When You're Doing it Right

When you're doing it right, no one notices.

I used to work for an awesome company that was Very Big and Iconic, and when I first went to headquarters I remember feeling like no one really noticed when I was doing my job the right way, or the best way, or the smartest way... what got you noticed? When you messed up.

I think parenting might be a little like this.  We always know the kid at the party who has bad manners, but do we praise those kids who pleased and thank-you'd their way around our house for two hours, then thank their parents for doing their job. Probably not.

Anyway, I am taking this moment to praise myself because my daughter had to do an "All about ME!" poster for school and she chose "broccoli" as her favorite food. Actually she chose "meat" first, but when I asked her to be more specific, she just switched to broccoli.

The mere fact that she did not offer up: cotton candy, ice cream, doughnuts, pixie stix, or powdered sugar made me feel that, at the very least, in this one category, we are doing just fine.

Bad for My Health-Good for my Spirit

• Going to Dairy Queen with my kids (even better if my husband surprises us there.)
• Drinking a bottle of champagne with my sister.
• Napping on the couch, my feet tangled with my son's, his body having just learned to sit still long enough to cuddle.
• Talking late into the night with girlfriends who live too far away to see at my local coffee shop.
• Trying at least seven kinds of bold coffee in my new "Pod Canchine" (Single cup coffee maker)
• Licking the frosting off my fingers as we decorate Valentine's day cookies.
• Beating Critter Crunch (do NOT start playing this game on your iPad)
• Watching a movie with my husband "past bedtime on a school night."
• Sneaking candy before dinner with my daughter.
• Skipping the umbrella because -it's only water

A (prim) Rose by any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Sixteen years ago today, that guy, who is now my husband, gave me a little wooden box with four little pots. Each pot had a little primrose in it.

He was dating my roommate, and brought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and his handsome smile and his invitation to dinner, but somehow in the midst of being a great boyfriend, he remembered me, the lonely roommate who, I think had just stopped dating the guy who would eventually be the best man at our wedding. Life was so simple then.

It was a very sweet of him. So sweet that after they left, I randomly, plucked three flowers from the plants and pressed them into the largest book I had at the time, "The Riverside Shakespeare," which is a ginormous book of works.

I had never pressed a flower in my life, and for some reason, I plucked those flowers and pressed them in the middle of Antony and Cleopatra which is sort of a strange love story. It's too bad I didn't choose Taming of the Shrew, or Romeo and Juliet because it might make the story better, but our story's not bad. I've never pressed a flower since that night.

I've wondered many times why I chose to save that memory. I thought he was a nice guy, and even at 25 it was obvious that he was a good guy-that he would be "grow up" to be a good man, and as it turns out, a great father as well. Did I know, even then, that we'd be here, nearly 13 years of marriage later?

What is it that makes us stick? What makes any marriage stay together? Perhaps it's facing adversity together and coming out on the other side-not that we're done facing challenges, Lucy is only 4! And I know we're still figuring out how to support each other, because what I need to "feel okay" is different than what my husband needs.  I've recognized that it might be unreasonable to expect my spouse to be my everything, which is why I cherish my relationships with my sister, my moms, my girlfriends, and my online community. My husband and I laugh a lot; we share a dark humor. We have a few secrets together, which may be surprising to some because I do tend to share quite a bit. Maybe this is something: I really like my husband. If we weren't married I would still want to know him, hang out with him, and probably still choose him as someone on my island (do you ever play that game?). He's very smart, and says nice things about me to other people, and we parent the same way without really trying. We have finally figured out that date night is a very smart thing to do on a very regular basis, and without much complaint, he eats everything I cook even if it's terrible. and he's handsome. I am a very lucky woman.

Happy Valentine's Day sweet man.

and thank you again to my roommate for finding such a great guy; I can never thank you enough.

The Old Red Barn

Grocery shopping this morning,  a mom and her son passed by me in the floral department. She is probably in her 50's because her son looked about 10 years older than mine... and yes, her boy plays for our team: Autism. Right down to the 6 foot 2 inches of young man flapping his hands next to the strawberries and "oooo--Wheeeeing" in the dairy section. I could tell before the stims though, it's amazing how quickly I can spot a child with autism who's in the same part of the spectrum as Jake.

When I see another family with a special needs child, I ALWAYS try to smile, at the child, or the parent, hopefully both, and even though I don't have a badge, a stamp on my forehead or my son with me to prove to her that I understand a little bit about her life, I always hope that a friendly smile will make her feel there is more good than ill-will in this world. I know there are days when I just hope that we can get through one single transaction without a struggle, and knowing that there are compassionate strangers nearby can make all the difference for me. But she wouldn't make eye contact with me, or anyone else for that matter, except her son.

And while I thought it was precious that she spoke to him so clearly, looking directly into his face, in an undistracted and meaningful way, I also found it a little distressing to think that perhaps she has had to block the rest of us out. I felt compelled to go over to her, and make some benign comment about her shoes to initiate a conversation, just to make sure she knew that there are those of us out here, who would help if we could, and know a lot of resources, and could take the cart if things got a little hairy in the parking lot (even though her son was doing an awesome job), and ugh,  I just wanted to take care of her...jeesh. Which then made me feel like a creepy stalker, because maybe she just isn't that social to begin with, but I think what I really wanted to know is this: will I become like her? and will Jake be like her son?

Will I be so over other people staring at us by then that I will stop bothering to make eye contact? Will I look a little more resigned, but braver just the same. Will I look that tired, which is even more tired that I look now? Will my shoulders be that hunched? Will I look like I *really* need a break?

and will my son be pushing the cart? Helping a bit, pausing for a little stim, then back to the cart, not running anyone over, not escaping? Will Jake still be with me, daily, when he's 20? 30? (and will he be that handsome?)

Jake wears a size 6 shoe already (that's an 8 woman's shoe in case you need a little frame of reference.) He is taller and stronger and more like a young man every day. It's getting harder to pretend that he is going to stay a little boy forever when you're shopping for shoes that big. And like so many parents, the future seems so far away right now.

http://www.moore-warner.com/barns.php

For awhile things were so hard I couldn't wait for Jake to get older, and grow out of whatever those troubles were. Then he got older and surprise! that age had its own pile of troubles. And certainly we experienced a lot of joy in there too, but it always seemed like a better version of our family was just around the corner. I am trying to be more aware, and happy with exactly where I am at any given time, and now that we've gained some stability (aside from some childcare dilemmas which are offline stories only), I've been been neither looking back or looking forward. We've just sort of been living, and enjoying, which I think is okay as long as I get back to that planning for the future thing, fairly soon. Sniff some flowers, but stay on the trail. And I want to make sure there's a plan for me too; maintaining my friendships, increasing the vegetable intake, getting more sleep.  I don't really want to end up looking like that old red barn we pass on our way to the coast: confident, but beaten down, still in use but possibly not structurally sound anymore.

Of course I went to the grocery store without a shopping list and came home with 8 bags of groceries, and no plan for dinner, so perhaps I'll start with feeding my family before I move on to the rest of my life.

Give Me A Little Sugar

I went to Jake's school yesterday for the parent group meeting. I love going on his campus.. it is so filled with great people and interesting kids (and adults).. and friendly office staff. Each time I step on that campus I am reminded how lucky I am to have my son at such a great school, and grateful that he is thriving there.

Jake's been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately. I'm not sure if it's growing pains or nightmares or pre-teen angst, but he's been up and out of bed as many as ten times a night. Sometimes I hear his feet patter across the hardwood, other times he whoops and hollers (which his little sister just loooooves.) It doesn't really matter because unless I am really, really sick,  I can hear my children through closed doors with the television blaring... I can hear when a blanket has slipped off the bed leaving a little tushie uncovered. Is this a mom thing? or a skill I have picked up because Jake requires such constant monitoring?

Lately if I hear him all the way out of bed and coming down the hall I will greet him and lead him back to bed. He usually dives back in, but more recently he's been leaping in to bed, then sitting back up and looking right at me, as if he is asking for me to sit with him, or lay down and sing to him, or pet his hair.

He has added a new level of relationship to his repertoire, and with these new developments we are experiencing more snuggling, more hand holding, more gentle swishing the hand across a person's back, and, at school, I saw him lean in for a hug from a peer. Not a class aide, because he is generally pretty friendly with his aides.. but another child in his class! Apparently the boys have mutually decided that they are best buds, and the other little boy hugs Jake and speaks to him in sign language, and Jake laughs and reaches out to hold on to him...and there's smiling, so much smiling!

And Squid and I had a good laugh because she had heard that her son had become best buds with Jake in another classroom. She was surprised to learn that it was our Jake! Our boys are seeking each other out, standing near each other...hugging?

Our nonverbal, English-as-a-native-language in a predominantly Spanish-speaking school (previously), Jake has still had friends, he even had a girlfriend in first grade (the daughter of a class aide fell madly in love with him!), and everyone seems to know he has a good sense of humor. I'm not surprised really, because as not-nice as I think I am, I have managed to collect a lot of wonderful friends, and I don't think there's a person yet who hasn't liked my smart, kind, always-does-the-right-thing, husband.

I didn't know I had a check-box on my "Life List for Jake" that had anything about ensuring he could establish friendships on his own, but of course I did, I think that must be normal, because I know I have it on Lucy's list. Nice to be able to check a few things off now and then

It's Only Kindergarten

Change. The only constant in this world, and I think I might hate it. Oh I pretend to like it: time change, when we get to sleep in, or see the sunrise. I like to change the color of my hair. Really I just love a new haircut. I like to go on a road trip and get a change of scenery, or try a new cocktail at a new bar. But really, none of those things are very risky. Not at all. They have very little consequence. Even if I bleach my hair out to Gwen Stefani white I can get it back (or most of it, what hasn’t fallen out) back to a normal-ish blonde color that doesn’t make my mother gasp.

I like to joke that “apples don’t fall far from the tree” when it comes to Autism. Jake is such a combination of the people in my family, and I can see parts of his personality in each of us: his sense of humor, his lack of dexterity, his determination, his migraines, his struggle with communication, even if it is exaggerated in how he demonstrates the behavior, I can almost always get a glimpse of how Jake became Jake… including his need for things to be the same; and that he got from me.

This doesn’t mean I’m not flexible, I am, but I always have multiple threads going, so even if it looks like spontaneity, I am hopefully already prepared for that possibility. I feed the kids at the same time every day, even if it means we add in meals with other people at other times. Jake’s body clock does not alter with season, or place, or time zone, so that means he eats 5-6 meals in Hawaii, and goes to bed with hours of sunlight left in the summer. He has worn the same brand of pants for three sizes now, and I have been known to buy the same shoe in two colors if I really like them, or two pairs, for when one of them eventually wears out beyond repair.

I work hard to get things to a “steady”. It’s not settling for anything, I just want to keep the boat afloat, with everyone on it, with provisions and direction. Not to go overboard (ha!) with the metaphor, but I don’t even care sometimes if we have the sail up. I just need to know where we are headed and know that our crew is ready. We can float in one place, as long necessary, if we are together and (mostly) happy.

So Lucy is starting kindergarten in the fall, which means we need to decide now where we want her to go, and I am a wreck. Change. Again. Or maybe not. Or maybe. Aaaaghhh.

When Jake went to kinder it was sort of a surprise. I thought he was going to stay one more year in his early intervention preschool. I thought I had time to ponder the choices, visit schools and determine which disability we would try to place, autism or CP. Instead I was sort of bombarded with “Uhm, Jake is really big (tall) and don’t you think he should move on to kindergarten so he doesn’t step on any little ones who are just entering preschool?” and somehow I nodded believing that height had something to do with matriculation.

Then I visited two classrooms and picked one. I made the wrong choice, or a bad choice, because I’m not sure the other class would have been right, but I know where he went was wrong. I didn’t ask the right questions, and when I took Jake for his first day I was greeted with aides who received no direction, and a new teacher, who spoke very broken English, as it was her very-distant-second language. The class had a mix of kids with such a wide variety of disability that there was no teaching. After the first month I learned that Jake spent most of the day in a Rifton chair buckled in, and rolled from table to table. I spent the first semester in conferences every week, and the second semester trying to find another placement. I felt like a horrible mother. We got him a new placement, and two years later, when he needed a different setting again, we found him Wunderskool. Now he is happy, and healthy and thriving, and as we settle-in to the back half of his second year there I am finally breathing. I had not felt steady since Jake was three.

My close IRL friends are probably, no, I know they are done with this conversation. I keep talking about where Lucy should go to school because, while I am generally a very decisive, opinionated, independent thinker, in this case, I want someone else to have the answer, tell me it’s the right thing to do. I have at least one very close, trust-worthy friend at each possible location, so I can’t even use the “Who can care for my child if there is an earthquake and they need to take her for three weeks?” Because, yes, tragically that is how scary my brain is…

This has taken up all of my free-thought, and a lot of my previously-allocated-for-other-things thought too. I feel a bit silly being so upset by it all, but last time I did this I screwed up, and I certainly can’t handle that feeling. And I’m not having any more kids, so it’s sort of the last chance I get to do this right. And, most importantly, she is a neat kid, who is smart and funny and I don’t want to send her to the wrong place.

I know what I want: I want same. I want no change. I want to put off for another year, or two, any sort of thinking about change, but I need to really think because there are options here, and financial impacts, and logistics to consider.

So I have been on the tours. I have all the paperwork. I’ve even asked the four-year old what she wants, because, you know, that's responsible parenting. She very capably decided that she could go to at least two schools if the hours were different, and then she put her hands over her eyes and said it was “much too hard to decide."

I agree.

Fluffy Pancakes and Other Holiday Miracles

It's a new year. Shiny and bright and filled with promise, like a new school year, or a blank journal, or an empty center console in a family mini-van.

I am already ahead as this year starts. If I accomplish very little else I will feel like I have had success because...

I can make pancakes.

Now this might seem like an easily overcome obstacle for most adults who can read, have even limited physical coordination and access to the necessary ingredients for cooking. This simple task has eluded me for all of my 38 years, but I have now successfully made beautiful, fluffy, properly cooked-through and most importantly, edible, pancakes four out of the last five days (I didn't have a fail one day, I just wasn't in charge of brekkie). I can now make breakfast for the troops swiftly and easily. I fed four kids Sunday morning before 7:30am and it was a breeze. I have now mastered breakfast.

It's amazing how changing even the simplest things in life can make all the difference, to our confidence, or happiness.

On Christmas day we changed the time dinner was served. One hour earlier and Jake was able to enjoy the same, fancy, dressed-up, china, and three different wine glasses and four forks meal that everyone else had. He was able to stay the entire dinner, and finish three rounds of dessert before Descartes took him home. One hour earlier, and we had family dinner, with 14 people and Jake was able to be a part of the whole thing, and we all had a great time. Jake had a great time, because he loves being with his family.

Our holidays were lovely. Changing a few simple things made each visit with each family go smoothly, even successfully. In fact, I can't actually think of any major drama, aside from our "typical" daughter throwing a no-nap induced fit on Christmas Eve, but she's four, and it's been documented, and when she's a mommy we will pull out this photo, and remind her of all of her drama and cuteness.

The trip to Southern California for Christmas was one of the most successful we have had in years. We felt taken care of, accepted, welcomed and for the first time in a long time, I think we could have stayed a few more days. My family is filled with loving, kind people, really. I'm not even writing that just because they read this blog (Hi Mom!) They really are wonderful people, and we have had visits go okay before, but Jake is a different boy now. He's matured so much in the past two years, and it makes travel and visits much easier. He is calmer overall, and if he does get upset, he's able to calm down faster once his needs are met. And of course, we have grown up too. I worry less about what other people think, and more about how to take care of my family. I also focus more on my family, rather than my family of origin. It's hard not to fall back in to family systems when you go home, but I know that if I take care of Descartes, Jake and Lucy first, it will work out for everyone.

It really went so smoothly. My mother had everything ready to go at her house. We had the right milk, snacks and help each morning with breakfast. Our beds were all set up and the kid toys were available. And guess what my mom bought? A bin filled with smooth rocks and little army guys and small (plastic) sea creatures; Jake had his very own sensory box. It was easy for her to get done (with the help of my sister-in-law, Pinky) and the kindest gesture. Such a small thing that Jake loved, and shows just how hard every one is trying to make sure that we get to be a part of things.

Christmas eve we went to my brother's new house. It is in a very cute neighborhood, that reminds me a little bit of Toon Town at Disneyland, but it is a house filled with toys and non-breakable joy. Aside from Jake cracking off the manifold

in my brother's backyard, it was an easy, fun, family dinner.  The backyard was all set, and available for him to play in, for hours. We just moved one piece of furniture to block off some mud, and when it came time for Jake to turn in, he was able to sleep in his little cousin's pretty pink princess room, snuggled into all of those cozy rosy-hued pillows. Keeping doors closed, and breakables off the side of the table where our long-arm Larry walks through the kitchen, I didn't even have to make those requests because they know my kid now. Even the what-we-thought-was-major-but-turned-out-not-to-be-so-bad, plumbing issue was made to be no big deal, and certainly no one was angry with Jake.  We have a running joke in the family to guess who's going to ruin Christmas each year. One year my brother Gerard asked for the receipts to all of his gifts so he could return them and get what he "really wanted." Another year, my youngest brother Albert threw a little fit about how we "don't even know him" because we guessed the wrong size sweater for him, and I sort of tried to top that ruin by being upset that Descartes had not proposed to me (he proposed the next day). My sister fell into the Christmas tree one year, and missed another year entirely. So Jake tried to ruin Christmas this year, but we found the sprinkler shut-off so I'm not sure he can claim the title.

Christmas day with the other part of my family, has been troublesome for us in the past. The mix of Jake with china, glassware, and expectations led to many of us being sad. My parents have valiantly tried so many different ways to accomodate us, and this year was no exception. Their perseverance has paid off; this year it was fantastic. This was the dinner we moved one hour earlier. The other thing they did was to get a private room for our large party, which was perfect. This way the house was not "set-up" and breakable by Jake, and the mess of dinner was taken care of by a very nice waitstaff. The private room gave us some breathing space, and the patio we could access meant that we could take breaks between courses. The little kids got to wiggle and dance and we all laughed and enjoyed the very, very delicious food. It was such a luxury, and I am so grateful.

Our drive back to the SF Peninsula was easy. We left before anyone was too grumpy, packed food in the car, and were able to avoid drive-thru food for the duration. We stopped for dinner before we got home to avoid that horrible let-down of post vacation combined with an empty fridge. Then we washed some clothes and packed the car again and went to Tahoe for the week and New Year.

The gloves are 80's rocker-girl, but they are on!

What a fantastic week we had there! Beautiful snow, perfect accommodations, doting grandparents and little children who got along. I got to sneak out with the girls, and spend time chatting and sipping while gazing out at the icy lake, and later in the week, I went snowshoeing. The guys went ice fishing, and we all played in the snow.
Jake wore a hat and gloves. Jake wore gloves, and a hat! And he kept them on. Whooooooooo Hoooooooo! This is the first year he has ever kept them on. We cheered and laughed and he smiled, and all the little kids congratulated him! Perhaps it was the 20 degrees outside, or the fact that they've been working with hats at Wunderskool, or maybe Jake is growing up, and recognizes that he can tolerate some things for short periods of time. I know he heard us say that he would have to go back inside if he wouldn't wear gloves...and that boy loves to be outdoors. My sister got some great photos, and while he's not smiling in this one, he really did have a great time, which means we all got to have a good time.

We're back at home now, and I have almost finished unpacking. Jake had school on Monday, and Lucy goes back tomorrow. It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks filled with little things that have made all the difference: pancakes, room to breathe, gloves.

What a great way to start the year, grateful for these small things. I must remember that nothing in our life is static; there is room to grow and change, and even the smallest of changes can transform our family.

just in case you need a little bit of Happy Change, here's the recipe for those pancakes:

Favorite Mountain House Pancakes
sift together:
1 1/4 cups flour
2 tablespoons of table sugar
2 teaspoons of baking powder
1/4 tsp salt

add to:
1 egg, beaten with 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil and 1 cup of milk

Lead me to the Gate

We're happy around here. Vacation for the kids has begun. Descartes is taking some time off. We'll see family, and snow, and the beach, and most of our Great State as we traipse up and down in our all-wheel-drive van. If you ever buy a Toyota Sienna... pay extra for the AWD. It is so awesome to drive right up and through those chain control check points.

We had Thanksgiving at our house this year. My Tahoe family came down and Descartes' parents came across the bridge, and we had a lovely, lovely day. My sister made most of the food, or maybe she didn't, but since she brought food from Tahoe, beautiful home-made food, and then she helped me here, I think she did most of the work. Descartes' parents were precious with the kids, of course, and they had fun decorating the Turkey Lurkey cake.  This was not a tradition I had growing up, but it is a great way to entertain the kids, especially right before dinner is served when every one is antsy. In our family you frost a chocolate sheet cake (okay Descartes' mother does all of this...) and you let the children coat the entire thing in candy, with the goal that the cake look something like the Turkey it was cut out to be. It's really gross, and awesome, and sickeningly sweet. The tradition we have added with this generation is that I let the kids eat a piece of that cake for breakfast the next day. I love being that kind of bad mom.

There's lots of new lately. Mostly things look the same, and certainly to the untrained eye, to an outsider who doesn't notice the nuances of our life, nothing looks different, but there are some great things happening.

Late afternoon on Thanksgiving day, when it came time for us to say goodbye to Cookie and Papa, Jake was very upset as we shut the kitchen door, and watched them walk away. The little kids wanted to walk the grandparents to the gate, and as I said yes, it occurred to me that Jake probably wanted to go too. So I asked him, and he said, "Uh ye....ah!" So Jake went to the gate. The little guys peeled off to play before they even made it down the back steps, but Jake went to the gate and stood there until he saw his grandparent's car drive away. And as the car passed by the gate he raised his hand, a sort of mix between a salute and a wave. And when they had driven off he turned around and walked down the breezeway and back into the house.

Relationship. Social awareness. Understanding family dynamics.

We're also seeing something else that seems like no big deal to most families... Jake is beginning to lead people to where  he wants to go. He took Descartes' hand and pulled him, gently, towards the door in Tahoe because he so desperately wanted to go outside. He took Squid's daughter Iz's hand and walked her around the entire bounce house party. He took Uncle Jaster's hand and led him to the door (once again.. that boy really likes playing outside!) He took my hand just today and led me to the breakfast counter for a snack.

Communication. Intent. Calm insistence. Proprioceptive awareness.

And he's been snuggling. Really snuggling, on the couch, in the bed, and nuzzling in when we give him a hug. This month we've spent at least two rainy days snuggled on the couches in the living room, watching his favorite show MythBusters, or a movie. It might make us a lazy family, but we are trying to let Jake lead. I watched almost all of The Princess and the Frog with Jake at one end of he couch, and me at the other, or feet snuggling and twisting under the blanket. And just this weekend he took a rest with his head on a pillow between Descartes' and mine, for almost 40 minutes. He had one arm around his dad's arm and his other around my shoulders. We were closer to him, for a longer than we had been in years- years.

Affection. Preference. Increased attention span.

We have seen so many little things that amount to such big long term changes. He has been happy and healthy and present, and it has been wonderful. In this season of thanksgiving, I could not be more grateful.

We head out tomorrow to Southern California. The rain should be plentiful, and the food delicious, and seeing family will be wonderful in spite of the obstacles of changing our routine and leaving all of our comfort zones. If nothing else, our family loves a good road trip. Although there is one other thing Jake has been doing lately...bugging his little sister. Very normal brother-sister teasing: sneaking a single cookie out of her bowl when she walks away, taking her doll in the car, and laughing when she throws a fit, or tapping her arm until she gives in and shares her snack on a road trip!

My Tiny Babies

They were never small, either one of them. My kids have always been on the long/tall side, and while skinny compared to the rest of the family, they are both strong and healthy. They have grown a lot this year, both emotionally and physically. The big trip gave us a nice grounding moment before the school year shook us by its tail, and this week of Thanksgiving will be another touchstone to remind us of how wonderful it is to be a part of our family.

I've been purging the house. It's eight years overdue. We had a lot of things to begin with, then we had Jake and I think I just never got rid of anything that was still useful ever again. I have too many sheets, towels and pillow cases, hundreds and hundreds of books, more shoes than Imelda. I went through 13 boxes/plastic bins filled with my children's clothing, and more than two bins of their shoes shoes. I sorted them all by size first, then called friends so they could place their orders. One family wanted 2T warm clothes only, and possibly some size 8 shoes. I pulled out the next sizes for my sister's boys, the items that Princess Lucy won't wear because it looks "too much like boys." (She does love camo though!). Then I went through again quickly and picked out things from each bin that had I had little memory of a kid wearing it, or at least I knew I wasn't emotionally attached. This sounds ridiculous even as I write it. Who gets attached to a cheap Hawaiian shirt or a blue dress with apples all over it?

I can remember something about almost every single item in those 16 crates. I can remember that Jake wore the beige sweater with the little red zipper on the Golden Gate bridge. I took a picture of him, and I was so scared his little ataxic body was going to lunge and leap over the four foot barrier and land in front of a car or worse, go over the side of the bridge. The stripey sweater he wore in Montana, the last time we went vacationing with those close family friends before our marriages went in different directions. Jake got caught on the barbed-wire fence at the edge of the property. I made a new land speed record that day rushing over sage and dirt to get to him. By the time I screeched to a halt, he had slipped out of the sweater, calmly pulling his body down and out, leaving a striped scarecrow on the fence.

Lucy came home from the hospital in the pink onsie with snaps up the front, and monkeys printed on it. And the little blue and white dress with the duck embroidered on the front? Cheezy I know, but she  wore it on her first visit to feed some ducks at a nearby park. The multi-color sweater with the hood? I bought that the day the ultrasound revealed that Lucy was a girl (and then with the worst kind of buyer's remorse, I worried that I had somehow overstepped a boundary and had invited misfortune into our lives, jinxing everything.)

I remember buttoning and zipping and folding and maybe even ironing so many of those tiny clothes...but only as I look at them again. I think this is how my brain works: an event occurs, a good thing, a bad thing, any thing, and I remember the event for a very short amount of time. But apparently I really do remember it because it gets stored in a long-term memory section of my brain, only to be released again when I see the sweater, the street sign, the wedding invitation, the pen, the shoes. I use objects as external hard drives. If I don't see the object, I'm afraid all those memories will be gone.  Now I know I sound like a crazy person.

There's another thing happening as I clean out all of these things. I get closer to the corner of the closet with the baby crib.

Baby. Crib.

It is beautiful. Jake stayed in it until he was too tall and I was afraid he would tip over the rails, and Lucy jumped out the day before her first birthday, prompting a hasty trip to IKEA. We packed up the crib and put it in Jake's closet.

Every time I open Jake's closet door I have a flood of memories looking at those beautiful wood slats; Jake finally pulling to a stand in his sunny bedroom with yellow walls, when we thought he never would, and Lucy jumping up and down yelling MAMAMAMAMAMAMA to get out of bed. I remember Descartes and I putting that crib together, and arranging the room before Jake was born.

Now getting rid of that crib would hardly remove all of the beautiful memories I have of my children as tiny babies but there is something keeping me from passing it on to the next family. At least I thought there was; I thought that our family was not complete without another child.

This whole time, I've had this crib in the closet, thinking that we would change our minds and have another baby. Getting pregnant with Lucy was a big decision after Jake, and though we thought we would have three or four children, I've realized (after some long discussions) that I am not really missing having another person in our family, and I cannot actually imagine where or how another child would fit, into my heart, or our home, or our schedule. I just don't have a hollow any more, and I know I used to feel that ache, as if we were not complete--but my heart is full now. And we are whole, and happy and as hard as it feels some days, we are on track. 

***

What I am wanting, what I confused with wanting another child, is that idea of fresh and new, and possibility. It's that whole hope thing again...and while we're at it, I want that fearless part of me back. The woman who was carrying a perfect child and made sure we bought a house near the best elementary school. The woman who read Thoreau, and C.S. Lewis to put that beautiful boy to sleep at night. The woman I was before I broke my leg on the front stairs and had to ask for help, really, really ask for help for the first time in my life. I am trying to get some more pieces of that woman back, and somehow I mixed that up with having another baby, because while I do like myself now, I really did like the woman I was then too--she was awesome, and she knew it.

Is There a Pill for This?

I've been working on a post for The Thinking Person's Guide to Autism on why we chose to give Jake medication to address his ADHD symptoms, and how to go about it if you think your child might benefit.

The thing is, as I keep working on the post, and I've been opening it and writing, deleting, and writing again, every day for over a month, I find that it is really not my best work. The language is stilted. There is no flow. I can't seem to get the words out, or clarify my message.

Last night was a restless one for Descartes and I. I could tell at about 4:30am that neither of us was sleeping. But just in case I was wrong, I let the silence surround us, as I am NOT wont to do. Silence is so heavy for me. It forces me to think for myself, instead of bouncing my ideas off of other people, gauging their reactions. It forces me to be my own company, which makes me think about what I like and do NOT like about myself...and then how I want to change those things, which inevitably leads me to thinking about how I need to do more for my family, for my friends, for my work. I form to-do lists at 5am that I will accomplish TO-DAY! for the projects I dedicate my mind to.

So this morning in the darkness I tried to work through what was bothering me about writing what would appear to be a simple post about the medications I give my son, why we do it, and how to do it. I think I am worried about the judgment. People, myself included, are so quick to judge others. It's how we determine friend or foe, helpful or harried. We make snap decisions about people all the time. If we have grace, or empathy, or something other than outright narcissism, we might consider why another person is behaving in a certain manner, and hold our harshest judgments, or our condemnation, but sometimes we just judge and move on.

People, individuals I know, and talk show pundits, and magazines and teachers have judged my family and our choice to give Jake medication, and it is painful to think that others might view me as the type of parent who would cause my child harm. What's worse is that I judge myself. I know we've made the right decisions.. I know that we have, but a part of me questions the ethics of giving a non-verbal 10 year old medications, which alters his mood. He can't tell me when he has cotton mouth. He can't tell me if it is making him feel anxious, or if he's not eating because the medications remove his appetite, or he ate a big snack at school. And I have found myself thinking that many children are mis- or over- diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, when all they really need is some more stimulating way of teaching to keep their attention focused on learning.. or maybe they just need to have P.E. in school again to run some energy off some of those antsy legs.

But I don't want to share that part with parents who are trying to figure out if pharmacological intervention might help their child. I only want to tell them the good parts, about my son's overnight ability to sit in a chair, or go to brunch with his grandparents again. The way he can make it through a five hour flight to Hawaii, and dinner. I want parents to be unaware of those harsh judgments, so they can get to the point of helping their children, because in spite of those naysayers who tell us we have made up ADHD, some children will benefit from medications like this.

The Thinking Person's Guide to Autism is filled with fact-based information. Science. Truth. Honesty. It is already helping families and has opened communication with adults on the spectrum. I know that an honest account, of all my emotions, will be the post that reaches the most people. I just want to balance all of that negative- the negative in my own mind, and all of those harsh words around us, with all of the possible benefits, and somehow write all of it down, without being judged.

or, as I have often done in my every day, going-to-get-through-this way, I suppose I could just do what I need to do and let the critics say what they must before they move on... because they do eventually move on, and what always remains is the best decision I can make for my family at the time.