The Three S's

According to my son, his little sister should always keep in mind The Three S's:

1. Sit down
2. Shut your pie hole (I still can't figure out where he heard that one!) and
3. Stop making me crazy!

I am going to have to agree with that last one - for both of them!

20 days remain to prepare for the Star Wars birthday party. Checklist to date:
*invitations sent - check
*Death Star pinata currently under construction - check
*party favors purchased - check
*costumes for key characters purchased - check
*games planned - not even close
*menu - ha!
*decorations - oh, please!
*stress-o-meter running - check, check, check

A Hippy in the 21st Century

In this house, we're all crazy about reading. Even Ainsley, who doesn't quite read just yet, loves to look at books and try to figure out the words. She is almost there. Ian could spend all day reading, and often tries to. Steve reads on the train on the way to work and every chance he can get at home, especially if Harry Potter is a cast member. As for me, well. . .I am currently reading 5 books simultaneously, but not quickly. I might finish one of them next week, if I am lucky.

A few weeks ago, Ainsley's school held a Scholastic book sale as a fund raiser. I can't resist these because they offer great books, almost always in paperback, and they are cheap. What's even better is that you can now order online and have much more to choose from than what is offered on the flimsy fliers that are sent home with the kids. Apparently, I took the prize at school for the largest book order. It is safe to say the kids are set for new books for a few months at least.

Tonight they were extremely tired and irritable. They fought each other during dinner, they fought us about eating dinner, and they argued about whether or not they should take a bath. When I was about to come unglued myself at all the bickering, I decided to try something different. I told them that whoever finished his/her dinner in silence could pick out a new book for a bed time story. It worked. And even if they had not been completely successful at either being quiet or eating everything on their plates, I still would have rewarded them - because that's my prerogative.

Ian chose a Skippyjon Jones book. Skippyjon is a Siamese cat with extremely large ears and an even larger imagination. He gets into trouble quite often and is sent to time out in his room. There he enters a world with his superhero superego, Skippyjon the Chihuahua. There is an entire Skippyjon series, and it is hilarious. Both of my kids crack up when one of us reads the lines of his Chihuahua friends with a Spanish accent. Although I sometimes feel like I am doing a Taco Bell commercial, Ian and Ainsley go to bed in a terrific mood when they get to laugh before the lights go out.

Ainsley, although in deep denial about her level of lucidity, managed to stay awake for two readings of the book she chose. Puff the Magic Dragon - yes, the very one! And it even came with a CD! So now my kids can learn the magic of smoking pot. Ooops, that's just an urban legend. [Honestly, I never heard that theory until I was in college. That's when Sam, one of my neighbors, told me that my favorite song from childhood was about smoking marijuana. I was crushed! Sam looked like the character "Skippy" from the t.v. show Family Ties, but with a raw and rebellious skateboard-riding, cigarette-smoking, Ray-ban-wearing, anti-Magic Dragon personality. Deep inside I refused to believe the legend because I knew Sam was just trying to mess with me and was not to be taken seriously about most opinions he expressed.] We listened to the CD while she got ready for bed, then I read the book through the first time. The second time through was with Peter Yarrow (of Peter, Paul, and Mary - could it get any better???) and his daughter Bethany singing the lyrics.

The artwork in this book is enchanting. I didn't have pictures to help me understand the story when I was Ainsley's age; but let's face it - the lyrics are fairly straight forward...for typical children. I was a little worried she wouldn't quite "get it". So, as we went through each page, we looked at the pictures and discussed the less obvious aspects of the story. We examined facial expressions and tiny details that might otherwise have been missed if we had just read the words through and then closed the book. Although the song leaves us to believe that Puff is lost without Jackie Paper, painter Eric Puybaret proposes the possibility that Jackie's daughter finds her way to Puff's cave . . . with her father's help, of course.

Ainsley and Ian went to bed with smiles on their faces tonight, the kind of smiles that are brought about by only a few special things:

A wonderful bedtime story
A feel-good song
Christmas Eve and the anticipation of Santa Claus bringing gifts
One of my mother's famous Hot Toddies, which she used to give us when we would run out of cough syrup

These were genuinely and warmly earned grins. I hope to see more of them.

Note to Self: "Watch Your Mouth Around the Kids!"

The other night we were sitting at the dinner table having conversation and something to eat. Ian was obsessed with telling us how much he did not like the snow peas I had served. I kept telling him it was o.k. if he didn't like them. The point was, he had TRIED them, and that was enough.

Finally, Steve slipped into his best Qui-Gon impersonation to get Ian's attention. Slowly, he waved his hand before Ian's face and spoke with gentle authority:

"You will not be required to eat your snow peas, young Jedi."

Ian looked confused. Why would his father command him NOT to eat his vegetables. This must be a mistake. So Ian kept arguing about whether or not he would be consuming the already pulverized pea.

Again, Steve waved his hand before Ian's face and spoke, this time with a slightly more aggressive tone:

"Young man, you don't have to eat the snow peas!"

Without skipping a beat, Ian waved his snow pea-less hand before his father's face and said:

"You will stop being a pain in the ass."

If someone had duct taped my mouth closed, I could not have stifled my laughter. Steve exploded in guffaws as well. There was no way we were going to be able to make this into a "no using foul language" discussion. It was just too hysterically funny.

The Countdown Begins

Ian will be eight years old in twenty-seven days. Yesterday he told me he wants to have a Star Wars party. I have less than a month to make this a party he will never forget. Dear, God, what have I agreed to?!

Ian wants to have an R2D2 cake. Since I don't do store-bought cakes unless my arms are broken, this is going to be the biggest challenge of the day. Naturally, I went to the net to get some ideas and was surprised to find some excellent prototypes out there. Mine, of course, will not look anything like those because every cake I make has to be different from the original. I don't like being a copy cat; but being inspired by others' ideas is o.k.

Ian also wants to play "Pin the Light Saber on Obi Wan Kenobi". I don't mind including this game in the party, except that it will require me to manufacture the entire set of playing pieces and a semi-life sized Obi Wan "pin up". The labor isn't really the issue; I just wonder if 7 and 8 year-old boys are really going to enjoy pinning paper light sabers on a Jedi. Will they understand the jokes their fathers will be making at the back of the room? It could result in some questions I am not ready to answer at my son's birthday party.

After searching for several hours for party ideas on Google, I found some stellar suggestions, most of which require about 3 months of prep time. Did I mention I have 27 days?

It is important to make this a REALLY spectacular birthday for Ian for many reasons. First, he is at that age where birthday parties are as important as the presents. This is a big turning point, because last year the gifts still outranked the party by about 3.5 percent. After this year, the gifts start counting less and the coolness of the event determines one's social status for the next 364 days and continues for about 3 years after that. Then parties are uncool, at least for boys. The way I see it, Ian is two-thirds of the way through his birthday party years. I have to make the most of this while I can because soon he won't want to spend his birthday with me any more. I'll be left at home with Steve and Ainsley, remembering the night I pushed that enormous head out of my body and nearly splattered my eyeballs on the wall across the room from all the pressure. And if that kid comes home late on his 13th birthday, by God, he will be SO grounded!

But I digress.

Second, it is important because he is starting to expand his interests. It is a relief that we are not having a third Thomas the Tank Engine party. I just can't make that cake one more time. With the Star Wars theme, he is opening himself up to new possibilities, even if it means entering new, scary territory. Ian has even taken some initiative in the party planning by expressing his preferences on decorations, types of drinks, and the time of day to host the event. These are all things he has wanted me handle in the past, and I must say that I am pleased he is taking on a proactive role here. Ultimately, he may throw it all into my lap, and that's o.k. too. I'll be thrilled if he is still excited and involved next week at this time.

Third, in order to expand his circle of friends, he must be interested in the things that all boys his age like. Star Wars definitely puts him on the radar. Granted, there are other, more up-to-date movies he could be obsessed with; but this one is a classic - especially for Aspies! It puts him in line for some really kick-ass Lego sets, too. (Like we need more teensy-tinsy plastic pieces laying all over the house.) And that spells quality time with Dad as well as great play dates.

So it's just about 26 days now until the Rebel Alliance unleashes the Force on my house. Will Mom survive? Watch the countdown continue. . .

Zen

I've been away for a few days. When I feel overwhelmed, I retreat to the one place on the planet that always feels like home - Colorado. Steve stayed with the kids while I cashed in some airline miles and headed for the Rockies. In the midst of mile high mountains and blue skies personal difficulties seem insignificant.


I arrived Saturday afternoon and went to work painting. It is easy to think more clearly about what is bothering me when there is nothing but quiet, soft brushes, and bright colors to influence the contents of my head. It's my moment of Zen. For now, I take it in moments, since I am still learning how to live in the present. That is not an easy thing to do when you have to stay one step ahead of your kids. Sadness about the past and anxiety about the future don't make for a very pleasant present. Both Ian and Ainsley often get stuck arguing about the past or worrying about the future. If I am to be successful at teaching them how to take care of today, I'd better get better at it myself. So that is what I worked on. The now that is this moment.

Usually when I take a retreat it is because I have allowed stress to build to explosive levels within me. This time it was less about stress and more about grief. Just as I did four years ago when Ian was diagnosed, I have been grieving over the lost dreams for Ainsley's future. It takes time and many hesitant deep breaths to recognize that the dreams are still possible, but they will be achieved in a different way and perhaps a little slower. Time alone helps me face those deeper issues and send them on their way.

At home I rarely observe what is going on outside the house. When I have been temporarily relieved of the responsibility of monitoring my children's activities, I can stare out a window on a rainy day and notice the unnoticeable:

A train that pulls through the station and rolls slowly to a stop, then reverses and disappears into the valley from which it came.

A family dragging suitcases along the sidewalk.

Birds landing on tree branches, then pecking at crab apples.

A homeless man checking out the contents of a garbage can.

It doesn't have to mean anything . . . it just is.

After clearing my head and opening my heart, I drove to Denver to see my extended family. Being around relatives who make me laugh is good medicine, especially when they know I have been hurting. This part of the clan knows that no matter how difficult something seems in the present, it will improve with practice, lots of family to help you get over the bumps, and of course - home made biscotti.

I visited my cousin Brad. All I have seen of him over the last few months are pictures of his recovery in a hospital from wounds received in Iraq. He is an amazing human being. It never occurred to me that I would see him walking around his parents house, laughing, and enjoying life again so soon. He is lucky to be walking at all, but here he is, sharing Oreos with his niece, Grace.

When I walked into the house on Tuesday, Brad greeted me at the door. We hugged for the first time in 20 years. It wasn't one of those quick glad-to-see-you hugs. This was an embrace that let me know how thankful he is to be alive and able to experience the love of his family again. We talked a little about the war - probably as much as he could without slipping into the deep and terrible grief he feels at losing his best friend. We talked about my children, whom he has yet to meet, but who will love him immeasurably when they do. Mostly, we just sat next to each other and were grateful for the life we have, no matter how mixed up it may seem.

On my way home, it all started to gel. The grief I felt isn't about me, or Ainsley, or Ian, or Brad. It is about missed opportunities. I hate having regrets. Vowing never to have them does no good unless you actually seize the day - carpe diem! That doesn't mean I'll never be sad over losses. It means I must allow myself to experience them completely, and then let go. Even grief has a positive side - it's the healing.

Each day gets a little better, a little easier. I laugh more, cry less, and take deep breaths that don't have to struggle to enter my body. I see the genuine smiles on my children's faces and know they are there because of the strength in our family. Dealing with autism is easier when you focus on today and what you are making of the moment you are in. Helping my little Aspie's learn this may well be one of the best things I can teach them.

Playing Hopscotch at the Mall

I wanted to have some quality "girl time" with Ainsley today. For us that means shopping and lunch out on the town. Specifically...shoe shopping. I am not saying that either of us has a closet full of shoes. We just love to shop for them, even if we don't buy any. Shoe shopping provides bonding time, no matter what your age.

As soon as we entered the mall, Ainsley started playing hopscotch on the tile floor. "Mom, I don't want to step on the lines or I'll lose my points!" she said.

"What points?" I asked.

"The ones you get for stepping inside the boxes."

Holding tightly to my hand, she hopped her way through the mall...the entire way. Normally, my right shoulder hurts because my purse is so heavy. Now it's my left shoulder that aches from being yanked for 2 hours.

On our way to the shoe department, we were distracted by the Christmas ornaments. They were truly spectacular. White feathery butterflies flitted from the ceiling, suspended by fishing wire. They gave the illusion of downy snowflakes falling from the sky. Every ornament was unique and EXTREMELY breakable. Yet, despite her bouncing, Ainsley managed to touch each and every one in the store without breaking a single decoration. The sales associate was so calm. She even seemed enthusiastic to have us there. I guess things are still fairly slow in the Christmas Department.

In the midst of all of the crystal and glitter, it dawned on me that it is still October.

Ainsley's obsession with going trick-or-treating for candy corn was replaced by visions of candy canes dancing in her head. She loves all holidays that are associated with candy. She lives for candy. Life is not worth living without candy. I decided to reward her great listening skills with a new ornament for our tree. She selected a cupcake ornament for herself, and a peppermint swirl lollipop ornament for her brother. Her choice could not have been more appropriate. Unfortunately, it reminded her of the hunger in her tummy, and she decided she wanted to have a real cupcake for lunch. We settled on pizza.

During our lovely dining experience at the food court, we sat side-by-side and played "I Spy". Ainsley was charmed by a baby at a nearby table. She really wanted to go touch the baby. She became fixated on the baby and having more pizza AND dessert. I distracted her by suggesting we go play hopscotch again, which she did with great enthusiasm.

She was beginning to get tired, so we skipped shoe shopping and headed for the car. Once we were buckled in and heading home, I realized that Ainsley had not stopped talking for nearly 3 hours. My ears were ringing and my brain was limp. How on earth does she do that? I was exhausted! We are going to have to find another way to bond that involves less driving and walking in expensive stores. I think next time we're going to take a bike ride to the park and have a picnic.

I'm so far behind on laundry, we'll be naked unless I go shopping right now!

Schedule for this week:

Monday: Mail the dog's registration to the city (overdue by 16 months), OB/GYN appointment (yuck), try to get out of blood work until tomorrow, wash laundry, pay bills, wash dishes, bake cheesecake, drive carpool, pick up framed paintings, make dinner, schedule play dates for the kids, work out, get home in time to give kids a bath, shower (if there is time), kick clean laundry off the bed to be folded tomorrow, go to sleep

Tuesday: Get Ian to school, reschedule eye doctor appointment, pick up Ainsley's official diagnosis at neurologist, have blood drawn to make sure chocolate level is high enough to sustain me through this week, Ian's IEP review (don't forget to bring cheesecake), special lunch picnic with Ainsley, wash laundry, fold clothes from yesterday, Ian's play date, cook dinner, go to spin class, go to yoga class, shower, fold laundry if still awake

Wednesday: Drink a pot of coffee, make lunches, get kids off to school, go to painting class, go to lunch with fellow artists, have a glass of wine, act bohemian for 2 hours, return home and become mom again, help Ian with homework, fix dinner, work out, bathe kids, do more laundry, fall asleep before the washer shuts off

Thursday: Brew more laundry after putting last night's load in the coffee pot, get Ian off to school, assess Ainsley's mood to see if she can sit through an Art Club meeting for 2 hours (LOL!), fix lunch, play games with Ainsley (please, no Twister today), do more laundry, work on Ian's homework, fix dinner, go to spin class, go to yoga, blow off the shower, fall asleep while brushing teeth, drool on Steve's pillow

Friday: Start ANOTHER load of laundry, get kids off to school, paint if there is time, acupuncture appointment, lunch with great friend, did somebody say Chardonnay? pick up kids, quick play date, fast snack, gymnastics, dinner, bike ride, baths, bed. Wait a minute...where's the bed? And where did all these clothes and towels come from? Think I'll just like down on the couch.

Healing

It has been a week since the diagnosis, and I think I am on the road to recovery thanks to a quick trip into Dallas last night. Yes, that is a tattoo. Yes, it is on my body. Yes, it hurt almost as much as giving birth to Ainsley did (no drugs, big baby, facing the wrong way...you bet that hurt!). You can even see the stretch marks!

Tattoos provide catharsis for me. The first one I decided to get was for Ian, and it has been on my hip for almost 2 years now. After is was completed, I felt at ease with what we were doing for him and knew the path we had chosen was the right one for our family. That is a good place to be.

A few months later, Steve and I got tattoos on our 13th anniversary. His was the Chinese characters for Kung Fu San Soo - or "Student of Professional Fighting". Mine was a simple purple daisy. It represented my precious little girl and how sweet she was. I knew eventually I would add something to it, but at the time I had no idea what that would be. I had hoped it would be something to signify her free spirit, her strength, her love of life. But as the last year has unfolded, it became clearer that my Ainsley tattoo was going to have something to do with autism.

I like the puzzle piece that symbolizes the mysteries of autism. Not only does Ainsley love to do puzzles, but she has always been very perplexing to me. Her behavior has been difficult to predict. In a way, that is part of her charm. She surprises me in wonderful ways. The first time she said she loved me was when she was nearly three years old. By then I had begun to suspect that her understanding of emotions was not as complex as it should be. When she said the words, I cried, because for the first time it seemed my daughter felt a true connection to me as a person, not just a drone that puts food on the table and plays with her.

When I decided what to do for Ainsley's revised tattoo, I couldn't wait to see it completed. Even though the pain of the needle was at times excruciating, it gave me the chance to visualize an end to all the pain I had been feeling for so long about my daughter. In my mind I could see and feel the tears dripping from the holes made by the needle and ink. The sobs that never came out rushed through my fingers as I squeezed "Fred" - the pink pig kushy ball given to Ainsley by the neurologist. At times, the pain was like a knife carving on my back; but with each stabbing sensation I knew I was one step closer to healing.

When it was over, I took a deep breath. Calm. Sweet peace filled my body. Driving home I felt happier than I have in years. All the pent up worry was gone. The fear was gone. The disappointment...gone. It's just our family now. And we're going to be just fine.