Terms Of Endearment

 

 

 

This post was inspired by Raising Cubby: A Father and Son’s Adventures with Asperger’s, Trains, Tractors, and High Explosives by John Elder Robison. Parenting is a challenging job, but what challenges does a parent with Asperger's face? Join From Left to Write on March 12 as we discuss Raising Cubby. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

This book arrived on my doorstep in what I can only describe as a divine moment of timing.  I had just started getting over one of my periodic fits of frustration with my oldest son, who does not have Asperger's Syndrome, but who clearly exhibits several of the classic behaviors.  He struggles mightily to just go with the flow that the most of the rest of us seem to find naturally, without much effort or thinking.  

He is disorganized at school and is a regular in the detentions that are supposed to be a deterrent for forgetting to do and/or turn in homework in a timely manner.  He is easily distracted and can often be found gazing out the window or playing imaginary games in his head, using the eraser of his pencil as the main character.  Sometimes, when he gets overwhelmed by the noise and activity level at school, he prefers the company of his imaginary world and its inhabitants to the here and now.  He can go on at length about the TV shows and video games he is particularly enamored of, and can give a mini dissertation on them, not really grasping that you don't find it every bit as riveting as he does.  

The day I got this book, I had sent a semi-desperate email to Moe's teacher, principal, tutor and school psychologist, asking for help, and I was working on scheduling a meeting with all of them to discuss getting Moe tested for learning disabilities.   It pains me to say it, but my kid really needed something he just wasn't getting.  I have no interest in hanging a label, but if I don't know what he's dealing with, I can't help him or give him any effective tools to cope with the challenges he faces.  My good friend, who is a teacher herself, gets angry when I say I think something is wrong....it's not that I think he is defective somehow, or broken.  But I know, in my heart, that he's different, that he does not and will not fit into any predetermined boxes, and he operates on a whole separate level than most of the rest of the world.  The world in which he must learn to operate and function.  

I enjoyed reading this book.  I found myself nodding in agreement and understanding in several places, and laughing out loud in others. I get the author's style of writing and his sense of humor, at least I think I do. I get his thought process.  

I especially got a kick out of, and enjoyed his nicknames for his wife and his son, and even their cat. I have nicknames for Captain America and Moe, Larry and Curly (other than those!) that probably not many people would understand.  In fact, I might be a little embarrassed trying to explain my little pet names for my people.  But to them, and to me, those names are special....those little pet names communicate an awful lot more than just whose attention I am trying to get.  They speak to the special bond between me and each member of my family.  Some are sentimental and some are silly, and they are all uniquely ours.

I will share one of them, though, because I think it's particularly funny.  And it will be funny for me to call my youngest child this name on his wedding day.  Curly is a funny, silly kid, a performer, someone who loves to laugh and make people laugh.  I call him Monkeyface, and he responds without hesitation.  My other man-cubs get offended if I try to call them Monkeyface, but Curly...I think he likes it. 

Do you have special nicknames or pet names for your family or for your kids?

Shooting the messenger

This post was inspired by mystery thriller novel The Expats by Chris Pavone. Kate Moore sheds happily sheds her old life become a stay at home mom when her husband takes a job in Europe. As she attempts to reinvent herself, she ends up chasing her evasive husband's secrets. Join From Left to Write on January 22 as we discuss The Expats As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

There are a lot of secrets in this novel.  And I don't want to ruin them for you, if you decide to pick it up.  But I want to talk about a part that really stuck with me and made me think about a related question for some time after I finished the book. 

 In a lot of ways, I related to Kate, the main character.  Not so much that I was leading some sort of secret double life, but that when I put that job aside, the job that I loved and the job that served as my identity in my twenties, it was really hard for me to say goodbye. That job was not compatible with a stable home and family life, and when I gave birth to my first child, I realized that a stable home was more important than the job.  

It was still really hard to give it up, and I, like Kate, often look back and wonder, could I have somehow made this work?  I've looked at my house, cluttered with toys and books and teenytiny Lego pieces tangled in the weave of the carpet, the kitchen with bread crust on the floor and peanut butter smeared on the front of the fridge, and thought, is this it?  Is this what I quit working for?  

In other ways, though, I couldn't understand Kate at all.  I didn't understand why she was so reserved when she moved to Luxembourg; didn't she want to make friends?  Didn't she want to carve out a new life with her people, her compadres?  Even when she did make friends, she wasn't completely open.  

But then, neither were all of her friends. 

Without giving too much away, suffice it to say that, in this book, not many people are who they say they are.  And Kate finds this out in a most uncomfortable way, while she is hiding behind her own secrets.  She stumbles across a spouse, doing something they shouldn't be doing, with someone they shouldn't be doing it with.  And the plot thickens. 

The question I keep coming back to is this: if you, by pure accident, discover that someone you know is keeping a secret, one that could potentially hurt someone else you know, are you supposed to tell it or keep it?  This comes up all the time in women's magazines, usually in relation to a cheating spouse.  But, really, it can cover a wide range of situations, and secrets besides affairs.  And the advice columnist in the women's magazines always, always says to stay out of it.  You're the messenger, therefore you're the bad guy and you'll be the one who takes the blame for whatever fallout there is. 

And not having any experience in this, I can't say for sure that that isn't true.  But it sits wrong with me; I don't think the messenger should be the one to get shot.   No one likes to deliver bad news or tell people something that will likely hurt them or upset them.  

Maybe I just have that tendency to root for the underdog, but I always end up feeling bad for the messenger. 

a unique child

 

How far would you go to advocate for your child? In January First, father Michael Shofield and his family struggle to find the right treatment for his daughter Jani, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at six years old. Join From Left to Write on September as we discuss the Shofield's memoir January First. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

I read January First in one sitting.  I literally could not put it down.  Some of it, a lot of it actually, was difficult to read, but I just couldn't stop until I reached the end, until I knew what had happened to Jani and her family.  It's not accurate to say "how they ended up" because they haven't "ended up."  They're living each day as it comes.  

I can not, would not and will not say that I even begin to understand what the Schofields have gone through.  I do know what it's like to parent a unique child though, a confounding child, and one that does not fit neatly into any category, diagnosis or label.  Not that I'm a fan of labeling children or people for that matter, but when you don't understand why your kid is the way he is, or does the way he does, having a word or a condition or description to feel as if you know a little about what you're dealing with helps.

We used to have regular meetings with the school psychologist.  In preschool, he couldn't be moved up to the three year old class room because he wasn't potty trained.  He couldn't handle scissors properly yet.  We were informed of these things as if they were character flaws, as if there was something wrong with him.  He commenced to screaming and crying at drop-off time and we commenced to keeping him home from school.  We found a much better program that was much more inclusive of children at all developmental levels, rather than one that implied that we had already failed him, at the age of three, by not insisting that he learn to manipulate scissors, and by not forcing the potty issue.  Have you ever gotten locked into a battle of wills with a two year old over the potty?  Heh.  Good luck with that one.  

But we talked it over with the doctor, who recommended some occupational therapy to help with delayed motor skills.  He'd had speech therapy as a baby....he didn't utter his first word until he was nearly 18 months old.  That word?  Apple, pronounced ap-mmm, while pointing at a picture of an apple. Mama and Dada came much later.  

In kindergarten and first grade, the teachers expressed a little concern about his social skills (or lack thereof) and his attention.  He'll probably grow out of it, he'll be just fine, he's just a little behind, they said.  Don't worry until there's something to worry about.  It has to be said here, this is an extremely bright child, with a photographic memory.  He taught himself to read before he was fully potty trained (at 4, finally).  He has this fascination with Japanese anime, specifically Pokemon, and he memorized 1500 characters, their powers and their strengths and weaknesses.  1500.  

In second grade, at conferences, I asked the teacher straight out, tell me about his attention.  She let out a huge sigh of relief and said, I'm so glad you asked about it, because I was going to bring it up if you didn't.  So, we did all the recommended testing, and were told that he had a solidly average IQ, definitely had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, predominantly inattentive type, and showed significant markers of Asperger's Syndrome.  The psychiatrist was on the fence about whether it rose the level of clinical diagnosis and ultimately decided that it did not.  

We tried adjusting his diet; this kid is picky beyond reason and if dinner did not consist of his favorites, well then, he'd just wait till breakfast to eat, thanks.  And he didn't mind skipping meals.  At all.  Although I was never fully comfortable with it, we tried medicating him for a time.  In the end, the meds didn't address the real root of his struggles, and they just made him want to eat even less.  This was an eleven year old child who weighed maybe 50 pounds.  You could literally count his ribs. We had an incident that freaked me out sufficiently to stop medicating him not quite a year ago, and we haven't been back.  Since then he's gained 20 pounds.  20.  We tried therapy, sports, martial arts; some have been more helpful than others. 

Some of his quirks are due to immaturity and he's catching up with other kids his age.  Some are due to Moe just being Moe.  His younger brothers, Larry and Curly, seem more mature than he does at times.  He struggles to understand social cues and social norms.  But he's learning....other kids are good teachers of what is ok and what is not ok for him to do or say, more so than we are.  From all reports from other parents and teachers, he is beloved by his classmates.  We send our children to a very small parochial school, and the kids have all grown up together.  They accept and love him, quirks and all.  I wish he could stay at this school, with these kids forever.  But he's in junior high now, soon to head off to the much bigger high school, with lots of kids he doesn't know.  Will they accept him and love him too? 

I love this child, love him more than my next breath.  

This was the first year that I didn't go to meet the teacher night, and talk to his teachers about him, briefing them on what they could expect from him.  I've done that every year.  I debated whether to do it,  and Captain America (my flying, traveling spousal unit) and I went back and forth quite a bit.  In the end we decided to let him make his own impression, not to give the teacher advance notice and thus a preconceived notion.  So far he seems to be doing well, shining all on his own.  Just this week, he got the highest grade in his class on an English assignment. 

It's moments like that that make me feel like he's going to be ok.  

As parents, we all worry about how the world will treat our children.  As an adult, I understand and accept that challenges, heartbreaks and disappointments are what make us strong and help us grow.  As moms and dads, though, it's so difficult to watch your child struggle. 

I have a unique child. Do you?

  

Who am I, really?

This post is inspired by Sarah McCoy's The Baker's Daughter. In a small Texan town, Reba discovers Elsie's German Bakery and falls in love with more than the pastries. Shes drawn to Elsie's life in Germany during the last year of WWII. Join From Left to Write on August 29  as we discuss The Baker's Daughter. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Boy, it's been a long dry spell this summer, both in the local weather and in my posting.  I keep thinking that summer means long lazy days spent by the pool or in the backyard with my feet up, doing a ton of summer reading.  Heh.

I have three children.  Three boys, who like to do most anything besides read.  I instituted my summer reading/video game ratio rule, which is there must be at least thirty minutes spent reading before anything with a remote control or an on/off switch is picked up.  Boy, they were careful not to spend any extra time reading, I'll tell you that.  Thirty minutes and that was IT.  We had our usual summer activities and it flew by.  Today was their first day of school, and I was so ready.  

From Left to Write also took a summer hiatus and I was all discombobulated with my blog posting.  The book club discussions help me keep on track.  You see, I love to write, and I love to write creatively, but I still need subject matter and a deadline.  

In any case, here I am, having read this book.  I really enjoyed it, on several levels.  First, I am a total history nerd.  I love history.  I majored in it, and I write it in my gainfully employed state.  Historical fiction is great fun; it allows you imagine, what if?  Could this really have happened?  This book has enough authenticity in its detail to make you wonder as you read, not only could it have happened, but did it?  Also, it is abundantly clear that the author is well acquainted with baking, specifically German baking, and just exactly how things are made.  And the story is good.  I wanted to know what happened before, how characters were connected, and how things would turn out.  There are some good twists and unexpected turns of events that kept me guessing. 

The thing that really struck me about the story was Elsie's determination, no matter where she ended up, to maintain her cultural identity.  Even in Texas, she was German, through and through.  Elsie simply refused to give up parts of herself, even though doing so might have smoothed the path in front of her that was sometimes pretty rough and treacherous.  

I wonder, if circumstances conspired to uproot me from my life here in smalltown USA, and I found myself living in some other country, say, Norway....would I still hold fast to my American identity?  Would I just put my foot down and refuse to change parts of me in order to assimilate into a new culture, even if it would make my life easier?  Would they immediately know I was American? 

My cultural heritage is a mixed bag; I've got Irish, German, English, and French in me. One of my middle names (I have two) is French and once people get past my having two middle names, they don't know how to pronounce the second one.  (it's Rive with the accent on the 'e'...pronounced Rih-vay, in case anyone was curious) But that is about the extent to which I have preserved any smidgen of my cultural heritage.  We don't have German Christmas traditions in my house, for example, nor do we observe Irish traditions (well, there is St. Patrick's Day, but I'm not entirely certain that green beer really counts).  

After having read the book, and checked out the recipes for all of Elsie's many baked treats in the back (I know! How awesome is that?!) I find myself a little sad that I don't have recipes or traditions to pass on to my boys, or their future spouses.  

Do you have a sense of cultural identity?  Do you keep it alive in your homes with foods or traditions or other kinds of observances?  I'd love to hear about them! 

You think you know someone....

This post is inspired by mystery thriller GONE GIRL by Gillian Flynn. They may not have the perfect marriage, but after Amy goes missing, Nick becomes the number one suspect. Can he discover what happened before it's too late? Join From Left to Write on June 12 as we discuss Gone Girl. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

 

 

The first thing I have to say is, I just cannot say enough good things about this book!  Holy cow! You know how sometimes you get in bed with a book, and set a time limit for yourself so you don't end up staying up all night reading?  This book will blow your limit off the map.  It's a fantastically written mystery that travels roads you never even considered.  I thought I knew what was going on, and who did what to whom, at a few points in the book, and I was wrong every single time.  I can't wait to get my hands on more books by this author.  

At first, I felt sorry for Nick.  Then I felt sorry for Amy.  Then I felt like neither of them deserved any pity.  These two have got one messed-up relationship.  I have been thinking about this book since I finished it a couple of weeks ago, and I've been thinking about not only the book itself, but all the issues and questions it raises.  Well, to be perfectly honest, it raises some questions I sure can't answer and don't really want to think about too hard, but it also made me think about the idea of really knowing someone.  Do we ever really, really know anyone?  Even our closest friends or spouses or children? 

Have you ever had that experience where you feel like you really know someone....you know their thoughts and opinions, you can finish their sentences, and you know what they're going to say before they open their mouths, and then they hit you broadside with something you never, ever would have expected from them? 

I have.

Or have you had the experience where you felt like you knew someone so well, that you'd know in a second if they were hiding something from you, or lying to you, or even just trying to surprise you, and then you find that they were pulling something off right under your nose?

I have.  

I guess these questions sound sort of ominous, but surprises come in different sizes and flavors; a surprise isn't always a nasty one.  My husband, who knows me really well, pulled off a giant surprise right under my nose last year, and I don't know if I was more shocked about the surprise itself or the fact that he could and did hide something from me for months.  We had been discussing buying a new vehicle for awhile and it was my 'turn'....the last time we'd replaced a vehicle he'd gotten to choose and he was the one who'd drive it.  He knew exactly what type of car I'd had my eye on, down to color, seat material and how many cup holders it should have.  Also, it must be said, during this time, I was finishing my last two quarters of college and Capt America has been known to make 'the grand gesture' on occasion.  At some point, I don't know exactly when, he started squirreling away some money each pay period.  He stashed money, a little bit at a time, away for several months,  and when he had racked up the amount he had in mind for a down payment, he placed an order with the local GMC dealer.  He almost completely pulled it off without me having one single clue, but I asked him some minor question about money, I can't even remember what it was.  He got super defensive and vague, which of course did nothing to answer my question, but only made me immediately suspicious.  What exactly I was suspicious of, I had no idea, but all of a sudden it was very clear that he was trying to steer me somewhere else. 

Long story short is that he finally asked me to just trust him and give him a few more days without any questions, which I tried mightily to do, with varying degrees of success.  As promised, a few days later, he made up some silly reason why we had to run an errand in the neighborhood of the dealership.  He was practically bursting by the time we got there, just in time to see the sales guy pulling up to the curb in our shiny new Acadia.  Whaddaya know?



Suffice it to say, that this is not the type of surprise that Amy has for Nick.  Or that Nick has for Amy.  Or that Gillian Flynn has for her readers.   I don't want to ruin the book for you; the surprises are what makes it so compelling and so hard to put down.  Just when you think you know what Nick is going to say, or what Amy might have done, they will surprise you. 

On faith and rules

This post is inspired by I AM FORBIDDEN by Anouk Markovits. Though not sisters by blood but through their Hasidic faith, Mila and Atara views the rules and structure of their culture differently. Mila seeks comfort in the Torah while Atara searches for answers in secular literature she is forbidden to read. Ultimately each must make an irrevocable decision that will change their lives forever. Join From Left to Write on May 8 as we discuss I AM FORBIDDEN. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

 

 

I have always been fascinated by faith.  How different people view it, learn it, relate to it, define it and define themselves by it, question it, and outright reject it. 

In the spirit of full disclosure I will say that I am a convert to Catholicism, from a nondenominational, Pentecostal-style upbringing.  I have thought long and hard about faith, and about my own faith journey that has brought me to where I am today. I am devout in my faith, but I still have questions.  I am a faithful practicing Catholic, but I am not a Biblical scholar by any means.  I am not sinless (HA! far from it), and and I am not finished with my journey.  I have been in lively discussions about faith, and whose version is 'right' and whose is 'wrong.'  (for the record, no one ever really wins those debates) 

I know that when I go to my church and participate in the Mass, I am home.  For me, it's as simple as that.  There is a peace that comes over me that cannot be explained or justified any further.  This point was just recently driven home for me again.  I was away from home on a long, two week work trip, and over the weekend, I went to a Mass at an unfamiliar church with an unfamiliar group.  I found comfort in the structure of the Mass (it doesn't change from church to church to speak of) and in one sense I felt spiritually fulfilled and connected.  But then I got home the following Saturday evening, and when I went to Mass at my church Sunday morning, I felt truly complete.  I was home. 

One of the recurring themes I have come across in my discussions about faith (I seek them out, because I am so interested in learning as much as I can about faith, from every different perspective that I can get) is that the Catholic Church is too full of rules, man-made rules that aren't Biblical.   Well, as I said before, I'm no Biblical scholar, and I am not good at the game that I sometimes call 'dueling Scriptures.' I love to discuss these things in the context of learning, but I don't like when it turns to more of a debate, where one person is right, so the other person must be wrong.  I

But back to the rules.  Yes, there are a lot of 'rules' in Catholicism.  And in Christianity in general, truth be told (and yes, Catholics are indeed Christians....I've heard it said that Catholics are not even Christian).  Rules exist for a reason, and in matters of faith, we follow the rules out of our love for God and our desire to spend eternity with Him in Heaven.  I spent a good deal of my life chafing against the rules, rejecting them and ignoring them.  You know what, though?  They didn't change.  I did. 

I will be the first to tell you, I struggle to understand some of the rules.  But that does not mean that I reject them....it just means that I'm still learning.  I see myself more as Mila in the book...I find comfort in the rules and the structure of my faith.  I find tremendous comfort in the fact that while the world around me changes all the time, my faith and its rules do not.   God's rules were the same 100 years ago, 1000 years ago, as they are today. 

Asking questions isn't the same thing as rejection.  I like to think that I have a living relationship with my faith, in that I'm always learning new things about it and how better to live it (although I don't always do that very well) and growing in that learning.  I am blessed with a phenomenal community of women with whom I pray, and study the Bible, and from whom I learn on a daily basis what it means to be a woman of faith.  I thank God for them every day, because I fall down on a regular basis, and it's truly a gift to have a safety net of sisters who will pick me up and help me brush off the dirt.  I hope that I do the same for them.

I didn't know the first thing about Hasidism or Satmar Hasidism before I picked up this book.  I don't claim to know a lot about it now.  But it sure made me want to dig deeper and learn more.

Are you on a faith journey?  Do you struggle with 'the rules' of your faith? 

Being a girl has nothing to do with it

Trish Herr's then five year old daughter Alex wanted to hike all 48 of New Hampshire's 4,000+ foot mountains. Would you let your five year old do the same? Join From Left to Write on April 12 as we discuss Up: A Mother and Daughter’s Peakbagging Adventure. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.

I read Trish Herr's book, Up, and I have to admit, I'm impressed with her daughter.  It's not every 5 year old who understands and wants to undertake such an endeavor.  Actually, I'm impressed with both her daughters.  It's also not every 3 year old who would want to hike huge mountains.  

I have three children, for all of whom 5 and 3 are in the past, and I don't know if it would ever occur to them to want to hike 48 4000+ foot mountains, but in fairness, we live in the wide open spaces of Midwest USA.  Mountains are not exactly easily accessible for us.  And by that I mean, we'd have to drive for days or buy airline tickets to get to one, let alone 48 of them.  Would I let them do it?  Sure, if they wanted to. Would I let them when they were 5? Sure, if they wanted to. 

I love that Trish has instilled such a love and respect for the outdoors in her children, and I love that her daughters have learned that simply being a girl doesn't stop them from doing what they want to do, it's a matter of attitude.  Being a girl has nothing to do with it.  

I'm a female in a male-dominated world, the military.  I get it.  I've worked long hard hours to be considered as good as the guys.  What I've learned is this:  if I don't focus on the fact that I'm a woman in a man's world, then generally neither does anyone else. If I ask people to notice that I am a woman, they generally will.  I don't see myself as a female Airman, I'm an Airman. What matters is not what restroom I use; what matters is the effort I bring, and the end result of my work.  The men I work with don't say, "Hey, great job....for a girl," unless they're trying to get a rise out of me.  Which only works sometimes.  

My children are all boys.  God most definitely has a sense of humor, and He definitely knew what He was doing, giving me all boys.  They're growing up with a mother who wears a military uniform to work, and still drives them to school every day.  They're growing up with a mother who chaperones field trips and does room mom duties, and who can also beat them at HORSE, and will practice pitching and catching and batting with them.  Their mother kills bugs (even the big ones), bakes cookies, and runs the house while dad is away at work, which is often. Their mother does indeed wear combat boots.  

And I think they'll be better men for it.  They don't see me, a woman, as limited by my gender.   I have one foot in each world, the traditional and the not so traditional.  No one made me quit working full time and choose the part time Reserve route; I made that choice completely on my own.  No one made me continue to stay home when my youngest child went to all-day school; again, my choice. 

It seems to me that kids will always take their cues from their parents.  When they take a spill, they immediately look at Mom to see how bad it really is.  If Mom gasps, they start to cry.  I get to determine, to a significant extent, how my boys view the world and how it works.  I like to think I'm showing them an example of someone who makes their own choices while considering others who are affected by them, who places value on education and on service to others, and who is willing to put effort into making a family work.  Someone who acknowledges mistakes (most of the time) and is willing to try to learn from them (most of the time). Not a woman who does these things, just someone who does them.  

I'm not at all ashamed of being female or wish that I was not; I love being a wife and a mother.  It's my true vocation, above all else.  But I don't allow my gender to limit me, or define me.  


Being a girl has nothing to do it.