LA: Welcome back to Special Needs Daily, because laughter is a therapy we can all afford. So it's the holiday weekend, which, according to the rest of America, means three glorious days, barbecues, friends, family, relaxing, maybe a cold drink by the pool, maybe several cold drinks by the pool. And if you're the parent or caregiver of a special needs child, You may have heard the list and thought, yeah, that's nice. Because you know what I hear when someone says three day weekend? School is closed Monday. That's exactly what I hear. There will be no bus. There will be no school. There will be no break. There will just be me. And two teenage boys for three full days. I'm currently staring down this weekend like I'm preparing for a weather event. You know, do I have enough water? Do I have enough toilet paper? Do we have enough food? Are the iPads charged? Do we have the backup chargers? Can I create enough activities to keep two teenage boys entertained for three straight days? And perhaps most importantly, do I have enough coffee because FEMA isn't coming? It's just me. And I know I'm joking because it's what I do. I always look for the funny. But holiday weekends can be complicated for families like ours. Maybe you get invited to the barbecue, and maybe you don't. And honestly, both can be absolutely stressful. If we do get invited somewhere, My brain immediately starts doing the risk assessment. What's the house like? Is there a pool? Is there a gate around the pool? Are there doors that they can get out of? Are there windows they can open? Will there be food that they'll eat? Are there any pets? Anything climbable? And how many well-intentioned people at this barbecue are going to casually say, Don't worry, LA, we'll keep an eye on them. Without understanding that keeping an eye on them is an Olympic event. Because attending a barbecue with my boys isn't exactly me walking in, grabbing a burger and saying, So, how's everybody been? I'm walking in like a secret service agent. I've already scanned the perimeter. I've identified the exits. I'm watching the pool. I'm watching the food. I'm watching everybody else's stuff. And every two seconds, I'm saying something like, don't touch that. Watch where you're going. Put that back. That's not ours. Come over here. No. No. Still no. Where's your brother? And my personal favorite, whose is that? Meanwhile, everyone is having great conversations. And unfortunately, I can't give my undivided attention to anyone that's talking to me. I'm trying to answer. I'm not trying to be rude, but while they're talking to me, I'm looking over their shoulder because one of my children has disappeared from my peripheral vision. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm great. Sometimes staying home is just safer for my boys. Sometimes I make the decision not to go before the invitation even comes. because I know what it will require of me. And sometimes I just don't have it. But here's the part that we don't talk about enough. Staying home can protect your sanity and still break your heart a little. Because while you're home doing what you know is best for your family, you know other people are off gathering, they're grilling, they're laughing, they're sitting around a table together, they're taking pictures, they're making memories, and you're home again. And sometimes there's this really uncomfortable question that creeps in. Are we even missed? Do people notice we're not there? Do they wonder why? Or has our absence simply become normal? Did they assume we wouldn't come so eventually they stopped asking? That's a hard thing to say out loud. Because I don't want anybody's pity. Hell no. And I certainly don't want anyone inviting us somewhere because they heard this and thought, crap, we better invite LA and the boys. Please don't do that. I don't want a Pittyburger. That's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about being acknowledged. Sometimes the invitation matters even when we can't accept it. Sometimes hearing, hey, we know it might be hard for you, but we would love to have you guys. That matters so much more than people realize. Because special needs families spend a lot of time adapting to a world that isn't really designed around our lives. And after a while, without anybody intentionally doing anything wrong, our world can get smaller. I used to always say, my circle has become a dot. Well, now that dot is more like a speck. I mean, you turn down enough invitations, people understandably stop asking. And then one day you realize you got exactly what you wanted. Nobody expects you to come anymore. And even though that's the proper assessment, strangely that hurts too. That's the contradiction. I can desperately want to break from people. But then I can want someone to come over. I know that going to the barbecue will most likely stress me out and still be bummed that I'm not at that barbecue. But there absolutely is a difference in being alone and being lonely. Sometimes I'm just alone. And that's okay. Maybe the funny is in the ridiculous contradictions of this life. I don't want to go. Why didn't you invite me? I need time to myself. Does anybody want to come over? And if somebody actually says they're coming over, God, now I have to put all the boys' sensory gadgets and equipment away so there's actually a place for them to sit and then spend the entire visit. Hoping one of the boys doesn't decide to walk around naked. There it is. There's the special needs parent holiday spirit. And maybe this weekend, instead of trying to create some Instagram version of a holiday weekend, I'm gonna lower the bar. Maybe we take a drive. Maybe we go get some french fries. Maybe there's a pool involved. Maybe the boys spend entirely too much time on their iPads. Maybe we do absolutely nothing that would look impressive in a Facebook post. Because maybe the memory doesn't have to look like everybody else's memory to count. Maybe that's what I need to remind myself this weekend. Different doesn't mean less. Our holidays may not look like everyone else's. Our family gatherings may look very different. Our friendships may require people who understand that sometimes we desperately want the invitation, even though we can't possibly accept it. And sometimes the person staying home isn't antisocial. She isn't avoiding you. She isn't uninterested. She may be protecting her child. She may be protecting herself. She may just be calculating whether the two hours at that barbecue is worth six hours of recovery afterward. But she might just really appreciate knowing that somebody noticed she wasn't there. So if you're listening to this and you know a special needs parent or caregiver, remember us. You don't have to fix anything, you don't have to understand everything. And you definitely don't need to rearrange your entire barbecue. Just please don't assume that because we've said no so many times before, that we don't want to be asked. And if you're the one home this weekend, hey you, me too. Maybe everybody else is headed somewhere with folding chairs and potato salad while we're still trying to figure out how the hell it's only nine o'clock in the morning. I definitely see you, and I am right here with you. We may not be at the barbecue, but we're still making a life. We're still making memories, and we are still allowed to laugh. Especially if we do go to that barbecue and one of our children walks past us holding something, And our first thought is, no, I don't own that. So have a long weekend, my friends, whatever yours looks like. And before I go, God, give us an abundance of strength, stamina, patience, and compassion for whatever today brings. And please always give us an abundance of space to find the laughter. Amen. And I really want you to know you're doing way better than you think.