Hands Off My Hope!

Is Eight Golden?

Posted on November 3, 2012 by Wendy

Eight years ago at this time, I was around 38 weeks pregnant, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our first born. I was nervous and excited, and wondered how my life would change once he or she was here. I was scared that I would suck as a mom, but I couldn’t wait for the baby to get out; you see, I like to sleep on my stomach, and when you are THAT pregnant, it’s damn well impossible.

Fast-forward eight years. I am now the mother to that first child – a beautiful boy – and to his beautiful sister. The two of them truly are the greatest gifts in my life, as they bring me more joy than I could ever know (as well as a healthy does of frustration). And yes, sometimes I still think I suck as a mom.

Our son, E, loves his birthday. Starting in early October, his birthday is a daily topic of conversation. He talks about it more than he talks about Halloween. He even says that we can celebrate his birthday on MY birthday, which is two days before his (I’m the 6th, he’s the 8th. Both Scorpios…could mean trouble?).

And this year is E’s Golden Birthday. For the uninitiated – like my husband – a golden birthday occurs on the birthday that matches the day of the month your are born. For example, I had my golden birthday when I was six for November 6; E’s birthday is November 8 and since he is turning eight, it is his golden birthday.

We are not making a big deal out of the fact that it is his golden birthday. Just wanted to point it out.

But, what my mind keeps going back to is the fact that my baby boy is turning eight.

When he was a newborn, and even a toddler, I thought a little bit ahead, but I never really thought about what it would be like when he got older. You know, when the grown-up teeth come in, and he loses that ‘little boy’ look. I mean, now he just looks like a boy. Where did my baby go?

When he was little and unaware, I could screw up and he’d never know. If I was angry, I could swear in front of him and he’d be none the wiser. Now, when I screw up, he points it out. And, when I get angry and swear in front of him (which, sadly I have been known to do), I feel like, well, shit. Then I have to play the role of hypocrite and tell him to never, ever say the word I just exclaimed.

At eight-years-old, memories stick. He’ll remember these days when he’s older, and hopefully the memories he has will be good ones. Hopefully we are helping him create great memories of a happy childhood. Because that’s really want we want for our kids, right? Health and happiness?

Being a parent is a scary proposition sometimes. There’s only so much control we can have over our children, and I am coming to find that as they get older, our grip of control loosens. We try to instill good values in them, teach them the difference between right and wrong, lead by example, and demonstrate what it means to be respectful, kind, and caring.

And when our children ‘get it,’ it’s a wonderful, rewarding feeling. E gets it, so that tells me we’re doing something right.

My hope is that he continues to get it as he continues to grow. And that the next eight years go by slower than the past eight years. Thinking of him driving kind of makes me want to throw up.

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How The Election is Tapping Our Inner 5-Year-Old

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Wendy

I’ve been thinking a lot about the upcoming election for many different reasons. First, a presidential race is always interesting and exciting and this year is no different. In addition, my state, Minnesota, has a couple of ballot initiatives that seem to really be dividing the state in two; one has to do with amending the constitution to make same-sex marriages illegal, and the other has to do with requiring voters to show ID before casting their vote.

On my morning run today, as I ran through adjacent neighborhoods to mine and past yard sign after yard sign that said “VOTE NO,” I came to realize that many of the people involved in this year’s election act in a way that I would expect from my 5-year-old daughter…and sometimes worse.

Case in point: Yard signs.

In my neighborhood and many neighborhoods by me, if one elects to put a yard sign out about the marriage debate, chances are it will be a VOTE NO sign, showing opposition to the amendment that would make same-sex marriages illegal. If a homeowner has that yard sign on his or her lawn by choice – or a VOTE YES sign – that’s his or her prerogative.

But there have been several stories of people’s VOTE NO signs being stolen. Right off of their yard. That is so not cool and really quite immature. I mean, really. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and we need to respect that. It’s OK to disagree with others, but it’s not OK to disrespect others’ opinions. That’s like my daughter saying she’s not going to be friends with Sally anymore because Sally no longer likes princesses, right?

Liar, Liar. Pants on Fire

I don’t want to make a blanket statement, but I am going to anyway. All the candidates in all the races are making this an ugly and dirty election. That’s nothing new; mudslinging has been going on for years, but if we really stop to think how the candidates behave on the election trail, we should all be embarrassed.

How many times have we heard someone call his or her opponent a liar? Every time I hear it, I hear my 5-year-old daughter whining to me about something her 8-year-old brother said, and then how he refutes the statement. Before too long, it’s an all-out verbal assault…a game of “He Said, She Said,” just like the politicians. The only difference is that the politicians are grown men and women, acting like children, instead of children acting like children.

Good game

My daughter played soccer this fall, and at the end of each soccer game, the two teams lined up to shake hands and say “Good Game.” There were a few times when we caught her saying “Bacon” instead of “Good Game” and we told her that was not cool (we were more eloquent than that).

My concern with this election is not so much with the candidates running their races; I think they will act like adults and the winners will be good winners, and the losers will be good losers. After all, every concession speech I have seen or read in the past has been gracious and complimentary of the opponent, and I expect no difference this year.

Rather, my concern is how we – the American people – will act on November 7. Many of us will be disappointed when we wake up that morning and will be wishing for a different outcome. As a result, how many of us will threaten to move to Canada? How many of us will threaten to leave Minnesota, based on the ballot initiatives? Are we going to act like the 5-year-old on the soccer field who storms off the field in tears because the other team scored a goal? Are we going to act the 5-year-old who, instead of being engaged in the game is picking dandelions in the field, oblivious to what is going on?

My hope is that we can come together, regardless of the results, and talk about “the game,” listen to “the coach” and try to see how we can move forward, together as a team. Because really, elections come and go. The results are the results. But it’s what we do with what we have that matters. And this year will be no different.

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What Does Community Mean to You?

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Wendy

My second-grader is learning all about communities. Each day this week as we drive home from school, he excitedly tells me which communities he is a part of, and which communities mean the most to him at present. ‘Mama,’ he says, ‘I’m part of the second grade community, my school community, my synagogue, my choir, and my Tae Kwon Do class. Oh, and our neighborhood community, too.’ He is particularly proud of being a part of his choir community.

All of this talk of community got me thinking. Communities really are the backbones of our society, how we identify ourselves and where our relationships are formed. Some of the communities of which we are a part are lasting and an important piece of our selves. Others come and go, depending on the circumstance.

Regardless, communities tie us together.

And so last week, the Twin Cities community was rocked when the worst case of workplace violence in Minnesota history took place at a local, small business, Accent Signage. At the end of the rampage, four employees, including the business’s owner, and a UPS driver were killed before the gunman, a worker there who was just let go, turned the gun on himself.

Now normally, this news item would have gotten my attention. It took place in the city in which I live, and it was a tragic, horrific event. But what really drew me in was the fact that my husband worked at the business, Accent, over 12 years ago. He worked very closely with the owner and one of the employees who was killed. He traveled with them. And in fact, the owner and his wife danced at our wedding. What’s more, just last year we randomly met the owner’s daughter at a local farmer’s market, which prompted a stroll down memory lane back to the ‘Accent Days,’ as we liked to call them.

Needless to say, this event was close to me despite the years that had passed between then and now.

I scoured the news the night of the shooting, My heart sank when I learned the names of the dead. I had a really difficult time sleeping that night. Even though Accent Signage was so far removed from my life – our lives – it still was a part of us. At one time we were part of that community, and that connection, regardless of how tenuous, was still there.

And we were not the only ones. After my husband posted his own memories of working with the owner, Reuven on Facebook, many took the time to comment about how they were connected to the event in one way or another. And it just reinforced for me how important our communities are to us, even if we don’t acknowledge it or even realize it. Our communities are what connect us, and that’s a really powerful thing.

My son E likes to define ‘community’ as ‘the people we work, play and live with’ and I think that is a fine definition. It is true that as he moves on in his life, he will become a member of other communities, and he may no longer be an active member of current communities. Yet the ties he makes in each community will stay with him and will be a part of his overall footprint. Some will have a huge impact and others, not so much.

And that’s true for all of us. As we progress through life and move from one community to another, be it literally by moving to a new home, or figuratively by changing jobs, volunteering, or joining a kick ball league, we are leaving an impression on the community we left, as well as the community we join. The connections we make are life-long whether we like it or not. And the connections tie us together more than I think a lot of us know.

Take Accent Signage. Twelve years after my husband left the company, the ties that we have to it resurfaced, albeit in a tragic and surreal way. Regardless of the circumstance, the connection is still there. And even if the people we once knew there sadly are no longer here, the connection will not be lost.

A community cannot be broken.

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Musing My Religion

Posted on September 20, 2012 by Wendy

Rosh Hashanah was this past Sunday and Monday (actually, I was raised as a Conservative Jew and as such, Rosh Hashanah was really Monday and Tuesday, but as I now belong to a Reform synagogue, I need to change my perspective. Another topic for another blog post). I digress, and if you are confused, I apologize.

Anywho, there we were in services on Sunday evening. All four of us, dressed up and ready to welcome in the new year (Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year). We went to the ‘musical and creative’ service, which was very musical and quite creative. It was actually unlike anything I have ever experienced, and I was really enjoying it.

It felt good to be at temple. It felt good to be among ‘my people’ who were all there for the same reason. It felt good to be with my family, participating in one of the many Jewish traditions I shared with my parents growing up.

But then, it started to happen. On both sides of me, the boredom and complete lack of appreciation was seeping into my personal space. The 5 and 7-year-olds (aka S & E) were starting to get restless. And sitting still was no longer an option.

Really, it was fine. There were a lot of kids at the service, and while our kids were probably the most restless, there were others who were going down the same path. And although the service lasted only an hour, I understand what these little ones were feeling.

Actually, an hour is a really long time. And it’s a really long time if you are only 5 and 7-years old.

As I just mentioned, going to services with my family at this time of year was a given for me growing up. It was part of my life, a part of autumn, a part of being Jewish. But I’ll tell you what, going to services as a kid totally sucked. When I got to the age where I was too old for the children’s service, we went to the regular, grown up service. And it was a drag.

The only thing I liked about it was knowing, after Yom Kippur services, that I wouldn’t have to do that again for another year. Seriously.

So this past Sunday evening, I tried to listen to the service while Andy dozed and our kids tried to entertain themselves. But then I started thinking about what E & S were possibly thinking at that time. They know they are Jewish. They know it was Rosh Hashanah. But did they know why we were there?

I never knew why we had to go to services at this time of year. I just knew we went, and I knew lots of other Jews did, too. I don’t want that for E & S. I want them to understand why Jews across the city, state and country may never step foot in a synagogue at any other time of year, yet on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur they show up. I want them to appreciate this aspect of our religion and traditions. It doesn’t mean they have to like it, but I do want them to understand.

After all, Yom Kippur is next week, and my hope is E & S don’t leave services all giddy with the thought that they don’t have to do THAT again for another year.

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Sleep is so…elusive

Posted on September 14, 2012 by Wendy

Anyone who knows me knows how much I appreciate sleep. I value sleep, and understand the utter importance of getting a good night’s sleep. And so it is not only ironic, but downright frustrating, that sleep for me is so elusive.

There was a time in my life when I could have been considered a border-line narcoleptic. Well, not really. But I really could fall asleep anywhere at any time given the conditions were favorable. And I still can fall asleep pretty quickly, but I just can’t stay asleep.

Here is how a typical night goes for me: asleep around 11:00 p.m. Suddenly awoken any time between 1:00 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. Up for at least an hour, if not two. Back to sleep till about 6:00 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. It doesn’t happen every night, but I can tell you that I experienced this exact thing three out of the last four nights.

It. is. brutal.

But you know what? I know I am not alone. In fact, the National Sleep Foundation estimates that as much as 40 percent of the U.S. adult population experiences some insomnia every year, and many of those people suffer from chronic insomnia. Plus, more women are more sleep deprived than men, according to Dr. Michael J. Breus. The reasons can range anywhere from hormonal changes in the body, to stress keeping us up, to being unable to turn off our brains. Regardless of the reasons, a lack of sleep can wreak havoc on our minds and bodies.

After all, without sleep and R.E.M. we would die. Still, very few of us talk to our doctors about our sleep challenges. Why is this?

First and foremost, our society is proud of our sleep deprivation. We know we don’t get enough sleep, and we wear that – and our ability to function on little sleep – as a badge of honor. We talk, gloat even, about how busy we are, about how we can’t unplug, and how email, Twitter, YouTube and Netflix are eating into our bedtimes. Yet, we refuse to do anything about it. We just walk around more tired with more bags under our eyes.

And marketers realize this. In fact, our inability to sleep has given birth to a booming sleep industry, offering products from prescription sleep aids and ‘natural’ supplements, to sleep getaways and custom-designed bedrooms, all promising to cure our sleep woes.

The bottom line, however, is that sleep is a natural, human need, just like food and water. We need it to survive. We need it to function better, to perform better. But more than that, we need it just to be better. There are few things worse than a tired and cranky person who could be so much more pleasant if he or she just got a decent night’s sleep (I could be speaking of myself here).

I honestly do not know the reasons for my sleep deprivation. This has been a cycle I have experienced for the last several years and have come to live with it. And while sleep aids are available to me, I am determined to conquer this issue organically and on my own.

A friend in college used to say “I’ll sleep when I die.” That’s not O.K. Sleep is a beautiful thing, and my hope is that soon I – and all the other millions of you out there like me – enjoy 7 solid hours of sleep on a nightly basis.

I am curious: how many of you suffer from some sort of sleep challenge? What do you do to overcome it?

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Are we over-scheduled or just realistic?

Posted on September 10, 2012 by Wendy

I never wanted it to happen to my children and me, but I think it has. Or maybe it hasn’t, but we’re on the verge. I am afraid we are becoming ridiculously close to being over-scheduled.

Or are we?

I don’t know. When my kids were little – I’m talking like 3-and 4-years old – I vowed to only sign them up for one activity at a time, be it swimming lessons, gymnastics, or what-have-you. And I liked that. I liked to think that I liked the idea of my kids having ‘down time’ and not being the victim of over-scheduling.

But truth be told, down time in our house is really difficult. Or, I should say, it’s really difficult for one of our kids (I’ll call him ‘E’ – he’s seven), who then makes it difficult for everyone else. He is the type who likes to be going at all times, and if he’s not going, he needs to know when he will be going. Then, he requires your attention to help him fill the time until it’s time to go. It’s damn exhausting.

There are a few ways to help him during the time he’s not going, one of which is the Wii. That has helped because he loves all things computer and gaming, but I don’t want him to spend all of his ‘down time’ playing Wii. So, we rethought our one-activity-at-a-time rule and threw it out the window. Now, he’s doing Tae Kwon Do – which he loves, and is a 2-3 times a week commitment – along with swimming lessons, Sunday school, OT and, oh yeah, second grade. To me, that spells b-u-s-y.

So what the hell were we thinking when we checked out the Metropolitan Boys Choir over the weekend? Do we really want to add one more activity to his roster?

Here’s the thing. The boy loves to sing. And, we think he’s pretty good. In fact, he’s been called a mini-Biebs before, but the person who called him that never heard him sing. I digress.

As parents, we want our kids to have interests, talents, or gifts, and oftentimes we are the ones seeking out the activities with the hope that a spark will catch with at least one. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. So when our kids express an interest to us, we are quick to jump on board and have them try it out, hoping the interest lasts.

Who are we to deny them the right to try something they want to try, right?

And that’s how it is with E. He loves to swim, so we let him swim. He is inching closer to becoming a black belt in TKD, so it would be plain stupid to stop now (if he stays on ‘schedule’ he will test for his black belt next summer, which he stated is his goal). And he loves to sing, so of course we’re going to let him join a choir.

I think about this and wonder why he has to do all of these things – on top of school, Sunday school, OT and the like. But then I remember the kind of kid he is. He can’t sit still. He can’t be idle. He needs activity, and so we give it to him.

So that begs the question: are we enabling our son to be an over-scheduled child? Would we rather be schlepping him around from one place to the next to avoid the situation that could happen if we just brought him home after school for some ‘down time?’

My answer: ‘Um, yeah.’

I’m half-serious. The hour between school and dinner can be absolutely brutal.

But at the same time, these activities are instilling confidence, self-esteem and independence in our son, characteristics that will serve him well. And they are allowing him to truly explore, and at times excel, in those things he is interested in.

And he simply does better when he’s doing something structured.

So I’m OK with him joining the choir. My hope is he loves it and sings his heart out. My hope is he’ll meet some other boys and make some true friendships. My hope is the enthusiasm and excitement he shows for it today lasts for years. And my hope is he’ll always let me sing with him, despite my obvious tone-deafness.

So, now the next dilemma: the plight of the over-scheduled parent. Perhaps my next blog post?

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So, I love to write

Posted on September 6, 2012 by Wendy

OK, so it’s been a while. And yeah, yeah, you’ve heard that before. What can I say? Blogging is hard work.

But I’ve come to a realization over the past few months. Actually, a couple of realizations. First, I LOVE to write, and I want to continue to blog. Second, promoting a book that I did not write about a subject that I personally did not go through is very difficult. Third, I miss the crap out of my Mom and want to do something to honor her legacy.

So.

Back to realization number two listed above. It dawned on me that although I truly believe in my Mom’s book, I just don’t know how much further I can take it. Dealing with a topic as serious and life-threatening as cancer, it’s really difficult being the spokesperson for something about an experience that I did not have.

Having said that, I am nowhere near ready to throw in the towel on the book or the sentiment. Hands Off My Hope! is a strong statement, and one that I feel I can take in a variety of different directions.

And I’ve been thinking about what the heck to do with it. The site, the blog, the whole thing. I don’t want to walk away from it because I believe it can serve a purpose. But, truth be told, I’ve been looking for what that purpose is.

Well, I think I’ve finally found it. While this site will indeed pay homage to the woman who coined Hands Off My Hope! I am going to expand the scope a bit. What will the end result look like? Not sure. But think it will be a fun ride to get there.

Oh, and I changed the look and feel, but you probably already realized that.

I’ve been thinking about what My Hope is. My hope is within my family, my children, our society. It ranges from the little things like my son being able to tie his shoes, to bigger issues like the upcoming election; from my daughter getting used to the lunch room at school to equal rights for everyone.

And I will explore my hopes here.

When my Mom wrote her book and titled it “Hands Off My Hope!” her hope was something entirely different. Her hope was to get through another day, to live a comfortable life, to meet her grandchildren before she died.

Everyone meets the day with hope, whether it’s big or little. Hope is one thing that we all have in common, regardless of what we are hopeful for.

My hope is to share some with you, and that perhaps, you’ll share some with me as well.

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Milestone Markers

Posted on August 29, 2012 by Wendy

I have come to realize that having children is, among other things, a marker of milestones. You know, first words, first steps, first time pooping in the potty…and the list goes on. Many of these milestones are merely moments that we as parents come to anticipate; sometimes we are there for them, other times we miss them.

But as our children grow older, the milestones become more meaningful, and these bigger milestones illicit bigger emotions from the parents, or at least from me as a mom.

And so I’ve been thinking a lot about what Sasha’s first day of Kindergarten means. I mean, this is a huge milestone to me…and after all, it is all about me, right?

It marks that I no longer have a preschooler at home with me. It marks the end to a time in my life. It marks my aging, her aging, her growing up, time marching on.

And so as I reflect on what it means to me that my baby girl is starting Kindergarten, I admit I have mixed emotions. Part of me wants her to stay the sweet, innocent preschooler that she is, wide-eyed and accepting of everyone and everything. And then part of me is excited to watch her blossom as she learns new things, makes new friends and starts to discover who she is.

Today, August 29, 2012, my baby girl is taking her first big step into the world as she enters Kindergarten. While I relish in today’s big leap, I know that in the blink of an eye, she will be taking bigger and bolder steps. It is exciting and heart-wrenching at the same time. She is leaving her insular nest, and while I know deep down this is a good thing, I also wish she could stay cozy and warm here for a bit longer.

It is a big milestone.

My hope is that as she encounters this milestone and the others to come, she will take the lessons she has learned and apply them in a bigger and better way.

Of course, I have other hopes for her as she continues along her path, and so I thought I would share my hopes for Sasha today – her first day of Kindergarten – and every day as she marches forth in this world.

To my beautiful girl:

My hope is you that your heart stays huge, your eyes stay wide, and your laugh stays infectious.

My hope is that you will love school.

My hope is that you will always accept everyone as they are, just as you do now.

My hope is that you never judge a book by its cover. Ever.

My hope is that you continue to follow your heart, even if it means taking a path different than your friends take.

My hope is that you understand that the number of friends you have is not important; what’s important is the quality of the friendships you do have.

My hope is that you know you will encounter some bumps in the road and that you can always talk to me about them without judgement.

My hope is that you will always make the right choice, but I know sometimes you won’t. In those times, I hope you learn why the choice was wrong.

My hope is that as you grow, you stay true to who you are.

My hope is that your imagination stays as vivid as it is today and your stories stay as colorful.

My hope is that you never stop singing.

My hope is that Kindergarten is a magical time, filled with learning, new friends, wonderment, creativity, reading, writing, music and laughter.

My hope is that you know how truly and deeply loved you are, now and always.

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Three Days

Posted on April 25, 2012 by Wendy

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with my Dad. In a car. Driving from Orlando, FL to Minneapolis, MN over the course of three days. Does this sound like your definition of Hell? To some, it just might. But to me, it was three solid days of Dad time…something I haven’t had in a long, LONG time. And it was perfect.

My Dad spends part of the winter in Miami Beach. He drives down every January, and returns back to the Northern climate sometime in early April. This is something he has been doing for years, and started the tradition when my Mom was still alive. The trip, while not difficult, is a pretty drive that he likes to do in three days, and spans a number of states: Minnesota –> Iowa –> Illinois –> Kentucky –>Tennessee –> Georgia –> Florida, (or reverse if driving from the south to the north). Of course, the trip can encounter bad weather, and when that happens, he changes up the route accordingly. For instance, one year, he by-passed Kentucky and Tennessee and drove through Alabama to get ahead of an incoming snow storm. Or, instead of driving through Iowa, he drove through Wisconsin to avoid severe thunderstorms. It’s a fluid route with the goal to get from point A to point B safely (and in 3 -4 days).

Mind you, my Dad doesn’t do this drive alone. He calls upon a few friends to drive with him. And his friends are always willing to help him out, either on the Minneapolis-to-Miami leg, or the Miami-to-Minneapolis leg. Except for this year’s return drive home.

Each year in the months leading up to his departure from and return to Minneapolis, I start to ask who is making the trip with him, and usually I get the same answer: “I haven’t thought about it”. I’m sure I drive him crazy with my nagging (yes, I can admit that, at times, I am a nag), but truth be told, I want to make sure he doesn’t overlook this important aspect of the trip, because I sure don’t want him taking that drive by himself.

My Dad is an incredibly laid-back guy who is probably not the best planner. So even if he thinks I’m nagging, I like to think I’m prompting him into action. Finding a co-pilot for the trip can take some time, and if he needs to fall back onto a plan B, then let’s make sure there is time to implement that plan.

As was the case this year. Although I had been asking for quite some time who was driving home with him, he finally confessed that all of his options were exhausted and no one was available. He then went on to say he’d make the drive himself and just take a few extra days. I had a couple of issues with that: 1). That’s one hell of a drive to make by yourself, and why do that if you don’t have to? 2). Are you crazy, Dad? So, I offered to make the drive with him. I think he was secretly pleased, although he told me I didn’t have to do that. Whatever. After all he’s done for me and my family, this was the least I could do. He is, after all, my Dad!

So, two days after my family’s return from a week in South Beach with him, I boarded a flight to Orlando to meet him for the big trek (one-way flights to Orlando were considerably cheaper than one-way flights to any part of South Florida. And by meeting in Orlando, we shed 250 miles off the overall trip).

Admittedly, I was a bit nervous. I mean, three days in a car with my Dad. It wasn’t the ‘with my Dad’ part that got me nervous, though. It was the ‘three days in a car’ part. I haven’t been in a car that long in a quite some time. And any road trips I have taken of late included two impatient, sometimes whiny kiddos.

But that all went away the minute I saw him at the airport when he picked me up. As I said, he is just so damn laid back and accommodating. I knew I had nothing to worry about. And I was right. Here is how the next three days went:

Up and shower and at the hotel breakfast between 7:30 and 8:00

Check out of hotel and hit the road around 8:30

Dad drives first leg. Stop for coffee around 10/10:30 (a Dunkin Donuts two out of the three mornings. Bonus!)

I drive till lunch, around 12:30 or so (IHOP in Georgia, ‘Family Restaurant’ in nowheresville, TN, Panera in Waterloo, IA)

I drive more, till about 3:00 when we stop for gas (and potty)

Dad and I share the driving responsibilities until our destination (Marietta, GA, Bloomington, IL, Home)

The second day was the toughest because we logged about 650 miles (11 hours on the road), and we hit some pretty heavy rain en route, but even that was OK. Traveling with my Dad was such a piece of cake. We stopped when we wanted, ate where I wanted and he was constantly asking me what I needed (while I was constantly asking him if he was OK). Our evening meals were great, and even the time in the hotel was fun.

And the conversation. Some of it was heavy, most of it was light. And at times, there was none at all. It was all good and throughout it all, I couldn’t stop thinking about how great my Dad is. And that I hope I get to do this with him again next year!

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The Blog Post About My Son, Bullying and Asperger’s

Posted on March 29, 2012 by Wendy

As I scanned through Twitter yesterday morning, I saw a link to an article about a survey regarding children, bullying and autism. I immediately clicked on the link, read the findings and felt an intense urge to cry. Being the mother of a 7- and 5-year-old, I luckily haven’t yet had to deal with bullying – either my kids being bullied or being the bully. But, deep down, I know that one day in the not-too-distant future, my luck might change. And this article is a stark reminder of some of the challenges our son may soon face. You see, our son has been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.

Looking and interacting with him, you probably would not even think he falls somewhere on the Autism spectrum. He is very high-functioning, and a lot of our friends seem surprised when they learn of his diagnosis. He is incredibly charming and quite social with adults. He can talk to you about whatever he wants to talk about. And kids, for the most part, like him. That is all good.

But for as much as he charms your socks off and keeps it together out in public, he easily falls apart at home and can create an environment of stress and exhaustion. And although kids do like him, he does not really like kids.

At school, he misreads social cues and is very rigid with rules. And if someone is doing something they should not be doing, he’s the first to tell the teacher. This is all fine and good for Kindergartners and even first graders; most kids this age are a bit quirky and oblivious to social graces. But our worry is that as these kids grow out of their quirkiness and become aware of social graces, they will also become more aware of our son’s quirks and rigidness. And that is a potential cause for concern.

This survey was conducted by Interactive Autism Network (IAN), which is the nation’s largest online autism research initiative. I’m not going to regurgitate the whole thing, because you can read it here. I will, however, point out some highlights, such as the finding that 63 percent of children with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) have been bullied at some point in their lives. Also as impactful is that they found these kids are bullied three times more frequently than their siblings who do not have ASD.

Although countless thoughts fill my mind at just these two stats alone, the overriding one is our son is more prone to being bullied more often than our daughter. More than that, though, it reinforces to me that there are huge differences between them and what these differences mean, and not just when it comes to bullying. Of course, parents of two or more kids understand that each child is different and these differences can serve one better than the other. Example: for as much as kids like our son, they absolutely love our daughter, who is a bit more than two years younger. And she likes kids back. She has a crazy ability to make friends wherever she goes and she attracts a wide range of people to her. No doubt this is a great characteristic for her to have, but one that easily bothers her brother as he lacks this ability to connect and bond with people, especially kids his own age.

Another interesting finding: Across ASD diagnoses, 61 percent of children with Asperger’s syndrome experienced bullying, a rate nearly double that of children with other diagnoses on the autism spectrum. This may be due in part to different school placement across the groups.

Our son attends a public magnet school and receives no special services from the school despite his medical diagnosis of Asperger’s. In Minneapolis Public Schools, a medical diagnosis is not good enough to qualify for special eduction. One must get an education evaluation and qualify under their guidelines as well. Our son was evaluated the first month into Kindergarten last year and despite some issues, he did not qualify for any services in the school. The frustration and challenges this presents is overwhelming, and something for another post. My point is, he is with a bunch of ‘typical’ kids all day, and his challenges can very easily fly under the radar.

Today, our son seems happy at school. Granted, he rarely talks about any friends and doesn’t ask for play dates. Still, he has a smile on his face when we drop him off in the morning, and it’s there when we pick him up in the afternoon. Despite having some challenges in the classroom, he likes going to school and seems engaged in what he is learning. What concerns me is how the next few years will go for him. I want him to want and make friends, do his best in school and continue to blossom as a person. I do not want to worry about him being more prone to bullying because he has Asperger’s.

But that might not be my reality.

I tell my children that no matter how old they are, they will always be my babies. Sometimes I wish they could keep the innocence of a child forever and never be exposed to the harsh realities in the world. But that’s not going to happen, so we try to be there for them when they get hurt and help them to get back up. We try to teach them to be good people and to treat everyone the way they want to be treated. We try to teach them to embrace the differences in each other, and if someone is not treating them well to simply walk away. And we hope these lessons will stick.

But it isn’t always so black and white. When dealing with a child with Asperger’s, we’re never sure what is sticking. This survey is a not only a reminder that being a child is hard, but also being a child – and a parent of a child – with Asperger’s is really hard.

Like I needed that reminder.

To read the findings of the survey click here. Then come back and leave a comment on your thoughts. I’d love to read them.

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