We matter.

Strange week. Had my first troll, and a message from a Facebook friend that made me feel the need to write this. Yeah, both of them did.
This is for the young, autistic blogger who messaged me and told me that she feels like she has no effect on the world, that her voice isn't heard.
You matter.  You are the inspiration for your peers and the kids growing up and their parents who are all affected by autism, society, and intolerance. Your effect is immeasurable, you touch even one life with your posts (and I know there are plenty more than that who have read and felt the power of your words) and there is an amazing ripple effect that is a force for positive change. You have lifted my spirits and made my journey easier. Never stop speaking, never think that your existence hasn't touched more lives than you will ever know. You matter.
This is for the belligerent jerk who told me that my opinions don't count and no-one cares about my life.
You matter. I don't know what bitterness or anger is under your words. I know you are frustrated, and I know you feel that you are ignored, dismissed and rejected. I hope that you find some kind of outlet other than trolling my blog, or others. I know that you have, perhaps inadvertently, strengthened my resolve to keep trying to reach those angry, bitter people with kind words, kind actions, and smiles when you look like you need one. I don't expect gratitude, nor do I feel that you are doing it right when you bully or belittle others. You do have an effect though. You are not being dismissed or ignored, and I hope someone will reach you, because you can be a positive influence on those around you. You matter.
This is for the kids who play soccer with my son.
You matter. Most of you are also on the spectrum, most of you are older than he is. You are so encouraging, supporting, and accepting my little guy, putting up with his distractions, laughing when he goofs around, teaching him about soccer when he is open to being taught. You also teach him that the world is a friendlier place than he might otherwise think, that being autistic is another kind of normal, that his way isn't something to be constantly suppressed or overcome, but to be celebrated and enjoyed. There are lots of people who don't make the effort, who don't get involved, who let the perceptions of other people define them. You are amazing and I hope you never get told otherwise. You matter.
This is for the kids who attend school with my son.
You matter. Some of you will never speak. Many of you will have trouble communicating with others for most of your lives. Most of you will face difficulties and challenges that "typical" kids will never even know exist. Even the most disconnected and isolated of you have changed the way I think about being human, being important, being accomplished. There is not a single individual among you who has not made me realize that every life touches every other life, and that every human being is connected to every other, no matter how they communicate. You matter.
And this is for me, for us, for the autism parents, families, friends, bloggers, artists, writers.
We matter. We are moving forward, we are trying hard, we share our successes, our failures, our heartache and our pride. We find a way to reach the people who don't get it, so that our kids, our family and friends, ourselves, have a better, more inclusive, more accepting world to live in. We matter.
We forget sometimes that every person matters. It isn't a competition to see who gets the most likes on Facebook, or who's blog is the most popular, or who says the things we are all thinking in the most eloquent way, although all of these things have their place. I often feel myself drifting into despair, fatigue, apathy, thinking, I am just another blogger, no one special, no particular reason to think I am at all important. But I am. For all the ridiculous self affirmation parodies and self depreciating lies, I am important. I affect other people's lives. I care.
I matter.

Restless

I have the desperate need to get out of my life and out of my head for a few hours, days or something.
Most of my life involves cleaning up after, taking care of, or trying to entertain my family. I feel like I am losing some of the things I like best about myself.
I want to do my thing without worrying about the rest of the household for a bit.  To do my crafting thing without one kid trying to eat the beads and wire, and the other trying to take off with them. To get some 'me' time without being afraid that the Monkey is painting with poop or dumping every bottle, can and bag of food and cleaning product he can scrounge into a big sludgy puddle to drive his cars through. That the Kitten is destroying another book or important paper that was somehow left within her ever increasing reach. That I am being neglectful or forgetting something important that needs to be done RIGHT NOW or disaster will ensue.
Yeah, I had another life once. I went to live rock band nights at the local bars. I spent hours playing with my beads and wire and clay. I stayed up late reading.
I am not sorry to be done with the remarkably stupid decisions, the crippling self esteem issues, and the debt producing spending habits of my misspent youth, but I really would like to find the real me somewhere in the mix. I feel slightly lost and afraid that this is it.
I will never have a chance to find out what I could really do with the business and art of jewelry making. My hubby is a good man, but he never really had much confidence in my ability to make money with my "hobby". He still talks about me getting a job when the kids are both in full day school. I should say to him that I want to do more with the jewelry, but when I rather tentatively bring it up, it becomes obvious that he doesn't believe in my little dream. So I drop it, not wanting to get into the inevitable argument over money and saving for a house of our own, a new car, stuff for the kids. I get that, I really do, but I end up feeling resentful and deflated just the same.
I still haven't figured out the whole balance thing. Kids, relationship, household, my stuff. Maybe I just never will. I really need to get over the restlessness, though. My temper is not helping. My patience is really shot.

Give a little bit

 This was my Facebook status on my page yesterday:

Today was busy. I managed to get to Michaels and the Petsmart after the Monkey got on the school bus and I dropped the hubby off at work so I could use the car today. Got home, put the Kitten in the living room to watch a little Treehouse TV, and went outside to shovel the walk.
My back is behaving itself today, I don't have a migraine, and no joints aching. The weather is snowy but not too windy, so the cold isn't unbearable. So.

I started shoveling the sidewalk, and finished the 20ft or so that fronts our house in about 5 minutes. Then I noticed our neighbours hadn't made it out to do theirs yet, so I did that too. And I kept going. To the corner. About 8 houses down. It felt good. I have had a lot of people do me small kindnesses that made my day a little brighter, and I don't want to take that for granted. I know I notice the little things when I am deep in a low, and a smile when my mood isn't so good can make all the difference.
So today I shoveled a few people's sidewalks. I know it isn't much, but I hope that when people see that someone has done a little something for them, that they think about it when they have the opportunity, the ability, and the time to do a little something for someone.

 

It was nice because I was feeling good enough physically to do it. I like that I was able to be the giver today, because I so often am on the receiving end.

I am putting this here, because I realized what I was feeling was a need to connect to the world as a human being. To go beyond the special needs mom, stay at home housewife role, and feel like a part of the big wide world again. 

What I want now, and what I hope you will help me with, is other people's stories. If you have done some little thing for someone without expecting recognition or reward tell me about it here. I need to renew my belief in human beings. Whether you think of these as Random Acts of Kindness, as Paying it Forward, Karma, whatever. Tell me something nice you did for no particular reason. If you can't think of anything, then do something today, and tell me about it. You have helped me so much with your kind comments and support. Who else have you helped?

Resenting normal

I have been reading a pile of blogs about who has the right to talk about autism, and who autistics and parents and caregivers should and do trust on the subject. I feel like a wanderer in the wilderness. Apparently, I am the NT person who cannot be relied upon to describe autism. I am "normal". Terrific. I am doomed to never understand, nor relate to, nor assist any autistic person, presumably including my son, possibly also my daughter. Perhaps if I defer to an authority who is autistic, I may be permitted to assist, ever keeping in mind that I will never be able to truly understand what my children are going through. It is similar to the concept that a man can never understand or be an authority on women's issues, a straight person can never relate to GLBT struggles, a Caucasian can never put themselves in the place of a person of colour.

So I can talk about my own, personal experiences as a white female straight married atheist depressive. I can never be an authority on any other condition or person. Do I sound resentful? Frustrated and upset? Do I even have the right to feel this way? After all, for the most part I am a part of the privileged majority that the autistic person feel excluded by, aren't I?  I don't want to sort my friends by their differences, into categories of opposition. I don't want to be ignorant, or hurt people by assuming I have some idea of their trials and triumphs. I feel useless and weak often enough.

Are they right? Am I just a condescending, delusional and misguided NT who is doing more harm while trying to help?

I have failed.

Monkey's therapy provider cancelled his therapy yesterday without any real explanation. I assumed someone was sick or otherwise unable to make it, and didn't think too much about it, other than reorganizing my day around other activities.

My son's therapy provider called this morning and asked if I was available for a visit this morning. I am home all morning, so I said yes, and tried to tidy up to get ready.
The program coordinator and the family worker came to the house today to meet with me. They talked about setting up services and respite care and whatnot. All very polite and kind. Then the PC told me what I gather was the main reason for coming to see me today, at short notice.

 Apparently, his therapists had complained that the floor and carpet in our living area were not clean, and because they work mostly on the floor, they were getting crumbs and cat hair and "stuff" on their clothes. They noticed the smell in Monkey's room, where he has been indulging in fecal smearing of late, and the carpet in there isn't very clean either. They talked about the mess from having pets and possible issues with cat boxes and contact.

The FW made some offers of pamphlets and contacts, and then some pointed remarks about how if I got some respite care for Monkey, perhaps I could take the time to take care of the hygiene problems they had pointed out. She mentioned that they wanted to help me get the situation under control before it became a crisis. That they wouldn't want to involve child protection services. Unless absolutely necessary.

The PC then asked if I was okay with all this, as she knew I was feeling overwhelmed before they told me this. She assured me that they didn't want me to feel threatened or upset, that they had to make sure their people were in a safe working environment. That she wouldn't send anybody out today either, but that they were sure I could  get the place up to standard and ready to go for Monday, when she would be dropping by to see if all was done.

I managed to stay in control while I told them that I would get it done. That I was fine with it. That I would take care of things.

I can't seem to stop crying. I am a failure as a housekeeper, and I know I suck at it. I knew that before. I have tried really hard to get the place clean and comfortable so that his therapists could work with him here. I guess I am just not good enough. I have failed. I have failed so badly that my ability to provide a safe environment for my kids is in doubt. My in-laws are right. I am a lousy housekeeper, a lazy, unmotivated, incompetent person, I don't care enough about my kids to make more of an effort.

I want to shrivel up and die. I want to give up, even more than before. I haven't lost it completely yet. I met Monkey's bus, got Kitten cleaned up and fed them both lunch. For their sake, I am going through the motions of being a useful person. But I feel like I have already lost the game. Once again, I am judged and found wanting. This time by people who I need to please. I am a failure.

*Update* Thank you to everyone who posted in the comments with your support. I am doing better this morning, and dealing with what needs to be done. I am so glad to be a part of this community of bloggers. My husband reminded me of something: none of Monkey's therapists or workers have kids, let alone kids with special needs. While they work with these kids, most of them are fairly young, and they really don't get it. I got my feelings hurt because they don't seem to see the challenges, or that I am doing my damnedest to keep everyone happy, healthy and safe. Hopefully, this will pass. Worst case scenario is that we will be looking for a new service provider. I would rather stay with the one that Monkey knows, but we will do what we need to. For me, the worst fallout from all this is that my boy lost two days of his therapy because they didn't approve of my housekeeping. Whatever my hurt feelings are, that is a tangible loss from what is at the root a service that we pay for. So, I take a deep breath and move on. I am going to take the cleaning advice and see how it goes, maybe get back on the FlyLady wagon, and enlist my household to give me more of a hand. Thanks again to you all. It really is good to have people I can vent to who really get it.

Liebster Award Winner! Yay me!

   So, Tree the Snake has honoured me with the prestigious and exclusive (I am assured) Liebster Award! This means I have to post some stuff. Thankfully, there is a protocol established here, so lets line it up.

1. Thank the Liebster Award presenter(s) on your blog.
2. Link back to the blogger who presented it to you
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.  
4. Present the award to 5 or 11 blogs that deserve to be noticed.
5. Let them know they've been presented with the Liebster Award.
6. Answer 11 questions posed by the presenter. 
7. Eat some dark chocolate.  It has anti-oxidants in it.  It will cure what ails you.  Unless you are allergic to chocolate.  Then skip 7. 

Number one: Thank you to treethesnake.blogspot.ca for presenting me with this incredible honour and a kickstart to getting a blog post written.
Number two: I am pretty sure I did that. I hope. Twice. 
Number three: see number two.
Number four: Lemme see, who am I gonna pick?
Bacon and Juice Boxes
Parenting with Asperger's Syndrome 
Holdin' Holden 
Confessions of an Aspergers Mom 
My Life With my "Au"some Son
I will admit, I partly chose so as not to copy Tree the Snake's list, but all of these blogs are awesome and well worth reading, written by awesome people who deserve the recognition.
Number five: Okay, working on it.
Number six: Hm, I believe this is an add on question, but what the heck.

1.  What, if anything, is completely off limits as far as blog topics for you?
2.  What is your favorite sound?
3.  If you could go back and talk to your 15 year old self, what one piece of information/advice would you share?
4. How did you end up doing what you do today? (If you're a SAHM, what made you choose that vs. going back to work? If you work a paying job, how did you end up in the field you are in?)
5. What is your guilty pleasure?
6.  What's your favorite candy?
7.  What prompted you to start your blog?
8.  Do you have a favorite food? If so, what?
9.  If you had to pick 1 thing to change about yourself, what would it be?
10.   What physical attribute do you like most about yourself?
11.  Do you still live where you grew up? If not, how far away are you from your hometown?

 1. I try not to get involved in politics, and I try not to get caught up in the controversies of Autism treatments. That said, I wouldn't call it off limits. There are topics I don't bother with, because I don't think it would be interesting or useful to me to blog about them. I try not to over censor myself, but I rarely use curse words in my writing. I do enough of that in real life.
2. Wind chimes. Almost any wind chimes.
3. Tough one. I was suicidal and isolated during my teen years. I would love to tell myself that the high school years would be the worst of my life, not the best. That there are tough times to come, but there are wonderful things too. It gets better.
4. Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they might decide to have a baby... Child care is just too bloody expensive, and I worked mostly assorted menial retail wage slave type positions. I am fortunate to have a husband who makes enough to support us without the second income, and housemates who share the rent with us. I have a little jewelry making business on the side, but I wouldn't call it an income, per se.  At least, not yet.
5. Watching Hoarders. 
6. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups
7. When my son was diagnosed with autism, I started looking for online support and advice, and found the ASD and SN parent blogger community. Homestyle Mama  and Parenting With Asperger's Syndrome were and still are my inspiration and heroes.
8. Is ice cream a food?
9. I would like to like myself. 
10. Is it bad to say my boobs?
11. I have moved way too many times. I was born in Regina, Saskatchewan,  and lived in several cities in my early childhood. From age seven to twenty I lived in Calgary, Alberta. I spent fourteen years in the Lower Mainland, mainly in Vancouver, BC. This was followed by a nightmare of moves for school, my husband's work, and family.  I live in Calgary again now. And I am hoping to only move again when we can afford to buy a place of our own.

So, the challenge and awards are passed on...

Singing in the rain, or something

So, it's raining today. My little Kitten decided that 4:30 am was a great time to wake up. I left the boys in bed (the Monkey evidently joined us at some point last night) and got up to turn on the TV to Treehouse and deposit Kitten in her accustomed place with juice and some Cheerios. I did the dishes, made the coffee and waited for the sun to rise, feeling cranky and tired, wishing I could sleep all day.
Then I went to the living room to join my daughter, and she gave me an enormous smile and pointed to the TV, saying "doa doa, bapa!" (For those of you who don't speak toddler, this is "Dora, Dora, Backpack!") Her smile was irresistible. I went in for a cuddle and she said, "Ticka ticka!" so I tickled her and made us both giggle. The sky lightened and my mood began to improve.
Then Monkey came out, cranky and wanting to go back to bed. He got a cuddle and a tickle too, and settled down with a Pop-tart after rejecting the peanut butter sandwich I had ready for him. Par for the course, at least he ate something, never a sure thing in the morning.
My hubby emerged from the bedroom, ready for work, with clothes for Monkey. I got our boy dressed, then looked at the clock. 7:25. I begged my Hubby to let me get a shower, and he graciously gave me 5 minutes. He doesn't have the one to two hour commute anymore, having switched to school about fifteen minutes away, although still teaching the same category of students. It is so much easier in the mornings this way. So I got my shower (bliss, even hurried) and felt almost human by the time I was dressed and brushed and moisturized.
Monkey was already at the door, champing at the bit, dressed in his Thomas the Tank Engine boots, and his shiny yellow slicker that his Gramma got for him. He was so excited about going out in the rain that I found myself smiling again. He loves the rain, puddle jumping, mud pies, the sound the rain makes on his hood. The bus came a little late, but he didn't mind.
So here's the thing: I hate mornings. I hate getting up early, I can not stand the groggy feeling and lack of cognition that plagues me, having to function when I just want to sit and stare at the wall until my brain wakes up, having to act cheery (for the children! phbbbbbt), make conversation with Hubby. And I hate rain, the darkness and gloom, the wet, the mess.
 But today, I stepped into my kids' worlds.
My daughter, the morning baby, the early, happy riser.
My son, delighting in the prospect of rain, school, and the bus ride.
I am not by nature an optimist, although I do try. Today, though, today I feel like the world might be a good place to be after all. If my darling girl can greet the day with enthusiasm, if my awesome little man can love the rain, maybe I can be a part of it, can learn to see it through the eyes of these crazy little monsters that I adore so much.
Today, depression and the dark side of autism will be overcome for a while.
Today, I will sing along with Dora and Kitten.
Today, I will go jump in puddles with Monkey.