Alex is all done screaming ...

To be continued ...

2009-01-20T06:34:00.000-08:00

I'm taking a break from blogging. Perhaps a permanent one. I think I'll print out all my posts, try to make some chronological sense of it, then take out the bloat and write a book. I guess I don't really like blogging right now. Besides, I think Alex's story is ultimately one that needs to be in a book. I've found plenty of information connecting vaccinations to autism and seizures, but virtually nothing on my radical approach. Stop vaccinating completely, and instead vaccinate with homeopathy. And undo the vaccine damage--including seizures--with homeopathy. Perhaps by the time I get the book written, we'll have some closure to this whole seizure thing ...

I was going to pull my blog completely, and since Alex said he'd like to blog, I offered to let him take over. He said no way. He doesn't want me to pull it. He wants me to keep blogging, but he keeps forgetting that I'm the boss of him. So I'm compromising. I'll let it just sit idle for now, so he can go back in and read earlier posts, which he loves doing.

If anyone new finds this blog, it makes the most sense to read it in reverse order, because it's all about Alex's journey through autism. Someday, after my book is published, Alex and I will probably co-blog at this spot in case anyone cares to follow his progress.

In the meantime, I'll be working on my book, which may or may not be called "Alex is All Done Screaming." Perhaps that'll just be my working title. Perhaps I should call it "Those Bastards Fucked up my Son with their Vaccinations."

We'll see ...

Spread the word ...

2009-01-12T08:42:00.000-08:00

So I had Alex tested Friday by Annette, our homeopath. Very interesting.

My first concern was that because he'd been taking so much of his remedy, perhaps we'd worsened the seizure situation. But here's the deal. We know, because we asked for specific answers from his body. He's definitely at the core, and he definitely still has vaccination issues right now, so it's best to keep him away from all vaccinations while he heals. But we've inadvertently exposed him to flu shots because we accidentally let him out of his bubble. He started hitting his remedy harder, like I mentioned before, which is a good way to blow a particular issue right out of your system. So, did we actually cause his seizures? No. Definitely not. His body said he simply had to go through these seizures to be rid of the cause once and for all. Period. There was no away to avoid seizures while we detox him from his original vaccine damage. We asked if he increased the severity of his seizures. Again, no. They were exactly what they would have been. Period. The only thing he did by taking his remedy so frequently was to make them happen closer together. He had four seizures in three months, and his body said it would have taken much longer for those seizures to occur otherwise. Perhaps one year, perhaps two. Who knows? Knowing Alex, I'm sure he subconsciously did that because he just wanted the damn things gone. He wants to be done with seizures so he can get on with his life. He's got plans.

I'm all in favor of upping a dosage to blow something through quicker, and I do it myself, but when the detox symptom is a seizure, that gets a little tricky. It's not like it's a stuffy nose or a sore throat. Hence, we're taking his remedy exactly as his body wants it.

So he's got a new remedy. We tested him from scratch, and he's still got the vaccination issues, including lots of pertussis (the "P" in the DTP shots that first started damaging him at two months). We've already been dealing with the diphtheria and tetanus issues (the "D" and "T" in DTP), so we're definitely on the right track. But he also has some digestive stuff going on, some brain stuff, autism, learning disabilities--the usual things we find. All being addressed in his new remedy. He also has a problem with diesel engine fumes. Interestingly, our stupid neighbor idles his diesel truck every morning from 30 to 60 minutes. The idiot. He stinks up the whole neighborhood. You just can't get away from the crap, which is why we're cleaning him up.

Alex says he feels more seizure-free than ever before. He says he's never felt like this. He feels great. He takes this new remedy for 30 days, and then he gets checked again to see where we're at. His body claims he'll eventually be able to be around vaccinated animals and people and not have a problem. That's why we're doing this. We're finding a cure by reversing his vaccine damage.

So. If we'd never used homeopathy, it's hard to say what he would have experienced thus far. Annette says it's safe to assume it would include some major stuff, including many more seizures. We thwarted a bunch of stuff, I know, by starting homeopathy when he was two.

You want to know what breaks my heart? When he got his first DTP shot at two months, he tried to tell me. Right from the start, he screamed and cried and thrashed around so much at shot time that it started to take three of us to hold him down while the doctor jabbed him. He knew. He knew it was bad for him, but I had no idea. After that first shot, his little thigh got rock-hard, swollen and red for days. Then we did it again at four months. And six months. And so on. See why I'm so hell-bent on listening to his body these days? The body knows. It's just when we listen to propaganda from the "professionals" that we get in trouble. Never again. Never.

So I asked Annette, "If someone else wants to detox their autistic kid through homeopathy, they're probably not going to be able to avoid seizures, are they?"

"Probably not."

But see, almost half of them have seizures anyway. Alex's didn't start until he was 15, but he probably would have started much sooner.

Always thinking ahead, I was trying to envision someone else going through this, even after all this is safely behind us, and they know of our success. It's taken us 15 years to get here--the last 10 or so with Annette, who is a Godsend. Gifted. I just don't know if people will be willing to do it. Had I known up front what I was getting into, I doubt I would have tackled it. I was on my knees screaming "uncle," with just a hint of a thought towards seizure meds. Knowing full well that that only makes things worse. I was blaming the homeopathy for not working, when in reality, it was working only too well. Annette warned me two years ago that he'd have to go through it, but I didn't believe it. I couldn't. I was convinced that each one was the last. Sort of.

Alex says it's over. On testing, his body says the same thing. His body says he will never have another seizure again. Ever. Of course, there's no proof of that. He could be going along swimmingly, then come across a random flu shot and, wham. But I haven't forgotten my message that he had to have seven seizures. I'm going to cling to that. I have to. Otherwise, I'll go nuts. I'm not going to stop testing him until he's cleaned up.

He still has three miasms, which are the weird, nasty little problems passed on to us via our parents. Two of them are vaccination ones, which is why he actually contracted autism in the first place, I think. Dan and I passed on these issues, which were passed on to us by our own parents. But we're getting him cleaned up. He had others, but I can't remember how many. Once we get him cleaned up, they're gone. He won't pass them on.

And that's why everyone's child doesn't get autism from their shots. Everyone has a different set of miasms. Even my own sisters' and brother's kids didn't get it, even though as siblings, we all basically have the same set of miasms. The problem started when I added Dan and his set of miasms to the mix. Apparently, my siblings' spouses didn't make a similar lethal combination.

Hey! That means I can blame Dan ...

So anyway, here's my plan. If this is all too much for someone to tackle with their own child, I understand. I was hoping for something that would help every one of those kids. And ultimately, it would. But there's a helluva price to pay, which I've been experiencing firsthand. So I understand. Perhaps my message is simply to educate parents on just how dangerous traditional vaccinations are. "Greening" them is not enough. Very, very few people know you can vaccinate homeopathically. Even our chiropractor, who refused to vaccinate his own child, didn't know it could be done homeopathically. He just felt the diseases were a safer risk than the vaccines.

We've simply got to stop letting doctors tell us they're safe. They're not. And it's quickly becoming an epidemic. Parents simply need to stop vaccinating traditionally and start vaccinating homeopathically. Before they make it illegal.

What do you want to bet John Travolta's son, Jett, was vaccine damaged? He had seizures all the time, apparently whether or not he was on depakote, and apparently, family and friends thought he suffered from autism. And now he's gone.

When will it be enough?

Define "proper" treatment ...

2009-01-07T08:13:00.000-08:00

A thought came to me out of nowhere about a week and a half ago. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that Alex was supposed to have seven seizures, and then no more. The biblical significance of the number seven was not lost on me. I even looked it up. It means spiritual perfection, and is used repeatedly in the bible. So, Alex had had exactly six seizures, and I certainly didn't want any more. I tried to reason that the one he thwarted in the restaurant right before his last one probably counted as his seventh. Yeah, that's it. I almost convinced myself it was true.

The next day Dan, Ave and I were working in the basement. Alex had just gotten out of the shower, and I could hear him wandering around upstairs. We're always exceedingly aware of his every movement, and we're usually in the next room at the very least. Suddenly, I heard a rhythmic pounding on the floor above.

"What's that?" I stopped cleaning and strained to hear better. "Alex, are you okay up there?" Nothing. I jumped up and ran to the bottom of the steps. "Alex, are you okay?" Nothing. I raced up the stairs knowing exactly what I heard. I found him on the kitchen floor on his side, mid-seizure. He was perfectly situated between the stove and the table, on the carpeting, having hit nothing. As usual, I started giving him his seizure remedy, but this time he didn't respond immediately like he has with the last few. When he came around, he was tired, and he slept for a couple of hours. Which is okay in the real world, but he's usually much more responsive than that with the homeopathy. He seemed okay later, but just slightly duller than usual. This went beyond his disappointment at having had a seizure right in the middle of snowmobile season. My first thought was brain damage.

Did I mention that a friend stopped over for a few hours on Christmas Eve for a nice little visit? About an hour into her visit we learned that she'd had a flu shot ...

Of course, upon testing, the flu shot was the trigger. Will this vaccination shit never end?

This time I was permanently damaged in a much deeper way than before. I completely know that God keeps him safe, but it still scares the shit out of me. Later, Alex remembered that he didn't feel that fuzzy feeling beforehand, but he'd just hung up the phone after trying to call a friend. He suddenly felt God told him to get on his hands and knees, which he did. Right between the table and stove. And that's why I hadn't heard him fall.

Again, why in the hell wasn't the remedy working, when it had worked so well before? I mean, I know we're finally at the very core of his original vaccine damage, but still. Why can't we control it? I was scared, and for the first time ever, I let my brain ponder exactly what would happen if I considered traditional seizure meds, knowing in my heart of hearts that they don't work, and often cause brain and liver damage. My first thought was, "Well, I could always try it, but concurrently give homeopathy to offset the bad parts." Then, in a thought just as forceful as the one that said he had to have seven seizures, it occurred to me to get him on a homeopathic seizure med. Homeopathic pharmaceuticals provide all the benefits of the drug, but absolutely none of the side effects. The reason we hadn't done this yet was because it's still best to stimulate the body to heal itself with the remedies it chooses rather than intervene with even a homeopathic pharmaceutical. But we can't take another hit. Period. So Annette tested him and he chose one homeopathic seizure med, and one alone. Dilantin.

So here's what we think happened. Alex has been taking his seizure remedy more often than his body prescribed, but Annette and I have been periodically testing him and making sure everything's okay. When he found out he'd been exposed to a vaccine, like my friend's flu shot, he'd take plenty of it. Which is good, in theory. His body was working very hard to heal itself, but sometimes, it's more than the body can handle. When he'd get exposed to someone's vaccination, he'd take extra remedy, and there you have it. His body couldn't keep up. When coupled with the fact that he's so close to being done with it all, it was just too much.

So. Since New Year's Eve, he's been taking his two remedies exactly as prescribed. No variations at all. I give it to him without exception. And he says he feels awesome. He swears it's the dilantin. He says he truly feels seizure-free for the first time, and he feels clearer than he ever has after a seizure. His seizure remedy should continue to heal his original vaccination damage, while his dilantin should prevent him from having another seizure in the process. Should.

Annette maintains that every seizure causes brain damage, even though doctors usually find otherwise. Maybe it's too subtle for them. In any case, Alex definitely showed some slowness for the first couple of days, and when Annette tested him, he definitely showed brain damage. However, he also showed that his seizure remedy would heal it. And it has. He's right back to the way he was, and even a little better. I've noticed an increase in his already-impressive vocabulary, and he's made some comments regarding feelings that go deeper than normal for him.

Fortunately, there's not enough snow for him to snowmobile right now, because we haven't figured that one out yet. That's like taking away the very air he breathes, and I just don't know how to do that. In the meantime, I hardly let him out of my sight. I keep checking on him in his bed, and I bird-dog him the rest of the time. He keeps saying, "Mom, I'm fine. You don't have to worry." And I keep trying to explain that my insides instantly gel whenever I hear a thump. Or he makes a sound. I'll never be the same. I longingly remember the days when all I had to worry about was autism.

And I say all of this with care, in light of John Travolta's son, Jett, having just died from a seizure. Horrible as it sounds, some people are blaming Scientology beliefs for Jett's death, speculating that John and Kelly didn't medicate him for seizures. That they somehow didn't care enough to treat him "properly." Just look at the pictures of John and Jett and tell me that guy didn't worship his son. Same as me.

What would they say about me? Would they say I wasn't treating Alex "properly?" Absolutely. Never mind that I've been diligently working for the past 15 years to undo the vaccination damage these bastards inflicted. Or that I've been diligently working for nearly three years to truly heal him of the damage that triggers seizures when he's exposed to other vaccinations. I'm not interested in just treating seizure symptoms. I want to eliminate them completely. And the only hope for that is homeopathy.

And yet. The vast majority of the world would accuse me of withholding "proper" treatment, and if they could punish me, they would. But I'm not going to hide what I'm doing. I'm doing this because the world needs to know there are alternatives that actually work. God is going to get us through this because He has much bigger plans for Alex and me. We are simply the guinea pigs. When we're done, no one is going to be able to shut us up. And then there will be hope for all the other vaccine damaged kids. Genuine hope.

Alex has now had seven seizures.

"It is finished," said the Lord.

I sure hope He meant us ...

A+ Performance

2008-12-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

Alex got his wish. He finally made it up north on a snowmobiling trip--although not all the way to the U.P.--before Christmas. Alex, Dan, Dan's brother and a friend of Dan's headed to Gaylord Thursday morning around 5:30. Alex called me around 9:30 to tell me they were there. He sounded so excited.

"There's awesome snow here, Mom!" That kid lives for snowmobiling.

Around 11:00 he called me again. "Mom, we're heading out on the trails, but I can't find the camera. I know I packed it." Sure enough, I found it hanging from one of the kitchen chairs. He was bummed, but it was only a two-day, one-night trip. He vowed to make sure he has it before he heads to the U.P.

I did all the animal chores by myself since Ave was in school. I talked to Alex a couple of times during the day, and he was having a ball. They ate lunch at some restaurant on the trail around 3:00. He kept me posted.

Ave and I did night chores, and we kept an eye on the snow storm coming our way later that night. Personally, I was hoping she'd have a snow day so I'd have barn help in the morning. Around 8:15 p.m., Dan called. About an hour earlier, they'd just headed out after a quick trail stop. Dave led the way, with Alex behind him, Dan behind Alex, and Bob brought up the rear. Dan said he was so happy watching Alex ride. He's such a good, safe driver, and he loves it as much as Dan does. Dan was just thinking about how happy he was to be able to ride with Alex, when all of a sudden Alex started veering to the left.

"What the hell is he doing?" Dan wondered. Suddenly, Alex's left ski clipped a small tree, which knocked him off his sled, where he landed face down in the middle of the trail. His sled kept going for a bit, crashing through some brush, before it stopped. I think Dan knew before Alex hit the ground. Seizure. He stopped his own sled and ran to Alex. It was dark, and he turned him over and struggled to get his full-face helmet off. His fingers didn't work right on the clasp, just as mine didn't when I tried to dial my phone the last time, or my dad's didn't as he tried to dial his phone. Nothing works right during a seizure. Dan finally got the helmet off, but it seemed to be over by that point. He worried that Alex had gotten hurt, though, when he scrubbed the tree because his legs weren't moving. Usually they thrash around. But he was okay.

Dan sat in the snow with Alex leaning against him, like I always do, until he came around. As his brain cleared, he looked at Dan.

"Why are you crying, Dad?"

"You had a seizure, son."

"I did? Oh, man, Dad. Not during snowmobile season." Dan said Alex was devastated, but he helped him stand up. Physically, he was fine. Last time he snapped back quicker than ever, and after this one, he said he felt even better. He said he could have hopped right back on his sled and hit the trails. Unfortunately, they were about 90 miles from the motel, in the middle of nowhere, and it was 8:00 at night. Dan didn't feel comfortable letting Alex drive again, for obvious reasons, so Dan drove Alex's sled, with Alex sitting behind him, and they towed the other sled about five miles to a nearby small town, and tried to figure out what the hell to do.

Dave thought Alex should just drive back, since he seemed fine, which I may have considered myself if I'd been there. After the seizure, the danger has generally passed. And since he feels fine, he likes to get on with his life. But they ended up paying some guy who owned the pizza shop $20 to leave Dan's sled there, and the four of them drove the three sleds 90 miles back to the motel. Needless to say, it was a miserable ride. They got turned around a time or two trying to find a shortcut, and they ran into way too many washboard trails that hadn't been groomed. Riding double on a snowmobile is miserable under the best of conditions unless it's a two-seater--which this wasn't.

They got back to the room at 1:30 a.m. Dan's friend, Bob, stayed back at the motel with Alex so he could get some sleep, and Dave and Dan had to immediately turn around and drive the truck and trailer back to load up Dan's sled and haul it back to the motel. They didn't get back until 4:00 a.m.

They all got up around 9:00, packed up, and headed for home.

Once again, God was watching out for Alex. Eight inches to the left and he'd have center punched that tree, which would have immediately stopped his sled (which Dan said was traveling at about 40-45 mph). The tree was small, but it still would have flung him against his windshield, at least. And, conveniently, the banks were high there, so he couldn't leave the trail. Dan said they'd just passed an area where the banks were low and he could have easily run off into the woods.

So now what? Most people think it's a no-brainer. Don't let him drive a snowmobile. Or ride his horse. Or live. He already told me a couple of seizures back, "Mom, a life without horses or snowmobiles is no life at all." Believe me when I say he lives for snowmobiling.

Alex said last night and again this morning, "Mom, it wasn't much of a seizure at all."

"How do you know? You don't witness it." He's basing it on how good he feels afterwards compared to how he used to feel. But part of me believes him for a couple of reasons. One, Dan said his legs weren't thrashing around, and it was even shorter than last time. Two, he hopped up, ready to roll. Like nothing happened. He'd been carrying his remedy in his jacket pocket and had been taking it, but apparently not enough. Dan started giving it to him as soon as he stripped off his helmet, and he was fine.

This is the second time he hasn't bitten the hell out of his tongue, which has got to be a good sign, and this time, his legs don't even hurt. They always hurt the next day.

So what caused it this time? Guess. Four hours in the truck cab with Bob. And his flu shot. What a shock, eh?

I can't foresee all this shit, but each time it happens, I learn something new. I don't make it a habit to grill people Alex spends time with about their medical practices. But I will now. At least until we get this cleared up once and for all.

Alex learned something very valuable this time, too. They stopped for breakfast at Big Boy on the way up. While he was eating, he said he started to feel "fuzzy." That's the only way he could describe it. So he took his remedy--twice. And he was fine. I've been asking him after every seizure if he ever notices anything beforehand, and he says, "Not really." Now he realizes that this fuzzy feeling precedes a seizure. He says he noticed it one other time a while ago, and he took his remedy right then, and he was fine.

I think what happened this time is that he thwarted a seizure in the restaurant, but then he got back in the truck and spent more time with Bob's flu shot. Up close and personal. He says he continued to take his remedy, but even he didn't realize the full extent yet of what he was dealing with. He would have had to take that remedy every five minutes and get the hell away from Bob to be completely safe. I'm sure the seizure was mild because he'd been taking the remedy all day--just not enough to completely avoid it. Who knows how bad it would have been otherwise?

So we ended up with about 8 inches of new snow after yesterday's storm. Guess what Alex did all day today? Rode his snowmobile. And kept stopping to take his remedy. We can't keep him in a bubble. He can have a seizure in the shower, or anywhere. I can't take snowmobiling away from him. I have to trust God to keep him safe until he gets through this healing crisis. We're obviously gaining ground. That's three seizures in just over two months, which sounds bad, but when you're dealing with homeopathy, everything always gets worse right before it gets better. Each seizure is shorter, and he's stronger than ever after each one. He keeps saying, "Mom, I feel like I've never had a seizure."

We don't do this lightly. Dan and I are not who we used to be. Alex makes the littlest sound, and we both whip around. If he drops something, we jump a mile, thinking he's having a seizure. He stretches and groans a little, and my heart leaps into my mouth. This seems to be a permanent state. The day before he headed north, I kept envisioning his face as he has a seizure. I should have known. I had a bad feeling about them going, but I didn't specifically think he was going to have a seizure. I just thought I was being a wimp about doing the horses myself now that Ave is in school. Usually I have her to help me when the boys are gone. But I was so rattled Thursday morning that I took Rescue Remedy four times, five minutes apart before I did the horses. I thought it was just that I don't really like handling them myself since Ozzy broke my elbow.

You can be damn sure I'll pay more attention to my feelings now. And I've talked to Alex about his fuzzy feeling. He thinks he may have noticed it a little bit right before the seizure, but he doesn't think he had time to process it. We've grilled him on it now. If he even suspects that he's getting that fuzzy feeling on the snowmobile, he now knows to immediately hit the kill switch. If that's all he has time for, at least his sled is stopped. And he knows to start taking his remedy immediately, and don't stop. Dan's going to get tethers for the snowmobiles that attach to the wrist. If Alex's hand leaves the throttle, the sled dies. We're doing everything we can to get him through this.

If I didn't see an improvement in the seizures themselves, I'd probably question what we're doing. But I do see an improvement. I think we're being diligent, and then I learn just how much more diligent we have to be. Alex, too. He says, "I'm just going to take the hell out of this remedy all winter." Case closed. He's not taking any chances. Not when there's this much snow on the ground. He's positively glowing today after all that riding.

So no more Bob on snowmobiling trips. He's one of those doctor lovers, anyway. He goes in constantly for tests and exploratory surgery and whatever strikes his fancy. I don't let Alex go to grocery stores in the winter, or anywhere I know they do flu shots, but it's that whole bubble thing again. I can't do that to him. I have to minimize his exposure until we get this shit out of his system, but he's got to live his life.

I'm doing everything in my power to get him healed from the damage wrought by his vaccinations, but that's all I can do. I'm a mere human. I can't keep my son from getting hurt. I have to trust God to do that.

So far, I give Him an A+.

Non-Stereotypical Success

2008-12-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

"So where did you say you went to school before you started here?" Avery's classmates keep forgetting that she was homeschooled her whole life. She stuck out like a sore thumb when she first started simply because she'd never been to school. But everyone seems to have forgotten that now.

"I was homeschooled, remember?"

"Really? Well, it's not like I can tell or anything. I mean, you're not weird, and you're not overly smart or anything."

I guess that's a compliment, right? That she's just like the rest of them, so they've forgotten her humble beginnings? Actually, though, she can be like them when necessary, but she's different in a lot of really cool ways.

She can definitely hold her own with the rest of them, that's for sure. The other day, a guy was quizzing her on who she's "going out with,"--which is the same as going steady, I guess. It doesn't mean they actually "go" anywhere. They just spend time together.

"You're going out with Nick, right?" the guy asked.

Two girls were listening, and one piped in, "Nick who?"

"Nick Black."

Both girls, in unison, said, "Eeeeewwwwww!"

"Thanks. That makes me feel great." Ave turned away. A minute later, one of the girls pointed to the "Twilight" movie keychain that Nick gave her, which dangles from her binder.

"Oh, that's so cool! I really like it. Where'd you get it?"

Ave looked at her a moment, then said, "Damage control?" The girl just stared at her, then went back to her friend. Perhaps she didn't get it, but I thought that was a great line on Ave's part. That's the side of her that can be just like them, so she fits in just fine. They're not going to push her around, that's for sure.

I've spent time with Nick, and he's definitely not "Eeeeewwwww!" He seems like a great kid. He loves to cook, and he fixes dinner for his family every night. He likes to listen to Christian music, among other types, and I know he watches Christian movies. Definitely not a bad kid.

Ave was talking about someone she knows who has a habit of going out with guys who use her. Of course, they're football players and good looking. Did I mention that Nick has red hair, glasses and braces? Anyway, the other day Ave said, "I mean, sure. Nick's not hot, but he's funny, he's sweet, and he cares about me." I think she's got the right idea.

Nick's in 7th grade; Ave's in 8th. When he first asked her out, her first thought was, "Jeez, I'll get so much grief from everyone when they find out." Later, she said, "Mom, I realized that if the only reason I didn't want to go out with Nick is because I'm worried about what my friends will think, well, that's pretty lame. So Nick and I are going out." Simple.

It's like she's got the best of both worlds. She's been homeschooled until now, so she's very different, but she also knows how to blend in. At lunch, she sits with about six or seven other girls. One is now her friend, Megan, who's friends with one of the cheerleaders who sits with them, and there's another cheerleader, and a few others. Ave likes her group, but she mostly likes Megan.

A friend of mine put her son in 8th grade this year after homeschooling him, and he's not been so fortunate. The group of guys he sits with at lunch has been picking on him. When Avery first ran into someone who knows this kid, they said they hated him. "He creeps me out!"

"Why?"

"Because he's too smart. He's weird."

Ah. Too smart. The kiss of death. She ran into more kids who disliked this kid, Eli, and it seemed universal. When she finally figured out who he was last week, she was perplexed. She says he's short, but he's actually cute, and doesn't look like a geek. So for the past few days she's been watching him at lunch. He sits at a table of bullies, who pick on him. Apparently, none of his friends have the same lunch, so he sits with these guys by default, and hates it.

I was talking to Eli's mom the other day, and told her Avery has figured out who her son is, so maybe she can go over and introduce herself to him. His mom said, "Oh, yeah. And maybe she can invite him to sit at her table. He'd love that."

"Sure," I said. "I'll mention it to her."

When I picked Ave up a few days ago, I asked her about it.

"Well ... I'm not sure. I mean, I know how kids feel about him, and I'd hate to lose my group of friends ..."

"Yeah, but put yourself in his shoes. What if you had no one to sit with but someone who pulls your hat down over your face, knocks your books on the floor, and steals your Oreos?"

"Hmmm. I'll have to think about it."

Yesterday, she said, "Well, I pointed Eli out to my friends today. I said, 'Guys, see that kid over there? He's getting pretty beat up by the guys he sits with. What do you think about asking him to sit with us?'"

They all turned around to see who she meant. One of the girls said, "Ewww! I hate that kid. No way!" Poor Eli. Of course, this was one of the cheerleaders. Megan said she wouldn't mind, but another girl said no way. And Megan's other friend didn't want him to. So Ave says, "Mom, it looks like if I invite him over to our table, everyone else would move." The rest was left unsaid.

Well. I'm going to let her decide how to handle it, because I'm not the one in middle school--thank God. So far, I think she's behaved admirably. She asked for their input first, and she's trying to do the right thing by everyone.

I saw Eli's mom this morning, and she said, "Hey, Eli says Avery hasn't introduced herself to him yet, so tell her he's waiting for her. He wants to be rescued."

I played dumb. "Yeah, I'll have to mention it to her again." I can never tell her about her son's reputation. How could I? I have one of those sons, too, and that's the biggest reason why he's never gone to school. I could never let anyone pick on Alex, and I know they would have been merciless with him.

Avery's different. She can hold her own, and she bites back when necessary. But she's also making friends, both male and female, with ease. She's getting great grades, but she's struggling a bit in math, which makes her pretty normal. Lots of kids assume she's in Honors, but they like hearing that she's not. Her teachers really like her, and her Computer Tech teacher keeps giving her screw-off-boys for partners because he knows she'll keep them in line. At parent-teacher conferences, all her teachers said she's very quiet except her English teacher, who said she's very outgoing. She said Ave did an awesome oral presentation on Martin Luther King, and she never hesitates to join in and speak up. To be fair, Ave loves English the best and is a natural, so I'm sure she's the most comfortable in that class.

"Have you ever had her IQ tested?" her English teacher asked. "Because she's very smart."

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to brag--just a little. I knew this was Ave's very favorite teacher, so I said, "Well, actually ..." I furtively looked over my shoulder. "I'm going to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone else."

Her eyes twinkled. "Okay!"

"Ave used to have Aspergers." And she'd kill me if she knew I told you.

She was shocked. Like she didn't believe me. She said she never would have guessed it, and says she's just a great student and a great kid. I explained how she taught herself to read at Borders at age six, and that I've never really been able to teach her anything because she's just so stubborn and independent, so she's essentially been unschooled her whole life. That she's done only minimal structured work.

"Well," she said, "you've done a great job with her." I tried to deflect the compliment, as usual, but I was secretly pleased.

She did struggle a little bit in Teen Survival on the sewing machine portion, and she got very frustrated one day and cried when she royally screwed up her seam. So her teacher quietly took her aside and fixed it, but she was truly perplexed at how such an excellent student struggled with the minor details of sewing. So I told her about the Aspergers as well, and mentioned that I think Ave has minor fine motor skill issues. But a couple of days later she'd sorted it all out, and she got a 95 out of 100 on her quilt.

I'm just happy that this kid was able to slide into 8th grade two-and-a-half weeks late, bring home a report card with four A+s and two Bs, make lots of friends, get asked to go out with about a half-dozen geeky boys and one very nice one, join Jr. Optimists, and just generally fit in all the way around--with no evidence of Aspergers. Sweet.

I hope poor Eli eventually finds his place, too, and I hope Ave has a hand in that. But if I've done my job right, she'll figure it out.

Pieces of the Whole

2008-12-02T07:38:00.000-08:00

It's weird what happens to families when both parents are gone. At least in this family, anyway. My dad died in January, and I just saw my sister, Bev, for the first time since The Funeral on Thanksgiving. We've had a couple of phone conversations, and e-mailed some, but no real contact.

The other day, Alex said, "I can't believe the only family member we've seen since Grandpa's funeral is Kate (my sister) and her family, and they live in North Carolina!" He was quite disgusted. When Bev called and left a message that she wanted to come over on Thanksgiving, Alex listened in the background--but didn't grab the phone--saying "Yes, Bev! Come over!" He was pretty excited about the prospect of seeing her again. Both kids were, actually.

I've e-mailed my brother a couple of times, and left a few voice mails, but no response. Alex has been dying to see him, but apparently no one's home. He also misses his cousin, Max, but Max's mom and I are on the outs, so they're apparently not home either. Max used to respond to Alex's text messages, but he even stopped doing that a while back.

So I've got two sisters and a brother less than an hour away, and a brother and a sister in North Carolina. And no parents to make sure we all get together at reasonable intervals.

We were down at Dan's parents when Bev got to our house, so she let herself in. Alex got antsy to see her, so he walked up through the field. Later, he said, "Mom, you have no idea how good it was to walk in and see Bev sitting in our kitchen!" He was thrilled. I was rather happy to see the ole girl myself. She only stayed a few hours, because that's the way she is, but still.

Alex finds her terribly amusing, and dubbed her "Bev Skelton" after she left. He loves Red Skelton. It was fun having her here, even though there was no Dad. Bev, Jason and I usually took Dad out to eat on holidays, while Dan took the kids to his mom's. It was me and the three orphans, and we had fun. One time Jason dubbed our holiday outings as meetings of "The Secret Fuckers" club, and my dad couldn't stop laughing about it. He brought it up every time we went out. He always kind of wanted to tell our waitress the name of our club, but we usually discouraged this. But you gotta love a dad you can say "fuck" in front of.

I'm not real big on family ties, but I do miss my family. They're the only ones I've got. Kate and I e-mail almost daily, and we read each other's blog religiously, so I always feel in sync with her. But I'm very out of sorts having virtually no contact with anyone else. But not enough to do anything about it, I guess. Sigh.

When Dad was still alive, we always got together either here or at Karen's house, obviously for his benefit, I guess. Since no one's making me do it, I guess I now let it slide. But my kids really miss these guys, and I guess I do too. Dan's family is nice, but they're like company. They're not mine.

A few years ago, 10 or 12 of us went to Cedar Point for a few days, and it was awesome. My kids had a chance to spend some concentrated time with my out-of-state family, and they realized how much cooler they are than Dan's family. Who are all very nice people, by the way. Just not cool. As we all headed back to the hotel after the day's festivities at Cedar Point, two or three of them argued in the elevator about who got the bathroom first based on how badly they needed to poop. I think that was when Avery realized just how much fun we all are. Anything goes in my family. Always has.

I guess, more than anything, I miss my mom and dad, and I miss the family we used to be when they were in charge. We'll never be that family again, and that makes me sad. It's all part of getting old, but I don't like it. Mom and Dad were definitely the glue. Without them, we're just so many broken pieces.

I'm not even sure what shape we used to be when we were all glued together anymore ...

Thanksgiving

2008-12-01T10:12:00.000-08:00

When I was 10 or 11, one of my favorite things to do with my neighborhood friends was ride bikes to the North End. It was an awesome little store a few blocks away where we bought candy bars for a nickel or a dime (depending on the size), a bag of chips cost a dime, and so did a can of pop. Patti and Debby and I did this at least two or three times a week during the slow, lazy summers.

I, of course, had no money, so before or after work, I'd approach my dad. "Dad, we're going to the North End today."

"You are, eh? I suppose you need some money." Then came the best part. He'd reach into his pocket and fish out his ever-present handful of change, which he held out before me. He never said anything. He just held it out for me to choose. My friends were always in awe, and I thought it was just the best thing in the world that he was my dad. Not wanting to appear greedy, I always took just a quarter. Why would I need more? A quarter bought me a bag of chips, a candy bar and a pop. Who could ask for more?

At the same age, I used to spend a week at a time with my cousins who lived an hour away. I usually did this at Christmastime and again during the summer. I always thought it an awesome privilege to stay there because these kids had way more freedom than I had. In the end, all that freedom didn't turn out so well for them, but I loved it at the time--in small doses. Before I headed for their house, my dad gave me spending money, which was usually $20. I'm sure that was a lot back then, and since it was strictly for shopping, I was very frugal. When I got home, if I had any left, I gave it back to him.

"Jeez, when I give that much to your brother, he spends it all and asks for more!" But he'd quietly pocket it.

My mom was more than generous with all of us over the years, often spending much more than she had on us and our kids. My dad didn't like it, but what could he do? Later, after my mom died, my dad suddenly had a little spending money, and he loved it. He said he'd always wanted to be able to help us out, but never could.

He was a little giddy about it, actually. Even though he had debt to pay off, he kept $500 in cash stashed in his desk drawer, and he kept thousands in the bank just because it made him feel safe. I know he helped out my brother a lot, and he just said he was glad he could. Some grumbled, but it was Dad's money.

Later, he started helping us out, too. First it was just pizza, or he'd tell me to go to the store and buy some food so I could fix us all dinner. I started to object, and he kept saying, "It's only money. Besides, your brother already owes me $4 million, so what's a little more?"

Then he started slipping Dan money when I wasn't around to get something for Alex. Or Avery. We'd be saving up for something, then Dad would slip Dan the money to get it behind my back, like Alex's Go-Ped, or his bike. But at least he called his bike his Christmas and birthday gift.

I haven't had to spend $50,000 to $70,000 a year on therapy for autism like a lot of parents, but I've bought my fair share of stuff to work with Alex on. The greatest expense, but the greatest reward so far, has been the horses. They're killing us, but they're tremendous therapy for Alex--and Avery, too. It's a miracle that Alex can ride a horse at all, and we've finally got the right horse for him--Louie. He absolutely loves that boy. And he loves his pony, Gabby. The other day, he said, "Mom, I loved Gab the moment I saw her. I knew she was mine." Gab used to be flat and non-expressive, but not anymore. She loves being in our family.

I can never get rid of these horses, no matter how expensive they are. How could I? Or Alex's rabbits? He lives for those animals. My dad knew that, and that's why he kept telling me it's only money. I knew he should be paying off his debt, and he was, but not very fast. He kept shoving money at us so we could get something we'd been saving for a little quicker. He helped us out with the arena fence, and before we brought our horses home, once in awhile he helped with board. He didn't advertise it to everyone else. "It's none of their business what I do with my money," he said. Later, after he died, the shit hit the fan when someone got pissy about it, but what could I do? He was right. It really wasn't any of their business if he wanted to do things for Alex, which is what it all amounted to.

I paid my dad back a little whenever we had extra cash, but mostly I paid him back with my time and attention. And so did my kids. They worshiped Grandpa, and I always made time for him, even when I was busy. Whenever I thanked him yet again for something he did for us, he always said, "Well, thanks for being here." He loved just hanging out here, mostly because my kids were so attentive. He said many times that the other grandkids had grown older and distant, and he didn't really get to spend any real time with them. He wasn't bitter or anything, because he understood, but it made him appreciate my kids' attentiveness that much more.

Trying to recover a kid from autism on your own is horribly expensive, no matter what you use. Homeschooling requires even more resources because they're not getting it anywhere else. When my kids were younger, and I had more hands-on stuff laying around, my dad once said, "All this stuff you have here for him--that's the reason he's come so far." I'd never really looked at it that way, but it made me feel infinitely better for having spent the money.

I'd always felt guilty for buying so much--being my mother's daughter--but when I looked at it objectively, Dad was right. These were all educational things. Books spilled over everywhere. None of it was for me; it was all for the kids. Everything. Hell, even now I don't replace my clothes until they're too ripped even for the barn. I was once wearing my favorite sweatshirt, and my dad said, with a grin, "Jeez, I've thrown out better shirts than that!"

So, yeah, the economy sucks, and our only guaranteed source of income right now is Dan's GM pension, which is rather scary these days. He does tons of tractor repairs, and he busts his ass in the garden to sell his produce, which is wonderful--in the summer. I was doing resumes while the going was good, but they're not there anymore. Not now.

I recently learned that a family of four living on Dan's pension qualifies for food stamps.

We're not really in horrible shape. Okay, maybe we are. But really, we just need more money coming in. And while I'm perfectly willing to work, I do have limitations. Alex is still homeschooled, and he does still have this pesky seizure problem, so he needs to be watched. I really need to find a way to work from home, because I'm also still very much needed at 2:00 when I pick Ave up from school, and she has tons of homework. These are not things Dan can do. That's my job.

Besides, Dan's dad is in his 80s now, and they've got a lot of work to do around their place, so Dan spends a lot of time helping them, too. They're slowing down, so they need help. But they help him immeasurably in the garden, so it all works out.

But you know what? My dad was right. It's only money. He helped us out financially, and never batted an eye, but what I really miss is everything else he did for us--especially Alex. Every time he came over, he offered himself to that kid just like he used to hold out his pocketful of change to me. He just knew what Alex needed, and he was happy to give it to him. He had a soft spot in his heart for Alex because he knew how much he struggled, and how much I struggled as a result. We were in cahoots on that boy, I tell you!

So here we are. We miss Grandpa terribly. He wound himself so tightly into our lives that we're still trying to unravel it all and see what's left. There are still hard feelings in the family because not everyone understood his relationship with us. Thankfully, most do.

Sadly, I think jealousy is a factor, but it shouldn't be. If someone is jealous of the hand I've been dealt, well, that's just silly. It may have looked like my dad favored us, but he didn't. He loved us all the same, but he felt compelled to help out where he was needed the most. It's exactly why he did Hospice for so many years. They needed him. And so did we. We needed so much more than the financial assistance he offered. We needed Grandpa. I needed Dad.

I can never explain how it feels to have a child with special needs to someone who has regular kids. But how must that feel as a grandparent? To watch not only your daughter struggle, but your grandson as well? And then your granddaughter? And be unable to make it go away? So he did what he did best. He made himself 100% available to us, in any way, shape or form we needed. And we did need him. We so needed him. He filled a role that absolutely no one else can ever hope to fill. Damnit.

But we're still here, and I'm still carrying on what my dad and I started with this boy. We're broke, but what's new? Who's not these days? Someday I'll figure out how to make money from home so I can keep on keeping on with Alex until he can live independently. That's always been my goal.

I just wish everyone understood that even though I could have taken the whole handful and he simply wouldn't have cared, I only took a quarter. Which is exactly why he continued to offer me everything he had. He knew.

You rock, Dad ...

Jenny McCarthy, where are you?

2008-11-21T06:40:00.000-08:00

What a complete and total shock. This latest seizure is again vaccine-related. However, it's really sort of good news this time. Instead of it being caused by some random exposure to vaccinated animals, or someone's flu shot, this time the catalyst was the shots Alex received himself years ago. Bet you're wondering how.

His vaccinations damaged him, causing the autism in the first place, and the most likely culprits were the diphtheria and tetanus shots (part of the famed DTP shots) he received at two months, four months, six months, eight months and five years. With Alex, the damage didn't come from the MMR shots most kids receive at 18 months. Those are the kids who develop normally, then regress markedly after the MMR. Alex's assault started at two months with his DTP shots, which is why his symptoms appeared so early.

So anyway, after being strong-armed into getting "school" shots when he was five, as I was considering putting him in pre-school for a couple of hours a day, Alex definitely showed regression. I'd been using homeopathy since he was two, so the regression was quite noticeable. We worked through it, however, with more homeopathy. I still didn't reclaim my brain completely, though, and I had both kids vaccinated for chicken pox when Alex was six and Avery was two. This time, I saw regression in both kids, and that's the last damn time I vaccinated for anything.

So we've clearly established Alex's inability to tolerate vaccinations. And for the record, it's not simply the mercury or some other additive in these shots. I keep trying to let people know it's the vaccines themselves doing it. There's no such thing as "greening our vaccines," which is what Jenny McCarthy is trying to do. It's a very noble idea, but no matter how "pure" the vaccines are made, they're still vaccines, which is a loaded gun. Anyway, because of Alex's violent reaction to his childhood vaccines (his autism), he has continued to have setbacks when exposed to others' vaccinations. This started coming to a head in the summer of 2006, when he had his first seizure.

His seizures meant we were getting closer to the core of the whole problem, when the original damage was done. Never mind that I started homeopathy when he was two, and his first seizure occurred at 15. It's not an overnight cure, but it most definitely is a cure--and a thorough one.

He had one seizure in 2006, and two in 2007, all attributable to animal vaccinations (horses), and we continued homeopathic treatment to stimulate his body to heal itself and be done with it once and for all. So a month ago, he has another seizure, after nearly 16 months without, which really sucks, but again was triggered by the feline leukemia vaccination in the big cats at the animal sanctuary we visited. Again we tweak his homeopathic remedy, which he's been taking diligently for the past month.

Then he has another seizure two days ago, which really sucks. I racked my brain, but I couldn't come up with any logical animal vaccine-related exposure on his part. That's what I was waiting to find out at Annette's yesterday.

Here's what we found on testing. At first, his body wouldn't give any real clear answer to the trigger, but said it was not animal vaccine-related--only that it was human vaccine-related, but no specifics. So we tested further, and his body said it was his own vaccinations that caused this latest seizure. Which is awesome, because that means that we're finally getting to the very core of the whole damn thing. The original damage (his own vaccinations) is all related and connected to all of his setbacks, seizures, etc. that comes from further exposure to other vaccinations. Once we finally clear up the core matter, the rest of it disappears. For good. And we're right there, damnit. In fact, Alex himself is convinced that it's over. I'd certainly like to believe that, but I'm still a tad gun-shy.

So. If it's not all over, it will be soon. I know it all sounds crazy, and most people would certainly be looking into seizure medication at this point, but I think you can understand my hesitation to trust those bastards. They're still lying about it because it's eventually going to cost them big bucks, and they're stalling to avoid the inevitable.

Think about it. First of all, I have an overwhelming sense of God's taking care of us in this whole matter. Alex has had five seizures, and he's never gotten hurt, other than biting the hell out of his tongue. With his first one, he fell directly beneath Avery's horse, and the horse simply stepped over him and continued eating his hay. Twice he was sitting down. A month ago, he crashed through a door, landed on cement face down, and never got hurt. And this time, he was lying on the soft living room carpeting. I think God is watching over us until we get through this whole detox crisis that we're forced to go through as we reverse the damage.

It's not for the faint-hearted, that's for sure. I can certainly see why not a lot of people try this. If you had told me that I'd still be doing this 15 years after I started, I probably wouldn't have done it. But I don't think it's my choice at all. For some reason, God is pushing both Annette and I in all this. He's watching over every step we make, and then who knows what's next? It won't stop with Alex, I know for sure.

Jenny McCarthy is making such a stink right now with vaccines, and I can't help but think this is an even deeper level that she needs to know about. Greening the vaccines is not the answer. Stopping the vaccines is. Then you vaccinate with homeopathy instead. And you get pure, unadulterated protection. And no autism, seizures, or death.

Annette has a client who recently called because the hospital just informed her she cannot take her preemie baby home until she vaccinates for RSV, that infant virus they're always so worried about. Think about that. How dare they! That's just plain scary. Annette made a homeopathic RSV vaccination, and put every official-looking label she could think of on it, and the mom came and got it, but she hasn't heard how it turned out.

This vaccination shit is getting out of hand. Autism is skyrocketing, many of these kids have seizures, and many have died from vaccinations. When will it be enough? How long will we accept this unacceptable collateral damage?

Rich bullies. That's all they are.

I think the tides are going to turn soon. Jenny McCarthy is the catalyst to gain attention, but surely I can't be the only one experiencing this kind of situation with seizures, autism and homeopathy. These are the folks who need to start screaming next. Loudly.

Where are you, Jenny? I've got a great new chapter for your next book.

Did I mention that Jenny's 6-year-old son, Evan, although recovered from autism, still has seizures?

Jenny, let's do lunch.

Not Pretty ...

2008-11-20T06:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Alex and I were laying on the living room floor doing some math story problem cards. He had paper, pencil and calculator in front of him, and I was picking cards and handing them to him to work out in whatever way made sense. On about the sixth card, he was just starting to write some names down in order to figure out the problem. He wrote "Marcus." Beneath that, he started to write "Heidi." He wrote "H-E..." then stopped, pencil paused. He turned his head ever so slightly to the left. I was sitting alongside him, as he lay on his belly, so I couldn't see his face. I thought he forgot how to spell "Heidi," so I prompted him. He still didn't finish writing it, though. He just slowly turned his head a little more to the left, pencil still paused in the middle of Heidi.

"What are you doing, Bud?" I leaned forward and put my hands on either side of his face, but I knew. Seizure. Shit.

I silently thanked God that he was already lying down, on carpeting, as I again cradled his head only a month after his last seizure. He immediately turned that ghastly shade of blue, including his lips, as he struggled. Dan was at his mom's working on a tractor. I called him, then quickly ran to the kitchen for Alex's latest homeopathic remedy, wondering why in the hell it wasn't working, damnit! I did my best to drip some in his mouth, but he wasn't swallowing. Still.

Dan burst into the kitchen, crying, being his usual out-of-control self when I need him to be strong. "Oh, God! I can't take this! We've got to get more help than we're getting!"

"Knock it off! Don't make it worse!"

The seizure seemed shorter this time--maybe 30 to 45 seconds--then Alex immediately fell asleep and started snoring loudly. That's what he was doing when Dan got here. Then he woke up and spasmed a little, but not bad. It was like a mini seizure after the first one. He started pushing himself up on his arms, but I wanted him to stay still. He looked at me with the same confusion I always see in his eyes as he starts to come around.

"It's okay, Bud. It's okay." I hit him with his remedy a couple more times.

"Let him sit up."

We sort of rolled this great big guy over, and I leaned him against my chest so he could sit up. Dan's mom came up to see if she could help. The crisis seemed to have passed, and Alex started to answer my usual questions about who we are, what the weather is like and such. I don't know why I feel compelled to do that. I guess I just need to know he's still Alex, because his seizures are so damn scary and they make me feel like he's not Alex anymore--like he's not even mine. I can't even explain what it does to me, other than to say it's absolutely the worst thing I've ever witnessed, other than death.

One time, a year and a half ago, my dad was bringing Alex up to one of Avery's horse shows, where the three of us were. As soon as my dad pulled onto the show grounds, Alex started having a seizure. At first, my dad didn't know what the hell it was, because Alex sort of pulled his head away, towards the window. My poor dad pulled over and fumbled for the longest time trying to dial my cell phone. He finally got me, and I told him to fish Alex's remedy out of his jeans pocket and start giving it to him. Alex doesn't go anywhere without it, so I knew it'd be there. By the time we got to my dad's car, Alex was already coming around, but my poor dad was so shook up I thought he was going to cry. He told me later that he's never been so scared in his life. He couldn't get that image out of his mind after that. Neither can I.

So anyway, Alex seemed more alert more quickly yesterday, probably because he now has a stroke recovery remedy and some new brain stuff in his remedy. He wanted to lay in our bed again, and I laid next to him, just needing to be near him and so I could watch him. But he didn't really want to rest. He propped his head on his hand and wanted to chat.

"Mom, we've got to get this taken care of. It's too close to snowmobile season."

"I know. We're working on it, Bud."

"And I've got to get my driver's license."

"I know. But not right now."

"Mom, I want to get married."

Oh, man. "I know. You will."

"But what if this affects that?"

"It won't. Don't worry. We'll get this taken care of."

He had the seizure at noon, and by 1:45 when I had to pick Avery up from school, he was ready to rest. Dan, in the meantime, had not spoken. He sat silently in a chair. Weird. And weird that we don't speak. For some reason, we can't.

Did you know that the divorce rate among parents with autistic kids is 80%? Small wonder.

All afternoon I bounced between helping Avery with mountains of homework, and Alex still laying in my bed. Grandma came back with a couple of pizzas, which Grandpa told her to go get for him. He ate one piece, but wasn't hungry. He insisted on taking a shower, which always terrifies me after a seizure, but I have to let him. Afterwards, I popped "Flicka" into my laptop on my desk so Alex could watch a movie from our bed.

And Dan still sat silently, not speaking to any of us.

We've got an appointment with the homeopath this afternoon, thank God. But I know the dynamics with Dan. He blames me. He always has. It's because I won't do conventional medicine. Not that it would do any good. The 13-year-old girl right next door and the twenty-something guy on the other side both have had seizures for years, and both are on seizure medication. They never go for long without one, and when they do have one, they just up the dose, altering the person inside in the process. No way. Never. If Alex went on seizure medication, he'd never be able to ride his horse, or drive his snowmobile, or drive a car. Besides, he's even more radically opposed to it than I am, and I trust his body to know what he needs.

Today we'll find out what caused it. I'm sure somewhere along the line he was exposed to more vaccinations. I can't seal him in the house. I'm disturbed that his remedy didn't seem to do the trick, but like I've said before, the world constantly changes, which changes his issues.

On the plus side, the seizure was shorter, and he snapped back more quickly. Also, this is the first time out of five seizures that he did not bite the hell out of his tongue, bruising it and making it bleed. He suffers for a week after that. Perhaps this time it wasn't as severe.

"Mom, you know how things sometimes get worse before they get better with homeopathy?"

"Yeah, I do. That's what I was thinking." Hoping. Praying.

We can't stop now. I know in my bones this is the right thing to do, and I know just as strongly that I can't medicate him.

I haven't really shed too many tears over Alex's whole situation over the years. Just once in awhile when I don't think I can go on, and then I'm loaded for bear the next day. But after reading Jenny McCarthy's new book, "Mother Warriors," and checking out some video footage on her website, www.generationrescue.org, I cry a lot, but for the other kids and their moms. I've sort of holed up with my son, with a goal to heal him. I haven't really followed closely what's going on in the world of autism. But Jenny McCarthy has blown the lid off the vaccination connection, and it's pissing people off. But not the moms. We're in tears over the fact that someone who is in a position to get on Oprah and Larry King and Barbara Walters is doing it, and she won't shut up.

Did you know babies receive 36 shots now in the first couple of years? Thirty-six! Moms have been screaming for years that it's causing autism and seizures and even death, and those idiots keep saying they've studied it, and there's no connection. Of course not. They even have a term for it. Collateral damage. They put the blanket of vaccinations out there to "protect" our children, and those kids whose systems can't handle it, well they're an acceptable level of collateral damage.

Screw them! My son's autism and seizures are not acceptable. Period.

Jenny's on the right track, but she wants them to green our vaccines. Make them safer. I say don't vaccinate. Period. Vaccinate with homeopathy instead. Jenny's 6-year-old son, Evan, is recovered from autism, but he still has seizures. What do you want to bet it's vaccine-related? I need to talk to Jenny.

But right now, I need to get this seizure/vaccination issue resolved once and for all.

Dan and I haven't spoken yet today, and it's 10:30. We cleaned the barn in total silence this morning.

For years, Alex and I have left messages for each other on the shower wall with spongy letters. It started as a way to get him to practice spelling, but now we do it for sport. After I dropped Ave off at school this morning, I stepped into the bathroom to straighten towels. I saw Alex's message from yesterday. "I HATE SEIZURES."

Me, too, son. I hate them so much that I'll do everything in my power to finish what I started when you were two. We will blow the rest of this autism out of your system, including your seizures. I'm just plain pissed now. This is bullshit, and when these idiots keep saying their vaccinations are perfectly safe, it makes me angry enough to hurt them--slowly and methodically.

I think that counts as acceptable collateral damage, don't you?

Vaccinations suck

2008-10-29T13:06:00.000-07:00

Feline leukemia vaccination. That's what did it. Why am I not surprised?

Turns out it wasn't a lion issue at all. And I'm glad about that. The fact that it's still vaccinations causing Alex's seizures simply means that it's more of the same, which eliminates my fear of the unknown. He stopped taking his remedy after nearly 16 months, we head to an animal sanctuary rife with big cats--at least some of whom were obviously freshly vaccinated for feline leukemia--and bam. Seizure. What were we thinking?

"Mom, I never should have stopped taking that darn remedy!" He's beating himself up over that fact, but what is, is. Eventually, he's not going to need it. Obviously, that time has not yet come.

To be honest, I encouraged him to slack off on the remedy. Things had been going rather splendidly, so I didn't think we were that far off base. If I had to do it over again, however, I would have had him continue with the remedy, go visit the sanctuary, then head to the homeopath the next day to have him tested. Then we could tell whether he'd encountered any problematic vaccinations. Duh.

The good news is that upon testing, his body says he's not always going to have these issues. Eventually, we'll get this thing under control. His body said that 16 months ago, but then we went ahead and bombarded him with what was probably a cornucopia of vaccinations. Alas, the world is not static. It's an ever-changing environment, and there's simply no accounting for the new things we will encounter.

He wants to be tested again in two months, which is rather unusual. That tells me his body is serious about getting this cleared up. Usually, he wants to go six months to a year.

Interestingly enough, in addition to the feline leukemia vaccination remedy his body chose, he also wanted a stroke recovery remedy, for obvious reasons. He's got some recovering to do after that seizure, which appears to have been a rather serious one, based on how much longer it took him to regain his wits and memory. He chose some brain stuff, and some anxiety stuff, which is no surprise. He's been very anxious about the fact that he simply will not stand for any more seizures, which may limit his ability to ride his horse or drive his snowmobile. And he's suddenly starting to get antsy about driving a car. Guess he figures he's got places to go.

After we got his seizure issues cleaned up, I mentioned something about his learning disabilities.

"They're pretty severe," I told Annette. "I don't think I'm really dealing with autism much at all anymore. I think it's mostly his learning disabilities. And I think they're a separate entity."

She checked, and his body definitely chose some learning disability remedies. Things for anxiety, focus, ability to retain information--that kind of thing.

"Hey, Alex had a very traumatic birth." I explained that even though I only labored for four hours, he was posterior, and he was in distress when I couldn't push him out. I think the fetal monitor suddenly plummeted or something, because before I even knew what happened, they sucked him out with a vacuum. No warning. Just a sickening whoosh and then a chilly emptiness inside. That was definitely not how it was supposed to end. Anyway, he wouldn't cry, and they were starting to sweat it. I could tell by the one nurse who kept shooting nervous glances at Dan and me as they worked on him. Somehow, though, I wasn't worried. Suddenly, he did cry, and the crisis seemed to be over, even though his APGAR scores were four and five, which I knew was not good. The whole thing bothered me, but since things seemed to be okay after that, I put it behind me.

"Can you check to see if that damn vacuum caused his learning disabilities?" Annette tested.

"Oh, yeah! Did you see that? I just asked if it was THE cause, not just A cause, and look at this! His body is saying absolutely 100% yes!"

Shit. I knew it. I wonder if they still use vacuum extraction. I wonder if they've ever conducted a study to see how many kids with learning disabilities were vacuumed at birth. I'll bet a lot.

Sigh.

So.

Alex developed some pretty severe learning disabilities from being vacuumed, he developed autism from his childhood immunizations, and at age 15, he started having seizures when exposed to concentrated doses of vaccinated animals.

And some people wonder why I have no faith in the medical profession! Would you, after all that? I have been busting my ass for 17 years trying to clean this kid up from the damage that's been wrought by the medical profession.

Yeah, I know. If vaccinations were that bad, how come every child doesn't have autism, or the resultant seizures, right? Simple. Because every child is not as susceptible to the complications. It depends on the mom, and the vaccinations she had, and lots of other environmental factors. Genetic propensity and all that.

So. Alex is still going to run his own animal sanctuary some day. But see, he'll vaccinate his animals with homeopathy. By then, I'm sure his vaccination issues will be cleared up anyway, so it won't really matter. He's going to be exposed to vaccinations his whole life. He can't hide. That's not the answer. So we're taking care of it. The best way we know how. Without any interference from the medical profession.

They've done enough already.

Train Wreck

2008-10-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

Cinnamon

Once again, I'm an emotional train wreck, and I'm not even sure if there are any survivors. This particular locomotive was engineered by an autistic kid and one of his beloved bunnies, Cinnamon.

About a week and a half ago, the day Alex and I went to visit this really awesome animal sanctuary, he noticed that Cinnamon suddenly looked thin. Long story short, I calculated that she was six years old, which is apparently getting old for a bunny. Her eyes started to look a bit funny, too. So we kept an eye on her, but after being forced to have the last bunny put down, which was brutal, I didn't want to go through that again. I always have them tested homeopathically and intervene that way, but bunnies are finicky. We've managed to buy a little time on one or two of them, but they usually die anyway. And bunnies go very quickly. They're fine one day, and dead the next.

Anyway, after a couple of days, we noticed Cinnamon wasn't eating or drinking much, and there was very little manure in her cage, but she seemed comfortable. She'd eagerly come to me for carrots. So I gave her some Rescue Remedy and waited. But she didn't die. She started getting painfully thin, so I started giving her baby food from a syringe a few days ago, and I asked my homeopath to test her. It showed up as a botulism issue, which we've encountered once before, and we lost that bunny very quickly. Who knows where it comes from? It's usually your food source, but all 13 bunnies eat the same food. Weird.

So we started Cinnamon on her botulism remedy, even though by now I figured she was too far gone to come back. Her bones were showing. But she still seemed comfortable, and she moved around fine. But while I was watching her last week, I suddenly realized she was blind, and eye issues are definitely a symptom of botulism. Even so, she was always happy to hear me every time I went in the bunny cage with food, so I was giving her baby food about every hour. I just wanted to keep her comfortable until the end without having to resort to putting her down, and she was also getting homeopathy to help ease her transition.

Tuesday, two days ago, Alex and I headed out to give her some more applesauce. He held the container for me while I fed her. She ate the first round, so I reloaded and was just starting to give her the second round when I heard a big crash. I pulled my head and arms from the cage and looked behind me. Alex had fallen backwards into the door, blew it open, fell down the step, and crashed onto the cement, where he lay writhing in a grand mal seizure. I felt sick as I slammed Cinnamon's cage shut and leaped out the door. Not again.

He lay on his stomach, with his head turned to the side, so I slid my arm under his head to keep him safe. But his arms were trapped beneath him, and his leg was under the open door, where it bounced repeatedly off the metal edge. I couldn't move the door either way.

"You're okay, Bud. You're okay." I kissed him and held him and felt sick. His lips were blue, and his contorted face terrified me. I called in the big guns again. "Jesus, heal this child." I held him and prayed and soothed him while I fumbled for my cell phone in my pocket. I needed his homeopathic remedy, which was in the house, but there was no one else home. No point calling Dan. I needed help, and he was running errands. And he's a basket case in emergencies anyway. I tried three times before I successfully dialed my mother-in-law's number. She lives just through the field. Thank God she had just gotten home. She drove up through the field and slammed on the brakes right by the bunny house. But that time, Alex was starting to come out of it. I had rolled him to his side, then lifted him and leaned his back against me, where I held him. His color was horrible, and I was terrified. Witnessing your child having a seizure is absolutely horrifying.

Grandma jumped out looking panic-stricken. "Can you go grab his remedy on the counter? Or do you want to hold him while I go get it?"

"No, I'll get it." She ran and grabbed it, and I started dripping it into his mouth every minute or so. He was coming around. He knew who we were, and where he was. We helped him to his feet and into the house, where he sat on the couch. Slowly, his color improved, and he answered questions appropriately. I kept hitting him with his remedy, and as he got more coherent, he looked extremely worried. Finally, he fessed up.

"Don't call 9-1-1."

"Don't worry. I won't."

"Oh. You won't?"

"No. It's been over a half-hour, Dude. You're fine."

He was hugely relieved. "Good. I definitely don't want to go to the hospital. And I definitely don't want to go on seizure medication." He reached out for me. "They can never know this is my fourth seizure, Mom. Don't tell anyone."

"Don't worry. No one can do anything about it."

"They can't?"

"No."

He visibly relaxed. I wiped applesauce from his hair and watched him as I pondered this new development. I knew what had happened. Animals, their issues and their vaccinations have caused his three prior seizures. Our trip to the animal sanctuary had been a week earlier. Obviously, he'd been exposed to something there. So as he recovered, and we talked it over, I muscle tested him. That's where you use the body to get "yes" and "no" answers. I specifically asked if it was vaccine-related. No. Definitely animal-related. A specific animal? Yes. This place had tigers, lions, mountain lions, leopards, bears--you name it. It was absolutely awesome, and Alex knew without a doubt he was going to someday start his own animal sanctuary, which will include big cats, a long-time favorite of his. So I ran through the list of animals to see if I could pinpoint the culprit. His body said it was one of the two male lions, and definitely not vaccine-related. He says it's the lion itself.

The strange thing is that Alex has been taking his remedy daily for almost 15 months now, since his last seizure. Even though his body said he no longer needed it, we tested him, and it said it was okay for him to keep taking it when he thinks he needs it. He insisted on it. But after spending time at horse shows this summer, and the fair, and having no issues, we started to think he was okay. So about two weeks ago, without much fanfare, he stopped taking it.

"I shouldn't have stopped, Mom. I should have at least taken it before and after going to the sanctuary." Yeah, my thoughts exactly. But when I muscle tested, his body said it wouldn't have mattered if he'd still been taking it. He would have still had the seizure because he encountered something new in the lion. Which tells me how serious it is to stay up on this. Your body takes care of an issue at the time, but it's an ever-changing world out there.

We have an appointment with the homeopath, and we'll find out then how accurate my muscle testing is when he gets tested via computer. I'm grateful that it wasn't just a random seizure with no explanation. There's a very definite connection to the animals, and that's a good thing.

Alex is bummed though, because just the day before, he finally decided he was ready to ride Louie again on his own without his trainer here. He rode him Monday evening, and they did awesome. He was so proud of himself, and so happy with Louie's performance. He'd finally arrived at the point he'd been working towards all spring and summer. And now this. I don't feel comfortable letting him get back in the saddle until he's been tested.

"And what about snowmobiling, Mom? This can't interfere with riding Louie and my snowmobiles. It can't!" Eventually, he wants to get his driver's license, but right now, that's not a huge priority. Besides, with this last seizure, we have to wait another year anyway. But he and Dan stashed money away from sweet corn sales so they can get a few snowmobile trips to the Upper Peninsula this winter. He's been so excited about that.

Seizures suck. But we're going to get to the bottom of it. It's the most horrifying thing to witness, and the helplessness of it all frustrates the hell out of me. But really, it's just more of the same. Just more work for me until we get him where he needs to be. Because we will get there. I know that.

So Alex and I chatted while he rested in Dan's and my bed that afternoon. I kept going out to check on Cinnamon and feed her, and I gave him updates. He got up and insisted on taking a shower, then fixed himself some macaroni and cheese. He topped it off with a handful of Sour Patch Kids, his favorite candy, then fell asleep on our bed. I lay next to him and watched him sleep--this man/boy--and it wasn't so very different from when he used to lay in our bed when he was sick, and I felt compelled to monitor his every breath. He rested with his hand near his face, and I studied this very large version of his baby hand. I noticed one tiny grain of sugar stuck between his fingers--a remnant from his Sour Patch Kids, and my heart just puddled.

I had to do his chores that night, and I hated it. I have to double-check everything so I don't forget something because I'm so used to relying on him. He takes perfect care of the place, and he turns everything off and locks up since he's the last one to bed. I hate it when he's down and out.

The next morning, yesterday, he was fine, even though he was very bummed. Join the crowd. Cinnamon was still hanging in there, so I fed her before Alex got up. At 10:00 a.m., he came in and said she'd eaten some hay. That sounded promising, so I went out with more applesauce. But when we got out there, she was lying flat on her side, with her head down. When I reached in to touch her, she didn't really respond. I set her food down.

"This is not good, Mom."

"No, it's not. I don't think it'll be long now." She looked so forlorn lying there that I couldn't just leave her. "I'm going to go grab a towel to wrap her up in, and I'm going to take her out and hold her."

"I wouldn't do that, Mom. She'll die in your arms. Remember when that happened with Nutmeg? That'll be too sad for you." He looked distraught.

"Yeah, but this isn't about what's good for us, honey. It's about what's best for the bunny. Do you want to just leave her there to die on her own?"

"No."

"Me neither. It's not right." I ran and got a towel, and came back. Gently, I picked her up and nestled her into the towel, and tucked it gently around her. Immediately she snuggled into my neck, burrowing her head against my skin. I settled myself into the recliner in the bunny house and told Alex I'd call him when it was over. I figured maybe an hour.

I rocked her and snuggled her and hummed the lullaby song to her. I told her all about the place she was going, and I told her to just let go. She'd earned it. Truly, she did not seem to be distressed. She just snuggled against me, breathing evenly. After an hour, I figured it wouldn't be long. After two hours, I started to wonder. I wrapped her tighter in the towel, and went and sat on my patio swing with her. Alex came out, and agreed to hold her so I could pee. At first he was leery, but I told him that she just lays there like a sweet little baby, so he agreed.

"It's just something we can do for her, sweetie. We owe it to her."

"Yeah, it's okay, Mom. She's like a baby."

Two o'clock came, and I had to go pick Ave up from school. So Alex held Cinnamon for me while I went and got her. Five o'clock came and I had to take Ave to Catechism, so Alex went, too, and we took Cinnamon along. He held her while I drove. Then I held her in the van so he could eat his McDonald's while we waited for Ave. Afterwards, we drove home, and I took Cinnamon in the house and held her in my chair. All three cats paid no attention to her.

First Dan went to bed, then Ave. Alex held Cinnamon so I could put my jammies on, then he put a movie in and turned the lights out. I was a wreck. This bunny wasn't supposed to still be here. I was wiped out from the seizure, and now this. But I felt like I had no choice. I had no idea it would take this long when I pulled her from her cage that morning, but I certainly couldn't put her back now. I was exhausted.

"Why don't you put her in a box by your bed, Mom?"

"What if the cats get her?"

"Oh, yeah."

The movie ended at 11:00, and Alex headed to bed. He was calling it an early night because of the previous day's seizure. I lay in my chair, holding his bunny, praying for it to be over. I couldn't take this much sadness at one time.

Once I thought she finally stopped breathing and I burst into tears. But she moved again. I kept one hand on her neck, and whenever she moved slightly, I stroked her and she immediately relaxed. Truly, I know the homeopathy was working on her, because she stayed quiet and calm throughout.

Finally, just before 12:30 a.m., she pushed her head under my chin, and for about 30 seconds she breathed differently. Not labored--just different. I had one hand on her chest, and one on the back of her head. She swallowed a few times, and I felt the life go out of her. Her ears tipped over, and she relaxed as I realized I could no longer feel her heartbeat against my hand. It was blessedly over.

And I sobbed. I held her and cried over this bunny, and the last bunny, and Alex's latest seizure, and his autism, and his learning disabilities, and the fact that it was his first seizure since my dad died, and how my mom died before he ever even had a seizure. She never even knew. And I miss them both so much. And sometimes life sucks.

Alex was immensely relieved this morning when I told him Cinnamon was gone. He knew it was time.

"It's part of owning animals, Mom. I hate it, but I have to go through it."

Yeah, well, he's not the one holding them when the vet gives the shot, or the one holding them for 14 1/2 hours while they die. Easy for him to say.

As always, I'm it. It's just what moms do. Like finding solutions for autism and seizures. Or ways for him to keep visiting the wild cat sanctuary that he can't stop talking about without endangering himself. Or ways for him to start his own sanctuary. He knows I'll do it. And I know, too.

I'm a mom. It's what we do.

But I know I had nothing to do with the fact that that boy crashed to the cement from a fairly big step-up and got nothing more than a small scrape on his wrist. He isn't even sore anywhere. How did he not break the glass in the door? How did he rack his leg repeatedly against the bottom of the door and not get a mark? How did he not hit his head when he fell?

I know how.

I'm a mom, but I'm no God.

Night & Day

2008-10-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

Alex & Samson (yes, he's a real tiger)

Alex is definitely all done screaming.

When he was three, we took him to a tractor show about 45 minutes away. Dan's parents were already there, and they'd hauled their golf cart with them so they could bomb around freely. I remember holding Alex on my lap as Dan drove around checking out tractors and displays and stuff. It wasn't really my cup of tea, but Dan wanted to go, so we went. And Alex was mildly interested in tractors at that point. Daddy had a few, and Grandpa had dozens in his barns at home.

So anyway, they were getting ready to start the tractor parade, and I remember taking the golf cart somewhere where we could watch all the crazy people and their tractors parade by, complete with full descriptions by the announcer. Apparently, it was a big deal. Not to me, but whatever. Alas, shortly after the parade started, Alex had a meltdown. Once he got overstimulated and had a meltdown, there was no return. You just had to pack up and go home. I'd aborted many missions by then, and I was used to it. I usually headed out with high hopes, but eventually, he melted down and we headed for home.

Apparently, Dan hadn't gotten that memo, though, because he was hot when I told him we had to go. He wanted to stay, and he couldn't understand why I couldn't just get Alex to calm down. I guess he really didn't go too many places with us. It was mostly just Alex and I, but still. He had to be aware of how these outings ended, because I know I whined about them often enough. So he grudgingly headed back to the truck with us, totally pissed off. Which pissed me off, in turn, because this was my life now, and not my fault.

Fast forward to last weekend. Same tractor show, 14 years later. Last Sunday, Ave and I went to watch her riding instructor show her own horse in a dressage show, so Dan took Alex to the tractor show. Grandpa took a couple of his own tractors up there this time. I guess he's been doing that for awhile now. And this time, Alex had a slightly different experience.

Once he fell in love with snowmobiling at age five, he pretty much lost interest in tractors. "They don't go fast, Mom." He likes speed. Dan's got a couple of old Farmall tractors he's restored, but Alex has never driven a big one. Dan's got a 1966 John Deere lawn tractor that Alex occasionally gets out and takes for a victory lap around the field, but that's about it. He likes vintage stuff, but he's never been interested in the big stuff.

Anyway, when Ave and I got home from the dressage show, I heard all about the tractor show. Apparently, Alex hopped on one of Grandpa's Farmalls, and after a quick lesson from Dad, he drove it around the show grounds for a couple of hours. By himself. And he's never driven a huge farm tractor before. Now, picture this. He drove up and down the paths full of people. Everywhere. A very hectic, busy tractor show. And he has No Experience on big tractors.

I couldn't believe Dan let him do it. Truly. That definitely would not have been something I would have allowed. "Did the tractor at least have a wide front end?" I asked. I hate those tractors where the front wheels are tight together, like a damn tricycle. Those damn things tip too easily. "Yes. Wide front end." Still. He has No Experience. And he was driving among Lots of People.

Grandpa: "Where'd Alex go with that tractor? I don't think I've got enough gas in that thing for this." Translation: They had no idea where the hell he was.

At parade time, guess who drove Grandpa's tractor? Alex, with Dan standing on the back.

When he wasn't driving the tractor, he was bombing around checking out all the vintage equipment. Since I had the camera at the dressage show, he couldn't take pictures. Instead, he took videos with his camera phone. He just came in here and showed me one of some vintage saw cutting wood. He loved it.

When he got hungry, Dan gave him some cash, and he went and got a couple of pieces of pizza. By Himself. Which is something I've been working with him on for years. I've even threatened not to let him have pizza--his very favorite food in the whole world--unless he goes in and pays for it himself. He won't do it. He gets pissed.

A couple of months ago, I took him to the county fair four out of seven days. It was close to home, and they had a tiger show he wanted to see. He's always loved tigers, so away we went. The tigers were on display, and we had a chance to chat with the owners of the sanctuary in Florida where they were from. We got to watch them in their cages from about 10 feet away. We watched the show, which Alex loved, and went home.

The next day Grandma had a couple of passes she wasn't using for the demolition derby, so Alex and I went back. We had to stand in line for about an hour once we got inside the fairgrounds before they'd let us into the grandstand, but Alex was antsy.

"I'm going to go wander around, Mom. I can't stand here."

"Okay." I didn't worry, because he had his phone. These were the same fairgrounds where Avery shows her horse all summer, but it was a very different environment at the fair. Very congested and noisy and busy. But away he went. He checked out the animals, then came and touched base with me, then took off again. Five minutes before we were going to get let in, I called him to tell him to get back. No answer. I called again. Nothing. I was just starting to wonder, when he rushed up.

"Sorry, Mom. I was over there talking to the tiger guy." He went back over there and picked this guy's brain about tigers again. He told me all kinds of stuff he learned, and he already knows way more than the average zookeeper about tigers. I was tickled that he could be at ease in such a chaotic environment.

We ended up going back for the motocross and the rodeo, and he did the same thing. He wandered around everywhere while I stood in line. And he chatted with the tiger guy some more. He knows everything there is to know about their sanctuary.

"Hey, can I get a Pepsi?" There was a stand about 100 feet away.

"Sure." I handed him a few bucks. "Go get it yourself. I'll stay in line."

He hesitated. "Go on," I said. It was a test. And he did it. He went over there, stood in line, ordered his Pepsi, and paid for it. It was the first time I ever saw him do that. And he did it again the next night, too, at the rodeo. I guess that's why it wasn't such a big deal to get his own pizza last weekend at the tractor show. He resisted forever, but now he does it without thinking.

I guess he really is all done screaming. He screamed at the tractor show at three, but he ran Grandpa's tractor almost out of gas at 17. And he didn't even run over any people.

Now he's taken a new interest in tractors. And he's already planning which tractor he's going to drive in next year's parade. Plus, Grandpa hauls tractors to parades uptown, too, and I'm sure Alex will drive in those as well.

He recently told me he wants to do small engine repair, so I told him since his dad's such a whiz on tractors, he should work with him. Dan does a lot of tractor and mower repairs for extra cash. Alex really wants to learn how to restore and repair snowmobiles, and he wants to get an old John Deere or something from the 60s to restore so he's got a vintage sled to putt around the field with. I told him when he gets good with tractors, we'll find someone who works on snowmobiles he can work with. Dan can do the basics, but not the actual wrenching. Alex wants to work on motorcycles, 4-wheelers and boats too.

So this week, Dan had to fix a snowblower, and Alex helped him. He made $15. He also helped with a lawn tractor. He says it wasn't bad at all. I don't know if he'll actually stick with his plan to do small engine repair, but I do know that he'll at least learn how to wrench on his own stuff. He's quite the motorhead, so he'll have to be able to handle the repairs.

Anyway, I need to go tell him that he melted down at the last tractor show he went to. I just remembered it myself the other day. He'll probably be embarrassed, like he usually is when I tell him a story about the Old Alex.

And that's a good thing.

It's a Girl Thing

2008-09-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

Avery & JT ...

"I'm not homeschooling my kids. I don't like homeschooling, so why would I do it to them?"

Okay, that's it. Why am I doing it if she doesn't even appreciate it? I am so outta here.

Two weeks ago, I called the school superintendent's office when I got the brilliant idea to go over the head of the old broad who shut me down on getting Avery into 8th grade this fall. Turns out that "lady" lied to me anyway. She is most definitely not in charge of getting homeschoolers into public school. Turns out she's just a control freak. Which is why I'm glad I went over her head.

Anyway, I complained to the superintendent's office, and that afternoon, the assistant superintendent called me back. I said, "I just want to get her ready to start 9th grade next fall as seamlessly as possible." To which he replied, "Well, if you want to do that seamlessly, you should put her in 8th grade right now." Well, duh. That's exactly what I tried to do last spring when the dragon lady told me we had to do it on her terms. So I agreed to meet with this guy the next day, Tuesday. We met, and he said he had no problem with Avery starting 8th grade, untested. I explained that she's been unschooled, with very little structured curriculum. He expressed concern that if she struggles with math, she could set herself up for failure in high school. I told him not to worry. If she struggled, we'd get help.

So. On Wednesday we signed her up, and she started 8th grade on Thursday. She was beyond excited. An incredibly nice counselor gave us a 20-minute tour of all her rooms, then she headed into her first homeroom ever. And I simply walked out the door--without her. What a strange feeling. Certainly, I've left her in many places before. But never school. I've never relinquished that much control, and to a control freak, well, that's just plain scary.

So from 7:45 a.m. until 2:20 when I picked her up, I was out of sorts, but only because I wasn't sure if she'd like it. Dan figured she'd come out in tears, hating it and never wanting to go back. Seriously. I figured she'd come out ecstatic to be there--finally. Guess who was right?

She was ecstatic. "I shook all through first and second hours, wondering what I'd done, but by third hour, I loved the teacher, and I settled down." Two weeks later, she still loves it.

She made quite a splash. Not only did we make her be the new girl by signing up 2 1/2 weeks into the school year, but she was apparently an oddity because she's never been to school. "Seriously? You mean you've never been to school?" I know other kids do it, but maybe they slide in quietly or something. "So, you mean, you could just get up, go get something to eat, and come back?" "Yeah." They were incredulous. And everybody always asks the inevitable: Did you do school in your pajamas? One girl went home and told her mom, then came back the next day. "My mom says she's proud of you for taking this on in 8th grade."

Ave just took it in stride. It's not really that big of a deal. And by now, it's old news. She fits right in, so I think they've stopped thinking about the fact that she's never been to school. Only one teacher out of six even bothered to ask how she's holding up.

Ave was never worried about the work itself. She only worried about getting lost and finding her way to her classes. And her locker. She'd never worked a com before, so I gave her an old padlock to practice on the day before she started. She had her locker down by the second day, and she hasn't gotten lost yet.

What's most interesting to me is how easily a kid with such an informal education can slide into a formal one, particularly when you keep hearing educators claim that homeschoolers simply can't compare with what they offer. And not just a homeschooler, mind you, but an unschooler. There's a big difference. Unschooling is considered radical among most homeschoolers. Other than an occasional foray into a math or English workbook for a week or two once or twice a year, Ave didn't do anything formal until we tackled a 7th grade math and a 7th grade language arts book last March. That's it.

But she did so much more than that. She devoured books and topics that interested her. She lived her life learning. She wants to know everything. She's never lost her love of learning the way most kids do by about 2nd grade. And she knows where to go to find what she wants to know.

Even though she now spends a couple of hours most nights on homework, she doesn't care. She says the good outweighs the bad. The other night, after her usual two hours, she stepped out on the patio and stretched. "Do you have any idea how awesome it feels to be free?" I just looked at her.

"You've been free for 13 years."

"Yeah, I know, but ..."

"Yeah, I know. You had to experience prison to truly enjoy your freedom, right?"

"Yeah. No. It's not prison, or I wouldn't like it. I don't know ..."

I know what she means. It puts a whole new spin on her free time now. I don't know if she'll always take so willingly to homework, but right now it's not a problem.

I had to show her how to do chapter questions in her American History book, because we've always just read stuff then talked about it. I've never made her answer questions because she proved to me she understood what she's read. So I had to show her how to go back in the text, scan titles, then find the term you're looking for. Read it, reword it, then regurgitate it onto paper. And get an "A." Silly, but necessary when you're playing the school game.

Her spelling sucks, but she's a good writer, and she's extremely well-read. So she has to continually work on spelling. Lots of people do. And she's not even struggling with math. Sounds like she's got a good math teacher. She absolutely loves her language arts teacher, who has ADD. Fortunately, that's a two-hour class every day. She had to take a quiz on the book the teacher has been reading aloud to the class, and even though Ave missed the first five chapters, she still got 8 out of 10 right. The other day in math, they had a homework quiz, where they're allowed to use the week's homework. She looked at all the scores of the kids who sat near her, and they all missed 5, 6, 8 ... She only missed 3 of 20, and that was just for silly stuff like not labeling a graph.

So I think she's going to be okay. She's not even intimidated in the lunch room. She boldly takes her lunch every day because she's deemed the cafeteria food too expensive and not all that good. Apparently, she sits with a cheerleader named Morgan and some of Morgan's friends, but Ave figures the other friends only tolerate her because Morgan likes her. And she's made a few friends in every class, and she says they're very nice, even though some of them are nerds. I told her that's okay.

Science class is dark and depressing, and the only interesting kid in there is a gay guy named Paul who thinks the Jonas Brothers are hot. I told her gay guys make great friends.

Apparently, the class slut sits in front of her in math. She brags about hickeys and hand-shaped bruises on her thigh, and how she was up all night messing around with a guy she'd just met, and that's why she's so tired. She's also 13, by the way. Wait'll she gets those braces off, eh?

History is actually interesting because the teacher shows lots of clips, and he's funny and keeps it interesting. Teen Survival rocks, which is cooking, sewing, money management and some career stuff. And she's got a cool Computer Lab class, too, where they do all kinds of different software. Her typing skills are already awesome.

So. She now wants to be an equine vet, so it's time to get serious. Which is why I was going to throw her to the wolves in 9th grade next year. But I'm rather liking this throwing her to the wolves a year early. She's wise and mature and responsible, and she makes good choices. She'll screw up, but I don't think they'll be huge mistakes. And I'm pretty sure she won't sleep with anyone at 13, even though she knows someone who did at 12.

I like knowing she's getting what she needs, which I can no longer give her. Her energy is totally different than Dan's, Alex's and mine. We all operate at a different frequency. Ave never stops talking, and needs lots of people to talk to so she doesn't burn anyone out (hint, hint). I go sit in my van for 20 minutes every day, reading my book, waiting for her to be dismissed. She runs out, slings her backpack in ahead of her, and tells me everything. She glows.

She has a quick snack, then hits the books. If she's got time, she rides her horse afterwards. I help her as much as she needs, but she's slowly needing my assistance less and less. Which is a good thing. She's loving the novelty of it all, but she's also loving the structure and discipline, which shows just how far she's come. She used to bristle at every structured attempt I made. But now she's ready.

On her first day, when we were doing homework, her cousin, Sarah, called to see how it went. "Sarah, can I call you back? I'm doing homework right now. And I can't believe I just said that! I've never said that before!"

Yes, it's the novelty. But it's also time. For both of us.

I wonder if anyone can tell she used to have Asperger's ...

Life with Louie

2008-08-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

Alex & Louie ...

Louie's awesome. There's no question about it. And I'm sure he's the perfect horse for Alex. But still. After everything Alex went through with Ozzy, it's not going to be as easy as I thought. And I feel like it's my fault.

Alex learned to ride at 12, and most of his rides were pretty uneventful--until Oz. Oz was too much horse for Alex, but we didn't really get into trouble until about a year ago. He started giving Alex a hard time, and it escalated last summer. That's when we found Lori, his trainer. But by then, we realized Alex and Oz weren't a good fit. So we sold Ozzy and found Louie. Unfortunately, we didn't sell Oz until after Alex went off him twice, and after he knocked me to the ground and broke my elbow. After that, Alex wasn't the same rider he once was.

We found Louie in December, and we spent the winter just bonding with him. We didn't get Lori here to ride him until early April. Lori liked him right from the start. He's a nice, quiet boy who was basically a trail horse. He hasn't done a lot of arena work, which is all Alex really wants out of a horse. But Lori said it's much easier to train a trail horse to do arena work than the reverse. So, no problem. She rode Louie for awhile before Alex ever got on him. Louie's quick, and he likes to go, but only because that's what someone previously had wanted from him. Quick gaits. He definitely likes forward movement. Not really a problem, but considering that Oz stole every ounce of confidence Alex had, quickness is not necessarily what he'd like to see out of his new horse.

By the third week of April, when Alex first started riding Louie, he insisted Lori lead him. Lori was fine with that. We all were. With autism, and particularly with horses, it's best not to have agendas. So Lori would come and ride Louie for awhile so he could learn his new role, then she'd lead Alex around for awhile. Alex loves Lori because she's laid back, and he understands her. He gets frustrated when someone's not clear, or when they're not patient. So he feels totally safe with Lori, even though she's the size of a 10-year-old boy.

Lori's goal is to make sure everything stays very positive between Alex and Louie, and that we never have any explosive situations. Lori is a very different trainer than Alex had before, and I think somehow we managed to just get by. I'm just not sure how. By mid-May, Alex trotted Louie for the first time--while still on the lunge line. He was ever-so-slowly starting to regain his confidence. Lori worked with him on quieting his hands and being very gentle. Louie has a sensitive mouth. He doesn't need much of a cue to do anything, and Alex had gotten used to getting after Oz to get him to move.

By mid-June, Alex finally agreed that Lori could unhook the lunge line and just walk beside him. Now, this is a boy who'd been riding on his own for nearly five years, but you would never have known it. He was very nervous. It was virtually impossible for him to remember that Louie is not Oz, and he's not simply looking for opportunities to spook. I could kick myself for ever putting him on Oz in the first place, but Oz didn't start out this way. As long as Lori was by his side, though, Alex was fine. And Louie was fine.

A week later, Lori stood in the middle of the arena while Alex rode on the perimeter. He only walked Louie, but it made my heart soar to see him finally regaining his nerve. This was the boy who used to trot and canter his pony, Gabby, all over the place. And other horses, as well. But I'll take baby steps. Suddenly, Louie took off at a trot. Lori said later that she started to panic, but didn't want to go after the horse. Then she realized that Alex still looked relaxed in the saddle.

"Alex, did you ask for that trot?"

"Yeah." Like, keep up, lady.

Lori sighed. "Alex, don't do that to me! I'm an old lady!"

But that's just like Alex. Don't give her any warning. Just decide that it's time to trot on your own.

By the end of June, he rode Louie on his own for the first time without Lori being there. He was extremely rattled. He only circled in tight little circles in the middle.

"Mom, he's on high-alert."

"No, he's not." Ave agreed. Louie looked fine, but Alex was convinced he was going to blow. Poor kid. It was cloudy, but not rainy. Suddenly, we spotted a rainbow.

"Hey, look! A rainbow. You know what that means, right?"

He looked at me. Nervously. "No."

"It's a promise from God. Remember Noah's ark?"

"Yeah."

"God used the rainbow as a sign that He would never flood the earth again. Remember?"

"Yeah." Still uncertain.

"Well, I think God still uses rainbows today as promises. I just don't know what His promise is."

Suddenly, Alex relaxed and rode Louie uneventfully for another half-hour or so. He was convinced God put that rainbow there just for him.

He rode Louie a half dozen times on his own between Ave's horse shows, and he was better, but still nervous. He tended to stay in the center of the arena, circling, which I think frustrated Louie. Louie's used to getting on a trail and going. He did a couple of very minor spooks--just enough to show Alex that he's not going to lose his head if he spooks. But it brought back memories of Oz.

So last week, we had Ave ride Louie first before Alex got on. He felt better about that. But the next day a huge flock of geese decided to take off from the pond next door while Ave was riding Louie, and he spooked and cantered rather quickly to the center of the arena before Ave got him stopped. It really wasn't much of a spook, and nothing Alex couldn't have handled, but he was glad he got to witness it without being in the saddle. He considered getting on Louie after that, but decided not to.

So I decided we'd better change the game plan again. Now we're trying to get Lori here three days a week to ride Louie first, then work with Alex until she gets Louie almost bombproof. Alex is a perfectionist, and he wants a very quiet, uneventful ride. Lori says most people would think Louie is perfect already, but she understands what Alex is looking for. So she's teaching him everything from the ground up. He has to make sure Louie is relaxed, with his head down. If he trots too quickly, Alex knows how to slow him down. If his walk is too fast, he can slow that down too. I don't think Louie's ever had to work like this before, and I know Alex hasn't. It's a lot to process for a guy with autism and a multitude of learning disabilities.

Somehow, we got away with just letting him hop on his horse and ride. Now I see the error in our ways. We never really took the time to establish a real relationship between Alex and his horse. A relationship that will keep him safe in the long run. Once they completely earn each other's trust, it'll be awesome. It's like unschooling, though. No agendas. No time frame. We're on the horse's time. And Alex's. It'll take longer to get there, but once we get there, it's going to be oh-so-worth-it.

Sometimes I just want to sell all four horses and go back to not having these problems. And the expense. I know that's not the answer, but horses can be scary. What was I thinking for ever letting my autistic kid ride? I, who knew absolutely nothing about horses before this? So I'm basically worthless in the help department. Actually, I'm much better after almost five years, but I don't ride, so it's still different. Thank God for Lori. She'll get Alex through this, I know.

So while Ave cleaned up this summer at horse shows, winning tons of blue ribbons and multiple grand champion trophies, Alex has spent the summer on his own quest. He's perfecting his own horsemanship skills--at his own pace. He's doing it right this time. We're not skipping steps with Louie. We're taking the time to lay the groundwork. He's going to be riding Louie for a long time, so they've got to have a great relationship.

Ave makes me proud with her dedication and perfectionism as she trains JT in Huntseat, Western and Dressage. They won blue in all three seats, which is awesome. But Alex makes me just as proud when he stretches himself a little further each time on Louie. The first time off the lunge line, the first time trotting alone, the first spook that doesn't rattle him. And when he finally canters Louie for the first time--whenever that is--I'll be just as proud of him as I've ever been of Ave for her work in the show ring. They both work hard, and they're both happy with their progress. And they're happy for each other.

As usual, Alex will get there. It'll just take a little longer. As usual. And Louie won't care how long it takes. He's a very patient guy. He loves his boy. When Alex is in the paddock, Louie goes up to him and drapes his head across Alex's shoulder. When Alex cleans the paddock, he always goes up to Louie to love on him if Louie doesn't come first.

They'll get there. Eventually. Them maybe I'll finally stop lamenting my choice of horses over goldfish ...

Higher Education

2008-07-31T06:30:00.001-07:00

It's over. I'm going to have to tell the people who hire me to write for them that I can no longer do it. I'm simply not qualified. Who knew?

In March, Avery decided she wanted to give public school a try in the fall--8th grade. Her friends are all going in 8th grade. She could go in either 7th or 8th, but she was only interested in 8th. So I picked up some 7th grade books and we started slogging through them. We'd only done minimal formal work thus far because I fail to see the benefit, but oh well. I couldn't just tell her "no." She'd hate me. So I decided that even though I don't believe in it, I'd make an honest effort to get her in public school.

She was doing just fine, so I contacted the person in charge of placing homeschooled kids in the system. Unfortunately, I've tangled with this lady more than once over Alex. She's openly hostile to homeschoolers in general, and particularly to those who homeschool special needs kids. But I tried to forget all that, and I was very nice and polite and explained what we were looking for.

"Well, we'll have to determine whether she's ready for 7th or 8th grade."

"Oh, she's only interested in 8th grade. If she can't go into 8th grade, she'd rather homeschool."

"Hmmm. Do you have tests I can look at?"

"Not really. We unschool. I don't test."

"Well, do you have a writing sample? Can she, for instance, read two novels and compare and contrast them?"

"Sure."

"Well, it's only March. Why don't we wait until after spring break, then we'll see about testing her."

In the meantime, we continued with math. We covered the first two chapters, and Ave passed the first two chapter tests with no trouble. We worked on spelling, because although she's a voracious reader, she's not a great speller. And I told her to pick two books to compare and contrast. She chose the Harry Potter series, and she wrote a two-page piece for the Director Lady, who said she only needed a few paragraphs.

So I put her Harry Potter piece and her chapter tests in a binder, and I wrote a few pages explaining all the things Avery is that can't be measured by standard testing. It was a very creative, unschooled piece of writing. I don't know what I was thinking, but I actually thought I could impress this lady with who Ave is, even though she's not been traditionally schooled. I painted a portrait of someone who thinks outside the box. Someone who is extremely intelligent and who loves to learn, albeit in nontraditional methods. I wrote a brief cover letter, put everything in the Ave binder, and dropped it off.

I didn't hear anything for a couple of weeks, when the Dragon Lady finally called.

"Well, I've had my people look over what you sent. We've decided we're going to have to give her a standard 7th grade test to determine whether she'll be ready for 7th grade in the fall."

"But she's not interested in 7th grade. Only 8th."

"Well, I don't think she's going to be ready. This is not 7th grade math she's done here."

"Uh, yes it is." I guess she failed to see "7th Grade" in bold letters at the bottom of each page.

"My people looked it over, and this is not 7th grade work. We do far more complicated work in our 7th grade book."

By now, my heart was racing. "Well, that's funny. Avery's cousin--a 7th grader, by the way--looked through the book and said there's a lot in there she hasn't done yet. Besides, it's just the first two chapters."

"Well. And her writing. I've read it, and it is no where near a 7th grade level. I mean, it's full of sentence fragments. And it's very simple. Our 7th graders write on a much higher level."

Okay, now I'm pissed. Who does this broad think she is?

"For instance, listen to this." She begins to quote bits from Ave's writing to me. I listen. And it sounds so familiar. She's reading from my cover letter to her. I'm stunned.

"What are you reading? Because that's mine."

"Oh, is it? Oh, I'm so sorry. Well, of course, if it's yours, it doesn't matter." She immediately backs down and apologizes profusely, trying to find superior ground again. She's totally flustered and embarrassed.

Sentence fragments indeed. Like this? I intentionally write that way because I think it's boring to get wordy. Besides, it's only in the academic world where that's frowned upon. Pick up any good writing book and you'll see that simple is good.

Dragon Lady went on to explain that she's ordered 7th grade test materials, and she'll call me when she receives them. She simply refused to even consider 8th grade, and seriously doubted whether Ave could even handle 7th. I hung up, still stunned. And pissed. If she can't tell the difference between my cover letter and Ave's compare and contrast paper, did she even read it? I think not. She so summarily dismissed me, then immediately tried to bully me into playing her way. Like I said, she's openly hostile.

So I explained the situation to Ave, and she was understandably bummed. She'd been working hard to play the school game. I waited a few days, then called Dragon Lady's office.

"Tell her thanks, but no thanks." They don't deserve to have Ave as a student. They don't get her.

Ave decided to keep going in her books, though. She wanted to finish them, then start 8th grade books in September. She wants to stay at grade level. I'm impressed. She's doing well, even though sometimes we struggled with percentages and pre-Algebra and such. I think she's understanding that it's all a game, but for some reason, she wants to learn the rules.

So, against my better judgment, we're going to keep slogging through curriculum. I hate it when she doesn't grasp something right away, and immediately thinks she's stupid. I explained that this is why I don't like school. She's obviously intelligent, but when it's presented in this way, it makes her doubt her intelligence. But she wants to be like everyone else, so away we go.

I didn't want her in public school anyway. And I'm pretty sure she really only wanted to go there for the socialization, which she just can't get enough of. But we've got that covered now. She's got plenty of friends and plenty of things to do. And I think now that she sees what's expected even on our limited attempt at formality, perhaps she's not so anxious to tackle it for six hours a day. Maybe.

So anyway, I've got to let my clients know that I'm unable to write at a 7th grade level, and it just wouldn't be fair for them to keep paying me. It's a good thing that I never got paid for that weekly column I used to write for the local paper. And I guess I should feel bad for the money I earned while freelancing for a couple of local magazines. And for my articles in those two national magazines. And for all these sentence fragments.

After all, if the book of rules the teacher consults defines something as wrong, well, there you have it. It's wrong. You lose.

Public school at its finest (sentence fragment intended).

Dad...

2008-07-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I lost my partner in crime. I can't believe it's been almost seven months.

My dad died in January. We're not even sure if it was a heart attack, a stroke, or what. He'd always been in excellent shape, even though he'd recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. But even at 78, they'd scheduled him for surgery, expecting no complications because of his health.

I was the baby of the family for more than 11 years, so my dad and I were close. He was awesome. His laid back manner was the perfect contrast to my mom's prickliness. He used to give me pointers on how to stay out of her way, or at least on how not to piss her off so much.

Not too long after Alex was born, my parents separated. My dad lived nearby, and he'd stop by sometimes after work. He was an absolute Godsend while Dan worked 2nd shift. Without my dad during those long evenings with a screaming, crying baby, then an obstinate toddler, I probably would have strangled said baby/toddler. And it never stopped. No matter what age Alex was, Grandpa just let him be Alex and whatever that entailed.

For one entire summer, as soon as Alex saw Grandpa pull in, he'd run out to his van, make him get back in, and close all the windows. He made Grandpa swelter out there with him while they played with Grandpa's bag of poppers--those hollow rubber half-circles that you turn inside out, then wait for them to pop. Grandpa never minded, even if it took an hour to get it out of Alex's system.

There was another phase where, as soon as Grandpa walked in, Alex ran up to him and yelled, "Walk on your hands and knees, bull, and chase after me!" Then he tore off for our bedroom and flung himself on our bed waiting for Grandpa, the bull. Grandpa dutifully got down on his hands and knees and crawled to our bedroom, head down, pretending not to notice the wiggly little boy on the bed. For an hour at a time, Alex tossed pillows off the bed onto Grandpa, who sometimes tossed them back at him from the floor, or sometimes pressed him between the pillows for awhile, sort of like Temple Grandin's squeeze machine. Alex loved it. This was another long-lasting game, which I loved just as much as Alex, for obvious reasons. Time off. I'm not sure why Grandpa was a bull, but who cares?

Grandpa did tons of stuff like that with both of my kids. As he got a little older, he created games where he could sit, and the kids could run around like idiots, making him laugh. This was all very wonderful, but what Grandpa did went so much deeper than that.

He found me books at the library. Sometimes he read them first, and sometimes he brought them straight to me. Books on autism, and books on rewiring the brain, and anything he thought would interest me. If they were really good, then he'd read them afterwards, and we'd talk about them, and how they related to Alex. We discussed our next step.

He gave me a much-needed shoulder to cry on, but he never let me whine long. He listened, he commiserated with me, but then he kept saying, "You're doing awesome. You're gonna make it. That kid amazes me." And I believed him. I don't know what I would have done without him.

He moved to North Carolina for awhile because he hated Michigan winters, but he moved back after my mom died because of Alex. Because I asked him to. I needed him to keep helping me with Alex. He was awesome with him, and with me.

After I lost my mom, I took extra special care of my dad. I never lost sight of the fact that he could go in a heartbeat. He stopped over all the time--at least five days a week. The kids absolutely loved it. I think he could smell when dinner was ready from his apartment, because he usually walked in as it came out of the oven--and we didn't even have a set dinner time. Even if I was busy, I always made time to sit and have coffee and talk with him. I loved talking with him. He was an incredibly intelligent man who prided himself on being silly and just generally making you think otherwise. But he was incredibly deep, wise and spiritual.

He guided me back to the Catholic Church before I even knew that's where I was headed. He brought Catholic books to me one by one, and I incorporated them each into my daily meditation. He loved it when Dan asked him to be his best man/sponsor on the day we got remarried in the Church, and Dan got baptized and made his First Communion all in one fell swoop. Nothing made him happier than knowing that at least two of his six kids were practicing Catholics. That's just the way he was.

And now he's gone. I can't believe it. I miss him so much, but it's hard to be sad when I know he's exactly where he's been trying to get his whole life. I feel him everywhere. He has not left my side since he died. I picked out some of his books after he died, and the one that gives me the greatest comfort is Saint Faustina's Divine Mercy Diary. I was with him when he bought it five years ago. I remember how happy he was to find it. It's pretty heavy, and as I looked it over after the funeral, I pondered not taking it. But something made me grab it. I vowed to read it and learn more about Divine Mercy. I added it to my morning devotional reading.

It wasn't until a few days later that I realized that on the very first page, he'd written numerous passage numbers. Some are circled, some are crossed out, and some have titles. One of my favorites says, "She tells Satan take a hike." Every day I just study that page of his writing, and I feel him intensely. He's sitting right next to me on my garden swing, just like he was in real life. I always pick one or two of his passages to read. I started a list of my own passages that speak to me on the back side of his page. And every day I reread one of his titles several times: "Don't cry." And I don't.

Dad, you were an awesome man, and I have volumes I need to write about you and what you did for us--and especially Alex. You were a saint in all the ways that mattered, and I feel nothing but peace when I think of you. Whatever issues you had here on earth, it's all a moot point. To quote you after Mom died, "It doesn't matter now."

Thank you, God, for my father, who became the mother I always wanted.

Happy 17th Birthday, Alex!

2008-07-24T12:50:00.000-07:00

Alex says it's been long enough. He was bummed when I quit posting to this blog last November, and he's been after me ever since to start again. I guess today--his 17th birthday--is a good day to do that.

He's definitely not your typical 17-year-old guy. Most unusual is probably the fact that he has no interest in driving yet, and hasn't even taken driver's training. The only thing he worries about driving right now is his snowmobiles. He's buying a used one from one of Dan's friends, and he only owes about $300 on it. He took it for a quick spin at the tail-end of winter, so he's pretty fired up about logging some miles on it this winter. He's got that baby shined up, ready to roll.

Let's see ... how else is he not a typical teen? Well, he genuinely listens to people when they talk. He doesn't just wait for the opportunity to interject something about himself. And there's no superficial chatter with him. He goes right for the meat. There's one lady in our 4-H club who told me she gets a kick out of him. She always makes it a point to speak to him, but she says he's very reserved, yet polite. Doesn't chat because he doesn't know her well. But he knows this lady lost a younger brother in an accident about four years ago, and I told her if it's all right with her, I think he'd probably like to ask her about him. She said sure. No problem. I told him later that if he wanted to bring it up to her, he could.

"Really? She can talk about it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Well, that's her brother. And it's only been four years."

"She said it's okay."

After the last horse show he said, "Mom, I talked to Leslie about Ted."

"Did you?" He filled me in on all the details. Curious, I asked him how he broached the subject. He knew Ted had been 26 when he died, and had left two young sons.

"I just asked her how T.J. and Peyton were doing." Good conversation starter. This was a classic example of someone who didn't really know Alex. I haven't had a chance to talk to Leslie, but I'm sure he blew her away with what he knew about Ted. He knew the anniversary date of his death, how long it had been, and all sorts of details. On the anniversary this past June, he suddenly realized it was the same date another guy died in an accident, and that he, too, was 26. He was one of Ave's friend's dad who died when she was two, and Alex has talked to the guy's widow and mom extensively about Wayne. He seems fascinated about people who have died, for some reason, and it's not simply the facts he's after. He genuinely feels for these people, and he always tells me about what it was like for them. He says, "Mom, can you imagine how horrible it must have been for Leslie? I mean, she was golfing with her dad, and Ted had just left the golf course when he was hit by the car! Can you imagine how Leslie must have felt?" He tends to collect stats and regurgitate them, to be sure, but there's no denying his level of feeling someone else's pain.

Even though he doesn't drive, and he's never gone on a date, that didn't stop him from orchestrating an outing with Savannah, a good friend and his current crush. He lined up a trip to play miniature golf and ride go-carts with Savannah, her younger brother and Dan. They had a lot of fun, and stopped for ice cream afterwards. He told her next time they'll include pizza at the Lake Inn, his favorite pizza place. Later, he said, "Mom, even though Dad and Shawn were along, it still felt like a date."

He saw Savannah quite a bit at horse shows this summer, and had plenty of time to talk to her. At the last show, he told me he finally worked up the courage to ask her if she wanted to go out for pizza sometime--just the two of them. She said, "Sure."

"Mom, she didn't just say it like, 'Yeah, maybe someday.' She said it like, 'Yes, definitely.'"

I keep trying to tell him he should just keep Savannah as a good friend, but he keeps telling me how much they have in common, and how great she is. They text message every day, but I keep reminding him she's only 15, and her dad seems pretty protective. Anyway, he's been talking about working up the nerve to ask her out for pizza all summer, and he was pretty pleased when he finally did it. I know that's rather typical of a 17-year-old guy, but certainly not typical of one with autism. Especially when you consider that Savannah is a very pretty, popular girl with lots of friends. This isn't some wallflower.

We haven't really decided whether he's a Junior or a Senior this year because it doesn't really matter. He's definitely not going to college. He simply doesn't learn that way. He'll definitely work with animals one way or another, and I'm sure he'll do something with his photography. He says he doesn't want to work at the computer, but he's a natural on the Internet. I suggested website design, but he deemed that boring. Maybe he'll run an animal rescue, take pictures of the animals, and post them on his website for adoption. Whatever it is, I know it won't include a college degree. His learning differences are vast, but only apparent when faced with curriculum. When faced with real life, he's a whiz. Thankfully, curriculum is only a temporary irritation. And one we actively avoid, for obvious reasons.

He's exceedingly comfortable in his skin, and loves being different, largely due to the fact that no one has ever made him feel bad about his differences. I don't suppose that would be the case if he were in school, where they labeled him borderline mentally handicapped at age four. They repeatedly placed his IQ test on top of his folder and handed it to each successive person I met, always with some comment on his IQ. It made me crazy. I'm sure their labels would have haunted him throughout his school career, and I'm sure he wouldn't be quite so comfortable with who he is now. He views himself as intelligent, articulate, passionate and a genuinely kind person. Interestingly, so does everyone who knows him.

So, no, he's not typical. Thank God. I like to think he's the person God intended him to be. He's been free to develop into that person, rather than forced into something false. No one has that right. Instead, he's a great guy who loves life and is extremely passionate about many things.

The other day we were talking about someone who seemed to have a lot on their plate. Lots of hardships. Most recently, they're dealing with liver cancer.

"What a tragedy that is, Mom."

"Well, everyone has something to deal with. Look at us. I've been dealing with your autism almost from birth."

He looked shocked. "That's not a tragedy, Mom." And he walked away, probably thinking I'm some kind of nut for using autism in the same breath as liver cancer.

He's right. As usual. But he's coming from a different place than I am.

Thank God.

Opportunity knocks

2007-11-27T14:41:00.000-08:00

My sister says I'd better carve out some space for myself, or I'll go crazy. I'm already crazy, but so is everyone else in my family, so I just take it in stride. Actually, I know she's right. Bev's pretty smart about these things.

She's gifted when it comes to people, relationships and communication. Why she labors in some peon office position I'll never know. Those idiots don't even know what they've got in her, and they don't care. She should be working where someone can use her expertise, not try to stifle it. She will. In the meantime, if you ask nicely, she'll work her magic on your own sick little brain. Last week--Thanksgiving Day, no less--it was my turn.

So today I decided to notch out my space. The easiest way to do that, I figured, was to simply close my door completely when I'm at the computer rather than leave the usual gap. I just hate the finality of that closed door because it makes me feel like my mom, but I am going crazy. So I shut myself in this morning.

The first hour passed uneventfully, even though Dan was languishing on the couch with a cold. I won't even go there. I didn't have to witness it, so I ignored it. When I came out for another cup of coffee, no one was bleeding, nor were they hyperventilating. So far, so good. Alex slipped in on our bed while I was out, like he usually does, but he was gone by the time I came back. I shut the door again and went back to work. Dan knocked a time or two once he got to his feet again, but nothing major. I mostly just ignored him.

The wind blew fiercely outside, but I was toasty. Suddenly, another knock. "What?" Dan rushed in. "A tree just blew down on the fence!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Seriously. So I basically ignored it. Dan and Alex headed out to assess the damage. And I stayed at my computer. While they worked to clear the tree, I hopped in the shower. When I got out, I got the report.

"JT's wounded. He's bleeding." Apparently, the horses were right by the fence when the tree came down, and they spooked and ran across the paddock. Since the footing is snow-covered, greasy mud, JT slid into the fence before he could stop. His front foot must have gone under the wire fence, judging by the tracks, and he cut both his front and back legs on the left side. I listened to all this, blow dryer in hand.

"Ave, go out and check JT."

"I am." She was already putting her socks on.

I went back to drying my hair. A few minutes later, I thought I heard something. Off went the blow dryer.

"Mom? JT's wounds aren't all that big, but they're still bleeding a little."

"Bad?"

"No, they don't look too bad. But the horses are pretty spooky out there. When Dad fired up the chain saw, he bolted away from me."

I know she was waiting for me to come out and check him. But it didn't sound too bad, and this was the day I was pulling back, damnit.

"It's too cold to hose it down, Mom, and I don't think he'll hold still right now to spray it with Hypericum and Calendula."

I switched hands with the blow dryer. "Well, why don't you just check him again a little later to make sure the bleeding has stopped."

"Okay." She hesitated, but went back out. I never told anyone I was going to pull back; I just did it.

It looked like Dan and Alex had the tree off the fence, which was undamaged. The horses were still spooky and running around like Arabs, but it didn't sound serious. Nothing everyone couldn't handle without me. So I never went outside.

I worked some more, Dan rested some more, and I took Ave to Catechism. Which means I won't be there to bring horses in tonight. We won't be back until after dark. Dan's going to have to try to assess JT's damage on his own. Horses get hurt, and most of the time it's nothing serious. But they're huge animals, and they do the darnedest things. I did set out the Hypericum pellets and told Alex to put them in JT's water tonight. To ward off infection. But with the high wind warnings today, he's probably just too spooky for us to get up close and personal with those rear legs.

I'll probably go take a look at him when I get home, and he's safely in his stall. Maybe.

And tomorrow I'll probably close my door again while I finish up what I was working on. It's great practice for my family. I feel so much more relaxed when the door is closed tight. When it's ajar, I know that any one of three faces can show up at any time with a question. I'm always waiting for it. I don't even know why I tolerate it. When the door is closed, the kids know they'd better have a darn good reason for knocking. Dan, however, is another story. He'll just knock and come in talking. He's going to take a little longer to train.

The cool thing, though, is how Alex stepped up and took my place. He does that more often now, simply because he's so much stronger than me. He takes over my end of the lifting, especially since I broke my elbow. Today, he was outside before Dan, turning off the hot wire. He worked with Dan till they had it cleared, and never complained once.

I think I'd better isolate myself more often. Who knows what kinds of things they'll learn when I'm not around? Who knows what kinds of things I'll learn?

Thanks, Bev.

Now I just need to teach Dan what that closed door means ...

Random favorites

2007-11-21T10:10:00.000-08:00

Alex decided he wanted to blog about some of his favorite famous people today. So here are his thoughts in that respect:

I do have a lot of famous people who are my favorites. It doesn't matter if it's a singer or an actress, or somebody like Bethany Hamilton or Alana Blanchard. One of my favorite actresses is Emily Osment. She's on "Hannah Montana." She was in "Spy Kids 3" too. She's only a year younger than me.

Another actress I like is Allison Lohman. She was in "Flicka." She's been in other movies too. Another one is Anna Popplewell, who was Susan in "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." Another actress I like who is not around anymore is Judy Garland. She was a singer and an actress. She was Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz" in 1939. She was 17 when she was Dorothy, but she was playing a 12-year-old. Margaret Hamilton was also in the "Wizard of Oz." She was Miss Gulch and the Wicked Witch of the West.

One of my favorite singers is Carrie Underwood, who I think is the prettiest female on earth. Another singer I like is Mindy McCready. My friend Savannah looks like her. And Shania Twain is also one of my favorite singers. We have a beagle named after Shania Twain. The other two beagles are Faith Hill and Reba McEntire. The beagles are litter mates. The guy my dad bought them from named the other female Dixie Chicks, but he named the male Riley. Since he is black, I would have named him Charlie Pride. My Aunt Kate got Charlie Pride's autograph in 1970. She was Miss Lapeer County at the time, and he was at the Michigan State Fair. He autographed her sash, and she just recently gave it to me. It is so cool that I've got that.

Another one of my favorite singers is Miranda Lambert. She's about the same age as Carrie Underwood, except Miranda Lambert's birthday is November 10. Carrie Underwood has the same birthday as Emily Osment.

I think that Rodney Dangerfield was a good comedian. He was a comedian and an actor. They made the dog in "Rover Dangerfield" look like him, and he was Rover's voice. He died three years ago. His jokes were really funny.

And Tim Allen is a good actor, too. He was Buzz Lightyear's voice in Toy Story and Toy Story 2. He was also in all three "Santa Clause" movies.

I think no other singer is more awesome than Johnny Cash was. He was a very awesome singer. He died four years ago. Eddie Rabbitt was a cool singer, too. He died nine years ago.

Patsy Cline was a cool singer. She died in 1963. She got killed in a plane crash. And Hawksaw Hawkins got killed in the same plane crash. And Bing Crosby was a cool guy. He was a singer. He was an actor, too. He died in 1977.

Bethany Hamilton is probably my favorite famous person. Shania Twain and Carrie Underwood are my favorite singers. Emily Osment is my favorite actress. But Judy Garland is the singer and actress who intrigues me the most. I watched a show about her on the Discovery Health channel the other day. I found out that she had a severe drug problem most of her life. She was already addicted to drugs by the time she was 15 years old. She had her daughter, Liza Minelli, in 1946, and she had her other daughter, Lorna Luft, after that. She had a son, too. But because of the drugs, she tried to commit suicide several times. She finally ended up dying of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills on June 22, 1969 at age 47. June 22 is Judy Garland Day in Minnesota because she was born in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. She is on the Minnesota page of one of my state books. They have the Judy Garland Museum in Minnesota. It's the house she actually lived in. I would love to see it. She died in London, but is buried in New York. I have seen pictures of her gravestone. I have one of her songs on my iPod, "That's Entertainment." I still love watching "The Wizard of Oz." I watched it lots of times before I knew it was filmed in 1939. They colorized it later. One hundred and fifty of Judy Garland's songs are still on iTunes. Judy Garland was an extremely talented lady. It's such a tragedy that she died. She would be 85 right now if she were alive. But Judy Garland lives on in her music and her movies. So does Johnny Cash, and everyone else who's died. And I'm glad they do.

Back to the future

2007-11-18T13:07:00.000-08:00

I watched a couple more videotapes the other night. One was taken shortly after Alex turned two. I made it specifically to take to the neurologist's office with me. I wanted to make sure he had footage of all the weird contortions this kid did in case he didn't actually do it for Doc. If I can ever figure out how to transfer part of that to this blog, I will. It's actually pretty horrifying. I haven't watched it in a long time, and I don't think Avery has ever seen it. "That's scary, Mom." I couldn't agree more.

It was a hot summer day and Alex was in just his diaper. My dad stopped by on his way home from work, as he often did to keep me from hurting this little boy. Grandpa sat in the rocking chair in the living room with a Thomas the Tank Engine book on his lap. I sat across from him on the couch, and "101 Dalmatians" played in the VCR.

Grandpa periodically read aloud from the Thomas book if Alex ventured near. He'd look at the book for a few seconds, then watch the video for a bit. Then back to the book. Repeatedly, Alex turned away quickly and stimmed for a few seconds. Of course, I'd never heard the term "stim," nor did I even suspect autism. No one had autism back then. Now it's in our faces all the time, but it certainly wasn't an option for me at the time.

Alex twisted away, toe-walking in a circle, while he contorted his face and moved his hands spastically. Then he ran back to Grandpa, or moved closer to the TV again. He was quite happy. This did not appear to be a bad thing, at least from his perspective. And he did this over and over. After one particularly intense session, you can hear my voice on the videotape. "See, that's the part that disturbs me." It's hard to remember what it felt like to not know what I was seeing. I'm so thoroughly familiar with it all now, but back then, I knew nothing. I remember once reading that Sylvester Stallone had an autistic son, and I thought, "Bummer. Poor Sly." But that's it. And "Rain Man," of course.

The part of the tape that scared Ave was a close-up of Alex's face. Here's this beautiful little boy with perfect features, hair blonde from the sun, curling up in the back because it's too long. He stopped in his tracks between Grandpa and Pongo to watch a cool part, apparently. He opened his mouth and I zoomed in on his face. He contorted his face so intensely you could almost hear stuff pop. His body was completely rigid and he twirled his hands rapidly. Then he relaxed and spun off. Only to stop and do it again.

Once he sidled up to Grandpa, whom he loved intensely, and Grandpa leaned over to kiss him. Alex never looked away from Pongo, but half-smiled and moved away from Grandpa. Grandpa pulled back, then leaned into him again. Alex kept the perfect distance between them. He never got upset. He actually looked quite happy. He was just an expert at dodging contact. Even from those he loved the most.

I'd forgotten the intensity of that particular tape, but it was a perfectly ordinary and typical representation of him. It was certainly nothing new. But now, after all these years, no wonder the neurologist didn't even hesitate to label him autistic. Alex's attention span was about 10 seconds before he had to go stim. And he spent the majority of his time stimming.

I watched another tape that went from age 2 1/2 to 3 1/2. A lot of my footage is quiet coverage of Alex doing his thing. It was almost like I was preserving it for later perusal. I'm so glad I have it now, because when I look at him today thinking I must have just been really whiny back then, I have proof that this was a seriously autistic child. He had his moments of normalcy, particularly after I started using homeopathy somewhere around 2 1/2. I'd have to go look it up to get my dates exact. He could hold his own when his cousin came over, at least for awhile. But it was not without effort on my part. It was always so much easier to just be alone with him. He was quite content, even if he was a home-nut.

A common theme throughout the tape is that there was almost always a videotape in. I used to try saying no, but it was absolutely not worth the battle. His idea of watching a video was standing in front of the TV for a few seconds before he ran off somewhere else in the house. It was always on, but he only sporadically looked at it. But just try to turn the darn thing off, and look out. So I let it slide. Not worth the fight. Eventually, one day, he just stopped. I don't even remember when. And he's not even much of a TV watcher today, so I don't think it did him any lasting damage.

One segment shows him playing with Play-Doh. He stands at a little table in front of the TV watching "The Great Mouse Detective." As usual, I silently film him. I zoomed in on his hands as he calmly broke the Play-Doh into tiny pieces. Crumbs, really. He knocked them on the floor very gently, never taking his eye off the TV. He bent down and picked up the biggest pieces and returned them to the table. Then he repeated it. And that was pretty much it. I saw very little appropriate play on this entire tape. Just a lot of that kind of stuff. Why I didn't go running and screaming somewhere else is beyond me. I sound so happy at times. I certainly don't know what I was feeling so jolly about. Probably just because he was so beautiful.

He was so very thin because he was hyperactive. He had his sweatshirt tucked into his elastic-waist jeans just to keep them up. I don't think I can even remember his hyperactivity at this point.

The Christmas he was 2 1/2, my mom came over that morning and taped Alex, Dan and I as Alex opened his gifts. His big gift that year was Brio trains, a wooden railway system with magnetic train cars. I knew he could hook them back up himself without screaming. Of course, he had to immediately fling himself to the floor on his belly so he could stim at the trains, even when they weren't moving. But something I don't remember noticing before was when my mom called him three times in a row. Loudly. With a few moments between each time. There was absolutely no response from Alex, and I don't seem to notice from the tape. Which, again, was normal. I was used to it. I just figured he was ignoring everyone. I like to do that too. But since my mom was the first person to utter the word "autism," now I wonder if she was testing him. I can't remember exactly when she told me she thought he had autism, but I know it was around that time. It was before we saw the neurologist, I know.

As he got closer to 3, then 3 1/2, I can definitely see the calmness coming over him from the homeopathy, although the stimming and echolalia persisted, even to this day, to a minor degree. The transformation is apparent, but it was such a long, slow process. It was hard for me to see it, which is why I'm glad I have so many hours of videotape. It would make a very interesting documentary.

And again, Alex watched it with me, making his present-day autistic comments. "Bethany Hamilton was 3 when this was filmed." Or, "Dakota Fanning's mom was 8 months pregnant when this was filmed." He just tosses this stuff out, then reverts right back to normal conversation with me. I laughed.

"What?" He looked at me.

"Why do you do that?"

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"It's not normal conversation. Most people don't make comments like that."

"So. What's wrong with it?"

We see a clip of Granny, who died a few years ago. Ave says, "Alex, when did Granny die?"

Alex says, "On September 28th, right before Rodney Dangerfield." Kind of disgusted-like, like she should have known that.

I just now had to ask him what year that was, and he said, "2004."

Out of curiosity, I asked, "So when did Rodney Dangerfield die?".

"October 5th, I believe."

His speech even at the end of the tape I watched--at 3 1/2--is not great, and what I can make out is a lot of echolalia. And it certainly comprised the lion's share of his speech at the time. Today, the facts he shares, which is really what he's doing, comprise the minority of his conversation. And even when he says these things, he says, "Hey, did you know that ..." and he's truly interested in your response. He really wants to know what you think about that. He's no longer just spewing stored material. He's fascinated by all this stuff, and people comment on his enthusiasm for the things he loves.

I'm grateful for the difference. I truly am. But I'm anal. Autism was never a viable option for me, damnit.

It's simply a temporary setback. A very long temporary setback, to be sure, but one we'll survive. Damnit.

Jesus, take the wheel

2007-11-15T15:33:00.000-08:00

I fished out an old videotape of Alex tonight. I wanted to see how bad it was. It started right before he turned four, about a month before Avery was born. I'd been using homeopathy on him since he was two and a half or so, so he was already much improved. But still an unusual sort.

The first thing I noticed was a calmness to him that wasn't there earlier. We were at our cabin up north, and he was outside. I stood on the back deck with the video camera filming him. He held a toy in his hand the whole time--a small dog kennel with a little stuffed dog in it. He carried it by the handle. Our library used to check out toys, and this was one we repeatedly checked out until I could find a similar one. Alex casually walked down the side hill out of my view, traveled the base of the hill for about 20 feet, then climbed back and crossed again at the top. Very slow and methodical. He repeated the pattern a few times before I stopped filming. The neighbors were out right next door, and they had a backhoe tearing the place up, and Alex paid no attention. But he was happy. He never looked up, but he was content taking his dog for a walk.

I taped him a half-dozen different times that weekend, and it always had the same feel. Sometimes he tagged after the eight- and ten-year-old neighbor boys, who were very sweet to him, and sometimes he was alone. Wherever the boys went, he followed soundlessly. He just ambled along. Sometimes he talked, but it was hard for them to understand him, and sometimes he stimmed. What struck me is how content he was in his own little world. If the boys headed down the big hill to the dock, Alex followed with his puppy. Mostly he looked down at his puppy. Rarely at the boys. When the boys climbed back up the hill, so did Alex. It was like he followed by instinct. These were some of his first friends, and he spent a lot of time with them, but didn't interact much. They were very tolerant.

Later on the tape, Ave was born. Right from the start Alex loved her with a passion. He lay next to her smelling her and touching her ears. He loved her ears. There's a clip of him holding her awkwardly in his arms when she was a month old. He was in the rocking chair, and she was sleeping. I asked him to sing her Rock-a-Bye-Baby, so he did. He could only repeat a few lines, very flat and off-key, but very sweet. When it came to his sister, he was always willing to comply.

When she was a little older, she was in her baby swing laughing crazily at him jumping up and down in front of her. He kept wandering off, and I'd ask him to come back and make his sister laugh, so he did. At four, his speech was still pretty hard to understand. I seemed to know what he was saying at the time, but hearing it now, I'd be hard pressed to decipher it. From my vantage point now, I can see when he was trying to interact, and when he was just resorting to echolalia. The echolalia happened more often than not, but since I was still happy and jolly back then, I seemed not to notice. I guess I noticed, but I was still convinced it wouldn't take long to fix. Hah.

The tape ended with Christmas morning when Ave was five months old. It was 7:00 a.m., and she sat happily in her walker as we waited for Alex to get up. I panned to the Christmas tree, which towered over a mountain of presents. My dad was there, and we all waited for Alex together. Cut to him opening the one gift he truly wanted that year--a new Lionel train. The U.S. Navy train. He'd seen it in a catalog, and wanted it bad. He already had a Lionel passenger train, so this was his first freight engine. Watching his face on the tape, you'd never know he was four. Grandpa sat on the floor with the big box he'd just pulled the paper from, and Alex calmly stood next to him sizing up the train in the box. He was definitely happy with it, but so calm and mature. He never looked up at anyone or even at me. Nothing but the train. He made no attempt to even open the box. He just gazed at it while standing there. Now, he was a serious train man from way back. He'd burned out I don't know how many battery-operated trains by age two, so Dan got him his first Lionel train before two and a half. By four, he was an old pro at operating it. He knew how to plug it in, run it without derailing it, then unplug it when he was done. A very old soul. He had a patience with trains that's unheard of even in older kids. Who knows what was running through his head as he sized up this new train, oblivious to all the other gifts.

The whole videotape exhibits a tremendous calm in him. Gone is all the screaming and general pissiness he'd had before homeopathy. But there is very little interaction on his part. He stimmed a lot. Probably every 15 seconds or so. He mostly just moved around aimlessly, occasionally complying with someone's request without really interacting with them. But there's no flatness in him. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe because I was such a huge part of him, I don't see it. But he seems happy.

When Avery is paying attention to him, though, he opens up. I don't know how different he would be today without Avery, but she's been a huge part in his success. He adored that girl, and still does. She drew him out inadvertently at first, then took an active role by about age two. But on this tape, you can see him come back to the present for her, even if only at my request. Maybe he just wanted to please me. I guess we all made a great team.

Now, what was interesting tonight was Alex's comments as he watched the tape. He used to hate seeing himself, but he displayed none of that tonight. I did have to deal with a curious blend of old autistic traits and new ones, though. Every time I start a new segment on film, I always show the date for a minute or two, so he could always tell when something was filmed. As we bounced along on the tape, he'd say things like, "Carrie Underwood was 12 years old when this was taped." Or, "When this was taped, Timothy Treadwell was spending his fifth summer with the grizzlies in Alaska." And so on. Comments I'm used to really, but the speed with which he calculates these numbers, or how he even remembers the dates for all this stuff to begin with amazes me. He struggles with a math worksheet, but does the math at lightning speed in his head. And retains all this useless information to begin with. I guess it's kind of cool, so I haven't really tried to curtail it too much. He usually only does it sporadically, and kind of works it into conversation in an almost natural fashion. I think he catches most people off guard with just how much he knows, so they don't stop to think how unusual it is. Or maybe they don't care.

Where do I stop? When do I stop? How much autism is okay? Do I have the right to make the call on what parts are cool and what parts make him look weird? I guess I still watch people's reactions. Honestly, I think most people get a kick out of him today. I think we've reined in the most problematic behaviors. Funny thing is, he rarely stops me from doing it. He puts up with so much from me. I know we're exceedingly close, but still. He's 16. But he still comes up and hugs me many times a day. Or kisses me. Or just sits next to me. But always in a very manly, protective way. Never wimpy. I feel safe when he's around, and not just because he's six feet tall with broad shoulders. He's got a good head on his shoulders.

I guess I've answered my own questions. We're getting very, very close. I think he proved this the other night when Bubba called to tell him to stop calling his girlfriend. "Hey, man. I just wanted to talk to her." Caught off guard, he handled it well. But then wanted to kick his ass later--a rather normal reaction.

I think he'll let me know when he's ready to take the wheel. And I don't think it's too far down the road.

I just hope I can still pry my fingers off.

Handicaps

2007-11-14T10:22:00.001-08:00

Nothing like a one-two punch to knock the wind out of your sails.

Today, the role of Mama Bear protecting her cub will be played by me. Twice.

Dan talked to Louie's owner the other night. After we decided to buy him, she called the guy who'd brought his daughter to ride him on Saturday. The one who tried to pay cash right then and there. They'd driven up from Indiana to see Louie. His owner told them on Saturday that we had first chance, but if we passed, they were next in line. So she called the guy and explained that we bought Louie. He was bummed, but reasonable. He seemed to understand. He knew up front that they were second in line even though they met Louie a day ahead of us. And he understood how important it was to Louie's owners to get him in just the right home. So she explained to him about Alex's autism, and how she'd made the choice to go with us. He seemed to understand. Apparently, his wife felt differently.

The guy sent her a scathing e-mail the next day. Very long-winded. His wife must have gotten him hopped up, because he unloaded on this nice lady. My favorite part is where he said, "I can't believe you're going to waste Louie on a handicapped kid! He's too nice of a horse for that! They won't even use him to his potential." He ranted on about how she mislead them and she should sell Louie to them. Real nice guy.

His e-mail upset this lady so much that she couldn't wait to tell Dan about it. She was still in shock when they talked. She was just trying to do what's best for Louie, then this. She also called back the lady who wanted to buy Louie for her daughter, and then board him. That lady was so upset she started crying, then the daughter started crying, and then Louie's owner cried too. She said she'll never go through this again. All she wanted was a great home for a horse she loves and doesn't really want to sell. They bought Louie a year ago for their 10-year-old daughter with the agreement that she'd take care of him. You know the rest of the story. She loved riding him, but didn't hold up her end of the agreement. Louie's awesome, but the parents each already have a horse of their own.

So Dan and I have been discussing ways we'd like to give this jerk a handicap of his own. Having just broken an elbow, I now realize how serious joint breaks are, so I'd like to bust his knee with a crowbar. Dan said he'd like to take a baseball bat to his knee and his elbow. Both kids are horrified that we'd even discuss such a thing.

"That's not funny, you know."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not. It's sick."

We fantasized about just how we'd handicap this guy yesterday morning while mucking stalls. By last night, I was fantasizing about messing someone else up.

Alex is excited about getting Louie, so he called his friend, Savannah, yesterday to tell her. She didn't answer, so he called another friend from 4-H who's no longer in the club. I'll call her "Lisa." Lisa has always been very kind to Alex, and he used to have a crush on her a couple of years ago. Now he just thinks of her as a friend, but he hasn't seen her since July. She always asks about his horses, so he wanted to tell her about Louie. Lisa didn't answer her cell, and Alex didn't leave a message.

When Ave and I got home from Catechism last night, Alex told me he'd called Savannah, but hadn't talked to her. When his cell phone rang at 9:00 last night, I figured it was her calling back. He grabbed it and headed out in the garage. He didn't talk long, and I heard him in the kitchen, but he didn't come back in the living room.

Dan said, "Who called, son?"

Alex hustled over to me, face as white as a sheet. He knelt down by my chair and started talking very quietly and fast.

"Mom, I called Lisa earlier today, and I thought this was her calling me back, but it was her boyfriend. He said, 'Don't call her anymore.' Mom, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just calling to tell her about Louie. I just wanted to contact an old friend. I didn't mean anything by it, Mom."

Shit. "What exactly did he say?"

"Well, I saw Lisa's name come up, but then it was a guy's voice. I thought it was her brother, but I know he's at college. He said, 'Is this Alex?' and I said, 'Yeah.' He said, 'This is Lisa's boyfriend. Don't call her anymore.'"

"Did he sound mad?"

"No, he wasn't mad." I tried to decide whether Lisa had put him up to it, but I didn't think so. She's a very sweet girl who always takes the time to talk to Alex. But she's also a very beautiful and popular girl, so I'm sure her boyfriend is very protective.

"What else did he say?"

"Well, he said, 'Where are you from?' so I said, 'I'm a friend of hers from 4-H.' And he said, 'Well, don't call her anymore.'"

Ah. Something tells me Lisa didn't even know Alex called, or this jerk wouldn't have asked where Alex was from. She would have told him. "So did he hang up on you, or did he say goodbye, or what?"

"No, I just said, 'All right! Whatever. Bye!' and hung up.

Sounds like he handled it all right. But he was pretty upset about it.

"Mom, I didn't know! This is just like the Betsy incident, only worse. I just wanted to tell her about Louie."

I know. Oh, how I know. I explained that there'll be plenty of other times he'll be misunderstood in life, because that's human nature.

"He's a jerk, Mom. He was rude. Just let him try and mess with me!"

Now where'd that come from? "What are you gonna do?"

"I'm bigger than he is. He's only a little taller that Lisa."

I laughed. "Fighting's not the answer. It never is." But it amused me that he wanted to kick his ass. I've never seen that side of him. Of course, he'd have to learn how to throw a decent punch first. But we can work on that.

I also explained that jealous boyfriends are nothing to mess with. That they sometimes go after you with a gun or a knife. He was shocked.

"Just don't call her anymore."

"I won't."

How come this guy had her cell phone at 9:00 on a school night anyway? Lisa's only 15. I'm guessing this dude saw the missed call and decided to take matters into his own hands. Last summer when Alex showed his new phone to Lisa at the barn, she put his number in her cell phone, then put her own number in his. So when Alex called last night, his name was displayed onscreen for Bubba to see.

"You handled it well, Alex. You didn't do anything wrong. This guy's just a jerk. But jerks can be dangerous."

"Yeah. I'm just glad I was in here to take the call so I could handle it myself."

Hmmm. Interesting choice of words.

"Mom, what if I'd been home back when Betsy's dad called and said she couldn't talk to me? What if I saw his name on the caller ID and thought it was Betsy calling me back? If I'd talked to him, I probably would have cried."

He's right. Yet, this time, he was grateful that he could take care of it on his own. Growth.

Before I went to bed, I hugged him. "Don't worry about it. He's a jerk."

"He's not a jerk, Mom. He's a dick."

I agree, so I let it slide.

After I climbed in bed with my book, he came in and knelt down next to me.

"Mom, you need to blog about this tomorrow." He thrust his fist in the air. "I handled another situation!" Then he left.

Perhaps he wants to kick Bubba's ass because Dan and I discussed breaking knees and elbows. Perhaps he just comes by it naturally. Oh, well. As long as he knows he can't act on it.

He needs to leave that to us.

Louie

2007-11-13T13:29:00.000-08:00

So Ozzy's for sale. Even though my elbow's getting better all the time. He's just more horse than Alex needs. We realize that now. Alex just wants a horse who won't spook. One who takes him where he asks, and who'll take care of him. A horse like Louie.

Dan loves to check out horses for sale online even when we're not looking. He does it for sport. So he's been watching horses ever since Oz broke my elbow. He makes Ave get on the site, type in the search parameters, then he browses through them. Right now I'm more interested in finding a good home for Ozzy first. In the right hands--a more experienced rider than Alex--he'll be a great horse. He's just not for us. But I love him, so I want him to find the right home. But Dan likes to be prepared.

He called on one interesting ad, but the guy was a jerk. Strike one. A week ago he got tired of dreamhorse.com, so he asked me to find something else, even though I don't like browsing for horses. I googled Quarter Horses in Michigan, and landed on one boring site, so I moved to the next. I looked at one ad, then a second. Louie. He sounded great, but there was no phone number. I bookmarked it and shut the computer off. I just had a feeling about Louie.

Dan called the owner the next day and spent an hour and half on the phone with her. Louie sounded like the perfect horse for Alex, but this lady was very, very fussy. She was going to handpick the new owner, and not without a lot of thought. Louie was her baby. He'd only been for sale for four days, but a couple people had already come to ride him, and they both wanted him. Dan said she sounded like the most honest person he'd ever met, and she apparently liked the sounds of us.

They talked a couple more times, and made arrangements for us to go see Louie Sunday. Someone else was first in line, but they were planning to take Louie to a boarding barn, and this lady didn't like the sounds of that. Boarding barns can be terrible places.

Saturday evening the owner called.

"Well, someone else came and rode Louie today, and they tried to pay me cash on the spot." Dan held his breath. "But I told him you guys have first chance. I just like what I'm hearing." Dan breathed again.

So right after chores Sunday morning, we headed out. It was about an hour and half away. Louie was everything she said. Not the prettiest horse in the paddock, but as close as you can get to bombproof. A rock solid boy. They loaded him up in the trailer and we followed him a couple miles down the road to a friend's house with an indoor arena. It was sort of rainy and cold.

The owner had warned Dan that she was going to be watching Alex with Louie to make sure they were a good fit. But on the way down, Alex said, "I'm not going to ride a horse I've just met. I want to wait till I know him." Smart boy. He's still a little spooked by everything Oz has pulled lately, so I don't blame him. I told him to always trust his instincts, and never get on a horse he's afraid of.

So Avery rode Louie for us. She didn't like him at first because she was comparing him to JT, her consummate show horse. Louie was a little rusty and traveling a bit fast. These folks have only done a little trail riding with him for the past year.

"Don't compare him to JT. He's not JT's caliber. What do you think about Alex and Louie?"

She rode him around a bit more. "I think he'd be fine for Alex. He's a little bouncy, but I know Alex doesn't care." She's right. Alex is just happy to ride a horse who won't try to get him off or who spooks. He never complains about the ride.

I think the owner had made up her mind even before she met us, because she was immediately saying things like, "Well, when you get him home ...". Alex did groom Louie, but he wouldn't ride him, even though we could see he was bombproof.

"Do you want to just sit on him? I'll lead him."

"No. That's okay." He was adamant, and I think she understood. Dan didn't mention the autism to her until the night before. He didn't want to scare her off. I always mention it up front, but I think that's a mom thing. I like my cards all on the table. In the end, she was intrigued by the autism and the homeschooling.

With our minds pretty much made up, we headed back to their house for coffee and hot chocolate. You just don't find horses like Louie, and certainly not at the price they were asking. I knew Louie was the horse for us, even though Alex didn't want to ride him yet. He needs to ride him at home, after his trainer checks him out.

Their two big dogs--a Golden and a Blue Tick Foxhound--bombarded us at the door, so they booted them outside. We settled in with hot drinks and talked about Louie. Alex needed to move around, so he opened the door and accidentally let in the rambunctious dogs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let them in." He closed the door.

"Oh, that's okay, Hon, as long as you guys don't mind." Dan and I assured them that we love dogs. The Foxhound, Joe, was a stray they adopted some years back. Joe was cool. He came up to me and I leaned my face into his. He kissed me.

The owner's husband was shocked. "Did you just see that? Joe kissed her."

She turned to me. "Joe only kisses my husband." I felt honored. Then Joe kissed Ave, too. They couldn't believe it.

"These dogs must love you guys. They're usually a bit standoffish with people." Suddenly, Abby, the Golden, reached up and put her paws on Alex's shoulders and kissed him.

"Abby, get down! Get down, girl!" They were all over her.

Alex looked around, bewildered. "What's wrong with it?" He didn't see the problem.

And there was no problem. I think these dogs told their owners everything they needed to know about us. The same thing happened with the folks we bought JT and Ozzy from. They had five standoffish English Mastiffs who draped themselves all over Alex, to the point where they couldn't stop commenting on it. Dogs know good people when they meet them.

So we bought Louie. We left a deposit, with the understanding that we'd find a home for Ozzy in the next couple of weeks. I think God will send us a buyer, just like He sent us to Louie. This lady was just compelled to sell him to us.

A couple of months ago, the 4-H group ordered personalized halters and lead lines for anyone who wanted to pay for them. We got one for Avery with JT's name on it, but since they were sort of expensive, we didn't get one for Alex. He doesn't show, and he said he didn't care. But when Ave got hers and he saw it, I think he was wishing he'd gotten one. I felt bad, but it was too late to get in on the order. In retrospect, I'm glad we held off, because we'd just have to give it away when we sell Oz. What good is a halter with "Ozzy" on it to us?

As we left Louie's owners the other day, the wife said, "Oh, wait. Look." She held out a halter and lead line exactly like the one Ave has, only red and gray instead of the club colors of blue and gray. "Look what you can have when you take him home." It looked brand new. Emblazoned across one side was "Slow Sippin Bud," his registered name, and on the other, "Louie."

And Alex loves red.

So I'm positive God sent Louie for Alex.

Grizzly Man

2007-11-07T13:39:00.000-08:00

Alex has been fascinated by a guy named Timothy Treadwell ever since he saw a documentary about him a couple of years ago. He wanted to blog about him today. Here it is.

Timothy Treadwell spent 13 summers in Alaska with Grizzly bears. His friend would drop him off in early summer, and pick him up in the fall. He used to stand in front of his video camera and talk with a bear right near him. He always wore sunglasses and a bandanna on his head. Until 2003. He was killed by one of the bears. And his girlfriend, Amy, was killed too. He left behind hundreds of hours of videotape. He was a nutcase for doing it. He used to stand in front of his camera and swear at the park service for letting poachers and fishermen come in to the state ground. People asked him when he did an interview, "Are we ever going to find out you've been killed by one of these bears?". He said, "No."

The day he got killed was October 6, 2003. His friend, Willie, flew in a seaplane to a place he called the Grizzly Maze. He was coming to pick up Tim and Amy. He landed the plane, and something just didn't feel right, he said. There was no gear sitting on the beach. It was kind of windy that day. He called for Tim, but he thought he couldn't hear him because it was windy. He walked up the path, and there was a pretty nasty looking bear standing there. He quickly ran back to the seaplane, and he flew over the area. He saw a human ribcage, and the bear was still scrapping on it. He knew it had to be either Tim or Amy. He tried to run him off the carcass from the plane, but the bear just kept eating it faster. So he went and got the park service. They walked back up the same path that he did when he first saw the bear. One of the men shouted "Bear!", and they all shot at it. There was a cloud of smoke, and they hit the bear. Willie knew the bear was pretty much lifeless after they shot it. He said, "That's definitely the bear that killed Tim." All they found of Tim was his head, backbone and his wristwatch, which was still on his hand.

Later, when someone opened the bear, they said it was full of clothing and body parts. They took four garbage bags full of parts and clothing out of the bear. Then they cremated what was left of Tim and Amy. They put a little bear hair with Tim's ashes and they sprinkled it in a place where he camped.

They found Tim's video camera at his camp. The lens cap was on his camera, but it recorded the sounds of the bear killing him. It recorded Amy hitting it with a frying pan. And then the bear attacked her too.

Tim had sworn to protect the Grizzly bears, and that's why he spent summers with them. Timothy Treadwell was only 46 years old when he died. 1957 to 2003. And Amy was only 37. 1966 to 2003. Timothy Treadwell got killed three days after Roy Horn, of "Siegfried and Roy," got attacked by one of his tigers. But Roy Horn is still around. Also, three weeks later, Bethany Hamilton got her arm bitten off by a shark.

I think Timothy Treadwell was a nutcase for doing what he did. I don't think he deserved to be killed, but it was very dangerous doing what he did. But I think it is cool that Roy Horn is still around. And Bethany Hamilton survived the shark attack. I think it's somewhat dangerous to raise a wild animal in captivity, or go near one's turf. Some people don't mind taking that risk. I don't know if I would. Roy Horn had raised that tiger from a baby, but it still attacked him. And Bethany only thinks about sharks more often now. Timothy Treadwell never stood a chance with wild Grizzly bears, and that's a shame.

The life of the party

2007-11-06T13:54:00.000-08:00

Avery surprised me yesterday. And she eliminated at least one of my options on a decision I need to make.

Writing resumes is kind of cool, and I love doing them from coffee shops, but there are slow times that just about kill me. So I'm always trying to figure out new ways to make money. Ideally, my first choice is to write from home via the Internet. That would be sweet. Not having to go out and meet clients would be less draining on my introverted battery. But I just haven't taken the time to seriously figure out how to do that.

Another option is to just forget about freelancing and go find a job. Part of me thinks I just need to get out there in the workforce like I used to do. Other than having to dress up, I might be able to make a go of it. But since I haven't actually worked in anyone's office since 1987, I'm probably just glamorizing it. Since then, I've either been self-employed or a full-time mom. The boss. As in "has control issues." Who am I kidding? I'd probably find it impossible to work for anyone else. Anyway, Avery kind of put the skids on that idea yesterday.

"Mom, I don't like it when you do resumes on-the-spot."

I don't either. I usually meet clients, take notes, then go home and write it at my leisure. We meet again in a day or two with the finished product. But sometimes, clients are in a big yank, so I send them away for a couple hours while I stay and write. Apparently, I'm gone too long.

"When you're not home, Mom, it's cold, empty and depressing around here."

Wow. I knew I was fun, but not that fun. At 12, I don't think she should like me that much, should she? We don't even do anything special when I'm home, but obviously, it's more than I thought.

If weather permits, I make it a priority that she gets to ride her horse and lunge her pony, even when I'm one-armed and can't handle the horses. I just make sure Dan's available for that. Other than that, we're pretty unstructured.

I think it's the conversation. Both kids come to me constantly all day long--until bedtime--with questions and comments. I try hard to make time even though I'm distracted by something else. If I have a deadline, I let them know they can talk when I'm done, but they always look a little bummed when they walk away.

I remember vividly what it felt like to be brushed off by my own mom, so I try never to do that. She jabbed the remote at the t.v. and cranked up the volume in the evenings whenever I tried to talk. I know I was her fifth kid, but still. Because of that, I purposely don't watch t.v. Okay, I DO like Reba re-runs, but Avery watches those with me. We just try to get Alex to talk during commercials. Other than that and writing resumes, I make myself available. I can't even sit down in the evening and read the paper in peace, because my mom chased me away then too. "Go find something to do, Melissa." That feeling must be what I project onto my own kids when I have to tell them I have only an hour to finish a resume.

So I've made myself over-available. But it still feels right. That's probably why I fantasize about working outside the home again. But I know it would never work. Dan's a great guy, but he doesn't make himself emotionally available like I do. Dads don't do that. It's a mom thing. And it's the cornerstone of our homeschooling. We talk about everything. That's how they learn. I'm the catalyst for everything. The older they get, the quicker they can take it and run with it.

So I guess now that I know it's depressing, cold and empty for Ave when I'm not home, that option's shot. I'd never be able to do it. I didn't really want to anyway. I just need to concentrate on freelancing from home.

I'd like to write blogs for other people. That'd be cool. Find out what they'd like to say, then say it. Just like a resume, only without such tight parameters. Resumes aren't actually that much fun. I have a little fun with the cover letters, but still. There's not a great deal of room for creative non-fiction, which is where I excel.

My sister thinks I should write personal ads for people who do online dating. She's probably right. People would be willing to pay if love is at stake.

I could always write a book, but this blog has become the book I always threatened to write. The one about Alex and his recovery. This is fun, but I don't think the book would be fun.

Maybe I'll just write greeting cards.

Or maybe I'll just find a couple kids to watch. Kids love me. Including my own.

Maybe I can find a way to get paid for pulling my kids the rest of the way out of their crazy autistic world. With retroactive pay for the work I've already done.

I'd be a rich and happy man.

Bullying

2007-10-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

Alex had just gotten done lunging Oz. Since we were still working on de-spooking him, I worked with him on the tarp for a few minutes. He'd been walking and backing over it for awhile, so I thought I'd reinforce it. He wasn't particularly spooky going over it--just watching his surroundings. Alex stood off to the side watching, and Avery was tacking up JT to ride. Sarah, their cousin, was holding onto JT. I stopped Oz one last time with his rear feet on the tarp. I turned and backed him a step or two. The minute his front foot hit the tarp, he exploded. He jumped up in the front, landed on my foot, then knocked me down with tremendous force. I yelled something or other--enough to get the kids' attention--and I remember letting the lead line go as I fell. I had just a second to see that he wasn't going to run me over.

I slammed to the ground--hard--in the soft arena sand. The second I hit, I was exceedingly aware that my left arm was completely straight. At the same instant, I felt a sickening snap, but my arm stayed straight. "Oh, shit." I knew what that meant. Without a doubt, I knew I'd broken my elbow.

"Mom! Are you okay?" Avery slowly approached Ozzy, who'd run about 20 feet and stopped near JT. "Easy, boy. Easy, Oz." She grabbed his lead line while Sarah held onto JT.

"No. I hurt my arm." I cradled my left arm, completely numb at the elbow, and I laid back in the sand. I just wanted to stay there for awhile. I knew the kids had the horses under control. But instead, I rocked back up. I was in shock, and getting ready to pass out. Somehow, I held my arm and got to my feet. I had to get to my chair in the corner.

"I'll call Dad." Ave got out her cell phone. Dan was out in the front yard selling the last of his veggies. "Dad! Oz spooked and knocked Mom down. She hurt her arm."

I started the long walk to the chair. My vision was tunneling, and I was losing my hearing. I was sick to my stomach, and hotter than hell. "I need to sit down. I'm gonna pass out." Somehow, I made it. "Help me get this jacket off." I guess the kids must have already put the horses back in the paddock, because they were available to help. Ave helped me slide my arms out of my jacket, even though it was quite chilly. I was sweating profusely. I eased into my chair. I knew I was in trouble, and I knew it meant medical intervention, something I try never to do.

My arm tingled something fierce, and it was the worst pain I've ever experienced. Dan made it back, and I managed to climb on the golf cart for the ride back to the house. Ave helped me change out of my muddy jeans, but I couldn't bear the thought of changing shirts, even though I knew they'd ruin my perfectly good sweatshirt when they cut the sleeve. My dad came and took me to the hospital so Dan could stay with the kids and get horse chores done later. The kids were quite upset by it all.

So off we went. Sure enough, the damn thing was broken. Fractured radial head, with the break extending into the joint. Of course, that fact was known after x-rays. Before x-rays, they kindly offered pain relief.

"No, thanks."

"Are you sure? We're going to make you move it a lot for x-rays."

I pondered that. "Like what? Show me."

She straightened her arm out, bent it up, everything. "Like this."

"How do you know I'm not going to make things worse by moving it like that?" I'd always thought you were supposed to keep things as stable as possible.

"Well, we have no choice. We need x-rays. And it's going to hurt."

I really hate to take anything, and not just on principle. I know that that stuff just goes in and makes matters worse, even though it does indeed relieve pain. Things heal quicker without it. But it hurt a hell of a lot.

She waited patiently. "Do you want me to just see what they've ordered for you?"

"Yeah. Go ahead." What the hell. I knew Annette could always detox me later.

The doctor came in. "How about a morphine shot? Ten minutes and you'll be all set."

Something crawled up and down my spine just hearing the word "morphine." I'm probably deathly allergic to it or something. It didn't take me long to decide.

"Let's just go. I gave birth--twice--with no drugs. I can handle x-rays."

And I did. I just moved slowly from one position to the next. After that, it was easy.

"Okay. We're going to put a splint on it for now, but you'll probably need surgery. Pins. Breaks like this usually do so they heal properly." All very casually said. But I liked the sound of the splint. That meant I could get the damn thing off if I needed to. That would be much easier than cutting Alex's cast off.

The splint actually turned out to be a cast with a gap. It didn't actually go all the way around my arm. But it still went from upper arm to hand. As Doc put it on, he said, "You know, you can take these drugs. They're not going to hurt you."

"No, I can't."

"Yes, you can. They're safe."

"That's not how I feel about it."

He continued to cut holes for my thumb in the sock. "Well, we're just going to have to agree to disagree."

"That's fine. I'm not trying to convert anyone."

He raised his eyebrows. "Convert anyone!" Incredulous. Then disgusted. I'm used to it. As soon as I say I have no family doctor, they think I'm weird. When I decline drugs, they know I'm weird.

He quickly finished up, then told me to follow up with the orthopedic surgeon in a week, at which time we'd discuss surgery.

"I'm cool. I won't need surgery." It was almost an undertone.

"You'll probably need surgery."

"Oh, I'm sure the surgeon will take one look at it, declare it healed, and I'll be good to go." I was only half-joking.

Now he was pissed. "That break is not going to heal in a week."

"It may." I couldn't help it. He was incredibly condescending and rude. And maybe 32, tops. "I'm going to use symphytum, a homeopathic remedy that starts stitching bone the minute you start taking it."

"Look. This break is not going to heal in a week. I see this all the time. I know these supplements sometimes shorten the healing, but it's going to take six to eight weeks."

Prick. "Okay. Whatever." I'd pushed him far enough. They tried to send me off with a script for Vicodan, which I politely declined.

My dad took me home, and I spent the most miserable night of my life sleeping in my recliner. The next morning, Annette tested me, and my remedy included symphytum, remedies for pain and swelling, remedies for synovial capsule--all kinds of things. Just what the doctor did not order. I took that remedy every 15 minutes, round the clock. I wanted to die during the first 48 hours, but the pain ever so slowly lessened after that.

I couldn't get in to see the surgeon in seven days, but I got in after 10 days. My pain was much, much better. But as soon as they cut the cast off, the pain came back with a vengeance. Shit. I knew it wasn't healed. As soon as the pressure was relieved, I felt it again. Anyway, they re-x-rayed it, then sent me back to the examining room carrying my sling.

Fortunately, the surgeon was very cool. "Well, you have a small chip on the radial head. It's raised up just a bit, but it'll heal on its own. We're going to leave it open, and you can use just the sling."

Sweet. The hospital neglected to get my original x-rays to them, so they didn't have them to compare. They were unimpressed with my "small chip," which originated 10 days earlier as a joint fracture, probably necessitating surgical intervention. No matter. I knew where I started, and I knew how far I'd come. They sent me home, with orders to return in four weeks, at which time we'd discuss physical therapy.

So, of course, I immediately called Annette, who just also happens to be a gifted massage therapist specializing in injury recovery. She explained the necessity of getting that joint moving before it freezes, but she didn't have an opening until November 1. I took it, but begged for a phone call if there was a cancellation.

The call came last Thursday. Cancellation that afternoon at 1:00. Thank you, Jesus. Away I went. I knew I was already getting in trouble. I could feel it seizing up on me.

Annette massaged my arm for three hours. What an amazing process. I can't believe the range of motion I gained. She did it so slowly and so gently, that I almost never felt a thing. Amazing. I'd been well on my way to having a frozen elbow when I got there. When I left, I had much more mobility and less pain. And I had explicit instructions on how to ice it and keep it moving.

That was last Thursday. Today it's about 2 1/2 weeks after the break. I left the surgeon's office a week ago virtually unable to move anything. I was unable to turn my palm up or down at all. It hurt like hell again. Today, I'm typing just fine. My range of motion is amazing. All I'm lacking is the ability to straighten out my arm completely, and bend it completely. Everything else is almost as good as new, with virtually no pain. I'll keep my November 1 massage appointment, and I'll probably come away from there just fine.

So where would I be without homeopathy? Probably under the knife. Then what? Six to eight weeks in the cast? By the time they ever got around to physical therapy, my elbow would have been so frozen up it wouldn't have done a damn bit of good. Besides, physical therapy forces you through the pain. I'm doing nothing that hurts. Which is exactly why it's healing at an unbelievable rate.

The small side of me wants to march back to the ER doc and show him. Cocky little bastard. I couldn't even impress the surgeon with before and after x-rays. He just thinks it was a minor bone chip to begin with.

Sigh. I know it doesn't matter. Healing is what matters. Just like with the autism. No, I can't prove homeopathy is why Alex is so normal these days. But with this elbow, 2 1/2 weeks later, who can argue? It's tangible.

But I know how they work. They just say someone misread the first x-ray. They always find a way to cover their asses. It's the American way.

Oh, well. My arm is almost completely healed, and for that I'm grateful. And for Annette, I'm grateful. She's a godsend. I just like to put it out there as food for thought. Doctors are scary, and they hurt a lot of people. They're cocky and condescending, and they certainly don't want to listen to some broad tell them she knows something they don't know. And that's wrong. They're just bullies, and for some reason, people listen.

They just need to know they don't have to.

Savannah

2007-10-11T15:31:00.000-07:00

Savannah, at her first show with Tango

Alex decided to blog for me today. Here's what he wanted to say:

Savannah is a friend in 4-H. She is 14, a little bit younger than me. She has two horses, Twinkles, who is part Paint Horse, part Welsh Pony, and Tango, who is a Quarter Horse. Tango is kind of a wild horse when she is on him.

I think it is cool that Savannah shares a birthday with Alana Blanchard, who is a surfer. She's best friends with Bethany Hamilton. Bethany Hamilton is the surfer who got her arm bitten off by a shark. Savannah has a younger brother named Shawn. He’s eight or nine. But he’s not into horses. He does Boy Scouts. He sits on Twinkles sometimes, though.

I have exchanged birthday and Christmas gifts with Savannah before. Savannah says I’m fun to talk to, which I think is cool, because it helps take the sting out of a deal I had last summer, when I tried to contact an old friend, Betsy, but her dad was pretty strict and wouldn’t let her talk to boys. In my opinion, he over-reacted. But the family is pretty religious. Betsy was a year younger than me. She is probably 15 now. She moved to Florida last January.

Savannah has done speed with Twinkles before. I think watching speed is awesome. Two years ago, when Savannah was 12, shortly after I met her, she was done with a class at a horse show—our last show of the season. I did not see it happen, but the judge handed Savannah the trophy she won. Twinkles spooked at the trophy and started galloping. Savannah still held on to the trophy, but she flew off and hit her head on the fence and got a concussion. She had to have stitches in her head, but she was all right. She took the trophy in the ambulance.

Savannah got Twinkles for her 11^th birthday, before I met her, which I think is cool. She got Tango last winter. And she’s been out west, which I think is awesome. She has an aunt out west, and she’s been to Yellowstone National Park. She saw elk out west.

I am going to invite her over to snowmobile this winter. Sledding and knee-boarding behind snowmobiles is fun. She has driven snowmobiles before, when she was a little younger. And she ice skates, too. She is a good ice skater. I went to one of her ice shows, and it was awesome. Not too long ago, she got a concussion on the ice. She fell and hit her head. But it wasn’t as bad as when she flew off Twinkles and hit her head on the fence. She does look like Mindy McCready, which I think is cool. Except for her eyebrows. Mindy McCready is a country singer. And Savannah has an uncle who looks like Billy Ray Cyrus. I have an uncle who looks like Eddie Rabbitt. Eddie Rabbitt’s dead, though. He died about nine years ago.

Savannah’s parents are divorced. Her mom is a very nice and sweet person. Her dad seems nice. He pulled Savannah around on an inner tube behind a snowmobile when she was little. He had a Yamaha Exciter. We had one once. My dad sold it to my uncle, and it still runs good.

Savannah is just as cool an ice skater as she is a horseback rider. She still rides Twinkles, even though she’s too tall for her now.

Shawn really likes my sister. He likes talking to her.

Savannah had a really cool show outfit this summer that was just as cool as my sister’s. And I think it’s cool that Savannah has been on a dirt bike before. Shawn got one for his birthday last year. It’s a Honda. I’ve only sat on dirt bikes. I’ve never ridden one. And I’ve sat on motorcycles, too. I revved the throttle on one not too long ago.

I think it’s cool that Savannah’s middle name is Elizabeth, the same as my sister’s. I just exchange birthday and Christmas gifts with her right now, but I wouldn’t mind going out with her.

Clowns

2007-10-09T13:40:00.000-07:00

"Write about something cool." He tells me that every time I sit down to blog. If I haven't blogged for a few days, he says, "Why don't you blog?" He reads my entries when I'm not around, and he doesn't usually say much about them. If he's not the subject, he thinks they're boring. Mostly, I think he just likes to see which pictures I use. Jeez, what an egotist! He thinks I can only write about him now.

I try to explain that it's my blog, which just happens to be mostly about him and his autism. But sometimes I want to write about when I was a kid. Or about his sister. Or about something in the news. It's not always about him. I do know he goes back in and rereads his favorites.

Maybe I don't feel like writing about him today. Maybe I want to write about how many low-rent people are in McDonald's right now. I just dropped Ave off at catechism, and with an hour and a half to kill, this is the second time I've brought my laptop to McDonald's to blog. I usually hang out in cooler coffee shops than McDonald's, but with my wireless Internet subscription at Barnes & Noble, I also get Mickey D's. Today, it seems to be full of homeless people. Not that I have anything against them, but I don't usually hang out with them. They're not all that funny. I prefer funny people. Last week, it was rather dead in here, but there was one guy whom I'm convinced had autism. Or something. I watched him as I blogged about flu shots in grocery stores, wondering if vaccinations were what screwed him up.

Great. There's a Ronald McDonald magic show starting up, with Happy Meal specials. Looks like I picked a great time to come in here. Good thing I've got my headphones and lots of jazz on my computer. I'm facing away from everyone, so it's easy to pretend they're not really here. Besides, I hate clowns.

Not really. I just like the sounds of that.

I'm listening to Grover Washington, Jr. When Alex was little, I used to keep Grover's "Time Out of Mind" in the tape player in the van. Alex loved that tape. We had to listen to it every time we went somewhere. We always had to start at the beginning. If I made six stops around town, I had to start it over each time. I think this went on for about a year or more. I remember he was eight when Grover died. He had a heart attack after recording some music.

"Hey. Remember that Grover tape you used to make me listen to all the time?"

"Yeah. Grover Washington, Jr."

"Yeah. He died."

"He did? Does that mean we can't listen to his music anymore?" I found that amusing. He didn't quite have the concept yet. He thought our tapes and CDs would no longer be valid, I guess.

Cool. Ronald McDonald just breezed in, and he's shaking hands with all the little kiddies. Unfortunately, I'm sitting in the mix of it. I'm just typing away, ignoring him. He walked right by me. It's amazing how you can control people without even trying.

Alex hates clowns. Actually, he's always hated costumed people, not just clowns. I mean, actually hated them. I wonder if he still does. He used to hide behind me when he was little, then he'd just skirt them on his own, ignoring them. I once asked him why.

"Because I can't see their faces." I guess that's a good reason. He needs to know exactly what he's dealing with in life, and hidden faces are a huge unknown.

I can't tell who's enjoying Ronald more--the homeless people or the kids. I just know it's not me. At least I can't hear him. All I can hear is smooth jazz. Okay, and the applause once in awhile. But I'm ignoring that.

I'm actually in a great mood today, despite the clown. The 90-degree weather of yesterday is gone, and it's gorgeous out. My burnout last week ended the next morning, just as it always does. No harm done. I'll do it again in a few months, but I'll get over it. It's just part of being a mom, and a homeschool mom to boot.

Strange blog, I know. No real topic. Just weirdness.

Here I am being so smug about ignoring Ronald and his magic show, and I just realized something. If I want to leave, I'll have to make a scene. I'm literally in the middle of it, albeit off to the side. I hate making scenes. I like to slide in and out unobserved, not speaking, unless I'm being a smartass. Being funny is a great defense mechanism. It takes the focus off me and puts it on my sense of humor, which somehow doesn't feel like part of me. It's like a friend I bring along to help me cope.

The other day I mentioned to my sister that people are amazed when I tell them I have to fake my social skills. That I'm actually very uncomfortable socially. I tell clients I'm an introvert, and they're shocked. Truly. They think I'm very cool. But my sister had a good point. She said it's my sense of humor that throws them off. I guess she's right. I've been doing it all my life. We all have, in my family. As kids, we banded together against verbal assaults, and I guess we forced ourselves to find the humor in it. Or maybe we just laughed so we wouldn't cry. Either way, we're very funny.

I want to get a refill on my Coke, but that would involve getting up in front of all these people ...

Sooner or later I'm going to have to leave. Catechism is done in a half-hour. I wonder how long the clown's going to be up there.

Maybe I'll browse Amazon.com to see what the reviews say about "Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's," John Elder Robison's new book. He's Augusten Burroughs' brother, and I love everything Augusten Burroughs has written, so I automatically love his brother. And not just because he's got Asperger's. His book, right on the heels of Jenny McCarthy's book about autism, is very cool. Maybe I should write a book.

It's getting harder to pretend all these people aren't here, so I'm going to have to pack up. Watch. As soon as the clown sees me making my move, he's going to say something.

Oh, oh. Overload. Now my phone's ringing. I think I recognize the number. It's the client I did a resume for today. The nice lady who recovered from drugs 20 years ago, got out of prison, and is now working on her M.S.W. so she can be a social worker. I ignored her call. I can't multi-task right now. I'll check voicemail when there aren't so many bodies around.

I think I once read a book called, "Pretending to be Normal." Hell, I'm living it--daily. People think I'm kidding, so I just go on faking and tossing off one-liners. Someone said to me the other day, "You're very interesting. I love talking to you. You talk the way you write."

Pretending to be normal.

Hey, I think the clown's leaving! Now I can get the hell out of here. I stayed too long.

One can only pretend for so long, or one will explode.

The body knows

2007-10-07T14:59:00.001-07:00

"Why don't you blog about the time I broke my arm? You haven't written about that yet."

"That's boring."

"No it's not. Not to me."

"Yeah, but what about everybody else? It'll be boring to them."

He didn't really have an answer to that. But still. I said I'd try.

It was the August that Alex was 10. On a Saturday morning, we went to a blueberry festival to pick blueberries and have some fun. Bellies full of pancakes, we headed for the berry patch with pails and stools in hand. Dan and I did most of the picking, but the kids helped. Alex was standing on one of the stools, which couldn't have been more than 10 inches high, just fooling around. Suddenly, he tipped it forward and fell off. We'd had a drought (again), and the ground was like concrete. He came up holding his arm, but it didn't seem that serious. We'd already played all the games earlier, so we finished picking blueberries and headed for home.

By the time we got there, his wrist was still sore, but not terribly swollen. I wrapped it with an Ace bandage and gave him Arnica, but the homeopath, Annette, was out of town so I couldn't have him checked. By evening, the swelling was noticeable, so I ran him to the after-hours clinic. They x-rayed it, said it looked like a fracture, and put a splint on it, with instructions to call our doctor Monday.

I hadn't used our pediatrician in at least a couple of years, and she'd moved, but I finally tracked her down. She referred me to a bone guy, where we headed Monday. A couple of x-rays later, we had our answer.

"Looks like you're getting a cast, Bud." She breezed out of the room and left us to digest that little nugget.

We waited a long time, although there was only one other patient in the cast room. By the time Doc finally got Alex fitted with his nice blue cast, I'd learned quite a bit about the other patient, John. The poor sap. He was a young guy who'd been screwing around with co-workers after work, wrestling, and his boss jumped him from behind and broke his leg in two places. His wife was home with a toddler and a week-old baby. His mom was there with him, being all nice and comforting, but John was incredibly mean to her. I'm sure he was probably worried about getting his butt chewed when he got home. They set his leg, and then re-x-rayed it. No good. They scheduled him for surgery. He was going to be down and out for awhile. Poor John.

Alex was pretty worried about his own break, but he was a good sport. He wasn't in that much pain. He got his cast, and we left. When we got home, I finally reached Annette and made an appointment for the next day.

I couldn't explain it, but that cast made me crazy. I have no idea why, but I hated it. I needed it off. I broke my own arm in third grade, and even though it was the first day of Christmas vacation, I have no lasting trauma--physical or mental. But Alex's cast felt incredibly wrong, and I told Annette. She tested him, and of course he wanted all kinds of bone healing, swelling and pain remedies. Nothing shocking there. But when she asked his body about the cast, it said he wanted it off six days later, Sunday, precisely at noon. Somehow, I guess I knew that.

So I gave Alex his remedy all week, and precisely at noon Sunday, we tried to figure out how to get the darn thing off. We tried soaking it, but that was useless. Dan said, "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am."

He's used to my homeopathic ways, so he lumbered off to the barn and grabbed a set of cutters. It took some time, but he finally broke through the fiberglass. Alex freed his arm, rubbed it, and flexed his wrist. "It's a little sore. Not bad." I called Annette (I love that she takes my calls on Sundays).

"Wrap it in an Ace bandage and keep icing it."

So I did. And I continued his remedy for another week. A week later, two weeks after the break, Annette rechecked him. Because she's also a massage therapist, she physically checked it too. Remedy-wise, his body said it was healed. She examined his wrist and flexed it in all directions. She looked up at me.

"It's healed. It's very strong, there's no atrophy, and no loss of range of motion."

And Alex said the pain was gone. "It feels normal, Mom."

I wasn't surprised. I did exactly what his body ordered. And I've learned to trust his body.

I called the bone guy's office and canceled our appointment to have the cast removed. No questions asked.

I wonder if John's wife broke his other leg when she realized how useless he was going to be with that new baby.

I should have given him Annette's number.

Nowhere to hide

2007-10-02T13:49:00.000-07:00

It makes me crazy that starting yesterday, I can't buy groceries in my town without having to subject myself to flu shots. Why do they have to offer the damn things everywhere? I'd even be hard pressed right now to make a run to the pharmacy without encountering the same problem. They're everywhere. Anything to make it convenient for folks.

Even before I knew animal vaccines caused seizures in Alex, I tried to avoid exposing him to flu shots. I don't usually take him to the grocery store in the winter. People don't realize that just walking in the vicinity of flu shots exposes them to the flu. More than that, though, was my worry about the vaccines themselves causing problems, since we know they caused his autism. The seizure issue only heightens my concern.

One time, when my dad still lived in North Carolina, he came home for a visit in November. Unbeknownst to me, he left my house one day, got a flu shot, then came back that evening. Alex was still young, so he crawled all over Grandpa, wrestling with him and kissing him when he returned. Three days later, Alex got quite sick. When the homeopath tested him, sure enough, it was heavy flu and vaccination issues. Sigh ...

The latest word regarding vaccinations is that they're safe because there's simply no proof that Thimerosal, the old preservative they used, can be linked to the increase in autism. Sure, a little Mercury never hurt anyone, right? But how about the vaccines themselves? How come no one's looking at that connection? Why is it always Thimerosal? It's the vaccines that are damaging these kids. Same with the flu shot. A healthy person gets a flu shot, and the body eats it up. No problem. They don't have flu symptoms. But they're carriers for awhile. They may not be sick, but they're passing on the flu to unsuspecting victims. Later, when their immune system is compromised, they develop the flu themselves. But they always say, "Well, think how much sicker I would have been if I hadn't gotten that flu shot."

Propaganda. That's all it is. I wish people would wake up and start using their God-given brains and stop listening to the professionals.

I wonder if there are any statistics that measure how much more prevalent seizures are during the winter when flu vaccinations are so intense. Or how about in the spring and fall when so many people vaccinate their livestock? It'd be interesting to see if there is any connection to times of common, intense vaccinations.

Just putting it out there, that's all. If someone doesn't start making people think for themselves, the implications are frightening. We now vaccinate our babies before they leave the hospital immediately after birth, and that wasn't the case in 1991 when Alex was born. And we now also think it's a swell idea to vaccinate our middle-school-aged girls for cervical cancer. What's next? Vaccinations for the common cold? Most of the common colds are probably directly related to vaccinations in the first place.

Anytime someone tries to even imply that vaccinations are bad, hordes of naysayers gang up to discredit them. Why? Big, big money in vaccinations, of course. And even bigger money in treatment for the damage they leave in their wake. Doctors, drug companies and the government just keep on getting richer.

In the meantime, I'll just continue to spill my guts on what I've learned, and keep one eye on Alex at all times, particularly when I know he's come in contact with vaccines. Like yesterday, at Pet Smart. Lots of dogs in there. Puppies, too. I'm sure most have been vaccinated fairly recently. We were only in the store 15 or 20 minutes, but Alex fished his seizure/vaccination remedy from his pocket at least three times to take it. He's not taking any chances. About a month ago his body said he no longer needs it. He's fine, seizure-wise. But he's not buying it. He takes it everyday. I let him, because I trust his body to know what he needs. Besides, it certainly won't hurt him to keep taking it, unlike drugs. He's just making darn sure he stays on top of it. Smart boy.

I don't know if flu vaccines pose any seizure risk for him. I do know that he's periodically shown a real setback in autistic symptoms after being exposed to babies who have recently been vaccinated. I only recently found out about his extreme reaction to animal vaccinations, but I'm sure that exposure has caused him problems in the past, even if it hadn't escalated to seizures yet. His susceptibility is so strong that I would be surprised at nothing in the face of vaccines.

Okay. I'm done venting. I'm just pissed about this whole grocery thing. There's just something really wrong with the fact that I can't find anywhere safe to buy groceries for months to come, if I so choose to avoid flu vaccines. They belong in clinics, damnit, where weirdos like myself can choose to avoid them.

It almost sounds like a conspiracy, doesn't it?

Danger zone

2007-09-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

I'm in a dangerous mood right now. It only happens about three or four times a year. It never lasts long. By morning, I'm fine. But no warm fuzzies here today.

All at once, everything I'm juggling overwhelms me. I don't want to play anymore. I'm not even sure what sets me off. Probably just a combination of things. I'm sure it's no different than anyone else's burnout. The only difference is in the details. I'm sure the burnout feels remarkably similar.

Sometimes, I just don't want to have an autistic kid. I just plain don't want to work that hard. I'm tired. I'm fat. I'm lazy. I reach down deep, as usual, and there's nothing left. I wonder if it has anything to do with Jenny McCarthy. I was looking at her book today, although I didn't buy it because I don't want to spend $25 on it. I googled her, and they're beating her up pretty badly. I really can't figure out why, because I didn't see her on Oprah, and I haven't read the book yet (but I put a hold on it at the library). Near as I can figure, she makes the vaccination connection to her son's autism, and uses some unorthodox methods. I already know that makes people nervous. It brings out the worst in them.

Or maybe it's because resume clients have been stiffing me lately. Tried and true clients who've paid up once haven't come through with the check-in-the-mail thing, and one lady today thought her resume was going to be $25, when it was really $110. Please. I really needed her money. Hay prices are skyrocketing because of the drought. Groceries are outrageous. The economy sucks, particularly in Michigan, and people don't want to pay me for the work I do.

Maybe I'm just tired of back-to-basics with Alex's horse. I don't want to work that hard. Sigh ...

I think I can only balance things for so long before something blows. I guess that's human nature. If I were a drinkin' man, I'd be drinkin'. I don't even have any good chocolate in the house right now. Oh, wait. I stashed a bag of Halloween Reese's minis. That'll work.

It's depressing, but it's life. Wouldn't want anyone to think that everything is perfect. It's a daunting task, and it's not going to go away any time soon, and that sometimes depresses the hell out of me. I want to whine and cry and make it go away. All of it. I want to reinvent myself. I want a better job where I don't have to deal with losers who won't pay. I want to write for one person or company so I'm not constantly having to sell myself over and over again to new people. I want a normal son who doesn't tax my brain every time I look at him. I want enough money to pay bills with a little left over. I want to get my roots died before they get ridiculous. I want to pay Lori to come and ride Ozzy five days a week until we get him smoothed back out for Alex. Today, I want it all. I'm dangerous.

I'm upset with Alex's temper today. I told him if he doesn't get a handle on it, I'm going to sell the damn horses. I told him he'd better get a job if he wants to keep them. I told Dan he's going to have to take over the homeschooling and working the horses so I can concentrate on making money. And Ave's not going to the football game with her cousin tomorrow night.

Maybe it's the full moon.

Maybe I miss my mom. Maybe I miss my dad, who seems to have forgotten us with his new marriage. Maybe I miss who I used to be before I had kids.

Maybe I'll just go watch Reba reruns and eat peanut butter cups, then sleep it off. Or maybe I'll just go out there and pretend it never happened. They won't say anything about it. They've seen it before. They just wait nervously till I'm back. We never talk about it, because it's not that big a deal. I don't scream and throw things. I don't hit anyone. I retreat. I chase them away so I have some room to think. I'm terrible at recognizing when I need to recharge my battery. I go and go and go, then suddenly I'm done. It's probably just a mom thing. I don't remember doing it before I had kids.

But I only have two, and my mom had six. No wonder she pushed me away. I only consider myself to be mildly on the autistic spectrum--perhaps Aspergers Syndrome. That's rather fashionable these days. I've always done a pretty fair job of faking "normal." But I think my mom was a little more seriously affected, like I mentioned the other day. Bi-polar, to be sure, and perhaps worse.

Sorry, Mom. You had a lot on your plate. But so do I.

Time to go get horses in. Maybe I just need to smell some warm muzzles and get a few horse kisses. Sometimes, it's animals I need and not humans.

Just don't tell my family.

American justice

2007-09-25T13:37:00.000-07:00

Last month, I got called for jury duty for the first time. Well, actually, I got called about four years ago, but Alex was stressing insanely about the prospect of my leaving him, and Dan was still working, so I got out of it with just a letter explaining the situation. This time, Alex didn't even bat an eye, so I had no excuse. I showed up at noon on a Friday. In very short order, before I even realized it, I found myself seated on a jury in a sexual harassment case. I'd figured I'd find some way out, but it happened too fast. Everyone else was dismissed, and the trial started immediately.

The plaintiff was a single mom with four kids who had worked for a couple of months for the defendant, a dentist, before he fired her. He claimed it was justified because she was a lousy employee, and she claimed it was because she thwarted his advances. She was seeking $25,000 in damages. Her attorney said she would call no witnesses. The defendant, however, would call one patient and five or six employees as witnesses who would testify to what a slouch the plaintiff was. It definitely wasn't looking good for her.

Yet, she was totally believable. The dentist felt slimy, at best. We heard opening arguments, and the plaintiff's case on Friday, with orders to return Tuesday. On Tuesday, we heard the defendant's case. We were treated to a very nice meal at a nearby restaurant at lunchtime, then returned to hear the rest of the case. Parts of it were boring, but it was actually kind of fun.

From the minute the dentist took the stand and tried to sidle up to us, I decided he was guilty. He was too polished. Every one of his employees told some form of lie about the plaintiff. Nothing matched. It was all very rehearsed, but fell apart at the seams. The poor plaintiff just shook her head quietly and looked defeated. She had no witnesses because all her witnesses still worked for the dentist. They certainly weren't about to jeopardize their jobs for someone who'd only worked there a couple of months. I wasn't sure how the jurors felt, but I wanted to hang the guy.

When they sent us off to deliberate, someone tried to make me the foreman, but I made this other guy do it. We were the two entertainers in the bunch, so I figured he was the next logical choice. In the end, we were all on the same page. Everyone believed the plaintiff. One juror said, "I think we should give her more than she's asking for just to send this guy a message." Cool. I was all for that. We talked it over for about two minutes, then decided to award her $40,000. It was all very fun and rather empowering.

We marched back into the courtroom, where the foreman read the verdict. I couldn't decide whose face I wanted to see more--plaintiff or defendant. I tried to watch both. As the foreman read the verdict, though, my eyes landed on plaintiff's attorney. He was this cute little old guy who seemed somewhat of a bumbler--who perhaps hadn't prepared his case well enough because he had no witnesses. The softening in his eyes was worth the price. It was awesome. He turned around and said, "Thank you." I know 1/3 of $40,000 sure beats 1/3 of $25,000, but I think his reaction went deeper than that. And I left there feeling that justice had been served. We all did.

Later, after I'd turned every little nuance over in my head repeatedly, I started to wonder if we'd done the right thing. My gut said absolutely. But what if we were wrong? There was nothing I could do about it, though, so I let it go.

Today, I met a resume client at Barnes & Noble. She was a dental assistant who'd worked for the defendant for three years. I recognized his name on her old resume. Tactful as always, I said, "Hey! I just served on a jury where this guy was the defendant! It was a sexual harassment suit."

She just shook her head. "That doesn't surprise me a bit."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I told her all about it.

"Yeah, that sounds like him. Patients, friends, staff--it didn't matter. He did it all the time."

Hmmm. Looks like we made the right decision after all. Even though I was pretty certain we had, it was nice to know for sure. He was definitely slimy. In fact, she said he always takes his entourage to court with him.

"You mean this has happened before?"

"Well, at least two times that I know of."

Yeah, we definitely did the right thing. I like knowing that for sure. I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, but that was a pretty big decision. We moved rather quickly on it, and I wondered if we'd been hasty in upping the ante. Doesn't look like it though.

Unfortunately, my client said she didn't think our monetary award would send him a message.

"He'll keep doing it. That's just the way he is."

Sigh. Oh, well. We tried. At least the single mom with four kids, who's working full time and going to school, has about $26,000 to make their lives a little better. I guess I'll take comfort in that.

Even though the slimeball is free to spread more slime.

Motherlove

2007-09-24T10:18:00.000-07:00

I absolutely worshiped her. For years, I did everything in my power to hold her attention. It wasn't easy, because I was her fifth. My siblings were three, five, six and eight when I came along. She was a little busy, I'm sure.

My dad's dad came to live with us when I was three or four. Apparently, she wasn't too happy with that arrangement. With her four older kids off at school, and my dad off at work, she used to take me back to her bedroom and stay there. She probably didn't feel like dealing with the old guy, so she holed up with me. Sounds like she was depressed. Anyway, I don't specifically remember hiding out with her, but I'm sure it made a huge impact on me.

I started Kindergarten when I was a couple months shy of five, and I do remember having her all to myself in the months leading up to that. I loved it when everyone went off to school. I remember her rocking me in Grandma's old rocking chair when my legs probably dangled ridiculously over the side. Even at four, I remember thinking, "What would I ever do without her?" Her smell, her softness, her smile. I called her Bunchy, because she was so soft, although I don't think she was very fond of the nickname. I told her she was precious. I was hopelessly in love with her. I've sort of blocked everyone else out of that time frame, for the most part. I remember things here and there, but I still feel the intensity of my love for her back then.

Funny thing is, I don't necessarily remember feeling she reciprocated. I know she loved me. Period. That goes without saying. She prided herself on being a great mom. We all knew we were loved. But I don't actually remember feeling that love.

The day I started Kindergarten, she went back to work. We lived right in town, and my school was only a few blocks away, and since it was 1965, I walked by myself everyday. But that first day, she took me. I was distraught at the prospect of leaving her, but I was too self-conscious to make a scene, so I let her go. But as soon as she left, I needed my blankie. Badly. When my best friend's mom dropped her off, I begged her to go to my house and get it for me.

"My brother and sisters are still there. If they won't let you have it, tell them I said it was okay."

She promised me she would go get it for me. I waited for her, and watched the other kids struggle with their moms leaving them behind. Finally, I went up to the teacher.

"Can I go wait out front for her? She said she'd be right back."

"Oh, I think you'd better just wait right in here." I did, but grudgingly.

She never came. I was so disappointed. I couldn't believe this woman lied to me. But I soon forgot about it. When Mike Baker's mom dropped him off and left, he carried on so long and thrashed around on the floor until he whacked his head on the radiator and cut it open. He bled everywhere, including all over the nice teacher's pretty blue dress. I still remember the heavy material of her dress, like an old couch, with blood all over the front. Needless to say, that put my little blankie problem in perspective. But before the next morning, my mom cut a 4-inch square from the binding and pinned it inside my dress pocket so I could have it, but not get in trouble. She was so smart.

I suppose I learned to socialize, although not very well. I preferred my family. It wasn't until sometime later that I realized there was trouble in paradise. Maybe it had always been there and I hadn't noticed. Or maybe it didn't start until then. I just know I heard a lot of yelling. There was nothing dramatic like abuse or drugs or drink. We were a fine example of a nice family with good, polite kids who went to Church every week. Mom and Dad both had good jobs. We weren't rich, but how could you be with five kids? We had nice things.

I don't think I ever had my mom's undivided attention again, and I don't think I ever got over it. I think she handicapped me with the intensity of her initial love and attention when she couldn't maintain it. It was so sweet and perfect, and then it was gone--sporadic at best. She made sure she stayed just out of my reach. I wonder if it was my intensity that made her retreat, or just the realization that life was a letdown. Maybe I was just in the right place at the wrong time.

She died when I was 40, and I'd spent my whole life trying to please her, whether she knew it or not. She butted heads with all of us, but probably me more than anyone. I always wanted answers. I was probably more like her than anyone else--good and bad--so I brought out the worst in her. But I also got the best, even if fleeting.

So I guess that's why I'm the kind of mom I am. It's killing me, but no matter how much I want to push them away at times, I can't. I don't have the normal boundaries most moms have like school and such. We're always together. I have to sneak my moments whenever I can. And with Alex, I have to dig so much deeper to find what I need to help him be the real Alex. The one I know was buried so deep.

Nothing happens by chance. It's all for a reason. I don't lament what I didn't have. It pissed me off for a long time, but not anymore. She did the best she could, and she was a great mom. In retrospect, she was probably bi-polar, or at least somewhere on the autistic/ADD spectrum. Heck, we all are. But it's all in how you look at it.

If I hadn't had to struggle so hard to reach her, how could I have found the strength to reach Alex? I never did find the real Mom again until she lay on her deathbed, when the wall she'd so carefully constructed finally fell. It fell silently, really, with no fanfare. No apologies came with it, and none were needed. Just forgiveness. It was the only thing we'd been lacking all those years, I guess.

I choose to believe I honed my mothering skills at the hands of the master. It doesn't matter whether you duplicate what works or avoid what doesn't, as long as you do what you must. I must be the mom I am. I must make myself available at all levels. I won't construct any walls. I can't. I simply can't do that to my kids.

I will continue to dig as deep as I have to until Alex lives independently. I don't know why or how I do it. I just do it. I'll do whatever it takes. I have those skills, thanks to my mom. It was tough love at its best. And it worked.

God knew what He was doing when He gave me to that lady. And He certainly knew what He was doing when He gave me my kids. I just hope I don't disappoint Him.

Laying the ground work

2007-09-23T08:26:00.000-07:00

Oz ...

We've got our work cut out for us now. After Alex fell off Oz last month, and we had Ave's instructor, Karen, ride him the following week, we knew we were in for some work. Karen spurred him when he wouldn't trot, and he acted terrible. He jumped straight up in the air--all fours--trying to get her off. I'd never seen him do anything like that before. Karen's a great rider, and she got him settled down, but she definitely made him work after that. Alex hopped on him when she was done and rode him, but not for long. He was kind of afraid of him after that display. Me, too. He said Oz felt better after Karen rode him, but he still didn't want to stay on long.

So I called this trainer that a friend of mine uses, and I lined her up to come and work with Oz and Alex the following weekend. We should have done it at the beginning of the summer, but with Ave showing JT so heavily, we never got around to it. Alex pretty much just rode Oz all summer, and the horse slowly got away from us. Alex is not a real aggressive rider. If he asks Oz to do something, and Oz objects, he's not real good about making him do it. Hence, the problem. Oz is incredibly smart, and he slowly but surely started backing away from everything. And since Dan and I don't have any horse experience prior to getting our first pony four years ago, we've had to learn as we go. We've learned a lot, but Oz has managed to train us just the way he wants us. He's a nipper, and as soon as you take your attention off him, he tries to bite. Definitely not cool. And while we pop him every time, he doesn't take us seriously. Obviously, we need a trainer.

Alex struggled with lunging Oz the next week, so Ave helped out, and she did some ground work with him in preparation for Lori, the new trainer. Oz was getting better, so Alex lunged him the day before Lori came. Suddenly, Oz jumped in the air like he did when Karen was on his back, and he bolted. The rope burned Alex's hands, and he couldn't hold onto him. Oz didn't realize he was free, and he circled around Alex a few times before he noticed no one was holding him. Ave had just gotten off JT, and I was holding him on a lead rope in a corner of the arena. Suddenly, Oz bolted towards us. JT, who is used to getting out of Oz's way, spun and whipped away from me. Fortunately, he's level-headed. All I had to do was talk to him, and he was fine, but he kept one eye on Oz. Oz was snorting and blowing his way towards us, then slammed to a stop. Dan grabbed the lunge line, and it was all over. Alex's hands were fine, so he put Oz back to work. But the horse was definitely rattled.

Lori came the next day, and before she even attempted to ride Oz, she did a lot of ground work with him. I told her he's a little spookier than I'd like, so she wanted to see exactly what she had. After a few minutes, she knew. He was very tight. Not loose at all. In other words, ready to blow. That is definitely not the horse Alex took over more than a year ago after another trainer put four months on him. Oz is a laid back quarter horse with great breeding, and his previous owner paid a lot of money to have a big-name professional train him. But then they let him sit for a few years, and he got rusty. That's why we had to have the other trainer ride him for four months. We wanted to make absolutely certain he was safe for Alex, who was used to riding his little Haflinger pony, who was incredibly safe and easy. We thought we'd done that, and Alex took over on Oz a year ago July.

It's not that he spooked a lot, but when he spooked, it was a lot of movement. JT just does a quick little jump sideways. Not Oz. So Lori worked him and got him freed up, then she hopped on. No problem. She had Alex get on for a bit, but after a few minutes, he said, "He's really spooky, Mom. I want to get off." Which is interesting, because Oz didn't look spooky. He wasn't doing anything, but Lori said Alex must have sensed that tightness as soon as he put him back to work on the rail. So he hopped off. No sense pushing it.

We lunged him again the following week, and Lori came back. This time she decided to de-sensitize him with tarps and plastic bags and such. Once you get a horse to calm down and work with that fight-or-flight instinct, they can handle sudden movements better. But they need to trust their rider, and Alex obviously doesn't convey leadership. None of us has, really, with Oz, which is why he walks all over us. Well, Oz exploded when Lori touched him on the belly with a lunge whip. And he was nutty when she tried to work with the tarp. He wanted no part of it. Lori was surprised that he held onto his fear for so long. She said it was honest, genuine fear. After probably a half hour of just gently walking him near the tarp, she finally got him to approach it and put his head over it. By then it was dark, though, so we had to quit. She told us to continue de-sensitizing him that week.

So last week, Ave and I did that. And he did great. He got to the point where I could rub the tarp all over him, and even whack him in the belly with it. Nothing. I even put a bright yellow rain slicker out there, with no reaction. I rubbed that all over him, too. No problem. I had Ave swing a big empty sawdust bag around, and he didn't mind. The only time we got a rise out of him all week was when Ave was swinging the bag all over the place while I tried to get Oz to walk over the tarp. I wanted to see what he'd do with two distractions. He jumped and pulled back, but not far and not for long. As soon as I talked to him, he was fine.

I think he's really a big baby who is trying to bluff. He wants constant attention and reassurance, which is why he nips when you take your eyes off him. I've been much more consistent handling him this week, and by Saturday, I could see a huge difference in him. He hardly nips, and his eyes are so much softer. It's like he now looks to me for reassurance in a way he hasn't done before. Ave helped me this week, because she's more consistent than Alex, but my theory is that once we get Oz acting better with us, I can help him transfer those skills to Alex. But this is definitely the biggest project I've undertaken where I have to learn something first, then help Alex learn it at his own pace.

So, anyway, Lori came back yesterday. I told her how well Oz had done with the tarp and such, and she was very happy. Alex was lunging Oz when she got there, but Oz simply refused to pick up the trot for him. Alex was getting mad. It showed in his body language, and Oz was very tight. But Lori told him what to do, and he did it.

"Don't be afraid to tap him on the butt with that whip, Alex. He needs to know you mean it." Alex did it, and Oz trotted.

"Good. Now make him stop. Good. Now move him out again."

Everything she told him to do, he did. And Oz responded beautifully.

"Keep your whip pointing towards the ground. Don't threaten him. He's moving now. You don't have to baby-sit him."

Alex kept forgetting not to raise the whip to his shoulder, which is apparently what he's been doing, but other than that, he processed and did everything she told him to. Oz was completely relaxed as he trotted in a circle around Alex. Better still, I now have the tools I need to help Alex with lunging.

Lori did some more ground work with Oz, then decided to drive him. She wanted to see how he'd move from the ground. She popped in his bit, put the driving gear on, and moved him around the arena with long reins. Again, he did great. He was a totally different horse from last week. She put the saddle on, and rode him for awhile. Perfect.

"Do you want to ride him now, Alex?"

He looked at me nervously. "Uh, I don't think so."

I was kind of surprised. He's never been afraid of Oz before, but obviously all that jumping in the air Oz did with Karen on his back spooked Alex. Can't say that I blame him. But Karen gets mad easily, and Oz doesn't like that. That doesn't excuse his behavior, but it's not the most productive way to get him to comply. These are huge, thousand-pound animals who really don't have to do what we say. We need to ask them to comply. And Lori is all about asking nicely. But since Alex didn't want to ride, that was fine.

"Do you want to try driving him?"

Alex didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Sure. I've never done that before."

So Lori untacked Oz and put the driving gear back on. She handed the reins to Alex, and she walked with him as he drove Oz. He seemed to have a natural instinct on how to stay behind Oz, but not too close. If Oz turned the wrong way, Alex corrected him. The reining is the same as if you're in the saddle, but you're walking behind. Again, Oz was perfect. Totally different horse. And for some reason, Alex loved driving him. I could see that he was almost stimming. He had that set to his jaw. That's how I knew how much he enjoyed it.

"Do you want me to leave this stuff here for you to use this week?"

"Yeah." No hesitation on his part.

"Okay. I'm too busy to use it during the week anyway."

And that was the end of yesterday's lesson. In one short week, Oz is a different horse. Granted, Alex didn't ride him, but when he's ready, I'm sure Oz will be fine. Lori is going to see to that. This week, if I work with Alex, I'm sure he'll get Oz lunging just fine without getting mad at him. And I'll have him drive him. And we'll do some more tarp work. Lori doesn't think anyone has ever worked on de-sensitizing him. He's had some high-end training, but I think someone skipped some important steps.

It's all about Alex's relationship with Oz. I think Lori is going to be great for both of them. She speaks in a way Alex can understand. Yesterday he said, "At least she's easy to understand when she talks about horses. John Lyons is boring!" John Lyons is a well-known trainer we've seen at an expo. Apparently, Alex was not impressed. But Lori came highly recommended by my friend. She's also a physical therapist, and does some therapeutic riding, so she probably knows how to speak Alex's language.

Ave's on track with JT. She has been all summer. Karen makes it work. Alex and Oz slipped through the cracks, and I feel bad about it. Alex never complains, so it's easy to see how it happened. Without a trainer overseeing them, they slowly deteriorated. And since he's not interested in showing, just riding, we didn't really push it.

So now I've got my work cut out for me. As usual, I have to make sure I thoroughly understand what Lori's doing so I can work with Alex. Oz is trusting me more now, and he needs to learn to trust Alex. I have no doubt that they'll make a great team, and Alex will end up with a much better horse than he had when he started riding Oz more than a year ago. We skipped some important steps because we don't have the horse experience that most parents have. Our kids dragged us into horses, and now we're in charge. We're not just leasing or boarding. We're it. It's squarely on our shoulders.

But it's really just more of the same. It's no different than anything I've had to do for Alex over the years. I learn it, then teach it at his level. Over and over, if necessary. Eventually, it clicks. There's just a bit more inherent danger this time. We've never really done anything dangerous before. But Alex is not who he used to be. Just the fact that he stood there with his horse on the lunge line doing exactly what Lori told him to do was huge. Or driving him so naturally with just verbal direction. Those are all things that Alex could never have done before. He'd just walk away while you were speaking, talking to himself. Information overload.

We'll get there. I know we will. Oz is too awesome. It's a temporary setback, that's all.

Just don't make me ride that damn horse ...

Family ties

2007-09-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

The very first niece I ever had is getting married tomorrow. I won't be there because she's in North Carolina and I'm in Michigan, but I don't think it'll matter. There'll be plenty of other cool people surrounding her.

I was so excited when my sister, Kate, got pregnant. She was the oldest. I was 17 when Meagan was born, and it was awesome. Well, except for those crooked little hips of hers. For awhile, she had to wear these little shoes attached to a metal bar. I remember trying to put the darn things on when I baby-sat her, and she kept yanking her feet back out just when I'd get them tied. I wanted to whack her over the head what that little metal contraption, but she wasn't mine, so I couldn't.

She was born in December of my senior year in high school, and I used to ride the bus to my sister's house every day after school. We'd moved out of the school district, so I had to wait until my parents could take me home. No problem though. I loved hanging out with Kate and Meagan. And even though I was never really a very good baby-sitter, Kate and Greg used to leave me in charge from time to time in the evenings. I mean, I never hurt any kids, but I always counted the minutes until the parents returned home. I hated being the only one in charge. But I loved Meagan and I always loved their cozy little house. My own house was so thoroughly dysfunctional that it made Kate's seem like the Brady Bunch by contrast.

Meagan was great fun. She was very smart and very funny. And very cute. She became the highlight of all our family get-togethers. When she was three, my brother, Mark and his wife, Kris, had a little girl, Bethany. And it was awesome. They were darling together. We'd get together at my parents a lot on the weekends, even though they no longer liked each other. The Brady Bunch we weren't, but we sure were funny. If you fail to find the humor in dysfunction, that's a shame. We had a lot of fun together. By then, I'd moved into my own apartment, but we all trekked back to Mom and Dad's on weekends. Everyone was older than me except my brother, Jason, who was 11 years younger. At the time, my parents lived out in the country in this great old farmhouse with a huge yard and two ponds. The boys played outside, and we girls mostly just sat around the table snacking. And playing with the little girls.

But not for long. When Meagan was four, Kate and Greg packed up and moved to North Carolina. No one could quite believe it. I think we all just figured we'd stay in the area forever. We were very close, even though we were kind of toxic. It sucked. Kate and I exchanged lots of letters, and for awhile, I always included a special letter I'd written especially to Meagan. Kate used to read them out loud to her. But it wasn't the same. I hardly ever saw them.

Bethany had a brother, and later, Meagan had one too. Then Mark and Kris moved down to North Carolina, too. And had another little girl. It was strange having a niece and nephew born down there with so little contact. We'd been so close to the first kids.

So all these kids have grown up now. The youngest out-of-state kid is Tori, and she's 17. But tomorrow Meagan's getting married. To Joe. Whom I met a couple of years ago when they came home for a visit. He seems like a great guy. I hope he is.

I just realized that Meagan was 17 when Avery was born--the same age I was when she was born. They all came home for a visit when Ave was only a couple weeks old. She was already a colicky little prick like her brother, I remember, and Meagan held her on her lap and spoke intently to her. And she listened. She quieted right down. It was very sweet.

I realized the other day that now that Ave's 12, she most reminds me of Meagan. She's also very funny and smart. And she loves to read. I remember Meagan preferring to stay inside and read rather than tear around outside whenever I went down for a visit. Today, I know Meagan clogs (with her mom), but other than that, I guess I don't really know that much about her. Sure, I get updates from Kate via e-mail, but as far as her day-to-day interests and such, I don't really know her. I know she has a job in PR, and I think she likes it. I know she's health-conscious, and I know she's incredibly smart because she recently opted to use homeopathy rather than drugs for a thyroid problem, and now she's fine. In fact, she's so fine, the doctors think perhaps she really didn't have a thyroid problem after all. Anyway, she's a smart girl who will go far, but I wish I knew her better.

I wish everyone still lived here in Michigan, and I wish we could get together whenever we wanted. Like the time we all spent Christmas Eve sleeping on my parent's living room floor at the old farmhouse. It was awesome. Maybe someday Meagan and Joe will have kids, but I'll hardly know them too. My own kids get a little sad after family from North Carolina visits, because they want it to be like that all the time. I know I'd sure give anything to have Kate back in Michigan. I miss her terribly. I miss them all. But it's life, and it sometimes sucks.

Right about now, I'm sure everyone's at Meagan's rehearsal dinner. All the family is there except us, and my sister, Bev, who just had foot surgery. And Mom. She's been gone more than six years. She would have been thrilled to be a part of it all. Actually, she would have been right in the thick of it, since she, too, had moved to North Carolina. Half my family ended up there in the end. But it's just the two families now. And that's enough.

Meagan, I miss you and I love you and I wish you lived here. I wish you nothing but good things in your life with Joe. If you can at all help it, don't move away from your family. In the end, it's all you have. And it's the best.

You're wise and witty and mature and a lot of good things. And you're a smart-ass, too, which is always a plus. That'll take you far in life.

I think the best way to sum Meagan up is this. We'd all spent a week in North Carolina as our mom lay dying in the hospital. The doctor explained that she could stay that way for a long time, and as much as we hated to leave her, we had to get back to work and our families. It tore us up, but Karen, Bev and I told Mom goodbye, and left her in the capable hands of Dad, Kate, Mark and their families. I hated leaving her behind, but my kids were distraught after a week without me. I needed to slide back into the role of mom after spending a brutal week being a daughter.

We flew home on a Sunday morning, and while Kate went to Church, Dad stayed with Mom. She was non-responsive by this point. He was hoping she'd pass peacefully on his watch, but she didn't. Meagan relieved him in the early afternoon, and he headed home. Meagan sat doing crossword puzzles or word searches or something, when she noticed Grammie stopped breathing. She did that often. Then she'd catch her breath and breathe again. Meagan waited, but nothing happened. She got up.

"Grammie? Grammie?" Still nothing.

She grabbed one of those little spongie swabs we'd been using in her mouth and tried that, but there was no resistance. And she knew. She went and found the nurse.

"I think my grandma has passed away." And she had. Just like that. Mom knew. There's no doubt in any of our minds that she chose to pass when Meagan was there. She wouldn't do that to any one else. She knew Meagan would have the maturity and wherewithal to handle it. And she was right.

Meagan, never forget that. You were validated and endorsed in a big way by Grammie Rose. And she knew her stuff.

Now go and have fun, but stay close to your family.

Bombs

2007-09-07T14:02:00.000-07:00

I think Alex is a little disappointed in me. The other night at dinner, we were talking about his cousin, Meagan, who's getting married in a couple of weeks. She and Joe are living together. At the time, when he found out, he said, "You don't suppose they're having sex, do you?" After all, he's been taught that that's for marriage. As it should be. But alas, that's not always the case. We had a discussion about the fact that perhaps it's not as God intended it to be, but a lot of people do it. That's as far as I went with the conversation. Purposely.

I think the gist of the conversation at dinner the other night was that he still couldn't believe they were living together. So I decided the time was right to drop my bomb.

"Why not? Dad and I did."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"No way." He was incredulous, really. Ave, too.

"I can't believe you trashed Meagan for doing it, and you did it too!" He was not really upset, just surprised.

"Hey, I never trashed Meagan. I only said it wasn't Biblically correct, but that lots of people did it. I never said I didn't do it."

Both kids thought about it for a minute, but then that was pretty much the end of it. But I know it'll be food for thought for awhile.

It reminds me of the time Dan was going through RCIA, the classes you have to take to become Catholic. He's been married before, so we had to suffer through an annulment, and since Alex was only eight at the time, I pondered about how and when to tell him Daddy had been married before. He was an extreme worrywart at the time, and I broached all potentially problematic subjects on a need-to-know basis. Eventually, since the annulment itself became such a ridiculous snafu, the whole situation dragged on endlessly. Alex started asking why he was the only one who could go to communion, so I realized I had to fess up. But I really worried how he'd take it. Dad has an ex-wife. No kids, but ex-wives are bad enough. I was sure he'd be put out because we'd never told him.

"Alex, Dad was married before, you know."

"Really?" Brief pause. "What was her name?" And that's about the size of it. That's all he wanted to know. He didn't want me to tell him that she was fat and ugly and she messed around on him, but I told him anyway.

So, need-to-know basis. I knew eventually I'd have to fess up about living together, but I sure figured it'd make more of an impact. Who knew?

It's almost too easy. Let's see ... what other bombs haven't I dropped yet? I can only think of one at the moment.

Wait till he finds out that sugar isn't the most toxic substance I've abused ...

P.S. Alex just looked over my shoulder and caught the tone of this post.

"Mom, that blog should be rated 'X'."

See what I have to deal with?

No one gets hurt

2007-09-06T13:22:00.000-07:00

Sorry. I needed to take a week off. I was boring myself senseless. Guess I shouldn't try to post so often.

Anyway, you gotta love back-to-school time. Tuesday morning was gorgeous. By 9:30, Dan had a from-scratch banana cake in the oven, and a batch of potato soup in the crock pot. And I was still sitting on my garden swing drinking coffee! Alex was doing chores, and Ave was just embarking on her own mix of worksheets. Periodically, she very diligently works in workbooks for a bit, then abandons them entirely. I guess we both just feel like we should indulge from time to time, knowing full well that it won't last. But it's fun for a week or two.

I listened to the neighborhood buses pick up their charges, and the increase in traffic out front. As always, we talked about just how lucky we are not to be playing that game. And how lucky we are to be able to make the rules. And change them on the fly. Which I love to do. I love changing things up.

Right now, I've decided Ave needs to work on Geography due to the simple fact that her cousin commented that Miley Cyrus, who plays Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel, lives in LA. To which Ave replied, "I thought she lived in California!" So I decided we'd better brush up on some of those larger cities. She's doing it grudgingly, even though I'm keeping it informal and as "fun" as Geography can be, and Alex occasionally scoffs at things she doesn't know. It's an interesting role switch, actually. Not that Ave scoffs at him, but she could. It's just nice when he's better at something and gets to gloat a little. He loves Geography. Always has. He knows more than I do simply because he finds it intriguing. Ave, on the other hand, actively avoids it. It took her three years of traveling to the same boarding barn daily before she remembered the route. And there was only one turn.

With Alex, I'm working on writing. He definitely needs to bone up there. Of course, Ave's got that down pat. No problem there. I'm keeping it short and sweet with him. He's never been very tolerant of the physical act of writing, so we don't do a lot. And they're both doing math. Again, not much. Don't want to burn out. Even though we will. It never lasts long. But with the whole world going back to school, I'd feel left out if I didn't at least make an attempt at something more structured.

What's interesting, though, is how everything eventually reverts back to unschooling. No matter what we pick up, it seems to remind them of something else they need to go look up, or go find, or go google. And that leads to something else. It's such a circular way of learning, with no clear stopping or starting points, no rules and no expectations. It's just the way we learn naturally, which I'm sure is why workbooks never last long. They sound good in theory, but they're boring.

I got pissed off a week ago when I went to the teacher's store to browse books. I was hoping to find something fun but not oppressive for Alex to work on his writing with. I keep forgetting I hate that store. It's so teacherly. Everything that looked even mildly interesting felt so heavy-handed. They tell you absolutely everything to do, and how it all meets testing guidelines, and just do what we tell you and no one gets hurt. Of course, I walked out of there empty-handed. I must have been empty-headed when I walked in there, thinking that I'd find something I actually liked.

In the end, I bought him an orange (his favorite color) composition book to use as a journal. He picks his own topics. I go over it, and he corrects his mistakes. And everyone's happy. That's basically all we've done over the years. We've got lots of journals. All that teacherly stuff makes me feel like someone is holding my arms to my sides. Why do I keep trying?

Anyway, we're loving back-to-homeschool. The little girl next door gets on the bus at 6:50, just as we're heading out to do horses. Ave would much rather be haying and graining her horses at that hour than getting on a smelly old bus. I'm not sure what time the high school bus stops, but Alex sleeps through it. He, too, is happy to do chores instead. He doesn't even grumble anymore when I do make him "do" school. The whole key is to keep it light.

We have our casual, laid-back mornings. I don't usually do resume appointments until later in the day. Then the kids ride horses in the evening, as usual, once it cools down a bit. Nice and easy. No homework. No rules. No bossy teachers. No fees.

And no one gets hurt.

Running for office

2007-08-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

We've got 4-H tonight. The club got too big, so we're splitting into two groups. Everyone is choosing sides, but we're going to do both. The kids don't want to leave any of their friends behind, and we've certainly got the time to do both. Tonight, it's the new breakaway club's meeting, and they're choosing officers. Denise, the leader, has asked that the kids stand up, state which office they want to run for, and tell why they'd be good at it. Before, all they had to do was get nominated by someone, then go stand up front with the other nominees while they had a ballot vote. Avery says she's going to run for President, Vice President and Secretary. I know she won't have any trouble standing up and telling why she'll be good, but she won't tell me what she's going to say. She's waiting till the meeting. That's how she usually handles things. It's a small club, so I'm sure she'll get something. She's a pretty well-liked kid in 4-H. The kids her age really like her, and even the older kids like her. I think they respect her because she's hard-working and a good rider. They nominated her two years in a row for the Sportsmanship Award, so I think she fits in well.

So I asked Alex today, "Are you going to run for office this year?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, Denise wants you to stand up and tell why you'd be good at it."

"Yeah." It didn't seem to bother him. We talked it over, and he decided maybe he'll run for Attendance Keeper. Ave did that two years ago, and she liked it. He couldn't really come up with any reasons why he'd be good at it, so I gave him a few he could use, like the fact that he's always at every meeting, and that he's organized. I'm sure he'll take it and run with it.
And he'll probably win.

Last year, in the big club, he decided ahead of time to run for Historian, which is the guy who takes pictures of everyone at shows, ride meets, and club events. They have to compile them in an album and turn it over to the club at the end of the year. He'd already taken some great shots the year before, so I figured he had a pretty good chance. I asked Ave to nominate him on the night of the elections, and she said she would.

So election night rolled around. Ave wanted to run for Reporter, so she lined up someone to nominate her. She won, no problem. Alex was doing his usual, sharking around the place, while the early offices were filled. They moved on to Attendance Keeper. He was in the building at the time, but near the door. Then one of his favorite girls nominated him for Attendance Keeper. He wasn't really paying attention, so I told him to go ahead and go up there. He didn't really want that position, but what the heck. In the end, the girl who nominated him got the position. While he was up there, one of the moms motioned me over.

"Alex should be Historian. I told Lily she should nominate him for Historian."

"Yeah, he wants that one. I asked Ave to nominate him, but Lily can do it."

"Okay." Lily said she'd do it.

They announced the next position--Historian. They asked for nominations. Ave's and Lily's hands went up with all the others. They only accepted the first three or four names. Karen called on Kasha.

Kasha said, "I nominate Alex."

Sweet. I hadn't had to do any campaigning after all. So Alex went up there with the others. After the votes were tallied, he won. Everyone knew he took great pictures. He was a shoe-in. The year before, we printed out the best ones both he and I took, and he passed them out to the girls who were in them. Of course, they loved them, but he'd silently watch them after they went and sat down, and he'd measure just how much they loved them by how long they looked at them, and how many of their friends they showed them to. Plus by the hugs they gave him when he handed them out. Courtney hugged him the hardest, so he figured she liked them the best.

So tonight he's running for Attendance Keeper. I hope he wins, because I don't think he wants any other office. He'll still take pictures no matter what, but we won't have the obligation to compile them in an album this year if he's not Historian. Of course, we haven't even discussed yet whether they're running for office in the other club. First things first.

Ave's really got her heart set on President this year, even though she figures Kasha will probably win. Kasha's 14, and she's a pretty popular kid. I just had to go ask Alex if Kasha is actually 14. "She's 14, but she'll be 15 in December." My human datebook. Anyway, if Ave doesn't make President, she'll probably get either VP or Secretary. She has a very dedicated, serious side to her, and I think the other kids respect that. They'll vote her in somewhere.

As long as Alex wins Attendance Keeper, I'll be happy.

Noisy humans

2007-08-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I was thinking about the time we took Alex to Buffalo, New York when he was almost three. At the time, it didn't seem to be a particularly bad trip, but it definitely had its moments. Let's see ... if he was almost three, we'd already gained some progress with the homeopathy. That must be why it wasn't so horrible. Just some bad moments.

Dan had to judge a Beagle field trial in Buffalo, so Alex and I decided to go along. I was a little worried about the 5-hour+ car ride, though. At the time, we had a cabin up north, and he was pretty wiggly on that 3-hour trek. But I packed fun stuff to play with, lots of snacks (including M&Ms, which he loved but never got to have), and all his Thomas the Tank Engine audiotapes and books. And we headed out.

Surprisingly, he was actually pretty good in the car. I didn't even have to break out the M&Ms. We did get a little sick of listening to Thomas over and over, but what the heck? He was happy and content. We got to the hotel on Friday afternoon. Dan planned to drive the car to the trial grounds the next morning, judge the trial, then come back to the hotel that evening. Alex and I were going to hang out in the hotel, swim a little, and take the shuttle to the mall when we got bored. We'd just gotten our income tax refund back, so we were feeling a little flush. What I hadn't factored in was that other than our cabin, Alex had never really stayed anywhere but home and my sister's house with me.

We checked in rather uneventfully, and found our room. This was back in 1994, so we took along our VCR and a buttload of Alex's tapes. And lots of books and toys. We decided to go for a swim that first night, so we all changed and headed out. Alex was immediately nervous in the hallway. He looked around furtively, obviously searching for enemies. He whined a little, but dutifully held my hand and tagged along. Once we got to the pool, he had fun. He loved to swim, and forgot all about the enemy.

The next day, Dan headed out, and I entertained Alex in the room for awhile. We decided to go check out the mall, so we hopped on the shuttle for a quick ride over. I don't think I realized at the time how overstimulating the mall was for him. We didn't do the mall a lot, so I don't think it had registered yet that lots of humans in enclosed spaces meant disaster, particularly if any of those humans tried to touch or otherwise engage him.

He needed new shoes, so we found a shoe store, and I grabbed some Nikes I liked. I asked the nice man for Alex's size, which he promptly went in search of. But when he came back with the shoes, all hell broke loose. I'd never seen anything like it. Alex started screaming and squirming and crying the minute I started taking his shoes off. He stiffened and threw himself backwards on the bench. We only had him try on the one pair, since they were perfect. But he screamed--loudly--the whole time. It couldn't have been more than five minutes total, but everyone in the store stared at us. Or, at least it seemed that way. I remember quietly telling the guy that he had autism, so just go ahead and finish up. He seemed non-plussed. I think I always imagined that it bothered people more than it did. Apparently, this was the first time I ever had anyone actually measure his feet and try them on him. I usually just tried them on at Target, I guess. So anyway, we bought the darn shoes, and as soon as we left the nice man behind, Alex was fine.

We grabbed some lunch and hung out at the mall for awhile, then shuttled back to the hotel. This time, in the hallway, he freaked out at the housekeeping staff. He shuffled along tightly behind me, whimpering. "I wanna go to our room." He repeated it over and over every time we left the room. He was happy in the room, happy in the pool, and pretty happy in the mall as long as no one made eye contact, but he hated the hallway. And apparently the housekeeping staff. I'm still not even sure why it bothered him so much.

Dan came back that night, and we swam again, had dinner, and just hung out. We basically did the same thing Sunday. Dan went to the mall with us that afternoon, and we took Alex to a really cool science museum before we headed home. Lots of Thomas the Tank Engine again, but he slept, thankfully.

Basically, Alex did extremely well, considering it was his first time going anywhere like that. It could have been disastrous, and I would have been stuck. I was used to aborting missions at a moment's notice, but they were always close to home. This would have been an entirely different situation altogether. Obviously, I didn't fully realize the impact of the crowd thing. That must have come later.

Even today, he's not crazy about crowds indoors. My dad got married in July, and they had a reception a month later. Alex and I argued over it a lot, and he simply refused to go. He'd heard there were going to be 200 people there, so no dice.

"But you go to horse shows all the time, and there's way more than 200 people at those!"

"Horse shows are outdoors, Mom. I can handle that."

He does so well on so many fronts, that I sometimes forget that he still has some processing issues. Or if I remember, I want to believe he can just do it anyway. If I had really wanted to, I could have insisted he go to my dad's reception, but he would have been miserable, and he would have made me miserable. And probably everyone else at our table. It wasn't worth the fight. And he's absolutely right. Large crowds indoors, once we figured it out, have consistently been a problem for him. He used to scream and cry until I removed him. When he got older, he'd just say, "Mom, we gotta go. I can't handle this."

Now, he thinks about situations before they occur, and he usually chooses to avoid them. We went to a horse expo a couple years ago on a Sunday afternoon when things had slowed down a bit, but he still didn't like it. But not liking it today is so much more pleasant than it used to be. He gets a little edgy when he wants to leave, but if I'm honest, he's exactly like any other teenager who just wants his parents to get him the hell out of there. If he takes his iPod along, he can usually manage loudness for awhile, but not nearly as long as we can.

He likes to go to 4-H meetings, but before our club split in two recently, we'd have 30 or 40 people at these meetings. They tended to get loud. He always insisted on going, and he greeted everyone who came in, adult or peer. He'd always ask about something they'd been discussing the last time they talked. Once things got underway, he'd fish out his iPod, and he'd stand just inside the door for 10 or 15 minutes. Then he'd step outside for awhile, even in the winter. There were always latecomers, or people leaving early, and he'd chat them up for awhile. When some of the moms went out for a smoke, he'd chat them up, too. One cold winter night, he stood outside one mom's truck while she smoked, and later he told me all about her ex and her divorce, and her kids when they were younger, and how she used to homeschool them. No wonder these people genuinely like him. Who doesn't love to talk about themselves? Anyway, it was in and out all night at 4-H meetings. People got used to it. He never sat. He liked being there, but instead of staying on the perimeter the whole time like he used to in these situations, he watched for people to break away from the group so he could talk to them. He was a man in motion. But he doesn't really like to sit for more than 10 minutes or so anyway. He was an officer in the club, and really should have been sitting at the officers' table, but that wasn't even an option. He needed to hover. No one cared, though.

I guess avoiding large crowds indoors is not really a big deal. Noisy crowds, actually. Church isn't a problem. It's the noise the people make, because it's certainly not just loudness in general. Movies aren't a problem. Circuses are. Parades are a problem, and they're not even indoors. But that's mostly those darn fire engines. I hate those, too. Expos are definitely a problem. Loud crowds. I guess he can comfortably go through life and avoid most of that.

The night I finally agreed that he could skip Grandpa's reception, I said, "But what are you going to do about your own wedding reception?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're going to get married, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, how are you going to avoid your own reception?"

He pondered that for about 10 seconds. "Do people have to have wedding receptions?"

"Kind of. Friends and family like to party after someone gets married."

He thought for just a moment. "Well, I'll just have about 20 people at mine then."

Perfect.

Ask and you shall receive

2007-08-28T12:16:00.000-07:00

These darn horses. Whose idea was this, anyway?

So Alex falls off Oz on Sunday. Then yesterday, I was off doing a resume, so Dan got the kids going on the horses. They told me later that both Oz and JT were acting like they spotted something to the west. There's a swamp to the north of our arena, open field to the east, the paddock is to the south, and there's a pond to the west, with a subdivision just beyond that. With that swamp back there, anything's possible. Anyway, both JT and Oz were a little edgy.

JT and Ave were riding along the west side when he suddenly spooked. He sort of skittered sideways to the center, which is usually what he does. Ave had no problem staying on. But JT's sudden move spooked Oz, and he started hopping a little. He doesn't buck or rear, but he hops just a little off the ground, front then rear. Apparently, he kept it up, so Alex hopped off. He and Dan walked Oz back around the west side, and he spooked again, and almost ran Dan over. Something was definitely back there, so they called it quits for the night.

This morning, Ave decided to ride Cammi, her fat little pony, before it got too hot. Ave's really too tall for Cammi, but Haflingers can easily carry a 200-pound adult, so it's not a problem. And Cam certainly needs the exercise. I had another resume appointment this morning, so I was in the shower, but Dan took Ave back there to ride. I could see her from the shower window, and she was doing fine. Apparently, though, as Ave rode her along the west side again, Cam suddenly spooked, turned, and bolted diagonally across the arena, heading for the gate to her paddock. Ave did her best to crank her head around to get her to stop, but this is one tough little pony, with an incredibly strong, short neck. Cam suddenly turned left, and Ave flew off to the right. She came up with a mouthful of dirt, and she scraped up her elbow, but she was fine. Cam's really short, so Ave didn't fall far. And both kids always ride with helmets. Anyway, Ave got back on her, which is what you need to do when you go off. Both for your sake and the horse's. They can't learn that if they dump you, they get put up. So Ave walked her out uneventfully. I missed the whole thing, but I heard about it later.

So anyway, there's definitely something back there. It can't be deer, because there are lots of deer back there, and the horses don't even pay attention to them. Ditto for the Canada geese and the blue herons. Cats and dogs saunter through occasionally, and the horses don't care about them either. There are fox back there, but they don't come out much. We see coon tracks, but they're mostly interested in eating Dan's sweet corn. That only leaves one logical conclusion. Coyote. We've seen them back there from time to time, and we've found tracks along the back of the paddock. Dan's thinking that maybe the coyote have a kill back there, and they're slipping back and forth. Something's definitely going on. The horses are definitely acting like it's a predator, not just some unexpected movement. Maybe we can go next door and check it out before they ride again. I don't need any more horse mishaps like the one Ave had when we first got JT and Oz.

We got them from the same family, and knew their whole history. Our farrier referred us to these people. These were really good horses, and honest people. We never doubted what we had. So anyway, we'd had them at the boarding barn for a week, and Ave had been lunging JT every day and getting him used to the place. He was perfect. On Saturday morning, she asked Karen if she could do her English lesson on him. Karen didn't see any reason not to, so they did. And he was awesome. Towards the end of the lesson, as always, Karen put JT on the lunge line, tied up his reins, and lunged him while Ave worked on balance exercises on his back. It just involved slowly moving her arms around in different patterns while Karen controlled JT on the lunge line. Unfortunately, we found out later that the only time JT's previous owner fell off him was when she stopped to yank her hoodie over her head. He spooked before she even got it off, and she flew off. So anyway, here Ave was, swinging her arms slowly around while she was on JT.

Suddenly, the arm movement must have spooked him, because he bolted. He was flying. Karen still had a hold of the lunge line, but JT was circling her at a fast canter, not listening. Ave had no reins, and she apparently didn't think to grab them. It happened so fast. I'm sure she squeezed him tightly with her legs to stay on, but unfortunately, that would have been JT's signal to go like hell. Counter-productive, really. I stood up, incredulous, just watching. Ave did a tremendous job staying on for about four or five revolutions. Karen tried to calm JT, but nothing worked. They flew by me one last time, and Ave finally flew off to the outside. I think she screamed. Karen immediately pulled the horse to the center so Ave didn't get kicked or stepped on. She spun around backwards and landed face-down in the dirt. She didn't move. I threw her coat to the ground and ran towards her.

"Ave, are you okay!" Nothing. I reached her. "Ave! Are you okay?" Still nothing. She lay motionless, face-down. I lifted her head just enough to get her face out of the dirt. Her eyes were open, but no one was home. Her face was covered in dirt.

"Ave! Ave!"

Karen yanked the arena door open, still holding JT. "Dan! Dan! Where are you? Call 911!" I was only vaguely aware of her.

"Ave!" The look in her eyes--or the lack of one--was chilling. I immediately dropped to my knees and put my lips against her dirty cheek. "Jesus, heal this child!" I literally felt like I'd placed her in His arms. I completely removed myself from the picture. And immediately, I felt peace.

I kept my mouth on her cheek. "Ave. You're okay. You're in God's hands now." I can't even explain how I felt. I just knew.

Suddenly, she blinked her eyes. She looked at me without lifting her head. "I'm okay, Mom." And she was. I unhooked her helmet and took it off, and I shoved my vest under her face without really lifting her head.

She said she was okay, but Karen called one of the 4-H moms who is a nurse, and she came and checked Ave over. Everything seemed okay, so we got a piece of plywood and log-rolled her over onto her back. So far, so good. I was giving her Rescue Remedy every few minutes, which is a homeopathic remedy that just makes everything right again--mental and physical. But I still didn't want to make the call that she could stand up, so we called 911. They came and checked her over, and decided she could stand. They helped her up, and she immediately ran to my arms.

"Where's JT?"

"Karen's got him out in the cross-ties."

"I need to see him." I took her out there, and Karen had untacked him and was getting ready to turn him back out. He seemed to feel bad that he dumped her. Ave talked to him and comforted him and reassured him. She gave him an apple, and Karen took him back outside.

Unfortunately, it was just one of those things. It was an honest spook. There was nothing aggressive about him during the incident, and he immediately relaxed and came to Karen as soon as Ave flew off. It was probably the arm-swinging that did it, but that's something Ave had done dozens of times on Cammi. No big deal.

We went home, and Ave had a helluva headache, and later she was sick to her stomach. They'd warned us about that, so I ended up taking her to Emergency to have her checked out. After about a five-hour wait, they said she had a slight concussion. Ave was totally unfamiliar with doctors and hospitals, and she was very agitated by it all. I told her to stay in the saddle, and we wouldn't have to go through this again.

Actually, she did. Until she flew off Cammi today, more than a year and a half later. But this time I didn't witness it. I didn't have to think she was dead. When she went off JT, I honestly felt she was dead. There was a scary, scary flatness to her eyes, and absolutely no movement. Even her cheek felt funny when I put my lips on it. It was like I knew she was gone, then, after I prayed with such expectation, I knew she'd be okay. Who knows? I'm not going to say she was dead, but something definitely happened. And I've never prayed with such expectation in my life. Never. It was huge. I felt something I've never felt before. It was like I literally picked her up and placed her in Jesus' arms. Not God's, who always feels a little more generic and safe to me. I went right to Jesus this time. And as soon as He touched her, she was fine. "Jesus, heal this child."

Ask and you shall receive.

Now I think we'd better go next door and look around to see if we can see anything on the west side of our arena before the kids ride again. I don't want to ever have to pray like that again.

But at least I know how to now.

Surfer girl

2007-08-27T09:39:00.000-07:00

Alex tends to gravitate towards websites where he can gather information or watch cool videos. He loves to find animal footage, like I've mentioned before, but he also has another site he checks out most days. He's been fascinated by Bethany Hamilton, the girl who got her arm bitten off by a shark ever since he first heard about her in 2003. For Christmas 2004, I bought him her book, which he loved. I think that's where he first learned she had a website. He says she updates it once in awhile with fresh video footage, so he checks it often. I know I see him on there quite frequently. The computer the kids use is in the kitchen, so I'm usually aware of what they're looking at.

He decided to blog for me today, and this is his Bethany Hamilton story.

Bethany Hamilton

by Alex

Bethany Hamilton is an amazing kid. She is a surfer. She was only 13 when, on Halloween 2003, she was laying on her surfboard in the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii. Suddenly, a 15-foot tiger shark bit off her left arm. She survived the attack, though, and can still surf to this day. It's cool how she can surf with only one arm. She was surfing again three weeks after the attack. She was with her friend, Alana Blanchard, when she got attacked.

It's cool that Bethany has her own website, bethanyhamilton.com. Alana's got her own website, too: alanablanchard.com. Bethany also has videos of her surfing on youtube.com. I like going on both their websites, and I watch Bethany's videos on You Tube. Alana has videos of herself surfing on her website. She is pretty famous herself.

Bethany doesn't seem to care that she has only one arm. She just loves surfing. Even with one arm, she is still on the national surfing circuit. She wins a lot of trophies. Alana is also on the surfing circuit, and she wins too.

They did catch the shark that bit off Bethany's arm. They killed it. Bethany is not scared to go in the ocean, but she thinks about sharks more often. I don't know how I'd do with only one arm. But she sure does good in life with only one arm. Bethany is a Christian, so that's how she finds the strength to not only live with one arm, but to be on the national surfing circuit and do so well. I just think she's awesome.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm not sure why he's so fascinated by her, other than the fact that it's a compelling story. Losing an arm to a shark is not ordinary. But then, neither is she. Knowing Alex and what makes him tick, I think he's probably drawn to the Christian side of her, whether he realizes it or not. He just gravitates toward all that good energy. He tries to make me clean up my act, too. I guess that's a good thing. Probably all part of the reason why I've got him in the first place.

Just as long as I never have to get squeaky clean.

Ground rules

2007-08-26T10:12:00.000-07:00

This morning we actually had to wear sweatshirts to do horses. It was the first time in I don't know how long that we didn't have that nasty humidity. It was awesome. I had just enough time to get the coffee on and get the bed made before we had to get ready for Avery's riding lesson at 9:00 with Karen. The four of us headed out to grab the horses and get them tacked up before she got here.

We switched over to t-shirts, but it was still beautiful and sunny. Nice breeze. Dan and I sat on our stump stools and drank coffee while we watched the kids ride. Both horses looked great. After about an hour, Karen decided she wanted Ave to do some patterns on JT, so she headed over to grab a couple ground poles. Alex was just walking by on Oz when she grabbed the first one and started to drag it. It wasn't sudden or anything, but Oz is a horse, after all, and a bit spookier than I'd like to see. Of course, he decided the pole was going to eat him, so he tucked his butt under and spun around. No matter how good Alex's seat is, when they spin like that, it's hard to sit. He almost rode it out, but as Oz turned right, Alex flew off to the left.

I was standing next to Avery on JT. She'd just stopped for a drink of water. I heard the commotion, and looked up just in time to see Alex start to lose his balance. Oz's sudden spin must have driven his left foot into the stirrup a little further, because it looked like it was stuck for a half a second, then broke free. Thank God. He landed on his left side, kind of on his shoulder, and I did what I always do. I watched to make sure Oz didn't step on him or kick him as he hit the ground. He didn't. Oz only danced a couple more steps, then stopped. So far so good. Most horses don't like losing their riders, and unless they're idiots, they usually look remorseful and check to make sure the rider is okay.

Alex stood up, dusted himself off, and said, "Ow." He was holding his left side.

Thankfully, JT didn't spook because of Oz's spook, so I headed towards Alex.

"You all right, Bud?"

"Yeah. Ow."

"If you're okay, grab your horse." I was approaching Oz from the front so I could grab him if he bolted. But he just stood there, one rein lying on the ground, just waiting to be stepped on. Alex grabbed one rein and Karen grabbed the other.

"Are you okay?" He still held his side.

"Yeah, but it hurts a little."

"Where?"

He lifted his shirt and pointed to just above his jeans. I pushed on it a little. "Right there?"

"Yeah."

"Can you walk around a little? I'll go get the Arnica and Hypericum if you want."

"Okay."

While Dan held onto Oz, Alex walked around for a minute, then said, "It doesn't really hurt much now."

"Okay. Why don't you hop back on, and I'll go get the spray." I always use those two homeopathic remedies for injuries like that. Arnica and Hypericum spray. They work great.

He hopped back on Oz. "I think I'm just going to walk him."

"That's fine. He needs walking out anyway." I headed up to the barn for the remedies.

That's only the second time he's gone off Oz, and the first time at home. It was almost a year ago that he flew off him at the boarding barn, when he just walked away, kind of stimming. That's when I was bummed because he seemed to forget where he was. And he'd flown off Cammi, our pony, once before, so it wasn't his first time. This morning, though, a year later, he seemed to react quicker, and more appropriately. He didn't immediately grab the horse, but he didn't turn away from him either. Besides, Oz wasn't being stupid or mean. He wasn't trying to get Alex off. He's not like that. He's an honest horse, and it was an honest spook. He stopped dancing immediately after Alex flew off. He was worried about him, so he stood right there.

In the end, Alex walked Oz out, and I sprayed his back when he got off. He says he's fine now. Doesn't even hurt. He didn't really say much about it, other than, "Oz wasn't trying to get me off, Mom. He spooked." Last time, he seemed to need to go on and on about it. Definite progress there.

That's the only part of horses I don't like. These are good, safe horses, but they're still horses. They're prey animals, so they're always watching for predators. To a horse, even a harmless plastic ground pole can sometimes be a predator. My heart usually shoots out of my mouth when one of the horses spooks, but this time it didn't have time. Alex was on the ground before I knew it. When JT spooks, he usually just skitters to the side a little. No big deal. Nothing Ave can't handle. But Oz tends to tuck his butt and spin. He'd make a great reining horse. That's what reiners do. A horse is usually pretty consistent when they spook. Sometimes they just bolt. Whatever it is, they usually seem to do some variation of it. I hate it, but if I'm going to let my kids ride, I have to deal with it.

I worry more about Alex and Oz than I do about Ave and JT. JT can be a little cranky sometimes, but he doesn't spook much. And Oz only spooks once in awhile, but I just naturally worry more about Alex. That's my job. Every time the kids ride, right before they get on, I look each horse in the eye and we have a little chat. You can see a horse's soul when you look in their eyes. It's very deep and spiritual. I tell them "You keep my kid safe, he/she will keep you safe, and Jesus will keep you both safe." It's sort of a cross between a prayer and a threat. Funny thing is, their eyes soften when I say it. They lean into me ever so slightly. They sort of expect it now.

I hate that my kids are into something so potentially dangerous, but nothing is safe, really. Every time they ride, I just hand the reins over to God. It's totally out of my hands. I know that. He trusts me with these kids, so I have to trust Him when they're in the saddle. Otherwise, I'd worry myself to death.

Horses are my kids' lives. Plain and simple. And even though I don't ride, I love them in an incredibly deep, spiritual way. There's simply nothing like a horse, even from the ground. They're a gift, and for Alex, they're even more. They're his very essence. All animals, but horses especially.

I'm not stupid, though. I draw the line at speed and jumping.

Dangerous baby games

2007-08-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

Alex was perfect for the first 10 days of his life. He ate, slept and let me cuddle him to my heart's content. Then the reprieve ended. He cried incessantly. That's when my husband dubbed him a "colicky little prick." For the first month, he was inconsolable. It didn't seem to matter what I did. He was making me crazy. We attributed it to colic.

For the next four months, I could get him quieted down only if I danced with him and sang to him. I danced with him in his tiny bedroom for hours at night trying to get him to sleep. We played that oh-so-familiar game parents play: get him to sleep, try to lay him down and he'd wake up screaming. Dancing shoes back on. I felt so trapped.

I lashed out at my husband. He worked nights, but to me, it was an escape. Even if I left for a couple hours during the day, it was never enough. I wanted my old life back. What had we done?

When he was five or six months old, the worst of the colic seemed to subside. Then the screaming began. He screamed at every turn. No matter what happened, he screamed. Sometimes I screamed back. I was not proud of that fact. At that point, I was just proud that I never hurt him.

Family helped as much as Alex would allow. Most of the time, though, their simple presence amplified our problems. This child just did not adapt well.

Whenever I ran errands with him, he screamed when he heard a voice over the loudspeaker. He screamed if anyone even looked at him. Unfortunately, he was a beautiful baby, so everyone approached him.

I just couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. I accepted the blame. And I learned early on how to block out our surroundings and focus simply on him. I pulled an invisible curtain around us. This calmed him considerably. I was the only one who could calm him. If anyone else tried to hold him, he soon cried, and I had to take him back and do the invisible curtain thing.

Avery was perfect. For the first week of her life. Then she, too, was colicky. I panicked. Not again. I'd already held one screaming baby in front of me, my fingers itching to hurt him. Now that one was autistic, and I had another colicky infant? I lost it. Dan was still working nights. I cried. I yelled. It was my worst nightmare. What had we done now?

For some reason, since I was breastfeeding Avery, I decided to start eliminating foods from my diet. I guess I thought it was food allergies, since I knew Alex had them. Finally, when Avery was six weeks old, I had it figured out. I could eat plain, unseasoned meat, whole grains and a few vegetables. That's it. If I varied from that in the slightest, she screamed incessantly. I didn't care about the diet, though. I was just happy that she stopped screaming. Now I wouldn't have to hurt her. She breastfed voraciously for ten months, then went straight to a cup. She never did take a bottle, or even a pacifier. But at least she stopped screaming.

When I was young and baby-sitting other people's kids, I was never much for the infants. My greatest fear was that they'd start crying and I couldn't get them to stop. I preferred toddlers and older. On the rare occasion I did agree to baby-sit an infant, time dragged endlessly. I hated it. How uncanny that I ended up with two colicky little pricks of my own. Must have been a lesson in there for me somewhere. Talk about time dragging on. I pretended that their mom would be home any minute to take over for me. She never came.

I'm surprised I didn't end up divorced. My husband was a good sport, but he was no match for me. I almost went over the deep end--more than once. Unless you've had a colicky baby or two, I don't think you can appreciate the dangerous places you can go inside your brain. Places you never, ever thought you'd go.

I don't even know if the colic was related to the autism. It doesn't matter. It's over now, but it certainly set the tone. I felt like a pseudo-mom, at best. I loved them, but I didn't really like them very much. How could I? It's a darn good thing Avery's only lasted six weeks, because I may have snapped. I was up to my elbows with Alex and his autism, then that.

Then there's always teething. I suffered through it with Alex, but thank God I found a cure with Avery. And it didn't even involve large adult beverages on my part. One simple little homeopathic remedy worked wonders--belladonna. She went from grizzly bear to fuzzy little lamb. It worked every time.

Thank God for my big kids. I'm so glad they're old now.

But let's hope they never ask me to baby-sit when their kids are infants.

Engaged

2007-08-22T12:32:00.000-07:00

While I'm on the topic of Alex, at six, struggling to figure out how to play with his peers, I found another interesting journal entry. He was still taking violin, which was next door to a Burger King. We suddenly had some time to kill, so we went next door so he could play in the play structure. Fortunately, I had my journal with me, so I sat nearby with my coffee and wrote. When another little six-year-old boy came in, I eavesdropped--as usual--and took notes. He was more into sharing facts back then, rather than true conversation. But six-year-olds don't usually notice.

He climbed on the play structure at Burger King. Alone. He didn't mind. He was happy. In bounced another six-year-old boy. The kid moved into his space. He retreated ever so slightly. I wondered what he would do. He sized up the intruder. "What's your name?"

"Gage."

"My name is Alex."

"C'mon, Alex. Let's go down the slide." He followed Gage down. His differences seemed to go undetected.

"We didn't come here for food, Gage. We were next door for my violin lesson. Guess what happened?"

"What?"

"My mom locked the keys in the van! We're waiting for my grandpa."

"I'm here with my grandpa and grandma. C'mon, Alex. Let's go this way."

"You mean over this crazy bridge? What if it breaks?"

"These don't break. It's okay. You don't fall." Gage raced across the bridge. Alex maneuvered his own way.

"I don't like cheeseburgers, Gage, or Burger King chicken. What do you like?"

"I like the new bacon cheeseburger. You wanna play hide and seek?"

"Okay. I'll hide first. You count to 100, Gage." Alex headed to the top.

"... 57, 58, 59 ... 40. I mean 60 ..." It didn't take long. "Found you, Alex. My turn."

"How high do you want me to count, Gage?"

"Can you count to 30?"

"1, 2, 3 ..." He counted to 30, then went in search of Gage. "Gage, are you hiding someplace I don't know about?"

"I'm way up here, Alex." He finally found him.

"Gage, you know, you're kind of a smart kid. You know all the places in here."

"I've been here lots. Let's go down this upside down on our backs."

"I think that's against the law, Gage."

Gage smiled. "No, it's not." So they did it.

"I'm going to call you Alexander."

"Well, my full name is Alexander. Actually, my name is supposed to be Alexander W."

In Gage's eyes, he's not so very different ...

* * * * * * * * * *

He'd already made great progress, but he hadn't played with his peers much yet, beyond Max, Pat and Eric. I was curious to see how he did with someone new. He did great. He actively tried to engage this kid in conversation. But the real difference was that playing was incidental. He wanted to just stand and chat, which is how he still is today. He loves to talk. He was searching for facts, and Gage seemed to be answering his questions as quickly as possible so he could steer him somewhere else to play. And Alex still spoke very robot-like back then, but six-year-olds don't care. Other than his monotone and perhaps his hesitancy to try new things, someone else observing the two boys probably wouldn't have noticed a thing. It was definite progress, and I was very happy.

A couple years later, I took both kids to another play structure in a different restaurant. Alex was getting kind of big for that at eight, but he still liked it. Ave loved it. At first, it was just the two of them, but then a young pregnant mother came in with her little boy, and probably her own mother. The little boy looked about three or so. He wanted no part of his food, and immediately ran to the middle of the room, stared up at the unmoving ceiling fan, and started to scream. Uh-oh. Immediately, I sensed a problem. His mom redirected him momentarily, but he still wasn't happy. They couldn't get him to eat much, so they told him to go ahead and play. He wandered near the play structure, but couldn't figure out how to get in. I watched as he went to the front and looked around, then bypassed the steps going in, and went to the side and looked around. He did this a few times as Mom and Grandma chatted and ate fries. Then he got frustrated and grunted a bit. Mom just got up and picked him up and put him inside. Then she went back to her fries. It didn't take me long to decide this kid was autistic. When you've got one, you can sure spot 'em.

By now, there were a couple other kids in there besides mine. I watched the little guy attempt to play, but he seemed clueless. Blank. Didn't even seem to notice the other kids. I watched his mom, but I distinctly felt like she didn't have a clue there was anything wrong. And here she had another one on the way. Then again, maybe she knew, but, like I used to do, acted like everything was fine. He'll be okay. But my gut told me she didn't know.

The little guy couldn't figure out how to go down the two steps when he was done rambling around in there, so Mom had to rescue him. He wandered around the outer area with that oh-so-familiar look. He tried staring at the fan a few times to get it to go, and his mom patiently explained that it wasn't on today. Part of me wanted to warn her about what I saw, but I knew she'd be pissed if I said anything. Autism is not something you want a casual observer to point out. You don't want anyone to say it, and if they try, you immediately want them to take it back. So I knew better than to interfere. But my heart broke for her.

That little boy must be about 11 today. I hope he got help. I hope she did too. Alex has long since given up play structures, but he still loves to talk to new people. Once he was no longer expected to play with his peers, he was free to focus on conversation. Which is all he really wanted anyway. Even with Gage.

Gage made me realize that maybe, just maybe, we'd make it.

Sandbox rules

2007-08-21T16:59:00.000-07:00

I found another interesting journal entry from the same time-frame as yesterday's about Alex and Pat. By the way, when Alex read yesterday's blog about Pat and Eric, and Eric's so-called camp, he said, "Why didn't we just go to Eric's camp? That was rude!" I explained that Eric didn't really have a camp; he was just hoping he could get Pat to come over.

"Oh. Well, we were still rude." I guess it's all much clearer to him in hindsight.

Anyway, this is about Pat, and Alex's cousin, Max, who is the same age as Alex. Max has always been a good egg about Alex. He put up with a lot of his crap and rolled with it. Max rarely got ruffled. My sister, Karen, and Max had spent the day at our house, and the boys were six. Pat was eight. The three of them had been playing out in the sandbox for awhile. Dinner was almost ready. And Alex hadn't yet mastered playing with two friends at the same time ...

Max trudged onto the deck. "Alex told Pat to go home."

"Yeah," said Pat. "He's being a jerk." Pat headed home.

Max opened the screen door and stepped in. "Alex hates me. I wanna go home, too."

His mom looked up. "Dinner's ready, Max."

"I don't care. I wanna go home."

Max and his mom were staying for dinner. Maybe.

"C'mon, Max. Wash up." She set his plate on the table.

Alex still sat out in the sandbox, alone. "I'll be right back." I approached him slowly. "Dinner's ready, Sweetheart." He just looked at me. "What's the matter?" His lip quivered. "You can tell me, Baby." Tears rolled down his sandy little cheeks. I hugged him tight.

"Mom, I can't believe they did that!"

"What happened?"

"This is the first time that's ever happened to me!"

"What, Sweetheart?"

"I can't believe they were playing that stupid game!"

"What game?"

"Road construction! He kept putting the shovel like this to keep my truck off his road!"

"Who did?"

"Max!"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Why didn't they let me play?"

"Did you ask them?"

"No!"

"Did Max say you couldn't play?"

"He kept putting that shovel up!"

"Honey, this is why we don't usually have Pat over when Max is here. It's too hard for you to play with two friends."

"Mom, we shouldn't have Pat over when Max is here anymore."

I wiped his nose. "I know. Are you ready to eat?"

"No, I'm staying out here."

"Honey, you have to eat."

"I'm staying out here by myself, Mom."

"Okay. You can stay out here for awhile."

"I can stay out as long as I want?"

"Yeah. Come in when you're ready to eat." I walked slowly back to the house. I felt exposed. And mad. At two little boys. Two normal little boys.

We ate. And noticed the empty chair. Max watched his cousin play in the sand. "How long is he going to stay out there?"

"I don't know. Finish your dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

Alex headed for the house just as we finished up with dinner. He kicked off his shoes and came in. "Max, why were you playing that stupid game?"

"It was not a game."

"Yes, it was."

"That's your opinion. We're two different people."

"Max, that was a stupid game!"

I stepped in. "C'mon, Alex. Wash up and eat." I pulled out his chair. That seemed to be the end of it. But I knew better.

Alex sat on my lap the next morning. I knew he had to get it out of his system. At least he can express his feelings now. He used to just blow up at me.

"Mom, do friends get divorced?"

"No, Sweetie. Why?"

"Pat and Max need to get divorced. Pat's my friend with me, and I hate it when he plays with Max and not me."

"Is that why you got angry? Because they were playing together?"

"Yes. I can't believe they were friends together and not me!"

"Did you try to ruin Max's road?"

"No, I just wanted to drive my truck on it. But Max wouldn't let me."

"Did he tell you to stop?"

"He said it was under construction. He kept kicking my truck back with his foot."

"Did Pat say anything?"

"He didn't say a word."

"Did you try to drive on Pat's road?"

"Yes, but he said, 'This is only a castle road. No trucks allowed.' I hated it a lot! He did it a lot!"

"What happened to your road?"

"Avery stomped on it and ruined it. I got mad at her and told her to go in the house."

His fiery-tempered, almost-three-year-old sister. "Is that why you wanted to ruin their roads?"

"Well, they should stop playing together because I thought Pat said he was my best friend!"

"Honey, people have lots of friends. Just because they play together, it doesn't mean they're not still your friends."

"I gotta get 'em to stop playing together. They're my friends!"

"Honey, do you think Max would have let you drive on his road when it was done? He told me he would have."

"No, Mom."

Yeah, I didn't really believe him either. I knew the dynamics in that sandbox. A little boy who could almost fit in--but not quite--who was sharp enough to realize that fact, and two "normal" boys who excluded him. They fooled no one.

But maybe that's just me.

"Mom, no more having Pat over when Max is here."

"You're right, Sweetie. No more." We'll have no friends if we keep that up.

"I got tired of having two friends, Mom."

"I know."

Alex's eyes twinkled. "Mom, after Pat went home and Max went in, I just went around the road and squished it with tire tracks."

Best buds

2007-08-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

I was just reading through some old journal entries. Alex was still trying to sort out all the social rules at six. It proved to be quite a challenge. Lots of land mines. At the time, he played with Pat, who was a year and a half older than him, and sometimes Eric, who was about eight months older. The boys lived on either side of us, and they were very different in their approach to Alex. Eric used to just bluntly get in Alex's face when he acted weird. Other times, he didn't seem to notice. Pat noticed, but didn't mind. He was awesome. He taught Alex a lot just by being Pat. I found this entry from that time-frame.

Alex pedaled his bike down the driveway. I stood by the garage. "Come back this way, Alex." He turned around and headed back. He heard a door slam and looked up.

"Hey, Alex! My mom said I can come over." His friend, Pat, raced up to the fence. "Wanna play on my slide?"

"No, we better stay in my yard, Pat."

"Okay." Pat headed over.

I started for the door. "Why don't you play at Pat's, Honey? You love to slide."

"No, Mom. I just want to play here." I knew better than to argue.

"Okay. Make sure you stay in the yard, though." I headed for the kitchen, where I could see, but not be seen.

"C'mon, Alex. Let's go out back." Pat raced through the garage and out the back door. Alex followed. Pat ran straight to the barn and hopped on the big tractor. Halfway to the barn, Alex noticed a branch from a Maple tree lying in the grass. He picked it up and twirled it gently. He wandered aimlessly through the grass, focused only on the branch.

"Alex!" Pat hopped off the tractor. "Let's ride the snowmobiles!" Alex dropped the branch and ran to the barn. They each climbed on a snowmobile and pretended to ride.

"Pat, did you know that's my dad's snowmobile?"

"Uh-huh. You told me." Pat jammed the throttle and challenged his friend to a race. "I'm gonna win, Alex!"

"Pat, this is my mom's snowmobile."

"I know, Alex. You told me." Pat hopped off and found a soccer ball. "C'mon. Let's kick the ball around."

Alex climbed off the snowmobile and chased after Pat. They kicked the ball back and forth a few times. Pat gave the ball a good hard kick just as Alex tried to pick it up. He accidentally kicked Alex's hand.

"Ow! You did that on purpose, Pat!"

"No, I didn't, Alex. I'm sorry. Let me see it."

Alex pulled away. "Yes, you did! You did that on purpose!" He ran to the patio door. "Mom, Pat kicked me!"

I stepped onto the deck. Pat looked worried. "It was an accident!"

"He did it on purpose, Mom!" I looked his hand over.

"I think it'll be okay. Honey, it was an accident. Pat wouldn't kick you on purpose."

"Yes, he would!"

"C'mon inside you two. Let's get a drink." I poured two cups of juice. The boys drank them down. Alex seemed to forget the incident. He wandered into the living room.

I ruffled Pat's hair. "He's kind of hard to deal with sometimes, isn't he?"

Pat shrugged. "Kind of. But that's okay."

"You're a great kid, Pat. God must have hand-picked you for Alex's friend." Pat just grinned.

Alex came into the kitchen. "Pat, you kicked me on purpose."

Pat didn't pay any attention to his comment. "C'mon, Alex. Let's go play in your tent." They raced out to the front yard and climbed into the tent. "This is a cool camp, Alex."

"My grandma got this tent for me for my birthday."

"I know." Pat saw a shadow and stuck his head out the door. "It's Eric."

Alex climbed out. "This is our camp, Eric."

Eric pointed towards his yard. "My camp's cooler. Anyone want to come in my camp?"

Pat looked across the yard. "Where is it?"

"It's right over there."

Pat didn't see anything. "Nah, we like our camp. Right, Alex?"

"Right."

Eric looked at their tent. "C'mon, Pat. Aren't you done with him yet?" Alex just watched his two friends.

Pat stepped closer to Alex. "No. We like our camp, Eric."

Eric kicked the grass. "Fine. But I'm never coming back here again!" He sulked back to his yard and sat on the back step.

Alex watched Eric's back. "Pat, I think Eric's bummed out that no one went to his camp."

Pat looked over at Eric.

"He says he's never coming back, Pat."

"That's what they all say, Alex." He patted Alex's head. "He'll get over it. C'mon." They climbed back into their camp. Pat watched Alex as he picked up a toy and spun it. He put his arm around Alex's shoulder. "You're my best friend in the whole world, Alex."

Alex looked at Pat and didn't try to move away. "You're my bestest friend in the whole world, too, Pat." Alex awkwardly hugged his friend back.

I went in to fix lunch. I stuck my head back out. "Hey, guys. Want some lunch? I packed you a picnic." They ran to the house. "Why don't you go sit under the big oak tree by the bridge?"

"Yeah! Let's go, Alex!" They grabbed their lunches and started for the bridge.

"Don't go near the water, boys."

"We won't." They skipped along happily, their lunches bobbing at their sides. They settled under the oak tree and kicked off their shoes and socks.

"All right! M&Ms! I'm eating these first!" Pat tore open the bag and poured some in his mouth.

"Pat, you're supposed to eat your sandwich first." Alex took a bite of his.

"I'll eat it. I just want my M&Ms first." They ate their lunches and listened to the birds.

Just a couple of guys, hanging out, having fun. On the surface.

Beneath the surface, my heart registered every little movement so someday he'd learn to do the intricate dance without my choreography.

Violins ... fiddles ... whatever

2007-08-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

The day before Alex turned six, he started violin lessons. He'd been fascinated by the violin for awhile, so I thought perhaps music would be his thing.

I found an elderly lady who played viola with a nearby orchestra. Mrs. Austin. For some reason, she commanded his attention right away. He stood perfectly still at his first lesson as she showed him what to do. She had to correct his grip on the bow a bunch of times, but he never got mad. I was amazed at his concentration. He spent 30 minutes on task in a calm manner, which was a shock, really. After his first lesson, he proudly led the way out with his "new" rental violin in tow. In the parking lot, he was excited. "Boy, wait till Pat sees this!" Pat was his 7-year-old friend next door.

When we got home, he carefully removed the violin from the case to show Daddy, then asked to play it for him. After he played a couple strokes on the "A" string, I said, "How about the "E" string?". He immediately complied.

"Now I'm going to play 'Jingle Bells'." He played his own tune for us. He really concentrated on the strings as he experimented with the sounds. He let me play it for a minute, then took it back and played us another "song." Then he lowered it and said, "I didn't get angry and say I couldn't do it at all!" That was his usual reaction when anyone tried to teach him anything, and I think he was genuinely surprised that he hadn't reacted like that. I figured that was a good omen.

The bad news was that for him to learn to play properly and be able to practice, I also had to learn everything he did. And I hated it. I absolutely cannot read music no matter who tries to explain it to me, including Mrs. Austin. And she scared me a little. No wonder Alex listened to her. She was patient with him, but not me. I wasn't afraid to ask questions so I'd make sure I could work with him, and I don't think she liked it.

Anyway, we practiced a few times the first week, and he did great at his second lesson. She started working with his fingers on the strings. He gave her his full attention, and I was again amazed. As he was putting the violin away, he said, "Are we going to practice when we get home?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. I want to play some more when we get home." So far so good.

He liked to play his own songs, then he'd practice the notes he learned. After only a couple lessons, he played for my mom, who was home from North Carolina, and a few other family members. He asked everyone to clap each time he was done, then he'd bow. He did that six or seven times.

At the third lesson, he struggled with the fingering. I could see he was frustrated, but he really controlled it. He didn't just blow up and quit, like he usually did. On the way out, he said he had fun, and he played twice before bed. He was getting pretty creative with his own songs.

About six weeks into his lessons, he and I went to see George Winston. He's an awesome pianist. We had front row seats, and it was amazing. We could see every move his fingers made. Alex played his fingers on his legs. He stayed amazingly calm through the two-hour concert, and said he really liked it. Too bad he was only six, though, because he told me the other day he doesn't remember seeing him at all. He doesn't like his kind of music anyway.

I kept working with him on the violin, but he wasn't real cooperative with me when I tried to help him with the fingering. He let Mrs. Austin do it, but she was different. She wasn't me. The fun started wearing off a couple months into lessons, but he always cooperated with his teacher. She didn't cut him any slack, and she stopped just short of being gruff. For some reason, he tolerated it.

He was also taking an art class, and Creative Movement, a fun dance class where he had freedom, and we were busy going to lots of plays. I guess this was my cultural phase. I think I was trying to find a place for him to fall in love with something, so I exposed him to some very rich stuff. I'm not really the cultural sort, but for some reason, I felt compelled to do this.

After four months of violin, he wanted to quit. We talked it over, and he liked his lessons, but not practicing with me. Small wonder. I hated it too. But I hated to just give up after investing so much time, so I talked him into sticking with it a bit longer. Besides, it was the only time someone besides me expected something from him. He had to comply somewhat in dance and art, but not like what Mrs. Austin expected. He wasn't having problems with her, so I kind of forced the issue.

Probably a bigger factor was that I was still trying to decide whether we were homeschoolers or unschoolers. I bounced back and forth between structured work and unschooling. He showed me time and time again that he was an unschooler at heart, but it made me nervous back then. I didn't think I was doing enough. I didn't trust him to learn what he needed. I wanted to control it. On his own, he was fascinated with words and numbers. As long as I didn't try to force him to do anything with them. When I left him alone, he came to me with his own observations. That's unschooling at its best. If I hadn't wasted so much time trying to force his hand, violin may have worked out.

He managed to do one concert at some elderly facility or something. I can't even remember where. I've got it on videotape, and it's awesome. He hopped right up there and did what he was supposed to do. He was very serious about it. But after we butted heads one too many times, I agreed to let him quit. He made it almost a whole year. We both hated it by then. But it was one of those things where you make a huge time investment, and you hate to throw it all away. It wasn't even a money thing, because it wasn't expensive. And it wasn't even that I wanted him to be a musician. I guess it was just time. Whatever. We were both much happier once he quit.

I don't even know what purpose his violin lessons served in the big picture. I just know that it was important to have someone else get a little rough with him, and see him act very appropriately. He reserved his whining for me. Today, he just groans when anyone mentions the violin. Me too, actually. But who knows? Maybe that's the reason he's such a music connoisseur today. He truly listens to his music. He was raised on jazz and classical, which went right out the door when he was 12 and started hanging out in the horse barn, where he discovered country. But he won't listen to just any country. He's very discerning, like I've mentioned before. Maybe violin played a role. Maybe not. Doesn't matter. What matters is that he discovered music that he loves--that speaks to him. He listens to it every day. He needs it. Just like I need jazz.

I guess music was his thing after all. He just needed to find it on his own.

Phoning girls

2007-08-18T11:17:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I got a phone call from a homeschool dad whose wife I knew from Church. We met them shortly after Alex and their daughter, Betsy, made their First Communion together in 2nd grade. Betsy's dad politely informed me that apparently, Alex had been trying to contact Betsy. He'd left several messages, and while he was sure they were all very innocent, they didn't allow Betsy to talk to boys. Surely, he must be mistaken, I thought. That was way out there for Alex. I couldn't believe it. How did he even know their number?

"Hey, Alex. Did you call Betsy?"

"Uh, yes. I did."

"You did? Where did you get the number?" I was shocked.

"From your phone book in the drawer." Hmmm. That's cool. He knew where to look. Once again, I was tickled that he did something so "out there" for him, but he obviously needed some guidance.

"Well, Betsy's dad called. They don't let her talk to boys."

Alex was upset. Indignant, even. "Don't you ever want to contact someone who's no longer your friend, Mom?" Not really.

I had explained to Betsy's dad that I was sure Alex simply meant to touch base with an old friend, but Alex still wanted to take care of things himself. It reminded me of those little bimbos who messed with him at the horse show the summer before. He never did get the chance to address the situation with Betsy's parents, but when another friend stopped by for corn later, she assured me she would explain it to Betsy's mom. Alex felt better, but still not completely. He just hates it when he's misunderstood. He has an incredibly strong need to clear his name.

He just dictated the Betsy incident to me, which follows, and he's still a little mad about it. Sort of. I guess he just figures her dad should have known he meant no harm. But that family is pretty religious, and Alex isn't used to those kinds of standards. It's the first girl who couldn't talk to boys. What's up with that? In any case, here are Alex's thoughts on it, and his motives, which, as always, seem pretty innocent.

Betsy

by Alex

I think it's fun to contact an old friend sometimes. I called my friend, Eric, who lived next door to me, four years after he moved away. I caught frogs with him when I was young. I thought it was cool because he knew a lot about the Ice Age. I call him on the phone every now and then.

I have also contacted another friend, Alex. I met her when I was eight and she was seven. I sent her a letter last fall, and then she sent me one back. It's been over three years since I've seen her in person. I talked to her on the phone back in February. She is 15 now. She was homeschooled when we met, but last fall, I found out that she's in school now. I was shocked about that.

But last summer, I felt like contacting someone I knew back in second grade. Her name was Betsy. She's a year younger than me. I called her and talked to her older brother, Mason, and he said that she wasn't home at the time. So I said, "All right," and I just hung up. Another time, I talked to her younger sister, Lily, and she said that Betsy wasn't around. Another time I left a message. I figured she would call me back, just like Eric and Alex did.

Then while I wasn't home, my mom said that Betsy's dad called and said that she is not allowed to talk to boys on the phone. I was so ticked over it. I was not asking for a date. I just felt like contacting an old friend. Her mom and dad didn't mean to hurt my feelings, but they still did. But they moved to Florida last January. They had a going-away party, but I did not go to it.

The End

I felt bad that he was hurt, but I explained that Betsy's parents were pretty strict, and they certainly wouldn't know his feelings going in. I just told him that he couldn't call any more girls without checking with me first. He was bummed, but he agreed. He was trying to stretch those new wings a little further, and this grounded him a bit.

Since then, he's been calling a few girls in 4-H. I worry that he's making a pest of himself, but they usually call him back when he leaves a message, so maybe we're okay. I never see him talking to them, but he always mentions it later, and tells me something new in their lives.

One day, shortly after he got his cell phone last spring, he hopped in the shower. I was messing with his phone, and it rang, so I answered it. It was Savannah, one of his 4-H friends.

"Hi. Did Alex call me? I think I missed his call."

"Yeah, I'm sure he did. But he's in the shower." We chatted for a minute, and I told her I hoped he wasn't being a pest.

"Oh, no. I like talking to him. He's fun. He's always got a rabbit story to tell me or something."

Whew. This is the girl he talks to the most. I was relieved to hear that.

Alex just walked up behind me and read what I just wrote. I forgot that I never told him I'd talked with Savannah that day.

"Did Savannah really say that?"

"Yeah. She said you're fun to talk to."

"Oh, good!" And he walked out.

Maybe that'll take some of the sting out of the Betsy incident.

Life

2007-08-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

I've got a great job. I really do. I'm just bored with it. I write resumes and cover letters for job seekers, and I make it as fun as I can, but it's still the same basic animal for everyone. I don't have an office. That's boring. I take my laptop to coffee shops and meet clients there. It's great, because I love hanging out in cafes. My favorite is Barnes & Noble. People think it's great when they call to make an appointment, and they find out we're meeting over coffee. They're usually fascinated that the owners let me do it. I never asked, actually. Lots of people conduct business in coffee shops. Why not me? With everyone having wireless Internet these days, it makes sense. And it keeps me from getting too bored. Mostly. I just need to do something different.

I started this business three years ago when my hubby retired from the shop. I love the flexibility. When I have to go meet clients, he's home with the kids. I usually meet people twice--once to get the info, and once to give them the finished product. So I do the actual writing at home. I haul my entire business in two bags, and it's a really simple operation. When I wrap one up, I turn off the laptop, unplug it, and slip it into the bag. I slide my printer into the other bag, and away I go. I make sure I always have everything I need in the bags so I can make a clean break. I'm a procrastinator, so I'm still finishing up at the last minute.

The perks are great. Today, it's gorgeous out, and I'm on the patio. We have wireless, so I'm online. Of course, I've got two resumes and cover letters to write, but instead, I'm blogging. It's just getting harder and harder to make myself do these resumes. Perhaps I'll just write an e-book on running a resume business from a coffee shop, then I can stop actually writing the darn things. Now there's a thought.

Between having home-nut kids and homeschooling them, I need to stick around here. And I'm a homebody at heart, so that's not a problem. The kids are used to me being available at all times, which is why I'm burned out, but also why they're such cool kids. But they won't leave me alone when I'm writing, and that makes me crazy. My laptop is usually set up in the corner of our bedroom, and I close the door almost all the way when I'm working. I think it's rude to close it completely. Besides, the dog and the kitties like to come and go. But even a six-inch crack in the door makes all three of the nuts feel like it's wide open. Which is my fault, I know, but that's me. I have standards to live up to.

I was the fifth of six kids, and I'm sure I was just as high-maintenance as my kids. By the time I came along, my mom was whipped. She always worked full-time and she was tired at night. But I wasn't. I wanted to talk her ear off, and she was reading the paper and watching TV. So she tolerated me, then turned up the volume. Subtle. So I vowed I'd never do that to my kids. Shut them out. Okay, sometimes I have to. But they never shut up. Ever. That's the problem with unschoolers. They never stop looking stuff up and sharing it, or asking you questions about it. Or wanting you to just talk. So I do. And I try not to show my frustration.

I tell them what the almost-closed door means, but it doesn't matter. They crave me. All three of them. I'm like the glue of the whole family, which I'm sure is true for any mom, but it seems excessive around here. The best time of day is after Ave, Dan and I get horse chores done in the morning. It's usually 7:30 or so, and those two usually go back to bed for awhile. So I take my coffee out to my garden swing and read or just think. I love my solitude, when no voices interrupt my thoughts, but I love knowing they're just inside, asleep, not about to rush out the door with loud voices. It's heaven. You have to grab your moments, but the problem with me is that my whole day feels like I'm just getting by until I can be alone again. Now that's weird.

Sometime I wonder how I give so excessively to these kids, because I really don't want to. I want to put them in school and let someone else deal with it. Or maybe I should have put Alex on drugs at an early age to slow him down a little. What would it be like to watch them get on the bus each morning, and know that they are under someone else's watch? Or to know that I'd have all day to myself? I can't even imagine what that must feel like. I've never done it.

And I never will. It's not my thing. This is. It's incomprehensible to me that I do what I do, because it's so damn hard, and I'm lazy. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time. This too shall pass.

I do abuse sugar, though. I've gained a lot of weight since I stopped nursing Avery 11 years ago. I hate it, but I guess there are worse things I could be doing. Like crack. Instead I'm sitting on my patio watching the horses. They're picking through this morning's hay scraps. Dan and his mom are loading up the vegetable cart with this morning's fresh-picked sweet corn, tomatoes, squash, cabbage, beans and potatoes. No cukes. The drought ruined them. The kids have been in and out. Alex switches his bunnies in the running pens every hour. Ave comes out to tell me something, then goes back in. Their cousin, Sarah, is staying at Grandma's this week, and she's been in and out. I've got resumes to write that I don't want to write, but they pay well. There's a gorgeous breeze, and the cicadas are buzzing. The beds aren't made, and no one cares. Laundry's done. Dinner will be simple; tomato sandwiches and sweet corn. There's ice cream in the freezer. It's only 11:30 in the morning. My flowers still look good despite the drought.

Life is good. It's not easy, but it's good.

Osmosis

2007-08-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

The other day when I got home from the grocery store, Ave wasn't around, and Dan was out front selling veggies from his veggie cart. So Alex greeted me at the door. I popped the back of the van, and he started hauling in bags. I didn't have to say a word. As soon as he'd hauled them all in, he opened the fridge and put all the cold stuff away, then the freezer stuff. He carried the ice cream downstairs to the basement freezer. By then I had everything else put away except the extra stuff that goes in the pantry. He put that away too. All without my asking him to do a thing. Or giving him any direction. Not such a big deal on its own, really. But, as always, when I compare his progress to a year or two ago, it's huge.

When he was younger, if he even bothered to slow down long enough to notice I had groceries, he'd fly in and out of the kitchen with some toy in his hand. Usually, he was stimming with it. If I asked him to put something away, he'd drag his gaze away from his toy long enough to grab whatever I had, race it to wherever it needed to be, then run off stimming again. That's about as long as I could hold his attention. I could do that a bunch of times in a row and he'd never get mad, but he never made the connection from one item to the next.

It's kind of like when Avery was a baby. Alex was four, and Dan was still on second shift, so it was just us in the evenings. I'd usually sit in the rocking chair and nurse Ave around 7:00 every night. Alex would have the t.v. on, but he'd fly in and out of the room with a toy, not really watching. He'd usually stand in front of the t.v. for maybe 60 seconds, then run off. Every night, we'd follow the same routine. And every night, the same thing happened. If I sat down before 7:00, "Doug" was still on, and they'd announce that "Rugrats" was coming up next. And every time, Alex would turn to me with great surprise and say, "Rugrats is next!" He loved Rugrats. But it was always a total surprise that they were on at 7:00 every night. It wasn't a big deal, but it always made me a little sad that night after night, he made no connection to what we did. Each time was a new entity. There never seemed to be anything to build on.

Back then, he was still hyperactive. He'd stopped climbing the walls, but he was still wiry. So was his brain. The most vivid picture in my brain from that time is his stimming with a toy in his hand. He wobbled whatever it was in front of his face, gritted his teeth, contorted his face, and twirled his free hand. He was never totally lost. If I called him, he responded. But I couldn't hold his interest. He had to slip away again. I guess he stayed engaged a little longer each time, but it was never enough for me. Fortunately, by four, his temperament had improved greatly because of the homeopathy, so he was at least pleasant, even though he kept disappearing. And he adored his sister. He lived to make her laugh, and that was a lot of engagement for him. He only did it in snips, like everything else at the time, but he did it.

So I guess my point is, I don't really think I ever showed him how to put groceries away. Ave always does it. Alex brings in bags, and carries stuff to the basement, but he doesn't usually do the fridge. So I'm thinking it's a little thing he picked up by observing, which is something he was never able to do. Everything always needed to be taught and gone over again and again until he got it. Even simple things. Once he got it, he got it. We moved on.

Then again, there are still simple things that trip him up. Like a few days ago in Walmart. It was just Dan and Alex and I, and we were checking out. We don't usually shop at Walmart, so Alex is not real familiar with the little carousel thing they bag your stuff on. Anyway, I stood back and watched. When the full bags came around, I said, "Why don't you grab those bags and put them in the cart?" So he did. He grabbed a whole wad of unused bags in his attempt to grab the first one. I laughed because it was funny. He stood there grinning, holding the wad in his hand, unsure what to do with it. In the meantime, Dan said, "Great!" He's the sort who worries about what people think, so he immediately looks around to see who's watching. I, on the other hand, just laugh. If I hadn't learned to do that early in the game, I would have cried.

Now, you have to understand that Alex was totally nonplussed by the situation. He always laughs right along with me. He loves to laugh, and he loves that I do too. He hates it when his dad worries what people think, because he certainly doesn't. He's very comfortable in his skin. I guess he's like me in that respect. Accept me for who I am, because I'm not changing for you. Except he lets me change him, but that's only because he wants it too. Anyway, I would never laugh if he didn't think it was funny. I didn't say anything about the wad of bags, so he just sort of stuck them back on the carousel, and proceeded to grab all the other bags perfectly. Done deal. He now knows how to do it in the future. These days, we do have something to build on. One time is usually enough.

I've noticed that if something like that happens now and I'm not right there, he figures it out. He looks around, or even asks someone. That was unheard of before. He wouldn't speak to anyone. And I'm thrilled with that progress, because teaching him every last little detail is tiring. It never ends. There's constantly something new to explain when they don't have anything inside to base it on. But we seem to have crossed that hurdle.

And, sure, grabbing a fistful of bags is no big deal, but it only represents what life with an autistic kid is like. Even one like mine who's left all but these minor details behind. I don't think the average person can comprehend what it's like when they don't learn anything by osmosis. When you have to teach them everything, including how to feel. Or how to hug you. The simplest of things that you would take for granted in another child.

People say to me, "Well, you have to teach all kids." Not like this, you don't. I literally had to teach him everything--in baby steps. Things another parent couldn't even comprehend having to teach. These kids literally have nothing to draw on, and even when you do expose them to something new, next time it's like they've never seen it before. At least for awhile. Who knows how many exposures it'll take before it clicks? Eventually, thankfully, it does click. But then you move on to the next new thing. Thirty or 40 times a day. Whatever it takes. Because that's your job.

Now, finally, he picks things up by observing. He doesn't have to learn just from me anymore. He's perfectly fine with just about anyone showing him something, as long as they don't get impatient with him. He hates that. It escalates his energy level immediately, although he usually remains polite and appropriate. Which is also a huge improvement, because he used to scream and blow up and run off. He always did that with me even when I didn't lose my patience simply because he couldn't tolerate it. So we moved on. And came back later. Because that's my job.

Then again, he does seem to have this unique ability to learn by osmosis from God, which I seem to be lacking ...

Sabers

2007-08-14T05:39:00.001-07:00

When I fished out Alex's "Sadie Rose" story yesterday, I'd forgotten that he actually dictated another one at the same time. Interestingly, it sheds a little light from his perspective on my post a couple days ago about the woolly mammoth book that troubled him when he was 10. I like the insight into his mind three years after the fact, so I'm going to let him take the floor again today. He wrote this one when he was 13.

The Saber Scare

by Alex

I have always thought Ice Age creatures were cool, like mammoths, saber-tooth tigers and woolly rhinos. I do think that saber-tooth tigers were scary because of their long teeth. One time, when I was two years old, I was at the zoo. I freaked out at a mechanical saber-tooth tiger, but to this very day, I don't have memories of it, because I was only two years old.

Long after that, in the spring of 2002, we had a book in our house. It had been in our house for like two years. The title of the book was "Wild and Woolly Mammoths." The book was in our basement, and I would get it out and look at it. It was a kids' book though, but in the book, there was a drawing of people killing a mammoth, and I didn't think it was cool. I thought apparently the editor found nothing wrong with it. I brought it upstairs and told my mom that I wanted to get rid of it. It was that drawing that bothered me so much. I hated the book so much, I just wanted to burn it in the fire pit. And then I thought maybe the library would like to have it. It was in late April--April 26th.

The next day, I was going over to my friend, Alex's house. We were going to pick up my sister's friend, Catherine, and her mom on the way. During that spring, I was still sad over Sadie, a beagle that we had had in the house, and then we moved her down to the kennel. I was still pretty upset over that, and I told my mom I simply could not go to sleep with the book in the house. My mom said, "Want me to go toss it out front?" And then she said, "Nah, in case it rains, it might get ruined." And then she ended up tossing it in the garage.

I had a very hard time sleeping that night because I was worried that a saber-tooth tiger was under my bed. I do think saber-tooth tigers are cool, especially Diego in the move, "Ice Age." That night, I was acting like I had seen a ghost. I was as white as a sheet. Finally, I did end up falling asleep.

The next morning, I was still weird about the book. Before we left for my friend's house, the book was still sitting in the garage. My mom said, "I'm getting this book out of the house," and just put it in our van. On the way to my friend's house, we stopped and picked up Catherine and her mom. When we got over to Alex's house, we saw her baby rabbits. They weren't even very old. Even they didn't make me feel better about the book.

At Alex's house, they have about 11 acres of property. We went for a nature walk, and I was still scared that we would run into a saber-tooth tiger in the woods. Catherine was terrified over Alex's dog, Rascal. She made her mom carry her the whole rest of the nature walk.

We were only at Alex's house about 2 1/2 hours, and I played with her little brothers, Fox, Ben and Ethan. Even that didn't make me feel better. Ben would build a tower out of foam blocks, and Fox would knock it over, and I wanted to cry over that, until we finally left. My mom finally gave the book to them.

Long after that, it took me quite awhile to get over that fear, until I finally got over it. And then the time after that incident, we went back over to Alex's house, and Avery said when I wasn't in the room, she saw the book lying on the floor, cover up. And then Fox picked it up and threw it in a container, but then it fell back open to show the bad page. Then Avery closed the book in case I came in the room. And I do think it's a bit sad in the Movie, "Ice Age," when Manfred's wife and kid get killed by humans. Now I realize that they had to do that, or the humans would have died.

It is so cool how in Siberia they find actual mammoth carcasses. What happened was the mammoth was probably at a pond, and then slipped into the pond, and he probably got stuck on the bottom or swam till he was exhausted, and drowned.

I'm not really sure that that book really is still over to Alex's house right now. She doesn't even contact us anymore, so I don't know. If I saw the book again, I would probably have to look at it in the daytime rather than at night, because it would bring back the memory of me fearing a saber-tooth tiger under my bed.

Sadie Rose

2007-08-13T13:14:00.000-07:00

Alex, almost 13, and Minnie, another beagle pup ...

When Alex was little, he used to love to dictate stories and have me type them. He wrote most of them back when he was obsessed with Beanie Babies, so they were usually about them. He'd act everything out as he dictated, and I'd type. He did this a lot. He'd just say, "I think I need to write a story." And he would.

One day, when he was 13, he said, "I think I'd like to write a story again. I haven't done that in a long time."

"Okay. Do you want to type it?"

"No. Can you?"

"Okay."

"I want it to be a true story this time, though."

"Okay."

He dictated a touching story about a beagle pup named Sadie. My husband has always had beagles in the kennel, but when we got Sadie as a pup, she was extra sweet. Alex was 10 at the time. The kids and I tried to talk Dan into letting us try her as a house dog. He said, "Beagles don't make good house dogs." But I know lots of people who have them. Alex was so insistent, so I kind of forced the situation.

Turns out Dan was right. I hate it when that happens. Sadie was a handful. It didn't work out. I knew it impacted Alex deeply, but I had no idea how deeply until he dictated his story to me. We printed it out and put it in a binder. A month later, he decided he wasn't happy with it. He wanted to add more detail. So he dictated a revised story. His 4-page story became 9 pages. These are his words exactly. Where he paused, I put in commas. Otherwise, it's totally Alex. Straight from the heart.

"Sadie Rose"

by Alex

We have had beagles a lot of years. We had fox hounds years ago, and we even had a beagle named Blazer once. Except he died about nine or ten years ago.

Long after that, years later, in the summer of 2001, Jack C., a guy that my dad knew, had a beagle who had puppies. She was a beagle that we had owned, and my dad sold her to Jack. We decided to get one of her pups from him, so we drove up to his house. It was a good hour away, almost up north, just above V., in the town of U. We saw the puppies, and we picked one out. He wouldn't let us take her home yet because she was too young. I was pretty upset over that.

Then, just a few days later, Jack brought her to our house. We named her Sadie. My dad planned to take her down to the kennel at my grandma's house. But because she was only six weeks old, we got out one of our veri-kennels, and she stayed in that for a few nights in the garage. Then we moved her out to the little kennel in our yard. She slept in it one night in a thunder storm. The next day I went out there. There was a hornet's nest in the kennel that we didn't see. We decided to take her out of the kennel.

My mom came up with idea to make her a house dog because she never went to the bathroom in her veri-kennel--only in the grass. So we figured she'd be easy to house train. My dad didn't want any part of it, but we finally talked him into it. When my sister, Avery's friend Catherine would come over, Catherine was terrified over Sadie. She was terribly afraid of dogs.

Then on September 2, we took her down to my cousin Max's house. She did all right there, and she got along well with his golden retriever, Dakota. Sadie also got along pretty well with our two bichon frises, Dakota and Whitney. All the rest of September she stayed up at our house.

On September 11, the terrorist attack happened. That was pretty sad. And all of October she stayed up at our house. It was rather warm that October, and that Halloween for me turned out to be a disaster because I went to the Community Safe Night. It was too loud for me.

Sadie started to get pretty naughty. She was very aggressive, and very bull-headed, and she had bitten me quite a bit. For the rest of November she stayed at our house, and she was chewing on almost everything. We were saying we should get rid of her. She had chewed up a bookcase very badly.

Jack had warned my dad that Sadie was the most aggressive pup in the litter, but he still liked her. My dad wanted to put Sadie down at the kennel. My mom didn't want any part of that at first. She was saying you cannot turn a house dog into a kennel dog. They talked about it, though.

On December 1, we put our Christmas tree up, and she tried to grab stuff off that. Once or twice a day, we would put her in a veri-kennel and she would sleep. My dad and I would take her up to the beagle club sometimes, but she was never much for running rabbits. What was cool was she got to ride in the truck cab instead of in the dog box with the other beagles. But she was still getting naughtier and naughtier. And she brought fleas into our house. Fleas were everywhere, and my dad had ordered a flea beacon from a catalog. It's a lighted flea trap, and when fleas jump on it, they get stuck. Dakota and Whitney were picking up fleas, and my mom was picking the fleas off them.

Then on December 10, we went over to Avery's friend Catherine's house. When we came home, Sadie pulled garland off the tree. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. My parents made the decision that night at dinner to move her down to the kennel. I went to bed crying that night. Sadie had slept in my room the whole time she had been up at our house, and that was the last night. I had two wooden reindeer that my uncle had made. They were really just Christmas decorations. I had the reindeer guarding the kennel.

The next day, I was very upset. Me, my dad, and Avery went down to the kennel. We took Sadie down there. She was alone in her own kennel for a bit, then she started whining. That broke my heart, and I just went back up through the field crying. We had pizza that night, but that didn't help.

For a long time, I just couldn't get over Sadie. I loved that dog, even though she was aggressive. I would try and tell my dad that her being a kennel dog just wasn't working out. I would give him heck for moving her down to the kennel. Even on Christmas I just couldn't get over Sadie.

All winter I wouldn't go near the kennel, not even on a snowmobile. It was a bad winter that year. There was never really a frost in the ground. We still got a lot of snowmobiling in, though.

Then when spring came, there were only a few times I saw Sadie when she was down at the kennel. Sometimes we would take her up to the beagle club and run her. Even though we moved her down to the kennel, she still got to ride in the cab of the truck. She got to the point where she couldn't even do that, though, because my dad was worried that she could jump on his lap and cause an accident.

Then my two cousins, Morgan and Kallie, who live in Connecticut, came home. I saw Sadie then. But pretty much all of spring I avoided the kennel. Even Avery's friend Catherine, who was terribly afraid of Sadie, said that she missed her after we moved her down to the kennel.

Sadie wasn't even a good kennel dog because she was a terrible barker in the kennel. Even my grandpa complained about how bad a barker she was. My dad threw Rose in with her, another one of the beagles that was already down there. Sadie wouldn't even let Rose in the coop, and my dad was saying, "That darn Sadie won't let Rose in the coop!" He finally had to separate them. Sadie was also a terrible running dog. She was never really interested in running rabbits at all.

One day that spring, we were out of stewed tomatoes. My mom sent me down to my grandma's to get some tomatoes. I walked down there, except I walked around the kennel. When I got back home, my mom was saying to my dad, "Why don't you get rid of her so he'll stop being so weird about the kennel?"

When summer came, I avoided the kennel pretty much all of that June. In early July, we sold both our swimming pool and our slide. The lady who bought the swimming pool came in our backyard to look at the pool. She saw the dog kennel which Sadie once stood in. She said, "Do you have rabbits?" My mom said, "No, that's a dog kennel, but it would make a nice rabbit hutch."

Avery had been asking for a rabbit for a long time, so my parents talked it over, and we started getting rabbits. But we never really used that kennel for rabbits. We kept them in cages instead. We got a Holland Lop and a Dutch, which we named Nutmeg and Silky. Then we got three Rexes. We named them Java, Cinnamon and Sugar. Cinnamon and Sugar were sisters. They were kept together for a bit, but then we had to separate them because rabbits fight. Pretty soon we had eight rabbits, but there's a lot more to this story. After I got the rabbits, I could go by the kennel without being so nervous about it. I had a much better Halloween that year, too.

In early November of 2002, my dad finally decided to sell Sadie. He took her up to the beagle club, and sold her to a guy named Archie W., but she didn't work out for him at all. He gave her to his neighbor or his brother and that guy made a pet out of her. He made her a house dog again.

Right after my dad sold Sadie, we got Amber, another beagle, who looked a lot like Sadie. This story really does have a happy ending.

It's now been more than two years since we sold Sadie. We now have 12 rabbits, and I can finally go by the kennel. If we would never have gotten the rabbits, this story wouldn't have a happy ending. I love the rabbits just as much as I loved Sadie.

Connections

2007-08-12T12:35:00.000-07:00

I just read an interesting journal entry from the spring that Alex was 10. In late April, he woke up on a Sunday with a sore throat. He and his dad had been planning to go to a train show that day. Alex saved his money for months. They always tried to buy used Lionel train cars at these shows. Cooler cars for less money. Anyway, he was bummed about his sore throat, but they still went.

Later that day, when he got home, he was in a funny mood. He was weepy, for some reason. His throat wasn't bothering him that much, but he just seemed disappointed in the train show. He said it wasn't nearly as cool as last year's. In my journal, I commented that he'd been in a weird mood the week earlier, too. He'd fished out an old woolly mammoth book he had, and he got really sad when he came across some pictures showing cavemen trapping the mammoths. We'd read this book many times, and it never seemed to be a problem. But he made me promise to get rid of the book, so I did. He kept crying that night and acting weird, for lack of a better word.

The next day, Monday, I woke up with a sore throat. I made an appointment with our homeopath, Annette, for that afternoon. Alex seemed sort of depressed, and it seemed like he was trying to hide it. I didn't like it. I kept watching him for signs of emotional issues, and whenever he caught me looking, he'd put on a happy face so I'd think he was okay.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No."

I studied him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." He averted his eyes. I don't think he knew what was wrong, but he didn't want me to worry. He knows I'm anal. And to top it all off, his appetite had been down for a few days, too. Something was definitely up. I just didn't know what. But I was pretty sure there was more to it than the sore throat.

And that was when, at Annette's, he tested positive for bovine t.b. Dan had taken the kids to his uncle's dairy farm the week before. I knew there was a connection, but I didn't think about vaccinations at the time. Cows ... spring ... vaccinations ... bovine t.b. His symptoms looked like a pretty heavy upper respiratory infection, which lasted almost two weeks, with a nasty cough. Both Ave and I got it, too, but not to the extent Alex had it. He was much more profoundly affected. And he was messed up emotionally, too. He was depressed, weepy and not a happy boy.

He took his remedy, and eventually acted like himself again. But it really makes me wonder just how many kids must be affected by vaccinations--animal and human. It doesn't have to be seizures. It could be anything. I'm talking specifically about the kids who act autistic after their own vaccinations. Those are the ones who are susceptible. Obviously, not every kid gets autism from vaccinations, so not every kid is affected by everyone else's--at least not noticeably. I'm sure we're all affected to some extent.

Over the years, Alex had noticeable relapses in his autistic traits. Sometimes, he would be an absolute idiot, when he'd been doing great for so long. It would frustrate the hell out of me, because it seemed to come out of nowhere. For lack of a better explanation, I usually attributed it to food. More than likely, though, it was from being exposed to vaccinations. But what do you do? You can't avoid them. They're everywhere. People don't understand or believe that simply being in the vicinity of someone who's been vaccinated is enough to trigger symptoms. It's enough, though.

I just didn't take it seriously until he started having seizures.

Unschooled mind

2007-08-11T07:14:00.000-07:00

When he was probably nine or ten, he still struggled with his reading. I'd long since given up on phonics because they made no sense. I'd just had him read simple picture books to me a few pages at a time. When he guessed wildly at a word or paused, I just told him what it was, and he moved on. Eventually, he figured it out.

But at nine or ten, he had this one workbook that we never used as a workbook. It was a one-inch thick book called "The Complete Book of Animals," and it was designed for Grades 1-3. It was full of animal information, categorized by continent. Two-thirds of each page told all about a certain animal, and there were four questions at the end, which we always ignored. It also had a bunch of puzzle-type pages mixed in, which we also ignored. Alex has always preferred oral discussion to workbooks. As long as he knows the material, who cares? Writing just slowed him down and frustrated him. That needed to be a separate action--later--on its own.

So every night as Dan and I read the paper and Ave was off doing something creative, Alex grabbed his animal book off the shelf and sat on the couch flipping through it. He'd find an animal that intrigued him, then read it aloud to us. It was slow and precise, and whenever he got stuck on a word, I'd have him spell it to me so I could tell him what it was. Then he'd keep reading. I don't think he ever even looked at the questions at the end. He didn't care. He'd already retained everything he'd read. This went on every night for probably 15 or 20 minutes. It was a stage he went through, and I don't remember how long it lasted, but it must have been at least a month. Probably long enough for him to get through the book.

He's always been interested in animals, and this was just a new level for him. Rather than me constantly reading about animals to him, or watching Animal Planet, he decided he was ready to start reading simple text on his own. Being unschoolers, that's what we do. I let them dictate what they learn, and how they learn. Who knows better what they need at any given time than they do? And they know how they need to learn it.

Somewhere around this time he also picked up a simple Scooby-Doo chapter book we had lying around. It was full color, and had at least one picture on each two-page spread. Color was always huge with Alex. Whenever I did have him attempt workbooks, the only ones he'd even tolerate had to be full color. So anyway, he sat down and read the first chapter to himself. Actually, he sort of read aloud. Back then, he didn't seem able to read silently. Then he ran to tell me he'd done it. He was very excited about it all. He picked the book up repeatedly over the course of the day and read a chapter at a time. He finished it by day's end. So, of course, I took him to Borders the next day and bought him 10 more Scooby-Doo books.

He read most of them, and mostly without prompting, but that stage didn't last long. He'd been so excited about it, so I was bummed when he slacked off. But then I figured it out. He's not a fiction guy. He's strictly non-fiction. He'd been in the process of figuring that out for himself. He dabbled in fiction, but it didn't stick. He's always let me read fiction to him, but when it came to reading it himself, it couldn't hold his interest. So I let it be.

And, as always, his early fascination with his little animal workbook segued into an appropriate, mature interest as he got older. Every month he gets two different sets of animal pages by mail. He loves it. One set he has to sort by category into binders, and the other set is more like file cards he sorts into boxes. He loves both, and he reads everything. He immediately files them away, and he already knows what he's got. Later, in the evenings, he gets them out and reads me facts. Only now, he's feeding me much more detailed information. The binder ones have great photos, and they're not really written at a kid's level. He gets these things out probably three or four times and reads them to himself every day.

Left alone, he made this natural progression. His reading is nearly flawless. He usually only gets tripped up on obscure names. But he knows the pronunciation of many places and species I've never heard of.

"How do you know how to pronounce that?"

"I heard it on a show on Animal Planet."

Whenever he reads to me, he always fills in other information he's picked up along his travels. He just prefers non-fiction. Facts. Which is not unusual for an autistic kid, certainly. But he seems to have learned how to make it a more appropriate fascination rather than a simple gathering and regurgitation of facts. He understands how to work it into conversation and share it with someone. Most people don't walk away feeling that he just brain-dumped everything he knew on them. They usually tell me they can't believe how much he knows. They always learn from him.

Again, though, this was a hard-won lesson. It took a lot of coaching. He used to brain-dump, and he couldn't understand how not to. But I'm thrilled that his early obsessions--trains and animals, to name two--seem to have become normal, adult-like interests. He still thinks someday he'd like to drive the steam engines they use at a local village, and he most certainly will work with animals as a profession. Most likely equine massage therapy. Plus wildlife photography.

So. It's a leap of faith to unschool. It's hard not to try to tell them what to learn and how to learn it. Sometimes I try, and it always backfires on me. But I feel pretty sure these days that these kids are exactly who they were meant to be. School hasn't ruined them and forced them into things that don't fit. Things that make them mad or make them shut down. Or rebel. They love to learn, and they never stop. They run from one new thing to the next. No one makes them. And in the end, everything catches up.

Alex's writing still looks much younger, but he writes. If he slows down, his punctuation and capitalization are fine. And his spelling has always been good. No problem. Someday, later, I'm sure it'll look more age appropriate. No rush. He's working on other things right now. Pick and choose your battles.

Actually, nothing is really a battle when you unschool.