Happy New Year!

It's New Year's Eve and I've just ordered a pizza.  Two of my four kids are at a relative's house, the other two have started the countdown to bedtime.  It may not sound glamorous but I can only sit here and appreciate how blessed I am.

I'll finish my associate's degree this year.  I'll sell houses and travel.  I'll write the second draft of a novel and cook lots of delicious meals and see movies and plays and have the time of my life.

Because that's the secret.  I've discovered this in the last, I don't know, week?  The best way to enjoy life is to travel lightly.  I let go of a lot of baggage and worries that were weighing me down...that had weighed me down...for years, and I feel so much better.  Lighter.  The secret to life is to enjoy it.  Every minute, every second, because they all count.  Bad times may come, but better times are ahead.  I've been blessed with fabulous friends, old and new, and a wonderful family.  I can't wait to get started on 2015!

Breaking Chains

One of the most liberating things is realizing that you don't have to make excuses anymore for people who hurt you or make you feel bad about yourself. You're not responsible for fixing someone else's broken soul, nor are you responsible for ensuring their happiness on a daily basis.  It's not your job to take the blame for their disenchantment with life.

Sometimes, when we love someone, we make a lot of excuses for poor treatment.  We love them and want them to be happy, so we tell ourselves that the way they speak to us and the way they treat us is justified.

It's amazing when you realize that no, it's not okay.

It's even more amazing when you start to realize that putting up with it is a choice, not a life sentence.

So It Begins

Yesterday, I took Logan to his appointment at our local mhmr.  Why do we go to an mhmr?  Because, every door we've knocked on to try and get Logan psychiatric care has been closed in our faces.  If you want psychiatric help for a child, you either need to be a private pay patient (which can cost thousands of dollars), or go through months of waiting lists.  We went to several different places that either told us they could not help us or that we needed to take Logan to the ER if he had an episode.  So, when the mhmr said they had a pediatric psychiatrist that would see Logan, I was thrilled.

This is how the first meeting went:  An elderly gentlemen came in to the office and sat down.  Spread out on his desk and open for all the world to see was another patient's case file, which referred to that patient as an "incompetent person".  The man had a thick file folder, which belonged to my son.  He asked me to "fill him in" because he hadn't read through the file at all.  (We'd been waiting to see this man for about three months. He had plenty of time to familiarize himself with my son's case),  So, I filled him in.  While we were in there, my son rocked back and forth, making lots of noise, asking constantly to go home, hitting himself on the head because he was anxious and frustrated.  When my older son took Logan out of the room, the doctor looked up from skimming over my son's file and said, "Thank you."  Not once did he look at my son, try to speak with him, reassure him, or anything of that nature.

Meanwhile, my two year old daughter was yelling because she was tired of being in her stroller and didn't understand why she couldn't run around and get into everything.  The good doctor looked at her, and told me "That's not normal."  "It's not?" I asked.  "No, all that yelling and noise, that's not normal, is it?"  

He went on to inform me that I could put my son in a home if he became too hard to handle.  He said he could not help us beyond providing medication management for Logan.  The session was over.

The second time we went to see this crackpot (because Logan does need medication, that is a fact), we were led into a large conference room with a tv.  We were told he would be visiting with us via Telemed.  In other words, it would be a video conference call. Unfortunately, the clinic could not bring him up on the screen and the internet was down.  This was after they took Logan's vital signs at the same time they were taking another lady's.  (HIPAA violation number 2).

Disgusted with the entire procedure, I informed the nurse (or whatever she was), that we were not told this would be a telemed appointment, and that we would be leaving.  I later found out from the mhmr rights officer that they have had numerous complaints regarding the telemed system.

I was also informed by the rights officer that Pecan Valley MH/MR does not have an autism division, and that the "director wants to start one, but the funding just isn't there".  

Now, let me tell you what is absolutely, completely WRONG with this entire scenario.  You have a pediatric psychiatrist who has admitted openly that he "cannot help".  By his very words and actions, he has displayed an uncaring attitude towards his patient, my son.  You have staff that fail to inform patients that they will not be seeing a doctor in person, they will be communicating via a tv screen, which, in my humble opinion, is a completely ineffective method for treating autistic individuals.  You have medical staff taking the vital signs (weight, blood pressure) of two patients at the same time.  (Hey, maybe the lady next to us didn't want to do that in the company of strangers!)  You have an mhmr in the state of Texas who is supposed to provide services to an autistic individual under the general revenue fund, saying that they can't because there are no funds.

The system is so completely broken it's a nightmare.  I sat there while those people fiddled with the tv screen, watching my son lay his head down on his arm, and just got angry. Why should he have to put up with this because no one knows what they're doing or they're unwilling to help?  He deserves better.  All people with mental health issues do!  

I can only say that this is the beginning of a long fight.  If I can make a difference for one person, even if that person is just my kid, then it's a start.

What I don't have Patience For

I hardly ever get sick.  That's one of the perks of having four kids...you develop an immunity to the world's bugs that's akin to Wonderwoman.  But at least once a year, and it's usually around Thanksgiving or Christmas, I do get sick.  I hate it.  And I don't have the patience for it.

I'm a terrible patient and will avoid going to the doctor at all costs.  Some kind of bug has been going around town for weeks now and it had the audacity to pay a visit to my house.  I can honestly say that today is the day I have felt the most human in a while, even if I do sound like a cigar-smoking eighty year old with emphysema.

This has been, however, a gentle reminder to me that I should be exercising more and perhaps taking it a bit easy.  A reminder I will take under consideration.

It also begs the question, How can I tell if my autistic child is sick?  The answer is, sometimes you can't.  With my own son, he starts to act real squirrely when he feels bad.  More yelling, more stimming.  Last night he coughed a lot in  his sleep and was so congested that it sounded like a foghorn. When I informed him he would be staying home from school today, he could hardly believe it.  "Logan go to school?" he asked me, over and over.  And I reassured him that no, he did not have to go today.  He has been uncharacteristically quiet today. I'm praying we have the energy to at least put up our tree the week of Christmas, and look forward to bedtime.  Maybe when I wake up, our resident superbug will have seen its happy behind out the door.

My Hidden Addiction

This evening I found myself doing it again.  Losing hours gazing at digital images of old rooms, turrets, and wide, open porches.  Hi, My name is Rachel Stogner, and I am an old house addict.

It's been a forever addiction.  But they need so much work! They're a money pit!  What would you do with all that space!  There's no heat or air!  The paint is peeling!

I've heard all of it and I have one thing to say:  I don't care.

There's something about an old house, an antique house, that speaks to me.  There's a soul there.  You can walk in to any of them and feel the people that have gone before.  Walls that bore witness to countless conversations, rooms that saw dinner parties, quiet family evenings, heated arguments, love and affection...it's all there, and I love it.

So I found a few websites that cater to one of  my, ahem, favorite pastimes, which is perusing these places.  You would not believe how many cast iron stoves, mosaic fireplaces, and tin ceilings I've glanced at. If I believed in past lives I would think I had many, because I feel such an affinity for these old places.  Perhaps it's the potential that they have to become beautiful again, perhaps it's the presence of so much history, but there's something alluring and attractive about an old beauty that's become a fixer-upper.

The image at the top of this page is one of my favorite old houses.  It's Varina Plantation, and one of my earliest ancestors lived there after buying it from John Rolfe, husband of Pocahontas.  Sadly, today, there are many places like this in the Deep South that are falling into ruin.  They are unconventional homes for our time...a time when many people are turning to a minimalistic lifestyle and shunning the excesses of square footage and elevated ceilings that so many of these gorgeous homes have.  It makes me sad to see these places forgotten or turned into condos or apartments, but what's even sadder is looking at one of my favorite sites and noting that one of these beauties was demolished.

So I spend some of my spare time looking through these antique gems, imagining what it would be like to own a mid-century Modern in Tennessee or a Queen Anne in Georgia.  The truth is, though, my favorite type of home is the Craftsman or Prairie style home, which is so prevalent in Texas.  It happens to be my favorite style, which is a good thing, because I really can't imagine living anywhere but here.  There's no place like home.  It's ironic that someone like me lives in a 1970's ranch, but maybe one day I'll achieve my dream of restoring a place like that.

As a realtor I can say that some houses like this get passed up because people automatically assume it comes with a host of problems that they don't want to deal with.  This may be true, or it may not, or it may be worth it.  I urge you, the next time you're house shopping, even if you're "just looking", stop for a moment. Imagine it in its glory days and consider the potential.  You just might fall in love.

The Dark Side

I am posting a link to this article, in the hopes that many will read it and have their eyes opened.  I love my own Logan so much.  He is sweet and funny and kind and smart.  He also has days where he is overwhelmed with frustration, cannot control himself, and screams and is in general difficult to deal with.  It's not his fault, and it's not his choice.  It's how he's wired.

I do not condone what this woman did.  But I can completely and  unequivocally understand her desperation and frustration.  I'm sure that in her head, she felt like what she was doing was the only option left to her.  I wish someone had reached out to her, held her hand, told her she wasn't alone.  The fact of the matter is that sometimes autism is violent.  It's painful and physically taxing for the caregiver and the individual being cared for.  Logan has come such a long way in being able to communicate and do things that other kids do. When he was younger, things didn't look so rosy. He would climb on my back and  hit me.  He would try to harm himself.  I have a cracked rib that healed improperly from one of his temper tantrums years ago.  He was laying on the couch and as I bent down to him he kicked me.  There are still times when his frustration is incredibly great, and he tries to harm himself.  It's scary.  It's heartbreaking.  And it's incredibly difficult to make people understand how exhausted you are, how much of an adjustment you've had to make in your life in order to deal with this.

The other issue is also how difficult it is for the person who has autism.  Logan cannot maintain control over himself all the time.  He knows this.  It angers him and it makes him sad.  He cannot express adequately to me, or to anyone, why he is screaming, what he needs, or that he is sorry for a certain behavior.  It's frustrating for everyone. When you add to that the dearth of services available for autistic individuals in the state of Texas, it becomes a problem that will soon overwhelm many aspects of our society and educational system.  There are many, many families like the Stapleton family.  Families who do not live normal lives, and who exhaust every avenue available to them in hopes of finding some sort of relief or help for their troubled children.  I hope that when you read this, you will be made more aware of the people around you...not just the ones struggling with a disability, but anyone in your life who may need a little extra love and support.

For myself, I can only be thankful.  I have a wonderful family who loves Logan and helps us out as much as they can.  Logan has excellent teachers at school, and we have a great support system within our own church of people who have taken the time to get to know us and Logan, and who have made a concerted effort to educate themselves on his disability.  I have many friends through social media who reach out to me often, with articles or listening ears or simple affection.  I know I am loved and I know my family, including Logan, is loved.

My prayers and thoughts go out to this family in Michigan.

http://www.nbcnews.com/health/health-news/desperate-act-mom-accused-trying-kill-autistic-daughter-n155816

Driven

My thoughts turned to my grandparents again today.  I wasn't close to either one of my grandfathers.  Both very different men.  My mom's dad was named simply "R" by his mother.  He signed most things "R.B."  for "R.  Boliver".  When he joined the army as a cook, he was forced to take a name, as they couldn't accept an initial on his paperwork, so he began to refer to himself as "Roy".  He worked for the Santa Fe Railroad.  He was a math wizard who would dupe his coworkers out of money with bets on whether or not they could solve specific equations.  He was a musician.  He was mean and depressed but never this way around me.  He smoked and cussed and drank and worked and worked and worked his entire life, including his childhood.  You might say his demons drove him.

My father's father was a different sort of man.  He was highly intelligent and smooth-talking. One of my earliest memories of him was going out to his ranch with my father and looking across a pasture.  A line of Fotomat booths sat out in that pasture, because he had bought a Fotomat franchise.  I remember cattle everywhere.  A miniature horse named Little Bit.  A dairy that he owned.  In his seventies he got his real estate license and stuck his fingers in the property pie.  He traveled.  I can count on one hand the number of memorable interactions I had with him, but I do know this...he could never sit still.  He was also a very driven person, and I think that when he finally passed away, it was very grudgingly.

I think about these two men that I'm related to and maybe I can understand the circumstances in my life at this point from what they went through.  I live a very stressful life.  Raising children is, in and of itself, challenging.  When you throw autism in the mix, it gets that much more dynamic.  You really do have to become used to a new normal.  And then there are other things that add to it...your interactions with other people, for example, can become supercharged, and some people can have a profound effect on your life.  This summer I found myself growing more and more restive and depressed.  My husband thought it was because I was tired of taking care of kids around the clock...but that wasn't really it.  It was true that they were getting bored and that I needed them to go back to school and be busy just as much as they needed it, but that wasn't really what was nagging at me.  What was bothering me, what was turning my restlessness into full blown depression, was the fact that I wasn't doing anything.

Increasingly over the last year I have found that staying as busy as possible works wonders for me.  The more stuff I can pile on myself, the more ambitions and goals I can make, the more I can focus and manage my life. In spite of this, I made a conscious decision this year to tone it down a little.  I decided to focus on my children, and on trying not to kill myself with overwork.  And I feel strangely lighter.  Still busy, and still very obligated to succeed...but not overworked to the point where I might want to rent a rubber room.

Who Taught You How to do That?

                           



Earlier today, I finished cutting squares to make a simple quilt.  I've never made a quilt before. After I cut all the squares, I got out my machine so I could sew them together into a quilt top, but bad news...The machine was broken.  Due to the frustration I always experience when dealing with this particular machine, and also because of my stubborn nature, I said to myself, Fine.  It will be completely hand-stitched.  It may take a while, but I'll just enjoy the journey.

I reconciled myself to the fact that this process was going to take some time, and accepted the fact that many afternoons would be spent putting this piece of art together.  (Quilting is an art.  Don't believe me?  Google "Gee's Bend" or "The Art Quilt Gallery, New York" and you'll see.)

As I pulled the needle through the fabric and tied the thread off, a thought occurred to me:  How do I know how to do this?  Who taught me how to do this?

And you know, I'm really not sure!

Both of my grandmothers grew up on farms.  They were from a different, slower time.  They knew the importance of taking care of what they had and making it last, and they understood that self-sufficiency wasn't a luxury to be indulged in as some sort of social experiment; it was a necessity.  Both of them knew how to sew really well and could make anything from a tablecloth to a pair of pants.  In particular, my maternal grandmother, Eleanor Boliver, was an excellent seamstress.  I once gave her a few yards of cloth to hem into a curtain.  She returned it bearing the most tight, even stitches you could imagine...and she did it all by hand.  My paternal grandmother, Rose Hatcher, had a full sized quilt frame at one time.  I can remember that when she set it up, it took up half of her very large dining room.  As a child I could hide under it and pretend it was a tent, but the rest of it was a mystery to me.  Yet, because I spent hours in their company, I observed a lot.  How to tie a thread to keep it from pulling through the cloth.  How to shuck corn.  How to boil water, store onions, grill a hot dog, whip potatoes, snap beans.  How to enjoy the pleasures of basic life itself.  Do I remember who taught me how to thread a needle or keep it from slipping straight through the cloth?  No, but it was someone who loved me enough to show me how.  And those same someones also taught me a much bigger lesson:  worthwhile things take time, and patience, and the enjoyment is sometimes just as much in the creation of it as in the end result itself.

The Value of Waiting

As summer drags its weary ass out the door, I've had time to sit here and contemplate a lot of things. Namely, the following:

This is true.  I'm not a patient person.  I hate waiting in lines, pumping gas, and repeating myself, unless I'm repeating myself by virtue of teaching a new or interesting concept.  I dislike complaining and I don't like being around people who complain excessively. But I've had to learn the value of patience.

When I was in college for the first time, I was distracted by all of the different courses available.  Did I want to take this music class?  What about archaeology?  How about Russian?  Did it fit with my degree plan?  Who cares?  It sounds good!

Of course what happened is I wasted a LOT of time and didn't succeed my first time around.  I wasn't focused.  I didn't understand what was important, and I messed around and didn't invest my time in the thing that truly mattered...and that was the degree I was aiming for.

Now that I've decided to go back, I meet with an advisor on a regular basis and I make sure that I follow my plan to the letter.  I don't allow myself to become distracted by other things, no matter how good or tempting they may look.  It doesn't help that I find a LOT of things interesting, but if I continually "explore" and "nibble" at all of these interesting things, then I won't get to where I need to be.  I won't succeed.

So what is worth our patience, and our personal investment?  Obviously, I'm going to include the pursuit of knowledge in my answer.  It's the only thing you can take with you when you die.  What else?  How about the personal relationships in your life?  Who is important to you?  Is it your family and friends?  How do you treat them?  What about yourself?  Do you take care of yourself?  Are you as patient with yourself as you expect other people to be?  What about your personal success?  Where do you want to be in ten years?  In twenty?  I know, that seems so far away, it's hardly worth the bother of planning for.  But really, it is.  It's worth every minute.  It's worth it because time moves so much faster than you can imagine, and life changes all the time.  If you're not doing what you need to do now to get to where you want to be later,then you might want to take a good, hard look at what you're doing and change a few things.

I can tell you that the biggest motivating factor for change in my life has been my children.  When you become responsible for someone else, or a group of someone elses, then that is a real game-changer, especially if one of those someones might live with you for the rest of his life. You suddenly look at your life and decide that certain things aren't so important anymore, but being able to live long enough to take care of this kid, and live in relative comfort, is.

I still have years left before I finish school.  Sometimes, when things seem far away or impossible, its easy to get discouraged and give up.  Waiting doesn't come easy to a lot of people. But I promise, if you do, it will be worth it.

I Really Can't Say

I just finished the rough draft of a novel I've been working on since last year.  I write a lot.  It's a huge outlet for me, and usually my catharsis takes the form of poems or short stories.  I've had several good ideas for a novel-length work, but none of them ever came to fruition, mostly because I got busy or lost interest.  One of writing's biggest rules is if it can't hold your own attention, as the author, then it's not likely to appeal to your readers, either.

This novel, however, was different.  I actually enjoyed the creative process and the character development.  Now that the rough draft is finished, I'm looking forward to delving back into it, reading through it, and making the necessary changes it needs to be a great read.

What's it about?  People ask me this.  To be honest, I really can't say.  Or won't say.  This has been my experience in the past:  I've come up with a great idea, and in the excitement of discovery, I blabbed.  I blabbed to family, I blabbed to friends, and something got lost.  In the excitement of telling, I sent the story out into the world before it was ready to walk, so to speak, and after that my excitement dwindled.  I had other experiences where I actually shared details of the story, and the person I shared it with didn't respect it for what it was...a truly creative work that came from the deepest part of myself.  They either didn't understand how much it meant to me, or they offered "helpful" criticism until there was nothing left.

So I learned an important lesson.  When you bare your soul, be careful who you bare it to.  Be careful when and how you do it.  This is a challenge for someone who is a generous person by nature.  We want to let everyone in our world.  We want to show them this wonderful thing we found.  We want to know them and let them know us.  Yet there is something to be said for reticence. Sometimes it's best to proceed with caution and get to know someone really well before opening all your doors.  When the time is right, then you can tell your story, and at that point, your audience, whether it's the general public, friend, family member, or coworker, will be ready.

Hourglasses, Sticks, Pears, and Beachballs: Stop Categorizing Women!!

I just finished skimming through an article that talked about Robyn Lawley's recent brave act of posting a picture of herself in a bikini, airbrush and makeup free, and how she has made the leap from straight size to plus size modeling.  She's a size 12.  She's considered a "plus size".  You can read the full article here:  https://au.lifestyle.yahoo.com/marie-claire/fashion/news/a/24526623/robyn-lawley-shares-unretouched-bikini-photo/  I applaud this, simply because if one woman does it, then others may follow.

It brought to mind a bit of unpleasantness from my own tween years.  I was always a curvy girl. Like a lot of tween girls, I had that extra baby fat that just wouldn't go away, and so when mom took me shopping for clothes I had to wear a "6x" instead of a "6".  I remember feeling ashamed and knowing that there was something wrong with me, because I wasn't "skinny".

Now that I'm forty, I understand that what drives the market and the public's opinion of the female persona is sheer insanity.  Taking a look at Robyn Lawley, I can tell you that a size 12 body on a 6 ft 2 inch model isn't going to look the same as on a 5 ft 6 inch average woman.  This is where the fashion industry needs to change.  We need to get over the expectation that women look like a set of Stepford wives and embrace the differences that all women have:  short, tall, skinny, fat, big hips, big boobs, no ass, no boobs...these traits are not what make a woman.  We need to stop being so obsessed with putting women in categories, just because it's ridiculous.  Have you ever heard a man complain about being "pear-shaped"?  Have you ever looked at a man and thought, he's fat because he doesn't have a thigh gap?  It's gone beyond ridiculous.

It also brings to mind the silly little memes I see on Pinterest every now and then. Memes that proclaim:  Real Women Have Curves.  Excuse me, but every woman I have ever met is real.  They lived and breathed, had children and big, gigantic hearts.  Being curvy is not a pre-requisite for being "real".  Neither is displaying a full set of ribs.

It is my ardent wish that women everywhere would just love themselves.  Become obsessed with being healthy. Become obsessed with who you are.  Inside.  Become obsessed with making good choices, and doing the best things for yourself mentally, emotionally, and physically, and I promise you, what you see in the mirror will improve each day, no matter what shape you're in.

 

How I Spent One Weekend of My Summer Vacation or How To Do Warrior Pose in a Hotel Bathroom

This past weekend I made a trip down to Corpus Christi with my mother and three of my kids.  My niece was getting baptized and we wanted to be there for that occasion.  So we piled into Mom's car and took off.

Two hours from home we hit the worst traffic jam I have ever seen.  Going five miles an hour, sometimes stopping for ten minutes or more at a time was sheer agony.  The highway was cut down to two lanes and there was no end in sight.  So we amused ourselves by making stupid jokes and eventually, I read everyone a story about a man who was afraid of heights. The story ended with the man clinging precariously to a ladder while his friends left him there.  We were irritated after that.  Everyone in the car had to pee, except for the baby, who was wearing a diaper.  We passed a charter bus from Mexico and I considered getting out of the car and knocking on the door to ask for the baño.  At one point we passed a port-a-john on the side of the road that was left there by some workers.  A lady and her daughter actually stopped to use it.  (Ick.)  Another woman got out of her car and retrieved something from her trunk.  Later we saw her dumping the contents of a bottle onto the road.  This wouldn't have been questionable except that it had a pStyle attached to it.  A pStyle allows women to pee on the go.  Do I need to say more?  No, I do not.

We were finally able to exit and found a Family Dollar, which had a line to the bathroom.  The people waiting there had all been stuck on the freeway, and informed us that three 18-wheelers had been involved in an accident.  The woman next to me had a tattoo that said, "Rest In Peace, A.J. Warren."  I wondered if we were related.  There are a lot of Warrens in my line. I spared a brief thought for the demise of A.J. Warren and thought about asking the woman who A.J. Warren was, but then decided it might be rude and anyway, at that point the bathroom opened up and I forgot everything else.

On the way out we bumped into a cop escorting a shackled female prisoner into the store.  They probably had to pee too.

Outside a news station was doing a story on the accident and the kids asked Are we There yet?  We laughed.  And laughed.

Finally, at about ten pm, we arrived in Corpus Christi and checked into our hotel.  The kids had never stayed in a hotel before and thought it was the coolest thing ever and announced that they wanted to live there.  I just wanted to go to sleep.  I went into the bathroom and thought, I will do some yoga poses to loosen up and get rid of some of the stress from that very long car trip.  I came to the conclusion that if you are staying at a hotel, then there is just enough room to do a warrior pose in the bathroom.  I did not do a sun salutation because I was too grumpy.  I decided to take the warrior pose into a downward dog and then I realized, I just touched the bathroom floor with my hands!!!!!!  Gross!  At that point yoga was over and I scrubbed my hands until they had the texture of sandpaper.

The next day was better.  It was better because we got to see our family, and we went to the beach.  How I love the beach!  I love palm trees!  I love sitting in the water and feeling the waves smash into me!  And the kids had a great time.  Of course, there was that moment of truth.  That moment of truth when you're wearing a bathing suit and you have to walk out there, with your porcelain skin and extra pounds and you hope like hell that you don't blind somebody with the glaring whiteness of your flesh.  But then I thought, I only have a couple of hours at the beach, and I love this swimming suit.  And I will stay Glaringly White if I don't walk out there and get some help with Vitamin D.  So I did.  Nobody cared.  I was so offended.  I mean, the paparazzi should have been there.  What is this world coming to??

The only mishap at the beach was that my two year old threw a seashell on the ground that I thought was cool, so we took it back to the house and found out that something was alive inside it.  I felt bad.  Lucky for me, my sister-in-law had a critter keeper and my nieces were thrilled with their new "pet", which would be relinquished to the sea the following day.

I have nothing else to add except that I love Corpus Christi.  It's a great town, and they have amazing bead stores with things you can't find anywhere else.  (Water buffalo teeth, anyone?)  We headed out of town on Sunday and I just want to say that a) I was not allowed to listen to Ozzy Osbourne on the way home, and this hurt my heart and b)My sister-in-law Heather makes the best cake balls in the entire universe, and this should be recorded in all the history books so that all children may know this.  The End.

Thought For The Day

Just because someone is quiet doesn't mean they're not screaming on the inside.

Ten Years Ago Today

Ten years ago today my father was very ill with cancer of the bile duct.  He'd been ill for a long time and I think I was largely in denial about it.  He had spent much of my life complaining about various aches and pains and so when he began to complain about this, I only listened with half an ear.  By the time he was bedridden I didn't visit him that often.  I always regret that now.

July 3 of ten years ago was a day when I was supposed to go visit him.  I had a baby, and two other small children. We were supposed to visit him at a particular time, but getting babies out the door is difficult when they're small.  I called to tell him we were going to come later in the day.  I gave him the time we would be there.  He was barely coherent.

A couple of hours later his wife called to tell me that he had passed away.  The disbelief and shock were overwhelming and it was my task to call and inform my brother, who was at a blood drive, of what had just taken place.  I didn't want to call my brother.  I knew that every minute that I delayed calling him was one more minute that his life would stay normal, but also that it couldn't be put off.  My baby brother...who I could not save from this train wreck that I was about to unleash into his life.  At that point I got to my father's house as soon as I could.  He was still there, laying in his bed, and the feeling in the room was so quiet and powerful.  I couldn't believe he was gone.  I could still feel him everywhere.  And as his daughter, his "little doll" as he liked to call me, I wanted to beg him to come back.  Come back, because there was too much I didn't get to say, and too much left undone.  Come back, because you're still laying there, and shouldn't it be easy, for a mathematician and engineer, to figure out a way to fix this?

But he was gone and the funeral home had been called and I had to watch them carry my father out the door by hand because the gurney wouldn't fit back there into his sickroom.  Really, no one should ever have to see that.  I still remember it to this day and I probably won't ever forget.

My purpose in writing these memories down is not to be morbid or dwell on sad things.  It is simply to record it.  Time blunts the edges of things.  Losing a parent is a traumatic experience.  Some people will tell you it's the circle of life and the natural order of things.  Parents pass on and kids take up the torch and move forward in life.  Regardless of how you look at it...whether it's God's plan or just the way things are...it's painful and it takes a long time to get over.  I am still grieving for him, all of these years later.  It's something I had to learn how to do because in the beginning, I didn't allow myself to.  I shrugged off the pain of it, just like I shrug off a lot of things that hurt like hell.  It reminds me of a kid I saw in a store once.  I worked at a JC Penney department store in a bad part of town.  A kid misbehaved in the store and his mother spanked him right there in the store in front of everyone.  That kid drew himself up and refused to cry and said with all the attitude he could muster, "Didn't hurt."  That's me.  It should be tattooed on my forehead.

But now I can admit that it does hurt and it still hurts a little every day, when I think of it or really recall what was lost.  It's a painful lesson to learn, that people are not permanent.  They will come and go in your life, they will hurt you, disappoint you, use you, leave you.  My father was no different. What I try to remember of my father...what I hold in my heart...is that he was the only dad for me.  He was funny and quirky. He had a ridiculous sense of humor that was as likely to elicit groans as laughter.  He was not afraid to act silly in front of us in order to amuse us.  He was a good cook.  He loved the Cowboys and Star Trek.  He loved cold weather and he loved camping and fishing.  He was brilliant in his mind.  He worked as a lineman for TXU and went to school at night, obtaining a master's degree and becoming an electrical engineer.  In that, he taught me that it's never too late to improve yourself or achieve the goals you set for yourself.  He was my daddy.  I was his princess.  He wasn't perfect.  No one is.

What I know now is that forgiveness is essential for the people in our lives.  I was angry at my father for a long time...for divorcing my mother, for not being able to communicate with us, for a thousand petty things.  What I know now is that these things don't matter.  If you love someone, you have to let go of the little things and you have to recognize that they are as human as you are,and the expectations you have of them shouldn't be any different or any greater than you have of yourself.  I still love my father.  I still miss him, even after all of this time.  And though some may believe differently, what I know is that God's hand has been in my life from the beginning, and that I have not seen the last of my dad.

Yes, I am Busy, and Yes, It Hurts

On Saturday someone in our neighborhood was having a yard sale.  As we drove by I noticed that they had a leather wing chair sitting in their driveway.  When we got home I gave my oldest son and daughter each a couple of bucks to spend and said, While you're down there, ask them how much that chair is.

A little while later my daughter rushed into the house to tell me that my son was on his way home with the chair, trying to carry it, and that he had bought the chair with some money he earned doing yard work.  He said he just wanted me to have it.  It's sitting in our living room right now.  It was incredibly thoughtful and sweet of him to do this, but he ended up straining his back in the process and spent Sunday morning and afternoon sleeping and taking aspirin.  He tried to carry a heavy load and hurt himself.

Of course, you can see the analogy in this.  When we overload ourselves, we get hurt.  We get worn out, tired, bent out of shape, physically and emotionally drained.  Sometimes, it's necessary to say no...to social obligations, to housework or other chores or errands that can wait until later, or it's necessary to delegate responsibilities sometimes while you deal with a personal crisis (even if that crisis is the fact that you only slept two hours and you're afraid to get behind the wheel of a car).  Sometimes it's necessary to put everything on hold while you rest and recharge.  This is not laziness.  This is healthy.  This is taking care of yourself so that you are in the best shape you can be, mentally and emotionally and physically, to take care of the people who depend on you and need you.

A flip side exists to this philosophy, of course, and it involves the people that you say "no" to.  Some people are very understanding.  They've been there, they know what it means to raise children or they realize that you're seriously not a flake, you just have a lot on your plate.  It's the other people I'm talking about....the demanding people.  I had a friend I was very close to at one time.  When her birthday rolled around, I missed it, because I was in the ER with a serious infection.  I texted happy birthday to her and I don't remember if I got a reply.  I was in so much pain there wasn't a lot else I was focused on at the moment.  I didn't hear from her until Christmas, when she texted me that she missed me and Merry Christmas, etc.  I texted back that I missed her too.  Christmas, being one of the most difficult times of year for me, was particularly rough that year.  I avoided people.  I tried to focus on my family.  But I think she got her feelings hurt because she never returned my phone calls or text messages after that.  I finally caught up with her and apologized for not being the friend she needed, and told her I had missed her, and asked her if there was anything I could do for her since her health was suffering.  "Oh no.  I'm fine.  You're busy."  "Well, if you need something, just call and ask, and if I can possibly do it, I will."  "No, you'll be busy."

I have to say that this was like a slap in the face to me.  I had done the best I could.  And I wondered how many times we do this to people...friends, family members...who are so overloaded they are almost drowning, and then we punish them for trying to swim and for not giving us what we think we deserve from them.  It's true I had been busy...with school, kids (a baby and Logan), church, family.  I had done the best I could to stay in touch with her, but it wasn't enough.  At that point, what can you do?  What I learned from that experience and others is that some relationships are really toxic.  If someone drags you down, makes you feel worthless, makes you feel ashamed because in their eyes, you aren't good enough or you're not doing things the way they think you need to do them, or consistently gives you a hard time for perceived failures on your part, then it's time to go.  It's time to stop trying with that person. Stop trying to keep them in your life, when keeping them there is such work in the first place.  If they expect you to jump through hoops for them, and you do that, and they still aren't happy, then what the hell are you hanging around for? Genuine people will genuinely understand that you keeping the important commitments you have and taking care of your responsibilities as a mother or father is not a personal commentary on how you feel about them or your friendship.  Genuine, unselfish people will still be there when you stop and say, You know what, I really need to breathe.  And they won't hold it against you when you actually do.

A Bit of Earth

The picture that you see is a tiny butternut squash that I am currently growing in our raised beds.  This year, I took charge of the garden, and butternut was a must.  It's one of my favorites.

In the book, "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett, Mary Lennox does not want dolls or toys to pass the time.  Instead, she asks, "Might I have a bit of earth?"  I feel like Mary sometimes.  I've found that I am happiest and most at peace when I'm working outside, planting things and watching them change and grow. I learned almost all I know of gardening from my grandmother, Rose Hatcher.  She grew up on a farm in Tolar, Texas.  Almost all the food they had, they grew, and they canned and stored things in a root cellar.  Later in life when she found herself living alone in town, she made the most of her residential plot and created a huge garden every year.  I can still smell the tomatoes and okra, which grew to at least five feet tall if not taller.  I remember neat rows of onions and summer peaches.  And I remember sitting with her in her kitchen with the back door open while she snapped beans or shucked corn.

Now that I have my own kids, I have a huge herb and flower garden and my husband built a small section of raised beds.  For some reason, this year I have really been bitten by the gardening bug and can't seem to stop finding spaces to put things.  Any nook or cranny will do.  The raised beds have butternut and yellow squash, radishes, roma tomatoes, bell peppers, peas, and beans.  And zinnias.  (Hey, companion planting, right?)  I've also planted calla lilies, moonflowers, Rebecca clematis, pink climbing roses, sage, mint, basil, and a fir tree that my son thought would look great in the middle of my amaryllis plot.  It had to be uprooted and repotted...but I'm hoping for a living Christmas tree at some point.  Lavender, Banana Cream shasta daisies, sombrero blanket flowers, and Big Max pumpkins (what was I thinking?  They grow up to 100 pounds.  I know...I should have done it sooner!) round it out.

I'm grateful for the time I get to spend outside, and I'm grateful to my grandmother for passing her knowledge onto me.  If only she could see me now...did she ever think that the weekends she spent with her granddaughter would turn into something like this?  I only remember that going to her house was fun, because she paid attention to me and treated me like I was important.  She included me in everything she did, and even though she's gone, what she gave me will last forever, because I will pass it on to my kids, too.

What I Really, Really Want, and Not Just For Mother's Day

Above you will see a picture of me and my mother.  I think I was in my very early twenties in this picture.  My mom put up with a lot of stuff from me, but as you can see, she loved me very much, and still does.  When I think of the amount of Play-Dough stuck in her gold shag carpet, or the meltdown over jeans that didn't fit magically overnight (brought back the wrong size from the store by accident), I realize that she is probably destined for sainthood or deserves to meet Paul McCartney in person (except she would have a heart attack, so she can't).  It got me thinking about what moms really want for Mother's Day, and then I started thinking, no, just, what do we want?  Besides on Mother's Day?  It's a given that we're going to get flowers, or breakfast in bed, or a cookie, or coupons for free hugs, or something cute that our kids make, and we love it!  But what about the rest of the year?  So here is a list:


1)We want our kids to be safe and happy.  That's why we have rules.  To prevent them from doing something that will, ultimately, put them in danger or make them unhappy.

2)We want our spouses to be safe and happy.  That's why we have rules.  Just kidding.  No, really.

3)We want our bodies to return to their original size and shape.  We all do.  We would like it to be a given that after we're done having babies, then this will happen, that some magical person will appear and say, here's twenty thou.  Go get nipped and tucked or personally trained or whatever you have to do. *sigh*

4)We would like to not be asked why we are upset, stressed, angry, demented, grumpy, etc, etc, etc.  Every now and then, we will have a bad day.  Why?  Why is the sky blue?  Why does cereal turn soggy in milk?  Because there is some sort of chemical reaction going on.  That's why.  No, actually, it's because I said so.  Now beat it.

5)We would like you to pick up after yourself.  You live here.  We should not have to tell you.  We should not have to ask you.  Just pick up your dirty clothes and dishes.  This is not a frat house during Rush Week.  Unfortunately.

6)We want to pee.  We want to pee without someone banging on the door or yelling at us.  You should be bleeding. You should be coding on a crash cart.  Make sure you are doing these things before you bang on the door.

7)We want to go out with our friends every now and then.  With no children attached to any of our bodily appendages.  And we don't want to feel guilty about it after.

8)We want to run.  Away.  Screaming.  Sometimes.

9)We would like our husbands to experience PMS at least once.  We'll provide the bathrobe and the Midol.  Whether or not they get chocolate depends on how well they maintain their good mood.

10)We want to shower in peace,or perhaps, take a bubble bath.  It's essential to our well-being that we clean ourselves up, put on makeup, and fix our hair.  No wait.  It's essential to YOUR well-being.

11)We want our families to know that we love them so much we would die for them, and that's why we cook, and clean the house, and do everything that we do.  What?  No, we don't actually enjoy cleaning and waking up early.  Get out of here.

Now, provided that this list doesn't happen (and I suspect that at least numbers 3,6,8, and 9 probably WON'T), then a macaroni bracelet will suffice.  Happy Mother's Day, to all women in the trenches.  You're doing good. No,  you're not done.  But, good job.

Bumps in the Road

I think I wrote an entry on this blog about the medications used to alleviate the symptoms of autism.  While there is no known cure for autism, there are some medications out there that have proven helpful in reducing anxiety, self-harming tendencies, and other aspects of the disorder.

For a long time, our son was on Risperdone, which is the generic of Risperdal.  Risperdal is an anti-psychotic medication that is used to treat schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or "irritability associated with autistic disorder" (http://www.rxlist.com/risperdal-drug/indications-dosage.htm).  Unfortunately, Risperdone was voluntarily recalled by Johnson & Johnson in 2013 due to suspected mold contamination.  It's also under scrutiny because of numerous complaints of gynecomastia.  Gynecomastia is the abnormal growth of breast tissue in males, sometimes accompanied by lactation.  In other words, Risperdone might give your son "man-boobs".

It's frustrating and annoying for the parent of a special-needs child to switch medications, for a lot of reasons.  The top reason is that when you've found something that works well for your child, you don't want to have to change it anytime soon.  Some parents go through two or three different prescriptions-or combinations of prescriptions-in order to find the right one.  The other reason is that starting your child on any anti-psychotic is not fun and games...they have to be weaned off of it before they start a new one.  Sudden and abrupt cessation of medications can cause complications.

So, in light of that info regarding Risperdone, we made the decision to change Logan's medication.  We went to see a doctor, who took into account the fact that Logan was also diagnosed with AD/HD (yes, you can have that with autism), and agreed to put him on Concerta, which is an AD/HD medication.

It was a terrible mistake!

Logan was fine through out the day.  As the evening wore on he became more and more agitated.  He began to exhibit severe facial tics.  He couldn't sleep.  He would lay down, then jump up and wander around the house and say, "I want to play" or "I want to clean".  I gave him two melatonin.  They did nothing.  He screamed and wandered and ticced until 2 am and finally fell asleep. It was awful to watch and frustrating to know we could do nothing but wait it out.  And it was equally upsetting to know it was because of something I gave him...not knowing the effect it would have.

Later we did some research on Concerta and found that people with high degrees of anxiety and tics (which Logan has) should never be given this medication.

So, of course, we will never give him that medication again, and we now have something else more suited to him waiting at the pharmacy.  Important lesson learned:  always do mounds of research before trying out any new medication.  This is a no-brainer.  I made the mistake of assuming that our physician (who is a very nice man) had Logan's information there in his head and his memory, and assumed that anything he prescribed would be appropriate.  However, consider that a doctor sees so many patients a day, and they may not have seen your child for a couple of months.  

The other lesson I learned, once again, was that things are not always going to be easy where Logan is concerned.  There are always going to be challenges and bumps in the road.  

The next morning, I was so exhausted and disheartened by what happened, I just sat on the couch, trying to get up the energy to move.  Logan came in and said he wanted to fix my hair.  He got a brush and just brushed my hair and said, "I wuv you" over and over.

And that, my friends, is what makes the bumps worth it.

Awkward Hair and Stuff

So, a few months ago, I did this crazy thing and cut off all my hair.  I had really long hair and one day I got depressed.  Battling depression is serious business.  People deal with it in all kinds of ways, and in some crazy, stupid way I thought that making a change on the outside would help what was on the inside.  Why do women do this?  I don't know.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Well, the lady I went to had cut hair for more than thirty years and was very nice but did NOT listen to me when I told her what I wanted done.  So she gave me this odd haircut with ragged layers.  The first day I hated it.  After a couple of weeks I loved it.  Now I hate it again because I'm at that stage where I'm trying to grow it out and it's...awkward.  Awkward hair.  Nothing worse than awkward hair. But I'm going to stick it out and make it long again because that is just me.

This year, so far, has been a year of trying a lot of things.  It's been the busiest and fullest year of my life in a long time.  Going to school full time (16 hours), homeschooling a child, tutoring a high school kid, and raising four children and teaching on Sundays.  No big.  Disclaimer:  Do not try this at home.

In all of the bustle and all of the going back and forth and doing I cannot shake the feeling that changes are around the corner.  I am sending my  home school kid back to regular school next year.  Is he happy?  No, he is not.  But he is getting used to it.  Will I add another sixteen hours next semester?  Probably NOT. (Probably stick with thirteen ;) )  For the simple reason that a)I value my sanity (if there is, in fact, any left)  b)my youngest daughter is starting to talk and becoming interested in books and I want to make time for her  and c)If you try to pile on too many things, something inevitably gets left behind.

Now wait a minute, you say.  This blog is supposed to be about autism.  Why haven't you written about autism for a while?

Look at it this way. Me not writing about autism is me saying something about autism.  It is saying that autism is not my life.  It's not Logan's life.  And while I will be the first person to educate someone about it, or explain something, or advocate for it, sometimes, I don't want to talk about it, because there are a lot of other aspects to life.  I think it's hard for people to remember that.  For such a long time, my focus was the fact that my kid had this disorder.  It consumed me.  It's still important.  I still research it and write about it and talk about it. It's still a central part of my life.  But going back to school this semester and involving myself in so many other things reminded me that I had a life once, and that it was possible to live it even while dealing with his personal challenges.

That being said, the most important part of my life is and always will be the four people I brought into the world.  They make my life so much richer, and so much more fun and interesting, than it ever could have been otherwise.

What I Haven't Done

The picture you see above is a picture I took in the woods near our house.  The "woods" are sparse and do not cover a lot of territory..but there are enough trees there that once you walk in, you do feel a little isolated from everything.  Recently I've gotten into photography; specifically, taking pictures of strange or unusual things and applying filters to give them special effects.  It's always fun to discover a new hobby or interest. There is so much out there, and so little time to experience what is out there.

Recently I have been assisting a neighbor with tutoring her son for some of his classes.  For one assignment, he had to come up with a pretend vacation and include latitudes and longitudes and other information about his "destination".  I said, "Oh, I can help with that.  I used to be a travel agent."

"Is there anything you haven't done?"  she exclaimed.

Well.  I have this list, and it's longer than the Great Wall of China.

Seriously, though.  I'm at the tail end of a second semester of school.  I've decided that I will never stop going back.  I will get my degree, and use it to fund the next degree, and then the next, and the next...

Pay Attention

The other night I went to Wal Mart kind of late to pick up some stuff, and to get out of the house.  The woman who rang up my groceries was about my age.  It was almost ten o'clock.  We had a conversation that went sort of like this:

"You much be ready to go home," I said.

"Yes.  But when you think about it, who does want to be working, late at night,  away from their families and their homes?"

"True," I said.  "And then you must get some customers that are hard to deal with."

"It's really not so bad," she said.  "People are nice.  The people I work with are nice.  It's a good place to work.  Sometimes, people just have a hard time and they're going to be in a bad mood.  As long as you understand that every now and then, you're going to get someone like that, then it's okay."

I LOVED her attitude.  She had every reason to be in a foul mood herself.  She was working late, had been on her feet all day, and was obviously tired.  But her perspective changed everything!  She had made a conscious decision to view her job and the people she came across in that job in a certain way, and she was better off for it.

In the past few years I have found that this applies to many things in life.  It's easy to get up in the morning and complain, and to express our unhappiness over things that aren't quite going the way we want them to.  It's challenging to take a less than desirable situation and turn it into something that can be enjoyed or at least make you content.  But it can be done.  How do you do this?  How do you change your attitude?

The biggest tool I use for this is prayer.  Because God has an eternal perspective, praying about a situation can actually give you peace.  If you're going through a trial, praying can ease your mind and help you to remove yourself from the "here and now" of the problem and look at it from a distance.  This is also useful in solving problems that arise in your life.  It keeps you cool headed.  It helps you act after thinking, not act without thinking.

The other major tool that can help you is empathy.  Stop and switch places with someone.  Being with Logan and witnessing his struggles with communication and behavior has taught me that when someone is acting a certain way, there is always a reason.  Whatever that reason may be...I try to think about the person I'm dealing with and understand their behavior. Sometimes there's an explanation.  Sometimes not.  But either way, you are still accountable for how you are acting towards them.

As I write this Logan is sitting in a rocking chair next to me, pushing on my arm with his foot and yelling (or "singing" as he sometimes tries to call it.)  It's annoying.  But he's telling me something.  He's saying, Stop writing, mom, and look at me.  Pay attention.

Score One For Mom

Yesterday I took advantage of the somewhat mild weather and walked with my oldest son to his favorite fishing spot.  He wanted to check his fishing traps and I wanted to spend some time with him.

At one point we had to go down a steep bank and jump over a gully.  I complained to him, "Didn't you stop to think that your poor old mother would have to jump over this when you went this way?"

He stared at me for a minute with a bemused expression on his face.  "Whatever, mom, you exercise!"

This made my day.  I am not super skinny.  I'm just not built that way.  But I try to stay healthy and I do work out at least three times a week.  I didn't think he really paid attention, but he does!  And if he pays attention and notices something like that, then that means my oldest daughter does, too.

What's the moral of the story?  That we, as mothers, sometimes think that how we treat ourselves goes unnoticed by our children, but it doesn't.  My kids notice that I take care of myself.  I hope that this influences them in a good way and teaches them that taking care of yourself and taking the time you need to stay  healthy is time well spent.

Breaking the Mold

This morning I read an article that really disturbed me and saddened me.  A woman died after supposedly injecting herself with Vaseline in order to give herself a breast augmentation.  (You can read the full article here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/20/sonia-perez-llanzon-dies-vaseline-breasts_n_4999990.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular)  Her son misses her.  She is remembered as a marathon runner and a boxer.  Not as a woman with small breasts.

There has been a bigger outcry lately against photoshopped women and advertisements in stores that only feature "skinny"  models.  Yet the pursuit of that look remains.  We are a society obsessed with perfection.  We are our own worse critics.  Every morning we get up and look in the mirror and it's a rare person that can be completely satisfied with what they're seeing.  Why is that?  I think it's because we grow up with an idea in our heads that we are supposed to look a certain way and dress a certain way.  Society tells us that if our waist expands beyond a certain point, then it's very, very bad, and we should feel very, very bad and very, very guilty.  This is where things become twisted.  We should love ourselves enough to want to stay healthy, not hate ourselves enough to torture our bodies into submission.  We should recognize that the look we have is uniquely ours, and does not belong to any other woman.  We should celebrate that.  We should own that.

Beyond that, what should scare us the most is the attention that gets paid to what we put on the outside of ourselves, but the apathy and lack of interest with what we put into ourselves and what we can offer to other people.  Are we becoming our best selves by continually finding fault with our skin, hair, breast size, waist circumference, clothes, teeth?  We are not.  There's making small changes in order to feel better about ourselves.  Then there's obsession.  What should we be obsessed with?  We should be obsessed with becoming our best selves, not forcing ourselves into a mold that was never designed to hold us in the first place.

I teach a large class of twelve and thirteen year old girls at my church.  I try to impress upon them on a weekly basis that they are unique, special, talented, beautiful, and that they each have something to offer to this world.  I tell them every Sunday that they are daughters of God, that He loves them, and that they each have something important to do. If this applies to twelve and thirteen year old girls, then it applies to their mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers; it applies to women everywhere.  Not a single woman on this earth is exempt from this.  We are all daughters of God.

Go Do

(image from timeanddate.com)

When I was in the ninth grade, I had this teacher named Mrs. Powers.  Mrs. Powers really lived up to her name.  She lived on a farm or a ranch and spent her mornings or afternoons baling hay and doing other chores that needed to be done.  She prepared detailed English lessons for a class full of arrogant talented and gifted kids and taught a bunch of other classes as well.  One of her lessons still sticks with me to this day.  She asked us, if someone gave us a specific amount of money, what would we do with it?  The caveat was that we could not save the money.  We could not give the money to someone else, nor could we refuse the money.  We had to spend it.  What would we spend it on?  One very wise classmate said he would invest it. Several other people agreed.  Some people argued with the necessity of spending it all.  She then told us that the money was, in actuality, time.  We are given a finite amount of minutes in a day.  We can't save the minutes, refuse the minutes, or give them to someone else.  We have to spend them.  What is the best way to spend this very limited and valuable resource?  

The reason, dear readers, that I am thinking of this subject today, is because in our house, we are at the tail end of spring break.  I have spent this particular day lamenting the fact that I am tired and eating a bunch of junk food, and it occurred to me, as I sat here with a (small) stack of Pringles in my hand, that I was wasting time.  So then I started thinking about other things I do that waste my time.  And it occurred to me that over the last two or three years, I have learned a lot about time wasting.  

Specifically, I have found that it is a waste of time to:

1) Worry about things I cannot change or undo.  Everyone makes mistakes.  Sometimes, we also look at our lives and wish that something was different.  If it's something that you can invest time in (see?  I learned something, Mrs. P) such as becoming more healthy or learning something new, then do it.  That's not a time waste. If, however, you are spending hours on Pinterest pinning pictures of kitchens that you cannot possibly afford (guilty), you might be wasting time. Even though this activity is fun and in the throes of self-justification I call it "research for the future".

2) Feel upset about things I can't have.  Like the kitchen.  Or a certain type of car.  Whatever!  Again, if it's attainable, and it's something that you can feasibly work towards, then it's not a waste of time.  Otherwise, you're just making yourself miserable.  Move on, until your circumstances change.

3) Carry a grudge.  Everyone gets offended. Everyone gets a wrong done to them.  That's life.  Thinking about what someone did to you, and replaying it over and over in your head, encourages bitterness.  It deletes the possibility of healing.  The old adage "acid damages the container it's in just as much or more than the thing it's poured on" is true.  If you are carrying a grudge or nursing emotional wounds, then you are taking up space in your head that could be used for more positive things.  It may take time to get over the vilest of wrongs, and a lot of soul-searching and praying (if you pray), but realize that overcoming this type of thing is a process.  Investing your time in emotional healing and forgiveness is NOT a waste of time.  Thinking up nefarious plans for revenge and willfully hanging on to the memories of what someone did to you is not only a waste of time, it's harmful and painful.

4)Spend hours on the internet.  Facebook, Pinterest, email, SnapChat, Twitter...It's fun and it's a great way to connect with people.  But you do reach your saturation point with all of these.  Do you really need to know that someone "liked" your post from yesterday?  Is it important to see what everyone did while you were taking a nap?  It's addicting.  Moderation. 

5)Complain.  There are certain times when complaint is called for.  For instance, if your child is having a problem at school, complaint is called for. If you are in severe pain, complaint is called for. Perhaps a trip to the ER.  Otherwise, personally, I have no time for complaints. 

6)Pumping gas.  Yeah, I know, this is not legitimate.  It's on here anyway!!!

But what should I do instead?   

Clean your house, learn something new, make something, serve someone,  exercise, work, write...just GO DO, people.  Just GO DO. Turn yourself outward, stop looking inward, think of the quality of the things you are doing and ask yourself if you would spend money on it.  If the answer is yes, (Yes, I would spend money on a good exercise program if I had the money, No, I would NOT pay money to spend four hours looking at kitchens/bathrooms/cars I cannot afford , No, I wouldn't pay big bucks to hold on to a grudge against my ex, my former best friend, the girl who got my order wrong at that fast food place (whatever), If you would pay money, hard earned cash that you earned, to engage in that activity, then it's probably not a waste of time.  And it's going to be personal for everyone.  Some people relax when they get off work by watching a little tv.  Nothing wrong with that.  Relaxing after a hard day is time well spent.  Some people get inspired by the things they find on Pinterest; it gets their creative juices flowing.  Again, it's personal.  The list I made, that's for me.  What about yours?

Once Upon a Time

I used to believe in fairy tales.  I loved them when I was a kid.  I imagined, or perhaps simply just accepted it as my destiny (ha. ha.) , that one day I would live in a castle and that I would have a perfect life with perfect everything and that my perfect prince charming would adore me and love me until the end of time.

The problem is, life sort of got in the way.

I do not live in a castle.  I'm thankful for the home I have but it's far from what I pictured it would be.  I do not have perfect everything.  I do not own a horse. My pet shih tzu  resembles an orc, but that's as close as we get to mythical creatures around here. My chariot is a 2000 Dodge Caravan with a saggy roof and an aroma that has yet to be categorized by mankind. Prince Charming does not exist.  More often than not, the princess has to save herself, or at least come to terms with the fact that she may have unreasonable expectations of the person she's chosen to be her ever after.

I think young women, especially since the advent of Pinterest and Twilight, have those same unreasonable expectations of life.  Everything is going to be beautiful and perfect, and this brooding guy with movie star looks is going to show up and love you forever.  That's not how it works, ladies.  Not at all.

Take my advice. Find someone who you can be friends with.  The biggest myth about finding your "true love" is that it's some huge romantic thing.  The best marriages are based on friendship, because a friend, especially a best friend, will never leave you in the cold or kick you to the curb, will never make you feel bad about yourself, and will never treat you like you are less than important in their life.  Find someone that will love you to all the planets.  Find someone you can talk to, who can make you laugh, and who can be sensitive to your feelings.  Find someone who supports your dreams and who will let you stretch and live a little.  When you get married, you don't become one person.  You're still two people.  Find someone who understands that.

Now say you manage to do all this.  You've found this incredible friend, who you also love.  You get married.  You start a life together.  That's when you can say, Once Upon a Time.  Because the story is just beginning, and it's a story you write together.

Time

It's funny how a taste or a smell or a sound can trigger a memory.  When I was growing up both my grandmothers lived in Cleburne, TX and I spent almost every weekend with one or the other.  When I look at my childhood it wasn't anything remarkable in and of itself, but it held a lot of magic for me.  Those weekends were always amazing  and mysterious because I knew that if I was with my grandmothers, then something fun was going to happen.

Today I sat down at the computer with a Coke in my hand and as I raised the glass I heard the ice clink and smelled the Coke and felt the whisper of the bubbles and I remembered my Uncle John. He was great Uncle, my granny's brother; a retired Navy man and a sloppy sweet drunk.  He always hung around Granny's house wearing a pair of overalls with a full head of gray hair.  I don't remember much about him except that he would walk with me down the dirt road that Granny's house was on and we would go around the corner and there was this little store.  It was in an odd place; not on a main road, and it didn't even sell gas.  It was more like a little grocery store.  And we would go in there and he would always buy me a Coke or some other soda and it would always be in a glass bottle.  And we would take it home and sometimes Granny would make me a Coke float.  Something about it being at Granny's house made it a novelty and I have never had another ice cream float that tasted better.

That store is closed now.  It's still there, and it's filled with broken furniture and odds and ends.  Every time I drive by there I feel a little nostalgic and sad, but things change all the time. That's life.

I think the most important thing you can do for your kids is to spend time with them.  It doesn't matter if they have a phone, or the pair of shoes that everyone else wants and can't afford, or if they have every video game system known to mankind.  Time is what's important.  Time.  The time my grandmothers gave to me was a gift.  I learned how to cook because they tolerated me looking over their shoulders or peeking over the counter in the kitchen.  I  learned how to sew because they did it in front of me.  I learned how to garden because my Grandma Rose had a huge garden every year and she put me to work in it.  I learned to love roses because she grew them and talked about them all the time. I learned how to serve others because both of them, Granny Boliver and Grandma Rose, were always doing something for someone else and they never complained about it or bragged about it. They just did it.  I learned how to succeed because my mother never gave up on me and always told me I was capable. She taught me to be kind. And she taught me how to laugh and how to appreciate good music.

I am so thankful for the people in my life who give me good memories.

Loganese

One day at church someone came up to Logan and shook his hand.  This person, and I don't remember who it was, looked at me and smiled and said, "I haven't learned to speak his language yet."

This was such a delightful thing to say because it let me know that somebody "gets" it and that they understand that Logan's communication is, at times, very different from ours.  If that individual is reading this blog, I would just like to say thank you, so much, for understanding.

Logan is a verbal autistic.  This means he does use words, can carry on conversations, and understands exactly what is being said to him and about him in any given situation.  Now, processing all of that, and then spewing it back out in a coherent form is sometimes tricky for him.  Imagine someone who is just learning how to speak English.  They know all the words.  But they don't understand the proper context for the words, so they may say things that don't make a lot of sense.  Because a particular individual named "Bob" wears a blue shirt, this person may call a blue shirt "Bob clothes" because they can't think of the word for "blue".  Or they may call something by the wrong name.  Imagine that they cannot convey that they are nervous or agitated, so they just start saying the only phrase they can think of over and over again.  Logan is much like this.

When Logan gets agitated or anxious, he will say, over and over, "I want to go to Cici's pizza".  He really does like Cici's pizza and loves to eat there.  But when he is anxious, this is what he thinks of to say.  Or he may say, "I want to get milkshakes."  Does he really want a milkshake?  No.  He does not.  The key is not to listen to the words he is saying, but HOW he is saying them.  Is he repeating them over and over again, almost frantically, in a different voice?  This indicates agitation or nervousness.

At times he will also laugh uncontrollably.  A lot of people have seen him do this and they laugh right along with him and ask him what is so funny.  Let me tell you:  NOTHING.  Nothing is funny.  He is, again, exhibiting anxiety.  The key is, once more, to pay attention to the context and the tone.  Is he doing it over and over?  Is it out of control?  Is he using a different voice?  Is there something there to laugh at?  It's difficult to determine how an autistic person is really feeling sometimes because they don't have a lot of control over emotions at times and may exhibit emotion in ways that we don't.  An angry person may actually cry.  A nervous person may laugh.  It's not because they think something is funny.

Another thing Logan likes to do is grab my arm and jerk it up and down and say, "Quesadillas, quesadillas" over and over.  It makes no sense.  He does it to annoy me.  Then he will stop and look at me and say, "I want to play quesadillas".  It has nothing to do with quesadillas and everything to do with annoying his mother.  So most of the time I look at him and say, "I don't want to play that."  Occasionally I will grab his arm and say, "Hamburgers, hamburgers" over and over.  He doesn't know what to do when I do that...he laughs nervously and leaves.

The overall point of this is don't assume that what you're seeing with an autistic person is how things really are.  Ask yourself what is really going on.  Do they need attention?  Are they in pain?  Are they nervous?  Being observant is the best way to learn to speak "Loganese".

Chaos Theory

When I was a junior in high school, our math teacher (Dr. Whisenant, Pre-Calculus) asked us to do a research paper on a math-related topic.  She had a list we could choose from, and we could work in groups of two or three if we chose.  My best friend and I (she is still my best friend) chose Chaos Theory.  We chose it because we knew nothing about it, understood it was probably complicated, and figured that Dr. Whisenant (never understood why a woman with a dual PhD in English and Math would teach high school) would be so impressed that we had tackled such a subject that we would get an A.  (We did.)

In layman's terms, chaos theory means that a small action or occurrence in one place can set off a chain reaction of events and cause a bigger occurrence in another place.  (The present determines the future, according to wikipedia.)  A popular analogy that has never been proven is that if someone steps on a butterfly, in will cause a tsunami somewhere else.

My children had the day off from school today.  Thank you, Mr. President.  So much.  I had already decided that nothing would get done.  Different children came in and out of my house as the day progressed and when we finally saw everyone home, I figured out that we needed to go to the store.  Halfway between dairy and meat I stopped and the thought occurred to me that I had no idea what I was doing and that it would have been better to just go home.  I even considered just heading to the cash register with the stuff I had and coming back for the rest of it later.  That didn't make a lot of sense because I was already there, and so I decided to stick it out and get what was on the list.  After a trip to the bathroom where I discovered that the pattern on my bra could be vaguely determined through the fabric of my shirt (leopard, thanks) I decided to just stop worrying because the day was rapidly deteriorating anyway.  The store was becoming increasingly crowded, the baby was fussing, and Logan was becoming more agitated.  I could no longer lie to myself and say people were staring at us because my kids were beyond adorable.

I got in the car and thought that how I reacted based on what had occurred in the store would affect the rest of the day.  It's so easy for moms (or dads) to let the content of the day determine their mood and how they will treat family members.  Instead I thought of how much help my oldest son and daughter give me all the time, simply by carrying extra things or distracting their younger brother or sister.  I realized, once again, that I am really blessed. I understood from this experience that little things, like exercising patience when you don't want to, or keeping a not-so-great day in perspective, is essential to creating a peaceful future. Your smallest actions, even words said in passing, can change the entire course of someone else's day.

When I got home I changed my shirt.

And I didn't step on any butterflies.