Thought For The Day

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

Ten Years Ago Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, I am Busy, and Yes, It Hurts

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

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

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

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

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

A Bit of Earth

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bumps in the Road

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

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

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

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

It was a terrible mistake!

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

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

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

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

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

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