Wee one’s hearing test is today. Wish I didn’t feel like reheated ass. I loves me a cold.

For those in the midwestern area that value your life – ReLoCate now while there’s still time. My oldest gets his permit TO FUCKING DRIVE in 20 days. I still shake violently when I see the handbook. I wonder what will happen when I see him behind the wheel…

MG went on her first sleepover this weekend. She stayed overnight at my gal pal’s house with a couple of the older boys – and did wonderful. My friend moving back into town is going to be perfect.

This up and down med shit is really causing me to flip a nutty. I was on MD’s ass all weekend about needing more attention. Poor guy already spends every waking second with me or at work. I know he doesn’t know how to help me. He even suggested that maybe the meds aren’t working. That he thought it would be better than this. More of a fix, I guess. We both did. I’ll wait and see what up’ing the wellbutrin does. These crying jags have got to stop. I fucking hate crying.

We did manage to sit down and hammer out a few plans for the house last night. I know some of my depression comes from not being able to DO something during the day. I’ve been working with MG the past week – preK shit, but that’s only part of the day. I clean clean clean. I am not too fond of the computer these days. Not much else left. Still hate going outside. Be nice if he’d fix that someday.

I need to escape from this chair. MAP MAP MAP is making me wanna puke.

For what it’s worth, I did not shut off my comments to shut out my friends. I turned them off so I could think. You would not believe the incredible weight of silence. How comforting it feels. I feel like I can think again. Like I can talk shit through again.

That said, those that have emailed shouldn’t apologize for intruding. Email is different. Even if they refer to the posts. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but to me it does. Emails are directed to me – not to my inner me, which is entirely too raw to be man-handled right now.

But I’m still here when I step out of the TrainWreck that this blog has become.

Doc called and said my levels from the blood test came back today. Too high. So, back down I go. Where I’ll stop, nobody knows. I see him in two weeks to try and hash this out again. I really thought I’d be into maintenance by now, and here I am going every 2-3-4 weeks.

My close friend moved back to town after 11 years. Let’s hope our friendship can handle the sudden change in dynamics. She’s more manic than I am – naturally. Tires me out sometimes. But tonight should be good. She’ll be here shortly with food and snacks and booze and movies. Time to pull out the sweats and get comfy.

Kids are leaving for the evening one by one.
Fly. Be free. Need a ride?

Not even going to think about MD working tomorrow. Just going to assume he is and deal with it.

And there’s the door..

They raised my Depakote dose back up to where it was. I was honest and told him that I felt like I was slowly losing control. But very slowly. Which is good, as it gave me a chance to get my ass there and tell him about it before the dragon said fuck this medication shit and took over completely.

But the schedule in which I take the meds is different than what it was before. Splitting it up during the day manually, rather than relying on an extended release version. Seems to be working though, for whatever crazy ass reason. Once we make sure this does the trick, then we fiddle with the wellbutrin dose. Still can’t do that yet if he is to have a clear view into what’s going on.

I’m glad I spoke up. I’m getting bolder there. Told them I wasn’t going to go back to being a zombie again, and I’ll ditch and run if I start to feel like that. I was promised that if this doesn’t work, that we will move on to another medication. Fine by me.

Tried to ask them a few questions about the boys, but the minute the word bipolar slips out, the tears always get the better of me. And dammit, I sure do hate to cry. Especially in front of people. And once again, it was gently suggested that I seek additional help through psychotherapy. I cringed when he said that. Told him that he would have better luck telling me to seek therapy or counseling or to go see a psychologist. To stop tacking psycho on to it. That it gave me the willies. He said that just proved his point.

Whatever.

Granted, I can’t seem to let go and move on. Accept that my shit ain’t right and be thankful there are pills to fix it. But I shouldn’t have to talk to a stranger about this. I should be able to get support from my husband or my family or my friends – but I can’t. Not in the way I need, I guess.

I don’t need someone to half-ass listen and then try to fix me – trying to be helpful or not. I don’t need someone to pretend to listen and say we always knew you were crazy – joking or not. I don’t need someone to tell me that I don’t sound crazy or that I need a second opinion or perhaps I’m just stressed over having 6 kids or that they have mood swings too and that they aren’t bipolar, just female and couldn’t it just be my period?

Not only are the comments off here, but they’re off everywhere. I’ve stopped talking about it. I flat out told MD last week that I am not getting what I need from him and I’m sick of trying. Perhaps that was ManicMe talking, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need more support right now, and he’s clueless as to how to give it. Not that he doesn’t try, I know that. But it’s not enough. Or it’s wrong. And I’m not helping him. Let him figure it out for a change. Like I do when he needs me. Let my friends figure it as well. I’m always there. I always figure out what they need. I always listen. I always care. I always do whateverthefuck I need to do to help them through whateverthefuck they need help with.

Gah.

I need ice cream.

Today we’ll see what the doc thinks. I don’t know anymore. Tired of dealing with this shit. Tired of going back and forth and up and down. If it’s not fixed soon…. well, it just better be.

Wee one was up until 3:30am the other night. No idea why, he just was. Which meant I was. Which meant I had 3 hours to sleep before the alarm. Which meant I overslept and the kids missed the bus. Which meant I was able to rudely drag the wee one into the harsh reality of a morning in January to run the kids to school. Which SHOULD HAVE meant that he was tired and pushed back into his normal routine – But it didn’t. He still didn’t nap, and didn’t go to bed until 8pm. I’ll be praying we have none of those 3am nights anymore. I’m too damn old.

Bus time.

I’ve been on a lower dose for about a month now. I can really tell a difference, but I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not.

My memory has improved, my overall mood is better, I feel more alive, and I like feeling like a whole person again, instead of just an empty shell.

On the other hand, my temper is back in full force. I’m seeing shit out of the corner of my eyes again. Jumpy as hell. Can’t sit still. Urge to throw shit erupts over the tiniest issue.

I meet with him on Wednesday to discuss how I feel, and I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. I don’t want to be that nasty bitch who cruises on the crazy train again, but I don’t want to go back to simply existing either.

Just fuck.

I’m turning the comments off. As much as I appreciate the support and advice and friendship I’ve received, I simply cannot keep them on any longer if I am to truly own this blog. If it is to do me any good at all as an outlet of escape.

I want to write without explanations … without apologies … without thinking. I want to write because it’s not better RIGHT NOW, and RIGHT NOW is what I’m having trouble with. I want to write because I had a shitty day feeling like a shitty parent and I just want to wallow for a second before I get back into the ring. I want to write about my trivial problems without guilt, because they damn sure don’t feel trivial to me.

I don’t want my friends to feel obligated to post feel good bullshit responses when I flip a nutty. I don’t want to be told how strong I am or what a good job I’m doing or how lucky my kids are. I don’t want to be told how lucky I am that my problems are minor. I don’t want to be told that everything will be ok.

I just want to write.

Although it’s close. I think I’m having a nervous fucking breakdown. My mind feels like melted taffy and it’s fun to sit down and play with it to see how big of a mess I can make.

——-

I’m sitting here ashamed because of how I handled MB1 tonight before he went to bed. I bitch and bitch at MD about how he needs to always make sure to never let the kids go to bed with yucky knots in their stomachs from fighting with us, but that’s exactly what I let happen tonight. I know that I’ll talk to him tomorrow – just him and I – and we’ll have a calm conversation and things will be fine again, but until then, I won’t sleep.

I told him his behavior was disgusting. And then I left his room. He was fighting with MB2, got grounded, got pissed, got snippy, got hateful toward MB2, and got in trouble again. Then MD tried talking to him and he got ugly again, so I snapped.

Not that his behavior wasn’t disgusting, but my mouth never thinks before it hauls off and lights someone up. I can feel the fire trying to claw out of me and eat these kids alive when they are disrespectful. And now that I think about it, that’s the only time I get crazy like that. That’s when I would throw shit at my employees as well [no, I don't throw shit at my kids so fuck off]- when they would not listen or shrug their shoulders in stupidity or roll their eyes or really get stupid and utter whatever within earshot of me and a burning hot burrito. I hate to be …. what? not treated like the royalty I think I am? Is that what I think? That it’s perfectly alright to jump into someone’s ass because they didn’t kiss my holy ass? My gawd.

Another reason to wonder about my parenting ability. I fucked up their genetics, and now I might be fucking up their heads by raising them according to how I view the world – and it’s now obvious to me that I have fought like a mad man my whole life to prove shit that was wrong. Totally wrong, and I was the only one who didn’t see it. I didn’t see it because my head was fucked. So who’s to say that how I parent my kids isn’t totally wrong as well? Can I trust anything anymore – meds or no meds?

My kids are good kids, but they aren’t very tough. Aren’t very sure of themselves outside these walls. Is that because we live in milktoast midwest America? Or is it because I have slowly sucked their inner spirit dry by being too overbearing or too much of a presence in their life? Do I dictate too much? Am I capable of letting them steer their own course?

—-

Hush now baby don’t you cry
Mama’s gonna make all of your
Nightmares come true
Mama’s gonna put all of her fears into you
Mama’s gonna keep you right here
Under her wing
she won’t let you fly but she might let you sing
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm
……
Of course Mama’s gonna help build the wall

———

Is it too late to change?

MD does indeed have to work tomorrow. That’s one fantastic shave down the drain.

—-

Doc now has me on some medication to take every day to prevent UTIs. It’s not an antibiotic, but I don’t know the name off-hand. Seems the pharmacy hasn’t seen a request for this med in quite some time and had to order it. Makes me wonder what the fuck kind of barbaric shit she’s trying to give me. I trust her though. I think. At this point, I’m willing to try anything to stop these bastards from coming back.

—-

Did you know that Uristat turns your piss neon orange? Yeah, me too. But did you know that it will turn your tears neon orange as well? Yeah, me neither, but I am so totally going to cry my fucking eyes out at the grocery store the next time I gotta take one.

—-

And in the fuckmesideways department, the doc has set the wee one up for an eval. She sat on the floor with him for almost 45 minutes, playing and drawing and stacking and observing and talking and listening – have I mentioned how much I adore her? She agreed that he is entering the realm of concern. Still totally possible that he could have a sudden burst of development, but it’s time to start slowly marking shit off the list while we wait. First up is another hearing test. Then it’s on to the same developmental team that sees MB4. Hopefully, he’ll start doing what he’s supposed to do and STOP doing a few things that I don’t want him to do, and I can cancel the appt.

Won’t surprise anyone to know that I began to bawl in the office when he would line the blocks instead of stack them. However – he can stack them. He likes to line books as well – but he loves to be read to. His gross motor skills are on par with a 14 month old – yet he can hold a pen like an adult. He has to line 3 pillows on the floor each morning before eating his oatmeal – but but but. On and on. For every ……. red flag? eyebrow raiser? that the doc and I discussed, there are also plenty of “typical” behaviors – behaviors that you probably wouldn’t see with a spectrum child. Behaviors that weren’t present in MB4 – or were barely present.

But the doc smiled as she watched him. Said that’s why it’s called a spectrum. No two kids are the same. And that it could be totally different matter entirely – like perhaps it’s truly a speech issue. He seems to drop off the endings to the words he does have. Maybe that’s the problem.

Then again, that doesn’t explain why he doesn’t know how to play the silly games that wee ones usually play much much earlier – like pointing to body parts or playing the animal sound game. And what’s so damn hard about calling me mama? I’ll settle for this mo-m business that he’s spouting off with lately, but I want him to say it to me, for me, meaning me. Hell, he can call me BigBitch for all I care, as long as he’s personally addressing me and no one else.

Gonna head to bed now that I’ve royally depressed myself.

I just put on a pair of jeans and realized that I had more than a bit of breathing room – so I grabbed a smaller size. And it fit. Without cutting off the oxygen to my lower torso. And because it’s what I do best lately, I cried. I looked over my clothes and A Whole New World bellowed throughout my brain. And damn, I’ve only lost 7lbs. What happens when I lose the other 6?

Uh.. small risk or not. That shit is o-u-t of my house. I know my sister’s cancer was considered a ‘fluke’, but there is enough of it running wild throughout the family as it is, and there ain’t no sense in making it easier for the sumbitch to attack one of my kiddos. MB2’s eczema has really slowed down over the years anyway, and he’s been using oatmeal lotion when it does pop up. And since they won’t find out that oatmeal causes cancer for at least 10 more years, I think we’re good.

Pleasedon’tletMDhavetoworktomorrow.
Pleasedon’tletMDhavetoworktomorrow.
Pleasedon’tletMDhavetoworktomorrow.
Pleasedon’tletMDhavetoworktomorrow.

Kids get out of school today at 11:30. Why, you ask? Because it’s sleeting. I am not even going to bitch about how this totally chaps my ass when they pull shit like this. Yanno, tell us that school isn’t cancelled when they KNOW a winter storm warning has been issued, and then change it to – On Second Thought ……. Come Getcher Kids. You betcha. I know I know – the bus company rules the roost, not the school. Well, fine. Then let’s rechannel this snarl to them, which is perfect for me, considering who’s mom runs the bus system here. No problem with her, but her kid? E-fucking-gads.

Damn, can’t do it. I was trying to write this post with the eff word. I had a dream last night that some fine ass hunk of man meat was going to be my prize for going one hour without swearing – and I couldn’t do it. I lost my man meat. One hour, that’s it. I’m such a fuck nut.

I have another long drawn out blah bipolar post in the inner depths of me as well, but it hasn’t been sorted yet. Once the mind minions are done putting the paragraphs in order, I’ll be back.

Run.

Another UTI. She tells me that she believes it might stem from infrequent sex. I made sure to pass this little tidbit onto MD. I know he’s tired and all, but my health is on the line here. She said we’ll discuss something about prophylactic antibiotics at my appt today, but I’m thinking there are other ways to solve this problem.

Wee one has an appt today as well. This is where I ask again whether or not he needs to be evaluated for his speech. I guess it would be one thing if he just flat out didn’t talk, but he does have a few words – you just can’t understand them. Some of them are in the ballpark sound-wise, but most of the time I just keep saying shit until he nods his head. I know he would say it if he could, given his level of frustration.

I think I’ll start putting the movies I want to watch at the bottom of the Netfl!x queue. That’s the only solution I can think of to the problem we have of never getting anything above fucking 40 on the list.

Two younger ones are sleeping and I just don’t give a shit. I will about 11 o’clock tonight, but I’m sure enjoying the peace now. I rarely get any during daylight hours. Older boys are downstairs playing nicely and all is right with the world.

Except that MD decided to attend visitation tonight instead of the funeral tomorrow. He did it so that we didn’t lose hours. That’s nice, but where he’s headed is about 40 minutes away. That pretty much means he won’t be here to enjoy the night time routine. Fabulous. He’ll be missing out on AI though as well. Poor guy. I’ll just have to laugh twice as much for him.

He came home early to shower and get ready. Few other guys are meeting up with him in about 90 minutes. Ya know, if I start dinner now, he’ll be here to help me.

Gotta run….

Guy at work was killed in a car accident this weekend. Another guy from work was riding with him, and things aren’t looking very good. Guess some gal ran a stop sign and plowed into them. Both were married, and the one in ICU has a 3 month old kiddo at home. MD is taking up a collection for their families, but it just doesn’t feel like enough.

MB1 and MB4 were at it, as usual. Something about MB1 not wanting MB4 around while he played a game because MB4 gets too excited and it annoys him. That gives way to yelling and that morphs into a lego flinging match and then MB1 announces that a lego to the face might kill someone. So now we have MB4 shrieking in terror that MB1 was trying to kill him because MB4 believes that kind of bunk and MB1 KNOWS that he believes it yet he says that kind of crap every day.

I sent MB4 downstairs and MB1 started to huff thinking he was the only one in trouble. I said that I simply wanted him to do me a favor. He eyeballed me, and said sure.

MM: I know you boys have assigned seats on the bus and no one sits by MB4, but would you talk to the bus driver for me.
MB1: What about?
MM: Tell him that your brother has Asperger’s, and the kids he’s sitting next to have picked up on it and are using it to their advantage to give him trouble. Ask if you or one of the other boys can sit by him.
MB1: I didn’t know mom. I would have stopped them.
MM: Then stop yourself.

I wonder how many days of peace that guilt will buy me.

Older boys all spent the night elsewhere last night. MD was exhausted and had to turn in early because they are working today. The little ones are all being trained for earlier bedtime and performed right on cue. All that left was me – staring at the fucking clock.

But

I called the doc, and he said that it’s probably not the wellbutrin since I haven’t had any trouble with it before. It’s the new way I take the depakote – splitting it up during the day instead of all at night before bed like before. So, he told me to take them all at once starting tonight and we’ll see if that helps. I hope so. When they said you have to fine tune your meds, they weren’t kidding, eh? Gawd. Not sure I want to add more wellbutrin now. I feel allllllllmost there, and I would hate to rock the boat again, so to speak. Then again, I hate crying over wonder bread commercials too, so I’m screwed either way.

—

MB4 was so damn chipper this morning. Chatting and bubbly. Then I asked him to get his coat and he got super angry, super quick. Told me he wasn’t getting it. That he didn’t need it. I told him he was getting a check mark for disobeying. Usually check marks are given for fighting, but I’m changing the rules for him. I’m tired of his backtalk. Tired of being bullied by him.

He was not happy to learn that 3 check marks means no games. I told him that if his teacher gets to use check marks, so do I. The smoke coming from his ears told me he wasn’t pleased. Then I asked him if he talked that way at school, and he said no. That he would get kicked out. So I asked why he thought it was ok at home, and he didn’t have an answer. Then his eyes grew huge, and he asked if he could get kicked out of the house. I told him no, and I could see him struggling with the issue in his mind. Why be good if they always have to house me and love me and feed me ? I didn’t want to venture into that territory, so I changed the subject.

—

Later on, he was happy again, and we were talking about how nice MB2 is lately. Actually sort of funny when you think about it. We talk all the time about how nice is it when MB2 and MB4 and I are in good moods, and how the house suffers when our dragons come out to play – but no one drew the connection before. Anyhow – we were chatting away, and he said he wished that MB2 would sit next to him on the bus so he didn’t have to sit next to the Spitter anymore.

Then he asked if I could start picking him from school so that this asshole and another asshole couldn’t make fun of him. It’s hard to explain, but MB4 has a hard time retelling an event. It gets jumbled in his head, and he gets lost trying to process it all. Then he gets flustered, and says – never mind. That’s what I got. Never Mind.

I pressed on. Trying a few tricks I’ve found that sometimes help to provide a …… back door for him to use. I was able to figure out bits and pieces, but not much. Something about both of them making fun of him often, one kid sometimes pretending that he might kill MB4 with a stick that he pulls out of his bookbag, the other kid threatening to tell on him if HE tells – but MB4 couldn’t tell me WHAT they were going to tell on him for. He looked so damn sad sitting there. He was shaking his head and his eyebrows were squishy and he was trying to make sense of all the shit in his head and when he looked up and said – I must have done something bad, but I sure don’t remember what it was – I turned around so he wouldn’t see me cry.

So how do you help a child that can’t help themself? How do you convince the powers that be that there is a problem, when your child has a spectrum disorder and may or may not be able to retell the story? And what if that child seems so damn normal on the surface EXCEPT for situations like this, and you are thankful for that because he stands a chance at a normal integrated education – but on the other hand you know that he ISN’T a ‘typical’ child, and there will be times like this that he needs special attention? And do you just start picking him up from school even though you will have to get in line an hour before school lets out and that seems so fucking silly when you only live two blocks away? And since it IS only two blocks away – do you let him and his 10yo brother walk – as much as that makes me want to vomit?

I need a nap.

I’m feeling better. I’m feeling more like myself. For real this time – not that fake flat shit that wellbutrin scoops out. I’m not complaining, as I need a dose of that a few times a day, but I like the real deal better. It’s amazing how sensitive our brains are to medication. They just lowered my dose a tiny bit, yet I can feel more of my me peeking through. More like it sat up in the cage they have it in. Least it’s not laying there dead like it usually is.

But damn, since I switched from ER to regular, I can’t sleep worth a shit. I am wide the hell awake. Last night I stared at the clock until 2:47am. Then I overslept AGAIN and barely got the kids to school on time. Let’s put this into perspective – I’ve overslept MAYBE 10 times in my ENTIRE LIFE and 2 of them were this week. I put a call in to the doc. Let’s hope he calls before my eyeballs fall the fuck out of my head.

Took MB4 in for his OCD appt this morning. I wanted to talk to her about his behavior the past two months, and we were supposed to discuss his possible ADD tendencies since the OCD is pretty much under control. But we didn’t get that far.

I started talking about the month from hell, the past two weeks of bliss, and our confusion over bread and dairy reactions. I told her that we’ve been tracking his diet, but that I’m still not convinced that it’s 100% diet related. I mean, maybe a small part, but he’s been downing the chocolate milk for two weeks now, and he’s just fine. I told her I was an idiot, forgot, and made 6 loaves of sour dough bread last week, and he shows no ill effects from eating it. If it IS his diet, there is a certain combination of foods that trigger the demon, because it doesn’t happen all the time.

She recommended that I continue tracking his diet anyway, and then she told me to be very specific when recording his mood. I don’t remember what she said after that, because an explosion went off in my head.

I must have sat there open mouthed for a full 60 seconds. Then the tears came, and it took me a few minutes before I could man up enough to talk to her again. She just sat and watched me with the soft eyes of a person who was glad she didn’t have to spell it out for me. Hurt bad enough as it was.

She told me that it’s hard to see it in children this young because they don’t tend to cycle very often. And that when you throw in OCD and PDD it all becomes one gigantic mess, and it takes time to sort through it all. We had been approaching his issues from an autistic standpoint alone, without a thought to anything else. Now that she’s put another option on the table, it changes things. AND YET AGAIN, I get to kick myself for not seeing it myself. Duh. Spectrum rages. Bipolar rages. Are parents immediately supposed to think mood disorder when dealing with a child like this? I wouldn’t think so. Even if it is as common as blue eyes in the family.

No medication for now, but she’s getting a baseline blood test just in case. Now that my awareness switch has been activated for both MB4 and MB2, she knows that I can watch them and record their moods just as I do for myself.

She told me that she was glad my kids had me to help them through this. That not all parents believe the dx or take it seriously and the child is the one that suffers. I know she meant well, but all that did was remind me that I was the one that gave it to them in the first place. And don’t quip off some blah blah shit about why it wasn’t my fault and that it’s not that bad and whatthefuckever. It’s something I need to deal with, and until my brain comes to terms with the past two years of never-ending mental hell-th drama – I will bitch and cry and pout and blame and rage and wonder and question.

And print mood charts. Lots and lots of mood charts.

My friend pulled through just fine – thanks for all your thoughts and prayers. Doc said her readings are already starting to reflect that of a ‘normal’ heart.

–

I’m so damn tired. I don’t know how to cure this. I’ve tried everything to adjust this stupid sleep cycle. I just lay there at night for hours. It sucks when you actually have to exert effort to hold your eyes closed – you can’t drift off to sleep like that. I took a nyquil the other night and it still took almost two hours to doze off – then I overslept. Can’t be doing that shit either. I want to crawl back into bed right now while the little ones are sleeping, but I know that won’t help matters any. I need to talk to the doc on this one. He said to take the pills earlier, but I’ve already moved them back too far as it is. Any more and they won’t work at all in the evening.

–

Screw it. Since I can’t take my eyeballs out and wash the crunchies off of them, I’m going back to bed.

Close friend from high school is having an artificial valve put into her heart this morning. She’s also diabetic, so everyone’s a nervous wreck. This will either help her or hurt her. Time will tell I guess. Doc told her that sometimes people actually have to step down a bit on their insulin after the surgery. I know she’d love that. She’d love it even more if she could find a healthy pancreas and a few kidneys just laying around. One step at a time though. This should eliminate the stroke risk. We’ll worry about the renal failure when she’s recovered.

There will be no bitching about silly bullshit today.

Celebrated wee one’s birthday today. Where have these two years slipped off to? I can remember vividly the day I found out I was pregnant, and now here we are, closing in on the last year or so of diapers. Mr Time is marching right the hell on by.

————–

It takes a lot for MD to stand up and take notice of a situation regarding the kids – he’s of the more laid back mind set. Mr Let’s Wait & See. Mr Let’s Not Jump To Conclusions. Today, Mr Don’t Be Silly There’s Nothing Wrong With MB4 or MB2 asked if I thought MB5 was …… ‘ok’. I flat out told him that the nagging pit was there, but I wasn’t putting much stock into the weak evidence just yet. That I was simply going with the flow for now. Then I asked him why. Turns out MD has been making a list and checking it twice.

*Absolutely must sit in the same seat at dinner. If you take his chair, he recreates the Exorcist.
*Oatmeal addiction. Not joking about the addiction part. Not in the slightest. MB4 was/is the same way. I buy 6 boxes a week to make sure I don’t run out. WW3 if I run out. I make damn sure I don’t run out.
*Only me and MB3 are allowed to feed him. No one else or he won’t eat.
*Tea party is his only pretend, and I’m not sure you can call it that. He drinks toilet water and eats real cookies. Not much in the way of make believe.
*CarsCarsCars – Must pack them away and take them out. Pack them away and take them out. Later. Rinse. Repeat.
*BallsBallsBalls – Do not touch his fucking bouncy balls.
*Still only has about 8 word-ish words. Strangers would only understand three of them. We play guess what Mo means today – milk, more, or oatmeal. Ma is directed at the nearest person whenever he needs something. Da means downstairs.
*The cleaning ……? problem? whatever the hell it is. Things must be clean at all times.

I dunno. I’m not going to think about it right now. Might not even think about it this year unless the spectrum police come and smack me upside the head.

————

This conversation came after I spent the weekend reading a discussion on a special needs group. Someone mentioned that they weren’t sure if they would have had any more children had they known that the spectrum issues were there.

I already had all 6 before I found out what exactly was ‘up’ with MB4. And myself. And MB2. My sister had her three boys before she found out that the first was bipolar, the second was autistic, and the third they ‘believe’ is on the spectrum as well. We know that dad is probably bipolar. We know that there have been at least 3 other bipolar dx’s in the family. We know of two more asperger dx’s. Granted, it’s a large family to begin with, but still. I can’t help but ask myself what the hell business I had having children.

Would I have had them if the dx had come earlier in life? If I had known how easy it was to hand it on down to your kids like a fucking family heirloom? Friend of mine likened it to two parents with poor vision passing down the same trait to their kids – no big deal. Sorry, shitty eyeballs vs broken brain = no comparison in my book. MB4 might have a mild case of autism, but while not “extreme”, is not going to have an easy go of life. That can’t be cured. Can’t be fixed with a pill or a lens or therapy or surgery or money or prayer.

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Like I said, done thinking about it. I’m sick to my stomach as it is. And these fucking pills won’t let me sleep, so I get to sit and watch crappy tv all night and pray the sandman finds me before I get addicted to the softcore an!me p0rn that they’re passing off as cartoons these days.

MB3 stayed home yesterday because his stomach was upset. Or so he said. I had my doubts, but he looked pretty green at the time, so I kept him home. I was kicking myself the rest of the day.

This morning he wakes me up and tells me that his stomach is upset again. I told him that I didn’t know what was going, but he wasn’t faking the funk twice. He then proceeded to the bathroom, where he promptly spewed forth his guts into the toilet. Over and Over. It was then that my idiot self glanced at the clock to see that it was 3am. I thought it was time to get up and he was merely intercepting me before I woke him up. Poor kid. Dumb mom. He now has his very own bucket by his cozy spot on the couch. It matches the one I have over there on the loveseat because I started spewing at 5am.

It’s going to be a lovely day. Want to come over?

MB4 was in rare form today. He was positively exploding with good moody-ness. And I enjoyed every drop of it. He is so damn pleasant to be around when he’s like this. I wish I knew where the switch was. What triggers it off and on like that. And not only does this switch control his mood, but his awareness as well. The month of hell suddenly ends, and someone moves back in to turn on the light. It’s incredible to see the change in him.

He was carrying on about his day on the ride to see his speech therapist. He had his grade card tight in his hand so that he could show her. He’s extremely proud of his grades, as he should be. All A’s. I was proud of the note the teacher had scribbled at the bottom – Becoming part of the class more and more every day. Ask about recess.

Of course I asked about it one second later, to which I was told that he no longer plays on the monkey bars – he plays ’shark’ with the other kids on the half-sphere thing-a-ma-bob. Ok, he called it that thing that looks like jail with holes in it that has different colored bars and same colored bars and you can climb inside or up to the top. Same difference. And of course the fact that he didn’t think to tell me any of this on his own danced across my mind for a moment, but I quickly shoo’ed it away before it could piss on my parade.

All I cared about was group play – group PRETEND play. He babbled on about the various friends he’s made lately, and for the first time in almost two years – I gave myself permission to believe that he’s going to be ok. I’m not saying that I’ve gathered a large pile of sand around me to stick my head in – I know that tomorrow I’ll have a shoe thrown at me because I can’t tell him what age he’ll be able to let loose with the F word – but today gave me a renewed motivation to readreadread. To try and understand him so that I can help him understand us. To have more days like today.

To find that damn switch.

The intake doc (psychologist) says her gut is saying Mood Disorder, NOS (Not Otherwise Specified) – [ I absolutely love what they call shit that falls outside of their clear cut rules] . He’ll see the psychiatrist next month so that we can discuss it more in-depth, and to see if the ADD issues are a part of it or separate.

We were there a long time answering question after question and going over situation after situation. But I’m glad they are taking their time with this to make sure we’ve hammered down the most accurate depiction of what’s going on. I know how crucial it is to finding the right fix – which we know now will be medication of some sort for him.

But that’s ok. I felt punched in the gut as I worked with her to answer the adolescent behavioral checklist. The questions were different than mine, but after awhile I still knew where the end result was headed. And just like with MB4, I felt incredibly guilty about not bringing him in sooner when I KNEW something was going on, but I shook it off before we even hit the van to go home. I’m going to try and not let it bug me. I’ll probably fail miserably, but I’m going to try. It does suck though when your kiddos need to mark OhHellYeah on the question about mental illness in the family. Especially when your husband’s family seems to be normal. Well, mentally anyway.

So that’s that and now we wait. He seems glad that things are finally moving. He didn’t quite get her explanation of how it could seem like he had ADD, yet it actually stem from a different disorder, but as long as I get it, it’s all good.

He’s got the gogogo brain.
That, I understand.

After many many MANY months, we’ve decided to go ahead and take MB2 in to see the doc. His grades and my sanity just can’t take anymore.

It’s so much more than the forgotten text book every day. Or the assignment itself. Or him walking away mid-task of every single chore he’s given simply because he forgets what he’s doing. Or the teachers sending home notes about his inability to focus and his “severe” lack of organization. Or his grades taking the nestea plunge, yet we all know how bright he is.

It also affects the way he thinks. The way he understands. When he IS able to pay attention for more than 5 seconds, he doesn’t get what you’re trying to say anyway. The shit he says makes me want to pull my hair out. I can’t imagine trying to teach this child, and he’s the one that wants to be home schooled. He thinks maybe he’d learn more if I taught him. Poor kid doesn’t understand that without a hot glue gun and a bottle of valium, that ain’t happening.

His teachers adore him, as they should. He’s a very nice kid. He has a raging dragon of his own, but we haven’t seen it for over 6 months now. I’m hoping it stays gone and he never has to have it evaluated. Or maybe I should tell the doc about it now. It’s not like ADD and BD aren’t walking hand and hand throughout this family.

And it’s not like that doesn’t make sense. He can focus better when he’s raging. His grades are better. Then he does this flip and MrSillyPants comes to play and my gawd nothing gets done – and nothing snaps him out of either one of the moods. Except time. And really, which mood is better? I like who he is right now, but his grades are really paying the price. We study every night together. He has 3-4 hours of homework – although his teachers say it shouldn’t take more than 20-30 minutes. Same old shit we battled years ago. Gah.

His appt is today at 3pm. I guess I’ll just go in, lay it all out on the table, and let the doc sort through the mess.

You know what’s sad? MB2 was visibly relieved to find out about the appt. Not only does he need help with this – he wants it. That was all it took for me to know that we’ve made the right move as much as I hate it. And no quips about how your child is a forgetful frank as well, and your family has been able to handle it without intervention or medication or therapy or whatever we’re walking into today – sorry, but I don’t care. I know enough about my kids, our life, and here recently, mental health issues to know that he needs help. I’ve always known, but I thought we could manage it on our own. That choice has led to years of suffering – for him and for us. I’m putting a stop to that today. I only wish I had done it sooner.

Not really much going on today. Something just didn’t feel right. Even last night was just ….. blah.

Today was our 6th year remarriage anniversary as well. So that means when I started MoodyMama, we had only been remarried for 3 years. Don’t you wish your girlfriend could add and subtract like me? I look back on those first few entries and I can feel how solid our ‘new’ relationship was. And I can smile because it’s done nothing but get better ever since.

I’m really starting to appreciate this blog as time goes by. It has a way of setting markers. The years just sort of blur after awhile, and this blog sharpens things up a bit.

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And because what entry would be complete without a mental mention of some sort, I’m starting to worry that maybe this dose isn’t strong enough. I’m really snappy the past few days. Like, really snappy. Like, throwing forks and temper tantrums. From what he’s told me the past few months, that usually means some sort of agitated ‘up’ or some sort of mixed don’t fuck with me state. Both sound about right.

Not sure if I’m going to mark it down on the chart though. I don’t like chewing ass, but I do like giving a shit about something enough to do it. I don’t want to lose that again. I’ll wait a bit and see what happens the next few weeks. If it doesn’t get better, then I’ll tell him. I won’t like it though.

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Boys are almost back to school. Thank gawd.