Real Estate

I have the Lincoln house on my mind.

When Peaches was a baby, we began outgrowing our first adorable little house. In SoCal buying a house ain't easy if you aren't a media mogul, but we scraped together what we needed and started looking. A expert finder, I spied a great little yellow house on Lincoln Street before our hot shot agent could say Open House. Oh, so cute was this yellow house. Old, full of character, a master bedroom to envy, a master bath to lock yourself in and refuse to exit. I wanted the yard for my kids, the hardwood floors, three bedrooms. Unfortunately, one of the three? Smaller than your closet. And there were a few other small flaws. Like the kitchen? Old, but without the charm. And without the dishwasher. And without a few other major things. But! I found it! Affordable three bedroom! Fast! Ta da! Bird in the hand! Yes, this one!

My agent might not find with my speed (who can? I met my husband online! I'm a super searcher!) but he does know real estate. First, he said, you have to sell your own adorable little house. So, with his help, we quickly did. But in the course of those short weeks, someone else got our Lincoln house. Sold. I panicked. Now we had a buyer for our too small house and nowhere to go but limbo. For several days, maybe two weeks, I turned myself into knots. My husband likes to tell me, "You are a twister." Even more than a finder.

Finally, I found the place we call home now. The minute I saw it, check marks went Ding! Ding! Ding! in my head. Yard, bedrooms, kitchen, a bathroom to lock yourself away from humanity. Check check check, ding ding ding! Better than the Lincoln house? Yes, except for one thing. This house fell within the behemoth school district. Not the small, warm, friendly, cozy, Mayberry district of the Lincoln House, just blocks away. Still, Peaches would have room to grow past two feet tall in this house, she would have a room with a closet instead of having a closet for a room, and we could make the numbers work before we landed on the street. Sold.

Flash forward a few months: Rooster gets a diagnosis. And, guess what? Turns out that the behemoth district? It has services. Lots and lots of services. The cozy district I wanted so badly for my kids? They are the ones who had missed his diagnosis completely. They would have offered my boy no help. Funny how some things do work out for the best in the long run despite twisters and their panic attacks.

Lately, I keep thinking about the Lincoln house for solace. See, I've been wanting things again lately. I've been reaching for things, good things that seem like a pretty good match for our family's needs despite a few small flaws. But I haven't been getting those things I want. And I feel on the brink of panic, fearful of outgrowing my shell or winding up in the streets.

Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe, and turn down Lincoln Street. See? That house stands as a symbol, if you choose it to be one. It was a good house, but something better came along. Something that turned out to fit better. Something with unexpected bonuses. It just took time.

I'm letting go of Lincoln houses, and trying to be patient.

Remember Me?

Oh, wow, how I have missed you.

You have been on my mind, though. Out of touch doesn't mean forgotten.

I'm working, writing, reading, reaching, teaching, trying, crying, growing, sowing, going, spinning, grinning, thinking, thinking, thinking. I'm up early and up late, I'm trying new things and trying for new things, and I'm very, very, very me lately. I think a lot less about autism and a lot more about autism. The struggles change, the struggles stay the same. I never knew how MUCH this journey would be, and I'm not sorry one iota, but my hands stay full. How are you?

How ARE you?

All around me, so much life. A friend at long, long last gives birth. Another friend at long, long last conceives. A dear one has not one baby but two miracles who overcome odds that are hard to describe, hard to imagine, very hard to overcome, and guess what? Healthy! Take that, odds! Way to go, K! I thrill for the growing families, I celebrate the familyness everywhere. And I still swallow little lumps that our family continues to do everything the hard way. I wouldn't mind a day that went smoothly, I admit it. But we have good moments each day, and those I grab with gusto.

Roo lost two teeth this week. Peaches told me, "I'm falling in love with R." Roo got 11 out of 12 right on his first spelling test. Peaches decorated a cardboard box with "jewels" and beamed with pride. I'm sitting here searching for more to add to the list and then I realize actually that list satisfies me right now. That's the good stuff.

I lurk all over the blogosphere. I love reading all the kiddos out there. I love learning that one little guy up north from me played his heart out with his brother for few minutes, tearing up the house but not bothering his mom one bit because she knows this is the good stuff. I love knowing that one little guy from my home state found the bike that works for him and also maybe some other tools that seem to be making life easier at school and home. I love knowing that some of my favorite bloggers are taking the show on the road, publishing here and there and everywhere. And for those whose struggles have been tougher of late, I've been sending out extra good thoughts, extra good wishes.

Wow, it's great catching up with you. We can't let so much time pass between visits. Seeing you boosts my spirits every time. Already I'm looking forward to our next little chat like this. Really, let me hear more from you, too, okay? I mean, HOW are you?

The Daily Planet

Where have I been? It's a good question, to which I have only inadequate answers.

I have not, however, been in Metropolis waiting for Superman. We all know I am not that naive. He ain't comin'.

Fortunately, though, I did get a chance to go to the documentary with my blogger friend, and as a special needs Mama, I just have to state the obvious: I don't know anyone in this community who believes Superman is coming to make schools the places that they should be to properly include all kids with special needs. Not Superman, not the government, not Oprah, not a miracle.

As a teacher, I say to you: Our public schools are broken. Our children are not. Our system is flawed, but our children are beautiful. We must do what we can for our kids, despite the fact that it's overwhelming, that there is no map, no clear destination. As a teacher I say to you that our children are more than just our future. They are right now. They need us. As a teacher, as a mother, as a voter, I am not sure what to do, but "nothing" is not going to cut it.

Now, in case you've recently been under kryptonite, Waiting for "Superman" is Davis Guggenheim's look at our public school system and how, among other things, a handful of heartbreaking families struggle to escape sure catastrophe (their local schools) by hoping to win the lottery that is the charter system. Having taught in public and private schools, and having observed charters, I wanted to see this film once I heard the buzz. I heard words like "depressing." I heard assessments like "beating up teachers." I heard "indictment of unions." I heard, "Public schools suck." I have a child in public school. I have a child in private school. I have an interest in them attending a nearby charter school in the future. I visited the first KIPP classroom in Texas while serving in Teach for America. I needed to see this film.

One of the film's protagonists explains his own realization that no Superman would come rescue the disaster public schools have become, and I believe that is true. The overall situation is dire, and it is worse than dire overall for kids who have physical, emotional, or developmental challenges.

But no film is perfect. Not even documentaries are completely objective. You can't tell the whole shebang of education in the length of a feature film. I appreciated this film and what it shared, I think it's something you should watch and discuss, but it is not an A to Z picture.

As lousy as the conditions are in schools today, as horrifying as the system is that gets me writing late night letters to the White House on their web site, what school really boils down to on a daily basis for most children is teachers. Good teachers make for good learning. I know good teachers. They aren't all in private schools. They aren't all in charter schools. There are teachers who are heroes. For many children, a teacher is as close as they will ever come to Superman. I don't want you to see this movie and think all teachers contribute negatively to the tragically unheroic system. I don't want anyone to believe teachers got us into this mess or refuse to get us out.

And the beautiful, heroic kids in this film have families that have their backs. I am deeply thankful for that. But that is not the story in every household. Want to know what systems are as torn, twisted, mangled and maimed as the school system? (No, I'm not talking about health care, but that was a good guess.) Families. Let's say Education Superman made schools stronger, healthier, cleaner, safer, more resourced, and well staffed. So then all our kids would get good educations, go to college, thrive? Even the ones who live with challenges like homelessness, domestic violence, illness, substance abuse, neglect? We'd need Family Superman, too, wouldn't we?

Schools have increasingly hard jobs in increasingly hard and complicated times. I don't have any answers, but I absolutely plan to keep asking questions. Why is the public school system broken? Why does government get it wrong over and over and over? How can we support teachers who make a difference? Where can we find the leadership we need? And why do we consistently fail our most vulnerable members of society? Are unions really the problem? Are charter schools really the answer? What about kids with special needs?

We don't need to find a Superman or Wonderwoman. We need a nation of them.

Ain't We Lucky We Got Em!

Jillsmo, you took the UG out of my UGLY week, giving me a blog award that I don't deserve but will gladly accept because I never win anything and a girl needs a little something when her week smelled like the carpet in the YMCA locker room.

"And, now, I will do my duty as award recipient and follow the rules, which are, as follows:"

Rules for winning this award

• Thank and link back to the person who gave you the award.
• Share 7 things about yourself.
• Pass the award along to 15 other bloggers who you recently discovered and think are fabulous.
• Contact the bloggers you chose and let them know about the award.

Seven things about Rooster's Mama:

1. I am working on getting my administrative credential in Education through Johns Hopkins U and the International Society for Technology in Education.

2. I want to write a book.

3. I have been dreaming about people lately only to wake up and find out something very important happened in their lives. I find that not at all cool or interesting but just creepy, and prefer to dream about Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia lowfat frozen yogurt with full fat hot fudge on top.

4. Lately I've been getting up at 5:15 to meet my neighbor and get in a power walk before school. (Before school? Before 20 million things. Before the marathon called our days.) Even writing that I "power walk" and "at 5:15" sounds weird to me. I really do that? Crazy. Doesn't sound like me at all.

5. People like to talk about my hair. Not me, other people. Some people worry about my hair being big and wild and crazy, and get frustrated by it. Not me, other people. Some people say it's really sad that it's getting way too gray. Not some people, just me actually. Some love it and stop me in the airport or whatever, and that's pretty cool. Okay, I've exhausted my thoughts on the hair thing, but someone else will bring it up today, guaranteed.

6. I miss blogging. I'm too busy. Right now I should be ashamed of myself for taking the time to blog. But I'm not. I am hurrying, though...

7. On my next birthday I will be 40 and for the first time ever I want to have a party.

Passing on the blog:

I LOVE all the bloggers I read, or I wouldn't read them, so I pass this on to ALL 45 of you! You are all versatile beautiful writers and I want to know 7 things aboutcha

That being said, I want to point out some blogs I just lately stumbled on, thanks mostly to following all of you around the blogosphere through your blog rolls, etc. I figure if I just found them, maybe others haven't seen them yet, so here are some blogs I added just lately:

http://trydefyinggravity.wordpress.com/

http://entemporada.blogspot.com/

http://www.followingelias.com/

http://elizabethaquino.blogspot.com/

http://williamhorberg.typepad.com/william_horberg/

Party Hats Come in All Shapes and Sizes

Today we decided to take both kids to a birthday party.

You might ask me, "How did it go?" But there is no simple answer. There are, in fact, many answers. Ever since the word autism came into our lives, I have as many perspectives on events like birthday parties as I do hats to wear. It makes me feel a little dizzy and schizophrenic. I see each birthday party with the eyes a mother of two, a teacher, an OT, a behaviorist, of just plain old anxious me.

The birthday party was:

Fine. The birthday girl's family is adorable, and they have a lovely home. I managed the expected and unexpected obstacles with finesse, other kids melted down as much or more than mine, I had some adult conversations, some people barely noticed us, I remembered an alternative treat for the boy that pleased him, and no one got hurt. Wheew. I'm tired, but all-in-all, not a bad day...

Disappointing. It reminded me that no matter how far we've come, the other kids have come farther, and no matter how hard we work, we have so much more to do. My boy pushed a kid, called a child a "loser," flipped out when the face painter closed up shop before he got his painted, and screamed at our hosts, "I WANT A GOODY BAG! NOW!!!" My daughter lost her shoes, stuffed herself full of sugar, and instigated an argument with her brother the minute we got in the car to head home. Inside the goody bags? Contraband. Uh-oh... who knows what was in that candy Roo gobbled up before I could stop him, but it said, "Made in China" on the bag, and nothing else.

Terrific. I am so grateful. I know too many people for whom going to a birthday party is impossible or unthinkable. Every time I read the news, my blog reader, or Hopeful Parents, the shame I feel over my self-pity grows and grows. We had a beautiful day to be together and be with friends. Many of the people there offered us support and understanding, and I feel so appreciative.

Therapeutic. Roo could bounce in the bounce house, swing in the play room swinging chair, and pet animals at the petting zoo. A ROOSTER walked right up to him, so purposefully, I kid you not! Hey, with that kind of therapy, we didn't even feel the need to drive to horseback riding therapy afterwards... a good thing with temperatures in the 90s.

Just another day in the life of the Rooster's family. Ups, downs, smiles, frowns, screaming, hugging, fighting, kissing, trying, learning, teaching, working, growing, struggling,wondering, lather-rinse-repeating.

UnStill Life

My four-year-old NT girl is in the bath as I type this. I'm only 10 feet away, on my bed, and can see her playing. "Mommy?" she asks. "Do you love me no matter what, or only if I have good behavior?"

The love, I assure you, is unstoppable. The fun, though, as I explain to Peaches, is much bigger when all our behavior is good.

And where does she get these questions, questions that pile on me lately about where babies come from, why people go to jail, what happens after death... I have typed only one sentence, that first one at the top of this post, so far, and realize I've never been able to blog when my kids are awake, but my night's are filled with schoolwork (theirs AND mine), and yet I hate to neglect this place where I come for my sanity and catharsis.

The phone rings. My husband, at Children's Hospital with our six-year old son who has autism, tells me I handed him the wrong prescription this morning on his way out the door and he's hoping I can send a scan or photo of the one he needs for our boy's blood draw, ASAP. I set aside my computer, scramble for the camera, the script, the card reader... How did people survive without ubiquitous computing? In 5 minutes, thanks to numerous gadgets and some of my husband's charm, my husband has things underway at the hospital to check up on my son's blood...

Peaches climbs from the tub, drips her way through the house, asks to be held like a newborn, helps me make a cheer up sign for her brother, refuses to sit more than six inches from me as she devours the opportunity for undivided attention.

The boys return, and before the key unlocks the front door my boy makes it clear that he NEEDS to bake a pie. URGENTLY. He has had pie on the brain for days, so I prepared last night, stealing away during ABA to stock up on GFCF ingredients from two separate markets. Sadly, real GFCF "pie" is beyond my patience and skills as well as the inventory of both markets, but I know he will settle for "crumble." With both kids as "helpers," we manage to whip up apple crumble in about an hour, leaving the kitchen sorely worse for the wear. While it bakes, we eat carrots, sandwiches, chili, lemonade. Finally, the timer dings. A boy demands a melted marshmallow on his "pie," and a Peach opts for ice cream. In the end, it's really only these toppings they like. The "pie," or crumble, tastes too healthy for their liking. I end up eating more than my share. They tear through the house grabbing toys, wearing my very favorite blanket in the entire world over their heads as they play ghost, building structures on the coffee table, laughing, arguing, goofing around.

It's barely afternoon. The house is a wreck. I realize no one brushed their teeth this morning. The TO DO list stretches long and foreboding... I pick up my netbook, with a blind eye to all else and a firm refusal to worry about blood panel results, and resume writing this, the formless blog post in front of you right now.

And with tremendous trepidation I confess to you, brazenly, that I feel happy.

This is how one family with autism rolls.

Read This: It's Urgent

The world stopped today.

Well, at least, I read something really, really, really good. Maybe the world just paused a moment. But for me it felt big.

Really I should talk about worlds, not world. My work world -- in which I am working on an administrative credential -- felt like it collided with my home world, in which I am the mama (read: fierce advocate) of two children, and one has autism.

Usually, I do not care much for my worlds colliding. I have several unwritten posts littering my head and heart about how those collisions shake me. But today, I read a blog by an educator I admire, a blogger in my Personal Learning Network. I admire this man, a principal, and recently decided to borrow one of his ideas. I appreciate the way his professional blogs get personal, give glimpses into the goodness of his character. The idea I contacted him about, which he shares willingly, has to do with having an Identity Day at school to celebrate the identities of everyone. Everyone. Yeah, I know, right? So I am a fan.

Today I opened his blog and found something that you need to read. I don't care what you do for a living. I don't care what kinds of kids you have. I don't care what world you live in, because his blog should be required reading for voters, and anyone else with a pulse. It shows simple beauty, it shows leadership. It's a world with which I can identify. Enough about me. Please, right now, go meet George, Principal of Change.

http://georgecouros.ca/blog/archives/1180