homework or anything, that would just be too much right now.  So, an hour after the phone call I was sitting in group, totally silent.  Trapped in my head.  Which is odd for me because I usually love to talk and give and receive free advice and share the pains and pleasures of life with these women.  Finally somebody asked me what was wrong.  It took a minute to even be able to form the words, but when I did they tumbled out like a tsunami.  They listened.  They set me straight.  Nobody has the right to make me question my abilities as a mother.  Not even my own daughter.  I am a good mother.  I do know what my son needs.  I did not wake up one morning and decide that we would all be happier if we just said that he was “the r-word”.  The journey to figuring out what the heck was wrong with this child has taken two years of careful research, discussions with doctors, and hours of observation of him in all different settings.  What my MIL sees in her house means NOTHING.

I am irreplaceable.  My children will never have another mother.  Even if my husband remarries someday, there will never be another woman who loves them as completely as I do.  Who would jump in front of a train for them.  Who would fight their Grandma, Grandpa, and Father to make sure that they have the resources they need to succeed in this complicated and confusing world.  Today I feel it. Today I know it.  Bring on tomorrow.

Home is NOT the place for normal

“What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it’s supposed to be.”

I am scared to death.  My facebook page is up to 29 “likes” now.  29 people think that what I write is worthy of being added to their news feed.  Not because they know me or are in my family, just because they like what I write.  Ok, writer’s block.  Oh no wait, NOW I remember what I had to tell you.  Today my son has his best friend over for a playdate.  His best friend is also on the spectrum, although a bit more towards severe than my son is.  So they are playing and having a great, loud, crazy, stimmy time and my ten year old says, “Stop acting that way, act normal!”

Wow.  There’s Grandma again.  Telling him to “act like a big boy”.  Just “act normal” son, and all of your problems will be solved.  That’s so simple, why didn’t I think of that?

OF COURSE I THOUGHT OF IT!!!  Two years ago when he started with his crazy, wacko behavior I thought of trying to tell him to act like a normal person.  And to be obedient.  And not to lick the floor or scratch his legs until they bleed.  I’ve been trying every way I know how to teach this boy to be a normal child.  I failed.  I am a big fat failure.  Happy now, Mother in Law?  Maybe you should just take him off my hands for a few months and see what you can do with him, since you’re the expert.  Go for it.  I dare you.
Bahahahahaha, whoa, just give me a minute to wipe the tears from my eyes because the thought of her trying to care for this boy full time is flipping hilarious.  Whew, ok, better.  That will never, ever happen.  So I guess I’m going to have to have a chat with her.  Again.  About keeping her opinions to herself.  And I am going to have a chat with my daughter.  Our home is NOT the place for “normal”.  Our home, the home I am making for her and her brother and sister, is a place of acceptance.  It will be peaceful and loving and happy and all the things I’ve always dreamed of for my kids but was never able to give them.  When she is in our home she can feel free to put peanut butter on her pancakes no matter how disgusting I think that is.  She can rub her belly button with her thumb in order to help herself fall asleep.  She can have conversations aloud with imaginary people when she thinks no one is looking.  None of those things are “normal”.  Thank God.  Normal sucks.

Ah, my mother in law.  The stories I could tell.  I could base a whole blog just on the wonder that is this woman.  But today?  Today I am truly going to hurt her, unless venting makes me feel all better.  Here goes.  Last night my ten year old oldest daughter actually sought me out to spend time with me.  We were cuddling and talking in my bed, and I was thinking about my post from yesterday:  http://www.fairydustandflapjacks.com/mommy-and-daddy-were-mean-to-each-other/.  I asked her if she thought I was a good mom.  She said no and then proceeded to spew out word for word the same exact argument my Mother in law has tried to use on me time and time again about why my son does not have special needs.

1.  He never acts “that way” at her house.

2.  He only flaps and stimms because he is mimicking the other kids in his special needs class at church.

3.  He gets angry and has meltdowns just because he’s not getting his way.

4.  All of his sensory issues (no loud noises, no hot foods, no cold foods, no rough textured foods, no hot baths etc) are just “preferences”.

5.  He behaves that way around me because I “encourage him to”.

In other words, my ten year old was convinced after spending a weekend with her her grandmother that my son is “faking” his special needs in order to get attention.  Oh.  My.  God.  Please stop me from killing this woman.

I put the kids to bed and then got on the phone to my soon to be ex-husband.  He’s not a believer in our son’s autism either, but even he could see how wrong what his mom did was, and he claims he will talk to her about it.  Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. Gee, I wonder why.  I actually decided a few weeks ago to completely give up on convincing my ex and his mom that my son has special needs.  I have the support of the doctors, therapists, and teachers so what the hell do I need them for?  They are determined to stay uneducated and ignorant, that’s fine.  Go right ahead.  But using my daughter’s naivete and desire to please her grandparents to push their agenda is just evil.

Last Wednesday the special needs ministry at my church had a presentation on sensory issues, given by a Neurological Music Therapist who has been working with my son at church for months.  My mother in law came, and asked all her questions, and told them all that she didn’t believe there was anything wrong with him.  The other moms assured her that their children acted “normal” at their grandparents’ homes too, and then would melt down when they got home due to the stress of keeping up the act.  The therapist told her that she has seen my son’s behavior, and that I am not making it up.  As part of her presentation she explained how difficult it can be for children with sensory needs to go into huge, crowded places like Costco.  I guess my MIL took that as a challenge, because three days later I let her have him for the morning and you’ll NEVER guess where she took him.  Costco.  On a Saturday.  Sigh.  Yes, I got the meltdown later, and she got the perfectly fine boy.

So, what do I do?  I am out of ideas.  Help!

10 Things I Love about HFA and SPD

Sometimes, let’s face it, it’s too easy to get bogged down in the negative.  So here, in no particular order, are 10 things I’m grateful that High Functioning Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder have given our family:
1.  I will never have to pay a ton of money to take my son to see Barney Live or The Wiggles.  I just have to tell him it’s loud there and the case will be closed.
2.  I don’t have to stress over what to feed him for dinner…he only eats five things, and even then only some of the time.
3.  I never have to worry about what he’s thinking or planning, the moves are all telegraphed on his face beforehand.
4.  I can leave boring family events early and blame it on my son being overstimulated.
5.  I never wake up wondering where he is or what trouble he’s getting into, because he’s right there next to me from about 3 a.m. on.
6.  I never have to make emergency pit stops to find a bathroom, because at four years old he’s still wearing pull-ups.
7.  I don’t have to go to the gym, I can just tell him it’s time to play Spiderman and then wrestle till my arms fall off.
8.  His amazing memory means I know if he gets lost he can tell somebody his full name, address, and phone number.
9.  My girls will never have to worry about a boyfriend taking physical advantage of them because they spend at least an hour every day playing defense against their brother.  They can block blows and dodge kicks like cage fighters.
10.  SPD and HFA mean I am needed.  I am the only one who can understand what is wrong, and give him the sensory supports he needs to feel happy again.  For that he worships me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.