The unwritten rules of autism-mommyhood...

I don't mind having a child with autism. 

I wouldn't have asked to be such a mommy, but then one rarely asks for anything unpleasant or hard in life.

Like an enema.

Ok not so much.

So while I marvel at the miraculous moments I've experienced on this journey with autism, -- I admit that I have shared with God now and then about some things he could have better provided for.

I'm sure he took notes...

For one, to allow me to have had an olfactory dysfunction.  Or in laymen's terms, that what would normally smell bad, would smell like roses to me.  That would have come in handy.  Often.   One would think that after sixteen years now of dealing with leaky-gut issues, I would have developed one naturally.  But alas, not.

That when your husband and only other male creature in the house are not in the house, no Texas-sized gargantuan cockroaches would ever come in the house.  That's just wrong.  It happened to me this week with all the rain outside while my husband and typical teenage son were 600 miles away.  The poor thing was seeking higher ground.  The only other male in the house other than my son with autism, was my labrador retriever.  The cockroach was crawling in the entryway.  I was following it, pointing at it, and quacking like a duck trying to get my labrador interested in the hunt and subsequent pouncing to death.  I mean really, the cockroach had to be the size of a baby duck as well.  But no.  He was not to be fooled.  All the blasted dog did was sniff at it, look at me like I've gone quackers myself, then jumped on the couch to lay down.

I suppose it would be out of the question to ask my son's school to do a social story about "See cockroach", "Step on cockroach", "Sanitarily dispose of cockroach...."

I know...

And truly, when a mommy of a child who has a disability is anywhere where there is no quick escape, they really should have the ability to only hear 'blah, blah, blah' when a mommy of a typical child is going on and on about how their children fight with each other, won't go to bed because they're giggling, won first place in the baseball tournament, or are complaining about a sick child with a cold and they had to stay home with them and miss work.  Things us mommy's would kill for.  I mean truly, that would cut down on alot of unsolved drive by shootings.  At least in terms of 'if looks could kill'....

And last in a list of things that could fill ten pages, is that we get one stress-free personal wish granted.  Whether it's stomach muscles as smooth & strong as steel, glutes of granite, or boobs like barbie.  Just one thing that's perfect & stress-free always.

For me, it would be my haircolor.

I've gone to three different places this week just to fix what the first one didn't do quite right.

Why is it that I can explain the methionine/glutathione transsulfuration pathway to a parent, but can't seem to make my haircolor person understand that I want blonde highlights to cover my gray, and not nuclear bomb explosion white.

I even bring pictures to illustrate.


Oh well, I guess the reason we must deal with all those things and so much more, is because simply being the mommy of a child with a disability -- means that we can handle that, and anything that goes with it.

It means we're strongest when we feel our weakest.
It means we stay and conquer when exhaustion makes us want to leave and surrender.
It means we laugh when we want to just cry.
It means we color our child's world beautiful faster than the world can paint it ugly.

It means that if you're ever lost in a dark tunnel, call me; the glow from my hair will guide you out.

And like in Isaiah 40:31, it means that 'but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.'

Ah yes, soaring on wings like eagles.

But for me, it will be a flight on Continential Airlines.

My husband comes home from a week of vacation soon, and right after that I will be running out the door to Georgia for my week of vacation....

Leaving him to find what pair of his shoes I smashed the cockroach with.