House of A Writer

Welcome to my blog where I share my special needs parenting journey with my heart, truth, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

These Eyes of Mine

I look at these eyes of mine ,bluer than blue staring back at me from the mirror. The crystal blueness takes me back as I see one tear slipping across my cheek. There’s a vast ocean of pain that these eyes of mine hide. I do my best to deal with it, hide it, and keep it all in until it’s pouring forth like a waterfall of emotion. I think to my past and wonder if I could’ve been better. A better daughter, sister, aunt, and friend. I think of all these roles I played from a young age. I became an aunt at the age of six, and I was quite used to being the youngest child in my family. 

I sat on my Dad’s lap and watched my big brother holding this tiny baby. I had a mixture of emotion as I looked at him. Curiosity, excitement, and yes even jealousy. My Dad had left when I was four I remember it all too well; the crying, shrieking, and red hot anger of my Mom as she chased him out of the house. He was running for his life as she brandished a knife, and I knew this was a women on the edge between sanity and survival. He had pushed her to a breaking point and she had pushed back. My Dad left, ran out of our house and didn’t look back. He took on a new family, responsibilities, and lived in their home. 

I visited every weekend and holidays and this never felt like my home.  I was a guest and nothing more, and I struggled to feel comfortable in my own skin. This wasn’t my Mom, bedroom, or backyard. This was too much newness for a little four year old girl to understand. I didn’t feel like I was special, wanted, or appreciated. I remember attending kindergarten in the fall. I was badly in need of a haircut and it was picture day on Monday. This would be my first and last haircut that my step Mom ever gave me. I couldn’t sit still the bowl on my head was heavy and cumbersome. The hairs tickled my nose and made me sneeze. It was an overstimulatmg sensory experience and everyone just thought I was misbehaving. I was called a brat and left on my own after that. 

I looked in the mirror and saw this ragamuffin hairdo and I cried bitterly the rest of the weekend. My first Kindergarten picture and I looked like I had cut my hair with a butterknife! My Mom was furious and tried to fix it but the damage was done. I couldn’t even smile for that Godforsaken picture. It tore me up inside to look so ridiculous. The taunts, jeers, and stares overwhelmed me. I spent more time hiding or throwing my fists around to avoid any confrontation. I was no stranger to it in fact I welcomed it, then someone knew I was there and mattered. After that hideous haircut I avoided going near a pair of scissors or that stool again. 

Then just like everything that floats around elementary schools and germ warfare I got lice at the age of six. I was horrified and scared about what was happening to me as I scratched my head until it bled. My Mom blamed my Dad, my Dad blamed my Mom and I was sent to stay with my Grandparents for a week. I remember sitting in the purple clawfoot tub as my Gram rubbed pink calamine lotion over my head, neck, and eyebrows. I felt that hot water pouring over me and watching those dead bugs lying in the tub. As they swirled down the drain my tears mixed with the pink liquid as it streamed down my face and into my eyes. It burned a lot, but not as much as my hot humiliation of having contracted the condition anyway. 

These eyes of mine have seen a lot of pain, hidden a lot of lies, and have yet continued to be my windows of truth. These are memories I’ve stored away in the tiny box that I’ve buried in my mind. Then something will trigger it and like Pandora’s ill fated box it will open up again. These emotional scars I wear on my heart threaten to overtake me at times. I watched something tonight about children and what their Father represented to them. Some said pride, confidence, anger, pain, love, and nothing but emptiness because he was gone. This struck a nerve with me. A jangling nerve trigger that was hanging in the balance. And my bluer than blue eyes welled up with tears while I struggled to gain my composure. My children will never know of my pain, they will never experience that uncertainty or need to doubt their existence. They will know only love, guidance, respect, and firmness when discipline is needed. They will know only of my joy and gratitude when they blessed me with their arrival.  They will know that they are and will always be, the key to my heart. ❤️

 

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Pet

I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood. Things that made me happy, sad, and comfortable in my own skin. I was born two days after my oldest sisters graduation. My Mom and Dad came home with me from the hospital and my middle sister wanted a baby brother. My Dad did the next best thing and got her a dog. He was a black Labrador Retriever and he was named Bo. What an amazing dog he was by far the best pet I ever had theprivilege to love. We didn’t own him he owned our hearts. I don’t even have a picture of him, and if one exists it’s living on a slide. I was born in the day when film was developed into slides. And I’ve acquired quite a collection from my Dad. My long term goal is to convert them to digital and make copies on CD.  

This isnt my dog , but he sure looks like him. Image found on www.321dogs.com

Bo was a truly amazing dog, I grew up with him as he 
was just a puppy when my Dad brought him home. He would let my sister and I dress him up in my brother’s t-shirts, hats, and he even let us put a cigar in his mouth! He loved is and was our other brother with fur. When my parents marriage ended and my Mom, sister, and I went to live somewhere else Bo came with us. My Dad didn’t want to split us up and really that was the kindest thing he could do as I was only four and my heart was broken. Bo was my best friend and allowed me to cry and hug him so tight. His fur would be soaked with my tears and yet there he would stay. He got me through many heartaches in my life breakups, arguments with my family, and feeling lonely. We spent so much time together over the years, and Bo would walk my sister and I to and from the bus stop every day. He was our neighbourhood dog and everyone loved him. He would get us home from school, play, and then go off to do his visiting rounds. He would end up at our neighbours down the road, hanging out with their little dog. Across from our home was a field all the kids in the neighbourhood would get together and play baseball and football down there. It was so much fun to see Bo getting excited and chasing the baseball when it would get hit. And since I was an excited child is always throw my bat, and he’d chase after it and bring it back to the next batter up. I still have that wonder bat, my Lousiville Slugger. 

This is a picture of what my bat looks like. It’s a childs version and it goes with me, wherever I live.

As I got older Bo slowed down a lot more. He got more grey

on his whiskers and the tuft of white fur became grayer as well.  He’d still come to to meet us at the bus stop, but he’d sleep in longer in the mornings. I remember the day I could see him out the bus window as I was coming home. All of us kids would knock on the window and wave at him. Suddenly an image flashed in my head and it was dog’s face with fear in his eyes. When I snapped out of it, I opened up my window and yelled at Bo to go home. He couldn’t hear me and I saw his fear filled face and he disappeared under the wheels. I was just sick and ran to the front and demanded my bus driver let out. He did immediately when he saw the tears starting to form in my eyes. 

This was a traumatic memory for me. I didnt look or speak to my busdriver for a long time after.

I ran to see Bo laying there on the front of our neighbours lawn. His fur was matted with blood and when I hugged him he yelped. I continue to pat his head and pray that he was going to be okay. Soon I was surrounded by a crowd of my friends and my sister and our Mom were there beside me. I listened to Bo’s panting and nuzzled my face into his and felt his soft breath on my cheek. I didn’t want to leave him but my Mom was guiding me away and our neighbour was coming to help attend to our dog brother. 


It was two days before my twelfth birthday and I had to say goodbye to my best friend. This happened thirty years ago and I’ve never forgotten it, not wrote about it till now. A piece of my heart went away with my beloved Bo that day. An amazing dog, brother, and best friend. He was very friendly, socially inept, a great temperament and best family pet I could ever ask for. I haven’t wanted to own a pet since that day. But if I ever do it will be a black Labrador Retriever. My oldest son asked me when he was four, if he could have a puppy or a baby brother. I came through on my end of the bargain, so for now we enjoy our visits with our neighbours dog. It makes me smile when I see my youngest son running up and down the yard with Frankie the daschund. I close my eyes and I can see my beloved Bo running on the rainbow bridge. 

This has been my submission to https://lindaghill.com SOCS please check out hers and all the other talent that link up. Thank you for stopping by today. ?

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A Mother’s guilt

I’m at my wits end with my oldest son. He said he had a sore throat so I let him stay home from school. The rules are rest, rehydrate, and relax. He had helped clean up the basement so I allowed him a movie with his little brother. I’m upstairs cleaning, laundry, dishes and I go to check on him and he’s downstairs playing video games. I walk into the room and he’s pretending to be sleeping!!!! I told him get up and go to bed. He starts to argue that he was having quiet time because his little brother didn’t want to watch a movie.

So I sent him to bed and I continued folding laundry. Then I can hear him out of his room. I’m ready to lose it I’ve sent him to bed twice and he’s come back out. First he was playing hockey with the Mad dog so I said get to bed! He says I’m hungry; then get your food and get to bed!!!! So he says forget it I’ll just starve you don’t care! So then he’s there for 10 minutes and he comes back out again to ask his brother to go downstairs to watch a movie. Get the $@@% to bed now I bellow!!!!

What is wrong with my kid? He won’t listen, he doesn’t respect me, then he tells me he’s getting yelled at school by five people. And one is supposedly his teacher. Well I’ll be addressing this and I will be sending him to school tomorrow because if I don’t I might just duct tape his mouth shut!!!!!
I don’t know where I went wrong we used to be so close. Then I was so sick and sad when I was pregnant with his brother. I carry a lot guilt because my Mom died then I had my baby five weeks later.

Due to the premature birth he had to stay in the hospitals NICU. When I was finally realized after five days, I still went back and forth to the hospital to care for my baby. This is when I feel the disconnect happened. My son was grieving the loss of my Mom, me not being there, and then a little brother who was sick. What had happened in his little world was too much so he turned to his Dad as his saviour and protector. That’s when it all changed between us.

His attitude changed towards me and jealously set in because I was always with my baby. Even though he adored his baby brother. It didn’t matter how much that new love was blossoming and growing, he had lost a part of his Mom. I had to be strong, stoic, and a rock for my children. Meanwhile I was dying and falling apart into little broken, jagged pieces. My heart was shattered I lost my one and only one and I felt like a part of me had died too! Not something a four year boy could understand with his precious heart. So I put my grief on hold to deal with his.

I thought I was doing the right thing as I struggled with intense grief of my own, sleep deprivation, and adjusting to an anti depressant. I didn’t want to be that parent that checked out when my kids needed me the most. It was bound to happen, as I just felt like I was a medicated brain and a body barely able to function. I honestly don’t know how I got through that difficult time. Grief recovery, family, friends, my husband and the love of my sons all played a role.

Life within that little bubble of calm helped me exist. As my body and my brain began to connect as I adjusted to my medication. But my little boy changed as his brother grew up. He got more abrasive with me, his angry tantrums became longer, and I went into research mode. If I don’t understand something I will read until I do. I read books, listened to lectures, attending parenting workshops. In order to understand what had happened to my son. I wish I had looked more into neurology than maybe I could see the early signs of his brain changing.

The ADHD behaviours, dyspraxia, and Sensory Integration disorder were there. He was just so much like me sensitive with an explosive temper that I just saw pain, grief, and jealously. This is when the switch happened, and when I had to fill out recent questionnaires about these behaviours it was hard to hold back the tears. I cried for that little boy who lost his Grandma, Mom, and gained a baby brother. I cried for my lack of understanding, the turmoil, and stress that cyclones around me.

And most of all I cried for that broken relationship between a Mother and her first born. I pray I can repair it before it’s too late and I lose his love and kindness forever. That’s a Mother’s guilt always wearing my heart on the outside of my body. So here I am today parenting through the pain and loving myself and my family with everything I have. Praying for that change to patch my oldest son’s heart back together. That’s Motherhood both beautiful with the moments of cherished gazes and spoken words of I love you. And crushing defeat and frustrating when those words turn to you don’t care, you don’t love me. I put my eyes on the prize and slowly, but carefully walk that tightrope of love and hate for myself.

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