There Are No Guarantees in Life

This has become a sort of motto of mine. It’s a strange one maybe, and one that I think some people might find dire, but in my situation, it’s been the key to me moving forward. And bear with me because it’s a concept that can sound kind of depressing, but I promise you it’s something that’s helped me.

Kieran mentioned in yesterday’s post about how having a child with special needs forced you to let go of that dream you had for them when you held them in your arms at birth.

That’s so very true. It’s a grief that’s hard to talk about. Hard to define. The loss of your child’s future. Of who you thought they would be.

I remember the moment I had to start letting go of the future I imagined for my son. We’d just finished his final autism evaluation. I’d been through it with my oldest and they’d said ‘developmental delay’. But I remember knowing, even as I dug in and denied it, that wasn’t what they were going to say to me after Danger Boy’s eval.

He hadn’t looked at them through the whole process. Hadn’t played with any of the toys. I remember letting them out the door and watching the therapists drive away. And then I sat on the floor with my two year old boy and held him while I cried. And cried and cried. Nobody saw that. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone (and now I’ve told everyone! hi!).

All I could think of was: He won’t be able to have the job I thought he’d have. Will he get married? Will he have children? Will he be happy? Will he ever look at me? Will he talk?

I don’t know the answer to all of those questions yet. Yes, he looks at me. He talks quite a lot now at five, but other questions? I don’t know the answers to them.

Then a couple of years ago a man I’d been friends with in high school developed a mental illness. His marriage fell apart. He lost his job.

And I remember thinking: you never would have known that’s what the future had in store for him.

Yes, that’s a little depressing, but I turned that over and I looked at my son. My son who I worry about so very much. Who I’m afraid won’t have that future I envision, that future that is, in my mind, the perfect future, and I realize nobody has a guarantee.

A more positive spin on that is that I didn’t know I’d be a romance writer. Not in the least! I didn’t imagine falling in love and marrying at nineteen. I know for a fact it’s not what my parents thought I would do. But I did, and for me, it was the perfect future. But it’s not the one they imagined. And it’s okay.

I look at my son, or at people going through the store with their typically developed children and I get angry sometimes. At the world. At that adorable child who points and says ‘mama look!’ because my son can’t. And I mourn the future again.

Then I remind myself that I have to take it a day at a time. Even if my son were a typical child, (whatever that means) I wouldn’t really know his future. And I don’t know it now. And that’s okay. I’m free to love him today, I can hold him, he’s here with me. He hasn’t ‘lost’ anything, and neither have I.

He’s meant for something great, I believe that with all of my heart. And that greatness may not lie in a future that *I* would consider perfect. But that doesn’t mean it’s not perfect for him.

Saying goodbye to the those future dreams is hard. But they’re an illusion. The child that I have now is real, and that’s where my focus needs to be.

There are no guarantees. But there is today. Today I can hold my son. Today I can kiss him. Today he might say a new word. And if I let the future fall away, I can truly enjoy those moments.

If You Take Your Kids to the Store to Buy Milk

The other day I decided to take all three kids to the store. By myself. Well, I needed some things and it seemed the most efficient way to get it done. It seemed like it. I was wrong. The whole experience somehow reminded me of the popular children’s books “If You Give a (insert animal) a (insert baked good)”

And I created my own story. To amuse myself while I dragged them all through the store at the detriment to my mental and physical health.

Ahem. Here it is:

If you take your kids to the store to buy milk…

They’s going to be little displays of tempting things kids want everywhere.

They’re going to ask you for some toys.

When you choose the toys, you’ll realize they don’t come with batteries.

When you go to buy the batteries you’ll pass the cereal.

When the kids see the cereal they’ll want to pick some!

They’ll each want a different kind.

When you get all the cereal in your cart and continue on to the batteries, your youngest will have a meltdown about something silly.

When a passerby sees your youngest having a meltdown over something silly, they’ll look at you like you’re a terrible person.

Having a stranger look at you like you’re a terrible person will remind you of the pile of laundry sitting in your room.

Thinking of the pile of laundry sitting in your room will remind you that you need to get laundry detergent.

You’ll realize you forgot the #(*)*$% batteries.

You’ll turn around and head back toward the batteries.

On the way there your middle child will throw a fit over something stupid.

Someone will look at you like you’re a horrible person.

Being looked at like you’re a horrible person will remind you that you also need to buy your kids socks so they don’t have to have bare feet under their shoes anymore because they lost them all (not that I do that…who would do that?)

So you have to back track to socks.

After back tracking to socks you close the loop and go to check out. But you grab the batteries first.

Going to check out reminds the oldest child that he has yet to panic about anything. He decides to get upset that you didn’t buy him a watch.

Seeing their older sibling get upset will remind the other two that they need to cry too.

After you make it through check out, and make it home, you’ll have the kids help you unload the car. Unloading the car will make them thirsty. They’ll ask for some milk.

And chances are, if you went to the store with your kids to buy milk…it’s the one thing you’ll come home without.

Believing That You’re Beautiful

- I originally posted this on my personal blog, but after having a weird insecurity resurgence today, I decided to post it here too.

I was asked by a friend if I wanted to go running with her, and my husband encouraging me to go, and me violently not wanting to, I was left analyzing the issues from my past that still hang on to me. She’s able to run six miles, I’m very much not. I can’t run half a mile. But the reason that kind of thing still bothers me is because I hate being seen as physically deficient or different. I was overweight when I was in high school, and even though people were nice to me, I definitely felt different.

This whole thing is a post for another time, but for now, I wanted to share this so we could all be encouraged.

“One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. I wear colors that I really like, I wear makeup that makes me feel pretty, and it really helps. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.”

—	Gabourey Sidibe

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way we see ourselves. Partly because I’m in the early stages of a project with a perfectionist heroine who has struggled all of her life to meet the expectations of others in nearly every way, including the physical. And partly because well, it’s a struggle that’s close to my heart.

I spent all of my jr high and high school years feeling out of place. I was heavier than every girl I was friends with. And even though most everyone was nice to me, I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong with me. I was afraid people judged what I ate, and how much of it I ate. Sleepovers and parties were hard because of that.

These are silly little issues I still carry a piece of with me. Because those thoughts and fears were so much a part of my formative years. The fear of judgment. The fear that people looked at me and saw only the things I perceived to be flaws.

The internet certainly doesn’t help things like this. It’s so easy to be negative from the keyboard. To pass judgment on models and actresses, to criticize their bodies from the comfort of our own homes in our sweats. (I was actually guilty of this last night on twitter re, a male actor, I don’t feel like I can point all this out without confessing that I fall into the criticism mindset)

But tweets and blog posts that are so harsh on celebrities I think confirm the insecure person’s worst fear: That people are that judgmental. That they probably do look at ME and think unkind things about my body or my big nose or whatever.

But then I come to Gabouray’s quote. And I smile. Because she’s right. It doesn’t matter what anyone else on the whole earth thinks, except for you. And when you value yourself as beautiful, or your work as worthwhile and good, then you’ll start to feel like it is.

We can’t wait for approval from outside sources. Either on our physical looks, or our other efforts.

I’m not even worried about whether or not that might make someone full of themselves, because the vast majority of women I know don’t struggle with that. They struggle with insecurities. With the feeling that they are somehow not good enough as they are. That their work isn’t good enough, their bodies aren’t good enough. And it’s a tragedy.

We all have value. We’re all here for a purpose. We’re all made beautifully. Not all the same, but beautifully. Mind and body.

We’re so often our own biggest critics, our own biggest bullies, when we could be our own biggest champion. The support of others is great, but it’s something that can be taken away. What no one can take from you is the strength inside of you. No one can change the way you feel about you, unless you let them.

I know this is all very touchy feel for me, but that’s ok.  I’m tired of the idea that we’re obligated to be self-deprecating. That we’re bad people if we’re comfortable in our own skin because that must mean we have ego issues. *eye roll* Pretty much I want to buy the world a Coke and tell every woman I hand one to that she’s flipping beautiful and the world and Photo Shop,and airbrushing can suck it.

But since I don’t have that much Coke money…Give yourself permission to be happy with what you’ve got. And decide today that you’re beautiful.

A Letter To My Daughter

You are beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on all your sides. And there will be a lot of people who say you aren’t. That’s because they feel bad about themselves. Or maybe because their mom didn’t tell them they were beautiful. I don’t know. But I know that what they say doesn’t change the truth. And that is that you’re fearfully and wonderfully made. That God took great delight in fashioning you, and that you are utter perfection, to him and to me.

You don’t have to fit into a box. You don’t have to be one thing. Be a superhero. And be a princess.

You were made to be great. You’ve been given dreams and talents so that you’ll follow them, use them. Your gifts are yours alone, and if you don’t use them, no one else in the world can, not quite like you. So make a splash with them. Share them. Spread them all over like glitter that the world will never be able to wash off (you know how glitter is.)

Friends are wonderful gifts. Some of your friends will last all of your life, and some of them for only a short time. That’s okay. It’s part of life. It’s part of growing. Losing friends is hard, especially to those Jr High and High School type situations. The ones where they say mean things and make you feel like you fail at life all because they won’t be your friend anymore. But you’ll make new friends. Better friends.

You’ll worry about boys for the rest of your life. So start as late as you can. Play with dolls. Play with stuffed animals. Play in the dirt with your brothers. Play fetch with your dog. Wear striped leggings and a polka dot dress because you want to, and don’t worry about what anyone thinks.

Speaking of boys, the boys in high school aren’t worth your time. Trust me on this. I know you’re going to waste time on them anyway, but I consider it my duty to tell you: they aren’t done baking yet. They’re going to be frogs for a few more years, no matter how many times you kiss them. My advice is to just hold off on kissing them. Make them come to you a prince already. Because heaven knows, you’re a princess.

Confidence is beautiful, don’t let insecure people tell you differently. Believe in yourself. And when you can’t, know that me, and your dad, and your brothers, and uncle and grandparents, will be behind you believing in you for you.

Stand firm in your convictions. Your friends might make fun of you, but that’s okay. If you know who you are, and what you want. Don’t let other people change you into the version of you they’re most comfortable with. Be the you that you want to be, and blaze the trail down your own path.

Tell me everything. I promise not to get mad. Well, I promise to keep my blow-up short and sweet, and then have a meaningful conversation with you. But I’d rather know what you’re doing, than be kept in the dark. I’d rather be able to support you, than let you go through something alone. Even if I don’t agree with your choices. Because no matter what, I’m on your side.

Toilet papering houses is great. Filling a boy’s car with balloons and saran wrapping it shut is better. (because no matter what I say, you’ll like those dumb high school boys. So you might as well torment them a little. I’ll probably drive the getaway car. My mom did it for me.) Learn to laugh at yourself. Spin around in open fields of grass. Look at the stars. Read books under the covers with a flashlight.

Be fierce. Be independent. Be whatever you want to be. As someone once said: Don’t be like the rest of them, darling.

And know that when I look at you, I’ll always see the baby you were. The girl you are. The woman you’ll be. And that I love you.

In Which I Blog About Romance Again

Well, I’m a romance writer and…come on, it’s Valentine’s Day.

Edit: I wanted to add this upfront, I understand that giving marriage advice is dicey. There is not a one size fits all solution to marriage. I’m not in anyone’s marriage but mine. If you feel like some of this post rings true for you, then that’s fantastic. If not, then it isn’t pointing a finger at you, or putting you down in any way. I felt like that was important to add!

So, I was perusing the webs, as one is wont to do, and I came across a poem, (I was going to link you, honestly, but I can’t find it again. ARGH) spoofing the non-children’s book Go the F*&^% to Sleep, and it’s called, Let Me Go the F&^*& to Sleep. It’s about wife who’s tired and wants her husband to stop touching her and let her to the eff to sleep.

It was funny, and I’m not going to be one of those people who can’t appreciate the funny of it just because I disagree with…most of it. Because humor is humor, and we naturally want to go BIG with humor, because that’s what makes it funny.

So, I’m not picking on the woman who wrote this. BUT…it got me thinking.

It’s really easy to make those kinds of jokes. It’s in so many sitcoms. A woman with a headache is basically as cliche and well worn as a cop with a donut. The husband always wants sex, the wife has a headache. (By the way, orgasms have been known to take headaches away so…) The rejection of the husband, the annoyance of the wife at his advances, is played for laughs, and no feelings are hurt.

This is actually something that bothers me. A lot. Because, darn it, you guys, if my husband acted like he just wasn’t that into me it would not be something I could brush off. If every time I touched him he reacted in annoyance, or like I was asking too much of him, it would affect me deeply.

Why doesn’t my husband find me attractive? Why doesn’t he want me? What did I do?

Sex in our society is such a funny thing. It’s played for laughs and to make people cringe. It offends, it shocks, it titillates. Sex as an act of love isn’t shown very often. Romance novels are the medium that show it most, I think, and they’re derided and put on the same level as porn which, I don’t know about you, but last time I checked was not about deep emotional connections.

We’ve removed sex from what it is in popular culture. An act of bonding, an act of love (and fun, heck yeah, but it’s these deep things too!).

So when we smack our husband’s hand away, we’re rejecting sex…but what if we’re rejecting a showing of love? Or his reaching out and seeking to bond? What if he feels like we’re rejecting HIM? Again, if I came onto him and he pushed me away, I would be peeved. I would feel rejected, I WOULD feel like my love was being rejected.

And ladies, this is obviously a blog whose primary audience is women, so we’re in the hot seat in this post, but this does go for men who do this to their wives as well. Marriage is a two way street, and one person can’t do all the work. I’m not trying to be accusatory at all, and clearly we all have different situations and different marriages. Some situations are much more complicated than this and there are other hurts that are preventing intimacy, and I do understand that. To those people, this clearly isn’t for you.

But I am guilty of the the occasional thoughtless rejection. A resentful eye roll when he tries to pull me to him and kiss me in the middle of the day cuz I AM BUSY AND STUFF. And I love my husband. I am guilty of feeling like ‘why are you asking this of me at the end of a long day?’ Well, why am I denying him closeness at the end of his long day? Why am I copping attitude when he’s showing me love in his way? Do I only want his demonstrations of love on my terms and when I’m ready to accept them? That’s not fair at all.

It’s easy to say that this isn’t important, or until we work out A and B, sex doesn’t need to be a priority. But I think it should be. Because it’s something you share as a husband and wife that you don’t share with anyone else. It’s one of the unique and beautiful things in your relationship and that nobody else has with you or with him.

Just like we need to feel wanted and attractive, desire and loved, our husbands need to feel that too.

That funny poem got me pondering this whole thing from a different angle. Strange how that works.

Happy Valentines Day! And I hope you feel the love.

Keeping Things Romantic

Romance is a hard thing to squeeze in around kids. And romance is my day job, so that’s saying quite a lot if I, who spends hours a day contemplating shirtless rakes and blistering love scenes, suffer from the same romance BLERGH that every parent feels.

Granted, my job helps with that. I have excuses to focus on love, and why the relationship between you and that one special person is something to be treasured.

But even romance writers get the THERE ARE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE blues. My husband and I haven’t been on a date since The Hobbit came out. Before that it was in July. I know Robyn was blogging about this the other day. I share her pain. Time alone is a luxury. And we have out special needs boy, which compounds the problem of us being able to find someone to watch our children so we can escape for a bit.

Of course, my husband and I are also both home during the day which means we DO see each other a lot, but in passing. And if he comes into the office TOO many times during an afternoon I start to get that cranky, resentful hunch at my keyboard, which lasts through out the day and is like a big neon DON’T TOUCH ME sign, I am sure.

But we all know what the obstacles are. Dirty diapers, shrieking kids, opposing schedules, etc. But what about how to combat them? I think I’m the ‘newlywed’ of the blog group, at a shy seven years (no itch, shockingly), but we’ve been through a lot of rapid life changes and challenges and we’ve always managed to come through it clinging tighter to each other.

Plus, I write romance. Trust me.

This is my Maisey List of Things That Have Helped My Marriage Stay Romantic:

1. I read romance. Really, that does help. I discovered romance novels while pregnant with our 2nd child. In addition to them being sexy, that didn’t hurt, they also reminded me of why romance is so great. They made me truly appreciative of what I had in my husband, and that was a very helpful thing.

2. We laugh. About stupid things. Last night we were awake at 1:30 in the morning, cracking up over my incredibly immature jokes.

3. We are honest. He knows what’s up with me, I know what’s up with him. He knows me, more than anyone else on earth knows me. And I know him.

4. Without TMIing…we don’t let intimacy slip. We don’t do the scheduling per se, though I think that’s a great idea, but we have rules. And we follow them.

5. We get mad at each other. This took a while. We both used to hold it in because we didn’t want to have any waves or admit that we’d FAILED and disagreed. Now we just let it out and I think we’re much healthier for it. And it’s sort of a part of…

6. We share things. Bless my husband he shares technical details of music engineering that I do not understand, and I bless my heart, I will summarize a romance novel for him. Or read him an excerpt. I know neither of us REALLY get it. But we share it. And the other one at least tries to pay attention.

7. My husband is awesome.

8. We do things together. *awkward segue*

Oh look, we did this together! We combined his music (he wrote the music, the lyrics, did the recording, the engineering and played all the instruments) and a little of mine (I showed up and sang into a mic) and my romance novels and made something that I’m really proud of. One way we stay in harmony (ha) and your husband writing you a song really does help keep things romantic.

I hope you enjoy the song! And I would so appreciate if you would share your tips on how you keep things romantic in the comments.

Edit to include book info: Unbuttoned is the first book in my Silver Creek series, and it’s a novella with Berkley’s new InterMix imprint! It’s out June 18th and here is the cover blurb:

Carly Denton has learned to keep her buttons and emotions firmly fastened. Her parents’ constant drama, and an unrequited crush on her brother’s best friend, taught her to keep her passion beneath the surface. But she can no longer avoid the one man with the ability to bring that passion to a boil…

Lucas remembers Carly as a freckle-faced tomboy—not a frosty woman who treats him like a burr under her saddle. But when they have to work together on a charity project, Lucas is shocked to find their bickering melt into some serious mutual attraction. He’s determined to show Carly that he’s the man for her, if only she’d learn to let loose.

Lucas is the last man on earth Carly should give in to. The freedom she finds in his arms has her feeling happier than ever, but is it enough to make her realize that the greatest risk isn’t losing your heart, but losing the chance at happiness?

 

Happy New Year!!

The close of one year and dawning of a new one is such an awesome time for reflection. We’ve taken a quick look back at the year that was and then turned our attention to the year ahead of us. Lots of fun and excitement, and several things we’re really ready to leave behind.

What about you? What’s your best of 2012? What are happy to leave behind? What are you most looking forward to in 2013?

Shana Galen

• Best of 2012:  The Hunger Games movie. It exceeded my expectations.
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  All the talk about 50 Shades of Grey
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  The Host movie. I loved the book.
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  The fiscal cliff. I need my deductions!
• Biggest wish for 2013:  That my family and friends stay healthy.

Maisey Yates

• Best of 2012:  The Hobbit. It took me back to high school. I loved Lord of the Rings so much and this evoked the same feelings.
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The election year. GET OFF MY FACEBOOK WALL.
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  I’m going to Australia, and I’ve never been! So exciting
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Honey Boo Boo’s show still being in existence. Why is this a thing?
• Biggest wish for 2013:  For my family to be happy and well-taken care of. For my kids to move forward and keep growing and developing. For my husband to be joyful in his new role, and me to be happy and responsible in mine. And for me to SHOW them how much I love them. Every day.

Kieran Kramer

• Best of 2012:  The Summer Olympics
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The ceaseless media coverage of the Presidential election
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  Kate and Will’s baby (babies?)
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Not a thing. I’m Irish. We believe in self-fulfilling prophecies, so I’ve decided 2013 is going to be a great year all-around!

Ellie James

• Best of 2012:  20^th anniversary trip with my husband, ten amazing, sun-filled days, just us!
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The whole nightmare of Saints bounty-gate and the excruciating season that ensued!
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  A tie between getting date night back on our calendar and bringing a new Young Adult series to life!
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Seeing my former favorite baseball player playing for our arch rival L
• Biggest wish for 2013:  For softer edges. For more compassion and forgiveness. For the world to take a step back and a simultaneous deep breath. For less hate and aggression. More gentleness. More understanding. And love. Lots and lots of that.

Elise Rome

• Best of 2012: SuperGirl becoming potty-trained.
• Happy to Leave in 2012:  That ridiculously hot summer without A/C
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  WonderGirl becoming potty-trained (hey!
it’s the little things, right? =)
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  The next Downton Abbey season ending
*cries*

Robyn Dehart

• Best of 2012: The Hunger Games trilogy – I was late to the party, but the 2 weeks I spend reading these books were a highlight!
• Happy to leave in 2012: The election (living with a political science professor means election years are like superbowls that last for months)
• Most looking forward to in 2013: I have 4 books coming out! I’ve never had that many books out in one year
• Least looking forward to in 2013: Whatever new reality spectacle will be next – I wish our culture wasn’t so intent on getting their 15 min of fame
• Biggest wish for 2013:  That I would become at all the roles in my life: wife, mother, writer, housekeeper.

Emily McKay

• Best of 2012:  The release of The Farm, my first single title YA. It’s been super fun. YA fans aren’t like romance fans. Romance fans just kind of quietly read and enjoy the books without a lot of fanfare. YA fans find you on Goodreads, email you privately and follow you on Facebook. It’s such fun!
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The presidential election! I just could stand the stress. Plus, I hate feeling like the country is divided.
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  The movie Warm Bodies. Years ago I had an idea similar to this, but could never make it work, so I just can’t wait!
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  My baby starting kindergarten. I’m just not ready for that!
• Biggest wish for 2013: To manage my time better. I’d like to be more efficient.

 

My Family Doesn’t Look Like Your Family

Or hey, maybe it does! But it doesn’t look like everyone’s. It’s not normal. But then, what is normal, right?

This idea of normal and the fact that I don’t seem to fit into it, used to bother me a little bit. I mean, I didn’t think it did, but…what other people thought was more of a concern than it should be.

January 1st marks the beginning of a new chapter in my family. My husband is quitting his job. I’m going to be the primary earner. Well…basically the sole earner.

We reached the point a few months ago where we saw this coming. The fact of the matter is, it makes sense for us. With two jobs, our schedule is insane. Neither of us are ever caught up, we never see each other. One of us is always working. A nanny or babysitter, while not simple for anyone, is especially complicated for us because we have one boy with autism and one with ADHD. And of the two jobs, mine is the better job.

So, we came to this point. And as we were discussing it, what other people might thing came up. Heck, there were people who offered opinions. People who were concerned my husband wouldn’t feel valuable. That we wouldn’t be portraying a good family model for our kids.

That kind of stuff is a little demoralizing, and yeah, you start to question your decisions.

And then we both kind of went: Wait…WHAT?

Our situation is not everyone else’s situation. No one else has to deal with our schedule, no one else has our kids. We’ve been blessed, I think exceedingly so, with the things we have. And one of those blessings is my career.

There came a point when I realized, I think part of the reason life is so insane, part of the reason we we’re keeping it this way, is for the sake of other people. That makes…no sense.

My family is mine. They are different. Our situation is different. But truly, isn’t everyone’s?

Ultimately the happiness and health of your family is SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than looking normal (whatever that is).

I know it’s hard for some people to understand. I know I’ll feel the need to justify the fact that my husband is a stay at home dad. I know sometimes people will make me feel like I’m not doing ‘my job’ and he’s not doing his. But hey, don’t people do that no matter what you do?

I can’t express how much freedom I’ve found over the past month or two just embracing the fact that my family isn’t normal. My family is the Yates family. We only have to look like us. We only have to function for us.

I mean, for heaven’s sake, we’re a bi-racial couple with three kids, two with special needs, my husband was raised on a school bus and I’m a romance writer. We never had much hope of looking normal, but we have every hope of being happy.

And that’s all that matters.

So, this is my battle cry, for you and for everyone: Be happy. Don’t worry about what anyone else things. Make your family work for you.

I’m really looking forward to this next phase of our adventure. Our family doesn’t look like everyone else’s family, but it looks pretty perfect to me.

Some Days I Don’t Want to Talk About It

Danger is almost five now, which means his delays are becoming a lot more obvious. When a two year old won’t answer your questions, you write it off. When a five year old won’t…well…

This is ushering in a new and interesting phase of The Autism Challenge.

I live in a small town, and I love it. People are friendly, they talk to you. Cashiers offer your kids stickers. It’s great. But…

But there’s Danger.

People in line try to talk to him, and he doesn’t talk back. The cashier tried to give him a sticker, and he doesn’t look. They want to know why he’s not potty trained yet when I take him to church (we’re actually making progress on that front!) people stare when he makes his happy noises.

And I have to answer. “He can’t tell you his name.” “Sorry, he probably can’t answer. He has autism.”

I didn’t consider this part of the equation. I’m sort of used to him (except the wandering…that I could do without, but that’s a whole other post…) and when he makes a triumph at home, we all understand it, because we know what he’s working with. We get excited when he points to something and says ‘this!’ because that’s progress and it’s amazing.

The outside world doesn’t understand that as progress for a nearly five year old boy. As the well meaning pastor in the kid’s wing at church said regarding the potty training: I’m sure you’re working on it.

And I wanted to yell at him. I WANT THE CHILD TO LEARN TO SAY WORDS. I WANT HIM TO LOOK ME IN THE EYES. POTTY TRAINING BE DARNED!!

But the outside world only understand how kids are ‘supposed’ to develop. When we go out there, we’re working with a deficit in their eyes. Not like here, where a two word sentence is the best thing ever.

But when we go somewhere, that’s not the case. People don’t see what he can do. They see what he can’t do.

And you get the people who don’t want to believe you when you say he has autism. “Is he a younger sibling? His brother probably talks for him.” (Yeah, well, except his brother had a horrible speech delay and didn’t speak until three…) Or I get looks of wide-eyed sympathy and questions like ‘do you think he’ll ever be able to live on his own?’

Well, gee, I don’t know. He’s five. Does it seem like your five year old can live on his own right now? No, it doesn’t seem like it. But in twenty years? Who knows.

These people are well-meaning. They certainly don’t mean me any harm, but some days…I don’t want to talk about it. And it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to NOT talk about it when I go out with him. I find myself staying home more. I can’t go to play date things because of the wandering…and if I did? Well, we’d still end up talking about it.

I’m aware this post has a certain bit of irony to it, since I’m talking about it. But then…sometimes you HAVE to talk about it. Or at least be honest about the way it affects your life.

I think the hardest part of it is knowing people look at your child and see what he lacks. He’s the most beautiful boy. He doesn’t deserve for people to see what he can’t do. The autism of course helps insulate HIM from those concerns…but not me.

This is a new phase we’re in, one I’ll do doubt get used to. But it’s one I didn’t really anticipate. One where your personal struggles, your life, feels more exposed to everyone you come into contact with.

Have you run into stages like this? With special needs or typical kids? Where you felt like you were, for some reason, more prone to stranger comments?

And on a completely different note…

A blogger friend of mine is supporting Charity:Water this holiday season. Right now, she’s doing a comment drive. People have pledged to donate money, just for your comments! Here are some of the offers:

• Limecello is going to give $300 if they reach 1,000 comments.
• Cecilia Grant will give $1 per comment up to 100 comments
• The Romance Manwill give $50 when we reach 250 comments will match Limecello’s $300 if we get to 1,000 comments!!!
• C2 will give $150 when they reach 500 comments
• Farrah Rochon will give $10 for every 100 comments

So please, go, comment and find out more about Charity:Water and what you can do!

Murphy’s Law of Husband’s Leaving Town

So, my husband was gone all of last week. NBD, I thought, because we do this every year. Frankly, he gets left home alone with the kids a lot more often than I do, and he always survives quite nicely. Even I’ve survived quite nicely in the past. (Okay, so last year I blew a fuse in the kitchen and ended up making pancakes on the griddle in my living room, with my coffee maker plugged in on my desk BUT WHATEVER WE’LL IGNORE THAT INCIDENT.)

But this time, oh, this time.

Well, to start off, we’re potty training the two youngest children. I say we, there is no I in team after all, but there was an *I* this week when I was left alone to do it myself. Side note: There is no ‘wine’ in potty training either, but there SHOULD BE.

So, to start it off, I’ve got two potty training kids. Then, the day my husband leaves, Danger decides it is really cool to climb out his brother’s window. The window goes to the fenced in yard, fine, whatever, but I ended up with a FLY infestation as a result of the frequently open window. Like 20 flies in my kitchen. So I had to hang up fly strips, which is not pretty, FYI. >.>

Other than that, the weekend was okay. Enter Monday. Diva broke both pairs of glasses, Danger made the world’s biggest shaving cream mess, and the pair of them decided my creamer makes an awesome drink and every time I left the room they were pouring themselves glasses of my pumpkin spice creamer, and making massive sticky messes every time. Then Danger would jump out the window. By nightfall it was raining, our first hard rain of the year, and I discovered our new house has a massive leak in the roof. And then I did this: 

By the end of the day, I’m exhausted, and I have to get up 6:00 to get drama to school. So I fall asleep and I sleep like a rock. Until I wake up at 4:00 because the husband’s amp has spontaneously turned itself on and is emitting a high pitched whining noise that probably made our poor dog’s ears bleed. I get up, turn it off, go back to sleep.

And then at 5:00…

*scratchscratchscratch*

I wake up to that.

*scratchscratchscratch*

WTH!?

*scratchscratchscratch*

I’m all kinds of freaked out, clutching my covers to my chest in utter terror, because, let’s face it, I’m the only adult in this house and this is NOT THE MOST SECURE THING EVER. Because WHO IS GOING TO PROTECT US FROM BURGLARS!? Surely not me. I’m weak, and I have tiny t-rex arms!! THINK OF THE CHILDREN.

*scratchscratchscratch*

Okay, not a burglar. But probably a mouse. EWWW.

Unless it’s not a mouse. Unless it’s a wolverine. In the closet. CHEWING ON A CAT CORPSE. (totally not dramatic, that’s what it sounded like. Exactly. Google that sound effect if you can: Wolverine chewing on a cat corpse. I bet it is a real thing, and I bet it sounded JUST LIKE HOW THIS MOUSE IN MY CLOSET SOUNDED)

So I just gave up and got up. Exhausted, already cranky. And thus, began the longest day. But I did eat cookies for breakfast in protest of how JACKED UP the day started.

I can hardly even break it into specific incidents but it basically felt like the prisoners had revolted and the guard was under attack. Finally, I loaded everyone up and we went to town. We got Diva’s glasses repaired. And NO JOKE twenty minutes later, Danger stepped on them getting out of the fan and torqued them beyond repair. *cries*

That day, when I got home…this happened: 

Wednesday I got revisions AND line edits from my editor. Which I was SO looking forward to, but had no time to do, which, for me, is its own kind of hell.

This is that Murphy’s Law stuff. The husband goes out of town and the world explodes. (Because he’s back now and they’re acting like fricking angels and the wolverine has totally not returned, so whatever.)

It’s funny how often I feel like I’m so TOTALLY A GROWN UP NOW. Only deep down, I’m kind of not. Or maybe this is what being a grown up is. Maybe it’s not handling everything perfectly, or feeling like you just HAVE IT DOWN. Maybe it’s not so different than being a kid.  Except, now when I’m mad at life I can eat cookies for breakfast. Yes, I can. You’re not my real mom.

That’s actually one thing I love love about this blog, this group, and the greater online community. I know I’m not the only one ready to pull their hair out at the end of the day sometimes. I’m not the only one who wants to hide in a closet with the last Snickers bar because I DON’T WANNA SHARE. I’m human, and sometimes I’m immature, or tired, or worn to a frazzle, but so is everyone. And it doesn’t mean I failed. It doesn’t mean you failed either.

But if there’s a wolverine in your closet you might wanna get it looked at.