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A Foray Into Fiction

March 16, 2011 By

Today, I share with you the prologue of a fictional book that I have been working on over the last couple of years. Read it and tell me: would you want to read on?

At last they’re all gone.  They took forever this morning, and I thought I’d never be alone. Cass’s hairdryer broke. Leah couldn’t find her track shoes.  The coffee machine spilled over.  Daniel accidentally spilled a full box of Cheerios all over the kitchen floor.  I yelled at him and then felt like a piece of shit, so I atoned by making him pancakes.

I love them all, and that’s why I am always so edgy until they’ve left in the mornings. I don’t want them to see the bleakness and desperation in my soul.  When they’re here I have to be cheerful.  I have to pretend everything is OK.  I have to make sure no-one can see the cracks in my life, and it drains my energy.  By the time we’re all eating a breakfast that makes me feel nauseous, I’m exhausted.

But now they’re gone, and I can relax. I’m by myself, so I don’t have to hide anything. I can let the anxiety consume me, I can let the knot in my stomach expand until it chokes me, I can let the trembling take over.

I watch the children disappear around the corner on their way to school, and then I go into the living room and lie down on the couch.  I run my fingers through my hair, no doubt making it stand up every which way.  I’ve tried all of those man-gels that are supposed to make hair lie flat, but none of them work. I once had a brush-cut in an attempt to tame it, but Cass begged me to grow it out. She says my unruly locks are sexy.

I dig my hand down behind the seat cushions in search of the remote.  Daniel is always stuffing things down there when he has nowhere else to put them.  Cass once found an entire little toy army under there. I root around for a minute and find the remote.  I turn on the TV and immediately wish I hadn’t bothered.

The news is on. As usual, the anchor is going on about the economic meltdown engulfing most of the civilized world. Stock market indices have hit rock bottom. Two major companies have posted massive third-quarter losses.  The real estate market is in freefall.  Another thirty thousand people are expected to lose their jobs in the next week. Small businesses are being forced to close up shop by the dozen.

Join the fucking club. Knowing that I’m not the only guy to go out of business doesn’t help.  There’s no comfort in being part of a sad statistic.

As screwed-up as it is, losing my business is the least of my problems. I cannot believe how stupid I’ve been. If I had told Cass the truth ten months ago I wouldn’t have this unbelievable mess to deal with now. But she was so excited about finally getting her promotion and I didn’t want to burst her bubble. I thought I could sort everything out myself, without dragging Cass and the kids into it. I’ll have to come clean now, though, and that will be so much harder. Cass will stand by me, I know she will. But my heart constricts when I think of the look of hurt I will see on her face when she discovers how I have deceived her.

I have to cut the crap. I got myself into this. I don’t deserve sympathy from anyone, least of all myself. I have to bite the bullet and fix this.

Today I will make the phone call, the call that will set the wheels in motion to put everything right again. I picture the slip of paper in my wallet that has the number written on it, and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But I have to do it. I will do it. Today.

There. I’ve made a promise, a commitment to myself and my family.  If I break it, I’m scum. I have to do the right thing, and I will.  There’s no way to fix this without dragging Cass into it.  But it will be so much worse if I don’t. Hopefully we can keep the kids out of it.

I head into the kitchen and put on another pot of coffee.  My nerves are about to spontaneously combust. Caffeine is probably not what I need right now. But it’s that or whisky, and it’s not even nine in the morning. My life’s already fucked up, I really don’t need a foray into alcoholism on top of everything else.

I go upstairs and take a shower and pick out something to wear. Usually I don’t give a rat’s ass what I put on in the mornings, but today is different. It sounds dumb, but I need to look respectable when I make this phone call, out of deference to the person I will be talking to. I put on my new black jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. My hair – well, there’s not much I can do about that. I’ll probably have to cut it off at some point out of respect for due process. When this is all over I can grow it back, and I’ll never hide anything from Cass again.

I pour myself some coffee and sit at the kitchen table. I try to distract myself by thinking of this weekend. Mom and Dad are flying in from Vancouver tomorrow for the Thanksgiving weekend. Tom and Mike are driving up from Boston tonight. I think they’re both bringing girlfriends. Drew and his family may live just twenty minutes away, but they’ll be at my house for most of the weekend. This place will be a madhouse for three days, but maybe it’ll keep my mind off things.

OK. Focus. All I have to do is make one phone call.  After that it’ll be all out of my control.  Surely I can make one little call. I pour more coffee and find my wallet. I slowly extract the small scrap of paper I’ve been saving since the spring, and for a long time I stare at the name and number scrawled on it.  James Hutchinson. Local number. I don’t really need to look at the paper.  I’ve had the number memorized for months. I could probably just throw it away, but instead I put it back into my wallet. I rehearse the upcoming phone call in my head and try to calm my shattered nerves. This James Hutchinson will help me. I’ll tell him everything. It will be OK.

I take a deep, shaky breath and pick up my BlackBerry.  My hands are shaking so badly that it takes four or five attempts for me to unlock the keyboard. This is it. Barely able to breathe, I start entering the number. I suddenly realize that I have no idea what I’m going to say.

I’m halfway through punching in the number when the doorbell rings. My heart leaps out of my throat and the BlackBerry slips out of my grasp and clatters on the kitchen table.  For a wild moment I think that James Hutchinson is at the door. That’s ridiculous, of course. James Hutchinson doesn’t even know I exist.

I open the door, irrationally hoping for redemption and instead seeing my worst nightmare. As I look into my visitor’s eyes, a knot of excruciating fear grips my stomach. I need to get out of here. I need to run as fast as I can without looking back, but I find myself rooted to the spot. I feel like an invisible hand is wrapping around my throat, constricting my breath, choking the life out of me.

It’s OK. All I have to do is get through the next five minutes.

Then I will make that phone call.

Filed Under: fiction Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Extreme Makeover: Blog Edition

February 18, 2011 By

If you are reading this…

Cripes, that sounds like the opening line in one of those videos where a guy has been murdered and is now telling his family, via videotape retrieved from a safety deposit box using a previously hidden key, whodunnit.

Anyway.

If you are reading this, then you will have already noticed that my site looks different. I’ve gotten rid of the oppressive black background and the small font that you needed a magnifying glass to read (why did I ever like that theme, anyway?). I’ve gone to something light and airy, kind of like you do when you move from a small shoebox apartment to a large open-concept house.

I’ve added pages! The About page tells you a little bit about myself – it’s riveting stuff, really – and tells you how you can get in touch with me. Go to My Family to learn about – well, my family, the key players in the drama of my life. And Upcoming Races will tell you about – you guessed it – the races I am registered to participate in. More pages will be added soon – some about autism, some about running.

I have a blogroll! My favourite blogs are now listed in the sidebar. If you’re not listed and you’d like to be, send me a link, and as long as your blog isn’t about something totally inappropriate, like Justin Bieber, I’ll add you to the list.

I even have – drumroll, please – a Facebook page for my blog! Check it out, and “like” me – because, you know, everyone wants to be liked.

Filed Under: blogging, makeover, website Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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The Juggling Runner

February 16, 2011 By

Those who know me well know that I have the dual problem of (a) having way too much on my plate and (b) having crap time management skills. Juggling a full-time job with parenting a child with autism, parenting a child without autism, helping manage Gerard’s business, and everything else that I have going on, can really take it out of me. That is a lot of balls to have in the air, and dropping any one of them is not an option.

Despite all of this, though, I run. I am living proof that the excuse of not having time to exercise just doesn’t hold water. Anyone who wants to exercise badly enough – assuming they are medically and physically up for it – can find a way to make it work.

That being said, it is far from easy, and several people have asked me how I do it. And so, for people who are overtaxed, overworked, and overwhelmed and still want to exercise, I offer my words of wisdom (and thank you to the Running on Empty blogger for suggesting this as a blog topic).

1. Get your partner/spouse/significant other on board. I cannot stress this enough. I’m not saying you have to drag them out of bed to go running with you at five in the morning against their will, just ensure that you have their support. Explain to them what you want to do and why it’s important to you. Let them understand what impact, if any, it will have on them. I am very fortunate in this regard. Gerard occasionally grumbles and complains when I abandon him to the mercies of two lunatic children so I can go for a long run, but he understands that it is something I need to do. Come race day, he is always a rock of support for me, taking me to races at ungodly hours of the morning and cheering me on at the end.

2. Planning is essential for people pressed for time. At the beginning of each week, write down what days you are going to work out and how long each workout will be. Be sure to take into account the amount of time you will need to change into your workout clothes and get to wherever you need to be. Once you’ve done this, schedule the workouts in your calendar. Once they are in your calendar, don’t move them. Schedule other stuff around them.

3. Once the workout is scheduled, just do it. If your calendar says you’re getting up at five in the morning to go for a run, then get up at five in the morning to go for a run. There will be times when you just don’t think you’ll be able to drag yourself out the door, when all you want to do is go back to sleep. Your mind may even try to convince you that this would be healthier. If you give in, though, you will spend the rest of the day regretting it. If, on the other hand, you get up and do your workout, you will feel an amazing sense of accomplishment. As an added bonus, I frequently find that the runs I am really, really not in the mood for turn out to be some of the best ones ever.

4. As much as I’m going on about scheduling and planning, you have to be prepared for exceptions. Sometimes it won’t be possible for you to go running when you planned to. Your child will keep you awake all night, and you will genuinely need to catch up on sleep instead of running. Or your boss will call an emergency meeting that will cut into the time you had reserved for your lunchtime workout. Or you yourself will get sick and be forced to rest. This is all OK. Sometimes life gets in the way of running. If you’re not able to reschedule a missed workout, no problem. Just go for the next scheduled workout and life will continue to be good.

5. Remember that shorter workouts are still worthwhile. If you were planning to run for an hour and only find yourself with twenty minutes, it’s still worth running for those twenty minutes. From time to time, I’m not able to get out at all because I have no-one to watch the kids for me, but even on those days, I manage to do sprints up and down my road, checking on the kids between reps.

6. The key thing here is perseverance. Even when things get so overwhelming that you have to skip runs or take an extended break because you’re ill or injured, don’t give up. Remind yourself of why it is important to you, and think about how great it feels when you complete a great workout. When things get tough, don’t just give up and tell yourself it will not work. Ultimately, you are doing this for YOU, and you should never give up on yourself.

Filed Under: life, running, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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One Step Closer To Normal

February 14, 2011 By

Life is one step closer to normal today.

James has rallied back after his week-long illness and is back at school today. It completely failed to register with my overtaxed brain that today would be the day to send in Valentines cards and treats for him to hand out to his classmates, but I don’t honestly feel too bad about that. I’ve had other things on my mind. In any case, James will no doubt get a lot of attention today.  He is immensely proud of the tiny little bruise on his hand where the IV line went in. He is going to show the bruise to his friends and tell the tale of his hospital adventures. I’d say the kid has earned the bragging rights.

George is still home, but he hasn’t thrown up for about thirty hours. He ate jam sandwiches yesterday, and right now he is digging into the scrambled egg that he requested. He has colour in his face again – a colour other than pure white, that is – and he is chatting away in his own little autie language. He seems happy, and definitely better. He’s getting one more day at home to recover his strength.

Gerard and I are at home as well. Both of us feel a little drained and weak, but we are also on the mend. My system is still very delicate – so delicate that I am, for the fourth day in a row, voluntarily foregoing coffee. Those who know me and my love for caffeine will appreciate just what a sacrifice this is.

Even though I am at home, I am well enough to actually work. Tomorrow I will go back to the office for the first time in almost a week. I’ll feel like Marco Polo must have when he got back from China or wherever it was he went, except that I won’t have boatloads of tea and rice with me.

After my return to work, I will be able to think about the next big thing. Running. Oh, how I miss running. How badly I want to lace up my running shoes and go out in the crisp, cold air and feel the crunching of the snow beneath my feet as I run.

If I try that today I will throw up all over that nice pretty snow. I have to be sensible. It will probably be Thursday or Friday before I try running again, and when I do, I will have to start out slow.

I won’t even care about being slow. I just want to be out on the road again.

And for everyone in my family to be able to go to bed at night without a designated puke bucket on the floor beside them.

Filed Under: health, Illness Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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Best Vacation Ever

February 3, 2011 By

These pictures were taken during the Best Holiday Ever, back in 2008. Gerard and I packed the boys up along with five hundred of their favourite belongings, and drove down to New York.  While we were on the road, my mother was in the air, flying in from South Africa.  We all met up at my brother’s Manhattan apartment, spent a night there, and then drove to Long Island the following day, where we spent two of the happiest and most carefree weeks I can remember.

We planned the crap out of this vacation: knowing how all of the changes associated with vacations can affect a child with autism, we had to be prepared. There was some concern that we were “overplanning”.

It paid off, though.  Thanks to all of the planning, George had all of his routines in place, along with all of the things associated with those routines, even though we were in unfamiliar surroundings.

The house we stayed in (borrowed from a friend of my brother’s) was a hit.  The beach was a hit.  Most of all, being with my mom and my brother made the vacation something truly special.

Negotiating early morning Manhattan traffic at the end of a 12-hour drive

Almost there! Driving to my brother's apartment.

George gazing off into the distance

James, enjoying his first time on a real beach!

Drawing in the sand with James

George on tippy-toes - love this picture!

James watches as I bury George in the sand (Mom and brother are in the background)

Like I said, it was the Best Vacation Ever.  I even got to go running a couple of times!

Filed Under: life, Photography Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Photographic Retrospective

January 25, 2011 By

Do you remember the days when we used to take pictures with cameras that required film?  When all 34 pictures on the film had been used up we would take it to the drugstore for processing and pick it up three days later (eventually, drugstores got their own in-store processing equipment and the concept of “one hour pictures” was born).  We would go home and look at the pictures, only six of which were any good, and we would throw them into a cardboard box already containing seventeen thousand other pictures.  Every time we put the box back in the closet we would say to ourselves, “I must buy albums and get these photos organized”, but we would know that the pictures wouldn’t be looked at for at least six years, when the bottom of the box would collapse and all of the pictures would fall onto the ground.

Things are so much easier now.  We just take the picture, plug either the camera or the SD card into a slot on the computer, and ten seconds later the pictures are there for our viewing pleasure.  We print the ones we want to print.  Mostly, though, we make desktop backgrounds out of them, upload them to Facebook, and email them to friends and family.  There are no pesky films that cost a fortune and get all screwed up if you open the camera at the wrong time, no dusty old cardboard boxes that take up space, and no pictures lying around that we cannot bring ourselves to throw out even though the top of the subject’s head is cut off and the red-eye makes everyone look like minions of Satan.

The thing is, we look at the pictures.  If we don’t like them, we can edit them, remove the red-eye, fix up the lighting.  And if we really don’t like them, we just hit the Delete button.  Easy-peasy.  The point is, we end up with pictures that we actually like and enjoy looking at.

And that’s what I was doing earlier today.  I was looking at pictures of my kids from when they were a lot younger and littler, and marveling about how they’ve grown and changed since the pictures were taken.

Here are a few of my favourites…

George, age 3

James' first Halloween, aged 10 months. He was a pirate!

Family picture taken on Gerard's birthday, 2006. George was almost 3, James was 8 months

George (almost 4) and James (19 months)

James, about 15 months

George, aged about 3 1/2 - a rare shot of him looking into the camera

Ah, how they grow up!

Filed Under: Children, Photography, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , ,
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Things That Go Bump In The Night

January 6, 2011 By

When our kids were young, all of the experts, books, websites and other parents advised us to establish a consistent bedtime routine.  It took a little bit of time a couple of months four and a half years for us to come up with a routine that works for everyone, and usually bedtimes in my household are fairly uneventful.

Most days the kids will take a bath (I am one of those bad, bad Moms who does not bathe her kids every single day).  On the other days, they take turns in the bathroom to pee, brush their teeth, and wash their hands, faces, and any other parts of them with obvious dirt smears.  They get milk, each boy gets to pick one book for the bedtime stories, and then they are allowed to snuggle on the couch with their Dad for a few minutes.

By the time those few minutes are up, James is very often asleep.  I carry him to his bed – a task that is getting more and more difficult as he gets more and more long and lanky – and if he is still awake I lie down with him for a few minutes and tell him a story about a magic horse I invented that takes James to all kinds of wonderful places.

While this is going on, Gerard is tucking George into his own bed, and when I am done with James, I go in to spend a few minutes with George. He always wants me to stay for longer than I do, but I am always mindful of all of the nightly tasks still waiting to be done. I hug George and give him a few minutes to engage in one of his favourite activities: playing with my abundance of hair. We always have the following dialogue, without fail, every single night (bear in mind as you read this that any dialogue for this mostly non-verbal child is a miracle):

Me: George, who does Mommy love?
George: You love George.
Me: Who does George love?
George: He loves Mommy.
Me: Are you tired?
George: Yes.
Me: Are you ready to go to sleep?
George: Yes.
Me: Goodnight, George.
George: Goodnight, Mommy.

And with that, I give him a kiss, slip out of his room and let him drift off to sleep.  He usually migrates to our bed in the early hours of the morning, and we let him.  One day he’ll grow out of that and we’ll miss these days, so we enjoy it while we can.

Last night, the routine went smoothly enough.  I had my miracle dialogue with George, left his room, and started making sure the boys’ backpacks had what they needed for their respective school days.  All of a sudden, I heard the following from the direction of George’s room:
*Thump* (George flopping himself out of bed and onto the floor)
*Scream* (frustration)
*WHUMP WHUMP* (George banging his head on the wall. Hard enough to dent the drywall)

Oh dear.

I returned to George and calmly made him get back into bed.  As I was trying to settle him, James suddenly appeared by my side crying about how he didn’t feel like being alone.  This was a tricky situation to be in.  Usually, when both boys need me, I simply lie down between them and comfort them at the same time.  But when George is in a state where he is hitting his head off the wall, I need to keep James away from him, otherwise James becomes the target for headbanging.

This was one of those times when I had to send James back to bed crying so I could make sure George was safe.  I always feel truly horrible when I have to do that.  I feel so bad for James.  But sometimes there just isn’t any other choice. It is part of the life and times of special needs parenting.

I got George calmed down – or so I thought – and went in to see James.  I hugged him and comforted him, and told him I loved him.  Sometimes, I said, I have to make sure your brother isn’t getting hurt.  Sometimes I have to make you wait, and that makes you sad, and I am really, really sorry.  But I love you so much and I’ll always take care of you, and I think you are a wonderful boy.

James was content.  He sighed softly and went to sleep.  Just as I was leaving his room, I heard the *thump scream whump whump* from George’s room again.

What, are they trying to tag-team here?  When one stops the other starts?  Can they sense my stress and exhaustion?  Is this that thing that animals do, where they go after the weakest member of the herd?

I am afraid to say that my patience ran out.  I did not go in to George.  I did not hug him or talk to him or try to settle him.  From where I was, I called out angrily, “Get back into bed!  That’s enough!”

There were a couple more screams and one more head-meets-wall incident.  After that, things got quiet and both boys slept through the night in their own beds.  I wasn’t woken at four in the morning by George climbing into bed beside me and wrapping his arms around my neck.  A bittersweet feeling, that.

The logical, rational part of me feels that I did the right thing by not rewarding the second incident of headbanging.

But the Mom in me – the one with a heart full of love for her kids – feels horrible that the last thing my sweet George heard before going to sleep was the sound of my angry voice.

Sometimes, no matter what we do, we feel that we just cannot get it quite right.

Photo credit:  Flickr Creative Commons Attribution License

Filed Under: autism, Children, family, parenting, postaday2011, Siblings, sleep Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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The Ghost of New Years Past

January 1, 2011 By

We rang in the new year without incident last night.  Although it must be said, the term “rang in” is a little grand for what we did.  It implies activity other than Gerard and I lounging on the couch in our bathrobes, watching TV and drinking wine.  We tuned in to CNN about seven seconds before midnight, had a kiss and exchanged Happy New Year greetings, and that was  that.  We did call my Mom right after midnight.  For her it was seven in the morning and she was up and about, so we were able to have a lovely chat.

New Year celebrations when I was a kid were always a family affair.  My Mom has two siblings: a brother (now deceased) and a sister, who back then lived with my grandmother, who was still alive at the time.  Every year we would rotate the celebrations: one household would host Christmas, a second would host New Year, and the third would have a break for the year.  On the evening of December 31st, aunts, uncles, cousins, and Granny would assemble at the designated home, and we would all have dinner (comprised primarily of leftovers from Christmas).  Before midnight we would head outside with our bottles of sparkling wine (us kids were allowed a small amount to see in the New Year with).

Bear in mind that this was in South Africa, when New Years Day falls slap bang in the middle of summer.  Being outside at midnight at that time of year is actually very pleasant.  It’s not something I would voluntarily try in Canada unless I was on my way from one indoor place to another.

We would have the TV on in the living room, not to watch but to listen to.  We would form a big circle, everyone would be given their glass of sparkling wine, and we would count down with the TV.  At the stroke of midnight, we would drink our toast to the New Year, join hands and sing Auld Lang Syne.  There would be hugs and kisses, and then out of respect for tradition, the first person to step into the house would be my cousin Ivan, who was the male with the darkest hair.

I used to love our family New Year celebrations.  I had a very close friendship with the two cousins closest to me in age, and we always loved spending the time together (funny that the three of us each live in separate countries now).  The sense of family and togetherness was wonderful.  There were sometimes episodes of family drama at other times of the year, but somehow, on that day, we would all come together as a harmonious unit.

As we got older and started getting boyfriends and girlfriends and lives of our own, the family New Year celebrations started to fall by the wayside.  I think the passing of Granny when I was 14 or 15 had an effect as well.  The family celebrations did continue for a couple of years after that, but they were never the same.  Add the fact that at that time, the older of the cousins started getting jobs, going to colleges, and moving away from home.  The simple progression of life had the effect of fragmenting the family.

Now that I have a husband-to-be and kids of my own, it is time for me to form my own New Years traditions.  Maybe our family celebrations will not evolve beyond the four of us hanging out in our PJ’s until midnight, and I’m OK with that.  Whatever we do, I would love for my kids to grow up with fond memories of the celebrations, just as I did.

Happy New Year to anyone reading this.  May 2011 be the year for you to accomplish all you wish for.

Filed Under: Children, family, New Year Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Christmas Without Casualties

December 29, 2010 By

Christmas is always such a weird time of year in my family.  It’s a mixed bag of emotions for me, ranging from the very bad (my Dad’s death three weeks before Christmas six years ago) to the very good (my younger son’s birth on Christmas Day five years ago).  Then there’s the fact that almost every year, I find myself inthe midst of some strange family drama that has very little to do with me.  I have to deal with someone threatening to boycott Christmas, someone else threatening to decline gift exchange, bizarre arguments, and plans that change multiple times before landing on the original arrangements.  Then you add a child with autism, and built-in resistance to changes in routine, and the picture gets very interesting.

This year it wasn’t too bad.  As always, I missed my Dad in the weeks leading up to Christmas, but took heart from the fact that Christmas was his favourite time of year and he would be bitterly disappointed to see me having a miserable time on account of his passing.  So it was with nostalgia and bittersweet memories that I put up the Christmas decorations this year, just a week before Christmas.  Dad would have approved of the Christmas tree laden with ornaments, including James’ plastic Playdough scissors that he insisted be hung on the tree right below the angel.  He would have loved the little village I have in George’s room, complete with lights and snow, and he would have nodded approval at the little Christmas tree with lights that I got especially for James’ room.

Here’s the amazing thing that happened this Christmas.  There was no family drama.  Let’s say that again, shall we?  No.  Family.  Drama.  Admittedly, we came close.  Gerard and his mother had some words.  Said words were taken out of context by both parties, and a big misunderstanding ensued.  I have so enjoyed the wonderful feeling of peace and harmony that we have been experiencing with my mother-in-law, and I did not want to let that slip away because of one stupid conversation.  I spoke to Gerard.  I spoke to my mother-in-law.  I smoothed the waters, and explained to each of them what the other meant, and peace reigned again.  Mother Theresa would have been proud of me, and for the first time in years, we were able to celebrate the festive season without waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It was truly a Christmas miracle.

Things were OK on the George front as well.  His resistance to changes in routine has intensified over the last few weeks, and while this did cause some difficulties, there were no crises that we couldn’t handle.  They were little things, like the fact that he got extremely anxious whenever the lights on the big Christmas tree were turned on (interestingly enough, he has no problem with the lights on the little tree, or the lights in the village in his room).  So, we dealt with it in the simplest way possible.  We did without the lights on the tree.  When he saw presents, he wanted them opened right away.  Seeing a wrapped present that he’s not allowed to open is not a pleasant experience for George.  Lots of distraction and tactical planning later, we had all survived, and apart from one casualty, all of the presents were left intact until the proper time.

There was one very difficult moment on Christmas Eve, after my brother-in-law had left with his wife and baby, when we were trying to get the kids settled for bed.  Both of the kids, no doubt reacting to the excitement and pure overstimulation, had meltdowns.  One autistic, one neurotypical, manifesting their pent-up anxieties in different, but equally loud and stressful, ways.  Simultaneously.  It was like Meltdown Central at my house, and it took a long time for calm to be restored.

In the end, though, Santa was good to everyone, and we all got through several days of Christmas (and one birthday) as a harmonious, happy family.   I can truly say this: Dad would be proud.

Filed Under: Children, Christmas, dad, family Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Blowing out another set of birthday candles

December 2, 2010 By

When I woke up yesterday morning, I felt a little bit down. It was my birthday, and for some reason I was thinking that very few people would remember or care. The previous day had been torture for all of us – it had been a very rough day for George – and none of us had managed to get much sleep. I think that at the start of my birthday, I was suffering from exhaustion as well as emotional fall-out. For a variety of reasons, I just wasn’t expecting a lot from my day.

Then I turned on my computer and checked my email. There were about a dozen birthday messages waiting for me from friends and family members. I opened my Facebook page and my eyes popped as I saw birthday wishes from about fifteen more people. It was only six in the morning and already I had received birthday wishes in one form or another from almost thirty people.

Wow.  Maybe my birthday wouldn’t be so bad after all. I got myself dressed and looking semi-presentable and left for work.  My pathetic self-pity tried to follow me, but I knocked it on the head and fed it through the paper shredder.

In the middle of the morning my Mom called.  This is always a highlight of my birthday. Even from the other side of the world, my Mom manages to make me feel special in a way that only Moms can. Later in the day, I got a call from my brother. He was calling from a cell phone in South Africa, so we had only a brief conversation that I struggled to hear in the chaos of the bus station, but it was so lovely to hear his voice and know that he was thinking of me.  And all through the day, the emails and Facebook messages were pouring in.  By the time I got home from work last night, I was feeling touched by all of the kindness, and truly humbled that so many people had taken time in the chaos of their own lives to think of me and wish me well.  Even today, the wishes are still coming in.

When I got home yesterday evening, there were flowers and a birthday dinner and cake and presents. As I sat there among my family, the feeling of being loved and appreciated settled on me like a soft snowfall.  How had I thought, that very morning, that people would not care?

Turning 40 worked out well for me. I became a citizen, received a marriage proposal, and after a rough start, I had a great running season. Now that I’m 41, I look forward to more great things. My wedding, for one, which is just five short months away. Now that I’ve joined a running club, I expect to go from strength to strength. I have started the process of conquering demons from my past and making positive changes to my personal life.

And next year, I will not start my birthday by feeling sorry for myself – life is too good for that!

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