Blink. Breathe.

Yesterday, I returned as the keynote speaker for the annual supervisor appreciation luncheon at a local school. Last year, I was called in as a last-minute replacement. This year, first string.

The organizer tasked me with Social Skills as my topic.

Social skills?  This called to mind an image of a rough hewn box made up of hammered together, sawed down 2 x 4s.  I could even see a streak of red in one of the walls--an imperfection.  And it was completely nailed shut, really no more useful than a yoga block.

I have no idea why this is the visual that came to mind, at least at first. Over the ensuing month, as the day approached, I understood that the nailed-shut box represented what I thought was social skills--the half-hour blocks of time both my boys get a few times a week. Once I understood that, I knew it was time to break open the box.

Social skills, it's often joked, need to be taught to everyone. And that's where I went with my talk. My call to action was to be kinder, gentler to one another, to pay attention to what we sound like when we speak to other people; to speak as we wish to be spoken to.

I recounted my younger son's bullying episode last Friday; it was he against four. He quietly told them to stop, and quietly sought help when they didn't.

And the adults acted swiftly.

And my little man admonished that "Sorry is not good enough!' And he is right--in our moment of pain, we don't want to hear it.

But, it's the beginning of healing. And he graciously accepted the apologies when he was ready.

We are here but a short time. We can take an extra moment for a smile and a kind word.

Because sometimes, there's no time for anything else.

Where are you going? Where have you been?

In all that's happened to us in the last two months, it's necessary for me to take stock of all the wins and losses if I am going to figure out this ongoing maze of raising kids with autism.

It's a testimony to my faith that I've been able to see the wins and victories in the spaces between the heartbreak and losses. Hubby has been the level-headed one lately, and thank God one of us has his head on straight. I've been so busy tailspinning that it's been hard for me to do much between crying and trying not to cry.

Last weekend was as bad as it's been in about 7 years. My immediate response to depression is to completely shut down; last week, with all my responsibilities, that was an impossibility. And that in it of itself was a blessing;  I

•   ran track practice and got to see, once again, the glory and wonder that is my team
•   spent an evening under the stars around a campfire among the best parents I know
•   spent a large part of a fishing afternoon with my den helping the boys with their tackle
•   was tapped by a dad whose boy was in tears 'to lend a mom's touch.' He dried his eyes--and made an awesome fire with my help
• received great feedback for Nic from his group facilitator and last, but far from least
• Nic received a 6th place ribbon for shot put--with no training. We might have found something for him. 

But I can't look at these things without acknowledging

• that his posse never came to pass. I was reminded of that this past week when Nic said he ran into a friend of his. (I use that term loosely) The friend was meeting another friend. And Nic was there alone.
• that he and his brother still don't know how to sustain peer interaction. At all.
• that some of the things I pushed Nic to do failed miserably and will have lasting consequences.
  
  I was up again in the middle of the night pondering my younger son's scout outing last night.  This picture is a pretty frank assessment of his opinion.

And asking the question: do I push too hard?

There's no simple answer. There's no all or nothing. Everything has to be tempered with moderation.  Their conversational tacks, really, are no different than mine at their ages. I consumed books with the same fire and avidity that they consume stories--books, YouTube, videos--and feel the same need to share blow-by-blow details to anyone who will listen. Peers don't. Adults feel sorry for them. I'm doing all I can do outside of school with psych, social skills groups, whatever I can think of to help them out here. I sometimes think the schools can be doing more to help me out here. I've despaired on that score; budget cuts make it a virtual impossibility. 

So hubby and I are exploring other options. And with so much of our lives up in the air, I'm planning in so far as I can plan. But I find myself more and more seeking divine guidance,  because I am finding that the more I seek, the more I am answered. And I don't always like the answer, but I am certain that the answers are what they are for a much larger reason than I can understand in the moment.

The gift of age: understanding that every piece of your life, the good, the bad, the ugly, happens for a very specific reason, for a very specific lesson.

"And I never lost one minute of sleeping 
Worrying 'bout the way things might have been ......"

The Family We Choose

Two of my favorite people appear here. 

I took this picture on Saturday, and find myself looking at it, smiling, looking some more, and wondering a little bit why I need to keep looking at it. 

And why I keep smiling. And wondering. 

And I arrive at a few different places, or perhaps one place via a few different routes. When I look at this picture, I look at something that didn't exist in my world growing up.  My father died early in my life; I never knew, really, either of my grand dads; one died when my father was 5, and the other passed early in my second year.  I vaguely remember his voice, but ultimately am not sure if it's his voice or my elder sister's recollection of it that I remember.

Fr. M arrived well into my adult life, materializing at age 35--and I remember at the time wondering at his arrival. He attended the same high school as my father, and our cultural similarities allow us a shorthand that allows us to fit in hours-long conversations in the space of minutes. 

But looking at this pic gives me another view. My younger son with this man who could easily be his grandfather, enjoying his company, sharing his book, reminds me that even though life deals us some strange cards, that we get the people we need to help us through the rough times.  I smile, thinking of the 'brothers' I now have who are not bound to me by blood but by love, how fortunate I am for my sisters who are likewise kin. 

We cannot choose family?  Not true. Those people I am closest to share my heart, not my blood. 

Although my two young ones are the exception. Not the rule. 

No accidents

I don't believe in coincidence.
I do believe that everything, on some level, is pre-ordained. It's the choice, the free will of all people, that provide the variables that make life so interesting, challenging and unpredictable.

In this latest stage of my life, I find my walk with God has taken me alongside, fortuitously, some one else of similar mind and belief who is making me ask some hard, hard questions.

Not coincidentally, my older son is struggling with a constellation of issues. My husband and I find ourselves struggling against his well-mounted coping mechanisms. We re doing saying all the right things and taking the right actions. But he's not seeing or hearing us.

I found myself asking my 9-year-old in first light this morning: "Can you help me save your brother?"

Wise little man that he is, he did not answer.

The small, still voice speaks

Where to start?

Gains? Losses?

Some things have gotten easier. I get fewer calls from school, now. Older boy successfully completed his first wrestling season with the support of his awesome teachers and staff; successfully completed his first season of CYO basketball, with the support of his fellow runners.

Younger son loves music class and piano, and is generally much happier and engaged. Not sure to what we owe it, but the fact that his classmates include him (as evidenced by his Valentine's Day party) probably has a lot to do with it. 

Nic had a new friend, but now, that line is silent, and I'm not sure why.

And then there's all my village elder commitments. I find that the small, still voice is telling me to back off. And I'm not sure if that's the voice, my own exhaustion, or some combination of both. 

The reality is this;  as both boys get older, it's just not cool for mom to be so hands on. Last night at Nic's wrestling banquet (which went better than I ever could have imagined, by the way), I was reminded repeatedly that Nic needed to be Nic--for better or for worse. His teammates did a great job of keeping him in line, just like his peers are keeping him in line for stage crew. 

Who said peer pressure can't be positive?

I am seeing an end to some of the things I am doing, though. I plan to follow through on my commitments to the end of this school year, and then refigure how best to spend my time and energy. I think I've done a lot of good, and I think I've done it all for the right reasons.  But.....

....something I can't quite put my finger on. I just know that these things are coming to an end, and I'm not sure if that's me talking or God.  

So. The next couple of months will play out and events will unfold as they will.

And the boys will be fine. It will not be easy, but when I think of what we've all already been through, I think we're up for anything. 

Angels on Loan

It's been a heady week of introspection and unscripted detours. I'm not sure which happened first, but that matters not.  Both things needed to happen. I just need to take care that I don't get crushed by own sense of obligation.

Nic turned 13 yesterday; I celebrated this in a guest lecture I gave on Wednesday, naming all the milestones I thought he'd never hit 10 years ago, noting all his activities within the community. These things are nothing new; I'm accustomed by now to sharing our story, and I could tell the narrative in my sleep.

Then, that small still voice suggested a detour: "You need to tell the whole story."

It wasn't even like I could play dumb. I *KNEW* precisely what I needed to say.

"Of course you know need to know what this looks like," I said, coming out from behind the podium. I sat on the desk and looked around the room. The professor's eye brows were up. "I don't want you to think I'm delusional, that I think he's going to be a great sports' star. Practices are hard." I went on to describe some of the episodes during his sports' seasons that led his coaches to reach for their scalps in frustration; things that left me clutching my own scalp in frustration and disbelief more than once over the past couple of months.

"But he's learning from these things that there is not a separate set of rules for Nic; he is expected to follow the same rules as everyone else." I sighed.  I didn't realize until I was home later what these admissions took out of me.  But it wasn't over--not yet.

"Is it humiliating for you?" one student asked.  "I mean, is that over?"

I told two stories; one from 10 years ago and one from two weeks ago. The first story illustrated my own initial inability to defend myself from some one who thought they could--and did--parent better than me. The second illustrated how good I've gotten at shutting people up.

"The only problem," I concluded at the end of my second story, "is that for every one Steve I have to deal with 50 Robs."

I've gotten so good at dealing with the 50 that the one is there to remind me that I'm not alone. And sometimes I get so wrapped up in my battles, I forget. But I'm not alone. I do have plenty of help. And for that, I am grateful.

There's another piece here that I can't commit to writing, yet. I'll get there when I'm ready.

Balancing Life's Ledger (2013 edition)

Community involvement does not fix everything, but man, does it go a long way toward growth for our kiddos.

Life with my middle schooler has had more than its fair share of mouth almighty moments. To me, those are the hardest to navigate, since he chooses to mouth off when he has an audience. It's very easy to catch him misbehaving, thus. It's also harder to parent meaningfully while ignoring 'helpful' parental input from people who have no idea what larger context surrounds a publicly mouthy moment.

Harder, realizing the greater strides he makes quietly, without fanfare. Praying with his team before basketball games; watching the game intently from the sidelines, cheering key plays from his team (wasn't this the same kid lying on the bench and staring into space less than two months ago?); tying his shoes (thanks, wrestling); running the snack stand at Pinewood Derby....this is a short list. This is expected behavior from an almost 13 year old..

And this is the behavior of MY almost 13 year old.

And I find that he now has a nickname on his wrestling team--the same nickname his dad had in middle and high school.

So much farther we need to go, yet astounding how far we've come. Wrestling and basketball will end soon; track will start up again shortly thereafter. He's down 10 pounds and in better shape than he's ever been. Just need to keep building on this framework.

My little guy enjoys his music and scouts--and won his second trophy in Pinewood Derby this past weekend.

Nobody ever said it would be easy. But the payoffs are blowing me away.

Just keep swimming.