The Allure of The Girl With The Pearl Earring

Yesterday afternoon we traveled into Atlanta to see the High Museum's exhibit of Dutch masters including the amazing Girl with a Pearl Earring. It was SO breathtaking. If you asked me, I'd never choose the works housed in Maritshuis as my favorites, yet standing in front of them I am so awestruck at their brilliance.

The oldest boy is old enough now that I annoy him whispering in his ear all the important details of the paintings, why they are relevant, what to look for. But I can't help but think that some day as an adult with a proper world view, he'll appreciate that once he stood two feet from Girl with a Pearl Earring and looked her in the eyes.

The entire gallery was a feast for my brain. I think I'd hang every one of them in my house and never get tired of soaking up their details. 

We wandered around to another exhibit, specifically one that featured local artists, which was pretty interesting.

Even Julia found things to like.

It's interesting because you wouldn't know if the twins did or didn't like it much, as they usually just putter along with us, but I know it makes an impact on them, they know we go to museums - because on a "What I did this summer" project Miles chose "visit a museum" as one of his answers. 

I think it's just as important for the twins as it is for Lou and Julia, to be exposed to art. 

I love living in a world class city where I can show my children these things, and expose them to so much.

Well, except this. I'm not sure anyone should be exposed to this.

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The Allure of The Girl With The Pearl Earring

Yesterday afternoon we traveled into Atlanta to see the High Museum's exhibit of Dutch masters including the amazing Girl with a Pearl Earring. It was SO breathtaking. If you asked me, I'd never choose the works housed in Maritshuis as my favorites, yet standing in front of them I am so awestruck at their brilliance.

The oldest boy is old enough now that I annoy him whispering in his ear all the important details of the paintings, why they are relevant, what to look for. But I can't help but think that some day as an adult with a proper world view, he'll appreciate that once he stood two feet from Girl with a Pearl Earring and looked her in the eyes.

The entire gallery was a feast for my brain. I think I'd hang every one of them in my house and never get tired of soaking up their details. 

We wandered around to another exhibit, specifically one that featured local artists, which was pretty interesting.

Even Julia found things to like.

It's interesting because you wouldn't know if the twins did or didn't like it much, as they usually just putter along with us, but I know it makes an impact on them, they know we go to museums - because on a "What I did this summer" project Miles chose "visit a museum" as one of his answers. 

I think it's just as important for the twins as it is for Lou and Julia, to be exposed to art. 

I love living in a world class city where I can show my children these things, and expose them to so much.

Well, except this. I'm not sure anyone should be exposed to this.

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It Was Poop Side Up !

This is a diary post of my morning. Enjoy.

At 5:17 am I was awoken by the feeling of being watched. Charlie was beside me, whispering "I want." What? No idea. I reached over and felt his diaper - it was soft so no pee, and no smelly yuck. I whispered to him to go to bed. His dad offered him a drink of water, and said the same. He wandered off.

An hour later Miles scooched into my bed, snuggling and pressing his face into my neck until he found his spot and we both drifted off. About 7:30 he whispered to me "Get up." I looked at the clock, and said "No, bedtime."

He wandered off, I feel back asleep.

At 8:30 ish he came back and touched my face and said "Get up." I was fully loaded with vitamin D and a night's sleep, so I said - ok. I noticed Charlie was in Julia's room and Julia was asleep in Charlie's bed, as I wandered into the bathroom. I had four children, so the first thing I do upon waking is hobble to the bathroom cuz, gotta pee.

I'm sitting there, contemplating my morning. It was early. I'd have time to make a nice breakfast, blog, consider how to do my hair today hell maybe look on pinterest for Up Do ideas and then Charlie came bouncing into the bathroom.

Covered in poop.

Nothing gets you of the toilet faster than poop everywhere.

When I say everywhere, I mean all over his shirt and inside of his pajamas and his industrial giant pull up was full to the breaking point, in fact had broken, with a horrible eruption that had occurred. I'm blaming the Taco Bell we had for dinner but really who knows. Autistic kids often have tummy problems and this is someting that does happen with my Charlie sometimes.

The husband was up instantly and he went on poop patrol - seeking out damage and ready to do disinfection in any room that had been desecrated, and I set about scrubbing the child and the clothes clean and getting him changed.

He did the Lysol duty while I scrubbed the inside of the pajama bottoms with alcohol and a baby wipe and I sat them on the side of the tub, then started to move them realizing they were in a bad place.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON'T MOVE THEM THEY WERE POOP SIDE UP!"

That's when I started giggling.

Whether or not the inside of my 9 year old's pajamas were laying poop stain side up, was the first conversation I got to have with my husband this morning. I can't tell you why it was funny. It just was.

I washed my hands about 8 times and took the little ones to have breakfast downstairs. I called Charlie in for a HEALTHY dose of Immodium because, we're going to see the Dutch Masters at the HIGH today and I am not having him poop all over the museum.  After he took it, I pointed him to the water cup on the counter and told him to take a drink if he needed one.

When I turned around he was taking all of the water cups, and putting them on the table, in the right places.

"I help," he said.

This was my morning.

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It Was Poop Side Up !

This is a diary post of my morning. Enjoy.

At 5:17 am I was awoken by the feeling of being watched. Charlie was beside me, whispering "I want." What? No idea. I reached over and felt his diaper - it was soft so no pee, and no smelly yuck. I whispered to him to go to bed. His dad offered him a drink of water, and said the same. He wandered off.

An hour later Miles scooched into my bed, snuggling and pressing his face into my neck until he found his spot and we both drifted off. About 7:30 he whispered to me "Get up." I looked at the clock, and said "No, bedtime."

He wandered off, I feel back asleep.

At 8:30 ish he came back and touched my face and said "Get up." I was fully loaded with vitamin D and a night's sleep, so I said - ok. I noticed Charlie was in Julia's room and Julia was asleep in Charlie's bed, as I wandered into the bathroom. I had four children, so the first thing I do upon waking is hobble to the bathroom cuz, gotta pee.

I'm sitting there, contemplating my morning. It was early. I'd have time to make a nice breakfast, blog, consider how to do my hair today hell maybe look on pinterest for Up Do ideas and then Charlie came bouncing into the bathroom.

Covered in poop.

Nothing gets you of the toilet faster than poop everywhere.

When I say everywhere, I mean all over his shirt and inside of his pajamas and his industrial giant pull up was full to the breaking point, in fact had broken, with a horrible eruption that had occurred. I'm blaming the Taco Bell we had for dinner but really who knows. Autistic kids often have tummy problems and this is someting that does happen with my Charlie sometimes.

The husband was up instantly and he went on poop patrol - seeking out damage and ready to do disinfection in any room that had been desecrated, and I set about scrubbing the child and the clothes clean and getting him changed.

He did the Lysol duty while I scrubbed the inside of the pajama bottoms with alcohol and a baby wipe and I sat them on the side of the tub, then started to move them realizing they were in a bad place.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON'T MOVE THEM THEY WERE POOP SIDE UP!"

That's when I started giggling.

Whether or not the inside of my 9 year old's pajamas were laying poop stain side up, was the first conversation I got to have with my husband this morning. I can't tell you why it was funny. It just was.

I washed my hands about 8 times and took the little ones to have breakfast downstairs. I called Charlie in for a HEALTHY dose of Immodium because, we're going to see the Dutch Masters at the HIGH today and I am not having him poop all over the museum.  After he took it, I pointed him to the water cup on the counter and told him to take a drink if he needed one.

When I turned around he was taking all of the water cups, and putting them on the table, in the right places.

"I help," he said.

This was my morning.

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The Things You Learn

Most people probably heard the story about the mom of the autistic girl who tried to kill them both, I've been mulling it around in my mind, because of the desperation, depression and absolutely being overwhelmed with your world that the woman wrote about on her blog 

If you aren't a parent of an autistic child, I will never be able to explain it to you in words you understand. In exactly the same way, if you were not a parent, I could NEVER fully get you to understand what it means to be one. I can explain it, and you could think you understood it, but you wouldn't get it. Not really. That isn't because you aren't capable of it, it's because it's meaning isn't visited upon you until it has you in it's grasp - and by then, it has you.

The problem is sometimes, that we write and try to show you the good things. We want you to see how we're coping, and how things are coming along, what our strategies are, our victories. I don't know why. Maybe we want to show you we're doing ok.

My heart breaks reading through her blog. I see someone going LOOK I HAVE A PLAN LOOK I AM DEALING WITH THIS. And she's trying really hard, so super fucking great kudos to her. Because that's awesome. But we also get to be human, we special needs parents. We get to be angry, and we have to know that just like the "typical" parents of this earth, no matter how hard we try our lives are going to go off kilter. We can't plan away our autism, we can't say if we do XYZ everything is going to be better.

Nothing hinges on ONE thing. Not in anyone's life. Right now I have a 9 year old boy in a pullup saying "Did I poop? Did I poop? Did I Poop?" over and over and over. He did not. I am not going to ever let ONE thing define how I proceed. My world is bigger than one failure or one success. My world is multifaceted.

I was thinking, as I'm waiting for the Beta Test of Elder Scrolls Online to download, that being a parent of a special needs child pushes your character in ways you didn't know you could be challenged. It's definitely not all good.

Under the category of NOT GOOD

• How hard you can cry
• How lost and alone you can feel
• How people stare at you and your child
• How people don't know what to say and are awkward around you when they find out
• How no one can babysit or will (Emma excluded bcse she is awesome)
• How you feel guilty even thinking about asking someone to babysit
• How no one understands
• How you want to cut the next person who brings up Temple Grandin 
• How you want to cut the next person who says they are the most brilliant people on earth
• How people tell you which diet/pill/quack therapy they've done
• How tired you are of Rain Man
• How tired you can be
• How emotionally empty you can feel
• How disappointed in the world you can be
• How your dreams can be killed
• How much guilt you can feel (is this my fault?)

Under the category of GOOD

• What love is.
• What joy actually is.
• How strong you can be.
• That it's ok to cry. Yes even that hard.
• Who actually loves and cares about you.
• That it's not only ok to be selfish sometimes, it's important.
• That small things can be amazing.
• That nothing is to be taken for granted.
• How well you can function tired.
• That other people actually have it worse than you.
• How to appreciate what you actually have.
• That your dreams weren't killed, they were just changed.
• That you define your own world, and most people don't know that.

I sat in a meeting once, learning about waivers and other government things, and listened to parent talk in desperation about their children, and what would happen to their children when they died. One woman said she had realized she was going to have to simply kill her child, then herself, because no one would take her child when she died. She was in her late 50s, and was completely serious.

This mom in Michigan, who snapped/broke/gave up, wasn't so alone or without resource as that lady. But her desperation was just as real. She made a choice that for whatever reason seemed right. I can't imagine what it was that made it seem right. I had to quit reading her blog, because I see in the retrospect of her words the building desperation and tension, despite the smileys and gifs and GET IT DONE attitude.

When I look at my first list, I remember to look at the second. I want all of my days, and I want my children to have all of theirs. Even on my blackest day, I never walked into that place where such a thing was a good idea. I think I'm lucky.

I think that place lurks for all of us, and we have to find the path to stay out of it. 

Every single day.

 

The Things You Learn

Most people probably heard the story about the mom of the autistic girl who tried to kill them both, I've been mulling it around in my mind, because of the desperation, depression and absolutely being overwhelmed with your world that the woman wrote about on her blog 

If you aren't a parent of an autistic child, I will never be able to explain it to you in words you understand. In exactly the same way, if you were not a parent, I could NEVER fully get you to understand what it means to be one. I can explain it, and you could think you understood it, but you wouldn't get it. Not really. That isn't because you aren't capable of it, it's because it's meaning isn't visited upon you until it has you in it's grasp - and by then, it has you.

The problem is sometimes, that we write and try to show you the good things. We want you to see how we're coping, and how things are coming along, what our strategies are, our victories. I don't know why. Maybe we want to show you we're doing ok.

My heart breaks reading through her blog. I see someone going LOOK I HAVE A PLAN LOOK I AM DEALING WITH THIS. And she's trying really hard, so super fucking great kudos to her. Because that's awesome. But we also get to be human, we special needs parents. We get to be angry, and we have to know that just like the "typical" parents of this earth, no matter how hard we try our lives are going to go off kilter. We can't plan away our autism, we can't say if we do XYZ everything is going to be better.

Nothing hinges on ONE thing. Not in anyone's life. Right now I have a 9 year old boy in a pullup saying "Did I poop? Did I poop? Did I Poop?" over and over and over. He did not. I am not going to ever let ONE thing define how I proceed. My world is bigger than one failure or one success. My world is multifaceted.

I was thinking, as I'm waiting for the Beta Test of Elder Scrolls Online to download, that being a parent of a special needs child pushes your character in ways you didn't know you could be challenged. It's definitely not all good.

Under the category of NOT GOOD

• How hard you can cry
• How lost and alone you can feel
• How people stare at you and your child
• How people don't know what to say and are awkward around you when they find out
• How no one can babysit or will (Emma excluded bcse she is awesome)
• How you feel guilty even thinking about asking someone to babysit
• How no one understands
• How you want to cut the next person who brings up Temple Grandin 
• How you want to cut the next person who says they are the most brilliant people on earth
• How people tell you which diet/pill/quack therapy they've done
• How tired you are of Rain Man
• How tired you can be
• How emotionally empty you can feel
• How disappointed in the world you can be
• How your dreams can be killed
• How much guilt you can feel (is this my fault?)

Under the category of GOOD

• What love is.
• What joy actually is.
• How strong you can be.
• That it's ok to cry. Yes even that hard.
• Who actually loves and cares about you.
• That it's not only ok to be selfish sometimes, it's important.
• That small things can be amazing.
• That nothing is to be taken for granted.
• How well you can function tired.
• That other people actually have it worse than you.
• How to appreciate what you actually have.
• That your dreams weren't killed, they were just changed.
• That you define your own world, and most people don't know that.

I sat in a meeting once, learning about waivers and other government things, and listened to parent talk in desperation about their children, and what would happen to their children when they died. One woman said she had realized she was going to have to simply kill her child, then herself, because no one would take her child when she died. She was in her late 50s, and was completely serious.

This mom in Michigan, who snapped/broke/gave up, wasn't so alone or without resource as that lady. But her desperation was just as real. She made a choice that for whatever reason seemed right. I can't imagine what it was that made it seem right. I had to quit reading her blog, because I see in the retrospect of her words the building desperation and tension, despite the smileys and gifs and GET IT DONE attitude.

When I look at my first list, I remember to look at the second. I want all of my days, and I want my children to have all of theirs. Even on my blackest day, I never walked into that place where such a thing was a good idea. I think I'm lucky.

I think that place lurks for all of us, and we have to find the path to stay out of it. 

Every single day.

 

I'm Not An American Idol Mom

The oldest boy has a speech impediment. When he was two, it was adorable. When he was three, it was still kind of precious. It was endearing, disarming, and just indicative of his gentle nature, at least I thought so.

When he went to kindergarten, it had gotten better. 

When he started first grade I realized, it wasn't going away. I stood on my head and raised hell until he got into speech therapy. And he's made progress. He's so much clearer now, that you'd probably say he has a slight speech impediment now. R's are his enemy. 

Of course now it's fifth grade and he hates it. He resents losing class time for his speech therapy. He hates going down to where the special kids go, even though he wouldn't say so, let's face it - there's stigma. He wants to be with the NOT SPECIAL kids. 

So on our way to school, he's muttering about stupid speech, and I remind him that he needs it. He disagrees, and starts getting upset to the point of tears that HE DOESN'T NEED IT ANYMORE.

Except, he says he doesn't need it any mo-ah. 

R's. They are still not there, not the way they should be.

So, while I watch one of the loves of my life brought to tears of frustration I take a sip of coffee, and let him know that no, in fact he isn't ok and he needs therapy. I remind him that if he would do his homework for speech aggressively and get this mastered, we could quit, but until then, he'll keep going.

He stares at me blankly, like he can't believe I'm not on his side about this. 

"You know those parents on American Idol? The ones who are VEHEMENT that their baby can sing, but in fact baby is tone deaf, and we all have a good laugh at them?" I ask.

He nods, and wipes away his tears.

"Well, if they had a good mom, who told them the truth rather than what they WANTED to hear, America wouldn't be laughing at them over dinner. Their mom didn't love them enough to say "No baby, you can't sing. You're good at lots of things but not THIS. Does that make sense?"

He agrees, and looks sadly ahead.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Lou. You need speech therapy."

He sits there for a minute, then says "But you think I'm getting better?"

I confirmed that as we turned into the parking lot for school. 

He smiled when he got out of the car. "Ok Mom, Have a great day."

Great. GREAT. Perfect R.

You can do this, kid.

I'm Not An American Idol Mom

The oldest boy has a speech impediment. When he was two, it was adorable. When he was three, it was still kind of precious. It was endearing, disarming, and just indicative of his gentle nature, at least I thought so.

When he went to kindergarten, it had gotten better. 

When he started first grade I realized, it wasn't going away. I stood on my head and raised hell until he got into speech therapy. And he's made progress. He's so much clearer now, that you'd probably say he has a slight speech impediment now. R's are his enemy. 

Of course now it's fifth grade and he hates it. He resents losing class time for his speech therapy. He hates going down to where the special kids go, even though he wouldn't say so, let's face it - there's stigma. He wants to be with the NOT SPECIAL kids. 

So on our way to school, he's muttering about stupid speech, and I remind him that he needs it. He disagrees, and starts getting upset to the point of tears that HE DOESN'T NEED IT ANYMORE.

Except, he says he doesn't need it any mo-ah. 

R's. They are still not there, not the way they should be.

So, while I watch one of the loves of my life brought to tears of frustration I take a sip of coffee, and let him know that no, in fact he isn't ok and he needs therapy. I remind him that if he would do his homework for speech aggressively and get this mastered, we could quit, but until then, he'll keep going.

He stares at me blankly, like he can't believe I'm not on his side about this. 

"You know those parents on American Idol? The ones who are VEHEMENT that their baby can sing, but in fact baby is tone deaf, and we all have a good laugh at them?" I ask.

He nods, and wipes away his tears.

"Well, if they had a good mom, who told them the truth rather than what they WANTED to hear, America wouldn't be laughing at them over dinner. Their mom didn't love them enough to say "No baby, you can't sing. You're good at lots of things but not THIS. Does that make sense?"

He agrees, and looks sadly ahead.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Lou. You need speech therapy."

He sits there for a minute, then says "But you think I'm getting better?"

I confirmed that as we turned into the parking lot for school. 

He smiled when he got out of the car. "Ok Mom, Have a great day."

Great. GREAT. Perfect R.

You can do this, kid.

Reminding Us Of Our Age

It's not that it's been a tough couple of weeks around here but it's been a tough couple of weeks around here. Some days I feel like my life occurs in intervals between when I'm pulling strings out of other people's butts. Those days get blurry and long, and I guess I usually think of things to write and then just never do. That's been the case lately but I had some time and thought hey, I could say some things.

That string thing is not a metaphor, FYI. Jump into my nightmare, the water is warm.

The husband has been having some health problems, which sent him to the hospital about a month (maybe two) ago. We were afraid he was having the dreaded fat guy in his 40s heart attack but in fact they said no, not a heart attack. Unfortunately, they didn't have any idea what it was. Just what it wasn't.

So this past week, on Friday, he went in for a heart cath to take a look at what was going on inside. I got the boys off to school then he and Julia and I went over to Gwinnett Medical for the big test.

Luckily, they had coloring books in the cardiac waiting area.

Because they were on hospital time and not human time, and because emergencies came in and they had to go before us, Julia and I had to leave and go get lunch. 

And this is where your heart starts to worry, if you're me. I hated leaving. I wanted to stay there because I felt in control there, even though I wasn't - of course. I took the girl to Taco Bell and there was food and it occurred to me that she and I have never once been out to lunch together.

It also occurred to me that this is what it felt like, to be solitary.

I'm not a solitary creature. As I picked up the boys, one by one, from the bus, and we waited, and had snacks, all I could think was "this is what it would be like" and I didn't like it not even a little.

It was finally over early evening. He said it was like a painful horror show. 

The result? Nothing. Nothing wrong with his heart, that's the good news. Something is wrong though still. 

Here he is in the aftermath. 

It still aches and hurts. I think I will freak out if they ever do that to me.

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Reminding Us Of Our Age

It's not that it's been a tough couple of weeks around here but it's been a tough couple of weeks around here. Some days I feel like my life occurs in intervals between when I'm pulling strings out of other people's butts. Those days get blurry and long, and I guess I usually think of things to write and then just never do. That's been the case lately but I had some time and thought hey, I could say some things.

That string thing is not a metaphor, FYI. Jump into my nightmare, the water is warm.

The husband has been having some health problems, which sent him to the hospital about a month (maybe two) ago. We were afraid he was having the dreaded fat guy in his 40s heart attack but in fact they said no, not a heart attack. Unfortunately, they didn't have any idea what it was. Just what it wasn't.

So this past week, on Friday, he went in for a heart cath to take a look at what was going on inside. I got the boys off to school then he and Julia and I went over to Gwinnett Medical for the big test.

Luckily, they had coloring books in the cardiac waiting area.

Because they were on hospital time and not human time, and because emergencies came in and they had to go before us, Julia and I had to leave and go get lunch. 

And this is where your heart starts to worry, if you're me. I hated leaving. I wanted to stay there because I felt in control there, even though I wasn't - of course. I took the girl to Taco Bell and there was food and it occurred to me that she and I have never once been out to lunch together.

It also occurred to me that this is what it felt like, to be solitary.

I'm not a solitary creature. As I picked up the boys, one by one, from the bus, and we waited, and had snacks, all I could think was "this is what it would be like" and I didn't like it not even a little.

It was finally over early evening. He said it was like a painful horror show. 

The result? Nothing. Nothing wrong with his heart, that's the good news. Something is wrong though still. 

Here he is in the aftermath. 

It still aches and hurts. I think I will freak out if they ever do that to me.

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