Thursday, June 7, 2012

One More Chapter From The "Mother Of The Year" Book

Tell me I am not the only one. Please.

It's been a shit-tacular week here. Just lots of behavior problems, sleep issues with everyone, and my spouse has been working a lot.  I still have yet to meet a whole lot of people here, so the seclusion has been getting to me and I might be going a little bit cray cray.

Today, I took the kids to the complex swimming pool, much like I do at least 4 times per week. It was a beautiful 97 degrees and breezy, so I thought we would enjoy many hours splashing and expelling energy. Twenty minutes into it, the kids wanted to get into the hot tub.  In the summer. In Las Vegas.

I tried to be reasonable, and said "10 minutes."  So, I set my timer, and even gave the appropriate prompts for Sam.  At the end of 10 minutes, he refused to get out. "No. No minutes. I'm staying."  I calmly threw down the "count to three and then we go home" gauntlet.  No dice.

So mama counted to three, and with every number announced, my blood pressure raised about 100 points.  At three, I went to grab him, and he went to the middle. So I got in and got him, said "time to dry off" and put him on the concrete.  He ran to the pool and jumped in, swimming to the middle.

Mama lost her shit.  I got in, and dragged him to the side, and out of the pool.  He kicked and screamed as I put his water shoes on him, gathered our things, and dragged him out of the pool area. I am pretty sure that most of the patrons enjoying the pool saw more of my chest then they had ever intended on seeing.  I managed to say few words until he started laying on sidewalk instead of walking beside me.  Then I freaked the F out.

Bad call in the autism book, bad call in the parenting book, bad call all around. But he pushed my last freaking button, and I was done.

I basically dragged him home, along with a pool bag and another 3 year old who was pissed at her brother for "ruining everything again."

So now, I've turned on the TV, locked myself on the patio, and am currently drinking straight vodka out of a high heeled shoe.

A scene was caused today, but as Las Vegas and myself say, the house always wins kid. (Or at least we like to think we do. Shit, man. This sucks.)

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Autism Sucks.

Autism sucks.

Sam's autistic behaviors have come to the forefront since we packed up our stuff and drove 23 hours to a new place. Thankfully, he was comfortable in "Daddy's apartment", but getting him to go anywhere else has been a lesson in patience and trust.  Before we go anywhere, I have to announce what we are doing. "We are going to X, Y, and Z." If Sam approves, he is like Ok! Yeah! Let's go!  If he does not approve, he kicks and hits and screams NO!! and repeats "No X! No X! No X!  Sometimes X is a mundane "I need milk, we are going to the grocery store, kid."  But, if he doesn't want to go, I either have to endure A: The shit fit of all shit fits on the way to X,Y or Z  or B: Stay home and seethe anger at my anxiety riddled child.  Most of the time we go with option A and bring a big dose of patience, but since I am also new here, sometimes it just isn't worth it.  I hate to admit it, but I am seething rage right now as I write this blog.

I'm losing my ever-loving mind.  I know it isn't his fault. Still, I don't have girlfriends here that I can sit around a table with that have known him his whole life to tell me "he's going to be OK, you are all going to be OK. Now let's hug and toast how hard it is to raise children!"  I have me, and my 3 year old daughter who thinks it is unfair that Sam's moods dictate our activities (I cannot say I blame her, as I feel the same way). Oh yeah, and my workaholic husband.

Sam cannot get into his developmental psychiatrist until the middle of July, and his regular pediatrician refuses to tinker with his medicines; he'd rather the psych handle it. Again, I understand. I just wish someone could throw me a bone with this kid right now.

Autism sucks.