Seize the Brutiful

My son's recent birthday has me thinking about milestones and landmarks and such.

He turned nine -- halfway grown. Halfway grown, going in to fourth grade. For the better part of two decades I worked in a school that held K-3 in one building and grades 4-6 in another, so I always thought fourth grade meant "big kid." 

I'm forty-one, I've lived close to half the length of my grandparents' lives. They were my heroes and I miss them.

My daughter turned just turned seven.  My grandma has been gone now more than half my little girl's life, and she never met my grandpa.

In a year my son will be the age I was when my father left my family for good. Unthinkable to leave my babies... and they are still, for sure, my babies. 

In college I dated a boy who made the mistake of wondering aloud what if we got married? I laughed without thinking and hurt him when I said I had no intention of getting married, and certainly not so young. He married the next girl he dated, and now has a son about to go off to college. I see his son's photo on Facebook and cannot grasp it. At all.

This weekend my husband and I will celebrate eleven years of marriage and thirteen years as a couple. He looks, to me, pretty darn close to the way he looked the day I met him. Okay, so he's a little bit cuter now. But he was plenty cute then, beautiful enough in looks and in spirit, that I thought, ever since the night we met, he might be the perfect person at the perfect time to ask me, "What if we got married?"

And when he did ask me? You know I couldn't trust that much goodness without double checking it, and so I negotiated, and I said, "You know I want kids, right? You know I want more than just one, right? You know I'm complicated... " And he told me, as he has since the beginning, "Oh, I know all about you..." And he does. And he told me, as he has since the beginning, "Why don't you just let yourself enjoy the happiness? It's okay! Let's enjoy it together!"

J has always said, "Enjoy the vigor of your youth! Enjoy your vigors! You will never be younger than you are today!"J has always said it's okay to be happy, and he has always offered to hold my hand if being happy scares me too much.

In our early days, we used to hang out in front of mirrors and smile at the reflection of our arms around one another, the way we kind of resembled one another in a way, and how we could never stop radiating our joy at finding one another. We held hands as we walked ourselves down the aisle.

Now we sit and marvel that we aren't those young twenty-somethings anymore, as we exchange neck rubs and swap complaints about our aches and pains. It can look, for all the world, like I'm disgruntled. I totally get that. I can appear ungrateful and negative and very, very tired.

Because it's been nine long years helping our son navigate autism, asthma, ADHD, ocular torticollis, night terrors, and food allergies. It's been harder especially since I haven't had my heroes, my grandparents, to guide me through life's challenges anymore, challenges of raising a little diva, or going three and a half years straight without any sleep. I'm road-worn.

But at the same time, my son's recent birthday has reminded me, as birthdays do, of the gratitude I feel for every candle on every cake, gluten free and otherwise, and every day, good or otherwise, in between. Glennon Doyle Melton of Momastery says life is brutiful. I get that, I really do.

(Recently I stumbled across a blog post by someone all full of self-righteous indignation toward Glennon, taking her to task for not wanting to be all cheerily carpe diem 24/7/365. I think that blogger really just wanted to feel superior. Who knows, maybe I'm being very ironic and superior myself, calling out someone else here, but that's not my goal.)

What I'm trying to say is that my son's recent birthday didn't have me thinking life is perfect, or life is terrible. It has me agreeing with Glennon that life is brutiful, and we can do hard things.

To think that I am enjoying a wonderful weekend and actually feeling guilty about it, you might need to read this for context:
http://momastery.com/blog/2013/05/26/we-remember/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=we-remember
Yes, long weekends are good things. Also, I am filled with gratitude for heroes -- so many, many kinds of heroes.

Respect, Grief, Love, Reminders

I have been at a loss for words, and grateful for those who know what to say:

http://yeahgoodtimes.blogspot.com/2013/05/in-memoriam.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+YeahGoodTimes+%28Yeah.+Good+times.%29&utm_content=Google+Reader 

http://www.autismwonderland.com/2013/05/honoring-mikaelalynch.html

http://theconnorchronicles.wordpress.com/2013/05/20/the-loss-of-a-child/

http://www.stuartduncan.name/autism/until-it-happens-to-you-honoring-mikaela-lynch/

http://joeyandymom.blogspot.com/2013/05/for-mikaela-owen-and-their-families.html

I am simply heartsick for the families of Mikaela and Owen.

The Heart Is Searching

I don't share much about our little home, but I love it very much. It is a home to us, while so many places I lived were places I lived.

Tuesday I plan to talk to a realtor about selling our house. If we move two streets over or more, we move into a district that we can only hope will treat us better than the one that serves our cozy, sweet, homey home (with the lovely trees and shady street and indulgent bathroom and best neighbors).

My boy comes in and says, "Mommy? Can I get cozy with you? Can we cuddle up and watch storylineonline.net?" My boy says, "Can I kiss your cheek, mama?" So where he goes, where he finds joy, where people welcome him, that will be our home. My family is my home.

And so many places where he's gone to school have been just places where he's gone to school, and I want him to have a learning home.

Media Alert: I Declare WAR

I have contacted the media.

Tonight, my children and I played a modified version of that good old standby card game, war.

We played for 15 minutes, taking turns, cheering for one another. We all understood the game, and we all had fun.

Never have I experienced this as a parent. I am not sure I can really believe it happened.

My daughter will be seven next month and my son nine shortly thereafter but multiple challenges stand in the way of something as simple as playing a card game together. Tonight, we declared war on those challenges. We achieved a million miles of success.

I have no idea who won the game.

I am pretty sure we all did.

Valentine's Day in the Life

I share this because I welcome any suggestions. 

2/14/13

Dear Principal, Teacher, Aides, and Resource Teacher, and After School Teacher,

Tonight, as usual, we sent Rooster into the bathroom to brush teeth. In a few minutes, we heard sobbing. We found Rooster curled up in the empty bathtub in his pajamas inconsolable. Below are some of his comments, with hesitancy about using names but I think open communication is important and honestly Rooster appears to be in a crisis:

“When I was born, I wanted to be appreciated. At my school, no one appreciates me. I hate it there! It’s not fair.”

“V tells people I’m not smart.”

“I have friends but I lose friends.”

“My aides and my classmates make rules that are not fair.”

“[My aides] are like bystanders! They don’t help me!”

“I don’t have any friends and the people at school are cruel to me! And no one cares!”

“I want to be accepted but no one will be my friend.”

“My school is full of bullies! No one will play with me! It hurts!”

"I feel so lonely and I don't get any respect from anyone!"

He has never expressed these sentiments before, and self expression has long been hard for him. Rooster tends to put on a lighthearted expression at all times at home and to keep conversations brief. This outpouring of emotion and details shocked us. We don’t simply take all the comments at face value, but we certainly respect that this is how he truly feels. We do not know what brought this on, but we are determined to support him however we can. Today is Valentine’s Day, and our son went to bed talking about being heartbroken, and how he wished he could never speak to anyone again at his school.  He used the word cruel a half dozen times, sobbing and clinging to us, which we have never seen before.

We need to meet as soon as possible. We need a plan to support our son and help him feel safe at school. We need a team of support for Rooster. We need it soon.

Please let us know the first available opportunity to meet. Also, please let us know if there is a counselor or school psychologist who could meet as well. 

Sincerely,

Rooster's Family 

On We Go

If you asked me this morning how I feel about the frequent news stories about what might or might not cause autism, I would have told you I don't listen to those anymore.

I have two great kids, autism is part of our deal, and on we go.

For some reason, this afternoon while driving I heard that pregnant women who take folic acid blah blah blah, and my stomach soured.

For a moment, the insidious guilt and worry and insecurity wriggled its way through the crevices around my logic and strength and did a sneak attack on my nervous system.

And then? The rest of my brain mooned it. Just took the low road and one-upped that fearful stuff. Said, "Nuh-uh, you stinkin' drama. Git. OUT."

Ask me now. Ask me how much I care that you could Google up six trillion dozen ways from Sunday how I might have invented autism.

What's that? I am sorry, I can't hear your silly question, I'm going to hang out with two great kids (kids I love and who love me, kids who have a good life and kids I wouldn't trade or change) and autism is just part of our deal, and on we go.