authenticity

#EPICfaiL #Vegan #parenting & #pizza

Monday was great. I was taken out for salad.

Tuesday I heated up beir rocks.

Wednesday… Epic Fail I was exhausted. Only got 3 hours of sleep. In the morning I at dolmas, a banana, and Oreos… Yes, Oreos are vegan. Then the afternoon came around. I had both kids alone… I ordered Pizza. The pasta without sauce with mushrooms, onions, and spinach for the kids.

But I ate the spinach, Feta, and mozzarella cheese bread. God, I’m paying for it. My body is achy and my stomach feels like a train is tunneling through it at full speed. My emotions are crazy strong I started to cry out of the blue. God dairy hormones are intense when you eat it for the first time in a long time.

I’m not sure why I wanted Pizza so badly. I guess the convenience won me over… a screaming one year old who had been screaming from teething pain for 4 hours straight ended my will power at about 4:45 PM.

That is one of the reasons I feel like crap right now. I spent money on things that I do not want to perpetuate… I bowed my ass over to a consumeristic mentality and took the easy way out. I could have easily tossed more beir rocks into the oven or made a salad, or any number of quick fixes like a bowl of cereal. But I didn’t.

Now I am paying for it.

So what do you do when you mess up or miss read a label or in general epic fail at being vegan?

#parenting #coaching #Autism & getting shit done

A year ago I hung up the phone with a coach’s parting words ringing in my ears, “I don’t know how you get anything done.” My son had been screaming in the background home sick that day and Hubby had been vying for my attention because he needed help with his client. I couldn’t reschedule with the coach due to her tightly booked schedule so I plugged through the phone consult repeating myself frequently and hearing her irritation grow. I decided that when I pick a coach they need to have a kid or be the oldest in a gaggle of kids.

 

Months ago I took my son to therapy with me. My therapist’s words still ring in my ears, “You can describe something but sometimes you just have to see it to understand.”   I took him with me today because he was already having a rough morning. The day after  Christmas we didn’t open the front door at all. He, like his father, loves to be on the road and hates being cooped up anywhere. I guess she understood why I asked for weekly therapy sessions. Then again, I fired her.

SO how do I get shit done?

  • Set alarms
  • skip sleep occasionally
  • eat highly nutritious food
  • drink lots of water
  • laugh a lot
  • know that I’m not gonna get everything done… unless I skip sleep. Even then… It isn’t all gonna get done.
  • lists, lists, lists and more lists
  • visual dream boards
  • I breathe

 

If you like what I write and want to support my son’s painting habits or life in general click HERE.

Peace Love and Great Vibrations,
 

Steffi

#failure #coaching #autism – My challenge for this past February

I Hate Paperwork.

It gives me anxiety like no tomorrow.

I managed to put together every shred of paperwork in my house and then sat for the majority of the month just staring at the 3 large and one huge reusable bags overflowing with paper.

I avoided them… I.e. I did everything in my power to not be in the room with them.

So finally the last full weekend of the month I finally sat down to do the papers. I dressed in my nicest top, put on a pretty bra and my nicest jeans, I packed up the bags and drove to a friends house. Two cups of coffee, one sandwich, and one long-winded lecture later I began.

Eight hours later I was still going through the papers on their kitchen table. Two bags held files that had been sorted and organized; one with the taxes, hubby’s stuff, my stuff and all the other miscellaneous important stuff, the other bag was filled 4/5ths with Ben’s IEP’s and medical record. On the floor there was a large box was filled with papers I needed to sort into; recycle and shred.

I was one bag away from finishing my paperwork on my RESPITE day, when I got three texts.

“Come home please

Ben is missing

Hurry”

My heart hit the floor.
I dropped everything. Literally, I dropped the papers in my hand.  Bolting upright I ran for the door, the words, “Ben is missing,” came out as the screen door slammed. I drove down the street like a bat out of hell. There were cops in my neighborhood when I got there. No one told me what was going on.
Hubby was freaking out, Unicorn was walking down the street with a cop. I parked the car and started thinking like my son. The open gate across the street called to me and I walked through it. On the next street, I lost all signs of my son.
Panic set in. I walked down the street hollering that my son was missing and asking everyone on the street at almost 9 pm  if they had seen him and to help. I wanted to pull my hair out and scream and cry. How could either of the adults in my house have let him run off? How long had he been gone? What was I going to do if we didn’t find him? I walked almost twenty blocks as I circled back to the house.
“Has anyone gone down the hill?” I cried out to the police officer standing in my yard. I was trying to remember I I had put the flashlight back on the hook, praying that Ben hadn’t taken it or pulled the batteries out again.
“We found him”.
The panic eased and all I wanted was to hug my son. Then the rage hit me. “Where is he?”
D and Unicorn tried to half-heartedly stop me as I stormed into the house and down the stairs to my son’s room. I wanted to beat some sense into him, but I didn’t.
I marched my punk ass, two days away from being seven, son up the stairs to apologize and say thank you to the pretty shocked police officers. At that point, I found out how the police had been involved.
My half-naked son had wandered into the first unlocked house. The wonderful people figured out pretty quickly that kiddo was special-needs and called the police.
We were incredibly lucky that Ben was found safe and sound. Most kids with autism that wander off into dangerous situations.  Wandering AKA Elopement is terrifying. It also causes more paperwork to deal with.
Oh and if you are wondering my paperwork is still sitting… waiting for me to finish it. I’ll get back to it in a few days.
Untill Next Time,
Confession of a Special Needs Mom

#quote #ShannonPort #coaching

Never be afraid to speak the truth ~ even if it is only your truth. Never be afraid to fail with honest words. The more we speak the truth the better we get at it, and the better we get at it the more self-acceptance we have in our moments of Honesty. When our truth arises from that Inner Stillness ~ Heaven and Earth become One.

~ Shannon Port of Art of the Feminine

#oblitusverba – #writingprompts – Word of the day – Deed

What are the deeds and responsibilities of a citizen?
It varies from culture to culture but in my head the biggest deeds a citizen can take are:
1. Vote or share your voice loudly
2. Learn to use a clipboard. (If you missed this live it is worth reading or listening to!)
3. Participate!
4. Feed and talk to your neighbors.
What does it take to fulfill a position in public service?
I live in The United States and I regularly listen to politicians. Right now I am wondering how certain people have been nominated for certain positions. One comedian said, “It is like all the nominations are being put in charge of things they hate.” That is a paraphrase and I can’t remember who said it but it seems true. Wouldn’t it be better to have public servants serving in areas that they are passionate about?

How many people need to follow through with their destiny?

Simply everyone should pursue their passions regardless of perceived obstacles. Those obstacles are the way to  the solution. Keep looking if you are hunting a passion and your personal destiny.
What will it take to do the multitude of deeds to achieve our ideal future?
(My humble opinion?)
Well if you want to get technical each person has an ideal future that is individualized. However, as a collective humanity is in search of an ideal future that is based on collective good, compromise, and individual freedoms.
Peace,
SRWM

I have to wonder… A #parenting #reflection

I have to wonder… A #parenting #reflection

Recently a politician in the USA said she feared for her grandchildren’s future. She spoke of the environment and climate change. When the ice sheets melt and the ocean changes, changing the weather what will we do? Our children will on day face problems we can barely imagine. Speculative fiction is one of the ways we as adulting adults can look for solutions. Reflecting on life now and viewing it from a new perspective gives us more to work with.

I often find myself saying, “I have to  wonder…” The thought of wonderment and exploration fill my mind and as I watch my son I have to wonder. I wonder about the beautiful things he can and may create if given the opportunity. I wonder what technology he will have that I can’t even imagine right now. I wonder if he will marry. I wonder if he will build or paint or play with numbers and words.  I wonder where he will be safe and if he will be able to live on his own.

 

My son is tenacious, imaginative and a problem solver by nature. He has also died a number of times. I credit his desire to explore and push every boundary that he encounters to having so many near death experiences before the time he turned one. He can take anything apart with a screwdriver and enough time. Then he will lego the pieces back together in odd ways to create what he wants or needs. His imagination is vast yet he is only now finding that words have meaning.

I started reading to him the first time I could get to the NICU.  I was on book 18, full chapter books. I remember the day I was told he was deaf. Ink Heart… I never finished it. I couldn’t bring my voice back. He suffered for my pain, even though I do the best I can that event traumatized me.

His visual primer included Curious George and Cosmos. Now he watches science documentaries with his father. He watches the ice melt. He watches species go extinct. He watches fires burn and hurricanes destroy the planet. Yet he carefully watches the universe.

So I have to wonder what his life will be like in four years. I have to wonder… What will he push me to create? What will the ripples create?

I have to wonder, “What steps will be taken from here onwards to give him a home worth being proud of?”

#NICU

#SCACETALK

#parenting

#climatechange

#imagination

#questionstohumanity

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Happy New Year – Farewell 2016 – #stardust

The last year has been full of half finished projects, thoughts, and dreams.

I spent yesterday running errends and today resting. I mended the clothes I loved enough to keep and painted with Ben.

The Fool Card was the card I pulled back in January of 2016. It was definitly a year of transitions. I spend the better part of the year battling my ego and thinking that I could find a “super hero” or “savior” only to continue to hear, “NO one is gonna save you!” from one of the coaches I follow.

 

I skinned a coyote.  Waiting for spring to hunt down the wood for the body. Maggie is teaching me to prepare the skin and Neshi says “Birthing a drum takes time.”

I moved the kiddos into the same room and am transitioning my mind and habits to a smaller space so I can bring forth a tiny house.

Worked on getting past my fear of shooting videos and owning a cell phone. More work needed.

 

Lessons from 2016

~ Death never gets easier to accept. We lost so many beautiful souls this year.

~ The worst protest is to not voice your vote.

~ Making the healthy choice can be as oh so sensuaously wonderful as it can be tedious and terrifying.

~ Minimalism is a mindset not a lifestyle.

~ Six year olds will wear their Halloween costumes to the grocery store on New Years Eve.

~ I like to go out on dates with myself reguarly.

~~~

A profound sentence for 2017, “Today is Yesterdays Tomorrow.”

Card for the year 2017 – The Star .

Tuesday Night – #PTSD #autism #NICU

Tuesday night was rough.

My son fell down a flight of stairs. Less than ten minutes later he and I were at the ER. I had no coat on and he was glued to my chest all 41 pounds of him. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t focus. The triage nurse guided my hands to the papers to fill out. As many times as we have been in the ER it amazes me how few nurses realize or know that he is profoundly deaf and autistic.

On Ben’s last ER visit he was given a medication that causes serious disorientation and sedation. He did not react well to going back into T1 (Trauma Room 1). It took all of my strength to get him on the bed to be seen by the nurse and doctor.

The poor doctor didn’t know Kiddo’s routine. “You have to look at his ears first, it’s his routine.” Kiddo calmed down a little but not much.  Onto the floor he went as soon as the doctor had shone the light in his eyes. Major meltdown in progress he began head slamming on the concrete.  

Back into my arms and onto a roller chair after a lot of signs and convincing. Then came the x-ray tech. An Autism mom herself she walked in signing.

Thank you to whoever had her scheduled.

With the help of an EMT 2 x-rays got taken. Both appeared to be clear of any major issues.

The nurse came back in with the same medication from Ben’s last visit. He did not react well at all. Sitting on a visitors chair, her got a shot to his thigh, while restrained by three people. He would do anything to stay away from the blue sheeted hospital bed.

“Give him a band-aid!” Ben took it and put it over the injection site. He calmed down a little more, looking at me with anger and betrayal in his eyes.

Then my hell truly began.

Ben’s eyes began to quiver as the sedative began to take hold. Drool dripped from between his lips. The fear in his eyes became unbearable for me.

For a split second, I was back in the big yellow farmhouse. In front of me was a ten-year-old girl with cafe-latte skin and jet black hair. The craniopharyngioma was killing her slowly and painfully. She was coming round from a non-conforming seizure. When she could talk again, she started to talk about heaven, Gramma, Carrie,  Angels and Jesus. I think it was Mom who asked what Jesus looked like, then Aimee fell into another seizure.

I snapped back to the ER and my son who was sitting in a chair was wavering back and forth, side to side. I asked him if he saw the butterflies and angels. His eyes darted around the room like lightning, pausing and focusing intently in multiple places.

“Do you see Great-Gramma?” I signed.

His eyes bored right into me and he nodded. Suddenly his eyes began to look around wildly again.  A vacant stare replaced the fear and his normally precocious curious gaze. All I could think of was the week I left him alone in the

All I could think of was the week I left him alone in the NICU.

Carrying his dead weight to the gurney I sat down as a nurse walked in from radiology. She was excitedly talking about the food in the breakroom celebrating her 40 plus years at the hospital and her last hour at work. We were wheeled to radiology.

My mind was racing. I laid kiddo down on the narrow table. I was drug back into another memory.

The 18 month-old, blond cherubim, was swollen beyond recognition.  My youngest sister lay in a PICU bed, brain-dead and on life support. Her tiny body too far gone to donate any organ, I begged any god in existence to bring her back.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as the image of my sister and the image of my son melded. I watched the CT machine stop. Ben was laying there, his toes wiggling. His eyes wide unable to move and still hallucinating, I lifted him and sat on the gurney.

Back in the room, we waited. Trauma Room 1 has no television and my book was in the parking lot. I was alone in my head.

The nurse asked me if I needed anything.

Water.

The doctor asked if I wanted a sedative.

No thank you.

I talked to the nurse about the NICU. She spoke of her first marriage.

She spoke of her first marriage.

I felt like a fool for talking about my emotions and my experiences. I discovered I need more support.

The test results came back and the doctor said, “No signs of bleeds and no broken bones.”

Relief flooded me.

Ben sat up a few minutes later, then collapsed back on top of me. This happened every five to seven minutes for forty-five minutes. Then he puked on me. The vomiting scared me more than anything else. Ben had a Nissen Fundoplication done at nine months and it is still very tight. Meaning he can’t easily throw up.

Twenty minutes later we were discharged. Between the flood of memories and watching my son constantly to assure myself he was breathing I didn’t sleep much at all that night.

I learned some very important things while I was in the ER Tuesday night. Triggers really do come in all shapes and forms. My son’s injury triggered so many memories. My panic and fear opened me up to being able to process old and buried memories. While the grief has lessened over time my PTSD still sucks.  

Now I just need to relax and breathe.

Peace.

SRWM

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#oblitusverba – Word of the day – tinge

They say I look at the world through rose-colored glasses,

They say I look through kaleidoscope lenses.

The people look at each other through tinted gaze,

The people all seeing different things.

Our vision obscured by our experiences,

Our vision tinged by our past.

A child looks out filterless and free,

A child looks out and sees.

We are our own filters,

We are our own choices.

 

What do you see,

What do you see?

; – Thoughts About Suicide & Life – Part 7

In times of great winds – some build bunkers, others build windmills.

Chinese Proverb

Suicidal thoughts are like bunkers – deep holes in the mind. The thought processes that dig them into place, are slowly dug, spoonful by spoonful until a backhoe digs the grave. However, when facing the thoughts I try to think of them as windmills. The thoughts create movement in my mind that I resist, like water hitting a water wheel or wind hitting the blades. Suicidal thoughts have the power to create monumental positive change in our lives. If we choose to use them to examine and build a new foundation. However, not everyone can escape or deal with the thoughts and they leave us here wondering.

Why?

Why are we left here while they have gone on? Why can’t I just end my life already? Why am I here? Why? Why am I so angry? Why? Why? Why? Why do these thoughts hit me over stupid things? Why do these thoughts batter at my soul when I feel threatened or upset?

Why is the hardest question to ask and the most important question when hit by suicidal thoughts. When we find the “why” we have the responsibility to ourselves to ask another question.

 

How can I use the “why?” answer to change or accept my emotional dissonance and move forward?

Journal daily and learn from the things you see on the paper.