”.A lot of patience” and had “A great jobLast week, I dropped Josh off at his school, pushed him through the doors, gave him a little extra encouragement, and left before he had the chance to erupt into tears. On my way out to the truck, I was accompanied by a mom of another boy, who attends the same class as Josh. She spent the next minute telling me over and over that I was doing “
But the thing is, I wish she hadn’t.
doing a great job, and that I have proof of that. She doesn’t know that I am the most impatient person alive. But I didn’t know how to correct her, or anyone else, who attempts to tell me Im doing a “Great job” with the kids.NOT Because she honestly doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what Ive done with my life, doesn’t know the struggles I have, or the situations Ive been in. She doesn’t know that I am
I don’t know, really, what the definition of a “Great job” is, but I happen to know it isn’t what goes on here.
I know that many people would be appalled to find out how many times laundry is done here, I know many would shake their heads if they realized how many “Nutritious meals” we actually eat, and more disgust would be thrown our way when people find out just how many times Josh actually gets a bath.
I try to run through the flash cards that are sent home with him, and point out different letters, colors, and shapes, but more often than not, I get busy…or forget. I usually make sure the kids have their homework done, but sometimes I let Dylan slide by without completing everything in one sitting. It isn’t usually until after they’ve gone to bed, do I remember that Madison wanted me to help her with spelling words.
Ketchup is considered a vegetable, and juice a fruit. The back yard is a dirt road and creek that runs into the ocean, where bears like to hang out.
I yell too much, smoke too often, and don’t always remember to lock the door (except when I don’t have my keys).
The kids are at school on time, mostly, but no one sees what happens minutes before, when I wake up, and run them around like crazy. They don’t realize that the shirt Josh had on today was his pajama shirt, or that he didn’t eat breakfast this morning, because he was freaking out about something totally unrelated. They didn’t hear me tell him that “He was only harming himself.”
People who say Im doing a “Great job” only know one thing, and they don’t know the things that go on, behind these doors. They don’t know I let them watch TV, that I have the theme song for “Sponge Bob” memorized. That I have a five year old who just now is starting potty training. They don’t know that I consider playing outside to be a good thing because it means a few minutes of silence. They don’t know that Josh’s bike came from the dump this weekend, and that he doesn’t exactly know how to ride it. They don’t know that when he sat on said bike, and Madison and Dylan pushed him down the hill…it never entered my mind to stop them.
They don’t know that if put under enough pressure, I would crack. That if asked enough times, I will cave. That if someone cries I will give whatever they want, whenever they want, just to stop the tears. They don’t know that at night, the only things that run through my mind are the thoughts of things that didn’t get done…not plans for a successful tomorrow.
They don’t know that at the end of the day, when the kids are in bed, I don’t clean, and straighten things up, but most often sink back into that dark quiet place in my mind, and try to convince myself that somehow…tomorrow will be better.
They think I do a “Great job” because they see me, two minutes every day when I bring Josh in, and pick him up. They see a brief snap shot into his life, and think that because of it, they somehow “Know” for a fact, that I am, doing a great job.
I have a sinking suspicion that if they saw me the rest of the time, they would have a different notion.
Because chances are, I already know.
Ask me, I will tell you.
Advise me, I will listen.
Demand, and I will mark you off.
Just as a side note, I am not in any way refering to people who have (so kindly) offered advice online. Im refering to people I meet at the store, or the school, or on the street who think they (and most likely do) know better than me. People who havent taken the time to understand whats going on, before giving their “Opinion” and expect me to follow through with what they say. I appreciate every bit of advice that has been given to me, and one day, will try to make that obvious.
But the thing is, I wish she hadn’t.
doing a great job, and that I have proof of that. She doesn’t know that I am the most impatient person alive. But I didn’t know how to correct her, or anyone else, who attempts to tell me Im doing a “Great job” with the kids.NOT Because she honestly doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what Ive done with my life, doesn’t know the struggles I have, or the situations Ive been in. She doesn’t know that I am
I don’t know, really, what the definition of a “Great job” is, but I happen to know it isn’t what goes on here.
I know that many people would be appalled to find out how many times laundry is done here, I know many would shake their heads if they realized how many “Nutritious meals” we actually eat, and more disgust would be thrown our way when people find out just how many times Josh actually gets a bath.
I try to run through the flash cards that are sent home with him, and point out different letters, colors, and shapes, but more often than not, I get busy…or forget. I usually make sure the kids have their homework done, but sometimes I let Dylan slide by without completing everything in one sitting. It isn’t usually until after they’ve gone to bed, do I remember that Madison wanted me to help her with spelling words.
Ketchup is considered a vegetable, and juice a fruit. The back yard is a dirt road and creek that runs into the ocean, where bears like to hang out.
I yell too much, smoke too often, and don’t always remember to lock the door (except when I don’t have my keys).
The kids are at school on time, mostly, but no one sees what happens minutes before, when I wake up, and run them around like crazy. They don’t realize that the shirt Josh had on today was his pajama shirt, or that he didn’t eat breakfast this morning, because he was freaking out about something totally unrelated. They didn’t hear me tell him that “He was only harming himself.”
People who say Im doing a “Great job” only know one thing, and they don’t know the things that go on, behind these doors. They don’t know I let them watch TV, that I have the theme song for “Sponge Bob” memorized. That I have a five year old who just now is starting potty training. They don’t know that I consider playing outside to be a good thing because it means a few minutes of silence. They don’t know that Josh’s bike came from the dump this weekend, and that he doesn’t exactly know how to ride it. They don’t know that when he sat on said bike, and Madison and Dylan pushed him down the hill…it never entered my mind to stop them.
They don’t know that if put under enough pressure, I would crack. That if asked enough times, I will cave. That if someone cries I will give whatever they want, whenever they want, just to stop the tears. They don’t know that at night, the only things that run through my mind are the thoughts of things that didn’t get done…not plans for a successful tomorrow.
They don’t know that at the end of the day, when the kids are in bed, I don’t clean, and straighten things up, but most often sink back into that dark quiet place in my mind, and try to convince myself that somehow…tomorrow will be better.
They think I do a “Great job” because they see me, two minutes every day when I bring Josh in, and pick him up. They see a brief snap shot into his life, and think that because of it, they somehow “Know” for a fact, that I am, doing a great job.
I have a sinking suspicion that if they saw me the rest of the time, they would have a different notion.
Don’t tell me Im doing a good job, I know Im not.
Don’t tell me I have patience, I know I don’t.
Don’t tell me I screw up, I already know I do.
Don’t tell me the kids are well behaved, or I will ask you for some of what your smoking.
Don’t pretend you didn’t see that, I know you did.
Don’t hold a stare, it only makes things worse.
Don’t tell me what I should do, you might end up with three kids, or a busted lip.
Don’t tell me what YOU would do, because I will ask why you havent.
Don’t tell me what I should do, because Im not you.
Don’t tell me “If I were you” because you arent me.
Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, I don’t want to hear what you have to say.
Don’t tell me you know what Im going through, because you don’t.
Don’t tell me you understand, because if you did, you wouldn’t have said that.
Don’t tell me to hurry up, or slow down. Im going as fast or as slow as I can.
Don’t tell me how to act, you don’t know why Im acting this way.
Because chances are, I already know.
Ask me, I will tell you.
Advise me, I will listen.
Demand, and I will mark you off.
Just as a side note, I am not in any way refering to people who have (so kindly) offered advice online. Im refering to people I meet at the store, or the school, or on the street who think they (and most likely do) know better than me. People who havent taken the time to understand whats going on, before giving their “Opinion” and expect me to follow through with what they say. I appreciate every bit of advice that has been given to me, and one day, will try to make that obvious.
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Comments (5)
I am so glad I'm not the only one who has been here. I've got three kids, the oldest is almost 11 and somewhere on the spectrum. The middle one (9) seems to be so far off the spectrum that I don't know where she is (talking at 6 mos. old). The little one is an evil genius who, at 8 years old, has outsmarted me MANY times. I've been in that position where I'm running them out the door and off to school wearing what I could only hope were clean clothes.
What helped was this: We moved to Florida where the kids went to a school with a standardized dress code. (Almost, but not quite a uniform.) This made it virtually impossible for me to not do laundry at least every other day... even though I had to haul it across the courtyard to do it. So, what worked for me was having three specific outfits for each kid for school, maybe something like that would help you?
Then what helped keep the kitchen clean: Our apartment building got infested with roaches. (The entire building, not just mine.) So, if I didn't want to see the nasty little buggers, it required the utmost dilligence in cleaning the kitchen... I do not recommend a roach infestation as motivation for housekeeping, but it kinda worked... until they got into all my electronics and fried a few of them.
Bathrooms: Toilets: get those blue thingies... they work great... as long as you don't have kids or pets that will drink the water. The one who is potty training might get a kick out of turning the water green. :) The rest of the bathroom is easily (usually) handled with some of those Clorox wipes.
My kids have never given me a hard time about baths, so I've got nothing much to help with that. Getting them out has been harder than getting them in.
You're pretty new at this parent thing too, right? I would say, if the kids are happy (for the most part)... they haven't killed you or each other yet... and they don't generally go to bed hungry... then yeah, you're doing an ok job of it. Above all, if those kids KNOW you love them... You're doing a fantastic job. There are plenty of kids out there whose parents do everything "right" on the surface... but their kids have no clue that they are actually loved.
Oh and... my kids' rooms... DISASTER AREAS... so is mine. I can't hold them to a standard I can't live up to myself. :) Just as long as everything gets picked up off the floor at least every now and then for a good vacuuming... it's all good. (I don't even care if they toss it all on top of the bed and it goes right back on the floor.) LOL
Years ago someone told me to keep a duster and a spray can of Pledge furniture polish next to the front door. When someone rang the bell you sprayed a bit of Pledge in the air and grabbed both can and duster and then answered the door. People then assume that you were cleaning the place.
This points out the difference between you and me perfectly. The woman made a social remark to you and you replied appropriately. I would have told her all this! (Can we say Aspergers?
@SavonDuJour@xanga - @keystspf@xanga - Look guys, it's a REAL parent! I thought they were extinct! Holy Cow.. there's hope for us yet! I heard the other day of another one... I'm so happy!
Seriously.
I do have one bit of advice... the clothes issue. I love Febreeze. Yes, I have sprayed my son's shirt with febreeze when I knew it wasn't exactly clean. It wasn't the shirt he wore the day before (the pants might be)... but I also knew it hadn't gone through the washer yet. This only works for my youngest. My oldest has gone through puberty (age 11) and stinks big time during the day so we can't rewear the clothes. BUT he has taken a deodorant bath...
I do have moments of guilt when I know I should be doing better. But then excusitis kicks in... I have a great built-in excuse (Autism and Cancer).
But we wouldn't need excuses if more real parents were around and speaking out!
As it says on my fridge, "Martha Stewart and her staff do not live here."
A rare breed, known as "Honest Mother", in her native habitat....
I had to throw that one in there.
Here's another $0.02 for you: moms with neurotypical/statistically average kids have also endured crayoned walls, play-doh'd carpets, "we'll clean/wash it later" clothing, Ketchup as an item from a food group [how else would peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with a glass of milk and three oatmeal cookies, be such a popular brown-bag lunch?]
Those of us who have a kid on the spectrum have just a minor handful of extras to dance with, right?
So, yeah - we're all only human. And, quite certainly, people are going to view our kids, and us, without having inside information as to the inner workings of "A Day in the Life of" - but we get by.
Thanks for the post...I believe all of us can stand to have that bit of "I'm human" in our reading.