The (Not So Secret) LIfe of J

It's nearly 8 in the morning and I'm up and dressed. Bleary eyed, wanting to crawl back into bed, but I'm up. And J? That not so little turkey is back in bed for his morning nap. And I'm...writing. Because I can. And because my brain said forget it, honey, sleep ain't happening just yet.

I have no idea what time J woke up. The closest I can pinpoint it is between 3 and 5 AM. Unless my laptop is open, time means nothing to me in the dark hours of the morning. We do have a clock/radio but since no one needs to be up at a certain time in the morning, no one bothered to set it the last time a storm knocked the power out. But anyway.  Have I ever told you I'm a morning person? Yeah well, that only applies if "morning" begins at seven AM. 6:30 tops. Earlier than that and I'll look you straight in the eye and tell you it's night time.  The Hubs is a night owl. His work schedule is awesome for him because he's ready to go to bed right about the time I'm getting up to face the day. He usually stays up long enough for breakfast and for us to haggle over his wake up call. 

And J? J is a super night owl. He goes to bed anywhere between 9 and ten in the evening (later if we don't have melatonin in the house). You'd think this would be my cue to hit the sheets as well. Wrong! Well, I toddle off to bed about that time, but my nose is usually buried in a book, Pinterest, or a Murder, She Wrote rerun or two. That's my time to relax and enjoy. By midnight I'm fast asleep. If I'm lucky, so is J. And then... somewhere around three in the morning... J's internal alarm clock goes off and he's wide awake, bouncing off the walls declaring he's hungry (read:BORED!!)

My sleep fogged brain at this point barely registers anything. I open a blood shot eye and squint out the window. Still dark. That means night, folks. So I do what any good parent would do: holler "It's night time! Go to bed!" and pull the the covers over my shoulder and try to get back to sleep. 

Yeah, that lasts about five minutes. Ten if I'm lucky. For the next hour or so it's pretty much lather, rinse, repeat-- oh wait. It's more like bounce, shriek, loud holler, pull the covers up, repeat. It's a small house. His bedroom is right next to mine.  Eventually though, my brain sends signals to the rest of my body that I do in fact have movement in arms and legs --despite the three kitten pileup on my chest and arm. This same brain reminds me that during this back and forth exchange, J is anywhere but in bed. If we had a chandelier, especially one that could hold his weight, he'd be swinging on it. Seriously.
  
While I'm still fighting to remember I'm the Mama and responsible for Baby Bear, he's taking the first of many showers of the day; foraging for snacks in the cabinets (the fridge is locked 98% of the time at night so he can't get into that unless we forget); deciding that no one needs the lemon juice left out on the counter-- down the drain it goes.  So finally my brain gets this message to the rest of me and I'm up. I stumble into the kitchen, fix him a snack and we have a sleep deprived conversation. Eventually one of two things happens: he decides his nightly/early morning job is done and he goes back to bed, or Dad gets home from work and I slink off for an early morning nap. 

Good morning, y'all. See you in an hour or two. Mama needs a nap.

Normal is Just a Setting on the Dryer

 I knew yesterday that we were headed for trouble. The day before, J had awakened at 7 AM and ran full steam ahead. Although I got a little rest, and so did The Hubby (but not at the same time), J stayed awake all. night. long. Sleep just was not gonna happen for him. 
   Yesterday, it took The Hubby and I a little while to get moving, but we were out the door. We'd promised J lunch at Burger King. Once we got there, however, he was ramping up for a full blown meltdown. Something he hadn't really had in several weeks now. He was hungry, but he was tired. He didn't want to put on his shoes and he didn't want to get out of the car. It's entirely too hot to eat in the car in mid July, so we tried to coax him out. Nothing doing. He wanted to hit, but that was stopped. Finally I sent The Hubby in to order for us.
   J and I stayed outside. He sat in his seat, I stood beside him, talking quietly. The meltdown fizzled before he even got it started. When you're exhausted you don't have the energy to "hulk out" and smash the entire world. He settled for grouching and some half hearted pushing of the driver's seat. Every once in awhile he'd hoot loudly and some customer would look our way. I just focused on my boy, talking quietly. Dad came out and told us the food was ready, and J still wouldn't budge so Dad went right back in, alone. Two minutes later, it clicked. The food was not coming outside. J accepted my hand and came out of the car.
   The rest of the day went fairly smoothly, if really quickly. We'd planned to spend some time at my mom's for a visit, but our time dwindled to less than an hour after the lunch protest, and still we needed to grab some groceries that had been forgotten the day before, and still get Dad to work on time. It all worked out, though, and before I knew it we were back home. 
   Somewhere between three thirty and four PM, J crashed. Hard. He was sawing logs before I knew it. And I left him sleep. He needed it. My plan was to have dinner ready by seven and wake him up. That would give him enough time to rest, and yet wouldn't keep him from going to bed at a decent hour. Well that didn't happen! 
   Seven came and went, and the sleeping giant slumbered on. I called his name, I shook him, I rolled him over. On he snored. He opened his eye once, then rolled right back onto his stomach and snoozed away.  Okay, at this point you can think oh this is gonna be fun. He's going to be up all night again. Or you can pray he sleeps blissfully through the night and wakes up by six or seven demanding to be fed. Which way would it go?
   He split the difference. I went to bed at ten so that I'd have some rest just in case he did wake up ready to party. He was up at three. Amazingly, he ate his dinner and went right back to bed and slept till close to 9 this morning.  His sleep should be back to normal routine tonight, but in the life of autism we learn that "normal" is just a setting on the dryer. During all this fun and excitement I may not get much accomplished in the way of housework. That's okay. It'll keep.
 

When you wake up at 3 am to feed a wild child who just woke up, feed him supper, get him his meds and send him back to bed, then go to bed at 5 am to wake up at 8 am and do it all over again, somehow the energy to clean dissipates quickly. But hey, this is the life I was given; the life I chose, and I love it and am thankful for it. :)

   

Thoughts on Life

Its a fairly quiet day today; at least as quiet as you can get with J. He's chattering away in his language, watching me and teasing me. His personality peeks out more on some days than others. Today I noticed that lately he's paying attention to which side of his shirt is the front and which is the back, and wearing them properly. This is huge for him. I know most people won't "get" that, but when you have a child with autism or another form of different learning abilities, it's major. 
  I got to see his playful side again. He used to play "ghost" a lot, where he covered his head with a sheet and howled, or just sat pretending he wasn't there under the sheet. He did that today some, along with placing a small plastic storage bin on his head. He's exploring his world again and I rejoice in that. 
  While he goes in and out of the room doing his thing, Dad is in the bedroom sleeping. He works tonight. I am grateful that he works hard. We don't have a lot of money, but it pays the bills for the most part and keeps a roof over our heads. It's not always easy but God provides. 
  There are times when I really wish I could work and provide an income to help out the family. In order for me to be able to have a "regular" job, I'd have to put J in some sort of care, possibly a residential home. I'm not willing to do that. I know we will have to come up with a plan for him soon. Hubby and I won't live forever --not here, anyway. At this point I don't know if anyone in the family would be willing to care for J the way we do. It's a lot of work, a lot of responsibility. At the same time, I cringe at the thought of him languishing in a residential home. I know there are some good ones out there, but will they give him the love and attention he needs?
  There is so much going through my mind these days. I know there is much housework to be done, a lot of repairs to be made. There are projects I'd like to work on, books I want to read. Yet here I sit, reading blogs, making lists, writing, wanting a nap but staying up because J needs me. 
     I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
     2. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
                                                              Psalm 121:1,2

Sunday Follies: Or, Why Dottie Wore Flip Flops to Church

I admire women who seem to have it all together. The kids are neat and sweet, the house is immaculate, she has nary a hair out of place. And the kicker? She makes it all seem so effortless!
  Me?  Yeah... not so much. Somehow in my family I missed the organizing gene so I'm struggling constantly with  how to keep the place neat and orderly.  Phylis Diller once said "Trying to clean house while the kids are still young is like trying to shovel snow during a snow storm." My son may be eighteen years old chronologically but in many aspects its like having a two year old forever. Love him dearly, but he seems to like making more work for me.  And over sleeping, especially on a Sunday morning, increases the chaos.
   Today was no exception to the chaos rule. We woke late and were scrambling for clothes, trying to make it on time for worship service (We were late. But we were there, so for us that's a good day). I keep promising myself that I'm going to start preparing the day before, but so far it hasn't happened.
   As far as dress shoes go, right now I have two pair, exactly alike. It wasn't planned that way, it just happened that I replaced a pair I thought were goners. Today I asked my husband to grab my shoes so we could get on our way. I went barefoot to the car. He brought my shoes and I dropped them in the floor board, never giving them a single thought till we saw the church building. After all, we were running late! As soon as we get there, I pick up the shoes--and they are both for the right foot.  Doncha just love those days? Good thing the flip flops were in the car! Hope your day was a great one. :)