Just pretend I've been posting at least once a week since September...okay?
Kelsey is 22, almost done with college. Her apron strings hang loosely around my thumb- because I think she wants them there. A few weeks ago she called me early in the morning:
Kelsey: Mom, we don't have any power!
Me: Well there have been some super high winds all night across the state. You probably have some power lines down nearby.
Kelsey: I called the landlord to see if it was just us, but he didn't answer.
Me: Sweetheart, your landlord won't have a clue about why you don't have power. Have you turned on the radio?
Kelsey: We don't have any power!
(I made a mental note to purchase the child a battery operated radio ASAP)
Me: Have you checked the power company's website to see if your outage has been reported?
Kelsey: We don't have any power!
Me: You have a frickin' iPhone with Internet access...
Kelsey: Well I called you instead...I'm not looking very smart right now, am I?
Me: Honestly, I'm not sure how you've gotten through 3+ years of college.
Kelsey: In my defense, my roommate couldn't figure out why our wifi wasn't working, I had to tell her that it was because we had no power.
Me: You are living with the right people. You fit right in.
Andy is now 21. He is involved in a work program called Project Search. He works at a local hospital and rides the city bus to and from work every day. I try to give him some leeway with his apron strings because this program encourages independence. His strings are in a single loop around my pinkie finger...
Andy: Mom, I don't get lost in the hospital at all. I'm brave.
Me: That's good. So you know your way around the building?
Andy: Kelly says I'm an old pro at this.
Me: Well Mr. Pro, go shave your beard.
Andy: MOOOOOooooommm, why do you make me shave every day?
Me: So you don't go to work looking messy and unprofessional.
Andy: I shaved yesterday!
Me: You also took a shower yesterday, and brushed your teeth yesterday. Somethings must be done yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Andy: I hate shaving, I hate brushing my teeth too. I only like drawing pictures and chicken nuggets!
Me: Well that is wonderful. By the way, your laundry is all done. You can fold it on the table.
Andy: MOOOOOOOoooooommm, why do I have to fold stupid laundry!?
Me: Have you ever heard of a Laundry Fairy?
Andy: NO!
Me: Well neither have I. Fold your laundry after you shave!!
Mike is 19 and graduated last spring from high school. He is currently taking classes at the local technical college. He is a young man whose world is still quite small- he has a LOT of free time. The first few months I almost went nuts. Mike's strings feel like they are wrapped around my ankles since he seems to always be underfoot:
Mike: Hey Mom, what are you doing?
Me: Just loading the dishwasher.
Mike: Are you going to do anything else today? You know, like- something productive?
Me: What are you saying?
Mike: Well, you don't really do much as far as I can see.
(My death stare begins, but he's not making eye contact yet, so he continues)
Mike: Sure, you wash dishes, make dinner, play with the pups- but what do you really do to keep busy?
Me: Let me see- what do I do to be productive? I was up at 4:30 today and so far I have:
Washed 3 loads of laundry
Baked a loaf of bread
Cleaned the kitchen after Dad's eggs, your sugar toast, and Andy's milk spill.
I repaired a picture frame
Swept the garage
Sat down and watched the local morning news with a cup of coffee
Drove your brother to the bus stop
Drove the neighbor guys to work
(Mike has finally looked up and made eye contact)
Me: Now I plan to clean the upstairs bathrooms
Change the bedding on our bed
Wash the floors on my hands and knees
Maybe weed the flowerbeds one last time before it snows
Touch up the paint in the hallway
Take the puppies for a walk
Run a mile or two myself
Pick up your father for lunch
Take your father back to work
Dust (oh who are we kidding, I never dust)
Pick up your brother and attend a meeting about Project Search
Fix dinner
Eat dinner
Clean the dinner dishes
Make coffee for tomorrow
Sit down and fight about not wanting to watch football, hunting or ESPN News with your father
Crochet a bit
Go to bed
What exactly is your definition of "being productive?" This is simply my definition of Monday!
Mike: I've made you mad, haven't I?
Me: WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CLUE? What exactly do you have planned today that fits your definition of "being productive"?
Mike: I made my bed.
Me: Would I be pleased with the final result?
Mike: You have ridiculous expectations when it comes to my bedroom.
Me: I would be happy if it didn't smell like the boys' locker room and your quilt was 60% straightened.
Mike: Like I said- ridiculous expectations.
Me: I'm going to start charging you rent.
I'm glad they all need me to hold a portion of their apron strings. Kelsey needs me to answer the phone. Andy needs me to monitor his beard and run the washing machine. Mike needs me to refrain from causing him bodily harm. John needs a winter project like he had last year- but that is a post for another time. His mother gave me his strings almost 23 years ago!
Monday, December 9, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Special Fire Alarms at the YMCA
I'm back after a long summer break. Here's an oldie but a goodie...
Back more years than I can figure out in my head (late 1990's?) Kelsey played on a winter basketball team at the local YMCA. John was one of the coaches so he sat on the far side of the gym with the team. I stayed across the gym, along the back wall behind all the parents in the folding chairs. My boys (and other children) played in the hallway during the games.
I was constantly looking from the gym floor to the hallway trying to watch one daughter and two sons in different areas. I'm watching Kelsey's team on the court when suddenly the building fire alarms go off! Instinct kicks in- John will take care of Kelsey, I have to get the boys!
I turn to the hallway to see Andy standing with the fire alarm trigger in his fingers.
Andy had pulled the alarm...crap, oh crap...oh crap!!!!!!
YMCA staff come running. I tell anyone who will listen that it is a false alarm. I apologize profusely all while turning from salmon, to pink, to red. A crowd has gathered in the doorway from the gym. I couldn't run if I tried. I am mortified, and Andy is clueless.
Apparently the little glass bar that offers some resistance was broken earlier in the week. Without that glass bar, it was very easy for Andy to lift the trigger and set off the alarm.
The firemen came quickly and shut the alarm off. I explain that Andy is autistic and that I had looked away a little to long.
Now here's the funny part...
Just as I am starting to catch my breath- my beloved husband comes flying into the hallway holding little Mike from the armpits.
John: "Would you please watch your son- I'm trying to coach a game in there!"
(He swears he never saw the firemen or staff all standing around me in that hallway)
Amy: I'm sorry, I was trying answer all the questions the firemen have for your other son WHO SET OFF THE ALARM IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!"
(He realized his error, handed me the smallest child and sheepishly headed back to the gym.)
The firemen seemed really understanding after that exchange, and a new little glass bar was put in place. I headed back into the gym with two boys to sit on the floor. John has the van keys so I can't leave his sorry a**. I am embarrassed, shaken and now pissed off at my husband.
Now here is the mean part...
The team was made up of Kelsey's classmates. That meant that 50% of those parents watching the game knew our family very well. I had coached most of their daughters for 3+ summers of t-ball, and a few years of girl scouts. They all knew my boys were a handful.
As I'm sitting on the floor waiting for the game to end- I can hear the whispers and a snarky word here and there. I don't know who is saying what, but I'm certain no one is defending me.
I'm now pissed off at my husband, hurt by the parents around me, and the irate at the person who didn't replace the stupid little glass bar on the fire alarm!!!
Then it happened- that 'one mother' decided to make sure I knew I had messed up big. This woman has known me at least 4 years. At some point I must have offended her because:
She Witch: Amy?
Me: Yes?
Evil Lady: Was that one of your kids who set off the alarm?
Me: Yes, I'm sorry. Andy pulled the alarm, the glass resister bar was broken earlier today.
Snotty Wench: Ooooooh, well how did that happen? Were you watching him?
Me: Yes, yes I was. He was just that quick.
Hag from Hell: Wow, considering he's special and everything.
Now- let me be clear, she didn't say 'special' in a nice tone. She said it like it was the most vile and disgusting thing to flow from her tongue. It wasn't said to offer empathy- it was said to wound. She wounded me more than had she slapped me in the face. She kicked me when I was down- and she knew it.
Here's the moral of the story...
Seven years later, that same 'Nasty Momma' called me. Actually she called me 3 times- I accidentally answered the 3rd time. Her son had been recently diagnosed with Asperger's.
I am proud to report that I answered all her questions kindly, gently and honestly because that was the right thing to do.
(Honestly- I just didn't have the schutzpah to tell her off)
Back more years than I can figure out in my head (late 1990's?) Kelsey played on a winter basketball team at the local YMCA. John was one of the coaches so he sat on the far side of the gym with the team. I stayed across the gym, along the back wall behind all the parents in the folding chairs. My boys (and other children) played in the hallway during the games.
I was constantly looking from the gym floor to the hallway trying to watch one daughter and two sons in different areas. I'm watching Kelsey's team on the court when suddenly the building fire alarms go off! Instinct kicks in- John will take care of Kelsey, I have to get the boys!
I turn to the hallway to see Andy standing with the fire alarm trigger in his fingers.
Andy had pulled the alarm...crap, oh crap...oh crap!!!!!!
YMCA staff come running. I tell anyone who will listen that it is a false alarm. I apologize profusely all while turning from salmon, to pink, to red. A crowd has gathered in the doorway from the gym. I couldn't run if I tried. I am mortified, and Andy is clueless.
Apparently the little glass bar that offers some resistance was broken earlier in the week. Without that glass bar, it was very easy for Andy to lift the trigger and set off the alarm.
The firemen came quickly and shut the alarm off. I explain that Andy is autistic and that I had looked away a little to long.
Now here's the funny part...
Just as I am starting to catch my breath- my beloved husband comes flying into the hallway holding little Mike from the armpits.
John: "Would you please watch your son- I'm trying to coach a game in there!"
(He swears he never saw the firemen or staff all standing around me in that hallway)
Amy: I'm sorry, I was trying answer all the questions the firemen have for your other son WHO SET OFF THE ALARM IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!"
(He realized his error, handed me the smallest child and sheepishly headed back to the gym.)
The firemen seemed really understanding after that exchange, and a new little glass bar was put in place. I headed back into the gym with two boys to sit on the floor. John has the van keys so I can't leave his sorry a**. I am embarrassed, shaken and now pissed off at my husband.
Now here is the mean part...
The team was made up of Kelsey's classmates. That meant that 50% of those parents watching the game knew our family very well. I had coached most of their daughters for 3+ summers of t-ball, and a few years of girl scouts. They all knew my boys were a handful.
As I'm sitting on the floor waiting for the game to end- I can hear the whispers and a snarky word here and there. I don't know who is saying what, but I'm certain no one is defending me.
I'm now pissed off at my husband, hurt by the parents around me, and the irate at the person who didn't replace the stupid little glass bar on the fire alarm!!!
Then it happened- that 'one mother' decided to make sure I knew I had messed up big. This woman has known me at least 4 years. At some point I must have offended her because:
She Witch: Amy?
Me: Yes?
Evil Lady: Was that one of your kids who set off the alarm?
Me: Yes, I'm sorry. Andy pulled the alarm, the glass resister bar was broken earlier today.
Snotty Wench: Ooooooh, well how did that happen? Were you watching him?
Me: Yes, yes I was. He was just that quick.
Hag from Hell: Wow, considering he's special and everything.
Now- let me be clear, she didn't say 'special' in a nice tone. She said it like it was the most vile and disgusting thing to flow from her tongue. It wasn't said to offer empathy- it was said to wound. She wounded me more than had she slapped me in the face. She kicked me when I was down- and she knew it.
Here's the moral of the story...
Seven years later, that same 'Nasty Momma' called me. Actually she called me 3 times- I accidentally answered the 3rd time. Her son had been recently diagnosed with Asperger's.
I am proud to report that I answered all her questions kindly, gently and honestly because that was the right thing to do.
(Honestly- I just didn't have the schutzpah to tell her off)
Monday, June 3, 2013
Spring Sprang, Changes Coming, and Whatever!
It has been quite a while since I've sat down in front of this little keyboard and pounded out a post. Things are changing around here and I've just been trying to keep up.
I live in central Wisconsin. For 9 months of the typical year we are inside, keeping comfy and wondering when it will get warm outside again. 3 months of the year we are spending every daylight hour possible- outside (secretly wishing it would get cooler). Once the thermometer hits 50 degrees- we are pulling weeds, raking lawns, washing cars and windows, and doing anything that gives us an excuse to be outside.
John and I finished the garage project from hell in April. I will never plaster a wall or ceiling again. The saddest moment occurred when I realized that the tallest person in our family (my hubby) is on the tallest ladder working on the lowest part of a wall. At the same time I (the shortest person in the family) am plastering the highest part of the garage on the shortest ladder we own.
Grandma is getting through her chemo. Some days are better than others, but nothing easy is ever worth fighting for.
Kelsey bought her first car a few weeks ago. We put the title in John's name to give Kelsey a discounted rate on her insurance. Now when she gets a bit sassy John tells her "Don't make me put your name on that car title!!!!"
Andy is finishing his last year of actual high school. He's moving on to a community work experience program next fall. He sang a solo with the Varsity choir last week. Although I missed it because Grandma had a bad chemo reaction, I cried when I listened to the performance on Kelsey's cell phone. The boy inherited my love of music, and apparently my perfect pitch.
Mike is graduating from high school! This is the child that gave me a white streak up my part amongst my already grey head of hair. Mike is set to attend classes next fall at the local technical college. He plans make a career in welding. I expect to receive garden art and industrial level patio furniture over the next 2 years. I'm okay with that, but what I really want is for Mike to make his bed 1 day a month without me asking.
Here's funny story of the week.....
Mike had to leave early for a band concert. He took the Nissan at my suggestion.
He didn't see the van parked on the other side of the driveway.
When a Nissan rolls into the side of a van- it sounds like a very large aluminum can getting crushed very slowly.
John and I raced outside to find the vehicles jammed into each other. Mike is climbing out of the driver's seat looking petrified.
John: "What the hell Mike!"
Mike: "I was looking back the whole time; I didn't know the van was there!"
Me: "Really? You want to go on record saying you were looking back the whole time?!"
Mike: "Oh great!!! I suppose you're going to hold this over my head for years to come!"
Me: "Pretty safe assumption there buddy!"
John: "He took off the Nissan mirror, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get the cars apart!!"
John did manage to separate the vehicles after throwing it between reverse and drive 4 separate times while turning the wheel hard left and hard right. (He looked like a NASCAR driver desperately trying to avoid a crash at 2 mph.)
I tell Mike to get into the van and go to his concert. John is pacing the garage like a caged lion.
Mike: "It isn't my fault! Mom told me to take the van!!"
John turns red and looks like he's going to have a stroke. I press John toward the back door.
Me: "Seriously Mike, would you just be quiet? There is no one else you can possibly blame, and in the future, my advice would to start this kind of moment out with 'I'm really sorry.' Now go to your concert."
Mike manages to regain his composure and takes off for his concert. John comes out and starts to access the damage to his only new vehicle ever (although we've owned it for 5 years now).
John: "I can't believe his actually did this!!!"
I look him in the eye and immediately start laughing. By the grace of God himself- I have narrowly avoided doing this very thing to this very vehicle at least 3 different times! Once I almost hit Kelsey's boyfriend's brand new truck. When I saw what Mike had done my first thought was "Oh thank God it wasn't me!"
After a few hours John's stroke symptoms had lessened to a mild headache. The two of them had talked it through and moved forward. When I sent Kelsey a text photo of what Mike had done to the car she replied:
Kelsey: "Whoa, he beat me. I only did damage to the Nissan once."
Me: "Actually you damaged the same vehicle 3 different times. You once managed to hit a large 'road closed' sign while your passenger warned you!"
Kelsey: "I only damaged the Nissan that one time!"
Me: "Kelsey, I have been chewed out vicariously 3 different times about 3 different things you did to the Nissan. If I get chewed out, it counts!"
Kelsey: "Whatever!"
Probably best she has her own car now.
I live in central Wisconsin. For 9 months of the typical year we are inside, keeping comfy and wondering when it will get warm outside again. 3 months of the year we are spending every daylight hour possible- outside (secretly wishing it would get cooler). Once the thermometer hits 50 degrees- we are pulling weeds, raking lawns, washing cars and windows, and doing anything that gives us an excuse to be outside.
John and I finished the garage project from hell in April. I will never plaster a wall or ceiling again. The saddest moment occurred when I realized that the tallest person in our family (my hubby) is on the tallest ladder working on the lowest part of a wall. At the same time I (the shortest person in the family) am plastering the highest part of the garage on the shortest ladder we own.
Grandma is getting through her chemo. Some days are better than others, but nothing easy is ever worth fighting for.
Kelsey bought her first car a few weeks ago. We put the title in John's name to give Kelsey a discounted rate on her insurance. Now when she gets a bit sassy John tells her "Don't make me put your name on that car title!!!!"
Andy is finishing his last year of actual high school. He's moving on to a community work experience program next fall. He sang a solo with the Varsity choir last week. Although I missed it because Grandma had a bad chemo reaction, I cried when I listened to the performance on Kelsey's cell phone. The boy inherited my love of music, and apparently my perfect pitch.
Mike is graduating from high school! This is the child that gave me a white streak up my part amongst my already grey head of hair. Mike is set to attend classes next fall at the local technical college. He plans make a career in welding. I expect to receive garden art and industrial level patio furniture over the next 2 years. I'm okay with that, but what I really want is for Mike to make his bed 1 day a month without me asking.
Here's funny story of the week.....
Mike had to leave early for a band concert. He took the Nissan at my suggestion.
He didn't see the van parked on the other side of the driveway.
When a Nissan rolls into the side of a van- it sounds like a very large aluminum can getting crushed very slowly.
John and I raced outside to find the vehicles jammed into each other. Mike is climbing out of the driver's seat looking petrified.
John: "What the hell Mike!"
Mike: "I was looking back the whole time; I didn't know the van was there!"
Me: "Really? You want to go on record saying you were looking back the whole time?!"
Mike: "Oh great!!! I suppose you're going to hold this over my head for years to come!"
Me: "Pretty safe assumption there buddy!"
John: "He took off the Nissan mirror, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get the cars apart!!"
John did manage to separate the vehicles after throwing it between reverse and drive 4 separate times while turning the wheel hard left and hard right. (He looked like a NASCAR driver desperately trying to avoid a crash at 2 mph.)
I tell Mike to get into the van and go to his concert. John is pacing the garage like a caged lion.
Mike: "It isn't my fault! Mom told me to take the van!!"
John turns red and looks like he's going to have a stroke. I press John toward the back door.
Me: "Seriously Mike, would you just be quiet? There is no one else you can possibly blame, and in the future, my advice would to start this kind of moment out with 'I'm really sorry.' Now go to your concert."
Mike manages to regain his composure and takes off for his concert. John comes out and starts to access the damage to his only new vehicle ever (although we've owned it for 5 years now).
John: "I can't believe his actually did this!!!"
I look him in the eye and immediately start laughing. By the grace of God himself- I have narrowly avoided doing this very thing to this very vehicle at least 3 different times! Once I almost hit Kelsey's boyfriend's brand new truck. When I saw what Mike had done my first thought was "Oh thank God it wasn't me!"
After a few hours John's stroke symptoms had lessened to a mild headache. The two of them had talked it through and moved forward. When I sent Kelsey a text photo of what Mike had done to the car she replied:
Kelsey: "Whoa, he beat me. I only did damage to the Nissan once."
Me: "Actually you damaged the same vehicle 3 different times. You once managed to hit a large 'road closed' sign while your passenger warned you!"
Kelsey: "I only damaged the Nissan that one time!"
Me: "Kelsey, I have been chewed out vicariously 3 different times about 3 different things you did to the Nissan. If I get chewed out, it counts!"
Kelsey: "Whatever!"
Probably best she has her own car now.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
No more joking!
I quit smoking on March
26, 2013 the same day my mother-in-law started her chemo.
She takes care of herself.
My mother-in-law has cancer!
I know, I know…it is a
disgusting, nasty, shameful addiction. I
was never proud to be a smoker. To make
this post easier for those who find my habit offensive and vile…I will
substitute smoking with ‘joking’ for
the rest of my post.
I loved joking. It was my coping mechanism and my vice. Needing a joke
was an excuse to take a moment for myself. When people ask me how I managed to get
through the last 20 years raising my 3 kids I rarely admitted the truth…joking.
I didn’t actually hide my joking,
but I didn’t advertise it either.
I loved joking.
It was an excuse to go outside and be alone. It meant time for me even if it was only for
2, 5 or 10 minutes. No one wanted to ‘hear my jokes’ so I would sit in the
garage and savor the moments. When the
kids were young, joking was a way to
calm down and reset myself. The kids
have grown, become more independent, and the stress levels have dropped.
Why was I still joking?
I told myself that someday the right reason would come along to
encourage me to stop.
I quit joking once for 2 whole years.
I started up again after an especially tragic event happened to one of
my children. Truthfully- the event was
an excuse to start again. I turned to my
vice because no one would tell me not to at that time. Even my husband said he understood. (I have a
very patient husband.)
For the last 12 years I
have joked knowing that I would one
day need to quit again. I had done it
once before and I knew what to expect.
It sucks rotten eggs! Those
memories are not the best motivators.
Then Grandma was diagnosed
with breast cancer. As I read through
the paperwork from her biopsy, a word kept bouncing off the page…
CARCINOGEN
I know jokes contain carcinogens.
“WHAT THE HELL AM I
DOING????”
My mother-in-law is very
health conscious.
She eats right. She takes care of herself.
My mother-in-law has cancer!
I need to at least quit joking.
Eating right and taking care of myself can come afterwards. So, at 9:30, the morning of her first
chemotherapy I joked for the last
time.
After her treatment was
finished I went straight from the hospital to the drug store and bought “The
Patch”. I had seizures as a child so I
can’t take Chantix, and “The Patch” worked for me last time.
I didn’t tell anyone. If I spoke of it aloud, then others would hold
me accountable. If I went public with my
decision- then I had to stick to it.
My family didn’t notice
for 24 hours. I finally told Kelsey the
next afternoon because I realized that if no one knew- I might just start up
again. I told John when he got home from
work that night. I had made it through
the first 24 hours and wanted to make sure I stuck with it for another 24.
According to an app I put
on my phone- it has been 23 days since my last joke. I have saved $178. (Jokes are pricey!) I feel better. My body is adjusting. The worst is behind me. I can’t say I’ll never joke again…but I’m trying my hardest.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Andyisms
My middle child has a
creative mind and no filter behind his mouth.
A thought enters his brain and usually flies out of his mouth. He sees it, he thinks it, and he says it.
Sometimes it is an
original thought; more often it is a statement he has heard sometime over the
last 20 years. A movie line, a snarky
comment he wasn’t mean to hear, or part of a song he heard on the radio.
You never see them
coming. His choices and situational
placement could get him a job writing sitcoms in Hollywood- if they didn’t mind
the recycling of previous episodes.
Here is a small collection
of what we call…. ‘ANDY-ISMS’
“Mom, they don’t allow illness at school. I am getting a cold (sniff, snort). Illness is not allowed at school!!!!
(The new school year honeymoon was declared over with
this one)
“Woohooo!! Guess
what…Spring is HERE!! Only 274 more days
until WINTER!!”
(There you have it folks. Something to look forward to?)
“Mom, was your Dad by chance a vulture cuz you are one
silly looking vulture?”
(The boy greeted me with this the morning after a
neighborhood party)
“Mom, you should never pull the arms off complete
strangers!”
(Said with a British accent and I have no idea what he
was referring too.)
“Mom, never touch a uvula, it could make you throw up!!”
(I had to look up the definition of uvula. It is the dangle at the back of your throat)
“Molly quit barking like an animal!!”
(Would he have preferred the dog giggle or meow?)
“Smooookin’ is hazardous for your health!”
(He channeled Jim Carrey for one whole day!)
“We can water the trees just like the dogs do!”
(Thankfully we were up at the cabin)
“Mom, you can’t wear round shoes on square feet.”
(Logical, but I still want a pair of round shoes)
“MOM!! My name doesn’t work right on the computer- YOU
NEED TO TYPE IN YOUR NAME OR I WON’T PLAY ON THE COMPUTER EVER AGAIN!!! Are you
a virus or something?!?!?”
(He has no appreciation for parental controls on the
kitchen computer!)
“Never, ever swim with alligators.”
(Living in Wisconsin lowers our risk level greatly!)
This is just a smattering of the goofy things the boys
has rattled off over the years. I wish I
had kept a running list of what he has said over the years.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
What's it like?
Last week I spoke with a group of high school students. Half of the class is special needs students, the other half are regular education. This class provides gifts and experiences that all the students benefit from. I have presented to this type of class in the past, and one question always comes up:
What is it like to be a parent of a special needs child?
After years of answering "Difficult, rewarding, trying, and sometimes painful" I've created a new answer that I gave to the classroom of eager listeners last week. I've tweaked it considerably and will probably have to read my answer in the future...but here goes...
Imagine your living room without any furniture. On the floor is a million puzzle pieces.
You know you need to put that puzzle together as quickly as possible because every minute the picture on the puzzle pieces change.
In one doorway are all your friends and family. You hear cheers and words of encouragement:
"I don't know how you do it- I could never put that puzzle together."
"You are so awesome with puzzles!"
"It is so impressive to watch you work those pieces."
In the other doorway, another group watches your every move, commenting with hushed voices:
"That puzzle is too hard for her."
"I don't know why she's even trying; she'll never get it all done!"
"Puzzles like that shouldn't even be in stores."
After a while, you get some of the edges put together. You finally feel like you have something to work with but now....
The puzzle pieces change shape every 5 minutes!
You feel pressured to put the puzzle together, quickly, and correctly. You can't cheat because the pieces only go a certain way.
As your knees start to hurt and your back begins to ache- you start turning to the experts outside the window...
"Do you know how to slow down the picture changes?"
"Have you ever seen a puzzle like this before, are there any tricks to help me?"
"How do I stop the shapes from changing!?"
The experts shrug their shoulders and can only offer basic tips...
"Each puzzle is different, but you're making progress, keep going!"
"Maybe if the lighting was better you would have better results?"
"Have you had your eyes checked? Where are your glasses?"
You feel all alone- on your hands and knees- struggling to make sense of the whole stupid puzzle. Time slips away and you become focused on a single piece. Obsessed with making that one piece fit somewhere!!
If you don't finish the stupid puzzle- you will never be able to use the living room again! It is the one room of the house that everyone else gets to use whenever they want- because THEY DON'T HAVE A STUPID PUZZLE SPREAD ALL OVER THE FLOOR!!!! You can't walk around the room without stepping on the puzzle. The puzzle can't be moved because the pieces will fall apart!
The self pity, uncertainty, frustration and anger makes you start to cry. Finally, you sit back on your feet for a short break. The puzzle is consuming you.
As you look around the room you realize that you aren't the only one working on this puzzle. Your friends have started on another corner, your family is searching for pieces that have almost slid under the rug, a teacher is holding up each box cover for reference as the pictures change and the experts are bringing your reading glasses and showing you examples of other people who have put similar puzzles together.
You stand up, stretch you back, creaking and cracking from toes to eyeballs. You thank everyone for their help. The negative comments turn into whisperers. They can’t compete with the happy chatter in the living room as everyone else works on the puzzle. In a moment of clarity, you decided to escort them out onto the street. You calmly explain to them:
"If you can't or won't help us- you need to get out. I only have room for my puzzle and anyone who will help."
In time, you see more and more of the pieces fitting together. A confidence and contentment fills your soul. If the puzzle is never completely finished or perfect you decide you can live with it.
Everyone agrees that furniture can be moved if there is ever enough space. We can live with the puzzle on the floor. We still have the kitchen, the backyard, the bedrooms and the bath. It is more important that you have now realized that is isn't only your puzzle...
No one should do a puzzle alone. Just be sure the people on the floor want to put the puzzle together too!
What is it like to be a parent of a special needs child?
After years of answering "Difficult, rewarding, trying, and sometimes painful" I've created a new answer that I gave to the classroom of eager listeners last week. I've tweaked it considerably and will probably have to read my answer in the future...but here goes...
Imagine your living room without any furniture. On the floor is a million puzzle pieces.
You know you need to put that puzzle together as quickly as possible because every minute the picture on the puzzle pieces change.
In one doorway are all your friends and family. You hear cheers and words of encouragement:
"I don't know how you do it- I could never put that puzzle together."
"You are so awesome with puzzles!"
"It is so impressive to watch you work those pieces."
In the other doorway, another group watches your every move, commenting with hushed voices:
"That puzzle is too hard for her."
"I don't know why she's even trying; she'll never get it all done!"
"Puzzles like that shouldn't even be in stores."
After a while, you get some of the edges put together. You finally feel like you have something to work with but now....
The puzzle pieces change shape every 5 minutes!
You feel pressured to put the puzzle together, quickly, and correctly. You can't cheat because the pieces only go a certain way.
As your knees start to hurt and your back begins to ache- you start turning to the experts outside the window...
"Do you know how to slow down the picture changes?"
"Have you ever seen a puzzle like this before, are there any tricks to help me?"
"How do I stop the shapes from changing!?"
The experts shrug their shoulders and can only offer basic tips...
"Each puzzle is different, but you're making progress, keep going!"
"Maybe if the lighting was better you would have better results?"
"Have you had your eyes checked? Where are your glasses?"
You feel all alone- on your hands and knees- struggling to make sense of the whole stupid puzzle. Time slips away and you become focused on a single piece. Obsessed with making that one piece fit somewhere!!
If you don't finish the stupid puzzle- you will never be able to use the living room again! It is the one room of the house that everyone else gets to use whenever they want- because THEY DON'T HAVE A STUPID PUZZLE SPREAD ALL OVER THE FLOOR!!!! You can't walk around the room without stepping on the puzzle. The puzzle can't be moved because the pieces will fall apart!
The self pity, uncertainty, frustration and anger makes you start to cry. Finally, you sit back on your feet for a short break. The puzzle is consuming you.
As you look around the room you realize that you aren't the only one working on this puzzle. Your friends have started on another corner, your family is searching for pieces that have almost slid under the rug, a teacher is holding up each box cover for reference as the pictures change and the experts are bringing your reading glasses and showing you examples of other people who have put similar puzzles together.
You stand up, stretch you back, creaking and cracking from toes to eyeballs. You thank everyone for their help. The negative comments turn into whisperers. They can’t compete with the happy chatter in the living room as everyone else works on the puzzle. In a moment of clarity, you decided to escort them out onto the street. You calmly explain to them:
"If you can't or won't help us- you need to get out. I only have room for my puzzle and anyone who will help."
In time, you see more and more of the pieces fitting together. A confidence and contentment fills your soul. If the puzzle is never completely finished or perfect you decide you can live with it.
Everyone agrees that furniture can be moved if there is ever enough space. We can live with the puzzle on the floor. We still have the kitchen, the backyard, the bedrooms and the bath. It is more important that you have now realized that is isn't only your puzzle...
No one should do a puzzle alone. Just be sure the people on the floor want to put the puzzle together too!
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Random thoughts on a random day...
Grandma starts chemo next week- finally! After weeks of scrambling between doctors, trying to balance my family, implementing new behavior plans, and other stupid crap- I have been spending a quiet morning with my favorite coffee mug- (trying to resist the urge to add some Bailey's Irish Cream).
I'm processing the last few weeks and making lists. I realized that I have the most random list of thoughts going through my brain today...let me give you a glimpse into my noggin:
I need to do FAFSA for both Mike and Kelsey this week. (This woke me up at 3am one morning scrambling for a calendar to confirm to due date- April 1st in our state)
Get a reasonable explanation ready for when Grandma loses her hair at the end of the month. Andy isn't going to fall for Grandma's wig. He's going to ask A LOT of questions.
The new washable potty pads I bought aren't indestructible (in spite of the package's claim). 2 puppies destroyed it in less than 20 minutes. I have 2 left. I now put them away when I leave. The puppies piddle on the floor when I'm gone...completely against the reason I bought them in the first place!
The roundabout on Evergreen really should have a sign for winter road conditions. In spite of new tires, 15 mph on glare ice will still allow you to slide sideways into a snow bank. Lesson learned- only one witness, got out of the snow without calling AAA.
I have seen my mother-in-law's boob way to many times. Cancer still sucks.
Phoebe, my grand fish, died last week. I wish Kelsey had not done a porcelain burial; it would have been nice to bury her out by the maple tree. Is it weird to order a garden plaque for a beta fish?
We got a new dishwasher on Saturday. I over estimated how many times John would say "That $90 install fee is looking pretty good right now." He only said it 7 times, I guessed 22 times. I under estimated the number of trips to the hardware store. I guessed one trip, we actually made 2 trips.
I need a cleaning lady. I'm hoping she accepts grateful tears of joy for payment.
Sitting in the backseat of my car allows one to feel every fish tale slide on the highway. Realizing your husband still has the cruise control on and his foot over the gas pedal (and not the brake) is grounds for a nervous breakdown. Being referred to as a backseat driver for moaning when the car slides like a carnival ride- is grounds for divorce!
March Madness is my least favorite time of the year. Mike has no less than 2 blow ups a season over losses. One would think he had a million dollars riding on a single game.
One of my puppies doesn't weigh enough. Apparently they can achieve enough height at the counter edge to pull out an iPad power cube from the wall plug. I figure if I make them fat enough they won't get the vertical lift needed to cause such destruction.
I need to reconfigure the men's sock drawers in my house. Andy only had one pair after I folded a full week's worth of laundry. Thankfully, he has enough underwear. When I checked John and Mike's drawers for socks, I could barely open each one because they were so full.
After the Christmas Day fiasco- I almost swapped the boys pill boxes again. Must be more vigilant- or perhaps it is time I actually wrote the boys names on the top of each box versus the bottom (which I apparently never look at!)
Those aren't nose prints on my front window- I call it puppy art!
I like winter. No bugs to freak me out. No pollen to make me miserable. Fall is okay too- especially after the first freeze when the bugs and pollen go away.
What gets chewed up at 10am, will most like get puked onto my king sized, down filled comforter at 2:30am the next morning.
My girlfriends are the best. Without each and every one of them- my random thoughts would be occurring on the Psych ward.
I'm processing the last few weeks and making lists. I realized that I have the most random list of thoughts going through my brain today...let me give you a glimpse into my noggin:
I need to do FAFSA for both Mike and Kelsey this week. (This woke me up at 3am one morning scrambling for a calendar to confirm to due date- April 1st in our state)
Get a reasonable explanation ready for when Grandma loses her hair at the end of the month. Andy isn't going to fall for Grandma's wig. He's going to ask A LOT of questions.
The new washable potty pads I bought aren't indestructible (in spite of the package's claim). 2 puppies destroyed it in less than 20 minutes. I have 2 left. I now put them away when I leave. The puppies piddle on the floor when I'm gone...completely against the reason I bought them in the first place!
The roundabout on Evergreen really should have a sign for winter road conditions. In spite of new tires, 15 mph on glare ice will still allow you to slide sideways into a snow bank. Lesson learned- only one witness, got out of the snow without calling AAA.
I have seen my mother-in-law's boob way to many times. Cancer still sucks.
Phoebe, my grand fish, died last week. I wish Kelsey had not done a porcelain burial; it would have been nice to bury her out by the maple tree. Is it weird to order a garden plaque for a beta fish?
We got a new dishwasher on Saturday. I over estimated how many times John would say "That $90 install fee is looking pretty good right now." He only said it 7 times, I guessed 22 times. I under estimated the number of trips to the hardware store. I guessed one trip, we actually made 2 trips.
I need a cleaning lady. I'm hoping she accepts grateful tears of joy for payment.
Sitting in the backseat of my car allows one to feel every fish tale slide on the highway. Realizing your husband still has the cruise control on and his foot over the gas pedal (and not the brake) is grounds for a nervous breakdown. Being referred to as a backseat driver for moaning when the car slides like a carnival ride- is grounds for divorce!
March Madness is my least favorite time of the year. Mike has no less than 2 blow ups a season over losses. One would think he had a million dollars riding on a single game.
One of my puppies doesn't weigh enough. Apparently they can achieve enough height at the counter edge to pull out an iPad power cube from the wall plug. I figure if I make them fat enough they won't get the vertical lift needed to cause such destruction.
I need to reconfigure the men's sock drawers in my house. Andy only had one pair after I folded a full week's worth of laundry. Thankfully, he has enough underwear. When I checked John and Mike's drawers for socks, I could barely open each one because they were so full.
After the Christmas Day fiasco- I almost swapped the boys pill boxes again. Must be more vigilant- or perhaps it is time I actually wrote the boys names on the top of each box versus the bottom (which I apparently never look at!)
Those aren't nose prints on my front window- I call it puppy art!
I like winter. No bugs to freak me out. No pollen to make me miserable. Fall is okay too- especially after the first freeze when the bugs and pollen go away.
What gets chewed up at 10am, will most like get puked onto my king sized, down filled comforter at 2:30am the next morning.
My girlfriends are the best. Without each and every one of them- my random thoughts would be occurring on the Psych ward.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Did you know on Duplex Row....?
We lived in a 3 bedroom, split level duplex for almost 11 years. It had a 2 car garage which pointed directly towards the road in front of the house. When you walked into the garage, you entered through a screen door onto a landing. 8 steps upstairs, 8 steps downstairs. On warm summer days we left the back door open to the garage, and the patio door open off the kitchen. It created a nice breeze when the air was moving.
Coincidentally- it also turned the garage into a megaphone!!!
The entire neighborhood consisted of similar duplexes. Identical houses sharing one common wall through the center of the building. We fondly called it "Duplex row". People moved in and out of the hood but occasionally we got a few that stuck around a few years. Directly across the street from us was a similar duplex. Our garage doors lined up to each other almost perfectly. They also had windows into their kitchen that pointed towards our side of the street.
Dan and Jill moved in across the street about 2 years after us. Her son was the same age as Andy. He was a wonderful, patient, and kind mentor for my boys. Jill became a good friend, confidant, and sounding board. We are still close although she moved a neighboring town many years ago. She was the first person to mention that when our house was wide open and voices got loud, she could hear everything we were saying- across the street!
Apparently my neighborhood knew when it was bedtime, punishment was being doled out, and when the kids were just being loud and boisterous. Once, Jill pointed out our architectural anomaly, I became much more aware of what was yelled, screamed, or called within our walls.
I cringe to think we once hollered things like:
Honestly John, I understand how some animals can eat their young!
Andy- get some clothes on- right now!
Seriously Michael, I don't see any blood so you can quit screaming!
I swear Kelsey, if don't feed them, I won't either!
(referring to her fish)
Jill knew how my day was going before I even crawled over to her house with a cup of coffee.
After the megaphone discovery, we squabbled in whispers all summer long- unless the air conditioner was running- but you first had to be sure we weren't accidentally air conditioning the outside. I learned to use that megaphone for good- versus evil. I could stand at my back door, see Jill at her kitchen sink and simply call across the street..."Jill, are you busy?" We never called each other on the phone.
We tried to be 'the friendly house'. We had 3 young children, the school bus stopped in our driveway, and I was a stay-at-home mom at the time. After Jill moved, a young couple with 2 young boys moved in across the street mid-winter. When spring finally arrived, we had a chance to meet them. They were surprised to discover we only had 3 children. Each of my kids owned 2 winter jackets, snow pants, a menagerie of hats, scarves, boots and mittens. The constant wardrobe changes made it hard for them to figure out exactly how many children were living there. They stopped guessing at 6 kids.
I look back at those years on the North side with affection. I long for the days when something broke and you called the landlord to come fix it. I miss not worrying about impressing anyone- we were all in the same boat. I miss that megaphone garage. I miss my seeing my friend standing in that window. She was my first cheerleader, my first confidant, my first friend to help me accept the autism.
The new house has a 2 stall garage. It points exactly between the houses across the street...I'm sure some physicist would tell me that our sounds now carry across the entire neighborhood...I can live with that shame. I never use names when I yell anymore. Gives me a level of deniability!
Coincidentally- it also turned the garage into a megaphone!!!
The entire neighborhood consisted of similar duplexes. Identical houses sharing one common wall through the center of the building. We fondly called it "Duplex row". People moved in and out of the hood but occasionally we got a few that stuck around a few years. Directly across the street from us was a similar duplex. Our garage doors lined up to each other almost perfectly. They also had windows into their kitchen that pointed towards our side of the street.
Dan and Jill moved in across the street about 2 years after us. Her son was the same age as Andy. He was a wonderful, patient, and kind mentor for my boys. Jill became a good friend, confidant, and sounding board. We are still close although she moved a neighboring town many years ago. She was the first person to mention that when our house was wide open and voices got loud, she could hear everything we were saying- across the street!
Apparently my neighborhood knew when it was bedtime, punishment was being doled out, and when the kids were just being loud and boisterous. Once, Jill pointed out our architectural anomaly, I became much more aware of what was yelled, screamed, or called within our walls.
I cringe to think we once hollered things like:
Honestly John, I understand how some animals can eat their young!
Andy- get some clothes on- right now!
Seriously Michael, I don't see any blood so you can quit screaming!
I swear Kelsey, if don't feed them, I won't either!
(referring to her fish)
Jill knew how my day was going before I even crawled over to her house with a cup of coffee.
After the megaphone discovery, we squabbled in whispers all summer long- unless the air conditioner was running- but you first had to be sure we weren't accidentally air conditioning the outside. I learned to use that megaphone for good- versus evil. I could stand at my back door, see Jill at her kitchen sink and simply call across the street..."Jill, are you busy?" We never called each other on the phone.
We tried to be 'the friendly house'. We had 3 young children, the school bus stopped in our driveway, and I was a stay-at-home mom at the time. After Jill moved, a young couple with 2 young boys moved in across the street mid-winter. When spring finally arrived, we had a chance to meet them. They were surprised to discover we only had 3 children. Each of my kids owned 2 winter jackets, snow pants, a menagerie of hats, scarves, boots and mittens. The constant wardrobe changes made it hard for them to figure out exactly how many children were living there. They stopped guessing at 6 kids.
I look back at those years on the North side with affection. I long for the days when something broke and you called the landlord to come fix it. I miss not worrying about impressing anyone- we were all in the same boat. I miss that megaphone garage. I miss my seeing my friend standing in that window. She was my first cheerleader, my first confidant, my first friend to help me accept the autism.
The new house has a 2 stall garage. It points exactly between the houses across the street...I'm sure some physicist would tell me that our sounds now carry across the entire neighborhood...I can live with that shame. I never use names when I yell anymore. Gives me a level of deniability!
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Night I Let Him Live
Back in 2005 we flew down to Florida to witness my youngest sister-in-law get married to a wonderful man. Flying a family of 5 (2 with disabilities) is never easy. Throw in weather, mechanical failures, and medication limits- and one never knows what to expect. Listening to your husband when he tells you to leave your cell phone at home (because we didn't have nationwide coverage) is JUST PLAIN STUPID!
John, I and the kids were all flying out together at 7:30am that morning. John's parents were leaving from the same airport around 10:00am the same day. Fog was our first obstacle. We were delayed long enough to greet Grandma and Grandpa at the airport and watch their plane take off. Around 10:30 we were informed that our plane had mechanical trouble so we were all going to be bused 25 miles north to another airport.
Fine.
Now running 4 hours late, we arrive at the new airport and are told we have to split up on 2 different flights! Okay. John took our youngest (Mike) because he has the shortest attention span, and they would take the longer flight with one hop in Atlanta. I took the oldest and middle because I was 'Super Mom', Andy was tougher to handle, and our flight left first.
Kelsey, Andy and I boarded our plane with promises to meet up in the Panama City Airport. John and Mike would have to wait about an hour for their flight also through Atlanta. Our simple flight to Florida turned into a big delay in Atlanta, a drop in Alabama and a late night cab ride 2 hours to our final destination in the Florida panhandle.
As the 3 of us sat in Atlanta, I was monitoring the flight boards. I had just said to Kelsey: "Watch your father and brother come running though here. Any second now, they are going to come around that corner all in a rush to catch that flight to Florida."
2 seconds later- my prophecy was fulfilled. John and Mike came flying around the corner. He took one look at the 3 of us and asked "What are you guys doing here?"
All 3 of us burst into tears.
He apologized for making us cry but he only had a few seconds to talk. I said "I don't know what time we were going to arrive, everything was messed up", and he said "Oh babe, I'm sorry. We have to go...we'll miss our flight. Call me when you know what is going on."
And they were gone.
By the time I had a definite arrival time for Florida, it was well after supper time, Andy's meds had worn off, and I had no way to call the family to tell them where the heck we were or when to pick us up.
By the grace of God himself, I had to forethought to jot down John's sister's home phone number and shove it into my purse before we left Wisconsin. Having never been in jail, I wasn't exactly sure how to make a collect phone call. All I could remember was a very irritating commercial for 1-800-CALLATT. A very nice lady helped connect my call to Florida. I quickly told John's sister that they should expect us at Panama City Beach Airport sometime after 1am.
Sadly, we didn't discuss the different time zones I had traveled through. Jen and her groom were not sure if my 1am arrival accounted for those time zones (it did), so they sat at the airport from 11:30 until we arrived at 1:20am. Keep in mind, they were getting married in less than 24 hours...but they let everyone else go to sleep and they waited for us at the airport. Bless their hearts!!
Most people had been very kind and understanding of my situation. We took turns watching each other's luggage for food runs and bathroom breaks. We chatted amongst ourselves, and moaned about the delays and inconvenience. Andy was exhausted, out of medication, bored, and not interested in sitting still for more than 2 seconds at a time. I had bought him 2 Beanie Babies, a second coloring book, 2 meals from McDonald's and he was done!
There were about 18 of us trapped together that trip. All trying to get to the same airport in Florida. When we arrived in Dothan, Alabama- we still had a 2 hour drive South into Florida. The van waiting to transport us only held 7 of us. Some would have to wait another hour for a second vehicle.
Most people told me to put my kids into the first van; they could wait for the second vehicle. I thanked them all for their patience and kindness. I think I hugged a few of them. I put Kelsey and Andy into the center seat of that van, and walked to the back to load our luggage. When I returned to the side door, a strange man was sitting in MY seat.
That man wouldn't even look at me while my exhausted children tried to slide over to make room for me. Andy is gently patting the space next to him say "It's okay Mumma, we'll make room for you. Come on Mumma, we want to go see Aunt Jenny's wedding."
I was dumbfounded. He had to know that he was sitting next to my children. Surely he had heard me apologize to one person or another for my poorly behaved, unmedicated, autistic son!! What the heck was I going to do? The van was full! So I told my kids to get out and that we were going to have to wait another hour for the next vehicle to take us south.
Suddenly, two sweet, kind, wonderful women that were sitting in the back of that van stood up and said "Take our seats. Some people have no manners or common decency!" (I'm still suprised she didn't clip that man in the back of the head as she exited.)
As I hugged them through tears and stifled sobs, they told me "Don't you worry about a thing honey. We aren't in a rush, and you need to get those little ones to see their Aunt Jenny's wedding."
They told 'seat stealer guy' to move his ass to the back of the van and make room for me to sit with my children. How that man moved without ever looking up from the ground is beyond me. I was so shocked by the kindness these 2 women had shown me, I could only wipe my tears of gratitude as I climbed into the van.
I think I quietly cried and sniffed all 2 hours of the drive south. I was tired, wired, stressed and never ever going to travel again!! Kelsey and Andy snoozed like angels for most of the ride.
The bride and groom greeted us warmly at the airport. They had been kicked out at midnight because the airport had closed up for the night. They assured me that they had enjoyed their 2 hour wait outside the building, and not to give it another thought.
When we finally got to the hotel, John and Mike were sound asleep. I tucked my two kids into bed, and finally joined John in our bedroom. He was sleepy but managed to ask "How did it go? What time is it?"
I sat straight up and said "It went horrible. Everything was messed up. Kelsey was extremely helpful and tolerant. Andy was a beast. His meds wore off before we even left Atlanta!"
And here is where I want credit for not killing John...
He rolls over in bed, opens one eye and says "Well you had all the medications in your purse- which you carried with you the whole time. Why didn't you just give him another dose?!"
I sat out on the balcony for 2 more hours before the urge to kill was reduced to a level that only made me want to pull out his fingernails with my tweezers.
The rest of the trip was great. Mike and I got a flu bug, but he recovered overnight and never missed a beat. I spent one whole day hugging the toilet and trying to wash bedding. I still hear about the wonderful trip everyone took to Shell Island to see the dolphins that day.
Jen and Alex are still happily married, I'll never stop thanking God for sending me those angels who got out of the van for me, and that collect phone call that lasted 2 minutes- $22.54!!!
We haven't traveled that far as a whole family since. I'm not certain we ever will.
John, I and the kids were all flying out together at 7:30am that morning. John's parents were leaving from the same airport around 10:00am the same day. Fog was our first obstacle. We were delayed long enough to greet Grandma and Grandpa at the airport and watch their plane take off. Around 10:30 we were informed that our plane had mechanical trouble so we were all going to be bused 25 miles north to another airport.
Fine.
Now running 4 hours late, we arrive at the new airport and are told we have to split up on 2 different flights! Okay. John took our youngest (Mike) because he has the shortest attention span, and they would take the longer flight with one hop in Atlanta. I took the oldest and middle because I was 'Super Mom', Andy was tougher to handle, and our flight left first.
Kelsey, Andy and I boarded our plane with promises to meet up in the Panama City Airport. John and Mike would have to wait about an hour for their flight also through Atlanta. Our simple flight to Florida turned into a big delay in Atlanta, a drop in Alabama and a late night cab ride 2 hours to our final destination in the Florida panhandle.
As the 3 of us sat in Atlanta, I was monitoring the flight boards. I had just said to Kelsey: "Watch your father and brother come running though here. Any second now, they are going to come around that corner all in a rush to catch that flight to Florida."
2 seconds later- my prophecy was fulfilled. John and Mike came flying around the corner. He took one look at the 3 of us and asked "What are you guys doing here?"
All 3 of us burst into tears.
He apologized for making us cry but he only had a few seconds to talk. I said "I don't know what time we were going to arrive, everything was messed up", and he said "Oh babe, I'm sorry. We have to go...we'll miss our flight. Call me when you know what is going on."
And they were gone.
By the time I had a definite arrival time for Florida, it was well after supper time, Andy's meds had worn off, and I had no way to call the family to tell them where the heck we were or when to pick us up.
By the grace of God himself, I had to forethought to jot down John's sister's home phone number and shove it into my purse before we left Wisconsin. Having never been in jail, I wasn't exactly sure how to make a collect phone call. All I could remember was a very irritating commercial for 1-800-CALLATT. A very nice lady helped connect my call to Florida. I quickly told John's sister that they should expect us at Panama City Beach Airport sometime after 1am.
Sadly, we didn't discuss the different time zones I had traveled through. Jen and her groom were not sure if my 1am arrival accounted for those time zones (it did), so they sat at the airport from 11:30 until we arrived at 1:20am. Keep in mind, they were getting married in less than 24 hours...but they let everyone else go to sleep and they waited for us at the airport. Bless their hearts!!
Most people had been very kind and understanding of my situation. We took turns watching each other's luggage for food runs and bathroom breaks. We chatted amongst ourselves, and moaned about the delays and inconvenience. Andy was exhausted, out of medication, bored, and not interested in sitting still for more than 2 seconds at a time. I had bought him 2 Beanie Babies, a second coloring book, 2 meals from McDonald's and he was done!
There were about 18 of us trapped together that trip. All trying to get to the same airport in Florida. When we arrived in Dothan, Alabama- we still had a 2 hour drive South into Florida. The van waiting to transport us only held 7 of us. Some would have to wait another hour for a second vehicle.
Most people told me to put my kids into the first van; they could wait for the second vehicle. I thanked them all for their patience and kindness. I think I hugged a few of them. I put Kelsey and Andy into the center seat of that van, and walked to the back to load our luggage. When I returned to the side door, a strange man was sitting in MY seat.
That man wouldn't even look at me while my exhausted children tried to slide over to make room for me. Andy is gently patting the space next to him say "It's okay Mumma, we'll make room for you. Come on Mumma, we want to go see Aunt Jenny's wedding."
I was dumbfounded. He had to know that he was sitting next to my children. Surely he had heard me apologize to one person or another for my poorly behaved, unmedicated, autistic son!! What the heck was I going to do? The van was full! So I told my kids to get out and that we were going to have to wait another hour for the next vehicle to take us south.
Suddenly, two sweet, kind, wonderful women that were sitting in the back of that van stood up and said "Take our seats. Some people have no manners or common decency!" (I'm still suprised she didn't clip that man in the back of the head as she exited.)
As I hugged them through tears and stifled sobs, they told me "Don't you worry about a thing honey. We aren't in a rush, and you need to get those little ones to see their Aunt Jenny's wedding."
They told 'seat stealer guy' to move his ass to the back of the van and make room for me to sit with my children. How that man moved without ever looking up from the ground is beyond me. I was so shocked by the kindness these 2 women had shown me, I could only wipe my tears of gratitude as I climbed into the van.
I think I quietly cried and sniffed all 2 hours of the drive south. I was tired, wired, stressed and never ever going to travel again!! Kelsey and Andy snoozed like angels for most of the ride.
The bride and groom greeted us warmly at the airport. They had been kicked out at midnight because the airport had closed up for the night. They assured me that they had enjoyed their 2 hour wait outside the building, and not to give it another thought.
When we finally got to the hotel, John and Mike were sound asleep. I tucked my two kids into bed, and finally joined John in our bedroom. He was sleepy but managed to ask "How did it go? What time is it?"
I sat straight up and said "It went horrible. Everything was messed up. Kelsey was extremely helpful and tolerant. Andy was a beast. His meds wore off before we even left Atlanta!"
And here is where I want credit for not killing John...
He rolls over in bed, opens one eye and says "Well you had all the medications in your purse- which you carried with you the whole time. Why didn't you just give him another dose?!"
I sat out on the balcony for 2 more hours before the urge to kill was reduced to a level that only made me want to pull out his fingernails with my tweezers.
The rest of the trip was great. Mike and I got a flu bug, but he recovered overnight and never missed a beat. I spent one whole day hugging the toilet and trying to wash bedding. I still hear about the wonderful trip everyone took to Shell Island to see the dolphins that day.
Jen and Alex are still happily married, I'll never stop thanking God for sending me those angels who got out of the van for me, and that collect phone call that lasted 2 minutes- $22.54!!!
We haven't traveled that far as a whole family since. I'm not certain we ever will.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Crime and Punishment
Andy is 20 years old; he's 5'11"tall and weighs a tad bit more than I do. He's bigger, stronger, but not exactly smarter than me- Thank goodness! Don't get me wrong- he's one smart cookie- but he's not "Mother of 3 kids" smart.
Andy has gone through cycles of behaviors over the years. His level of naughtiness depended on is age. His level of defiance has increased with his size. Sometimes he only needed to be threatened with "Wait until your father gets home". Recently he evolved to losing his TV, computer, or his beloved chicken nuggets for a certain period of time.
Andy use to comply with my demands simply because I was the mom. Slowly, he grew to dislike and balk almost any request I made:
Me: Andy, would you please pick up your dirty laundry?
Andy: MOOOOooooooom!
Me: Andy, you need to take a shower.
Andy: Are you KIDDING me?!
I could go on and on and on....
No matter what- if my husband had to intervene- compliance was guaranteed. One word from John and Andy snapped into action. Usually with a gusto and positive attitude I could only hope for.
Lately, Andy has decided that Dad isn't in control either. I've lost my back up! John lost the ability to jokingly say to me "I don't know what you're complaining about. He likes me just fine!" He is now feeling as powerless as I do. (Ha- take that Super Daddy Man!)
About a year ago, Andy became mad at me while I was in his room. He yelled, carried on, and finally backed me into the hallway- slamming the door in my face. It was a battle I wasn't prepared for and his size and volume took me by surprise making me back away in retreat.
He lost all technology for 2 weeks as punishment for being so nasty to me. It was 2 long weeks of crying, begging, yelling and discussing why he was being punished at all. It took months for my word to have any meaning again and he repeatedly tried the physical intimidation game. It felt like I was staring down a grizzly bear with only a feather in my hand.
With time and standing my ground- 8 times out of 10- I'm in charge again. Andy's older sister and younger brother don't always understand the 'dance' I'm doing. I try to pick my battles with each of them. Some things just aren't worth the fight. Other situations call for confrontation.
More than once Andy and I have gotten into a verbal squabble in front of them. Both Kelsey and Mike have tried to step in to stop Andy from taking swing at me (or so they think he's going to swing). I first have to stop Kelsey (or Mike) from intervening. Then I must finish up with Andy, and finally try to patch things up with Mike (or Kelsey).
If I let Andy win again, I don't know how long it will take me to regain control, power, or authority! They fear for their mother (it truly touches my heart that they care enough) and they sometimes believe I might let Andy get away with murder.
He's a 20 year old autistic man. He is verbal. He has definitive likes and dislikes. Most people his age have had significant relationships, driver's license, Independence, and a life beyond high school. Andy has one more year of school (or vocational training). Someday he will live outside our home (assisted living facility, group home) and he will have a job that stimulates and challenges him daily.
Andy has typical/atypical growing pains! (If someone has written a book on this- please send me the title)
Now, how does one get creative with a 20 year old man who wants to have some control in his life? I've been pondering this for months. I've decided that the old adage "The Choice is yours- make it a good one" is something I can work with.
Apparently I've been punishing bad choices and behaviors for too long. It has been probably a decade since I tried to consistently reward the good choices.
I'm switching things up. Instead of focusing on the negative- I'm going to encourage the positive. I'm making a chart to display on the fridge. I'll place daily tasks, chores, expectations to be marked off by Andy. I'll set reasonable goals to achieve a reward. I'll have a variety of rewards to earn. The boy loves McDonald's, movies, and Schleich animal figurines.
I'm tired of fighting with him. I'm sure he's sick of me fighting with him. Something has to give- but it can't be my authority.
Wish me luck- maybe one day soon he'll appreciate his mother again. If I'm really lucky- John won't be able to mock me with his Super Daddy Man status!
Andy has gone through cycles of behaviors over the years. His level of naughtiness depended on is age. His level of defiance has increased with his size. Sometimes he only needed to be threatened with "Wait until your father gets home". Recently he evolved to losing his TV, computer, or his beloved chicken nuggets for a certain period of time.
Andy use to comply with my demands simply because I was the mom. Slowly, he grew to dislike and balk almost any request I made:
Me: Andy, would you please pick up your dirty laundry?
Andy: MOOOOooooooom!
Me: Andy, you need to take a shower.
Andy: Are you KIDDING me?!
I could go on and on and on....
No matter what- if my husband had to intervene- compliance was guaranteed. One word from John and Andy snapped into action. Usually with a gusto and positive attitude I could only hope for.
Lately, Andy has decided that Dad isn't in control either. I've lost my back up! John lost the ability to jokingly say to me "I don't know what you're complaining about. He likes me just fine!" He is now feeling as powerless as I do. (Ha- take that Super Daddy Man!)
About a year ago, Andy became mad at me while I was in his room. He yelled, carried on, and finally backed me into the hallway- slamming the door in my face. It was a battle I wasn't prepared for and his size and volume took me by surprise making me back away in retreat.
He lost all technology for 2 weeks as punishment for being so nasty to me. It was 2 long weeks of crying, begging, yelling and discussing why he was being punished at all. It took months for my word to have any meaning again and he repeatedly tried the physical intimidation game. It felt like I was staring down a grizzly bear with only a feather in my hand.
With time and standing my ground- 8 times out of 10- I'm in charge again. Andy's older sister and younger brother don't always understand the 'dance' I'm doing. I try to pick my battles with each of them. Some things just aren't worth the fight. Other situations call for confrontation.
More than once Andy and I have gotten into a verbal squabble in front of them. Both Kelsey and Mike have tried to step in to stop Andy from taking swing at me (or so they think he's going to swing). I first have to stop Kelsey (or Mike) from intervening. Then I must finish up with Andy, and finally try to patch things up with Mike (or Kelsey).
If I let Andy win again, I don't know how long it will take me to regain control, power, or authority! They fear for their mother (it truly touches my heart that they care enough) and they sometimes believe I might let Andy get away with murder.
He's a 20 year old autistic man. He is verbal. He has definitive likes and dislikes. Most people his age have had significant relationships, driver's license, Independence, and a life beyond high school. Andy has one more year of school (or vocational training). Someday he will live outside our home (assisted living facility, group home) and he will have a job that stimulates and challenges him daily.
Andy has typical/atypical growing pains! (If someone has written a book on this- please send me the title)
Now, how does one get creative with a 20 year old man who wants to have some control in his life? I've been pondering this for months. I've decided that the old adage "The Choice is yours- make it a good one" is something I can work with.
Apparently I've been punishing bad choices and behaviors for too long. It has been probably a decade since I tried to consistently reward the good choices.
I'm switching things up. Instead of focusing on the negative- I'm going to encourage the positive. I'm making a chart to display on the fridge. I'll place daily tasks, chores, expectations to be marked off by Andy. I'll set reasonable goals to achieve a reward. I'll have a variety of rewards to earn. The boy loves McDonald's, movies, and Schleich animal figurines.
I'm tired of fighting with him. I'm sure he's sick of me fighting with him. Something has to give- but it can't be my authority.
Wish me luck- maybe one day soon he'll appreciate his mother again. If I'm really lucky- John won't be able to mock me with his Super Daddy Man status!
Friday, February 22, 2013
Cancer Sucks
It has been a flurry of activity the past week here. For once- none of it revolved directly around autism. I've often wondered what God's plan was. Why did I have autistic children? Why me?
I recently had a personal epiphany after 5 days of biopsies, surgeons, oncologists, genetic counselors, and cancer care coordinators. I realized that over 20 years I have developed valuable skills raising my special children that will be hopefully be helpful as I help my husband's family cope with their mother's diagnosis of breast cancer.
Aside from having a very flexible work schedule, and the convenience of his parents living around the block, I have a degree of separation. She isn't the mother I've had all my life, I've simply had the pleasure of having her in my life for the last 26 years. She is truly a gem of a woman.
I am the daughter-in-law. Not the mother this time. I remind myself of the differential daily. It gives me a level of comfort and apprehension. I want to be supportive and useful beyond running errands and cleaning. I want to be at every appointment, treatment session, meeting. I want to be the pillar of strength my Mother-in-law was for me back in 1997 when we told her about about her grandson's autism. I don't want to get in the way. I desperately want to be helpful, considerate, and available to my husband and his family.
When we were going through the discovery years of autism, knowledge was valuable but hard to come by. Every decision seemed reactionary and not preventive. We never could anticipate what quirk, habit, or problem was around the corner. Once it presented itself, we made corrections. You had the basic generic diagnosis of autism, but every day we created our own definition of what autism was in our household.
Cancer is very similar. Knowledge is power but not specific enough to guarantee a positive outcome. You try something and react with medicine and treatments if problems arrise. You can't predict anything. You have the generic diagnosis of cancer, but what happens next varied by each individual.
In "autismland" we had specialists, therapists, friends, books, and medications to help. We learned as we moved forward- what worked, and what didn't work.
In "cancerland" we have specialists, therapists, friends, books, medications and surgeries (when possible). We turn to the specialist with their statistics and trials- and pray we are on the right path.
The only difference between Autism and Cancer is that the latter can be....fatal.
Cancer mirrors Autism in ways I've never anticipated. Each person has a different presentation, prognosis, treatment, and reaction. Each person has a different level of acceptance, disposition, outlook, and hope- much like autism. This applies to the patient and the family.
My mother-in-law makes Pollyanna look like Lurch from the Addams Family! She could find the good in an axe murder, a hurricane, or an earthquake. She finds the sunny side to almost any situation and she will support you until you finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. She makes the world brighter and happier to be in. She fits every cliche' about looking on the bright side- and sometimes it drives me nuts!
I have two wonderful sister-in-laws. They both live in Florida. Mercifully, they were both able to visit this week and be with their mother and father. They are both fun and loving people. It is a thrill to sit at the table with them all as they laugh, tell stories, and share their lives. I hope to be a person they can come to if they have questions they don't want to ask their parents. I want to be their rock of knowledge and an extension of their love towards their mother.
Over the years I have learned to challenge experts when I feel it is necessary. I've mastered the art of thinking 5 steps ahead. Positive or negative- I try to be ready for every possibility. I've discovered the confidence to ask questions in spite of the fear of hearing a disheartening answer. I plow into hard situations like a bull- if you can't help me- get out of my way.
The internet has made information more available. I find that if you look at 12 different sites you will find 27 different theories or suggestions. It is that way for autism and cancer. Both are a kind of crap shoot.
My children handled to news of their grandmother very well. Actually, we've only told Kelsey and Michael. We won't have to tell Andy until Grandma starts to loose her hair from chemo. I'm anticipating the first thing out of his mouth will be something like "Grandma, what happened to your hair/eyebrows."
Michael addressed the elephant in the room the first time he saw his Grandmother in person after we had told him the news. "Well Grandma, I know you are going to be healthy again, but you are going to look really weird without hair."
We have a long road ahead with Grandma's diagnosis. She has always been our pillar of positivity and optimism. As with any family, this type of situation shakes everyone to the core. I feel the urgent need to be the first to stand back up and offer support to everyone else. Much like my mother-in-law did for me all those years ago.
Autism has taught me a valuable lesson...how to be a pillar.
I now have the answer to "Why me?"
The answer is: "Because someday you will have to understand 'Why her?' and help them all."
Cancer sucks...
I recently had a personal epiphany after 5 days of biopsies, surgeons, oncologists, genetic counselors, and cancer care coordinators. I realized that over 20 years I have developed valuable skills raising my special children that will be hopefully be helpful as I help my husband's family cope with their mother's diagnosis of breast cancer.
Aside from having a very flexible work schedule, and the convenience of his parents living around the block, I have a degree of separation. She isn't the mother I've had all my life, I've simply had the pleasure of having her in my life for the last 26 years. She is truly a gem of a woman.
I am the daughter-in-law. Not the mother this time. I remind myself of the differential daily. It gives me a level of comfort and apprehension. I want to be supportive and useful beyond running errands and cleaning. I want to be at every appointment, treatment session, meeting. I want to be the pillar of strength my Mother-in-law was for me back in 1997 when we told her about about her grandson's autism. I don't want to get in the way. I desperately want to be helpful, considerate, and available to my husband and his family.
When we were going through the discovery years of autism, knowledge was valuable but hard to come by. Every decision seemed reactionary and not preventive. We never could anticipate what quirk, habit, or problem was around the corner. Once it presented itself, we made corrections. You had the basic generic diagnosis of autism, but every day we created our own definition of what autism was in our household.
Cancer is very similar. Knowledge is power but not specific enough to guarantee a positive outcome. You try something and react with medicine and treatments if problems arrise. You can't predict anything. You have the generic diagnosis of cancer, but what happens next varied by each individual.
In "autismland" we had specialists, therapists, friends, books, and medications to help. We learned as we moved forward- what worked, and what didn't work.
In "cancerland" we have specialists, therapists, friends, books, medications and surgeries (when possible). We turn to the specialist with their statistics and trials- and pray we are on the right path.
The only difference between Autism and Cancer is that the latter can be....fatal.
Cancer mirrors Autism in ways I've never anticipated. Each person has a different presentation, prognosis, treatment, and reaction. Each person has a different level of acceptance, disposition, outlook, and hope- much like autism. This applies to the patient and the family.
My mother-in-law makes Pollyanna look like Lurch from the Addams Family! She could find the good in an axe murder, a hurricane, or an earthquake. She finds the sunny side to almost any situation and she will support you until you finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. She makes the world brighter and happier to be in. She fits every cliche' about looking on the bright side- and sometimes it drives me nuts!
I have two wonderful sister-in-laws. They both live in Florida. Mercifully, they were both able to visit this week and be with their mother and father. They are both fun and loving people. It is a thrill to sit at the table with them all as they laugh, tell stories, and share their lives. I hope to be a person they can come to if they have questions they don't want to ask their parents. I want to be their rock of knowledge and an extension of their love towards their mother.
Over the years I have learned to challenge experts when I feel it is necessary. I've mastered the art of thinking 5 steps ahead. Positive or negative- I try to be ready for every possibility. I've discovered the confidence to ask questions in spite of the fear of hearing a disheartening answer. I plow into hard situations like a bull- if you can't help me- get out of my way.
The internet has made information more available. I find that if you look at 12 different sites you will find 27 different theories or suggestions. It is that way for autism and cancer. Both are a kind of crap shoot.
My children handled to news of their grandmother very well. Actually, we've only told Kelsey and Michael. We won't have to tell Andy until Grandma starts to loose her hair from chemo. I'm anticipating the first thing out of his mouth will be something like "Grandma, what happened to your hair/eyebrows."
Michael addressed the elephant in the room the first time he saw his Grandmother in person after we had told him the news. "Well Grandma, I know you are going to be healthy again, but you are going to look really weird without hair."
We have a long road ahead with Grandma's diagnosis. She has always been our pillar of positivity and optimism. As with any family, this type of situation shakes everyone to the core. I feel the urgent need to be the first to stand back up and offer support to everyone else. Much like my mother-in-law did for me all those years ago.
Autism has taught me a valuable lesson...how to be a pillar.
I now have the answer to "Why me?"
The answer is: "Because someday you will have to understand 'Why her?' and help them all."
Cancer sucks...
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Economic woes (and) 10-4=6
In both of our families, teasing is a form of affection. Old stories of what you have done or said pop up years or decades later. Someone manages to use it in a way you never saw coming. I refuse to share some of the stories my family has used against me, but instead I will share two stories of things I have done to my children.
When the economy started to nose dive, the news channels seemed to be constantly talking about companies downsizing their workforce. Sitting down as a family for dinner one night I started a conversation with...
Me: Your father and I have been talking. Due to the economy being so bad right now, we've decided we are going to have to let one of you kids go.
The 3 kids all pondered this for a split moment, John snorted into his glass of water, and suddenly Kelsey and Mike were trying to yell over each other...
Kelsey: (pointing to her brother) It's gotta be Mike, he was the last one in!
Mike: (standing up from his chair) Kelsey is the oldest, she's been here long enough!
We all cracked up- except Andy who sat in silence while the gears ground in his brain...
Andy: Huh?
This is the essence of my family wrapped up in 15 seconds!
On to the second story...
John and I agreed early in our marriage that we would never be that couple who added a year to their wedding anniversary to convince our children that we hadn't gotten pregnant before we were actually married.
We once went to a surprise 50th Anniversary party. The couple of honor walked in and were surprised alright- they looked at their children and said it was only their 49th anniversary. Apparently they had forgotten their fib decades earlier. As the parents and children stood in front of the crowd- everyone started to do the math...the laughter lasted for 3 minutes!
Kelsey was probably 12 or 13 when the topic came up. She was talking about a recent class where they had discussed pregnancy, abstinence, and birth control. Then she looked at me and asked:
When did you and Dad decide to have kids?
Me: (GULP!) Well, your Dad and I dated over 4 years before we got engaged. We were hoping to buy a house before we had kids.
Kelsey: But we just bought a house last year?
Me: Yeeees, children are costly, and your brothers' medical bills put us behind for many years.
Kelsey: Then why didn't you just wait?
(The gig was up, I had to swallow down my parental fears and admit the truth- gently)
Me: Kelsey, we were married in 1991. What year were you born?
Kelsey: I was born in 1991 too.
Me: We were married in April- the 4th month of the year. What month were you born?
Kelsey: October, the 10th month.
(Pause while she is processing...nope- she isn't getting it yet!)
Me: 10 minus 4 equalssssss.....
Kesley: 6
Me: Okay, so how many months does is take to grow a baby?
Kelsey: 9 months
Me: And you remember that you were very late, in fact you took 2 full days to be induced...
Her eyes got as big as saucers as she realized what I was saying. She finally realized that I was 3 months pregnant with her when we actually got married.
Me: You were the best oops in the world! Your father and I were so excited, everyone was excited! Actually, you were only my first oops. Andy was a surprise too. We hadn't planned to have you two so close together. But- eh, things all worked out- didn't they?
Kelsey: Well what about Michael?
Me: Well Michael was a bit different. You and Andy were about 2 and 1 years old. We knew we had wanted three children total...so we decided to try and we got Michael just before you turned 3.
Kelsey: Oh, okay....
Me: So you know what that means?
Kelsey: No- what?
Me: Well you and Andy were surprises- wonderful surprises. Michael was planned... so what it all really means is that we really only love Michael!
Kelsey: (laughing) Jeez Mom- I already know that you love him the most!
We got a good laugh over it. Once again, humor saved the day. I do love all my kids- planned or not. I wouldn't trade one of them for the world (most days). I didn't ruin my daughter with this tease, and I didn't break my promise not to lie about my anniversary. John's parents celebrate 50 years of marriage in April of 2016, we will celebrate 25 years together 3 days later. Should be a good party!
When the economy started to nose dive, the news channels seemed to be constantly talking about companies downsizing their workforce. Sitting down as a family for dinner one night I started a conversation with...
Me: Your father and I have been talking. Due to the economy being so bad right now, we've decided we are going to have to let one of you kids go.
The 3 kids all pondered this for a split moment, John snorted into his glass of water, and suddenly Kelsey and Mike were trying to yell over each other...
Kelsey: (pointing to her brother) It's gotta be Mike, he was the last one in!
Mike: (standing up from his chair) Kelsey is the oldest, she's been here long enough!
We all cracked up- except Andy who sat in silence while the gears ground in his brain...
Andy: Huh?
This is the essence of my family wrapped up in 15 seconds!
On to the second story...
John and I agreed early in our marriage that we would never be that couple who added a year to their wedding anniversary to convince our children that we hadn't gotten pregnant before we were actually married.
We once went to a surprise 50th Anniversary party. The couple of honor walked in and were surprised alright- they looked at their children and said it was only their 49th anniversary. Apparently they had forgotten their fib decades earlier. As the parents and children stood in front of the crowd- everyone started to do the math...the laughter lasted for 3 minutes!
Kelsey was probably 12 or 13 when the topic came up. She was talking about a recent class where they had discussed pregnancy, abstinence, and birth control. Then she looked at me and asked:
When did you and Dad decide to have kids?
Me: (GULP!) Well, your Dad and I dated over 4 years before we got engaged. We were hoping to buy a house before we had kids.
Kelsey: But we just bought a house last year?
Me: Yeeees, children are costly, and your brothers' medical bills put us behind for many years.
Kelsey: Then why didn't you just wait?
(The gig was up, I had to swallow down my parental fears and admit the truth- gently)
Me: Kelsey, we were married in 1991. What year were you born?
Kelsey: I was born in 1991 too.
Me: We were married in April- the 4th month of the year. What month were you born?
Kelsey: October, the 10th month.
(Pause while she is processing...nope- she isn't getting it yet!)
Me: 10 minus 4 equalssssss.....
Kesley: 6
Me: Okay, so how many months does is take to grow a baby?
Kelsey: 9 months
Me: And you remember that you were very late, in fact you took 2 full days to be induced...
Her eyes got as big as saucers as she realized what I was saying. She finally realized that I was 3 months pregnant with her when we actually got married.
Me: You were the best oops in the world! Your father and I were so excited, everyone was excited! Actually, you were only my first oops. Andy was a surprise too. We hadn't planned to have you two so close together. But- eh, things all worked out- didn't they?
Kelsey: Well what about Michael?
Me: Well Michael was a bit different. You and Andy were about 2 and 1 years old. We knew we had wanted three children total...so we decided to try and we got Michael just before you turned 3.
Kelsey: Oh, okay....
Me: So you know what that means?
Kelsey: No- what?
Me: Well you and Andy were surprises- wonderful surprises. Michael was planned... so what it all really means is that we really only love Michael!
Kelsey: (laughing) Jeez Mom- I already know that you love him the most!
We got a good laugh over it. Once again, humor saved the day. I do love all my kids- planned or not. I wouldn't trade one of them for the world (most days). I didn't ruin my daughter with this tease, and I didn't break my promise not to lie about my anniversary. John's parents celebrate 50 years of marriage in April of 2016, we will celebrate 25 years together 3 days later. Should be a good party!
Monday, January 28, 2013
Just 'BOOK' em' all...
I was discussing this story with my daughter while she was home from college on Winter break. Apparently she remembers witnessing this event- but I don't remember her being with us. The trauma must have been so great that it popped holes in my memory.
That said- here's another story about swear words....
Kelsey came home one afternoon and reported that our Andy had been observed from a high school hallway swearing up a storm. Apparently the homeroom teacher had stepped out for a moment, and a group of students thought it would be funny to encourage Andy to say "BOOK YOU" (only he didn't say book).
Andy is a literal show boat. He loves attention and laughter. He doesn't comprehend the difference between being laughed at or laughed with- which is sometimes a blessing. Those students got a big chuckle out of watching Andy yell those words, and Andy thought he was entertaining the troops.
Kids will be kids, an email was sent to school warning them of the incident- but so far, Andy hadn't demonstrated his new found skills at home. We had a family discussion at the dinner table about naughty words that night and I assumed it was all over.
A few nights later- Andy, myself (and apparently Kelsey) had to stop at Wal-Mart. As usual, Andy trotted off to the toy section. I went off to grab whatever items I needed. I remember walking through the main aisle glancing to my right, looking for my man-child amongst rows of children and parents. Eventually I found the boy.
Me: Andy, come on, its time to go.
Andy: Not yet Mom.
Me: Come on, we have to get home.
Andy: NO- 'BOOK' YOU!!
The world around us stopped moving. I was mortified. All eyes darted between Andy and I. I'm certain I turned 7 shades of red (and I'm not a blusher)! I'm almost positive this was witnessed by no less than 30 strangers...but I'm not stopping to count heads.
I took a deep breath...counted to 3, took five giant steps and grabbed him by the sleeve.
Andy: (terror is in his eyes) Mom, don't hurt me!
Me: (through clenched teeth) Lets. Go. Now.
For a child that has difficulty interpreting facial expressions, nuances, and body language- he figured out my mood rather quickly.
Andy: I'm sorry mom, I'll never say 'book' again.
I pull him towards the front of the store, looking for the shortest possible checkout line. He is trailing behind me trying to plant his heels. I haul him along with his sleeve in a death grip. I was mad, but Andy was terrified.
I can't remember what exactly it was I so desperately needed from that store, but in the past, I have been known to drop everything because of a melt down, and return later when behavior has improved. I guess that night I needed what ever I had in my hands because I marched him up to the checkout with me.
Andy is behind me, rattling on like an auctioneer, the panic is building with every word....
Andy: I'm sorry mom, I'll never say 'book' again. PLEASE don't tell Dad I said 'book'.
Me: Andy, that is enough. We'll talk about it when we get home.
Andy: Dad is gonna KILL ME!! I said 'book'! I know 'book' is a bad word. I will never say 'book' again!! PLEASE don't tell Dad that I said 'book'!! PLEEEEEASE! (with praying hands and tears)
(My eyes roll to the ceiling, a voice inside my head screams): OH DEAR LORD- PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP SAYING 'BOOK'!!!!
Finally, I turn to him, intent on calming him down...unfortunately, all I see an 80 year old woman in line behind us. Her eyes are as large as saucers, her hand is over her mouth in horror.
I got nothing. No words will make this better. No explanation will take the look of total repulsion off that woman's face. I resign myself to the fact that one more person in this world will go to bed tonight believing they have witnessed the worst parenting in the world.
You know what- after 7 years- the one thing that bothers me the most about this story is that I can not remember what it was that I was so desperate to buy that night in Wal-Mart! Not the looks of disgust from the toy aisle, or the expression of revulsion in the check out. It drives me nuts that I didn't just walk out of that store and wait until later.
Moral of the story- This too shall pass. You do the best you can. Sometimes there aren't enough words to explain it all. I held my head high, refrained from beating him in the parking lot- and we all moved forward. (Just 'book' em. They haven't got a clue)
P.S. His father didn't kill him, and he's never said it since. Another gimmie from God I guess?
That said- here's another story about swear words....
Kelsey came home one afternoon and reported that our Andy had been observed from a high school hallway swearing up a storm. Apparently the homeroom teacher had stepped out for a moment, and a group of students thought it would be funny to encourage Andy to say "BOOK YOU" (only he didn't say book).
Andy is a literal show boat. He loves attention and laughter. He doesn't comprehend the difference between being laughed at or laughed with- which is sometimes a blessing. Those students got a big chuckle out of watching Andy yell those words, and Andy thought he was entertaining the troops.
Kids will be kids, an email was sent to school warning them of the incident- but so far, Andy hadn't demonstrated his new found skills at home. We had a family discussion at the dinner table about naughty words that night and I assumed it was all over.
A few nights later- Andy, myself (and apparently Kelsey) had to stop at Wal-Mart. As usual, Andy trotted off to the toy section. I went off to grab whatever items I needed. I remember walking through the main aisle glancing to my right, looking for my man-child amongst rows of children and parents. Eventually I found the boy.
Me: Andy, come on, its time to go.
Andy: Not yet Mom.
Me: Come on, we have to get home.
Andy: NO- 'BOOK' YOU!!
The world around us stopped moving. I was mortified. All eyes darted between Andy and I. I'm certain I turned 7 shades of red (and I'm not a blusher)! I'm almost positive this was witnessed by no less than 30 strangers...but I'm not stopping to count heads.
I took a deep breath...counted to 3, took five giant steps and grabbed him by the sleeve.
Andy: (terror is in his eyes) Mom, don't hurt me!
Me: (through clenched teeth) Lets. Go. Now.
For a child that has difficulty interpreting facial expressions, nuances, and body language- he figured out my mood rather quickly.
Andy: I'm sorry mom, I'll never say 'book' again.
I pull him towards the front of the store, looking for the shortest possible checkout line. He is trailing behind me trying to plant his heels. I haul him along with his sleeve in a death grip. I was mad, but Andy was terrified.
I can't remember what exactly it was I so desperately needed from that store, but in the past, I have been known to drop everything because of a melt down, and return later when behavior has improved. I guess that night I needed what ever I had in my hands because I marched him up to the checkout with me.
Andy is behind me, rattling on like an auctioneer, the panic is building with every word....
Andy: I'm sorry mom, I'll never say 'book' again. PLEASE don't tell Dad I said 'book'.
Me: Andy, that is enough. We'll talk about it when we get home.
Andy: Dad is gonna KILL ME!! I said 'book'! I know 'book' is a bad word. I will never say 'book' again!! PLEASE don't tell Dad that I said 'book'!! PLEEEEEASE! (with praying hands and tears)
(My eyes roll to the ceiling, a voice inside my head screams): OH DEAR LORD- PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP SAYING 'BOOK'!!!!
Finally, I turn to him, intent on calming him down...unfortunately, all I see an 80 year old woman in line behind us. Her eyes are as large as saucers, her hand is over her mouth in horror.
I got nothing. No words will make this better. No explanation will take the look of total repulsion off that woman's face. I resign myself to the fact that one more person in this world will go to bed tonight believing they have witnessed the worst parenting in the world.
You know what- after 7 years- the one thing that bothers me the most about this story is that I can not remember what it was that I was so desperate to buy that night in Wal-Mart! Not the looks of disgust from the toy aisle, or the expression of revulsion in the check out. It drives me nuts that I didn't just walk out of that store and wait until later.
Moral of the story- This too shall pass. You do the best you can. Sometimes there aren't enough words to explain it all. I held my head high, refrained from beating him in the parking lot- and we all moved forward. (Just 'book' em. They haven't got a clue)
P.S. His father didn't kill him, and he's never said it since. Another gimmie from God I guess?
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Loved and Lost
The question was asked after my last post...Did you get another puppy?
Yep. Actually- we had 3 puppies.
It was early June when Molly Putzer left us suddenly. The house was silent. Our hearts were broken. The kids were coping. I was beside myself with grief. I had not grown up with pets. I had never dealt with this kind of loss before. She was always there, and now she was gone.
John broached the topic of a new puppy a few days after Molly was gone...
"Maybe we should look for another dog. It would be good for the kids, maybe help them heal? I miss having someone greet me at the back door every night. It is too quiet here!"
I looked at him in shock.
"I thought you didn't want to another dog? You hated midnight barking, dog dirt pick up, sitters, and fighting for a place to sit. Besides, puppies destroy things, require tons of attention, and pee everywhere."
He put his arms around me and said "I know all that. I just want everyone to quit crying!!"
So Kelsey and John started looking. A few phone calls were made, and 3 days later I was driving 45 minutes North to check out a little miniature pincher they found on the internet. We told the boys her name was going to be Sophie. I figured this dog was going to have the name I wanted. No one was even getting a vote this time!
Yep. Actually- we had 3 puppies.
It was early June when Molly Putzer left us suddenly. The house was silent. Our hearts were broken. The kids were coping. I was beside myself with grief. I had not grown up with pets. I had never dealt with this kind of loss before. She was always there, and now she was gone.
John broached the topic of a new puppy a few days after Molly was gone...
"Maybe we should look for another dog. It would be good for the kids, maybe help them heal? I miss having someone greet me at the back door every night. It is too quiet here!"
I looked at him in shock.
"I thought you didn't want to another dog? You hated midnight barking, dog dirt pick up, sitters, and fighting for a place to sit. Besides, puppies destroy things, require tons of attention, and pee everywhere."
He put his arms around me and said "I know all that. I just want everyone to quit crying!!"
So Kelsey and John started looking. A few phone calls were made, and 3 days later I was driving 45 minutes North to check out a little miniature pincher they found on the internet. We told the boys her name was going to be Sophie. I figured this dog was going to have the name I wanted. No one was even getting a vote this time!
Sophie was 8 weeks old, smaller than I expected, full if vim and vigor and all teeth. She was smart, busy and quickly trained to potty in a litter box in the bathroom.
Two weeks after we brought her home we suspected she was having seizures.
Okay- no problem. This isn't rare. She bounces back within minutes. Give her some medication, adjust the levels, move on.
She didn't follow my plan.
Under the advice of our local vet, decided to take her 2 hours away to Madison. The university has an awesome veterinary school and they had an opening the next morning. Kelsey, my credit card and I took off early the next morning with Sophie dozing on my lap.
She had a seizure in the lobby while we waited. I took her up to the desk and suddenly 3 nurses came out running. They took Sophie back into the clinic area. I turned around to see my 20 year old daughter in tears.
I hate feeling helpless. I hate seeing my children cry when I am helpless- even more.
Her seizure had ended before they had a chance to really observe her. Being in a teaching veterinary school has it advantages. Very eager students and tons of people who love animals. They especially love puppies!
After a thorough exam, we were given options. All of them costly. We decided she would stay the night, MRI, spinal tap, blood draw, and liver biopsy. How could we give up now? She was so young, it might just be epilepsy, or it might my some catastrophic metabolic disorder.
I came home with a credit card almost to the limit, no puppy, and no answers.
We would have to wait for lab results, but they decided to treat her for epilepsy while we waited.
We picked her up the following afternoon and tried to carry on but Sophie never recovered. Her seizures continued to ramp up until it looked like she was having one constant seizure. I knew we were in trouble when the head of Veterinary Neurology called me back. The kind hearted woman on the other end of the phone told me there was nothing more they could think to do. Sophie was on enough seizure medication to put my husband in a coma, we had rugs, runners, blankets, and pillows everywhere. All she wanted to do was lay in my arms and snuggle.
Probable diagnosis- metabolic disorder. Genetic and deadly.
We had her for just short of 2 months before she was put to sleep in my arms. She was wrapped in the little lap blanket we had shared for last month. I took her in alone- it was my choice and I couldn't bare to watch my family cry over her too. I haven't been able to put her remains under the arborvitae tree she loved to play in. She is currently resting on the mantle.
I'm glossing over most of the details in this story because- quite frankly- it is simply to painful.
After a week of deep, dark depression- John took me out to breakfast. He pulled out my iPad, and showed me a picture of a puppy.
"She's a chocolate and tan female miniature pincher. She's in Minnesota. The breeder will meet you halfway." he told me softly.
I cried, I looked at the photo, and I cried harder. I wasn't ready. I had lost 2 dogs in less than 2 months. I could not do this again! The kids were on a roller coaster of emotions- especially Michael. He had taken all of this extremely hard.
We all sat down that afternoon and talked about it. It would be hard, but this puppy came from a reputable breeder. We could wait- but it would be almost a year before this breeder had another litter.
Andy chose the name Izzy.
Michael and I drove 3 hours to meet our newest member. She was docile, gentle, meek, and tiny! After a few weeks, I emailed the breeder thanking her for the millionth time. In passing I mentioned that we may be contacting her in a few years about getting a second puppy from her.
She wrote back-
"I still have her brother. He's very sweet too. He likes to be held like a baby."
Oh boy...what have I done now?!
Being a complete chicken, and not wanting to face my husband- I sent him a text....
"The breeder wrote me back. Izzy's brother is available. :)"
(I hoped the smiley face would soften the blow)
I didn't get a reply. I waited 3 hours until he came home for lunch.
(Not a good sign)
He walked into the back door, and said "Show me the picture."
He knew it was a done deal.
A week later Milo joined his sister. Although they had been apart 2 months, they seemed to immediately remember each other. They cuddled up on the blanket together 10 minutes after we got him home. They are now inseparable!
We now have 'Dumb and Dumber', 'the kids', or 'the twins'. One puppy was interesting but 2 puppies are awesome. They fool constantly, follow me every where, have a toilet paper obsession, and are 82% potty trained. I haven't used the bathroom without 2 witnesses to cheer me on since we got them.
John says they are the best stress reducers ever. He claims that Izzy is his princess, and Milo is a dirty old man. He refuses to acknowledge that Izzy chewed up 2 pairs of his slippers- he insists that Milo forced her to do it. (Milo didn't puke and poop leather laces for 2 days!)
Its been 7 months since we started the roller coaster. We've loved and lost, loved and lost, and loved again. Izzy and Milo are healthy and happy and so is the family.
Milo and Izzy
Christmas 2012
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Molly Putzer- the autistic dog
When we finally purchased our first home, the kids were excited about many things. Kelsey was guaranteed to attend the same middle school as all her friends, the boys would no longer need to share a bedroom, but best of all- we could have a dog!
We gradually unpacked everything and I finally felt settled in enough to start looking. John was gone off for a golf weekend that July weekend. The kids and I noticed an advertisement in the paper for an adoption event at a local pet store for the upcoming Sunday afternoon!
This was it- I felt it in my bones- we were going to find a puppy today. I shamefully admit to getting the kids all excited and riled up about the idea. How could John deny 3 little faces greeting him at the back door? That poor man walked into a hornets nest of excitement with only a slight hang over to defend himself with. (Yep- I anticipated that factor, and used it against him with all my might!)
After allowing him 20 minutes to clean up, we were off to the pet store...3 thrilled kids, one hopeful mother, and a father who didn't know what hit him!
We walked in to find crates, cages, puppies, dogs, kittens, cats and lots of people! Oh crap- I hadn't anticipated other people seeing the ad too! Panic started to take hold of my throat, but I pasted on my biggest smile and started walking.
There she was. This sweet little 8 week old puppy named 'Matilda'. She was timid, tiny- and in a stranger's arms!! The kids walked around looking at kittens and puppies, but I kept an eye on 'Matilda'. If she was put down for a second, I was going to swoop in and never let her go. After 20 excruciating minutes, I finally went over the woman (who was still holding what I was now calling 'My Matilda').
Me: Hi! Are you interested in adopting this puppy?
Strange lady holding MY DOG: Actually no, I'm just waiting for a friend.
(I wave over my 3 children, hung over hubby, and put on my saddest face)
Me: Oh, we were hoping to adopt her.
(All 3 kids faces lit up like Christmas trees, hubby starts to search for a chair, that man knows when he's been beat)
Strange lady holding MY DOG: She is sweet isn't she?
Me: Yep, she is going to make our family very happy. Thank you! (took puppy out of stunned woman's arms and walked away)
I can't honestly say I finished that sentence completely before I was spinning around looking for someone to fill out the paperwork to take her home.
We were told she was from a shelter in Kentucky that had recently had a fire. Her sister 'Moonshine' was also up for adoption. They guessed she was a beagle/labrador mix. She was up to date on all her vaccines and we promised to have her spayed as soon as she was of age. I signed on the dotted lines and never looked back.
We bought toys, a kennel, food, dishes, baby gates, and a collar. We went home and discussed a name. Matilda just didn't fit her. I wanted her to be a Sophie, Andy came up with Molly- I was quickly outvoted.
Exactly 3 hours later she started to cough. We called my mother-in-law and had her listen on the phone...her guess was Kennel Cough. It's Sunday night, we don't even have a vet lined up, and the only clinic open charges $200 just to get an exam started.
We promised the kids we would bring Molly home, and took off with a puppy who was getting weaker by the minute. The kids watched us back out of the driveway looking like we were going to Disney World without them.
The vet confirmed it was Kennel Cough, wanted to keep her for at least the night. Oxygen, medication and monitoring was what they said she needed. I couldn't go home empty handed. They would never believe the puppy was still alive unless I brought her back home with us!
We convinced the doctors that we would be able to provide round the clock care for the puppy at home and would follow up with our own vet in the morning. John drove home, hangover almost gone, mumbling to the steering wheel:
"Get a dog, she said. We can watch them all grow up together, she said. It won't be a problem, she said. You won't have to do a thing, she said. Who's going to get a SECOND JOB TO PAY THE VET BILLS!?"
I turned to him with tears in my eyes, lifting that sweet puppy up for him to see, and said in a meek voice: "We're really sorry."
For the next few days she slept on my chest, in my lap, and across my shoulders. So much for training her to sleep in a kennel! I got up in the night to run hot steamy showers and clap my cupped hands across her little side to loosen the gunk in her lungs. She slowly recovered and never looked back. Until the day before she passed away- she was never sick again.
Molly was never the smallish lap dog we anticipated. She became an 80 pound behemoth. She tore up 1 chair, 1 footstool, 2 couches, numerous shoes, toys,and had a obsession for wet towels. She learned to sit, and shake paws- that's it. She never figured out that the light on the carpet came from the flashlight in my hand. She chased that spot most evenings until she dropped from exhaustion.
One day she was acting weird. Constantly chasing her tail, running through the house, and being a general pain in the tush. Getting frustrated, I remarked out loud- "Jeez Molly, what is wrong with you!?"
Michael looked at me and said "Nothing is wrong with her mom, she's just autistic too."
Huh, the boy might have a point. Obsessive behavior, no communication skills, hyperactivity, lack of awareness of danger, and excessive tail flapping- maybe the boy was on to something?
She would bark at anything- stars, moon, wind, fence- it was all fair game. If we were lucky, one of us would hear her outside and alert whomever was closest to the patio door with a simple direction- "DOG!" That word meant- open the door, yell at Molly to be quiet, and/or trick her into coming back inside.
One time John was closest to the patio- and after grumbling quietly to himself, Andy said to him:
"Dad- her name is Molly! Not damn dog, last dog we're ever going to have!"
She lived for just over 8 years and answered to many names. Putzer, Molls, Baby Girl, and Land Shark. She is buried under the maple tree in the backyard she tried to pull up as a puppy. She left us quietly, peacefully and there will never be another one like her. She taught our family many lessons- patience, responsibility, tolerance, self control, but mostly- how to love unconditionally regardless of the quirks.
After she passed, I commented to John that I felt bad about not realizing how sick she had become. I wondered if we could have fought harder to save her had we known about the tumor.
"Amy, you fought for that dog from the day we brought her home until this morning. You fought when she was up for adoption, when she had kennel cough, when she destroyed something, and every time I grouched about her barking. She was in your arms the moment she left this Earth. You fought for that dog every day of her life- and she knew it. She was always 'your dog'."
I hope people say the same things about how we raised our kids. My headstone could read:
"She fought for her kids just like she fought for her dog."
I'll have to think about that epitaph.
We gradually unpacked everything and I finally felt settled in enough to start looking. John was gone off for a golf weekend that July weekend. The kids and I noticed an advertisement in the paper for an adoption event at a local pet store for the upcoming Sunday afternoon!
This was it- I felt it in my bones- we were going to find a puppy today. I shamefully admit to getting the kids all excited and riled up about the idea. How could John deny 3 little faces greeting him at the back door? That poor man walked into a hornets nest of excitement with only a slight hang over to defend himself with. (Yep- I anticipated that factor, and used it against him with all my might!)
After allowing him 20 minutes to clean up, we were off to the pet store...3 thrilled kids, one hopeful mother, and a father who didn't know what hit him!
We walked in to find crates, cages, puppies, dogs, kittens, cats and lots of people! Oh crap- I hadn't anticipated other people seeing the ad too! Panic started to take hold of my throat, but I pasted on my biggest smile and started walking.
There she was. This sweet little 8 week old puppy named 'Matilda'. She was timid, tiny- and in a stranger's arms!! The kids walked around looking at kittens and puppies, but I kept an eye on 'Matilda'. If she was put down for a second, I was going to swoop in and never let her go. After 20 excruciating minutes, I finally went over the woman (who was still holding what I was now calling 'My Matilda').
Me: Hi! Are you interested in adopting this puppy?
Strange lady holding MY DOG: Actually no, I'm just waiting for a friend.
(I wave over my 3 children, hung over hubby, and put on my saddest face)
Me: Oh, we were hoping to adopt her.
(All 3 kids faces lit up like Christmas trees, hubby starts to search for a chair, that man knows when he's been beat)
Strange lady holding MY DOG: She is sweet isn't she?
Me: Yep, she is going to make our family very happy. Thank you! (took puppy out of stunned woman's arms and walked away)
I can't honestly say I finished that sentence completely before I was spinning around looking for someone to fill out the paperwork to take her home.
We were told she was from a shelter in Kentucky that had recently had a fire. Her sister 'Moonshine' was also up for adoption. They guessed she was a beagle/labrador mix. She was up to date on all her vaccines and we promised to have her spayed as soon as she was of age. I signed on the dotted lines and never looked back.
We bought toys, a kennel, food, dishes, baby gates, and a collar. We went home and discussed a name. Matilda just didn't fit her. I wanted her to be a Sophie, Andy came up with Molly- I was quickly outvoted.
Exactly 3 hours later she started to cough. We called my mother-in-law and had her listen on the phone...her guess was Kennel Cough. It's Sunday night, we don't even have a vet lined up, and the only clinic open charges $200 just to get an exam started.
We promised the kids we would bring Molly home, and took off with a puppy who was getting weaker by the minute. The kids watched us back out of the driveway looking like we were going to Disney World without them.
The vet confirmed it was Kennel Cough, wanted to keep her for at least the night. Oxygen, medication and monitoring was what they said she needed. I couldn't go home empty handed. They would never believe the puppy was still alive unless I brought her back home with us!
We convinced the doctors that we would be able to provide round the clock care for the puppy at home and would follow up with our own vet in the morning. John drove home, hangover almost gone, mumbling to the steering wheel:
"Get a dog, she said. We can watch them all grow up together, she said. It won't be a problem, she said. You won't have to do a thing, she said. Who's going to get a SECOND JOB TO PAY THE VET BILLS!?"
I turned to him with tears in my eyes, lifting that sweet puppy up for him to see, and said in a meek voice: "We're really sorry."
For the next few days she slept on my chest, in my lap, and across my shoulders. So much for training her to sleep in a kennel! I got up in the night to run hot steamy showers and clap my cupped hands across her little side to loosen the gunk in her lungs. She slowly recovered and never looked back. Until the day before she passed away- she was never sick again.
Molly was never the smallish lap dog we anticipated. She became an 80 pound behemoth. She tore up 1 chair, 1 footstool, 2 couches, numerous shoes, toys,and had a obsession for wet towels. She learned to sit, and shake paws- that's it. She never figured out that the light on the carpet came from the flashlight in my hand. She chased that spot most evenings until she dropped from exhaustion.
One day she was acting weird. Constantly chasing her tail, running through the house, and being a general pain in the tush. Getting frustrated, I remarked out loud- "Jeez Molly, what is wrong with you!?"
Michael looked at me and said "Nothing is wrong with her mom, she's just autistic too."
Huh, the boy might have a point. Obsessive behavior, no communication skills, hyperactivity, lack of awareness of danger, and excessive tail flapping- maybe the boy was on to something?
She would bark at anything- stars, moon, wind, fence- it was all fair game. If we were lucky, one of us would hear her outside and alert whomever was closest to the patio door with a simple direction- "DOG!" That word meant- open the door, yell at Molly to be quiet, and/or trick her into coming back inside.
One time John was closest to the patio- and after grumbling quietly to himself, Andy said to him:
"Dad- her name is Molly! Not damn dog, last dog we're ever going to have!"
She lived for just over 8 years and answered to many names. Putzer, Molls, Baby Girl, and Land Shark. She is buried under the maple tree in the backyard she tried to pull up as a puppy. She left us quietly, peacefully and there will never be another one like her. She taught our family many lessons- patience, responsibility, tolerance, self control, but mostly- how to love unconditionally regardless of the quirks.
After she passed, I commented to John that I felt bad about not realizing how sick she had become. I wondered if we could have fought harder to save her had we known about the tumor.
"Amy, you fought for that dog from the day we brought her home until this morning. You fought when she was up for adoption, when she had kennel cough, when she destroyed something, and every time I grouched about her barking. She was in your arms the moment she left this Earth. You fought for that dog every day of her life- and she knew it. She was always 'your dog'."
I hope people say the same things about how we raised our kids. My headstone could read:
"She fought for her kids just like she fought for her dog."
I'll have to think about that epitaph.
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