Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Can the Non Experts Please Shut Up?

Why do people, who have very little basis to do so, give advice? Why do non parents want to publicly- in forums, on their blogs, on Facebook, Twitter, blogazines, etc,- want to tell us all of the ways in which we're doing it wrong? Same goes for people who have no medical right to tell everyone else how to eat, work out, and cure cancer or other diseases.

I'm not making that last one up. I've actually, today alone, come across five mentions on Facebook of completely unqualified people telling me and God knows how many others how to "cure" cancer and other diseases. By diet.

Because screw genetics.

However, I'm digressing. What has really pissed me off this evening is coming across a discussion from a non parent of how autistic wandering, or bolting, is the fault of the parents. Not a new concept, I know. However, this is supposedly coming from someone who dispenses advice to parents. I'm finding this puzzling.

I 100% get why my son would run from loud noises. From the wrong sensory input. I get it. But, you know, I've had enough.

If you are a non parent, especially not the parent of an autistic child, back off on the public judgement. To say that autistic children "bolt to escape abusive situations" is pretty heinous. Maybe some do. Who knows? Or that parents called this wandering in order to lessen the guilt when they are bad parents and their children run away? Bull. Shit.

I find it appalling that anyone who is a non parent would dispense parenting advice. It's like someone giving medical advice who isn't a doctor.

How dare anyone infer that children such as Morgan bolt in order to escape abusive situations? My son is not being abused. He's so far from it that it's almost funny to imply there is such a thing in this house.As children who were both abused by our father figures, my husband and I are incredibly careful in our discipline with our children. Other parents might not be this way, I cannot speak for them, only for what goes on here.

I know what it is to bolt from danger. My son is not trying to do that.

However, other kids? Maybe. I cannot speak for them. But when I see discussions going on, more discussions that only serve to fuel this intense fire that blames parents, I become livid. Especially when that fire is fanned by a non parent, someone who is not even parenting by proxy. This isn't just one person, either. I mentioned it earlier this week.

Thing is, I would laugh this off if parents weren't being vilified by so many people already. It's not a "poor us" mentality, either. At least not from where I'm sitting. From this view, it's a "just shut the hell up already, world, because frankly, you're not living your life correctly, either." We deal with criticism (not constructive) from our relatives, our friends, teachers, administrators, and strangers sometimes daily. Do we really need someone else? Someone who is based in the Autism community? Hell no. 

Bottom line? Good parents, like me, blame themselves for things every day that, in the long run probably won't matter that much to our children. Blame the parents who truly are abusing their children. Don't make assertions about situations you have zero experience with or very little firsthand knowledge.

A small brag in gratitude

Today is the last (half) day of Morgan's second grade year. I'm a bit startled that we've arrived here, but then, it seemed like this school year would never end, either.

Yesterday, he brought home the contents of his desk- notebooks, a couple of workbooks, fluency charts for reading and a funny-looking hand made composition/poetry notebook. I teared up looking through some of it, but not entirely for the contents.

The progress my son has made this year astonishes me.

He began the year not being able to read very well at all. He wouldn't or couldn't read books out loud or to himself. I wasn't sure exactly how much he could comprehend or if he ever would. I'm still not, to be honest, but I do have an inkling now that things might end up alright. He doesn't hate reading anymore.

Morgan has worked so very hard. His teacher, para, therapists, and helpers have gone above and beyond with him. For as much as I know I've complained about the homework and the review I've done with him, I know it's been more than worth it.

My son can read.

He can write sentences.

He doesn't always need prompts to begin those things.

Not always.

Those are not small things.


*To everyone that has been a part of our team this year, directly or on the periphery, thank you. We cannot have this level of success without you. We love and appreciate every one of you.

The beautiful thing about learning is that no one can take it away from you.
~B.B. King

Monday, May 20, 2013

The water

I grew up with water around me. I've always claimed that I'd never be happy unless I was near or on water and this is something I've expected my sons to inherit. They did. They're complete water babies. I will not allow fear to rob them of the enjoyment of being on the water. However, I'm scared.

This last week, the Autism community was rocked within a space of only a few days with the drowning deaths of three children.  Mikaela's death hit us hard. She disappeared on Mother's Day and I believe that most of us sat with our fingers crossed, waiting for her return. She was found in a creek. Owen Black's death hit very close to home for me, personally. He's from the state I now live in and died in the city/state I'm originally from. In the waters I grew up around. Drew Howell died in water, too...

These could have been any of our children. Any of their parents could have been us. I've been afraid, many times, that one of these children would be my own.

The Lynch family also came under fire last week from a "journalist"... this is a reason I am writing what I am. The journalist inferred that the family had been irresponsible by having Mikaela near water.

To that journalist and anyone that may want to judge a family with an Autistic or otherwise "impaired" child, let me tell you: we don't stop living our lives because of our child's diagnosis. We go on vacations. We go to the water, especially if our child loves it. We go to the bathroom, this means we take our eyes off of our child for a few minutes. We install screens on vents so that wasps do not enter homes. This also involves removing our immediate attention from our children.

Don't judge any of us until you've walked in our shoes.

My sons are verbal, with one being NT and one being Autistic. We've lost each one at least once. Every time, it was when we, actually, me, was distracted for a second... minute... or, in one case, felt safe lying down for a nap while Bay, my neurotypical child, was asleep (I thought), too. Each time, it was from me letting down my guard for a second or a minute. This happens.

 Morgan once bolted from me at a crowded water park. A water park. He'd just taken off his life vest, too. Thankfully, security was able to find him by the wave pool, leaning over the edge and peering at the rolling waves.  He learned to swim officially that summer. He can even hold his breath underwater now.

But even with that learned skill, I'm scared. And the fear keeps me up at night. 

We live outside of a high crime city, surrounded by water. I hold tight to my children's hands when go anywhere, but especially Morgan. I don't like to go into New Orleans unless my husband is with me because I'm afraid. I'm scared that Morgan will give his information (a newly acquired skill)out to anyone because he's so trusting. I'm terrified my son will happily walk off with a stranger who will do great harm to him. Or, walk into a bayou, or Lake Pontchartrain and hit his head... He loves water so much. He knows to never enter a pool alone, but would he know to never enter a lake? A pond? A bayou? Would his fear of alligators and snakes keep him away? Last summer, my mom and I had to keep reminding him to stay out of the pool unless someone was out there...

To me, worrying about Morgan being in water is a relatively valid fear. He's loved water as long as I can remember. His favorite stim is playing in sand for hours and it's even better if the sand is, you guessed it, next to water.

What I fear is the fear itself. I fear that my son will wander off in a crowd, at a store, in a park, on the beach. I fear that soon my will outgrow me and I will not be able to hold onto his hand as tight and my grasp will break. Or that, when I send him to the bathroom, he'll tell our home address to someone who will do something bad with it.

I fear the unknown because tweak the situation in any of those children's deaths last week... and it could be my son on CNN.

I cannot imagine the horror these families went through because I've only ever caught a glimpse of it. The worst that has ever happened to me is when my son Bailey slipped out of a dead bolted door during nap time to chase a neighbor's dog up a hill across the street. I was lucky that day, very lucky. A neighbor who not know me saw my child playing with that dog and called 9-1-1 to report a found child. My own dog, Roxy, earned her keep that day by first trying to pull Bailey down the hill (the neighbor thought our dog was attacking him) and then by barking at my back door to alert me. The twenty minutes my son was missing was harrowing. 

But what if he, at the age of two, had wandered down the the nearby spring? What if he had wandered out onto the busy street beyond the spring? Those were my thoughts that day. He couldn't swim and was so little. He also couldn't speak at the time due to age.

 Thankfully, he was found, dirty and happy.

I live in fear that one day, I won't be so lucky with his brother.

Monday, May 13, 2013

The child

*Editor's note: This post is not about my son, Morgan. This is, however, fiction based on real events; a combination of instances put into story form in an attempt to make people think. Everything in this story has happened, but again, the character Samuel isn't actually Morgan.  

Imagine you're a boy, about nine years of age, who is supposed to be entering fourth grade but instead is approaching third. Pretend that you have a diagnosis of ADHD and anxiety, with a speech delay and learning delay. You might have sensory processing disorder, too, but your doctor tells your mom incorrectly that this is common with all kids with ADHD and anxiety and your school refuses to test for it.

Pretend that your mother, who has every good intention in the world, cannot for the life of her figure you out and you cannot, because of your language impairments tell her all that you need to. You react to adverse stimuli with meltdowns. Society sees you as a "bad kid." You have very few friends. You're a misfit, a square peg being continuously shoved in round holes.

You begin school, like other kids, at the preschool level. The school tells your parents that you are "too young and too low functioning for their low functioning program." So your parents keep you out for that year. The next year, your parents try again, not yet having knowledge of IEPs, special education, or the acronyms that would be coming. The school informs them that you are now too old for preschool.

Your mommy is so frustrated, but puts the pressure on. She enrolls you in kindergarten. You are excited, though because of your speech delay, you can't really express it. You meltdown on that first day. The principal calls your mommy and tells her that you are too young for kindergarten, not ready yet. You've been in school for one day.

Your mom has already been searching for another school for you, one with great programs in speech. Your parents have been looking to buy a house in this school district that they've heard is fabulous. And, it is. For neurotypical kids. Your psychiatrist tells your mommy that you will do well in a school environment, with an IEP, supports, and good teachers. Your doctor has even heard of and recommends this school.

You start kindergarten again. Oh, you love your teacher, Mrs. Sabrina! You even make a friend, Lacy. But the other kids don't really understand why the noises hurt your ears. Or why you aren't completely potty trained. Or, why you can't write like they do, or color like them, or cut paper like them. You go home in tears more days than you get into your mommy's car with a smile.

Your mommy thinks that next year will be better. You'll be older. You have medications that will help you. But your mommy cannot tell the future. She cannot see that the administration is changing, that the kids who don't understand you are getting older and will become mean. Your mommy cannot see that her illness which will lead to surgery will throw you for a loop and that behaviors will scare other people. Your mommy doesn't know that the teacher you will be placed with has no sympathy for "your kind."

First grade isn't how it was supposed to be. Instead of one class with your specials, there are three. Your teacher isn't nice at all. You can't control emotions, or your tics. You lash out, even when you try to be calm. You feel like you're crawling out of your skin and even try to claw it off sometimes. You make your mommy cry. You feel so bad.

The bullies hurt you and your friend, Franklin. He has something called Autism and is even in some of the "special special" classes, just like you! From what his mommy says, the bullies peed on him, and spit on him... they shoved him, and punched him. You don't know why, because he's so nice. You try to tell on the bullies, but the teachers say you're making it all up. This hurts.

Franklin's mommy and your mommy must have been right about stopping the bullies. It's almost the end of the year, but the bullies finally stop. You wish that your teacher would be nicer, but you're too scared to say anything to your mommy. Every time you've told on her in the past, the teacher has yelled at you more. "Samuel," she'll say, "you'll never amount to anything!" She's scary.

You're so happy when you're at home. Your mommy tries to make everything better. But you feel so dumb. The work from school makes you feel stupid. You can see that you're not doing the same work as the other kids.

Third grade comes and nothing seems right. You're in a class most of the day and none of the other kids speak. They're nice most of the time, but three of them flap their hands, just like Franklin did! But they scream and it really hurts your ears. One of them threw a desk once. No one said why, but the little girl was never punished. You're not allowed to tell your mommy, but you never do any "real" work. You play with alphabet blocks and draw. Just like in kindergarten, but easier.

In speech, the therapist gets inpatient. If you need to take your time writing something or sounding something out, she'll just do it for you. She tells you to never your mom.

Teachers talk about you like you're not there. They pinch you when you're "bad" or ask questions. When your mommy notices the bruises, you get scared and tell her you don't know where they came from. 

Your main teacher is pretty nice. You once threw a desk at her and she didn't even tell your mommy. She says you can't help it. You think you can, but don't say anything. When your mommy finally finds out, she's mad. She says you can't do things like that. But, you think, "the little girl did it, why can't I?"

You see the work that the other kids are doing. You think, "I can do that, too, if I'm just given the chance!" But no one ever gives you that chance. You are given work you've been doing for three years, since kindergarten. You're bored, so you don't do it. You sit in your "special" class with the sweet kids who don't talk and help the teacher like she asks. You wonder why you're in that class, but no one ever says why.

Lacy's mommy won't let you play with her anymore. 

You overhear your mommy talking about something called "test scores" on the phone. Mommy's mad. Really mad. She's talking to Franklin's mommy about how you've been allowed to fall through the cracks at school. You wonder what that means and go back to playing.

Your mommy tells you over the summer that you're going to a new school. That there will be a different way of doing things. You are excited. You think, "Maybe now I won't be yelled at all the time. Maybe now I'll learn to read. And add. And write. Maybe now, I'll have a real friend."

Sunday, May 12, 2013

We love you, Mom

Ryanne Photography
My sister, Mariah, and I think our mom is awesome. I'm sure our brother thinks so, too, but he was too busy to get back to me for this post. Kidding, he loves you, Mom, the kids were just going nuts and he couldn't get anything to me. In honor of Mother's Day, instead of telling you all the ways you messed me up, I thought I'd let you in on the cool stuff you did for us and how much we love and appreciate you.

First of all, you birthed us. That's wicked cool of you. But you didn't just stop there, oh no, you went on and fed us, clothed us, and cared for us for a couple of decades. That's some dedication right there. You allowed me to say smart things and really hone my sarcasm. You even taught me most of what I know. You rock.

Mariah says it a lot nicer (she's the nice one, did I mention that?), "She has always been there for me and I know she tries her best to make sure my family and I always have what we need. Even now, she still takes care of us. That is what makes an awesome mom."

My mom and I are pretty close, so are her and my sister. People used to think that we were weird, as teenagers, because instead of going out to parties (which we I did) all the time, we would hang out with our Mom. She once, in order to see Jethro Tull beforehand, came to an Incubus concert with Mariah and I. How
many moms do that?

Riah said, "My mom and I have always had a strong relationship. Even when she drives me crazy (few and far between), I still call her daily. I used to call her after she moved to Fl and I was on my own, just to let her know what I was doing and if I was going out. I knew she would be worried and it gave me peace of mind knowing she knew where I was. Can’t say that about too many 18-19 year olds."

Mom instilled in us a love of the water whether it's an ocean, a lake, stream, or pool. Mariah and I are complete water babies as are our boys. This might have something to do with Mom popping us on the beach when we were babies. One of my earliest memories is being on the beach with my brother, swimming, with
Mom being right there to catch me if I sunk. We grew up chasing each other down docks, running over beaches, and sailing. We have Mom to thank for that. I don't think it's a complete coincidence that Riah now lives in Miami and I'm close to the water in New Orleans. And we're happy.

In Okinawa, holding Jackson
Mom has made a fantastic grandmother. Riah and I both agree that she's made an even better gramma than mom. Our kids get away with so much around her! Morgan started calling her "Babe" because that's what our bonus dad, Rocco, calls her. Now, half her eight (in all) grandkids call her that. I find it hilarious. Our boys are super spoiled by their grandmother, it began at birth for most of them. Mom has made it to one birth and has been at our houses for all but two grandkids right after they were born. She actually flew all the way to Okinawa, Japan, from Florida for the birth of Mariah's son, Jackson. That's love, y'all!

Mom still holds my hand when I'm hurting. Right after she flew home from Mariah's son's birth, she turned around and drove up to the mountains in Tennessee for me. I had to have a hysterectomy and needed help with the boys, plus I was on partial bed rest for a little over a week. She came and made things easier. She's driven many miles since then to help me out when I'm really sick. Since I've never had any family close by to rely on, it's meant even more. (FYI, I feel the need to mention at this point that my mother in law also comes and helps me out when I need her. Thanks Mary!)

Christmastime 2011
Back to the gramma thing...Mariah's son, Jackson, and Morgan and Bailey love my mom. I mean, love. My kiddos know that when they go to Babe's house in the summer, it's a chance for them to run around half clothed in the Florida sunshine, go to the beach and build sand castles with Babe, and get spoiled rotten. Guys, this lady potty trained my autistic son! Seriously. Morgan adores his Babe. They, even more than her and Bay, have an intensely close relationship. I love that. Mariah told me, "Jackson and her are best friends. They grew the bond when we lived down the street from them for a year. Even though we are now on the opposite side of the state from her, they are still super close." By the way, I'm pretty sure Morgan picked up his licking stim from my mom... she taught him to dive bomb my feet and lick them when he was a baby. Oh yeah, love her for that.
Jackson and Mom

In short (okay, not so short), we love our mom because she's Mom. She's not perfect and never pretends to be that way. She taught us that it's okay to make mistakes, to cry, and to kick ass when you need to. She cheers us on. She gives great gardening tips. She's Mom. And she's ours. We love you, Mom.

We get our fashion sense from our Mom.

All three us. Pirates. Rarr.

Psstt... Since Mariah and I were all cool about professing how awesome you are in print and our brother had to opt out... Does this mean she and I will get cooler stuff than him for Christmas? Or when you die? Just wondering. No pressure.

Friday, May 10, 2013

A letter to my boys

Dear Morgan and Bailey,

They're so close..
I know that with Mother's Day being on Sunday, you're supposed to do something for me. To show gratitude. You know, that whole "I gave you life and haven't retracted it yet" thing. I know that the two of you are excited about giving me the cards that you've hidden (Bailey, you need to move yours... putting it into the mail pile is not hiding it, sweetie). But boys, this year, I thought I'd thank you instead. If it weren't for the two of you being here, driving me slightly batty - or really batty - daily, I wouldn't be able to celebrate this day with millions of other moms. Plus, this gives me a chance to post cute pics of both of you.

And SO crazy...

You see, before y'all came along, I didn't really think I'd ever be a "mommy." I knew I'd probably be a mother, but I just didn't know if I had it in me to do "mommy" things. I thought I was missing a gene to do this.. this stuff somehow. Maybe I still am, but I know that the two of you have brought out something in me that I never knew I had. You both taught me how to love. I loved your daddy already, but loving a child is different. As others had said, to have a child is to have a part of your heart walk or move around outside of you for the rest of your child's life. You know, or something like that.

Morgan, you've inspired both your daddy and me to be so much better than we ever would have been. We would have been incredibly selfish people, bent on God knows what. If there is a high power, and I believe there is, he or she knew what to do in sending you to us. Those first few days were scary. Bringing you into the world was so hard, and there were a lot of doctors and nurses there. We were terrified. But you were great.

A quiet moment, at 3 months old
You've always been full of surprises. A lot of things, you did early. Some others, you've had to work so hard for. Morgan bear, I'm so proud of you. Without you, I don't know who I'd look up to. Before your brother came along, it was just you and me a lot of the time because your Daddy worked so hard. You taught me how to really laugh and that life can be enjoyed through the eyes of a child.

You taught me that silence is a gift worth appreciating, that sometimes, one really needs to sit down and take a break. I'd never considered that raising a child would be taking a break, but at first, that's what it was for me. You taught me to breathe, while, at the same time, you were teaching me to hold my breath in anticipation. Motherhood is a huge oxymoron.

You've taught me more about advocating, loving, and seeing people for who they are and not what they are labeled than anyone ever could. Thank you. I love you sweetie. You will accomplish so much in life. You already have.

My youngest son... we'd developed a better sense of humor about parenthood and pregnancy by the time we found out about you. I love you as much as I love your brother. Your mom is incredibly silly. And crazy, by the way. The picture of the pumpkin is my belly when I was pregnant with you during Halloween.
Bailey... You are, by far, the most hilarious and challenging child I have ever encountered. When I said that my heart walks outside of my chest? Well, son, with you, my younger self walks around outside of me. Your middle name should have been "Karma." I call you my gingerbaby/demon for a reason, darlin.' You're my baby. You are the last child I'll ever have (Seriously, stop asking for a sibling. It's not happening!). I've spent more one on one time with you than I even did with your brother and I'm so grateful for it. I've been right here for every single milestone- those in the baby books and not.. like trying to shave the dog.

Bay, you are a pistol. I know I stay on you about your behavior, but it's honestly because I want you to one day be a great person. I want you to, yes, stick up for people, but to stop pointing out who might be a "real live swamp person and eat squirrel" when we're in restaurants now. You're impulsive, a complete chatterbox, and you never stop moving- even in your sleep. I love every bit of you. I especially love how I never have a day pass where you tell me how much you love me, too.

You, too, will go on to do great things, I know it. Please excuse me whenever you overhear me cracking jokes about saving for your bail fund. It's only a joke. Honest. I know if you go to jail, it'll be for an awesome protest for a worthy cause. Hey, you've already begun to protest my cooking, television shows, and certain clothing options.

As much as this might frighten you and gross you out, I love you because I see so much of me in you. That's also why I usually know what you're up to. Take this as a warning for your teenage years. Okay?

Boys, I know that I'm scary sometimes. I'm supposed to be, I'm your mommy. I'm supposed to scare you out of making bad decisions (Just wait until you bring home your first air headed girl who lacks any clue as to what the Anne of Green Gables books were. It will get real then, okay?). I will encourage you to take risks, but will usually make sure that they are within the confines of the law. This is because I love you. I will challenge you, embarrass you, and ground you in more ways than one.

You both know that life can be uncertain sometimes. Remember last year? When I got pretty sick and we didn't know what was going on? Or the year before? You were both so strong and the thing that sucks is that neither of you needed to be. You're kids. But you were and you're great for that. You have had to see your mommy sick more often than any child should. No child should ever have to see that. You've both dealt with my medical problems really well.

I was pretty sick here. It sucked.
By the way, when it comes to Autism, you both rock my socks off. I'm guessing it's because neither of you know any different, but I'll take what's working. Bay, you are terrific with your brother. I know you get impatient with Morgan, but stay calm. You are each other's best friends and biggest supporters. I've seen how close the two of you have stayed. Please stay that way.

And please, please, please... abide by this list of rules for life, okay?
  • if you bring home a pregnant girl before the age of 40, expect your mother to dissolve in hysterics. It'll happen... even if I love the girl.
  • if you get arrested, I will be pissed. Beyond pissed, got it?
  • I expect you to meet challenges head on. Morgan does it every day. Bay, you do it, too. The challenges will get bigger every year. Chin up and muscle through it. Mom will be waiting with cookies.. or something... when you're done.
  • Be nice. Have manners. 
  • Use sarcasm properly, if you're using it at all.
  • Stop using double negatives. Bailey, this is you I'm speaking to.
  • It is always okay to make an ass out of yourself as long as you own up to it.
  • You are your own worst enemy. No one else can beat you down as much as your inner voice. Shut that voice up.
  • Your mom is slightly psychotic when triggered. Proceed with caution, okay cupcakes?
  • Pick up your dirty boxers. That's gross to not do so. 
  • Your father is not always right <haha!>.
  • Always listen to your dad. If unsure (because he rambles), come to me.
  • Never, ever, ever, put anything on the Internet that you wouldn't want me to see. Because I will stalk you and find whatever incriminating evidence there is to find. Got that?
  • Live life fully and deliberately. 
  • I love you. Remember that always, even when we're mad at each other.

 Morgan's Mother's Day gift to me, 2013

Monday, May 6, 2013

I'm a crappy mom

I write a lot about how I'm trying to raise both of my kids properly. But you know, I leave out a lot. I wrote a couple of times about how I hate housework and make my kids do chores. I wrote about being crazy and angry. However, I don't think I've wrote enough about being what I fear the most- being a craptastic parent.

We all are. No one is perfect. Some of us strive to be, but none of us hit that mark. Pinterest makes us think that everyone else, especially moms, are spending most of their times baking useless pinata cookies (what the hell are those things, anyways?), working out six times a week, all while fashioning that perfect maxi skirt- even if you don't know how to sew.  Then comes the actual parenting...

Last week, two of my friends were absolutely hammered on two different sites for posts that I found, by turns, hilarious and spot on. Lizbeth, at Four Sea Stars wrote a piece that appeared on Mamapedia about letting her kiddo watch the Big Bang Theory. To me, and to most people with some sense about them, it was poking fun at herself in what was clearly a parenting fail. We all do it! However, others didn't see it that way and the comments blew up with judgmental poison from other moms. Lexi, from Mostly True Stuff, wrote a great piece this morning about how none of us has any right to judge at all. She'll probably have some fall out from that, too. My other friend, Courtney, from A Legion for Liam, had a piece calling for soccer moms to "listen up!" and stop complaining about their problems published on BlogHer. Again, something was taken entirely out of context. BlogHer selected a rant of Courtney's and published it. Something that a mom wrote when she was feeling angsty and frustrated. Something that a lot of us, especially special needs moms go through. It's not wrong to feel that way! However, other moms tore Courtney a new one.

Both situations with both writers, to me, were incredibly sad. Not for what they wrote, but for how people responded. It's something that I see constantly, both online and off. When the hell did people, especially moms, get to be so perfect? Is this a direct result from having to Facebook your life? Instagramming the perfect moments?

In the spirit of imperfection, I'm laying some things out there: I'm completely imperfect. I'm never going to change. I've tried. A lot of times. However, since I'm turning 31 this year and I'm pretty resistant to change, it doesn't seem likely that I'm getting with the program of perfect parenting anytime soon. Here's a small sampling of crap I've done:
  • I allow my NT kid to drink coffee. I'm 5'10... it didn't stunt my growth.
  • I'm totally guilty of rewashing the same load of clothes multiple times because I'm too lazy to remember to switch it over. Also, I hate the process of folding and putting away laundry.
  • I let Morgan play with plastic bags when he was a toddler. 
  • I've told my kids to not eat out of the trash because "that's what homeless people do." <don't shoot me, please?>
  • As I've stated before, I lock myself into my bathroom to get peace and quiet. This is not a bad thing.
  • My house stays messy unless people come over. And even then...
  • I've told my kid he has a fever to avoid having to go anywhere. Hey, I was tired.
  • Sometimes I put people on speak phone and walk away. They don't know the difference.
  • I was once so sleep deprived with one of the kids, that I put a clean diaper over the wet one. And passed out asleep on the floor. Granted, that was an accidental fail. Still funny.
  • Morgan, a couple of weeks ago, handed me a wine glass when he was unloading the dishwasher and said, "These are you're cups!" Yeah, I was proud. <sarcasm>
  • I've told my children to watch out the window for Dora, Thomas, Diego, and also handy Manny in order to get things done. This only works when they're really young.
  • When my kids fall down, in order to prevent them from screaming bloody murder, I tell them, "no blood, no foul!" It's something I picked up from my assistant coach at soccer. Thanks, Paul!
  • When their dad has gone out of town in the past, I've been guilty of lying about the time in order to put them to bed early. This no longer works.
  • I allow movies to go on a continuous loop- for hours - so that I can get things done. You've done it, too.
 So, feel free to post your parenting fails, or personal fails on my Facebook page. I'm proclaiming today to be Imperfect Parenting Day. We all have our moments. Just like we all poop. For those that want to claim otherwise, get over yourselves.