THEY'RE BACK

The kinds of deep, powerful, vivid and memorable dreams I had two summers ago that helped to change my life, are back. They took a long break and I missed them, but they are gloriously back and with their return has come an unexpected bonus: I seem to wake up "knowing" what they mean.

I could be wrong, however.

But even if I am, there is nothing better than waking up with a sense of clarity - even if it means you have to now get off your butt and make things happen.

Last night I was standing on a precipice, trying to throw a laundry line from my little edge way over to the other side. How I thought I was going to actually STRING the laundry from the line is a whole other issue. But as I stood there throwing, my foot slipped, and I started to go over. I would have died for sure, but I grabbed on to some measly clump of dried grass and hung on for dear life.

Then I pulled myself back up to safety.

Next dream I was in a car with Deb. She was driving us along a road that was at a 45 degree angle, and to stay on our side of the solid yellow line, we would have had to defy gravity. So we didn't. She drove on the wrong side of the road with all the confidence in the world that we'd be fine, and her confidence filled me, and I, too, knew we'd be fine.

Third dream featured a person I've never actually met but always admired, and one that represents what I'd like to be in my dream of dreams: successful author. In the dream I kept dancing (literally - like a fairy) around this author, unable to speak or make actual contact with them.

When I woke up I knew two things:

1) I love the estrogen patch that allows me to sleep through the flippin' night again.

2) I have been scared, and my fear is what (and only what) is keeping me from having what I want from this life.

Fear is TFBS.

Tonight I plan to dream up my action plan.

Stay tuned.


* Photo from www.avertinghumanextinction.org

NOT HEROES, HUMANS

I was talking to a friend of mine whose sister has a 13-year-old daughter with Down's Syndrome. "You two should sit down together, you are both talking about the same things, how hard this passage is, and how most people just don't get it."

Apparently my friend's sister, we'll call her J., was being praised by a born-again Catholic. He was extolling her virtues. "I'm so proud of your decision to go ahead with a pregnancy in which you knew you were carrying a Down's Syndrome child." Blah, blah, blah he went on, and as he did, J.'s temperature rose. Unable to contain it one more minute she said, "Make no mistake, I am pro-choice. We knew that no matter WHAT we decided, our lives would never be the same. We made the choice we felt WE could best live with, but it's a hard choice. Everything about this is hard. You have no idea HOW hard it is."

And on her good days J. can tell you how much she has learned from raising her special needs daughter, how she's a better person, how she views the world differently, and how her other children will know a kind of compassion and understanding beyond their years.

And on her bad days she will tell you how embarrassing it can be. How taking her daughter into new and unfamiliar situations can drive her to drink, how tired she is of the "toddler years," and how there are days she begs of God, why me?

You see, we special needs parents are just humans, not heroes.

The next time you see one of us struggling with, or enjoying the hell out of our special needs child(ren) in public, smile, and give us our humanity.

Thank you.


(Photo of STM and Rojo looking for drinking fountains. Again.)

HOLDING SPACE

A blog post I wrote awhile ago got so much attention (okay, just by one person, but she REALLY loved it), that I thought I'd expand. I mentioned that Rojo is skilled at "holding space" with another's pain, and that I wished he could teach lessons. Since he can't, I'll try to explain what it is he does.

Quite simply, he moves to wherever the person is, and sits or stands near them, and just looks at them with the most loving look you've ever in your life seen.

He doesn't say a word.

He stands (or sits) until the person is noticeably better. Then he goes back to whatever he was doing. I think he's "namaste-ing" them - his light is greeting theirs. He is seeing their divinity and just bringing his into their sphere.

And maybe that's what his love for the number 8 is all about. As some of you pointed out, an eight turned on its side is the infinity symbol.

He's multiplying love and light to infinity.




* Photo from www.burnside.sa.gov.au

ENOUGH SAID

You know that "Seinfeld" episode where Jerry and George pitch their idea about "nothing" to the NBC execs? (And if you don't, please don't tell me. I like you just the way you are, and if I learn of your lack of "Seinfeld" trivia, it might come between us.)

On the episode the NBC exec. introduces his daughter to Jerry and George, and Jerry asks, "How old is your daughter?" The NBC exec. replies, "15." George says, "That's a fun age." Jerry looks at George like he has two heads, and everyone across the wold laughs hysterically.

I think about that line all the time.

OMHOG

Look what my friend Kario sent me.

The voodoo doll, hmmmm... only one doll and so many possibilities...

And the patch? They work. Perfectly.

I'm over here today, at HOPEFUL PARENTS. Click over and join the fun!

AS SEEN ON TV

Rojo seldom asks for anything. I would say never, but that would be a lie. He asked, repeatedly, for the Touch-N-Brush he saw advertised on TV. He is the WORST toothbrusher on the planet, but thanks be to the good Lord and fluoride, he has a minimum of cavities. I was all for something that encouraged tooth brushing.

And so I bit.

I wrote down the 1-800 number and spent a good 30 minutes with a non-human, placing my order. When it arrived I put it where I wouldn't forget it come birthday time (one of my favorite "tricks").

He opened it amongst his other exciting gifts (college T-shirts from all his favorite basketball teams, but that's a whole other post). He was thrilled. Actually? He was beyond thrilled. The party came to a screeching halt as Papa reached in his 83-year-old pocket for his knife to help Rojo immediately free the Touch-N-Brush from its cardboard surroundings.

"Dad, let's go put up my Touch-N-Brush. Let's go put up my Touch-N-Brush right now. Let's just go right now and put up my Touch-N-Brush."

For whatever reasons, Rojo has adopted our upstairs laundry room sink as "his." So up went STM and up went Rojo and up went the Touch-N-Brush. Fortunately the thing is super simple (and quick) to install.

On his birthday night when I tucked him in he made me promise I'd use the Touch-N-Brush before heading off to bed myself. I promised. I promised not to forget.

"Oh good," he said, "I could cry to high heaven - pretendedly."

Simple pleasures.

Simple.

AND SHE COULD PUT HER HANDS RIGHT ON IT

After lunch with Missy on Monday, we popped in to visit my mom. If it weren't for her, Missy and I wouldn't be friends for 44 years.

The story begins in the mid-50's, when Missy's father, Henny, and my mother, Ruth, were two young single things living in Hawaii. They were part of the same friendship circle, and wonder of wonders, both ended up in Eugene, Oregon by the early 60's. My mom married my dad, Henny married Lolette, "Lo." Lo and my mom became the dearest of friends and remained so until she died 3 weeks after my dad. I couldn't go to her memorial service 2 weeks after her death, because I was in the hospital giving birth to Rojo.

Isn't that just the way life and death work?

Thirteen years ago I lost two key people in my life, and gained one.

Henny and Lo were amongst the very few people that maintained good relations with both my parents after they divorced. I'll never stop being grateful for that - they provided a safe haven no matter which parent I was with at the time.

As we chatted with my mom, she suddenly recalled a gift Henny had given her a long, long time ago - something she wanted Missy to have now, if only she could put her hands on it.

She turned around, spent 3 seconds looking at her bookshelf, and there it was. Dead center. THE PROPHET.

It was beautifully inscribed by Henny, lovely and poetic words from a "kid" written in 1958. It was lovely and poetic to watch my nearly 79-year-old mother hand it to this 44-year-old "kid" and bring the circle full.

Prophetic.

RIGHT THERE

Got a lovely surprise when one of my oldest and dearest friends Facebooked me to let me know she was going to be in Portland for a few days, and could we do lunch? She's lived in Louisiana for years now, and I haven't seen her since her father's funeral, five years ago.

Missy, Melissa now to those that haven't known her since she was a baby, is a big part of my childhood. After we had lunch I went digging in the basement for pictures of the two of us, and there were plenty. Every birthday party I ever had, there she was.

There in the pictures also, are my other childhood friends/cousins: Wendy, Julie, Emily and not pictured below, Rachel. I don't have a single happy childhood memory that doesn't involve one or more of them.

It caused me to rethink my childhood for a moment, to view it from this objective viewpoint. It was happy. It wasn't ideal, but there was happiness. I was cared for, parties were arranged in my honor, loved ones gathered, over and over again. It doesn't get much better than that, I don't think. Besides, who can't be happy living in a house with such great wall paper and a couch in the kitchen?

(L to R: Missy, me, someone I can't remember, Wendy)




















(Missy, me, Julie, Emily)




















(Missy's birthday this time, me on the far left, her next to me)













(Me pulling a face, Missy to the right, Emily)

















(Wendy, me, Missy, someone's head, Julie)

















(Me having a bad hair day, and Missy, cute as flippin' ever)

GUESS WHO'S A TEENAGER?

Thirteen years ago today this bundle of love came into my life. To say I've never been the same since, would be a gross understatement.

Would write more but I've got the following things to do:

* Bake a pink cake with red frosting (5th year in a row - won't eat the cake, but always requests it).

* Search YouTube for people with accents (we're going for Boston, Texas and Jamaican).

* Watch him play with his new recycling truck (goes well with the garbage truck he asked for and got last year).

* Take a soccer ball to the park and use it to play basketball.

* Return to the park later with a basketball and use it to play soccer.

* Meet the extended family at the bowling alley (4th year in a row we've gone bowling on his birthday).

* Talk about and wait for the ice cream truck that we made a special request with last night when they came by (they'll be here at 6:45 PM. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget).

* Wish Elmo a happy birthday, as it turns out his "son" has the same birthday, and is also turning 13. Go figure.

* Search the house for something to wrap up for Elmo, as Elmo has his heart set on also opening a present after bowling.

* Allow Elmo to come in the car to the bowling alley, but not the bowling alley, as the rule has been set: After 13, Elmo stays in the car. Allow my heart to break a little when we close the door on Elmo and walk away.

* Prepare to teach him to shower, as another rule has been set and talked about ad nauseam: 13 year olds take showers and their mothers give them their privacy.

* Tuck him in, read books, say prayers, kiss him and tell him he's the best boy in the world. Because. It's. True.

CRAZY (MAKING) 8's

I'm seeing 8's in my sleep. Spent the weekend looking for them.

Started on Friday when The Wonder That is Jenn took Rojo to Target during summer school time, to play a game with prices, pretend shopping and comparative pricing - all good life skills he needs to work on. Didn't expect it to ignite a new obsession, but it did.

Saturday morning found Rojo up and at 'em. "Mom? Can we go to Target and pretend shop? You will tell me to find something and I will just boom, run and find it. You will say, 'Rojo, tell me how much Crest toothpaste is,' and I will just boom, run and find it."

Sounded innocent (and cheap) enough, so I agreed.

Don't know why or when the game morphed from boom, running and finding stuff, to boom, finding prices that ended with the number 8.

Go ahead, you try it, get to your nearest Target and tell me how many you find.

Never mind, I'll spare you. Three. There are three prices that end with 8 at Target, and those are the red tagged clearance items, so keep your eyes peeled for those - and here's a hint, those are usually found on "enders."

If you're looking for 9's? Veritable bonanza. 8's? Needle. In. A. Haystack.

Love Target.

Love The Wonder that is Jenn.

Love Rojo.

Hate 8's.

INEXPLICABLE

Twice in the last 24 hours I've been asked to describe Rojo to people that know of him, but don't know him. I'm a flippin' writer. I'm his own mother, for God's sake, why is this so hard?

On paper Rojo is/has this:

* 13-years-old next week
* Somewhere on the very broad, very vague, very unhelpful in understanding him, Autism Spectrum
* ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which is so poorly named it's laughable. The boy has an ABUNDANCE of attention, not a deficit - the problem is he pays equal attention to every single thing vying for his attention. The hyperactive part is fitting.
* OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, although the argument could be made that this is part of the "fun" of being "on the spectrum")
* Auditory Processing Disorder (disconnect between what is heard and what the brain understands)
* Sensory Integration Dysfunction (both tactile defensive and seeking - it's complicated)
* Poor motor planning both gross and fine (rode a bike at 12, handwriting is laborious, forget about ever tying a shoe)
* Unofficially learning disabled (by definition this is a gross discrepancy between intellect and performance - because we have no reliable method to test his intelligence, this will never be proven)

Some of the things he cannot do at this time:

* Fully bathe/shower by himself
* Prepare his own food (even a sandwich, although he does open a mean bag of chips using scissors and several attempts)
* Listen to teacher directions and get to work, he requires an aide to reinforce/repeat what the instructions are, and help him stay on task, as well as help to modify as needed
* Tie, button, snap or buckle, which means on school days he needs help dressing - summertime T-shirts and basketball shorts he's got covered

What the tests/diagnoses/report cards don't say:

* He's fully enlightened. He has no ego. None. He loves everyone, has no judgment, only compassion, and is incapable of having an unkind thought or speaking an unkind word.
* He is always in the now, with no regrets and no looking back. He has positive expectancy for the future and looks forward to the simplest of pleasures/activities, and none are beyond the next 24-hours or so.
* He never complains. Never.
* His sense of humor is highly developed and his comedic timing is dead on.
* He's incredibly empathetic, he sees/senses when others are upset and "holds space" with them so beautifully, I wish he could teach classes on how to do this. He just knows intrinsically how to be with another's pain, not fix it, not make it go away, just be with it.
* He is well loved by all: teachers, classmates, kids in other grades both older and younger, and of course, his family.
* When he smiles his dimples dig in, his eyes twinkle, and his pure, unadulterated joy washes over everyone in the room.

And that's just for starters...



(Photo of him playing the "Yelling Game," I think in this one he "is" TD Jakes.)

TOP 10 FAVORITE MOTHER TERESA QUOTES

10. "Good works are links that form a chain of love. "

9. "The success of love is in the loving - it is not in the result of loving. Of course it is natural in love to want the best for the other person, but whether it turns out that way or not does not determine the value of what we have done."

8. "Love begins by taking care of the closest ones - the ones at home."

7." Let us always meet each other with a smile, for the smile is the beginning of love."

6."Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired."

5. "I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

4. "Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls."

3. "It is not the magnitude of our actions but the amount of love that is put into them that matters."

2. "I do not pray for success, I ask for faithfulness. "

1. "In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love."

ALL PATCHED UP AND ON MY WAY

Last July I started having some serious hot flash problems, and made an appointment with a naturopath I'd heard about. All I knew was that I was going to gracefully move through menopause naturally. It took weeks to get in with the doctor, and by the time I did, in September, the hot flashes had mysteriously disappeared. All that led us to believe they were stress related, and not menopause.

Long menopause story short, they were both. Been working with her for almost a year now and NEVER FELT BETTER.

Until end of June, aka, a couple weeks home with the two loves of my life.

Hot flashes started again - a few at night, then escalated to the level they were last summer, every 30 minutes, round-the-clock and absolutely crazy making. So, booked another appointment with her and was able to get in yesterday. I've already blogged about how much I love this woman, and yesterday was affirming of that. It was like having coffee (or herbal tea, as the case may be) with an old friend. We sat in cozy chairs with our legs tucked under us and talked for 60 minutes. She listened. Finally, she said, "You could go the natural route and I think it would be effective, but it would require several supplements and probably 4-6 weeks before you'd see any significant relief. Or," she paused, "I could prescribe the estrogen patch and you'd feel better by tomorrow."

I'm patched.

I'm going to use it for July and August, and in August start the natural supplements so that they overlap with the patch, and are in full swing by September 7th, aka Labor Day, aka my favorite holiday.

And yes, I feel better already. Only woke up three times last night, instead of 12-16. I may make it through the entire day without biting anyone's head off.

Maybe.

BIG DAY FOR ME

See this pile of unmatched socks? The pile of hopefuls? The pile of singles that have long lost their mates, but for whom I still hold out hope of finding?

Getting tossed.

Today is the day I free them of their need to be matched, and let them go to sock heaven where they can live out the rest of their soul's journey without my forcing their need to couple.

When I was a little girl my favorite book included a double page spread of unmatched mittens, and my mom and I would sit there for what felt like hours, and match them all up. She would point to one, I'd point to the match, then it would be my turn. I still have that book, it sits on Rojo's bookshelf now. Neither he nor Woohoo have been charmed and hypnotized by that game like I was. Perhaps they don't have the same innate need to "tidy" as I do.

You see? I like things neat and clean, no loose ends, no "we'll sees," no pots without their lids, no singleton socks. Life, as it turns out, doesn't work that way, have you noticed that, too?

Today? Socks.

Tomorrow? The sky's the limit.

LET'S START A TREND

When I went back out to WUG (acronym that stands for the three initials of the 5 original owners/siblings) after writing the "Affirmation" post, I told my cousin about it.

"I wrote a post about you," I said. She is not the extrovert so many of us WUGgers are, so I assured her I hadn't used her name or shown her picture. "I love how you said, 'I affirm that in you,'" I continued.

Adjusting her sun hat she said, "Someone said that to me once."

Clearly that person made an impression on my cousin, who in turn passed the favor on to me.

I vow to "affirm" someone today, to look deeply within their eyes, to listen intently and without agenda, to hear them, then to simply and beautifully say, "I affirm that in you."

Hell, I may even do it to/with my husband. Lord only knows how far that could ripple!


* Photo from www.jitzul.com

LET FREEDOM RING

This is a very bad picture of a very good image - a rainbow in the background, our flag of freedom in the foreground.

Happy 4th of July!

love.

AFFIRMATION

The main reason for our "vacation" this week of all weeks, is that Sisters is an hour away from my extended family's annual 4th of July week reunion. 42 years in a row, and going strong.

Each day the gathering grows, the river gets warmer, the mosquito bites and sunburn lines increase. Most of these cousins I don't see all year, but when we meet up at WUG, we pick up right where we left off. We stick our now middle aged bodies into old swimsuits, apply the SPF 50, the spray with DEET, and grab a floatie. We slog through boggy water and duck under willow branches to climb to the top of the property. We 1-2-3 jump into the Little Deschuttes river and float away the last year of our lives for each other to hear, and the river to wash clean.

Beer O'Clock comes early and we move ancient folding chairs into the water and enjoy the best of both worlds: half submerged, half basking in the sun. Talk moves from surface to deeper layers as the week progresses.

We watch as our beautiful teenage daughters canoe upstream. Standing up. We remember when we were those girls, coming to WUG in between years of high school, in between childhood and adulthood, in between innocence and harsh reality.

I tell a cousin of my year - my "successes" my "failures," my hopes and dreams for the year to come. "I need a project," I say. "I need something that takes my mind away from the day-to-day minutiae, that betters the world, that makes a difference."

"I affirm that in you," she says.

And just like that, I feel affirmed, and although I know I don't need another to affirm me, I soak it, and the love all around me, up like the hot July day.

The four of us are "vacationing" for a week, and more than once the thought has occurred to me, we need another family here to make this work. So, any takers? Here's what we're looking for:

1 boy, any age, to wake up at 5:30 with Rojo and squeal with glee. Must like to count water fountains, watch "Wheel of Fortune" and "i Carly," watch him "play" basketball, and repeat themselves many hundreds of times per hour.

1 teenage girl with whom Woohoo can argue. Girl must prefer the hours between noon and midnight, and like to live in squalor. Sense of humor required, as well as good self-esteem as Woohoo is one of those "I can eat anything I want and never gain a pound" type of girls.

1 husband to watch Fox News and endlessly discuss the intricacies of domestic affairs. Must know the unemployment rates of every state (both reported and actual). Must own a mountain bike and be able to keep up for 2-3 hour rugged rides.

1 wife that will do all the cooking (I will do all the shopping and cleaning). Must like to sit under the shady tree with a good book, looking up every now and then to share a good laugh and/or cry. Must walk at precisely my speed and laugh at all my jokes and never tire of my vents. Must enjoy a good Margarita promptly at 5:00.

GARAGE SALE AFTER THOUGHTS

The garage sale went better than I'd expected, especially considering there were multiple opportunities for my pain body to become activated.

What I didn't expect was all the surprise visitors. You see, this is a neighborhood-wide garage sale, it's "famous." People come from all over to have the ease of garage sale after garage sale as well as well-placed port-o-potties and opportunities to support youth groups, and other worthy causes, by buying a hotdog or snow cone.

The traffic started about 7:30 A.M. and didn't start to die down until after 3:00 P.M. In that time one of Rojo's preschool teachers came by, his 6th grade teacher and two former babysitters. Old neighbors that have moved and were back visiting, neighbors that still live right where they always have but whom we seldom see, and friends from every chapter of our lives.

The whole thing ended gloriously when a friend from high school - on the hunt for soaker hoses - showed up. She didn't find her soaker hoses, but she met up with another friend, stopped by to get me and said, "You know it occurred to us, we could be drinking Margaritas right now." 15 minutes later the three of us - one old friend and one new and me - were drinking delicious Margaritas on a hot summer day, and laughing until we made spectacles of ourselves.

We sold all our junk, Woohoo made some money for her room makeover project, and several family members worked together harmoniously.

Last night I was keyed up from the day and having trouble sleeping. Eventually I did sleep, and I dreamed of the garage sale. People kept coming up to me with odds and ends and were asking, "How much?" Finally someone came up with a lobster cage filled with books. I knew it was some kind of sign. Time will tell just what kind of sign it proves to be.

All in all a good day.

Can't talk now, got a garage sale to get ready for.

The one I said I'd never have again.

The one I said I'd sooner pay people to take this *&%$ away before I'd haggle over a quarter.

The one that involves multiple sellers with multiple coded price tags, with multiple inherent headaches and mix-ups.

That one.

20/20

Been awhile since I've been to the eye doctor. In fact, been so long I could no longer remember the name of the doctor that had examined my eyes, or just how long it had been, but it's been at least five years. Or. Ten.

Red veins started appearing on my eyeballs over a year ago, and finally vanity alone forced me to schedule an appointment to have them checked out. Of course with the phone phobia and all, I was limited by which doctors I could see in the Portland area, namely those that had an on-line scheduling option.

So, I pretty much got on Google and finally found an eye clinic nearby, one with a million doctors, and me with no preference other than which one could see me the soonest to assure me I wasn't going blind.

Got there and boy, have things changed since the last time I had my eyes examined, so much high tech equipment. I was eye-dropped, tested for glaucoma, had my field of vision tested, and a bunch of other things I wasn't following.

My right eye passed with flying colors, the left one? Not so much. The young doctor, approximately 1/2 my age says with his face 3 inches from mine, "You have amblyopia, 'lazy eye,' undiagnosed. This is my specialty. You also have cataracts on this eye. Also my specialty. Very unusual for someone your age, but we'll get your vision improved in that eye, don't you worry."

He then went on to suggest a test that clinic didn't have, so I'll be joining him at his other office in a couple weeks to have a P.A.M. test, whatever that is. Then we'll know if I'm "looking" at surgery. Didn't feel too bad that I didn't know what that test was, as neither did the assistant, the receptionist, nor the other eye doctor that walked by as we were discussing it.

Couldn't help but have "No accidents" run constantly through my head as I marveled at how my phone phobia landed me with the one guy whose specialty is just what I've got.

Oh, and the ugly red veins that brought me there? Just ugly red veins. Nothing wrong, nothing you can do about them. They're the result of UV damage. Ironic, as I've lived my entire life in NW Oregon, where the UV rays have to be amongst the lowest on the planet.

REALIZED POTENTIAL

"When we talk about gaining the perfect wisdom of a Buddha, we should not think that we need to create qualities in ourselves that are not there already, and acquire them from somewhere outside of us. Rather, we should see perfect Buddha wisdom as a potential that is being realized." The Dalai Lama

* Photo from urban.csuohio.edu

THE ANNOUNCEMENT

I must admit, I've been following the Jon and Kate drama. Like millions and millions of people, I tuned in last night to hear (and read) of their decision to split up.

The whole thing makes me sad, and although I have plenty of opinions on the matter, my greatest opinion is simply this: marriage is hard. That any survive is a flippin' miracle. That any survive after kids is a bonus miracle. That any survive when there are extenuating circumstances around the children (i.e. sheer number or need), is a miracle beyond all miracles. That being said, it's not because they have eight kids that their marriage has failed. The stress and strain of the extenuating circumstances is a fire that burns a person down to their true essence, and sadly enough, sometimes there's just not enough there to work with after the burning.

I have a new theory - one I've been working on for awhile, but the Jon and Kate thing has brought it to the light. It goes a little something like this: When your marriage is tanking, it really doesn't matter how well anything else is going. When your marriage is running smoothly, it really doesn't matter how well anything else is going.

Sunday was my in-laws 57th wedding anniversary. The fact that they've been married 40 more years than we have, blows my mind. We all got together for Father's Day/anniversary and my mom (divorced three times) asked for their words of wisdom. My wise father-in-law said, "Don't you have to be wise to have words of wisdom?" My mother-in-law quietly said, "He's been a good listener."

I think somewhere along the way Jon and Kate stopped listening to each other.

I know I've been guilty many times of not listening - not wanting to hear, and definitely I've failed to speak in a way that could/would be heard.

But after trial by fire my husband and I have finally learned how and when to speak.

And how to listen.

And when to just abide.

A PERFECT MORNING

Even though yesterday was Father's Day, I'm the one that scored the perfect morning. Everyone else was either sleeping over somewhere or otherwise engaged, so I got to do what I seldom get to do: luxuriate.


The perfect cup of coffee.


The perfect book of inspiration.

The perfect background music.

The perfect candle in the perfect scent (and I generally can't tolerate scented candles, but Spanish Amber is TDF).

Perfect.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

This is your sixteenth Father's Day and you've earned each one,
This is your real job, yet you still make it fun.

There's been "knee," the Jo-Jo Man and marking his shoes,
There's been doctors and meetings and even blue twos.

You have counted the drinking fountains in parks near and far,
You have learned to make toast like a flippin' rock star.

You're up with your boy at the dawn of each day,
You're up with your girl when at night she's ready to play.

You're the kind of father I wish I'd had,
You're the one I'm proud to call my children's dad.

I love you.

I appreciate you.



*STM and Woohoo at WUG 7/95

NO REGRETS

In yesterday's post about the widening gap between Rojo and his "typical" peers, I mentioned that Rojo will need help with the burning-of-the-regrets portion of the 7th grade retreat he'll be attending in September.

Because he won't have any.

Been thinking about that ever since, and as Michelle O'Neil said in her comment, "I'd say a person who lives with no regret has already gone further than most."

The Dalai Lama says this: "Guilt, as experienced in Western culture, is connected with hopelessness and discouragement and is past-oriented. Genuine remorse, however, is a healthy state of mind - it is future-oriented, connected with hope, and causes us to act, to change."

Rojo doesn't have any regrets, guilt, OR remorse, and maybe if I hang with him long enough, neither will I.

THE WIDENING GAP

Met with Rojo's 7th grade teacher yesterday. Great woman, had Woohoo three years ago and remains Woohoo's fav. teacher ev. She also happens to have an adult child with special needs - 30 now - she gets it.

She asked me the kinds of questions we all hope a teacher will ask: "Tell me about Rojo." "What are your goals for him?" "What would you like to see us work on this year?" That kind of thing.

Felt kind of silly just saying, "Love him."

It's not that I/we don't have "goals" but really, does the boy need to finish the year with algebra under his belt? Really?

She started telling me about a retreat the 7th graders would be going on first thing in the fall. "We write down our regrets and burn them," she said.

"He'll need help with that," I said. "Not only will he have no concept of what a regret is, he won't have any. Really."

"Then we assemble a lunch for a partner - I provide all the makings for sandwiches, and the kids take each other's orders and then make the sandwich according to what their partner wants."

"He'll need help with that," I said.

The 1-hour conference continued in that fashion. She with the "We..." and me with the "He'll need help with thats..."

Later, Rojo had STM running up to Plaid Pantry to replace the package of Skittles he'd absconded, and I agreed to ride along and run in for him (wife of the year moment).

I was telling STM about the conference and he said, "You're starting to make me feel like the parent of a special needs child."

"I know," I said, "that's how I felt, too. The gap gets wider and wider each year. It's hard to even see the other side from here."

Just then we saw from our car windows, a girl in a motorized wheel chair leave her home and head on down the sidewalk.

With no arms and legs.

None.

OMHOG

So, guess what Rojo has me doing this summer?

Go ahead, guess.

Did you guess: Making you pretend to be Sonia (the one on the far right) on the reality show, "Repo?" If so, take an A.

He is Matt (center). Woohoo is Lyndah (brunette), and STM is Froy (left).

Need I say more? Because I hardly can.

Fortunately Sonia doesn't "talk" that much, most of what she says gets bleeped out. That's his favorite part.

I consider it getting in touch with my, how shall we say it, less Junior League side.

"NORMAL"

Those of us that walk to the left side of "normal" seek to know just exactly what normal is.

I think.

Don't ask me, I'm not normal.

But I do have friends that most definitely walk right through the very center of normal, and it's so helpful to have their input on things. It's a balm to hear, "That's perfectly normal" when I'm explaining a feeling, a problem, a parenting dilemma, a marital issue. Just hearing, just knowing, just being reassured that what I am experiencing, others have also experienced, helps.

I was teaching back in 1987 and attended a workshop for teachers on how children of alcoholics view the world. "Children of alcoholics don't know what normal is," said the presenter.

Those words I never forgot, and frequently replay in my head when I'm thinking, What the hell do I know about normal?

Those of us with special needs kids have been taught to eschew the word "normal" in favor of "typical." Splitting hairs, if you ask me, either way it means not the same. Different. Off.

Last night I had a dream in which the most memorable kids from that first class, appeared. Not a "normal" one in the bunch. They were all grown up and we stood around cocktail party style and reminisced.

When I woke up this morning and turned on my computer, I had an e-mail, via Facebook, from a "kid" in that class.

No accidents.

Has a kid of his own the age he was when I had him. "I know now what you were up against," he said with good humor.

Not every "normal" person would have gone to all that trouble.

At least if I walk to the left, I walk in good company.

SURPRISE ME

I thought I wanted to know what would happen on "Grey's Anatomy," and so I "cheated" and surfed the Internet until I learned ahead of time that George and Izzy would both be killed off.

Ruined the whole finale for me.

I thought I wanted to know what would happen with my book, so I consulted a really amazing astrologer. Twice. First time gave me a false sense of "knowing" that nearly crippled me, and then I went back for more. To be fair, if I really listened to the reading with ears wide open, I'd probably hear more "truth," but I have been listening for what I wanted to hear, and it's messed me up.

I thought I wanted to know what someone was saying about me behind my back, so I found out. Wrong. Much happier not knowing. There's a reason I have a back, and it's a good place for those conversations to take place.

I've decided I simply don't want to know what's coming around life's corner. I don't want to know if and when my book is going to get picked up. I don't want to know what people think about me, unless they feel the need to tell me directly. I just don't need to know a lot of things.

This I know.

SUPREME WEALTH

"It is through listening that your mind will turn with faith and devotion, and you will be able to cultivate joy within your mind and make your mind stable. It is through listening that you will be able to cultivate wisdom and be able to remove ignorance... Listening is like a torch that dispels the darkness of ignorance. And if you are able to make your mental continuum wealthy through listening, no one can steal that wealth. It is supreme wealth." HH the Dalai Lama

COMING UP FULL

One thing my psyche has been working on during all these hours of sleep, is the "Never give up" philosophy, versus the concept that enlightenment comes at the END of desire, therefore, quit wanting, quit needing, quit hoping, quit never giving up-ing. Accept. Move on. Let go.

Been listening to Meg Hutchinson again a lot lately, particularly her song, "Come Up Full." Two stanzas stick out:

"So go drag your boat to the water
Just when you swear it off those nets are gonna
Come up full"

Making me think: See? It's when you swear it off. When you "give up," that you catch something in your "net."

And this one:

"At night the fire replaces the sun
Just as one good dream’s replaced by another one"

Could the holding on tightly to one dream, keep it from being replaced by another, perhaps un-dreamed dream?

I don't know, but that's the way I'm leaning.

(To hear Meg sing "Come Up Full," click here.)

* Photo from flickr.com

SLEEP

Stress, busyness, conflicts, end-of-year stuff, menopause, wild changes in temperature, all have been sabotaging my sleep as of yet.

And it's not been pretty.

I've missed the dreaming.

I've missed the peace.

I've missed the healing.

But yesterday I dropped everything and climbed into bed - mid day - and woke up three heavenly hours later.

Then at 7:00 PM I crawled back into my all-white bed, put my sleep mask on, ear plugs in, and fell asleep again. For 12 1/2 more hours.

15 1/2 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours has me starting to regain perspective.

But just starting.

There's definitely a nap in today's future.

THE GOOD MOOD BOY

Just overheard Rojo saying to Daddy, "I just love today. I really do. Wednesday. Wednesdays are one of my favorite days."

Here's to Wednesday. One of Rojo's favorite days.

And speaking of Rojo, here's his latest creative writing piece. He had to take a folk tale and give it a twist. He chose "The Three Little Pigs."

A MOST DANGEROUS STATE

"What irritates us in the first place is that our wishes are not fulfilled. But remaining upset does nothing to help fulfill those wishes. So we neither fulfill our wishes nor regain our cheerfulness. This disconcerted state, from which anger can grow, is most dangerous. We should never try to let our happy frame of mind be disturbed. Whether we are suffering at present or have suffered in the past, there is no reason to be unhappy." HH the Dalai Lama

I'm in a most dangerous state. Going to put on my visor and see if that helps.

TORTURED SOULS - RELEASED

For weeks I've known it was coming: the anniversary of my father's death, June 7th. A man who didn't want his own grave, but wanted to be cremated and buried between his parents. And so he is.

Yesterday was the 13th anniversary, and through some psychological "trick," I "forgot," I didn't think of him all day long. It wasn't until this morning when I pulled off yesterday's page-a-day calendar and saw today's date, that I caught myself.

It's amazing what we can block when we want to, at least in the mind, the body always knows. And those around us. Felt a sense of ennui all weekend, a restlessness, a vague and nameless sense of ill-being.

But now it has a name: grief.

Thirteen years later it's not so much his death I grieve, as his life. He was a tortured soul. It made him a challenge to deal with, but now, in death, there has been healing, understanding, forgiveness. As my brother says, "Dad and I are getting along really well now."

He's come to my brother in a dream - just one, but he didn't say anything. "He's not at a place where he can communicate yet, but he's getting there," my brother explained, and I believe him. I haven't had a single dream about him. Yet. I know that soon I will, and that our souls' journey together will move to the next level.

And that will be something I will never forget.

DO WITH IT AS YOU WILL

Rojo likes to go to Saturday night Mass with STM. One reason he likes it is the cantor, the woman that leads the singing, and does so with a flair. She raises her arms indicating it's time for the congregation to join in, and she holds them up there fairly dramatically, at least to Rojo's way of thinking.

Without fail he comes home and "is" the cantor. He'll do a few "alleuluias" an "amen" or two, but mostly he just sings whatever it is he wants to say.

Over and over again.

But last night, apropos of nothing, threw his hands up in the air and started singing, "Faith of the wisdom, faaaaaaaith of the wisdom, faith of the wisdom..."

I'm sure there's a message in there somewhere.


*Photo from www.missouriskies.org

LIFESAVERS

On Saturday Rojo had me driving him to three different grocery stores looking for a Lifesaver popsicle. "Mom, do you think Big Safeway might have Lifesaver popsicles. I know Little Safeway didn't, but maybe Big Safeway does. Do you want to go to Big Safeway? Do you want to go now? Do you want to go to Big Safeway now and see if they have Lifesaver Popsicles?'

And so it went.

Big Safeway, the "Little Store" and Plaid Pantry were all tried.

No dice.

On Sunday we went to four more stores: QFC, Fred Meyer, New Seasons and finally 7-Eleven.

God bless 7-Eleven and the horse it rode in on. They had them. Individual ones with some serious freezer burn, but we bought up all they had, 4, and came home and put them away.

"Okay, I am going to be the ice cream man, and I am going to sell the Lifesaver popsicles to you, Daddy and Woohoo. You are going to buy them from me and I am going to sell them to you, because I am going to be the ice cream man. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget."

Then he got a bigger and better idea. "Mom, I am going to invite K and G over after school on Monday. I want them to come to my house after school and eat Lifesaver popsicles. Go e-mail their moms and see if K and G can come over. Go e-mail their moms right now and tell them to come tomorrow and eat Lifesaver popsicles that the ice cream man will sell them."

I e-mailed the moms, and one mercifully e-mailed back within a couple hours that yes indeed, her sainted son could come and "buy" ice cream on Monday after school.

The other mom didn't e-mail back until Monday morning and I thought the planet might stop spinning, such was Rojo's angst over this loose end. But e-mail she did, and her sainted son could, and would, also come and "buy" ice cream.

I love my village. It's not everywhere that an Elmo toting almost 13-year-old, can get that kind of response.

And respect.

And dignity.

And love.

Period.

TOP 10 THINGS TO DO TODAY

10. Get kids off to school so I can watch the last episode of Season 1, Disk 2, of "In Treatment"
9. Put Disk 2 in my Netflix envelope
8. Drive to the nearest post office and mail. Immediately.
7. Check e-mail and see that yes, Disk 3 has been mailed
6. Check the mail compulsively
5. Plan out how I can watch Disk 3 today between all the comings and goings
4. Plan out how long it will take for Disk 4 to get here
3. Plan my whole Friday so I can watch Disk 4
2. Start to get depressed because eventually I'll be out of disks, but get happy again when I see it's possible to order Season II
1. Consider the fact that I need "treatment"

I was tooling around the Internet looking for quotes that include the word "abide," ones that might work to include in the as-yet-unwritten-but-totally-in-my-head sequel to UNSTRUNG, when WHAT pops in my e-mail?

"For as long as space endures, and for as long as living beings remain, until then may I, too, abide, to dispel the misery of the world." HH the Dalai Lama.

No accidents.