by Jennifer Dyer
The other night I noticed Rachel’s ball pit looked rather sparse.
A short investigation brought us to …
Because I had cleaned out the ball pit the other day, she had decided it was time to move her precious stash of items to a safer location. Like a squirrel hiding a nut stash, she had slowly moved items to the guest room, where we rarely visit.
Urg! When I walked into the room and saw the debacle, my knees turned watery and my stomach flipped over. I clamped my mouth shut because I really wanted to scream. Why? Why does she do these kinds of things? I know she has obessessive compulsive leanings on top of her autism or maybe because of autism, but keeping up with her messes is as easy as grabbing the wind.
I stared at the mess for another moment then turned out the light. It was too late to deal with it and I wasn’t going to anyway. I would, instead, hope a magic fairy came during the night to pick it up.
The next night, hubby worked with her while Eldest and I were gone. Together, they took balls back to the ball pit and threw some of the trash away. This is the only manner in which we can see to deal with the issue. Making her clean it step-by-step, with us being impartial, unemotional monitors during each of her screaming, agonizing, tantrum-filled moments.
I was still in the magic-fairy-hopeful stage this morning when I realized a game her teacher had sent home from school was missing.
I found most of it in the Room of Doom, as the guest room should be called. However, several pieces are still missing, probably under the layers of shredded tissues and papers.
I pressed my fingers to my temples. I couldn’t help but ask: Why is everything so difficult? Eldest was downstairs having a crisis about her lunch and I was trapped in the Room of Doom doing a geological dig to uncover two stupid magnets that are so small they might be in the trash or in the dog’s stomach.
I still haven’t found those magnets, but as I walked the dog a few thoughts occurred to me.
As a youth, I thought unorganized and messy people lacked motivation and discipline. As a mom, Payback keeps taking me to lunch, ordering the lobster, and sneaking out the bathroom window to leave me with the bill.
Life isn’t simple. It doesn’t come with a neat little box full of comprehensible instructions.
Yet, those overwhelming challenges leave me a better person, even if it is simply a change in my own attitude toward judging others. Pain usually brings understanding and compassion.
I realized I’d recently prayed for motivation to clean up the upstairs… Whoops. Losing an expensive school material certainly gets me moving. So, who says God doesn’t answer prayers? Lol.
Perhaps the biggest thing I need to grasp as a special needs mom is the key to surviving difficulties are to grow in them.