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.

TAG

Due to the incredible volume of work that is coming at me and the also incredible volume of projects/reading/discussions that are due at school, plus being a wife and mother, and running a support group for parents of disabled children, and homeschooling a teenage boy in math and history, I probably won't be posting on this blog as often for the next few months.  Please forgive me.  Oh wait, I don't care.  Seriously, I need to breathe.

It's actually been a huge blessing to be able to work with my son on those subjects I just mentioned, because he chose the middle ages to learn about, and I love that time period. When I was in the 6th grade, I got put into something at school called "TAG".  It stood for "Talented and Gifted" and it was the equivalent of painting a target on your back for all the other kids to aim at who didn't get to go to TAG.  Being in TAG meant that once a week, you left your normal class and got bused over to a building on another campus, where a teacher would work with you and teach you things that the other kids didn't get to learn.  We were so lucky.  We had this teacher named Mrs. McKey, and she decided that for that semester we would be studying the Middle Ages. So, she read to us from Ivanhoe. We studied castles.  We learned about knights. We learned all kinds of stuff.  In between times we were given ridiculous, problematic situations to solve and we had to team up with other kids in the class to figure out the solution to these problems.  We also got to play a lot of board games, like chess and Pente, and other stuff that was intended to bend your brain into unreasonable shapes. The biggest thing we did was choosing a project that involved a lot of research...a LOT of research...and we had to work on it for the entire semester and then present it at the TAG medieval fair.  So, I wrote a book.

I always wanted to be a writer.  So, this book, it had a lot of stuff in it about the time period, but it was also very girly...a princess falls in love with a stable boy who gets drafted into her father's war, so she disguises herself as a knight and goes off to fight in said war, much to the chagrin of her father, who finds out after the fact.  I killed off the stable boy.  Yeah, I know.  Heartless. And yes, it was sort of Mulan-esque, but I didn't know about Mulan then, and the movie was still just a twinkle in Disney's eye.

The thing about being in TAG was that once you were in it, you were in it.  So when we got to middle school (6th grade was in elementary then), you were put in TAG and you were with the same people in those classes until you graduated.  We had a lot of opportunities that other kids at the school didn't have, and later I thought that this was probably a bad thing..because some of those kids probably could have been in our class and done just fine..but they didn't have the opportunity.  After a while we became like this weird family: people who were thrown together who normally wouldn't have hung out with each other at all, but we were in these classes, and we learned to tolerate each other just because we all had the same "classification".  Now, when I talk about it, it sounds like some weird social experiment.  Perhaps it was.  No one really harassed me about it at school, but I know that some of my classmates were.  "Does your mother dress you?" etc.  That sort of thing.  Ridiculous.

So, anyway, I'm not sure how I got on this subject.  What I do know is that being passionately, avidly curious, has kept me from feeling depressed many, many times, has probably kept me from feeling "olde"  (it's a four-letter word to me, so I have to add the "e"!) , and helped me instill that in my kids.

Back to the original subject:  I will still be posting on this blog, but probably not as much, just because there are other things that really need my attention right now.

Now, the day is getting Olde, and I have to go and explain radioactive decay and half-lives to my daughter.  A goode tyme will be had by all.

"I thought, How many new lives can we have? Then I thought, as many as we like." -Dame Judi Dench, The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel


Sometimes you come to the realization that you are exactly where you need to be.  Even if it's hard, and not ideal, and not what you pictured, and you know that you could quite possibly be much happier somewhere else....after much prayer and deliberation, you realize that this situation you're in is there for a reason, you're in it for a reason, and sometimes, you just have to stand up on your hind legs and deal.

I'm a patient woman.  Most of the time.  It makes me proud to say that, and I say that with the knowledge that I am patient compared to who I was about nine or ten years ago.  I read an advice column today.  It was Carolyn Hax, and I absolutely love love love her, adore her insight, and her unique talent for putting people in their place with a few well-spoken words.  Well.  Someone wrote in tonight, and it was a woman lamenting the fact that she was blessed with a hard working husband, a home that they worked really hard for, and a graduate degree that she was just dying to use.  Add to that small town life and the draggy housewife/stay at home mom duties that go with it (I believe the word she used was *blergh*) and you have a recipe for a dissatisfied thirty-something longing to break the chains of suburban hell and explore the world and all it has to offer.

Ms. Hax encourages honesty about feelings, so I am going to be honest about how I felt when I read this woman's complaint.  On the one hand, I understood. About ten years ago, I was thirty, and I thought I had run out of "time", and that nothing cool would ever happen to me.  I was stuck at home in a tiny house with two small children that were born eighteen months apart.  We only had one car, so I really was trapped there until Husband came home from work.  This house was also located in a tiny Texas town that I never dreamed of setting down roots in and I thought life was just horrible.  So I understand why this woman feels the way she does, because I used to feel that way.

On the other hand, I wanted to throttle her.  I wanted to tell her, by God, woman, be thankful.  Be thankful for your sedate, boring life, for the opportunity to be with someone who loves you enough to work hard everyday, be glad you have healthy children, be grateful you have a roof over your head, understand that you had the opportunity to get an advanced degree and think about that, every day.

I understand the longing to feel important.  To feel like you are contributing, that you are doing something worthwhile.  Please, sweet lady who is bored at home and wants more.  Take my word for it.  You are doing something worthwhile.  It can all change in an instant.  Degrees are important.  Education is important. The need to carve your place in the world and experience things, that's important too.  But your children and your husband are no less important and valuable and that has to be considered.

I never thought I would get to go back to school, or have a job outside of the home.  When my husband and I got married, I had already racked up a bunch of useless hours at more than one college, and failed miserably because I could never seem to find something that fit.  I gave up on it for a while.  The demands at home were too great.  Now ten years later, I have a career that allows me to work from home that I LOVE, and I'm back at school.  And you know what?  I'm not too old, and it's totally the right time to do it.  There's not any *blergh* here.  If anything, there's a little wistfulness for a more peaceful time that I know is not going to come around again for a long while.  But that's okay.  By all means, seek to enrich yourself.  Do what you can to build a career where you're at.  Think outside the box.  Talk to your husband and be honest about how you're feeling, and find out what his feelings are about the future. What does he want?  Is he satisfied with his job?  With the town?  With the house?  Where does he want to be in five years?  Ten?  How about you?  Look at what you do every day and ask yourself what you're doing that's just for you.  Do you have a hobby?  Do you have a social group that you're part of?  Do you keep yourself updated in your field? Stay at home moms experience burnout, just like anyone else with a full time job.  I once had a friend who was really confused at the idea that a mom might need a break from her kids.  But we do.  All moms do.  Why?  Because you are with this person, or people, 24/7.  You're constantly providing all the things they need, which is what you're supposed to do, but to assume that you don't need a break is to assume that you are a mother and only a mother and that that is your sole function in life.  The you that existed before you had kids still exists, and that you needs personal care, time to breathe, and time to remember that you are not a laundry/cooking/diaper changing/grocery shopping/owie kissing machine.


A good friend of mine once told me that life changes, and it changes yet again, and again.  Enjoy the time you're existing in now, because this time will never come again.

Slowing Down

So, here's the thing.  I looked back through some of my recent posts and realized that some of them were actually sort of depressing.  And if that worried anyone or gave anyone cause for concern, I apologize.

I had this epiphany today, and it came about in the most subtle of ways.  I met a friend at Starbucks. This is a "new" friend, someone I haven't really sat down to talk to before, and we were discussing our sons (her son has autism, too), and what we do for a living, and she casually observed:  Wow, you do a lot.

And it surprised me a LOT when she said this.  Because I don't think I do enough.  But I thought about what she said on my way to take a picture of a house (because, by golly, I am always on the clock), and I wondered if what she said was really true.  And then I wondered if maybe I do too much.  I think about it and I can't remember the last time I was at ease, or didn't feel stressed, or had so much fun I talked about it for days, or felt truly, deeply happy in the most uninhibited way.  And that's bad.

And then I remembered this article I read.  It was about how to start a new personal fitness program.  It didn't tout one program over another, it just gave general advice on what to do and not do, and I remembered that there was one piece of advice that seemed strange at the time.  It said that if you find yourself crying frequently or having mood swings, or becoming irritable, it means that you are actually exercising too much and you need to slow down.

So maybe the best thing I can do for myself, that any parent of a special needs child or not can do, is to slow down, just a little, and allow yourself time to enjoy life.  Sometimes simply existing and letting go is not a waste of time and is actually truly, vitally, necessary.

A Word About Discipline

I thought I wasn't going to write anymore on this blog tonight, but something came up.  It's really hard for me to find new material about autism, just because right now I feel like I've exhausted the main points of the subject.

Tonight, though, I was wading through some other blog, and in the comment section of this particular article, a man wrote in.  Basically he went on a rant about how ill-behaved autistic children are, and how they tear up houses and don't do what they're told, and why are their parents so permissive, and how when he watches so and so's kid, they do what he tells them because "he's afraid of me".

There is only one word worth paying attention to in that entire heap of garbage, and that's the word "permissive".  The rest I cannot comment on, because ladies don't write words like that on their blogs.

But to address the word "permissive". Yes, to someone who doesn't get it, autism looks like bad parenting.  The autistic child screams a lot.  They destroy things.  They do strange things.  They don't sleep, because they can't.  They hurt themselves when they get overwhelmed.  They hurt other people when they get overwhelmed.  They cry a lot.  They laugh at inappropriate times.  They bang their heads.  They insist on eating the same foods, over and over again.  (I've never seen a child destroy a plate of nachos the way my son does.)  So, there are a lot of behaviors that vary drastically from the way a "normal" kid acts.  Because the autistic child has a different brain than a "normal" child, you cannot discipline them like a "normal" child.  You cannot spank them.  Do you know why?  They don't understand why they're being spanked.  If they're non-verbal, they can't tell you they're sorry for what they did, nor can they explain why they did it in the first place.  You cannot scream at them.  Why?  Because it hurts their ultra-sensitive ears that take in every little sound from the garbage truck passing by on the street to the tree branch scratching on the window. You cannot take away their favorite toy.  Why?  Because they use it for comfort.  They do not play with it.  They just hold it.

But there are things you can do.  Positive reinforcement works really, really well with autistic children.  This means praising them to the moon and back when they're behaving appropriately.  It means allowing them to earn something with good behavior.  (You were very patient in the store...you get a sticker. Or a balloon.  Or whatever works.)  It means telling them that you love them.  It also means not engaging with them when they throw a temper tantrum.  (Walk away, and make sure the space is clear and there aren't any objects around they can hurt themselves with).  It means forcing them to sit in a time out chair  when they do something they're not supposed to, and repeating the word "NO" firmly and clearly over and over.  It means doing these things, over and over and over again.  Why?  Because the child with autism needs repetition in order to learn.  Behaving in a certain manner that is contrary to what they normally do has to be learned, and it has to be repeated in order for it to become part of their routine.  Unlike other children, who can be told once or twice and then they understand, autistic children have to integrate it.  And in order to integrate it, they have to be shown many, many times what is expected.  This has to happen from a very young age.

The absolute WORST THING EVER you can do to a child like this is make them fear you.  Why?  Because a)they won't trust you  b)Guess what happens when they get bigger and harder to handle?  They're bigger and harder to handle!  There will be a limit to how much you can intimidate this kid, and if you haven't built trust, and you haven't laid a foundation of positive expectations with them, then you are screwed, my friend.  They won't listen to you, and once they hit puberty, all bets are off.
That being said, some parents don't understand that they actually do have to set boundaries and reinforce certain behaviors with their autistic children.  Many of them are still reeling from the diagnosis.  These kids don't act like the kids they're used to, so they don't know what to do, and they decide that being autistic means that the parent is helpless to do anything.  In some cases, you will be.  There are limits to what you, as a parent, can do.  But you are still the parent, this is still your kid, and you have to find what works without crossing the line from loving parent to angry intimidator.

National Suicide Prevention Week

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

The week of September 7-13 is National Suicide Prevention Week.  We're getting on the tail end of it, but I feel it's important to post the above number, and to make people aware that help is out there.

Something that special needs parents often struggle with are feelings of despair, loneliness, and anguish.  Parents that have a special needs child go through a grief cycle that is very similar to the grief cycle that someone goes through when they've lost a loved one.  Upon finding out their child's diagnosis they deal with denial, anger, bargaining, depression,  and if they're lucky, acceptance and then they adapt.  Some people never make it past the anger phase. Some people get stuck in the depression phase.  For some people it's difficult to gain perspective on a life you never thought you would have. Some of these parents remain overwhelmed with what to them seems an insurmountable task:  raising a child that will remain a child for the rest of their life and yours.

It's also a myth that only teenagers commit suicide. And it's also a myth that the suicidal person is doing it to exact revenge or because they're angry (see suicidology.org). Most people are in extreme emotional pain.  They feel trapped, useless, helpless, and that the world might actually benefit if they were gone.  They will speak of being a burden to loved ones, of loved ones being better off if they weren't there anymore, and so on.

I urge everyone to be more in tune with friends and family members.  No man is an island. God put us here to help each other, not make things harder.  Don't be quick to judge and don't assume that you know the cause of what may appear to you to be standoffishness, aloofness, plain rudeness,  or an unwillingness to communicate. Some people are getting by minute by minute.  Some people are ready to let go.

I also want to remind everyone that you can offer support, you can let them know you love them, encourage them to get help, get them help, include them, involve them, be positive, and pray. If you're a teenager or child reading this, you can call the hotline number on this page for advice, you can tell a teacher or school counselor, or other trusted adult.  The important thing is that you tell someone, and don't try to fight the fight alone.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Put Your Lipstick On

I'm still not over this crud.  I would be perfectly justified to stay in my Wonder Woman jammies and languish on the couch another day.  I can't really breathe, and I feel exhausted.

But sometimes, you just gotta put your lipstick on.  Even if you feel bad, and you'd rather not see the light of day, you just have to get up, get dressed, and pull it all out.  

Day Two

"If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything"- The Six Fingered Man from The Princess Bride

Ain't it the truth?  This is Day 2 of the Flu that Crept Up from the Sulphurous Depths of Hades.  And if I thought I was out of it yesterday, today tops that like a cherry on the Empire State.  (Which makes absolutely NO sense.  But it sounded good in my head.)

I actually got some school-related work done.  (It sounds so old fashioned to say "schoolwork".  Like I'm five, or something).  But I did.  I still haven't heard back about that APA paper I wrote, and I don't want to hear.  For a long time.

The truth is, I could happily go to bed and sleep for almost fifty hours.  But I can't because too many things are going on, and I have to stay up until certain people go to bed.  (Certain little  people).  All in all I feel mostly dead.  (Did you catch that second Princess Bride reference?  Didya? Huh?)

It also makes me wonder how much of this is actual cold and how much of it is the medicine I'm taking.  The fuzzy, cotton-headed feeling might actually go away if I stopped taking things for this mess, but then I wouldn't be able to breathe. It's a trade-off.  Think clearly, or live.

I choose life, people.

And with that, dear friends, I'm out of here.  The couch is calling my name.  So are my kids.  

Wasting Time

I hate being sick. It's such a waste of time.

I've spent the day laying around with my eyes closed, snacking on feel-good foods and wishing I could breathe.  I played around on Yahoo! and read about vicious wild animal attacks.  (makes me really, really glad I don't own a komodo dragon, chimpanzee, or a circus animal.)  I also stumbled across this article:  http://news.yahoo.com/mom-daughter-waited-10-days-er-mental-health-154453973.html.

You can click on it, but basically, a 19 year old girl needed to be admitted to a hospital's mental health care wing, and there wasn't a bed available, so she was forced to sleep on a couch in the ER for ten days.

And it wasn't because there wasn't a bed.  There were empty beds.  It was because there wasn't enough staff to accommodate all of those empty beds.

Ridiculous.

So, after spending my requisite minute of outrage at the state of mental health care in America (yeah, I know, I'm getting obsessed...maybe I need a bed)...I wandered into the other room where Husband was looking at Reddit, only to find a video about a 26 year old woman who is obsessed with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to the point of living as Michaelangelo.

Nothing to add to that.  Except that I've never seen anything more unhealthy than smearing mayonnaise on bacon-topped pizza, but that's just my personal opinion.

I did go outside today.  In my Wonder Woman pajamas.  The sun was too bright.

I read up on covert narcissistic personality disorder and ate too many cookies.  I played level after level of Plants Vs Zombies and watched the first five minutes of "Life of Pi" with my daughter before I had to herd the Littles out of the room.  (Great book, movie is ok).  I thought about cleaning the house and then my body decided that I was crazy for even considering the idea.

Now I'm sitting here at 923 pm, unable to focus on a blessed thing because that's what happens when you're me and you stuff yourself full of cold medicine.  This is why I don't drink.  If Tylenol Cold and Flu can give me this kind of buzz, what would a shot of Vodka do?  I really don't want to know, because I'm pretty sure something bad would happen.  I would probably have a Britney Spears circa 2007 moment, or do something else really embarrassing.  Also, I just don't want to, because I never have, and I never will.

My final thought for the day, before signing off, is about those wild animal attacks I read about.  In some of those instances, people were in much closer proximity than they should have been.  They were in places that they had no business being.  One guy was chasing a bear while riding his snowmobile, for crying out loud.  One woman went over to a friend's house and was mauled by a pet chimpanzee on Xanax.

But some of them were freak accidents, like Steve Irwin getting stung in the chest by a stingray, or a little boy leaping out of his mother's arms into a pen at the zoo full of African wild dogs.

And I'll bet, in all of those cases, human error and stupidity aside, chance circumstances and unfortunate scenarios notwithstanding,  none of these people woke up that morning and thought, I think I'll have a dangerous encounter with an animal today, and I might even die.

The point is that life is so unpredictable.  You think you know what the plan is, and where you're headed.  But the truth is that sometimes it just doesn't work out that way, and if you've got people in your life who are important to you, tell them. Make them understand that they mean something to you, that they're important,that you love them,  because they're not always going to be there.

Now it's late, and Big Hero 6 is on (again, it's so cute, I hardly get tired of it, but I'm starting to memorize the blasted thing, thank you kids), and I need a bed.  Because I'm tired, and I'm obsessed with mental health care in America and buzzing on Tylenol cold and flu.  Until we meet again.

Where I Was

The flu (because it feels like the flu, I ache all over and I'm exhausted) has really got a grip on me.  I can only hope that my sweet friend, Kris, who I had a Coke with last night, doesn't catch it.  Kris, if you're reading this, I want you to know I tried not to breathe on you or cough in your general direction or anything.

Today is 9/11.  We all know what that means.  It seems like just yesterday we suffered a terrorist attack at the World Trade Center in New York City.  As the years pass we get farther and farther away from this event, and I'm afraid that my children may grow up, not understanding how significant this was, and how it changed the face of everything, from how we travel to how we view other countries.  Innocence was lost that day.  

We lived in Fort Worth and I was pregnant with my now 13 year old daughter.  Wow.  Time flies.  We had this wonderful room in the back of our house.  We loved that room.  It was a small, sunken living room with hardwood floors and French doors and a fireplace.  We had the tv back there and a sofa, and it's where we hung out on the weekend.

The tv was on that day.

And once they started rolling the footage I remember standing there with my hands bracing my aching back and not believing what was going on.  I mean, it was a joke, right?  But it wasn't a joke and when the towers fell I remember feeling this sense of panic.  No one knew what was going on.  No one knew if the attack was isolated to that one location or if this was war.  Those were thoughts that went through my head. I remember calling my mother, crying, and I remember her repeating that everything would be okay, over and over.  I think she was just as distraught as I was.  I remember panicking because of my unborn daughter.  What would I do, bringing her into a world as crazy and chaotic as the one we were seeing on national television?

Of course, as information trickled in we learned what happened.  We kept the tv on all day.  

My daughter is 13 now and she's smart, sassy, and has a definite idea of who she is and where she wants to go with her life.  It's almost impossible to win an argument with her.  She reads history text books and she's also read the constitution multiple times.  

She gives me hope, because kids like her are the future.

But I also think of the way things were before the towers fell, and I have to be honest.  I want the America back that existed before this happened.

The Tough Guy

I've never understood people who take pleasure in other people's suffering.  I've never understood people who take joy in knocking other people down, whether it's justified or not.  It bothers me on the deepest level.  I guess because it's so petty.  And completely unnecessary.

I never had a "tough-guy" dad.  You know those dads, who tell their sons to do x, y, or z, so they can be a "man".  I never recall my dad telling my brother that or issuing those types of ultimatums.  My mother taught me to be kind.  God taught me to be forgiving.  All the women in my family taught me to "do no harm, but take no sh*t".  It's a mantra I live by.  I can't recall my father ever actually threatening anyone, but I guess it was because he didn't need to.  He's a lot like my brother...you're more likely to be a victim of his sense of humor than of his fists.

My grandfather was a "tough guy".  He wore cowboy boots and carried his Colt around with him in a handmade leather holster.  He worked long hours on the Santa Fe railroad and cussed and drank and threatened anyone that crossed him in any way.  It sounds like a romantic Western. The truth is, by all accounts he was odious to be around and ridiculous in his bloated sense of self-importance.  This doesn't mean I don't have any happy memories of him.  The tough guy faded away when he picked me up off the ground and put his hard hat on my head, when he killed all the bees in the backyard shed with a vengeance because they stung his little granddaughter on the nose.  But that's all I've got.  I think my mother stopped taking him seriously once she realized that most of the smoke he was blowing wasn't coming from the Marlboro between his fingers.

I'm really not sure why I was thinking of him tonight.  Maybe because things change so fast.  Because of the lifestyle he led, he had few friends, a wife that stayed with him out of fear, and a daughter who was relieved to see him go.  I'll never forget the smell of cigarette smoke, or the time I sat on his hospital bed and showed him pictures in an album.  I was sure he was going to get better.  Kids are like that.

I still have a paper to edit, and the cold that has been going around has taken up residence with me.  I anticipate a quiet day tomorrow, full of editing and chicken soup.

What an incredibly depressing day.  I'm not going to lie.  It started out great with the rain and everything...but then it got sour really fast.

Life is like that.  It never turns out the way you think it will.  Sometimes it gives you really unexpected pleasures and joys.  Sometimes you can spend years waiting for something that will never actually happen.  Sometimes, in spite of your best efforts at maintaining a good perspective and working, every day, to overcome your demons, they bite you in the ass anyway.

Maybe it's because the rain stopped.

Today I took Logan in for a checkup at the doctor.  It was a routine visit; I had some questions about his behavior.  As we were talking, the doctor paused for a moment and looked at me, and said, You know, the United States as a whole is experiencing a shortage of psychiatrists right now, especially child psychiatrists.

He went on to tell me that he had children coming into his office on a daily basis who needed these services, and he was ill-equipped to provide for them in the way they needed.  He commented that some of them come to him suicidal, and they don't get the help they need before it's too late.

I tentatively said, Well, this is what I'm going to school for, but sometimes I think I'm too old.

And he laughed and said, no no no, you are so, so, so young.  You're not too old.

Do you know what a calling is?

I think it's shouted to me long enough.

Rain and Writing

I love, love, love that musty smell that happens when it hasn't rained for a long time and suddenly we get a downpour.  Right now the gates of heaven have opened and we are getting saturated here in our little Texas town.  I love it.  This is the perfect day for me.  Beautiful weather...and I know, I know, for some people, this weather is not beautiful.  It's a matter of perspective.  I just happen to love the sound of it, the smell of it, and the cloudy skies.  Maybe it's my inner Goth coming out to play.

By Friday I have to have written a 5 to 7 page paper on the effects of texting on driving for my "writing in psychology" class.  This is probably the most challenging class for me.  Everything has to be written in APA style.  That means everything must be cited correctly, all margins have to be a certain space, the words "that, which, who, whom, since, because" and the like all have to be used in a certain context, and I have to make a blood sacrifice to the Annoying Styles of Writing Gods by tomorrow at midnight.  I'm kidding.

I told my husband about this and he said something to the effect of, what is the point of that?

Indeed.  It's not my kind of writing.  It's clinical and not expressive. But that is precisely the point.  In any kind of expository or research-based writing, there can be no room for ambiguity. There are rules that have to be followed so that if you happen to publish that Nobel-prize-worthy research, everyone knows exactly what you mean and there is no room for error.

Speaking of writing, I've learned some very valuable lessons in the last year or so.  And that's when not to write.  Don't write when you're tired.  Don't write when you're angry.  And don't write when you don't have time to write.  I have frequently broken all three of those rules, with undesirable results.

That being said, I have to sign off now and dive into the world of texting and driving. Which goes together like chicken livers and ice cream.

You are Where You're At Because You're Supposed to Be There.

Today I read this article in Yahoo! news about how the United States is experiencing a severe shortage of psychiatrists.  (see http://news.yahoo.com/across-much-us-serious-shortage-psychiatrists-161556207.html).  And I thought, This is not news.

We are just now on the cusp of finally understanding mental illness as a true illness and not some hair-brained fantasy cooked up by someone looking to get out of work/relationships/responsibilities/whatever.  But I skimmed through the article anyway, and that nagging voice started up again in the back of my head. It's the voice that says, "You should do this."

First let me say there are a lot of reasons for me NOT to.  I'm 41 years old.  I can pass for younger, and I don't feel 41, unless I've gotten up at 5 in the flippin' morning, in which case EVERYTHING hurts and I sound like an 80 year old man.  Another reason is that the sheer amount of schooling involved to achieve it is atrocious.  According to that article, (and I would need to do more research to see if it's true), Texas is forgiving the student loans of Psy. D's who are working in under-served areas (which really, should be the whole effing state.)

Hmmm.

I also had this thought, the other day.  I was thinking about all the time I wasted, going to school in my twenties.  I could have finished college.  I thought, Why did it take me this long to figure all this out?  Why did I have all these different jobs, albeit interesting jobs?  Why couldn't I have just gone from A to B and skipped all the stuff in the middle?  And the answer I got was that I am where I'm at because I'm supposed to be here at this point in time, and that at any other time, it wouldn't have worked out and I wouldn't have been ready to do it.

So, I know God has this plan, for me. He has one for everyone.  The beauty is in watching it unfold, and I find that breathtaking and exciting.  Forget being patient. Sometimes if you stop and admire the grass and flowers, you forget that it's taking them so long to grow.

Why Can't You Be More Like Me?

When I was a kid, I had this friend.  I would go over and play at her house. We always had a good time together.  And if she's reading this, I hope she's not embarrassed or upset by what I'm about to say.  It's been weighing on me for years.

I was a regular at her house, and she was frequently over at my place.  Our parents knew each other.  We went to the same church.

One day, we were playing over at her house and her mother came home from work.  She immediately took notice of the dirty dishes in the sink and started berating her daughter, in front of me, for chores that weren't done, dishes that weren't clean, and as I watched I saw her shrink in on herself.  It was painful and embarrassing to witness.

It became more painful and embarrassing when the mother concluded with, "Why can't you be more like Rachel?"  and proceeded to compare us and detail all the ways her daughter fell short next to me.

Scratch that.  It wasn't painful and embarrassing.  It was awful.  For two reasons.  Because I had to stand there and watch my friend endure this verbal onslaught and because I was used as a measuring stick for one of my best friends.

I've never really hated anyone.  I believe in forgiveness, and I have forgiven that woman since that day.  I understand that people have shortcomings, and that this woman, in her great ignorance, was depleting her daughter's self worth and turning me into an enemy for one of my best friends.

But I've also never really liked that woman since.

Why am I telling this story?

Because I've heard parents do this.  Why can't you be more like your sister?  Why can't you be more like so and so's daughter?  Why can't you fix your hair like that girl, or wear makeup like that girl, or do this or do that like someone else?

And I want to say this.  Because it's important.

STOP.

If you love your kid, at all, STOP this harmful behavior RIGHT NOW.  You really don't realize the damage your words are doing.  Kids are kids.  They do fall short.  Because they're not done yet.  Because they're still learning.  Because they're still becoming.  Accept who they are, teach them gently and firmly what you need them to know, and STOP seeing their mistakes as a personal reflection of you.  Because I have to assume that any parent that does this, that becomes embarrassed when their child forgets something or makes an honest mistake, has a serious self-worth issue.  Stop thinking about all the ways you want your kid to improve, and start noticing the things they're good at, and TELL THEM.  You will be amazed at how they blossom under those kind words.

And as for my sweet friend, I wish I could tell her now, You are enough, you always were, and there is no one on earth quite like you.

Looking on the Bright Side while Walking Dead.

So, if I could give a name to the day I just had, it would be "Fear the Walking Dead".  With me as the tottering meat puppet.  Seriously.  

It's just been that kind of day.  

I have this friend named Kris and sometimes when she reaches her limit, she says she's ready to "check out".  I felt like taking a page out of her book.

But here's the thing.  When you feel like that...when you're tired, and exhausted, and you've had one hell of a day, and people won't do their jobs and that impacts you personally, and you can't get all the stuff done that is just begging to be done...you have to keep pushing forward.  You have to get up, you have to move, you have to keep doing.

So here's what's good about today: (besides the fact that it's almost over) my 3 year old asked me for a cup of milk and then thanked me.  She often does that.  She shows an emotional sensitivity beyond her years, and she does it often.

My oldest son is doing well in school.

My oldest daughter is doing well in school.

Real estate is booming.  

Fall is around the corner.

I didn't kill my hydrangeas.

One of my favorite adopted kids brought a miniature dachsund to my house.  

I saw one of my other favorite adopted kids this morning. (Hi, D!)

I get to go to bed soon.

I got to talk to my brother.  

Our high school band is doing a Game of Thrones halftime show. Killer.

I don't have leprosy.

I don't have a Guinea worm.

It's September.

This is getting out of hand.

So, yeah...life is very hard.  Sometimes we are faced with changes and decisions that alter everything.  But, I promise you, when that happens, there's almost always something good waiting to balance it out.  It just takes a little time to get there.

"...some lives are less like a novel and more like a short-story anthology, and that’s perfectly valid — as long as you follow through on your emotional commitments..." -Carolyn Hax