What is love and what does it all mean anyway

 Several years ago Timothy was considered to be non verbal autistic.  I used to be asked time and time again what it was like.  How did I know he loved me?  Felt love?

I would automatically say that I knew he did, though sometimes I felt far less confident. 

Often he would touch my face.  Pat my back with a quick tempo in one spot or smile at me with bright eyes (oh those eyes....)  To say my child felt nothing was like blowing a bloody hole through my heart.  I mean, it's one if those heart stopping, gut wrenching moments that make you suck your breath in quickly and just stop...take it all in and think, yes this is really happening, it's real.  This is what it's all about.  

 

I love you Mommy.

 

I knew Timothy felt love.  I knew it.  One day he would tell me, but until that day the words left his lips he told me in other ways.

 He let me hug him.  Yes, let me.  For a time he disliked being touched and let me tell you, that hurt.  I knew it wasn't personal but oh, the hurt when he pushed me away...it was like a brick sat on my chest. 

He would seek out my eyes for a moment to let me know he was there.  To be honest sometimes I wasn't sure when he was with me and when he was not.  I would call his name and he wouldn't flinch or bat an eye.  Family questioned his hearing, his eye sight.  No.  It was autism that had his attention.

 

Not long ago the words formed on his lips and left his mouth like little sparrows like I knew they eventually would.

    "I love you Mommy."

 

 

 

         

The world did stop turning for several moments while I processed what he had said and I'm not quite sure he understood my tears or the big deal I made of this...
It was and still holds court as one of the biggest freaking deals ever in the history of Mr Timothy and his accomplishments.

Timothy doesn't have much spontaneous speech and this was no exception - it was practiced and modeled after my own "I love you Timothy's " for months and even years.

 

I love you Mommy.

 

When it can't be physically said it's being said in other ways.  A look, a touch, an action.  You just have to follow the breadcrumbs.

 

                                                                   Love to you and yours,

                                                                         Trish.  XO

 

       

 

Thomas the train is far too young for your son....

...Said the cashier at Wal-mart to me casually.

 

Timothy was not with me this night, I was Christmas shopping alone (gasp!  Holy Hanukkah it does happen once in a blue moon) and had this amazing Thomas the train advent calendar in my cart. 

 The older than me woman behind the cashier, had remarked on the calendar and then asked me how old my son was; as she had a three year old grandson who she had bought one for as well.

 

Had this been several years ago I would have gotten my back up pretty quickly and possibly said something not quite kosher to her, but not now, not this night.  She spoke so matter-of-fact.  I had to.  I just had to say something.  I couldn't let it go. 

 

Holy schnikes batman, she really didn't know how callously she could be perceived.  But does anyone really?  We have all become so damn politically correct, panties in wad, tongue in cheek, that really you can't have an opinion about anything, to anyone, anywhere at any time.......

 

Back to my little story....

 

I thought for a minute and then said, "Timothy really likes Thomas.  I don't think he cares what the other kids think".  Inside I was laughing, cause really he is kinda oblivious.  In an awesome way.

 

The woman  shook her head knowingly and replied, "Oh he will.  The others will make fun.  Maybe you should think about getting a different one? "

 

I smiled a her and said, "Thanks but no thanks.  He will love this one.  You see, my son is an exceptionally special little dude.  He is 7 and has autism.  He really won't care what others think because he just doesn't connect like that socially.  

 

Her mouth dropped and I could see the panic in her eyes as they began to water.  Before she could speak, I said, "Its ok.  How could you have known?  How could you have known he has the mental functioning of a two year old?  He loves Thomas and he would not be offended in any way by your comments and neither am I.  Really."

 

A tear slid down her cheek and of course I welled up too.  (Damn sympathy crier I am!  Never fails.)

She came out from behind the counter and hugged me.  She whispered "God bless you" in my ear and that was that.  I paid my bill and wished her a Merry Christmas.  Said perhaps next time I will bring the young sir by and say hello.

 

She smiled and said she would like that.

 

The next day I presented Mr. Timothy with his Thomas the train advent calendar.  And of course....he loved it.  Fist pump!

Wishing you and yours a wonderful new year!

Trish and Timothy.

 

Walking that mile in our shoes.......

Lately, I am reminded again and again of how autism is perceived. The handsome teenager with autism who takes the popular girl in school to prom or the cute girl with autism who is the best barista in town.  These examples are nothing like my reality with autism.
 So please, allow me to tell you how we experience autism, here in our home.

My son Timothy is 7 years old.  He carries a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder.  His last IQ testing had him in the bottom 1% of his peers.

                                                                             This is our autism.


 Timothy is locked in his room at night for safety via child safety doorknobs due to wandering and lack of danger. Its certainly not how I want it but for now it keeps him safe.  Several 911 calls and nervous breakdowns on my part have dictated it to be so.

                                                                            This is our autism.

He is finally toilet trained as of this spring in the daytime, still wears a brief at night due to nighttime bed wetting....wait, he will not sleep in a bed....floor wetting?  Do you know how hard it is to find diapers to fit a 7 year old who weighs 70 lbs?  How expensive?

                                                                             This is our autism.

Timothy has difficulties riding in my vehicle and often becomes aggressive to his sisters, pulling their hair and smacking them. He will kick at the windows.  He will throw objects at his sisters and myself (the driver) if given the opportunity.  He has grabbed my hair several times while driving.  Talk about multi-tasking!

                                                                             This is our autism.

Our household revolves around Timothy.  His behaviour can make or break the day.  If he is distressed or upset, we all feel it.  When he smiles, it feels like the sun is shining down on our faces and in our hearts.  We truly just want him to be happy.

                                                                            This is our autism.

I don't recall the last time we went out to eat as a family.  We can't.  We have never bowled, been to a movie, gone to church, a ball game or the aquarium together.  Timothy can't yet tolerate it.  I'm not sure if he ever will but still cling to the hope that one day we will have these experiences, that he will.

                                                                           This is our autism.

One day I will have to face the fact that Timothy won't be able to live with us anymore. Emotionally I'm still in denial but with every passing day it comes closer to becoming reality.  My family won't be a family without him.  My heart, broken.  I pray that he won't feel abandoned and that perhaps he will find happiness.

                                                                          This is our autism. 

We eat, breathe and sleep our autism.  We cry, we love, we celebrate our autism and we mourn it.  I don't know how to be anything else BUT a special needs mama.  I love my son.  I do not love his autism.  It takes, it twists, it distorts and it hurts.

 



                                                                This is our autism.

I hope that somebody out there reading this can find comfort  in knowing they are not alone....that there are others out there living similar lives with their own version of Timothy.  Their own autism.
Let's share some stories about our different experiences and shine the light on the other side of autism.  The one that isn't always so pretty but is a reality for so many of us.

Love Trish

 

 

The eight ball says yes~

It has been a faster than normal summer it seems and here we are going into Labour day weekend already and its been six weeks since my last entry.  Not that I have nothing to say, just lacking the gumption to formulate my thoughts into logical sentences....

The quick and dirty...............

The realization that T will be discharged from therapy in only a few weeks has begun to sink in and new worries have begun to form like bubbles in our mixing pot of life. 

• What new behaviours will appear?  (Please T, don't hit your teacher or EA this year...)

• Will old ones come back? (fingers crossed the eight ball says no and he doesn't overhear any curse words in the next week....)

• How will he do in school five days per week as opposed to two?

• Will his new teacher "get" him?  Will anyone?

• Good Lord I have to go through this IEP again....explain his quirks again...explain why his lunchbox contains only popcorn and juice boxes some days because that is all he's eating at the moment......my head throbs thinking of it all some times....

• Will I become that Mom?  The Mom that the teachers dislike because she appears overbearing and in the way....the Mom that looks like she's been through the zombie apocalypse and back and is just hanging on by a thread(or her coffee cup or wine glass:)....the Mom who is constantly apologizing for her kid disrupting the class and sending in chocolates and coffee and booze (oh yes) to make up for it...the Mom who just wants her kid to be seen as all the other kids; in a nutshell.



I don't spend every waking minute worrying, cause if I did well, I wouldn't have time for anything else, especially the good stuff.............the hugs, the smiles, the connection with my kid.  That's all that matters in the end anyway, the moments that define you that happen every day.  If you don't stop to appreciate them for what they are you'll blink and miss them.

                                                   Off my soapbox for now...............

                                                      Trish and Timothy.  xo



Doubts be gone~ pleasantly surprised

I stopped expecting the worst
 and decided months ago to make my own(our) happiness a reality....  For Timothy, for my girls and for myself.

A few weeks ago proof of this came to realization with a small but mighty birthday invitation.  

Click here to read~ "Let's make it work"

 

The pessimist in me thought, it will never work, it will be an epic failure just like all of the other times we tried....instead I decided we needed to try again.  I am no quitter and want to instill those same values in my kids with every waking breath in my body.


 So, I swallowed my doubts and RSVP"d a "hell yes" to Carter"s Mom, Ainsley.

I am constantly amazed and perplexed with autism.  Often taken aback....once again I am proven wrong about what I think my son can and cannot do.  When I think I"ve figured him out, he does something so unexpected and out of the blue that makes
 my heart sing with pride.

Timothy recognized Carter right away and ran right into the inflatable minecraft castle.  It almost took my breath away how easily he fit in.  I had to stop for a minute and reflect on how this could have gone and immediately felt guilty.  How many invites have I declined over the years?  Have I done my son a disservice?  Perhaps.  I'm not one to live in the past however, and moving forward I will continue to keep trying to be the best Mother I can to my children in all aspects of their lives.

                                      Thank you Ainsley and Co for inspiring change in others!

 

Motherhood does not come with a handbook unfortunately and neither does Autism.
Gee wouldn't that be nice if it did?

I think what I can take from this is that we did try.  Sometimes its not gonna work.  Sometimes it will.  The point is not to give up.  Not ever.  Stop thinking can't and think can.

 May not be today, or tomorrow....but eventually they can....and will...


This life of ours is not all roses and I don't want you to read this and think it is.  Timothy has moderate to severe autism.  A learning disability.  However, I choose to focus on the positive because if you dwell on the negative you will drown in a sea of darkness and that ain't good for anyone.

                              So please take these words for what they are and just keep swimming. 
    

                                                                          Love Trish.

 

                                                Now taking new submissions for Project Timothy

"Let's make it work"

C'mon..... y'all know these don't often go together as much as we want them to. 

 Kinda like nuts and gum.  We parents of the "specials" know only too well the hurts our kids feel when they are left out of the social gatherings relative to childhood. 

Organized sports, play dates, sleep overs and yes- the dreaded birthday parties. 

I can say whole-heartedly that my son has not attended a single one.  We have received countless invitations in the few years Timothy has attended school;  of kids who mercilessly invite the entire class~ and for that I'm grateful (don't get me wrong).   Really cool sounding parties too.

 I wonder if the parents know what would happen if I brought Timothy?  The interruptions....the meltdowns.....how I would hate to take the spotlight from the birthday child.

So we politely decline.  Every.  Single.  One.

Until this one arrived..........

I don't know this Mom or even this child personally.  I want to.  Desperately.

This Mom wrote exactly what I needed to see that day and didn't even know it. 

This Mom gives me hope for Timothy's future when sometimes I get stuck in the darkness of his diagnosis.

This Mom is everything I strive to be.

This Mom rocks.

This ------>(ME) Mom will be RSVPing  a HELL YES for the first time ever.  And I can't wait.

 

 

Bam!  Catalina Wine Mixer!

 



What moderate to severe autism looks like for us, today.

So much has changed in such a short time for Timothy I'm having a hard time catching my breath. 

Last week was hard.  I learned Timothy is being discharged from IBI therapy which has been his second home for almost 18 months.  Not so much the hard part.  The hard part was reading he was in the bottom 1 % of 100 of his peers.  Ohhhh did that hurt my heart...........a general blanket of numbness came over me as it sunk in.  Yes this is real.  Its not going away any time soon.  And even as I felt it wash over me I was calm.  I knew these things already, yes.  Not surprised, no. 

I know my son and I know his struggles are real and not buzz words.

I know that when he tries to print his name, today he can't, and that's ok.

I know that when he tries to make it to the toilet, sometimes he can't, and that's ok.

I know that when he tries to fit in he won't today, and that's ok.

I know that when he tries to eat "other" foods, today he can't, and that's ok.

I know that when he tries to tie his shoes , today he can't, and that's ok.

I know that when he tries to do everyday kid things, today he can't, and that's ok.

I know that when he rides the bus (aye, it tis the short one folks) he wears a harness to keep him safe, today, and that's ok.

I know that at seven years old, he wears diapers still, today, and that's ok.

Here's what else I know about my son.....

 

I know he feels happiness today and that's ok.

 

I know he feels loved today and that's ok.

 

I know he tries today and that's ok.

 

Maybe tomorrow he can do something he can't today.  Maybe not.  I am ok with that, either way.

  We live for today and what he can do.  This is what Timothy's autism looks like.  How about yours?



Love comin atcha from my house to yours,

Trish.

Don't call me normal

There was once a time in my life when I tried to be "normal".  Oh I was naïve back then, even though it wasn't all that long ago...

Normal looking, normal acting, normal wife and normal Mom.  It doesn't suit me.  At all.  Striving for mediocrity was never something I was into or good at.  Fitting in never worked.  I was always the kid who stood out, no matter what for whatever divergent reason.  Wrong hair, wrong clothes, wrong interests, wrong wrong wrong.

Act normal, be normal, do normal.  Guess what?  Normal sucks!  Normal is boring and fits me like a pair of size 2 jeans (snort) ummmm, yeah not really!

The day I stopped caring so much what others thought was the day I lost a cumbersome amount of weight, and no this was no miracle diet....It was so bloody freeing I wondered why I had waited my whole life to do it.

We just returned from a Timothy-less vacation, me and my two girls.  Was it hard to leave him behind?  Damn right.  Did I miss him?  Every day.  Would I do it again?  Absolutely.

What's this gotta' do with autism you wonder?  Its the autism that set me on this path of freedom.  As shitty as it can be some days, autism has opened my eyes to many things and folks, they are WIDE OPEN.

 How you ask? 

Watching my child be judged based on his appearance or  his behaviour.  Watching my parenting skills be judged and even dissected.  So I stopped watching.  I do me and I do my family and that's all that matters to me now. 

So before you give me a dirty look or shake your head at us~ because you don't understand~ check to see if I'm paying attention to you............I assure you I'm not.

 

till next time...........

 

Betcha didn't see that coming....

I've been away from the blog front row for a few weeks (okay maybe a month and a bit if I'm being honest and guess I should be) to sit back and observe my life as it is now.  Our new lives as separate parents, as friends, and, well, separate people.  I get myself and the kids up and take them to our (fabulous xo) private daycare in the wee hours of the morning and then drive the forty five or so minutes to my place of employment where I spend the next twelve hours working.  In the meantime, Timothy has been taken to therapy or school, or both; and then waits for me at daycare when I pick him and his sisters up at about 745pm.  The days are long, no doubt, and often leave me wondering...


                 why am I doing this..............?


I'm going to share a secret with you.

Ready???

I'm deliriously happy.

I am a single working Mom to three kiddies.  The youngest carries a diagnosis of lower functioning autism and is a year + into toilet training with no end in sight but holy shiz he is ALMOST dry all day long now (YES! Fist pump!).  Timothy  is the reason I know my LCBO clerk by her first name.  and why I need medication to sleep most nights to stop the worries from taking over my brain.

 My older two girls Skylar and Casey are "typical" (whatever that means) tweens who like the run- of- the -mill tweenie things.  They test my patience every, single, freaking day. 

What the important piece here is, is that

we are all four of us in this together,  this AuTiSm piece. 

Every day we try to find the PeAcE in the PiEcE of this autism flavored pie.  Often its hard to find; hidden behind that green pepper of aggression, or the mushroom of meltdowns that nobody likes.

I can't predict the future, hell I can't even predict what tomorrow will look like.  I do know what I will look like~ what I will feel like and its peaceful.  Come what may, bring it on and I'll do my best to be ready.

                                                                            Cheers!

                                                                         Love Trish.

 

This is our "normal"

~Trying to be positive all the time gets annoying. 

There, I said it.  Inhale. Exhale. 

Some common questions I would like to set the record straight to.

"I don't know how you do it".
What I say: Well, you know......(but you don't........)
What I want to say:  Yeah me neither.

"He will grow out of it, right?"
What I say:  We don't know
What I want to say:  God I hope so, but I know he won't.

"How do you manage"
What I say:  I do my best
What I want to say: I drink wine.  Often.

"Autism.  All the kids have that now".
What I say:  1 in 68.
What I want to say:  I don't want to be in the "in crowd".

"Wow, what's wrong with him"
What I say: Nothing at all.  He's perfect.
What I want to say:  Nothing at all.  He's perfect.

"Cool, so like rain man?"
What I say: No.  All autistics are different.
What I want to say: You're wearing a track suit, so you're a track star? 

"So does he go to like, a regular school like regular kids?"
What I say: Yes, with regular kids cause well, he's a kid.
What I want to say:  Are you serious?

So friends.....  My life is not exactly like a box of chocolates........well maybe I can make the connection.  Assuming you dislike the taste of the one cherry covered chocolate in the box, or maybe its the cream filled, pick one.  Children are like a box of chocolates.  You never know which one you're gonna get........(Thank you Forrest Gump) could be the yummy caramel (the kid who is really good at soccer) or it could be the almond (the social butterfly of the box) or you could get what I chose, the cherry covered chocolate. 

 Its an acquired taste I have grown to love more and more each day.

A tough nut to crack

It really is amazing.  Those days, weeks or months where you just feel like you are in a terrible slump.... and then something beautiful happens to open your eyes to life's idiosyncracies to make you remember why it is you do what you do and what you do it for. 

That happened today to me.  I was rushing Timothy out the door to his marathon IBI session after school and his hat's brim poked me in the eye.  It didn't hurt, but reflex made me remark "ouch".  He stopped and his eyes opened wide with concern.  "Oh no, Mommy ok?" he asked as he brushed his fingers across my forehead over and over, searching my eyes for reassurance.

He felt remorse.  Concern.  Worry for someone else.  My Timothy.  This was the first time I have seen him show real, valid concern for me.  Despite the hundreds, perhaps thousands of times he has struck, kicked, scratched or head butted me without batting an eye; he felt remorse this time. I wasn't sure if he felt....what he felt. This moment meant more to me than words can say.  It is everything.  It proves his mind is as beautiful as I always thought it was.  It proves that even though the days are hard and sometimes I feel like giving up, I was meant for this, to be his mother.

The details aren't important.  What's important is that he reached out through the invisible force field of autism and touched me.  You see, sometimes I forget that he is a person and see him more as autism.  Its not right and I don't want you to think  I condone it.  But if I am going to be honest here as I swore I would be from the beginning, then there it is.  Sometimes I allow my mind to drift to the what ifs, whys and maybes....but really those don't help anyone, least of all Timothy.

Who cares why he is the way he is?  Is it my fault?  Maybe.  Doesn't matter.

What matters is now. And who I'm doing it for is Timothy.

 

How autism destroyed my marriage and why I"m not mad........

I”m sure you hear it all the time.  Autism has a bad rap with families and marriages.  Pulling them apart.  The stress, the constant worrying, the lack of time with your spouse and other children.  The focus becomes your affected child and there is no time for you and forget about your partner. 
I thought my marriage was strong.  It wasn’t strong enough.  My spouse and I did what many parents with special needs or otherwise children do: give everything they have.   Every spare waking moment directed at the children.   We were tired and weary.  Timothy (my ASD child) had a very long and aggressive period that we couldn’t seem to come back from. 

I cried and I cried often.  Timothy focused a lot of his aggression on me for some reason and it beat me down, really far down into a deep pit of despair.   I couldn’t take him anywhere without a second adult.  He destroyed our home; his anger apparent on our living room walls.  My partner couldn’t understand why I cried.  It hurt.  Even though I tried not to let it feel “personal” it was.   I didn’t feel supported from my partner~ although looking back maybe he was supporting me in his own way. 

 That seemed to be the beginning of the end.  We drifted apart slowly not even noticing at first.  As usual, the children were priority but I”m here to tell you that’s wrong. 

Who was there before your children?  Your partner. 

Who is your backbone?  Your partner. 

Who will be there when your children grow up and leave the nest?  Your partner.

Let’s be honest.  There is no handbook on parenting or managing a marriage and special needs.  You sort of have to fumble through it, messy as it can be and figure it out on your own.

If I can give you anything from this to take away, I want to encourage you reading, to make time for your partner. You; Moms and Dads of the specials; are as important or more so than your kid.  I’m serious!  Make time for each other.  Love each other.  Often.  Even if its only a few minutes a day or a monthly date night.  Learn from my mistakes.  You’ll be glad you did.

As for me..... I have learned so much these past few months on this rollercoaster called love and marriage and special needs, all blended into one………I call it:  “One day at a time.”

 

Always,

Trish.

 

 

Grateful for every day

Your eyes do not deceive you.  Yes, me.  I'm grateful for every day of my sometimes miserable, sometimes wonderful, always beautiful existence on this place we call earth.  It came to me last night.  Lansdowne (our therapy joint) held an IBI Christmas concert.  Sitting in a metal folding chair with my younger daughter Casey, waiting nervously for what I thought was going to be a crapshoot.  Twelve ASD children singing Christmas carols.....hmph.  I was very wrong.  It turned out to be an enormous wake up call.  In came the first group of teen/young adult carolers.  I saw my young son in all of their faces.  I saw joy and gravity and incredible happiness.  Until I tasted them, I had no idea tears were falling from my eyes.........(get to know me better, I seem to cry a lot)

This is what I wanted for Timothy.

  Peace and happiness.  Only I hadn't known it until that moment.

In they came.  I was searching for him through the shoulders in front of me for a few minutes until he came walking in, with two therapists and walked right out.  Aha!  I get it.  Its too much to sit there. Some smart cookies they are.  A few minutes later he came back and was able to sit and jingle a little bell to the last song.  I had to hold back my sobs.  These were happy sobs though, not from sadness.  I was so damn proud of him!  He didn't know all the words but that was the best freaking Jingle Bells I had ever heard!

It was over before I knew it and Santa was coming...............and we were going.  Timothy was done and trying to escape, anywhere.  Sensory overload had taken over and he was spinning like a little tornado looking for his house, his sanctuary.  I grabbed the other kids and off we went.
This was a successful evening for us.  We took a little detour and checked out the Christmas lights in the neighbourhood before steering for home.  He has come such a long way in just a year.

I'm so grateful for every moment like this.....a kid of 6.5 years old would have been in several concerts, assemblies or productions by now.  Not him.  Sitting for thirty seconds in a room full of people is a success.  Following a three word directive is success.  Hell, peeing on the toilet with cueing is a success to me. 

You see, the specials want what everyone else wants.  To be happy.  To be included.  To be loved.

Its my job as a mother to make sure my son can feel these things to the best of his ability.  Maybe he won't be able to but I"ll sure as hell try.

All the best to you and yours this holiday season and in 2015~

 

tHe BoOk Of TiMoThY oN fAcEbOoK

 

 

The day I stopped caring what other people thought of my son

Yesterday when we left therapy, Timothy lost it.

Usually after an IBI session, there is a protocol.  It involves a checklist, a visual board and two therapists that have faded out to just one and myself.  You see, visual boards have become a major piece of my pie of life in every aspect.  Nevertheless, yesterday was no different.  We left his cubby area, one of his hands in one of each of ours.  He was dressed, singing one of his usual tunes.  Through one set of doors and then the next.  Something changed when I opened the car door.  To me, the interior looked the same as it always does, his booster seat in its right place by the child-locked door and a small white basket of books beside it.  The usual powder from his jelly donuts and scuffs from boots on the back of the passenger side seat.  For Timothy, something inside him became unhinged.

Fight or flight kicked in and he leapt towards the door.  Prior experiences have quickened my reflexes and luckily I grabbed him by the back of his pants and held as he tried to pull away.  The therapist went to stand at the other door in case he got away from me.  In the meantime, I calmly coached him to sit down and offered quiet reassurance.  He lashed out.  Hard.  Head butted me in the temple and for a second I saw stars.  Hot tears sprung to my eyes as I continued to hold him in his chair.  I kept talking.  It was only yesterday but for the death of me I have no idea what I said to him....
I noticed several onlookers outside my car.  You have to realize at this point it was quite a scene because all the while young sir was screaming "no no no" at the top of his lungs and trying to hit his own head off of the car door.  Then the clothes came off.  First coat and hat, then boots, then pants and he was in my car in the dead of winter in his ninja turtle underwear cool as a cucumber.

The gawkers were still gawking, I had tears running down my face and sweat on my brow.  But we had made it through the weeds and he was safely in his seat.  I smiled through my tears and waved out my window as I drove off.  I don't know when it was that I stopped caring about how others saw me or my son.  All that matters is how we see ourselves.  Perfectly imperfect.  My life has become so unorthodox because of autism and my confidence so great in myself and in my children.  I have faith in all of us that we can get through just about anything these days and we will.........fully dressed or not.

 

 

 

                                                    tHe BoOk Of TiMoThY oN fAcEbOoK

More good things where that came from........

Happy Sunday!

Pleased to announce the pairing of................................


  (drumroll 

                   




AND




Presenting~ FROZEN MySize Dolls Raffle!

FROZEN RAFFLE to support TBOT and HSP!


Now including bonus prizes
~Epicure $40 credit donated by Kari Pattinson shipped or delivered to you free of cost
http://www.karipattinson.myepicure.com/

~ Stainless steel necklace donated by Project Timothy: Piece by Piece (AKA Yours Truly)
http://thebookoftimothy.blogspot.ca/p/project-timothy-october-winner-leroy.html

~ 2015 Happy Soul Project calendar and kids t-shirt donated by Tara McCallan of Happy Soul Project (if you're not following her yet, you should be)
http://www.happysoulproject.com/2014/04/kick-cancers-arse-capes.html

 

Only $5 per entry and your five bucks will support all of these amazing projects..............read on friends, read on.........

- Brantford and area special needs support groups
~Kick cancer's arse capes
-Project Timothy: piece by piece
~Different is beautiful campaign by Happy Soul Project

And so much more!

Prizes will be drawn Wednesday, December 10th @ 7pm and delivered to winners just in time for Christmas.

We really need your help out there guys....

From Tara @ Happy Soul Project~

"All money for fundraiser will be donated to Happy Soul Project's Kick-It-Capes...A campaign in which we send kids facing any type of serious illness or vast difference that needs an extra dose of super-hero strength a special personalized cape and care package."

Help us to INSPIRE CHANGE five dollars at a time.............

tHe BoOk Of TiMoThY oN fAcEbOoK

HaPpY sOuL pRoJeCt On FaCeBoOk

GoFundMe/ Frozen MySize Doll raffle

So in order to collect funds to put some of my ideas into action, I need moola first.

If you can't help (which I understand) please share share share away!

Please check out the below links to purchase a raffle ticket for $5 to win this fabulous prize valued @ $119.98 USD:

http://www.gofundme.com/hskogo

My top five tips to get through the holidays with sanity intact~

Its that time of year again….Christmas decorations, family and friends…jam packed malls and parades…people in your personal space….a sensory sensitive child’s nightmare! (and their parents)

Run!  Hide if you can and bury your head in the turkey’s behind if you must…or read about my tried and true tips learned through sweat, tears and trial and error.

5)  Breathe.  Its thirty days, you can do almost anything for thirty days if you have to.

4)  Use the small doses rule.  Short bursts of Christmas/people/noise a day.  One hour is usually the max before the boy’s ready to implode (me too).

3.5)  Wine or specially infused egg nog!

3)  Introduce pictures of the holiday type creatures and characters weeks in advance.  Preparation people!  Its worth the time.

2)  Be aware of the 5 senses~ you child will be hypersensitive so be flexible.  If you don’t sit on Santa’s knee this year, oh well….the elves look scary or weird who cares…Grandpa’s breath stinks….you get where I’m going here.

1.5)  There's always next year.................

1)  Your Christmas is your Christmas is your Christmas.  There is no right or wrong way to celebrate the holidays.  They will be what you make of them.  So make them happy whatever you end up doing.





tHe BoOk Of TiMoThY bLoG

fAcEbOoK

The thank you I never got to say….

Its a long list I”m not gonna lie peeps.

When I’m in the zone (you know that eye-twitching-glazed over one) when the boy is having a tantrum on the floor in the middle of the therapy lobby…..shins getting a mean beating from his furious kicks~ thank you to the parents that don’t stare.  Thank you for your supportive silence and thank you for not commenting on my child’s behaviour.

Thanks to the Tim’s cashier who didn’t laugh at my son who stripped in front of the donut display because well donuts and being in your skivvies go together right?

Thanks to the (many) therapists that take punches, scratches and kicks from my child without blinking an eye.  Thank you for your supportive silence while I apologize in tears like a blubbering idiot.

Thank you various drive thrus for not questioning my use of sunglasses at all hours of the night because my eyes are puffy and red from crying about things I cannot change.

Thank you to the doctor who diagnosed my son.  I can’t say I felt thankful that day years ago, but I realize you gave us a gift that I wouldn’t dream of re-gifting. 

Thank you to my friends and family for watching my endless videos of Timothy saying actual words and listening to me gush.  Thanks for not saying you have already seen it five times.

Thank you to the respite programs for giving us Moms and Dads a break.  For understanding and not making me feel guilty for actually using the hours to do something for myself or with the other kids.

Thank you to my daycare provider.  Not only do you put up with me, you are the only one willing to take on my special needs kid….(just kidding)  I mean, who really wants to change diapers for a 6 year old?  You do it anyway.  Thank you for that.

Thank you to Timothy’s Daddy.  Autism has changed us both and I thank you for being open minded and always accepting, never ashamed.

Finally, thank you to my son.   You are the greatest teacher I have known in this life and you are only six years old.  You are smart and so amazing.  You have opened my eyes to so many new and wonderful things.  Without you, I wouldn’t be me.  I will spend every day I have left on this earth thanking you for that.

Love Trish.

tHeBoOkOfTiMoThY oN fAcEbOoK

Hi all! Just a quick update to let you know I will be away from the blog from today (November 5) until November 14th.

Please feel free to send an email (just click here!) with any comments or questions and I will be sure to get back to you!

The day I decided to say screw it….and never looked back.

Once upon a time, a girl named Trish married her best friend Jake.  It was a beautiful affair; nothing fancy, just right.  I’d had dreams of that day as a little girl marrying the man of my dreams, and being carried over the threshold of our pretty little home (don’t forget the white picket fence)……..we would have two children, a boy and a girl….that’s where it gets interesting, cause my life went nothing as  I planned it to…not even close.

  Yes I got married but forgot to mention that two little girls of ours were in the wedding party.  Here they are pleased as punch to get all dolled up for the day…….

Gasp……I haven’t even got to the most sordid part of all, don’t stop reading yet.  Two years later after a very healthy pregnancy, our third child, Timothy was born.  Husband check; girl(s) check;boy; check….not the family of four I had imagined but meh I can improvise, I thought.  But fate was fickle and that was not to be.  Baby Timothy was acting “strangely”, not neuro-typically.

The cards had been dealt, the dealer(everyone else) had a royal flush….and I?  Skunked.  Shit cards, ripped off, or so I thought. Self pity was my best friend for a while, I denied the truth for months, years even…I thought if I cried enough tears to fill an ocean, ignored the diagnosis, and tried real hard, I could fix him.  I thought if I dress him really cute, people may not notice his differences and give him a chance…wryly I look back with humor cause of course they noticed..  Timothy has non verbal autism and is low functioning.  Duh!

In those early days I tried to be SuperMom.  I watched youtube vids on Martha Stewart Living (before she went to jail).  I cooked everything from scratch~ if there was a recipe to cure autism, I cooked it.  I cleaned.  I did laundry and I went to work on weekends.  I missed so many opportunities to have fun with my children and live life because I lived with fog over my eyes for too long trying to be the perfect Mom and wife.  One day not long ago, I had an epiphany.  Screw it.

I’m no superwoman and I won’t pretend to be anymore.  I’m not a perfect or even really good Mom.  I yell when I’m frustrated and cuss when I’m annoyed.  I like a cold beer on a really hot day.  I burp and fart when I’m alone (and sometimes when I’m not!)  Hey, everybody poops-you know how it goes...
Bottom line is this: My kids feel loved.  They know they matter.

Screw the rest.

Its humble pie I eat now.  When your kid eats nothing-not a little-literally nothing whatsoever; you will buy him McDonalds fries every day if that’s what it takes to get him to eat.  So that’s what we do.  Yes, I’ve heard the “they won’t starve, will eat when they are hungry bit” and I”m here to tell you NO HE WON’T.  That rule doesn’t apply to my son, or those with extreme sensory aversions. He was mere days from being hospitalized back then.  I can’t say what he feels or what he knows, but back then, in those scary first months, he didn’t know hunger.  We lived in fear.  If Timothy had a cracker or a donut to eat that day (that was it) that was a success and I could let myself sleep that night.  I couldn’t say the words I can freely say now.

Timothy has autism.

We eat processed foods sometimes.  Frozen food. I do the laundry whenever I have time.  Same with cleaning.  I rarely apologize anymore for my often messy abode and don’t really care.

Those things don’t matter, really, in the scheme of things.

Its taken me a long freaking time to realize what does matter. Family.  Love.  Accepting myself and others for how imperfectly perfect they are. Living for the moment.

I’m not special.  Kids like him aren’t born to special people.  They are born to teach us.  They make us better just to know them.  They make better parents, better brothers and better sisters.  We are the lucky ones and I truly mean that.

Timothy is teaching me how to live in his world, he was all along.  I just missed the clues. 

To the newly “ausome” parents, stick with it.  Don’t get lost in the diagnosis and waste precious opportunities to learn about your child like I did.  If I had to look back, its my biggest regret.

Love and things,

Trish.