Another Possible Piece of The Puzzle, Or Hey Universe, WTF?

When you have a child who has a handful of labels, as I do, with each label I think, There! That’s the ticket. Now he’ll get the help in school that he needs so school won’t be such a nightmare for him. With the first label of Sensory Processing Disorder, I was able to get Little Man a 504 Plan that garnered him a few accommodations at school. He is allowed to sit on an exercise ball instead of a chair. He may use a fidget (a small toy to play with, such as a Koosh ball) to help him be able to concentrate. And he is supposed to go to recess with the rest of the class (withholding recess as a punishment is not allowed). Did all this turn his nightmarish experience into an enjoyable one. Hell no. But being able to sit on the ball did help a little bit.

Last May, he received more labels of ADHD, learning disabled (dyslexia), and anxiety. When the report came out, and the official, formal label of ADHD was attached to Little Man, it hit me in the solar plexus; not because I didn’t see that he has attention issues, but because of what people think of when they hear the label. They think of a kid who is all over the classroom, who can’t sit in a chair for more than a minute, and who has absolutely no impulse control whatsoever. And, of course, the first thing out of the mouth of the neuropsychologist who evaluated him was, that medication is the only thing that will correct the synaptic defects in his brain (or something to that effect). Well guess what, chicky, meds didn’t help this kid one bit. All they did was ramp up his anxiety so much that he wanted to kill himself. Guess meds aren’t for everyone.

At the same time, his academic performance finally fell far enough below expected performance based on his tested IQ, so an IEP (individualized education program) was put in place.  The goal of this plan is to give him extra help so his grades will go up. So far, with the IEP in place this entire school year, his grades have not gone up one bit. Epic fail on that one. And he still hates school.

So, what’s this new puzzle piece, you ask? Just getting to that. Here it is. Last week I asked a favor of one of the school’s physical therapists. This gal has known Little Man, so when I asked if she could teach him to tie his shoes, she obliged. Little Man went from his day of school to a classroom across the hall, for weekly Homework Club. Half way through Homework Club, I grabbed him to work outside with this PT.

When I got him out there, the first thing I noticed was resistance and fear. He gritted his teeth and said he was embarrassed. I thought he was embarrassed because his teacher’s two daughters were playing on the playground nearby. Upon hindsight, I think he was embarrassed to be learning to tie his shoes at 10 years old. I also learned, later on, that his anxiety about the class field trip was at a high because the teacher threatened the class with their losing the field trip if they wouldn’t quiet down. (Maintaining quiet and order in the classroom has been a struggle for this brand new teacher).

After dispatching the teacher’s daughters to the far side of the playground, the PT worked with Little Man, showing him a specific technique for making an overhand knot. He watched her and tried it himself. His fingers didn’t do what hers did. The unruly laces didn’t knot like they were supposed to. He tried again. Too fast. His fingers still weren’t cooperating. His frustration was mounting like steam in a boiler with too much heat. The PT saw the pressure cooking. She kept working with him, not giving up on him, and not letting him give up.

As Little Man struggled mightily, he began to shut down. At that point, the PT covertly asked me to leave. I got the message and walked away, removing the safety net. I am the safe place where Little Man can shut down or lose it. When I’m not there, he fights just that much harder to keep it together.

Finally! He made 5 correct overhand knots. That was the end of the session. Little Man was beyond done. His volcano was cooked. As we all walked off the playground, to our respective cars, the PT started asking me questions about Little Man, including whether he was on the autism spectrum. On the spectrum? I answered honestly, I don’t know. After more chatting, she suggested having him observed in the classroom to see how he’s doing. Frankly, I wish someone had done that two years ago. Yes! Absolutely! He needs more help!

It hit like a ton of bricks: my special, funny, train-man, creative, builder, empathetic, cute boy might be on the autism spectrum. My head swirled. What does that mean? Do we get him evaluated for yet another label? How and who does this? Will it give him more accommodations in school? Will he have a chance of school not being a nightmare for him, one day? Would he be better served by a different school in our district? Is he really on the spectrum? Could he be on the spectrum?

I called the one person I know who has a son on the spectrum. We talked about our boys’ similarities and differences. As much as they do have some differences, the similarities are several. I asked her if she thinks my son could be on the spectrum. Could be.

Is it important to find out? That’s the next step in the process. I am hoping that Little Man will be observed by a teacher from our district who works with kids who have a lot of challenges. She’ll know what to look for. And she might just think that Little Man would be better served at her school: a school that has a lot of children receiving special ed services, and has a lot to offer to them. My question to this teacher will be: will adding another label to my son garner him more or different services than he is already entitled to? Would he be better served at her school? We’ll see in time. Still discovering more pieces of the puzzle that is my Little Man.

Searching for pieces of the puzzle that is my son.

Mother’s Day Without Mom

This is the first Mother’s Day that I am motherless. It feels weird. Even though Mom and I weren’t as close as a lot of mothers and daughters, I would always acknowledge her on Mother’s Day. She would be celebrated by my Dad, and would receive cards, flowers, gifts and phone calls from her “kids.”

There is a big hole in the universe. And it’s not just because Mom’s gone, but because Mom and Dad are both gone now.

Many years ago, back in the late eighties, one spring when Mom was particularly up and feeling good (slightly manic), she decided that she wanted to go to a Caribbean island for a week’s vacation. For some reason, staying at a friend’s Caribbean condo didn’t work out, so we booked a week in Aruba. My Dad didn’t want to take time off work, so he told me that if I accompanied my mother to Aruba, he’d foot my bill. Didn’t have to ask me twice. We went.

We both partied like we were in our early 20′s. Well, I was in my early 20′s. We went to the beach, took tours, went on a snorkel and sail boat, and went to a luau. Had a blast. Somewhere along the way, someone took my camera and snapped a photo of the two of us. Seeing that photo was the first time I realized just how much like my mother I looked. And that was after a lifetime of people commenting on how much I looked like my mother. When I was young, I didn’t like being compared to her (probably because of the mental illness thing). But now when I look back at Mom, she was quite a looker. And I’m quite happy to be compared to her, when it comes to looks.

Mom, the happy bride.

Mom, even though you’re no longer here with us in the physical world, I know you still keep tabs on me. And I hope you’re better than ever. Happy Mother’s Day.

Christmas 1966 Mom and me. Two days later, younger brother would be born.

Spring Tulips 2013

Every year, the local tulip fields and gardens bloom, audience to thousands of visitors. I usually take two to three visits to capture the blooms. This year, due to rain and life, I had only one visit to an amazing, formally planted, tulip garden. Here are some of my more favorite shots. Which one is your favorite?

If the banner that I display at the top of this page is a tulip garden photo, I took it at this same place last year, April 2012.

Music of My Life- The Early Years

Music has been an important part of my life since forever. I have often joked that if you cut me, I bleed blood and music. From three years old, my musician mother, took me to music classes. At six, musical instrument lessons began. This kept up through college, where I played in my college orchestra.

Even though my mother would only listen to classical music, I love a variety of musical genres. So, today, I am sharing some music that I love. Here are a few tunes from my earlier years (before the age of 20).

Good Day Sunshine- The Beatles

In honor of where I was born: Boston

Chiquitia by Abba

Put your hands together for the Bay City Rollers and S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

And a final song for you- Bachman Turner Overdrive singing You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet.

Is My Son Defective?

Today I’m pleased as punch to send you all over to LeClown’s Black Box Warnings to read my guest post. I’m very honored to be asked by Eric, AKA LeClown, from A Clown on Fire and Black Box Warnings, to join a group of bloggers who have been invited to share their stories about mental and physical health, parenting, daily tribulations, and life’s little moments.

Black Box Warnings has been created as an on-line community that is built around support, respect, and compassion. I am sharing the journey of discovering my son, from defective, in the eyes of the medical community, to amazing and in fact, advanced. Over the course of my son’s ten years of life, my eyes have been opened and more recently, so has my mind. Come with me as I answer the question, Is My Son Defective?

His Dysregulation Sent Me Running, Screaming

The title of this piece isn’t totally accurate. Although, in my mind, I definitely wanted to run away from Little Man. Sometimes, it doesn’t take a lot to get this kid out of whack. Living with Sensory Processing Disorder, keeping a regulated brain requires a lot of regularity, in the way of eating, sleeping, and activity.

I am a stickler with making sure Little Man gets to bed at a reasonable bedtime, every night. I don’t care if it’s a weekend or summer break. He does best when he goes to bed around 9pm. Yes, he doesn’t actually fall asleep until probably an hour later; but having that quiet, wind down time in bed helps him.

When he eats, I try to make sure he gets some protein in with his carbs, to keep his tank full and his blood sugar as even as possible. As a picky eater, his food vocabulary is very limited. And when his emotions are running high, he will not eat. At other times, he’ll have an appetite that won’t quit. Luckily, sugar doesn’t affect him the way it jacks some kids up.

This afternoon, after being sick with the bronchial crud from hell for about a week, I finally mustered up just enough energy to hit the grocery store. We were down to our last egg, and there would be nothing to spread on my toast, come breakfast time. Not only that, but the really crucial food that we were out of, was hay for our pet guinea pig. She requires hay all the time. Could she make it on compressed hay pellets? Probably. But when she wants something, she gets very vocal. And, I can’t resist the pleading big dark brown eyes, when she squeaks for hay or a treat.

I can’t resist her cuteness.

I asked Little Man if he wanted to come with me. After having no success in finding a playmate for the day, Little Man was quite despondent. Even though it wasn’t his first choice of entertainment, he decided to accompany me shopping.

First stop:  the pet store for hay. Little Man wanted to look around at the fish tanks. Before long, he got it into his head that he had to have a tank on his desk in his bedroom. As I wheezed and coughed through the store, today was not the day to buy a complete fish tank setup. That started something in Little Man’s head. He began to obsess on having to have a fish tank today.

By the time we got to the grocery store, Little Man was being nicer than usual, and offering to do all the work getting the various groceries on my list and pushing the cart. He was trying to do energy work on me to help me feel better. It took a little while, but I finally figured out he was buttering me up, trying to get me to get him a fish tank today.

For the tenth time, I told him that we would get him a fish tank, but not today. I didn’t feel up to it. And in fact, cough, wheeze, gasping for breath, it was all I could do to get the groceries on my list.

So much for the helpful son. Meltdown began. Face crumbled. Hoped dashed upon the rocks. A whining sort of whimpering cry began, and kept on. The obsessing thoughts going round and round, like a hamster wheel. Not letting up. Nothing I could say, helped.

Got some food from the deli counter, hoping this would help. It didn’t. My mind races: think, think, think. What’s gotten this kid so out of whack? Yes, he takes disappointments much harder than most kids. But this was up a notch, even for him. Dysregulation. What was it? Crap! I figured it out. He went to bed almost an hour and a half later than usual. Someone other than Mom put him to bed, allowing tired and coughing Mom to go to bed early. Thanks for nothing.

I don’t know about other children because this is the only one I have. But I have heard some people say they put their kids to bed late so they’ll sleep in. When Little Man was a toddler, if he got to bed too late, he’d have a night terror, guaranteed. Now, all it does is leave him dysregulated the entire next day.

So there we were, half my shopping list to go, Little Man having a somewhat controlled meltdown. I say controlled only because he wasn’t lying on the floor kicking and screaming, and he wasn’t yelling and screaming. But he was barely on the edge of totally losing it. In one moment, I feel so badly for this kid, whose brain messes with him. And in the next, I’m so tired, frustrated and ticked off, wanting to just finish my shopping in peace, cough, wheeze, hack. On the edge of self-control myself, wanting to run away, screaming.

But I know this too shall pass. And it did, eventually. It took getting through the rest of shopping, the entire 25 minute ride home, and carrying the groceries into the house. At home, away from all the people, Little Man could decompress and disengage the hamster wheel. Does it take a toll? Less than it used to. Do we have to deal with this sort of stuff often? Often enough, but less than we used to. It’s life. It’s our life.

Clearing Out A Lifetime of Things

I recently returned from having spent a week emptying my mother’s house. It was the house I lived in from 10 years old, until I spread my wings and left the nest in my 20′s. The memories in that house are a mix of good and bad, happy and sad.

Where I grew up.

The job at hand was pushed into overdrive because neither of my brothers, nor I, live within 3000 miles of the house. And we wanted to get the house emptied and on the market for the spring/ summer real estate season. We began the process the week before Mom’s funeral, back in mid February. More recently, my younger brother has been able to take 3 weeks to be at the house. I was able to be with him for one week. It’s been a triage job: what are we keeping, what can be sold, what will be donated, and what is trash.

Back in February, going through things, I’d occasionally hit a land mine and would break down into a puddle of tears. But, this last week that I was there, it was pretty easy to go through the house. There were a few things that I held enough sentimental attachment to, that they are in boxes, on their way to my home: the wind chime that was in the dining room, a vase with fish on it that I bought in Japan and gave to Mom, a mug that was given to Mom by the all-girls college she went to, on the occasion of the birth of her daughter (me), and a few other items. But I was able to let go of a lot. There is very little that mom had specifically told me would be mine upon her death.

As my younger brother and I went through things, what was once a family room just inside the side door, became our staging area. The sofa that was ravaged by the family cats, was in the garage. Sitting chairs are gone- shipped off to our brother. Bags and bags and even more bags have been taken to the local Salvation Army, with more to go. Boxes of family photo albums to be stored in our family’s summer cottage, for all of us to enjoy forever, await transport. Items that had stories attached to them, ascribing great value, I learned were not actually valuable; and were donated. A few things were sold. But the bulk of what was in that house for almost 40 years, has been donated to a few different thrift stores, a food bank, and more.

Where we once hung out, now is a staging area.

Mom had been a professional musician for her entire adult life. During that time, she accumulated a large library of music and books about composers. With the help of some of her musician friends, Mom’s music and books will find their way into the hands of young musicians, where they will be well used. Even in death, the music will live on. I found some spare parts for Mom’s violins and viola: bridges, chin rests, shoulder rests, strings. These have been donated to a man who repairs instruments, to be used when he has a client who can’t afford a new part for their instrument.  Mom would be pleased.

I am finding that the joy of someone receiving free music, or a free shoulder rest for their violin, receiving free food, or finding that treasure in the thrift store, has no limit to its value. Sure, someone could have taken every single item out of that house and could have found a way to put a price tag on it. But I am finding a much better energy exchange in donating much of it. Many people will be happy.

With one week left until my younger brother has to leave Mom’s house, he is doing amazingly well moving along, getting the house empty. Just last night I received the text, “Attic empty.” Mattresses are gone. Ping pong table is gone. Much of the basement is empty. The band saw sold. Wheel chair ramp is going today. Items to be auctioned are gone. Hazardous waste gone. Snow blower gone. I am more than proud of, and very impressed with my brother. He is getting it done.

For me, it’s weird. Because I do not live anywhere near the house, I most likely will not ever see it again. When I left it, just days ago, the picture in my mind of the distinct lack of furniture, things in disarray, empty rooms, partially emptied rooms, and boxes and bags filled with stuff, will be the last image I’ll have of the house I grew up in.

I am realizing that the difference between a house and a home is the life that is there. Without my parents, their cats, and visitors, the house it just that. A house. Soon to be ready for another family to make it their home. The end of one family’s story there, and soon, the beginning of another’s.

Dad and Mom during better days.

Another Loss

I keep meaning and wanting to finish editing and to publish a post I wrote over a week ago, but life keeps rolling and rolling, sometimes over me. After dealing with punches of parental death and the aftermath of having to deal with the house I grew up in, this morning, I found out about the death of a contemporary of my father.

This woman was more than lovely. Although I only saw her at our summer place, Nancy was like a mother to any and all children around. She was warm, inviting, accommodating, stable, and kind. She and my father had been part of the same summer crowd as teenagers. So, their friendship went back about 70 years.

When I was a kid, we would spend the month of August on the coast of Maine in a small cottage that overlooked the water. Nancy’s family’s cottage was 3 doors down. Every year, when we’d arrive for the summer, the first thing we kids would do, is run door to door to see who was there (for their vacation), and go visiting. Usually, Nancy’s place was our first stop. Because her children were that much older than us, we would only see them sporadically.

One of the things I loved most about those summer vacations, was when we’d all pile into our various boats, loaded up with kids and coolers, and motor out to a neighboring island for a picnic lunch. The meal was always followed by a walk around the island and lots of socializing.

The other things I loved were the other social events: cocktail parties (the one time during the year my mother would let us kids drink soda), and dinners with friends (often times, cookouts). Nancy was just one of several siblings, and her sisters and brother had their summer cottages within a mile of ours. During the times when they would all be vacationing at the same time, I loved to be able to join their families. Their “normal” families, with mothers who were not mentally ill, and who I dreamed of having as my real mother. There were several kids who were around my age, and we all played together now and then.

When I was married, there at the chapel by our summer cottage, it was Nancy and her family who put up my husband-to-be, and who hosted my wedding day breakfast.

Those memories for me are gold. And losing Nancy is like losing one of my other, more normal mothers- even if we only spent a few weeks a year in proximity. I will miss her dearly.

The last time I saw her was at my own mother’s funeral, just over a month ago. She was frail (had cancer), walking with 2 canes, and had really lost her spark of life. At the time, it occurred to me that it might be the last time I’d see her, so I made sure to give her a big hug and tell her that I loved her. I’m glad I did. But I also know, that where she is now, she knows that we all love her, and I bet she can feel it all.

How A Chick From Maine Changed My Life

I don’t even remember how long ago it was, but once upon a time, I discovered WordPress’s Freshly Pressed. That very first time I ever saw it, I saw a title that intrigued me: She’s a Maineiac. Right off, I said to myself, “Cool! A chick from Maine has a blog. (I spent every summer when I was growing up, on the coast of Maine, and lived there for a while in my early 20′s). I need to check this out.” Ok, I just went back into my e-mail and discovered that my first direct contact with Darla was an e-mail I sent in February of 2011. It started off, “Hi! I don’t often write to people whose blogs I read, but I had goosebumps when I read your comments; learning about your son and about your taking Reiki courses.”

 That first blog post I came across was Quick Mom! Run and Hide! At the time, I believe her About Me section on her blog was different from how is it now, because I connected with some similarities between us: having sons almost the same age, who both have sensory issues (several shared ones), loving photography, having lived in both Maine and Washington state, and having an interest in energy healing. When she answered me back about how using Reiki with her son helped calm him tremendously, it didn’t take long for the idea of my learning Reiki to pop into my head. I looked on the internet for a local Reiki Master and class, and found a class that was offered about 2 or 3 weeks later.

Becoming attuned to Reiki opened something in me that began a big catapult in my life. The irony is, after I could give Reiki, my son wanted nothing to do with it. (Thankfully, these days, he asks for it often). The week after my first Reiki class, I decided to check out the website of the center where it was taught; a Unity center. On their list of upcoming events, was a talk that was going to be given by a man who called himself a high frequency energy healer: Roger Deycaza.

Having had healing sessions with an Energy Healer for the past year, I was intrigued to see what Roger’s work was about; so I went to his talk. He talked about training in Pranic Healing for years, and then one day, being able to feel everyone’s physical and emotional pains. He talked about how everyone has an energy field that extends beyond their physical body. And as we all sat in this small room, everyone’s energy spread out and over time, swirled around and mingled with everyone else’s. He explained that when he works with a person, he is able to help that person raise the frequency, or vibration, of their body’s energy. And in doing so, the person is able to release things that resonate at a lower vibration from their physical, emotional, mental and spiritual bodies. And those lower vibrating energies might be felt as physical pain in your back, or anger towards a person, or a feeling of undeservedness.

There were a few people there, who provided testimonials of Roger’s work, including a woman, Jeanie, who had experienced healing so complete and profound, that bones that she had broken, when x-rayed, now show no evidence of every having been broken. As she told her story, at one point, she turned to me and talked directly to me, as if I was the only one in the room. Roger also told a story of working with a man who had ALS, and was able to be healed.

At the time, I was on the hamster wheel of cortisone shots and cycles of physical therapy for a badly herniated disc in my lower back, and I thought, I gotta get a session with this guy. And I did. That session released so much in my physical body, that I have not needed a cortisone shot, nor have I done any physical therapy since. No, my back is not perfect, but it’s damned good.

The next connection came when I learned that one of the women who had been at Roger’s talk, not only had had Roger do energy work on her that was amazing, but she, herself, has skills in the fields of intuition and healing. The next thing I knew, I had a psychic reading with Jeanie Adkins, Angel Therapy Practitioner. She not only reads what’s going on in your life, what has happened previously in your life, what has happened in previous lifetimes, and can see possible future events, but she heals as well. I don’t know what happened to me that day that she read me, but something healed, opened, I don’t know what, and once again catapulted me into the world of spirituality. All of a sudden, I wanted to know everything about healing, energy and about metaphysical things. It was so intense that my head literally hurt for a day and a half (I think it was my crown chakra getting cranked open).

Since that time, I’ve been a student; reading book after book, watching talks and interviews on Youtube (I created my own Youtube channel where I’ve compiled several of these teaching videos). I’ve taken several classes in healing and connecting to the world of spirit. And I’ve worked with several people to support my own healing. Where I am today as a person is so far removed from where I was 2 and 3 years ago, that I am amazed. The peace that is in me, and the ability to move through some very difficult situations, is indescribable.

Connecting through blogging, has changed my life. Things have been put on the fast track. Because I took a chance and connected with Darla, she told me about Reiki and how it  helped her son. Yes, I made the decision to pursue it myself, in hopes of helping my son. But that option never would have existed without the initial suggestion. Thank you Darla. You helped change the trajectory of my life.

What Is Hypnosis?

I am talking about hypnosis today, because it’s a tool I have used with success, and one that I will be revisiting later this week and over the next several weeks. Just what is hypnosis? According to Wikipedia, it’s “a special psychological state with certain physiological attributes, resembling sleep only superficially and marked by a functioning of the individual at a level of awareness other than the ordinary conscious state.”

So, what is that? Well, in hypnosis, you are focused, awake, and relaxed. However, your conscious mind is so quiet that you won’t even hear a truck rolling by or notice music that has been playing, has stopped. The conscious mind is quieted and the subconscious mind can be accessed. This is where all your thoughts and beliefs reside; in the subconscious. Everything that has happened to you, how you feel about it all, and what you believe about it, even when you were a day old, resides in your subconscious.

Why would someone want to delve into their subconscious mind? Well, we carry around a lot of thoughts and beliefs, and these drive our behaviors. We are aware of things in our conscious mind; but when there is a subconscious belief or thought, we are not aware of it (hence the name, subconscious). We often have subconscious beliefs that don’t serve us well. When they rear their ugly heads, the resulting behavior is called self-sabotage.

One common belief that can be self-sabotaging, is that we are not worthy of goodness or love, or wealth in our lives. A classic sign of someone who might have an underlying subconscious belief of, “money is the root of all evil,” might be someone who can’t make or can’t hold onto money. You could give them a million dollars, and in a relatively short period of time, it would all be gone.

For me, I’ve been on a quest to unearth what subconscious beliefs are holding me back from releasing excess weight that I carry on my body. With as much as I have learned about myself (and it’s a lot!), why do I still seem to need all this extra weight?

So far, with the help of several wonderful people who work in the metaphysical field, I have learned that I have a belief that has been following me through several lifetimes (this is what karma is about, folks), which is “life here in the physical body= pain.” One way to avoid feeling this pain is to pack on the pounds. Another belief I have discovered is that I need to carry the energy of certain people around me. It’s a way of my taking on their burdens and troubles (in their energetic forms) in an effort to help or to heal them. To carry around all that extra energy means needing to physically be larger. Finally, because I tend to feel other people’s energy or emotion, and pick this stuff up at times, having extra weight is a (misguided) way to shield myself from all this “stuff” that isn’t mine.

As long as these beliefs and more, are active in myself, I could go on every diet out there, or go through gastric bypass surgery, and the weight would find itself coming back to me. Check out Carney Wilson, for example. She had a very public gastric bypass surgery, but is having a heck of a time still struggling with her weight.

Thus, a return to one of my favorite modalities of healing: hypnosis. I have been able to learn more about myself, and to effect real and permanent healing, using talented hypnotherapists. A person could engage in talk therapy for decades and not make the progress they could make in a few hypnosis sessions, in the hands of a skilled hypnotherapist.

So, if I’ve been there and done this before, why do I need to go back and do more? Well, we have layers and layers of beliefs. As we learn about ourselves, we become ok to let go of some of our old baggage, but not all of it all at once. We find that we still need to hold onto certain thoughts, until we’ve evolved enough to be able to let them go. And that is absolutely ok. That’s how it works. No judgment. It’s a process.