A handshake may seem simple to you, but for a mom of a child with Autism it is huge. We were leaving church today, and I was in line to shake our pastor’s hand. Jacob doesn’t stand in line, because lines bother him. He always slides out the side door. Today, Pastor Dave called, “Hello, Jacob.” Jacob turned around and said, “Hi!” What he did next, nearly knocked me off my broken foot! Jacob walked over to Dave, and shook his hand.
I am sure there are people who are asking why it is such a big deal that my kid shook someone’s hand? The reason is, my son is Autistic. He doesn’t do things like that. I am a proud momma! I made sure I told him how proud I am of him too. I don’t take moments like that for granted. He is doing so well. We have found a church that loves him for who he is. For the first time in his life, he is participating in Sunday School and Youth Group. I am just so thankful.
We went to see an Endocrinologist this week about his pituitary issue. He has was is called Partial Sella Syndrome. We are waiting on lab results. What happened at the appointment was amazing. Dr. Sanchez looked at Jacob and told him that he could be anything he wanted to be. He could be a doctor or a scientist, and his Autism is not an excuse. He told him to help his mother and treat his sisters politely. In his old age he will need them. They will be the ones who always remember his birthday, and who are always there when he needs them. How I wish I could keep Dr. Sanchez forever!
THAT’S RIGHT, I AM TYPING IN SHOUTY CAPS!!! WHY? THANK YOU FOR ASKING. I AM TIRED OF PEOPLE BEING HURT OVER NUMBERS ON THE STUPID SCALE! WE ARE MORE THAN WHAT THOSE NUMBERS ON THE SCALE SAY! WHY IS WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE SO IMPORTANT? HAVEN’T WE BE TOLD ALL OF OUR LIVES IT IS WHAT’S ON THE INSIDE THAT COUNTS? REALLY? DO YOU MEAN THAT AT ALL? BECAUSE THAT MAY BE WHAT YOU SAY, BUT IT ISN’T WHAT YOU MEAN! LOOK AT THOSE GIRLS ON TELEVISION, WHEN IS THE LAST TIME THEY TOUCHED, ATE, OR SMELLED A CARBOHYDRATE? AND THEY ARE THE ONES WE TEACH OUR DAUGHTERS IT IS OKAY TO WANT TO LOOK LIKE, ACT LIKE, OR THINK LIKE, WHEN REALLY WE KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THEM. ALL WE KNOW IS THAT IF THEY DROP TEN POUNDS A MAGAZINE MAKES UP A MIRACLE DIET, AND SLAPS THEIR RETOUCHED PHOTO ON THE COVER FOR THE WORLD TO ENVY. DOES SHE EXERCISE CONSTANTLY? DOES SHE STARVE HERSELF? DOES SHE MAKE HERSELF VOMIT? DOES SHE RESTRICT HERSELF TO 1,000 CALORIES A DAY? LOOK AT THESE GIRLS! THEIR BOOBS AREN’T REAL, AND THEY NEED TO EAT A CHEESEBURGER! IS THAT WHAT WE WANT TO TEACH OUR CHILDREN? LET’S ALL BE FAKE?
Enough Already! I don’t care if you weigh 150 or 250, if you lose 20 pounds be proud of yourself! Tell the entire world so that they can be proud of you too! People, stop looking at those of us with extra weight that are trying hard to get it right so critically!! Surgery isn’t the answer for everyone, trust me I know. I am fairly certain that many of us “big girls” as some of you like to call us (don’t call me that, my name is Meg) have consumed far less calories than skinny girls today. We don’t sit around eating ice cream all day, nor do we only eat at buffets. I spent two hours in the gym today after going to class, and a funeral. What did you do except laugh at me?
I really hate it when people say, “You look like you have lost weight. How much have you lost? How much more do you have to go?” Can’t you just encourage me (and my friends too) and tell me I am doing a fantastic job. Please don’t be like some people and say, “I heard you lost weight, but I just don’t see it.” THAT IS NOT HELPFUL! I understand you can see the 20 pounds on the person that weighs 150 a whole lot easier than you can on the person that weighs 250, but remember, after that 20 is gone then they only weigh 230, and they have done something absolutely fantastic for themselves.
The bottom line is….IF YOU CAN’T SAY SOMETHING ENCOURAGING, AFFIRMING, AND HONEST (trust me I know if you lie) THEN DON’T OPEN YOUR MOUTH!
Well, I knew it would happen sooner or later. I just hoped it would be later, like as in never. I sit here writing to you while eating Doritos and drinking a Cherry Coke. That’s right, emotional eating. Would you like to analyze it with me? Okay, here we go.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to teach an adult Sunday School class for the first time in my life. It was pretty cool; I enjoyed it. I didn’t vomit or cry, and no one fell asleep. I think it went okay. We had our church picnic tonight, and because of the rain we had move it indoors. So there I am trying to wrangle my three kids alone, again. Aubrey was in potty training mode tonight, and I kept having to take her to the bathroom so she could try to go. Jacob and Jillian were fighting as usual, and managed to knock over their lemonade.
Are you asking about the whereabouts of my husband? Well, that would be the reason I am currently drowning my sorrows in carbs. I have been a married, single parent for quite some time now, and I am tired of it. It would appear that I am the only adult in this relationship, and I am really tired of holding up something that fell apart so long ago.
Today I went to the gym and I had gained a pound and a half! Seriously!? What is going on with you, Biddle? Get your head out of your ass and do what you need to do; run like the crazy woman you are! You know what you are doing here, so quit moping about and do it! Step away from the junk, because you know it just makes you feel like crap anyway, and do what you need to do. FOCUS! Concentrate on your last year of school, loving your kids with all you have, and being true to yourself. Chin up, you’ve got this! Things will get better!
The dreams still come, although now they are uninvited. I find myself uninhibited, longing. What did I do to deserve to invite such sweet torture? The moments we are together they are nothing but joy and pleasure, my senses heightened; I feel alive. The problem with dreams is that they are just that, dreams. They are own no portion of my world, my reality. Any pleasure I receive is met with intense sorrow when I awake, because you do not live outside my dreams. There is no touch to be felt, only I alone with my thoughts. My thoughts, continuous torture.
In my dreams, you are well. You are free. Nothing holds you back from even the easiest of tasks, like tying your shoes. In my dreams, you can tie your shoes and ride your bike. In my dreams you aren’t afraid to climb the stairs. In my dreams, other parents don’t whisper about what bad parents they think you have. Why can’t they just tell him to sit still? Why does he flap his arms when he gets excited? Why do loud noises scare him? Can’t they just love him more and make him better? Can’t they change his diet and make him better? In my dreams you get to be Jacob, whatever you want to be.
In my dreams my husband is a father to his children. They learn what a father is supposed to be. He encourages them to be the best they can be, instead of letting them see his back all day long. He participates in their lives, and actually leaves the sanctuary he has built for himself around the computer screen. But a dream is not reality, and that dream is one that will never be realized.
In my dreams I do not hurt myself or other people, and instead I find my happiness. There is no fear, no hurt, no confusion, or loss in my dreams.