Dear God (or whichever celestial light being happens to be listening),

Remember me? I really don’t think that you do…but that’s okay, as I am offering a free refresher course.

Maybe if I write what I am thinking, you’ll have time to read it at your leisure at some point during the day. I’m treating this just like how I communicate with my friends.

I am Lisa…the mother of two (of what I assume to be) somewhat normal children…one of which is a pre-teen female monster who cries at the drop of a hat and blames me for everything that’s wrong with her life, and the other, an autistic nearly-ten-year old boy who wants nothing more than Spiderman 3 (which is released on DVD today), to talk on the phone with his bf Nick in Georgia, and a lifetime supply of chalk.

Was I so horrible when I was 12 that my mother would nearly cry every morning when I went off to school? I seem to remember being a very quiet girl who was “afraid” to do anything wrong and disrupt the life of my somewhat normal family. I did what I was supposed to do. If I lost a piece of homework, I would try my darndest to find it, even if it meant staying up for half the night searching through papers and other objects in my room…not blaming anyone else but myself for being unorganized and careless.

Did I cry every morning in unison with the alarm clock? Did I scream at the top of my lungs about kids in school calling me a “prep”? As far as I remember, my schoolmates didn’t consider anyone who loved Ozzy Ozbourne a prep, which is something that my daughter and I have in common.

And son…he didn’t ask to be autistic, and I try my absolute hardest to get into his mesmerizing head and see how he perceives his world. But I can’t do that all of the time, as I have the twelve-year-old from hell who thinks that son is the favorite because he requires just a bit more attention than she does.

Did I take what my mother had to say as a joke? Did I constantly dismiss every tidbit of information that she had to offer me as “you don’t know what you’re talking about!”. Did I grow at the rapid rate that my daughter is, just so that I could cry about my clothes being “preppy” and hate every single piece in my wardrobe…even the unique pieces that I personally picked outjust 2 months earlier?

I don’t think so.

So again, if you’re listening, please grant me the strength to help these 2 children who did not ask to be brought into this world (not that anyone asked to be put here). I’m at my wits end and feel myself caving in and shutting down. I just need a bit of help.

Thanks—
Lisa Marie Laflamme Laprade— born under some other name….Marianne or Mary-Ann something…then changed to Lisa Marie on or about December 20, 1968. This is why I think you lost me…my name changed.