Back to What I was Saying ...

I started to tell you about Alex's birthday and then got sidetracked comparing and contrasting my babies' births. And I didn't even get started on Brendan! Well, since you asked, it was like this ... Just kidding! I'll save that for another day.

Alex had a great birthday. He had been SO excited for days. It got him into trouble more than once. The day before, I was trying to have a serious conversation with Kate, and he barged into the middle. "Why aren't you talking about my birthday?" Um, well, maybe because we aren't all quite as obsessed with your birthday as you are? And when I scolded him for being rude, he broke down in tears. I think the excitement was a bit much for him.

But the big day was great. Mark and I took donut holes and hot chocolate to his class midmorning. Alex was just flying high as the center of attention. Two of his little girl friends came over and sang to him and gave him a card they had made. It was so sweet.

In the evening, my family came over for spaghetti and cake. Of course, Alex doesn't eat spaghetti. He doesn't eat much of anything! But I made him a cheese quesadilla first, which he ate while he played chess with his grandpa. Then, after everyone had arrived and eaten, and the candles had been lit and blown out, Alex tore into his stack of gifts. He got several funny T-shirts from people who know him well. He laughed with such abandon that the rest of us couldn't help but join in! He was one happy camper! (I had to tell him, the next morning, after he had recited the saying on the front of his favorite shirt to me several times, that a joke is only funny the first time a person hears it. "If you want to tell the joke fifty times, you need to find fifty different people to tell it to," I said. He was confused, wanted to know why. After all, it was still making him laugh! And apparently it did get some good laughs at school, too, which was an added bonus!

The next day, I picked up two of his friends, Zach and Kaci, from school. We joined Kate and her friend Shawne and Zach's mom and siblings at the junior high and set off for the Chuck E. Cheese in Beaverton. They had such a blast! We had pizza, of course, and a cake that I had brought in. Alex opened his gifts from Zach and Kaci. The gifts Kaci brought him were perfect for him. The thing is, I don't know her mother, at all. Those gift ideas had to come from Kaci herself. I was already fond of her just for being my son's friend. But when I got a chance to watch them together, to see how she treats him just like any other kid, how she doesn't seem in any way to even register that she might be "doing him a favor ..." I just wanted to snatch her up and kiss her. But she's a couple years too old for that, so I restrained myself.

This was Alex's first real party. Okay, so there were only two kids present, but it was a party, with real friends. His friends, not just the children of MY friends. And the girls who couldn't make it? Well, rumor has it that they want to invite him over to their house to play. That would be another first for my son. Makes a mom almost want to cry.

Memories and So On

I wish I could post a picture of Alex's birthday, but my computer is somehow interpreting the insertion of the memory card as a command to shut down the screen rather than copy the photos. So, until the tech guru can figure out why it's acting all wacky, I guess you'll have to use your imaginations.

He had a great birthday yesterday. Ten years old. It's been a whole decade since he arrived. I think his birth was a portent of things to come. He couldn't be ordinary, even in that regard. Labor was uneventful, except for the fact that at first the epidural only took on one side. Back labor, on one side ... Being induced, the contraction hit hard and furious. I was not a happy camper. Pitocin is not as friendly as nature (although it's all relative!), and I had no time to ease into increasing pains. It was suddenly there, as if on a mission to bend me in half and crush me ... I cried. (Yes, I'm embarrassed about that fact, but ... what can I say?) Thankfully, a little adjustment of the tube in my back, and I was pain free again.

About 20 hours later, it was time for the grand finale. Delivering Kaitlyn had not been easy. I remember being surprised by how much WORK it took. It was almost like trying to topple a stone wall with your hands. Brace, breathe, push, brace, breath, PUSH ... Do this for an hour and start to despair. Lay there exposed to the world and think (silently, of course) that whoever said women are so absorbed in the task at hand that they don't feel the humiliation of being spread eagle before a bunch of strangers was a complete moron ... Brace, breathe, push ... When we caught sight of the top of her dark little head, it all became just a tad overwhelming, and I started to cry. My sister Katie was with me at the time. She was holding her five week old son, Stephen, in one arm, and my leg in the other. She asked the nurse, "Why is she crying? She doesn't even have any pain." I was so embarrassed at my weakness. But the nurse said, "Let her do what she has to do." (Thankfully, at the time I didn't realize that this feeling of being overwhelmed would last a full year.)

Alex's delivery was not like that. An old pro by then (hah!), things went along smoothly until his head was delivered. His massive shoulders hit the gates ... and stuck fast. With the push of a button, the room filled with people. I'll spare you the details of the next minute or so. Suffice it to say that, with a bit of extra help, Alex did make his grand entrance--weighing in at 10 lb., 3 oz.

He was a sweet baby, not like Kaitlyn at all. No offense intended to my daughter, whom I cherish just the way she is, but my infant daughter quickly decided she wasn't into this whole breastfeeding thing and darn near gave me an ulcer, convinced as I was that she was going to starve to death. After a few days, I called my mother in tears. (I did this crying thing a lot in those days. Hey! I heard that. I do NOT still cry a lot. Well, okay. Maybe I do ... but not nearly as much as back then!) My mom left work to come take me to the breastfeeding clinic where they showed me how to nurse. How humiliating was that?! Having to be shown how to do something that I'd assumed just came naturally ... Well, it still didn't "take." I finally, reluctantly, switched her to formula. She screamed and cried for a week. I was beside myself. I couldn't survive this ... could I? But when I went back to nursing, the torment in her little belly ceased. After a rocky first three weeks, things settled in for a more or less smooth ride.

Alex wasn't like that. Alex was a sweet, docile baby from the start. He ate well, slept well, cried rarely ... And he was so darn cute! While Kaitlyn had been long and stringy (but gorgeous in a sculpted, non-infant sort of way), Alex was so tubby that I dubbed him Buddha Belly for the first three years or so. He loved to swing. I found out later that this is a key trait of autism. Swinging is often used to calm autistic children, but I didn't know that at the time. I just knew that he loved his swing. I would take it with me pretty much everywhere we went, and he'd sleep through most any gathering, leaving me free to chat and so on. The sleeping, too, was an autism thing, although I didn't realize it then. Autistic children are as different as NT (neurotypical) children. They don't fit into any mold, no matter how convenient that might be for those trying to understand and help them. But it seems true that in general, autistic children, when experiencing sensory overload, tend to rage or shut down. We were fortunate that our infant son shut down. He just plumb went to sleep, which suited me just fine! It was only much later that I realized that this had anything to do with the wiring in his brain.

The first time anyone suggested autism was when we went for a checkup when he was ... I think, two? He wasn't speaking, at all. The doctor said, "He could be autistic," with the same nonchalance that he might have said, "He'll probably end up tall" or some such thing. He told us nothing about what to do from there. A few months later, we got him tested by the county and put into first an organized playgroup (parents stayed and participated) and in speech therapy. (He gave poor Barb a heck of a time. He would just look at her and smile, but would not open his little mouth for NOTHIN'! Veteran speech therapist that she was, even she got frustrated after a bit. He just clearly didn't feel the need to talk. I don't actually remember when he started, and it wasn't as if a dam broke and he was suddenly speaking in sentences, but he did start speaking finally. Some days now I wonder if he's trying to make up for lost time. I can't get the kid to shut up! But I should be (I am!) grateful that he's not one those brilliant children trapped without speech.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, playgroup and speech therapy. And then special preschool the very week he turned three and was thus eligible. And another year of state sponsored and supervised preK, which he took to well. Mainstream kindergarten went well, too, but first grade ... not so good. I pulled him out, homeschooled him for a while, then gradually put him back in for longer and longer periods of time until by (I think) a few months into second grade, he was back full time with his peers.

We are fortunate that he has such a great team of teachers and specialists behind him. I don't know what junior high will be like. In fact, after all that Kaitlyn is going through, I really dread it for his sake and wouldn't be at all surprised if we end up pulling him out and homeschooling him again for a year or two. A lot of parents whose kids have HFA and AS do that, apparently. Junior high can be so brutal, and it doesn't help that hormones, etc. make the autistic child even quirkier than usual for a period of time. So, I'm preparing myself for the possibility that he may be home again for awhile. But for now, at the grade school, his team has truly been ... amazing. What else can I say? They're amazing.

I talked to Peggy, his speech therapist, yesterday. She is helping to deal with the bullying issues that have been going on with a child that we shall just call J. since we're in a public forum. Her face clouded over as we talked, and she said, "I'd like to pummel J. myself. That's how close I feel to Alex." Of course, she can't do that! And wouldn't. But she wrote to me earlier this week, "I am just sick that this is still going on ..." With people who care about my son that much, he's bound to turn out all right.

Our Third Writing Exercise

Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, in her book Poemcrazy, talks about the important of becoming acquainted with our shadows. Carl Jung held to the belief that when we are about seven years old, we separate ourselves from whatever it is in us that others may not find acceptable. However, it is still there. It is our shadow, connected to us whether we acknowledge it or not.

Wooldridge suggests getting to know your shadow, listening to her (or him, as the case may be) and finding out what she wants, what hurts her, what drives her ... Close your eyes and, just for a few minutes, watch her (or him) in action. Then write what you see. Here's what I wrote:

My shadow, though my size, stands in such a way that she appears tall. She is slender, unaffected by previous child bearing or aging. When she walks, she does so lightly and briskly, jumping cracks and puddles without hesitation.

She wears colorful dresses that are completely out of style, dresses that hang loosely and swish around her calves. She wears wide brimmed hats and tends to go barefoot.

Her eyes are not shuttered with the weight of four lives that she carries there. When people look into her eyes, they see laughter and poetry and an undying hope.

She absorbs the moment, untangled in past regrets and future apprehensions.

She is ageless, graceful. Light on her toes, she dances to music that often only she can hear, sometimes with others, often alone.

Little Challenges

I had ten kids in Sunday school today--well, eleven actually, although I called a parent to come get an uncooperative child. When I started teaching Sunday school, I always felt like I had somehow failed if I had to call the parent. Now I don't. I can spend the hour dealing with Naughty Joe and neglect the Other Ten, or I can let NJ's parents deal with the child they brought into the world (and who is thus primarily their responsibility) and focus on the ten who are willing to participate and learn. So I only felt the slightest pang of guilt as I keyed in his number on the paging system. I haven't done that in ... probably a year and a half? But I'm glad I could do so today, even if I would have preferred not to have to.

I also startled a new parent today, I think. I was dealing with Hannah, resident drama queen. She is a beautiful child, petite and blond and very graceful. But, oh my! Can she ever work people with her tears! I just don't fall for it anymore. (I've had her for going on three years now, and she does this nearly every week, so it doesn't take all that much insight to catch a clue after awhile.) Well, she had thrown herself on the floor and was sobbing about something that was "unfair." I told her, very calmly, that she had two choices: she could stop crying and get in line for the game we were about to play, or she could go cry over on the mat out of the way. I looked up to see this new mom looking at me like she wasn't quite sure she wanted to leave HER daughter with this heartless woman! I had to explain the situation to her, just a bit. I hope she believed me!

But you know, after the time I've spent in the public school system both as a TA and as a volunteer, I really think that this is part of the reason why the quality of public education is so poor. The teachers have to spend SO much time trying to drag along those who don't want to put in the effort to succeed that those who DO want to learn are jipped. Of course I believe that everyone should have a chance at education, and I do identify with teachers who want to do everything in their power to help each and every child succeed, if at all possible. I'm all for that. I, too, put in a LOT of time on individuals who were hanging on by a thread and would have fallen through the cracks without someone to hold their hand--or even carry them for awhile. But when kids consistently refuse to cooperate or when they milk the system to their own advantage, I think teachers should be able to say, "Come along, or don't. But I'm not sacrificing the education of these other 20 (or 25 or 30) kids because I'm too busy dragging YOU along by your earlobes."

Is that heartless? Maybe it is. But ... my Sunday school kids love my class. I'm not saying that to brag. I'm saying it because I truly believe that kids respect boundaries, that they tend to live up to the expectations that are put in front of them--if they are convinced that the person making the expectations genuinely cares about them. And if they are not allowed to get away with a bunch of nonsense, then that class is going to be a safer and ultimately more enjoyable place for all.

I just hope that new mom finds her way back next week ...

A Mini Adventure

I haven't told you guys yet about our trip to the beach on Sunday! It was unplanned. I just got home from church and realized that I couldn't stay in our little shoebox with three bickering children. Not without losing my last shred of sanity, anyway. So I said, "Hey! Who wants to go to the beach?" Mark had been sleeping all morning, but he pulled himself awake to come with us, and we set out. I make that sound simple. It's never simple to just pick up and go with three kids, although I must say it's far easier than when they were babies! It only took us about an hour and a half to get ready, and then we were on the road.

We had a great time. I took the kids to the tide pools I discovered on my recent days off. They loved them, as I knew they would. It was far less relaxing for me, though, as I had to be always one step behind Brendan, who has far more confidence in his ability to jump and climb than is necessarily warranted! He climbed and climbed and had a blast for the longest time before turning his attention to building volcanoes in the sand, freeing me up to lay out on a blanket and read another couple of commentaries on Chekhov.

After an hour and a half or so, we headed up into town, popping into a store or two. I subsidized Kaitlyn's purchase of a necklace with a flip flop charm on it. Mark bought a couple of skull rings to add to his collection. Alex picked out a collection of miniature dinosaurs, and Brendan (after trying hard to talk me into several more expensive purchases) settled on a light up rubber blowfish. Eight dollars later, we left the store, treasures in hand.

When we started to get snappy with each other, I realized that it was time for food. DQ ice cream left Kaitlyn sick rather than better so I popped into IGA for some fried chicken from the deli. The color returned to her face as she ate. (Like mother, like daughter, eh?)

We didn't get home until bedtime, and we were all beat, but it was worth it. I guess it's characteristic of my myopic viewpoint that I cannot imagine how people live in the landlocked states. I suppose they get used to it. Maybe I would, too--but I doubt it. When we went to visit Mark's mom in Idaho, I'd drive along those long straight stretches and feel like surely some giant bird was about to come and pluck me off the face of the earth, and no one would ever be the wiser. It was unsettling, being so tiny in the middle of nowhere. The ocean, magnificent as it is, is a border to be, almost like a father defending a powerless daughter. It's awe inspiring, but soothing, a wet bear hug from God.

Okay, now I'm sure you all think I'm insane so I'd better quit before I get myself committed. Besides, Alex seems to think I need to drive him to school ...

Responding to Evil

I've been thinking about evil a lot the last couple of days. That was the subject of our sermon on Sunday. What is evil? Why does God allow it? What should our response be? etc. And then the massacre at Virginia Tech happened yesterday, and I thought that there could hardly be a more fitting (and tragic) illustration of this concept.

It didn't seem real at first. It felt like a story to me, horrifying but removed. Oh, I said, "How terrible!" like, I'm sure, everyone else in this country. And I prayed for the friends and loved ones of the victims. But it didn't seem real until this morning when I was in Mark's ER room with him, watching the news coverage of the service at Virginia Tech. The words of the speakers sounded so hollow in the face of such horror. And the students ... they looked like they'd been flash frozen. Their vacant expressions were haunted.

And then there was one idea that seemed to break through--to me at least. Some of the speakers talked of how evil only wins if we let it, that we have a choice whether to let this horrifying act be the end, or whether we will open ourselves to healing and allow a new beginning.

I think of a group of Jews I read about once. Existing under horrible conditions in a concentration camp, several of them organized into a choir. Under some of the most horrendous conditions, they found beauty. They created beauty where there was none to be found.

But why, oh, WHY does God allow this kind of evil in the first place? If he is all powerful, why didn't he stretch out his hand to stop Cho Sheung-Hui before he set out on his mission of terror and death, before he destroyed so many lives? How could he just sit there and let it happen? It's because good without the possibility of evil means nothing. God could have created a multitude of robots who would all go around doing all the right things, but he chose not to. If he had, our goodness would be about as meaningful as the fact that a drill, when fitted with a bit and connected to a power source, makes a hole. God wants more than that, but to open himself (and us) up to all the goodness of which humanity is capable, he HAD to open us up to the potential for evil. There was no other way.

I think about my own life in the wake of this tragedy. I am truly fortunate that I have experienced nothing anywhere near as traumatic as what the students and facility (and their families) experienced yesterday at Virginia Tech. They truly have a rough road ahead of them. Healing will not be instant, and it will not be easy. Each person impacted is going to have to choose--not just once, but over and over through the next few days and months and years-- whether they are going to let evil win--or if they are going to let this be a new beginning.

Pastor Jerry said in his sermon that it is not nearly as important to define evil as it is to pursue good. Evil and good are polar opposites, he said. One drives out the other. Do I do that in my own life? When someone offends me, when I am the victim of a slight or an injustice, do I respond in a way that expands evil, that passes it on? Or do I meet evil with good and so remove its power? Do I open myself up to the healing power of goodness and love? I'm afraid I'm making it sound simple. It is NOT simple. But it is vitally important that we make this CHOICE, whether we are here in Podunk, Oregon, dealing with a nasty sales clerk, or across the country in Virginia dealing with the aftermath of an incomprehensible mass murder. The principle remains the same. To banish evil, we must pursue good. It's our choice, and I can only pray that we make the one that will lead to healing and hope ... and life.

Our Second Writing Exercise

I so much enjoyed reading all of your responses to my first writing exercise that I've decided to post another. This one's rather simple. You just write finish the statement with the first thing that comes to mind. It doesn't have to make sense. And it doesn't have to be about something you're feeling at this moment. I'm going to share what I wrote this morning, and obviously I can't be feeling all of this right now. So ... pick one or all six and have fun!

I feel as disturbed (peaceful, expectant, enraged, jubilant, restless) as ...

I feel as disturbed as a black hole, silent in the vastness of space, ready or not to crush all life.

I feel as peaceful as a child on Grandma's lap, after a hot bath and warm milk.

I feel as expectant as a child before the Fourth of July parade, candy bucket empty and waiting.

I feel as enraged as a lioness, separated from a sick cub that she can still smell.

I feel as jubilant as a butterfly, riding the air currents, the inevitability of winter unknown--or forgotten.

I feel as restless as an arrhythmia--pause and start, lurch and jolt--always one step ahead or behind.

Mark's 37th Birthday

Mark and I didn't get to go out last night after all. He was just too tired and sick. Kathryn Ellis dropped off two pizzas, though, along with a basket of goodies from the church staff. After we ate, I went into town and got "Mean Girls." Kaitlyn had asked me to watch that with her to get an idea of what life is like for her at school. I must say, it was an eye opener.

Having a teenager has helped me to lose a lot of my resentment over having missed out on junior high and high school. Yes, I missed out on drama and sports, dances and dating ... but my dad wouldn't have allowed dating or dancing anyway, and I never was very good at (or had much interest in) sports. And the nastiness that kids subject each other to ... It's awful! Sometimes I think maybe I was actually kind of lucky, in some ways, not to have to go through all of that.

I was really proud of Kaitlyn this week. She and Shawne have apparently tried to use their status within the junior high to try to reverse that tendency of kids toward gossip and backstabbing. For whatever reason, Kaitlyn is quite popular (something she definitely did NOT inherit from her mother, who was always a mousy dweeb!). More than once, she has stuck up for the underdog, and this week she went so far as to intervene after an actual fist fight. The guy who threw the punch is a football player. He has now been suspended. The other kid is rather unpopular. Imagine his position in the school now. Golden Boy has been suspended because of a fight with Geek Wad. Obviously this is somehow Geek Wad's fault, right? I mean, really! Who's going to take Geek Wad's side in this? Well, Kaitlyn not only called and instant messaged several people, but she got up in class -- two classes! -- and said, "Look, people, we have to stop picking on him." She said, "I may lose friends over this, but if I do, they weren't that good of friends to start with." Now, if she would just show that kind of compassion toward her own brother ...

Anyway, I was talking about Mark's birthday, once upon a time, wasn't I? As I said, we didn't go out last night, so this morning Kaitlyn suggested that we use the gift certificate to go out to lunch at Golden Valley Brew Pub. We had such a great time. The boys behaved themselves, and it was just a really laid back, relaxing time. When Mark went out to the van to get his jacket, I asked the waitress if they did anything for birthdays. Shortly after Mark returned, he was presented with a large hot fudge and caramel sundae, complete with a candle.

We gave him gifts, too: a couple of cars from Cars (the movie), some chocolate bars, and some of the dollar movies that Walmart is selling these days, mostly sci-fi and other such stuff to keep his mind occupied on the many long nights he is up sick and alone. I also ordered him a gift which hasn't arrived yet. (Darn! Oh, well. It'll make the fun last longer.) But he seemed to like best the gift I bought for him when I went to the coast last time. It's a letter opener--a skeleton in a biker's jacket. It gives me the heebee jeebees, but Mark seems to think it's pretty cool. And that is the goal, after all.

A Brief Visit

Mark was in the hospital last night. He had some pain. Actually, he had quite a bit of pain. He said that his liver felt like it was on fire. But his chief complaint was the severe head to toe itching he gets sometimes. He took the maximum dosage of everything he's allowed to take at home, and nothing was cutting it at all so about 8:00 I took him in. I went home to be with the kids (and, to be quite honest, to sleep). We planned for Jason to just swing by and pick him up on his way home from work about 2 a.m. Around 10:00, though, I was just finishing cleaning up the kitchen and was about to go to bed when I got a call from Adam. Mark was about ready to go home. I guess they had given him a shot of something new called Vistaril. It worked really well. And quickly! He was out in less than three hours.

The health team conference call was indefinitely postponed. Adam couldn't get any of the doctors involved to reply with a specific time that they would be available. He seemed a little discouraged about that but said that he's going to keep trying. Chances are, we won't all be able to talk together, but he's going to talk to each of them and then present their ideas to us for our approval. I don't know that this is going to solve anything, per se, but it can only be good to have everyone on the same page.

Tonight we are supposed to go out to celebrate Mark's birthday. He has a gift certificate to Golden Valley that he got for doing some work on somebody's computer. I have free tickets to see Pride and Prejudice at GFU. And we have free babysitting (Mark A. and Joellen). Hard to beat that! But right now we have only 2 1/2 hours until we need to leave, and he is beyond exhausted. He's been sleeping nearly all day. I'm still hoping that he will suddenly wake up and feel up to going out on the town, but I know better than to get too terribly excited about the possibility. I guess we'll just play it by ear.

Just Catching Y'all Up

It's been a pretty good week so far--a busy week. It hasn't been terrific, since Mark has spent most of the week in bed, but at least we haven't been in the hospital for six days. That counts for a lot!

Tuesday was our inspection, as I mentioned. We passed with flying colors (although, as I also mentioned, this wasn't really about us. It's about the condition of the housing unit.)

In the evening, I went to hear the Chehalem Valley Symphony. They were playing free at GFU, and I really wanted to see them, but when evening approached, it was clear that Mark wasn't going to be able to go. I don't particularly like doing these things by myself, but I wanted to go so badly that I dressed up and went alone. I'm glad I did. The music was, of course, incredible.

I only had one irritation--and that only mildly. Because this event is free, people sometimes bring their kids. Fine. Great! But please, ladies and gentleman, if you know you are likely to have to take Jill to the potty part way through, consider sitting near the rear rather than in the front row. And when you do come back in, wait until the end of the piece and don't allow her to run down the aisle ahead of you to the front of the auditorium! And if little Jack just can't sit still anymore, there's a huge grassy area right out the front doors that is far preferable for chasing his imaginary friends than down and across the aisles. Sigh ... Ah, well, it was still enjoyable. Very relaxing.

Yesterday (Wednesday) I did a bunch of running around in the morning, basically just chauffeuring people to different schools and to the church. Then I stopped at Walmart to pick up a gift for Andrea's daughter's baptism, but the one lady in the jewelry department was swamped so I left. Ran home. Okay, I drove home, put a pot of coffee of, heated some soup, and vacuumed a rug just in time to have lunch with my friend, Jen Spink, who works across the street at the junior high. We had a great time, just catching up on each other's families. When she went back to work, I went into town to pick Mark up from the church and to make another (this time successful) attempt at getting a gift for Hailey.

After dinner, I went to the baptism. I'm SO glad I was there, but I had to take Brendan because Mark wasn't up to watching him and Kaitlyn was at a track meet. With him being tired and restless, I spent most of my time trying to keep him quiet. He did okay, really. He WAS quiet--just, like I said, restless. Things really got juiced up when John brought 3-year-old Emma up to watch the baptisms. A couple of times her grandmother and I both thought she was about to propel herself over the railing of the balcony. Yikes! Also, being so young, she has little volume control. Whisper? What does that mean? As one of the people came up out of the water, she cried out, "Is it my turn to go do that now?" No, Emma, not quite yet. :)

Today I volunteered at the preschool. I had so much fun! I didn't really want to go, but Lori (teacher) asked me if I would fill in for someone else since I hadn't been able to make my regularly scheduled time last week. Once I got there, I just had a blast with those kids. I don't think I could handle doing that every day, but they are so fun, so full of life and energy. Spending time with them, seeing life through their eyes, really helps put everything in perspective.

Do Something

I had a lot of time to think about perfectionism yesterday. I was cleaning my house for today's Housing Authority inspection, and I was reminded why I tend to shy away from housework. Once I get started, it consumes me. I have the hardest time just mopping the floors, for instance. I'll see some gunk on the front of a cupboard so I'll clean that off, which will lead me to wipe down the rest of the cupboards, which will draw me around to the door frame, with all its lovely finger prints, which will make me cringe at the dirt in the cracks on the pattern of the door, and when I go to do the back of the door, I'll notice the baseboards behind the door, and next thing you know, I'm on my knees with a toothbrush ...

Mark says I have no balance in my life. I know he's right. It's something I'm working on, and I do think that I'm getting better, but I have quite a ways to go. It's just that I was raised with the motto: A job half done is not done at all. Now, that's great when you're talking about something that has an endpoint: algebra homework or folding a basket of socks. But when you talking about big things--cleaning a house, writing a book--there really is not endpoint. There is always something more than can be done. To me, the need to do the whole job and to do it perfectly has led over the years to a sort of paralysis, an inability to do anything at all.

Yesterday I sat down to write in the early morning hours and was knocked upside the head by the sudden "knowledge" that I'm a fool for thinking I can be a writer, that I'm really just wasting a whole lot of time. It was so tempting to give in to that thought, to just crawl back on my air mattress and go to sleep. But I didn't. "Write something," I told myself. "Anything. Put down a word. Start." And once I got going, I had a really productive writing time.

I have a new motto: DO SOMETHING. If I can only do half the job, then half is still more than nothing. A drop of water may be insignificant in itself, but the bucket of water that puts out the fire is make up of a collection of these "insignificant" drops.

Let's put it this way (using writing as an example, because that is what's closest to my heart): If I write two pages in a day, in a year of five day work weeks (taking a week off for Christmas and another for a Caribbean vacation-- hah!), I'll have 500 pages complete by the end of the year. Five hundred pages, in two page droplets. DO SOMETHING.

I've carried this over into other areas of my life. I have looked at the tragedies that surround us and felt completely powerless to make a difference. Okay, so maybe I can't end world hunger. Maybe I can't do like Bill and Melinda Gates and donate millions to help impoverished children around the world. I CAN donate $10 a months to Sojourners (a Christian organization headed by Jim Wallis, the author of God's Politics, Why the Right is Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It.) Maybe I can't feed the whole community, but I can put a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese in the donation cart. It's not much, but it's dinner for one family. Doesn't that matter, one meal for one family? DO SOMETHING.

Maybe I can't solve my dear friend's marital problems, but I can drop her an email or send her a card. I can brighten one moment in her day. DO SOMETHING.

Maybe I can't instantly drop the 30 pounds I need to lose, but I can fit in a walk today and trade jam for butter. DO SOMETHING.

Maybe I can't know all I want to know about (Asperger's, heart defects, raising teens, American literature, poetry, Jewish law, fill in the blank), but I can sit down over lunch and read one article. I can learn one thing. At the end of the day, I will still know more than I did when I started. DO SOMETHING.

I get overwhelmed with the need to do it all, do it all NOW, and do it all perfectly. Perfectionism, despite its root word, is so far from ideal. It's crippling. And I'm fighting back. Today my mission is simple: DO SOMETHING.

Bearers of Hope

We were in the hospital again last night -- "just" pain this time. They have a new computer system that everyone was trying to get used to, and Dr. Jung was being very thorough in his review of Mark's recent history. Dear Dr. Jung ... I can tell that while most of the doctors see themselves (in Mark's case) as airline stewards, passing out the peanuts while we try to stay above the clouds and wait for the inevitable crash, he still thinks maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to find a way to land this craft safely. He thinks and thinks and scratches his head and calls other doctors and finally ends up by throwing up his hand. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know what to do for you." Yeah, well ... neither does anybody else, so he's in good company. But the next time we're his patient, he tries again ...

Mark was frustrated last night. He just wanted medication and relief from the pain, not a thorough review of his case. He also, quite understandably, wanted relief ASAP. The doc opted to give him meds under his tongue, which take far longer to work. They're trying to avoid putting in an IV whenever possible. Mark's veins are scarred and have started to collapse. But last night Mark didn't care. While he moaned and cried, I got to translate the intentions of the medical staff for him. "I know you're frustrated. I know you want pain relief right now, but they're looking at the big picture, honey. They're doing this because they care about you." And he agreed -- but it didn't make the pain any easier to bear!

Adam, his nurse, has set up a conference call for Thursday at 1:00. He's inviting us and as many of Mark's health care providers as can participate to join him in coming up with a clear and consistent plan of care for Mark. Adam is truly fabulous. Thirty years old, taller even than Mark, with upper arms nearly the size of coffee cans, he has a deep but "ungushy" compassion for people and a sense of humor that can brighten even the darkest days. When no one else can make Mark laugh, Adam can. And when Mark loses his ability to believe that he can do this, that he can carry on, Adam somehow knows how to help him believe in himself again. The world needs more nurses like him. Heck! The world just basically needs more people like him, in general. Sadly, they're in rather short supply. But we're one of the lucky one who get to be cared for by this unpretentious and genuinely caring man.

Good News/Bad News

Just a quick update on Mark ... We don't have to go up to OHSU today after all. I spent about a half hour talking to Dr. Broberg on the phone. He didn't realize that his colleague had already set Mark up with a 30-day heart monitor. Mark just has to push the button diligently so that hopefully they can get to the bottom of what is going on soon.

So, there's that piece of good news, and then there's this: Dr. Broberg isn't satisfied with the way things are being done in the ER. He feels that if Mark is in enough pain to go the hospital, then he should be getting pain relief. He recommended that I ask Dr. VanEaton (head of the ER) to call him, and they will write up a protocol that will be followed each and every time Mark goes in. That way he can count on consistent pain relief that won't depend on who is on call that day.

The bad news is that he legally cannot drive now. I've been driving him around a lot the last few months because obviously he can't drive under the influence of narcotics or sedatives. And often he just doesn't feel up to driving. But some good days he has driven himself to work at the church or some such thing. And often he has driven when we've gone out together, since I'm right there in case he needs to pull over and switch. But no more. I am now officially the only legal driver in this household.

Rough Waters

Yesterday was a bit rough. Actually, until midafternoon, it was pretty uneventful. Brendan is having trouble kicking his cold so he stayed home from preschool. I did housework and developed a form to use in my writing service, took a nap (which wasn't in my plans for the day but was very needed). Then I walked down to get Alex at school. On the way home, he told me that someone in his class had given him a note with a death threat. It was supposedly signed by one of the kids who picks on him regularly, but I doubt that even this kid would be stupid enough to sign his own name to something like that. Apparently his teacher must not have thought it was a big deal because she didn't send a note home or call. When I tried to call her as soon as we got home, I got her voice mail. I'm trying not to overreact to this. I know it's almost certainly just some kid's idea of a joke, that Alex really isn't in any danger. I'm not worried about that. I'm just concerned because it's upsetting my son and because this tormenting just goes on and on. I don't have any idea how to stop it -- or if that's even possible. And how do I equip my son to deal with this? There will be more such "attention" down the road as he enters the white water rapids of junior high. I cringe to even think about that.

Shortly after we got home, I heard a crash upstairs and then a wail. Mark had fallen from a standing position and hit his head on the corner of a cardboard box. He didn't trip over anything. He just fell. He had a sudden headache and dizziness. I hesitated, feeling every last bit of emotion leave me as I tried to analyze how to proceed. I decided to call 911. Our bedroom was soon full of fire fighters and paramedics. They strapped him to a backboard and carried him down the stairs (which was actually rather amusing, watching them trying to get him around the landing.) Then off they went. Because he had hit his head and because of the risk of stroke, he was entered into the trauma system, which meant that they had to take him to the closest hospital (McMinnville) rather our preferred one (Newberg).

Mom came and got the boys. Kaitlyn was at track practice, and Michelle quickly agreed to take her home and let her stay the night with Lindsay. I felt very fortunate yesterday in that regard. When I called Mom, she said, without hesitation, that she would be right there to get the boys. When I called Michelle and told her the medics had just left with Mark, her first comment was, "What can I do?"

When I got out of the hospital, Mark was just coming out of CT. Thankfully, the scan showed no signs of a stroke. His heart rate was high as was his systolic blood pressure. And the pain and nausea had kicked in, but he was stable. After consulting with Mark's cardiologist, they turned us loose after only a couple of hours, with instructions to call Dr. Broberg this morning. I suspect that today we'll be going up to his offices at OHSU. He is concerned about Mark's worsening arrhythmia and apparently thinks this event may have something to do with that. So I guess we'll see.

Pastor Lon came to see us in the ER, and Kelly McMillan brought a wonderful dinner to the house after we got home. I must say, while I could do without the sudden surge of adrenaline that always leaves me feeling like I'm bobbing in rough water, I did feel very loved and supported today. We're so fortunate to be sustained by such a loving community.

Ups and Downs

Today was a definite up and down day for Mark. He was awake before me (and I got up before 5:00). He had slept well, felt good, and was HAPPY! Almost too happy! No, not really, but I like things quiet when I'm writing, and Mark, when he feels good, is ... well, not exactly quiet! But it was good to see him up and around and clearly feeling good.

I had a meeting with the Sunday school coordinator this morning so I took Mark to the church when I went in. Afterwards, I took Bren to the park. I was freezing, though. What happened to that awesome weather we had less than two weeks ago? Sometimes I think (or would think, if I believed in such things) that the gods are dangling Spring in front of us like a sick psycho might dangle meat in front of a starving man. I am not kidding; the cold of that metal park bench went right through my jeans! But Brendan didn't seem to mind at all. I could hardly drag him away when finally I decided I'd had enough.

I went back to the church to pick up Mark, then home to finish up my website. (More about that tomorrow.) Shortly after we got home, the pain kicked in for Mark. He tried everything, waited several hours, but finally we had to go to the ER.

It was a tough night for Mark. They weren't able to avoid narcotics, but they tried for several more hours. Mark was just so tired and in so much pain that he just wanted it to go away. I had to keep reminding him that they are looking out for the big picture, that their reluctance to give him an IV is in order to preserve his veins and their hesitation to order narcotics is part of a plan that Mark himself has agreed to. They are helping him. But it doesn't seem like that to him, when he is writhing in pain, when he feels like he has a knife twisting in his side and they have the means to stop the pain -- and won't. In the end, though, it was clear that nothing was going to break through except narcotics so they gave him a small dose and cut us loose. Hopefully, together with the massive amounts of atavan they gave him, the toradol and the ... um, the nausea medication that starts with a Z (?) ... Zofran (?) ... maybe he'll be able to get to sleep. Fingers crossed.

I felt so helpless tonight. Sitting there next to him, I thought back to the times when I have been in labor, and Mark has been the one beside the bed. Feel free to smack me silly for saying such a stupid thing as what I'm going to say next, but tonight I almost thought that I preferred those times to these. I wouldn't want his pain now. No way, no how. But at least then I was somewhat in control. Okay, that's the biggest illusion I have ever succumbed to! Being in labor is, by definition, being out of control of your own body. But when it's your own pain, you can kind of "own" it. You can take it in and work with it. Maybe you hate it. Maybe you mutter and complain and even scream your way through it, but it's your pain ... and so you deal with it. You thrash your way through it, and you come out the other side. But this? This sitting there watching someone you love cry and writhe and dry heave ... to not have any idea what to say ... to be unable to do anything to help beyond just fetching yet another cup of ice chips ... That feeling of helplessness in the face of great pain ... what can I say? There's very little in life that I like less than that feeling.

Still Thinking

I'm still thinking quite a bit about this whole topic of joy: what it means, where it comes from, etc. I'm not ready to write more about it yet. I'm still just questioning and thinking. But I came across an excellent sermon today that I wanted to share with you guys. You can find it here: http://www.30goodminutes.org/csec/sermon/palmer_3828.htm. It's based largely on concepts discussed in C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters. (Even though I took a semester long class on C.S. Lewis, we somehow skipped over that book. I must get my hands on a copy -- soon!)

Other than that, I really don't have much to say about these last couple of days. I have had a cold, which has really drained me, but other than that, things haven't been bad at all. Mark has had a couple of episodes of pretty nasty pain, but his work with Seth at the pain center has taught him how to ride it out on his own. I'm not saying that we will never need to go in again. Not at all. But we've only gone in once during the last two weeks. I can handle that! We're back to where we were last fall, which feels like a breeze compared to where we've been recently. And to think that everything seemed so hopeless not so long ago ...

If I can say just one thing that more or less summarizes my thoughts lately, I think I'd wager that real joy (as opposed to surface happiness) is directly tied to hope. Where is that verse? "For lack of hope, the people perish." I have no idea even what book that's in. (Anyone know? Isaiah, maybe?) It just rings really true to me lately.