OH, MY HELL OF GOD!

Just got my Internet restored after about 20 hours of funky service.

Thought I would DIE!

How am I supposed to read blogs?

How am I supposed to check e-mail?

How am I supposed to Google each and every thing that pops into my brain?

How am I supposed to check the weather report?

How am I supposed to SURVIVE?

Besides, really wanted to tell you all about the hole in Rojo's mouth I just noticed this morning, and then the weird little white thing on his BEDROOM FLOOR I almost vacuumed up before realizing it was a tooth.

Besides, really wanted to tell you that I just got back from the naturopath's office and now have a new stock of bio-identical hormones, which should help significantly with the near PANIC I am experiencing.

Besides, really wanted to inform you that according to the receptionist/also-a-naturopath-that-specializes-in-mental-health, upgraded me from Internet ADDICTION, to Internet DEPENDENCY.

Besides, really wanted to get all this out of my brain and onto the "page" before it shorts out again and I am left stranded with only my own unexpressed thoughts!

TALKING DEAD

I am not a fan of talking "live." In fact, I have such an unbelievable and irrational fear of it, it's crippling at times. I needed to order STM a gluten-free cake from the local bakery. Total phone time? 1 minute. Total number of minutes spent trying to figure out if it could be done on-line? 30. Total number of days it took me to work up the courage to call? 5. Total number of hassles when I did finally call? Zero.

Once I actually get on the phone, I'm fine, it's the thinking about making or accepting the call that's anxiety provoking.

What is UP with that?

I might be more inclined to work on it if the good Lord hadn't invented Caller ID and the Internet. Not a day goes by that I don't give thanks for those tremendously thoughtful inventions.

My mom has neither - she just up and answers the phone each and every time it rings - can you IMAGINE? And when she has a question, she just picks up the phone to call someone to answer it. Unthinkable.

Woohoo takes after her, she thinks nothing of calling a store to see if they're open, checking on an item, or ordering something to go.

I want to be more like her when I grow up.

SPIRIT WEEK

This week is Spirit Week at Rojo's school.

However.

We talk about Spirit Week the other 51 weeks of each and every year for going on six years.

"Mom, when is Spirt Week this year? Is there going to be a Crazy Day? Are people going to wear crazy clothes? Do I have to wear crazy clothes? Are people going to have crazy hair? I do not want to have my hair crazy, I do not want blue hair. I do not want anyone to make their hair blue this year, Mom. Are people going to wear their hair blue this year, Mom, on Crazy Day?"

But all weekend I heard this:

"Mom, Monday is Pajama Day, I am just going to wake up and boom, wear my pajamas to school. You will say, 'Rojo, go get dressed!' and I will say, 'I don't have to get dressed, Mom, because it is PAJAMA DAY!'"

"Tuesday is Hippie Day, what am I going to wear for Hippie Day, Mom? Do I have to talk like a hippie all day? Do I have to have a hippie accent? Do I have to speak Hippie? What do hippies sound like? Can you teach me some Hippie?"

"Wednesday is Hawaiian Day and I am going to say, 'Aloha!' I am going to say aloha all day long. I am going to talk Hawaiian. I am not going to wear my swimsuit to school. I am not going to dress like Hawaii, I am going to say aloha all day on Wednesday."

"Thursday is Sports Day! Should I wear my Louisville Cardinals shirt? My Oregon State shirt? My Oregon shirt? My Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens one? How about Texas Tech Red Raiders? Maybe Boise State Broncos? Which one should I wear, Mom? Which one should I wear for Sports Day, Mom? Which shirt should I wear on Thursday when it is Sports Day, Mom?"

And then back to the blue hair conversation.

And back.

And around again.

Friday is not the only thing going crazy.



* Image from http://school.discoveryeducation.com

Dear STM,

Today you are 50, that's nothing small,
Half way to a hundred, and that's not all.

Your body, it feels the age,
But the good news? You've become quite the sage.

I've loved you in your 20's, your 30's, and 40's,
We've journeyed through much, or Lordy!

I couldn't love you more if I tried,
In our love I will abide.

MENTAL ILLNESS OR WELLNESS?

Ever since I heard an interview on NPR with author Ayelet Waldman, (in)famous for writing the words, "I love my husband more than my children," I've been thinking about something else she said. She herself is bi-polar, and she says you can always tell who else is bi-polar because they're either the ones at the party over-sharing, or they're memoir writers.

I'm sure she was partly being funny.

I'm sure she was partly serious.

I'm sure I'm partly concerned I might be bi-polar.

But I don't think I am, and I don't agree that all memoirists are by definition.

Still, she's definitely right about one thing - memoirists are in a class of their own - they're willing to let you in, REALLY in to their lives, their problems, their joys, their struggles, and maybe most intimately, their thoughts.

Was in a discussion about this very thing last night and one woman said about another memoirist, "She just writes what I'm thinking."

Exactly.

And to me, that's the point.

We are one.

What affects one, affects the whole.

We are more alike than we are different, and if we don't have brave souls out there willing to stick their necks out to show us that to be true, than we remain isolated.

So maybe we do it because we're bi-polar, or didn't get enough attention as a child, or are exhibitionists, or extroverts. Or maybe we just do it because we believe that's the only way we, and the collective, will ever heal.

So we can move on.




* Photo from www.beaconlearningcenter.com

TAKING TURNS

Had an epiphany while frustrating myself in the kitchen last night (doesn't take much). STM being gluten-intolerant has required me to step it up in that department, and it's been a big step. I'm baking gluten-free brownies, I'm making gluten-free pasta, and last night I tried making gluten-free pizza dough - well, actually the whole pizza, not just the dough.

Had one cabinet open to get the pizza tray, opened a drawer to get a knife, knocked into the corner cabinet and just had to laugh: how like me. How like me to want it all NOW. I can have it all, the knife, the bowl, the pizza tray, just not ALL AT THE SAME FLIPPIN' TIME. But really, moments within each other if I just relax, closing one door allowing another to open.

Allowing one door to close.

Before opening another.

WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

Try to get past the 80's, pulled-through-a-cap-frosted hair.

Try to get past the heavy eye make-up,

Try to get past the obvious irony I was going for by holding up a plate of cinnamon rolls and juxtaposing them against the NIKE signage.

And then you'll "see" the girl that first fell in love with STM.

Woohoo asked the other night at dinner, "How did you two meet?"

Well, there is some disagreement about HOW we met, but we do agree on where/when we got to know each other, and that's when we were both sweet young things working for NIKE.

The day after our dinner table conversation STM brought home this picture, IN A FRAME, that he's had on or around his desk, ALL THESE YEARS.

How sweet is that?

MORNING MANTRA

I have a friend that's been in and out of my life for 28 years. We connected easily and quickly and no matter how long goes between e-mails or visits, our paths appear to be parallel and it's just a hop, skip and a jump from his path to mine, or vice-versa.

E-mailed him awhile ago to say, "Do you think we have karma?" He wrote back in about 5 minutes, "Old and deep."

That's what I'm talking about. Easy. The fact that he's gay doesn't hurt, either.

He wakes up each morning with what he calls his Morning Mantra. Sometimes I'll just send an e-mail with only "MM?" in the subject line, and wait to see what comes back. His MM is always apropos for me that day - of course.

Yesterday he voluntarily sent his Morning Mantra to me: "The highest level of sophistication and enlightenment in this world is simplicity." This speaks to my theory that developmentally disabled individuals are amongst the wisest.

Today I woke up with my own, and first, Morning Mantra: "Write every stone," which I took to mean, leave no stone unturned in terms of writing - write everything, get into some of those last deep, dark corners and write them out. Clear them. Release their hold, their energy, their power.

It won't be sophisticated and it won't be simple, but it's sure to be enlightening.

MARY, QUEEN OF HEAVEN

I've written about Mary before and my affinity for her, but she is making her presence known a lot these days, so I told her I'd toss her another bone.

And she laughed.

Because Mary is nothing if not funny.

I'm not sure just why I love her so much.

Maybe it's the fact that she raised pretty much the most "special" boy ever.

Maybe it's the fact that to me she represents the divine feminine, the "energy" that I think is sorely missing on our planet today.

Maybe it's because when I talk to her she listens - there is a deep sense of being heard - and understood - that brings me a sense of calm that I don't get anywhere else.

For my birthday in February a friend gave me Mary Seeds. (To order, click here.) Little clay bits with the image of Mary, Queen of Heaven stamped upon them. The idea is to plant them, literally, where you want Mary to grow. I've done me some planting, and I keep a few seeds around for more figurative planting. Got one on my desk, in my purse, in my car, and always in my pocket.

I've given Mary Seeds to friends, she is helping to sell houses that desperately need to sell, she is helping to build schools, she is re-building marriages, she is healing and blessing left and right.

And always, she is love.

May is Mary's month - her presence is particularly felt this month - let's go big with it.

SUMMER READING LIST

Had all the moms in Rojo's class over on Friday night (well, almost all, 18/29). Everyone brought a book that they'd already read and really liked and we did an exchange. You know the kind: the kind that involves drawing numbers, stealing and laughing.

Here is a list of all the books exchanged - maybe you'll get some ideas for your own summer reading lists.

Enjoy!

1) Everything I Needed to Know About Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume

2) The Story of Edgar Sawtelle*

3) The Birth of Venus*

4) Ishmael*

5) The Zookeeper's Wife*

6) Dry

7) Behind the Bedroom Door

8) It's a Chick Thing

9) Paris to the Moon*

10) The Summer of Naked Swim Parties

11) The Friday Night Knitting Club

12) Love and Other Impossible Pursuits

13) The Hours

14) Watermelon

15) The Last Lecture

16) Peace Like a River*

17) Love in the Time of Cholera

18) Agatha Christie

* On my own summer reading list, the others I have either read or they just aren't up my alley.

"Nearly all of us receive our first lessons in peaceful living from our mothers, because the need for love lies at the very foundation of human existence. From the earliest stages of our growth, we are completely dependent on our mother's care and it is very important for us that she expresses her love. If children do not receive proper affection, in later life they will often find it hard to love others."   H.H. The Dalai Lama

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers and all you "mothers." You make a difference. 

love.

MOTHER'S DAY COME EARLY

Remember when I wrote about our front window failing? Well, it's taken us awhile to order and install a new one - not exactly our first choice of where to spend money, but it needed to be done.

Thursday, as an early Mother's Day present, STM arranged to have someone come help him install it. It arrived over a week ago and has just been sitting in the living room. I'm having 20 women in my house this morning for a support group meeting, and 20 different (actually some are the same) women over tonight for a 6th grade moms book exchange/Margarita party. He knew getting the new window OFF the living room floor and IN the wall, would make me very happy.

Smart man.

Then he really outdid himself.

TOP 10 THINGS STM DID TO MAKE ME VERY HAPPY

10. Got the new window in

9. Got the old window hauled away

8. Painted the trim of the new window

7. Arranged to have his friend the window washer come over and wash BOTH sides before I got home

6. While he had the touch-up paint out, he painted the big "ding" on the silverware drawer in the kitchen

5. And the one by the dishwasher

4. And the one on the basement door

3. And then he did the RISERS going up the stairs

2. Then he mowed both the front and back lawns

1. And edged them

THAT, is abiding love.

My book club is reading LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA. It's been on my list of books to read for 21 years. Worth the wait.

I was grabbed when early in the book, and mid-way through their 50 year plus marriage, the husband comes out of the bathroom and informs his wife there hasn't been soap in the tub for a week.

She knows perfectly well it's only been three days.

They fight for months over that, neither one backing down.

Many years later when the man is too elderly to bathe himself, there's a beautiful scene of the wife tenderly and lovingly spending an hour bathing him and helping him to dress.

When he dies his look is full of love, and his last words to his wife are: "Only God knows how much I loved you."

Abiding love.

TEACHER APPRECIATION

It's Teacher Appreciation Week, and I for one don't even know where to begin with my appreciation for all the various teachers in my life, and my children's.

Thank you.

Times one million.

Our PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) has a special week planned at Rojo's school, and the kids were given a couple 1/2 sheets of paper and asked to jot down a kindly message to a teacher or two. Taking a gamble I gave four to The Wonder That is Jenn and hoped she'd be able to get some response out of Rojo.

Up popped this e-mail today:

Carrie,

If you can meet me before school gets out today that would be great. I have Rojo story/stories that will bring you to tears. Not with laughter, but pride. He is so stinking cute, I can hardly handle it. Let me know.
Thanks,
Jenn


I was able to get to school a few minutes before he got out, and Jenn had made copies of the SIX teacher appreciation notes he'd written just today, with vows to make more tomorrow. "I'm going to make ALL the teachers one."

Which is darling.

But not as darling as the fact that he peered over the top of his glasses staring off into space, deeply contemplating just the right words to put down for each teacher. DIFFERENT words, hand crafted for each one.

"Jenn, what's that 2nd grade teacher's name? I'm going to do one for her," Jenn told me.

He was stumped, though, because he never had this particular teacher, but that was no excuse not to be appreciative.

So instead of telling her what a great teacher she IS, he just advised her to BE a good teacher. Good advice, you gotta admit.

He's really loving the creative writing "rotation" he's in. "Jenn, if I just write CW will Mrs. Martin know what it stands for?"

She assured him Mrs. Martin will understand.

I just hope she, and all the other teachers, understand our full appreciation.

"Love is simple
I worship this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in
Love will not elude us"
From the song "Simple" by K.D. Lang

You know how it is when you hear or read something and you get that, "Ahh yes, that's IT" It just resonates. For so long I made love complicated. I discounted tenacity. I failed to see any beauty in struggle. But really, that's what abiding is all about.

SIMPLE
By K.D. Lang

Flawless light in a darkening air
Alone...and shining there
Love will not elude you

Love is simple
I worship this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in
Love will not elude us

Love is simple
Be sure to know that

All in love
Is ours
And love, as a philosophy
Is simple

I am calm in oblivion
Calm, as I ever have been
Love will not elude me
Love is simple
Be sure to know that
All in love
Is ours...
Is ours...

That all in love
Is ours
And love, as philosophy
Is simple...
And ours...

To see K.D. perform this song, click here!

ST. KATHLEEN

A mutual friend of Kathleen's and mine recently pointed out that I always get cranky when Kathleen is out of town or otherwise engaged, and our walking schedule gets interrupted. And our walking schedule has been wildly affected because of her saintly taking to and fro of Rojo to Outdoor School, then last week her parents were in town and she had to go and be all good daughter on me. Again with the saint.

Could be the lack of endorphins that's causing the problem, the whole cranky problem that is, because God forbid I walk a step without her! Won't. Do. It. Feels like torture.

But it's more than that. It's the loss of who and what grounds me.

According to Wikipedia, "a connection to ground limits the voltage built up between power circuits and the earth, protecting circuit insulation from damage due to excessive voltage." And if I know anything about electrical engineering (stop laughing), that's a good thing to protect oneself against.

So that's exactly right, that's what Kathleen does for me, she protects against damage due to excessive voltage.

I am nothing if not full of excessive voltage.

And I'm nothing without St. Kathleen.

BAD PICTURE, GOOD TIMES

Remember when I told you guys I got together with 3 friends from college, and one drove up from Eugene, just for the 1 1/2 hour time together? Well, she was back in Portland on Thursday for a workshop (she's a school nurse) and she had another 1 1/2 hour window of time to meet for lunch.

Long story short, we chose to meet here. Yes, right where the (blurry) picture captured. A little Mexican restaurant close to her workshop so we'd have extra talking time and barely any driving time. It was a sunny (but not warm) day so we decided to "upgrade" to the outside dining area, clearly marked in the above picture. It's that area right under the awning, immediately adjacent to the garbage cans. And in the parking lot. As in cars drove right up to our kneecaps.

But we didn't care in the least.

It has been years and years and years (like 15) since we spent any 1:1 time together, and 90 minutes barely tipped the iceberg, but we did a good job of trying.

One of the things she shared with me as we parted was this: She had a friend in high school, a guy, they were really good friends and then lost touch. Now they're back in touch, e-mailing and texting left and right.

The guy is crippled with ALS. He has use ONLY of his left ring finger.

Only.

After processing all the guilt I feel for taking for granted my able body, I was struck by the profound need we humans have for contact.

And friendship.

HEY, FORGIVE YOURSELF ALREADY

So I've had this whole apathy thing going on, and Wednesday I was driving in my neighborhood and saw the message above: Hey, forgive yourself already. Just there. Just there in all it's colorful glory - a sign, literally and figuratively.

Someone in my neighborhood keeps leaving cool inspirational messages like this in that same place. I always drive by, read them, love them, then promptly forget about them.

For the most part I don't walk around with a ton of unforgiveness, but I've got my share.

Wednesday night I was putting Rojo to bed and was grumpy and hurrying the process along. "You're not mad at me," he said, "you're mad at yourself."

Same message, twice in 24 hours - no accidents.

Time to forgive.

Time not to forget.

Time to promise.

WHEEEEEEL...OOOOOOOF...FORTUUUUUUUUNE!

The nine months I was pregnant with Rojo were the same nine months my dad was actively dying. My dad was a HUGE "Wheel of Fortune" fan, and most of the conversations we had involved that show. Vanna White was pregnant near the same time I was, and the way he felt he was monitoring my pregnancy, was to watch that show each night, see how "fat" Vanna was getting, and let me know.

He died a month before Rojo was born. One of the few things that calmed Rojo during his screaming-filled first months of life, was the sound of that damn show coming on - the song, the chanting of Wheeeeeeeel ooooooooof Fortuuuuuuuune, the spinning of the wheel - click, click, click, click, click.

Throughout these last nearly thirteen years, Rojo's gone in and out of a "Wheel of Fortune" phase. Right now he's back on - in a big way. We play the game constantly, and watch it religiously each night, the six nights a week it's on. We rest on the Sabbath.

He is EXCELLENT at guessing the puzzles, the other night I did one for him and he got the whole thing with only the 3 A's in place.

To watch him struggle to draw the little lines and fill in (correctly) my guesses, is painful, but part of the process. Sometimes it's more than I can bear and I get impatient, my need to do it "right" versus his need to be the one in charge.

But then there are moments like the one we had last night where he marked off the correct number of lines indicating the correct number of letters, with the space in the right spot.

"It's a place," he said with a satisfied look on his face.

I couldn't get it for the longest time, not until I started with A and ran through the alphabet. "H" I finally said.

"Yes! There are two H's!" he said enthusiastically, placing them in the two first letter of the word positions.

"L" I said.

"Yes! There are 3 L's!" he said, filling them in excitedly.

"Oh, my God, you're funny," I said, when I finally got the puzzle:

FIGURES

Just wasn't feeling a blog post today - couldn't get anything going, didn't care, didn't care that I didn't care. Wasted some time by checking my dashboard widget for the word of the day. Wouldn't you just know it: Apathy.

Apathy
One entry found.

Main Entry:
ap·a·thy
Pronunciation:
\ˈa-pə-thē\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Greek apatheia, from apathēs without feeling, from a- + pathos emotion — more at pathos
Date:
1594
1 : lack of feeling or emotion : impassiveness
2 : lack of interest or concern : indifference

FEELING PUNCHY

Getting any kind of details out of Rojo about Outdoor School has been a lot like pulling teeth (raise your hand if you're surprised). In fact, the term "monosyllabic" comes to mind.

"Was it fun?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"Dunno."

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

"Dunno."

And so on.

But, the one thing we've heard about in excruciating detail, is the punch.

"Mom, they had PUNCH at Outdoor School! It's red and they put it in a pitcher and in the pitcher is ice and you pour the pitcher and the ice and the punch comes into your glass. Can we get punch? Can we pour it in a pitcher? Can we just keep refilling the pitcher after it's gone? Can we put ice in the pitcher? Can we just all drink the punch from the pitcher with ice?"

Yesterday my cell phone rang. "Jenn" came up on Caller ID. Jenn is Rojo's aide and that is pretty much the only call I take. No. Matter. What.

She was calling about the punch.

They hadn't been able to get off topic all morning - he wanted the NAME of the exact punch they drank at Outdoor School, and of course Jenn wasn't there so she could only guess. Rojo had poor Jenn Googling "punch" until she found the label he recognized.

"That's it!" he said upon seeing the Hawaiian Punch label.

"Oh!" Jenn said, "That's called Hawaiian Punch."

"No, that's not it then, ours was called Oregon Punch," he said.

HAPPY 15th BIRTHDAY, WOOHOO!

Dear Woohoo,

This week you turn 15, which somehow sounds so much older than 14. You ARE much older than you were a year ago, too. Much.

A year ago you were in eighth grade, middle school, at the end of a long stretch at the same school. You walked in a young five-year-old kindergartner, and walked out a ready-for-high-schooler.

But now you're rounding out your freshman year and are thinking of things like driver's permits, dates to dances, and the shifting sands of friendship.

You're able now to discern the wheat from the chaff, the true friends from the false ones, the ones that have your back and the ones that don't.

Fourteen years ago I took this picture of you with your favorite friend, Bear. He was bright and pink and well-stuffed. Today he is not so much your friend as your pillow. He is still pink if you catch him in the right light, he's shrunk, grainier, his plush has mostly rubbed off. You've made him Real. I swear I look into his scratched up black eyes and a soul looks back at me. Your love did that.

Fortunately, I think you were too young to remember when Rojo insisted on taking Bear to the grocery store one day when you were at preschool. He dropped him and it wasn't until we got home that we realized we'd left Bear. We called the store, we got Daddy, and every manager and all four of us searched every inch of that store until we found him. I never let Rojo touch him again. He takes a lot, but he can't have everything.

I know it's hard being Rojo's sister. The minute he was born the pie got cut disproportionately. You may not get 1/2 of our attention and energy, but I guarantee you get all the love in our hearts.

We couldn't be more proud of you, you are wise and kind, funny and generous. You are honest and sweet, hard working and responsible. And while we may be winding down the number of years you will live in our home, you will always live right in the middle of our hearts.

Happy birthday, Woohoo.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY 5- HE'S HOME!

Bus was due to pull up at 1:30, STM and I were both poised ready at 1:25, nearly frantic by 2:15 when if finally arrived. How did he do? Did he sleep? Was he warm enough? Did he eat? Did he take his meds? Was he up at 5:15 and driving everyone crazy? Did he cry? Was he lonely?

Great.

Yes.

Won't say, so probably, yes.

Not really, but that's okay.

Yes.

No.

I found him first, gave him a big hug which he endured with a smile, but it was Daddy's arms he was looking for.

"So, Mom, did the ice cream truck come when I was gone? Did you remember to take in the garbage and recycling on Thursday when I was gone? What time is Woohoo coming home? Can we go to the park?" HE was full of questions, there was no getting OUR questions in edge wise! He was wearing JUST what I sent him in yesterday, plus a shirt. Why actually CHANGE your shirt, when you can just layer another one on TOP! (He is his father's son.)

Finally - and painfully - extracted that he'd slept until 6:45(!) and then Tsunami took him to the nurses for his meds, and because he was QUITE janked up and the rest of his cabin was asleep, he and Tsunami played tether ball and basketball for 45 minutes until the others woke up.

How do I properly thank a person I've never met, probably never will, but who made it possible for me to sleep Thursday night? I'm putting love and blessings out into the ethers, and praying they find their target.

When St. Kathleen left yesterday she handed the baton to Tsunami and two of his Rojo's friends, one in charge of reminding him to pee, and the other charged with keeping him warm. "I'll just go ahead and lay out his hat and warm clothes on his bed, so we don't forget," said 12-year-old-going-on-40, N.

Several times throughout the day Thursday, Tsunami would flash Rojo the thumbs up sign and say, "I got your back, Rojo, I got your back!" Finally, after about the fourth time, Rojo turned to St. Kathleen and asked, "What does 'I've got your back' mean?" After she explained it was just an expression, that he didn't actually HAVE his back, that it just meant he would watch out for him, take care of him, defend and protect him, Rojo was able to fully relax. I actually think Rojo knew 2 seconds into meeting Tsunami that he "had his back" but nonetheless, always nice to know your back is safe and sound, and nobody plans to "have" it.


I may never meet you, Tsunami, but don't you worry. I have your back.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY FOUR

Woohoo comes home from school on Thursday STARVING, wants to know if I'll make spaghetti with meat sauce. Again. Made it Wednesday, too. But she's now the Only Child and is milking it, and that's okay. That's better than okay.

So I'm standing at my very nice and hardly used six-burner, cobalt blue Viking stove, stirring and simmering and the phone rings. Scares the hell out of me for two reasons: 1) Nobody calls us - I've got everyone well trained to e-mail me instead, and 2) Thought for sure it was Outdoor School calling to tell me there was a problem, since it had been a full hour since St. Kathleen had left Rojo up there, "alone."

It was our attorney. I say that all, "we have our own personal attorney on retainer" type of way, and that couldn't be further from the truth. But we do have an attorney we used five years ago when we wrote up our first and only Wills, and now we're using him again, so basically, yeah, we "have" an attorney. ANYWAY. He called because he'd received our revisions and had a few questions and clarifications he needed made before committing our dying wishes to paper and making them bound by law.

So, what just a few weeks ago had me "janked" and in a funk, was a mild intrusion and matter of fact exchange of information Thursday.

"You have that at age 25 Woohoo becomes the trustee for Rojo. I'd recommend 30."

"Okay, 30," I say, giving the sauce a gentle nudge.

"You have that ________ would have Power of Attorney. Who should I put for STM? I spend 2 seconds considering who should make life or death decisions for STM if I am already dead and he's incapacitated. I supply the name while pouring the noodles over the strainer and giving them a shake.

Five minutes later we've sewed up all the loose ends. Our Wills will be prepared accordingly, and next week we'll sign.

Check, check.

None of this matters to me yesterday, the only thing that matters is that my boy, MY boy, is "alone" at Outdoor School, surrounded by people that love him - old and new friends- and I'm home with my girl, making spaghetti. All is right with the world. This "Rojo overnight at ODS" marked on my Daytimer forever, is now here. Here. Not out there, not coming up, here.

And it's so fine it's funny.

If I could take back all the angst I endured in preparation for this night, I would. Now that it's here it's no big deal. I wouldn't take back all the careful planning, all the ducks in a row, step-by-step way we prepared for this day, starting YEARS ago, but I would remove and effectively dispose of the ANGST.

Now I'm applying this lesson to Rojo's future. If he can do this, he can do lots of things I have not thought possible.

Lots.

Anything.

And everything.

Let the planning, without the angst, begin.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY 3, AND TRUE LOVE

"I'm excited, am I?" Rojo asks as he jumps from the same car that only two days ago he nearly fell from. Partly it's the drop in temperature (40 degree drop in one day, welcome to Oregon), partly it's the fact that on Monday he was apprehensive, didn't know the routine, everything was a guessing game and now he OWNS the place, and partly it's because he's IN LOVE.

The picture above is of Rojo and his "girlfriend," J. He and J. have been "going out" for nearly two years. Could even be three, I lose track. I just know that every time I ask him if J. is still his girlfriend he gets OUTRAGED and says, "Mom! I told you, I'm never going to break up with her!"

St. Kathleen took this picture of the two of them, which is apparently indicative of how they move through Outdoor School. Her, by his side, gently guiding, reassuring, "holding space." Him, offering his undying love in return.

So, J. is his day in, day out, sweet and true love, but the new object of his love is TSUNAMI!

St. Kathleen says Tsunami isn't even bending over backwards for Rojo, but Rojo sees the light in his eyes that says, "I get you," and that has opened the magic door. Tsunami is a seasoned Outdoor School counselor, and specifically assigned to help this week with Rojo and another dear, sweet love of my life that we'll just call PK's son.

PK's son went up on the bus Sunday and won't be home until Friday. PK is a mess. Her son? A. Happy. Camper. Both of us have been worried sick, literally, for YEARS about how our boys would do.

They are fine.

And now so are we.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY TWO

Do you love the irony that Rojo is at Outdoor School on Earth Day? He's been telling me about Earth Day for a few weeks, now, warning me we were going to turn off all the lights, reduce, reuse and recycle more than we already do (which borders on fanatically, already), but he didn't put it together that he'd be like, ON and IN the earth during Earth Day. But he is.

Another really hot day and another day of keeping that hooded sweatshirt ON and over his head - again, the "bees" which means anything that flies. Anything that crawls is a "spider." But he came home less tired, less dehydrated, and more enthusiastic.

"Mom, there's a counselor named Tsunami. He's my BFF. He is going to sleep in my cabin on Thursday when I spend the night. When Kathleen leaves then just, boom, there will be Tsunami. He will just, boom, be my counselor and help me after Kathleen leaves. In the morning I will be all, 'Tsunami, wake up! It's time to take me to the nurse's for my medicine! Tsunami! Wake up! Are you just so excited to see me? Are you ready to go to the nurse's office with me? Don't forget! Promise you won't forget!"

"Mom, Wednesday at lunch I am not going to sit by Kathleen, I am going to let Tsunami sit by me because Kathleen will have me for the whole ride home, but Tsunami will miss me when I leave on Wednesday, so I will just sit by Tsunami so he won't be sad when I leave. Tell Kathleen. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget."

"Mom, we are singing the 'Chicka Chicka Boom Boom' song! You do it in all the funny voices. I like the sad voice. I like to pretend cry and say, 'Chicka Chicka Boom Boom' like I'm pretend crying. That's really fun to pretend cry."

"Mom, today the Field Study counselor's name was Tangerine. Because she's orange, get it?" (Actually, no, I don't, but he seemed to get why she is orange, and that's good enough for me.) "And there's a counselor named Latte, you know, like you like? Latte, like you like, get it? Latte?"

"Don't forget to pack my suitcase. Don't forget to pack my sleeping bag. Don't forget to pack my medicine. Don't forget to pack my clothes. Don't forget, Mom, promise you won't forget."

I've had my reservations that our whole spend-just-one-night plan would work, but it looks like I've been saved.

By a Tsunami.

Outdoor School Day #1

Yesterday St. Kathleen picked up Rojo and away they went to Outdoor School. The rest of the class left on a bus Sunday, but Rojo "does not go to school on Sundays," and besides, asking St. Kathleen to go up four days is A LOT, and a Sunday, too, would be even more than I would ask of a friend of whom I've asked a lot. A. Lot.

We've been going over (and over and over and...) the plan for ODS for MONTHS. He and St. Kathleen (my BFF and his one morning/week aide for the last six years) would be "day students." They would leave at 8:00 and get there at 9:00, and stay until 4:00 and get home at 5:00, just in time for garlic toast, which all of you know by now, happens AT 5:00 PM sharp each and every single day. (Yes, there was a time we were on Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but that, my friends, was but a phase. A. Brief. Phase.)

"Mom, am I janked up? Am I excited for Outdoor School? Am I hyper? Am I just so excited? Am I going to get there at 9:00 and leave at 4:00? Am I going to be janked up when I'm there? Am I going to FREAK OUT if there are bees? Am I just so excited?"

One big blanket "yes" from me, and the litany started again, and again, and again.

Sunday he was triple "janked" and Monday morning he was "janked" times 10. Poor St. Kathleen.

The sun was shining and it was a perfect 80 degree day up on the mountain, an auspicious beginning.

St. Kathleen hit traffic and didn't get home until 5:30. A very tired and overheated Rojo nearly fell from the car. But once we fed and hydrated him - and striped him of his extra sweatshirt he'd insisted on wearing to keep him safe from bees - he came back to life like a flower, and the stories began.

"My counselor's name is Griz. Who the hell has Griz for a name?"

"We went on a HIKE. A LONG hike. I do not like hiking."

"We had cabin time. I am in K.'s and N.'s cabin. They were really janked up when I got there because they were so excited to see me."

"I did not eat the lunch. I am never going to eat the lunch. I just had the Johnny Jump-Up get me water. I will just drink water every day at lunch and make the Johnny Jump-Up get it for me."

After dinner he went digging around the house looking for our old walkie-talkies - apparently the adult counselors at Outdoor School use them, and he's hoping nobody will notice if he gets in the game. I successfully convinced him to leave them at home with the promise of playing on them ALL morning and ALL night with him, instead. Can't talk now, gotta go talk on the walkie talkie...

This is sure to be a week that will change lives, probably the least of whose is Rojo's.

* Photo of Mt. Hood, near Outdoor School

THE SECOND CUP

Has enough been made that I went from fully caffeinated to very little caffeinated?? I am not really interested in becoming totally uncaffeinated, though. I have my "cup" (12 oz., give or take a few) a day with the perfect amount of 1/2 and 1/2, in the perfectly selected mug each day, and I am happy, happy and more happy.

So happy, in fact, that I ALMOST always think, just one more. What's so bad about just one more?

And usually I distract myself out of it by saying, "I can't have one now, but I can have one later. Maybe."

But there are days those little games don't work, and I go to the bother of making just one more "cup."

It's never as good as the first, and I almost never drink more than 2 sips of it.

As it grows cold and I then pour it down the drain, the perfect amount of cream sticking to the sides and looking icky now, I think, how many other things do I think I want, but really don't?

There is going to come a day when the coffee loses and I win. When I finish that cup of perfect joe and sit back, eyes closed, and bask in the perfection of it.

With gratitude.

And nothing else.

They say enlightenment comes at the end of desire. I figure if I can start with the coffee, it's downhill all the way.


* Photo from flickr.com

"Penetrate the heart of just one drop of water, and you will be flooded by a hundred oceans." Mahmûd Shabistarî

Someone e-mailed me and wanted my opinion on whether two people with seemingly disparate religious views (Conservative Christian and Buddhist) could make it as a couple.

My opinion is yes, yes they can make it. "Opposites" make it work every day and twice on Sunday. But what concerns me more is the question. It was the Conservative Christian's hesitancy to getting involved with the Buddhist that concerns me.

It's the doubt.

Doubt will bite you in the ass every time.

My opinion is that Jesus and Buddha line up on MOST things, and there isn't a whole lot to fight about when you both agree love, peace and compassion ROCK. There are lots of good books on the subject, and if two people are entering coupledom with wide open hearts and minds, I'd like to believe anything is possible, in fact likely.

But again, it's the question that concerns me. It's the looking for trouble. It's the doubt.

The Dalai Lama says this: "Faith dispels doubt and hesitation; it liberates you from suffering, and delivers you to the city of peace and happiness. It is faith that removes the mental turbidity and makes your mind clear. Faith reduces your pride and is the root of veneration. It is the supreme lake because you can easily traverse from one stage of the spiritual path to another. It is like your hand, which can gather all the virtuous qualities."

Thoughts, Readers? The person that asked the question reads this blog. Many of you are Conservative Christians. Many of you are Buddhists. Many of you are in partnership. What do YOU think?

OUT WITH THE OLD

Cute (and functional) as this Rubbermade "nightstand" has been for STM all these many, many years, I just went NUTS and bought the man a new one!


And it was an IMPULSE purchase! Was just walking by an antique store and saw it in the window. The price, size and color was right, and the few dings just makes it match the one on my side, all the more.

STM will be 50 in a month, we've been married forever. It's time to get our bedroom out of the college dorm look, and into something resembling permanence.

HAUNTED HOUSES

Had a counselor in grade school named Mrs. Knott. Loved her. Every once in awhile she would come to our classroom and teach us some lesson about cliques, peers, and our feelings. Looking back now and knowing what I know about public education, we probably shared her with several other schools and maybe once a week she came to our school and was supposed to perform miracles in her 8 hours a week there.

She performed a miracle in my life.

In fifth grade some guy named Ken was working on his thesis project at the University of Oregon, and he was looking for a bunch of kids to act in the Halloween movie he was making. He needed names of kids that would be good.

Mrs. Knott gave him my name.

Not sure why. I'd done no acting in school (not that there was any opportunity) and as far as I could tell, I didn't stand out when she came to our room on those rare occasions.

But there are no accidents, so she suggested my name and the next thing I knew Ken was calling my mom and it was all set up.

I played a trick-or-treater (it was called "Trick-or-Treat") and for months we stomped all over the U of O campus - the Pioneer Cemetery in particular - and made a cheesy 1/2 hour movie that showed on cable. Twice.

There was a crypt in the Pioneer Cemetery that we used in our filming, as well as the front of Deady Hall for the haunted house. We never actually went IN the crypt or the "haunted house," the camera would show us with our hands on the door, then cut away.

Close, but no cigar.

That became a pattern in my life - get right up to the scary and dark places, but don't go IN. Cut away.

But eventually we must. We must go in to those scary and dark places. All the way in.

And shut the door, maybe even let it slam shut behind us, and stay there until we make our own light and find the way out again.

Thank you, Mrs. Knott.





* Photo of Deady Hall, University of Oregon

If doubt is challenging you and you do not act,     doubts will grow.  Challenge the doubts with action and you will grow.  Doubt and action are incompatible.  John Kanary (I'm nuts about the daffodils in my front yard.)

FOUR RANDOM AND TOTALLY UNRELATED WOOHOO AND ROJO STORIES

1) So O,magazine had a really good article on mothers and daughters talking about sex. I read the article, asked Woohoo to read it, then asked her if she had any questions.

"Just one," she said. Oh, boy, I thought, here we go...

"Where was I conceived?"

Not really where I was going with that...

2) My mom gave each kid Easter cards with $5.00 in them, Woohoo got a $5 bill and Rojo got five ones. He, within seconds, doled them out, two for STM (his favorite, just ask him, he'll tell you, and that works-beautifully-for me, since that means his "favorite" can get up at 5:15 each morning and make garlic toast), one for Woohoo and one for me, keeping one for himself.

"There," he proclaimed, "now we all have some."

3) Yesterday Woohoo came home from school upset - lots of drama (we don't miss that about high school, do we?). She was venting and Rojo was uncharacteristically quiet and attentive. He finally raised his right index finger, swept the air with it and in his best Josh from "Drake and Josh" voice said, "Don't forget the I-word, irritated!"

4) I forgot what the fourth one was, but the point is, they're cute.

REUNION

Just got home from having lunch with three friends from college. One of those things that you can never plan, but sometimes they just happen - you know the times - serendipitous.

Syncronistic. 

Holy.

It all started when one friend (whom I hadn't seen in 7 years) found my blog and left me a comment to e-mail her. We arranged to have lunch today.

That would have been wonderful, in and of itself. I owe the "girl" a lot - she was the one that pointed out I was meant to be an Elementary Ed. major, and I never looked back.

But then a friend from Florida e-mailed to say she'd be in town visiting her brother for Easter, and could we get together. Hadn't seen her in almost 2 years, and before that it was like 10.

So we would be three for lunch, as "Florida" went to both high school and college with "Elementary Ed."

Then on a whim I let "Eugene" (2 hours south of here) know of our meeting, and she said she doubted she could make the trip. Hadn't seen "Eugene" in 3 years. Think about her all the time.

I've got family in Eugene and she's got family in Portland, but it's hard, don't you know, hard to put all the pieces together.

Until fate takes over.

She surprised us. She drove 2 hours up and 2 hours back for a 1 1/2 hour lunch with three old friends.

I don't know why all I really want to do is sit in a corner some where and cry.

The lunch was lovely.

The women are lovely.

And maybe that's the "problem." How'd I let them slip away?

Yea, yea, life is busy, kids, jobs, moves, blah, blah, blah.

But still.

Guess what matters is they're all back in my life now.

Maybe when I need them most.

Probably.

(Photo of Memorial Union at Oregon State University)

BLOODY FANTASTIC

If that doesn't work, click here!

Happy Easter!

(Guess what word Rojo was saying over and over again while he bellowed from his bed, waiting for the rest of us to awaken?)

ANGER

Last week when I interviewed Suzanne Finnamore, she responded to a comment, and her response was so wonderful, it bears repeating for those of you that may have missed it:

SHE (short for Shelia) said...
Great interview. Makes me want to read it again since I'm grieving right now.

The anger stage is the worst.

Doing and saying things that you wish you hadn't is hard.

Needed someone to remind me that the things I said (and wrote even) in anger (stage!)are based on feelings/beliefs that will pass! That is very HELPFUL FOR ME TODAY!

9:41 AM


FINNABLOG said...
to SHE

when i wrote Split, i discovered my raw manuscript had approximately 90 pages each of Denial, Bargaining, Grief, and Acceptance....and 300 pages of ANGER.

In books as in life, i had to cut a lot of the Anger out in order to see my creation realized.


;)
suzanne finnamore


Here's to cutting a lot of Anger to have our creations realized.


* Photo from photobucket.com

TOP 10 REASONS YOU SHOULD NEVER VOLUNTEER IN YOUR SPECIAL NEEDS CHILD'S CLASSROOM - Alternately titled: TOP 10 REASONS YOU SHOULD ALWAYS VOLUNTEER IN YOUR SPECIAL NEEDS CHILD'S CLASSROOM

10. You get to see how all the other kids are doing
9. You get to watch your kid in action
8. You get to see your kid WITH the other kids
7. You get to see how all the NTs (neuro-typicals) are developing
6. You get to spy on your aide
5. You get to get down on your knees and kiss the ground she walks on, because if it weren't for her, ain't no way your kid could make it. For. An. Hour.
4. You get to see how tall/short/skinny/fat/pubescent/non-pubescent your child is compared to all the other sixth graders
3. You get to see how the teacher copes with him/her
2. You get to see how far there is to go
1. You get to see just how far you've come

ON A ROLL

I pick up Rojo on Wednesday and he's all red faced from PE as he climbs into the back seat and slams the door shut. The PE teacher (love her, hi, Liz!) is right behind him. "Did he tell you?" she asks (chances are HIGH he has not).

"What?" I ask.

"I was like the NCAA champion in PE. Our team, UCONN, WON! I got SIX baskets! At the end I. PICKED ME UP! I was body slamming everyone! I'm like the CBK, College Basketball KING! I was on FIRE! I was just like Brandon Roy! I was ALL OVER that net!"

He beamed.

The PE teacher beamed.

I beamed.

He continued to tell me all about his conquest for the full 15 minutes it took to drive to Woohoo's school.

Then he announced he hadn't seen M. in a long time, and he'd really like to. M. is not just another GIRL, she's practically a woman - a 7th grader, the cougar! So, he was wondering could we please call M. just the very second we got home and see if M. could come over, because after all, he's the CBK, and she doesn't even know that yet, and well, he'd just really like to tell her.

Don't forget.

Woohoo wasn't in the car 2 minutes before she took matters into her own hands and called M., cell phone to cell phone and had the whole thing arranged.

I just noticed that since he became the ladies' man, he stopped asking me to sit in the living room and watch him play basketball.

I don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

Is there a gluten free Bible? Because I'd like to start BANGING IT!

I cannot BELIEVE the difference in STM in just a few days. DAYS!

We're getting both kids tested immediately, and regardless of the tests, we're moving them (and me) in that direction.

I'm sold.

Watch out - I'm quickly becoming "one of those people."

LADIES' MAN

Picked Rojo up from school yesterday, he pulls me aside conspiratorially and says, "Mom. We need to talk. We need to have A. and C. over to jump on the trampoline. I can read their brains, and they are bored. They can come to our house and then they won't be bored."

I agreed and Rojo turned to A & C and said, "Okay, girls, go home, ask your moms and get your swimsuits, because it's going to be a sprinkler party at my house!"

They agreed and scampered off.

All the way home it's, "Mom. What should I wear to look nice for the girls? What snacks do we have for the girls? Will you get some towels out for the girls?" The girls, the girls, the girls...

Boy's turning 13 in 3 months.

He's right on schedule.

The girls came, could NOT have been more darling, and a good time was had by all (especially because Portland got record breaking temperatures and that made being soaking wet a whole lot more fun).

When they left he said, "Mom. I really handled the girls well. I did really well having two girls here. I am good with girls. I think they had a nice time."

He's right.

Any girl would be lucky to have him.

But they'll never get him away from me.


(Yes, I'm aware he's painfully thin. Thanks for the concern.)

ABIDE

The same night it got all heavy, deep and real talking about genetic testing, one of the women was sharing that she's pulling up stakes and moving several states away to be with her love.

"It's time for me to abide," she simply said.

"Abide," I said. "I love that. I might have to steal 'abide.'"

"It's free," she generously answered.

As my friend Prema says, that word "dropped deep."

I came right home and looked up "abide" - I had a general working knowledge of it, but wanted every little detail (so me).

Merriam-Webster defines the word abide, as such:
1: to wait for : await
2 a: to endure without yielding : withstand b: to bear patiently : tolerate
3: to accept without objection
intransitive verb
1: to remain stable or fixed in a state
2: to continue in a place : sojourn

I love the word and the concept so much, I'm considering writing a whole book about it. Maybe the sequel to UNSTRUNG?

Tracy Grammer













Lucy Wainwright Roche

















TOP 10 RANDOM FACTS ABOUT THIS WEEKEND

10. It's NOT raining in Portland, OR this weekend, in fact, there's SUN. And just so you know HOW big of a deal that is, Rojo got out the SPRINKLER and set it under the trampoline, put on his trunks and jumped around in 50 degree weather. 

9. I slept 12 hours last night. Twelve. Uninterrupted - not even one quick little wake-up to pee. Just 12 blissful hours. Haven't done that since I was about 14. I highly recommend it.

8. Today we celebrate my mother-in-law's 81st birthday at my house with "chunky chicken," rice, spinach salad and chocolate cake. I'm willing to cook for my MIL. That's how much I love her.

7. I planted new flowers in the window boxes yesterday, and looking out at them now is making me very, very happy. 

6. STM found out he is allergic to gluten! We're EXCITED! Nearly 50 years of feeling like shit, finally EXPLAINED! I am even willing to step up my "cooking" to accommodate this new development! 

5. The doctor wants both kids tested - chances are high they are gluten intolerant, too. 

4. Right now that's #1 on my denial list, but I'll move it to the "Do Something About List," soon.

3.  I promise.

2. There are fewer places in the WORLD prettier than Portland, OR in early spring. Flowers, blooms, glory EVERYWHERE. 

1. STM and I went on a date on Friday - heard Lucy Wainwright Roche open for Tracy Grammer. The date rocked from beginning to end.

NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT LIKE THAT...

The Dalai Lama calls a sense of inferiority, LAZINESS. He says that laziness stops our progress in our spiritual practice. He says inferiority is just doubting our capabilities, which is basically TFBS*, but he didn't use that acronym. (I'd like to think he'd get a big kick out of it, however. Any man that wears a visor and laughs like he does, has a great sense of humor.)

Wow.

Can't talk now - gotta go turn that over.

And over.

And over.



* TFBS = Total _________ BS

CHOICES

Went to dinner Wednesday night with a holy circle of women. We're all writers but we each have at least a couple more descriptors after our name: student, nanny, musician, parent, partner, therapist, yoga instructor, concert promoter, healer, searcher.

We range in age from 33 to 46. We cover many different demographics. Some of us are single. Some of us are married. Some of us have, or are considering separating. Some of us are about to partner with a capital P. Some of us are considering children. Some of us are "trying." Some of us are straight. Some of us are not. Some of us have had abortions. Some of us have not.

In other words, just a typical group of women.

Being the eldest of the group, and having been "done" for YEARS now, it was the first time in a long time I'd been with women considering motherhood for the first time.

The conversation turned to genetic testing (probably because I turned it there). I was curious where these women stood -if after making a very deliberate decision to get pregnant, would they stay pregnant, no matter what?

Let's be clear - I'm pro choice. But when it comes to the "I couldn't handle __________" argument I get all worked up.

I teared up as I told them, "None of Rojo's disabilities would have shown up on a test, and if they had, I would not have thought I could handle it. What I couldn't handle now, is life without him."

And I realized for the very first time, just how true that was.

Autism. Rojo.

There. I said it. The two together. But notice that little period in between? Still like to keep the two separate.

But today is World Autism Awareness Day and mine probably needs a little heightening.

Rojo has many, MANY of the characteristics of those with autism. But because his Behavioral/Developmental pediatrician has repeatedly answered "no" when I've asked him, point blank, if Rojo has autism, I've chosen to believe him.

Funny how it's not a lie if you believe it.

STM and I met with the attorney that did our Wills five years ago. Five years ago we had a pretty standard Will, dividing everything down the middle for the two kids, providing chunks of money (we're worth MUCH more dead, than alive. Much. More.) at certain pre-determined intervals, like college graduation, and all those other things we so naively assumed just FIVE years ago, that our kids would each achieve. We set up guardians until they reached the age of 18. We crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's, we were such good, well-prepared parents.

And so flippin' unaware.

Got a little chocked up when I asked the attorney Tuesday, "What do you know about establishing Special Needs Trusts?" and he said, "I wasn't aware you had a need for one."

Five years ago we weren't aware either.

Almost unforgivable.

But so understandable.

The crying jags and pity parties will have to wait - right now we need to establish a CHAIN of guardians and trustees, to ensure our son is loved, cared and provided for, comfortably, for the rest of what I hope and pray is a long, long life.

And one full of awareness.