Just another trip to the store

Dear Employees and Customers at Dick's Sporting Goods on the Pike who were there from 5-6pm on Tuesday, June 28, 

Thank you for not making a very difficult situation worse. 

Looking back, all the signs were there. On the way to the store, Sawyer said he didn't feel well. I carried him in and he felt warm. There were also storm clouds coming and impending rain somehow discombobulates him. (I realize that sounds crazy, but ask other Moms of Special Needs kids, I bet at least one will tell you the same.) Dick's is far enough away from home that once there, I did not want to leave without the lawn game Charlie had been begging for, the cheer shorts Josie needed for camp, a pair of cleats that were not falling apart for Lyra, and perhaps a basketball net for the pool.  At best, I should've postponed the trip for another day, at worst, I should have gotten in and out as quickly as possible, but I saw a friend.

If you Google the word, this is what you get:  Friend /frend/ noun - a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection.

If you ask me, this is what I would say:  A lifeline.  A person for whom I care about but am not in charge of raising.  Someone who knows my situation, my chaos, my neurotic tendencies yet, still likes me enough to talk to me anyway, usually in a kind and reassuring manner!

Stupidly, I talked to said friend for far longer than I should have. I know better, but sometimes my craving for contact with others beyond my kids is so strong that I get selfish.  I am that person who texts too much, needing to know there is life beyond my four walls and yet not enough time for a normal phone call or conversation.  The kids did fine initially.  Yes, I had all 5. (Should I start numbering the reasons this trip was a fail?)

The kids were getting restless and I figured it was time to get serious.  Charlie and Sawyer had played a game with a friend about two weeks ago.  Kuub or something.  Since then, Charlie has asked EVERY DAY if we could go buy it.  I refused, but then found an unused VISA gift card from Christmas which I could use to pay for it. I looked in every store in Carlisle with no luck. I promised the trip to Dick's to finally purchase the thing and get him off my back. 

I sent Lyra off to find some cleats, Josie off to look for her shorts after pulling up the email to see what colors were required, Tali was admiring herself in a baseball hat, and I went to see if they had this game that was invading my ability to have a conversation with my son about anything else!  I told the boys they could go to the putting green as that is the reason that Dick's is the sports store of choice.

While I was in aisle 258 looking at the dwindling supply of lawn games, Sawyer apparently whacked several golf clubs baseball style with the putter in his hand after losing a game to Charlie.  The winner ran up first stumbling over his words- from the sounds of it, Sauce had taken down the entire golf dept and perhaps tennis too. I sent one of the girls to surmise the damage and report back to me.  Sawyer glared at me when he arrived repeating, "Not Fair, Not Fair, Not Fair." He dropped to the floor in a ball and sat muttering to himself quietly while the rest of us debated the merits of a pool basketball hoop that also doubles as a volleyball net VS a more durable hoop that is twice the cost. The consensus was to wait, maybe they would go on sale.  I hated to do that to them, but at that moment, I had to agree.

Once that was decided and I was informed that there seemed to be no permanent damage to the store, it's merchandise, any employees or customers- I announced we were leaving.  I told Sawyer that he would need to come with me to apologize to the employees in the golf section of the store.  He said, "NO!" with a tone that exhausted me.  This was not going to be good.  

I am trying to keep from playing the Special Needs card with Sawyer.  He's the youngest, he's spoiled and so many times I don't have the energy to parent him the way I would my other kids. There, I said it!  I will own the fact that he gets away with shit because I am tired.  But, in an effort to hold him accountable, I've been working on leveling the playing field.  I told him again he would have to apologize.  He kicked off his slides in my direction.  Honestly, I don't know if they even hit me.  Josie asked for the keys and said she would take Sawyer to the car.  It would've been easier, yes, but I knew I should really follow through.  I gave her the keys and permission for any of the others to bail right then and there.  She was the only one who left.

I picked up Sawyer, (sometimes my ability to carry 50 lbs of dead weight impresses even me) and we walked toward the other side of the store.  I told the kids to meet us at the registers.  I didn't say anything until Sawyer asked where we were going.  I told him to apologize and again he said, "No."  I sent a quick plea to Mary, Jesus' Mom, for strength and continued through the store.

We arrived in the forest of clubs and all the employees were with customers.  I knew I didn't have much of a window so after a quick and calculated scan of my options, I went to the female employee at the counter who was talking to a woman about my age who looked like a Mom. They were in mid-conversation and I cringed knowing how annoying I was about to be, but I blurted, "Excuse me.  My son has something to say to you."  By the grace of God, they both looked at me and Sawyer with kind and gentle faces.  The sales girl raised her eyebrows and Sawyer lifted his head that had been buried in Frogs and Blanket on my shoulder and seethed "Sorry!"  with a stabbing hiss.  The two then looked at me for explanation and I explained, "I was on the other side of the store and Sawyer swung a club and hit some other clubs...all I really know is that he needed to apologize to someone."  

The girl said,  "Well, I work in shoes, this isn't my department.  Don't worry I'm sure it's fine."  So sweet, but I needed Sawyer to understand it wasn't completely fine.  The customer got it.  She said, "You know what?  It's not always easy to apologize and you did a great job.  I would probably be having a bad day too if I was in this cool store but had to shop for pink shorts!"  I realized then I was holding Josie's shorts in my hand.  I almost laughed.  I thanked them and headed to the front.

We were in line behind two people. I put him down which was a mistake.  Despite the quick transactions there was time for Sawyer to see the gum he wanted when we entered the store.  My foggy memory told me I had not promised the gum, but said "Maybe."  Not buying the gum would be the consequence for any of the other kids.  I stuck to my guns.  I told him he couldn't have the gum, perhaps next time. He said, "I want it now."

He immediately moved about 5 feet away and assumed the ball position at the entrance to the register.  At this point, Charlie was telling me that the sales girl told him he could order the game he wanted on line and it would come to the store.  It was too much to process.  Lyra handed me the cleats that she picked out, tried on, and was happy with and I put them on the counter.  I offhandedly asked her, "How much are these anyway?"  I hadn't even looked in the box, much less at the side.  "I don't know."  (Lyra is not super money conscious when I am footing the bill.)   Tali smiled sweetly and said, "Can I get the hat?"

As I'm looking at her and keeping tabs on Sawyer a manager walked by.   "Hey Buddy!  Are you okay?"  I smiled and said "He's fine, thank you."  He looked at me and I could see the wheels turning.  "Are you okay?" he said again, making a point to ask Sawyer and not me.  Everyone within earshot, looked at my nine year old child who was hugging his knees, rocking slightly, and quietly repeating the word "now." I know he was torn and I was trying to stay calm and forced a probably too cheerful smile and said, "No really.  We're good.  Thanks though."  Meanwhile, I was calculating the time it would take for him to call social services and if I could make it out of the parking lot before they arrived.

My child is not dumb, unfortunately at school this year, whenever he got loud, he was given what he wanted.  The repetition was endless and got a bit louder.  He wasn't yelling the word by any means, but it was a constant beating of the drum. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. 

I looked at the side of the box and saw what Lyra's cleats were going to cost me.  I looked at her and said, "This says $200. Are they on sale?"  "I don't know."  Now, seems an appropriate time to tell you that one of the things I was telling my friend at the beginning of this excursion was that I have had my eye on a tennis racket for the last six months, but $50 seemed a ridiculous amount to spend on something I wanted when the kids NEEDED things like shorts and cleats.  

I don't even know why I asked the girl to check the price, everyone there KNEW I was buying those cleats because at that moment, the box could have said $500 and I'm fairly certain I would've paid it for the reward of leaving the store and not needing to come back.  They were in fact $179 and somehow that made me feel slightly better.

As time ticked and Sawyer rocked, other customers came up to pay for their things.  Sawyer was blocking the walkway back to our register and I went over and picked him up.  

Still the throb in the background, "Now. Now. Now. Now. Now."  To the credit of the cashier, and the other workers in the vicinity, they played the game my kids have learned.  Pretend you don't hear a thing.  I threw about 13 coupons, offers, and my rewards card on the counter and said, "See what you can do for me."  She so patiently looked through everything and applied whatever discounts she could.

Sawyer gave me a louder "Now!" right in my face somewhere along the line.  I matter of factly said, "No."  He hauled off and punched me square in the throat. There was a time where I would've been bracing for a punch or a kick, but it's been a long time since Sawyer really hurt me so I was unprepared. Once I knew he did not crush my windpipe I sensed my kids concern, and just quietly said, "Do not hit me."  At this point it occurred to me that if that manger had called the police, maybe I would be considered the victim- I almost laughed which kept the tears from coming.

The bill came to $234 which seemed high, but I did not inherit my mother's math skills.  I didn't question the total as again, I would've paid almost anything to get out of there.   As I am writing this at 5:42 am, I went to get and double check the receipt.  She rang up Tali's $30 baseball hat (which Tali told me was $20) twice.  The fact that this was the only mistake in the midst of the exchange is impressive. 

Sawyer kicked his shoes off again and Tali matter of factly walked to pick them up almost as if we were in some sort of "After School Special."  The plight of a teenage girl with a single mom and a bunch of siblings, one with Special Needs. Like we were going to have to get on a bus to ride home and eat our TV dinners.  I realized once again, my kids aren't perfect, but they are good.  Even Charlie had abandoned the "can we order the game before we leave" idea.  Unfortunately or fortunately, they know the drill.  Mom needs to focus on Sawyer, don't make it harder for her.

We left the store as the drum beat got louder.  Perhaps he knew that he could release his frustration more in the open air, or maybe he felt the last possible seconds of gum slipping from his grasp.  As I crossed the threshold of the double doors, the monotone thump of "Now" became a relentless scream of "NOW!"  The kids and I walked silently to the car amid the screaming.  Someone opened the side door for me and I tried to put him in the seat.  Like a toddler, he immediately arched his back so I could not buckle him in.  Then he started to flail, but I was prepared and he did not get me too badly.  His next course of action was to start picking up things to throw out of the van, but I shut the door.  

I sat in the drivers seat and concentrated on breathing.  It's amazing how sometimes amid the screaming I can almost shut it all out to silence.  Hard to explain, but like you are watching a movie during a war scene and they cut off the volume.  Surreal.  Another exhale and the silence was shattered.  I told Sawyer I was not moving the car until he buckled.  That was when I noticed Charlie crying.  It's hard.  I need to get that child some help to deal with his brother, but that fire has not gotten big enough to cause more than a thought of "I need to..." here and there.  I am guessing that Josie who has a knack for getting Sawyer to comply got his seatbelt on.

The radio was off and the 20 minute car ride was silent except for the constant repetition of the word "now" which was slowly getting quieter and quieter.  As we turned onto our street, Tali looked back at him and whispered for me to look.  I did.

My child.  My sweet beautiful boy was lying with his head on the middle seat, sweaty, hair a mess, looking like any other exhausted 9 year old.  No noise was coming out of his mouth, but he continued to move his lips...."now."

I am grateful.  Grateful that we live in a world where people seem to have a better understanding of kids who have issues.  I know that it is certainly not always the case, but in this instance, today, in this store, I was treated with nothing but kindness and compassion.  The employees did not skip a beat, did not glare at me, did not yell at my kids, did not let on that we were anything but just another family on a trip to the sports store.  So thank you Dick's for the understanding.  This is meant to be a compliment, so don't take it as a threat.  We will be back!

Sincerely,

The weary single mom of 5 athletic kids who always seem to need something

The Year Without a Leprechaun

It started out as a fairly calm evening.  Pick up boys from school, take Lyra to soccer practice, make dinner, fight with boys about homework, make sure Tali didn't need a ride home from Minithon and that Josie had a ride to cheer.  Pick up Lyra from soccer, eat, feed Lyra and boys and race to CCD.  We are late...as usual.

After catechism, I pull up in front of the house and get a text from Josie. "I'll be home soon, xxx had to stop at the store on our way home."  It hit me like a line drive to the left cheekbone- TOMORROW IS ST. PATRICK'S DAY!  I mean, I knew it was, the looney lady down the street had all but spray painted her house green.  Her yard was like the aftermath of a riot at Party City when everything goes 90% off.  I mean, it always is, but the current menagery of decorations were of the Lucky Charm persuasion.

So here I am, 8:30 pm, it's been a long day and I have not bought the chocolate coins wrapped in gold that the Leprechaun brings every year.  I call Josie and beg her to ask the girl driving to take her to CVS.  I must say that having this option of kids running errands is completely new to me and how cool that I didn't have to drive to Walmart at 9 pm!

Getting cocky was probably the first mistake.  It started to go downhill as soon as I thought things were under control.  I went in the house and grabbed the dog and took him for "a walk."  A walk around the back of the house so I could get into the basement that must be entered from large barn like doors by the small square of blacktop formally, and foolishly, known as the driveway.

Now would be a good time to tell you that I hate this house.  I have lived in houses that I wasn't thrilled about during my 18 year stint as an Army wife, but this takes the cake.  Just trust me when I say, as wonderful as it is to live on this post, and there is plenty to love, this drafty cardboard shoebox does not deserve the title of house.  Not with 5 kids and a Mom living here...oh, let's not forget the psychotic dog with, of course, no fenced in yard.

I will tell the story of this house another day, but for reasons including, but not limited to, a poor pack out from Kansas, an impending divorce, a house that's too small and the chaos of being a single mom to 5 busy kids- the house never got fully unpacked when we moved in over a year and a half ago.  

Back to the basement.  It is really is more of a dungeon. I used to complain about our basement in Leavenworth, but that was Cinderella's ballroom compared to this.  Not only are the walls crumbling, but what must have once been insulation, is now hanging from the beams in shreds of brown paper and fiberglass padding circa 1973. To top if off, pun intended, my beautiful and organized Rubbermaid bins are veiled in what I have deduced to be either mouse or bat poop.  Most likely a mix of both.  Everything not in a bin, is in a box.  Many of these have been wet during one heavy rain or another and in order to get them out of standing water they have been half emptied and piled on top of each other much like you would see in a Dr. Suess book.  It is horrific and only a select few have been allowed to view the insanity that is the cellar!

But I digress. The dog and I walk into the dungeon and I tie his leash up.  I climb over and under and around two rooms of boxes, bins, bikes, and beach toys to get to the back room where at least most of the boxes are still taped shut and there is some semblance of...okay, there's no real order, but I can usually find stuff.

Much like the $%#¥ Elf on the Shelf on November 31, the Leprechaun who usually appears on St. Patrick's Day with gold coins and chocolates and turns the toilet water green, is not where he is supposed to be.  The February and March holiday bin is clearly marked and when I open it, I find the bubble wrap which usually cushions the ceramic elfin figurine (which was once a whiskey bottle found in Nanas basement and somehow became our go-to for the big day each year), but no Leprechaun.

For those of you who follow my pathetic life, you may recall that at some point on that frustrating November night, I realized I had not put the EOTS back in his box, but in my nightstand drawer so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours looking for it this year.  I was too brilliant for my own mind.  I decided that perhaps I had done something similar with the magical sprite!  

I grabbed a handful of green crap out of the bin.  Again, due to my mental, emotional, and physically exhausted state - I have put a large damper on all occasions in this house.  Large. Damper.  Decorations for holidays are minimal at best, non existent at worst.  Except for the required few items at Christmas, holiday bedecking has been avoided for almost two years.  I have promised the kids that the magic will return once we have a "real" house of our own!  The dog and I walk around the house and up the steep hill to get to the front porch.  I deposit the shamrock confetti and little green hat and a few other items on a chair to grab once the kids are asleep.

Now to find that darn Leprechaun.  I start looking in cabinets and closets, in baskets and behind booze.  He is about as large as the mid-size bottle of Jim Beam, so it's not like I could really hide it. But I knew it wouldn't be in plain view.  Either Sawyer still believes in Santa and such characters, or he feels sorry the rest are so stupid and he doesn't want to spill the beans.  It's kinda hard to tell.  Last year, the Leprechan appeared on top of the kitchen cabinets among some hand painted Italian dishes that are on display.  Each luncheon plate or bowl has a single tulip on it.  They are bright and cheery and wayyyyy to expensive to eat off of.  And truly, pretty plates require pretty food.  In my house, your pizza is served on a paper plate, and if we have soup you get a hard core Pfaltzgraff bowl that you really need to throw in order to damage.   Anything fancier than that means we are hittin' Panera for our midday meal.

I though the drunken brownie looked so at home among the flowers and garden decor last year that I forgot about him.  Half way through the summer Sawyer sighed and grumped, "Isn't that Leprechaun EVER going home?"  Amazingly, he disappeared shortly after. The Leprechaun that is, not Sawyer. I continued to walk around the first floor, which took about 9.3 seconds and deducted that I had put him in a box with other miscellaneous junk, to bring downstairs because there was no place to put it in the house.

Josie arrived home at some point and had hidden the chocolate coins in my room. I asked if she remembered seeing what was quickly becoming my nemesis and she said no.  I told her I was going back to the basement to find it.

What happened next was more predictable than a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I open the door and turn on the light to the front room.  I am lifting and rearranging boxes and looking in bins and getting increasingly annoyed at my inability to be perfect.  Maybe I hid it in the armoire in the back room. The boys would never bother to open that and it would be easy to hide and grab again.  Maybe I really was as smart as I thought I might could be!  I walked into the middle room and felt for the light switch that turns on the light for that and the back room.

What the....did that light just blink? Wait...again...Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, it's a shadow!  It's a shadow of something which is a bat which is flying at me! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod! 

***Let's pause for a moment shall we? This whole fight or flight instinct they talk about in Psychology 101 is BS in my book.  For me anyway...there is no cerebral decision making going on...it's FLIGHT MOTHER F-er!  (Excuse the language but desperate times require desperate language in my book)

Picking back up:   Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, I think I have to get out of here.  I am running through the basement like a West Point Cadet on the Indoor Obstacle Course Test!  It occurs to me that I am also screaming.  Additionally, I realize that the rat with wings is following me.  Swooping, yes swooping at me!  Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod!  I finally hurdle a wagon like OJ running through the airport and make it outside.  I have no recollection of closing the door, I only remember the bang as the metal hitch fell and secured it shut.

Once I realized I was no longer under attack, there was a few moments of "Ohmigod" and "breathe, you're alive."  I heard a noise above me and I yelped.  

"Mom?"  

"Josie?"  

"Yeah."

"Uh, did you hear me yelling?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be up in a minute."

"Should I wait outside for you?"

"No, I'm good."  I mean really, who wants an audience when they are trying to figure out if they've peed their pants or not?

My shaking was such that every step I took on the wooden staircase sounded like the damn woodpecker that's been driving me insane lately.  I made it up to the porch behind the kitchen, took a deep breath, and went inside. Josie was sitting at the table trying to look like she was more interested in her dinner then her mother whose teeth were chattering by now.

"Was it a snake?"

"No.  Good guess, but if it was the thing that looks like a stick that is not a stick, I woulda screamed much louder and the MPs would be here by now.  It was a bat."

"Ewwwwwww!"

"I knowwwwwww!"

More discussion ensued but the gist was several "ohmygosh's" as Josie doesn't like the other phrase and me describing the whoosh of air I felt each time the rodent dive bombed me.  She was not too impressed.  As a matter of fact, she had some stories to tell me about cheer practice and now, right now, was the time she needed to tell them.  Josephine has the gift of making a long story longer - I have absolutely no idea where that comes from and neither does my father!  I am back to searching kitchen cabinets because it dawned on me that I still didn't have the stinking gnome wanna be. Crud! (Remember Josie is in the room.) While I am getting the blow by blow by blow by blow of cheer practice, I decide I need a drink.  This is where God's grace appeared.  She did not even make a face as I cracked open the Mike's.  Jesus himself must have hugged her and said, "it's okay Jo, events like this are the reason We've given man alcohol."  

My heartbeat was back to fat burning mode (which is a bit less then cardio mode according to the treadmill), I was catching my breath, and the shaking was calming.  We discussed what I was going to do.

"Maybe he was too sick to come this year?"

"Perfect!  Lyra was home two days this week and BC was home two days last week.  He has a cold."

"Maybe he should have the flu."

"Nah, if it's the flu he can't get out of bed.  With a cold, he could come leave the coins, turn the milk green, pee in the toilet and have to get back to his rainbow or whatever to take some medicine."  Am I seriously debating the ability a non-existent fairytale character to cause chaos in my kitchen depending on his level of illness?  Apparently I am.

All I wanted to do at this point was shower.  Heebe-Jeebe mode had not quite worn off.  I turned to leave the kitchen. 

"Can I tell you one more story?"

Every ounce of remaining strength in my body rose up and defeated my urge to audibly sigh.

"Of course sweetie."

The importance of this particular story was fairly high as it involved some punk girl potentially wanting to beat up Josie.  See?  This would've been my first story if I were her, but I was channeling Dr. Laura who feels, correctly I might add, that all their stories are important and what matters most is that they are talking to you.  Deep breath.

I yell at the boys to go to bed and stop in to see Tali and Lyra who are already half asleep.

"Did Josie tell you?"

"About the girl in the library? Yeah."

"No. I mean yes, keep your eye on your sister, but no."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"You can't do that."

"Okay.  Do you know the St. Patrick's Day Leprechaun?  Do you know where it is?"

"Yes," says Lyra.

"Ohmigod! Where is it?"

"I know what you're talking about, but I don't know where it is."

"Ugh!"

"What is wrong with you? Tell us what?"

So I tell them the story.  Given the 20 minute passage of time the bat now has the wing span of a teenage owl and I think it grazed my hair.

"Ewww, an animal almost touched you!  Get out of my room!"  (Please tell me I don't have to tell you that was Lyra)

"Mom?" Tali chimed in.  My sweet Tali

"Yes Babe?"

"There's a bat in your pocket."

"Whaaaaaa?"  I jump, they laugh, I call them brats and go to take a shower.

As I am trying to scrub the bat breath out of my hair, I think about the girls asking if it could get in the house.  I had told them no and I don't think it could, but this house....Ohmigod!  When we moved in, there was a hole in the laundry room that was big enough for a softball to fall through.  You could look right into the basement.  I asked them to cover it and they did.  All the way.  I think they covered all the way.  They did.  I hope.

Alfred Hitchcock has psychologically scarred thousands of children.  I am one of them.  During the next few minutes, my imagination played out what could only be described as a mash-up of two of the most terrifying movie scenes of all times.  

Join me in a ride through my brain:

Picture the hole. Perhaps it was not covered completely. Perhaps, there is more than enough space for a bat (even one the size of a large kitten) to squeeze through.  Perhaps this bat has a large extended family.  Perhaps they like to hunt together.  Perhaps, at this very moment they are popping from the cellar into the laundry room faster that one could count them.  Perhaps they will congregate in the kitchen until they form one large black cloud.  Perhaps they will then fly up the stairs, down the hall and start swooping under the bathroom door.  Perhaps they will attack me in the shower like The Birds attack Tippi Hedren in the phone booth. Perhaps there will be blood flying everywhere like when Norman Bates stabs Janet Leigh in the shower scene.  Perhaps.....

"Moooooooooooooom!"

"Sawyer?"

"HURRY UP!"

"Okay buddy,  be right out!"

In conclusion, "Yes, Virginia, I mean Sawyer, there is a Santa Claus.  However, there is no Leprechaun. Or, at least he didn't feel well enough to stay this year."

  

Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.

The Last First Communion

One of the most memorable homilies I ever heard was the one given by Father P. for Tali and Josie's First Communion.  It was at our local church attached to the Catholic School they attended at the time in Virginia.

Father P. attended Mount Saint Mary's Seminary in Emmitsburg, Md.  As MSM College (now University) is my Alma Mater, I was already a fan.  After the sermon he gave for the First Communion masses, I was even more impressed.

He spoke about a sign on the sacristy wall of the St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Basilica. It says, "Priest of God, celebrate this Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass."  He modified it to speak of receiving Holy Communion.  He told the kids they should "Receive every Holy Communion as if it is your First Holy Communion, your Last Holy Communion, your Only Holy Communion."  I thought it was such a poignant idea.  Many times, the Eucharist becomes such a habit, we just take it for granted and don't use the reverence we should.

Fast forward seven years.  Sawyer was in 2nd grade for the second year in a row. Having a Special Needs child can be overwhelming at times.  Although Sawyer is very high functioning, his autism demands additional needs; for example, IEP meetings, behavior therapy in the home, feeding clinic appointments, and the day to day struggle of trying not to meltdown when it is inappropriate.  Take sports for instance.  Sawyer knows that boys his age are not supposed to cry when they strike out, but the frustration of not performing is overwhelming and he loses it. He knows that his peers don't have a problem with loud and rowdy kids in the school cafeteria, but the over stimulation of many noises (in this case, voices) coming from several directions causes him to lose his ability to do anything besides curl up in a ball and hold his hands over his ears.

Last year, Sawyer and I attended the first two CCD classes with the Communion group.  There were about 20 kids and one teacher.  As I have to accompany Sawyer to most activities, it was mistakenly thought that I would be the aide as I would be there anyway.  Uhhhh, it doesn't work that way.  When Sawyer is in full meltdown mode, I can do nothing but deal with Sawyer.  And even when there is not nuclear combustion going on, I really need to focus on him.  Needless to say, I pulled him and we "homeschooled" CCD.  Homeschooling CCD meant walking the other kids to the church for classes and finding an empty classroom to watch a Bible Video.  I found a series which had a quiz at the end, so I could trick myself into believing he was actually learning something.

When we moved East and Sawyer was in 2nd grade again, I was assured there were at least three 2nd grade CCD classes.  I was thankful for the small class size and felt much more confident about his "Sacramental Year."  When we arrived for the first class, I was told the three teachers had decided to join forces and teach one big class.  You can imagine my delight at such a prospect.  But, I was assured that there were three teachers and at least three aides with the 30-40 kids in the class.  More importantly, no one was expecting me to do anything, but sit with Sawyer. That, I was relatively sure I could do.

We attended the majority of classes and on occasion, Sawyer actually participated.  When it was time to recite his prayers to ensure he knew them, we played fill in the blank.   "Our _____, who ___ in _______," You get the idea.  I had spoken with the Priest, actually two of them at our new Parish and was assured it would be okay.  I wasn't sure he'd be able to receive his Sacraments at all, but one priest remarked that sometimes Special Needs kids are almost more deserving of Grace from The Lord.  I was feeling pretty good.

And then it was time for Confession.  Kids typically make their First Confession several weeks before their First Communion.  We went to classes and we practiced.  We made a cheat sheet with the class and practiced.  We said our prayers and we practiced.  The big day came....and went.  He did not want to go when his class was going.  As I had already experienced taking a teary eyed and terrified child (Josie) to her First Confession while all the parents and the entire 2nd grade class watched, I was not anxious to do it again.  I had already spoken with the Priest about doing it quietly in his office some day.  And that's exactly what we did.  Sawyer was not overly responsive and didn't say hardly anything, but Father W. took a very smart approach and asked Sawyer a series of "yes" or "no" questions so Sauce could nod or shake his head to own up to any of his sins.  If there were any off the beaten track sins, they were grouped in with the others.  I'm certain that God had it covered.  For the record:  I was to keep my eyes closed as Sawyer was sitting on my lap.  I may or may not have peeked just a bit.

As we were leaving, I asked the Priest if he would tell the Religious Ed Director that Sawyer had indeed made his First Confession as he would not be able to take Communion until the former was done.  He smiled and said, "No."  I was like, "Whatdya mean 'no?' You're kidding right?"  He shook his head. "A Priest cannot tell anyone who has gone to confession."  I'm thinking, Seriously?  I coulda lied and no one would have ever.....shoot, never-mind.

We got over the precursor hurdle and suddenly it was the week of Josie's Confirmation and Sawyer's First Communion, because the Catholic Church is all about cramming in these two Sacraments before Matrimony season starts.  Poor Josie got next to no fanfare for her Thursday night event. Not only was she one of just a couple 9th graders getting Confirmed (because in Pennsylvania they Confirm in 8th grade and in Kansas they Confirm in 9th), but Sawyer's possible Communion was sucking up all my energy and anxiety.

The Big Day arrived.  May 9th, 2015.  I remember thinking as I woke up, this could really go either way.  In fact, I could think of about 107 scenarios of the day playing out with only a handful of them not being horrific.  Sawyer was certainly not willing to try on any clothes the weeks or even the night before.  I was measuring pants against the jeans he wore to school that week and shirts against the long sleeve Minecraft T-shirts that he donned on a daily basis.  By the grace of God, I was able to get him dressed and everything fit relatively well.  He did remind me, "I hate shirts with buttons." and "I will NOT wear a tie!"  Eventually, we left the house with him in khakis, a button-down shirt, clip-on tie, navy blazer, dark socks and loafers. I don't even attempt this much formality at a family wedding.  He was not happy, but surprisingly calm.

It was set up so the First Communicants would process in, making a full lap around the pews so parents and relatives could snap pictures at every possible camera angle before the kids made their way down the main aisle once again and sat in the first several pews of the church.  It took about 6.2 seconds for Sawyer to determine at rehearsal that he was having none of this parading around business. Not. Doing. It.  That was more than fine with me.  As far as I was concerned that meant less could go wrong. The Religious Education Director had a few pews set aside for kids that would do better sitting with their families.  We were in one of those pews.  However, even though Sawyer wasn't processing in, we still had to be there quite early.  Waiting, as you can imagine, especially for something that he is nervous about, is not Sawyer's forte.  Add in my four other kids whose seating arrangements required for maximum good behavior could be an SAT question (The Carlton's are going to sit together in church.  B Cha must sit on an end.  Lyra cannot sit next to B Cha or Tali.  Josie must sit on an end...) add in other family members and dynamics and we were a puddle of gas praying no one close by needed a smoke!

FINALLY, church began and the kids started their march down the aisle.  You could definitely pick out the future attention seeking brides vs the ones that would rather arrive at the alter in the middle of a ring of bridesmaids.  There were a handful of extremely prayerful young men...and the other 37 were a caricature of 8 year old boys whose Mothers had just spit on a tissue attempting to clean the chocolate pop tart off their face.

Mass was progressing along with only peppered interruptions from Sawyer, who inquired regularly on any updates re: Eastern Standard Time, while in turn providing notifications re: hunger, starvation, and impending dehydration. He had lost the sports coat at some point, but I didn't even notice until he looked at me with a rage that would've made Linda Blair shake and said, "I. Said. No. Ties."  It
required ever fiber of my being to not look back at him like a crazy woman and respond, "And. I. Said. No. Wire. Hangers."  True story.

The moment of truth arrived.  All the "neuro-typical" kids went to the alter and received the Body of Christ.  It was our turn.  I walked up the aisle on Sawyer's right side, and everything slurred together. We made it to the alter, the wonderful priest smiled at me, his eyes twinkling, I'm sure the suspense was killing him too.  I put my hands out and Sawyer mimicked me.  Father W. said, "The Body of Christ."  And I THINK Sawyer responded "Amen," but to be honest he could have said, "And also with you," and I wouldn't have noticed.  He took the host and placed it in his mouth!  Did you get that?  HE TOOK THE HOST AND PLACED IT IN HIS MOUTH!  If you are not Catholic, it is important to understand that when we, as Catholics, receive communion, we believe it to be the actual Body of Christ.  This is a huge deal and him going through with it, was enough for me to hear a chorus of angels singing the Easter Alleluia as I walked back to the pew. Tears, real tears were streaming down my cheeks.  A Momma could not have ever been prouder.

We knelt after communion and I praised God and thanked Jesus for getting both of us through this.  I was interrupted from my worship when Sawyer grabbed my arm in a strangle hold.  I looked at him, "What?"  He had a very strange look on his face and he started to open his mouth several times.  He pointed at his mouth. Like a properly trained mother, I obeyed and cupped my hand under his chin. What happened next was beyond any of those 107 scenarios I had feared.  He spit the well chewed wafer into my hand!  I was stunned and in shock for a good 19 seconds, before I pulled my hand back to examine the contents.  

Praying that he had somehow swallowed the host before ingesting and depositing a chewed up peanut butter cracker in my palm, I gazed down.  I will spare you the gory details, but what I was holding was no mystery.  I said, "Sawyer!  Whaaaa?" He looked at me blankly and said, "I have to go to the bathroom."  The noise that came from me must have been odd.  Josie looked over Sawyer's head and gave me a questioning look.  I turned my wrist slightly so she could see what I was holding while not spilling any of the puddle.  Her face contorted as she mentally put the pieces together of what could possibly be in my hand.  I now know exactly what the person who came up with the light bulb going off scenario was talking about.  I believe I saw a spark fire out of her ear.  She turned to Lyra and the whispers went westward down the pew.  As each child heard the news they looked at me with a "Say it ain't so Momma!" glance that I could only return with a small lift of my right hand.  Keep in mind that the families and friends of all the Communicants were still coming up the aisle, meaning, I could not leave my seat. As friends tapped me on the shoulder to wave or whisper "Hi" as they walked by, I plastered on a smile worthy of wedding photos.  Also, I kept my right hand out of view.

Hours (or possibly just a few minutes) later, as the last attendee passed, I grabbed Sawyer and said, "Let's go."  We walked up the aisle to the narthex and the bathrooms.  One of the CCD teachers was at the doorway and was so excited, "He did it!"  I reluctantly showed her my hand and I think she threw up in her mouth a little before saying, "Well, Momma, it's time to take one for the team."  I whimpered, "I have to don't I?"  Her nod was clear.  I nudged Sawyer into the Men's room and I went into the Ladies.  Again, if you are not Catholic, you must understand desecration of the host is a mortal sin.  It is akin to desecrating the body of Jesus.  The only option I had was ingesting the host myself.  I did.  I shall spare us both the details of that experience.

Please know, that this was a very pivotal moment for me as a Catholic.  Seriously. I briefly debated the alternatives before recognizing that I had no doubt what I needed to do.  It was not enjoyable.  Perhaps saying that is a sin, I hope not.  But I am happy with the decision I made.  There was no time to second guess myself as I now needed to get Sawyer back down to our pew before mass ended.  I'm not sure why that was so important at the moment, but it was.

I cracked the door of the Men's room and said, "Sauce?"  A booming voice (which did NOT belong to my eight year old son) came back, "Someone's in here!"  I enlisted the help of a teenage boy we knew.  I begged him to go in and see what was up.  He came out smiling and said, "He couldn't undo his belt."  Are you kidding me?  I had gone through an entire examination of my conscience and discernment of my faith and he hadn't gone to the bathroom yet?!?  Unbelievable.  I waited, suddenly having an inkling of what purgatory must feel like, until he came out, shirt untucked belt unbuckled, pants 1/2 way zipped.  I put him back together a la Clark Kent into Superman and rushed him down the aisle.  As we sat down the Priest and Clergy stood to process out.  Phew.

I vaguely remember walking to the parish activity center and the beginnings of a reception.  Sawyer wanted nothing to do with the crowd and honestly, neither did I.  I did chug a glass of punch though.

Five weeks have passed since that fateful Saturday.  Each week I have Sawyer walk down the aisle next to me.  Each week we arrive at the Priest and he gives Sawyer a "What'll it be?" look.  And each week so far, Sawyer has given the slightest shake of his head.  The Priest tells me not to worry.  I should continue to bring him up each week and someday he will Receive.  It may be the 27th time, it may be the 87th, it may even be the 147th, but it is important to give him the chance.

I don't know how long it will take.  Only God knows that.  And perhaps Sawyer.  In the meantime, I tell myself it is okay because Sawyer did Receive his First Holy Communion as if it was his First Holy Communion, His Last Holy Communion, His Only Holy Communion.


Editors note:  Today, December 5, 2015 marks the 30th week since Sawyer's First Holy Communion.  He has yet to take the host again.

The Results Are In!

The first day of school is always one for a bit of angst. Kids are growing, sometimes changing interests and friends, maybe moving on to the local middle or high school. Parents are watching their kids grow up, getting closer to leaving home. Some parents have a problem with this part. Me? Not so much. 



Regardless, the first day of school for military kids is tougher than most kids could imagine. I won't go into it all, because there are 1000 blogs out there that will tell you what it means to be a Military Brat. They can explain to you how hard it is to register your child in a new school district who has different history courses different years, how requirements are different for taking honors classes, how it's hard to get into student council if you missed last springs elections, not to mention the difficulty of being the new kid AGAIN!



I am just here to tell you how my kids did today. Sadly, I was a basket case yesterday and much of today. It's not that I don't have faith in my kids, it's just that they have fragile hearts. (Some more fragile than others) and I just want them to be happy and to like themselves for who they are. It's a lesson I'm still working on at 46. I sure hope they manage to learn faster than me.





From the bottom up, here's how it went:


Sawyer, who is repeating second grade due to his early August birthday and the challenges he has with autism, had a decent day. His teacher and a member of the special ed team (I think) came out to tell me what a great day he had. He took a few breaks. Lunch went well, PE was a challenge, but all in all, pretty good. He did not say it was "bad" which has been his go-to answer for the question "How was school today?" the last three years running, so I figure that is fantastic! Also, he has not yet refused to go back tomorrow. "WINNING!"





Charlie, who is repeating fourth grade due to his late September birthday and the challenges he has with maturity, had a fun day. He met a friend, they ran together at PE class and listened to the directions which were to not stop running. The boys who ran really fast and stopped after one lap were out because they didn't do it right. Therefore, when one of them stated that they should not have been called out of the game, Charlie jumped right into say how wrong they were. Nothing like pissing off the kids who can run faster than you on the first day of school! Perhaps I should add "muzzle" to next years' school supply list. Geez, kid. I can tell him til I'm blue in the face not to get into it with people when it's not important, but he will never learn. The best part of his new class is that there is a boy in his class who just moved to the US from....wait for it.....keeping in mind one of his best friends last year....you guessed it.....AUSTRALIA!!! AND his name is Charlie! And he is from the town of....drumroll please.....CARLTON! Too funny!



Charlie's best quotes of the day:



Talking about his new friend Charlie, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he had to write the sentence, 'Charlie is from Carlton' and he forgot to write the words 'is' and 'from' so he would just write my name. I mean, that would just be so crazy!"


"I think the other Charlie's last name is Stuart.  Hmmm, Stew....ahhrt (sounding it out ridiculously).  Yep, sounds Australian!  Must be it."



Also, this morning, he told me what 27 items he packed for lunch and then said, "Oh, and a mint! This is a good idea because it is sort of like a desert, but will make my breath smell minty after lunch!" Sigh.



Lyra had a day that would have been totally awesome if "totally awesome" was a phrase used by cool, unphased kids, who work hard to act like they don't care. She smiled her trademark 'I will not show my teeth in a smile until I get into and out of braces' smirk. "It was good!" She said. She talked about her science teacher (funny), art teacher (strict), lunch (stuck at a table with a bunch of boys, but with her cousin thank goodness). She talked more, but it have to admit that during that time I was trying to calculate exactly how long I could wait to see if the other girls got home before I had to leave to pick up the boys. But it was good. She came home happy and talked to me at length which is always a good sign for her. Sadly, I missed a lot of it, but I got the high points...there is a beach party next week and a lot of girls wore spaghetti straps today probably because they aren't really enforcing the dress code yet, so she will be wearing a sleeveless shirt tomorrow. (NOTE TO SELF: Throw an extra shirt in the car so when I get a call from school that Lyra is not dressed properly, I can drop that off after dropping off the boys and save an extra trip across town!)


Josie, sweet Josie. I don't know which of us was more worried about her day. I was able to wait until I saw the bus up the street before I went to pick up the boys. I drove up the connecting street and stopped. I rolled down the window and Josie was like a moth to a flame. When asked how it was, she smiled her 'I don't want to admit that it was good, because maybe I'm remembering it wrong' smile and said, "Okay, I guess." I said, "Was it absolutely horrible?" "No." "Did you cry?" (Her goal for the day was to not cry) "No!" "Well, look at you girlfriend! You did it!" Then I got the 'I really want to believe you, but I can't quite get there, but I want to be happy' look. I asked if she wanted to ride with me to get the boys and she declined saying she needed to work on her cheers before practice. (Little did we know they had changed the time for practice and she was in the midst of missing the first hour). Talking with her later was a mix of "things went okay" and "they are expecting too much" and "I'll never be able to keep up" and "I had someone to sit with at lunch" (I said a silent prayer of thanks) and finally, "I just don't like high school, I'm not ready."


Meanwhile after stopping them on the street and asking if Josie wanted to ride with me, Tigger, I mean Tali bounced across the road and said, "I'll come!" I wasn't sure what to expect. The next 15 minutes were incredibly funny and exhausting and heart melting all at once. She opened her mouth and this is what came out: "Oh my gosh, it was SO fun, I mean I can't wait to go back, really, I'd go back right now, but that would be silly, but really it was that fun so I can't wait til tomorrow, but I know in a few months I won't feel this way, but really, all days of school should be the first day of school, so here's what happened first, we have assigned seats on the bus and they didn't have our names on the list and Josie was worried but I didn't care and Gabbys not on our bus but I sat with so and so and we went to homeroom and the teacher was all "don't bother me and he put his head on the desk, he may have gone to sleep..."


"Like Mr, Schneebly?" I asked.


"Oh my gosh that's so funny! EXACTLY like that and then I had to go to history and so I walked with Josie part way and I think that's when we saw Sarah and I have history with so and so and so and so and it's gonna be a great class and the teacher is cool and said we can bring coffee and breakfast to class and I totally wish there was a Starbucks near school..."


"Because you are in such desperate need of caffeine? I know, I'm worried that you may have low blood pressure."


"No LISTEN, I totally knew where I was and everyone liked my outfit and safety ed is a joke, I mean, I think I'm the only half motivated person in there and I'm gonna be really smart in Spanish but that may be just cuz I knew what she was saying because it was written on a poster in the back of the room and there is a special needs boy that sits next to me so I hope the other kids don't think they'll mess with him because I will totally be his protector, I didn't even have to ask anyone how to get anywhere and then I had to go back to the other building and I was in all my classes on time and was never late and I didn't even have to run and lunch is SO short, I mean how do they expect me to eat anything in like two minutes..."


"Um, was the lunch period 2 minutes or is that how long you were somehow able to stop talking in order to attempt to consume some nutrition?"


"Mooooommmmm, so then in chemistry, there was this boy....."


Apparently, Tali has already aced the "like yourself" lesson....eh, good for her! Maybe I taught one of them right!

Free Birth Control? I'll give you Free Birth Control.

If you don't have children yet or don't have children of talking age yet, here is a sneak peak of what you are in for!  The following is a conversation between my two boys yesterday as I was trying to sit down to write my poor husband an email.  I ended up just typing as they spoke so my husband (who is unaccompanied for the year) could see what I am forced to deal with on a daily basis.  I was looking for sympathy.  Sadly, it made him miss them more...

What follows is the actual email I sent to Charlie.

I just sat down to write to you and the boys came in and now I can't think!

Do you miss them? This is what's happening:

C: You play baseball like a girl!

S: You play baseball like a lady!  (Laaaaadddddyyyyy is long and drawn out and said in a very prissy tone)

C: You play baseball like a baby, BABY! (The second use of the word "baby" rolls off his tongue with such revulsion and disdain, even I shiver.)

S: Charlie, you are a BEEP! (Really, he said the word beep!)

C: Moooommmmm, he called me a beep!

M: Um, yeah, not really much I can do.

S: You play baseball like Yoda!

C: Thank you, Yoda plays baseball very well.

M: He has the Force!  (I laugh. No one else does.  Thank goodness I can appreciate how funny I am!)

S: He just attacked me. (There has been little to no movement in my peripheral vision)

C: No I didn't!

S: Excuse me, he is a liar!

C: You don't know how to spell liar.

S: YOU don't know how to liar.

C: L-I-A-R

S: Mom is that right?

M: Yes

S: Snort/Growl noise emits from his direction.

C: Hahahahaha

S: Well, you don't know how to spell "I."

C: There's two.  I and E-Y-E.

S: There another I. It's called, I called you a baby baby baby baby...

Should I go on?

Miss you!!!

Love you more~

M

Reading this 26 times in a row at 3am might just cause you to rethink that plan of having several children close together. If this has no effect, dump a pile of Lego's on the floor and then walk over them while rereading.  In fact, if you would rather, I'd be happy to record the kids having the same or a very similar conversation and you could download it. 

The most effective way to use this data is to blast it full volume while you try to do your taxes or while reading Shades of Gray.  It will certainly help you concentrate while trying to replug all wires correctly back into the computer after your system has crashed.  Ask two friends to mimic the conversation and simultaneously throw golf balls at you while you try to contort your body to fit behind and under your work station.

Another idea is to play it on your iPod while taking a nap. I would start with a very low volume and as you learn to sleep through it, increase it a bit each time.  A seasoned mother sleeps right through that crap and will even be able to supplement with an occasional "knock it off" without missing a second of REM.

Want to have a bit of fun?  Take the recording into the bathroom with you while you are having morning sickness.  Turned up loud enough, the echo from the fight will overpower the echo of your retching.  Have Friend 1 call your cell while Friend 2 is standing just outside the door (preferably banging and whining loud enough to be heard over the recording).  Hopefully they have the sense to change your ring tone to Black Sabbath or some other dreadfully Heavy Metal band.  Let the phone ring continuously at length and when finally answered.  Have Friend 2 yell into the phone and through the bathroom door: "My Mom is doing spit 'em ups right now.  Do you want to talk to her?"  Have Friend 2 hold the phone so the background fight is coming clearly through the phone.  Have Friend 2 tell you that it really isn't Friend 1, it's actually your Mother-In-Law, the older kids Principal, the President of the Junior League or any other figure that will make the insides of your stomach rush to the back of your throat.

Perhaps then, you may begin to feel just a touch of the pain you will be subjecting yourself to for the next 18+ years.

That is all.

++Dedicated to my sweet niece who is due with twin boys in August. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha++

It's Raining, It's Pouring

We made it to mass on time last Saturday.  Really. It was amazing.  I got to give B Cha a kiss on the head before he carried one of the large candles down the aisle and I got to hear Tali and the choir sing the opening song.  A rare event indeed. 

I would like to blame our recurring lateness on Sawyer dragging his feet, but it's pretty much my chronic tardiness that causes it.  Perhaps because I don't allow enough time to get a begrudging Sawyer ready.

But Saturday, this past Saturday, we were golden.  Sawyer's therapist, who comes with us to mass most weeks, had bought him a new activity book to work on.  He was sitting in the pew so content, so quiet, that I really thought it was going to be a good night.

Shortly after the opening prayer, the priest announced that he would be doing something different than the Penitential Act which is usually one of the first prayers.  "I confess to Almighty God..."

Although my father had no idea when I was relaying this story to him, Wikipedia actually knew what I was talking about:

"On Sundays, especially in the Season of Easter, in place of the customary Penitential Act, from time to time the Blessing and Sprinkling of Water to recall Baptism may take place."^[4]

This may have had something to do with the fact that I was telling him the Priest was going to do a different "penitentiary act" which would perhaps make sense since we live at Ft. Leavenworth.

Regardless, what the Priest was going to do was sprinkle the congregation with Holy Water.  This may not seem like it is worth mentioning, no big deal, except it is a big deal when you have a child with Autism.  A VERY big deal!  The last time the Holy Water was brought out was around Christmas perhaps...honestly I don't remember, but I remember the panic that rose in my chest when the Priest (who is new) and the Deacon (who knows us well) reached the end of the main aisle and turned to walk around the back and up the side aisles. 

+++Authors Note: We sit on the left side of the aisle (which in itself is still odd to me because growing up my family always, ALWAYS sat on the right and it wasn't until a particularly difficult Mass which left me in tears during Charlie's first deployment from here about 5 years ago, that I abandoned my long standing rule and moved left to sit behind my good friend for support.) Now we sit on the far left side of the left side of the church, near the back.   This makes for easy escapes with Sawyer and minimal distractions to anyone behind us as there is certainly plenty of room in front of us if they would rather not watch my children spiral into a fist fight during the Kiss of Peace.+++

Back to the story at hand: The last Holy Water event, had Deacon on our side of the church.  So when he rounded the back corner and started up the side aisle, all I had to do was look at him with fear in my eyes and give a slight shake of my head.  He immediately "got it" and adjusted his flick of the
aspergillum (yes, I looked it up) so that Sawyer did not get wet at all.  I realize this is not the intended result of the ceremony, but believe me when I say, it was best for everyone involved.

Our current Priest has only been her a few months and while he knows that Sawyer has Autism, I'm not sure he knows Sawyer well enough to be able to anticipate his reactions.  So when he was the only one sprinkling the water I foolishly assumed that he certainly wouldn't take the time to go ALL THE WAY around the church.  (We only have an hour)  I was mistaken.  As he turned the back corner and started our way, I knew that bulging my eyes out would not convey to him the message, "Please, I beg of you, don't get Sawyer wet, it could take the rest of mass to recover from that.  Plus, he's got a brand new book and if you get that wet he is liable to throw it at you, or me, and never touch it again and I know his therapist just spent a significant amount of money on it."  Unfortunately, the universal sign of STOP, a swift swipe of my hand across my throat did not seem appropriate for the environment.

The water flew in slow motion.  I swear I could see the droplets in the air as the headed for and landed on Sawyer, his head, his neck, his brand new book open to a crisp white page which now smudged the circle he just made.  My heart stopped.  I braced myself for the scream...which didn't come.  (Thank you God, You are so good to me.)

But the Priest had not moved on, he was smiling at the back of Sawyer's head, he could not see the look I was getting with eyes full of Satan himself.  I saw his hand go back into the aspersorium (I looked that one up too) and he showered us a second time!  A SECOND TIME!  Father had a big smile on his face obviously oblivious to the possible outcomes of such a scenario.  This apparently struck the people behind us, who were visiting, as funny too.  "Well, he's reading a book.  Father is just trying to make him pay attention."

Deep breath.  And again.  Sawyer was annoyed.  A bit angry even. (Completely understandable in my opinion) But thankfully, not furious. We had dodged a pretty large bullet...actually, many many tiny ones, but we were good.  Everyone survived, Sawyer's book was still usable in his eyes, and all was relatively well with the world.

I spent the next 10 minutes of mass trying to deal with my conflicting feelings of how do you celebrate Mass and be a good person when you are angry with the Priest saying Mass?  I could get over the initial sprinkling, but I felt that the second round was mearly for his amusement which is really not fair. 

The discussion I was having with God in my head was so intense at one point that it took me a moment to realize that while Tali and the choir were singing the responsorial psalm, the sound system went haywire and there was a horrible screeching noise coming through the speakers.  Mother of the year did not even think immediately of Sawyer's ears.  I was thinking more about how loud it was for Tali on the alter and how quickly it was giving me a headache.  As the Priest bend down and unplugged something that stopped the unbelievable noise, I suddenly thought of Sawyer.  He had his head down, was covering his ears, and his face was contorted to a level of pain rarely seen on someone who isn't bleeding profusely.

Thankfully, his therapist snatched him up and got him out of there.  I listened for the screams, but heard none.  Apparently, the whole chain of events was such that he could muster was whimpering and shaking.  He spent the rest of the Mass in the narthex (That one I knew on my own!). 

I have to trust that God knows that I do my best to get him there, and to keep him there.  And some days are just better than others.

End note:  It was later in the Mass that I had looked into the narthex and saw that Sawyer was calmed down for the most part.  I walked back to the pew to see B Cha lifting the large book off the alter for the Priest to read from.  As he stood, holding the book in front of him, the Priest looked a bit confused.  It was then that the Deacon walked over and turned the book rightside up. 

And there was God's answer:  We all make mistakes! 

Throw Back Thursday

So, here's the conversation:

Me:  Sawyer, did you throw your milk at the lunch lady today? (It had been written in his journal)

Sawyer: NOOOOO!!!!! (Very emphatically)

Me:  Hmmmmmm.

Sawyer:  I DIDN'T!

Me: Okay, did your milk happen to slip out of your hand today?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

Me:  did it slip in the direction of the lunch lady?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

M: (quick silent prayer) Was it open? (Please say no, please say no, please say no...)

S: Noooooooooo (he may as well have added "duh!")

M: (Oh thank you God!).  Can you tell me why the milk slipped out of your hand in her direction?

S:  I am SO tired of strawberry yogurt!

M: (of course, that makes perfect sense....NOT) Sawyer, I don't understand.

S: I wanted vanilla!

M: Sawyer, you can't throw your milk at the lunch lady because she is out of vanilla! What happened next?

S:  I don't remember.

M:  Well, you either went to Miss Bs room, the principals office or ate in the cafeteria.

S: Just stop asking me questions now.

M: I'll stop if you don't throw milk at the lunch lady again

S:  mmmmmmmmmm

M: Okay Mom.

S:  MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

M: Okay Mom.

S: OKAY MOM!!!!! (so completely not meaning it)

Move over Mom whose son wanted to be Daphne for Halloween…I’ve got a serious problem!

A few years ago there was a huge controversy about a little boy who wanted to wear a Daphne costume for Halloween.  Daphne, as in Scooby-Doo, Daphne. 

It was an interesting concept. While I thought the Mom handled it well and I felt she was right in letting him wear it, a friend of a friend was so insulted by the notion I had to just cut her off.  Honestly, I don't think I talked to her again after that FB explosion.  (For the record, I have not been involved in a full blown posting war since Obama announced he single handedly killed Osama Bin Laden while blindfolded and having one hand behind his back....at least not one that I remember....)

I could see both sides. I hate to throw my kids to the wolves if it’s not necessary.  I love my kids and would never want to put them in a situation where I know they could be abused.  For example, several years ago Tali was at a birthday party and made matching Tshirts with her best friend.  They decided to wear them the following Monday.  I don't even recall noticing the shirt, but it turned out that it had a rainbow and a triangle, maybe the triangle was up-side-down, I really don't know.  I got a call from the counselor shortly after 8am that Tali was in her office crying and could I please bring her another shirt.  Apparently, members of her class felt the need to tell her that she was wearing a "Gay Pride" shirt and since it had "Tali" and the name of her friend on it...you get the idea.

Charlie and I discussed it later.  Even when we looked at the shirt, at her age, it certainly didn't seem to represent any position on homosexuality to us.  Maybe, maybe, if I had really examined it before she walked out the door I might have said something.   But what would I say, "People may tease you?"  Just the indication of a problem would've led her to not wear it, and really?,  she shouldn't have worn a shirt she made with no agenda besides having a BFF? I don't even think Tali really knew what "gay" was when she was that age.  And not that it matters either way.  I have friends who are gay.

The point being, with a typical child, I think if I deemed the importance of the lesson they may learn would be more than the pain of the wolves, I hope I would just say a prayer and give them lots of love on the other side.  I'm trying to think of an example....aaannnndddd I got nothin!  I'm certain that there have been instances of the above somewhere, sometime.  I'll have to get back to you on that.

Sawyer is not a typical child.  He has Autism.  To be clear, I did NOT say he was not a normal child, just not typical…as in not neuro-typical.  And this is where our story starts:

The other night after a long day of playing soldier he wanted to see what the Revolutionary War soldiers wore.  His odd, but reasonable requests are an often frustration for me.  I’ll be in the middle of doing something, like pricing 3852 things for the yard sale and he wants me to drop everything to see what some Brit wore during the Revolution.  And in autism fashion, he will NOT LET UP until I stop what I’m doing to find his answer.  When typing it in, I understandably came across some Halloween websites.  You may think my reaction was one of relief that it was so easy, and joy that he found what he wanted in a short amount of time.  Ha ha ha, you fool!

Although he is 7 years old, I am still learning how his brain works.  I should’ve anticipated spending the next forty-five minutes looking at “uniform costumes” with him. I had planned on twenty.  When he saw the “Red Coat” outfit, he was smitten. 

“That’s what I want Mom.  I want to be a British Soldier for Halloween.”

“Okay Sauce, we can ord-“

“WAIT!  Is that one from the Civil War?”

“Yes, it’s a Union Soldier.”

“I want to do the Civil War.”

“Okay, let’s look at some.”

We started scrolling through 742 links to costume websites when a friend happened to call and ask what I was doing.  She suggested he be a Canadian Mountie considering his obsession with all things Canada.  What an awesome idea!  That would be THE perfect costume for him.  If you know anything about Sawyer, you know that he will someday defect north, renounce his US citizenship and officially become Canadian. 

Okay, Canadian Mountie, it is.  Then again, maybe not.  Surprisingly, I could not find a Mountie costume for a child.  How strange is that?  Little Canadian children don't want to grow up and wear big brimmed hats and funny pants?  What the heck is wrong with you punks, eh?  Those pants could hold a lot of stuff in the thighs...a LOT.  Off the top of my head, I have no doubt you could fit a two liter bottle of soda in each side or one of those tiny helium balloon tanks.  It'd be a party in your pants!  Okay, okay.  I meant that in the most innocent way, this here's a family show.  I stand corrected. Fair enough, PG13.

Upon the realization that Great White North could not provide a Halloween Costume for my son, I attempted to put it off.  I sent a small prayer to heaven before asking Sawyer if we could look again tomorrow.  NOW who's the fool?

This was not going to go away and it was gonna be dealt with here and now.   Back to the Civil War costumes.

"What is Maryland?"

"Hmmm?"

"What is Maryland?  In the Civil war was it North or South?"

"Well, lemme think. This is why your father should never leave this house.  At the very least he should have a phone-a-friend line that I could call any hour of the day.  Um, Maryland, Maryland, the Mason-Dixon line, hmmmm, South, yes, definitely South."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!  Look at your Momma answering a history question.  Oh yeah!"

He was not impressed.

"Are they the grey ones?"

"Yes"

"That is what I want."

"Whaaa?"

"I will be a Grey.   What are they called?"

"The guys in the grey uniforms were the Confederate Soldiers."

"They were the bad guys right?"

"Well, yes, they believed in slavery and the North knew it was wrong.  But they were all Americans and so they weren't really all bad.  Once the North won the war, everybody was friends again."

I field a lot of 'who are the bad guys' and 'can they get to us' with Sawyer.  I was tip-toeing on shaky ground and was understandably worried about a face plant!

INSERT DADDY HERE WITH RESPONSES TO THE NEXT HUNDRED QUESTIONS THAT I WILL NOT KNOW THE ANSWER TO.  Why does he have to be on the other side of the world right now?

I'm trying to think fast,  "Wouldn't you like to be a 'good guy' soldier?"

"I was born in Maryland."

"Well, that's okay, you could pick the North."

"I was born in Maryland."

"I bet some people in Maryland fought for the North."

"I was born in Maryland."  His exasperation with my apathy about the "rules" of who was on who's side of the war growing by the second. "If I was born in Maryland and it was the wartime and I went to war, I would go and be on the bad guys side because I was born in Maryland and that is what the people born in Maryland did Mom."

I lost the battle ten minutes ago, why am I prolonging my surrender?

"Fine.  I'll order the costume now."  And I did.

Thanks to Amazon Prime, it only took three days of Sawyer checking the front porch for packages every hour on the hour for it to arrive.  Making Sawyer happy is not an easy thing to do, so to see the joy of his face when I showed him the package after school one day made any heat I may get completely worth it.

The uniform consisted of grey pants w/ a thin gold stripe down the leg and an over-the-head jacket that looks military-ish.  I noticed that although the cardboard picture in the bag had a huge confederate flag on it, there was no confederate flag on the uniform.

BINGO!  Huge sigh of relief!  I mean, I understand why Sawyer feels he needs to wear the Confederate Uniform and I know that very few people would think any less of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform, but they certainly might think less of the MOTHER of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform. 

Trust me, we don't have any rebel flag window stickers on the back of our pickup truck.  Shoot, we don't even have a pick up truck....or a gun rack for that matter.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I have friends with pick up trucks and gun racks.

Sawyer was happy with the outfit alone for a few days until we went to the Ft. Leavenworth Heritage Museum for a family night.  In the gift store were little Civil War hats for little Yankees and little Rebels alike.  He needed one.  I of course had no money and had to go back a week or two later.

Thanks to the US Gov't, the first time I went back the museum was closed because the gift shop was closed.  But that is another post altogether.

I was able to eventually purchase the hat...which has a large confederate flag on the front.  Only flashing lights and a siren would make it more conspicuous. Maybe I should've looked into "pimping" his hat.  I mean, if he's gonna wear a Confederate costume, he may as well flaunt it right?  Uh, yeah, I don't think so.

Is it horrible to let him wear this costume?  It is an ugly part of this country's history, but it is part of our history.  Where do I stop letting Sawyer be Sawyer in order to be politically correct?  How do I explain to him that some people may get the wrong idea and think we are a family who believes in racial inequality when he can't even grasp that concept?  Will that even cross the minds of the adults answering the door tonight?  Why can't I have normal stressful situations?  Why do mine have to border on the freakishly bizarre?

 

What I really would like to do is print out business cards that say the following:

"My name is Sawyer.  I am dressed in a Confederate Soldiers' outfit, because I like learning about the Civil War, not because I (or my Mother) am a racist.  I do not believe in slavery and although my Mother did not vote for Obama, it had nothing to do with the color of his skin.  She has black friends.  Really!  Also, the sword I am holding is made of styrofoam unlike the pencil I was wielding dagger-like while yelling at my teacher the other day.  I come in peace.  So does my Mother. (Who is a really nice person by the way)"