It’s not very often that I get to go somewhere with one of my children, just the two of us. When you have five kids, inevitably they have some of the same friends, and get invited to the same birthday parties. Not today. Today, it was just my son and me. We went to the birthday party of a friend he knows from school. The boy is in another grade, and I didn’t know one single child there, other than the birthday boy. It was absolute chaos, the way a birthday party in summertime should be. The family rented a huge, inflatable water slide, which was set up right next to a trampoline. Nearby, faces were painted, balloons were twisted into animals, a clown entertained. A large tent housed a full luncheon buffet, complete with beer on tap. My son had a BALL, while other parents and children cast curious glances our direction. He screamed his way down the waterslide probably fifty times. He ate an entire plate of barbecue chicken. He bounced around the trampoline, squawking and chirping. He tenderly hugged his friend. He waited sooooo patiently in line for a balloon animal shaped like a dick and balls sword. And for three and a half hours, I watched him enjoy himself, all alone. And the entire time, I stood nearby, all alone.

I expect that my autistic son will have trouble fitting in with people he doesn’t know. But I’m not accustomed to feeling that way myself! I didn’t have any meaningful dialogue with ANYONE there, except the hostess. Everyone seemed to just … move away from us? Eventually, after making small talk with half a dozen other parents that didn’t go beyond saying hello, I figured I was just there to keep my son out of trouble. He had a wonderful time. He had cake. Then we left.

On the drive home, I started to think, perhaps it’s a blessing that we have such a large family. I’ve often wondered how different things would be for my son if he were an only child, and I had all the time in the world to devote to him and his needs. I’ve come to the conclusion that it would kind of suck, and we’d probably be terribly lonely. Thank goodness we have lots of other kiddos right here at home to play with every day!

Well, I haven’t really kept this blog up quite like I intended, now have I? I started out wanting a place to write the way I used to write, but it ended up being one massive vent about my teenager. Not exactly what I wanted. I need to get better about balancing my writing, I’m thinking!

Here’s where things are right now. The teenager finished up the school year and passed all her finals, amazingly. She even got an A on one of them! Thankfully, she’s only going to have to repeat one class in order to graduate on time – government. And, bleah, I remember hating government in high school, too. We didn’t take it until our senior year, though. Anyway. Finished up the school year, and ran out of the school without looking back. She really wants to switch high schools, but honestly, I don’t think it’s the best idea. Even though she has a handful of friends she knew in middle school at the other high school, she’s still going to end up gravitating toward the misfit crowd. At least HERE, she’s close by. I can be at her school in five minutes, as opposed to twenty. And since she’s not of driving age, it’s not like she can get herself there every day – one of us would have to drive her. And as much as I’ve tried to figure out a way to do that, I just don’t see how it can be done, since I have four other kids to get to school as well. Most importantly, though, I think she needs to suck it up and face her problems! I keep telling her she’ll run into dicky people at every school, and it’s going to be up to her to rise above it and make good decisions. We’ll have to have a great big discussion about all of this when she gets home – she’s been away for about a month. It’s been awesome for both of us, really.

The little ones are doing okay. My son has been driving us batty lately with these new vocal tics he’s just picked up – also known as screaming his ASS off at random moments. Well, it’s not screaming so much, more like annoying loud noises. Sometimes, he sings at the top of his lungs in a crazy, throaty, death metal voice. It would crack me up if it didn’t attract SO MUCH ATTENTION. In addition to all of that, he’s found entertainment lately in pissing off his little sisters – teasing them, kicking their seat in the car, etc. Now, I see that as typical sibling behavior. It might be annoying, but I really can’t chalk it up to him having autism! We just returned from a long road trip out to California to visit Disneyland – and the whole trip was super fun. I’m so lucky to have married into such a fine family. We stayed at my husband’s aunt’s house, and she spoiled my kids so much that they CRIED when it was time to come home. School starts here in just about two weeks, and for the first time in history, I’m going to have a little bit of alone time. Yep, the littlest ones are starting kindergarten. People keep asking me, “What are you going to do with yourself?” I don’t have a clue. Hopefully, A LOT. Hopefully, my house will be cleaner, dinner will get made on time, and I’ll return our library books before they’re two weeks overdue.

My husband and I are coming up on our 5th wedding anniversary. Five years since we said our vows in front of our dearest friends. Five years of joy and tears and chaos and laughter and love. And it seems like it was just a couple of years ago. Hell, I’m wearing the same t-shirt today that I wore the day before our wedding, when my girlfriends and I made a vat of fruit salad and hot glued my veil together. Time moves SO quickly when you have a shitload of children, I’ve discovered. At this rate, they’ll be in college before the milk sours. And I still love that man SO MUCH. He drives me insane a lot of the time, and he’s a control freak and a half, but I’m so very thankful that fate brought us together.

I guess that’s it. My life doesn’t change that much, I guess – still doing that whole parenting thing. What’s new with you?

Thirty-seven. Yep. That’s really pushing forty. I mean, there’s no nice way to say it. I like to think that I don’t LOOK like I’m pushing forty, although I’m sure many days I look every bit my age and then some, as I shlep around my kitchen in pajama pants and Crocs. I’ve pretty much made it a point to never leave my house without fixing my hair and putting on a LITTLE makeup, though, so hopefully the fact that I don’t look like a total wreck is helping me win that battle against looking like an old frumpy housewife.

Last weekend, I went to a party at a friend’s house, and I chatted with a cute, young-ish guy for quite a long time. Eventually, the conversation turned to birthdays, and we discovered that three of us in the room had birthdays coming up in the next week, myself included. I mentioned that I was turning 37, and the guy I was talking to turned to me and said, “Wow – good for YOU!” ::insert sad trumpet sound:: He went on to say, “I would have guessed you were maybe thirty – NEVER thirty-SEVEN!” I told this story to my husband and he laughed and called me a cougar.

My sister and I were talking about our ages, and we seem to be on the same page about one thing for sure: neither of us feel like we’ve got decades of experience under our belts. She said she feels like she’s been screwing around, not paying attention, and she’s missed out on everything – like she looked in the mirror one day and saw wrinkles and gray hair, and she’s thinking, “How long was I asleep?”

In some ways, I can relate. I mentioned to her that I can’t even remember most of my 20s, when I was married to my first husband. The memories I have revolve around my daughter – I can remember exactly how she looked, what she was wearing, the TV shows she watched, and the friends she had when I was 25. But I really can’t recall how I looked at 25. Was my hair long? Short? Did I have a job? Who did I hang out with then? I have very little recollection of it. One thing I’m certain of: I probably was wearing overall shorts.

My twenties were such a dark time for me personally, mentally, psychologically. I was in a bad relationship and battling major inner demons – I guess I’ve blocked out a lot of it, at least selectively. It’s easy enough for me to conjure up a memory of painting an elaborate mural on my daughter’s bedroom wall, but I can’t see MYSELF in that mental picture. I’m sure that’s the reason I don’t feel my age – how can I be thirty-seven? I should be turning THIRTY right about now! I’m sure I skipped a few years in there somewhere.

I’m so incredibly thankful that I’m PRESENT in my life now. I feel so fortunate and blessed to be among wonderful people – I have the best friends, the best sister, and I’m married to such a good guy. Furthermore, I’m very thankful that I’ve gotten to a point (to an AGE, I guess!) where I can recognize that my first husband was actually a pretty decent guy, even if we were bad for each other at that stage in our lives. I think thirty-seven is going to be good for me. Maybe even look good ON me!

My little boy has been out of school on break for several weeks now. He starts back up in about two weeks, THANK GOD. I love having the kids home for awhile, because I’m lazy by nature and I like to sleep late. But I hate seeing my son struggle day after day after day. He’s so accustomed to his very structured daily routine at school, and we have very little structure at home. We have a loose routine in place – specific mealtimes and bedtimes, for example – but everything else is just kind of free-flowing. I keep trying to put a routine in place like on Supernanny, but we never can seem to stick to it.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t really WANT that crazy, strict picture schedule like they have at school. I know the boy would cope better with more routine, but I truly feel like the more relaxed environment at home will be better for him long term. I think growing up in a big house full of kids is more of a benefit than a detriment to my son, because he’s learning to adapt to changes in his routine. I also like the idea that he’s growing up, y’know….sort of NORMAL. Our lives don’t really revolve around him and his needs, they revolve around the children and all of their needs. I think it’s important for him to see that the world wasn’t created for him.

I’ve seen kids with autism completely lose it when things don’t go the way they expect them to, but I don’t see much of that with my son. What I DO see is him missing his teachers and friends. Another benefit to growing up in a big family is having other kids to play with all the time, but it’s hard when you’re the only boy in a family of girls. Yesterday, we headed out to the park to take advantage of the unseasonably gorgeous weather. I packed up a picnic lunch and we spent nearly two hours out in the sunshine – it was glorious. And it’s in that setting where all my kids are on a level playing field. They may not all be able to read and write yet, but they can all climb rock walls, play tag, and swing so high they touch the sky.

I hope I’m doing the right thing. That’s the hardest part about parenting a child with special needs – not knowing if things are going to work out in the end. But I guess that’s true for all parents, right?

Today marks a year that we’ve lived in our “new” house. I’ve decided that I should officially stop calling it our new house, hence the quotation marks. I’m fighting an awful cold, as are a couple of my children, and we spent much of today on the sofa. As I flipped through the channels, I kept thinking back to a year ago, and contrasting what a different day today was than last December 27th! Four huge truckloads of stuff, and the last one wasn’t unloaded until nearly midnight. The kids were on Christmas break, and the weeks that followed were downright chaotic. It’s hard having bored kids underfoot while trying to unpack. It was nice to look around my cozy house today – even littered with new toys from Christmas, it’s a much different scene than it was a year ago.

Two thousand and nine was a tough year in a lot of ways. It was such a year of change for our family, with the new house and new schools. Even when change is for the better, it’s so difficult to go through it. And unfortunately for myself, I spent much of the year feeling like I wasn’t changing for the better. So many times, I felt like I couldn’t find my way. I wanted our house to instantly feel like home to me, to feel like the sanctuary our old home was, and to feel uniquely ours, the way our old home did. Of course, that can’t happen immediately – it takes time to make something your own. It takes time for people to get to know you. It takes time for children to stop being “the new kids” at school. And it takes a hell of a lot of time to go through a house and put your own special touch in every room.

I should point out that I am not an organized person by nature. (My husband is, thank God, or our lives would be falling down around us.) Between my messy tendencies and my unfortunate propensity for feeling guilty about my many flaws, I dealt with a massive amount of anxiety this past year. It’s only been in recent weeks that I’ve started recognizing the role depression has played in my inability to get shit done. Last year, right around this time, I stopped taking the antidepressant I’d been taking for years. I was going through a period of health concerns and serious headaches, and I was trying to pinpoint exactly what was causing my headaches. I decided to wean myself off the antidepressants to see if my headaches went away. They did! And I seemed to be doing okay, so I never refilled my prescription after our move.

I’m realizing now that I made such a dumb decision in doing that. For me, depression manifests itself not in sadness, but in anxiety and in feelings of being so overwhelmed that I can’t figure out how to tackle a situation. And I don’t really understand why it’s so hard to take my own advice – I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve told girlfriends of mine not to be afraid or ashamed to take antidepressants, because depression doesn’t just go away on its own. When it comes to my own health or my own psyche, it’s like I’m a total dumbass, though.

That’s one thing I intend to do differently in 2010. I work so hard to take care of my family, but think nothing of putting myself last – like I just don’t have it in me to think about my own needs. I heard someone recently compare it to putting on your own oxygen mask on an airplane before helping someone else. How can I really be supermom if I super-suck at taking care of myself? I started taking my meds again a few weeks ago, and already I’m feeling better. Now if I could just shake this stupid cold!