Then I will just love you.

It was late, and I was tired of being woken up from those early, dead stages of sleep, but regardless – when the meltdown went full swing – I stayed. For 45 minutes she cried mad, hard tears of rage, and nothing was EVER going to be okay again. I had turned off her new favorite show (Fuller House) because I realized it was keeping her awake instead of helping her go to sleep. (Yes, Emma 100% needs to have a cartoon playing to go to sleep.) Anyway, the abrupt changing of the channel totally set her off. In her defense, I was at least half asleep, and I didn’t even tell her what I was doing. I just came in, got the remote, and changed the show.

In Emma’s meltdown-world, she was never, ever, ever going to see the show again. Despite my promise that she could watch it when she got home from school tomorrow – it was still NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. Logic was not happening, and the passage of time wasn’t making sense. These are things that I understand now… pre-frontal cortex shut-down. So, I laid down and just kept telling her how much I loved her, and that I wasn’t going to leave until she was alright. Eventually she came back to our version of Earth and things were going to be okay. We started talking a little, snuggled up in the blankets, looking at each other’s faces. Her eyes red from crying, we had this conversation:

e: Mom, am I ever going to make this life?

m: What do you mean?

e: I mean, is this life going to work for me? Am I going to be able to have babies? Have a boyfriend? What if I can’t do them… what if I just cant, and I just fail, and I never get control of myself, and I just cant…. do… or be anything real. Mom, what is going to happen to me?

m: Well. Then I will just love you. And I will still take care of you, Emma.

e: Momma, you have the most beautiful hair in the world.

m: Thanks Emma, you have very pretty hair, too.

e: And you have the most beautiful eyes.

m: Thank you.

And my eyes fill up with tears, because she was SO real at this moment, so lucid. Grief. What a sad thing for a 10 year old girl to be thinking about; those thoughts, they have a backing of truth that I just wish wasn’t there. I mean, what IS she going to do? What will life look like when I’m old, or dead?

I stroke her hair and remind her, “Emma, you just have to keep trying, really really hard, and do your best to keep growing.” Sometimes I feel like this grief that ties into my parenting Emma comes from clinging to the dream or an expectation. So, I remind myself to stop holding to the dream or expectation. Then, something in my brain says, “But how come everyone else gets to hold on to those dreams?” And I don’t have an answer to that right now. Maybe tomorrow, when not tired and sitting in in this quiet place called midnight, my positivity will kick back in.

A Letter to Special Education Teachers:

(Originally posted in a 27,000+ member Facebook group for Special Education Teachers and Support Staff)

Dear Fellow Teacher,

This group has had numerous posts and articles with hundreds of comments on the topic of Special Education Teachers being physically abused and assaulted by students with disabilities. There are so many people in this group, and so many varied answers. However, I find myself feeling frustrated and agitated with the lack of perspective and level of judgement by some professionals in this group in regards to this subject in particular. The subject, again, being violent/physically abusive children. However, please note that it does cross over into nearly ANY single negative aspect of educating a child with a disability – when that aspect is directly attributed to their disability.

First, I want to clearly recognize that there is such a thing as a child with a disability that is responding violently, and that the violence can be unrelated to any of their disabilities. I know that does exist. But for the intent of this letter, I am going to speak to the other (much larger in special education) percentage of children, the group of children that are physically violent and it is in direct relation/due to their disability.

From the comments and reactions on posts/articles, I’m not entirely sure if some of you really truly recognize that there are children out there with disabilities that affect them in such a way that they are completely unable to control their violent and physical outbursts. My daughter is one of these children. She is loving, caring, generous, and has a heart of gold. Yet her disability prevents her from being able to exhibit the self-control and whatever else it takes to not respond physically and aggressively when she is perturbed in nearly any way.

There are many children like my daughter. These kids cannot have the violence “disciplined out of them”, ABA does not “train it out of them”, fear of law, returned violence, or even threat of death cannot allow them to simply control themselves. Again, this is their disability. That doesn’t mean they won’t have good days and bad days, that at times something clicks and they are able to handle a situation beautifully. It happens. But that also doesn’t mean they can control themselves all the time and are choosing not to, or they simply “aren’t motivated enough”.

Excerpt of my daughter at home… sobbing hysterically, “I don’t know why I get so mad!!! Why do I get so mad! I don’t want to be angry, I hate myself!” Enter self harm. Suicidal ideations. Scars on arms from scissors. Yes, she also has depression and anxiety in addition to her other conditions – but these thoughts are in direct relation to her inability to respond typically, and the violent, mean, abusive, aggressive responses or outbursts she has. Teachers, I just want to give you a little view of home life. She knows right from wrong, she LOVES people. Her inability to control herself has led to a self-image that is very, very difficult to live with.

Just like a child that is perhaps cognitively impaired and unable to show control of their bladder, requiring diapers and stinky, unpleasant diaper changes throughout the day, these children have special needs that go above and beyond the care of a typical child. It’s so unfortunate that their dysfunction is painful and actually dangerous at times.

When you sign up to be a special education teacher, you are signing up to help teach all children with all disabilities, and this includes children that have conditions like my daughter. They are protected by law, which clearly states that they deserve a free and appropriate public education, just like everyone else. If you are unable to handle the physical nature of a child that has an emotional disability, I understand. It really takes a special kind of a person to be able to effectively handle and deal with that. But you need to recognize that the child has a disability – and that they deserve everything the sweet, quiet child with Cognitive Impairment has, or the funny, quirky, at times agitating child with autism or ADHD gets.

You can make the choice to work in a classroom, school, or a district where you are not going to be caring for the hardest of the hard kiddos – but again, when you run into those children that I’m speaking of, instead of belittling parents or the children themselves(!), consider the fact that you did indeed sign up for this, and that if there is an issue, it is with your level of training and education as a professional or how your school district is organizing its special education students. I’m not saying it’s a teacher issue — I’m saying it’s an educational issue or it’s a structural issue, not a student or family issue.  

I’m sorry that my daughter has hurt other people, it sucks so bad. A para I care greatly about had to have surgery on her shoulder due to an incident with my daughter that consequently led to a legal battle with insurance and her losing her home. It’s so hard not to feel guilty. I take that back, it’s impossible not to feel guilty. I just reign it in. The para hugs me, and says, “I knew exactly where I was working and what I was doing. I chose this job. It’s not her or your fault.” Ugh. But again, welcome to the world of disability. It isn’t a pretty thing. It hurts emotionally, and physically. Perhaps financially. I suppose someday they might have special education degrees that say a person is certified to teach the blind only, or autism only, or cognitive impairment only. But right now, it’s to teach children with disabilities. Period.

I’m rather tired of defending my parenting, my doctors, my decisions, and my daughter from society in general. It’s been a nearly 11-year battle of explaining, “No, really, she’s not a horrible brat. She has an invisible disability, and it makes life harder for her than for us, trust me.” It’s hard to convince people on the outside that I’m not a horrible parent. I’m also tired of my 3 years in this group, finding myself defending the fact that IT SUCKS THEY ARE VIOLENT, but hey – we parents certainly don’t pick it, they didn’t pick it, but YOU — dear teacher — you decided you wanted to dedicate your time and energy to help children with disabilities. So, yes, you did pick IT. Unfortunately it is indeed a blank check.

I find it extremely unfortunate that our higher education system doesn’t fully prepare teachers to effectively handle these students. It’s such a disservice to you and to them. I find it awful that many school districts don’t have the organizational structure to really best serve these children, and in turn, help their special education teachers out, too. It’s not fair to the teachers or the children. But regardless, there is a need for champions for these children. They deserve love, affection, attention, proper ‘care and handling’, education, and the chance to grow and stretch into the most functional people they can be.

Thanks for reading,
Daleth
Mother and Special Education Teacher

Smooth Sailing, At Last (For Emma Anyway)

So, I think that this period of reprieve has continued long enough that I can finally comfortably post about it. I mean, I’d love to have a few days of positive news – and immediately fill you all in – but the truth is that so many times things shift immediately downward and I’d wish I hadn’t said things were better.

But right now, this time —- it’s the first time in EVER that I genuinely feel that things are going tremendously well. I’m still dubious. You cannot have years of downward spiral, and not squint your eyes a little bit at this infant-6-weeks of happiness. But regardless about my hesitancy, it is here, and is staying.

Family and friends have asked me, “SO, what is it? What has suddenly made things better?” and I am sure that it’s a combination of several elements:

First, we had a medication shift that appears to actually be positive. I’ll go ahead and share, but I believe that the Topamax has been the game changer – along with the side-kick of Cymbalta. We hadn’t tried Cymbalta in the past because is in the red on her Genesight test. That doesn’t mean it’s bad for her or she shouldn’t take it, it’s more that the Genesight test confirmed that she likely metabolizes duloxetine very rapidly, meaning that she may require higher doses than average. So far, we’re doing just fine on regular doses.

Second, our school district (HUGE shout-out to Fountain-Fort Carson School District 8 in Colorado Springs and SPED District Administration E.Z. for their stunning understanding, support, and dedication to success for ALL students) approved a 1:1 teacher and a 1:1 bus aide for Emma. This means that there is always a staff member at school that is there with her, ready to immediately pick up on warning signs and diffuse a situation. They were pretty much already assisting 1:1 before this, which was understandably leaving her classroom short-staffed. But they would occasionally have to help with other student issues during class and transitions, leaving Emma wide-open for negative events during her most susceptible times. Her bus rides have also been measurably better with the 1:1 bus aide. She has someone there to help her navigate things that are just SO hard for her! She is smart and very verbal, but her lack of executive functioning skills leave her out in the cold. Literally. Sometimes if she’s very aggravated or emotionally exhausted, she will be freezing and just cry or throw a sudden fit about it instead of simply putting her coat on. The bus aide helps her navigate that environment, and it’s awesome.

Third, I resigned from my teaching position as a special education teacher. I obtained a job working remotely (from home) as an executive assistant through BELAY Solutions. They are great! I’m considered an independent contractor, so technically, I’m self-employed. Oh well! This has benefited Emma immensely. First, my entire morning from waking her up to getting her on the bus is 100% dedicated only to her, and keeping things happy, ritualized, and as least-annoying as possible (that is least-annoying for HER, NOT for me!) No more me getting ready for work, getting work stuff completed, trying to rush and fit it all in so early in the morning. It’s all about Emma. And more importantly? If Emma is up through the night or has a really bad night’s sleep? I don’t even wake her up for the bus. I do this amazing thing called LETTING HER GET SOME SLEEP – so that she can try to function a bit more through the day! It’s totally cool. NO MORE GUILT. I’d feel so bad, because if I let her sleep in and drove her to school, I was late for work and letting everyone else down there – including my students. If I woke her up and managed to get on the bus, I’d feel guilty for subjecting her school’s staff to her unavoidable horrible day, and I’d feel bad for Emma – because she doesn’t want to “be bad”. It sucked. Now, it’s no more! The only guilt I feel is that the bus aide might feel like she was unnecessary, but I just can’t feel too bad because… well, because. I need a break from guilt.

Fourth, Emma has found a measure of positive self-esteem from our charity we have started, Emma’s Cards.  She desperately needs something to feel good about herself with. She is painfully aware that when she is out of control of herself, that she is “bad” and hurts other people. She has such a beautiful, generous, caring heart, and her self image is destroyed on a daily basis by her actions and her physical self-image. Emma’s cards has been filling her need for philanthropy and do-gooding. Which I can really relate to! So, we’ve started the big push to get Emma’s Cards off the ground. You can connect to it on FaceBook here, too. Don’t be offended if I dedicate an entire post to Emma’s Cards in another month or so.

Now, to kind of let you know what life has been like here. She has stopped aggressing at me 100%. She tells me all day long how much she loves me, that I’m the best mom in the entire world, and she tries REALLY hard to control her emotions. When she gets upset, as long as I handle it perfectly (and I do mean PERFECTLY) she will calm down and come out of it within minutes, 80% of the time. Within a minute or two, she is tearfully apologizing to me, “Mom! I’m SOOO SORRY! Please forgive me!” which is a huge change. She has been getting on the bus well, and dealing with disappointment about 50% better than before. She has been sweet, loving, and caring. She has been handling my husband’s commanding and harsh tone of voice very well, almost without reaction most of the time. I’m even able to get her to brush her teeth, bus her own plate from the table, and occasionally actually refill her own water!

She is still scared at bedtime, but we have a routine of our special Emma-Mom time before bed, and I just try to stick to it. I would say her sleep is approximately 50% better than before, too. Picking is horrible, but self-injury has halted. I haven’t heard her complain or cry about Roblox being gone for weeks.

Now. Life is NOT peaches and cream, I assure you. And things are still very touchy. I receive an incident report for a restraint or a seclusion on a daily basis (not exaggerating!) The difference though is that they are able to get her de-escalated within minutes, the elopements have ceased, and repeat high-intensity incidents aren’t happening all throughout a day. In essence, she’s really starting to be able to self-calm and get a better grip after an incident occurs.

On a personal note and to kind of bring a level of awareness to the mother-situation, you could also say that in the last 2 months: I’ve resigned from my career to bring in about 25% of my prior income, have SSDI starting a recollection of a $13,000 overpayment, had to put my 14-year old most amazing dog companion Arrow to sleep, and I went through a hysterectomy-plus repair surgery. It’s been a freakishly stressful year and an insane 2 months.

Thankfully I have a dedicated, loving collection of family and friends that always find ways to brighten my day, along with a daughter that (usually) fills my heart with love and joy. She can be so precious!

*Quick note: if you’d like, you can also connect to this blog through Vision of Autism on Facebook.

Emma’s Dog, Freyja, very patient and loving with Emma 🙂

Emma with her first order of cards for Emma’s Cards

Me and My Arrow

Wheaties Will not Turn Emma Into a Gymnastics Star, but Perhaps a Prize-Winning Boxer. And I Don’t Mean the Dog.

Too much time has passed to adequately fill you in on the last year+ of life with Emma. There has been change, and much has stayed the same too. We still have: -Challenges, -Ups and Downs, -Good Days, -Bad Days, -Times we Laugh, -Times we Cry, -Late Nights, -Tired Eyes, -Broke Backs, -Happy Hearts, -Screaming Tirades, -Loving Hugs, and Autism.

I’ve been wondering exactly how to ease the upcoming subject into my post without alerting any autism-ma’s and pa’s about the material. Why? Because a year ago, I would have started reading one of my favorite blogs, and gotten to a certain point where the dreaded initials are typed, and started to fade out. “Crap,” I might have thought, “there goes the neighborhood!” I would have likely been annoyed at losing a blog that I thought was maybe going to remain sane, down-to-earth, and not jump on the Autism Bandwagon that I detest so much.

The subject? The material? The DREADED initials?

GFCF.

(Phew. Okay. I said it. Are you still here? Still reading? I hope so ~ Because it’s become a part of our lives, and I’d like to tell you my little story about it.)

Emma has ongoing digestive issues, like many children with autism. She also had many stomach aches. We went in to see a GI specialist about a year ago, and he took an x-ray. He said she was so full of poop, and impacted/etc, that it was causing her ‘leaking’ and tummy aches. He told us to do this GI cleanse, and then put her on a daily dose of Miralax.

“What the hell else?” I thought to myself during and after the appointment. I tend to be pretty honest and straightforward. I told the GI guy that I just didn’t see myself being able to implement this for at least several weeks, but that I’d give it a shot when I could. He thought that was incredibly rude of me, but I didn’t care. School, Driving, Autism, Not potty trained at the time, and all the other stuff going on led to constant overwhelm and an inability for me to take on anything new, especially a committed regime like daily Miralax. Let alone the cleanse he recommended. So, time went on… And in the end, Emma was ‘going’ every day. I felt that things were probably moving along just fine, as she didn’t seem constipated any more. We solved potty training (mostly, more about that another day). Whatever.

Stomach aches ensued, we ended up going back to him in February of this year. He did an x-ray. Showed her “backed up like a freight train,” (his words, not mine) and he then got very irritated with me for not having taken his advice. He said that he would not see Emma again unless we did the GI cleanse. >SIGH<

So. GI Cleanse. It involved putting my daughter on 48 hours of clear liquids only, and on something like 8+ cap-fulls of Miralax. Oh, By the way, did I mention that her behavior had gone completely out of control? She had become increasingly violent, angry, aggressive, you name it. She was screaming horrible things at us that we had no idea where she got in her head, like, “I’m going to BURN YOU!!!!!!” and “I want you to go get SHOT!!!!” and etc. She was attacking us physically, and …life was hard. So. I anticipated 48 hours of physical abuse. I went and spent over $200 I didn’t have at WalMart buying games, toys, new playdough, etc. I figured I’d better be ready to take on anything and keep her very, very happy.

We started the cleanse. The cleanse went on. She ate about a million popsicles, and I got her every kind of soda and juice imaginable. She only asked for food 3 times.

(Do you want me to repeat that?!?!?!)

She never broke down. In fact, she was nicer and better than she had been for a long time. There was no violence, minimal tantrums, no heavy meltdowns with head banging. I didn’t get kicked or hit. I only opened 2 of the toys I bought.

And I wondered first, Who replaced my child with this new and improved unit? Was there a recall I missed? And I wondered second, What in the world is my daughter eating that would cause such a sudden change?

That’s when I knew we’d better go ahead and give the GFCF diet a try. It wasn’t sugar or food dye affecting her, that’s pretty much all she’d been consuming for 48 hours straight. My husby and I decided we’d test one full month and check in with everyone at school and home about if it was worth continuing.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

Now. My daughter was in no way cured of autism. At all. She is still and does still have a developmental delay, a diagnosis of autism. However, she stopped being so violent and angry. The irate meltdowns disappeared, and the regular meltdowns seemed to lessen. That is what we saw at home. Less screaming, no hitting and kicking.

School? Emma’s para summed it up by saying, “If it was my daughter, and I firsthand saw these results – I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to keep her on the diet.” So, despite the cost and added workload on the mother (me), we kept her on the diet.

I’ll be honest, in most ways it sucks. It’s more expensive, it takes way more time to come up with lunches and breakfasts to send to school that she will eat, and it’s just …more work. My son is not a fan of most of my GFCF treats, but hey, I guess that means he won’t eat them all, eh?

The strangest parts: Emma has lost a little weight (a good thing. She was not obese, but a bit overweight, which is a huge concern to doctor’s these days. I was tired of fielding the questions about her restricted eating patterns and what I’ve done to try to overcome them). She is eating a wider variety of food then before, definitely. Also, she is eating way less food. (She’d have these crazy hungry days where all she would want to do all day was eat – It was all I could do to keep the eating to some sort of minimum. Other days she could eat more than my teenaged son.)

Most strangely, she has totally and completely accepted her diet. My 5 year old daughter that hates change and only wants her way? She says, “Okay mommy, I can’t have that. It has (wheat/dairy).” We call it her Allergy Diet. She’s only broken down about not having a grilled cheese sandwich ONCE in the last 9+ weeks.

(Is this post long enough yet???? ha! I’m making up for lost time, folks. Hang in there.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Two days ago Bob and I decided that we needed to test this diet out a little bit, and see what some wheat would do. I let her have a hot dog with the bun. Then, I let her have two slices of bread, and then three pretzel crackers. She had been normal all day. About 45-60 minutes later she turned into the bride of satan. Bob kept looking for pea soup, and I literally sat in the front seat of the car plugging my ears and trying to smile to hide my ear-pain. She went ballistic; she screamed for hours, she repeatedly kicked us in the car while in her carseat, she banged her head back over and over again, and nothing was right. She sobbed and sobbed over nothing relevant. It went on and on… 4 hours later? A little bit better, but not much. The next day? A little iffy sometimes, but better than the previous evening. Today? Fine. Although she has asked for more bread about 10 times, which is more than the last 9 weeks. Hmpf.

-Gads-

No more wheat. Please, dear people, no more wheat.

Why did we do this? Because I feel it’s important to not blindly trust something, especially if it’s not easier and cheaper. I want proof. I also wanted to try to see if it’s both wheat and dairy, or just one that is more of a problem than the other. Obviously we figured a little something out this weekend. I am making her lunches and breakfasts with a renewed vigor. Also? I have a secret weapon I can use to get out of family functions… (Ha ha ha ha! Please know I’m joking!!!)

Stay tuned though, because next weekend we’re going to give dairy a try.

 – – – – – – – – – – – –

PS: I did one of my big research papers in my abnormal child psychology class on the subject of the efficacy of the GFCF Diet in treating children with Autism. The reports are that it is inconclusive; there is no proof of it curing or changing a child’s autism in any way. So. I used that to back up my stance that I was not going to put Emma on the diet. The results are still inconclusive, and so I don’t mean to tell anyone what to do. I can however say that our experience has been somewhat drastic and specific. The end. For now. xoxoxo

***Update: The GFCF diet turned into just gluten free, until the beginning of 2017, when it appears to have lost its effectiveness.

good days, and not-so-good-days

Today wasn’t an especially good day with Miss Em.  I left this morning before she woke up and headed over to my sister’s office.  It was empty, quiet, and perfect to get my Autism Presentation finished.  I have my first actual presentation scheduled this week [holy cow!]  Anyway, apparently she was mostly normal for DH and R while I was gone.  Then, I got home, and the damn dam broke.

She spent nearly the entire waking day screaming, clinging, desiring ridiculous things.  She wanted her blanky, there, now.  No, now she doesn’t want cereal, and she’s going to SCREAM about it.  What the heck are those dogs doing near her?  [scream, hit, scream, hit].  Pull on mommy’s hair, pants, shirt.  Oh, lets bite mommy’s shoulder now.  She wants the park, she wants Dora, she wants Spongebob, she needs a new diaper NOW [we just changed it 2 seconds, literally, prior.]  Ugh.  She wants the dishwasher soap.  She wants the OTHER lotion.  [scream, cry, scream, cry.]  Cry. Cry. Cry. Scream. Throw. Cry.

Did you ever know that a child could be so incredibly unhappy?

She needs me to hold her, ALLL the time [she weighs 45 f.ing lbs].  She wants to wear the bra that I’M wearing.  Why the HELL is that dog chewing on it’s bone across the room???? [SCREAM, SCREAM, “NOOOOOOOOOOOO ZEUS!!!!”  For godsake.  I was NOT about to get up and punish the poor dog this time.  Scream, scream, she wants soda.  juice.  chocolate milk.  a lollypop.  cereal.  chips.  chocolate.  NO, she doesn’t want ANY OF THAT.  Cry, cry cry.  OH WAIT, the little blanket she went to sit on had a FOLD IN THE CORNER.  She went ballistic.  UGH.

Are you guys getting the point?  I’m actually not making this up.

And these are only the parts that I wasn’t able to put out of my head.  I think my ears are bleeding.  Why does she save this all for me?  Why?  I mean, ultimately I’m glad that she’s so much more contained and happy for other people.  But the poor mom needs some love too, you know????

[this is emma last week, when her poor nose/upper lip was sore from blowing her nose so much.  She HAD to have a bandaid on it.  It was interesting watching her eat a grilled cheese sandwich like this…]

The Saddest Violin in the Orchestra

I have to know, for those that have been dealing with a special needs child longer than me, does the grief ever go away? Or does it follow in some form or another as life’s milestones continue to pass by differently than you expected [before diagnosis]?

This week has been excruciating. I have no idea why, but Emma’s behavior has suddenly spiraled down into the pits of despair.  The last four days have been filled with anger and tears beyond belief.  She’s having these horrible meltdowns that turn into absolute insanity as she hits herself, slaps her face, pulls her hair, and bangs her head while screaming like she’s on fire.  They last for a looooong time, and happen multiple times a day.  That makes the horrible angry screaming fits seem like good behavior, and the times like now [happily watching sesame street as she plays with a straw] seem positively ANGELIC.

The last 20 minutes of the ride home today were filled with that.  She wanted the Elmo movie on.  I HAD it on.  She melted down, and under the screams I just had to listen to the sound of her slapping herself in the face and banging her head back on the car seat.  ???  I tell you what, it’s torture.  The last month has been mother abuse, but she’s only 2, and I wouldn’t press charges anyway.  But damn. I’m reaching a point where I feel like I’m stuck living in a nightmare.

The doctor on Monday said she probably has vocal cord damage [scar tissue?  Polyps or something] from screaming and yelling/crying so much, so loud, for so long.  Talk about breaking my heart. While we were there, we heard other kids throwing horrible fits in the other examination rooms; they sounded just like Emma.  Except, they were 8 or 9 or 10 years old.  It was overly sobering.  I try to be positive and think that things will improve for us – maybe these things are all just a phase.  But to be completely honest, the future is so vastly unknown that it’s absolutely terrifying.

The doctor also told us to try melatonin before bedtime.  I guess that it has extraordinarily positive effects on children with an ASD.  We bought some on our way home from Denver.  I was SOOOO excited to try it!  Last night was her first night, and it didn’t work.  She still woke up twice. I know that may not seem like a big deal – but I was disappointed anyway. I’m very ready to begin sleeping through the night.

Today Emma even threw her fits during therapy, which has never happened before.  She loves J & J so much that sessions are usually great, despite how bad of a day she’s having.

I’m also broke, heading into finals week, and had my last painting class today – none of which help with my feelings of discouragement.

Snowsuits

I find myself facing a new paranoia…  I fear the meltdown. Maybe some other day I’ll talk about the meltdown itself, but today I just want to share my success in avoiding one.   I was getting ready this morning, wondering if there is a special way I could wake Emma up that would ensure some semblance of humanity.  I got everything ready, and crept into her room for the attack.  My limbs felt a little bit rubbery and I found myself holding my breath…  Is it possible to just slip jeans on her without waking her up?  Can I change her diaper underneath the blankets?  How about transporting her to Alamosa with her entire mattress and crib? I’ve tried to dress her in the clothes I need her to wear the night before…  Who cares if the “strawberry-ba-ba” leaks pink stains all over, at least I know that it was freshly laundered the day before.  BUT – NO.  That won’t work, because Emma has a very very VERY VERY specific list of what is or is not going to be worn to bed.  It consists of:  FAIRY PRINCESS DRESSES, VERY SHORT SHORTS, SWIMSUITS, and the occasional Dora, Elmo, or Spongebob short-sleeved pajama TOP.

>sigh<.

I’m screwed.

Anyway, as I was saying, this morning.  I tried one of my 10 approaches, the “non-chalant mom is not even really here, so just go back to sleep” method.  It worked for a diaper change, but definitely not pants.  The legs were just beginning to wind up (kind of like a spinning chandelier) and her vocal cords were stretching when I decided that we weren’t going to wear pants.  She could wear the damn spaghetti-strap summer dress to school and I’d bring some pants with her.  But she’d need her coat.  (NOT).  Coats are obviously OUT OF FASHION this week with autistic children, because you would have thought I was trying to smear her down with dog shit.  I tried choices, sweaters, hands-on-forced-dressing, and such.      No way-Jose.  Finally I came running out of the bedroom with her full-body-snowsuit (it’s about 2 feet thick and bright purple).  “Will you wear THIS, Emma?”  Her eyes stopped glazing, and through hiccupped sobs-dying, she said “Yeah.”  So the snowsuit went on, and she even let me take the dress off.  Miracle-of-all-miracles.

The car ride was a different story, but at least she was protected from frost-bite.  I handed a pair of pants and a shirt to the daycare lady and gave her my fondest wishes of wellbeing.