tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85707784235074644392024-03-05T06:35:36.681-08:00wtf parentingparenting on the spectrumJuliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-1170277997617828252013-06-04T18:02:00.004-07:002013-06-04T18:02:35.256-07:00The day had started so promising.Oy fucking vey. My child argued with his teacher (sped teacher...remember he refuses to go to school so he has his own deal going on) about how he shouldn't have to wear shoes throughout the school. He gets to just wear his socks in his classroom. He said, "But I'm a toe walker!" and "you just threw that on me!" Oh and he let her know that he doesn't like the way she treats him. Which makes me actually chuckle. Because it is so ridiculous. For the record, this woman is completely awesome and totally gets him and understands kids on the spectrum and that he is trying to gain some control in his world.<br />
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I was surprised that he had such a bad day because he had walked into the school by himself for the second time--yesterday being the first time--since I don't remember when...last fall maybe. I was actually in the office picking him up, gloating happily, telling the people in the office (who all know us so well by now) and the guidance counselor and the Sped liasion who all happened to come by. And then his teacher came to the door. Without M. And said that we needed to talk.<br />
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My boy should have been getting autism support since kindergarten. ABA therapy, the works. But he is so 'intriguing' and intelligent and witty and funny and interesting that his autism got overlooked. So now here he is in 5th grade, middle school in our town, starting from scratch with the supports. I cried. And when the Sped liasion asked what was wrong when she then saw me sad, M's teacher said I felt guilty. Guilty because of all the stuff that should have happened for M. years ago. No, I don't feel guilty. I feel angry. Angry because I searched and searched and no one helped me. So we kept trying to support and raise M. thinking we must be doing something all wrong. But in actuality, we were raising a child on the autism spectrum for 11 1/2 years and didn't even know it. I say we are fucking heros. I don't feel guilty. I'm mad. But I have to keep moving on and doing what he needs now. I can't help but look back even though everyone tells me I shouldn't.<br />
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So tomorrow his teacher is going to work with M on his 'stresses' and will use starburst as an incentive. And it will work because my child is on the autism spectrum and he loves starburst. Or it may not work at all and he will tell her that he is 'done with her'--he told her he was 'done with the TLC' (the classroom/program that he is in.)<br />
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It's all kind of funny. Because it's true.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-33049691990385820462013-04-25T14:25:00.000-07:002013-04-25T14:25:43.045-07:00Comment Continued...Dear Mrs. F:Well, I've been feeling really down today and I now feel grateful that I don't get migraines. So in a weird way, thanks. You know I love you and don't mean this to be cruel. Today saying "hey, I've got all my arms & legs" so there's no reason to feel depressed wasn't cutting it. So I am grateful that my head doesn't hurt. Now I feel like a douche for even feeling so down. I just feel so exhausted and frustrated and annoyed with myself that I can't seem to make a change because this IS my life right now. I think I am depressed because of the bombings in Boston (my hometown) and that I still struggle with M's autism diagnosis & that every single minute of every single day is devoted to autism and anxiety shit. I wish there was a yoga place or even an exercise class only for parents with kids with issues. So i would be surrounded with a public that 'got it'. Maybe then I would force myself to do something. Remember when I used to work out almost every day--totally in love with kickboxing. Life was hard then but I still managed to do some things for myself. Now I don't do anything and I spend any time I could use for exercise chastising myself for not doing anything.<br />
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We have a team meeting at the school to review the results of the FBA (Functional Behavior Assessment). I got a copy of it today. Nothing enlightening in it at all. I am so sick of meeting and having nothing actually done. I still haven't gotten an updated IEP from the last meeting to review the most recent neuropsych evaluation in which M was officially diagnosed on the Autism spectrum. They have yet to do any of the things that they talked about doing at that meeting so I look at this meeting as another meeting to talk about more helpful things that they could do, but won't. This school year is almost over--once it hits May nothing gets done administratively. So they will talk about what they could do next September & the circle of special ed continues. It's so frustrating that one of the most effective things they could do would be to bring M over to his old building, expose him to his regular classroom, set up a 'lunch bunch' kind of thing with his old friends. It would make the most impact. Instead he goes to a special therapeutic type classroom in which he is the only student for the whole time with a smattering kids of different grade levels come in and out for periods at a time. This class is about as far away from his regular class and peers (a whole different building) that is possible. So a child who doesn't know what to say to his peers about why he hasn't been in class for so long & feels embarrassed by it all is not being helped with this through social stories or 'errands' over at the building. Nothing. So his avoidance and anxiety grows and grows. A parent can only do so much--I can't be the one to go into the school and do this with him. Believe me, I'd like to. Oh, and one thing that troubles me on the FBA was the possible recommendation of something having to do with "transportation" for M to school. Yeah, that's the way to make a kid feel less different. Make him take the short bus. This is because of the school refusal issue. I have no issue with the use of special transportation if your child needs it. But to suggest it for a kid with anxiety and the beginning of realizing that he is 'different' and no other medical reasons to go on this bus is not useful.<br />
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It is all so fucking unfair that when you parent a child with special needs that your parenting is so public. I just want to be like everyone else who just drops their kid off and drives off. And since I eat my feelings and haven't had any physical activity since this all went down last Fall, I am so fat and out of shape and feel like I look like "of course her child is out of control, she can't even take care of herself." I know I don't look that badly, but that is how I feel. I also don't give a shit what I wear as much as all the people at school I deal with--everyone looks so beautifully coiffed and dressed up with pretty jewelry and scarves and skirts. Well, sort of. And I wear some kind of rendition of my uniform of jeans and black shirt. Sometimes a scarf. Because everything is on hold until I get M. back to school regularly and in a better place. I just can't seem to add anything else. I thought about joining the very expensive fitness place that is open 24 hours a day, but the thought of having to interact with other people/moms in town I know is something I can't do right now. Hence I wish there was a fitness place for only moms of not so perfectly wonderful and normal situations/special needs or just having a nutty situation would be good. Life is good, but it can also be hard, annoying, shitty and not at all what you expected.<br />
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Over and out. I have to stop writing and start parenting right now.<br />
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Yeah, I owe you a phone call. Maybe next week. Love you. Hope you feel better. Sorry your head hurts so much. And your eyes. And sorry Kid's teacher is such an a-hole.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-12841317144613735572012-10-30T10:16:00.003-07:002012-10-30T10:16:50.044-07:00a beautiful day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-65573542222819003422012-08-03T06:52:00.002-07:002012-08-03T06:55:02.304-07:00Because I can't just post "Big day at Children's Hospital" on FB since I 'friended' my dogs' breederIt's going to be a tough one today.<br />
<br />
On many levels, but mainly because at 4:00 today Tom & I will be at Children's Hospital/Boston, meeting with the specialists at the Developmental Medicine Center to discuss their findings/results/opinions (I say 'opinions' because unfortunately there is no blood test or x-ray that tells you what is going on for sure for kids like M.)<br />
<br />
My parents are coming later today to stay with the kids, which is another thing altogether. Family tries to understand, but this is one of those things that you really don't know...until you know. When I spoke to my mom other day about coming, she asked if we were going get pizza and ice cream & have a little party & watch a DVD of Jack's camp music performance & how they are going to give my kids some money so they can do something for Tom & my anniversary which happens to be Sunday (18 years) and on & on. And of course, I would be the one to provide all the set up/retrieval of food because that is just my role in the relationship. I was a little stunned, but not overly surprised. It goes with the territory of people not really getting it. Another example would be when a couple of days ago, my Dad asked whether we would all be going up to Stowe soon & talked about the fun things he & my mom did when they visited us there. He didn't mean to make me feel a little sad inside, but hello, M won't leave the house so 'what the eff are you talking about?' I told my mom "well, I am not sure how going to feel when we get home after the appointment in which M will be officially (more so than the arbitrary "not sure what's up" diagnosis of PDD-NOS that doctors give kids until they either strike out the autism diagnosis or specify what type it is in particular--classic Autism or Aspergers) diagnosed with Autism." I told her when we first talked about getting together some night this summer to do what she described, it was prior to getting these appointments & the spiral downward that we have been experiencing and um, can we just separate those two events. When I was trying to explain, she clearly wanted to get off the phone, she was tired, etc. And this is a woman who DOES try to get it & reads up on it. But they don't get it. Like when she says to me "Does he always have to have his way?" when I am referring to a meltdown regarding getting take-out, but that little piece was actually such a small footnote in the actual shitty-ness of the story of my day & actually was a 'proud' moment for me and M because he did eventually calm down & did not get what he wanted. So her comment was a dagger of being misunderstood for me. A feeling of exhaustion, a feeling of I really have no one other than Tom to talk about this stuff. It is so isolating.<br />
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Unfortunately I do not have time to write more. I have not really said much of anything of what has been going on here for the last year since my last post. It is so pervasive to our existence that it is kind of like a whole lot of nothing and a whole lot of stuff goes on. As I try to explain to my mom when she asks whether today is good day, well, it depends on the moment. It is moment to moment.<br />
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And add 2 dogs to the mix--the 1 1/2 year old one & the itty bitty puppy. I love them & don't regret having them, but it does add a little bit more crazy to the house. But believe it or not, it has added so much good as well.<br />
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Oh while I am complaining, I have a bad headache, changed my Pill prescription & for some reason have not gotten my period so I just feel like on the verge of getting it--you know that good feeling of bloaty-ness and all, the weather is disgustingly humid, I have a massive "courtney love" style bruise on my freaking lower leg, Tom can't scoot out of work early so I have to meet him at his work & then drive into the appointment (meaning I have to deal with this house, dogs, parents, etc on my own & the mad rush to get myself ready, prep paperwork, make sure everyone here is all set).<br />
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Well, I have got to get moving.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-19996127621713067422012-07-30T17:13:00.003-07:002012-07-30T17:13:54.577-07:00Not supposed to be like this.I can't fucking take it.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-11468899982774174002011-07-16T07:44:00.000-07:002011-07-16T08:13:53.546-07:00Oh Blessed are the ChildrenWell, this totally cracked me up. <div><br /></div><div>We were driving home last night from Jack's concert from his music camp workshop. Murph was laying down in the back of the car (we have a minivan and he was in the way, way back...yes, I know he should be buckled in...part of where this coming conversation came out of). Jack was hammering him on how Murph was 'breaking the law' by not having a seatbelt on. It is a state law in MA. He told him he would be arrested. I said, "no, actually, I would be arrested as it is my responsibility to make sure he has his seatbelt on." Not that I think I would be arrested actually, I think I would get a ticket. We like to use scare tactics in our house though;).</div><div><br /></div><div>So Murphy was just being silly and said to Jack that if the cop tried to arrest him, he would say something like 'I am sexually abused." First of all, what? Huh? wtf? Where on earth did he hear this term? PLUS, I am all like DON'T you ever say that to anyone...unless of course, you have been (which was just weird to be talking about as we were trying to drive home from a pleasant evening out, proud as hell of Jack...and a conversation that was not planned, etc). </div><div><br /></div><div>Then I asked him if he knew what it meant to be sexually abused. I know that we as parents and the school do their thing about inappropriate 'touch' of private parts, but no one to my knowledge uses the term "sexual abuse" to young kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>He starts laughing and says 'You know, like if someone was punching your balls!' </div><div><br /></div><div>Tom nearly went off the road laughing. Of course that is what Murphy would think it means. Abusing one's 'sexual parts'. Abusing to him means hitting or beating up, etc. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was such a weirdly cute 'kid' interpretation of something so awful. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, this is how crazy our life is. </div><div><br /></div><div>OMG, UPDATE as of this very moment!!: Murphy just came in the kitchen to get a Mott's Ice bar--btw the absolute best thing ever and he eats TONS of them every day, but unfortunately they are hard to come by--and was singing "Can I touch your big, fat ass? Can I touch your big, fat ass?" (For the record, Jack would NEVER in a million years talk like that. It is not like this is how I am raising my kids. This is uniquely the Murph.) He then turns to me and says "What am I saying?" He wants me to repeat what he said. I bite because I am curious that way;). He then says, "Sure, you have my <b>permission</b> to touch my big, fat ass" and he bumps me with it. Oh help me;).</div><div><br /></div><div>PS Tom just read this and told me I was over sharing. You can tell he does not actually read my blog if he thinks this is over sharing;).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-47769528044431575912011-07-16T07:42:00.000-07:002011-07-16T07:44:18.554-07:00Facebook has been my blog latelyI have been doing more on Facebook since I have not had as much time to blog. Hence, my updates have been kind of dark for the venue....not the usual "at the beach and it is fun" kind of status's! Sometimes you just have to get out what is going on in your life somewhere "safe"...that is why I limit my 'friends' on it to only a few people and not everyone I know. Can you imagine how weird it would be to get some of my updates if you were someone I only knew a little bit in high school? All of my updates on Murphy and his 'stuff'. <div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I do hope to update here at some point soon!</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-24002056149141794912011-04-26T13:19:00.001-07:002011-04-26T13:33:52.847-07:00Quick update Neuropsychological Eval. Results<div>I don't have the time or energy to really get into it right now. We haven't talked to Murphy about the results yet and I don't want him to see me blogging about it before I even talk with him. The only thing he does not know about or understand is the PDD-NOS. I am not sure how to approach that yet. I need to get more well versed in it so I can explain it to him in a way he can understand, without making a big deal out of it. It doesn't change who he is...but it explains a lot about him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, here's the Neuropsychologist's pre-diagnosis of his Articulation Disorder. I don't consider this confirmed at all. She apparently did some research and although she is not a Speech Therapist,she believes that Murphy's "clear and pronounced British accent" suggests this: "Foreign Accent Syndrome," a rare condition typically precipitated by stroke or traumatic brain injury but also reportedly seen in people with migraine headaches, conversion disorder and multiple sclerosis. Her words. I take that with a grain of salt. He is going to have a Speech & Language Eval this summer at Childrens Hospital, but he really does NOT have a pronounced British accent. He does have an interesting way of talking. But Foreign Accent Syndrome? I found that truly amusing. Got to get back to the puppy and the boys. </div><div><br /></div>Just a cut and paste from facebook:<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; ">Confirmed diagnosis: ADHD/Impulsive Hyperactive type, Anxiety Disorder, Sensory Integration Disorder and Autism speaks over in our neck of the woods, PDD-NOS (extremely high functioning.) Oh, and he got his school report card today--all A's and 1 B+. Very interesting meeting and there was no parental blame at all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-58340016953240297742011-03-24T18:08:00.000-07:002011-03-25T05:07:00.245-07:00Fat Ass...not me this timeMurphy just called Tom a 'fat ass' in response to Tom telling Murphy that he is not to talk(there was a reason obviously why Tom said that)...Murphy replied "Neither are you, fat ass"...said so swiftly, so quickly in that incredibly adorable voice that he still has. <div><br /></div><div>My response? I actually burst out laughing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then I said "Murphy, that is not appropriate."</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I laughed some more.</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-24440810740763989392011-03-20T08:05:00.001-07:002011-03-20T08:47:55.868-07:00Shorty Gets FatYou know what would be fun? A blog dedicated to getting fat. It is so much easier than losing weight. You could show photos of all the gooey, fattening food you ate. And show progress photos of one's ass getting bigger and bigger. You'd get excited when you went up in size and say things like, "Look how tight my jeans are getting. Yay me!" <div><br /></div><div>I will be back with more posts in the coming weeks as the next 2 weeks are big ones around here. We have the 5 hour neuropsych eval on Thursday and the following week, a second appointment with the neurologist. We could get a more definitive diagnosis or lack thereof in the next 2 weeks. Murphy has not had any of the OT, PT or speech/language evals yet, but really the only one that concerns me is the neuropsych...the other ones are not big deals. He is getting referred for those for his bad handwriting, toe walking and his British sounding speech. Those issues are not the things that turn this house upside down. We got him a net book for typing, he will have well developed calves and really, who doesn't love a respectable British accent? </div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, I have got to put a stop to NOT taking care of myself better. I quit the gym, cancelled Weight Watchers, stopped tracking food and have gotten back to wearing a version of my "uniform" daily (jeans, some kind of black shirt and Sanita/Dansko clogs) without any kind of accessories because I just don't have the mental capacity to care. Yet, I do care down deep inside. I have been doing some work around the house that has been really satisfying. Like pulling up rugs in 2 upstairs rooms and painting floors...yes, sounds weird, but this house is over a hundred years old and it is historically accurate for the wide pine floors of this style house...Actually, the real reason is that it only costs a can of paint and I am impatient and do not want to wait to have someone put down new floors. Not that we could afford it. We can not have them sanded and refinished because the floors are so old that the prior paint on them are full of lead. Plus I kind of have an addiction to gorgeous rugs. Downstairs we have unpainted wide pine floor with Tibetan rugs I had bought at Yayla Tribal Rugs in Cambridge, MA prior to having kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, so anyway, spring weather is coming here and I know I am going to be disgusted with myself as I pull out warm weather clothing (which more than likely will be a Spring version of my "uniform"...some kind of black short sleeve shirt and jean capris) and face that I have let another year go by without losing the 45 pounds I gained about 6 years ago. I know that the best thing I could do for my family is to tackle this issue so I can feel better about myself. Yet, I work on it for a little while until I don't at all. Maybe I am enjoying this house "work" so much is because it has a beginning and an end...with a result that you can see and enjoy rather quickly. And then 'issue' is over. Don't like that rug? Pull it up. All done. The rug is not going to creep back onto the floor. I guess having body/food issues is better than having a drug/drinking/gambling problem as it does not affect all the people in your life as much. I just feel like I don't have the room in my head to deal with Murphy (and Jack since he is affected by being the sibling of a brother with challenges) and deal with 'fixing' myself. I go to a therapist once a month that only deals with parenting Murphy. I feel like there is no me and that no one in my parenting circles where I live can really understand how our life is like with Murphy. There is no carefree "hey, let's go out and do something" around here. Tom and I don't even spend any time together when the kids are in bed BECAUSE I am in bed with Murphy. I am certainly getting more sleep and reading more. Okay, I have to stop since this is totally making feel sad. My life is fantastic compared to what it could be. I don't even need to give examples. Not in Japan...enough said. I know no one's life turns out exactly how they had hoped. I just wish I could eat at the dinner table with my family. We used to be able to when the kids were really little...before the sensory issues took over for Murphy. But that was when they were so young and dinnertime was so crazy anyway. I had been waiting for the time when we would sit at the table with a nice wooden salad bowl and the same meal being eaten by all and we could actually talk to each other about our day or whatever. I don't mean perfect...it would have the normal family stuff going on. That is all I want. Just to be a little more normal. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I have to go. Murphy wants to go upstairs to get something and needs me to go with him. He is 9 1/2 and he can't/won't go upstairs alone. And believe me, it is not a matter of us just making him. Believe me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Alright, over and out. </div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-80616711864825528022011-02-22T14:44:00.000-08:002011-02-22T15:03:56.273-08:00My Greatest Fear Was Not Realized. Sort of. I guess.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I just needed to cut & paste the following from my facebook (I have one, but am hidden so if you want to friend me-wow, that sounds really stupid coming out of my 42 year old mouth--let me know and I will have Tom 'un-hide' me and figure that out)here for a start. I need to make a complete post about our neurologist appointment last week with Murphy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">********************************************************************************</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And to think I was afraid the Neurologist was going to tell us it was nothing.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Let's see. What isn't there is really the question. Diagnosis's so far: Anxiety Disorder w/some OCD, ADHD, Sensory Integ.Disorder, Articulation Disorder (really? wth? that's last on my list to 'fix'), deferred diagnosis: PDD-NOS (pervasive dev disorder-not otherwise spec.), which is the autism spectrum & a Mood Disorder (won't be an issue once he has some of the other stuff worked on. I'd be irritable, too, if I had 9 diagnosis's. Doctor agrees.) Oh yeah, Agoraphobia, which should clear up once some of the other stuff is addressed. Doctor ordered OT, PT and Speech/Lang evaluations. Of course, the Neuropsych eval is to be first! And the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy...yay! And bloodwork to test regular stuff, Iron and thyroid function. Can't forget that I am to set up an appt with an Orthopedist to address his toewalking. We are to start with the Anxiety/OCD, then the ADHD & then I guess go down the list. Getting all of the appointments, actually getting a child who won't willingly leave the house to go and figuring out if any of this will be paid for thru insurance is really difficult. Plus, non of these doctors/appts are near us. Crazy times ahead. Well, apparently he is not 'just an asshole';). I got to keep a sense of humor. I mean, Agoraphobia, really? A triple A diagnosis of Anxiety, ADHD & Autism? This is a kid who got all A's on his report card, is hilarious (when he is not being a jerk or yelling at me because I yawned or chewed food near him) Kids like him, he just doesn't care to interact with any of them--especially outside of school. And after the Doctor told us to get a Speech/Lang eval for M, Tom and I realized we have to get Jack in for one because he is the one who REALLY has an issue there--motor processing/language. Yup, everyone thinks both of my kids are British because they speak with an English accent I guess. At least that is what I am told.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">*************************************************</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;">Also, after being on the phone with our insurance company for an hour, I got the answer to one thing on my list crossed off, but had to add like 12 more things to my list...all before I can actually get any appointments set. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;">I do have to say that even though it was emotionally filling experience, I felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. I felt like my hard work of trying to figure out my boy and get help was going to pay off. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;">This definitely deserves a more in depth post.</span></span></div></span></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-62430676695589995812011-01-06T06:39:00.000-08:002011-01-06T07:03:11.749-08:00altered vista"And sometimes the only way to move forward is to let go of all our cherished ideas about the way things 'ought' to be, so that we can begin the work with things as they are."<div><br /><div>~Katrina Kenison, "the gift of an ordinary day"</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I struggle, but work on this each day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Really, I work on this each moment. We never have a bad day here. More like a series of bad moments. Sometimes the bad outweighs the good. That is usually the case. But we keep trying. It will never be how it 'ought' to be. I mourn that. I struggle with that. I cry alone on my back staircase or in my car over this. I allow myself those moments because I do know how fortunate my family is. Oh, how it could be so much harder and tragic. But I need to allow myself to feel fully so I can begin the work with things as they are.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love that little guy. </div><div>Even when I say I hate him. </div><div>Especially then. </div><div><br /></div><div>My sons are my life's work.</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-65063515360067163102011-01-06T05:15:00.000-08:002011-01-06T05:16:54.655-08:00EpiphanyIt's not the clothes that make me look fat. It's the fat that makes me look fat.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-3315240142049965792010-10-16T08:09:00.000-07:002010-10-16T08:21:41.094-07:00Compensation for Suffering<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; "><i>Basically I think you need to post everyday and then publish a book out of your posts and rake in those royalty checks (you need SOME sort of compensation, heh.)</i> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; ">~From my dear blog friend, Katie</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dear Katie,</div><div><br /></div><div>I like the way you think. I said something to that effect at the pediatrician's yesterday. I said, "Murphy better turn out to be some kind of Bill Gates and buy me a mansion when he gets older...especially if he is living in my basement."</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div><br /></div><div>Julie</div><div><br /></div><div>PS. I wonder if my comments at the pediatrician's make it into my child's file. If so, I hope they at least clarify my tone is loving sarcasm, not just plain mean.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-55713508414006119442010-10-16T07:52:00.000-07:002010-10-16T08:05:40.073-07:00I make myself laughThis just makes me crack up.<div><br /></div><div>Said on Thursday, October 14th :</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">I know I am beating this to death, but yes, okay, I may be overwhelmed and confused about what to do with Murphy in general, but I CERTAINLY do not act like that in public with people I hardly know.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Said on Friday, October 15th:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><i></i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Yesterday was the day I cried at the hair salon.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Oh this is cracking me up, too. Tom said, "Maybe I have Asperger's." (He doesn't. I'm an expert. I have a lot of books out from the library;) .)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">By the time this whole thing is played out, Tom and I are going to have a list of diagnosises for ourselves. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">But none for Murphy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-27517865942673222452010-10-15T13:45:00.001-07:002010-10-15T14:05:27.809-07:00A Very High Tolerance for Weird<div>You should have seen me at Murphy's Wellness visit at the pediatrician's. It was his 9 year old appointment. Just a regular office visit, but with a side chat for the doctor and I to pass off paperwork for him to fill out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Murphy took one of those Vision tests in which they stand at the end of a hall and have to read off that Paper on the board with the letters. Well, I am watching Murph and he totally screwed it up. The nurse is like 'um, his vision is 50/20' or something like that, take him to the eye doctor, he can't see, ect. I looked at her & was like "Are you serious? Now I need to add this to the list?" I'm like 'his eyesight is the least of our problems." I'm sure that wasn't the response she expected. Plus, they had some person observing the appointment. She said maybe if that is cleared up, everything else will. I looked at her and said, "Uh, no, that is not going to happen." I then said, "Could you please retest him after his appointment? Let me tell him he needs to actually look at the board and try to see what's on it." I know Murphy. He was totally guessing at the letters because he wasn't really even looking at the board. We did it after the appt and he got 20/20 vision. I told the doctor and nurses that I could now cross "going blind' off the list of issues. I then proceeded to ask them if I appeared as crazy as I sound, which made me appear even crazier.</div><div><br /></div><div>The doctor and I both agreed that we hope to find something to diagnose Murphy with, not for the need for a label, but so we can know that it is something more than he is simply a "pain in the ass." That was what his doctor actually said! That is why I love this doctor. We have the same kind of sense of humor. I may have said something like 'Yeah, if isn't anything, then he's just an asshole." Keep in mind that this was all being observed by some woman for learning purposes or something. I told her 'sorry that she got such an interesting appointment to observe'. I told her I really do love my child. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a separate meeting with the doctor as well. He gave me some info on an autism test--Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule. I am to call the place Monday to get an appointment for this as we put together the paperwork for the big eval. </div><div><br /></div><div>We don't know if it is indeed Asperger's or what, if anything. In explaining why we waited so long to even consider this, I told the doctor and assistant that Tom and I have a very high tolerance for weird.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love my wild, explosive, weird little kid. </div><div>I really do.</div><div><br /></div><div>PS My head is killing me. Bad headache, bad cold. Somehow I managed to write up this post no problem, but my responses to comments will be limited...which actually means I will write a ton. This post was originally a comment that went on so long that I just cut and pasted here. Seriously, head is killing. Must stop.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-71976154760227046802010-10-15T06:15:00.000-07:002010-10-15T06:50:05.993-07:00The Day I cried at the hair salonThe boys had haircut appointments after school. I prepped Murphy on this for days. <div><br /></div><div>We got to the place and he decided he was not going to get a haircut and he would not get out of the car. He is 9 years old. It is not like when you are dealing with a crabby 3 year old and you have to pull them out of the car. I can't get him out. He keeps locking the doors. I am only 5 feet tall so he is not that much shorter than me. Plus, how crazy it must have looked for a mom to be trying to get a non-toddler to get out of the car. We were parked in front of a coffee shop. We must have been interesting entertainment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I had to leave him in there to run up and bring Jack into the place. The hair salon people are like 'Looks like you are missing one child." I look at them and say, "Murphy won't get out of the car." Then I burst out into tears. Like sobbing. And I am so embarrassed and even more embarrassed for Jack because who's mom does this? He is in 5th grade in Middle School. They don't want their mom to embarrass them. And I am crying. And laughing. Because I look like a freaking nut. Jack suddenly got incredibly interested in some burning candles at the place and would not look over at me. The women at the place were awesome. Most of them are all moms and they have known me for years now. It is a swanky new location and it is upstairs so I keep looking out the window down at the car to check on Murphy. And to make sure no cops have come by to check out the kid alone in the car.</div><div><br /></div><div>I go back out to the car to check on Murphy. I clearly have been crying...plus, I never really stopped. Murphy, completely unfazed, asks me why I took his backpack. Then why did I take so long. I tell him, Well I burst out crying. I can't remember if he even asked me why. I gave him his backpack so he could work on his homework. And I sat in the front and cried. Is that an Asperger type response? I mean him, not me.</div><div><br /></div><div>After we got home, he ran into the house because he had to go to the bathroom. He yelled out to me because he needed me for something. I was getting all of his stuff...he took his shoes and socks off in the car. He does that a lot. Because I did not drop everything and run to him, he called me a bad word. I am so embarrassed that my sweet little boy called me this name that I can't even say it. This isn't the only part of him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I sat in the car and sobbed and sobbed. He ran out and gave me a hug and said he was sorry for treating me so badly. It was sort of a canned response though. Like he was supposed to say it. He said it and then said something else completely off topic. Then he ran back in to do his homework. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't even talk about this whole incident with him because he does not seem to really get what was not okay with it. I don't know how to fully explain this to someone who does not live this. It is like he doesn't remember. That was then, this is now. He would give me a perfectly good explanation if he even acknowledged it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday was the day I cried at the hair salon. </div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-70015531699001186242010-10-14T08:58:00.000-07:002010-10-14T09:45:21.125-07:00One Therapist DownWell, I guess we are all done with Murphy's therapist. I can't get another appointment after school until mid December. Considering Murphy didn't even come into the appointment last week, I just don't see the value in bringing him 3 months after his last appointment. I could get a 9:00 am appointment for Murphy, but then I would not send him to school that day and I just don't see it worth missing school. <div><br /></div><div>The therapist asked me what I thought the diagnosis was last time. He doesn't know. He told me that he didn't think he was helping Murphy or me. He did strongly recommend we get Murphy evaluated at the Tufts Center for Children with Special Needs in Boston. Of course, he kept messing up the name of the place and calling it this other place where one goes for therapy...which then confused me because I thought he was telling me to go to a second therapist there along with him. Huh. Oh, and he always calls Murphy by the name "Monty." Okay, dude. What is so hard for me is that some of the world's best Child Psychiatrists and therapists are an hour away in Boston. I mean, great ones...ones that write awesome books and are approachable and take appointments still. But it is an hour drive and I just don't want to do that to Murphy. It's not like Murphy looks forward to going to a therapist. It would become a whole half day excursion. And my insurance does not cover them. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess I am going to hold off on starting anything new until we get this evaluation going. That should be complete by early Spring. This all makes me feel like I am not doing enough. But life is not like in the movies. You can be a loving mom who wants to do the best for her child and still not be able to get immediate answers. Or an appointment with whom you want and when you want. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, I feel like I have Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Like there is nothing really going on here with Murphy and I am looking for problems. That certainly is not the case, but it would be so much easier if there was an actual test to give us the answers we need. Sometimes I am envious of parents who have children with an actual physical problem. 'Okay, you have asthma, here is your inhaler.' No one judges the parents and thinks that they did something wrong to create the physical ailment. There is an actual test to find out what the trouble is. But truthfully, I am so grateful both of my children are healthy. Really I am. And now I know when I go out later, I will be standing in line at the store next to a mom with a child with no legs or something. Last time I took the kids to the dentist, there was a mom there with not one, but two disabled kids. One with Downs and the other in a wheelchair. So I know I got it easy. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I was thinking about the whole thing with Mom 1 yesterday. Do I come across so crazy in my normal existence with some people that it makes them think I am overwhelmed with my kids and life? I thought I was being funny and charming. Apparently, I came off as crazed. I was just being myself. I know enough to hide some stuff. I guess I over-share, but my feeling on that is I am breaking barriers. If I don't talk about some stuff, no one will. There are a lot of moms out there struggling and have no one to be real with. I am not overwhelmed with my circumstances. They are what they are. I have patience. I am more sad in my heart than hysterical. I don't want to be perceived as frazzled or overwhelmed...not unless I really am acting like it. I know I am beating this to death, but yes, okay, I may be overwhelmed and confused about what to do with Murphy in general, but I CERTAINLY do not act like that in public with people I hardly know. It is sort of funny that whatever I said that made her 'concerned' was something not even on my radar for actual problems. She doesn't even know a twentieth of what is going on. </div><div><br /></div><div>And how did I even come up in conversation?</div><div><br /></div><div>Just getting it off my chest. My husband thanks you for listening.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(71, 74, 81); "><h1 style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.125em; color: rgb(54, 53, 52); "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></h1></span>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-85454710393196860242010-10-13T13:01:00.001-07:002010-10-13T13:50:07.093-07:00Somebody come and playI had a great conversation this morning with a woman/mom I was friends with back when Murphy was in preschool. I had not seen her in a few years because her kids were in a different elementary school, but are now at Murph's school. We will call her Mom 1.<div><br /></div><div>Back in preschool, I thought it would be the beginning of a wonderful friendship. We just seemed to really like each other. It was great until Murphy decided he did not like her son. And told him so. As in "I hate you." And then added in case there was any doubt, "No, really I do." </div><div><br /></div><div>Though the Mom 1 was low key about it (I felt like a complete ass), our friendship petered out. I mean, back in those days, you did play dates with the mom and kid. It was just awkward.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I saw her this morning. We talked for a bit. I thought it went really well and actually felt really, really happy. I was so pleased that I called Tom at work to tell him about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>At pick up today, another mom--Mom 2-- who knows both of us, kind of pulls me aside and asks if everything is going okay. I know this woman, but not at that level. Then she mentions that she saw Mom 1 today, and that Mom 1 said she was concerned about me...that I seemed frazzled with my life and with Murphy, that I seem to be overwhelmed with Murphy. I tell Mom 2 that I'm fine and that my life is no more overwhelming right now than usual. But I feel like she is looking at me funny. I say, you know me, I am just hyper and that Mom 1 must have forgotten that about me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I don't feel as happy about the 'reconnection.' I feel weird and awkward. Like I can't just be myself and keep it real without people who clearly don't get what it is like to raise a child with Special Needs thinking I am dealing well. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our journey--fucking journey--is now including much more than ADHD. We would have been lucky if that is all it was. I have loads of paperwork to do and to pass on to the pediatrician and school. I have more calls to the insurance company and the company who 'handles' the mental health portion of our health insurance. Then we will wait at minimum 3 months for the evaluations to begin. The Big Time evaluations at the hospital, not the ones they do over at the school. Oh, plus most of it is NOT covered by our insurance and so far the costs are up to 8k. We have no money. Nothing. Nothing saved for college. No hidden savings anywhere to dip into. We do have credit cards though. Waah, waah, waah. Listen to me rant. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just felt so happy. Now I just feel squashed. Like, really? Really? This is how she perceived me...as someone who seems frazzled/overwhelmed and that she needed to share that with someone else. I think I act very much like 'Go with the freaking flow', especially in public. I act like "Hey, he is who is". I crack jokes about my situation. I mean who loves to hear that your kid spends recess by himself reading at a picnic table. And that is what he wants to do. He could give a shit about hanging with the other kids. Or as he put it, "Mom, they think of me as their friend, but I don't think of them as my friends." Because he does not care, not because he wishes to be included. </div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone just wants to be understood, you know? And I truly understand that others not in our situation can not understand fully or really at all what our reality is. And that is okay. I know that. But I hate that someone is now "worried" about me. I also can't tell you how often people say to me "He looks fine to me whenever I see him." What does that even mean? It is an invisible disability. </div><div><br /></div><div>The psychologist said Murphy doesn't fit in anything cleanly (who does?). He has attentional difficulties, sensory issues, defiance issues and oh, the new one, spectrum characteristics. He is brilliant, but not functioning. But he is functioning in his own way. I now have about 12 books out about Aspergers. And yet, he doesn't really fit that fully either. He is special in multiple ways! Hurray!</div><div><br /></div><div>I got to say that Tom and I laugh our asses off all of the time. We have such a great sense of humor about life and OUR LIFE in particular. Maybe that is why I seemed overwhelmed? Because I tell it like it is, crack jokes and such. Mom 1 is British. Tom thought maybe she isn't used to someone who shares so much (although I DIDN'T this morning...I mean, it was a sort of short chit chat. I wasn't acting like it was therapy chat or anything.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Wahhh....I will shut up now and get back to this life of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-65088776298619663862010-10-05T06:17:00.000-07:002010-10-05T06:18:40.373-07:00Living the dream<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Cat pooped on the floor, child barfed on the huge Tibetan rug in the dining room, cat ate some of said barf and I literally had just told Tom, who is away for work at a resort like setting, that I was 'living my dream' and I was serious(I was trying to be upbeat about my crazy life.) How's that for a kick in the mother-effing ass. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Good morning to you</span></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-49844785860348113982010-09-16T05:04:00.000-07:002010-09-16T05:10:17.428-07:00Don't worry, you can read without feeling depressed:)More laughing than crying yesterday. <div><br /></div><div>Also, Tom has started reading the book, The Explosive Child, finally. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just so you know, even when it is crazy here...especially when it is crazy here, I am laughing. Because to quote Carrie Fisher, "If my life wasn't funny then it would just be true and that is unacceptable."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-89118303963065318602010-09-14T16:51:00.000-07:002010-09-14T17:09:18.350-07:00I know it is wrong to saySometimes I hate him.<div><br /></div><div>Really, not him, but what he does to our family. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't understand why I got dealt this card. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just hate it all.</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like I have ruined my other child's life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I better start cleaning up after the tornado that just hit.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-85222423272997001932010-08-10T07:57:00.000-07:002010-08-10T08:27:18.889-07:00EnoughI wish I could stop time. Just for a bit. <div><br /></div><div>Be here. In this moment. Well, not really just a moment. I really mean this time when my boys are on the cusp of not needing me. They think they don't need me so much anymore, but they do. More than they know.<br /><div><br /></div><div>As I listened to the thunderstorm last night, I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lay </span>in bed thinking about how much my boys have grown. Even in the last few months. I kept trying to convince myself that the years to come will move slowly. </div><div><br /></div><div>I look at their faces and still see the little baby boy. I imagine I always will. Those clear blue eyes are the same ones I looked into when I cradled them when they were so new to this world.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to snuggle on the couch with my two babies. Those days when I was always so tired that I would drift in and out of sleep as we lay there. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to set up the chairs in the dining room with the boys and pretend we are on a choo-choo train on the way to the beach. Or the ice cream stand. Or up over the mountain with our cars filled full of good things for boys and girls. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those days when that was enough. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those days when I did not have to try to pull words from my boys so I can know how their day was because I was right there with them. Every moment of the day.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>It is morning now. I sit here watching them. Just absorbing all that they are. </div><div><br /></div><div>It will have to be enough.</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-24120758237338889202010-07-31T16:29:00.000-07:002010-07-31T16:42:19.733-07:00She wasI never thought it would be like this. Motherhood, that is. <div><br /></div><div>All I ever wanted to be was a mom. When I was a kid and was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say a 'mommy.'</div><div><br /></div><div>My mom tells me things like "God wouldn't give you more than you can handle" and "You must be very special is why God has given you these challenges."</div><div><br /></div><div>But I don't feel special. I feel alone. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I am sitting in the kitchen crying to myself after Murphy just told me to get out the room he's in...and not in a nice way at all. And unless you have a child like Murphy, you could not understand that the best option was for me to leave. I know it seems like I am not disciplining him and that I shouldn't let him talk that way to me. It is just not that simple. It just is not. I have another child who does not behave like this.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder if he will ever truly know what a great mom I was. </div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8570778423507464439.post-47143884941502050982010-07-22T09:17:00.001-07:002010-07-22T09:39:38.687-07:00WhatevsWe are leaving this weekend for a week in Stowe, Vermont. I am so looking forward to it. I just want to hike and be with the mountains and my family. I really am a mountain girl at heart. I just feel so happy and at peace when there are mountains all around me. Plus, it has been cooler in VT than here. It has been so hot and muggy here that we just aren't going outside that much. And I am looking forward to some awesome maple walnut cookies at the local bakery. Strangely, the woman who owns the bakery is someone I went to college with. It is so bizarre how many people I went to either high school or college with ended up in Vermont, which is where Tom and I wish we lived. We just can't make the move right now because of the job situation and really, I don't feel comfortable leaving Murphy's school. He is in a great school with good support and not as much 'blame the mom' mentality as some other schools (at least that is what my therapist has told me.) <div><br /></div><div>We are done seeing Murphy's therapist until mid September. Dr. M. would like to start up again after school starts and re-do some testing to see whether Murphy truly has ADHD and/or what else. I am so glad actually that we are taking a break. I just felt like we were going through the motions with no action plan. I realize part of the 'action plan' is that Dr. M needs time to with Murphy and gain his trust though. But Murphy's take on it all is that Dr. M is lonely and want someone to talk to him so he has people come in and talk. Yes, he said that. He also told me that he will never scream into a pillow as Dr. M once told him that he could do if he got angry. Murphy said, "yes, I know I could, but I choose not to." </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, here's some good news, too. Murphy's swearing has really decreased since he has been off the medication. No more calling me an Effing Beast and such. Plus, he has gained 2 pounds, which is a big deal when you are underweight. </div><div><br /></div><div>I decided that after we get back from vacation I must get myself back on a plan to rid myself of excess weight. I just have not been paying attention to it at all. Plus, I have not been to the gym in a month since the kids are home. My gym is a little place that only has early morning classes(not open otherwise) and no babysitting. Yeah, yeah, I know I could do something here at home, but it has been so freaking hot and we don't have central a/c. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04244649713390780027noreply@blogger.com2