A Day in the Life of a Writer

This post is not because I think my life is so super interesting, but rather because lately I've been wondering what other writers' days look like. And in my wonderings, I started looking at my own days.

My hope is that this post will spark others who blog to capture what An Ordinary Life of a _______ looks like. [Insert: plumber, ballerina, lawyer, landscape artist, et cetera.] There are always people who are interested in your lifestyle choices and how it works for you on a daily basis.

For instance, when I home-schooled my children, I poured over home-schooling/creativity blogs to gather ideas of what to do with my own kids at home.

Maybe it's because we are all voyeuristic and nosy, but the fly-on-the-wall-cam is one most people I know would sneak peeks at from time to time.

So, without further adieu, here's what last Friday looked like for me:

• alarm rang at 6:10 a.m.; hit snooze twice
• let dogs out; woke son for school
• showered and dressed
• fed dogs
• made lunches for three people
• checked the garden to see if it needed water
• made myself tea and toast; checked emails

Okay, that was the boring part. Here's where it gets more writer-ly:

• drove my son to school, then went to a coffee shop to meet a friend for chatting
• read a couple blog posts and articles; re-posted them on my author social media sites
• opened up Scrivener files and wrote on novel manuscript while I waited for my friend--1000 new words!
• visited with my friend for an hour
• went home and snacked; read a magazine article and Facebooked a teeny bit (Honest!)
• worked on a manuscript review for a client for two hours

I tried working in the office, but the dogs stood and stared at me until I joined them on the couch.

That was my "work" part of the day. Here's the crazy mom part: (Please note that my work day is considerably shorter than the crazy mom part, which begs the question, "If the majority of my day is spent doing one thing, how can I call myself another thing? I don't think my business cards would be as accepted if they said Valerie Willman, crazy mom.)

• picked up my son and his friend from school

my son, the plague doctor

• stopped at the farmer's market on the way home and picked up my raw juice order
• when home, called the vet because one of the dogs ate my vitamins and supplements that I'd set out to take that morning, and forgot
• vacuumed all the floors in the house--except my children's. You just don't go in there.
• took a ten minute break with wine
• greeted oldest child fresh home from school and watched them perform a dance routine they are learning at school
• lead son and his friend in a snack-finding mission
• unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters
• fed the dogs
• started dinner
• texted with a friend trying to get a group of us to go to the movies that night
• watched oldest child again (different dance routine section)
• aided oldest child in snack mission
• checked on dinner
• started baking bread in the bread machine
• contemplated mopping the muddy dog prints off the solid surface floors but yearned for the hot tub long enough that the urge to clean was mostly passed
• swept the carport instead, and took out all the trashes
• wondered if I should clean off the dining room table, but--it being 6:00 p.m.--decided I was too tired for anything boring like that and yearned for Netflix and Hulu alternatives.
• Remembered the hot tub...and then that I was taking my oldest to a play a student friend was performing in, and that I still intended to henna my hair that night. Nix on the hot tub.
• Drank more wine in hopes of an evening plan forming.
• Acknowledged the swiss chard still needed to be prepped for dinner and silently whined to myself. I took another sip of whine--I mean wine.

Here's where I deteriorate into madness--but in a jolly sort of way:

• Craved chocolate; had a small can of peaches instead.
• Craved chocolate and ate two handfuls of chocolate sprinkles out of the baking cupboard.
• Noted that this was all because I wanted to get in the hot tub, but couldn't yet--hot tubbing requiring nudity, and nudity and driving my kid to the Wildish Theater didn't mix.
• Checked the chicken and rice again.
• Tried to find a game for the younger teens to play. They ignored me and listened to weird military cadences on their smart phones. They decided to give the Wii a try.
• I pulled the chocolate sprinkles out of the cupboard, because I hadn't actually eaten them yet, just written about it because it seemed like something I'd so. Recognized that since I hadn't actually eaten them, I could still make the healthy choice to NOT eat them, but told myself that since I'd already written I had, I needed to be true to the original sentiment of the daily entry, and ate them. (That's impeccability of word for you. Isn't that one of the Four Agreements?)
• One dog looked at me as if asking to go outside; I remembered about the chard again. I didn't want to make it. None of the kids would eat it, I was sure. Did I want to make it just for me?
• I let the dogs out.
• I went on a hunt for batteries so the boys could both play with the Wii.

This is what peace and quiet for crazy moms looks like.

• Closed the back door. Remembered my propensity for locking dogs outside and checked the house to make sure all three were inside.
• I marveled at the teens all talking and hanging out together without freaking out and smiled at my 14-year-old's deep voice, then worried that he said "bitch" to his video games too much.
• Checked the dinner again. It was done.
• Decided it was too late to make the chard. Felt lowly and guilty for not eating my healthy greens and hoped that my healthier partner wouldn't find out I ditched my veggies out of laziness again.
• Informed the kids that dinner was ready and convinced myself that my parenting duties were fulfilled for the day and I could be done. WooHoo!
• Closed the back door, because somehow it was open again.
• Checked the house for all three dogs again. One was missing. I let him in. He was looking in the window of the living room for me. <3
• Ate dinner while watching the last half of a West Wing episode I'd already started.
• Dropped off my oldest at the play.
• Knew that this would be a perfect time to henna my hair, but wanted to watch another episode first.
• Craved chocolate again, so I shifted from wine to hot chocolate with marshmallows. 
• Watched two episodes of West Wing waiting for my kid to text me they were done with the play.
• Washed dinner dishes and wiped counters again.
• Changed t.p. roll in the bathroom and took recycling out.
• Henna'ed hair.
• Picked up oldest from the theater.
• Sat in hot tub.
• Showered to wash the henna out.
• Went to pick up partner at airport at midnight.
• We visited a little, then brushed our teeth and went to sleep.

Imagine this, only at 1 a.m.

I was pleased with the day. It really was one of my favorites. I think this was because it was so well balanced. It was long, and I didn't sit down much--except for the West Wing part--but most of the aspects of my life were lovingly attended to. 

I was creative and worked on my book. I socialized. I worked on client work. I hung out with my awesome kids. I cleaned and cooked, looked after my dogs and garden, and still had time for personal grooming and relaxing. It was great! Here's hoping to re-creating that type of balance in future days. [sound of wine glass clinking with a hot chocolate mug]

What do your days look like?

I Could

What to do with an unexpected extra afternoon of time?

Any number of things.

I could be productive in so many ways.

I could procrastinate by making another list under the guise of "time management."

I could call Writer's Digest and ask them to tear up the check I accidentally sent them for almost three times more than the monthly subscription was for. (I sent them my car and rental insurance money instead. Online banking can be treacherous--what with the payees being alphabetized and the teeny payment boxes so close to each other.)

I could do some required reading that I've put off for months and months and months.

I could figure out a way to buy Turbo Tax to do my taxes (but I don't have the $79.99 to buy it), or I could send my info to my accountant (but I don't have the $120 to pay him.)

I could keep eating chocolate.

I could email my ex-husband about the visitation changes I need to make for the summer.

I could mow my lawn.

I could clean my son's bedroom.

I could make a behavior chart for my son so he knows what needs to be done before he can play video games.

I could read my book.

I could journal some of my angst away.

I could make myself lunch.

I could write a real blog post.

I could update my LibraryThing and GoodReads wishlists with the new book titles I want.

I could put the last edits into the e-booklet I wrote about grieving.

I could do some playing on Pinterest  social marketing.

I could write my talk on art and processing negative emotions that I'm giving next month.

I could call a winery and chocolatier about sponsoring an event I'm hosting.

I could email my graphic designer and ask her WHY I still don't have the event poster I ordered at the end of March.


But I'm frightened that I won't actually do any of them, and then tomorrow I'll be complaining that I just don't have enough time in the week to get my things done!

How's that for irony?

Blah.

Parenting a Misophonic: Living With Selective Sound Sensitivity Syndrome

My daughter wears her iPod everywhere. And if the buds aren't in her ears, they are in her pocket. She doesn't eat with any member in the family, instead going to her room to eat with the door closed and the music up loud. The only time we've successfully eaten together is in the living room, on opposite sides, with a movie on uber-loud.

She's not a difficult teenager. She's not going through a phase (which I was once guilty of thinking), and she's not making this up.


She has misophonia. It's also known as 4S, or Selective Sound Sensitivity Syndrome. The term was coined in either 2001 or 2002, depending on the text you are reading, by New York based neuroscientists Pawel and Mararet Jastreboff. There is no cure.

Definition and Symptoms

Misophonia actually means "hatred of sound," but -- from the more descriptive Selective Sound Sensitivity Syndrome moniker -- what really happens is rage or panic when hearing certain sounds, like swallowing or sniffling. The most typical responses to trigger sounds (chewing, clipping nails, clicking a pen) are: anger, rage, irritation, annoyance, and anxiety -- leading to the urge to flee or escape the environment. You can imagine the depression, self-hatred, shame, and negative self image those emotions might create in an individual, especially when coupled with an emotional need to strike back, physically, or using mimicking sounds.

My daughter reacts to the sounds of sniffling and chewing. And not just the annoyance that you or I feel about it. It's panic, it's rage, it's lashing out. 

On a recent cross-country airplane ride, when the flight attendants insisted that all electronic devices be turned off (meaning her iPod, and her only workable defense left to her -- she couldn't get up and leave), I held her in my arms while she cried, her nails digging into her palms, shaking, forearms tensed. I plugged one of her ears with one hand and massaged her head, while she shoved her other ear into my lap and held onto me with terror in her fingertips.

This is not made up. No one can make up misophonia.

Eric McDade, osteopathic physician at University of Pittsburg's department of neurology believes that it's caused by "abnormally strong connections between the auditory and limbic system in the brain." In other words, a mis-wiring in the brain that causes an emotional response to a particular sound. (www.post-gazette.com/stories/newshealth/for-sufferers-of-misophonia-silence-is-golden-664657)

Though my daughter's symptoms started about two and a half years ago, we've only known the name of it for almost a year, and yet I have only tried to find her relief sporadically. She's tried some energy work that helped a little, but not nearly enough. I've bought her noise canceling headphones, but they weren't helpful. Earplugs hurt her ears. Her school teachers in the private school she attended were accommodating, and let her sit in the hallway to do her schoolwork when her classmates all had colds or allergies and sniffed her out of her seat.

Misophonia starts pre-pubescently, which is why I thought it was a phase at first. Chewing never bothered her before, so why can't we eat together as a family now? 

An article from New Republic said it is probably an "old brain" problem, "likely located in the part of the cortex that processes emotion and that evolved a long time ago."

Phonophobia is a specific kind of misophonia, and is present when fear of the sound is the dominant emotion. This is not the type that my daughter suffers from. She's definitely a 4Ser -- though the UK Misophonia website suggests that 4S be considered as a kind of misophonia. Regardless, she fights every day with this syndrome, and I ache with my own helplessness.

Treatments

During my research, I've discovered a bunch of new leads to check out. There is a 4S specialist in Portland, Oregon (Marsha Johnson, audiologist) that I want to get her in to see; the first annual misophonia conference scheduled for October 25 and 26th in Portland, Oregon; a couple of forums that she could join and see that she's not crazy and there are others fighting and living with the same condition, and there's MMP to be hopeful for. MMP is Misophonia Management Protocol, and 85% of the people who do it find some kind of improvement.

Melanie Herzfeld, audiologist at The Hearing and Tinnitus Center in Woodbury, New York says that some of the techniques used for treating tinnitus and hyperacusis (extreme sensitivity to certain frequencies of sound) can reduce the effects of misophonia.

Other treatments might be: earplugs, cognitive therapy, neuro feed back, desensitization therapies, counseling, rotating cycles of pleasant sound therapy paired with unpleasant sounds, and psychoanalysis. Or any combination of these. I'd also consider more energy work or hypnosis.

Theories

Misophonia.com says "a current hypothesis being explored is that misophonia is some type of neurological disorder in which repeated auditory signals trigger a fight or flight reflex."

And apparently there is a genetic component, too.

Most surprising, Wikipedia postulates that misophonia may be another type of synesthesia -- a "neurological condition where one stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway." Like smelling a color, or hearing a shape.

Right now, the strategies that my daughter uses are limited to her iPod, leaving the room, and relying on the safety of her bedroom. She also concentrates really hard on any distractions she can find for herself  in the moment that she sees a potential trigger approaching. She plugs her ears, digs her fingernails into her skin, or sings to herself. Every day is a battle in self-control. She fights her limbic brain response to keep her emotions in check and not hurt herself or others. She's strong, and I believe in her, but I know that she'd welcome any help I can get her.

I feel the child advocate in me awakening. I did this once before with my son, who's on the autistic spectrum. Now it's time for me to be my daughter's champion, and help her understand, and live with, this invisible disorder.

Resources and Education

Misophonia 4S Provider Network 
Here's the provider info for the expert specialist in Oregon:
Marsha A. Johnson, Audiologist
Oregon Tinnitus and Hyperacusis Treatment Clinic, est 1997
825 NE 20th Ste 230
Portland, OR 97232
503-234-1221
tinnitus-audiology.com
tinnitusdoctor@yahoo.com

Sound Sensitivity is a misophonia forum for sufferers only.

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2012/05/18/safer-for-misophonics-2020s-misophonia-coverage is the BEST "definition" I've ever seen of misophonia. Two video clips show actual triggered responses, so the non-believers (and let's face it, there will always be those that doubt) can see real people affected by this.

Misophonia.com has a forum, too, and there's a section for Tips and Tricks.

"Raising My Rainbow" -- a book review

I read another great memoir this week. Hooray for memoirists! Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in Raising a Fabulous, Gender Creative Son by Lori Duron is sweet, and nurturing, and real. It's honest, and ... well ... I'd want to be her friend if I knew her in real life.

When her son, at age three, found a Barbie, Lori and Matt Duron's life changed forever. As well as their two sons'. What follows are years of self-doubt, unconditional love, and the angst of whether or not he can bring his "girl" toys with him when he leaves the house.

It was life-affirming to read about her advocacy, the friends they surrounded their little family with, and the joy that beamed out from little C.J.'s face when he was dancing in an all girls ballet/tap class with a sparkly tutu on.

It's a story about love, first and foremost. It's a story about the minutia of decisions parents need to make when the challenges arise, as they always do. It's a story about acceptance, and providing the best for your child.

I recommend this book to all.

Five stars.

Holiday Letter 2012

Talk about cross-posting ...

This is the holiday letter that my kids and I wrote to mail out whenever we bought stamps. (We have decided to call them January Letters.)

***

Greetings!

We are attempting our first ever Holiday Family Letter, especially geared towards those of you we love that are far away. We’d love to catch you up on our shenanigans.

First off WE LOVE YOU and MISS YOU. That’s the main reason we are writing you.

Aubrey has braces now, and started Tae Kwon Do again. She just earned her yellow belt. She’s in 8^th grade and we’re trying to find the perfect high school for her artistic talents, and one where she will thrive.

She’s still taking Japanese lessons, loves anime, manga (her new favorite series is “DRRR!!”), drawing, reading, wearing black, and skeletons. She loves music, but nothing girlie. Case in point: in this year’s school talent show, she’ll be singing either “Leave out all the rest” by Linkin Park, or a Japanese song. She still loves Harry Potter. She’s dreamy, elegant, dark and talented. I love her so much.

Robert says he’s doing “pretty good,” and is fitting in at school, which he says is “very nice.” He loves video games (“Of course, ‘course, ‘course!”). His current fave is Minecraft. If he has to read, his favorite is The 39 Clues series. He’s finished the first whole series and has moved on to the next series (within the series.) 39 Clues: Cahills vs. The Vespers. A Garfield connoisseur, he’s recently moved on to Calvin and Hobbes.

He has a permanent retainer; his braces came off years ago. He’s a 6^th grader at a charter school that has a combined elementary and middle school that keeps the same teacher two years in a row. He’ll get a new teacher for 7^th and 8^th grade. He still doesn’t like to brush his hair and gets only one hair cut a year – a buzz cut during Spring Break. He still likes Legos, and still wants to paint his room grey (it’s bright yellow right now).

He’s funny, curious, quirky, and compassionate. I love him so much.

They both play Dungeons and Dragons with their dad and friends weekly.

~~

We’ve been in our rental house for a year now. It’s a cozy and lovely fit for us. We’re planning to get back to some suburban homesteading this summer: gardening and chickens.

Valerie just got a new job using her massage therapy license finally – at Chi Spa (a place specializing in Chinese massage, reflexology, and detox techniques – like FAR infrared saunas and ionic foot baths.) She’s been building up her editing clientele with Yellow Pen Editing ( http://valeriewillman.com ), and continues to facilitate and co-chair the Mid-Valley chapter of Willamette Writers’ monthly meetings. She also has a work/study position with the Bikram yoga studio in town, and has a weekly yoga and ecstatic dance practice. (She recently treated herself to a blind contour drawing/writing class “just because.”)

Her biggest and most heartfelt news is there’s a new relationship in her life – a Turkish man named Ali who writes for a living, collects art, loves dogs, and has a great laugh.

She’s put money down on an acre of land in Costa Rica, and plans to move there full time after the kids are out of high school. Aubrey says she’s looking forward to visiting on college breaks and Robert said he might live there “if it’s cool.”

Merry Christmas and Happy Solstice. We, today, just hiked to the top of Mt. Pisgah in Eugene, Oregon to watch the sunrise on the shortest day of the year – the beginnings of a new tradition? We’ll see. 

May you find loads of peace and joy this coming year. We’d love to hear from you.

A Time of Transition Requires a New Name

This blog started back in 2008 as a mommy blog. Or, more accurately, a place to compile the insanity of my life -- specifically with my son's undiagnosed PDD-NOS, and the unschooling/homeschooling adventures I had with him, and his sister.

The blog was aptly named Insane Parents Unite!

But now my kids are in middle-school. And you can't even buy parenting magazines geared towards kids that old. Not to mention that both my children refuse to be photographed, and what fun is a blog post about teenage angst, hunting for high schools, or the continual battle of limiting video gaming time when you can't even add a picture?!

Grumblegrumble.

So I changed the blog title to Indian-flavored Everything because I love all things Indian, was dating an Indian man, and I was running out of kid topics. (Which isn't really true, but whatever.) I still want to write about my favorite Bollywood movie, and the trip I'm dreaming up for Kerala with my new guy, but I also want to write about homesteading and reading and parenting older kids and cross-cultural dating. And hopefully in an artful-heartful way so that I may bring some joy to the soul along the way.

So now what do I call the blog?

***

And now for something not-so completely different ... I will be starting a BRAND NEW BLOG within the next month (in addition to this one). Something along the lines of Eco Expat. I've bought some land in Costa Rica at an Eco Village (off the grid, self-sustainable, intentional community) and I want to chronicle my experience of readying myself for life in a foreign country, earning income in a foreign country, learning a new language, practicing my homesteading skills -- plus all the logistical things I didn't anticipate happening but I'm sure will.

Stop by here for a link to the new blog.

Pura Vida!

I'm Off My Monetary Mo-Jo. Shit.

At what age do you start seriously talking to kids about money? I'm not talking about $15 monthly allowances, and "Well, you'll just have to save up for that Lord of the Rings Lego set," or even the generic, "We can't afford to play miniature golf and order pizza, I'm sorry. What about some homemade soup?" I'm thinking more along the lines of I have $106 in my checking account until the end of the month, and that's not paying my child care bill, or my daughter's school tuition this month. Not to mention gasoline and, you know, food.

I don't want my sensitive fourteen year old to worry and feel guilty for going to the school that she does. Her father and I picked that school because it was the best place for her. It was where we wanted her to go. (The fact that her father refuses to pay any portion of that tuition bill is frankly appalling and really shitty timing for me right now. Also something I'll never tell her.) (Equally annoying is that I don't qualify for any more than $60-$70/month tuition assistance because I make "too much money.")

I am not frivolous with money. I don't have much credit card debt ($2K). I do often splurge on organic produce, chocolate and olives, though -- totally unnecessary purchases -- and when my daughter comes home from school with tears streaming down her face due to homework overwhelm, I am known to cave and volunteer pad thai from Chao Pra Ya and Doctor Who on Netflix. (I haven't decided if that qualifies as an unnecessary purchase at this point. Therapy is therapy. However it works.)

When I was a kid, I knew that our family didn't have as much money as the next one. We always had everything we needed though: Hamburger Helper, Tuna Fish Casserole, hand-me-down clothes, and family dinners at the table. I watched my mom pay bills every month, peripherally, and knew that every month she very carefully chose which ones to pay, and which ones to only send a partial payment to -- knowing that with a partial payment they couldn't turn off services or repossess.

I don't remember my mom and dad ever discussing finances with us kids. And I don't recall ever worrying about food or a roof over our heads. And strangely, I don't remember ever feeling that my friends had it better than me. I just knew that was the way our family was. I didn't begrudge my friends their wardrobes, or big bedrooms. After all, I did get Keds, and huarachees, and Levis. I just got them six months later. When they weren't quite so cool. Nevertheless, I felt well-adjusted, socialized with my friends, and had money in my pocket for after-school chocolate bars. Life was good.

And when I got married at seventeen to my first love, I didn't mess around with a honeymoon or new living room furniture. I knew how it was. We shopped at garage sales, ate our share of Top Ramen, and borrowed family friends' futons, and worked full time.

So how about now? How much is too much information? Do my children understand monetary reality? Do they know we only have a hundred bucks to live on for the next two and a half weeks? (I'm sure they don't, nor do I know if that is the kind of information that 11 year olds and 14 year olds need to know.) Do they see the difference between their father's house and mine? (I'm sure they do.) And while it bothers me a little to see so much money spent on electronics for the kids -- especially when it seems through actions that new laptops and a PS3 are more important than education -- I am grateful that the children are seeing different lifestyles.

What I ultimately want is for them to be prepared for life after school -- when they have their own jobs and apartments. What I ultimately want is for them to understand that our choices around money have consequences. What I ultimately want is for them to know what to do when they only have a hundred bucks in the bank and a lot more month to go.

'Cuz I sure don't.

Dream Dissonance

Instead of wishing and wanting N to be here RIGHT NOW so he could cook me biriyani and snuggle with me, I will dutifully (with love and accountability) call upon those feelings I had this morning in the office I share with Brittany -- energy worker extraordinaire.

I discovered today.

I acknowledged in my body today.

I felt a Truth rise up in me today.

I knew a felt sense today.

After my lovely energy session was almost complete and I was relaxing and breathing deeply and without panic for the first time in weeks, B took me through a couple of meditative visuals. Halfway through the second one, I spilled over with tears, and continued to be highly emotional during the next ten minutes while I explained what had happened internally for me.

We often discuss what the body does, or says, during sessions.

Here's a WILDLY ABRIDGED version of the visualization exercise:

• Imagine the soles of your feet in contact with soft earth. 

(I immediately thought Costa Rican soil and saw huge green leaves coming up from the ground at the base of a giant tree. It was in this soil that I imagined my feet.)

• Feel the earth energy entering you from the soles of your feet, through your gates, into your calves and shins, past your knees ....  

(I could actually feel a tingly rushy feeling going everywhere she led me. I felt content and joyful, and all of a sudden I knew. Costa Rica would be good for me. A place of healing and good energy.)



She continued leading the earth energy up my body and when it reached my center -- my womb -- I could see the little light zipping around and joyfully doing figure eights around my belly. (I would find joy and healing and nourishment in Costa Rica.)

And.

I started crying.

I struggled with the earth energy going higher through the upper chakras. It did. It was dimmed and not so joyful, but it made it.

I struggled with feelings of un-worthiness.

Was I crying because I felt like Costa Rica was the right place for me, but that it might not be for my kids and I can't get there yet, until my kids are grown up? Was I crying because I didn't feel worthy of obtaining/attaining this dream, when I should be focusing on my kids' dreams?

Or was I crying because I felt unworthy of earth energy? Maybe because I was blocked in one of those chakras? Or because I wasn't worthy of feeling joy? (GASP)

I don't know the answer to any of those questions.

Then or now.

B's hypothesis is that I've been disconnected from Earth energy for a long time and I was reunited with it today. That I felt joy and longing for it today. And the tears were a mixture of relief, love and longing.

That rings true, too.

When I asked her what to do with it, she just said 'sit with it.' Let it be there. (Of course she did.)

I'm concerned that since I wasn't able to process those feelings right after the session (due to a business meeting) that the impact -- the import and impact -- are missing now.

This is a faithful accounting of what happened at the session, but the ... longing and relief ... are missing.

I wish I could re-capture that ... in case there were extra messages there for me.

I feel like I have the clarity now that Costa Rica is definitely that place I need to be. And that it will be good for me there. Being with nature in that way will be healing for me, like the island was for that character in Lost that didn't have cancer as long as she was there. Eventually I will live there. I know it now.

But what about that other part?

The part about Costa Rica being my longing, and not my kids' dream. And the dissonance of having a dream that is different from theirs. And when is it okay to act on a dream that is in contrast to your family's? And how do I go about doing that in a safe and respectful way?

I Need a Name For My New Home

I'm so excited about my new house!
Even though I can't move into it for six weeks.
How will I wait for that?!

My friend, Tamara, says, "Whatever. You'll be packing. It's not that long." Call me insane but, I didn't actually think I'd have to pack. It's just a few blocks away. Like fifteen, or something. I thought that I could make a few van trips with some laundry baskets full of clothes and kitchen utensils and it'd be done. Right?

My Oldest is Thirteen ... well, we had the party for it at least.

This weekend is all about THE KIDS. 

And I'm glad of that. 

Sometimes it's awesome to be selfless.

Chimney Swifts at Nana's Place

Dragging My Feet?

I went walking with the kids yesterday. A big long, fat walk. We were gone for about two and a half hours. Our goal upon setting out was timing how long it took for Robert to walk home from school, and if the walkie-talkies could make the distance. Could I hear him on the walkie-talkie if I was at home or work or driving, and he was at the school?

I don't have a complete answer to that yet, but I do know

Invisible Special Needs

So I just spent THREE hours reading blogs written by mom's with kids with Asperger's or Autism, and websites that touted the iPad as a great resource for these kids. Apparently there is a butt-load of apps specifically designed for kids on the autistic spectrum. Who knew?

Now, I don't actually *have* an iPad, but my ex does. I just sent him an email with a few links to apps that might be helpful to our son.

What's gotten me on this special needs kick all of a sudden? A number of things. Some silly. Some profound.

Here are a few, in no particular order:  

Divorces, Parenting Plans and Pictures of Kids

Divorces are for trying new things, like wearing fishnet stockings and dying your hair pink or blue.

It's for starting new relationships and stopping them because you realized that you really wanted to commit to giving your all to a long-distance relationship that is giving you so much peace and love and worship right now that you swim in the knowledge that this might be the One.

Divorces are for figuring out what's best for the children, but maintaining your own sanity by "putting your own oxygen mask on first" factors in big-time.

 

Paul and I have come to an agreement.
Whew.
It looked like more time and mediation were going to be necessary. But. As of yesterday it is not.

Unless .... since we filed a motion for mediation, we are now bound by law to do it ..... hmmm. That would be a waste of time.





My little aspie boy wasn't doing well with the visitation set up. We had him at his dad's four nights a week, and at my place three nights a week and he felt like he was finally settling into a place and feeling "at home," when it was time to move on again.

I came up with a plan and Paul shot it down. (The second one, btw.)

I talked with my mother-in-law and friend about my concerns (and hers) and she came up with an alternate version to mine -- one that would have Robert in one place for longer stretches of time, and one that would still enable Paul to have the children on his days off.

My friend, Tamara, also reminded me that visitation schedules can look like anything. There is no standard.

So.

Visitation will look like this: (after Paul secures a nanny and the children get back from their summer Massachusetts trip to visit another part of their family -- Rob's side)

It's a version of week on/week off, but Paul will always have them on his days off.

So it'll be five days on with me, and nine days on with him.

I'm willing to try it at any rate. We can always alter it if it's not working for the family.

Co-parenting should be interesting .....

.... said with a smirk.

Other things on the divorce agreement that we've settled on:

~joint custody

~we're splitting the increase in paul's 401K since the date of our marriage on feb 12, 2006.

~no child support
~no spousal support
~paul will get the eugene house and its debt and rental income
~i will get the albany house and it's debt and rental income
~the costa rica property will be sold and the money will be split between the two of us 


The only part of that that is difficult to describe, but makes perfect sense to me when it is explained to me is that the money from the Costa Rica property sale will be split amongst us depending on the debt/equity ratio between the two properties on Oregon. 

Basically, we're going to split up the debt on the properties, but only after the sale of the CR property.






In other news, I've been mulling around a few new writing projects that I'm starting to get excited about.

More on that later.

Though I will say that both of them are blogs. One will be a joint blogging effort on long-distance relationships, and one will be geared toward single women issues.

Turns out I have a lot to say about that.

Now I just need a catchy byline .....

Sacred Writing Time -- Strike One

I had a strange dream last night.

You know what I would do if there was an earthquake?

Can you do the closure on my bra?

Then the dog stepped on my foot.

You know why I love the internet?

And in my dream I:   (insert HUGE story here).

Could you get the stuff ready for me cleaning the back door? I can't find the vinegar.

I'm hungry. I'm not saying you have to get up right now and get me something, I'm just saying that if I get too much more hungry, I'll get a little bit grumpy.

Yaw-Hoo! Yea, Baby! Uh-huh, Oh Yeah! (exclaiming over the computer game my son is playing.)

I take it the dishwasher is clean.

I would wait except for the fact that I'm so hungry it hurts!

Poison Arrow! (more computer gaming) Booya! Poison, poison, poison, poison, poison!

Will you stop chanting poison?

What? It's a poison arrow. (pause) Fine.

Two slices of deli meat.

Deli meat? What do you mean deli meat?

Turkey.

Oh.

My work time/writing time is from 10am to noon. This is the rule around here. I write, the kids leave me alone unless there is blood or a fire.


Today. It didn't work so much.

Summer Snarkiness

My lovely children are soaking in the summer rays and sinking into the lazy mentality of, "It's summer vacation, Mom." This quote comes complete with either eye-rolling or a snarky tone to the voice. Fully automated. Batteries included. Every time I ask them to do something.

I'm getting a little bit tired of it.

But here are moments captured that don't involve said snarkiness:

I Am My Own Conundrum

I am a mother, a wife, a failed housekeeper, a disgruntled non-vegan, a reader, a procrastinator, a polyamorist, a writer, an urban-homesteader, a future ex-pat.

I am a fringe A.D.D.-er, an advocate for my son's "special needs," a "special needs" detective, a sugar addict and a frequent consumer of chocolate, cheese and olives.

I am a wannabe living simply seeker and a not-so-closet book junkie that wants to travel many places for long vacations involving rat-race jobs to fund them and foreign oil guzzling, carbon foot-printing airplanes to take me there.

I want to hang my clothes to dry and raise chickens and rabbits and knit and write on my idyllic farm and take my dogs running on my land, but I also want no responsibilities and to live in a little cottage across from a city park with a container garden on my porches and have gatherings at my home amongst friends.

I want to move out of the country and escape my husband's job where I rarely see him with its unpredictable days off and long days with no set closing time or lunch hour, to a place where the cost of living is low enough that our jobs keep us together in goal and spirit and commitment, rather than apart.

I want to move out of the country for the excitement and new challenge and for new writing fodder. But I don't want to because I'd miss Starbucks decaf mochas and my writing group and Bhangra dance lessons and Bikram yoga and No Shame Eugene Theater group.

I'd miss the friends I've finally made -- the ones that take longer and longer to make the older I get.

I'd miss my dogs that we might very well have to leave behind if we left.

I don't want to move because what if there isn't a school that I would touch with a ten foot pole for my kids. Before, I'd just say I'd home/un-school them, but I feel done with that now. I don't feel I have the energy, my attention is strongly diverted to my writing right now, and Robert's needs suddenly seem beyond my scope of expertise. But then again -- if we moved, it would be likely that Paul would be more helpful with the children and engage with them in ways that I wouldn't, haven't, or won't. And a friend brought up that maybe in another country, where they treat their children differently and award them different station, he wouldn't have special needs. Maybe he'd blossom into who he really is.

I also don't want to move because of my daughter. She's a teenager now -- even though she's only eleven -- and walks around with her iPod earbuds in, trying to shut us all out and she hates moving. Despite our long times at each of our two Eugene homes, she's necessarily had to move schools and daycares for various reasons and she remembers each kid that was important to her from each school (all the way back to her preschool daycare.) And she cries about them and misses them to this day.

We've finally gotten her back into a school we should've left her in all along and it'll take her through middle school. So I really don't want to move her out of that and even if we plan and wait for the three year mark (until she's out of 8th grade) -- many of her friends would be scattered to different high schools anyway, so maybe the loss would be diminished or at least not added to it - but then Robert's schooling would be interrupted mid-middle school.

So I can't win there.

But maybe, again, if our family were planning for the next three years to go, and Robert all along knew that he'd be moving the summer after his 6th grade year, maybe it wouldn't be a big deal to him.

I love the idea of our family all working together towards a common goal, like all of us learning Spanish together. Not that I've ever wanted to learn Spanish, but ... you know what I mean. And I'd like the idea of all of us making decisions based on our future move.

Paul and I are going to start researching other countries this year. We'll be taking a scouting trip to Costa Rica this fall, and I'd like to add Scotland, Ireland, Wales, New Zealand and Australia to the list.

France has intrigued me for years and Italy, too, but Paul doesn't want to learn a new language. Party Pooper. I mean, half the reason to move to a foreign country would be to learn a new language and immerse yourself in their culture!

Yes, Costa Rica is a Spanish-speaking country, but if we ever did move there, we'd most likely join a sustainable community full of expats growing their own food. So maybe no need for Spanish.

But there now. Paul would chide me for thinking too far ahead.

Unidentified Hell

My son, who is nine, does not have autism. (Or Asperger's Syndrome.) He is highly verbal -- sometimes not stopping for breath. He looks you in the eye and desperately wants to be a part of things and to have friends. These are not things that kids with autism do, or feel (as we understand it.)

But, he does: feel like you are stabbing him if you touch him suddenly, and if he doesn't know you well, he doesn't want you touching him at all. Sometimes swimming lessons and tae kwon do classes would end in screaming because of instructors correcting his form. He's ended up in the corner, literally, yelling at the top of his voice when doctor's want to do a physical exam or change the wire on his braces.

One time he threw up because he was getting an impression of his mouth done at the orthodontist's and it took 45 minutes to coax him through the rest of the appointment. Actually, if I remember correctly, we even needed to come back a different day to finish the appointment.

When the doorbell rings and the dogs go barking and charging to the door, Robert covers his ears and yells even louder than them. He used to do this when the coffee grinder, blender or vacuum cleaner would run, too. And he still does it if the vhs tape comes to the end and suddenly shuts off with that loud "snow" before it rewinds. He still refuses to be around the vacuum, and obviously to vacuum his room.

He hates to wear socks and underwear, can't stand pants with buttons or snaps because his fingers have a hard time with the mechanics and he doesn't like to write. (I think the pencil or grip may hurt his hand.)

He wants friends but doesn't understand it when they don't want to play his games. Instead of asking a kid to play at a city pool with him, he'll jump on him in the water. When he hugs you, he often will hang on you -- or "hug you to the ground" -- causing discomfort or pain.

He doesn't understand where he is with his body a lot of the time. He lays on top of his sister -- or his dogs -- when he really wants to snuggle or be close to them to show affection.

He's self-centered. And I mean that not in a rude way. It's just that sometimes he's aware of other people only as it pertains to him in his own universe. For instance, he's hyper-sensitive if you've done something to negatively impact him, like bump into him or ask him to brush his teeth. These will be responded with -- sometimes -- physical retaliation (because it feels to him like your accidental bump was a punch in the arm) or a rageful yell and stomping of his feet. On the other hand, he has absolutely no idea when he negatively impacts you. To the point of blatantly denying that he's just stepped on your hand when there were two witnesses to the action. He didn't realize he'd done it, therefore he didn't do it.

He knows an exorbitant amount of facts about sharks and snakes. He's memorized verbatim, in some cases, several EyeWitness science videos and randomly spouts off facts to us. He's highly intelligent, does math in his head that I can't do (though that's not saying much actually) and excels at chess.

He hates to wear clothes and prefers to be naked, even in the winter. Although, conversely, he loves footy pajamas. He refuses hats and coats and gets belligerent and defiant if you "make" him take one anyway.

He's impulsive. To the extent of randomly leaving school, home or a park without telling anyone where he is going in the space it takes to gather your belongings or turn around and finish your short conversation. Thusly, for years I was terrified to take him in public, crowded areas for fear I would lose him.

He's impulsive less with his hands now. We've spent years working on vocabulary to describe his emotions instead of lashing out with his hands. Unsupervised playdates were (and still are, but for different reasons) an impossibility. Years ago, we had to leave many a birthday party or open gym because of him punching a kid in the stomach. Now I believe it was because he got overly stimulated and felt like the world was exploding around him with lights and sounds and abrasive textures and questions and taunts and people touching him and getting in his space. It was him defending himself. He still does it now, just not as intensely.

He doesn't transition well. If you tell him it's time to stop doing what he's doing and do something else (even if it's something you know he likes), you will meet with either: stony silence (and I haven't decided if he's pretending he doesn't hear you so he can keep going, or doesn't think you mean him even though you say his name, or he just really doesn't know you exist right now because he's hyper-focused on his task and a bomb could go off beside him and he'd only dazedly look up), abject refusal, or tantrum. Though, tantrums don't happen but rarely now, and usually need a good working up to.

If he's caught lying or breaking the rules, he'll tell you it wasn't him, it was his imaginary friends (Punching Boy, Skateboard Boy, Mean Boy, etc.) that did it, or maybe that they told him to do it.

Rather than believing this to be signs of early multiple personalities, psychotic or sociopathic behavior -- thoughts I once upon a time entertained -- I think this was possibly a way of him trying to explain his impulses. He can't stop them. He feels powerless and that he's so far out of control of his behavior when he gets those impulses, it's like he's not even doing them. Someone else is. Because he certainly wouldn't choose to do them. In fact, when he realizes what he's done, sometimes he'll start hitting himself in the head.

One time when I was concerned about his ability to empathize, we were on a playdate and Robert was playing by himself, the girls were playing in a different room and one of my friend's children -- a toddler -- started crying outside on the deck. Robert announced that the boy was crying. After we'd checked that he was alright, my friend pointed out that Robert understood that another being was in distress and sought out help. That was empathetic. But maybe he just didn't like the sound of his crying and needed someone to make it stop. And now I remember that crying babies, especially new little ones, were like the coffee grinder to him. He'd run out of the room when he'd become too anxious.

He hates rice (even rice pudding) because of the texture. He can't stand to have his hair combed, or cut.

He can play in water and sand for hours. He likes to bury things in yarn, clay, silly putty and sand.

He needs to know exactly what will happen in new situations like an orthodontist procedure or playing laser tag for the first time, or he will become agitated.

He is oftentimes inflexible in his mind. If he expects an O.T. session or school interview to go a certain way, and it doesn't, he gets mad and loud and refuses to co-operate. Though I have a theory about this.

When he rants: You can't make me! I'm not doing that! I'll never go to school! etc., I believe he's saying: You can't make me do that yet. I'll never go there yet. I think it is his socially unacceptable way of creating some time for himself to wrap his brain around transitioning to a new thing.

An example: we were talking the other day about trying O.T. (occupational therapy) again and he wanted to do it.

"Even if they ask you to do dumb things?"

"Yes!"

"Even if they ask you to do things you don't want to do?"

"Yes." (he's pausing here) "What would they ask me?"

"Maybe they'd ask you to practice writing with a pencil."

(blow up)

"I'll never do that! I'll never go to school! I'm NOT doing that!!!!"

I ignore the outburst. He flops on the couch and I putter in the kitchen.

"Ok. I'll go."

Less than one minute later. He just needed to wrap his head around it and come to it on his terms.

His favorite food is cheese sandwiches. And often doesn't want anything but those. And I've done enough research to know that if your body craves and is "addicted" to a certain type of food, you are often 'allergic' or sensitive to it. He's also constipated a lot. Probably from all the bread and cheese. Gluten and casein.

I've also done enough research to know that every one of the statements I've written here, are also behaviors and symptoms of kids that fall on the autistic spectrum.

It makes me wonder, is all. It keeps me awake at night.

I look back to when he was two or three. He didn't get his vaccines and then suddenly become unresponsive and regress into himself. He looked me in the eye and crawled into my lap to be held and giggled.

But he did line up his cars in straight lines. And when he met Paul's mom (Robert's Nana) for the first four times, he wouldn't make eye contact and refused to acknowledge that she was even in the room.

And somedays it feels as if he's been frustrated and angry since he was four years old.

He's not autistic because he's highly verbal, looks people in the eye and craves interaction, socialization and friendships. But everything else I've listed points to a kid on the spectrum.

So what's going on for him?

Had to Share

Ballerina Girl