Today I threw a carrot cake.
Today I threw a carrot cake.
Luckily it was in its box so it was ok.
It was a rough week.
Early this morning my eldest son went to ask for an autism assessment, the GP declined which means I have to go down there with him and attempt to explain to the doctor what my son was not able to communicate.
My daughter had terrible anxiety and vomited as she started her induction week at college today.
I asked the local family support library for permission to film an upcoming news interview on their premises. They said no, even though it’s to try and stop an inhumane treatment of autistic children and even though I would not disclose that I was at their location on camera.
I also asked the local National Autistic Society for a quote or for them to come on with me, and their response?
“I believe you would be the best person to do that Emma.”
So no support as usual today from organisations locally.
My son trashed my room again which normally would not annoy me but today…..
It had me counting through gritted teeth. I’m packing teddies away trying to clear the floor to hoover it and he’s taking them out as I’m putting them in.
So I leave the room and breathe in the hall till he comes out to ask for carrot cake.
He has great taste in cake.
I say “no not right now I have to sort dinner out.”
“Then can I have carrot cake?”
“Yes now stop asking.”
He asks again, and I am now on the brink of tears…a meltdown slowly making its way.
“Stop, I say you know what’s happening to me, it happens to you so just walk away a minute, please?!”
I am getting slowly more wound up like a snake uncoiling.
I go into the kitchen and he comes in again to ask for cake, so I give in for a quiet life and allow a small slice before dinner.
“Is that all?!” he asks looking at the slice?
“Yes it is you will get another little slice after dinner.”
He protests loudly and I get the box of cake and send it careening straight down the stairs…then scream.
My son looks at me then picks up his slice of cake and takes a bite, tuts and walks out into the front room to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates.
I then heave the recycling down the stairs and have a good cry.
I feel like the world is ending, no one cares and oh! My poor cake!!
I race down the stairs nearly tripping to broken ankle with my new culottes on and my cake is, mercifully intact.
I have great taste in cake.
Tidy up the recycling and drying my tears, I take the cake back upstairs.
I run my wrists under cool water to calm and regulate myself then put some sausages on for the children’s dinner.
“Can I have my other slice of cake yet?!” shouts a little voice from the front room.
Sometimes you have to laugh, so I do.
Being a mother and being autistic has its ups and downs, but it gives me an edge, I believe, on tolerance. You see as I know what it feels like to have a meltdown and I would never judge my autistic children for having one.
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I leave them alone till they feel they are no longer drowning, and I would respect that if they explode over a slice of cake it’s not the cake that caused it.
It’s a build up of things, the bottle of pop was already shaken, and the cake unscrewed the lid.
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