Autism: The Writing on the Wall. And the driveway.

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Look, if you’re going to read this blog you’re going to have to put up with a leaf post every fall. It’s what I do. Though I must admit, I haven’t raked any of them this year. Not one. I’ve never been so happy to work overtime while my husband had a week off of work.

These two trees – oh, these trees – have been a nightmare for us. Sure, they’re beautiful and provide us with ample shade in the summer, but come fall? We are buried in their waste. You can get an idea of how tall the silver maple is by seeing it next to the garage. I couldn’t even get the top of the tree in the picture.

These are the 15 bags and trash cans my husband filled on Sunday; the fourth straight week of doing so.

Four days later our yard looks like this.

Does anybody want some firewood? If you have a chainsaw and a crane it’s yours.

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At 2:45am this morning I woke from a nightmare about the movie Se7en. If you never saw it, then protect your psyche and DON’T. I can’t tell you exactly what was going on in my dream other than the gluttony scene, likely because I’m three days into some major lifestyle changes (again). I’m starting to feel like that big dude who was forced to eat himself to death. I digress.

The difference between me and someone who doesn’t suffer from anxiety is that I woke up and logically thought that because I was having this nightmare it meant someone was in the house. Probably Kevin Spacey. With a box.

From 2:45am until 4:30am, between stolen glances into the hallway to look for a killer, and playing games of Candy Crush, I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous. It’s the same thing I tell myself whenever I get in my car, or drop my daughter off at school, or many other normal tasks where I perceive danger.

Maybe it will benefit me someday; like if someone tries to attack us in church. I may be the only one with a plan to use the candleholders next to the altar as weapons. Fair warning, attackers.

Do you count how many rows you need to climb over to get to the airplane exit in case your pilot lands on the Hudson River? I do. Note, I said “climb over” because everyone else will be messing around in the aisle. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Maybe our fire escape plan will actually work because I’ve gone over it time and time again in my head. I know exactly how I’m going to throw my children to my husband and then jump into a bush. Of course, my daughter is almost 15 and I’m pretty sure I can’t throw her on an average day, but in a fire? That girl is getting tossed.

Now that I think about it, my anxiety has me uber prepared to handle all kinds of situations.

So bring it, Kevin Spacey. I’ll be the one wide-awake.

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One of the greatest things about my son’s PDD-NOS is that he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, of course this is also one of the worst things, but I’m choosing to stay positive.

Right now he is sprawled out on the floor singing songs from The Prince of Egypt. “Deliver us out of bondage and deliver us to the promised laaaaaaaand…” There is something to be said for being so shameless. Not that he needs to be – his voice is quite good – much better than his mother’s, anyway.

Though I’m not jealous of his struggles, I’m jealous of the freedom he is afforded. He does things I’m not brave enough to attempt. The other night at his cousin’s wedding, while I hid from the videographer, my son was dancing like there was no one watching. Of course, everyone was.

this was taken at another cousin’s wedding. the kid gets around.

It’s great to see him oblivious to the criticism of others and doing what feels natural. If he wants to sing, he sings. If he wants to dance, he dances. I’ve always said that I’d love to skip for exercise, but the idea of people turning their heads in disbelief holds me back. As does social media. I’d need a little of his carefree nature to actually skip down the street. A LOT of his carefree nature, actually. And maybe some liquor.

My son is not confined by the word “normal.” This child, crooning about slavery on my dining room floor, is not actually bound at all.

It kind of makes me want to sing.

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