tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20695123069489815612024-03-04T20:30:27.141-08:00Sassy Aspie MomA little blog about my life as a wife and mom raising two boys(one who has Asperger's Syndrome). Sassy Aspie Mom is a Facebook Page and Blog. I hope to create an outreach to other moms going through trying times. Raising children on the spectrum can be exhausting and challenging! We have to take back our lives, so we can be warriors for our kids!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-51826753893357994322017-11-06T13:18:00.002-08:002017-11-06T13:18:53.066-08:00Pretty sure I was screwing it all upAfter the trial-run of the online school year, summer could not come soon enough. I found that along with trying to do the best thing for Hunter, I lost a piece of myself. I had decided to do the online school because I felt it was the right thing for him at the time.<br />
<br />
We had moved from Texas to a small town in Indiana. In the process of selling our house and moving back, he had lost his Great-Grandmother and our sweet dog. Moving meant separating him from the friendships he had acquired while in Texas. Then, we had moved into my parents' house while we built ours, allowing him no privacy. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlhaeyonZHOH_3wdmlAb-kYj8fdGiNzffSaaFdQGSVzZ4jnPl-8McvEd21X-V1DaN3XWV39AvqY2jp36AvzatXT-uUWaIu21WeqxmRSk_vmTeLZErS4ZvwnHTlqDlYKfonKuZ6me3rec/s1600/875d943a409e24c2b5b6a8078c4718b7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="250" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlhaeyonZHOH_3wdmlAb-kYj8fdGiNzffSaaFdQGSVzZ4jnPl-8McvEd21X-V1DaN3XWV39AvqY2jp36AvzatXT-uUWaIu21WeqxmRSk_vmTeLZErS4ZvwnHTlqDlYKfonKuZ6me3rec/s200/875d943a409e24c2b5b6a8078c4718b7.jpg" width="200" /></a>We moved into our new home in March. Finally, we were able to get him into his own learning space and really give the online schooling a real shot, but we were almost done with the school year. By this time, he was emotionally unreachable. He was still angry about the move; the new house, the loss of his friends in Texas. He hated me. The idea of working with me to accomplish academic success was just a joke. He was living his life to make mine hell. At least that was the case when I could actually get him out of bed. <br />
<br />
During this time, I began to question myself, my parenting decisions, my life choices, basically everything I thought I knew seemed up in the air. I had wanted to move back to this small town where I had grown up. I wanted to give my sons the same sense of self and security that I had been given. I wanted them to grow up knowing that family is always there and your neighbor is truly your friend. I wanted this so much for them, that maybe I had overlooked what was really best for Hunter.<br />
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Once again, this parenting thing did not come with a manual...I was pretty sure I was screwing it all up!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-4774243845004695362017-08-21T11:57:00.001-07:002017-08-21T12:32:06.157-07:00The meeting of the golf carts<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As I mentioned in my last post, we decided for Hunter to do
an online schooling called K12. It had many benefits. He did not have the
social difficulties of starting a new school, but he was able to still
socialize with the teachers and students online. It seemed like the best of
both worlds…for a while. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then, he became more and more isolated. We began to not be
able to get him out of bed. He wanted to stay up all night and sleep all day.
He lost all motivation for school and life in general. We tried to get him
involved in social events around town, but he was not interested. He did do a
recreational youth basketball league that our church hosts, and he enjoyed it,
but otherwise he was miserable. After it ended, he sunk deeper and deeper into
depression. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I reached out to his counselor at school who was amazing.
She even offered to meet face to face with Hunter once a week to just talk. She
set up a few social events with local online school kids to help get him out of
the house. Those days seemed better for him, but the rest of the days were very
difficult. I knew he was unhappy, but I just wasn’t sure how to get him out of
his slumber. He wanted to sleep constantly, but when he was awake, he was belligerent.
He blamed everyone around him for what he considered a miserable life. He
blamed us for moving him from Texas and his friends. He blamed his teachers for
his failing grades. He was so unhappy, and I didn’t know where to turn. We
were approaching the move into our new home, so it was push time on getting
final painting, floors and trim done. We were still living with my parents, and
the tension was building. You could cut it with a knife. I was at the end of my
rope.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Finally, a mom of another online student gave me the idea
that he could possibly attend our local high school for a few hours each day,
just to give it a try, but still take online classes each afternoon. This idea
intrigued me. We were approaching the end of school, and things were not
getting better. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCrfH121LupZFXL1nQeXrD74q-N6kItwLN6HvkpAtHQToHm15uZoz6RUOsF6s1slFOfVNMkNv0r6BIajEuLQvicbT3CtE2geT1mZrXS7yl8FCoUmFoMT7I5AAIjfIPR8aGDZi2CiSV4g/s1600/13403782_1301203609894502_240934128986254669_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1055" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCrfH121LupZFXL1nQeXrD74q-N6kItwLN6HvkpAtHQToHm15uZoz6RUOsF6s1slFOfVNMkNv0r6BIajEuLQvicbT3CtE2geT1mZrXS7yl8FCoUmFoMT7I5AAIjfIPR8aGDZi2CiSV4g/s320/13403782_1301203609894502_240934128986254669_o.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Simplicity is the spice of life around our little town and
everyone loves it. In a town with very little to do, the ballfield becomes the
social arena. Everyone brings their favorite beverages and cheers their players.
What makes this little town even more amazing, was that I was able to pull my
golf cart next to the principal of our local high school’s golf cart during one
of the little league games. We went to high school together, so I have known
him longer than I’d like to admit. We had a little chat about Hunter’s options
at school. He asked me to give him a call the next week to get things
arranged. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was nervous to approach the subject with Hunter. He was so
unhappy, and the smallest things were triggering him, so approaching the idea of
throwing him into a public school again with a group of his peers he did not
know was treading on thin ice. Surprisingly, when I mentioned the idea to him,
he was optimistic and slightly excited about giving it a try.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The next week, the principal put me in touch with the school
counselor. Talking to her seemed like I was talking to my guardian angel. She
took me under her wing and helped me figure out our next steps. We met with her
and she had a simple, concise list of classed Hunter was eligible to take. He
was able to choose some fun classes, so he was pretty excited. We left there in
45 minutes with my newly enrolled junior in high school. He would be taking
marketing, PE, history, and a resource class with Teacher’s Aids to help him
with his homework. For the first time in a long while I could breathe again,
and I could see the relief in Hunter’s eyes. His mood immediately shifted, and
everything seemed a little brighter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-66509509283467569172017-06-14T09:24:00.001-07:002017-06-14T09:24:24.100-07:00The struggle was real
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our new living arrangements were tough on all of us, but
they were the hardest on Hunter. The move, itself, was so much change, which
has always been a struggle for him. He had no privacy, so he felt confined. He
also needed to stem. Stemming helps him to relax and think more clearly, and it
was very difficult for him to do in our cramped space. Plus, at 6’6” tall,
stemming upstairs made my parent’s 100 year-old house feel like we were having
an earthquake, so he didn’t feel like he could do much of it. This caused his
stress to build. As the summer began to
come to a close, we were all in desperate need for some personal space. We were
chomping at the bit to get the house done, but it was moving at a snail’s
pace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By early August, we were leaving the summer fun and getting
into the swing of the new school year. This school year brought about lots and
lots of change. Grant was starting a new school as a 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
grader. It is a small town, so things tend to be a little “clicky”. Most of
these kiddos had been together since pre-school and he was the new kid. It wasn’t
always easy. Plus, by 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade, hormones are kicking in hot and
heavy, so there were tons of emotions being thrown around…girls, jerky kids,
tears, anger…it was a mixed bag. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdSgpYSEz6tucS5J13UHhpmaKfLfEpc8XC2QfDrf6Enn5PJrMF-K5Dnfyb-waqqgKfWaY_cI8eQIT-B_MhNlCC5YERlezmgjQ6B_bzyOfMJ59wKfgOKDZuTYV_0XwZMhIJzcIaZjcYOM/s1600/14344916_10208580661446405_1091999120965458347_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="748" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdSgpYSEz6tucS5J13UHhpmaKfLfEpc8XC2QfDrf6Enn5PJrMF-K5Dnfyb-waqqgKfWaY_cI8eQIT-B_MhNlCC5YERlezmgjQ6B_bzyOfMJ59wKfgOKDZuTYV_0XwZMhIJzcIaZjcYOM/s320/14344916_10208580661446405_1091999120965458347_n.jpg" width="252" /></a></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He joined the cross country team, which really seemed to
help him feel like he belonged. He’s not a runner and his endurance wasn’t
always there, but he stuck with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Math
in Indiana is taught substantially different. He had always been great at math,
and he suddenly found himself struggling. It really took a toll on his self-confidence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For Hunter, the school changes were immense. When we decided
to make the move back home, we knew that school choices were going to be tough.
In our small community, there is only one high school. It is small, which is
great, but we just weren’t sure the environment would be right for him. He has
always been integrated into the classroom, with an aid and a few accommodations.
Schoolwork is tough for him because it’s just not his thing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The social aspect of things were where we were really
concerned, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was coming from a
small charter school outside of Dallas, where all of the kids were a little
eccentric in different ways. I always joked that it would have been The Big
Bang Theory characters high school. It was nice because there were kids from
all walks of life; with different interests and with all different educational
backgrounds. At first, Hunter felt like he really fit in there. He was on the
basketball team. He would go out with his friends to someone’s house or the
mall. For a while it was great, he felt like one of the gang. Then, one of his
friends moved away, and it all started falling apart. He was no longer getting
invited to things. He felt excluded and his heart was truly broken. As his mom,
I wanted to call up these kids and give them a piece of my mind, but that wouldn’t
have made him look any cooler. Before the end of the school year, we had tried
to host some events at our house. The guys came, but Hunter still wasn’t
invited to their events. By the time we were leaving Texas, he was ready for a
new start. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moving to a small high school where everyone is rather “clicky”
made us very nervous. If he didn’t fit into the Big Bang Theorish High School,
than it was going to be hard as hell for him to fit into the small town school.
I started looking for options and came across an online public school. It would
allow him to take his classes from home, using a Skype-like systems. I wouldn’t
have to be his teacher, which would never work. He would have his own teachers
and counselors and online homeroom. I would just be like a coach to keep him on
track. We made the decision to make this change. He was really excited about
the prospect. His social anxiety had been so high about starting a new school
with tons of kids he did not know, especially after what he had endured from his
peers at school in Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This option
seemed to ease his burden. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The beginning of the school year was full of change for all
of us. We were still living with my parents. My hubby was still trying to work
from home off of my parent’s dining room table. Grant was dealing with the
pre-teen stuff and being the new kid at school. Hunter was suddenly at home
with me every day and trying to adjust to his new online school, and I found
myself in the role of educational coach. All of this was taking place while we
were just trying desperately to get into our new house without <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>losing our stuff...the struggle was real...</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-72935414123592311402017-06-13T15:33:00.003-07:002017-06-13T15:33:53.371-07:00I got by with a little help from my friend, Merlot
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wait for the build was not easy on our family. We were
living with the stress of everything building a home entails. We were fortunate to
have the entire upstairs of my parents’ house to use as our little domain, but
there were no doors, and the boys were sharing a room for the first time in a
long time. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was no privacy for any of us. At times, the boys wanted to
kill each other, and I so wanted to shut the door every once in a while. I
desperately wanted to have some time to myself. My hubby was trying to work
from my parents’ house with no peace and quiet. It was tough at times, but we
made it work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We tried out best to adapt to our new living arrangements. We tried to go to a family dinner once a
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It got us out of the house for a
while and allowed my parents to actually have their house back for a few hours.
I felt so badly for them. We were taking over their house. They were being so
gracious. We tried to give them their space in the evenings, and we tried to
stay in our little area. We watched a lot of TV; read a lot of books; and took
tons of golf cart rides on our new cart (one of the advantages of our little
town.) I also got by with a little help from my friend, Merlot.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgqVQOr1dthY3ot0bJ35mkRJuLmgOzO0L3yMt-C1kncP1HhYa8VXfCtHPyvMWjjkRjt-KltnEeNKneRojRbX1p-1gqMpH_Nx_hJD2WGsuH8dmo3nZO2NZYDU-NEoQelWRNCcyUAoDhXE/s1600/14316725_1374415482573314_7626084976750140390_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgqVQOr1dthY3ot0bJ35mkRJuLmgOzO0L3yMt-C1kncP1HhYa8VXfCtHPyvMWjjkRjt-KltnEeNKneRojRbX1p-1gqMpH_Nx_hJD2WGsuH8dmo3nZO2NZYDU-NEoQelWRNCcyUAoDhXE/s200/14316725_1374415482573314_7626084976750140390_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was great to be just down the road from the build, so we
could keep an eye on everything and watch the progress as it happened. However,
with the long delay due to the rain, we suddenly found ourselves frustrated and
overwhelmed looking at the cement pond every-single-day. We decided we needed
to get away. We decided to take a little trip to a place called French Lick,
Indiana. It is a quaint little town with a ton of history and a hotel with a
waterpark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t too far away, so we
took a little long-weekend excursion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCzwcfXd1-2QLoP9M0eMkU94CFkHWpSYdWP5HwcOuD3KGCz2w3N_1yNl2ipGJWFAZQJWIURCuKVlFnblNebsWToOsIi35a7DpieSrjDgnbxzIf8_u3xYQ_ATVmy0jlYZn_2ek9L_xCWE/s1600/13876423_1336086036406259_2464022455554184582_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCzwcfXd1-2QLoP9M0eMkU94CFkHWpSYdWP5HwcOuD3KGCz2w3N_1yNl2ipGJWFAZQJWIURCuKVlFnblNebsWToOsIi35a7DpieSrjDgnbxzIf8_u3xYQ_ATVmy0jlYZn_2ek9L_xCWE/s200/13876423_1336086036406259_2464022455554184582_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The trip was amazingly therapeutic for all of us. It got our
mind off of all the crazy and just allowed us to have some family fun. We
stayed at the waterpark for a couple of days; went to an elephant retreat
(which was an amazing experience); played laser tag; went on a walk through the
town; and ended our quick trip with go-kart racing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a great trip, and we had some much needed family
bonding. After all, it had been a crazy few months filled with tons of change. It was so nice to have
just the four of us again. We talked and laughed and forgot our troubles, even
if it was only for a short time. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-48162212228023706152017-05-10T03:20:00.002-07:002017-05-10T03:24:02.074-07:00The cement pond<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Things were feeling real with the move. Not only were we
moving 14 hours, back to my hometown, a stones-throw from my parents, but the
move would entail us living with my parents for the next 6 months (which turned
into 9). My husband and I, our two kids, and the 50 pound dog, were moving into
my parent’s house. I was 40 and hadn’t lived at this house full-time since I
was seventeen. It was going to be interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The lot my parents had offered to us had an old, dilapidated
house on it, so my dad took care of getting it torn down, so by the time we
arrived back in Indiana, the lot was ready for the house. However, the plans
weren’t ready. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Before the move, we had started working with a builder. I
knew what we needed in a house, so one day I sat down with some graph paper and
got creative. In a matter of a few hours, I had drawn our dream house. It had
everything we needed as a family...a game room for the kids; a kitchen large
enough to entertain my large, extended family; an office for the hubby; a quiet
place for me to write; and doors big enough to fit our wheelchairs down the
road (because I’m never moving again). <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The most important part of the house plans was a large area
over the garage with its own private staircase through the mudroom. It would be
stage 2 of the building process, but as all parents of kiddos on the spectrum
know, we always have to be one step ahead of the game, so this was our way of
planning for the future. Hopefully, all goes well and Hunter starts an
independent life of his own and this area becomes a man cave or storage. As him
mom, this is what I hope and pray and work tirelessly to make sure happens, but
if not, plan B is available. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once we arrived home, we had to finalize the plans. We
thought this would be a quick process, but the few drafts of plans took longer
than we anticipated. We moved home the last weekend in May of 2016 and the
build finally started the last week in July of 2016. It felt like it took
forever! Did I mention we were living with my parents? Things at home actually
went fairly smoothly. Everyone was pretty patient with each other, but we were
joining two homes…two completely different homes with different schedules and
routines and ways of living…and it wasn’t always easy. We were all growing
impatient. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqigHDUJnyDvPd_IB2qhNBAl8hw42vY6WELFX3zIP1h2OKYqdlhp8QpYvTNyuDYXUGh76D-sa8_EVInQ1YWSt_hQIXiwGtdGiMHhgEIDsLh8JNuBnMi_UlA-MDZHiZjndkEhluI00bdA/s1600/IMG_1321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqigHDUJnyDvPd_IB2qhNBAl8hw42vY6WELFX3zIP1h2OKYqdlhp8QpYvTNyuDYXUGh76D-sa8_EVInQ1YWSt_hQIXiwGtdGiMHhgEIDsLh8JNuBnMi_UlA-MDZHiZjndkEhluI00bdA/s200/IMG_1321.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The building could not start soon enough, but when it
finally happened, it could not have been more exciting, not just for us, but
for the entire town. On July 26<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, the crawl space was dug. Then, the
rain began to fall and continued for almost 2 weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zCaScd_fmawypHmNjLIjoGbiqUGmdVJBXuWev58gvc3V9VAqo7KkfiATNs3Bm3Vaz7tOPr5y5KDttQ__Cj1mghKIg_7bigObjfb4o2bKhGIW4qv1c-tm8_Evj0W11D8-f_9HsyDj9dE/s1600/IMG_0795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zCaScd_fmawypHmNjLIjoGbiqUGmdVJBXuWev58gvc3V9VAqo7KkfiATNs3Bm3Vaz7tOPr5y5KDttQ__Cj1mghKIg_7bigObjfb4o2bKhGIW4qv1c-tm8_Evj0W11D8-f_9HsyDj9dE/s200/IMG_0795.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotoapJOamX2p9-DDcqOok5TZbLxM06qNGzKpaOwVMLLG10Omag89OQ92VJSn6I_Bw6oUOqfBhzafE-HfWXgbzY6wdF5K2DRifpnG3ZtjLn_UtdVh-rVIb9an90jE9G8up2k8w1MS3NA4/s1600/IMG_6275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotoapJOamX2p9-DDcqOok5TZbLxM06qNGzKpaOwVMLLG10Omag89OQ92VJSn6I_Bw6oUOqfBhzafE-HfWXgbzY6wdF5K2DRifpnG3ZtjLn_UtdVh-rVIb9an90jE9G8up2k8w1MS3NA4/s200/IMG_6275.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They were able to get the blocks laid on August 2<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd</span></sup>.
We could have sold tickets to the event. Cars would drive by at a snail’s pace
and the golf carts (did I mention they are legal on the streets in our little
town) had their own little parade up and down our street daily. It was fun to
watch it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We were all so excited after our day of watching the block layers, that we decided to celebrate. Mom and Dad took us out to Applebees...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx91EagR5HQa_CmCG7GkPtr_1Pz6QfTksLGZgAA_9Esp2LyMhYzg5mXdx2jWSxRrgkie7UJZVrzLr_1x6X1sYJpXGKAQnVJI4SvCDpVv-jzigV8NEVEi3eyj-6_ukFkhQnT9qCuVDQgTQ/s1600/IMG_0202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx91EagR5HQa_CmCG7GkPtr_1Pz6QfTksLGZgAA_9Esp2LyMhYzg5mXdx2jWSxRrgkie7UJZVrzLr_1x6X1sYJpXGKAQnVJI4SvCDpVv-jzigV8NEVEi3eyj-6_ukFkhQnT9qCuVDQgTQ/s200/IMG_0202.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I love this picture because it shows the pure exhaustion that was being felt at the time (notice the large circles around my eyes). We were excited, but too tired for it to show.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The excitement only lasted so long, because blocks soon made a beautiful border to hold in the rain. We soon had a swimming
pool as the rain continued to fall. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The weather not only delayed us, but it changed the schedule
of all of our contractors who were trying to finish other jobs, so the wait
continued…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-26173206088851488712017-04-17T10:00:00.000-07:002017-05-10T02:41:54.338-07:00Moving Day<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItxdwHHv1Zvt6JBbUjIXYHzMOu7ZipH8HxKu_cZCL-rTT0tnnkTWJOxhwcxlQbSW6I6TkdQ5Hir-kC4HAd7gL4sQCThFuqSYetXV5EI70QQrHqIvcl_SCwRjKWzWhwErRIPnZpaO9BoM/s1600/13237710_1290671017614428_6485326067258693228_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItxdwHHv1Zvt6JBbUjIXYHzMOu7ZipH8HxKu_cZCL-rTT0tnnkTWJOxhwcxlQbSW6I6TkdQ5Hir-kC4HAd7gL4sQCThFuqSYetXV5EI70QQrHqIvcl_SCwRjKWzWhwErRIPnZpaO9BoM/s200/13237710_1290671017614428_6485326067258693228_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The decision was made. We were moving again. This time from
a large city in Texas to a Mayberry-sized town in Indiana. The kids weren’t
sure what to think. Texas had been home to them for 4 years. When we moved,
they were 6 and 11. This had become home to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Grant had only gone to school with his friends in Texas. The
idea of moving scared him, but he was very excited about moving closer to
family. Hunter was in high school and had met some friends, but those
friendships had gone south. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t
keeping up with his schoolwork and we weren’t sure what the next step was with
him, but he wasn’t happy at all about the impending change and leaving his
friends.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Needless to say, we had some difficult conversations, but we
knew we were making plans for our future and this was where we needed to be, so
we worked our butts off organizing closets and the garage, painting, and
cleaning the house from top to bottom. In early March of 2016, the house was
officially on the market. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Along with the many emotions of moving and leaving friends that
I dearly loved, every day was a battle to keep the house clean. I felt like a
drill sergeant with the kids and thought I was going to lose it. Two kids and
two dogs, does not a clean house make, so it was an uphill battle. It all seems
like a blur now, but somehow after 30 showings, the house sold in 5 weeks.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now came the really fun part…packing all of our crap! I
knew we had a lot of stuff, but I thought our move 4 years earlier had rid us
of the clutter. It absolutely did not!!!! We spent the next 4 weeks before
closing, packing and packing and drinking wine by the gallon. (In the interest
of full disclosure, the wine part was just me.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaGKoZOvEoJabsQCJCS8ERlRF6vPZox8S0lARHLyJXAjUPIIWcOrh15EqlRWjJZb0YmV0bs2Mlnhzr7Q2R8kggAUXmOyespfxd3z0MDNZmnp6MU6ByZzLVRsQ3zTICqU07EFKYXAwaFI/s1600/InstagramCapture_7bf6a217-8f35-401d-9edf-2aaede719244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaGKoZOvEoJabsQCJCS8ERlRF6vPZox8S0lARHLyJXAjUPIIWcOrh15EqlRWjJZb0YmV0bs2Mlnhzr7Q2R8kggAUXmOyespfxd3z0MDNZmnp6MU6ByZzLVRsQ3zTICqU07EFKYXAwaFI/s200/InstagramCapture_7bf6a217-8f35-401d-9edf-2aaede719244.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In early May, amongst the craziness of our lives, I received
the call that my Grandmother was very sick. We rushed home, driving through the
night to get to her so I could say my final good-bye. It was sad and beautiful
at the same time, as I watched my entire large, crazy family spend her final
hours with her. We hugged her and kissed her and told her how much we loved
her, and then in an instant she was gone. The next several days were very hard.
Our hearts were broken because she was truly the matriarch of our family. Life
would never be the same without her in it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After a week in Indiana, we found ourselves back on the road
to Texas. It was moving time. We pulled a trailer in front of our house and
loaded it every single day. The kids were finishing up school, my hubby was
finishing up loose ends at his office in Dallas, and packing was taking every
other minute of our time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcD_5fhU9A7yYXpRhNsZDuMfyFBHNfb9-lOFSmi1a8tJT3HQ6GUXkBYOTkIeKxcSTnd0IA_ghSq9ysx7ggmsTkS20qtB4Z1LUsvQpH9fBi2A_fxYVVyG2NR8LF-cxbsbhkKJzS2eNEAw/s1600/413215_492335244114680_961262923_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcD_5fhU9A7yYXpRhNsZDuMfyFBHNfb9-lOFSmi1a8tJT3HQ6GUXkBYOTkIeKxcSTnd0IA_ghSq9ysx7ggmsTkS20qtB4Z1LUsvQpH9fBi2A_fxYVVyG2NR8LF-cxbsbhkKJzS2eNEAw/s200/413215_492335244114680_961262923_o.jpg" style="cursor: move;" unselectable="on" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then, on May 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, my fur baby Starlett Chanel
passed away. We knew she was sick and we knew it was coming sooner than later. She
had been very sick and could no longer walk. I was changing her diapers and
bathing her every day. Sleep was just a distant memory. We were hoping to get
her back to Indiana, but instead, she went the way she would have wanted to go,
in my husband’s arms. She was only 7, so it was so hard to lose her. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXwZVBddYGuL0FTiqU1qOtZgls7d3fEcwvi3qB3HAgriKKjn8jEy_G2oDyX5Y9u1lf7ZROQq2YmE98ZxuHwn7-Bogt0MnD2HCUiOJSZK8e-6GjhLPpset7qQIWER979l7WUUdLRP0m60/s1600/storageemulated0Androiddatacom.sec.imsservicefilesreceived_files20160521_124307_1492895531659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXwZVBddYGuL0FTiqU1qOtZgls7d3fEcwvi3qB3HAgriKKjn8jEy_G2oDyX5Y9u1lf7ZROQq2YmE98ZxuHwn7-Bogt0MnD2HCUiOJSZK8e-6GjhLPpset7qQIWER979l7WUUdLRP0m60/s200/storageemulated0Androiddatacom.sec.imsservicefilesreceived_files20160521_124307_1492895531659.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In mid-May, my parents came down with a big trailer to help
us move. They helped us pack for a few days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a huge moving day of all the heavy
furniture, beds and remaining boxes, they left with a full trailer to bring
some of our things back to Indiana. The rest would follow later in moving
trucks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We found ourselves in an empty home for the next week, so
the kiddos could finish school. The emotions were abundant. We were sad to
leave our friends; excited about our new journey; nervous about everything we
were about to take on; and exhausted beyond belief. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The next weekend, we pulled out of the
driveway of the place we had called home for 4 years. There were tears in all
of our eyes and a heaviness in our hearts as we started our new adventure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-66660624441592619992017-04-10T14:00:00.000-07:002017-04-11T08:03:01.851-07:00Love takes you home<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONK2QK9MkqvkilC16H04RKMj-ebXelNa3Oll0g24IMI5dcuy3m2WI7unAN5_SxoJl51hHEc3O77LZgc30wCh48eBavkamNzqpmHMUle49ADxKA7zzCAY3stu6ZNXzB_gPCEADj-a0Jok/s1600/26decc9323af2a09e1df496adebfb7b9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONK2QK9MkqvkilC16H04RKMj-ebXelNa3Oll0g24IMI5dcuy3m2WI7unAN5_SxoJl51hHEc3O77LZgc30wCh48eBavkamNzqpmHMUle49ADxKA7zzCAY3stu6ZNXzB_gPCEADj-a0Jok/s320/26decc9323af2a09e1df496adebfb7b9.jpg" width="320" /></a>As I mentioned in my previous post, this past year has
been a little crazy. In December of 2015, we traveled back home to Indiana from
Texas for Christmas break. During our several trips home per year, my hubby and
I would try to take advantage of the extra babysitting hands. This time was no
different, so we went out for a few date nights. Each time we were out, we found
ourselves looking for “For Sale” signs and “Lot for Sale” signs. It became
almost a daily activity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span>We found ourselves vaguely discussing the possibility of
moving home. Then, we found ourselves becoming more and more serious about the
scenario. We had not intended to move to Texas, and we had never planned on it
being our permanent home, but something was pulling on our heart strings to do
it sooner, not later. We missed our family. Parents and grandparents were
getting older. Our kids were missing out on quality family time. Plus, our support system was at home, and as all parents of children with special needs know, having extra hands and eyes is so important. The idea became more and more real.<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span>We had not seriously spoken with our family about moving
back home. Our parents didn’t know. Our kids didn’t know. We just had serious,
late-night couple talks about the possibility and how we could make it happen. When
we moved to Texas, we had moved from a town that was relatively close to our
family (about 30 minutes). This time, we really wanted to live in the small
town where I grew up. It is a quaint little town. Everybody knows everybody
else’s business (which can be good and bad). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was young, I had the majority of my
large Catholic family living within blocks of me. Because of this, I am very
close to my aunts and uncles and most of my cousins are more like siblings to
me. It is a weird dynamic for some, but for me, it has been amazing! I wanted
the same for my kiddos.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span>Once we arrived back in Texas from Christmas break, the discussions
became pretty serious. My hubby had spoken to the powers-at-be at work about
working from home in Indiana and traveling back and forth to Dallas and they
were onboard. The search for a house became ongoing. I would check the real
estate websites daily.<br />
<br />
Then, one day in January a beautiful old home caught my
eye. It would need a lot of work. Were we willing to take on that large of a
project? How would we even know if we didn’t make the 14-hour trip to find out?
We discussed it…and discussed it…and talked it over with the kids who were a
little surprised, but had overheard some of our discussions. Then, we called
our parents to let them know that we were coming home to look at a house. The
cat was out of the bag. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span>We drove through the night on a Friday to get home to
look at the house. It was a long drive and we were very tired and a little
excited. We met with the realtor and looked at the house. It was as cute as the
pictures showed online, but seemed really small. We would have to put a lot of
money into expansion, and the foundation was a little concerning. We left the
house feeling like the trip home might have been a huge and exhausting waste of
time. <o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><o:p> </o:p><br />
We spent hours on Saturday looking at lots because the
homes for sale were scarce. People who were born and raised there don’t often
move very far away and people who move into the area, don’t like to leave,
making the real estate a hot commodity. We found some interesting prospects
that we were throwing around. Then, our story made a surprising turn.<o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
After arriving home from looking at lots, my parents graciously
offered up a lot they had purchased as an investment. It was just down the road
from them (I mean a stones-throw). At first, I thought, “This is ABSOLUTELY not
going to happen!” I am a forty-something year-old woman. Do I want to live that
close to my parents? Then, I thought about it and the idea grew on me. My kids
could walk to my parent’s house. I would be close by to take care of them
later. I had grown-up across the street from my Grandparents, and it was such
an amazing blessing! The question became, “What is the hubby going to say about
this one?” He had lived far away from grandparents, aunts and uncles and
cousins as a child. This was a whole new ballgame for him. Was this going to
scare him? Surprisingly, as I was tossing these thoughts around in my head and
contemplating the magnitude of it all he said, “I would be open to that idea.
What do you think?” So…this is how our busy year began!<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span> </span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0United States37.776973306605043 -90.23556232452392612.587466806605043 -131.54415632452393 62.966479806605044 -48.926968324523926tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-60492326426262058392017-04-08T10:00:00.000-07:002017-04-07T11:37:47.671-07:00Rediscovering my lifeline<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been kind of out of the loop
for a while, off the radar, taking a break from the thing I love to do most in
this world…write. Part of it has been our amazingly crazy life the past year
(more to follow), some of it has been lack of clarity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had people message me and ask when I was
going to write again. Family and friends have stopped me and asked me why I
wasn’t writing. The truth is, I just didn’t have it in me. I am out of practice,
but I am going to force myself do it again. I need to. It is what makes me
happy and keeps the small amount of sanity I have intact. Bear with me because
the writing might be subpar at best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Here goes…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nQiND8cB8GwWeReXU8nl4Kk2zd9mtB5A2pYWfrrOGtl7UW2yQ199wdhFz58iylzowTZ9ku7ph5CqtvfjMkhl4WjMmMywo6JzKcWoiHjq_Y5FoxfUICzfyYg6GNEzkIvLptJHV-lmLM4/s1600/creative-writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nQiND8cB8GwWeReXU8nl4Kk2zd9mtB5A2pYWfrrOGtl7UW2yQ199wdhFz58iylzowTZ9ku7ph5CqtvfjMkhl4WjMmMywo6JzKcWoiHjq_Y5FoxfUICzfyYg6GNEzkIvLptJHV-lmLM4/s320/creative-writing.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In 2012, my hubby unexpectedly lost
his job. We had just finished remodeling our kitchen and family room of our
older home. We had hung the final pictures on the wall on Tuesday evening and by
Friday afternoon, he was looking for jobs. Soon we found ourselves uprooting
our family to Denton, Texas from Indiana. We started a brand new life. It was
difficult. We were away from family and friends and our support group. It was
hard. I was alone in a big city. My hubby was working crazy hours. Our kids
were trying to adjust. I knew no one. Having a child with Autism made this even
more difficult. He was angry about moving. He was struggling making new
friends. He was almost 12, so the hormones were in full swing. <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">Ther</span><span style="background-color: white;">e </span><span style="background-color: white;">were days I just didn’t
know how I was going to make it.</span></span> I was trying to hold it together for my
kids and my hubby. Putting on a brave face for everyone around me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In March of 2013, my husband came
home to find me still in my PJs for the third day in a row and he said, “Maybe
you should start writing again…” This in a nutshell meant I think you are
losing your shit, so maybe you need to do something so you do go over the edge,
so I did it. By the next afternoon, I had started my Sassy Aspie Mom blog. I
had figured out Twitter and Facebook and Blogger and posted 3 things. For the
first time in a very long time, I felt alive. Don’t tell my husband this, but
he was right!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Writing has been a way for me to
stay connected to those around me, especially parents going through similar
life experiences. Being the parent of a child with Autism can be very lonely.
You learn very early on that your child’s accomplishments and goals are going
to be different, and that is okay. It isn’t easy, however, to fit into the
conversations of the parents around you. It can be isolating. I found that by
writing my blog, I suddenly opened my world to a group of people with the same
hopes and dreams for their children, but who also understood the stresses and
concerns of raising a child on the spectrum. Suddenly, I found that people were
reaching out to me to find out how I handled certain situations…the initial diagnosis,
school, medications, bullying, telling the child about their diagnosis. I was
able to help in small ways to make those parents feel less lonely, less scared,
and less isolated, by talking about my own experience. The feeling was mutual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As parents of children on the
spectrum, it is really important to remember that we have to have our own
lifelines. Talking to others, reading a book, taking a walk, getting a massage,
journaling, writing a blog…whatever brings you back to center, has to be part
of your routine or you will lose yourself. It is not selfish, it is essential
to a life full of taking care of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span id="goog_2053594654"></span><span id="goog_2053594655"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-25571683060959000032016-04-28T15:58:00.000-07:002016-04-28T16:51:17.074-07:00Hunter's GameplanSeveral months ago, Hunter and I began having serious discussions about his future. What were his goals? What career did he want to pursue? He is so much like his dad in so many ways, so I always assumed he would want to follow in his footsteps and do something in the business field. Nothing else had ever really occurred to me until he started talking about becoming a writer. I was shocked! <br />
I wanted to have a better understanding of his interests, so I had him take several online aptitude tests. Much to my surprise, my boy not only looks like me, but he has a lot of my creative interests. The tests showed over and over that he should be a writer, blogger, teacher or historian.<br />
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His freshman year of high school has been full of super highs and super lows. There have been many life lessons learned about friendships. He's been hurt, mad and sad lately. I knew he needed a way to express his emotions because he felt very alone and frustrated, so I asked him if he would like to start writing his own blog. When I didn't know where to turn in life, I started writing, so I thought maybe it would help him. It would be a creative outlet, something to turn his attention away from those people who were making his life miserable. Maybe this would be a way to get his mind off his troubles, use his creativity, and maybe even start setting those goals for his future. <br />
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I think the suggestion of beginning his own blog surprised him. At first he acted like I was insane, but several weeks later, he did it! I got an email from school one day with the subject "blog". I smiled. The poor boy is a lot like is mom.<br />
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Here it is ladies and gentlemen... my boy's very own blog: <b>Hunter's Gameplan</b><br />
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<i>When Peyton Manning retired no one was surprised. You could feel him slip away over the course of the last couple of years. When his numbers went down in 2014, it was easy to assume that his career was coming to an end. In comparison to his 2013 fifty-five touchdowns in a single season, who would have thought that in 2015 he would throw more interceptions than touchdown’s? However, in 2016, Manning showed amazing resilience, going out on top with a Super Bowl win. In order to claim the victory, he had to rely more on his run game and defense, rather than his raw talent and amazing arm of years prior.</i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When reflecting on Super Bowl wins for Denver, it is hard for me not to compare the performance of Peyton to that of John Elway. Elway, the only other quarterback to ever bring home a Super Bowl victory for the Broncos, happens to be my favorite player of all time. When comparing the two player’s games, it is easy to see that Elway had a much better running game than Manning's. In Elway’s last two years, he brought home 2 Super Bowl victories. He ended his career stronger than Manning's with higher stats and a Super Bowl MVP award.<br />
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Now that their season has ended in victory, it is hard to see what the future holds for Denver. With the absence of Manning and Brock Osweiler leaving for Houston, next year's path seems uncertain. One thing I know for sure is that Peyton Manning will be a first ballot Hall of Famer.<br />
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http://huntersgameplan.blogspot.com<br />
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</i><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-67377846143464185162016-04-21T14:38:00.001-07:002016-04-21T14:38:20.042-07:00<iframe src="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bMcTPxTHUZ3Nt9YAo6ZYbbGcrOVEgxmaNyfyxsbkj5M/pub?embedded=true"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-14028095275081564182016-01-13T19:16:00.000-08:002016-01-13T19:31:57.286-08:00A little word with the genius who scheduled finals after Christmas BreakSome genius, who obviously doesn't have children, and definitely doesn't have kiddos on the spectrum, decided to schedule finals for the second week after Christmas Break. I try not to have ill-will towards others. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't have hopes that this person is suffering from severe bouts of insomnia, stomach aches, and a few nightmares after they finally get to sleep.<br />
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<a href="http://images.guff.com/gallery/image/dee735d224c002a825cadf43625763b9" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="pris-lazy-loaded" src="http://images.guff.com/gallery/image/dee735d224c002a825cadf43625763b9" data-original="http://images.guff.com/gallery/image/dee735d224c002a825cadf43625763b9" height="197" rel="<p class="fr-tag">Peppermint Patty, I hear ya girl.</p>" style="display: block;" width="200" /></a>Let me get this straight, the proper decision for our childrens' education is to send them on a two week break from school; fill them with lots of junk food, candy and cookies; get them completely off their schedules; make sure they are getting way less sleep than normal and get them excited about gifts, snow, and the new year. Then, let them start the new school year with a week filled with trying to get into a routine, eating right, getting to bed at a normal time and doing homework. Meanwhile, the parents are failing miserably at getting an entire household back into the swing of things and are completely exhausted. Now, let's have the week after the recovery week be filled with exams that can make or break semester grades. Let's make sure these exams are filled with information they learned long before they had a two week Christmas Break Party and a week of boot camp to get them back on track.<br />
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Sounds like a great idea to me...<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-68795661588369167342015-11-02T11:22:00.005-08:002015-11-02T14:37:33.415-08:00Halloween 2015-The spooky year of transition into teenagerism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Halloween 2013</div>
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Halloween 2014</div>
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For many kiddos on the spectrum, Halloween can be very difficult. It is complete sensory overload. The costumes, candles, not to mention the sugar and food dyes galore...it can be an autism parent's worst nightmare. Early on, Hunter struggled with the candles in Jack 'o lanterns. Battery operated candles were an amazing thing for us because they didn't give him the same anxiety. Costumes were also stressful for him because he didn't like anything over his face, and they were uncomfortable. We were able to work around this by picking costumes accordingly.<br />
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Through the years, Halloween has become a very important holiday for our family. It has been a great source of fun and togetherness. It has been a great way of escaping stress and concentrating on creating memories. From the time Hunter was very young, we started having family costumes. Then, when Grant was born we continued the tradition. Since both boys were old enough to contribute, we have decided as a family on our yearly theme. <br />
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We dress our house up in Halloween silliness. I love witches hats and boots, lots of lights and candles (battery operated of course), and some sparkly skulls thrown in for good measure. In the past few years, I have added in some hanging ghouls a flying ghost, and a dancing skeleton to make things a little less "cute", per the boys' request. Everything from the costumes (including the dog's), the decorations, and the pumpkin carving is a family affair.<br />
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As Halloween approached this year, things were a little different. We had our family costume (eggs, bacon, a cook, and a waitress). The decorations inside and out were hung and lit up like a Christmas Tree. The candy was purchased. Halloween cookies (you know...the slice and bake kind) were baked over and over throughout the entire month of October. Everything was the same, except one thing...my teenage son was growing up.<br />
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For the first time ever, he mentioned going to a haunted house with his friends. I inwardly cringed. We have never really been the family who was into the scary stuff (remember sparkly skulls). Sure we had added a few mildly scary things to our Halloween collection, but they were still fun and cute. I couldn't imagine how he would manage the over abundance of sensory nightmares that would come along with a haunted house. The darkness, loud noises, scary people...it just wasn't his cup of tea. He still hides his eyes at scary commercials. He mentioned it to me several times, and each time I would go along with his plan. I wasn't going to be the mom who kept him from trying something new. I knew I had to let him grow up and find some things out for himself. <br />
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Finally, the weekend came when his friends were going to the haunted house. On the way home from school on Friday, he asked if his dad or I could take him. I said, "Sure...ummm...but are you sure you want to go. I mean, I was never into the haunted house stuff myself, but if you want to go, we will get you there. By the way, you know Grandma and Grandpa are going to be in town, so we might be doing something with them. If you want to go with your friends, that's totally fine. Just let me know, and I will arrange things accordingly." Then, I took a deep breath. I wanted him to make the decision for himself. I knew he felt the pressure to be one of the cool guys. Now he had an out. He also had the ability to go if he wanted to...no pressure...<br />
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Later that evening, he came to me and said, "I don't think I'm going to the haunted house on Sunday. It's $30 and I don't want to spend that much to go. Plus, I'd rather just hang out with the family." I quietly thought to myself<em>...I would have paid the $30, and did you just say you wanted to hang out with the family? Hath hell frozen over</em>. Instead, I said, "OK buddy. Whatever you want to do. Just let me know if you change your mind, and we will work something out. I never heard about it again.<br />
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My hubby and I decided to have some of Hunter's buddies over the night before Halloween. He was so excited. We had the house all decorated like normal. We put black lights in every corner of the house to spook it up. We ordered pizza and stuffed them full of sugary soft drinks and candy. They watched a couple of scary movies and screamed their full heads off. Hunter isn't a fan of scary movies, but he wasn't about to tell them that. He was so excited to have his buddies around him, in his home, with dad in the room (for a little added protection haha). <br />
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That night, after everyone had had left, he walked into our room and said, "Thanks so much for doing that for me tonight. Everyone really had fun." He couldn't wipe the smile off of his face. He slept with his light on that night, but he was so very happy!<br />
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Halloween night, he wore the bacon costume. He wasn't as excited as normal to put it on and run out the door to trick or treat, but he wore it and thought he was pretty cool. Late that night, Grant, Hunter, and my hubby had a candy lottery... otherwise known as my husband's way of stealing the kid's candy. I just left that between the boys, as I sat back and drank my glass of wine. Cheers to a Halloween that was a little scarier than normal, for many reasons, but also pretty amazing!<br />
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Halloween 2105</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-19042227349047715172015-10-26T14:16:00.001-07:002015-10-29T15:00:54.533-07:00Finding strength through the struggle<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white;"><a blog="" claim="6nkp9q68nee"" href="https://www.blogger.com/%3C/font%3E%3Ca%20href=" www.bloglovin.com=""><span style="color: white;">Follow"><span style="background-color: white;">http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/12355085/?claim=6nkp9q68nee">Follow</span></span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: white;"> my blog with Bloglovin</span></span></div>
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I saw this quote several months ago, and it hit me. It touched something in my soul. I immediately wrote it down in my journal, and then wrote my own words underneath.</div>
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<em>This whole mothering thing is a tough job. It's a constant battle of knowing what to do and when to do it. When to say a lot and when to say a little. There is continuous doubt about whether we are doing it right. The amazing thing is that no matter how scared or unsure we are in ourselves, or how many times we "mess up", we find the inner strength to keep going.</em></div>
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Then, I sat my pen and journal down and didn't picked it up again for months. Why? Because I wasn't sure what to say. I normally have my stuff together. Not now. Right now, I feel slightly defeated. I know that's not the a positive thing to say. That's part of the reason I haven't written for a while. I started writing this blog almost three years ago because I wanted to be a light to all of those moms (and dads) who needed it. I didn't want to write the sad posts about how hard this whole "Autism Mommy" gig really is because who really wants to hear that?</div>
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Last week I was determined to write again, so I sat down, grabbed my pen, and this is what I wrote:</div>
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<em>Struggle is the word of the day. As I sat down this morning with my journal and a cup of coffee in hand, all I could think about was my recent struggles to get my thoughts from my head to paper. As I started writing my rambling thoughts, there seemed to be one resounding theme..."Everything is a struggle." I struggle with how to parent. My oldest son is a being incredibly difficult most days. My youngest son is acting out. My confidence as a Mom has plummeted. My thoughts are foggy. How am I going to be a "Sassy Aspie Mom" when all I have are "Debbie Downer" thoughts? </em><br />
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<em>As my oldest son with Aspergers enters this new stage, I just hope I am able to give him what he needs. Sometimes that seems like an impossible task. I find myself wanting to pull back and allow him to become his own man. I struggle with allowing him to fail. I struggle with knowing what my role actually is at this time of his life. Some days he still needs me a lot. Other days, he doesn't want me around at all. He is struggling to find his way. I am struggling to find my new role in his life. His new responsibilities on his path to become an adult are starting to overwhelm him, and I am struggling to help him navigate it all.</em> </div>
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After I wrote those thoughts, I closed my journal and put my pen down. I sat and drank my coffee and then went about my day. Writing is normally my therapy, but lately, I just haven't had it in me. I haven't had the ability to give advice or even tell a great uplifting story because motherhood has truly been a struggle.</div>
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This morning, I grabbed my journal because I needed to write again. I wanted to get my thoughts on paper. Before I started to write, I looked back at my last few entries and realized that I had already written what I needed to say. My story was written in those small journal entries when I didn't have anything left to give. It wasn't uplifting or funny. It was just the true story of this "Sassy Aspie Mom's" life. Right now things are damn hard. Parenting a child with Aspergers through the teenage years is definitely a struggle, and my story is no exception.</div>
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The truth is, birth is about making strong competent, capable mothers, but strength isn't given to us. Rather, it is earned through pain and tears and and fear and doubt and love and compassion and excepting our mistakes and loving ourselves despite it all. It is because of those struggle, not in spite of them, that we finally begin to trust ourselves and gain that amazing inner strength that makes motherhood such a gift.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-55959123372290624352015-08-31T09:23:00.003-07:002015-09-03T08:06:14.793-07:00Life is not a sprint, it's a marathonHere I sit in bed. It's 12:30 a.m. Hunter starts school tomorrow. Not just any school, high school...the final 4 years before real life begins. He is still awake too. I have gone into his room off and on for the past 2 hours since he went to bed to check on him. He is tossing and turning. I know he is nervous, and I feel helpless because I can't take away those first-day-of- school-jitters. <br />
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The entire summer, I have been in a state of denial that this whole high school thing was actually happening. Then, a few weeks ago, I started having this familiar, uneasy feeling. It was a gut wrenching, sick at my stomach feeling. Yesterday, I realized that the last time I had this same feeling was when Hunter started Kindergarten. It really woke me up to what was about to happen.<br />
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Just like the beginning of Kindergarten, I know we are starting a new journey full of beginnings and unexpected turns. I know Hunter doesn't always navigate those new experiences well. Many things are similar to the beginning of Kindergarten, but unlike 10 years ago, I know this is it. I won't be taking his nervous little hand and walking him into his classroom. Instead, he will be nervously walking himself into this new experience. I'm getting closer and closer to the end of my journey as his helper. Sure, I'll always be there for him, but in 3 years, he will be 18. In 4 years, he could potentially be going to college. What then? <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwgXEWxwJf9-0_Lsx0RDyNgQkIyLyjkPc64Cqtv76DgRKwAMkDfxykvNhULPzjVX3C0gAyYkcne88kESVzZIGEya26Ej7zozTXUD34Of3TTux7FaxXXA0SNj5d9DUyV20Q-xv_ssZhMQ/s1600/155e3f2eb170d45568118f63cd432a01+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwgXEWxwJf9-0_Lsx0RDyNgQkIyLyjkPc64Cqtv76DgRKwAMkDfxykvNhULPzjVX3C0gAyYkcne88kESVzZIGEya26Ej7zozTXUD34Of3TTux7FaxXXA0SNj5d9DUyV20Q-xv_ssZhMQ/s200/155e3f2eb170d45568118f63cd432a01+%25282%2529.jpg" width="198" /></a>I'm at the stage of this mothering journey where things are getting very real. Our path to get here has been very tough at times. It has been filled with therapies and IEP meetings; calls, notes, and emails to and from teachers; and hours upon hours of strenuous homework battles. The stress at times has seemed like more than I could bear. Now, I look into the future with more and more concern. These 4 years will determine his future. Will he go to a 4-year college, 2-year college or trade school? Will he ever be able to live on his own? The uncertainty is very scary. <br />
<br />
Four years will come in the blink of an eye. I have a feeling it's going to be a bumpy ride, but we will ride it out together. In the end, I hope that whatever the next 4 years bring, they will end with Hunter being well rounded, happy, and excited for his amazing future. I have to keep reminding myself that at the beginning of Kindergarten, I was completely uncertain about what the future would bring, but look at him now!! There is a lot more work to be done to get him where he needs to be, but look how far he's come. After all, life is not a sprint, it's a marathon, and right now all I can do is take this race one step at a time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-60191643418791661082015-07-15T11:07:00.000-07:002015-07-15T11:08:38.392-07:00He is my teacher by guest blogger Jessica at My Extraordinary Child<em>At Sassy Aspie Mom, I'm about keeping things real. That's why I love to share other bloggers who tell their stories in such an open and honest way. Today, I am thrilled to have Jessica, from My Extraordinary child, as my guest blogger. You will truly enjoy reading her story below and make sure to visit her website </em><a href="http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/"><em>http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He is My Teacher <br />
<br />
Yesterday was the kind of day that had brought so much emotion. Maybe it had more so been the series of events leading up to it, but either way that is where I had arrived. It was time for our night time routine and my son had earned a sleepover with me since he had enough stickers. Now don't judge I am desperately trying out new things to encourage positive behaviors. This is our new method. Negative reinforcement just gets lost, there have been way too many treats given out, and this is what I have left. Anyway, after spending over an hour trying to convince him to clean up all the money from Monopoly that covered my kitchen floor, it was most definitely time for bed. <br />
<br />
Every night I do our usual prayer and sayings and last night was so different. I try to mix them up for a reason, but just trust me that this doesn't ever go unnoticed when I do so. After we went through it all I decided to just lay with him until he fell asleep. It's not that I don't or haven't had concern that my son has been diagnosed with ASD, it's that some days it just hits all over again. As we lay there we talked about sounds of the house and why he couldn't sleep. He mentioned sounds I hadn't even noticed. As he communicates more it all becomes so much more clear to me. I watched him as he went through all his stims. First he made shapes with his fingers, put his fingers over his eyes, and made specific movements with his mouth. He did it all on repeat yet looked over and smiled at me in between. He even said "I love you in Polish." I was trying to teach him how to say I love you in polish earlier on yesterday, but he took it quite literally and now that is exactly what he says, "I love you in Polish." My heart melted and in that moment I just felt tears streaming down my face slowly. I just stayed there watching him try to sleep and was thinking about all he goes through each day, let alone all he battles just to fall asleep. <br />
<br />
At one point he looked back over at me, and as it became clear that he had no reaction to my tears, I cried even harder. There are days I worry for him and for those he will encounter along the way. I know that he is simply an amazingly beautiful and brilliant child. My worry at times is how the world will effect him? Then I think about what he tells me. He tells me that he is teaching his therapists how to play with toys. He probably does see it that way and wonder at times what is wrong with the rest of us? Why are we doing such strange things? Why do we not notice what he does? Why don't we see what he does? It makes me laugh when I think about it. While I spend my days trying to teach him about the world, he has taught me far more in just three years than I could ever teach him.<br />
<br />
I am so grateful to get the opportunity to raise such an incredible child. If I had half his strength, point of view, or listening skills I would be far better person than I am today. In moments like that, it's when it all clicks again. He is my teacher. While I may be helping him in some ways, what he has taught me is far more than I could ever teach him. Times like this always repeat and they are needed. The truth is that today I am humbled and I will be one day again. How did I ever get this lucky? Sometimes it's clear that I don't need to ask how the world is going to affect him, I need to ask how he is going to effect the world. <br />
<br />
Of course this blog called for one of my favorites. A little JJ Heller.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-64694797740457868782015-07-03T12:48:00.001-07:002015-07-03T12:55:57.410-07:00She never gives up<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Imitation: the assumption of behavior observed in other individuals.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
Examples: Children learn by imitation of adults.</span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h4>
Charles Caleb Colton said, "Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery." Nothing can be more true than when the imitation comes from your child. <br />
<br />
At
school, for Mother's Day, Grant (my NT, 9 year-old son) was asked to
write some things in a card to describe his Mom. He wrote many sweet
things in this card about me cheering for him at baseball games,
volunteering for the PTA, writing a blog, but the one thing he said that
touched my heart was, "She never gives up." I actually cried as I read
this handmade treasure.<br />
<br />
Later, when it was just he and I
together, I asked him what made him say that about me. He said,
"Because when something is hard in life, you work and work until you
figure out how to get it done right, and when things get hard with
Hunter (my 14 year-old son with Asperger's), you keep going. You never give up on him."<br />
<br />
This
little boy never ceases to amaze me. I feel like he has endured so
much, yet he is so happy. Living with an older brother on the spectrum
is not always a cake walk, especially when Hunter is in his not-so-fun
teenage years, and you are his younger brother i.e. punching bag. There
are days Grant struggles with it, but most days, he takes it in stride.
He has dealt with his dyslexia like a champ and moving from Indiana to
Texas like he had done it a million times. Day in and day out, he has
such a zest for life. He has a contagious belly laugh and an amazing
intuitive gift for being able to make everyone around him feel better. I
could learn so much from imitating him.<br />
<br />
Grant was
diagnosed with dyslexia in first grade. Last year, in second grade, he
was struggling. He was a year into his diagnosis and frustrated. He was
down on himself. He felt dumb. It saddened me to see him so broken. I
would read to him everyday, and have him read to me. It wasn't always
fun. He fought me tooth and nail most days. At the beginning of this
school year, something changed. He wanted to read. He was actually
getting in trouble at school for reading during class. His teachers were
amazingly encouraging. His confidence peaked. The boy turned into an
avid reader. By the end of this school year (3rd grade), he was reading
at a fifth grade level... and once again I cried.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSQTWhd97hjinFRdlyyLma3BghfIwgnlTaVjGNgqCiqOhGTxE_AIxi5i6d9latktbserRZCjgwcwXye4cG1fwISBoq-e-5Onkj191tzJjJv23A5veYrrecoWLGNnAGMTf6InqX1x7L9c/s1600/WP_20150609_001+1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSQTWhd97hjinFRdlyyLma3BghfIwgnlTaVjGNgqCiqOhGTxE_AIxi5i6d9latktbserRZCjgwcwXye4cG1fwISBoq-e-5Onkj191tzJjJv23A5veYrrecoWLGNnAGMTf6InqX1x7L9c/s320/WP_20150609_001+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In June, we always go home for the "Sommerfest"
in my home town in Indiana. On the Saturday morning of the 3-day event,
there is a 5K walk/run. Our family always participates. In the past,
Grant was just too small to walk that far, so he would do the much
smaller run for the younger children. This was his last year to do that
run, but when I went to sign him up, he said, "I want to do the walk
with you guys this year." I warned him that he would need to get
conditioned in order to walk that far since he's not used to doing it.
He assured me he would, so we decided to start walking on Monday
morning. <br />
<br />
Sure enough, on Monday morning (the first day
of summer break, no less), before I'd had my first cup of coffee, I was
met with Grant in his running shoes. He had his sunglasses on and a
water bottle in his hand. We started out slowly, with a mile. Then a
mile and a half. We walked every morning until we left for our trip. On
the morning of the walk, he was up and ready to go. He walked that 5K
like a champ, and when he was all done, he looked at me and said, "I
didn't give up."<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder if I am making an
impact on my kids lives. I worry that I am not doing enough to guide
them in the right direction. I often wonder if I am equipping them with
the right tools to maneuver this difficult world. After all, parenting
doesn't come with a manual. Then, Grant finishes that walk, learns to
read, and reaches his goals because he "didn't give up". I know I'm
making a lot of mistakes along this journey, but I actually got this one
right! <br />
<br />
<h3>
</h3>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-38394639424059749392015-06-01T20:39:00.000-07:002015-06-09T05:25:31.297-07:00He did it!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2s0Mf9jKSWJklErKmSkyklbxB6rNZrWuZiXFBe3iaIQg4Cr0cuL6RsxLOKN6eKzLz7JC3CicSB767eVX0eIsgB7BHTt2SW3nGHDpd7AtX_GLX_dK8tDxpfHR90-2Pdr9df2lapk6e2iA/s1600/WP_20150526_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2s0Mf9jKSWJklErKmSkyklbxB6rNZrWuZiXFBe3iaIQg4Cr0cuL6RsxLOKN6eKzLz7JC3CicSB767eVX0eIsgB7BHTt2SW3nGHDpd7AtX_GLX_dK8tDxpfHR90-2Pdr9df2lapk6e2iA/s320/WP_20150526_006.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He did it!!! He passed 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade!!! As I waited
for the ceremony to begin, I couldn’t help reflect on the difficulties we had
been through in the past 9 months. As I mentioned in my previous post, this
school year has been very difficult. We switched Hunter to a new school because
the public school he was attending just wasn’t working. The kids were not
loving and excepting of one another. He felt like he didn’t fit in with the
other kids. He felt different. We knew we needed to make a change, so
we did. The school we chose was much more academically challenging for him,
which wasn’t great, but the kids at his knew school were amazing. When we
toured the school, we noticed the commodorey between the students and teachers.
The atmosphere of the school was refreshing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The students at the new school loved Hunter from Day 1. He
felt excepted. He knew he could be himself. As his Mom, it was amazing to watch
him grow and not feel stifled by the typical middle school status quo.
Throughout the year, he would yell at me for “doing this to him, " when the work was hard. I took it
with a grain of salt because I saw an amazing change in him. Yes, the homework
was difficult. He wasn’t able to keep up with every expectation the school had of
him. It was frustrating at times. Through it all though, he was learning a much
more important lesson. He was learning to love himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tears welled in my eyes as they called his name. I watched him strut across that stage with a new found
confidence to receive his diploma. The students cheered loudly, chanting his
name. These students didn’t see my Hunter as a kid with Asperger’s. No, there
was no label put next to his name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, they saw my Hunter as cool, quirky, funny, tall, and I’m
guessing some of the girls found him pretty darned cute (I would totally be
embarrassing him right now). Yes, the teacher, parents, and grandparents in
that room had taught the young men and women many things, but at this moment ,
the students were teaching all of us so much more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-35723161832562974842015-06-01T20:10:00.000-07:002015-06-02T18:06:04.233-07:00Sometimes you have to throw up the white flag and say “enough”!<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The past few months have been really difficult around our
house. Hunter has been shutting down, slowly but surely. Things became much worse when we
returned home from my Grandmother’s funeral in March. I don’t know if it was
her death; the fact that it was around spring break; the extra week off because of our trip for the funeral; the break in
his routine; or that state standardized tests were the week we came
back. I really don’t have any answers. I only know that he had given up.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He began eating sweetener and sugar by the truckload, which
is his typical sign of distress. He began scavenging for any and every kind of
food he could find in the house, whenever we weren’t looking. Then, he kicked
out the windshield to my car. He kicked out the windshield because I asked him
if he ate my M&M’s I had hidden in the cabinet (don’t judge, sometimes a
girl needs chocolate to survive). That’s all I asked. That’s what caused him to
take his size 14 shoe and kick it through the windshield of my car.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Does he have rage issues? No, not normally. He talks back
quite often. He will push his brother sometimes. He might tear up a piece of
paper if he gets mad or throw something, but cause destruction to this
magnitude, this was a first. What caused this sudden burst of anger? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have any explanations, other than he
was just at his breaking point.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t know what to do. I had fear. He is 6’ 5” tall and
weighs what I do. Could he hurt me? Absolutely yes, he could seriously hurt me.
Would he? I truly believed he wouldn’t, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I immediately spoke with his resource teacher, explained what was
going on in our home, and basically told her I didn’t have anything left, and I
wasn’t willing to take the chance of him hurting me or his brother in another
fit of rage. I immediately gave up the nightly struggle of homework and trying
to decipher if he was telling me the truth about his workload. I began asking
him if he had homework and then taking him at his word, even though I knew he
was being dishonest most of the time. I surrendered. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I let the feelings of inadequacy
go. I had to for me, for him, and for our family. The nightly struggle wasn’t
worth it anymore. He needed the break and so did I, so we took it. Meanwhile, I
hoped and prayed that he would pass 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade. I went through 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
grade myself and now I felt like I was trying to pass for a second time. I
didn’t have a third time in me. Guess what…he passed! WE did it!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gUzkLfTFcSMbF4mmMkotsQLdyRo3si1712yLSCnaCvjeMQK48g0l3qkxu_ehJMT3zvuZv1M8nNhEYBUfp_bReDUyBXUZWhHr4wPX4yp5O3WODgaoQRIKrlShAty_Iypyyd2hnBFx3Tw/s1600/c1312b55d80331db2f8ba5b280e2673d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gUzkLfTFcSMbF4mmMkotsQLdyRo3si1712yLSCnaCvjeMQK48g0l3qkxu_ehJMT3zvuZv1M8nNhEYBUfp_bReDUyBXUZWhHr4wPX4yp5O3WODgaoQRIKrlShAty_Iypyyd2hnBFx3Tw/s320/c1312b55d80331db2f8ba5b280e2673d.jpg" width="316" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe life is constantly teaching us something if we
will just stop long enough to learn from it. What did I learn from this? I
learned that there are times when it is okay to stop fighting. Sometimes you have to throw
up the white flag and say “enough”! This time
it was essential for my sanity and safety. It was also good for him. I tend to
hold his hand and lead him through life, but sometimes it stifles him. I needed
to step back in order for him to grow.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought long and
hard about sharing this story with all of you, but the truth is, this is our
life. It is the never ending feeling of confusion, the constant feeling that
the floor might drop out from under your feet at any given moment. Never knowing
what is around the corner is mentally exhausting. Not having any answers or any
true way to help your child cope with these emotions he has trapped inside is
frustrating beyond belief. It is hard to know when to hold his feet to the fire
and when to let things go; when to teach, and when to let him learn on his own.
This time, I surrendered and the world did not<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>come to an end. Instead, I could breath again, and so could he. Another
life lesson learned.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-25754454857926273032015-05-26T06:15:00.002-07:002015-05-26T06:29:58.398-07:00Be my guest...Jessica Nieminski from MY EXTRAORDINARY CHILD<h3>
Today I am thrilled to have Jessica Nieminski from MY EXTRAORDINARY CHILD as my Guest Blogger on Sassy Aspie Mom. Her story is sweet and inspiring. Make sure to visit her at <a href="http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/blog">http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/blog</a>. </h3>
<span style="color: #0714cd; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #0714cd; font-size: large;"><strong>Superhero: a fictional hero having extraordinary or superhuman powers; an exceptionally </strong></span><span style="line-height: 43px;"><strong><span style="color: #0714cd;"><span style="font-size: large;">skillful or successful person - Merriam-Webster Dictionary<span style="display: none; line-height: 0;"></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span class="imgPusher" style="float: left; height: 0px;"></span><span style="clear: left; display: table; float: left; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%; position: relative; width: 360px; z-index: 10;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><img alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" src="http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/uploads/2/9/6/0/29607843/1421879048.jpg?342" style="border-width: 1px; margin: 5px 10px 10px 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 3px;" /></a><span class="wsite-caption" style="caption-side: bottom; display: table-caption; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: center;"></span></span> <br />
<div class="paragraph" style="display: block;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">When the time came for me to have children, there were a lot of options and situations that I knew I needed to be prepared for. Though I have to admit, majority of my thoughts were about choosing nursery bedding and baby names. Would I use cloth diapers or regular? What stroller and diaper bag should I get? While many things came to mind, it had never occurred to me that I needed to prepare myself to raise a real life superhero. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">When I see my son, I don't just see a child with Autism that needs help to be part of the world. I see a superhero who can teach me and others far more about the world than I could ever teach him. I see the most amazing, dedicated, triumphant child who has a unique skill set unlike any other. I see a boy with the truest, honest, kindest heart that I've ever seen. I see a boy with great passion for life and extraordinary interests. He is a person with a special connection to extraordinary individuals and a trusting heart that doesn't judge. I see so many magnificent qualities in him, but the reality is that it is not all cake and rainbows.</span> <span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">The hardest part about raising a superhero is watching the battles that they encounter daily. Watching them not only battle the outside forces in their environment, but the battle within their own body. There is no way to truly document how that feels as a mother because it is indescribable. However, watching your child discover the world in a way that most people could never imagine is the indescribable counterbalance to it all. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">Everyone has their own philosophy on how to raise a child on the spectrum and I respect that. For me, the question often isn't about how to raise a child with autism. It is how can I help foster his inner superhero? How can I help him build upon the wonderful foundation that he already has, and how can I help further develop the person that he is? It is hard as an autism parent; mostly because there is a fine line between trying to help faciliate the kind of growth that will better prepare him for this world and how and when to let him soar and just be him. I think many parents of children on the spectrum struggle trying to find exactly where that line is in a life full of therapists and interventions. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">You spend every day trying to live in what feels like the same world as your child. You spend countless hours lovingly trying to bring him/her into your world and stay there. A world that brings them extreme discomfort and pain. In order to even make my first real connection with my son, I had to enter his world and I think that should really count for something. I may be uncomfortable with his world because just like my world is to him, it brings me extreme discomfort. With that said, he loves his world and I feel that has to count for a lot when deciding where that fine line is. To be honest, I don't think that we really live in different worlds, we just see and feel things differently.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">As a parent of a child with autism you need to go outside of your comfort zone and think more about when to step in and when to help foster the inner superhero inside of them. You see, according to the dictionary a superhero is a fictional hero, but I don't agree. When I see my son, see what he can do, and see how he perceives and combats the world on a daily basis, it is clear to me that superheroes are indeed very real. There is nothing fictitious about them, and I couldn't be prouder to be raising one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: x-small;">Today's blog is dedicated to all the real life superheroes and extraordinary children out there. May we all feel the blessings of your presence and the amazing qualities that you possess and bring to our world. Thank you for all that you do!</span><br />
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Jessica Nieminski<br />
<a href="http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/blog">http://www.myextraordinarychild.com/blog</a></div>
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A loving mother who won't stop until this world presents more love and opportunity for all children.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-22395537743842101252015-05-19T08:48:00.001-07:002015-05-19T08:50:09.434-07:00Maybe my opinion does matter...at least a littleSeveral months ago, during a car ride home from school, Hunter informed me that my opinion didn't matter to him. This shouldn't come as a shock to me. He pretty much says that through his actions each and every day. After all, he is a teenager who also has Asperger's Syndrome. He tells me what he is thinking, no matter what! Those words shouldn't have surprised me, but they did. I should no longer be hurt by his stinging words, but I was. I held it together while we were in the car. When we got home, I went into my bathroom and cried. It felt like he had physically punched me in the gut. <br />
<br />
I know I have many years left of him thinking I'm pretty darned stupid. I know that as long as I'm telling him what to do and not do, I will be labeled the "Worst Parent on the Face of the Earth" by him. He tells me that constantly. This was different. When he said my opinion didn't matter to him, I heard that I didn't matter to him. I heard that nothing I have taught him had stuck. I heard that I wasn't important to him. I can handle him being pissed off at me for being his parent. However, I couldn't imagine not meaning anything in the fabric of his life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lOVMq7KJayX2iRFtvOTx6bPSlNDSCt7R89SDs-wqlQAjQQyWgd3PomxDE9cNy7pZg79gsW4UuQRQSttwXyCP6UiF5dEy_XbIabCp35SsVzrcQn0iVotz5ahyphenhyphenxumRDAqtk6yPZZwuG9Y/s1600/ad28bb8f580323e6a8ecdb9ad1dcf2d0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lOVMq7KJayX2iRFtvOTx6bPSlNDSCt7R89SDs-wqlQAjQQyWgd3PomxDE9cNy7pZg79gsW4UuQRQSttwXyCP6UiF5dEy_XbIabCp35SsVzrcQn0iVotz5ahyphenhyphenxumRDAqtk6yPZZwuG9Y/s320/ad28bb8f580323e6a8ecdb9ad1dcf2d0.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
Then, a few weeks ago, he had his first real school dance. He had been to another dance, but it was a fun dance for groups of friends. This was different. Many of his friends had invited girls to this dance. He had not invited anyone as his "date", but I could tell he was feeling extra pressure to fit in and be one of the guys.<br />
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The theme of the dance was "Hollywood". The students were supposed to dress like they were on a red carpet. I asked Hunter what he was going to wear, and he said sweats. Well, that wasn't going to work. I told him we were going to have to do some shopping. He didn't argue. My boy, who hates to shop with every square inch of his very tall body, did not argue! He said, "Okay, when are we going?" My car was already headed to the mall.<br />
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When we got to the store, he told me he wanted to wear a bow tie and jeans. I actually thought he would look very handsome and Hollywood-ish in that, so he picked out a bow tie and together we picked a shirt that would coordinate. He never once complained. He was actually excited. <br />
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That Friday night was his big "Hollywood Premiere". He got dressed in his bow tie, coordinating shirt, jeans, Sperry-like shoes and, of course, coordinating socks (Hunter's socks always have to coordinate...it's his thing). He asked me to fix his hair to look nice, so I did. He actually asked me to fix his hair..what??? He looked extremely handsome. Of course, I had to embarrass him with a million pictures. I wouldn't be fulfilling my role as "Worst Mother on the Face of the Earth." if I didn't. He just rolled his eyes at me. Then, as we were leaving the house to take him to the dance, something totally unexpected happened. He turned to me, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Thanks Mom for helping me with my new outfit and fixing my hair." I said, "You're welcome buddy." Then, I turned around as tears ran down my cheeks. <br />
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This role of parenting a teenager isn't easy. I know I'm making lots of mistakes as I go along. I know there are many days Hunter doesn't like me at all. This night also confirmed that he needs me at least in some small way. Even if he doesn't realize it, my opinion really does matter, at least a little. I do have an influence in his life. Somewhere deep down, he might even think I'm kind of cool...well, that might be a stretch! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-6109741969526993682015-04-20T16:39:00.004-07:002015-04-22T07:40:35.863-07:00I will be his co-pilot<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Last week I began designing an 8<sup>th</sup> grade
recognition ad for Hunter’s school yearbook. I wanted to put a baby picture of
him in it, so I began searching through tons of old photos. I found my favorite
picture of this sweet boy at the age of 18 months with bright eyes and a
glowing smile. Then, I saw the pictures of him at 3 and beyond, and the light
in his eyes was gone. It was as if something had been stripped from him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried hard to recall what our life was like
back then, but I realized that my memories of Hunter as a toddler were few and
far between. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuMU2UbD8aMIgcBTXloe5nL9VE1XoBOdm9KA6W2BjrVaxFJciPdaW43imLE09WeXmrwMHyHwUABwJt0gAxzZ82E7JbmBkDRFr3d9fuiM-hG2eN1ZthlcMEdMI1KdQp4kQLvKCLwe-jEs/s1600/WP_20150408_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuMU2UbD8aMIgcBTXloe5nL9VE1XoBOdm9KA6W2BjrVaxFJciPdaW43imLE09WeXmrwMHyHwUABwJt0gAxzZ82E7JbmBkDRFr3d9fuiM-hG2eN1ZthlcMEdMI1KdQp4kQLvKCLwe-jEs/s1600/WP_20150408_003.jpg" height="320" width="156" /></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">From the time of Hunter’s diagnosis, I think my mind just
went on auto-pilot. I was so overwhelmed with what I needed to do for my little
boy, that there just wasn’t enough room for any clutter. Every day I would read
more, speak with more ”experts”, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>work
for his rights at school, manage tantrums, and try desperately to hold it
all together. I was scared and unsure of how to do the right things for my
little boy. It just felt like a crazy balancing act, but we made it day by day
and year by year.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Every year since Hunter’s diagnosis has been challenging in
different ways, but his eighth grade year has by far been the toughest. There
have been many days and weeks, when I just didn’t think I had it in me anymore.
I felt like one more night of sitting through hours of homework might just kill
me. The hormones mixed with his need for independence mixed with the overall
challenges of Asperger’s have been more than overwhelming. Now that he is 6
weeks from graduating from 8<sup>th</sup> grade, it is difficult for me to put
into words the amount of struggles, hard work, tears and love that have gone
into making sure he made it to this point. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am just so very grateful to have made it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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Unfortunately, I look forward with an immense amount of
apprehension. I thought by now he would understand the importance of school,
but he just doesn’t. He may never get it. High school is going to be a whole
new ballgame. I fear we could be heading towards our biggest struggle yet. <o:p></o:p>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">As he is entering a new stage of his life, I feel my role as
his mother is changing. I once again feel the need to desperately hold it all
together. I want so much to take away his struggles, but I am realizing that I
can no longer do it all. He is going to have to take on some of this responsibility.
He is going to have to figure it out for himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I feel scared and unsure of how to
do the right thing. Only this time, it is for my 6’5”, not so little boy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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As I look back at how far we have come and look forward to the
unknown, I hold one thing close to my heart. When I sat in the doctor’s office
and he gave me Hunter’s diagnosis, my heart raced out of my chest with worry
and concern and fear for the unknown. Now here I am years later with so many
unanswered questions and aware that he has many struggles ahead, but this time,
I enter this new phase with a little extra knowledge. I know that it has all
worked out so far and it will again. Things are not going to be easy. Hunter is
going to have some growing pains in the next several years; however, he will
have me as his co-pilot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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</span></span> </span> </span> </span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-16423357695034520382015-03-31T15:13:00.000-07:002015-04-01T05:24:28.365-07:00 Sassy Aspie Mom turns 2!<em>Sassy Aspie Mom</em> turned 2 last week. It is hard to believe that it has been two years since I sat down at my desk with my lap top in front of me and a cup of hot tea in hand. I had no idea what was going to end up on the screen. .<br />
<br />
It had been a really stressful few months. We had moved; I knew very few people; and Hunter's hormones had reached an all-time high. Things were bad. My life was crazy! I didn't know how to handle his attitude. He didn't know how to deal with his emotions. Our family had come to a few crossroads, and I was at my breaking point. My husband sweetly said to me, "Why don't you start writing..." The rest is history. <br />
<br />
As I sat at that desk, staring at the computer, I knew I needed to write for my sanity. I needed to get my feelings out; like therapy, an escape, a release of negative energy. What I didn't realize was that it would ignite a passion in me. It would get my creative juices flowing. It would give me something of my own. <br />
<br />
Writing has truly been a blessing in my life, but the best gift has been the feedback from other parents. Many parents have thanked me for being so open and honest about our journey. Some have reached out because their child has been newly diagnosed or just to post positive comments. Other Autism Parent Bloggers have been welcoming and encouraging to me along the way. It has truly been an amazing experience!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboQi3gWmVnJ-h6Jp5hSe7yeuQ-L2P-V62uBWQASeDF_01EIn0w5lNzGiGyKyyAqC1iT0wJktWI7cRdLe2pwEBqyxoMkJo3_nTiXrR3Mt0ewAZzre1msdrUuQGynXmZyBEYyYqA97L_BA/s1600/d6bb69f04e5eb286667d7c54326aeefe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboQi3gWmVnJ-h6Jp5hSe7yeuQ-L2P-V62uBWQASeDF_01EIn0w5lNzGiGyKyyAqC1iT0wJktWI7cRdLe2pwEBqyxoMkJo3_nTiXrR3Mt0ewAZzre1msdrUuQGynXmZyBEYyYqA97L_BA/s1600/d6bb69f04e5eb286667d7c54326aeefe.jpg" height="234" unselectable="on" width="320" /></a>When I began writing this blog, I wasn't aware of how wonderful my new adventure would be. I only knew how alone I felt. It never occurred to me that others were feeling the same way. Now I know. Now I get that the one common bond that unites Autism moms, dad, brothers and sisters, is that we often feel isolated. We want to be surrounded by others who truly get it. It is wonderful to be understood, supported and inspired by those who are living in the trenches every day! <br />
<br />
I certainly don't have all the answers. Most days I don't have any answers at all! I'm just a mom doing the very best I can. Some days I succeed and other days I fail miserably. I don't know what's around the corner for "Sassy Aspie Mom," but I can't wait to find out. My hope is that it makes a few people feel a little less alone, and on days when things are tough, it gives hope.<br />
<br />
<strong></strong><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-80678728513129828862015-03-28T07:24:00.000-07:002015-03-28T07:51:28.340-07:00She believed in me...<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Grandmother died the morning of Wednesday, March 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>.
The entire day was surreal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it
was coming. It was no surprise, yet it was hard to believe she was gone. All
that was left were years of memories. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within the hour of her passing, I began making phone calls
for her final arrangements. Hunter was on spring break and was still sleeping
when I received the call about her death. When he heard me on the phone
discussing flowers, he looked at me with a confused stare. I slowly took the
phone from my ear and said, “I’m so sorry sweetie, Mama passed away this
morning.” His response was, “Are you kidding me?” I gently said, “No.” He
stared at me blankly, as if he didn’t know how to react. Then, he started asking
me about our plans. He wanted to know days and times for our travels and what we would be doing when we got there. He feels more in control when he know the
timing of our plans for everything including dinner, ballgames, and weekend
events, so I guess this was his way of gaining control of the situation. Then,
he went on with his day, but stayed very quiet and introverted. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spent the rest of the day on the phone trying to get
everything perfectly organized for her funeral, which was my way of taking
control of the situation. It was the only way I could emotionally deal with it all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
My hubby left work early to pick up Grant from school. When Grant
got home, I sat next to him on the sofa and told him Mama had passed away. He seemed unsure of himself, like he didn’t know if it was okay to cry
or if he was supposed to cry or whether he needed to comfort me, so I told him
it was okay to cry…he did, as I held him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the day and next few day before we left for home
were odd. We would all have moments of quiet sadness and moments of laughter.
We were busy trying to get everything ready for the trip. Laundry, phone calls
and last minute shopping were welcomed distractions from the harsh reality.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15PD15laIXfKqOvXAkPaaN940Q4m3Wj5I7fXiPpcDvVqly0vwR__qoF5QZke4rmhyphenhyphendcxnAn8azDy91hxMrLhvve_sBwWVzeeA0yTzskb1ASrH_kvfqL_SIuiePuTXSTsqHfLp_205F40/s1600/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15PD15laIXfKqOvXAkPaaN940Q4m3Wj5I7fXiPpcDvVqly0vwR__qoF5QZke4rmhyphenhyphendcxnAn8azDy91hxMrLhvve_sBwWVzeeA0yTzskb1ASrH_kvfqL_SIuiePuTXSTsqHfLp_205F40/s1600/Picture2.jpg" height="280" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the way home, I tried to write
some words about my Grandmother. In my heart, I felt like I needed to write her
eulogy. I needed to be the one to speak about this woman who was so special to
me. My Grandmother and I had always been very close. I was her only grandchild
and I looked up to her. People always told me I was the “apple of her eye”. I was definitely a complete pain in her ass. We were both stubborn. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Our
relationship was a unique blend of love, respect and a complete battle of wills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Grandmother loved me. I never
had any doubts, but she would not hesitate to call me out. I could
say anything to her. She made me demand more from myself because she demanded
it from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She believed in me
completely and always reminded me that I could be anything I wanted. She taught
me the value of hard work and that respect is earned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The thing that has struck me most
about my Grandmother’s passing is the realization of how much her belief in me shaped my
life. I didn’t really realize how much it bolstered my self-confidence and
helped me to dream big, until she was gone. Now, I know the importance of doing
the same thing for my boys. I know the importance of making sure they know that
I believe in them; I believe they can do great things in life; I believe they
can set this world on fire. Hopefully, they will believe it too!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Grandmother is gone. Those
words are unbelievably hard for me to type. However, the life lessons she
taught me are here, and will live forever in my heart. They are the principles
that guide me daily. They are gifts that will live on because I am teaching
those same ideas to my boys, and hopefully they will pass them onto their
children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Losing her is hard, but it is
because of everything she taught me that I’ll be okay in this life without her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHAqc-K2GinI9AHi5UV40bXdNMFQjzJZEbGMcAmGbNu997-Y2QJAD6GzaDby95EOumNO9yJgxftJS6GfWk0ap79hnHHjT0gc5OsPgxOsDjQXUKdvfKY9tYU5WPJ-jjTUjvuL-XnBX6MY/s1600/ac9e13c4c8f221fe563ad32d1bc70b1e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHAqc-K2GinI9AHi5UV40bXdNMFQjzJZEbGMcAmGbNu997-Y2QJAD6GzaDby95EOumNO9yJgxftJS6GfWk0ap79hnHHjT0gc5OsPgxOsDjQXUKdvfKY9tYU5WPJ-jjTUjvuL-XnBX6MY/s1600/ac9e13c4c8f221fe563ad32d1bc70b1e.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With overwhelming love and
respect, I spoke these words at my Grandmother’s funeral on March 17<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">,th</span></sup>:</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been struggling for the past
few days to find the perfect words to say about my Grandmother. It is so hard
to describe what a person means to you when they are so intricately woven into
your being. How do you put those feelings into words?</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband said, just say what you
have always told me. Tell them about your relationship with her; that you were
with her almost every weekend growing up; how she taught you to do your best,
speak your mind and always be honest. </span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly, I knew what to say…This
woman I called “Mama” was not the baking cookies, sewing quilts kind of
Grandmother. No, those were not her things. She was the drinking coffee,
playing cards kind of Grandmother. She was hard working and a little hard headed
but I learned so much from her.</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I could write, she taught me
how to use a typewriter. When I was in high school, she bought me a Franklin
planner and showed me the importance of staying organized. I still use my
planner every day and would be lost without it. From her, I learned the
importance of reading and that surrounding yourself with great girlfriends will
get you through almost anything in life. Most importantly, she told me I could
be anything I wanted to be, and I believed it, because she believed in me.</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Grandmother was a tough nut to
crack. Life wasn’t always easy for her, but she had an amazing resilience. She
never complained. Instead, she just kept trudging through life with amazing
strength and courage, living without regrets or apologies.</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The weekend before she passed away, I
held her hand and promised her I would be fine. I told her if she was too
tired, she could let go because she had given me the tools I needed to be okay
in this life. Then, I brought her hand up to my lips and softly kissed it…as I
took her hand away, I felt a gentle tug as she brought my hand to her lips and
gently kissed me back.</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To tell you about my Grandmother
means reflecting upon myself, because underneath it all, I am my Grandmother’s
granddaughter, and for that I will be forever thankful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-33332001676229701152015-03-24T18:09:00.001-07:002015-03-24T18:11:49.566-07:00 Being thankful for the wonderful gift her life has been to this world.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1qDntXPm4uhmn9AYD5TclIzhfvj6xMd5NXczQBkgWGWq012f9K0ioYLrt78AH-VB3Aa9g6YEASvwubzs_rPQgWevxt9Ocw4vOj5TDxsXXa-J2kzcpwl1sW3xcK5LGRGU1Gsm1G1xgtg/s1600/10262117_949491851732348_732447826221446161_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1qDntXPm4uhmn9AYD5TclIzhfvj6xMd5NXczQBkgWGWq012f9K0ioYLrt78AH-VB3Aa9g6YEASvwubzs_rPQgWevxt9Ocw4vOj5TDxsXXa-J2kzcpwl1sW3xcK5LGRGU1Gsm1G1xgtg/s1600/10262117_949491851732348_732447826221446161_n.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The past few weeks have been tough. I got a call on
Valentine’s Day that my Grandmother’s time was limited. It’s funny how drastic
life’s ups and downs can be; how quickly things can change from one minute to
another; how much one phone call or conversation can change your entire
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being a parent is a tough job, and it is made even tougher
by moments of sorrow. The idea of telling your kiddos something that will break
their hearts seems unnatural. We spend our entire lives protecting them from
pain, and during these times, there is no choice but to hurt them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The day I found out about my grandmother, I sat both boys down and my heart raced as I explained, “Mama’s
body is tired and she is telling us that she is done. Her life has been long
and full…” They seemed to understand the best they could. I marveled at how
differently they reacted.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hunter (my 14 year-old with Asperger's Syndrome) said, “Well, I’m not surprised, I have been expecting this
for a long time.” He said it in a way that showed his sadness and pain, but he
was very direct with his words. I assured him that feeling that way was
perfectly fine because he had probably been preparing himself. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grant (my NT 9 year-old) began to analyze what this would mean in
his life (he is definitely my son)! He began to speak about how this would be
the first death of someone he loved and how he would always remember it. He was
very sad and confused about his emotions. I just held him, unsure what words
could help in that moment.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you are losing a loved one, your heart has to decide
how to deal with the pain. You have to really contemplate what you can do to
find peace. Living fourteen hours away from my Grandmother, I had to do a lot of
soul searching about whether I needed to make the trip to see her one last
time. I finally made the decision that I would only feel right if I saw her
again. It was going to cause lots of travel headaches and school conflicts, but
I needed to get home. It was the only way to have peace in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted to give the boys the option to see her one last
time. I figured they were old enough to make that decision for themselves. I
told them there was no right or wrong decision, but they had the option to go
home and see her one last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so
proud of both of them. They immediately told me how they felt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hunter immediately said, “I
don’t want to see her again. I don’t want to remember her that way.” I totally
understood how he felt. I had the same fear.<em> </em>I was so impressed with his ability to be in touch with his feelings and express his emotions.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grant emphatically said, “I want to see
her!!!” I knew he felt the same way I did. His heartstrings were being pulled.
He needed the closure.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We began making the travel arrangements. Unfortunately, the
weather did not cooperate. The snow just started falling and it seemed like it
would never stop. We decided we had to put our travels off for a week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By this time, my Grandmother was losing weight at a rapid
pace and her eating had severely declined. I called and told her we were
coming home to see her. She didn’t seem to understand much of what I was
saying, but when I told her I was coming home, she weakly said, “when”. I knew
in my heart that she was waiting on me. I called her several days that week to
assure her that I would be home soon. Each time, she would ask how long until I
would be home. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPjl5txXCPHaLPplscCGnxyHoKNp3CtzalUU_nOrW4E-AJ0V5zNrzMoaGdf97l2jdsvO75SBWXQbhRrKModFU8fEiChxumAroaRXWImgXCOCwJi10hs2k5vLqimXK62dDp58o76UeoSY/s1600/10624925_1527448187473205_2600712158107469027_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPjl5txXCPHaLPplscCGnxyHoKNp3CtzalUU_nOrW4E-AJ0V5zNrzMoaGdf97l2jdsvO75SBWXQbhRrKModFU8fEiChxumAroaRXWImgXCOCwJi10hs2k5vLqimXK62dDp58o76UeoSY/s1600/10624925_1527448187473205_2600712158107469027_n.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, I made it home. I walked into her room. She lifted her head slightly to look at me, but no words were spoken. I
sat down on the bed next to her. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I said my
final goodbyes. I held her thin, fragile hand and tried my best to smile
through the tears. I had no way of knowing for sure that she knew what I was
saying. I just knew with every last bit of my soul that I had to get it all
out, for me and for what was left of my Grandmother’s spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I softly spoke to her, “I love you and I’m so sorry you have
to go through this. You are an amazingly strong woman and I know this is not
what you want. I just want you to know that I’ll be okay. I will be okay because
you taught me how to be strong. I don’t want to lose you for selfish reasons,
but I love you too much to see you like this. I just want you to know that if
you are too tired, it’s okay."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I brought her hand up to my lips and softly kissed it…as I
took her hand away from my mouth, I felt her gentle tug as she brought my hand
to her mouth and gently kissed me back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p>Losing her is hard, but I know she would expect me to hold it all together. I am trying to focus on the positive memories we have shared and focus on the wonderful gift her life has been to this world.</o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116595646398621204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2069512306948981561.post-68699008006195328302015-02-03T10:19:00.002-08:002015-02-03T10:30:02.436-08:00Bonding over sushi<br />
These days it seems to be getting harder and harder to connect with Hunter. I feel like a drill sergeant constantly telling him to do his homework, pick up his clothes and drop the attitude. However, on this day, in between a dentist and orthodontist appointment, we found time to do a quick shopping trip to the “cool” store (where all the guys shop) and have a little sushi together. Sushi is our thing. He and his dad have football and action movies. We have our bonding time over sushi.<br />
<br />
When we sat down at the table, he casually grabbed the menu and commented on which sushi rolls we had ordered the time before. It was so sweet to watch him take control of the situation. He remembered what we liked and didn’t like the last time we were there. He grabbed the paper and marked the rolls we wanted to order and handed it to the waitress. I am still getting used to this new confidence he has acquired. I love it!<br />
<br />
As he sat across the table from me smiling and happily eating what he had ordered, I found joy and warmth in my heart. During our lunch, he actually talked to me. He didn’t roll his eyes or call me names under his breath. He smiled and talked to me about the kids at school, his recent basketball season, and yes... girls!!! He actually seemed to enjoy his time with me. As our lunch was coming to an end, he even asked me if he could have the last few pieces of sushi, and sweetly asked the waitress for more lemonade, “please”. He used his table manners…score!<br />
<br />
For me, this time with him is not about a delicious lunch but about overcoming the other struggles we face daily. These teenage years are not easy. I am trying with everything I've go to give him every tool to succeed in life, but he fighting me with everything he's got. There are days where I see no hope for a close relationship with him. My battle for him to function as an independent and functional member of society is my focus, and he is not really on board with that idea.<br />
<br />
On this day, however, we had a breakthrough moment. For this brief period of time, he saw me for me, not a drill sergeant or the mean person making him do his homework, but just me... his mom. Tomorrow will be different. We will be back to the daily grind, but today I will...<br />
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