Off the Beaten Path

I've sat and thought on this for months; debating what to share and what to keep private. In the end if by sharing our story I can help one person or raise some awareness, then it will have been worth it.

Let me tell you about my daughter Audrey.  She lights up every room she enters. She has a love for life that rivals any I've ever seen. Audrey has the ability to see the beauty and joy in things so many of us miss. She is a fighter and a free spirit.

Audrey has Autism.

I could tell you about the struggles. I could tell you about the countless tests, doctors, clinics; about the years without sleep, the seizures, and the brokenness you feel as a parent when you see your child struggle. I could tell you about the ignorant comments, the rampant misinformation out there, the fight you go through every single day as a parent to advocate for someone who can't do so themselves. I could tell you about the fears, the heartache, the lonliness that accompanies joining a club you never had any intention of joining: the special needs moms.

But instead I will tell you about my Audrey. She breaks every stereotype- even the ones within her diagnosis. She defies all odds. She fights harder and longer for things, but with each accomplishment the sense of joy is tripled. She teaches me every day what it means to love with abandon. She humbles me.

I once tried to explain Audrey to a nurse during a particularly rough test (EEG). I was translating Audrey's incoherent words after hours of fear laced tears for both of us. She looked at me mid speech- interupted, and said: "I suspect you and Audrey will always have a language of your own."

And that was that: understanding, acceptance, grace, and the beauty of our bond recognized by an outsider in the space of ten seconds.

Robert Frost has a poem I enjoy, specifically the line: "Two roads diverged in a wood, I took the one less traveled and that has made all the difference."

Having a child with autism is a different path; but sometimes the greatest beauty is found off the beaten road and our biggest journeys found when the destination is set to unknown.

Audrey has autism. It does not define her.  She doesn't let it.
Therefore, neither will I.

Love and Light ♡

We Cry Over Spilled Milk Here

An open letter to the sadist who came up with this brilliant phrase:

“There is no use in crying over spilled milk.”

I have so many words for you.

First off, I would bet every last penny in my kid’s piggy bank that you are one of those parenting experts who has all this vast child rearing knowledge only because the closest thing to a child you have is a pet iguana named Steve. When Steve spills his water you don’t cry. You create a lake of love.

And for those of you whispering behind my back about using my kid’s money for gambling endeavors you heard me right. My children have stolen my sanity, my snacks, and my skin's elasticity. They can spare me 45 pennies to do a little online gambling. Mommy needs her hobbies too.

Second off, have you ever cleaned up a large amount of water or food spilled on the floor? I think not. Because if you had you would be recanting your statement real quick. You know what happens when large amounts of liquid is spilled in my house? My kids suddenly think the splash pad has relocated in our kitchen. And not just any splash pad, a naked one. Have you ever had three naked children attempt to slip and slide in a gallon of juice? It isn’t pretty. Citrusy, yes. Pretty, no.

It is OK to cry guys. In the iconic words of one of our nation’s wisest leaders (Justin Timberlake) cry me a river! Take that Steve the Iguana. You may have a lake of love, but my children have a river of their mother's own tears. I win.

All of this ranting is leading to today’s special story my friends, fear not.

First a little back story. Audrey cannot eat colored cereal. You know those memes of unicorns pooping rainbows? I have always known Audrey was some special kind of unicorn, but the fact that she poops rainbows when eating artificially dyed cereal only confirms this. This morning I busted out a brand new family sized box of cheerios. Audrey was pleased, and ate 36.876 helpings.

Today for lunch I made Chicken Tetrazzini. I knew it was more than likely my children would attempt to eat their napkin over any meal that I cook, but if I am anything it is ever the optimist.

Or stupid. Call it like you see it.

I have this casserole premade to give you a time frame of the crime scene.

I run upstairs real fast to put said torture device(aka tetrazzini casserole) in the oven. Then I pat myself on the back for completing my daily work out, as I do my cool down by slowly walking down the stairs gasping for breath.

Cue my eyes bleeding from horror. Rough estimate here, but I would say there are about 35,000 pieces of cheerios strewn about my basement floor. Audrey is attempting to do the breast stroke through this catastrophe while also shoving fistfuls of carpet cereal in her mouth.

Would you like to know how many cheerios remain in the box? 3.

What do I do you ask? I wipe a glistening tear from my eye, turn around without a word and get the vacuum. Audrey ever the helpful child that she is then attempts to shove the cereal up the vacuum as I work, one piece at a time, obviously. About halfway through my vacuum decides it hates me as much as my children do and decides it is done with this ridiculousness. Cue my crawling on my hands and knees picking up the 20,000 pieces of cereal I did not vacuum up, while Audrey gives me love pats on the ass.

When I finally finish, I turn around to find Audrey calming observing me while eating a bag of Doritos. Do I have any idea where these Doritos came from? Absolutely not.  At this point I just ask her to share and we split the snack that is only slightly wet from my salty tears.

The lesson here: Cry over the milk. Cry over the cereal. Then combine the two and call it dinner, because you know those kids didn’t eat that tetrazzini.

To my brethren in the struggle I say to you, we must find the humor in these situations or else we will find ourselves in a jail cell.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

Life Lessons from Audrey

I have a beautiful little free spirit in my middle child. She plays hard, fights fierce, and loves with abandon. This strong willed little thing has taught me some big lessons.

 Here are a handful:

1. You don't have to match. At all. Stripes, plaids, mismatched shoes; If it makes you happy put it on. Its an outfit, not a peace treaty.

2. Food. Is. Awesome. Like seriously awesome. Eat all the food, but only when you're hungry.
Because moderation.

3. Forget dancing to your own beat. Step that shit up and create your own marching band. Life is short. Be fierce. Never apologize for letting your light shine. Shine that stuff everywhere, it makes the world a better place.

4. Enjoy the little stuff. The smallest things can bring the biggest joy. Take the time to stop and breathe it in. You'll be better for it.

5. Get dirty as much as possible. Lessons are learned when a little dirt and a lot of imagination meet. All good foundations have a solid layer of earth beneathe them.

6. Fall down. It's the only way you'll ever learn to get up again. Bruises aren't permanent. Walk it off. Scars give you character. Character gives you courage. In falling and failing, we often learn to fly.

7. Anger is healthy. It's necessary to be angry sometimes. What matters most is how you deal with that anger. Anger may be healthy, but hate is not.

8. Do not flush stuff down the toilet. In the case of plumbing what goes down tends to come right back up.

Eat the cake.
Wear the pants.
Stop to smell the flowers.
Make your own adventures.
Fail.
Apologize when your wrong.
Avoid poor plumbing choices.

Deep breathes friends, because every little thing is gonna be alright.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle. <3

Boobs.

I don’t often cover controversial topics, mainly because my kids like to clog the toilets for fun, so I get my share of pain and discomfort the good old fashioned way.

But today I’m feeling bold and bloated so here goes nothing.

I did not feed my child yesterday when he was hungry.

Cue the collective internet throwing tomatoes and judgement at me. I’ll take the tomatoes, those are a favorite snack of mine, and the judgement is routine as well but today I’m on your side internet, because no baby should go hungry. After hours of errands, and appointments, I had a very fussy nearly one year old who wanted to nurse while waiting to be seen for a doctor’s appointment. And I made him wait 15 minutes until we got home.

·         Because I was selfish and didn’t want to deal with the stares.

·         Because I had all three of my kids with me and feeding him in the car just wasn’t logistically feasible while also waiting for our name to be called.

·         Because he thinks eating under a blanket is ridiculous. When was the last time you pitched  tent to eat some cheez its?

·         Because the bathroom wasn’t big enough for all of us and Audrey when left unsupervised leaves a trail of tator tots and tears in her wake.

·         Because he does not take a bottle.

Here is the thing, I don’t give two hoots how you feed your kid. I think formula is awesome. I think Mcdonald’s double cheeseburgers are even more awesome.

I think if you have happy kid who isn’t hungry you are basically nailing this entire parenting thing. I don’t judge how anyone does anything. There are a million different ways to accomplish the same thing. We all have the same goal: happy, healthy, kids.

I DON’T think by practicing extended breastfeeding I am better than anyone. Lord knows, I think the opposite of that. I don’t think my children are going to be the next Einstein’s because of it either. My middle child likes to store rocks in her pants for fun. Its a real hobby of hers. I think she's basically the best thing since sliced bread, but clearly all the breast milk didn't squash her natural love of dirt down her pants or her passion for wearing miss-matched shoes with a headband as a belt.

What I do think is this:

I worry for my daughters who are being raised in a world where feeding a hungry baby is taboo. I think that it is totally ridiculous that breast have been so sexualized that their natural God given purpose has been lost. I think its incredibly sad that we live in a world where anxiety and publicly feeding a child go hand in hand. I think after over 4 years of nursing I still have much to learn.

I think next time I will just feed my baby. Or gasp, my TODDLER.

Because haters gonna hate.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

What a World

Today I dressed my kids in red, white, and blue. Not because it was an appropriate holiday, not because I am proud of the state this country is currently in, but because I have hope amid this despair.

I have hope that despite this terrifying world filled with senseless violence, and unfounded bigotry that our children will see past what is, to what can be.

Every morning I wake up and pad through my quiet, dark house. There is a baby on my hip and other children in tow. I make a cup of coffee, sit in the rocking chair (usually with at least 2 little lap mates) and I prepare myself.

I prepare myself for the state of this world, to learn of the most recent act of terror, the next lives brutally lost, the next senseless loss of a nation torn.

And amid children’s laughter, with sweet baby breath on my shoulder I mourn.

Today I dressed my children in the colors of our flag. The red signifying to me the blood of the innocent, the blue the bruised and battered heart of our country, but the white: hope.

Pure and unadulterated hope.

Because you see, we can change this. We can change this through Meara, and Audrey, and Sullivan. I can raise my children to see the good in the world. I can raise my children to be empathetic and understanding. To have a heart full of love and a mind so open it knows no limiting boundaries so small such as prejudice. To raise the next generation to know that hate is a vicious poison that kills both the victim as well as the wielder.  Children who know love is a universal medicine.

The world is a terrifying place.

But we can change this.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle<3

Oh CRAP. Literally.

Join me friends for a little story. I hesitated sharing this for fear of judgment, cps involvement, and future unemployment. In fact I've sat on this little diddy for a few weeks but I decided that although painful to relive, the first step in this process of emotional recovery is acknowledgment. 

So here it goes: The Night my Two Year Old Took a Dump on the Table: A Story of Loss and Trauma.

It started out like any other day. I made my kids cry in all the usual ways: not letting them eat toilet paper, intervening when the chose to hash out confrontations using moves that make the WWE wrestlers  look like amatuers, trying to empty my bladder every 6 hours. You know, the normal ways we parents ruin our kids for life. After spending the day with my sweet angel babies from heaven, dinner time approached. I once again made a meal they requested and then sat and watched while they threw it at me like I was the worst stand up comedian on America's Got Talent(everyone's a critic.)  After this literal and proverbial blood bath I wiped the macaroni out of my eyebrows, removed chicken from my bra, and decided our next bonding activity where I cried as much as them would be bathtime. I begin by undressing Audrey. She makes eye contact and pats me on the back. At this point  a code red should've been blaring. Audrey was preemptively comforting me for her next planned attack, but I was distracted by the feeling of corn in my hairline, and let's be honest, I'm not that bright.
 Rookie. Mistake. 

So, now that Audrey is naked and glorifying in the breeze between her butt cheeks, I move on to undress my next 2 kids. As I strip Meara down I watch Audrey run to the couch and jump on the end table. Cue me yelling: Hey, Hey, Hey NOOOOOOOO, while waving around Meara's underwear like the white flag it was. SOS. At this point I realize shit is about to go down. Literally.

Audrey turns.
Looks at me. 
Makes direct eye contact. (Evil smiles.)
Takes a large dump on the table.


Cue collective gasps. Audrey takes this time while we are all trying to process the fact that she just deposited her nuggets of love from lunch on the table in our living room, to jump down and immediately flee.

Because my life is ALL about timing this is also when my husband casually strolls in, glances down and then yells: THERE IS A TURD ON THE TABBBBLEEEEEEE.

Yes. Yes there is a turd on the table and the turd depositer is currently rubbing her butt on a pillow like an African cat in heat. After you've collected yourself dear husband, please grab poopy pants Mcgee before she marks anymore of her territory.

When I relayed this story to friends most people's first response was: "why weren't you watching her."

Um I was. Every excruciating second I watched her as she executed her plan of terror. I watched, yelling, waving someone else's underwear, holding onto 2 other naked children, with total horror and a smidgen of respect for her quick maneuvering and blatant screw you attitude.

So for any moms out there who may be struggling. It could be worse. You're 2 year old could let you know just what she thinks of you in the form of bodily waste deposited on antique furniture: her opinion of you a literal display of pulic crap.


Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

And the struggle. It's real.

The New Tribe

An Ode to All my Momma’s

This one is for you.

This is for the tired momma, who wears her kids as accessories, and the closest thing to designer bags she carries are the ones under her eyes.

This is to the mom who holds everyone and everything else together even when she feels like she may fall apart.

 This is to the working mom who tip toe on a tight wire balancing family, career, kids, and still manages to make it work while look beautiful doing it.

 This is to the stay at home moms who pour their heart into their homes and their children and yet still feel the need to defend themselves in a world where you are damned if you do or damned if you don’t.

To my mommas who balance a little of both.

 Here is the thing I’ve learned my sweet mommas:

 In a world that is so set to divide us, a world that is so determined to assign labels, and use those labels to place boundaries among us that lead to fissures in friendships, and undue heartache.

We are more than this

 

 I have heard the tribe is dead, but it just isn’t. Because you see, we are the new tribe, and we live in every small smile across the waiting room and offhand chat at the park.

 This is what motherhood looks like for all of us fierce warrior mommas just trying to get by:

It looks like sleepless nights.

It looks like kisses of sweet skinned knees.

It’s wiping countless tears away.

Chasing monsters from the closet.

Its fairytales, and tonka trucks.

It is the sound of those precious babies laughing

And the heart wrenching sound of their cries

It is brutal.

It is so damn beautiful.

 You see, we aren’t so different all of us.

There are a thousand different ways to do this thing right and hot damn, good for you for figuring out just the right way to nail it for your family.

 

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3