Unringing the Bell

Sometimes it would be amazing to unhear or unsee something.  A chance at a do-over is the stuff of great novels and daydreams.  We all want to take something back and start over.  Sometimes it's impossible.  Sometimes you can use the point where it all fell apart as a launch pad for something new and deeper. The devastation I felt when my husband left me was traumatic but there is value in it.  I have learned so much about myself and I have found true joy in who I am.  There was a cost but I didn't expect the payout to touch so many various areas of my life in such a ginormous and beautiful way.

In 2012 I was hospitalized with my last surrogate pregnancy for about a month.  At 25 weeks gestation, a regular check up with the neonatologist showed that my cervix started funneling and the twins were trying to come out. Well, more like my body wanted to force an eviction. I've always been blessed with fairly easy pregnancies and contractions I couldn't feel until I was about ready to push. Why else would I be willing to be pregnant 6 times? I was planning a pedicure and Target trip that day but I was told to head straight to the emergency room. I couldn't stop at home for my laptop or Kindle or even extra panties.  I was in a hospital bed from week 25 until week 29 when they were born.  They eventually left the hospital and then the country.  During that time I was on complete and total bedrest, and allowed to take one 5-minute timed shower while sitting.  The rest of the time I was stuck having nurses give me bed baths, and I spent a week in the trendelenburg position.  This means my bed was tilted so I was laying upside down at a 45 degree angle to keep gravity from doing what is natural.  I will always feel like I could have done things a little differently to keep them in longer and give them a stronger start in life.  I can see most would imagine I did enough, but believing there is always more to do and that I could do a better job is just who I am. I deal with it.  You should too.

This time of being forced away from my family reset things for me.  It gave me a do over. I realized that motherhood was a gift I was squandering in superficial ideals of what I should do and what I should be while my kids suffered my short temper because I couldn't possibly do it all and be happy about it at the same time.  I came home and things changed.  I decided I would be the mother my children deserved, rather than the mother I wanted to be. I started putting their needs ahead of mine and the desire to whine about it settled into a version of peace for me.  I stopped feeling defeated because I felt what it was like to not be able to sleep with my kids near me and steal random hugs whenever I felt son sick and needed a refill.  I never imagined it as preparation for shared custody.  I saw it as patience when I needed it and compassion when they did.

In 2005, my oldest was 4 years old and nonverbal.  His pediatrician with too many letters behind her name told me he would talk when he was ready.  At the time I was a teacher's aide at an elementary school and had a friendship with a speech therapist.  She suggested I ask the school district for an assessment.  His assessment was the same day as his first IEP.  I took him for the appointment and the team asked me to come back in a few hours and bring the whole family.

A few hours later I was there with the ex and our two boys.  They psychologist played with our kids on the floor while the rest of the team explained what autism is and that it was in our home.  They explained the characteristics to us and I right away made the connection that they were describing everything Kid2 does as well.  From the floor, the psychologist told us that in her professional opinion, Kid2 was also on the spectrum and his characteristics were more severe than Kid1.  Kid2 was still 2 years old and an official diagnosis wouldn't come until later. Autism spectrum disorders can often look like normal toddler behavior and while it may seem like everyone has autism through some sort of connection, they really don't like to hand out labels unless they have to.

My emotions were swiftly all over the place.  Before I left that meeting, I had cycled through the stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression) and I was at acceptance. Every thought and action for the next few years became, "But how do I help my boys?" I had to field the questions from family, making them feel better about what it was like for me to raise special needs kids because somehow the stigma affected them even though I was the one dealing with meltdowns and being a bad mother in the eyes of everyone around me.  It was a long time before I allowed myself to mourn the loss of expectations that were born with my kids and died in that meeting.  I would deny myself the freedom to revisit those stages and emotions because it wasn't productive.  I would instead go through a moment of sensory integration messes like poopy painting on the walls and floor and beg others to envy me in snark and frustration, not realizing that there really are women that would give anything for the work I faced in place of the grief they felt.

There are fewer expectations and more pleasant surprises. I was told my middle son would never even say, "Mom." I smile when he has long conversations about Nintendo or tells me how loved he feels.

My boys are still autistic.  That doesn't go away or fade into the background.  It's in our face with meltdowns from time to time. We do our part to make others autism aware, it just doesn't look like stickers and ribbons.  I'm usually good at knowing where their limits are but I constantly remind them that they need to communicate their needs.  I don't mind cutting a day short, but I mind knowing they pushed through a day of torture because they felt my needs were more important than theirs. I will always run the risk of a total melt down with violence if I try to change routines too drastically without plenty of warning and coaching along the way. The difference is they have learned ways to regulate how they feel and they have learned how they are expected to behave in society.  It's not a perfect formula but it's one we have all learned to work with.  At the same time, I am at peace with the idea that they prefer to be home at all times because it's a routine they can predict.  It's structure they crave and when they are calm, we all have peace.  That is until Kid3 has a meltdown. He doesn't understand he's not capable of competing with what his brothers have already done before he was born and the part of me he is poking with a stick has long since been broken and looks at him with pity and amusement.

Would I ever unring this bell?  Probably not.  Of course I'm Mom and would love to protect my children from every moment of suffering.  The reality is they are often blessedly oblivious to most social slights. I'm the one that sees more than I should and I may or may not have wanted to cut a kid because of it.

There are things about being a special needs mom I would never give up.  I'm an advocate.  I know how to fight for my kids.  I have.  I've won.  Fighting Like a Girl and Pulling Punches is all about what my kids have taught me. It has made me grow in patience and empathy.  I'm the person that won't judge the mom with the crying child in a grocery store because I know that child is probably hungry, tired, uncomfortable and bored. I know that parent has been doing all they can think of to do for their children while doing what they need to do in order to take care of themselves and be the parents they want to be.  We all try to do what we think is best for our kids.   Being an autism mom has made me an optimist.  I will always look out for the best in a bad situation and find the silver lining because that is a necessity in the life we get to live.  We have to stay positive because it's not just our joy on the line, but that of the children we are blessed with.  Their peace and sense of self comes from me.  I'm responsible for the inner voice that I've helped shape from their infancy. I'm responsible for their ability to navigate the world outside of our home and the thickness of skin that protects them from discrimination and aggression.

As for Kid1, he has the ability to see the world with a fresh perspective that takes each part separately and examines it carefully before putting it all back together.  He has a gift for art that is detailed because one of his superpower characteristics is to fixate on one thing to the point of mastery.  He amazes me with how he sees things and the specific diction with which he describes things.  One of his loves is my mashed potatoes.  He's always called them "smashed potatoes" because that is what I'm doing when I make them.  (Not much in my kitchen came out of a box until recent months.)

Kid2 is completely guileless.  While he would love to lie, he's often incapable of it. He has an open appreciation for affection.  He understands the value of a great big hug and snuggles that hold you up and together. He loves video games and will research and obsess over them. He's passionate.  He will have moments of joy and laughter and moments of rage.  The only times he is apathetic is when he is experiencing a sensory overload and needs to reset with hugs, and a calming routine. Or when he's being affectionate.

I've heard some lines about special needs parents being chosen.  I call BS on that.  The learning curve has been sharp for all of us, and we haven't quit or died trying, so we're doing okay.  But we're far from the saintly.  We know how to live on call every moment and know that an emergency is seconds away at any given time.  We've been judged for our parenting and had our instincts go against professional opinions and we've been right. Given true respite where someone we trust has our kids, we can let loose and party harder than the average parent.  We know how to accept a break when it's offered and we trust the person that has our kids.  At the same time, not everyone is trusted with our kids.  We're not magical or unicorns, but we learn to choose our battles and let the small stuff slide.  The big stuff will be a bigger battle than you could imagine trying to bargain for.

Right now this first draft is being written with 9 year old Kid3 having a tantrum because I won't allow him to eat Funyuns in my bed.  It's been about an hour of crying, throwing things and slamming doors.  It's part of his fallout when transitions between houses gets to him.  I'm at peace and ignoring him, except when he calms himself enough to talk clearly.  I respond calmly and talk to him at his level while speaking slightly lower than he does until he has begun to calm his voice.  I wouldn't unring this bell.

Setting Goals and Conquering Mountains

When I was in my late teens I didn't have major goals.  I think my only goal was to have enough disposable income to have someone come to my house and clean up after me. We married and had two kids and I said if he wanted another child I wanted another bedroom in our home and a dishwasher. All three of our kids were surprises, or we were being really irresponsible. I got the bedroom.  Not the dishwasher.  I would love a dishwasher, they look like saved time and fewer broken nails.

My goals are shifting.

I still want to hire a housekeeper and get a dishwasher.  Some dreams will never die.

I also want to travel.  I had imagined it, but never thought of it as practical or worth it for my kids. My boys don't like long trips and usually prefer to stay in a hotel room. We used to spend long summers in a tent along the river.  We loved Camp James in Kernville because they offered electricity. My husband has all of our camping things, and as long as it took me to pick out all of the things I wanted, I don't see myself wanting to start over any time soon.  At the end of the day, vacationing as a travelling mom required a vacation from my vacation.  Now I have days long stretches of being alone and I would love to travel.  I'm even applying for jobs and saying I'd be willing to travel because travelling alone sounds amazing.

I have more practical goals as well.  I want to buy pre-need memorial policies for my children.  My Mom did it for all of us.  When my husband's uncle passed away 2 years ago, I was looking into making arrangements for him.  He didn't have anyone else willing to make the calls and finalize his existence.  There were plenty of friends to go through his things. Once I had brought his things out of his home, there were family members that were indifferent yet curious. His remains were left to his family, and he ended up in the care of his nephew's wife who had interacted with him a handful of times in the first few months of our marriage around the year 2000.

In going over my Mom's pre-need policies, I could see that she originally covered every single possibility when she bought it all through Rose Hills.  She had four plots for her four daughters. She transferred everything except the plots to Forest Lawn as our family grew.  She is from Thailand and through legal channels, brought most of my relatives here, starting in 1984 with my grandmother.  She took years to petition and prove that she could financially support new immigrants.  Then she adopted six of my siblings. I get it from my Momma and she is one woman to be proud of. When I was going over her contracts, I could see that a lot of goods and services didn't transfer.  It was over a year of visits, letters, and calls, but in the end I was able to get her policies transferred back to Rose Hills without penalties from Forest Lawn and they're willing to honor the original contracts.  Forest Lawn didn't penalize her because I pointed out the areas their insurance agent willfully ignored his fiduciary duties to his client. This was after meeting with a couple of insurance agents, their records clerk, and even the President at Forest Lawn.  I admired her.  With the amount of policies my Mom had and the services she would have had to purchase again, I saved her over $10,000.  The insane part is how much you save when you purchase your policies early.  The longer you wait, the more funeral costs climb. I believe they share the same trajectory as college tuition. Doing this for my children is important to me.

Once I build my savings into a comfortable place where I have a 6 month emergency fund, I want to invest.  I hear good things about stock mutual funds.  I want to focus on index funds, but experiment in international funds.  It's all still terrifying, but I like the idea of a challenge and doing something new.

Then there's the house.  I love my little house, which is really my Mom's house, but I want to move one day.  I love the little winding roads and city views, but I don't love living on a tiny one way street with only street parking.  I want a place to grow things because I love to grow things.  I want space for a pond, because the little koi that could is coming with me, and I want space for my kids to slam a door that is just their door.  And a dishwasher, which means I will also have a garbage disposal.  I miss that.

Once I buy my house, I want to set up a power of attorney and living trust.  Without major assets, it doesn't seem important, but I'll also have to set up a will for my smaller trinkets and emotional belongings.  Then there's figuring out what happens with the kids should something also happen to the husband.  It seems far less likely we'll die together if we consistently choose to not be around each other.

My last goal is more about me.  I want to be okay. I can recognize that a divorce that hasn't started and unstable employment are a lot to handle.  I understand that sometimes a surprise can shift my day because I had spent it on a tightrope anyway.  I want to not be thrown by it.  I can see that light at the end of the tunnel. I'm getting better. Last night my son called me to ask a question, and my response to hearing my husband's girlfriend playing house with my kids and hers was to answer his question and excuse myself from the call.  I didn't lose it.  I'm not bashing her.  I didn't stay up all night, but for about an hour, I let that situation bother me.

The day I had wasn't an excuse for that lost hour.  Every day presents challenges.  Every moment is a chosen reaction. I was blessed with a late birthday breakfast, pedicure, and shopping date with a woman who has always had my back, even when I stabbed hers.  We talked about life and she helped point out some of the ways my husband was controlling me.  She saw more than I could, but she's right. He manipulated me into avoiding her friendship because he didn't like her.  He wanted me to go to bed at the same time as him, even if I couldn't sleep.  That was about control and even if he wasn't violent, walking on eggshells because I was afraid of my actions affecting his mood wasn't okay. We joked about how blessed we were to live as we did in our 20's without a pregnancy scare or STI.  We're also grateful we grew out of that.  She helped me see that I got bored of dating when I felt men were easy because of the men I was making myself available to.  She also pointed out that I could raise my standards and it would change things.  Then she told me that online dating was a waste for her as well.  She married a man with patience, fire, and a large brain.  He is everything perfect for her as she gives what she gets and they respond in love. We talked pre-nuptials.  I've never been asked to sign one.  I think it puts doubt into a relationship, but at the end of the day, I'm not necessarily against shacking up either. I'm not against it, but I'm also not thinking that far ahead. I'm trying to take care of my heart and healing, and I haven't considered finding someone to take care of me. My values as a wife are so solid in my mind. What I did as a single person was so different and I'm not sure how I want to address that now that I have a second chance to be single, and not a trollop.  That may change. I'm still figuring it all out. I did a lot I never dreamed I would as a wife. I accepted more than I thought I could in the name of being a good wife.  Who knows what will happen next time, or when next time will happen.  I still haven't started looking for my next husband or even a first date. I love visiting with her, because her perspective leaves me joyful and optimistic.  The past with her is lighter than it is in my memories.

I returned my Dad's call and had family emergencies that required about an hour of my time and frustration enough that my silence was to try to remember the happy place I had just been in.  I got home feeling chills and was hit with a fever.  I was thankful that I could be sick without being Mom too. This morning I told him I'm staying in bed and being sick, so he invited himself over.  I told him I wasn't up to it, and now I think I have to put clothes on just in case he pops over anyway. Boundaries!

I slept for a few hours before hearing from the husband then kid3.  He's contacted me twice in three days, and I preferred the radio silence. I miss my kids but for now I'm okay not hearing their voices if I have to hear their pseudo mom too.  I'm not calling her a stepmom yet. She still has her husband and she gets what she needs from hers and mine. One day my husband will be my ex.  I'm not sure if that'll happen once I file, or once it's final.  A couple of loved ones want me to let him file, and remain single for the rest of my life.  That doesn't appeal to me. I want to hire an attorney and it's not to get all he's worth, but I want someone else to do the heavy lifting so I can do the emotional healing. When he becomes my ex husband, I'll have his name covered on my arm, and I already have a best friend planning to be with me when I do.

Advocating through IEP's

I believe everything happens for a reason.  I'm one of those people.  The optimism in me is tempered with a strong leaning toward disbelief, but I push past that and see the glass not half of anything because I took a sip and it's refillable.  I think the trick is in finding what that reason is that forced something to happen, and acknowledging the season you are in has a purpose.  Not having anything to rush to after my son's triennial IEP meant I spent time reading the reports. Reading the reports showed me something was done to get done and not to make sure my kid would be taken care of. I should explain a few things for those that have never had an IEP.  An "Individualized Educational Plan" is the phrase used to describe the legal document created between the school and parents to first determine educational needs for a student, then to set goals, placing supports where needed to attain these goals.  I can take an IEP to any school and the school would have to do what it says, although they have the right to hold a new IEP within 30 days to see if they can make changes.  Since my sons are at a nonpublic school, the team is usually the parents, kids are invited if they're over 14, a special ed. teacher, a general ed. teacher, a psychologist, the district representative, the school representative, and any support people that would have to present the findings of their report.  It can include an occupational therapist, speech therapist, an adaptive P.E. teacher, or any other support person that would have to give their opinion about what services and therapies would help your child function in class.  Let the diction sink in.  If your child's behaviors are a problem at home, but not at school, it isn't something they are concerned with and the job of an advocating parent is to track down therapies on our own.  If your child is a client of Regional Center, they will often but not always cover what the district doesn't, assuming you remember to bring it up in your annual IPP.  (I'll save that for another post).

Since the first IEP in 2004, we've had them scheduled regularly, without having to do much of anything, but there are times when you have to write a letter to make a request. Anytime your child doesn't seem to be thriving is a good time to ask for an assessment.  Public schools will do this at no cost because that is the point of a public education.  There are lots of assessments to request.  There are plenty of ways to see if your child is performing at their best.  There are also plenty of ways to test them emotionally, psychologically, physically with gross and fine motor skills, cognitive ability to process information, hearing, vision . . . the list goes on and they have handbooks for that sort of thing.

Once you've asked for the assessment in writing, you sign a form saying you give permission to test your child.  The school will send you a notification for an IEP date (they have a certain amount of days from the time you make the request to the IEP and I believe it's 60 days). You sign, giving instructions on how to proceed if you can't make it to the IEP and then you go to the IEP.

During most of their elementary school years, their Assistant Principal would bake cookies from scratch.  He was great with the kids, being a Dad himself, and had a white soul patch and an old soul.  I could picture him as a beatnik, in as far as my understanding was from the first Hairspray movie. I'm really not that old, but my knees try to convince me otherwise.

Depending on the team you work with, sometimes they'll want to contact you to go over things ahead of time.  I love these situations because it's easier to follow along.  In LAUSD, there is the Welligent program for the meetings, and more often than not, it will freeze, or not save or not print.  It is a finicky software program/website and a pain for most people that access it, but it's what they use. It's problems can be a little distracting.  Reading reports quickly to get through them and getting to the point means if you aren't as prepared as they are, you can find yourself a little lost.  At the end of the day, the parent needs to sign, but signing comes with a choice. Do you agree or don't you? If you don't agree, you still sign, but make it known that you are not going along with what they say.

Most IEP meetings will start with an introduction, and the same sentences are read and re-read each time.  By the 5th grade, you can probably wallpaper a room in parent handbooks, and you leave with a survey that I've never filled out or mailed in.  During the meeting, one at a time, a person who did an assessment will read through it, or skim through it, handing parents a copy to read along.  After that, we go over goals and figure out what they decide is best.  For the most part, I can agree with what they come to. I can see the logic in their reasoning.

There are some situations where you have to be aware of what is being said and decided and think ahead to the possibility of change.  Reducing Occupational Therapy hours to nothing isn't a big deal when OT is incorporated in the classroom because it's a special needs classroom.  This needs to be spelled out incase they ever decide to stick him in a general ed. classroom. Transitioning out of special ed will always be their goal even if it isn't yours. In that case, the natural support of a special needs classroom would set him up for failure in general ed.

The triennial is a larger IEP meeting held once every 3 years. This is the time for new assessments to be done and to look at all aspects of the needs as they may have changed. More often than not, the district will try to go off of the last assessment, even if it's 3 years old. It is my job to say I don't agree to their shortcut.  I read the report that was clearly copied and pasted from another child, with copied and pasted sections from old reports.  What she tried to present couldn't possibly represent my child.

In the days following the suspended IEP meeting, I was called by the psychologist with profuse apologies that I wasn't interested in hearing. I had a stress headache like a ball of pressure above my left eye in the shape of the finances I was just going over.  She wanted to go over what she had written down, and that part of me that was in pain had to remember being a student with dinner started in a crockpot, a term paper before me and a child on my back who wanted to brush my hair while I hammered out nuance in Diderot's prose. I went through her assessment, word for word, even pointing out misspelled words and filling out information that should have been in her files. She thanked me profusely and asked if I could meet her on campus later.  It's another one of those things a job would have prevented me from hopping over to do.  Of course I could meet her. So much of her job relies on not what is written or said over the phone, but a careful examination of body language, facial expressions and micro expressions, affect, and many other things I didn't bother to study because I couldn't get into philosophers.  It took a while to realize philosophers would make an appearance in all of the liberal arts classes I loved and the ones I hated too.

I met her and she talked about how glad she was to be able to meet with my son because he exceeded all of her expectations.  Of course he did.  My kids are amazing.  Also, she was going off of a report completed when he was suicidal and he wasn't that kid anymore.  He's in a more emotionally stable place and his autism has become a part of him that he understands.  He still has to make an effort to navigate life in ways I could never imagine, and at times that stress becomes clear in a melt down or assault on his brothers, but he's exceptional.

I realized that as an overworked school psychologist, going off of old reports is standard practice, and as a parent, when I insist a new assessment be completed, it gives her time to do what she wanted when she felt her calling was to study the mind and behavior.  She was forced to do what she loves.  We talked about her kids and her husband's GI bill.  I encouraged her to look into Chapter 35 benefits for her kids and the California Department of Veteran's Affairs fee waiver because they are independent of each other but go off of the same DD-214.  An advocate never stops seeing where they can lend a hand and how they can help a situation.

She should have finished her report by now but we'll reconvene that IEP after spring break.  In the meantime, I submit resumes, make phone calls, research various programs that would benefit my family and stay connected to groups on Facebook that are on the same journey because we all help each other out.  It's what we do.

Owning Up to Falling Apart

My moment of truth showed up just before 5 tonight. Foraging for sustenance landed me in strawberry shortcake ice cream. The dawning realization that it was all that had passed my lips other than my toothbrush this morning was clear evidence that I'm not doing well and patterns of brokenness are emerging.  Searching for protein, I also poached an egg.  In breaking the yolk and scooping bland warmth into me without bothering to pick a lemon from the yard to whip up Hollandaise, it was the comfort I was seeking and I saw that in my food choices.  I looked around at the wreckage of a neglected home and found myself surrounded in the hollow ache of last year when my husband left.  I'm not that person anymore because now I can see my phenomenal coming out of every smile.  It's time to give her a hug, acknowledge her pain, and help her up. I am determined to break these patterns but first I needed to acknowledge that as beautiful as my time at my job was . . . as giving as it was and as much as I learned, there is the sudden loss of income and identity.

This morning I had the first IEP recessed because I wasn't pleased with the inadequate job the psychologist did in her report.  Calls will be made.  Responsibilities will be taken and where heads should roll, they'll find there's grace because my life is full enough without a bone to pick. The other IEP was successfully closed and signed and I have a copy to send to Regional Center. There was a moment when the school district rep and one of the teachers were alone in the room with me.  They marvelled at how I do it all. I'm an autism mom.  We slay dragons.  We sometimes have to dig deep, but we can do the amazing and impossible. We talked about my kid's early development and speech delays. We talked about sensory issues, and my kid running head first into the door, only to slam the back of his head against the floor.  We talked about poopy painting and tasting.  I don't miss those days.

These meetings were always my job but with the separation, the husband is now involved in every meeting and decision in any way he can do it without being around me.  During the meeting he joined by phone conference.  It was the first time in a long while we heard each other's voices and we did our best to not acknowledge that.  I felt mild annoyance, from time to time, but a lot of what I felt was gone. He was in some ways just another random voice and not the man I wanted to love or maim. That's where I first saw my healing today.

I stopped at the Gamble House in Pasadena because it is beautiful and the grounds make me smile.  One day I may take that tour inside, but on most days, I prefer to check out the pond and watch the fish.  It was a time of quiet reflection.

Throughout the day I saw other people as I ran errands and it occurred to me I wasn't attention whoring or flirting with anyone that looked at me.  Part of me has always been afraid that I would start looking for validation in other people, but today I realized I'm going to be okay in that way.  I've always been not so private.  I was the girl in school that would get on stage in front of peers and sing. And dance. And act.  I even had a wardrobe malfunction with an errant nipple in a really tight Elizabethan dress that presented my breasts as a shelf that I could rest things on. Being a senior in high school that inadvertently shows her nipple off to way too many people at once was not easy to live down.  Although, I didn't get any complaints either.  Go figure.

I still haven't cleaned up my house.  Dirty laundry is piled and there are dishes around.   I'm not seeing it as being lazy but a form of depression that is creeping up on me. Honestly I don't feel like doing it, but I'm making the choice to deal with it before bedtime, and I'm also making a choice to make myself a steak dinner because food is good and I can't start unintentionally starving myself. I like my curves and the clothes that fit me now.  I'm still waiting to hear about an interview from my agency, and perhaps tonight will see an updated Monster resume in the making, but I'm coping by looking at my situation. I'm coping by not ignoring it, even if that is my first instinct and laying in bed in all my bloggy glory feels better.

Today's lessons: The feelings for the husband are easing into a comfortable place.  I'm not attention whoring all over my neighborhood, just my blogs.  Feeling sad is okay and I am still healing.  I should pay y'all in therapy fees but instead I give you words and angst.  Lots of angst all around.

Fighting Like a Girl and Pulling Punches

Fists are raised. Her right hand is balled next to her chin and her left hovers in front of her mouth and nose. A slight tuck of thumbs and a swallow of bile burns her throat, but she has a face to wear. The determination in her gaze hides the fear that is urging her fight into a flight, but she steels her resolve and plants her feet, bending her knees slightly so they don't lock on her when it's time to move.  He doesn't realize he tells her his next move as he steps before he reaches for her shirt. His cologne met her before she saw him and this close the assault on her nose is enough to make her flinch. She's been here before and she knows that she has learned the next move like a dance based on muscle memory.  She drops her chin and shoulder in a hook aimed at his ribs stepping in and on her right side below the left side of the rib cage he exposed in his attack. With a quick draw back of her stinging right hand, she lifts up his slightly slackened left arm with her left forearm, moving closer and following through with the force of her right elbow and forearm, twisting her back for a second hit with the back of her elbow, catching his ribs again. As he's bent in pain she takes a second to snap a left cross at his cheek and feels positive his stubble stung her more than her bony hand could have hurt him.  He was taller than her but he didn't have her solid frame.  He probably didn't look past her jeans and stilettos.  He takes a moment to fight the pain, and step back.  His fury builds but that moment was all she needed and she runs off, slapping the pavement in bare feet as her shoes lay abandoned on the street and her purse is still miraculously strapped across her body. Wouldn't it be amazing if we could all just defend ourselves? My first fist fight was me getting punched in the stomach because I teased a boy about his teddy bear on the school bus and insisted on touching it even after he said it would get my butt kicked.  I had the wind knocked out of me but the shock was most painful.  I remember walking home and the anger fell from my face in silent tears and shame.

In middle school I had more enemies than I knew what to do with.  I think it started as jealousy, but I was so not aware of anything related to my looks that I didn't know what to feel other than fear.  I was the last to leave the classroom after each period because I was afraid of getting jumped.  My looks were always given as you see them.  I still can't work with a curling iron and frequently see men in drag that deserve my girl card and breasts more than I do.  (Perks of not being afraid of a beautiful man is they will sometimes help you with makeup tips.) I will rarely spend more than $20 on any one item of clothing or accessories.  My designer purses are all gifts.  I'm loved.  Envy me. That same love showed up for me one day after school. I finally told my family what I was so afraid of.  The next day my sisters came to pick me up from school after drill team practice. They sent me to the car and went up to the drill team room where some of my biggest fans were.  I have no idea what was said or done.  I just know I was told to take a vacation for the rest of the semester.  The problems went away and there was talk about my sisters stepping out of line as the adults that came to my rescue when my teachers and administrators didn't.

Growing up I saw my Mom rage at my Dad, then pick up the pieces of their life and do what she could to take care of us and any other person who needed help. She's the most giving person I know.  There is something inside of her that she's given to me that has the ability to cut down the strongest tower.  For her, it is the ability to get up and do what survivors do.  For me, it's an ability to frame ideas that seek out the vulnerabilities that can be used to undermine a situation and tilt things in my favor. She has this fight that is full of strength and determination, but as a kid, it always came out as the phrase, "grab and twist."

I'll just leave that there a minute.

My Dad marched with Martin Luther King Jr.  He served in the Army during the TET Offensive in Viet Nam. Naturally, I grew up around his post traumatic stress and with a healthy dose of patriotism and respect for our vets. I know not to wake him abruptly because his fists rise before he does.  He's not a fan of fireworks and he taught me that time doesn't heal all wounds.  Work and perfect love do. You can't ignore or drown out your pain.  He never fought with Mom. She would rage, and he would stand quietly.  He didn't want to fight with her, and she needed a reaction.  Any reaction was better than feeling ignored.  It also taught me to work around a shaky temperament and I can dance on eggshells if I need to. That dance came in handy as a wife.

We learn a lot from our family of origin and sometimes we have to unlearn what we know.

I wasn't always an advocate.  For most of my youth I was self centered and obsessed with a good story and personal time. Fighting for someone else wasn't my thing because I didn't care if it didn't involve me, until it did involve me. When I had kids, and learned about autism is when I learned about  a good fight.

When we first married, we lived in the garage at my Mom's house.  It was converted and my project home.  I was learning plumbing basics and I was so proud of putting the trap in under the sink all by myself.  That was the first toilet I installed and it will be there forever because when I tiled the bathroom floor, I didn't know I was supposed to remove the toilet first.  It's grouted to the floor and it doesn't leak.  But a new toilet would require a new floor as well. Live and learn. When we moved into our first apartment it was perfect for our family of three.  When we were about to become a family of 5, it was time to move.  I expected part of our deposit back.  They tried to charge us a few thousand above that.  I looked into renter's rights.  I took them to small claims court and I won.

Later we moved and I started pseudo managing a property for my Mom.  She wanted a tenant evicted and I started and finished it.  In hindsight, I may have missed a few steps, but at the end of the day they moved out and it's not my fault they didn't search for loop holes. They would've found them. Now Mom gives and takes the responsibility from time to time, but I'm okay with that too. I usually have quite enough on my plate.

My kids have always been in public schools.  I was grateful that the free assessments set us on a path with Regional Center and the school district that started services and therapies we needed.  My kids didn't come with instructions.  Most people figure it out as they go and I'm in that boat, rocking and upchucking over the side and on the deck with the next person still finding those sea legs and just as annoyed that there is only one Head on deck and it's busy. It built up over years, but their behaviors were adjusted and worked around in the classroom to the point where we saw it as behavior that needed adjustments, and not the emotional neglect that my kids were suffering.  I was always involved.  I sat through classes.  I still know the voices of all of the principals and vice principals that have overseen my kids. At the end of the day, becoming a teenager is hard enough without sensory dysfunction and below average social and communication skills.  My son was taken from school by ambulance and put on a 72 hour 5150 hold.  Our constant vigilance at his side and his calm when with us got him released early.  He still had to endure being at that school for another 6 months until we were able to get him an emotional disturbance diagnosis and placement in a nonpublic school for autistic kids.  I had to write letters, follow up respectfully, document and keep on top of things. I've had to make calls to different departments and regions to see where I could rattle a few chains.  A couple of years later and my second child went through the same process.  A short while after that I would fight for compensatory hours and a refund of therapy co-payments and win with the help of an attorney that the district paid for me.

I'm also an In Home Support Services provider for my kids.  They have needs outside the scope of typical parenthood and the state recognizes this by  paying me and sending me W-2 forms at the end of the year.  My kids would need me to do what I do anyway so when the union started taking dues I had a problem with it.   It took a few months, phone calls, and even and affidavit but I got a check from them too.

I think the hardest fight is the one in which you decide early on that you don't want to give it your all.  It's when you pause to think about the repercussions instead of doing what you know comes next, instead of worrying about consequences you won't face.  It's when you decide to be gentle in your attack, setting yourself up for defeat, and knowing the road you are on is the high one. It's hard when people think they have you beat, but don't realize you haven't taken off your kid gloves and have been pulling punches because part of you still cares enough to want to protect them.