Today's Dose of Perspective.

If I can read that upside down, it makes me like super Wile E. Coyote super genius smart, right? Sweet.

Working in the mental health field, I see a lot of different situations. Different backgrounds. Different cultures. Different diagnoses. Never a dull moment in my office, that's for sure. I just realized that if I didn't point out in what area I worked, you might have thought I was talking about WalMart. I just kind of blew my own mind right there.

One thing that is somewhat of a common denominator, though, is expectations. And I've come to realize that they just piss me off.

*gasp!* A therapist and mother doesn't approve of having expectations? No wonder she's got problems.

Hold on just a minute, external-that-was-supposed-to-be-internal monologue! I definitely approve of expectations. Just realistic ones.

I present the following exhibits to the Court:

*These are in no way examples of any of my clients. This is plain ol' comedy and common sense, folks. 

And seriously, like you don't know people like this? Read on.*

1. If you are the parent of a teenager, and you are expecting their hygiene to improve, you might want to consider taking a shower more than once every few days yourself.

2. If you want your kid to have a clean tidy room that is free of hazmat, you may consider making sure your own bedroom is up to par with what you expect theirs to be.

3. You parking it on your butt in the recliner with coffee watching a marathon of Hoarders while your free help kids do more chores than you do is probably not going to enhance your relationship with them.

4. Yelling at a child to not yell... I don't think I even need to finish this one.

5. After going through Acme Drive Through, you say "Make sure to finish your apples!" while you're slamming 4-5 french fries in your maw.

6. If you want to drop a few pounds to increase the ol' self-esteem, acting like every day is National Pancake Day might not help you achieve said fitness goal.

7. Expecting your children to have manners when you chew with your mouth open, talk with your mouth full, pick your nose without a tissue covering your finger, and adjust yourself in public makes you a moron.

I love pancakes.

I mean, like I said, none of these are about anyone I know. Promise.

Even with all of Shorty's limitations, that doesn't give me carte blanche to act a straight fool in front of him. It's not a "YOUR KID IS NON-VERBAL. DROP THE F-BOMB ALL DAY EVERY DAY" get-out-of-jail free card.

*Although it's tempting, isn't it?!*

Kids are not free-range. It would save a lot of time in the kitchen, both cooking and cleaning, so maybe I should look into that, come to think of it. But even when that kid of mine is busy doing God-knows-what, I'm teaching. He's absorbing and learning. Which explains quite a bit, actually... except him wanting to pick MY nose. That, I just don't understand. But I probably need all the help I can get, so I'll let that slide. Thanks, dude.

Guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.

I'm having a moment where I hate to even say out loud what I'm feeling. So I thought a much better idea would be to put it on the internet, where surely someone else has felt the same way, and then we can have a pity party of two rather than just one, because one is the loneliest number and all that crap.

I'm lying. I'm not having a moment, I'm having a week. Maybe three of them. But I guess after almost two years of just going and doing, I can be mad. Angry. Hurt. Enraged. Feel sorry for him and myself and us. 

Quinn:
On the left, the day we took him home!
On the right, a couple of months ago.

WHY? I did everything I could to ensure a healthy pregnancy. I did everything I could from the minute that beautiful nugget of goo and screams was pulled (and I mean pulled, my epidural was wearing off and I felt that shit) out from me and into the world to make sure that all his needs were met. I nursed as long as I could. I tried to keep my stress levels down.

AFTER TRYING MY BEST WE STILL GOT AUTISM. AND I'M FINALLY SAYING HOW ANGRY I AM ABOUT IT. Because of Autism, I can't find a sitter. Because of Autism, I'm afraid to move a mere 75 miles from my parents. Because of Autism, the school system can eat a dick. Because of Autism, I don't get to hear "I love you, Mama." Because of Autism, we are alone. Because of Autism, I feel like the world's most inept mother because I don't always know what my son needs, because I can't afford the proper schools or therapies or a completely sensory friendly home. Because of my job, he doesn't qualify for SSDI. Because of my job, I don't qualify for child care assistance. Because of Autism. Because of Autism. Because of Autism.

And then I feel like the world's biggest dickface.

I said we. But it's not we. He has Autism. He has the lifelong struggle of dealing with this disability that has no cure and no source. I don't parent him any differently than I would any other child. I say that, but do I know that? He is my only child. It's just he and I in this world. I am a 37 year old single mother of a child with challenges. His smile sends lightening bolts to my soul. He is perfectly unaware at age four of how hard life can and will be.

What, you don't watch TV like this?

Right now I fight his battles, and I will fight them until the day I have no fight left in me, meaning I will fight until my last breath is taken. When my anger takes hold of me, I feel like I have no fight. That I've hit the proverbial dead end of strength and will and determination. I am tired.

He rarely sleeps for more than four hours at a stretch. He prefers to wear only the softest of clothes that barely touch him due to tactile sensory issues. I can count on two hands the number of foods that he will eat due to oral sensory issues. His pacifer is the only thing that has soothed him in his life. I'm currently researching different home health stores for the best buy on pull ups since he is about to outgrow the biggest size that Pampers/Huggies/Whoever makes. I just purchased a swing with a three point harness, because swinging is his favorite thing in the whole world and a regular swing isn't safe for him, as he'll forget to hold on, completely enthralled by the wind stroking his skin.

Joy, personified.

I know that I use unsavory language in my posts. And if that is offensive, I apologize. It is certainly not my intent to offend. I just sometimes do not have a grip on more appropriate words that emphasize how intense my feelings are.

Regardless of every sleepless night, every meltdown, if I have to buy pull ups and pacifiers and iPads and we watch Sesame Street clips until my last breath - I won't regret a second of it. But alas, I am human, and I have feelings, and I can certainly be angry about life not turning out the way I thought it would. But what I cannot do, I won't do - is let the curtain of anger blind me from the absolute joy and exhilaration of raising a beautiful, sensitive, hilarious, energetic, loving, snuggly, ornery boy.

My hands are full, indeed - but so is my heart.

Love, Kelly and Quinn

An Open Letter to My Child

Dear Shortpants,

You are loud. You are (currently) stinky. You flap and squawk and stomp and knock stuff over and watch things eleventybillion times and refuse to take your medicine or eat anything that doesn't come out of a box.

I love you.

You don't sleep worth a crap. You are whiny. Not Calliou-whiny (Good LORD, I think his parents must be on drugs or deaf, because that shit just, yeah... no.) but whiny, nonetheless. You can clear a room with one little tiny turd. I have peanut butter and jelly smears all over my curtains.

I am proud of you.

You don't use silverware. Not quite ready for a cup without a lid. You'll eat tapioca, fig newtons, cheese cubes and Doritos by the pallet, but not the ends of hot dogs. You think butterscotch pudding is a food group. You (currently) abhor wearing pants, including pullups.

I am constantly amazed by you.

You either don't want to take a bath, or you never want to get out. You think my bed is a trampoline. You won't eat popsicles or ice cream. I'm waiting for the results on the DNA test to make sure you're mine for that reason alone. You have a bajillion toys that you won't play with, but you'll watch the same youtube clip a thousand times.

It is an honor to be your mama.

You think my toothbrush is yours. You can't sleep without a pacifer in your mouth and one in your hand. You leave the refrigerator door open. You have selective hearing. You look at most things with a sense of indifference that is fascinating and infuriating. You'd rather play in the street than in the sandbox. You scrunch up your face so that I can't see your gorgeous eyes when you see the camera flash.

My life would be empty without you.

You hug tightly. You smile brightly. Your laughter equals angels singing. Your facial expressions make it so hard to consistently discipline you because I'm stifling laughter. You smell like lavender, when you have clean pants, that is. Your head fits perfectly into my neck. Your snore is adorable. Your hand was meant to be in mine. You love fiercely. Your people are YOURS. You are braver than I would have ever imagined. You are beyond smart, and even though you can't speak, I am kinda positive you can read. You give my life meaning. You are FULL of JOY. You were meant to be my kid, just like I was meant to be your mama, and I thank God for you every fucking day.

You are loved. So very much.

Now get back here so I can change your pants and don't you dare stick your fingers in your...*sigh*... wanna take a bath?

Love,
Mama

Where I compare Parenting to a Video Game.

My son is four. He's a lot of things, but mainly, he's a four year old boy. Do you know what that means?

He can be kind of an asshole.

Yep. I said it. And I mean it. I know a lot of bloggers have gotten flack lately for calling their spawn the little a-holes that WE ALL KNOW they can be. Every critter that has taken a breath on this planet has the capacity to be a jerkface at one point or another. Even non-breathing things. Like my garden that refused to grow. ASSHOLE GARDEN.

Shortpants is four. Being a jerk comes with the territory.

Example 1: "THAT'S NOT WHAT I WANTED EVEN THOUGH I JUST POINTED TO IT AND GAVE YOU MY ASSENT TO OPEN IT AND EVEN IF I DID WANT IT POINT TWO SIX SECONDS AGO I DON'T WANT IT NOW AND WHY DON'T YOU GET THAT YOU STUPID WOMAN?"

Example 2: "WHAT DO YOU MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAN I HAVE TO WASH MY HAIR! YOU SAID TAKE A BATH NOT WASH MY HAIR! THIS IS SUCH BULLSHIT. NO - WAIT - WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOING DON'T WASH MY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Example 3: "NO I DON'T WANT TO GO OUTSIDE EVEN THOUGH IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY. I'D REALLY RATHER WAIT UNTIL THE GUY WITH THE ROAD MAINTAINER COMES TO GET ALL OF THE GRAVEL AND SHIT OUT OF THE GUTTERS AND THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Tell me what part of those three examples doesn't scream asshole to you.  I'll wait right here. Patiently.

Four year olds are geniuses at pushing the almighty buttons of the parent. "What, you thought I was done with that glass-shattering screech when I was two? Check this out! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHH!" Button pushed. Successfully, I might add. I'm waiting to hear "Oh! I'ma Mario!" every time this, or something similar happens. Like two weeks after I needed a plumber to take the toilet apart because someone WHO MIGHT BE A FOUR YEAR OLD ASSHOLE flushed two bathtub toys, a washcloth, and a disposable razor - flushed God knows what because I'm still paying off the plumber from the first time and thank God I have two toilets and SWEET JESUS WHY DID I BUY THE TOILET THAT CAN FLUSH 10 GOLF BALLS WHEN I OBVIOUSLY NEEDED ONE THAT COULD FLUSH BATHTUB TOYS AND WASHCLOTHS AND A DISPOSABLE RAZOR?!

Do I hear "Oh! I'ma Mario!"? More like "LEVEL UP."

Shit.

Where I Pretend To Be Dear Abby Without Anyone Asking Me For Advice.

Okay, online dating. Millions of people do it. Thousands have found love. A few are probably still married to each other. I met my ex-husband online, and, well, ex-husband. However, if it works/worked/is working for you, yippee! I, on the other hand, am slightly skeptical due to experience. I am no online dating expert, but I happen to have a wee bit of common sense. So, without further ado, here are some tips that, if taken, may prove helpful. 

Disclaimer: This isn't about anyone in particular. If you can associate yourself with any of this - sorry, I'm not sorry. 

Don't be a dick about it. It's supposed to be funny.

1. If you’re ready to put it all out there on the interwebs, please, put it all out there. Truthfully. No holds barred. If you are in your 30s and have a booger collection, this is something I need to know before I consider responding to your wink or email with interest.  If you are looking for specifics, please say so. 
2. Don’t say “any body type” if you plan on not talking to me if I don’t have the physique of a CrossFit trainer.
3. Remember: you CAN be picky. Online dating gives you an opportunity to filter out your undesirables, if they were honest when filling out their profiles. However, if you are looking for someone who, like you, only listens to Pearl Jam – well, best of luck to you in your search.
4. Remember: you CAN be picky, but don’t be a dick about it. If someone doesn’t trip your trigger, move on. You don’t need to message someone (just because you paid for 6 months of the service in advance) to tell someone they need a nose job or going to the gym wouldn’t kill them.
5. Diversity is a good thing. Even if it doesn’t work out, you may find you do, in fact, like music other than Pearl Jam.
6. If you aren’t sure you want kids, or know you don’t, you may not want to look at potential partners who have children, especially when they live with them full time. Duh?
7. If someone takes the time to shoot you a message, especially a complimentary message, write them back and thank them. It’s a compliment, whether you’re interested or not. It’s called manners. Besides, you don’t know how long it took someone to muster up the courage (or how much they had to drink) to send that message.
8. Don’t expect the clouds to part, the angels sing, or someone to feel comfortable giving you their cell phone number after three days’ of messaging back and forth. Think about why you’re trying the online format of dating in the first place – a shitload of folks online have been burned before and probably want to start casually.
9. If the clouds don’t part, the angels don’t sing, and someone doesn’t feel comfortable giving their number or taking yours, it is probably nothing personal – they’re just not ready. Throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make them change their mind, but it may likely become personal, leading them to block you and file a restraining order.
10. Making new friends is a good thing. If someone isn’t interested in you romantically, don’t be a dick. (Do you sense a theme here?) Boyfriends and girlfriends come and go (pun intended), but friends are assets we all want and need.

If the above seems just too much for you to consider, well, you still have options. Most likely continuing your asshattery and dickery while remaining alone, or finding a mail-order-bride. Best wishes!

E. P. T.

You thought I meant a pregnancy test, didn't you! No uterus, no babies. In this case, EPT stands for extensive pep talk. Sorry to confuse or disappoint. If I was pregnant it would be newsworthy. Like medical journal newsy. 

Anyway, on to the E. P. T.:

Hey, you. You've got the world by the tail and aren't paying attention. You have a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food in your belly, and supportive family and friends. You are fortunate. 

You have a son who loves you with every ounce of his complicated being, as evidenced by his inability to allow you to pee solo, sleep eight hours straight, or contemplate life without him. You are blessed. 

You have a job you've dreamed of having since you filled out your grad school application. You have the opportunity to be a giver of hope, provide new perspectives, and change lives. You are able.

You have a network of friends that spans the globe. You may not have seen many of these faces in many years, but the footprints they have left behind in your memories and heart remain fresh. These people have helped shape you into the person you are. You are embraced. 

You now put your head down every night beside someone who accepts who you are, inside and out. Who is willing and able to open his heart to you and your son. Who eases your fears and dries your tears and keeps you safe without demanding anything in return. Who you love beyond the sky, in ways you didn't know existed. You are loved. 

You are full of love and life and magic. You are capable and smart and inventive. You are snarky and vulnerable and a tornado and a calm breeze. You are your dreams, not your nightmares. You are strong and sincere and true. 

And you forget this. 

And it's hurtful. 

And unfair. 

And ridiculous. 

Stop forgetting. You are worth every word. 

She can be taught! Installment Uno!

I decided in the middle of my funk today that I was going to start a weekly list of all the things I learned throughout the week to make the crap salad I was force fed the last few days all rainbows and unicorns and silver line-y and all that. Note: this list is compiled entirely from the kids I work with. (I am a therapist at a community mental health center and I work primarily with kids. My head spins all.day.long. I pink puffy heart my job.)

We'll see how this goes. Something tells me probably nowhere near I intended. As with most of my ideas. I digress. As usual. Anyway.

1.  I need a haircut really badly. He (and he's five, mind you) also told me I might consider "Put some brown on your hair that isn't brown, Miss Kelly. Hair is supposed to be all one color. Like mine." Mmmhmm. Thanks, kid.

2.  I look like a Queen! Also? If I would put a crown "right there" I would look "just like a queen! Not a princess. Princesses are young like me. And you're old. So you would be a Queen." Awesome.

3.  I'm annoying and I get on people's nerves. I KNOW! I gasped just as loud as you just did! "Miss Kelly, since we're practicing telling our feelings in a way that isn't hurtful? I just wanted to let you know that sometimes you're really annoying and you get on my nerves. Is that how I'm supposed to do it? Did I hurt your feelings? I hope not, but you really can! And do! But you're kind of awesome." Um, thanks? And no. And not really, but this is kind of awkward, and thanks. I know.

4.  Pieces of paper don't mean you're smart. "Miss Kelly, I think I'm smarter than you are, and I'm only 6. I know you have dergrees and stuff, but I know a lot." Teach me, Obi Wan.

5.  I don't color worth a crap. "You missed a spot." "You can see your marker lines!" "Did you take art in school?" Yes. "Are you sure?!" Yes. "Really?!" "TYRONE'S SHIRT IS NOT RED AND BLUE IT IS ORANGE AND BLUE! I THOUGHT YOU HAVE KIDS! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THIS!" Everyone's a critic.

6.  I have no taste. "Miss Kelly, you sure got a lotta crap in your office." Michael, I'd like for you to say that again with appropriate language and in a way that isn't hurtful. "BUT YOU DO! THERE'S CRAP EVERYWHERE IN HERE! I MEAN STUFF! THERE'S STUFF EVERYWHERE IN HERE! Is that better?" Um, kinda.

7.  Expect the unexpected. "Miss Kelly, I need to go potty." Okay, let's go! "Oh, I mean I needed to go potty. I did go potty." On my couch? "Kinda. And kinda on the floor. And in my shoe." Siiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhh...

Gee! I wonder what sorts of life lessons will be lobbed at my face like a knuckleball next week?

Or in about five minutes. Since Shortpants is ninja quiet...