That is what I wrote on the sign out book at school today.

A totally inaccurate statement that pissed me off and set me off mumbling all the way to the car, my baby holding my hand and happy to have a half day off school.

Today was a public holiday in Victoria. But because we live in the ‘country’ some places have the day off, others don’t.

DH and I had the day off work, but the kids had school. Boo’s school had a Melbourne Cup themed day with races and fashions on the field after an early lunch.

But Boo only had aiding till 12.30pm. And Boo doesn’t cope with me being his ‘aide’ cause it is too confusing for him. At school C (his aide) and P (the teacher) are in charge. I am the boss when the bell goes.

It has taken a year to get him to understand this. ‘Cause the kid needs firm rules.

So today, while all the races were on, the kids wandering around school with any freak job able to just walk in the school grounds unchallenged, Boo was expected to fend for himself.

The child that eats dirt and half chewed apples off the ground and ROCKS for fucks sake and has a penchant for wandering off alone was expected to just sit quietly and understand what to do.

And all of a sudden develop the ability to know not to wander off with a stranger that offers him food.

So there I am at the office filling out the sign out book and the Vice Principal walks out. He looks pissed. Well I am more fucking pissed.

‘So A’ I call out ‘What should I write as the reason I am taking Boo out of school this afternoon?’

He saunters over, thinking I want a friendly chat. Normally we have a good relationship but today I am pissed at him and ready to stab the new principal in the head with the pen. The new principal has decreed that if an aide is away for one day they will not be replaced.

Boo’s aide now calls me in the morning if she is too sick to come to school so I can keep Boo home. Fucking Arsehole. He is saving money and I have to take time off work….. or worse, C comes in when she should be home sick.

Again, as always, I digress.

A is standing next to me, smiling down. A is a rather attractive man, but today all I can see is his devil horns….

‘I need to write something here, and seeing he isn’t sick and doesn’t have a doctors appointment, I don’t know what to write’ I say, knowing he has no idea where this is going.

‘Oh’ his face clouds over for a moment ‘Why are you taking him home?’

‘Well, he has no aiding for this afternoon. P is judging and C is in Mr S’s room. So no supervision’

‘He will be alright won’t he’

What the FUCK!!!!! This man has been in every freaking meeting about Boo since day dot. He was there during the discussion when Boo was doing nudie runs in the halls, when he took to playing in the urinals, when he disappeared during a class with a sub teacher, when he got a 4 year old in a head lock cause he was playing ‘The Simpsons’, when he ate so many freaking ROCKS in the playground that our toilet was backed up………

‘No, A, he will not.’ I said through gritted teeth while Boo was happily laying on the floor at my feet giggling for no apparent reason.

‘Oh, well write Parental Decision then’ he shot back at me.

‘Fine.’ I muttered back and shot him one of my infamous glares, the glare that makes small children cry and Emo teenagers make a facial expression other than a scowl ‘We will talk about this later in the week’

And I helped Boo off the floor and swung around and strode out the door. Shit, I wish I had heels on today, it would have been so much more dramatic.

As I am walking out the door, A calls out

‘Have a wonderful day Kelley!’

He knows I am pissed. He knows that I am the reasonable parent. I am the parent that goes out of her way to make sure that everything is fair. I know that my boy is hard work and will do anything and everything to help the school, teachers and for Christsakes the other kids cope with Boo being there. I help out at the school and do things at home without batting an eyelid. Ask for help, I am there.

I am his dream fucking parent and he has pissed me off.

And he has known me long enough to know, you don’t piss me off. Not when it comes to my boy.

A, you better bring a spare pair of pants when I decide we are having that meeting. You will need ’em buddy.

Oh and tissues. Lots of tissues. I betcha you ain’t so pretty when you cry.

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Boo is home today.

Boo is not in a good mood.

Boo is an arsehole.

Boo is now in his room contemplating WHY he shouldn’t beat up his mother.

Shit.

I am in the lounge.

I am nursing my wounds.  He only punched me a few times in the arm and head butted me.  But shit it hurt!

We were attempting to make jelly,  he was not agreeing with the amount of boiling hot water that was needed.  He tried to throw it.  I stopped him.  He took exception to that.

I am taking solace in the internet and coffee and  a family block of chocolate.

I joined NaBloPoMo,  a post a day for the month of November.  I wonder if I can manage that *snort*

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AND I worked out HTML all by myself and put the badge on my sidebar.  The badges on the site have flash or whatever in them so can’t be supported on WordPress.  But I got around it and now I have a pretty new button!   All while listening to Boo tear his room apart in a rage and my arms burning.

So if you click on it you will go to my NaBloPoMo page.

I really truly rock you know.  I do.

I hate the start of Daylight Savings.

Scratch that.  I HAAAATE Daylight Savings.

I don’t care that the extra hour of sunlight will kill the plants or fade the curtains or wake the cows early and curdle the milk.  I hate the fact that it will now take ANOTHER FUCKING HOUR for Boo to go to sleep.  His internal clock is permanently set on ‘awake’.

‘Get your feet off the wall’

Now I am lamenting that I let him play outside for that extra freaking hour – yes Daylight Savings gives an extra HOUR to play in the freaking mud – and then couldn’t be bothered giving him a shower just a wipe down (cause he has to shower in the mornings due to nocturnal mictruition) and now I have foot prints on the walls.

‘Put it down’

As he pulls a book from under his bed.

‘Give me that car.  It’s sleep time’

Where the hell did that come from?  He didn’t have it in the bed.  I know it wasn’t there cause I had to change the sheets before he went to bed cause he used them as toilet paper five minutes before.

‘Lay down properly.  It is nearly 11.30.’

But in his little melatonin diminished brain it is only still early.  So par-tay on.

‘Get your hand out of Pikachu’s eye and GO. TO. SLEEP’

Boo has a soft Pickachu bedhead that I made him.  Over the years he has picked the stuffing out of the eyes.  And eaten it.

Interesting when you are wiping his arse and stuffing comes out.

I am so tired.  That bone tiredness that makes your brain all fuzzy and your mouth feel like the morning after a big night out.  My body is aching to go to sleep and Boo is doing the Macarena.

‘Leave my feet alone’

He is now resting his head on my feet.

‘Lay down properly Boo or so help me….’

giggle ‘Help you what Mummy?’

‘Don’t worry.  Just go to sleep!  Please, Boo, please.  Go. To.  SLEEP.

He is manically giggling.  Bouncing around the room.  I have tomorrow off work as a rec day.  Gunna waste my day that I was going to spend cleaning (oh the joys of a working mother, rec days are for deep cleaning) walking around like a zombie.  Or worse still, with Boo home.

‘Get our foot out of Pikachu’s ear!’

Oh God, someone, get this kid to sleep!

He has stopped moving.  He is still.  Is he….. asleep?  Or has he passed out from choking on some of the the Pokemon pupil?  Do I dare check?

A faint snore.

Oh.  He is asleep.  And it is only midnight.  Better hightail it outta here and jump into bed cause who knows what time he will start the all-singing-all-dancing one man show again.

The party is over.

One more to go, but six days to recover.

Boo had a wonderful time. The kids were well behaved. A couple I wanted to strangle. A couple I want to adopt. 10 kids didn’t show, 6 had tummy bugs and their parents called to apologise –WOW – one mum went as far as popping over before the party to say J wasn’t coming but here is Boo’s present anyway……. How cool is that!

27 kids. 5 surly teenagers until the 6 month old baby came, then marshmallows in Emo garb. 4 adults. 3 conversations with the ‘ferals’ – one of them is growing a freaking BEARD! So I asked her how she liked my t-shirt. Bwaaaa haaa haaa!

Everyone but T had a good time. T is a tiny little dynamo, blindingly street smart with amazing blue eyes. She drives me nuts sometimes she is so freaking adult, but I love the kid. She was having a good time until I had to tell her off. She was on the trampoline with a boy and beating the living shit out of him.

It was a fun wrestling game that quickly got out of hand after she had eaten her body weight in unicorn turds (aka mini meringues). She was physically picking him up and body slamming him down. The boy (also T) was trying to save face cause T is half his size. But enough was enough. I ended up having to scream at T to get off him.

He’s all like ‘It didn’t hurt’,  ‘I’m OK’,  ‘I let her do it’ (so brave for a 7 year old) limping into the house trying to hide his tears. I sat T down and told her that she really shouldn’t do that cause she could get hurt one day when someone fights back.

‘Don’t worry Kelley, I can take care of myself’

Damn right she can. She scares me!

So T spent the rest of the party sulking. Refusing cake, icypoles and further turns on the trampoline. She sat out the potions class and pretended to be unimpressed with the teens ‘exploding’ experiments. Oh, it was so wife-pissed-off-at-husband-get-back-by-punishing-myself, I was stunned.  And amused.

Boo got some amazingly thoughtful gifts, adorable cards (lots of ‘you are a good friend’, ‘I love you’, ‘we are best friends’ handwritten cards *sob*) and some what-the-fuck presents.

The 2 blocks of DAIRY MILK chocolate from the woman I was lamenting having to do everything dairy free to and she gave me a fucking RECIPE. WTF?

This make your own animation thingy that plugs into the TV…. oooh it is so cool! AMAZING!

A dirty ball. You could have fucking washed it first before re-gifting dickhead. WTF

The mum that called from out the front to ask what to buy Boo….. I told her $5 in a card is perfect. She walked in the door 1 minute later, $10 in a generic card……. LMAO

Tons of artist supplies. Pens, paper, paints, sketch pads, textas, crayons, artist canvas, coloured pencils, charcoal….. Boo will be set for at least a month 🙂 BRILLIANT

The weather was perfect. A little warm but the rain held off. Thank you everyone for doing those little anti rain dances for me.

After everyone had gone and Boo had enough time to decompress, he came to me.

‘You know what Mummy?’

‘What my Boo?’

‘It was a great party’

‘Yes it was precious. Did you have a good time’

‘I did. Fun was had by all’

Yes, indeed. Everything was so worth it just to have that conversation with my Boo.

You rock Boo. Now it is 10.30pm, get the fuck to sleep.

***************

I will update the party blog with more details and photos over the next couple of days. Right now I have a hot date with a huge glass of red and a footspa.

Some would say why bother writing a letter to Boo, he isn’t going to read it and if he does he won’t understand. I say, I was told this boy wouldn’t do any of the things he has achieved, who knows what the future holds. And if he is 40 when he reads this letter, then I am cool with that. And if he never reaches the point where he can truly understand it, cool again. As my Moo says….. its all good.

My Boo,

My booful boy. My precious little man.

My forever baby.

Oh, how we wanted you. For years Daddy and I tried for you with many losses along the way. But, although hard, they were necessary for us to have such a wonderful little man at the right time. When you were born we were ready. Your sisters were ready. We were all ready for the lessons you would soon teach us. Patience, strength, persistence, courage and pure love.

I remember when you were born. Such a calm birth compared to your sisters. The doctor handed you to me and I held you. Something I didn’t get to do with the girls, I was too sick. In recovery I fed you straight away. You stared deep into my eyes and I wept. The connection was there from the first few minutes.

I remember our first morning together. Daddy had to go to work and I was still in the hospital. We were so lucky to be in a hospital where the Daddies got to stay. We had our own room and a queen sized bed. The three of us together. I had the radio on to listen to Daddy and so you could hear his voice.

‘Don’t want to miss a thing’ by Aerosmith came on. I know it is a love song, but the words fit perfectly to how I felt about you. I could not stop staring into your perfect little face. To this day that song makes me cry. Happy tears.

Then you turned blue. Three times you had to stop breathing before the nurses would take me seriously. Then all hell broke loose. We lost our cocoon and you were transferred to the special needs nursery. How ironic.

For 18 months you had a breathing monitor attached to your body. Affectionately coined the ‘ticker’ it made a ‘mysterious ticking noise’ whenever you took a breath. If it was dislodged or you stopped breathing a deafening alarm would go off. It didn’t need to. I was so attuned to the ticking I knew before it went off.

Just after we graduated from the ticker you were diagnosed with Autism. My little genius boy, who was reading and writing already just choosing not to speak was…….. different.

We developed our own little language in sign.

I love you.

Want more.

Cuddle

And my favourite. You are my sunshine.

We would sing it together all the time. In the car, on walks, in the park, at the supermarket. In voice and in sign. Your eyes would light up when I would sing and you would grab my hands to make me sign it too.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

You will never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away….

Boo, you are my sunshine. I might complain about sleeplessness and destruction, but as I sit here, in the pre-dawn of your 9th birthday, with you laying next to me – Daddy relegated to your bed as is quite often the case – I gaze at you and realise how lucky I am.

Nothing comes easy in your life. You are constantly bombarded by sounds, images, smells that distract or distress you. Yet you have come so far. Much further than anyone ever hoped for. You are a true miracle. A lesson in determination. And in pure innocent joy.

Whenever I need to remember, I just have to watch you eat an apple, play on the computer, hear a new song or give you a tickle or cuddle. Pure Innocent Joy.

My forever baby, we are one.

Love Mummy.

xxxx

P.S. I hope you like your presents. They are not what your asked for but firstly, you are not old enough to drive a taxi. Secondly, Streets icecream won’t let me have one of their freezers unless we own a store. And lastly, I have tried to get you are real movie clapperboard but Mr. Speilberg won’t return my calls. But I am on it. This is the one, right?

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 I wrote this this afternoon.  While I was white hot with anger.  I considered deleting it, but thought better of it.  I considered toning it down a bit, but thought, no.  So will I regret it after hitting the publish button? Perhaps……

*****************

I am sitting here shaking with anger.

Oprah is on  and that fucking moron Jenny McCarthy is spouting her sons recovery story.

I want to reach through the TV and wring her fucking neck.

Do you REALISE the damage you are doing!

MOMMY FUCKING INSTINCT.  If she says that one more time I will lift the hulking enormous television and throw it through the window.

So, Ms McCarthy, all the parents without ‘recovered’ kids (apparently Autism is like being hit by a bus, you recover and then you have a little boo boo – WTF!?!?!) just don’t have MOMMY INSTINCT. MI for short.  I am sure she has trademarked that one.
OMG.  I just don’t love my kid enough.

My son is GFCF by default. LOOOOOOOOONG before the Autism was diagnosed he was milk free, LOOOOONG before I heard of the ‘autism diet’ we were trialling gluten free.

My kid did ABA, speech, OT, no artificials etc etc, but my kid is still Autistic.  He will always be.  The shit and toothpaste all over my walls is freaking testament to that.

But if I had MI ™ and a little more love for my child, he would be cured.

Oh Jenny.  You, my dear, are delusional.  Sitting there with your Pob (just like Miss Posh) talking about your son being broken In. Front. Of. Him.

I look at that kid and I CAN SEE THE AUTISM!  I thought he was recovered.  I hear the echolalia.

‘He says the most amazing Budda things’?  You fucking idiot.  He is mimicking.  It is echolalia.

He is clearly maturing.  It is clear that the therapy has made a difference.  ABA does that.

Now she is talking about the MMR, apparently she had a little voice tell her it would cause Autism.  Apparently the seizure her son had  was preceded by the ‘little voice’.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My phone is going to be ringing off the hook tonight.  I will be inundated with people asking me to help them recover their kids.  Any one have Ms McCarthy’s phone number?

My son was diagnosed with Classic Autism.  Classic, no language, screaming day and night.  I was told he would never have functional language or toilet train.  I was told to take him home and love him.

He is now doing amazingly.  Thanks to therapy.  Thanks to hard freaking work.  But he still has Autism.  He will always have Autism.

He is not recovered.  You cannot recover from something that is – in my view – an inherited neurological condition.  Minimize the  extreme behaivours, work on other issues.  Some kids will respond to therapy, some will not.  Regardless of how much MI ™ their mothers have.  Regardless of how much they love their child.

I read a book once that the mother basically beat her child every day and then sent him to boarding school.  Now he is ‘recovered’.  Do we endorse that shit?  No.

I am sure that diet, supplements, therapy etc etc etc have helped numerous kids.  Maybe even thousands.  But in my opinion (remember I deal with parents with children on the spectrum every day so I have some experience) if your child is ‘cured’ then they were never on the spectrum in the first place.

The other chick, Holly Robinson whatever.  Her I like.  I agree with every thing SHE said.

But that McCarthy freakshow needs to be gagged.  But first bitch slapped.

And Oprah.  How could you.

Now excuse me, that child that I obviously didn’t love enough to cure needs me to go and wipe his arse.

Ok, as you know I have had a rather, ahem, freaking horrible week.  I haven’t even bored you all with half of it.

Don’t go!  I won’t whinge anymore I promise!  Well at least for tonight.  And what I have to say doesn’t constitute as whinging per se…..

On Friday nights we have sleepover in the loungeroom.  His highness (aka tiny terrorist, little turd, shit-and-toothpaste-mural-artist-extrodinaire, or my loving son Boo) has decreed that Friday night is the night that Mummy bunks down on the loungeroom floor while he does cartwheels around the room, pausing momentarily to fall, nappy clad arse first, onto said bed fellows face.  Until, at the very least, 3am.

Well tonight DH is working and in my bruised and battered and broken state I cannot possibly lug the queen sized mattress from our broom closet sized bedroom down the hall to the lounge.  So we are doing the sleepover in my room.

I had plans for tonight.  I was going to make the wands for his party.  I was going to get a head start on the washing for the weekend.  I was going to do some more of my looooong overdue advocacy work and reply to some emails.  But I am in bed.

Since 7.30pm.

Every other night it takes at least an hour to get him into bed, let alone asleep, but tonight?  He is quietly lying next to me staring at the ceiling while I type (thank God for laptops!) occasionally turning to ask me a question.

‘Hey mum, what is blood for?’

‘Where do moth’s mummies live?’  There was a moth in the room earlier

‘ What are we going to play tomorrow?’

I have so much to do.  I am going to be running around like a madwoman for the next week.  I really should get out of bed and get something done.

But right now I don’t think there is anywhere else I would rather be than hanging out with my Boo, laying side by side in my bed that is so warm and cozy.  His chubby little body snuggled close to mine, humming a tune that I can’t quite catch, his hand reaching out for mine.

The soft whisper,

‘I love you Mummy’

Yes, I have heaps to do. The washing, oh so much washing. But nothing in this world is more important than cuddling with my Boo.

I am sure everyone will understand.

Undies can be worn twice can’t they?