Chicken Cordon Bleu, it’s what’s for breakfast…

No, most people know Chicken Cordon Bleu as a fancy dinner plate at some nice French restaurant—or other, but Meghan calls it breakfast.

I know, I know, I’m raising a princess; but she was just so good all week—no outbursts, no hand biting, no bouts of destruction of any kind—you might be thinking “Miracle on 34th Street,” but, no, it was more like “Holly Golightly Does Vacation” (home is like vacation for her) and she was good as gold and ecstatically happy and singing all week. (Note, some exaggeration in the previous.) She went back to school yesterday and seemed ready for it, too. Really! I didn’t have to pull and yank and bribe, and she was easy as pie (and ate pie, too) to motivate and get showered, dressed, and on her last morning (boy, I sound like she’s dying), enjoyed a different favorite for breakfast—pancakes. (And I never want to see Chicken Cordon Bleu for the rest of my life!!) After “pancakes” she waited for her bus to arrive, got on with a hop, skip and a jump (I’m exaggerating again) and even blew us a kiss (not exaggerating), and she was off to school until she comes back home for the weekend—in two weeks.

Wow, right!? But I’m no fool. I know this week was a good week because of Christmas and all the treats that she enjoyed, but she’s still demanding and quite a bit of work when she’s home. I hope that doesn’t sound cold, but I know my girl.

I’m just so glad that she enjoyed herself, and we enjoyed her, as well; these are the moments to remember and cherish—and they do come! And because it was such a successful week, it was sad for us on her last night home and knowing that she will be gone for another two weeks... I was sad and felt like crying as I snuggled with her underneath my bed comforter, while we watched a cartoon show that she likes, and I briefly thought to keep her home for another week—since Nick is home from school and her vacation is when we say it is… but, then, I quickly dismissed that thought with a wave of my hand, because I knew that a good week doesn’t mean another week would be good for Meghan.

So you might be wondering why just two weekends a month home for Meghan? We chose alternating weekends so that we could have more time with Nick on the opposite weekends—take weekend ski trips, sightseeing, hiking—these things aren’t so easily done with Meghan, nor does she like doing them. And in the past, we would have had to forgo trips to anywhere (or at least plan heavily around Meghan) for fear that she would be difficult or non-compliant (A plan B was always in the works!)—A lifestyle that was neither good for Nick nor offered him much of a life—or us, for that matter.

Two years ago in August, we took Nick to Vermont for a little weekend away (or one night, really). It was the first time we ventured without Meghan and I did feel a pang of guilt for keeping her with my parents and my brother, but it was for Nick and we enjoyed it tremendously. We even laughed about it; because what we ended up doing and visiting were things and places that we could never do or go with Meghan, like swimming in the river or watching glass blowers make fine glassware in their “factory” (as Nick called it) and above all, actually wandering through the glassware gallery and viewing all their work. Let’s face it, one tantrum with Meghan and we would have been writing GREAT BIG checks and banned for life with our mug shots posted in the gallery entryway (or posted up at the state line) looking like: Husband and me: crying because of big check writing; Nick: smirking and pointing to Meghan; Meghan: laughing hysterically, and, incidentally, the best darn photo that I would have ever seen of her… and Reading as caption: Crazy People Alert, Absolutely No Entry!!!!…

These are my daily thoughts in life by the way!!

So this schedule allows us to keep a good balance between the needs of both my kids, and Meghan seems to love it as well. She has so much going on at school with the activities there, she even has school on Saturdays—which she loves.

So that’s my story… and I’m sticking to it!!

Different kids, Same disorder

I just love how Meghan listens to me. Really. It’s really very nice to know that I have complete control over my baby girl—that’s a 13-year-old baby girl, by the way. Yes, I’m being terribly sarcastic. Just drip, drip, dripping with sarcasm. But you have to understand that within the first 10 minutes of coming home for the weekend, she ate just about an entire half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream when I strictly told her that she could only have ONE bowl. Then she continued to eat these "multiple" bowls in her bedroom in front of the television watching cartoons, cartoons that she cannot so easily watch at school (or eat multiple bowl of ice cream for that matter). But, I--of course--told her that she had to at least stay in the kitchen if she wanted to have ice cream, but, sadly, my demands simply fell on deaf ears. It’s like I’m talking to a wall half the time.

And all this took place after she walked through the front door this afternoon after being at school for two weeks. She ran into the house and walked right by me… just fllleeewww right by me. No hi, no hug, no wave, but she did turn around to acknowledge me with an--oh, so nice-- big smile, oh, sweeet, even though it was only to give me her coat to hang up for her.

Sigh.

But I really was a bit sick today, so I did not have the energy to blockade the refrigerator, or the kitchen, or the bathroom supplies, or my bedroom and the ripped comforter—sigh, sigh! But then I was thinking while I was relaxing on the couch trying to find the extra strength around a miserable cold, that Meghan should really be listening to me and doing what I say. Ha-ha, did you just hear what I said?? Perhaps I’m just a little feverish, too, but I was really thinking that that is how it works, NO? Not to compare my kids, but my son always listens to me. I asked him to get the mail for me this afternoon, before it got too dark, and he jumped up and ran for the door faster than my cat runs to the sounds of the can opener, even though the neighbor's dog barks at him when he reaches the end of the driveway—and he’s afraid of dogs …Oh, such a nice boy.

But my girl, well she’s different. And I do love that about her. I love how she smiles while simply ignoring me. I love how she’s this fierce fighter in the dark of autism. I love how a psychologist once likened her to the proverbial bully on a school bus who steals homework from little scared kids and laughs hysterically afterwards … I love how her behavior of trying to push her luck--and keep pushing and keep pushing, is the color of her creative soul.

I realized today that it’s a control thing. Well, actually, I’ve always known this fact. But the only problem is that I like control as much as she does … so, we tend to clash that way. That’s what’s going on ...

Is this what you call a love-hate relationship? I don’t know. But I now hear her rummaging through my drawers looking for my chocolate stash …

Oh, just like her mama!!

A Good Mother

I am trying not to feel stressed. Or more accurately, I’m trying hard not to feel stress with Meghan here, but I realize it’s almost impossible. You can call it post-traumatic stress disorder, I don’t know for sure, but a good therapist would say so. It’s just that I had to live an entire year with Meghan prone to outbursts and coming after me to hurt me. I was abused and had to "take it" for the love of my daughter.

We have her for an entire week and she still thinks that she can do whatever she wants regardless of what I say. I get to sit here and guard the kitchen from keeping her from overeating. I get to sit here and guard the kitchen and bathrooms from keeping her from using too much hand soap and flooding the sinks. I get to sit here and listen to her enjoying some TV time and wonder if the excitable sounds are really sounds of frustration and that she is just seconds away from tearing apart a room or, worse, come storming down the hall to find and attack me. I get to sit here and remind myself to say to her "Use good hands" (code word) to calm her when she does have a behavioral episode, because, inevitably, she will.

I am trying hard not to feel that all too familiar stress, but I can’t help it, no matter what I say to myself or try to think. It starts from my shoulders and then to my neck and now I’m a tight ball of tension, tension that is obviously named Meghan.

I feel bad that this is how I feel and that we don’t have a "normal” life and household when she’s around. I feel even worse admitting this to myself and everyone else for that matter. Admitting that the best thing that I’ve ever done, next to trying my best to be a good mother, was sending Meghan to a residential school.

But I can write about it in this blog and release it to the general public for you to read so that I am not too harshly judged for having to send my 13 year-old daughter to a residential school for the severely autistic. Sometimes I really feel that I have to defend myself for not being strong enough to handle things on my own. For having the courage to send her off to a residential school, but not having the courage to have her home-schooled and hire a “guard” to stand by to help me fend her off when she becomes behavioral two times a day. For feeling judged for being selfish for not loving her enough to give up my life and live solely for her, even though it is best for her future and for the future of my other child.

It’s interesting how I need to write this to validate my decision and my parenting, isn’t it?

I was telling a friend on another blog that a good therapist once said to my sister (my sister has severe OCD and anxiety) that there really isn’t a fancy definition for being a good mother: just one who tries no matter how she feels about herself or what she thinks.

Homecoming: Finale and a Lesson Learned

I didn’t want to write this post, especially as a follow up to the previous (part I) post. I really didn’t, but I must be honest and accurate. The later half of Meghan’s visit really sucked. Again, I’m not talking about the whole weekend, but the later part (tough) and especially the part where she had to get back on the bus and go back to school (sad). I was working hard to keep it together … sending her off, again, and noting that she would have preferred to stay at home, where she could be lazy. We packed her some food and treats for the ride and she did get on the bus and waived goodbye, and did seem fine, thank God. Nick was in the living room and reading the paper (the shopping for x-mass toys part) and not really noticing that Meghan was leaving. He said a quick bye and by the time I walked back into the house, he was just flipping through the paper like nothing was new. Interesting!!

The later part of the weekend didn’t quite go off without a hitch. At some point on the second night—after such a lovely first night—somewhere between after dinner and bedtime, she took a temper tantrum. Not sure what caused it and I wasn’t in the room (my room) at the time—thank God!! She threw a glass cabinet across my bedroom and, thankfully, missed the windows; then she tipped over an iron bookshelf housing books and a DVD player. Not lovely. After the outburst she sheepishly walked back to her room; I followed after a short period of time and tried to ask her what was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. It could have been anything, really: Her clothes, the sounds of the television, sounds coming from the other rooms, the bed comforter not splayed out on the bed quite right. I was just happy that I wasn’t in the room with her and cuddling, because I would have been in the line of fire and surely would not have come out looking pretty …

I’m not trying to sound like a bummer, but, demonstrably, things haven’t changed that much. Not that I really expected a new child since living under stricter rules, continuity and learning to control outburst--even though 2 per day is her norm. Except there was one moment before her explosive behavior that she was taking cheese out of the refrigerator during dinner and the cheese drawer came off its hinge and she said sorry (one of few, new words that she has). Oh, it was soooo nice to hear and we smiled. This is, in fact, new, because if that were to happen in the past, she might have attacked me for the door coming off the hinge (out of frustration)—so a sign of progress.

What is also new is that I forgot how much work she really encompasses. I really had to be on alert helping her everywhere, such as in the bathroom so that she doesn’t use too much hand soap (or all of it at one wash), or too much bathroom tissue, or too much water and flood the sink; these are just a few examples. So the tension is there just being on a constant “listening out” to help her, work with her and make sure that she doesn’t become behavioral—it’s a tough job all day, everyday. I forgot. I really did forget how much work and stress she can be after living without her for so many months. I really don’t know how I managed for so many years living under this constant stress and fear. I think Nick noted it too. This contrast is interesting and a lesson learned. Even though I hate to admit it.

I guess you could say that since she is back at school, I’m on a type of vacation again until next time. And, yes, life is changing for the better--for us all.

Homecoming: day night # one

Meghan came home for the first time in 4 months. She got off the bus and came through the front door as if she had not been away—just another day at school—and at the same time probably thinking that she was on an adventure. How do you take a girl from one life to another so easily? To us it’s a simple bus ride; to her it must be a life-altering expedition. I wonder? She was a bit out of her element, but nothing like her first night being away from home in 13 years when she first started school. I remember that day and night all too well; I had to think of it as camp for the summer, as many kids, even kids on the autism spectrum participate in overnight camps for extended periods of time. It was tougher for us than if was for her, from reports—and a fortunate sort of lifeline for us to this kind of suffering. Remembering back to calling her house on the very first night and then the next morning for Meghan’s reaction to being in a foreign house with foreign people and roommates for the first time in her life, and let us not forget being among girls “sisters,” as opposed to boys and a brother; she was kind of like whoa, what’s this and what’s going on … but she was not upset. Again, it’s a great comfort (and a gift) that she sees life as an adventure, and nothing less. What horrible thoughts could pop through her mind, I just don’t know. Not yet, at least. I think her first night home might have been a little similar to the first night at her new school, a sort of what’s-this-and what’s-going-on kind of reaction. Of course she knows her house and us and would exhibit comfortable behavior and occasionally would come and go from the kitchen to get a little snack (monitored), but more of a "free pass" than she has at school.

Later, she and I had fun snuggling up in bed (my bed) and watched some programs. The only different or odd thing was that she still had on her sneakers (an at-school policy, usually with her crocs, but she only had her sneakers with her). Nick came in once in a while to wrestle and harass her; his form of brotherly love and it was nice to see. This kind of love and attention is something that I know she doesn’t do with anyone else. At school, television watching is usually with a group of girls for a movie night, and her TV in her room (which we supplied) is for just a small period of time at night while she’s in her room getting ready for bed. Sure she interacts with teachers and does a “belly hugging” kind of thing with them (squishing people’s bellies is what she likes) and they love her spirited personality, but it’s not the same. I think she was comfortable with us—like home again from college. I was happy to share this time with her, and I think she was too.

When it was time to sleep she was still fully dressed and I had to ask her to get her pajamas on and handed them to her. This was the strangest part of her visit. She was still sitting on her bed and watching her television so I walked away for a few minutes wondering who this stranger was in my house. But when I came back she was in her pajamas and nestled in bed (under her new comforter) and watching her TV on low with a huge smile on her face. I walked in and kissed and hugged her goodnight and she did her usual patting my belly while smiling and then she let out a giddy, little laugh--I was relieved. After I said goodnight and turned off her light, I glanced back at her room and took in the sight; for the first time in 4 months her room was warm and full of life.

Meghan's Coming Home Tomorrow

Meghan's coming home this weekend!!! YAHOO!!

This is the first time in 4 months that she will be home. Exciting, scary, strange: it's all a bag of emotions ... what will she do when she walks into the house for the first time in 4 months? Will she have missed her bedroom? Will she want to leave as soon as she arrives? Will she never want to leave? Maybe I'll run out right now and buy her a new comforter for her bed! And clean the house. Maybe buy some treats. Hide the hand soap and shampoo ... wait, is she still a dumper? Food shopping, definitely go food shopping!

Will I wreck her?

Good grief you would think that the president of the United States was coming for the weekend! Where's the red carpet?

Coming Home Again

I had a dream about something that will soon be a reality. Well at least half the dream will be, I hope.

I dreamt that Meghan came home for her first weekend in two months. This dream is the result of what I know will soon happen. We recently had her IEP meeting and one of the key points was arranging for the bus company to schedule her trips home from school. She will start coming home every other weekend. (We will still visit her at school during the off weekends.) This will be such a nice schedule. And I look forward to her coming home again and I’m obviously thinking about how she will react to being home. Will she bounce right back and trot around the house as if she had never left; or will she act like a complete stranger and wonder when she’s going back “home.” Yikes!

In my dream she walked in through the front door for the first time but I couldn’t completely enjoy the moment because a sales woman was also at the door--selling encyclopedias, no less. I tried to cut her off without being rude or slam the door in her face, but she proceeded to entertain me before the big sales pitch and started doing acrobats in my front yard; like a gymnast. Doing flip after flip after flip; forward and backwards; I must say she was very good. While this woman was flipping in my front yard, I was also trying to look around to see how Meghan was doing and reacting to being home. I found her running up the stairs but couldn’t see her face. I think she had a bounce in her step, though, so that was a good sign.

But the darn gymnast/encyclopedia sales woman was still flipping in my front yard. Until she finally says: “Why aren’t you going to buy my encyclopedias?”—cutting right to the chase—oh good! I explained to her, as I do with a lot of annoying sales people, that I have handicap children and their therapies are putting my right under (cue sad face). Yes, pulling the old sympathy card, so what if it’s pathetic; it’s effective most of the time.

Then I proceeded to tell her of the two-year plan my father was on to pay for encyclopedias for us when I was a kid. We would get one a month until all A-Z encyclopedias were in our bookshelf. Then we would pretend to be happy as a clam and read them here and there, for appearances, of course; until one day all we were doing was dusting them as they sat in their designated spot in the shelf looking all pretty from A-Z.

So I told her: “Who needs encyclopedias now, anyway; we’ve got the Internet.”

“Become a gymnast!” And then slammed the door in her face.

For all you dream analysts out there, what’s up with the acrobatic sales lady anyway?