Re-fried Beans Spilled on the Carseat

That pretty much sums up the last few months. On any given day over the last 120, that spill (volcanic re-fried bean situation on the car seat from a carry-out run in Hubbie's work vehicle) could have represented or ignited for that matter, a complete and total nuclear meltdown, or just another silly little thing that happens to trip us up in this marathon called life.

A pal of mine mentioned that she hadn't seen any posts in a while and I claimed writers cramp. I told another friend that I hadn't blogged all summer because, well, I didn't think that people would be interested in what's been marinating in/on my brain these days. She called BS, or Shenanigans, for the South Park fans out there. I've just plain been putting it off for fear of being off-putting.

After all of this lamenting, I am at a point where I just need to let it all out and get on point. There are many. Some pokey, some refined. Plus, I used this blog as the point of a personal success story at a leadership conference recently and kinda of need to walk the talk.

Recently Hubbie and I have felt like we've been participating in one of those insane ultra triathalon obstacle events in, say, Alaska or the northern woods of Maine, but its just been: Life with a capital L. It's like a recurring dream I have had since age 8 or 9: It's too foggy to see in front of me while running downhill; boulders rolling after me, then I am at school/work (depending on my age), in my pajamas (if dressed at all)... and suddenly valleys and volcanoes appear. Flash to my neighbor's house on the street I grew up... grilling hamburgers with my dad who's donning a '70s mullet and a vintage Tennessee State tee. But, then I realize - I am awake!

We had a fantastic, live-it-up 'til the sun went down, play-in-the-sprinkler summer. We took a restorative vacation. (Long live Fripp Island!!!) We caught up with extended family and friends. But around the edges... come mid-September, things started to get a little tattered. It was a literal and figurative season of water skiing or inner-tubing: isn't-this-the-greatest-oh-my-gah-this-is-crazy-I'm-holding-on-for-dear-life-and-I've-just-wiped-out. 

I know it's not supposed to be easy, Life, parenting. Being working parents. But it's harder than that. It's grown-up difficult. Master Class. Wimbledon. Championship Series. So every few days, I pull up my knee socks and read another Joel Osteen quote and verse. Which seems to work. I need a little JO bobble-head in my car and on my desk at work and in my kitchen. When I bob his head, he'll give me inspirational advice.

The hamster wheel of parenthood is as tedious and exhausting as ever. I've been saying for 5 years how lucky and blessed we are not to have more significant or debilitating health or learning challenges to manage in our family. What would we do? Well now that we are doing it, with two... it's harder that we could have ever imagined. These invisible disorders with quirky front-facing characteristics are difficult for family, friends, teachers to understand. Explaining is nearly impossible. Autistic spectrum disorders are complex and wide-ranging and possess a certain social stigma. I'm aiming to be an advocate. I talk about my kids' struggles openly. It sometimes catches people off guard or makes them uncomfortable.

Even good friends try to make jokes. It's OK. I still love them. They just don't know what to say. Hubbie rolls with it. And I need to let it go, but it wears me down. It's a part-time (some would claim FTE) job to manage the schedules, the diets, the therapy, the emotional toll. Research has proved that the pressure and emotional distress on a parent with a child on the Autistic spectrum and/or related disorders is equal to someone suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I was so relieved to hear this that I almost cried. Well, if you know me, we both know that I actually yelled, 'BOOM, $%^&*(!' at my computer screen. And then I teared up and let myself have a quick ugly cry.

Some people assume that kids with phantom challenges are lazy, or spoiled, or ill-behaved poor listeners who have tantrums. OH YEAH? Just kidding. They do have real issues that prevent them from reacting and interacting like "typical" kids. I put that in quotes because, what in the hell does typical mean anyway?

I'm frustrated. Hubbie is a rock, but also trying to hang in and hang on. The kiddos are drained. We're like a bunch of short-circuiting bumper cars going in circles. But singing and dancing to Afro-Circus around the living room helps, too. Gotta love Madagascar.

This work-life balance thing? I'd love to be writing more SNL-style satire around those concepts, but I'm not sure what 'balance' looks like. At home it's a laser-tag or paint ball approach. Dodge this situation for the moment, tackle that one head-on. Hubbie and I arrive home and try to put on our game faces, exhausted and short-tempered during a 2 and a half hour session of common core math homework. Thank goodness for Google. These assignments can be challenging for any family, yet stack new math on top of an already maxed-out 9 year-old with ADHD and auditory processing disorder, and well, running a 1/2 marathon is easier. Unless you're Gweneth Paltrow. She's probably on top of this. Well rested. Serving up vegan after-school snacks and a bi-lingual tutor as needed.

Despite all of this... Big Kid has done his best at settling in with a new building and lockers and teachers and protocol with mom and dad peeking worrying over his shoulder. But he still forgets books and papers. There are a lot of folders (AND PAPERS AND MORE PAPERS) to manage, and he's doing his very best. We hear that he makes a whole lot of people laugh. He now interjects witty comments with impeccable timing. We're proud that he's picked up the sarcasm gene and knows how to use it appropriately. He's pleasant in class and working his tail off. But it's a roller coaster. Good and hard as G would say over on Momastery. Apparently my reputation precedes me in the school district, for being a proactive, legal-savvy advocate for my son. Because before Labor Day rolled around, I was labeled as a 'very involved mom.'  Think I need a Facebook badge for that. I'm not the Helicopter, Soccer, or Pinterest Mom, but you bet your sweet ass that I am hyper-organized and know my 504 from my IEP.

And then there is Beetle Bug. Master at Minecraft and a veritable human GPS. 4 years-old going on 40. Giving pre-K a run for its money. (Don't dare call it pre-school or daycare!) Telling trick-or-treaters that they've made a good choice on candy selections and riffing on his favorite TV commercial - 'It's Jake, from State Farm' - Bug likes to say, 'Well, she's a guy, so...' This little guy is the antonym of his brother. But oh, how he love thy brother! As much as they bicker and push each-other's sensory buttons (Bug: 'STOP TOU-CHIN-GK ME!!!! // Big Kid: 'I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I WAS, GEEZZZZZZZZ!!!)

And thankfully in spite of all of this... When the dust settled a few days ago on a random Tuesday after the kiddos were tucked in bed... Hubbie and I found ourselves in a stolen quiet moment. Me: nursing a sinus headache and a Moscato. He a enjoying a Yuengling and Alaska Fish Wars, we discovered a nerdy brain-and-body control game on Facebook. We tried it like a couple of giddy, goofy 7th graders. It worked and it made us laugh like we haven't laughed in a very long time. And when I realized in that slow-motion replay what we had been missing, it almost hurt. It was so needed. A definite release.

It's OK. It is going to be okay.