Merry Christmas, From Our Left Field to Yours

From our family to yours, praying blessings over your families, your homes, your jobs, your lives.  May your Christmas be merry, and your new year be blessed beyond your wildest imagination.

Ever try to organize 3 cats (all wearing bow ties), 2 boys, 1 dog, a mom, and a dad for that ONE perfect picture???  We took about 30....  It just doesn't happen.

Here are some of our best efforts:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

What Would Your Sign Say?

Last week in church, the message was about modern day miracles--God still does them.  Our pastor did something remarkable, dedicating the majority of the message to providing proof.  As the praise and worship team sang, close to 30 people came out, one at a time, holding cardboards signs.  On one side of their signs were their struggles:  teenage pregnancy, drug and alcohol addictions, financial struggles, jail time, miscarriages, troubled marriages, health crises, suicide attempts, homelessness and  joblessness--the list went on.  On the flip side of their signs were their testimonies: redeemed, beloved, saved, forgiven, miracle pregnancies and resolved health diagnoses, revitalized marriages, loved and accepted without judgement.

It was beautiful, heart-wrenching, and tear jerking.  It as amazing, awesome, and moving.

Later, I spoke with Noah about it, asking him if he understood how much courage it took for those men, women, and teenagers to get up there and share their stories.  We also talked about how important it is to share our stories and testimonies when we are given them.  How else will others know to have hope, that there is hope?  I also want my children to grow up understanding that everyone has a story, and it may not always be visible, or immediately apparent--so we can't, shouldn't, judge others.

This has also started the wheels turning in my own head:  What would MY sign say?  Beginning years ago, much of my testimony has centered around a rescued marriage, a child who wasn't supposed to be, acceptance of my health limitations, and the healing that came with accepting Christ.  I suppose the front of my sign would say, "Sick.  Lost.  Angry.  Bitter.  Ugly."  The flip side would be, "Healed.  Loved.  Saved.  Beautiful."

Life has thrown some curveballs, and I've not really known how to adjust to them.  Alright, so I know the answer to that one, so possibly it's more that I don't want to.  Instead, I have chosen to resort to my angry, bitter, ugly ways.  I have openly rejected much of my life outside this house, outside my immediate family and friends.  Having been rejected by people outside these four walls, having been so deeply hurt by people who are 'supposed' to love me and be a part of my life, I have not wanted to feel warm and fuzzy and Christ-filled.  I have told myself that cutting myself off from certain people, drama, and parts of life is simply self-preservation.  My children and husband need me to be sane, healthy, and emotionally present for them.  I am unable to do that if I am constantly having to field drama that is not mine, or unhealthy, toxic relationships, even when those relationships are family.  I need to move on.  Yes, there is some truth to that.  Distancing myself has been healthy in some respects, but sometimes, that drama is like a drug.  It still has the ability, the potential to draw me in and turn my life on its arss.  That is the unhealthy part: the part that allows me to hang on to my anger and bitterness, rather than completely severing it as I work to separate myself from the cause.

So, what would my sign say now, if I were able to send these strongholds where they belong?  Perhaps the first side would again testify to my anger and bitterness: "Rejected. Angry.  Bitter.  Ugly.  Judgmental.  Cold."  And the second side?  "Forgiving.  Loving.  Beautiful.  Warm.  Content."

What would your sign say?  Pray for me, dear friends, and I shall pray for you.

Here We Go Again...

You know, raising Noah is a constant battle--but the battle isn't always with him.  Many times, I have to battle the professionals we rely on for help and guidance.  Sometimes I have to battle myself to remember it's about him--he's the one having the hard time, not me.  Other times I battle just plain old daily life.  Lately though, I find myself battling ignorance more than anything.

This morning I had a full on temper tantrum.  Stomping my feet, yelling, crying, and most definitely acting worse than my children.  I have no idea where they get it from....  My mommy hackles were raised just about as high as they've been in a while.

See, here's the thing--someone has claimed to have a cure for Noah's autism.  I'm sorry, what?  I swapped emails with this person for an entirely different purpose, and this person has spammed me with miracle-product emails instead. This person is not a medical professional, does not hold any degrees that I am aware of that make her an expert, nor is she even a parent of a child on the spectrum.   How dare she.

Here's the other thing--my kid doesn't need a cure.  He's different, not sick.  Noah has Asperger's, and a very mild form of it.  He does not have a heart condition, cancer, epilepsy, or anything else that requires a cure (thank you, Jesus). Noah does not need magic water, a magic pill, a magic wand, or fairy dust.  By telling Noah he needs a cure, I would be telling him something is wrong with him.  There is nothing wrong with my chid--he has differences, as we all do.  As parents, Shawn and I have worked hard with Noah to make sure he knows there isn't anything wrong with him; and to have someone come along and tell me (God forbid they tell him) they have a cure for him?  What kind of message does that send?  No, I have not searched to the ends of the earth in order to fix Noah; I have, however, searched to the ends of the earth in order to help him learn to accommodate his differences, accept them, and learn how to function.  While Noah is not in need of a cure, he is in need of understanding, guidance, acceptance and love.

A few weeks ago I vented my anger about ignorance from the general public concerning children with extra/special needs.  I'll say it again, though--if you do not have first hand knowledge, please don't think you have the answers.  Even those of us with first hand knowledge don't have the answers.  Okay?  Okay. Please be careful what you say, and who you say it to.  You might think you mean well, you might think you're helping.  Here's a wake up call--you're not doing either.  Instead, you're upsetting us, frustrating us, and downright pissing us off.  You also run the risk of emotionally damaging a child.  Your 'help' is nothing more than uneducated insult. Okay?  Okay.  Please don't tell me how to parent my child, please don't tell me I'm a bad mom for not searching for a cure, please don't tell me all of his differences and difficulties are a direct result of helicopter parenting; please don't share your unfounded, uneducated theories or accusations with me at all.  I beat myself up enough without your help.  Please bear in mind, that person you think is in need of a cure is just that--a person.  A human being.  A mother's child.  And, we both have feelings.  Okay?  Okay.

There are days I'd give anything to live autism for Noah. I hate the struggles he has to deal with.  But, I'm that odd parent--I'm also grateful for those struggles.  I know this is how it is for him, this is who he is, and this is just one of the many things I love about him.  I know this is how God is preparing him for life, preparing him for great things.  If my child does not learn how to work himself through a struggle, how will he possibly learn to get on in life?  How will he know accomplishments, how will he know the good things, how will he know just how capable he is?  How will he learn to fight to make himself heard?  I wouldn't change Noah.  He is who he is, he is how God made him (do we need to go over the "He made man in His image" thing again?).  What if, in 'curing' him, I lost all the things I love so much about him?

We are lucky in that Noah is on the mild end of things.  Does he still have a lot to deal with?  Absolutely; we all do.  Does he need a cure?  No.

Truthful Tuesday... The Motherhood Version

1. I despise whining.  I really, really hate it.  It makes me clench my teeth, and my head spin.

2.  I love my kids all the time, every day, every hour--they are my chosen 'career' choice, if you will, and I don't regret it.  However, there are times I don't like them very much and I begin to think about running away to a hippie colony in CA, and calling myself Lavender Sunshine Moonbeam.  In fact, as a mom, I've dreamt of running away more often than I ever did as a child.  One night I almost did, but I couldn't find my other shoe.  Thankfully, we laugh about that now ("Hey Mom, remember that time you accused Dad of stealing your shoe so you couldn't run away?")....  Nothing, and I do mean nothing, in life, has frustrated me more than being a mom.  But, nothing else in life has rewarded me as much as motherhood, either.

3.  Avery is a non-stop talker.  From the second he's up, to literally falling asleep mid-sentence when we put him to bed.  He's also recently begun talking in his sleep.  There are days I can handle it, days it makes my head spin, and other days I just cry.

4.  This time last year, I was hoping to be pregnant with Child #3 by now.  Truthfully, we haven't even tried yet.  We've talked about it plenty, but we're both on the fence; my health, and raising the two we already have, continue to be huge issues.

5. Six and a half days out of seven, I suck at motherhood.  I fail miserably.  I keep hoping the few times I get it right will make up for all the other times I get it so terribly wrong.

6.  Knowing that we had no control over the age difference between Avery and Noah, I still believe that if we'd been able to have Avery sooner, we might have noticed and acted upon Noah's differences earlier.  There is a lot of guilt for not recognizing everything with Noah earlier than we did, and we often wonder how much we contributed to his difficulties.

7.  My kids are the reason I started teaching myself how to bake and cook properly.  I wanted better, healthier alternatives for them (and they still prefer corn dogs and chicken nuggets...).

8.  I've learned more from Noah than I could ever hope to teach him.  He's an amazing kid.

9.  Sometimes I have panic attacks when I stop to think about everything I'm trying to teach Noah that he isn't quite 'getting.'  We actually kind of hit a wall a few weeks ago, as parents, worrying about his future, and wondering what kind of provisions we need to make for him as an adult.  Noah is perfectly capable of many great things, but sometimes the drive just isn't there.

10.  My kids are dorks, but they're my dorks.  And I strive every day to be the kind of mom they deserve.  They're pretty awesome, and they deserve awesome in return.  There are more days than I care to count when we all miss the mark horribly.

11.  I really do believe it takes a village to raise children.  I tried doing it by myself with Noah his first few years, and not only did I really mess up, but I nearly broke both of us.  I'm always grateful for our good friends, teachers, professionals, and everyone else we've been provided with.  I can't do it without them.  With Noah, I couldn't quite grasp the concept of handing my child over to someone else: "This is my crying baby to deal with."  With Avery: "Sure!  You want him?  Here he is!"

12.  Noah likes having his ear lobe rubbed, and his cheek caressed ("Counterclockwise, Mom!").  Those are my love languages with him.  He will often plop himself beside me, and place my hand on his cheek or ear lobe.  Sometimes, if we're in public and he starts getting antsy, I'll reach over and start rubbing his ear lobe.  His instant reaction always makes me laugh.  With Avery, we sniff ears (another story for another time), and squeeze each other's hands when we're holding them.

13.  I'm a Type A-er, I have OCD, I plan everything to a T, and I have serious control issues.  I learned right off the bat, beginning with Noah's conception, that none of that works in motherhood.  It wasn't until Avery that I finally figured out how to loosen up a bit more though.  With Avery, I've also learned to learn more, if that makes sense--I've relaxed (but only a little...), learned how to take advice, and learned how to follow my child's lead, rather than trying to make them fit my molds of how/who/what they should be.

14.  My kids have chores.  Yes, even Avery.  Why?  Because I want them to learn how to be responsible adults who can take care of themselves.

Ugh

So many of my posts recently have been rather heavy.  There are updates and revelations I need to share, but I thought I'd share my yesterday with you today (just because it's less of an emotional toll on me!). I figure y'all could probably use a good laugh.

Yesterday began at 5:30 with the house alarm suddenly realizing it hasn't been connected to a house phone for the past 6 days.  Shawn and I recognized the different sound of the alarm (as opposed to the usual blaring that occurs when Avery pushes the Panic button), and were a bit slow to respond.  Captain Panic--I mean, Noah, was faster than us, reaching the key pad first, and immediately began yelling, "THERE'S TROUBLE!  THE PERIMETER HAS BEEN BREACHED," upon noticing the 'trouble' light was lit up bright red. No son, that's not how it works.  Naturally, Avery fed off Noah's overreaction, and began yelling about the trouble, begging us to protect him.

And my day began.  Because 5:30 is a perfectly acceptable time for my children to be wide awake and begin their day.  Sigh.

I won't bore you with all the little things in between the alarm and what happened 12 hours later while I was cooking dinner--for example, the trip to the neuropsychiatrist's office, where my children made it obvious we belong there, or having to literally shove my children in between two cars in a parking lot to avoid being hit by the woman backing out while smoking her cigarette, texting, and drinking her coffee....  I'll warn you though--the barista at Starbucks gives you a really weird look when you ask if she can add a shot of vodka to your shot of espresso.

Instead, I'll just finish up with this last story.

I was cooking dinner in the kitchen (okay, not sure well else I'd be cooking dinner, but you know, given the day I had....) when Avery came in and threw up.  As I was yelling at him to run to the bathroom while I shoved the nearest pot under his mouth, it did not yet occur to me that he was turning from beet red to blue.  Yup.  Up the hallway we ran, while he continued to throw up, and I realized--choke.  And what should come up with the final heave?  A QUARTER.  The very same quarter I'd taken away from him less than five minutes before he appeared in the kitchen.

Later, Shawn and I were talking with Avery about what we put in our mouths and what we don't.  I asked him, "So are you going to put anything other than food, milk, juice or water in your mouth ever again?"  PAUSE.  God help me, the dear child had to think about it.

The Straw and The Camel

I was going to call this one "I Need Vodka".... But, well, we won't go there.

It's been a windshield-breaking, phone cracking, kitchen fire setting, meltdown-having, Prednisone-filled, PMS-fueled week, on top of the 6 weeks I've already been sick with symptoms no one can really explain.  Avery has been up since 5:45 this morning, talking absolutely non-stop.  I'm not looking for rainbows and unicorns,  I'm looking for my bed.  Worst of all, my oldest is being bullied to the point at which he's talking about "taking their advice" concerning suicide.  How exactly is one supposed to respond to that?  Not just to the bullying, but to the immediate fear of letting your child out of your sight ever again?

Yeah, I'm not handling stress all that well this week.

To say I'm a little extra sensitive to things this week would be an understatement.  I'm tired, I'm worn, I'm angry for my son, I can't get through five minutes of the day without bursting into tears over one thing or another.  I am on overload.  I am RAW.

I went to work this morning--my safe place.  The center has always been my haven.  ALWAYS.  Daily, life-involved crap is not allowed there.  There is a peace that envelopes me as I walk through the door, inhale the scent of the pantry (it smells like my grandmother's--don't give me a hard time), and just kind of take in everything God has to offer me, and the rest of us, there.  There, we are about one another, and those God brings to us to care for, and even when nothing is right, everything is okay.

Today, things crashed a little bit.  Today, my haven wasn't the haven it usually is.  Today, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.  Today, I actually had to remove myself from a situation while there.

Remember I said I'm already feeling pretty sensitive?  Well, when people are insensitive, when they proclaim to know a lot about something (nothing), and then continue to babble incessantly on that topic in which they are ignorant--I fume.  I silently beg that person to JUST.  SHUT.  UP.

And, knowing me as well as you do by now, I'm sure you also know the term 'autistic' sets me off. My son HAS autism, he is NOT autism--do you see the different when you call him, and others with autism, 'autistic?'  Autism is not what makes Noah Noah, it's part of him.  Some call it nitpicky, some say I'm arguing semantics.  To me, it would be the same as calling a child who is overweight, a 'fatty.'  It's a label, not a diagnosis.  I don't like labels, because then we forget about the person inside.  GET.  IT.  RIGHT.

Today, those two factors--ignorant people, and incorrect terminology--came crashing into my already on-edge, oversensitive, bruised mommy self esteem.  There was a woman going on, and on, and on--about autistic kids.  I've never met this woman before, but she claimed to be a teacher's aide who--ding ding--worked with "those poor autistic kids."  She went on and on about how hard they try, they just have so much against them, life is just so hard for them, it's so frustrating working with them--I cringed.  I wanted to hide under the table.  I tried to tune her out, I really did.  I swear I did.  I wanted to turn around and stare at her, hoping lasers would somehow shoot out of my eyes.  Our admin noticed  I was wearing my shoulders as earrings at that point; she put her hand on my one of my new earrings, both of us realizing I just needed to move to a different room.

I did--change rooms--but not before I screamed at her, in my head of course, that my child kicks autism's ass every single day of his life.  He not only does that, but he ROCKS it.  He is not autism's bitch, autism is HIS bitch.  My child is not autism, he is NOAH.  I will not allow my child to be a victim of autism (or anything else)--he will be a survivor and thrive in life.  Did you get that this time?

I really wish I had a great message to end this post with--something snazzy like, "Think before you speak." Or "Educate yourself"-- or, "You never know who is listening when you're being stupid and ignorant so please just keep your mouth shut"--but really, after spending the last 4 hours in tears, breaking down in Target just trying to choose a pair of ear buds, looking at my cracked windshield, staring at my burnt up kitchen wall and cabinets, and realizing I still have another week of prednisone, and at least that long before my PMS will end, and my kid has another 5 years in school with the brats who bully him--I'm spent.  There's no message here this time, just me: An angry, frustrated, tired, raw, worn out mommy who is in desperate need of a little bit of nice.

New Chapters

One of the chapters in Noah's life-book has been his therapy riding. This is, quite possibly, the most important chapter in his book. There are days I don't know where we'd be without these horses, instructors, volunteers and staff--without this farm, this therapy.  It's not just horse therapy, it's family therapy.  I still remember his first lesson--watching that grin on his face through the tears on my own.

Turning onto the gravel road, there is an inaudible, yet collective sigh from everyone in the car.  Our shoulders droop, no longer carrying the weight of the world.  Our bodies relax, our faces smile, our lungs take deep, cleansing breaths.  None of the daily nonsense is allowed here, and for an hour each week, everything is okay.  Noah is just a normal kid, doing normal kid things, happy, knowledgable, safe.  Everyone there is there for our kids; no politics, no 'my kid is more troubled/more normal/worse/better than your kid,' we all live on neighboring planets--if not the same one--and we're all there, all for the same reasons.  Kindred spirits, weary, battle-worn soldiers, parents searching for reprieve.

Our family--and I say all of us, not just Noah, because we all benefit from our weekly farm visits--has received blessing upon blessing just by being part of this therapy center.  In addition to the horses and amazing people, we're blessed each week just by the beautiful location of the farm and the nearby lake.  We've been given--given--opportunities to attend events, and just do fun things as a family.  The biggest blessing obviously is seeing our son happy and successful.  

Before riding, I carted Noah from OT to PT to ST, to social skills groups, to this and that and everything else.  Nothing worked--because he wasn't interested.  It was boring for him.  Most of it took more work than he was willing to put into it.  There were countless arguments, and we weren't getting anywhere.

Enter Miss J.

At wit's end, I emailed a friend at church, saying "Hey, I know you ride.... Know of anyplace that does therapy riding?"  As a matter of fact, she didn't just know of a place, she taught at such a place.

Miss J worked with Noah for over a year.  She saw things in my child that I myself struggled to see at times, and was desperate for others to see in him.  She saw potential, she saw worthiness, she saw a natural gift with horses and horsemanship--and she worked hard with Noah to cultivate that, to grow him, and to help him see what he needs to see in himself.  Miss J has helped Noah learn to be comfortable in his own skin, to learn to be Noah, to accept instruction and praise.  She took complete leaps of faith with him, she set high standards, and he has far surpassed that.  He excels.  Not only has she helped him in the ring, but she's helped our family out of the ring, by securing long-term scholarship money for this expensive therapy. Not only did this therapy begin with Miss J, but it began--and continues--because of her.  I am humbled by her love for my boy.  Maybe she was 'just doing her job,' but it's never felt that way.  When you have a child like Noah, you spend your life screaming at people to take note, to see your child as worthy, to help you, to help your child--and when that finally happens, well, it's pretty awesome.  Miss J managed to do all of that without treating him any differently, without making life 'easy' for Noah, all while treating him like a typical kid.  He's not "Noah with all the issues," he's just Noah.  Noah wouldn't be at the point he is at today if not for all the work Miss J put into just doing her job.

Miss J left this summer to have a baby, and fought hard for Noah to have the instructor she wanted him to have, the instructor she knew he needs--and now we have Miss C, another incredible gift to our family.   Miss C is part of our horse chapter, but is creating a new chapter of her own, as well.  Like Miss J, she sees the potential Noah carries within him, and he's just Noah.

We knew in our hearts that Miss J wouldn't be coming back.  She set everything into motion for Noah, then took a step back.  But, she was still there in the background.  Last week though, she announced she and her family are moving back home.  Even with Noah's amazing progress with Miss C, I'm experiencing some grief over this. While I'm happy for Miss J, and I will always be grateful for her and everything she's done, I will miss her terribly.  Today, trying to say goodbye, and thank you, I couldn't.  I can't do it without tears, and there just aren't words for everything I want her to know.  Instead, I settled for a wholly inadequate "Thank you" in a quaking, trembling voice.

I don't know if Miss J will ever know what she has meant to our family, but I am quite sure she isn't finished touching lives.  I do know that wherever she is, wherever she goes, she will be a gift.

Love, According to Avery

It's a boy!!!

Oh, I should probably mention our new addition is a kitten--Avery's kitten, Max Steele.  It turns out the kitten Avery fell in love with is a pretty sick little guy, but we know he was meant for us.  I doubt anyone else would've taken him as sick as he was, and I hate thinking of him being sick in a cage (remember, I'm the one who will take the elderly cat/dog/child with 3 legs, diabetes, a thyroid condition, blind in one eye, deaf in both ears, with cancer, before I will adopt a healthy kitten/puppy/child...  Everyone deserves a chance to have a family and be loved).  As BFF Sharon said, he needs us, and our family has a way of making the misfits fit.

Max has been ours for a little over 36 hours.  He's been quarantined in the bathroom for all of that, and will have to stay in there until he improves.  It breaks my heart, but one sick kitty is a lot easier (and cheaper) to care for than three sick kitties.

I've watched Avery carefully and what I've seen has amazed me, making my mommy heart burst.  Whoever says kids don't know anything about love is, well, an idiot.
     *I feel as though there should be a disclaimer here about teenagers and 'love,' but that's another post, right?

On the way home with Max (his crate safely buckled into the seat next to Avery), Avery talked to him about his new home, his new family, and how much he's going to like it here: "You're gonna wuv your new home Max Steele.  I'm going to wuv you and hold you and pway with you."  He shopped carefully for Max's supplies, and proudly--gently--carried Max in his crate out to the car, and into the house.

Avery has watched entire movies on the bathroom floor just so he can spend time with Max.  He's taken his toys, games and books in there.  Avery sits in there, talking, petting and brushing (and feeding Max treats...  lots and lots of treats).  He made a get well card for his cat, which we taped to the side of the washer where Max can see it.  Avery goes in every few minutes just to say hi and check up on his kitty.  He's been going in without me reminding him, and I hear him in there telling Max how much he loves him.  I found 60 photos of Max on my phone, each one obscured by a little finger.  We did let Max sleep with Avery the past two nights, and when we went in to check on them later, we found them curled up tight, Max purring happily.  We did put Max back in the bathroom before we went to bed so he could eat and potty, and this morning Avery went straight there to say good morning to Max.

Avery told me yesterday, "I bwoke my heart to give Max my wuv and make him better.  And he bwoke his heart to give me his wuv!"  How is that my four year old understands what it takes to love another living creature, but most of us adults can't grasp that concept?  I really think we get dumber with age...

Some of this I talked with Avery about before bringing Max home, and I've continued to remind Avery  over the past two days. But, most of this--it's all Avery.

I really don't like taking credit for my kids.  And I'm not saying that as a martyr in a misguided effort to be humble.  It's all them and God, truly.  How they are turning out is not a reflection of my lack of parenting skills.   Most of the time, I'm not even leading by good example (you do not want to see me in traffic or after a bad day in the kitchen....).  My prayer for Noah and Avery is that they grow up to be good, Christian, mature gentleman in spite of my failures as their mom.  I want them to be full of compassion, love, acceptance of others, and understanding, not just for other humans, but all life.  I want them to value all creatures, and see each life as a gift.  I'm proud of how they're turning out.  They are great kids simply because I won the luck of the draw on this--they're great kids because they're great kids.

And for that, I'm grateful.

Seeing Noah

We've been trying out new churches over the past few months--but that's another post.

The pastor today jumped right into Revelations, and I have to say, I admire a pastor who isn't afraid to do so.  Again, that's another post.

In part of today's message, the pastor began speaking of what life during and after the rapture will be like--everything that will be eradicated when all is said and done.  When he got to orphans and foster children (maybe I should phrase that, 'children without parents and homes' instead), abortions, miscarriages, still births, birth defects, poverty, and other heartaches and hardships our children face today--and we face as parents--I had to choke back sobs.  When he started naming off specific birth defects, I had to cling to my seat with one hand, and Shawn with the other, anchoring my feet to the floor and my butt to my chair, fighting the urge to jump up while shouting "NO MORE AUTISM!"  Even writing this post, even telling Shawn, and BFFs Sharon and Jen, about it, my eyes still fill with tears, and I still have to fight the urge to break down and cry.

The thing is though, I don't think of Noah as being defective.  He's different, yes, but far from defective.  God made Noah in His own image.  My child is fearfully and wonderfully made by our Creator Himself.  God knew Noah before He formed him in my womb.  God has great plans for His--our--son, and He knew those plans, walked Noah's path, before Noah was born.  And another thing?  Noah is who he is because of ASD--he's not ASD, but it is part of what has made him Noah.  I don't know who he'd be like without it, but there are parts of him I absolutely love and adore, knowing full well he wouldn't have those traits without it.  But would I make life easier for him, given the chance?  Absolutely. He's my son, and I want what's best for him.

Noah frustrates me at times.  At times, raising him is a full-on, hair-pulling (and raising!), foot-stomping, downright maddening experience; not just for me, but for himself as well.  This is not something I would ever wish upon any child, or any parent, most of all, my own.  I admit, with tremendous guilt (because there's a part of me that feels as though that might say something about how I feel about Noah), to breathing a sigh of relief when Avery showed no signs of it.  I will also admit that at times I feel guilty for complaining about Noah's autism; after all, in the grand scheme of things, his is an incredibly mild case.  On the flip side, there are also times I am guiltily grateful it is not something else with which we struggle.  But seeing Noah frustrated with himself is enough to drive this mom to tears.  Some days, it's just too much.  Living as though we are in the movie Groundhog Day, day in and day out, is enough to make me wonder just how long it will be before I end up in a pretty little padded cell with a fabulously stylish new coat, snacking on Xanax.  I love my son, but there are times I really, really hate autism.  I want to scream, "HE'S MY SON!  LEAVE HIM ALONE!"  There are times I want to rage against autism, times I want to ask God how this could possibly be part of His plan for Noah, times I just want to curl up in a ball and make it all go away.  Is it weird to want to scream at something I can't see, can't touch, can't even put a face to?

I will also tell you there is extreme joy in raising Noah.  At times, raising him can be a very humbling experience.  His triumphs are greater, his efforts bigger, his successes more celebratory, and his rare smile more precious.  I am always grateful for Noah, for his life, and the gift he is to me.  He is my hero, and I'm grateful for everything he is teaching me as I attempt to raise him up.  There are times I've even been grateful for autism, because we wouldn't be who we are today without it as a part of our lives.

I love Noah just the way he is, and I'd never seek out to change him.  Help him build coping mechanisms into his life to be able to function in society? Yes.  But change him?  No.  I don't believe my son needs to be cured, or changed, or whatever. Noah doesn't need to conform, or fit in, or be anyone but himself. But I do become frustrated for him (and yes, with him *sigh*), and in that frustration, whatever I can do to make life easier for him--I would do, I will do.  In a heartbeat.  Just like any other mom.

ASD has left both of us lonely while sitting right next to each other.  It has made it difficult for us to forge a bond; it makes it difficult for Noah to forge any bond.  It makes it difficult for Noah to not walk into traffic, to play with his brother, to make eye contact, to make friends, to be in crowds--it just makes life difficult, period.  BUT, it has also created a young man who strives for his best every day, has a love and sensitivity for animals, has a curious mind, and who makes me prouder than I could ever possibly put into words.  Noah is full of awkward goofiness, while at the same time, capable of profound thoughts that simply stun most adults.  Autism has grown and matured our family while helping us educate others, and has created goals and dreams for all of us individually, and as a family unit.  We have wonderful friends we wouldn't otherwise have because of the autism connection.  We've had experiences and opportunities we wouldn't have had without autism.  It reminds us that even the little things in life are huge, and worthy of celebrating.  We are constantly reminded to never take life too seriously. Perhaps most of all, our experiences, and autism itself, have taught us volumes about love, acceptance, differences, faith, and perseverance.

Every mom wants the best for her children, and sometimes that includes the eradication and cure of a disorder, a disease, or an illness, and even of everyday, normal difficulties and struggles our children face.  What we learn instead, is to use these trials to help make us stronger, and to help make our children better than they could ever be.  Sometimes, the difficult part--and the key in life--is remembering that what we think is best for our children, isn't what God knows is best.

What we learn, is to trust in, and lean on, God--and to teach our children to do the same.  We are mere humans, and simply cannot do this thing called 'life' on our own. 

Noah may never be 'cured' by society's standards (I won't print what I really want to say about that!), but he's imperfectly perfect (perfectly imperfect?) by our Father's standards.  Noah is perfectly imperfect to me.  And for our family, that's what matters most.

The Search For the Perfect Purse

*I feel as though I need a disclaimer here:  Contrary to the title, this is not a self-absorbed, narcissistic post about a purse! Okay, it sort of is, but that's not the point to this post, I promise!*

I like to blend in.  I do not like to stand out, or draw attention to myself.  I shrink when others draw attention to me, and pass it off with self-deprecating humor.  I am understated, introverted, quiet (well, until you get to know me....), and a people pleaser, just eager to get along and make sure everyone else is getting along.  I don't talk outside of close company for fear of sounding like an uneducated idiot. I am anything but flamboyant:  a jeans, t-shirt and flip flops kind of girl.  I don't wear loud, bold colors.  I am not comfortable in my own skin. I don't like having my picture taken, and on the rare occasion I post "selflies" on Instagram, I usually hyperventilate first.  I shy away from sleeveless shirts, shorts, short skirts and dresses, or any kind of footwear that might make me stand out.  I am not trendy or chic. I don't keep up with the latest styles. I don't shop for name brands.  My hair has been the same basic style since high school.  It took me two years to find the sandals I bought yesterday because everything was either too trendy, too colorful, too high-heeled... Just too much not me.  Two years ago, when I was shopping for new glasses, I took a leap and went with pale pink frames.  The first week I wore them, I had to fight the urge to return them for something brown.  This year, I went back to my comfy (and by comfy, I mean psychologically comfy!) brown frames from three years ago.  When we bought the jeep, I parked as far away from every other car in the parking lots so people wouldn't see me getting in and out of this trendy, flashy, sporty vehicle.  I am a housewife:  I talk like a housewife, I dress like a housewife, I walk like a housewife.  I am not California city chic, I am Bealeton townie SAHM.  I just want to blend in.  I don't want to be noticed.

I don't accept compliments well, not even from those who love me, usually deflecting them with good ol' self-deprecating humor.  I laugh and reply they have to tell me these things because it's in the "contract."  I'm not good at accepting gifts, either.

Even as I stare down the barrel of 40, I have these thoughts in my head:  "That person is wondering what in the world a girl like me is doing in a flashy vehicle like this."  If I'm wearing a sleeveless shirt or a short skirt, it's "That person is wondering who lied to me and if I even bothered looking in the mirror before leaving my house this morning."  Parenting in public brings "That person is thinking I never should've been allowed to have children."  I don't go out without make up, because then I'm positive people are staring, wondering if I know how ugly I am.  In the gym, I'm hedging my bets that the fit, skinny, beautiful people are wondering what a fat*$%& like me is doing there, besides wasting my time.  Everywhere, in my head, people are judging me.  I know in my head that I'm not important enough for strangers to give me the time of day with things like this (and even if I am, why on earth do strangers thoughts matter to me?), but this is what the Enemy, and my heart do to me--or rather, what lies in my heart after years of hurt, and what I allow the Enemy of my soul to tell me.  I'm damaged goods.

Yes, I've been in therapy.  Yes, I've been on and off anti-depressants for years.  And you want the truth?  I was even hospitalized in college.  But medication, hospitalization, and even therapy to a point, aren't going to change me.  The change has to come from within.  In some ways, it's much like getting in a cold pool: You put your toe in first, realize how cold it is, then back out.  Whereas, if you jump in all at once, you adjust much faster and easier.  Instead of jumping into the pool of confidence and throwing caution to the wind, I repeatedly dip just my toe in, backing out while yelling "I DON'T LIKE THIS!"  It's about changing my way of thinking, being confident in who my Father has created me to be.  It's about being proud of His creation, proud to be His child (oh dear, pride is another entire post....).  I don't have that confidence, and I pray for it daily.  It shouldn't ever matter to me what others think of me, but only what my Father thinks.

Lately, flipping through magazines, I've been thinking to myself, "I should dress more like that."  I've been thinking I should take more care with how I look, how I dress, how I behave.  If I project confidence, I'll be confident, right?  If I project confidence and take myself more seriously, others will too, right?  And eventually I'll learn, right?  I really don't know what has lead to the "I should"'s, especially when my husband and friends love me as I am.

Sooo....  How in the world does a purse fit into all of this????

When it comes to purses, I'm an understated, Vera Bradley girl.  I have been for years.  I can walk into a store, pick it out in five minutes, and be done with it. Muted colors, cotton fabric, nothing flashy about it.  Usually a backpack, maybe a cross-body (the easier to chase Avery with), or something with long handles that hands off my shoulder and leaves my hands free.  Everything matches (purse, wallet, accessories).  Easy, simple, done.  Truth be told, it's so easy and simple, I haven't bought a new purse in years.

And now, my good old standby is falling apart.  She's showing some wear and tear, and needs to be replaced.  With that, I decided it was time to step out of my box, OUTSIDE OF MY COMFORT ZONE, and go with something different.  Something other than Vera Bradley.  *GASP*

I gotta tell you, being outside of my comfort zone is well, it's terribly uncomfortable!

As I was walking through stores this spring I noticed the bold colors of this season.  Oranges, yellows, pinks, blues, purples.  And they have handles (I've since learned these are called 'hobo bags.')!  Handles that you carry, which means your hands aren't free!  There are so many styles to choose from, so many colors to choose from!  Colors and styles that will make me self-conscious, and possibly even draw attention to me!

Store after store, I've met with disappointment.  There's even been an anxiety attack or two, and I've even cried.

Why am I putting myself through this (my family is wondering why I'm putting THEM through this....)? Why on earth don't I just go with the nearest brown leather handbag I see, or make a dash to the nearest Very Bradley retailer?  Man, if I had a solid answer to that, I'd have a purse by now!

I think I'm trying to prove a point to myself.  I can step out of my box and be okay with it.  I can still be Amy, and have a bold-colored purse.  I'm sure it seems like such a silly thing from the outside looking in.  To me though, it gets to the root of what ails me.  If I can have a flamboyant purse, maybe I'll learn some confidence. Maybe I'll learn to not care so much what others are thinking.

Will a bold, stylish, trendy purse automatically make me a more attractive, more confident person? Absolutely not.  I'm not foolish or stupid enough to believe that.

But I think at this point, it's the principle of the thing.  It's what the purse stands for.

I think this is one of God's lessons for me.  Step out of the boat, and be okay with it.  Be the person He created me to be, and be comfortable with it.  Learn that it's okay to stand out, it's okay to be confident; and not just learn it's okay, but it's what my Father wants for me.  It's okay to be okay.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.” 
― Bernard M. Baruch

Summer Without Focalin

Back in January at Noah's well check, our pediatrician became concerned when she realized Noah's growth has slowed tremendously, even a little dangerously, since starting Focalin two years ago (Focalin is a medication Noah takes for ADHD symptoms).  This is a typical side effect of the medication, and one I was worried about when he started it.  Noah was already on the 'pretty skinny' side, and I didn't feel as though he had much growth to sacrifice to the medication.

We really had a tough time deciding to put Noah on medication, but it became very evident that he was not going to survive his school career (or life, for that matter) if we didn't do something.  We fought the decision for quite a while, and it was one of the contributing factors in our delay in having him diagnosed.  If we weren't going to medicate our son, why did we need a diagnosis?  This goes in the "Who says parenting is easy?" category.  

We went from "We'll NEVER medicate our child!  Only bad parents do that!" to having our child on three medications--an anti-depressant for anxiety/OCD/depression symptoms, and two medications for ADHD.  The differences we've been able to see in Noah have been amazing.  I hate that my child is on so many medications, but as a friend pointed out, if Noah were diabetic, or asthmatic (as Avery is), I wouldn't give necessary medications a second thought.  My son deserves to be able to function, he deserves to be able to concentrate, he deserves to be the best he can be.  And it just so happens that medication helps with that.

But now we've run into the "My son also deserves to grow" issue.  He's behind his peers in growth, and seldom has an appetite.  He knows he's short, he knows he's skinny.  It's hurting his self esteem.  Therein lies the problem:  Which does he deserve more, to grow or to be able to function?  Why does it have to be one or the other?

Unmedicated, Noah has walked into oncoming traffic.  He does not see danger, or comprehend consequences for his actions.  He cannot think through problems or process the next step.  His organization suffers even more than usual (I keep hoping that maybe some day something good will come out of his OCD, but so far, his room is still a mess!), he can't complete tasks, and he literally has almost no self control.  Without medication, Noah is impulsive, constantly moving, and nothing settles him.  He is a bull in a china shop, knocking over the entire cookie display at Wegmans.

All of that sounds like a mom just making excuses for her ill-behaved child, doesn't it?

I'm not making excuses, I've lived it.  I've watched him to try to sit still, try to keep quiet, try to be "a good boy," and he can't.  It's painful.

However, per our pediatrician's recommendation, and with the blessing of Noah's psychiatrist, we are trying the summer without any Focalin.  We are hoping Noah will grow, even if it's just a little.  We are stuffing him full of whole milk and anything else we can get into him. He's taking protein supplements, and most days, I'm not even watching the fat content of what he eats.  This goes in the "It makes me feel even more like the World's Worst Mother" category.

Along with getting Noah to grow, we're also hoping he will learn, as much as he can, some responsibility and self control himself.  I don't want him medicated for life, and there are some things he just needs to learn to do on his own.  I want him to see that he IS capable of these things, and to have some pride in himself.

So far, I feel like we're surviving.  Yesterday he paced so much and his mouth moved so fast I thought my head would be spin.  Even with sending him outside at regular intervals, he still has energy to burn.  Even when I allow him some computer time  (so I can have a break!), the poor kid still can't settle himself.  Keeping Noah occupied is a full time job!  I will say this--I am seeing some maturity since we started the Focalin almost 2 years ago.  There are things he's able to do now that he could never have done then, and I'm proud of him for that.

I think pulling him off the medication for the summer will be good for all of us (ask me that question again next week....)--us being able to see what he can do, and him being able to see it in himself, also.

How I Messed Up Parenting

We all have bad days as moms.  At the end of any given day, I can easily tick off numerous ways I've messed up (my kids....), running out of fingers and toes to count on.  Most of the time, I call it a successful day if they are clothed, fed, somewhat clean, happy.... And alive...  We can pat ourselves on the back and congratulate each other for making it through another day.

Then are the instances when we mess up royally.  We snap at our kids, say things we later need to apologize for, forget our kids at school (or wonder why they are home early, having forgotten it's only a half day...), rush through the day without reading a treasured book, forget to take time to play with our kids--you know what I'm talking about.  It becomes 'one of those days.'

Oh, and then there are the times we try to "help" and just dig deeper holes, like I did....

As you know, over the past 10 months, we've lost two pets: Gretta, Noah's dog, and Sophie, my cat.  That part is important to the story.

Shawn and I were taking Avery to school the other morning, Shawn having taken the day off to join us for a field trip.  We passed our vet and Avery yelled, "That's where we took Fosie and Gwetta so they could go to heaven!"  Oh geez.

I decided to venture into damage control territory, and just really GOT.  IT.  ALL. WRONG.

"Well Avery, see, sometimes we just take our pets there for shots, or to get better, or just for check ups, like when we take you to your doctor!"

I could hear Shawn yelling at me under his breath, "STOP HELPING!!!  STOP!!!  LEAVE IT ALONE!!!!  SHUT.  UP!!!!!" and giving me looks out the corner of his eye while he tried his best to stay on the road as I messed up parenting.

Naturally, when we arrived at preschool a few minutes later, Avery announced to his teacher that he's going to heaven next time he goes to his doctor.

Yeesh....  Now I have to either hope he will forget this before his next allergist visit, or figure out how to explain it to our doctor....

Reality Check

Several months ago, Shawn and I finally came to the conclusion that yes, after a few years of going back and forth on the decision, we really do want to add another child to our family. We've told our close friends who will pray for us, Noah and Avery, and our new addition, on this journey.  We've been pricing baby things again, strolling through the aisles of strollers, car seats, cribs, clothing and toys...  Fantasizing about what Child #3 will be like, whether we will have Daddy's Little Princess or another prince, what the baby's personality will be like, what she or he will look like--and so on. We've been making plans to add on to the house, and pay off the Jeep so we can up-size my vehicle.  If we have a girl, she's already named.  A boy--well, we're hoping that if we tell God we've run out of good boys' names....  Anyway.  :)

We planned to start trying this fall when the boys go back to school, and it's been a source of excitement for us.  Every time we see a baby, we both crumple into gooey puddles.  My friend lovingly and understandingly allows me to snuggle (and sniff) her adorable, happy seven month old.  Shawn and I smile at passing babies, congratulating new moms, while cooing, ohhing and ahhing at their babies.  We've watched Noah's riding instructor grow round with child, smiling, and grateful for her happiness and good health.  Oh, we've got the Baby Bug bad!

Foolishly, we thought it would be easier this time.  Even with my current health issues, much of it has felt under control, and we've gone along our merry way, planning and preparing.  After everything we went through with Avery's conception and pregnancy, we were praying for a break on this one.

Then we hit a bump in the road.  And all I want to do is cry.

My new doctor has been running many, many tests, and one of them was my progesterone level.  When the results came back, she explained to me that normal for a woman my age would be 200-300.  Then she showed me my level--12.  That's right, TWELVE.  Progesterone is the 'pregnancy hormone.' It's the one that helps you get pregnant, and stay pregnant.

Sooo.....  With a level like mine, pregnancy would be a miracle.  Staying pregnant would be an even bigger miracle.  Both Shawn and I had some tears over that reality.  It was hard to hear, especially after one miscarriage already.  It's very scary.  Even the mere thought itself of losing another child is painful.

The good news is my doctor said it's fixable.  With proper (natural) hormone therapy and supplements, we should have me on the road to recovery within a year.  That is optimistic, but possible.  I have begun the therapy, so we're on our way.  Another baby is still a possibility.

I'm doing my best to not see a down side to this.  Okay, so it delays things for a bit.  That will give us a little longer to get things in order and prepare better.  Then there's the side of me that wonders if this is God telling us a third child shouldn't be an option for us, or just flat out isn't.  As a Believer, I know this is all part of His plan, and it's up to me to only follow Him and wait it out while praying.

I'm not good at waiting, though.  I'm impatient.  I want to be better now.  I don't want it to take months, a year, or more.  I want it to be days, weeks.  My arms ache to hold my baby, to know the child I want so badly.

This time does give me better appreciation for the two miracles I do already have.  They fill my arms and my heart with love and joy.  Maybe that's the point.

Mother's Day

I know with a title like that, I should be reflecting on motherhood, but instead I've found myself reflecting more on my marriage, just because of how my husband 'does' Mother's Day.

Some days I don't know if I'm just plain spoiled by Shawn, or if he just "gets it."  I'm thinking most likely, BOTH.  

Is it my husband?  Is it me?  Is it us together as a couple?

Would he be this wonderful to a woman who isn't me?

Is it years of me, him and us not getting it right, and finally figuring it out?

Is it just because we've both been hurt so much by life, and by others, that we can truly appreciate each other?

These are the sorts of things I ponder.

See, I don't remember my father playing outside, or really, anywhere, with me.  Even when he was home, he wasn't there, if you understand my meaning.  I don't remember my parents being loving toward each other--even as a child, it looked forced to me.  My father was always doing something wrong, or just wasn't doing things right (according to my mother, and the general vibe in our house).  Shawn doesn't remember his father playing with him either, and domestic violence was an issue in his house growing up.  Neither of us grew up with good models for marriage, or even parenthood.

"They" say that most girls marry a man who is exactly like her father.  For the record, I did not.  I did a complete 180.  And everyday I'm grateful I did.  Everyday I'm glad I married not just the opposite of my father, but Shawn.  "They" also say you can tell how a man will treat his wife by how he treats his mom.  And you know what?  Shawn treated his mom like a queen.

This year will be our thirteenth wedding anniversary.  Have we always been this way?  Oh, absolutely not!  It's taken us years to get here, and I know we still have further to go, more work to do.  But we're headed there.  Shawn appreciates me, loves me, cares for me, cherishes me--and he doesn't tell me, he shows me.  As one of my best friends constantly reminds me, I'm a regular princess, and Shawn treats me as such.  The poor guy canNOT say no to me.  If I want something, he will beg me to not use my womanly wiles in my favor ("womanly wiles"--ha!  All I ever really have to do is say "Please?").  It takes work to get to the point we're finally at, and more work to get to where we're going.

I spent this Mother's Day camping with Noah, some of his fellow Scouts, and their moms--a Mother's Day mother/son campout!  Sigh. I really didn't want to go, and quite truthfully, it did not start out well.  I did not want to disappoint Noah, and I knew I would be missing out on a very good moment with Noah. And as it progressed though, things went very well.  I'm very proud of how mature and independent Noah was throughout the weekend.  We hiked, we played wiffleball (moms won!), slept in tents (because those were actually more preferable than the cabins--ick!), pottied in disgusting bathrooms (which were actually better than the ones up the road near the cabins!), survived the boys' cooking, managed to fall asleep even though there were incredibly loud frogs (and boys), and made it through the weekend without showering.  And you know what else?  WE HAD FUN.

So, how did I go from my husband is great to a Mother's Day campout and back to my husband is great?  Oh man, if you could only see inside my brain....  HA!  Well....

Remember I said Shawn knows how to treat a woman?  This is how he showed up at the campsite to pick up the Scout trailer:

Yes, he arrived with flowers, and Starbucks coffee for all the moms.  Ohhh, he's good!  He and Avery also had a hand-painted "#1 Mom" t-shirt for me.  Once we got home, it was "Mom's Choice" for the rest of the day.  We played with the kids in the backyard, he cleaned the house for me, we had lunch at Denny's, and ice cream for dinner.  

I don't have the answers to the questions above, but I do know that I've got a winner.  Mother's Day was a treat for me, and it always has been.  My husband knows how to treat me--a woman--and it's not just on Mother's Day.  He knows how to treat me as his wife, and the mother of his children, every day of the year (okay, just so he doesn't sound 100% golden, we do have our arguments!).

Thank You

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE WOMAN WHO PAID FOR MY COFFEE THIS MORNING:

I followed you for a bit, hoping to get a chance to pull up next to you at the stoplight, or maybe in a parking lot, just to say THANK YOU.  When you paid for my coffee this morning, you helped make my morning a little easier.  You really don't quite understand the kindness you did for me.

You see, after weeks of agonizing over it, and knowing it was time, I was taking my 18 year old cat, Sophie, to the vet for the last time after I dropped my toddler at preschool.  Making the decision was not easy, and the drive into town this morning was the longest one since taking our dog for the same visit back in September.  I'm not supposed to have Starbucks anymore, but I really needed something to help steel myself against the coming moments.

Sophie and I have been together since college--eighteen long years--and I can't imagine what the days ahead will be like without her.  I miss her already.  She will always be Mommy's Sweet Pookie, I will always remember how she used to try to steal my roast beef sandwiches, and growled whenever I fed her canned chicken.  It will be odd not going into the sunroom first thing each morning to check on her, and make sure the night was kind to her, and checking each night to make sure she was tucked in and comfortable.  It will be weird not checking baskets and bags for her as I pass by them, watching her try to stuff herself into the smallest baskets imaginable, and getting in Noah's face while we eat dinner.  The past few months have been hard for her, with seizures and convulsions, sinus infections and bloody noses, and even a bit of what we realized was kitty dementia.  Knowing how vibrant, playful and loving Sophie was as a kitten, it's been hard to watch her grow old and stop taking care of herself.

I knew it was time for me to make sure Sophie no longer suffered, that she have some dignity, and for me to be merciful to the cat who has given me so much.

I was impatient while I sat behind you in my car, wanting to just get the day over with.  I'm sorry for that.  I knew I was in for a long day, and I just didn't have the patience for anything or anyone this morning.  Thank you for reminding me that it's not always about me, and thank you for making my morning a little easier.

Self Worth

*I started this several days ago.  I will publish the finished and polished piece once it is finished and polished!*

I'm speaking this Saturday....  And I haven't written my little talk yet, so here I am, procrastinating!  Actually, I'm really hoping this will get my creative juices flowing.  I've put it off because the subject is Self Worth--something I'm not sure I really know too much about, quite honestly.  But here I am!  This truly is a very disjointed, free-thinking/free association rough draft, so please pardon the mess!  I'm really worried this is going to end up sounding like some L'Oreal commercial!

Anyway.

A few weeks ago, we started planning our Spring Tea at the center.  This year's will be a fundraiser, but it will still be the same forum as in years past--except that I'm speaking.  About self worth. 

WAIT.  WHAT?!?!?!!

I feel so un-knowledgable about this subject, so why I am writing about it?  Well, that part was up to God.  When one of my mentors from the center called to ask me to speak, for once I was speechless.  I really didn't know what to say, other than "I'll have to think about it."  My mind was racing with the Enemy's words: "You're not worthy of such an honor!  What could you possibly have to say that would be important enough to share with others?  Surely they've got someone better in mind!"  I know my mentor heard all of that in my hesitation; she gently and kindly told me to pray on it, and we hung up.  I immediately texted one of my best friends with, "WHAT IS SHE THINKING???" and told her what had just transpired.  Sharon texted back, "That you're worthy and awesome and capable of doing this!  She wouldn't have asked you if she didn't think so!  DUH."  OHMYGOSH, the pressure.

This is what I heard next: A big, booming voice, telling me gently that I AM worthy of this honor, and that is exactly what I would speak about--being worthy.  Being worthy of Christ's grace and mercy, Christ's love, Christ's sacrifice.  Just plain being worthy of HIM.  Then He told me to be sure to call my mentor back and make sure she knew I was saying yes.  *sigh*  It's comical to me when Sharon and God echo each other.  Well, sometimes it is--other times it isn't!!--because sometimes they're telling me things I'm really not ready to hear.  LALALALALALA....

Really, God?  Self worth?  Are ya sure?

Oh, if you could only really understand the irony here!  I have begged and pleaded with God for a simpler topic, something I am more knowledgable of, but He isn't having it.  I then resorted to procrastinating, but now my house is more spotless and organized than ever, the dog is exhausted from playing, all my people are at school or work so the house is quiet--so here I am, banging my head against the keyboard.

WORTHINESS is something I've struggled with the majority of my life.  There are many earthly people I haven't felt worthy of and have been made to feel not worthy of.  My self esteem is usually dragging somewhere behind me, tripping myself up, so I've placed myself last, as the unimportant person.  Growing up, I always associated even a good, healthy self esteem with arrogance, and arrogant was something I did not want to be.  I can be humble, I'm good at that.  The thing is though, I take humility to an Eeyore level, rather than keeping it at a Godly level.  I've never been good at acknowledging my gifts, or taking compliments.

I suppose then it makes sense that being worthy of Christ's sacrifice is something I would struggle with also.  What do you mean I don't have to do anything to earn His grace?  Are you sure?  As Christians, we learn that Christ would've made that sacrifice for each individual person, which has always left me in awe, and truthfully, skeptical at times.  After all, I'm not worthy of that kind of sacrifice.  I've never done anything to deserve it!  Matthew 10:30 tells us about His love for each individual child of His--if He cares enough about the birds, He cares enough to know the number of hairs on our heads because we are worth more to Him than the birds.

That's the best part though, and the part I struggle with the most, still--not having to deserve it.  Why would He care enough to know how many hairs I have???  "Because you are My daughter, child, and because I put them there."

Because I am scientifically trained, I decided to approach this from a more scientific standpoint, and looked up what good ol' Webster had to say about self worth:  "the sense of one's own value or worth as a person; self-esteem; self-respect."  I also looked up worthy: "having worth or value; honorable, meritorious; having sufficient worth."

Okay, well, those definitions explain why I struggle with my self worth!  But that still wasn't the answer I was looking for.

A friend found Hebrews 4:16 for me:  "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."  So I chewed on that for a few minutes....  I've been to the throne.  I HAVE RECEIVED HIS GRACE AND MERCY.  I have been healed by the Lord Himself.  Annndddd why?  BECAUSE I'M WORTHY.

Because the scientific approach didn't work, I tackled this subject from my mommy perspective.  What do I tell my boys about their worthiness? Well, every day I remind them that they're good enough, they're smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like them!  I remind them how much they are loved and liked simply because of who they are: MY children, and of course, God's children.  Do my kids have to do anything to earn my love?  Absolutely not.  They are worthy of my love and grace simply because they are my children.  They don't have to do anything to deserve me and my love, they simply receive it.  Would I sacrifice myself for my children's safety?  In a heartbeat.  Do my children need to do anything to prove their worthiness to me?  No, never.  I love them because they are my children, plain and simple.  They are worthy of me, my grace, my mercy and my love because they are my children.  My children are worthy to me, but if I were to try to place a price on them, I could not--because they are priceless to me, and I cherish them.

Ohhhh.

There's my eternal struggle--by birthright, I am God's child.  He lives in my heart, I have accepted Him.  But what have I done to deserve such a love?  I've certainly done plenty to disappoint Him over the past 3 and 1/2 decades, but what I have I done to truly deserve Him?  That's the part I struggle with, not having to do anything to EARN His love.  I don't have to be pretty, or perfect, or smart, or the best little ministry worker, I don't have to be the best mom or wife, I don't have to scrub my floors until they shine, or even smile at every stranger I see when I'm having a grumpy day.  I don't have to pray and sing praise 500 times a day.  Simply put, I'm worthy of Him, His grace and His mercy because I am His daughter.  He is my Provider, my Father, my Counselor, my Prayer Warrior, my Secret Keeper, my Everything.  All He asks in return is for all of me.  All I have to do is accept His grace.  All I have to do is receive.  Earlier, I said that I've always placed myself last--but God places me first.  I've always tried to imagine how God places priority on prayers and His children, so right now I'm imagining all of us lined up as first--how does that work????  That's the thing about God, in sacrificing His son for us, He placed us all first.

Yes, I am worth the all-inclusive IT.  Because I am God's fearfully, wonderfully made child.  He knows every struggle, every triumph, every joy and sadness I will encounter in this life.  He has written my story in His book, and in that story, He has written about this struggle with worthiness so I can share it with you, so I can remind you that you too, are worthy.  A reminder that as daughters and sons of the King, we are not just worthy, we are priceless.

So here I stand, before you today, worthy because I am His daughter.

*Sigh*

Honestly, for lack of any better subject heading there!

I'm surviving the new lifestyle...  Sort of.  I'm no longer drooling as I pass Starbucks, no longer dreaming about frosting, no longer missing cheese or feeling as though I'm missing out.  I've been hitting the gym (yay me!), eating better, and just really trying to be better. The GF cooking isn't going too badly, and so far, my menfolk haven't complained (pretty sure they're too scared to....).  It hasn't been too difficult to revamp most of our favorite dishes, and I've just steered clear of the of the ones I can't.  I still have yet to completely embark on the dairy-free part of this (licking the homemade whipped cream off the beater is just too good to resist!), or the adrenal diet.  Quite honestly, I'm resisting the adrenal diet.  I'm not looking forward to three weeks of eggs, boiled chicken and brown rice.  Ick.  Along with my usual gluten-full baked goods, I've also been bringing GFDF dishes/breakfast casseroles to "work" on Thursdays.  Again, no one has complained yet!  These dishes have been well-received, and I've been encouraged by my fellow volunteers.  One friend even asked for one the recipes, and I kind of giggled to myself, as I had just kind of thrown things in the mixing bowl, in true Amy fashion.

I did hit the wall this past weekend, and sort of skidded into the Chik Fil A parking lot, barely remembering to put the Jeep in gear before screaming up to the register to order a sandwich, complete with mayo, American cheese, cole slaw and Coke Zero.  I followed it up with a milkshake, after I finished hugging the ice cream machine, of course.  When I was finished with that, I begged my husband to take me by Starbucks (he refused).  And the next morning?  I couldn't get out of bed without a Percocet first.  So, I've learned my lesson.  I'm definitely on the right track, even if I can't tell on a day-to-day basis.

The one thing I cannot seem to get my head around though, is this GLUTEN FREE BAKING.  Pretty sure I'm going to die trying. So far, every single loaf of GF bread has gone in the trash.  One loaf was okay enough to make into bread crumbs, but certainly not good enough for actual bread, and definitely not up to my usual standards.  The others weren't even good enough for bread crumbs!  Last week, I actually turned out five absolutely perfect and gorgeous loaves of gluten-full rosemary-olive oil and italian bread, just to remind myself that I am great at baking, because it's been so horribly disappointing for me.  There have been tears, there's even been screaming and stomping of my feet, and yes, I'm still scraping GF pizza "dough" off the wall after I threw it in frustration...  Or tried to, but it had the consistency of mashed potatoes, so it kind of stuck to everything.  For the record, my family's gluten-full pizzas turned out just beautifully that evening.  Ugh.  All I wanted was pizza that night, and I was just really upset about yet another failed GF baking attempt.

After I stomped headed off to sulk in the bath tub, my dear husband decided he was going to save the day.  He researched another recipe from a website I frequent, and set to work.  I saw the result--a cracker-like crust, no sauce (tomatoes are nightshades, which cause/contribute to inflammation...), rice-based cheese, and broccoli as a topping--and immediately declared it Crap On A Cracker.  Being the two year old brat I felt like that evening, I flat out refused to even touch it.  No.  You can't make me.  Uh-uh.  

Soooo....  You know how sometimes as a parent you say something and immediately are made to regret it?  Yep.  Avery picked up on what I was calling the GFDF pizza, and thought that was the real name.  Unfortunately, we haven't been able to convince him that it's pizza, so whenever he asks for it (he seems to really love the stuff!), he asks for....  Crap On A Cracker, with absolutely no clue that it's a bad word.  Oops.  When we try to correct him, saying "Oh, you want pizza?"  He is adamant, "No!  I don't want pizza!  I want Crap On A Cracker!"

The other side of that story is that, as it turns out, I'm allergic to some part of that pizza.  We're not sure which ingredient yet, but Shawn was certain at first that I was exaggerating or making it up, just because he'd made it and I didn't want to eat it.  At first it was just my tummy that hurt, then my chest got tight and I felt like I had a lead weight on my chest, then my mouth got fuzzy, and finally my lips got numb.  When he realized my NP friend was screaming across her texts "TAKE BENADRYL NOW," he knew it was for real!

*Sigh*

My Personal Theory, Why I Have Sons

Surprisingly (or not, if you know me well enough), I've given this topic a lot of thought.  Over twelve years of deep thought.  And I've finally arrived at a satisfactory conclusion:  I have sons (rather than daughters), because I'm supposed to teach them how to be proper husbands and daddies.

A-ha!  Gotcha--bet you were thinking to yourself, "Wow, that's the shortest blog she's ever written!"  Sorry.  I'm not finished yet!

When I found out I was pregnant with Noah, my first thought was, "Dear God, please let this child be a girl, I have no idea what I'll do with a boy."  There were a lot of stressors throughout Noah's pregnancy,  the least of them being that he was a bit of a surprise.  I thought for sure if I had a girl, I just might be able to get a slight grip on motherhood.  We went in for our first sonogram, and lo and behold, there were boy parts up on the screen.  I even argued with the tech, telling her in no uncertain terms that she sucked at her job because it was obvious to me that was an umbilical cord.  Then I wanted her to double check and make sure she'd taken down the previous client's screen.  Then I wanted her to double check my child and my screen.  Then I wanted it confirmed by the doctor.  To say Shawn drove home with a shellshocked Amy in the passenger seat, mumbling, "What am I going to do with this BOY?" the entire way would be an understatement.

When we were finally pregnant with Avery, I remember telling Shawn that this time I was certain we were having a girl!  God wouldn't give us TWO boys!  And again...  We both walked out of the clinic a little shellshocked that time after seeing boy parts on the screen.  Another BOY???  What am I going to do with TWO BOYS????

Well, I'll tell you what I'm doing with them--I'm loving them, teaching them, raising them up in the way of the Lord, caring about them, and caring for them.  I play with them, I laugh with them, I live with them, and I cherish them.  They are my gifts.  That's not to say we always get along, or they always love what I'm teaching them, but we are making work for us.  And now, I could never even begin to imagine life without them.  I don't want to imagine life without them.  And really, I'm not sure I can imagine raising a daughter!  I love these boys more than life itself, and the things they bring to my life are innumerable, and immeasurable.  Along with teaching them, there are the countless things they teach me about myself, about life, and about themselves.

I've shared a bit of my past with my father before.  I wanted to be cherished, I wanted to be loved, I wanted--needed--to be Daddy's Little Princess--but I wasn't.  I tried lying to myself, and others, for a long time that I was; I made excuses for my father, but the truth is that he was never emotionally available, and there was never a connection, nor the real relationship I craved and needed.

This is where it becomes about my grandchildren and my future daughters-in-law.  I love them already without even knowing who they are, and I want my sons to do the same.  I want them to treat their wives and children the way their dad, my husband, treats me, and the way I treat them.  I want them to understand respect and love, the need for relationships, attention, and playtime, the need to be brothers now so they can be great brothers, dads, husbands and uncles later.

This is why God gave me sons rather than daughters....  So I can help raise up a new, better generation of husbands and daddies.

(And you never know, there's still a chance Shawn will get his little princess, if it's God's will--I haven't given up hope yet!)

The Devil is in the Ingredients

Sooo....  It's been a while.  I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting.  It's not for lack of having something to say--you know me, I always have plenty to say!  I've been more tired than usual, busy with the boys, busy with life--and yes, avoiding things.  Too many things are too painful to discuss, so I've been hibernating.  That's typically what I do during winter, anyway--hibernate.  If I believed in such a thing, I might believe I were a bear in a former life!

I have distributed the video games to the boys (bad Mommy!), and sent them to Noah's room, so maybe I can have a few minutes to myself to update y'all on the latest.  Heck, if I have a few moments to myself, maybe I should go sneak in a nap....

I recently saw a new doctor.  After researching and searching, I figured out that what I really needed is a hormone specialist.  For the past year or so, I've been trying to get my doctors to pay attention to my thyroid and a few other things (like the fact that I've been having a period 2-3 times a month...), but they've all sworn everything is fine.  THEN HOW COME I DON'T FEEL FINE??????  I mean, besides all the ways I already don't feel fine, of course.  Apparently no one has the answer for that--or they do (it's all in my head), and they just aren't willing to tell me.

I ventured out of my comfort zone and found a holistic hormone specialist.  I really wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that having tried just about everything else, and having seen every other expert at world-renowned hospitals, I owed it to myself and my family.  We had nothing to lose, and maybe even something to gain.

This doctor began her career as a traditional MD, which I liked, but quickly realized she could not treat her patients "the way they deserve to be treated, and need to be treated within the confines of traditional medicine," which I loved.  She sat with me for two hours, took a more detailed medical history than any other physician ever has, and carefully explained to me we're not dealing with just twelve years of crap, we're going all the way back to my first ear infection, and dealing with 36 years of crap--asthma, allergies, antibiotics, steroids, other various medications, life stressors and unhealthy ways of dealing with them--and so on.  I'm telling you, just having her listen to me released a huge weight from my shoulders.  I no longer felt crazy, I felt validated and reassured.  I also dared to feel hope, and to think that there could be pain-free, weakness-free, exhaustion-free days in my future.

Pending lab results, she has tentatively diagnosed Hashimoto's (I KNEW there was something hinky with my thyroid!), hypoglycemia (which should clear up with lifestyle/dietary changes), adrenal fatigue (which actually sounds more like adrenal COMA in my case), gluten intolerance and possibly dairy/casein intolerance.  She is keeping the fibromyalgia diagnosis for now, and people--WE ARE DITCHING THE POLYMYOSITIS DIAGNOSIS!  Most likely, the muscle inflammation originally diagnosed as Polymyositis is caused by the gluten problems.  That's interesting to me, because it's been a theory of mine for a while--and I finally have a doctor confirming it.  I went through a gluten intolerance checklist she gave me; scoring a 4-5 meant there could be a problem, go ahead and try a GF diet and see what happens, anything over 9 meant you most likely have a problem.  I SCORED A 20.  Yes, you read that correctly--a TWENTY.  Gluten intolerant much?!?!

So what does all of this mean?  Well, for starters--I've got to revamp my dietary lifestyle.  Completely.  My doctor recommends a dairy free diet at the same time one tries gluten free, and honestly, that's the part that is truly killing me.  There is nothing I love more than CHEESE.  And cooking with butter?  Oh yeah.  I've only been at it (and if I'm being honest, it hasn't been full-on at it yet) for about a week and a half, but the first few nights I actually dreamt about cake, frosting and Cheez Its.  One night, I even dipped the Cheez Its in the frosting in my dream.  I haven't had my chai, or Starbucks, in nearly two weeks, and it's been six days without soda (I'm dying.....). I have yet to really get a handle on the baking and cooking aspect, so I'm kind of surviving on spinach, coconut milk yogurt, carrot sticks and apples (why have I not dropped 30 pounds yet??).  Along with the GDDF lifestyle changes, I also need to start an adrenal diet that lasts for 2-6 weeks.  This is a very bland diet centered around changing your brain and your body to new ways of thinking and eating, ridding yourself of the sugar cravings, resetting the hormone imbalances that have occurred due to eating improperly, and so on.  There were also some exercise recommendations, but seriously, I don't really have the energy yet for that.  I know  exercise and energy are related--you get the energy when you exercise--but you also need to have that energy to begin with!  And while it's still a matter of having the energy to play with my kids or do what needs doing as a mom and wife, vs. exercising, we'll see.   Dr H has also started me on a few new supplements and vitamins, replacing some of the ones I was already taking, removing some of the others, and keeping a few I still need.  For now, I am still on all the other prescription meds as well (and I'll continue to see my other doctors), but the hope is that we can undo all that's been done inside of a year, and I will be able to come off those meds!  I just can't even imagine a life without pain, mood swings and depression, prescription medications, doctors upon doctors and everything else we've been through.  Wow!

I will tell you that withdrawal from all of this SUCKS.  I know I will be healthier for it, and around longer because of these lifestyle changes, but seriously, I'm the one who has always chosen frosting over a carrot stick.   I would love to pull into Starbucks and order several gallons of chai. I would give my right hand for brie that won't make me sick. And right now, there's a gluten-FULL loaf of bread on my counter that looks delicious, and homemade buttercream frosting in my fridge....  Yep, you know where I'm going with that one!  I've been a super b**** on wheels since starting all of this (thank goodness for Shawn's patience!), and I do feel a little deprived.  At the same time, I know that will go away as I learn more and expand my food horizons.  My pain has increased quite a bit, and I've had headaches almost every day, but again, I'm sure that's related to my desperate body trying to hang on to the last bit of crap left inside it.

I do plan to keep up with my regular gluten-full baking.  As of right now, I'm the only one on these diets (although, if it works for me, I'm tempted to switch the boys over to it also and see how they do), so my family still needs to eat. Family meals will be GFDF, and they'll just have to deal, but otherwise, their foods will not be GF for the most part. I also still need to do my baking for work, and I can't expect everyone to switch over because of me.  I will continue to learn new recipes in the gluten world while I learn how to conquer the GFDF world!

I have been blessed with others emptying their pantries into mine with their unused GF cooking and baking products, and I am so grateful for it.  There is a lot of good advice out there, and another mom in Avery's class has been a wealth of help and encouragement.  My support network has expanded, and I feel very positive about this.  There's definitely been some frustration (realizing that if something is GFDF, it's probably not soy free!), and a little bit of anger.  I'm going through the whole grief 'thing,' but really, this is just another new normal I need to accept in the ever-fluctuating trials of life.  And truly, I'd rather have to accept this new normal than take more pills that don't work, and see more doctors who haven't a clue.

Looking forward to feeling better... In left field.