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

Hurry.

Don't forget.

Promise you won't forget.

FULL CIRCLE


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

Friend said, "How's your book?"

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

"Full circle," I said.

"Full circle," she said.

And we laughed.




* Photo from: www.barbarabartlettart.com/circle_FullCircle

WOOHOO IS 16!


TOP 16 THINGS I LOVE ABOUT MY GIRL:


16. She is funny

15. She has style galore

14. She is beautiful, inside and out

13.  She knows herself

12. And loves that self

11. She self advocates

10. She advocates for others

9. She is wise beyond her years

8. She is accepting of differences

7. She is opinionated

6. But respectful of others' opinions

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

4.  She is a good friend

3. She is kind

2. She is forgiving

1. She loves well

* Photo from www.bakingshop.com

SURVEY SAYS...

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

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

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

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

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

Photo from: www.cse.unt.edu

DON'T FORGET


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

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

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

NOT BETTER OR WORSE, JUST DIFFERENT


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just different.

FORGIVE

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

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


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

Amen.

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

TOOTING MY OWN HORN

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

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

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

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

Okay, thanks for indulging my ego!

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

OPEN FOR BUSINESS!


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

ANGELS AMONG US

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

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

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

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

She got it.

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

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

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

Because we both believe in angels.

Angels among us.

Amen.


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

FEARLESS NEST

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

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

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

* Photo from www.smartisans.com

I am at HOPEFUL PARENTS today, come on over!

A CALL 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing less.

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


*Photo from www.crystalclearinsights.ca

WHEN THE STUDENT IS READY...

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

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

And I did.

And look at that thing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A WELCOME GUEST

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



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

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

Call her what you want, but there she is.

Always.

KOAN

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines a koan as follows:

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

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

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

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

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

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




* Photo from www.lofa.org

Love. from Flicka Link (x3)

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

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

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

Carl Jung

Happy Easter Monday, as some people refer to today!

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

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

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

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

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

LANDSLIDE

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

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

LANDSLIDE, The Dixie Chicks

Lyrics by Stevie Nicks

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

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

Thank you for your awareness.

Love.

AN INTERVIEW WITH AUTHOR KATHY BOLDUC

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

1. What prompted you to write this book?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or Amazon.

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

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

SAVASANA

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe she was.

Maybe I should.

Maybe.


* Photo from www.yogaflavoredlife.com

THE LIST

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

Gone.

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

No.

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

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

Thanks, Dad.

* Photo from www.savola.com

ENOUGH

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

What's the difference between settling and surrendering?

What's the difference between ambition and discontentment?

What's the difference between striving and having aspirations?

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

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

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

What's enough?

* Photo from www.wisebread.com

GRAVITY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHO'S YOUR COWBOY?

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


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

Come on over and tell us YOUR story!

SPRING BREAK

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

love.

DOUBLE DATE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And we did.

CONTRACT COLLISION

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

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

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

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

No accidents.

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

THE DEFENSE RESTS

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

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

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

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

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

It's enough.



* Photo from www.mass.gov

HEAD TRASH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAREGIVER SURVEY

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

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL WORLD

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

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

Go to Michelle's blog and watch the trailer.

It's beautiful.

Love.

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

That is what I believe.

So.

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

Until then: love.


* Photo from photbucket.com

PART OF ME

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

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

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

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

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

FOR GOOD

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

1) Who am I?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it's all for good.

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

- Margaret Cho

* Photo from www.chemistryland.com

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

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

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

And it has worked.

That dog knows to whom she belongs.

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

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

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

SHEDDING

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

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

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

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

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

TECHNO FEVER

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

So.

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

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

And now we have DVR.

But nothing programmed.

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

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

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

Thank you!



* Photo from www.spdbayarea.org

I DON'T KNOW

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

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

But that's just today.

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

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

I don't know.

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

And that's a powerful knowing.


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

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

It could be that you-know-what simple.







* Photo from www.yogalifestyle.com

THE WAILIN' JENNYS, "AVILA"

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

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

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

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

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



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

Amen.

ADDICTION

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

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

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

It's brutal.

It's flippin' killing me.

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

One day at a time.

* Photo from: sentinelleader.blogspot.com

Come see me at Hopeful Parents today! Thanks!

BLESSED

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

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

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

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

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

One word made all the difference.

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

May the peace of the Lord be upon you.

Always.

MARDI GRAS

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

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

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

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

* Photo from badexample.mu.nu