Forget You, Proctor and Gamble

I am so mad at that Molly Hincka Special Olympics commercial. Of course, bravo to her that she has accomplished so much. But how about the rest of us special parents who, despite all of our efforts and belief, do not have children who defy their diagnosis.

Maybe we just aren't the parents Mrs. Hincka is, maybe we just don't believe enough. That's the message I'm getting. I think Proctor and Gamble is sensationalizing something rare and miraculous--like running despite all odds. I guess the rest of us who have special kids just didn't believe as hard as Mrs. Hincka did.

Well, fuck you Proctor & Gamble. It's a fucking insensitive commercial. It implies that if your child doesn't defeat the odds, then you don't believe in them enough.

I'm sick of that shit, that miracle bullshit. Miracles are rare. Most of us are struggling through this and I'm tired of having my faith questioned because my child hasn't been healed miraculously. Where are all the articles on the parents who tried everything and still struggle with reaching their kids? Where are all the articles on how the parents cope on a day-to-day basis who have special needs kids living at home? We are not special ed teachers or therapists, we are not trained in this. Those type of resources need to be out there in as much abundance as all these snake-oil propaganda.

Because what do we do special parents? When our child gets diagnosed? We live in denial, we refuse to say the words autistic or retarded. We secretively use google only to discover these conditions can be cured miraculously solely by the mother's belief. That's all it takes. Why is it so fucking hard to find articles on how to apply ABA therapy at home and what ABA therapy is in layman's terms. We need real solutions on how to deal with our stress and help our child live productively, not sold on a parade of exceptions who defied the odds.

The Future Looks Dim

Oh, my gosh, I am so frustrated right now with Ian's development.

He lost skills and is back in diapers. I am so sad. I am fearing I need to live to be over 100 so I will be able to care for him. He is not there. I can't reach him.

My husband is in such denial, he won't even use the word autistic.

I saw this video that was supposed to inspire hope, it was a severely autistic person's essay, this person could write but not speak apparently. It was a very profound, educated view point about how in tune autistics are with the whole universe and if they aren't communicating in a narrow, limited way then people don't even view them as a person. What was so dim about it was the author couldn't function in society normally. I let myself have hope sometimes that he will function normally and be able to make a living, then I see something like this where a highly intelligent autistic person doesn't have control of their rocking or hands and can't make words.

I am just going to bed now.

not a frustrated post

I found I mostly blog when I'm upset about something so I decided to take a cue from my fakeity-fake co-bloggers who have perfect lives and never get into arguments or yell at their kids and write something sugary for my masses of readers out there.

This will not be visceral and edgy like my other posts. And yes, I know I am giving myself too much credit there.

My darling, son, Ian. You are upstairs jumping on the trampoline and it is 5:30 am. I am on my 3rd cup of coffee trying to keep up with you. Your energy is amazing. You are so brave, too. For a four year old, you attack the grown up pool like you don't need your life jacket and waders and have me running behind you, calling on you to wait. You run on oblivious, fast. Many people mistake you for an older child, you are big for your age--and strong.

My sweet, son, Riley. You are sleeping right now, but when awake you try your best to follow in your brother's footsteps. You yell when he yells, fight when he fights, attack the dog on his cue. You laugh at yourself when I chastise you for it. As if we are both in on the same joke. I see you have a sense of humor. You have the gift to make any babysitter fall in love with you. And you are a good dancer! Yes, you dance. You clap your hands and wave your arms in the air to any music or singing. You are a happy, loud baby.

He Should Say

So, my husband misplaces his credit card and asks me for it. I say I haven't had it for days. He proceeds to look through my wallet and purse. I let him, I ask to look through his wallet to make sure he didn't overlook it. He ignores me. The card is lost, officially lost. I can tell by the knot in his eyebrow that he is blaming me. I remind him of the last time he used the card (at the gas station the day earlier) and proceed to remind him, the last time I used the card was days before that (at wal-mart). He is without a doubt the loser of the card.

So, he finds another thing to pick a fight with me about. Because now he is just upset and full of venom and needs to find something that is my fault. Then we end up fighting over the mortgage, which I am no longer paying into. I tell him he is lucky he is married to someone who paid into it as long as I did because it is a luxury none of his co-workers have and oh, by the way, some women don't pay anything at all to their husbands. Then I unloaded my own bit of venom on that topic which ended with me saying that I would just move out with the kids and problem solved.

Now, he finds himself in pout mode upstairs in the guest room where he retreated to with his individually prepared plate of spaghetti when he realized that when provoked I will take an argument into divorce-talk territory. Now he is walking around all pout-sacked out of it and actually has me apologizing to him.

I may have committed full-frontal argument assault but he goes and lays the guilt trips on me and has me saying sorry to him when he started the argument in the first place--over a topic we were already agreed upon--and just because he was pissy over losing his card. He should be sorry to me. He should say, 'you're right, I can't do it without you.'

I never get that type of gratitude.