What Happens When We Ignore The Joneses - (Or, How Being Broke Gave Me Back My Christmas Spirit)

We're only four days from Thanksgiving, and that means the Big Kahuna of holidays is right around the corner. The Christmas music has already started playing on the radio. People have their lights going up. I even have a neighbor whose Christmas tree is already aglow in her living room window. And you know what else all this festivity brings?

Stress.

Anxiety.

Family conflicts.

Depression.

I no longer have any of those dilemmas. I have no more worries about anyone bitching about too many lights to hang, or why it takes three weeks of boxes all over the house to finish the decorating. All that stress, anxiety and depression moved out over a year ago.

Last Christmas I surprised myself by getting through the holidays with very little worry and almost no stress at all. Being left alone to handle all of the holiday prep while continuing with the day to day raising of my kids might have seemed daunting. Being left to do it all with very little money might have been frightening. But it turned out to be the best Christmas I have had in a long time.

There used to be a need to keep up. You know those pesky old Joneses...the ones whose piles of gifts under the tree are taller than their children, and are wrapped up in beautiful paper and tied with fancy bows. I don't understand why we all go through this nonsensical need to keep up with those Joneses, but inevitably, most of us do. We want to give our kids that picture perfect Christmas. That one we wish we had. And social media seems to issue a challenge to post the most impressive photos in some sick and twisted attempt to outdo the Joneses, or even ourselves from last year.

And there it is.

There's the stress.

We have to spend money we don't have, on presents we don't need. We have to bake the right cookies, use the right wrapping paper, send out that perfect picture card.

But WHY?

What's the prize?

What's the benefit?

What if we just stop?

Last year, I was broke. Really on the balls of my ass broke. I managed to scrape together a few dollars for a couple of gifts for my two youngest kids. I never even got a gift for my oldest. I told my whole family, I just can't do it this year. Take me off the exchange list. Please don't buy me a gift because it will only make me feel bad to not be able to reciprocate. My ex took care of all the teacher and bus driver gifts, and I bought dollar coffee mugs and filled them with wrapped chocolate kisses for all the helpers that were left.

And it was the best Christmas ever.

Christmas didn't burst into flames because there wasn't a mountain of presents. We didn't spend the day in misery because our photos on Facebook didn't measure up to all our friends and family.

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!" ~ The Grinch, in How The Grinch Stole Christmas, by Dr. Seuss

And I found my Christmas spirit again. The spirit that had been missing for so many years, that had been sucked away by the misery of a partner, who was likely suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder (but would never get help because there was never anything WRONG with HIM), and by my own silly, unnecessary need to keep up with the Joneses.

No more.

I hereby declare war on those superficial Joneses. I don't ever again want to keep up with whatever you feel the need to accomplish for your holiday. If you are in a position to shower your family in treasures, and that is your choice, then so be it. Good for you. (I'm talking to YOU, Gwyneth Paltrow!)

As for me and mine, we're going to celebrate the love we have for each other. We'll bake whatever we can afford, we'll decorate with what we have, we'll listen to really cliché holiday music, we'll wear ugly sweaters, and we'll enjoy every blessed moment of it.

"And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse!" ~ Clark Griswold, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

*If your name really IS Jones, my apologies for using your moniker as an unfortunate example.

Please Don't Accuse Me Of Being Amazing

I write a lot about surviving the challenges of daily life. Some days, my challenges may seem more difficult than the next person's, and other days I breeze through it all.

Very often, I will receive a message or see comments on a Facebook post that praise me as some kind of super parent. I know the whole "Cape in the Dryer" thing would lead you to believe that somewhere in my mind, I think I'm pretty super too. But that's the irony of the whole "In the Dryer" concept.

When the kids need me to do all things and be all things, and my mother calls and wants to know why I haven't called her, and the boss calls and says one of our ladies called in sick and I'll be two hands short, and the dog has diarrhea, and I found out when I stepped in it...on my way out the door when I was already running late for work...THAT'S when the universe seems to think I must have some super power. Some supernatural ability to manage all of it. There is always a possibility that I am having an "ON" day and I WILL get it all taken care of. But it's much more likely that I will fall short.

The actuality of my superpowers might look something like this:

After sleeping until the last possible minute, (because the boy only stopped jumping and singing Christmas songs around 4 AM), I might have missed the girl's bus but we have 15 minutes to get to school, and if there's no line at the drive thru, I can get her a bagel and that takes care of breakfast. Then I'll drop her and head back home to shower the boy and get him outside in time for his bus. I'll contemplate a shower for myself, and realize there is no way I can pull it off, so I'll put on the work clothes and extra deodorant, slip into my shoes and go back into the kitchen for my purse. When I step in the puddle of what leaked out of my dog, I will rinse my shoe with bleach in the sink, (as I THANK JESUS I was wearing my shoes!!!), and I'll leave for work without having a minute to clean up puppy's puddle. I will then come home from work and have to chisel dried on dog shit off the floor and disinfect the whole damned kitchen. I'll be so damned disgusted by the time it's cleaned, I'm not about to start cooking, so I'll run to the store for two $4.99 rotisserie chickens and pray I have paper plates. The only thing super about the whole day is that I survived it.

By example of the above scenario, not only would it be more likely my cape is in the dryer, but there is a good chance it is a wrinkled mess, lying at the bottom of Mount Laundrasuvius on the dining room table.

There may have been a time in my life when I allowed myself to feel stressed over trying to accomplish everything that was dropped in front of me. That time is a distant memory. Being married to an anal retentive control freak (who grew up in a house where you couldn't walk on the vacuum lines in the carpet) was always a factor in the stress. Having kids, and throwing autism into the mix made me see the most important priorities more clearly. The hubby had no such epiphany, and the differences in what we could personally tolerate were certainly a driving force in the inevitable split. But now that he's gone, I can comfortably wear my cape, or I can curse a lot because the boy wanted to hold the cape and he fell asleep and peed on it. Either way, no stress.

The only difference between me and the parent who is pulling out hair by the fistful on the way to the psychiatrist to refill the Xanax prescription is my CHOICE to be satisfied with whatever I accomplished today. I have no preset vision of what I'm SUPPOSED TO get done in the course of a day. I have no unrealistic expectations of what has to be finished before I finally pass out from the sheer exhaustion of the daily grind. So the fact that I am dancing at the end of a particularly harrowing afternoon is thanks to my choice to set the bar a little lower. I might start out a day having full confidence I can complete every task on a long and tedious to-do list, but I no longer beat myself up for leaving half the list undone. The dirt, the dishes and Laundry Mountain will be there tomorrow.

If you ever read about all the craziness that rolled through my day, and wondered how I could possibly get it all done and still have the time and energy for dancing, the answer is, I didn't. I didn't get it all done. I got the most IMPORTANT things done. I fed the kids. I got them to school. I got to work. I took care of the dog. I made sure the house was inhabitable. I made sure we were safe. Anything over and above that list is gravy. I'm NOT amazing. I'm NOT a supermom. I've just learned to forgive myself for NOT being an amazing supermom. And I've learned to dance about it.

There is no superpower.

There is no magic.

There is no cape.

Well, there IS a cape. There really is. But it's in the dryer.

Autism Has Made Me More Thankful

As I have in Novembers past, this year, I have chosen to record Thirty Thankful Days. I've been keeping track on my Facebook page, and now that I'm up to day number 4, I was thinking of how thankful I have become since embarking on this autism journey with my child.

Back in the early days, I was never the kind of mom who cried much, or felt despair or defeat. I was always the mom who wanted to know, "What do we do next?" Run to this therapy. Set up the boy's room for the therapists to come over. Twenty two vials of blood for testing? No problem! Cod liver oil? Alrighty then! Vitamins, minerals, Specific Chiropractic, GF/CF and Specific Carbohydrate diets, OT, Speech, videos, flash cards, listening therapy...whatever it could possibly take to help my boy advance. To help him progress. To help him function independently. We pretty much tried it all. And there comes a point when we have to figure out how much harder we can push, and how much better it would be FOR HIM if we just stop pushing. Not completely, but pull back just enough to help the boy breathe without the anxiety of always having to be ON his game.

During the course of the journey, I have made a few friends who share the path. I have been to support groups, seen people cry and fall apart, and I've seen people lock themselves away because they just can't deal with the stares, the judgment, and the difficulty of leaving the house.

You know what else I've seen?

My boy's happy face every morning, and that same sweet smile before I go to bed every night.

That beautiful boy has taught me what's really important and what's not. The petty bullshit that might once have driven me crazy, no longer holds a shred of importance to me. I have learned that ironing those shirts can wait, (forever, in some cases...I HATE ironing!). I have learned that the bickering over meaningless irritations that takes place among families is simply a waste of time. It doesn't matter who sits next to whom at a party, whether we go out for pizza or burgers, and for the love of all ridiculous things, it sure as shit doesn't matter who called whom last!!

A few years back, my boy was not a fan of restaurants. He couldn't tell me why, but I imagine it had something to do with the conflicting types of noise and the constant movement and visual stimulation. It was just too much. When my family was making plans for a dinner out to celebrate a birthday, I would opt out. It made me sad that they weren't hearing me when I tried to explain hohard it was for my child. They thought I was worried about disturbing other restaurant patrons. They thought I was worried about being embarrassed.

It was like they had never even met me.

While I sure don't set out to be a public nuisance by allowing my son to have a Defcon 5 meltdown while another family is trying to eat a meal in peace, my greatest concern was always about not wanting to push my boy past his comfort zone. I was worried about the sensory assault he would endure in a busy venue. I was worried about putting my need to be part of the party ahead of my son's need for avoiding sensory chaos.

Since then, my very hardworking child has powered through the restaurant trials, and has learned to sit (mostly) quietly while we celebrate with family, I have learned that headphones (which he will now tolerate on his head) are my best tool for keeping the boy calm, and my family has learned, I never did give a flying rat's ass about being embarrassed. I am NEVER ashamed of my son. And all this progress, for the boy, for myself and for my family make me thankful, thankful, thankful.

All that gratitude achieved thanks to autism.

Without autism, I might never have known the incredible joy of watching my son drink from a straw for the first time at the age of 4. Joy that brought me to sobbing tears in the middle of an amusement park. Without autism, I would surely have taken such a simplistic task for granted.

Without autism, I might still be taking the personal criticism of others to heart. I might be constantly questioning and doubting myself, wondering if I was ever "getting anything right". But with all we have attempted, achieved, failed and given up, I know with all my heart, I do everything I can for this kid (and for all my kids) out of pure love, and I will fail, I will forgive myself, and I will try again tomorrow. By accepting this for myself, I set the example for my kids. For that, I am thankful.

Now, let's not make the assumption that because autism has given me a long list of reasons to be thankful, I am thankful my child is autistic. I am not. I don't have any need to "cure" him of his neurology, but I do wish I could make this life easier for him. I wish I could help him understand enough to make it possible for him to someday function independently. He's 15 and he doesn't know how to tie his shoes or shower by himself. I'm not thankful for that. But with all his struggles, and with every effort he makes to understand something better, or try a new food, or keep himself calm when his brain is telling him to jump up and down and scream at the top of his lungs, I still get to see that smiling face, every morning and every night before I go to bed. He is a happy, loving, snuggly young man who loves his mom. Thankful. My LORD, I am so very thankful.

There may be some folks who take offense to my feelings about my son's autism. There are those who feel we should all embrace each neurology, exactly as it is. If that is how THOSE FOLKS feel, I completely respect their feelings, but I will NOT apologize for mine. I walk this autism path with MY child. Our path is about HIS autism. We are entitled to feel how we do. My boy has no way to express to me what he might be thinking about his neurology, so he can't tell me how he feels. But I can tell you that some days are really hard. I can tell you the future terrifies me. I can tell you it tears my heart out when I see my son struggling with a simple task like taking off his shoes. But I don't allow myself to be overcome with worry and anxiety and grief. I choose to focus on the joys, which are far greater than the challenges. And I'm thankful.

So today, on this fourth day of thankful consideration, I may not be thankful FOR autism, but I am deeply thankful TO autism, for giving me a clearer perspective on what matters, and for showing me what a great blessing my huggy, kissy, loving boy really is. I am so very thankful.

It's My Free To Be Me-Iversary

The date had been on my mind for a few days. At a different point in my life, it may have brought on some feelings of sadness and loss. But to the ME I am today, this day gives me every reason to celebrate!

One year ago today, I left for work in the morning and I did my five hour shift in the school lunchroom. I came home and started to get ready for the kids coming home from school. There were a few things out of place in the kitchen, but I didn't really pay them much mind until later. I went upstairs to collect my daughter's dirty clothes, and when I walked past his room, that's when I realized, my husband had moved out.

SURPRISE!!!!

The marriage had been dead for a long time, and neither of us wanted to be the one to pull the plug. I guess his current relationship was what it took for him to finally walk away, and there are a million reasons that should be devastating to me, even today, but it's not. I don't even want to talk about any of that right now. It's become exhausting. I DO want to talk about the wonderful things I have learned about myself in the year without him.

Lately, I have been fixated on evolution. I don't mean the kind of evolution that turns volcanoes into islands or dinosaur remains into fossil fuel. I mean personal evolution. I mean having the ability to be who I was yesterday, and knowing I have the power to change the parts I don't like and become somebody new today. Every day.

I am a huge Anne Rice fan. I started reading The Vampire Chronicles back in my early twenties. I know people will either love her or maybe not so much, but I LOVED every word. To this day, I am in love with The Vampire Lestat. Right now I'm sure you're thinking, "What the HELL do vampires have to do with a broken marriage and evolution?" Hang on. I'm getting there.

At some point in The Chronicles, somebody asks Lestat how he manages to survive the changing centuries when so many other vampires have been driven mad by the progressing world. It's been quite a few years since I've read the books, and I couldn't tell you where or in which book the question was asked, but the answer was,

"I am able to adapt".

Five words in a fiction series that have given me power my whole life.

Now, I'm not some storybook groupie and I don't mean to say that my life doctrine is based on a fictional character, but you have to admit, the concept of those words is pretty powerful. When we are faced with sadness, we can crumble or adapt. When faced with hardships, we can either be defeated by them or rise to the challenge. And when faced with life altering changes, we can either be devastated by them, or we can adapt.

I loved my husband. His selfish need to justify his behavior will compel him to disagree, but if you want to know how much I loved him, ask his mother. I believed he loved me, and didn't ever consider  I could be wrong until an argument toward the end. I asked him, "What do you need from me, to move toward fixing this marriage?"  His answer was,

"I need you to change EVERYTHING ABOUT YOURSELF!"

Ouch.

So I said, "I am exactly the same person I was when you met me. If this is how you feel, does it mean you never liked anything about me?"

"I guess I just never realized it."

That was what it took. That conversation made it so easy to let him go. It was mean, it was hateful and it was hurtful. And it relieved me of any lingering hope that we could ever fix what was so very broken.

Living alone with my kids is sometimes a struggle. Most of the struggles are financial, and we have all learned to live without. This week, the dog has eaten Cheerios for three days, but we'll all be just fine because we're infinitely happier. There is no more stress. No more stress over what time dinner is ready, (it never was on time for him, but there was always the stress). No more stress over the tension when my oldest came to visit. No more stress over every damned thing I do being "wrong".

So now that it's been a whole year of living without all that stress, let me tell you a few other things I have come to enjoy over the last twelve months:

1) I can cook (or not cook) WHATEVER THE HELL I DAMNED WELL PLEASE. All those Asian dishes served with rice (that he hated so much and I absolutely loved), 3 times a week! Breakfast for dinner? Why not?!! Pizza? $8.49 pies on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday!! WHAT. EVER. I. WANT.

2) The girl and I can wear perfume and polish our nails in the house without offending his sensitive sinuses.

3) When attending family functions, I don't have to keep watching the clock because he already gave me a "departure time". I can get there early, be the last one to go home, or spend the damned night if I want!

4) My family comes over more often. All the years my loving hubby told me that nobody came over because they couldn't stand to be around me, the truth is, it was HIM they couldn't stand to be around. Not so much him, as he related to THEM...but the way he treated ME left my sister-in-law, on numerous occasions, dragging my brother out the door early so he wouldn't feel compelled to teach dear old hubby how wrong it was to be such a hateful ass to me. Now that he's gone, I see them all the time. It's been warm and also validating.

5) My son has fewer meltdowns. His OCD is still sometimes intense and his inability to express himself sometimes leaves him incapable of controlling how upset he might be. But for the most part, I handle it without the anger and frustration that were the instant reaction of dear old dad. I'm not saying I NEVER lose it...I'm human. But it's rare. Without that constant disapproval, he is a much calmer, happier child.

6) My girl is less stressed. She can be herself without the daily challenge of "living up to daddy's image of her". She still deals with some deep anger with her dad that she keeps bottled up, but I'm doing my best to help her through it. And she's my very best friend, so we enjoy that much more now that it's just us.

7) I don't have to pretend to enjoy vacuuming and ironing. I don't have to feel guilty for so intensely loving my holiday decorations. I can boldly LOVE Christmas again.

8) I can associate with good, decent, loving people who he always thought were beneath him. Then again, he thought most people were beneath him. Including me.

9) My oldest can visit me any time he likes, and NOT have to feel hated. This is my favorite freedom.

10) I can be 100% authentically, unapoligetically myself. And I can love myself without the constant self  doubt that comes from someone constantly telling me how wrong I was. About everything.


It's been a whole year on my own, and I am happier than I have been in YEARS!! I would say that's cause for celebration. So happy free-to-be-me-iversary to me!!!

What Kind Of Parent Sends a Kid Out In Shorts In The Winter?

This morning I posted a meme on my Facebook page about Sensory Processing Disorder that seemed to strike a nerve in the community. Now, I'm no trained professional on the subject of SPD, but when you're a parent of a special needs child, you tend to become an unwilling "expert" on a lot of things. We tend to be on top of our kids, everywhere they go, and that brings us in contact with lots of other parents of special needs kids. We talk. We commiserate. We compare. We suggest. We learn.

Networking on Facebook is a salvation of sorts for parents in the special needs community. If you discover upon becoming a parent, that socializing for yourself has become a hardship, for the special needs community, that struggle is greatly increased, to put it mildly, so Facebook is often our only "human" interaction and we network via whatever screen with which we can manage to sneak away. That's where we hear so many of the stories that tell us we are not the only ones who are desperately trying to help our kids navigate their way through the SPD challenges that can make the simplest of tasks a torturous event. But the judgment of how we choose to deal with those challenges can be found everywhere we go.

When my son was first diagnosed, back in 2002, the clinical psychologist who made the formal diagnosis mentioned SPD, and explained it in the simplest way possible to my novice mind.

"Do you hear the hum of the air conditioner unit? You really didn't notice it until I mentioned it because your mind has been trained to tune it out in favor of what is going on in front of you. To the person with SPD, the sound of that motor can be impossible to tune out, and can seem like giant tower bells between the ears, leaving them completely unable to focus on anything else, and perhaps causing a meltdown. These seemingly irrational reactions can be triggered by any kind of offending stimuli. What is perceived as an assault on the senses...a smell, a taste, a sound, a touch or a visual stimulus, can truly render an SPD sufferer incapable of controlling his or her reaction."

I may have SLIGHTLY paraphrased that explanation, (it WAS 13 years ago), but I am certain it was pretty damned close to word for word.

For those who battle SPD, the offending object or situation can change from time to time, depending on a great deal of variables. How much sleep was had the night before? How long has the person
been "holding it together" prior to the introduction of the offending stimulus? Is there more than one stimulus present? Are there fluctuating hormones involved? Has there been a disruption in a routine? Sometimes there is no telling why something that was perfectly acceptable yesterday might have triggered a Defcon 5 meltdown today. But when the disorder has been triggered, we who are doing our best to help our kids (or ourselves) through it will do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe and bring calm back to a situation.

I have seen kids whose hypersensitive gag reflex is triggered by the smell of a certain food. I have seen a 6 year old boy attempt to refuse broccoli on his dish only to be accused of wanting his snacks instead of his meal, and to be told he would have to take the broccoli like everyone else. I saw that boy burst into tears and walk out with no meal because he would rather be hungry than to smell broccoli on his plate. That is Sensory Processing Disorder.

I have seen a child watch all his siblings having fun in the snow, throwing snowballs, building a snowman, sledding down a giant snow slide. He watched in tears from the living room window because he couldn't tolerate putting on the snow pants that would keep him dry. That is Sensory Processing Disorder.

I have seen my own son scream and cover his ears as he threw himself on the floor in the middle of a busy restaurant, all because the sounds of the conflicting noise was too much for his brain to take in at once. He has the same reaction to the sound of the crowd roaring at a ballgame, or the sound of a baby crying. That is Sensory Processing Disorder.

Bright, flickering lights, the loud, Dolby stereo speakers of a movie theater, the strong smells of a farm, the feeling of certain fabrics...anything that is overwhelming to an individual with SPD in a given moment has the potential to trigger a meltdown, which IS NOT the same as the temper tantrum of a "spoiled brat". When a person with SPD or autism or any developmental disorder reaches the point where they are in a full meltdown, it is NOT a choice they have made, and they will need help to regain control.

So if you happen to be out somewhere and encounter a scenario that seems out of the ordinary, do you instantly pass judgment or do you consider the possibility that there may be more to the situation than your own experience might lead you to surmise? What do you think when you see the mom who only gives her child chicken nuggets at every meal? When you see a dad who is pushing his six year old in a stroller, do you think "How ridiculous?" And when you see my son, rocking back and forth in our booth at the restaurant, wearing his big headphones and watching a video on my phone, do you think, "How rude! There should be no screens at the table!" If these thoughts cross your mind, you should keep them to yourself, because those chicken nuggets, that stroller and that God forsaken Barney video are the tools that we are using to keep our kids safe and calm. These are the strategies we have found to be effective at helping our kids maintain control of their behavior. We are doing our best to help them to try new foods, navigate through crowds and remain calm even in very noisy places, and since your judgment can't HELP us and our kids in any way, it's a negative we can really live without. And keep in mind, most of us are hanging on to our last shred of sleep deprived sanity, so you really don't want to be what pushes us right over the edge.

Oh, as the colder weather approaches, you might also keep in mind that those kids who are coming off the schoolbus in shorts, or in a skirt with no tights, and even on the coldest days with snow falling, you'll see kids with no hats or gloves...Sensory Processing Disorder. When you think it was a "bad parent" who allowed that kid to leave the house with his legs exposed on a 28 degree morning, it was actually a parent who loved his or her child so much, no expectations of keeping up with a social "norm" could justify torturing that child with a clothing item that would've made focusing on school work impossible. And the next time you have to cut the tag out of the back of your shirt, or readjust the seam of your socks, or you cringe at the sound of someone biting the fork...Sensory Processing Disorder.

Never Leave The Girls Behind

Growing up, I had lots of friends. As a young kid, into middle school, and into high school, I was always part of a crowd. Once boys became a focus for many of us, we would drift.

There were a few members of a few groups who stayed close. All through high school, and wherever they went after, I've heard the stories of trips they took together, who was in the other's wedding party, this one was Godmother to that one's kid.

I was not one of them.

I had been screwed over a few times. I shied away from the groups and followed the boys. After all, wasn't the prince going to save me?

So I never had the trip with the girls to Acapulco. Never did the girls ski trip to Vermont. Never went to most of their weddings. And I've never met most of their kids.

At 19, I got involved with the father of my oldest. I spent seven years blindly devoted to a man who was incapable of being faithful back then, and only when my son was born did I realize it was NEVER going to get better. I moved back to my parents' house, and spent the better part of a year and a half sporadically dating, but mostly alone. Still no girlfriends.

When my boy was not even two years old, I met the man I would marry. We dated for two years, then moved in together for five, just so he could "see if he could handle raising someone else's kid". That concept was a debacle for another post, but he finally married me. All through those years, I lived for my man. I didn't go out with friends, and hardly kept in touch with anyone from my childhood. There were two or three of the girls I was closest to in school with whom I would exchange Christmas cards, but no flourishing friendships to speak of.

Now, please understand, it was never my husband's idea for me to have no friends. Like I said, being screwed over in the past gave me some real trust issues. Besides, I just wanted him to love me, and for us to build our life together. We were a couple, and all I really needed was for him to be my partner. In everything.

Looking back, that idea may have been the undoing of my marriage. That's not to say, my choices forced my husband to go sleep with my cousin. But I will definitely take responsibility for putting an awful lot of pressure on him to keep me entertained. I don't mean like, put on a clown suit and dance for me...I mean like when he went fishing with the guys, I was left behind, alone with the kids. If he was going to a business dinner with his partner, I was left alone with the kids. I never created a backup plan for myself, and it left me feeling slighted and neglected. I needed him to devote as much time to me, as he did for his own recreation, and he didn't understand that.

There were plenty of times he encouraged me to make plans with old friends. Most of the "girls" from my past were all women with husbands and kids of their own by then. We had lost touch for so long, it was awkward to reconnect. And let's face it, all the running I did from the time my Spartacus was first diagnosed with autism, and all the sleepless nights that followed left me completely exhausted. I really just wanted my husband.

MAC worked while I was home with the kids. I was constantly running to schools and therapies for the boy, and because MAC owned his own business, he was able to arrange his schedule so he could be around to pick up and drop off the girl from day care, (which he owned, thank God!), and dancing school...we were always running. Keeping up with the house and dinner, was a challenge, to say the least, and that was always an issue for him. I did make time to meet my parents for breakfast from time to time, and did the annual Christmas shopping with my sister, and he could never understand how I could justify going out with my family when the laundry wasn't being done. He didn't understand that I needed to see PEOPLE. I needed to have conversations with grownups. He didn't talk to me all that much unless it was about the kids. He was tired. I get it. But I was lonely.

There was a two year period when MAC's childhood friend moved into the downstairs apartment in our house, and he ate with us every night. Having an extra person at the table forced us into the dining room, and made us eat like a real family, with real conversation. That happened during the time my girl was 4 to 6 years old, and I think it was probably the happiest time of my marriage. There was life, and conversation, and real interaction. I felt human.

When we made the choice to move to the suburbs, we had to leave our friend behind, and it was just us again. The first year we were out here was hard. Money was tight, and that could've torn us apart, but we actually got closer for a short while. I still had no girlfriends to talk to, but I had my cousin. My best friend, and the one woman I wouldn't have to worry about screwing me over.

*sigh*

We were always together. Always. My house, her house, everywhere we went. I could tell her everything, and she confided in me. I finally had a best girlfriend. We were Lucy and Ethel, and we laughed our asses off. Until her husband left. And that's when I started to notice things were changing.

I don't want to talk about how wrong that all went, but I do want to say, when I figured out what was going on, and I ended my relationship with her, it was only the beginning of what was taken from me. My husband stayed in the house, for another two years, but the marriage was over already. So when he finally left, he had taken 22 years of my life and tossed it away, he took the closest friend I ever had, he took my daughter's original Godmother, and because of all that has transpired, he also oddly ends up taking my whole extended family...all MY cousins, MY aunts...the whole situation has been an eye opener in regard to who ever really had my back. It's a short list, but at least I know.

And now, I'm in the heart of middle age, and besides my immediate family, I'm wondering what connections I have in my life. I have made some friends. Moms of my daughter's friends have become confidantes and I'm learning to reach out. I have also rediscovered some of those long lost childhood friends and love catching up with them. More than anything, the friends I have made online have been my lifeline. They are the ones who understand, and support, and never judge me. I think without the connections I have made on Facebook and among the autism and blogging communities, I would surely have gone mad from loneliness.

But I'm still left with an emptiness. Now that the happily ever after is all up to me, and I have  discovered I am comfortable and content with my own company, there are still times I feel completely alone.

Which leads me to the point of this whole, long, rambling novella!

I wish I had kept in touch with my friends.
I wish I had the memories of the vacations.
I wish I had kept an outlet for my OWN connections all through the marriage.
I wish I hadn't put all my life eggs in the one basket of a husband.

Maybe if I had kept my friends in my life, I would've felt validated, and I wouldn't have needed so much constant attention from my husband.
Maybe if I found other ways to occupy my time, he wouldn't have felt it was such a chore to spend time with his wife.
Maybe if I had allowed people in my life, I would've felt more supported, and wouldn't have needed so much from one man.

Now, all those thoughts sound kind of like I'm having regrets. I assure you, I'm not. Regrets and guilt are emotions that take too much energy from finding answers and solutions. I believe with all my heart that everything that has happened in my life, and everything that I have ALLOWED to happen in my life were all a part of what has led me to become exactly who I am. I love myself now more than at any other time in my life, and I will take responsibility for all the mistakes and errors in judgment. That surely doesn't excuse the betrayal that ultimately ended my marriage. But it allows me to move forward with a plan to be smarter. To do better. To make ME a priority. I don't plan to become selfish, but I fully intend on being self AWARE.

Only I can make me happy. It is nobody else's job. My happiness comes from inside, and it's the choice I will make every day for the rest of my life. If ever I meet someone who wants to make me happy, he'll discover I already am. And if he ever makes me UNhappy, he'll be gone.

But more importantly than thinking about ever finding another man in my life, I intend to make up for all the lost time I spent without friends. Girlfriends. The other women who will understand when I need ice cream and someone to watch Steel Magnolias with me. The women who will let me drag them through the mall, even when I have no money to buy anything because even window shopping is a form of retail therapy. The sisters who will come and drink wine with me while we pull out that giant Christmas sled.

I'm going to spend more time focused on really connecting with friends. And I hope that by telling this story, I can inspire a younger bride to always have an alternate outlet for connecting, apart from her husband. Putting all your eggs in one basket is rarely a good idea in any aspect of life. It's a good idea to have a backup. Just make sure the ones you choose to have your back are never the ones who are behind you with a knife.

I Am The Positive Change That Came From 9/11

"Where were you on 9/11?"

We hear the question every year. It's one of those things that will always stick with us. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. My oldest son had just walked to school with a friend, and my little guy was 16 days from his first birthday. We were in our kitchen as I fed him his breakfast, and MAC was in the garage, as his business was booming at the time, and he was home doing some work in the house that day. I had the news on, as I did every morning. I was watching Good Day New York with Jim Ryan. I watched the whole, tragic event unfold and then I ran to my son's school to bring my kid home.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

In the midst of chaos, and terror, and sadness, and devastation, the "RUDEST" city in the world came together in unity in a way that can only happen during a time of tragedy.

On that awful day, as survivors desperately sought a way to get home, and family members were frantically trying to reach ANYONE who could give them news of their loved ones, strangers were reaching out a hand to pull someone to safety. Nobody cared that day what color you were, what language you spoke, how many tattoos you had...if you were within arm's reach, somebody would help you along. It's not what you could pay attention to as it was happening, but the stories came out days later. And there were LOTS of them.

There were a few isolated incidents where the narrow minded hot heads sought out anyone who looked even remotely like they could be Muslim, and tiny flames of hate were fanned. I remember feeling disgusted, and thinking how awful it must be for someone like my friend Ehab, who made my coffee every day at my Dunkin Donuts window. I remember asking him if he felt safe. He said there were a few people who made him nervous, but for the most part, the locals were especially kind and treated him like the beloved member of our community he was.

I remember feeling perplexed. There were preconceived notions of who these terrorists were, and I struggled with my own fear and the ideas of prejudice I had been exposed to as a child. I had evolved to a certain degree on my own. I had friends of all races, gay, straight, immigrant...but even though Brooklyn is a great melting pot, there are still lots of folks there who are very provincial. They belong in their corner of the universe, and outsiders do not. Each new faction of settlers in "the neighborhood" was seen as intruders. So there were lots of people whose opinions about the subject of terrorists was completely one track. But it didn't sit well with me.

I wondered if all these angry people who were calling for the heads of anyone who might have a middle eastern connection realized that it was exactly that kind of blind fear of "what we don't understand" that led these evil terrorists to commit such a heinous act.

As I spent the next few weeks finding bits of charred paper that was still drifting over the river on the wind, I also began to make a concious effort to see everyone I encountered for their character, and paid less attention to an accent, or the style of clothing someone wore. Before 9/11, I already had a pretty open and accepting mind. AFTER 9/11, I became accutely aware of the impact of hating someone, or disregarding a person's right to be HUMAN, based on a biased and uneducated opinion that had been passed down for generations. And I surely wasn't going to allow my children to be raised surrounded by judgment and hate. I let everyone around me know, I would not tolerate anyone teaching my kids to hate, simply for the sake of letting the ugliness ride. My wishes have been MOSTLY respected, except for a few extreme cases, and I am blessed to have strong children who have followed my lead, and nobody else's. They have even taught me a thing or two.

This morning I posted a request on my Facebook page, for readers to comment with a memory, or positive action that they relate to 9/11. One reader mentioned how Autism Daddy had highlighted the unity that followed. (Sorry...my challenge with all things technical prohibits me from tagging, but go find him. I have enjoyed his writing for a long time!) This reader mentioned how she wished it could've stayed that way, and I told her it HAS!! In me. I felt a positive change in the people around me in the days and weeks that followed that devastating day, and I carried it with me. Even in the "rudest" city in the world, we all became like brothers. We can fight with EACH OTHER, but anyone ELSE screws with us, they screw with ALL of us:)

I may have moved to the suburbs of New Jersey, but I will always be a native New Yorker. Having witnessed the greatest atrocity on American soil in my lifetime, I can honestly say, I come from truly badass stock. I am a proud American. I was a few miles from the attack that day, but I am a survivor. My heart breaks for every life that was lost that day, and I refuse to fall victim to the plot to perpetuate the hate that caused this travesty. In honor of all those lost souls, I vow to live my life open and accepting of every human. I will, at the very least, presume goodness in each person until it is proven otherwise. Instead of judging, I will LEARN. I will ask questions and get to know people instead of resting in my preconceived, erroneous notions. I will put forth the kindness of which all those victims were robbed. I can't promise I will always succeed, but I can damn sure do my best.

If you lost someone on that horrible day, if you lost your faith in humanity, if you were traumatized by the attack, please don't allow terror to win. We all have the power to keep alive the unity of the days that followed 9/11. Like so many other possibilities, it's all about making the choice.

Choose kindness.

Choose acceptance.

Choose understanding.

And if there is ever a question as to whether or not you should reach out to someone you don't understand, always "err on the side of compassion"~Jess, Diary of a Mom (Sorry...no tag here, either! But find her...she's awesome!)

To all those who will forever miss the ones they lost that day, my heart is with you💗