Autism 101

Yesterday, two conversations that I was a part of, held great power. A young coworker had the vulnerability to express that she was a person with autism. I was blown away, because I’d had no idea. Then, another coworker chimed in, “No, you aren’t.”. She immediately said that she indeed was, as the other person still vocally denied. That’s when I interjected with something along the lines of, “It’s incredibly rude to tell someone who has autism that they don’t.”. I know I said more, but to be completely honest, I don’t remember every word I used. I do remember the intensity in which I expressed it, though.

I was heated. I was instantly brought back to all of the research I’ve done and all of the first person point of view videos I’ve watched. Right then, the mama bear in me came out. I took on the invalidation that people with neurodivergence receive, and I was defensive. Just this last week, I’ve set up an appointment with the autism director for CTF, and I’ve been researching pediatricians for Skylar. I’m daily writing and recording examples of Skylar’s neurodivergence, so that I will be listened to and not dismissed, like I have been with everyone else I’ve presented my concerns to. I took her comments personally.

My coworker with autism said, “It’s ok. I’m fine.”. I realized I had taken over a conversation that wasn’t mine to begin with, and I’d done so in a less than kind manner. I told my other coworker I was sorry for the way I had expressed myself. She didn’t appear to be very happy with me, and shortly left the room. I immediately texted her and said that I was sorry for hurting her feelings or making her angry. I apologized for speaking over her and our other coworker.

And then, a truly magical (to me, anyway) thing happened. The young lady (who’d had the courage to share that she had autism) and I, connected through our shared love of the topic of autism. She shared her story. Her late diagnosis, and the why’s. The state of overwhelm she gets into, her love of schedules, her hiding to compose herself, the ever so exhausting masking, and her hurt feelings when people unconsciously invalidate her when she shares that she’s a neurodivergent individual. We shared similarities and laughed at examples together. It all clicked, when she had the courage to share her story. I then understood the monotone sound when she greets guests and the blank expressions she often wears. Don’t get me wrong, she also shares sarcasm, humor, and affection in her face and intonation, but her gifting us with this information, gifted us more of an understanding of who she is. We found commonality. I teared up listening to her. She’s choosing to be vocal, to help bring understanding to others who are in the unknown of neurodivergent people. She chose to acknowledge me as a mother who knows my child best, and she gave me a safe space to express my knowledge and my journey. And that held so much validation for me.

That conversation was powerful. It came full circle. Awareness. Understanding. Empathy. Validation.

My other coworker soon sought me out, and we both expressed ourselves. Without divulging intimate information, I acknowledged the other person’s feelings of embarrassment, and I again apologized for coming across as aggressive, rather than assertive. I further explained how I had taken the dismissal as personal, because of my own short walk with autism. We both, emotionally expressed, acknowledged, and learned from the conversation. I thanked her for being vulnerable and addressing our situation rather than dismissing it.

That takes courage.

I’m blessed to work with two beautifully courageous ladies who helped me learn about the power of being vulnerable, really listening, validation, and how I need to continue to work on how I present myself in real time.

P.S. Did Albert Einstein have autism? 🤔

Grief, Gratitude, and the Power of “Good morning.”

Welcome back, fireflies! 😍 It’s been a looong time! Though, I understand that time is simultaneously intrinsic and individualistic, depending on our uniquely lived experiences. One of the reasons we’ve parted ways for so long is because we’ve been grieving …

Unschooling. Today’s Lesson: Communication

We decided to venture into the great unknown, today. While stir crazy, aching to actively use our limbs, and looking for stimulation, a walk was agreed upon by three out of four constituents. The fourth requested a bike ride, but …

A Lesson In Being “Ridiculously Present”

Today, I  was reminded why I serve.   During my busy lunch shift, I met a beautiful young lady named Heather, who was traveling from Connecticut all the way to Denver, Colorado. Firefly Grill is smack dab in the middle! …

Co-Parenting Done Right

 

Earlier, I got a text from my plus one’s mama. She’s recently started a new, part time job in the evenings. My partner, her ex-husband, works second shift throughout the week. While she’s working, their boog either stays the night with me and my hoodlums or his grandma.

 

I’ll keep this short. These pictures are proof that a healthy co-parenting relationship can happen. There’s sleepovers, pool parties, and birthday  invitations. There’s open communication and mutual respect. It hasn’t always been easy for either party, and I can’t guarantee it’ll always be easy from here on out, but what I can say without a shadow of a doubt, is that beautiful little red headed boy will always be loved and cared for by many people in his awesome little village.

 

* His mom asking to come for a visit

** Them (and my daughter) doing homework at our kitchen table

*** T practicing spelling words on our white board with his mama

Random Late Night Picture Taking

I thought I knew what I was doing when I sneakily took this picture, but I didn’t. Not really, anyway. This not very exciting picture, says quite a bit all by itself. If you take a look at the decorated basket, the shelf lined with tinctures, the birth affirmations, and even the sitz bath I never got around to using, you see proof of a supportive partner. Ok just kidding, you probably don’t, but that’s what I see when I look past my honey’s backside with a sideways tilt.

 

How is it I see evidence of a supportive partner? Those supplies are what I felt I needed in order to have a safe and healthy homebirth. This was outside of my partner’s comfort zone, but he trusted my history and knowledge and chose to educate himself to better  understand physiological birth. He prepared by learning and trusting me. Both of those are indescribably beautiful gifts.

 

Now to get back to the man in gray. What’s he doing? He had grabbed for my foot before continuing on his way out the door. I withdrew from his reach and told him not to, since it was so incredibly dry. My mother lovingly left me with some of her auto immune characteristics, including her very parched and calloused feet. Instead of being deterred, he went for lotion. What the camera didn’t catch, was my love dutifully massaging my feet while stealing awkwardly long glances in my direction. His face proudly wore his sincere adoration. I sarcastically tried to brush away his compliments and he retorted very quickly that dry feet could not damper my beauty or level of sex appeal. Trust me when I say, I realize this conversation sounds kinda silly, but we all have little body quirks that we sometimes get caught up on. This just happens to be one of mine. He successfully shut me up with two of my current love language forerunners, physical touch, and words of affirmation. Relationships can be tough. There are times I want to run away or stick a dirty sock in his mouth, but this is one of the many times I fell head over heels in love with him all over again. I’m so thankful for this amazing man who chooses to fill my cup. It really is the little things. ❤

#ThankfulThursday

My friend recently posted a picture of a couple of lids. She’d gone through her cabinets, couldn’t find the matching pans, and posted them on her Facebook page as free for the taking. I’m sure most people would have just …

Chronic Pain

As I spend a few quiet moments, rubbing my daughter to sleep, the debilitating heaviness creeps in. I’ve been able to ignore the whispering secrets jabbing into my shoulder and the never ceasing game of tug of war taking place in my neck. Like clockwork, when my movements lull, the metronome orchestrated by both the limbs that I am relying on and those that I am not, gradually ascend into the deafening crescendo of annoyingly in your face pain and stop you mid stumble stiffness. With every deep breath in, a sharp nuisance laughs at me. Rib is out again… The ache in my toe from that fall several months back is a reminder of how residual pain is lasting, and invisible to everyone else. The longer I sit, the more aware I become of how sore and tired I am. I’m being strung in all these different directions, but I’m only able to focus on a few things at a time. The twitching of the other strings cause me to fill with such intense guilt, because I simply don’t have the energy to continue tending to each pull. It’s in these moments, that I empathize with those who are finding solace in self medication. You seek a release from the pain that follows you to sleep and wakes with you each morning. When the exhaustion kisses your eyelids awake, and your nerves steal the sensations from your fingertips. When simply sitting means you have to calculate how you’ll stand and how you’ll rid your knees, hips, and back from the imminent stiffness that will leave you immobile if left for too long. All of my spoons are spent. My dishes are done, my children well fed and half clean. Morning will come with her new demands, all too soon. There will be caffeine fueled energy with a splash of anxiety. Don’t forget your free refills on large sides of guilt. Or the ibuprofen. Please don’t forget the ibuprofen.

Connections

I went to greet a table, as I do most of my every day. I was a little busy at the time, so I hadn’t yet dug into the depths of the scenery displayed before me. I remember recognizing the woman walking in from all the way across the restaurant. I mistook her for a firefly regular with a familiar face. Turns out, she was not.

She was a first timer.

As I greeted her and her husband with likely a touch of ill placed hurried welcoming, the gentleman cheerfully met me in return, boasting, “You must be Miranda! We’re from *insert our shared hometown, a tiny hole in the wall with only 1 blinking red light, from over two hours south of the big crossroads of America*.”. It was then that I noticed his hat on the seat beside him, sporting another familiar ‘city’ from down south. The little lady in front of me eagerly waved her magazine insert that she’d freshly ripped out earlier that same day. With laughter in my voice, I heartily admitted I had recognized her upon entering, but that I had not recognized her husband. I told her I must have remembered waiting on her from over half my lifetime ago.

In the short time I got to visit with them, I incorrectly assumed, learned, and remembered many things.

I initially thought him to be a tad overbearing. He was stating to her, her likes and dislikes. For instance, telling her not to get a certain dish; because, she wouldn’t like the preparation. I set my judgement aside and I allowed myself to also hear a different version of this same man. Honest amusement radiated from him during his mid week, fine dining experience.

Near the end of our afternoon together, I laughed with my new friends while listening to their story on how they’d ended up in Effingham, IL during the middle of the lunch hour. She read about firefly earlier that morning and simply demanded her husband take her there. He initially scoffed a bit, until he realized she was serious. He took on her adventure, and here they sat before me.

I remember very specifically what they had to eat that day. I remember, because I was initially put off, so to speak, by him telling her she wouldn’t like a dish with a steak preparation that couldn’t be cooked beyond medium rare. What I could not understand at the time, was that he was coming from a place of nourishment. He remembered her likes when she could not.

My guests calculated they drove over 140 miles to come share lunch with me. The little lady I’d just come to love, started sweetly sharing with me, the identical story, on how she’d come to learn about firefly. It was then that I realized how unique and powerful this experience had been for both them, and for myself. I bid them farewell with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face.

You see, my 97 year old grandmother, who also happens to have dementia, still resides in that whopper of a town with that one blinking red light. The man who’d ordered his bride a medium well steak, did so out of love. Love is an action. I grew up with my own Grandma throwing down in the kitchen. Food is our shared love language to this very day.

Food unites.

Father’s Day 2.0

2 years ago, I wrote a sappy Father’s Day post claiming I saw how the single moms were doing it all. Last year, I wrote a not as sappy post, basically written about my typical single mom of toddlers lifestyle, …