tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90727204755127124392024-03-05T06:46:25.458-05:00Running to be Stillkrismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-78715511632856127392014-08-13T09:05:00.002-04:002014-08-13T09:05:26.381-04:00The AwardIt was a rough school year.<br />
<br />
The week before Thanksgiving this past year, I pulled James out of my favorite school in the world and moved him into another school. I wrote about why I did it <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2013/11/coming-back-to-our-neighborhood.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
And then I didn't write anything else. Because honestly I didn't know how he was doing. My incredible friends who drove him to his new school and signed him out for me at the end of the day said he was doing great. It <i>seemed </i>like the transition was good. He no longer cried about going to school before he went to bed at night and his teachers assured me that it was "like he was always in their classroom".<br />
<br />
But James wouldn't talk about any of the students in his class except for O (who he had known for years) so I had no idea if he was connecting with anyone else. And because this school has the exact same drop off and pick up time as his brother's school 15 minutes away, I couldn't be there to walk him down the hallway and see how and if he interacted with any other students and teachers. I only saw him running laps around the playground by himself when I went to go meet him after school, while all the other kids he knew all played gaga ball together.<br />
<br />
The math curriculum was completely different, so when I transferred him I basically threw him in to a ton of stuff he wasn't prepared for. Although it was the one subject he had always enjoyed and felt confident in, he was suddenly struggling, and he hated English language arts just as much (if not more) than he did before. Homework became a nightmare. He agonized about it so much most days that he couldn't calm down enough to actually begin his work. He refused to read anything but his big cat photo books and spent the nightly 20 minutes asking me why he had to read, why it took so long, and how much time he had left. We began reading chapter books <strike>with</strike> to him nightly again. Reading a page and encouraging him to take a turn. Just to get him to read something. To get him to read a<i>nything</i>.<br />
<br />
I wondered a lot <i>What the hell have I done?</i><br />
<br />
I knew it was just going to take time for him to get acclimated so I tried to focus on what had been going well so far. He rode to school with his friend each day and didn't get upset. He was home by 3 pm most days, with the rest of the afternoon to play. I really liked his teachers and knew they were working as hard as they could to pull him in. I had a great IEP meeting with his team in May. Everyone was in complete agreement with what we needed to do to best support him.<br />
<br />
His class did a week-long program on a<a href="http://www.worldoceanschool.org/all-about-roseway/roseway-history" target="_blank"> historic schooner anchored in Boston Harbor</a> in June that I wrote about <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2014/08/sea-legs.html">here</a>. And at the time I thought, <i>Whoa</i>. <i>This is definitely the highlight of the school year.</i> I was so proud of him for facing his biggest fears, and I had hoped that the work aboard program would help him connect with his classmates. But he wouldn't talk about it. Any of it. And he wouldn't talk about any of the kids he experienced it with. While I thought of it as a total win over anxiety and sensory challenges and was grateful that he accomplished something so huge, it didn't seem to do anything to break the social barrier.<br />
<br />
Then, at the very end of the year, I went to his "class showcase". During the showcase, they had a ribbon ceremony where each student was to be presented with an award.<br />
<br />
Almost all the students sat in a half circle on the floor, but James bee-lined towards a chair off to the side and behind the circle of kids. Johnny and I sat in chairs next to him and I felt, well, isolated and anxious. I thought about previous class presentations at his old school where James had (shyly) participated and everyone in the room understood and adored him.<br />
<br />
And the <i>What the Hell have I done </i>feeling started creeping back in to my head again as I looked around at the students, all talking excitedly and laughing with each other while James sat off to the side, his body half off the chair and pointed towards the door.<br />
<br />
My mind started to spin.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I just transferred a child with significant social and emotional challenges into a classroom of 23 ten year olds, most of whom have known each other since kindergarten. Nobody is going to get why he asks them all over and over again the same questions about big cats and exotic cars and runs laps around the playground. What if they don't take the time to get to understand him? What if the class is so big that they don't even notice him? It is so much bigger than any other classroom he has ever been in. </i><i>He's going to be lost. He's going to be remain invisible and fall through the cracks. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The ceremony started and the teachers took turns handing out awards to students. But these weren't the kind of awards I expected. Each award was read with enthusiasm and seemed of pick up on what was going to make each student feel incredibly special. I watched each student smile while jumping up to get his or her award.<br />
<br />
The class Fashionista. The Speller. The Student with Perfect Attendance. Most helpful. Most Enthusiastic Reader.<br />
<br />
As the awards continued, the students started guessing who the award was meant for. So when one of the teachers said "This student asks every day if we need help..." her voice was drowned out by 20+ kids yelling names and pointing and cheering. Even James started guessing and pointing.<br />
<br />
It. Was. Awesome.<br />
<br />
A few of the awards were prefaced with comments like: "This student is the fastest at math in the class" and "This student is always smiling".<br />
<br />
And at those descriptions, some students actually stood up and pointed towards us yelling "JAMES! I THINK IT'S JAMES!"<br />
<br />
It wasn't. Either time. But I found myself grinning. These kids, who had just met my son a few months ago, knew him. They knew he was good at math and they knew he always smiled.<br />
<br />
And then a few second later, it became crystal clear that not only did they know him, they actually GOT him.<br />
<br />
Because it was then that the teacher read the next award saying "This student can tell you anything and everything... about big cats" and the class went nuts calling James' name and jumping up and down and pointing to him.<br />
<br />
And the kid who hates to be the center of attention and tries so hard to be invisible was BEAMING WITH PRIDE.<br />
<br />
That was the moment I realized we were both going to be just fine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjs5-pjBdBhFebFm7Mcsyw_6GXCSJPl3ZkZTPPtZR8IoqK8BW4kA7WwnQkQ7bXZmReQnU2qhkYgVzItKJ3uzBEtPJrTFet7ta7EQLxiCyEcfk9vOhOzHCM7ucwZ-i4O3buZPlfB_pDwQ0a/s1600/Photo+Jul+06,+7+48+28+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjs5-pjBdBhFebFm7Mcsyw_6GXCSJPl3ZkZTPPtZR8IoqK8BW4kA7WwnQkQ7bXZmReQnU2qhkYgVzItKJ3uzBEtPJrTFet7ta7EQLxiCyEcfk9vOhOzHCM7ucwZ-i4O3buZPlfB_pDwQ0a/s1600/Photo+Jul+06,+7+48+28+PM.png" height="320" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James acknowledging his award as the class Big Cat Expert, with his brother Johnny by his side.<br />
Still shot of award acceptance video thanks to my dear friend O's mom, who had the foresight to film it because she knew it was going to be something I would want to watch. A lot. </td></tr>
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<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-47796069837051309692014-08-11T08:14:00.001-04:002014-08-11T08:14:58.539-04:00Sea LegsWhen I got the note from James' teachers saying that his class was going to participate in a week long work aboard program on a<a href="http://www.worldoceanschool.org/all-about-roseway/roseway-history" target="_blank"> historic schooner in Boston Harbor</a> I was completely thrilled.<br />
<br />
<i>What an amazing experience! What a fantastic way to spend an entire week!</i><br />
<br />
I was so excited for him to be able to do something so incredibly cool with his classmates. And then a split second later, I felt awful.<br />
<br />
I realized I was thinking about the experience as if <i>I</i> got to do it. Not him.<br />
<br />
I thought back to the time last summer or the one before when his Dad, his Uncle and his Godfather - three of the people he trusts most in the world - tried to get him to walk out on the giant concrete jetty at our beach. I was sitting at the end of the jetty with his younger brother Johnny, who ran and skipped all the way out and then was upset when I wouldn't let him climb on the jagged rocks at the end of it. But I wanted him to wait where James could see him standing there safe and sound.<br />
<br />
I watched as they tried to get James to take step after step. They formed a horseshoe around him, protecting him from every angle. They said all the right things. They did everything they could to show him it was safe. Johnny and I stood up and waved from the edge, and Johnny danced a bit to show him how much fun it was.<br />
<br />
He didn't even make it to the point where the jetty passed the shore line. He was terrified and miserable. I switched places and walked back with James to sit on a bench at the side of the road while the guys sat with Johnny for a few more minutes, because Johnny didn't want to leave.<br />
<br />
And I thought about how James' amazing OT had to work so hard to get him to take his feet off of solid ground. Ladders, swings, ball pits, playscapes. All the things that most kids his age loved were the same that he was completely terrified of. Years of work helped him get to a place where he could climb and run around on a play structure without complete fear. But I still need to be there and vigilant, because if he feels trapped at any point, he can't recover. Anything that sways or swings is still forbidden.<br />
<br />
And he was about to go on a ship for 5 days in a row. ALL day long for 5 days.<br />
<br />
When I saw his new teachers the next day and they asked me what James would be able to handle and what they could do to support him, I told them I was concerned it would be difficult to get him to go on the ship (and maybe possibly even the dock) but I wanted him to try. I would do whatever I could, but I thought it might be better if I wasn't involved and he tried it with his new class.<br />
<br />
We decided to play it day by day. We'd send him on Monday and see how it went. His teachers created a social story for James to read about what to expect on the ship. One of the teachers would stay with him if he wouldn't go on the ship, but they were going to see what they could encourage him to do with his class.<br />
<br />
I readied myself to drive down to the harbor to pick him up, and to keep him home the rest of the week. His teachers promised to update me by text throughout the day.<br />
<br />
And then I got this picture the first day.<br />
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And these the second day.<br />
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He did it. He went OUT ON A DOCK AND THEN ON A SHIP and he tied knots and he even climbed on some of the rigging (I'm not allowed to show the photo to anyone per his request although it is my favorite of all - you see the rigging, and the Roseway instructor up on the rigging demonstrating what to do and where to place your feet, and James about to take his foot off the deck and place it to climb with one of his teachers standing right behind him, her hands up for support).<br />
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He did it. He did it ALL.krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-7051246623589060312014-07-06T10:05:00.000-04:002014-07-06T10:05:45.299-04:00Prelude to a PostI haven't been here for a while, and I've missed it.<br />
<br />
I love this blog. You have no idea how much it means to me that you even take the time to read these posts, but I'm selfish. I definitely write this more for me than for anyone else. It is incredibly empowering and cathartic to sort through my feelings and write it all here. What started out as a small month long autism awareness project has morphed into something I care about deeply and am very proud of. I don't think I'd be the same person I am today if I hadn't taken my friend's advice a few years back and started to write this journal.<br />
<br />
But I've been feeling a little bit stuck lately.<br />
<br />
I've always been completely honest about my family's life while sharing these few carefully chosen snapshots, and I try to only post things that I feel are respectful towards everyone in my family. James especially.<br />
<br />
James has never liked receiving attention of any kind or being singled out, and I get that. Boy, do I get that. But apparently I am that mom that is always there with my phone ready to take a picture and tell the world what great task he has just accomplished, and because of that I've made him even more self-conscious and he has started asking me not to share specific things. Like basically anything great he does, which sucks because he does a lot of really great things. He does a lot of annoying things too (because he is 11) but most of the things he says and does I want to record and keep with me forever and ever. And share with the entire world.<br />
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So, I stopped writing here publicly while I tried to figure out how to keep sharing these stories that mean so much to me while knowing that he is uncomfortable having people talk about him in general.<br />
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I've finally decided that as long as I continue to write in a respectful way and not project my own feelings on to my boys, I still can share things about my life and my family from my own perspective in this journal. I trust myself to only share the stories that both my boys will be happy to read when they are older. I want them to have the opportunity to read my journal as adults - to see themselves as I see them and read the words I use to describe them.<br />
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After being gone for such a long time, I feel like I'm kind of starting over here. And I'm excited to start again because I have a lot of stories to fill these pages.krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-39509882361668350662014-01-13T19:44:00.003-05:002014-01-13T19:44:25.243-05:00Moment of Truth Monday - "That's Not Very Smart!"The boys were just looking over Johnny's Scholastic Book Order Form - it's one of their favorite things to do each month and they get as excited as they do when they look at the Target Christmas Catalog.<br />
<br />
They each have different colored markers to make sure I am very sure of what they each want. James needs his to be darker and then also puts his initials next to everything he wants, even if Johnny marks it too, just so he can make sure he calls first dibs on it when it arrives.<br />
<br />
The funny part about this monthly ritual is that James <i>hates </i>reading. It is a struggle every day to get him to open a book. The only books I can even get him to look at on his own are about wild cats or types of cars, and even then he continually complains that "reading always takes so long".<br />
<br />
So I always get a kick out of listening to James give unsolicited book reviews to his brother based on the title or the picture on the front of the book. Tonight he gave such advice like "You don't want to read that! That kid is FLAT!" and "How can a WORM keep a DIARY?"<br />
<br />
Then Johnny asked what "That is NOT a Good Idea" was about, and I answered from the kitchen that maybe it was a book about people doing things that they shouldn't have and caused problems because of it, thinking to myself that maybe it was like a watered-down kids' version of the Darwin Awards.<br />
<br />
And all of a sudden James got really excited and yelled "YEAH MOM! Like Jack!"<br />
<br />
Sure he was about to tell on his cousin Jackson for some random thing half a year ago, I bit my lip and asked what he meant.<br />
<br />
"That kid Jack, who jumped over the candlestick! That was NOT very smart AT ALL!"<br />
<br />
Maybe he really <i>is </i>reading some books on his own after all...krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-23009184299322003202013-11-28T22:23:00.005-05:002014-01-13T19:48:12.680-05:00The Monkey Who Hated Gaijin<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2143" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2142">It was the first Thanksgiving I was spending away from home. My friends and I had our first 3 day holiday since arriving on the island of Kyushu, Japan as conversational English teachers, so we decided to take our first real road trip together to Mt. Sakurajima, a very cool and <i>very </i>active volcano.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sakurajima-san</td></tr>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2145">Since we didn't have much money, we decided to stay in a "Love Hotel". They were super secretive hotels all over the place that charged by the hour (akin to the 4 hour short stay at the Grantmoore on the Berlin Turnpike, just without the jacuzzi and champagne). They usually had names like "Hotel Liberty" or "Hotel USA" </span></div>
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My favorite love hotel name of all time was called "Hotel 2 in 1".</div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2148">A visit to a love hotel was an adventure in itself. It worked like this; You would drive through a giant flap (like at a car wash) and into a darkened underground private parking space. They thought of everything to ensure your privacy: you could even place a barrier in front of your car to hide your license plate. You pay in advance for the number of hours you intend to stay by putting money in a vacuum tube that gets sent to the office like a bank drive-through and then the tube returns back to you with a room key so you can walk directly up private stairs into your room.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2151">Ideally, you would never have to see anyone during your entire check-in or stay, but if don't think the love hotels' usual clientele included threesomes of 21 year old American girls who can't read instructions written in kanji or speak or understand any Japanese. Inevitably, and much to our amusement, we always ended up playing charades with the incredibly confused love hotel office workers. This made love hotels a staple and a highlight of our travels during the year.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2154">So after staying up late with giggling fits at "Hotel White House", we hit the road early the next morning to head to the volcano. We were winding down a road through a forest and saw a lone car parked on the side of the road. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2194">And then I spotted it.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">"MONKEY!" I yelled, having become recently obsessed with the ones who swung limb to limb in my calligraphy </span></span>sensei's<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"> backyard. I watched them with amusement while practicing the same words "bride" and "wedding" over and over again (Sensei said he wanted to make sure I got the most important words perfected first). Apparently I was bit slow to catch on to the technique as a left </span></span>hander<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"> being forced to paint with the right because I swear I worked on those two words all year long.</span></span></div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2192" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2191">We pulled over and got out of the car, and watched as the man fed a monkey by hand. I was entranced. I was watching someone feed a wild monkey on the side of the road in the middle of a forest in rural Southern Japan. </span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2190" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2156" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2189">On Thanksgiving Day.</span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2157" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2159" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2158">The monkey was curious, and stopped begging for snacks to check out us newcomers. He didn't seem phased as he looked at my friends so we inched a little closer. As we approached, he seemed to notice me. Or more specifically, he noticed my hair. </span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXst5Rg0KRr0Iaas1S6NWM0X-D7qj0UxqiXNalcLhXGa_HlU-wFtKA71-a-IpGqTGdv_RZqyUwxBw11SSM9EpjesIJ56FD3_j6_T3iPDjmZUPkPDkaYX4QXtua0EqOzlA2EJzv496OG7kM/s1600/leaving+for+Japan+001+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXst5Rg0KRr0Iaas1S6NWM0X-D7qj0UxqiXNalcLhXGa_HlU-wFtKA71-a-IpGqTGdv_RZqyUwxBw11SSM9EpjesIJ56FD3_j6_T3iPDjmZUPkPDkaYX4QXtua0EqOzlA2EJzv496OG7kM/s1600/leaving+for+Japan+001+(2).jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my sister the night I left for Japan. </td></tr>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2160" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2161" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2188">My long, very blond hair. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2163">He shrieked at the top of his lungs, and ran up into the top of the man's car. Then he took a running leap.</span></div>
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RIGHT. AT. ME.</div>
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Stunned, I pushed him off.</div>
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Everyone started at me and my friends were laughing. I think one of them started to ask "what the..." but she never got to finish because the monkey had turned and beelined back to the top of the car again. </div>
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I backpedaled quickly as he once more got a running, jumping, flying start and leaped across the air to land on me and SINK HIS TEETH RIGHT INTO MY FOREARM!</div>
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My friend screamed "It's your hair! The monkey hates blonds!" as we ran to get back into the car while the Japanese man was doubled over, laughing hysterically and yelling "<i>Gaijin</i>!" (foreigner).</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2165" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2170">So as soon as we composed ourselves, we took a detour to find an international phone so we could call our friends and family to tell them happy Thanksgiving and share our story about the monkey who hated <i>Gaijin</i>. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2168">And as much as I couldn't wait to go climb the active volcano (the entire reason for our trip), the love hotel and the wild monkey who bit my arm by the side of the road are the most vivid memories I have of that road trip, and they are a reminder that it's often the unscripted, unplanned and undocumented moments that are the ones we end up remembering and appreciating most. </span></div>
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Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy ALL the moments. </div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2166" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
xoxo </div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1385693294200_2166" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
Kris</div>
krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-84774683139527049362013-11-25T11:26:00.000-05:002013-11-25T11:26:36.042-05:00The Truth About MondaysJames nailed it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkENzTuSzcMCXjQgn6JXe2PMgKYmMKWvBO_bhfzVITVjo5WVSiel0d70SqXhyIIR1v91cMdY9Y3C4tQxMdlUt7g31gJZ6y_2Ic8PiyVs03Iox642xIH-8d89zMum10O7UE4Fhuog5iNchm/s1600/James+Monday+sentence+001+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkENzTuSzcMCXjQgn6JXe2PMgKYmMKWvBO_bhfzVITVjo5WVSiel0d70SqXhyIIR1v91cMdY9Y3C4tQxMdlUt7g31gJZ6y_2Ic8PiyVs03Iox642xIH-8d89zMum10O7UE4Fhuog5iNchm/s400/James+Monday+sentence+001+(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-87497124460157943332013-11-16T13:57:00.002-05:002013-11-16T20:15:01.252-05:00Coming Back to our NeighborhoodI love James' school with my whole heart, and I love everyone who has supported him over the past 3 years. I can not even begin to adequately express the gift that James and our family have been given as a result of being part of this incredible inclusive community. I never anticipated having this opportunity in our large city school district and I've always felt like I won the lottery by receiving this placement. After years of having to advocate tirelessly and switch schools yearly, this school offered exactly what James and our family needed. Johnny has been on the waiting list for over a year and I've been eagerly anticipating having both boys together at this amazing school through 12th grade.<br />
<br />
But James has been struggling with school more and more each year. Not THIS school, just school in general.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>ELA ruins my life</i>, he cries to me.<i> I want to stay home. I can't go to school because I will be gone from you for too long. I feel sick. Johnny's school is closer. He doesn't get as much work as me. </i><i>I want to move where there is no school.</i><i> I can't breathe because I'm thinking about school. I feel sick in the car. I can't ride in it anymore, I need to get air. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
This is what he tells me every morning during our hour long drive to drop Johnny off at his school and then cross the city to James'. Every day I see him blink repeatedly to stop the tears as he gets out of the car to go into the building.<br />
<br />
And every day my heart breaks for him and I wonder if it is all worth it.<br />
<br />
So last week I stopped wondering.<br />
<br />
I transferred James into a school in our own neighborhood. He starts on Monday. It is also a fully inclusive school and my friends who have kids there feel as strongly about their school as we do about the one we are coming from. I know we will have a lot of support from both the community we are leaving and the one we are joining.<br />
<br />
But there will still be ELA (English language arts). School will still take up most of his day away from home. It is going to be a really big transition and there will be blinking to hold back tears. It is going to be hard at first.<br />
<br />
However, I think it will get easier, and I know that knowing he is 5 minutes from home instead of 45 will make a major difference for James. I know that being able to have friends who live around the corner come to our house after school is going to be a game changer for him.<br />
<br />
And that's definitely worth it.<br />
<br />
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<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-23965800659253033272013-11-03T09:19:00.002-05:002013-11-03T11:55:42.565-05:00Why I KnockYou know me, right? I've always completely avoided discussing any issue where there is the slightest chance of conflict. I feel uncomfortable telling people that they should believe something other than they do, especially people I don't know very well.<br />
<br />
So the absolute hardest thing ever for me is exactly how I've spent much of my free time for half a year now.<br />
<br />
I've been talking to strangers about politics.<br />
<br />
I am spending all my free time walking around Boston neighborhoods (alone usually), knocking on the doors of people I've never met before and making them stop whatever important task they are doing so I can ask them to vote for<a href="http://www.connollyforboston.com/" target="_blank"> John Connolly for Mayor</a>.<br />
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The first time I went out, I held my breath at every door. If nobody answered, I exhaled with relief. If they did answer, and said they weren't interested, I apologized for bothering them, said thank you and went on my way. I didn't even try to change their mind. But about 15 doors in, something pretty awesome happened. The woman who answered the door said she didn't know much about John, and asked me a few questions.<br />
<br />
Then she paused for a minute, looked at me curiously, and asked "Why are you doing this?"<br />
<br />
All of a sudden, I wasn't nervous anymore. And I told her this story:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When James was 5, he was in his 3rd school in 4 years. The only reason he wasn't 4 for 4 was because we held him back so he wouldn't switch schools. Each time he switched, he lost half a year trying to just trying to adjust. The IEP team had mapped out his next move, and it meant another 2 schools in 2 years. Then he could stay for 3 years but would have to switch again after that. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Our school district didn't have many inclusion pathways. It was kindergarten in one school, then 1st and 2nd in another. The kids for whom transition is the hardest are the ones who had to move the most.</blockquote>
I paused, thinking she was probably starting to tune out, but she was listening intently.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
After visiting every inclusion school in the entire city, I found 1 in which James would be able to thrive, and I spent a year advocating to get him placed there. John Connolly heard what had happened and wanted to make sure no other family had to go through that. He held a Education Committee hearing on inclusion and encouraged parents to speak about our experiences. He used the hearing to passionately implore BPS to develop set inclusion pathways. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And he didn't stop there. He had his staff members attend SpedPac meetings. He approached my autism moms group and asked if he could meet with us to learn more. He listened to us and asked thoughtful questions. He asked what he could do to help us. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I'm out here today, I told her, because he is out there for all of us every day.</blockquote>
And then she hugged me. She told me that it meant a lot to her that I would share my story, and she understood how much it meant to me that he be elected. She thanked me for telling her, and said she would make a point to learn more about him.<br />
<br />
I've been telling my story since April, and every single person has had the same reaction as that first woman. And many have told me their own story of how John helped a friend, or returned a call immediately, or listened and offered a solution. As the year went on, that first knock turned from a moment of fear and apprehension into one of curious anticipation. Those strangers became neighbors, and talking politics turned into talking about how to make Boston a better place.<br />
<br />
This is why I knock.<br />
<br />
Election Day is in just 2 days, on November 5. For the first time in 20 years, Boston will elect a new Mayor. We have 3 full days to make a difference. If you can spare an hour, I'd love to have you walk with me and talk to our neighbors about making Boston better. Please join me!<br />
<br />
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<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-16695385282736327832013-09-04T15:40:00.001-04:002013-09-04T16:24:18.059-04:00Wordless Wednesday- Here We Go Again...<br /><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/108008067219258103722/October52012#5919855006211212802'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpQOAqJCWRQ84zhxh1YW3jfnmwIlulC6jxSMwnyiLaLD2wWqWrUbofP__KlYhyphenhyphenjq7YtOYo9l3-HHwFp0TUNy5DZY5Wn23jqzA5XtG15Z6P76lDGRi0CrgE342SLGmuZiDCB2AygtF0yb_/s288/1378323565.150605.jpg' border='0' width='219' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br /><br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-68991954539309793222013-09-02T21:21:00.001-04:002013-09-02T23:18:32.664-04:00Moment of Truth Monday - All Done<div>
<div>
One summer before the kids were born, we went camping just about every weekend. At the end of the summer, a group of us were driving home on Labor Day and decided to stop off at a random lake along the road. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
We swam, played Frisbee, and then sat around relaxing and drinking a few well concealed beers. I remember we weren't talking very much - we were just soaking up as much of the afternoon sun as we could.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then all of a sudden, a friend looked at his watch, then stood up and said "Well, that's it. Summer's over." We declared him a "complete buzz kill", but we all knew he was right, so we just got up and gathered our stuff to continue the ride home.</div>
</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Labor Day is a frustrating holiday to me. I put pressure on myself to get as much out of the day as possible, knowing it is considered the last hurrah before "real life" starts again, but as much as I try to suck out of the day, I can never fully enjoy it because I don't want to let go of Summer's freedom.</span><br />
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So today, after driving 1 1/2 hours home from our weekend trip and finally dealing with the school supply shopping I'd put off until the last possible minute, I was frustrated and felt the need to go to our pool one last time. The boys didn't want to go, but I convinced Johnny saying his BFF would be there and it would be the last swim of the summer with his friends. </div>
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We were late, and his friend was leaving as we walked in. Actually, most everyone was leaving. I thought Johnny would be upset that none of his friends were there, but he seemed completely fine and jumped right in.</div>
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"Watch me do this handstand underwater Mama!" </div>
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I'm going to do the obstacle course! Time me!"</div>
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"Mom, here are my goggles. I'm going down the waterslide!"</div>
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I watched him play happily, and I thought about how I had stressed to him before we went that it would be "the last time for the summer". </div>
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I wondered why I felt the need to make sure he knew this afternoon had to be any different than all the others he spent playing at the pool. He clearly didn't feel any pressure to make a big deal out of it, he was just playing. Like any other summer day. </div>
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Knowing that standardized testing, homework, harried schedules and all things completely out of his control are coming up in the next few weeks, why would I try to make him start thinking about anything other than enjoying summer?</div>
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So I turned my chair towards the afternoon sun, and sat back and read my book, and I let him go. </div>
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About 1/2 hour later, he walked up to me and said "I'm all done Mom. I'm ready". </div>
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I got up and gathered our stuff and we walked out together. Pausing at the front desk, we said goodbye and thank you to the staff we had seen almost every day this summer. And as we walked away, Johnny turned back one last time and announced to us all: "I can't wait for school to start Wednesday! It is going to be awesome!"<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">And THAT was a great way to end Labor Day. For both of us.</span><br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-63706105932627273632013-08-22T10:44:00.001-04:002013-08-22T10:54:34.352-04:00Searching for a FriendI'm searching for a friend. Maybe you've seen her?<br />
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I haven't met her yet, but I have an idea what she looks like. James reminds me incessantly of my mission. She is 2. She is not too big or too small - she is just the right size. She is black (well, it is ok if she is mostly black.)<br />
<br />
I know what she will do. It's all very clear. She will run around a lot and do silly things. She will play with James and Johnny in the yard. Mostly she will be with James. She will sleep with him and comfort him when he wakes up anxious in the middle of the night. She will be there when he needs a friend to talk to or sit quietly with.<br />
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And she will completely ignore both cats.<br />
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I definitely know what she WON'T do. She absolutely will not eat Fluffy, Johnny's almost real stuffed kitty. She won't eat any of Fluffy's friends either. And of course she won't bark, jump, nip or whine too much. She won't mind sharing James and Johnny with a houseful of friends jumping and screaming and laughing and playing, and she won't get nervous when kids flap or make sudden noises or run back and forth across the room like squirrels.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I know. Good luck, right???<br />
<br />
But here's the thing. Years ago, we noticed that James' mind stopped racing and his anxiety was visibly decreased when he was around dogs. Big dogs. Labs. He immediately went from completely out of sorts to calm and relaxed just by petting a dog. But with two older cats in the house, a less than enthusiastic husband and a skittish younger brother, getting a dog for James wasn't a viable option. I tried to push it for a while, and then gave up.</div>
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James didn't however. His interest in dogs grew over the years. He started asking to drive by the off leash park on the way to school, and he kept a mental inventory of what kinds of dogs played there and when. James delighted in playing with friends' dogs. He would empty a huge basket of tennis balls all over the back yard for one lucky lab each time we went over to their house, giggling and flapping as Buddy would chase each one. He would go across the street just to pet Lola, and run back and forth in front of our neighbor's yard so their German Shepherd could run along side.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And then this past July we went to visit my sister and nephews in California. That story in pictures to come soon (I promise) but for now I need to focus on the task at hand. Because for three magical weeks, this is what I watched:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_pllVj4MywnPBJa43DbTZW0ylAMismccX8Cg3y9d7BZbLzDpezn9lyZxW83wMUJ8K2ybHGO36ci4uhdapgfIPeNni1x4W8ZQIEQQ1t5NiZ0G7d_VUCmHi1spKWgNaWL5LOMy6Spsj6wG/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_pllVj4MywnPBJa43DbTZW0ylAMismccX8Cg3y9d7BZbLzDpezn9lyZxW83wMUJ8K2ybHGO36ci4uhdapgfIPeNni1x4W8ZQIEQQ1t5NiZ0G7d_VUCmHi1spKWgNaWL5LOMy6Spsj6wG/s320/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gypsy. James' new best friend.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyfRXsjsBkvNsNh8uOoRtcLd9tvywO0WRYgLNai2BzpTrSADgXtIYKYr8X4n-AOFzjvMNO2FzbKFX7-rR8P-mT-IWa3zD73QX4r32EHrjpqUjictm9erI5p6eaoSznYGKWJejjD-GDJgz/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyEB9iefmd4f8C8g1QinRlkEoQnk1FV5-9AyKnADtT61V5d7bM9O00b54VdLoFupvdkLn7LdlyEaioUxgx1D_g6u4nP4-WweMTeF7aSdMVbgowZKGa-3om4XOBhCzsp-BCDhT1cNqW22-/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyEB9iefmd4f8C8g1QinRlkEoQnk1FV5-9AyKnADtT61V5d7bM9O00b54VdLoFupvdkLn7LdlyEaioUxgx1D_g6u4nP4-WweMTeF7aSdMVbgowZKGa-3om4XOBhCzsp-BCDhT1cNqW22-/s320/photo+(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johnny isn't skittish any more!</td></tr>
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<br />
We've been back for more than a month and now both boys are constantly begging for a dog. James is stopping dog owners with a barrage of questions about age, breed, silliness level and bark frequency. All data is compared to Gypsy, his new best friend benchmark. The deer-in-the-headlight look I see in each of those unsuspecting people turns into amusement and understanding when I explain that James very much wants a dog. James rushes to explain EXACTLY what his dog will be like and that look becomes one of thoughtful mentor as each provides details, encouragement and (thankfully) responsible advice.<br />
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Having a dog is going to be a big adjustment for our family, and I know it is going to take a lot of time and care to find her, but I am lucky to have friends with a lot more experience and insight than I do who immediately stepped up and are helping me search. With their help, and with yours (if you know the dog described above who is waiting for an adoring new best friend) we'll find her.<br />
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And this new friendship is going to be totally worth it.<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-40318388400392465062013-04-04T19:18:00.004-04:002013-04-04T21:26:27.358-04:00Mixing Martinis and Fire Pits is a Very Good Idea. If...On World Autism Awareness Day, I wrote <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2013/04/following-leader.html" target="_blank">a post about why I wasn't going to put out a blue light on our stoop</a>. James gets really upset when attention is drawn towards him and he is just starting to understand what having autism means. I don't want him to feel at all uncomfortable while we navigate together through uncharted waters.<br />
<br />
I do, however, know how important it is for our children with autism to have the same opportunities as all the other kids in our community. And I know all too well how necessary it is for me to have time away with my friends to relax and unwind, so I can continue to be the best mom to James and Johnny that I can.<br />
<br />
So when the chance came to spend the evening raising money for students with autism just by hanging out with my <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-dmac-found-my-voice.html" target="_blank">D'MAC friends</a> drinking martinis at our de facto clubhouse... well, it was like all the stars had aligned.<br />
<br />
A few years ago, folks from the <a href="http://www.ymcaboston.org/westroxbury/westroxbury-giving/annual-fund" target="_blank">West Roxbury YMCA</a> approached us and asked how they could help. I'm not sure that at the time they realized how loaded a question that was. We had kids who couldn't participate in general swim classes and in many of the programs offered in our community. Our kids were missing out on some great opportunities to actively socialize. For some of us, the hours after school were the most difficult. Our autistic children needed constant direction and guidance and behaviors always seem to be more challenging when they get home after a long and frustrating day at school, but all our other children needed our attention also. Many of us felt like we were not doing enough for any of our kids.<br />
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We poured our hearts and our ideas out to the Y. They listened. They understood. And then they created an incredible program.<br />
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We now have an open swim and open gym where our kids can play and relax and just be themselves, in a safe and judgment free environment. Most importantly, we have an after school program with a ton of volunteers who take the students swimming and do OT based play. <br />
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These programs provide incredible and much needed opportunities for our children, and for us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YKMopuei3KsQ0KioK0SI2cR-pgmLquyHDnEea26ASDxwHSv_w9r0G-RR2Ie54y6tpnkD2ZqOr0AAAztd60K8qKSskZPiveq0Pj1j0theEAM7Glo4wYxpXTb0Lobyrx5f2FSzXTogLnT-/s1600/blue+spectrum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YKMopuei3KsQ0KioK0SI2cR-pgmLquyHDnEea26ASDxwHSv_w9r0G-RR2Ie54y6tpnkD2ZqOr0AAAztd60K8qKSskZPiveq0Pj1j0theEAM7Glo4wYxpXTb0Lobyrx5f2FSzXTogLnT-/s1600/blue+spectrum.jpg" /></a>So the fabulous Sonia and Joe Garufi at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sophias-Grotto/69370533996?v=wall" target="_blank">Sophia's Grotto</a> decided to give back to the Y. They created a drink special called the Blue Spectrum Martini, and all proceeds from sales of this drink go directly to the Y's after school autism program. And they didn't stop there. They got some absolutely incredible raffle items donated by their generous vendors, including a night at the Colonnade in Back Bay, a case of Italian wine and a fire pit filled with bottles of gin and vodka! I almost feel like I shouldn't be telling you this because I want to win so badly, but I'll do it for the kids I guess...<br />
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<br />
If you've ever been to the Grotto, you'll understand why it's been my favorite restaurant since even before I was lucky enough to count Sonia and Joey as friends. If you haven't yet been to the little hidden gem in Rosi Village, you need to go. NOW. THIS WEEKEND.<br />
<br />
The Blue Spectrum Martini and raffles will be featured until Sunday 4/7 (raffle drawing is Sunday evening.)<br />
You'll leave the Grotto content after a delicious meal and happy you were able to help by having a fun night out. And you might even leave with a fire pit filled with bottles of vodka!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwidcEEeEjHiTpTVBlmfIAcWfh7JqkVZVcmeKB1Av6mXyLXTic4k5ANyBEbb3HAtnqtxVOA-vEjAppF5h18XPWqZTfHE0fJfHDM6xTzsegfoPpZeCZQTwgK2eme-JbrM1oOwN49WTaxFnj/s1600/DMAC+blue+spectrum+bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwidcEEeEjHiTpTVBlmfIAcWfh7JqkVZVcmeKB1Av6mXyLXTic4k5ANyBEbb3HAtnqtxVOA-vEjAppF5h18XPWqZTfHE0fJfHDM6xTzsegfoPpZeCZQTwgK2eme-JbrM1oOwN49WTaxFnj/s320/DMAC+blue+spectrum+bar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">D'MAC helping Steve make Blue Spectrum Martinis</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASuyHz4iECIxdnfg5era8iRC7B6gi8mxLkq9LLURt8AyHx2emQouV7-Cq2tsjQ7qDz_xzs4hhPi_H_9d46bn3HBLpEb2Rvz3D-BuN9IrRlM1LlGQoRNrhpM3cCK6vzQNYyA2mya_xRyBw/s1600/grotto+raffle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASuyHz4iECIxdnfg5era8iRC7B6gi8mxLkq9LLURt8AyHx2emQouV7-Cq2tsjQ7qDz_xzs4hhPi_H_9d46bn3HBLpEb2Rvz3D-BuN9IrRlM1LlGQoRNrhpM3cCK6vzQNYyA2mya_xRyBw/s640/grotto+raffle.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wicked Awesome Raffles. For the kids, right?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3cVTvdi3CWuQKARA_Fygbyxbp5rRaDF4_u-jBvtCJwCN0RDiTvL7qy1mkWq5wSWuq-p0FJl1_Mty4v9a33_2pHRbXZpsyHn67ZGtgM7XY_K_8mKzf8u-sufovJh9cNmspT8Y9VnzeDu7/s1600/kristin_beth2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3cVTvdi3CWuQKARA_Fygbyxbp5rRaDF4_u-jBvtCJwCN0RDiTvL7qy1mkWq5wSWuq-p0FJl1_Mty4v9a33_2pHRbXZpsyHn67ZGtgM7XY_K_8mKzf8u-sufovJh9cNmspT8Y9VnzeDu7/s320/kristin_beth2.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just doing my part. For the kids...</td></tr>
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-40402746083408154212013-04-02T12:15:00.001-04:002013-04-02T14:59:40.026-04:00Following the LeaderHe was two. Although it was still a bit light outside, it was way past his bedtime and he was exhausted. We all were.<br />
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We couldn't figure out why he was so out of sorts. He seemed fine until we started trying to put him to bed, but each time we tried to put him in his crib he started screaming. He was trying to wriggle out of our hold. The closer we tried to hold him to console him, the more upset he got and the more he fought to get away.<br />
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He kept going for the front door. He needed to go outside. I tried to think of what we had done that day that might have set him off. Nope, nothing different. We did an inventory check of all the things he carried around. Everything was where it should be. Nothing was missing. Nothing was left out in the yard. <br />
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He kept trying to get past his dad blocking the door. We couldn't redirect him. We couldn't calm him.<br />
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We had no idea what it was that he was looking for, but we knew he wasn't going to calm down until he got whatever it was.<br />
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Finally, we gave up and opened the door. He bolted outside and went straight for the front gate.<br />
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Tony followed him. I stayed with baby Johnny and waited.<br />
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James went across the street to our friends'. Tony explained that he had no idea why, but James needed to come over and he now wanted to go in their house. They all watched James run through their house and out the back sliding door to their backyard. He bee-lined for the Little Tykes slide and went straight down.<br />
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And his face changed. In the 2 seconds it took to slide to the bottom, he became calm. He allowed Tony to pick him up and he rested against his dad as he was carried home. He laid down in his crib, relaxed. <br />
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I realized that night that James was the only one who knew what he needed, so we should follow his lead.<br />
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Last year I asked all my friends to wear blue for Autism Awareness Day and think of James. I put a blue light on our front stoop and left it up for the entire month. I put a puzzle piece magnet on my car. I wrote a <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2012/04/raising-autism-awareness-and-empathy.html" target="_blank">post</a> about what I thought we could do to educate others about autism. I did all the things I thought I should do as James' mom to help raise awareness and understanding. <br />
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But I realize now that I was thinking more about what I needed last year than what James needed. I wasn't following James' lead.<br />
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James has never liked to receive any attention. At all. He has always hated when we said "good job" to him or praised him, no matter how great the accomplishment. I think it puts too much pressure on him, but I don't know for sure. He's never told me why. <br />
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Lately his little brother has been talking about autism. I'm happy that Johnny is trying to understand it better, but James gets really upset when Johnny brings it up and he tells us in no uncertain terms to stop talking about it.<br />
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I'm trying to help James navigate it all without telling him how to feel. I don't know how much he understands because he doesn't want to talk about it, but I can tell it is on his radar. Out of the blue the other day James asked if his friend has autism. When I said yes, he told me that was good because we could bring the friend to our autism open swim at the local YMCA. It is little glimpses like this that confirm we are on the right track. It all just needs to be in his own time, and it needs to come from him.<br />
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I should follow James' lead on all of this. I want to make sure that I don't try to speak for him, because he has his own voice. And it is getting stronger every day.<br />
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So for Autism Awareness month, I am not going to draw attention to James by having a magnet on my car or shining a blue light on our front stoop. I will continue to support my son and quietly watch to see which slide he chooses to go down next. And I will follow his lead.<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-55717252505894723072013-03-14T08:00:00.000-04:002013-03-14T14:44:16.266-04:00Quirky Quips & Backseat Banter - Presidential DisqualifiersThe public inclusion school that James attends in our district is second to none. After he was moved around to 3 different schools in the first 4 years, I fought like hell to get him into this one. It is the only school that is able offer the small and nurturing environment he needs to feel safe as well as the social, emotional and academic support he needs to be able to thrive. AND it goes through 12th grade.<br />
<br />
Three years later, I still feel like I won the lottery every day. <br />
<br />
They have an incredible (and FREE!) after-school program with fun activities focused on improving social skills. As much as James dislikes school work and being away from home, he has asked to stay late every day this year to participate in the after-school program.<br />
<br />
Unbelievable, right? There must be a catch. Right? <br />
<br />
There's <i>always</i> a catch...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWwI30kMXgSkTsROEV-L6wUoEqFxLsisobV-VzfYDLg9nOFdiXT_ciMa_eA1YCsry4foponcOB44smR_W8atVYc_doKT2bpyh2n3NRA-xZW_dI-uzOTQ5IWN4xkUCvvBb6Xnafn17YkJt/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWwI30kMXgSkTsROEV-L6wUoEqFxLsisobV-VzfYDLg9nOFdiXT_ciMa_eA1YCsry4foponcOB44smR_W8atVYc_doKT2bpyh2n3NRA-xZW_dI-uzOTQ5IWN4xkUCvvBb6Xnafn17YkJt/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a>It is clear across the city from where I live, so driving home at rush hour is a nightmare. Luckily there are a handful of kids from our side of town who go to school together, so my friend Patty and I set up an "after after-school" carpool to get them all home.<br />
<br />
As you can imagine, if you drive a bunch of kids who have just been released after 8 hours of following rules and behaving in school and who are now crammed together in the back seat of a car to be stuck in traffic for 30 - 45 minutes, you are bound to get some pretty awesome sound bites. <br />
<br />
Especially if most of those kids are literal thinkers who happen to be on the autism spectrum.<br />
<b></b><br />
Patty was lucky enough to be driving the day of this fabulous interaction. She is also lucky she didn't pee her pants laughing...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Sean: "Justin Bieber can't be President of the United States because he was born in Canada."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
James: "John Lennon can't be President either." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(slight pause) </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Because he's dead."</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(longer, seemingly reflective pause)</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Being dead is lame."</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
All kids in rare agreement: "yeah, it is SO lame!" </blockquote>
<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-28149905545708548122013-02-06T10:55:00.000-05:002013-02-06T11:05:55.034-05:00(Almost) Wordless Wednesday - How's Your View?A text conversation I had with my husband while I was away for the weekend with a few girlfriends consisted solely of the exchange of these two photos...<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-67373700756677300552013-01-26T15:04:00.000-05:002013-01-26T20:22:13.590-05:00The Surprise PartyI looked up startled.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>I didn't just hear his name. That couldn't be him in that picture.</i><br />
<br />
Not on the noon news. It was an alert for a missing child. <i>It couldn't be</i>. I played the clip again.<br />
<br />
12 year old boy. Dorchester. Aspergers. The picture didn't really look like the boy I knew on first glance. But when I looked again, I saw him. <br />
<br />
His name and an old photo. The police said he'd been missing since 8:30 am. I looked at the clock.<br />
<br />
12:05 pm. I thought about how cold it was outside. So cold that I was talking myself out of even going for a quick run a few minutes ago. I was hoping the weather person on the news would say it was better to stay in and I'd have an excuse. I never thought I'd hear this instead.<br />
<br />
I called his mom. No answer. I texted her: "I just saw on the news. I'm getting in my car now".<br />
<br />
I texted a few mutual friends as I threw on my jacket. Jeanette would jump in her car to go look. I privately posted to some ASD parents who I had been talking with earlier that morning. I told them I was freaking out. It is all of our worst fear. A child with autism missing. They asked if the
alert was on-line.<br />
<br />
"I don't know. I just saw it on the news. I
need to go help".<br />
<br />
Within 30 seconds, <a href="http://blogginglily.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jim </a>found the alert and posted the
link for me to put on my wall. They all shared it immediately on their
pages to their collective thousands of friends. <a href="http://trydefyinggravity.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Alysia </a>tweeted it and
got her own autism mama network out in Central MA ready to mobilize to Boston. <a href="http://www.mostlytruestuff.com/" target="_blank">Lexi </a>called from RI
wanting to drive up and help.<br />
<br />
I grabbed my phone charger and a cereal bar and headed out myself. The car seat was freezing. The steering wheel hurt my hands to grip, so I unfolded my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands to steer.<br />
<br />
<i>How could he be outside all morning? It is only 20 degrees and the wind is so strong it stings and makes your eyes water. The news said all he had on to protect him was a fleece jacket and a baseball hat</i>.<br />
<br />
I drove around his neighborhood, thinking about all the recent shootings in broad daylight. I looked in the few stores nearby. I went to the zoo. I went to the Boys and Girls Club and left his description and my cell phone number. I called two of my best friends. A police officer and an EMT for the city. Both <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-dmac-found-my-voice.html" target="_blank">D'MAC. Autism mamas</a>. <i>They </i>would know what to do. <i>They </i>would know where to look.<br />
<br />
His mom texted me back with details. They had an argument on the way to the bus stop and he ran from her. She thought he'd go back to his grandmother's house, but there's been no sign of him.<br />
<br />
"And it's T's birthday today. I can't tell him his brother is missing. He HAS to be home by the time T gets back from school".<br />
<br />
I called her immediately. "We'll find him." I promised. "What time does T get home?"<br />
<br />
I checked the clock. It was 1:30. I did the math in my head. I suddenly knew how to make something better, at least for now. At least for T.<br />
<br />
"Bring T to my house after school. We're having a birthday party."<br />
<br />
I called both my boys' schools saying something has come up and I would come get them early. I sped the 20 minutes to Johnny's school, grabbed him and went straight to the store. We ran up and down the aisles of Stop and Shop for 5 minutes, getting everything we would need for a kick-ass 9 year old boy party. Frozen pizzas, juice boxes. Cupcakes. Streamers. a ToysRUs gift card. Johnny picked out some streamer crackers and those little capsules you put in water that magically turn into sea creatures ("O-M-G" he yelled. "These are going to make the party totally awesome!")<br />
<br />
I texted Jeanette again in the check out line. Balloons. We need them. Can you bring them?<br />
<br />
I
got a text from Alysia saying that <a href="https://twitter.com/autismspeaks" target="_blank">Autism Speaks</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/hollyrpeete" target="_blank">Holly Robinson Peete</a> were asking if there was a clearer photo to tweet. I felt incredibly grateful, but the realization that they were helping almost knocked the breath out of me. I instantly thought of all the urgent RTs I had seen from them both, all about missing children with autism. I knew the instant feeling of dread and helplessness seeing those faces and hearing those descriptions that were so familiar and, oh god, hitting so close to home even though I had never met them. But this time, it was <i>my </i>village. This was one of <i>my </i>boys. This couldn't be happening.<br />
<br />
Johnny's excited monologue about the confetti crackers brought me back to where I needed to be, and I texted his mom to check for a photo while we walked quickly back to the car. <br />
<br />
On to James' school. We were cutting it close. It would take at least an hour to go across the city and back at this time of day. <br />
<br />
Arrived at James' school. He and his friend Sean looked confused when they were brought into the office. I told them we were throwing a party for T. Cheers and screams of delight echoed through the office. The school secretary, the teacher who got the boys and I all exchanged concerned glances while they danced with joy.<br />
<br />
Got home just in time to decorate the living room and make a sign for T, who was beyond thrilled when he arrived. Jeanette and I hugged his mom and sent her off before T saw her starting to tear up.<br />
<br />
They spent the afternoon playing Wii and Minecraft. They "made" their sea creatures and took turns firing confetti at each other. They ran around shooting each other with foam dart guns and laughing. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH06E015WLT3qhyOLhZNVa03CVCsNyyMvMn-7a44uDkZ90CyerCoPJ_t7AnaHTNW2q9HkSWtxRv16QepWUF-KJvB7kA30UW-i7_dcy5YbZSevWlQqx_AYVWeLjtgfAB8UHZPF0hVCcJ2p/s1600/theo+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH06E015WLT3qhyOLhZNVa03CVCsNyyMvMn-7a44uDkZ90CyerCoPJ_t7AnaHTNW2q9HkSWtxRv16QepWUF-KJvB7kA30UW-i7_dcy5YbZSevWlQqx_AYVWeLjtgfAB8UHZPF0hVCcJ2p/s320/theo+party.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you are so rushed you don't pay attention to the party games your 7 yr old picks out, <br />
you are bound to end up with something his sensory sensitive brother can't handle. Sorry James!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I fielded the continuous stream of texts, phone calls and FB tags asking for updates and offers to help.<br />
<br />
4:30...5:30...6:30...<br />
<br />
Time had never flown so fast, yet somehow everything was in slow motion. <br />
<br />
T yelled that he was having the best birthday ever. Jeanette and I both forced a smile and avoided each other's eyes.<br />
<br />
I stepped outside and called my officer friend back. What was the word? She gave me an update on how many officers and canine units were searching. I hugged myself for warmth and started shivering as she spoke. It was the coldest I'd felt all year and I was only outside for 2 minutes. My EMT friend texted me right after I got off the phone. She had questions, and she had ideas. What did I think?<br />
<br />
I checked the weather when I got inside. 18 degrees. Real feel below 0. No gloves. No hat. A fleece. He had been missing for almost 12 hours now.<br />
<br />
We had the pizza and cupcakes. Sean had to go home. There was homework to do. It was getting late.<br />
<br />
Tony got home from work and we got a text from my officer friend. A boy fitting his description was spotted at a pizza place, but was gone when officers arrived. Tony looked at me and grabbed the keys. I felt hopeful. If Tony saw him, it would be OK. He trusted Tony.<br />
<br />
1/2 hour later Tony came home alone. He checked every place in the plaza. Showed them a photo he took when they went to a basketball game last year that he kept on his phone. I couldn't believe I forgot about that. I called my first responder friends back. I have another photo. I'm sending it now. It might help.<br />
<br />
T announced that his mom was the greatest because she was letting him stay out so late. 8 pm on a school night was incredible even for his birthday. I laughed as I looked away and silently pleaded. <i>God please find him safe and bring him home. Now. Please.</i><br />
<br />
T's mom called. Still no word. Tony brought T home and I tried to help the boys with their homework. It was a disaster. I gave Johnny all the answers, and wrote everything out for James. I just needed things to be easy. James got upset because he was supposed to read and it was already so late and he was going to be on yellow if he didn't do it. I promised him we would read in the morning, knowing that I would just mark it down. I had to do it. I needed them to go to sleep happy.<br />
<br />
My EMT friend called just as I got James tucked in with his weighted blanket for the 3rd time. Her brother, a police officer, was working the case. They were trying to think of where he would go based on what her own son with autism might do if he was out there. I couldn't imagine having to consider my own child missing as part of my job to try and save people on a regular basis. I realized then she had 100 x the strength I already thought she had.<br />
<br />
Tony got home after talking to T's mom. Still no word. I heated up leftovers and had at most 2 bites.<br />
<br />
While I furiously exchanged texts with all our friends, we watched the 10:00 news. Banal meaningless snippets. Nothing. @Assignguy came on at about 10:25 with the same police alert photo and the same missing person announcement, and said he'd be back after the break with some other photos. I tweeted our recent photo to him. "I hope it helps" I said. He tweeted back immediately "Thanks. Trying to get the word out".<br />
<br />
I finally checked Facebook and Twitter and saw the incredible number of my friends and their friends who shared and commented and pleaded and prayed and offered to help search. I read <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Diary-of-a-Mom/310066991936?ref=ts&fref=ts" target="_blank">Diary of a Mom's</a> post with the link to the Boston Police Department and her message (to her almost 12,000 fans) saying "Please spread the word. This is OUR kid". Tears started flowing as I tried to write a response to all the people who were asking questions and sending prayers in the comments of her post. People I didn't know, but who were not strangers. They were all in my village. I needed to say something to them. I just didn't know what.<br />
<br />
And just as I was about to hit send on a comment saying "thank you for your prayers", my phone rang. It was the EMT. As soon as I answered, someone else called. It was my officer friend.<br />
<br />
"WE GOT HIM! HE IS SAFE!" <br />
<br />
And with those words, everything was suddenly OK, and it was just T's birthday again. The way it should have been all day.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<i>Note: I'm telling this story based solely on what it was like for me that day, because I can't even begin to comprehend what his family must have been going through. There were so many people who reached out to the family through me, or through Facebook and Twitter. People who had never met this family but offered to drive hours to come search in frigid weather, on city streets with a recent history of random shootings. It was a day during which both my real life village and my friends who live in my computer jumped to help out however best they could, and everyone I knew stopped in their tracks to figure out how to help a 12 year old boy get home. I'm fully aware that I am the luckiest person in the world to have such incredible people in my life. His mom is not on Facebook or Twitter, so she may not realize exactly how many people came together to help her son, or the extent to which her son's photo was shared and prayed over, but please know that I will make sure she understands that she was not, and never will be, alone. She has a village of people standing by her side. A village that stretches all the way to Australia.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-85702999474846072342013-01-18T12:04:00.000-05:002013-01-18T12:04:13.325-05:00Saying Yes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Mom? MOM? MOM! Where's the glue?"</div>
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I hesitated for a second. I didn't want to answer.</div>
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"Mama! Please? I want to make something!"</div>
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No. I didn't need an arts and crafts project right now. I was annoyed. I was tired. I just needed to escape for a few minutes. Not now.</div>
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"Mom? I found the glue!"</div>
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Shit. I needed a break. I didn't need to be cleaning up glue. </div>
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The weather was awful again, and we had been stuck in the house for days without a car. We were all bored. I was letting them play as much Wii as they wanted, going through the motions of cleaning and organizing. I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. I've never been able to handle staying in one place without feeling completely trapped, so after a few days of confinement I was starting to unravel.</div>
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I did NOT want glue.</div>
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I stared at the 3 huge baskets of laundry to be folded and sighed. </div>
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He called again. I stomped downstairs. They needed something every second. It was all too much. </div>
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I walked into the dining room to see glue all over the table, and Johnny trying in frustration to stick a piece of paper on another. </div>
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Aggravated, I said: "See, this is what happens with the glue. It gets all over". </div>
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"But Mama, it's stuck. Can you help me?" </div>
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I sighed loudly and took the little red piece of paper out of his hands and stuck it firmly on the larger paper, barely looking at it. </div>
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"Now I'm going upstairs. If you can't do it without spilling then I'm going to make you stop".</div>
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I half stomped upstairs to pretend to do laundry again, only to sit on my bed and feel the tears of frustration start to swell. Why didn't I just say no and make him go play Wii again? Why did I always let them do things that I had to finish, fix or actually do myself? </div>
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And then right in the middle of my little pity party, Johnny came running upstairs. "Mama! Look what I made!" he sang, and he handed me his paper as he jumped around happily. I put on the biggest forced smile I could and got ready to look excited as I took the paper from him. </div>
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But the second I looked at it, I didn't have to pretend anymore. And I remembered why I say yes.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I make sure I keep it where I can see it though, just for *those* days...</td></tr>
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-18887033344932177662012-12-23T11:03:00.001-05:002012-12-23T11:03:55.399-05:00What Autism Shines Means to MeI couldn't watch the news. I didn't read the papers. I only read the Facebook posts of close friends, and even limited my exposure to those. <br />
<br />
Like everyone else, I was numb after the horrific shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT. I went through the motions in the days after, trying to process the horrifying act, grieving for the families who lost their beautiful, innocent children, and trying to figure out how I was going to handle telling my own children.<br />
<br />
There was too much pain. Too much sorrow. And then there were accusations and name calling and hate. Hate filled Facebook pages were created, like "Cure Asperger's, Save Children from PsychoKillers". Cruel comments were left in posts that had been written to promote tolerance and to educate. Strangers private messaged my friends about their autistic children. Threatening, scary messages.<br />
<br />
I felt paralyzed. I wanted to take a stand, but I knew I couldn't handle such a confrontation on my own. My sister encouraged me to write about it here, to try and get people to listen, and I told her I couldn't. I was barely keeping it together for my own family. Just watching my writer friends bravely advocate and seeing the hate spewing back made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn't take on the hate myself and instead hid behind these friends, looking for a way to gain the strength to stand up with them.<br />
<br />
As if they understood what the rest of our community needed, these friends created a way to return a sense of security to us. When I learned about <a href="http://www.mostlytruestuff.com/2012/12/our-autism-miracle.html" target="_blank">their idea</a> on Friday evening, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.<br />
<br />
And after a week of avoiding both my computer and social media, I immediately sat down made this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GFjm80S4cerAdGHkio6zO94KdnH-nTPoa9oIwV43I4qK1VtxhzoLgnU5WoXhTNzZKhooqKDZMBjF1gMICOKCgPJKtHbaM6jxYligkfvMYtqoQ5d-2hlCbdMr2WYbLFxpNCe1ewQn0LbA/s1600/james+laugh+Autism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GFjm80S4cerAdGHkio6zO94KdnH-nTPoa9oIwV43I4qK1VtxhzoLgnU5WoXhTNzZKhooqKDZMBjF1gMICOKCgPJKtHbaM6jxYligkfvMYtqoQ5d-2hlCbdMr2WYbLFxpNCe1ewQn0LbA/s320/james+laugh+Autism.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I thought I might be the only person for whom <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AutismShines" target="_blank">Autism Shines</a> was a light in a dark tunnel, but I could not have been more wrong. Less than two days later, there are over 2,000 likes. Photos and stories are being submitted constantly. Faster that the administators can post them. They are being shared all over facebook among strangers. Caring, tolerant strangers. </div>
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I keep going back to the page and am overwhelmed each time I do. But instead of being overcome by the grief and fear and hopelessness I've had all week, I'm filled with hope and gratitude. </div>
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And I finally feel like I can talk about what's happened, and take a stand to help advocate for my son and for others with autism. </div>
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Thank you to the incredible people who came together to create this space for us to start to heal. You have done more for me than I can ever express. xo </div>
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<em>If you haven't yet had the chance, or if you could use a lift, please take a moment to visit </em><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AutismShines" target="_blank"><em>Autism Shines</em></a><em> page on Facebook. It will make your day much brighter, I promise.</em></div>
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-42003580686802818382012-11-20T17:07:00.001-05:002012-11-20T17:31:58.379-05:00Creating a Special SpaceI watched the three year old drop to the ground and giggle as he rolled down the tiny mound. I laughed at how unbelievably adorable it was that he viewed the mound as a rolling hill. I remembered countless times of hill rolling with friends without a care in the world, and felt that inner peace you do when you watch children at play.<br />
<br />
Then I turned to James and waited for him to follow his friend. He made some really awkward movements. He lifted his arms up and down and looked, confused, as his friend laying a few feet in front of him. He painstakingly tried to lower himself into a position where he could roll.<br />
<br />
And all of a sudden the reality of our situation slapped me in the face.<br />
<br />
Oh my god. He doesn't know how to roll down a hill. He is four years old and he can't figure out how to lay down on the ground.<br />
<br />
Sensory Processing Disorder wasn't new to us. He'd been faithfully seeing his Occupational Therapist for over a year, 2x a week. We had booklets of evaluations with phrases that I was still trying to comprehend. Dyspraxia. Gravitational Insecurity. Tactile Defensiveness. Low muscle tone. <br />
<br />
The list went on. Since I was still trying to remember what PDD-NOS stood for and was completely overwhelmed by the diagnosis on the autism spectrum, I tended to downplay the sensory side of things - even though I knew in my heart that Sensory Processing Disorder drove so much of his behavior and anxiety.<br />
<br />
That moment completely woke me up, and I started focusing on the sensory issues. I paid close attention each time we went to a playground. I watched him run laps around the perimeter instead of climbing and consoled his meltdown each time I'd try and put him in a swing. <br />
<br />
It was frustrating and heartbreaking. A good friend's birthday party at an indoor playground should have been heaven for a five year old. Instead he sat still in a little car and watched nervously at the twenty- two other children running around him. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlzJrEayCNYIsuDFwHpxBCmSEIQX9gUasZiEPTMmJe30hc5hrs3-FfGE_ki_pWc79T4Z6TgAi8KWRb-V-DVBegi1SfvCGTRq-JdNRI4Fg3a5nVsTDFgsMdA4zEWT-wu9iZ5Su2prZihno/s1600/James+thoughtful.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlzJrEayCNYIsuDFwHpxBCmSEIQX9gUasZiEPTMmJe30hc5hrs3-FfGE_ki_pWc79T4Z6TgAi8KWRb-V-DVBegi1SfvCGTRq-JdNRI4Fg3a5nVsTDFgsMdA4zEWT-wu9iZ5Su2prZihno/s320/James+thoughtful.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James in the middle of his friend's birthday party. <br />
You would never know there are 22 kids running around him.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
The aquarium and the zoo. Trampolines and slip and slides. A sit and spin. Slides and tunnels. All were added to the growing list of things to fear and avoid. <br />
<br />
As his little brother grew, it was clear he was a thrill seeker. I had to find ways to let Johnny go on the merry go round while James screamed because he was terrified to even be near it. I avoided any place where James would be out of his element because it would mean that Johnny wouldn't be able to play the way he wanted to. The way he should have been able to. I felt trapped knowing that we couldn't go to the same places my friends were taking their kids.<br />
Thankfully we had the best OT in the entire world. Amy was able to immediately see and understand James' reaction to everything in his world, and she created incredibly complex programs that helped address these challenges head on. We started sensory diets at home that began to help. <br />
<br />
Sensory seeking kids need and deserve a place where they won't be judged when they crash and spin and jump and seek activities that organize them. They need to go up the slide and down the stairs without receiving disapproving looks. Other kids like James need a safe space to overcome their fears and not feel inferior to others. <br />
<br />
And parents of ALL these children need and deserve a space that provides all of that for their families, and arguably more important, the community that will inherently come with it.<br />
<br />
My incredible friend has taken a leap to open such a place. It is called <a href="http://www.senseabilitygym.com/" target="_blank">SenseAbility Gym</a> and it is a much needed place for kids like James. For families like mine. They are in the running for a $25,000 grant from FedEx to help them get off the ground. You can vote for SenseAbility Gym every day until 11/24.<br />
<br />
Vote <a href="http://grantcontest.fedex.com/fedex-small-business-grant-voting/microsite/gallery/509ad3c0c54c000f55ba8780" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Every day until 11/24. Vote for James and for hundeds of other children this gym is going to help. Vote for me and for all the families who will actually be able to enjoy a public play space, possibly for the first time ever.<br />
<br />
And thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I know how lucky I am to have such an incredible support network. I'm so thankful to have friends and family like you who take the time to read our story, and I appreciate your support more than you will ever know.<br />
<br />
xoxo<br />
Kristin<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-25335491935437335582012-11-15T16:54:00.000-05:002012-11-15T16:54:13.875-05:00Just a Walk in the ParkWhen I had to stay home from a planned hike earlier this week to take care of sick Johnny, my friend suggested James go along with them anyway.<br />
<br />
He didn't want to go. He was nervous. He thought he'd get lost in the woods or get separated from everyone. He didn't want to leave his dad and me. He was convinced that something awful was going to happen to him. <br />
<br />
Tony and I finally talked him into going, assuring him that his friends and their parents would take very good care of him. He agreed to go with a noticeably shaky voice, but was still second guessing his decision on the way to his friend's house.<br />
<br />
I talked to my friend about it. We've been in this place together many times (I wrote about it <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-waiting-is-hardest-part.html" target="_blank">here</a>), and she completely understands his fears and my worries. She assured me that both she and her son would stay close to James and make sure he never felt scared.<br />
<br />
And then she sent me this photo. This absolutely perfect photo that made me realize for the bazillionth time that both James and I have the most incredible friends. Ever.<br />
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I can't stop looking at it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2I1VfPi6-QIvuoXCw3NlGVhvM5FU9ixO7yFYswY4m6rV2b5ydXhNs2LS1IqTiUSUkVUAP2hd4MVab3OllFJiH87drJxezJbcWVO6uZ15zOBCeqj9X3PozlY5SBPQpSzaTHo10WppYG9_A/s1600/boys+hiking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2I1VfPi6-QIvuoXCw3NlGVhvM5FU9ixO7yFYswY4m6rV2b5ydXhNs2LS1IqTiUSUkVUAP2hd4MVab3OllFJiH87drJxezJbcWVO6uZ15zOBCeqj9X3PozlY5SBPQpSzaTHo10WppYG9_A/s320/boys+hiking.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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And every time that James tells me he can't go somewhere without me, or he is afraid that he will be left alone, I'm going to show him this photo.</div>
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-89340931548414540752012-11-04T10:41:00.004-05:002012-11-04T10:41:50.779-05:00Summary from Game 1 - Daylight Savings Sleep Battle 2012After yesterday's post, I'm sure you are all sitting on pins and needles to find out who won Night 1 of the epic battle of Sleep vs. Autism and Daylight Savings (or are too battle weary yourself to care, but just trying to find something to read to keep you awake until your coffee kicks in).<br />
<br />
Here are the highlights (or more appropriately, lowlights) and stats from this household. <br />
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<strong>Key moments:</strong><br />
11:30 pm - Parent #1 went to bed, confidently planning 3 hours of sleep before game begins.<br />
12:30 am (pre-daylight savings time change) - Child #1 jumped in Parents' bed to start game early<br />
12:31 am - Child #1 launches aggressive offense by kicking, twisting, turning, flipping, bolting upright and pinning own appendages under Parent #1's torso and legs.<br />
<br />
2:30 am (post daylight savings time change) - Parent #2 shows up to play game. Sees Child #1 sprawled out across entire bed. Forfeits game. Rouses Parent #1 from state of half sleep up to inform her of said forfeit.<br />
2:31 am - Parent #2 immediately retreats to Child #1's empty bed in dark, quiet room, prompting silent cursing from Parent #1.<br />
2:31 - 5 am - Child #1 continues assault. Parent #1 remains on defensive.<br />
5 am - Child #2 makes early appearance in order to participate in game.<br />
5:30 am - Parent #1 forfeits game and sends Children downstairs to play video games.<br />
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<strong>Records broken during game:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>Child #1 beat own personal records in both "duration of time awake" at 4 hours and "average time stayed asleep" at approximately 9 minutes (Parent #1's time keeping possibly skewed by delirium).</li>
<li>Parent #1 beat own personal record in "amount of time laying 1/2 off bed" (most of night) and # of times switching side of bed in attempt to free self from Child #1's appendages (4 times)</li>
</ul>
<strong>Additional Stats:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li># of times Parent #1 silently cursed Autism and Daylight Savings - <strong>597</strong></li>
<li># of times Parent #1 kicked - <strong>1,268</strong> (approximately)</li>
<li># of personal injuries sustained by Parent #1 - <strong>6</strong></li>
<li># of those injuries to eye sockets and nose -<strong> 4</strong></li>
<li># of hours Children have been playing video games - <strong>4</strong></li>
<li>Amount Parent #1 cares about time spent on video games - <strong>0</strong></li>
</ul>
<strong>Final score:</strong><br />
Autism and Daylight Savings - <strong>1,871</strong><br />
Parent #1 - <strong>0</strong><br />
<br />
Parent #1 loses the first match in the 2012 Epic Battle against Autism and Daylight Savings in a pathetic shutout. With at least half a dozen more nights to play, Parent #1 will be training by taking a nap this afternoon and coaching Parent #2 on how best to enter the game as a sub.<br />
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What are the stats from your own battle last night?<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-23721873597261828392012-11-03T16:25:00.000-04:002012-11-03T16:31:02.584-04:00Whose Bed is it Anyway?Tonight we get to turn the clocks back an hour and mark the end of Daylight Savings. <br />
<br />
When I was in college, it meant a bonus hour at The Jug. When I first started working, it meant an extra hour lounging around, NOT in a cubicle.<br />
<br />
But now? Now it just means I'm going to get kicked for another hour.<br />
<br />
I wrote about James' sleep issues last year (with a surprisingly positive attitude) in <a href="http://runningtobestill.blogspot.com/2011/11/setting-clocks-and-expectations.html" target="_blank">Setting Clocks and Expectations </a>. Maybe I'm already heading into this annual event more sleep deprived than last time, but I'm definitely feeling less optimistic about our progress this year. <br />
<br />
Or maybe it's because what I view as an ongoing family challenge to be addressed, my boys have decided it is our everyday routine, as is entirely obvious from the interactions we had this past week:<br />
<br />
The other morning I told Johnny that I left his school uniform on my bed for him. He answered "Which bed? The one in your room or the one you actually sleep in every night?"<br />
<br />
And <em>then</em>, later that day, James was upstairs with his Dad. I have no idea what actually happened, but I imagine it went like this: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
James said his usual: "I like your bed much better than mine. It is more comfortable". </blockquote>
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Tony matter-of-factly answered: "Our bed isn't really big enough for 3 people and maybe you should think about sleeping in your own bed." </blockquote>
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James asked: "Is there a bigger bed?" </blockquote>
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Tony (who apparently is absolutely, completely unable to lie) said: "Yes, this is a Queen sized bed. They make a bigger bed called a King".</blockquote>
That is what <em>must</em> have happened, because James came immediately running downstairs yelling "MOM! They make a bigger bed! Its a KING! Can you hook it up on the iPad Mom? Hook up the top 10 list of biggest beds? Wow! Look at this! There is an ULTRA KING! We can get a Ultra King sized bed and then you don't have to get in the way of my legs when I want to kick anymore! Yay! Let's get an ULTRA KING!"<br />
<br />
And with that, I sighed and was just about to give Tony "the look", but I realized it wasn't even worth it when I recalled our Facebook exchange earlier in this week<span class="fcg"></span><br />
<span class="fcg"></span><br />
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<a aria-controls="u4qx8v01" aria-haspopup="true" aria-owns="u4qx8v01" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1251192499" href="https://www.facebook.com/kristin.macchi" id="js_4">Kristin McCarthy Macchi</a> Hurricane James up at 3. Woke his bro at 5. Now obsessing about #Sandy & all storms that ever happened. It's gonna be a LONG day. #autism</blockquote>
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<a class="UFICommentActorName" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=719410661" href="https://www.facebook.com/tonymacchi" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment4818280775513_59185304}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][0]">Tony Macchi</a><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment4818280775513_59185304}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment4818280775513_59185304}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment4818280775513_59185304}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]."><span id=".reactRoot[87].[1][2][1]{comment4818280775513_59185304}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]">Well that explains why you looked so tired this morning.</span></span></span></div>
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<em>*Sigh*</em> Just bring on the extra hour already. I'll spend it debating whether I should cave and buy the Ultra King sized bed, or just move back onto the dog bed on the floor of the boys' room.</div>
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<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-66435219138459345342012-10-26T18:52:00.000-04:002012-10-26T18:55:43.850-04:00Election Hearsay from the BackseatI'm thinking Tony and I are going to need to do a much better job teaching the boys about sex than we have about politics if the conversation in the back of the car today is any indication... <br />
<br />
James' friend Sean upon seeing an Elizabeth Warren sign: "I do NOT want Elizabeth Warden to win".<br />
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James: Why? Do you want Obama to win?"<br />
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Johnny" "Right, because he needs to beat Scott Brown".<br />
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Sean: " I DO want Obama to win." <em>(starts "Four More Years" chant. My boys join in. I feel pride.).</em> "But I don't want Warden to win. And besides, that's a TOTALLY different contest. Warden is running against Scott Brown for the Massachusetts US Senate" <em>(at this point I start thinking that his parents are doing a way better job than me teaching their son about politics)</em><br />
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And then he continues and I suddenly feel <em>much</em> better... "It's not Brown that's the bad guy! Romney is the one who wants to get rid of Cartoon Network!"<br />
<br />
James and Johnny both, voices tinged in fear: "<strong>WHAT?</strong>"<br />
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Johnny<em> (now completely irate at the thought of his beloved network gone): </em>"WHO would want to get rid of Cartoon Network? WHY would he do that? But it has the BEST shows! He couldn't really, could he?"<br />
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Sean: "I don't know, but that's what Gabe told us, so it must be true." <br />
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Johnny: "But some kids make mistakes sometimes, at least a lot of the kids in my class except me do, so maybe he's wrong." <em>(Now I'm both wondering where my son's "god complex" came from and thinking I'm going to hear a concerned "really, mom? Is it true?"</em>)<br />
<br />
Nope...<br />
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James: "Yea, let's ask (classmate) Brendan on Monday. He'll DEFINITELY know".<br />
<br />krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-32981175988324877742012-10-12T12:50:00.000-04:002012-10-12T21:17:21.082-04:00Changing the ConversationYou know when you feel every day is exactly the same as the one before, and things start to seem like they are always going to stay the same? That's the way it's been for us the last year. <br />
<div>
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James has been obsessed with exotic cars for over a year. We talk about them all day long. Every day. Questions and lists and stats and comparisons. I hear "Is this fancier than that?" and "Have you ever seen...?" in my sleep.</div>
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Because of the journey we've taken together (that I wrote about in the <a href="http://www.colgateconnect.org/s/801/scene_inside_2col.aspx?sid=801&gid=1&pgid=4307">Colgate Scene here</a>), I never take anything he does or says for granted. Each interaction, no matter how seemingly insignificant to the parents of another nine year old, turns into a <span style="color: black;">Hallmark</span> moment as the parent of a child on the autism spectrum.</div>
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<span style="color: black;">So although I'm really bummed that I missed the moment, I'm lucky that I wasn't actually there for the thing that changed everything or it would have turned into a scene from a LifeTime channel movie.</span></div>
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James and I watch the show "<a href="http://velocity.discovery.com/videos/chasing-classic-cars/">Chasing Classic Cars</a>" together on the Velocity channel, which is like the polar opposite of the <span style="color: black;">LifeTime channel.</span> I DVR all the shows and then pick ones I think he'll be interested in. We've been watching them for awhile, and he's finally stopped having to fast forward through them to see if there are any other fancy cars showing up in the episode, and he's just started to just watch and enjoy the show itself. That's huge for him.</div>
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So when I found out the star of the show Wayne Carini (who owns <a href="http://www.f40.com/">F40 Motorsports</a> right near my in-laws' house) was having a Cars and Coffee event to benefit Autism Speaks, I knew there was no way we'd miss it. I wondered what would happen if James were able to meet him. I envisioned all sorts of rapid fire questions about Bugattis and Paganis, and I was genuinely excited to hear James ask those same questions I hear 100 times a day- because it would be to someone who understands his passion.</div>
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But this? I was SO not prepared for this.</div>
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When we got to the show there were already tons of amazing cars there. We had met up with good friends and wanted to catch up a bit, but James immediately started pulling us around the lot, making sure he mentally cataloged every car he saw. As much as there was to see in the lot, he still couldn't keep his eyes off the road, though, because cars kept pulling in. So we would lap the perimeter, him with one eye on each car we passed and the other on the 2 driveways entering the lot. We didn't stop. </div>
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I needed a breather. So I stayed behind to keep an eye on his younger brother who had basically moved in to the mobile video game van. My job was to stand outside and hand him dollar bills every 5 minutes so he could keep playing while James circled. All the proceeds from the games went directly to Autism Speaks, so I was more than happy to empty my friends' and mother-in-law's wallets as well as my own while Tony brought James inside the F40 showroom.</div>
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Only one money transfer had taken place when I looked towards the showroom and saw Wayne Carini come out, followed closely by James and his entourage, and then a number of other people. Tony was looking at me pointing to our camera and then to Wayne. I wasn't sure if they were stalking him for a photo, but it was enough for me to leave my post (Johnny sure wasn't about to go anywhere with at least 12 quarters and an entire mobile vehicle filled with games, so I moved towards the growing crowd following Wayne.)<br />
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And I watched THIS happen:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeUX_i6v6aE5eVD08Si7OqNim0psTF94pZOW7oDb5UaH_Hy4gpxhz_0NBW1WVhPGp7AVb_mPotb_i20apqRC_lZ0QL62WWXgr1fq0V6nrMtMXvxpzVMXLviwsvi_yFMuOC9KKC_Toot5P/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeUX_i6v6aE5eVD08Si7OqNim0psTF94pZOW7oDb5UaH_Hy4gpxhz_0NBW1WVhPGp7AVb_mPotb_i20apqRC_lZ0QL62WWXgr1fq0V6nrMtMXvxpzVMXLviwsvi_yFMuOC9KKC_Toot5P/s320/046.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wayne Carini put James in the driver's seat of his famous 1958 <a href="http://www.pvgp.org/2012-honorary-race-director-wayne-carini-of-chasing-classic-cars/">Tojeiro</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And I turned to Wayne Carini and said "thank you, this means a ton". Mr. Carini said "I think he's caught the car bug now" and I laughed that he's had it for a while and the <em>Bugatti in the Barn</em> episode was his favorite. I had no idea <em>how</em> James happened to end up in Wayne Carini's driver's seat, I was just thrilled to see James so happy.<br />
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Tony told me afterwards what happened:<br />
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While they were in the showroom, James turned to Tony and pointed in front of him and asked "Is that Wayne?"<br />
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Wayne heard him and turned and said "Yes, I'm Wayne. What's your name?"<br />
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And James said:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6eSjKmTfyfs8mBZH26gyAo1AKK2YD3grmWIZRioPzntGiKYsaQaepsZ2nAJhqNLYCS2C4gdgyfgmtO-LJLBsT1IhPMSfFADoD3f_dUWTrtkqQWLCCq9PWlz3b1FP9NYRfhrETidm9Mtx/s1600/James+and+Wayne.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6eSjKmTfyfs8mBZH26gyAo1AKK2YD3grmWIZRioPzntGiKYsaQaepsZ2nAJhqNLYCS2C4gdgyfgmtO-LJLBsT1IhPMSfFADoD3f_dUWTrtkqQWLCCq9PWlz3b1FP9NYRfhrETidm9Mtx/s320/James+and+Wayne.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James and Wayne Carini <br />
(awesome photo thanks to Jen Oliva)</td></tr>
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<em>And it is a really, really good thing I didn't actually hear him say this because I would have completely lost it...</em><br />
<br />
"My name is James. I'm a big fan of your show. My mom and I watch it all the time".<br />
<br />
THIS? THIS IS IT! This is the first time that James has started a conversation that didn't involve a question he needed to be answered for his own benefit, or to add information to his own internal catalog. He introduced himself to his car hero Wayne Carini, and told him he was a big fan. That's it. No questions. No probing for information from the one person who can answer all the questions he asks everyone else all the time.<br />
<br />
I think James' interest in cars is awesome. I have a blast watching his reaction, and hearing him talk about them and ask questions of me and Tony and our friends and family. It is so much fun to watch James go up to a car at a show and start asking questions of anyone standing nearby.<br />
<br />
But what he did,<em>on his own,</em> last weekend? That was unbelievably huge. It changed the conversation. This journey we are on just gets more and more incredible every day.<br />
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<em>But be reassured that not everything changed. After he talked to Wayne, James went back to circling and scanning the roads for the next fancy car. And then all of a sudden, this pulled in to the lot. As soon as it did, James knew he had seen them all, and he turned to me and said "OK Mom. We can go home now."</em></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3D1hpqikvnY8e3aFLHXqamOkebbITbbr1lVtvVlGovwfGO9DYNPlCC-cyIW97vPb2Zf7RHZDQeGOjen7IQXvIG9DxJoGORq9cBjLR3ye1mNrtaH0nyJq61fnUsxFfk5LDnlq5ydcdmA2G/s1600/088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3D1hpqikvnY8e3aFLHXqamOkebbITbbr1lVtvVlGovwfGO9DYNPlCC-cyIW97vPb2Zf7RHZDQeGOjen7IQXvIG9DxJoGORq9cBjLR3ye1mNrtaH0nyJq61fnUsxFfk5LDnlq5ydcdmA2G/s320/088.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herb Chambers arriving in his Bugatti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
You can see all our photos from Wayne Carini's Cars and Coffee to benefit Autism Speaks here:<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.4706747987263.2188542.1251192499&type=1&l=c21ec795b5">https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.4706747987263.2188542.1251192499&type=1&l=c21ec795b5</a><br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9072720475512712439.post-8576509663525138382012-10-08T10:32:00.000-04:002012-10-08T10:32:53.454-04:00"First in Math" OverloadTwo ways to tell if your 7 year old has been spending too much time playing "First in Math" on the computer...<br />
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He will wake you up telling you that you need to see the categories on his bed. Drowsily, you will follow him into his room where you will see this:<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsvWnN1owvMgDpIRSD23kBUF2gxGULFqoWgInMn2Z4n1gi2dY-vYmEBu2rxUjpK1OTVRxYYouzh-OX1FMCGnpyJkEMtP-gVsgGIz0LEG3vVnUZX3Tm9X0buGU4mowJFiH8z31N85MdILB/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsvWnN1owvMgDpIRSD23kBUF2gxGULFqoWgInMn2Z4n1gi2dY-vYmEBu2rxUjpK1OTVRxYYouzh-OX1FMCGnpyJkEMtP-gVsgGIz0LEG3vVnUZX3Tm9X0buGU4mowJFiH8z31N85MdILB/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MOM! Look! They are in 3 categories. Unicorns, Kittens, and Other".</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbRcCy5oKVTqVtamXm5PZ3g3dU1uxEugF7L_PEnsINWPbIi5HQRF79_wvONWdZmGrHMEsjTYzIo1P3aLDJY2FkwTxquZLPnJYFH5I7XEgCHpFGGUabOJvWzHIpzJdyoKFzxxbH725-8U7/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbRcCy5oKVTqVtamXm5PZ3g3dU1uxEugF7L_PEnsINWPbIi5HQRF79_wvONWdZmGrHMEsjTYzIo1P3aLDJY2FkwTxquZLPnJYFH5I7XEgCHpFGGUabOJvWzHIpzJdyoKFzxxbH725-8U7/s320/011.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"That is, Unicorns on the left, then kittens in the middle because they are my favorite, and then Other. <br />
Because there are others".</td></tr>
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When you finally stop shaking your head to yourself and go downstairs to make yourself a much needed cup of coffee, he will call out to you:<br />
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"MOM! James spilled flavor blasted goldfish in the living room! Don't worry, there aren't THAT many though". <br />
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There is a short hesitation. And then,<br />
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"Well, I guess there are kind of a lot, because there are enough to make a triangle!"<br />
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And, confused again, you will walk into the living room with the dustpan to see this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8BrIpUmuE4xe3ufy5MYJiEiXTV_1i4-5GvHFFxk_k_eEz9W576PFdSytU-ru94e9fCR2vB3X2S5Y3KoEJGL_TXBXwYITb7inWMl8nN2Ed-VzKHzQggYwAmGQHAT9DklhteRuGP6chZco/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8BrIpUmuE4xe3ufy5MYJiEiXTV_1i4-5GvHFFxk_k_eEz9W576PFdSytU-ru94e9fCR2vB3X2S5Y3KoEJGL_TXBXwYITb7inWMl8nN2Ed-VzKHzQggYwAmGQHAT9DklhteRuGP6chZco/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go find my <a href="https://pinterest.com/pin/103019910195885736/"><em>Quirky Kids</em></a> book...<br />
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krismachttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09916969313526055319noreply@blogger.com0