This blogroll on the side of the screen--yeah, all those blogs I regularly read--these writers are special, hilarious, caring, marvelous people. On the days that I don't have much courage to face the chores or the mystery of my own thoughts, I can still read their words and be strengthened.
I've wanted to write about my transition into married life, into parenthood, into becoming the parent of not one, but two special-challenges kids. (Yes, we've noticed that Spark has his own issues.) And I know I will. But today, today, I just need to day that I am thankful for the people who put their love and their truth into the world. I am thankful for those people who do the everyday living and sharing, who keep showing up and keep going on.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Blizzard day, December 20th: early start to Holiday break
Now the snow is here, a blanket for the winter. We've got about 12 inches so far, and more is falling and blowing. It's wet snow, too, perfect for packing and sculpting.
I keep wanting to curl up and sleep some more now, but I did that this morning. I woke up at the regular time and monitored the emails and phones to make sure our business was well and duly closed for the day: phone messages changed, signs up on the front doors, emails sent to all the staff. At least I was able to be in my pajamas and bed all the while. When the flurry of messaging calmed down, I tucked myself back in.
It was after noon when I woke up!
Thursday, December 20, 2012
About time for a winter post.
So many things! The posts pile up in my head and then don't get written.
A blizzard is coming our way. For those raised in places that get Big Snows, you can relate to that sense of giddiness of a pending snow day. Added to that is the possibility of an early start to school Christmas break, extra cookies in the house, AND new snow boots, and we have a recipe for all of us brimming with excitement.
All this is after of our third annual Pre-Christmas Weekend Waterpark Escape! For the third year in a row, our family has had the great pleasure of being treated to an extended-family get-together at a nearby resort complex. Hero's dad has some kind of condo club membership that applies to this resort, and all the siblings on that side of the family meet up for a weekend of water-filled fun. There are cousins to play with, lots-o-nothin' to talk about, grownup beverages, and silly movies.
Primo loves the water. This year's favorite feature for him was the wave pool. If Primo could be in a warm pool for a couple of hours every day, he would be. That's something we haven't figured out how to do yet. But escaping into a rhythmic pool of waves once a year is such a treat--he can spend hours at a time swimming, floating, and body surfing. He gets hungry and deeply tired from the exercise, retreats to the room, and refuels. It's a beautiful cycle.
A blizzard is coming our way. For those raised in places that get Big Snows, you can relate to that sense of giddiness of a pending snow day. Added to that is the possibility of an early start to school Christmas break, extra cookies in the house, AND new snow boots, and we have a recipe for all of us brimming with excitement.
All this is after of our third annual Pre-Christmas Weekend Waterpark Escape! For the third year in a row, our family has had the great pleasure of being treated to an extended-family get-together at a nearby resort complex. Hero's dad has some kind of condo club membership that applies to this resort, and all the siblings on that side of the family meet up for a weekend of water-filled fun. There are cousins to play with, lots-o-nothin' to talk about, grownup beverages, and silly movies.
Primo loves the water. This year's favorite feature for him was the wave pool. If Primo could be in a warm pool for a couple of hours every day, he would be. That's something we haven't figured out how to do yet. But escaping into a rhythmic pool of waves once a year is such a treat--he can spend hours at a time swimming, floating, and body surfing. He gets hungry and deeply tired from the exercise, retreats to the room, and refuels. It's a beautiful cycle.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Tuesday morning in October
And was thinking last night about feeling thankful.
I am thankful for the tiny meow-snores of my giant orange cat. He does this as he's falling into his first big sleep of the night. He is still new enough to our family that we are still learning his sounds, his patterns, and his personality.
I am thankful for the warm clothes I wear, and for an extra blanket on the bed that makes sleep time just right.
I am thankful for the kisses that blossom from Spark's lips and speckle me until I can hardly breathe. And how 'just one more' is always five or ten or twelve, really.
I am thankful for each white hair I find on Primo's head, mixed in with the thick dark browns. I wonder whether he will be all-white by his late 20's, like his grandfather. When Primo hugs me now, his arms can go around my shoulders; no longer is he waist-high.
I am thankful for the love I feel when I look at my husband's face. That feeling is not a choice or a decision; when I see that arrangement of his eyebrows, his eyes, his lips, his nose--it just comes, and I am often surprised by the joy of it.
I am thankful for understanding what it means to feel thankful, especially when I have known despair, fear, and darkness of the soul. Today I know I am thankful.
I am thankful for the tiny meow-snores of my giant orange cat. He does this as he's falling into his first big sleep of the night. He is still new enough to our family that we are still learning his sounds, his patterns, and his personality.
I am thankful for the warm clothes I wear, and for an extra blanket on the bed that makes sleep time just right.
I am thankful for the kisses that blossom from Spark's lips and speckle me until I can hardly breathe. And how 'just one more' is always five or ten or twelve, really.
I am thankful for each white hair I find on Primo's head, mixed in with the thick dark browns. I wonder whether he will be all-white by his late 20's, like his grandfather. When Primo hugs me now, his arms can go around my shoulders; no longer is he waist-high.
I am thankful for the love I feel when I look at my husband's face. That feeling is not a choice or a decision; when I see that arrangement of his eyebrows, his eyes, his lips, his nose--it just comes, and I am often surprised by the joy of it.
I am thankful for understanding what it means to feel thankful, especially when I have known despair, fear, and darkness of the soul. Today I know I am thankful.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Chores for urban kids
So, what shall these next weeks bring? I'm hoping for more fun with my sons, some conscious face time with my beloved husband, and far less screen time in my household. After a rather painful offense against his father, Primo was given housekeeping chores this weekend; he performed them willingly and fairly well, with guidance appropriate to a boy cleaning a bathroom and kitchen for the first time. He asked useful questions, requested appropriate breaks, had a snack, and was generally in a playful mood as we went through the chores together.
The rest of that day was pretty great, behaviorally, for Primo. There was a less-than-usual amount of backtalk and disobedience, and some useful suggestions for what to do with the evening. He proposed early combined showers with his brother, in order to get to watch a movie -- displaying forethought and the planning required to get a desired privilege. Primo has to be in a really good emotional place to be able to put all of those steps together and make the proposal in a manner that is appealing to his parents. It was pretty great.
These Ralph Moody books have me thinking about what kids like Primo would have done to get along and survive in the days before Asperger's was a diagnosis, and autism was an identified neuro-psych disorder. I've been considering the chores that many non-urban kids still do, and wondering what we can do with Primo to keep his body working hard enough that his mind and emotions are mellowed by it.
The rest of that day was pretty great, behaviorally, for Primo. There was a less-than-usual amount of backtalk and disobedience, and some useful suggestions for what to do with the evening. He proposed early combined showers with his brother, in order to get to watch a movie -- displaying forethought and the planning required to get a desired privilege. Primo has to be in a really good emotional place to be able to put all of those steps together and make the proposal in a manner that is appealing to his parents. It was pretty great.
These Ralph Moody books have me thinking about what kids like Primo would have done to get along and survive in the days before Asperger's was a diagnosis, and autism was an identified neuro-psych disorder. I've been considering the chores that many non-urban kids still do, and wondering what we can do with Primo to keep his body working hard enough that his mind and emotions are mellowed by it.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Sunday: We are Here!
Two weeks ago, I was in denial about summer schedules and something being vaguely awry with Spark's ability to learn to read. Then school ended and we had a week to ourselves to try and configure ourselves into a new mode of living.
We have now survived our first week of "our family sport is autism therapy," for Primo and summer school for Spark. It's been profoundly satisfying to know Hero and I could hold the family together for another week. I still haven't made all the medical and psych appointments Spark's going to need, but I think that'll come this week.
A great reason for things feeling good is that the money situation may be looking up. This week we applied for the HAARP refinance program for our mortgage, paid off my car loan, and I sold some old jewelry for more than I expected to get. We may end up replacing our bald tires before the summer's over, after all.
The cats still need tune-ups, though they seem to be holding up all right. We've been rather neglectful pet owners of late, and there have been a couple of incidents that forced us to reacquaint ourselves with the local vet. Our 100-year-old equivalent cat, Gracie, has been in slow decline for the last two years or so, and she required some IV fluids and attention for what appears to have been an intestinal blockage. The big fella, George, is about 8 years old, and he apparently needs dental work. We woke up one morning to find that one of his lower fangs was poking haphazardly out of his mouth. It fell out when I touched it, rotten. It seems that our dental coverage doesn't extend to our fuzzy babies, though.
I've been reading a series of books that were recommended by Mary at Owlhaven, written by Ralph Moody. My library's set of them is mostly from the 1960's, with that old-book smell and acid-yellowed paper. The stories Ralph tells are from his life in the late 1800's and early 1900's; they're full of his boyhood thoughts, working with his family, and the seasonal rhythms and routines of years on western ranches. The stories are reminiscent of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books, but I relish the male viewpoint and the mostly out-of-doors living young Ralph did.
Often, when I'm checking in on my favorite bloggers' writings during the week, I have some fantastic ideas for posts of my own. Then the next appointment or mealtime comes up, and I'm off the computer to do the required task. Sigh. But then, staying busy keeps the depression at bay.
I don't have time to feel melancholy when I try to be fully present with my sons. Hero and I have been making specific efforts to be kind and supportive to Primo, setting an example for how we would like to be treated. Sometimes it works, though I wonder whether the exercise benefits us more than Primo. The boys have been tangling with each other more, though; Spark just doesn't seem to understand the futility of physically fighting against a brother who is twice his size and age. He rails at Primo like a crazed amateur boxer. It's been hot, though, and the boys have been cooped up in the house, trying to stay cool in the a/c. That's breeding an environment where lack of activity makes nerves go on edge.
Another of my favorite blog-friends is Mrs.G from Derfwad Manor. This Wacky Wonder Woman will eventually visiting my hometown this summer, and I've actually started dreaming about seeing her. Perhaps it's the amazing journey Mrs. G has embarked upon, perhaps it's the freedom that I yearn for, perhaps it's just the great vistas she's sharing with us, her Derfs. I am inspired.
We have now survived our first week of "our family sport is autism therapy," for Primo and summer school for Spark. It's been profoundly satisfying to know Hero and I could hold the family together for another week. I still haven't made all the medical and psych appointments Spark's going to need, but I think that'll come this week.
A great reason for things feeling good is that the money situation may be looking up. This week we applied for the HAARP refinance program for our mortgage, paid off my car loan, and I sold some old jewelry for more than I expected to get. We may end up replacing our bald tires before the summer's over, after all.
The cats still need tune-ups, though they seem to be holding up all right. We've been rather neglectful pet owners of late, and there have been a couple of incidents that forced us to reacquaint ourselves with the local vet. Our 100-year-old equivalent cat, Gracie, has been in slow decline for the last two years or so, and she required some IV fluids and attention for what appears to have been an intestinal blockage. The big fella, George, is about 8 years old, and he apparently needs dental work. We woke up one morning to find that one of his lower fangs was poking haphazardly out of his mouth. It fell out when I touched it, rotten. It seems that our dental coverage doesn't extend to our fuzzy babies, though.
I've been reading a series of books that were recommended by Mary at Owlhaven, written by Ralph Moody. My library's set of them is mostly from the 1960's, with that old-book smell and acid-yellowed paper. The stories Ralph tells are from his life in the late 1800's and early 1900's; they're full of his boyhood thoughts, working with his family, and the seasonal rhythms and routines of years on western ranches. The stories are reminiscent of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books, but I relish the male viewpoint and the mostly out-of-doors living young Ralph did.
Often, when I'm checking in on my favorite bloggers' writings during the week, I have some fantastic ideas for posts of my own. Then the next appointment or mealtime comes up, and I'm off the computer to do the required task. Sigh. But then, staying busy keeps the depression at bay.
I don't have time to feel melancholy when I try to be fully present with my sons. Hero and I have been making specific efforts to be kind and supportive to Primo, setting an example for how we would like to be treated. Sometimes it works, though I wonder whether the exercise benefits us more than Primo. The boys have been tangling with each other more, though; Spark just doesn't seem to understand the futility of physically fighting against a brother who is twice his size and age. He rails at Primo like a crazed amateur boxer. It's been hot, though, and the boys have been cooped up in the house, trying to stay cool in the a/c. That's breeding an environment where lack of activity makes nerves go on edge.
Another of my favorite blog-friends is Mrs.G from Derfwad Manor. This Wacky Wonder Woman will eventually visiting my hometown this summer, and I've actually started dreaming about seeing her. Perhaps it's the amazing journey Mrs. G has embarked upon, perhaps it's the freedom that I yearn for, perhaps it's just the great vistas she's sharing with us, her Derfs. I am inspired.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
First-world problems
I have two sets of blogs I love to read: one set is just for me and my interests, and the other set is about autism and parenting kids who have autism. Over time, the blogs in the lists have changed, but they remain a list of those that are mostly family-friendly (for those who read over my shoulder) and mostly G-rated.
I know that being the parent of a kid with autism is hard. My kid's flavor of autism -- Asperger's -- is an intellectually-gifted, socially-pathetic (almost-sociopathic) kind. Primo has almost no ability to empathize with anyone else, except when their point of view is very similar to his.
I know that parents who have kids with autism didn't choose the life they have. Many parents would choose to have their kid, without the autism. Others will say that the autism and the kid are inseparable, and the autism is part of who the kid is. For me, I would be lying if I said that I'd take Primo with autism as readily as I'd accept him without it. His struggles with life, his loneliness, and his antisocial behaviors are all hard on him as well as the rest of his family. Having Primo's autism in our family makes our lives so much more challenging, and often downright miserable. If I could choose to have him become neurotypical, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I wonder whether he would.
Having Spark come into our family has provided a sharp contrast for me as a mother. As far as we know, Spark is neurotypical. He joined our family when Primo was four years old, right when the autism started to become more markedly apparent. I knew, through the haze of nursing and diapering and trying to mother those different needs, that something was up with Primo. I was raised in a family with a father has Asperger's Syndrome, too, so I recognized what was going on. Spark knows that his brother has autism, and to a degree he can understand that the autism is what makes Primo so unable to be mostly polite and kind. It's hard for Spark, though. He's a deeply emotive and sweet person. I wish his big brother could be the strong, sure, kind and assuring type.
Some days I'm in a state of grace, and some days I'm not. I've got my own issues, like major depression and anxiety, which I mostly manage with medications and supplements. I'm about 65 pounds overweight. Hero's got more anxiety than I do. He's a gifted musician with no time to make music. We've got no discretionary income, lots of debt, a house in strong need of rewiring and insulation, and two cars with almost-bald tires.
We also have a lots of family members who love us, though they are unable to help us with caring for our children or our finances. They can and do pray for us on a regular basis.
I think about the complaints that I have and the complaints I hear and read from others every day. For the most part, we are lower-middle-class white U.S. residents who have homes to live in, food to eat, and people who care about us. I know that some hurts run extra-deep, and some pains from mental illness and addiction are extra-strong. But really, what is it with the navel-gazing and inward-scrutiny?
Sheesh. Get over yourself already. It's not about YOU. Do some good for someone else today, will ya? You might feel better.
Tell 'em Glori B. said you should.
I know that being the parent of a kid with autism is hard. My kid's flavor of autism -- Asperger's -- is an intellectually-gifted, socially-pathetic (almost-sociopathic) kind. Primo has almost no ability to empathize with anyone else, except when their point of view is very similar to his.
I know that parents who have kids with autism didn't choose the life they have. Many parents would choose to have their kid, without the autism. Others will say that the autism and the kid are inseparable, and the autism is part of who the kid is. For me, I would be lying if I said that I'd take Primo with autism as readily as I'd accept him without it. His struggles with life, his loneliness, and his antisocial behaviors are all hard on him as well as the rest of his family. Having Primo's autism in our family makes our lives so much more challenging, and often downright miserable. If I could choose to have him become neurotypical, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I wonder whether he would.
Having Spark come into our family has provided a sharp contrast for me as a mother. As far as we know, Spark is neurotypical. He joined our family when Primo was four years old, right when the autism started to become more markedly apparent. I knew, through the haze of nursing and diapering and trying to mother those different needs, that something was up with Primo. I was raised in a family with a father has Asperger's Syndrome, too, so I recognized what was going on. Spark knows that his brother has autism, and to a degree he can understand that the autism is what makes Primo so unable to be mostly polite and kind. It's hard for Spark, though. He's a deeply emotive and sweet person. I wish his big brother could be the strong, sure, kind and assuring type.
Some days I'm in a state of grace, and some days I'm not. I've got my own issues, like major depression and anxiety, which I mostly manage with medications and supplements. I'm about 65 pounds overweight. Hero's got more anxiety than I do. He's a gifted musician with no time to make music. We've got no discretionary income, lots of debt, a house in strong need of rewiring and insulation, and two cars with almost-bald tires.
We also have a lots of family members who love us, though they are unable to help us with caring for our children or our finances. They can and do pray for us on a regular basis.
I think about the complaints that I have and the complaints I hear and read from others every day. For the most part, we are lower-middle-class white U.S. residents who have homes to live in, food to eat, and people who care about us. I know that some hurts run extra-deep, and some pains from mental illness and addiction are extra-strong. But really, what is it with the navel-gazing and inward-scrutiny?
Sheesh. Get over yourself already. It's not about YOU. Do some good for someone else today, will ya? You might feel better.
Tell 'em Glori B. said you should.
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