On A Treadmill With No Results

I'm running constantly, and though it feels like I am on a treadmill, my metaphoric fat isn't going anywhere. I see my destination, and what is put forth in my path, but my body is feeling a little weary lately. Allahu Ailum, (God knows best) things are in order, I am ultimately more blessed by the day, and I know it. So now I just need to make this run count, insha Allah (God willing). I have been blessed with three boys who do things differently than most boys, and sometimes the things they do seem like cruel and unusual punishment, but it's never a dull moment here. Al-humdulillah, (All praises are to God). Most people think that kids/adults on the spectrum "just don't get it", but what if it's us that just don't get it. I broke down my kids lives to it's simplest of forms, and found that the equation matches every single human being. Autistics are not too caught up on what if's and possibly's; things are far more important to that stare them in the face everyday. It makes me question myself and every other "programmed" adult on things that are uncommonly common sense. Like, why are there silent letters? Is it a spy? Why is it in a word in the first place? I found my son becoming very confused with the word "know"; why in the world does "common" knowledge have to make mommy look like a liar!? Ya Allah! (Oh God) The look of absolute discust was in his eyes, like, "Come on lady, you just said that this letter makes a completely different sound, and now you're telling me it can be quiet." Yes son, I failed you because society likes to make things more interesting. Things like this, are hard for them to grasp; if he can't see it and it's not what he was taught, he needs thorough explaining done. I have to say, it's beautiful though. How beautiful is a mind that questions everything and hold dear to the answers it's given. A brain that works off of logical proof and understands what's right. I guess you can call me a spectrum fan. In fact, you can call me the spectrums #1 fan. Please enjoy the rest of the blog, and don't be shy to check out other entries; and please feed the blog pets. Right side, scroll down a bit.->->

Oh The Insanity!

I have no idea where the medical community is heading. I got a call from my mother, letting me know that one of the lovely LPN at the doctors office I attended as a child, remembered me. She told my mother that it would be a great idea if I and the children would come by to see her. While leaving, my mother ran into my old pediatrician, and the meeting wasn't nice. She informs him that the sweet LPN wanted to see us, he unprofessionally says, " Oh no! No,no. Last time she was here she didn't have control of her children." His idea of no control, is because my AUTISTIC sons (2) were stimming and ran away from over stimulation. In my defenses, my mother says, "No, she has very good control over them, and they are doing very well." He rudely says, "Oh so she's matured?" The worse part about this behavior, is that he is considered a medical "professional"; in what way is downing the mother of three Autistic boys, trying to find her way, professional? Another bad factor of this incident, is that the pediatrician hadn't seen myself , nor my children, in about a good 3 almost 4 years. So with that being said, he unprofessionally made an assumption. And this is the man intrusted with, not only the welfare of most of the children in south Philadelphia, Pa, but the dignity and integrity of his patience also. So Dr. Maurice Daniels of south Philadelphia Health Associates, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Writers Block

There are so many things I want to write, but right now they're so bunched together, it's hard to put them into to words. So, insha Allah (God willing), I'll save it for another day. Just remind me I have somethings to tell you. (bad memory, yeah the kids stole that too.)

Darn You Autism!!!!

I've had an emotional 24 hrs., I've hated myself, I've hated Autism, I've hated my ex, I've even hated bleach. I think I've gone through just about every emotion in the last 24 hrs. The story started yesterday afternoon, that turned out to kick me in the butt later in the evening. You see, ever since the power outages, I've allowed the kids to keep the potty in their room so they could go through the night. Eureka! It worked, even Isma'eel didn't wet the bed. So back to earlier yesterday; I helped Meatball on to the potty and when he was done I poured water from a container to cleanse him. The water splashed everywhere because he wouldn't sit still, all I could do was breath a sigh of frustration and decided that since it's just water, it'll evaporate. Well that splash of mines stuck around for awhile, after cleaning out the pale and putting about an inch of water and bleach in it, I attached it back on the potty. Now here's the moment when you hold your hands over your eyes and wait for the scary part to be over. Later that evening, as I was making decorations for the coming Eid Festival, I heard thumping in the boys room. I got up to investigate what the heck was going on that was interrupting my supermom moment. As I opened the door I could tell that Isma'eel and Meatball were out of the bed, so I told them that they knew better and had better get back in the bed. Upon saying this, I noticed a wet spot on the floor and the smell of bleach. It didn't dawn on me that a cap full of bleach in water could still be smelled from across the room. I became outraged; the only thing that crossed my mind, was my landlord flipping out. I asked Isma'eel, (seeing as he was the oldest in the room at the time), if he'd knocked it over, and he said yes. I asked him was he climbing on his bed again, and he answered in the affirmative. I then began yelling like a mad woman telling him that when I put him in the bed, he is to stay there. I made him look at what "he" had done to the carpet, and how he doesn't behave. As I am having this hissy-fit, I am shaking when I shout and pretty much scaring the poor boy. I calm down enough to detach the potty pale and empty it and clean it out, and think to myself it may not be such a great idea after all. I came back in the room and told him that from now on he'd have to get up and walk the hall at night and go to the bathroom. As I am leaving the room, I get a thought (and this is totally spiritual, Allahu Ailum (God knows best)), I go into the room and smell the spot. I get in there feel the spot and the floor is soaked, but it doesn't smell like bleach. I felt horrible, like something was crushing my chest that very moment. It was the spot from earlier. I turned to Isma'eel in his bed and asked him to come to me; he was very hesitant, but he came over. I wrapped my arms around him and I cried like a baby. I cried, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!", and it didn't feel like it was enough. I felt like I took some sort of innocence from him by yelling at him so harshly for something he didn't even do. But what I mostly cried about, was how he accepted blame so easily and so willingly even in fear. These are those times when reality hits, and even though you play "the normal game", this is your anchor back to reality. I beat myself with the thought of, "What's going to happen to them when I'm not here?", or "What if I'm not around when things happen to investigate?". It's happened before with my other sons also, it's painful to think that, Insha Allah (God willing), someday they will be men, and the possibility of being locked up for a crime they didn't commit, could more than likely happen to them than an average man. Ya Allah, please continue your mercy on us; make me able to not only take care of them, but give them the tools mentally to carry on healthy if they ever have to live without me. Ameen, Allahuma Ameen