A Musical Interlude

We seem to have entered a musical period around here. It started fairly innocently, when Matt and I decided, on a lark, to bid on a set of two introductory violin lessons during the nursery school's online fund-raising auction.

I played violin and viola for a number of years, as I alluded to once before. I enjoyed playing, and although I wasn't particularly stellar at it, I was decent enough to be part of a youth orchestra and a string quartet - which I especially loved, much in the way that I later preferred singing in a choir to performing solo. (Everyone needs a viola player and an alto!) In fact, now that I've been focused on such things in recent weeks, I have been surprised to realize how much music was a part of my life growing up, in a way it surely is not anymore. I eventually left string instruments behind in favor of choirs and theater productions, which were the highlights of my extra-curricular life for many years.

Perhaps if I'd started learning the violin at a younger age I would have been better at it and stuck with it longer. Probably not. But, I have talked a lot to Baxter over the years about starting an instrument. He's always been interested, but I haven't felt he could sit still long enough until pretty recently. When I saw this auction item, I thought it might be a good way to give it a try. The instructor is in the neighborhood and sounds great. He teaches the Suzuki method, which is how I learned and what I would prefer for my kids.

Now that we are the lucky winners of those Suzuki violin classes I am starting to realize what we're getting into. This isn't really just two "try it out" lessons - there are the weekly individual lessons, yes, but also every-other-week group lessons. There's the measurement and ordering of the correct rental violin, and perhaps the ordering of a rental for me as well, since it's ideal for a student to have an adult to imitate (do I still have any skills left to imitate?!). I have discovered that Shar Music, the company whose catalog I pored over in the '80s, picking out new strings and a comfortable shoulder rest, now has a website from which I can order my son's copy of Suzuki violin book 1 and the accompanying CD. It's all rushing back to me.

When I mentioned to the instructor that I sort of wanted to make sure that Baxter liked it before jumping in, I got a very kind and sensible email response about the fact that the responsibility to start and keep playing an instrument at this age has a lot to do with parental motivation and coaching kids through the hard moments. He explained that he would coach me along the way about how to teach Baxter in small, doable steps while keeping it really fun for him.

So, although this is going to cause some - er - interesting scheduling issues for us in addition to daily practice, we're going to jump in and see what happens. We are committed to working on it through June. (Of course, if it doesn't seem like a good fit after our two "free" (i.e., paid for) sessions I have no qualms about saying "sayonara", but if Baxter's interest wanes come mid-March we'll see it through.)

Oh, and thanks to a positive reference to the Music Together program on the Suzuki instructor's website and my recent fond recollection of what a wonderful program it was when I was writing this post, I signed Lyle up for Saturday morning Music Together classes as well. He's not doing any other classes right now and I wanted him to have something special just for him, especially with his big brother starting all these music classes. This seemed like a great choice and he's loving it (and so am I!).

All of a sudden, it appears that - at least for the next 6 months - my life is going to revolve around music learning all over again. I'm enjoying it immensely.

Teacher Had a Big Ole 'But'

Things have been altogether too quiet on The Teacher front. Oh, you remember her, don't you, from previous scenes such as "Totally Freaking Me Out", "Totally Pissing Me Off", and - a favorite of Wonderwheel readers everywhere - "Totally Forgetting Baxter's Birthday Party"?

Yes, that one.

Well, I've got another good one for you today. Buckle your seat belts...

It's pick-up time. The Teacher asks, "Which way are you guys walking?"

Confused, I point to the east where my car is parked.

"Okay, you boys run ahead," she says to Baxter and his friend, Carpool Buddy, essentially sending them unsupervised into a big crowd that is heading towards a busy parking lot exit.

Then she begins very seriously with, "Most of the other kids..." No, she decides this is not how to start, so we pretend she didn't say that. She starts again. "Baxter is a VERY sweet and good student... " and at this point she grabs my arm - "now, don't think there's going to be a 'but' here, because there isn't! There's no 'but' in this sentence! I promise!"

Now I'm really confused. I was quite positive that I heard a 'but' coming and was very, very interested to hear what it would be this time. Because if there's no 'but', what could possibly come next? "...and so I've nominated him for a very special award that only goes to the sweet and smart kids and I didn't want him to know about it"? That was all I could come up with in the split second before she opened that truly amazing mouth of hers again.

So she goes on. And you won't even believe what she said.

"He is a very sweet and good student...BUT..."

And then she says lightly, as if surprised, "Oh, well, I guess there was a 'but' in that sentence, after all!"

Oh. my. God.

What. a. nut.

(And, I'd just like to add for your continued amazement that the big ole "but" was because today when she asked him not to read during writing time - he was finished with his writing work - he cried, and she didn't know why. And apparently he did this once before, but it was a long time ago. And so she wanted us to work "as a team" to get to the bottom of this. Which was not difficult because he immediately 'fessed up to me that he was really embarrassed that he was called out for doing something he shouldn't be doing and didn't realize it wasn't okay. Personally, I'd reserve that kind of admonishment for, I don't know, breaking classroom crayons when bored, rather than reading a book at one's literacy magnet school. Maybe that's just me.)

Panhandlers and Parking Lots

"Hey, why didn't you guys give that man money just now?" came the accusing voice from the back seat. "He needed money for food!"

My immediate internal reaction was to recoil in shock: What man? Was there a man panhandling who did not even register with me? Did I just look right through someone? This horrified me until I looked behind us as we drove on and realized that the man Baxter saw was alongside Matt's window and I had been looking through mine. Phew.

Nonetheless, this was difficult to explain to a 7-year old. We tried to talk about how - rather than handing out money to all of the individuals we pass - we give money to social service organizations that provide food, shelter, and other assistance to people in that man's position, and also reminded Baxter of the food drives, the mitten trees, and the social justice activities that we participate in through church.

"So...why didn't you give that man that advice? Why didn't you stop and tell him to go to one of those places?" he demanded further.

This was more difficult to answer.

*********

She was standing in the dark parking lot when I left the grocery store last night. I didn't see her until she stepped forward, moving towards me and talking softly but urgently to me.

"Please, miss, can you help me?" her eyes were filled with tears. She was embarrassed. "Don't be afraid of me. Now, my name is Cindy, so if anything happens you know my name. I'm not going to do anything wrong or hurt you. I am a single mother of two children and I need some food for my girls. Last time I tried to steal some in there and they caught me. This time I want to do right. I don't want to steal food, but we need something to eat." She repeated her name to me as if handing me the proof of her legitimacy. And maybe she was.

I looked at her. It was unclear whether she had just moments before been kicked out for shoplifting or if this had happened another night. Or ever. "If you go in there tonight, will they let you buy food?" She nodded. I considered the situation. "Okay."

Extremely protective of my belongings, I carefully extracted the cash I had just gotten at the grocery store and handed it to her without ever removing my wallet or any other contents of my hand bag. She asked if she could give me a hug, and I said "Yes", knowing full well that this would be the moment the bag could be wrenched from my grasp for good and the gig would be up. But it wasn't. We hugged tightly and I watched her walk into the grocery store, wondering what she would buy with the money I'd just given her.

Would it truly be food for herself and two children? Would my cash be turned into something else, some substance that might drown her sorrows for another night? Or perhaps she walked into the store and exited out another door with another set of plans in mind altogether.

I'm not ignorant in my compassion. I do spend a lot of my time and we give as much as we can afford to others, but I try to be careful about how I do it. I know I could have accompanied this crying woman into the store and made sure she bought food with the money, but I trusted her somehow and, frankly, that idea felt like adding insult to injury.

This act tonight was not cautious. It was a reckless act. I may well have been conned. But I rely on my intuition and something told me that Cindy - or whomever she was - deserved whatever I could do for her. I wished I could've done more in that moment, but a small act of compassion and a big hug were the best I had to offer.

I did it for her, for whatever was going so wrong in her life, and I did it for her kids - real or fictitious.

And I did it for mine.

Channeling my Inner Oprah

I am not a lemming. I am not a lemming.

I repeated this mantra to myself as I burned a few hundred calories on the eliptical machine, watching Oprah this morning.

I don't watch TV unless I'm at the gym. Ever. Honestly. It doesn't occur to me to turn it on, perhaps because I have such limited down time and much prefer to read novels or surf the world over to read all of your blogs. So when I discovered this morning that going to the gym during Lyle's nursery school hours meant that Oprah was on instead of the local morning news shows - with their dreadful closed captioning and non-stop stories about murder - I was secretly thrilled. I mean, pop culture - in my very own world!

I don't actually mind Oprah as a person - it's just the Americanized branding of Oprah that bothers me. It's the way her picture is on her own magazine every month (don't even get Matt started on that one), the fact that millions of women run out to buy the books she recommends, and everything she looks at for more than 10 seconds turns to gold. Can we not think for ourselves, sisters? It's also extraordinarily irritating to me to see all the middle-aged women in her audience shrieking with laughter when she says something really unworthy of that much hoopla. So even though I actually do respect what she's done in a lot of ways and also respect her opinions, I don't seek out that show. And yet finding it on at the gym was a guilty pleasure, I guess because it seems so normal, a word that doesn't often apply to my life.

But here's the scary part: I think I've hit The Demographic. I mean, it was clear to me that Oprah is targeted at me now. No, I didn't shriek with laughter when she said something mildly witty to a guest, but I found that all of the business people she had on her show today were associated with businesses I love, such as Williams-Sonoma and The Container Store (I think my heart rate immediately went up an extra 10 bpm when they started showing those cute boxes). And some guy from 3M invented some pretty awesome highlighters with built-in post-it flags (definitely his 2 minutes of fame!) that Oprah just looooves - and you know what? So would I. (You know me and office supplies, though.)

So now I know: I am not a lemming. I am a middle-aged woman. Oprah is all about me.

All Mondays are Not Created Equal

It was a rough Monday morning at Chez Wonderwheel.

There were two additional stressors that I may have neglected to mention in Friday night's post:

1) Matt has to work in NYC Monday through Thursday this week, leaving today before any of us were awake; and

2) Everyone and his mother's brother's uncle has decided they NEED to have a team meeting about their child immediately. Which I need to attend, and which occur in the evenings, whether my husband is out of town or not. I have limited myself to one of these a week to save my sanity, but unfortunately most weeks I have other commitments in the evenings over the next 4-6 weeks. There is one week coming up this month when I have to be out of the house in the evening four nights in a row. Y.U.C.K.

And so that brings us to this morning.

Lyle is old enough - and wise enough - now to become upset when I say that Daddy's in New York and Mommy will be working late, past bedtime, and will give him a kiss when I get home - beloved or not, 13 hours is a long time to be with the babysitter. (It's true: just ask our checking account!)

There is no worse way to leave the house on a Monday morning than with the echoes of your 3-year old's wails resounding in your head.

Especially when you know that he has every right to be upset.

Life After Vacation

It's a common question after a long break: "How's everyone adjusting to getting back into the routine?" For some of my family members, this has been easy to answer.

"Lyle was beyond thrilled to see his babysitter again, and he was happy to get back to nursery school, too."

"Baxter seemed to jump right back in and was glad to see his friends."

"Matt was counting the minutes until he could go back to work and put an end to the non-stop activity and socializing. I've never seen someone so happy to go back to work!"

But I've been avoiding answering this question for myself this week. That's mostly because I don't want to scream loudly at the friendly people who are making small talk with me.

I loved seeing all the kids I work with, and my colleagues. I enjoyed talking to the families about how the break went for their kids and hearing both the successes and the horror stories. All of that was great and very satisfying. I missed those parts of my work when I was away.

But it's the pace. The pace, and the amount of work I need to do daily to stay afloat. And the fatigue, especially on the days I've been to the gym before work. Those things, and running in so many directions every day. By last night I was sitting at my desk in the darkening clinic, unable to get myself motivated to pack up, clean up the toys in the clinic, and drive home to spend the evening with my sweet but loud and boisterous boys, only to work at my desk after they go to bed and then go back and work all day again today.

In the end, I didn't go back in today, because I'm not feeling well this morning. I don't know if I'm coming down with something or if this is just complete and utter exhaustion, but I am out of energy and feeling lousy.

Here's what I was contemplating on my drive home last night: would it be better to a) take the night off and read a great book lying on the couch by the fireplace? or b) get the work done that needs doing today so that it doesn't keep piling up on me, causing total overwhelm in another day or two? As enticing as choice (a) was, I chose (b); I am too wary of the overwhelm because it leads to such major procrastination and more stress in the end. But then, when do I get a break? I'm not looking for a long break, just an evening to myself. On Saturday, when I'm not feeling well and stuck here in bed? That's not quite it, either.

So what do you do? Do you just put it all aside so that you get some rest, even knowing that it'll make tomorrow worse for you? Or do you keep on truckin', opting for the steady sound of check-marks on your to do list?

Please, I'll take any and all insights.

The More People He Meets

My son Baxter has a rather unique personality. He is what his father and I think of as uber-social, and has been since birth. Baxter was the 18-month old who walked into day care with a big grin and greeted each other toddler by name and with a hug (which usually knocked them to the floor, one by one - there were those sensory issues coming into play!). He was the preschooler who didn't just start playing in the sandbox at the park, he first went from unfamiliar child to unfamiliar child, greeting them with a big smile and a hello. My friends used to refer to him as "Mayor of the Playground".

Recently, Matt and I had an odd realization: it occurred to us that we couldn't think of a single person Baxter had ever disliked. No complaint about another child at school, no adult who wasn't his cup of tea. In his book, it seemed, everyone was fantastic. In fact, to this day if you ask him how his day was, he invariably answers, "GREAT!" each time with completely earnest enthusiasm. My father told me last year that he loved this quality in Baxter so much he had started responding that way himself at work just to see how other people reacted. My mother said recently that Baxter's attitude towards life is "refreshing". I agree.

While I was making Christmas cookies with Baxter a few weeks ago, we had a lovely conversation, as we often do when we're together. I brought up this question of whether he'd ever met someone he didn't like. He thought about it, and agreed that we were right - he had not. "In fact," he said, "the more people I meet, the more people I like!" This was followed by, "Hey, that should be my motto!" Delighted, I agreed. He was given the t-shirt shown in the photo above by my highly amused cousin in San Francisco, complete with his new motto printed on the front.

Last week we visited a childhood friend of mine who lives in Santa Cruz. Soon after we adults had settled ourselves at the beach side cafe with our coffee cups and gigantic muffins, Baxter headed into the sand with a Frisbee. About five minutes later, my friend asked, "So, what's Baxter like?" I pointed over beyond the volleyball nets - "Well, did you read his t-shirt?" He said that he had, grinning. "And do you see him over there?" My friend turned and realized that Baxter had singlehandedly organized an impromptu game of Frisbee on the beach with a mixed group of kids and adults, within five minutes. He was happily taking pointers from someone's dad about his throw. A while later the game switched to football and he was tackling unfamiliar children in the sand, children he would've knocked over 6 years ago had they been in day care together.

Thus it came as some surprise tonight at dinner when we were looking at Lyle's map place mat and I idly asked, "Where do you boys think you'll live someday?" (secretly hoping the answer would be "next door"). Baxter's voice shook a bit with emotion as he replied, "Anywhere, as long as Adam P. doesn't live there!"

Whoa.

It all spilled out. Adam P. (one must use last name initials at all times in second grade!) has been calling him names (primarily "Dexter", which is just kind of lame, if you ask me) and generally being a little stinkpot to Baxter. Bax sat on my lap, curled up with long thin limbs that were unsure of where they fit anymore, and told us all about it. I think we handled it well enough, talking a lot about how he felt, why Adam P. might be doing that, and what Baxter does about it. A discussion about the power of ignoring ensued, and after a while he brightened up and it was clear that this load he'd been carrying had been lifted from his sturdy 7-year old shoulders. He even laughed when Lyle then climbed on my lap, saying, "And Mommy? The boys at preschool are saying rude things to me, too!" and then made up all kinds of crazy things that have definitely never happened. All for a little cuddle and attention. So we had a big family love-in on the couch for a while and then went on with our evening.

It had to happen sometime, didn't it? I mean, someone had to get his attention with nasty behavior enough times to bring him to the point of dislike. It sounded like it had been going on for months, so I think he's been quite tolerant about it for a while now.

In the end, I know that even the Mayor of the Playground is going to have a few enemies. But I have a feeling that's not going to slow him down for long. I'm pretty sure of it.

What Goes Around

This morning I clicked over to read Susan Etlinger's latest post on The Family Room blog. Among her other treasures of the day were a couple of new blog recommendations for her readers. Both are excellent. One of these, in fact, was a blog I just discovered myself this week, that of my friend Emily in Texas. Aptly titled A Life Less Ordinary, Emily writes about life with her three fantastic little boys, who are perfectly extraordinary.

Finding Emily's blog was a gift this week. We were friends back in San Francisco, brought together by Baxter and her oldest son, TH, who were absolutely the best of friends in preschool. Our families began to meet up for playdates, and Emily and I always seemed to manage dinners out on each other's wedding anniversaries (without our spouses). I'm still not sure how it worked out that way, but it did. That is, until they moved to Texas and we left for Chicago in the summer of '06. With work and distance and all these boys, Emily and I have only stayed in touch sporadically, so you can imagine my joy when I was able to sit down, read her posts and look at her photos - and TH's incredible artwork!! - on her blog all at once.

Thus, I was thrilled to see that Susan had linked to Emily today. Coincidentally enough, Emily had just posted to her own readers that they should come on over and check out The Wonderwheel, writing awfully sweet and humbling things about this blog and my work. (Aww, shucks.)

I can't let this circle of blog love stop here. All day I was thinking, "I need to bring this full circle and link back to Susan now!" But here's the thing. All I could think of was how many of you are out there, blogging about your very special kids. Yes, I know, all kids are special (yadda, yadda, yadda), and I enjoy reading some blogs that are written by parents of typically-developing kids too, but those of you who are writing so beautifully about the winding path you walk with your extraordinary kids, you all deserve a really huge thank you from me.

So here we go:

You and you and also you and you..and you and of course you, you, and you - and also you, you, and you...and all the rest of you out there whom I haven't yet read or haven't visited recently enough because eventually a girl's gotta sleep...

Thank you for letting me in and not making me feel like an impostor for reading and commenting on your blogs. Thank you for reading and being a part of my life through my own blog. Thank you for helping me to bridge - just a little bit - the wide gap between parents with typically-developing kids and those who are on their own unique path through life. Thank you for your insights into parenting, which not only allow me to be a better parent myself but have dramatically changed the way I work with families.

Thank you, Susan, and thank you, Emily.

Thank you.

All of you.

True Confessions of a Late-Night Reader

I'm having, you know, just a wee bit of difficulty keeping to my New Year's resolution to get more sleep. You can call it lack of will-power - or, perhaps, ambivalence - but I am blaming it on the really, really good books I've been reading lately.

You see, for Christmas I received Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs - I mean, seriously, folks, this book is uniquely compelling. "Will this kid actually survive his own childhood? Is it possible for so many people, all these families, to be this dysfunctional? Turn the page to find out, because it is about to get worse!" I loved reading about this family from the perspective of the other sibling - his older brother is John Elder Robison who wrote the wonderful Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's which I reviewed here last fall. Very talented brothers, those two. I'm not sure if Running with Scissors ended up more heavily weighted on the hilarious side or the heartbreaking side (probably the latter), but it was well-written and kept me reading long past my new-and-improved bedtime, whatever that's supposed to be. (Hmm, maybe that's my problem!) The day I finished this book I stopped at Black Oak Books in San Francisco and picked up another of his books.

But then, the next one I read (also a Christmas gift) was The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Holy moly, have you read this book? If not, go out and pick up a copy - you won't be sorry. Amazing story, beautiful writing. What a tale. I learned more about Afghanistan from that book (and A Thousand Splendid Suns, which I read recently by the same author - also an excellent read) than from any other source. I am now extremely frightened by photos of the Taliban, which is an appropriate response, let me tell you. When I got to the last quarter of The Kite Runner, I couldn't put it down. I ended up reading it well past 1:00 AM on Saturday morning to finish it. I cannot remember the last time that I read the conclusion of a book sitting up in my bed in the middle of the night, hand half over my exhausted eyes out of fear for the protagonist. This, like Running with Scissors in its own completely different way, was a story of survival and redemption.

Page-turners, I tell you. They'll keep you up past your bedtime. And that's a very, very good thing.

****

And now it's time for an Internet vote! Which of these books on my nightstand shall be next? Submit your vote now (quick!)

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

or

Where I Lived, and What I Lived For by Henry David Thoreau

A Question of Semantics

Lyle's a pretty creative little guy. As many of you know, he has been obsessed with the movie Cars for, oh, about 6 or 7 years months now. Not as long as Baxter's dinosaur phase, but a sizable chunk of time nonetheless.

And so by now, he has gotten to the point where he talks about the movie but inserts random tidbits about his daily life into the scenes, just to mix things up a little. So you might hear him walking down the hallway and saying something like, "Remember, Baxter, when Tow Mater said to Lightning McQueen, 'You better brush your teeth now" and Lightning McQueen had a biiiig fit and said, 'No, I can't! My nose is running!!!'?"

This drives Baxter completely batty.

Because, well, THAT WAS NOT IN THE MOVIE! And when you are a 7-year old who is into THE FACTS, nothing's worse than the idea that this race car said his nose was running. I mean, really, where to begin? With his lack of a nose, or the fact that this scene did not actually take place?

He goes cuckoo.

A few nights ago at my parents' dinner table, Lyle got rolling. Personally, I am delighted by the randomness of these moments and I egg the boy on. So he was going on about how Doc said, "Don't eat Nana and Papa's Christmas tree, Fillmore...!" and I was, of course, encouraging this, when Baxter sighed, took a noisy breath, and leaned across me so that he could see the perpetrator's face from around the candles.

"Wait, Bax," I cautioned, holding him back. "Are you about to correct him on this? Because I want you to allow him to have an imagination, please."

Baxter considered this question for a long moment and then looked at me seriously.

"I'm not going to correct him, Mommy. I'm just going to teach him."

Ah. Of course.

The Other Shoe

We so clearly remember how we felt when Baxter was three, Matt and I. So many things – parenting things – became hugely easier for us around that time. It’s true, I’ve written here before about the sea change in emotional energy in parenting a three- or four-year old. However, to us, having a three-year old meant a greater sense of equilibrium in other ways: Baxter was sleeping well (and therefore we were better rested), he was in preschool part of the time (oh happy days!), was potty-trained, and he had real friendships that we enjoyed watching blossom. We discovered that he was a cinch to travel with, and far more flexible than we’d previously known him to be. I think that we remember these things so clearly because they were our arguments at the time against having another child.

A friend once told me, “It’s much easier to have another child before you’re out of the fog. You might as well stay in the fog until you’re done having kids, because going back into the fog once you’ve been out of it is very hard.” She was right.

I have never envied the early years for parents with kids closer together than ours, but I always saw how much easier things got for them around the time the younger child was 18-24 months old and the siblings played together much of the time. Those parents often seem to be in the fog for a few solid years and then emerge victorious, cheerful, and relieved to be sleeping again, feeling human. Oh, and typically with kids who entertain each other for long stretches of time!

As you know, in the end we did finally make the conscious but difficult decision to step back into the fog, and once Lyle was born we never regretted it. It may be overly obvious, but we can’t imagine our family without him.

On this vacation – which I am now ready to call a vacation because that’s what it has actually felt like – we are suddenly aware once again of being out of the fog. Lo and behold, we have a three-year old who is a cinch to travel with, is potty-trained, and is more flexible. He’ll sleep squished next to his brother on the floor in sleeping bags one night and then in a queen sized bed with him the next. He can miss his nap when visiting friends and not melt down. The contrast between this trip and the same one at this time last year – which midway through we realized had to be renamed immediately as a trip (a time to see loved ones) rather than a vacation – is stunning.

For days, I have silently waited for the other shoe to drop. The night I had a very sore throat last week I was sure I was getting Matt’s strep infection of two weeks ago. When my stomach was off, I had to be getting Baxter’s stomach bug. But no. Granted, Baxter did get sick the day before we were to leave and we had to put our trip off by a day. But, really, in the scheme of things (read: last year), that was small potatoes. Since we’ve been here, we have all stayed healthy, well-enough-rested, and cheerful. The boys’ flexibility has astounded me. We’ve been able to squeeze in every little visit with friends and family that we’d hoped for, because not only were we doing fine, so was everyone else. (I guess everyone’s kids are growing up!) Matt and I have been able to stay in San Francisco for two extra nights while the boys are partying with my parents down in Pacific Grove. We are relaxed and rested, and have had ample time with friends and each other. Oh, and to lie on the couch under warm blankets and read new books!

There are moments when I’m nostalgic for the days when we had a baby or toddler around the house, but the older the boys get, the fewer and farther between those nostalgic moments become.

If this is the beginning of the next stage, bring it on!

Let's Sleep Away the New Year!

Do you want to know one of the best things about this vacation?

(I thought so.)

I have been reintroduced to the concept of sleep. Actual sleep! Okay, so my eyes still pop open at 6 am every day with or without the kids, but the difference is, I have been going to bed at a decent hour! Like 10 pm! None of this late-to-bed and then up-at-the-crack-of-dawn crap.

It being the time of year for such things, you might think you feel a resolution coming on.

But instead of making a formal declaration, I think I'll just head off to bed.

Sunny Morning at Baker Beach

See the full set here.

From Where I Sit

From where I sit in the early morning, huddled under an aging green fleece blanket by the large, drafty, front window of my friend’s apartment on 21st Avenue, I hear the gulls screeching their way down Judah. They seem to follow the streetcar out to the Pacific like so many screaming, swirling children. If I glance over my shoulder, I take in a long line of row houses in various shades of yellow, pink, blue, and beige. Thick coils of unattractive power lines criss-cross from one enormous street light to the other and then dart over to the houses themselves, bringing the power required to light the Christmas trees and yellowish front porch lights, clouded with spider webs. There is no grass in this view, only city sidewalks. The more attractive homes boast shrubbery or unusual small trees out front. There are no large, leafy deciduous trees, other than what can be seen of the beautiful foliage in Golden Gate Park, peeking over the rooftops, located just two blocks south.

I distinctly remember seeing this neighborhood for the first time when Matt and I moved to San Francisco in 1997; I found it aesthetically displeasing to say the least. A friend of mine likened it to some strange world in a Dr. Seuss book – and she had spent her life in Berkeley, just across the Bay. Ironically named the Sunset neighborhood - being the foggiest piece of land of San Francisco - it did boast more affordable rentals, proximity to the park, and an impressive business district around 9th Avenue and Irving Street filled with fantastic cuisine, excellent coffee, and wonderful independent shops. So when Baxter was a little over a year old and we realized that raising a child in Marin County (where I was working) did not suit us, we found a relatively (for San Francisco) affordable 2-bedroom here in the Sunset. And this is the neighborhood we happily called home until moving to Chicago eighteen months ago.

This window I sit by, it could easily be overlooking the last street we lived on in this neighborhood, which is 5 blocks directly east. It’s even located in the same spot on the west side of the street. We have had the mind-blowing good fortune of staying here – rather than a hotel - while my friend is on a ski trip with her husband; they are allowing us to use their flat as a home base for the San Francisco portion of our California vacation.

And so we walk by the school where Baxter went to kindergarten on our way to a favorite restaurant or to visit friends who still live just a couple of blocks away. Matt sees the school’s garden, completed, and marvels over all that has been created around some large rocks he once volunteered to haul over to that part of the playground, where visionaries planned a garden that didn’t yet exist. Until now.

With the kids back down at my parents’ for a couple of days without us, Matt and I walk down Irving St. and express delight over tiny shops that are somehow still in business, and shock over old favorites that no longer exist. Quietly, we take in new awnings and business logos. We eat dinner in a fabulous new restaurant that just months ago was a favorite cafe, sitting now at a table that has a familiar view of the park but has been completely transformed. Looking out at the same intersection of 9th and Lincoln while eating beautifully prepared fresh fish instead of a scone and a latte.

And so, as I sit under this green blanket and listen to the familiar N-Judah roar by, seagulls screeching in its wake, I am acutely aware of what San Francisco is to me now. It’s a beautiful city full of friends, family, and memories. But also a place where I now have an almost constant inner struggle: how can I take in all that is new - and simultaneously appreciate all that is old?

If I were a person who was purely fueled by nostalgia, I would have refused to go into that fish restaurant last night; there was a part of me that resented the café for closing down, for not warning me in Chicago that this was going to happen, and somehow blamed the restaurant for my loss. It’s easy to resent the sense of surprise we feel about the changes that occur in a beloved city that we only visit once or twice a year. But we’d heard that it’s a great new restaurant – friends in the neighborhood are excited about it – and when I stopped to think about it, I realized that at the end of the day, I would prefer to grow and change right along with San Francisco.

Even from afar.

Foggy Morning in San Francisco

See the full set here.

We Made it! (Or: Guess Who Got a New Camera?!)

We're here! We're all healthy, the 4-hour flight was unbelievably easy with the kids, and it's a sunny and 60 degrees here. It was a rocky night's sleep due to jet lag and excitement, but both boys have been napping for over two hours this afternoon, so tonight ought to be much better.

Matt surprised me with a Nikon digital SLR and then surprised me further by telling me that it was not my Christmas gift (huh?) - turns out, he sold an old Mac iBook we don't use anymore and was able to buy a wonderful camera for us with the proceeds. (Thank you, Mac products, for retaining your value.) So here are our first shots with the new camera - the blog photos will be much prettier from here on out! (Oh, and I did bring my laptop - Matt's work laptop hard drive melted down just before our trip.)

Merry Christmas, everyone!

We're Outta Here!

Okay, now I think we're leaving soon. Tomorrow morning at 5:30 am, in fact.

Wish us luck!

Merry Christmas, everyone.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...

What I anticipated today to be like:

Matt would take the boys out to the suburbs to visit with his grandmother in the nursing home. They would then have lunch with Matt's good childhood friend and his family, who are in town for Christmas from Brooklyn. My guys would return around 2 or 3 pm. I, back at home, would have completed some work at my desk and gotten the bulk of the packing completed in delicious solitude.

What today has been like:

I have washed load after load of laundry and cleaned the food out of the fridge, all the while trying to appease the very loud and insistent three-year old who is following me around, talking non-stop. "One...two...three...five...six..." he counts, choosing some of the 30-some Christmas cards lining the chair rail in the hallway. "Twelve! Just twelve days till Cissmas!" he shrieks. In the other room, I hear the sounds of my 7-year old, retching yet again, with my husband calling for another cool washcloth to clean him up.

Not a single item has been packed.

If we can't leave early tomorrow morning it won't be the end of the world, I'm sure. If we don't get to California by Cissmas (where Santa has already sent all of his gifts), we're screwed.

Baxter will be okay by morning, right? And no one else will get sick? Promise me.

VACATION TIME!

Do you hear the whoops and hollers coming from the snowy, cold flatlands of Chicago?

That would be us.

Because it's VACATION!! You hear?! Christmas. Vacation.

Today I worked my arse off for hours getting paperwork done at the clinic so that I can truly leave work behind for two weeks - did you hear that? Me! Not working for two weeks!

We were invited to the home of neighbors-who-are-becoming-friends for dinner tonight (they are conveniently located across the hall) and friends-who-happen-to-be-neighbors tomorrow night (located across the alley). There is so much that is great about this, not the least of which is not having to cook on these nights before our big trip. But do you know what I decided might possibly be the actual best part about these dinners? The fact that I can wear YOGA PANTS to both of these gatherings. Ahhhh, the comfort of yoga pants and a big warm sweater in wintertime.

I am so happy right now.

(Can you tell that I already had some celebratory wine? And we haven't even gone a-visitin' yet!)

This Sunday we'll be taking off for California at 7:30 am and we'll be in sunny, 60 degree weather by 10 am Pacific Time. We'll stay with my parents in Pacific Grove (about 2.5 hours south of San Francisco) at the beginning and end of our 10-day stay; we were offered lodging at my friend's apartment in our old neighborhood in San Francisco for a few days in the middle. Matt and I are filled with nostalgia as we plan a few days with the kids back in our old stomping ground. We are completely booked with time to be spent with old friends - these visits are well-organized around meals at our favorite restaurants. Then my parents will take the boys back down to Pacific Grove for two nights, and Matt and I will spend that time on our own in the beautiful city where we lived together for almost 10 years. We can hardly believe our luck.

At the moment we're consumed with which favorite French restaurant we should call for New Year's Eve reservations.

So I'll be trying to hide my shiny new Chicago accent (that's another post!), "brushing the sauerkraut out of [my] hair" as Matt hilariously suggested this week, and heading back to California. In an unheard-of nod towards relaxation, I am leaving my laptop at home. If I need to read blogs or post something, I can always use someone else's computer.

I have no idea if you'll hear from me every day or not at all over the next couple of weeks. But wish us luck traveling in the winter and over the holidays with these young boys - and pray for me that it might feel more like a vacation than it did last year.

I really need it.

All Done

It's over. The Ransom Notes campaign - which last week was still slated to hit three more cities - has been pulled.

Here's the skinny from always-on-it Kristina Chew, PhD over at autismvox. Let her tell the story.

Props to the special needs bloggers. That's all I can say.

Today's Sitemeter

It's been a busy day here on my Sitemeter - a little feature that I find endlessly amusing. Here are a few of today's searches that have brought people to The Wonderwheel:

1. warm sexy robe - Good luck, sister. If you find one, come on back and tell me all about it.

2. Santa's elves are watching - Yes, they are. I'm pretty sure they're at your window right now. (You wouldn't believe how many times a week this one shows up - what exactly is there to learn about this? I'm starting to suspect it's porn-related. Maybe I'm just cynical.)

3. should i go to work with bronchitis - I had no idea that I was providing such a public service when I wrote that post. Apparently bronchitis is going around, and everyone's wondering if they should go to work. (I thought this was really strange until Matt just told me that he quite nearly Googled "can i drink coke with strep throat" the other day. So I'm not sure what that proves, but there you go.)

4. child over attached to mom - Boy, if I didn't think I was on to something with that post to begin with, now that I've seen how many people actually Google those words every day, I am a believer.

Blogging with Neighbors

The other day as I was unsuccessfully hurrying out the door for work, I was also trying to tell Matt that many people in our condo building were interested in making a group donation in honor of a neighbor who died last week. (I'm organizing the donation.) Given my frazzled state, I was having a bit of a word retrieval issue.

Me: "Sounds like most of our neighbors are interested in doing a..." (and here I faltered, so a long pause ensued)

Baxter (filling in the blank from the breakfast table): "...blog?"

Not only was this funny because, well, it's just hilarious to hear the word "blog" from a child's mouth (although it was even funnier when my 86-year old grandmother referred to it as my "blob" today on the phone), but because the very idea of our condo neighbors writing a collective blog just killed us.

Think about it: if your closest neighbors were to start a group blog, what would it be like? Do tell.

Home

One year ago, my friend Cara showed up at our apartment with a plateful of delicious Christmas cookies. They were from her church's bake sale. Cara excitedly shared with us that she and her husband had recently found this fantastic Unitarian Universalist church that happened to be close to where we were living. As she described it to me, I felt that flash of recognition: this is something we need.

We visited Second Unitarian Church the following Sunday; as I've written about before here and here, we found it to be the missing piece. I watched as the Children's Choir walked up to the chancel in their dark pants and white shirts to sing, wishing that my kids were among them.

Today I walked into Second Unitarian Church with a bagful of Christmas cookies that the boys and I had baked yesterday for the bake sale, and I watched with delight as Baxter walked up to the chancel in his new black pants and white shirt to sing with the Children's Choir.

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A year ago this week, Matt and I went out for the first time ever with a realtor to look at condos here in Chicago. On our first day out, we pulled up in front of a beautiful brick 1920s building in Rogers Park, right on Lake Michigan. "This is my first choice for you guys," said our realtor. I looked out the window of his car and took in the wrought iron gate, the stained glass windows, large seasonal planters, and the beautiful fresh greenery and white lights that tastefully adorned the front door. I held my breath. A week later, on Christmas Eve, our offer on that unit had been accepted and we were celebrating.

This weekend I have spent hours in the kitchen of that home, listening to George Winston's December, drinking Celestial Seasonings Gingerbread tea (yum!), and baking Christmas cookies. Cookies that will be given to, among other people, the neighbors who put so much effort into the fresh greenery, white lights, and seasonal planters that have been placed anew out on the front porch of this grand place we call home.

Murky Waters

My three year old exclaimed joyfully over the gift he received from Santa at my clinic's holiday party today. As he pulled out one Cars character and then another, a father watched with interest from across the table. He happened to be one of the few parents I'd never met, because his child only comes on a day when I'm not working. Turns out, his young son, also intently watching Lyle open "Lizzie" and "Boost", is a big Cars fan. Very few people - even among the fans - know a lesser-known character like "Boost", who shows up in the film for about one minute.

"Oh, we know our Cars!" the dad emphasized, giving me a knowing look. It suddenly occurred to me that I was getting the "our kids share this obsession" look from a parent who most likely thought that I was the parent of a child with special needs, not one of the hosting therapists.

This doesn't bother me, but it is always an interesting exercise for me to see my kids through the eyes of other parents who assume - because of the context, where we are - that one or both of my boys has special needs.

I remember the first time this happened, which was when Baxter was almost three and we were waiting to sign in for the Cure Autism Now: Walk Now event in San Francisco in 2003. There were precious few families around us who had only neurotypical kids. I realized this and looked over at Baxter, curious to know if he was wondering about any of the out-of-the-ordinary behaviors that barely register with me anymore - only to find him toe walking and twirling, and watching as he crashed into his father on purpose to stop himself. I giggled over the irony at the time, but also found it fascinating to realize that, put in the context of kids with sensory processing and communication disorders, my neurotypical child fit right in, by all appearances.

It's true. Baxter toe-walked his way through life until he was about 4 1/2 years old; only when he was excited but, truth be told, he was pretty much excited all the time. He was also under-responsive to touch, needing a lot of proprioceptive input to his body. He could spend hours jumping and crashing non-stop, and to this day (to a much lesser extent) seeks that out. When Baxter was four years old, I suffered through some very long Music Together sessions where he ran in circles around the room (which encouraged other kids to follow him, of course) and eventually crashed so that there was a huge pile of preschoolers on top of him. (Remember that, Stacy?) This while the rest of the class sat tamely banging two red sticks together to "Little Red Wagon". Thankfully - and to Music Together's credit (I love that program!) - the teacher had enough training to know that developmentally that's how some kids process music, and it was fine. (For the record, I'd be very uncomfortable with any music class for young children that insisted they sit to participate. Don't laugh - they're out there.) With my introduction of a modified ALERT program, Baxter learned to calm himself and participate more conventionally. Eventually. (And now I'm a little freaked out because - did you notice? - the Music Together and ALERT program websites look oddly similar!)

At the same time, he was over-responsive around his face (i.e., tactile defensiveness) and literally gagged when we put on sunscreen. He still can't stand any lotion on his face and barely tolerates the application of it all summer.

And while to me all of this raises huge red flags for sensory processing disorder, and I treated each of these symptoms as I would in a client (with input from OT colleagues), he is a typically developing child.

Then there's Lyle. Lyle, who is three now himself, demonstrates none of those same characteristics but, as I've recently discussed, has his own set of challenges.

I'm not sharing this because I think that as a parent I am in the same boat as my clients' parents. I do not believe that my experience is the same. At all.

I am sharing it because I truly understand when the mom of a newly-diagnosed child with autism says, "I guess I thought all kids did those things," or a dad tells me, "We thought he was just quirky." But the most difficult of all is, "How do I know if this issue is a typical part of development, or related to his special needs?"

It is murky. Downright murky, indeed.

T.G.I.F.

I left for work late today, running out into the 20-something degree morning with Baxter in tow - hair still damp, not a trace of make-up on my face, with God-knows-what thrown into my bag for lunch, and (fingers crossed) the work files I need for the day.

The only reason I'm even inside the clinic right now is because Matt was willing to dig through the kitchen trash to look for my set of keys. And, yes, that's where they were.

All I can say is, it's a damn good thing that Lyle was on another floor of the house, busily engaged in a fun game with his babysitter, or he would've eaten his whole shirt by the time I got out of there this morning!

TGIF, everyone.

PS: An update from the Ransom Note front...there's an article in today's New York Times about this ad campaign, and some of the best bloggers on the subject are quoted! Check it out - and the comments section gives you another opportunity to voice your opinion if you are so inclined.

Surviving the Holidays with Sensitive Kids

Both of my boys are sensitive guys. I believe that, in the long-term, this is a good quality in the males of our species, I really do. In the short-term it can be a bit tough, however. Among other things, it means that Baxter cries easily and was afraid of segments on Sesame Street until he was about 6 years old. I mean, truly, there is never any doubt about how that boy is feeling and it's been relatively easy to help him learn to manage his emotions.

But Lyle, though probably even more sensitive and finely-tuned than his big brother, has been much harder to read. Rather than crying when he's scared or his feelings have been hurt, he is likely to feel confused and hide behind what I think of as his "wacky" behaviors: moodiness, hitting, sudden shrieking, twirling in circles, and jumping on top of his brother.

I see children through an uncommon lens, because of my training. I'm sure this has pros and cons for my family. In my book, children's behavior is highly meaningful - they are communicating something with their actions, and our job is to watch, listen, and interpret the message in order to respond appropriately.

So when Lyle's "wacky" behaviors began to escalate in the past week, I took it very seriously and watched carefully. In addition to the usuals - which were significantly heightened - he began to bite his shirt collar or jacket a lot - and a couple of times even bit his own hand earlier this week.

Now, listen up: if you are my child and you want me to go into Full Alert Mode, just start biting your hand. I'm all yours.

I watched. I listened. I talked to Matt. I thought about it a lot.

Let's see, what's going on for this shy little guy...Christmas is coming (exciting)...Santa is coming (scary and exciting)...he was invited to his first school friend's birthday party (scary and exciting)...my work party is this Saturday, complete with a live Santa (scary and exciting)...Mommy was a stress case the last two weeks (scary)...there are new decorations all over the house - and everywhere else, for that matter (exciting but different from the norm)...we'll be going to California in less than two weeks (exciting). And on and on. No wonder the child is completely dysregulated. That's a lot for a small boy to handle.

So here's what I've done.

First of all, I quickly gave him a substitute to bite. Because think about it - oral input is the most primitive source of comfort and self-regulation we've got. Consider breast-feeding, sucking on a pacifier or a thumb. Many adults use food or cigarettes to satisfy that need. If we say, "Stop biting" but give the child nothing to substitute with, we are probably causing him more discomfort and then what's going to happen? Probably more biting.

I have a collection of oral motor tools that are safe and durable, and I offered Lyle an assortment. He took to one of them. I encouraged him to get all the oral input he wanted with that - while we read stories, when he watched a video, or when he was starting to experience heightened emotions. It helped. Forty-eight hours later he isn't biting anything else and isn't even using the tool much.

Second, I worked extra hard with him to identify what he was feeling. When he began to bite his shirt or shout, I slowed him down and asked, "What are you feeling right now?", helping him to differentiate between excitement and nervousness so that we could identify other ways to deal with those feelings. This worked very well. Tuesday afternoon I took the boys over to Starbucks for hot cocoa in the afternoon. Lyle was starting to get really wired, and I raised my voice to get his attention before he bumped into someone. He immediately bit his shirt - but then stopped and said to me, "I was surprised because you spoke sharply to me." He then climbed on my lap and allowed me to comfort him and explain why I spoke sharply. This self-awareness led to an immediate decrease in the undesirable behaviors in that environment.

Third, I slowed down his world as much as I could. I started to speak slower and more quietly to him, and kept our schedule as calm as possible. I made an extra effort to sit down and focus on pretend playing with him more often, which always gives us more opportunities to connect emotionally and play out difficult situations.

Fourth, I made life more predictable. I drew a calendar of the next few weeks for the kids. On each day, I drew simple pictures to identify Lyle's school days, days with the nanny, when exactly the parties are, when we go to California, etc. When life is busy and routines change all of a sudden, many kids (and probably adults) need some extra predictability and external organization. Both of the boys are checking their calendar multiple times a day; it's posted on the refrigerator.

This is an exciting time of year. That's as it should be. It's fun to dance in the kitchen to Frosty the Snowman, treat the kids to some holiday fun, and enjoy the season.

But for kids who are not so sure yet about how to express their feelings, 'tis also the season for some extra support.

Wordless Wednesday: Compare & Contrast

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Ransom Notes

Have you all heard this flap over the NYU Child Study Center's "Ransom Notes"?

Unbelievable.

I haven't been this mad in a looong time.

There's a wonderful post MOM-Not Otherwise Specified has written about it - it's listed over there on the right under "Read these great posts", and now Susan Etlinger has tackled it in her eloquent way on Momformation - read it here.

Don't miss it, folks.

And if you have an opinion, let them know.

I sure did.

Grrrr.

My Guys Do Christmas

Some fantastic combination of dessert, XM Radio's Christmas channel, and pre-Christmas insanity took over all three of my guys tonight. Thankfully, the video camera was handy. Enjoy!

Christmas Traditions

We gather at the dining room table, lights dimmed almost to darkness. The cranberry candles from Thanksgiving are nearly melted down to their silver candlesticks. A handmade wooden star is lit in the window, made by a distant relative of Matt's in Germany. The boys and I eat a simple dinner and talk about Christmas. Lyle names the six Cars toys he wants most in the world and asks if Santa will bring them. Baxter, ever the pragmatist, offers, "Well, that's a pretty short list, Lyle. Santa will probably bring them all to you." Lyle turns to me rapt, and passes this information on to me as if I hadn't been sitting there just three seconds before. "Baxter says Santa might bring them all!" Just when I thought his saucer eyes could get no bigger.
In fleece snowman pajamas, the boys cuddle on either side of me for story time. We have two large baskets of Christmas books that only come out in these weeks leading up to Christmas. Lyle chooses 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. When Santa and those "eight tiny reindeer" land on the rooftop, Baxter is barely breathing. "Is this a true story?" he asks. Not answering, but holding him closer, I continue to read. He chooses The Glorious Christmas Songbook, a beautifully illustrated and very complete treasury of Christmas carols. With Baxter warbling joyfully off-key directly into my ear, I try to maintain the melodies of Hark! the Herald Angels Sing and a few of his other favorites. When Lyle joins in for the first time on Jingle Bells - three distinct and uneven melodies contributing to the Green Couch Choir - I am in heaven.

We saved the last two songs for their bedroom. I sang Up on the Housetop, which prompted a can-can routine from the raccoon, puppy, and bunny up on the top bunk railing. Sensing some fun, Lyle jumped out of bed to watch. Finally, with the boys tucked into bed and slightly calmer, I sang one of my personal favorites, The Holly and the Ivy.

Eventually, they fell asleep. There are visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads tonight, no doubt about it.

Newsflash: Wheels Back On!

Last night I was pretty sure that the wheels really were falling off the proverbial bus.

I still hadn't gotten all of those reports done, and my November paperwork had not gone out to my clients yet. The work was overwhelming, I'm working all day Saturday, the nanny was out sick with the flu, and I'd agreed to work at Lyle's co-op nursery school this morning to help someone else out (I'll be grateful for that come next week when she is working in my place). When I lost the three hours set aside to get work done yesterday afternoon (due to the nanny's completely legitimate illness), I saw the first two wheels loosening - poised to drop at any moment - and I started to feel true panic rising.

I was talking to a reputable local psychologist yesterday and we were discussing the hell of over-scheduling oneself. "When that happens, I just cease to function," she said knowingly. All I could manage was a "Yeah...", knowing that I'm in the midst of that right now and feeling stuck.

Today I turned things around, however. During the day, while I was working at the co-op and caring for the boys, I focused my mind on some positives about work. I've had a few really interesting opportunities come up in the past week - I wrote an article that is about to be picked up by both a local online parenting network and a new BabyCenter blog, and I had the chance to help a novelist-who-shall-remain-nameless work out a tough plot line that required some professional expertise. This was a challenge unlike any other and it was so fascinating and fun for me! Thinking about these new endeavors really helped today.

I then also arranged a way to get out of the house and work tonight. When Matt got back from work, I high-tailed it down the block to this fine establishment (heard of them?), which is as close to my house as this:

Turns out, the "out of the house" part of that equation is key. I'm also not about to pay for their wireless connection (those stingy buggers) so I'm "off the grid" when I'm there, as Matt would say. Of course, having no access to email or the Internet really does make a difference in terms of my, um, attention to task. I was able to complete two big evaluation reports in a few hours.

And so, at least for now, the wheels have affixed themselves to the bus once more. There's a lot more to do, but the most challenging things are off my plate. I am not a big fan of this situation, and am actively working to remedy it. I know what I've done wrong in my schedule this fall and winter, and will just need a little time to shift things enough that some of this pressure will be released. But I'll do it.

Wordless Wednesday: Independence

Snowfall in Chicago

Doesn't Seem Worthy of a Raise, Does it?

Last week, a local news station informed Chicago area residents via closed captioning that the Feds would not be getting the 12.5% "cost of lynching" raise they expected.

Just in case you were wondering what they've been up to.

Date Night

After a long day yesterday - one that began when I stepped out into the dark, frigid morning at 5:30 to work out and continued through a full day of clients, one of those days when every break between clients involved a scheduled call - the best part of my day arrived. Date Night!

No, Matt and I didn't go out. In fact, I stayed at work. Matt and the boys had dinner, played games, and watched a video together back at the ranch.

Lorell (good friend, very talented colleague, and faithful Wonderwheel reader) and I hosted the first-ever Date Night at the clinic last night. This was an opportunity for the parents of our clients to drop their kids off and go out for about two and a half hours. For only $5 per family (just enough to cover the cost of the food), we did art projects, fed them pizza (we made a gluten-free casein-free one for the kids on that special diet, and ordered pizzas for the rest of us), showed a couple of videos, and generally let them run around and have fun. The mood was festive - they all love coming to our clinic during the week, and coming at night (and some of them in their pj's!) was a huge, exciting adventure. I wish I could show you the photos of these super stars from last night - so cute!

We took 10 kids (about half clients, half their siblings) and there were 7 adults volunteering our time. At times, we were really grateful to have that many adults! The children ranged in age from 5 months to 7 years old. As you might imagine, so many parents were interested that we have most of the 10 spots filled for the next one - and we haven't even set the date yet.

If you don't have a child with significant special needs, you may not realize what an enormous gap this would fill. While so many of us complain that it's difficult to find a great babysitter we can trust, and often impossible to afford the $12-15 hourly rates, parents with typically developing kids have got it easy. Imagine the difficulty involved in finding someone you can trust to care for a child with little to no language, a special diet, unusual sleep habits, and behavior that is often confusing for those who don't know him/her. Think about if your child had idiosyncratic communication habits and you knew what he wanted only by reading the most subtle cues - and not meeting his needs would result in a tantrum of massive proportions. Would you easily leave him to go out for a fun dinner with your partner? Now imagine that you pay an enormous sum out of pocket every month to cover therapies. Would you be able to rationalize spending the money on a sitter and that dinner or movie? I wouldn't. And neither can most of our clients' parents. Those without family support nearby reported that they hadn't been out together in a very long time. Some weren't even sure what they could do - we went so far as to suggest a great local restaurant and talked them through how it would work.

And yet. These parents are under more strain than anyone can imagine. Divorce rates are said to be higher among parents whose children have autism than in the rest of the population. They need a break, some fun, and time to connect with friends or their spouse - and they need it yesterday. Or maybe last year.

This is a win-win situation. We adults truly had a wonderful time with the kids. The children had a blast - our 7-year old (who walked in and said, "I'm ready to PAR-TAAAYY!") declared at the end, "This was the best party in the whole world!" The parents had a chance to catch their breath and reconnect, and all of them thanked us with tears in their eyes.

It was an incredibly meaningful evening. One of the best events in my career.

This morning we're planning the next one.

Product Review: Home Food Oat and Nut Granola

I know, I've been quiet the past few days. If you've been reading along, you may have guessed that I was finally doing laundry at my own house and getting those reports written - and you'd be right. (Well, okay: one report down, three to go. Let's not exaggerate. But it's a huge improvement. And we're caught up on laundry.)

Although I haven't written in a few days, I have been busy in blog-related activities! Important things, such as doing a little Internet shopping and sending Shannon a bag of the granola she was so disgusted by earlier in the week! Why, that gave me the giggles for days!

Below you will find her product review - enjoy...
Jordan


OK, I admit that when I first saw an online photo of Home Food’s granola, I thought it looked less than appetizing. It’s possible that I used the phrase “nest-building material” to describe its appearance. It looked a little…shaggy? Twig-like? Chex-Mix-inspired? Not like something I’d enjoy in my breakfast bowl, I can tell you that. And what was the deal with those green pieces I could just barely make out in the photo? They looked suspiciously like wasabi peas. But…no one wants wasabi peas in their granola, do they? (Shudder.)

So when a package arrived on my doorstep the other day bearing a bag of Home Food Oat and Nut Granola, courtesy of Ms. Wonderwheel herself, longtime friend Jordan Sadler, I wondered if I should be offended. Did Jordan want me to ingest shredded nests? Did she wish upon me a morning meal of wasabi peas with my soy milk? Why, oh why?

Luckily, my three-year-old was with me when I opened the package. And, it just happened to be snack time. “Let’s have some right NOW!” she suggested excitedly. How could I say no? I tossed a handful of granola into a small bowl for each of us (mixing some Craisins into Julia’s to make homemade “trail mix”), and sat down to sample.

First, I have to tell you Wonderwheel readers that Home Food’s Oat and Nut Granola looks FAR better in person than on the Internet. Seriously. There is no real resemblance to twigs, or birds’ nests. It is chock full o’ nuts (slivered almonds, whole cashews, sunflower seeds), rounded out with oats and shredded coconut, sweetened with honey—oh, and those green things? PISTACHIOS. Ah, it’s all becoming clear to me now.

People, it was delicious! Home Foods Company, I have a message for you: do something about that photo. Is it the lighting? Was it a granola off-day, the day of the photo shoot? Was the photographer an amateur? Whatever the problem, rectify it. Your product is much tastier than your photo suggests! Chunky! Fresh-tasting! Wholesome! Not overly-sweet like that icky grocery-store granola!

In sum, I wholeheartedly recommend this product. I could happily eat it, wasabi-pea-free, every morning for breakfast,

Oh, and my preschooler loved it too.

Procrastination

Why am I procrastinating so? It's not my style. When I have a report to write for work, I get it done and out the door. So why is it that I've let three unwritten reports collect over my head like so many dark clouds for weeks?

It's not that they'll be difficult; they're not long reports. And no one's asking me for them; I think I usually get things done a lot faster than other people, so my productivity standard is high and probably a little out of whack.

But these things aside, why? Am I getting better at chilling out and not being so frantic about completing tasks? Maybe. Perhaps the past few months (year and a half?) are finally getting the better of me and I'm too burned out to push myself right now. I am really not sure.

It's not like I'm watching TV or reading by the fire in the evenings. There's always so much to do that it's incredibly easy to keep busy doing other things. Things that legitimately need doing. Anything but work.

When I talked to Matt about this last night, his comment was, "Well, it doesn't look like the wheels are falling off the bus."

He's right. The wheels aren't falling off the bus.

I just know I'll be happier when these things are done.

And yet I'm not doing them.

On Neighbors

Remember that post in which I mentioned that our washing machine was broken and I was hauling laundry to the clinic where I work? Yes, lo those many days ago?

It's still broken.

That's right. No washing machine while hosting Thanksgiving - with guests in the house. And with only one set of sheets for our new bed, that's really saying something.

We hope that on Tuesday, when a repair person is scheduled to show up (what a concept!), this will be over.

However, we have learned something in these two weeks: our neighbors are amazing. Some we knew were amazing because they are our friends first and foremost, they just happen to be our neighbors as well (lucky us!). And they have been fantastic. But others we didn't know too well at all, at least not until we started trudging though their homes with our laundry baskets and detergent. Two couples in our condo building have been as generous as our actual friends...one couple stopped by with their key on their way out to a party: "Go ahead in and out as you please - watch cable TV while you wait for your laundry if you want - we'll be home late tonight!" The neighbors across the hall have come and knocked on our door multiple times, "Don't you need to do some laundry today? Come over anytime!" and even left their door unlocked when they went out so that we could get in and pick it up. Wow.

My cousin was here from San Francisco. After a couple days of these goings-on, she finally exclaimed with a dropped jaw, "Do you have any idea how incredible this is? I mean, it's actually WEIRD, you guys! People just stop by and offer to help you. They come in for a while with their kids, like, 'I'm just going to stop by and be really, really cool and nice for 10 minutes, hope you don't mind!'. Then they drink some tea and hang out, and leave!" She felt like she was on another planet.

Pretending to be put out by this atypical behavior on the part of city-dwelling human beings, she was essentially echoing what I've been trying to say since we arrived in Chicago. I have lived in big cities and small towns on the East Coast, the West Coast, and in the Midwest, but I've never seen anything like the people in Chicago.

Anywhere.

I'm stayin'.

What's Less Sexy than Granola? My robe.

I have a winter robe. Not just any old robe, but this robe. In navy, if you must know.

I bought it last year when we moved here to this cold hinterland, into a home with big, drafty windows. It's not hip, no, that's for certain; but I'm not exactly a slave to fashion. (Since buying it, I have also purchased its equivalents in the slipper and winter coat departments. I might look like a major dork, but I'm warm, you hear me? Warm.)

Tonight I am wearing it around our chilly house.

I stopped to talk to Matt, who is busy typing tonight's 1000 words for his NaNoWriMo story (he's not officially enrolled, but is taking turns writing 1000 words per day with our friend Christopher for the month).

I thought I detected a faint smirk on his face. As I left the room, I called back to him, "What's sexier than this robe, huh?"

His immediate reply: "Granola."