Stranger Within.

I fell apart the other day.  If I didn’t write it down though, no one would know.  And even as I write it down, the people who are supposed to be closest to me, won’t know because they don’t read this.

I was getting ready to follow the ritual of sprinkling my son’s medication in some applesauce or peaches, get him some milk, and help him with some worksheets to keep up his academic skills.  My husband was golfing with a longtime friend.  It was past 7:00 p.m. and I was sure my husband would know better than to bring that friend in for a drink after their game, on a weeknight, when my house was still in shambles from the recent birthday party.

I was wrong.  My husband came home, and said, “Hey, come out and say hi to ‘John’.”  Dreaded words.  I was tired.  I knew this would disrupt my son’s routine.  I don’t really know John and I was in no mood to socialize.  But what could I do?

Tootles ran out ahead with, naturally, a toy ambulance, police car, fire truck, whatever, with a siren.  John asked if Tootles remembered him.  Of course, John was ignored verbally but it was clear Tootles was out to make a show of it.  I entered the room, said hello and listened to a story about how some woman at the course was carted off in an ambulance.

John is in his 50s.  He has a grown daughter with a 3 year old.  He made a comment about how many toys my son had.  He asked me if I felt that I had a problem.  This is so deeply rooted in our autism, that I could not begin to respond.  Tootles knows every toy he has ever been given, no matter where it’s come from.  If I try to discard something, it becomes the object of obsession.  To this day, he still asks for some things I got rid of when he was 2.

Truthfully, in the living room are toys from friends at his birthday party, toys he drug out there, and ones from us for his birthday, one of which was “some assembly required” that Daddy decided to leave lying on the floor unassembled after remarking, “You’ll have to get your mom to build this for you,” a standard mantra around our house.

I told John not to judge me.  He shook his head.  He said, “Did you ever think your kid might be overstimulated by all this stuff?  I would be,”  implying my son’s autism was the result of his toys.  I was embarrassed by the house and frustrated by his remarks, but that was just the beginning.

John said he felt his daughter’s child, might have autism.  As he said this, Tootles took out his loudest, most obnoxious toy and started making loud noise.  He was told three times to stop.  Each time, he continued.  I put him in a time out in a chair facing the wall in another room.

During it, I could hear my husband try to give John advice.  Only the advice he was giving was not right.  He told John to send the 3 year old to the MIND Institute.  No one just goes to the MIND Institute.  Had he forgotten how our pediatrician could not even refer us there?  Our regional center, an arm of the State of California had to come out, do an assessment and make a referral after I jumped through hoops to get the assessment.

As I waited through the time out, I heard my husband dispensing other nuggets that made me realize how little he knows about the procedures to get help, and what to look for in signs of ASD.  My husband loves our son. He’s a good dad.  But honestly, he has very little clue what autism is, what I do for our child or how it gets done.

When the time out was over, I clarified with Tootles why he received it and not to do it again.  He did it again times three.  I took away the toy.  He didn’t care.  He found something else to make noise.  Meanwhile, I was trying to give John procedural advice and signs to look for.  John said he thought Down’s Syndrome was autism.  He finished the conversation by stating that the 3 year old was very social and he didn’t think she had “autism” (whatever in his mind that was).

Tootles had been intentionally and repeatedly defiant toward me in front of, basically, a stranger, in my home. He disobeyed, managed to find an unopened bottle of Aquasand and dump it on the kitchen table and floor, and refused to eat dinner.

John was not rude but definitely ignorant and uninterested.  My husband had shown me how little he knows about what I do.  I spend the next hour and a half cleaning up some of the mess in the living room and organizing my son’s toys.

I chewed out my son for his repeated defiance and attention-seeking behavior (I’m not perfect).  In reward for that, my husband told me not to yell at our son, gave him a kiss, and left to watch a movie upstairs.  I did not respond.  I gave our son his applesauce, and put him to bed.  I felt all the emotion drain from my body.  I became an automaton going through the motions.

In the morning, I woke my son, told him I loved him and got him ready for school.  I felt a disconnect.  I dressed my son as he engaged in echolalia.  I was listening.  Instead of a happy little boy, all I heard was echolalia.  He asked me to carry him. I did it without emotion.  I drove him to school.  I was quiet.  He asked who was standing by a car on the side of the freeway.  I said, “I don’t know” instead of, for the 500th time, telling him how I don’t know the names of everyone in the world, and trying to explain the concept of strangers.

But oddly, I feel like a stranger inside my own body, in my life.  As I hold it all in, day after day, and try here, to paint a pretty picture, I feel like I finally rubbed a spot, and the rust showed through.

I feel isolated, alone.  The words simply cannot convey what is missing right now.  I hope when I look around, I’ll find my heart.  Maybe it’s inside a tiny toy ambulance.


About solodialogue

I'm a lawyer and the mom of a 6 year old boy with autism. I work part time and spend the rest driving here and there and everywhere for my son's various therapies. Instead of trying cases, I now play Pac-man and watch SpongeBob. I wear old sweaters and jeans and always, always flat shoes to run after my son. Yeah, it's different but I wouldn't change it for anything. The love of my child is the most powerful, beautiful and rewarding aspect of my life.
This entry was posted in Autism. Bookmark the permalink.

53 Responses to Stranger Within.

  1. Kelly Hafer says:

    I want to give you the perfect words. Words that will convince you that ALL of our husbands are more than a little clueless (maybe with exception of Jim and Big Daddy and a few others). That NO ONE understands like we do. That, although you are clearly bothered by it, it’s okay that you disconnected for a bit. You’ll be back – there’s no doubt about that – but it’s okay, Karen. You are human, imperfect…and a completely devoted, wonderful, amazing mother. Everything Tootles has accomplished is because of YOU.

    I have felt disconnect more times than I can tell you. It’s a defense mechanism. And it’s okay that you felt that way. Please know that you are loved and admired from afar, you are an inspiration (serously, not blowing smoke here) and someone I think of often, as in “Wonder what Karen would do here.” I guess that’s all I want to say. You’re still the same amazing person you would before you met John, who I would like to rochambeau. And before you realized that the hubs has very little understanding of what it is you do. Hang in there, Momma. ((HUGS))

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks Kelly. You are one of the few people who can make me tear up and laugh at the same time. ❤

      And wow, you're asking what I would do? That is such a nice thing to say and funny since I always look to how strong you have to be every day for everyone when your hubs is away.

    • Kelly — you are the most awesome! How you got “rochambeau” into a supportive, encouraging comment like this is beyond me. You know what? I’ll hold John’s arms while you do the honors! 😉

  2. Oh honey, I KNOW!!! I get it ALL. In my experience, this feeling will pass and then it will probably come again. And then it will pass again. I’m sending you lots of love. Damn, why do you have to be on the other side of the country? I wish I could do something to help you through this.

  3. Kelly said it so well. It’s not that the dads are bad people — or that they don’t want to understand — or that they don’t love their children… it’s just that when someone is not in the thick of autism all day — day in, day out — it is very difficult to understand everything that goes into something so simple as having company over for the evening.

    All of that preparation, that vigilance, that careful balancing act that we do each day to keep our kids out of the meltdown zone… it builds up. The dads don’t know how to do it because they don’t practice it every day (as Kelly said — with a few notable exceptions) – and because of that they leave it to us.. ergo, no help… ergo, disconnect.

    I think you’re going to find that a lot of us sympathize with your post here Karen. It might not be the connection you were looking for, but it IS a connection nonetheless. Remember that this community is here for you — that you can lean on us like so many of us have leaned on you.

    So, next time you go to the mall to have that daily chai, I hope you’ll imagine of all of us… sitting there with you and listening — laughing and crying with you. You are loved out here in bloggy land, lady — whether you like it or not!

    • solodialogue says:

      I was so far down, I skipped the tea yesterday, but I will get back there and take your advice. Your words lift me up, my friend. It’s nice to know there are people who get it, every last bit of it. Thanks. ❤

  4. Grace says:

    What Kelly said. It is a defense mechanism, and I have checked out plenty of times when I just could not handle one. more. thing. It’s not our finest moment for any of us, but it happens, and it is necessary. And temporary. And you are certainly entitled to it.

    I don’t know many people who have a bigger heart than you do. And that “hole” you fell into? You’re in good company down here. We’ll all make it back out eventually, because that’s what we do. And we rock, HARD, even when we feel like we suck.

    You are not alone. XOXO

    • solodialogue says:

      “Checked out” describes it perfectly. My heart is filling up with all the support and love I receive from you and everyone here. This is the best therapy a special needs mom could have. I knew this was the place to let it out. I’m glad as I focus that I see the writing on the wall in the “hole” from my SN mom friends. Grace, you’re helping me more than you know. xo

  5. Flannery says:

    Good God, I’m making my way around the blogs and it seems like we all drank the Kool Aid…the “I’m exhausted and overwhelmed and SAD” Kool Aid. Sometimes no matter where we turn, there is no one there who really gets what we do, the hoops we jump through, the thousands of tiny details we manage when no one is looking. And sorry, but your husband’s friends sounds rather thoughtless, whether he meant to be or not.

    We have a lot of years left to go, friend, before our kids are grown. I wonder if this will be a wave that we ride periodically, or if we will become seasoned veterans to the emotional roller coaster.

    *Tipping back a cold one, and singing ‘Tub Thumping’ to you, and me, and all our sisters.*

  6. oh, Karen, i am so sorry you are in this place. it’s a hard one. speaking for myself, i know when i have these shut downs it’s just my brain’s way of saying if i am not going to be selfish and take time away to refresh myself then my brain is going to shut down and do it for me. Take some time. therapy and worksheets will be there tomorrow. Tootles needs you to be whole. You deserve for you to be whole.
    i wish i lived near by i’d love to take a walk, grab a drink, and roll our eyes and have a good laugh about all the people like John who roll in and out of our lives in total ignorance.
    much love, my friend.

    • solodialogue says:

      You brought tears to my eyes, in a good way. The understanding you have touches me and helps me find my way back. As for that walk? I’m pretty sure we’re taking it right now. Love back to you, my dear.

  7. Teresa says:

    {{{{BIG HUGS}}}}
    There are times when we are alone. It’s especially hard when some jackass thinks he knows better than us.

    My husband should be up for sainthood and after all these years he is second in line knowing what works best for Matthew. Still, he was not there for all the therapies, doctor visits, grocery store meltdowns, etc. and sometimes offers off-the-wall advice. We’ve been there.

    I am appalled that someone would walk in to your home and start critiquing your child rearing efforts. But I know there are some, even in our own family, who if given the chance, would offer their ‘obvious’ experience. They may be well meaning but remember how we were perfect parents…before we had kids??? They haven’t been in our shoes. Is there a good way to handle these people? Smiling through gritted teeth is the best I manage. But as my mom reminds me, “Consider the source.”

    And I have to say that guy who was criticizing you is a dope. Throwing out that Down’s Syndrome and Autism are the same? Remember my mom’s saying…

    Of course, it really doesn’t help that our children choose just these moments to do something hugely inappropriate. I’ll try to be impressing somebody, talking about how well Matthew is doing and then he whips out a Smurf from his pocket. Oh sure, that’s age appropriate…

    I won’t lie and tell you things will get better. But over the years they will get easier. You’re skin gets thicker. Yes, there will still be challenges. For me, they were especially hard during milestones. Like when Matthew turned 16 and a stupid relative asked when he was going to get his driver’s license. Did I claw that stupid guy’s eyeballs out shrieking, “Can’t you see he doesn’t even talk? That he needs help going to the bathroom???” No I did not do that…though I might have in my mind 🙂

    When you have a bad day…or week…or month… remember it’s okay to grieve. Our hearts ache that our children are not as perfect as we dreamed. But as you continue to work towards helping your son be the best he can be you’ll find that this child helps you to grow in ways never imagined. You will be more compassionate and those who take the time to understand your son will also grow.

    Your son has made great progress already. I know he will continue to do so. Through one of the programs we worked we learned that we did tend to allow our son to run the house. Matthew had a particular fondness for books and would often empty the bookshelf before running off to another distraction leaving me with a never ending mess to pick up. They helped us design a “house rules” plan that everybody had to follow. One of the rules was to put books back on the shelf before leaving the room. It took a lot of patience and a lot of time. Consistency was the key. It also helped to have Mom or Dad be caught messing up and have to put their things back. We discovered kids are great enforcers and since we posted the rules visiting friends were the best help at keeping on task.

    Hang in there. You are loved.

    • solodialogue says:

      Teresa – THANK YOU. Thank you a million times over for every word. One of the many frustrations in that compacted evening was that Tootles decided to make it a time when he engaged in the worst behavior I’ve seen in a while (which is actually not so bad when I think about it – but you know, in the moment with someone who does not understand – it’s just…well, you know). This was a reminder that no matter what I or you or any of us bloggers write, there are hundreds of thousands of people who will never read it or really look at our childrens’ lives and think before asking about a drivers’ license or asking if autism and Downs are the same. I could sit John down and give him a course on disabilities but guess what? When I was done, he’d have heard nothing.

      I love the idea of the “house rules” and the bookshelf. Tootles does this nightly. Half the shelf will be on the floor and he will move on to the next “area of destruction”.

      Thanks for the understanding and the love. You are amazing.

  8. Allie says:

    Reading that part about John critiquing your home really struck a nerve with me. He doesn’t know Tootles or the first thing about what overstimulates him. Grrrr. The mama bear in me is coming out over that one!
    We have some disconnect in our home simply because I am the one who researches and manages all of the special need stuff. It’s up to me to educate not only my husband but also close family members. It’s a stressful and lonely job for us special needs moms since our other family members don’t always understand the weight we bear while trying to do everything we can for our kiddos. However, in bloggy land we get it and we are right here holding your hand and sending virtual hugs. Keeping you in my thoughts today……

  9. I have been there. I am so sorry your tide is out. The disconnect is saying the container inside of yourself of energy to give others is empty and you need to refill. You need to find some help for you, so you are not so isolated. It really helps to be able to just tell someone the whole deal and not have any responsibility to them. A nonreciprocal relationship is good for this, I see a therapist. It doesn’t have to be a psychological thing either, something like a really peaceful yoga class or something just for you. I also have my mom’s walking club that has morphed into our own little mom’s support group. They are not special ed. moms just some of us that joined a moms’ group years ago and kind of stuck together. It helps me feel normal. The last thing you need to do is try to start a group or even find one, but a therapist or something that will give you a recharge once a week or even once a month might help. I know it helped me. Hugs to you!

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks Lori. I love the idea of a “peaceful yoga class” – it really speaks to me. I wonder if I’ll actually try it but it sounds so attractive that you should not be surprised if I post later that I’ve signed up for one while Tootles is in school. It may just give me an outlet for me. My container is not just empty – I think the bottom fell out. But the support of this community is setting it back in place and lifting me up. Thank you.

  10. OMum22 says:

    Oh Karen, just wanted to stop by and give you a virtual hug. I completely understand how you feel. I’d love you to consider a couple of things – I agree with Lori, make sure you have an outlet – something just for you that recharges your batteries. It’s a must-have – investing in yourself is investing in Tootles (and your marriage). The best advice I ever received in terms of parenting was from a psychologist. She recognized that the gap between my need for perfection and the reality of my situation was eating me up inside. We went through a bunch of exercises and discussions to get there but now I kinda-sorta think I’ve come to terms with the fact that being good enough is often more than good enough. You’re a fabulous mother and even when you’re not superwoman – you’re still a fabulous mother. Give yourself credit. Give yourself some breathing room. And give your husband a kick up the ass now and then. 🙂

    • solodialogue says:

      I have that need for perfection competing with reality as well. You’ve given me things to think about. I appreciate your sweet words and, by the way, you did make me laugh with your last sentence. I need to laugh. xoxo

  11. I think this is your best post. Your heart and soul scribed with such honesty, inner-reflection, and courage. I had a knot in my stomach the whole entire time. I wanted to kick that guy….and kick your husband, too. (lol) I am so, so sorry. Thank you for sharing this piece. My heart goes out to you. My son received his diagnosis from Mind Institute, 8 years ago, before the increase in rates. We had to wait 2-3 months, I think. That asked me why I was trying to get a diagnosis, implying I was looking for attention. I had just been in a car accident and was on medication/pain killers. It was not a fun day. Anyhow, thank you for sharing. Much love to you, 🙂 Sam

    • solodialogue says:

      Thank you Sam. We had to wait 3 months after I got the referral from Alta Regional. We had a referral from our pediatrician before that but they called and told me they do not accept those! That’s when I had to start the Alta process. Although they diagnosed my son, I too, did not get the greatest help there. How dare they imply that you were “looking for attention”?! For us, it was just “Here’s your diagnosis. Be on your way.” No help or structure or direction. That is a shame. And that was just a little over 2 years ago.

  12. Lisa says:

    Oh, Karen. I can relate. Like the others have said, I think that it’s survival mode. We have to take a break now and then….even if it’s forced upon us by our own psyche.

    I loved the honesty of this post. We’ve all been there…I, too, have gotten frustrated with, and fed up, AND yelled at Tate for behaviors that I do really know are beyond his control. We are human. We are forgiven…and they’ll get over it…as will we.

    Please know that you are far from alone…and I’m thinking of you. Sending a big hug your way…wish I could do it in person, but, alas, geography….

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks Lisa. Geography doesn’t matter when the words do such a tremendous amount. Yesterday, I felt quite alone. Today, I see again how much our support to each other can reach through an electronic screen and affect emotions just as deeply as if you were next door. It helps to know my human-ness is understood by so many.

  13. Dawn says:

    As others have said before Karen–we are all too familiar with this stranger. She does my laundry most days.

    I feel it is one of the hardest lessons to recognize that our partners come at this differently than we do, as Kelly so poignantly pointed out. I figure my husband looks at me and thinks i am an autism knowledge freak with all the research and work i put into it–and i wonder if i don’t alienate him from the process sometimes.

    sometimes you just gotta take a moment to breathe and reboot. And sometimes that happens on a daily basis. Hang in there kid.

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks, Dawn. I don’t like that hollow feeling, watching an ignorant world go about their business around me. I guess that rebooting is going on when the hollow takes over. It is amazing how my perspective changes as I hear fellow mamas tell me I’m not alone.

  14. karacteristic says:

    As mamas, we do our darnedest to make sure everyone in the house is happy. You even went out of your way, when it was the last thing you wanted, to make your husband’s friend, Marble Balls, feel welcome. When these moments happen to me, I view it as a personal voice mail in my head (along with the other voices), that it’s time to listen to my gut instinct. Of course, I listen for awhile, then get lax and do something like stay up late to whip up a cake for someone like Marble Balls. Thus, continues the cycle. You are a rockin’ Mama! Hang in there!

    • solodialogue says:

      We do try to make everyone feel happy, don’t we? After I sort out the voices in my head, I will quit baking for Marble Balls and sign up for some yoga classes. Thanks, Kara.

  15. Blue says:

    *big ehugs* I wish I could help, Karen… you are amazing. I know I’m not an autism parent like you and the other commenters, but I hugely respect and admire you for everything you are, and am sending piles of good thoughts your way.

  16. - PR says:

    I’d like to send you hugs, kleenex, and permission to find a corner and cry. I am not the parent of an austistic child, but I can identify with your feelings of loneliness and disconnect. I am feeling it now, as I struggle to make it through each day in a job that I absolutely hate. I feel trapped in this job. And, to make it worst, the one person that I think should support me in my decision to quit this job told me that I should keep it and take the part-time opportunity my employer offered me. Why did this person suggest I keep a job I hate? I suspect it’s because he thinks that being a stay-at-home mom is a waste of a woman’s life. (His words to me many years ago; I’m sure if I brought up those words now, he’d deny saying them. Or, find a way to qualify it or say that I misunderstood.) I just want to ball up into a corner and cry myself to oblivion. And, maybe if the kids weren’t around, I would. But, I’ve got no alone time right now, so I just have to hold it in and trudge through the minutes.

    These are the times when you need that one person that would not be frightened by seeing you in this state, pour you a drink, hand you a tissue, and say “let it out”. I think tonight, I’m going to find 20 minutes or so to be alone with a drink and pretend to have that type of person sitting across from me, handing me tissues. I hope you are able to find the time and support to do whatever you need to do to get through this moment and not have to hold it in any more.

    We run through life at 100 miles per her, but, you know, sometimes we have to sit down and rest for a bit so that we can continue going forward.

    Is it 5 o’clock, yet?

    • solodialogue says:

      You don’t have to pretend. I am handing you the tissue right now. There is something in just knowing that others understand what you feel that gives surprising strength. That is something very unique in our special needs online family. But we certainly don’t exclude and I know that I, for one, find comfort in that, when you are hurting, an outstretched hand, virtual or real, is a helping one.

  17. Sweetie, that is the alarm clock saying you need some me time, some time away from being the mama who cleans it all up and does it again. Your son needs a relaxed, refreshed, recuperated mama. Schedule a sitter. Don’t make me come over there.

    • solodialogue says:

      I welcome you here. I wish I could schedule a sitter. Sadly, we live in isolated hills with no neighbors. Sitters must be trained and understanding and known to my son, and those are our ABA tutors who are not allowed to “sit” while on the case. That is not an option. We have no family nearby and our parents are in their 80s. But your words combined with Lori’s have made me certain I will find an hour or two for myself and daddy will get more lessons on what I do around these parts. xo

  18. Lisa Ashmore says:

    Sending lots of hugs. You know you can call me anytime.

  19. blogginglily says:

    much lugubriousness in blogland today. Everything you said would have frustrated the hell out of me. I find myself pretty ignorant about autism in general, but an “expert” on Lily.

    No comment on the husband’s roll in your current frustration. . .

    • solodialogue says:

      Yes, I did look that up – have not come across it in WWF yet. Thanks for acknowledging my frustration because it helps with everyone else to reel me back in from that isolated place and it is very appreciated. Nicely pc on the hubs’ role in all this. As a ‘mommy blogger’, I’m feeling a lot less alone on that one after today, and that’s a good thing, especially for the hubs.

  20. TMBMT says:

    I don’t know what to say, but *hugs*

  21. Broot says:

    Sometimes our heart’s soul gets empty. It takes a while for it to refill, but it does. Somebody posted this on my wall when I was talking about depression – but I think it works for mental and heart’s exhaustion, too. We all need something to love, something to do, and something to look forward to. Helps us keep up the fight. 🙂 **hugs**

  22. Kers says:

    The ignorance and (usually unintentional) cruelty of others could fill a library. Unfortunately it never really ends but we become stronger in dealing with it.

    • solodialogue says:

      So true that the ignorance is widespread. Strength can sometimes drain right out from under you without warning when the glare hits you right. Luckily, I have found strength in understanding here. Thank you for dropping in.

  23. Claudia says:

    Karen, I really can relate to this post. Often times we feel unnoticed for our efforts or knowledge. When your child shows little to no empathy or does things more stubbornly when you are making an effort to be effective it does deflate you in many ways. I’ve had my share of days where I just want to disappear or withdraw but somehow I manage to move past those feelings.

    • solodialogue says:

      Yes. It is deflating and so is knowing that no matter how much I offer in the way of understanding, I cannot impart it to someone who doesn’t “hear” me. As others told me, I realized I needed to turn the switch to off to recharge. I am moving past with the support of this whole amazingly caring community of ours. And for that I am grateful.

  24. OMG, you are seriously the perfect wife and mother!!! I would have totally lost in with my husband!! The poor guy gets so much grief from me sometimes! And that whole ordeal sounds like something I totally would not have dealt with as well as you. The comments, the bringing someone home without clearing it first, especially so late.

    And my husband is very ignorant about a lot of this stuff too!! At family functions when he’s talking to people about our son and what we do with him, the reasons behind it and stuff… I just cringe. And I also think that while, yeah, it’s nice for our family to get updates, he maybe doesn’t have to share *quite* so much information, you know?

    I also really identify with the disconnect. It’s hard. I don’t really have words, I wish I did. When I feel like that I usually drop off the planet and get super introverted. It makes me sad that you’re going through this and that you’re feeling so alone. I know the bloggy community is great, but at the same time, it would be nice to have people who understood close by…

    I think you’re awesome. Tootles has come on so much since I first started reading your blog, you do so much, juggle so much, you’re really an inspiration!! Honestly, when I’m blue I often look to you, to your determination and patience and will myself to get a second wind.

    I hope that feeling passes soon…


    • solodialogue says:

      Thank you for your very kind words. You really completely get it. I love that about you, my friend. It has been like everyone has opened their curtains to me here, to show me how NOT alone I am. How the disconnect is something that we all go through in our way. The feeling is passed. It’s been replaced with an overwhelming gratitude for the many friendships I have in this bloggy universe that is part of my home. Thank you for the hugs too. Know they are return 1000 fold. xoxo

  25. Pingback: The Rising. | Solodialogue

  26. eof737 says:

    Hope you are feeling better… sorry that I haven’t been around much …dealing with my own stuff. Anyway, I want to send you virtual hugs… Stay strong!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s