Two-Fer

You lucky readers, you get a two-fer today! There is just way too much going on in this addled brain of mine!

Video Games

I'll be honest, I've grown to hate those words.  I've grown to hate the activities, and everything they bring.  They make me cringe inwardly, and die a little inside.  We've always been hardcore about them, more strict than most parents.  The only game consoles we own are a first generation Wii, and a first generation DS.  For real.  We have supplied new games, but usually only as holiday and birthday gifts.  We don't own a lot of games.  We've always felt the money--and time--can be better spent.  I will admit that yes, there are bad days when I've allowed the video games as babysitters.  Some days, Mommy just needs a break.

What happens after that break is never pretty: whining, the "okay, hang on a second" when I tell them to turn it off, the loud, out of control behavior.  Yes, you got to play--now you have chores.  Oh, my gosh.  I have learned that time of quiet during the video games is just no longer worth it.  

My children need to be active.  They need to be outside, or playing with their Legos, toys and whatever else.  They have energy to burn that obviously does not burn playing video games.  I know many parents make the "but they're learning and using skills" argument--nope.  Not here.  You can do those same things, develop those same skills, doing real, physical activities.  This view makes us quite the unpopular household in our neighborhood...  Contrary to popular belief, video games do not bring families closer together.  At least, not in this house.

So, this Christmas, as we looked over our children's wish lists, we bucked the system.  No new video games.  That's right.  Instead, we bought six new board games.  Our elf left Scrabble for the kids one night, and Santa brought five others.  

And you know what happened?  

Something truly magical....  Something truly beautiful....  Something truly wonderful...

We are spending more time together as a family.  We are laughing, talking, sitting around the table for more than just meals.  The TV is off, the video games have been put away, and the board games are constantly going.  I now have a daily afternoon appointment to play Uno or Scrabble with Noah and his best friend (who, I love him for this, doesn't even ask for video games here anymore--he asks for the board games!).  *Side note:  Teenagers are cut throat with games* I now have a regular date to play Uno or Connect Four with Avery.  Shawn has been playing Stratego with Noah.  And, as a family, we are playing, and just being together.

This is what I want out of life.  This is what I want for our family.  This is what they, what we all, deserve.

21 Days

My day has been completely thrown off track already.  I realized at 8 this morning we have an appointment an hour away, which will have me hitting rush hour traffic this evening with two antsy, hungry boys in the back.  Last night, I promised myself that today--with the house finally quiet and to myself-- will be the day I write, clean, and put Christmas away (i.e., make a desperate attempt to reclaim my house and sanity before chaos re-ensues...).  Instead, I'm trying to prep as much of dinner as possible, not whine too much, and try to get a little bit of writing in--with an attention-seeking dog and squeaking kitten at my feet.  I'm suddenly just this side of exhausted, with the drive ahead of me this afternoon.  Both my heart and brain are telling me that I will regret it if I don't do this little bit for myself just now.  Besides--who really needs a clean house?  And the Christmas decorations really are kind of growing on me...

We've been attending a new church.  We are growing again, being challenged, and delighting in the community.  Noah bravely walked into the audio booth yesterday and declared he wanted work!  I'm still beaming with pride--really, you don't understand how out of his box that was, and how much it took for him to take that sort of initiative.  He talked non stop about it, and said next Sunday can't come fast enough!  Avery is doing well in the children's room--funny enough, the children's ministry coordinator is one of Noah's middle school teachers.  Shawn and I are not yet ready to jump into any of the classes or studies, and even though we enjoy being part of the congregation, I'm not sure we are ready to be a true part of the community yet.  Trust takes a while to build.

The current message series is concentrating on getting closer to God.  Last week's message is about a 21 day fast as a church family, beginning today.  We've been talking with the children about it, all of us trying to come up with something we can fast (food fasts are not healthy, realistic options for our family due to the many medical issues).  You should've seen the look I got when I suggested the boys fast from video games....  GASP!  We've talked about why we should fast, and why we can't fast from school, work, chores, or making dinner.  We explained to the boys that fasting from something involves giving up something that keeps you from being closer to God, involves giving up something that will 'hurt,' and, in the process, we are to be in prayer during those times, drawing closer to God, His message for our lives, and those around us.

We still obviously did not explain it clearly enough to Avery, so we'll keep working on that--he has decided he can fast run (his mouth.....).  We decided that as long as he's singing "HALLELUJAH PRAISE THE LORD!" as he's fast running, that will be good enough!  Noah decided to give up sleeping with his blankie.  I think that might hurt me more than it hurts him (WHY do they have to grow up?!)

Shawn and I tossed around several ideas: for myself, coffee and/or soda (how am I supposed to function?!?!), or Instagram (my reaction to that idea was the same the boys had to video games)--GASP!).  Shawn decided he's going to fast from swearing, and try to improve his language.  In the end, I have decided to do that same.  It truly is the one that keeps me from being closer to my Father--my anger, my words, my emotions.

It takes 21 days to make a new habit, or break an old one.

We can do this.

(PS--please say a prayer for me as I sit in city traffic this afternoon and evening....)

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.