TGIF | Friday Fragments

Last night I made the mistake of staying up late to watch a movie and went to bed after midnight. By 3am, I was woken up by The Boy. I heard the pitter patter of his flat feet hitting the parquet floors and a door slam. I jumped out of bed and into The Boy's room and saw his blanket was missing. I felt his sheet. It was wet. We started nighttime potty training.

"Where's your blanket?" I asked The Boy.

"I put it in the laundry," The Boy replied. 

He actually put the blanket in the dryer. And he never went back to sleep. Which meant, I never went back to sleep. 

***

I checked my bank account and saw $30 spent on Apple iTunes. The Boy figured out the passcode and ordered $30 in Apps. YAY! for typical age appropriate sneaky kid behavior. BOO! for $30 in Apps that he'll probably serve no purpose.  

***

  

The Boy turned eight years old last Sunday. Eight! That's two years away from ten. And five years from being a teen… Okay, I'll stop now. 

Like most moms, I reflect and wonder where the time went. I wish I could will time to stand still. And I think about his future. Thinking about his future usually keeps me up at night. The Boy's birthday is celebrated but it brings about such complex emotions.

***

And last Friday night I was given a makeover. I don't get gussied up often, but when I do I need a team to make it happen. More details on that next week. 

TGIFriday Fragments! 

8 Social Media Goals for 2014

It's the first day of 2014. Every few months or so I contemplate the point of my blog. One of my New Year Resolutions is to scale back on my work load. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to give up blogging. While some things are better left behind in 2013, there is so much to look forward to in 2014. 

My 8 Social Media Goals

Get a professional headshot. Because my iPhone selfie can no longer cut it. This has to be at the top of my list. I'm going to make this a priority in the near future. After three years of blogging, I think it's time.

Create an About Me page. I honestly never thought about creating one until a friend suggested it's something all bloggers should do. And since my friend is pretty successful, I'll heed her advice.

Pin Like a Mad Woman. I don't spend much time on Pinterest but when I'm on it, I like it. And I like having all my favorite things in one place. Like today, I started a "1st Time Couponer" Pin Board. I am determined to learn how to coupon, I'm hoping my coupon blogger friends will have some advice for me. 

Update my Linked In Profile. More advice from another successful blogger. 

Read More. Last year I was so busy, I lost track of some of my favorite blogs. It's impossible to catch up but I want to make time to read the bloggers I love and discover some new ones.

Say No. I almost always say yes to things. Even to the things I don't have time to do. Last month I said no to a major opportunity. After I weighed the pros and cons, I realized it wasn't something that would make me or break me. As a mom who works full-time outside of the home (in a field completely unrelated to blogging) and being a niche blog - I have to be super selective to what I say yes to. Saying no felt good, I felt like I was in control. I only want to do things I truly want to do, otherwise - what's the point? 

Make dates to meet on line friends in real life. I have met so many wonderful women through blogging and many of them are in NYC. I shouldn't have to wait until a blog conference in another state to see them. I want to be more proactive in making dates to meet. 

Unplug. After a year of writing for Babble, I decided it was time to leave. I was working so much on blogging that it was hard to keep up with everything. I was tired of juggling. It feels good knowing I have lightened my work load but that doesn't mean I'm ready to quit altogether. I love writing and sharing our story. But I also know I want to spend less time on line and more time in real life. 

What are your social media goals for the new year? 

My Best Moments of 2013 on Instagram | #photostatigram #memostatigram

It's the last day of 2013! I have loved seeing everyone's #Memostatigrams but for some reason, I can't share mine. I think it's because I have an iPhone 4. Who knows? I'm not tech savvy. But I am able to share a photo of my best Instagram photos in other ways...

60: The day I handed in my thesis. Read about it here - So Now What and 10 Things I'm Going To Do Now That I'm Done with Graduate School

58: The morning I graduated. Read about it here - Graduation

52: The day we ran for Autism Speaks; my very first 5K. Read about here - 4 Miles of Hope

47: My beautiful custom made Autism Awareness Toms by Pear Mama

47: The Boy…simply being The Boy. Happy.

2013 has been good to me. But I know... 

And of course, after I hit publish on this I figured out how to upload my video to You Tube.

No More #FatTalk and Other Things I'm Leaving Behind in 2013

In a few more days 2013 will be over. I am one of those sappy sentimental New Year's fools. If I manage to stay up (which, let's be for real, the older I get the harder it is) I will probably cry reflecting on all the ups and downs of my year. And after I ugly cry, I'll feel grateful to have a clean slate. 

I'll wake up on New Year's Day ready to make grand changes to my lifestyle. I'll eat a little healthier, exercise and put myself to sleep earlier. And then a few days later, I'll be back to my previous year self. I may have great ideas but I have a hard time with follow through.

But I am getting older and I'm old enough to know better. I need to make significant changes to my life. And there are a few things of 2013 that need to be left behind. A new year is a fresh start - it's a reboot button. 

4 Things I'm Leaving Behind in 2013

No More Fat Talk. This on the top of my list. I am notorious for talking about how fat I am. And I use (and think) the words "fat" and "disgusting" about myself way too much.  I've been struggling with my weight for last eight years. I go through spurts of losing 5 pounds and gaining 10. I've put on 20 pounds in the last two years. I stepped on the scale this week and hit 170 pounds. (I'm 5'6.) I used to be a gal who loved to shop and now with every few pounds I gain I find myself dreading stepping into a fitting room. It doesn't feel good having to keep buying bigger sizes but the way I feel about myself when I look in the mirror is so much worse.  

Stop Thinking of Myself as a Student. After five long, stressful years of graduate school, I graduated in June. It took me nearly 15 years to finish my bachelor's degree. I've been a college student for 20 years - all while working full-time. 2014 is my first college-free year. I've had a 'student' mentality for so long. There is a part of me that sees myself as someone just starting out. But I've accomplished a lot, especially over the last 5 years - and I have to own it. I need to stop seeing myself as a creative writing student and start seeing myself as a professional writer.

Babble. I spent 2013 being a Babble Kid Contributor. I loved every second of it. But I've been doing so much, for so long I'm exhausted. And I need a break from it all. I work a lot. I I work all day in an office, then I come and work most nights. More and more, The Boy is starting to notice how much time I spend on my laptop. He'll say "Close the computer and come play with me." And more often than not, I have to say no because I have to work. 

It's ironic that I waited so long to hear those words from him, now that he has them - I am too busy writing to meet his needs. I decided that I needed to scale back on my freelance writing assignments. The Boy needs me more. And I need him just as much. 

I published my last Babble post (a round up of my favorite 8 blog posts) and I'm going to spend the first few weeks of 2014, relaxing and not doing a darn thing except spend time with my family.

Wasting Money/Throwing Away Food. We spend a lot of money on food: at the supermarket, dining out and ordering greasy take-out. It's embarrassing how much time and money I spend at the supermarket buying food, only to throw it away because it's gone bad. It's such a waste of money. I am hoping that with a lighter workload, I can get back to cooking real meals for my family. 

My goals for 2014 are simple: feel better about myself, live a healthier life and have more quality time with my family. I think these are worth the follow through. 

Dos Mujeres, Una Cocina | Two Women, One Kitchen

Her way is always better. She won’t say it, but I know that’s what my mother thinks every afternoon when she walks into my kitchen. And it’s implied in very subtle ways. The way my mother rearranges the tupperware in my cabinets or the food in the fridge. The way she scrunches her nose as she watches me cook. Or the way she scrutinizes my purchases, frowning at their prices. “It’s not that you cook good, you just buy expensive ingredients,” she’ll say.

My kitchen is the size of a small cell. Room enough for only two: one to cook, one to watch but always one of us in the other's way. 

When I was a girl my mother used to call me into the kitchen while she cooked, commanding me to pay attention. Even though the kitchen was big enough for the both of us, I'd still get in her way; usually handing her the wrong items and asking too many questions. After a few ay Dios mío's and coño's my cooking lesson was over and my mother would exile me to the living room.

Many years later, my mother and I are titans, both vying for power in la cocina. I look forward to cooking holiday meals, creating my own traditions. My kitchen has become a place of solace, a place to stand and clear my head while cooking for others.  But in a galley kitchen like mine, it's too easy for my mother and I to clash. While I cook my mother will tiptoe to lean over me and criticize my technique, “That’s not the way I do it.” 

My mother wields the pilón; I pump the mini chopper. My mother blends peppers red and green, cloves of garlic, bulbs of onions, recao, cilantro and olive oil to make a large batch of sofrito. It is the base of her every meal.  I cook with sofrito so rarely that when I need it, I buy the ingredients, chop everything up and sauté it into my meal.

I shop at Whole Foods or Trader Joe's; I buy organic. My mother shops where she has coupons, scouring the neighborhood for the best prices. She goes one place for milk, another for eggs, somewhere for meats and so on. My mother will never pay full price for anything if she knows she can get it on sale.

My mother cooks her specialty dishes with ease, never having to consult a book, eyeballing ingredients. I rely on Food Network, printed-out recipes and measuring spoons. My mother trusts her culinary instinct. Mine are still being cultivated.

I am the occasional cook, making elaborate meals for a holiday or celebration. My mother cooks every day; it’s a part of who she is. I realized this the day I invited my parents over for Christmas dinner. I was going to cook the signature Puerto Rican meal: pernil, arrroz con gandules, potato salad.  My mother said she would bring pasteles.

The thought reminds me of childhood; watching my mother at the kitchen table late on Saturday night. A large pot at the center, sheets of wax paper in front of her, a ball of white twine. Wrapping each pastel in parchment paper like a present; humming to herself or the phone nestled between her shoulder and ear, talking with my madrina  It is an all day/ all night affair, an offering. And the culinary commitment secures my mother’s place as the master. I am still the apprentice.

My mother's pasteles are perfection. The masa is firm, filled with flavorful meat and neatly wrapped with care. And when cooked, it slipped out of its wrapping in one piece.

I do not want anyone else’s recipe other than hers. I cannot wait for the day for her to come over and share her pasteles recipe and technique with me. No matter how big or how small my kitchen is - there will always be room for my mother to stand beside me.  

A Thanksgiving cheers with my mother | 2013

This is a revised version of my essay Clash of Las Cocinas originally published on Being Latino, December 2010. 

Fathers and Sons at the Playground

The summer came and went without a visit to the beach. Without walking along the sand or dipping our feet in the water. 

Over the weekend, we decided to drive to the beach. It's off season and the parking is free and we knew the playground would be empty. 

The Boy loves the beach. We walked up and down the beach holding hands - more out of need than out of want. The Boy wanted to run, take off his shoes, throw himself in the sand and roll around. But it's winter in New York City. And it was a cold November day.

Norrin and Joseph | Orchard Beach | 11/30/13

After walking along the beach, we headed back to the playground. We were right, it was empty. The Husband and I sat on a bench and relaxed while The Boy ran around. Though The Husband and I sat on benches at opposite ends. This playground is large and there are exits on three sides. The Boy was happy, running freely, flapping his hands. It's nice having the playground to ourselves, a little luxury.

And then they came in. A father with his teenage son. I heard him before I saw them. His voice in the midst of changing from boy to man. His voice sounded familiar, though I couldn't understand anything he said. When I turned to look, I saw them on the swings. The father was swinging, gently urging his son to do the same, "Kick your legs…kick your legs like me." The son's arms looped around the swing chains and was moving gently back and forth, "talking" loudly. Nothing he said made sense but I didn't want to assume the son was non-verbal (because I'm sure when The Boy makes his strange loud noises, people assume he can't speak).  

In that moment, I felt such a strong connection to the father. We were all at the playground, at the beach on cold Saturday afternoon because we knew it would be empty, "safe" for our kids. I imagined the father's worries, his joys. I smiled at the father, though I don't think he noticed - his gaze was focused on his teenage son and trying to teach him how to swing.  

I turned my attention to my son. He was standing at the platform in front of a "fireman pole." I could tell he was hesitant. He's fearless in many ways and in other ways, overly cautious. 

"You can do it boy. Just slide down." The Husband said. "I'm here Norrin. I will help you. Slide down."

Norrin slid down and I clapped before his feet touched the ground. I ran over and told him he did a great job. I smiled at The Husband, "That's his first time doing that."

"How do you feel?" The Boy asked.

"I feel proud." I said. 

The Boy was cold and requested hot chocolate. We left the playground, leaving the father and his teenage son to have the space for themselves. It was their turn.

***

Later I asked The Husband about the father and son. "Did you notice them?" I asked. "He reminded me a little of Norrin."

"Yeah," The Husband shrugged and said nothing else.

We don't talk much about autism. We don't talk about what The Boy's future will be like. We don't talk about our worries or fears much. Maybe it's because we'd rather focus on the present. Or maybe it's because it hurts.    

Whenever we see an older boy with autism - it's like looking through a crystal ball. It forces us into the future we are not quite ready for. Sometimes it's easier to look away and say nothing.

***

The next day I took The Boy to the playground by our apartment. Once again we had the park to ourselves. I sat on a bench and let The Boy run free.

After a few minutes another father and son came in. The son was much younger (probably between 4 - 5 years old) and smaller than The Boy. And I was happily surprised when The Boy said, "Hi! Do you want to play with me?" and the young boy obliged. I watched them chase each other around. 

When The Boy tired of tag, he walked over to the swings and the little boy followed him. The Boy is getting so good at swinging on his own. I thought back to the days when he refused to even sit on the swing and marveled at how far he's come.

The little boy yelled out to his father for help. The father - who was sitting at the other end of the park, reading the paper - didn't get up and just yelled at him to "kick his legs." The little boy tried, wriggling his legs but nothing happened. After yelling for help a second time, the father walked over. 

I watched as the father gently pushed his son, instructing him to kick. And I thought about the father with his teenage son from the day before. I thought of The Husband and The Boy. Different fathers, different sons, different parks, different circumstances - same thing. Just three fathers helping their sons. Doing what good fathers are supposed to do.

Neither The Husband nor I know what the future holds for our son. But I know that no matter what happens, The Boy will always have his father to help him along the way.

     

10 TV Shows I Can't Wait To Watch This Fall

It's Sunday night and I'm watching The Husband watch Football. There's nothing new on TV that I care to watch. I mean, my go to channels are Food Network and HGTV but I don't really cook and we live in an apartment so...there's only so much of that you can watch. 

And I don't know about you all, but I'm ready for some Fall TV. I've been ready for weeks if you must know and here are my Top 10 TV shows I can't wait to watch this fall. I am only talking about shows that I know and love. Honestly at this point, I can't commit to watching a new show. 

How I Met Your Mother. It's one of the few shows The Husband and I enjoy watching together. And I don't know about you but I'm so ready for Ted to meet the "Mother." It's time. It's actually a few seasons over due but whatever. New season begins Monday 9/23 on CBS.

Law and Order: SVU. Because what's going to happen to OLIVIA! I don't think I can handle it. New season begins on Wednesday 9/25 on NBC.


Nashville. You know what...don't judge me. I like this show. A lot. It's a captivating storyline and the singing/song writing is spectacular. If you haven't gotten into this show by now. You should. There's time to catch up. You won't be sorry. New season begins on Wednesday 9/25 on ABC. 

Modern Family. I have a serious girl crush on Sophia Vergara. And the show is funny as sh*t. And it's a another show The Husband and I enjoy watching together. I suspect he may like Sophia too. New Season begins Wednesday, 9/25 on ABC.   

Glee. When Cory Monteith (Finn) died earlier this summer, I cried. And as much as I can't wait for the new season to start, it's going to be hard to watch without Finn. I love Glee for so many reasons. But I love it because it reminds me so much of high school...well not my high school but the high school I would have liked to attend. And just between us - I like singing along to the songs that they cover. Sometimes I even get up and dance. I'm just kidding. I don't really dance...or do I? You'll never know. New season begins on Thursday 9/26 on Fox.

Big Bang Theory. Sheldon. Period. New season begins on Thursday, 9/26 on CBS.

Parenthood. Sigh...I have a love/hate relationship with this show. I really really do. I love some of the characters and some of the characters annoy the crap out of me. And I love that there's a character on the show with a form of autism but I kind dislike how they handle it. New season begins on Thursday, 9/26 on NBC. 

Once. I cannot stop talking about this show. It's so good! If you love fairy tales, you'll love this spin on all of your favorite stories and characters. What I really appreciate about this show is seeing a different aspect of the tales I grew up with. Everyone has a backstory, Once, not only explores each characters backstory but it takes them to a whole new level. New season begins on Sunday 9/29 on ABC.

The Walking Dead. And this is the show that just pisses me off. I mean, I watch this show and I am literally yelling at the TV screen. HOW COULD THEY BE SO STUPID!? And Andrea...I was so happy when they killed her off the show. I was over her. But you know who I live for on this show? Daryl (Norman Reedus) - he's one of my favorite characters on the show and I can't to see what happens this season. New season begins on Sunday, 10/13 on AMC. 

Downton Abbey. I know, it's not fall TV. But I am having serious Downtown Abbey withdrawal. I've started watching it from the beginning. I won't go on anymore...just watch the trailer for the upcoming season. New season begins on Sunday 1/5/14 on PBS. 

What shows can't you wait for? Am I missing out on some great TV watching? Let me know...

Out With The Old

It's Saturday and I'm cleaning out closets and trying to organize. Trying because even though I know it must get done, it's difficult. 

I started with my closet and I don't know why I have such a hard time letting go of clothes that no longer fit. Clothes that have seen better days, clothes that no matter what happens or how much weight I lose I cannot see myself wearing ever again.

 As I was sorting through a bin of clothes, I came across two pairs of maternity jeans - one pair still had the tags. I bought them during my second pregnancy. And then after I lost the baby, I didn't have the heart to give the jeans away. I was hoping that I'd need them again. That was three years ago. I haven't needed them. They've just been taking up space. And they remind me of a time when I was hopeful.

I decided it was time to let them go.

And the maternity jeans that I never got a chance to wear was put in the pile of size 4s. Because chances are, I'll never be a size 4 again. And I'll probably never be pregnant again. I have't lost hope. I'm trying to be realistic. And I'm okay with that. 

I threw away shoes that hurt my feet. Shoes that had collected too much dust. And I tossed out dresses that had seen exciting Saturday nights. My Saturday nights are spent at home or with The Boy - those dresses were just taking up space.   

And then it was time for The Boy's room.

Last night The Husband went to Ikea to buy The Boy a new desk. It was time. Long over due, if you want to know the truth. 

Today The Husband assembled The Boy's new desk. I folded The Boy's table and chairs. We bought them five years ago, shortly after The By was diagnosed with autism. The ABA therapist said she needed a table and chairs to work.

Folding up that table and chairs was tough. I don't know why but it was. Well, I know why. Back then we believed that if we did everything the therapist suggested, The Boy would be okay. He'd be "fixed." Today I folded them up knowing - and accepting - that there's no quick fix for autism. There's no coat of paint to calm or a table and chairs to cure. I know that now. I'm okay with that. I have accepted that.

But that doesn't mean, it doesn't hurt. And it doesn't mean I've lost hope.  

Over the last five years I've watched The Boy's progress with awe. It was at that table, that I heard The Boy say his first word and complete his first puzzle. I can't even count the hours of time spent at that table. It was at that table that I got my first glimpse of hope. 

But The Boy is going to be eight in a few months. He's too big for that table. It's time for us to move on. And I look forward to all the new things The Boy will accomplish at his new desk.

It is time for a new beginning. For The Boy and for me.

A Mother and Son Date: The B-Side

The Boy & I on our Mother & Son Date

I had this idea to have a mother and son date. The Boy and I are together all the time but our outings consist of errands, doctors appointments or shuttling him between boroughs.

On the weekends, its me, The Boy and The Husband. 

But The Boy's finally on summer vacation and I had a few days off. With no appointments or therapy on our schedule, I wanted to do something fun. Something memorable. Just us two.

If you follow us on Twitter or Instagram, our pictures look like we had a great time. And we did have a nice time but it came with more than our fair share of challenges. This post is what the pictures don't reveal about our day.

***  

We arrived at the Children's Museum of Manhattan (CMOM) shortly after opening. Within seconds, I felt unprepared and wished The Husband was there to help. The first floor was already packed with kids - many of them younger than The Boy. All running, laughing, playing.  Their parents watching from the sidelines, flipping through magazines, chatting on their phones. I followed The Boy around, hovering like I usually do.  My eyes scanning the room for exits and places he could hide.

The Boy darted from place to place, a grin from ear to ear, laughing too loudly. "Oh wow!" He yelled with much more excitement than the other 7-year-olds in the room.

We moved through the rest of the museum but none of the other exhibits excited The Boy as much as the first floor. So that's where we returned for one last run around before heading out to lunch. The room was still crowded.  But the boy was content playing on the slide. And for the first time that morning, I could sit and watch.

That's when they walked in. A group of special needs children and their aides - most likely part of a day camp respite program. Their ages must have ranged between 7 and 10, their disabilities varying.

There was one boy who caught my eye. He was overweight his belly hanging over his sweat shorts. He wore a button down shirt with only the top three buttons buttoned. And his undershirt was pulled up, exposing his large belly. I waited for one the aides to assist him, to pull his shirt down. None of them did.

I don't know why it bothered me so, but it did. I am so conscious of how The Boy looks, so aware of his appearance. It's the one thing I can control. If The Boy lifted up his shirt in public - I would have fixed it immediately. 

The aides wandered the floor aimlessly holding the hands of their kids. Not bothering to engage with them or show them around. The aides were too busy talking among themselves to bother with the children. The children were unlike The Boy, they were quiet, calm, content to be led rather than run.

Then I noticed the room got quiet. Really quiet. The packed room was suddenly empty. All the typical kids and their parents had moved on to other parts of the museum. It was just me, The Boy, the group of special needs kids and their aides. 

Was it too close to lunch? Or did those parents want distance from the kids with disabilities? It hurt too much to think about. 

Later, when I spoke to a friend about it she said "Not everyone is used to kids with special needs. Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable. They don't know how to act." 

I know this is true. I have seen the way people try not to notice us. At times, I don't know what's worse - the blatant staring or acting as if we're invisible. My sister is in her twenties and has an intellectual disability and I have seen people shy away from her (not always strangers either - friends, in-laws and members of our family).   

If The Boy was a 'typical' kid, would I have left too?

***

After lunch, The Boy and I took the bus across town. There was a large playground and The Boy wanted to go in. The playground was much bigger than any one we'd ever been. Too many blind spots, too many pyramids and tunnels - too many places to lose him.

Again, I noticed the groups of parents sitting on the benches secure knowing that when they called out a name, their kid would return.

I bribed The Boy with the promise of an ice cream so that we could leave. 

***

We walked to La Casa Azul (a book store specializing in Latino authors) and The Boy was on the verge of a meltdown. I shouldn't have taken him inside. I should have just left. Instead, I held both his hands while I browsed. The Boy wanted to leave. But I wanted to make a purchase. And I so badly wanted to buy him a book from La Casa Azul.

The whole time he kept saying "I'm going to break all the books. I'm going to spit on the floor." For a fraction of a second I let go of his hand and The Boy grabbed hold of a statue - I thought he was going to crush it. I freed the statue from his grasp, grateful I was the only one who noticed what The Boy had done.

At that point, I knew we were done. I purchased my books and left.

***

On the train ride home, The Boy asked if we could go to the playground. It was still early and since he didn't have a chance to play in the big playground, I agreed.

It was all good until a little girl (about 3 years old) started to cry. And that. Set. The Boy. Off! He always gets upset when he hears/sees another kid crying. He stopped playing and just stared at the girl. The Boy's chest started pumping and tears welled up in his eyes. "She's crying. She has to go home," he cried pointing to the girl.

I walked over to him and led him to a nearby bench. He was sobbing and shaking. The Boy climbed up on my lap, burying his face in the crook of my neck. 

I asked if he wanted to go home but he wanted to stay. I should have just taken him home. Instead I sat there cradling and consoling my 7-year-old son while the other children in the playground stared.

When he was ready to continue playing, I told him we were going to stay for 10 minutes. "Put the timer on," The Boy said. 

A group of boys were gathered around the water fountain, filling up their water guns. I have to watch whenever The Boy gets too close to the fountain. (The last time we were in the playground, he saw a kid drink water from the fountain. Thirsty, but not knowing how to work the water fountain, The Boy attempted to sip from the pool of water that hadn't drained.) The Boy, watching the kids at the fountain, ran up and splashed them all with water. I made him apologize and led him out of the park. 

The Boy burst into tears again. "I'm going to break all my toys," he repeated. "I'm going to spit." He dug his nails into my hand. 

"Stop!" I yelled. "You are not going to break all of your toys. And don't even think about spitting."

Walking up the steps to our building, I saw The Boy gathering his saliva, ready to spit. I swatted his mouth. "What did I say about spitting!?"               

He pulled his hand out of mine and started to run away. He didn't get far.

Once inside our apartment, The Boy yanked off of his shoes and threw them at the mirror. Then he spit on the floor. I yelled at him again, grabbed him by the arm and marched him to his room for a time out. I needed space. I hate losing my temper with The Boy. I know it doesn't make a meltdown any better. I know I'm not setting the example. But I am human. I'm a mom. And sometimes, I completely lose my shit.   

That's when I started to cry. If The Boy can be this challenging for me now, what will happen when he gets older? When he gets too big and too heavy for me to send him to his room. Will he 'grow out' of this behavior? Or will it get worse? 

Why, I wondered. Why did a simple outing - a day that was supposed to be fun - have to be  so difficult? Why couldn't I ignore the behavior? Why couldn't I redirect him? Why couldn't we just have one day without a major meltdown? Why couldn't I get through to him? Why did The Boy have to have autism? That's the why I hated the most. I hate myself when that why creeps in.

I thought about the group of special needs kids and their inattentive aides. The parents and kids who left the room. The kids in the playground who stared as The Boy cried. The Boy playing alone in a playground full of kids.  

Was this to be our life? Or was this just our day? Sometimes it's hard to know the difference.

Declarations of Love (Autism Style)

On Monday I came home later than usual. The Boy held the door open for me, watching as I walked down the hallway. He waited for me to come in before running back to his room. No hello. No kiss. No hug. 

The Husband later told me that minutes before I rang the bell, The Boy stood at the door and burst into tears. When The Husband asked what was wrong, The Boy said "I want to see Mommy."

Later The Boy sat next to right on top of me. "Norrin why were you crying?" I asked him.

"Because, I missed mom." 

***

Every Wednesday it's the same thing. The Boy gets off the bus, smiling brightly and asks, "Can I get ice cream?"

No hello. No kiss. No hug. 

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful that he is capable of asking an age appropriate question. But I wonder if his smile is for me or at the thought of a Mr. Softee ice cream cone.

"Who do you want to go get an ice cream with?" I ask.

The Boy reaches for my hand as we cross the street and says, "With mom."

*** 

Last night I was sick with a fever. The Husband gave me medicine and within minutes, I was feeling drowsy. I lay in bed, wrapped in my blanket when The Boy pounced on me. "Mommy's sick," I said, "please let me rest."

"Do you need to spit (throw up)?" The Boy asked. And before I could answer, he said, "I'll go get the bucket!"

The Boy ran down the hall and back. He placed the bucket on the floor next to me. Then he tucked my blanket around my shoulders. And he let me sleep.

***  

What declarations of love have your children shown you this week?