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Life on the Spectrum Snapshot: Pre-Diagnosis

He heaved between sobs, opening the car door and vomiting right there in the car line. I prayed that no one had noticed. “Okay, okay,” I soothed him, patting his back. “It’s okay. Put your seat belt back on, we’ll go home.” He was so hysterical that my words didn’t, couldn’t penetrate. He cried into his hands, rocking back and forth. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” he cried. I pulled out of the car line and into the parking lot. “Mommy, I want breakfast,” a little voice peeped from backseat. “You said breakfast after Buddy go to school.” “I know,” I said, getting out of the car and walking around to Buddy’s side. I opened the door to buckle him in and he kicked at me. “NO!” he screamed. “No. No. No.” He thrashed in his seat trying to keep me from forcing him out of the car. His small fist makes contact with my cheek. “Buddy. Buddy. Buddy! Stop!” I yelled. Sniffles and sobs started in the back seat. “Buddy in trouble,” Thing 2 cried. “I hungry,” Thing 1 whined. And the ...
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Being Dismissed from Services

I heard those dreaded words today. "I'm afraid that most likely your child doesn't qualify for services anymore." I paused afraid that if I responded too soon I'd yell or cry. I asked a few clarifying questions, blinking back tears of panic. I held my own for nearly the entire conversation. And then the therapist said, "You should be so proud, Mom. He's made so much progress." Then, I cried. The truth is he has made so much progress. The truth is I am very proud of him. Still, the truth is I hate hearing those words. Every time a specialist says to me that one of my children "no longer qualifies" for services, bile-like panic rises in my chest. "But he still has such anger issues," I said. And, "His impulsiveness gets in his way on a daily basis," I added. Doesn't she know? Can't she see the things I see? "I did tell you that he pulled a knife on his brother last week, didn't I?" Somehow she h...
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My Own Manifesto

A few posts ago, I shared The Parenting Manifesto by Brene Brown.  Now it's time to share my own Manifesto. I wrote this sometime ago, in the Spring, I think.  I wish I had dated it, so I could pinpoint that exact moment when I chose to make my life my own.  I didn't.  I jotted this down one day in Relief Society in the back of my manual.  I don't remember the lesson that provoked these thoughts.  And for time, I forgot that I had even written them down. But just yesterday, I found them again.  And I cried.  I want so much to live this life.  It's time to take the bull by the horns, to dare greatly, to give myself what I want. So here it is: My Own Manifesto I choose to live by choice and not by chance. To make changes, not excuses. To be motivated, never manipulated. I choose self-esteem, not self-pity. To be useful, never used. To excel, not compete. I choose faith, not fear. I choose to listen to my own inner voice, To ne...
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