What 'Good' Looks Like

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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?