I can’t believe my little boy is nine. That is all.

These came off the vine Sunday:

So I made this:

It was very good. I say was because one of the loafs is already gone.

Also, obligatory kitty love pictures.

It was that kind of a weekend.

“Parent” is a loaded word, even when divided into “mother” and “father”. Everyone thinks they can do it, and better than the people they see. Better than their own parents.

Yeah, not all parents are good parents. Some are down right abusive. Some, in trying to do what they think it right negate the child’s ability to be a whole person of their own. There’s black, and a narrow band of white and a hell of a lot of gray.

Mother’s Day reminds us to honor our mothers. But it can be a cruel reminder to those of us who have lost their mothers (mine died when I was 9) or those out there with mothers who abandoned, neglected or abused them. It is very hard, possibly impossible to face the idea of what a mother is supposed to be and reconcile it with what an abusive female parent has been.

The same is true for fathers and Father’s Day.

Just over a week ago my father had a stroke and spent some time in the hospital. I hadn’t talked to him in about five years, not due to an argument, like many in my family think, but because I’d finally broken under the pressure of misery.

See, you start to realize things when you become a parent yourself. When you have to make the choices between what you want or need and what your child or children needs. More than any other conversation, memory or event in my life, traveling the path of parenthood hammered in just how much was different between how I was raised and how I raise my children. There is massive gap between the two. It’s impossible for me to look at all I have done for my kids, and do, without thinking, without even really considering putting myself first, and not realize that I was neglected, at best as a child.

There are some things children shouldn’t think about their parents. There are some places children shouldn’t go. There are feelings children shouldn’t feel about parents. Knowing now, seeing now, every single day, how my actions so easily effect my children and how I hold myself responsible for them receiving the mental, physical and emotional care they need to be whole, healthy people later in life, I can’t help but blame my parents, and secondarily the other adults who could have intervened and didn’t, for many of the negative things that happened in my childhood.

I have been told I am a bad person for this. I have been told that my parents didn’t have to take care of me, and I should just be thankful that they kept food on my plate and a roof over my head.

But parenthood doesn’t end at paying the bills. Parenting is in the small moments that fill our lives, many of which we don’t remember, save for their contributions to making us grow up feeling loved, or otherwise. Parenthood is about turning off the television to listening to what your child has to say when they need you. Parenthood is making sure they have clothes that fit, the self esteem to face their challenges and tools they need to keep themselves clean and well functioning (even if you have to be that tool, making sure they bathe, have clean clothes and brush their hair and teeth daily). Parenting is as much about defending your child as it is about disciplining your child when they have done something wrong.

Some parents only offer one of these sides. Some, offer none and instead seek to pay their children off to be quiet, well mannered accents to their lives instead of stresses.

Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day means something different to the people out there, which is a lot of us, who have the other kinds of mothers, the kind you see on Law and Order instead of sitcoms.

While some people are sending their mothers tokens of their appreciation and affection, and others are morning their mothers, or their lack of good mothers, I’m using this Mother’s Day to renew my vow to my children. I will be better than my parents. I will give you the tools you need to shape yourselves instead of forcing you into the shape I want you. I will hold you responsible for your actions, and expect the best of you.

But I will also defend you against those who seek to hurt you. Those who make you feel worthless, or inferior. I will build you up against the hazards of the would, rather than be the one who gets to leave the first scars.

I owe you my best, which isn’t perfect, isn’t easy, and isn’t always what you’d like.

So to my children, Happy Mother’s Day.

Rose Lee is a precocious five year old who likes playing Monster Rancher almost as much as she likes her Mom. She thinks ghosts and vampires and zombies are scary, “but only a little bit”. Vampires & Zombies is her first sale. (Editor’s Note: Yes, in the spirit of publishing I paid her for it.)

* * *

A zombie came into the room, but he was a good zombie. Then a scary bad zombie came in.

“Jackass!” he said.

The scary zombie went over to AnneMarie and started poking her in the head with a pencil.

AnneMarie got poked in the head by a pencil and a bad zombie. She screamed.

The vampire was in his blood bath and heard her scream. He jumped out of the bath and went and rescued her.

He had a real sharp pencil and poked the bad zombie into the ear, and it came out the other ear and it hurt real bad. The bad scary zombie fell to the ground and was dead. And they covered him to the death.

AnneMarie was so glad that she said, “Thank you!”

He said, ” You’re welcome.”

AnneMarie gave the vampire a hug.

Then AnneMarie went over to the vampire’s house and they took a blood bath together. They blew lots of blood bubbles. A really big one popped over them and it was like raining blood.

The End

Jason got the job he was going after, which means that he will be switching hours and this fall I will have seven child and husband free hours every weekday to work. It also means he’ll be home when the kids are so it’s good all around.

And the short term good news is that we’re going out for a visit to the country in the next few days, so hopefully I will come back with some good pictures. I imagine the only thing prettier than the country in the fall is the same land in the spring.

Think about that word for a moment. Crasher.

Those on the spectrum often have sensory issues. Some are oversensitive. (Actually, my son is oversensitive to loud sounds. The sensory stimulation of a movie theater, for example everything is dark except the hyper focus of the movie, which is larger than life, and sound, loud sound, is all around, vibrating the seats and the skin, can actually shut him down, like when a baby falls asleep from too much stimulation. This is why he often moves around while we’re watching a movie, going from lap to lap, or floor to lap.) Some are undersensitive, which can lead to some annoying or even dangerous behavior.

My son is a crasher, which means he’s undersensitive when it comes deep tissue stimulation. It means exactly what it sounds like, he “crashes”. Bouncing is a very common behavior. Hugs or squeezes often help him calm down and focus (which he can do by himself with the use of stress balls, playdough or those waterfilled donuts and tubes you can find in toy aisles).

But there are days (like today, which is last Thursday to you) when none of this seems to be enough. Days like today he walks down the hall slamming into the walls. Or he repeatedly flops onto the bed as hard as possible.

Over the years he’s become very good at knowing how hard to “crash” against what. But that doesn’t make it less alarming to people who don’t know, or, to be honest, less annoying on the days when it gets real bad. In the past, people have suggested that he was actually self punishing, or wounding himself with this behavior.

It could be worse (let the them “anal exploration” sink in for a moment.) But it is one of the larger challenges we’ve had to face over the last eight years.

One of the first things I heard this morning was “Mommy, how do you spell ‘zombie’ because I’m writing a zombie book for you!”

I suppose she needs goals now that she’s 5.

So we sounded it out together, and it was an aw moment. Except that she wasn’t just playing. She was in the hallway, writing it on her to do list.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Bed now.