Wednesday, April 29, 2015

It's not about denial. It's about survival.

"Aren't you angry? Autism keeps stealing our kids!"

Every time I hear or read this I have this image of some one dressed up in a big foam letter "A" costume ringing my doorbell and pulling the old switcheroo with my boy.

"We've secretly replaced Mama Fry's son with Folger's Crystals.  Let's see if she can notice the difference."

Yeah, I can tell he's different and I'm betting if you spend more than a minute with him, you would see it too.  Am I mad about it?  Depends on the day you ask me.  Okay, maybe like the hour you ask me.

I get being angry.  Hell, I've been angry and I'm sure I will be again many times over. All feelings are valid but I also know they are just that, feelings.  Not instructions.  Not set in stone.  Just a moment in time.  I can chose to stay stuck in that feeling or shift it.  It really is up to me because I've noticed a few things.

Anger doesn't get the laundry done.  Despair doesn't get the dinner prepared.  Depression doesn't play with my son.  Sadness doesn't clean my bathroom.

Now I can use that anger for good.  It's great for lighting a fire under my ass when I have crap to fix.  After calling my son's doctor for the third time that day yesterday (and once the day before) to stop blowing off my son's much needed medication refill I harnessed that rage and made it my beotch.  It's amazing when you tell the receptionist who giggles that she forgot again (and yes, isn't that hilarious!?) to call in your son's prescriptions that you will be dropping off your unmedicated child to her home for the weekend how fast her butt will hustle.   In fact she will gladly put you on hold while she gets on the other line to call them in right now!

As you can tell by that exchange, I'm not just walking around all day singing sunshine and lollipops.  I just sprinkle out the rage here and there.  If I did it all the time, it would just become white noise that no one would pay attention to after a while.

Yeah, the future for my son is scary as fuck. I'm not going to sugar coat it.  I can't help prepare him for it by stuck in a moment of fear.  I won't deny I'm not frightened or worried or I'm looking into becoming a vampire because that immortality thing would sure come in handy for being around forever for him.

I'm not in denial. I'm just trying to survive.  Just like you.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Bursting some bubbles

I get it. You want to fix it. You're worrying about your kid falling behind. You're trying to hurry and catch up with the rest of the pack.

There's gong to come a point though when it's never going to be enough.  Your kid won't catch up to their typical peers.  I'm not saying that this won't sting or hurt.  It sucks but if you are open to it, you'll realize your kid is going to take their own path.  If you're smart, you'll follow them. They know where they're going.

I'm not going to sugar coat this.  It's not going to get easier.  Each new age will come with it's own new challenges. So just when you get use to one, BAM!  Time to LEVEL UP PUNK! However, the more rounds you go, the more you are going to get used to ducking and weaving. You'll have more in your arsenal for each battle.

You won't just think outside that box.  You'll create that muthaluvin' box.

Kiddo and I are staring down age eleven.  The same age of the autistic students I used to teach prevocational training too.  I'm not going to lie. It's. Freaking. Me. OUT! I thought I had a good old fashioned breakdown when the word "autism" was first mentioned when he was barely two.  Eight years of this under my belt and I'm still just as clueless as to what is going to come down the pike but at the same time kind of familiar with it.

Sometimes I can stop the meltdown before it starts.  I see what's brewing and know what to do to distract it.  Other times, well, The Kiddo reminds me who's boss here and it ain't me.  I'm just the staff.  Oddly enough even with those surprises, I'm getting sort of used to it.  

It's hard to go from the "Got to solve the problem" mentality to "OK. I guess we're just living with this now. Might as well get used to it."  I still struggle with it but I've also accepted our fate with this.  Anyone saying "But yeah, what if they offered you a pill to make the autism go away?" I say this, The Kiddo wouldn't even take the pill.  Literally. He does not swallow pills.  At all.  (Damn I wish he would.  Seriously. Not even a Tylenol!)  So I really see no point of even entertaining those kinds of conversations.

I may not always be happy with our situation but I'm always happy with The Kiddo.  That's the only thing that gets me through on those hard days.

That and another side of fries of course. :-)

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Stuck in a moment

"I'm not afraid
Of anything in this world
There's nothing you can throw at me
That I haven't already heard" 

Stuck In A Moment-U2

Well, that was till I became an autism blogger Bono.  That's okay. You didn't know that. You were too busy being a rock star and saving the world and all.  Can we switch jobs for a week?  We really have so much in common.  We're both Irish.  We both like wearing sunglasses.  We both work with someone who's name starts with a definite article. (The Edge. The Kiddo.)  My paycheck is slightly less but whatever.  It's like we're twins! 

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm trying to figure out who I am. Also, who I have become.  With a sprinkling of what am I going to do next.  

You see, I was prepared to be my husband's wife.  I was as ready as any first time mom could be for The Kiddo.  I was not at all ready to be "Mama Fry".  I'm not even sure who first coined that term.  Unlike Bono, I didn't pick that name.  It just showed up and like any good nickname, it stuck.  

I certainly wasn't ready for the questions that came after I started writing.  I get a little uncomfortable with that.  I'm no expert.  Not even in The Kiddo.  Hell, he surprises me all the flipping time.  He ate calamari over the weekend.  I don't even eat that!  I guess I"m up next for feeding therapy.  That's cool. I love my son's therapist.  We'll go out for beers for my session. I'm sure she'll be cool with it.  If you all saw the screeching banshee mess that I am most days in my house, I'm not so sure you'd be following me.  

"And you are such a fool
To worry like you do, oh no
I know it's tough
And you can never get enough
Of what you don't really need now, my, oh my"

I get so super excited to share things with you.  You just GET IT.  I don't have to explain it.  You know the work and the worry to went into each event and activity.  I don't want it to come off as bragging or showing off.  I just want to share it with someone who gets why I'm so freaking happy something finally wasn't hard.  I feel guilty though. Like when someone comments how they wish their kid did that.  I get that.  I get their wish for that something to be a bit easier in their kid's life.  Just trust me when I say there are plenty of times someone leaves a comment of what their kid can finally do and I find myself green with envy.  Like if he would actually swallow a pill, I would be the happiest girl on the planet.  

Plus I worry about what I am sharing.  Some areas and topics, I'm never going to talk about.  In some areas, I need privacy.  I"m not doing it to leave you out. I'm not hiding.  I'm not faking "Keeping it real", some things I just need for me.  

It's just a moment. This time will pass. 

You promise Bono?  Cause I've been doing this blogging thing for a while now and I'm wondering what's next with it.  You know what's getting old?  Covering up my name but at the same time I worry for my Kiddo's privacy and safety.  I keep thinking "When someone cuts me a check, then I'll put my name on it."  Of course that comes with someone then claiming "She's selling out!".  To which I say "Bitch, do you pay my bills? No?  That's what I thought.  STFU." 

So what' s next?  I've done podcasting, YouTubing, guest posting elsewhere. blogging  and by golly, I even made a t shirt.  So now what?  I do know I have make it happen on my own.  Despite my stalk tweeting Oprah, I doubt she's going to hand me a TV deal. (But don't let that stop you if you were O.)
Time for more writing.  Right after I make the next side of fries.