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Monday, August 11, 2014

Summer Of Discontent

Great-Grandmother & the cousins
This is my summer of discontent, filled with the incessant chatter of a five year old and the constant ramblings of a nine year old. My days are filled to the brim with managing the antics of two brothers simultaneously warring with and loving each other. My nights are filled with dinner, American Ninja Warrior and trying to squeeze in some quiet art-making time.

It’s been a summer filled with therapy appointments, film school for the oldest and not enough physical activity for the youngest. It’s been a summer filled with doubts, barely enough income and a garden that just didn’t hold my interest. It’s been a summer of trials and patience testing.

It’s been a season of new beginnings and also endings. I lost my ideal work-from-home content manager job. I started a freelance writing business and struggled through the first few months to get the website off the ground and my first few clients found and sold on hiring me.

My baby is starting Kindergarten in three weeks. This makes me laugh (with a giddy kind of crazy people giggle) and cry (the deep sobbing of a mother’s achingly devoted heart). My oldest is starting fourth grade; hopefully better equipped to handle social interactions on the playground and self-management in the classroom after months of therapy (both occupational and behavioral).

I taught the boys how to do laundry this summer, from loading the washer to folding socks and everything in between. I wrote two eBooks in between Lego fights and trampoline injuries. I doubted my sanity and embrace crazy. I sort of took the month of May off, to figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up.  I desperately missed having season passes to Roaring Springs and so did my two little water babies.

I drove to Featherville, Idaho, by myself for the first time, and didn’t get lost. I watched the stars with my husband at 4:00 am from a spot just outside our tent, up in the mountains where you can still see the stars. I watched my five year old jump on his cousin’s bike and ride around our campground with no training wheels for the first time.

I held a precious tiny baby girl with painted toenails, my cousin’s first born. I cradled her sleeping baby body and sniffed her sweet baby scent, kissing her delicate baby hair. I held my little Squishy, the boy with the gorgeous eyes and wild brown hair, another cousin’s first born. I packed him around, showing him the hustle and bustle of family reunion and sang him to sleep in my arms.

I’m not sure how much more heart ache and jubilee I can take in one season. I watch Madness and Mayhem argue and wrestle and just as suddenly laugh and play together like best friends. Madness yells his feelings, anxious and angry. Mayhem hops around like a monkey, laughing and taunting. (He’d throw poop if he thought he could get away with it.) I love them both unconditionally and want to strangle them too.

I am ready for school to start.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Picasso Strikes Again

 

This is our family dog, Daisy. (Yes, that is her real name. She doesn't care if you know her true identity since she doesn't get on the internet much.) Notice her sweet little face and how pretty she is posing for me. Now notice her coat and fur. 

Daisy is a little Blue Healer/Border Collie Cross, and her preferred fashion is to sport a shiny black coat with some white markings on her nose and feet. Now, notice the strange yellow patch of fur on her back/side? Whatever could that be? 

Oh, hmm, let's see. Might that be yellow spray paint I spy? Now who do we know that likes to spray paint inappropriately? Yeah, you guessed it. Mayhem. And can you guess who left the spray paint out again...He-who-must-be-severely-beaten (aka Daddy).


Once again, the Sol-u-mel took off most of the incriminating evidence. Most of it. Daisy is very grateful for Melaleuca cleaning products. They are non-toxic to pets and small children. Daisy would also be very grateful if you not mention this to her. She was very embarrassed about it when I took her picture.

This kind of behavior is: #1. Why our dog dislikes our son. And 2#. Why Mayhem is not allowed near my art supplies. I guess he figured eating a nickel last month was just not quite enough attention. He must really like the nickname Picasso.

The moral of our story: Hide your paint people.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Madness Writes A Book


My son is now a published author and illustrator. The same son who was recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrom and ASD (Austism Spectrum Disorder). How about that? That's basically what happens when your kid attends a stellar Arts Charter School.

Am I just a teeny tiny wee bit proud? Uh, yeah. You could say that. Considering he comes from a long line of writers and authors and painters (oh my), and that I myself am attempting to transform from once banking professional and content manager into now Mommy Blogger and Mixed Media Artist - yes, I am just a little bit excited about this.


He did not, however, choose to dedicate his first published book to me, the writer mommy. He chose to dedicate it to Hubby (aka Maniac). Yes, you read that correctly. Dad got the kudos and the shout out. I got squat. I'm still so stinking proud. Guess what else?

Madness started his occupational therapy and counseling a few weeks ago to help him (and us) better manage his ASD. This week his therapists invited him to join a select small group of their patients in a summer program where they will learn all about making a short film. They believe Madness's interests and natural talents make him an ideal participant. 

He gets to choose which areas of the film production to be most involved in, which is another smooth move on his therapist's part. She's awesome by the way. (Shout out to Cherie!) Is he tickled pink about the whole thing? Yeppers. He has decided to be part of the set crew and the guy behind the lens.

So now you know what's happening in Madness's world. Or as I like to call it...our new normal.
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