ima...gin...ation

Originally written on November 4, 2011 and updated on January 9, 2012

Gin was my Mother's last remaining sibling. She passed away in the middle of the night on Sunday, January 8, 2012.

When I was little, my family spent summer days at Joslin Lake with my Barth cousins. On one of those afternoons, as I was sitting in the shallow water making mud pies, I was also watching my older cousins and siblings as they were standing on their heads farther in the lake. I didn't know that you couldn't breathe underwater, but I sure tried to stand on my head in the lake that day. In my yellow, ruffled, polka-dot bikini, I floundered and flopped around and most likely swallowed a minnow along with some yummy lake water. Uncle Bob snatched me out of the water and took me into the cottage, where my Mother and Aunt dried me off and tried to calm me. Aunt Gin asked me what I saw under the water, and I stuttered, "N-n-n-nothing" to which she replied, "Why...I bet you saw an Octopus under there. Did you see an Octopus?" I thought about it, nodded my head, said yes, and giggled.  Within minutes, we had turned that Octopus into a purple one.

That was the beginning of my imaGINation...
and my lifelong repartee with Aunt Virginia. Every time I walked toward her, my goal was to make her laugh.

I could not make her laugh the morning of November 4, 2011, but I had hoped that my constant commenting eased whatever physical or emotional pain she was in. 

During my final visit with Gin on Friday, January 6, 2012, I sat next to her for about 15 minutes and calmly babbled about this and that. I believe that she could hear me and understand me, because when I told her that I left Skip in the car, like a dog, she reacted by softly laughing, but it was that laugh of hers that said, "Oh, Mary!" 

There was a hospice worker in the room with us, and she was rubbing scented oil on Gin's feet to calm her while some medication worked its magic. So, I told the Octopus in Joslin Lake story to them both and then told my Aunt...my Godmother...that I would remember that story always...I will remember her always. 

a bare light bulb

Today...Heaven is a one-room apartment over a downtown greasy spoon, with just a table and a chair, and a bare light bulb swinging from the ceiling.

RIP Ike.

I met Ike in 1987 when I was a silly college girl, and I loved him. I like to think of Ike as a strong, smart, stoic man with a fine sense of humor. He said over and over that how I describe Heaven above would be his ideal place to stay.

Memories of summer mornings at the bakery with donuts and coffee and afternoons at the Siena ballpark fill my head. We had great conversations, just the two of us, about all sorts of things. And of course, in the last 10 or so years, he read what he could about autism and shared interesting bits with me. I appreciated that interest.

And of course, I will never forget when Grandpa Ike and Grandma Ruth came to Chelsea for a visit several years ago. Hannah and Grandpa Ike went to town to pick up sandwiches from ZouZous. While they were out and about, my wonderful friend Constance called me to say that she was in town and just saw Hannah with an older man that she didn't recognize and was Hannah supposed to be in town with this man. I assured her that Hannah was with her Grandpa. Grandpa Ike loved that my friend had called and that I had people all over watching out for my girls! Ike talked about that call every time he came for a visit since then, and he always chuckled about it!

Grandpa Ike passed away last night a little before 8 p.m. Hannah and I were lucky enough to make it to Mishawaka on Friday evening to talk with Ike for about an hour or so before the morphine, etc., began to help ease his pain and help him ease away. How honored I feel that we could be there with him and hear his quick wit and gentlemanly manners one more time on this earth. His sons, grandchildren, and even a great-grandchild came to his side. Those who could make it were blessed to feel his love, moved to distract him from his failing body, and lucky to hear him say that he was ready and at peace. (I think that Ike also appreciated anyone who helped family get to him on Friday.)

He said some very nice things about me to me. He didn't have to do that...that he did is a testament to the man that he was.

He thanked me. (I have no words to describe the feelings.)

Life is short. Make time for and peace with your family and friends. I did my best to foster a good relationship with Ike and Ruth, but I do have the regret that perhaps I could have done better. Losing someone is always such a revelation...like a bare light bulb.

Uncle Harold...It was time.

Uncle Harold passed away sometime before 5 a.m. (It was time.) When my Mother called to tell me, I knew what the early morning call was. Fr. Bill was there last night to provide Last Rites. I am glad that he was able to make it on Ash Wednesday.

I stopped to visit Uncle Harold yesterday for just about 5 minutes or so. It seemed like a long time. It was strange that his chair in the living room was empty. He couldn't get out of bed yesterday. For a lifetime gentleman farmer not to get out of bed in the morning, you know something is different. I met two Hospice workers and his caregiver, and my Mom and my Aunt were there.

I didn't have much time. (It was time.)

In his home hospital bed, Uncle Harold was curled on his right side facing the wall...to the north. My Mom started to tell me that Fr. Bill would be coming and something that the Hospice ladies had said. Uncle Harold "said" something. It was audibly something between a mumble and a grunt, but I knew it had to have been something witty. He had humor to the end. I said to him, "Oh, it's all right," and he quieted. He could hear us; I know it.

When the Hospice workers were getting ready to go, my Mom left the room to see them out.

I had some things to say, but I could not say it all. I have always been cheerful and entertaining with Uncle Harold. I did not want him to hear the tears in my voice. I leaned over Uncle Harold and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Harold, I love you." His change in breathing and physical reaction told me that he heard. I said that I couldn't stay, that Soph was in the Jeep waiting to go to music, and I started for the door. Then I turned around, touched his shoulder, and said, "We will meet again." He relaxed.

You see, for years, when I left a visit, I would say, "See you later!" and he would retort, "Are you sure?"

Uncle Harold is 96 years old. Or is that was now? (It was time.)

He was 52 years old when I was born. I am 44. He lived a whole lifetime before I knew him, and then he lived another.

I remember...

...him throwing me up into the air and catching me.
...standing over the heat register at the Farm.
...swerving toward me in his truck when I was walking down the road.
...driving the tractor while I sat on the wheel fender.
...standing in my Mom's living room doorway every night around 6 p.m. for a visit.
...him jumping out of the red International truck to pick up rocks while I "drove" it.
...ushering for years with my Dad at church.
...living next door for as long as I can remember.
...his calm, his wit, his laughter.

He was a good, gentle, sweet man.

I might seem like a good niece. I would once in a while stop and visit him in the morning before I would go to work. But in reality, I was stopping for me. He was so funny, so calm, had such a sweet demeanor. He would, without trying or even knowing, give me a better attitude, a happier start to my day when perhaps I was feeling overwhelmed or angry about something in my life.

What else I wanted to say, but could not: I have fond memories of you, and I will remember you, and I will miss you. But...

(It was time.)

Mother

A family poem copied and shared here to tell my cousin Patty how much I love her!

Amid anxiety, pain and fear,
She gave us life that we hold dear,
She watched us open baby eyes
And crooned us restful lullabies.
Our moods and smiles she understood
And saw us pass from babyhood
Into the realm of budding years
With mingled joy and pride and tears.

She taught us little words and talk
And coached us as we learned to walk,
She kissed our little bumps and aches
And eased our hearts of fancied breaks,
Our way she smoothed with doting care,
As climbed upward life's great stair
And gazed in awe at all the world,
As, lo its wonder were unfurled.

Then, as in years we older grew,
Her guiding hand was present, too,
And when our urge arrived to mate
And build a home beyond her gate,
She sat alone with memories
Of romping tots and pleasantries.
And then, content--her life complete
She journeyed on, her God to meet.

by: Henry James Mullen

This poem was presented with the compliments of the author, on the occasion of his 90th Birthday on July 20, 1969.

Henry was my Mother's Mother's Brother or Patty's Father's Mother's Brother.

When Patty said how she missed her Mom today, I thought of Sandy's heartfelt laugh, and then I thought of Patty's Dad, my Uncle Bob and how he laughed and called me Little Mary. I have many memories of Uncle Bob sitting in his wheelchair on the farm porch, which made me think of my one memory of Uncle Henry, sitting in a wheelchair on the porch at the farm.I just knew that Uncle Henry must have written a poem about Mothers, because we Barths...we love our Moms! No matter what happens in this world, the lives of family intertwine and mingle and our spirits dance around in our hearts forever joining us, healing us, being a part of us.

My Dad...at 83...that would have been nice

My Dad would have been 83 years old tomorrow. He died a little less than 10 years ago. He's been absent 23% of my life, and yet I miss him terribly. He was a huge part of my Sophie's life, and yet she's just 11 years old. How can that be? I think of her as a baby, and I see her in his arms. I think about how different certain things would be if he were still around. Would Sophie be able to talk? Would Hannah be happier...feel a little less abandoned by her idiot father with her Grandpa's arms wrapped around her? Would my Mom have it a little easier? Would holidays be a little more, well...more? I am sad.

I miss him...

when I drive north up Lima Center from Scio Church at night, the route he sometimes took home from work at midnight.

when I see an usher at church struggle slightly when rising from genuflecting.

when I pull into my Mom's driveway, I can still see him carrying an old coffee can full of chicken feed over to the hen house.

when I fix anything with duct tape or a paper clip!

stew, pancakes, rhubarb, or asparagus

when Hannah wears the red Gap sweatshirt I bought for him.

coffee and donuts after Sunday Mass

word searches and solitaire

the way he patted my hand

I can see him sitting at the kitchen table with his funny glasses at the end of his nose and his old ratty white undershirt and too small sweatpants and his crazy uncombed hair.

damn...I miss that old man.

Crazy like a circus?

You were in my dream.

I started out at a circus. I lost something and was searching for it. People were helping me look. I found it, and then I walked a long way. The circus and the walk were difficult, but I laughed a lot too. I ended up in with a bunch of people in this room. Everyone was talking and having a great time. I think it must have been a party. I can't remember everyone who was there, but you were there and so was your Dad. Questions were asked and answered. I don't remember what your Dad said, but I remember the way he said it. He was happy and healthy and sounded and looked so young and confident.

I'm sure that I dreamed this, because we connected this week and talked about our Dads and their birthdays.

Maybe it's just me that needed to dream this message, but I thought it couldn't hurt to share it with you. Maybe your Dad was trying to tell you something through my dream? Or maybe I just wanted to reach out and make sure you are okay?

Even though life is sometimes crazy and difficult, it is a wonderful thing. Your Dad was there in my dream. I hope you know that I am here for you.

Taming of the Shrew-Mother

Right this second, I am listening to my 14-year-old daughter on the phone. With. A. Boy.

She's calm, cool, collected. She's sweet, yet sincere. She didn't break out in hives and jump up and down, giddy with terrified excitement.

She talked to this boy for more than 5 minutes...maybe even 10 whole minutes! From whom did she learn this talking-to-a-boy skill? Certainly not me. I can't think of things to say for longer than a minute or two. Men shrink away from conversations with me. I'm elephant-headed, spiritual and religious, and a Mom. Most men are liberal, naturalist/spiritualist, hoochy-boys. What would we say to one another?

Of course, before the boy called my daughter, she was trying to figure out what she would say to him when he did call her back. They've been talking for a couple of weeks now. And they have a movie-thing planned for a near-future Friday.

Should I just let this Lucentio-boy wisk away my Bianca-daughter? How do I stand idly by? Should I get her to a nunnery? Should I allow this movie-going? Should I drive her and her friend? Should I let another Mother drive them and show up at the same theater and sit behind them?

What do I do if she sees this boy for a long time? And what will I do when it doesn't work out? Forget about that baby manual that comes out at birth. Where, oh where, is the adolescent enchiridion, the minor manual, or even a juvenile journal? Should I lock her in the hay mow? Perhaps, I should, at least until my Petruchio shows up!

Robbers and Cops....oh my!

What is wrong with people? Robbers are bad, bad people. They are weak, useless, pathetic examples of human beings. Anyone who would rob a 94-year-old man should just be shot, not to kill, but to wound, to suffer. Or maybe just lock them up and throw away the key. Uncle Harold is not quite as upset about this as I am. After all, he is 94. He's been through a lot, through a war. I am mad.

Uncle Harold was gone for 1 1/2 hours this afternoon. During that time, some imbecile broke the glass out of his back garage door and went into his house. They took a gun and some money.

When I drove by Uncle Harold's tonight, he was sitting in his driveway reading his mail, before going back into the house. It was about 5-10 minutes after I saw him that he called my Mom. I could tell by her voice and the look on her face that something was wrong. She told him that she would call John or that Mary would be right down. She got off the phone and said that Uncle Harold had been robbed. I went right down and called 911 from his phone.

Poor man...He was breathing funny. He was very concerned about some clothes in a closet. It was very exciting in a bad way.

Not all is lost though. There was a bright spot to an otherwise terrible event. That's right, the Deputy was totally crushing on me. That's right. I saw him checking me out...checking on the ring finger. And he so let me know that he was single. When he asked what was missing, I told him that it was a little hard to tell because Uncle Harold isn't the neatest housekeeper. So, "D" says, "Hey, us single guys gotta try to keep a clean house."

Then, we were talking about all the break-ins in the area, and he said that I'd have to have my husband teach me how to use a gun. So, I said, "I don't have one of those."

And "D" asked me for my phone number too! Okay, that was for the police report.

Autism...letter to teachers

I just wanted to thank you all in advance for everything you'll be doing for and with Sophie this school year! I'm so excited that she's had a good first few days and expect the goodness to continue all year.

If you have any suggestions, I'm more than willing to listen. Your suggestion might be something I've thought about, but accidentally zoomed by without addressing or trying. (The mind of a parent of a special needs child goes 100 mph.)

Also, if you have any questions or concerns about Sophie, please let me know. All my phone numbers are below, or please email. Whatever works for you.

In lieu of filling out the forms that Mrs. Hamilton sent home, I've written a bit here about Sophie (from her perspective) for those who don't know her all that well yet!

My name is Sophie Lash. I am 9 years old...almost 10!

I live with my Mom and my sister Hannah...right across the street from South Meadows. My Dad lives near Lansing, and he comes to see me and my sister once or twice a month, but he really doesn't spend a lot of time with me. I have a Grandma who lives in Chelsea. I get off the bus at Grandma's house. I have 2 Uncles who I get to see a bunch. You will see Uncle John when my Mom goes to California (January 11-15). As much as I like school, I really like to be with Grandma, but Uncle John will help me get to school on those days. I also have an Aunt, Uncle, and 2 cousins in Kansas. I also have a Great Uncle who is 95 years old. You'll see them all on my Dynavox!

A most noticeable thing about me is that I don’t talk yet. My mom hopes that I will someday, but for now, I use pictures and the Dynavox to tell what I want. I can also get my point across in other ways. Can you imagine how hard it is to communicate without being able to talk? When I get really mad, I sometimes say Mom or No. When you least expect it, a word might just slip out.

I am very strong and fast, if I want to be. Sometimes, I move as slow as a snail.

I like to watch movies with lots of music and dancing. I like watching the Wiggles, Bear in the Big Blue House, Barney (sometimes on youtube.com). I like Kidsongs videos too. Once in a while, I like more grown-up movies like Shrek, Stuart Little, and Annie.

I like music a lot. I go to music therapy once a week with Mr. Mike in Ann Arbor. For this school year, it will be on Thursdays at 6 p.m. Did you know that people hear music with a different part of their brain than they hear talking? It’s easier for me to understand music or singing. So, sometimes when I am not in a good mood or paying attention, I listen to music, and it makes me feel better. Singing what you want to tell me gets me to understand a little better too. I love my ipod!

I like toys. I like little toys. (You might call them manipulatives.) I love my beads. If I am mad and need to calm down, please give me my beads. I like to flutter little toys or beads. Besides really liking that visual stimulation, I am the champion bead-twirler of the universe.

I like puzzles. I am really good at putting puzzles together. I like the alphabet and numbers and maps. I like the calendar.

I like any group of things that I can look at and study and then display the way that I want. My Mom says that I am an artist of installation pieces. I like to create pretty displays that take up the whole room!

I love to play in the water. In the sink, I use different cups and watch the way the light hits the water. Sometimes, I like really hot water, so please help me watch out so that I don't hurt myself or anyone else.

I like junk food. My Mom tries and tries to get me to eat healthier food, but I just don’t like the smell or the texture of that food. The somewhat healthy things I like are popcorn, rice cakes, yogurt, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, nuts, corn chex and rice chex. The unhealthy things are ice cream and cookies. (Watch out...I will nab your cookies if they are left out!)

I like animals. I have a dog, named Rascal, who I tolerate. My friend Belinda has a cat. I like to kiss and pet the cat. I spent a lot of time at Belinda’s playing with other kids this summer.

Sometimes transitions can be very hard for me. Beads and music and patience help. I'm not trying to be difficult, just trying to work through things. If I am really angry, singing the alphabet song or "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" or counting to ten helps me settle down. It helps me focus on something other than my frustration. (If I take your hands and twist them in diferent directions, I am requesting your rendition of "Itsy-Bitsy Spider".)

I don't like my hair touched, but then again, sometimes I might want you to press on my head. (I tolerate the hair-combing when I absolutely have to! I'm getting better. This summer, I sat in the chair and wore the cape when I got my haircut. My Mom almost cried, and the hairdresser was so pleased!) I am way better at brushing my teeth than I used to be, but trips to the dentist are still pretty rough on me and the dentist. I like to have my arms, hands, legs, and feet rubbed. I might ask you to rub my arms.

I'm very sweet and loving and smart. I have a lot inside me that is just waiting to come out.

As you can tell I could talk forever about Sophie. In fact, I'll be on a panel in October at Siena Heights University, giving the parent's perspective on autism. I'm afraid I won't give anyone else a chance to talk.

The unfairness of food

Most days, I have no problem with the dietary restrictions that I have. There are times though that are rougher than others. When I have control over what I order or when there are options available, I can choose wisely. Occasionally, I treat myself.

Sales meetings are one of those difficult events. If I just knew ahead of time what would be offered, I could prepare myself. Unfortunately, at the last one, the server incorrectly informed me what was on the dinner menu one evening, and there was a little hoodoo, but it all worked out. I splurged on the appetizers with 2 yummy shrimp and 1 fruity (more like jelly) pastry and even had 2 bites of some delicious chocolatey dessert.

I guess I get tired explaining it all the time. No one seems to understand. Even 2 nurses with whom I had a recent conversation didn't understand. They assumed that once you get rid of your gall bladder that you can eat all the fatty foods you want. Not true.

Anyway, there are other temptations out there. See my Mother's refrigerator freezer here:

Notice the top...not 1, not 2, but 3 frozen Pepperidge Farm cakes. My brother stocked up; there was probably a sale! However, take a look at the lower left corner. My Mom bought some veggie burgers so that I have something on hand whenever everyone else is eating a big cut of beef.


Now take a look at the deep freeze here:


Do you see all those pints of ice cream? Yummy-flavored ice cream? Yummy-flavored ice cream that I would love to devour?

So, my older brother can eat cake and ice cream every day...how is that fair?

cry-i-i-i-ng over you...

Roy Orbison sang it best. He sang about unrequited love or love gone bad. I feel it tonight, but differently. I cry for the love of family...missing by distance or in pain.

Hannah is off today for a week up north with a friend and her friend's family. I cried after I dropped her off at 1:30 p.m. I cried again when she first sent me a text at 6:37 p.m. And I cried just now at 9:42 p.m. when she sent another text that they had arrived at their destination. That does it...I'm going back to college when she goes.

My Mother is in the hospital tonight. I held it together on Thursday during the long day of prepping for surgery and recovery, but when I got in my jeep to leave the hospital after she was safely admitted into her room, I cried, gasping for the cool night air to bring me the will to keep going. Later that night after I got home, I cried as the adrenaline was gone, and the relief just washed over me. It's very hard to see the person who has always taken care of you, someone with beauty and grace and strength in more ways than she would ever admit, in such a helpless position.

I feel so splintered.

Books...

Books...are better than life.

You can pick up a book and live it whenever you want that life.

You can put the book down when you need a break.

No wonder I spent my youth up a tree reading a book. All summer long on any non-rainy day, I would climb the tree behind the house and read. Then I could take a walk to the swamp and pretend to be the heroine. In bad weather, I would hide in my room or in the basement, and I would be transported to another sunny life.

How wonderful and lucky that my parents gave me the safety and security of a childhood where I could live through books and nature.

The heroine of my book always has a struggle, but she endures, and she thrives.

Her family is always quirky, but good loving people.

Friends are always the loyal and supportive sidekicks that build the heroine up instead of tear down.

The struggle comes from God, nature, society, man, or self.

I'm old enough to be over, for the most part, my doubt of or anger at God. God does not cause me much struggle anymore. He is more of a comport, a guide, a beacon home.

In the safe confines of my hometown, I do not have to struggle with much of a force of nature. An occasional power outage, a foot of snow...those are not life-struggling events. Those are just things to deal with. Nature is usually my friend. I can remember being upset in college. I would just look out the window and watch the leaves blow on the tree. My Dad always said, "You do what you have to do."

Society is a fearful thing. You have to wonder what we are all thinking collectively to have gotten to such a strange place in our time. We think certain things are okay when they are so strange. I heard once that people who are afraid to be individuals join groups. I think as well, people want others to be like them to validate themselves. I don't want anyone to be like me...that would be boring. However, we're constantly held up to the expectations of others. If you don't dress like this or act like this, then you are nothing, because you are not like me. It's the ego of the individual to think that they represent society. My Dad always said, "You just have to get along with people."

Me against man. My Dad always said, "Everyone's different." Why is it, then, that we cannot be accepting of others when they are not like us? I'm going to try to be more accepting of rude, stupid people when dealing with them one on one. They cannot help it that they are not totally cool like me. Every one of us has no idea what the other person is feeling or thinking. There is all this history that no one else can truly understand. Why do we try? Maybe we should just accept it and hope for the best. We seem to all seek this partner in life, this witness. But do they really witness you...the real you? No person knows me. Maybe the struggle comes when you want them to know.

I am in a constant struggle against myself. I am also very comfortable with myself. That, in itself, is a constant struggle. Logic? Circles.

I wish I could put this book down for a minute. Or end this chapter and start a new one.

Autism...kissin' cousins & back to the refrigerator?

"It also showed that, at least in many of the families studied, autism appears to be caused by the combination of faulty DNA and something in the physical or social environment of an affected child after birth." ~ from "Autism gene search turns up hope for treatment" (Thu Jul 10, 2008 3:41pm EDT - http://www.reuters.com/article/healthNews/idUSN1025798120080710)

Oh..this makes me mad. The quote is the 3rd paragraph in the article. If you keep going, you will read that 88 of the 104 families studied had parents who were 1st cousins. What??? I am sorry, but that is not a representative group of typical families in the world. Jeez...Are kissin' cousins really representative? Who sponsored this research...big pharma companies? The vaccine-makers? These researchers should be taken to task for such a ridiculous test group.

Are we really going to go back to the 60s to blame autism on the social environment? Am I to be called a refrigerator Mom? My children have never lacked for affection. If stress during pregnancy causes autism, then my ex-husband can take all the blame. My daughter never lacked for love and affection from me and my family. She has always been loved beyond belief!

Vaccines did it. Vaccines injured her.

Whether to weather the weather

Just yesterday I had lunch with a woman who also knows my sister and her family. Jennifer said how great and happy I seemed. I told her that I would be completely happy if my sister and her family would just move back to Michigan.

I've spent the last few nights up watching the radar and checking the Lawrence Journal website for tornado news. Once the storm moves through, then I go to bed. Tonight, the Lawrence Journal says just rain now, but the front still hasn't gone through where my nephew lives. And so I wait. I know that they will be fine, but I just feel better waiting. I cannot imagine their wait for the storm to pass.

The storms here seem like puddles compared to the oceans of a storm that they get.

Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'

People think that I don't like to hug. I love to hug.

If I were to cry, why would I want a hug? A hug would make me feel weak and make me cry harder...if I wasn't ready for it.

If I were in the privacy of my own home with someone I trusted or a hunky dude, then a hug would be good. My ex-dysfunction used to give me shoulder-time when I was upset. I liked shoulder-time. I loved it. I miss it. I'd like shoulder-time with a new man. Tenderness.

When my Dad walked me down the aisle, he patted my hand the whole way. I'm not sure if he was nervous or thought I was. Affection.

When my Dad died, I still remember the hugs from family and friends. I can still feel them, physically feel their arms around me. Comfort.

I get/give friendly hugs from/to friends I've known for 25 years. Those are nice. I trust those hugs. Trust.

The hugs when my Sister and her family are leaving after a visit are a way to hold onto them until the next visit. Kalli squeezes. Tyler pats my back. When I try to think of the description of my sister's hug, it hurts too much for words. Commitment.

I hug my daughters. True Love.

Today at work, some guy was talking to me and another woman. He said something about giving out free foot rubs, but how I wouldn't want one, because I don't like to be touched. Dude! What the French, Toast?

If anything, I tend to crave sensory input, like Sophie does. I love to get massages, manicures, pedicures. I'm not ticklish. I love to get my feet rubbed. I have a bumpy footstool at work so that I can take my shoes off and rub my own socked feet. It's a great stress-reliever.

However, to the point, and of course, I make light of it, because that's what I do. If some hottie were to give me a hug out of the blue when I was unprepared, I'd probably implode. Don't tease a girl with a sip of water when there's no well in sight. Seriously, I'd probably melt to the ground and cry in want of someone to hold me.

Waiting by the phone...

I used to wait by the phone for a dude to call, now I wait for my daughter.

Hannah went to the bar last night. Okay...not really, it was more like karaoke at the bowling alley for a birthday party.

Thank God for cell phones and texting. What did parents do before texting? Last night, we must have texted one another 20 or so times back and forth about various things.

What was the birthday-girl's parent thinking? They did not even go to the bowling alley until close to 9 p.m.. I thought Hannah was texting to say that they were on the way home from there.

On her way to the bowling alley, I texted her, "What will you do if the adult with you takes a drink of alcohol?" Correctly answered, "I will text you so that you can come get us all." I did not htink that the adult would do that, but I just wanted to see what Hannah would say.

Another conversation:
Daughter: "Mom, what song should I sing?"
Mom: "Dancing Queen"
Daughter: "No, they will think it's weird."
Mom: "How about 867-5309?"
No reply. They ended up group-singing to two country songs that Hannah probably did not know all that well. I say...just wait until the movie Mamma Mia comes out, and all those girls will be saying how cool she is for knowing Abba!

I had to stay up until 11 p.m. wondering how in the world would I do this for the rest of my life? Wait up and worry about her. I want to follow her around at all times and make sure that she is safe and happy. When did she stop toddling around the furniture? I could keep her safe from sharp edges then. How can I keep her safe from sharp edges now? This is pre-dating. Oh man...just thinking about dating? I'm dizzy...need to go lie down, cold compress on forehead.

How did my Mother ever manage all those nights I went out and stayed out late?

Thanks goodness that my Sophie will stay home with me and not cause me such distress! (Talk about a silver lining on Sophie Storm!)

Being Blessed by Autism

Yes, I am blessed. Autism has blessed my family. Would I be extremely happy if my daughter could speak and eat healthier and have fewer sensory issues? Of course. However, I am very blessed to have her in my life. Her innocence, her sweetness! Everyone who really knows her loves her. She is special in many ways.

One way...Sophie's Aide...In the Spring of her 1st grade year, the woman who spent all school day with Sophie was injured by a drunken semi-truck driver. This woman's legs were cut off above the knee. When her Aide returned to the school to work the following fall, she was in a wheel chair. Sophie walked up to her, kicked her leg out at the open area where her Aide's legs should have been, and then proceeded to crawl up on her Aide's lap. What was Sophie saying? Yeah, I notice that you are different now, but I still like you anyway.

Another way...My older typical daughter spent the night at a friend's house. When I picked her up the following morning, she said, "They are like the perfect family. It was creepy!" What did she mean? Dad is the sole financial provider. Mom is a Stay-at-home-Mom. One daughter. One brother. One purebred dog. They ate dinner while sitting at the table! Spotless house. Uh...yeah, nice, but not like us. We are Deadbeat Dad, Single Working Mom, one typical daughter, one special needs daughter, one mutt. That table in the dining room is for sitting and eating a meal together? Who knew? And most specifically...the house is a mess. I asked my older daughter if she knew that most houses did not have bits of ricecakes and popcorn scattered about the floor and table and counter, etc.? What's more important perfection through control or a loving, caring, accepting attitude? A child with special needs answers that question.

And another...adversity through a child brings family together. I know without a doubt that my Mother (and Father, if he were still alive), my Siblings and their children, and even extended family members hope and dream and do whatever they can for my girl! That's a good feeling!

A child is not a burden. A child is a gift. A special child is a special gift.

We have been very fortunate.

I talk good

"I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child."
~ Vladimir Nabokov

I'm a great thinker, a good writer, and a bad talker. I think faster than I can talk about certain things, ideas about which I'm passionate. I can think and then re-think it and modify what I think until it's right to me on words written. I can edit what I write, but how can I change what I blurt? I can flirt on my feet. Flirting is nothing of substance. If someone asks me a serious question though, I like to think about my answer before speaking. Maybe because as the youngest of 4 kids, I had the opportunity to think before I had a chance to speak out. I wonder if Vladimir is the youngest in his family?

Match: a spark or a burn?

Okay, after talking with my friend Lynne last week, I put my profile on a match site. (Don't tell my Mom!) My friend met a man in September on there, and he proposed on New Year's Eve. Not that I am looking for a quick husband, just someone suitable to date. Someone who sparks my interest? Anyone? Anyone out there? I am already considering removing the profile due to lack of response. Although I realize no dude (or even a dud) is going to start anything the week or two before V-day, I thought that I'd get some hits from places closer than IL or CA. (The IL guy was very suitable other than location.) Of course, tonight I spoke with another friend, who goes through drama after drama with guys she's met online. I just don't think that the drama is worth it. I am happy with me. My life is full with (and busier than busy with) my children, my family, my friends, my job, my faith. Do I really want another idiot to waste my time with unfulfilled promises that leave me burned? Or maybe it's possible that the next man I meet will be the one that lights my fire?

Countdown to Vegas

12 hours to go...I'm packed. All I have to do is get up, shower, and put whatever I have to use in the morning into the travel bag into the suitcase. And then wait for Skip to pick me up. Okay, I do have to do the dishes in the morning when I get up...Don't feel like doing the dishes tonight. The only thing I wasn't able to do today is get Sophie in the shower. She'll just have to be dirty next week. I did my best. Her clothes are picked out for the week. Her lunches are packed. Her backpack is ready for Tuesday. I wrote a list of ingredients for her backpack so that nothing gets forgotten on Wednesday and Thursday. All laundry is done. I went to church. I went grocery shopping...in no way will this house run out of rice cakes or yogurt before I return. I straightened and cleaned every room, but the family room. I vacuumed...not that you could tell now.

All this might be worth it...if I meet my Tom Jones! Otherwise, not so much. Too stressful to leave my family and home.

~~~~~~~

2 hours, 40 minutes to go until I'm picked up for the airport. Dishes half done. Family Room straightened enough. Washed some blankets too. Drinking coffee. Just need to jump in shower after dishes. Grandma will be here at 9 a.m. to watch/get/take responsibility for my girls. (Sophie won't want to come home after spending so much time at Grandma's!) Weather clear here over to Vegas. It's 33 degrees in Vegas right now with a high of 53 expected at 3 p.m. Pretty much that's the weather for this week. I guess that's better than a real feel temperature of minus 14 degrees right now and a high in the 20s! I hope I packed right and enough.