Hello, Yeah, It's Been Awhile

(Not much, how 'bout you?)

It's July...  mid-July even.  We've done some things and been some places, but I've not been inspired by the Blog Muse to write, but I hate to leave this space languishing any longer.

Here's some plausibly entertaining things that I've been up to this summer:

1) Streaming TV (of course)  I've completed 5 seasons of the sleeper series Friday Night Lights that ended a few years back. I've thoroughly enjoyed it as evidenced by the fact that I've watched about 76 episodes, each 44 minutes in length over the last 7 weeks.  It's good to have ambition.



You don't have to appreciate football or the Lone Star state to be hooked on this series.  At the center is Coach Taylor (Kyle Chandler) and his wife, Tami (Connie Britton) who guide the team and students of Dillion, Texas.  Almost every football player or student that interacts with the Taylors are missing something in their own family dynamic.  One player is loosely watched by an older brother, his parents having abandoned the family at different points; the new QB1 (I now know that's a thing) is also missing a mom and dad figure while taking care of his grandmother with early dementia.  Several times throughout the show you can't help but want to take these fictional characters under your wing and say "You belong here...It's gonna be okay."  A new saying for Sarah from the show is "Go, Baby!" in her four-year-old country twang.  Did I cheer for the Panthers to win State?  Oh yes I did.  I clapped my hands like it mattered.  And my affinity for 'ball sadly diminished after I snagged a husband who really likes it.  All Fall, All Ball.  I'm sure if I was as supportive of Ball as Tami Taylor was, ours would be a stronger marriage.  You can put me your prayer list concerning this need in my marriage.  I covet your prayers.  Ten Years tomorrow :)

2) Books (ditto)

Some good beach reads this summer:

Bridge to Haven by Francine Rivers
The One and Only by Emily Giffin
The Girls of August by Anne Rivers Siddons
Fly Away Home by Jennifer Weiner
Restless (non-fiction, so not a typical beach read but I read it this summer so I'm counting it) by Jennie Allen


3) Hold on to your hats: A 10K
Mid-thirties rite of passage--check.  My "training" consisted of running maybe 12 times with my handy app, but hey, I ran 3 times one week and completed the Peachtree Road Race (ran 2, walked 4).  That's more movement than I've clocked in some time, so I'm proud.  The race was a throng of humanity with over 60,000 runners on July 4th.  Great atmosphere for a casual runner.  So glad I did it.

4) I Enjoy Satire:

Here are a few clips that nail the self-obsession of the "Tens" so far  (which I participate in as I am writing a blog).





Hope you are passing away these lazy days of summer in equally productive ways!

It's May. Also Known as Bounce House Season.

Lots of end of season revelry this week as we wrap up schooling and activities.  It's a three bounce house kinda week here, with Sarah's last day at Playschool and J's last t-ball game and an early trip to Monkey Joe's just because we can.  We are putting away our formal schoolbooks Friday and I can't believe we've really done a year of Kindergarten by ourselves.  I definitely want to shoot video of us reading together because that's our A for effort this year.

I've got some clips of the church musical that will probably only interest the grandparents, but I hope it edifies you as well.  Sarah's a blip on the first row, fifth from the right, a tiny thing with a big bow.  I had grand plans for video shot from the first row straight from the stand I brought, but I forgot that those details have to be communicated in spoken word to my husband rather than telepathy.  He gamely shot this with our phone when I could've just got the money shot from the stage as I hid in the wings to help run 4 year olds to the restroom.  She was so very cute.  She technically wasn't an official member of the class but I'm so glad I brought her into the fold this spring.

Our Music Minister wrote me a note of thanks and very wisely reminded me that teaching children to praise the Lord matters quite a lot.  I often joke that we mostly sit in a circle and learn jazzy motions, but really, that's exactly what these children have learned: that God is for them and he is awesome and holy.  I can still remember the words of a children's musical "It's Cool In the Furnace" from the age of 8 and even sang the song this week when I flipped in Sarah's bible storybook about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. So even if we jazz it up with sparkle fingers, God's word has a way of taking root.

VIPs in the Kingdom.  BeaUtiful.

That Time I Threw My Busted Styrofoam Cup Out The Window In Impotent Rage: Mother's Day Edition

This was yesterday.

I almost tweeted my summation of the sad state of affairs, like I needed to put my ownself in time out, but I thought better of it to preserve my dignity. Which is why I'm blogging about it today.

The day started off so well:  we made Sarah's preschool drop off on-time-ish, made a Mother's Day card run and Dollar Store drop-in without incident, and then had school time with J.  He actually started the first of the Early Reader Phonics books in our curriculum and read each word on his own... like score.  I am winning at this whole thing.

We pick up Sarah, and since I really want to get those cards off and I want Sarah to add her developing penmanship to the card, we stop over at Chick-Fil-A to grab a bite and let her sign those cards.

Fail proof, right?

I get our meals ordered, divvy them around and anticipate feeding myself after all the ketchup has been squeezed, chicken cut, and fruit preferences honored.  Then: "Mom, I've got to go potty!!!" from Sarah.  The urgent kind of potty.  "Of course you do,"  I remark a wee bit sarcastically, as we've already had a bathroom session leaving preschool that involved the changing of garments.

I bark to get her shoes, carry her to the bathroom, and hope J and Rachel remain seated at the table.  Of course, she "can't go," so I slap her shoes on, and as we are exiting, J is at the restroom entrance.  If I had been in good humor, I would have rightly concluded that he too needed to go.  I'm not sure if I asked him or not, but hauled both of them back to the table to make sure Rachel was still in her non-highchair seat.  She was.  Perfectly contented with a big chicken tender and hadn't even thrown anything.

A table of college-aged sorority sisters sits behind us and I remark, "Really makes you want to have kids, right?" with about as much sincerity as you can imagine after the proceedings.

"Actually, we were watching your baby.  She's precious."

"Oh, yeah.  All of them are.  Especially when we're not running to the bathroom," I graciously reply.  (Sarcasm font).

I resume enjoying the wonder of those red bell pepper/tomato crunchies on the salad when I look over at J and I get it.  He really had to go.  He has to go now.  He is going.

I jerk him up and drag him in the the ladies room and use that crazy, hushed voice that scares even me and I'm sure anyone in the next stall.

I call the outing a loss and tell him to wait by the front door as I pack up the food and explain that no playground time will be had as I'm regaled with ice cream dream laments from Sarah.

We're out the door and I relent, agreeing to get ice cream through the drive through.  And then I grab my water cup and the straw has poked its way through the bottom.

At which point I LOSE IT.

My window is open after having just placed my order in the drive through line and I chuck that empty cup out the window, saying some things and generally looking like an unhinged maniac who should not be driving a motor vehicle containing children.

You'll be happy to know that the ice cream cone later falls out of the cup holder up front and I handle that with equal grace.

Then I give the kids an early bath, mostly so they can splash in the tub and I can watch my show in the next room as I check in on them and pretty much check out from the day.

As they are exiting the tub, J's system finally processes the last of the major system flush we started this Sunday and continued all week and well, leaves an EPIC mess in his room.  EPIC.   That's all I can say and remain in any sort of taste.  But he thoughtfully took himself to the restroom to clean himself up so that counts for something, yes?

We limp through a hasty meatball and spaghetti meal as Alex steam cleans J's room and mercifully get them in their beds.

And we awaken to do it all over again.

Hopefully with less blow-outs.  By all parties.

And I share this pitiful anecdote to remind myself that sometimes it's great and sometimes it's hard and sometimes it's boring and sometimes you just keep showing up.

Let's keep showing up, Moms and Dads.  They'll be adults one day and we won't know any of the details of their bathroom habits.  God willing.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

April Is The Cruellest Month

I didn't write any autism posts in the month of April.  At least on this blog.  In my head?  Many.  Working titles include "You're a Grand Old Flag" for my son's great enthusiasm of our nation's symbol, very much tongue-in-cheek;  "State of the Union: Our Second Year With Autism" and "Autism Junction, What's Your Function?" on functioning labels, such as high or low functioning autism and my ambivalent feelings about them.

I may go back and write those posts because belieeeeve me, I've got lots of words to work through.

What I want to share about our particular experience down this road is summed up beautifully by Jim Walter of  Just A Lil Blog in his post Love for NT Parents  (parents of neurotypical children):

"I'll probably realize I'm wrong at some point, but I feel like I've reached a really good place with Lily.  I feel like I accept her completely.  But before I got where I am with Lily today I wondered how to accept autism.  Before I wondered how to accept autism I wondered how best to spread awareness.  Before I wondered how to spread awareness I wondered what had caused it.  Before I wondered what caused it I wondered whether I shouldn't have vaccinated.  Before I wondered about vaccines I wondered about cures.  Before I wondered about cures I didn't have an autistic child.  Each new thing I 'learned' either built upon the last, or completely razed it to the ground and rebuilt it from scratch.  I was totally adrift and I needed to understand.  Needed to because my daughter was autistic.  No other reason."


This the paradigm through which I am working.  This year has been spent wading through the incessant causation theories (though a new one will slap me upside the face from time to time) and taking another view of autism by listening to autistic voices.

The very word autistic really tripped me up.  It felt like an insult.  A lesser-than, thinly veiled synonym for the "R" word.  I would hear it and assume the speaker had narrowed my child's existence to his scores on the DSM IV: Difficulty with social interaction. With communication.  Repetitive behaviors and obsessions.

But I read something that shed some light on what was really bothering me.  The word autistic simply reflected back my own fears about my child: that he would been seen as something other. And on some selfish level, that would reflect poorly on me.

I wish I could find the exact quote that started this shift for me, but an autistic adult, as the writer self-identified, used the example of a child's superhero toy.  The toy comes WITH special additional features! Removable cape!  Anti-gravity belt!  The writer pointed out that the person-first terminology  "individual with autism" makes it sound as if the autism is separate from the individual, something to be picked up and put down again as needed.  And if you've read my earlier thoughts, you know I agreed with that wholeheartedly.

But the thing is autism isn't an accessory.  It cannot be taken off.  It's a way of seeing the world.  A way of being.  A very human way of being and thinking.  A different way, granted.  A challenging way of being to understand as an outsider.  But not other.  Not less than.

And I began to be okay with it.

I can use the term to describe my son.  In brief interactions in public with new people, it can be helpful.  To the waitress who is trying to win J over with charm and questions, who turns out to be a parapro in an autism classroom when I share his autism superpower.  Life can be cool like that sometimes.

I always use "on the spectrum" or ASD or "with autism" with discussing the topic with other parents like us, but I've made my peace with autistic.  Baby steps.

I've suffered some autism burnout, perfectly explained in Bec Oakley's stellar resource, Snagglebox.  Most nights I've come to bed with a new theory or treatment to fret over as Alex listens, sometimes chuckling that "Babe, you worry too much." Still other times holding me, like he did on my birthday after our date night.  The dinner that I have to excuse myself to the bathroom to pull it together. Back at home on the couch as I just sob from trying to play god while simultaneously worshipping at the altar of AUTISM, a mysterious entity that consumes my thoughts and emotions.

Autism is a terrible god.  Anything other than God is a terrible god.  I very clearly got the message that the place of highest affection in my life was solving autism for J.

So this year, after the big April autism awareness and acceptance push has ended and other worthy causes take its place, I still work toward the goal of  fully accepting my kid, just as he is.

Spoiler alert: He's a great kid and we've done big things together.  In more ways than one, we've made it to May.

"APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain." T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Frail

Today we celebrate Resurrection Sunday, Easter, the most important date on the Christian calendar, what Jesus followers believe is the most important event in human history.

I've read at bit this week in the blogosphere about various observances of this holy day, opinions ranging from "Don't force me to evoke an emotional reaction on Easter... I can worship Jesus every day" to "Chocolate bunnies and new dresses are a mockery of the profound suffering Jesus endured for the sin of the world".  And I can relate to both ways of thinking.

What touches me today about the death, Crucifixion and resurrection of Christ is his frailty.  As we sung a victorious anthem in church today, the slides were superimposed with scenes depicting the Passion.  Those images always provoke a gut reaction, a desire to look away, in me.  The stark suffering, the weakness in the actor's face as he portrays Jesus being heaved skyward.

Frail.  Our God made himself frail.  He came to us in a form we would recognize.

And all the secret shame we carry--addictions, hangups, pain, disappointments, fears, all of our darkness, the things we hide--he bore publicly. The things we cover up with our smiling faces and pretty garments, Christ held up for the world to look on... physically, emotionally, and spiritually naked. Alone.

And today my family still wore our fluffy dresses and bows and took pictures and ate yummy food and enjoyed the privilege of living in a nation of political freedom.  And if that was all  Easter was to me as a Jesus follower, it would be a mockery of the suffering Savior who gave his life as a ransom for many.

I'd like to think that wearing my Easter best and having fun with eggs and candy in a small way honors the newness of life that Jesus purchased for sinful humanity by dying a criminal's death. We can be intentional in teaching our children what's just for fun and what's life and death to us. The pretty symbols are not the main attraction.  Of course not.

My human flesh, and my spirit, is frail.  But now, because I belong to Jesus, I am clothed on the inside, made clean by his blood.  And you can't see that in my Easter pictures (in which I can't get us all looking at the camera to save-my-life), but it's there.

Life, on the inside. Proof that He lives.