Month: July 2016

Finding My Voice

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Recently I wrote about what’s been keeping me from writing. A few personal distractions have factored in to be sure.

Now I have realized there has been another big distraction from my Asperger’s parenting blog. And that is the current election.

I won’t go into my opinions here. Suffice it to say they are strong. They are burning. They are becoming increasingly consuming of my mental energy. I have always had opinions about these things. I have some very firm beliefs, which have developed over the years as I have grown and matured and become more open-minded and more worldly. I would say they are mostly fully formed.

But like many of us, I have refrained from engaging in discourse about those taboo subjects: religion and politics. I think money is one too. I still don’t really want to discuss religion. That’s personal. Another person’s religious beliefs are their own. I respect them and value our differences. I am certainly curious to learn about various religions, but I don’t feel the need to convince anybody one way or the other or to be converted, either. And money is just not that interesting to discuss.

But politics has become something else for me all of a sudden. I am so fired up I feel like I might explode. And guess what? Sometime over the last year, I have found my voice. Partly it’s probably due to my age. I turned 49 last month. I still feel 25. I’m still goofy and silly and jokey and dancey and sing-y and face-makey and all that good stuff. One of my purposes in life is to have fun with my people. I want us all to enjoy ourselves. I put a lot of myself into that mission on a daily basis, particularly with my family. We dance with the dogs, and say “That’s what she said” as often as possible. I crack myself up, to be honest. Seriously, I am HI.LAR.I.OUS.

But this 49 thing has given me something very powerful. Maybe it’s courage. Maybe it’s kind of the old-lady-who-doesn’t-care-what-anybody-thinks attitude, even though I don’t exactly feel old. Maybe those are one in the same.

Or maybe writing 100 blog posts about my life, letting down my guard to expose my fears and failures and weaknesses and hopes, has given me the courage to speak my mind about other things.

Or maybe it’s because things are falling into place with my kids, which have been the consuming force in my life.  I’m learning to accept the challenges of my 16-year-old daughter, and my nearly 14-year-old son is becoming more independent. So I have this freed up energy, energy that is searching for a purpose. And I’m finding that purpose.

Whatever precipitated this development, here it is. I have found my voice. And I really do mean found. I have had this voice my whole life, but I’ve kept it quiet. I’ve been polite and diplomatic and quiet. I have sat around a table full of people who shared a singular viewpoint while I most vehemently but also silently disagreed. I didn’t want to stir up trouble. Oh, the fire burned in me, but my desire to be polite and maybe, I hate to admit, to be liked, has suppressed my voice.

I wish I had found it sooner. It seems like I wasted so much time being afraid to speak up. I was a painfully shy child, fearful of adults in general, even the lady at the Taco Bell window waiting to take my order. Or my neighbor’s grandma, who insisted she pull that sort-of loose tooth out of my five-year-old mouth. I was too timid and shy to stop her. Or my teachers, who just might call on me to speak. Even though I knew the answer or had something important or meaningful or even brilliant to say, the fear of having to open my mouth and expose myself was overwhelming. So first, I had to overcome my shyness, and that has been a lifelong journey.

But there is a lot of room between not being shy and being bold. I think I just figured that out.

So now, finally, as 50 looms, I have decided it’s time to be bold and use my voice for good. Do I still want people to like me? Well, sure, I suppose everybody does. But I want to be liked for what’s truly inside, and that’s coming out, people! It’s coming out! 

I want my kids to see me this way. I want them to see a fearless woman who speaks her mind, who stands by what she believes in. A person with a passion and a voice and the courage of her convictions. A person whose words can make a difference. Because words are my medium.

This particular blog will continue to focus mostly on parenting. No politics here, unless they involve autism or special needs or kids. I have decided, after 100 entries, that this blog is really about my journey as a mother more than Maddie’s journey as a teen, and this newfound courage is part of that journey. It’s my coming out, as they say. My declaration of strength and power and intention. My declaration of purpose. And it feels good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Urinetown”

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Hey, readers! It’s my 100th blog post! I’m so glad to be back in the saddle.

Before you get too worried about the subject of this blog post, let me clarify: “Urinetown” is a Tony-award-winning musical from the early 2000s. And, yes, it’s about pee.

And that is the production Maddie’s drama class performed in spring.

It’s been some time since I’ve addressed the issue of Maddie’s school attendance. You might think that no news is good news. In this case, no news is just no news. As in “nothing new.” Her attendance continues to suck. I don’t even know how much school she missed over the course of the year (a third? forty percent?), but I do know that at some point I sort of gave in to it. Not that I didn’t try my very hardest each and every day to get her going. Not that the moment I woke up every morning I didn’t have to gather my energy, courage, and patience to endeavor the often impossible. Not that I didn’t usually feel utterly spent by 8:00 in the morning, emotionally and mentally exhausted after spending an hour and a half coaxing and begging and prodding and bargaining and bribing and yelling and threatening.  But I did have a final discussion in spring with her special ed teacher, Mr. L., who–thankfully–grasped the fact that playing hardball with her doesn’t work at all. At least he could be mellow about it. So all of us adults just decided to do the best we could and, to some degree, let it go.

When the “Urinetown” roles were assigned, Maddie was kind of disappointed that she was only in the chorus. But she continued to participate with enthusiasm…when she showed up.

Several weeks into rehearsals, Maddie told me she still wished for a bigger role. She was loving the show and the songs were fun, but she was used to being the star at her former school. And she knew she could do it.

“Well,” I explained, “they were probably concerned because you miss so much school.”

I knew I was right. She loves to perform. She’s a decent actress and a decent singer and she is utterly fearless on stage. But when you are likely to only make it to half the rehearsals, you’re just not a good candidate for a lead role. Or really any speaking role (although she can probably memorize lines better than anybody else). And you don’t really deserve one, either.

And then something happened. Maddie became her own advocate. She doesn’t often ask for help, or seek out missed homework assignments, or find out when things are due or any of that student self-advocacy stuff. It’s not because she’s shy. Partly she doesn’t care enough, and mostly she just doesn’t think of it. I suppose those things aren’t really separate, the not caring and the not thinking of it.

I recall once we were spending the day at an island resort–just the afternoon. We were using the pool that was technically reserved for guests, but for some reason they were allowing us to be there. In situations like these, I try to lie particularly low. Not Maddie. I think she was eight years old at the time, and she decided she could really use some pool noodles. So without even talking to me or her dad, off she went and found an employee who could round some up. When I was a kid I was so painfully shy I would have rather drowned than asked for something. I’m not even exaggerating that much. Seriously it would have been easier to do anything but ask an adult for a pool noodle. Not Maddie, though. There must be some pool noodles around here somewhere, she decided, and she was going to get them. And she did. An employee searched the premises for those hidden noodles and delivered them to Maddie. So we all had pool noodles, and Maddie to thank for them.

And now the “Urinetown” production, like the pool noodle situation, was something important. So she decided to ask her drama teacher about having a bigger role. The performances were only a couple weeks away, so how he would manage to make a change, I couldn’t fathom. But he answered, “If you come to all the weekend rehearsals, I’ll see what I can do.” Way to go, Mr. S.! He gave her a carrot, and she went for it.

My heart was so full at the moment. I didn’t really care about how well she would perform, or about how many lines she would have, or even if her hair would be clean. I cared that she had enough confidence in herself to ask for what she wanted.

But then I had to wonder. “Are you actually going to do that? Really? Because now that you’ve asked for it, you can’t just change your mind. That wouldn’t be good.”

“Yes, I’m going to do it,” Maddie declared. And she meant it. She skipped a dance on a Friday night so that she could save her energy for the next day of rehearsals, which would be long. She got up that Sunday, too, ready to go fulfill her commitment. She spent her much needed downtime at school, of all places, working toward a goal.

I could hardly believe it. She often has big ideas about what she might do, but when it comes down to it, and she has to perform, she bails out. But this time she was really determined. I didn’t know what the real outcome would be, but in a way it didn’t really matter. There was a glimpse of hope for me to enjoy. A future in which Maddie would see something she wanted to do, commit to it, and then do it. I don’t know what she will choose to do, but that has never been our main concern. We just want her to want to do something enough to do it, even when it’s hard and she’s tired and the outcome is guaranteed.

These are the little moments we hold on to, we parents of special kids. Not the home run or the spelling bee victory or the perfect score on the SAT. I’m not saying our kids can’t do those things. Not at all. It’s just that we find victories along the way in moments that might seem otherwise mundane. Like when Maddie announces, “I feel like taking a shower.” Or when she appears fully dressed first thing in the morning. Or when she notices her own B.O. Or when, at three years old, she finally started stringing words together. Or when I tell her to do her homework and then find that, even though I’ve been gone for an hour, she sat down and did it. Who cares what it looks like. She did it!

I do, admit, though, that watching Maddie perform is everything you hope it would be. Stayed tuned for part 2.

Back on the Horse

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

It’s been several months since I’ve written. I’m not completely certain why I’ve had such a dry spell. Certainly life has continued to provide challenges, failures, successes, more questions–with or without answers–and even some adventure.

I have my suspicions, though.

This blog has been primarily about raising Maddie. And in the last several months, although she has provided many an interesting moment, there have been some other serious issues on my mind, and I didn’t want to necessarily write about them.

One is my health. I’m one of those people who always has an issue. Or two. Or three. It’s my back. And migraines. And terrible allergies. And unexplained and ongoing gut issues. And my ankles are messed up. And I have an allergy-related sleep apnea that makes me so tired all the time. I might sleep for ten hours and still feel exhausted all day. It sucks. I’m slowly trying to address all of those things, but I’ve found it hard to say, stick to a Pilates schedule when my stomach hurts so bad all the time. I’m finally figuring that one out, so maybe it’s time for those Pilates classes again. And yes, I have to do something like Pilates where I’m less likely to aggravate my ankle or back or hip or whatever. I have one of those bodies.

Second is my marriage. It’s a struggle sometimes. Statistics show a greater risk of divorce among couples with special needs children. Boy, ain’t that the truth. As if being parents isn’t hard enough, you throw in some extra challenges that nobody’s really equipped to deal with, and you’re rolling the dice.

Third is the other kid. Our son. He’s almost 14. He’s such a cool human being. I’ve been challenged with two completely opposite children, so parenting each one is an adventure, to put it nicely. H is intelligent, thoughtful, philosophical, and deep. Sounds awesome, right? Well, those qualities are admirable and desirable and all that good stuff, but parenting a kid like that is hard. He can argue you into a corner, for one thing. And he never ever gives up. While I admire his persistence, sometimes it’s just exhausting. More on him later, though.

Also my parents. I love my mom and dad. They live about 45 minutes from us. I wish they were closer. So I could help them. On the other hand, they’re not super great at accepting help (like mother, like daughter, I’m afraid). My dad has suffered from debilitating depression and anxiety for many years. My therapist thinks he’s agoraphobic, among other things. The word “bipolar” has reared its ugly head of late. I suspect he has some PTSD from a few episodes from his younger life. Whatever the diagnosis, and whatever the cause, he is severely disabled. He rarely leaves the house. It’s too stressful. Just riding in the car is often more than he can bear. He hasn’t driven for years even though he is only just turning 70. So I worry about my dad. But even more so, I worry for my mom. She is a doer. A worker. A creator. She likes to make things, so for several years she has been sewing items to sell at a local consignment store. Or two. Or three. She also refinishes furniture and makes things like framed chalkboards for kids’ rooms. She cooks up a storm, too. She recently completely re-landscaped their front yard so it’s more drought-friendly. She likes to be industrious. She has also spent her life without a lot of extra money, so when something needs doing, she does it, for the most part, rather than paying somebody else to do it. Every once in awhile, there is something beyond her scope (particularly since becoming permanently partially disabled some years ago because of chronic wrist pain in both arms) and she’ll have to hire somebody. But her go-to is “just do it.” How do a person who can’t do anything and a person who only wants to do things live together? Guess what? The doer, my mom, adjusts her life to suit the other. There is a lot of going nowhere. Particularly because Mom worries about what might happen when she’s gone. Dad’s just not reliably level-headed anymore. I want to help them so desperately, but it seems to be out of my hands. I want my dad to be well and, even if he can’t be well, I want my mom to have a life.

So I’ve been distracted, I guess. And I haven’t felt compelled, or maybe just comfortable, putting all this in writing. I don’t want to “expose” anyone. I also don’t want to make this blog a tribute to all my problems, and most of all I think some of this stuff is kind of private. At least the other parties involved might think so.

And then there’s Maddie. She’s still exactly Maddie. She’s at camp right now, the camp she absolutely lives for the rest of the year. When we were anticipating a New York-London trip we took last month, I asked her if she was excited. “Meh,” she said. “CAMP!” That pretty much sums up her experience of our trip (another blog or two will cover that). She just wanted to get it over with and go to camp. So right now I can rest easy knowing she’s in her happy place. She’s probably filthy and she probably has terrible B.O., but it’s out of my hands, and isn’t that a beautiful thing!

And before that, of course, the infamous school year (the actual “Year of Living Hopefully”) came to a close. More on that in another entry, too.

So today I’m back. I remember now that I can write and I like to write and I have something to say. A lot of somethings to say.

The story continues.