Nativity Story

This evening my daughter was retelling the Christmas nativity story.  Near the end of her tale she came to the part of the three wise men, or in her words "three filthy rich men".  It was hard for her to continue over the sounds of our laughter.

Fighting

I am afraid that some of my children have no grip on reality.  My two youngest boys just had a fight over imaginary slippers.  They spent five minutes tackling each other to the ground and proceeding to rip the invisible items off each other's feet.  Then my five year old yelled at me for not helping him.  How could I?  I was too busy laughing.

Quote

Right now my life is just one learning experience after another.  By the end of the week, I should be a genius.
-Jeanette Osias

Weight

Due to my current health issues I have been losing weight.  Normally this would not be very concerning and even welcome, but I have recently been informed that I have yet another autoimmune disorder.  This new disease warrants a lifelong dietary change.  Words cannot express how thrilled I was with the news.  Every time I have had to put a member of my family on a special diet my husband and I lose weight.  This is where the trouble comes in.  I was looking in the mirror today and saw a resemblance to a famous Disney character; Cruela DeVille.  It was all there; high bony cheekbones, loose skin, and unnaturally pale skin; every girls dream.

Car Ride

My autistic son would live in our car if he could.  Three years ago my family was moving across country.  After driving over ten hours each day we would drag our half paralyzed bodies into the hotel room ready to collapse for the night.  My son would take one step in the room, grab the door handle and frantically try to escape as he repeated over and over, "Back in the car!  Back in the car!" 

Even when we are in the comfort of our own home he will try to sneak out into the garage to sit in our van.  We had to put chains on every outside door and keep our car locked at all times, even while it sits in our garage.  At the park I have to keep a close watch of him.  I have caught him climbing into stranger's unlocked cars many times.  He runs from vehicle to vehicle checking every door until he finds a winner. 

One day he was acting particularly obsessed with the car.  So my husband and I decided to take him on an errand run with us.  He was super excited.  First stop was Lowes hardware store where we intended to buy locks for most of the remaining doors in our house to prevent my son from getting into things he shouldn't, like medicine, vitamins, food, and his sister's bedroom where he likes to hang from her ceiling fan.  We pulled into the parking lot of Lowes and my son hopped out of the car.  The three of us walked hand in hand into the building.  The moment we walked through the doors my son started to show signs of distress.  I don't know what was so offensive about that store, but in less than two minutes my son ripped his hands out of ours and took off across the store.  I chased him down as my husband stopped to ask for help from a worker.  I ran after my son, my eyes searched down every aisle as I raced past.  I stopped as I heard a rattling sound coming from the enormous rolls of carpet that rose up before me.  Two rows back and three rows up, I saw a gigantic roll of carpet spinning around and around as two little feet desperately were trying to climb higher.  My son ignored my pleas to climb down until, in a moment of pure brilliance, I pulled out the little portable video player I always carry in my purse.  He slid down the rolls and clutched the player in his hands as 'Madagascar' played across the screen for the billionth time.  I led him to the garden area and found the one remaining outdoor swing where we spent the next twenty minutes swinging back and forth while my husband finished shopping. My hands were in a death grip around my son and his in a death grip around his precious video player, neither loosened until we were back in the safety of our car.

Dr. Jekyll

I have considered having my 7 year old name be legally changed to Dr. Jekyll.  He can be the most calm, pleasant, and docile child that has ever lived.  I turn my back for one second and suddenly 'Mr. Hyde' is leaping on my back from the top of the refrigerator.  I shake him off and within seconds I hear the piercing scream from my petite ten year old daughter (who looks like she could lose an arm wrestle with a newborn baby) desperately holding up our 36" T.V. while 'Mr. Hyde' works his way behind it.  I help her steady the massive screen and hear the garage door shut.  My younger son runs to me shouting, "Daegan is on the van again!"  I head out the door to find him sliding down my windshield.  There is a very noticable footprint smeared across the drivers side that will surely be a hazard the next time I drive toward the setting sun.   He races past me back into the house.  My husband informs me that his family is planning an adult only cruise and asks if I want to go.  I look at him incredulously.  Who on earth would agree to watch our four kids (five if you count Mr. Hyde, who really should count as ten) for two weeks?  Even if someone did agree, and had their sanity checked out, I have a hard time believing that the 'vacation' would truly be relaxing for me knowing that Mr. Hyde is out there wreaking havoc upon innocent bystanders.  So his new idea is to leave the others and just take Daegan.  I'm sure that won't cause any sibling jealousy and negative retributions, since the punishment for being a troublemaker is now a vacation alone with mom and dad.  Besides the idea of taking my climbing and water obsessed son onto a big boat in the middle of the ocean sounds far from fun.

Through

I was reading my daughter's weekly spelling words to her yesterday.  I read the word then give an example sentence.  Then she likes to come up with her own sentence before spelling the word.

Mine:
Through- Go through the tunnel.

Hers:
Through- I am going through a midlife crisis.

She is nine.

Crazy

It turns out I may actually be a little bit crazy.  I have had my suspicions for some time now, but my son's recent diagnosis has confirmed my feelings.  My son has been diagnosed with PANDAS, a very rare condition that causes debilitating OCD, anxiety, regression, sensory issues, sleep issues, movement problems, etc.  Just when I thought we had exhausted all the autism treatments out there, he receives this new diagnosis that brings with it a whole new set of (expensive) treatment options.  I can't tell you how excited my husband was to find out that there is still a chance that I can drive us into bankruptcy within the next few years.  In researching this condition I discovered that almost all parents of PANDAS children suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  In reading the symptoms I have decided that this may very well be the case with me, especially when it comes to health or nutrition issues.  Walking into the grocery store is a nightmare for me.  It is like being in a house of horror.  Everywhere I turn there is a new terror lurking.  The entire time I hear the demonic chanting "Can we get this."  I want to curl up in the fetal position and go to my happy place, but I know the only escape is to get out as fast as I can.  Waiting to check out, I pry my son's hands off a bag of M&Ms and replace it with a lighter.  For a split second fire seems less dangerous thane colorings and preservatives not to mention the sugar.  Glancing at the woman's cart in front of me I fight off the urge to call social services after assessing the items half hidden by her toddler.  Macaroni and Cheese, Ramen, Chips, two cartons of ice cream; oh the horror!  But wait!  There behind the twelve pack of root beer is a package of baby carrots.  Please say they are organic.

Talent

I have been wishing that my autistic son would develop an interest in something...anything.  "Be careful what you wish for".  Mine was granted.  His new interest has really formed into an obsessive talent.  He came upon it a few days ago and well, practice makes perfect.  He might very well be the loudest child belcher to have ever lived.  I usually try to encourage my children's natural talents, but I might have to make an exception this time.  On the bright side, this awesome new ability may be the key for him to become more socially accepted among his seven year old male peers.

Wake up Call

I hear a rustling outside my bedroom door.  I look at my clock; 6:55am.  I groan and roll over.  I guess no one told my four year old that it is possible to sleep in once in a while.  My dream is to sleep in until 8:00am.  The door opens slightly and I see a smiling face peek through the crack.  My son pushes the door open and I see the cause of his excitement.  In his hands is a cookie sheet.  I can't help but smile as he walks slowly toward me trying to keep food from rolling off the tray.  He is so proud of himself as he displays the breakfast he has prepared for me; a peach and a tomato.  This is one of those moments that make motherhood all worth it.  I thank him and tell him how much I love him.  He opens his mouth to speak those words I have been waiting to hear, "I'll go get you a knife."  He darts from the room.  The race is on.  I fly out of bed knowing I have 0.3 seconds to get to the kitchen.  The day is off to an exciting start.

Numbers

Baths my son has had today:  3
Fecal smearing incidents I have cleaned up today: 3
Times my son has thrown up from the stress of losing his favorite toy: 1
Loads of laundry I have done today: 3
Loads of laundry still needing to be done: 5
Temptations to runaway from home today: 10
Times I have been forced back to reality: 30

Spring Cleaning

It is officially summer and we spent the week swimming.....in our basement.  It is great.  You don't have to worry about the kids getting sunburned.  Actually, our recent flooding got cleaned up rather quickly thanks to some close family members and men from our church that spent an evening trudging up and down our stairs.  My husband is now home again, and I put him right to work sorting the basement, a project we have been working on for the past three years.  In penance for being absent during the flooding he did not hesitate to comply with my new list of chores.  We already have about twenty large garbage bags in our garage waiting to be donated to the local thrift store and we are only about halfway done.  This flood finally gave us enough reason to clean out the past eleven years of hording.  My husband says that maybe the flood was a blessing in disguise.  Easy for him to say, he didn't have to wade through the lake!  In all fairness, he is now up to his waist in junk.

God's Humor

God must be somewhat bored.  I think he is sitting up in heaven contemplating ways to push my buttons.  I think he finds it funny.  For example, my husband is away this week helping a friend move across country.  This situation was somewhat stressful for me after having just been gone myself for two weeks.  My autistic son's therapy caused quite a bit of anxiety for him and he is just starting to recover from the stress of it all.  Add on that the very restrictive diet that he, my other sons and myself have been put on, and I have been a picture of mental health this week.  So I decided to join my family at grandpa's house for memorial weekend for a little fun.  The weekend went great until the last day when my son started freaking out over food that he was not allowed to eat.  His stress level went through the roof and therefore so did mine.  I whisked my children away to return to our own home only to find that he was even more upset that we left grandma's house.  He began screaming when he recognised our exit.  Apparently, he had thought we were just going on a three hour joy ride.  The screaming continued for an hour.  The boy's bedtime was moved forward to 6:00pm that night, because by then I was done.  I had a bit of an emotional breakdown at this point and practically begged God to give me a break because I couldn't take any more.  This is where God's sense of humor kicked in.  He decided to prove me wrong.  At 9:30pm I stepped off the last step of my basement stairs to find myself wading in three inches of water.  The entire basement was completely covered.  My husband and had I talked about getting a swimming pool this summer, but the basement wasn't my first choice of location.

Walking Trial

I stare at my screaming two year old as he dramatically throws himself onto the pavement of our neighborhood walking trail, in a fit like the world has never known.  I take that back, every mother alive has seen one of these at one time or another.  My son's face reddens and his bottom lip quivers uncontrollably in an attempt to lay on as much guilt as possible.  His look says it all.  I am the worst mother in the world.  Why won't I just pick him up?  That is what I presume he is thinking.  My thoughts are the opposite.  I hear them slip from my mouth as I say, "You have legs, use them!"  My back is already aching from carrying him most of the way to the playground and I didn't bother bringing a stroller because he always insists on walking.  We stubbornly stare at each other until I finally give in fifteen minutes later.  I feel like an idiot for having a battle of wills with a two year old, especially since I lost.   I scoop him up, annoyed that I will now have to carry him the rest of the way home.  As he settles into my arms I discover his diaper is leaking.  Of course I didn't bring any supplies, because our walk usually only lasts thirty minutes.  I look at the time, 3:45pm.  We have been going for an hour and we are only halfway home.  At this point I am furious.  My two older sons drag their feet behind me as I cradle my toddler in a position that I hope will keep his bodily fluids away from my clothes.  No such luck.  This is going to be a fun walk home.  Today has been the first nice day since we returned from Colorado, so I thought it would be great to walk down to the playground for the afternoon.  Now all three boys are crying as I throw out threats of banning playgrounds for the rest of their existence if they don't pick up the pace.  Faces appear in the neighbors' windows.  I grimace as I try to calm the boys.  My arms are aching from the strain of carrying the extra twenty seven pounds of dead weight as my slow steady movement rocks my child to sleep.  He is obviously exhausted from the lack of exercise.  I try to nudge my boys along.  What I wouldn't give for two extra hands.  At least then I could drag them behind.  In all fairness, they each have their excuses for being so slow.  One has an extra thirty pounds to carry from his very absorbent pull-up (I know what you are thinking, but I swear both boys had dry pants when we left), and the other is claiming to have a broken butt.  The house is in view and, if my arms don't give out, we have all made it alive.  I am tempted to return to the trail later tonight with a sharpie marker so the sign will read "Walking Trail Trial".  I feel this would be more accurate.  I have learned a very valuable lesson from all this.  Never leave home without a double stroller, a package of diapers, enough pants to clothe a third world country, and two or three full course meals, because at our speed we were in danger of needing to spend the night on the trail.

Desperation

How desperate am I?  I have been spending an hour sitting in a small room every day for the past week and a half.  The only bit of light is the dim colored beam shining directly above my six year old son's face as he lays face up on a rotating bed as (ideally) he stares into the light and listens to choppy music.  He clings to my hands like they are his life support.  The calmness of the mood nearly puts me to sleep, but to my autistic son the experience is little less than torture as the treatment rewires his brain.  I wonder if this will be worth it.  Will this experience even cause a change in his life?  I am not expecting a cure; I only pray that this therapy will eliminate a little of the inner turmoil that my sweet little boy experiences on a daily basis.  I want to take him to the park without the fear of him seriously injuring himself or another child.  I want to go to the movies as a family without having the noise and lights throw him into a screaming fit as he bolts out of the theater.  I want him to be able to answer a simple yes or no question.  I want him to find something he loves without the constant obsessive behaviors taking over his every thought.  I want him to have friends and get excited to visit family.  I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me he loves me.  It doesn't seem like too much to ask .

Tasmanian Devil

I lay back on the hotel bed.  The sight of my autistic six year old is exhausting.  He hasn't stopped moving for the past four hours.  He reminds me of the Tasmanian Devil in the old Warners Bros. cartoons.  He tears through the hotel room at an inhuman speed leaving a trail of disaster behind.  I watch him leap from bed to bed.  His coordination is not great, and he face plants on the mattress.  He doesn't even blink an eye as he gets to his feet and goes again.  Where does he get his energy?  His special diet consists of little more than vegetables.  I have been eating this same diet for the past two weeks and I constantly feel like I have just swum across the Atlantic Ocean.  And yet there he is screeching at a volume that seems likely to be the cause of my mother's hearing loss.  Hopefully the hotel staff has learned by now not to room any other guest on the same floor as us.  I am afraid my mother may be regretting signing up for this trip.  I warned her that this sensory therapy is expected to have some rather nasty side effects for a short time, but I think she may have thought I was exaggerating.  She will not doubt me again.

Salmon Nuggets

Click.  I look up from my camera.  I had to take this picture because my husband would never believe me.  I can hardly believe my own eyes.  There before me is my two year old son with a huge smile on his face licking his fingers clean after he has just finished off the container of hummus.  This was right after he finished off three salmon 'nuggets' (patties).  I would not call any of my kids adventurous eaters.  Meal time is normally a huge battle.  I can serve spaghetti, hamburgers, or even pizza and one of my kids will absolutely refuse to eat on any given night.  That was before the 'special diet'.  After seeing the acceptance of today's lunch, I have to say that this diet has been quite an eye opener.  I will never again say, "My child would never eat that."

Special Diet

The store's automatic sliding door closes behind me.  My son's voice is amplified now that we are in the building.  I hear a man's voice behind me.  I turn to look at him, bracing myself for an irritated stare.  I am surprised at the reaction I see on his face; incredulity.  It is only then that I truly listen to the words coming from my six year old son's mouth, "Rice Cake, Rice Cake, Rice Cake!"  The man is amazed.  No pleading for candy or junk food from this small child.  My mother and I laugh; however his words make me want to cry.  How horrible is his new 'special diet' if it causes him to beg for plain/non-flavored, let's face it, Styrofoam.  All three of my son's have been living on a milk-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, preservative-free, colorings-free, taste-free diet for over a week now, and the rice cakes have been the highlight of their week.  We make a beeline for the aisle which should be labeled 'Almost Edible Foods'.  I quickly toss two bags of rice cakes at my son who clings to them for dear life.  His breathing starts to calm as he lovingly gazes at his own personal 'manna from heaven'.  As the cashier rings up the $30 total for the one small bag of groceries I realize that it is a small price to pay to see the look of complete joy on my son's face.

Hormones

I stare at my nine year old daughter.  Counting to myself, I only make it to three before the tears come streaming down her face.  She begins to hyperventilate from the tragedy of the situation.  It is a full minute before she is able to calm down enough to speak.  I roll my eyes; all this over two teaspoons of decongestant.  Medicine that she came and requested because she can't breathe when she lays down on her bed.  This is the third time that she has had a major meltdown today.  She is fighting a war with hormones, and they are winning.  I knew this day was coming, but I didn't know it would come so soon.  I must admit this is all new territory for me.  I was also plagued by adolescent hormones but the symptoms were manifest a little differently in me.  I was just plain ornery, none of this uncontrollable weeping just because her brother looked in her general direction, or breathed on her new dress.  Or there was the time that I walked in the room to find her a complete wreck, simply because she didn't want to be left in the TV room alone.  I am not making this stuff up.  It might not be so bad except I am very possibly the least sympathetic person alive.  I have probably cried fewer times in my life than my daughter has in the past week.  All I can do is pray that her little body doesn't give out to dehydration before she becomes a teenager and the real fun begins.

Allergies

My four year old son came wandering into the kitchen yesterday holding on to his backside.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said, "My butt hurts.  Will you go to the butt store and buy me a new one?"  I remained completely straight faced as I said, "I'll see what I can do."  Today he approached me again and asked where his new butt was.  I tried to explain that I can't just buy him a new one.  He began to cry and told me that he is allergic to his. Tonight he informed me that bananas are only for boys because bananas are allergic to girls.  I can't blame him for having allergies on the brain.  My autistic son had a bit of an incident this weekend.  Over the last few weeks I was suspicious that he was showing signs of food allergies.  On Friday this became completely unarguable when he broke out in massive hives after eating dinner.  This sudden escalation was enough for me to say, "That's it."  I talked to his school teachers and they agreed that it would be best if he did not return to school the remainder of this year.  I spent the afternoon training on the programs his teachers are using for him in school so I can continue his education at home.  It is probably for the best.  My house has been looking way too clean the last few days.  I must not have enough to do.  My son's teachers may have seemed a little too eager to see Daegan go.  But the feeling must have been mutual for my son, because he kept trying to run from the room and finally resorted to hiding in the 'timeout' corner to avoid contact.  Let's just say no tears were spilt.  So my plan to start homeschooling and an Allergy Elimination Diet has been moved forward, which is fine since I decided to put my youngest on a special diet because we are seeing signs of a sensory disorder in him as well.  Afterall there is nothing like starting a new highly restrictive diet right before a two week trip to really make the experience memorable.  And I would know.  This is not my first time.

"Vacation"

I hung up the phone and raced off to pick my daughter up from school, excited with my news.  As she jumped in the car I announced to her that I was taking all the kids to Colorado for two whole weeks.  She burst into tears.  She begged and pleaded to be left home.  It is pretty bad when your nine year old would rather stay in school rather than go on a trip with her family.  My daughter isn't crazy, she has just been on one too many of our 'vacations'.  She has finally caught on.  Our 'vacations' are kind of like those timeshare deals where you get a wonderful deal on a trip with the catch that you must attend their 90 minute meeting where they rope you into selling your soul.  Our deals are a little different.  The meeting is really some new therapy or treatment for our autistic son.  For example, this upcoming 'vacation' is a bargain costing only $4000 dollars.  With this low price my son will receive two half hour sensory treatments every day for twelve straight days.  Throughout our time there, it is suggested that we not fill our day with many other activities.  A huge bonus is, like most therapies, his unwanted behaviors are expected to escalate before they get better.  That is all part of the wonderful package.  Bottom line, two weeks confined to one small hotel room, no sightseeing, no sleep, and lots of screaming, hitting, and poop smearing.  Now tell me, what child wouldn't jump at the chance to come on that dream vacation.  Nevertheless, my daughter will be staying home with daddy this time.  This means my mother will be the lucky volunteer to come along for the ride this time.  This will be her first experience, and I may not have fully explained the situation.  Sorry Mom, it is too late for you to back out now.

Spring Cleaning

The walls in my house are closing in on us.  We recently got new carpet in the bedrooms and I swear the measurements didn't add up right.  Our rooms are definitely two square feet smaller than when we moved in.  I know we would never have bought a house with so little living area, so that is the only explanation.  Then again, maybe our 'junk' is multiplying.  It is not safe to walk through my house.  I feel like I am dancing as I move down the hallway.  Any misstep could result in injury from the hundreds of small choking hazard toys strewn about.  Where did they all come from?  I think the neighborhood kids must be dumping all their unwanted toys in our house.  I usually keep up with the clutter but it looks like I have let things go a bit.  I was recently sick, but since that was almost a month ago my excuse is getting a little weak.  We were living in Mississippi when Hurricane Katrina hit the gulf coast.  For a couple of weeks during our evacuation we weren't sure if we had lost everything.  I must admit that for a moment I was disappointed to find out that all our personal belongings were safe.  That was about five years ago though.  We would have had plenty of time to fill our house again.  It looks like it is time for spring cleaning.  Then again, there is always next year.

Wasteful

I found a wonderful surprise in my bathroom as I went in to get ready for bed.  There before me was a winter wonderland.  The floor was completely covered in at least fifty tampons.  Apparently my two oldest sons had not gone right to bed like I thought.  I had to laugh for a moment, but then I realized what this meant.  A midnight run to Walmart.  The economy being what it is, I try to do my part by not being wasteful.  I had been rationing out my feminine supplies, and the sight before me was supposed to last through the next month as well.  I grew up with a very thrifty mother who taught us not to waste anything.  She got a little excited every time our house got TP-ed.  Free toilet paper for a month!  I couldn't bring myself to go to that extreme.  I nearly cried at the wastefulness of it all.  I vowed never to leave my personal items laying out again.  My memory must not be great, because the very next day my daughter came running up to me, excited to show off her new spelling skills.  I listened carefully as she spelled out K-O-T-E-X and T-A-M-P-O-N-S.  Either she came across my stash or the teachers are getting more creative with their spelling lists these days.

Sleep is a luxury, not a right

I am ripped from a deep sleep by the pain that shoots through my head.  My two year old son is ripping my hair out of my head.  He has been restless much of the night.  I can't put him in his own bed because his screaming will wake his brother who has school in the morning.  I roll over, but before I have the chance to lose my patience I see my little boy's face in the dim light.  My toddler's fingers have intertwined in my hair as he sucks his thumb for comfort.  I can't help but kiss his chubby little cheeks.  He shifts from my touch.  Suddenly his face is pressed against mine as he now uses my head as a pillow.  I don't want to move him since this is the first time he has been comfortable all night, but there is no way I can sleep this way.  I slide his body over and roll onto my side where I see my four year old creepily staring at me in the dark as he stands next to my bed.  How long has he been there?  He sulks back toward his bedroom after I regretfully tell him there is no room in our bed for him tonight.  I know I probably shouldn't let my kids sleep in our bed, because no one gets great sleep, but my four year old is getting more and more independent by the day.  How much longer will he allow his parents to cuddle with him?  Then I hear the screeching sounds coming from the other room that can only mean that my six year old is awake.  I look at the clock; 4:33 am.  I untangle my hair from my toddler's hand and crawl out of bed to tell him to go back to sleep.  I find him hiding in a cardboard box on top of his bunk bed.  Where he got the box, I have no idea.  He is laughing hysterically at some personal joke.  How long has he been awake?  I stand there listening to his laughter for a few minutes before returning to bed.  Somehow the lack of sleep doesn't seem so bad some times.

Baby's Birthday

It's that time of the year again; time to look back and reflect on my youngest child's second year of life.  The day is nearly over.  New toys are scattered on the floor.  My kids are lying in bed, not quiet, but not screaming so that's good enough for me.  I have a moment to think back to when my baby joined our family.  He was a bit of a shock for me, an unexpected surprise.  My oldest son had been diagnosed with autism only a year before, and both he and my other son were on a very restrictive diet for their chronic stomach issues.  They could only eat fresh fruits and vegetables (no potatoes), non-processed meat, eggs, and nuts.  They had been on this diet for almost a year, and we had just moved across country.  My stress was quite elevated during this time.  My health was not doing great.  I finally decided to go into the doctor when my dizziness got bad enough that I fell into the wall and hit my head while walking down our hallway.  The doctor called me with my results.  He said I had three issues that could be causing my symptoms.  Low iron levels, hyperthyroidism, and "Congratulations, you're pregnant!"  That was when I burst into tears.  Then I got mad.  I had struggled to get pregnant with all my other kids.  Apparently the key to getting pregnant is high stress, health problems, and protection.  I would like to say that excitement started to creep in over the next few months, but I can't.  I remained quite emotionally detached from the baby and tried to pretend that my belly was simply bloated.  My autistic son was quite aggressive at the time, and I was honestly worried that this baby would never survive.  During my last month of pregnancy my husband got word that he would be leaving for a deployment two days before my due date.  We would have to take the baby early.  I was not thrilled.  I wanted this baby to stay in as long as possible.  It was much safer for him, but since that would not be the case I moved into action.  I would be left with four kids; a six year old, an autistic four year old, a two year old boy (need I say more), and a newborn.  I needed a plan.  My husband put bolts on all the doors (my autistic son was also a bolter at the time), including the outside of the baby's room.  This was to prevent my son from climbing into the crib with the newborn and attacking.  I bought a Sleepywrap, a cloth that tied the baby to my front.  This was a lifesaver.  My baby would spend his first year tucked safely away against my chest.  The big day quickly came.  I was not excited as I went into the delivery room.  The nurse must have picked up on this because she asked me if something was wrong.  It may have been because I was sitting in the farthest corner from the delivery bed when she walked in.  I had my baby naturally.  I refused to take any medication for the pain.  I hate the feeling of the drugs wearing off.  Maybe I was still pretending that it wasn't happening, being ornery to the end.  But then the doctor laid my beautiful little boy in my arms and I was completely in love.  I kissed his tiny head and said, "Sorry I was such a stinker."  It turned out that he was the easiest, most mellow baby in the world.  Today he is two years old and all mellowness is gone.  But he survived his brother.  What more could a mother ask?

Church

Hearing a grunt, I quickly turn and pry my autistic six year old's sticky fingers off the face of the man sitting behind our family.  I quickly apologize and turn back toward the speaker.  At least I think the woman at the podium is speaking.  In all honesty I haven't heard a word spoken in church since my third child was born.  I have decided my sole purpose in attending church is to allow other members of the congregation to exercise sympathy and patience.  For example, the man vigorously rubbing his nose behind us has just learned a valuable lesson; don't be late.  Usually families steer clear of the benches surrounding us, but our chapel fills up rather quickly each Sunday.  I have noticed things changing recently though.  Our section seems to be extra full lately.  It appears that we have been surrounded by large families with small children.  I think the secret is out.  Sitting next to us makes their kids look like angels.  Our congregation has been rather considerate with us.  After three years I have even gotten used to the abundance of sympathy pats as I walk through the hallways between classes.  To fill the void of time, I look across the aisle and see that first time mom, pulling out her bib to protect her daughter's pristine dress as she feeds the toddler cheerios one at a time.  I glance over at my son and see that his pants and shirt are covered with a thin layer of (hopefully) peanut butter.  I swear he was clean when I put his jacket on this morning, but somewhere between the garage door and the church parking lot there must be a secret stash.  I shudder to think of the possibilities.

Shopping

The sun is just starting to lighten the sky and I am getting an early start today. I look over at the little boy whose hand is clasped in mine. He bounces up and down with his uncontrolled movements. He has way too much energy this morning. Looking at him you would never know he was up half the night screaming and thrashing in his bed. The puffy eyes and dragging feet are mine. It was a long night. My lack of energy gets me nearly knocked from my feet as my six year old autistic son yanks on my arm as he splashes the puddles. I am too tired to complain that the lower half of my pants are now soaked. We make our way into the store just as the rain starts to let up. Daegan sits in the cart as I collect the items we need. This early the store is nearly empty. I try to keep the cart rolling down the middle of the aisle. I don't need more men's deodorant or another lint roller or whatever else happens to be at Daegan's eye level and within his reach. I have to remove more items than I put in. Bananas, yes. Men's hair growth, no. Baby wipes, yes; lots and lots of wipes. Tylenol, not on the list, but it might come in handy. Gas cleaner, no. Pregnancy test, let's pray not. I turn around for a split second to put back a can of chili's that apparently Daegan can't live without. My head whips around as his hysterical screaming abruptly stops. He is no longer in the cart. I turn in circles. He is no where to be seen. Leaving the cart, I race around the corner. There he is lying on his back in the middle of the aisle 6. I walk over and start to drag him to his feet. It feels like he has glued himself to the floor. How is it that I cannot lift this forty pound child? The store is getting busier. A young couple turns into our aisle. They hesitate when they see my child unmoving on the ground. They turn away. Apparently they didn't need rice after all. I start to scold Daegan, but I stop. The look on his face is so calm as he stares straight at the ceiling. I look up. What does he see? All I see are bright lights and air vents. My curiosity gets the better of me. I glance in both directions. No shoppers. I join Daegan on the hard, dirty floor. I lie back and look up. The world disappears. I see lights and shadows creating designs across the ceiling. The shelves rise up around us like towering cliffs. Sounds are muffled until all I hear is my own breathing falling in rhythm with the small figure I can sense next to me but cannot see. For a moment I am at peace, until a concerned face leans into my line of sight. "Are you okay, Dear?" A kind elderly woman has happened upon us. I quickly stand up, dragging my son with me. He twists and screams trying to get back to his serene world. Unconvincingly, I tell her we are fine and race back to my cart still sitting in the next aisle over. I make a beeline for the checkout counter. I realize that I am unintentionally annoyed with the old woman for interrupting my solace. It is the same feeling I get when my husband catches me hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub reading a book as I try to get a moments peace. Do closed doors mean nothing anymore?

Disney

What is it about Disney that make us want to torture ourselves with a grueling twelve hour car trip only to arrive at our destination to spend the next five days marathoning throughout every tourist attraction in a 100 mile radius? Add on top of that an autistic child for whom "the happiest place on earth" is more likely "the most horrific place on earth". Disneyland with its massive crowds, flashing lights, loud noises, and darkened rides is my son's worst nightmare. And yet we spent thousands of dollars to, more or less, torture our child. Disney is great about accommodating our specific needs. They provide us with a pass that allows us faster access onto every ride in the park. This is a huge blessing, but I am not sure if it is for our benefit or for the other guests. Imagine having to stand in line for an hour next to a child who is screeching (in a pitch that seems inhumanly possible) with arms and legs flailing uncontrollably, and very possibly soiling himself due to the stress. Yes, you heard me right. Sounds fun, huh. But this last vacation it turned out that the lines were not the most stressful parts of his experience. Almost every ride he went on caused him to scream out over and over, "Want to get off now, want to get off now!" He did enjoy "It's a small world". That ride is an autistic's paradise. The rocking motion of the boat, the bright colors, the spinning dolls, the same song repeated over and over and over and over. It is everything that Daegan loves, all rolled into one fifty minute ride. I swear that ride got longer and longer every time we rode it, however I must admit that seeing Daegan happy for the first time in days caused it to rise to the top of my favorites as well.

Roller Coaster

I watched the car as it dipped and soared past along the track. I couldn't hear the happy shrieks from the passengers. Their noises were covered by the screams that were reverberating throughout the surrounding area and had captivated the attention of hundreds; diverting every eye to me. I stared straight ahead at the roller coaster, allowing the wind created by the fast moving cars, to dry the tears that were forming in my eyes. I couldn't help but compare my life to the ride before me, full of ups and downs and occasional loops. This moment would definitely qualify as a down. Our family vacation had just taken a turn for the worst. My autistic son was freaking out big time. He had seen an attraction he wanted to go on and was not content waiting in the line. He was screaming as only he can scream. The same scream that has gotten him transferred to the back of the school bus in hopes that the aged bus attendant will not lose what is left of her hearing. And now that scream has resulted in the questioning stares shooting at me from all directions as I hold my child down by my legs that are draped over his body as he thrashes around and my hands are held like vices around his wrists. Usually the pressure of my partial body weight is a comfort to my son, but it quickly became apparent that this was not the case on that particular day. I rethink my strategy as I see a man with his hand hovering over his send button on his cell phone, obviously debating on whether or not to make a call. I sweep that six year old boy off his feet and cradle him in my arms. I hold all his limbs in as tightly as I can, which is no easy feat due to his size, and I rock him back and forth as hard as I can while restraining him. His tight muscles begin to relax and I finally breathe a sigh of relief as the screaming subsides and the crowd disperses with their eyes averted. As I sit there frantically rocking, a surprising smile pushes its way to the surface as I envision myself in ten years cradling a sixteen year old boy. Imagine the crowd that will draw.

Advice

I have gotten quite a bit of advice over the years from family, friends, teachers/therapists, busboys at McDonalds. You get the idea. This may sound strange but I love getting advice from people. This is mostly because you never know when you will get the random 'gem'. For example, recently it was the tip to pin a washcloth to my autistic son's shirt to keep him from chewing his way through another wardrobe. Very helpful. I have to admit though, that I enjoy the 'bad' advice as much as the helpful ones. I have certainly had a lot of those too. My all time favorite came a couple of years ago from my son's ABA behavioral therapist. He was going through a particularly aggressive stage at the time. This posed a real threat to his younger brother who was only about two years old at the time. I had found the toddler with marks on his neck looking suspiciously like fingerprints after I had put them to bed one night. The two year old immediately became my new roommate. When I discussed the situation with his therapist, her bright idea was, "Don't ever let him out of your sight." Sounds easy enough right? To answer the question I am sure you are all thinking, no, she did not have any kids of her own. She couldn't believe it when I told her I didn't think that was going to work out for me. She laid it on pretty thick, reprimanding me for not putting my child's safety first. So I finally told her I would do my best. But here's a warning for all of you, "Don't try this at home". People look at you funny when they see a four year old duct taped to your leg.

Not Funny

Nothing was funny today.

Fashion

Over the years I have failed miserably in the department of fashion. But lets face it, my lifestyle screams sneakers and hoodies. When I enter a room with my children I doubt anyone is thinking, "Cute shoes". With four children, three of which are young boys, I have to dress like I am training for a 15k marathon. So as soon as they start making athletic stilettos, I'm on board.

My sixteen year old sister discovered the truth of this while she was staying with us during the summer. She had to shed her flipflops to chase my autistic son into the busy street by the park. He was, what the autism world calls, a 'bolter' at that time. His obsession was racing into streets. I think he liked to hear tires squeal, but it could also have been the noise and heat of a running car that he liked best. That was the summer we banned all outings.

His new obsession is clothes chewing. Yes you heard me right, he tries to eat his clothes. My husband and I attended a training workshop on behavioral therapy. They stressed the importance of dressing your autistic children stylishly so they will be more socially acceptable. Come on, really? I don't think Daegan's pants are going to make him popular. I would think that the shirt soaked from neckline to navel, with holes chewed into the collar, would be more of a turnoff then his lack of designer jeans. But what do I know about fashion?

Teamwork

My husband and I have incredible teamwork when it comes to my autistic son. For example, yesterday Daegan was outside playing with his brothers. I poked my head out to check on them. He was 'painting' the play equipment. Now I won't go into detail about his choice of medium. I'll only say it's brown, smelly, and came from his own body. You'll just have to use your imagination.

It will tell you a lot about our family by each of our reactions to the situation. I said, "Oh dear." and, grabbing both of his wrists, took him directly into the bathtub to clean up. His two brother glanced up briefly then kept playing without saying anything. Terry, who had been changing in the other room, and upon hearing my comment, immediately walked outside to hose everything off. Delanie's friend, who was over at the time, ran to the door to see what was going on. She was appropriately horrified as she yelled "Daegan is smearing dog poo!" To which my daughter, who was sitting at the table doing homework simply said, "No, it's his poo." The disturbing part of this exchange is that Delanie never even looked up. She was just assuming.

I'll have to admit this has not been my favorite stage of Daegan's. But before you start feeling sorry for us you have to know that as I sat on the toilet scrubbing his body all I could think was how lucky we were that he was outside this time. After all, the hose doesn't quite reach inside so easily.

Routines

All the experts say that children thrive on routine. This must be true, because there I am, starting my day at 3:00 AM waiting by the bathroom door for my six year old autistic son to finish going potty. It is the same thing every morning. Is that considered getting up early or being up really late? Anyway, this begins his nightly ritual of lying in bed making all sorts of screeches and strange siren sounds for the next two or three hours. Then I have to drag him out of bed every morning to get ready for another very productive day at school. His teachers think he need to be put on Ritalin, but I think a nightly. dose of Tylenol PM would do the trick. Does that come in cherry flavored chewables yet?

It is probably best that he wakes every night, because if I don't have him go to the bathroom in the middle of the night then I am awakened by the melodious sound of my four year old saying, "Mom, Daegan peed on the dog kennel again." It is not always the dog kennel, he has gotten very creative over the years, the entertainment center, humidifier, on top of the changing table, (my personal favorite) in the empty bathtub right next to the toilet, etc. You get the idea. In all truth, sometimes I roll over and go back to sleep. There will still be a puddle in ten minutes. It's all about priorities.

Library

I took my two youngest kids to the library last week. Now I know what you might be thinking. Who in their right mind would take a two year old boy and his four year old brother out in public. Well, I never claimed to be in my right mind.

I have been taking my kids weekly to the library for story time since my oldest was a toddler, so this is no new experience for us. My two youngest have presented a whole new challenge for me. My toddler tears through the library at top speed, leaving a trail of books behind him. This usually provides a great way to tell which aisle he is hiding down, but this particular visit I lost track of him for a moment. He is much faster than he used to be. My four year old followed behind me laughing at the scene, so I decided to put him to good use. His cute little face lit up as I said the magic words, "Go stop your brother." He took off like a rocket. Within seconds a huge wailing sound reverberated throughout the library. I raced across the library until I came to the 649.1-808.5 Self Help aisle. I turned the corner to see my two year old lying face down with his hands and feet kicking furiously as his older brother sat on his back, arms crossed, with a look of utter triumph on his face. As I scooped my toddler into my arms a book title caught my eye, "Enjoy the Ride: tools and tips for the most common parenting challenges". Looking back, maybe I should have checked it out. But who has time to read?

You may be thinking, "Why doesn't that woman strap her kid into a stroller?" Wait until you hear how well that went the last time I did. My toddler kicked so much that he literally tipped the stroller forward so that he was lying face down. I paused before rushing right over, scared that he might be hurt. Suddenly his little arms popped out from the sides and he started army crawling away, dragging the entire stroller with him. Now that I look back it did slow him down a bit.

We no longer stay for story time. This is mostly due to the fact that it is held in the back corner of the library. We do not usually make it that far into the building before being kicked out. I miss the good old days when my six year old autistic son would accompany us to the library. Everyone ignored my rambunctious young ones, because his odd behavior and screeches were usually more distracting. The librarians usually just diverted their eyes and didn't do anything. There is probably a law about people with special needs having full rights to do pretty much whatever they want. God Bless America, land of the accommodating.

Introduction

I usually write to escape my life for a few moments, not to recount the horrors of my day. I am hoping that writing about my children's escapades will be therapeutic for me, because with this economy, who can afford Ritalin?

I don't usually condone the overuse of medication, but despiration can weaken one's defenses from time to time. What parent out there hasn't been tempted to sneak a little Benadryl into their child's juice at 10:00 at night? If there was a magic pill out there that could transfer a child's energy to their parent's I would sell my first born child to acquire some. Okay, maybe not my first born, but my others may be negotiable.