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My Favourite Things

April 13, 2012 By

I am participating in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, in which I publish a post every day for the month of April, based on health-related prompts.

April 13 – 10 things I couldn’t live without: Write a list of the ten things you need (or love) the most.

When people ask me what one item I would grab if my house was on fire, I never know what to say. I mean, who can pick just one? I’m a woman, for Pete’s sake. Women need stuff, just like they need chocolate. It’s a scientific fact.

So in my hypothetical fire, I’m allowed to grab ten things. How I will carry them from a burning building while I’m simultaneously ferrying my kids to safety is not a cause for concern. When my hypothetical fire breaks out, all of the items are easily at hand along with a large duffel bag, I have superhuman strength and an extra pair of arms, and my kids are being fully cooperative.

The ten things I would save from the fire (apart from my family, who technically are not things), are as follows, in no particular order.

1. My Garmin training watch and accessories. I love this gadget. It combines my love of running with my love of technogeeky things. It is the coolest device ever. I can go for a run anywhere in the world, and when I am within range of my computer, it downloads a nifty little map of where I’ve been. The desktop app also tells me stuff about my pace and heart rate, and that appeals to my inner math nerd.

2. My smart phone. This thing does almost everything a computer can do, only on a smaller display. It functions as a camera, a Skype interface, an e-reader, an email client, a music player, and many other things. To be completely honest, I hardly ever use it as an actual phone.

3. My laptop computer. I would be lost without my computer. Seriously. I do everything on there. I don’t know how people like my grandmother coped without technology. Sure, that generation may have been more resourceful and better able to cope in a crisis, but they didn’t have Facebook or the ability to connect online with fellow autism parents when things were getting too overwhelming.

4. My notebook computer. I know, I know. I have a large number of technology devices for one human being. But I love my notebook. It goes everywhere with me. It’s a great little device for writing and web-browsing when I don’t feel like lugging my full-sized laptop around with me.

5. My coffee machine, along with ground coffee and filters. Because, well, obviously. My house just burned down in a fire. I’m stressed. I think I’m entitled to some coffee, and if it’s late at night the coffee shops might not be open.

6. A selection of my older son’s Mr. Potato Heads. George would be at a complete loss without his Potato Head family. These little characters have been with him since he was first diagnosed with autism. They were the means by which he started to tentatively explore language, and they were the tool that my mom used to teach him his colours. As a child with autism, George does not play in the way other kids do, but when he’s got his Mr. Potato Heads, he’s in heaven.

7. A selection of my younger son’s Disney Cars cars. When James first saw Lightning McQueen, it was love at first sight. Thomas the Train and his friends instantly got relegated to the toy box. Now it’s all about Lightning McQueen, Mater, Finn McMissile and all the rest of them. James would be heartbroken if his Cars cars got burned up in a fire.

8. My favourite shoes. Those who know me well know that I hate shoes. They are uncomfortable and don’t look good on my ugly, non-dainty feet. Shopping for shoes to go with my wedding dress was probably the most stressful part of my wedding planning. The only shoes I actually like are my running shoes. My mantra is: There’s no such thing as “too many running shoes”. I would grab my favourite pair and rescue them from the fire.

9. My purse. You never know what will be in my purse from one day to the next. Delving into my purse is like going on a scavenger hunt. It has all of the staples, of course. A little bit of cash, drivers’ license, maxed-out credit card, and the most essential item of all – a tube of lipstick.

10. A clean pair of knickers. From the time I was a little girl, I was taught to always have clean underwear with me. If I was in an accident and I was wearing dirty underwear then, you know, what would the ambulance men say? I would hope that the ambulance men would have better things to do than inspect the state of my knickers, but the lesson stuck.  Besides, if my house has just burned down, I don’t want to be wasting time worrying about the state of my underwear.

What are your favourite things? Share in the comments!

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Disney Cars, Electronic Gadgets, family, Favourite Things, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Mr. Potato Head, Shoes, Uncategorized, WEGO Health Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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A Day In The Life

April 11, 2012 By

I am participating in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, in which I publish a post every day for the month of April, based on health-related prompts.

April 11 – Theme song: Imagine your health focus or blog is getting its own theme song. What would the lyrics be? What type of music would it be played to?

I confess that I had no idea what to do with this prompt. My writing skills do not extend to the lyrics of songs. That is my husband’s arena. Therefore, for today, I decided to use one of the bonus prompts:

Daily schedule: Write a list of your daily routine from the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed. Be honest!

alarmclock

5:00  I wake up to the sound of the alarm on my phone. More often than not, I am on the futon in my living room with a small kid pressed up on either side of me (although it must be said that the small kids are getting less small by the day). Because I’m wedged in between my kids, I can’t simply grab my phone and throw it against the wall like I want to. It takes effort to extricate an arm. Often, as I’m reaching for the phone, I knock it off the table, and then I have to get out of bed – a supreme effort indeed – to pick it up and turn off the alarm.

5:15 I turn on my computer to check my email. I am dressed in my running clothes and I am waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. While I’m reading my emails my younger son wakes up. I get him a cup of milk and start preparing to leave, knowing that I will be delayed by my son’s constant chatter.

5:25  I kiss my older son goodbye. He is asleep, but he will know if I’ve left without kissing him goodbye. I field a gazillion questions from my younger son and eventually manage to escape. I sprint to the bus stop and make it with seconds to spare.

6:30  I arrive at work and head straight for the corporate gym in the bowels of the building. I dump my stuff in a locker, fill up my water bottle, and head out for a run. I’m still groggy and sleepy, but the first kilometre or so takes care of that.

8:00  I get to my desk, all showered and feeling good from my run. I drop my bag on my chair and go straight back out for coffee and a bite to eat. I bring it back to my desk and work until noon.

12:00 Lunch-time! I curse about having once again left my carefully prepared lunch in my fridge at home. I gather up my notebook computer, buy a random salad somewhere, and sit in the common room writing words.

12:30  Back to the grindstone.

2:45 Arrival of my mid-afternoon energy crash. I go out for coffee, and while I stand in the queue I stare at the display of donuts and cookies wondering if it would be OK for me to have one. By the time I get to the front of the line I’m so undecided that I don’t get anything except the coffee. Which is a good thing.

4:00  I pack up, log off, say my goodbyes to my co-workers and leave. I go to the subway station and position myself on the platform just where I think the train doors will end up. More chance of getting a seat that way.

5:30  I arrive home, lamenting the fact that once again, I did not get a seat on either the subway or the bus. I walk home from the bus stop, and stop to check the mailbox on the way home. I do so much stuff over the Internet these days that I hardly get any actual mail.

5:35  The husband and children, who get home before I do, have been standing at the living room window watching for my arrival. The husband opens the front door to release the kids, who run towards me in that joyous, unrestrained way that only children are capable of. I dump my bags, drop to my knees, and open my arms. My boys come hurtling into my arms and almost knock me backwards with the force of their love.  My cup overfloweth with happiness.

6:00 The kids were fed their dinner before I got home, and now the husband and I are cooking up something for ourselves. I enjoy the companionship as we chop vegetables together and chat about our days. I reflect on how fortunate I am to have a husband who supports me in my writing and my running, who accepts me for all of my weird little quirks, and who is the best dad ever.

7:00  Dinner has been cooked and eaten. I clean up the kitchen but don’t start the dishwasher – not yet. My older son, the one with autism, has a lot of angst where the dishwasher is concerned. I have only just gotten to the point where I can unpack and reload it without him completely melting down. Actually running it would be asking for trouble. Best to wait until he is asleep.

7:30  Bathtime for the kids. George goes in first, because he really doesn’t like being in a tubful of water. I soap him down and then, amid panicky cries of protest, I wash his hair. Like many autistics, he has a big problem with having his hair washed. James dives for cover, only emerging when George is safely out of the tub and in his pyjamas. James’ bath-time is a splash-fest. I have to keep a towel handy for myself, and I’m not even in the water.

8:30  The kids go to bed. George has done his homework (and got it right) in about three seconds flat. Bedtime milk has been consumed, stories have been read, hugs and kisses have been administered. I wait until George is asleep and then turn on the dishwasher. I make lunches for the following day and ensure that everyone has clean clothes to wear. I sit down at my computer and do whatever admin needs to be done.

9:30  My day’s work is done and now it’s time to reward myself. I pour a glass of wine, send my daily email to my mom, and waste time on Facebook. I complete and schedule any unfinished blog posts and start one or two new ones. Sometimes I abandon Facebook in favour of a nice soak in the tub. There’s something very decadent about sitting in a bubble bath with a book and a glass of wine.

10:00 I have a cup of tea with the husband and sigh dramatically as he channel-surfs. Why do men do this? Just as I’m getting into whatever happens to be on the channel gets changed.

10:30  I suddenly remember some crucial email or piece of admin that absolutely cannot wait until the following day. I turn on my laptop again to take care of it.

11:00 I fall into bed in a state of exhaustion, and fall into a fitful sleep that will, at least once, be interrupted by one of the kids needing something. Sometimes, I wake up to find one of them beside me. And I’m completely fine with that.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/szift/3196084839. This photo has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, Children, Commuting, Daily Schedule, family, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, running, WEGO Health, Work, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Time In A Bubble

April 1, 2012 By

I am participating in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, in which I publish a post every day for the month of April, based on health-related prompts.

April 1 – Health Time Capsule: Pretend you’re making a time capsule of you and your health focus that won’t be opened until 2112. What’s in it? What would people think of it when they found it?

timecapsule

Sometimes, usually when I’m reminiscing about one of my grandparents, I wonder what the world was like a hundred years ago. In 1912, my maternal grandmother was nine years old. Cars were just starting to change the way people lived, and people were starting to realize that planes might be more than just a passing fad.

In 1912, the Republic of China was formed and the Titanic sank. Gene Kelly and Pope John Paul I were born, and the members of the Scott expedition to the South Pole died.

One hundred years ago, telephone communications happened over a party line and computers had not even been dreamed up. There was no such thing as a TV dinner. Indeed, there was no such thing as a TV.

It is very clear that the world was a completely different place back then. If you were to take my nine-year-old grandmother from that time and plunk her down in the middle of 2012, she wouldn’t have a clue what to do.

Now I cast my mind to the future, to the year 2112. What thoughts will the people then have about the way the world is today? What would I want them to think? What would I, the 42-year-old me who lives in 2012, want them to know about me and my life?

Maybe I should put together a time capsule, something that some random stranger can dig up a hundred years from now to get a glimpse into my life and the things that are important to me.

There would be photos, of course, a visual record of me and my family. Maybe a flash drive of family videos that the finder could watch – assuming, of course, that flash drive technology isn’t totally redundant by then.

I would include a pair of running shoes, and maybe one of my half-marathon finisher’s medals. I would print out a copy of my training plan, so whoever found the time capsule would know that I took my running seriously and tried to be healthy about it. They would know that I cared enough about my feet to use orthotics, that I ramped up my training in a way to avoid injury, and that running was my biggest stress-relieving tool.

There would, of course, be a lot of stuff about autism. A copy of George’s developmental assessment report and the autism awareness magnet that’s on my car. I would put in a copy of the very first “real” picture that George drew depicting a recognizable scene from a TV show. I would have to include one of George’s Mr. Potato Heads, along with a description of how this little character helped George’s development in so many ways. And what about a program from the biannual autism symposium? I could include one of my fundraising appeal letters for my autism runs.

Out of respect for my younger son, I would include a book about raising a child who is the sibling of a child with autism. I would throw in some of James’ artwork depicting him and George, and a leaflet about the autism centre’s sibling support program. I would want whoever found this to know that George’s autism didn’t only affect George, that we also had to make special consideration for his little brother.

And because James is an individual in his own right, I would include some stuff that’s just about him. A Lightning McQueen car. His soccer shoes. One of the T-shirts my mom has sent him from South Africa, that he always loves wearing.

Mental health is a big issue in my life. I would include some of the antidepressants I took a few years ago before the side effects scared me into stopping. I would print off some stats and information about post-partum depression – something that I suffered terribly from and that I still don’t think there’s enough awareness of. And maybe, just for fun, I would include one of my therapists’ bills. Whoever finds it can then gasp in astonishment and say, “Wow, they only paid that for therapy in 2012?”

Family is an important element in my life as well. My family, by their mere presence, enhance my physical and mental health. My husband’s support of my endeavours has an unquestionable affect on my stress levels and sense of wellbeing. So I would have to include a copy of my marriage certificate.

This time capsule is starting to get kind of full, and I haven’t even touched on some people in my life who would have to be represented, like my mom and my brother, and my best friend Jenny, and some other folks who form the fabric of my life.

I’m off to find a bigger box.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carbonnyc/2563369930/. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: autism, Children, Depression, family, fundraising, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Mental Health, Post-Partum Depression, running, Siblings Tagged With: , , , ,
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Taking Care Of Mom: A Story Of Survival

March 29, 2012 By

I don’t usually take calls on my cell phone during meetings, least of all calls from numbers that I do not recognize.

Answer the phone, said a little voice in my head. It was the same little voice that has guided me many times in the past, the little voice that I always listen to, because when I don’t, I regret it.

I excused myself from the meeting and answered the phone.

To my surprise, it was the lady at the pharmacy down the road from my parents’ house. My mother had come in to the pharmacy to fill a prescription, and while she was there she had started complaining of abdominal pain. Could I please come and get her and take her to a doctor right away?

Bear in mind that this happened in a country that did not have 9-1-1. I was definitely a better and faster bet than the local ambulance service.

I made the fifteen-minute drive to the pharmacy in about eight minutes, only to find that my mother was not there.

“I’m sorry,” said the lady at the pharmacy. “We couldn’t wait. Your mother really needed to see the doctor immediately, so Michael drove her.”

I didn’t know who Michael was, but that was the least of my worries. I thanked the lady and drove to the doctor’s office. I was ushered into the consulting room immediately, and Michael – who turned out to be a kindly delivery man – was free to leave.

My mother was lying on the examination table writhing in pain. Her body was burning up with an ever-climbing fever and her face was the colour of paper. The doctor, who I had known for years and who had always, up until this moment, been completely unflappable, was trying everything she could. Although she was displaying an admirable calmness, I could see undercurrents of desperation.

An ambulance had been summonsed. It arrived and ferried my mother off to the hospital, with me following in my car.

At some point during all of this chaos I got in touch with my dad and my brother, who were out of town on separate business trips. While I took care of admission paperwork at the hospital, they were trying to get themselves onto last-minute flights home.

With the admin taken care of, all I could do was wait. I discovered that hospital waiting areas are every bit as bleak and depressing as movies make them out to be. After what felt like hours, the doctor came out to see me. The bad news was that my mother had an infection so severe that her kidneys were failing. The good news was that the fever was under control and the pain was being managed. I was allowed to go in to see my mother. She looked dreadful, but with the pain and fever taken care of, she was at least able to talk a little.

She was very afraid – and who wouldn’t be? I was terrified myself but trying hard not to show it. The doctor came back into the room and gave my mother some milky-looking medicine. She sipped the cloudy colloid as I gave her assurances that she was OK, she would be OK, the doctors were taking care of her.

I’m not sure when my dad and brother arrived. All I know is that at some point, they faded into the hustle and bustle as people entered and left the room, trying to get my mother’s body to work the way it was supposed to.

This story has a good ending. My mother recovered and thankfully she is in good health.

On some dreaded day – hopefully a long way in the future – I will lose my mom, because no-one lives forever.

But I am eternally grateful to whatever powers prevail that that day, Mom stayed with us.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Cedar challenged me with “She sips the cloudy colloid. ” and I challenged Leo with “Tell a story that makes a lot of use of contrasts, like light/dark, big/small etc.”

Filed Under: Emergency, family, hospital, Illness, Indie Ink Writing Challenge, Medical, Mother Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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The Final Rose

March 14, 2012 By

I am at the top of the hill with the humans. The rain that threatened earlier has held off and the sun has come out. I can feel the warmth touching me lightly. The humans cannot see me, but it’s not their fault. They feel my presence, but they do not realize that I still have a physical form, albeit one that has almost faded completely. If they were looking intently through one of the shafts of sunlight, they might just be able to make me out. But even if they could, they might not realize it was me.

I was a human myself until very recently, although my memory of that time is fading fast. I know that this place, and these people, were somehow important to me, but I do not know what my name was or how I left my human form.

One of the humans is talking while the others listen. Some kind of water is leaking out of their eyes. I detect a great deal of sadness in the group and I somehow feel that it has something to do with me. I wish I could comfort them, but I instinctively know that they must find their comfort from one another.

Now the humans are taking turns to take a gray powdery substance out of a little wooden box and scatter it to the winds. I feel a very strong connection with that substance, as strong as the connection I felt a couple of days ago when I saw the body I used to inhabit. Two of the humans are climbing out onto a ledge holding the box. One of them pours the rest of the gray powder under a tree, and the other reverently places the box beside a rock.

What a strange ritual. My memory has dissipated too much for me to understand it, but even though I cannot be seen, I feel as if I am a central element in what is happening.

The humans are starting to make their way down the hill, some more quickly than others. Unseen, I flit between them and among them, catching snippets of conversation as I go. They are taking care of each other, the humans are, making sure everyone gets down the hill safely. I see a woman taking off her hat and tenderly placing it onto the head of an older woman to shield her from the hot sun. I sense a lot of distance among this group. Some of the humans have come from far, far away. Some of them have not seen each other for a long time. Even though my sense of who they are is so vague, I feel unsurpassable happiness at the sight of them together, leaning on one another, supporting one another.

With me in tow, the humans reach a house, and a jolt of crystal-clear memory pierces me. This was my home when I was a human. I lived here for a long, long time. As I look at the woman who had received the hat coming down the hill, the word “sister” floats into my consciousness, along with a sense that we spent a lot of time together in this house. A sense of loss emanates from all of the humans, but none so much as this woman who was my sister. I hope she will be OK. I think she will. Everyone seems to be rallying around her.

The woman who had given my sister the hat wanders off into the garden. I decide to go with her. She walks slowly, stopping now and then to smell a flower or look around her. She cannot see me, but I feel that she knows I am there. I float along beside her for a while, looking at her face that seems to be lined with sadness and her shoulders that slump under the weight of regret. Regret for what, I don’t know.

I feel that I have to give her something, some kind of comfort, but since I left my human form, I have been unable to communicate with the humans. I drift away, in search of some way to leave a message.

I find myself standing among some rose bushes. All of the flowers on them are dead, and for some reason that makes me very sad. These roses must have meant something to me.

All of a sudden, I know what I have to do.

I embrace one of the dead roses, enveloping every part of it with my being. I infuse it with my energy, and I become one with the flower as the petals start to fill with colour.

When the human comes around the corner moments later, she stops as she sees a single red rose in the rose garden. She approaches me and gently touches one of my petals. She inhales deeply as the sweet scent of the flower fills the air.

She knows it’s me. I can tell from the way she stands looking at me for a long time, and from the way she lovingly says goodbye before she turns and walks away.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, kgwaite challenged me with “Write a story from the perspective of someone just entering or just about to leave earth (or life).” and I challenged Eric Limer with “Write a story in which social media is the main driving force.”

Filed Under: Afterlife, Death, family, Indie Ink Writing Challenge, life, Loss, Love, Roses, Saying Goodbye Tagged With: , , , , ,
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The Birth Of Brotherhood

March 5, 2012 By

On the evening of Christmas Eve 2005, my husband and I lay on our bed with our son George between us. Then a little more than two years old, George was doing his usual pre-bedtime rolling around with Mommy and Daddy. It had been a nightly ritual from the day he was born. He would lie quietly with us while he drank his bedtime milk, and then he would spend ten minutes climbing onto my husband and then falling off in fits of giggles. It was a time that we treasured, but on this particular evening, I was feeling undertones of melancholy. My body was telling me that my second child would be born the following day. Which meant that this ritual was about to come to an end – or at least, dramatically change. In an odd way, I had already started feeling nostalgic for George’s only-child days.

It’s not to say that I wasn’t happy about the pending arrival. I couldn’t wait for this addition to my family. I was excited about bringing home a baby brother or sister for George, even though it would be a bit of a surprise for him to suddenly have an entire other human being in the house. Throughout my pregnancy, he hadn’t shown any signs of understanding what was going on, other than that he wasn’t allowed to jump on Mommy’s very large belly.

The baby did indeed arrive the following day, Christmas Day 2005. Having languished in his floaty home for a week past his due date, he was now very eager to get out and start living. I spent James’ first two days of life in a haze of exhaustion. When I had time to think, it was to wonder how George’s introduction to his new sibling would go.

As it happened, James started crying while we were driving him home for the first time. He wanted to be nursed, yet again. All about the boob, that one was. When we got him home, I settled down on the couch with him to nurse while my husband retrieved George from my mother-in-law. When George came bounding into the room to jump on the couch, I told my husband not to stop him. George stopped short at the sight of this tiny being attached to me, but although he was clearly surprised, he did not seem to mind the being’s presence. He didn’t say anything about it, but George was saying next to nothing at that time anyway.

For the first few weeks, George seemed a little bemused by James. I had the impression that he did not really see James as a person, but as an extra thing lying around the house. This was illustrated to me perfectly one day when James was lying on his back on the floor. We had one of those big foam alphabetic floor puzzles, and James was lying on that – in the exact spot where George wanted to play. George very matter-of-factly went up to James and took one tiny ankle in each hand. He then proceeded to drag James off the floor puzzle and onto the carpet. He was not rough or aggressive about it. He was merely moving something from Point A to Point B while I cracked up laughing. James didn’t seem to mind being displaced in this way. He just kind of looked at George with an air of resignation.

I will never forget the day I saw a shift happen in George – a shift from indifference to genuine brotherly affection. I had just changed James’ diaper and he was lying in the middle of my bed. George came in from wherever he had been and grabbed James’ leg as he was climbing onto the bed. James gurgled and waved an arm in response to being touched, and George stopped and stared at him, as if realizing for the first time that there was a person in there. His facial expression changed from one of curiosity to one of absolute tenderness. He reached forward, and with both arms, he reached out, lifted the baby and drew him close in a protective embrace.

It was the first time George spontaneously hugged James.

In that moment, I felt that my two sons truly became brothers.

Filed Under: Baby, Brothers, Children, family, Pregnancy, Siblings Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Non-Canadian Thanksgiving: Things I’m Thankful For

November 24, 2011 By

My social media feeds are making me hungry today. My Facebook newsfeed and my Twitter timeline are full of people in the United States talking about turkey, wild mushroom tartlets, various kinds of fresh-baked breads, pumpkin pie, sweet-potato-this-thing or roasted-carrot-that-thing. It all sounds delicious, and I am truly happy that everyone is having such a lovely feast. But you know, sitting up here in Canada, the ham and cheese sandwich that looked so nice while I was making it suddenly seems a little sad.

Yes, I know. We Canadians already had our turn last month. While I was Facebooking and tweeting about my own Thanksgiving dinner six weeks or so ago, I got a number of responses that said something along these lines: “Lucky cow!”

Anyway, even though it is not technically my Thanksgiving, I thought I’d take a moment, while everyone is in the mood, to reflect on things that I am grateful for. Because sometimes we get so caught up the busy-ness and stress and noise of life that we forget about the things in our lives that make it all worthwhile.

Like these:

  • I have two gorgeous children who are in perfect health. Yes, my son has autism, and yes, this affects both of my kids, but I get to hug them and cuddle with them and kiss them goodnight. I get to read to them, play with them, and arm-wrestle them into eating their veggies. They are there to wake me up early on Saturday mornings while I’m trying to sleep, and they are there to dump toys all over the house and then refuse to clean up after themselves. There are some parents who have buried their children, who can only dream of all of this. My heart aches for them, and I appreciate every second with my kids – the good moments and the bad.
  • My husband and I have arguments. I mean, who doesn’t? Every couple has arguments. There are times when he drives me crazy, times when he makes me cry, times when I feel overworked and underappreciated. But then there are the good times. The times we laugh together at some joke that only the two of us can understand. The times we go to meetings at our kids’ schools and work together for the betterment of their future. He calls me during the day for no reason other than to tell me he loves me, and when I’m on my way home from work, he walks to the bus stop to meet me because he wants to see me that badly. He is the love of my life and I cannot imagine life without him. And I am truly thankful that I sat in a park that day ten years ago and fell for the stranger who approached me.
  • The economy has been up a certain creek without a paddle for some time now. I know of people who have lost their jobs, who cannot afford a simple visit to the doctor, who struggle to feed their families. I spend a lot of time griping about my commute, but at least I have a job to commute to. It’s a good job, too. Challenging work, reasonable pay, good benefits and for the most part, people I enjoy working with.
  • I have some phenomenal friends. Some I have known for a very long time, and some are relatively recent additions to the fabric of my life. Many people talk about their online friends versus their “in real life” friends. I make no such distinction. If you have hugged me (either in person or virtually), cried with me, advised me, been there for me, allowed me to be there for you – you are my friend, whether I have met you face-to-face or not. Knowing someone exclusively through online media does not make that person any less real. So, to my friends – whether we have physically met or not –  I love you and appreciate you. Truly.
  • Then there are the people who I don’t really know well enough to be able to be able to call my friends – not yet, anyway. I hesitate to use the word “acquaintances”, because that word implies that I merely know these people. It does not adequately convey the idea that they are important to me, and that I greatly value their presence in my life. Many of the people I interact with on Twitter fall into this category. I cannot say that I know them, but they brighten my day, or somehow make me feel that I’m not alone; that no matter what I’m going through, someone understands and more importantly, cares.

Sometimes, life gets overwhelming for me and all I want to do is run away and hide. But when I turn on my taps, I get hot and cold running water that’s clean enough to drink. I walk outside and all of the buildings are standing. There are no bombs flying around and I haven’t lost all of my loved ones and possessions to an earthquake. I live in a house, not on the street. Although I live halfway across the world from my mother, I don’t have to worry about whether she is sick or injured, because through the magic of technology that I can afford to have in my home, I am in daily contact with her.

No matter how bad things may get from time to time, there is always something to be thankful for.

(Photo credit to http://www.flickr.com/photos/lonecypress/3264410416. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Children, family, Friendship, Giving Thanks, life, Marriage, Thanksgiving Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Santa Pictures And The Autism Family: 10 Ways To Not Go Completely Insane

November 14, 2011 By
  1. A week ahead of time, start showing your autistic child pictures of Santa Claus, and tell him that this is the dude whose knee he will be sitting on in order to get a picture taken. Try your best not to be distracted by the neurotypical five-year-old sibling who is bouncing around like the Energizer Bunny on steroids yelling, “Ho ho ho! Hairy Christmas!”
  2. At T minus two days, have a dress rehearsal at your house. This is imperative if you want the autie to wear a suit and tie and he has a tendency to melt down if you try to get him to wear shirts that don’t have horizontal stripes. You’ll probably want to have another dress rehearsal the day before.
  3. The evening before, bath your kids and wash their hair. Do the autie first. If you do the hyperactive neurotypical child first, the autie will head for the hills the second he sees the shampoo bottle. Instead, let the hyperactive neurotypical child dive for cover, hide the shampoo until it’s time to use it, and have a reward system handy. I use gummy bears. Whenever the autie opens his mouth to scream, I just shove another gummy bear in. I have become a master at washing a screaming, flailing autistic child’s hair in less than ninety seconds.
  4. Try not to think of the fact that sometimes, ninety seconds feels more like ninety years.
  5. When you wake up on the morning of the Santa visit, call the photographers who are doing the pictures. Tell them that you have a child with autism, and that if he’s made to wait in line he will have such a bad meltdown that the entire building will crumble and the place will end up looking like an archaeological dig. Most people will accommodate you if they know ahead of time that your child has special needs.
  6. Bring changes of clothes for the kids. As soon as the picture has been taken, the autie will want to put on a shirt with horizontal stripes, and if one isn’t available there will be trouble.
  7. Right before you leave your house, call the photographers again and find out if all their equipment is working. Technology comes with its share of problems, and if you have wait around while they try to get their printer to connect wirelessly to their laptop, your frustrated kids will band together with all of the other frustrated kids who are there, and they will start a Lord Of The Flies kind of mutiny. Believe me, you don’t want to caught with a crowd of angry children. They will overpower you. They will tie the grown-ups to poles and dance around them holding spears and chanting.
  8. Don’t let the absence of spears fool you. Kids can be frighteningly resourceful, especially when they are ticked off and have among their number an autistic child who knows how to think outside the box.
  9. When you are granted entrance to Santa’s domain, don’t mess around. Say hi to Santa, get the picture, and leave. Don’t wait for the autie to make eye contact with the camera lens. You will be waiting until the cows come home.
  10. When it’s all over and you are sobbing in the bathroom from the stress of it all, remember that this experience was positive. As you look at the picture, don’t think about all of the planning and angst leading up to it. Reflect on the fact that you have succeeded in doing a typical family activity. You have brought immense joy to the hyperactive neurotypical child, who shouldn’t be deprived of the opportunity to sit on Santa’s knee. And you have taken another step toward teaching your autistic child some vital coping skills that will help him for the rest of his life. Know this, and feel good about what a great parent you are.
Filed Under: autism, Children, Christmas, Coping Skills, family, life, Santa Claus Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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Stopping To Smell The Roses

August 30, 2011 By

Look what I have...

For a number of reasons, I find my morning commute to be far more palatable than the afternoon commute. I rarely wait more than three minutes for a bus to the subway station. Because I board the subway at the end of the line, I always get a seat. The morning commute is faster and generally more pleasant – or at least, less unpleasant.

In the afternoon, I am tired and cranky, and my head is full of work-related stress. I am forced to squeeze myself onto an already jam-packed subway train, and when I emerge at my destination, I have to spend seventeen geological eras waiting for a bus home. Because my chances of getting a seat on either the subway or the bus are less than my chances of being ordained as the Pope, my afternoon commute involves me being on my feet for well over an hour.

By the time I got onto the bus yesterday, I was dying of thirst and my head was pounding. I stood there on the bus, one squashed sardine among many, feeling hot and grumpy. I never regard my commutes as fun, but yesterday, I was even more fed up than usual. I stared at the floor for the entire thirty minute bus ride just to avoid accidentally catching anyone’s eye. That’s how much of a mood I was in.

As the bus pulled up to my stop, I breathed a sigh of relief at having made it home while simultaneously lamenting the fact that my evenings are always filled with chores and running around after people.

Yes, I was feeling pathetic and sorry for myself. I admit it.

But then… something amazing happened.

As I stepped off the bus, I saw my husband and my younger son James sitting on the grass near the bus stop. Thinking I was seeing a mirage, I rubbed my eyes.

James jumped up and yelled, “Mommy!” The sun shone on his curly blond hair and illuminated his entire being. I swear, the kid looked like an angel – a glorious shining light that swept away every ounce of negativity in me. He ran towards me with his hands behind his back. The smile on his face as he reached me could have split his face in two as he pulled his hands from behind his back and thrust a bunch of red roses at me.

I spent a few minutes sitting there on the grass with my husband and my son, basking in the sense of love and belonging, and literally stopping to smell the roses.

I think I will regard my afternoon commutes with a lot less angst from now on. Because look at what I have waiting for me at the other end.

(Photo credit to the author.)

Filed Under: Commuting, family, life, Light, Love, Roses, Stress Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Getting Into Hot Water

July 22, 2011 By

Just over two weeks ago, our water heater broke.

For reasons that I will not bore you with because it’s a long story, we are still living without hot water. A family of four plus a mother-in-law. The family of four includes two children who have a close one-on-one relationship with mud.

Bath time takes twice as long as it used to. Instead of simply running the bath for the kids, we have to dump buckets of cold water into the tub, and boil huge pots of water on the stovetop that then get added to the cold water so that the kids won’t go into shock when they get in.

What’s that you’re asking? Oh, why don’t we just run cold water from the tap? Because for whatever reason, the lack of water in the hot water tank has completely messed up the water pressure on the tap in the bathroom.

On the one hand, I am glad this did not happen in the middle of winter. Because then, heating the bath water to a bearable level would take three times as long. On the other hand, though, in winter you can get away with taking fewer baths. During the dog days of summer, however, when the temperatures are well over a hundred degrees, regular baths are kind of important.

The baths just take care of the kids. Gerard has a shower in his shop, and I have to traipse off the gym in order to avoid being one of The Unwashed. My mother-in-law goes to her sister’s house.

Once everyone is clean, we then have to deal with the dishes. Running the dishwasher is out of the question because it wouldn’t do the job very well, and because it’s not even connected to the cold water anyway. So dishes have to be washed by hand, and kettles full of boiling water keep having to be added to the water in the kitchen sink. Instead of taking ten minutes to clear the dishwasher and reload it, I am now having to spend up to an hour on this nonsense.

How on earth did people five hundred years ago get anything done?

Well. While the men were out conquering whatever they were conquering, the women were staying home and taking care of it all. It’s not like they had to spend two hours a day on the subway getting to and from a full-time job at the office. And besides, avoiding body odour wasn’t such an issue with them. They had annual baths every July, and the entire village shared a single tub of water for the occasion.

Apparently – apparently – our hot water will be reinstated within two or three days. I’ll believe it when I see it.

In the meantime, I just have to make the most of what I have. And drink wine to stop myself from going completely round the bend.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dustpuppy/5371295/)

Filed Under: family, Hot Water, life, Lifestyle, Summer, Water, Winter Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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