Highlights of the Day

Baxter stood by the car window, apparently touching the rain drops. "I just wrote "S.B." on the window!" he told me with a grin. "What's that for...Silly Boy?" I asked distractedly, switching the backpack for the swimming bag as we got ready to head into the Y for his lesson. He named a girl in his class. My head swiveled around 3 times and my eyes bugged out. Either that or I asked - calm on the outside - "Why are you thinking of her right now?" "I don't know," he shrugged. And grinned some more.

Did I mention a girl called for him a couple weeks ago? It was mysterious; we never found out who she actually was, and therefore didn't put Baxter on the phone. Nothat he cared, he was doing his best impression of a clueless guy, lying on the couch reading a Pokemon book, totally uninterested in the unfolding drama.

Gulp.

******
I was walking down the street with Lyle when a perfect stranger looked at us and started laughing. "You two look exactly alike!" she exclaimed, delightedly. It made my day.

******
Baxter was getting into his swimsuit in the dressing area at the Y. He did something amusing and Lyle ran over, threw his arms around his big brother's waist, and said, "I fink you're really nice!" Baxter smiled with surprise, hugged him back, and said, "I think you're really nice, too, Lyle!"

******
You know you have been talking on the phone to family in the Bay Area with its horrible cell phone reception a lot when your 2-year old picks up his toy cell phone, says, "Hi? Daddy? Yeah, okay. Oh! You disappeared, Daddy!", then pretends it has rung again, and says, "Oh, there you are, Daddy! You disappeared! Daddy? Daddy? Oh. He disappeared again." Repeat.

******
Baxter was up in his bunk, Lyle down in his. I was stretched out on Lyle's bed, half-comatose, with my feet up by his head. "I feel yike I'm sweepin' with your yegs," he noted. This sounded good to Baxter, who immediately asked if he could come down and cuddle with us. He joined the fun, getting under the covers with his brother. "Yook! I rubbin' Baxter's back! So gentle! I'm not hittin' Baxter! C'I get a marble in the marble jar for that??"

The boys hugged and cuddled, laughing and rubbing each other's backs. I know this won't last forever. Even if they don't ever go through a period of major antagonism, I know it won't be like this little boy adoration always. But I do find myself hoping that having this foundation of love and sweetness has to help down the road. At least a little? Right? Never mind, don't answer that.

Ready for Summer

I came home to summer. Hot, humid days and lifeguard chairs that have appeared up and down the beach. What a job, to wander around your one small stretch of beach on Chicago's far north side all summer, responsible for saving the lives of others. I couldn't handle that particular blend of tedium and alertness. But: I saw something far worse yesterday. Yes, far, far worse. A job that might make me wonder if I could go on. A man at the Lincoln Park Zoo drives a small train around and around in a circle for little children. How sweet!, you might say. But no, no, you wouldn't if you saw it. It's not on a track. And it goes nowhere. It's not like the one at the San Francisco Zoo that is small but runs all over the zoo past interesting animals and through a couple tunnels. No, this has wheels and a few tiny cars. No adults allowed. And the "engineer" drives in the tightest radius you could imagine. Next time I'll bring my camera because there's no way I am describing this as depressing as it is to watch. And yet Lyle is dreaming of turning 3 so he can ride the Train to Nowhere.

But I've digressed. It's summer and I'm so happy. Okay, the heat and humidity don't do much for me other than make my hair immediately begin to stand on end. So that's not so fun. But I had high hopes for last summer - home with the boys, lots to do in a new city. And for a whole host of reasons, it just didn't pan out the way I'd dreamed. This summer, though? This summer, I'm ready. I'm taking some time off from work (this is unprecedented!!) and I know the city better. I'm ready to take the boys on fun outings. I've joined the zoo (so we can ride that train as often as we want) and the Field Museum recently, and of course we'll spend lots of time at the beach. Baxter has tons of friends from school so I will have actual parents to call for play dates this year! We won't have to skulk around the new neighborhood hoping to run into same-age kids, only to discover that they are in camp or about to go on a 3-week vacation.

But, really, best of all is the idea that in only two more weeks, there will be no more homework. No more carpool. No more after school classes, special projects, gym shoes on gym day, and half days to keep track of. Week by week, the big question will be: "Camp or no camp?" and then we'll proceed with the same schedule day after day.

And, oh my Lord, I am so ready.

My Other Self

Twice in this past year, I have left Chicago for the Bay Area. For various reasons, I have come alone on both trips. These have been substantially different trips than the one in which the four of us came out here together at Christmas. (Remember that one?)

Each time I've come, I've run into this fascinating woman. I have begun to refer to her as my Other Self. This woman, who looks startlingly like me and is my very age, still lives here in California. She is unattached, has no children, and zips around town in a cute little green Prius rather than a beat-up green Legacy. My Other Self is quite busy with her private practice but still has time for lunch with friends, movies, and reading the newspaper. When her watch battery dies, she can stop somewhere and replace it in an afternoon; she doesn't understand why such a task might take me 2 months to complete. She even - gasp! - gets to go out for a run every morning. I'll bet she even goes to the gym regularly, although she doesn't have the heart to tell me this.

She walks around Stow Lake with her friend Barbra, finding the new baby herons way up in the trees and watching in amazement as one flies awkwardly right overhead. She goes to Arizmendi Bakery for some coffee and a scone, and then later meets her friend and colleague Liesl to see her new flat and have lunch with more friends. She gets to spend a few hours on a Saturday with her grandmother. She spends long, uninterrupted stretches of time with her parents, sometimes at home and sometimes in the hospital; but wherever they are, she can be with them, available to help when needed.

My Other Self can read for hours before falling asleep and on weekends can sleep until she wakes up on her own and read some more. I am awed by the fact that her life - her pace - is her own.

There are times when I really envy this Other Self her apparent freedom. And yet I know I would not prefer her life. My Other Self is watching as her friends are marrying and having their first babies. She is yearning for a partner to come home to, who is smart and funny and responsible and sweet AND will also handle the entire household for a week so that she can help her parents. She doesn't know, but suspects, that there is more to children than dirty diapers and sleep deprivation. My Other Self can only guess at the joy of early morning cuddles, brothers holding hands in the backseat of the car, and screams of "Mommy!!" whether she is just home from work or simply out of the shower. She won't know how much she would love living again in a place where time is marked by four distinct seasons, the fun of playing with kids at the beach down the street or in the snow, how happy the autumn leaves would make her.

No, I am glad for the path I have chosen. But my Other Self continues to exist for me here and I love to visit her periodically; for the recharge, but also for the reminder of all that I have.

Some Thoughts on Prognosis

No, this is not about my father! (But he's doing quite well. You can read about that here.)

I was asked to write about how I talk to parents about prognosis for their children. It's up tonight over at The Family Room blog: click here if you'd like to read it.

Check Me Out!

I was just alerted to the fact that my post "An Open Letter to My Son's PTA" on Chicago Moms Blog was highlighted as one of the best posts of the week over at Savvy Mom, a blog I was unaware of, but that looks cool. Here's the link to Savvy Mom.

Also, a big public thank you to Mrs. Chicken for her support through this challenging week, and for posting a link to my "Notes from California" post over on her wonderful Chicken and Cheese blog!

Notes from California

I woke with a start at 5:30, thanks to mild jet lag. My mind was immediately flooded with thoughts of yesterday: the waiting, the difficulty of seeing my father right out of surgery, awake and in so much pain. The wave of relief upon seeing him a few hours later, sitting up and talking to us, the pain more manageable. When I turned over in my parents' guest room bed, I was facing my father's desk. His Starbucks tea cup stood to the right of his computer where he had placed it Tuesday afternoon.

I remember when he walked into the house that afternoon, fresh from the hair salon where he'd gotten his pre-surgery crew cut. I hadn't seen him since Christmas, not a glimpse of him through his chemo and radiation treatments or during his hospitalization for heart issues, and wasn't sure what to expect. He looked terrific: fit and healthy. However, he was uncharacteristically quiet, having been through his pre-op appointment that morning and then an eye-opening visit with the pulmonologist; while his lungs were in tip-top shape, the doctor had given him a more long-term view of his recovery period (perhaps more realistic) than what he'd received from the surgeon. I imagined that the step-by-step description of the surgery would have been harder to handle the day before surgery than it was months earlier. I tried not to look at that Starbucks cup because to me it was fraught with meaning. I could imagine him stopping in for some chai, knowing that in less than 24 hours he would be recovering from surgery and unable to eat or drink for the next five days. And his favorite chai might not be on the menu for quite some time. I can't bring myself to throw out that cup.

**********

7:30 AM found me heading out my parents' front door into a sunny California morning. I popped in my iPod, scrolling down to find Andrew Bird's Armchair Apocrypha as I walked down the path in my shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes. I love this new album and in particular the second track "Imitosis", which I listened to twice.

I lived in the Bay Area for 9 years and have only been in Chicago for 11 months. And yet the vegetation - the eucalyptus and palm trees, the flowers, even the ground cover - already looks as foreign to me as it did when I first arrived here in 1997. The plants and trees of Chicago more closely resemble those of my childhood and early adulthood in New England and Minnesota. But the scent of the air here, it's herbal. It smells like nowhere else to me and reminded me this morning of so many hikes in the Marin Headlands and Glen Park Canyon, of this place that was home for a long while.

**********

As I made my way along the wide street up here in the hills of San Carlos, I looked at the stunning view of the Bay and thought about things. I was considering the idea of the Wonderwheel, or Ferris Wheel, as a metaphor for life, and how it captures the never-ending ups and downs but doesn't account for those moments in life when the universe plucks you out of your gracefully rising or falling swinging seat and drops you onto that other ride, the one that I literally cannot stomach: the roller coaster. You know, when life is on cruise control until the phone rings with bad news or the doctor gives you a shocking diagnosis. Like cancer of the esophagus. And suddenly the floor gives out beneath you and you are on a ride, a faster, more aggressive, sometimes panicky ride where the highs and lows are so much higher and lower and also come rapidly, leaving you feeling out of control.

I have watched as friends and family have each handled my father's cancer in their own ways. Most of us have dealt with it without having to get on the roller coaster, at least not for more than a few hours or a day here and there, and I'd say that even my father himself has managed to stay off the roller coaster a good bit of the time. On Tuesday evening I felt like I was seeing him on the roller coaster car, starting to make its way to the top of the rise - you know, where you can already start to feel your stomach lurch in fear before the drop - and yet he appeared to command the inner strength to find his center again, stand up, and demand that the ride be stopped. He was plucked off and placed back on the Wonderwheel where he calmly rode down, all the way down to the lowest point, knowing that once he got down there, there was nowhere to go but up.

California, Here I Come

Well, I'm off to California. You wouldn't believe how many people think of a trip to California as a fun vacation, even after you've told them that you're going because your father is having surgery on Wednesday and you'll be helping your mother. I just don't see how a week spent at Stanford Hospital is a vacation, but I guess I can have the car windows down on my way from the house to the hospital so - presto! - insta-vacation! Two people waved to me on their way out of the clinic today saying, "Have a great time! Have fun!"

But, ahem, here in the REAL WORLD, I leave tomorrow. My Dad's pre-op appointments are tomorrow and then we take him to the hospital at the crack of dawn on Wednesday. He will, we hope, be released to go home right around the time I come home next Tuesday. I will be updating his blog as often as I can, so if you don't hear from me here, look for me over there. (And if you know Matt, please give him a call or drop him a line and give him props for all that he'll be doing on his own with the kids for the upcoming 8 days!)

Thanks for all your well-wishes, prayers, and good thoughts. It all helps.

Orange You Glad the Walk is Over?

Guess what? I'm not asking for money anymore!!

The Walk was a big success. Thanks to so many of you for donating! Our team raised almost $50,000 for autism research (at last count), and donations keep trickling in, so it may well be more. We were the #1 team! Chicago brought in well over 1 million dollars total. It was a great time, despite the fact that it was 40 degrees colder than yesterday. Yesterday: 83 Today: 43. Not so good for being outside for a few hours, but we managed. (Note to self: next year, you can put the winter gloves and hats away in late May, but be sure they are accessible in the storage room. Ahem.)

It was wonderful to see so many of the families I work with and some colleagues out there today. I am constantly impressed with the depth of connections within the community of special needs families and professionals here in Chicago; it is completely different from the Bay Area! It meant a lot to me to be present with them and to have my own family there supporting their families. And the boys loved the bounce houses.

The highlight of my day was being bear-hugged, kissed, and told "I love you!!" (repeatedly!) by three family members of one of my clients before I'd even found out how they were related to her. Now that rules.

Real Simple

Spotted on my kitchen counter tonight:

A big, huge mess, including such items as

- 1 swim diaper
- 1 Little People dog that is required to talk to Lyle when he uses the potty
- Today's unopened newspaper
- My planner
- 6 small nails, which I assume have something to do with the piece of IKEA furniture Matt started to assemble yesterday
- A wedding invitation
- An old, broken baseball cap
- Piles of paperwork from Baxter's school that I should be dealing with right now
- A random cookbook I got from my local Dominick's grocery store today. (Turns out, if you donate $5 towards breast cancer research, you get your very own cook book just chock full of great recipes -- collected from those who work at Dominick's! Wow! Listen up Dominick's: just because someone works at the grocery store does not make him a kitchen god. Think Al's Artichoke Dish, JP's Cheese Ball, and John Paleologeous' Watermelon Kicks. Now I don't know what Watermelon Kicks are, but you'd better believe I'm going to find out. I'll let you know. Better yet, come on over, and I'll make 'em for you.)

But the best part of all this is that I just noticed a Real Simple magazine that I bought at Dominick's today, promising to de-clutter and simplify my life, perched ironically on top of the mess.

As. If.

Yikes!

Why is it that I can already picture this child in high school??

(But I have to admit: I'd want to hang out with him.)

Last Chance!

Okay, readers, we have just two days left before the Autism Speaks/Cure Autism Now fund raising walk! Our team, the Wiggle Walkers, is only $2,000 away from being not only the biggest fund raising team in Chicago this year, but the biggest in the nation! If each of us just drums up $25 more dollars, we've got it made.

Who's in?

Donate here.

Please?

Why We Don't Vacation

I always knew there must be a good reason my family doesn't take those "vacation" things everyone else raves about. I just needed Strollerderby to explain it to me!

Me and My Shadow

As the quintessential baby brother, Lyle will often imitate exactly what Baxter is saying (to the best of his ability, given that half the time he's trying to say names of obscure Pokemon characters).

By some stroke of luck on our part, this does not bother Baxter. When he even notices it, he thinks it's funny. We like to say that we don't have a family pet, we have a family echo.

This afternoon in the car, Lyle was going strong, parroting everything Baxter said in a loud, excited voice. Baxter actually noticed. He said, "Mommy, I don't think we have enough furniture in this car!" I could tell he was trying to make a joke, but I wasn't getting it at all. Are you?

"There's such a big echo, we must need more furniture in here to absorb the sound!!"

An Open Letter to My Son's PTA

Dear PTA:

First and foremost, I'd like to thank you for all that you do for my son's elementary school. The fund raising, the teacher gifts, the special events - the school wouldn't be the same without you. In fact, your strength and success are among the reasons we chose this fantastic school for our boy when we moved to Chicago last year. When I sat there in San Francisco, trying desperately to imagine my new life here, you were part of the picture. That is, I just knew that I would be among you on a regular basis, devoting some time each week to the betterment of my child's school.

What's that? You don't recognize my name? No, I know, I shouldn't be surprised. One of your members introduced herself to me for the third time recently at the Book Fair, and I was too embarrassed to tell her that I knew exactly who she was because we've talked a handful of times before. Instead I allowed myself to be an invisible mom, one she'd never met. It was close enough to the truth.

I am not a guilt-ridden mother. I have devoted vast amounts of time, energy, and love to this first-grader of mine, and I don't fear that I should have given him more. I love my career as a pediatric therapist and find the work enormously satisfying. I do not regret working part-time. I believe that the idea of the "perfect" mother is crap and am generally content to be the "good enough" mother. So why is it that I feel such guilt about my lack of involvement at school?

[To continue reading, click here to hop on over to the Chicago Moms Blog...]

Classroom Crayons

Around mid-afternoon the phone rang. Matt, just in from a business trip, picked up. From his tone, I could sense that something was wrong, but just couldn't figure out what. It wasn't big, like illness or death, but more like something he was surprised about. At the same time he was using his "I'm taking this seriously" tone. I don't hear that combination so often.

"That was the office at Baxter's school," he told me. Asthma problem? I immediately thought. "Ummm, Baxter was sent to the Assistant Principal for...breaking classroom crayons." Why did I immediately smirk? Breaking classroom crayons?? "There was a sub, apparently, and the sub sent him to the office." Oooo-kay. Can I remind you that the child is 6? "He had to write a note about it, and he'll bring that home."

I spent the hour before Baxter got home trying to decide if I was supposed to be upset. But the phrase "breaking classroom crayons" only made me crack up. I like the emphasis on them being classroom crayons - as Matt pointed out, these weren't his own crayons from home he was breaking - oh, no, they were the classroom crayons. (Which we parents had to purchase at the beginning of the year, incidentally.)

Now, I'm not in favor of destroying others' property, and I don't condone the breaking of classroom anything. But, seriously, these are very young children!

Baxter said he and a friend just started mindlessly breaking a few crayons at the Writing Center. He doesn't know why. As far as he knows, there was no warning, no substitute asking them to stop before sending them to the principal. So we didn't make a big deal about it; asked him what it was like, how he felt (he didn't seem too upset by the whole thing), and then took him to the store where he bought some new classroom crayons with money from his piggy bank.

Matt found his note in the backpack tonight. It reads:

"I am in the office because I broke craons in shool."

So tell me: is this type of vigilance good because it nips bad school behavior in the bud at an early age? Or do you see it the way I do, that a child young enough to spell like that is too young to be sent to the principal's office?

Man-in-Training

Tonight at the tail end of dinner, Lyle sat bare-chested at the table. Arm hooked over the back of his red Stokke chair, he thrust out his chest, let rip the loudest, longest fart possible for a two-year-old, and then said, "C'I watch some TV?"

Chicago Moms Blog Has Launched!

Hey, Wonderwheel readers!

A fabulous, brand-new blog has just been launched today. It's called Chicago Moms Blog and is full of thoughtful, witty writing by brilliant, good-looking Chicago moms! This is a sister blog to the wildly successful Silicon Valley Moms Blog in my old stomping ground.

(Oops! Silly me! I almost forgot to mention that they've invited me to join them! My first post just went up today. It may look familiar to my regular readers...)

Come on over and check us out - and tell all your friends!

Still Time to Donate to WALK NOW

I know you've all been planning to donate to the Cure Autism Now/Autism Speaks fund raising walk, you just haven't had time yet, right?

Okay, so now's the time: the walk is this Sunday! I will reprint the following as a public service - remember, when I say every $10 counts, I mean it!

Matt, the boys, and I will be walking with a team of families and colleagues, the Wiggle Walkers, which has raised over $31,000 to date. Although I do not agree with the way these sponsoring organizations portray children on the spectrum (as hopeless tragedies), this event raises funds for autism research. And we really, really do need more research. You can do it easily online at any time: donate here.

Thank you.

Mother's Day: Short Version

My Mother's Day was divine. Truly. So great that I'm too tired to write about it. Or is that the Robitussin laced with codeine talking? Suffice it to say, I added some serious cough medicine to get me through the night and that - in addition to the antibiotics - seems to have turned my health around. So I'll fill you in soon about the day, but for now, these photos (and more here ) will have to hold you:

Bronchitis: FAQs

Q: Is it a good idea to go to work when you have bronchitis?

A: No, decidedly not. It is a far better idea to stay home in your jammies, reading and posting to blogs all day. Especially when you are a speech therapist and need your voice to work. You'd better just lay off the talking.

Q: Is it acceptable to go to the M. Ward/Norah Jones show when you have bronchitis and aren't going to work the next day?

A: Most definitely. Especially if it's at the gorgeous Chicago Theater and you've already missed a Wilco and a Lyle Lovett show in the last 8 months due to your children's illnesses. After all, this is just a Mommy illness!

However, a few things must be kept in mind:

a) try not to tip off those around you that you are actually about to cough up a lung - hold your disgusting cough off until the applause period between each song;

b) although you have to drink water non-stop to keep from coughing, bear in mind that you will not want to leave the show to use the restroom except between sets - this is likely to result in maximum discomfort by the time the encore rolls around;

c) pretend that your cough drops are something less pungent - perhaps an after-dinner mint! - and be confident that those around you will find your devil-may-care attitude contagious.

Q: Is it admissible to pick your mother up at the airport when you have bronchitis?

A: Yes, but keep in mind that you will talk to her the whole way home in the car, because how can you not? She's your mom. This may set your voice back just a tad.

Q: At what point should you take yourself to the doctor, exactly?

A: This last one is tricky due to the fact that I'm not really about grossing out my readers. Let's just say that when things get Super Nasty (official medical term) in your lungs, it might be time to throw in the towel and get thee to some antibiotics.

Q: Should you go ahead and take your son to his Wiggleworms music class when you have bronchitis, haven't been going to work all week, and can't sing?

A: Absolutely. So what if you're the only one in your pair who was going to sing to begin with? You want your mom to see your son's cute music class, right? Right. Just be warned: when he vomits copiously all over himself in the backseat on the way there, forcing you to turn the car around and go home anyway, expect that the decision may start to feel a little foolish.