Breathe

It's really, really, REALLY hard being a single mom. Then, add autism into the mix, and, well-it's extremely hard. People constantly say stuff like "I don't know how you do it". Or, "I can't imagine...". Well, thanks.

To be honest, I don't know how I do it. Want some extra honesty? I can't imagine having to deal with the daily challenges autism brings long term. However, what gets me through are the moments like I had last night. My 10 year old son, who can be the sweetest little guy, decided to hang out with me. He usually watches "his" television in the family room (it pretty much stays on nickjr.) or bounces around the house entertaining himself. He came into my room while I was listening to a podcast by Dave Pavlina on self-improvement. Into my bed he jumps. Now, I could have gotten annoyed because this was supposed to be "my time", but I recognized another opportunity.

You see, several times after he was diagnosed I would ask myself: how unfair is this? How will we ever have meaningful, special moments together? I mistakenly thought if we couldn't speak to each other (he is nonverbal), we couldn't really communicate. So wrong! We often look at each other and he laughs after I smile at him. I don't care if it is connected to my smile or if it is just involuntary. When we both get an opportunity to have peaceful, happy moments free of crying fits and emotional disconnects, I take it!

So, I smiled and motioned for him to sit next to me. He laughed. I clicked on my camera phone and we took silly pictures. I thanked God for a moment of clarity and "normalcy" in our lives. Autism sucks, but my son is a beautiful gift. He teaches me to breathe-to just be patient. It doesn't rain forever. When we are having a rough day or four, I just wait for the rain to stop and look for the sunshine.

I guess that's how I do it.

Sexless In The Suburbs

Call me slow, but I just saw the SATC movie last week on HBO. I know! My life is such a flurry of mind-boggling, fabulous events that I did not have time to see it when it was in the theater. Right. However, being an absolute devotee of the series, it felt like an old friend was visiting when I curled up and watched the movie in my living room.

Except the old friend kinda grew up and left me behind.

You see, Carrie Bradshaw and I had more in common than an obsession with bizarre fashion, overpriced shoes, and being from the Big Apple (thank God she finally threw Jennifer Hudson in there as a nod to all the sistas in NY-shoot, black people, period. I'm just saying!).

Where was I? Oh, yes-my girl Carrie. See, I actually had a real life "Mr. Big" thing going on. This on-again, off-again, but ever-present man in my life was just as frustrating to wrap my brain around as Big was. I could catch him, but I couldn't really ever reel him in. But it was ok; as long as someone as fabulous as SJP was going through something similar as well, I didn't feel like such a loser.

Unfortunately, as the movie unfolded, I noticed something. Carrie and Mr. Big had evolved to the next level. They were becoming a real couple who were not afraid to discuss the elephant in the room. I mean, I know Big rescued her in Paris and brought her back to NY to show how much he really loved her, but I figured that was going to be the extent of it. Surely, the movie was going to bring them back to their familiar reckless dance, right?

Well, well.

As much as I relished the satisfaction of their love conquering all, I couldn't help the irony of the fact that I was watching the movie alone while my "Big" was who-knows-where, probably doing things I didn't want to be thinking about with someone else. You see, we had our 5th and final break up about 2 months ago. So where did that leave me? Alone, in Atlanta (ok 20 miles or so west of Atlanta) on a Saturday night watching my relationship-challenged television "counterpart" get her man! Florida Evans said it best: damn, damn, damn!

But, you know what? Being the "glass half full" type of chick that I am, I vowed later that night to dig myself out of my spinster-like, sexless funk and do what my friend Carrie did: press on and live life, regardless of my relationship status! Yes, yes! That's what I have to do, I decided.

Men don't want a woman who reeks of desperation and a look in her eyes that say 'I'll take you, even though you don't come anywhere close to my standards'. Uh-uh! I'm gonna slide on those Jimmy Choos (ok Nine Wests) and swing my fine self down the road and live my life to the fullest. He'll find me soon enough.

However, just a warning to him (and I pray he looks exactly like Dhani Jones): when he does decide to get in the game--watch out! Cause it's been a while and things could get pretty interesting.

I Blinked!

Recently, I was filling out some random form which requested my DOB. Oh yeah-I was filing my taxes. Anyway, automatic pilot set in and I typed "1971".

However, it took several seconds for me to realize what the heck I just wrote. 1971?!!! I'm 38?!! When did that happen to me? No offense to anyone who may be in the same boat, but 40 is around the corner. Shut the front door! 40 is unacceptable. For me anyway.

Perhaps it's because when I was a kid, my sister and I thought 35 was old. Like, retirement age. I know, I know--that was from a kid's perspective, but it still seemed like it got here before I was ready.

Now there's a mortgage, bills, kids needing to be fed, bosses wanting me to work...really? Can a sista get a day to just lounge on the sofa with a cold beer? Oh, and please, no questions about 'what's for dinner?' or 'when can we expect payment?' When can I expect to be 20 again? Never? Fabulous.

I guess there's something to be said about being 38, right? They tell me I'm about to hit my sexual prime. Yeah! Can't wait to see how that works out for me.