Telling my life with his words, killing me softly

"I felt all flush with fever, embarrassed by the crowd. I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud. I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on....Tellin' my whole life with his words, killing me softly..." Immediately after it happened this song came to my mind. It is funny how that happens, I may not be able to express how I really feel about a situation but a song will come to mind that explains it. Today in class we watched a video of a mother of a child with disabilities. Her son (Josh's age) has behavioral problems, some of the same things that we are trying to work out. She said things, some that I have spoken with close friends and family about but no one else. One or two things that I may have alluded to but will not say. I felt like she was opening my head and telling everyone what it was REALLY like. I almost left the room. I resorted to silently sobbing (yes, the ugly cry) as still as I could on the first row hoping no one would notice. The professor apologized again and again. I suppose it is good for the students to really know, I suppose it would be good for the world to know, but I have never felt so exposed. Don't worry, I don't expect any comments. It just hit me so strongly I had to put it out there, this is my giant sigh, my "suck out the poison", my scream into a pillow. Sometimes you just have to throw something out to the world before you can let it go, you know?

Just another end of class breakdown

It feels like life just gets too overwhelming at the end of a semester. Lucky me, this time I get to have 2 end of the semesters in one semester! We go to two classes for 3 hours a day each everyday for 3 weeks. Then immediately start another two classes for 3 hours each everyday for another 3 weeks. This means that I am leave my home at 6:30, do homework on the bus, get to school, do homework before class, go to class for 3 hours, do homework during my 1 hour lunch break, go to my second class for 3 hours, do homework/make phone calls until bus arrives, do homework on bus, step off the bus at 5:35. I have 3 more days of the first round and I am, yet again, on my period during finals. As you can imagine, I am tired and insane. My son picks up on this and during these times, I SWEAR, he becomes a terror. Don't get me wrong, I love my child but we have been fending off behavioral therapy for almost a year and a half now because, "I should be able to do it. I will just try harder to be a good mom." I just broke down and called to get him an appointment because yesterday me and my husband both said, "I don't know how much more I can take of this." We were supposed to get help before we said that. I feel like such a failure. (I know, I shouldn't, but knowing and feeling are different) Shouldn't moms know what to do? I feel like he is just so frustrated with his lack of communication and lack of control in life that he is acting up. If I know this, why can't I make it different? I know he needs to use his ipad more to communicate. How do I make him? I suggest it to him, I give him "bean bucks" for using it, I keep it handy, try to remember to take it places with us. But he is not using it in such a way as to decrease his frustration. Why? How do I change it? I don't know. But here I am crying on the bus and some poor kid just had to sit next to the dripping girl. Oh, there, he left (changed seats, that's how disgusting I am. I know I must be because he is willing to change seats and I am on the roomiest row). So I should probably stop writing and get back to my homework. My $^&*%#@ homework. Excuse my fake French.

Spaghetti Summer

Celebrating the first official summer night with cousins. So. much. fun. One of my favorite memories is from when I was about 4ish. We had another family come for dinner. At the kid's table my mom covered the table with foil and plopped spaghetti down in a pile in the middle of the table. No plates, no utensils, nothing. Not only this but GUESTS were there to do it with us. That was the day that I realized my mom was way cooler than other moms. For a date activity for a dance in high school I had a bunch of friends and their dates and we did the same thing but we were allowed one odd kitchen utensil to eat with (whisk, etc). It was a blast. I decided to pass this on to Josh. Not that it is too weird for him because that is how he eats half of the time. BUT I did it too. The boys were shocked when they saw me plop a pile down for myself. When I took my first messy bite Josh looked at me like I was crazy. Soon we were all laughing and playing and eating. They all kept saying, "This is SO GOOD!" and "This is so much fun!" In the end, all food that was put on the table was eaten, all the kids (and I) were covered in sauce, and everyone had a smile on their face. Success.

Can't post this on Facebook...

Because I am friends with most of my classmates and gloating to people who are involved isn't very classy (not that gloating is ever very classy but whatever). I got the high score on my cumulative neuro anatomy final, a 98%! I only missed one question. *insert ridiculous dance here*....actually....There Thanks Storm Troopers, I didn't know my grades meant so much to you......Oh no, YOU rock.....Stop it, you are too kind. Okay, obviously my mind is fried.

That's real love

Setting: Josh is 5. I have been stressed to the max and had a very upsetting day. I am sitting on the floor crying. Ugly crying. The type of cry that makes every orifice in your face drip. Josh comes in and sits on my lap facing me. He holds my head in both hands and raises my face so he can look at me. With more concern and love in his eyes than I have ever seen he moves one of his hands to brush away one of my tears. In doing this, he gets more than he bargained for and ends up with a string of my snot going from my nose to his hand. Without skipping a beat, he wipes my nose with his finger and thumb and then rubs it on his pants (a move I often use with him when he cries). He then pulls my head into his chest in a big hug. I can't ever remember seeing my mother cry when I was young. Some days I worry that he has seen me cry too often. A possible bad mother move on my part. But either way, I am so proud that my little boy can show so much love and concern to a person. When you are willing to use your own hand as a make-shift hankie, that is real love.

The "R word"

Most of my life I have used the term "retarded" when speaking to my friends and family discussing something/someone I feel is stupid. I have never thought twice about it. Even after Josh was born I said it, the way I felt was that I didn't actually feel that the word "retarded" referred to my son. MY son is smart. MY son is amazing. How could a word like that refer to my son? I have heard other mother's pleas and seen public service announcements (that one is really good), but it never changed me, my habit was too strong. Then last year, almost exactly a year ago, my son had some cognitive testing done. He was diagnosed with "mild mental retardation", a term that will be changed to the much preferred "mild intellectual disability" in the new DSM. I was crushed. Then one day, about one month after I learned of his diagnosis, I was making dinner. My hands were dirty and since the sun was going down I didn't have enough light. Josh was standing behind me so I asked him to turn on the light (something that he has done for years of his own accord). He walked a little ways away and looked around. "Josh! The light switch is on the wall right next to you. Turn on the light, please." Now he turns in a slow circle alternating between looking at the floor and ceiling. "The wall, Josh. The wall! You know what a wall is. The light switch is on the wall. You know how you turn on lights?" Again he looks and this time at a wall. The wrong wall, but at least it is a wall. He even turns on the light in the other room. "No, not THAT wall. The wall next to you!" Another slow circle. "JOSH! JUST TURN ON THE LIGHT! What, are you retar...." My voice caught in my throat as I realized that yes, yes he is, and what an ugly word to call him. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, like I would choke on the mass in my throat, like my heart had stopped, like I had betrayed my son. Tears filled my eyes as I stumbled toward him while dropping to my knees. I grabbed him into a big hug. "I am sorry Josh. Here, look. This is the light switch mom wanted you to turn on." I have never used the "R word" again.

Banana

Setting: My house. Josh is 4 years old and despite repeated desperate attempts at potty training, he is still in diapers. Josh came into the room clutching about 1/4 of an unpeeled banana in his hands. *sniff* "Phew! Josh you stink! Let's change your bum!" Into the bathroom. Feeling lazy so I lay him down to change him (plus it is much easier when it is a poopy diaper). I notice that his poo looks all smashed and weird. Keep changing him. Meanwhile, he still has the banana, but he isn't eating it, he is just holding it. As I am putting on a new diaper he starts shoving it in my face. Not wanting to waste, I go ahead and eat it. He giggles. Time to wash hands! That is when I realize...he has poo all over his hands. The same hands that were clutching the banana that now feels like it may be coming back up my throat. I ATE A POO BANANA! *sigh* Oh well, I guess we will see if I get horrendously ill in the next 24 hours.