Happy Birthday Drama Mama!

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Doubt Your Limits

Love and Marriage and Soft Core Porn

So our marriage counselor (yes, every so often we go in for a tune-up, what of it?) suggested a *video* for our viewing pleasure. A little something to spice things up.

Turns out it was basically soft core porn. You know, where the couples love each other.

We got some new catch phrases out of it.

There was one couple getting busy in the film, and in the middle of it, she said casually to her man,

"Do you think you could eat me while you do that?"

Like she was saying, "Do you think you could pass the salt?"

or

"Do you think you could pick up the kids after school?"

I turned to HT, "Did she just say....do you think you could eat me?"

He nodded, "I'm afraid she did."

We laughed!

In another scenario, a woman picks her man up at the airport. He'd been on a business trip, and she surprises him by wearing nothing but a sexy negligee under her trench coat.

"Does this mean we're going to The Point?" he asks as they take off in the car.

They do go to The Point, a lookout suitable for necking teenagers, and they totally get it on.

So dear readers, how many times a day do you suppose I ask HT, "Do you think you could eat me while you do that?"

-While he makes the kid's lunches.
-As he's shoveling snow.
-While he's changing a light bulb.
-As he brushes his teeth.

And how many times a day do you suppose HT asks, "Does this mean we're going to The Point?"

-After I ask him to take out the garbage.
-When I mention his parents called.
-When I tell him it's our turn to volunteer in Seth's class next week.

Our marriage counselor is a genius. I can't remember when we've laughed so much, and we've never felt closer.

Orange Mint and Honey

Finally, I got a chance to sit down and read Carleen Brice's Orange Mint and Honey. You might recall Brice is the brains behind National Buy a Book by a Black Author and Give it to Someone Not Black Month.

I loved it!

Those of us who had less than stellar childhoods often wish our parents would change, but what happens if they do? What happens if an alcoholic parent gets sober, has another kid and treats them how you wish they'd treated you?

What if your now clean and straight parent, fails to recognize what a neurotic mess they made of you?

How do you deal with wanting to be happy your parent is better, but feeling like all you went through is minimized or forgotten? What if as a young adult you are still living with the repercussions of their addiction, while they've moved on!

Brice captures the very complicated relationship between mother and daughter, and addresses how children who are forced into too much responsibility in some areas often have arrested development in others.

This is a "can't put it down" kind of book. I read it in less than 24 hours.

Brice has a second novel coming out in July. This white girl can't wait to read it.

A Good Question

Riley had a bad morning yesterday. She woke up grumpy and went downhill from there. She was abrupt. Uncooperative getting dressed. Pure misery.

Seth had a doctor appointment, therefore we left Riley screaming with Todd as he tried to get her in snow pants before heading out the door to walk her to school.

Backing out of the driveway I analyzed the situation. She was sick Thursday and Friday, and it was a long break from school. Re-entry is usually tough for her. Maybe she still isn't feeling great.

As I drove down the road, shivering in the cold, I ran through the morning. How could I have done anything differently? We didn't rush her. We didn't lose our patience or our tempers. We did our morning meditation/visualization to get the day off on the right foot.

We didn't forget any of her supplements. I definitely didn't forget the ones with calming effects.

We got her to bed early enough the night before.

Driving down the road at 40mph, my mind raced at 100.

Then suddenly, I had the thought, probably for the first time ever,

What if it isn't my fault?

Immediately my mind zoomed back to my own childhood. The walking on eggshells. Two very different scenarios with a common theme. Me, bending over backwards trying to appease another person who happens to be out of control. I'm not saying it's her fault, but

what if it isn't my fault?

Perhaps it is one of the things this little angel is here to teach me.

If You Give a Girl a Foot Rub...

She just might feel cared for and connected.

"There will be lotion," he said, right eyebrow raised.

I was skeptical. I won the foot rub two months ago in a bet. He had yet to deliver.

Now if you give a girl a foot rub, it has to come from a pure place. No one, and I mean no one wants a foot rub with expectations.

So as I was saying, if you give a girl a foot rub, (with lotion) from a pure place with no expectations, she might feel cared for and connected.

She might think about it the whole next day, and smile about how you took your time. How you lit some candles and of course, used lotion.

By the next night, all the expectations you didn't have, while delivering your lotiony foot rub,

might just pay off.

You know, if giving a girl a foot rub is something you're inclined to do.

Canine Freestyle

Don't think HT and I won't be stealing some moves.

Feast of Love

Watched this last week and can't get it out of my mind. Greg Kinear makes such good choices. Morgan Freeman is so sweet in this movie I got a toothache. There are several different story lines but the one that stays with me is the young couple. The beautiful girl with the curly hair and the blond haired boy. Loved them! I have no idea when this movie came out (I borrowed it from the library), but if you love love, I highly recommend it.

He Whistles While He Works

A little something I haven't told you about HT:
~
He cannot carry a tune, but he can whistle a tune. And his whistle isn't just ordinary. It has a bit of a trill. Like a little bird he is.
~
Tweet-a-lee-deedle-ee-dee, I hear from downstairs as he makes the kid's lunches in the mornings while I struggle upstairs with the tangles in Riley's hair.
~
He's our own little song bird.
~
'Til Mike & Mike come on, that is.

Bernice L. McFadden

After writing this post, I was touched to receive a package from author Bernice L. McFadden. It included both her novels, Sugar and The Warmest December.

I waited until I had time to really sit down and give them the attention they deserved and finally got a chance to do so last week.

McFadden's way with words puts you right there in the scene with the characters feeling the tension; a fly on the wall. Her writing is rich and raw and powerful.

This is a line from Sugar, a story of a prostitute who comes to a small town and befriends a mother who has lost her child in a violent crime:

"They hated her immediately, not knowing of her childhood or the life that, after only one day of living it, would have had them calling out to the Lord for help."

How brilliant is that?

The Warmest December is about a woman who is struggling to forgive her dying alcoholic father for the abuse he inflicted on her (and her mother) throughout her childhood.

McFadden's prose can best be described as haunting. Be warned, the subject matter is brutal, and involves graphic depictions of child abuse. McFadden's writing is exceptional, but not for the faint of heart.

In thanking the author I promised to pay it forward to someone not black. E-mail me if you want your name put in the hat.

Lifeorileyo @ gmail . com

It's a New Day

Anything is possible.

Love.

*photo from ABC news.com, courtesy Obama for America

Abraham on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Thank You

"I dwell in possibility."
- Emily Dickenson

~

It was early October when the publisher contacted me and asked if I would review Nuala Gardner's book A Friend Like Henry. I said yes. The book is about a boy with autism and how a dog named Henry helped him make amazing strides.

~

Our hands are quite full with two kids and three cats but I'd been having a strange longing for a dog. It was inexplicable, but the doggie lust was strong, and did not seem to be going away.

~

Inspired after reading the book, I googled *dogs and autism* and *dogs and Asperger's* in an effort to find out if service dogs might be beneficial for higher functioning kids, like Riley.

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They are.

~

After much discussion, we decided to go for it. This would require us for the first time ever to involve others in an intervention we are trying for Riley, as the organization we're working with, 4 Paws for Ability does not allow the dogs to be purchased. Each family must raise the funds for their dog. The goal we needed to reach was 11 thousand dollars.* Asking for help and opening ourselves up to unsolicited input was difficult. We had to put our own egos aside, and ask ourselves what was best for Riley. Maybe the dog won't help? We don't know, but we felt we had to try. We made the leap.

~

In November, Todd and I went door to door, dropping off fliers in our immediate neighborhood. We went down only four streets, the ones we'll mostly be walking the dog on. We felt it would be a great social opportunity for Riley, if our neighbors knew who she was and felt a part of things. I got phone calls that very day from neighbors excited about the dog and wanting to help.

~

The next day I posted about our service dog effort for the first time on the blog. The response was amazing. So many people rooting for Riley. It makes me weepy just thinking about it.

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Then there was the concert. How could we ever express our gratitude to the musicians, and our friends and family who helped, and the people who came out to support us? How?

~

Over the holidays, we got a couple of large corporate donations that were a big surprise. They really kicked our totals up a notch.

~

As of last week, we had less than $1000.00 to go.

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Or so we thought.

~

Turns out in the home stretch, Todd's parents came through donating that last chunk of change, putting us over our total.

~

And that was that.

~

When we started, we thought it might take up to a year to raise the money. Two months later, we've already met out goal. Every step of the way we have had the opportunity to educate people about Asperger's and build community. What a gift.

~

Ask and it is given.

~

Now comes the hard part, waiting.

~

We have to spend ten days at the 4 Paws facility, being trained as a family with the dog. The first training class we can get into is in October!!! In the meantime, we will continue videotaping Riley, capturing all the behaviors we are hoping the dog will be able to help with. We'll be buying supplies, preparing for this new family member, wondering if it will be a boy or a girl. What color? What breed?

~

We'll keep you posted every step of the way.

~

The Universe is ready and waiting to deliver your dreams to your doorstep, if you let go and allow it to happen.

~

Thank you so much for being part of our dream for Riley.

~

* Each service dog receives between 400-600 hours of training before ever being placed with a family. Broken down, that is between $18 and $25 dollars per hour of training. The dogs have been boarded and have received all vet care for a year prior to being placed.

The Universe is Abundant

People are generous.
Strangers are friends.
Bad news isn't the order of the day.

In less than two months
a little girl
draws enough
love toward her
to get
her
service
dog.

Thank you.

We met our goal!

Amen.

Wings of Epoh

Tonight I watched the most delightful short animated film, Wings of Epoh. It is about a boy with autism and a little butterfly who offers him acceptance. The film is based on a story by acclaimed author and Holocaust survivor, Gerda Weissmann Klein.

In just five or so minutes, it gets to the heart of the beauty we mothers know is inside our children who struggle and who try so hard every day.

They are so precious. Every single one of them.

Love.

*For anyone out there doing presentations on autism, this would make an excellent opening or closing segment. (Be prepared to provide tissues).

Magical Weekend

On Sunday, we went to a benefit for an adorable little boy, whose parents are also seeking a service dog for him from 4 Paws for Ability. Their event was a great success. It was held in a civic center and they had a big turn out, putting the family over their fundraising goal for Luke's dog. Way to go Smolinskis!

They did an amazing job. Face painting, jugglers, lots of clowns, including Ronald McDonald doing a magic show. The kids sat on the floor in front of the stage and when he asked for a volunteer, Riley's hand shot up along with all the others.

He picked her.

Oh my hell of God.

There was a moment when he asked her to catch a scarf, and he kept throwing it toward her and pulling it away as she grabbed for it.

My stomach braced itself.

She didn't cry.

There was a moment, when he asked her to climb into a tiny box, and she looked at me, worried. I tried to give her an assuring look, "He's kidding," I mouthed, not sure she could read my lips. She got through it.

Then she started doing the "pee-pee" dance, right up there on stage.

"Damn!" I thought.

She hadn't gone potty since 7AM, and it was now 3PM.

Damn. Damn.

Kids were loud, screaming, laughing, clapping. Riley was holding her own.

For the grand finale, Ronald asked Riley to push a button on the magic box, but before she could he push it, he said, "Where are your parents?"

She pointed to us and he said,jokingly, "Tell them good-bye."

THEN, as if that wasn't enough, he warned everyone, "Cover your ears!" But when Riley tried to cover hers, he said, "No, not you, you have to push the button!"

SERIOUSLY, I thought we were done.

In front of 500 people.

On stage, with possibly wet pants.

~

I held my breath. HT told me later he was thinking, "Look clown, your little magic show is about to blow up in your face."

There was a pause.

And then, our girl, pushed the button, (after which she quickly covered her ears).

There was an explosion and a slew of little Ronald McDonald frisbees came piling out of the box.

Riley created all the frisbees! Riley did magic!

She came down from the stage visibly overwhelmed, and we took some deep breaths. In a few minutes she was fine. It took me a bit longer.

Later, my literal Riley told us she was afraid Ronald McDonald was going to shrink her down to fit into the little box, and she was scared she might not get back to us. She went to bed last night happy, proud and exhausted.

DESPITE HER FEAR, SHE KEPT IT TOGETHER!

First sled riding, now this!

~

It was a magical weekend and we're celebrating every victory.

*BTW, That's Seth's little head in the right hand corner of the photo, the guy with the balloon. It didn't even occur to me to check in with him at the time, to see if he was worried about his sister up there on stage. Sweet boy, I love you and I promise we'll pay for your therapy if you need it.

I like him. I like him a lot.

Almost forgot to mention in all the excitement last month. It was 11 years for us on Dec. 27th.

As long as he'll have me, I tell ya. As long as he'll have me.

*photo by Riley O'Neil

Riley Had Fun!

This afternoon, HT and I, purely out of parental obligation, got out the snow pants, boots, mittens, coats and sleds.

"Are you ready for hell?" I whispered.

"It's gonna suck," he concurred, whispering back.

~

Every year we try. Every year Riley cannot deal. The cold. The brightness. The sound of her nylon snow pants. The teeny little hills we attempt to sled ride down are too scary. The wind is too much. It ends up being more trouble than it's worth.

Today, with over a foot of the powdery white stuff outside, we bundled up and walked over to the school. We've gotta try, right?

~

"I'm scared," Riley said as she looked down the very small hill.

Last year she would only go down on my lap.

Today, she went down on my lap, once.

After that, she was on her own.

"This is fun!" she yelled.

Over and over, down the hill,

Riley had fun!

Brother Chris

My brother Christopher had a birthday this week. We called him. We sang Happy Birthday. We had a nice chat.

We got to talking about the service dog (that's Chris in the photo above performing in between sets at the concert), and I told him how Todd and I still sometimes feel uneasy, accepting donations to 4 Paws in Riley's honor, when there are families in dire straights financially. Families that are out of work, or whose kids have severe health issues, or both. A dog for Riley isn't life or death and we are not exactly struggling. We live modestly but Todd has a good job and can (and does) pick up overtime when we need something for the kids or want something extra.

We talked about how 4 Paws for Ability does not want the dogs to be a financial strain on the families seeking them. We talked about how the fundraising each family is required to do brings awareness to 4 Paws, and how this whole effort has been a chance to educate people about Asperger's. To let people into our often secluded world.

Then Christopher, my darling brother said,

"You know, raising kids is hard (he's got two beautiful girls). It's a tough job, and raising kids with special needs has to be a hundred times harder. A lot of times people don't know what to do, but this gave us a chance to feel like we could do something. To feel like we could help in some way."

With his words, something that had been weighing on my shoulders lifted a bit.

Christopher and I could not be more different. He is uber conservative. I'm to the left, (then over to the left a little more). We're opposite in so many ways, but I believe we "get" each other's hearts.

I love him.

More than words.

Men & ESPN

I hate sports radio. There. I said it.

Men jacked up on testosterone, talking about other men jacked up on testosterone, (and God knows what else). Who dominated. Who crushed who. The questioning of whether people are "fan" enough. The weird mafia like loyalty thing with sports.Ick.

Sports radio jangles my sensory system.

All the screaming, each guy talking louder and louder over the next one in order to make their point. I do not want to hear ads for Viagra and its counterparts at 7AM. I do not want to hear one more guy in a casual, cool, tone, pretend he's talking to the listener man to man, about debt reduction.

The whole thing gives me a headache.

And I don't want a headache!

I want to float downstairs and get the kids ready for school while something like Enya plays in the background.

Mornings are tricky enough. I want the atmosphere to be relaxed before we all start out into the world.

But sports is HT's joy. Who am I to deprive him of something he loves?

But did I mention it gives me a headache?

I've got no answers.

Only the fantasy of a duplex with swinging doors.

Eat Pray Love

"A soul mate sometimes enters our life as someone to stir us up. To hold up the mirror so that we can see ourselves more clearly and antagonize us and make us so uncomfortable that we have to change because we can't continue to look at the same thing because we're looking at it clearly now. This is the reason a soul mate may not last forever. The encounter is so intense and so clarifying that we burn through those things quickly."


-Richard from Texas (on Oprah)


*If you don't know who Richard from Texas is, you really need to read more.

Too Cool for School

Used to be, transitions back to school after a break were difficult for Riley. If it went any longer than a weekend (say, a three day weekend?) it was like starting over. The crying. The clinging, etc.

Today we woke up and lit some candles and did a guided meditation as a family. Body part by body part we tensed and relaxed all our muscles. We breathed.

Then, after combing her hair, Riley and I held hands and did 100 "I approve of myselfs."

There was one little blow up on the way out the door when they had to stop playing and get coats on, but she got through it quickly.

Then on the way to school she started to fret. HT and I braced ourselves.

"Riley, what's wrong?"

Walking along the sidewalk she said, "How come I'm the only one that has to walk to school with their family? It's so embarrassing!!!"

Stifling a laugh, I said, "Riley, you can walk ahead of us if you like."

She did.

First ten paces. Then twenty.

Her gate turned into a bit of a swagger, and every so often she'd glance back casually to see how far behind we were. Seth loved it, having his parents to himself to do 1,2,3 swing him up in the air.

When we got to the school, Riley lined up with her class, but we stayed back.

When the doors opened, we walked in way behind her.

That kid walked right into her class, no fuss, no muss. After a long break!!!

Knock us over with a feather.

HT had to come home and take a nap to celebrate.

Jett Travolta

Last night, HT got home from work just before I went to bed.

"Did you see John Travolta's son died?"

I hadn't had the TV or computer on all evening, so I hadn't heard.

The tragedy was in the forefront of my mind when I woke up this morning, and when I googled it, a zillion links to "Jett Travolta" and "autism" came up.

Then I remembered an interview I heard on XM radio, with Kelly Preston on the Gayle King show. She talked about how her son was poisoned by household cleaners when he was a baby, and got Kowasaki's disease, and got very sick.

Gayle interrupted and said, there have been a lot of rumors that he has autism and can you set the record straight on that? And Kelly Preston was like, Noooo he doesn't have autism, and Gayle was like, thanks for clearing that up, and something about the delivery of both of them PISSED ME OFF.

Like he was being accused of being a criminal or something. It hurt my heart.

Now there are rumors flying that he did indeed have autism, and they, under Scientology rules failed to recognize it, and maybe didn't treat a seizure disorder, blah, blah, blah. Who knows if any of it is true.

We are all doing the best we can with what we know for our kids.

A family lost their child. My heart goes out to them.

If only parenting these kids could be as black and white as the children themselves tend to be. What I wouldn't give for some clear cut directions to follow.

Blip Blip Blip

Early in the school year, Riley witnessed a fellow third grade girl kick a boy at the drinking fountain, sending him on his butt. The boy and the girl are actually friends, and he was laughing after he fell, (which confused Riley to no end). She has been scared to death of this girl ever since.

The girl is in a class that lines up parallel to Riley's class every morning. She's a big girl, easily outweighing me by 30+ pounds. She definitely is a ring leader, but she doesn't seem too far gone. She has a heart. You can see it in her eyes. One time last year, I saw her from across the playground, walking home from school, terribly agitated, crying, because some boys had been calling her fat. (The weight is the size of the wound.- Marianne Williamson).

"I shouldn't have to put up with it! I shouldn't have to deal with this!" she shrieked.

I was in the middle of a playground crises with Riley, so I couldn't go to her, but I wanted to. I wanted to look her in the eye and agree with her.

"You are so right. You shouldn't have to put up with people picking on you. Ever."

But I didn't. My hands were full.

Whenever Riley sees this girl, she folds inward in terror. So far, Riley had pretty much not even been on her radar. We liked it like that.

Yesterday, Riley told me just before winter break, the girl approached her in the hall at school. Riley was standing with two aides and a teacher, and the girl said, "Hey, Riley."

Riley put up her hand in stop position, and screamed, "Please leave me alone!"

Firmly on the radar now, aren't we?

"Riley, did she sound friendly when she said hi?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you say that to her?"
"Because I saw her kick that boy (15 weeks ago) and I was afraid she was going to be mean to me too."
"But she wasn't being mean to you, was she?"
"No. But how can she be nice when she was so mean?"

Riley threw herself on my shoulder and cried,

"I'm such a stupid person. I'm so confused. I'm sorry I said that to her Mommy!"

Social nuance comes natural to most. It is difficult to teach. This is one of the things that keeps me up late at night, worrying that through no fault of her own, Riley will set someone off and be physically assaulted as a result.

At the recent birthday party she attended there were some older, fifth grade girls who knew each other well. They were all, "Shut up!" and shoving each other on the shoulder, etc. Riley assumed they were very mean, because they said "shut up" and they were being rough. They frightened her. She looked at them only out of the corner of her eye, and didn't talk to them at all, coming off as unfriendly.

This is where people with Asperger's get a raw deal.

This is where it would be so much easier if her disability were more visible.

This is why, if a service dog makes her stand out, I am all for it. If having a doggie in a little vest beside her causes folks to give her the benefit of the doubt? Good. If the dog offers her comfort in this confusing world? Great.

And if they want to give us a German Shepherd? Something a little intimidating? I wouldn't be opposed to that either.

Even if You Kick the Door

So, it's 2009. This year, my plan is to stop fighting myself. For so long, I've tried to be different than I am. I have tried to be calmer,kinder,more relaxed. When I went to nursing school, the plan was to continue on to become a nurse midwife, and unconsciously, I think what I really wanted was to be as laid back as the midwives I knew.

Not bloody likely!

This year, I want to step back and observe myself as my own friend. So, for example, if I take down the Christmas tree and all the decorations by myself, and lovingly pack them up, and then happen to fall down the stairs with an over sized red and green bin, hurting my my hip, knee and ankle? I'm not going to tell myself how stupid I was to do it alone. Instead, I'll tell my "friend," how sweet it was of her to want to do it all when HT was working, so that he wouldn't have to mess with it on his time off.

And in my shenanigans, if I happen to kick the front door, because it is a hundred years old and the lock jams and I have an armful of wet pine needles that I need to drop on the floor in order to mess with the son of a bitch, I'm not only going to forgive myself for kicking the door, but also for saying "son of a bitch," because it's a lot better than "mother-f#@ker," which is what I really wanted to say, and besides, the kids were not within earshot.

This year, I want to do a lot more laughing with, and a lot less berating of myself.

And I want to know, on a visceral level, mistakes or not, my worthiness is not up for debate.

Happy New Year. Neither is yours.