To the stalker in Purvis, MS:

I sure hope you enjoy reading this blog. How about leaving a comment sometime? Since you look at it all day long. Thanks! Happy reading!

A Lesson in Manners

Friday morning, I dropped Paisley off at preschool, and asked her teacher how she is doing. I was informed that the previous day, Paisley had her first time-out. The teacher explained that while the class was continued counting to 10, she decided that she would continue up to 100, without skipping a beat. When she was finished, she stood up, looked around at her classmates, and proceeded to tell them all indidually, "You dumb! Not smart like me! You dumb! Not smart like me!" After a visit to the time-out chair, and a lecture about how words can hurt, the teacher managed to get an apology out of her. The whole time I'm standing there listening to this story, I desperately tried to hold back my smirks and giggles. In the back of my mind, I was thinking, "Well, she has a point. Those other kids aren't dumb, but they are not as smart as she is." Yes, I'm a bit of a snob regarding Paisley's incredible intelligence. She's 3 1/2 years old, and operates on a second grade academic level. Wouldn't you be a little snobby if she was your child? I now realize I have made the mistake of constantly praising her hard work, and telling her nearly every day that she is super smart. It's finally kicked in, and it's rubbing off on her. When she got off the school bus that afternoon, she repeated the ordeal. I greeted her at the bus stop, and asked her about the day. "Other kids dumb..not smart like me. Nope, not smart like me." We stopped in the driveway, and I attempted to coax some eye contact out of her while the conversation went something like this- "Sweetie, you are very smart, and I'm so proud of you. Your doing a great job with your counting. Just because those other kids in your class didn't count with you up to 100, doesn't mean that they are dumb. Maybe they didn't want to count that high. Maybe, they were happy stopping at number 10. You can't go around telling people that they're dumb. It's not very nice, and you could hurt their feelings. Just like hands and feet can hurt, words hurt too." I wonder how much of this message sunk in, since anything regarding emotions and feelings, is an abstract concept to her. I expect this is not the last time I will have to lecture her about this, and that's okay. As I watch her grow, and achieve great things daily, the hardest part is trying to instill some manners and tact in this child. Sure, you can get a "please, thank you, your welcome, etc." out of her most times without a problem. She has never been afraid to tell someone what she thinks, in her own language of course, broken English and all. There are times when she makes us laugh so hard we end up crying, and then there are times when she makes us turn red as a lobster with embarrassment. One day we were in Wal-Mart, and an elderly woman approached us, and told Paisley she looked pretty in her pink tutu. "You look just like a princess!" Calling Paisley a princess is like telling a trained dog to attack. "No! I not a princess! Booooo! Princess bad! You go away now! You bad! Go bye-bye! Leave 'lone!" I quickly reprimanded her, apologized to the woman, and pushed the cart in the opposite direction. "You can't say things like that, Paisley. It's not nice.," all the while knowing it didn't register in her brain. A lesson in manners, tact, and feeling can be grueling, and never ending with kids like her. However, it doesn't mean that I will stop trying. 

7 Things You Should Never, Ever Say To A Mother Of An Autistic Child

I have heard many, many cruel and hurtful comments pertaining to Paisley and her Autism. While she is decently well-behaved in public, we do have times where she becomes challenging.

1. "You just need to learn how to control her!" If you are a parent, you know that you can't always control what your children do. They are little people, after all. With minds, and bodies of their own. Sometimes, they will make us proud, and sometimes, they will embarrass us. That's life with any child, not just the ones with special needs.

2. "If you beat her ass, you wouldn't have to deal with behavior like this" Thank you, for your unsolicited, ignorant advice. Beating a child is not only abuse, but it won't teach them to behave. It instills fear, and hate in them. You may curb the undesirable behavior for a while, but you are not teaching them how to control their emotions. If anything, it sends the message that it's appropriate to last out when you are angry.

3. "She's not Autistic. Autism does not exist. Behavior like that is simply a product of faulty parenting. You probably coddled her too much as an infant. She's just a spoiled little brat who needs to be given a reason to cry."  Autism is very real. Spend 1 hour with my daughter, and you will see for yourself. If you have never watched the movie,  'Rainman' with Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise, I urge you to view it. If you have seen it, refresh your memory, and watch it again. That movie is an excellent indication of what I deal with every single day. Instead of a 30-something year old man, it's a 3 year old little girl. Autism is very real, and it affects a good portion of the population. Kids cry. Often times, they are unable to control their emotions, because that is a skill that's taught, and must be modeled. It comes with time, and proper parenting. Sensory issues go hand-in-hand with Autism. Combine that with limited communication skills, and a meltdown with almost always occur. They can be sensitive to light, sounds, textures, etc. Without the words to simply say what's wrong, they're brains will go into overdrive, and often the only way they know how to cope is to scream. So, when it appears they have "nothing to cry about", it doesn't mean there isn't something wrong. Something is wrong, or else they wouldn't be crying. After all, we don't cry just to pass the time, or because we feel like it. Sensory problems can cause an otherwise happy child to have a meltdown out of the blue.

4. "I don't know how you put up with that!" I am her mother. I will not abandon my child just because she has some issues. Everyone has issues. Some, worse than others. How would you feel if your parents decided they couldn't deal with you and your issues, so they just tossed you off to the side? There are days when her meltdowns get the best of me. There are days when I lose my patience. This happens to even the best of parents. Raising a special needs child has an infinite amount of difficulty compared to a typical child. It will take more patience, and compassion that you ever thought you had. I do it without help. There are no nanny's or baby-sitters. No one can replace me, so I don't get many breaks. No one understand Paisley the way that I do. The only team I have is her therapists, pediatrician, and school teachers. My husband is often baffled by her behavior, and doesn't really know what to do. There are times when I don't know what to do, but with help from God, my trusty Google searches, and mother's of other Autistic kids, I figure it out.

5. "It's all those vaccinations you allowed the Doctor to give her. Don't you know that's what has cause this? You should have opted out of some, and staggered the rest. You should also force her to eat more veggies, and less junk. Lack of proper nutrition might be a factor, too." Whoa, hang on just a minute. Seriously? Eat more veggies? You have got to be kidding me. So, when my kid doesn't get her 5 a day, that's the reason she is Autistic? With that mentality, nearly ever kid in America should be Autistic. Round up 20 kids, and ask their parents how often those children eat a vegetable. Then ask them if any of those kids exhibit Autistic symptoms, or behaviors. See what you come up with, and get back to me with the results. I'm dying to know! As for the vaccination b.s., that theory was disproved more than a year ago. I never bought that crap. I'm not putting my child at risk for life-threatening diseases in an attempt to prevent Autism. If the doctor says she needs a vaccine, she gets it, with the exception of the flu-shot. No one gets a flu shot in this family. Ever. Back to the nutrition aspect, my kids eat a very healthy, balanced diet. I offer every color of the rainbow daily, and if they eat it, wonderful. If not, we can always supplement with a multi-vitamin, and a fruit buddy. There is no junk food in my house. No potato chips, french fries, sugary cereals, snack cakes, etc. If they get something sweet, it's fruit. Occasionally, I will mix up a batch of cupcakes, or cookies, and if they get a popsicle, lollipop, or bowl of ice cream, it's usually because my husband brings it home for them. Sweets are fine in moderation, but if you don't eat the healthy meal I prepare for you, then you are shit out of luck for a treat.  

6. "Your child doesn't look Autistic!" And you don't look like some ignorant ass hole...until you opened your f***ing mouth. Now it's obvious for the rest of us to see.

7. "I feel sooo sorry for you. Bless your heart." At this point, I am rolling my eyes, and letting out a huge sigh.  Why? Why do you feel sorry for me? I certainly don't exhibit the "woe is me" attitude. If anything, I am thankful that God blessed me with an Autistic child. Yep, you read that right. I am thankful. Paisley has proven to me that ANYTHING is possible. She has some quirks, and at times can be a little over the top, but my life is whole. She has given me purpose and direction. Autism never stopped Einstein, Van Gogh, Mozart, Emily Dickinson, etc. All those people were believed to be Autistic. Look at the amazing things they were able to accomplish. Autism will not stop my child, because we won't let it, and neither will she. I look at Autism like it's her special super power, instead of a disability.

6 Reasons I'm Glad I Have Girls

1. With my girls, everything is pink or purple, and I've lost count of our tutu collection. Boys can't wear tutu's, and when you put them in pink, they just look weird. Almost everything we buy for the kids is pink. Even our mega blocks are a colorful array of the rosy hue. With boys, everything is red, blue or brown. Yuk! My house is drowning in pink, and while my husband doesn't complain, I know he's not too thrilled about being surrounded with it. He knows better than to say something, lol. 

2. Pinkalicious, and Fancy Nancy books are far more interesting than Spiderman, Batman, or Thomas The Tank Engine could ever be.

3. There are so many hairdoo options with girls. Pigtails, giant bows, ribbons, butterfly clips, the list goes on and on. My girls love it all, I can't help but brag about how darn cute they look in them. This goes along with number 1, you can't put these adorable accessories on a little boy.

4. There is no pressure to "toughen them up". Even though my girls are about as tough as it comes. Paisley won't hesitate to stand up for herself when someone is picking on her. I see Roller Derby and Martial Arts in her future. Anabelle is a cannibal. I can't seem to get that kid to stop biting people! I have scars on my shoulders and arms to prove it.

5. Glitter galore. I can't even begin to count the amount of sparkly, glittery items in our home. Shine bright!

6. Shopping for girls is so enjoyable. Not to mention, easy. Clothes are far cuter, and the toy selections are endless. As long as it's not a baby doll, Barbie, or something princess related, Paisley is all over it. For boys, it's Super Heroes, trains, Hot Wheels, action figures, and Tonka trucks. No, thank you.

Could It Be?

When Anabelle was born, I never once thought that she may end up on the Autism spectrum. Paisley had yet to receive a diagnosis, as I was in the process of collecting, and recording information. I knew in my heart that she could very well be on the spectrum, but wanted nothing more than to keep a positive attitude about the situation. I was not in denial, but as per her pediatrician, we we adopted the "wait and see" approach. Months and months went by, and I noticed more odd behaviors, more symptoms, and the tantrums became increasingly severe. Since Paisley developed so rapidly, and did things much earlier than most kids her age, it was difficult for me to know what was 'normal'. We, as mothers do our best not to compare our children, and I never expected Anabelle to progress as fast as Paisley did. You often hear that siblings can be total opposites, and in part, it's true. I became a bit concerned when Anabelle was 6 months old, and unable to sit independently. "She'll get it, soon.," we said. I tried the boppy pillow for some added support, but had no success. She would sit for 2 or 3 seconds, and then topple over to the side, or forward, nearly doing a face-plant on the living room floor. Her pediatrician assured me that she was developing normally, and that every child is different. "She's fine, don't worry.," he said. In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "But Paisley was standing independently, climbing out of the crib, cruising furniture, and saying mama/dada/dog as this age! She sat up on her own at 5 1/2 months!", and then kicking myself for the comparison.  Fast forward to 7 months, she finally figures out how to roll back and forth with ease. A skill that most children master no later than 5 months. "So she's a bit slower than Paisley. There's nothing wrong with that. She's the happiest baby I have ever seen. Always bright eyed, engaged, and smiling. Let's try not to worry, and make a big deal about this.," I said to my husband. A week before she turned 9 months old, she was able to sit without support. I was still having to use the boppy pillow in the high chair for support, because she would topple around without it. She would hold a sippy cup with handles, but still unable to hold her bottle. She wouldn't even attempt to hold it. Still, very little to no babbling. A very quiet baby, unless she was giggling in hysterics, or crying. At 10 months, she would cruise furniture with help, and even turned around to take one step. My worries were put to rest. "She was a late bloomer at first, but is catching up now. Looks like I will have 2 early walkers.," I proclaimed. After all, Paisley was taking 2 and 3 steps at 7 1/2 months, and running at 9 months. Anabelle continued to cruise furniture, seeming to lack the confidence, balance, and coordination to take more than one step. I promised myself that she would walk before her first birthday. Low and behold, at 11 1/2 months, she took off. The bright expression on her face made the entire room light up with happiness. We were all so proud of her, and thoroughly enjoyed watching her teeter around. She was clumsy, but we knew she got that from me. We knew it was normal for children to be clumsy for a while after they started to walk. The one thing that bothered me, though was this. She was 12 months old, and the only thing she could say was "ma" for mama. No babbling. When she was vocal, she just grunted like a caveman, or squealed/screamed for excitement. She whined and cried to be picked up, or to let us know she was unhappy. No pointing, waving, nodding/shaking her head, etc. I started looking at developmental milestone charts to get an idea of what is normal for her age. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I now knew that she was behind, and then realized how advanced her sister was/is. I jotted down some notes on a pad, and took this to her well-check up. I voiced my concerns to the pediatrician, who told me that she is delayed, and would refer her to Early Intervention Services, but that she has an approximate risk of 80% for developing Autism, because her sister is on the spectrum. Something that had not really entered my mind. I just assumed I would have one normal kid, and one on the spectrum. I read stories about families with 2 and 3 kids on the spectrum, but never thought we would be one of those families. She smiles when we smile, and as I previously mentioned, she's a very happy baby. She's bright, and engaged. She's very very clingy, and is a bit of a drama queen. The extreme temper tantrums began a few weeks ago, as did the head banging, head butting, and hand flapping. She has an odd way of playing with toys. For example, when you put her in front of our Leap Frog play table, she doesn't really play with it. She knocks it over on it's side, sits down, and looks at it. With stuffed animals, she bites them, or rubs the tags with her fingers. She has no interest in patty cake, and has poor eye contact. I sit her on my lap, trying to have a conversation, but she will only look at me for a second or two, before squirming to get down. I performed the M-CHAT test online, and was blown away at the results. A few weeks before Paisley's official diagnosis, she scored a 10, which stated she was high risk for being on the spectrum. My jaw dropped, and tears welled up in my eyes when I saw the big, fat number 15 on Anabelle's test. I retested her weeks later, and the score went up by two points. At her Early Intervention appointment, I mentioned this while we were doing her paperwork. Both of the specialists stopped immediately, looked at one another, and then slowly averted their gaze to me. People ask me if Paisley's formal diagnosis felt like a kick to the gut at first. No. It never did. I knew in my heart that she was, so it was relief, if anything. Plus, there was no time for the woe is me attitude, or devastation. It's not the same case with Anabelle. This has been a kick to the gut for me. The specialists tell me we can't really think about doing a formal Autism evaluation or diagnosis until she is at least 18 months old, but 'off the record', they believe she is on the spectrum. Paisley's therapist is trying to be supportive, and thinks I may just be hyper-sensitive to the the symptoms of Autism, because I know what to look for. A tiny part of me agrees with him, but at the same time, something is just 'off' with Anabelle. She is a gorgeous red-headed girl, who has brought an immense amount of joy and happiness to this family. I love her just the way she is. The same is true for Paisley. My kids are truly a blessing, and I thank God numerous times a day for these special miracles. They are my world, and I couldn't imagine my life without these angels. I hear the "I don't know how you do it. How do you remain so composed, patient? How are you not ripping our your hair?" all the time. I admit, there are days I would like to rip out my hair, one strand at a time. We have days where there is nothing but screaming, whining, and meltdowns ALL DAY LONG. Yes, it wears me down. Yes, I am exhausted.Yes, I lose my patience, and end up yelling, amidst the chaos.Yes, I feel alone, and misunderstood at times. Don't we all? God gives me the strength, courage, and patience to keep moving forward. To take this one day at a time. To mother my children with everything I have, and give them the best life possible. To be considerate to their special and individual needs, and to raise them with compassion. That's how I do it. 

Autism and ER Visits Dont Mix Well

Paisley started pre-school about a month and a half ago, and never having been in a social setting for an extended period of time, she quickly ended up sick. I picked her up at the bus stop, and noticed that she looked worn down. "Maybe she's just tired. I hope she will take a nap", I whispered to myself. We came inside, and while I attempted to get her settled on the sofa with all of her necessities (blankets, animals, snack, etc.) the whining began. I had dealt with Anabelle's extreme fussiness and erratic sleeping all day long, but knowing it had been a long day for Paisley, I mustered the patience and continued to trek along. As I unpacked her book bag, the meltdown ensues. Unaware of what triggered it, I walked over to her, trying to assess the situation. She screamed louder and louder, pushing me away, as I sat next to her. "Mommy go sit other sofa! Other sofa! Other sofa!," she wailed, while pointing to the loveseat. "I know you are tired, and upset, so why don't you go lie down in your bed for a bit, until you are able to settle down, and talk to me.," I responded. "Fine! Fine! Nope! Fine!" In case you don't speak Paisley's language, fine means no, and okay means yes. When I picked her up to put her on the bed, I noticed that she felt a bit warm. "Do you feel icky?," I asked. "Ahhhhhhh!," she screams. "Ahhhhhhhhhh! Mommy go sit other sofa! Now!" I place my hands over my face to hide my frustrations, and take a deep breath. I managed to wrestle her on the sofa in order to check her temp, and low and behold, she has a fever. "Can you show Mommy where you hurt?," I plead, knowing it is probably a lost cause. "Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh! Med-cine! Purple med-cine! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" I administer the appropriate dose of Children's Motrin, hand her the Hello Kitty boo boo ice pack, a cup of berry ice water, and lie her down in bed. "Just lie down and rest for a little while, pumpkin. I'm sorry that you don't feel good, but the medicine will help you feel better in a little while. Mommy will be in the living room if you need anything.," I explain. After tossing and turning for a while, she succumbs to the exhaustion, and takes her much needed nap. Waking up 2 hours later, she screams bloody murder as if someone is sawing off a limb. I rush into her room, with Anabelle on my hip, praying that the fever has not risen, and hoping to blame the screams on a nightmare. Sure enough, my little angel is dripping with sweat, and her cheeks are cherry red. As I strip her down, and start a bath, she stands naked in the hallway, screaming at her sister to stop pulling books off her bookshelf. "Sister! Sister! Siiiiissssttteeerrr! Can't! Have! That! No! No! No!" I calmly put her into the tub, pouring water over her head, in an attempt to bring down the fever, and meanwhile, she screams about EVERYTHING. Her sensory issues went into overdrive mode in a split second, and I'm now soaking wet from the water she has splashed all over me. Fast foward several hours later, she awakes at 11 PM, hollering once again. I walk into her room, turn on the light, and see that both eyes are crusted shut with yellow discharge. "God help me, if this is pink eye," I mutter. Her fever has risen yet again, and she is doubled over in pain, holding her stomach. I grabbed my phone, call my husband, and tell him to bring his ass home now, explaining that she needs to go to the ER. He arrives quickly, and while I brief him on the symptoms, and scamper around the living room searching for her elephant slippers, he helps her get a coat on. On the way to the hospital, I explain what is happening, and do the best I can to calm her from my seat. We arrive at the ER, I sign her in, and we are shown to the waiting area. She runs up to a vending machine, demanding "ormage crackers" (Cheez-It's), and water. Within 30 minutes, the triage nurse calls her name, and we huddle into the small room. Paisley fights her every step of the way while she checks temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. I express that she is Autistic, and has some sensory problems. This bitch had the audacity to roll her eyes at me, look at Paisley, look back at me, and states, "No. She's just a brat. You need to learn how to control your child." I attempt to keep calm, wanting nothing more than to grab that long ponytail of hers, and bash her head into the desk. "Just get us into an exam room, and keep your negative opinions about my daughter to yourself, please. I have taken note of your name tag, and will be speaking with your supervisor.," I hiss. Two hours go by, waiting for someone, anyone to come in and assess Paisley's symptoms. A nurse finally strolls through the door, introducing herself. She's young, and sweet looking, and begins to ask what has brought us in tonight. Paisley is still screaming, and when it was time to check her vitals again, the nurse was met with a very angry, willful child. Once again, I expressed that Paisley is Autistic, and attempt to help during the procedures. She also rolls her eyes at me, and my daughter, and quickly becomes irate with Paisley, telling her, "You need to settle down. Your are just fine. There is NO reason for you to act like this. I think your Mommy needs to learn how to control you better." Poof! There goes my patience. "Get me a new nurse, now. Walk away from my child, and don't you dare step foot back in this room!," I yelled. Off she goes, and I clutch Paisley tight in my arms, rocking her back and forth like an infant. "It's alright, baby girl. Mommy is here, it's alright.," I whisper. 10 minutes later, a male nurse walks into the room, immediately apologizing for the way we have been treated. "I understand Paisley is Autistic. I usually handle the special needs children that come in here at night, and would love to be her nurse, if that's alright with you, ma'am. The diagnosis soon arrives. Pink eye, and the flu. Prescriptions were written, specific instructions were given for administering the meds, and after care at home. Upon discharge, I hugged this amazing nurse, with a tear streaming down my face. "I cannot thank you enough for your kind gestures, up most patience, and excellent care. God bless you." He smiled back, looked me in the eye, and said, "Your daughter is a very special girl, and it was a pleasure to work with her tonight. You are a wonderful mother. Keep your chin up, and take her home so you can both get some rest." The next morning, I received a call from the hospital. The woman on the other end of the line was calling to perform a survey regarding our treatment and care the night before. I was sure to bitch and moan about the cruel women we dealt with, and then went on to praise our nurse. "He deserves a raise, and a pat on the back for his work with us last night. He truly went above and beyond, and I couldn't have been more grateful.," I reported. She assured me the two women would be dealt with immediately, and peace was immediately restored to my mind.

I have decided to take a break from this blog for an undecided amount of time. I will be back, at some point, when things settle down a bit. Paisley missed about a month of therapy due to the holidays, her therapist coming down with the flu, and various other things. People frequently ask me if I think therapy is benefiting Paisley. "Can you see a difference?," they say. I noticed some small changes several weeks after it started, and a couple minor improvements, but really didn't notice how much it was helping her until the unexpected absence. Her behavior severely declined during those weeks, as she was pretty upset about the routine break, amongst other things. We started it up again on Wed, and I am hoping that it won't take long for her to get back on track. She will soon begin speech therapy, too and I am certain that will help with her nightmarish tantrums. In the mean time, I am planning to dive head-first into research about this mysterious disorder. I am not one of those mothers that are blessed with a great deal of patience, so my theory is that the more I can learn and understand about Autism, the better I will be able to help Paisley. I do apologize for my erratic postings in the past couple of months, but with all the things going on in my life, something had to give. My children come first, and I refuse to allow anything to get in the way of me being the best mother to them I can possibly be.

Fresh Cranberry Sauce

I honestly don't know how anyone eats the canned cranberry gelatin 'sauce'. It's repulsive to me. Here's the recipe that I have been using for years, and I promise you, once you taste this, you won't ever eat that crap in the can again. This is wonderful on waffles, pancakes, biscuits, toast, turkey, oatmeal, etc.

Ingredients:

1 bag of fresh whole cranberries
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup apple cider
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp. allspice
1/2 tbsp. cinnamon
1 tbsp. clover honey

Put all ingredients into a small saucepan, and boil on high until the cranberries begin to burst. Stir it often, and watch it closely. When the berries burst, remove from heat, and allow it to simmer for 15 minutes. Mash well, and serve. Keep leftover's refrigerated for up to 10 days, or freeze for up to 6 months.

Holiday Season

I am so sorry for not posting anything recently. I have been super busy this past month with doctor's appointments, therapy sessions, sick kids, and some serious behavior issues with Paisley. I quickly realized that something had to be neglected, and it ended up being this blog. There simply wasn't enough time in the day for everything on my to-do list. I also gave Paisley a much needed break from school, since we have been going non-stop for 3 years now. With that said, I could not be more thrilled that the Holiday season has finally arrived. In my house, we don't teach our children about Santa Clause. I simply don't believe in lying to my kids about where their presents come from. I instead, teach them where the fairy tale creature was derived from, and explain that some people believe he travels through the world spreading good cheer, and delivering gifts to good boys and girls. I remember the day that I discovered Santa wasn't real, and how crushing that was for me. I want to try and spare what heartache I can for my girls. The way I look at it is like this: If it's not okay for our kids to tell us a little fib now and then, why should it be acceptable for us to fib to them?

K is for Kisses, Kites, and Kitties

For letter K, we are thankful for kisses, kites, and kitty cats. "Mommy, kiss!," Paisley said after we wrote the words on our hand. While most autistic children are not affectionate, Paisley has her moments. Only on her own terms, though. If I ask for a hug or kiss, she will run in the opposite direction, screaming, "Nope! Fine! Nope! Nope! Fine!" The only time that she will give me a kiss when I ask for it, is at bedtime. Only because it's part of our routine. Pajamas, brush teeth, read a story, look at the moon/stars, and a goodnight kiss.