Sometimes it's the little things....and sometimes the little things are huge to some of us.

Sometimes it's hard to gauge whether Addy is making progress or not. Maybe it's because I'm with her so much every day, but it can be hard at times to see significant progress.

But every once in a while something happens in our day that allows me to pause and think about how much this sweet little one is learning. It's encouraging.

The other day in the tub, Addy and Brylers got lucky and got a super bubbly bubble bath. Addy gathered up some bubbles, looked at me and said, "Look, Mama, I have ice-cream. Yummy!" Then she was pretending to eat her "ice-cream," give herself more, et cetera.

Random sidenote, why does Addy call me momma? No idea. I've never referred to myself as momma, but that's what she always calls me.

Anyway, most parents probably wouldn't think twice about their child playing with bubbles and pretending it's ice-cream, but for me it's a big deal. Why? Pretend play. This is not something that comes naturally to Addy and pretty much always has to be initiated by me or whoever is working with her. But this was completely unprompted and all on her own! So a little thing? Maybe. Awesome? You betcha.

The day didn't end there, however. No, no, no, no. After the girls' bath, Brylee was less than happy to go to bed (to put it VERY mildly). The way she was screaming and throwing her little tantrum, I'm just glad the cops or CPA didn't show up or something. I finally just put them to bed, shut the door, and walked out with Brylee screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs. Figured I'd give her ten minutes or so to chill out and me ten minutes or so to chill out. And possibly eat something sugary. Don't judge. I just happen to be a stress eater of sorts. At times. Oftentimes. With sugar. It's complicated.

So I went upstairs and worked on these little skirts for Sunday.

About ten minutes later and a possibly a half pound heavier I went back downstairs. All was quiet in the realm of the little girls' room, so I opened the door and found Addy sitting on the bed with Brylee giving her tickles on her stomach and face and singing to her. (Just as an aside, the song she was singing was the nice, soothing melody of Bingo, so the tickles had to stop for her to clap-i-n-g-o). But between the tickles and singing, Brylee was totally calm, and it made me so happy to see Addy have love and emotion toward her sister. Now, I don't know how much of this is "learned behavior" (as in she's seen us sing or give the kids tickles enough times that she's mimicking what was seen), but I really don't care. It's progress. And it's wonderful to see her expressing such a positive and loving emotion.

And, yes, those may be little things, but to me they are a big dealeo. It's the little things that make me so grateful that I'm able to now be home with my kids all the time, that I'm able to focus my energy on helping them achieve their greatest potential, and to have a husband who works so incredibly hard that I'm able to do so.

Little things. Tender mercies.

" I believe I have come to better understand that the Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ." - David A. Bednar

Tri like a girl

That's the vinyl decal I really want to put on the back of one of our vehicles. The only problem is the hubs and I share cars, and I don't know if he really wants some girly saying on the back of anything he is so masculinely driving. But it represents an accomplishment I'm proud of.

So I completed my first triathlon. Before you go off calling me crazy and trying to admit me to psychiatric care, let me 'splain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up. I only did a simple SPRINT tri. It is much, much, much, much, much shorter than those crazy Ironmans. Those people really are crazy. The tri that I did was called a sprint tri and consisted of a 300-meter swim, 12-mile bike, and a 3-mile run. So not too bad. But still a good workout that requires training (at least for me).

So you were hoping I'd describe my experience in nauseatingly vivid and excessive amounts of detail? Well, friend, today is your lucky day.

This journey begins about four months ago. Don't remember who I was talking to or why the subject came up, but we were talking about triathlons.. or something to do with swimming? We were talking about something and I thought maybe a triathlon is something I could do. So the next day I found one online that was advertised as a non-competitive, supportive-environment type sprint tri. Oh, yes. It was women only as well. Signed myself up and went and joined the rec center since I'd heard it was a good place to swim. It was indeed a good place to swim. Nice non-intimidating environment due to the fact that 93% of the people who swim at the rec center I'd gander are over the age of 62. Helps you feel speedy when you're racing. 'Cept they might not have known we were racing. Details.

Anywho.. so I spent the next three months (13 weeks, technically) following my training schedule and practicing my running, biking, and swimming skills. My swimming skills improved the most (thanks, at least in part, to the lady swimming next to me one day and couldn't stand the inefficiency of my stroke, so proceeded to give me a good 30-minute one-on-one swimming lesson. Did you know there's such a thing called an s-stroke? You did? Well, um, me too.) I swam my first mile during my training. I had previously deemed this an impossible task, so I like to think of this as an accomplishment.

So the week before the race and what happens? The kiddos get sick. Bummer, man. Little Boodles as we sometimes call her (or Brylers or Benny boo boo boo boo boo) is running this wicked high fever. 104.8 high. In the middle of the night. Of course. I knew from previous experience that if I rushed her into the ER, they just work on getting her fever down. So I decided to try myself and hopefully not have to wake up Addy to take them on a little 2:00 a.m. field trip. So Boodles got the meds, the AC cranked up in the house, the "chilled" bath, ran around in the nude, the works. She was as cheerful as ever though, so that helped me not worry as much. Called the on-call doc and he said if we could get the fever down to 101 over the course of an hour we probably wouldn't need to take her in. So I worked hard at it and eventually it came down to the 101 range and she fell asleep. And I slept with her. 'Ya know, just in case.

Took her to the family doc the next day and he said she likely had roseola. Biggest thing was to try to keep her fever down and to watch her closely since some kids can have seizures when they have high fevers. Sheesh. So she spent the next couple days watching Barney with lots of juice and popsicles to keep her hydrated.

Poor kid. Finally Wednesday night/Thursday morning the fever broke. Hallelujah. But needless to say, I didn't exactly get lots of training in that week due to being otherwise occupied. Jackson got home Thursday night and we left Friday afternoon to head down to Salt Lake. Small problem was I woke up on Friday not feeling too hot. My body ached, my stomach hurt, and I just felt crappy overall. But told myself to zip it, put the big girl panties on, and to move on.

So we drove to Salt Lake and took the kids to the Discovery Gateway, a children's museum. If I lived in the area, I would totally get a season pass. There are so many awesome things in there that are exactly the types of things we work on with Addy and her learning time. They have this huge area that's all about pretend play. There's a fully furnished little house, a construction site, a market, a ranch, a huge garden, a gas station, and a variety of other things.

They have costumes where the kids can dress up and all of the equipment you would possibly need to be a mom, a grocer, a fireman, a mailman, a farmer.. you get the picture. Pretend play is not something that comes naturally to Addy. Oftentimes she will "organize" toys more than actually play with them, so this was so fun to have so many different things where we could work on pretend play. At the museum they also have several other sections and fun things for kids, but this section was the most popular for us. We easily spent a couple hours there. I wish we could have stayed longer, but I was really not feeling very well and wanted to get to bed sooner than later.

So after the museum we went and did the packet pickup/body marking where they mark your arms with your number and your leg with your age. This is especially helpful so when you have people pass you, you can notice that they're a mere 13 years old or something (not that that actually happened or anything. whatever. I don't want to talk about it), or if you happen to pass people, you can take note that they're twice your age and you're just struggling by them. It's a good self-esteem booster.

As you can see, I was number 426, a number that Jackson said was one of his favorites. I thought he was joking, but he said it was the number of some motorcycle or dirt bike or something that he used to race or something. So it was lucky? Or something.

Anyway, that night was very non-exciting. I managed to swallow about four bites of spaghetti and went to bed praying that I'd feel better in the morning.

At an early 5:30 I woke up and did feel somewhat betterish. I didn't feel all pins and needly and feverish, so that was great. But my stomach still felt not so great, so that was not so great. We got ready and left at 6:00 a.m., a nice early morning for the two little yahoos.

The tri was held at the Olympic Training Center, and it was a huge facility. I got my bike and transition area set up while Jackson got the kids dressed. I met up with him again, and then proceeded to spend the next little while, er, emptying my stomach. This was good though, because now on a completely empty stomach, I was feeling much better and felt like I'd at least make it through the race.

The swimming was held in a 50-meter pool. They did a staggered start and would basically start five people at a time on both sides of the pool. You'd swim down one lane, back on the other side, switch lanes, swim down and back, switch lanes, down and back. Pretty simple. At the packet pickup we were tagged by our speediness of swimming. I was the "intermediate" blue wrist band, meaning I started in about the middle of the pack.

The girls around me were super nice. I ended up being the leader of our little group of five, so I told them to feel free and pass me since I was the most nervous about swimming. And then the guy came back to our side of the pool, called out 426, go! And I was off.

After I pushed off the wall, I realized the left side of my goggles weren't sealed all the way and had the pleasure of water rushing in trying to blind me. Blast. Fixed it and kept going. By the time I swam my first 50 meters I was catching up to the last girl on the group on front of me. Through the whole swim I probably passed 10 or so people. That was exciting, especially since my goal in the swim was to not drown. Check.

So I finished the swim and went to the transition area.

On a totally unrelated note, I've decided I would not be a very good-looking bald person.

And I was off for my bike ride.

And it was great. Even though I didn't have a fancy-smanchy racing bike with super skinny racing wheels. After a few miles I saw this lovely poster they had posted with Ryan Gosling. You know the ones all over Pinterest where they have a nice picture and he says "hey, girl." something, something, something. You know the ones.

Fine. I will show you. Like these:

Oftentimes they're comical. And the ones on Pinterest oftentimes have to do with sewing, crafting, pinning, et cetera. Well, THIS particular poster says, "Hey, girl, you got this" with a nice smiley picture. So just take a moment to imagine that. And I turn the corner, and guess what? There's a gargantuan hill. Straight up. I mean, it literally went straight up. For a long time. So it's a good thing Ryan Gosling told me that I've got this or I quite possibly would not have made it. But as luck would have it, I trekked up that mountain and survived. It was a good deal.

In the meantime the girls and Jackson were having a fun time (or so he tells me) making a cute little sign, playing in the bouncy house they had set up, eating cotton candy, and other various fun activities they had for the families of participants.

Did I mention that it was an early morning? Usually the kids don't look so... tired. Or something. They also may or may not be wearing the wrong set of clothes. As in the bigger girl is wearing the little girl's clothes and vice versa. No biggie. That's why there are moms in this world.

So I made it back into the transition area the second time and got going on my run. The run was....well....hard. At least the first part was. Remember how I told you about that huge hill we got to go up biking? Well, the first mile and a half of the run was almost completely uphill. So the same sad little tired muscles that were used on the bike were being used on the run, and they were a little tired. I was not running so speedily. In fact, I probably could have walked faster than I was "running." Oh well. The last part of the run was downhill and you have loads of people cheering and stuff, so the picture that Jackson took makes it look like I was actually running for the run part of the tri. I wasn't. I was a big sissy for 97% of the run, and then the last 3% decided to step it up slightly.

So I finished. Crossed the finish line. That was my second goal. I didn't drown, and I finished. Check and check.

I just want to say that I was so glad Jackson was there. It seriously made all the difference in the world. Especially when I was not feeling well and he told me to chill out and everything would be fine. Sure love that handsome fellow.

My overall time was 1:41:29.6. Good enough for me. The main thing is I can now cross a triathlon off my bucket list. Well, technically, first I'd have to put it on my bucket list. Well, technically, first I'd have to make a bucket list. And then put it on said bucket list. And then cross it off.

The only thing that ticked me off was after I finished my first triathlon I was fully planning on heading to Dairy Queen, ordering me a LARGE Blizzard, and happily eating it all the way home. BUT since my stomach was not my friend that day, I figured that would not be the greatest of all ideas I've ever had. So instead I spent the drive home eating a bag of Cheerios. The peanut butter kind. So still delicious, but not even close to a Blizzard. I will get that Blizzard though, dang it, and eat it ALL, even if I have to drive 50 miles to do it (which I will, since there is no Dairy Queen in my town. Tragic).

Overall it was a positive experience. I'd even do it again!

But not until next year.

Thanks for reading.

Bittersweet

Bittersweet. Reminds me of chocolate.. only that's more semisweet. As in chocolate, chocolate chips. The only chocolate I really ever have in my house. Good thing too, or else I'd probably be packing an extra 20 pounds or so..

And, yes, this may have been me on one occasion. Or two. Or more. Whatever.

I'm writing this post to talk about my (old) job. For the past five and a half years I've been working as a court reporter for one of the local district judges. Seriously, an amazing job. I would show up for court, but then for my transcript time (the majority of my work) I was able to really set my own hours. It rocked. It gave me the flexibility to work (mostly) when my kids were sleeping or when the hubs had them and really gave me the feeling like I was sort of a stay-at-home mom...at least 80% of the time. The job gave my family benefits and a great enough paycheck that my better half could go to school full-time and really only work during the summer to pay for his tuition. Sweet deal.

There were very few times when I would feel that I really didn't want to go to work. Admittedly, trials weren't (and still aren't) my absolute favorite things in the whole wide world (especially civil ones.. bleh), but it can be interesting to hear a case from beginning to end, get the verdict, and participate in the whole courtroom shebang. Olive it.

And then I put in my resignation notice.

Whhhhaaaaaatttttt?????? (Feel free to act super surprised here, even if you've already known for the past couple months that I was quitting slash have now officially quit. Exaggerated facial expressions preferred.)

It's sadly true. It all happened when I realized that, as much as I would love to,

I have finally accepted the fact that I'm not superwoman.

I know you're surprised and was secretly hoping one of your very own friends was the woman behind the mask (does she even normally wear a mask? No idea. She's not on The Avengers) saving the world one day at a time.

So here's the dealeo: I was feeling a bit like my life was turning into THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY!

Hurry up! Move that thing! And. . . that other thing! Move it!

Up at 6:00, working like crazy (at my job and the massive influx of transcript I was having ordered), working like crazy (at my faux going back to school learning about all things to do with Addy and her diagnosis), trying to squeeze a workout in here and there (so I didn't have a true psychological breakdown), trying to spend quality time with the kiddos (especially when the hubs was gone), keeping food in the house, bills paid, cleaning when I couldn't stand the messiness or clutter anymore, washing and drying clothes (usually to realize nothing was actually getting put away and consequently we were all starting to look like we belonged on episodes of What Not to Wear), and maybe a few other things thrown in here and there. I'd go to bed between midnight and 2:00 a.m. only to wake up at 6:00 a.m. and still find I was falling behind in every. aspect. of. my life. Enter: Cliffs of Insanity Every. day.

I was on the verge of an MMM, Major Mommy Meltdown, when it hit me. Like a bucketload of bricks to my head. Quit. I need to quit something. I went over my options: Quit the home stuff (aka laundry, grocery shopping & finances). Sounds peachy but perhaps it would not be so delightful to have the good ole Department of Health and Welfare knocking my door down to come reclaim my starving dirty children. Out. Quit working out. My only source of stress relief, and that just seemed like a bad idea. Quality time with the kids. Out. It came down to keeping my job or giving my daughter the best autism intervention I possibly could. The choice was made. When it comes right down to it, of course I'll be choosing my family over anything.. especially a job.

So I quit. And I almost cried about four times the day I submitted my resignation. Literally. And here we are. Stay-at-home mom and advocate is my job now. It doesn't pay as well, but the benefits are unquestionably better.

I'm so grateful though for the things that I've learned working in court. I sure have learned a lot more than how to write fast and what to avoid doing if I were to ever be arrested :) I'm afraid that when I started working in court I was terribly judgmental. The defendants who came into the courtroom I would think of as terrible people making terrible choices. What I've come to realize, however, is how blessed I've been to be raised by parents who taught me right from wrong, who loved and cared about me, what it's like to have positive role models in my life, to not be laden with life-controlling addictions. It's true that most every defendant who comes into that courtroom is there because of a bad choice (or usually a series of bad choices) that they've made throughout their lives. At the same time, most of them have not been raised in the same circumstances I have been, and many have not been taught the same things that I was taught growing up. Who am I to judge? We each have our different devils and weaknesses that we struggle with. Mine happen to not be quite as illegal as others, but I know I sure wouldn't want to trade places.

On a completely unrelated note, since Addy chopped her hair in lovely random places she is now sporting shoulder-length hair with a nice comb-over of her bangs. But I think it'll be okay. Better than last time at least :)

Thanks for reading.

Don't even be jealous

To start off with may I just say a huge THANKS (it's in all caps, so it's like I'm shouting in your face right now) for all the support I've gotten from so many people and so many sweet comments e-mails, phone calls, Facebook messages, et cetera, et cetera. If you are my friend or my family, you are wonderful. And sweet. And delightful. And hilarious. And just all around terrific (pronounced ter-riffic, not tee-riffic. Unfortunately for me, the kiddos are going through this Barney-loving stage, and I swear if I'm going to have to listen to Barney one more time talk about how something is super-de-duper or tee-riffic, I'm gonna lose it. Or not. He has taught my kids to give me "a great big hug" and "a kiss from me to you"....so perhaps it balances out.)

Anywayyyyyyy.......sorry I don't always (or ever, really) comment or write back, but I just wanted to say a huge THANK YOU to my wonderful friends and family for your sweetness. You rock.

So down to the heart-to-heart. For the past couple of years I've been secretly jealous of all of my friends (and hubby) in school. I've even, may I say, dabbled at the idea of going back. Think about it: You go to these classes, learn things, do homework and learn more things.. and you maybe even make a few friends along the way. Also you can improve your skills.

(Like, what are my skills?
Well, you have a sweet bike. And you're really good at hooking up with chicks. Plus you're, like, the only guy at school who has a mustache.)

BUT GUESS WHAT? As of late my table more often than not looks like this:

I know what you're thinking. Jealousy. It's just like I have gone back to school! Textbooks and everything. And, yes, I am excited. And, yes, I've probably talked the ear off of at least 121 of my friends, family members, acquaintances, the hubs, about everything that I'm learning about autism, various treatments, therapies, intervention techniques. The works. Probably bored three-quarters (more like five-sixths?) of you to death with all of this info. Don't fret. You're not alone. There are others out there in your same boat silently thinking - nay, praying - that I would just zip it about all these new terms and acronyms and super exciting bits of knowledge that I now know. But I'll tell you, it feels empowering to be able to learn so much about my daughter and about other people on the spectrum, to be able to see and understand how everyone is so different and how people with ASD (autism spectrum disorder) think and understand things.

Lastly, I must say that I've recently picked up reading. Not reading transcripts. Reading for fun! Because reading is fun! And, no, this is not a sad attempt to try to promote the BOOK IT! program. It's not. But sweet black licorice, you can see how that's a good reward incentive though for those lucky kids because, let's face it, Pizza Hut personal pan pizza sure is tasty. Random tangent again? True as toast.

Anyway.. if any of my dearest friends love or like to read and need something new, the two latest ASD novels I've read are:
A Child's Journey out of Autism by Leeann Whiffen. It's about a mom's son who was diagnosed and their journey through an intense intervention program. Pretty good, and a book I could really relate with.
and
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. Warning though: The novel by Haddon has a quite a bit of swearing in it. But I found it super interesting. It's written by an autistic man in the first person and how he views the world. I can't believe how different his views and thoughts are from mine.

So that's probably enough rambling for tonight. I could leave you with a hilarious quote about something or something else, but, frankly, I'm tired, so that won't be happening. Instead I'll laugh to myself about the funny post I saw on Pinterest "Thoreal." I'm still laughing about it. Thanks for reading.

A Little Drastic?

Perhaps. This will be a short post. (Umm just kidding. I just finished it, and I totally lied. It's not short. Medium to long. Depending on how fast you read.) It's about my relationship with my hair. 74 percent of the people I know will not even care what I have to say here. Feel free to skip to the bottom and just look at the pictures. I will not be offended and/or even know about it. For the rest of my guilt-ridden friends who feel because I've written something, it surely must be worth reading, read on. Too long of an introduction, I know.

So my view on hair is it's just that.. hair. Can be used as a fun accessory I suppose, but why anyone would pay lots of tens of dollars or hundreds of dollars for a haircut is beyond me. Here's the thing: I find that I tend to get bored with my hair about every three months or so and like to change it up a bit. It's usually a spur of the moment thing. Fine and dandy, unless a bit of crazy hits (like it does every once in a while) and I do something drastic.

Scenario: I had been growing my hair out for two years. TWO YEARS, people. That is a l-o-n-g time. My hair was super long, and I was rockin' it. If by rockin' it you mean throwing it back into a ponytail or a braid six days a week, then, yes, I was rockin' it. Don't be jealous.

Typical day.

I was running into a dilemma. Problemo 1. I was (and am) a busy working mom of two kiddos. Oftentimes I find myself doing the single mom thing with a hubby working a lot out of town. That does not leave me oodles and oodles of time for doing my hair. Well, except for Sunday, because I don't have church until 1:00, but, well, I'd rather eat waffles and gear up on energy due to the fact that church is not until 1:00 and I end up outnumbered with super duper cranky kids and trying to wrastle them into staying reverent. (You know how some people pronounce words differently? It's really hard to convey that typing a blog post, so instead I've decided I will intentionally misspell words on occasion in an attempt to have stories read in a more exciting manner.)

Anywho... Problemo 2. I am currently training for a triathlon and have been trying for weeks to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my hair during said event. Here's the thing. I swim, take my cap off and then my hair looks incredibly awesome all tangled up and matted and I really should do something so it stays off my face for the biking and running portion but do I pack a brush, stop and redo my hair? Not likely. Or do I just leave it all matted and half falling out and just hope I'm speedy enough to outlast the falling all over the place slash in my face situation? Another unlikely scenario. I'm not too speedy.

The solution: Chop it all off. Thought about it for about a whole 12 hours or so. Then I just did it. Walked into the salon and said chop all my hair off. And she did. Oh, and I colored it too since the chlorine or sun or something was bleaching my hair all weird and looking like I gave my four-year-old the bleach and said, here, just take my hair and do whatever YOU think will look great! Fun huh?

Before and after. Fine. Warning to all my picture-y friends who love photography and have nice cameras and Photoshop programs and your pictures look all professional and like they're out of a magazine. This is not that kind of blog. I took my point-and-shoot camera and I pointed and shooted (shot, I know, I know). They are not great photos but, hey, at least you get a photo. I could just describe in nauseatingly vivid detail the before and after, but this will probably be more enjoyable. (For you, not me.)

Without further ado:

Don't laugh. It's awkward taking photos of yourself. Seriously. Fine, laugh if you want.


And this is what I look like now. Or what I looked like ten minutes ago, maybe 15.



Wait for it...........


















Wait for it.......................
















Wait for it......................... (and I surely hope you're saying this in the voice of Shawn Spencer from Psych, although I'm sure none of you are since I think only 2.4 percent of my friends love that show like me. But go back and read it in his voice. You'll thank me later.)..............

"How to I look?"
"Slightly stunned."
(name that movie)

So too drastic? Perhaps. Lame to have a post all about me and my hair? Definitely. Thanks for reading.

The Beginning

Let's be honest here. I'm going through some HUGE life changes, and I'm probably more stressed now than I ever have been in my entire life. Being honest, I probably am not dealing with the stress all that well...unless you count "dealing with it" consisting of me being fine until I just up and snap one day and become an emotional train wreck wanting to punch things or cry my eyeballs out or eat a gallon of ice-cream...or possibly all three. At once. Don't judge. I don't consider those behaviors necessarily positive. So I'm on the search for some good outlets to avoid the train crash. I've heard that writing is therapeutic, so I wrote in my journal for the first time in years. I did find it to be helpful for sorting out my thoughts and the like, but, being honest here (there's a lot of honesty in this post), it took me for.ev.er. And I hated it. Because it took centuries. Or at least an hour.

I have been working as a court reporter for the last five plus years, was in court reporting school before that, and, let's face it, I am accustomed to writing things quickly. Maybe too quickly. I-think-it-and-it's-written quickly. 250-300 words per minute type quick writing. You get the picture. This is soooo not the case with journaling. It is s-l-o-w slow. It takes time.

I have officially come to a compromise wherein I've decided to start a blog. Now, I can be the only one reading this blog, and I really don't care. It's a place for me. I also have decided to keep the blog open for others to read, because I've found that it can be helpful to read about people's experiences (especially when you're going through similar situations) and find out what has worked for them and what hasn't. It also helps the world be not such a lonely place, in my opinion. Clear as mud? Fab. I'm also really hoping to keep this blog "real," but I sure don't want it to be a downer. For those who know me, I think I'm generally a pretty positive and/or happy person (or try to be at least), and so I'd like my writing to reflect that. I'm also having some challenges right now, and I want my writing to reflect the real emotions involved.

So with that overly long-winded introduction, what in the universe has gotten me worked up enough to start a blog when I should be working on appeal transcripts for people who don't like sitting in prison? Let's start with this little cutie.

My first born child -- the apple of my eye, Mommy's little girl, Daddy's princess, all of those mushy sayings that come on cute pink baby onesies -- has been diagnosed with autism. Some background here: This wasn't something completely out of the blue. It was something that I had been concerned about - probably for over a year. Addy started showing "classic" signs by age 2 1/2. By age 3 I was definitely concerned. I got her in speech therapy, got her into the early intervention preschool, talked to different professionals about whether I should get her tested but was reassured (maybe?) that testing her "wouldn't do much good," that we should "wait and see," yada, yada, yada. But in my gut I knew, I just knew that something wasn't right. Something wasn't clicking for her. I'd see those commercials for autism awareness, and they would scare me to death. Probably because I knew there was something going on. But it's hard to admit. I'll be the first to admit that it's hard to admit (say that ten times fast). It's hard to think that there might really be something wrong with your baby. (though technically at that time she wasn't really the baby anymore since Brylee had been born, but you get the point. Too much technicality? Yeah, I thought so too.)

Thankfully, when Addy was about five months shy of her 4th birthday, I ran into a friend who has a daughter with autism. She encouraged me to get an independent evaluation. So glad I talked to her. I got an evaluation done, and now I am so thankful. At three years and ten months of age Addy was officially diagnosed with PDD-NOS, an autism spectrum disorder. You can read about PDD-NOS here: http://www.autismspeaks.org/what-autism/pdd-nos (sorry, don't know how to link yet), but to summarize, it basically means that she has significant social and language deficiencies and has all the signs of "classic autism" minus the repetitive movements (i.e. hand flapping, rocking, toe-walking, etc.) We're all on the same page here? Yes(ish)? Good.

Here's the interesting thing to me though: Although I had suspected something (maybe even autism) for over a year, I am still surprised at how hard it was for me to sit there in the psychologist's office and have her tell us about our daughter's diagnosis. Cried like a baby I did. It's a good thing they have lots of tissues in that office, because I'm fairly sure I owe her $0.84 or so for a half a box of Kleenex. The hubs probably thought I was nuts. Or over-emotional. Or pregnant. Unfortunately, I was none of the above. But as difficult as it was for me to sit in there and hear about potential limitations and struggles that my little girl has or may have in the future, I think it was an important step for me being able to accept what the reality of our situation was. The life-changing reality. I realized that I needed to accept this diagnosis so that I could move from being a grieving parent to being a top supporter and advocate for my sweetheart.

In short, this blog is about our family's journey through autism. It's about our struggles and successes. It's about the things we've learned, the therapies and treatment we've tried (and are trying). Most importantly it's about family (our family, specifically), our hopes, our accomplishments, our goals, and our journey to becoming our best selves. I agree whole-heartedly with the quote by Albert Einstein reserved at the top of my blog: "Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." Thanks for reading.