It had been an especially trying day.

My husband was on vacation and had chosen to spend the day at summer camp with one of our sons. I needed to remain close to home, as I was expecting several emails and phone calls vital to a long term project. The children who remained at home were fractious and grumpy, arguing over the use of the computer and who, exactly, was responsible for picking up the Barbies. Despite the plethora of down and out stuff, they were “booored!” and “Tirreedddd!” and wanted to go AWAY, go SOMEWHERE, do SOMETHING. I tried my usual tricks; pulled out the playdoh and the books on tape, tried sending them outside to roller skate.

Nothing helped. So I decided I’d take a quick run to the grocery with the two youngest for Italian bread and lemons, leaving the older ones at home to answer the phone. I fussed at the girls in the store. No one wanted to hold my hand, they wanted to add multiple foods to the list and this one couldn’t stand next to that one and whyyyyyy can’t you buy more Dora soup, Mommy? I struggled to just finish the trip, counting the hours until bedtime and vowing, Never, never again. I completed the trip - finally - and made my way out of the store. Passing the Redbox machine of dvds, I entertained the idea of renting a movie. Why not? Only a dollar a day, maybe I’d be able to find a movie that they hadn’t seen before and buy myself a quieter night. I might even get something for myself.

I tooled through the selections and my girls were blessedly quiet for a moment. They whispered and giggled about the selections offered and debated where the movie would be dispensed. While I studied the choices, an older man walked by. “Hi, pretty girls. Hi, Momma. How are you?” he said with a grin and a hat tip. (I live in the South.) “Those your girls?” he continued, “They sure are pretty, look like they’re having a good time, too.” To be honest, I had no idea what they looked like, or if they were having fun - I was too wrapped up in my own gloom and doom. “I’ve got two girls. One doesn’t live around here and she doesn’t talk to me anymore. The other girl? She died in a car accident when she was not much older than that one there - gesturing to my youngest - and I miss her every day of my life. Enjoy those girls.”

He blew them a kiss and sauntered off, leaving me still a bit gloomy about my rotten day, but more able to see the forest for the trees. Don’t get me wrong - I’ll still have bad days and most likely complain about them to everyone in sight, but I’ll try to remember the lesson I learned today.

There is a veritable alphabet soup of letters that can follow a child around. You know the ones I mean.

ADD. ADHD. SID. ASD. PDD-NOS.

There are others - Downs. Cystic Fibrosis. Cerebral Palsy.

Then there are the kids that are just a little bit “off”. Different. Out of ordinary. Basically, one of those words could describe just about every kid on the face of the planet. One of the worst things, though, is when you know something is wrong with your child, and no one else agrees. Correction: no one in authority agrees. Plenty of people out in the “real” world can clearly see that there is something wrong with that kid, and they take great delight in telling you. “I’ve never seen a kid behave that badly!”, they cackle with raised eyebrows and pointed fingers aimed at your face. “Bend her over your knee and paddle her - that’ll stop the screaming!” Yes, this happened to me - how can you tell?

My youngest daughter wasn’t even a year before I knew that there was something different. I’d never seen a child scream as long or as loud, or with as much venom and anger as she did. I’d never seen a child who bit their fingers until they bled, or chewed the inside of their mouth, or bit their lips until they were raw. I’d never seen a child who would throw herself out of my arms onto the floor, and then bang her head on the floor repeatedly. I’d never had a child who wouldn’t eat, who refused to even close her mouth around the food while it puddled onto her clothes as it fell out of her mouth. Sure, I’d had kids that were strong willed, who had tempers, who pushed the envelope and tried my patience, but my gut told me that there was something more about this child. I asked for a consultation, and was refused. I asked again and again, until I finally got what I wanted. And the golden consultation, the one I waited four months for, the one I paid out of pocket for, the one I cried over and agonized over - it yielded a diagnosis on the Autistic Spectrum of Sensory Integration Disorder. And so did the second and the third evaluation. Finally, people were taking me seriously - I wasn’t just an over worried mother anymore.

We did months and months of Occupational Therapy. Months of fine and gross motor skill work, months of feeding clinic and trying new techniques of weighted blankets and therapy brushes and swings and tunnels and I don’t know what else - I think I’d have tried the kitchen sink if I’d been promised a result. I agonized as the therapy that I paid for out of pocket didn’t appear to help at all; in fact, for a time there, she appeared to regress further. And then, one day, it clicked for her. An entire year of struggle, of pain and sweat and sacrifice, and all of a sudden, it all came together and clicked. We had a therapy appointment that wasn’t horrible. A day when her activities didn’t cause her to break down, to scream while we worked her body into the playtunnel and poured sand on her hands and feet. The day that she laughed in therapy - that was the day that I had worked so hard for, a day I’d hoped and prayed would arrive. It was a long hard slog, but she came through it. We still work on activities every day, we still have tantrums and use the coping techniques we learned in therapy, but she’s better.

No one else is the parent of your child. No one else knows that child as intimately as you, no one else is there and aware. If you think something is wrong, something is off or different, listen to your gut and keep bugging those in charge to help you. You will never regret it. I surely don’t.

Just like that.

Where I live, spring can last a long time, or only a few days. No matter how few true spring days we have, when summer decides to arrive, it does so with a bang. Yesterday was our first really warm day, and it was over 90 degrees. Hellloooo, summer!

The equation of $4 a gallon gas + 30 gallon gas tank in my van + 12 miles a gallon = we won’t be going very far this summer. For the first time, my children have no summer trip to look forward to, no get away to break up the summer. No Disney World vacation, no visits with relatives - this year it’ll be a “staycation”. With my husband working crazy long hours, it looks like this summer it’ll just be me and the kids. This could be ugly. Arguments of “he’s looking at me!” “Make her stop bothering me!”, fights over who had the front seat and whose turn it is to drink from the pink cup. Phew - I’m tired just thinking about it. I’ve been known to drive the kids all to the beach and turn around when we arrived, due to the fighting. I don’t remember my own mother being so frazzled in the summer. Hmm, I wonder if it had anything to do with our 7:00 bedtimes - even at age 12, even in the middle of the summer, when it wasn’t dark until after 9?

I’ve laid in a supply of sidewalk chalk, sprinklers, sports balls and roller skates. Everyone has a bike. and, most importantly, a helmet. We’ve got a pool in close proximity and I’ve purchased a metric ton of sunblock. We’ve got swings, a stroller for walking, a small pool. In a moment of madness, I purchased a three lane slip and slide.

For bad weather, indoor games, books and videos will save me. I hope. Tell me, how do you plan to make it through what looks to be a long, hot summer? What are your secrets? How do you maintain your sanity and manage to enjoy your time with your family, keeping everyone content and fulfilled, without breaking the bank?

I’m tired just thinking about it.