And now for something completely different...

I know.

It's been such a long time since I last posted on my blog, something I never thought would come to pass. And yet as the days stretched on it became harder and harder to post. Once again there are a thousand half-written posts in my queue, ten thousand in my head.

But today, finally, I have pushed through the quicksand to bring you....

A recipe.

Wait... What? Have I lost my mind and suddenly turned into another person?

Nope.

I know you're thinking "What about the end of summer and Ethan's camp and Jacob's camp and the annual family vacation in the Berkshires and my mother's birthday and back-to-school haircuts and back-to-school and the whole middle school transition thing and school bus nightmares and... and... and...?"

Well, yeah. I have all those stories, too. And maybe some of them will get to spill out here. But I can't keep going backwards, I can only slog forwards right now.

And I have to start somewhere, and so that's today...

And so here's my recipe for Banana-Cranberry-Panic Muffins:

Wake up at 5:30 AM

Try to clean up as much of the kitchen as possible, unloading the dishwasher and reloading it, making a neat pile in the sink of everything that doesn't fit in, so that there's room to wash the strawberries and fill the filtered water pitcher.

Wash the strawberries and fill the pitcher.

6:00 AM Wake up your autistic son for school, who is, thank goodness, in a very happy mood this morning, bouncing around and wanting to to talk to you about everything. Wonder if this is because you ran out of one of his medications and so he didn't get it yesterday.

Consider whether there is a viable trade off here -- he is definitely more hyper/bouncy/distractable. Yet also happier and more related, talking and pointing and wanting you involved in everything he is thinking and doing. Great eye contact.

Make note to call psychopharmacologist to discuss. Also his teachers to see if he drives them crazy today or not.

Get your son dressed, fed, packed-up and on the bus.

6:55 AM As you go over the morning schedule for you other son in your mind - early school day, as its the "Back-to-School-Meet-the-Class" breakfast in his homeroom this morning - PANIC as you realize that you are supposed to contribute baked goods to this breakfast and you forgot to buy anything.

Calculate that there is no way you can get to the store and back and still be on time today. Also understand that there is no time to pick stuff up "on the way" and that there is no great bagel & coffee place right around the corner from his new middle school like there was at his old elementary school. Silently curse change again.

Have a brilliant idea: it only takes 10 minutes to whip up muffins and they can bake while you get your son up/make his lunch/get him ready/get husband up/get yourself dressed.  And so maybe you'll be on time and with still-warm home-baked muffins in hand, and so his homeroom teacher will continue to like your son, and you will not fail the Mom-game today.

Remember you have some frozen over-ripe bananas, so banana muffins it is!  When you open up the freezer to get them, a bag of frozen cranberries falls out and misses your foot by and inch. Kismet! Banana-cranberry muffins then.

And begin.

<*> <*> <*>

As is usual with my cooking, I looked up a coupla-three recipes to see what the basic ratios were, what they had in common and any interesting variations, and then I winged it with what I had on hand.

We arrived (nearly) on time. The muffins were a big hit. Ethan said: "Mom the sourness of the cranberries goes great with the sweetness of the muffins!" And he ate two. Win!

And so here, finally, is the actual recipe:

Varda's Banana-Cranberry-Panic Muffins:
(you can skip the panic if you prefer)

2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 really ripe bananas, pulverized
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk - Buttermilk would be nice, too. Or almond/soy/rice milk if you want them dairy-free.
1/3 cup liquid shortening - I used coconut oil. You can use melted butter if you like.
1/2 cup sugar - white or brown or combo is fine. I used raw turbinado sugar.
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 teaspoon real vanilla
1 cup cranberries

Mix dry ingredients together & set aside. (Most recipes say "sift" and you can if you want to. Me, I'm too lazy for that and besides, I lost my sifter two moves ago.)
Mix everything else except the cranberries together, well.
Fold the dry ingredients into the wet and stir until just combined (don't over-mix).
Stir in the cranberries.

Fill lined or greased muffin tins to just under the top.

Bake in 350 degree oven for approximately 25 minutes.
Note: I made full size muffins. You can make minis or a loaf if you want. Bake time for mini-muffins is probably10-15 minutes, for a small loaf I'm guessing 35-40. You'll figure it out.

NOTES:
When my bananas get over-ripe I just pop them in the freezer, skin and all. To use, I microwave for 30 seconds, peel off the skins, remove any yucky bits and then microwave for another minute or so in a bowl until completely thawed.

I used frozen cranberries that were a bit old and wrinkly - to restore them I just filled a bowl with hot water at the start and popped the berries in for the 5 minutes while I mixed the rest of the muffins up. When it was time to add them they were plump and thawed.

<*> <*> <*>

Hey, that was fun! Maybe more recipes with stories to follow... maybe not. No promises, but let's see what the future will hold.

(And its nice to be back.)

On brevity being the soul of wit, and all that rot.

Flying home from BlogHer13 in Chicago

If you know me, you know I tend to be "long form."

What I usually call a post, most sane bloggers without perfectionism / obsessiveness and time management issues would call three posts.

But it has also been true that the same forces that lead me to such excessive verbosity are, at the moment, shutting me down. I have barely posted in the last six months. And while I am not happy about that, I also know I don't have the wherewithal to devote the same energy to my blog at this moment as I have in the past.

And, truth be told, I'm still struggling with the emotional aftermath of my Mother's death. Ironic that this blog began as my father was dying, of my need to speak from all the jumbled pain therein. That opened the floodgates that fed my writing.

And now the fallout from my mother's death has dammed up my words again. But not completely. A trickle is still flowing through.

So I am considering this: trying to let myself write really short posts for this month.

At our LTYM BlogHer breakfast in Chicago last Sunday, I was sitting across from Lisa Rosenberg (of the blog Smacksy) and when it became clear that another woman at our table didn't know her work, Alexandra and I fell over ourselves gushing about how much we love Lisa's blog -- how adorable her son is, how lovely the writing. Alexandra mentioned how refreshing it was that the posts were so short, just a perfect little slice of life.

And it got the wheels turning... maybe I can do this... write short posts with just one thought, one story, while waiting for the longer ones to come.

I have so, so many bits of writing sitting in my "unpublished" queue that I have been thinking of as "half-written posts." What if I just call them posts (with a little polishing of course) - hit the "publish" button and move on?

Would the world stop spinning on its axis? Unlikely. (But don't blame me if it coincidentally does.)

There is so much that has gone on this spring and summer that I haven't talked about yet here... graduations... rites of passage... summer camp... visiting cousins... Bat Mitzvahs... new babies... Jake's evolving development... even a recipe I wanted to share.

Also there is one very important, very PARTICULAR half-finished post that I have pushed myself to complete, even if it is less complete than I think it should be.  I have actually put it up on my blog just before this post - backdated, of course, to July 29th, the only proper day for my boys 11th birthday post, since it was, of course, their 11th birthday.

So you can read that here: They go to 11!

See, you get two for the price of one today. (A bargain!)

And so now, of course, I have written an un-short post about how I am going to be writing short posts.

(But then again, isn't that so me?)

More to come soon, I (sort of) promise.

Fragments

Door, Upper West Side

I have a new friend and I'm not telling her name but she is delightful and I am happy. This is a detail from her door. 

<*> <*> <*>

My walk through the city tonight feels like a stroll through a movie set. Here, a cafe where every single person seated at the outdoor tables is wearing a blue shirt, hues ranging from sky to azure to midnight. There, a blonde family of five - impossibly attractive and dressed to the nines for a festive occasion - pose for a photo as a man who can best be described as an African-American Gabby Hayes crosses the frame, fur lumberjack hat squashed down onto his head, pushing his squeaky wheeled shopping cart filled with dingy stuffed animals and dented soda cans.

Yes, this is my city. We all come out of central casting.

<*> <*> <*> 

Sunday, for the first time in ages, I stopped at Zabar's to pick up some lox, and had forgotten the artistry of the slicers there. While the stuff we usually get from our local bagel place is serviceable, this was a revelation: fresh, delicious and so thin you could nearly, as the saying goes, read the newspaper through it.

While I was watching the counter man slice, before I could stop it, the thought popped into my head that I should bring Walter some Zabar's lox next time I go see him, as it always delighted him so when I would arrive bearing real New York City appetizing. And then the sadness rushed in, a now constant tide.

<*> <*> <*>

Jacob has now woken up at 5:30 AM for more than a week.

This usually means that he is about to undergo a big leap in growth and understanding, his brain too excited to slumber past dawn.

It could however, just be an attempt to get uninterrupted screen time on his own terms, no brother to share and negotiate with.

Only time will tell.

<*> <*> <*>

Today I sat in the "big yard" with Ethan after school, eating our ice creams in a shady spot and watching the kids swirl around us, playing their hearts out. We are both still easily tired, the legacy of the stomach bug that swept through our household earlier this week, taking us down like bowling pins, Ethan the first to go on Monday afternoon.

So instead of jumping up to join the fracas, he sits beside me, in the quiet watching, rests his head on my shoulder, waves back at his friend's younger siblings when they spot us and yell hello.

I look at the Kindergarteners among them, and then down at my nearly eleven year-old son, sifting through the years that brought him from that to this. I can't quite believe that he was ever that little. Or that his time here is soon to come to a close.

Six years spent in these red brick walls. Now less than two weeks until goodbye.

Tonight is the 5th grade dance. The girls will dress in taffeta and heels. The boys will need to be persuaded to wash their faces and put on clean t-shirts. They'll arrive in groups, still separate; the boys here, the girls there.

Growing up. But not quite grown. Ethan's heart is mine for yet a little bit longer.

<*> <*> <*> 

I need to change the name of my blog. My sandwich is open faced now. Open to the heavens. 

Although, needless to say, most days I am still quite squashed.

<*> <*> <*>

I thought we were finally done with Thomas forever... until Jake stared obsessing over him again about three months ago.  Only now we have to discuss which season and which episode number and who the narrator is and what year it came out and is it a "classic" episode or a new one and does the narrator talk "Americanish" or "Englanish" and...  (I say bomb Sodor back to the stone ages & be done with it!)

Well, we did get a break from it for a while. Over the years, we have cycled through obsessions with Teletubbies, Batman, Bakugan, Blues Clues, Ben 10, Power Rangers, Sponge Bob, Dragonball Z Kai, Pingu, and - do NOT ask me why - old basketball games/teams. Specifically the 1974 Celtics for some reason - and we're New Yorkers! Some of these were a relief, while others made me long for the fat controller.

<*> <*> <*> 

It has been a month since my last post.

A month.

I never thought I would lose my voice for so long.

But the other losses have been adding up, cumulative, weighing me down. The words swirl in my head, coalesce into nothing more than little jagged fragments. A sentence here, a thought there, an amusing facebook update at most.

I write them down, thinking I will flesh them out into posts soon, but there they remain, dry bones waiting for life.

I am tired of waiting. Of silence.

So I scoop my shards up, spread open my hands just a bit, so that they may waft out between my fingers, sprinkle down onto this page, and leave them there, where they fall, willy-nilly.

Not quite a post, but not quite NOT one, either.

A start.

Clearing my throat.

More to follow.

Happy 2013!

New Year's Fireworks in NZ by Neil Kramer

Happy New Year, Friends!

Also?

The kids go back to school, the kids go back to school, the kids go back to school!!!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong, I have loved much of my vacation time with the kids.

We went to my in-laws house in the country, we skied (well, some of us did), we sledded, we made a snowman, we drove in a blinding snowstorm in our decidedly NON-4-wheel-drive ancient Toyota and lived to tell the tale.

We came back to the city and went to movies and museums and watched WAY too much TV and made lots of cookies and popcorn.

But enough is enough.

I am dreading the rise tomorrow morning at 0-dark-hundred and the fight with Jake to get ready and down to the bus on time, but thrilled with the idea of a few blessed hours in the day to not be the cruise director and referee so that I can GET THINGS DONE.

Really, the laundry pile is close to the ceiling.

(Don't you wish you had my exciting life?)

Also? I really need to start writing again. Real things, not just lists and round-ups. Because as much as I love to obsess reflect on the past, it's time to turn my eyes forward and look towards the horizon.

2013... what will you bring?

Hope it's good stuff for you all, my friends.

First Day of Fifth Grade

Ethan on his 1st day of 5th grade

Today was Ethan's first day of his last year of Elementary School, a bittersweet moment if there ever was one. The biggest of the littles, poised on that precipice of tweendom, in that neither-here-nor-there land.

There is a whole year ahead of us, and much to do and learn, and yet there is that feeling of the beginning of an ending, that just... is.

Ethan has been at this school the whole time, entering as a just turned 5 year old so many years ago. Could he ever have been as tiny as the kindergarteners we passed today? Doubtful, but must be so.

We are seeing friends and acquaintances - both of us - that we haven't laid eyes on for nearly three long months, and the kids, they've all changed. Gotten taller, older, teen-y-er.

Ethan is about due for a big growth spurt, I can feel it coming. Mostly because his feet have just jumped a size and a half in two months, necessitating a major back-to-school shoe shopping session... Which he did not mind one bit, that fahionista son of mine.

Ethan's look saying "Enough pictures, Mom!"

I wish I had more time to enjoy all the feelings involved this back-to-school stuff, but I was deep in the detritus of my mother's life all day, getting ready to store or shed everything she and my father ever owned.

I jumped ship for an hour, left the great pack to pick Ethan up, necessary on his FIRST DAY of FIFTH GRADE.

But once I had shown up, my job was done. He really wanted to walk home ALONE with his friend, our upstairs neighbor. Not yet, my son, but I agreed to let them walk a half block ahead and make their own street crossing decisions, carefully observed, of course.

Walking home with a friend

Jake goes in on Monday: a new teacher, a new classroom, a new school building. Exciting and scary all at the same time.

Beginnings and ending, it seems like my life is all about that right now, as ever.

How did your back to school go?

Counting up to TEN!

Double digits?

Yep, we got 'em!

Ten years ago today at exactly this time, 10:12 in the morning, you came into this world, my sons.

(Jake I know your birth certificate says 10:13 but that's just a formality because your head was out and you were screaming your lungs out in protest while it was still 10:12. Believe me, even drugged up on the c-section happy juice, I remember that.)

I have already told the story here (twice!) of how amazing that day was: last year when you turned nine, and the year before that when you became eight. So no need to rehash.

Let me just say, I am so excited as you stand here, on the cusp of your official "tweendom," headed soon into teenagehood and so much more beyond that.

Being an older mom (and feeling more and more ancient each day) can be very useful, sometimes. It means I have friends with much older (even adult) children, helps me to have some perspective on this whole growing-up-process thingie.

I know that the transformations to come will surprise and astound all of us. I look ahead three short years and see you already have a Bar Mitzvah date (October 10, 2015 if you're into long range planning).

Ethan, this is your last year of elementary school, and middle school awaits (and getting you into a good one, the bane of NYC public school existence, is my nearly full time job for the next few months). There is so much you have been looking forward to about this, your "senior" year, most of all when you will dominate the basketball court as a 5th grader.

Jacob, you have finished your two years as a "Level Two" student at your wonderful school, and are moving up to "Level Three" with new teachers in a new building. I hope the transition goes smoothly for you, and that this year's teachers will love you as much as your last. I'm thinking with how lovable you are, they certainly will, and promise I will be by your side to make sure you feel safe secure and happy as you negotiate the changes.

And, as much as I am looking forwards, birthdays always make me look backwards, too. So here it is, counting up to ten:

ZERO (1 day old)

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN! (and impossible to get them in one photo together)

Happy Birthday again, my wonderful sons, the adventure continues...

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow I will be rising early (hopefully having slept)...

getting dressed (probably changing my outfit five times in spite of spending hours today trying on everything in my closet and making my "final" wardrobe decision)...

kissing my children goodbye and commending them to the care of others (with instructions: "do not call unless your next call is 911")...

and heading off to the JCC to get things ready for my show.

My. Show. (Just typing those words sends shivers down my spine.) 

Yes, tomorrow is THE DAY!

At 2 pm, Listen to Your Mother will be performed for the very first time in New York City, and I am both the producer and a cast member.

And even though I will be speaking words about being a mother and a care-giving daughter, tomorrow (and for months leading up to tomorrow) I will be being more than "just a mom," more than the care-giver-taker person that has been my core identity these ten long years.

It's the start of... something.  I don't know exactly what, as unfortunately my perfect-future-vision glasses are on the fritz. Damn. (If they were working I know I could sell glimpses through them to every special needs parent on the planet.)

But I do know it feels good to be working again.

And lord knows my return to work is long overdue, our finances have been stretched beyond their limit for so long I have forgotten what not constantly worrying about money feels like.

But all that will come.

Today I am tying up loose ends. Lining up those last pesky little ducks. Spending time with my kids (haircuts!) Reading over my piece, hoping my words will resonate. Trying on every blouse in my closet.

Tomorrow will be magnificent. (I must remember to breathe.)

We have the most wonderful group of people coming together to share stories from their hearts and guts. It is nothing short of amazing, and if you were lucky enough to score tickets before we sold out you will see for yourself.

(And for those locked out - so sorry - next year we'll be in a bigger venue. Promise.)

I have had the BEST partners in this endeavor (Amy, Holly, Betsy and Ann I mean YOU!)

I love our cast and want them ALL to be my new best friends.

I am anticipating serious postpartum depression to settle in on Monday, as the high of doing this show has been so high I can't even see over the hump of tomorrow.

Tomorrow. 

TomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrow. (Breathe!)

Thanks for the vast outpouring of well wishes and "break-a-legs" you've been sending my way. Really, without the support and encouragement of you, my friends and readers, I would not have had the gumption to attempt this.

I take all of you with me as I step onto that stage, tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Looking Down the Road

Note: In Honor of Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month I am bringing some of my posts from the group Hopeful Parents site (where I post monthly on the 10th) back home to my blog. This post originally appeared there.

A few things in my life have been tapping me on the shoulder lately, asking me to please pay attention to the long view; looking down the road toward what my son Jacob may need in about a dozen years when he will ostensibly be an adult, or something like one.

We can’t know what life has in store for us, what twists and turns may lie ahead, with anything near certainty, but with each passing year that my son Jacob remains clearly on the autism spectrum, the prospect of him moving into "the mainstream" fades further and further from my radar.

And it hurts. It hurts my head and my heart to stand in the middle of the path Jake is currently on and calculate, clear-eyed, his trajectory, seeing it landing him square in the realm of needing some sort of minding or looking after... for the rest of his life.

Now, my son Jake is in a funny category. I don't love the labels, the ranking and quantifying. Because it leads to a certain reductivism, a tendency to see the traits, the diagnoses, and not the whole person - my wonderful son - who is so much more than the sum of his parts. But sometimes it helps when talking about these things to say: my son is considered "mid-high functioning."

"High-functioning" in the ways he has spoken language, reads, constantly attempts to communicate, actively engages with others and has a tremendous amount of social desire.

"Look, Mommy," he'll say, “I’m petting the kitty!” wanting to share his world with me.

But still, he is "mid-functioning" in how much of his language is still often scripted and repetitive, in how much of what he is hearing he is not comprehending; his language processing deficit rearing its ugly head time & time again.

And while he understands much about his immediate, concrete world, as soon as abstractions are introduced he is quickly lost. Language based as they all are.

Ask him a why question and you get a tautology:

"Why are you crying Jake?"

"Because I am sad."

"Why are you sad Jake?"

"Because I'm crying."

But the biggest concern of all is how little he understands of how the world works, and thus how undeveloped his ability to safely navigate in it.

Jake’s twin, at 9, doesn't always exhibit complete safety awareness when crossing a busy city street, but he's working on it. And he knows the elements involved, can rattle off what he should be doing -- waiting for the walk signal, looking both ways, watching out for turning cars, etc. etc.

Jake on the other hand, still seems to not know the difference between the sidewalk and the road, has no awareness as to there being a threshold crossed from one to the other. I must have pointed out the red stop hand and the white walking man of the crosswalk signs a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand times, and still he cannot for the life of him remember what they are supposed to communicate, why they should matter to him.

I could give a hundred other examples, but let's just say that while I expect Jake to grow and change, develop significantly, and blossom forth, unless there is a whole order of transformation about him - let's say future nanobots that can hook up the disconnected neural pathways or whatnot - we're looking at some sort of lifelong support system for him.

And this is where I quake in my boots.

Because the infrastructure to support that, for the MASS of kids who are going to need it, from the autism explosion that has manifested in Jake's generation?

Is simply. not. there.

I have a friend whose brother is autistic and in her charge, as her parents are both now gone. Her brother is living in a wonderful place, a small group home run by a dedicated staff. It is stable and intimate, and they function like a family. The residents venture out daily to jobs or day programs; there are outings: nature hikes, bicycle rides, movie nights, ice cream runs.

Wonderful.

But not wonderful.

Because my friend's brother had to wait 10 years on a waiting list to get in. And he's 42. Of the 5 in 10,000 generation.

There are a few handfuls of wonderful, appropriate settings for mid-functioning autistic adults; allowing them to live in supportive communities, nearly, but not fully independently. And, most importantly, where the residents have significant SAY in how things are run and their lives are ordered.

And now, it is our job as the parents of young autistic children to see that those grow a hundredfold, a thousand-fold, so they will be there for our kids who will likely need them.

And if you help to build a network of terrific group homes and your child ends up being one of the lucky ones, able to function fully independently in the world without support? You have done a wonderful thing for your community.

And if you don't act NOW? Your child may end up homeless on the street, in jail, or worse. Because while you think they can live with you forever... are you really going to live forever?

So yes, this started as a personal meditation on my son's future and ended with a call to arms.

Because in about ten year's time a whole generation of autistic adults is going to be aging out of their educational programs and therapeutic services. Many of them will be bright and personable enough to get jobs, but perhaps not be able to manage finances, or keep up with the many maintenance tasks of daily life without some degree of support.

And where will they go? Where will they go?

Monday Listicles: Impossible New Years Resolutions

Well, it's time for Stasha’s first Monday Listicles of the new year, which is reflected in the theme... Today's topic came from Theresa, the Mountain Momma, who said we should write a list of ten New Years resolutions we will never keep. Softball, I tell ya; could do this one in my sleep (and I kind of did).

You can probably guess what these are all going to be. But I will go ahead and spell them out for you anyway. And in an annotated list, because simple & easy are just not in my vocabulary. And then at the end a wee surprise for you. So...

10 New Years Resolutions I Will NEVER Keep:

1. Stop Procrastinating. Also probably nearly every other resolution on this list would be moot if I could keep to this one. Chance of that happening? The proverbial snowball in hell. I am ADD-rific, remember?

2. Exercise more. Well, I better say exercise regularly. Because I am likely to exercise at least a tiny bit this year, and that would mean I would be keeping this resolution... since ANYTHING is more than the absolute nothing I did this past year.

3. Stop eating sugar. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

4. Get to bed early & get enough sleep. OK folks, I have two sons and one is a natural early-to-bed-early-riser, while the other is a classic night owl (like me & their father). The early riser catches a 6:40 school bus, which means I am up at 5:45 on school days, while the other one doesn't have to walk out the door until much later, can roll out of bed at 7:30, so often stays up until 10pm. Can you do math and see how impossible this resolution is? Yes, doomed before I even start.

5. Get off  the computer when the kids are home. I'm going to really TRY to keep this one. Because I really don't want my son to declare once again: "Mom, you love the internet more than you love us!" But? Realistically? Too addicted to my blog and FaceBook and Twitter and other people's blogs to keep it. I WILL cut down though, and only when they are on their screens, too.

6. Cook more. I make this resolution every year and never keep it. The fact that there are so many limits to what Ethan WILL eat and to what Jacob CAN eat, and all of the above is mostly what Dan and I do not WANT to eat... means cooking = making 3 separate meals. Not happening. Someday... someday... but that day will not likely fall into this year.

7. No more dinners in front of the TV. Sigh. I wish I could say this one was do-able. I grew up with lively dinner table discussions, truly enjoyable conversations with my parents, nearly every night.  But the way Jacob's autism manifests is that if the TV isn't on? He will talk non-stop loudly about his own topics and ask the same questions over and over and over again, making dinner table conversation nearly impossible. So the TV goes on and the boys eat separately from my husband and I (who rarely eat together on weeknights anyway).

8. Keep the house clean and tidy. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

9. Keep my car clean and tidy. See above.

10. NOT pick up my iPhone when I am interacting with actual human beings, even when my "new stuff" alerts ding. Wow, when did I become one of those rude people looking at the screen in my hand instead of the people at the table I am sitting and drinking coffee with? (Answer: when I got my first smart phone.) Will try hard to keep this partially, only picking it up for important DMs from people I am waiting to hear from. Wish me luck!

@@@@@@@

And now, here's the surprise: I get to be responsible for next week's Monday Listicles theme!

As I have lately been obsessed with plans for getting back into the working game this year and trying to figure out how I can morph all the skills I've acquired in all my old career(s) and jobs into something I can currently earn a living at, I have been thinking of all the many odd and various jobs I have held and skills I've amassed in my long life. And I thought it would be fun to make you all do that too.

So Next Monday's Listicle topic is: Top Ten Strange (odd/unusual/funny/interesting) Jobs you have held in your life.

And if you are young or have had a much less varied life than I have and haven't had 10 jobs yet, then make it 10 interesting things you have done / tasks you have been responsible for as PART of a job.  And I am totally willing to define "Job" loosely here... as in parenting is clearly a job, and so is being a student, or volunteer positions including things like PTA President.

I can't wait to see what you come up with! See y'all next week!


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E is for Ethan

E is for Ethan

Could it be otherwise?

I don't think so, for he is the big "E" in my life.

My firstborn.
 
By one minute.

(Not that he ever lets me or his brother forget it.)

So, for once, this won't be all about autism, though it certainly informs and affects Ethan's life, presses in upon him.  And he likes that not one bit, declaiming with wailing voice, "Why did I have to have a twin brother with autism? Why can't I have a regular brother, like other people?"

And I have no answers for him, no easy solace, no words of comfort, other than to agree that it is indeed hard. But also this rejoinder: that we don't pick the families we are born into, that we all just have to play the hand we're dealt.

And I hold him while he cries. And I remind him of the wonderful things about his brother, while making sure he knows it's OK for it not to be OK.

He is allowed to be mad at, even to hate and resent his brother. He is not allowed to be cruel to him, a line clearly drawn in the sand.

Ethan, the boy, will talk about his feelings. I hope this is something he can retain, that it will survive the rough pitch and tumble of male adolescence, let him grow into a man who will talk about his feelings openly with his closest friends, with the woman he loves.

Ethan, the boy, is passionate. He loves his friends, basketball, computers, and his toys/collections.

His current obsession? Gogo's Crazy Bones. Never heard of them? Then you're probably not living with a 7 to 9 year old right now.

He is of the age of changes. From one minute to the next, quick and quixotic, patterns long stable are shifting, tossed aside as he stretches his "big boy" muscles, both literal and figurative.

Conversations with Ethan are still so often delightful (except when he is going on and on about Basketball players and game stats, and then I am looking for the knitting needles to puncture my eardrums with).

I am still central to his life. And I hold my breath knowing that I will blink and he will be releasing my hand as we walk down the street, moving on into Tweendom; and then beyond.

Looking forward is a little scary; unknown adventures in parenting await. So let me look back for a moment, tell a story from the beginning:

Ethan was newborn, still in the hospital, maybe 2 days old. I was looking at him versus Jake, marveling at how vastly different they were from each other. Not quite night and day, but barely twin-like.

Jacob was a newborn straight out of central casting: a big-headed, Winston Churchill resembling, bald but for tonsure-like blond fringe, classic Gerber baby.

Ethan... not so much so. With his smaller head, fine features, visible and expressive eyebrows, scalp covered in dark but thin and sparse hair, including seeming sideburns (that led us to quip we should have named him Elvis instead) he resembled nothing so much as a miniature middle-aged balding guy. Seriously. But in a cute way.

So that day, when he was sleeping in my arms, I leaned down and whispered in his ear: "I know your secret: you're not really a baby. In reality, you're a tiny forty year-old man, somehow magically transformed into an infant. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone, your secret is safe with me."

As soon as those words were out of my mouth - I swear this is true - still deep asleep, his mouth broke into a giant grin and his eyes popped wide open then rapidly rolled back and forth in a crazy fashion.

This went on for about 5 seconds, a near perfect rendition of a Groucho Marx comedic eye roll. Then his eyes snapped shut, his smile vanished and he was once again, simply, a sleeping newborn.

But we had shared a moment; and I knew, I knew.

Here he is, then:

Ethan, 5 minutes old

And now:

Ethan 8 years old

Being the mother of Grouch Marx, reincarnate, isn't always easy; but it's never dull, often highly entertaining, and always deeply rewarding.

E is for Ethan...

Energetic, enthusiastic, enchanting, exhausting, extraordinary, eminently lovable.

My son.

This post has been inspired by and linked up to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday writing meme. And now, of course, "E" is one of my very favorite letters. Bet you can guess the others.

I'm also linking this post up to Maxabella's I'm grateful for...  because I am eternally grateful for my son, Ethan.


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Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Coming Back

Sunday!  Well, for just a few minutes longer.  I'm coming to this late this week.

I have been looking forward to writing my Stream of Consciousness Sunday post, an antidote to Friday's long doubled-up post, to yesterday's oh, so long involved, photo laden on-and-on show-off fest.  But it's been an all-kids-all-the-time Sunday.  Until now.

So, today: the promise of short and sweet.  And tomorrow?  I've already written it, shorter and sweeter: a really, really, really funny Ethan story.  So tune in tomorrow, again, for that.

But now, to set the timer and let it whirl.  I'm oh so tired... wonder what's going to pour out....

*******

I am coming back into my body, slowly, beginning to inhabit it more fully now, three and a half weeks into my recovery from my operation. Nearly a month. Not back to 100% but I can see it on the horizon, somewhere there, visible.

I no longer cringe when my children come near me, boisterous. I open doors that require a bit more than a bit of a pull without being reminded of my abdominal muscles part in all things strenuous required of my body.

And as I start to feel more like myself, like the old me, it gets me to thinking what I want to keep and what to change as I come back ‘round.  Because the recent “old me” is not nearly the same as the old “old me,”  Yes that one, the one before time began, before I had kids (in other words) and my body was no longer my own.

I have let my connection to my body, to the physical side of me fall by the wayside so much in recent years, and as I contemplate the return of my abdominal muscles, the return of my physical self to my life, I want to do it better this time around.

I don’t know what this means yet, maybe yoga, maybe running, maybe just starting each day with a stretch, but something’s gotta give.  I see my mother at 88, so locked in by her lack of physical movement, her knees deeply arthritis-bound, her pain, her inability to walk 2 blocks so severely limiting her life.  I do not want that.  I want to be limber, energetic to be able to play with my grandkids someday.  And I know the time to start this change is now.

This week I took Jake to basketball for the first time since I had my first gall bladder attack there in early December. Next week I will be the one to take Jake bowling on Sunday (his new favorite pastime), finally able to pick up a ten pound bowling ball without pain.

Next week I will do something, anything, I don’t yet know what, but I will figure it out… something to bring me back to me, to inhabit my body and not just schlep it around like so much overweight baggage.

Next week.

*******

And, that's all she wrote!  New to Stream of Consciousness Sundays?  Here's the skinny:

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spell-checking. This is writing in the raw.

You can do it, too!  Click on the link and let's hear your 5 minutes of brilliance...

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Baggage

I had a somewhat sad epiphany this past Sunday, when I took a trip with Ethan alone that I have always taken with both boys before.  And it was a real eye opener for me.  One of those moments when you peel back the veil and catch a glimpse of how the other half lives.

Because packing for a day trip with Jacob is like packing for an expedition: multiple changes of clothing (due to his complete intolerance of his clothes getting the least bit wet), lots and lots of food for his special GF/CF diet, vitamin/supplement/medicine packs for a full 2 days (because what if something happens and we need to stay overnight?) 

Also?  A ton of car food, because Jake can get extremely hungry at the drop of a hat (and frantically unhappy when hungry or thirsty).  And a collection of his currently favorite toys to entertain and engage him if he needs to be distracted, soothed.

It takes at least an hour.  We always run late.

Packing for just me and Ethan?  Took five minutes.  I couldn't believe it.  I kept turning around in circles, thinking there must be something else I must do, must pack.  But no, that was it.  Really.

Snow pants for sledding, a single change of clothes for Ethan (we're talking 8 year old boy here, after all, disaster is always possible), an extra pair of socks for me, present for the birthday boy, bottle of wine for the hosts, water bottles for the car, one snack item for the car.  Five minutes.  Done.

And then I nearly wept.

Because most of the time I keep those thoughts at bay, the evil "what ifs," but this just smacks it all up in my face: what life might be like if Jacob didn't have Autism.

Now, I love my son, Jacob to pieces, love who he is, would not change him.  He is full of love, overflowing with joy, enthusiastic in his embrace of the world.

But life with him is certainly 10 times harder than life with Ethan.  And 99.95% of the time I don't think about it, it just is.  I parent him the way he needs to be parented, the work-load is just what it is.

I am not a member of the "oh my life is so hard because I have a child with special needs" moanings and groanings crowd, really want to slap people upside the head that define themselves that way.

(Which is not to say it's not OK to complain, to say "this is fucking hard."  Because you know?  It is fucking hard.  And we are human, we are allowed to complain, should not have to slap on the happy face all the time just to make others more comfortable.  It's just when people constantly throw themselves a pity party and expect everyone else to join in, that truly annoys me.)

But every now and then?  I allow myself to think about it.  To picture that other, "what if" life, with the attendant freedoms therein.  And then I sigh.  And then I set it aside, and get on with it.

(I also daydream about winning the lottery from time to time.)

Also?  I know that there are many whose work-load (if you want to avoid a head smack, do not EVER use the word "burden" around me, either) is so much more intense than mine, who might fantasize about MY life:  Those with severely autistic kids who are self injuring and cannot communicate even their most basic needs; parents of kids who have medical issues that require life maintaining equipment, who need round the clock nursing care, whose mobility issues are extreme.

I look at those parents and while I don't think "How do they do it?" (another big no-no, we SN parents HATE those thoughts and comments; you just do it; because it's your kid, duh!) I do think "thank goodness I don't have to do that right now."  Because it's what I already do, times another 10, or 20, and well, that would be tougher, yet more work.

When the boys were still tiny, maybe a year and a half old, and any outing required military expedition level packing, an out of town friend came to visit with her family, and she was happy as a clam.  She had somewhat older children and, she was explaining, as her youngest was now four, she had her exit pass in hand from the "age of schlepping equipment" forever.  She could pack light for the trip and then traipse about the city unencumbered, procuring any necessary items on the fly, as needed.

I began to look forward to this time in our lives, this passage into relative parenting ease.  And now, with the boys at eight and a half?  I'm clearly still waiting.

But the other day I got a glimpse, a sliver of vision into what it would be like to live that way.  And I liked it, I realy liked it.  And who knows what time and development and maturity will bring to Jacob.  Someday, hopefully, maybe someday soon, we will get there. 

And until then?  There is a large, always packed backpack, waiting for me by the door.  And a deep groove in my shoulder, eight and a half years in the making.

Something Wonderful

At the pediatrician's office with my son this morning, I was reminded of something to be thankful for.  We hadn't been there in five months, not since my sons' annual physicals this summer.  And before that?  Last spring... maybe?

This morning at 8 AM when I went to call the doctor's office, I had needed to look up the number.

And then the particular pediatrician my son saw was the same one he had seen first at a week old, on his first doctor's visit ever.   She'd had another child herself in the intervening years, had a few more gray hairs mixed in with the chestnut brown.  She was happy to report that my son had a simple cold with his croup, and write that very dear prescription for prednisone, which will (hopefully) keep Jake from having another night like last, tonight.

And then we spent a moment acknowledging that we had barely seen each other in years.  "Yes," I'd said, "we are no longer frequent fliers here.  Remember those first years when I had your practice's number on speed dial?  I think you were on call some of those nights when I had to phone in with a sick child at 2 AM." 

And truly, it was like looking back to another lifetime ago, remembering those early years, because things are so different now.  My sons are eight, nearly eight and a half, poised on the brink of big-boy-ness, but still seeking Mom's lap for cuddles.  And Jacob, with autism in the picture, will clearly be little-boy-like longer still.  But also?  Getting big, fast.

Today it was hard to move myself out of my whiny, complaining space into finding my gratefulness.  But I wanted to, needed to.

As I look back over this year there has been so much shitty, shitty crap, but also, amidst the crap, the gems are there, too.  And today I was actively treasure hunting, trying to focus on the positive as the year winds down to its last few days.

Four more 24 hour periods, and then, onto the next.  Thank goodness.

And yes I know how arbitrary a marker a year is, that calendars are an invention, a human creation, like longitude and latitude marks on a globe, imaginary lines that hold significance only because we all agree on them.

And being Jewish makes this even clearer since we get to have two "New Years" every year.  Ethan asked recently which one was the "real" one, which lead to a whole discussion of the above, how they are both real and also both artificial.

I guess the truest year markers are the natural ones, things like the solstices and equinoxes, that have observable dimensions; the winter solstice being the clearly measurable shortest day, longest night (with the summer one the opposite).  The vernal and autumnal equinoxes have those perfectly equal day and night ratios, twice a year precisely.  At least here, far north (or there, down south) of the equator, they do.

At the actual equator where day and night are always exactly the same, each 24 hours offering alternating 12 hour periods of light and dark?  All this stuff is hooey.

Is this one reason why tropical cultures have often embraced a more "live for today" attitude while those evolving in the nether regions where one must hunker down to pass through a long cold dark winter holding the promise of warmth and sunshine solely in your mind for months have frequently taken on a more "work hard and suffer now, enjoy later" philosophy?  Possibly.

All I know is that right now I need to mark the passing of time, to find a way to put this dreadful year behind me.  And also?  To acknowledge the lovely things that have happened this year, too, the gems among the crap:

I began this blog, and found a whole world, a community I did not know existed, which has blossomed into something wonderful beyond my wildest dreams.

We found a new school for Jacob, which has been all we hoped and dared to dream it would be: the right school for him.  He is growing and blossoming there something wonderful, beyond our wildest dreams.

Ethan has the perfect teacher for him in this so important third grade year.  She is lovely, a living Ms. Frizzle.  He no longer thinks history is boring.  He spent an hour the other day quizzing me about the Kennedy family.  He wants to know who my favorite president was.  We are googling interesting facts about WWI together.   It's something wonderful beyond my wildest dreams.

And as to 2011?

Here's to hoping it is something wonderful, beyond our wildest dreams.

For me and my family, and for you and yours.

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