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Thursday, June 30, 2011

Me and Tooth Fairy just don't get along.

I'm Tooth Fairy Challenged. I don't know what it is, but every time there's a tooth fairy opportunity I blow it!

Like the time my oldest lost a tooth, and we forgot to put money under his pillow. He came running in my room the next morning crying because the Tooth Fairy forgot about him. Most moms would have thought quick on their feet, grabbed a buck, and found a way to make it look like he just didn't feel it under there the first time. Me? I panicked! Then decided to come clean and tell him there was no Tooth Fairy. Child #1: Traumatized.

Or just recently when we were unpacking and my youngest found his little plastic treasure box with his tooth inside. Why the heck do we save old nasty teeth anyway?

He came running around the corner to show me his tooth. I, of course, did not think anything of it, and proudly said, "Oh, yeah! Your first tooth." My husband then shoots me the evil eye, and I realize it's weird that I would have his tooth since the Tooth Fairy takes them with her! I managed to recover by saying something like, "That's weird I wonder why she left it here? She must have dropped it on her way out?" All was fine. Whew! Child #2: Still a believer.

Then my baby lost another tooth on Tuesday.














He finds the crispy $5 bill under his pillow yesterday morning. Please, let's pause while I join you in cursing my husband for giving him $5 the first time, and now he thinks that's what the Stupid Tooth Fairy does every time!

So he's a happy camper.

Enter Mom. 

My oldest and I decide we want to order bagels from the local bagel shop down the street. Yum. This sounds like the perfect birthday breakfast since I do not have to make it. I call the order in, so I can run in and grab the bagels quickly. But, they don't take debit cards. Who doesn't take cards? I search my wallet. I see two $1 bills. Not gonna do it. I glance over at the that crispy $5 bill, and think "Perfect!" I run this by my youngest, who says...get this! I can use his $5, but only if Dad gives him $8 when he gets home. SAY WHAT?!

For some reason, this still sounds like a good idea. 1. Because I swear I have a hangover from only two glasses of wine on my date with hubs the night before am starving, and I really wanted that bagel sandwich. 2. My oldest would eat one too, and 3. My youngest would be robbing me and making a profit. Everyone would be happy!

So, we buy said bagels with my son's Tooth Fairy money, and the day moves forward.

At about 2:00PM, my youngest and I are laying on the couch because I am still convinced I am nursing the dumbest hangover ever being lazy before piano lessons. He sits up in a panic and says, "Mom! Where's my $5 from the Tooth Fairy?!" Really, kid? Didn't we work out highway robbery this morning?

I proceed to remind him he gave it to me to use at the bagel shop, he proceeds to realize that it was a bad idea, I proceed to realize the same thing.

All of sudden my little business shark doesn't care about the deal he made me, and is devastated that he lost his Tooth Fairy money. Actually, he's devastated that I spent his Tooth fairy money. He then tells me he didn't realize that when he made the deal the money he would get back from daddy isn't really the same $5 bill that the Tooth Fairy gave him, and it wouldn't be special, and he shouldn't have let me use it. "My $5 had a purple 5 on it."Oh, geesh. Here we go...

Now, if you're not already thinking that you cannot believe this story because 1. I may or may not be  hungover from two measly glasses of wine. 2. We give our kid $5 for a tooth, or 3. that I'm an idiot for all of the above, then just listen to the rest. I get even more embarrassing.

I sit up, tell my son we're going to get his $5 back, and grab his shoes! He wipes the tears, and doesn't even ask me how we will accomplish this goal, which is good because I actually do not know. We throw on our shoes, and head out in a thunderstorm to get that $5 back!

"How will we get the same $5 bill, mom?"

"If you gave it the bagel shop how will it be at the bank?"

"I don't understand what you're saying."

Neither do I kid, just sit there and be quiet while I figure out the lie I will tell you at the bank.

So the story goes like this..."Honey, the bagel shop closes early after lunch. They deposit all of the money they make that day in the bank on their way home, and I can assure you they use the same bank we do, so I'm positive your $5 bill will definitely be there."

We pull up to the bank. Get out to make a walk-in withdrawal because 1. I cannot get $5 bills out of the ATM. It only spits out increments of $10. UGH! and 2. I have to make sure the teller gives me a newer $5 bill. Ya know? The one with the purple 5? That's the one my son had, and if she gives me something different, he's definitely not going to buy this ridiculous plan of mine.

"Can I go in with you?" Sure! That will make it really easy for me to talk to the teller about this embarrassing problem we're having.


The teller is already annoyed by my weirdness.

"Oh no! I seemed to have left my driver's license at home!" Really?

She allows me to withdraw anyway with some other proofs of ID, and then proceeds to give me the $25 I asked for, but gives me 1 $20 bill and 1 OLD $5 bill. No purple 5. Oh, Lord this is so embarrassing.

"Excuse me, Miss. I'm really sorry to ask you this, but I'm having a tooth fairy 911, and I really need a $5 bill with a purple 5 on it. Ya know? The newer one?" She has no idea what I'm saying...I'm starting to sweat..."I know they exist we just had one this morning. I know this seems strange, but would you mind looking through your till to see if you could exchange this 5 for one like I'm describing?"

"Mom, do they have it? Do they have money?"

Lady please just find the darn purple $5 bill before I go into cardiac arrest!

"Do you mean this kind?"

Oh, God! YES! That's the one!

"YES! That's it, thank you!" I duck my head, grab his hand, and wink at him as I run out of the lobby! He's smiling, it was worth it.

"Mom, you were right! It was here! YEAH!"

Needless to say I will never be stepping foot in that bank again.

And,  my son thinks it's really cool that the people that own the bagel shop use the same bank we do. What a coincidence!

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Monday, June 27, 2011

This week is looking up!

I know this week will better for the following reasons:

1. My sister sent me an e-gift card from Victoria's Secret for my birthday. A sexy pair of panties will be good for my sex life make me feel pretty.

2. It's my birthday on Wednesday! It's kind of hard to have a rotten day on the one day a year I get to celebrate myself. (Mother's Day does not count because I share that day with two moms I know.)

3. My anti-depressants should be kicking in, and I plan on seeing the good in everything.

4. My son begins Occupational Therapy today, and I know we're on the road to improvement. (See? Already feeling positive.)

5. If things go haywire, and I start feeling down and overwhelmed, I have a plan! I will turn on my little guy's new Lemonade Mouth CD, and listen to him sing his little heart out! It's seriously the best thing I've seen EVER!

6. My SIL has offered to babysit on Tuesday night. Enough said. (God bless her!)

7. A Dear IRL friend sent me an awesome bible study that is offering me hope and helping to keep my heart focused on the ONLY ONE who can lead me in helping my son.

8. I'm accepting that I cannot control everything. Happy 33rd Birthday to me!

(Man, these are some good pills!)

Friday, June 24, 2011

Thank you!

I've sat down a thousand time to write something in the past few days.

Nothing comes.

I feel like my blog is totally depressing with all of the updates on my son.

I can't help it.

The update today: no change.

It's another day of hoping I can pull him out of this.

I wake up in the hopes that today will be different.

It's not.

It's awful.

I hate it.

All I can do is thank you for all of your encouraging words of suport on Wednesday.

All of your prayers and kind comments have meant so much to me.

Please continue to keep our family in your prayers over the weekend.

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Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I want my son back.

This wasn't the post I planned  on sharing today. But, in true Pour Your Heart Out fashion, I'm pouring a tall glass of frustration, sadness, anger, confusion, loneliness, and I'm telling you, just about every emotion out there. I've been working on sharing some posts about a girl I used to know HERE and HERE, and I have a new one in the works. But this morning, I'm putting those aside...I just need to vent.
***********

I watch him pace. From one end of the house to other. All day.

His OCD has completely taken over his life, and he is not functioning.

My son is gone.

We spent the last 4 weeks trying a medication that didn't help at all. Although it helped his temperament, it really seemed to make the OCD worse. It was as if it calmed him down enough to have OCD and be fine with it. Yet, the tendencies were worse. He just didn't get upset about them. So, he's just begun a new anti-depressant, and if this one doesn't help pull him out of this hell he's in, I'm not sure what I will do.

Now that he's full blown dysfunctional with OCD, I can look back and see that these tendencies were there all along. He's always had his quirks. For example, he has always been a terrible sharer. Not because he doesn't have a giving heart, but because he doesn't want anyone messing with his stuff. But now the monster has been unleashed. He's living in a world that only makes sense to him, and I do not know how to bring him back.

He spent last night pacing-all night. At bedtime instead of climbing into bed for a good night's rest, he stood in the middle of the room with a look a pure fear on his face. He thinks his bed is dirty, and therefore, cannot sleep in it.

I checked on him at midnight. Sleep up.

He was up at 1 am.

He was up at 2 am.

He only got about 3 hours of sleep last night.

At 6:30 am, my husband checked on him. He opened his bloodshot eyes to say, "I feel dirty." And closed them again from exhaustion.

When I peeked in on him, I didn't get a warm fuzzy. I wasn't happy to see that he'd finally gotten in his bed. I was heartbroken. Because what I found was a scared little boy, who happened to be asleep.

He was curled up at the foot of his bed in the fetal position. With only a sheet to keep him warm. (The comforter is dirty, you know.)

The list of things he will not do right now is a mile long. He won't play his video games because they're contaminated, he hasn't brushed his teeth in (I cannot believe I'm telling you this) over two weeks. I've purchased 4 different toothbrushes in this period of time, and the current toothbrush is contaminated by the cashier who checked out our groceries.

We've seen our psychologist, psychiatrist, and pediatrician. We've finally found a therapist to meet with regularly who specialized in adolescent OCD, Occupational therapy is lined today, as a matter of fact. However, I do not see the point in going today. It's not like he's going use any of their equipment. OT is going to be counter-productive until we can get a handle on this OCD.

We've done everything we can. Including going to my doctor to get a prescription of my own! I'm exhausted, and stressed, and everything in between. I know my limits and I need a little extra serotonin for this ride!

It's going to be another 3-4 weeks before we see if this new medicine helps the OCD.

So we will wait.

Until we get a handle on the OCD, everything else is just fluff.

I want my son back.

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Monday, June 20, 2011

Gardening for the Heart

Hubs and I worked in our garden area out back last night. It was around 6:00 PM, and the sun had gone down enough that there was only shade on that side of the house. The salty breeze was blowing and I was soaking up the fresh air. I decided to get a glass of wine and grab a some gardening shears. I wanted to cut back some of the branches that were in the walkway of the path we have out back.

Since we've moved here, we really haven't had time to work in the yard yet, and I just felt like being outside and getting something started. Gardening shears: something I have no idea how to use, but I figured I'd just start chopping whatever was in my way. Hubs tried to discourage me from leaving a big giant mess for him to clean up on Father's Day starting a big project, but I decided not to listen, and went for it.

Before long we're both back there hacking away! Hubs was concerned we were cutting to many branches. But, the only way to clear the walkway we wanted was to cut away anything that was in the pathway, and give it a chance to grow UP and then OUT. As it was, all the branches were just OUT and you couldn't walk through.

This was going to make it look pretty bare back there at first. We were going from natural, wild beauty to a butched, bare walkway. I didn't want to trim that much, but it had to be done to allow it grow the way we wanted.

I could not help but think of John 15.

God layed on my heart how he prunes us to make room for new growth. We may not want to be trimmed bare, but it has to happen in order for us to grow. Perhaps he laments over the branches he cuts off of our lives, because he knows it will be painful. He knows it will leave us vulnerable and raw, but he does it anyway in order to help us get where he needs us.

I have a peace today knowing that my heavenly father prunes me where I need it. My heart will be open to his gardening shears today. I pray I grow in the direction that leads me closer to Him, and that I remain open to his path for my life. It doesn't always go the way I want or had planned. I find myself in the midst of circumstances beyond my control with our son. I have had to cut out time with friends and family in order to allow time for everything we have going on with doctors and therapists. It's been crazy. But, I will rest and know that he's been pruning and I will soon grow in the right direction.

I can't ask for more than that.

John 15: 1-8
"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. 

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples."

Friday, June 17, 2011

I love his smile.

The most wasted of days is one without laughter. ~E.E. Cummings

There is nothing better than hearing my son's laugh.

Lately it's sort of a project of mine to make him smile. He's so tied up in knots right now, that seeing one single smile will make my whole day. In that second, I get to see my son.

I get to see who he really is behind the anxiety and depression.

In his smile I see hope and promise.

I see his heart and humor.

We're still moving along with his therapy and treatment plan. The anti-depressant he was taking wasn't helping much, so we've had to switch his medication to something different. I won't lie, I really hope this one works. Right now he's trapped by his OCD.

I know God has brought us to this point for a reason. I trust in His plan!

I know in time the medication and therapy will help him. I know we're beginning to find a team of professionals that are going to make a huge difference in his life. But, it's going to take time. Things arent' going to happen overnight.

In the meantime, I just want to make him smile.

Laughter really is the best medicine.

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Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Rehab

She was used to feeling nothing.

Well, at least she was used to pushing her feelings aside and pretending she felt nothing. This time was different. She was angry. That was scary.

Because she had no idea what else to do, she did the easiest thing-what was expected of her.

She drove him there anyway.

If anything she was dependable. Not the most romantic word, but then again, this wasn't exactly the most romantic relationship. She knew there was no one else to drive him, and no time to figure that out. She's made it through the last two years, she could make it through a silent car ride to drop him off at rehab.

After that? She had no clue.

The car ride was a cold and bitter silence. He made no empty apologies, no promises. He would open his mouth to speak and no words would come. He knew it was pointless. She pretended she didn't notice. It was as if he could tell something was different. Not only did that scare her, she wondered if it scared him too.

She kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road. She could feel him breathing next to her, but she tried to ignore his presence. Her heart was beating so fast, she was afraid he could feel it too.

Her mind drifted with the hum of the tires on the pavement.

She wondered if going away like this would help him change.

She replayed all of his usual promises in her head. He would be telling her he was sorry, that he screwed up, how he would make things different for them, how he would change...

It offered comfort to have this silent role play with herself. That's what she would usually be doing on a morning like this-listening to him lie. Again.

She wondered if he was replaying those lies in his head. He probably was, and worse, he probably believed them too.

Perhaps he was thinking about her in his passenger side silence?

Perhaps he was thinking about the girl he was with the night before?

She didn't tell him good-bye when she left him standing in the lobby.

It felt good to leave him standing there watching her walk away. Letting him wonder what she would be doing, where she would be going, who she would be with. For once, the tables were turned.

In that moment she couldn't help but think it was too bad it took him being "locked up" to appreciate her.

He would be there for thirty days. She felt an overwhelming sense of freedom in that.

This relationship that had no boundaries, no commitments, no promises had been more constant than anything else in her life for so long. How does something so abstract become so concrete?

It was a like a bad routine. This relationship was something she did every day. Something she put her energy into. Something she did without thinking. Something wasn't healthy for her. Something she had to stop.

Thirty days to sort through her feelings. Thirty days to think. Thirty days to spend time with her friends. Thirty days she wouldn't have to wonder if he was sleeping with someone else.

Thirty days of her own rehab.

Thirty days to find something she lost.

Herself.

****************************

I'm linked up for my free dose of weekly therapy with Shell at Things I Can't Say. She has a Pour Your Heart Out meme every Wednesday. My favorite bloggy day! Thanks for a great link, Shell!

If you want to read the first post you can find it here:
1. Exhale

Sometimes I get the nerve to write about my past. Today was one of those days. I write in third person because it's easier that way. I do not know this girl anymore.

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I don't have to be fat to loose weight.

Let me take a brief moment to distract you from my attention getting, politically incorrect post title, and ask you to enter my giveaways that end Oct. 2nd! Veggie Tales DVD for your little ones and Campus Book Rentals for your kiddo away in college. Now off for my rant with Shell!
***********

I recently lost weight. On purpose.

I feel good. I feel better about myself.

However, it seems to be a negative topic for some. Why is that!?

Here's a little background about me.

Ethnic background: Korean
Height: 4' 11"
Weight: 103
Stay with me.

I'm small.
I'm not saying I'm smoking hot and skinny, I'm just saying I'm small.
According to the air bag cautions in my car I should ride in the back.
My husband jokes and tells me I should get a booster seat so I can see the front of the car when I'm driving.
My feet don't touch the gas pedal. I drive with my big toe.
I'm just small.
A feel good weight for me is around 100-105lbs.

My birth mom is 4' 9", and probably weighs 80 lbs. soaking wet.
My sister isn't much bigger.
These are my genes.

Over the last few years I put on an extra 15 lbs.
Was I fat? No.
Did I feel bad physically and mentally? Yes.
Was the weight gain the result of poor eating habits and lack of exercise? Yes.

When someone my size puts on 15 extra pounds they start
to feel like this.


My clothes did not fit. By 118 lbs, I was on my 3rd shopping trip to buy bigger sizes.


At my height, 15 lbs. is a lot of extra.
A lot of sizes and a lot of clothes that I couldn't wear.


I could have given into getting older. Some extra weight is normal, right? I didn't look horrible.

But.

I was sick of feeling bad, and got moving!


Last March, I started running. Last March, people. That's 7 months ago.

Since then, I l've lost that 15 lbs! Go me!

I'm happy about it! I feel better about myself. I have more energy.
This is my healthy weight.

How do I know it's my healthy weight?
Because I didn't diet! Seven months of running my behind off isn't exactly a crash diet.

I just started exercising, and stopped eating a ton of junk. I boosted my metabolism with cardio, and finally the weight started to come off. I believe my body will stop loosing weight when it's reached a healthy plateau. I'm probably already there.


So, why is it that people are so negative about it?


Sometimes I'm questioned about why I've lost so much weight. It can be awkward when I am honest and say that I've been working hard to do so. Why?

Why do you have to be fat to want to loose weight?

Why do others judge me because I'm not overweight?

Why is it that I get the stink eye over my loss?

Why are people asking me if I'm eating? Please!

I LOVE food and eat all the time. It's one of the reasons I need to exercise.
Because I like to eat good food!
Everything in balance, right?


So, I don't have to be fat to want to loose weight.

I just have to be unhappy with the way that I feel.

I'm proud of myself, and I'm glad I lost the weight. I'm healthier.

That's all that matters!




















May. I'd been running, but nothing yet...I had some extra around the waist, butt, and thighs. My face was fuller. I wasn't so happy about it.


Just last week. Feeling healthy!

Need to vent? Link up with my bloggy friend, Shell and Pour Your Heart Out.
Again, just a brief reminder that everyone linking is pouring their hearts out and we should all be respectful in our comments. ;)

Wanna read more? You can read about how I like cold beer, and wonder why that's bad? OR my most recent total #momfail involving my 6 yr. old and a bobcat. Take your pick. Thanks for reading!

You should follow me on GFC. For while I was taking the high road and blogging for me, but now I'm just concerned with becoming famous and getting as many readers as possible. Go ahead. Click! **wink wink**

Friday, June 10, 2011

It's not about me.

I write for me. It's an outlet.

I write about the topics that are on my heart.

I hope you read my posts. Like them. Relate to them.

I hope you comment, come back and read more, and generally like my blog.

I care if it's a nice place to visit and paid a blog designer to make it pretty.

I love to see a new follower.

I'm not counting numbers, but it's a compliment if you clicked follow on GFC.

Thanks!

BUT...

It's not about me!

Blogging isn't just about writing and waiting.

It's about connecting with others. My writing here is only one of the ways I do that.

The magic of blogging happens when I visit you.

When I take the time to meet you, read your posts, reply to your email, and comment on your blog it shows I care about you, and I do.

It shows I'm not just in this for me.

Meeting you is what I enjoy most.

Blogging isn't about me.

It's about encouragement.

It's about people.

It's about life.

It's about you.

Be an encouragement to one another. ~Hebrews 3:13

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Pizza can make you happy.

Yesterday I made lunch. Homemade pizza.

Lunch at our house right now isn’t just a mid-day meal.

Lunch is a marathon of tasks that require careful planning and consideration.

Those tasks include timing it just right, making sure his eating area is free of clutter, finding the perfect plate, grabbing the right napkin off the paper towel, making sure the forks he uses are clean, making sure the pizza is not too cold, not too hot…

Can he get to the drinks in the garage without having trouble opening the door he will not grab by the knob?

Making sure the room is not too loud or bright. Anything could trigger stress. Anything.

Then he won’t eat, or be able to relax, because he will have failed at eating lunch.

Then he will be devastated, beacuse he knows lunch shouldn't be so hard.

But, for us...

Lunch is a big deal.

It’s a small task with big opportunity.

It’s an opportunity to build him, because he was able to get through it.

It’s also an opportunity to crush him because he couldn't.

Lunch is a big deal.

So, I make the pizza.

I serve said pizza.

All tasks completed so far…

Then I hear, “Mom.”

Yes?
Dear God, let him get through this lunch on a positive note, Please.

“This pizza is really good!”

Thank you, honey! I’m glad you like it!
Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

“What kind of sauce did you use? Is this a new kind of cheese? This crust is awesome!”

I’m so glad! Thanks for telling me you like it!

"Ya know when you eat pizza sometimes and you take a bite and all the cheese on top falls off in one bite?"

Yes.

"That doesn't happen on this kind of pizza!"

Good!

“I love you, Mom”

Honey, I love you too.

(Pizza can make you happy.)

Thank you, Father God, for these small moments that mean so much.

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Tuesday, June 7, 2011

My Oldest: Over the Years Part 2

I realize my posts about my son are all over the place lately. At least I feel like they are. I've probably written about the same things more than once, or left something out, but that's pretty much what's going on in my brain, so that's what comes out in my posts.

Due to alarming OCD behavior triggered by extreme anxiety over this move, we have a monster of a task ahead of us! We finally have a diagnosis that makes sense. My son has Asperger's Syndrome and Sensory Integration Dysfunction. He is a high-functioning autistic child.

I cannot express how good it feels to say that! I've known in my heart for years, and I could never get anyone to agree with me-until now! I told my husband, I've never been so happy to get bad news.

The struggles over the last few weeks have left me in a place of reflection. I have just been trying to make sense of things we missed. Looking back I see so much that wasn't really missed by us, but things that didn't make sense to us. I've had a hard time excepting the fact that he did not get the early intervention he needed. I think I'm carrying a lot of guilt over this.

In my head I know we did everything we could. In my heart I wish I had fought harder to get the right answers. I have to move forward, but perhaps just getting out the past a little will help me feel better about the future.

You can read Part 1 HERE. Sorry, if you've read some of this before. Rethinking things is the story of my life right now. I guess it's only natural that I might rewrite something.

3rd grade: Same problems. They just looked different. His lack of social skills was becoming more apparent. As the kids got older they started to form friendships, get invited to sleepovers, birthday parties, and so forth. I started to see that my son wasn't invited. He wasn't making those connections. He only talked to the people geographically around him. For example, whoever he sat next to at lunch or in the classroom. He didn't make an effort beyond that. He took the state standardized test for the first time and received a perfect score math. The kid did.not.miss.one.problem. Who does that? Most parents would be thrilled over a high score. I wasn't. I was proud, don't get me wrong. But, my heart hurt. I kept thinking, "What must be going on inside his mind?" The perfect score left me sad. He was so misunderstood by me. By everyone. His reading score was well above average too. He got straight A's. Yet, he was always in trouble for something. Then at the end of the year, he had a meltdown so bad, he locked himself in the class bathroom. Sigh...poor baby. He was never able to tell me why he was upset.

4th grade: All of the same issues, grades were always above average, test scores were off the charts...conference after conference...nothing ever made sense. He stayed in trouble at school, we tried to discipline at home. Something  was off though?! He was a great kid! He wasn't bad. I mean, he clearly wanted to do the things that were expected of him. He didn't have a bad attitude. He just couldn't get it together. We stayed frustrated. He stayed frustrated. When they had recess, he would never play. Every day they went out, the other kids ran and played. He stood by the fence. Every time, without fail, he would ask his teacher the same question..."What should I do?" She would just look at him confused, look at the other kids, and look back at him and say, "Go play, sweetheart."

But he never did.

Then one day in a conference she mentioned the term Asperger's Syndrome. She said, "I'm not sure if that's what it's called or not? Google it." So I did.

What I found after researching online was that I believed without a shadow of doubt that my son suffered from this. We decided to seek professional opinions and get some answers, and we decided to homeschool. That was the summer before 5th grade.

After spending an entire summer that year meeting with doctors and psychiatrists, we were told that our son has ADHD. Period. That Asperger's was the new "hot topic" (one doctor actually told me that) and we "didn't want to get carried away or jump on the band wagon." So...we decided to try ADHD medicine. It DID NOT HELP. It made everything worse. We didn't know what to do, but this was clearly not the answer. We decided to continue homeschooling and just work through this on our own. We gave up on doctors and psychiatrists. We decided to put all of our efforst into trying to make homeschool a positive experiience for him, and I think it has been!

But, almost two years later I began to doubt if I was giving him everything he needed. I shared that I still believed in my heart we were missing something, but that I was scared to seek out professional help and get nowhere like we had in the past. But, we did and thank God for that! What we got was a new direction.

We finally have some answers that make sense, and they couldn't be coming at a better time.

He will begin his 7th grade year in the fall. I can't believe the time has gone so fast.

He's my baby, yet he's a young man now.  A young man that needs help finding his way in this world.



















I am praying that God will euip me to help make this the first amazing year my son has ever had.

He deserves it!

I've linked this post up with Shell at Things I Can't Say. She pours a tall glass of free therapy every Wednesday!

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Friday, June 3, 2011

Friday Confessional w/ Mamarazzi

I confess that I quit reading The Love Dare a while ago. I got way behind, and gave up trying to catch up. It feels good to tell you that. It's a book. Let it go. It doesn't mean I don't care about my marriage. It simply means I'm not going to finish that book.

I confess that I cannot stop watching the Casey Anthony trial, and I cannot believe I'm going to tell you this...I'm not convinced she is guilty. I don't believe everything the defense is saying, but I also don't believe her parents either. I've taken verbal beatings IRL life over this topic. I welcome all comments.

I confess I'm actually excited someone might read my above statement, get all fired up, and blog bash my opinion.

I confess my boys have a sleepover planned at my husband's parent's house in few days and I'm worried sick that my oldest will not be able to handle it. He's having such a hard time right now, that any plans are a gamble, and I just hope he can go and have a good time. It will be a huge confidence boost for him if he makes it through the visit. It will crush him if he has to come home.

I confess we have twenty-five (not really, but that's what it feels like) birthday parties we're invited to in the next two months, and I wish I didn't have to buy all of these kids presents go.
I confess that I wish I had a day to sit and read blogs and nothing else.

I confess that I'm a  Facebook creeper. I might look at people's pages and pictures, but sometimes I won't actually talk to them. Technology is cool that way. You can have your cake (being nosey) and eat it too (not open up communication).

I confess that I pee with the door open.

I confess I cannot live without my DVR or Blackberry and I run my A/C at 72 degrees all day long.

I confess that sometimes when my son is yelling my name, I snap at him and say "What?!", only to find that he wants to tell me he loves me. Sigh...

I confess that I wish I could lay in bed today and read a book and not talk to anyone.


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Wednesday, June 1, 2011

My Oldest: Over the Years, Part 1

Lately, I can't help but reflect on years past. I just feel like typing.

First daycare: two years old. He would sit alone at a table for 6 hours. No matter what the teacher did to engage him in the activities. He barely ate all day, and he was indefinitely in the same spot I left him when I picked him up. Daycare never really got better. He was sad. I was sad.

Preschool: 4 years old. His teacher told me he was more rambunctious than the other children. "Have you considered the chance that he may be ADHD?" I thought-He's four lady, get a grip! he liked it there, though. It was a structured classroom environment. It was a good precursor for Kindergarten.

Kindergarten: It seemed like a breeze. He read all the books assigned for the year in the first nine weeks of school. He learned every sight word and then some. His teacher ranted and raved about how wonderfully smart he was. She loved him and appreciated everything about him. He was happy. I was happy.

1st grade: Our first parent/teacher conference revealed that our son was having trouble focusing during class time, would often retreat to the back of the classroom and sit alone during circle time, kicked the legs of his chair rhythmically and non-stop, hummed repetitively, and contradictory to all of the above-finished his work in a fraction of the time it took his peers, excelled academically. Never misspelled a word or answered a question incorrectly. His teacher did what she could. She appreciated his quirks and his long winded stories about animals, their habitats, and diet. Many rare species she had never heard of until he shared his verbal reports with her. She would let him come up to her desk and talk to her at special times during the day just to tell her all about the animals. She planned extra activities and lessons to keep him busy while he waited for others. She noticed he would become visibly upset during testing, and refuse to utilize the test taking skill of skipping a question and coming back to it later. That just didn't make sense to him. Meltdowns were daily, he was emotional and frustrated. "Have you considered he may have ADHD? He just has such a hard time. He's so smart, perhaps the gifted program would offer more stimulation for him?" We met with a psychologist who confirmed he was on a 6th grade reading and vocabulary level. He displayed "ADHD tendancies", and a gifted program was highly reccomended.

2nd grade: The Gifted Program. In order to enroll in the program you had to go to a different school. The transition to a new school was too hard on him. The classroom was a blended grade range from K-2. What?! The special education teacher was in her first year of teaching, and in her late 60's. Not the best combination for a gifted class. She was unorganized, flustered, and offered little structure in the classroom. He could not handle that. He was bullied for the first time, and simply couldn't understand it. It was heartbreaking. We withdrew him from the program and took him back to the old school, regular classroom. The year went down hill from there. The back and forth, new classroom twice in one year, three new teachers, and so on and so on...

All of the behavior from 1st grade continued, but got worse. He was extremely emotional. Wasn't making friends. In fact, he didn't even know the names of many of his classmates. His teacher was headed for retirement, had it out for him all boys, and had little no patience for my son's intellectual outbursts of information. He was sent to the principal for correcting her science lesson again to tell her that "Polar Bears don't actually have fur, but hollow transparent tubes that look like fur".

He didn't see what the problem was. "It's true, Mom. They don't have fur, and she said they do. They're not even really white, but I didn't get to tell her that."

This post is linked up with Shell at Things I Can't Say for her Pour Your Heart Out meme.

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