January 12, 2016 · 9:43 am

Past, Present, Future: My Heart Beats (and Breaks) in All of Them

I’ve had a hard time lately writing about sensory processing disorder (SPD). It’s partly because my kids are getting older. Who am I to write about their challenges because it helps me feel better or aids other families going down a similar path? It’s not fair for me to make that choice for them. Even when I try in earnest to write about me – about my journey and my story as a mother of children with sensory differences – I inevitably expose my kids’ vulnerabilities in small (and sometimes big) ways. I knew the day would come when writing a “mommy blog” in any capacity would become tricky. I’ve found ways around it, and I dare say it’s made me a better writer, but it’s an ongoing struggle with any topic. With SPD, it’s nearly impossible.

But my recent writer’s block isn’t just about my kids and their privacy. It’s about my relationship with SPD. It’s never been a healthy one, because who the hell wants SPD in their lives, but recently it has become toxic. SPD demands so much, but it never gives anything in return. I’m angry at it. I’m exhausted from it. It makes me feel insecure and clumsy. It’s strips me of my confidence. It tricks me into thinking everything fine and then it pulls the rug out from under me. It’s not a good friend.

I think about SPD as resting on a time continuum. It has a past, a present, and a future. The past is relief. Its edges have softened. There are scars, but the bites sting less. The present is a panic attack. It’s screaming with my arms flapping instead of putting on a life jacket. It’s admitting that this too shall not pass. The future is the weight of an elephant on my chest. It’s dread. It’s admitting that the bittersweet realization that our babies do indeed grow up has nothing on the recognition that the challenges that plague them today will stay with them for a lifetime. I’m always standing in one place on the continuum, but my heart beats (and breaks) in all of them.

Not too long ago, I listened to an interview with Brené Brown on Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Magic Lessons” podcast while on a walk with my dog. The episode was about sharing personal stories. It was a lovely discussion between two creative women I admire greatly about owning personal stories and having the courage to share them with great care. About halfway through the podcast, Brown said something that stopped me in my tracks. She said the only personal stories she shared with the public were stories that she had “really processed.” She said her litmus test for sharing a personal story is if “my healing is not contingent on your opinion of those stories.”

Out of nowhere, I cried big, awkward, ugly tears. I sobbed uncontrollably while strangers walked and jogged passed me. It’s hard to describe the simultaneous confusion and clarity I felt in that moment except to say that I was uncomfortably aware that I hadn’t “really processed” anything and that my wounds – past, present, and future – were fresh. Her words broke me open, and I haven’t shared a personal story about SPD in writing since then.

SPD has been my greatest hurdle as a mother. It has shaped nearly every moment I’ve had with my children, and although I would never change a thing about my complicated, dynamic, and beautiful boys, I’d give anything for our journey to be less hard. I don’t regret any of the stories I’ve shared – in fact, I’m proud of them – but I’m suddenly painfully mindful of how fragile I have become (or have always been?).

I have a great desire to give my voice to this journey that doesn’t have nearly enough of them, but I also feel a great responsibility to offer my voice in a manner that values the writer and the reader (and the subjects) equally. I don’t know where I’m headed from here, but I feel a better, caring, healthy sense of ownership about this very personal story already.

 

SensoryBlogHopNew300

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!Want to join in on next month’s Sensory Blog Hop? Click here!

Want to read more amazing posts in the January Sensory Blog Hop? Just click on this adorable little frog…

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Filed under motherhood, sensory processing disorder, writing

January 8, 2016 · 12:18 pm

Heatgate

I was trapped in my house for three days this week waiting on various repairpersons. The short version of the story is that home ownership is a bitch. The slightly longer version is that our upstairs furnace died on Sunday night just as we got the first real arctic blast of the season. After a freezing our butts off all Sunday night, it was fixed. It broke again on Monday night, and we froze again. It was fixed again on Tuesday, and then it broke again, but the difference that time was that it was an inferno. Our furnace was possessed. At one point in the night, the thermostat read 88 degrees. Eighty-eight flipping degrees!

I was like Bill Murray in “Scrooged,” except instead of seeing my sad Christmas future, I saw my hot-flashing, night-sweating, menopausal destiny, and it. was. bleak. I thought I was dying. When I woke my husband to inform him of the situation, he said, “What do you want me to do?” He’s lucky he’s not dead.

It’s fixed for real now, and it cost, like, a billion dollars, which is awesome because spending a billion dollars is exactly what we hoped to do two weeks after Christmas, but I digress.

As a stay-at-home parent, I savor the hours my kids are at school. If you’re new here at The Runaway Mama, you might think I spend that precious time meditating, organizing family photos, folding laundry, journaling, and preparing healthy meals, but the rest of you know that’s just silly. When the boys are at school, I do anything and everything I can’t or don’t want to do with them in tow. I exercise. I go to the bank and post office. I go to Target without ending up in the Lego aisle. I go grocery shopping without little hands tossing Little Bites in my shopping cart. I write. I shower. I put gas in the car. I take a ballet class. I get haircuts and wax my eyebrows. I volunteer at school and go to doctor’s appointments. I sporadically have lunch with a friend.

Pacing around my house is not generally on my 9am-3pm to-do list. Call me a martyr (or the best damn multitasker on the planet), but I empty and fill the dishwasher while making school lunches and toasting frozen pancakes at seven o’clock in the morning. I fold laundry and empty and fill the dishwasher again while overseeing (not helping with) homework at four o’clock in the afternoon. I cook dinner while…actually, cooking dinner is a total crapshoot. It’s as hit or miss as my boys brushing their teeth.

When I am home, though, I do pace. I walk from room to room shifting piles of stuff around, picking up dirty socks, hunting down someone’s iPod or iPad or Kindle Fire or Fitbit charger, fetching icy water, and forgetting why I went up or down the stairs only to remember after I walk back down or up the stairs. I’m terrible at relaxing, especially at home. On a positive note, if housewalking were an Olympic sport, I’d be a medal contender. Seriously, I do not sit down. I wrote this entire post standing up. No wonder I’m exhausted every night!

In my experience, when a [fill in the blank] repair company gives me a service window of 9am-1pm, you can bet your bottom dollar that the guy is going to ring my doorbell at 12:59. As such, this week’s endless furnace fail forced me to keep myself busy at home. Here are some of the chores and projects I tackled during Heatgate:

  1. I undecorated the Christmas tree and brought all Christmas decorations to the basement.
  2. I shook crumbs out of every keyboard in the house and wiped microwave popcorn grease off of every mouse and laptop touchpad.
  3. I flossed my teeth.
  4. I paid bills.
  5. I caught up on the laundry.
  6. I filed all of our 2015 paperwork, including real estate documents, bills, invoices, and bank, tax, and health insurance statements.
  7. I hung three framed photos on the walls.
  8. I emptied and filled the dishwasher approximately 1,000 times.
  9. I made two doctor’s appointments.
  10. I submitted a health insurance claim. (True story!)
  11. I folded a fitted sheet, which I pray will never, ever happen again.
  12. I sorted the dog’s impressive (and smelly) rawhide bone collection.
  13. I organized my gift wrap supplies.
  14. I cleaned out the refrigerator.
  15. I joined a 12-step program for moms who hoard children’s socks. Hello, my name is Jen and I have two children and 6,000 pairs of children’s socks.
  16. I ordered new sneakers online for Dylan. I also ordered him two new books. They’re the ones where you get to choose the outcome of the story. My fingers are crossed that he likes them because he enjoys reading about as much as I enjoy folding fitted sheets.
  17. I prepared returns for West Elm and Bed Bath & Beyond. If I ever leave the house, I will make said returns.
  18. I wrote and published a blog post (while standing up) about my newfound infatuation with “Fixer Upper.”
  19. I cleared the kitchen table. Twice!
  20. I sorted the mail.
  21. I cleaned out my email inbox.
  22. I made wild salmon, kale, and quinoa burgers from scratch.
  23. I got crafty. Anxiety is a tricky beast. Some days it causes excessive SkinnyPop consumption. Other days, it results in The Key Jar (thanks Momastery for the inspiration).

keyjar

I painted the crap out of that Mason jar. And yes, that’s the kitchen table that I cleared twice.

p.s. The kids love it!

  1. I made a Happiness Jar (thanks to Elizabeth Gilbert for the inspiration). Actually, it’s a Happiness Hurricane Vase, but that doesn’t sound as poetic. As well as the boys have coped with our move and a new school, new friends, new weather, and new everything, it would be dishonest for me to say the transition has been seamless. My emotional creatures have good days and bad days, and sometimes I want to scream into a pillow from the negativity that oozes from my little darlings. We’re going to jot down one thing that makes us happy each day and drop the notes in the jar because it’s worth trying, and I’ll do anything to help my kids find happiness. You get what you give in this glorious universe, and we’re in desperate need of some positivity around here.

happinessjar

When my house arrest was finally over, I wrote the word “heat” on a little yellow slip of paper and dropped it in the Happiness Jar, because the night sweats were behind me (for now…gulp), and I could finally get out of the house and be productive again.

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Filed under chores, cleaning