Finding Myself

The last few months have thrown me for a loop. There are so many new things going on, that I feel I can't keep up. I don't know how to define myself. I am the mother of seven children. This is not news. However, this year, I am the mother of a high school graduate, two high school students, a middle school student, an elementary school student, and two preschool students. Wow. Seeing that in print is kinda scary.

 I am the chef, chauffeur, housekeeper,  laundress,  advocate, postal worker, Momma Bear as needed,  teachers' aide for any number of teachers, a contributor for an online magazine, a book reviewer, college course counselor, motivational speaker for the monsters and the Daddy, comedienne, disciplinarian, and administrative assistant to the fam. But nowhere, in the description of all those jobs, does it tell me who *I* am. Me. Caryn. The..... person. And that's where I'm stuck.

I don't mean this in some deep, spiritual, religious way. I mean, I can't even tell someone what I like. I don't know what my favorite flavor, color, scent, book... whatever... is.  I really don't.  I don't know if I'm "good enough" to keep writing. I don't know if I have any extraordinary talents that define me. I just don't know.. me. And I have to tell ya; it's a little difficult to keep things together on the outside when the inside is so conflicted.

So, I'll apologize now for using my blog as a therapist for the day, while I attempt to muddle through.

I know there are things that have to be done because it's part of being the Momma and a responsible adult, like laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, showers, meetings, doctor's appointments. I know there are things that get done because it's in the best interest of my child(ren) like therapy, homework, diet changes because of allergies. There are things that get done because it makes my monsters smile, like going to get pumpkins from the "Punkin House" and jumping in leaf piles. And I'm all about having happy monsters.

But... again. That gets me no closer to finding out who *I* am. So here's what I have figured out. I am a rockin' awesome baker. This is not bragging. This is a fact. I'm sorry.. I know it sounds shallow, but it's true. If you are my friend on facebook, I apologize for the quantity of mouth watering pictures of baked goods on my timeline. But there's a little part of me that feels like I've accomplished greatness when I take something glorious out of the oven. And also? I feel calm when I bake. I feel like everything is okay, and whatever things are stressing me out at the time can be overcome. The more intricate the recipe, the more stressed out I am. Thus, the caramel apple cinnamon rolls that appeared on my timeline last week. Therapy through flour and wire whisk. That's my thing. Does baking "define" me?

If so, that's okay. That's good enough. I am Caryn. The mighty baker of many sinfully delicious things made from scratch, staged, and then cruelly posted on facebook for all my friends and family to drool over. We call that food porn. And I'm good at it!

I lust over KitchenAid mixers in catalogs (because I don't have a mixer at all, and I do everything literally by hand). I drool over cute little muffin tins, bundt pans, and painfully expensive pure vanilla. If I could have anything I wanted, I would have a Bosch mixer/blender/food processor. And.. let's be honest.. I'd also be able to eat anything I make without gaining an ounce. It's kinda sad, really.. because I'm happiest when I'm creaming together butter and sugar, or making cookies with the twinnies. I feel fulfilled when the fam rolls their eyes in flavor nirvana and asks for more. I am absolutely giddy when people beg me to stop posting food pics because their keyboard/monitor/phone is beginning to malfunction , because they have drooled all over it a few too many times.

Yes, yes. You know I'll share some of these cruel pics from my timeline with you. After all.. I kind of HAVE to now, don't I? Just be glad I don't text y'all. You'd block me and my pic messages. Seriously.

Ok. Therapy over. Time to drool.

Fresh Strawberry pie and cream

Ham and Cheese Potato soup

Chocolate Double Shot flourless
cake with vanilla bean ice cream
and fresh raspberry sauce

Peach Cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream

5 Grain Bread

Gingerbread/Egg Nog bread pudding

Who Am I? via the Google, by hupandsteph.com
Leaf pile play belongs to the Momma
Bosch mixer/food processor via the Google, by boschmixers.com
Food porn by the Momma

You ARE the professional.

This post has been bouncing around in my brain like a bad game of Pong for weeks now. I've composed it several times in my head, and it never goes well. So, I'm just going to be direct about it and hope for the best.

I am disturbed greatly by "professionals"  who belittle and berate parents. "Professionals" with those big important initials behind their names, who tell us that we are "inhibiting your child's progress because of your own stubbornness and refusal to provide necessary therapies and treatments" or even worse, going so far as to accuse a parent of a special needs child of Munchhausen by proxy syndrome (MBPS). It happened to me. I was "creating my own drama". I was incapable of showing my monsters love and affection, to the point that the "professional's" opinion was that I was abusing my beloved monsters through neglect.

I have news for "Professionals" with the big important letters behind their names. I AM the professional. I AM  who provides Logan's care, and the care of his siblings. I AM the professional that knows every single monster's medical history, allergy, phobia, favorite songs, stories, colors, and dinners. I AM the professional that knows every medication and dosage every single one of my children needs. I AM the professional that demanded therapy and care for Logan, and will continue to do so. I AM the professional that can tell you what works to help my children sleep and what does not. I AM the professional who sings my children to sleep, walks the floor with the twinnies until all hours of the night, and snuggles each and every monster~ even the teenagers~ when they are scared or hurt or sad. I AM the professional who teaches paramedics, doctors, therapists, and educators about Logan and his needs.  I AM the professional who has meeting after meeting after meeting to make sure my children are getting what they need.

I am not, however, the only parent who has experienced this particular brand of heartache that will rock your world and make you question every molecule of yourself. Make you wonder what business you have being a parent, if some stranger can come into your home and give you a ridiculously detailed report of every way in which you have failed as a human being, as well as a parent.

I have scrutinized every minute of every day, every second of parental interaction with my monsters ever since this experience began August 6.. while I was hundreds of miles away from home, attending BlogHer and learning from other special needs parents, REAL professionals, and bloggers. Yes addicts, that's right. This "Professional" judged my parenting when I wasn't even there.

I have cried buckets of tears. I have literally screamed in anguish. I have spent hours evaluating every word before I speak. I have taken notes, talked to the Daddy (who, by the way, is the most awesome, incredible, amazing person EVER and has stood by me offering hugs and encouragement during this extremely vivid version of Hell), and wondered how I could possibly be this ignorant. Here's what I've discovered: Professionals can be wrong. Very, VERY wrong.

I may be "just a Mom", and I may not have the initials behind my name, but I guarantee I will give you a run for your money. Nothing, nothing at ALL in this world is more important to me than the monsters. I will move mountains to make sure that they get whatever it is that they need. Right now, oh mighty abuse-by-neglect spouting professional, who is of the opinion that I create drama for attention (And really, when do I have time for THAT??), what my monsters need is for me to forget your existence. To be the Momma, and help them to thrive in spite of the havoc you have left in your wake.

To others who have been abused in this way by "professionals" may I say.. keep on keeping on. The best way to get back at people who think they are God is to prove to them that they are wrong, quietly and with dignity~ something that never would have occurred to a "professional" with a Napoleon complex. Don't get angry. Don't respond. Don't allow them the satisfaction of knowing that they have just hit your jugular. WALK. AWAY. And know that the support far outnumbers the fraud. Although.. this post was neither quiet NOR dignified. Darn. *wink*

Why, yes.. I DID get my degree from a box of Cracker Jack. You, too??

Images in this post by Google images


This post should not be substituted for proper medical care,treatment, diagnosis, or therapy. This post should in no way be construed as a "Professional" opinion because you know... I'm "just a Mom"


This post may be deleted at any time, after I sleep and realize I have just spilled my guts over the Internet.


This post was purely for therapeutic purposes on my part.

Teach me, fearless leaders!

Each year at this time, our family gets together to talk about things we are thankful for. Things like, having a home to live in, being healthy, having family close by, doctors and therapists for Logan, our support system.

Then we talk about others. People that are perhaps not doing as well as we are, in a variety of different ways. By doing this, we raise awareness within our beloved monsters. We teach compassion in a hands on manner. We try to instill in them a sense of gratitude, and the desire to be of service to others. 

In keeping with that thought this week, I began to think of others I could personally help. I cannot volunteer at a food bank, a nursing home, or a hospital because I cannot leave Logan. I cannot hand out wads of cash (as much as I dearly want to) to any number of truly deserving charities. But I CAN research causes and charities I truly believe in, and donate to one that I support.

This year, I find military families in my thoughts with regularity. Specifically, those military families with special needs kids. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be consistent with therapies, medications, and a thousand other things, when moving from one place to another, and coping without a spouse and parent for extended periods of time. Regular routines which are so imperative to so many special kids are interrupted with each and every move.

There are things in life I feel STRONGLY about. One of them is the treatment of our nation's military. If someone has served our country, I feel this should earn them favors for life.  There should NEVER be a reason for a veteran to be homeless, a military family to rely on food stamps, a special needs child of someone in our armed forces being unable to get appropriate therapy or care through the military health care system. As far as I'm concerned, these are real, true blue, dyed in the wool heroes.  If they are/were in any branch of our armed forces, they are heroes. They deserve everything this country has to offer in the way of support, whether it be monetary, medical, emotional, physical, or what have you.

These families have enough stress in day to day life without worrying about how to find civilian sources for their special needs kids, over and over again, because their military health care won't provide it. These children cope with the stress of deployed mothers and fathers, multiple moves, and new surroundings. Military kids shouldn't be made to endure a disability because their parents cannot afford to pay out of pocket for therapy. 

Last night when I read this blog post I was shocked, to say the least. So, I am asking for your help to find out something REALLY important. I want to find a charity which will benefit military families with special needs kids. I'm not having a whole lot of success on my own. But, if there is anything that is near and dear to my heart, it is watching Logan and seeing how much progress he has made. He has accomplished SO much with therapy, diet restrictions, and proper medical care. His case coordinators have been so on top of things, I have to credit them with a great deal of his success. I want every mother to have these same things. While I am NOT guaranteeing success or amazing results, I cannot begin to tell you how important early intervention, and continuing therapy are. Our military's special kids NEED this.

Please comment or email me directly at benandjerryluvr@yahoo.com if you know of such a charity that is helping our military, their families, and their special kids with these things which we know are so vital.