Everything Will Be Just Fine

We don’t always get the cards dealt to us that we want.  Sometimes life is quite cruel that way.  We really didn’t want the Whirlwind’s autism diagnosis.  We knew that’s what we got, but kept hoping that maybe, just maybe all the signs are wrong.  Maybe he’s just delayed and will catch up before we even knew it.

But, as life would have it, we were given a different set of rules than those we wanted.  And the crazy began.  I have felt the hopelessness deep inside me grow steadily over the last year and a half.  There has been a great sadness in my heart for everything that is and everything that isn’t and should have been.

But that has all changed.  I can’t help but feel like our world is finally turning around.  Even though winter is officially almost here and we’ve already hit freezing temperatures outside, spring has arrived within our family.  There is more than hope.

We found the most amazing autism center.  We went through the evaluation process and had our meeting today where we hammered out our goals and a plan of action.  Around the table we had his new occupational therapist, behavioural interventionist, senior behavioural interventionist, speech therapist and on skype we had the behavioural consultant.  We have a plan, people!  We have a plan!  No more guessing and wondering about what to do and what not.  This is it.  This plan is right.  I can feel it in my bones.  I just know that this is it.

This team right here is the first group of people who totally got it.  They know my son.  There have only been one other person outside of our immediate family who seemed to understand him this well.  He has seen tons of professionals in the Autism world and nobody gave me such an amazing feeling of confidence.  I know this is right.  I know he’ll be successful here.  

More importantly, I now know he’ll be successful at life.  He will make it.  I know it as certainly as I knew he had autism before his evaluation.  I’m not hoping he makes it in life, I know he will.  There is no need to hope for something that you know will happen for sure.  This will happen.  

He will be fine.  

We will be fine.  

Our family will be just fine...

F YOU AUTISM

Autism is a strange thing.  It can mean so much and so very little at the same time.  It can define a child, a family, a parent.  It can rule your life.  It doesn't matter what part you play within the family, it will shape who you are.

Autism is scary.  We know so very little of it while there are millions of words written on the subject.  So much money has gone into research and so much time.  Yet, we don't know a whole lot.  There are some universal 'truths' about autism that you find out very quickly is not so much a truth as a 'for most but not all' situation.  It's all shades of grey.  No black and no white.  That is scary as shit.  Knowing there are no hard lines.  No definitive answers.  The word 'spectrum' becomes a curse.

Autism makes you flexible.  Managing schedules, uprooting the family for better services, running out of a restaurant because we're having a melt-down?  Got that covered.  You need to be bendy.  Bendiness (even if it's not a real word) is a good skill to have.  It means the world can hit you with a ball of crap and you can keep on running while catching that shit and not only throwing it right back at the world, but gift-wrapping it somewhere in between.  No sweat.  Got this covered, thank you. With a pretty bow on top.

Autism teaches discipline.  You were never one for schedules and order?  Tough shit.  Get over it.  Be FLEXIBLE and learn a new skill.  Learn how to organize and stay organized.  Learn how to do bed time the same way every day at the same time.  So what if it takes you three years before you have any success?  Take comfort in the fact that something as simple as a trip to the store can throw things out of wack enough to make bedtime a catastrope and all the hard work null and void.  It'll only take another three years to get it right again.  No problem.

Now, this all seems very negative... Autism isn't all bad.  There is so much wonder and complete and utter awesome in this world that one only notices and is exposed to once you walk this road.  But that is a topic for another time and another post.

For now: FUCK YOU, AUTISM... I'm going to bed.  Go away.

The Possibility of a New Reality

It has been awhile since my last post.  I've had a lot to say but besides having very little time to say it in, there was a lot of negative emotions running through me and I started feeling like I'm only blogging when I'm down in the dumps.  So I pushed on through and did what I could and here we are... in probably one of the most amazing places in the world.

The kids and I have moved in with the Grandparents for awhile.  My husband is staying behind to work at the place that pays the actual bills and work on selling our condo as soon as possible.  We have been granted a wonderful opportunity to get out of the city for a month or two (hopefully no more than three!) and let me tell you, I am hopelessly in love.

As I'm typing this I am sitting outside, overlooking the lake with a cup of coffee right next to me.  The kids are happily playing in the playroom, occasionally wandering outside to the sandpit, through the apple trees and down into the vegetable garden.  My wonderful Hubby and his dad put up a fence for the little ones last night and for the first time in months, I feel a certain amount of peace.  I feel as if I am relaxing and will finally be able to start enjoying the precious things in life.

Yesterday morning the Whirlwind and I went for a walk in the pear orchard across the street (it isn't really a street but according to the village council, it will be).  We picked fresh pears and apples - all fruit that has never been packaged, stored or transported.  Beautiful, fresh and healthy.  It was amazing.  The most amazing part?  We aren't vising a farm where we pay entry, spend an hour or two and see you again next year!  Nope, we are visiting Ouma and Oupa.  In the afternoon we had home grown and pressed hot apple cider and last week apricot fruit rollups.  I can go down to the general store and buy fresh farm eggs, from hens right up the street.  They make by far the best pasta dough you can imagine.

This is the good life.  It's so perfect.  Here, I can live.

We know we can't live here for ever, but we can buy a place close by.  We can live within an hour's drive from here and still have all the wonderful benefits and incredible weather of the area.  Close enough that we can go visit Ouma and Oupa at least once a week instead of once a month.  Wouldn't that be great?

The best part?  Knowing this can be our every day reality very soon and not just for a holiday.  This can be our reality for forever (or you know... a decade or so).

The Lotto

I have come to a decision last night.

We need to win the Lotto.

Plain and simple.  It’ll solve all our problems.  Well, maybe not all our problems, but will make the sting of most of our problems a little less.

You see, I have this vision of what our family should look like.  It’s a picture that has been in the back of my mind for many years but never quite as clear as in the past couple of days.  It’s a picture of what I feel in my heart of hearts is what a complete family will look like for us.  But reality isn’t cooperating.

I have this picture of me, standing in my bright and cheerful kitchen, doing the dishes.  The chicken pot pie is baking and I am looking through the window at the boys playing in the backyard.  All four of them.  Four kids, mostly or all boys.  There is a mommy van parked on the side of the house and life is crazy.  We have to do Costco runs at least once or twice a week to feed all these busy boys and we go to soccer and rugby practices every day with games on Saturdays.  Sundays we all pile into a pew at church and it’s a constant battle to get them to stop fidgeting and keeping their shirts tucked in.

It’s a pretty picture, at least to me.  Very idyllic.  And it can’t happen.  

The biggest problem in this whole scenario is the money.  We don’t need a lot more money to afford this dream, but we do need a bit more.  Ok, maybe not just a bit.  Two kids are already rough and as soon as you add one more to the mix we’ll need a van.  It’s hard enough fitting two car seats into my car with a stroller.  Anther one will require a upgrade.  And let us not forget about the gas. Lots and lots of gas.

Then comes the rooms.  You can’t house that many boys in just any house.  So we will need more money for a bigger house.  Bigger mortgage, higher taxes, more water and electricity usage.  It adds up.  We’re not even talking about all the groceries to feed all the mouths that need feeding!

And can you imagine how hard it would be to find a babysitter that will for a reasonable price watch them so we can have a night off every so often? 

Nope, I don’t think this is happening.  But o, do I ever wish.  I wish and I wish and I wish upon a star. 

Excuse me while I go buy another Lotto ticket, will you?

A Leap of Faith

There comes a time in life where we are faced with choices.  I’m not talking “should I buy the butter or the cheaper margarine” type choices.  I’m talking big, life changing choices.  We are at one of those places right now.  We’ve had to make many choices recently and they all came upon us with force.  

Initially my reaction was to run away and hide.  I tried ignoring the responsibilities that were thrust upon me.  When that didn’t work, I cried, yelled, screamed, ate, went to the gym, ate some more, tried a diet, failed at said diet, and then cried some more.  I had one mini-breakdown after another.  But, as life goes, you can’t keep ignoring your responsibilities and decisions need to be made.

We need to hire a behavioural consultant and behavioural therapist.  We have to set up a plan for the Whirlwind and family goals and all sorts of bullshit the government requires in order for us to receive all our autism funding.  The social worker insisted we do these things as soon as possible.  In the mean time he started preschool two days ago and we need to hire an assistant for him because he needs one-on-one care.  

And then we decided to move.

Just like that.

We’ve been toying with the idea to move away from our current area for years now.  For the last couple of months we zeroed in on an area about four or five hours away by car.  Our lovely Metropolis we are living in now might rank as one of the top spots to live in the world, but it is also damn expensive.  We need space for the boys.  If the Whirlwind was able to follow instructions such as to not run away at the playground, especially into the street, or to not climb over the baby gate and run away with a maniacal laugh as if this is the best game ever, we could probably have stayed a little longer.  Unfortunately, we can’t.  We can’t stay in this small space and we can’t afford to buy a house in this city.  We are a one-income family and until a time arrives where the Whirlwind no longer needs me to take him to all his appointments during the day and be ready to manage his day from one minute to the next, I’m not returning to work.  So no.  We can’t just find a different place here.

Unfortunately moving cities is a big undertaking.  And selling a condo, makes up a huge portion of that undertaking.  That means for the next month we are renovating as best we can without hiring professionals.  If it can be done DIY-style, it will be done.  We can’t sink in the kind of money a contractor would cost, we will be lucky if we sell this place at all.  In other words, thinking that we can spend money and get it back is ridiculous.  You need the right kind of home and housing market for that - neither of which we have.  

After renovations are done this month, the kids and I are moving in with the grandparents.  We will put this place up for sale and see what happens.  We haven’t made any plans from there onwards.  We are going of faith here.  We don’t know what is going to happen.  We might sell fast and we might not.  We might be house hunting by Christmas or not.  There are many, many other variables in this situation that will change the game for us.

It’s a leap of faith.  A big leap.  Things can go very, very wrong.  But things can also work out very well for us.  We are scared to leave the city and all the friends we made again.  But we know it’s what’s best for our family.  We just need to trust and pray that we are going in the right direction.  We cannot hire the Whirlwind’s behaviour consultant or interventionist until we’re done moving.  The occupational therapist is super nice and said she’ll email me activities to do and a list of equipment to submit to the funding office while we are in transit and waiting to get a new therapist.  The behaviour consultant we did see, advised us to wait because it takes time to get a program up and running and we will spend thousands of dollars, just to spend it all again on a new consultant and program once we moved.  Even at preschool, the ladies were incredibly understanding about our situation and agreed that this move is risky but necessary.  

It makes me feel better.  Knowing that all these professionals who work with children like the Whirlwind every day, agrees that this is what will be best for our family, despite the hardships we will go through to make it happen.  In the long run, it’s a step, no... a leap in the right direction.  No, let me rephrase that:  It’s a freakin’ scary leap of faith in what we believe is the right direction.  

We will never know for sure, but we have to trust that there is a plan we cannot yet see.

Friendship is Magic

Years ago my husband and I started watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.  Actually, to be honest, I started watching and made him watch it with me.  It didn’t take long for him to get hooked as well and we’ve been watching it together ever since.  He reads a lot of the fan fiction and even though I thought it a little creepy at first, once I read some as well, I realized that there are some pretty epic stories out there.  You forget about the whole idea that we’re talking about cute, colourful ponies quickly, instead they become full fledged characters the greatest fiction writers can be proud of.  There are some very real lessons and themes within both the show and some of the fan fiction.  

Now, a couple of years ago one of my middle school classes were having some trouble.  Friends were being mean to friends and bullying was rampant.  I taught Humanities - English and Social Studies, as well as Health and Career Education.  Naturally it fell to me to put a stop to their behaviour.  The problem lies with the fact that these kids (most kids today) have heard every lecture you can think of about bullying.  They have created posters, slogans and campaigns.  They have done it all and have grown numb to the message.  This was shortly after a series of teenage suicides due to bullying.  They have heard and seen it all.  They know the ins and outs of anti-bullying like no generation before them.

So what do you do?  What is there that I can possibly do to draw their attention and teach them in a way that will make a lasting effect.  Honestly, any effect at all would be great, whether it lasts or not.

On my way to school one day I had an idea.  The Elements of Harmony.  My Little Pony is going to save this day!  I showed them the first two episodes where the Elements were introduced.  Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, Loyalty and Magic.  I described ‘Magic’ as Love to the kids.  The kind of love that keeps friends together.  It is what keeps the other Elements together to form friendship.  It was a powerful lesson.  The students did a lot of analyzing about what the Elements mean and how they can relate to them.  Honestly, it was easy on my part.  They did almost all of the thinking and the work.  They came up with all the right ideas and ways it relates to them with very little prodding on my part.

And then this morning, as I dropped my husband off at work, I realized that us adults seemed to have missed this message ourselves.  Why is it that we can teach it to kids, but don’t embrace the Elements ourselves?  We are constantly telling our children what makes a good friend but we are the first to turn to gossiping for entertainment?  We tend to only be generous to those we think deserve it, right?  Think about it for a second.  When you give, do you first judge a person to determine if they deserve your generosity or do you just see a need and try to fill it?  I know where I stand and I’m not too proud of that.  And I am not talking about your best friend coming by and asking for some sugar, I’m talking real, selfless giving.  

How much kindness and love do we show our fellow human beings?  Why do we have this tendency to shower only those closest to us with these Elements, but those who might be in very real need goes without because as strangers they are not our problem?  Many of us will donate to a good cause or give a few dollars to a beggar on the street thinking that we have now done our share.  But have we?  Have we really truly done something to show love to our fellow walkers of the earth?  Maybe.  Maybe not.

I realize that I might be able to spew a lot of ideas forth on the Magic of Friendship where my students are concerned, but until I start truly living these Elements, I am not worthy of teaching these concepts except maybe as an example of what not to do. I have a lot to learn about friendship and love.  And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

Writing's Hard, Yo!

Life's been rather busy.  So much is happening all at once.  We are dealing with one issue after another while navigating the world of Autism Intervention.  It's scary and very imposing.  It imposes on all my thoughts and day-to-day activities.

I've been meaning to write something about all that is going on but I found myself deleting every blog post I have written or started to write in the last week.  I keep trying and trying but I just don't know how.  Sometimes writing is very hard.

I guess the problem lies in the fact that my thoughts and emotions are so scattered, it is difficult to formulate a plan for a post.  Focus.  I am totally lacking focus.  If the state of my home is any indication, I need more focus in everything these days, not just writing! I've never believed that I can write or be a writer.  Once I started this blog, I started thinking that there might be a chance.  Just maybe I'm not a lost cause on the writing front after all!  But when I loose focus, I loose the little confidence I had as well.  Writing becomes hard then, yo!

The real trick is finding an anchor.  Something to focus on without losing sight of my responsibilities.  Where to find an anchor like that, I'm not yet sure.  What it might be is just as big of a mystery.  But what I do know, is that this is all temporary.  An anchor will appear, focus will return and all the mazes we are navigating be solved.  It is all just temporary.  Luckily!

PS:  Endorphins are over-rated.

Happy people don't just shoot their husbands...

I got a new gym membership today.  Not a full year subscription, just a regular (expensive) month-to-month membership.  I don't think of it as a gym membership.  I call it my sanity membership.

You see, normally when asked why people go to the gym you will get answers like:
"To loose weight."
"To tone up."
"To have more energy."
"To be more fit and healthy."

For me, it's all about the sanity.

Lately I have been noticing my fuse getting shorter and shorter.  I'm not a very nice person to be around most days and I get visibly upset over insignificant things.  I believe I fall in the 'unreasonable' category.  In short, I am not happy.  Too much responsibility does that to a person.

But, I came up with a plan:

ENDORPHINS!

I am going to go get myself some endorphins.  It's time to turn the happy back on... and you know, maybe loose a pound or two.  Or twenty.  Twenty would be nice.

***UPDATE: I've noticed the above video doesn't always show, so here's the link to the youtube video:  http://youtu.be/TjrBdKXgYFY

Summer

For the summer the kids and I are at the grandparents' new home.  We are living close to the lake with gorgeous views all around.  The days are sunny and hot and miraculously no one has had a serious sunburn yet!  I might add that I slather everybody with SPF 60.  The kind that is water and sweat proof.  I use the kids' brand on myself as well.  You can barely tell that I've seen any sun at all - that is an accomplishment.  The sun hates me.

I ramble.  What I am getting to is that during the summer, we are busy busy busy.  Not because of a full agenda, but because of all the time spent outside.  When we are inside, there is usually a ton of things to do as well.  All this summer fun does not, unfortunately, leave much time for oneself.  This is my first moment in about a week where I have a few minutes to myself (both kids are asleep) and I am not absolutely exhausted.  Don't get me wrong, I am tired and will definitely be off to bed as soon as this post is done.  But I am not the kind of tired I've been where I can barely stay awake until the boys go down for the night and it's givin me a moment to write.

Thus, this is a fair warning... there will not be too many posts during the summer.  There is just too much happening and my mind doesn't get a whole lot of time to think.  Maybe there will still be a post or two, but I'm not counting on it.

For now the fact that the kids are happy, healthy and super active is more than enough for me.  Yes, I am tired but I am also very happy.  Have I mentioned how much I love it here?  Except for the part where I miss the hubby.  And my own KING SIZE BED.

A Peanut Butter and Jelly Marriage

My husband and I have been together for just over a decade. This summer we are going on eight years of marriage.  When we first met we came together like peanut butter and jelly. Yes, we fought over silly things sometimes, but never big things and the fights were more witty exchanges than fighting. Except where roleplaying was concerned.

You see, we started roleplaying together shortly after we met. I was new to the wonderful world of Dungeons and Dragons and he was already knee deep into the gaming culture. I loved everything about this new world that opened. Truth be told, he wasn't the one to introduce me to roleplaying, that honour went to a fellow teacher in training.  But my experience was limited and our society still deemed it an evil plaything. Something I still don't get.

Once I met the love of my life, I was given the opportunity to expand my horizons a little more, and the deal was closed. I am marrying this guy. No doubt about it. This man I've known for about two weeks was the one.  He encouraged me to accept all the parts of me that was always deemed nerdy or geeky and I was made fun of more than once.  It might be true that the mockery might have all been imaginary. I had a strong imagination and was very shy, so the fact that I enjoyed things others saw as 'not cool' might have fabricated this teasing. But, it might have happened for real. I'm fuzzy on the details.  The fact is, I was accepted. He enjoyed my crazy obsession with musicals and disney princesses. He loved it when I burst into song in the most inopportune moments. And I loved him for loving me.  There were many things besides this that made me love him, but acceptance for my true self and encouragement to pursue the things that make me happy, was the deal clincher.

Then roleplaying happened. We both loved playing. He often ran the games and I usually played in them. But we would fight. ALL THE DAMN TIME. The games where we are both players were the worst. Our characters would constantly try to off each other. Game after game, we found we brought the game home with us. We would go to bed and still argue over it. Our approaches were different, our styles were different, our characters were so different they couldn't find a way to work together. Even when we attempted other systems like Abberant, it still ended in turmoil for us, regardless how different the characters were.

In time we have learned to turn it down a little. The fighting grew less and the magic left with it. The magic that made us so passionate about the game that we would fight over it was missing. Yes, we still had a few disagreements, but the epic fights we had with each other over the game disappeared.  Gaming became more of a chore. A chore we still enjoyed enough to keep playing, but a chore non the less.

And somewhere along the line our relationship started taking a beating. Life was hard. We have so much to deal with on a daily basis. We started fighting over things that witty exchanges couldn't solve. Real problems. Real issues. And we fought dirty. Broke each other down in an attempt to force acknowledgment.  It is a shitty way to fight. In the process we lost ourselves. We started spending less and less time together. We lived together. We still loved each other but the floors were strewn with egg shells. Too scared to say anything that might upset. Too scared to say anything positive for fear of rejection. It was like a battleground. The war was drawing to a close and the casualties were lying on the battle field. Dignity and respect. Yes, we still loved each other deeply. It's all that kept us going some days. But that wonderful feeling of being in love? Gone.  Being married has become a chore as well. Far above the normal 'hard work' that is marriage.

One day the hubby had an idea. He wanted to try a new game. Just the two of us. Try out the system. World of Darkness. We've been playing Pathfinder and DnD so often, we sometimes forget there are more systems out there! We both played some WoD before, but it was a long long time ago. We're playing one on one. And you know what? GREAT system for a personal game like that. FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC!  We've only been playing for a week or two. And it is great. We can play late at night for an hour after the kids go to bed. We can play during dinner. We can play whenever we want. We don't have to juggle schedules with a group of other people. No waiting a week between games. It's just us. There is no haste in the game either. If I want to roleplay the tedious business of moving, I will. And it is awesome.  I sometimes yell out of the shower my next move or a conversation I want to have in game. And we do a quick five minute gaming session. Done. Just like that! Without any fighting.

And here's the wonderful thing that happened: It's given us the courage to talk to each other without fear. To once more know and feel that this is a safe place. Us. We are safe. We can come to each other and not fear. We can open our hearts again and know we will be just fine. To know that at night our bed is just that, OUR bed. It's our haven. We can spend time together and find each other again. I can talk to him and say what I think and feel because this isn't just his bed. This isn't just his house. It is ours. Husband and Wife. On equal footing.

There need not be a power struggle. Peanut butter and jelly. We work together like peanut butter and jelly.

I'm Banning Frodo

For the last few weeks I've been feeling a little down.  Much like Frodo.  This little scene in The Lord of the Rings kept playing in my head:

 

The only difference is, in my life I couldn't hear a Gandalf.  I couldn't hear that other people have been in my situation.  I couldn't hear that it is up to me to do what is necessary.  I was stuck in my self-pity.  I was stuck being Frodo.  Frodo is not my favourite character.  In fact, I can watch all the Lord of the Rings movies and skip all the Frodo parts as soon as they run out of the Shire.  Frodo is far too mopey for me.  At least when Aragorn is mopey he is also rediculously good looking.  You can cry on my shoulder all day long, Strider!

Today my Gandalf showed up.  He took the form of a tiny and very talented photographer.  We did a lot of talking.  We discussed our kids and the things that make them special.  We discussed our families and experiences.  We discussed moments of wonder and awe.  Moments we are proud of.  And you know what?  I came home and heard Gandalf.  I heard him.  

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

And I am out of my rut.  Ready to take this world on!  I'm going to do whatever is necessary and will fight to the very end.  I will stop feeling sorry for myself.  Odd thing, I never really did feel sorry for myself but the more people took pity on me and my situation, the more I started feeling like this is how I'm supposed to feel.  You know what?  They are wrong.  There is no room for pity.  I will not wallow in despair and self pity.  I will take control of my life and my household again.

Word of warning:  No Frodos will be welcome here.  I will kick you out.

Dear Fellow Parent

Something is brewing inside of me.  Something that is not very nice.  Something I’ve been fighting for a long time and I’m reaching my limit.

You see, my kid can’t do all those things other three year olds can do.  My kid can’t say silly things that make no sense.  He can’t make animal noises and pretend he’s a bunny... hop hop hop!  He can’t sing The Wheels on the Bus or Row Row Row Your Boat.  We never colour together or paint or draw with chalk on the sidewalk.  Play-Doh is for throwing, eating or shoving it into every little nook and cranny, not for building Olaf.  We don’t do story time or nursery rhymes.  We just survive.

Every day is a battle just to get everybody through in one piece.  If I can get him to eat one meal that includes iron and go to bed before 11 PM, we’ve won.  We rarely win though.  In fact, I can’t remember the last time we’ve won.  I am tired.  So very tired.  Drained.  It’s like all the emotional energy I was granted has been drained away and I am an empty sac.  All that is left is some very nasty feelings.

You see, the problem is sort-of you.  You, as in the proud parent of a toddler that can do any or all of those things.  You write blogs about the things your kid says.  You post on Facebook the  cute songs the munchkin sings.  Artwork is displayed that he can do all by himself.  You can go to the park and when she wants to take something that doesn’t belong to her, you can reprimand and with some work usually get an “I’m sorry” out of her.  You can teach him to ask nicely and even though he doesn’t always do it, you know he is capable.  He can go to the naughty corner and get his timeout and it will mean something.  You can talk about it.  Explain why.

Your kid can probably say their own name.  She can answer when someone asks it of her.  She might not always do it because there is definitely some personality there!  But she is capable.  She knows what is being asked and she can deliver.  You can explain to your kid why running into the street is dangerous.  You can explain about cars and strangers and dogs that are out for a walk.  Yes, he doesn’t always listen, but he can understand.

And this is where my problem lies.  Every time I see or hear or read about the amazing and yet very ordinary accomplishments and milestones you have reached, my heart breaks.  Someone is taking a dagger that I have already been stabbed with and twisting it.  A little by little.  Every day it gets twisted just enough to remind me of what we can’t do.  What, after three years of parenting I still haven’t experienced.

I didn’t expect this.  And yes, there are so many mothers who have it way worse.  I get it.  But this is still so very hard.  Sometimes it overshadows the wonders my child has to offer.  I feel guilty.  So very guilty it eats my soul.  I feel guilty for not trying harder.  Guilty for not singing more, reading more or reciting more rhymes.  Guilty for not going that extra mile that might just have been the one to crack the code.  What if that one extra mile was the one to make magic happen?  But what if there is no magic?  What if the magic was never meant to be for us?

I am so sorry I feel this way.  I am so sorry that I look at you, my friends, and instead of just enjoying our time together and being happy for you, I envy you.  I envy you the opportunity to bribe your kid to eat his lunch.  I envy you when you potty train and even though it took awhile and you hated it, you were successful.  I don’t even know where to start.  I don’t know what to do.  The internet isn’t helping.  The more I google, the more hopeless it seems.  Time to step away from Mr. G.  He never really helps.  He just helps you find the answers you didn’t want.  

And please, don’t think I have anything against you.  I know it sounds that way.  But I don’t.  You are doing a great job.  I am just a little jealous.  And when I get all tired and worn out like I am today, the feelings that are left in my heart of hearts, is negative.  They are dark and gloomy and there is no place for hope.  There is no place for light.  There is only fear.  Fear that this will never end.  This will never get better.  And that maybe, just maybe I will miss my second chance.  I am scared that I am so consumed by this that I will miss my chances with the baby.  I don’t interact with him through song and story as much as I should because I feel broken.  And I am scared.  Scared that I am fucking up.  Scared that he will forever be at a disadvantage because of my weakness.  I couldn’t find the energy.  I couldn’t find the drive.  All I could find was guilt and shame.  

But tomorrow is another day, right?  Tomorrow we try again.  And maybe tomorrow I can be a better friend and mother instead of wallowing in self-pity and despair.  Despair isn’t very attractive, is it?  And tomorrow I will see you, fellow parent, again.  You will be at the park, the mall, on Facebook and I will enjoy your child.  I will enjoy seeing and hearing and reading about the amazing things toddlers can get up to.  Until that time, I’m just going to try my best to not get too lost in the darkness.  

I will see you and love you again in the morning, dear friend.  But for the time being, please accept my apologies.  It isn’t fair towards you, I am sorry.  So very sorry.

One Tough Job

I remember years ago, my dad used to get upset when I wear spaghetti strap tops.  He claimed it was inappropriate.  He disapproved of the clothing and I am sure he thought he was protecting me.  And I am thankful that he cared enough to take that stand.  But it never made sense to me.  Shoulders.  Arms.  What is the problem?

This morning I read an article about a girl in Quebec who was sent home because she wore denim shorts.  I saw the picture, they weren’t even that short.  Quite modest as far as shorts go.  I’d say it’s a job well done for any teenager.  Another girl was sent home due to her tank top.  Her bra straps were showing.  I distinctly remember my dad having a problem with this as well.  No bra straps.  Bra straps have always been a big NO.

But why?  Why bra straps?  It’s a stupid piece of elastic.  Is it because it is underwear?  Would it be better if I was wearing a bikini top underneath?  Technically not underwear anymore, so it’s better, right?  O, I know... let’s just ditch underwear completely.  No underwear is showing so no problem!  Would that be better?  You think the boys will concentrate better on their school work now?

Tell me, why is it ok for my husband to walk outside without a shirt on... but not me?  Men can wear shorts, pants and skirts.  They are allowed the tightest shirts, with or without sleeves.  But girls get turned away from the gym because their shoulders are showing.  Seems a little wrong, doesn’t it?

This is bullshit.  I really don’t care how well intentioned these dumb rules are... they are still dumb rules meant to oppress women and sexualize their bodies.  And the problem starts at home.  A good friend of mine said last night that his job as a father is to teach his daughter to take care of herself.  And that got me thinking. I have two boys.  What do I do?  What is my job as a parent?

My job is to teach them to respect women.  Teach them to not look unless invited.  Don’t touch unless asked.  Learn to control yourself.  You are not a mindless animal.  You are an intelligent human being, capable of showing restrain and respect.  You are a man and will not sexualize women.  And hopefully if he should ever cross that line (hopefully that will never happen), I hope the girl on the other end was one raised to take care of herself and kick his ass.  Because if she doesn’t, I will.  I will not teach my boys that it is the girl's fault.  I will not teach them that girls are asking for it.  I will not teach them that it is ever ok.  I will not sit by and teach my boys that girls in shorts and tank tops because it is summer, is anything less than just a girl in shorts and a tank top.  And that means I can't shut up over it.  I can't just let them be and say "Boys will be boys."  What a bullshit phrase.

It’s a tough job.  I often think to myself how lucky I am not to have girls.  There are so many things girls need to be taught... and before I can finish the thought I catch myself.  No, I am not lucky.  My job might very well be even bigger.  Teaching my boys to respect those girls, regardless of their clothing.  THAT is a tough job.  And with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, we can change these dumb rules because they are worth changing.  

Because our girls are worth empowering.

I Finally Get It!

I think I might have finally figured out why my child isn’t talking.  Next week he’ll be three.  A whole three years old and he was assessed at having the language skills of a one year old.  The baby will be one next week as well, so I guess they are on the same level!  Born on the same day and with the same current language ability... weird, eh?

A few weeks ago he was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.  The Developmental Pediatrician that performed half of the evaluation told me that he will need to learn things other kids do out of instinct by example.  Which is why we are putting him in preschool starting in September.  For months he’s been visiting with a Speech Pathologist, checking in and seeing where his language is at.  She kept giving me all these awesome exercises to do with him, but none worked.  I attended a parent workshop where they teach us how to teach our kids to talk.  None of the activities were successful.  We failed at everything.

After meeting with my son again, the lady who presented the class agreed that he might not be behaviourally ready for speech therapy.  Our first course of action should be to get him into behaviour therapy or intervention and try again in a year or two.  We’ll wait and see. Maybe with the right behavioural team, speech will start happening on its own.

But then it hit me.  How could I have not put two and two together before?  I know why he doesn’t talk!  He just doesn’t get that that is what you are supposed to do.  

Example:  My friend’s kid made a mud pie in the park down the street from us.  She stood in a specific spot and went through the actions of making a mud pie, handed it to her mother and her mom had to pretend to eat it.  My boy saw that.  He noticed.  Weeks later we went to the park.  We ended up in the same spot and suddenly he knew what to do.  He picked up the mud, made a pie and handed it to me.  I tried to throw the mud pie away, but he just made another and stood there until I pretended to eat it.  He was happy, turned around and ran away.  Done.  

He knew those are the actions he was supposed to take under those circumstances.  And that will explain why he did so well in daycare.  He started talking in daycare.  He said all sorts of things but stopped talking soon after.  I always wondered about that.  I wondered if I’m such a bad mother that my child won’t talk in front of me.  That he is regressing because he spends so much time with me.  But no, that’s not it.  He is regressing because he isn’t seeing kids around his own age on a regular basis saying the things he is supposed to be saying.  He isn’t seeing them ask for milk, and then getting milk.  He isn’t seeing them naming objects and getting a response.  He only sees me, labeling and naming things.  He sees me saying milk over and over and over again.  How weird must that be?  He must think I’m totally crazy to keep saying the same word a million times.  He doesn’t get that he’s supposed to repeat it.  He just doesn’t get it because he hasn’t seen it in action.

It all makes sense now.  And now I don’t worry anymore.  I don’t worry about his speech.  I know it will come when the time is right.  Probably when he sees his brother ask for that cookie he wanted, and then get!

On Friendship

This post is specifically for all my friends out there.  You see, I have amazing friends.  I have friends from different walks of life, different ages, genders, with different views and religious beliefs.  I have friends who cry, friends who fight, friends who laugh, friends who pout and friends who will sing a merry tune with me while drunk (or sober for that matter).  Some I haven’t seen in years but still hold close to my heart.  I miss them so much I cry at the thought of how long it’s been and how much of their lives I’m missing out on.  Some of my friends I see every other day and value every second.  They help me keep my sanity in check.  Some friends I know I can call whenever I need to bitch and others when I need to cry.  My friends have shared in my greatest joys and in some of my greatest heartaches - to date.  I know full well life still has a few curveballs coming my way.

This is for all my friends.

I am sorry.

I am sorry I am not always the friend you deserve.  Sometimes I get so absorbed into my own life that I forget to ask you about yours.  And you never hold that against me.  You are quick to point out that I have my hands full.  And to a degree, you are right.  But it is not an excuse.  It’s not fair towards you, yet you’re always willing to let it slide.  We pick up where we left off and continue building memories together.  Building bridges across the open air between our hearts.

I am sorry that I am not always there when you need me.  Even when I know you need me I don’t always make it out to your house, or get together for coffee.  I don’t always manage to show you that I care.  And even though I can come up with a million different reasons for why I didn’t call or stop by, it’s not a valid excuse.  You deserve better.  You deserve the friend who makes the time and the effort.  And I am sorry I am not always that friend.

Thank you.

Thank you for being my friend.  Thank you for not judging me, or at least not judging me too harshly.  Thank you for still being there for me even after I wasn’t there for you.  Thank you for looking after me when I have trouble looking after myself and don’t deserve your effort.

You see, you understand what friendship is about.  It is about acceptance.  Not holding a grudge.  Forgiveness.  Love.  Friendship is about love.  Absolute love.  The kind where you give without expecting a return.  The kind where you don’t keep track of who owes who.  Endless, boundless love.

They say blood is thicker than water.  But what is in that blood that ties families together so tightly?  Shared experiences?  Shared beliefs?  Shared backgrounds?  It can’t all be genetics.  Science will want to prove me wrong on this, but sometimes water seems to be thicker than blood.  Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.  And sometimes, those family ties can be stronger than the ones we are born into.  

You, my friends, are my soul mates.  I am thankful for every one of you who takes up a space in my heart.  I pray with all my heart that this is exactly where you’ll stay, till the end of days and beyond.  You have my heart.  Keep it safe.

Lying Awake

As a kid, I used to lie awake at night listening to all the sounds of the dark.  Every sound had an origin and my job was to track it in my mind.  I listened intently for any sign that someone might be climbing over our fence.  I kept track of the dog outside my window, getting more anxious when he left my side of the house to go to the backyard.  

I knew it was only a matter of time until I wake with a strange and angry face above mine.  I pretended I was dead before going to sleep every night, hoping that if someone peeks through my window, they will pass me by.  I remember even hiding under my bed once, just in case.  I was too scared to fall asleep.  But then I opened my eyes, and it is morning.  Another night passed.  Another night uneventful, for us at least.  

Every day you hear about another murder, another break-in, hi-jacking.  It gets worse.  But you grow numb to the stories.  Eventually they stop giving you goosebumps and shivers down your spine.  Until the sun sets.  Once the sun sets, the game is on.  I still worry.  The call might come at any given moment.  The call that the unthinkable has happened to my mother, father, brother, sister, or any of the long list of family and friends I left behind.

But this is why we moved to Canada.  I want my children to lie awake at night, not listening for the sound of intruders, but with excitement.  I want them to have minds full of wonder and awe at what a wonderful day they had.  They need to lie awake because tomorrow is their birthday and they’ll be seeing all their friends and have cake and mommy finally learned how to make a Kung Fu Panda piñata.  If they listen for intruders, it has to be because it is Christmas Eve and Santa is on his way.

This is my wish.  I no longer lie awake at night listening for the sounds danger.  I can sleep in relative peace now.  Hoping that dreadful call will never come but knowing my kids will not have to experience that same anxiousness.

A Bittersweet Moment

Next week my husband and I will be going on our first trip alone in almost 6 years.  Every other vacation was spent with friends or family and the last couple with kids included.  So, I need to wean the baby.

With my first child, I hated breastfeeding.  It was the biggest fucking joke on the planet... 

“It’s the most natural thing in the world!” 

“If it hurts, you’re not doing it right.” 

Bullshit.  

It hurt like hell.  I tried different latches, nipple shields of different sizes.  Everything I could come up with.  But the torture continued.  We started supplementing early with formula and just before he turned six months, we stopped completely.  I felt great.  Free.

Unfortunately about a month later I was sorry I quit.  I wanted that close bond with my boy back.  It just wasn’t the same and I wasn’t ready to let go.  But it was done and there was no turning back.

When baby boy v2.0 came around, I knew I had to go about it differently.  I held out through blisters and blood.  Eventually (about 6 weeks in) things took a turn for the better.  Unfortunately, he then started refusing to take a bottle.  For months now I’ve been trying to get him to drink from anything other than me but to no avail.  Finally, this last week... there has been a breakthrough!

But it is bittersweet.  I was so looking forward to this moment when he will be almost a year old and I will have my body back.  My boobs will be mine again.  I can wear real bras and not the shitty nursing crap they make you pay one kidney and half a liver for.  A real bra.  And a dress.  A dress that doesn’t open in the front or is elastic and by now so stretchy from use it looks like a rag.  An actual grown up lady dress.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

And in my pretty dress and new bra I will sit and I will cry.  Because he is my last baby.  This morning I lay in bed, breastfeeding my boy for the very last time.  I will never again share that bond with a child.  I will never go through the pain and insecurities of learning to breastfeed a newborn to discovering the joy and comfort it brings in the end.  That wonderful feeling of nursing a baby to sleep.  It is over.

This is a chapter in our lives that are closing today.  And I am sad.  I looked forward to this day for so long, but I guess I didn’t think about what I was really hoping for.  I was hoping for time to pass and him to grow up.  Not realizing that I am losing valuable time with my baby worrying about the future and not treasuring every second we snuggled.

Heights and Trust

It is no secret that I am deathly afraid of heights.  I am the one who will get to the very top of a structure and freeze.  Not being able to move, I will hold onto something solid and cry.  It often ends with me on my ass, scooting all the way down to the very bottom.  It’s happened at monuments, towers and bridges.  Solid ground is my friend.  

The problem is trust.  Trust is a hard thing.  It seems that I don’t trust those I cannot see very well.  I don’t trust that the engineer who signed off on the structure wasn’t sleep deprived and overworked.  Or that the builder wasn’t a greedy thief and went for cheaper instead of quality so he can pocket the difference.  Has it been build to withstand earthquakes?  Who tested it?  How old is it?  We haven’t had a serious earthquakes in these parts for as long as many of these structures have been in place... who is to say they will still withstand a strong earthquake?  

I worry about heights but the problem isn’t heights, it is trust.  It isn’t easy to trust someone you don’t know.  You grow up hearing stories of people who have cost others’ their lives because of their own greed or negligence.  It scares me.  With the age of Internet, stories such as these are easier and easier to come by.  They might not have grown in frequency, but information is so accessible that it’s had a stronger effect on me than all the self-help books and positive messages we are bombarded with (you know, by the profitable industry that’s teaching us we can’t love ourselves without their help).  

I don’t naturally distrust others.  It’s something that has been learned through spending 30 years on this earth with open ears and eyes.  And I know I am not alone.  

What a very sad reality it is we have to live in.  I surely hope we can change that someday.  Preferably without the use of money making self help programs.  

All I Want is a Fence

I am so frustrated.  It’s a beautiful day.  All the parks with water features are open now and it will be heaven for the boys.  The only problem is that most parks are not enclosed.  How difficult can it be to put a fence around a playground?

The problem is that my little Whirlwind is almost three but the size of most five year olds.  With that comes the speed factor.  He’s fast.  And he’s a runner.  It has always been tricky with him in the park.  Quite the workout.  The day where he will be able to outrun me is getting scarily close though.  A bigger problem is the baby.  The baby is almost not a baby anymore and will be walking unassisted within weeks, if not days.  He can also enjoy some of the facilities the playground has to offer.  It’s a problem that he can’t because I can’t take my eyes off of his brother for more than a second.  

In the late summer last year, I stood next to the playground, feeding the baby.  Keeping an eye on The Whirlwind.  I looked down for a total of three seconds to put the baby back in his stroller, glanced up halfway through the process and noticed with a sinking feeling that The Whirlwind is missing.  We eventually found him and I am eternally thankful for the lady who stopped him before running into the street.  She apologized for scaring him.  Lady, my child is alive thanks to you... please don’t apologize!

Needless to say, every time we go somewhere, I go with this terrible feeling that he will just pull away and start running.  It has happened so many times, I've lost count.  Every other day you read in the news how another child wandered away and was found drowned nearby.  That is my fear.  I live with that fear every day.  As I sit here, my frustration in finding safe playgrounds is making me want to cry for the dangers this child unknowingly puts himself in every day. 

And I don’t know if it will ever get any better.  Right now, it’s just getting worse.  Seriously, I pay taxes... just put a damn fence around the playground!

Growing Older

Growing older doesn’t bother me a lot.  But it bothers others.  And after talking to my husband last night, I can’t stop to wonder why?

Why do we grow old?  Why do we have to reach a certain peak and then spend decades more declining?  We start declining before we’re even half way with our life expectancy.  That is a little sad, isn’t it?  Now, to be fair.  I don’t actually care that it is that way.  There are more important things out there to occupy my mind with.  But I am still wondering if there is a reason for aging?  Or is it just another one of those jokes mother nature plays on us, you know... getting us back for polluting or something similarly sinister?

I joke about the tons of grey hair I have.  My husband doesn’t seem to think it is a laughing matter.  I am out of shape and know I can get back in shape.  It isn’t too late.  He seems to think that our age is going to make it so difficult it is worth getting depressed over.  I know it’s difficult, but why is it such a big deal?

The way I see it is that we seem to become wiser and more stable with age.  People are generally becoming more pleasant human beings.  Have you been around teenagers lately?  Not my idea of the kind of person I want to be for the rest of my 50 or so years on this planet.  

Give me a failing body and ever increasing depth of personality any day.

Then again, I'm only 30.  We'll talk again in 10 years or so.

Tough Love

I’ve always considered myself to be the tough-love type of parent.  That’s how I saw myself before I had kids.  Discipline, discipline, discipline!  

As a teacher, I was pretty sure I had this discipline thing down.  My kids knew exactly how far they could push me and that there was no negotiating when they strayed.  I was strict, but they loved me regardless.  As long as we stayed within the boundaries, we had a lot of fun together.  They were also 12 year old kids.  They understood boundaries.  

My kids don’t.  They still need to learn boundaries.  And there is the added bonus of not being able to send them home at 3:15 every day so I can recharge my willpower.  But I am strict.  I can do this!  I am the disciplinarian... right?

Nope.  That illusion was shattered so spectacularly that I’m still a little stunned at what a wuss I turned out to be.  A few nights ago my little whirlwind child came running into my bedroom.  It was almost midnight and he refused to go to sleep.  Nothing new.  But this time his delay tactic involved climbing into our bed.  Which mother can say no to toddler snuggles?  O, I can!  I enforced strict discipline by holding him tighter and snuggling in deeper.  Giving lots of Mommy-kisses and enjoying every second of our midnight bonding moment.  Who needs a steady bedtime anyway?  

And that was the moment I realized, I’m a softy.  Parenting turned out to be much harder than teaching, by a landslide. 

Tides of Faith

Faith isn’t constant.  We often think that it should be, but it’s not.  Our faith fluctuates like the tides of the ocean.  It comes and goes.  Stronger and weaker.  There are times when our faith is exceptionally strong and times when it is hard to find so much as a single drop.  Few people (if any at all) can go through life and honestly say they have never had a fluctuation in faith.  Whatever your faith might be. 

But here’s the thing.  Is having perfect faith really all it is cracked up to be?  What if our fluctuations are in fact what makes us better understand those around us?  I can’t help but think that maybe times of doubt and uncertainty are not only there to teach us more about our faith, but it will assist us in our dealings with others.  How can you help someone and truly understand their crises of faith when you have always had perfect faith yourself?  Maybe that is why... I don’t really know.

I do believe there are a few individuals who can help in a meaningful manner those whose tide has gone out without ever having experienced it themselves.  But I don’t know if I’ve ever met one of those individuals.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I don’t know.

What I do know is that the times when our faith gets restored are some of the most magical times in our lives.  I imagine this is what winning the Lotto must feel like.  This winning-at-life feeling.  Unfortunately it doesn’t always make up for the dark that accompanies losing faith.  Maybe someday it will.  Maybe for some it does.  Who knows?  

Maybe one day the moon will always be full and the tide in.

A New Dream

From a young age we all envision our futures.  We have plans and dreams.  Some of us imagine ourselves living picture perfect lives.  Some of us see fears being realized in our futures.  I am not one of them.  I have always imagined the best.  The “eternal optimist” is what my husband calls me when he gets irritated with my lack of comprehending reality.

Sometimes our dreams change.  Sometimes life changes.  We have to adapt.  In order to survive, not only do we need to adapt, but we need to change our dreams and most certainly our visions for the future.  And it would be foolish to think this will happen only once in your lifetime.

The first time my vision for the future changed dramatically was almost exactly ten years ago.  This June, one decade ago I went with my new boyfriend and his family on vacation.  Camping in Mozambique.  How exciting of a trip is that?  I was already deeply in love with him, but that holiday something else happened.  I fell in love with his family.  And not just his immediate family, but also the extended family and family friends that came along.  I knew this was the kind of family I can see myself living with.  It might have something to do with the fact that his mother fed me shots of tequila while we were watching a gigantic full moon over the Indian Ocean.

That holiday I knew I had found my new forever family.  The only problem was in a small little detail; they were planning on moving.  Not down the road, to another part of town, or even just the next town over.  No... they were moving to the other side of the world.  Canada.  We are talking not only continents and oceans, but hemispheres as well!  Big change.

My dad almost immediately looked me in the eye upon return and asked, “Now what?”

“I’m moving to Canada.”  

Ten years later and here I am with my summons to write my citizenship test.  Ten years.  So much has changed.  I have changed.  My dreams have changed over and over again.  My vision for my future is a little muddled right now, but in the last week or so it started taking shape again.  One thing I do know, is that my new vision includes four Canadian passports, one for each of us.  That in itself is a wonderful dream.  A dream and a vision I can not only live with, but be happy about.

Praying for Luck

depression

With a small d.  It doesn’t deserve a capital.  It’s this deep dark place where apathy lives.  That is where The Hub resides on a regular basis.  Days he can’t get out of bed.  Days where he doesn’t want to see his kids.  Days where I am being told what a failure of a wife I am.  Those days are depression days.  Those are the days the little asshole gives the meds the finger and the world collapses.  Not around him, but on top of him.  The world buries him in a blanket of black from which escape always seems impossible.

But those days go away again.  We are lucky.  They don’t last.  Sometimes we go through months of depression and sometimes only a day or two at a time.  We are lucky that it always ends.  For so many it doesn’t. For many it only ends when they end it themselves in the worst possible way imaginable.  I pray for our luck to keep.

It seems an odd thing to pray for luck.  The two terms are almost mutually exclusive.  But in a household where one is religious and the other not, it seems fitting somehow.  

Dear God, please let our luck keep.

Amen  

And a Glass of Wine

It is hard. And it is not hard at all. 

Don’t feel sorry for me.  I don’t want your sympathy.  Don’t give advice unless I ask you for it.  I know you just want to help and don’t always know what to say, but please just don’t. 

I know I complain a lot.  It’s my super power.  It’s my way of coping with life.  It seems odd, I know.  But if you know me well enough, you should know that once I quit complaining, shit’s about to get real.  If I have the time and energy to complain, I’m still good and not in need of any sympathy.  Only an ear.  Just listen.  Drink a glass of wine with me and bitch about something that bothers you.  All will be just fine.

Right now, I have so many words in my head and feelings in my chest.  I knew he was special.  “Just like his dad” is what we kept saying.  But he’s not.  He's his own person.  His own problems.  His own diagnosis.  An official diagnosis.  And it is true... we expected this.  But I guess I didn’t think of it as being this severe.  A small part of me was always hoping they would say something like: “He’ll be fine, just give him time.  Don’t worry!”  Instead they emphasized how there is no doubt about his diagnosis and how much therapy he needs.  “But you knew this, right?”  Yes, I did.  But I didn’t want to.

There is no hiding now.  I am now a “Special Needs Mom” and there is no more thinking and hoping that maybe in a year he will talk and I can go back to work.  I loved my job.  I still have dreams about my job and I come up with ideas I want to implement even though it’s been more than a year since I’ve worked.  I get excited about these awesome things I think up but can’t implement.  It’s like finding this great chocolate cookie recipe that looks too awesome not to try but you don’t have access to a kitchen.  It sucks.

But here’s the thing.  It isn’t always that hard.  My kid is happy.  When my kid is happy, so am I.  Sometimes life sucks, but it really doesn’t matter as long as I can hear him laugh.  I don’t actually care if he ever talks (and I know he will when he is good and ready) but if he can laugh, then what’s the big deal? 

And sometime tonight, I know he will put his arms around my neck, give me a kiss and put his head on my shoulder.  It will only last a few moments, but those moments are precious.  Those moments are why I don’t need sympathy.  He is happy, loving and healthy.  It is all a mother can ask for. 

And a glass of wine.