Welcome to my office.
It's where I go in the hopes of changing the world as I write. And as an added bonus, it also serves as a bed. I'm working hard to help make the world a kinder, sweeter place. Mostly for that little boy standing just a few inches away from the TV in the picture above. Can you see the slight glow of his head by the TV? He's my wildest dream come true.
Sometimes late at night when I'm writing Parker will wake up or Greyson will need something.
Can you get that? I'll ask the husband, Michael- if he is in town.
Why can't you? He will ask.
Because I'm at work- I tell him.
How much do you get paid for your job? He asks jokingly.
Immeasurable amounts of wealth, I tell him seriously.
Words put me back together when I fall apart. Reading them. Writing them. Singing them. Saying them and hearing them. I'm so grateful for the chance to share some words with you.
Yesterday we went to take the boys to get a hair cut. I called ahead to make an appointment and found out our regular gal was off work for the day. No biggie- we decided to go anyway.
I would never go so far as to call the hair cutting experience pleasant- but it's usually not too bad. I have Grey sit on my lap while we bribe him to stillness with Yo Gabba Gabba and suckers. That's how it went down yesterday too- but this time he wanted Dad to hold him.
This was Parker's second hair cut. The first was easy. This time? Not so much. It was terrible. He cried and screamed the entire time while clenching a dum dum sucker in each hand with all his might. I had to hold his head still while the lady kept cutting and cutting. Just one more spot, she said 100 times. We left and I was covered with slimy sticky sucker and a million little sharp fine Doodle hairs stuck to me.
We went to the parking lot where I surveyed the boys. Suddenly I was positive that the real stylists were abducted and replaced with two women that had never cut hair before in their life. I mussed Parker's hair every which way to attempt to find a way that his hair cut made sense.
After the hair butchering, we went into Target which is in the same parking lot. I bought scissors and then used insane amounts of restraint to wait until we get into the parking lot to start fixing Grey's hair. (Parker's was too far gone). The front sides of Greyson's hair were longer than the back and he resembled a 58-year-old Rabbi. I start laughing so hard I actually start to cry. WHAT DID WE DO TO THEM? I ask Michael.
And today, numerous times throughout the day I would look at their hair and turn my head and just start laughing...and then feel guilty for doing this to them in the first place.
Parker during Speech Therapy today. Despite the haircut, he's still so damned cute and is also my wildest dream come true.
Grey was just so off today. Sometimes it is hard for me to watch. I get frustrated. He was ticky and twitchy and stimmy and couldn't focus. It was nearly impossible to reach him. As we were leaving speech I felt disappointed...and then I felt guilty for feeling disappointed. And as I walked to the car with my head low I realized- Kids are allowed to have an off day too. Grey was just having a hot and sweaty melancholy Monday. It's not my job to be disappointed, it's my job to build him back up when life disappoints him. And I breathed a sigh of relief because supportive feels so much better than disappointed.
And today I was having a melancholy Monday too. And Grey showed me that it was okay for me to be having an off day too. Off days aren't allowed if you are a robot, but if you are human? Totally entitled.
Everyone has a sentence. A very small, random, descriptive sentence. After I realized Greyson was autistic, there was a part of me that immediately thought about my sentence.
Did you hear about Chrissy Pratt Kelly? Her son has autism.
And I knew that would be my sentence because I hear sentences like that all the time about others.
Did you hear about so and so?
She got divorced.
She gained weight.
His son drowned.
Her husband cheated.
They lost their house.
One stupid little sentence to sum up an entire person. It's not possible, yet we try. I've done it 100 times in the past, but won't do it again. I was wrong. We are all beautiful and amazing dynamic people with a history full of beautiful stories. We are not a sentence. And in the midst of living this painfully exquisitely beautiful life, I suddenly just don't care at all about my sentence anymore in the first place. You can certainly call me the Mom with two boys that have autism. I'd be honored.
They work so hard and make me so proud. The pure love and hope and fear and scared and proud often makes my eyes leak.
A 2 hour cool bath helped us during the witching hours tonight.
This small moment of interaction took my breath away.
You can also call me a world changer. Because with your help, I am.
I hope you have a TERRIFIC Tuesday my Friend. I'll be here Tuesdaying too.
Greyson + Parker's Proud Mom
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