So, if I were willing to share my SAT scores from a millenia ago (I'm not), you would understand that math is not my thing. You may wonder with a score so low if perhaps I napped through the math section or if maybe I used a number 1 lead pencil instead of a number 2. And if I were to tell you that I can no longer help my daughter with third grade math (and honestly struggled with second grade math too) you would never believe that I have the ability to understand the math and science involved with horology, the science of measuring time. But, I do. Kinda. Sort of. Not really. Although I may not understand the exact mathematical equation when it comes to measuring time, there is one thing I will tell you that no horologist ever will. Sometimes, tomorrow comes before today.

Trust me. I have proof.

This "proof" came sort of by accident. I wasn't trying to disprove all the work done by super smart horologists or trying to win some Nobel Prize for science. No, this "proof" was a direct result of my poor math skills and my inept ability to compute how much weight a metal closet shelf can bear before collapsing. (Hint: Four years worth of school papers, assignments, workbooks, evaluations, and over 40 board games is too much). Oh, and my slovenly housekeeping skills also had something to do with my recent time measuring discovery.

Of all the closets to collapse, it had to be Ryan's. The neatest of all my kids. This closet disaster did not go over well. Ryan was less than pleased when he came home to a pile of papers, clothes and board games in his otherwise clean and tidy room. In fact, I was told to "get this junk out of here because the dust is making my lungs swell". Much to Ryan's dismay, while digging through the "junk", I would cry out happily, "Oh, Ryan, remember this?" and "I loved when you drew me this" all while I sat in his space, in his way. Ryan isn't much of a sentimental guy, so he quickly tossed me and the "junk" out into the hallway.

I spent hours (in the hallway) going back in time...remembering. It was then, surrounded by "junk" and memories, that with no real math skills to speak of and without any background in horology, I made the irrefutable discovery that for a mom loving a child with autism, there were many occasions when tomorrow, did in fact, come before today.

Digging through the remnants of Ryan's destroyed closet shelf (thanks to his mother's laziness and poor weight distribution computing skills), I discovered seven pieces of hard evidence, I needed to prove my theory. 

1. Old evaluations and assessments. Doctors, therapists, fortune tellers and Google can't predict tomorrow, so worrying about their predictions, believing their predictions, made tomorrow come before today. Evaluations give a snapshot in time. They do not predict the future. So worrying if tomorrow Ryan will live alone, have a job, go to college, get married and have a family when he is only 3, made me miss how high he could swing, how far he could jump and how many new words he learned today. Tomorrow interrupted today.

2. School work. Examining every writing assignment and wondering, will he ever improve his handwriting, his spelling, his story telling to "mainstream" in middle school, high school and (dare I dream) college? The words and the work I found in that heap were indescribable! How did I not see today? How did I not see his AWEnesty, his humor, his desire to use big words, words that no other 8 year old was trying to use? Tomorrow blinded today.

3. Crumpled board games. When Ryan would play board games, he would get so frustrated if anyone bent the rules, did not follow the rules as he interpreted them and God forbid, if he lost, that inevitabley, the board game and most of it's contents would go flying across the room. I remember sitting there watching his meltdown, ducking from the metal Monopoly pieces so as to not lose an eye and thinking, "How will he deal with less than scrupulous colleagues or a boss who bends the rules as an adult?". Worrying about tomorrow, I failed to see that today he sat through most of a board game without melting down, interacted socially with his siblings and occasionally praised them when they did well. Tomorrow stole today.

4. Birthday cards from "friends". Each card I discovered in the heap brought back a time when tomorrow came before today. Every. Single. Birthday Party. Was. Hard. I gave the suggestions on what to do for his birthday, I made the arrangements, I made the guest list (with an occasional nod or grunt on who I was inviting) and I helped him remember his friends' names. Each party I wondered, "Will he ever have parties, friends, social outings without me there guiding him every step of the way?". Will it be easier tomorrow? Funny, how looking back I realize that "today" he was in a crowded party room with noise, chaos, unexpected hugs from "friends" and presents he hated, but, worrying about tomorrow I failed to see how far he had come today. Worry put tomorrow before today.

5. Unopened rock hard Play Doh. Play doh. A neurotypical child's favorite artwork medium. My child with autism? Not so much. I remember trying so hard to get Ryan to touch it, squeeze it, smell it, and play with it. Nope. Nada. Never. He hated Play Doh...the feel of it, the smell of it, and yes, the taste of it. Play Doh became more of an occupational therapy tool than a toy. It's amazing how in a worried mother's eye Play Doh can morph into shaving cream and how that worried eye can convince the worried brain that Ryan's inability to touch anything sticky, gooey, etc would mean he would have a beard down to his knees since he wouldn't be able to stand the feel of shaving cream and of course the noise of an electric razor would terrify him. Play Doh to a ZZ Top Band Member in a blink of an eye. Tomorrow jumped way in front of today.

6. Artwork. The art room. Still one of Ryan's least favorite places. Art is vague, abstract and there is no right or wrong answer. It is not concrete enough for his very literal brain. There is a lot of sensory stuff in the art room...smells, textures, and messiness. Not Ryan's ideal place to thrive. With every medium he became stressed. With every cycle day 5, "Art Day", he would moan and groan the entire way to the bus stop and I would worry about all the ways his heightened sensory system could impact not just art class, but, tomorrow. Yet there in the heap of "junk" I was reminded of a today when he couldn't hold scissors, a pencil or a crayon properly and how tomorrow pushed past today and I wondered, how he would sign his name in school, pay bills, or file his marriage license. How would all these struggles with fine motor skills "hold him back" tomorrow? I missed today waiting for tomorrow.

7. Chao. This guy is the embodiment of tomorrow coming before today. A tiny little action figure from Sonic the Hedgehog video games. Chao went everywhere and heaven forbid if he was not somewhere.  With my poor math skills, I can't begin to count the number of times we turned the house upside down when Chao went missing or how many time I wondered, "Who the blankety, blank, blank would pay $80 for this tiny chunk of plastic?" while trying not to click Buy It Now on ebay. Chao helped Ryan get where he needed to go or do what he needed to do. I remember thinking, "What will the kids say in high school when he walks through the halls with Chao?". All my worry for tomorrow and Chao never even made it to middle school let alone high school. However, looking at his scratched up, beat up little blue eyes, I remember a "today" when Chao was placed in the pocket of a new coat that Ryan was finally able to wear even though it was "new" and "felt funny". Chao helped Ryan transition from one activity to the next at daycare and at home, and yes, Chao even sat at the dinner table a time or two helping Ryan to sit through a meal and actually eat. Tomorrow before today.

Maybe it took a collapsed closet for the full impact of how many todays I missed worrying about tomorrow. Some may judge me saying, I should have accepted and loved Ryan as he was today and not worried so much about tomorrow and believe me I did, but, I would be lying if I didn't tell you that there were times I was so consumed with Ryan's future, that I missed his present. That is something I must live with and learn from. 

Although my math and housekeeping is not something to brag about, I must admit, had the closet not collapsed, had the dust covered "junk" not caused Ryan's "lungs to swell" I may not have made such a noteworthy discovery. Yes, sure I proved to myself that sometimes tomorrow comes before today, and in that I learned a valuable lesson to appreciate the present without worrying too much about the future, but, in all the "junk" what I discovered most about time is that yesterday is proof of what today and tomorrow may bring for my son. 

Who knows, maybe I do have a future in horology.

It's Mother's Day this weekend. Hooray!! It is a day off, a day of respite, a day of nothing, but, MomMe! Am I right? Of course not!!
 
Okay, fine, chances are you may get a little pampering by not having to get dinner, fold the laundry or scrub the toilets, but, regardless of your plans and the degree of pampering you may or may not receive, Mother's Day is the one day of the year we actually get noticed. It is the one day that our kids actually pay attention to us because the calendar, the television and social media say they should. It is the one day the kids remember, I mean really remember, who we are, what we do, and why they are so freaking lucky to have us, and that is why, on this treasured day we will most likely hear, "Hey Mom, look..." at least 175 times.

If I had a dollar, no wait, a nickel, for every time I heard, "Hey Mom, look", I would be sipping my Mother's Day wine through a beautiful crystal wineglass from Tiffany's instead of a cheap, stemless wine glass from Target. And if I had a nickel for how many times I smiled through gritted teeth and slightly snarled, "just a minute" while draining the boiling hot pasta, scrubbing the toilets with bleach or wiping my...well, you know, I would be drinking that wine on a yacht somewhere on the Cote d'Azur.

Kids love to show us...everything. High how they can jump, how fast they can run, and how big they can poo. Yep, sorry, even THAT. And sure, when we are in the middle of bleach, boiling water or bathroom hygiene, and when we have "looked" exactly 47 times already that day, the words, "Hey Mom, look" sort of gets jumbled somewhere between our ears and and our brain and all we hear is the voice inside our heard going, "OMG! Can I get anything done?!". 

I admit it, I'm guilty of not always looking, at least not in that moment, not right away, not until after I flush. I use to hear, "Hey Mom look" from Kyle when he would throw a ball, kick a ball, bounce a ball, or catch a ball. Now, as a 17 year old, I only hear "Hey Mom, look" when he pauses the DVR to show me something inappropriate and crude that Peter Griffith does on Family Guy. Sigh. Now, Emma, is a very different story, she is a show-er of all things (yes even the poo). Emma easily still utters, "Hey Mom, look" at least 75 times a day, and although I try to look all 75 times, I'd be lying if said I don't occasionally pretend to "see" and then mumble, "that's great honey", when she might actually be playing with fire.

There is, however, an exception, a time when I will put down the bleach, risk burning my hand in hot water and forego a little bathroom hygiene (just temporarily) when I hear the words, "Hey Mom, look" when it comes in a very mumbled, unsure, monotone voice. More often than not, the words "Hey Mom, look" are translated into a more adultish sounding phrase like, "Mother, I have something I would appreciate sharing with you". When I hear those words, from that mouth, even though it's not fair, it's not just, it's not equal, I have to be AWEnest, I run up the steps fearing the moment will pass before I "see". 

Why you may wonder does Ryan's "Mother I have something I would appreciate sharing with you" have more weight than, "Hey Mom, look"? Because I can count on one hand the number of times I have heard them. These words, or anything even slightly resembling them, are not even uttered on the coveted, we remember how great mom is MomMe Day.

I still run and I still look because I waited so long to see. In those early days, when I was worrying, obsessing and Googling The A Word, one of the red flags that would slap me upside the head was "lack of showing". Yep, I would see that red flag, shut off the computer and get out one of my cheap, stemless Target wine glasses and share a bottle of red with my old friend Denial. 

Ryan never showed. He never shared. He never uttered the words, "Hey Mom, look". Unless I prompted. Unless I begged. Unless I said, "Hey Ryan, look". And after downing a glass (or two or three) of wine, I swore then and there, if the words ever came, if ever heard them, I would never fail to look. I waited, bribed and begged for so long, how could I not look. And although I occasionally hear the words, or some derivative of them, there is still a long gap between the words' visits. 

Whether it's the latest mod he downloaded on Minecraft or some crazy dog on YouTube, when Ryan does show, in his way, in his own time, I forego basic kitchen safety and bathroom hygiene because it doesn't matter what he has to share, what he wants me to see, what matters is, he wants me to look. I am typically dismissed quickly after I look with a "What are you still doing here?" or an "Okay, I'd like my privacy now", but, even if it's just a quick glance, he showed, and I'm so grateful I got to see.

So, yeah, it may not be right, it may not be fair, but, on this Mother's Day, when my kids really pay attention to me, when Kyle or Emma yells, "Hey Mom, look", for the 150th time, chances are I will look (most of the time), but, if Ryan happens to utter those coveted "Mother, I have something I would appreciate sharing with you" words not only will I look, but, I will see. I will see that although that "lack of showing" red flag still waves in the breeze, occasionally that red flag is lowered so I must run quickly before it is raised again. 

I know that what Kyle and Emma want me to see is equally important, so I do look (as long as I'm not wiping my...well, you know), but, it's kind of like drinking wine from a Tiffany Crystal wine glass versus a Target, stemless wine glass. The wine is still wet, the wine is still chilled , and the wine still makes me feel warm inside, yet, somehow, drinking out of glass that is so rare, so exquisite, just makes the wine taste a little bit sweeter.

Happy Mother's Day! Enjoy your MomMe Day, but, don't forget to look, who knows what you might see.

The warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of hot dogs in the air, the twinge in my aging back from metal bleachers, the sound of laughter and shouts of "wear it" from voices that once belonged to boys and that now belong to men echoing off the dugout walls, and then finally, the crack of of the bat. Yes, baseball season is in full swing and after a winter that felt like it would never end, I for one, love it. 

As an old timer softball player married to an old timer baseball player, the ball field is a place of enjoyment for our family. My husband and I had both hoped with the birth of our first son, that the love of the game would be passed on in the gene pool. It didn't take long for our wishes to prove true. My oldest son, Kyle, has been throwing, catching, and hitting a ball since he was able to stand. In fact, his first full sentence at the age of 12 months (he is a gifted gabber like his mother), was,“Where da ball?”. 

As a junior on his high school Varsity baseball team, my first born has strangely become a starting left fielder. It's weird seeing him out there, because my son has spent his entire baseball career as a middle infielder, a position he could play in his sleep (well, not really, that would be rather dangerous).  Who knew the boy who loved to "turn two" would feel an even bigger rush throwing a kid out from left field at the plate? Regardless of where Kyle plays on his Varsity baseball team, or his Legion baseball team, to this mother, he has always been and will always be, my relief pitcher. 

Sometimes my ball player needs an inning or two to get the job done, and sometimes he is the closer. He steps up to the mound, throws three pitches and we have a victory in the record books. With college looming over the baseball diamond for my baseball player, I fear that without my back up, the seasons ahead could be long and lonely.

As with so many things in life, sometimes we need back up. The second string quarterback stands on the sidelines at the ready when the starting quarterback has thrown one too many interceptions. When the starting point guard pulls a hammy sprinting down court, you have the kid on the bench, anxiously waiting for the coach to give him the nod. The theater understudy, who has worked as hard as the lead actress memorizing her lines, anxiously awaits, and silently prays, that the lead gets laryngitis so the understudy finally gets her shot in the spotlight. And in baseball, you have the relief pitcher, the guy who comes in when the starting pitcher is worn out, has lost speed, or can no longer throw a strike. The relief pitcher, who is fresh and ready to go, steps on the mound, throws a curveball and saves the day.

As a mom, I am the starting pitcher. I play most of the game, regardless of the condition of my arm, or how tired I am, but, some days I need back up, especially when it comes to my middle son, Ryan, who has an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) diagnosis. Ryan is a smart, loving, wonderful 13 year old boy, but, some days, when I am tired, when I have thrown as many strikes as I can and I am still struggling to keep the lead, I need to take a seat on the bench.

I get up early, pack the same lunch EVERY SINGLE DAY, make sure the homework is done, email the teachers, check for bees, check for thunderstorms, check for scratchy tags in shirts, tie the shoes just so and get everyone where they need to be, inning, after inning. I may see more playtime, but, it is big brother who is called from the bull pen when I can no longer get the job done. Big brother is the one person, my younger son calls “friend” and the one person who is called in when I’m beat, broken, and can no longer throw the ball across the plate. 

Big brother gets the math that mom stopped understanding in 3rd grade. Big brother knows the teenage lingo and informs his little brother about what’s cool and what’s not. Big brother sees the next impending storm looming over the horizon and helps his little brother take cover. Big brother senses when the game is about to be lost and steps up to the mound, throws a few strikes and saunters back to the dugout with his biggest fan glowing in the victory.

As my oldest son, aka, my relief pitcher, quickly approaches the end of his junior year, with SAT’s, ACT's and college visits on deck, I know it won’t be long until he is “called up” and his little brother and I will be looking for back up. Like any parent, I will bask in the joy of this new game for my first born, but, I will stress over who can take his place on the roster. The playing field will change, but, I know my ball player will continue to check in when he is on the road. For now, with one more year of having my closer step up when I need to sit down, I will enjoy the crack of the bat, the smell of the hot dogs, the cheers from the stands, and the relief I have when my back up steps in and saves the game…on and off the field.