Bug Battles

Last night I climbed up onto one of the kitchen chairs to kill a stink bug that was lounging on the ceiling. I was behind the 8-ball with this disgusting creature.  My bug fearing son would never know that it crept in to “git him.” He had been fully engaged downstairs on his monkey bars, therefore completely unaware of the deadly predator breaking and entering our home. I was all ready for the fight…..


Those of you with children on the spectrum know that an extraordinarily severe fear of bugs is a probability. So, I am confident you can understand this predicament.  Our family will go to great lengths to search and destroy that which is tormenting our son. Let me tell you why.

99.9% of the time my youngest is first to spot a bug in the house. He has an unusually acute awareness to when they ambush our home.  His announcement of the emergency is quite pronounced as he exercises his great lung capacity:


I’m fairly certain neighbors can hear his shrieks. The homes in our neighborhood sit close together. There is no way our next door neighbors’ ears can avoid this fierce audio assault.

Eyes pinched, we wait for our hearing to be restored.  Once normalized,  my husband and I  jump from our trenches in a nano-second and scramble to find a weapon -a magazine or newspaper- and begin our pertinacious hunt. No sooner than preparing our word wielding weapons, we experience further temporary hearing damage with:


His howling fuels our determination. I look at my husband and check for alignment in our purpose. Our efforts will not be in vain. This is our bug hunting script. To the outsider, we are bumbling actors in a sitcom. For my son, this is a horror story.  My husband and I find ourselves tripping over each other, frantically swatting the air hoping contact will be made with the tiny predator.  No such luck. Flys, those sneaky little charlatans, know just where to hide.  Weapons held high, we become statues. In all the years we’ve battled these buggers, I’ve developed strategies to locate them in hiding. I shift my eyes like a ninja while maintaining my static pose.

I wait.

Suddenly, it appears! My well trained eyes follow its escape path from behind a curtain to the window in front of me.

I advance- WHACK!!

“DID YOU GIT IT MOM???!!!!! DID YOU GIT IT???!!!!!” Anxiety is heightening.

“NOT YET, BUT I WILL!” I try to console him as I watch that stinker fly off to his next hideaway.

“I bet it’s laughing at me, “ I brood.

With every misfire, tension swells. Our son continues to shout so we default to our usual reassurances.

“It’s just a bug, honey, it can’t hurt you,” or, “you are bigger than the bug, it’s probably more afraid of YOU!!”

Each time we present these facts, we hope it will finally relax our panicked off spring. But alas, our efforts are futile:  he is convinced he is the main target of this bug, the predator of our Kingdom.

At this point, we are in the most chaotic war zone known to human race. Anarchy!  All hands on deck! Our dog is barking frantically , chasing us around the house.  Our parakeets are fluttering spastically in their cage- feathers and feed shooting out onto my hardwoods. Our other two sons, true to their battle roles, are shouting out commands.

My oldest shouts with encouragement, “It went into the dining room, Dad!”

“I think it flew upstairs, Mom!!” The other quickly chimes in.

But our bug fearing son shoots out demands like machine guns firing in our heads,


If the planets are aligned, we win our battle in a few minutes. My husband and I release our weapons and breath a sigh of relief. Safety is restored.

Sometimes, we can’t find it anywhere and try to convince (lie to) our son that it flew out the slightly opened deck door. Typically that approach fails,  and he eventually sees the fly emerge from its latest bunker. Our battle resumes.

Worst case scenerio, the crack in the door allows for additional predators to engage in combat and we know we will lose.  This is when we saddle up,  bolt to the family car and head out to the nearest park.


Last night, much to my chagrin, was a different story. I thought I was smart. I climbed up onto that chair, arched my back (a bit too dramatically) and charged at it that stinker with my trusted bug weapon.

“WHAP!” The stink bug fell to its death leaving behind bits of its corpse and dropped into a small opening that swallowed it into the cavity of the microwave. “AAAAAAHHH! I shout. Not because I killed it, not because it fell into the workings of our cooking appliance. I cried out because I was in pain- I threw out my back.

“Awesome,” I moan.

Today, after taking some Advil, I sit ever so carefully with moist heat on my back and pray that the coffee I just warmed up in the microwave isn’t laced with stink bug guts.

But at least I know I won last nights battle and freed my son from the horror of the ever constant threat to our household.



More About The Importance of Connections

Connection is a key ingredient to raising children on the spectrum. As Brene Brown, renowned Author, has said:

“Connection is the energy that is created between people when they feel seen, heard and valued- when they can give and receive without judgement.”

2006 is around the time I entered the world of autism scared out of my mind.  I was beyond terrified. Rarely did a day pass when I did not have raging anxiety or fear. A memory that is seared into my brain was the day my youngest son was diagnosed with Autism. I will never forget walking out of the doctor’s office holding a million forms and a prescription for Fragile-X Syndrome test. What was missing was a parent to parent support group prescription. I did not realize how much I would need peer to peer support. I had no idea how to raise 3 children, 2 of whom had Autism. I feared for the future. I needed a crystal ball to know my sons would be ok! I felt depressed, alone, and isolated. What I desperately longed for was connection with other moms who had the same amount or more experience in the autism world. I was “green.” I needed an expert level mom! Additionally , at the time I was having babies, social media had not been born.

I am sure those of you who raise an autistic child have had the awful experience of judging looks when your child is having a meltdown in public, making “strange” faces or is twirling while wearing noise cancellation headphones in response to sensory overload. I have been there countless times with both of my Autistic sons. Strangers only see disruptive or strange behavior, they cannot see the “why”. They do not understand. They are unaware of how much you are struggling as a parent, trying to figure out where the meltdown is coming from, how to ease the sensory overload, and how to calm your child.

When my middle son started his special needs pre-K program, I finally began to develop a network of mom friends living a similar life. It was a relief for me when I found these connections. They understood what I was experiencing and why my children were they way they were. I didn’t have to explain. We could just “be” when got together for playdates. We grew to trust each other and be supportive during tough times. We could genuinely celebrate the accomplishments of each other’s children. We never felt judged, because we walk in the same shoes. These mothers became my parenting community that I so desperately needed in the beginning. These connections have made the past eleven years much easier and not so frightening.

I am so grateful for my ever-growing mom/parent community. This community has helped me to get to a place in my life that offers the perspective I wished I had early on. It is perspective fueled with hope and confidence. It has given me the ability to cope with problems.

I look back at a life that I thought would be 100% impossible and see that it was not the case. We have made it through many heartaches. We have witnessed our children overcoming challenges. We see them enduring. We see them enjoying life in their own unique way. A life I thought would be hopeless, has been a world filled with beauty and growth. We have climbed the steepest mountains – sometimes successfully arriving at the top, and sometimes falling back down. I will be honest, I have had my share of tears. But my tears are not just from sadness. Gratitude tears come in abundance. Also, I have learned that projecting into the future is a waste of time. Instead, I parent one day at time. When I do that way, I find tomorrow is easier.

I have overcome and learned so much during this journey so far, but I know I still have A ways to go. What is different today, is that I am not always afraid. I will not let fear dictate my parenting. I trust when I stay connected to my peers, this journey will be easier, and my children will ultimately benefit the most.



Changing Flight Plans

Some of you may know the poem “Welcome to Holland.” For those of you who do not, allow me to explain. Or, if you prefer, you can follow this link to the poem.

Welcome to Holland

“Welcome to Holland,” is a poem written by Emily Kingsley about how it feels to have a child with special needs when you had already prepared for a typical child- like planning a trip to Italy. However, when that day arrives the plane changes its flight plan and lands in Holland, not Italy. “Holland!?” She exclaims. “I didn’t sign up for Holland!” So, she buys manuals for Holland and realizes that it isn’t all that bad, but she knew that she would forever watch everyone in Italy knowing that it was there she was meant to land.

After reading “Welcome to Holland” for the first time, I was brought to tears. I felt an instant connection to the author. She had beautifully articulated what I had just started to feel as I began my anxiety fueled ascent to “Destination Unknown.” For a while, I read and re-read this essay convincing myself that, yes, Holland is so very special, and I need not mourn the fact that our stupid plane changed its flight trajectory, not once, but twice when our third son was also diagnosed with Autism. This poem was instrumental in helping me feel less isolated. Clearly, other parents are out there, wishing they landed in Italy but got Holland instead.

What I came to realize is that our travels would never be exclusive to Holland.

The first time I felt our flight change its course was when my middle son was 6 months old. Like most mothers, I just stared at his face all the time. I remember falling in love with him, just as I did with my first son. I was in awe with the fact that my heart was able to hold so much love. I had wondered if it was even possible to love a second child as much as I loved my first.

As the months went by, I recall being curious about how his eyes would startle wide open and with fixation when I took a picture of him. He seemed oddly obsessed to the camera and its flash. He responded similarly to all things electronic. Overall, his facial expressions showed me a boy receiving the world around him much differently than other children his age. He didn’t babble, point, or turn his head when spoken to. By 14 months, he had only 10 words. So, like a good mom, I had him evaluated and he qualified for speech therapy.

When my son first started speech therapy, I had already done independent research online about my concerns with his development. I was worried. I recall nervously observing the speech therapist as she worked with him. I always hated how she spoke loudly at his face trying to create eye contact. After several visits, I found the courage to inquire about her knowledge of Autism and if she recognized any characteristics similar in my son. She was usually evasive which terrified me. I needed her to say, “No worries, it’s simply a speech delay.” Deep down, hiding in the most secretive places of my soul, I knew we were most likely on our way to a spectrum diagnosis. Until then, I grasped at everything to prove my instincts wrong. I also held him tightly as he slept. I was convinced that my love for him would “cure” him. I was sure my love alone would work. But by morning, I’d see nothing had changed and to keep his speech therapy appointments. I remember being so frightened and anxious. How did we miss landing in Italy? What happened? Why couldn’t we have just landed where everyone else lands? Frankly, it would be so much easier.

Fast forward, thirteen years I have learned that daily new flight plans are our normal. I take off each day on a journey to places known and unknown. Our plane has perfected the art of consistently changing flight plans and riding them out better by the day. Some of the flights have become smoother. Often, we hit way too much turbulence. Some even crash. So far, none have destroyed us. We have survived because we learned to accept the unpredictability of a land in which we did not expect to live.

I think back to when I first read the “Welcome to Holland” essay and want to tell my younger self, “KEEP YOUR SEAT BELT ON AT ALL TIMES!!!” I want to alert her that she will experience so much in many lands. She will not have a life absent of joy, laughter and celebration! And that her tears will be abundant not from sadness alone, but from fierce joy when she sees her sons overcome challenges that come with Autism. Her tears will be the recipe to developing a thicker skin, a softer heart and great ability for compassion and advocacy.

One of the most extraordinary gifts she will receive is witnessing all these newly developed attributes in her sons. She will be astounded by their ability to self advocate and show compassion. I will implore with her that she must always accept Changing Flight Plans even when they exhaust and frustrate her. Acceptance is not only a required practice in each land, but it will help these lands to feel more familiar, more manageable and not so scary. Her acceptance will push aside fear and doubt. She will grow to love raising her children in not just one land but as a world traveler. And her love for them will be the fuel that carries them to each new Kingdom.


Autism: Unexpected

Autism became a apart of my family 12 years ago. First, with my middle son. Then, two years later, my youngest son received an Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis. I had 3 sons under the age of 8 and two were unexpectedly diagnosed with autism.

I will not lie: this was not the family I dreamed about. I could not accept it. I wanted things to be different. I cried for a family lost.

The early years were beyond painful for me as a mother. I was utterly overwhelmed. Self pity consumed every inch of me. Fear plagued my spirit. I truly believed I was at fault for their Autism. I was swallowed by grief. It was clear that my coping skills were taking a terrible turn. I self medicated far too much. I had to choose between selfish suffering or selfless courage if I wanted my sons’ to get the help they needed and be happy.

By the Grace of God, I learned new coping strategies that enabled me to focus more on raising my boys, rather than drowning at the bottom of a bottle.

Today, I live in gratitude. I accept my children for who they are. I stopped grieving what I expected in turn for acceptance for the life I was given. This is a an easier, softer way of living for which I am grateful.

If this is the first time you have visited my blog, I welcome you to an ever evolving candid account of a life unexpected. I speak about Autism, beyond the surface; I speak of Grace and of Hope.

My website also offers the opportunity for others to share experiences of their life unexpected.

Please consider joining this community where you can have the opportunity to share honestly and free of judgement.

I look forward to hearing from you!