Ocho is Cinco. 

The boy who made me a real life mamá turns five today. So buckle in, grab some tissues and let me brag about my sweet boy for a while…


Eight is my lucky number. So you can imagine my excitement as I realized I gave birth my first baby in room 8 at 8:08 pm! He put up quite a fight…25 hours of labor, but finally after only 3 or 4 pushes he was here and was the sweetest thing from the second he popped his left eye open. 

From that moment on, he’s been our biggest joy, great entertainer, sweet little leader of the pack. He didn’t even make it to his first birthday, without a sibling. While pregnant, id ask him “Where’s Max?” and he’d smack my belly. When he met it was like reuniting with his best friend.


Our music loving, adventure seeking old soul cuts through to the heart of each matter. No matter how serious we want him to be or take himself,  he has fun and demands all around him join in…because what is happiness if not shared, right? He’s the king of the castle, but is happy to share the throne. 

His crown, though, is a heavy one because he has the task of being a special needs sibling. If only I was able to view Max through his eyes, I’d cry a lot less! He doesn’t see Max’s autism the way we do. He sees his brother first and foremost, not his autism. And his intuitive nature really helped this stressed out over-caffeinated momma when he’d be the mellow companion next to his brother having a full-blown sensory overload meltdown. At home, we may have to give into Max’s demands, but every time my husband and I are too tired to endure another punch, bite, etc. Ocho will remind that he is the big bro, and demands that equal treatment, or as close to it as possible. 

He’s been bitten, bruised and made more sacrifices than any other 5 year old should have to, and he’s done it with the cutest smile you’ve ever seen. He happily absorbs all of the kisses his brother has smacked away  and allows me to overload my affection I miss out on with Max (thanks to sensory processing disorder ) and reminds that there is ALWAYS time for kisses and hugs. No one can rock out harder on air guitar or throw a pokeball like this kid. And those curls! *gasp*


I just can’t enough of him. 

Feliz Cumpleaños mi’jo hermoso! 

Maximus The Great: Being Latino & Autistic is hard.

In my family, much like any other Latino family-we’re loud. The colors on our walls are bright, the food is seasoned with a cornucopia of flavors, we hug a lot, we kiss a lot. Everything we instinctively do, the cultural practices and traditions of who we are is a nightmare for autistic children.

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My familia literally throws an Old Mexico party every single year to celebrate Mexican Independence day and the bunch of September bdays we have.  Like, we’re real Mexican, ok?

My son will say hello and give kisses to family and friends he’s familiar with. Sometimes new friends he meets at get togethers si lo caes bien (if he likes you). But even through his enormous progression, he still battles with kissing me, his own mom and dare I say most favorite person in the world (kidding, that’s dad or grandpa) a kiss when he gets home from school.

I know I can’t take it personally those are the types of things he just struggles with.

For example, Christmas. Phew, Christmas. I only had a couple of aunts and their families come -8 people added onto our family of 10 that he’s used to. And although we were eventually ok…I distinctly remember the “greeting” he gave my aunt when she picked him up and tried to kiss him: A heavy hand to the face.

He melted down at least 3 times Christmas morning and it was no one fault, really. We were just being ourselves and it was just.too.much.

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Piñatas are pretty good for sensory input.

I finally realized that being Latino and autistic is hard.

We love hard and show it…any child who denies a kiss or hug is usually met with some side eye and comments about the parents (I know this is not just Latinos). It just goes against who we are.

But on the flip side, it is, what I feel has slowly but surely helped my son communicate and interact with the world. When he regressed, he didn’t want anything to do with anyone except his dad and grandpa who naturally played rough with him, thus fulfilling his need for sensory input.  I thought if he doesn’t want to hug me, I won’t force it. I want him to be comfortable and not feel like I was being overbearing. Let’s be real, sometimes our tias took it too far with the constant squeezing and hugging. Like, give me a sec to breathe, Conchita!!! 

But I think it became a bit of therapy for him. Like a mom’s version of Occupational Therapy. I’d turn kissing or hugging him into high intensity play time. He had his sensory input, and I got to be affectionate with him.

We are where we are today, at least in a small part to the fact that we are loud, affectionate and full of love in the most vibrant of manners. I was tempted to bring it down, even debated whether the bright mementos and décor in my home was ”too much” for him….He will adjust. And if I notice that he doesn’t, then I’ll tone down.

I was scared of losing my identity and culture to autism. On top of being loud and vibrant, we are a proud people, y’all. How in the world was my son going to know his culture and history if we had to tone it down? If we had to throw every to the wayside in the name of autism…well the truth was and still is that we don’t. We are more than our colorful wardrobe, art, food and loud music. We are love at the same capacity in which we express our pride and love would get us through anything.

So my son knows Jose Alfredo Jimenez and Marc Anthony, but for some reasons passes on Celia Cruz (it might be because Mom can’ help herself and dances a little too crazy for him, but Ill blame it on the bass line). Frida is all over our walls, and no one loves Abuelita’s arroz and tortillas as much as Max.

When it comes to family gatherings, I put Max’s autism out there first. I get it out of the way and make sure everyone knows it so they don’t wonder or tip toe around why my kid is running away from the swarm of outstretched arms and puckered lips my other kids are running into. I don’t ask my family to be quiet, or not to door say certain things, play music, etc. The way we see it, this world can’t make every single exception for him/his autism so he needs to be able to adapt and adjust and he has. We’ve progressed to a point to where I only have to tell him once to say good bye, and he knows the drill-every tio, tia, primo, prima gets a kiss good bye. It may be a gentle headbut, or just allowing someone to hug him with his tablet in hand-it’s progress!

When we get back home, we’re back in his world. It’s a little quieter If I put on the cleaning music (yes THAT cleaning music) I’ll pop in head phones so he can watch his videos or play on his own without the over stimulation.

So although we often have to ‘turn down the volume’ so to speak, we’re still teaching our kids the beauty of our culture and heritage and embracing while embracing and adjusting to challenges autism brings.

 

#TBT: Feliz Cumpleaños, Ezri!

How did we get here? How is it I took a breath and now you’re only hours away from turning one?

So, how is it we got here, again? It started with the slip of the sono tech’s hand, where we made the discovery of a flicker, then several very scary doctor visits where we thought we’d lost you…but tada! you fooled us.  We had a stumble (where I broke my ankle), and then a few weeks in bed watching Netflix and eating Ramen noodles. And as I pushed myself on a scooter (cause a pregnant woman should not have to swing herself on crutches), I found an inner strength in me I was afraid I didn’t have. And then, four days later than expected, you came.

All I wanted was to hold you so I could truly believe you were here. Just a few months prior, I thought I’d have to live with holes in my heart at the thought of losing you was all but certain. But alas, there you were…and as angry as I wanted to be a God for the series of tragic events which happened before your arrival, all I could so was weep with happiness at how utterly complete my heart and home felt with your arrival. There is no more room for bitterness. You’re sweet soul has pushed it all out of my heart.

Thank you, mi’ja. For saving your mommy from the depths of her depression. Thank you for giving your brothers their mommy back. Thank you for holding on, even when all the odds were stacked against you. Thank you for being you; my sweet, smart, sassy, and silly Ezri-bean.

You’re one year down, with many more to go, but you’ve got a head start on us all. This world is tough, but then, so are you. You didn’t care the odds were against you, that science would try to outweigh faith and hope-you wanted to be here so badly, I can’t wait to see how you change it.

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Feliz cumpleanos mi nina hermosa ❤

 

 

 

Maximus The Great: Normal Day

Being the parent of a special needs child would be so much easier if the world wasn’t full of reminders that you’re kid, and thus your life are different or wrong, or sick, etc.

DISCLAIMER: This is not a pity post. I know my boy is beyond amazing. The smartest person in this house with the personality of a King, or Giant, or some fascinating person you’ve only ever read about. But I need to keep it real

All of that “he’s so great” or “he’s a genius” stuff doesn’t come to mind when I’m wiping up a kicking and screaming almost 4 year old’s poop and trying not to get it on my outfit. Or getting punched or bitten because I just want to put his shoes on so we can make it to school on time and I can’t yell at him because it will only make things worse and his older brother is trying to get my attention because he’s doing something really cute, and Oh God my phone is at 1% and it’s 6:45 AM, and why the hell is the TV so loud…must stay calm and use this as a teachable moment to set precedent…that’s what the doctor said to do right? And oh crap, we’re way over the prescribed 10 hours of weekly screen time and it’s only Wednesday… we are one minute from being late and 2 minutes from a meltdown so there’s no time to let him fasten his shoes to improve the motor skills….and oh yeah, my other kid is still in her pajamas….

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Ok, you get my point.

Honestly all of that chaos is something I’m willing to accept and I do. I live it…it’s our beautiful messy life and I know things will get easier.

But Just as I do accept this. Every day. Every morning. I wake up and accept it…something happens to remind me that NOPE! NOOOOOPE! Things are amiss here. One of these families is not like the other.

It can be big. Like a public meltdown where folks around you are Southern and sweet and just want to help m’ijo, but he lashes out at them and they don’t understand how a little boy could misread their social cues of comfort. So you apologize profusely whilst keeping that “everything is fine” face.

Or it can be small. Like the little girls who looked at each other and said “who’s he talking to” as we sped walked up the stairs and into the school. Max was reciting dialogue from Kung-Fu Panda with his deep boat horn voice and choppy articulation. As I passed him off to his [*amazing*] PPCD teacher they gave each other another that “Oh that explains it” look.

The deep hibernating Momma bear wants to give these kiddos the side eye, but of course I can’t cause “society” says it ain’t cool to give mocositas  who yes, happen to be minors, the stank eye…but also, and perhaps more so because I am the Mom I need to look like I have it together. Because If I do, then it must all be good. And it has to all be good because If I acknowledge the broken pieces of my heart, it will surely splatter and be a messy situation. And I have 2 others kids to drop off and provide “normal” lives for.

That’s a lot of pressure my friends.

Pressure that sits upon the shoulders and chests of each and every special needs parent out there.

I may feel that pressure but I have LUCKY to have a verbal, walking, engaging child.

But it’s still pressure.

I’m reminded when I have a conversation with my older son about his day at school, that I can’t have with his little brother. Or when I see His baby sister playing with dolls and using her imagination…and how I could be so foolish as to ignore the warning signs when he was her age.

When “just get a sitter” is painfully hilarious. Because you so desperately need a night off but really you need to hire two, because Max needs his own designated sitter.

So yes, I believe in that cute “different is awesome” “who wants to be normal?” kind of stuff. But if I’m being honest…If I’m keeping it 100 as the kids say…Then I raise my hand. For like one day…can we be normal? For one day can I be able to cheer when my kids finally sits on the potty, a note home without the words “biting friends” or “rough day” at the bottom? Can I understand what exactly he likes/ dislikes and why he does so. Sign me up for that day, please. “Normal Day” you can have my Mother’s Day or Flag Day in exchange.

So If you catch me out in them streets (again, as the kids say) and I look frazzled please know it’s because the pressure got to me that day.

 

 

❤ Esposa Janeli

My First Brazilian…

My First Brazilian…

Was the most exhilarating of my hair’s lifetime!

The fact that my hair has experienced a mirage of colors, cuts and styles would be an understatement.

Luckily my hair and mental health are brilliantly managed by the best hair stylist in town – Nichole Dawn!  I, like many women, have an intrinsic need to have a serious, long term, vanity-filled relationships with her hairstylist. She becomes your bestie, confidant, and overall brand stylist.

One day as I was sitting in the hair chair, dishing on the latest chisme, drinking prosecco and catching up with Nichole, she highlighted my life with “The Brazilian”, a gorgeous hair transformation which would make my mane shiny and new. Because Lord knows I wear my feelings in my hair, and literally looked like the craziness that was 2016.  This girl needed a major boost!

And so began my first foray into the luscious and tantalizing world of the Brazilian Blowout a la Nichole.

It’s an intense process, but worth every second. Nichole broke it down and made it incredibly enjoyable.

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The Brazilian Process:

Step 1: Wash all the nastiness out of your hair. Nichole used the acai berry Brazilian Blowout formula to rinse the grunge and frizz away.

Step 2:  Nichole then stands on her feet for about an hour blow drying my locks and placing serious Brazilian Blowout chemicals into the hair, strand by strand, whipping the frizz and dullness into submission.

Step 3:  Then she takes her hot ass flat iron and gets to work on all those strands she just whipped into submission. Here’s the big tip: Depending on how wild, thick, wiry, frizzy or messed up your hair is, each strand can be flat ironed up to 12 times for the maximum de-frizz effect. The more iron smashes, the more luscious your locks will become.

In my case, I have pretty straight hair, not too thick, but a bizarre burnt frizz occurs       after every wash – no matter the product. Nichole only took a few turns of the flat iron to ensure I wouldn’t have flat hair.

After Nichole flat ironed my crazy hair, I could already see a major difference! It was as if with one twirl of the hair chair I suddenly had the gorgeous shining, soft, bouncy God gave me at birth.  Maybe Nichole really is my fairy Godmother!

Step 4:  Next Nichole had to do it all over again! Poor darling! She had to shampoo and condition my seemingly angelic hair, again, with the Brazilian Blowout Products I would later take home with me. She massaged the loveliness into my scalp and I could feel the divine sensation of beauty scrubbing into my head through her beautifully talented little fingers.

Step 5:  Nichole took my hand, led me to the hair chair for a final blowout and what usually takes at least 25 minutes with blowdrying and flat iron, took maybe 7 minutes max! SEVEN MINUTES MAX! I could feel the glitter pouring from the ceiling of Salon Boutique… All I needed to do now was sashay my way down the hall, give a sassy hair flip and a wink to the queen in the next salon chair and my transformation would be complete.

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In all seriousness though, one visit to my favorite hair stylist / bestie, changed my entire mom hair vibe! My hair was finally bouncy, frizz-free and so light I could barely think straight. And all she used was a blow dryer! No flat iron, curling rod, curlers, curling iron, hair spray, or mousse. Just a blow dryer….

My first Brazilian was a tantalizingly happy experience! While I know my hair was feeling fabulous, I honestly left feeling like a new woman.

So, if your hair is in need of an unforgettable experience – you need to call Nichole – ASAP!

Call The Gorgeous Fairy Godmother of Hair: Nichole Dawn 210-379-0591

Because damn! This hair is just too fabulous not to share! Get in that chair and let the Brazilian vibe make you feel like a new woman!

P.S. Nichole is also a single mom-preneur making her way in the world with God in her heart, razor sharp shears,  amazing talent and a true passion for hair fashion.  She’s a queen, girl boss and overall bad ass in my book.

Sending everyone love and glitter,

Esposa Dani

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When your amiga suffers a miscarriage

 

Miscarriage is an easy word to write. It is not however, easy to talk about. I’m sure as I continue typing away at this I will shed lots of tears and reopen the wounds of my heart that have (sort of) healed…well, as much as they can. But I’ll push forward because it happens, and we must talk about it. We should talk about it because the women and families left scarred from the loss of hope are suffering. They’re sad, they’re heartbroken, and we need to take care of each other.

Most of the women I know do not speak of their miscarriages until way after it has taken place. They share about it in whispers, with close friends, either as an anecdote. Typically, someone breaks the ice by bringing up their own miscarriage of the one of a close family member/friend, and then one after another women begin to share. It’s rarely brought up in a forthcoming “hey, look what happened to me” type of way.

Pre-miscarriage this made absolutely no sense to me. I wondered how on earth any women could feel embarrassed by something like this. I thought it SHOULD be talked about, it happens to so many women, we should be talking about it the way we talk about periods, cramps, stupid men who don’t “get it,” etc.

Then I had one myself. Actually, I had two. One in a very public setting, the other in the privacy of my own home. Both times, I wanted to crawl into the deepest darkest hole and disappear.

I was sad. I was scared. It felt like my heart had been ripped out of me and flushed down the toilet along with the precious angel I lost.

It doesn’t matter how small the baby is, 4 weeks, 10 weeks, 12, whatever the size… it is a loss. It is painful (physically and emotionally and mentally painful). And no matter what, no matter the woman, we will first try to disappear. Then dissolve the problem. Minimize it. Pretend like it wasn’t truly a loss, or something to grieve.

So, as a friend or family member of someone who has suffered this type of loss, here’s a small guide on what to do and what not to do.

Pay attention.  

If your homegirl announced she was preggo and was posting or texting daily or weekly updates, like how she thinks she felt a kick (even though It was probably just gas), or how excited she is and it all of a sudden stops…check on her. Send a text, give her a call.

Perhaps she’s just fine, and hasn’t posted anything cause she lost her phone.

Or maybe she got some bad news at the doctor and has had or is at risk of something happening to her/the baby.

Or perhaps she was forthcoming with the info and decided to do a mass post on Facebook to let everyone know. Don’t just comment, send a message, a text, or better yet flowers of an edible arrangement. Show her you care…she needs to be showered with love.

DON’T tell her to think of the child(ren) she already has.

 You’re coming from a good place, but that phrase is painful. Because (if it was a wanted pregnancy) she was already in love with that particular baby. That baby had already began taking up space in her heart. Help her grieve that baby.

DON’T ignore when she deflects or deflates.

This is for those friends/family member you’re real close with. The ones you really know. Don’t let them blow it off. It will catch up to them later, and the grieving process could be much worse if they try to shove it under the rug. Call her out and et her know it’s OK to acknowledge it for what it truly is.

Let her cry.

She needs a cry. It’s ok to be a llorona sometimes. Hand her every last tissue out of the box. Hold her as she sobs. Tell her you’re sorry. Don’t try to fix it. Bring over ice cream, her favorite movie and sit with her.

Distract her

Take her out to eat, or for a walk. Let her choose what to do but let her know you’re there. It will mean so much. She may put up a front or genuinely want to be alone, but to know she has someone there in spirit with her is enough to help her through it.

If you have to, intervene.

I pushed a lot of people away when I miscarried. I felt like I was made to be a spectacle (when it happened in the public setting) so I wanted to be a complete shut in unless it was work related. But after a while, I even stopped talking to my husband. And he stepped in and called me out. So I had to crawl out of that deep dark space with only him to help pull me out. I wish I had reach out to more friends for help, or had someone notice. But that’s the trouble with deflating, deflecting, and not sharing…no one knew I needed help.

It wasn’t until I started opening up and telling others about what happened, how it happened, cried about it and laughed about it,  that I felt like I truly started to heal. It felt foreign to me to talk about something so sad…but there’s something familiar about it when the person across form you has also gone through it and can relate.

Miscarriages happen. More often than you think. So ladies, don’t be afraid to share your story, and amig@s, don’t be afraid to listen. Maybe you’ll be uncomfortable for a moment, but it’s not about you…and it’s nothing compared to what she’s feeling.

Best Decision Ever.

Back at the end of October, I was brought on board to Adelante Scholarship Fund to help coordinate their annual Leadership Institute for their scholars and young students across the nation.  It was an amazing experience, for many reasons, but one moment stuck out to me, because it’s a huge part of why I even started this “Esposa Experience thing” anyway.

me-and-dr-machado-casasDuring the opening session Dr. Margarita Machado-Casas shared her story and how she has come into her own identity and paved a way for herself. Btw, if you EVER get a chance to her her speak-do NOT pass it up. She’s strong, vivacious, and gives you #RealTalk. Everyone was enthralled with her story, her positive attitude, and her all out badassery…especially the young ladies.

 

Then she says, “One of the best decisions I ever made was marrying my husband” I saw the young ladies in the crowd taken a back and perk up as if to say “wait, what!”

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Dr. Margarita Machado-Casas speaking at the Adelante National Leadership Insititute

This brilliant and vibrant woman, Dr. Margarita Macho-Casas had just shard a bit of her personal story-which is AMAZING, and began talking about how she handles a work/life balance today.

She began to speak about how women need to be careful to pick a partner who is not intimidated by their success.

 

I immediately jumped on the mic and asked “Can you say that again?”

And she did. Slowly. So these young adults could really hear her.

Just then my cell phone vibrated in my hand with an update from husband about the children:

“All kids picked up, heading home. Love you”

It’s hard being a tough and independent Latina whilst being a married soft and sweet wife. I’m loud, abrasive, and sometimes intimidating except behind closed doors with my husband. He’s the only one who sees that side of me. This dichotomy leaves me, and many other like minded women like myself with a little feminist guilt. Like, I know I can do it all if I had to. I know I don’t truly NEED my husband, but I want him, and for now I want to need him.

I’m often asked “how do you do it all” and the first answer is always “Jake.” He’s never been intimidated by everything going on in my life. There’ve been times where I made more money, other times where he did, and that never mattered. Because it was always our house, our money, with respect to each other’s finances and independent lives. We figured it out. We continue to figure it out-everyday. We support one another. It’s tit for tat. And no matter how many comments are made about are vastly different personalities, professions, and even interests, he doesn’t let it get him down, jealous, upset, etc. He knows me best.

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Hubby and I at a Galas. He often volunteers at my events just so we can get some time together ❤ 

We’re not perfect, I can take him for granted, and he sometimes has to put me in check. He can be a poor communicator and I have to check him as well But we work as hard on our marriage as we do on our careers, parenthood, everything else. What’s important is that we put each other first. Above everything.

 

 

Maximus The Great: 3 things you should before your first ARD

So you’ve gone and done your Special Education Evaluation with your school district and you wait. It may feel like forever, I know but soon you will have your ARD meeting (ARD = Admission, Review, Dismissal) where you’ll review the options for your child within the special education system. After the evaluation, the school district has up to 45 school days to schedule and meet with you.

It can be intimidating to go through this process as a newcomer-trust me I just had mine a couple of weeks ago! But I’ve been blessed to be around folks who’ve sat at each side of the table who gave me tips and made me feel comfortable (well, sort of). So I will share the wisdom that helped me through with you!

Ask for the Evaluation Results before the ARD.

Your evaluation will be sent to the school in which your zoned and will be reviewed by the professionals there who will create the IEP for you. These folks may never set eyes on your child before they enter their classroom, and it’s most likely the evaluators only interacted with your child that one time…remember, you know your child best! Request the evaluation before the ARD (this can be done by making a phone call to the school district’s special education department, or just by asking the specialist at your evaluation. Review the evaluation ahead of time. Mark it up if you see fit! Highlight sections you wanted to discuss at the ARD.

 

Take someone with you. You are entitled to take another person, whether it’s a paid advocate, speech therapist, occupational therapist, nanny, grandparent, aunt, whomever you feel is best with you to be a participant in the ARD. For example, I took my son’s Speech Therapist. She knew Max’s capabilities, his weaknesses, and his personality. She wouldn’t have come, however had I not asked. Speak up, parents…no need to be shy when it comes to these things!

 

Remember: YOU ARE IN CHARGE. You are the parent. You know your child better than anyone. The entire process is overwhelming. To the folks across the school office counter or tiny desks, or maybe even a real adult sized conference table, you’re another parent out of the hundreds they see in their career. And though they’re usually nice and considerate and treat each child/case independently, don’t let their experience one-up you. They may be experts in their fields, but you’re an expert in who your kid is, what they’ve experienced up to this point. Ask questions, make sure you understand EVERYTHING. If anything makes you say “huh?” or you don’t quite understand the next steps in the process, ask for them to explain.

 

Have any tips of your own? Leave it in the comments!

The day after, I had bigger fish to fry.

It’s the day after and the stirring silence from friends and family is an indicator of the fear leftover from election night.

But I have to put that away right now. Because my son needs me. I want to rant and rave and be pissed then take a deep breath and say ok, I’m moving on, staying in track and fighting harder….but all of that noise doesn’t matter right now in this moment. 

In this moment my 3 year old lays sedated with wires glued to his head and a bright computer monitor with scriggly lines all over it. Repeated fluctuations, moving at a constant speed….this goes on for an hour and a half. 

I’ve choked down tears three times already. Once when they put the IV in, again when I sat waiting for the doctor and my sensory sensitive kiddo kept trying to rip his IV out, and again as I held his screaming flailing body fall to a deep medically induced sleep.

Feeling your child go limp is not fun even when you know it’s for his own good and part of the process. 


img_0127Our boy is not a lab rat. We are not a case study. We are human. I know that, the doctors know that, my friends and family know that but that’s what this feels like. Every assessment we get watched through a window, every time we review and repeat the family history, every time I have to think about those quirks he began as a baby that were much more than quirks. every form I have to fill out, and every observation made, I’m made to feel like a science experiment.

He is not a lab rat but here we are in this most unnatural environment as I sit and watch my son sleep heavily with red,green, blue and white wires attached to his head. I’m googling what a normal EEG should look like. But I’m not a neurologist and am too tired to pretend to be. 

And then the reality sits upon me, we are in this new world packaged in a dark cloud of hate, racism, fear, and everything else bad with this country. But I don’t have time to complain. I don’t have the energy to focus on negativity right now because I have to use it all to fill up my hope tank. Hope for my son, for my other children, and hope for the rest of us.

I won’t give up on Max. I won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on this country. We’re great, or we can be anyway. But we need work. Lots of work. And I do look forward to a greater tomorrow, but one that benefits us all. Because we all deserve that dream. No matter what life hands us we have the right to dream and work for a greater tomorrow. And we have the right and responsibility to help each other do that. 

I can’t open the flood gates of fear right now, because trust me, the thoughts are there

“what happens if the Affordable Care Act IS repealed, and preexisting conditions comeback into play and Max’s autism is seen as a preexisting condition and we have to pay even MORE money than we already do.”

“What if we lose a job and have to use medicaid, what will happen then?”

And that’s just scratching the very surface.

What I’ve learned from this journey with Max is that I have to turn my fear and urge to run, hide and cry into stand up, face it, and fight. And that’s what I’ll do for whats right, for our future. Turn the fear and anger into hope and action. img_0130