I can’t even think of a good title

Good Lord but this week really sucks, and it’s only mid-day Tuesday. I’m beginning to think I need a good, old-fashioned, therapeutic crying jag. I’ve felt on the verge of tears over a week now, which only grew worse yesterday morning with news of the Vegas mass-shooting. I’m just so freaking sad…..

I caught my ring on something yesterday when I was unloading the car from a Costco run. I didn’t notice anything right away, so I guess I’m lucky there. But last night, I discovered one of the prongs around my center stone had completely pulled away, and the whole setting was tilted sideways. So now I’m without my ring for at least a week while it’s being repaired, and getting the appraisal (only five years since I lost and had the center stone replaced). Anyways, while driving to the jeweler, my phone rang.  I recognized it as one of the school district numbers, so I took the call.

How do you lose track of where you are in the school year?  And how do you forget you normally get *this* call this time of year, and have for the last six years? The special ed district admin was calling to schedule Little Man’s annual IEP meeting. Punch to the gut. I’ve been trying so hard to just enjoy being in the good place he’s in this year, and avoid thinking about IEP’s and transitioning him to high school. Life is having none of my denial. It’s not like we haven’t begun discussing it. It’s been hovering there in the background all year. But the high school team – at least part of it – will be at his IEP meeting next month to start the transition process. I’m so not ready for this. As before he started middle school, I’m terrified and anxious of what next year will bring for him, not to mention just making the decision where he will go to high school. Every time I think about any of the options, I have a panic attack. I’d homeschool in one capacity or another just to ease my own anxiety, but I know that is totally not the best option for any of us. Actually going to school, being in those social situations, and dealing with the classroom is a form of therapy for him. And it would just plain be counter-productive for both of us for him to be home all day every day. But I digress….I wasn’t ready for the call to schedule his meeting. I’m not ready for his meeting. I’m not ready to make a decision for him on high school. And I’m certainly not ready for whatever fresh form of hell we’re going to deal with while he transitions to wherever he goes for high school.

My freaking TimeHop and Facebook memories have both been full of photos of the Princess dancing or posts about her dancing. She isn’t dancing at all right now. I don’t know if she will ever dance again. I miss watching her dance. I miss that part of her. I am excited for the new adventures she’s having, and the girls on her field hockey team are incredibly supportive of each other. It just still makes me a little sad……I ran into a mom from the studio in the store yesterday. Just seeing her made me tear up. P’s dancing was more than just her dancing….so many of the parents (and grandparents) became my friends. I miss that little community too. My FIL asked for a photo the other day of P – one of her dancing. Just looking through her dance photos was an emotional haul. I sent him two of my favorites, and felt a couple tears roll down my face. I hate change.

I guess I’m just feeling drained and emotionally overwhelmed at the moment. I know it will get better, but for now, those tears are pretty close to the surface. And that just is what it is……

On Notice

My dear, sweet family….I love you all like crazy. I love being a mostly-stay-at-home mom. I love doing things to make your lives easier, and getting the things I know you like. BUT,  you are hereby all on notice of the following (frustrated momma rant comin right up):

  • I do not sit around all day waiting for one or more of you to call or text me, asking me to bring you something, get you something, do something for you. I am generally pretty busy all day.
  • If you need something for an assignment, class, project, meal, or sports team, I need a little bit more than 24 hours to get that handled for you.
  • I do have a job. Sometimes, I will not be home, won’t be able to answer my phone, won’t see your text until I’m done working.
  • CLEAN  UP AFTER YOURSELVES!!!!!!! The floor, kitchen counter, family room, and stairs are not your personal dumping grounds. Put your shoes in your bins or in your rooms, put your dirty uniforms and socks in the laundry room, put your books on your desks, your papers in your backpacks or desk files or your stack, put your towels in the laundry or in the buckets by the pool, throw away your food trash, put the milk back in the fridge, don’t get a new cup every single time, don’t leave your dirty cups all over the counter, put your snacks back in the pantry, put your dishes in the dishwasher. You are all FULLY CAPABLE of these simple tasks, trust me.
  • I really hate to nag, but I will nag if I must to get you to clean up after yourselves and do your chores. But please don’t make me nag. It makes me unhappy. Ever heard the phrase “happy wife, happy life?” Same goes with happy mom.
  • If you notice we are running out of something, or have run out of something, don’t wait until just after I’ve gone to the store to tell me. Write it on a sticky and put it on my computer, or put it on the whiteboard. Although the grocery store employees get concerned if they don’t see me at least a few times a week, they also start to look at me like I’m crazy if I’m there every single day. Boys, if you run out of shampoo or soap, please tell me….don’t just keep showering without washing your hair or bodies (yes, this has been known to happen).
  • Because I work, I’m sometimes not home in the evening. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. When it happens, please do not text me asking me what’s for dinner. Kids, this particularly applies if dad is home. But you’re all capable of opening the fridge/pantry and finding something to eat. I know all of you can cook to one extent or another. Part of me having a job is you all working it out when I’m not here. You can do it! Oh, and just make sure you clean up whatever mess you make – that’s part of the deal. If I have to work AND clean up your mess when I get home, I’m going to be a wee bit cranky (read: there might be some heavy sighing and cabinet slamming).
  • There’s a calendar on the wall for a reason. Almost everything is on there. Look at it, remember it, tell me if something changes, or you need something added.
  • I do the best I can, but I do sometimes forget something you’ve told me. I might ask a couple, or even a few times, especially if it’s a busy work week. Please be patient with me. I’m so not perfect, but it really isn’t fun to be reminded I’ve failed. Put a sticky on my computer. Or text me. Or email me.
  • Don’t take, use, or eat anyone else’s stuff without asking. And when you’re done with it, put it back (except for food you’ve eaten – we don’t need to see that again). Candy, charging cables, and headphones are not fair game.
  • I am NOT in charge of knowing where ALL of your stuff is. You can ask me if I’ve seen it, but it’s not my responsibility to keep track of everyone’s stuff. I have enough trouble keeping track of my stuff.
  • Looking for something means actually looking for something which means moving things around in the fridge/pantry,  and actually walking into a room to search

Whew…okay…I think my rant is done. Any of you moms out there ever gone on strike? I’ve considered it a few times, but I’m more worried my need for order would override my need to teach my family a blessing (lesson).

Something else they didn’t tell me

When you’re going through fertility stuff, you get to go through lots of bloodwork. When you’re on hospital bedrest for sixteen days, you get one or more IV’s, all of which are moved every two or three days. When you get a severe staph infection, you get a PICC line for four weeks (which might take three or four tries, including a trip to a surgery unit to finally get it in) accompanied by once-a-week bloodwork to check the status of said staph infection. Now, there were a lot of things they didn’t tell me when I was on that hospital bedrest, nor when Big Man was born 14 weeks too soon, nor when I was recovering from that severe staph infection. One of the things they didn’t tell me was that, for probably the rest of my life, my veins will roll and collapse when getting blood drawn or an IV line put in.

Phlebotomists and nurses get all excited when they see my veins. They look nice, pretty, and totally accessible, until they try to access them. Then forget it. Bye-bye veins. It’s not fun to them. It’s seriously not fun for me. I warn them, but almost to a t, they don’t believe me until they go to put the needle in.

I had to have blood work this morning. Right away, a pretty vein showed up on my left arm, but as soon as the nurse went to put the needle in, it disappeared. I told her what had happened to me, and this was not out of the norm anymore. She was really nice and worked with me, using the baby  needle and holding my arm in just the right spot. She got it in on the second go.

I’m whining. I get it. Worse things could have resulted from those experiences seventeen years ago. Quite honestly,  this is just an annoyance I rarely have to deal with anymore. But it’s a reminder, every single time, of 21 days of IV’s, four weeks of a PICC line, and just about everything else that went wrong that September. And it’s just something else they didn’t tell me would happen.

In a year….

In just over a year, Big Man will be eighteen. That’s right – he will be an adult. Holy wow – how did that happen? He just keeps growing up. I knew this in the back of my mind, but then I really started thinking of what it will mean for him to be an adult.

First, he will still be in high school. Dang it – he’ll be able to sign  himself out if he wants. He’s a good kid, so I’m not super worried about this being available, but it’s there. It’s reality. He can sign himself off campus. He will be eighteen most of his senior year. I’m glad about that, and also terrified about that.

He won’t be able to go to his pediatrician anymore. She’s been his provider since he was just under two years old.  She knows him. She  knows his history. She knows his growth curve, his quirks, his diagnosis. I simply can’t fathom her not being his doctor. I can’t imagine having to explain his entire history to a new doctor. More than that, he will be able to go to the doctor on his own. The control freak in me is completely freaking out that. He won’t have to tell me ANYTHING about what the doctor says. I’ve played the primary role in all his medical stuff since day one. That will be near impossible to let go.

He will have to order and pick up his own medications. As an adult, he can refuse to refill them much less take them.

He will be able to enlist in the military. Yeah, that one I can’t even process.

He will have to fill out all his own paperwork. Hah! Good luck, son.

There are so many things he will have to do, be able to do as an adult that I haven’t even thought about. I’m beyond grateful he will still be at home his first year of adulthood. I feel I’ll have an opportunity to train him up before I send  him out into the world.  But it still freaks me out. In just over a year, my teeny, tiny, too-soon baby boy will be an adult.

Re-Shaping

I am a mom of a certain age…..I’ve carried and birthed three children, and, well, I’m not so  young anymore.  I’ve always tried to keep myself in good shape, to a certain size/weight.  But with age comes changes we can’t always control, no matter how much we try.

I checked out this summer, busy with just living and enjoying the people around me. I didn’t exercise much, ate what I wanted when I wanted, imbibed adult beverages a little more than usual. Put myself on the scale this past Monday. Ouch. Let’s just say I’d given myself a red line for my weight – that number I simply could not go above. Well, I’m above it by a couple pounds, which isn’t bad, except I just really did not want to be above that red line. Dang it anyways.

Saw my girl doctor yesterday. Talked to her about the weight gain the last couple of years. She just smiled, and then let me know women, on average, gain ten pounds at this point in life. What in the ever-lovin….NO THANKS!

I put myself back in gear this week, getting back to Pilates, getting back to running, and getting back to my normal eating routine. Haven’t lost a single ounce, which is a bit depressing. I told myself though, it took two months to gain those lbs….they aren’t going to come off in four days. I’ll keep trudging along.

Here’s the deal – as we women get older, our bodies change, again. It’s not really fun, but I’m trying to be gentler on myself while at the same time not giving in. I refuse to go crazy though – life is too short to spend it denying myself every good thing.  I’m not cutting out all carbs. I’m not going vegan. I’m not trying to con myself into thinking cauliflower “rice” and zucchini “pasta” are better than the real thing. I’m not working out two hours a day. I’m not eating lettuce morning, noon and night. I am taking Pilates three times a week. I am running or walking four or five days a week. Yoga starts in two weeks. I am drinking water all day. I’ve cut out the sodas again. Sweets were never really a downfall for me. I have re-added fruits and veggies back into the routine for snacking. My FitBit reminds me to keep moving.

I will re-shape me from this place I’m currently in. And I will also learn to accept I’m never again going to look like I did when I was 20, 25, 30, or even 40.  At the same time, I’m going out swinging. I refuse to just fold up shop and start wearing mumus.  So you can take that, aging process.

He Wasn’t There

I went to a baseball game last night with some work associates – no kids, no spouse. This isn’t really something new – I’ve been to three games without my Herd this year. The difference last night was being at the Park here at home without my Herd. That’s never happened before. I had an amazing time, but it also felt a little weird.

Here’s the deal – when I’m at Petco Park, watching a game, I’m used to Little Man being there, and all the attendant stuff that comes with bringing an autistic child to a baseball game. When he’s there, we have his iPad or iPhone, ear buds,  and noise cancelling headphones. We make sure before we leave the house everything is charged up completely.  We feed him. We promise him snacks. We know at some point in the game, he’s likely going to need a break, which, as when we go see a movie in the theater, usually means a trip to the bathroom, a step away from all the stimulation near the field. It means we are paying attention to every pitch as he has a crazy fear of being hit by a foul ball, but not enough so he pays attention himself, his head buried in whatever technology he has, or whatever food he’s partaking. Some might ask why we bring him out into a situation we have to manage so much. There are so many reasons…..1) We selfishly refuse to let his autism keep our family from enjoying the activities we enjoy; 2) It’s kind of a form of therapy to put him in these situations; 3) He’s come an extremely long way since he was diagnosed, and we know we need to prepare him for the adult social world; 4) In his own way, he does enjoy it.

I don’t know about the ballparks where you live, but when the Padres hit a homerun at Petco, there are fireworks, fire/flames, loud music, lights flashing, and LOTS of cheering. Little Man HATES fireworks – hates the noise of them. He particularly hates the surprise of them – when they aren’t expected, as well as not knowing exactly when the “Boom!” is coming. The flashing lights freak him out. The over-the-top crowd noise after a homerun is overwhelming to him. Needless to say,  he really hates when the Padres hit a homerun. I’ve gotten used to needing to grab him and wrap him up, hands holding his headphones even tighter over his ears, trying my best to keep all the stimulation to a minimum, and give him that tight space that seems to comfort him. It’s a gut reaction anymore…homerun = immediate action on my part for him.

The Padres hit two home runs last night. Both times, I jerked, ready to take care of my Little Man as usual. I quickly remembered he wasn’t there, and took a breath, just enjoying the moment, being part of the celebration rather than trying to protect my child from something that was too much for him. I don’t ever, for one single second, regret taking him out to ballgames nor any other experience we help him through. But I do have to say, it was so nice to not have to have that knee-jerk reaction, to relax and have fun along with everyone else.

I’ve realized that being an autism mom is just part of who I am anymore. As his autism doesn’t define him, being an autism mom doesn’t define me, it’s just part of who I am. The  only difference is, sometimes I get to let go of that part of me. He will never have that opportunity. But I know he will learn to manage out in the world.

How we do baseball……

When the days line up

We have a whiteboard calendar above the desk in our kitchen.  I was super late getting around to updating it to August, so it was just two days ago I finally managed it. As we’re already well into August, I started with that day, and went into September. And then I wrote down  Big Man’s birthday, and it hit me…..the days line up this year. His birthday is on the same day of the week as his birth day.

I mentally count down the events leading up to his birth every year. That’s nothing new. The day I started bleeding and was admitted into the hospital, the day I found out I wasn’t going home until I reached 32 weeks or he was born (whichever came first), the day they discovered I’d lost 8 pounds in six days and the feeding frenzy began, the days I got my first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth steroid shots to help his lungs develop early, the day I had the fetal fibronectin test and no one would tell me the results, and then the night I started running a very high fever courtesy of the severe staph infection which would result in his birth the next day at exactly 26 weeks gestation. I feel those days coming every year. I’m not as emotional as I used to be, but it still hits me. He’s come so very far…he’s perfectly healthy and “normal” in every way, but that doesn’t take away the toll his premature birth took.

There’s just something about the years the days line up exactly. It makes it that much more of a journey to navigate because it’s all the same as it was seventeen years ago. I started bleeding and was admitted on a Wednesday. I was told on Saturday I wasn’t going home. I was weighed on Monday and they found out I’d lost too much weight. It was on consecutive Thursdays and Fridays I received the steroid shots. It was a Friday when I had the fetal fibronectin test. I was a Friday when the fever started. It was a Saturday afternoon when he was born. I’ll relive that exact journey this year. It’s like a punch in the gut.

Don’t get me wrong – I feel incredibly blessed we came out the other side with the miraculous outcome we’ve had. He’s my amazing boy – my first born, nearly seventeen years old. But none of who he is or what he does nor how he is takes away the guilt, fear, pain, and sense of loss from his premature birth. NONE of it. I will always relive those days in my heart and mind, each and every year for the rest of my life.  And when the days line up with the year he was born, it makes it that much more difficult.