Thank you Hernando

I really do not want to say "thank you" to you. Those two words seem so very inadequate. Yet, how do I express this gratitude that overwhelms my spirit?

Every day, and some sleepless (or nightmare filled) nights, I live with autism awareness. I'm aware my oldest son might not be understood, or accepted, or find his hoodie (yet again) or say something awkward, or be bullied, or be too full of energy, or forget an assignment, or not understand instructions, or .... the list is too long to write here. Every day, I pray my youngest will not be so overwhelmed by sounds in a pep rally or meeting that he comes home (again) violently ill, pale, and worn out from trying to process the extraneous sounds assaulting his ears. I pray he does not miss some critical piece of instruction while screening out other sounds in the environment. (Auditory Processing Disorder falls under the autism umbrella, it's something like bionic hearing but with no screen to filter out background noise).

I do not remember the last time I enjoyed the luxury of reading a novel. Instead I read news feeds, special education law updates, research articles, and follow political campaigns for autism related issues.

Sometimes the memories of past public encounters rise to the surface. I try to suppress them. I try to forgive and I try to rise above, and I try not to be caught up in the bitter. But the insidious images steal in sometimes and strike a blow to my being. I still see the woman who was bold enough to touch my son in the grocery store and tell me how to parent. I pray God gives me credit for not decking her, or launching into a tirade. I might have walked away but she still haunts me. I think of the educators who have been inadequate and of the times I've had to steel myself for meetings, yet attempt to squash my Irish temper so my son gets an appropriate education. I am not proud of the way my emotions have expressed themselves at times, and I resent being put into those situations. I think about all the "fun" events we didn't go to - still don't go to - because my son might not be able to handle the sounds, lights, interactions. I think of the therapies, the struggle... and I risk spiraling down into something dark, bitter, depressive. I fight this spiral every single day, and only God's grace and Friends-placed-in-my-life-by-Him keep me from falling into the abyss.

We humans are a pitiful lot. So often we get caught up in all the negatives, all the hurts, all the emotions, that we forget there is still much good in the world. It happens to all of us, in varying circumstances. We think no one cares, no one understands.

But we are wrong. People do care. There are great teachers and therapists who are shining lights in our children's lives. There are parents raising children who are compassionate, caring, and concerned. There are students who want to see their peers succeed, who are helpful, kind, committed. 

In the past 48 hours, I have been witness to some profound sites:

*An entire school decked out in blue -- from teachers in blue capes, banners on the wall, the entire student body outfitted in shades of blue, signs on the school, along the roadway, and blue lights on the buildings.
*The blue puzzle piece the high school winter guard created to take on the road to state competition (because they would miss the race). 
*An entire high school marching band (well, a great percentage of them) who came to race, and rally on the Square.
*A community that came out to the town square when they could've stayed in bed on a cold, rainy Saturday morning. But instead they came out in droves to support Autism awareness.
*The sight of 400 runners braving the weather and setting out to run a race for a good cause. 
*Costumes & home-made t-shirts, each representing love and concern.
*Kind words, applause, acceptance.... the list goes on!

Autism is not going away. We desperately need to find a cure. 

And I need to figure out a way to tell the folks at Hernando High School, and the entire Hernando community, how very much their commitment, energy, kindness, and acceptance means to me. They are making a difference in my sons' lives and lives of countless children here in DeSoto County and around the world. Their actions inspire other communities, give hope to parents, and are setting an example which all schools should follow. They are creating a legacy -- these images and memories will carry forth to college, marriages, and careers. Compassion and acceptance will reign, instead of the negative, cruel actions we too often see in the news.

Maybe a day will come when we will not need to have rallies and races to create awareness about autism or other special needs issues. I hope so. And I hope my sons & I can give back to the global community in deed and prayer, in thanksgiving for the difference Hernando has made in our lives, and the support they've given to the world-wide Autism Awareness campaigns.

You are shining lights, each of you. 

I thank God for you!

Parenting Confessions from TV Land

It can't be easy on my boys, being raised by a Geek. I can't help myself. I'm a reader, a thinker, and a researcher.

I had developed some strong ideas about television and parenting, before I became a parent. The plan was simple: More Books, Less TV. If the tv was going to be on, it would only be PBS and documentaries. No trash tv, no questionable values. No need to fill our brains with something that wasn't educational or purposeful. It sure was easy to be an authority on parenting... when I didn't have children!


Looking at the big picture, some of my righteous pre-parenting goals have been met. Reading does happen in our house, most days. Our home library is an eclectic mix of children's classics, historical biographies, research and educational volumes. We don't have cable tv, and thankfully have never watched a single "reality" show. (I still maintain that our lives are as much 'reality' as I can handle).

Yet, my sons, with their needs and learning styles, have changed my perspective on tv viewing for children. With great humility, I admit my oldest (born overseas and not my son until age 3-1/2) learned a lot of English from watching 'Yan Can Cook.' Props also go to The Weather Channel, for helping me teach geography, math, and social studies to both boys. My son still has a framed, autographed picture from Dr. Steve Lyons on his wall, and the "Tropical Update" remains must-see viewing on the internet. As the boys have gotten older, I've allowed them to watch NCIS and Dr. Who, but that was the extent of our 'fluff' tv-watching.

But, there is something I must confess. I watch junk tv comedy (love my Golden Girls dvds) when the kids aren't around. On top of that, I've developed relationships with two very different men. At first, I was able to hide these gentlemen from my children. But both men make me laugh and forget my troubles. I escape with them when I am tired and need a dose of humor. One day I turned on junk tv while the boys were home. They were in their rooms, they weren't paying any attention, I was tired....

And as I was watching an episode of Frasier, the boys heard me laugh. They came out to the living room to investigate and ended up sitting with me through the episode. And I noticed something. My oldest son, who is very high functioning and diagnosed with Autism, looked at me on a couple occasions and said "What does that mean?" I realized, the double entendre's and awkward social situations on the show were teaching my son Social Skills, better than any lecture from me. And thus the boys met those two special men of mine, and we began a journey through (almost*) every episode of Frasier, and then Bernie Mac.

The dialogue that's been created in our home has been fantastic. "Why did Frasier say that?" ... "Is his Dad upset?" .... "Was that the right thing to do?" .... "Why did the children do that?" .... "Is that the right way to react?" Yes, it takes us longer than most people to get through the episodes, and my youngest son patiently waits while the oldest figures things out. But he is learning, and having fun while he learns.

I watch my oldest with interest during these episodes. I see where we need work, and also how far he's come. There was a time when he could not identify idioms. Now, when an unfamiliar figure-of-speech is used, he will turn to me and ask, "What does that mean?" Sometimes he will seek reassurance from me, "That's funny, isn't it?" ...

And once again, I am amazed at what God has brought forth, for the opportunity for my son to learn, for the bonding that comes with laughter, for the family time, and for the growth. And I am humbled, because the entire process came out of something I had considered off-limits.

As for learning social skills from tv shows, an article from Psychology Today states, "viewers often empathize with the characters or at the least think about what they would do if they were faced with similar situations. Constant viewing of these shows provides the audiences with opportunities to broaden and enrich their social toolbox and to think about some of their own issues." **

It's tough to let go of lofty ideas, and hard for parents to admit when they're wrong. I could've snapped off the tv as soon as the boys came into the living room that day. But we would've missed fantastic social skills teaching and family time. My vision and hopes for the boys haven't changed. I still use documentaries to reinforce science and history. Books are still prized possessions. God is our Anchor. Reality tv is still off limits. I'm still a Geek.

Our existence is nothing like 'The Brady Bunch' or 'Father Knows Best,' but if I am to be honest and give due credit, there are several folks from TV Land who've helped me along the way. My pre-parenting self might cringe, but I heartily say "thank you" to Elmo, Yan, Kipper, Thomas the Tank Engine, Franklin, Arthur, Bill Nye, The Magic School Bus, Mr. Rogers, Schoolhouse Rock, Andy Griffith, Reading Rainbow, and... Frasier & Bernie Mac. You have all helped me raise my sons.






*You should know by now they aren't going to watch every episode...not all of it's suitable viewing for children.
**http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/communication-central/200908/can-tv-increase-social-skills

Through his eyes

Back and forth he walked.

Every so often, he would sit down, but was back on his feet in moments.

Back and forth, up, down. Making random comments as he passed.

I was exhausted. I had nearly cancelled our weekend because I was too tired to face the task of packing. Sharp, chastising words were almost out of mouth, but I stopped as I looked at his eyes.

He was sitting across from me, looking right at me, meeting my gaze. He needed me to understand.

I waited.

He said, "Mom, this isn't home."

And there it was, staring at me: Autism.

As my son has matured, the days of constant and intense autism vigilance have lessened. Sometimes we go weeks without facing Autism. But it still lurks in the shadows.

So as my son looked me in the eye, searching for reassurance, he said, "This isn't home. My things aren't here."

And I looked him right in the eye, took a deep breath and said, "I love you. You are safe. But we are not going home. You are going to spend a lifetime making transitions, and this is one of them." 

As I said the words, I prayed them, too. "You will go to college. You will have a career. You will travel with your wife and family. And you will be able to survive it all and sometimes have fun, too."

I'm not sure he believed me, but he seemed reassured. He settled down and enjoyed the weekend. New experiences (transitions and surroundings) are not easy for autistic persons, but we had a good time at the lake. Yes, there were compromises along the way, but he (and his brother) survived and had fun!

As for me? Well, I'm not going to forget looking into those eyes. It's taken years of effort to get this young man to make consistent eye contact. But he can do it. He did do it. And the same boy who (years ago) could not understand what "hunger" was, who could not understand the basic signals of his body, sat down and talked to me and tried to tell me what was going on in his world.

I'm always amazed how God works in our lives. I thought my weekend prayers were simply going to be of thanksgiving for good friends, and a blessed break from the demands of the world. In the end, I was thanking God for so much more: for the strides made over the years, for the reminder of work yet to be done, and for giving hope for the future... to both of us.

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?
Henry David Thoreau

It's Not My Fault: I Heard It On The Radio...

After I dropped the boys off at school, I was listening to the radio and learned that today is 
Single Parents Appreciation Day. These are my candid thoughts. Reader, beware.

Single Parents Appreciation Day?
Quite frankly, who thought this was a good idea?
Raising awareness?
Just look around folks...  Single Moms and Dads are everywhere.
But you already knew that, so tell me again how this will "raise awareness?"

Single Parents Appreciation Day?
We don't need a special day in our honor.
We don't need another reason to spend money.
We don't need help just one day out of the year.
We don't need a reminder that our children don't have the benefit of two full-time parents.
We don't need a reminder of our children's pain.
We don't need a card.
We don't need a poem.
We can't afford a party or dinner out.

What we need is a nap.
And someone to clean the house.
We need our churches to lift us up.
We need family members to encourage us.
We need our government to see our financial burdens and help us collect child support.
We need school teachers who accept our best efforts and do not marginalize our children's abilities.
We need someone to mow the lawn.
We need a vacation.
We need prayer, miracles, and tangible help every single day of the year.

What? I sound bitter?
No, I am tired. I'm sick of the patronizing comments. I'm fed up with non-committal blather. "Call me if you need anything"... real friends show up at the door, they weren't called. "I don't know how you do it." Yes you do... It's a combination of sleeplessness, responsibility, and sacrifice. What you really meant was: "I'm glad it's not me."

Unless you've personally been there, you will not get it. Being "a child of" a single parent or having a spouse who "travels a lot" -- doesn't count. Don't tell me it does. You can't get it. I couldn't until I was one. And I certainly don't wish it on you.

(Trust me, I know of what I speak. I was a good military wife while being a parent, and my "husband away" trumps yours ---military spouses excluded).

It boils down to this: Single parents either curl up in a ball in a corner and let the state or someone else take their children. OR, if you truly love your children, you parent them, you own it like a boss (at least outwardly) and do what needs to be done.

But wait, what about children showing their appreciation for their parents?
Really?  Every day, all parents should get appreciation.
But our society seems to have forgotten that idea.

So let me say this:
When my sons man-up and do chores, I get appreciation.
When they make do without, and don't complain, I get appreciation.
When they study hard in school, I get appreciation.
When they worry about me, I get appreciation.
When they say "I Love You, Mom," I get appreciation.
When they hug me, I get appreciation.

I'm already blessed with two parenting holidays to celebrate: Mother's Day and Father's Day.
So, thanks for the sentiment, I'm sure it was well-intentioned, but I don't need a third parenting "holiday." I don't have the time, energy, or money to celebrate it.

Single. Mom.

I'm a Single Mom. 

Single? Well no, I'm divorced. I was not single when I became their Mom. (It just felt like it).
Single? Well, yes I'm the only Mom in our home.
Single? As in available, unattached, looking for a partner? Well, I guess so. I've been so busy raising my sons and trying to be both Mom and Dad, I've ignored that part of me. 

Until...
Someone flirted with me Saturday! Actual full-blown, flirt: eye contact, conversation... No sloppy come-on, no indecent proposition, just a little bit of light, innocent flirting. The kind that boosts the ego and makes you smile.

But it's been so long since anyone flirted with me, I missed it at first.

I mean, completely over my head, smile politely and move on. Then it hit me. He's cute, He's well-spoken, and He's flirting... with me. So, for a minute, I flirted back. Smile. Chat. Smile. Move on.

Now with my luck, he's probably just out on a prison-release program or attempting to film some sort of "punk'd" video. I'll never know, but I do wish him well, and I thank him for the experience.

As a Single Mom, my life revolves around my sons, my work, church and community events. It's been so long since I've been to a party, bar, or club that I can't remember it. Since my marriage ended, I've met some nice men, dated a couple of them, and I've met some not so nice.

But for the last (almost) 2 years, I've taken a sabbatical from the dating scene. It's not that I'm out of the game, but I've been warming the bench.

It's not that I'm content being alone. To be perfectly honest, I'm lonely. I'd really like to find a nice gentleman to date. In fact, it's part of my prayer life. But I'm not desperate, either. And I'm not praying "for a man"... I could find one of those anywhere. I'm holding out for the real thing.

I know the real thing exists, I see friends living it every day. Not that fairy-tale garbage (Disney lied) but real life give-and-take. It's not easy, but they work at it. But where is he? I've come to the conclusion that if God wants me to meet Mr. Right... he's gonna put him right down in front of me, no questions asked. (Yes, I'm prepared this may take a while).

Enter: February 14th.

It's on everyone's mind. Friends are blogging about it, red hearts festoon store aisles, and dinner reservations are being made.

Here's the thing about Valentine's Day:

I hate the commercialization of love. I always have. For years I've said, "it's nothing but a retail trap" -- stand in line 2 hours for a mediocre dinner in a jam-packed restaurant, and that's how a person celebrates love? I don't think so. Buy jewelry because that Jeweler-with-the-alphabet-letter-name says: "Every Kiss begins with K" -- great, prostitutionalize love. Kisses shouldn't come about because someone hands me jewelry.  (Side note: I do like jewelry... but if it's the Right Man, he'll be kissed for many reasons, not just jewelry).

Single Awareness Day? You gotta be kidding me! I need a day to celebrate this? To be aware I'm single? Folks, I know every day... I'm alone. Thanks, but no thanks. Take the drama elsewhere.

My Valentine's evening will be spent working. That morning, I will have celebrated with my children as we get ready for school. But my sons know I love them. Every. Single. Day.

To those with a Valentine this year, I sure wish you happiness. Truly I do! Enjoy, have fun, party on. But keep this in mind: Love should be celebrated every day. Big ways, little ways, and all ways.

To those without a Valentine this year ... Well, there's no delicate way to put this: The day is depressing. But remember, it's just a day. Turn off the tv, go volunteer somewhere, read a book, take a nap. And don't forget this: You are loved, by Someone who gave His life for you. No greater love exists. Find your confidence in that Love.

As for me, I'm still working on the term, "Single Mom" ... No clue where this path will lead me. But as I face the (sometimes) overwhelming and very rewarding challenge of being my sons' only parent, I have to remember: my existence can not be summed up in a single title.

And my Valentine Resolution? Not to get so lost in my role as parent that I forget to celebrate being a Woman. Single. Fabulous. Worthy. Loved.

Influences

When my sons and I are out in public and someone asks, "Are they twins?" We usually glance at each other, smile slightly, and I'll answer, "No." Sometimes, the person proceeds to say, "They sure do look alike." Another glance at each other, and depending on our collective mood, I may say, "Actually, they aren't my biological sons, nor are they biological brothers, but they are my sons, and they are brothers." This usually causes the person to pause and look carefully at me, then at my sons. Generally, the next comment is a thoughtful, "They sure do look like you." This causes smiles all around and the short conversation that follows is often my way to promote adoption awareness.

Certainly, at a quick glance, we seem to be a fairly matched set, yet my sons' DNA is from their birth parents, not me. But make no mistake, they are my sons... Robert has a vocabulary years beyond his age, and Ryann seeks justice with a servant's heart. Robert has a northern accent from our time in New Hampshire, Ryann has a southern accent honed in Virginia and Mississippi, yet both have mid-Atlantic inflections much like mine. They are both inquisitive, like a good story, and enjoy history, hockey, and music... just like their Mom.

Like most parents, I've taught them right from wrong, how to tie their shoes, and to turn off the lights when leaving a room... but what other things have I imprinted on their consciousness?

Listening to Ryann read his book about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, I realized I've given my boys a love of the ocean. Because of my gravitation to the sea, we read books about historic storms, shipwrecks, and floods. They know the impact of the Hurricane of 1938, the adventures of Misty of Chincoteague, and know there are treasures and stories off the shores of the Graveyard of the Atlantic (the Outer Banks) and the Pacific Graveyard (Cape Disappointment, Washington). 

A few years ago, they were playing football in the backyard when I heard Robert say to Ryann, "You be the Pittsburgh Steelers, I'll be Virginia Tech." They were little, and didn't understand the difference between pro and college ball. The memory still makes me smile, but it illustrates again how our interests influence our children.

Growing up in what-was-then rural, eastern Virginia, I knew a world of farmland, marshes, and the sea. But through stories, my own father imparted a love for the mountains of his beloved Montana. He would tell stories of growing up in Big Sky country, bringing the mountains to life in my imagination. He shared his love of horses, the outdoors, and gardening. 

When people come to visit, I'm not content until I fix them some coffee, some cookies, or a meal... This is because my Mom, and her Mom, did the same thing. They always opened their humble homes to friends... and made them feel welcome. My Mom would not let anyone leave without feeding their bodies, and dare I say, their spirit. My mom made sure I knew the joy of a good book, the great music of the 1950's, and she taught me manners and etiquette.

Who I am today is a result of God's unconditional love and my family's influence. I think it is that way for all people, whether the family influence is good or bad.

I'm a single parent. There is only one of me. I can only do so much. I'm getting older. Sometimes I get tired, and I lose patience, and I feel disheartened. I pray my sons do not take these negatives to heart. 
 
Sometimes the thoughts overwhelm me:
Am I doing enough? 
Is my influence a good one? 
What am I teaching them? 
Are they ready for this world?
Am I planting strong family roots?
Do they know I love them?


I pray my sons see the positives, feel the positives, know the positives. I am not ashamed to let them see me on my knees in prayer. I admit my mistakes as I realize them. I challenge them to search for justice, encourage them to be positive, advise them to turn to God in all things, and I always tell them to Give Thanks. 


I humbly whisper to the Heavens, "Help me be a good mom. Let them come to know You deeply. Let them be safe and know they are loved. Thank you for letting me be their mother. Let my influence be a good one."

Cape Henry (Virginia Beach), Virginia. 2006

Big Brother

Growing up, I longed for an older brother. In my dreams he would've been a protector and advisor. He'd have taken some of the burden off me (I'm the oldest child in my family), he'd have guided me through awkward social situations, helped me study, and eased some of life's challenges. Obviously, my dream could never be a reality.

Many decades later, I'm raising two sons. In the natural order of things, it would be safe to assume my 16 year old plays the role of Big Brother to my 13 year old.

But never assume anything, especially when considering a special needs family. My 16 year old is diagnosed autistic: a compilation of Asperger's Syndrome, Sensory Integration Disorder, ADHD, reading comprehension issues, and sparkling brilliance. He is a delight, but he has not been able to take on the traditional authoritative role reserved for a family's oldest child.

Instead, the role of Big Brother has fallen on my youngest son. He is the organized one, the Communicator, Mentor, and Coach. When I'm at work, he makes sure things are ok at home: dinner's in the microwave, chores are checked off each boys' list, alarm is on, showers taken. When my oldest misses social cues, his younger brother clues him; When my oldest "isn't sure" what someone said, my youngest chimes in; when my oldest leaves things scattered or needs an activity break, my youngest reminds him to be focused. It does not always work smoothly. There have been times when my eldest son says, "Why does he act like the big brother? I'm older." And times when my youngest is simply tired of shouldering the burden. (He has his own sensory issues, including Auditory Processing Disorder. Sometimes, one more noise, sound, or word is too much to tolerate).

So, it's not easy. Sometimes there is chaos and impatience. But it's not "bad" either. There is love and commitment. There are priceless bits of character development. Siblings of special children are often more compassionate, tolerant people.They are warriors and defenders, they develop thick skin, and excellent coping skills. They often champion life's underdogs, and they learn early that Disney lied: it's not all happily-ever-after, but it can be good.

However, our little family's dynamics were recently altered, rather quickly. My youngest has had reconstructive surgery of his right rib cage. For several months, he can not pull, push, or lift ANYthing. He must be careful not to fall, or to get jostled in a crowd. And he fatigues easily. As he recovers, he must fully rely on his older brother to cook dinner in the microwave, to carry clothes for him, to open the door for him, to carry his toys. Physical limitations are not easy for an independent 13 year old to accept. But in this mix of healing energy and angst, I also sense: Relief. From both of my sons.

For my youngest, some of the burden has been reduced. And my oldest now gets to take on the role of Big Brother. He must put down his coins and geckos and focus on the task at hand. He must protect, nurture, and care for his brother. It's time to take the next steps in maturity, to become the caretaker of himself and someone weaker than him. His egocentric universe is going to be under attack, and he may rebel a bit, but he will become a better person, and brother, in the process.

The next few months promise to be ones of healing and rest, they will also be ones of challenges and trade-offs. Possibilities abound and Hope carries us forward.

The Love Note

I could sense her curiosity. No judgement, no condemnation, but her curiosity was palpable. She had no idea of years past. Of years in churches when I was determined my autistic son would worship with me, yet services would find me consoling him, entertaining him, and on the floor in back rows doing compression exercises and brush therapy. 

She didn't know how far we've come. She merely knew we were sitting next to her in church. She surreptioulsy watched as I held Robert's hands to keep him from picking his skin, or kept my hand on his knee to keep him from jiggling his leg. We may have been a quiet distraction from her worship, but I felt no censure. Still, in the hopes of acceptance, I felt compelled to write her a note. My note is below, as is hers. This is the best love note I've received in a long while...

Reflections on a Band Parent's Rookie Year

The only mementos of my high school band years are an old letterman's jacket, a baton, and some yearbook pictures. Somewhere along the way, I got rid of my rifles and flag pole, but the memories -- they remain. I loved it all: the sweat, the tears, the losses, and the triumphs. But time marches on, and in this chapter of my life, I'm a high school band Parent. If life unfolds as expected, I'll be one for four more years.

I really thought I had a good handle on things, certainly knew why I wanted my sons to be in marching band, but I didn't realize how much I would learn in my Rookie Year as a band parent.

* I can never say "Thank You" enough to my own parents. They were there to drop me off and pick me up, at all hours. They encouraged me, they sent in money they didn't have, let me go to band camps to refine my skills, made me practice for hours, sat in cold bleachers and under a hot sun... simply and profoundly, just because they loved me. I took this for granted as a child, now it humbles me.

* This isn't your Mama's band. Gone are the days when students packed a sack lunch, loaded equipment on school buses and went off to competitions. Bands roll with 18-wheelers hauling equipment, and parents hauling trailers. Shows are now full-fledged productions with giant backdrops and assorted props. Parents are setting up tents, generators, and grills at competitions to feed children. They haul countless coolers of bottled water and gatorade. They set up satellite tv so the band dads (eh, everyone watches) can watch football scores between performances. We're a mini hard-ware store: hammers and wrenches, duct tape, bungee cords, and velcro. "Do we have more zip ties?" 

* Don't be afraid of the rookie mistake. Understand it, embrace it -- You're a rookie and there's a lot to learn. When you have to work the concession stand the first time, volunteer to be a runner, don't go straight to grilling. Ladies, forget fashion, dress comfortable at the competitions. Pack an extra jacket. If you're wondering "How can I help?"  don't be shy. Pitch in, and keep pitching in. Pick up trash, run errands, and learn. Let the other parents know you care and are going to be around a while... they will really appreciate your help because we need more parents involved. Bands can not function without a good band boosters program! This year - rookie, next year - grilling.

* I never realized how much my band director did for me. I didn't realize it when I was in school, but band directors are truly a very special breed of teacher. Who among us but the most devoted would take a couple hundred teenagers and teach them how to achieve a goal greater than themselves? Who would give up their weekends, summer evenings, and family time so they can teach our children how to bring out their best efforts? Who does not give up, even when students want to give up on themselves? Who helps us teach responsibility and hard work ethic to our children? Who is self-less enough to put up with the assorted concerns of the parents of a couple hundred teenagers? Go tell your band director "thank you"... then do it again.

* You're not the only one. You're not the only strict parent. You're not the only parent who still teaches values and morals. You're not the only parent who cares about your children. You're not the only parent who worries about their children. You're not the only parent who is proud of your child. You're not the only parent who wonders how they're going to pay for things. You're not the only one worried about sending them far away for camp. You're not the only parent who wants something better for their child. And for some of us: You're not the only single parent... It takes a little time, but as you meet other band parents, you find out: You're not the only one, and you're not alone.

* God is alive and at work in all of our children. They might not even realize it, but every day our children demonstrate His love in their actions. They demonstrate His love when they help a younger band student learn how to fold their jacket, when they give pep-talks and encouragement. His grace is apparent when they defend one another, speaking up for those who can not speak up for themselves. They demonstrate His care when they give of themselves. When their band-mate is thirsty, they give them drink. ("Did you get some water?") When they're hungry, they make sure they eat. ("My mom sent pop-tarts, who wants some?") God's unity is alive when students gather to pray before performance, and when they give thanks afterwards. 

In these band students, and their families, I see displays of God's love everyday. Unexpectedly, but powerfully, my rookie year has been a lesson in hope!

It's a Dude Thing

I wish I knew how to be a man. Seriously.

No, I'm not thinking about a sex change operation or making an announcement about my gender. I like being a woman. It's how God made me, and after all these decades, seems to be working for me, last time I checked.

But I'm raising two teenage boys on my own. Their father isn't around and their Grandfather (my father) is deceased. While I might wish to meet a nice man, I'm in no hurry, and have no desire to date just anyone to have a man around the house.  

So where does that leave us? 

Oh yeah, I'm trying to learn to think like a man...

God gave me these boys to raise and he knew what I'd be up against, so He graciously gave the boys great role models in teachers, friends-of-the-family, and via activities. But there's no significant male influence in our home. So it's up to me.

I can teach them manners (so far neither one scratches themselves in public very often) and I can teach them morals, praying they're listening. But the dude stuff? 

About a year ago I realized, I had to get with the program!  

So, we tackle dude-type projects together. Google has become my friend. I research inexpensive do-it-yourself projects and we take them on. The boys have learned about weeding and have done some landscaping and gardening. This spring we plastered and painted the kitchen, and made a backsplash behind the kitchen sink. We work as a family and we work hard. Our results might not be up to Bob Villa's standards, but they're ok!

But what about the rest of the dude-stuff? How to court a woman, how to be a gentleman, how to be a Dad? Well, I just tell them how I think a Man should act, how he should treat a lady, how to be respectful. And they've learned in their own way about how to be a real Dad. Antiquated or not, they open doors for women, they let ladies go first, and while they're a little young for dating I've already said "Well, if you were the parent of a teenage daughter, how would you want a boy to treat HER?" 

I strive to raise up two righteous Christian young men who will go out and be successful in this life -- however that success is defined.

But the other day, a commercial came on tv depicting two men standing at a water cooler. One man started discussing sports, and the other mentioned yoga... Yoga dude ends up with water being thrown in his face. On some levels, I think the commercial is tacky. But, it's as if water was thrown on my face, too, because I realized...  I have to teach a sport to my boys. I don't want them left out at the water cooler when they grow up!

I think my youngest son will be ok, he's sociable and is a great conversationalist. 

But did I mention my oldest is very high functioning autistic? He has Asperger's Syndrome and has to be taught social skills. He's still coming to terms with the fact not every person will want to hear about his latest coin acquisition or his geckos, and he is slowly accepting the notion of making small talk with friends.

So I sat down with the boys and told them, "You have to pick a sport and come to understand it so when you grow up, and other guys at work start talking sports, you can talk about it too and fit in. It's a dude thing." His response was basically, "Mom, I know I'm a guy. I don't have to like sports." I don't know if I was right or wrong, and I don't know what a man would do but I said, "I don't care if it's your favorite thing, but it's something you need to know. It's a man thing."

So now we're going to pay attention to football and hockey a little more than we already do, and I'm going to pray about other male-bonding things I have to teach the boys. 

Because of me, and all the Aunties in their lives, they'll probably be the most polite men around the water cooler, but hopefully, they'll fit in and understand how to act like a dude in a man's world.

Geckos taught My Son to Love

"Mom, I love them" sounds simple enough, but to me... It's truly an answer to prayer.

My oldest son is diagnosed as having Asperger's Syndrome. He is brilliant in his own way, a junior professor on things of science and history. He is verbal and surprisingly social, loving time spent with his peers in school and marching band. I credit this to lots of therapies, and certainly God's guiding hand.

But one of the challenges persons with Asperger's face is: lack of social or emotional empathy. And one of my son's challenges is having me as a Mom. I hug my friends and am not shy with my sons, or my friends. Daily, I tell my children I love them. I hug them, I praise them, I support them, even as I discipline them.

My examples, combined with his own sweet heart, planted well in my youngest son. He, too, is a hugger and has a kind, caring heart. He worries about others and has a social conscience.

But my oldest. I had to teach him to give "a two-armed hug" even when he shied away from physical contact with family members. And I had to teach him that a handshake (which he prefers to hugs) is not only considered a  social statement of respect, but expected in our society. So now he extends his hand in greeting not so much out of happiness to see his friends ("Don't they know I'm happy to see them?") but because he's learned it is a proper social gesture.

When he became obsessed, as those with Asperger's will do, with weather and storms, I became concerned. Never once did I hear him talk about all the people affected by Katrina or Andrew. But I heard all about the incredible power within these storms. So every time he started discussing these intense storms, I would remind him of the social toll of the storms, of the ways humanity was touched. I deliberately sought pictures and stories about the human element. Thus, over time, he learned not only fascinating statistics, but he also learned about devastation, of the faces of loss, and he would have to answer my question: "How do you think those people feel now?"

He learned to empathize or at least, how to think in terms of humanity. I am proud of him!

But L-O-V-E. How was I supposed to teach this abstract feeling? Through works of the care and concern for others? Through story books? Sure, we can do all that... but I worried. And I prayed. Would he ever really understand what it is to love someone? Could he come to love someone?

Did I mention I prayed about this? And don't we know God hears the smallest whisper of our heart? He knows the desires of our hearts? He heard my prayers...

And he sent two leopard geckos home with my son one day. A science teacher could no longer care for the geckos in her home and asked Robert if he would like to raise them. She gave the geckos, an aquarium, and starter items to my son. Eeks! I was less than happy about having reptiles in my house. But God has used them to teach my son how to care for others, how to give of himself, how to show concern, how to nurture and....he has learned to love!  

So the other day, as I watched the delight dance across my son's face, and he said "Mom I love them" when he talked about his geckos, I gave thanks!

Sometimes I feel very needy as I turn to God, but I am constantly being reminded... don't stop praying! He hears our prayers, and He will answer, in His time and in His way. Even with a couple of geckos.