Because sometimes you need to spread some manure in order to see your garden bloom.
6/12/2013
Holding onto Beauty: Honoring Alex Spourdalakis
6/11/2013
Puppy Play
I admit to being
hopelessly in love
with these two critters:
Val and Sam.
They are such fun to watch play.
Despite scary mouths
open and filled with sharp teeth.
Val likes to grab Sam by the nub of her tail.
And Sam likes to sit on Val's head.
There is something about puppy play
that leaves me happier and calmer.
(and grateful they are nipping each other
rather than chewing my books).
6/04/2013
But not bowing down to shame, while admitting to middle-aged angst
I blasted onto blogging four years ago passionate about making sure people had good information about autism, that crazy, dangerous ideas about causation didn't win out. I wanted people to know autism didn't have to be seen as a tragedy, nor as something inflicted on them.
I was sarcastic, biting, inconsiderate of the feelings and lives of the people on the other side of the argument. I wrote satire, distorted caricatures of people and made their positions so twisted that the insanity of those positions were glaringly real. I countered, I went on the offensive. I deconstructed. I tore apart arguments, and hit back against "the other side." And sometimes it was fun. And that's wrong. And I'm disappointed by that behavior, that I forgot the people on the other side of those words, that I didn't consider whether I caused them harm, as long as I made clear how absurd their positions were.
And sometimes positions are absurd. They are. Sometimes beliefs are fallaciously built on. Sometimes it's really hard to let it go, to let it be, to breathe.
Jeanette, one of the first bloggers I read, called it right fighting. She was so right...oh, it was like I was a dog with a bone, especially with Age of Autism's writers and followers when they'd go on Huffington Post...it was a little bit addictive.
I'm glad I got over that. I'm even more glad, though, that I got over being certain I was right and that I had to make sure those who were wrong knew it.
I look back at where I was four years ago, when Bobby was 19, oh, and I was going through the pangs of having him reach adulthood, yet not getting to share in the normal parent experiences of having a child reach adulthood, with grappling with the reality that the girlies were on the spectrum too, but they were all finally out there--at school or the center or volunteering, and then I had all this time during the day and it was empty, barren. I didn't know what to do.
I still don't. Kathleen keeps pointing out that the last four years have been about me filling every single possible empty space, with work, with volunteering, with wigs, critters, clothes, a weird-ass animal print obsession. I have wise friends who see me more clearly than I see myself. Stormy works hard here to keep me under control, and Kathleen does what she can, too. Margie has my back and lets me be silly and laugh and yet share the heavy...Mel, fw2, Stephanie, Amanda, Beth, Rose, and so many more wonderful friends who support me, who laugh with me, and who encourage me.
I've been working to fill that empty space, that time that was always so congested with working with the kids, teaching part time, working on graduate degrees (one started and left behind in English and another completed in psychology), working in a way-too-time-consuming garden, that I forgot how to relax and be in stillness. And I'm pretty sure that while I might figure out how to relax, it probably won't involve stillness.
Anger was a temporary filler. Certainty and right-fighting took up a fair amount of head space. Wig and shoe shopping are fun but also a good way to head towards bankruptcy (in style). I still don't get the animal print fetish nor why it won't go away and I am compelled to keep buying zebras and giraffes, and if I'm really lucky zebra and giraffe-print chicken figurines. WTF?
I think I'm done on critters. I like the number 7, and that it's a prime, and that the 5 cats are a prime as are the 2 dogs. I'm not thrilled that those aren't also all odd numbers, but you can't have everything.
And now we've added homeschooling back into the mix, and certainly we are too early in this adventure to declare anything...
How many balls can I juggle? Truthfully--one. I'm just not that coordinated. But I feel this pressure, sometimes so tight against my insides that I am sure I will explode. I have so much to do...so much to learn...and I feel time quickening. And I know that's middle-aged angst. And I can't afford a sports car or a boob job nor do I want either, so I'm not sure what else to do...
oooh...unless it's to put the wigs on the critters and photograph them? Talk about filling time!
I was sarcastic, biting, inconsiderate of the feelings and lives of the people on the other side of the argument. I wrote satire, distorted caricatures of people and made their positions so twisted that the insanity of those positions were glaringly real. I countered, I went on the offensive. I deconstructed. I tore apart arguments, and hit back against "the other side." And sometimes it was fun. And that's wrong. And I'm disappointed by that behavior, that I forgot the people on the other side of those words, that I didn't consider whether I caused them harm, as long as I made clear how absurd their positions were.
And sometimes positions are absurd. They are. Sometimes beliefs are fallaciously built on. Sometimes it's really hard to let it go, to let it be, to breathe.
Jeanette, one of the first bloggers I read, called it right fighting. She was so right...oh, it was like I was a dog with a bone, especially with Age of Autism's writers and followers when they'd go on Huffington Post...it was a little bit addictive.
I'm glad I got over that. I'm even more glad, though, that I got over being certain I was right and that I had to make sure those who were wrong knew it.
I look back at where I was four years ago, when Bobby was 19, oh, and I was going through the pangs of having him reach adulthood, yet not getting to share in the normal parent experiences of having a child reach adulthood, with grappling with the reality that the girlies were on the spectrum too, but they were all finally out there--at school or the center or volunteering, and then I had all this time during the day and it was empty, barren. I didn't know what to do.
I still don't. Kathleen keeps pointing out that the last four years have been about me filling every single possible empty space, with work, with volunteering, with wigs, critters, clothes, a weird-ass animal print obsession. I have wise friends who see me more clearly than I see myself. Stormy works hard here to keep me under control, and Kathleen does what she can, too. Margie has my back and lets me be silly and laugh and yet share the heavy...Mel, fw2, Stephanie, Amanda, Beth, Rose, and so many more wonderful friends who support me, who laugh with me, and who encourage me.
I've been working to fill that empty space, that time that was always so congested with working with the kids, teaching part time, working on graduate degrees (one started and left behind in English and another completed in psychology), working in a way-too-time-consuming garden, that I forgot how to relax and be in stillness. And I'm pretty sure that while I might figure out how to relax, it probably won't involve stillness.
Anger was a temporary filler. Certainty and right-fighting took up a fair amount of head space. Wig and shoe shopping are fun but also a good way to head towards bankruptcy (in style). I still don't get the animal print fetish nor why it won't go away and I am compelled to keep buying zebras and giraffes, and if I'm really lucky zebra and giraffe-print chicken figurines. WTF?
I think I'm done on critters. I like the number 7, and that it's a prime, and that the 5 cats are a prime as are the 2 dogs. I'm not thrilled that those aren't also all odd numbers, but you can't have everything.
And now we've added homeschooling back into the mix, and certainly we are too early in this adventure to declare anything...
How many balls can I juggle? Truthfully--one. I'm just not that coordinated. But I feel this pressure, sometimes so tight against my insides that I am sure I will explode. I have so much to do...so much to learn...and I feel time quickening. And I know that's middle-aged angst. And I can't afford a sports car or a boob job nor do I want either, so I'm not sure what else to do...
oooh...unless it's to put the wigs on the critters and photograph them? Talk about filling time!
6/03/2013
Anxiety "Holes": Puppies Work
Meet Val, the dog many would say I did not need,
that Kathleen said I was using to fill an anxiety "hole,"
which she's completely right about.
She's 20 pounds of pure, happy joy.
We got her from the pound,
surprising everyone,
including the kids and critters.
And yet, the surprise went over just fine.
The kids are in love with her.
Sam, our Yorkie, insists we got Val just for her.
Val is a very busy, very curious, very happy
10 month old puppy.
She will get a running start and leap in my lap,
whether I'm expecting it or not.
She is good with the critters,
loves playing with Sam,
and looks with interest at the cats.
She's at home in all our chairs.
And in our laps.
Always with a big smile.
Hard to worry when
you've got a lap of happy puppy.
5/29/2013
Appropriate Gravitas and Trepidation
Tomorrow my family's world will change in significant and profound ways, a change that has been years in the planning, a careful, watchful ticking of the clock and continual assessment. Tomorrow is the girls' last day at school. Period.
They are both finishing the year on a high note. They have made friends, connected with other children through their art. They excelled in their schoolwork. They love their teachers and there is no doubt in my mind that my girls are well liked and cared for by administration, faculty, and students.
In short, the school, my old school, has tended and cared for my girls and been fundamental in the strides they have made.
But on Friday we will begin homeschooling in earnest. No Summer break. No rest for the weary. And no matter how many times I ask my girls if they are sure, they come back with no hesitation...they want hard work. They want to be challenged, to boldly go where no other fourth and sixth graders have gone. They want to study science, to immerse themselves in math, hard math. They want to read the classics, study history, soak in all there is to know. They are self-motivated.
They want time to work on their art, to practice. To excel.
Who am I to say no to that? To not heed what they are rationally, calmly asking for? And have been for awhile now.
This is not a decision made lightly. I know exactly how much effort is involved in keeping these girls on their toes as they keep me on mine. Lily wants quantum mechanics and particle physics under her belt. Heavens help me, but at least I already have the books.
We're fixing to embark on an extended geek camp (what we called our breaks from school) that will last until I can get around the loopholes of minimum ages for college and make sure that all the basics are covered, that their foundations are solidly constructed. And at the same time, we have a lot of work to fill in the gaps, gaps that are chasm-wide and come out of nowhere. We've got life skills training to do. So much work, so much to learn.
This kind of change must be approached with the gravitas and trepidation it warrants. These are bright, shining lights, these girls of mine, and they deserve the best I can offer them and the right to participate actively in their education.
It shouldn't matter that they are young, not when they know what they want and they know how to get it. And especially not when I have the tools to help them realize it and the humility to know just how sacred a trust theirs is of me.
They are both finishing the year on a high note. They have made friends, connected with other children through their art. They excelled in their schoolwork. They love their teachers and there is no doubt in my mind that my girls are well liked and cared for by administration, faculty, and students.
In short, the school, my old school, has tended and cared for my girls and been fundamental in the strides they have made.
But on Friday we will begin homeschooling in earnest. No Summer break. No rest for the weary. And no matter how many times I ask my girls if they are sure, they come back with no hesitation...they want hard work. They want to be challenged, to boldly go where no other fourth and sixth graders have gone. They want to study science, to immerse themselves in math, hard math. They want to read the classics, study history, soak in all there is to know. They are self-motivated.
They want time to work on their art, to practice. To excel.
Who am I to say no to that? To not heed what they are rationally, calmly asking for? And have been for awhile now.
This is not a decision made lightly. I know exactly how much effort is involved in keeping these girls on their toes as they keep me on mine. Lily wants quantum mechanics and particle physics under her belt. Heavens help me, but at least I already have the books.
We're fixing to embark on an extended geek camp (what we called our breaks from school) that will last until I can get around the loopholes of minimum ages for college and make sure that all the basics are covered, that their foundations are solidly constructed. And at the same time, we have a lot of work to fill in the gaps, gaps that are chasm-wide and come out of nowhere. We've got life skills training to do. So much work, so much to learn.
This kind of change must be approached with the gravitas and trepidation it warrants. These are bright, shining lights, these girls of mine, and they deserve the best I can offer them and the right to participate actively in their education.
It shouldn't matter that they are young, not when they know what they want and they know how to get it. And especially not when I have the tools to help them realize it and the humility to know just how sacred a trust theirs is of me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
