As a special needs momma I have heard a lot of talk of poop problems. Thankfully, we don't have too much of an issue with that here. Or so I thought.... Up until now, our biggest issue is that Liam has IBS which means he is either constipated or has diarrhea. (We did go through a phase where he would hide when he had to go. He was about 5 or so when this took place. He would hide because he didn't want to stop playing to go poop. It was about 6 months before he stopped doing that and we were back to "normal." Our "normal.")
We then went through an, "I don't know if I have to go or not" phase. Where he would scream and cry because he couldn't tell if he had to go, or just had gas. We are still partially in this phase as it rears it's ugly head at least once a week. How do you explain to your autistic child when they have to poop??? I mean, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go. I have no words for that. It's a feeling. To me, it's indescribable.
Now we have a new phase mingling with that, which is, he doesn't want to poop. Yes, you read that right. So now, when he can tell he has to go, he SCREAMS. He cries. He tells us, "I don't like the way it feels." Does it hurt? Nope. "It feels gross," he says. So either, he can't tell that he has to go, or he can, and doesn't like how it feels.
So I wonder, how as a parent I can help him through this. I mean, I know it's sensory. DUH, that's a given. But how in God's name do I make this okay for him???? It's pooping. It's a natural part of life. He HAS to poop. How do I make this easier on him????
"I wish I could stop eating so my body would stop pooping!"
The worst part of being a parent is when there is something ailing or bothering your child, and you as his/her parent can't fix it. That's our job. They look to us for guidance and help, and when we can't give it then what?
I am at a loss so any advice here is appreciated and welcomed. PLEASE, help me, help this kid poop.
(Oh, and he still doesn't wipe himself. He will try once in awhile with A LOT of prompting and begging. It's a germ thing. He can't stand the thought of wiping his own arse. We pray this ends soon because I can't be wiping a 30 year old man's butt!) So any advice there is also appreciated! (btw, we have tried wet wipes, bribing, begging, sticker charts, making him sit there and refusing to wipe it. That was fun. He sat there and screamed til he was hoarse and I ended up wiping him any way. Iron will in this kid!)
Well if you must know, they are REAL, all me baby!!! Oh wait, I was talking about trees, not my boobs! Sadly our tree is fake. She's a cutie though. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't long for a REAL Christmas tree.
The scent of pine. The needles in the carpet (hey the fake tree sheds too, and they are a b!tch to vacuum up too!) The excitement when you find the good luck bird's nest in the branches. Hoping you don't find a squirrel ;) (Come on, that made for some funny movie memories in Natl' Lampoons!)
More over, what I miss is the family time, and the memories we made. We would bundle up. Complete with scarves wrapped around our heads and covering our mouths. (ok, that part I hated. Something about slobbery yarn covering my face still makes me gag. MOUTH BREATHER!)
We would be bundled head to toe (except the one year it was so warm, we went wearing shorts, damn Mother Nature!) and head to to the tree farm. We didn't sing Christmas Carols though.... We sang along to the radio. So at that time it was Madonna, Tears for Fears, Phil Collins... You 80's babies know what I am talking about ;)
Once at the tree farm, we walked for what seemed like miles!!!! The snow was always deep because it drifted up around the trees. Daddy would NEVER choose a pre cut tree. That would be too easy!!! Actually, in his words, "pre cut lose their needles too fast. WE need a FRESH one!" And so we did.
Then came the dysfunction, which of course would escalate as the day wore on. Dad wants this one. Sissy wants this one. Bug (that was my nickname) wants this one. Mom agrees with dad because they were so in love, they just did that. Vice Versa if mom saw one she liked first, Dad would agree with her. The dilemma! Which to choose. Dad would come and look each tree over. It was like a modeling contest for fir trees! He got to make the final call. Then it was cuttin' time!!!
We ALWAYS argued over whose turn it was to saw the tree. I don't understand why we did that, now. We NEVER cut the whole damn thing down! We would make a few passes, and then whine it was too hard. Daddy would then take over. He would sometimes give it back to us at the end, and let one of us make the final cuts that would knock our tree loose from the stump.
Time to drag this damn thing to the car. Now that we are in Timbuktu, we must get this bugger back to the car! There was a LOT of whining about this part. I won't lie, mainly from ME!!! Then my sister would be yammering, "SHUT UP Courtney! You're such a WUSS!!!! MOM!!!! Tell her to STOP!" Ahhh, I remember it like it was yesterday ;)
Once there, came the task of getting that bad boy onto the roof and tying it down. In those days, we didn't pay the extra to get it baled. Times were tough. So we fought amongst sticky branches, and pokey needles to get it tied down to the car. Well, mostly dad and mom. By this point the whiny kids (US) were put in the car to zip lips.
Now we had to freeze driving home because we couldn't ROLL (yep, roll, no electric windows for us!) our windows up, due to the tree ropes running through them. Once there, it was time to drag that bad boy into the house, and get it into the stand. Mom and dad at this point would get it set up. Maybe argue a bit over how straight it was, then get the lights on.
Sissy and I were now thawed out, and we knew to steer clear of the stringing of the lights. You see, this was the part that sent our calm and collected father over the edge. Matter of fact, if you heard, "You dirty rotten....." You RAN!!!! The slew of cuss words that followed would make a sailor blush! NO KIDDING!!!
Once that was said and done, we became a picture perfect family. The Christmas music came on. The decorating began. Now, with every ornament we took turns talking about the memory behind it. You see, many people do their tree in colors or themes. Not us. We trim our tree in memories. EVERY ornament has a story. Every ornament a memory.
This is the tradition I will NEVER forget. We still do this with Liam. We each put on our special ornaments. I tell Liam who got him what, and how old he was. Or how old he was when he made certain ones with me. I then put on the ones from my childhood, and we talk about my memories attached to each one.
Our tree is a story. A memory. Our lives. And that my friends, is one of the BEST parts of Christmas <3
Now that I think of it, it doesn't matter if our tree is real or fake. We still make wonderful memories with it. And we still enjoy the time together, trimming our tree. (there is just less freezing and bickering involved) :P
For your enjoyment, I give you, THE 12 PAINS OF CHRISTMAS LEGO style :)
For those that may not know: Last Monday, Autism Speaks told the world that autism is: . . . living in despair . . . fear of the future . . .exhausted, broken parents . . . lost, helpless, burdensome children . . . a national emergency
WHAT???? That isn't what Autism is to us? THIS is Autism, OUR Autism:
This is Liam. He is autistic. He isn't a burden. He isn't a tragedy. In fact, he is the OPPOSITE! Liam is a miracle! He is the baby I was told I would never have, and yet here he is. He is happy. He makes us all happy. He is loving. He is smart. He is kind. He is caring. I could list things all day of what he IS, and NONE of them are what Autism Speaks says he is. To know my son is to love him. I am guessing the folks at Autism Speaks don't really KNOW autistic individuals because if they did, they wouldn't have said such atrocities about my son and his peers. I won't sit here, and act like our life is all peaches and cream, because it isn't. Just like all other people living their lives, we too have rough days. Liam tries his hardest to overcome any and all obstacles that being autistic presents him. He's NOT lost, burdensome, or helpless. He's a fighter. Look out world, because he will take you by storm! We don't live in "despair." We live in HAPPINESS! Our lives are greater BECAUSE of Liam. He is our life and we wouldn't have it any other way. So, Autism Speaks, you lost a family that supported you. A family that thought you supported us. Do you even really care about our kids? Or do you care more about the money they raise for you in their names?
I love Christmas A LOT! I annoy the crap out of PITA with my Christmas cheer, my carols, and my baking. Well, maybe not the baking so much, because he enjoys sampling that. Liam also loves Christmas. Maybe even more than I do. So in the spirit, he is already watching holiday movies, and downloading apps on my phone. One in particular made me nervous, angry and sad at the same time....
47 SLEEPS TO CHRISTMAS. ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME??? Now I am freaking out! Liam keeps showing me this countdown. The "Christmas Creeper" as I call it! What are we going to do??? Not long ago I blogged out the realization of just how broke we are, (If ya missed that, and wanna know, check it out here.) and Christmas just keeps creeping up on us! Some suggested local churches. Well, around here, one church gets the others together and they sponsor families. Not this year. Everyone has it rough and they told us they can't help us. A slap of reality in the face when you count on that for your child's Christmas. (I know, never count on anything, but what else are we to do. And I am not upset with them, I get it, I do.)
I have extra to spare...
So now what? I have offered to sell my body for extra money, but no one wants any of this shiz..... I really am freaking out. I am hiding behind humor because frankly, that is how I get by. But, every day my son works on his Amazon wish list. Adding, adding, obsessing, and adding some more. Last year he was at odds with the idea of Santa, and though I don't lie to my child, I did. I didn't want to lose the magic, not yet. What now? How do I tell him Santa can't come this year? He has already sent his list to him via his "Magic Mailbox." I over heard him telling my mother last night, "Santa came last night Nana. He took my list, and he kissed me on the forehead. I can't wait til Christmas morning!" The only thing I can figure is letting some bills go, because I won't see my child sad on Christmas morning. I know it's not about the gifts. I know it's about family, and friends, and being together. But try telling that to a 7 year old. An autistic one at that.... So, if you don't hear from me in January... it's because I didn't pay for the internet... Have no fear, we will survive..... Well, they will, I may not :P <3 <3 <3 <3
"Age Appropriate" and "High Functioning." The next person that utters those words to me, may very well walk away with 5 across the eyes. I am serious!!!!
What is age appropriate? Is that what people use to classify NT kids? I ask because my son has NEVER been age appropriate. In good ways, and in "bad".
He hit most of his milestones early to be honest. Beyond that though, emotionally he has never behaved "age appropriate." He still to this day puts everything in his damn mouth. Not to taste it, but to feel it. I can NOT believe he hasn't choked on something or swallowed a penny or some shit. (*knocking on wood here*) He is super emotional. More so than "typical" kids his age I know. He is dangerous in that he has no clue as to personal safety. He has NO CLUE as to personal awareness, and walks on everyone, pushes into everything, and is basically like a bull in a china closet. That is fine with me, I can handle that. We have grown together and we have learned to adapt.
What I can't handle however, is thinking I have a 7 and a half year old child that I can trust be alone for even 5 minutes. I just can't leave him in a room alone, and expect to come back and find everything okay. I CAN'T.... Sometimes even I forget this....
Just this morning, I was in the kitchen, de-fatting a roast for dinner. Liam was in the other room. I could see and hear him. However, because I was using a super sharp knife, my spidey senses were focused on that. When I set the knife down (after a mere 5 MINUTES)
I look up to find Liam standing on the BACK of a chair. Sharp, broken cap gun in hand, and teetering dangerously as he was reaching for a knick knack on the high shelf.
I snatched him up and I yelled. I won't lie. I YELLED. Probably ALL of my neighbors heard me. He scared the living shit out of me. (Seriously, Pita and I can't believe he hasn't broken or severely maimed himself in his short 7 years. He is that dangerous in regards to himself.)
I know what you're probably thinking...... YES, I know it's my fault. I often forget that my son isn't "typical." I forget that unlike NT children I can't just let him be for a few minutes without my eagle eye. Many people have called me a helicopter mother, and you know what, I OWN THAT SHIT! This is the reason he is still alive. Christ if it weren't for my eagle eye, God only knows what would have happened to him by now.
Even with my hovering parenting style, I have been trying to loosen the motherly leash and let him be a boy. So many keep telling me, "he needs to be a boy." Just when I loosen that grip, he does something like this that slaps reality in my face. He ISN'T just a "boy" he is an AUTISTIC BOY. Therefore, what is right for your NT boy is NOT right for my autistic one, so BACK OFF!!!!
I have also been told, "You're so lucky he's higher functioning. It must be much easier." That frosts my ass too. I really dislike the labels of high/low functioning. All of our kids struggle with things in their own way. What may be easy for my kid, may be hard for yours, and vice versa. Besides, it's not a competition. (and for the record, my child is only labeled higher functioning educationally, NOT clinically.) So stop saying that shit!!!! Your kid is your kid, and my kid is mine. If I ask you for advice, by all means, give it. But STOP saying offensive shit.
Stop comparing our kids!!!
Also, I am going to continue hovering because if I don't my child may break his neck and then whose fault would that be????? I'm gonna say you, because you told me to loosen my grip!! (Just kidding) MAYBE....
1. Lacking nothing essential to the whole; complete of its nature or kind.
2. Being without defect or blemish: a perfect specimen.
3. Thoroughly skilled or talented in a certain field or area; proficient.
4. Completely suited for a particular purpose or situation.
Above is the definition of perfect.... so what is perfect? Am I? HELL NO! Is my life??? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.... And yet, I go on. I smile, and I trudge through the shit that flows my way. I don't sit behind my computer and whine. I don't sit on my high horse and tear others down. I pull up my big girl panties, and I friggin' deal. Don't most of us?????
You can't read that above definition and tell me YOUR life is perfect. Or that YOU are perfect, because NEWS FLASH, NONE OF US ARE PERFECT. We are all flawed in some way, our own way. Now own it! You are who you are.
In owning it, here are the ways I am NOT perfect: I am over weight. I am bitchy. I am sick and I am tired. I am often miserable. I have numerous health problems that have become too many to list. I am a good mom, but by no means perfect. There are days I can't get out of my chair to play with Liam and it rips my heart out. BUT, I try. I put a smile on my face. I ignore all the reasons I am not perfect, and I move on.
My marriage??? Wow! So far from perfect it's scary. We deal. Simple as that. We took vows to one another and stick by them. We have had so many downs in our life, it's a wonder we are still together. But we are. We could have both thrown in the towel so many times, and yet we didn't. We become stronger. For us, for Liam.
My life? We are broke. When I say broke, I mean BROKE! We are so far BELOW poverty limit, the people at Social Services ask us how we pay our bills. SERIOUSLY!!!! Well, thanks to family, we get by. Our bills are paid, but always late. We rob Peter to pay Paul and there is no room for extra. I can't even think about how we are going to pull Christmas off without breaking down into tears.
You know what else, we get food stamps. We are one of those families that has to have them or my child would starve. My husband has been unemployed due to work injuries since Liam was an infant. He has been fighting for disability since then. He has lost every time. Every doctor, and every surgeon he has seen can't believe the courts are fighting their signed affidavits that say he is disabled in every sense of the term. And yet we fight. Per our social workers request from the state, we filed for Liam. We were told because he is autistic and can't even attend regular school he would NOT be turned down. Guess what??? He was. Not once, but twice! So we are still fighting for that. Mean while there are people out there milking the system. They get disability when they can most certainly work. They get it for their kids with lesser diagnoses than my son, and their kids attend school. Why the hell is everything in our life so damn hard? My doctor has asked me when I will file because my list of illnesses is a mile long and I can't work either. I haven't yet. I can't be let down by the system again, I can't.
Something else you don't know about me? I am one of those people with food stamps that has an iPhone. I don't flaunt it. Matter of fact, I won't use it in the grocery store because I don't want people giving me nasty looks because I am on welfare and have a smart phone. I wouldn't have that phone if it weren't for my inlaws. They bought us the phone, and they added us to their plan. They pay the monthly fees, and we give them our recyclables and my parents to try and offset the cost. Do you know how bad it hurts when I see those comments about people who can't feed their kids and have a phone. It hurts like hell.
So you see, when you are down on your ass, and feeling sorry for yourself, you're not the only one. Look around. Some have it worse than you. Instead of lolling in your pity, stand up and move on. Such is life. It sucks. It's hard. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. But it is what you make of it.
I could fill a book with all of the shitty things that have happened in our lives in the past 9 years. People would be amazed that A) Pita and I haven't killed anyone yet, and B) Pita and I are still married. I could also sit here every day in my pain and be a rotten bitch to the world, but do I? No. Because I CHOOSE not too. What good does that do me? Or anyone else for that matter?
Life isn't a competition. It's life. If you ooze unhappiness, the people around you will be miserable too. Have enough compassion for the rest of the world to not be that asshole. Put a smile on your face, suck it up and TRY to be happy.
Yesterday afternoon was off to a rough start. Liam was rotten for me during lessons. His new punishment is a writing assignment. 1) because he REALLY needs to work on his handwriting, and getting him to write is like pulling teeth. 2) because he hates it, and I'm sorry, but time outs, and groundings don't work. Had to try something new.
So when he has been exceptionally rotten, he has to write. We start off with 5 short sentences, and if he persists, then it goes up by 5 each time. So I waited til Mr. M (TSS) got here to make him do it. I KNEW it was going to be a fight. It wasn't long, and I raised it to 10 sentences. He was screaming at me, kicking my chair and refusing to do it. So there son, now you have to do more!
It turned into a pretty nasty meltdown. It was a tantrum at first. He was pissed. He didn't want to waste his "Mr. M time doing stupid writing." It quickly spun out of control and into a meltdown. He was screaming at me and telling me, "I SUCK! I CAN'T DO IT! MY WRITING IS HORRIBLE!" (he over heard me telling his new school I wanted an OT eval for him because his writing is not where it should be :/ ) He ended up hiding under my desk and insisting Mr. M leave the room. Odd, because he LOVES M. You see, the older Liam gets the more aware of his feelings he is. He was embarrassed. He told me later he didn't want Mr. M seeing him "so mad and so sad." Once M complied (and I felt terrible for him) Liam dried his tears, rocked a bit and banged out his writing. I even offered to knock two off for him being such a trooper. His rule abiding reply??? "No momma, you said 10 and I was bad, so I will do 10."
My plan was to let him paint pumpkins. As you know, being an autism momma is also about recognizing triggers for our kiddos. I knew that his self esteem at the moment was low and that letting him paint pumpkins may make that worse. He is such a perfectionist. Instead I decided to let him carve one. He grew 14, we have plenty to spare! He has a special kid safe knife (thank you pampered chef) that won't cut him, and he LOVES to be let loose on unsuspecting pumpkins.
Now, I usually draw the face on, and then let him carve it. He tells me how he wants it to look and I draw it. This year, I figured I would just let him do as he wanted to it. It would be 100% Liam. We cleaned it out, and he was off......
This is what he carved....
Now, he stepped back and looked. I could see the disdain in his little face. "Momma. I suck! I ruined it!" Oh good God, here we go again. Thank God, my brain thought quickly for a change. "No, no Liam. You didn't ruin it!" "Yes I did momma. Look at the big hole!" "Liam, you see a big hole, I see a place to put the light without me having to reach inside it. Yuck!" He smiled wide! "You're right momma!" (Yep, ALWAYS, just ask you're dad!)
He was happy with that, and was ready to move on with more carving. So, I asked him if he wanted a face on it. He did. I drew what he asked. He carved the eyes, nose and part of the mouth, then asked me to take over because his hands were tired. Those pumpkins are thick little suckers!
Liam's pumpkin :)
When he was all done, I did the redneck thing that pita always does with the pumpkins. I jammed in a solar light. So much safer than candles, and I don't have to remember to go out and light it every night. When Liam saw it with the solar light, he was very pleased with his huge hole. He later told me "Yeah momma. I carved that big hole for a reason." ;)
So, carving pumpkins turned out to be a great lesson for Liam on perspective. He learned that there isn't only one way to see something. That there is always a bright side.
f
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