ASHarmony

Interference

2012-01-28T11:39:00.002-05:00

I predicate my entire life on balancing my kids' needs with the level of b.s. I need to experience to meet their needs. And sometimes, my tolerance for the b.s. wears thin, threatening activities that, you guessed it, are either helping my boys, are things they enjoy, or some combination of the above.

Right now, league bowling occupies the bete noir spot on my life's to-do list. I hate that Gabriel gets no coaching in his league (the other kids do); I hate that the other parents encourage their kids to bully Gabriel (which is why I now occupy his lane radiating all manner of hostility--it stopped the bullying, but hasn't fixed the coaching problem).

The situation in Nic's part of the forest improves weekly; although he and his teammate also get zero coaching, no do-overs (other kids do, and their more competitive parents allow it and dis-allow it for our boys), Nic's come a long way in curbing his behaviors and acting more like the almost 12-year-old he is. When a mom told her son that Nic has 'conduct problems', I called her on it. She didn't apologize, but she did backpedal. I'll take that.

Two weeks ago, I was on the point of pulling them both out for good, for all the above reasons and a whole bunch of other craziness and insults collected since September. Today, I was pleased to see Ry, Nic's teammate from many a Friday last year, join Nic and R to be with them for the remainder of the year. "He missed bowling with Nic," his dad said.

And Gabriel does enjoy rolling, oblivious to all the sturm and drang around him. I reminded hubby of these things as we had our weekly post-roll stew on the way home. "We have to remember that we can't change these people," I said. "And we can't let them chase us away, either."

Water off a duck's back. Years of weathering other people's judgment and insanity has hardened me, like it or not, to the point where I almost enjoy pissing people off by showing up. Because you know what? We have as much a right to be there as they do.

And let them make their judgments. I can see that my boys have both made huge strides since September. I see their progress. And their progress validates their presence there--and anywhere else they want to be.

Chew on that. I am.

I remind myself that these activities are not about me, although other parents sometimes sadden, frustrate and infuriate me. At some point, both boys are going to meet this hostility head on, probably sooner rather than later. And I will have to be there to teach them that life doesn't allow you to choose your interactions. So you have to be prepared to handle whatever comes your way.

They both handle adversity pretty well. I like to think I'm a good model. After all, kids don't always listen to what you say, but they will do what you do.

Unchurning

2012-01-15T08:33:00.002-05:00

It's time to slow down.

I've been consciously and obstinately ignoring all external indicators for, oh, I don't know, maybe the last several months. I hear or see these things, then double down, jaw clenched, and power ahead.

Then, a couple things happened on Friday. I heard the news that a former colleague lost her teenage son. That single event triggered a cascade of thoughts and feelings that I usually reserve for the dead of night when I can't sleep.

These thoughts take me to some interesting places in the light of day. News like this tends to make one hit the pause button, quickly chased by 'reset.'

In a way, death's easier if you can see it coming. You can slow down the clock, prioritize, get your affairs in order, get good with God, say goodbye. It still hurts--God, how can it not?--but at least in your head and heart you knew you did everything leading up to it the best you could. There are no regrets.

When death shows up unannounced, however, the recriminations and regret heaped on loss make the unbearable unspeakable.

I've spent the better part of the last three years living my life as if I were dying--enjoying my family and friends, working hard at my job and within my community, spending as much time in nature with my family as possible, and getting my spiritual house in order.

I started losing track of some of this about 7 months ago. I stopped frequently, course-corrected, struggled with some of the usual demons, adapted, adjusted, and moved on.

So, Friday morning's email arrived, and the only sound was the sound of the silk blindfold hitting the floor.

I went about the morning's business, attending to what I needed to attend to with the news and all its implications running various processes in my background. Mostly, scenes from my sons' lives in the last year played out in various ways, complete with my own internal commentary of what I could have done differently, how I should have handled things differently, what better example and modeling I could have provided for them both.

I always comfort myself with "I am doing fine; they are doing fine." And with "They are doing fine," I excuse myself.

And I know in my heart of hearts that THIS. Is not fine.

Which led to a text and a closed door conversation that went from business to the deeply personal. "I need to know," I concluded at the end of an uncharacteristic display of frustration, "what difference I am making. Because it feels like no matter what I do, none of it makes a damned bit of difference."

I think we all think this on some level. I think this is the first time I actually uttered these words to another human being.

There's no great reveal here. I always say in 50 years the measure of who you are isn't going to be what you did for employment; it's going to be the proof of who your kids are and what they are doing that will be the measure of your life. How did you live? What will people remember about you and how handled challenges and adversity? THAT is who you are.

I closed that door. And another one opened.

Reset.

Flirting with Normal (and having it look back)

2011-12-31T15:50:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I know there's no such thing as normal. It's taken me a while to accept that. However, there is the expectation that things look and feel sort of average.

Honestly, I'm not all that familiar with average, either.

All I know is that nine years ago on a sky blue August day my expectations for anything resembling a 'normal' life went out the window with Nic's autism diagnosis. My own and Gabriel's dx'es in 2006 just compounded the fun. I became fluent in jargon to facilitate my understanding of systems. I attended the church of "Throw it against the wall and if it sticks/works, keep it; if not, toss it and move on."

I became a practitioner of 'real life immersion therapy'--that is, dragging both boys everywhere so that they learn what appropriate public behavior looks like. And as a consequence, I've grown a very thick skin. Still, I grit my teeth and moved on, determined that my kids would succeed, and they would receive direct instruction from me on how to do it.

So where are we today? My middle schooler has a peer who dreams about him (and tells him about it). My second grader happily marches to his own tune, has friends, and has even become next month's shining star at his school's after care program. They are both in their home schools, working hard, making friends, and having fun. And they are doing a lot of the same things other kids their ages are doing.

They're happy and healthy kids who also like themselves.

Going out of 2011, I couldn't be happier or more grateful that their hard work is starting to pay off.

And I couldn't be happier that my vision for success for them both is now shared--in a big way--by so many people.

As ever, I am thankful for all the people who believe in them, but more importantly, expect them to toe the same lines other kids toe.

Truly, it is making all the difference. Although we are no where near finished, it's nice to look back at this juncture and see that we are already much, much farther than I expected we'd ever go.....

Love and Other Stuff that Keeps Us Going

2011-12-27T11:03:00.006-05:00

Right now, the boys and I are reveling in the fact that we don't have to be anywhere.

Yeah, there are things to do and places to go. I've already gone out and taken care of a few things that needed doing. Nic would like to go for a train ride into town. But my little one is still in his pajamas--he's voting with his clothes.

Do I blame him? Not really. We went from packed schedule to packed holidays, culminating in a trip to NYC yesterday--which would have been fine if every family from Baltimore to Boston didn't have the same damned idea.

I think yesterday in Times Square has cured Nic of wanting to be there for New Year's Eve.

Hubby was originally quite bitter about us not spending an overnight there, but I had thought (and stuck to my guns) that a day would be more than enough for these two. And by the time 8 pm rolled around, they were more than ready to collect the van and head out.

(Yay, mom)

Some good things happening in real life--not the least of which was a girl stopping Nic in the hall to tell him that she had a dream about him. He told me about it while I was cooking dinner late last week. Which is cooler, that she had the dream or she told him about it? And what's cooler, her telling him about it, or him telling me about it?

And another real life moment: modeling a gift hubby gave to me, and his very real, very unscripted reaction, his eyes goggling followed by a wonderful smile. It matters not that we've been together nearly two and a half decades, he's still in love, and I love that guy in love. It's all good.

MIL lands later this week, so I'd better get this place cleaned up.

Scenes from a Life

2011-12-23T17:14:00.002-05:00

When establishing life's priorities, distractions abound. The phone rings, the Blackberry blinks, Outlook pops up in a corner of the laptop screen, some one sticks his or her head in your office. Sometimes the distraction is an absence; some one who failed to show up or do something or whatever--because those absences are also a source of all the preceding stuff.

I've discovered something new about myself in all this. That I am, in fact, capable of diving into those crevices of quiet and staying there as long as I need to. The means vary, but the end is the same; I do the needful and manage to let the execution of what I need to do stay where it's needed.

I've had a lot shake up my world this week, but the fact that I'm unshaken is something of a revelation. But how do I explain?

Spending time with my younger boy at his class holiday party today opened my eyes to a whole new experience. My years as Nic's room mom were hard. It was hard being in that room, whatever that room was, and seeing how different, how much the outlier, my son was. In a way, that was my distraction.

In G's room, even though, yeah, he's different, he's as much a part of his class as his brother probably was. But he's also a different kid. And watching him, in all his quiet glowing glory, was a pleasure. He cuddled up with me while his teacher read a couple stories at the end of the party. Then he hugged me goodbye and let me go about my business of finishing holiday shopping.

Nic would have balked. Nic has balked. But that's okay, because that's who he is.

I get that, now.

So, speaking of who he is, I sat at a stop light after my shopping trip, and who did I see but my big guy, walking up the hill in search of an elevator adventure. I looked down, thinking he didn't see me. I look up again, and there he is, waving wildly at me and jumping up and down, the biggest, most radiant smile on his face.

His joy at our unexpected encounter choked me up. I smiled and waved at him. He gestured that he was taking a walk and trying to get into the elevators up the hill, and then gave me a big thumbs up. He kept turning around and waving as I drove away.

Suddenly, I was seeing Nic as he was at 18 months or so, on the campus of UDMNJ. It was a sunny late summer afternoon, and he was wearing a red and blue rugby jumper, and a big smile, his curly blond hair waving in the breeze, his big blue eyes sparkling. He was chasing a butterfly, and he turned around every few steps, waving, and would turn and run on......

And so my tween waves and walks on, and turns and waves again. And walks on.

Mishpoche

2011-12-17T09:35:00.003-05:00

I'm still waiting for my head to stop spinning from the past week. This morning's run slowed it somewhat, but things continue to rotate a little faster than I'd like.

It all started with a phone call that initiated me into a new sort of elite (if you want to call it that) last Thursday. Meetings ensued. No threats were uttered, only the promise that it wouldn't happen again.

All well and good. But then I attend a training (ironically from the Archdiocesan arm of the agency who contacted me) wherein the trainer stated (and I quote): "in the case of developmental disabilities, you have to wonder which came first, the disability or the abuse."

Yeah. That resulted in a letter from me. I heard from the person who developed the training, but not the trainer. Kind of don't think I am going to hear from that person. Like, ever.

If these were the only things that happened in a week, that would be enough. But then, I also had to break up with G's music teacher (yeah, that's what it turned into--turned out fine, but I could have dispensed with the drama), G getting back on the big bus and coping with all the behaviors that move has generated (and thus thinking about moving within the school district so that the bus and bus stop ceases to be an issue--also, I think hubby would like to just dump the house and run anyway, and this is as good an excuse as any), and trying to repair relationships with the people who were responsible for the phone call in the first place.

Ripped pants may have gone a long way to helping mend some souls.

And so I find myself fixing other things, too. G's pack meeting on Wednesday went phenomenally well, thanks to hubby's contributions and the vision of our fearless leader. The kids had a blast and the adults were pleased at this.

I find myself thinking this morning of the word 'mishpoche,' which is Yiddish for family--particularly extended family (for those who don't know Yiddish). My friends to me are really not so much friends as family--and I don't use the word 'friends' lightly, either. These are people for whom I would move heaven and earth without a second's hesitation, and they would do--and have done--the same for me. I am fortunate enough to work with some of these people at my day job, and with the scouts, and with the parish and the kids who cross my path. I can't believe how fortunate I am to have so many amazing people in my life.

My mishpoches have gotten me through so much this week. Not surprising really, since they laugh with me as much as they do get irate on my behalf and help me figure out my next steps when things go wrong. I really am surrounded by love and support, always. I know it, and I appreciate it and thank God for it every day.

My mishpoches rock.

Re-imagining what's possible

2011-12-10T11:38:00.002-05:00

I called my mom this morning and handed the phone to my older boy, who had an apology to make.

I held the phone for him because I thought it would be a brief exchange. After all, Nic's not all that conversational, at least on the phone.

That's what I thought, anyway. Two minutes later, I'm still standing there holding the phone to his ear. Hubby passes by, shakes his head, puts Nic's hand to the phone, takes mine away, and Nic chatted on with Grandmom for another 3 minutes.

I lost count of how many volleys after 10. The kid's conversational.

Last night, we stopped off at Dave & Buster's to celebrate the end of the week. What I thought would be a 10-minute stop stretched into an hour; Nic met a boy named Kevin, and the two of them hung out together, I guess while his folks were upstairs eating. Foolishly, I didn't get his info, and he didn't get ours. But still, Nic and Kevin more than interacted--they had a great time. Without anyone facilitating it.

At our team meeting last week, Nic got high marks for flexibility. It only took 3 months, but he's settled in.

Are we perfect? Hell, no. We have no shortage of moments I'd rather forget. By the same token, I am awed and amazed that bit by bit, he really is beginning to look like everyone else.

The Safety Mirage

2011-11-26T08:22:00.002-05:00

Almost as if in rejoinder to my last post, I had a dream last night of safe harbor.

Ironic, considering I spent my last waking moments at DEFCON1. And I don't even know what to say about that anymore. As Fr M always tells me, if it were easy, it would be heaven on earth, and that's just not what we have.

It leaves me resolved to fix what's broken, but then again, if it's not me (and in this case it's not), then I have to lead the horse to water and hope he drinks.

But the horse is my mulish 11-year-old boy; I'm not optimistic.

And that voice in my dreams telling me it's going to be all right is coming from a suspect source. Which means there's something else in play and I need to watch my step.

I think of where we were, hiking in the woods together and spending time talking, and for a little while, I felt like the world was a beautiful place. And a safe place, connecting where we were to the associations I have with being there.

Therein lies the problem; Nic was in one place, telling me a story of a well-loved narrative, and my head was elsewhere, no doubt in some happy place of my creation.

What happened later just affirmed the actual here and now, minus masks, props, and scenery.

I need to *be* here, because there is so much to do. Hubby throws up his hands. And I bend down, prepared to get dirty, because I know precisely what needs doing. Except I keep hoping I don't have to. I don't want to. This is *hard*.

Understanding, again, the respite I get isn't so much that as an opportunity to recharge. Because I need to. Because the work doesn't stop. And because I need to gather the strength to accomplish what needs doing. And thinking about other stuff helps me problem solve.

And sometimes, it's just a nice distraction.

I think I've finally learned how to differentiate one from the other.

Game on.

Dizzying Heights

2011-11-24T11:25:00.003-05:00

In my dream, I am perched high on what looks like a diving platform. It slopes downward enough that I slide, sit down, and grip the sides, looking down, appreciating the fact that if I fall, the ground is quite a ways down, and I can do some serious damage if I lose my grip.

This is what waking life feels to me lately. Vertiginous is a good word. I live life bravely on the outside, but fear assails me in my dreams. So that when I wake, my first instinct is to pull the covers over my head.

Not very brave. Not even close.

The covers come off, because I know pulling them over my head isn't going to make those things I fear go away. They will only sit out there and wait...they have nothing but time on their collective hands. It's like going up that rock wall a few weeks ago; the fear is there, but I need to work/walk/play through it.

It tires me out. But necessity compels me.

So today, I declare myself thankful for the seemingly bottomless well of strength that I have to keep going. Some days, I feel I have exhausted all my resources. But on those days, I have the help of my friends and my family, on whose backs and shoulders I lean until I can muster up enough strength to keep going on my own.

I am all that we are. And I am thankful.

Raw

2011-11-17T21:32:00.005-05:00

I really have not given myself much in the way of downtime this week. But I feel I have to take a moment or 10 for myself. It's been a good week in that I have had a lot of love and support from my friends to keep me going. But, by the same token, I continue to get tripped up by the usual stuff. Nic. G. Everything they have going on all around them, all the ways in which they both adapt and cope.

And I sit here with my glass of wine and reflect that as much as I do, I still need to do more. But I do get tapped out. There are a multitude of distractions, and I see how people mix up priorities. Meeting up with a friend and her boys tonight reminded me (in a good way) that distractions are just that; problems don't necessarily go away because you are paying attention to something that gives you pleasure. Distractions are a sort of illusion--something that looks good probably isn't. You focus and deal with the hand you've been dealt--anything else is a deviation from your responsibilities.

The stinkeye I get from a certain young man is a reminder.

Whenever I feel myself getting closed in by everything, I pull back and try to see the bigger picture. What's going on here that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with me? Do I need to own any of that? Usually, no, I don't. And it's so much easier to disengage when you know, for sure, it really isn't you.

The trouble is, there's always so much spillover, isn't there? Life is messy. It just is.

I know that, right now, I am literally doing everything possible to ensure the success of my family. And by success, I mean, just doing the right thing, ensuring that they all know what their collective right thing is, and that they do it. Whatever that entails.

But I do tire of being a border collie. I do.

So much to say

2011-11-16T21:02:00.002-05:00

I don't even know where I should start. I feel like my life is an endless obstacle course. We went to Ft Mifflin almost two weeks ago with the scouts, and ironically, Nic is getting more out of scouts now that he is no longer actually a scout. I had a run-in with a mom who made an example out of G, so I had to make an example out of her (she did not like it). We had an adventure-packed weekend last weekend that culminated in an impromptu road trip to the shore.

Nic is rocking his social skills group, even if he is not rocking middle school. Confirmation kick-off went better than expected. And G rocked his first piano lesson tonight. He will hit our pack leader in the face with a cream pie tomorrow night as the top seller of popcorn in his pack. (and I will endure a similar fate at the hands of another person's child and savor that irony on many levels).

I'm tired. The running is constant, and I have to call the little one's teacher tomorrow (and I am sure I am going to hear--again--that I am not doing enough for him). We continue to take corrective measures for both kids, but they are both almost painfully aware of what we do for each of them--and that what we do for each differs.

You know, if there were one catch-all fix, I'd be all over it. But there is none. I can only do what I can do for each of them, addressing individual needs while not comparing them. Which can be difficult, if not nearly impossible.

On the way to pick up G last night, Nic asked me "Is G better than me?"

I sigh, because I have heard this question in so many different permutations from both boys since this school year started that it all sort of blurs for me. "No, Nic. You and G are equal, but different. I can't compare you, since you have different strengths and different things to work on. But know this." We were stopped at a light, so I turned to look him in the eye. "You are both amazing, courageous, awesome kids. And I am so proud of you both."

The light changed. Nic was quiet for a moment, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thanks, mom." His voice was a little hoarse.

"You're welcome, Nic." I cleared my throat, and there was something in my eye. Both eyes.

I don't know some days how we get through. But somehow, we do.

Words to Live By

2011-11-04T12:24:00.000-04:00

“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no ‘brief candle’ to me. It is sort of a splendid torch which I have a hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it over to future generations.”~GB Shaw

And for now, I have nothing further. Later days.

Task paralysis

2011-10-28T09:36:00.004-04:00

Waiting on work on the house is giving me time and space to think on a few things. As I've said before, I tend to overschedule in an attempt to outrun all the things I'm afraid of.

So. I'm in the figurative time out chair, confronting my destiny.

It's no wonder I don't know where to start. Hubby is thinking biomedical intervention for both boys; Nic's looking more ODD (oppositional defiant disorder, folks, but odd also works) by the day; G, my little opaque one, internalizes to what end, I don't know. My dead interrupt my dreams, each telling me to go check on the other until I yell "But you're BOTH dead!"

And I've figured out who they are really talking about, but I can't go there. Yet.

I'm overwhelmed in all possible senses of the word. I find myself finally unlocking some doors firmly shut, those surrounding my older son's first months and understanding simultaneously why I locked the doors in the first place and why I need them open now (but I find myself overwhelmed with grief to the point of not even being able to think). I've made some of the first steps, the first phone calls, tentatively setting first appointments, and I find myself stopping every few steps, wiping my eyes and am completely bewildered at the depth of sadness I feel.

I think I've contained a lot of this for such a long, sustained period of time that it just needs to come out.

At bed time last night, Nic came up to me, and asked. "Are you okay, mom?"

I guess a lot of this has been boiling closer to the surface than I thought, and the complete surprise of his question caused me to well up. He kissed me on the cheek (he can reach, he's now over 5 feet tall), and put his arms around me. "I'm going to be all right, mom. I promise."

He knows; he's always had a sixth sense for the hows and whys of my moods, even though how and why questions in daily life continue to stump him. Fortunately, dad saw this, and witnessed it. He needed to see this. For a lot of reasons.

He'll be all right, because he has determined that he will be all right. Whatever form that takes. He is owning that.

But I still need to help him do that responsibly.

So, with one task complete, and another, and another, we will get there.

And I need to help my little, quiet, opaque G to get there, too.

Climbing Walls

2011-10-22T07:53:00.006-04:00

So this is what 2011 has driven me to:

Actually, I had made my mind up earlier in the week that I was going to do this. I had never climbed a rock wall, and I would never let a silly little thing like a fear of heights keep me down.

Onlookers told me that I scaled that wall quickly, and like I had been doing this kind of thing all my life. The reality? I wanted to get it done. I felt the wall rocking in the wind. Not fearless so much as staring fear in the eye and telling it to get out of my way.

This moment is so emblematic of my life right now; Nic want to his first school dance last night, and it was not a disaster. In fact, he had a great time, but the music got a little loud for him and he called me to come get him when it became too much for him.

He did well on a class outing this week, meeting the demands made of him. I think finally we are settling into a groove.

And for myself, well, I face moving goal posts where I am working, and the posts continue to move out of my reach every time I get within striking distance. Facing down that other demon, pride, will be harder than facing down fear; it is a much more insidious and determined foe. Fear can be vanquished; pride, well, that's harder to make go away for any length of time. The best I can do is keep it at bay until I figure out what I need to do next.

But I will always have the rock wall. And I did rock it.

Ask, and receive.....

2011-10-16T07:41:00.002-04:00

So. I sit writing in my favorite spot, which is as good a place as any to sit in a quandary.

I had another note from AS at the middle school late Friday afternoon about Nic, disruptiveness and elevators--specifically, the elevator at the middle school that he is not allowed to ride. I mean, it may as well not exist.

Unfortunately, to Nic, it not only exists, but it looms so large in his consciousness that he can't concentrate on anything else.

As dad says, we have moved from obsession to pathology.

Get help? I supposedly have it, and it's not working. I've been looking since May for some one who can help us. And it would be easy if it were *just* elevators; it isn't. Elevators play a huge role in helping him cope with the demands of living in the community. That's a fact. Do I really want to strip him of something that is working for him?

Well, he's disruptive to his class on this matter. This is also a fact.

He insisted on reading the email I received. He read it twice. And I saw his eyes well up, even though he didn't speak. I realized that this is something he literally can't help.

But here's the thing. Even if we found a psychiatric genius on the subject, at the end of the day, it is encumbent on Nic to help himself.

"Here's what I hear," Nic told me from the back of the van yesterday. "Blah blah blah blah blah elevator blah blah blah."

I recognized the cadence of the mayor from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs reacting to Flint's warnings. "And you remember what happened to the mayor, right?" I reminded him. "He wound up in the middle of the ocean all by himself. And it was his own damned fault for not listening."

Nic got quiet. I knew my shot hit true.

"Nic, we can all talk to you until we are blue in the face, and you can tell us you can't help it, but the fact is, you have to figure out a way to help it," I told him. "Because no one else can do it for you."

He has gotten so good at figuring out ways to give himself an out if things aren't going his way. I need to figure out a way to show him how to give himself an out here, with this elevator.

Wow. That's my solution. Right there. He needs to give himself an out.

Game on.

Never Argue with a Reasonable Man

2011-10-10T21:00:00.006-04:00

I have all kinds fun stuff to report. First of all, I show up here in a local news story.

That was pretty cool. We also had G's bowling party on Saturday. Saturday was a little insane, starting with bowling league, follow into swimming (please don't tell my husband, but while I was supposed to be mopping the kitchen floor, I was actually QCing slide decks for a meeting that's going on now..), party, friends over for dinner....what an awesome day, but hubby told me later I could have cut a thing or two out.

As always, he's probably right.

Sunday, he headed out for a road trip, leaving me with the boys, mass, PREP (Nic haunted our poor DRE, but what the heck, it's only one hour out of her life, right?), then lunch and hiking and bouldering through Valley Green. That. Was. Awesome. My kids are great hikers, and Nic is an adroit cliff navigator. G gave me a few moments of pause ("Hey mom, look, it's a sheer drop!" "Awesome, G, please keep moving.). Last year, he couldn't have made these hikes; he has come such a long way in terms of his endurance and agility. Of course the day would not have been complete without a trip to the bookstore and some elevator adventures. Everyone fell asleep happy.

Probably the best stuff happened Friday night. I meant to take the kids to the playground, but instead got pulled over. And boxed into a spot. And I knew exactly why.

"Ma'am, do you have any idea why I am pulling you over?"

I do, but in my usual scattered, artless, panicked way, I am inarticulate. "Yeah? Um....no. Actually, I'm really sorry for whatever I did. My son back here is autistic, and he was telling me he is going to break into (secure location across the street) to ride the elevators, and....gosh, I am really, really sorry for whatever I did."

He looked like he could barely contain his laughter under his carefully controlled gruff exterior. His eyes gave him away. I have that effect on people.

"Ma'am, I am a reasonable man. I am sorry to hear about that, sure, but you have to promise me you'll pay more attention."

Nic (from the back seat): "MOM!!! You are getting me into trouble!"

Me; "I promise." (to Nic): "It's your fault for telling me you are going to go break in and ride elevators." Back to the officer: "I'm sorry, seriously, it won't happen again."

Nic: "Next time, mom, you need to ignore me while you're driving."

Amen. I will never argue with a reasonable man. But ignore either kid while I'm driving?

That's going to take some doing.....

The View from Under the Bus

2011-10-04T08:15:00.004-04:00

Many years ago, a former classmate of mine found himself under a bus. Literally.

It's not really clear how he got there, but the general consensus is that he was indeed pushed. I remember the stories about the skin grafts most vividly, and how painful his recovery was.

I contemplated this memory last night as I consider my older son's predicament. I realize life is unpredictable and he needs to learn to deal with that. There are things he needs to own; but when the adults fail to communicate well with one other, things break down, and my son with them. He does the best he can. But he's still learning. And he needs help.

This picture somehow ended up in my bag this morning. It's a solemn reminder of my duties.

I pray for wisdom.

Blessed is Better than Lucky

2011-10-01T19:23:00.007-04:00

I left off with my struggles with pride. A few things have happened since that last post, all relevant, but some more so than others. I've actually began this blog several times, but I can't seem to settle on what my story is.

Suffice it to say, I'm not really sure. But it can be best said that life asserts itself, as do my priorities as a consequence. I know what they are, but occasionally, I need reminding. Life doesn't smack me down so much as tug at my sleeve; what looks like a smackdown is really a gentle reminder.

But pride plays a big role in perception.

Circumstance, I find, also plays a big role in perception. I find it funny that I am viewed differently as a consequence of the 'big save' a week ago; the irony is that I didn't do anything differently than I would have any other day.

The difference is that a lot of people paid more attention to me that day. And that is the only difference.

Just like other people's opinion of my parenting; before the ASD diagnoses of my kids, I was ruining both of them by the way I parented. Now people praise me for being such a wonderful parent.

I am not doing anything differently (accounting for the differences in their ages now, of course--I parent them in the same firm loving manner I have always had); but the acknowledgment of their differences, again, changes perception in the way I do things.

As I told a frantic young girl on Friday, you can't do a damn thing about what other people say or do, but you can control how you react to it all.

I opt for the high road, because it feels right to me. I don't see any point in talking or dragging anyone else down. Life's hard enough.

I have more to say about this, but my little one just came down (7:21 Sunday morning, and he has Sunday School homework to do) and needs to tell me about Buccaneer Bunny.....

....and I need to listen to him.

Feel good moment du jour

2011-09-27T19:40:00.004-04:00

Much weighs on my mind, but I did want to share a good moment from today:

I was standing in line at Costco in King of Prussia when a man who had checked out came back to the register. After a couple of moments, the cashier thanked him profusely, and it became apparent that she had given him $10 too much change.

"I don't want your drawer to be off, and I don't need the money that bad, you know? Karma, what goes around comes around. You know?"

The cashier thanked him, flagged another cashier to give her change, and when he wished her a good day, she answered, "I'm having one, thanks to you."

I caught his eye and called over "That was a great thing you just did. Thank you."

He grinned back. "No, not a great thing, just the right thing."

Amen.

Where my head is....

Over.....it

2011-09-26T21:25:00.002-04:00

I think it's pretty safe to say that everyone reacts differently to stress. Some people overspend, others overeat, yet others oversleep.

Me? I overschedule. I think on some level that I firmly believe I will outrun stress if I give myself no time to think about it.

How's that working for me? Well, I'm too tired to care about much right now. Today turned into a 7-5 day, followed by late pick-ups for both boys, then off to Nic's social skills group while somehow cramming homework in between transit time. And hubby (bless him) made dinner, which gave me one less thing to stress about.

I also packed my weekend without meaning to. An IEP clinic ran my morning into afternoon, followed by volunteering at our parish carnival, popcorn sales for G, late dinner at the carnival (when was I going to find time to cook, anyway?). Sunday found me waking up, helping G with his PREP homework, me prepping for my class, teaching, church, and more popcorn sales.

G cleaned up his first weekend selling. He could quit now, but the competitive bug has bitten and he wants to see how high he can go. Nic is egging him on. I'm proud of him because this is all him--HE is selling it. He handled his numerous rejections with a great deal of equanmity.

Could this be a calling?

Nic enjoys selling, too. He actually closed a couple deals for G yesterday.

Just reminds me that possibilities--for them and me both--are endless. I just need some sleep to help me figure out what those are.

But for right now, hubby tells me that I need a break.

"Yeah, I know you need to save the world, and the world does need saving, but we need you more."

Copy that.

Rewriting the scripts

2011-09-24T07:47:00.002-04:00

About a year ago, I wrote a little bit about the whole idea of life as drama; everyone has a starring role in their story, surrounded by all variety of bit player. And no one wants to think him or herself a bit player in some one else's story.

I find myself (again? still?) in the bizarre position of having a fixed role in the collective conscious of, well, let's just say an influential (to me) group of people and leave it there. The story I get from these folk is that the role I am in is the role I will remain in, and that's that. The story I get from another quarter is that I'm 'not ready' and there is 'no visibility' in what I do.

So, having said that, shortly after I wrote my last post, I found myself filling a vacuum, my only thought being that I couldn't possibly make a situation any worse than it was--all win, from where I was standing.

So, the whole argument of 'not ready' goes away. No visibility? The situation allowed for plenty of witnesses. For better or worse, I rewrote my part in a lot of people's scripts.

And this all felt, really, really good. I think of Nic and G rewriting the scripts other people have written for them; I see Nic's smile when he knows he has floored his audience. G is simply G, humble and content and mindful of his own accomplishments. He remains sanguine, Nic, Saturnine, and truly my kid in this regard.

If I'm honest, I know what I did will fade, and my role, as it were, will be assumed to be assumed once again, as it was before.

I think the real test of character is not what you'll say you do in a given situation; it's what happens when and how you react to adverse circumstances.

Short term, I'll take hubby's advice, keep it all in perspective, and remember that others don't get the final word defining who I am.

(But I can't wait to see how this particular story ends....)

Increased Bandwidth's Mixed Blessings

2011-09-22T07:50:00.003-04:00

Once, not all that long ago either, I had a relatively easy life at DEFCON1.

When you are poised for imminent disaster, there isn't room for much else. So, any perceived virtue in you as a result isn't really a virtue at all; it's necessity. Life is stripped down to its most essential elements.

As we settle into the new school year, I've eased off, almost imperceptibly, into the new rhythms of our lives. Nic accepts all the rights and responsibilities of his life as a middle schooler (but will continue to try to get away with whatever he thinks he can get away with), and G blossoms in full sunlight, now away from the shadow of his older brother. Great stuff.

Suddenly, my own frontiers expand out in every direction, as far as the eye can see. My sons' collective burgeoning independence has granted me freedom, of a sort. I think about other things, because I can.

I wish this were as cool as it sounds.

On one level, this all-consuming fire of vigilance exhausted me. But only now am I appreciating how much it shielded me.

Now that I've contained the fire, I'm free to see everything that's around it. And the last 24 hours have taught me how much I relied on it to keep from dealing with other things in my life.

I find now that I am consumed with things that have passed me by, and I am forced to confront this daily. Doing nothing is not really an option, but acting brashly won't win me any medals, either.

I walked the labyrinth again yesterday, after a walk, a cry, and Reiki in the woods. I had to stop and ask myself what I was REALLY upset about, because as it happens, I occasionally swap out my truths for less painful alternatives. That doesn't work, because in my heart of hearts, I can't lie to myself, as much as I'd like to, as convenient as that would be.

So, I come to the center of the labyrinth. And I wait. And I am aware of how foolish I look, standing there, waiting for wisdom.

Finally, I speak aloud. "I'm nowhere near home, am I?"

Suddenly, the wind picks up. The low hanging clouds and threatening rain had almost discouraged me from this walk, but I still did it. I wanted my answers. I stood still as the wind whipped through the trees around me.

I continued. "You're not done with me yet, are you?"

One last gust, and then peace.

I walked out from the center, pondering all the implications, none the wiser regarding courses of action I need to take. I hear Fr M's voice once again: "In God's time, not yours."

As life settles into routine, I find I have a whole new set of challenges ahead.

I hope I am equal to them.

Transformations

2011-09-17T08:20:00.002-04:00

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.”
~Lao Tzu

We are a house in transition.

I'm sitting here on the couch with my younger guy pelting me with questions about Brian Wilson's Pet Sounds, and explaining to him that the original 1966 album is NOT the soundtrack to the 2002 concert DVD (that's in our van....what an education they have ahead of them). We just made two batches of muffins; I'll make some cookies once the butter melts and I have another cup of coffee.

I'm liking the change and chill in temperatures. Our house reflects the changes, in a good way. We just finished the first full week of school; although Nic has a lot to learn about the rhythms of middle school (organization promises to be our bete noir), he's doing well, making friends and even won an event in the spirit day competition for his team (people high-fived him all afternoon).

I'm a little more troubled by my little one. The kids on the bus stop ignore him, and the one kid he sat with on the bus apparently got wind from the bus stop that G is 'not cool', so a once-promising situation is not so much now. G doesn't seem to be bothered, but by the same token, he is as opaque as Nic is transparent.

I'm worried. But I don't think there's much we can do to fix the bus stop sitch.

On the plus side, he loves Aftercare and has friends there.

And Nic likes his after school program, although he packs up at 4:30 on the nose every day. I think we would do well to lengthen those days. When we get a little more settled, when I have a little less to get worked up about. I reacted overmuch to their collective disorganization Thursday night; G ordered me to "get your angry self out of this room this instant!"

Stress pulls me in a few different directions. I'm playing the elimination game. The kids will win. Everything else will get figured out when I have the energy for it. I get out walking in the woods as often as I can to keep me going.

In the meantime, I have an antsy second grader who just finished loading my dryer for me and is anxious to get cookie-making operations underway.

Time to get busy.

Love Letters

2011-09-12T19:23:00.004-04:00

I've always been an accomplished lover, but not in the erotic sense. The happiness of the people in my life has always been essential to my own, for better or for worse. Thinking like that kept me in two very unhealthy romantic relationships and countless other abusive platonic relationships.

I've loved indiscriminately. And it's hard to function when you're that splintered.

So, by dint of necessity, I have gotten more discriminating in my affections. True to Mary B's maxim, I have learned to love many and trust few. I have also learned a thing or two about moderation.

I find this the best way to couch my story, another of one of my favorite people, Fr M. As I've said in the past, I love him like my own family, and in many ways, I feel like we are family who have found one another, albeit a bit late in life for us both.

After he visited my family last month, I wrote the following letter:

"Dear Fr M,

Thank you again as always for spending time with my family. Truly, it was a lovely evening in every sense of the word, and more than ever, I get a real sense that 'God is here.' As always, I feel lightness after I talk to you--not as if you've taken anything from me, but more a sense of shared purpose. So funny that we talked of pride, my single biggest sticking point--how often I feel that I am on a mission from God on my own, and how often I am reminded that God is here with me, working through me, speaking through me, and acting through me.

But he is not without his sense of humor. A few weeks ago, I walked a labyrinth for the first time--the one over at St Thomas in Whitemarsh. Have you ever done that? Anyway, a little while before I posted on my Facebook page: "Nic needs to learn gratitude. I need to teach him that. He is a little heathen."

So anyway, I walk the labyrinth a little while later, and when I get to the center, the Holy Spirit has a thought for me:

"So you think you came into this world fully formed and thankful at the outset."

(The divine has a way of cutting through my pomposity.)

So, as I walked the labyrinth out from the center, I reflected on the nature of my gratitude and how it evolved. And the short answer is this: my CHILDREN have taught me what it is to be grateful; my attitude of gratitude, though it feels like I've had it forever, is a relatively recent development. And it was a gift to me from my boys. That I take nothing for granted, that everything--even adversity--is a gift, because you learn your best lessons when things aren't going your way.

And one gift you've given me--'In God's time, not yours'--has gotten me through many a difficult time.

(Actually, you have given me many gifts over the years--too many to list, but I am grateful for all, particularly our friendship).

Please know that our door is always open, and you are always welcome."

This letter sat in my pocketbook for nearly 3 weeks. I got around to sticking it in an envelope on Saturday, thinking I'd drop it by the rectory. But I forgot.

Sunday found me sitting in the church with other second and third grade prep parents, when Fr M stepped up to talk about the sacraments. I remembered the letter in my purse, dug it out, and stopped him on his way out. He thanked me again for dinner and hurried out.

Less than 5 minutes later, my phone vibrated. It was him. I hurried out to the vestibule, answering quietly, "Hello?"

"Oh Liz, hi," he said. "I forgot you were still in church, but I just wanted to say thank you thank you thank you. (I laughed, I couldn't help it, he sounded so happy). I'll talk to you soon, okay, hon?"

"Sure, take care." I hung up, grinning ear to ear as I went back to my pew, and thinking yet again how much happiness, joy, relief, solace he's given to his flock over the years, and thinking how happy it made me to give some of these things back to him.

You can't necessarily take pain away from anyone, but you can lighten the load in thousands of little ways. It doesn't cost anything, yet the rewards are priceless.

And these gifts that I didn't even realize I had until recently have me thinking of other ways I can use them. A path is beginning to suggest itself to me. I know I am doing exactly what I need to be doing right now, in this moment.

But I feel that it's all about to change. Soon.

My prayer right now? To be ready. For anything. And to face it with courage and resolve.

I don't think I ask for much.

Forgiveness

2011-09-11T08:31:00.002-04:00

As I prepared to lector the Saturday vigil mass last night, I pondered unfinished business in my own life. Over the last couple of years, I've honed my task to get good with God to a fine point. Yet I wondered, have I done EVERYTHING I need to do?

The first reading, from the Book of Sirach, gave me my answer. I felt color creeping up my cheeks as I read:

Wrath and anger are hateful things,
yet the sinner hugs them tight.
The vengeful will suffer the LORD's vengeance,
for he remembers their sins in detail.
Forgive your neighbor's injustice;
then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.
Could anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?
Could anyone refuse mercy to another like himself,
can he seek pardon for his own sins?
If one who is but flesh cherishes wrath,
who will forgive his sins?
Remember your last days, set enmity aside;
remember death and decay, and cease from sin!
Think of the commandments, hate not your neighbor;
remember the Most High's covenant, and overlook faults.

By and large, I have forgiven my enemies. But this, and the gospel, plus an outstanding homily from a visiting priest brought home something that I have been avoiding, and now is the time to put one last piece of business to rest.

It's human nature to hold grudges, but in the business of becoming more like God, you have to aspire to be better than human nature. You have to be bigger than whatever slight or injury was done you. Because in the end, these little things snowball--for better or worse. This energy becomes positive or negative--it's your choice which way it's going to go. (Or, as G would have it, blue core or red core).

And a conversation with two of my former grade school grads I met with last night confirmed to me: you must lead by example.

So, with that, I just want to openly say to Amy and Sharon that I forgive you. I let these things go, because things of this earth in many ways matter not.

Wishing love and mercy to all my friends.

Note to the Team.....

2011-09-06T20:45:00.003-04:00

We didn't get a chance to meet with Nic's team prior to the school year, so I am hoping you can forward this email to those who will be teaching him. It's just a short history of Nic, written by Nic. I hope it will give his teachers some insight. Nic's come a long way to get here; he was diagnosed with autism at age 2, and for all I know would never speak. He communicated using virtually all scripted speech until age 7, when he started generating his own content. When he's upset, he will resort to scripted (yet appropriate) speech. He takes a minute or so to gather his thoughts to answer questions. He likes elevators and security cameras. He meets expectations, so if you expect nothing, he will give you nothing. If you expect great things, he will deliver great things.

Peer interactions are difficult for him, but he is persistent and determined.

Here's Nic.

I'm going to need a little help with hard social studies because going through the textbook erases my mind. Math is fun, but only a few fraction problems are tricky. (Multiplying and dividing.) Some words in reading can be tough to pronounce.

My mom told me that middle school starts at 7:30 in the morning so I'm not sure that I can make it in time. But I'm going to make sure I do not get detention. If bullies pick on me or someone else, the security cameras (which I'm obsessed with) will capture the scene, then it's detention for them! I know that the elevators are for injured students, but I'm expecting them to be a special end-of-the-day reward if I have a good day. (That's also another thing I'm obsessed with).

I hope I have a good year, work hard, and do well.

Nic

Me again. He did that without spell check or edits from me. Please feel free to talk to either of us with any questions. I might be the better person to frame his needs--he knows what he needs, but he is still learning how to verbalize them.

Thank you so much.

PS He had a great first day of middle school. I can't expect him to string 182 days like it together, but we'll take it one day at a time....

G, The Genuine Article

2011-08-28T14:33:00.004-04:00

My younger son, largely overlooked in the shadow of his brother, deserves some air time.

He is reserved, intense, deeply resourceful, and probably the most gifted self-advocate I have ever witnessed. I frequently worry about his older brother, who lacks the last, but I never worry so much about G, because G always figures out a way to get what he needs.

Although his IQ testing has always revealed a vastly splintered cognitive profile, his emotional and spiritual maturity often leave me humbled. He can almost always be counted on to say or do exactly the right thing at the right time.

For some one who has not even reached his 8th birthday, I think this is pretty remarkable. I know plenty of adults who don't even have a handle on these things.

So today, during church, G turns to me, his deep sea-green eyes locking with mine in intense concentration.

"You know, mom," he observed. "I see God in your head."

This observation momentarily floored me. "You do?"

He nodded. "God is very big. Bigger than you. You worship Him."

I nodded. "That's right. So do you. That's why we're here."

"You know, mom," he continued. "God lives in the sky."

I pointed to his chest. "He lives here, too." I replied.

He gave me a sly little smile. "But I still see him in your head, mom."

I have to chuckle at the last exchange. He was accusing me of leading the witness in his own way--of trying to tell him how to see.

But he was letting me know that he can see just fine, thanks.

You just can't teach that.

But I wish his brother would take some notes.

Enlightenment (hurts)

2011-08-24T07:26:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, I had an epiphany about the nature of goodness and the costs of doing the right thing.

In the course of a meeting, I found out that by doing right by me, some one brought himself a lot of grief and quite a few brickbats thrown his way.

And this revealed to me the larger reason why my sons have such a hard time, why I am required to dole out the stinkeye with almost alarming regularity--doing the right thing, in this world anyway, brings little reward, or at the very least, little instant gratification and incentive to do more.

If you're thinking "Well, DUH!", try to see this from my (granted, limited) perspective. I've always done the right thing as a matter of course--not that there's any merit to my goodness, it's almost like that's just the way I'm wired. I'm just realizing that a vast majority of people are not wired the way I am.

I'm not sure the way this person is wired; he may be dissuaded from doing what he did ever again because of what it cost him. Because, as I am finding out the hard way, that's the way a vast majority of people are wired. Path of least resistance. Don't go against the grain. Don't draw any attention to yourself. And for God's sake, don't do anything that will draw the wrath of others.

So that's why I continue to intercede on behalf of my sons. But I sit here realizing that this will be never ending. Unless, of course, my kids encounter people like I have who are willing to take a brickbat for them.

But, if there's nothing in it for them, why would anyone do that?

My thoughts turn back to Fr M, who came over for dinner with us the other night, a wounded healer, like myself, who understands what he needs to do, does it, but occasionally fights it, because that's what we who struggle daily with pride do. I'm understanding now that the warmth of that evening, as beautiful as that was, is a reminder of what I am here for. And there is nothing warm and fuzzy about doing the right thing. Doing the right thing is difficult and largely thankless.

But I must continue to lead by example. And when I see some one doing good, I have to make it a point to acknowledge it.

Possibly, it's the only way I can keep it going.

The Light Within

2011-08-21T20:34:00.002-04:00

I love it when I make some one's day.

The smallest things can be the greatest pleasures in life. I had one split second interaction today wherein I made eye contact with some one I think the world of, and his whole face lit up when he saw me.

That moment has had me smiling all day. And it's led me to think about the things that make me smile. Canoeing and fishing with the boys yesterday does that--my favorite things with my favorite people. Certain people make me smile no matter what. Running in the mornings--when I can--always puts me in a good mood.

And this am, while I was out running, I found some one's wallet abandoned by the curb, with all their information (some one had already cleared it out of cash and credit cards); I drove it over to the police station and did what I needed to do. I hope that made someone's day. One can hope.

On the downside, a chunk of our tulip poplar came down and our tv has inexplicably died.

Always something.

But hey, if that's the worst that can happen? It's still a good day.

Stinkeye

2011-08-20T12:24:00.002-04:00

So we were at the mall the other day and found ourselves on an elevator with three teenagers. Ordinarily, Nic is so engrossed in 'pushing his buttons' that he fails to notice anyone else.

I curtly tell Nic to stop pushing the button, well aware of the glances and snickers the three are sharing. So Nic stops. And does something he has never done before.

In turn, he looked over his shoulder and fixed each boy with a look that I recognize from the inside--the same look I trot out every Sunday when some one makes the mistake of looking at us like we are a disruption and/or an abomination.

Watching this look emanating from my son's eyes elicited both a thrill and horror; a thrill at the fact that he's got both mom and dad's confidence and daring.....and horror for pretty much the same reasons.

All of this happened in the 30 odd seconds it took for the elevator to get from one floor to the next. And as soon as the door opened, I grabbed G by he shoulder with one hand and Nic at the elbow with the other. An unauthorized (but deserved?) dogpile had no place in my schedule. Nic, undeterred, continued to glare at the boys through the glass walls of the elevator as they continued upward. I grabbed Nic's chin and forced it my way.

"Really?" I wanted to know. "You really want them to come back and kick your ass?"

"Stupid teenagers," Nic muttered, his eyes cutting sideways.

So this tells me two things; he is developing an awareness of what he looks like to everyone else and he is starting to care what other people think, to such a degree that he is actually communicating what HE thinks right back.

Many implications in this development. It's all good, but as we know, Nic likes his lessons learned the hard way. This takes us to a whole new level.

Middle school: ready or not, here he comes....

I love August

2011-08-13T08:02:00.002-04:00

I'm having one of those 'if you blink, you'll miss it' moments in life, where everything has landed exactly in place. It's part of the reason I've been quiet here--if I'm not working, I'm playing with the boys, and friends and family. Everything is in perfect balance.

I know how rare that is, which makes it all the more enjoyable.

Even with all the balls we have in the air, the boys have had a great time with friends and family at the beach, at baseball games (Nic threw out the first pitch at a Lakewood Blueclaws game last week), the pool, at tennis, and bowling. Yesterday, we hiked through the Wissahickon Valley and met up with Coach S. And this weekend, I am going to figure out a way to get on the river with the boys.

What makes this time so special is that we are off the town grid. All the usual grind begins when school starts up again in three weeks. And I can't say I'm looking forward to engaging the same old stupid battles I've been fighting the last six or so years.

So, for now, I enjoy life. I recharge. So do the boys. We spend time with people who want to spend time with us. We enjoy each other and these days. And we'll be ready for whatever comes.

Worth a thousand words.....

2011-08-01T18:36:00.004-04:00

If there's any one way to sum up our summer, the above image does a nice job.

As always, I am grateful for the love and mercy shown us in big and small ways throughout our travels. These kindnesses keep us going. Despite all the blips and bumps in the road, we keep moving, we keep learning, and we keep enjoying life.

For everyone who has ever done us a good turn, given us a second, third, and even fourth chance, thank you.

Letting Go

2011-07-29T19:06:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure where to begin this entry. I had written one earlier in the week that, through circumstances that still puzzle me, disappeared into the ether.

It's just as well; it was very angsty.

And I am not feeling angst, at least not as much as I did about a month ago. Actually, things are pretty good. Thanks to Facebook, I met a friend for drinks this week, another and her kids for a swim date, and a third I will meet down the shore with kids in tow tomorrow. All are my 'high school girls,' and I thank God every day I reconnected with these ladies. They never fail to bring a smile to my face.

My kids, naturally, factor into the good cheer. All the work we are doing with Nic is paying off. He's still high-strung and dramatic, but he is also a bit more settled as we move into August. I had been beating myself up about not facilitating interactions with both enough; I get to stop that, because they interacted just fine with my friend's girls at the pool yesterday. Nic sustained conversations on his own with everyone all afternoon. So did G.

Clearly, he knows how, and he can do it when he wants to. This is good to know.

At tennis, for the first time in the four years we've been doing the program, I left G alone to follow directions. And he actually did better without me hovering.

And I found a competitive bowling league for them to both compete in this fall. They will be separated by age--a good thing.

It just seems like all the hard work of integrating and working with them is finally starting to pay off. It's almost like it's happening all at once, even though I know we've been working toward this point for years.

Oh, we're not done. Not even close. We have plenty of hard work ahead of us still. But, how gratifying it is to stand back and watch them do things on their own.

I step back with relief and gratitude. And certainly, they will stumble and fall.

But they have shown me that they both know how to brush themselves off and keep going.

And they wouldn't have had that opportunity if I hadn't stepped back in the first place.

(What can I say? It's been a process for me, too. I've had to take the leap of faith necessary to believe in all of us--and I did.)

Pretzels and Ice Cream

2011-07-19T17:55:00.001-04:00

Grandmom--my paternal grandmother--tends to make a guest appearance in my consciousness when one of my kids is in need.

My younger guy left his ice cream last night. As I pondered melting chocolate in a tea cup, I found myself, age 4 or thereabouts, at Grandmom's house with my older sister. We spent an overnight, and I can remember it only in flashes.

One my sister and I both remember is the pretzels in ice cream. Present day, looking at the melted ice cream, I remembered the pretzels in the cupboard and added them. Nic came in, took a look, and left, holding his nose.

So as I indulged in this treat, I remembered how the last time I dreamed of her, she helped me with Gabriel.

Today, I invoke her memory as I head into middle school today on Nic's behalf.

I gather my angels around me, knowing that this will only be the first step in a long journey....

Yet. As I cleaned over the weekend, I found Nic's memory book from Kindergarten. And as I leafed through the art and photographs from 5 and 6 years ago, I marveled at how much he has grown--and how far he's come since those pictures were taken....

How far WE'VE come.

So while the road ahead is daunting, I am reminded of what we've withstood so far. What's happened to us. And how we've lived through it all.

What I sit here with right now: Nic's smile and laughter as he he cajoled me into another elevator adventure last night after his class. How we joked--and how he understood my jokes--and how we laughed together. His big green eyes smile and laugh and are full of humor and life.

And I am reminded, yet again, of how much he depends on me still. And how, as charged, I cannot fail him.

By the grace of God. I will not fail.

I dream of eggplant (and other stuff)

2011-07-12T18:49:00.004-04:00

Pieces of my past come to me at odd moments lately, as if they are trying to teach me something about my current life.

The current life. Lots of good stuff; Nic played wiffle ball with his cousins at a party on Sunday. Doesn't seem like that big a deal, and in most places and in most families, it isn't. But in mine, it's a huge deal. Nic interacted and played like any other kid....and that, my friends, is a first.

I take joy in these small things. I understand if people don't get my enthusiasm. But, I guess in light of the fact that I, and my boys, have suffered rejection in so many ways the past two months that it's with mixed feelings that I am writing what I'm writing. I've always prided myself on being positive and upbeat, but lately, the face I've been keeping on is just that. I'm worn out. I'm tired to the point of tears. And those things that I depend on to keep me going, well, they just aren't there.

So my mind's been taking trips down memory lane when I am alone in the car. This morning, it was August 2004, and Nic uttered a rare spontaneous phrase.

"He's standing!"

The he in question is Gabriel, barely 10 months old, his big grin revealing all four of his teeth, his fluffy curly strawberry blond hair waving in the breeze, as are his arms, giggling, triumphant and barefoot on the blacktop of our driveway.

I reflect on all the comfort he's been to me over the years.

Another moment: mom, now younger than I am, preparing to make fried eggplant. My sister and I join her, her only comment that I remember was that my dad really enjoyed it. We ate it as quickly as my mom fried it up, hushed, reverent, as if we were performing a ritual of memorial. Which, looking back, I think we were.

So, what do these moments in the past have to do with the here and now?

I don't know. I think they are to remind me that life is still good.

But I am struggling. Although I am working hard to make sure Nic's transition to middle school is successful, worry that my best efforts still won't be good enough haunts me. I'm reminded almost constantly that my best efforts aren't enough--and it's been hard for me to stay sunny and keep smiling.

My best efforts there--not sure how that's working out.

I'll keep trying, and I'll keep looking for that silver lining. And keep hoping for the best.

Address the Fixable

2011-07-05T20:41:00.003-04:00

After a month and change of letting the world have its way with its me, I've made a decision. A lot of it revolved around repetitions of the serenity prayer. What can I change? What goes into the "that which I can't" bucket? And where's my wisdom to figure out which is which?

Life teaches much if you are open to the lesson plan. Everyone is open to learning as long as it doesn't inconvenience her. But reining in pride and hubris? The stiff-necked rebellion that comes with humiliation? These things are hard.

I've gone through more rounds than I care to count with the last in the past few weeks. I found myself in our tent on Sunday, in another state, wondering how I was going to deal with Nic's latest round of escapades.

I let myself get quiet enough to hear my instructions. "You have a choice; you can continue to hang yourself on the cross of other people's doings, or you can own what's yours and let others own what belongs to them."

This is where I get strung up, and this is what's been stringing me up since the end of May--I let whatever anyone else is doing spoil my good time, either by trying to own what happened or by trying to buffer other people.

Why? Who knows? But clearly I need to stop because it's making me nuts.

And suddenly, life just got a whole lot better. Nothing has really changed, only my perspective.

But what a difference. If only I could figure out a way to bottle and sell it.....

Not sweating the small stuff (because it's all small stuff)

2011-07-03T21:38:00.002-04:00

So this summer of tackling the hard stuff and saving Nic from himself before middle school starts has already taught me some important stuff--namely, that this is not about me. I tend to get lost in the weeds in spite of myself. But an overnight we spent with friends lent me fresh perspective on my kids, my family, and the way I roll with all of the above.

The visit went well, despite a few hiccups. Nic was able to identify what worked for him and what didn't; he listened to our hosts and heard about it when he didn't. For my part, I spent less time buffering Nic and more time allowing him to assess boundaries on his own. While this was painful for me, it was instructive for both me and Nic. It also allowed me to see to what degree I interfere with Nic learning things on his own.

My intentions are good, but sometimes I overstep. This weekend, I learned how to step back. And guess what, Nic did fine. It also helped that our hosts got Nic and had no fear of correcting him as needed. It's all a matter of degree and moderation. Even our mini golf outing produced minimal drama and maximum fun for all. Really, good times.

And for his part, G had a great time interacting with kids who were interested in engaging him. I need to do more of this kind of thing for his sake, too. It's not easy being Nic's younger brother.

So it was not only fun, but educational, all around.

Boy, do I have a lot to learn. This song showed up on my iPod the other night--and it's amazing how to the point it is....

Shards

2011-06-28T17:56:00.002-04:00

I've been in literal pieces this week.

The smaller details matter not. Just Nic, again, epic meltdown over something so inconsequential it leaves bystanders scratching heads.

I work so hard to integrate them into the fabric of our community, and have to talk people into giving them a chance, and when he blows up like this, he just doesn't seem to understand how he acts just cements and seals people's bad opinion of him.

Corrective measures taken, I sit here on this beautiful evening on my front step unwilling to fight anymore. At least not this week. I have deferred at least one phone call to next week, when I will be in a better frame of mind to deal with whatever comes.

I went out walking last night and saw B with a friend. He imitated my walk to his friend, then waved at me. His parents, of course, didn't see what he did, so there was no point in calling him out on it. But I did take his name off the 'supportive of Nic' list I'll take with me to the middle school. Nic's supportive list is dishearteningly small, but I'd rather put the names of one or two kids there who will really back him versus 20 names that won't mean much of anything.

We do have several families here that don't mind being seen talking to us in public places. But again, that's less than a handful. In a township of how many families? It's shameful. It's pitiful. But it is what it is.

I found Isaiah 40:31 this morning: Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Despite everything, I am still here. But I weary of the scarlet letter we wear; how funny that it's an A; how sad that we wear it at all.

Most people dread change. I hunger for it. Because change always holds the promise of something better.....

These days are blessings

2011-06-26T08:04:00.004-04:00

How can I best encapsulate this birthday week?

My sons have been away at camp; while I miss them, I know that they are safe and having a great time. Their first time away like this has been exciting for all of us; I can't wait to hear what they've been doing, who they have met, and if they have friends they will want to keep in touch with. I'm hopeful.

In the meantime, I awoke on my birthday in wonder at the fact that I'm older than I have ever been in my life. How funny to think that, because this is true of all of us, every day. But I, literally, did not ever dream I would live this long. My clean bill of health earlier this month is doubly sweet.

Although I experienced a serious disappointment earlier this month, perspective has tempered my anger and sense of injustice. I always tell Nic, "Life's not fair," and I had a healthy reminder that these words apply to me, too.

Still, I always get what I need, and certainly, all I deserve, good and bad. So it is in the spirit of the latter that I am happy to say that I enjoyed a phenomenal birthday with family and friends; hubby and I enjoyed 'Midnight in Paris' and gelato on my actual birthday, and I had dinner and lunch on different days with two of my closest friends, and yesterday, hubby and I packed a picnic lunch and kayaked and fished all afternoon on Lake Nockamixon.

When I pick up the boys later today, we'll continue my celebration. We all have so much to celebrate. Yes, we have come through an extremely challenging time, but there is so much good in our lives. We are blessed to be surrounded by loving family and friends.

And really, what more can anyone ask?

As I sit here and listen to the birds sing, and feel the cool breezes coming in, I'm thinking it's going to be another beautiful day.

Enjoy.

The Gift of Kindness

2011-06-21T21:18:00.003-04:00

There are actually two things I want to address in this blog post: Nic and kindness. The title of this blog came to me in the car ride home this evening, and it's part of the story. Kindness came in the form of my sister in law and niece coming to Nic's promotion last week; that little bit of extra family support meant the world to me, and I know it meant a lot to Nic, too.

This past weekend, we had friends visit from Maryland, and my kids loved the company. I had a great visit with their mom. And one of the best coincidences came in the form of a yard sale across the street on Saturday. For the first time in years, Nic spent some time with the cousins that stay sometimes with their Nan. And what came of that (in addition to the great deal Nic got on an O-scale train set) was another act of kindness; on Monday, one of the boys helped Nic fix his bike. The two of them worked on it together, and Nic was ecstatic, not only to have his bike working, but that D (who once called Nic a butthole) helped him fix it.

Thinking about Nic, having such a hard time, and the way he looks at me lately; he knows I know he's having a rough time, and he knows that I am doing everything I can to help him. He lets me know by the way he takes my hand when we walk together, by the way he smiles at me. I feel hopeful for the fall; not overly so, we have too much work ahead. But I think that come September, he will be ready for almost anything.

I hope. As he and his brother spend their first night away at sleep away camp, I wish them both sweet dreams, good friends, good times, and much love.

Turning the page

2011-06-17T13:52:00.005-04:00

So my son, who could not string together his own words and relied so heavily on scripting to communicate when he started K, was promoted to 6th grade.

All I could think as I watched him yesterday sitting with his classmates was how the relief I felt at having "done that" mixed with the high anxiety of the abyss called middle school.

It's been such a tricky year, especially with the social nuances that he misses, the bullying that goes on that he grasps on some level, but much of it he misses (he still believes everything that everyone tells him). The worst of it is that I can't tell him anything--because if mom (or dad) says it, it doesn't count (why oh why does he have to be typical tween in this instance?). But it's also been a year of great personal growth for him. I was proud of him when he said to a roomful of adults at his IEP on Monday that he was worried about bullying in middle school. All the adults in the room hastened to assure him that there were policies in place so this wouldn't happen.

But I saw the look in Nic's eyes, and although I am not a mind reader, I know he was thinking about all the times he went to an adult when he was being bullied by B, and all the times he was simply instructed to 'stay away from B', effectively allowing B to follow him around and continue harassing him. There were no consequences for B, so the bullying continued until April 30 of his 4th grade year.

Thanks for nothing, responsible adults.

So part of this summer will be about planning, working with Nic to transition to middle school, working with him on his letter of introduction to his new team, outlining his hopes and goals, his concerns, and his own history of how he got to where he is, and how he hopes to get where he's going.

For my part, I'll be working on plan B. I may never have to use it, but it's best to have it--just in case.

In other news, the bag of crazy that has been my life over the past month--Nic's issues as well as my own--have settled down. I find that taking the high road, while difficult, rewards in unexpected ways. The medical scare turned out to be nothing, but it has galvanized my sense of urgency in settling a few matters for both boys.

Upset, fear and disappointment yielded some excellent stuff in spite of themselves. I'm not sure if it's just me looking at the glass half full so much as that adversity presents unique opportunities that wouldn't exist if life were perfect, and the wise person understands this.

So, as my middle schooler prepares for the next phase of his life, I find myself gearing up for new parental challenges. I understand that this won't get easier. And as my little one moves to second grade, I remind myself that this is when bullying started for Nic, and hope that my little one has a smoother ride than his big brother had. Life will not be easy for either of them, but they will be that much more appreciative of what they have, because they had to work that much harder to get there.

Adversity, after all, has its advantages and teaches its own lessons.

Mixing ponderables

2011-06-10T21:09:00.005-04:00

It's really been a hell of a month.

I don't want to rehash--I've already disclosed the worst of a lot of it, but there's a lot more I can add--but discretion forbids it. SO suffice it to say, that's all I'm going to say about that.

I will add, though, that my mammogram turned something up. I go back on Tuesday for a follow up and an ultrasound. I'm not even really thinking about that right now--only in terms of how a negative outcome will radically change things around here. Which begs the question: should things change, anyway?

And I spent an hour pondering and reflecting on Nic's re-eval. It's accurate, for better or for worse. And now that we are starting group and one-on-one therapy, I know we are remediating what we can; now it's up to the school to meet us halfway.

(I'm not optimistic.)

I came in from a 4 mile walk and am sitting with my younger son, eating banana bread we made together and listening to him retell the story of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I know I am doing everything I need to do for both boys. The medical stuff now has me wondering--more than usual--how much time I have left on the clock and whether I will have enough time to get it all done.

I hope for a good outcome. Oddly at peace, not worrying, because that's not productive. Just focused on my to-do lists and enjoying the boys.

Which is probably what I'd be doing, anyway.

Stop the World....

2011-06-04T11:18:00.004-04:00

A friend of mine would tell me I am suffering from having too many windows open.

She'd be right. My spillover week from just about two months ago has been outdone by a few orders of magnitude the last two weeks. As it happens, the field trip and the teen harassment are the symptoms, not the problem.

The central problem, as it always seems to be, is that I too quickly conclude that Nic's problems are/were my problems--and while he runs into many of the same situations that I have, he has his own ethos--which I forget, at my peril. And as it happens, at his peril, and perhaps my family's peril, as well.

I can yell and scream about consequences, but he won't necessarily hear me; I can warn all I want, but will he really understand danger until it's too late? As hubby said, dangerous attracts him.

I want to do more than wring my hands. I want to throw myself in harm's way if it means saving him from himself. But I know, in my heart of hearts, that the only way he'll learn is the hard way.

And, oh, how it twists me up inside how fraught with hazards that is; how his whole future is threatened by his own stubborn short-sightedness.

But I will not wring my hands or stand to one side. He will learn to make better choices because he will be held accountable for the choices he makes. He will learn that you can't take back things that you have already said or done. But he will learn that you can put things right; you can make amends; you can ameliorate situations.

He just needs to be shown how. And he needs me to show him.

Game on.

Coping

2011-05-31T10:00:00.005-04:00

If the high-jinx from Thursday's trip weren't enough, we had the perfect topper coming home from a local restaurant on Friday night. As we cut across the train station parking lot on our way home, a carful of boys pulled up alongside and one called out: "There's the mom with her two retards."

I have no idea who these "people' were, but apparently, they knew us.

Hubby, on Long Island, called later that night to ask if I were joining him the next day. Distracted, thinking of a 3-hour drive, I said no.

I spent a nervous night, wandering from room to room, bed to couch and back again, fretting about my sons' futures, wondering if there was a place in this hostile world for any of us, finally falling into a fitful sleep that lasted perhaps a couple hours.

When I opened my eyes at dawn, I felt anxiety where I had previously felt nothing. I stilled myself, listened to the birds, and heard the voice telling me "You are going to Long Island."

I blinked. Gabriel wandered into my room, as if on cue, and curled up next to me. He was fully dressed. "Mom," he said. "So are we going?"

Apparently so, I thought. "Wake your brother, make sure he gets dressed," I replied. I threw on some clothes and put some edibles for the kids together, filled a couple water bottles, and told Nic as he descended, fully dressed but rubbing his eyes, "Find a book and get into the car. You too, G."

So that's how we headed northeast Saturday morning. I called hubby repeatedly and kept getting voicemail. Traffic was light. Miles clicked past quickly as the boys listened to Amelia Bedelia on the CD player and quizzed me about where we were headed, what we were doing, what would the day be like. I really didn't know what to expect, and I had no expectations other than to leave the bullies and name-callers home.

When we connected with hubby, he was pleased. "But you're crazy," he admonished. "On the other hand, I'm glad you're here, so I'm glad you're crazy." Nic rode the elevator at the hotel while I grabbed my first cup of coffee of the day from the cafe. Hubby packed up his car then joined us in the van to head to the party.

Hubby's old boss lives on the Long Island Sound, and to walk through the woods as the landscape gives way to dunes, and finally, cresting over the last hill reveals the beautiful expanse of inlet with the sound opening up to the right. I stood there, amazed and joyful at how the vista alone was worth the drive.

The boys went to work exploring. Nic rescued a horseshoe crab that was stuck on its back and spent the next half hour following it around the beach. G threw stones in the water. Our friends C and F joined us. Hubby came down to watch the boys so I could visit with his colleagues (he grumbled that his old lab missed me more than they missed him and were disappointed that I missed the dinner).

The food and conversation, and exploring on the beach, and later taking the boys over to the University and to some of our old stomping grounds, did so much to heal what was broken in the previous two days. The kids loved it, are clamoring to go back this summer, and are still talking about some of the people we met and things we did.

So this little bit of time out of mind was good for them, too.

Meanwhile, I have 13 days of this school year left to deal with plus a transition in front of me. And as always, I will do my best and pray that it is good enough....

5th Grade Trip in a Nutshell

2011-05-27T10:46:00.003-04:00

Could have been worse, but I can't imagine it could have been better. It was a long, intense day--we had to be at school at 6 am, we got there, got down to B'more before 9 (the Science Center didn't open til 10), so Nic and I wandered off and did some elevatoring in the meantime. Came back, saw the IMAX movie, tooled around on our own
(with the same obnoxious boys yelling down 'Hi Nic!' and Nic like a trained puppy waving back.

After lunch, we gathered outside the aquarium, and the boys started up again. Nic came back, I told him they weren't his friends and to stay away from them. Did I know Nic was going to go over to them and tell them that? And that they would call me a liar? And that Nic would start screaming at me to stop harassing him, throw himself down on the ground and pull me down with him with the whole fifth grade, teachers and parents looking on?

Obviously, if I knew all that, it would have shaken out differently.

And the kicker is that those kids had the balls to keep doing it. Karma will be a bitch when it shows up.

On the upside, I knew that was the worst that could happen, and the rest of the day went fine.

But I was raw by the time we got home after 8 (Couldn't even rest on the ride home, had to make sure Nic didn't disturb anyone around us, and he literally could not contain himself).

The headache I have today? Probably connected to yesterday.

But Nic and I are still here.

Team C: 10 Bullies 0

(But I will make sure justice for yesterday is meted out--one way or another)

Bucket Wisdom

2011-05-25T07:30:00.003-04:00

G, my old soul, told me very gravely last night: "Mom, I am afraid that people keep dipping into Nicolas's bucket. Can we help make them stop?"

G had read a book in his first grade class about "the invisible bucket we all carry with us; those people who make us happy keep it filled; those people who make us sad dip into it." (He explained this to me between trips to our gardening bucket while we were weeding on Saturday). He then went on to assure me that I keep his bucket full.

But his concerns about Nic's bucket are valid. A coterie of kids at the aftercare have taken to picking a play (or 10) out of him lately. He's been watching it, and processing it, and I think he's not sure what to do about it.

So I spoke to both boys separately about it last night. Nic and I brainstormed possible responses, and I talked to G about some things he can do to help.

And in the meantime, I continue to give Nic the support he needs to manage these situations on his own. His accomplishments and activities outside of school keep him going. Although he finished last in his event in areas, once again, he has proven that he more than makes up for in heart what he lacks in speed.

I love my kids. They are the most courageous people I know--bar none.

(The Illusion of) Total Victory

2011-05-18T08:33:00.002-04:00

A couple decades ago, I had a sleepover with a couple girlfriends. My boyfriend (now my hubby) was out of the country, so I was cramming in all the socializing that my full life of school, work, supporting myself and maintaining a long-distance relationship didn't allow me otherwise.

This particular evening, one friend had two decks of tarot cards, and we amused ourselves with readings. And she was flummoxed by the fact that no matter what my question was, the card for 'total victory' kept surfacing.

"Let's try this out on the Egyptian deck," she said. From my limited understanding, I got that it was harder to get a favorable reading from that deck. Yet somehow, the 'total victory' equivalent kept surfacing.

"Tarot loves you," she muttered as she finally put the cards away.

I never chalked it up to Tarot loving me so much as what I call my network--all the loved ones I have lost in my lifetime, some of them way too young and lost to this world too soon. And I often wonder how many times over the course of a given day, month, or year, they put some one in my path who will help me, or my boys--because we, the four of us, seem to have an abundance of good fortune when it comes to meeting good, good-hearted people.

Take Nic's track coach. Only this man could figure out a way to get the slowest kid in Region 10 to the Area Championship with the rest of his team. Last Sunday, Nic ran his first 800, only to have the heavens open up and pour rain on his last 300 m. Nic not only finished the race, he finished a full minute and 19 seconds ahead of his coach's expectations, won a medal, and advanced in that event.

It goes without saying that Nic is a full minute and change behind the rest of his contenders this Sunday. But he's still in the program.

Moreover, he joins the rest of his team at this championship.

I am just happy that he gets a full week more out of this rewarding season. And working on trying to get these successes realized on the track to translate to the rest of his life. He still battles courageously with his frustration, and hopefully the steps I am taking to help ameliorate that will help him as he transitions to middle school. (Disorientation, which happened the other night, will get its own post when I finish digesting it all. On paper, it sounds fine; throw in the Nic factor, and surprises abound. And some surprises are simply unacceptable.)

I feel sometimes like I am building something from bricks and mortar, and the last few days have had the satisfying feel of completing something. I am not sure whether it is a foundation, or a wall, or a bridge, but I feel it will be revealed to me soon enough whether I finished something, or am finishing a stage of something. But nonetheless, I am aware of the clock ticking, and that I have a ways to go before I sleep.....

Confluence

2011-05-11T09:36:00.003-04:00

Funerals bring their own baggage. Yesterday’s challenged me to dump mine out in plain view and re-examine three separate life events—which included yesterday’s.

ME was loved in much the same way H was loved. I am grateful to have known her, but selfishly, I felt more grateful that I wasn’t closer to her. One H-magnitude loss in my life is enough; I’m not sure I could bear another. The fact that the prognosis and progression of their respective diseases was almost identical heightened my feeling of loss— not MY loss, but the loss felt by her family. I know—firsthand—what that feels like. Knowledge can be treacherous.

As her family gathered around the casket to say goodbye, my own unfinished business blindsides me. Even the youngest said goodbye. I didn’t get that opportunity with my own father. So shielded was I from his last illness that I don’t have a definite memory of when the last time I saw him was. I have six memories or so that *might* have been the 'last time,' but I have no way of knowing which memory it is.

And H didn’t have a funeral. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking I need to call her and tell her about something. Then I remember.

Fr M, my own family present, hurried by, hugged us hello, exchanged a few words and hurried on. “What do you say? Can you say?” he asked. “I’ll leave it to God.”

He did. And he did as well as he could be expected to do. No unctuous platitudes—just a gentle urging to comfort one another the best we know how and in the ways we best can.

He did his job well.

Her hubby performed the single greatest and most courageous act I have ever witnessed; he gave exactly the eulogy his wife would have wanted. I appreciate how difficult much of what he said was for him—not just out loud, but to a church full of people. But he did it because that’s how she would have wanted it. Because he loves her that much. Brave heart. Brave soul.

Going forward, offering comfort where and when and how we can. This hard new normal will soften over time, as it does, as it has always done.

Godspeed, Me. You've done well.

The Hourglass

2011-05-04T18:18:00.000-04:00

“Beyond a certain age, a journey across the city becomes uncomfortably reflective. The addresses of the dead pile up….One day, I, too, will prompt a moment’s reflection in the passenger of a passing cab.”
Ian McEwan, in Atonement

Suddenly urgent business fills my day, although nothing has subjectively changed in the material facts and appearance of my life. My dear friend H looms large in my thoughts, and it’s no accident. Imminent loss weighs heavily on my mind and heart, and while it won’t affect me and mine directly, I’m reminded—again--how easily that could change. We live our lives, dream our dreams, and make our plans, seemingly oblivious of the knowledge that it takes so little to tear it all asunder.

I’ve been busy with errands and paperwork, casting a wary eye around, making lists, checking things off, creating new lists, spending time with my boys, eying my little one jealously, perhaps fearing the worst—but carefully leaving the naming of those fears to one side. It’s possible to know too much—fear paralyzes.

A snatch of memory haunts me: my parents’ living room full of adults, seated in a circle pray the rosary. I am not quite 7. I run from one to another, asking what they are doing (I didn’t know what it was at the time outside of a seemingly endless stream of Hail Marys), not getting an answer, and finally an older adult thrust a toy set of beads into my hands and pleaded for me to be quiet or pray.

Rosary or not, dad died about 3 months later. All prayers are answered, but you don’t always get the answer you want. Pray for peace for the dying and the living, because both need it in equal measure.

As much as possible, I want everything settled, in the event I don’t live into my 90s as the women in my family are wont to do. I realize I won’t have everything prepared, but I will do my best to have it all laid out.

I think of how much we squander in a day—how much time and energy in trivia and inanity, how much energy is channeled into holding grudges, getting even, worrying about things that, ultimately, don’t matter. Do we do these things in an effort to forfeit mortality?

If so, I can’t think of a bigger waste of everything that matters.

I am reminded—constantly—that every day, every moment, is a gift.

What will you do with your gift today?

Opportunities, won and lost

2011-04-29T21:38:00.004-04:00

When I think of all the crap Nic has to put up with regarding his ongoing bullying sitch, this image will remind me of all the things his tormenters won't be.

Tuesday night, my boy took the field with 1600+ other athletes. As my brother said, he came to compete, he competed successfully, running the first leg of his heat and successfully handed off to his teammate. They finished the race, were not disqualified, and did not even finish last in their heat.

He did something not many people get the opportunity to do. He took the same field as the best runners of the last 100 years and did it in front of an audience of thousands.

How cool is that?

I love that we could actually share this experience with family, as my brother and his wife and their oldest were also there to cheer on his youngest. It's a night I'll remember for the rest of my life.

And as for Nic, he had a great time hanging with his teammates and acting, more or less, like any other kid.

The world is bigger than this town. I think he will be fine as long as he remembers that. And at the age of 11, he's already had more experience competing in big venues than I've had in my entire life.

It's all about finding opportunities and taking advantage of them.

Because this is the stuff that will keep him going, even in his darkest hours.

But I can't help thinking of the one moment of his I missed. The fifth grade was supposed to sing in a district-wide choral concert, and he successfully made it through the rehearsals, but opted out of performing.

As I drove the boys to track one afternoon, an excerpt of school children singing "What a Wonderful World" came on the radio.

"Hey, that's what we were singing at school," Nic said.

And suddenly, I choked up and my eyes filled. There is already something moving about children singing this song, but the fact that I was denied the pleasure of hearing my own child sing this hit me unexpectedly hard. I asked, carefully, trying not betray my feelings, "Don't you think I wanted to hear that?"

"Oh mom," Nic huffed. "It's embarrassing. I don't want anyone to hear me sing."

"But I want to hear it, Nic."

"Never mind, mom," Nic said dismissively. "You didn't miss anything."

Ah, Nic. But I did. But this was your decision to make. And this will be one regret in life, that I didn't push you harder on this point.

So when I hear children sing this song, I'll always hear your voice, too. As I might have heard it that night.

Answered Prayers

2011-04-25T20:30:00.002-04:00

Going into my staycation, much weighed on my mind and heart. Big changes lie ahead. I'm generally okay with change, to a point. But with so much uncertainty ahead, I called in the big guns...and the Big Guy.

Overall, I've come to a point in my life where I accept change as a constant. When it arrives, it's always the right size, shape, and color--even if I don't think so the moment it happens.

I've looked back enough times over enough forks in the road to see that the change always happened for the better--even if I lacked the wherewithal to get it at the time.

As I served the Holy Thursday mass, I felt a shift in the way I looked at the world, prompted by Fr C asking during the homily: "What do people see in you? What do you see in other people?"

I've thought this many times over the years, but he told a story of his own experience that resonated with me in ways I didn't expect. And continues to. He has given me much to ponder in my heart.

And during Easter Vigil, I found myself serving the mass--something that was not an option while I was in grade school--and how rewarding it was after all these years to be up there as an altar server. Hubby brought the kids to vigil mass, and they did great.

And sometime over the course of mass, peace settled on me. And a voice speaking directly to my heart said: "You can handle whatever comes. Don't you realize that I have made it so?"

I wrote two weeks ago that the poem Footprints was on my mind; my experience Saturday night validated everything I ever thought or believed.

Fr M had something to do with that, too. In his homily, he spoke of his own experiences with depression, and how he found his way through it to the other side. And I think every single person in that church was awed and touched--even hubby, present with the boys as a surprise and gift to me.

So, these thoughts and experiences I bring forward to confront my destiny and change--whatever forms these things take.

I am ready.

Alone

2011-04-22T06:50:00.002-04:00

I'll start and end with mass last night. It's all there.

I volunteered to serve Holy Thursday mass--the surest way to ascertain I'd get there this year. After a 25-year absence from what had been until that point in my life tradition, I'm glad I'm back.

Glad? Wrong word. Loss resonated with me on multiple levels.

At the most basic level, I see things unraveling. Since the school closed, people have fallen away from our parish. A core of us want to keep going. And we will. But I have a real sense of time--and this special little community--slipping away. Not tomorrow, not next week, or even next year, but there will be a date circled on the calendar.....

But for the present, voices filled the church in a way that doesn't (but should) happen on a Sunday--the few there filled with hope, faith, and conviction. Father C knocked the homily out of the park, in the unique way all our priests here do. Fr M, quiet, bearing witness, has stepped back.

No one says much about this. Or perhaps they do, and I don't hear it. I never hear much, actually. But I don't want to think about what closing down is going to mean, much less talk about it.

But for the present, voices fill the church in song and response. In addition to bearing the heavy cross for processions, I hold the basin while Fr C washes feet. I drop neither the cross nor the basin. I pray Hail Mary after Hail Mary for strength as I lead the procession then stand at attention while the Blessed Sacrament is placed in the repository. My arms and hands shake for a good half hour after.

There's something else; the silence from one quarter has been deafening. Nothing says disapproval any better than that. And I know better than to sulk; I've learned that people don't always need to hear what I need to say, and sometimes my need to speak and act steps over lines.

Apparently, I went over the line. Again.

So. I deal with the cold silence with equinamity. After all, on some level, I knew it was coming, and I am okay with being wrong.

Even if it cost me. Hubby calls me a martyr in his hottest moments. Sometimes, I suspect he is right.

So I turn my thoughts to the wins this week; outings and time out with the boys; the garter snake Nic and I found as we walked in the woods yesterday; the new bunk beds that the boys are enjoying; a quiet week of doing chores and catching up with one another; and best of all, Nic's invite to Penn Relays--his participation will depend on the participation of the other three runners asked, since there are no alternates. We are in. And we wait to hear whether the others are in, as well.

So, with all these things in my heart, my hands and arms still shaking, I walk home in the gathering darkness. Alone.

Assume Competence

2011-04-20T10:36:00.003-04:00

Very rarely is anything black and white, but sometimes that's how my kiddos see the world. And sometimes, that's the way the world sees my kiddos--Nic, in particular.

But there are two things worth mentioning: Nic broke two minutes on his 400 on Sunday, finishing a full 33 seconds faster than his race two weeks previous. True, he collapsed at the finish line, and also true, he tossed his cookies on the hill post-race, but he felt much better after and willing to take it on again.

He also has an agreement with the coach to try the 800 at the next meet. He and I need to get running. Weather has not been conducive.

I'm also waiting to hear what coach decides about the Penn Relays--with Nic, he has enough for a junior team. But he may opt to run his teammates up. As hubby reminds me, it's enough that he lets Nic run. I hear him. I do. But....

(Quiet)

The other thing worth mentioning--Hubby's niece was in a musical over the weekend. He looked at me like I had two heads when I suggested we all go.

"But the kids....?'

"Can come with us," I finished for him.

When we arrived, we surveyed the seats saved for us (third row, center). I looked around, assessed that this would PROBABLY be disruptive for everyone around us and opted to move us all to the balcony--considerably less populated, allowing the boys to be themselves without too much fuss and muss.

And (surprise) they both had a great time, enjoyed the show, and neither of them needed to be removed (although hubby hissed at me to take our younger one out at one point--I refused; he was fine).

Moral: you never know unless you try. And the kids, as it happens, CAN do live performances.

Wonders will never cease. Fortunately.

Spillover

2011-04-16T08:23:00.003-04:00

What a sloppy week. That's the single best way to describe the week that ended--for me--at 11:59:59 EDST last night.

The adult me mastered the art of compartmentalizing my life. I had to--for ten years I ran my own writing business from home while I shepherded both boys from diapers to early intervention to preschool to elementary school. Running a tight ship--essential. And I carried these lessons with me when I re-entered corporate last year.

But, as I discovered, life cannot always be so neatly contained.

Work, boys, home, hubby--all these things sloshed into one big pot and became stew, cooked on the coals of my own chagrin.

Fortunately, I am surrounded by people who get it, who laugh at me and my chagrin, and encourage me to laugh, too. And I laugh because I can't help it. When things hum along smoothly, I think it's my doing--until I am reminded when everything rides off the rails that I control very, very little.

I cannot always contain the chaos, but I can laugh while I mop up after it. And why not? Real life is messy. But if you want to survive, you damn well better know how to laugh at it.

Just random scenes from the past week: the brothers C showing up to hang out with Nic (one left after 10 minutes, the other stayed to watch a movie with Nic); dragging the boys out to run the mile (Nic complained from start to finish and at least G got his proprioceptive input on the swings at the end); meetings that ran over, spilled over, fires to put out, egos to soothe, feathers to smooth, and the piece de resistance, my running all over the infield at the subnovice meet screaming for an audience of several hundred, "Run G--THIS WAY!" By the way, he finished his first 400 and received his first running ribbon, even though he started with the first heat and finished well behind the last.

But he finished.

So I begin my week off with a pile of work that still needs to get done, the kids will be home, and with any amount of luck we will get some adventures in. We all need to get off the treadmill for a bit--if I can get a couple days of that action, I'll be happy.

But as ever, I will do the needful. Because that's what I do.

My bucket, mop, and sense of humor are standing by.

Spoke Too Soon

2011-04-12T16:57:00.001-04:00

We’ll be taking scouts out of rotation for Nic for the foreseeable. Last night did not go well, for a number of reasons. After dad gave me what he knew, I had a one-on-one with Nic to deconstruct the evening. He cried. He wants fun! Weenie roasts! I quietly replied that he needed to figure out what he wanted to do, and then figure out a way to make it happen.

Because it won’t happen by itself. And it won’t happen if he doesn’t make it happen. I can only do so much—it’s coming on time for him to do more of the heavy lifting.

His limitations sadden him. I understand—probably better than he does—how sadness converts to other things. In recent past, he has tended to push blame away. Now begins the difficult task of teaching ownership, and using and applying the lessons from disappointment to future wins and successes.

I’ve known far too many adults who continue to blame everyone and everything else for his or her life’s disappointments. I don’t want that for my boys; I want them to claim and own responsibility for that which they can control. Ask the question: how could I have handled this better?

Next time, do it.

I understand why people give up. I wander through the valleys of darkness probably more often than I care to admit. Hubby and I talked after my conversation with Nic, and what I came away with was that he wants, as much as possible, to protect Nic, to keep his good humor and happiness intact.

“He has a long road ahead,” I answered. “I came out on the other side okay. But I worry about him.”

And this is where I fold in on myself, worrying about what middle school is going to do to him, worrying about the mean kids and their mean parents who defend the actions of their children with “If he weren’t so different, if he just TRIED to fit in, he wouldn’t be such a target.”

As if he chose to be this way.

I continue to struggle. Are these activities just a distraction? We do as much as we do because my kids do learn from these interactions with their peers. Yes, it is painful for me to watch, but it’s not about me. It’s about learning, interacting, figuring out where my boys fit in the world.

Some days, I admit, in this little corner of the universe? There’s no fit.

Only with me.

For all the rest of the time, I pray. Hard.

It’s all I have.

All Spring in a Week

2011-04-11T17:43:00.003-04:00

Nothing has cratered.

I'm used to crashing and burning, all an affair of my life with my heroes and villains (with apologies to Brian Wilson). We sign up for a half dozen things, and then one by one, stuff drops off because boy 1 or boy 2 decides he's done, and that's that.

We have scouts, now divided between two troops, track, now divided between two teams, swimming and practice, fortunately both together, bowling, ditto, and now soccer starts up this week, also fortunately together.

Unfortunately, the stuff done separately is starting to overlap, and we find ourselves, now two weeks in a row on a Friday, triple and quadruple booked.

Did I ever complain of not having enough to do? Really?

Before Nic's triumphant meet last week, we had spent the weekend camping with G's pack. Hubby and I brought two cars--just in case. And we managed to leave with two cars--not to say there weren't moments when leaving seemed like the right thing to do. Especially when things got a little too Lord of the Flies. Fortunately, we did not require the services of either First Aid or an ER.

Also, being surrounded by big men with bigger voices helped.

I suppose I should spend a moment ruminating about being the only female den leader, but it's actually not too bad, and I think spending a weekend in relatively close quarters with the, um, intensity that is my life with my sons actually helped my relationships with the other committee members. (I mean, the reason I don't do more for the pack is because my kids require intense attention. I think they get that, now).

Track was supposed to be my nonstarter, but Nic likes it. He finished four seconds faster in his 100 than his first run. I am working with him to pick up his times in the 400 and 200 this coming week, and also preparing him to run the 800 in the last meet.

I like it, too. I'm thinking marathon. Maybe.

Scouts, amazingly, seems to be working out for him. We'll finish out the year, and then see where we are come September. But there, too, Nic seems to be enjoying himself and getting a lot out of it.

And Nic made states for swimming again. I will go with him, this time as his 1:1. And we'll see how it goes.

We went fishing last night with friends. And once again, I am grateful for all the good and good people that surround us.

I still haven't figured out how to deal with the four simultaneous events this Friday, but I have four days to work it out.

Nothing has cratered.

He Didn't Give Up

2011-04-04T16:45:00.004-04:00

There has been far too much happening lately for me to write; some good, some bad, some ugly, some scary, and some beautiful.

If there is one moment I want to capture of the last two weeks, it was Nic crossing the finish line of the 400 yesterday.

Nic's track coach is wonderful. He is a truly decent man who doesn't mind coaching anyone who has an interest in running. And there is something about him that Nic identifies with, because he does want to do his best for Coach S, even though he understands what he's up against.

Simply put, the rest of the kids have been doing this for years. They are all fast, or at any rate, faster than Nic. They do their best to help Nic keep up, but they break away. Consequently, I run with Nic, so he doesn't get too discouraged. That's been working out well, and Coach doesn't object.

Actually, if I didn't run with Nic, I know he would drop out from sheer disappointment that he is not as fast as the other kids. I want him to run, not because I think he'll be a champion runner, but because it's good exercise, and I think it'll help him start making wiser food choices at some point.

And I run because I need the exercise, and I find that I enjoy it.

So, Coach did a few extra drills with Nic, and made a deal for Nic to run a 400 for him by the end of the season.

Well, yesterday was the first opportunity. And although Nic balked, I convinced him to run it.

"But I won't win," he said. "I'm so slow."

"It doesn't matter," I replied. "Whatever you do today will be your time to beat next race."

So when they called the novice 400 runners to the field, I walked down with Nic to the staging area. Coach glanced over, did a double-take, and trotted over.

"You make it to the 200, I will take it home with you, okay?" Coach asked Nic.

"Okay," Nic nodded and extended his hand so they could shake on it. Coach gave me thumbs up and a wink.

Nic talked to the other two boys who would run with him. I told one of them to assure Nic that this wouldn't kill him. He laughed and obliged. Nic watched the other runners and glanced at me nervously. I knew what he was thinking. He didn't want to start the race and not be able to finish it. Especially with all these people watching.

"You can do this," I told him repeatedly. "I wouldn't tell you that if I didn't believe it."

He nodded, shifted his feet, did some stretches.

His was the last heat. I pointed to the faded hash marks that marked his starting point and wished him luck. He nodded, then turned to look at the starter.

He bolted at the sound of the pistol, and for the first 150 meters kept up with two of the boys in his heat (the third was way ahead, but that's a whole other story). He started dropping back.

"Come on, Nic" I shouted. "You can do it!"

Coach S met Nic at the 200 mark and ran with him. About two thirds of his way around, the other boys had already crossed the line.

Then something amazing happened.

Every one on the field was watching Nic and chanting, "Go! Go! Go!" Coach dropped off and let Nic run the last 100 himself, to the thunderous enthusiasm of the crowd. I stood in his lane and shouted, "You got it! Run it in!"

The place erupted in cheers as Nic crossed the line at 2 minutes and 28 seconds.

He was nearly in tears running those last few meters, but hearing the applause and cheers made him smile. And he could scarcely believe he did it.

"I didn't give up, mom," he said proudly. "I wanted to, but I didn't."

Coach S trotted up, high-fived Nic and praised him. "And you will only get faster, every time you do this."

Nic beamed.

"You will do this again, right?" I asked. "Because you just proved you can do it."

So I will print the picture below, and frame it for him, and hope that no matter how tough life gets, no matter how lonely his struggles are, that there was one moment in his life where he struggled, people cheered him on...

...and he prevailed.

Walking Placidly Among the Noise and Haste

2011-03-27T12:46:00.002-04:00

I should be in a snit.

Had a third "I would hate to have to suspend him" talk with the program director on Friday, and it is not looking good for my elder boy. But as I said to her, and I know it to be true, in the grand scheme of things, it is not a big deal.

I did not lose my temper when I had to sign the incident notebook a second time in less than a week. I remained calm while Nic repeatedly screamed at me, "You are throwing a fit!"

"No, I am not throwing a fit," I repeatedly responded. "I am standing here calmly and telling you in a quiet voice what is going to happen as result of you flinging yourself on the ground and screaming like a three year old. Which, by the way, Nic, is a fit--which is what you threw."

I haven't quite figured out what I am going to do about this, yet. He remains grounded for the forseeable.

Track was canceled on account of the cold today, so unexpectedly, our day is open. I see hiking in our immediate future.

I'm not sure to what I owe my calm. Maybe that we've been so busy has helped me to stay focused. We've had a packed weekend so far, and running around from place to place has been a good distraction. I lectored this morning, and my class was a good one--talked to the kids about making good choices, and we had a lively discussion and a lot of fun.

I'm feeling a sense of peace and calm that I have never felt in my entire life. Serenity is a gift, and I feel like it has been delivered me in abundance.

To what--or whom?-- do I owe that?

Of course this is a rhetorical question. I know the source. And I am infinitely grateful for once again receiving the perfect gift, the perfect fit, and at the perfect time.

Have a beautiful week.

Haiku to you, too!

2011-03-22T21:29:00.002-04:00

So it's Lent, and I've given up beer and wine (indeed, all alcohol). The irony here is that my kids have given me plenty to drink about if I were in that frame of mind, not the least of which was the "I would hate to have to suspend them," conversation I had with the program director at AfterCare today.

I don't get mad. I keep Lent by writing Haiku. Why? I find the energy is better spent that way, and I am also pretty good at it.

I've written about 3 dozen of them between last night and now; some highlights:

My kids do know how
to wind me around axles
I beg for mercy

the edge of the cliff
draws ever closer; I wish
my brakes worked better

Haiku therapy
Allows me to keep Lent by
venting spleen by hand

wrath of mom is good
enough to get older son
to empty washer

I got off a couple of other good ones, but they are in my other e-mail account.

Salve to my soul was a voice message left for me from a very dear friend. "I thank you for your kindness to me. I love you guys, and I know I am loved by you guys, and there is nothing better on this side of heaven than that."

And in other news, I am working with Nic on track. He likes it, even though he came in last in all his heats on Sunday. He wants to get better, and fortunately I am in decent enough shape to help him get there. The kids on the team are nice to him, and the coach so far has been very kind and supportive. And both kids learned a thing or two about shot-putting today.

Thankful for all the kindness that surrounds us, even when things don't go exactly as planned. It's all good.

Clarity (Or, Life in an Alternate Universe)

2011-03-20T11:23:00.003-04:00

My yesterday reminds me of much, not the least of which that it is possible to recover what seems to be an irrevocably lost day.

It definitely didn't begin well. Jumbled communication and roadwork ensured that we would get to swim lessons late. Which was just as well, because Nic and his new teacher butted heads over the modified backstroke. He wanted to use his competition kick and she wanted to teach him the correct kick for the stroke she was teaching.

From the balcony, I could see each one's point of view. And in a moment of clarity, I realized that this is the last session we'll do at this pool.

They did as well as they could in this program, but the truth is, neither of them are progressing. It's no one's fault; this just isn't the program for them.

How freeing that felt to realize and accept that.

We went to the library and explored a new park in anticipation of swim practice.....that wasn't. Yesterday was meet day at a program 45 minutes away. I called the coach, got directions, got the boys changed, hopped in the car, and headed west.

When we got there, Nic proceeded to give us a full-bore nuclear meltdown over the buzzer. Which lasted a half hour. Which he owes me for for the next week. Anyway, a kind man gave Nic a pair of headphones to block out the sound, dad arrived with lunch, and he went on to win two races (and messed up the third because he was too busy fussing with the headset to hear the starter).

On the way home, we found a park that I wanted to hike for a long time--and de-stressed the way I like to de-stress best. And the kids liked it, too.

Nic runs his first track meet today. All I ask is that he do his best, have fun, and stay in his lane. He promises that he will do all three.

Here's the thing. He knows he doesn't really fit in with the Special Olympics. He doesn't really fit in with the track team (and I wonder if the coach is wondering why I don't bug the SO track people--and do I really want to go there? NO.) So we straddle our shadow world, not necessarily being this OR that, but I feel less life-or-death about activities working out or not.

And I take it a lot less personally when things don't work out.

Probably the biggest take-away from yesterday was that my kids are amazingly flexible--we did a lot on the fly that worked out almost in spite of me. And I guess I am more flexible in that it was really easy for me (for once) to see what I need to engage in and what I need to walk away from.

Speaking of engaging in and/or walking away, I made some really good choices this week. For me. I'm wondering how much the kids saw, or even if they noticed.

The thing is, my kids notice everything. Whether I want them to or not.

All I can do is keep listening, keep heeding that inner voice....

...and keep moving forward.

What 'Good' Looks Like

2011-03-18T19:50:00.002-04:00

Track began for Nic this week, and much to my surprise, he is looking forward to his first meet this weekend. Considering what a hard sell the first practice was, I deem this a success, no matter how long he lasts with it.

Honestly, I am skeptical; the coach, while patient, may or may not have already written Nic off. I put on my running shoes and ran with them last night--and beat Nic easily in the 100 and 200.

He's out of shape; this much I knew. That I am in better shape than he is scares the crap out of me. BUT, I figure if absolutely nothing else, this will be a good tri-weekly workout for the three of us.

And I will try to get us running in the off days, too.

But thinking about Nic this week in the context of the bigger world, I find myself wondering; am I deluded? Do I really think he's doing okay?

Because I look at Nic relative to Nic's behavior. I know a good day and a bad day when I see one. But it occurred to me throughout this whole business with the meltdown last week that perhaps my perceptions are skewed.

Because even Nic's good days to some people just look bad.

This is an axle I try not to wind myself around (too tightly). I can't worry about the pitying looks he gets. When I think of the speechless screaming toddler he was; when I think back to the screaming echolaic preschooler he was--and compare these to the awkward but personable young man he is becoming, all I can do is be amazed, and grateful, and thankful, at how far he's come.

But the rest of the world doesn't necessarily see Nic through these eyes. And I also see the same kid they see--one who stammers, one who tries hard to blend in and look like everyone else--yet is painfully aware that he is not like everyone else and does not blend in.

Yes, I do see this.

And right now on this gorgeous spring evening, I hear the sounds of the neighbors outside enjoying the weather. I have the windows open so we can enjoy it, too.

But we are inside. If we went outside, it would just be...awkward.

Which reminds me of another thought I had this week; bullying definitely continues beyond school. I have seen meeting dynamics alter with the presence of one person; I have opted out of situations that leave me at a social disadvantage; I refuse to engage in negative interactions with anyone.

What kind of example is this that I am setting? Is discretion the better part of valor, or am I just tired of rowing upstream?

What do I want for us? Are we there yet?

I think of all the obstacles Nic has had to overcome to get where he is. I think of the fact that he is in Scouts, track, swimming, bowling, aftercare, and soccer. He likes the Phillies and rock climbing and camping. He likes Wii and computer games. And he has friends, even if he doesn't go to school with them.

You know, that looks pretty damn good.

Engaged

2011-03-14T16:42:00.002-04:00

Nic's thermonuclear meltdown is worth mentioning, but I'm not sure where it falls in my narrative.

In the ordinary ebb and flow of our lives, I should be used to the patterns of spectacular flame-outs accompanied by feats of brilliance.

So, brilliant, among these things I can include investiture to the new troop, bowling, selling tickets at Pasta Dinner, the hike in Gettysburg.

And then there was the call I got on Thursday while I was out with my department. Which was followed by a phone call from the program director the following morning.

My whole life seems geared toward disaster containment. I'm not aware of how much it takes out of me until I withstand the emotional beating this kid is capable of doling out.

And what of my little guy? As evidenced by the teachers' conferences today, he is almost an afterthought, much to my guilt and shame. He has his own issues, but he doesn't nearly do the damage. So he gets short shrift. He had me to himself on Saturday, and we had a full day of swimming, lunch out, playground and movies--and we were both happy to be able to pay full attention to one another.

But I feel bad. I want to do better by G.

So, what do I find myself doing? Lately I limit my human interactions to only positive ones. How do you do that? Well, I'm pleasant to everyone I meet--and I simply don't engage in negativity. Any of it. And I find that if I don't engage in it, it's easier to stay focused and positive.

So, I am engaged at work, because I like it and I like the people I work with. I am engaged at home. Just because. And I find that staying focused and positive helps keep me relaxed, lowers my stress, and keeps me moving forward.

Offense intended?

2011-03-07T18:15:00.003-05:00

I have long since gotten over assuming anything has anything to do with my son's autism. Well, either boy's autism, really, but I am thinking about Nic.

Capsule summary: Nic wanted to be stage crew in the upcoming talent show. I made all the prerequisite calls, had a few encouraging phone conversations and emails, penciled dates on the calendar, yet.....

I knew it wasn't going to happen. And there are a lot of moving parts involved, but I knew when the other mom used the word 'inclusion' that she knew my kid has issues. And that 'something' would prevent his participation.

The other shoe fell this morning, although I didn't hear it until this afternoon when I opened my email after I got in from work.

In my experience, the longer and more ornate the explanation, the greater the guilt involved. And this one was an intricately carved Swiss clock of an email.

My response was short and sweet: I appreciate your email, and my son will have plenty of opportunity to participate in stage crew in middle school.

Honestly? I've been doing this long enough to know what battles are worth fighting. This is not one of them. I'm actually grateful for the evening and afternoon I get back as a result.

If he's denied the opportunity in middle school, however, they may as well invite the wrath of God.

But for now, I am content to take the explanation--however ornate--and call it a day.

In other news, Nic placed second twice and first once in the three heats he swam yesterday. G and I had a great time tussling and playing 'keep away' while we waited for Nic to swim. Nic, meanwhile, had a great time chatting with his coaches and teammates--actually, this is the most social I've seen him at a meet. It was great to see and watch.

So, for all that, the great times we had skiing, track coming up, more swim meets, does the talent show really matter?

Nah.

Not feeling guilt

2011-03-05T10:13:00.002-05:00

I am sitting with my feet up on the desk and looking out my office windows. I'd feel guilt about sitting here and indulging in a few lines if I didn't already clean the downstairs, do three loads of wash, sort the bills and run to the bank.

The guilt, of course, is not in the sitting, but in letting the kids watch Night in the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian for the 50th time.

Actually, I can't even feel bad about that. They've had very little hang/down time in the last two weeks, and we're headed out for swimming and hiking in another hour or so and tomorrow is church, PREP and Nic's first swim meet. We had a great time skiing yesterday, and I'm happy to report that the kids have another thing they are both finding that they are good at. I was sorry to miss bowling yesterday, but I think the four of us needed a ditch day, and yesterday was perfect.

Well, maybe perfect is too strong a word. The snowing conditions were less than optimal (slushy and icy in all the wrong places), and the first couple of hours were a little frustrating as a result. We broke for lunch and figured out a new strategy; Nic would ski with me, and dad would work with G.

Actually, that worked great; Nic and I had a number of excellent runs, and he beamed with pride when I made my first successful (meaning: remaining upright) run. I flamed out spectacularly a few times (my barking shoulder, collarbone, knee, hip and wrist remind me that I did), but I didn't break ANYTHING, and as far as that goes, I think I did fine.

As a point of pride, the only time I wiped out coming off the lift was out of my control; Nic forgot himself, grabbed my arm, and his skis tangled in mine and took us down (I heard later that every time he and dad got off the lift this happened). It didn't happen again.

He promised us 2 more runs after lunch; we got 10 out of him.

I relieved dad of G duties so he could get in a few runs on his own; he had a blast.

And a good time was had by all.

(It's a Good) Overload

2011-03-01T19:40:00.001-05:00

I used to think that township sports were the only game in town. Fortunately, my thinking was wrong. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm, I overenrolled my kids in spring activities.

Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Scouts, swimming, soccer, track and bowling? I guess I expected more things to crater. We haven’t gotten to track yet, so that could very well be a nonstarter.

We crammed a lot in the last couple of weeks, and looking ahead, we’re booked with activities well into April. We tried skiing last week and are fitting in another run before the thaw; bowling has introduced new friends; Nic crossed into Boy Scouts last week at the
banquet; his investiture into his new troop is next Monday; he’s also volunteered to be on stage crew for his school’s talent show; his first swim meet is this weekend.

Prep goes well for G; working on getting Nic up to speed with his sacraments.

And camping, and hiking, and fishing, and kayaking—the possibilities are endless. I wanted to also throw in rock-climbing, but that might have to wait. We have gotten in some bouldering at Hawk Mountain a couple weeks ago; we might do some more of that
locally in the coming weeks.

The sunshine, the promise of spring, reminds me that possibilities are only limited by my imagination.

My Heart is Light

2011-02-22T19:13:00.002-05:00

I am forever amazed at what keeps me going.

We spent much of the last two days outdoors. On Sunday we hiked and bouldered our way across Kittatinny Ridge at Hawk Mountain, and we skiied Blue Mountain yesterday.

Astonishing that we made two major feats like these in two days. Even more amazing considering the lack of buy-in from both kids at the outset.

Yet, the kids loved the hike and the picnic on the ridge. And both took to skiing as easily as they did to swimming. And even I managed not to break anything in my first foray into the slopes.

But what has me sitting here with a silly, stupid smile on my face was something some one said. Well, it wasn't just any some one; it's some one for whom I have a great deal of love, and I know those feelings are reciprocated. And it's something that makes me laugh, because love is always something that people manage to screw up, misinterpret, read too much into, make too much out of, or otherwise despoil it.

I love my husband. He is my best friend on the planet as well as my favorite co-conspirator. I love my kids; they make me smile, and wondering after them and how their days are going is second nature to me.

And then there are certain select friends that are never far from my thoughts. I love them, too. But it always seems somewhat wrong to declare that--mostly because people tend to get the wrong idea when you use THAT word. It's almost like admission of love is like an admission of sin. Because love, I guess, is that narrowly defined. Sometimes when people say they love some one, they mean something else. Love is a convenient if not abused word that way.

But I always fall back on this:

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13 4-8)

In other words, I know it when I feel it. And there is no better feeling in the world to share.

In fact, it really does make all things possible.

In the Presence of Hard Data

2011-02-19T09:52:00.003-05:00

Three months later, we receive the evaluations of both boys. I'll share these with the relevant folk next week.

The good news is that the data backs what I already know; there is absolutely nothing in either report that I don't already know about my boys.

The bad news? The plain and simple reality that my kids function at a social play level of 3 year olds (3.7 for the elder, 3.1 for the younger).

In my blackest moments I wonder how either of them are going to survive; in my more enlightened moments, I remind myself we all have issues, obstacles and challenges to overcome.

Sometimes, the hard data, while useful in its own way, fails to account for all of the skills and intelligence that may not necessarily be quantifiable. Nevertheless, it indicates all the areas we need to be working harder on.

At what point, I wonder, do my efforts become enough? Or do I ever get there?

Renewal

2011-02-17T20:46:00.003-05:00

Ah, I'm tired. Had another note from Nic's teacher and he had his semi-annual meltdown. I had just come in from a wonderful walk in the woods, and this waited for me.

Just remember sitting there, shoulders slumping, feeling like it really doesn't take much to take all the fight out of me. Then read a treatise on bullying, which took my shoulders down to knee level.

I also did a cholesterol check, which gave me a reality check. The overall profile wasn't bad, but the pieces need work, and the kids need me to be here a good long time, so I am taking steps to make sure that I am.

Still, despite the punch to the chest, my kids are and will always be my reason for being. I think of them all day long, wonder what they are up to, hope that they are okay and enjoying their days. Sometimes I see them both at different points of their lives, always looping back to where we are in the present day, but always catching myself saying out loud "God, I love that kid." Those kids. Both of them.

So this evening I picked them up and told them that we were walking the mile. They both pushed back, as they do, but gamely walked with me. And Nic was awestruck when a red tail hawk coasted in for a landing right in front of us. He's actually had more up-close and personal redtail encounters than I've had, and all the ones I've had were always in his presence.

He stayed and watched the hawk for a long time. The hawk watched him, too.

We enjoyed the beautiful sunset and the pinks and purples of last light in the park. My favorite time of day with my two favorite people.

I felt renewed enough to clean the kitchen, do a load of wash, unload and reload the dishwasher and cook a meal. Big accomplishment? Both kids at least tried Brussels sprouts.

My days can be long and tough, but I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Momniscience

2011-02-15T15:10:00.001-05:00

God couldn't be everywhere, which is why he invented moms, said some one.

Moms can't be everywhere either, but we try.

Part of the reason I have volunteered for class mom duties was because I want to see what goes on in the classroom--the better to guide and instruct as needed, right?

Yesterday's Valentine's party went mostly okay. Something happened though a few minutes toward the end of the party. Nic was in the back of the room looking for a book and a bunch of boys were around him. They saw me coming over and scattered.

Nic seemed to me to be upset—his face was flushed and his eyes looked watery.

"What's going on, Nic?"

"I was getting a book," he answered averting his eyes.

I asked him if he was okay, and he said he was. "No one's bothering me, mom."

I didn't ask him that question. That he answered that question speaks volumes. He pushed past me to his seat.

I can't be everywhere. But where I can be, I make it count.

Be warned, boys.

At the end of this, I will not look to get a one-on-one aide for Nic.

He will be much better served by a bodyguard.

Game on.

State of Grace

2011-02-13T14:41:00.003-05:00

I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. At least, I thought I was trying to figure this out.

This has always been something humming in my background. The Plan when hubby and I got together was that we would both get our doctorates and become academics. That plan detoured a bit when hubby received funding and I didn't. Still, undeterred, I carved out an alternate route for myself while hubby completed his coursework, research, and post doc. Sometime during all this, Nic arrived, and I continued carving out my own niche while parenting him, and later his brother when he arrived.

Hubby continued navigating his own course while I kept the balls in the air with the boys' services and my own work--which never stopped despite continued networking, doctor and specialist appointments, evaluations, IEP meetings, researching education law, brainstorming with my kids' teams. Keeping the balls in the air gradually became more difficult as my children grew and their needs became more complex. The perpetual grind of drumming up work combined with all my life's other demands deadened me.

Which is why the call that came about this time a year ago remains my biggest source of salvation. It called that particular grind to a halt.

Over dinner the other night, and at swim lessons yesterday, the idea of my going back for my doctorate came up a couple of times. And both times I shrugged, asking rhetorically what I'd go back for--I've already done several dissertations' worth of work in the last 10 years.

So in church this morning, as the visiting priest gave his homily (which was amazing--how not to take your spouse for granted, and if you know them like a book, bear in mind it's YOUR book--not your spouse's), my inner voice asked me: "Why are you looking to do something else? Don't you know I've made things easier for you so that you can do what you need to do?"

And of course it occurs to me now as I type this that I said to hubby last night at the end of the doctorate conversation: "You know, I'm their mom, and that's my primary occupation. Everything else," I waved my hand, "doesn't matter."

I said it, and saying it made it true, even though it's been true all along. My first and last job is shepherding my boys to adulthood and giving them the tools, guidance and strength they need to get there.

And everything else--beside the point. However, I couldn't be happier in my current situation--a true gift, to be using my own strengths and helping others find theirs. And I get to use skills I've been honing as my kids' team lead for the last decade--priceless.

Truly, I'm blessed. Even those days in which I may not feel it, I know that I am.

Devil in a Skirt

2011-02-10T20:54:00.003-05:00

And if my little faux bird-flipper wasn't enough to give me angina, a friend alerted me that not all was as wonderful with number one son as I was led to believe.

Her son reported--repeatedly--that Nic's been on the receiving end of negative attention from a mean girl who is purportedly supposed to be helping him at lunch.

I spent a good chunk of today on the verge of tears.

I took a longer route home. Picked up the boys, allowed them to lead me around on elevator and movie adventures. Said little. Listened a lot. And then broached the subject about Nic's frenemy with him over dinner.

After vehement denial that this girl would ever be mean to him, he understood the source, what I was telling him, then insisted that he denounce her to all and sundry.

"NO," I replied firmly. "You will be polite, but you will not give her any reason to attack you. Okay?"

He insisted on telling the principal. We compromised on letting me handle it via email and phone with the people who work closest with him. They will be better prepared to deal with the nuances of the situation if they know what's doing. Because apparently, I know something right now that they don't.

Nic promised me discretion. And peace.

I hope he does a better job of keeping his promises than his bird-flipping brother did today.

Tomorrow is another day. I will hope for the best. Because there is no other option.

The Bird and the Bus Stop

2011-02-10T13:36:00.004-05:00

It all started at 8:30 yesterday morning with an email from hubby; the subject line read 'your son.'

As the bus is pulling away, G, seated next to a window, flashes a big grin at me and flips me his ring finger. My jaw hits the floor. All the Moms think it's hilarious.

Apparently, not really, but I get ahead of my story.

The laughter that little incident provoked was inspiring enough to produce two encores at school.

I sat G down last night. "Why?"

He giggled. "It was funny. It made people laugh."

I instructed him to look at my face and note that I wasn't smiling. "They might laugh," I replied, "but when they tell their moms and dads what you did, they will not be allowed to talk to you, let alone play with you."

His eyes got big.

"Parents don't let their kids play with other kids who do things like that--is that what you want?"

"No," he answered quietly.

"Funny or friends, G, which will it be?"

"Friends, mom. I promise I won't do it again."

So on the way to the bus stop this morning, I asked him again: "Funny or friends?"

"Friends, mom. I promise I won't do it again."

The cold shoulder we received at the bus stop didn't surprise me; regardless of how 'hilarious' the other parents thought his little stunt was yesterday, we literally had everyone's back today.

I guess some days are like that.

Special Guest Today!

2011-02-07T06:18:00.003-05:00

Last year, an old friend convinced me to take part in the Sydney Taylor Book Award tour. I enjoyed it so much, I asked to be a part of it again this year!

This year, Linda Glaser received the award in the Young Reader's Category for Emma’s Poem: The Voice of the Statue of Liberty. (As an aside, my kids really enjoyed it!)

EL: Linda, I was surprised to read that you struggled as a young reader. How does your struggles as a young reader inform your writing for young readers?

LG: Yes. I did struggle with reading when I was a kid. In fact, I thought I'd never learn how. That may be why I use a clear simple style when I write for children. I was the type of reader who needed that. And now, I want my books to be accessible to all children--including those who find reading difficult. When I do school visits I always let kids know that I struggled to read. I figure there are probably some kids listening who are heartened to hear that I know what they are going through and that there is hope.

EL: As a writer, it's fair to say that your subject matter somehow chooses you, rather than the other way around. How and where did you get your start as a 'professional' writer? (in this case, 'professional' means actually getting paid for what you produce--I believe anyone who writes as a mean to communicate can call themselves a writer!)

LG: I agree that anyone who writes is a writer. I've always felt a passion for writing. Even as a child, as soon as I learned to read, I used those same skills to write. I entertained myself with pencil and blank pad for hours on end. The very first time I was "paid" as a writer was when I entered a poetry contest in my late 20's. Before that I was a closet writer. So it was a huge leap to submit a poem to a contest. I was stunned that my poem won second place. I received a check in the mail for $7. It was absolutely thrilling. I'm pleased to report that since then, I've received larger checks for my writing. However, none have made me any happier than that one.

EL: What particular ideas set the writing process in motion for you?

LG: In college, I took a creative writing class taught by a teacher who only encouraged a few "stars" in the group. I wasn't one of them. By the time the class ended, I was embarrassed that I'd ever thought I could be a writer. However, I still loved to write and couldn't stop myself. So I became a closet writer for many years. Fortunately, I finally found a safe writing class. The teacher only allowed the class to offer positive feedback on the first draft. What a freeing feeling that was! That's when I first began to blossom as a writer. I think that's what still "sets the writing process in motion for me"--allowing myself the joy and freedom to write without being critical of it at first.

EL: What inspired you to write about Emma Lazarus? Or, how did she get your attention as a possible subject for a book?

LG: When I was a girl, I visited the Statue of Liberty with my family. Somehow I knew the famous lines "Give my your tired your poor...." And I remember looking up at the statue and feeling the power of those words. They meant a great deal to me since all four of my grandparents were poor immigrants. I was a young Jewish girl who loved to write poems. So I found it particularly inspiring that the person who wrote the statue's poem was a young Jewish woman. Many years later, when my editor for Bridge to America (my middle grade immigrant novel) encouraged me to write something else that I care deeply about, I realized that Emma Lazarus and her poem were there waiting for me.

EL: What challenges do you face as a writer? Meaning: what are those things that stand in your way when you have a particular idea you want to get across?

LG: The biggest challenge I face is to keep writing despite rejections. Yes. It still happens. I do get rejections. And sometimes I feel like giving up. Fortunately, my love for writing always seems to prevail. I'm most grateful for that!

For the full Sydney Taylor Blog Tour, please visit their site http://jewishlibraries.org/blog/?p=775.

Too much going on

2011-02-06T18:37:00.002-05:00

I have an interview that I am due to post in less than 5 hours, but I'll think about that later.

(Yes, a special guest! I haven't done that in a while, so we are due)

I have G sort of bouncing and stimming on the couch next to me; Nic is looking at picture books; even though they are G's books, I prefer him reading to doing screen time, so I'll give it a pass.

My family left about an hour ago; we celebrated mom and Nic's birthdays with a lot of food and a lot of conversation and laughter. As the kids get older, these gatherings get easier, in more ways than one. Everyone behaved and played nice, and that's all I care about.

I'm just chugging along; scouts continues (G placed 5th in the Pinewood Derby last week; Nic shed tears that he did not win a trophy.) Nic had done such a great job helping run the concession stand the previous evening at the fund raiser that he spent more time hanging with his den than with me at the concession stand at the derby--good stuff.

I don't think Nic is ready for Boy Scouts, but we are going to give the local Troop a shot and see how it goes. At worst, it'll give him something to do and keep him out of trouble.

The boys have also joined a bowling league, and as it happens, all seven boys are 'of the tribe' and more or less on the same place on the spectrum. The first meeting went pretty well; the kids had fun.

G's religious education chugs along. I need to make a move with regard to Nic; just wondering how I am going to do it, but I need to do it soon, regardless of the how.

I still like what I am doing, and have taken on some more stuff to learn. I figure it can't hurt.

Feeling peaceful. But very tired.

Hidden Costs

2011-01-29T11:20:00.001-05:00

As a matter of course, I volunteer. It gives us something to do, and the boys help me out. The boys’ school had a fundraiser last night, and I signed on to help out, thinking at the very least, having something to do will be a good thing for the three of us.

As I drove from work to their school, that old familiar pang started gnawing at my stomach. I almost didn’t notice it at all, since it has become so much a part of my life. But, since I was hyper-alert because of the snow falling over rush hour traffic, I paid careful attention to everything around me, and probably for the first time in a long time, everything I felt, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Because I was paying attention, I knew anxiety played huge in the gnawing. If I were honest with myself, I would acknowledge that putting myself out there is, truly, the last thing I want to do.

I am, and have always been, a shy and introverted person. Anyone who knows me casually would say that I am lying through my teeth, but anyone who knows me well can see it. I’ve learned—the hard way—how to play through the performance anxiety.

However, it doesn’t mean that anxiety has gone away.
So. I grit my teeth, smile until I feel it, and dive in. I see familiar faces and feel better. I retrieve my kids from aftercare and put them to work. They eat before the party gets there. Then Nic helps collect the money while we work the concession stand. He greets his friends. G does sprints around the cafeteria and occasionally chats up the friend, teacher, or aide that wanders up to him.

But this is the extent to which my kids participate. They don’t go into the gym and play with their peers. One stays with the adults and runs the concession, and the other one is happy to absorb the good vibes around him. I note this and file it away.

When we get home, I bark like a dog for no apparent reason. The boys have Pinewood Derby cars to paint, but that’s no reason for me to shout. They exchange knowing glances, and for the first time, I see it, even though they have been probably exchanging the same glance unbeknownst to me for years.

The phrase came to me while I was unwinding with a glass of wine as I cleaned the kitchen. ‘Emotional Hangover.’

Nothing bad happened; the kids rolled the way they always do. And my insisting on volunteering at every opportunity ensures this. Not every outing engenders success, but it does bring about constant improvement in their interactions with the community.

But I think until now that I neglected owning whatever impact this has on me and my own emotional well-being. No doubt, this benefits me, too.

But I would be a fool not to acknowledge that this also costs me. The funny thing is, the kids figured it out before I did. And oddly enough, they forgive me for it.
Maybe, my living, by itself, has taught them a whole new set of survival skills that I never intended to teach.

That suits me.

Letter from Home

2011-01-27T19:54:00.003-05:00

I had to write something for Gabriel to present to his class as Star of the Week.

G is for Gabriel…..and Gift

I often call you my little G. I know you prefer Gabriel, but sometimes G just comes out more easily. And sometimes I think it’s because it is shorthand for all the special things you are:

G stands for gregarious
G stands for generous
G stands for gentle
G stands for genuine
G stands for gleeful
G stands for graceful
G stands for grin

Most importantly, G stands for gift—you are all these things to our family, and so much more, Gabriel Christopher. We love you, and we are grateful—another G!—for all the love you give back to us.

Love, Mom, Dad, and Nicolas

Looking Ahead

2011-01-26T17:13:00.003-05:00

What's worse, knowing a goodbye is coming or when it steals upon you unawares?

I'm struggling with the impending retirement of Fr M. I know it can happen as soon as March, as late as June, but I am going to be utterly lost without him. You would think that I spent more time with him than I actually do, which leads me to think that I will actually survive his departure, but I can’t ignore the resulting devastation his departure, as inevitable as it is, will be.

Ever the pragmatist, he was up there on the pulpit last Sunday, reminding us all that our faith, or our attending to our faith, is not about the homilist or our relationship with him, but it’s about hearing the word of God and our relationship with God, regardless of who is delivering the lines.

Yeah, but. He is irreplaceable. Just like everyone else I have ever lost.

Which brings me round to the big reminder—we are all eventually history. We all eventually die, and we leave behind people who love us, think about us, cherish our memories—maybe. I’ve been losing and missing people for so long that it’s just a matter of course. But those really deep connections, for as rewarding as they are, are those losses most deeply and bitterly felt when they happen.

I’m not sure which is harder, seeing the end coming from a distance, or its sudden appearance at your front door.

Putting it in first and other notes from the autism front lines

2011-01-26T16:41:00.002-05:00

I had my annual back-to-back IEP meetings this morning; despite the surprise dump of snow, school convened, and I had to figure out how to get there. Well, how was simple--SLOW; a routine 7-minute ride became a 25 minute white-knuckled adventure.

Unfortunately, that was the easiest part of my commute. More on that in a minute.

Nic's team met first. Nic once again arrived to contribute for a few minutes; this time, he didn't retreat under my arm. He sat up in his chair, answered questions, asked a few of his own, and just amazed me with his poise. When he left, we got down to the brass tacks of his IEP and discussed his transition to middle school.

On the surface, Nic's inclusion looks easy; however, a lot of people put in priceless extra time to make it work. I realize that, but going through the pages of the draft IEP reminded me that a lot of work goes into Nic's individualized instruction.

Which is why I push him as hard as I do. I want him to deserve these efforts.

And as humbling (in a good way) as Nic's IEP meeting was, G's meeting actually outstripped his brother's. While G isn't quite the behavioral challenge Nic was at the same age, he is infinitely more complicated. We discovered early on (thanks to his preschool teacher) that his locomotion is actually a very important component to his ability to process data.

Picture it; you have a kid who is not going to learn sitting at a desk. This is a problem, both for the child and the teacher.

His team came up with a way to work with him--and early results of the changes they've made to his plan are promising. Dad and I agreed to the changes, thanked everyone, and left the building.

Leaving the parking lot, however, proved challenging. Two kind souls eventually helped me push the van out of the parking spot that refused to let us leave, only for me to get hung up in a drift that was inconveniently located in the only means I had to leave the parking lot. The usual reverse/drive rock failed me--again.

Hubby had long since departed; the school advised me to call Triple A. After I indulged in a Munch's Scream and a half dozen Hail Marys, the small still voice advised me to try putting the van in first.

I don't even know where that came from--I've driven automatic forever, although one of my friends tried to teach me to drive stick on his van in the wee small hours one morning as we cruised the old neighborhood. It could be that he or his brother told me about first gear a couple decades ago.

Anyway, bingo, that freed me, 45 minutes after my meeting ended. And then I had to dig myself out of my driveway, but at least I had a shovel this time around. And I managed to get back without injuring anyone or banging up the van, all good.

Backdropping all this is other stuff. That'll be another post. But for now, I am as ever grateful to my boys' teams, not only for the time and energy they spend on them, but for the very fact that they believe in them enough to do so.

When I think of where we were with Nic 3, 5, 8 years ago, I can't help but marvel at how incredibly far he's come. And I can't help but think, despite all the challenges that lie ahead, that he is going to be just fine.

In spite of himself.

Bully Continuum

2011-01-22T12:06:00.004-05:00

SIL loaned me a book last week that I devoured overnight. And it promptly game me indigestion.

It purported to be an 'inspirational' story of one woman's life as a victim. It read as a laundry list of insults visited upon her head with precious little insight as to how she got through it. And her resource list (if you can call two entries a list) was laughable.

And she misses a larger point. Bullying does not end in high school; it continues all through life, but most of us don't see it when it happens to us. Some people bully outright, while others take the 'frenemy' route, which takes on all sorts of guises and appearances.

So what's a kid--or grown up, for that matter--to do?

Nic's MO is simple; he keeps everything out loud and out in the open. His bent for the theatrical serves him well, and it's pretty damned difficult to get anything by faculty and staff as a result. And the fact that the said authority doesn't look the other way helps enormously.

(My standing in the background, arms folded, jaw set, glare steely, probably also helps)

One thing I discovered as I grew up was that people were always fine, even nice, one on one, even if they were brutal when surrounded by their pack. This is also true in adulthood. If you appeal to someone's innate humanity, only the hardest of hearts refuse to yield. And you don't want any part with that, anyhow, so it's safer to move on and leave them to it.

The other thing I learned is that people change; some improve, and some don't. And sometimes the varnish just wears off over time, and you see a person for whom he or she really is. And sometimes, it's just not pretty.

But I think the single most important thing I learned is that no one can make you feel bad about yourself without your permission. There is a certain subset of humanity (or H. sapiens at any rate) that possesses a gift for inveigling unsuspecting souls into friendship and then using knowledge gained to all sorts of nefarious ends. A practiced eye sees them coming, but to a loner, such a person is an oasis in the desert until he or she becomes the worst possible nightmare.

And how many of us have been taken in by such a person at one time or another?

But it's like touching the hot stove and all the other instructions we've been given from toddlerhood on up--some lessons you need to learn the hard way, and for some lessons, the hard way is the only way.

Bully!

2011-01-20T18:33:00.002-05:00

Okay, I have a lot of ground to cover while dinner cooks, so this is probably not going to be a neat and polished piece.

So Nic had another incident wherein some one deliberately set him off yesterday. He told me on his own before we headed out to meet grandmom for dinner, and the email from his teacher waited for me to come home and read it. Not surprisingly, Nic's story aligned with his teacher's, and I am grateful for the fact that a) he is a reliable witness and b) his teacher is wise to the nefarious attentions of others.

I resorted to A Christmas Story for the reliable life lesson: the snarled "NADDA FINGAH!" that the old man hurled at mom when she tried to salvage the leg lamp she (purposely) broke. Nic keeps his hands to himself, his mouth to himself, and gets an adult-no discussion.

Nic the quick study agreed that this is a plan.

G hurled his full lunch tray yesterday, for reasons best known to G. He will be brown-bagging for the foreseeable future.

Meanwhile, I am thinking about a book outline for the first time in years, spurned by a complete waste of my time finished this afternoon. I am going to make this time count....for something.

Getting our Service On

2011-01-17T20:11:00.002-05:00

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." ~Martin Luther King Jr

I think I already covered the quote, but it's worth noting who said it. And in his name and in the name of service, I had the boys out and about from 9 am on, first at Nic's school packaging lunches for a shelter in Philadelphia, then at a local church making Valentine cards for shut-ins, writing letters to our soldiers abroad (Nic made a pretty cool card for one), making 'ugly quilts' for the homeless, playdoh for under-served preschools, and generally having a great time doing it.

I think we found a good tradition and are going to stick with it.

Afterward, we hopped a train into the city and went to the Franklin for a bit. Both boys had really nice interactions with other kids, for the most part got along great together, and Nic even had a couple ladies call him 'cute' and 'a gentleman' for holding the elevator door for them.

He smiled and blushed all the way to the train.

Although both my kids are on another channel, they are full participants in their community. I am immensely proud of them both.

DENIED!

2011-01-14T22:28:00.005-05:00

I am laughing because I hear the above shouted in the voice of one of my old bosses. This is as good as any place to start, AP shouting DENIED when I ask a co-worker why she didn't accept my frendship on Facebook.

She eventually did, then we parted ways, and she closed her account, and occasionally surfaces to meet for coffee.

This all somehow connects to a minor epiphany I had enroute to work this am. (Another one? Damn, with all these epiphanies, one would wonder why I am not more enlightened.) I had been fighting off some niggling feelings the last fortnight or so, struggling with some old demons of people past. This morning, as I reviewed some files, a voice spoke--or did I actually see the words?--that no one makes you feel bad without your permission.

True? Damn right.

Back to my header. The implicit question "Permission granted?" answered in one hearty word. DENIED.

I feel almost as euphoric as when I finally learned to say 'no.'

And why not? There comes a time when you know your worth, your friends and family know and cherish it, and, as a consequence, you learn to shut down people who have nothing positive to contribute to your life. Kind of giving you permission to say 'DENIED!' to anyone who has nothing better to do than to tear you--and everyone else around them, for that matter--down.

Build. And if you don't know how, learn. The only real 'too late' in life is when you're dead.

It's not too late. Tomorrow is a new day. Make it count.

When Life Hits 'Reset'

2011-01-13T09:32:00.001-05:00

Late Tuesday afternoon, when weather-based cancellations rolled in, I fretted not. I needed a snow day to reset my head. So when the call came at 5:53 am yesterday to cancel school, my to-do list became my get-it-done list.

I answered emails, then made some pudding; I worked some, then shoveled the driveway. In between, my boys did some sledding and playing outside with friends (Did I actually type that? Yes I did, and yes, it’s true—these things actually happened). Black beans and squash soup cooked on my stove top while I circuited from my laptop to the playroom, office, and living room to make sure our guests and their hosts played near each other.

It didn’t go badly, but it reminded me I need to try to do this more often with my kids. It was a good day for them both, for many reasons.

As I put things away at the end of the day, I marveled at how close to normal our day was. Everything I see is through the prism of our collective difference. This day served to remind me, really, that we are more like everyone else than not.

Thanks. I needed that.

Living in a Shadow World

2011-01-09T07:20:00.002-05:00

"Our kids," hubby noted, "are at the bottom of the barrel."

We sat at the dinner table together last night after the kids in question departed and occupied themselves with bedtime readiness operations. We spent our day running them from place to place in a variety of circumstances; group swim lessons, a trial gymnastics class (which, while it did not go well, was either mixed or disastrous, depending on which one of us you talked to), and SO swimming.

Hubby continued, "They really don't fit anywhere, do they? Too high functioning here, too weird or different there."

Not for nothing, I monitored hubby's reactions throughout the day, and at times checked any apologist commentary for my boys before I opened my mouth. I knew this conversation would happen, and I was ready for it.

"That's why I'm figuring another way for them," I told him. "The neighborhood association thing was instructive for me--"

"I'm sorry about that," Hubby interrupted.

"No, it's fine, it just reminded me that we need to be done doing what everyone else in the neighborhood is doing," I continued. "Our kids are going to fail if we expect them to do things that they are not interested in, not equipped for. I've always been about finding things they are good at. That's what the gym class was about today."

I ticked things off on my fingers. "They both like fishing, kayaking, hiking, swimming--Nic likes rock climbing, we need to find a music class for G, they both like scouts, and playing TOPSoccer." I put my hands down on the table. "I found that bowling league for them, and if Nic decides to meltdown, guess what, these kids are all in another township and we won't see them again. On the upside, he'll learn to be a better loser."

I let that sink in. Hubby was quiet. "They have friends," I reminded him. "They don't live on our street, but who cares?

"And," I continued. "They are both in their home school, with their peers. They are included, at least in name. We're done with the township sport crap--it doesn't work for them, and there's no law that says they have to do it."

Hubby is right; my kids straddle worlds. But I can assure you that ours aren't the only kids in that boat. And I am convinced that other parents do as we do; we figure out a third way, a way that works for our kids, so they not only find success at things they like to do, they gain confidence doing them. And they grow to like themselves--no matter how 'different' they are, they gain the quiet strength to stand their ground and honor difference--theirs and everyone else's.

Laughing at the Sky

2011-01-03T17:08:00.003-05:00

"When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky." ~Siddharta

Angst has ruled me lately. As if I need to point that out.

Around 7 pm last night, the oddly familiar embrace of darkness enveloped me; upsetting, since I dumped that creep the better part of a year ago. And it rudely poked me awake in the wee small hours of the morning. I probably would have let it have its way with me if G hadn't interrupted and snuggled his fluffy little head under my chin.

Which was fine, except the shadow waited for me to wake up and dogged me all the way to work.

Something about clicking my laptop into its docking station, turning on, and settling back into routine drove it off. The iPod helped some, but the blue skies outside my window made me think of that Siddharta quote that begins this blog.

Nothing is perfect. I'm still weird. The kids still have their own issues. But it's okay. It's all good.

Maybe not perfect. But definitely good.

Love (continued)

2011-01-02T08:03:00.002-05:00

I didn't quite cover all the ground I intended yesterday, because there was so much more that I wanted to say but couldn't quite get my head around the words. I keep coming back to my walk with the sharp-shinned hawk in hot pursuit of a mockingbird, which successfully thwarted its pursuer (the mockingbird emerged at high speed from the shrubbery; the raptor did not).

So this visual with Fr M's voice stayed with me yesterday; among those things he asked was: who was the greatest blessing to you this past year? Who posed the biggest challenges?

My short list of the former is not very short at all; a dozen names popped into my head and if you gave me more than a minute, I could probably come up with another two dozen or so. But the latter....ah, the latter. It is damnably complicated to love a difficult person, isn't it? Said person (if it's a loved one) thinks you hate him or her, especially if you acknowledge that person is wrong, or needs to take corrective action (I admit with a rueful chuckle that I am frequently that person).

I was thinking about some one else, some one who has been going out of her way to apologize to me lately, and I did not lie when I told her, "you are fine." Because she is. I know she took some things I said as an affront, but I was simply dealing with my family as my family needed to be handled. I am a tough room when it comes to my kids--probably harder than anyone else on the planet, because I have to be.

But not everyone gets my hard edges. If you are not here or paying attention 24/7 or living the dream, you aren't going to. But you do have to let me deal with my kids; cutting them slack because it's the easiest and most expedient thing for you is not going to do either of them any favors--in fact, the older one banks on people giving in to him.

So applying what Fr M's message, and I think this is a pretty good resolution, going forward this year, I am going to apply a little more compassion and a little less temper and impatience. I've definitely come a long way in the last year in this department, but it's the one area of my life that demands continuous and obvious improvement.

Because being a difficult person ain't easy....

Embracing Love

2011-01-01T12:13:00.004-05:00

It's hard not to love life on a beautiful mild day with the sun shining and bird singing--and it's a good way to open a new year.

Actually, my whole family stayed awake the ring in the new year last night. My brother and his family ate dinner with us (a three course meal that I actually made and executed with uncharacteristic expertise--it helped that Bolognese was ready to go from the freezer, but the lentil soup and Pollo alla Romana were all mine), and Nic and I played two rather intense games of scrabble while Toy Story 3 and Diary of a Wimpy Kid played in the background. Suddenly, it was midnight, and my pie-eyed G and Nic climbed into my lap, thrilled to be awake to toast in the new year.

For a moment, they were all I thought about. I recovered when hubby shooed the kids over to Nonna, we toasted, and time resumed.

Although this morning was not a mandatory holy day of obligation, I headed over to church, iPod in pocket with thoughts of a walk after. Fr M had a list of questions during his homily aimed at making us think about what we did last year, what we wish for this coming year.

The promptness of some of the answers surprised me. But while one level of thinking set about answering the questions Fr M posed, another worked at a deeper level, thinking about the infinite varieties of love and all the possible implications and combinations of it.

What popped into my head is the thought: "I don't believe in unrequited love."

I have no idea where that came from, so I decided to take apart what it meant. Unrequited means not reciprocated in kind.

So on a literal level, yes, it does exist. I remember as a teenager what heartbreak came with some one not feeling the same way about me that I felt about him. Yeah, that sucks.

But, something interesting happens when you look at 'unrequited love' through the prism of the past. More often than not, whoever rejected my affections ultimately did me a greater service than returning them. So I have to ask, is this not a type of love? Sparing a greater heartbreak?

I don't know, rejection in all its forms ultimately has been a blessing for me. Those people were in my life to teach me a specific lesson, and when it was time for them to move on, it ultimately benefitted me.

And there's the whole other thing about romantic versus platonic love. And on what level we allow ourselves to feel in this digital age, in this age of online relationships--how do we conduct our analog selves in real time, with real people?

My greatest salvation has been those with whom I interact on a personal level, every day, face to face. And yes, the love I feel from these flesh and blood interactions drives me to be the best possible person I can be.

Because really, isn't that what love is all about? Wanting to be a better person because of the special people in your life?

Those kicks in the ass are every bit as important as the hugs--and I appreciate them all.

Happy new year.

The Mirage of Stress-free

2010-12-31T08:08:00.003-05:00

I kid myself.

I respond when people ask that it's an awesome thing to have a week where I don't have to worry about the school's caller ID coming over my phone.

Last night, hubby forced me to have a good, long, hard look at this comment.

I'm not complaining; it's been a good week. We have had plenty of outings and meet-ups and downtime and things to do, all I think in a pretty nice balance.

But it has not been stress-free. Not by a long shot. Because every time we go out the door, every time we are in a public place, my back is up and I am ready to deal summary justice to anyone who so much as looks at my children the wrong way.

I wish this were paranoia on my part. When we left friends after an enjoyable lunch outing yesterday, I had a mom make it a point to shadow me all the way to our car (I had actually paused to let her go ahead of me through a snow drift, and she hung back), and let her words to her daughter float ahead to me about what she thought of my kids.

I ordered the boys quickly into the car and shouted to G "QUICK! Close the door! We are surrounded by stupid people!"

I should have snapped a pic of the expression on her face with my phone, but I was too angry and too intent on getting the hell out of that parking lot.

I spent the next hour driving, boys in the back listening to the Arthur CD on the player, deliberately lost in the lower Bucks County snow-covered countryside, calming down, thinking, and wishing I hadn't cussed quite so much in the first five minutes of this particular leg of the journey.

My kids, language police both, know better than to remark on my language after an encounter like that.

And I know they both know that other people's invective is directed at the three of us; them by virtue of who they are and me by virtue of being their mother.

I told my husband that it really didn't matter where we lived; I run into ignorance everywhere, and I feel the need to at best educate and at worst discipline wherever I go.

"I cheated you," I told him. "This is not the girl you started dating 23 years ago."

Sometimes, this fact overwhelms me. I collapse, exhausted, at the end of every day, which for me is 9 pm. Night-owl hubby gets my undivided attention not nearly often enough. But talking to him forced me to analyze the 'why.'

The 'why' is my perpetual state of flight or fight. I do more of the latter these days. I *could* elect to segregate my boys and drop out altogether. But this doesn't work for me; they have to learn to live in this world, and that education is a nonnegotiable.

So, apparently, is the stress.

I thought I managed it okay; after all, I am a stress-eater, and my weight remains well in normal range despite that; I exercise, get the kids out, maintain relationships.

But stress collapses me like a rag doll at the end of every day.

Blog Gumbo

2010-12-29T19:00:00.004-05:00

Having spent the last two days in waiting rooms with nothing but my own head for company, I've had a lot of time to mentally masticate. In the past, I couldn't be left in this state too long, lest I devolve into a sputtering puddle of ...well, it would depend around what axle I wound around on a given day.

But since gratitude became my attitude, my head and heart remain on an even keel, thankfully. Reaching out and making peace by and large worked beautifully. That's allowed me to move on from some things that have been heretofore unresolved. And it's also allowed me to do some much needed physical cleaning and clearing out. The new year will ring in somewhat less cluttered and less complicated than previous years have.

Thinking about love. All kinds of love. Filial love, platonic love, romantic love. Some conversations I've had with Fr M factor in here, and naturally the love I have for my family looms large in my life. My friends rock. My kids are awesome. My hubby is wonderful. I am surrounded by amazing people, and am grateful for each and every person in my life and all the gifts each person brings.

I worry about Fr M. I can't help that.

I had a conversation with another mom in the waiting room today; we both chatted while we filled out our respective stacks of questionnaires, comparing notes from the life autistic. She has tried out a lot more in terms of curative measures for her boys, and we laughed about the autistic super mom sweepstakes, about the times we encountered people who accused us of not doing enough to 'fix' our kids.

"What this taught me," she concluded, "was that the possibilities for my boys are endless--and limitless."

G came in about then, and we went upstairs together to eat our lunch. He looked at me across the table with his intense gaze lasering out of those rock-pool eyes and asked me again when the star in the tree behind our house will turn off for good.

I don't always understand his fears, but I try.

Although he told me endless stories on the ride down to Baltimore, he remained quiet on the ride back. Reflective. He likes the mental work of solving puzzles and answering questions, but he has come of an age where he questions why this is necessary. He is an apt test-taker, and while he appreciates the one-on-one attention these trials give him, he understands that what he has to do is not typical of other kids in his grade or of his age.

He doesn't overtly question. But I saw it in his eyes at lunch today.

And for my part, my motivations are somewhat selfish. I know what I have to work with in both boys. But I need hard data to get them what they need in the classroom.

This gives me what I need to give them what they need.

As long as they both are willing.

As Deep as the Ocean, As Vast as the Sky

2010-12-26T12:13:00.003-05:00

The best gifts this season came without wrapping paper or bows.

With Fr M, I prayed for a family that needed strength and union. An email last night confirmed that those prayers were answered.

I asked for peace of mind and heart. And got it.

My yearly reunion with my family at mom's was amazing. And for the first year ever, my uncle went out with friends. Another Christmas miracle. I missed seeing him, but am so grateful on his behalf.

We woke up late yesterday, and interrupted our unwrapping to go to mass. Hubby grumbled loudly, but I reminded him that there would be no unwrapping of anything on this day otherwise and he needs to pay his respects. Grudgingly, he admitted later that it was a good mass and he was glad he went.

I took time to visit my dad's grave for the first time in over a decade, and for some reason, I sobbed uncontrollably from when I first saw his headstone. I spent many an afternoon talking to that rock as a teenager, and in my life until now, I never shed a tear.

I shed a lot of them yesterday.

On to hubby's family, had great food and conversation with the kids. (adults now, but kids to me always, I guess) Nic broke his favorite gift, a whoopie cushion, but managed to get through the day anyway. We came home with lots of good food, the blessing of MIL and good words from BIL.

It really was a perfect Christmas. And it was all about those things you can't buy.

Awesome. Thank you, God.

Too easily thrown

2010-12-23T19:59:00.003-05:00

I think what happened this week was emotional hangover meets holiday stress. It wasn't pretty, and it sure wasn't pleasant.

Details matter not. The upshot: G's sobbing at aftercare in the beginning of the week, Nic's illness at the end of the week, throwdown somewhere in between, with a few pointless posturings and landing in a conversation I didn't belong in--these things flattened me, whereas in any normal week it would just be business as usual.

I found creative ways to keep encroaching hopelessness at bay; baking in the wee hours of the morning, cleaning out the downstairs, taking care of business, mending some fences, to name a couple things.

I found myself in the somewhat unusual position of getting shunted off to one side. And I found that I didn't have the energy or inclination to elbow my way back. My inability--or unwillingness?--to engage depressed me the rest of the day. A red tail that flew at eye level within feet of my car in the late afternoon reminded me that I needed to pull it together. G chatted with me from the backseat, and amazingly, everything righted itself.

A good friend showed up shortly after to drop off gifts for the boys, and she sat and visited for a bit. And her visit cheered me immensely, for no other reason than she stopped by to say hello.

Bringing me back to myself, back to my center, and giving me the motivation to finish doing what I need to.

I get by with a little help (and a whole lot of love) from my friends. With them, by the grace of God, all is right with my world.

Musing at the Moon

2010-12-21T02:22:00.005-05:00

Lunar eclipse on winter solstice underway. Sitting in a chilly living room with my Christmas tree the only light other than the laptop. Feeling fractured and helpless amid my younger son's struggles right now, by turns enraged and defeated.

I want more than anything to say I have done everything I want to do, but today--and a couple other things--remind me that I have much to do. Still. Promises to keep, mostly in the spirit of wanting to eliminate the negative in my life. Which means acceptance of stuff that I have been rejecting--loudly, frequently gracelessly and artlessly.

I feel helpless in the face of my sons' struggles sometimes. Tonight, I sat sobbing on the kitchen floor, and my older son came running from the other room, almost as if he were a toddler again, laughing, kissing my face, hugging me, then jumping up and getting me a glass of water, standing over me, making sure I was okay, then dashing back into the other room, going back about his business.

He is clumsy, but compassionate, and possesses a heart bigger than mine. I smile through my tears, thinking that he is a beautiful kid.

And my little one, also a beautiful child, climbing into my lap and wordlessly comforting me when no one else notices that I need it. These are the reminders I need--that my kids do not want for compassion and empathy, despite the fact that they aren't supposed to have much of either.

My children are the delight and pain of my heart. And for them I want to forgive. And sometimes, that is enough.

Sweet Breakthrough

2010-12-18T06:59:00.003-05:00

The expression above is why I do what I do. This is the payoff.

So, the kids got to ride the bus home yesterday, because it was the last day of drama camp, and I had a special snack waiting for them when they came in from the bus. G changed into the foundation for his costume, and we walked in the bone-chilling cold--at their insistence--to church.

(I love the fact that both my kids would rather walk than ride whenever possible--they are truly my kids.)

When we get there, managed chaos reigns. Containing both boys until proceedings begin consumes me. I order Nic to stop trying to create a 'Mr Bean' disaster. G unknots the belt to his costume and hands the belt back to me.

I settle G in a pew with the other children and send Nic over to Miss T, who gives him a master script and marching orders. Dress rehearsal is a bit scattered for both kids, but they get through it. I border collie the rest of the 22 kids in the project while the three main leads are trying to do their jobs.

Fortunately, pizza arrives, and I shepherd the kids down to the cafeteria, where Nic declares the chicken nugget, french fry and pizza dinner a 'night to remember.' It doesn't even matter to the boys that they are sitting alone at the end of one table--they are happy to be in the group, happy to be sharing dinner, and for them, these things are enough.

After warm ups, we shepherd the kids back to the church and prepare to put on the show. The good turnout surprised the kids more than anything, I think, because the spotlight--not used in any rehearsals--acted like a bit of a stun gun to a good third of the cast--G included.

BUT, it was a good show, the kids had a great time, and Nic just blew me away as he showed off his crew skills--not just to me, but to every person sitting there in the audience.

I couldn't resist an inward smile. And he did a good job putting together the program, too.

So at the end, when the director included awards and acknowledgments, I was one of the people she called up. And this is what she wrote in the card:

Thank you for attending each week and for guiding Nicolas along with the interviews. You have a beautiful soul and I am happy to have met you.

I can't help but feel that my kids have created an awareness and appreciation for difference in this little community. And last night, I flung myself against one particular pane of glass one last time--and broke it.

I feel a little like Anne Shirley from 'Anne of Green Gables.' I always wanted to be her, and the lesson du jour is that you are never too old to become what you want to be when you grow up.

Adapt or Die

2010-12-15T08:01:00.002-05:00

A couple ideas I had this morning converged in this common theme:

• Wondering, for example, why my kids continue to stick out like sore thumbs in the neighborhood, why it’s so hard for the other kids to incorporate them in their games

• Thinking about the pointed remarks from some one whom I ceased contact about studying the ways of neurotypicals very carefully to treacherous ends

Thinking about the way my little one looked at me this am, how he climbed over to be on the empty side of the bed and how he pushed his big brother over to make room for me. The look he gave me was me, probably at about the same age, maybe younger, and it was him too. He snuggled up under my chin and let me curl around him to warm him up.

Love is wanting to be the best person you can be for some one else, and G is just one of those people I want to be my best self for. Nic and hubby are two more. And the list continues from there.

Thinking about adaptation, it occurs to me that the kids in the neighborhood exclude because it is the natural order; there always has to be a them, and heck, I spent the first 18 or 19 years of my life on the outside looking in, so I should know better. Inclusion is not, despite what we like to think, instinctive. It’s easier to shut out and shut down people who are weird and different.

Which leads me to the second point. This same person has accused me (indirectly) of treachery and not being true to myself by adapting to the ways of the larger world. Actually, adaptation is important, because inclusion is not natural. If you want to survive in the larger world, you have to figure out a way to make your differences WORK in that world.

And I like to think that I’ve done just that. And it’s important that I imprint on both my boys the importance of applying their gifts and strengths in ways the larger world is going to see, recognize, and ‘get.’

I see nothing hypocritical in adaptation, particularly if the alternative is marginalization and death (in whatever forms these things take). If the point is surviving and thriving, the means by which to do these things is to find your gifts, and share them, and be amazed at what those who are open to receive will do with what you offer.

When I look back on this year, adaptation looms large. My returning to corporate after a 10+ year absence demanded much of my family, and they all rose splendidly to the occasion. And the larger lesson here is that I truly believe that they—and I—are ready for anything.

We are blessed. And I am humbled by the sheer magnitude of our blessings.

Bean burritos and blessings

2010-12-11T07:14:00.002-05:00

Maybe I should call this entry 'Finishing Business,' but I like the other title better; both are equally apt. I am finishing business and bean burritos are the best thing ever. I bring the ingredients to work and assemble them in the kitchen. I had an audience a couple days. It was pretty cool.

I lectored the 7 mass for the Immaculate Conception with boys in tow Wednesday. G did his sprints, and Nic did his impersonation of the drinking bird--which was sort of amusing, since this is a G move, but the whole church could see it, and it took all my self control not to lean over and tell him to stop (he did, on his own, after a couple minutes). After all, I learned the hard way that trying to stop a behavior oftentimes draws more attention to it. The woman I subbed for parted with "I love your boys. They crack me up."

My message made it, unchanged, to its recipient. The voicemail that came in response is one I am going to figure out a way to keep.

Nic is helping to run the holiday party committee, and I am pleased. He is taking on more responsibility on his own. And yesterday, he called first thing in his morning, upset that he forgot his Phillies hat, and could I go home and get it.

I convinced him he could get through the day without it, and coached the SPED director on how I wanted to handle him. She used common sense and consideration--and for her and these, I am grateful yet again for the wonderful people working with my boys.

Things go better with G, but I suspect sugar issues linked to his behavior. Time to dig deeper.

We got through drama camp, but not without some barbs from the teacher. One more week.

Work goes well. I am surrounded by good and good hearted people, and grateful not only that I'm working, but working in such an easy going environment with people who 'get' it.

Circling back, one basic truth emerges. Love, real love, spurns you to be the best person you can possibly be. That's what wires, fuels, and runs me.

I know I am good. But I know I can be better.

So I push onward.

Balancing on Occam's Razor

2010-12-08T07:05:00.004-05:00

It begins with G's communication book.

His teachers, aide and I "talk' to one another in this notebook. We keep these notes short and sweet. Generally.

Yesterday's note went two pages. And so hard had the teacher pressed her pen to the pages that they crinkled when I turned them. I began my return note: "Clearly, you had a frustrating day....."

Back this up a bit: make no mistake, G is my good kid. Good to the point that most of my blog posts have been about his brother's struggles. Yesterday, he signaled an end to all that. Attention is as attention does, and it matters not how he gets it.

I own this, as does dad. Nic sucks all the air out of the room, and G is clearly advocating on his own behalf by doing whatever it takes to get anyone's attention. He will be silent no longer.

I thought of all the times in the past week he'd gone into time out for some infraction or other.

I called in to him while Nic finished his homework. He came in, sat on my lap, and regarded me seriously while I talked to him about the note in his book, and some of the things he had been doing. He nodded, answered succinctly, and we promised each other we'd do better for one another.

While Nic went off to scouts, I blew off my committee meeting and spent the evening playing with and reading to G. We had a good time.

Which links into some epiphanies I had riding in to work yesterday morning, namely that my time is short, and I need to be more judicious about the battles I engage. My little one clearly still needs me, and I need to be present for him.

I wrote a letter that will be delivered to some one special today, December 8. I am hoping that the receiver takes the message in the spirit I intended.

Regardless of what happens, I want to make sure all I need to do or say is done. I want no unfinished business this hoiday season.

The Fabulous Fr M

2010-12-06T06:59:00.002-05:00

Probably the best thing about getting my kids used to attending mass is the fact that I can now attend the mass myself once again. And all I needed to do was to teach my boys to follow the 'script' of the missalette.

G goes off for the Children's Liturgy, and Nic and I read the scripture together as the lector, then the priest, proclaims from the ambo. And Nic likes Fr M enough that he is now willing to tune in during the 'unscripted' (for him) homily. Which is a huge help to me, because I can actually focus on the homily now instead of trying to keep Nic contained.

Anyway, these gifts come for a reason: the yesterday's gospel spoke of John the Baptist and his words to the Pharisees--in short, "You may come here to be baptized, but if you don't acknowledge your sins, be prepared for the unquenchable fire."

Fr M was uncharacteristically blunt in his sermon, basically dovetailing on my previous post about people who claim to be righteous, but are not, and calling them out to reassess their lives and values.

I literally sat there with my mouth open.

I didn't get the opportunity to talk to him after mass, but we saw him again for the parish's carol night; I narrated, my family came to give me notes. Fr M sat with us. I thanked him for his sermon, telling him he knocked it out of the park--again. He is a humble man, and seemed more abashed than usual in thanking me. And I insisted, "No, really, I needed to hear what you said. And I think a lot of people need to hear it, too."

The attendence was low, but it was a really nice service, and my agnostic hubby even agreed that it was beautifully done. G held the holy water and Nic held the flashlight as Fr M blessed the tree out front afterward.

At one point during the service, I sat between T and Fr M, with G on the other side of Fr M and hubby and Nic behind them both, and had a real sense that my family was truly all together at that moment. I wonder if Fr M and T felt that way, too?

So it is this feeling, one of hope, warmth, and love for my family--those of my blood, and those I have chosen--that renews me, fills me with joy gratitude, and keeps me moving forward.....

(Salt) Pillar of the Community

2010-12-05T10:41:00.004-05:00

I can't post the previous without its partner, but I didn't have the time yesterday.

So bookending yesterday's smackdown was one that started Monday evening. I received an email from the drama teacher (you know, the one who professed to wanting to work with me and the boys) asking me where Nic was with interviewing the cast for the program.

I figured this a fair enough question. I checked his sheets, and he had gotten through about 12 interviews, and had 14 to go. I send this information back.

Five minutes later comes back an email: she is concerned that Nic will not get the program done in time, can another boy help with the interviews?

I shrug and answer: sure.

About an hour after that: another email, this time telling me that the set designer would much rather do the program on her own, could I please send drama teacher everything Nic has done?

Hmm. I email her back and tell her I will get everything to her in the am.

SO I type up Nic's notes, send them to her, and get a saccharine note in return. It makes me suspicious enough to send the set designer my notes with an attached message: So-and-so said you'd rather do this, so this is where we are, and we will see you on Friday.

Long story short, set designer was utterly mystified, and asked me when we saw her on Friday if Nic would finish the interviews, because she really didn't have time to do them.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on here.

I tell Nic he needs to finish all the interviews THIS SESSION. He had 14. And damn if he didn't finish them all.

The program director's voice went up an octave every time she spoke to me. And at 5 minutes to 6, she asked me how many more interviews Nic had. "Because we have plenty of help here tonight.....?"

I smiled at her sweetly. "He has two more," I answered. "And he is doing them."

I had the pleasure of typing up his notes and sending them out yesterday morning. Yeah, I transcribed them, took all of 15 minutes. But he did the hard work of interviewing each and every person himself, taking notes, and making sure he got all the information he needed to get. In total, it took 3 hours of his time.

That's 3 hours she didn't have to deal with him.

You can bet I won't do this again, but I'd like to think that the program director learned an important lesson--that everyone CAN contribute something.

If you let them.

And if you don't let them, they will figure out a way to get it done on their own.

And the other point to this was that I really thought this person was on our side. I really thought she believed in my kids. And to have her turn around and try to strip him of the responsibility SHE gave him (and to try to pawn off that responsibility on an innocent bystander) speaks to a more insidious problem. If you say you are a Christian, this is not the way you are supposed to roll.

And I am certain that this person will find a way to make me look like the villain. Who cares? Bring it. Dealing with people like this is old hat to me, now.

Unfortunately, my kids, also.

Ignorance is......

2010-12-04T17:31:00.005-05:00

pervasive? Or bliss?

During a training today, I got hit with this 2 x 4:

Trainer: so we had a boy in our troop with Asperger's, which is a form of autism, the really nasty end of the spectrum....

I found myself speaking: "Excuse me, I have two sons on the autism spectrum, one of whom has Aspergers...."

(Once upon a time, I would have just sat in disbelief and fumed for days after. I think I've been in this position so many times that my mouth starts before it checks in with my brain...)

And didn't she start tripping over herself saying what a great kid he was...but he has behaviors and a temper.

And I said, "I hear what you are saying, but not all children with Aspergers are like that..."

So the question, would she have said any redeeming words about this child had I not spoken up?

Discuss.

(In a larger sense, it matters not. You can't unring a bell.)

Rethinking, Part II

2010-11-28T08:31:00.002-05:00

I can't linger here long, since I have to get dressed and herd the boys out to church, but the events of the last few days bear noting.

Thanksgiving at my brother's was awesome. The kids did great and had a great time with their cousins. I remarked to hubby that my family probably didn't notice, because no one notices anything unless something has gone wrong or property damage is somehow involved.

I reminded him we need to catch the boys--particularly G--being good.

We had city jaunts, too. We spent the afternoon in Philly after our clinical appointment for both boys--and they didn't tell me anything I didn't already know about either of them. But we had a fully satisfying walk across town and by the river in the afternoon, pointing out the people practicing for the next day's parade and looking for new places to explore. We found a couple, too.

On Friday we went down to Baltimore for our annual pilgrimage to the B&O RR museum and met up with our friends. It was a fractured visit with K, but the kids had a great time and we discovered more places to visit, and added more places to see the next time we visit. The boys had a blast.

Which brings me to the question I will bring with me to church today--considering how well the boys are doing, how hard should I push this neighborhood association thing? Is walking away the right thing to do? Or is getting my heart ripped out repeatedly a pointless exercise that will be absolutely lost on the people I need to reach.

Part of me says, "No point. You will never reach them."

My niggling little inner voice reminds me: "You might reach one."

Off to church I go. I will be waiting for an answer....