So if I could patent some inventions that I have brainstormed as useful to special needs parents at one time or another, here are what they would be. 

First, soundproof and shatterproof glass in family-owned vehicles. Why can’t they install one of those divider windows you see in limousines between the front and rear seats of a minivan? I mean, really? You could lower it on good days and keep it raised on bad ones. There would be a button on the dash that you could choose to press depending on whether or not you wanted to hear what was going on in the back of the vehicle and at what volume. And of course, all of the glass would have to be shatterproof for those aggressive moments when feet are flailing and projectiles are soaring through the air.

Next, I would invent a remote control to pause meltdowns, rewind to try and change what caused them in the first place so as to prevent them altogether, and if all else fails and a meltdown is inevitable, could fast forward to get past the tantrum as quickly as possible. And remote would have a mute button, for obvious reasons. Genius.

Third, a machine similar to the one that produced the Everlasting Gobstopper in Willy Wonka. On one end, you entered a code representing your child’s DNA, molecular structure, biological make-up, everything. Maybe the end was big enough that your child could actually be drawn through the machine on a conveyor belt, all the while the machine assessing and interpreting everything about them. Then it would whistle, bang, toot, pump up and down, harrumph, simmer, and shoot smoke out the top of its chimney. With a final ding of a bell, out the other end of the machine would pop a pill. The pill would contain every single ingredient necessary to supplement your child’s diet to make up for wherever they were genetically lacking. There would be no trying medication after medication to rule out what works and what doesn’t. It would be the Jeremiah pill, the Alexander pill, the Zachary pill, the Angie pill…whatever your special need’s child name is, just fill in the blank. It would be designed specifically for them and meet every single deficiency and need they had – mentally, physically, emotionally, developmentally, etc… Then I think I would go into the machine as well because, well, I’m sure I’m lacking somewhere too!   

Next, I would invent a filter that could be fitted into the back of a child’s throat and removable only by a parent or medical professional. The filter would catch all of the ugly remarks, bad words, and insulting, hurtful comments before they could ever be heard by others. There would just be silence in place of where those things would have been heard. Come to think of it, I know some adults, myself included, who could benefit from this filter. Hmmm, I may be onto something here.

Last, I would invent a micro electrode device that was installed in all babies at birth – in their buttocks. Parents would be given a remote keychain, similar to the one that unlocks your car doors. As the child grew and made poor choices and misbehaved, you could press the button on the remote and a tiny jolt of static electricity, similar to what you feel when you drag your feet on carpet and then touch something in the winter time, would course through those little butt cheeks. Just a reminder that they are being watched, a warning to change their attitudes and/or behavior. And it would never be able to be turned up or made any stronger either so that abusive and cruel parents couldn’t use it as a torture device on their kids. In fact, you could only press the button so many times in a day.

That’s all. That’s what I’d invent. 

Here is a list of “you might be a special needs parent if” scenarios that maybe you can relate to. Some are pretty universal of special needs parents and others are more related directly to my circumstances with Jeremiah. I just thought you might enjoy the camaraderie and get a chuckle out of them in the process. I’m sure you can come up with some pretty creative ones of your own.

You might be a special needs parent if...
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• You look forward to going to the dentist and even gynecological exams because it means at least thirty minutes without kids.
• You Facebook, Tweet, Instagram, and Blog the smallest of accomplishments with great pride and excitement.
• You can open your own pharmacy with all of the medications you have in your cabinet…both current ones and ones that never worked.
• You have watched Finding Nemo, Wall-E, or some other children’s movie approximately 274 times, enough that you can quote it verbatim.
• When something your child obsesses over is on sale, you buy it in bulk, whether it’s a food or a toy.
• You know what OT, ABA, SLP, and IEP all stand for.
• You can be an insurance company representative with little or no training because you know all of the ins and outs from arguing them with agencies.
• You can make EVERYTHING into a game just to get through it without a meltdown.
• You still have sleepless nights, even though the baby stage of your child’s life is over.
• You are willing to be seen in public in yoga pants, with no bra, and your hair and teeth not brushed – and you don’t care what anyone thinks or if you’ll run into someone you know.
• Your motto is, “It is what it is.”
• You have doctors and therapists on speed dial.
• You wonder what “free time” might be like.
• You will drive fifteen minutes to detour around stores or fast food drive-thrus that your child currently obsesses over going to.
• You log or chart bowel movements, meltdowns, and sleep habits.
• You join a gym to stay strong enough to physically restrain your child when necessary.
• Nothing embarrasses you anymore – NOTHING.
• You have a child who will only eat macaroni and cheese for fourteen days straight before he suddenly decides it’s gross and won’t eat it anymore – after you bought every last box on the shelf at three of your neighborhood grocery stores.
• You have been too tired to shave since last summer – and it doesn’t bother you or your husband.
• You keep an emergency bottle of your child’s medications in the glove box of your car just in case you are out when it’s time for him to take them.
• You have a duffle bag of things to do/play with/work on while waiting in therapy or doctor’s offices.
• You watch no television, listen to no radio, and only shop at night when your child is in bed to avoid him finding out any sooner than need be that Christmas is in two months.
• You have a special ringtone assigned to your child’s school so that you won’t miss their sometimes daily phone calls.
• You get a sinking feeling of despair when you hear that ringtone.
• You volunteer to run to the store for milk instead of having your husband grab it on his way home from work just so you can get away from the house by yourself.
• Your friends read your social media posts to make themselves feel better about their own kids.
• You have found yourself searching on Pinterest to find ways to upcycle all those old medicine bottles.
• You roll down your car windows, park in the shade, and “shush” all of the neighbors if your child falls asleep in the car just so you don’t have to wake them.
• You tint your house windows so you can convince your child that it’s bedtime earlier than it really is.
• You hate daylight savings time in the spring for that very reason.
• You know the name of every monster truck, who drives each one, and why it’s bad that a spindle broke during their last freestyle.
• Visual schedules, chore charts, and motivational token boards are now considered your home décor.
• You have a nine-step visual chart taped to the wall next to your toilets showing how to wipe yourself.
• You don’t tell the kids you are going on vacation until it’s time to get in the car to avoid the anxiety leading up to leaving.
• You know the brand, as well as generic names for all psychotropic medications – and their side effects.
• If you’ve ever had to explain to your child that the cat will not split open and spill candy on the floor if he hits him hard enough with a stick.
• Your child runs outside to search for Optimus Prime when he hears that the power going out was the result of a blown transformer.
• You have developed a secret code language to use with friends and family members so your special needs child will not know what you are talking about.
• You have to tell your child what is for dinner the next four nights in a row – every ten minutes when he asks you.
• You carry an iPad charger with you everywhere you go for emergency purposes.
• You’re not sure what grade your child is actually in. 

​And that's all I have! I'm sure you have more. Please feel free to comment below with a few of your own. I'm sure someone else can relate!