The incredibly true adventures of me

 I am not a poet. I'm not a poetry fan. I like about three poets and that's it. I wrote this after a particularly hard week followed by an amazing AA meeting and an even more amazing session with my therapist. Today, I asked my heart.  I've never done that before.  I've relied on my wits and a game of chance. I didn't think I would ever win. The odds were never in my favor. Was it a cosmic joke?  I think God forgot the punchline so they used me instead. Today, I finally asked my heart. Are you finally safe? Are you able to trust? Will this love keep you forever in its arms? No one is pulling the chair out as I try to sit. My full house finally won the game. Will that win hold me until the end? I can't imagine wanting more because I only ever wished for the least. The win was more than I expected and more than I ever imagined. But, the dealers sit and wait for their next mark. My soul is untouchable, blessed by the greatest grace and the universe. When they tell

I have been an autism mama for almost four years now and I have learned a lot but certainly not everything. I went into Leo’s kindergarten year thinking that I knew what to expect and how things would go but I was mostly unpleasantly surprised. The move to kindergarten has been rough. Leo and I have both struggled. There is more structure and less play. There is a longer day and more time sitting and listening. I’m not a five year old with autism and I have trouble sitting still and listening. There are days that Leo comes home from school and he’s just exhausted emotionally and physically. Imagine being in a room that is too loud, too bright, too much everything and you can’t effectively tell people how you feel or what you need. Most of the time when a kid acts out it’s not because they are bad it’s just a form of communication. We have seen more behaviors from Leo this year than we have before and it’s frustrating. I remind myself that, as hard as it is for me, it’s even harder for

Tomorrow, I will be 45 years old. This age is sticking in my craw. Forty-five is the age I think when someone asks me how old my parents are. They are 45. Forty-five is the age of an adult. I am lucky most days if I feel 17. I honestly did not think I would live past the age of 25. I remember in 2000, when I turned 25, thinking, “This is my last year. I better enjoy it.” I see other people who are 45 and they seem grown up and mature and I don’t see that in myself. So, whether I like it or not, I’m going to be 45. Here are some of the things I’ve learned in 45 years: 1. People will love you. People will hate you. None of it has anything to do with you. 2. There is no rule that you have to have a relationship with someone who is related to you by blood. 3. Family is what you make it. Very little of my family is related by blood but they love me for everything that I am. 4. Get yourself a best friend who tells you the truth, even when you don’t want to hear it. Especially when you d

I used to love the night before Thanksgiving, especially in my early twenties when I would head to the hometown bar and get completely shitfaced before I had to deal with my "family." I was sitting in an AA meeting tonight thinking about those years. How many Thanksgiving mornings I woke up with a massive hangover. The last few years I wasn't in a bar but I probably wasn't sober. The new normal is weird, its good but definitely weird. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because I love to cook and I love to make food for people I love. I hate Christmas...I'm indifferent to Easter but Thanksgiving in my jam. This year it is causing me major anxiety and I don't know why. I'm sober. I'm healthy. I'm loved. My wife and son are healthy, happy, and loved. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's this fear of the new normal. Of this new normal slipping away. I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do. I have a sponsor, I'm doin

When my wife and I decided we wanted to have a child, we never had any intention of becoming a special needs parent. I'm not sure anyone does. I see the same memes you do, "God made you a special needs Mom because he knew you were special." Bullshit. Parenting any kid is not for the weak, not if you're doing it correctly. Parenting a special needs kid is just different. My friend Sara often jokes that I love my kid more than she loves her kids. And, while I laugh and agree that I am definitely a superior Mother, the truth is I just have to parent differently. Lately, that has been more difficult because transitions are hard. A new school, new teachers, new friends, new rules, new expectations. They are all hard. It's hard for me and I'm not doing the really hard work that my kid is. I love my kid, I think he's the most amazing human on the planet. This morning while dropping him off, there was a Mom who was being really short with her kids and staring at h

6.307 million minutes are in 12 years (I know because I asked Alexa and then asked Siri to double check her work). My Mom died October 4, 2007, twelve years ago. She was 54 years old and she was an alcoholic and the disease killed her. Every year, around the anniversary of her death, I try to do random acts of kindness in her honor. Yesterday, Kris and I went to lunch and I bought the lunches for a table of ladies sitting near us. I didn't get out the door in time before they stopped by to thank me. I told them why I did it and asked they also pay some kindness forward and if anyone asks, tell them that Diane sent them. As we were walking away, one of the ladies said, "she would be so proud of you." Come on lady, why didn't you just stab me in the heart?! I don't know why this particular sentence is always so hard for me to hear. It happens every year around this time or when I mention my Mom. Maybe it's heartbreaking because she's not here to say it. Mayb