When people find out that I have a birthday on Christmas Day, they always give me the same response:

Oh, wow.  I am so sorry. That must suck for you.

But it really doesn't.  I love having my birthday on Christmas.  I love that the world is decorated and people are singing and everyone (well, almost everyone) is in a good mood.  It does not suck to have a birthday on that day.  It's all a matter of perspective.

That being said, I had a hard time getting into Christmas this year, just because it was warm enough to go tubing at our favorite swimming hole.  We didn't do this, but I sure thought about it.  A trip down the Paluxy in an inner tube is one of the nicest things ever.  But, we tried to make it Christmas-y.  We opened presents.  We gorged ourselves on holiday food and treats, which are all still overflowing from our refrigerator and cookie jar.  We went out to eat and saw the new Star Wars movie.  NO SPOILERS HERE, so relax.  But I do want to see it again...like, fifty times.

The point is, we're blessed. And I'm thankful.

Dark Elves and a Christmas Tale: Marystown Holiday Short

“Hurry up!” hissed Fabrisius.  The metal wire cutters looked huge in Axel’s small, sinewy hands, but  finally, the thick chain fell and they were able to push the metal gates open.

“Are you sure he came this way?” asked Axel.  They crept forward, their deer-skin boots silent on the concrete.

“Of course I’m sure!” scolded Fabrisius.  “Anyway, look!” He pointed to the ground. There, illuminated by the perigee moon, was a fresh pile of reindeer droppings.

“We know he stopped here.  We must have just missed him,” he continued.

Nicholas, they knew, had a mini-storage in every town on earth.  It was a complete myth that he could fit all of those toys in his sleigh on a single night, and although he did have his own magic, it was near impossible for him to make that many trips back and forth to the North Pole on Christmas Eve and still manage to visit all of the children who observed Christmas by the time the sun rose on Christmas Day.  Fabrisius and Axel had been tracking him all evening.  One thing Nicholas couldn’t do anything about was the reindeer droppings.  The reindeer could fly, it was true, but they were still living creatures that ate and pooped whenever they needed to.  The fact that no one had put this together with the once a year journey attributed to the man everyone called Santa Claus did not change the fact that it happened, and it was good fortune for the two dark elves.  The contract they had on St. Nick expired at three am.  They were running out of time.

“You know when this happens that people will blame us.  They always blame us,” whined Fabrisius.

“We’re the ones doing it anyway, so what does it matter?” grumbled Axel.  He was examining the pile of magical turds.  They steamed in the cold air, so he knew that they were catching up to Nicholas.

The truth was that Fabrisius and Axel both had a serious alcohol addiction.  Last winter, overcome by the holidays blues, and by the fact that their North Pole counterparts were having all the fun, yucking it up in the big house while they froze their asses off in a pile of rocks outside Reykjavik, they had decided to go on a drunken spree.  When dressed properly and with hats on to hide their crude, pointed ears, they could pass for dwarfs, or as the humans referred to them…little people...and they had hit up every bar in the Laugavegur, gotten close with a Nordic beauty named Giselle, then stolen a car and taken her for a joy ride around town.  Unfortunately, they had ignored Giselle’s pleas that they take her back to town, and  they finally crashed the vehicle into a cannery down by the wharf.  By this time Giselle was so disgusted with their lewd comments and insensitive behavior that she unfolded her six-foot frame from the convertible and punched in a number to her cell.  If Axel and Fabrisius had been sober, they might have paid attention and known that it was probably a good idea to take their skinny elf asses back to the rest of the Huldufolk, but they were drunk, and they laughed at Giselle’s irritation until a white limousine pulled up the wharf.  A man in a white suit with gleaming white hair emerged from the car, and two trolls...or were they men?...emerged as well.

“Oh, no!” whispered Axel.  “Do you know who that is?”

“No!” giggled Fabrisius.  “Who is it?”

“That’s Jack Frost!”

“No way, man!” laughed Fabrisius, and continued to laugh while the trolls grabbed them by the back of the neck and shoved them into the limo, much to the disgust of Giselle, and the amusement of her father, who studied them in silence the whole way back to his ice palace. No, seriously.  Where else would Jack Frost live?

The long and short of it was, Jack Frost promised to forgive them for harassing his daughter, if they would kill Nicholas Claus.  If they couldn’t fulfill the contract by three am, then Jackson P. Frost, origins unknown but most recently of Reykjavik, Iceland, would have them skinned alive and boiled until their carcasses fell from the bone like tender meat in a stew.

So, here they were, in a lonely little town in Texas called Marystown, tracking Nicholas Claus by following piles of reindeer crap, ruminating on their miserable lives and wishing to Odin that they had never laid eyes on Giselle in the first place.

The mini-storage was empty. Nick had cleaned out and moved on. They needed to hurry.

They held a whispered consultation and decided that he must be headed to the east; the piles of droppings indicated that that was the correct direction.  

They turned to go, and stopped, gasping at the figure that loomed over them.  He must have moved so quietly; quieter than snowflakes falling on the rooftops of Iceland, more silent than the wishes of hopeful, dreaming children, waiting for Saint Nicholas to visit them that night.

His feet were bare, and ugly.  HIs yellow horns were magnificent and horrible at the same time, they curled around his head and around his ears, and his long, pointed tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked his black lips.  He wore an ugly Christmas sweater and held a sack full of writhing lumps.

“Just some last minute housekeeping,” he said, gesturing to the heavy, burlap sack. Axel shivered and Fabrisius felt a thin stream of piss running down his spindly leg.  

“Blood,” said the nightmarish vision in front of them, “Is thicker than water, the humans say.  My brother,” he gestured to the sky, “My younger brother, is a pain the ass.  But he’s still-MY-BROTHER!!!!!” he roared, and the elves jumped together, arms entwined, trembling.

“Wh-wh-” stuttered Axel.

“Spit it out, little man,” growled Krampus.

“Wh-what about Jack?  We’re here, on a job for him.  He’s not going to be too happy if you get in the way!” he finished defiantly.

Fabrisius, for once, kept his mouth shut, willing Axel to do the same.  Clearly, they were no match for Krampus.  No one was.

Krampus laughed.  “I am the stuff of legends, and he is the stuff of fairytales.”  His laughter boomed, echoing off the metal storage units.  “Jack is a wise man.  He knows better than to anger me.”

With that, he produced a long hook.  Deftly he hooked each elf around the neck and pulled them closer.

“I know just where to take you,” he hissed.

Far above, full-throated laughter echoed among the stars.  “Ho ho ho!!!”  A large brown glob fell onto Axel’s head, running down his face and into his eyes.  “HO ho ho!!!  Merry Christmas!”  

Krampus waved, and was just about to stuff the elves in his bag when Fabrisius said, “Wait, wait!”

“What is it?” growled Krampus.

“If we promise to kill Jack  Frost, and bring you his head, then will you let us live?”

Krampus paused.  He really hated Jack.  Jack, with his fancy suits and big limousine, his fairytale life and gorgeous daughter.  

“I’ll consider it.  If.”

“If what?”  squeaked Axel.

“If you bring me Giselle, alive.”

“Done!” said Fabrisius.

“But I must warn you, little man.  If you do not deliver, I will find you next Christmas, and there won’t be any second chances.”

“Agreed!” they squealed in unison.  Krampus watched in amusement as the two dark little pissants ran away down the street.

“I’ll be seeing those two again on Christmas Eve,” he muttered.  He took out his cell phone and fastened the bluetooth into his ear.  It had been challenging, finding one that was the exact right fit, but he’d done it.  “Yeah, I just saved your ass,” he said.  He listened and started walking, slinging the bag of unfortunates over his shoulder, ignoring their whimpers and pleas.  “I’ve got a heavy bag here.  Can I bum a ride?”  The dial tone sounded extra loud in his pointed ear.  “Jerk,” he muttered.  “Maybe if I get a red suit and eat a bunch of gingerbread, people will like me.”

Up above, a fat man in a shiny sleigh rode the wind, laughing with delight, scattering joy throughout Marystown as the perigee moon shone on the silent rooftops..  “Ho, ho, ho!! Merry Christmas!” he called, and a dark elf flipped him the bird before vanishing into the night.

Christmas is two days away and I am finally excited!!  I was in a horrible mood at the beginning of the holiday season, but after thinking about it, I realized that sometimes it just takes time to stabilize yourself and shake things off. Taking five classes this last semester was probably not a good idea.  We were also hit with some unexpected events, like having to re-evaluate our son's medication.  My job is also stressful.  People look at realtors and think, What's the big deal?  You just sell a house.  But there's really more to it than that.  We do have to take classes to get certified to do this in the first place, and we have to keep taking them to keep our licenses current.  We have to keep up with changing laws and regulations.  Show twenty houses and then deal with a buyer who decides "now is not the right time".  File paperwork with title companies.  Negotiate contracts.  The list goes on.  Forever. So I won't bore you with any more details.

What I do know is that this holiday season has given me the opportunity to slow down and really appreciate little things, like the fact that we are having 70+ degree weather so my son can play in the water outside. Gratitude can bring you so much farther than resentment.

R's Photo Spot

Hi, Everyone.

Over the last year, I've developed a keen interest in photography.  I had to make do with a cell phone camera for a long time, until my sweet Uncle Neal gave me a new camera that took much better, bigger pictures.  Add to that a penchant for playing with filters and effects and a full-blown hobby was born.

I don't have enough room to post my photos here, or on Facebook.  I've started developing another blog to showcase them, and you can access it at rsphotospot.net.  Eventually, I'd like to publish my photos, or take orders for prints.

Have fun strolling through my virtual gallery, and look for new photos to be added often!

Christmas is two weeks away. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

This one is cool, too, just because of the conservatory.  Do you know how many plants I could fit in there??

http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/552-Glen-St-Glens-Falls-NY-12801/32918683_zpid/

http://www.oldhousedreams.com/2011/02/01/1910-classical-revival-glen-falls-ny/

My Dream House

I am a total sucker for storybook cottages.  This one is my dream house...



http://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/14-Vanderbilt-Ln_Hyde-Park_NY_12538_M44747-15182

Last week I pulled my daughter out of school and started homeschooling her. In the course of figuring out her curriculum, we started discussing science.

"I hate science," she said.

I was horrified.  I was horrified because, just a couple of years ago, she loved it.

"Which science do you hate?" I asked.

"I hate all science."

And I was upset.  Not at her.  I was upset at her teachers, because science is so cool, and there are so many wonderful things about it, that someone, somewhere, should have brought some enthusiasm to the table and shown her how amazing it can be to discover things.  Considering that she accompanies me to almost every rock, gem, and mineral show I go to, we decided to stick with geology. She showed me the lesson she had been on at her previous school.  There was a list of words that she needed to know.  She was completely bored and didn't have a clue what any of it meant.

And that's when I put the book down and told her why I loved it so much.

Earth science involves materials that we use in everyday life.  If you drive on a road, live in a house, wear makeup, wear a wedding ring, use anything made of metal, or dig in a garden, then earth science affects you.  A lot of scientists squirm at the mention of "God" in relation to any scientific discipline, but the fact of the matter is, God created the earth.  We just don't know the mechanics of how He did it. If you look at a cross section of the layers of the earth, it's like being able to read the backstory of creation.  Learning about the materials that compose the place where we live is fascinating.  I've said it before:  It's God's diary.

Of course, after I explained this to her, all I got back was:  "Hmmm..".

Sometimes your work is just cut out for you.

Alternative Solutions

(image from telegraph.co.uk)

Every year I tell myself that I will get my Christmas shopping done early.  I tell myself that I will do the smart, thrifty thing and buy the presents all year long and stash them away somewhere until it's time to take them out and wrap them.

This is what I tell myself.

Myself doesn't listen.

Christmas is almost here and I'm still not done with it.  There's a part of me that wants to hide at this time of year.  The crowds and the social obligations are sometimes almost too much.  I remember when I worked as a travel agent, I had a client once that booked a one-week trip to an all-inclusive place in Mexico.  Single occupancy.  For Thanksgiving!  I was really young when I worked there.  I had just gotten married, and the idea of going someplace like that for a major holiday was really foreign to me.  At the time, I thought that lady was strange and wondered why in the world you'd want to travel to a foreign country when you were supposed to be at home, cooking and eating a feast and visiting with family.  Fast forward to now and I can totally see the appeal.  The idea of transplanting myself to a different location with beautiful scenery and making a true vacation out of the holidays has never been more enticing.  Imagine a cabin in the mountains with a simple Christmas tree and no phone.  Or a beach and 80 degree weather during November.  It sounds great, right?

So, I tell myself that next year will be the year that we spend Christmas in the mountains of Logan, Utah or rent that beach house in Galveston.  Maybe this time, I'll listen!

So exhausted. That's all I've got to say tonight.

Thanksgiving

Sometimes when life is super rough, the very best thing you can do is just be thankful.

Thanksgiving is two days away, and I feel I am very blessed.  I am so thankful for my four wonderful children.  I'm grateful that they have the opportunity to go to school, and that we can go to the church of our choice and practice our religion freely.  I'm grateful that we have a roof over our heads and food to eat.  I'm thankful that my children are healthy.

Most of all, I'm grateful for my Father in heaven and His son, Jesus Christ, and the great, atoning sacrifice He made in the garden of Gethsemane and on the cross.  He has always been there for me, in my darkest hours.

On a lighter note, I'm grateful for family, and turkey, and that most of the people in my family don't like cranberry sauce because that means more for me!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

A Favor

I would like to ask a favor of all of my readers.  If you enjoy this blog, and you read it on a regular basis, then please send a message to me or comment below.  Thanks, and again, have a wonderful holiday!

The Upcoming Week

This is the end of the semester.  I have a lot of projects and tests that are due, and work has exploded again.  Then we'll also just throw Thanksgiving into the mix, and visitors from out of town.

So, if you don't see a post from me for a little while, I think I've got several very good reasons.

Carry on, readers.  And have a wonderful holiday!

Letting Go A Little

You know, I had made the decision to change my writing to a completely impersonal style that dealt only with specific issues, and I had made that decision because I was concerned that something I had written might have upset someone.

Which was a really stupid idea.

So, on to other things.

Today, I thought about middle school, and about how it's such a difficult time for kids.  Nobody enjoys it.  If someone handed you a time machine and said, today you get to travel back in time and do middle school all over again, how many of us would actually do it?

That's right.  Probably no one would.

It can be really hard on someone with autism to go through it.  Social cues are hard for a kid on the spectrum to understand.  Sometimes they take things literally.  Sometimes they can't recognize when someone is angry, or sad, or making fun of them.  They don't have the social acumen to take an awkward situation and turn it to their advantage, or stay calm when they're really agitated.

Today my son had a field trip where he participated in a fall dance and lunch.  I almost kept him home.  Something like this fills me with apprehension for him.  A dance means music, and probably loud music.  Which means that it will probably hurt his ears, and he may get overstimulated, and not be able to handle all the noise and lights and people.  And what if someone makes fun of him, or ignores him, or he gets scared, or he wanders away to someplace he's not supposed to be?

These are common worries that parents like us deal with on a daily basis.  But today, it was different. He had already missed a lot of school due to a recent hospitalization, so he really couldn't miss any more.  His friends were going.  I had a mountain of work to catch up on with my real estate business and with school, plus all the responsibilities at home.  Keeping him home really wasn't going to work.  So I said a prayer (actually, a LOT of prayers) and sent him to school and buried myself in work all day.

I warned his siblings:  Your brother is probably not going to be in a good mood when he gets home.

And I explained why, that he had this field trip, blah blah blah.

And I picked him up from school and asked how his day went.

And he was in a good mood and said he had a great time.

Oh.

So I had to come to this conclusion:

I can never completely let him go.  He will probably live with me for the rest of his life, or mine.  (I'm trying to live forever...I'm taking it one day at a time.  Ha!)  But maybe it's time to let him grow up, just a little.

Snake in the Drain

I sit here eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and ruminating about this incredibly long day I just had.

You know, realtors encounter weird things.  We deal with all kinds of people.  Some of them are a joy and a blessing to deal with, and helping them out is a great experience.  The same thing goes for properties.  Sometimes, the properties you come across are wonderful.  You walk in and you think, Oh, this is cute, or Oh, this has great potential or Sweet Baby Moses I can't get out of this fast enough. (Sounds kind of like a woman sizing up a man, right? Heh.)  Then there's the house I encountered today.  It was vacant, but I had to take pictures of the inside of it.  I walked through, thinking, this is a really nice house, it needs a little work, but nothing that can't be done.

That's about when I walked into the hall bathroom and saw the snake coming up out of the bathtub drain.

Just to be clear, I'm not squeamish around reptiles.  My oldest son loves them and I've always been more curious than frightened of most living things.  I love spiders.  I will go to great lengths to capture them if they're in the house and put them outside.  I once had a wasp tangled in my hair. I pulled it out and let it go out the car window.  It didn't sting me.  (Not that I would get so lucky next time).  The point is, I didn't scream or run or whatever women do when they see these things.

But, it did catch me off guard, mostly because I wasn't sure if it was poisonous or not.  And I thought, that really doesn't belong there.  How in the bleep did that thing get in the drain in the first place? Because it was coming OUT of the drain, not trying to slither into it.

And I thought, I can ignore the damaged drywall and the needed paint touch-ups.  But I can't ignore this.

People are a lot like this, too.  Everyone has their idiosyncrasies, and everyone has stuff they need to work on.  Nobody is perfect.  But every now and then I run across someone who hoists a big ol' red flag and I think, I can't ignore that.

And that's when I say, Sweet Baby Moses, I am out of here. And if I can't get out of there physically, then I'm gone emotionally. Because in my experience, ignoring the snake in the drain leads to more problems and complications than it's worth.

Life is short, buy the sofa.

Yesterday I started painting our front living room red.

See, what happened is, I found this antique sofa and chair at a thrift store.  They were both in good condition.  They were covered with crushed velvet and both had a channel back, which you just don't see that much anymore.  I knew it was crazy, but I bought those.  I had no where to put them.  And then I did something even crazier and sent them to an upholstery shop.

Because I have kids, I asked them to cover it in something durable, so the upholsterer chose a sturdy fabric in a muted gray tone...and I just absolutely loved it.

Got sticker shock from the upholsterer.

Brought the sofa and chair home and still had no where to put it.

Realized, that with in-laws coming to visit toward the first of December, that the front room was really ugly...and broke out the can of red paint that sat in my entryway for six months.

I was a little nervous about doing it.  Red is a difficult color in houses.  If you don't get it pre-mixed with primer, it can take more than one coat to cover everything.  This shade took two coats and I'm only half-way done...but here's the thing:  I LOVE it.  The furniture that I went out on a limb and bought for no good reason looks really good in here.  And it's my favorite color scheme:  red, and gray, and there will be a little bit of black, too.

Logan loved it so much he went and changed into all red clothes.  I guess he was trying to match?

The point is, sometimes, you have to follow your heart.  You may feel like you should do something, and there's no good reason to do it.  It may not fit, logically, with what you know at the time.  But in the end, it works out.

I'm looking forward to completing this room with a great deal of anticipation.

Life is short.  Buy the sofa.

Adjusting to Social Change

At the last support group meeting for All Together, a certain topic came up.  This topic had to do with social change; specifically, how when you find out your child has autism, and you have to make adjustments and accommodations for that, it will inevitably affect your social life.

A long time ago, I had this tight little group of friends.  Anyone who knows me well knows that I get a lot of my energy from being around people.  I like my alone time, because everyone needs time to decompress, but I love being around people.  So, this little group of friends and I...we would go out to lunch together, our kids would play together, etc.  You get the drift.

After my son's autism started emerging, things changed.  The phone calls didn't come as often and the invites for my other kids sort of dwindled.  To be fair, this could have also been due to life changes...people getting busy or kids getting older.  But, it just happened to coincide with this time in my life.  I have one distinct memory of meeting some really old friends at a Starbuck's.  My son didn't like being in there.  I don't know if he was having a bad day or what, but he made his  displeasure known.  And I can remember these friends looking at me with a mixture of "we don't know what to do" and "we pity you".

Anyone who knows me well knows that "pity" is not something I want, need, or enjoy.

So, things changed.  Life is like that.  Sometimes, you try really hard to be a friend to someone, and for whatever reason, it doesn't work out.  Perhaps you're at two different places in life.  Maybe the person you're trying to be friends with has a different idea than you about what friendship is. Maybe you're going through something that they have not a clue how to deal with, be it a divorce, or cancer, or an autism diagnosis, so they retreat.

Whatever it is, this is what I've learned.  You can waste a lot of energy, and enjoy a whole lot of heartache, by chasing after somebody who doesn't really want to be a part of your life.  You can bend over backwards for someone, and do everything in your power to make sure they understand that they are important to you as a friend, spouse, lover, whatever...and if they don't feel the same way, then you're wasting your time.  You can't force a heart.  You can't create something out of nothing.

Life is precious, and limited.  Time flies.  Eventually, I found out who my real friends were...and they were the ones who stayed.  They were the ones who educated themselves about my son, and who still see me as me, and not as the mom who has a child with autism.  Each day that passes I find more peace in being greedy with my time, and spending it with uplifting people who don't really care if my son has odd habits or says weird things, or if I live on a specific side of town or drive an old minivan. I've always been about people, not things.  Nice things are nice, but people are more important..because the relationships we form here, and the knowledge we gain, is all we take with us to the next life.

Throw Me The Whip, I'll Throw You a Deadline

(This image was created by Christopher Cahill Jones on dribbble.com)


Well, this morning I woke up and realized:  holy smokes, it's November 2.  That means the semester is more than halfway over, I have piles of projects and assignments to do, Thanksgiving is just around the corner and so is Christmas, and somebody just make it stop.

Seriously, when did things start going so darn fast?  When you're a kid, you feel like you have forever.  Then you get to this point in your life, and the game's afoot.

I feel like that gif up there.

But then I remind myself that I chose this.  And yesterday, for about five seconds, I stood in my living room and thought, "I wonder what it would be like to not have to go to school or work and just sit my bum at home and take leisurely walks if I want and cook fabulous dishes and decorate the house all day, and just take care of the kids..."

Because I used to do that. And I do miss it.

But then I thought, Nah.

I'm a firm believer in reaching for the stars.  Everyone on this earth has their own potential; few people choose to explore it and work for it.

As far as the great ball of deadlines, holidays, and other challenges this week...I've got this.

Fossilmania

If I hadn't gone into psychology, I would have gone into geology.  The only thing that decided me against it was the fact that a lot of geologists end up working for oil companies, which I didn't want to do, or out in the field (literally), which I cannot do and take care of my kids at the same time.

So it's just a hobby.  It's a lifelong hobby, actually.  When I was a kid, my parents would take me and my brother to Colorado for camping vacations.  Every tourist trap always had rock samples for sale.  I think what cemented it for me was the time we rented a cabin in Estes Park.  The Fall River ran behind those cabins, pretty rapidly and ice cold (yeah, a totally safe spot for kids to play! :P) and there were huge boulders sticking up out of the water.  One morning my brother and I went out there, and someone had very carefully set a piece of iron pyrite (fool's gold) and some other interesting specimens on the top of this boulder.

Yes, I took them all.

No, I am not ashamed.  No one was there, and it was impossible to tell who they belonged to.   Etc, etc. justification, blah blah blah.

After that I was often looking at the ground.  I had a box under my bed that was full of rocks.

Fast forward years and the two geology classes I took at Hill College just fanned the flames.  Now I have a huge appreciation for this hobby.   To me, geology is history.  It's a record.  And (all scientists everywhere are going to roll their eyes at this one, but I care not) it's God's diary.  (Hey, He created all of it.  It's not specific about how).  I'm going to finish my MS in clinical therapy...and then perhaps go back to school and indulge myself in this.

Tomorrow at the Glen Rose Conference Center, my oldest son and youngest daughter and I will be attending "Fossilmania".  I've never been but I'm told it's so cool.  It's free to get in, and there are free things for the kids and lots of things to look at.  I can't wait...that, coupled with the Dallas Gem and Mineral Show in November, is going to send me into Sparkly Overload.  (A sparkly is my non-scientific term for any rock or mineral that...well..sparkles...)  

Anyhow, it's late, and I've been watching The Flash. I wish I could run that fast....

"One Day" is the treasure that I've buried in my heart.  

Pumpkins and Spice and Everything Nice

I took my 3 year old for a walk today.  And ohmygosh. The weather.  So perfect.  

This is my absolute favorite time of year!  I love things that smell good, and to me, fall smells good.  And it sounds good.  The wind blowing against windows.  Rain on the roof.  Leaves crunching under my feet.  There isn't anything not to like.

Fall is the perfect weather for hunting through old cemeteries for that perfect photograph (sounds morbid, I know, but to me, ancient tombstones are historical relics, and should be respected and memorialized).  It's the time of year when I can feel my spirit lifting, in spite of gray skies and chilly evenings...both of which I love.  It's the perfect time of year to throw a soup in the slow cooker, or some chili (with chickpeas...for texture...) and for revisiting Marystown, once again.

What is Marystown, do you ask?  Well...it's this little Texas town, and strange things happen there.  It's become a tradition to write about it once a year...and this year, I think darkness is hovering in a grocery store parking lot...

More to come, dear readers.  Stay tuned.

Pain is a beautiful thing.  It skins you alive and turns you into a creature you might not have been had you lived another life.

As a human being, when life's challenges hit home I experience them pretty much like anyone else.  I get angry, sad, depressed, stressed, whatever.  But there's also something in me, as a writer, that stands back and watches and learns. I remember reading an article in Writer's magazine years ago.  I don't remember who said it or the exact wording, but it was a female writer, and she said something like, My dog could die, my house could burn, my husband could leave, and there would still be a part of me standing to the side and saying, Isn't this interesting?

Which sounds like something a psychopath would utter.  It seems so devoid of appropriate feeling.  But the way I look at it is this:  Life is a beautiful mess.  It's the chaos of the hurricane caused by the mosquito that your grandmother swatted on a front porch one summer evening.  You never know what can fall in your lap...the good or the bad.  It's scary and exciting and terrible and wonderful, and if you really want to enjoy it, you have to accept all of it.

This past week my son was admitted to a psychiatric ward at a children's hospital.  We took him there because his behavior had finally gotten the best of us.  It was more than we could handle.  We realized, while he was gone, that we had just been managing our lives this entire time.  We were putting out fires and forgetting to live. I confided this incident to a few friends and inevitably, they were horrified.  They felt sorry for us and sorry for him and wanted to fix it.  A couple of friends listened and then changed the subject and redirected the conversation back to themselves.  A couple of friends brought food.  One friend told me I didn't have to have all the answers right now, and she was the one I listened to the most.

The point is that we got some help for our kid.  It was a long time coming.  I am by no means convinced that all problems are now solved and we can move forward with the warm assurance that this new medication he's on is the magic bullet that will put down the moody beast that rears its ugly head in him on his worst days.  Instead I've learned, this week, that each day is like a pearl on a string.  Some of those pearls are flawless.  Some of them are misshapen, like freshwater baubles.  And some of them are discolored.  But they are all pearls, and they all have their own beauty.  I've also learned that there are too many things I have let fall by the wayside, and too many things I have put up with for far too long.  Life is precious.  Life is sweet.  Life is not meant to be wasted feeling sad.

My son is not his disorder.  He, himself, is also precious, and sweet.  Dealing with is disorder is a one day at a time scenario.  I consider him, and the extraordinary amount of patience, and love, that he requires, and wonder how many people would actually be able to do it?

Swim upstream

Kick the hornet’s nest

Poke the tiger

Rattle some cages

Make them uncomfortable

GO AGAINST THE GRAIN

Open your mouth

Make the leap

Live out loud

Change the world

It's heartbreaking to watch a personal fiction unravel.

Domestic Violence Awareness Month

This month is domestic violence awareness month.

I'm still amazed at the attitudes some people take towards this.  Especially the attitude of "She/He must like it or she/he would leave".

It's not that simple.

Part of the reason domestic violence is so hard to combat is because the perpetrator becomes very skilled at demoralizing his or her victim.  The victim feels powerless, they begin to believe they don't deserve better, and often, their very lives or the lives of their children are at stake.  It escalates and sometimes the victim becomes a prisoner in their own home.  The abuser dictates who they can see and talk to and when. They are often quick to jump to conclusions about their victim's behavior.  They check mileage on their victim's car.  They cut off means of communication.  Some women, and some men, end up dead, or they walk out with just the clothes on their back rather than stay in this intolerable situation.

Verbal abuse is even more insidious, and while it doesn't leave physical scars, it does leave psychological ones.  Verbal abuse includes making threats (if you don't do A, then I'm going to leave, or if you don't do A, then I'll do B, and you won't like it when I do B), making comments about a person's appearance and intellectual ability (you're really stupid, you know that?), twisting situations around and blaming the victim for the perpetrator's own anger or misbehavior (if you didn't do A, or act like A, then I wouldn't have to act like B, or do B.  This is totally false, because everyone is responsible for their own behavior).  It also includes interrupting, not listening, discounting feelings and opinions,and  acting concerned when in reality the abuser is trying to control someone's behavior. It includes not giving due consideration to someone's opinion, or respecting those opinions even if you don't agree with them.  It includes not being able to take responsibility for one's own actions (Spouse:  I'm not happy because you said/did A.  Abuser:  Oh, so it's my fault?  *proceeds to verbally attack spouse* instead of listening and trying to come to a resolution). It also includes continuing a behavior that the abuser knows makes the spouse sad, miserable, uncomfortable, or embarrassed. The spouse becomes trapped in a deadly cycle with the verbal abuser, because they think they can make the abuser understand them or see their point of view.  This will never happen.  The abuser likes the feeling he/she gets from being "right" and "in power" all the time.  They're really not interested in a loving relationship.

Have you also noticed that I have referred to the victim as HE or She?  Statistically, women are most often the victims of domestic abuse.  But men are too.  Men don't receive as much attention for this because of society's perception of women as the "weaker" sex, but abuse can happen in any relationship, to any gender, even among LGBT couples.  And it's really not about gender.  It's about one person mistreating another person.

If you are being abused  and you need help, call this number.  This is the National Domestic Violence Abuse Hotline.  1-800-799-7233.  

The Dual Child

Once again, I have come down with some sort of cold or virus, and I am hacking and coughing.  The 80-year old man is back.  I'm tired of being sick and sick of being tired.  You never fully appreciate your ability to navigate life until something impedes your skill to do so.

I've titled this entry "The Dual Child" for a reason.  People never believe me when I tell them that my son is one child at school, and a completely different person at home.  I once tried to explain this to a psychiatrist that had practiced for a number of years.  He was in his 70's and working at our local MHMR clinic, if that tells you anything.  I explained the personality difference between the boy at school and the boy at home.  He told me he didn't believe me.  That he had never heard of anything like it.  Besides the fact that I didn't appreciate being called a liar in so many words, nor that my authority as the expert on my son wasn't recognized, it disappointed me that someone who was supposed to be in the business of helping people wasn't educated enough on the newest frontier of psychiatry.  The word "fossil" comes to mind, but I digress.

My son has been described by his teachers as "a model student", "the sweetest boy", "always does what he is told", "never causes a problem", etc.  All of this is true.  He is sweet, and when he is not overstimulated or dealing with change in his schedule, he is the calmest child and easy to talk to and reason with.

He is not like this at home.

The strict predictability of a school day does wonders for him. If children with ASD thrive on scheduling, then this environment will, of course, suit his psyche.  He always knows what to expect.  The same people are always there.  He eats lunch at the same time every day.  He has similar assignments every day.  The same classes at the same time.  Not everyone will behave in the same manner, but there are rules, and most of the time, those rules are followed.  Mom drops him off at the same time every morning and picks him at the same time in the afternoon.  Do you see now this might calm a child riddled with anxiety?  The sheer sameness of each passing day poses no threat and no surprise to him.

Home is different.  In a home, you cannot keep a schedule like this, nor should you expect your other, neuro-typical children to adhere to it. There are unexpected sounds and noises.  Because of everyone's crazy schedule, dinner is probably not at the same time every night.  Not everyone behaves in a predictable manner because when you're at home, you're freer to express yourself, and to wear what you want, watch something on tv, listen to music, have friends over.  It's unpredictable.  It's an unpredictability that neuro-typical people don't think much about, but to a child with ASD, it's very hard to deal with.  So when he's at home, my son screams, or hits things, or acts out.  He gets overstimulated very easily.  It's not something a lot of people understand. There have been times when he has stood in our front yard, shrieking until I could get him into the house.  In all the times we've lived here, our neighbors have never complained or said anything.  They must be saints, because I know they've heard him on more than one occasion.

So what is the point of explaining all of this to you?  The point is that just because something looks one way to you, doesn't mean that it is that way.  I've had people comment to me that I do this mothering thing with my son so well, that my husband and I have it all together, etc.  I appreciate their faith in me, I appreciate the encouragement, and I appreciate their belief that this is easy.  I'm here to tell you that it's not.  It's the hardest thing in the world.  It changes you.  It makes you into a different person.  You start to see the world differently, and you start to view other people differently. This isn't a bad thing.  There are many things I've learned from my son that I wouldn't trade anything for, and I would never want to go back to the person I was before I had him.  I just want to make the point that it's very easy to make assumptions about people.  You really can't know someone else's experience unless you've lived through it yourself, or know that person extremely well.

How do we solve the issue of the "dual child"?  The answer is, you don't.  You cannot create a school environment at home, anymore than the school can become "homey".  You provide as much predictability as is reasonable for you to provide, and you teach your child with ASD that at home, this is the way things are done, and at school, they are done a different way.  You learn ways to calm him, or re-direct him.  Above all else you have to operate with understanding that you are not dealing with someone who is malicious.  You are dealing with someone who is carrying an extreme case of anxiety, and that anxiety may cause them to say and do things that are hard to watch and even harder to deal with.  If you let go of your expectation that your child with ASD will stay calm and that you can make them into something else, things will be, in some ways, less stressful for you.

The Conservatory

I went to get my hair cut today and on the way home decided to stop at the Botanical Gardens in Fort Worth.  I haven't been there in years.  I think the last time I went there was for a friend's wedding over twenty years ago!

Anyhow, everything was vaguely familiar, until I went inside the main building and saw that there was a conservatory.  I had no memory of this.  You have to pay a couple of bucks to go inside it, but if you love plants and gardening, it's well worth it.

The conservatory is like a giant rainforest.  The air is very humid and there is water everywhere.  There are ponds and waterfalls incorporated into the landscape and some plants, like the one in my picture, are at least two stories tall.

I could have stayed in there forever.  I'm not joking.  It was amazing and peaceful and beautiful.

I had the chance to wander around the grounds as well, and that was gorgeous too, but since I was short on time I didn't get to explore as much as I would have liked.

Sometimes unexpected detours are the best trips of all.  If you have a chance to visit the conservatory, I highly recommend it.

Unplugged

This week has been a life-event type of week for our family.

Puberty and autism don't go well together.  There are a lot of reasons for this, but mainly it's because when a child with autism experiences puberty, they can't really express what they're feeling.  There are too many changes going on physically and emotionally.  A woman wrote another blog entry about it this week and I identified with it in every aspect.  Needless to say, stress has built up in our home over time.  You don't realize how close you are to the breaking point until you take a step back and look at the situation from a different angle.

My oldest son and daughter are partially home-schooled.  Part of the beauty of home school is that if you want to spend some quality time with your kids and just take a day off, you can do that without getting a bunch of phone calls or having to write a bunch of notes.  So, my husband took the day off work and we took our oldest son and daughter, and our baby girl, and left town for a little while.

It was just a day trip.  We stopped and got kolaches.  I'm a big believer in trying new things as long as those new things aren't illegal, and I'm embarrassed to say I never had a kolache.

I have no regrets.  That's all I'm going to say.  Oh, and that I walked it all off later.

We then paid a visit to Cameron Park Zoo in Waco.  This is what I imagine a "boutique" zoo would look like.  It's small, but really beautiful.  Because we went there on a Thursday, we had the zoo practically to ourselves.  It was a gorgeous day, we got to wander around at our leisure and enjoy each other and the animals, and we had a great time.

This is the first time in months that I have felt so calm, and at peace.  The pain in my neck, where all my stress seems to settle, did not make an appearance today.  I tried to examine the day to see what I did differently, and what I did differently was I experienced something new.  I went somewhere new.  I also did not check my email all day, did not make any phone calls, except to a family member to let her know where we were, did not work on school work, did not work on real estate, did not clean the house, did not stress about dinner, and I crashed on the couch after I picked up Logan from school and had a great half an hour where I just held him and we talked and watched tv.

It was heavenly.

And I wondered what would happen if everyone could unplug like that at least once a week?  I know it's not possible.  It's not possible to travel somewhere new once a week, but what if once a week we just stopped everything.  What if once a week the only commitment we had was to ourselves?  That sounds incredibly selfish, and maybe it is...but what if we took a time out more often and gave ourselves time to think, and relax?  Perhaps that was what Heavenly Father meant the Sabbath to be.

And yes, I do see more kolaches in my future ;)

When the School Listens

To say that I ranted on this blog a couple of nights ago about the state of Logan's educational plan would be an understatement.  Do I regret writing what I wrote?  No, I do not, simply because someone has to be a voice for Logan.  That person is me.  His mother.  It's my  job.

Everyone that works at the school, from the nutritionists to the nurses to the board members and so forth, has a job too.  I'm thankful that the Director of Special Education chose to listen to me, and took into account what was really behind everything I was writing, which was frustration at the ineffectiveness of a system, not at a single person. 

I'm happy to report that my concerns are being addressed.  As I said to the Director, no one goes into special ed because it's fun or because it will make you rich.  The people that are employed by the school in that capacity are there because they want to be there.  Sometimes, misunderstandings arise, based on perceptions of a disorder or behaviors, and unless someone says something or does something, those misunderstandings can persist and create huge problems.

We still have a very long way to go, but I'm very hopeful about the future.  Until next time.

Autism and OCD

I don't really have a picture to put with this blog entry.  I thought about putting up a picture of someone washing their hands, or something to that effect, but that would be incredibly misleading, so I'm just going to do what I want to do and write.

Several people in the last few weeks have expressed concern over or tried to ask Logan what the large sore spot on this forehead is or how it happened.  This gives me an excellent opportunity to talk about autism and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

Logan has never been diagnosed with OCD, but he has several obsessive/compulsive behaviors.  Perhaps the next time we take him to a specialist, we can explore that further.  In order to understand how this relates to autism, you first have to understand what OCD actually is.  A lot of people, when they hear the term "OCD", picture someone who washes their hands repeatedly.  While this particular behavior can occur, it's not the sum total of OCD.  OCD has a great deal to do with anxiety.  Sometimes, people may have obsessive thoughts.  For instance, more than one person has talked about hitting a bump in the road and then thinking that they ran over a child.  Logically, they know that no child was present, but they can't escape the thought that a child was under their wheels, so they spend half an hour driving around the block to make sure that what they imagine didn't actually occur.  Other people avoid things, like odd numbers, or they are extremely resistant to change.  Some people have obsessive behaviors, like the hand washing, or folding clothes a particular way, or they have a series of behaviors they have to carry out before they can move on to something else.

Many autistic children exhibit obsessive/compulsive tendencies.  Logan has obsessive behaviors that are extremely hard for him to resist or control.  When Logan gets a bug bite or a zit, he will pick on it until he bleeds, and then continue to pick on it until someone stops him.  In spite of repeated bandaging and admonishing him to stop, explaining the risk of infection, taking him to the doctor, and so on, he still does it.  It can take months for something like that to heal and by then, he's probably done it so much that it leaves a scar.  Can you imagine how frustrating this is, for us as parents, and for him, because he really can't control himself?

A lot of autistic children are very resistant to any kind of change.  If something doesn't go the way they think it will, it upsets them and rocks their world on a level that you can't possibly comprehend.  It helps to give them advance warnings.  For example:  In five minutes, we're going to leave the park.  Or..Class, Ms. so and so is not going to be here tomorrow.  Instead, you will get to be with Mr. so and so.   And remind them REPEATEDLY.  Make sure they understand that something has changed, but that it's okay, so they know what to expect.

I could go on and on about this subject specifically, but I have a test to study for and a nap to take. :)  Just know that autism is not the cut and dried disorder that people perceive it to be.  There are too many what ifs, too many complications, and too many variations on behavior for it to fit neatly inside one box.

Unfortunately, I didn't figure this out until I was almost burnt to a crisp.  

Laying It on the Table

It's ironic that right after I posted this blurb about "I'm not going to write as much on this blog" that I suddenly have something very important to say.

This is going to offend some people.  This is going to irritate some people.  Color me apathetic in that regard.

About a week ago, my son came home with homework in his folder.  This is Logan, who can barely write his own name, who can barely sit still long enough for me to read him a story.  This is Logan, who enjoys playing Starfall and pbskids.org on the computer, but who has zero interest in learning letters and numbers on paper.  This is MY KID, who has a wicked sense of humor, who longs to fit in, who is great at building things, who desperately wants friends and longs to play baseball.  Now that we're clear on that, let me tell you about the homework that came home with him.

It was a worksheet.  And it had a picture on it.  And it directed him to "write a story about the picture".

I was a touch flabbergasted.  Did I mention he can barely write his own name?

Just to clarify, I did ask his teacher about this.  I was directed to help him with the homework, which I have no problem doing, and that as long he "puts something", it would be okay.

Perhaps it would be okay for her, but for Logan, it would cause a great deal of frustration, and he would get absolutely nothing out of it.

My kid, since moving up to 6th grade at his middle school, has been put in a drama class.  It looks great on paper.  It fulfills an arts requirement.  It's also a class that he cannot effectively participate in.  I got an email today about a monologue that he is supposed to do next Tuesday.  This child has trouble communicating his most basic needs to me.  I emailed his drama teacher about what exactly she expected from him.  She hasn't replied as of the writing of this post.

It gets worse.

Today I met with some other parents of special needs kids and I met a lady who I will decline to identify.  She brought her two sons with her, both special needs, both autistic.  She told me she was homeschooling them.  Why?  Because the school enrolled one of them in a physics class.  This kid could communicate effectively.  Understand scientific concepts related to physics?  No.  Her description of the way the high school treated him?  Just silly.  That's what she said.  I believe her now.

Another friend of mine, who also has a son on the spectrum, wanted to play football.  He knows football, he has played football since he was in PeeWee.  He was so excited.  And while the school allowed him to enroll in football, he got off the bench once.  No one helped him out in the locker room.  He was eventually put into an algebra class, a class he could not possibly pass. Guess what that meant for him?  No more football.

I worry about my son every single day that he goes to school in this district. He had excellent teachers in elementary school who strived to follow his ARD to the letter and truly cared about him, and I guess they set the bar pretty high.  I know that I can always call an ARD meeting to address any concerns that I have, but the truth of the matter is it won't change anything.  We have many dedicated, hard-working teachers who love their special ed students and bend over backwards to help them, but they are forced to work within the system that is in place.  The truth is, and I want whoever is reading this to hear me, loud and clear, that this school district is not designed to accommodate special needs children in the best way possible.  Many staff members are not knowledgeable about autism.  Do you understand what that means?  It means that this school district is doing its special needs population of students a great disservice.  The number of autistic students is growing, every year.  Why aren't teachers more educated about this disorder?  Why isn't more training available?  The other truth is that the school, and the community, can do more.  We just agreed to a deal for our city that will allow for a ballpark, multiple eating establishments, hotels, and shopping venues, but my son's 6th grade teacher doesn't understand why an autistic child would want to wear the same clothes every day, and the school is putting him in classes he can't possibly succeed in.  You know why?  Because they have no where else to put him.  There are no adaptive programs at our middle schools.  And it's a shame because there could be.  They could have adaptive art.  They could explore musical instruments with these kids.  They could offer adaptive sports. They could participate in special olympics.  They could even include our children in newspaper stories and Facebook posts the same way that they include "normal" students, but it doesn't really happen.  They could admit, finally, once and for all, that these kids are not given the same consideration that other students are given.  Stop throwing our children into classes that they cannot possibly thrive in.  Stop throwing worksheets at them that they cannot possibly do. Stop labeling it a "least restrictive environment".  It's not.  By trying to incorporate kids into situations that they aren't prepared for, in classes that they cannot possibly succeed in, (physics, for crying out loud), you are restricting them in the worst way.  You are saying, We don't know what to do with you, so we are going to put you in here, even though we know you will never be able to calculate mass or understand gravity.  Instead, could you actually, possibly, really care, and care enough to find out what they really need to work on, and what their strengths are, and maybe, possibly, incorporate that into their IEP, the way you're supposed to?  Because we are tired, us parents.  We are tired of fighting for what we know our kids should have.  It would be so much easier if we went from A to Z without having to visit every other letter in the alphabet along the way.  But I will tell you this.  We will.  If we have to, we will.