Carrie Link

2010-07-23T13:31:00.000-07:00

Don't forget, I've moved! Come see me at love.

2010-07-06T06:10:00.000-07:00

I've moved! I'm over here, now: love.

2010-07-05T07:33:00.000-07:00

PHASED OUT

Four years ago I was all about being fully caffeinated. Started a blog and an e-mail address and went big with it. It was perfect for that phase of my life, and as is the nature of phases, they pass. About the same time I also "accidently" found a website that sold love. T-shirts. Unfortunately, it looks like they no longer do. The quotes they e-mail you are a must, however.

Anyway.

love. was the next thing I decided to go big with, and happily, I don't believe that's a phase.

Couple of years ago my fully caffeinated e-mail address just stopped working. Kaput. Last week Blogger stopped letting me post on my Fully Caffeinated blog. Kaput. Nothing if not tenacious, I found a way to post using an old draft and changing the date, but let's face it, that is going to get old in a hurry and besides, there aren't that many drafts left. I can take a hint when Mary gives me one, and she is giving me one.

Time for a new blog, so ladies and gentleman, I invite you to join me here, at love. Please change your blog rolls, favorites, bookmarks, etc. so you won't miss a single word. That would be a shame.

We'll talk about Mary. We'll talk about Flicka. We'll talk about Rojo. We'll talk about Woohoo. We'll talk about all the things that won't go kaput, and are not phases - the stuff of love.

* Photo from http://everydayuncommon.files.wordpress.com

2010-07-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

WATER BOY

Been trying to get Rojo into a body of water for almost fourteen years. This summer he decided to be Water Boy. We've been coming to the same community pool every summer for his whole life, a place with a "big" pool and a "wading" pool (1 1/2 feet deep at its deepest point). He's never wanted anything to do with it. Any. Thing.

But not this year. This year he's all about being king of the wading pool.

He likes having the whole thing to himself as he can kick and sing to his heart's content, but he really prefers it when it fills up with 2-5 year-olds. Without exception he goes up each child and gives his spiel: "Hi, my name is Rojo, what's your name?" The child supplies their name and Rojo instantly creates a nickname. Cooper becomes Coop. Daniel becomes Danny. Elaina becomes Lainie.

"Hi, (insert nickname), how old are you?"

"I am thirteen but I will be fourteen on July 14th, my golden birthday."

We're very excited around here for the golden birthday.

And for our golden boy, who has discovered the freedom of water.

* Have been having all kinds of fits posting on Fully Caffeinated. Am thinking it's time to re-name/relocate the blog. Stay tuned for a new address.

Happy 4th of July, Everyone!

love.

2010-06-29T18:10:00.000-07:00

SUMMIT

The five of us (four humans and Flicka) climbed to the top of this today, Black Butte. Truth be told we drove halfway up, and climbed the rest. Truth be told it took us nearly two hours. Truth be told there was a lot of complaining and "I can't do this..." But. We. Did.

We climbed a mountain, or more accurately, a butte, but we climbed it.

We climbed it.

View from mid-way up - the Three Sisters.

View from the top.

View on the way down.

Success.

* Top photo from www.biocrawler.com

2010-06-28T08:23:00.000-07:00

WHY DO I DOUBT?

I had a check to deposit and Rojo likes to use the ATM, so off we went.

He punches in my PIN.

He punches in a series of Yeses, Nos, and finally we come to the amount to deposit. I am holding the check, he hasn't laid eyes on it.

"Put in $72.36," I say.

He stalls.

"7-2-3-6," I repeat.

He doesn't move.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask.

"I'm going to put in $72.35," he says.

I start to argue, not wanting to enter the wrong number and mess everything up, but get the urge, instead, to re-examine the check.

Don't you know it, the check was for $72.35.

2010-06-26T06:36:00.000-07:00

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT??

Rojo looked at the weather forecast on the Weather Channel (something he does several times a day) and declared, "Summer worked! It scared the rain away!"

We have had rain.

And rain.

And rain.

And rain.

Cold and grey rain, not summer showers. The weather men have been calling this Junuary.

I am a born and bred western Oregonian and can take a LOT of rain, but what we've had has been biblical.

But now summer has "worked" and we are enjoying perfect weather here in the Pacific Northwest.

Rojo and I are outside all day every day, for the most part, and we're tweaking his ADHD meds so they wear off by noon, making him hungry. It's working. He's eating like a horse, but wants only junk food. We're forever in negotiation about that. "You can have __________, after you have ___________. I want you to have real food. I want you to gain weight!"

Finally, after about the 25th round of You-Can-Have he said, "Be nice to my weight! Do not hurt my weight's feelings!"

Not enough can be made of the fact that he gets he is not his weight. He is Rojo. His weight is what it is. He doesn't want me to hurt his weight's feelings.

And neither do I.

2010-06-25T06:42:00.000-07:00

And I saw the river

over which every soul must pass

to reach the kingdom of heaven

and the name of that river was suffering: -

and I saw the boat

which carries souls across the river

and the name of that boat was

love.

- Saint John of the Cross

* Photo from www.thegreatescape.org

2010-06-24T06:07:00.000-07:00

PERSONAL

When I began memoir writing four years ago, I had one thing holding me back: how do we write about those we know and/or love, without hurting them? Even if what we write is kind and true? Is it fair? Is it our story to tell? All the places where our lives overlap, how much is ours?

Anne Lamott says she writes several concentric circles away from the core of her life - she does not write about the most intimate and personal details. One may argue that after reading her writing you can't believe it gets several shades more nitty gritty than that, but apparently it does.

Other writers have argued that the more personal, the more universal (and I agree), and that the truth is the important thing - freeing it. The thing is, what's personal to me affects more than just me - even my thoughts are not solely mine, and the truth? Whose truth?

A big reason I decided to pull Unstrung was that while I felt it would help a lot of people, I felt it would hurt at least two, and as Hope Edelman says, "Sometimes the professional gain is not worth the personal cost."

I just finished reading one of the books on my summer reading list: The Journal Keeper. To me, it is one of the best examples of a deeply personal story, that keeps it about the author. While there are things I'm sure her husband would rather not be in print for all eternity, she maintains his dignity at all times - when they have problems, it's her perception, reaction, evolution that is at the crux of the writing.

As a writer this book helped answer a big question that has been holding me back for four years, and as a woman this book helped answer about a million other things that float through my brain at any given time. For a deep, satisfying, provocative, pleasant, want-to-read-all-over-again book, this is it.

2010-06-23T06:09:00.000-07:00

NO SHOW

So, I went to the reunion, and Someone I Once Knew was not there. This reunion is for the school where I used to teach before Woohoo was born, and is held every year, and each time I've gone, SIOK has been there. Not this time. I'm flooded with relief and guilt - just sure she somehow found my blog, read it, and didn't come because of that. Another side of me says, "Make no assumptions." Then there is the side clamoring, "No accidents." I feel guilty for sharing our personal story on the Internet, yet the tugging emotion is that maybe it was helpful in the overall scheme of things, regardless of whether she read it or not.

I don't know.

What I do know is the 20 or so of us that were there, ranging in ages from 47 (love being the youngest at something) to a good 77, sat around a long table and gave our reports for the year. Many told of their grandchildren, how old they are now, what line of work their kids are in, who has graduated and who has gotten married. The easy stuff, and believe me, the stuff I was eager to hear.

Wasn't until one of the people seated at the far end with me had her turn and shared that her six-year-old granddaughter only had two more treatments for leukemia, that things went from Level 1 to Level 10 in a hurry.

I shared that we had gotten a retired guide dog for our son with special needs, and that most of my life was consumed with the caring, planning, advocating and recovering for and from his needs. Turns out the man sitting right next to me (that I didn't know - he left before I came to the school), started his career in special ed. He used to work at one of the local hospitals training doctors to be more compassionate and humane in dealing with parents getting diagnoses for their kids. Straight to heaven.

I talked to the woman whose granddaughter was at the end of a two-year ordeal for cancer, and learned that her grandson (younger brother) was showing signs of autism. The grandmother (retired teacher) could see the red flags but her daughter was understandably overwhelmed with the needs of her daughter, and was not quite there yet. The grandmother asked me a bunch of questions to which I reluctantly said yes, yes, yes. How do you tell someone that yes, it sounds as though their grandson has autism and as soon as their daughter is out of the woods, they can join that club, too?

There is suffering: First Noble Truth.

What people say when their turn comes up to report on their year is not all there is to the story.

I believe, now, that SIWK and as some of the commenters pointed out, I would find many things we have in common as parents, as women, as fellow sufferers, if we moved our egos and pain bodies out of the way and let the understory emerge.

2010-06-22T11:07:00.000-07:00

Be kind whenever possible.

It is always possible.

Tenzin Gyatso

14th Dalai Lama of Tibet

2010-06-20T18:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Someone I Once Knew,

I will see you tomorrow at the reunion, and I will remember how we were pregnant with our daughters at the exact same time, and then two years later, our sons.

In those early years we tried to get together with the girls, but by the time the boys came into the story, we were on such divergent paths that it was hard then, impossible now.

Tomorrow we will hug, you will say how great it is to see me, how you think of me all the time. But you will not ask about my kids. You will tell me all about yours - the daughter too smart for her age, skipping a grade and no longer my daughter's peer. I have heard that story, but you will tell me again, how advanced she is and how school is just not challenging for her.

I will recall my years of teaching Talented and Gifted and pull out some dusty compassion for what I know to be a difficult row to hoe, too, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me about your son, also brilliant and a gifted athlete, a year ahead of my son in school, although only a month older. He is darling. Popular. Keeps you busy, busy, busy running him to all his friend's houses and his sporting events, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me about all the places your family will go on vacation this year, all the fun things you like to do, the activities you enjoy, the way your kids are natural travelers and how great it is that summer is finally here so you can all spend more time together, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me how you cannot believe in four short years you will be an empty nester, how you and your husband are looking forward to an early retirement and trips abroad, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will not say, "So how are your kids?" I know it's not because you are callous. I know it's not because you don't care. I know it's not because you are selfish. I know it's because you don't think about how every word out of your mouth is fresh salt in my old wounds. I know you don't know how it is you, and only you, that has this effect on me - we were doing this together, and I broke the pact, by having kids with differences.

It's not your fault. You know your world and I know mine, and we have both met many comrades in our respective worlds, friends that get us through, friends with less history, friends that didn't break old pacts but made new ones: to imagine.

* Photo from www.obit-mag.com

2010-06-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

LOST

Dreamt last night I was in a road race (in a Honda Element) with the most unlikely co-pilot (someone I can loosely define as a friend). Within a few miles of the road race I took the wrong turn and was hopelessly lost.

Poof - gone was the co-pilot, gone were the road signs, gone was every sort of navigational help. I was actually driving in and through buildings I was so lost.

Pretty sure the dream has something to do with how I'm feeling about summer vacation, which starts at noon today for Rojo - Woohoo has been out over a week.

I don't have a road map. I don't have a co-pilot. I don't have a lot of road signs showing me the way through to September.

That's what I fear, but the reality is I do have a road map - a calendar with plenty of things to break up the three months. I do have a co-pilot, several, actually, STM, Flicka, Above and Beyond, babysitters, aides, friends, relatives. And I do have the road map: love.

2010-06-17T08:18:00.000-07:00

TOP 10 BOOKS ON MY SUMMER READING LIST

2010-06-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

UNBIND

Under every moment of anger is an enormity of sadness,
and under that a sea of compassion. - Stephen Levine

The Greek word for forgiveness means to unbind.

Un-bind.

Be not bound.

Amen.

* Photo from www.chinesesymbolsmeaning.com

2010-06-14T19:55:00.000-07:00

FORGIVENESS

First AbFab Geek recommended I read it, then my friend Toeless sent me the book, so I finally sat down one day and started it. I'll be honest with you, the subject of Rwandan genocide was one I was happy to avoid, but Toeless and AbFab both said I would love it, both said it would be life changing, and both have my best interest at heart, so I trusted them and dove in. I barely came up for air.

The book is amazing for many reasons, but what struck me the most was Immaculee's ability to forgive. I am telling you, if you are struggling to forgive someone, this book will help put it all in perspective. If she is able to truly forgive and find peace, there is hope for the rest of us.

Immaculee has two other books which I just picked up and can't wait to start reading, and the third one is all about Mary.

Say no more.

2010-06-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

GRANDSONS

My dad died just a few weeks before Rojo was born, and nine years before Kunga came along, and yet there it no denying his role, his presence, his spirit when you get these two "brothers" together.

Kunga has been dreaming about my dad lately, waking up and saying he misses him. He spontaneously told both Woohoo and me this, too.

"I miss my granddad," he said.

"Do you remember him?" I asked.

"Yes. I remember him."

"Tell me about him," I pressed.

"I didn't know him, he died before I was born, but I remember him," he clarified.

And there isn't a doubt in my mind that he does. Nine years together on some other plane is hard to forget.

Rojo, who had to be told by a newly five-year-old that his shoes were on the wrong feet, said one profound thing after another this weekend as we spent our time in my father's old house - indeed, the house in which he died.

STM simply asked, "Hey, Rojo, what time is it?"

"You'd know if you had harmony in your soul," he said.

After playing with a ball in the back yard, Woohoo said, "Rojo, where did the ball go?"

"I affected your energy and now you can't find it."

My dad was a piece of work, but after fourteen years only the fond memories come to mind now when I think of him - there's been time to heal. The "brothers" only know the funny stories, and there were plenty. They have a divine connection to a man that is their grandfather, a man that affected their energy.

A man whose soul has finally found harmony.

Amen.

2010-06-10T08:19:00.000-07:00

MANIC SCREAMING

We should make all spiritual talk

Simple today:

God is trying to sell you something,

But you don't want to buy.

That is what your suffering is:

Your fantastic haggling,

Your manic screaming over the price!

From the book I Heard God Laughing, Poems of Hope and Joy

Renderings of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

2010-06-09T13:49:00.000-07:00

THE MAGIC BENCH

Wrote recently about playground miracles. Am almost embarrassed to tell you this, but they just keep happening, and happening, and happening. Feeling like it's being revealed to me why Rojo is so insistent that he, Flicka and I go to the park every night: we have work to do.

Rojo performs his magic on the play structure, delighting the 4-8 year-old set, and Flicka makes it possible for me to meet people I would not otherwise meet.

Other day Rojo and I couldn't find any other kids to play with at Park #1, so we walked down to Park #2. There was a mom and her daughter swinging on the only two swings. Rojo and I took the teeter-totter. Pretty soon the little girl left the swing and came over to us. That turned into her teetering her 7-year-old self with Rojo's tottering nearly 14-year-old self, and me trying to balance the two out, with some degree of success.

Off the teeter-totter and on to tag, the mom and I were left to talk. She started asking about Flicka, and next thing I knew I was telling her all about how we got her. That story has a couple of versions, the just-the-facts one, that's not bad, really, and the woo-woo one complete with every no accident detail. I went for version #2.

"That's what happens when you put it out into the universe, the universe rises up to enfold you" she said.

I knew I'd found a friend.

We talked for two hours, don't you know it, New Friend has a child with special needs. We eventually moved back to Park #1 when my friend, Above and Beyond called to say she'd brought the ice cream "truck" down there. I introduced New Friend to Above and Beyond, and after I left, they did more talking and sharing of resources.

The other day I was at Park #1 and I noticed something going on with each of the kids that were chasing him in a rollicking game of hot lava monster. All these years I've been bringing him to the park thinking he was the only one with special needs, and just assuming everyone else was neuro-typical.

Can't believe this far into the game I still don't have the Make No Assumptions thing figured out.

One thing I have figured out is that Rojo, Flicka and I will continue to go down there and play, as long as there is a bench to sit on.

And to listen.

* Photo from: terraformearth.files.wordpress.com

2010-06-08T16:40:00.000-07:00

FOR GOOD

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you..."

From the song "For Good" from the musical, "Wicked"

I do know I believe that's true.

Been thinking so much lately about friends, and without exception, they've all changed me for good, and for good.

Eavesdropped today on two elderly women talking about hearing aides. "Well, Sue just had so many problems with hers, I don't know, I don't think I'll get one," said the one with a freshly coiffed grey bob.

"Oh, that's ridiculous," said the one with impossibly red hair. "What kind of problems? What do you mean problems? She's probably just not using it right! You know you have to get it in just the right place in your ear or it doesn't work."

"Oh, I don't know," said Grey Bob, "Maybe if I get to a place where I really need one, I'll do it."

"You ARE at that place," said Impossibly Red.

I instantly vowed to be Impossibly Red, and not Grey Bob someday. Maybe even starting tomorrow.

A tricky thing, though, honesty. Not much good unless it's coming from a place of love and requested. I've tried to force it down other's throats. I've tried it at the top of my lungs. I've tried it with righteous indignation. Doesn't work.

What is our sacred contract with each other, to hold space? To listen? To observe? Just to love? To call BS on? To declare, "You ARE at that place?" What's the role of a friend? Does it depend on the friend? Probably.

Consider yourself warned, however, if you ask me what I think, I'm likely to tell you.

2010-06-04T17:47:00.000-07:00

WELL, THEY GOT THE FIRST PART RIGHT ANYWAY...

Got an e-mail from a friend with a special needs child. They'd had an incredible conversation about God/Mary/Jesus. Deep. Meaningful. Enlightening. In about 10 words.

Had a conversation with someone yesterday about ego. For me the definition of ego is our false self - who we think we are. Thinking being the operative word. The ego loves to think. Think, think, think, that's what it's all about. As a society we value thinking, because we equate it with intelligence, and we equate intelligence with superior - the more intelligent, the better.

It is my firm belief that kids with special needs are here to help us break from our own egos, by showing us the way. We use all kinds of disparaging words to describe people with lower "intelligence," because A) we define intelligence in an antiquated way, and B) it makes our egos feel better to be superior to others (it's also socially acceptable to do this, but that's a whole other blog post).

These kids are special. It's apt that they be called special. As for the needs part? Hmmm... they certainly have specific needs, which are special, but the special part is really in their gifts, not in their lack. If they lack anything, it's an ego.

And that is special.

To listen to Eckhart Tolle talk about ego and thinking, click here.

2010-06-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

SLIP

An interview with author Tanya Savko

I'm pleased to share a wonderful book with you, Slip, by my blog and real-life friend, Tanya Savko, from Teen Autism. You could say it's a book about autism and the coming to terms with it. You could say it's a book about one family's transitions and transformations. You could say it's a book about the universal message that love heals. No matter what you say, it's a beautifully written book, by a beautiful woman with a beautiful story to tell.

1) Tell us about the actual writing of Slip, how long did it take you to write. How does a single mom with more than one job and more than one special needs child, find time to write?

I started writing Slip almost six years ago and finished the first draft within a year. I spent the next three years working on subsequent drafts and editing. It went through some changes! At times I was able to focus on it consistently, and other times I had to set it aside for a while, just depending on how full my life was at the moment. My usual writing time is at night, after my sons are in bed - if I'm not too exhausted by then!

2) Tell us why you decided to fictionalize your story, rather than writing straight memoir?

I chose fiction rather than memoir for a few reasons. Mostly, it's because I just love to write fiction. I love creating characters, getting to know them, and seeing how they develop. Although the main ideas of Slip are memoir-based, the characters often say and do things differently than their real-life counterparts did. And in that way, it was more cathartic for me to write a novel instead of a memoir.

3) Tell us about starting your own publishing company and self publishing. What made you decide to go that route, and what's your advice for writers out there looking to publish?

Whew! Starting my own publishing company was even more of a labor of love than writing the book itself! It's considerably more involved than having Lulu or some other company publish your book, which is actually what I would recommend to anyone wanting to self-publish. Don't do it the hard way like I did! I don't regret it, though, because I had my reasons for doing it that way - namely, because I wanted to start my own publishing company. It had been a childhood dream of mine to publish books, and not just my own (eventually I would like to publish the work of other people). Another motivating factor was that I had been working with another company, and the typesetting job they did was terrible. But starting your own publishing company is much more labor-intensive (not to mention a lot more expensive). So if you're not driven to start your own publishing company, my advice would be to self-publish via Lulu or something similar.

4) In the book Andrew, the father, has a four-year relationship with a woman named Brooke. We love and hate Brooke, we love that she loves Andrews kids, we hate her drinking and drugging and violent temper. Did you have a "Brooke" in your life? If so, did you find it as hard to end the relationship as Andrew did? Why or why not?

Interestingly, Brooke is probably the least fictionalized character in the book. There was definitely a "male Brooke" in my life. It was very difficult to end the relationship, and I dragged it out much longer than I should have. I think it was just during a really vulnerable point in my life - a lot of rationalizing went on. You come out of a relationship like that feeling chaotic and shell shocked, very unsure of yourself. It was easier for me to write about it in fictional form - happening to someone else - than memoir.

5) The Andrew character recovers from depression and OCD, are these issues you've dealt with, and do you think you can ever fully recover, or is it a matter of them going from debilitating to manageable?

Yes, I have been diagnosed with depression and OCD. Both have been present throughout my life in varying degrees; the worst was 12-13 years ago, during the time that my sons were toddlers. I was on medication for almost two years, and that helped immensely. I think, for me anyway, the most debilitating effects of those conditions were largely situational. I was completely isolated, caring for two toddlers with special needs, and in an unsupportive marriage. Several things coincided that helped me to get better: the medication, going back to work, and my sons being enrolled in therapy programs. These days, both my depression and OCD are much more manageable, although some milder symptoms remain with me.

6) You make the mother, Erica, a bartender with a family history of alcoholism. Do you think that was Erica's way of exerting control over alcohol in her life? If so, did it work?

With Erica, I tried to portray the effects of childhood abandonment in one's adult life, in which control issues are often present. I think it was a subconscious defense mechanism for her to exhert control over the alcohol in her life by being a bartender. In that sense, I think it did work for her, especially since she was the manager. She is controlling in other areas of her life as well; she has a hard time on the few occasions when she's not calling the shots.

7) Tell us more about the title of the book, and what advice you have for other "SLIPS?" (Singe, low-income parents.)

As for the title of the book, although the main reference is the acronym "single, low-income parent," there are several other references to the word "slip," such as "one slip in a small town and everyone knows" and asking how does a child "slip into autism." I had also thought of including a Freudian slip, but that probably would have been too much!

My advice to other "SLIPs" is to a) find emotional and physical support, whether it's in the form of extended family, friends, church, or respite care, b) find financial support in the form of government programs - they are there for a reason, and c) find spiritual and mental support, by taking small steps to achieve your dreams and goals, taking care of yourself, exercising, and meditating.

8) Now it's your turn, Tanya - what do you want us to know about this book that I have not asked yet?

For years now, we've been saddled with statistics about autism and the divorce rate. I wanted to write a story that clearly illustrates that the link isn't always there, that so many other factors can contribute to a divorce, even when autism is present. Yes, it puts stress on a marriage, undeniably so. But autism should not be a marriage's scapegoat. With Slip, I wanted to look at the underlying causes, how complicated and intertwined they are, instead of just accepting the statistic as the ground rule.

To order your copy of Slip, click here.

2010-06-02T08:20:00.000-07:00

HELP

Went to see "Sex and the City II" last night with three HOT friends. Same group of us went to SATC I two years ago, same group of us watched Season 6 with tears, laughter and champagne a few years before that. Same group worked on an auction together seven years ago. Same group had our little girls entering kindergarten together almost eleven years ago.

Same group.

My favorite scene in the movie is when Miranda gets Charlotte to drink and share her frustrations with motherhood. Both women recognize how hard it is, and that is with help. They raise their glasses and toast to all the women that are doing it without help.

The four of us have not had "help." But we've had each other.

That counts.

Double.

2010-06-01T05:45:00.000-07:00

PERSPECTIVE

We were away for the long weekend - actually, STM left last Monday and had four well-deserved days to himself, and the kids and Flicka and I joined him after school on Friday. STM and I have never sat down and said, "Okay, you do this and I'll do that, and it'll be fair," but over the years we've done the special needs parent dance long enough that we rarely step on each other's toes now. As it is, he gets up early with Rojo and Flicka because he is not even awake at that ungodly hour (5:30-6:00), and is happy to sleep walk through the whole bacon, sourdough toast, praise-the-Lord, kicking, humming, what the BLEEP, morning that is Rojo. That is the time I, too, get up early, but have to myself. I meditate, read from various inspiring and helpful books, and in all ways "get the energy right" for the day - starting with the perfect cup of coffee I brew in my own private coffee brewing quarters. I take over around 7:30 when STM goes to work, but Rojo leaves for school before 8:00. On the weekends STM still takes the first shift, and I come on board later, we switch off throughout the day.

On weekdays I take the afternoon/evening/night shift. I have Rojo from 3:15 - 8:00 when he goes to bed, which although it sounds like more, is an even trade. STM has him unmedicated and super hyper, janked up and in a good mood (Rojo's words to describe himself), and I have him in search of parks and for the most part, tired from his busy day.

When I woke up and heard Rojo singing at 5:59 on Saturday, I couldn't believe my eyes - and feet. STM was still in bed. I decided to get up since I needed to pee anyway, and then I just went ahead and started the morning process I'd been doing in STM's absence the last few days. Rojo sang. Rojo tapped. Rojo hummed. Rojo swore. Rojo praised the Lord. Rojo ate 34 pieces of bacon and two Luna bars. I drank two cups of coffee here and there throughout the process, cleaned the coffee pot, put in a new filter, fresh, cold, filtered water up to the 6 cup mark, scooped out the perfect amount of freshly ground coffee and had it all set to turn on the minute I heard STM emerge from the bedroom. When he did, I pushed the button and was so proud of myself. I let him sit quietly in a chair getting his wits about him while the coffee brewed, and when it was done I put it in his preferred mug and brought it to him.

The next morning, Sunday, when I woke to singing I looked over and the other side of the bed was empty! Yea! My turn to sleep in! I slept another 45 blissful minutes, and when I staggered out to the kitchen my first words were, "Is there any coffee left?"

"No," STM said,"but it's all ready to go. You just need to clean out the coffee pot, put in fresh water, and add the grounds." He was dead serious. He'd thrown out the old grounds and put in a new filter and to him, that was "ready to go."

I laughed.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked.

"No," I said, "I just love you. You and I are different, and that's what makes us work."

* Photo from: ww.ider.herts.ac.uk/school/courseware/graphics/images/two_point_perspective.gif

2010-05-29T19:47:00.000-07:00

A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.

~Joseph Campbell

* Photo from www.covenanteyes.com

2010-05-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

THE BEST MEDICINE

We know our friends as our friends, we may know them as spouses, even siblings and children, but to me, the greatest gift has been knowing my friends as parents. I'd say some of my best parenting practices have been stolen outright from friends that I admire.

I have a dear friend that lives 3,000 miles away - has for nearly fifteen years. About once a year, however, we've managed to see each other. Fortunately for me, most of our visits have been in her home, which has provided me with not only a break, but a chance to really live and learn from a master.

It was one of the very earliest visits, at the time this friend had a four-year-old and a two-year-old. Doesn't sound fun, does it? But it was. She thoroughly enjoyed her kids at those ages, just as she does now, at fifteen and seventeen. At that time there was tremendous stress in her life, you could almost say it was crisis level. I'll never forget what happened, though. Her husband came home and asked her about the day, and she said, "We had a lot of laughs." Of course my friend and I had had a lot of laughs, but that's not what she was referring to - she was talking about the day spent with a toddler and at that time, hard to regulate four-year-old.

"We had a lot of laughs."

I've thought of that so many times through the years, marveled at her ability to just be present with her kids, to enjoy them, to laugh with them. I've fallen short of this goal to have a lot of laughs with my kids each day, but I can honestly say that that one small scene has made me a better parent, has shifted my thinking, has, best of all, brought about a lot more laughter in this house.

2010-05-25T19:58:00.000-07:00

AVERAGE

One of my friends has the greatest quote, "Everyone wants to be normal, but nobody wants to be average." Isn't that just so TRUE?

* Photo from: classes.kumc.edu/sah/resources/sensory_processing

2010-05-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

PLAYGROUND MIRACLES

Tonight Rojo wanted to go to the playground, and I heard myself agreeing without a grumble - something just went off in my head that said, this is important.

Got there and immediately ran into two friends, one being "Above and Beyond," aka the ice cream truck lady. Also there was a man I've known since Rojo was born, and now he, too, is the parent of a special needs child.

I had Flicka sitting next to me, and kids kept coming up to me and asking if they could pet her. Next thing I knew a little one asked if he could take Flicka on a walk. I said sure, and got busy solving the world's problems with my friends on the bench. Occasionally I would look up to make sure Rojo was fine, and that Flicka was within sight and doing okay with her new role as Pied Piper. Each time I saw her she had gained another follower. One would return Flicka to me and then the next would ask for a turn. We finally established a little routine, a route, if you would, to make it fair. They could take Flicka once around the loop, bring her back to me and then it would be the next person's turn.

I was aware that a young dad had two kids, a boy about four and a girl about two, now in line for Flicka. The little boy had a Scooby Doo Band Aid on his check, and when I asked him about it he awkwardly touched it. The dad said, "M., ask what the dog's name is." The boy didn't ask. "Ask how old the dog is," the dad prodded. The boy didn't ask. "Ask if you can pet the dog, M.," the boy didn't ask. I didn't think too much about it. The dad and I got to talking and I told him Flicka was a retired guide dog. He marveled at her beauty, her shiny coat, her sweetness, how young she looks.

Suddenly Flicka was up on the play structure, so I jumped up to get her down - can't have her scaring the kids up there. All the followers were trying to get her down and there was some degree of temporary chaos. The dad followed me. Once down, I turned to the dad and said, "I think Flicka was checking on Rojo, he has special needs, you see, and that's why we got her. She knows she's his buddy, and she was probably worried that she hadn't been with him for awhile."

I saw the look in the man's eyes. The look. The look of one that walks the path. "Your son has special needs? My son has special needs. Did the dog just automatically know that she was there for your son, because I can tell she understands my son, too." I told more about the story of Flicka, and how yes, she knew she was there for Rojo, and that their bond was a thing of beauty.

We chased kids and dogs, passed the leash, made small talk, and then I asked, "So, what's going on with your son?"

"Well, we're just finding that out now," he said, giving me the look again and smiling a little too broadly.

"It's so hard," I said, making eye contact with him, and noticing tears behind his eager smile.

"Yea, looks like he has dyspraxia, sensory processing disorder, maybe autism... does you son have any of those things?"

"Check, check, check!" I said.

Our conversation went on and he said how he wished his wife could meet me, as she is desperate for other mothers to talk to about things like this. I told him about the support group I run and that his wife is welcome to join us. "Oh, that would be SO great," he said about four times.

"I don't have anything with me to write down my information on, do you?"

"No," he said, "but do you come here very often?"

"All the time," I said.

I have no doubt that Rojo, Flicka and Mary will make sure our paths cross again.

And I'll have a pencil and paper when they do.

* Photo from: www.bluegrassplaygrounds.com

2010-05-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

STRENGTH

Hadn't been to my beginner's yoga class in thirteen days. Was really feeling the lapse - what had been effortless just two weeks ago, was not today. Effortful it was, and I was determined to fight through it. No matter how many times my Lithuanian instructor cautioned us to listen to our bodies, and that doing so was a sign of strength, and not of weakness, I pushed on, ignoring her. Ignoring my body. Ignoring the wisdom.

Classic Carrie.

And while I have come a long way in learning to listen, I still have a long ways to go, also in redefining weakness and strength.

When we were in one particularly challenging pose (no idea what it's called), she said, "Find the ease. Now find the challenge. Put them together. Take the ease, put it with the challenge. In your mind, move them on top of each other, let them work together. That is how you get stronger - combining ease with challenge. Now, when you are in your challenge, breathe ease into it."

What if I were to take the ease of love and put it on top of the challenge of apologizing? What if I were to take the ease of laughter, and put it together with the challenge of forgiveness? What if I were to take the ease of caring and overlap it with the challenge of non-judgment?

How much can I truly bend?

*Photo from: www.yogatohealth.com

2010-05-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

ABOVE AND BEYOND

So Rojo has been obsessed (is there a stronger word than obsessed?) with the ice cream truck for many, many, many, grey-hair creating years. He takes a short break from talking about it between the months of November and February, then it's back up for grabs. He plays various ice cream truck songs on his keyboard, on our piano, taps and hums them while he eats his breakfast, plays them on a recorder, kicks the breakfast bar to the beat of them when he eats his dinner, sings them in the car, listens to them on YouTube, loudly and repeatedly, on and on and on and on.

I've got "Do Your Ears Hang Low?" and "The Entertainer" coming out my ears.

"Mom, where does the ice cream truck live?"

"Is the ice cream truck coming to our house today, Mom?"

"What time is the ice cream truck coming to our house today, Mom?"

"Is it going to be hot today? If it's hot today, will the ice cream truck come to our house today, Mom?"

I'm going to go ahead and conservatively guess he asks an ice cream truck related question, twenty times a day. Every day. For eight months of the year. For at least the last six years. Not a mark on him.

So on Sunday we were walking back from the park/neighborhood school playground, and we ran into a friend of mine. She has a child on the spectrum, and although our boys don't know each other, we know all about each other's boys. You know how that goes. Rojo asks her, "Did you see the ice cream truck at your house? If you see the ice cream truck come by, make sure you tell them to come down to our house. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget."

"Well," she says, "you know my boys have a lot of food allergies, so sometimes I get the kinds of treats they can eat, put them in an ice chest in the wagon, and we walk around passing those out to the neighbors."

That's all it took.

"Mom? Can we go to Mrs. F.'s house and get ice cream after school? Can we go to her wagon? Can we just go there right after we pick up Woohoo and just go straight there and get ice cream?"

Relentlessly

So Monday I e-mailed Mrs. F. and asked if we could swing by, and would it be possible that Rojo give her a dollar for something she had in her freezer.

She e-mailed back and wanted to know just what it was he liked, what was the exact song he preferred the ice cream truck to play, etc. When we pulled up to her house at the designated time (3:45), she had the wagon all out, had made a big sign to put on the outside, displaying all the kinds of treats they had (and that she'd driven all over town shopping for) and as we got out of the car she grabbed her i-Phone, pushed "play" and out came "Do Your Ears Hang Low?" WHO DOES THAT??

Then, because she'd created a monster, and the weather here is down right wintry this week with unbelievable rain, she has taped the sign TO HER CAR, and driven TO OUR HOUSE, three days IN A ROW at Rojo's preferred ice cream eating time.

And she even lowered her prices, $0.05.

But truly, those popsicles and that friend? Priceless.

2010-05-19T06:33:00.000-07:00

WHY AM I HERE?

Had to spend a whole day at home earlier this week. STM was expecting an important package to be delivered, and it required a signature. I looked at my calendar and I didn't have any appointments, no errands that just had to be run that day, so I said I could do it. After all, I don't "work."

Cannot tell you how many times I had the urge to jet off somewhere, to take care of some annoying thing on my list, to go out into the backyard (where I would not be able to hear the doorbell) to pull weeds that had not made my radar until that very moment. On and on it went. The more aware I was that I couldn't go anywhere, the more I felt the need to.

Kept having to ask myself, "Why am I here? Oh, yea, to receive the package from UPS."

Asking myself "Why am I here?" all day?

Not a bad way to spend the day when you think about it.

2010-05-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

JUST A FEW OF THE THINGS I DID BEFORE NOON:

Wrapped six presents for STM's birthday tomorrow
Loaded, ran, unloaded the dishwasher
Did three loads of laundry, washed, dried, folded, put away (nicely)
Made beds
Vacuummed the whole house
Cleaned the kitchen
Answered a million (give or take) schedule related e-mails
Set up three appointments
Paid bills
Made a grocery list
Washed all the windows I could reach without a ladder - inside and out
Redeemed miles on-line
Ran to the store to get a few things and the guy says to me, "So, you're not working today?"

* Photo from: http://howiwillberich.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/retirement.jpg

2010-05-16T09:13:00.000-07:00

NEVER SUBTLE

Had a big important meeting Friday morning at my house. Did a little morning meditation to get my energy right, asked for Mary's help. Mary's peace. Mary's presence.

Showered, grabbed a skirt I hadn't worn since last summer, reached in the pocket and there was a Mary seed.

Went downstairs to light candles, put on music, and again, make the energy right in preparation for this meeting. Pushed the button to eject the CD already in the stereo, and out came "Feasts of Mother Mary." Shoved it right back in and pushed "Play."

Finished fussing around the house, had nervous energy left over, turned on the computer to check e-mail. Eyes landed right on one from a customer service rep assigned to a return I needed to make. Her name? Mary Precious Grace. I. Kid. You. Not.

Next e-mail was from a friend that had just had surgery, writing to tell me her pre-op nurse's name was Mary, so she knew she was in good hands. She was. Her surgery had the outcome we'd all hoped and prayed for.

Meeting went great.

No accidents.

2010-05-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

HONOR SYSTEM

There's a local chain of discount stores in the northwest called Bi-Mart, where for $5.00 you can buy yourself a family membership. For life. Course you don't really need to show your card to get in through the gate, as the people that operate it know everyone that's a regular. Like me.

"Buzz" goes the button as soon as they see my face. Pushing the red half gate to the side I cross through to an alternate universe. The music, the items, the people that work there, the customers even, are from another era.

I love it.

When you are ready to tackle your gardening needs, Bi-Mart is the place to go. They have everything. Cheap. And what I love best is all the kinds of soil, mulch and manure are stacked on pallets in the parking lot, with an empty sample bag tacked up on the wall above the doors. Crudely made signs tell the cashiers the product code of each bag in big bold numbers so they can quickly glance and enter them into their cash registers.

"I'll take two bags of Steer Plus," I say.

"Just two?" the woman with hair from the 60's verifies.

"Yep, two will do it," I say, "didn't have quite enough as it turns out, need two more bags."

She rings me up, $2.19 times two, adds up everything else in my basket: Kleenex, toothpaste, sponges, laundry soap, a new nozzle for the hose, and prints me out my receipt.

That little piece of paper that nobody ever looks at again is all that keeps me from robbing Bi-Mart blind. From that point you go to your car, drive it around to the pallet of choice and take as many bags as you say you paid for.

Honor system.

Not enough has been made of a system that relies on honor.

2010-05-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear but
around in awareness.

- James Thurber

Jess at A Diary of a Mom wrote today about the phenomenon of walking into your child's classroom and seeing all the support they're getting, and how surprisingly, it surprises you (my words). She wondered if one ever gets used to it.

Never.

Hate to sound negative, discouraging or in any way disheartening, but the reality is you don't get over the shock. It continues to hit you like a ton of bricks. Other kids are doing things one way, your kid is doing it a different way, or not at all.

So, no, you don't get used to it, but you get okay with it. You learn how to stop looking back with anger and resentment, stop looking forward with fear and anxiety, and start looking around with awareness and acceptance.

Your child is different. That's the bad news and that is the good news. Except there is no bad news and there is no good news, there is just news and our interpretation of that news. Your child is different. Period.

We need different. Look around. We badly, badly, badly need different. It's my personal belief that these kids are here to help heal and evolve our planet.

I know they are helping to heal and evolve me.

* Photo from: www.rokano.com

2010-05-10T12:49:00.000-07:00

LINING UP

Somewhere around the third park of the day I began to settle into it: this is my life. Thought it would be one thing and it is quite another. Didn't imagine spending my days going from park to park to park with an almost fourteen-year-old, fighting down my ego that struggled to watch him awkwardly play with three and four-year-olds while discerning if we are actually getting funny looks, or if I was just imagining it.

When he wasn't on the play structures, we were looking for drinking fountains. Four parks, seventeen drinking fountains, each one sipped from once, twice, three times.

Miles we covered and my mind and soul fought with each other with every step: I should be folding the three loads of laundry that sits on my bed right now. I should be wrapping Mother's Day gifts. I should be vacuuming dog hair. Cleaning bathrooms, spending time with Woohoo, and STM, returning a call to a friend, writing a card to my friend about to have major surgery, returning e-mails, fixing dinner, reading the book for book club, grocery shopping, changing beds, should, should, should. My mind said I should be doing anything and everything but being right here in this moment. This perfect moment.

Eckhart Tolle (my hero, he and HH, the Dalai Lama, two enlightened living beings, I'm telling you), talks about the symbolism of the Christian cross. I think I've blogged about it before, but if I can't remember for sure, I'm hoping neither can you. He talks about how we, as humans, mind-centered, live in a horizontal line, always in the past and future, and very seldom living in the moment. Consciousness/our souls/higher selves live in a vertical line, connected to God/source/all that is holy/the light. When we are living in the present moment, the now, we are where those two lines intersect, the center of the cross, the place of the Divine.

Rojo is going to keep dragging me to parks until I stop fighting it and am one with it. That's his job, to make me conscious, to line me up, to bring me to the center, to connect me to the Divine.

* Photo from: http://vanessaleighsblog.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/the-power-of-the-cross.jpg

2010-05-09T08:50:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day to all of you.
You are mothers, you are children of mothers.
You've been well mothered, you've been badly mothered.
You've raised your children, you've raised someone else's children.
You've given birth, you've adopted.
You've given your children up for adoption, you've been reunited. Or not.
You've lived your lives with what ifs? and thank Gods.
You've longed for children, you've chosen to remain childless.
You've struggled to get pregnant, you've got more kids than you know what to do with.
You love this day and all whom it celebrates, you hate this day and all that's gone missing.
You are actively raising children, you are empty nesters.
You are beginning the journey, you are nearing the end.
You are raising typical children, you are raising those with special needs.
You can see the end in sight, you know there is no end.
You love some of mothering and hate the rest, but accept it all,
As part of the journey, wherever it's taken you.

2010-05-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

Can't embed the flippin' YouTube video, so click this: The Mother's Day Note You Deserve from Kelly Corrigan & Friends

Hurry.

Don't forget.

Promise you won't forget.

2010-05-04T05:49:00.000-07:00

FULL CIRCLE

Ran into a friend at the park last night when I had Rojo and Flicka there after dinner. It's not really a park, it's the public school playground near our house. It doesn't really matter except that everything matters in a nothing matters way. That's really the point. Right?

Friend said, "How's your book?"

"Pulled it," I said, one hand on Flicka giving her an absent minded pet.

"Self publish," she said, while deftly grabbing her escaping toddler with one hand.

"Good idea," I said, and if publishing it were now the objective, I'd consider that. "Thing is, don't really want it published after all."

She looked at me quizzically, as if to say, wasn't that the point of writing it?

And that was the point. Until it wasn't. Until the point became something else. Until the point stopped being to have everyone and their mother read it. Until the point was that just writing it was enough.

"Turns out it was just a really long way to get back to where I started. Spent years and years, lots and lots of money, turned myself and everyone around me inside and out, then got back to where I began."

Her eyes turned up in a now-I-get-it way.

"Full circle," I said.

"Full circle," she said.

And we laughed.

* Photo from: www.barbarabartlettart.com/circle_FullCircle

2010-05-03T11:04:00.000-07:00

WOOHOO IS 16!

TOP 16 THINGS I LOVE ABOUT MY GIRL:

16. She is funny

15. She has style galore

14. She is beautiful, inside and out

13. She knows herself

12. And loves that self

11. She self advocates

10. She advocates for others

9. She is wise beyond her years

8. She is accepting of differences

7. She is opinionated

6. But respectful of others' opinions

5. Nobody can talk her into doing anything she doesn't want to do

4. She is a good friend

3. She is kind

2. She is forgiving

1. She loves well

* Photo from www.bakingshop.com

2010-04-30T08:01:00.000-07:00

SURVEY SAYS...

Came across a survey with three seemingly repetitive questions. On a scale from 1-7, 1 being extremely dissatisfied, 7 being extremely satisfied:

1) How satisfied are you with your marriage/relationship?

2) How satisfied are you with your relationship with your spouse/partner?

3) How satisfied are you with your partner as a spouse/significant other?

The more I think/obsess/ponder those three questions, the more I like them. What do you think?

Photo from: www.cse.unt.edu

2010-04-29T10:09:00.000-07:00

DON'T FORGET

Rojo tells me every single night when I tuck him in, "Don't forget to leave your door open." His bedroom is straight down the hall from ours, our bedroom doors face each other with, oh, I don't know, twenty feet between them? He doesn't even care if I go straight to my room after putting him to bed, what matters is that my door remain open.

I don't forget. I keep my door open. Every night. I reassure him repeatedly.

And still, I got this note the other day. Made me think, what "door" could he be talking about?

2010-04-27T05:28:00.000-07:00

NOT BETTER OR WORSE, JUST DIFFERENT

Was a time when I really believed Rojo would catch up. Developmentally delayed meant just that to me: delayed. Later. Eventually. I see now that he will never be caught up, and that's okay. He's where he is and where he is is perfect. Where he is going will be revealed. All will be well. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

One of the things the school psych that recently evaluated him got stuck on, was his trouble in answering what he wanted to do for work when he grew up. I, frankly, thought he'd say a garbage man, or ice cream truck driver, but apparently he said, "I want to be a dad."

"Yes, but what will you do for work?" she persisted.

"I will work with my kids," he said.

"Yes, you will work with your kids, but what will you do for a job?" she badgered.

"I will be a stay-at-home dad," he said, realizing she wasn't getting it.

When she told me that story, I had to wonder which one of them had the communication disorder. He will work with his kids. Period. That's work. I love that not only does he know that, it's what he wants as his vocation. Couldn't be prouder.

April is Autism Awareness month. I am aware that Rojo has Autism Spectrum Disorder. I am aware that that might make being a parent, let alone the one that stays home, difficult, if not impossible. I am also aware that Rojo has a solution in place.

"Mom, when I am married and have five sons, you will live with us, and you will help me with the boys. We will have a van and we will take the boys in the van to Dairy Queen every day. We will get vanilla milkshakes with red spoons. Don't forget. We will just say, 'Come on, boys, get in the van, let's go get ice cream!' Don't forget mom. Don't forget about the van. Don't forget to help me with my five sons."

Just different.

2010-04-26T08:17:00.000-07:00

FORGIVE

Had a dream the other night that I was trying to light a Mary at someone else's house, but it wouldn't light. I looked more carefully and noticed it was not a candle, but a statue. My hand then bumped it and it fell over, but didn't break. I looked over at the person whose house I was in and said, "I'm sorry." They said, "It's okay." I then picked it up and found a small wick at the top of the statue, and was then able to light it.

Sent this dream off to my favorite dream interpreter, and she replied back that I was both the person trying to light the Mary, and the woman whose Mary was getting knocked down but not broken. And it was only through forgiveness that it/I/She was able to light.

Been thinking so much about that dream. No matter how many times I hear (and say) that our dreams are all aspects of ourselves, I still tend to think of them literally. In the dream I really wanted the forgiveness of another, but in my subconscious, I want the forgiveness of myself.

Amen.

* Photo from: http://chuckwarnockblog.files.wordpress.com

2010-04-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

TOOTING MY OWN HORN

Put it out to the universe that I was toying with giving up writing entirely. Some cyber stalking, gossip, misinformation and a general sense of why bother? had stolen my mojo. As is the universe's perverse way, I learned three pieces I'd written would all be published within a month of each other. Not sure that means I'm supposed to keep writing, but pretty sure it means I'm supposed to go deeper with the question.

So, if you don't have your fill of me yet, you have three opportunities to gorge! Ironically, the very first place to publish me is in the Get and Agent magazine put out by Writer's Digest. It is available now on news stands (I'm thinking places like Barnes and Noble would have it).

A poem I wrote was published in Rose & Thorn Journal, a great online journal you should all be subscribing to!

And as I've already mentioned, I have a piece in the new anthology, Fearless Nest. The book looks at motherhood as a path. I'll give that a big amen. I've been re-listening to the Eckhart Tolle and Oprah podcasts they did a couple years ago on A New Earth. Life changing, I'm telling you, and even better the second time through. Funny what stands out to me this go round, versus what I glomed onto last time. This time I heard Eckhart say, "If you're doing motherhood consciously, that is your practice. You need no other spiritual practice."

Okay, thanks for indulging my ego!

(To read more about Fearless Nest, click the link. Thanks!)

2010-04-23T08:54:00.000-07:00

OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

The Portland Smoothie Company is open for business! If you live anywhere in the Portland area, get yourself down to SW 3rd between Stark and Washington, and order up a yummy smoothie from my friend Jennifer! The cups are compost-able! The smoothies are vegan! Everything is delicious and nutritious and all-around wonderful!

2010-04-21T08:17:00.000-07:00

ANGELS AMONG US

I think that half the reason STM got his gluten intolerance diagnosis, is so I'd be motivated to shop at New Seasons. All my best "meetings" happen there, "coincidentally." First it was with Friends 1 and 2 about getting a dog for Rojo (and we all know how that turned out) then yesterday I ran into the one person I most needed to run into at that exact moment, "J."

Monday we had our IEP meeting to determine Rojo's eligibility. I'd been dreading it and bracing myself for weeks. STM said he considered it an "errand." I didn't know whether to love or hate him for that attitude. I loved that he was able to detach from it, consider it something that needed doing, and wasn't in knots over it like I was. Part of me really wanted him worried sick right along with me.

Really glad STM was there, however, as he quickly moved out of "errand" mode into kick ass mode, and was the hero of the whole thing, calling BS and being assertive when I was flattened and stunned by the complete bureaucracy and dehumanization of the process. I won't even go into all the gory details, suffice it to say I left the meeting too sickened to even come home and drink. That's how bad it was.

But. There was one person there, the OT, who hadn't even laid eyes on my son (yet was reporting on him, don't get me started). She went home and later that same night wrote us a long e-mail apologizing for the meeting, how she was sorry we focused only on his weaknesses, and how she knew Rojo had many strengths. She explained how she has two sons, one with an IEP and she works in the system, and still finds it confusing and frustrating.

She got it.

Also had two amazing souls from Rojo's school there lending support, wisdom, balance and humor to the meeting.

Have had three more e-mail exchanges with my new best friend the OT, she's recommended books, videos, advocacy programs, given names of people in the system that can be of help, etc. Above and beyond.

So, back to New Seasons. On Tuesday, still walking around in a PTSD trance, I ran into J. She has a son two years older than Rojo with special needs. J. is a crier and when I'm around her, so am I. We stood in the middle of New Seasons yesterday and cried, and laughed, and hugged, and raged, and offered up hope and belief that our sons will be okay, despite the system, despite the BS, despite all bell curves to the contrary.

Because we both believe in angels.

Angels among us.

Amen.

* Photo from: 777denny.files.wordpress.com

2010-04-19T14:12:00.000-07:00

FEARLESS NEST

Looking for that perfect Mother's Day gift? Look no more! There is a beautiful anthology now available called, Fearless Nest. And a little someone you know just happens to have a piece in it, entitled "A Good Question."

All the essays in Fearless Nest center around our children being our greatest teachers. That's true for all moms, but perhaps even more so when those children have special needs, and that is the crux of my piece. I know that being Rojo's mom has changed me in ways nothing else has and nothing else could.

I'm looking forward to reading all the essays in the book, check out the amazing list of authors and read their bios, then order yours today!

* Photo from www.smartisans.com

2010-04-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

I am at HOPEFUL PARENTS today, come on over!

2010-04-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

A CALL

I've written before about the widening gap between typical and non-typical, how as Rojo gets older the discrepancy between what he and his peers are doing gets larger. Much, much larger. Whole days go by now when I'm able to obsess about all kinds of things beyond the gap, and then, BAM, when I'm just sitting there minding my own business, someone/something will remind me.

Because Rojo's been in a small school since kindergarten, with little "turn over," most of the kids are used to him, or quickly become so. He lives in a bubble and we like it that way. An argument may be made that we are not preparing him for the "real" world. We aren't really interested in that argument. We've long ago let go of words like "real," "normal," and "usual."

A few nights ago the weather was gorgeous, the neighborhood school's lawn freshly mown, and there were hours left of daylight. Rojo put on his extra-small San Francisco 49-ers football helmet, grabbed his extra-large calculator and his stuffed Patriot's football I won for him in an arcade, and we headed to the field to play football. Two little league teams were practicing in the two diamonds, so we found a remote spot far out of their way, and in little danger of being hit by a ball.

I brought along the FURminator and a bag to put all the excess hair in, and Flicka and I spread out happily on the grass nearby. Rojo was in a zone, in every sense of the word. Coaching, cheering, commenting, being the band, players on both teams and the ref. Heaven.

One of the coaches ran a drill and had all the kids, third graders I'm guessing, run from the baseball diamond to the far away bench, roughly two feet from the three of us. Some little bastard child saw Rojo playing in the helmet, and decided to announce it to God and the universe. "Hey! That kid is wearing a football helmet! Look, everyone, he's wearing a football helmet!" Then he turned to me and said, "Why is he wearing a football helmet?" I am telling you, people, it was all I could do not to rip him a new one. Every low vibration known to man was mine at that exact moment.

I tightly said, "He's just having fun."

And while this experience didn't set me back for days, or even weeks, like it might have at one time, it did reinforce for me that Operation Bubble will continue through high school. What we've helped to create for him in K-8, a place of acceptance, of tolerance, of understanding and of compassion, is what we are looking for in high school.

Nothing less.

Hear that, universe? Mary? God and all the angels in heaven?

*Photo from www.crystalclearinsights.ca

2010-04-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

WHEN THE STUDENT IS READY...

It's been awhile since I blogged about my plant, and while it may seem like when I'm desperate for something to post I just go in my bathroom and start clicking away, there's more to it than (just) that.

I listened to Michelle O'Neil who told me I needed to get the poor plant a bigger pot, and to Lori Widmer, who told me while I was at it, go ahead and refresh the ancient soil.

And I did.

And look at that thing now.

The plant has taught me how negativity and contrariness can drag down everyone around.

The plant has taught me how moving closer to the light strengthens and corrects so much. Quickly.

The plant has taught me that cutting off/out what is dead and dying, gives so much more energy for what is new and growing.

The plant has taught me that the crookedest of ways can be made straight.

The plant has taught me to listen to the other teachers all around me, like Lori and Michelle and all the other angels/guides in my life.

It's more than a plant. It's a teacher.

2010-04-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

A WELCOME GUEST

This is a picture of my cousin, Jane, and me on a rainy, cloudy, miserably un-spring-like day. See that light shining through the window? That's our friend, Mary. Yea, that Mary. That's our story, anyway, and we're sticking to it. And BTW, we have no idea who that other person is in the background there. We'll just call her Carol.

We had lunch with Deb, and I'm sorry she wasn't sitting on the Mary side of the room, because there's no question she's got ol' Mary active in her life, too!

It hasn't been all that long since Jane and I realized we'd both stumbled into Mary on our various spiritual paths. We are grandchildren of the same fire and brimstone Baptist minister, where Mary was considered to be a false god.

Call her what you want, but there she is.

Always.

2010-04-08T13:12:00.000-07:00

KOAN

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines a koan as follows:

koan |ˈkōˌän|
noun
a paradoxical anecdote or riddle, used in Zen Buddhism to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning and to provoke enlightenment.

A famous koan is, "What's the sound of one hand clapping?"

Raising special needs children is a koan, too, applying logical reasoning to any aspect of them is an exercise in futility. I have often said Rojo is consistently inconsistent and predictably unpredictable. A koan.

And although I'm nowhere near enlightened, I am also nowhere near where I was nearly fourteen years ago - back when I had all the answers. Nowhere near.

So, I'm somewhere along the circuitous, arduous, exhausting, thrilling, worth-every-minute, soul-changing path.

And for me, that's the sound of one hand clapping.

* Photo from www.lofa.org

2010-04-07T07:25:00.000-07:00

Love. from Flicka Link (x3)

2010-04-06T09:16:00.000-07:00

PERHAPS THE MOST IRONIC WORDS EVER SPOKEN IN THE HISTORY OF MAN:

After twice asking Rojo to go look in the mirror and wipe his chin, he says, "God! I need a mom that doesn't repeat herself!"

2010-04-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

"Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes."

Carl Jung

Happy Easter Monday, as some people refer to today!

Rojo is a big believer in the Easter Bunny, Devohn, as some of you faithful and long-term readers may recall. Each year about a month before Easter Rojo starts asking about Devohn, when will he come, how old is he, and can I stay up and take a picture. Darned if I don't fall asleep year after year before Devohn comes, and I miss the photo op.

This year Devohn left a small stuffed version of himself in Rojo's Easter basket. Rojo was over the moon. "Look, Mom, look what Devohn left! He left himself he's right here! This is Devohn!"

Rojo hugged and lugged Devohn all over the house Sunday, and slept with him cradling his neck like one of those airplane pillows.

At least three different times throughout the day Rojo would stop what he was doing, look up at me and say, "Mom, this is a great Easter. I'm having a great Easter. Thank you for my great Easter."

At one point, mid morning, after the Easter egg hunt and before the family dinner, he said, "Mom, I am going to pray for you every day." Then he went back to what he was doing and I tried to go back to what I was doing, but I couldn't quite, because knowing he was going to pray for me every day felt like a blessing of the highest kind. And whatever you were doing before you received such a blessing doesn't really matter that much anymore after such a blessing.

2010-04-03T05:38:00.000-07:00

LANDSLIDE

What do the Dixie Chicks, Woohoo and Rojo have to do with each other you ask? Ah! Yes! Well, you see, Amber at Believing Soul burned me a mixed CD, which I more than love, frankly, I'm fully obsessed with, and on that CD is a song by the Chicks.

"Landslide." I have listened to it approximately 2,148 times since she gave it to me mid-March. And each time I do, I think of Woohoo and Rojo, and I think about how they're getting older, and I've built my life around them. I am getting older, and the seasons are changing, and some days I am handling that better than others. In two years Woohoo will be away at college. C-O-L-L-E-G-E! In two years Rojo will be turning sixteen. S-I-X-T-E-E-N! And it was JUST Christmas and it is ALMOST summer, and as Rojo tells me everyday, "Time flies by." Yes, if the seasons aren't changing, they soon will be.

LANDSLIDE, The Dixie Chicks

Lyrics by Stevie Nicks

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes bolder, children get older I'm getting older too, well

2010-04-02T06:09:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your awareness.

Love.

2010-04-01T06:05:00.000-07:00

AN INTERVIEW WITH AUTHOR KATHY BOLDUC

I recently read this lovely book, and really appreciated the perspective Kathy Bolduc has. She is further along the path than I am, and that I found to be very helpful. I think many of you will find it helpful, too, both from a spiritual and a practical standpoint. Below please find our interview:

1. What prompted you to write this book?

I’ve been writing about my spiritual journey with Joel for almost 20 years. Writing has been my way of making sense out of something that on the surface makes no sense: a beautiful boy with a damaged brain. I’ve been in a wrestling match with God for all these years – like Jacob, wrestling the angel, it has impacted my life in a significant way. It’s ironic—like Jacob, I have a damaged hip (literally! From a snow-shoeing injury!). But I’m also on a first-name basis with my God, because I’ve spent so much time with Him.

2. You say in the introduction that this is not a book about a parent’s immersion in autism research, or about a child’s recovery from autism. Do you feel this might keep people from reading the book?

I hope not! I don’t know about you, but I get tired of researching therapies and reading about other parent’s stories of “cures” for their children. It’s not that I don’t research, or that I don’t pray for healing for my son. I do. I’ve spent a lot of time on both. But I can’t let my entire life be circumscribed by that mentality—that my son is not “whole” if he is not “cured.” I remember watching a video years ago. It was called “Come Back, Jack,” and it was about a family’s struggle to heal their son of autism. It was beautifully done, and it won several awards. But I came away from it thinking, “I wonder what will happen to this mom and dad if their son is not cured? How will they survive?” That video was instrumental in helping me realize that I had to find another avenue to come to acceptance of my son Joel, just as he is, autism and all; behaviors and all. Then I could continue the research for therapies, etc. But only after coming to a place of acceptance, first. By the way, the producer of that video, Robert Parrish, recently wrote a book entitled Embracing Autism. His son was not healed of autism. But Robert found his healing in accepting his son, just as he is.

3. You write not only about Joel’s melt-downs, but about your own. What have you learned, in living with Joel’s autism, about dealing with intense emotions?

I’m not proud of my melt-downs, but let’s face it. Parenting a teenage boy is hard enough—add autism and an anxiety disorder to the testosterone, then add a menopausal mom, and you have a combustible situation! The amazing thing is, every single time I reached the end of my rope—every time I said (yelled, growled, snarled…), “God, I’ve had it. I can’t do this anymore. I give this situation to you. I give Joel to you”—God intervened. Every single time. Sometimes He sent me a person. Sometimes He gave me a Scripture. One time He arranged a trip to Palm Desert, California (you’ll have to read about it in the book!). Often He filled me with an overwhelming sensation of peace and calm in the midst of the storm. Now, whenever I feel like life is careening out of control (as we prepare for Joel to move out of the house this coming spring, anxiety tends to be an issue) I remember and re-call those situations when God intervened.

4. It seems as if Joel has been a spiritual teacher for you. What is the most important lesson he has taught you?

I think the most important lesson Joel has taught me is live in the present moment. Because he was unable to sit still for more than two minutes as a kid, Joel and I spent a lot of time at a county park near our home. It’s called Parky’s Farm. When we were at Parky’s, Joel was perfectly content. He could wander around freely. He’d chase the geese, throw stones into the pond, watch the clouds, be mesmerized by wind blowing through the trees. He was totally, 100% present to his surroundings. Me? I’d be going through my mental list—groceries needed, dinner to be made, how many piles of laundry were waiting in the basement, the friends I’d like to be meeting for lunch, etc. I hardly saw my surroundings! Gradually, though, over the sheer number of repeated days at the park, I came to see the beauty in Joel’s way of being. He was living in God’s time—Kairos—while I was living on clock time—Chronos. Kairos started looking more and more appealing to me. So I began to relax, to let myself experience walnut leaves fluttering to the ground, to see clouds breaking up and re-forming before my eyes. I am a student of meditation, and have been since before Joel was born. Suddenly, I realized that I could meditate as I walked through the park, with my eyes wide open! Blood pressure drops, breathing slows, muscles relax, and the peace of God envelopes you. Truly amazing!

5. Autism impacts the entire family system. We learn a little about Joel’s two brothers in the book, but not a lot. Can you tell us about their relationship with Joel today?

I studied disability’s effect on the family system in grad school, and I learned that siblings of children with disabilities definitely get the short end of the stick in a lot of ways. A friend of mine calls them “second bananas.” So often, the child with a disability gets the lion’s share of the attention. We sought out some family counseling when the boys were young, because it was obvious by one son’s acting-out behavior, and the other’s withdrawal, that something needed to be done. The counseling was very effective. It’s amazing how powerful it is to get pent-up feelings out into the light of day, especially when you have a nonjudgmental listener to referee the sessions. The other side of the coin is that sibs of children with disabilities often express a great deal of pride in their disabled brother’s or sister’s accomplishments, because they realize the challenges they have overcome every single day. These sibs develop an ability to look past a person’s outer wrappings to discover and admire the person within. When Justin was 9 or 10 he said, “I think God gave Joel to us because he knew we would take extra good care of him.” That was pretty sophisticated theological reasoning for a 10 year old! I think both of my guys are better people for having grown up with Joel. I think they are more compassionate, thoughtful men. My middle son, Justin, and his wife Elizabeth, often spend the night with Joel when my husband Wally and I go out of town. They enjoy taking him to the park or to the zoo, getting pizza and watching a movie. Joel adores Elizabeth. He’s constantly saying “Elizabeth’s my sister!” Joel’s always been a sucker for a good-looking woman! We’re thankful to have our son Matt back home. He’d been out on the west coast for the past 7 years, so having him nearby again is fantastic. Joel enjoys hanging out with Matt and his dogs—they go for hikes in the woods behind our house.

6. You end the book with a chapter entitled “Letting Go,” which is something all parents of children with autism will have to do sooner or later. You write, “There is a world out there for him to explore, people to meet, experiences to enjoy.” How is this process going?

We’ve found what we believe is the perfect place for Joel to live. It’s a community of choice for adults with autism, called Safe Haven Farms (www.safehavenfarms.org) , and it’s located on a gorgeous 68 acre horse farm just 45 minutes from our home. It’s a brand-new community, and my husband and I got in on the ground floor of the planning stages. Wally’s on the board, and we’re both on the parent’s committee. There will be four houses to begin with, with four people each—everyone has their own bedroom and bath, with a big common area and kitchen in the middle of each house. The “farmers” will grow their own fruits and vegetables, which they will eat as well as sell at local farmer’s markets. They will grow flowers for sale and for craft items, as well. There will be all sorts of animals, including horses, and a therapeutic horse-back riding program. The residents will help care for the animals and the grounds. There will also be a day-habilitation building with a therapeutic arts program, a learning center, a sensory room, and a community room. Eventually, we hope to have an indoor pool as well.

As excited as we are about the opportunities at Safe Haven Farms for Joel, it’s a roller-coaster of emotions, thinking of letting him go. As you know, raising a child with autism is an intense experience. Joel’s leaving is going to rip a hole in the fabric of our lives! But we believe that this is the right thing for Joel, and the right thing for us. Wally and I have always had a dream of running a retreat center. We recently found the perfect place—a mini-farm not far from Safe Haven Farms. We purchased the property last year, and are in the process of renovating, dreaming, and planning. We keep telling ourselves that we will see Joel every week—that we will have him home for regular overnights—we will take him to church—we will go on outings with him. It’s not like we’ll never see him again! But we still tend to get teary-eyed every time we sit down to talk about his leaving. It’s going to be hard!

To order your copy of AUTISM AND ALLELUIAS, go to Kathy's website

or Amazon.

Kathy is doing a webinar on Thursday, April 8th, at 2:00 PM EDT. Join her; Rev. Bill Gaventa, editor of the Journal of Religion, Disability & Health; and Ginny Thornburgh, program director of the Interfaith Initiative, American Association of People with Disabilities for this presentation on autism and disability ministries. The panelists will address:

• The gifts children and adults with disabilities bring to our church communities
• The transformation that can take place when we open our hearts, minds and doors to those who live with disability
• The steps we can take to become more welcoming to people with disabilities and their families
https://www1.gotomeeting.com/register/400446400

2010-03-31T08:03:00.000-07:00

SAVASANA

Woohoo and I are taking a Yoga class from a Lithuanian woman. I love her heavy accent and actually find it helps me to focus, as I have to work so hard to understand her directions. She throws extra letters into her words, heart becomes hearlt. Roots becomes rloots. Sitting becomes seating. I love her and everything about her.

But as much as I love her, I want to fly completely below her radar. I want her to notice me not a bit. I want to come in, lay down my mat, disappear, and when I am done, leave. I don't want her to come over to me and help me readjust into the correct position. I don't want her to tell me with a bright smile, "Yes! This is it! Beautiful!" like she does with the others. I don't want her to have an opinion of me or my efforts one way or another, and this neurosis is just one of the many reasons I've stayed clear of Yoga for lo these many years.

On Sunday I went for a bonus class, Woohoo was still out-of-town on Spring Break and Rojo was otherwise engaged. I sneaked into the studio, found a low profile position and had almost made it entirely through the class, escaping her notice entirely. We were in Savasana - relaxation pose, also called corpse pose - I was home free. Nothing to do but lie there and breath, I mean, how can you screw up corpse pose?

Over she comes, grabbing my ankles and tugging on them gently. "Give it to me," she says. I open my eyes (corpses have their eyes closed), and she is looking at me with such tenderness it is more than I can humanly bear. She nods, repeats, "Give it to me." I "give it to her," having no idea what "it" is, but I make every effort to Raggedy Ann my legs and let her move them wherever it is she sees fit. I think I'm done, eyes closed, I breathe, relax, and suddenly she's at my temples. "Give it to me," she says.

I think it was a matter of a language barrier, I'm sure she was talking about my tension, trying to say "let go, relax," but there's something much more powerful in the phrase, "give it to me" than there is in the command, "relax." It's as though she were asking me to turn all my worries over to her - if even for a moment.

Maybe she was.

Maybe I should.

Maybe.

* Photo from www.yogaflavoredlife.com

2010-03-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

THE LIST

We have a ghost at our house, not just any ghost, it's my dad, actually. He loves to take things that are/were in plain view and make them simply vanish. He's been doing this for years. He's taken keys that were lying right next to purses, knives that had just sliced bread, and on Sunday, he took my grocery lists.

Gone.

They were there, everyone saw them, and then they were simply not there. I'd written them on extra-large Post-Its, so I thought perhaps they'd inadvertently stuck to the bottom of something else. I searched the house, my purse, both cars, even drove back to New Seasons where I'd dropped off a bunch of plastics to recycle, thinking maybe they'd stuck to the bottom of that.

No.

And so it was that Sunday afternoon found me shopping at Target, Safeway and Trader Joe's without a list. It was at first so disorienting, as I am a slave to the list and shop in a logical pattern throughout the store according to said list. It finally dawned on me that a list is nothing more than a shopping agenda, and perhaps its time to lose the agenda.

And the only thing I got home without that I really needed? Walnuts. And turns out the recipe was fine without them.

Thanks, Dad.

* Photo from www.savola.com

2010-03-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

ENOUGH

What's the difference between giving up and letting go?

What's the difference between settling and surrendering?

What's the difference between ambition and discontentment?

What's the difference between striving and having aspirations?

What's the difference between being restless and having a calling?

What's the difference between narrowing your focus and closing doors?

What's the difference between dreaming and not being present?

What's enough?

* Photo from www.wisebread.com

2010-03-27T08:14:00.000-07:00

GRAVITY

That's an interesting word, don't you think? Gravity? Both in the law of physics sort of way and in the very serious way. Gravity.

April is right around the corner and is Autism Awareness month. If you aren't already gravely aware of autism, you will be. The statistics are staggering. It is impossible that your life will not be somehow touched by autism, perhaps minimally, perhaps with great gravity.

Rojo's educational assessments have all been conducted, and early in April STM and I will sit down with a school psych, a special ed teacher, a speech path and an autism specialist, and learn of their verdict. He either will or will not have an educational diagnosis of autism at the end of that meeting.

And none of it matters, he will still be the same amazing, brilliant, complicated, enlightened being after the meeting as he is right now. The only difference will be the direction his paper trail leads towards his future.

There are days when Rojo's uncertain future overwhelms me completely. I am covered in fear and doubt and well, the gravity of the situation. Then there are days I bask in his presence and think I am the luckiest woman alive, and to spend the rest of my life enjoying his daily, delightful company is a fate saved only for the most truly blessed.

GRAVITY PULLS YOU IN is a gorgeous anthology written by parents of children on the spectrum. Many of my fellow Hopeful Parents writers are contributors, as well as our own Drama Mama who has, I'm just going to go ahead and say it, the best piece in there.

Because this book hits me so close to where I live, I'll be honest, I put off reading it for a long time. Didn't know that I wanted to spend my free time reading about what I live. I ordered the book and then just let it sit there for weeks, afraid to "go there."

I am not only glad I went there, I'm glad I basked in the wisdom, honesty, diversity, different perspectives, and community of these fellow travelers. Whether you are a traveler or experiencing autism from your armchair, you will be moved by this book. Let the gravity pull you in.

2010-03-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

WHO'S YOUR COWBOY?

As we approach Autism Awareness Month in April, Monica Holloway, author of Cowboy & Wills, has teamed up with Autism Speaks to launch Who’s Your Cowboy?, a Facebook application where users can upload the story of their own “Cowboy.” Readers have been posting wonderful stories of relative/friend/dog/cat etc. who changed their lives.

The winning stories will win a signed copy of Cowboy & Wills and a “Who’s Your Cowboy” T-shirt (with art from the book).

Come on over and tell us YOUR story!

2010-03-23T07:32:00.000-07:00

SPRING BREAK

It's Spring Break around here, Woohoo is off on some big adventure, Rojo and I are together 24/7. Won't be blogging much, but can be found at every neighboring park, playground, ice cream shop and Dairy Queen within a three mile radius.

love.

2010-03-20T07:05:00.000-07:00

DOUBLE DATE

"Mom, let's go to the park and play basketball and then let's go to Dairy Queen and get a milkshake."

It is a gorgeous spring evening and so I agree to his requests. He runs upstairs to change from his uniform into basketball clothes. We get the calculator which he will hold in his right hand and use as a scoreboard, and a big red and black (go, Blazers) basketball to hold in his left hand. We drive to his designated park even though three parks are within walking distance of our house. He finds a court, Flicka and I find a spot in the sun and we find a bench on which to watch/wait/clap/cheer and help sing at "halftime."

We have two quarters, there is no telling him that when you divide the game into two, you end up with halves and not quarters, there are always two quarters, never four. "Mom, we'll have an eight and a two," he shouts over at us on the bench as he takes a few warm-up shots.

"A real eight minutes," I say, zipping up my jacket all the way to my chin - there's a sudden breeze and I can already tell I'm going to get cold sitting here if his "eight" turns into a 20.

He dribbles, shoots, scores, calculates, coaches, plays the fight song and is the on-air commentator for the greater part of 20 minutes. "Let's not be in a hurry," he says, reading my mind. "When we're done let's swing on the red swing and then do the tittie-totters." I fight the urge to tell him nearly fourteen-year-old boys should not be saying tittie-totter, and instead, agree to not be in a hurry.

Meg Hutchinson's new song, "Hard to Change," has been running through my head for days (when Hannah Montana's "Best of Both Worlds" isn't), the lines, "I can barely hear you, over these machines, turn them all off, and tell me 'bout your dreams," loops through my brain and I look over at Rojo. He's forced me to turn off all the machines and just be with him, "not in a hurry."

"Mom, when we are done we will go to Dairy Queen and get a small vanilla milkshake with a long red spoon and we will not be in a hurry to drink it. We will sit there and we will not be in a hurry. We will just sit there. You will not be in a hurry. Don't forget. Don't forget to not be in a hurry."

Meg's lyrics cycle back around, "Want to hear the silence in my life, but I bought all these tools to save time, well if they save so much - then where's all mine?" What's the point of having high speed Internet, DVR, answering machines, cell phones, etc., if I don't' have time to watch an eight and a two basketball quarters, and sit beside my beautiful son in a plastic bench and watch him drinking a small vanilla milkshake with a long red spoon?

"Mom?" he looks up at me between bites, "we're having a double date."

And we did.

2010-03-19T05:04:00.000-07:00

CONTRACT COLLISION

It was Amber at Believing Soul that urged me to read Caroline Myss' Sacred Contracts. That book changed my life, my view of the world, and helped tremendously in losing the victim mentality. I "found" Amber's blog, through Jerri's blog.I can't quite remember when or how, but I know that through the years we've learned a lot about each other in a way that's intimate, despite the fact we'd never met.

Deb walked into my living room and into my life three years ago and nothing's been quite the same since. We have a sacred contract with each other that feels old, feels easy, and feels important.

Wednesday - St. Patrick's Day, notice who remembered to wear green - the three of us got together. Amber was in Portland for a quick visit and Deb and I met her for lunch.

Three believing souls coming together in person, long after they came together in spirit.

No accidents.

2010-03-18T06:07:00.000-07:00

I'm at HOPEFUL PARENTS today - see you there!

2010-03-16T10:41:00.000-07:00

THE DEFENSE RESTS

My father was a defense attorney. He was paid to defend people who had clearly broken the law - get them off on technicalities, reach a plea bargain, have the charges dropped.

Defending yourself was the name of the game at my house. I was not taught to "own" stuff, to say, "Hey, you know what? You're right, I'm sorry." Defend. Defend. Defend.

It is very much in both my nature and my nurture to go straight to, "Oh, yea, well, what about YOU?" when called on something.

You know what? It's exhausting. I think there's something to be said for at least checking in when criticized, at least stopping temporarily and asking yourself, what part of this is true? at least considering it before dismissing it entirely. As Eckhart Tolle (my hero) says, "Relationships are not here to make us happy, they're here to make us conscious." So often we learn most from those with whom we disagree, but it's just no fun.

And so, for me, for now, the goal is to let the defense tactics rest. I don't have to make others wrong to be right, and the surprise discovery? I don't even have to be right at all, it's enough that I'm here reaching for the light and doing my best, as flawed as that might be.

It's enough.

* Photo from www.mass.gov

2010-03-15T05:53:00.000-07:00

HEAD TRASH

A friend and I have been e-mailing about our own struggles to recognize, and then excise, ego from our lives, or at this point, even tiny parts of our lives.

"It's all just head trash," she said.

I'm finally starting yoga, been three times in fact now. It's been on my To Do list for about five years, make that ten. It's hard to justify adding one more thing to the already packed schedule and stretched budget, even when doing so makes all the sense in the world. What finally put the yoga puzzle into place is it's something Woohoo and I can do together, and both benefit from. Never mind that she's nearly 5'8" and weighs in under 110 lbs., it's just one more challenge for my ego to feel good about myself as I stretch and bend alongside her.

I find myself trying so hard to be at yoga when I am at yoga, and not be in my head with the endless lists running on continual loop. So little of what runs through my head is of any real value or concern, so much of it is head trash. If it's not my ego replaying a conversation, then it's just one "Don't forget to_________" after another.

I think that the next person/doctor/therapist/vet/dentist/orthodontist/teacher that says, "Just have him/her do _________ once or twice a day," might very well receive a volcanic eruption of my head trash.

There is simply no more room. My brain space is a Tandy computer that has reached it's maximum storage capacity. It's running sluggishly these days and needs a whole system clean up. Large chunks of what I've been storing need to be deleted, dragged to the trash, and deleted again. When the "Are you sure you want to delete?" question comes up, I need someone to help me say, "YES," make all the head trash go away and never come back.

Then I could put "breathe" on my list, "be," "stretch," "listen," and "love."

* Photo from http://weblogs.cltv.com/features/health/livinghealthy/yoga

2010-03-14T09:16:00.001-07:00

CAREGIVER SURVEY

Are you the caregiver of a child(ren) with special needs, of any age? Complete this survey and you will be automatically entered to win a Target gift card for either $50 or $100!

2010-03-13T12:26:00.000-08:00

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL WORLD

And my friend, Michelle O'Neil has a beautiful blog, I hope you're all reading it on a daily basis.

Our mutual friend, Courtney Sheinmel is a beautiful writer with more than one beautiful published book, with more beautiful ones on the way (including one with characters named Carrie and Michelle, btw).

Go to Michelle's blog and watch the trailer.

It's beautiful.

Love.

2010-03-11T08:21:00.000-08:00

"If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." That was what I heard growing up.

That is what I believe.

So.

I'll be back when I have nice things to say.

Until then: love.

* Photo from photbucket.com

2010-03-08T12:15:00.000-08:00

PART OF ME

Two mornings in a row I've awakened from nightmares involving Flicka. Just like when I was a new mother and I dreamed I'd left the baby somewhere, or went to the closet to get a pair of shoes and there was the baby in a shoebox - you know the ones.

Two nights ago I dreamed I walked into my dad's house (he's been dead nearly 14 years), and opened the freezer in his garage. There was Flicka! She was fine, despite the fact that I was the one that had shut her in an airless, FREEZER and forgotten all about her!

Last night I dreamed I suddenly realized I'd forgotten all about Flicka and she had been locked in my car for 24-hours straight - no window rolled down, no food, no water, no potty breaks. I went running to the car when I finally remembered her, and some family was picnicking on the grass alongside where my car was parked. I then noticed someone had picked the lock on the car and one of the back doors of the car was open. Flicka had been let out by a stranger, a concerned, well-meaning stranger. When I found her she was happily lying on the backseat waiting patiently for me.

What part of me have I put in the freezer (deep freeze, even), perhaps as long as 14 years ago?

What part of me has not given myself enough oxygen, food, water and breaks, and has required that well-meaning strangers come and provide me the access to those?

2010-03-06T14:04:00.000-08:00

FOR GOOD

In a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago, FOOD FOR THOUGHT, I mentioned three questions asked in my Mary book:

1) Who am I?

2) What is my gift I give to the planet?

3) What is my purpose in being here this lifetime?

The comments from that blog posting have been really interesting, and it tells me I'm not the only one struggling to answer those questions. And really, could there be three more important questions? Really?

Caroline Myss does a lot of great work around our sacred contracts, the agreements our souls made before being incarnated into this particular lifetime. I believe there are people we've agreed to meet, agreed to marry, agreed to give birth to, agreed to break up with, agreed to buck up against, agreed to be hurt by, agreed to work alongside with, agreed to be related to, agreed to learn from, agreed to teach, agreed to love and agreed to struggle to love.

For me, reflecting on those agreements is helpful in answering the three biggies.

Who has helped to show us who we are, and aren't?

Who has helped us see our gifts, and what are not our gifts, and come to acceptance that we are simply not good at some things, and that's okay?

Who has helped us see what is, and what is not, our purpose on this planet?

I've had more dreams lately in which I'm cleaning up other people's messes. I'm pretty sure that that is not one of my purposes in this lifetime, but I keep struggling to learn that.

I've been listening to Wicked's "For Good" a lot this week, it's such a reminder of how our sacred contracts are not played out in isolation, but through relationship.

And it's all for good.

2010-03-04T14:48:00.000-08:00

"One day I just said... What if this is just what I look like, and nothing I do changes that? So how much time would I save if I stopped taking that extra second every time I look in the mirror to call myself fat? ... And it turns out I save about ninety-two minutes a week. I can take a pottery class."

- Margaret Cho

* Photo from www.chemistryland.com

2010-03-02T06:03:00.000-08:00

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

Flicka Link, Flicka Link, Flicka Link. Saying it three times never fails to make me smile, if not giggle out loud. She's a delight. She's well-behaved. She has no communication disorders whatsoever. When I ask her to do something, she never has a better idea., she simply does it. The closest thing she has to a need that is special is her diet, one for "sensitive stomachs." She is in all ways, a wonderful presence in our home.

We really talked to the person at Guide Dogs a lot before getting her, about how to make sure she knew she was not the family pet, but Rojo's companion, Rojo's buddy, Rojo's responsibility. We did little things like have him meet her first, while we three stayed back. He took the leash, he learned the commands, he fed her first (and remains the feeder), he, he, he, he, he.

And it has worked.

That dog knows to whom she belongs.

Never did we consider that Rojo spent 13 1/2 years dog-less, and then the next day had a 24/7 companion, and that might overwhelm his circuits. He loves her, don't get me wrong, he grins from ear-to-ear constantly, and he doesn't even have to say "Flicka Link" three times to get that effect. But he's taken his responsibilities very seriously, and keeps internal track of when she last peed, ate, pooped, got brushed, etc., etc., etc., and well, I don't have to tell you, that's a lot for anyone!

What has evolved is his occasional arrangement of care for Flicka, so he can arrange some personal time for himself. It's a good arrangement. Turns out the boy that never wanted to be alone and sought constant companionship from us, has a greater need for solitude than anyone would have guessed.

Flicka Link, Flicka Link, Flicka Link was worth getting just for that.

2010-03-01T05:36:00.000-08:00

SHEDDING

I grant you I'm only 3+ weeks into this and I may change my tune, and likely will, but for now, for today, for this moment, I'm really glad we got a dog that does shed. We hear labs shed profusely two times a year, and a little all year long. Up until Sunday we hadn't seen a stray hair of Flicka Link's (x3), but then we spotted a few, and a few more, and a few more, and pretty soon I took advantage of a the warm spring day and the Shed'n Blade, and Flicka Link (x3) and I headed for the patio.

"It's the undercoat that sheds," we'd been told. "You gotta get it with a Shed'n Blade, but be careful not to hurt her. Get a bag and capture all the hair or your whole yard will be full of hair - enough to clog the lawn mower."

Flicka Link (x3) laid down happily on the warm concrete (it's not called cement, btw, you all know that, right? Cement is an ingredient, concrete is the finished product, just a little service announcement for my friends in the concrete biz). I brushed and brushed and brushed and brushed. It was rhythmic. It was soothing. It was peaceful. It was, dare I say, healing.

Her undercoat is definitely shedding, she is losing what she is no longer in need of. She is done with it. The spring is coming and she simply has no further use for it. And she is smart enough to allow someone else to help her take it all away, gather it in bunches, stuff it haphazardly in a bag, and just dispose of it.

I want to shed profusely twice a year and a little all year long.

2010-02-25T13:57:00.000-08:00

TECHNO FEVER

STM and I have been toying with getting DVR for MONTHS but always stop short because neither of us had the wherewithal to investigate the cost, installation, etc., etc. etc. To say our energies are stretched, is to minimize it. We knew that actually having DVR would make our lives nicer, but getting DVR might push us over the edge.

So.

I e-mailed the one friend I knew with DVR then put on my Facebook status that I knew zero about DVRs and needed to be told, step-by-step, what to do and how to do it.

And I got answers in about 2 minutes! REALLY helpful answers! Doing my work for me kind of answers! Taking all the guess work out of it kind of answers. The best kind of good type answers!

And now we have DVR.

But nothing programmed.

So tell me, what are y'all watching that I need to be watching and am not? Of course Survivor: Villians vs. Heroes is a given, as is "Desperate Housewives," but that's all I know.

Tell me. Let's fill this puppy with good bad TV!

2010-02-24T16:57:00.000-08:00

There is a movement to get SENSORY PROCESSING DISORDER added to the DSM-5. Please help us to add this important condition. By clicking the above link you'll be given all the instructions.

Thank you!

* Photo from www.spdbayarea.org

2010-02-23T12:23:00.001-08:00

I DON'T KNOW

Just came home from ANOTHER pre-eval meeting to update Rojo's IEP. Because we are now having him evaluated - educationally- for autism spectrum disorder, we've had to start over from scratch. Just calling and saying, "Hey, could you add one more thing to the eval?" doesn't fly. Nope. You have to meet all over again, say everything you've already said, stammer in all the same places, look around the table hopelessly for someone to jump in and rescue you, then go home and fall apart. All. Over. Again.

Today I feel like I know nothing, have no answers, have nothing but a bleak future to look forward to, and really, have made one poor decision after another. After another. After another.

But that's just today.

And that's the nature of bureaucracy. And the nature of being a small cog in a very large wheel. And the nature of parenting in general, maybe. I don't know.

I don't know where Rojo will go to high school. I don't know what Rojo will do or where he'll do it after high school. I don't know what will happen to Rojo, where he'll live and what he'll need as an adult.

I don't know.

And that's the difference between special ed parents, we know that we don't know. Nobody knows, but we know we don't know.

And that's a powerful knowing.

* Photo of Saraswati, goddess of knowledge, from www. z.about.com/hinduism

2010-02-22T15:33:00.000-08:00

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

In the Mary book I was telling you about, there is a section on challenges. The message is to stop resisting them, do not become emotionally involved with them, and in fact, enjoy them - they are learning experiences - LEARN.

I'm learning. More growth opportunities. Or, as someone I know calls them, AFGOs, another you-know-what growth opportunities.

To help with the AFGOs there is an exercise in which you make three lists, or answer three simple questions: 1) Who am I? 2) What is my gift I give to the planet? 3) What is my purpose in being here this lifetime?

Three little questions, so easy, right? I find myself avoiding these like the you-know-what plague.

Yesterday Rojo announced he'd like for Woohoo to babysit Flicka, as he really could use some personal time. "I just need an hour with no one needing me. I just need an hour all to myself. I just need to be ALONE." Where, oh where, has he heard those words before? And why is it easier for me to tell you who he is, what his gift to the planet is, and what his purpose is for being here in this lifetime?

Could it be that that is the answer? To share those answers?

It could be that you-know-what simple.

* Photo from www.yogalifestyle.com

2010-02-20T09:00:00.000-08:00

THE WAILIN' JENNYS, "AVILA"

Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen
Never have you fallen upon this town
Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen
Never have you fallen upon this town

The black crows are loaded
With the call of things discarded
The ribboned shard of battle
And everything burned
Have they forgotten we live here
Do they think that we gave up
Lay down and grew over
Weeds at every turn

Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen
Never have you fallen upon this town
Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen
Never have you fallen upon this town

I will not rest
Until this place is full of sunlight
Or at least until the darkness
Is quiet for a while
And we will not wait
For that murder to come calling
The night will simply fall
And the morning will rise

Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen
Never have you fallen upon this town
Oh sweet peace, when will you come calling
When will you come calling upon this town

This is one of my favorite songs. Period. There are also people in my life that have never known sweet peace, and when I hear this song, I can't help but think of them, and pray that it will come calling.

Amen.

2010-02-19T14:28:00.000-08:00

ADDICTION

I ever so gently urged my husband towards what I considered to be a really great thing to "fast" form during Lent. He said, "If you get to choose mine, I get to choose yours," so of course, that was the end of my great ideas.

I knew what he'd pick: the computer. I can't completely fast from the Internet and e-mail as I use it to manage life (beautifully, I might add), but there is no question it's gone from a tool, to an addiction, something I get twitchy after just a couple hours without.

So, I agreed that I would turn off my computer at 5:00 PM each night and not look at it until the next morning.

It's brutal.

It's flippin' killing me.

Which just goes to show you how bad the addiction is. So, I have missed blogs the last few days and am sparse with mine - sorry. You'll understand though, right?

One day at a time.

* Photo from: sentinelleader.blogspot.com

2010-02-18T18:25:00.000-08:00

Come see me at Hopeful Parents today! Thanks!

2010-02-17T13:43:00.000-08:00

BLESSED

Today is Ash Wednesday, and I have the black smudge in the shape of the cross on my forehead to prove it. I went to the Children's Mass at Rojo's school today, and slipped in the back, sat by myself, even though I knew 90% of the people sitting in the large, sunny church.

This, for me, is a time of quiet, this 40-day period marked with ashes to commence it, and Easter as the culmination. I could use a 40-day quiet period, go ahead and ask any of the people that have to live with me, they'll tell you, I'm wound tighter than a tick and as much as Flicka is a calming presence, I need more. I need forced quiet. I need external boundaries set on me that insist I take it down a notch or ten, and enter into a reflective period.

The church was packed and there were four stations to receive ashes, and later to receive communion. Although I am baptized and confirmed in a church, I am not in this church, and thus, I do not receive the blood and body of Christ, I receive a blessing. I have a "thing" about the blessing, unless I am seated in the section that is going to end up going in the priest's line, I just skip the whole thing. I don't want some regular person blessing me. Besides, the priest is one that really gets it, and when I do go through his line, he stops what he's doing, lays his big warm hand over my whole entire head and says my name. Then he delivers a fresh and personal blessing each and every time, and I swear to God, I can feel the blessing pulse from my head throughout my body as this holy man says the special words he's chosen just for me.

Today, however, after choosing my place of isolation in the back, I was not going to make it into the priest's line. When I looked up to see just who was doing the communion for my region, just out of curiosity more than anything else, it was Friend #2. I thought, why not?

I was the last person in the whole church to go through any of the lines, everyone was either on their way back to their pew or down on their knees waiting to wrap it up. Friend #2 might have very well wanted to give me the standard blessing in the name of time, but Friend #2 is not that kind of person, she is Holy with a capital H and she laid her hands on me and said, "May the blessing of the Lord be upon you." Then she reached over, grabbed my whole neck towards her and into an embrace and said, "ALWAYS."

One word made all the difference.

"Regular" people are capable of bestowing pretty awesome blessings.

May the peace of the Lord be upon you.

Always.

2010-02-16T09:37:00.000-08:00

MARDI GRAS

Today is Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, the day before Lent, the last hurrah before a period of sobriety and solemnity. Traditionally, Lent is observed through prayer, penitence, giving or "fasting." I have done a little of each throughout the years, and have struggled to determine what I'm going to do to honor Lent this year.

Yesterday on our walk, Kathleen told me about a conversation she had about me, with someone else. She was telling someone about some of my struggles and part of my healing journey. Of course it was my story, and I know it well, so the surprising thing was that it sounded different coming from her. I actually learned something from my story.

It was a gift - to be told my story, by someone that has walked alongside me, literally, for ten years. Someone that has listened without judging, someone who came along after the healing began, but has been instrumental in moving it forward. Someone who has helped keep me on track as life has occurred, threatening to derail me more than once.

What I've decided to do as a result of that conversation, is make that my Lenten journey - to pray for the others in my life, fasting from judgment, giving in compassion, and with any luck at all, helping to reflect back to them, who they are.

* Photo from badexample.mu.nu

2010-02-15T19:23:00.001-08:00

You remember this, right?

And then Mr. Downer died on the vine and I chopped him off abruptly and without ceremony?

And then it looked like this.

Well, on Saturday I noticed something funny about the plant, all the stems growing towards the light were now jetting out at me. I can't tell you how many times I stopped to look before I figured out what was right in front of me, the STEM had straightened itself, the leaves weren't bending! Cutting off Mr. Downer had changed things at the SOURCE.

All I'm sayin'.

(P.S. I think Michelle O'Neil was right, the plant needs a bigger and better pot. It's getting one tomorrow.)

2010-02-15T07:20:00.001-08:00

This will be short, I have a dog lying across my stomach and my arms can barely reach around her head and to the keyboard. Yes, she is on a bed. Yes, we made a strict No Dog on the Furniture rule. Yes, that has been broken by me, the rule maker. There's no telling where all this will end up!

2010-02-14T05:52:00.000-08:00

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

"Fill my heart with Love,

that my every teardrop may become a star."

Hazat Inayat Khan

LOVE.

*Photo from www.bodminlive.com

2010-02-11T19:11:00.000-08:00

When you listen generously to people they can hear the truth in themselves, often for the first time.

Rachel Naomi Remen

The golden rule in writing is show, don't tell. I'm learning that might just as well be the golden rule of life.

*Photo from Flickr

2010-02-10T20:21:00.000-08:00

DROOLY

Flicka remains perfect. She sleeps when she's supposed to sleep, she pees when she's given the command, "Do your business," she eats on schedule, doesn't beg, has yet to make a sound and is about the cutest thing you ever did cuddle. She gives great hugs and kisses and thinks she's a lapdog. Perfect, right?

We've found her flaw.

The dog drools.

And drools.

And drools.

We had dinner at the table last night (2x a week whether we need to or not), and she slept peacefully at our feet the whole time. When we got up, so did she. There, where she had just lain, was a wet spot! No way had she peed, but we couldn't figure it out. Then we started thinking back to all the other various wet spots we'd seen, or wondered if we'd seen, that didn't smell but could not be otherwise explained.

Tonight as we watched our 20,000th episode of "Seinfeld," (ironically, the one where Poppie pees on Jerry's couch), I realized her whole chest was wet! She'd been sleeping in a way that her massive amounts of drool had totally wet the front of her.

So, she's not perfect after all, she's human.

And we love her.

Drool and all.

(Photo of Drooly waiting for Rojo to take a shower.)

2010-02-09T19:54:00.000-08:00

THE FEMININE FACE OF GOD

I talk a lot about Mary, and for some of you from non-Christian traditions, that may rub you the wrong way - I hope not. To me, Mary isn't "just" that Mary, Jesus' mother, she is the feminine face of God. She is Tara. She is Kwan Yin. She is Demeter. She is SHE.

STM gave me a great book for Christmas, Mother Mary's Teachings for the New World. The book agrees with me, but that's not the only reason it's great. It's channeled work and I know there are those that don't "do" channeled work, but I invite you to read this book nonetheless. Even if you think it's all hogwash, you will be comforted by the book and find wisdom and more importantly, profound love from every page, for that is Her message - the love of a mother - a good mother, a holy mother, the mother of God.

A couple excerpts:

On talking about death and eternal life: "This is the destiny that God has intended for you - to have eternal life. This is why the frequencies on the planet are rising now. It is preparing itself for you to live eternally. But you, too, must prepare yourself to receive this and to be ready to walk heaven on earth. When you say, "I want to create heaven on earth, " this is not a light statement you are saying, and it is of the very light. Take this seriously: You will be challenged to let go of whatever it is that you are doing that is not creating heaven on earth. Every single speck that is left within you that is not creating heaven on earth must be brought forward."

On judging others, the question for Mary was, "Is it good to ignore the behavior of someone else which makes us feel bad?"

And Mary's answer, "My dear child, become more grounded. Become present in all conversations, not through judging others. This creates you to become not present. This still keeps you apart from the situation, for you are not addressing yourself, you are projecting unto others. Address the situation. The question is: 'How does one use one's power without coming into the ego to overpower? How does one state what one wishes to experience in life and be inharmony with others who you are intermingling with? Is this not the question?'"

That's the Mary I know. Love her.

2010-02-09T06:46:00.000-08:00

TOP 10 THINGS I DID YESTERDAY INSTEAD OF DOING WHAT I WAS "SUPPOSED" TO DO

10. Walked the dog in the sunshine

9. Let the dog fall asleep on my feet and then couldn't/didn't get up until she woke up

8. Petted the dog

7. Stared at the dog and marveled at her beauty

6. Took more pictures of the dog

5. Brainstormed all the possible names for my new book about the dog

4. Walked the dog in the sunshine. Again.

3. Threw the ball for the dog in the backyard

2. Wondered how I lived all these years without this dog

1. Decided I'd used my day very wisely

2010-02-06T18:34:00.000-08:00

TOP 10 BEST THINGS ROJO SAID TODAY

10. Mom, you're the best mom.

9. Mom, you're a fun mom.

8. Mom, I already love Flicka.

7. Mom, I am going to have Flicka for 25 years.

6. God bless this household, I love that dog.

5. Mom, God bless your three kids, Woohoo, me and Flicka.

4. I am a really good dad to Flicka.

3. This day just couldn't get any better.

2. Thank you.

1. Hell-alluia, I'm happy!

(Top photo taken by Rojo)

BTW, Rojo calls the Colts in tomorrow's Super Bowl. Get thee to Vegas.

2010-02-05T19:35:00.000-08:00

TELL ME

No picture today, but don't let that fool you, I took approximately a million. Couldn't find any without Rojo looking directly at the camera with the biggest look of pure joy you've ever seen on another human. Would love to share them with you here, but alas, not part of the blogging rules I agreed to way back when. So, just picture this: a boy, a dog, two dimples, tail wagging. All. Day. Long.

Just got a postcard in the mail from Guide Dogs saying they received my online application, but due to the volume of applications they receive, and the limited number of dogs available for adoption, it could take up to two years.

Or two weeks, as the case may be.

Tell me Mary doesn't have her hands all over this. Her dog loving, all knowing, heart changing hands.

Tell me.

2010-02-04T19:47:00.000-08:00

INTRODUCING, FLICKA LINK!

First of all, not enough can be made of the name Flicka Link! I mean, REALLY! Don't you just feel happy saying it? Next time you get the blues, try saying Flicka Link three times fast and I bet you smile in spite of yourself. Am I not right?

"C," Flicka and Rojo walking the grounds of Guide Dogs of Oregon, getting to know each other.

Practicing commands and using positive reinforcement.

"C," Woohoo, Flicka Link and Rojo-de-do-de-do

Using "tie down" under my desk - I know it looks mean, but this tells the dog, "You can relax now, you're off duty."

See?

Right by Rojo-de-do's bed, no more checking on him every 8 minutes! : )

And to all a good night.

2010-02-03T12:25:00.000-08:00

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING TWO IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS!

FIRST of all, Deb and I are thrilled to announce our spring line up of writing classes! We're offering a morning class in Portland, Oregon, a night class in Battleground, Washington, and an online class. If interest in the online class exceeds the six person limit, we'll offer a second class of that.

To get more information and to check out our fun new class blog, go to: Writing the Breathings of Your Heart. Both our e-mail addresses are there, please feel free to ask any questions you may have.

Secondly, I spent the morning on the phone with the woman from Guide Dogs. We did an interview, and since she lives near me and was working from home today, she also came by to do the in-home "inspection." Let me tell you this folks, it's better to have a ten-minute warning than a ten-day warning that you're going to have a guest. I could only do so much, and let's just say, she got an accurate view of our home, not the OCD view I'd have preferred her to have.

We are going out tomorrow afternoon, all four of us, to meet Flicka/Flicker/Flickers. If she's a match as far as Guide Dogs and we are concerned, she'll be coming home with us.

OMHOG!

Now, stop thinking about our dog and go sign up for our writing classes!

* Photo from nutmeg.easternct.edu

2010-02-02T11:31:00.001-08:00

WEEDING

Had a dream last night that I was all dressed up, skirt, heels (more specifically, pink Barbie-like shoes), and was outside in all the neighbors' yards, plucking their weeds for them. I was fully sneaky as they really wanted their weeds in their yards, and would be mad if they saw me out there digging them up for them.

In the dream I was clear those were noxious weeds and needed to come out. Not only were they an eyesore to me, they were toxic to the neighborhood.

But.

They weren't my weeds.

I don't get to choose when it's time for for others to "weed."

Much as I want to.

* Photo from watersecrets.blog.com

2010-01-31T18:48:00.001-08:00

Picked Rojo and his friend, Razzle Dazzle (RD), up from school on Friday. Play date. These two have been friends since kindergarten, and thank God for RD, because every couple of months Rojo reports, "RD wants to come over - been awhile since he's been here." And so RD's mom and I get our heads together and make it happen.

And it happens.

So Friday Woohoo was otherwise engaged and I took the two boys out for ice cream, part of Rojo's master plan for the play date. Rojo ordered Bubblegum and RD, a man after my own heart, ordered Espresso Chip. The three of us sat round the table, they eating their ice cream with spoons, Rojo tapping, humming and kicking happily while RD and I visited.

"Rojo won a water bottle today!" RD tells me excitedly.

"Oh, yea?"

"Yea, it was Walk & Bike to School day, and everyone that walked got to enter a raffle for a NIKE water bottle. Rojo turned to everyone at the table and said, 'I know I'm going to win that water bottle,' and guess what? They called his name! He knew it!"

Rojo continued to eat, kick, hum and tap, unimpressed with his own powers.

And that's just one of the things that makes him so impressive.