Bobo Dolls and Cumberbabes

(image from collider.com, Marvel, Dr. Strange)

The fam and I went to the theater tonight to see Marvel's Dr. Strange.  Since this is opening weekend, I won't give any spoilers or tell you anything, except that I loved it, I love Benedict Cumberbabe, and I want a cape too.  That's all.

Tomorrow begins a new week.  I have a major research proposal behind me, and now I actually have to do the experiments.

A lot of people are surprised when they are told that psychology is a science.  The general populace doesn't think of it that way. They think of it as laying on a couch, talking to some old man who murmurs, "Mmm hmm, I see" and writes in a notebook.  But it's not like that.

Research psychology is important.  A lot of research is conducted concerning memory, cognitive processing, learning, and social interaction, for example.  And by social interaction, I will give you this classic example:

Albert Bandura, a behaviorist psychologist who was born in 1925 and conducted some of his most famous work during the 60s and 70s, is probably best known for what we call his "Bobo Doll Experiment". The theory was that children learn behavior through modeling.  In other words, they learn by watching what someone, usually an adult, does.  In this experiment, a group of children watched an adult model behave in aggressive manner towards a Bobo doll.  (A Bobo doll was a tall punching bag that looked like a clown and would pop back up after you hit it).  A second group observed an adult model come into the room with the doll and ignore the doll while playing quietly.  A third group of children was the control group and they weren't exposed to any behaviors.

Can you guess which group of children behaved aggressively towards the Bobo doll? 

Yes. The group that observed the adult doing it.  This became what Bandura called "social learning theory".  I saw this in action at the park the other day.  My daughter had a picnic with her classmates, and the children were given brownies wrapped in Seran wrap.  At first, all the children unwrapped their brownies and kept the wrappers on the picnic table.  Then, one child made a noise and thumped the wrapper across the table and onto the ground.  Soon, all of them were doing it.

The closest and best role models that children have are their parents.  If you think your kid isn't watching you, think again.  Children notice everything.

Another aspect of psychology is the human side of it.  Yes, the research is very important. But a lot of us are in it just because we want to understand and help.  We want to ease suffering.  It's how we're made. 

I could go on forever on this topic.  There are many sub-disciplines in psychology, just like in medicine, and particular types of therapy that work best for particular types of mental disorders. 

I wonder, when I graduate and I finally get my counselling license (which is at least two more years away), will they let me wear a cape?  ;)

psych probs

After the research proposal I finally finished today...yeah...someone hug me. Please.

 Total bucket list item.

Happy Halloween, y'all!  This is my favorite holiday, besides Christmas! I'll never forget the year my mom said I could dress up like Wonder Woman.  I was so excited!  I was in 3rd grade, maybe?  Second?  And I was mad when I saw the costume because it was just a little jumpsuit you pulled on.  There was no magical lasso or bustier.  Oh, well.  The excuse was, It's too cold outside for a bustier.  

Anyhow, here I am with my own little hooligan, about to go around our wonderful neighborhood in search of candy.  It's the beginning of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.  Everything good comes starting today.  To paraphrase Logan, After Halloween, can eat Thanksgiving!

A Clarification

Someone asked me a question this evening regarding my quote about narcissism, so I will just put this out there.

I am a psychology student, so part of what I do is study various disorders.  In particular, abnormal psychology is fascinating to me, because it involves such varied disorders that we still don't know as much about as we could.

The quote regarding triangulation particularly hit home for me because it's personal.  I have been in a relationship before where this was done, and where I felt abandoned, and felt like I needed to constantly seek reassurance.  It was, to be blunt, a nightmare, and I thought that if I suffered enough, I would "earn" what I wanted, which was approval, affection, acceptance, time, whatever.  But in a real relationship, if someone really loves you, none of these things should be contingent on suffering.  These things are supposed to be freely given.  If someone really loves you.

The problem with narcissism, or any personality disorder, is that it can only be diagnosed by a professional psychologist or psychiatrist.  So, while that particular quote was not meant to diagnose anyone, it was meant to say, hey, this hits close to home.  It's actually very dangerous to assume that someone has a disorder like this, because there are so many other things that these kinds of behaviors can be ascribed to.  However, in the course of my reading I've come to understand this:  If you are a narcissist, then you know you are, you think you are the cat's pajamas, and us poor unfortunate souls just haven't become as enlightened about your grand and awesome persona as you are. You also know that you're arrogant and you don't care.

Sometimes it can take someone years to learn what a healthy relationship looks like.  I'm one of those people.  And I know I'm not the only one.  You can waste years, or decades, trying to please someone or keep them in your life, worrying that saying the wrong thing or speaking your mind about your very justifiable feelings will mess things up, but if you have to worry about any of this stuff, then trust me, that person is not for you. What I've learned is that love is not made of anger, rejection, manipulation, or possession. It's not selfish or greedy. Love thinks of the other person first.  Love really is kind and all-encompassing, love is forgiving, and above all else, love allows you to be yourself and express your pain, your sorrows, your hopes, and your dreams. Sometimes, we make terrible mistakes, and we hurt the people we love most.  You can't go back and undo it.  You can, however, forgive yourself, and choose not to be the person you were. It's very easy to look at the people closest to you in life and blame them for your own behaviors.  I'm guilty of this. A lot of people do this. But no one owns your behavior, or your choices, but yourself, and that is a hard truth that not everyone can face.

See Texas Penal Code 42.07

About a month ago, a man sent me a friend request on Facebook. I had never seen nor heard of this man before and we had no "friends" in common. I sent a quick message:  "Do we know each other?"

At the time, my real estate license was still active.  I thought perhaps someone had referred him, or it was a mistake.

His response was, No, darling, but I want to be friends with you.

I said, hey, I'm married, I don't know you, sorry.  And he apologized and that was the end of it.

I thought.

Last night around 330am, this man (more than a month later), sent a very obscene message to me.  I responded by blocking him completely, making my husband aware of it, and reporting him to Facebook.

I still feel upset. And kind of scared, because he waited a month before contacting me again, which means he's been somewhere, thinking of me, thinking of doing this, which makes me even more angry. I know that there are a lot of sick people out there, unbalanced people, people who think that it's okay to cross boundaries and completely ignore the requests of women who ask to be left alone.  Sometimes, people want what they want, and they don't care who they hurt or what rules get broken in order to get it.

But it makes me angry.  To be ignored, to have my feelings run over, to be treated like an amusement or source of entertainment.  And I am only one of thousands of women who have to put up with this.  We all have to.  The stupid comments, the innuendos, the jokes, remarks about our figures, the unwanted gestures and come-ons.  And if we go beyond polite to forceful in standing up for ourselves, guess what?  Suddenly, we are cold, we are bitches, we won't "play".  Some men don't handle rejection well, and some lack the simple understanding that women are also people, and that we like to be treated in a civil, respectful manner just as much as our male counterparts.  It's not even about being a female.  It's about wanting to be respected as a person.

But too many men either don't understand this or don't think it's important, and they continue to do what the man last night did to me: cross boundaries, create uncomfortable and scary situations, and remind us that being a woman in today's world is still fraught with complications created by those who should be standing next to us and enforcing social niceties that seem to have gone the way of the dodo.

Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of good, decent men out there. I am married to one of them.  But my experience reminds me that not all men are created equal.  So what would I tell this man, or any man, who thinks that these kinds of actions are fun, or entertaining?

First of all, that you could be breaking the law. See Texas Penal Code 42.07.  

That you're not funny, or cute, and that purposely annoying a woman, doing things she's asked you not to do, making obscene suggestions, even in jest, is the quickest way to get on that woman's shit list.  Especially if that woman is me.

No means NO.  Even if the woman said yes in the past, she's still allowed to say no later. End of story.

If a woman says, don't text me, don't call me, don't whatever is making her uncomfortable, do the right thing, put your personal feelings aside, and listen to what she's asking.  Ignoring her requests becomes annoying, then it becomes harassment.  And you don't want to go there.

  

"Triangulation and repeated abandonment carried out by the narcissist strengthens insecure attachments, guaranteeing you will feel jealous, needy, and worried all the time, perpetually seeking reassurance and validation from the narcissist – the very person who will never give you either of those things." - (Saeed, Kim, 02 July 2016, "Why Narcissists Discard You at the Worst Possible Times)

Interesting. 

Don't Be Transient

I am, by nature, an impatient person.  I can be incredibly patient with people, especially people who have disabilities, or people who are struggling in some form or fashion.  But I am not patient with situations.  Especially situations that involve me.

I finished at Hill College about a year ago and earned an Associate's degree.  Before that was earned, I had already applied at Tarleton and started working on  Bachelor of Science in Psychology.  No big deal, I was told.  You can go to both at once.  This is called being a "transient student".

Graduation time rolled around at  Hill College, and I was asked to specify if I would be attending graduation or not.  I said no.  At the time, too much was going on in our house.

My diploma for my Associate's degree in Early Childhood Ed never showed up.  Want to know why?

Because Hill College put a hold on my record.  Even though I earned the degree and fulfilled all its requirements, they put a hold on it because they wanted my records from Tarleton.

Tarleton never sent it.

Instead, Tarleton put a hold on my record there because they needed my transcript from Hill.

Both colleges, both putting holds on my records, me unable to graduate from one nor register for more classes at the other,  unable to request transcripts from either one because both of them have holds on my records.

Frustrating, no?

I finally was able to talk one of them into submitting a transcript for the other one, and they agreed to do it...grudgingly.  And while I was happy that they were able to take care of it, I am still a little miffed that a student would get treated that way.  Had I known that it would be such a pain in the ass to get this taken care of, I wouldn't have attended both at the same time.  If anyone is considering doing this, going to two places at once, I would tell them, no, don't do it, because it's not worth the headache.  It will, in the long run, help me get finished sooner at Tarleton, but a student shouldn't have to beg for records that belong to them in the first place, and that they, in essence, paid for.

In short, don't be transient.

I Wish I'd Met You 20 Years Ago

 

I didn't finish school over twenty years ago because I was young and stupid and made a lot of really stupid decisions.  I didn't know what I wanted to do and everything sounded interesting.

I was a leaf on the wind.  Blowing wherever the hell the wind decided to blow me, which was in whatever direction it fancied at the time.

I'm experiencing a lot of frustration right now.  I'm five classes away from a Bachelor of Science in Psychology.  And I keep ruminating about that time, twenty years ago, and thinking, should have gone to med school.  Should have gone to med school.

In my experience, the only thing that can be gained from examining the past is a greater understanding of self.  Looking at decisions we made and figuring out why we made them can lead us to greater clarity in regard to our own personality and why we do the things we do.  Certainly, that's true for me.  But it's not really beneficial to look at the past and berate yourself all over again for something that you probably weren't ready to do in the first place.

I can speak with authority and say that twenty+ years ago, I was not the person I am today. (I'm vastly different from the person I was five years ago, too, so there's also that.) I had so much growing to do.  My priorities were different.  And the important lessons that Logan would teach me hadn't happened yet...I hadn't even met Logan's father at that point.  But do I look at psychiatrists now and think, I wish I'd met this career twenty years ago?

All the damn time.

I have many friends who tell me to do it anyway.  I do the math and think about how much more school that would entail and I feel tired.  Yet there is something to be said for finding the field that you just magically fit into, that gives you something that you didn't have before. 

Life is short.  It's too short to hold grudges, however much someone may deserve that from you.  It's too short to waste on things that suck you dry, or make you miserable. It's too short to not grab it with both hands and wring every last bit of ever-lovin' juice out of it.  It's too short.  And I wish that I could have those years back, but maybe, just maybe we all end up, exactly where we're supposed to be, at exactly the right time.

 

-David Allen

Time to Om!

Some of my All Together family reads this blog, so here is a quick reminder: Tuesday, October 25, we will be meeting at the Yoga Room on S Ridgeway. This is a special, private session just for us conducted by the amazing Pennie Roof. It will last from 645-800pm. If you've never done yoga before, no worries! This session will focus on very basic poses, breathing, and relaxation and stress reduction. If you don't have a mat, again, no worries, the studio has them. Wear comfortable clothing that you can bend and stretch in, shirts that will not ride up when you bend over. Also a quick FYI: Due to the nature of this meeting and the purpose behind it, please make arrangements for someone to watch your children. This session is for YOU, the parents. If you are coming, please PM me so I can get a head count. See you there!

Losing People

Did you ever have a friend that you were so close to, you could finish each other's sentences?  This friend, you trusted them so much that you told them everything about you.  Everything.  You loved them so much you would have given them a kidney, or robbed a bank with them (or at least provided the alibi), and you could talk for hours.

I had a friend like that, once.

My mother did, too.  On Saturday we went to a memorial service for a very close family friend.  People grieve in different ways and I've found that the way I grieve is to either get angry or just avoid it altogether.  So yesterday, I warned my mother in the car, I'm sorry, but I feel really upset and I don't know why. I feel like punching something.  She warned me not to break anything and we got in the car and drove.

I'm not used to accepting certain feelings, I guess.  But, psychobabble aside, we went to the memorial and heard what we already knew: how generous she was, how kind, how busy and dedicated, how up until the very last days of her life, she was doing something for someone else.  She was always happy, always in a good mood, with a big laugh and a story to tell.  I will miss her.  We all will.

I hate losing people.  Sometimes, you lose people because they simply don't want to be in your life any more.  Maybe it's too complicated, or they moved on to something better.  Maybe the friendship meant more to you than it did to them.  Maybe they moved away. Maybe circumstances changed and that made sustaining the friendship too hard.  Maybe they died.

Any way it happens, it's painful, and sometimes, you never get over it. Ever.  No matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you remind yourself that they might actually be doing you a favor by being absent from your life, or that it was just time for them to go, you never get over it, and it just hurts.  Forever.  And you have these regrets.  You wish you could go backwards, and spend one more day with that person.  Tell them things you wish you had told them.  You wish that you hadn't gotten angry so much, or that you had made different decisions in the first place.  You wish that you could have handled that friendship differently, or not met them at all.  You wish you had treasured more the time you had with them. Some days you feel so angry. Other days you don't think of them at all. Above all else, sometimes you wish you had never given so much of yourself away, because people always leave, however they leave, and when they do, you've got one more empty, painful space.

Dawn wasn't like that.

My earliest memory of Dawn was being picked up from elementary school in her VW bug.  My mother was out of town for a week.  I don't remember where she went or why.  I remember that the VW was old and it was strange, riding in the back of it, and I had a vague memory of my mother saying that it guzzled oil.  But Dawn was picking me up and that was just cool, because she was the awesome aunt I never had.

I remember asking her for chocolate milk. She said no.  So I got mad and tried to make some anyway, but I ended up pouring the Nesquik into a glass of water.  I had to admit what I did.  She did an affectionate "I told you so" and we poured it down the sink.  I didn't get in trouble.

I wanted to set up a lemonade stand in the front yard.  She didn't think that was safe. She made me set it up in the backyard.  I remember that the grass was really thick and green, and the weather was nice, and no one wanted to buy lemonade from a little girl in a backyard!

I would hear stories about her and she would come and go over the years. There were long phone calls between her and my mom, with mom sitting on the floor, twirling the phone cord between her fingers, and me, fidgeting because I needed something from mom right then.

And then it came time for me to go to college.  And all of the sudden Dawn was back, and she had a room she was going to rent out to me.  I remember the move in date.  I drove up to Denton and walked up the sidewalk to the townhouse and saw her coming towards me. She looked up and said, "Oh, is that today?  I'm going to South America. Here's the key, don't worry about the cat!"

And that's how she was.  She was always thinking, always traveling or doing some adventure, and I loved her, and I was a spoiled brat during my first go at college and she knew it and loved me anyway, probably because she understood, better than I did, how complicated my life was.  My dad had just left and met someone, I was away from home for the first time, and I was a wreck and didn't know it.  I think she knew, and she was patient and understanding during a time when I didn't realize I needed it.

Someone at church gave a talk two Sundays ago. It was my friend, Courtney Coates.  And I'm paraphrasing, but he said that the only way we could lose people was if they made bad choices, and strayed away from what they knew was right and true.  So we haven't really lost her.  We just weren't expecting her to leave so soon.

And that's good, because losing people really sucks, and I don't think I could handle any more loss in my life right now.

How it Really Is

I have to write about this now, because there are too many people that I love who are touched by this.

Anxiety.

Even the word makes me tense up.

Today I had a family member who went to school and experienced a prolonged panic attack.  She finally went to the nurse's station when the panic reached its peak and she felt like she couldn't breathe.  The nurse at this school said:

*You are choosing to act like this.

*If you don't go to class you won't graduate and you will not succeed in life.

*You are choosing not to breathe through your nose.  (FYI, this family member had a sinus infection to boot).

It really appalled me how off the mark this nurse was.  Even more appalling was the fact that a school nurse, in a school with a population of 1700 students, didn't have a clue about the way anxiety works, or what happens to a person physically and emotionally when they experience a panic attack.

Let's look at it this way.

What are you the most afraid of?  Picture it in your head.  It can be anything. Spiders, snakes, creepy old men, clowns (sorry, had to throw that one in), public speaking, being alone, heights, whatever.  Picture the thing in your head that induces the most panic and aversion for you.  Do you have that picture?  Good.  Now I'm going to tell you this:

Hey, reader, that thing you're picturing?  You are choosing to be afraid of it.  You are choosing to be afraid of clowns, or spiders, or whatever.  So this is your fault, because it's your personal choice.  You could get over it if you wanted to.

Doesn't make much sense, does it?

We don't choose to be afraid of something.  Fear is a natural chemical reaction that happens in our brains.  Ever hear of the fight or flight mechanism?  This is related to it.

People with anxiety have brains that are in a constant state of arousal. They are always considering the what ifs. Throw their schedule out of sync, present them with an unknown, and it gets worse.

People with anxiety do not choose to be anxious any more than you choose to be afraid of whatever it is you're afraid of.  Because anxiety is related to chemical processes in the brain and particular thought processes, anxiety is not something that can just be shut off.  This is why there are medications to help people regulate anxiety.  Notice I said regulate.  There are also therapies, such as cognitive behavioral therapy, that can teach people different ways to think about situations, if they are engaging in self-destructive or negative thought processes.

But no, they do not choose to be anxious, and telling someone in the throes of a panic attack that they are going to fail at something will only induce more anxiety. And that doesn't make a lot of sense either.  If someone was in the middle of a heart attack, would you berate them about eating too much bacon and tell them that they were never going to be able to run a marathon?  No.  There's a time and place for everything.  The middle of a crisis is not the time or the place.

It's my wish that anyone who has any kind of interaction with someone who has an anxiety disorder educate themselves about it.  It's not hard.  Google it.  Read up on it.  Go to www.themighty.com and read some personal stories from first person points of view.  But for crying out loud, don't punish the one who suffers.  Don't assume anything until you get all the facts. Dealing with the world may seem cut and dried to you, and if you're that kind of person, then God bless you and may you give thanks forever because you have it easy.  There are people out there who don't function that way, and who cannot think that way, and some things that wouldn't challenge you are the worst kind of challenge to them. So wise up, do your research, and show some compassion.  It will pay off one day. 

Interesting.

Some people surprise you in good ways.

Some, not so much.

A very dear friend of my family passed away today.

I guess I am still in shock, or a little numb, because it doesn't really seem real.

Tragedy rarely announces itself before it walks in the door.

I was named after this dear lady. She was a one of a kind, inspiring, funny, generous, loving, super-intelligent and good to the bone person.  I can't believe she's gone.

I have a different view of death than some people...I really do think it's like turning a page, or opening a door to something else, or moving on the next thing. To me it's a continuation.

But damn, it's hard when it's someone you've known for this long and love.

My thoughts and prayers go out to her family, her friends, and her colleagues.  There's an empty space, and her shoes can't be filled.

yeah, right!

Sometimes, you have to take all the pain you're feeling and create something new.

What I Didn't Expect

I have a huge imagination.  I love writing short stories and poems and once, a novel, which still needs a good going-over. So usually, in any given situation, my mind will run off on tangents while I think up several different scenarios that could possibly apply to the reality that I'm experiencing.  Example:  Husband is late coming home from work.  The most likely explanation (Ockham's razor applies here, always) is usually the accurate one.  But what my brain does is this:  He got mugged by a group of masked men in a van.  Or, he got in an accident, and he's struggling to text "I love you" one final time.  Or, he decided to go to a movie, on a whim.  All of this is silly, and none of it ever applies.  So I've learned to tell myself that since I'm the one imagining all of this garbage, none of it is probably true.

While all of this stuff was going on with Logan, I imagined all kinds of things.  I didn't have any experience with group homes.  What I didn't expect was going to the group home today and finding this calm, smiling young man who I call "son" greeting me at the door, playing with his older sister for an hour, and then telling me that yes, he likes it there and wants to stay, and that yes, he likes his teacher at school, and that now it was time for mommy to go home until next time.

I'm thankful and flabbergasted because beyond my wildest dreams, this turned out better than I could have ever hoped for.

The other thing I didn't expect was that what a hard time I would have adjusting to this.

Now, before I hear a collective "duh" from everyone...you have to understand.  Our lives have been seriously limited, as a family, in what we could and could not do for a long time. We're talking years.  Brian made an excellent point.  It wasn't that one of us couldn't go out and do something, it was knowing that we were doing it at the expense of someone else that made it so stressful.  If I decided to leave for an hour or two, things at home might go well, or they might go horribly wrong.  There was never any way to tell.  If Brian decided to work late, he did that knowing that I had to hold down the fort that evening and hope that no meltdowns occurred.  Doing other things, like going to the movies or shopping or things like that, were completely out of the question.  It got harder as the years went on.  This is not an uncommon occurrence for parents who have children with autism.  Couples often experience a splitting apart, emotionally, as they each build separate lives but meet in the middle to put out the fires.  It's draining, emotionally.  You simply can't go a lot of places that neurotypical people go because the world is not made to be kind to or accommodate children with autism.

Now that I have clarified that, this is what was unexpected:  Over the weekend, my husband and I went out to eat.  We left the baby with her older brother and sister and we ate whatever we wanted and did not rush and then we went shopping and came home.  It was fun and we felt a little giddy afterward.  The next day, we piled the kids in the car and we took them to the mall and we got something to eat and we visited some other stores and didn't get home until after dark.

But as the evening wore on, while we were walking and looking at things and having a great time, I started feeling anxious.  I mean, I could feel it growing in me and knew it was anxiety, but I felt confused because nothing bad was happening. I kept thinking, we shouldn't be here, I really have to get home, but there was actually no reason not to be doing what we were doing and no one was home except our dogs. So I ignored it.  But it was still there.

By the time we got home I felt completely overwhelmed.  That may sound strange to some people, but the entire weekend...shopping, and eating out, and going on an actual, un-rushed, un-stressed date with my husband...was so abnormal to me.  I felt happy.  No one got upset because I went somewhere.  No one yelled at me when I got home. Saturday morning I slept in and no one cared.  It was strange.  And so Saturday night, by the time we got home, I went in my room and called my mother and asked if I was supposed to feel happy.  I know, that sounds incredibly stupid.  But I felt so confused.  I felt guilty for having a good time!  and said, Logan can't be here.  And my mother summed it up perfectly.  She said, I think you feel sad because Logan is not the type of person who would enjoy those things, and you wish it was different.

And yes, I do wish it was different.  With all my heart, I wish that this wasn't an issue, that things did not have to be this way, but I'm also grateful that because they are this way, Heavenly Father made a way for all of us to get what we needed and be in the best situations possible.  The fact of the matter is, he is happy.  He is more calm and stress-free than I have seen him, ever.  My daughter said, on our way home, He isn't angry anymore.  And that was a huge part of it.  He is in a situation now that caters to what he needs and he can build a life the way that he wants without watching people come and go around him, doing things that he will never be able to do.  He can finally breathe.  And one day soon, maybe I'll remember how to do that, too.

Looking Forward

Just because Logan is secure and is building his own future doesn't mean I'm going to stop advocating for him, or individuals like him.  I sat down today with my second-in-command for All Together, and we planned out the next four-five months for our support group.  Needless to say, I'm more excited than I've ever been about what we've got in store.

To learn more, go to this link!

http://www.alltogethercleburne.org/2016/09/bright-future-ahead.html

What Love Is

 

What is love?

Is it just a chemical reaction that fades over time?  A lot of scientists probably think so.  Is it butterflies?  Tingles?  A sparkle in your eye?

Does it mean never having to say you're sorry?

Does it mean you can do whatever the hell you want to someone, knowing that they will forgive you every time, so it's okay? (Some people think so.)

But I don't think it's any of these things.

I've learned so much throughout this entire ordeal with my son.  So many things, about God and faith and how things really work between here and the veil.

But probably, the most simple, beautiful lesson I've learned, is what love is.  What it really is.

Love is letting go.  It's understanding that someone dear to you might need something more than you can give them, so you let them go to that place, or be in that place, with the people who can take care of them.

Love is a friend who calls you every day, or shoots you a text, or sends you an email, and asks you how you are first, even though you know that they have their own struggles.

Love is a friend who shows up at the door with dinner on your hardest days.

Love is someone who is planning a wedding and running a dance academy, who still looks you straight in the eye and says, How are you? And gives you a hug, even though they have a million things to do.

Love is forgiving yourself for your own perceived shortcomings, and allowing someone else to love you in spite of them.

Love is a Facebook message.

Love is a man pausing in his backyard shed to say a prayer.

Love is two people who sacrificed every Sunday so that they could teach my son and called it a privilege.

Love is two other people who modified cub scout meetings so that my son could be engaged.

Love is an autism specialist.

Love is elementary school teachers, paraprofessionals, speech therapists, and high school teachers.

Love is a support group.

Love is the friend that calls me up and asks me about my son before they talk about anything else.

Love is a ward fast.

Love is all the people who have consistently been in my life over the last few months, who have lifted their voices in prayer, put their arms around me and my family, called me, texted me, wrote messages, and offered support in ways too numerous to count.  

Love is a Bishop, his counselors, and their wives.

Love is a mom,  watching her daughter go through the most challenging time of her life, offering the best kind of support and help available.

Love is the friend who called me, in spite of her own challenges with her own special needs children.

Love is a distant cousin who messages me on Facebook and asks me to have lunch with her.

Love is a little brother who sends me silly text messages and cheers me up. 

Love is all my other children, who hug me every day, make me laugh, and bring me so much joy.

Love is not making excuses.

Love is all the people who pointed me in the direction of the services Logan needed.  Sometimes it was just a casual comment, sometimes, it was an email or a conversation, but little by little, he got to where he needed to be at this time.

All of this, this is what love is.  It's so beautiful, and so simple, and the one thing all of this has in common is this:  All of these great, wonderful people, put someone else ahead of themselves.  They didn't judge.  If they did, they kept it to themselves. They didn't complain. They didn't ask, Why should I do this?  They just did what needed to be done.  And I will never, ever forget, and I will never stop being grateful.

Moving Day

Today is Logan's moving day.

We have mixed emotions about it.  Last night I tucked him in for what I knew would be the last time for a long, long time.  I reassured him that yes, tomorrow he was going to be moving into a group home.  This morning, he crawled into bed with me and snuggled up to me like he used to do when he was smaller.  I think he was trying to reassure me.

The thing is, he wants to go there.  That's what I haven't told a lot of people.  He wants something different, and he knows that he needs it.  He has told me repeatedly that he is not going to live with me anymore.  This morning he made it very clear that he wants us to visit him.  This is not a case of us throwing an innocent, child-like person into the middle of a chaotic situation.  Logan has been as much a part of this decision as the rest of us.

Throughout this entire situation, the constant has been Heavenly Father.  His hand is in my son's life; I have seen it repeatedly.  At this stage, hours before we are set to pack up the car and drive to Fort Worth with him and all his belongings, I feel peace.  I know that this is part of the plan for Logan's life, and I know that Heavenly Father still has much in store for him and for us.

Logan's Place

(photo from realtor.com)

In your darkest hours, if you keep the faith, Heavenly Father will lift you up and open doors that you never thought you would see opened.

We got a phone call two weeks ago that a placement had been found for our son.  At this time, I am not going to go into a lot of detail. What I will say is that we have been to the place and signed all the necessary paperwork, and that he will be moving into that place in two weeks.

What I will say is that it is the perfect situation for him.  I have met the person who runs the home, and she is a good person.  I have met one of his caretakers, and she is a good person.  All of his needs will be met.  Finally, after all this time, the care that he has so desperately needed will be available to him.  If God had placed this solely in my hands, and told me to take care of it, I could never have designed it as well as this.

I want to tell everyone that throughout this process I cried so much.  I couldn't conceive of how this could ever be a good thing, even though with each prayer and blessing, the firm answers we received were that he needed to go this route.  I did go forward with a lot of blind faith, because there was no concrete proof to me that this would be okay.  And it is more than okay.  In so many ways.

God is good, and He always, always keeps His promises.  We did everything He asked us to do, we followed every direction.  And we were not disappointed.  We now know that our son will be well taken care of in ways that we never could have done here at home, and we will also still be able to be part of his life, to go visit him, and bring him home for visits.  One day, when the time is right, he may be able to come home again.  But for now, Heavenly Father is looking out for one of His own, and I will never doubt Him again.

Confession

Tonight, I tucked him into bed and I thought,

How in the hell am I going to do this?

Sometimes it doesn't matter how many positive answers you've received, how at peace you may feel when you receive the confirmation that yes, you are doing what is best, for your family member and the other family members.  Knowing that you are doing what is right, or what Heavenly Father wants, or what is best and safest and healthiest for everyone concerned in a situation is NOT the same thing as making something easy.

This is not easy.

This is going to be, by far, the hardest, most difficult thing I have ever done in my life.  And since my life is, statistically, only half over, I shudder to think what fresh hell might open up in the coming years.

That being said, I also know that Heavenly Father doesn't point us in certain directions and open doors that would have remained closed if He doesn't want us there.  And that's what this situation has been.

But make no mistake, dear readers.  My heart is breaking.  No matter how much I smile.

Love is making room in your life for someone else. -Neill F. Marriott

The Privilege of Growing Olde

(image from theodysseyonline.com, originally from crafthubs)

It's 7:11 pm and I'm in my pajamas.  The week before school starts is a busy one for most parents, and the more children you have, the busier it is.  In addition to that, I've made arrangements for Logan to continue going to school here while at the same time trying to make plans for if he is not here, and that's a little complicated.

But anyhow, I put on my pjs because it rained today and a cold front came in.  I know, it's not "cold", but it was a good excuse.  I stared at myself in the mirror and thought, Hey, I put on my pjs and it's not, like, midnight.  Am I old now?  My grandma was in her pjs by 6pm sitting in front of the telly.  My granny was too.  So that's what I'm thinking of when I ask myself that question.

I don't like the word "old".  When we throw out it food, it's because it's old.  When we get rid of something that's broken and doesn't work anymore, it's usually because we've had it so long that it doesn't function, like a piece of furniture or a washing machine.  We get rid of it because it's "really old".  My kids won't listen to some music because it's "old" ("Our Lips Are Sealed" by the Go-Go's came on the radio the other day, and my fourteen year old daughter said, (with as much disgust as a 14 year old can muster, which is quite a lot), "What is that?")

I used to think, kind of naively, that if I just decided that I wasn't going to get old, then I just wouldn't.  That the aging process would slow, the same way that people use mental imagery to battle terminal illnesses.  (Cue the laughter of elders here.)

Certainly your outlook plays a huge role in how you confront life changes.  So I've decided that instead of getting "old", I'm going to get "olde".

Besides loving almost all things British, I love the word "olde".  Think about it.  If you shop at Ye Olde Grocery Store, you are at THE grocery store.  There is no other store but that one.  It's the place to be.  If you eat at "The Olde Restaurant" then you are probably eating really good food, and if you stay at "The Olde Stone Cottage" or the "Olde Inn" then you are probably staying at some wonderfully cozy and quaint place that has beds as soft as a cloud and giant stone fireplaces and a woman that somebody calls "mum".

"Olde" implies a history, something that has been there and seen things, something that is worth going to and something that will be there for years to come.  Growing old may be a privilege, but growing olde sounds like an adventure.  

The Future

I have a few things on my mind this evening.

The first is that I read a blog post by Elizabeth Bastos entitled "Why I Decided to Stop Writing About My Children".  It was a very insightful post, and she made some very valid points.  You can read it, here:  http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2016/07/29/why-i-decided-to-stop-writing-about-my-children/?smid=fb-share&_r=0

Chiefly, one of the points she makes is that writing about the details of her childrens' lives could be construed as an invasion of privacy.  She also states, "My children didn't give me permission to tell their stories".

This was so gut-wrenching for me to read, really.  Logan didn't give me permission to write about him because he can't.  He will, in all likelihood, be unaware, for the rest of his life, that his mother chronicled his journey through media. 

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't asked myself these same questions:  Is it really okay to write about him, and what goes on in our lives because of the things he struggles with?  Is it ethical? 

I've heard from both sides of the table on this.  One mother, who shares circumstances similar to mine, said she thought about writing about it, but decided not to "put herself out there".  I can understand her sentiment.  Putting yourself out in public like this, in a very raw, real way, opens the door to a lot of criticism, and that's something we always want to protect ourselves and our children from.

But then I heard from two very dear friends today, who happen to run a local theater.  And one of them remarked that some people derive a lot of comfort from hearing about other people who have similar struggles. The other one remarked about how he read my blog, and seemed surprised that I would consider stopping once our son goes to live in a different setting.

The fact of the matter is, the whole intent of this was to let other people in similar circumstances know that they weren't alone.  I have had many people who are raising special-needs children come to me and say how happy they were to know that they weren't alone, that someone else was experiencing the same thing they were.  I've commiserated with other moms over the best way to keep a child from escaping from a seat belt, the intricacies of the special ed program, what kind of locks to buy to keep your child from wandering out the front door, and how to de-escalate a meltdown. 

The other purpose of writing about this so bluntly is because there is no other way to foster awareness.  Special needs parents tend to stay in the shadows.  We become prickly, we keep to ourselves over time, because we become so used to navigating life in a certain way that we forget there are other ways to do it.

Eventually, I will stop writing about this.  I am at a point in my life where frankly, I am worn out.  I am tired.  My heart is tired.  I feel I have illustrated, as much as can be illustrated, what this is about and how it can bless a family and also raise issues in a family.  I feel like awareness has been achieved, as much as it can be achieved through a blog. 

But as I told my dear friend JaceSon today, This does not mean I am going to stop working for these people.  I feel like I have spent twelve years learning about something that some people never have to touch in their lifetime.  I feel like there is so much suffering, and need, and room for growth, where this is concerned.  I feel hopeful about the future, and my plans are huge.  I don't know if they will come to pass, but Logan makes me want to try.  All of the children, and their families, that I have gotten to know over the past few years, make me want to try.  Here's to the future.

Writing is easy when you break all the rules.

The Process

image from workinghomeguide.com


Onward, ever onward, in the group home process.

Here's a little tidbit, for anyone that ever has to do this for a family member:  They don't explain the process to you.  You tell them you need to find a placement for your child/relative/whatever, and they say they will get started on the "process".  It really is a process.  But it's a secret process, because they don't explain it. Even if you say that you don't know what the process is, they are either so busy or so short-staffed that they don't have time to go step by step with you through what will happen and what to expect.

Today, in the mail, I received a manila packet of papers. Some of the papers had little sticky labels on them that said "sign here".  There were also little warnings in the paperwork about notifying people within 30 days of our preference for a service provider for Logan.

And here is my reaction to that:  How the hell should I know?  What makes one better than the other?  Is there one that's really great with autistic children who also have an IDD diagnosis?  How many complaints does this one have, if any?  How do I choose?

I didn't even know that I needed to sign this paperwork, so I didn't know it was coming in the mail. At least it came certified.

And this, my friends, is just one of the many illustrations of how the system works.  Or doesn't.

The fact of the matter is that the people who work for MHMR are probably doing the jobs of more than one person.  Funding has been cut for some MHMR programs this year, and some MHMRs (not all of them) need to beef up on their training programs.  The people who do work for MHMRs are overworked, they are underpaid, and they are trying to provide services that people in Texas desperately need.  Just to give you a better idea of what this means:  Not all the patients at MHMR have the issues my son has.  MHMRs treat people who have all manner of mental disorders.  They help adults with intellectual disabilities as well, by teaching them how to do basic at home stuff, like cooking and doing laundry.  They help people with schizophrenia get medication.  They help veterans who suffer from PTSD.  They help anyone who qualifies for the program get the treatment and medication they need to function.  It's a much-needed service in our state that never gets the funding it needs to be as successful as it could be.

Now it's after 6, dear readers, and I have to go show a house.  And yes, I promise, I will get out of the heat before something bad happens.

When You Don't Take Care of Yourself

(image from dancesafe.org)

What can I say?  I could have died today.  That's being sort of dramatic, but not really.  I'm a realtor, I went to show a house today.  We're in Texas and it was over a hundred degrees today.  I was in a house with no electricity or AC, I was outside with barely a breeze, and I did this for over an hour.

It's fine if you work outside, if you're a roofer or you're used to being out there.  I'm a lily white air conditioned white girl who makes white girls look like Brazilian natives.  Seriously.  I don't tan, I refract.  Eventually, my skin will cook itself to a pretty rose color.   Eventually.

So I was out there for more than an hour and I brushed off that feeling in the pit of my stomach that maybe I had been outside too long.  As of now, about two hours later, I am sitting in a dark room on my second 16 oz glass of water, and my cheeks are still burning and I still feel hot.  The AC is cranked and I have on my lightest clothes.  This was after the feeling that I was going to chuck everywhere went away. Right now the chills are starting to go away.  Sorry, if that's too graphic. But I'm telling you all this for a reason.

Sometimes, we don't take care of ourselves.  There are so many ways to do it, self-neglect.  We eat too much of the wrong things.  We tell people we're fine when we're far from it.  We listen to depressing music and watch dark things because it matches our mood, instead of seeking out uplifting media.  We give, emotionally, to the wrong people, because surely if we do that, they will appreciate it, or surely they must care just as much as we do, right?  We waste money, sometimes, on helping someone in need, only to become a personal bank for that person for months or years.  We take on too much in work or school or life and we burn out and become unhealthy simply by reason of the great load we carry.

And if we are strong-willed and capable and smart, we raise a hand in the air and say, Hey, no it's okay, I've got it.  No worries.

And I am just now learning how bad this is.  How bad this is to do this to yourself, to tell yourself that you can handle ANYTHING.  It's one thing to be capable and know that you can carry quite a lot.  It's another thing to insist on doing it when you really don't have to.

At some point this evening, I should have stopped everything and said, Hey, listen, guys, it's a bit too hot out here for me.  Let's pick this up again tomorrow.

Why didn't I?

Because I didn't want to disappoint someone.

Isn't that why we do it?  Aren't we afraid we'll disappoint someone?  Aren't we all afraid, at one time or another, of falling short, of showing weakness? And isn't this why we don't take care of ourselves?

I am terribly guilty of this.  Sometimes, I keep investing my time into something that isn't doing much for me, just because I think I have to or I should, or that one day, I'll get a different answer than the one I already got.  Sometimes, I beat myself up because I eat too much, or I eat the wrong things.  Sometimes, I sign up for too much work, because I think if I work a lot, I won't have to think about other things.   Sometimes, I make bad decisions.  We all do.

But what does this tell my children?  That it's okay to impose impossible standards on themselves, at the expense of their health, self-esteem, and emotional wellness?  In the past two weeks I have realized that this entire situation with Logan, while I have written about it, I have also held it close to me like a tight little ball.  And that's wrong.  I am not the only person hurting, or worrying, or hoping.  And I feel bad that I left all those other people out and assumed that no one could possibly be hurting as much as me, because I am his mother...nothing could be further than the truth.

It's important to take care of ourselves.  It's important to be good to ourselves and to recognize that brushing off pain, and sorrow, and telling those lies (No really I'm fine how are you) isn't the right way to go.  We're all children of God, and we're all here, together.  We all need to take care of ourselves, and each other.

Quote of the Day

I love this.

The CRCG: Part II

I can't put a name on it, how this feels.  It's a bundle of sadness, regret, fear, and just a little bit of hope, but I have to search through the tangle of all those other things to find it.

Yesterday, a meeting was held at the Juvenile Probation Center off of Kilpatrick. You arrive there and you tell the receptionist that you are a parent and you are there to attend a CRCG meeting for your child.  Then you sit down and you wait a long time until the CRCG committee gets to your child's name.

They call your name and you walk into a room that contains about twelve people, most of whom you have never met.  They are representatives from MHMR, from CPS, from Special Education programs at one or two schools (in this case it was Cleburne and Alvarado), School Resource Officers, and others.  Someone introduces you.  You sit down and say hello as each person introduces themselves.  And then they ask you for a basic summary of why you are there.

And you tell them.  You tell them about how your son's behavior has deteriorated over the past year, and what that actually means:  that you often have to take your four year old and lock yourself in a bedroom because he gets in a "mood" and wants to harm you.  How your two older children don't really want to be at home anymore.  How he is too big and you cannot control him anymore.  You tell them about all of his hospitalizations, and how nothing concrete came of that except the knowledge that he functions much better in a regimented and scheduled environment.  You try, in the limited time that you have, to convey the absolute desperation you feel that something must change, and then they ask you what you would like to see happen for your child.

And you have to look at a group of twelve people, most of whom you have not met before this day, and say:

I would like my son placed in a group home.

They tell you they will sign the papers and get the ball rolling.  They thank you for your time.  And you leave.

And when you get out to the parking lot, that's when you absolutely lose it, because you feel like a monster.  You didn't get to tell them about his beautiful smile, or his wonderful sense of humor, or how he cuddles up to you at night, or how he loves the singer Pink and the band Fallout Boy, and you didn't get to list his favorite foods, and how he helps you in the kitchen and helps you clean the house and plants things in the garden.

You don't get to talk about that and you question yourself all the time, every minute, until the next time you have to lock yourself in the bedroom again, or the next time he pulls on his four year old sister, or scratches you on the arm or hits you in the face. Then you think, no I did the right thing.

And you realize that what it boils down to is that this isn't just about you. You, yourself, may be able to endure this indefinitely.  Because you are his mother, and you are genetically wired to sacrifice and to endure.  This is what mothers everywhere do for their children.  But your other children and family members are not wired this way; your other children are just children, and they need you too.  So you make this decision and you do it understanding that this child does not just belong to you, he also belongs to Heavenly Father.  You understand that his life is taking this turn for a reason.  Logically, you know that if you wait until he is thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, something terrible may happen. He may hurt himself or someone else without understanding what he is doing, and then the choice of what happens to him may not be yours to make anymore.

But that doesn't make this any less painful.

My hope is that this will be a positive thing for him and for us.  There is no question that Logan needs more care than I can give to him at this time.  One day, he may be able to return home again, and we can make up for lost time. Until then, we must, as his parents, make the best possible decision for him and for us, and that is giving him access to the care he needs and an environment that he can function in, and giving our other children the peace they crave and deserve.

The CRCG

The next step, before we can place Logan in a group home, is to have his case come before a Community Resource Coordination Group (CRCG).  These groups serve 250 counties in Texas, and they are made up of representatives from different state agencies, such as the Texas Education Agency, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, Mental Health and Mental Retardation (MHMR), the Department of Housing, and private service providers.  While this is not a complete list of the agencies involved with the group, it should give you and idea of what the group is made up of.  CRCGs exist to help meet the needs of individuals who cannot be serviced by just one specific group.  Logan's needs cannot be met by MHMR alone, although they are the facilitating agency for what will happen next.

The CRCG meets once a month, and they discuss several cases in the meeting.  While his service coordinator told me that I didn't really need to be at the meeting, I have it on good authority from Tarrant County MHMR that it's a good idea to be there so you can explain your home situation firsthand, instead of someone doing it for you.  (I mean, that's a no-brainer, right?  Any time your child is involved in something, you should be there!)

Perhaps you're wondering how I can be so matter-of-fact about all of this.  In the past several months we have watched Logan's behavior and ability to cope in stressful situations deteriorate to the point that he needs specialized care.  There is no manual for raising a child like him, no rule book, and even if I had someone standing next to me who had a child like him, their experience would still be vastly different from mine.  As we have moved from one crisis to the next, I have seen doors that I thought I should open stay shut to us, and other doors fall open as if by some miracle.  (Actually, in a lot of cases, it was.)  Through it all the answer has been very clear:  I'm not the one guiding this.  I'm playing a part.  Heavenly Father has something very specific in mind for Logan, and even if I put my foot down, and said, no way, he's not going...he would end up going, whether I wanted him to or not.  Frustrating the will of the Lord is not a good thing; there are so many unforseen consequences.  It's a little like stealing something that doesn't belong to you:  you may have gotten what you wanted, but the joy of possessing it is somehow diminished by the knowledge that you did something you weren't supposed to do, that you knew what was right and chose to ignore it, and by the eventual burden that only a guilty conscience can bring.

The CRCG is simply the next step on this journey.  In the meantime, we are living one day at a time, with the knowledge that sooner rather than later, he will go to live somewhere else and our time with him in our home is limited.  If you think that is stressful and creates a lot of daily heartache, then you would be correct.  It's only alleviated by the fact that prayer has given me so much comfort, and by the fact that Logan himself has come to me, in the midst of one of his upset and anxious episodes, and expressed a desire for something different.

The best and truest way to live your life is by doing it according to what Heavenly Father has planned for you.  Trying to sort things out, all by yourself, is laudable, but it's by praying and asking for direction and reassurance that the decisions you've made are correct that you receive a testimony of an eternal plan that applies specifically to you and those you love.

It's Okay to Not Go Big

The other day, I made a post on Facebook, and went something like this:  "Fall garden planted...sweet potatoes, beans, and tarragon.  Fingers crossed."

It sounds like so much work when you say something like that.  Fall garden, planted.  It implies hours of work.  A sweet lady I know even commented that she didn't know how I had the time to do it.  I told her that it wasn't a very big garden.

And it's not.  It's six squares of raised beds.  The sweet potatoes are actually one sweet potato that I cut in half and rooted in my kitchen window, then stuck in the ground.  The beans and the tarragon were each one seed packet, planted by either poking holes in the ground or digging it up then recovering it.

An hour, spent in the sun with my 12 year old and 4 year old.

I've grown up believing that the only way to do things was to go big.  You made all A's or you didn't do it.  You get first place because if you didn't, you could have done better.  You keep a clean house or you have failed.  The list goes on.

So even planting a garden is something that becomes big in my head:  we need winter squash, and onions, kale, lettuce, beets.  We need to dig holes for fruit trees if we can find the room.  We need.

But we don't.

Sometimes, especially in the darkest days of your life, it's okay to not go big.  It's okay to look at a situation and say, This is what I can handle, and this is what I can't handle, and plan accordingly.  There is a certain kind of peace that comes with acknowledging your own limitations.  

This is a new lesson for me.  One that says, You can afford to wait, and be patient.  You can afford to back off, and let Heavenly Father work for you.  You can afford to rest.