Sunday, June 5, 2011
Mosaic
Monday, May 9, 2011
Revert....Dinner with autism 101
Dinnertime in our house is a chaotic event. My boys yelling, "Mom! I need juice! Mom! Are we having pancakes?" over the clattering of silverware and dishes. Chandler will not eat with us at the table. He prefers the kitchen island, with the counter height stools. Picky isn't the word for children with autism, intake of food is a mysterious clumsy dance, sometimes you have a breakthrough when your child surprises you by taking a bite of an "off limits" food with a nasty texture like oatmeal, or scrambled eggs. And sometimes you get chewed up food spit out on the plate.
Today was a mental bully. I spent my mothers day studying for todays finals -which knocked me to the ground because of my inability to concentrate. On the way to my first final (a biology test in which I had to draw a human heart complete with blood flow), I stopped off at Chandler's school to bring him a sweatshirt for recess ( it was unexpectedly chilly and rainy today). I signed in at the office, and turned right, and I could hear him screaming from the hallway. Getting closer, I could hear Kim, his speech therapist on the phone, leaving me a message...."It just isn't like him, we haven't seen him like this in a long time....." I tapped her on the shoulder and she hung up the phone finishing, "You can disregard this message since you are here!" I stepped inside the classroom to see him on his knees on the floor, covering his face with his T-shirt. He was sweaty and red-faced. His para was next to him, a look of concern on her face. He calmed a bit upon seeing me, and together we try to decipher this episode as I softly speak to him, "What do you need?", signing need. Brainstorming was something we did often to sort out Chandler's moods, but there was just no good answer for today. Allergies? Sore throat? Tired? Who knows. I leave him calmer, zipped up in his sweatshirt following Mrs. J outside. He glances at me twice. I walk to my car anxious, turning back to see he is no longer watching me.
(Dinnertime 6:30 p.m) I set three foods in front of Chandler at the counter. You have to first understand, that his food horizons are not broadening, even with food therapy. It is painstakingly slow, and his menu options seem to get smaller and smaller. Spaghetti is now out, we have lost waffles, regained mac and cheese, lost plain cheese, chicken and rice, and various other foods gone along the way. I refuse to let him eat pop tarts for every meal. I feel like a short order cook. So I place lemon yogurt, chicken pizza, and spaghetti-O's with franks in front of him. First the whimpering starts...I pour him a glass of milk...then the jumping off the chair and I return him to his place. Here comes the spitting, and shirt chewing....Oh, god, he hasn't done this in months. "Come on Chandler, don't you want to go outside?" I bribe sweetly. Here comes the red face, and the tears. "Just take a bite." I plead. "A BITE! NO! 'SIDE!" he throws his head back and screams. He is slapping the counter over and over, "ALL DONE, ALL DONE." Pushing his plate away over and over, but I persist, "You have to try one bite of something, Channy." (blood curdling screams, sobs mixed in, while slapping his hands together repeatedly). Here comes the bad mom part. I get upset, and yell at him, "You cannot starve yourself!! You need to eat!" He begins to throw his arms around me, still screaming, and I can see in his eyes he is begging me to understand why this food is inedible. He pulls away from me and falls to the ground. I am crying as hard as he is. We are in full meltdown mode together. We sit on the floor with him in my arms and rock back and forth. "I don't understand, baby", I say, "Why don't you want to eat?" I ask rhetorically. He squeaks out, "All done." I surrender. "Okay, all done." He wipes his eyes, and sprints to the front door, "Outsiiiide....", leaving me on the floor.
Today was a mental bully. I spent my mothers day studying for todays finals -which knocked me to the ground because of my inability to concentrate. On the way to my first final (a biology test in which I had to draw a human heart complete with blood flow), I stopped off at Chandler's school to bring him a sweatshirt for recess ( it was unexpectedly chilly and rainy today). I signed in at the office, and turned right, and I could hear him screaming from the hallway. Getting closer, I could hear Kim, his speech therapist on the phone, leaving me a message...."It just isn't like him, we haven't seen him like this in a long time....." I tapped her on the shoulder and she hung up the phone finishing, "You can disregard this message since you are here!" I stepped inside the classroom to see him on his knees on the floor, covering his face with his T-shirt. He was sweaty and red-faced. His para was next to him, a look of concern on her face. He calmed a bit upon seeing me, and together we try to decipher this episode as I softly speak to him, "What do you need?", signing need. Brainstorming was something we did often to sort out Chandler's moods, but there was just no good answer for today. Allergies? Sore throat? Tired? Who knows. I leave him calmer, zipped up in his sweatshirt following Mrs. J outside. He glances at me twice. I walk to my car anxious, turning back to see he is no longer watching me.
(Dinnertime 6:30 p.m) I set three foods in front of Chandler at the counter. You have to first understand, that his food horizons are not broadening, even with food therapy. It is painstakingly slow, and his menu options seem to get smaller and smaller. Spaghetti is now out, we have lost waffles, regained mac and cheese, lost plain cheese, chicken and rice, and various other foods gone along the way. I refuse to let him eat pop tarts for every meal. I feel like a short order cook. So I place lemon yogurt, chicken pizza, and spaghetti-O's with franks in front of him. First the whimpering starts...I pour him a glass of milk...then the jumping off the chair and I return him to his place. Here comes the spitting, and shirt chewing....Oh, god, he hasn't done this in months. "Come on Chandler, don't you want to go outside?" I bribe sweetly. Here comes the red face, and the tears. "Just take a bite." I plead. "A BITE! NO! 'SIDE!" he throws his head back and screams. He is slapping the counter over and over, "ALL DONE, ALL DONE." Pushing his plate away over and over, but I persist, "You have to try one bite of something, Channy." (blood curdling screams, sobs mixed in, while slapping his hands together repeatedly). Here comes the bad mom part. I get upset, and yell at him, "You cannot starve yourself!! You need to eat!" He begins to throw his arms around me, still screaming, and I can see in his eyes he is begging me to understand why this food is inedible. He pulls away from me and falls to the ground. I am crying as hard as he is. We are in full meltdown mode together. We sit on the floor with him in my arms and rock back and forth. "I don't understand, baby", I say, "Why don't you want to eat?" I ask rhetorically. He squeaks out, "All done." I surrender. "Okay, all done." He wipes his eyes, and sprints to the front door, "Outsiiiide....", leaving me on the floor.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Standing outside the fire....
Most of you probably remember this song/video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0kNr8HOCZk
I loved it when I was in high school. I thought it was very moving. Now I cannot watch it without feeling powerful, overwhelming emotion. In this lifetime, I never believed I would be so accepting, so proud, of all that my child can achieve. It is so easy to see all of the can't in special needs, particularly with autism. The maybe nots, the probably nots, the fear, the doubt. It creeps in everyday. Yesterday I watched four neighborhood boys about Chandler's age playing basketball across the street. Laughing, and running, with arms around each other, high-fiving for baskets......I turned to see my son playing with his sky ball (small ball filled with glitter and water making it quite heavy) in the kitchen, just hitting it with his hand, in repetition. Hateful stimming behavior. My eyes were burning once again. Its not because I'm jealous, its not that I think he is less than. Cycling grief happens all the time. I just want him to be able to experience friends, and the joy of hanging with all the other kids. And I have that moment for a little bit. Then, I smile, and I know that his talent is not basketball, his talent is that we can play sky ball for ten minutes this year, when last year he would tolerate ten seconds. I clap my hands, and he grins and throws me the ball. Next summer maybe he will play basketball with me, if not, we will be playing a mean game of skyball. I will not allow my mind to limit you. You're amazing Chandler. You will do great things.
I loved it when I was in high school. I thought it was very moving. Now I cannot watch it without feeling powerful, overwhelming emotion. In this lifetime, I never believed I would be so accepting, so proud, of all that my child can achieve. It is so easy to see all of the can't in special needs, particularly with autism. The maybe nots, the probably nots, the fear, the doubt. It creeps in everyday. Yesterday I watched four neighborhood boys about Chandler's age playing basketball across the street. Laughing, and running, with arms around each other, high-fiving for baskets......I turned to see my son playing with his sky ball (small ball filled with glitter and water making it quite heavy) in the kitchen, just hitting it with his hand, in repetition. Hateful stimming behavior. My eyes were burning once again. Its not because I'm jealous, its not that I think he is less than. Cycling grief happens all the time. I just want him to be able to experience friends, and the joy of hanging with all the other kids. And I have that moment for a little bit. Then, I smile, and I know that his talent is not basketball, his talent is that we can play sky ball for ten minutes this year, when last year he would tolerate ten seconds. I clap my hands, and he grins and throws me the ball. Next summer maybe he will play basketball with me, if not, we will be playing a mean game of skyball. I will not allow my mind to limit you. You're amazing Chandler. You will do great things.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Measures of success
You know when you're friends with other people that have kids, you open your home to more children running in and out of the patio screen door with sandy bare feet, and dragging Capri-sun pouches and drippy ice cream cones across your carpet, and digging through the entire box of toys to find one matchbox car. When you have autism mom friends, you get so much more. I know when my friend Kate's daughter Emily comes over she is going to dump the stuffed animal net all over Elliott's bed, and try to climb in my fish tank. Because I am used to it, I am not phased. I will always have a can of Pillsbury frosting for her to eat in my fridge. I will be right next to her mom to help lure her outside with a teletubby when its time to leave and she sinks to the ground in a meltdown. When you have certain things in common with these moms, their children become like your own. You see past all the autism.
Today was a family fun event at a gymnastics place in town. Chandler's dad was bringing him, and I was just there to hang out and watch him play. Last time we were here Emily had no intention of leaving without a fight. And fight she did, she bit her mom, and kicked her strong little legs until she was buckled into the car, struggling to escape. I rode home in the backseat with her. Today as the clock hands ticked toward five-thirty, and I was giving Chandler some extra hugs until I see him when dad brings him home Sunday night, I watched Emily jumping. I didn't have to wonder if mom was anxious. I was anxious. I got caught up in a conversation about Chandler with Anna, the music therapist, and when I looked around everyone had coats and shoes on, and I ran to catch up. There was Emily. Sunny stamp on her hand from Nate the gymnastics director, and holding mom's hand while she beamed, and walked perfectly out the door, stopping for a kiss and a high five from another mom. I could tell mom was about to cry, and I could hear the many comments as Emily strolled past the families grinning. Great job! Way to go! Awesome! My help was not needed. Emily's success, is her mom's success, is my success, and Chandlers, and all of these kids and their families. We feel the emotions together, we celebrate the magic of these moments. Autism is often a lonely road, but together we travel with much more joy and pride. I'm so proud of you Emily!
Today was a family fun event at a gymnastics place in town. Chandler's dad was bringing him, and I was just there to hang out and watch him play. Last time we were here Emily had no intention of leaving without a fight. And fight she did, she bit her mom, and kicked her strong little legs until she was buckled into the car, struggling to escape. I rode home in the backseat with her. Today as the clock hands ticked toward five-thirty, and I was giving Chandler some extra hugs until I see him when dad brings him home Sunday night, I watched Emily jumping. I didn't have to wonder if mom was anxious. I was anxious. I got caught up in a conversation about Chandler with Anna, the music therapist, and when I looked around everyone had coats and shoes on, and I ran to catch up. There was Emily. Sunny stamp on her hand from Nate the gymnastics director, and holding mom's hand while she beamed, and walked perfectly out the door, stopping for a kiss and a high five from another mom. I could tell mom was about to cry, and I could hear the many comments as Emily strolled past the families grinning. Great job! Way to go! Awesome! My help was not needed. Emily's success, is her mom's success, is my success, and Chandlers, and all of these kids and their families. We feel the emotions together, we celebrate the magic of these moments. Autism is often a lonely road, but together we travel with much more joy and pride. I'm so proud of you Emily!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
A ride in the convertible...
Easter Sunday. It's all about chocolate bunnies and little speckled eggs, and little girls in starchy white gloves, squeaky clean little boys in ties and stiff collared shirts...so cute. So freakin cute. I watched my brother in law painstakingly put bunny footprints in flour and nibble some teeth marks into a bowl of carrots, while he put hot wheels and Reese's rabbits into the boys' baskets, and grandma adding plush bunnies, flashlights and jellybeans. Easter is my in laws holiday. Complete with cousins, pickle trays, greenbean casserole, and a hidden candy hunt in the yard at the farm. I wonder if everyone knows why I am sullen with sunken eyes slugging down my third glass of wine. Maybe its because my nightmares about the pond we tossed rocks into yesterday kept me up until two. Or that Elliott woke me up by shoving an orange jellybean in my mouth, his melodic little voice, "Try it mommy! They're yummy!" No that's not it. Its the fact that this year I have Chandler for Easter. Chandler is improving with holidays. No more screaming at every irritation. Less meal stress now that I care less that he eats a bun, and some cereal for Easter dinner., and he comes around more. But he's anxious, and he paces. Which makes me anxious, and pacey. With 15 adults and 10 kids, and two doors opening and shutting over and over, my breath catches each time I hear a slam. I peek out the window, race downstairs to the guest room where he watches his DVDs he brings along, run out the back door to the edge of the fence to the pasture. This time he is in the middle of the sandbox letting the grains of sand slip between his fingers. Everyone says, "He's fine." They don't always think, maybe I'm not fine. This Easter I'm not fine.
By three I've had all I can stand, I hold my composure until all the bags are in the car, and my tears flow in streams before we hit the mailbox. My husband gets it, so mostly he's quiet. When we reach my parents' house , I relax slightly. He knows everyone here, and I have more eyes on him. I sit in the lazy boy and hold my nephew who I call "Squishie" because he is a 6 month old chubby bunny with no wrists. He giggles and attacks his monkey lovie. Two times I yell at Chandler out the patio screen to get back in here! My dad blocks the downstairs door. We have leftover ham and lemon dessert. I look up suddenly to see two little blonde heads running across the field. OMG. I hand off Squishie like an MVP at the superbowl and take off in bare feet and by the time I am halfway across the yard, my nephew Noah is dragging Chandler by the sleeve. Noah is crying. "Auntie, he ran away!" I can't even tell him I am proud and glad, instead I am yelling at Chandler "NO! We do NOT run into the field!" He looks confused and says NO! back. My tears are stinging my eyes, but not falling. I am done. Exhausted. I tell my parents we are leaving and Chandler says "I...want...car.." I hesitate for a minute, and then I put him in the convertible along with Noah and his little brother Ethan who is my 4 year old nephew that is serious and quiet, like an old soul in a tiny body. With the top down and radio up, we cruise around the block. I watch the boys in the rearview mirror strapped into the backseat, Noah's head buried in a Pokemon game, and Chandler grinning and feeling the air with his hands. How can I keep you safe? Why don't you know your limits? I'm so angry with you, but your smile melts my heart... Ethan breaks my thoughts with "Auntie. I'm cold, can we put the top up?" To which I say, "No, Ethan, its cool to have the top down." "Auntie", he says, "Does this car have air bags?" I shake my head and laugh, "I dunno." "Well, you should be wearing your seatbelt", he admonishes me with his lips pursing, and his brow furrowing into a frown. The sun is going down, on another holiday in the autism trenches, but we're going out in style with the top down.
By three I've had all I can stand, I hold my composure until all the bags are in the car, and my tears flow in streams before we hit the mailbox. My husband gets it, so mostly he's quiet. When we reach my parents' house , I relax slightly. He knows everyone here, and I have more eyes on him. I sit in the lazy boy and hold my nephew who I call "Squishie" because he is a 6 month old chubby bunny with no wrists. He giggles and attacks his monkey lovie. Two times I yell at Chandler out the patio screen to get back in here! My dad blocks the downstairs door. We have leftover ham and lemon dessert. I look up suddenly to see two little blonde heads running across the field. OMG. I hand off Squishie like an MVP at the superbowl and take off in bare feet and by the time I am halfway across the yard, my nephew Noah is dragging Chandler by the sleeve. Noah is crying. "Auntie, he ran away!" I can't even tell him I am proud and glad, instead I am yelling at Chandler "NO! We do NOT run into the field!" He looks confused and says NO! back. My tears are stinging my eyes, but not falling. I am done. Exhausted. I tell my parents we are leaving and Chandler says "I...want...car.." I hesitate for a minute, and then I put him in the convertible along with Noah and his little brother Ethan who is my 4 year old nephew that is serious and quiet, like an old soul in a tiny body. With the top down and radio up, we cruise around the block. I watch the boys in the rearview mirror strapped into the backseat, Noah's head buried in a Pokemon game, and Chandler grinning and feeling the air with his hands. How can I keep you safe? Why don't you know your limits? I'm so angry with you, but your smile melts my heart... Ethan breaks my thoughts with "Auntie. I'm cold, can we put the top up?" To which I say, "No, Ethan, its cool to have the top down." "Auntie", he says, "Does this car have air bags?" I shake my head and laugh, "I dunno." "Well, you should be wearing your seatbelt", he admonishes me with his lips pursing, and his brow furrowing into a frown. The sun is going down, on another holiday in the autism trenches, but we're going out in style with the top down.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Realizations
I have been in Vegas all week. I hate leaving Chandler, I know he misses me. He acts different at school, he asks Grandma "Mom? Mom?" and its hard. I was so excited to see him that even though it was his dad's weekend, I picked him up for lunch. I brought Luke, and we went to the Pizza Ranch. I was nervous seeing the parking lot because it was full, and busy restaurants are tough, but at noon on a Saturday what choice did we have? He didn't get upset at all walking in saying "Pizza! Pizza!" We found a table in a back corner with just one table behind us, and about 5 surrounding us. One family was getting up to leave. We got our food from the buffett, and Chandler was happy to see pepperoni, and vanilla pudding. He was quite "flappy" and of course its because he hasn't seen me in a few days combined with the music playing a little more loudly than normal. One family walked toward the empty table, and as the mother carrying her baby saw Chandler jumping and squealing, she steered her husband back to the busy middle of the restaurant. Chew. chew. chew. Along comes an elderly couple who choose the table behind us. She sits down with her soda, and as Chandler's pizza touches his pudding, and he spits out a bite and cries. One tiny little outburst, as if to say, MOM! Seriously? I send Luke to get new pizza, and the woman whispers to her husband and they are off to find another seat. After twenty minutes, this super packed restaurant has one empty wing. We are like an island. My eyes were filled with tears, and I look over at Chandler happily munching his fourth pack of saltines because the pizza sucks now, and my very keen teenager says "Mom, I noticed too, and its okay." He smiled, and shrugged. In my head I stood up and yelled "What the hell is wrong with you assholes?! He's not a freak. He's my SON! And he's wonderful. He likes art, and cars, and music. His name is Chandler." But it is because of my teenager, that I hold my head back up and continue with the meal.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Letter BORED
I am all out of sorts today trying to reflect. Lets start with the desperate feeling that creeps in when you caught in a limbo during a conversation you have with your child's teachers at school. I know what I would do, but do I trust they know best as educators or that I do as a parent? After disengaging and time in the car to reflect-Perhaps, neither of us know best, but rather we know differently. Okay, so identify the issue. He hates reading time. Is he bored? Does he already know the words? Is he distracted? Enter mom visiting school for reading time today.
As Chandler sat for his word lesson, I could see how distracted he was today. Today there was lightly falling snow outside the window, I know because I followed his gaze. It really is beautiful. I quietly watched his teacher try to engage him with the words. Horse. A. Car. He was breaking eye contact, turning his head away from the page. Touching her newly manicured fingernails because he is fascinated with nails. He has been working on horse. a. car. yellow. see . all year long. My gut feeling is that he is bored senseless. On to edmark, a computer based word program. The pleasant voice speaking out "Find the word ball" and Chandlers hand travels to ball. "Find the word yello.." He pushes it abruptly and turns away. He is pushing them before they finish speaking. He knows these words. All of them.
Here's the problem. He is not consistent. They cannot say he "knows" them for certain. How are they ever going to assess that? Ever? Should they move on to other words? I don't know. I just don't know.
Fast forward. Email from my college professor, who mentioned to me that I was consistently late to class. And apparently I sighed coming in loudly last Friday. (To clarify-I live 75 miles away, and its every Thurs and Fri. and I had to run all the way to class) An excerpt:
"...it seems like you are in a constant state of overwhelm. I would really recommend that you consider some self-care to help you develop better coping skills for managing stress and widening your homeostasis. You could consider seeing someone privately, or I could set you up for some coaching with X (free for students). I recognize that your stress related to your child isn't going to go away, yet your ability to manage your responsibilities, your time, and your relationships with those around you are always "improve-able." From what you've said, it sounds like you've become a kind of "island unto yourself" and wonder if you could use some self-care to improve your life. A balanced mom is much more able to care for her loved ones than a stressed one - I know this from experience."
I was unsure whether I should laugh or cry. I really like her as an instructor, but she doesn't know me as well as I had assumed. I wish to God she knew me five years ago. My reply was this:
Thanks for writing me back! I didn't realize I was coming in loudly, I will pay attention to that (I think the sigh is due to relief that I made it at all after running to class, and its "getting my bearings"), but I will check that. I don't mind you stepping out on a limb to give me feedback, I welcome that actually. I really do have some time for self care, (normally my respite care time during the week, and zumba class, and of course support group). I agree that I come off as overwhelmed, but really tend to be a dramatic speaker, which is improving after all these conflict classes. I have seen a private therapist because the stress load can get overwhelming. I know when my homeostatis is off. It's not just taking care of Chandler, I take on advocacy, working on changing school policies, etc. more than I should. My mother has severe MS, and as the oldest child, my father and I have daily conversations about moving her to a nursing home, and my husband's job schedule with the railroad is unknown day to day (that is permanent). I am a pretty good multi-tasker, and everything has worked out for me until these past few months. I don't have enough hours in the day, or days in the week to cram everything in, and I know how much I take on. I am really working on taking on less outside responsibilities, but its hard to let go, that means dropping some of my support group stuff. I actually feel like I do an exceptional job of balancing responsibilities, but this is my last year of school and that entails picking up all these "extras" like classes at 3 colleges, and bits and pieces. I don't feel too overwhelmed, but I recognize that is how I am perceived. I grew up in a home where catastrophized speech was the status quo, and although I see it, that is what comes naturally. I also naturally run on hyperdrive, its how I get things done. But I will practice slowing down my vibe, althought I will disagree with you a little bit, that sometimes appearing in a constant state of busy, can look like "overwhelmed' when you are an outloud thinker! Have a good one. Nicole
Sometimes, as mothers in this lifestyle, we are so used to being this way, we forget about perceptions of us, and are surprised when people are wrong. Dead wrong. I know I seem stressed out and overwhelmed sometimes, but I love my crazy life. I thrive on this. One minute I am humming Farmer in the Dell so Chandler will put on his shirt, and the next I am answering a phone call from my who knows who trying to schedule in more things in my already packed week. But I see Chandler make eye contact with me and say "MOMMY, MOMMAY". It's not overwhelming stress, its passion.
As Chandler sat for his word lesson, I could see how distracted he was today. Today there was lightly falling snow outside the window, I know because I followed his gaze. It really is beautiful. I quietly watched his teacher try to engage him with the words. Horse. A. Car. He was breaking eye contact, turning his head away from the page. Touching her newly manicured fingernails because he is fascinated with nails. He has been working on horse. a. car. yellow. see . all year long. My gut feeling is that he is bored senseless. On to edmark, a computer based word program. The pleasant voice speaking out "Find the word ball" and Chandlers hand travels to ball. "Find the word yello.." He pushes it abruptly and turns away. He is pushing them before they finish speaking. He knows these words. All of them.
Here's the problem. He is not consistent. They cannot say he "knows" them for certain. How are they ever going to assess that? Ever? Should they move on to other words? I don't know. I just don't know.
Fast forward. Email from my college professor, who mentioned to me that I was consistently late to class. And apparently I sighed coming in loudly last Friday. (To clarify-I live 75 miles away, and its every Thurs and Fri. and I had to run all the way to class) An excerpt:
"...it seems like you are in a constant state of overwhelm. I would really recommend that you consider some self-care to help you develop better coping skills for managing stress and widening your homeostasis. You could consider seeing someone privately, or I could set you up for some coaching with X (free for students). I recognize that your stress related to your child isn't going to go away, yet your ability to manage your responsibilities, your time, and your relationships with those around you are always "improve-able." From what you've said, it sounds like you've become a kind of "island unto yourself" and wonder if you could use some self-care to improve your life. A balanced mom is much more able to care for her loved ones than a stressed one - I know this from experience."
I was unsure whether I should laugh or cry. I really like her as an instructor, but she doesn't know me as well as I had assumed. I wish to God she knew me five years ago. My reply was this:
Thanks for writing me back! I didn't realize I was coming in loudly, I will pay attention to that (I think the sigh is due to relief that I made it at all after running to class, and its "getting my bearings"), but I will check that. I don't mind you stepping out on a limb to give me feedback, I welcome that actually. I really do have some time for self care, (normally my respite care time during the week, and zumba class, and of course support group). I agree that I come off as overwhelmed, but really tend to be a dramatic speaker, which is improving after all these conflict classes. I have seen a private therapist because the stress load can get overwhelming. I know when my homeostatis is off. It's not just taking care of Chandler, I take on advocacy, working on changing school policies, etc. more than I should. My mother has severe MS, and as the oldest child, my father and I have daily conversations about moving her to a nursing home, and my husband's job schedule with the railroad is unknown day to day (that is permanent). I am a pretty good multi-tasker, and everything has worked out for me until these past few months. I don't have enough hours in the day, or days in the week to cram everything in, and I know how much I take on. I am really working on taking on less outside responsibilities, but its hard to let go, that means dropping some of my support group stuff. I actually feel like I do an exceptional job of balancing responsibilities, but this is my last year of school and that entails picking up all these "extras" like classes at 3 colleges, and bits and pieces. I don't feel too overwhelmed, but I recognize that is how I am perceived. I grew up in a home where catastrophized speech was the status quo, and although I see it, that is what comes naturally. I also naturally run on hyperdrive, its how I get things done. But I will practice slowing down my vibe, althought I will disagree with you a little bit, that sometimes appearing in a constant state of busy, can look like "overwhelmed' when you are an outloud thinker! Have a good one. Nicole
Sometimes, as mothers in this lifestyle, we are so used to being this way, we forget about perceptions of us, and are surprised when people are wrong. Dead wrong. I know I seem stressed out and overwhelmed sometimes, but I love my crazy life. I thrive on this. One minute I am humming Farmer in the Dell so Chandler will put on his shirt, and the next I am answering a phone call from my who knows who trying to schedule in more things in my already packed week. But I see Chandler make eye contact with me and say "MOMMY, MOMMAY". It's not overwhelming stress, its passion.
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