Allergic

Every year we put up our lovely, yet very much fake, christmas tree. As the guys get the pieces all put in place, it is my job to "fluff" the thing. Not my favorite part as I am allergic to the synthetic needles. Every year I forget to put on long sleeves and I finish off with my arms broken out in a rash.

This year I am fluffing the tree and complaining how this is my least liked part of decorating for the holidays. Alex asks me, "Why Mom? I like the tree!" I tell him I am allergic to it. No reply from him leads me to believe he has understanding of my answer, or, more likely, didnt get it and has moved on. The latter being the more ususal in these cases.

As I am finishing up, I ask jake to get me some Germx for my arms, as I can already feel the itching coming on and I want to disinfect as quick as possible. He asked why I needed it, in which I reply again about my allergy to the needles.

OUT OF THE BLUE... Alex pipes in, with such emphasis, "Because SHES ALLERGIC!" A slight pause followed up with... "Shes lactose intolerant! DUH!"

So there you go. It explains it all. We all are still chuckling about it. Oh how I love that little guy!

All Finished!

Testing... testing...1... 2... 3...

It never ceases to amaze me , the twists and turns that becomes the new direction in my life. I know, in my heart of hearts, that each turn is a new adventure, each twist is a new learning opportunity, each task is an opprotunity is some form or another... be is something for myself, or something I am to be the instrument in which to extend the opportunity.

As of late, I have turned yet another corner. It began with me believing that this new obstacle was a teaching opportunity for me. Wow was I ever wrong there! What an eye opening experience these past 4 weeks have been as I have come to realize that my part in this new adventure is but a small one. Yes, there are teaching opprtunities for me, in that I was correct. But there are so many more learning opportunites that I am receiving. I have realized how very small minded I was in thinking this was solely about me and what I had to offer.

As my prodigal son returned home after 8 years, It is quite an upheaval in the homelife as each of us face new tests before us. We dont know this young man anymore. he is not the person we remember, and the boy we all knew and loved, is buried so deeply, and long since forgotten, that we wonder if there is anyway to draw him back out. Moreso, is it even possible 'he' still exisits in there? Is it possible to scrape away any of the anguish, dispair, and societal influence that have corrupted and encased the young boy I once held in my arms and hugged so tightly? There is that part of me who holds out hope that I can brak through walls, that I can scrape away old scars, that I can rescue the trapped boy inside.... but another part of me sees this man before me, and I relinquish that hope and wish for any small moments I can snag along the way.

My other children have been effected by this upheaval in our routines. My boys no longer know their brother. Sibling bonds are nonexisitent anymore. It is like having a distant family member visiting ... for a very long visit. The most interaction any of them have, is watching a sports program on TV in the evening. They still prefer what their lives were before their brother arrived. Sure, they include him... to an extent... but for the most part, that is even awkward since their lifestyles and choices are complete opposites. The two little ones go on about things as if he isnt there most of the time. The moments do occur when the littlest one is intruded upon by his oldest brother. Being autistic, and having his own special routines and items that can not be used by anyone else, it can be a big upheaval in his day when his brother is ignorant to the inner workings around the home to accomodate the youngest.

As I try to encourage, uplift, guide, and teach... I find my patience weak and thinning. As a mother I want the trasformation NOW... I want MY son back 'now'... not 'later'... and the idea of 'not at all', is a haunting possibility. My boys try to bring the Gospel to their brother, and give him hope of new and great things that his life can hold. Such missionaries they are, and such examples to me they have become. How was I to know that I would see before me, two strippling warriors armed at the ready. It is hard to look at them as my baby boys when they sit erect, with scriptures in hand, teaching.

I sure have my work cut out for me. That is for sure. As I learn, I work, I grow, I listen, I teach, and I observe... I am growing myself. I reach for that word of HOPE again, and pray that my prodigal son has his eyes opened and can see that I too am growing and changing with him. I grasp for any HOPE that his heart will be softened and he will let in the love of his family and WANT to have all that is good restored to him. It is already there for the taking, he just has to reach for it. Again... I lean towards HOPE that he will have the strength to take that step and grasp ahold of that which has been offered... that he will realize how much he needs and wants it for himself... never again wanting to let go.

I close this muddled rambling with a simple prayer of gratitude to my Heavenly Father for the opportunities and many facets of growth that our entire family has been given. I ask but simply, that his hand will guide us, that the spirit with strengthen us, that his Love will fill us.

May we all pass this test, and come out all the better for having lived it.

Today You Turn Eight

Wasn't it just last year.... that I held you in my arms for the first time ever?

Wasn't it just last month.... when you said "Mama" for the first time?

Wasn't it just last week.... when I sat you in your high chair and gave you cheerios for a snack?

Wasn't it just a few days ago.... that you had your very first Daddy Date?

Wasn't it just yesterday.... that you dressed up in your big hat, got out all your stuffed toys, and had your first tea party?

Wasn't it just a minute ago.... that I wished I could keep you little for just a while longer....

The Adventures of Mr Gleam

It was a hot and balmy evening in early June. The air was heavy with humidity that left one feeling like they had stepped into a steam room. The only real noticeable difference, no benches, no sweltering hot rocks to pour water over for steam, and no fat hairy men in towels. The sounds of hissing cicada bugs and the croaking of tree frogs filled the night air. It was all you could hear, even through the closed windows of the secure houses. Our air conditioning was set at 70 degrees to combat the evening humidity. A low hum in the background as the air conditioner cycled, was the icing on the cake when it came to the usual evening bravado.

It was nearly 8pm when it happened. A piercing scream came from the distance, from out of nowhere. A scream shrill enough to make your toes curl. None of us knew where it came from, but we knew someone had to find out.It only took moments before the scream became louder and the mystery was solved. A lovely young damsel was running screaming for help! She was beautiful... almost angelic! Her long blonde hair flowing behind her, like ripples on the ocean, as she ran. Her piercing blue eyes were filled with terror. Her fair skin, like new fallen snow, unblemished. As she ran by us, we quickly realized her screams of dismay. Close on her heels in hot pursuit was the Booger Man! (not to be confused with the Boogie Man) He ran behind her, finger extended with a globules mass affixed to it, cackling wildly "No Pass! No Pass!" In sheer horror, we gathered ourselves and loved ones, and ran for the nearest and safest places. Our hearts half beating out of our chests, we crouched low in dark corners hoping not to be spotted. Not wanting to be the next victims.

What I witnessed next was more than I could ever imagine to have witnessed in my lifetime. The young boy, peered over his glasses. He looked around to make sure he was alone. Not knowing I was watching, he reached up and removed them and cast them aside. In an instant he was transformed from a typical young boy into The Gleam! My surprise almost gave away my location as I gasped at what I had witnessed.

At once, he leapt into action, and immediately, chase gave way. "Come and get me!" he says with pursed lips, taunting the Booger man further. Feeling victory within his grasp, the Booger Man extends his booger laden finger towards The Gleam, and with a wry smile on his face sprang towards him in fervent delight! I was sure it was the end of Mr. Gleam! I was positive he would be wiped with the booger and helplessly bound with the "No Pass" rule. Instead, to my delight, out comes the most powerful weapon of our time! Mr. Gleam parts his lips and there it is!! A bright white gleaming smile! So bright, it blinds the Booger Man, and he shrinks away into the darkness, muttering... "We will meet again!"

We all came out from the shadows and cheered wildly for Mr. Gleam. He whips out his toothbrush, brushes his teeth, and waves as he disappears into the night. We were saved!!

I will never forget this night. Perhaps, it didn't exactly happen in the manner I have recounted. Perhaps it is instead a simple game, between a father and his kids, called the booger game. One feigns a nose pick and wipes it on another, yelling "no pass" , giving them immunity from that person's retalliation. The fair damsel, our daughter, running wildly away from daddy as he attempts to get her. And perhaps, the 'Clark Kent' of the story, glasses and all, is my 6 yr old son, getting ready for bed in the midst of this game. And although, it may have been a simple 5 minute joust between them, I am sure my recollection recited above is more like the story my 6 year old son remembers of that night. As he flashed his smile at his dad, making a 'gleaming' sound effect, repelling his father who is then unable to make the dreaded booger wipe. He becomes the hero as daddy feigns blindness from his newly brushed teeth. For myself, I think I prefer my sons version; my little super hero, with gleaming white teeth for his super power. For I know, in a not so distant future, Mr. Gleam will be a thing of the past, and my super hero son will be mortal once again.

Rain's Gifts

The rain fell.
Leaving behind slippery walks
muddy ground
and puddles.

I walk carefully on the concrete walk
hoping beyond all else
that I may not slip and fall.
Slick it is, and grace
is not in my realm of being.

My son, sees not the danger in falling
the possibility of hurting himself
nor the humiliation of the event.
The idea of walking around
with a wet smudge on the backside
of his britches is not one of embarrassment
but instead a badge of honor.

He slides... as far as he can,
holding tightly to my arm
with both his small hands
giddily giggling as we go.
In painful slow motion I watch
down he goes
I grab for him
trying to cushion his fall.
His belly laughs befall us
as my heart lingers in my throat.
Up he goes
to his feet
to try it again.

Puddles appear in front of us.
Sloshing is not in his mind.
The glistening of the sun
peeking out behind a cloud
amuses him most
as reflections dance on the surface.
Visions of color and rainbows capture him;
he moves in and out to see new shades
and shapes appear in the puddle.
He smiles at the glistening of the water.

Onward we trod
each step taking us closer
to the destination I had in my mind.
Not so much the one he was envisioning.
I see it... and can only sigh
I know what is coming.
He is running now,
full speed ahead...
Mud.

Does he jump? No. He doesn't.
I would have expected one of the other boys...
actually, all of the three older boys
and even perhaps one of his sisters,
to jump in and drench their jeans and shoes.
This child, surprizes me.
He did not jump.
He squats, and runs a hand through the silt
feeling the grit and the smoothness
running it through his fingers
looking it over and over
front and back of his hand
only to stick his hand back in it and emphatically
remark... "EWWWWWW!!!"

I look at him with surprise.
Ewwww? I wonder what he is thinking.
He giggles and in two words makes all things clear
"Peanut Butter."
A curiosity envelops me
and I join him.
Running one hand into the mud
feeling the slippery mud
pulling my hand carefully up,
letting the grit and the smoothness
run through my fingers.
He is right,
indeed, it is peanut butter.

I smile at him as I take him by the clean hand
words are not neccessary
as we have learned his direction
is easily diverted .
We go inside and wash up.

I reflect at this short journey.
One taking a mere 10 minutes of my day;
one he will not be able to tell daddy about later...
the limitations of his Autism
will indeed make sure of that.
A moment in time, shared with only me....
Forever locked away in his mind,
Forever cherished in my heart.