Barnmaven

What we pass along

Parent-teacher conferences were last week, and all things considered, I am happy with where the kids are at.

Race Car Man continues to have areas of concern around his ability to control his reactions, but the biggest issue I see with him is a real streak of craftiness when it comes to getting out of work.  I think he sees his hierarchy of needs in very simple terms:

Good:  Gaming time

Bad:  Anything that interferes with gaming time

You know, like meals and homework and baths and those really awful times when mom bans all electronics and locks the kids OUTSIDE.  (I'm only joking.  I don't lock them out.  At least not after the first 10 minutes.)

What's super frustrating about his report card is how he's testing AT grade level on everything.  Except that I know for a fact he's capable of doing math well beyond his grade level and in terms of ability to read he is also beyond his grade level.  Reading comprehension may be an entirely different animal, as he just doesn't see the world and human interaction the same way the educational system would like.  Still, there weren't any surprises and I am satisfied with that.

I wasn't sure what to expect from Amazon Girl's conference.  At our last psych appointment she complained about being distracted a lot in class.  She was afraid she wasn't understanding as much math as she is supposed to because she doesn't think she's listening well.  I hadn't seen any homework come home that indicated she wasn't understanding, but at the same time, I half expected to walk out of her conference with a referral slip for a math tutor.  Much to my happy surprise, Amazon Girl is doing spectacularly well in school.  Her teacher thinks she's an absolutely delight, and her art teacher wrote that she is "exceptionally creative" in the comments section of her report card.

This morning when I opened her backpack to put her lunch in it, I noticed at her binder was so full of papers that it could barely be zipped.  As I periodically do, I went to work sorting and removing the completed assignments and reviewing her current projects.   In doing so, I found a group of study sheets about our presidential elections.  One of the sheets asked the students to pretend they were running for president.  They were asked questions about what qualities they thought were important for the president to have, who they would choose as their running mate, what their campaign slogan might be, and what planks they would run on.

My daughter, my Amazon Girl,  wrote that her primary issue would be to teach people that "Its OK to be gay."  She went on to say that people needed to learn that we need to accept each other and our differences and make sure that everyone gets the same chances no matter what. 

This is not an issue I've heard her talk about, but its an issue that's been on our televisions and our radios and a subject of adult conversation in our homes this past election season.  Washington voters were asked to approve or reject SB 6239 which extended marriage in Washington to include gay and lesbian couples. 

My ex and I certainly have our issues, but we both feel very strongly about the rights of all people to be treated with kindness, dignity and compassion.  As adoptees under the closed records system, we both have an inkling of what its like to be treated differently because of the way we were born.  We are both advocates of equality for all regardless of things like race, gender, sexual orientation or religious beliefs. 

When I consider the things I want for my children I would have to say that their happiness tops the list.  Beyond that, I don't care if they are doctors or gas station attendants.  I don't care if they are gay or straight so long as their relationships are mutually loving, supportive and respectful.  While it would be nice if they share my faith, I happily accept that they will form their own beliefs in their own way and their own time.  What I DO care is that they grow up with a core value system that includes acceptance, kindness and compassion for other people.

Despite my failings as a person and a parent, my daughter will carry on the mission of grace and love that I consider to be one of the highest callings we as human beings will ever know.  I could not be more proud of her than I am at this moment. 

 

 

You're Beautiful. No, Really.

Jane Devin wrote another great thought-provoking blog post yesterday about beauty.  I'm a huge fan of Jane's writing.  Her book Elephant Girl was as haunting a memoir as I have ever read, but her use of language as an art form makes it impossible not to read her, even when what she's written about is ugly and painful.

So anyway, beauty.  Jane writes, "We’re never going to make it okay to not be physically beautiful if we don’t get off this beauty kick we’ve been on for so long. We’re not going to change our futures and those of other women as long as “beautiful” remains a priority. We’re not going to change the culture that places such an inordinately high premium on female attractiveness as long we keep promoting beauty myths through the lies we tell ourselves and each other."

  I posted on her FB wall that I wasn't sure I agreed, and I mentioned my now-deceased friend Peg, who was morbidly obese and losing her hair thanks to Rheumatoid Arthritis and a cupboard filled with medications both toxic and ill-suited toward maintaining one's weight and hair volume.   Whenever I saw Peg, or when I think of her now in my mind's eye, I see beauty.  I see large brown eyes with impossibly long lashes and I hear the softest, most soothing voice imaginable.  I hear her tinkling laughter as she regales me with yet another story about her Boston catholic family. 

I concede the point that we give too much emphasis and value to the concept of beauty when we try to compliment someone or try to boost their self esteem.  But I also believe we misuse the word "beautiful." The term has been warped by our media to mean an almost impossibly achievable standard of physical appearance.  And Jane isn't really talking about the people who miss this standard by some small or even medium mark, she's talking about when the whole person doesn't come close due to physical deformity or flaw and that the act of trying to make someone feel beautiful when they aren't phsyically attractive is to her a disservice.

I know Jane's opinion comes from experience and from her own sense of self, her dedication to speaking the truth as she sees and feels it.  We talked about it back and forth on Facebood a little, and to a large extent I agree with her...but there is a space between that extent and my own feelings about looks and attractiveness.

What I wish were possible was for the propensity toward shallowness to somehow disappear from the human gene pool.  Its not ever likely to happen, but I can still dream about it.  I'm raising a girl, and there's no doubt that females are held to much stricter standards than the male population.  (In general, that is, because there are certainly men and women who possess no such incremental measurements of beauty when appreciating one another or their partners. )  It starts so young, with the TV shows for tweens that have mostly very attractive and thin lead characters, and their not-so-cute and maybe-a-little-dorky and often a little fat sidekicks.   Its pretty easy to decide which character you'd rather be -- and pretty easy to look at yourself and see all the reasons why you could never be her. 

It only gets worse as we get older.  Movies and television use all the tricks of makeup and lighting, props and camera position to disguise that which is unacceptable and magazines taking it a step better and photoshopping models and movie stars to the point where the real person and the picture no longer resemble one another.  And these are the people we are supposed to emulate?  How can we emulate them?  Trust me, if I could photoshop my ass for real to make it a couple sizes smaller, I would.  Well, maybe I would.

I'll never forget the really average-looking guy who came up to me in a bar when I was in my very early twenties, and said (right to my face!) "You'd be a really attractive girl if you didn't have such a big butt."  I spent every day of my life from that day forward feeling horrible about the size of my posterior.  One doesn't forget that sort of comment. 

How do we teach people to value themselves and others by non-physical standards?  How do we teach people that diversity in size and color are not marks of shame but badges of uniqueness?  How do we get human beings to learn how to give a compliment that doesn't include the words except, but, if only and however?

To address Jane's point, what about those who fall far short of the current physical standard of beauty?  Is it a disservice to seek beauty in those who feel they have none?  Do we need to know we are beautiful?  What is beauty anyway? 

And maybe that's where I see the difference in people -- my definition of "beauty" is subjective.  It isn't necessarily the same as others.  I see people as a whole picture.  I look at my husband and even though I could give you a short checklist of things about him that aren't what might be considered conventionally handsome, those aren't the things I see.  The things I see are the things that make him handsome to me -- his big smile, his broad shoulders, his warm brown eyes, and the one thing I can't see but I can hear it the moment he opens his mouth -- his intelligence and his sense of humor.  I'm NOT LOOKING for the other things.  I suppose its the same for him -- when he looks at me he sees the things he likes and discards the rest as unimportant.

I think I could look at anyone, even someone I don't particularly care for or someone who copes with a serious lack of conventional attractiveness and I could still see beauty in them.  Beauty and ugliness coexist in all of us, and they can't always be seen with the naked eye.  No human being who has ever lived is immune to the ugliness of that petty, selfish little voice in our heads, and no human exists who doesn't display physical and emotional moments of pure, unadulterated beauty. 

Childbirth -- not the prettiest sight imaginable.  And yet, that slime-covered, squalling purplish red infant with the pulsing cord still attached is beautiful in a way that cannot be described in words.  The physicality of the act of giving birth - blood, fluid, poop on the table, maybe an emergency cesaerean with intestines being pulled onto the table to get them out of the way!  There is ugliness but the spiritual and emotional experience of expelling life into the world was for me and for many women as beautiful as it was painful.

I postulate that we are all - every one of us - both beautiful and ugly.  The outside may lean far more one way than the other, but to deny the existence of beautfy at all is to deny that inside this flesh wrapper is tethered a being made up of nothing but spirit.  We are not our bodies.

Like Jane, I tend to find things other than physical appearance to compliment others on, regardless of how physically attractive they might be - or not.   But I'm going to politely, compassionately and lovingly disagree that we do service to another by refraining from letting a person know we find something about them beautiful.  Insincerity is in itself not at all useful, but a sincerely meant compliment is another thing entirely.  I compliment my daughter on her sense of humor and her strength, her sensitive and loving heart, her ability to write amazing stories and her fierce protectiveness of all things  furred and feathered.  I try to compliment her on these things more than her beauty, because I want her to always have those messages in her mind when she remembers what her mother thought of her, but she also knows I think she is stunningly beautiful. 

Jane of the amazing large eyes, I only know you from your photos on your blog and your book, but know that I do see beauty when I look at you.  We both have voices in our heads that spit out reminders of the things we know about ourselves that are the antithesis of "pretty."  Nonetheless, you have beauty that is not limited to the inner you.  Its there on the exterior as well.

 

 

Coming soon to Barnmaven.com:  My colonoscopy!  And yes, even THAT is beautiful!  I KID YOU NOT.

 

 

Your greatest teacher

How is it that so many people make a living convincing us that we're not living the best lives we can possibly live?  We'd be happier/more fulfilled if only we invested our money and time in their sure-fire program to improve our selves/homes/yards/clothes/bodies/faces/attitudes.   And if we question any of the steps of their particular program or mention that our life experience doesn't jive with the brand they're trying to sell us, we either didn't understand the book, there's another set of DVD's we should purchase that addresses that VERY thing, or we're just DOING IT ALL WRONG. 

Hint:  Most people who make a living telling you how to live your life don't make money if you don't buy the line that they know better than you how to become happier - more popular, more successful - more authentic/creative/better-looking/ thinner/ curvier/taller/hairier/less hairy.

I've noticed too that many Important People who make a living selling you their ideas don't like having their ideas questioned or hear about the ways in which your life experience doesn't match up to their "program."  If you got in a car accident and you were depressed, you must have manifested it or you just didn't work the program right.   If you didn't make a fortune after the first three months of following their Internet Miracle Marketing scheme,you just need to invest more time (and money) in their product in order to achieve the promised success. 

Its not that these writers, geniuses or gurus don't have something to offer -- they do.  They all do.  But not a single one of them is the end-all, be-all of life.   No book or DVD or system is going to solve all of your problems or turn you into somebody else.  And you need to know that the people who write these books and sell these programs don't have all the answers.  Maybe they have the answers for themselves and their own successes, but they don't have all the answers for YOU. They each carry with them the assorted baggage of their internal belief systems, their life experiences, their particular biases.  They all prefera certain way of doing things and would like you to believe that they offer you this wisdom only as a way to "help" other people.  That's easy to believe so long as you don't look at the man behind the curtain - or the price tag on the next set of DVD's.

And maybe some of the things they espouse will work for you.  But likely as not there will be parts that aren't a good fit.   That's where you have a choice.  You can accept what works for you and not worry about the rest, you can reject the entire philosophy because it has to be 100% perfect for you to accept it, or you commit to it anyway and try not to worry too hard about pretending to agree with the parts of it you aren't convinced about.

You get to live with whichever choice you make, but please know that you don't have to throw the baby out with the bathwater and you don't have to walk around in clothes that don't fit.

I relate it to the way I go about learning with my horse.  There are a LOT of famous trainers and clinicians out there.  In the same way as some people feel compelled to convert you to their new religion after a deeply moving spiritual experience, people who've had a breakthrough with their horse after learning from a certain trainer want to introduce you to the Next Best Thing to happen to horse people.

Since I'm open to learning new things and new and better ways of getting where I want my horse to  be, I'll glady invest in lessons or a clinic with that trainer, or audit a clinic if its out of my price range for me and my horse to participate.  If I'm open minded enough to try that trainer's suggestions, I might find something that works a lot better for me and my horse.    But if I find that the thing I was already doingt that I learned from someone else works better, I'll keep doing that instead. 

A good trainer won't insist you do things his or her way.  In fact, a really good trainer will watch what his students are doing and be willing to ask about something if they see it and they think its working as well or better than their own techniques. But you don't have to believe any trainer that insists if you're not doing it HIS way you're doing it WRONG.  The proof is in the results you get with your horse, no matter what the trainer says.  You don't have to keep doing something that just doesn't feel right to you. 

You don't have to stay in a relationship that doesn't feel right or where you don't feel safe.  You don't have to stay in a job that doesn't fulfill you. You also don't have to engage in a personal/spiritual/self-help program that's not working for you just because the person who happens to gain from your participation tries to make it sound like you're just not doing it right and you need to try harder.

Just because someone is successful and an "expert" doesn't mean they're going to be any better at living my life than I am.  They just get paid to convince me that they are.    Just because they wear a certain kind of clothing or use a certain kind of household product doesn't mean that my jeans don't fit me just fine or my countertops are any less sanitized.  Just because I don't agree with their dogma doesn't mean my own faith is wrong for me.

Look, I KNOW when I'm doing the right thing and I know when I'm not.  I know what fulfills me, what charges my battery.  I know who I'm supposed to be.  There's an inner voice and a feeling of well-being that comes when things are as they should be.  I think that's God talking to me, other people may consider it their conscience or the manifestation of spirit within them.  Whatever works for you.

I know that spending time with my family and my friends feels good.  I know that helping other people feels good.  I know that riding my horse feels good.  I know this about digging in the dirt, playing with my dogs, petting my cats, working in the barn, swimming in the river, making music and writing words. Being thankful to God and trying to develop as a person who is loving and compassionate feels good and right.  But you know what, these things are authentic for me.  No conference, retreat, keynote, book or CD  is going to change these things about me.  And I don't need the approval of a life coach or a guru or anyone on the internet to know that I'm OK.  

The list of the people whose opinion I actively seek on whether I should do this or that is short.  You're probably not on it unless you're my husband, my mother, my close friend or my horse trainer.  It doesn't mean I don't love you and it doesn't mean I don't value your opinion.  I do.  It feels good to be liked, to be agreed with, to receive support and cheers and have like-minded people share with you.  But it also means that if do something or write something that you don't agree with, I won't be crushed or feel rejected or bad about myself.   It means that if some famous "authentic living" guru insists that I couldn't possibly be happy because I'm not doing things their way, I'm going to somehow feel that I must change my beliefs to suit their agenda.

Maybe you don't feel confident, maybe you don't feel like you're "ok."  Well, that's fine.  That's your own voice letting discomfort drive you into doing things differently because what you're doing now doesn't seem to be working.  When you seek new wisdom and new approaches, keep in mind that there is no program in this world that will make you or your life perfect.  Remember that everyone has a different perspective on the words "best," "ideal," "correct" and "true."  Seek answers everywhere you go.  Take what works for you.  Leave the rest.  Seek the approval of your own conscience and those who matter most.  Don't believe everything you read on the internet, in the newspapers or in the pages of a self-help book.  And remember always that we are never, ever "finished" learning or growing. 

The journey, the moment, the now, they REALLY ARE the point.

 

With or against the current

I noticed a post while idly cruising Blogher written last week by Emily Kingsley, an autism mom who blogs at Our Holland.  Blogher featured one of her posts, a reaction in writing to an encounter with a woman who doesn't believe children with autism should be mainstreamed.  At all.  Because she believes its "not fair" to the normal kids.

The post itself had my hackles up, but reading some of the comments has got me feeling indignant as well.  Of course there were a majority of commenters who expressed their outrage at such outright ignorance.  But there were a few commenters, especially one in particular from the Facebook stream, who also believe children with autism or other disabilities don't belong  in the mainstream classroom.  "They're a distraction," said one.  "Its not fair to the other kids," said another.

I simply do not accept that these parents' children have more of a right to an appropriate learning experience than my son does simply because he has autism and they don't.

I believe that my son benefits when he is in his autism classroom AND when he is in the mainstream classroom for academics.  I also believe that the time he spends in the mainstream classroom benefits his neurotypical peers.  My belief is somewhat instinctual, but it is also an informed belief based on results and research.

Someday my son will be an independent adult.  He will need to function in a world where the majority of his coworkers and peers are neurotypical.  His time in the classroom and on the playground with his mainstream peers gives him many opportunities to learn the behaviors that make his interactions with others less frustrating and more rewarding.  The time he spends learning how to interpret social cues and how to interact appropriately with other people his age enhances his ability to succeed not just now, in school, but later in life as well.  This has been our experience, but various studies over the years on inclusion programs statistically support inclusion.  Children with autism who regularly interact in a mainstream environment (with appropriate controls and support) show marked improvements in their social skills and peer-to-peer interactions.

At the same time, spending time with other children who share many of his differences provides him an environment where he fits in.  In his other classroom he is less likely to be bullied for his autism.  He has the benefit of learning under the direction and care of teachers and other professionals who know how to help him gain better control over his behaviors.  He isn't the 'weird' kid in the class, he's one of the crowd, just another kid with autism.

I don't think my son needs to "act normal."  His autism doesn't need to be "cured," it is a part of who he is, it contributes to the many qualities that make him a wonderful and unique person.  The goal of mainstreaming him is rather to help him become adept at surviving in a world where the majority of people he encounters do not share his non-neurotypical traits.  For him to have the best chance of success in the workplace, he needs to have as much time as possible learning how to read social cues, how to regulate his behavior and emotions, how to navigate change and disruption.  These are the same skills all children, normal or differently abled, need to learn in order to be successful adults, really.

I have a firm opinion that children - all people, really - benefit greatly by learning to have compassion and empathy for others.  Very often people fear what is unfamiliar, and fear and ignorance create division and hostility.  We are not so many generations removed from a society that segregated the different and the disabled to an extreme.  Fortunately many parents, educators, medical providers and opinionated and outspoken people who are differently abled have made huge strides in gaining access to education, to the workplace and to the public consciousness.

When children have the opportunity to interact regularly with other children who are differently abled, the perception of difference diminishes.  A wheelchair becomes not something strange to stare at, its just the way your friend with CP gets around.  A text-to-speech device becomes the normal way your friend with apraxia of speech talks to you.  Kids can learn early that people's behaviors are sometimes a direct result of the way their brain processes information, and that kids who have difficulty in social situations aren't just being naughty or mean, they are having a hard time managing their reactions to stimuli or unable to understand social cues.  Kids with Tourette's aren't saying things to get attention or be disruptive, their brains are sending them signals they may not be able to control.

I'm a mom.  I love my kids and I want the best for them.  I want them to be happy and healthy people who have strong, loving relationships and who do work that satisfies them emotionally.  I want them to be productive, contributing members of our society.

Segregating children with differences only serves to create adults who don't function as well in society, who are more likely to have difficulty interacting with their coworkers or the guy who sells them groceries or the lady who collects their rent.  I don't want to see my child's potential diminished to suit the attitudes of another parent who doesn't have the first clue about what it is like to walk a mile in my son's shoes.

Just as my son ought to learn how to navigate a world that doesn't function the way his brain thinks it should, so does that other parent's child need to learn to navigate a world where not all of the poeple he interacts with will be just like him. 

 

So sensitive

I think of the bloggers I follow as friends.  Some of them know that, and perhaps feel the same way about me.  Some don't.  I feel they are friends because I have shared in their lives through the medium of their words and in them I have recognized myself. 

But sometimes I don't understand their sensitivity to the slightest insult. 

Perhaps my experience as a blogger doesn't lend to understanding.  It helps to have a small audience.

It helps to not be (s0) sensitive (anymore, after years of therapy and, one must say, getting old).

It helps that in almost five years of blogging I have probably only had one truly negative comment on this blog and one or two on posts elsewhere.

Even so.  I've had negative comments in other places that mattered way more than this space.  At work.  From friends or in organizations I belong to.  I'm no stranger to hearing really remarkable things being said about me - some true, some not.  Some nice, some ugly.  Whatever.

I don't care if you want to criticize me.  It's fine.  Go ahead.  I can take it.  If I weren't prepared to be disagreed with I wouldn't be putting my words on the internet for the world to view.  Offering opinion invites scrutiny.  Invites differing opinions.  Invites others to be amused, outraged, insulted, offended, enraged. (With any luck, not so much of the enraged. One hopes.)

Rarely am I critical of other bloggers, at least publicly.  I tend to be a supportive person, and I think that life's challenges for other people are for them to work out.  I think most people know what they really need to do to solve their problems, and the best way I know to help them is to just let them know I care.  I might have my own opinions about why they're in the pickle they're in, but personally I don't know that its helpful to share those opinions.  Besides, unless I know the person intimately, there are details of their particular situation that are invisible and unknowable to me.  That's the point where sharing an uninformed opinion might just make me an asshole. 

But just because someone's being an asshole doesn't make them a troll.

Very rarely will I leave a negative comment on another's personal blog, with the notable exception of Penelope Trunk, who absolutely makes me want to weep in frustration.  Other than that, mostly I believe I'm benign.  But I believe very firmly in the value of the critic. 

Insulting for the sake of insult is childish.  Taking umbrage or offering a different opinion is something different.  Perhaps others don't dialogue the way one would like them to, always, but the opinion that is offered is nonetheless often quite legitimate. 

 My sincerest advice to any blogger ( or friend on facebook or person on Twitter or coworker or RL person I love) is to let the voices of the angry horde blow by you like so much dust in the wind.  Listen to your own heart.  Do what you think is right.  It might not be right for me, it might be a bad choice that you make, but you have the right to make it and you have the right to ignore all advice to the contrary.  This is, though, only a first step.  Learning to put your life out there for the world to comment on means starting at step one:  Let it go. 

You could stay there forever at step one, learning to let what others think mean just what it does.  Staying at the first step is an option, certainly.  There's another place to grow, though, if you're up to it.  If you are secure enough to handle a little criticism, hear what is offered.  Receive it from a different place than one of defensiveness.  Listen to criticism with ears that are not  emotionally engaged.  Sometimes the simple act of doing this will grant you the ability to garner insight out of what you might have one time dismissed.  You don't have to take everything to heart, you don't have to take anything to heart. But don't be afraid to sift through it.  Dismiss what doesn't resonate, accept what might be worth digging in to a little deeper.  Do it without apology, without anger, without judgment.  Without EGO.

I appreciate the sense of community that being online offers.  I have a deep and abiding sense of gratitude to so many bloggers who have made me laugh, made me cry, made me think, made me mad.  Every interaction I've had has helped me to know myself better, helped me to grow.

But I think many times some of us fail to make the distinction between those that are critical of us and those that only wish to make us be quiet or be hurtful.  I think it is too easy to lump all negative commentary into one big cooking pot and label it "troll soup."

Yes, there are those that simply leave nasty words because for whatever reason at the time they wrote them, they felt joy in being destructive.  So what?  Unless they're threatening you bodily harm, their words mean nothing.  Hell, when I wrote the piece a couple of years ago about my daughter punching a boy  in the junk, the secondary syndication of that post on a nationally read platform actually had one commenter suggesting readers look me up via my BlogHer profile and pay me a visit.  (You bet, pal, I welcome you into my yard, so long as you're fine with really big dogs and if you don't mind the police officer who lives across the street may wish to handcuff you if you get out of hand.)  That kind of crap is out of line.  But whatever.  Someone calling me a jerk or a bitch or saying I'm a terrible parent or a terrible human being?  Those are just words.  Those words don't carry any more power than I lend them.  The ability to cope with the virulence of others, the responsibility to cope with the opinions of others , lies not with others.  It belongs to me.

Those who put their words in the court of public opinion have known this truth for as long as the written word has existed.  People will never as a whole respond to my words in the manner I hope they will.  I can deal with that.

I don't have to be angry with people because their opinions of me or my writing aren't what I hoped they would be.  Neither do you. 

Seeing beyond the label

Tomorrow the race car man has a very long evaluation to do. 

When his teacher wrote us to say that he was not showing any behavioral advances in school and that she felt something was missing from his diagnostic picture and definitely his medication toolbox, I stopped procrastinating and got on the phone with the insurance company.

The child psychiatrist who also manages Amazon Girl’s medication spent a half day with us, and we walked away from that appointment with a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication.  In just days we saw major improvements both in his ability to be more compliant at school and in the frequency and severity of his sensory meltdowns.   

This second evaluation will give me a much clearer picture of where we will need to approach behavioral therapy from.

I tell my kids frequently that I’m the luckiest mom in the world, and I believe that with all my heart.  There are times that their behaviors are irritating, when its easy to lose sight of the essential truth, that they are each unique and perfect in their own way.   While I like to think they embody the best traits of both their father and I, its probably more accurate to say that in two separate instances, our mutual DNA combined to bring something entirely new and special to life. 

Its easy when you have lots of doctors and diagnoses to get lost in the land of labels.  We need to have names and labels for our disorders, for our behaviors, yes.  But my child is much more than his labels.  His labels do not define for you at all the nature of who he is and what gifts he possesses within him.  My daughter’s labels do not come close to describing her enormous love for others, her creativity, her joy. 

Too many people look just at the labels.  Or they look at the behaviors the labels describe, and they make judgements without expanding their knowledge of the actual person wearing the label.    There was a strong reaction in the special needs community recently to some  negative reviews of the film Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, a story about a nine-year old boy whose father perishes in the 9/11 collapse of the World Trade Center.  Although the book on which the film is based and the film itself never specifically say so, the character displays many behavioral traits that indicate a spectrum disorder – odd speech patterns and tone, difficulty with social interactions, extreme sensory reactions. 

The review that received the most negative response was from David Germain, movie writer for the Associated Press.  His review appeared December 19 at SFGate.com, the online home of the San Francisco Chronicle.  You can read the full article here, but the salient points are the following direct quotes:

”Newcomer Thomas Horn…is a mixed bag, holding his own among the adult actors, but, through no fault of his own, forced to behave with excessive shrillness much of the time.

That’s because his character, Oskar Schell, may or may not have Asperger’s syndrome, a mild form of autism (his medical tests, we’re told, were inconclusive).  You make allowances in life for people you encounter with autism, but spending two hours with a fictional character possessing autistic qualities can be grating.”

And those are the kind of people I dread my kids encountering.  The people who can handle special needs for a few minutes, but lack the compassion or the inclination to “see through” behaviors to the kid inside.  The kind of people who can’t spare five minutes to try and comprehend that a person is more than the rhythm of speech they employ or the pitch and tone of their voice.  

How much of a self-absorbed narcissist do you have to be to find the struggle of a child who has just lost his parent irritating because he doesn’t happen to sound right when he’s speaking?  How little humanity do you have to have left in you to NOT find this kind of story compelling?

Does it take some patience to look past my children’s behaviors?  Often, yes.  But you know what?  It takes patience to be a human being.  Whether you are dealing with people who are differently abled, who have mental health or neurological disorders, who are ill with a terminal or debilitating disease, you ought to be able to have a little patience.  You have to have a little patience to drive through a toll booth or wait in a line at the grocery store.  You need a little patience to cope with an aging parent who isn’t at his best now, but who is still a person you love deeply.  You need patience to try and go anywhere with an absent-minded spouse who can’t find her keys, her coffee cup, her cell phone.  You need patience to make it through a work day with people who are crabby or uncooperative, who didn’t do the things that you asked them to or who made a mistake that cost you time and money.

So even if we end up with another label tomorrow, it won’t change who my son is.  It won’t change the love and respect I have for him.  It won’t change anything but the ways in which we try to help him succeed.  Lets have a little patience for my boy.  Let’s look past his labels to his bright mind and unquenchable spirit.  Lets do that for every child, neurotypical or not, able-bodied or not.  Do it for me.  Do it for you.  For all of us, lest we lose our humanity.

No Immunity

Some days are perfect.

(Like yesterday)

Some days beg patience.

(Like yesterday)

Some days make me want to pull the covers back over my head and start again.

 

We're in the car, running mindless errands, holding hands, rubbing fingers, laughing.  I look at this man next to me and I'm blown away by how lucky I am. 

I try to get my son, who has decided to have sensory issues about his clothes, to put something, anything on, and be part of a special moment.  I decide not to lose my temper or to make him feel bad about what he can't control.  I bribe him.  It works.

We stand in front of an intimate group of our family and friends and I look at my children, standing with us, and the friend who is standing up for me who gets me, who comes and gets me all the time for rides, and the other friend who introduced us and who is standing up for him, and I'm blown away by how lucky I am.

I look at my blue and purple and swollen left foot and wonder how much ground I'm going to lose on the fitness goals I set for myself and consider that I might have to stop eating and start doing a lot more pushups.

I read the congratulatory notes and the emails and the well wishes from so many people I can't even count them and my heart is warm and tingly and fuzzy and I am absolutlely blown away by how lucky I am.

And then my cat vomits on my new shoes.

Isn't that the way it goes?

Life is beautiful and ugly in the same breath.  No one is immune from trouble, no one is safe from change and struggle and sorrow.  And at the same time, we are so incredibly blessed by the people we love and who love us, the things we have, the things we can do.  A place to stay, parents who come through no matter what, a friend who calls when I feel down, a dogs warm furry body pressed against my side as I cry in sorrow or in pain, a man who loves me just as I am, children who take my breath away with their beauty and energy.

There was a time when I was a smaller person.  When I would be envious of someone for what they had or what they could do.  I would look at them and think how much more fortunate they were than I, how much prettier/thinner/successful/wealthy/famous.    And when the inevitable happened and they suffered or stumbled or got hurt, that nasty small person inside me would give a nasty little small fist-pump of victory.  Because oh my, how the mighty do fall.   And it seemed sometimes like my life was a neverending series of fall or struggle or emotional pain.  And then I got older and wiser and I had an opportunity to see me the way other people saw me - that my struggle was not always visible, that to some people I seemed like one of the lucky ones, because even though it seemed to me that my life was not easy, there were people watching me who had lives that were even less easy than mine.

That's pretty humbling.

And I learned to be grateful for the amazing gifts that I really do have, and to let go a little more of the things that I thought were so awful. 

I hope I never forget that my life is charmed and blessed and wonderful - and that I am in no way immune to a stumble, a pain, a grief, a sorrow.  And may I never ever forget so long as I live that what I see of another person's life is only a fraction of what they feel and see and experience.  May I always have compassion for their pain and joy for their success and love for the person they have been and are becoming.

Let me remember, always, that no matter what struggle I face, someone has faced something far worse than this and made it through.

Let me not take these days of joy for granted.  These days are precious and stolen and as ephemeral as the whiff of scent of the last days of a rose in November.   This is a gift.

The End. Period.

It may surprise some of you (especially those of you who are friends on Facebook) to know that technically I am not yet divorced.  My ex moved out well over two years ago, but we didn't actually begin divorce proceedings until August of this year.  I don't know why we waited so long, but when I look back at the patterns in my life I note a definite tendency to postpone the inevitable, so I guess I'm just being true to form.   I will rip off a bandaid, jump into cold water, endure the artist's needle, but I will not lend myself readily to painful emotional change. 

The not-quite-yet-divorced status should, if all goes as expected, change tomorrow.  The final paperwork has been signed by my ex, his attorney, my attorney, and myself.  The hearing is scheduled for 8:30 AM (which really means all the lawyers will be in court at 8:30 AM, there will be check-ins for those doing status conferences and eventually the lawyers who have motions to be signed will line up for their turn, then the status conferences will take place and THEN motions that need to be heard will be considered and hopefully they get done sometime before armageddon.  I suspect this is why attorneys charge so much money, its recompense for the stab-yourself-in-the-eye boredom they go through in court every week). 

The final death throes of the marriage took place over a number of years for a number of reasons.  Tomorrow will be the final, gasping breath of the brontosaurus shuddering on the carpet of the rainforest floor.

 

I don't know if I ever really believed that marriage was forever.  I know that I hoped it was.  I don't think there are many people that enter into a relationship commitment planning for its eventual demise, though we all have to realize that its a possibility. 

I am looking forward to settling into a different phase of my relationship with my ex.  I think that now  that we are no longer debating over exactly how to split hairs and then assign ownerhip to halves of hairs that the bulk of the discomfort will be over.  Worrying about what would happen and who would get what if we didn't agree was a soul-consuming experience.  As much as I am trying to learn to lean back and worry more about the ride than the destination, I'm still human and still reacting to my fear more than I would like.  I've struggled with anger and hurt and jealousy.  I've had to learn how to walk away without voicing upsets or concerns that aren't capable of being resolved.  I've learned to let my feelings be felt with the explicit understanding that there isn't a happy-ever-after, there's no reward or prize or mountain summit, just a continuation of life that will undoubtedly serve up fresh suffering after some time passes. 

Falling in love and beginning a new relationship didn't really alleviate those feelings.  It just allowed me to ignore them for longer periods of time.  Ultimately, though, I've got to acknowledge them and allow them to work their way through.  If I don't, they'll just keep causing me pain and there's no reason at all to let that linger longer than it needs to. 

After tomorrow, my ex and I will no longer be husband and wife.  We'll be coparents.  We'll be once-lovers.  People who walked a path together, side by side for a time, and who will continue to parallel one another to a small extent because of our mutual ties to our progeny. 

As our children become adults, I hope that they will be able to comprehend that relationships are complicated and fragile.  I hope that they can understand - and more importantly believe  - that a divorce was never something we envisioned for our family until we actually reached the point where it happened. 

I hope they will learn that when you're an adult living in a world you are coping with your past and your present in ways that often do not make sense.  That unless you give your relationship the time and energy - and compassion - that it requires, it will not thrive.   That once you stop communicating you begin sliding down a hill that only grows steeper the farther down it you travel.

I hope that they will be able to recognize that in the end we both made some hard choices in order to preserve our sanity, healthy, and dignity, and more than anything, I hope that they will forgive us for the impact those choices had on them.

I hope very much that they will be able to see their parent's divorce not as an altogether negative experience.    Divorce is painful, but at the same time, my failed marriage gave me a gift.  Through it I found impetus for growth and change, seeking new ways of interacting with others, with myself, with the world I inhabit.   

The impermanence of things in life offer us gifts.  Tomorrow marks the end of one thing, but offers a new threshold to cross.  

 

A light so bright it hurts my eyes

In the noise and chaos of dealing with too many balls in the air, I'm not overburdened with opportunities to think.  Between the kids, work and animals, usually any chance that I might slow down and string two coherent thoughts together about how I feel and where am I going in life are interrupted because a ball or two is about to go SPLAT!  Quick, catch the ball!  What was I thinking about?  I forgot. 

Suddenly Sunday night arrives and the kids are off to their dad's.  I'll see them after school four out of the next five days, which helps, but its evening, and then its morning, and holy crap, its dark out.  Fall arrived and I was so busy avoiding thinking about it that it I almost didn't notice it happening.  Lets just say now would not be a good time to run out of Wellbutrin. 

I have reason to believe that this winter will be better than last winter, which was better than the winter before.  That two-year-old winter, just post-separation, was fucking brutal.  The kids were fighting our family's circumstances with every fiber of their beings, I was facing nights where my kids were not with me and I had not yet done the work I needed to do to accept that pain as a part of my life.  It was dark, I was alone, and even though I was finally free of living within an angry and shattered marriage, I was not used to being alone.  I made it through, by the skin of my teeth it seemed sometimes, and by the time the next winter came around, I was doing better.  I was making progess in my personal psychological and spiritual practice.  I was finally comfortable with being alone, with periods of quiet contemplation.  I had things to do and friends to enjoy when I needed some time around other people.  I met SG, and for the most part, the rest of the winter seemed effortless.  I was happy, mostly.  The depression was there, of course, it always is, but it crouched inside its little mouse-hole, barely poking its nose out to sniff the air.  Occasionally it would skitter across the floor, only to be vaporized into black smoke by the shining bright light of my happiness.

This year things are somewhat different.  I'm with someone, and yet I'm alone.  It's hard, its a struggle, and let me tell you that every minor relationship issue feels greatly exacerbated when you can't see the other person's face when you're hashing things out.  So its both OK and not OK at the same time - and right there I am reminded of the twofold nature that I try so hard to embrace.  Life includes both joy and pain, and so this is just a natural part of being human. 

The other thing that changed is that my ex and I changed our parenting schedule.  We went to every other week, a situation I wasn't entirely happy with but agreed to because it was pitched so reasonably.  I have a friend that's a judge.  He says most parenting plans are like this and they don't like complicated parenting plans when you go to court.  And really, it makes more sense to limit that number of transitions they have to deal with, especially with our mixed bag of mental health issues.  It took a while, though, before I realized the real reason for it.  (When I figured out that our parenting schedule matches his girlfriend's parenting schedule and they are both surprise! kid-free on the same weeks, I had to draw a little +1 in his column in the imaginary scorecard I keep in my head.  Touche.  Nicely played.  Asshole.)  So before, the last the longest my kids slept somewhere other than my house was two nights in a row.  Its not all that bad, considering.  On the weeks they are with their dad I still pick them up after school until he gets off work.  I still get to be involved in dinner and homework and all the chaos and noise four evenings on the off week.  It helps tremendously.

Sunday afternoons are special.  I savor those last few hours with them, even if we're doing mundane things.  Yesterday we went up to Michelle's and spent horse time.  The drive is a little over a half hour. 

As we drove home, the light was beginning to thin.  My daughter laid her head on my shoulder, and grabbed my free arm to wrap it around my shoulders.  I hugged her, ruffled her hair, touched her soft cheek with my fingers. 

There are moments in time when loving my kids is both the sweetest and most painful thing imaginable.  I am awestruck once again by how incredibly fortunate I am to have these mysterious and quicksilver beings in my life.  I love them completely and without limit, and I know that our time is precious because it will too soon be less available.  They are with me for but a brief span of their lives, and they will drift further and further away from me as they learn how to be independent people.  They will still be mine, in my heart of hearts, but more than that, they are their own.  So I hold my daughter's hand in the car for as long as she will let me, squeezing it gently, savoring the sensation of her fingers entwined and our palms - hers soft and warm, mine calloused and hard - pressing together.

These are the moments I pull from my memory banks to hang on to when the night is dark.  They are the bright light that chases away the shadow. 

This winter will be better.

Talking to my daughter about race

Mr. C has had a belly ache the past two days.  We're not sure what's going on there, but it appears he may have a deepening milk allergy.  I dread the thought of doing an elimination diet with a six year old who already has a limited appetite and sensory processing disorder to boot, but I guess it can't be helped.  Hold my hand, yes? 

He got to stay home with SG today, and as SG called to inform me that they found a surprise batch of baby chicks in the rafters of the barn, I expect they are having a great time.

Because her brother stayed home, A and I had a nice long ride to work together today.  She's been having some trouble sleeping lately.  Talking about that led to talking about her dad and I, and that led to talking about relationships and being in love.  Thinking of SG and I, I offered her some of my thoughts on what I find to be important in relationships, such as choosing someone that you really like and enjoy beyond that sensational feeling of floating you get whenever you're around them, and choosing someone who really cares about you and who is kind and sweet.  We talked about what people look like and what makes someone attractive to you and how that's a really individual and subjective thing that changes with time and with deeper knowing.

And she says to me, Mom, there is someone that I really like. 

O.   RLY?

My little baby girl likes somebody.  Not the same way she likes her buddy from class that she hangs out with at recess, but the way you like someone when just thinking about them is better than eating ice cream.  Or at least, almost as good as that.  Because, Ice Cream.  Duh.

And I want to know who is this person who has snared the attention of this beautiful child who says EWWWWWW, that's gross! everytime SG plants a smooch on me and who says that boys are yucky.  So I ask some questions, like What is this person's name? which she tells me, and what does he look like? and she hesitates. 

Ummm, he's brown.

And I'm thinking to myself immediately that the time/space continuum must be really working in my direction, because there's this amazing conversation going on over at Kelly Wickham's blog.  When I read her first post on the subject I wanted to comment but didn't, then went back a few more times and commented yesterday, and today there's a great followup post that I expect will lead to more followup conversation.  We are talking about something important, here. 

I have white privilege.  I'm a middle-aged middle-class white woman who has never experienced a drop of racism directed toward me (that I was aware of) in my entire life.  I've been treated differently by others in business and in my daily life because of my gender, but to assume that I can as a result of that understand what it's like to be black or brown or golden-skinned would be utterly wrong.  I can never understand because I lack context. 

But that doesn't mean I don't care.  

So back to my daughter.

He's brown.  OK.  Is there a reason you are uncomfortable with that?

I don't know, mom.  I didn't know if you would mind.  He's not dark brown, like black people.  He's brown like Mexican people.  And he speaks Spanish.

And here is where white privilege comes into play and this is where we as human beings must learn to check our perceptions and learn to channel our conscious thought in new ways.  I live and work in an agricultural community where many of my neighbors are first or second-generation immigrants.  But my immediate assumption should not be that my daughter likes a boy who (poor thing) has a family who is toiling today picking onions in the hot sun.  And if it is?  Smack me in the face and send me back to remedial humanity class right now.  

For all I know his dad owns the crop circles that other people are working on and they live in a house three times the size of mine.  Or his mom is an administrator at the bank where I have my mortgage, or is a teacher at my daughter's school.    Yes, we make assumptions about people all the time based on what they look like, how they speak, what they do.  Part of overcoming the insidiousness of racism is to put our assumptions in check.  To hear ourselves.  To learn to think differently.   To hear the ways we minimize others and their experiences and to replace those thoughts with something better, something that doesn't pigeonhole people into other people's stereotypes.

How do we do that?  Expand your cultural reach.  Read books about black people that were written by black people.  Enjoy a community event in your town that isn't one born of your culture but of someone else's.  Recognize and appreciate how you are different, but seek the ways in which you are similar.  Listen.

I don't think I'm some hip white woman who is way ahead of the game when it comes to solving the intricate difficulties racism presents.  I'm only able to speak for myself and say that there are things I do not know and do not understand and there are thousands of small ways that my privilege has impacted my thinking and I need to be aware of that.  I need to be open to hearing what someone who IS black or brown or golden has to say about it and not be afraid to hear criticism from them about the way I think or react.  If I can do that, I can be part of the solution and stop being part of the problem.

Step one. My daughter likes a boy.  And until I meet him and I learn more about him, the only things I know about him are that:

My daughter thinks he's handsome

He speaks more languages than I do.

Its neither cool nor is it awful, except that oh god, my little girl likes a BOY and I'm not ready for this!