I have been thinking about this post for weeks – months, actually. Words twirl about in my head, one after another; mulling, and brewing, and boiling until my body becomes an animated version of itself and steam shoots from my ears. I hear a whistle as if my brain is a factory, closing for the day, and my body is dirty, tired and gritty from all the work it had to do to keep the factory open, working, resourceful.

And, the words – the hot, steamy, messy words – can’t be written down because they have become condensation on the walls. They slide and drip to the floor until they’re in a jumbled pile at my feet. I see them there, a mess of black letters spelling anger, sadness, fraud, sorrow, trust, love, faith, conviction. I move forward and they stick to my shoe.

I try to wash them away, but they won’t take leave. They are glued in this spot beneath me, always at my feet with every step I take. I need new shoes, I think.

The new shoes are shiny and clean; there’s no blackness on the soles. They give me blisters, but my toes will adapt. I wiggle them. I go for a run. I try lots of new things in my shoes and they become comfortable and I forget that I ever had anything but these which fit me so well.

Until one day when I’m standing at the stove and feel the words in my head again. Child, wrong, sad, hurt, boy, belief, family, ignorance, CHILD, CHILD, CHILD. It happens all over again and I think, I will never be able to write a post with all this muck.

So, I don’t.

I let the steam leave my head, wipe down the walls and buy new shoes, hoping that someday their comfort will be enough.

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When I define myself I don’t ever say I’m a mommy-blogger. I’m a mom, but I’m also a wife, daughter, niece, cousin, employee and a whole lot of other things which don’t, individually, make me who I am or this blog what it is. I’m more of a hodge-podge blogger. Look at that! I just created a niche!

But, today this little girl started high school and I am feeling 100% mommy.

First day of first grade.

You hear it all the time; enjoy it when they’re little, they grow up so fast, time flies, blink and they’re grown. I’m here to tell you that it’s all true. In four years – God willing – she’ll be off to college and I don’t how my heart will stand it.

First day of high school. I won’t even comment about the socks because that’s how they wear them these days. Kids!

So just for today, go ahead and call me a mommy-blogger. Just for today, I only want to talk about my daughter and how wonderful, smart, and funny she is, and how amazing it has been to watch her grow from the 2 lb. 9 oz. preemie who fit in her father’s hand.

Just for today, you can call me whatever you want as long as I get to be her mommy a little while longer.

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Last week, my husband dropped off some homegrown tomatoes at my mom’s house and she asked him to look at her dog’s belly, where she had felt something…odd. When he came home he said, “There’s something wrong with your mom’s dog. He has some weird growth on his stomach. I looked at it and it’s the strangest thing. It feels like a pencil.”

My mom, who is more attached to her dog than she is to her crossword puzzles – and that’s really saying something – called me the next day in tears. “Did you hear about Cappy? He has this hard growth and I don’t know what it is. I’m taking him to the vet tomorrow.”

Because it’s easy for me and my Zoloft to say, I reassured her. “Mom, don’t worry about it until you talk to the vet. It could just be a cyst. Blue had a whole bunch of them and they were nothing.” This didn’t do anything to alleviate her fears.

That evening I went to her house for dinner and offered to take a look at this thing. I was prepared to be grossed out because my sister had looked too, and she mentioned that it had an open sore.

But, it turned out that all the people who had already touched this thing were the ones who were grossed out, because that growth that felt like a pencil and had an opening – the growth that my mom, sister and husband had examined and touched? It was the dog’s penis.

And I will never let them live it down.

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This is going to seem jumbled for a couple of paragraphs. Please bear with me.

Tomorrow morning, after two months of research, paperwork and relentless phone calls to the Ohio Department of Education and our local school district, my 11 year old son will finally get a psych evaluation. If things go according to plan, he will be diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder for the third time.

Why do we need a third psych evaluation? Because his autism was never added to the Evaluation Team Report (ETR) at his private school. Without that diagnosis made by a psychologist at the local level and typed on his ETR and IEP (in the public school district in which he has never attended), he is not eligible for the state’s autism scholarship.

Without the autism scholarship, we can’t send him to a new school. Given the reports from his last one, returning is not an option.

Confused? Exactly. There have been six providers involved in this one request for reevaluation (for a disorder with which he’s already been diagnosed). Without the assistance of a very patient administrator and the advice of parents and advocates who have traveled this road before me, I don’t know that we would have found our way.

What I want to know, is what happens to the special needs kids whose parents don’t have the time, energy, resources, or resolve?

I have spent 11 years advocating for my son; I thought I knew what I was doing. I didn’t. I was lost in this process and I was trying REALLY HARD not to be. You can’t tell me that kids aren’t falling through these gigantic cracks.

I know there are good people who are trying to fix the system and I thank them for that. Everyone should thank them for that. My kid will someday be mingling about in society with your kid and it would be great if we could ensure everyone’s future by giving them the best individual education and services possible.

So after I accomplish this latest task I am making a promise to pay it forward and advocate on behalf of those who can’t. I am going to use my voice.

And, it WILL be loud.

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