A Basket of Happy

Today I received a gift basket.  As I was dropping the girls off for preschool (both girls, as in MOTHER'S MORNING OUT, Oh Happy Day), another preschool mom was waiting for me in the parking lot.  She heads up a Mom's group that meets at the local Methodist church.  I started attending this year on the invitation of a friend, now having a bit more freedom with my time.

This week's meeting topic was "The Mystery of Autism" and I'd missed it.  We had a plumbing issue arise and the repairman's window of time conflicted.  And truly, I wasn't sure how I'd feel in a group of "autism outsiders" discussing this subject as an insider.  I can get a wee bit, erm, defensive about it.  A bit prickly, I'd say.  I'd looked ahead to the week's discussion guide, and it started with an opener that had the moms imagine the limitations of autism, such as only being able to talk about a restricted subject or obsession.  Some part of that bothered me.  I thought about asking the leader to share from my own experience or just to come up with another entry point into the topic, but I didn't and let the impulse pass.  So when my appointment interfered with the meeting, I thought maybe it was just as well.  No need to have a cynic in the room.

When the group leader approached me today, I offered up my apologies and reiterated my conflict when she handed me a basket filled with cards and "little happies" and told me the group had prayed for me and another mom in the group with a child on the spectrum.  I thanked her and we chatted a few more seconds, as I placed the items in the car to take the girls inside.  When I got back to the car and began to unpack the basket, I opened up card after card that just encouraged me-- no "poor you, your life must be so hard"-- just encouraged me.  From one woman to another, with different experiences perhaps, but many in common:  womanhood, motherhood, and following God.

I had to text a friend the unexpected surprise (if something happens and it's not shared and photographed, it didn't happen, right?  This is 2014). In the text, I summed up my unspoken stance towards receiving someone's generosity:  Um, God. I'm supposed to do nice things for others.  I'm too competent to receive in return.

I believe the deep theological word for this is pride.  In the English it's pronounced PRIDE.  I don't know how it's pronounced in the Greek or Hebrew.

These are the dots I've been connecting lately: At some point in our life, we will belong to a sub-group we wouldn't have picked.  Mine's disability.  And when we are not in the company of that group, we don't want to be known by that label, in my case, "Autism Melissa".  No one wants to be Divorced Jane or Almost Bankrupt Mary.  And the trouble with that mentality is if that's how we think we are being perceived, then that will be how we perceive others' treatment of us.  Perception becomes our reality even if it's not the truth at all.  Obviously, I've read enough Personal Growth and Spirituality books to fancy myself quite the psychologist, but go with me here.

What brought me happiness today was that this thoughtful Basket of Happy wasn't addressed to AUTISM MELISSA.  It was addressed to me.

Someone who was cared for by a group of women who don't know me very well, but know God's gracious ways and extended them to me.  I don't attend their church, and I belong to a different denomination, which seemed like a big deal as a child growing up in the bible belt.  (The only time we mentioned our brothers and sisters in Christ who worshipped at the church directly adjacent to ours growing up was to exclaim from the pulpit that our parking lot had more cars.  God Bless Our Southern Baptist Hearts.  I do sincerely love being a part of this denomination.)

All of that to say,  I'll be at the Mom's group next Monday, with or without the clogged plumbing.  And more open to receive the unexpected.

It's The Middle That Counts

 "...Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning." (Hope Floats)

I thought we'd be moving away this week.  That's what I told our dentist, doctors, and therapists as I got records, made last minute appointments, cancelled others, and oh, listed our house and SOLD MY KITCHEN TABLE. It was beat-up anyway, but that's serious intent, right there.

Oh, and with the expectation of moving across state lines and not having company insurance benefits for the first 9 months, along with other reasons, we enrolled Jeremiah back in school.  That's a whole 'nother post, but basically, I feel totally confident in this decision.  His teacher (who was going to be his teacher last year) just agreed to start a special needs Sunday school at our church.  Guess who is her first class member?  And guess who I worked with to get J back into the system smoothly?  Seminary grad.  When we were small-talking at J's IEP meeting, he mentioned graduating seminary and I immediately said, "So that's why I like you so much."  This man was so helpful and on-the-ball and welcoming to us coming in to the school year a few weeks late.  I honestly left that meeting and thought to myself, "I feel like God's favorite person."  It's so cool to me how I've changed in my view of education and special education in particular.  I feel more empowered from our year of homeschooling and so at peace that this particular autism classroom and that this particular teacher sees my whole child.  He (like any child) needs so much more that academics and this is a great fit.  Public school is our choice for this year and this stage of J's development and I stand by that.  Honestly, one of the few things holding me back was "well, what will my homeschooling acquaintances say?" like I would lose some kinda mommy-wars street cred.  Which is ridiculous, but there you go.

This move, or almost-move, gave us permission to re-examine our life and priorities.  And that's been worth all the emotional energy it consumed.

Two weeks ago, my husband hands in his notice.  His employer makes a counter-offer; he comes back to me and we decide we were still "go" on the move.  We have an over-the-top-this-is-wonderful trip to Knoxville.  Which is most likely due to the fact that we are alone for almost 3 days and can do anything we please... brunch, home-hunting, campus strolling, happening upon a local downtown festival (I die), eating on the hip square, a movie. Bliss.  We visit a church and the worship rings true.  We can do this.  The possibility of a double housing payment, uprooting and starting over; the potential of the job and the city are worth it.
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Two weeks ago:

We're moving in two weeks to the Knoxville, TN area.  Which is the same amount of time I've had to start mentally preparing for this.  Listing the house, making calls, and doing a last round of doctor visits.

A job opportunity that caught Alex's attention last year has become open again and he is going for it.  He'll be working in the same field of computer programming and working with the same language, while learning a new one.  It's a fantastic professional opportunity in a exciting area (for us, at least.  I mean-- SEC football, seasons, and even a Trader Joe's.)

When we moved to Middle Georgia six years ago, we just loaded up our 1100 square feet of stuff and toted our newborn along.  I had my husband and my baby and as long as I had that, I was up for anything.  And then we built a house and moved in and had another baby.  And another baby.  And we have lots more square feet of stuff.  Lots more bills.  Lots more obligations.  And we're honestly excited to hit the reset button and simplify again.

I've still got that "where thou goest I will go" spirit because, well, that's the deal.  If my husband is happy and fulfilled and it happens to be in another state, that's where I want to be.

Then I reflect on all the middles.  It stops me short, a punch in the gut.

I know some things here.  I know the places.   I know the people.

I have a community.  Just this Sunday, a longtime Sunday school teacher remarked that our children's faces are carbon copies of one another.  

They are loved here.

When someone goes the extra mile for your kid, it sticks with you.  And there are so many faces in my mind that have done this for me in the last several years.

The deacon who helps in J's choir class.  One evening I came to choir classes without J because he'd just been having a hard time.  This man made a point to come over and tell me that J was missed-- and welcomed-- there.  And you know you just cruising along and come undone in a moment because a kind word has just opened your Achilles' heel?  That's life in the middle.

Same thing with my pastor.  I attend a relatively large church in the area.  Church culture gets knocked around a lot, sometimes deservedly, but from the moment I met my pastor, I've been impressed by his genuine care for people, while being an excellent teacher and administrator.  When I finally started sharing openly about J, I asked the pastor to pray over me.  The next time I saw him in the halls of our church, he made a point to share a story of a young autistic man who was becoming a missionary, fluent in 5 languages.  He made sure to have a hard copy of the article sent to my house.  While most of what I know about my pastor comes from sitting under his teaching, actions and character speak volumes.  I'm so tenderhearted toward my church. Church is a good thing.  It's truly a second home.

So many kind and passionate teachers and therapists that have invested in all of us.  Those real deal friends who quietly go the extra mile to meet your needs: a kid's special haircut, a 1:1 VBS teacher for J, a meal or a coffee date.  Therapists, with so many clients to attend to, have each gone above and beyond in some way to encourage me in J's progress under their care.  

There are good people everywhere.  I've just meet so many here.

This is a love letter and a promise.  

I'm going to take all of this and make, hopefully, new memories that quickly become middles.


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The second time he turns in his notice, with the offers being even and the reality of a home, community, and supports in place for J in particular, we decide to stay.

And now, we're in the middle of our middle again.  Our closets are leaner and meaner.  We are, too.  I'm trying to take the excitement I was ready to invest into a new home and pour it into new outlets.  We're going to a Country and Western concert at THE Georgia National Fair, our first since dating years. (Musicals and plays, yes, but live music, sadly, no).  We're playing softball for our local Autism support group.  I hope to take the kids to visit their aunt and uncle in Kentucky because if Fall won't come to us, we'll come to Fall.  And I have two little girls ready for some attention.

Basically, we're a stronger team.  We can bust it for each other.  That lesson was worth learning.

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!!!