No, I haven't died. Here's the short list why I've been largely absent here:
Nic:
7th grade homework (need I say more?)
Bowling league
Swimming
Social skills group
Therapy
Wrestling (middle school) (!)
CYO basketball (four games this week)
PREP (homeschooled)
Gabriel
Cub Scouts
Beginner Orchestra (violin)
music lessons (piano and violin)
Swimming
Bowling league
Social Skills group
PREP
Mom
Work
PREP
Cub Scouts
Managing all the above
The obvious question is: Am I nuts? (and the obvious answer is yes). There is a method to my madness, however. That Nic is involved in middle school and CYO sports is already a huge win, since I never thought these things would ever be on the table, let alone something he'd be doing.
Let's be clear: he's never going to be a rock star athlete. That's not why he's doing it. He's doing these things because he's learning more about social skills, teamwork and sportsmanship than in any environment. It's not pretty. Sometimes, it's really hard to watch. Nic gets out there and does his best--and those games (10 points against St. Albert the Great a couple weeks ago--which included two free throws) get his whole team pumped.
Likewise, Gabriel announced during dress rehearsal for the winter concert: "I don't feel like doing this." Nonetheless, not only did he play his instrument well during the concert, he looked just like any other kid up there.
"I really didn't feel like playing," he confided at bedtime. "And that's what made it so awesome," I answered. "You went up there and did it, anyway. And you did really well."
I deliberately under scheduled this week because, quite frankly, as I reflect on our summer and fall, we've all been running hard. The kids appreciate hanging out and building their lego kits. Nic's been grumbling that I am making him work out this week (and I'm glad for the basketball tournaments); however, he perks up when I remind him that he's lost 7 pounds since wrestling started and that he looks good.
External motivation is still key for Nic; there is an elevator road trip in his future if he completes his wrestling seasons successfully (success here simply means that he participates and competes; anything more than that is gravy). And for Gabriel, he simply enjoys everything he does. Which is the point.
Another important development this fall is Nic's new friend. After about two years of correspondence, J's mom and I decided it was time to introduce our boys. And you would think they were friends forever the way they interact with one another--really great for them both.
As we finish this year, I am grateful yet again for the great strides both boys have made, and find myself, as I often am, raising bars, re-setting expectations, and wondering what to change, and how to change it.
I'm already looking ahead to our track season and working on Nic to get out and start training now. And since he's already training for wrestling, it'll be a much easier sell than previous years. Not that I expect him to be a champ; I just want him to be fit and healthy.
And you have to start somewhere.
Happy New Year.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
Shatter the Glass Wall
"Give up," my husband said to me the other night.
He surprises me, sometimes.
This is the context: we took Nic to get certified for weight class in wrestling the other night. Nic left before they did the BMI test, so his submission was incomplete. His coach called and asked us to come back.
Nic was in his flannels and tee shirt for the night. Hubby was done, in more ways than one.
I am not one to let a minor detail like that stop me. I told Nic to get his jacket on, we're going.
He was too surprised to protest.
So we entered the phalanx of kids in the middle school hallway, Nic oblivious of the stares, and I suddenly get what hubby balked over. I am that mom, and Nic is that kid. And there was nothing left for me to do but hold my head high while I waited for Nic to complete what we came for.
The silence that followed us down the hall as we left was deafening.
And hubby was predictably mortified.
But for all this, there are several things to remember. People are going to talk anyway. People will look for things to talk about, anyway. So why disappoint? Who cares?
The reason I want Nic to do this is because he needs to learn teamwork. Wrestling is something he's shown interest in. He *wants* to try this. And I think that the pay off, that he will at long last create a peer group for himself at school that will not look at him as *that kid*, but as a fellow teammate, some one to watch out for, and maybe Nic could learn to watch out for his friends, too.
The only outcome I expect is that he enjoy himself. And if this doesn't work, there's theater. And skiing. And track.
All of the sudden, what lies on the other side of the driveway somehow does not look unobtainable, anymore. Not to say that we don't struggle, or won't continue to struggle, but when I see what we've already been through, I'm pretty optimistic.
It helps that both kids have parties to look forward to the next couple of weeks. My little one has been invited to more parties in the next two weeks than he has the three years leading up to now. And Nic's new friend invited him and Gabriel to a family gathering next week.
We're getting there.
He surprises me, sometimes.
This is the context: we took Nic to get certified for weight class in wrestling the other night. Nic left before they did the BMI test, so his submission was incomplete. His coach called and asked us to come back.
Nic was in his flannels and tee shirt for the night. Hubby was done, in more ways than one.
I am not one to let a minor detail like that stop me. I told Nic to get his jacket on, we're going.
He was too surprised to protest.
So we entered the phalanx of kids in the middle school hallway, Nic oblivious of the stares, and I suddenly get what hubby balked over. I am that mom, and Nic is that kid. And there was nothing left for me to do but hold my head high while I waited for Nic to complete what we came for.
The silence that followed us down the hall as we left was deafening.
And hubby was predictably mortified.
But for all this, there are several things to remember. People are going to talk anyway. People will look for things to talk about, anyway. So why disappoint? Who cares?
The reason I want Nic to do this is because he needs to learn teamwork. Wrestling is something he's shown interest in. He *wants* to try this. And I think that the pay off, that he will at long last create a peer group for himself at school that will not look at him as *that kid*, but as a fellow teammate, some one to watch out for, and maybe Nic could learn to watch out for his friends, too.
The only outcome I expect is that he enjoy himself. And if this doesn't work, there's theater. And skiing. And track.
All of the sudden, what lies on the other side of the driveway somehow does not look unobtainable, anymore. Not to say that we don't struggle, or won't continue to struggle, but when I see what we've already been through, I'm pretty optimistic.
It helps that both kids have parties to look forward to the next couple of weeks. My little one has been invited to more parties in the next two weeks than he has the three years leading up to now. And Nic's new friend invited him and Gabriel to a family gathering next week.
We're getting there.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
How High Can You Count?
It's been a while since I've had an update; it's not been for the lack of activity so much as the lack of time to sit down, reflect, and write. The days are packed, and I'm re-evaluating current programs for both kids.
Nic is doing well in 7th grade, in spite of himself. Predictably, Executive Function is tripping him up, as is his lack of social finesse. But he's gone to two dances so far this year, bowls, swims, plays soccer and just started CYO basketball. I'm trying to talk him into giving wrestling a try.
Gabriel takes violin and piano lessons in addition to scouts (top popcorn seller in his Pack for the second year in a row; top seller in his den third year in a row). bowling (no bumpers: in Nic's league this year), swimming and soccer. He starts CYO basketball next month.
Sometimes, the social deficit thing overwhelms me. I remind myself constantly to stop comparing; no one is on this particular road but me and my boys; everyone else has his or her own journey, and I don't know what their journeys are about. So stop.
It's so hard to stop when the grass looks greener on the other side of the driveway. But I must.
I can almost hear every teacher I ever had telling me, "Keep your eyes on your own paper."
Yeah. It's like that.
I am amazed at how much ground we've covered; I am painfully aware of how much farther we need to go.
And there is no choice but to keep going.
Nic is doing well in 7th grade, in spite of himself. Predictably, Executive Function is tripping him up, as is his lack of social finesse. But he's gone to two dances so far this year, bowls, swims, plays soccer and just started CYO basketball. I'm trying to talk him into giving wrestling a try.
Gabriel takes violin and piano lessons in addition to scouts (top popcorn seller in his Pack for the second year in a row; top seller in his den third year in a row). bowling (no bumpers: in Nic's league this year), swimming and soccer. He starts CYO basketball next month.
Sometimes, the social deficit thing overwhelms me. I remind myself constantly to stop comparing; no one is on this particular road but me and my boys; everyone else has his or her own journey, and I don't know what their journeys are about. So stop.
It's so hard to stop when the grass looks greener on the other side of the driveway. But I must.
I can almost hear every teacher I ever had telling me, "Keep your eyes on your own paper."
Yeah. It's like that.
I am amazed at how much ground we've covered; I am painfully aware of how much farther we need to go.
And there is no choice but to keep going.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Guest Blog today
It's been a busy little while here, but I am happy to introduce Heather, who is here to guest blog in my stead. Thanking her in advance for sharing her courageous story!
The words, "You have cancer" flood your being with intense fear. The first time I heard that dreadful phrase was during a point in my life when everything seemed perfect. I'd just given birth to a healthy and beautiful baby girl a few months before, and here I was, being told that I've got a deadly illness. I was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a form of cancer that comes from exposure to asbestos.
My first thought was, "Isn't asbestos illegal?" That's also what people usually ask me when I tell them. The other thing I'm asked is where I had been exposed. Unfortunately, the first question is answered with a resounding, "No." Asbestos is not illegal or banned. To answer the second question, I tell them I was exposed on a secondary basis. My dad worked around asbestos. He did a lot of work on drywall, mudding, sanding and taping it. The resulting dust got on his clothing and in his vehicle, which he inevitably brought home with him. We'd considered the white dust to be innocuous, but in reality, it was heavily laden with asbestos particles.
I was diagnosed at the relatively young age of 36, and according to the Mayo Clinic, at the time, there was only one other case of it in such a young person. The majority of mesothelioma cases consisted of older men who did skilled labor. HVAC, plumbers, electricians, mechanics and military personnel working on ships were all frequently exposed to asbestos due to the nature of their jobs. Later on, alarming numbers of women began developing the disease. These were mostly housewives who were exposed to asbestos from doing their husband's laundry and cleaning up the contaminated dust. Shaking out laundry, sweeping and vacuuming would send a plume of carcinogens into the air where they could easily be inhaled. Many women who got sick also did clerical work in schools that were heavily contaminated.
These days, however, a new round of mesothelioma victims is emerging. When I was diagnosed, I was at the forefront of what would become a frightening new trend. Increasing numbers of young people are coming down with this aggressive disease, even children. Kids who attended school in buildings with decaying asbestos tile and played in contaminated insulation in home attics. Kids, who excitedly jumped into their father's loving arms when he'd come home from a hard day of work, then don his asbestos-covered jacket to protect their clothes while feeding the animals. Even kids who spent quality time with their dads after the workday was over. Sadly, the more I immerse myself in the mesothelioma world, the more I'm coming across young victims. These are people in their 20s and 30s who are just getting started in life. They're men and women who are beginning relationships, marriages, jobs and families, only to feel like it's all being ripped away from them. Soon enough, the only thing they can focus on is fighting for their lives.
The upside to all of this is that medical advances are improving the ability to treat mesothelioma. Greater numbers of victims are beating the illness. Being told you've got cancer is an earth-shattering revelation, but I, and many others with mesothelioma, continue to retain hope. We unite under a common cause to share experiences, offer each other support and find a shoulder to cry on when things aren't going well. We also celebrate the victories when they occur. Some may ask why I share my story. My answer is to improve awareness. Without that, there will be no change. If telling my story helps someone who was just diagnosed, then I've done the right thing.
Mesothelioma at 36
The words, "You have cancer" flood your being with intense fear. The first time I heard that dreadful phrase was during a point in my life when everything seemed perfect. I'd just given birth to a healthy and beautiful baby girl a few months before, and here I was, being told that I've got a deadly illness. I was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a form of cancer that comes from exposure to asbestos.
My first thought was, "Isn't asbestos illegal?" That's also what people usually ask me when I tell them. The other thing I'm asked is where I had been exposed. Unfortunately, the first question is answered with a resounding, "No." Asbestos is not illegal or banned. To answer the second question, I tell them I was exposed on a secondary basis. My dad worked around asbestos. He did a lot of work on drywall, mudding, sanding and taping it. The resulting dust got on his clothing and in his vehicle, which he inevitably brought home with him. We'd considered the white dust to be innocuous, but in reality, it was heavily laden with asbestos particles.
I was diagnosed at the relatively young age of 36, and according to the Mayo Clinic, at the time, there was only one other case of it in such a young person. The majority of mesothelioma cases consisted of older men who did skilled labor. HVAC, plumbers, electricians, mechanics and military personnel working on ships were all frequently exposed to asbestos due to the nature of their jobs. Later on, alarming numbers of women began developing the disease. These were mostly housewives who were exposed to asbestos from doing their husband's laundry and cleaning up the contaminated dust. Shaking out laundry, sweeping and vacuuming would send a plume of carcinogens into the air where they could easily be inhaled. Many women who got sick also did clerical work in schools that were heavily contaminated.
These days, however, a new round of mesothelioma victims is emerging. When I was diagnosed, I was at the forefront of what would become a frightening new trend. Increasing numbers of young people are coming down with this aggressive disease, even children. Kids who attended school in buildings with decaying asbestos tile and played in contaminated insulation in home attics. Kids, who excitedly jumped into their father's loving arms when he'd come home from a hard day of work, then don his asbestos-covered jacket to protect their clothes while feeding the animals. Even kids who spent quality time with their dads after the workday was over. Sadly, the more I immerse myself in the mesothelioma world, the more I'm coming across young victims. These are people in their 20s and 30s who are just getting started in life. They're men and women who are beginning relationships, marriages, jobs and families, only to feel like it's all being ripped away from them. Soon enough, the only thing they can focus on is fighting for their lives.
The upside to all of this is that medical advances are improving the ability to treat mesothelioma. Greater numbers of victims are beating the illness. Being told you've got cancer is an earth-shattering revelation, but I, and many others with mesothelioma, continue to retain hope. We unite under a common cause to share experiences, offer each other support and find a shoulder to cry on when things aren't going well. We also celebrate the victories when they occur. Some may ask why I share my story. My answer is to improve awareness. Without that, there will be no change. If telling my story helps someone who was just diagnosed, then I've done the right thing.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Waiting for Grace
A couple weeks ago, I couldn't shake the feeling that something really bad was going to happen. Didn't know what or how, just that something bad was coming.
I'm in it, now. It's not anything I could have predicted, and really, there's not much I could have done in any case. There's a certain level of peace that comes with that.
But the other side of the coin is that sheer terror that comes with the realization that I may now be living my new normal, which comes with incapacitating pain.
I'm not a afraid of the pain; I'm afraid of the spiritual and emotional erosion that comes with it. And of course, there's always the fear that I am no where near as bad as it's going to get.
So today, with my shoulder singing its siren song, I found myself telling my kindergarteners that I was waiting for grace. I have a Grace in the room, and she asked why I was waiting for her.
So I found myself describing what it felt like to have my arm in a sling (they did ask), and while I talked, I reflected on the what and why of pain, what lessons there are to be learned, and finding grace and peace in the spaces between the pain.
Somehow, I feel like I have leveled up to a whole new set of challenges. And I pray to be equal to them.
I'm in it, now. It's not anything I could have predicted, and really, there's not much I could have done in any case. There's a certain level of peace that comes with that.
But the other side of the coin is that sheer terror that comes with the realization that I may now be living my new normal, which comes with incapacitating pain.
I'm not a afraid of the pain; I'm afraid of the spiritual and emotional erosion that comes with it. And of course, there's always the fear that I am no where near as bad as it's going to get.
So today, with my shoulder singing its siren song, I found myself telling my kindergarteners that I was waiting for grace. I have a Grace in the room, and she asked why I was waiting for her.
So I found myself describing what it felt like to have my arm in a sling (they did ask), and while I talked, I reflected on the what and why of pain, what lessons there are to be learned, and finding grace and peace in the spaces between the pain.
Somehow, I feel like I have leveled up to a whole new set of challenges. And I pray to be equal to them.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Latitude
There are rules, and then there's the gray area. Most of us on the spectrum have no problem with the rules; it's the gray area that gets us into trouble.
In the landscape of middle school, the gray that lies between the black and the white often forces arbitrary choices about how close to black or white all that gray is. And any ensuing explosion will be the result of that arbitrary choice. You can almost set a watch by it.
BUT...opportunities exist to explore and negotiate those gray areas for those willing to take the time and energy to do so. And this week, one of Nic's teachers took the initiative to see where this teachable moment would go.
It all started with a classmate, who approached Nic and offered him his place in an activity Nic wanted to participate in. Nic was told he wouldn't be allowed to switch, so he approached his teacher with his dilemma. In the past, he would have been told 'no,' and fireworks would have followed.
Yesterday, the teacher told him, "You committed to this other activity, but if you can find some one to take your place, you may switch."
So Nic approached some girls he knew and explained his dilemma. None of them could switch, but they might know someone who could. So they fanned out, and Nic approached no less than two dozen people before he found some one to take his place.
On the surface, this is no big deal--how often do we find ourselves negotiating this kind of dilemma on a daily basis? We have a committment, we need to trade off, and we make the phone calls, emails, or have the conversations to negotiate our own scheduling conflicts.
But when you talk about a kid who has to LEARN how to do this......and when you give that child the OPPORTUNITY to learn this skill--and practice it, and execute it.....amazing things happen.
The excitement in the teacher's voice as she related these events to me tells me that she finally gets what I've been saying all along--you have to KNOW the teachable moments when you see them, and all things being equal, ALL moments are teachable.
She knew that she could cram several lessons into this particular teachable moment--and she made sure that she did.
And the pride in Nic's voice as he told me in his own words what happened yesterday tells me that none of these lessons were lost on him, either.
And that his peers helped him out? We're getting somewhere. :)
In the landscape of middle school, the gray that lies between the black and the white often forces arbitrary choices about how close to black or white all that gray is. And any ensuing explosion will be the result of that arbitrary choice. You can almost set a watch by it.
BUT...opportunities exist to explore and negotiate those gray areas for those willing to take the time and energy to do so. And this week, one of Nic's teachers took the initiative to see where this teachable moment would go.
It all started with a classmate, who approached Nic and offered him his place in an activity Nic wanted to participate in. Nic was told he wouldn't be allowed to switch, so he approached his teacher with his dilemma. In the past, he would have been told 'no,' and fireworks would have followed.
Yesterday, the teacher told him, "You committed to this other activity, but if you can find some one to take your place, you may switch."
So Nic approached some girls he knew and explained his dilemma. None of them could switch, but they might know someone who could. So they fanned out, and Nic approached no less than two dozen people before he found some one to take his place.
On the surface, this is no big deal--how often do we find ourselves negotiating this kind of dilemma on a daily basis? We have a committment, we need to trade off, and we make the phone calls, emails, or have the conversations to negotiate our own scheduling conflicts.
But when you talk about a kid who has to LEARN how to do this......and when you give that child the OPPORTUNITY to learn this skill--and practice it, and execute it.....amazing things happen.
The excitement in the teacher's voice as she related these events to me tells me that she finally gets what I've been saying all along--you have to KNOW the teachable moments when you see them, and all things being equal, ALL moments are teachable.
She knew that she could cram several lessons into this particular teachable moment--and she made sure that she did.
And the pride in Nic's voice as he told me in his own words what happened yesterday tells me that none of these lessons were lost on him, either.
And that his peers helped him out? We're getting somewhere. :)
Friday, September 7, 2012
Conundrum
Friends.
I always land here when I consider the boys relative successes.
It started with an invite to hubby's boss's house for a swim and a barbecue. "The boys can invite their friends," he wrote.
I stared at the email with pursed lips. Friends? What friends? They have each other. For better or for worse, that's the truth.
As the week progressed, we did much as a family; trip to the beach, kayaking, zip-lining, swimming, fishing, camping. When we sat in our group Sunday morning, the issue I raised (we were all entitled to one) was community acceptance. "We make our own community," I have told hubby time and time again over the years. "They have friends....."
Maybe this is me trying to convince myself.
That night, hubby said, "well, what good is it if they don't go to school together? How do you expect anything to stick? Face it, most kids have friends where they go to school."
Tonight at the ice cream social, we were alone. I don't mind being alone, and looking at my kids, they don't seem to mind, either.
But, I know better. My kids are, after all, my kids, and they have learned to put a good face on for the sake of putting on a good face.
I'm listening to them in the other room together, sharing stories, happy to be home.
Is this good enough?
There are some days that I'm not sure what good looks like, anymore.
I always land here when I consider the boys relative successes.
It started with an invite to hubby's boss's house for a swim and a barbecue. "The boys can invite their friends," he wrote.
I stared at the email with pursed lips. Friends? What friends? They have each other. For better or for worse, that's the truth.
As the week progressed, we did much as a family; trip to the beach, kayaking, zip-lining, swimming, fishing, camping. When we sat in our group Sunday morning, the issue I raised (we were all entitled to one) was community acceptance. "We make our own community," I have told hubby time and time again over the years. "They have friends....."
Maybe this is me trying to convince myself.
That night, hubby said, "well, what good is it if they don't go to school together? How do you expect anything to stick? Face it, most kids have friends where they go to school."
Tonight at the ice cream social, we were alone. I don't mind being alone, and looking at my kids, they don't seem to mind, either.
But, I know better. My kids are, after all, my kids, and they have learned to put a good face on for the sake of putting on a good face.
I'm listening to them in the other room together, sharing stories, happy to be home.
Is this good enough?
There are some days that I'm not sure what good looks like, anymore.
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