When you don't know what you're doing?

One of the difficulties of being a mother with special needs children is not knowing every single one of the triggers that may set off my children.  Now, I'm grateful for the ones I do know, for example:

- Loud noises will trigger my autistic son, especially when it comes from my daughter.
- Mixed textures in any food will set off all three kids
- The inappropriate food at all will set off the kids
- Lack of decent sleep will set off the kids
- The wrong texture of clothes will set off the kids
- A parent misinterpreting anything will set off the kids

Now I have three of these kids. They are amazing, miraculous, incredible, beautiful, generous, lovable, adorable, and so much more.

But there are days when I have absolutely no clue what in heaven or earth has set off my kids. Like today. Like the entire last week. The kids are overreacting to the littlest things and overreacting to the most extreme. I feel bruised, battered, emotionally torn and exhausted, and extremely overwhelmed.  I have had very little sleep, I'm eating poorly, and I'm incredibly crabby. Sometimes I wish there was a magical translation stone to help me understand, because its moments like this when I feel totally helpless. Like nothing I doing is the right thing for them or for me. So here's a prayer from me to all special needs parents who are enduring similar situations. I'll pray for you and you pray for me. Together we'll make it through. We'll find the answers.

How Life As A Mom Can Be Scary & Fun

Here for your enjoyment is the story won me 3rd place in the Adult category for our local Halloween Scary Short Story Contest last night. 

Asylum

by Karen Pellett

October 2015

 

The sun tucked behind the distant mountains, hiding her escape but also making it impossible to see where it was safe to run. Cindy’s skin prickled with the kiss of bitter smoke on the wind and the sudden drop in temperature. She grabbed hold of a nearby tree to steady her weakened knees, but the coarse bark cut into her palm until it bled. The rain-soaked ground undulated beneath her feet, resembling the body of a serpent slithering below her in the fading light. The pain and numbness from the drugs’ lasting effects only intensified the hallucinogenic feeling.

Clawing her way up the tree-blanketed hill side, her hair fell in shriveled threads out of its ponytail, creating temporary cracks in her vision. She brushed the errant strands out of her eyes looking for a path through the forest brush. As she stepped over a fallen branch, her foot sunk into a puddle of mud, leaves, and slime. Cindy tugged her foot hard until it pulled free with a slurp and a pop. The frayed pink strap on her sandal snapped and sank silently into an oozy grave.

Her heart pounded like a jackhammer on steroids, but she had to think. How long had it been? Ten, fifteen minutes? They must have discovered her absence by now. The marks on her wrists from the ropes that once bound her felt tender. Memories rampaged through her head. The people hidden behind surgical masks. The experiments. The pain. The screaming.  The smell of burnt nylon and skin so real she nearly gagged.

The crickets ceased their chirping. Cindy bit down on her cheek to quiet the pending sob until blood seeped through her lips. As she slid down the trunk of a nearby tree, the bark tore at the fabric of her stained shift and tearing at her back. What were a few more scratches to the tally she’d already earned that night?

The crisp leaves crunched under her weight as she shifted, startling a garden snake from the safety of its hole. She gasped. A low guttural sound rumbled the woods from down the hill in answer, sending a feral echo through the night. A flock of birds escaped into the safety of the blackened sky. Cindy closed her eyes, wishing that she could sprout wings and fly with them to the safety of the stars—away from the Hunters.

She peeked out at the forest around her. The white of the quaking aspen trunks looked like skeleton fingers digging their way out of the ground, grasping for air, for life. She shivered and rubbed her arms to erase the feeling, leaving a single bloody trail on her skin; she looked down at her feet—the one pink sandal still holding tightly on her right foot, blue nail polish worn and scratched. Wrapping her arms around her knees she rocked to and fro, the sandal coming in and out of view.

Pink. Forest floor. Pink. Forest floor.

The rhythm soothed her aching heart as she counted along to the time of her rocking. But something tickled at her conscience. Something felt off.

You mean more wrong than being hunted as prey, she thought to herself.

Pink. That inkling tugged at her pained skull. Something about the color.

What’s wrong with pink?

She stopped rocking, staring down at her feet. The pink glared at her against the darkness, a beacon in the night. She fumbled with the strap; her fingers numbly tugging at the metal until the leather strap broke lose.   Ripping the sandal free from her foot she clawed at the moist soil until the dirt broke away in chunks.

No. No. No.

She shoved the shoe into the hole and desperately dragged the crushed leaves, twigs and dirt to hide the signs of its existence.

A few moments later, the muffled sound of the Hunter’s young voice reached through the darkness. “I think I saw something over this direction . . . It’s one of her shoes. We’re close.”

Not yet. Please.

The trees to her left thinned too much for Cindy to escape into; to the right, a mesh of long forgotten shrubbery which just might lead to safety. Moving to her hands and knees, she crawled in the direction of the hedge.

“Shhh, I think I heard something,” said the young male hunter.

Cindy inched further toward the bushes. Rounding their worn edge inch by inch, her arms trembled, her body worn out, until she spied the framed of a cabin. Her heart pounded as she debated the still slow crawl or a mad dash to safety. The bushes behind Cindy rustled. She leapt to her feet and ran—the safety of the porch mere feet away.

“Gotcha!”

Two heavy bodies plowed into Cindy, knocking her to the ground. Her hair knotted with the debris from the pile of leaves she landed in.

“No!” she screamed.

An animal jumped around the edge of her vision, growling and barking. As her attackers struggled to subdue her, the bang of the cabin door opening was a gunshot in the night. Cindy’s attackers froze giving her a clear view of the doorway. A man towered in the doorway, his shoulders blocked out the majority of the door, his head nearly touching the frame, but his bearded face clouded over as he looked down on them.

“Please!” Cindy yelled. “Help me.” The Hunters’ weight on her chest made it impossible to say more.

The man rushed to her aid with a roar.

“You’re home!” The Hunters squealed as they leapt off of her tired frame.

The family cocker spaniel no longer growled his feral rumble from the hunt but yipped around the children’s feet as they rushed into their father’s arms. Cindy collapsed back onto the pile of leaves she and the Hunters had raked up earlier that morning, her muscles aching with the strain of the day. She wanted to run into the safety of her husband’s arms as quickly as her children had, but she could barely move.

The crunch of heavy boots on the scattered leaves grew louder. After a few moments of silence her husband took her by the hand and helped Cindy to her feet. “Need a break?”

She shook her head, and then stopped. The pain wasn’t a part of the costume. “And miss out on Trick or Treating?”

He rolled his eyes at her. Hand in hand, they walked toward the cabin; the sounds of their children inside vibrated the walls.

Cindy sighed at the noise, stopped to look into the murky woods that outlined their home, and bit her lip. She had to do it. Standing on her tiptoes she kissed her husband’s scratchy beard.

“I forgot my shoe.” She ran toward the hedge border, calling over her shoulder, and said, “Every Cinderella must have her slipper.”

Her haunting laughter echoed through the forest as the darkness enveloped her into its quiet arms.

 Happy Halloween Everyone!!!!!!!

The Scary Thing About Being A Mom.....

As it is Halloween season I thought I'd talk about some of the scary aspects of being a mom (funny & not so funny):

Not Funny:

- Watching your child having a seizure after growing up with a brother with Grand Mal seizures. (Never want to go through that again)
- Seeing that your kids have no fear about everything they should be fearful of.
- Waking one day to see your son having gotten the knives out of the knife block and line them up one by one in a row next to his sleeping brother. (I'm not sure he intended to use them. He just likes to line them up).
- Worrying about what the future will be like for your children and if a day will come that, for your safety and theirs, that you will have to put them in a care facility. Or that they might never be able to be independent enough to move out.



Funny Scary:

- When you realize you're kids are stinkin' brilliant and you feel a few potatoes short of a pound.
- When you become an expert at locks because you're constantly trying to find one that your kids can't bypass.


I had a whole list earlier, but my mind went blank from keeping eyes on my children & their mischief ways. I guess that's kind of funny/scary too.


So what are some of the things that you find scary (funny or not so funny) about being a parent?

The Power of 3

No I am not referencing Doctor Who when I talk about the power of three.  I'm talking about two aspects of three:

1) When you have 3 children,
2) When any of them turn 3 years old.


Aspect #1:

After Frank and I had our second child the doctor wanted to convince me that I was done and that I should have my tubes tied. It was too dangerous. Each pregnancy took such a great toll on me and was life threatening to me and the baby. But I knew in my heart that there was one more.  I begged him to let us wait to have one more. He reluctantly agreed.

By the time our second child was 11 months old I went into the doctor and told him, "Yes, I want a third, but they HAVE to be further apart." He laughed. Our daughter Rose and our son Cyprus were only 22 months apart and I couldn't handle it (it was only years later that I learned they had special needs).  The doctor and I laid out a plan, he gave me the fertility meds and told me to go home and take a pregnancy test.  I did. It was positive. I cried. 

I still wanted that third baby no matter what, and YEAH I got pregnant without the fertility drugs, but (insert cuss words) I couldn't handle the two I had.  I was tired. I was frustrated. I was weary. The pregnancy was hard. SO HARD. And a month into it my husband lost his job through cutbacks. Rough rough times for our family. A month prior to delivery I ended up in the hospital with severe migraines, high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia. I was hospitalized for 4 days and sent home on strict bed rest. I was only 33 weeks.  And then my husband started work and had no time off and we had two toddlers at home. Enough said.

Anyway, through prayer and major support from friends and church members we made it and little Juniper was born. He and Cyprus were only 20 months apart.  I gladly allowed my doctor to tie my tubes (though its often been an internal battle since whether or not that was the right decision, I still couldn't risk it).

A few weeks later my husband and I crashed in bed after an exhausting day and he sighed. "We miscalculated."   When I asked him to clarify, he said, "The kids now outnumber the adults." 

That's where the first Power of 3 comes in. When you hit three kids, suddenly you no longer have enough hands (whether or not they are special needs). It takes a good year or two before you can find a natural rhythm as husband and wife to adjust to who keeps track of whom. There were some days I dreaded even stepping outside of my house, it was so bad.


Aspect #2

For some reason when all three of my kids hit 2 1/2 to 3 years of age they put on this armor of anxiety polished with a coat of desire for control and it is bad. It is so rough sometimes. They become bossy, stubborn (okay they have good examples of that from their parents to start with), and full of tantrums.  And if you DARE even think of stepping two feet of where they expect or want you to be they start screaming "MOMMY!!!! DON'T LEAVE ME!!!" loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Talk about laying on the guilt.

I've really struggled these last few weeks dealing with this second aspect of threes for many reasons. Juniper is my last child to be 3. In fact in just over a week he'll be 4. And sometimes that's hard to deal with knowing that I will never have another child. I can't physically, mentally, emotionally or financially handle it right now. It just won't happen, no matter how much my heart hurts and longs for another daughter, in spite of all the difficulty.

But its also been hard because now I know what my children are going through. Thanks to working with amazing specialists I understand better what my kids see, why they think the way they do, what battles they are fighting internally. I get it.....logically.   But my soul is weary. We've had another extremely hard year. Harder by far than many in the past, even the year I was pregnant with Juniper. My body aches, my heart aches, my soul aches. And my little ones do not, cannot, understand. So as they scream "MOMMY DON"T LEAVE ME!!!!" I cry. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I hide in my shower and let the water wash away the overwhelming weakness that I feel. 

How can I make my little ones understand that I'm only going upstairs to turn on the swamp cooler? Or I'm just going around the corner to flip a light switch. Or going to the store to by bread and milk and that they are still safe because Daddy or Grandma or whoever is still with them, without their world crashing down on them and the fear overwhelming all of us. How can I stop getting into arguments with a three year old who only hears what he wants to hear (and sometimes only what he can hear because his special needs have blocked everything else out)?

I'm never going to give up on my little ones. I still count them as my miracles each and every day. I'm still grateful to have them as part of my life and wouldn't give them up for anything.  But man the POWER OF THREE is hard.  And I look forward to when we move beyond the second aspect and my children will understand that me going upstairs to get a load of laundry does not mean that I no longer love them.  I long for the day when they trust that my love is there no matter what. The day that they realize that I will never give up on them. They day when they can let me go and know that I will always do whatever is in my power to come back (even if I'm only gone for 5 minutes). 

I love to watch my garden grow. These children are amazing. They are my heart. And one day they will know.

When They Tug At Your Heart

The other day I made a dinner that I knew that my children wouldn't eat.  They have sensory issues, but we're trying to learn to live within our means (a.k.a. not to pick up dinner anytime Mom just doesn't feel like cooking). 

My Rose took one look at that and said, "I'm not going to eat that. I know what you need to do, Mom. You need to make chicken nuggets."

I told her that we no longer had the money to just go out and buy chicken nuggets, that we needed to learn to eat what was in the house.

Rose jumped up from the table and said, "I have the solution."  She ran to her backpack and dug deep, tossing things onto the floor as she went, then came running back in the dining room and handed me an envelope. It was pink with a pig on it. She explained that she'd learned all about money today and that this was her piggy bank.

She gave me the bank and said, "Here Mommy, you can have my money so you can go buy chicken nuggets."

It was the sweetest thing ever. I pulled her into a hug and thanked her (trying hard not to cry)......but couldn't bring myself to tell her that the money wasn't really. I just couldn't. 

However, I still didn't buy chicken nuggets.

Public Service Announcemetn: DRINK WATER

It's hard to be a person, let alone a sane one.  Then you throw in things like jobs, marriage, kids, life, etc....and things get really hard (j/k--life itself is often hard all by itself).  Then you throw in the random things, oh say, like being a klutzy person like me....and you're really in trouble.

A few weeks ago I walked the race route for a local 5K that's happening this summer to raise money for cancer patients. I wanted to practice the race route several times prior to the race as its my first one ever. 2/3rds of the way into the route a crossed a bit of road that lets down onto an a non-sidewalk section of town . . . and rolled my ankle.  Being the stubborn person that I am I figured I'd already passed the street that led back to my car and I had less than a mile to go so I might as well finish walking the route.  Yeah, not the smartest decision I've made. 

I knew it wasn't broken but it was a pretty painful sprain. I had the chiropractor adjust the foot to help it heal more smoothly and had been wearing an ace bandage on and off for two weeks before the next incident happened.  Last week, I was carrying a load of laundry down the stairs (wearing my ACE bandage) and stepped on the edge of a stair instead of the middle and slipped rolling down the stairs, laundry basket tumbling, laundry flying through the air, and my ankle being pulled at a painfully awkward angle until something popped.  Definitely not one of my more graceful moments.

I screamed so loud that Juniper (my 3 year old) broke out of quiet time in his bedroom, hopped the safety gate, ran down the stairs, and sat down beside his sobbing mother, wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said, "Oh poor baby. What hurts."  I was laughing and crying at the same time. The pain was excruciating.

Well, the ankle wasn't broken, but due to the swelling and the amount of pain the nurse practitioner put me into what I call a Darth Vader boot (basically a removable walking cast) and told me to elevate and ice, ice and elevate.  

Have you ever tried to recover from an injury with kids in the house...HA!!!! Throw in the fact that my kids all have different special needs and I think I deserve a double-HA and a kick in the pants!  As I lay propped up on the living room couch with my leg in the air, remotes and phone at my side, a water bottle, and kids running amok (literally) I was doing my best to "recover".  But when my kids run amok that means whatever is mom's is theirs.

You may ask, "What does that have to do with the Public Service Announcement?"  Here you go....

If I had a water bottle, they would take it and run away and drink it, dump it out around the house, wear it, or hide it.  And being in the pain I was in, I wasn't too eager to get up to get a replacement bottle.  So I failed to drink my daily dose of water for four days straight. Then Saturday I didn't rest as often as I should and pushed my body past its weakened physical limitations.

By dinnertime I felt like crap. By bedtime I was shivering uncontrollably and had a migraine. By 11 pm I was waking my husband up, asking him to take me to the hospital. After a lovely visit in the ER it was determined I was severely dehydrated and had a bladder & kidney infection as well as a migraine to boot.

Did I mention that my awesome husband was scheduled to leave on a business trip, for a week, the very next day?  No, my bad.

If it weren't for so many amazing neighbors & friends helping with prayers, food, breaks from the kids, etc., I wouldn't make it out of this a live (and its only day three). 

So when I say DRINK WATER, I mean DRINK WATER.  Granted it would have been nice if I weren't accident prone in the first place, but things wouldn't have gotten nearly as bad if I had just taken the time and effort in my attempt to do everything else to stop and drink a glass of water.  If you want to take care of others, make sure you take care of yourself too.

This is the end of the public service announcement (this is your cue to go get yourself a glass of water). Have a great day!

Bubblesnot

There are days. . . oh man are there days. . . (whether or not your kids are special needs) when they just push you too far. Sometimes I make good choices and handle things surprisingly well considering. That's when I often get a little too cocky and say, "You got this thing."

Then there are days where you call for a "do-over".  I think that's today for me.

My kids sent me into SPD overload today and I didn't handle it well. My daughter was specifically doing negative things to get a reaction out of me (and honestly I know this is what kids just do because they are kids, but I just don't get it).  After Rose received her consequence I felt horrible because I went overboard in my reaction. That's when I have to take a moment to look inward and say, "Okay was that handled well or was that all wrong."  After a really long day of pushing buttons I know I could have handled the situation heaps better.

Once I was able to step back and calm down I went back into her room, sat down on the floor with her and we talked.  We talked about what happened, what was good, what needed improvement on both of our parts.  Then we came up with a code word -- Bubblesnot. When I'm helping her to do something that she knows she can do herself than she is supposed to say, "Hey Mom--Bubblesnot!"  That's when I know I need to step back and just let her do it so that she gets the practice and realize that she can be responsible.   Then again, if she is balking at doing something without my help when I know perfectly well that she can do it herself I am supposed to say, "Hey Rose--Bubblesnot!"  Then she'll know that I believe in her and that she can do it.

We both apologized to each other, sang a few songs, and then we both said prayers.

I know some people say I apologize to my kids too often, but there's something in my soul that makes me want my kids to know that I'm human too and that we're both learning as we go, but together we can accomplish anything. I also apologized in my prayers to God because I believe that she was his child first and that he entrusted her into my care. When I have a mommy fail moment I feel he deserves an apology too so he knows that I'm not giving up and that I do see her as a precious gift from him.  Hopefully, each step we take in the process will help us grow together and closer to heaven.  I want my kids to know that family does really matter and that everyone deserves being treated with respect, even children.

When Mom Is The One With Needs

Last September my little Juniper gave me a concussion. As a result my doctor sent me to the hospital for an MRI. They found more than injuries from my concussion. They found several locations of "changing white matter" which are "signs of MS (multiple sclerosis - which my grandfather died from when my mom was a pre-teen). Between all the new doctor appointments I faced and dealing with my kids several doctors decided that I needed to be on depression medicine to better cope with what I was going through.

At the time I agreed with them.

Over the last six months we have learned many things about me and my children (after many many doctors visits):

1) Juniper is struggling with Primary Communications Delay and Aggressive Behavior. But he is a very empathetic kid when he can see beyond his special needs.
2) Rose has Sensory Processing Disorder and ADHD.
3) We're waiting for the official write up, but when talking with the specialist, Cyprus is Autistic with sensory issues and  communication delays.
4) Depression medicine is bad for mommy.

I had briefly been on depression medicine for post partum depression after having Juniper. I had to get off of it because (depending on the brand) it either gave me a completely foggy brain to where I was doing things like putting the window child-safety locks so that the kids couldn't close windows instead of not being able to open them OR I had full-blown hallucinations.  This time around I started binge eating and gained 20 pounds in the last two months after having lost 50-60 the previous year.  I also cried all the time and wanted to sleep all the time. 

The last time I went to the doctor I asked him to take me off and he agreed.  Then, because of my reaction to depression medicine, he had me fill out a questionnaire and it turns out that I had ADHD, just like my Rose. So the doctor set me up with a transition period where I would wean off the depression medicine and start on the ADHD medicine.

It was night and day.  I don't know if it was simply being off the depression medicine or the added combination of being on ADHD medicine.  I was happy. I was singing at the top of my lungs and dancing around the house.  I could handle things once again. I even took my boys outside to play for four hours, whereas during the previous life there was no way I could handle it unless my husband was there to help, and sometimes not even then.  I got to see neighbors that I hadn't seen in months and meet neighbors who have apparently lived her for a long time and I had never met them.  I was even taking care of things around the house that had needed to be done for longer than 6 months that I couldn't bring myself to face.  I was productive. I was happy. I was able to help my kids. I had answers. It was great. 

Only one problem. . . when you have lived nearly 40 years and always been diagnosed with the wrong thing there is a transition time when your body has to catch up with your spirit. I have SO completely over done it since being on the new medication that my body has been having muscle spasms for three days now (even in my hands). Then, yesterday my Rose turned 7. So I made sure the house was cleaned (but I cleaned the entire house, including vacuuming every room and the stairs. I mopped everything I could mop. I decorated her a My Little Pony cake. I went to the store to get things for her favorite dinner - chicken nuggets and fries.

Then the boys came home from preschool.  Yeah. SOOOOOOO.  I got them fed. We played a bit. Then we went upstairs for quiet time. Now, Cyprus has a habit of when he's done being in his room he escapes. He hurdles fences, runs downstairs, etc.  To say the least, Quiet Time is usually the least quiet and least restful of times for this mommy.  So yesterday I decided that I would stay in the hallway to keep an eye on him while reorganizing my linen closet (and hopefully find the Kindle that disappeared two weeks ago).  By the time I was done with that he still wasn't asleep. So I organize the bathroom cupboard in the kids' bathroom. Then I organized the closet in the second bedroom. When he still wasn't asleep after that I went into my room and started folding and putting away ALL of the laundry. Then I started organizing my tornado of a walk-in closet.

Cyprus never napped and neither did Juniper. So finally we went downstairs and put in a movie for the kids while I did more work upstairs.  Then I got Rose from her friend's house after school and while she and her daddy went bowling for her birthday I attempted to decorate the house, with the help of two special needs boys who have a different understanding of helpful than I do.  They tried to force balloons in my mouth while I was still blowing up others.  Then Cyprus took the hand soap from the bathroom and started pumping it into my hair.  At first I thought he was just playing with it, until I found the goop sliding throughout my hair.  I started sobbing.

I still worked at decorating but everything fell a part from there.  The birthday sign wouldn't stay up, or the boys helped it come down, and I couldn't find thumbtacks to use to keep it up. And the boys lovingly wouldn't leave me alone. It became to the point were my sensory issues totally overloaded and I couldn't even handle the thought of being touched.  I ran upstairs, took a shower and curled up on the floor of the shower crying and praying for God to help me calm down so I could not take away from my daughter's special day.

Finally I got dressed and tried to wrap Rose's presents, but all I could find was double sided tape that didn't want to stick. I got to the point I just started wrapping the tape in circles around the presents. Then I went downstairs and tried to clean the living room, but I just sobbed while my sweet Juniper tried to console me, but I couldn't handle being touched. Then I tried to get out the paint pen to decorate the windows and I broke the lid so that pink paint spilled all over my door mat. Juniper didn't want me to work on dinner, though he wanted to eat. Cyprus wanted to jump on me as I past by, but then my muscles were screaming. I went ahead and took my anxiety pills that I'm only supposed to take when things get beyond what I could handle.

When my husband called to say they were done bowling and did I want him to come straight home or to go get the candles for the cake I plead for him to come home because I wasn't doing well. I had just taken the dinner out of the oven when he walked home. I started sobbing and hyperventilating again so bad that my stomach started cramping with incredibly sharp pains. I fell to the ground and my kids wanted to help and hold me but I couldn't handle it. Frank helped me to the couch were I lay and he gave me a special prayer to help me through. 

Once I calmed down I went to the store did get the candles so that I could get a break (and I got me something to eat, since I'm not supposed to eat chicken nuggets or fries).  Then I could handle the rest of the day (except every muscle in body screamed bloody murder for what I'd put it through).

So here is what I have learned.

1) There is a transition time period that occurs in your body when switching medications and it can be a veritable minefield as to what might happen during that time.
2) When your body has been treated for the wrong thing for 40 years there is no way your body is ready to immediately pick up where it should decades ago once you are on the right medicine.
3) Depending on what your body needs and what medicine you are on you're body may start communicating its needs to you in a manner totally different than what you are used to.
4) Be kind to you. You need a break.


A morning later and I'm okay (other than feeling like I ran a marathon). I'm going to take things easier today and strive to learn my body's new language so that I don't over do it like I did yesterday.  And I am so grateful for a family that sticks by me when I'm the one falling apart.

The Difficulties of Daylight Savings Time

There are many times of the year that our family struggles with - summer, start of school, end of school, Christmas break, when their half-brothers go home from visiting, and worst of all Daylight Savings time changes.  The reason is because our three special needs kids do not handle change well especially when it messes up their sleep. Their lives run best on consistency. So when anything changes we just have to be prepared for battle. Plans get thrown out the window, stressful moments increase, and hugs are given more and more frequently.  We tip our kids on their heads to reset their world. We have them swing, go down slides, jump on trampolines (all inside our home).  And we wing it. We find anything that helps our children cope and reset their inner clocks until things are okay again for them.  So when things happen like Daylight Savings time that messes royally with everyone's sleep schedule we usually end up not going to church. It's just calmer for everyone and helps the kids feel things a little less overwhelming.  Yes I miss out on the joy of going to church for my benefit, but I have begun to learn which battles are worth fighting. . . and this one isn't.  We still try to make our home feel like its Sunday and a time for family, but no we don't go to church.  We'll go again next week when things are a little more regulated for our little kiddos.

Finding Joy

This year's goal for the women's group at the church I go to is focused on living life joyfully. Sometimes that is a hard thing to remember to do when you're in the midst of the day-to-day grind.  But the weekly reminder has been so helpful to me in looking for the little moments in my day that bring joy. 

For example, my little boys have been sick with stuffed sinuses making it difficult for them to sleep the last few nights. The other night I was rubbing Vicks Vapo Rub on Cyprus chest when he took a huge sigh and smiled.  Then he said, "I love you."  Please understand. . .this is ULTRA MEGA HUGE.  My son is moderate-functioning autistic with speech delays. He doesn't talk to me.  He is learning sign language and that has helped a lot, but if he says anything its usually only one to two words, and rarely I love you. He only tells me that every 2-4 months.  

The thing that is even more remarkable is that he's said it again yesterday. That's twice in one week.  And on top of it he is doing more three word phrases, trying to actually convey what he wants.  Those moments are only 1/1000th of my day, but those little moments make me want to climb Mount Everest and shout for joy.

So my one recommendation this week is to try to find those little moments of joy in your day. The more you look for them, the more you will find them.

Mommy Fails 101

When moms are tired, sick or wiped out there is related increase in what I call Mommy Fails.  For the last several weeks I have increased my exercise routine by getting up at 5 am three days a week to go work out with friends. On the off days I do some sort of workout at home or go on a walk/jog in preparation for a race I'm running in June. On top of that all three of my kids have rotated going through a nasty cold (the youngest ending up with a very bad case of the croup).  On top of that I'm trying to finish my edits on the book I'm currently writing in order to get it out to my beta readers in February (only a month late).

Yesterday, the fatigue finally hit and I started feeling like I was catching the kids' cold. My husband sent me to bed at 6:30 pm for a "nap" while he took care of the kids. And I slept until 6:45 am this morning. When I got up I started my usual routine--take a shower, grab the kids clothes, etc. I made sure everyone had clothes. They were in my hands, honestly they were.  I got Rose dressed, and even got the baby halfway dressed. But when it came time to get Cyprus dressed, everything but his socks and undershirt had completely disappeared.  I searched all over for twenty minutes before I realized that I had just picked up all the clothes on the floor from yesterday and put them into the wash -- Cyprus' clothes included. His clothes for the day were in the process of being rewashed. Oy!!!!

Then I realized ten minutes before we had to walk out the door to get Rose to her friend's house, and Cyprus on the bus that it hadn't even occurred to me to make my daughter a lunch. So I ran to the pantry and grabbed food from their 72 hour emergency kit and shoved it into her lunch box and called it good. 

Finally, after I got two kids on their way to school I piled Juniper in the car to take him back to the doctor for a second visit because his croup wasn't going away and I really need him to get helpful enough to go back to school this week so I can get my edits done (I'm running out of January). While we were waiting for the doctor to come see us I was twirling Juniper around in circles on the doctor's roller chair. Just moments before the doctor stepped into the room poor Juniper lost his balance and took a dive forehead first into the floor. He has a beautiful rug-rash/goose-egg to show for it just as the doctor opened the door.  I just wanted to take a face plant myself.

Oh well. In the end we're all still alive. So I guess in the long run I'm still a winner as a mom, but I really hope I've met my mommy fail limit for the day. Or else I'm just gonna have to go to bed and let my kids fend for themselves. They might be better off.

Sweet Relief

Two of my little ones were hit with a chest cold this weekend and my sweet husband is on the verge of it himself. So this morning he was able to call a wonderful woman to cover for him leading music during Sacrament meeting. Then he offered to stay home with the kids so that I could attend church all by myself. When I started driving to church I started having a panic attack.  I tried to convince myself that I was going to be okay, I mean I didn't have to deal with my three kids after all.  But still, I was shaky, a bit panicked, and nearly drove home to get an anxiety pill or even to cave and just stay home.

But I still made it to church without turning around. I parked in the back so that I could make a quick getaway after the women's meeting. When I made my way up to the front foyer I saw one of these sweet sisters that I've known since we first moved into the neighborhood over five years ago. She walked up to me, took me by the hand and said, "You don't know just how much I have been thinking about you this last week."

This sweet lady held me and told me how wonderful a job I was doing with my kids and how special I must be to God for him to have sent me three such uniquely special children. Then another sister came up and the first took her by the hand and the second looked at me and said, "I've been thinking so much about you since your testimony last week."  And together this two grandmotherly women kept warming my heart with the love and sincere tender thoughts they had for me. Then they offered to watch my kids at any point so that I could have a break to run away for a hot chocolate and a walk. I told them that my kids were in school three days a week in the morning, but that I was grateful for their offer. The second sister said, "I love  taking care of special needs children." I was overwhelmed with the kind thoughts and generous hearts of these women

Then I went into the chapel to sit on our normal pew.  I figured since I was alone I would scoot to the far end so that I could share it with anyone who needed a seat. Then my deer friend who sits in front of us (her daughters are our babysitters) offered for me to join them. A few moments later an older couple came in behind us and asked if the bench were saved for anyone. I told them we usually sit there, but as I was alone I was glad for them to take the bench.  As the woman sat down she looked at me closer and said, "I've been thinking about you....."

I then had a wonderful experience in Sunday School learning much as we were introduced to studying the New Testament again this year. I was so touched and learned some things I didn't know, even though I've studied these scriptures before.  Then I went to Relief Society and was again spiritually fed.

When I got home I felt more peace than I've had in months. I gave my husband a huge kiss, and hugged my children a little closer. I put in an after lunch movie for the kids and was holding my sick Rose when the phone rang. It was the first sister from church. "So when can we babysit on Wednesday? How's 8 am - 5 pm sound?" 

My jaw dropped. I explained that my kids had school in the morning, but she still offered for her and her friend to come over in the afternoon so I could run away for some me time.  My heart is filled to the brim with love and gratitude for this day, for this experience, and for these amazing women that God has sent to me to help when times are rough.  Today I am truly blessed.
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Sunday Batttle/Sunday Humor

My three miracle children make life interesting. One of them has Sensory Processing Disorder. Another is moderate-functioning autistic. The third is severally communication delayed with aggressive behavior.  But they are mine and I am grateful for every day spent with them.

Though, I do have to admit, that preparing for church sometimes feels like I'm preparing for battle when I get ready each Sunday. I make sure to take an anxiety pill. I pack a bag filled with coloring books, crayons, dry erase boards, markers, word cards, math cards, quiet folders & puzzles, three different types of snacks, cups of water for everyone, diapers, pull-ups, wipes, changes of clothes, etc.

Today church moved to  9 am with the new year. I've been looking forward to it as church will no longer be during the kids' nap time. I was hoping it would make them less grumpy and regularize their routine better as they go to school at the same time during the week. In many ways it was easier because we were able to get them fed and ready and out the door. The one problem was that they were also more energetic and to explore and run wild.

My wonderful husband leads the music during our church meeting, so he sits up on the stand.  When he can, he sneaks off the stand to sit with us (especially on hard days). Today my kids were such a handful I didn't think we were going to even make it past the opening prayer. Even Frank could see how much I was struggling from the stand. As soon as the sacrament portion of the meeting was over Frank ran down to help.

Today, being the first Sunday the congregation has the opportunity to bare their testimonies. I told Frank that I really wanted to bare mine, if he was okay with the kids. He readily agreed. I was the second person to get up and when it was my turn I started to talk about how things had been rough for the last three years and how I am learning that trials can be a blessing. I talked about some of the struggles my kids experience and how they trigger each others sensitivities. And just as I was talking about how they were God's children first and that he would help me to understand them and to help them my Autistic son bolts out of the pew and runs all the way through the back of the church and climbs up on the stage and starts to dance, play and sing. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I'm just truly grateful for the chance my kids give me to become a better person and a better mother. And I'm grateful for the patience church congregation and fantastic friends who supports and loves us and our quirky family. With no family close by they have stepped in and become our surrogate one. I'm amazed by the kindness, support and love we've received from everyone around us.

Sunday's may still be hard, and even a nightmare sometimes, but I've learned its worth it for me and my family to give our best effort each and every week.