Steven

Well Steven is two now. This picture was taken Christmas day, as he opened his presents. Well, we kind of opened them for him and had him look at them. He plays with pieces of them, he's into blocks and cars now; his grandparents got him a red tricycle now, and he loves that. He also likes to torture the new cat we have. Our cat is named Toby, and he's part-feral. Toby is a little bastard, he likes to poop on the floor right in front of his litter box if you don't give him a good rub-down the moment you come home. It irritates the heck out of Big Steve (not that I'm upset about that). And yes, I have somewhat reconciled with him, but that is another story for another time, and that could change any day now. That story is like one of those books that you have to choose the outcome of on every page. The endiing is different for everyone, and the ending is truly up to him, if he wants this that badly, then he needs to get in line with the Father's wishes and get his stuff in order. NOW.


But onto my son...my wonderful son.

Steven just turned two. His father and I got along long enough to give him a wonderful birthday party, we had it at Chuck-e-Cheese's. I will never go there again. Well, yes I will, but that was the longest 2.5 hours of my life. But my son was so overjoyed, so it was all good. He went home and fell out, and so did Mama.

We found out recently that my suspicions were well-founded, and that Steven does indeed show signs of Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder. Steven has had issues with food since birth. That kid threw up on me daily. Right now, he still has a limited diet that he will eat...well except for when he's at daycare; he's in love with his daycare provider, and you know what? That's okay. Due to his issues, I'm determined that he will have a group of people around him who not only love him but understand him, and she is one of those people. I am deeply grateful for her. She has become family.

Honestly, I have not had a chance to wish that Steven were a different child, he has always been who he is. I just want to make sure that we are prepared as parents to offer him the life he deserves. Occasionally I come across a child who is his age who is developing "on schedule", and it hurts a little bit, but I look at it this way: Steven was put in my life to give me purpose, a reason to live. I would not be here if it were not for him, as hard as it was to get him here, as much of a risk towards my life as it was to have him. He brings joy to every person who knows him. And ALL special needs children teach those who care for them to take nothing for granted. So I thank God for my child. Even when he's refusing to sleep at night, touching me with a slobber-drenched sock, or jumping on my head (his most favorite pastime). Steven does not know how to show excitement appropriately, so he just spazzes out. And no one makes him more excited than Mommy, I guess. So I must learn to endure it. :-)

Steve tells me that when he brings him home in the evenings, Steven takes a bottle, climbs on the bed, and surrounds himself in my pillows (because they smell like me). He also told me that he was in the car with him one day and a song called "A Song for Mama" came on, and Steven started singing along. That brought tears to my eyes, and when I hear it now, it brings tears to my eyes. He can't say much more than "Mama", but the fact that he recognizes that in a song and will sing along means so much to me.

Steven is only about 60% along to where he should be at his age, but we see progress every day. It's usually in the form of defiance, but it's still progress. Now that we know what the problem is, it's so much easier to approach him. Steven is a very bright, inquisitive, fast-paced little boy. He's just frustrated with the fact that his world does not seem to fit him right. I remember when his good pediatrician out at Kaiser (Steve's good gub'ment insurance) recommended that I have him screened for autism, I thought to myself, "how will other children treat him, will they pick on him?" I still have memories of how I was tormented as a child, and I will not tolerate that happening to my child. Goodness, some of the people I grew up with still had a healthy dose of disdain for me when they saw me at our ten year reunion. But they're buttwads anyways, and that's all they'll ever be. I asked a mommies group I'm part of what they thought, and one mother chimed in and said Steven would most likely be oblivious. And he is. For the most part, other kids don't exist to him until he's ready for them to. He will just ignore the crap out of you, and if you annoy him enough, he'll sock you one. So I think he'll be okay.

As far as his development goes, his speech is very limited, it dropped off at about the 18-month mark. Cognitively, I think he knows far more than we are aware, but since he does not talk, we cannot tell. He's very stubborn, so we have yet to learn just what he can do. But is participating more and more at daycare, so that is a positive sign. His therapy starts tomorrow, his therapist sounds like a really nice lady, and both Mommy and Daddy are excited. We will have to split the therapy sessions, because I'm working now. I got a temp-to-hire job out in Chantilly, and it pays really well. Today is a quiet day due to the weather, and so I decided to blog a little bit because it was long overdue.

Here's a picture Steven and I took at his birthday party. It was wonderful to see him so happy, and to see his eyes so clear. One of the things that I've noticed as his disorders have progressed is that a sort of film has dropped over his eyes, he's often off in his own world, and it makes me so sad. But occasionally you reach him, occasionally, he reaches out, and it's truly wonderful. I am so blessed in my little baby boy.

Refugees

It's 7:30 in the evening, Steven and I are in our temporary home after a long day of police reports, baggage claims and car breakdowns on 495. I am frazzled and my son is confused, this is not his home and Mommy is not herself. He's been climbing on chairs all evening, and I was beginning to lose my patience and cave under the pressure when he made me laugh by eating a pizza roll. He's never eaten such a thing. When it comes to finger foods, he's always been a chicken nugget kinda guy. He's smearing the remains on the floor and he's due for a bath soon. So is the kitchen floor...tomorrow. Meanwhile a paper towel will have to do.

I never thought I'd be the victim of domestic violence. I never thought I'd be one to hit back. I was a timid child growing up, but the past three years have changed me dramatically. To be abandoned by family when my life was on the line, to be reduced to poverty with no end in sight and to be essentially lied to for the duration of my relationship with my son's father has made me someone that I do not want to be.

Steve is in what was once our home. I miss it somewhat, but I do not miss him. I am scared, where will we lay our head long-term? Steve was served with a protective order today, and he must have resisted arrest or tried to hide, because they booked him, took him to the jail and set him up for court. He wants me to plead on his behalf. I shall ask the judge to make him go to Alcoholics Anonymous and therapy. He's a broken man with a broken past, he put his hands on me and I fought back. I fled out of the bedroom window in the middle of the night, my sleeping son in my arms because the county police had failed me when they ordered me to let the man back in the house. There is no turning back now.

Steve loves his son, there is no doubt. And I do pity him. But he cannot be around my son in the mental state that he's in. Especially when he repeatedly threatened the life of his son's mother. No sir, you may not snap my neck. You may not get near enough to me to do so. Steve wants to see his son over the holidays, sure with supervision. I'm not trying to use my son as a chess pawn, this isn't about money. I want my son to lose that look of fear that's in his eyes every time my voice is raised. There was once a time when he paid me no attention at all. But now his gray/green eyes widen with fear, even though I'm just trying to peel him off the wall as usual. Ever since Saturday, Mommy's raised voice means danger. My son cannot talk but he knows how to hide.

I have no idea how to undo the damage except to keep him close to me. He sleeps by my side at night, and I try to keep his routine as familiar as possible; Mickey Mouse episodes all day, baths each night and books before bed. He sleeps curled up at my side and for the past few nights has not had any night terrors. It's a blessing, given the circumstances.

"Every Family Has It's Dysfunction..."

Yeah, but the mentality of my mom's family is back in the turn-of-the last century. Seriously.

I don't live life relying on horoscopes, but one in particular (which always seems to have an antecdote to think about) said that with regards to my family, something may have to be torn down in order to be re-built properly. That's basic spiritual thought; most of us have constructed our lives based on false assumptions, and sometimes outright lies. It may not be totally our fault, but if you find that life is not working out the way you would like, and you yearn for better, you might actually have to tear down some constructs in order to create better ones.

That is happening in my family right now.

My generation has known for years that my mom's generation has some issues. The women all despise my grandmother for some reason, I thought for a moment that they were going to actually examine this, but in light of recent events, I see that is not going to happen. It has gotten so bad that they are abusing my elderly grandmother. They do really well with getting her to her doctor's appointments, but when it comes to the emotional quality of her life, they suck.

They refuse to let her go to church, or even to Wal-mart. My aunt, whom my grandmother lives with refuses to put a chair lift in so my grandmother can get up and down the stairs, because she doesn't want to "ruin her decor". So my grandmother crawls backwards down about 30 steps each day to get to the main level. There are no full baths on the main level, so she would either have to sleep in the basement or on the top floor, but all in all that 8,000 square foot house is not handicap accessible. And that's going to have to change, because it was this particular aunt who swore that my grandmother (and her baby sister who has her own set of insecurities and issues) belonged with her. Well, fast forward 6 years or so, and everyone is burned out and my grandmother is a "problem". They don't even have a legitimate home health aide in there who can assist my grandmother properly, it's my rich aunt's personal assistant. I tell you, all of this is going to change.

The real problem is that no one is listening to my grandmother. They're all so angry about their childhoods...which took place 50 years ago! They talk to Grandma like she's a child...or worse, they call her outside her name. They tell her to her face that they don't care what she wants or wishes, and accuse each other of taking Grandma's money while they do it themselves. All the while insisting that the nieces and nephews respect and revere them...and ignore the pasts of child abuse, deliberate lack of education (and insistence on lack of education for their kids), and drug use. It's time for the madness to stop, I say!

Well it's all definitly coming to a stop, because I called the authorities on them. My cousin and I have each filed separate complaints with the county Adult Protective Services division. And we'll be going to get my grandmother on Thursday so she can spend the week away from that gilded prison (and go to church, the one thing that brings her joy)...and unfortunately we'll have to go with police escort. My wealthy and snobbish aunt complains that no one comes to see her mother, but she doesn't realize that we're all tired of being treated like puppies on a white carpet. Don't touch this, don't chip that. I tell her every chance I can that her material things do not impress me.

I wrote a plea to my mother and the two aunts who can actually turn on a computer and asked them to seek counseling or mediation as sisters, so they could address the emotional issues they have with my grandmother, and ultimately treat her better than they have been. Typical behavior continues, blaming everyone but onesself, refusing to seek help. My wealthy aunt and the youngest aunt decided to insult my intelligence by telling me that I'm lying about things people have born witness to. So I let them both have it. The family is shocked, once again I'm crazy (sometimes I wish I had never said I was in therapy, if they hadn't have heard that, they probably wouldn't be calling me that). But I'm not the one abusing my elderly mother.

When I was a child, before I could even read, I asked my mother for my birth certificate. I swore up and down I was adopted. I still feel that way, honestly. These people do not act the way I feel a family should act. And I'm ultimately tired of it. I'm tired of being seen as wrong because I want to do what's right. I'm tired of the fickle behavior, you agree with me to my face and then you go back and agree with someone else to their face.

This is going to get ugly, but I hope that out of all of this, some healing can come. My grandmother may have made some mistakes, but she's an old woman now. None of the women in my mom's family who have kids want their children to abandon or abuse them, so they need to think about that when they do things that hurt and dismay their mother.

Prison Break...Or Not

Life is a daily lesson. I feel like each day that I get out of bed, I'm learning one hard lesson or another. For a minute, life kind of calmed down. New lesson learned: it can't always be that way.

Steven is growing like a weed. He climbs things like he's a little primate. Every door he closes, he reaches for the little lock on the knob. I've sat in rooms where he's reached up for the door handle and let himself out, only to run down the hall and away from me. Note to self: do not take him to the OB/GYN (he usually goes with me to my doctor's visits). It would be very hard to get off that table to get my son. Ha!

I cut his hair on Saturday. His fro has been getting out of control. It used to look like this:

Now it looks like this:

It's a lot easier to comb now, but I do miss his Kramer fro. It was unique...even if it couldn't be styled. Oh well, when his hair grows out, it'll grow out evenly this time. That is, if he doesn't try to mop the floor with his forehead again.

Labor Day weekend we went down to Ladysmith to my parents' "summer house". Man, it's peaceful down there. And we needed the vacation. Hopefully one day we'll actually be able to go out of state on vacation. I have a feeling we will. Steve and I have plans, it's just implementing them that can be hard sometimes.

We enjoyed a nice, quiet, long weekend just outside of Richmond. Traffic going south on 95 wasn't that bad, and we got to chill out and have fun. Little Man ran through the whole house, Steve got to relax, and I got to read and scrapbook. We even took Little Man swimming down at the lake. They have a nice beach there, and he liked it so much we took him twice. It felt so good, watching him run up and down the beach, screaming with joy. He even stopped to "talk" to people. Well, he would just pick out a cute woman and go sit in her lap. Folks were totally enamored of him.

Daddy and Little Man waiting for Mommy and Grandparents to get back from the store in Ladysmith.


My little Beach Baby!


We all had so much fun...

We came back Monday afternoon, and it wasn't too much longer before reality set in. By Wednesday my landlord was trying to evict us over $53 dollars, an amount we didn't dispute, but an amount that should have been paid back in July. All I wanted to know was, firstly what the fee was, and when they finally told me, why it wasn't charged back in July. Their bookkeeper made a mistake, and rather than admit that, she and her managers chose to be degrading.

They've been a bit upset with me, because I keep pointing out that they use "the increasing cost of goods and services" as their excuse to raise the rent, but if you are an old tenant, your apartment just gets shabbier and shabbier. Because the problems are not ones that endanger health and saftey (by their standards...my son can get into the hall closet, climb the shelves, and get to the medicine if he doesn't fall first because the door is broken!), they do not get addressed. It is at the point now where it would be cheaper to pay a mortgage and the bills that come with it than to pay rent. I've actually found houses that are twice as large as our apartment for half the price. Now if only we could get a home loan. It'll happen. God is preparing the perfect house for us. I feel that within myself.

This past week has been extremely stressful for me. I'm beginning to understand just what type of caste system really exists in this country. Many of those who have money choose to look down on those who don't. The poor are "lazy", "ignorant", or just looking for a handout. We're all uneducated, we all choose not to better ourselves. I fully understand that poverty in the United States is nothing like poverty in other countries. For that I am truly grateful. But that doesn't mean that it's not hard.

Obviously I can get in contact with others via the internet. We pay our bills, we used part of our school refund check to get a better computer, as both Steve and I study online (and I've finally narrowed down the concentration within my major, more on that later). We pay the rent. We manage to feed ourselves and clothe little man. Clothing for the big people only comes when something has completely worn out, or the money fairy pays us a visit (perhaps once a year). Wal-mart is my best friend. I'm so psyched that they're building a Super Wal-Mart down the street, I LOOOOVE their grocery store. I doubt I'll shop anywhere else. I'm all about saving what pennies we have. :-)

Still...it hits home at least once a day what we can't do, especially for Little Man because we are considered "under the poverty level". We do our best to be resourceful, I give thanks for our blessings, but it is still hard. I sometimes feel like we just can't stretch our resources any further, and wonder just what we did wrong in this situation. Maybe we did nothing wrong.

But I see more clearly how the poor are viewed, now that we are considered that. At the same time, I realize the blessing of being considered "poor" in America. That's rich somewhere else. I remind myself of that when my friends are travelling the globe and wearing nice things. My son is happy. He has no idea what his parents are going through. He has his needs met. Heck, he dresses better than we do, and I see nothing wrong with that. Those $4 tops and bottoms at Target are cute! We find ways to go and do things as a family that don't break the bank. We eat well, even if it's the same thing every month. At least we can afford to get fat. The boy never runs out of his whole milk, and there are plenty of diapers for him to pee through (and boy does he). Whenever we can get away and the Green Goblin (our car) can get us going South, there's always Mom's place. Scrapbooking isn't that expensive. We've learned to want less.

Still, we look forward to the day when we can own our own home. Steve qualifies for a VA home loan. We're looking but we can't buy yet. Still....one day, my son will have a backyard to play in, and any sisters or brothers he might have coming after him will have a room of their own. If something breaks, we'll be able to fix it.

I'm dreaming of that white picket (or chain link) fence.

A Day At The Zoo...and the Day After, Too

I took Little Man to the Zoo yesterday. I doubt he looked at a single animal, but I felt like a good Mommy taking him, anyway. Off to the Soft Playroom later this week. I've been taking some new vitamins, and they actually work. I haven't had this much energy in years. Not on consecutive days and without energy drinks, that's for sure.


Little Man and I went with a friend and two other children to the National Zoo. I will never ever EVER do that again in the summer. That zoo is best seen on a fall day, so the Mount Everest-like climb to the top isn't so bad. Me and my friend almost died before we got there, and what would have happened to the kids?

A few pictures...




Candace


Steven and Big Girl Vera


My son, actually being sociable!!!


A few more pictures...


The Panda, once he finally got his butt out of his dinner bowl...




I think he saw a Panda....I dunno. :-)

LOL, haven't you eaten enough?

Do I look tired? *laughs*

HE was tired...

And so was he! Ah, to be an animal...at least one that far up the food chain.

From there we went to lunch. I walk into the strangest McDonalds I have ever seen, somewhere out in Arlington. I almost thought there were no bathrooms, but I finally found them after we ate...somewhat.

People keep telling me that it's just a toddler phase, but my son has never liked food. We have puke issues in my house. I'm through being frustrated, I just try to make sure he doesn't jump on our bed after he has his nighttime bottle, and that he drinks while he's eating. Still, he's stubborn.

Yesterday was one of those days when Little Man felt he had to challenge the one person who he goes to first and last every day. He rolls over me in the morning when he wakes up and lies on me to sleep at night...or as close to me as he can get. He knows I'm his caretaker, servant, chauffer...but that doesn't mean he has to listen to me, haha.

Well, we're chomping on chicken nuggets, and I think to myself that Little Man is doing pretty good. Until he starts gagging. Little Man is getting over some congestion (which all came out today, by the way....), and it's hard for him to eat or drink sometimes. The room was filled with the sound of his retching, and I was trying hard to catch it, and he was pushing my hands away; we had quite a power struggle there for a minute. I got the most of it, but he was still gagging, so I took him outside (thank God for the door nearby!). I stood outside with him while he regained control of his gag reflex (his is strong, like mine....morning sickness was a nightmare), then we went back inside. I got him changed, and we continued home.

I think I might be growing as a person, because this didn't irritate me as much as it would have six months ago. I felt for the people eating who had to hear that noise, not to mention the echo in that room, but there was little I could do. I can't make him eat, and I can't make him drink if he doesn't want to. All I can do is watch closely for any clue of an impending explosion.

Today I had a physical. Little Man was in tow, and very well-behaved. I think the world outside our house is so interesting, he doesn't have time to flip out. I hope his view stays like that. I then went to therapy, and wanted to make one more stop before coming home. Steve has a cold, and I promised chicken noodle soup. Well, that didn't happen. Poor Little Man decided he'd had enough of all that phlegm in his throat, and proceeded to throw up all over the backseat of the car. Nothing else to do but drive home...but I did have to take him AND his carseat out of the car, to minimize the spread of stomach debris. Little Man found that funny, and laughed (and played with his puke) while I hauled him and the seat in the house.

Mama rewarded herself with a pizza. Steve doesn't know yet. Too bad, his beef noodle soup is simmering right now, and he will be grateful.

Well, as it stands, the day is winding down. I actually had to stop in the middle of the blog to feed Little Man, who surprised me by demanding food. I'm learning more and more each day to listen to my son's cues. I guess eating a towel, getting upset and toppling his high chair were cues enough. :-)

I'm trying to get some of this laundry out of my living room. This weekend I washed four quilts, all the linens in the house, and three weeks worth of laundry. It cost $60 bucks, and took about 3.5 hours. But I have yet to put any of it away...except for some towels. On to the whites. By the end of the week I should have them all put away, and a whole new pile waiting for me.

Little Steve is making a game out of hiding more and more. It's quite fun. I'm trying to learn to slow down, stress less, and have fun with my child. Today he wrestled with me; because I was on the floor, I was game, so he came and jumped on me. As we laughed and played, I reminded myself that today will never come again, and to savor it, regardless of what happened to put a monkey wrench in my plans. Still...

I can't wait until bedtime. Mine.

Playdates and Xanax

Oh how glad I am I refilled my Xanax prescription. I do not want to be the type of person who relies on drugs to cope with day-to-day life, but my anxiety level has been off the charts for weeks. Every time I run out, I think to myself that I can just do without it. After all, I haven't been on an anti-depressant long term at any period in my life since my diagnosis at 14 (I'm 29 now). But the anxiety is another matter. When people can see that you're anxious, to me that signifies a problem. Few people have been able to identify my depression, but I am determined to be a hard-nosed tough as nails survivor. I have to go on, especially now. It's never been easy, and I don't ever expect it to be. It's just my lot.

But I can't cope with the crying jags in the tub because my day started off at 65mph, and rose to a speed of 90mph and stayed that way until I hid in the bathroom. I guess it's hard to understand when it's not you, not to mention my family has innoculated themselves against my "mood swings". Reminder: get myself evaluated for Borderline Personality Disorder. My mom was one, I could be one. I doubt it, it probably would have been diagnosed by now, but anything to shut them up.

On another note, I think I've found the toddler Oz. There's a rec center near my house that has a soft play room. Oh my gosh, I love that place. And for $4 bucks a day, open 7 days a week, who wouldn't want to take advantage?

I think my biggest guilt trip has been not being able to do more for my son. I want him to get out and have fun, to play with other kids. I do not want my limitations to affect his life. I need rest and some time to myself, but I can go without it long enough for him to have a good time and get his needs met. Somehow I'll have to deal with the burnout I'm experiencing, but for now I'll just have to accept that I have never had the type of family support system that I need and that everyone deserves. It is what it is. I'm not going to let it get in the way of my dreams. Like I told Steve, I've buried too many aspirations due to the will and wants of others. I'm not doing that anymore.

I asipre to have a son who has a normal, happy childhood. My mind was never that of a child's and I don't want him growing up that way. He's just as bright as his mother, but I don't want that intelligence to be used to recognize discord where there should be none. I just want him to be happy.

How happy I am that I've found one more tool to make that a reality. God bless the creator of the Soft Playroom. :-)

Just what does a SAHM do all day?

Where to begin?

WHERE to begin?

I guess I could say that first of all, I'm tired. I'm not even sure if I can pull this off, because two and a half years of drama has sucked me clean of my creativity, and at the moment I'm just a zombie. I wake up, I go through the motions of trying to keep my son clean, happy and healthy, I wear myself down further...and I go to bed.

I'm trying to find out a way to deal with this burnout, because no one around me takes what I'm trying to tell them seriously. Honestly, there are a lot of things that I wish now I didn't say.

I grew up in an abusive home. Only a victim of child abuse can understand the fears I have as a mother. I fear my personality is borderline...but it could just be stress. I'm a veteran of over 24 years of depression, and it has been a long, hard fight for sanity. I didn't ask to be born, I didn't ask to be born into the f*cked up family that I have...

So I have to remember that my son is in the same situation. He's just a happy little baby, he doesn't know that there's a storm raging around him. So somehow, I have to step back from all of the problems that were here before him, and regroup so I can properly parent him.

Because I love my little boy. He's honestly the only reason I'm alive right now. That may annoy some, but I don't care. He hasn't hurt me.

I wish I could get those who were never mothers (men, women who have never concieved) to understand what it means to be a mom.

1. You never get enough sleep...and your fatigue is not on the level of an exec, a college student, a marathon runner even...it's WAAAAAAAAY past that, and you don't really get rest until those kids are grown. My son isn't two yet, and I know that.

2. Unless you have a maid, the house is perpetually a mess. I can vacuum every day, and there will still be goldfish crumbs on my floor.

3. The laundry piles up...I swear there's a full load one day after I finish washing. IT NEVER ENDS.

4. Husbands truly have little clue what stay-at-home moms do. They think we're June Cleavers, or better yet the Rice Crispy Treat lady; either we make it look effortless to the point that the men believe it, or we really don't do any work but we try to make it look like we do.

5. Mom's have an intense love for their kids; I'll kill you if you touch my son, but there are days when I want to strangle him myself. Especially at 2 am. Or when he's climbing on the dining room chairs to get all the stuff on the dining room table that we've pushed to the back to keep away from him. Or when he's somehow broken the child-safety locks on the kitchen cabinet doors, or when he's pulling open the drawers in our bedroom and pulling things out. Or when he's managed to eat something off the floor that my vacuum missed...and he's about to throw up because it's lodged in his throat...and let's not talk about the number of times he's vomited, exorcist-like all over me and every piece of bed linen we have. I could go on...

6. Something as simple as going the store can turn into a marathon. You have to make sure you have a bottle, diapers, don't forget your money or cell phone...then you have to wrestle a wriggling kid into the car, endure being yelled at each time you stop at a red light (honey I'd love to run them but I owe my county enough in tickets). Then you get to your destination, and if you've forgotten your stroller (if it's not a store), you're up the creek. I personally do not have the strength to carry my son long-term. If you are in a store, make sure the cart is far enough from the shelves, or you will either be re-stocking or paying for broken merchandise.

7. I have learned that the library (my favorite place) is off limits for us at the moment.

8. There are countless moments when you find yourself really glad to be a mom. Like the first time baby says "mama". That was my son's first word...and it's his favorite. Other times are when you watch them sleep (they're angels when they sleep). Some of my most favorite times are when we're grooving to music; music was once my life, but circumstances contrived to take that life away from me. If my son wants to make music, I'll move mountains so he can do so.

9. Mom's need help. Far too many of us try to do it alone. Far too many of us have to do it alone. If you know a mom, help her. You would want help if it were you.

More than anything, I want understanding.