It's The Little Things

I took both boys to Whole Foods the other day at the busiest shopping time of the day.  I knew this wasn't my best idea, but sometimes you have to get groceries and can't think about all the reasons why you know it isn't going to be a pleasant experience.

Let me preface this story by saying that M and I have been enjoying quite a few one on one shopping trips lately.  He has become very good with my prompt of 'hands on the cart' as the way to keep track of him and not have him wander off when I am reading a label or otherwise preoccupied for a split second.  Keeping his hands on the cart also helps him to not be tempted to do his contorted-faced, hopping, wild hand flapping dance that brings unwanted attention to us in a split second.  I need to get through my shopping trip without feeling like I have a hundred eyes watching us from aisle to aisle.  (and, yes, I am much better about tuning said eyes out, but let's be honest here...you always know they're there!)

Having both boys with me brings on challenges that I can't always figure out.  Yes, my little B man is quite the talker and this may put a little more stress on M; but during this particular trip, B had been warned (heartily, I might add) that he best keep calm and quiet so as to not insight aforementioned wild hand flapping dance...or worse, the eight-year-old, appears-too-big-to-be-having-that-sort-of-public-tantrum tantrum.

B actually was doing a great job of staying chill while riding in the seat of the cart as M and I pushed him along, but apparently the crowds and overstimulation of the store were just too much for M that day, and so every five minutes or so, I found myself trying as calmly and discreetly as I could to redirect my eight-year-old from crying and pitching a fit.  Yes, many people will jump ship in these situations--and we've done that before too--but I live 30 minutes from Whole Foods and I sure as hell was going to finish.

You know, as much as I accept that autism is a big part of my life, I am human and it is ridiculously frustrating to have your child acting out on what should be a simple grocery shopping trip.  I had not asked much of M that day in terms of doing things that were out of his comfort zone, so I didn't think that a 30-minute grocery trip was out of the question for us that day.

As we stood in the pasta aisle trying to find gluten free lasagna noodles for the lasagna I'd promised B I would make (and the one I couldn't possibly have made with wheat noodles because I didn't want M to feel left out) the sweetest woman came toward me.  It was clear she'd come down that aisle specifically to find us.  With a gentle hand she reached out and touched my arm and said to me, 'You are doing such a good job.  You are a good Mom.'  My reaction was to say, 'Oh, you're going to make me cry!'  (as she was about to cry by just saying those simple words to me)  But then I thanked her profusely for her words and told her how much it meant to me that she took a moment to say that.

I have to say that I held my head much higher for the remainder of the shopping trip.  I felt calmer in my heart and I put the smile back on my face.

I don't know if that woman had a child with special needs of her own or loved someone who did.  But with a seemingly simple gesture, she turned around a bad moment and turned it into a positive one.  It probably wasn't easy for her to come and say that to me either.  You never know how people will react to things, even if they are meant to be kind.  But she took a chance on me, and I am grateful that she did.

So if you see a Mom struggling a bit with a child--special needs or not--remind her that she is doing a good job and she is a good Mom.  We could all use a little praise from time to time, and having it given at our lower points rewards us that much greater.

One of Those Things

Today I had my yearly 'womanly' exam.  Ahem.  You ladies know just how exciting those are when they roll around each year.  Anyhow, I really like the female doctor I have seen for the past three years, but having not gone through a pregnancy with her, she doesn't really remember much about me from June to June each year.  We've talked the past couple of years about M and his disability and she has shown remarkable empathy and care toward me in return; offering up lots of encouragement and telling me that I was doing a great job.  It never felt like b.s.  She's a no-shit, genuine kinda gal from what I can read.  But this year the kids didn't come up in the conversation, so the joggling of the ol' memory to remind her I had a child with special needs didn't naturally happen.  And so, at the very end of my exam she asked me how old my kids were now.  I replied that they are seven and four to which she responded, 'I feel like that's when life really starts getting a bit easier, don't you?  At seven, they're becoming so much more self sufficient and easy to care for.'

I don't hold these types of comments from people against them. No, I simply try to tuck away that urge to let that little sound escape my mouth...the one that is mixed of sadness and a tinge of envy...and I chalk it up to another one of those things that make my new normal a little bit different from the rest of the world's.  It really is okay.  It just sometimes hurts a little more than I'd like to admit.

Big Montana Sky

We recently returned from our yearly trek with my best friend's family to Flathead Lake in the northwestern part of Montana.  It's a great trip that always ends too soon.  (which is why the trip becomes longer every year)

The menfolk garner great pleasure from building the best fires in the pit each night, after amazing, home cooked, themed dinners, great bottles of wine...and, well, even more wine after that.

Both of our families dream of building homes on the lake one day.  We've each joked about our stash of kitchen appliances and the errant piece of furniture that has, for now, been relegated to a storage area; labeled for years to come: 'Lake House.'

We rent a pontoon boat.  We rent sea doos.  We freeze our asses off on both, and don't really care because it's that much fun to ride on a massive lake even if you're wearing uggs, winter coats, gloves, hats and scarves.

 We take a day trip to Glacier National Park and go for a walk in the freezing rain.  Because it's THAT spectacular anyway.

We yell at our kids to not run on the dock.  (okay, so that part may be more me than anyone else)










We take a whole seven days to get into the groove of traveling with children---a point we kvetch about at night with hopes it takes zero days when the kids are older.

We go to bed too late and wake up too early.

We make friends with the locals and mean it when we tell them we hope to see them next year.

A little brother laments the big brother he wished would play with him the way the two sisters do...and his Mom hopes that their frank discussions help him realize how special their bond is nonetheless.

We shop for things we don't need, and realize we forgot to pack things we did need.

We get to reunite with middle school friends we haven't seen in a decade--who live nowhere near the neighborhood, but because it's Montana, a five hour drive seems like nothing.

We have the good fortune of a couple of grown up-only nights out because a good friend back home has family in the area that is happy to babysit!

And two old friends who've changed leaps and bounds since their high school days, can talk openly about how different their parenting styles are--how different their children are, and yet still know that it is worth it to spend this invaluable time with each other summer after summer.  And every once in awhile, they might just find themselves doubled over in laughter like they used to when their lives were a bit simpler, their stomachs a bit flatter, and their ability to stay up all night a bit more fine tuned.  But make no mistake...they've still go 'it!'

This Is As Controversial As I'll Get

I just have to get this off my chest and I am wondering how many of you out there feel the same as I do.

Clearly the vaccine issue has been at the heart of the what-causes-autism debate for quite a few years now.  When friends (and strangers) ask my take on whether or not vaccines cause autism, my answer has remained the same since before M was officially diagnosed.  That answer is that M showed signs of developmental delay from very early on, so in OUR case, I do not believe vaccinations were the sole cause of his autism.  However, I do wish that I had spread them out those first years rather than following the recommended plan because I do believe they very well could have damaged his immune system (and thus his neurological system) along the way.  M clearly has immune system deficiencies, and I think moderation is key for every single thing I put in his body especially when it comes to toxins.  The fact that he's likely had the herpes virus actively wreaking havoc on his system for years with the inability to shed it naturally is proof enough for me that my particular child has difficulty when it comes to processing foreign viruses and bacteria.  And please note that even though we have tried biomedical intervention, I am not nor have I ever been one to go singing its praise from the mountaintops in hopes that every other family with autism will also go down that path.  In fact, I have always been very honest with others who ask in saying that we have actually not seen any results from biomedical intervention, but that some of the supplementing does resonate with me because of the previously mentioned immune issues as well as lab results that have shown clear deficiencies in several areas.  I mention biomed here because of the point I'm about to get to...and the fact that naysayers seem to think those who believe vaxing causes autism are also quacks who shell out boatloads of money on biomedical interventions.

So to my point...I am sick and freaking tired of feeling the divide that has clearly made its way into the autism parent community.  I am not a person who cares to or thinks that I even can get into an intelligent debate with those who have made it their mission to memorize every statistic or study Paul Offit and others are involved in.    I am not interested in continuing to vilify Dr Andrew Wakefield or other scientists who believe vaccinations *may* have caused autistic enterocolitis (since that was Dr. Wakefield's claim, folks) or that they may damage some children.  Frankly, I barely have enough energy to remember to punctuate the sentences within this blog post as my four-year-old screams the phrase 'poop in your underpants!' at the top of his lungs over and over.

What I do know, though, is that I have some very dear friends that I have met along the way of this autism journey and they believe that vaccinations were directly involved in the decline of their children into autism.  I have listened to their heartfelt stories of typical development turning to seizures after a vaccination and thus a withdrawal from the rest of the world.  I have heard about gut biopsies revealing crazy-ass viruses present in their children's system. And I believe them...because they are parents on a blind journey just like me wondering how this could have happened to their child and why it is happening to so many others around them.

I have stopped reading the blogs of some very outspoken proponents of the people-who-think-vaccines-cause-autism-are-stupid camp.  Though these people may be bright and well educated, I no longer have patience to tolerate their penchant for talking down to those who believe differently.  If you can speak calmly and kindly about your opinions, that is one thing.  When it becomes clear that you think everyone who doesn't agree with you and 'science' is a fucking idiot, I'm out the door.

Stepping down now...

Decisions

I posted the following at Hopeful Parents yesterday.  Nothing fancy, but something I could really use your input on as we try to make this tough decision!

Instead of writing something poignant (ha!) or witty (right!), I could use a little help from you Hopeful Parents out there.

The other half is getting to go to Hawaii for business next month and we had planned on the boys and I meeting him at the end of his conference for a family vacation.  We were fortunate to go to Hawaii just over a year ago as well.  It was a lovely trip, aside from the awful-ness that was trying to fly home.  M did pretty well, all in all, but in truth, he is a different child today than he was just 13 months ago.  

I thought I could handle the 5 1/2 hour flight to Oahu by myself, but after flying back home to visit relatives last week, I absolutely know that I would not be able to do that with two young children successfully.  M's sensory issues have multiplied greatly and his ability to not lash out at me (verbally and often with pinching and grabbing) has gone right out the window.  The flights to and from our visit weren't the worst flights we've ever taken, but they were also far from the best, and they most definitely filled me with more consistent stress because I was aware that he was on the verge of a (loud) tantrum at almost every moment of the flight.  

My amazing mother-in-law has offered to fly with us to Hawaii.  This would be wonderful on several accounts.  Not only would she be an extra set of hands at the airport and on the plane (allowing me to actually get out of my seat to use the bathroom, which you know is going to need to happen on a flight that long!), she would allow the other half and I to take our own time, free of the kids, if we wanted it.

But here's where I need your help...she has also offered to fly to our home in California to stay with M while the other half, my typical four-year-old, and I go to Hawaii by ourselves.  The other half won't hear of it, but I have to admit that I think it is a really nice idea.  First off, we have two other domestic trips planned this year that M will absolutely be included in.  And second, doesn't B, my typically developing child, deserve a vacation where he can go places we normally wouldn't be able to go without the constant worry that it could end at any moment based on his brother's needs?   And as guilty as it makes me feel to admit it, I could use a 'normal' vacation as well.  It would be great to eat out at a restaurant, leisurely, without worrying that M will yell, or worse, try to grab food off of another diner's plate.  (yep, that happened to us the last time we went to Hawaii)  

It is hard to imagine how looking at photos after a trip like this--with one very important family member missing--will make us feel.  Just thinking about it certainly stirs up all sorts of emotions in me.  And I know that M adores the sunshine and being at a hotel.  But would I be the worst parent in the world if I actually did take my mother-in-law up on her offer?  Have YOU ever made this sort of decision?  I would love to hear your personal thoughts and stories.

It's Like This. Or not...

Do most of us have a vision or a dream of what our perfect lives should look like, but an inability to attain it? Is it idealistic or selfish to wish for a different you than the one you live with each and every day? I am struggling to live in the now...I suppose I have been stuck in that rut for some time. I have a vision and I just don't know how to get there. Let me rephrase that. I don't know if I'm supposed to get there. When you get married--and especially when you have children--you take on a new identity; a we, not just me, unit that must be considered as a whole. But the 'we' can't entirely work properly if the 'me's' inside of it aren't in tune, right?

Here's my vision (or at least an aerial view of it):

1. A happy, harmonious family unit. Yes, there will still be the normal bickering, but a little less of the tension we have looming over us now would be nice.

2. Music all around us: I always envisioned having a little pick up band that would come to my home once a week or so and play music and drink wine. M's often quite deeply plugged into music-especially when it is live--and I have always thought having a sort of hippie, extended, musical family would benefit him greatly. Last time that happened was on our front porch in Austin, 2007. That's over three years ago for those of you who have killed enough brain cells (like me) to not be able to do basic math :) In other words: too damned long ago. Oh, you should have seen M at that party! He stood an arm's length from the electric guitar player; mesmerized and calm. It was beautiful.

3. A home that we love and want to live in for the rest of our lives (or at least feel like we'd want to). We move around. A lot. Our last home (same one that had that magically musical front porch!) was pretty close to perfect. We had four, fully-fenced acres to safely play on with the most beautiful trees I have ever seen on a residential plot in Central Texas. The deer had babies in our yard each Spring, and from my office window I welcomed back the monogamous pair of woodpeckers as they returned year after year to the same oak tree to kick out the wintering house wrens and have their babies. We watched our creek ebb and flow with the rains, saved a snake once from some garden twine, and took tractor rides down the block to feed the neighborhood goats. I miss having that space!

4. More quiet moments to reflect and write. I have fleeting moments of profound thoughts running through my head. Those are few and far between these days, and other less appreciated moments zap them from my thoughts almost as soon as they've appeared. I know I have a voice to share. I know I have things to put to paper (or blog as it were) that could very well help me process this life and get one step closer to my own version of nirvana, but it's all happening so fiercely and so quickly that I have no time to let it simmer and soak.
Like now, for instance...I've gotten up no less than five times to attend to everyone else's needs. This is life as a parent, I realize. And M is now about four feet from me with his ipad blaring another Disney movie, so I've gotten up a sixth time to turn down the volume. The flow of thoughts that were in my head before I started this post have withered and I am left once again feeling like I didn't quite express what I wanted to, and I certainly have no idea how to conclude it.

I am not living the life I know I am capable of living. This much I know is true. And so the days keep coming and going, no more fulfilled than the last. And my children suffer for it. And I suffer for it. And I must figure out a way to find that music and make it a part of our daily lives.

Grab A Tissue

This is a little corny, but damn if it doesn't sum this journey up really well.  Sigh...

Where's Waldo? I Mean, Deb

Man, I look at my site meter and see that people are still stopping by here to check in despite nearly a month of silence.  Thanks for a.) caring, b.) wondering what this wack job is up to now, and/or c.) being loyal readers of this chaos.

As my friend, J, said to me yesterday, 'I know you've had plenty to blog about this past month!'  Yes, indeed, I could certainly fill more pages with blah, blah, blah...general suckitude...blah, blah, blah; but as I've said before, I hate that there are long stretches where this blog becomes nothing more than a bitch fest.

I will say this:  not having in-home ABA therapy for the last seven weeks has been awful.  Really and truly awful.  M is unhappy.  I am unhappy.  Everyone is unhappy.  There are sleep issues with both boys that are compounding the unhappiness.  Negative behaviors have returned to M's world, (and then some), and my mental state just doesn't seem to be fully in check to deal with it.  I'm working on that part, but I sometimes feel like I'm walking around like a bleary-eyed drunk, which is ironic since I've actually been drinking a lot less the past couple of months.

When I was a child--starting around age six and lasting probably until I was 13--I had a recurring dream whenever I had a high fever.  In the dream, I was in a white room with no dimensions to it.  I was standing there alone and all of a sudden tires began being thrown at me.  At first the tires were quite small and thrown gently to me, (I had to catch each one), but they would gradually get larger and thrown at a faster pace.  Inevitably, when I got to the point where there was no way I was going to catch the tire, the dream would switch to a playground.  I was on one of those animals atop a large spring coil.  A boy was sitting on one next to me staring.  Never blinking.  He was going back and forth very fast and then got slower...and slower...and slower...and then I would wake up.  I know, I know.  Totally messed up, right?  Probably should have seen a therapist about that one way back when.  But the reason I bring this past dream up is because I'm feeling like I'm in that room with all those tires right now and I'm about to drop them...and then what?  What really happens when I can no longer catch all those damned tires?

I know that there are a lot of people in this world that have lives far more stressful than mine.  I know how fortunate I am in so many ways.  But when tires are being thrown at you from all directions, sometimes it's really hard to appreciate the goodness.  I suppose that's a New Year's resolution in the works.  Wouldn't it be nice if there were no need for resolutions?

Hiatus

A little break will do a Mama good, but damn is it hard to jump back into reality!
I was fortunate enough to finally have an entire week without hands on parenting duties.  I visited my parents back on the mother ship (after having not seen them for nearly a year-crazy) and then the other half flew in and we joined some of his friends and their wives for the Austin City Limits music festival.  I am fairly certain I have officially gotten too old to spend three days drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol in the hot outdoors of a Texas park filled with 90,000 people each day.  Ouch.  My liver hurts!  I was so, so ready to get back and see my sweet boys.  I missed them so much, and I realized that feeling such an emptiness in my heart without them was exactly what I needed to feel to refresh me and get me ready to live the day to day craziness until the next break!  (which will likely not be for a very, very long time)

Along with the reality of day to day parenting comes the reality of crappy things happening around us all every single day.  Okay, so the rescue of the Chilean miners is a huge bright spot of goodness, but let's face it, it's tough out there.

I got some news from a close friend yesterday that has sent me into a bit of a tailspin.  One of B's best little buddies has just been diagnosed with leukemia.  I can barely type that out without getting a huge lump in my throat.  This little guy isn't even four years old and he has fucking cancer.  Seriously...WHY?

Clearly I am not experiencing the same depth of emotion as my friend is feeling for her son, but I have not thought of much else over the last 26 hours.  I feel a heaviness in my bones and have been walking around in a daze.  This is just too close.  Too, too close.  And I want to be there for my friend in every capacity she needs me to be without stepping on her toes or making her feel like I am doing too much.

Isn't that fine line in so many of life's situations a bitch?

No matter your beliefs, please keep a really freaking amazing little boy in your thoughts or prayers.  Light a candle.  Meditate.  Do a dance.  Just send some healing power to this kiddo.  D is truly one of the strongest and toughest three year olds I have ever met.  This kid's been riding a two wheeler since he was two years old and jumping off of bike ramps probably as long.  He has a gusto like no other and I know it will serve him well in this fight.

From The Mouths Of Babes

About a month ago, B and I were in the waiting room of the pediatric therapy center M goes to for private occupational therapy each week.

There was a boy there, a couple of years older than B, waiting with his mother for his appointment.
It was clear that the boy was on the high functioning end of the spectrum.  His social skills were a bit immature and robotic; things that my delightfully non-judgmental B didn't care about at all.

At one point, the boy said to his mother (while looking at me), 'Is that his Mom?'

Before the mother could answer, B did it for her by saying, 'Yes.  That's my Mom.  She cries a lot!'

WTF?!!

Fortunately, the Mom looked at me and said with what I believed to be complete honesty, 'That's okay.  I do too!'

We laughed about the waiting room at a therapy center being a safe zone for such frankness.  Perhaps B, even at the age of three, also sensed that because I have never ever heard him say something like that before that moment! (and I better not ever again!)

Naturally I fixated on this statement for a little while.  Does he really think I cry a lot?  Do I cry a lot?!


Don't we all cry for our children at times, special needs or not?

That afternoon in that waiting room has definitely stuck with me.  I try to keep my emotions a tiny bit more in check in front of B.  But I don't entirely regret the fact that I so often wear my heart on my sleeve.  It's a part of who I am, and hopefully B will always know that it's not because I'm crazy (well, not too crazy, at least) and instead that I just really, really care.

Ahh, insecurities.  Aren't they a bitch?

Life Without Plastic

I'm not a huge fan of 'Parents' magazine, but I've been getting them each month from a free subscription that never seems to end.  (anyone else get magazine guilt when they pile up unread?)

A couple of months ago there was a good article about environmental toxins and toxins in our homes.

I've really tried to use less plastic in my life, while also being careful to not let myself get too neurotic about it or hard on myself when I'm out of glass storage containers and have to reach for those few tupperware pieces I still have left.

It's a lifestyle change to stop using so much plastic, and one that isn't going to happen overnight.  At least not for me.

When it comes to my kids, though, I'm really trying to pick up the pace by replacing old, plastic sippy cups with Kleen Kanteens, not buying as many plastic toys (why, Disney, can't you make better quality toys since my kids are total suckers for them?!), and  I don't reheat things with plastic wrap or in plastic containers anymore.

Because of M's fine motor issues, we have found that we need special, lipped plates to help make his mealtime a bit easier for him, and a bit less messy for us.  Previously, I'd only been able to find these sorts of plates in questionable plastic form from the special needs catalogs.  The scratch marks on the bottoms of those plates made me a bit concerned...what is leaching into my children's food as they eat?

'Parents' listed a wonderful site that I finally got around to visiting yesterday, and I'm a new fan!  Life Without Plastic had these fabulous, deep plates...

And these adorable cereal bowls for kids...

I also got a couple of steel mugs for the kids, and a great, airtight container for M's lunchbox. I'm looking forward to getting them and tossing my old stuff in the recycling bin!

They've also got a great blog that I'm looking forward to delving into a bit deeper.  I think that whether you believe toxins are responsible for autism and other diseases or not, we can all agree that our landfills and the animals we share our planet with would be a heck of a lot happier without as many plastics.

Verbal Vomit

Sorry about yesterday's verbal spewage.  We finally have the beautiful summer-like weather I have so desperately craved, but to the wrong extreme for our coastal town with its non-air conditioned homes.

So that combined with the heinous amounts of pee that have been coming out of my once potty trained M, and  my need for a little 'me' time, had me buzzing like a hummingbird amped up on speed.  I was well out of sorts for two whole days and just could not calm myself down enough to breathe and take pause for one moment.

It's still hot as hell in my house today, but I don't feel out of control over it, which is fortunate.

M begins school tomorrow, and while I am looking forward to it in many ways, I'm also concerned for his happiness.  He will have the same ambivalent teacher as the prior two years, and I don't know how happy he's going to be with me when he discovers that same crowded classroom tomorrow.  Things just don't seem 'right' with M again, though in a different way then I have noticed in the past.  For starters, he's having bowel movements only once every 2-4 days.  This child was regular as could be, and I'm hoping that getting back to the typical school routine will help.  But on top of this he is doing his head shake again.  This is something we haven't seen since he was a baby.  On rare occasions, I truly believe he shook his head in an appropriate gesturing of 'no.'  But on most occasions, it is as though something is awry in his body; like an electrical buzzing is firing through him making his head shake side to side in an uncontrolled way.  The sounds and look of panic on his face that occur when this is happening are horrible for a mother to watch.  This happens with no known impetus as well as when he doesn't want to do something that is asked of him.  As I explained to his ABA therapist, it is a total freak out.  No better way to explain it.  He just doesn't seem to have control and I can't tell it if it is something organic or behaviorally derived.  It's tough knowing whether or not to seek medical advice or examination when you have a non-verbal child.  You don't want to run to a doctor for every single thing when they likely won't know any better than you.  But the worry nags at you and won't let go...

B starts back at nursery school in two weeks.  He is definitely missing his buddies and that space that is all his own.  He and I have butted heads way more than normal this past month that he has been out of school, making me miss my little man's mostly-sweet demeanor and helpful attitude.  It's definitely still there in glimpses; wedged tightly between large bouts of non-stop talking and a disrespectful attitude.  My friends who have children six months older than B keep telling me that this is a very three and a half thing.  I'm going to hold onto that until he turns four and hope that they are right!

So that is the latest in Mama Deb land.  Off I go to drink coffee in the heat since my need for caffeine clearly outweighs my need for cooling off.  Hope those of you with little ones had successful starts to the school year!

This Is How I'm Feeling Right Now...

...Mom, Mommy!  Look at me, Mom!  Look how big I'm getting, Mom!  I'm a turtle, Mom!  Don't call me B, call me Woody!  I'm going to shoot my penis at you!  I don't need to go potty!  Mom, Mom, Mom, are you listening to me, Mom?  NO...I will not stop playing ipad.  NO...I will not take a shower.  NO...I do not want to go to swim school.  Mom, Mom, Mom!!  I need something to eat, Mom!  I don't want a sandwich, I want a cookie!  I want grapes.  We don't have grapes?  But I want grapes!  Mom, Mom, MOM!!!

And then--oh my gosh--when will that rescue remedy lozenge take effect?  Is it 5:00 yet?  How many days has it been since they were in school and the house was a tiny bit quiet?  Has it really been six weeks since I last combed the beach for sea glass?  Why is my heart always pounding and my stomach queasy?  Why do I have to call the insurance company AGAIN?  Why won't this flipping real estate market turn around so we can get out of this stupid house and move to a more functional one in a better school district?  Why do I feel like I am buzzing around all day doing stuff, and yet I have nothing to show for it in the end?  Why is there so much laundry?  And why do I secretly love that laundry is the one thing I actually have some control over?  Why does M have to have the same awful teacher for four years?  Why won't my dogs stop barking at our neighbors?  Why won't my neighbors stop smoking so many cigarettes and blowing it in my open windows?  Why can't I grow basil here?  Why are my lips in a constant state of chapped-ness?  Why did I just inhale a gnat as I was typing? (true story!)  Why are September and October such ridiculously busy months?  WHY CAN'T LIFE SLOW THE FUCK DOWN AND GET A LITTLE BIT EASIER?

Oh, you don't know either??

Well, that makes me feel a bit better :)

Gone Fishin' - A Guest Post

I have followed the following blog for a couple of years now and find Bennie's way with words extraordinary.  Well, that and he knows about the great island of Kiawah in South Carolina!  Those of you who know me personally know that I spent much of my childhood vacationing there, and my parents even retired there for a bit.  It's a special place!
The following is Bennie's recent post on Hopeful Parents.  I thought it was so raw and real--and true of the lives of so many of us parents with kids who have special needs--that I asked for his permission to repost it here.
I, too, have had great difficulty finding the spirit to write lately and I know that much of that is from the ebb and flow of my mood.
Give Bennie's site a gander when you're done reading.  And check out he and Ben's artwork while you're at it!

It’s been awhile since I last wrote here at Hopeful Parents.  My absence hasn’t been intentional – it’s just been one of those times where life just happens…or maybe hasn’t been happening enough to blog about it…or perhaps more precisely,feeling like blogging about it. Okay let me be just a little more honest with you. I’ve been depressed.

Depression is an illness I am very familiar with. In fact both my wife and I are so up to date with the latest new-fangled anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications that we are surprised we are not called upon by pharmaceutical companies to provide potential patients of possible side effects. You know those advertisements – the ones where Wonder Drug returns you to “normal” life except for the insomnia, hot flashes, diarrhea, nausea, constipation, shortness of breath, hemorrhoids, uncontrollable flatulence, drooling, headaches, affectations for reptiles, dry lips, body odor, hair loss, joint pain, or an odd desire to set your neighbor’s kid on fire.  Like so many of you, most likely all of you who visit Hopeful Parents, the realization that life will never be “normal” again sometimes weighs me down like a cement life-jacket as I float along the Sea of Life.

Don’t get me wrong, just like all of those drugs that keep my son so much healthier these days I am genuinely thankful that some doctor, scientist, or researcher discovered emotional pain relievers. It’s just that depression is another one of those consequences of exceptional living that I…we…don’t deserve. It wasn’t something we either intentionally earned or even wanted. It came with the “whole package.”

And here’s the worst part: of all the parents out there we are the ones expected to hold our shit together the most. God forbid any of us give up, walk away, toss in the towel, deciding there’s got to be somebody else or a social service agency better qualified/capable/deserving/undeserving/needing/willing/ loving/etc. to care for my kid. Oh that person becomes the ultimate pariah of society…the worst of the worst! So we continue letting our souls and spirits descend into a special compartment of Davey Jones’ Locker filled with lead waders and concrete flippers.

But there is the upside: we know how valuable or children are! We do know how much joy and love they bring into our lives. We know how often they bridge the gaps between races, religions, cultures and everything else that divides the rest of us. We sometimes even know of special gifts, incredible potential or talents, accomplishments never expected; diamonds within the coal. This is why we continue “the journey.”

I’ve been casting an un-baited hook for awhile now. The illness of depression makes you selfish which just adds more slag to that weight pulling you down. Recently I’ve run into a few folks that enjoy dropping a cane pole in the water now and then.  They too have occasionally been using the wrong lures to reel in that “keeper” we all want to brag about.  The one we take a picture of...that ends up as a happy news item...something we are darn well proud of. That is the beauty of having fishing buddies – in the end we are proud of how we contributed to that special catch – at least that has been my experience with those I love to cast with. That would be the little fishing community of Hopeful Parents.

Bennie and his much more talented son, Ben, blog at A Work of Art: Raising Our Exceptional Son.

Five Hours And Counting...

...until bedtime for my munchkins.  I am fried.  Kaput.  Toast.
I feel like I am not dealing with anything very well today and I don't like how that feels.
I've been on hold with Vonage to fix a phone problem. I've tried to hash out a long, past due medical bill (again). I shook B's almond milk not realizing the lid had broken and sending a torrential downpour of chocolate milk all over me and my floor.  I have talked to M's developmental pediatrician about doing another stool test because his belly is ridiculously distended again and the peeing-in-the-pants issue has escalated to him being in pull ups full-time for several weeks now.  I've made an appointment with an ENT on the recommendation of our pediatrician to do a sleep study to see if M has sleep apnea.  I have met with our social worker from the (worthless) regional center for our yearly see-where-we're-at-even-though-we-can't-do-anything-to-help-you meeting.  I have hauled M to B's swim lesson for the first time (since usually he is in school when these occur) only to feel utter frustration and pissed-offedness at how he scratched me and clenched his jaw at me because he didn't want to be there.  (and this was humorous since I was actually thinking about posting how it has been such a joy NOT to be scratched very often since our wonderful ABA therapist started coming here--that'll teach me for having positive thoughts. ha!)  I have yelled at M at least three times to get his brother's beloved, new, now well-chewed, light saber out of his mouth.  I have yelled at my annoying senior citizen dog who refuses to be outside by herself and God forbid away from our sides for more than five minutes.  I have asked B five times to get dressed so that we can go to M's network spinal analysis appointment this afternoon.  I have done three loads of peed-on clothing-filled laundry.  I have told M for the millionth time that it is NOT okay to unroll the entire flipping roll of toilet paper, leaving it in a torn up heap on the bathroom floor.  I have taken three chewed-on dvd cases out of M's mouth.  I have yet again asked B to get dressed for his brother's appointment and he is still not following directions.  (why do three year olds push your buttons so fervently?)  I am having trouble tuning out M's constant verbal self stimulating.  I HAVE A HEADACHE THIS BIG!  (okay, that sort of made me laugh)

I am feeling fragile about my mothering skills today and I hate that.  I like to be in control of my emotions and when I am not, it really bothers me.  I mistakenly opened someone's message from one of the autism support boards I am that was horribly disturbing and made me want to yell at that mother for posting such a thing.  I know that raising a child with autism is really freaking tough and don't need to be inundated with horror stories of other parents who have snapped because they couldn't deal with it anymore.

And now I take a deep sigh and I will go to M's next appointment.  And maybe I'll be able to put my boys in a stroller and take a cleansing walk on the coastal trail to attempt to clear my head a bit afterward.  And when I get home, maybe I'll pour myself a glass of wine as I make dinner.  And maybe I'll even get to read a few pages of the great book I'm reading.  And then I will go to bed and hopefully get a full night's sleep.  And then I will wake up and hopefully find that tomorrow is a much better day...

Remembering

I often get asked, 'When did you know something wasn't right with M?'
I don't believe our situation has been quite the same as so many families who have a child with autism, so I thought I'd share it with you.
M was a happy, healthy boy born past my due date by induction.  (and, yes, this is one of the many things that I sometimes torture myself with as I think of the 'what ifs')

He was bearing weight on his legs at an early age.  He smiled on time.  He held his head up strongly.  He sat up early.  The one milestone he didn't make that first six months was rolling over, but we'd seen it happen one time and thought it wasn't a big deal.

Around six months our happy boy began to do a few things that puzzled us.  He would incessantly shake his head-a giant grin on his face-as though he were trying to say 'no.'  I mentioned it several times to my pediatrician in conjunction with the note that we also have a nephew on the spectrum, and each time I was brushed aside like I was saying the silliest thing she'd ever heard.  M's head was also in the 95th+ percentile, which we questioned as well.  Though in truth, my family has a history of giant Polish/Irish noggins!

At nine months M began to do another strange thing.  While sitting up, and generally when he was very excited, he would put his little hands in fists out in front of him, tense his whole body to the point of shaking ever so slightly, and yell out happily, 'EEEEEEE!'

Again, I brought up this peculiarity to my pediatrician.  Again, I was told, and I quote, 'This child is NOT autistic.'

A year came and I can recall looking at photos much later how withdrawn and timid he seemed at his birthday party as his Aunt K held him during present-opening time.  I vividly remember saying that it was probably because he didn't know her well yet and was being shy.  But was it really that, or did he falter further after his one-year checkup?  I will never really know.  I always am careful to tell people that were were not one of those families who saw overnight changes in M after a vaccine.   There were the signs I mentioned earlier that tell us he experienced delays from birth.  I try not to get too obsessive or caught up in the vaccine debate, but in my humble opinion, I do wish that I had spread out and declined some of the vaccinations I did give him.




Back to his first year...I became very ill right around that time with a mystery, mega-virus for three whole months.  Multiple tests and trips to specialists (including a rheumatologist since my mother has severe rheumatoid arthritis) brought up nothing but a faint positive on the mono spot test.  It was the rheumatologist who told me that I likely did not have mono, but a mega virus that mimicked it with no name.  Regardless, it was the scariest kind of sick I have ever been and it left me in an awful state of depression.

M wasn't crawling at this point, yet another thing I had pointed out in concern to my pediatrician.  Even though I knew in my heart that this wasn't right, I remember feeling so ill that I was silently grateful for his immobility at the time.  It was about a month into this that my brother-in-law, the father of our nephew who is on the spectrum, spoke to my husband about his concerns for M's development.

When the other half came to me I felt very angry and defensive.  I do feel sorrow for my initial reaction.  I know now that it came from a place of love.  My main reason for such defense, however, was that I felt no one believed that I had been concerned or asking questions leading up to that point.  I have since that time learned on far too many occasions that a parent really does have to come to the point of seeing things for what they are mostly on their own.  I am grateful that my brother-in-law prodded us to seek an evaluation from early intervention, but I am also grateful that the prodding was left at that and not taken too much further.  I think just as a new parent needs her baby to sleep lots, then crawl, then walk...nature's way of preparing you for the next stage gradually, a parent of a child with special needs often also needs those baby steps to ease them into the hand they are dealt.

Our (less-than-stellar) pediatric neurologist that we began seeing around 18 months also would continually tell us that 'something was going on, but he didn't think it was autism.'  Many specialists would say this to us as M did seem to have a certain engagement to him that didn't seem typical of so many autistic children.  (*Please note that I firmly believe that ALL children on the spectrum have the desire and potential to engage and form relationships.)  And then there is the almost-laughable labels that he gave us; the ones so many of you parents of autistic children also received:  sensory integration dysfunction and global delays.  I would love to know just how many children are given those descriptives and DON'T later end up with an autism spectrum diagnosis?  Again, maybe it's all part of the settling-down-with-it process.  Less scary words to help you ease into the whammy that lies ahead...

And yet, when we did finally get the A-word whammy, it was actually quite less of a big deal for me.  I was alone with M at our yearly appointment.  He was 4 1/2 years old by this point and had been seeing a slew of therapists and specialists for over three years by then.  I calmly waited for the doctor to come in and calmly accepted his speech that went something like this:

Dr:  Well, I suppose it's time we put a name to this.
Me:  Yep.  I figured you would say that this time.
Dr. (totally non-plussed, no emotion) I believe M has high-functioning autism.  (and here's where you'll probably get the same chuckle I did when I left the office) Some people call it PDD-NOS, others call it Aspbergers.
Me:  Ok.  That's what I thought.
Dr.:  We'll see him in six months to a year.
Me:  Ok

Done.  That was it.  I didn't feel like I died that day.  I think I'd died a hundred small deaths already before then.  I didn't feel like someone had hit me with a baseball bat.  I felt totally at ease.  I called the other half on the way home and matter-of-factly told him what the verdict was.  (though I always said PDD-NOS because even I am not so much of an idiot as to think that is the same thing as Aspberger's...seriously!!)

I was somewhat delighted to be able to stop telling people, 'Oh, my son has sensory processing issues and global delays.'  The word 'autism' is a hell of a lot shorter and has much greater meaning to the general public, as vast as the spectrum is, and as little as people really do understand it.

The 'other health impairment' diagnosis that allowed him to be accepted into the public school's special ed. preschool program was quietly changed to autism.  We were two months from moving from the mother ship to California and this change would allow us to receive more services than OHI would have.

Unfortunately that high-functioning diagnosis would not hold and I will never know if it could have had we stayed in Texas.  Our boy, as you probably know, has plummeted and regressed into the world of moderate to severely afflicted autism.  This began when he was nearly five, a sad situation I have not found duplicated yet through all of the families I have met in person or virtually.  

I suppose the purpose of me writing this here and sharing it with you is twofold.  First, I need to document these things for myself, in hopes that one day I can read it again and think, 'My, how far we have come!'  But I also want to document it in case one of you readers is following a similar path.  I am knee-deep in the emotions that come along with autism.  I am often barely able to fully help myself find my way through it all.  But I know that the one thing I can fully offer up is a type of mentorship to those who walk this path after me, just as so many--like Susan Senator or Casdok--do for me.  Because it helps to not feel so damned alone in this all the time.  And let's face it, even though the numbers are an astounding 1 in 91, you can still feel like the last one picked for the team.  Sometimes I, as outgoing and personable as I may seem outwardly, feel almost autistic myself.  And, perhaps, that is just nature's way of also helping me to understand just a little more...

How Do You Make Things...Uh...More Normal?

Yesterday we all played hooky; the other half from work, M from summer school and ABA, me from, well, driving M to and from summer school!

The boys had been so anxious to see Toy Story 3, so we made plans to go to the first showing of the day.

Going to watch movies in the theater used to be one of our only activities that we could do as a family and know that everything would go smoothly.  However, with the upswing in verbal self-stimulation M has grown into over the past year, even that has turned into a shaky event.

I'd mentioned not too long ago about seeing Shrek 4 at an AMC sensory-friendly showing. (The next one is July 17th at 10 am, 'Despicable Me,' fyi)  It was the most stress-free movie we'd seen in quite awhile since my kid most certainly wasn't the loudest of fidgety-est one in the room!  I will definitely go back to one of those in the future, but the time and date isn't always possible for us to attend, as was the case with Toy Story 3.

We thought a general showing of Toy Story3 would go alright since these are some of M's very favorite Disney characters.  And it did go alright for the first hour, despite having to turn off our own feelings of how someone should appropriately eat their popcorn when in public.  (ahem.)  But after that, you could tell that despite him being interested in what was going on on the screen, his body was winning out in its war to make him squirm and make constant guttural sounds. (Thank you person who brought small infant into the theater...your baby's constant crying helped drown out most of my son's sounds--woohoo!)  Inevitably once this movement and sound cacophony begins, he will progress to doing his signature move--he starts getting this silly smile on his face, leans into you as though he wants to interact or play wrestle, and then escalates it to an uncontrollable frenzy of sound and motion that generally ends with you attempting to get his solid 60 lbs. unstuck from you, his nails from clawing into your wrists, and for him to stop make the sound that honestly has started to make me shut down each and every time I hear it since nine times out of 10 it leads to a very frustrating moment.  


The other half was the one to take the brunt of this display this time, and since he was not in perfect M-handling mode, I could tell that he was not dealing with it well.  They left to watch in the wings a couple of times and came back to have M slip back into the same mode only minutes later.

I finally decided to take over knowing I'd receive more of the same.  I kept hoping that he'd just get his shit together a tiny bit since we were only about 15 minutes from the end of the movie.  Even though these are kids' films, I still don't like missing the ending, dammit! :)

But, alas, we missed the last five minutes of the movie when he just burst into tears.  It was too much for him to be there, and his body couldn't handle it anymore.  As much as I understand and sympathize with this, I still grieve for little B's experiences as well as for the other half and I.

I get tired of looking at all of our outings and thinking well, it was almost great.  Now, I completely realize that B is responsible for plenty of spoiled outings as well.  The child can't go on a walk without whining for you to carry him.  But when a kid has looked forward to seeing a movie for so long...talked about it multiple times a day for weeks...I get sort of pissy when his brother puts his parents in a foul mood that ruins the happy mood we all felt on the way there.

So what do you, parents of children with special needs, do to make these rough outings leave less of an impression on you?  Do you leave your child with a sitter so that your typical child can have more, well, typical outings?

B really, really wanted to go play video games with the other half, after the movie yesterday, so I told him that this weekend he should definitely take him to Chuck E. Cheese or someplace similar and I will stay home with M and take him for a walk.  That way, both boys get to do something they enjoy without all the stress of the other one not being able to handle it.  But is that fair to our family as a unit?  Is that healthy to start doing things in such a divisive manner?  I just don't know what the right answer is and wish that I didn't even have to  ponder it.

One of B's best little buddies whose Mom I count as one of my closest friends here, is having a birthday party this afternoon.  It's a backyard, family bbq, and I desperately want all of us to go.  I want the other half to finally get to know the spouses of my close friends.  I want to drink beers for hours on lawn chairs while our children play happily around us.  But the reality of the situation is that if I do convince the other half to attend with M (he says he's in at this point, but we'll see), is that if M is snatching food from the table or other people's plates, if M has an embarrassing meltdown in front of the people we don't know, or--worst of all--M gets frustrated with one of the little kids and grabs them, I feel certain we will have to leave.

 I would love to know how you all make outings more enjoyable and normal for your family.  Please be sure to leave a comment to let us all know!

La Da Di, La Di Da

Time is passing me by, faster and faster as the days progress. I just realized that I--the one who was fairly anal retentive about this task--am over two years behind in uploading family photos from my laptop onto Snapfish. I used to have a system whereby every few months I'd upload to Snapfish, create a backup on cd, delete from my hard drive, and then print out my favorites for a chronological photo album. Sounds a little nutty probably, but I love going through those photos with the kids, reliving all of the hand-picked, happy moments.

I thought we were going to put this crazy-ass house of stairs on the market 1.5 years ago and move back to the mother ship. I really, truly did. And in an effort to get it 'show-ready' I packed up all of my pictures in frames along with books that made the shelves look too cluttered and photo albums that took up too much space. They now reside in a lonely storage center where I haven't laid an eye on them in over a year. Oh, and the house still hasn't gone on the market...sigh.

We just got back from a 9-day vacation to the most beautiful place, Flathead Lake in Montana. We went with my best friend and her family for the second time. The first trip, three years ago, was so gloriously relaxing that I was chomping at the bit for this one to arrive. My black cloud decided to follow me, however, and I ended up sicker than I've been in a long time for the entire flipping trip. Woe is me. I know, I know. I have much to be grateful for, but sometimes I feel like I have really shitty luck.

Everyone had a fantastic time (well, everyone else), but I had lots of time to ponder where I am in life and how I am living it. The outcome? I'm not at all happy with the way I pass each day and know that I am not living up to my full potential. I am too-this and not-enough-that. I don't laugh like I used to. I fret over shit I don't need to fret over. I am on edge. I have a lump in my throat. I don't know where the heck the flip switched from 'then' to 'now,' but it's switched and sort of feels like the damn thing is stuck. I realized recently that I, the one who fostered dogs for six years and held that fact dearly as a big part of who I am, can't even stand to have my own two dogs underfoot anymore. I have not sung in public in nearly two years. I feel uneasy for the first time in my life when on horseback. Seriously, folks, these are three of the most important 'me-things' I've got, and I am losing sight of them all quickly.

One thing is for sure, I am no good parenting around other people beside my immediate family. Hell, I'm probably not even that good around them either! But my sensitivities and insecurities that have always been just beneath the surface are now open, festering wounds for all the world to see. Bandaids, please! Stat!

M did great overall on the trip. The boy truly loves it when we rent a vacation home, and it is a joy to witness. However, his food obsessions were in full-force during this trip, and that is a tough one when you are traveling with another family who also has two young children. M was constantly swiping food from the 9 month old's high chair or their three-year-old's plate. And most of it was gluten-containing, so that was an added hyperactive bonus for us all. I found myself so infuriated by this that I was constantly yelling, "M! NO!" when I caught him doing it, and naturally putting the rest of the group on edge. I guess that sometimes I feel like I'm the only one paying attention, though, and I'm sort of tired of it. I very much want to relinquish all concerns in that regard for a few days, but I can't.

The weather sucks currently where I live, and I know that plays a huge part in my melancholy. I love that word, by the way. "Melancholy." I saw a doctor of osteopathy a few weeks ago to check out cranial sacral therapy and to look into alternative/complementary means of aiding my overall health. After going through my lengthy history and coming to the part where I said that over the past couple of years I've definitely noticed an increase in anxiety and depression--but not really depression, she said, 'So you're saying you've noticed more melancholy?' And I paused for but a moment and said, 'Yes, I'd say that's exactly what it is!

I am taking my vitamins; mutli, omegas plus vitamin D3, calcium, and probiotics. I just ordered the Turbo Jam dvds hopefully to not waste them as I have with previously purchased workout videos. I have a sitter coming tonight after a week-long solo flight while the other half has been across the country on business. I am trying, and yet it does not seem to be enough. I need an attitude adjustment. I need a house that doesn't have so much negative energy floating around it. I need a school district I feel is more qualified to help M. Oh-wait--a bright spot! I adore our new ABA therapist, as does M, and am so grateful for that huge weight that has been lifted from my shoulders.

So it's not all bad, right? RIGHT?

And it's going to get better, right? RIGHT??

And maybe I'll blog more than once every two or three weeks, right?!

Let the sun shine!

I Need To Write More...

...it's good for me to put my feelings down someplace other than inside my scrambled brain.
It's good for me to know that I have people reading who love me and my family or relate to our lives through their own.

So why have I been so absent lately?

I suppose it's that lack of THE word I've mentioned as being at the top of my 2010 mantra list: BALANCE. I swear to you, the word itself is magnified in volume in the world around me. I'll not hear a single word spoken from a person standing near me or from the tv, etc. but I always seem to hear it when someone mentions that word. It's as though it's enlightenment's way of teasing me; reaching out her arms to pull me in.

Balance, balance, balance. If only you can find the way to BE balanced, then the rest will fall into place.

Heck, one of my oldest friends and a reader of this blog (Hi, J!) recently started her own blog. Guess what it's called? Be Balanced Houston. See? It's everywhere!

It's amazing how when you're filled with a particular vibe, you discover that so many around you are in the exact same place. I've noticed quite a few friends who have slowed down the pace of their writing. And when they have sat down to share some thoughts, I can't get over how their topics of conversation are so on point with my own. I just read a blog I hadn't caught up on in a few weeks to find a guest blogger writing about being stuck, writing pros and cons lists for places to live. Then I read that the author of the blog was ready to move away from her lifelong home due to the dreary, cold weather. People...I was just thinking not an hour ago about writing out a pros and cons list to show the other half so we can once and for all decide where the hell our family should set down some roots. And not an hour before that (okay, and for a month before that as well) I was bitching and moaning about how flipping cold and gloomy my little coastal town is. Mama needs to put on some flipflops and a sundress and take in some vitamin D, people! Clearly the weather is currently at the root of my inability to achieve balance.

But we all know the main crux of the balance issue and that is my comfort level with where M is in life. It is so painfully clear that I will likely never achieve any sort of balance--not even that teeter-tottery sort where you're not sure if the person on the other side is going to hop off unexpectedly making you crash into the ground--until M is in a good place. Hell, even a better place. But I'm still making baby steps in the right direction.

I didn't spell it out in a recent post, but I will now: After nearly two years of fighting my insurance company, I finally succeeded in getting them to qualify M for 25 hours/week of in-home ABA (applied behavioral analysis) therapy. For those not in the know, this is HUGE, HUGE, HUGE!
Our amazing therapist began working with our little guy just over two weeks ago. We are currently only using about 16 hours/week because it is definitely a lot for him to go to school and continue to do work at home afterward. But there is so much general learning that is wrapped up beautifully in the art of play that he doesn't always realize it should be considered work. The weight lifted from my shoulders is immense. We had gotten into a real rut of doing nothing after school. It had become next to impossible for me or B to engage M in any activity. We couldn't even get him to sit still or quietly through a simple storybook. And forget any chance of going anywhere. No, sir, that ended close to year ago. I simply was not capable of many outings with both boys, by myself.

So as much as I hate to admit it (it's that Mama guilt thing of not adding up) this in-home therapy is the best thing we could have possibly hoped to have happened in the current position we're in. (i.e. no family support nearby, not-ideal school environment) I am so grateful for the bit of balance I am starting to achieve simply by not feeling guilty about my son pacing back and forth making verbal self-stimulatory sounds for hours and hours after school with me too fried to do much about it.

I am not a quitter, though I've not always pushed myself as hard to reach the finish line as I should have. So one day, maybe I'll find the right place to live. Maybe that place will have the right school for M. Maybe I'll figure out a way to get back to the me I used to know. (well, the good parts of me, that is) And maybe my family will plant some roots that spread widely and firmly; enough to balance us all. Enough to make us feel happiness on a more regular basis.

My New Religion

Can sea glass hunting be considered a religion? And if so, can the beach be considered a church? Because if they can, sign me up! I'm ready to join!

Thank you all for your responses on my last post about sea glass. I have to admit that I wrote that way too late at night with a deadline looming and a definite loss for subject matter or writing ability. I have simply been drawing blanks when it comes to ideas of what to write about because I feel like I am just saying the same ol' thing over and over again...and who wants to read that crap each day?!

I am currently on hour three of a six-hour stint of total and complete me-ness. M is at school, and the other half and B are back on the mother ship. (For my mother ship friends, I did come to town quite briefly to say goodbye to my great uncle who is ailing. Would've called, but we were a comedy of errors in that B got a puke bug and vomited in the in-laws van, M soaked-and I mean SOAKED-through an overnight diaper all over my mother-in-law's mattress, and the other half sustained some sort of heel injury during a soccer game and ended up on crutches. It was an interesting trip and I was quite ready to come home!)

I dropped M at school this morning and excitedly drove straight to my secret sea glass spot. I realize it's not entirely a secret, but on weekdays it seems that way to me, and that makes me giddy beyond belief. I discovered that if I go south instead of north on my beach, I get to be daring and rebellious and leap from slippery rock to slippery rock to a part of the coast most don't realize you can access. The seals are in pupping season and are lounging on the rocks out in the water and I am cautious and respectful of their presence. Last week even with my awareness, I suddenly came upon three small seals...what appeared to be a Mom and two pups. (Though I believe they generally only have one pup at a time??) They were the color of sand, not the typical gray-black of the harbor seals we generally see,(the adults) and the mother and one of the two pups were clearly languishing. I stepped back so as to not cause them any further stress, but I admit that I could not walk entirely away very quickly; I felt this connection to this threesome and thought for a long pause about the odd beauty of the scene and the bonds of mother and child. The second pup that did not seem to be in bad shape kept looking at me, as though it felt comforted by my presence. I cried for these three seals and cursed nature for their demise...or was I cursing nature for my own feelings of loss? Probably both.

Fast forward one week later to today...I wondered if I'd come upon the three seals again or if the tide would have washed them away. As I walked closer to the same rock I saw them near last, I noticed one small figure lying in the sand and assumed it to be the remains of one of the pups. As I got closer, I recognized it to be the one that was strongest...and it raised its head and yawned the most adorable seal yawn...it was alive!! But how was it alive? Who was caring for it? I am most aware that seal pups are often left on the beach while their mothers forage in the sea. But I'd been so sure that this pup was with the larger seal I'd seen last week. I considered whether I should call marine rescue or not and continued on my way down the beach. Quite a ways down I could hear the other seals calling to one another and turned to see a large, beautiful female make its way to the pup. I'd see on my walk back that she had in fact moved her baby a bit closer to the rock for added concealment. I ended my morning with two rare pieces of glass: one bright pink and one yellow with a fleur de lis, and a feeling of happiness to know that the baby seal was being cared for after all. It was the most beautiful kind of morning I could have asked for!

*Please note that I know not to bother this pup in any way so as to not truly make its mother abandon it!!*