We spend all of our time telling boys not to hit girls. Protecting girls from our boys because they are bigger. They are stronger. They shouldn’t ever put their hands on a girl.
But what we don’t do is tell our girls not to hit boys. We don’t tell our girls the consequences to their actions.
Today, Thanksgiving, I spent half the day in the ER. Not because anyone was sick. Not because a bone was broken. But because my son was hit in the balls so hard it caused trauma to his ball that caused an infection.
Yep…. the trauma of hitting a boy in the balls can cause an infection. If the boy doesn’t tell his parents about it the infection can kill their ball. Which will land the boy in the operating room to have it removed.
A ball is a teste which produces sperm and testosterone. Testosterone plays a key role in the development of male reproductive tissues. This means in hopes the other ball isn’t too damaged to reproduce or create the testosterone he needs.
So This is assault. This is a crime. So instead of just teaching the boys they can’t hit girls. We need to start teaching our children we can’t hit people.
Now your question maybe what did he do to get hit in the balls.
My 10 year old son walked into his sister (8) and his dads girlfriend’s daughter’s (13) bedroom.
I’ve sat down an had the anatomy talk with my children. My son so he understands what is going on with his body. My daughter because she needs to understands the reaction to her actions. As disgusted as they were to have to listen to me, they listened. My daughter feels horrible for what she has done. But now understands why this is an issues.
Ike has always been a hyper, outgoing child. I would say 95% of the time he is happy. He’s always had a love for life. I love that about him.
At the age of 3, he started daycare/preschool. His teacher told me “Ike is probably the most hyper child I’ve met.”. We started coffee in school. We knew he liked it. He always drank ours. It helped calm him down. Coffee is a natural stimulant. Stimulants are known to counter act ADHD. So it only seemed right. I didn’t want him on medication. But after two years, and uping the coffee intake to two cups a day. Medication was the only option.
So at five, he started therapy. He was diagnosed with sever ADHD. The diagnosis didn’t sit quite right with me. But we were on a path to helping him. I accepted it. He started with low meds in the morning. It helped for awhile. But then we were back to two cups of coffee. That quit working too. Up the dose again. Crap… not working. Up it again.
We had a roller coaster. It was too much on his body. The meltdowns weren’t even touched. He was aggressive. He was emotional. He was a jerk when he wasn’t happy. Constant text and phone calls daily. I was constantly talking to him about his behavior. He just didn’t get it.
At the age of seven, I went to the school with a letter requesting they evaluate him for autism. They dropped the ball. They kept pushing me off. Even writing a letter. Which I didn’t write. My mother with a master degree and a 20 year career in mental health wrote it. They did nothing. This fight continued for two school years. I even reported it to the state. The state informed me they didn’t have anyone in our area to help. Wtf good was that. Ugh! So… back to therapy we go.
We started the second evaluation for therapy in three years. He was eight years old now. Meltdowns. Aggressive behavior. Pulling his own hair. Hitting himself, me, his sister. I just cried every day. I didn’t know what to do. The school wanted me to correct his behavior. I wanted to help but I just didn’t know how to help him. I was trying so hard. No one would help me, help him. This was my only hope.
At the end of the evaluation process that took three days… She said it. “I would like to have him evaluated for autism.” The shock took over me. Someone else seen it. Someone else was going to help me fight. It was no longer me against the world. I had someone in the mental health field there to stand in my corner and she did help. She sent us an hour south to have him evaluated.
The woman doing the evaluation went over it all. His past. His present. She sat with him and tried to play with him. But he didn’t know her. He wouldn’t let her into his world. Would not make eye contact. Which wasn’t uncommon. He didn’t make eye contact with me. And I’m adored by my son. Hours and hours passed by. We even stopped for a lunch break. Then back to it. She finishes it all up and says…. “I don’t need to score this to tell you, your son is autistic. He’s high functioning and that is thanks to the effort you as parents have put into helping him develop. The next step will be getting him into ABA. I will be getting back to you in a few weeks.”
The whole ride home I cried. Not because I was sad. But those years of fighting. Those years of begging someone to listen to me. Those years of being the warrior for my child. Finally paid off. Someone listened. Someone sat with him. Someone finally evaluated him. He was finally going to receive help. The help he deserved. May 31 2018. My boy finally was seen.
That summer his family doctor was changed. She changed his medication. He was happy again. His father and I fought tooth and nail on switching schools. The school he was in didn’t care. He was just another troubled number to them. I need a fresh start for him. I needed him to feel seen. I needed him to like school again. I needed him to start developing again. So we changed schools.
It was a new year. A new school. New medication and we had his diagnosis. I went into the school to speak to the principal about the past years. Give him the documentation that stated my child was autistic. He was sweet. He listened. It was unlike his past school. It was calming. I knew it would be good. But his lack of making new friends scared me a little. We were taking a big leap. A leap we needed to take.
It was a great leap. His new year started off great though. He had an amazing teacher who cared about each child’s need. She understood kids are a pancake. Not a cookie. None of those kids would fully stay in that cookie cutter and she understood Ike’s pancake was spewing out everywhere. But with her patience and understanding; he made friends. His grades got better. If he was having a bad moment. Thumbs down and he was allowed to walk down to the bathroom and get a drink. Calm himself down and come back to class. I was in shock there were no phone calls. No text messages. No meetings in the school. I was waiting for the foot to drop.
Parent teacher conferences came and when I walked in… there sat the principal. I thought I kept my feelings inside. The instant feeling of “ugh crap. It’s going to be the same crap.”. The principal smiled and said “I’m sitting in for all the conferences for this class.”. I calmed a little. Alright. It’s not just my kid. That’s new.
It started like it always did. Ike’s faults. His crying meltdowns. His downfalls. But it didn’t end with that. It went into what they were doing to help him. What tricks or coping skills they helped him with to help him. He asked me about starting him in a behavioral group to help teach him better skills. More accurate ways to handle situations. I left that meeting in tears. It really was going to be a better year.
While I was in the meeting, like all the other kids waiting for their parents. My kids were playing in the hallway with other children. Laughing and joking. Talking to the different tables. They had art club and marathon club. A few others but those were the ones my kids really wanted to do. What better way to help an autistic child socialize than to put him in clubs with their peers. so we did. His sister signing up with him because she adores him like the plants adore the sun.
To this day, it still shocks me what a road we’ve had. But I’m glad I didn’t give up. Im glad I kept fighting. I’m glad I made the decisions I did for my child. He does not carry an iep. His 504 plan has expired. But in this school he doesn’t need them to receive the benefits he needs. They want these kids to receive they help they need individually. He’s made friends. He’s got a best friend again. That adores him for who he is. He’s happy again. He’s my ray of sunshine. His needs maybe the center of our world at times when he’s overstimulated. But the fact is. My sweet boy is back and I wouldn’t have that if I would’ve rolled over and let anything stand in my way of what he needed.
Autism isn’t a single person thing. It’s a family. It’s a community. It’s a fight you can’t do alone. And I’m glad to say I finally have a group of people to back him up when he needs it.
A year ago, my boyfriend was diagnosed with rectal cancer. It’s location was so low they informed him a colostomy bag forever was the only option. Second opinion said chemo, radiation, if it’s gone no surgery. We can monitor it. Eight weeks ago, they said no surgery. All we see is scar tissue. We will monitor it.
We were devastated when he was diagnosed. He told me “You’ve got a lot to think about. I’ve got cancer. I’ll end up with a bag. Is this really what you want to spend your time dealing with?” I was hurt. Why would he say such a thing? Was he trying to push me away? Was he trying to give me an easy out? How could he think a diagnosis of cancer was a reason for me to walk away? There were so many questions and no answers.
Over the last year, I’ve learned a lot of those answers. He was hurt. He was scared. And maybe he part of him knew cancer was a selfish situation. Cancer took the leading role in our life. Even though we were together every day. It was all about him. Work was about me being there as much as I could because I worked for him. The evenings were spent with me sitting in a room with a sleeping partner because he couldn’t stay awake any longer.
I grew lonely. Depressed. The stress was starting to take a toll on me. Working a crazy amount of hours. Missing my partner for who he was, not who he had become. He wasn’t angry. He just wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. Our relationship had taken a step to the back burner. We just existed in what I did for him. It felt like I did but I didn’t receive. It made me sick. Migraines almost every day. Exhaustion. Dehydration from not taking care of myself. Because I was busy taking care of him and his needs.
Cancer is a selfish disease. She doesn’t care who you are. She doesn’t care what your role is. She comes in to take over and she takes it all for herself. Everything is about her. But after months of chemo. After 28 treatments of radiation. She was gone. He had beaten cancer. The side effects held on but in time they will go away. He will find his way back. He will be who he was. It may take time but I will get him back. That’s what I thought.
Yesterday, they did another scope. They are monitoring him to make sure the cancer doesn’t come back. I was thrilled to go. Another step in healing that evil bitch out of our lives. But as they inserted the scope.. there she was. They are doing another scope this month to do a biopsy. But my gut says she’s back. It’s the same spot. She didn’t move or play games. She came back in the same spot.
Will she ever leave? Will he ever be the same. Will I always be this lonely?
At the beginning of the school year, my kid’s school did virtual learning. Last month, they started back in school. But they continue to do all the school work on the computer. Which is honestly a bigger pain in the ass. I wish they would just go back to papers. It was easier to help my kids with assignments than on a computer.
The beginning of the school year sucked. Not only were they requiring our kids to learn how to use a computer. The parents had to learn to use the system that was set up. This system is not easy and for my fourth grader it was requiring 4-5 tabs to be open for one assignment. On top of that, their computer illiterate father who has this 50% of the time just couldn’t grasp the concept of it. He did nothing. So I had to do two weeks of school work in one week. It took seven days to get the kids caught up on their school work, just to send them back knowing they would have to start over again.
Once they started back to school, I had hoped school work would get easier. It has not. Now my oldest child’s teacher is explaining the assignments in the classroom and expecting 10 year olds to relay this to their parents to help them with assignments. Anyone with a 10 year old knows this is a struggle. They do not remember every bit of every assignment. They throw in the towel if they do not remember what they need to do. Or maybe that’s just my child?
My son’s teacher no longer uploads instructions in the assignments. Which makes it very difficult for me to help him. I have to ASSUME what the assignment is supposed to be and then help him. I contact her. However, she does not respond. My children’s father contacted her at the beginning of the school year, back in September. He still has not received a response. Only once have I received contact back without contacting the principal. I try to stay in contact with the teacher every week. I want to help him keep good grades. But this teacher seems to forget she’s dealing with 10 year olds.
My son is struggling. I am struggling. I’m trying to help but I just can’t keep assuming. I wonder how many other kid’s grades are suffering due to the lack of instructions the parents are getting. I wonder how many time I have to contact the teacher about a single assignment to get the instructions. I’ve contacted the teacher three times for the atlas project. I have yet to hear back. Here I am assuming how this project should go and honestly if he fails it. I’m probably going to lose my mind. It’s been two weeks since my first attempt to get instructions. Now it’s a missing assignment.
I’ve been on everyone’s ass in my house to pick up their shit. I cleaned the house SPOTLESS!! Told them all dishes go in the dishwasher. Trash in the trash can. If they leave something out I make WHOEVER take care of it.
This morning I set my coffee cup on the side table and left it. Tonight this is how it went down.
“Who left the coffee cup in the living room today?” Knowing damn well it’s mine. Just trying to do to me what I do to them.
“It’s mine.”
Kids giggle. Ohhh moms getting in trouble. I’m sure was their thought
In his teasing voice “And where does it go?”
“Wherever the fuck I put it.”
“I’ll put it in the dishwasher.”
I still ended up having to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after dinner. But I didn’t have to pick up my coffee cup from this morning. 🤣
Mixed drink of the day is : Maui Island Breeze
1-2 ounces vodka
6 ounces pineapple juice
Splash of cranberry juice
Pineapple and a maraschino cherry for garnish optional
Today my grandmother and I worked on cleaning out my great grandparents old home. My great grandfather passed away 18 years ago this morning. My great grandmother is still alive and feisty as ever. However she’s reached the point in her life she cannot live alone. So 5 years ago, she packed up all of her needs and moved in with her daughter.. my great aunt.
She is happy and doesn’t need anything from the home so we were informed to get rid of it. If no one wants it, donate it or throw it away. It was a lot of emotions going through her old belongings. Some happy, some sad, some confusing. She’s 95, she’s seen a lot of things develop. So there were definitely things I ask “What in the world is that?”
I made my way into my great grandfathers room. The room I took naps in as a child. The room I spent time playing in. The room my great grandfather’s stuff was stored in. His closet (which was emptied years ago.). But in his top dresser drawer held pictures, his old handkerchief, documents his past, wills, death certificates, bank statements, CD information (it was a form of saving money for those who don’t know. )
I took his hanky. It’s stained and to some I’m sure that’s gross. But it’s washed. I shuffled through the pictures and negatives. I put all the documents in a box for my grandma and grandpa. They can figure out what needs to be done with that.
We put the random odd things in my car I wanted to have. My grandma gave me the old photo of the house from 1993. I would’ve been five at the time the photo was taken. We kind of bickered back and forth like we always do. I insisted the picture should go to my sister because she only went to our great grandparents house. I went between my great grandparents and my grandparents house house. I shared the love. I did not know my grandmother had sent the sweater he always wore to my sister.
So I hung that photo of my childhood playground on my wall. Sorted through negatives of grandpa standing near the Buffalo. Granny and him on their many trips. Then came across the photos of my sister and I with my great grandparents and their old dog, Tippy.
I knew them. Great grandma gave me actual photos of them years ago. I had a kitchen fire and they burned up. I didn’t have them anymore. But there they were. I can make copies of them and have them again!!!
So today was an emotional and amazing day. I have photos of my great grandparents again. I also got to spend time with my grandma. I am sure glad I get to spend my time with her. So happy to have her and I will forever remember this day… and the other amazing days I’ve had with her.
I’m checking out this app. Trying to figure it out. Why’s the first posts about food? I’m not Susie homemaker type. I’m the mom who spends my free time drinking beer at the bar. Summers on a motorcycle. Swear like a sailor. Give you tips on new shots. Stick around for that kind of stuff. Mommy needs a good drink. I come with sarcasm.
So I deleted the food posts. Ya ain’t getting the best stew recipe here. However what I will share with you is:
1/4 shot of buttershots
1/4 shot of vodka
1/4 shot of baileys
1/4 shot of Kailua
Will make your new favorite “hiding from my kids” drink if you pour it over ice.
Ya ever just wake up too *%&$ing early and think. “Screw it. I’m making coffee.” That seems to be my mornings and lord knows I’m the first one to say “Y’all are too much until I’ve had my coffee.”
My family seems to think I’m a crab until I’ve had my coffee. When in fact, they are assholes until I’ve had my coffee. “Mom. Mom. Mom.”. On goes the damn TV or someone left it on when they went to bed because they didn’t notice that big bright screen flashing different images at them. And I don’t know who’s worse. The kids or the boyfriend. But I would much rather wake up to Disney than the damn news. That’s straight politics right now.
My kids are nuts. 10 year old boy who has autism and the 8 year old daughter… who was blessed to have mommy’s personality but my sisters temper. Ps… She’s a redhead. I love them with every ounce of my being. But realistically they have their moments of driving me batty.
And the boyfriend. Amazing man. But his father is correct when he refers to him as my third child. Sometimes…. I roll my eyes when he gets out of bed in the morning. Like this morning. First thing he says “ya want to go to breakfast or ya want to cook?” Nope. I want to be left alone…. but here I go. Cue the smell of sizzling bacon.
Coffee time with the foul mouthed Mom 