Autism parenting

One of the things about parenting a kid with autism is that it's simply exhausting.*

She doesn't sleep. At least she doesn't sleep much. Lots of people have kids with sleeping issues.
She eats and snacks all day long. You should have seen Tony -- he had a hollow leg! 
She must be told fifteen times to do anything. Ugh, my 8 year old is the same way!
She is reluctant to get ready for school. What's new under the sun? 
She's not that fond of grooming herself. Talk to me when you have a teenage boy!
She has an explosive temper and extreme moodiness. Just wait for puberty, lol!
She gets obsessive about things and can't stop talking about them. Have you seen my kid with his Minecraft? 
She monologues at great length about things others tend not to be interested in. Well I remember you being a real chatterbox, too!She rarely stops moving. Aw, she has a lot of energy. Good for her!

It feels like everyone thinks they understand, because they had a kid with one of the issues I mention. But sometimes things pile up, you know? If you're working on six hours' sleep, have to make two and a half breakfasts (never mind your own and the baby's), asking her to do something and finding that it still isn't done, chasing her around to do it, standing over her to see that it gets done, getting yelled at by her for being a terrible mother, trying to get her to understand that her hair desperately needs to be combed, but you can't get a word in edgewise because she's talking at length about Pokemon, and when you finally grab the comb yourself (if she doesn't yell at you again), she wiggles to the point that you have to put her forehead in a headlock just to get her looking acceptable to go out the door to school, you get a little worn out!

That was sort of a hypothetical scenario. Today's was that she woke up at 2:30 a.m. for the day (you read that right). I asked her at 6:55 to get dressed, and told her I was getting a treat for breakfast -- either McDonald's or Burger King. She asked if she could go with me and I said yes, but she had to be dressed as soon as I was (I had showered, but wasn't dressed). I got my clothes on and she wasn't dressed. I reminded her, and then did my hair, too, to give her a little extra time. But then I said I had to go. She screamed, "WAIT! I'm not ready yet!!" I said I had already told her she needed to be dressed to go, and she had about five seconds left. Then I walked to the front door. She came out, holding her shoes, and said (in a very snotty tone), "HA HA! Youuuu thought I wasn't dressssed!!" I let it go and walked to the car. She was sort of dilly-dallying, so I got to the car, got in, and buckled before she was in. I turned the engine on, which triggers the automatic door locks. She pulled the handle once, found that it was locked (I heard her and unlocked it), and screamed again in rage, pounding on the window (at which point it was already unlocked). She verbally excoriated me all the way down the street, telling me things like "YOU should have waited!" I turned the music on in order not to hear her, and she started screaming, "I hate this song! Turn it off!" Then she sobbed for several minutes, including while I was ordering our McMuffins. And there were still fifteen minutes before Grandma came, filled with her irritating her brother and talking non-stop.

That's a pretty normal morning.

It's not to say that we don't have pleasant times -- she often plays nicely with the neighbor, her ABA therapy has been going well lately, and she sometimes reads quietly in her room for twenty or thirty minutes at a time. But we still have a lot of struggles, too, and a lot of yelling and crying, and it's tiring. Maybe it'd be better if we were all getting a good night's sleep...









*I may have addressed this before, but there is a STRONG contingent online that argues that any kind of complaining/venting about parenting autistic children is nearly abusive in that it tells autistic people that they cause problems for others. While I respect this view, I reject it for myself because A: my kid doesn't and won't read this and B: I think it's unconscionable to silence my voice and my real lived experiences, especially when expressing them may provide others the relief of knowing that they're not alone.

Funny boy, tree, bread

Hey! I am still not quite in the holiday spirit -- it's been a rough season -- but I decided to bust out the Christmas socks anyway.

And then we went on our annual Christmas home tour.

And got a tree. And replaced our old white lights (which I thought were elegant when I bought them, and boring by last year). And made a big-ol' piney centerpiece to hang above the table.

So I am still not quite there, but in a way it is very comforting to go through the motions and provide that joy and wonder for the kids. Lochlan has really taken to Christmas carols, and loves "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "Frosty the Snowman" especially. Although he also REALLY loves to shout indecipherably along with the fa-la-las in "Deck the Halls."

Tonight at dinner, Lochie was just charming and sweet and funny. He was giving Grandma the biggest smiles. He's really a bundle of joy.

And for fun, I decided to try to make real sourdough bread to give as Christmas gifts this year (hope no one's gluten-free!) and I used the Tartine recipe for the first time. It was a lot of time and effort, but DAMN they look good! I'm not supposed to cut into them until they're cool, so that'll be tomorrow, but I'm pre-emptively calling it a success.

So that is all going in the jar tonight. It's a good life.

Stress and the jar

Tonight a friend asked me how I was, and I said "good." And then we talked for a few minutes and she asked again.

It's not that good.

I'm just a little overwhelmed. It's my students' college application time, which means I'm getting slammed with requests for letters of recommendation. And should they have done it in advance? Sure. Am I obligated to write them? No. But part of my commitment to this career is a commitment to the kids, and I don't like to let them down. So I'm spending all my free time telling EOP programs how involved young Mr. Her is in Key Club and honors classes despite his many disadvantages.

And the house is kind of in chaos, because I haven't had a lot of time to clean since we got back (more on that in the next paragraph), which makes me tense anyway, but I was really hoping to get the house all spic and span so that we could put up a tree this weekend. I love Christmas so much, and usually it feels like a treat, but right now it feels like another thing I have to do.

Anyway, we got home from our trip Saturday evening, and Sunday morning at breakfast, Lochlan got burned. Like... not a little. A lot. Pretty bad. So there was the flurry of running and water and burn gel and phone calls and WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO WHO PUT US IN CHARGE?! Long story short, it's in all likelihood going to heal fine, and although there was some nurse chatter of skin grafts and the burn unit at Shriner's, the plastic surgeon we consulted with yesterday was very calm about it all and dismissed most of those concerns. He said that we need to let it heal, change the bandages, let it breathe, and we'll follow-up again on Monday. I had a few questions for him by email today, so hopefully I'll hear back soon. But despite the fact that this is really a pretty fucked up injury, Lochlan has been his pleasant, stoic self all along. I mean -- he was screaming bloody murder when it happened, but by the time the nurses were wrapping his wounds, he was laying his head against my arm and dozing off.

That's not to say he hasn't complained at all. Every time a new nurse came in the room, he'd announce to me, "She NOT a nurse." "She NOT a doctor." "She NOT a helper." He even tried to side-whisper to me -- despite the plastic surgeon being literally 18 inches away -- "he a BAD man."

Anyway, three doctor's appointments in three days kind of throws off your schedule a bit, so I'm behind the 8 ball on, like... everything.

And changing his bandages is really hard -- he hates it, he complains, he wriggles, and Sweetie and I are both scared of hurting him. If the bandages stick even a little bit and make him bleed, I feel like I'm torturing him. We've been doing it in the morning before work, which leaves me feeling shaky and drained for a couple hours (I know that makes me sound like some delicate flower, which I am normally not, but it's fucking awful).

And I nearly screwed up a field trip REAL BAD, and my best friend's mom is dying, and also have you heard anything about politics right now?

Where, you may be asking, am I finding something to put in the jar?

Exactly here, in the middle of all this chaos. Because as awful as I've been feeling, I know that I don't usually feel this awful. I know that my tense back muscles and my headache are not my typical state. I know that I am generally healthy, happy and relaxed, and that this is situational and will pass. That is something to be thankful for.

Also, Lochlan has been singing Old Mac Donald, but he personalizes it in various ways, and it's funny as all get-out. You would not believe some of the things Old "MickMack Donald" has on his farm, "E I I I I O." Like cars that say vroom, and poops that say poop. So into the jar goes Old MickMack Donald.

The jar

Yesterday I had a lot to do and got home later than usual, so no post, but it was a pretty great day. Next week is my Sweetie's 43rd birthday, and we usually celebrate with a Thanksgiving-type meal that my mom makes, topped off with cherry pie (this year she made cherry AND pumpkin). We had Monkeygirl over, as well as some old friends of Mom's and Boompah's (that we really like), and we had the nicest evening. The topper, though, was that at dinner Z asked if we could all say what we were grateful for. And there was a lot to be grateful for.

I'm not over the election, and in many ways, each day's news is almost worse, the cabinet appointments confirming some of my worst fears. However, I can start to feel myself turning the corner from grief and dismay into anger and action. I put a "Black Lives Matter" sign in our yard. I tried to cancel Paypal (I'm joining a nationwide boycott against businesses whose founders or CEOs supported Trump financially), and although it didn't work yet, I am committed to getting it done. I signed several petitions today -- even useless ones that I don't think will go anywhere, like one asking the Electoral College to cast their votes for Clinton, as she won the popular vote. I don't expect that one to work, but I'd like it to be widely reported that X number of people signed such a thing. I need my fellow Americans to take note that there is a widespread resistance, and I am looking forward to taking part in it.

Pink

Lochlan wanted his nails painted pink today. He laughed and laughed as I blew on them to dry them. The kids and I ate grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, a marvelous comfort food, for dinner while Sweetie was at a football game.


I am still having lots of thoughts about the election, but I wrote them in pen today. I think I am finding a way forward that doesn't involve "fuck you," but it does involve a fight.

A drop in the bucket towards faith.

Yeah, so... just when I was thinking I had lost faith in humanity, I lost my wallet.

I came home and cancelled my credit cards, and started thinking about what else I'd have to replace. But in the meantime, we ate dinner, I cuddled the baby... and the doorbell rang.

A woman had found my wallet, looked inside for my name, figured out how to email me and did. Then, because it was a work email and the weekend, she just drove here to return it to me.

Hey, look: she's one woman, not representative of people as a whole.

On the other hand, although I don't believe in God, there have certainly been signs in the universe (signs from the universe?) before, often glaring neon ones*. I'm trying to learn not to ignore them.

So just when I needed some faith and hope, someone returned my lost wallet.

Thanks, lady.

Thanks, universe.

Hashtag still-mad-about-the-election-though


*Have I ever told you the story of my first wedding, wherein the processional music wouldn't play, the best man and some guests were left un-picked-up, the officiant had a UTI, and it was so hot the cake melted?

Jar and stuff

I took the kids to the dentist this morning. Lochlan was a kitty-cat the whole time. I got my teeth cleaned while he lay on my chest, and I flipped pages for him in a Little Golden Book of Lady and the Tramp. He told me what was on each page... "Mama dog and Daddy dog... Mama dog doesn't like the red thing on... Choo-choo train." (I looked later, and he was right. The "red thing" was a muzzle.)

The jar, okayness, and a long-ass commentary

First, today's virtual gratitude jar: Azadeh raked leaves into a pile and Lochlan flopped onto the pile. I have pictures. (I'll come back to add them, but the phone's dead at the moment.)


Second, I am not okay yet; I am not near okay; I am not even on the road to okay. I am still in table-flipping anger mode. But when the day comes that I am okay again, or I'm learning to be or trying to be, I will give some consideration to these two quotes.

Optimism isn't principally an analysis of present reality. It's an ethic. It is not based on denial or rosy thinking. It is a moral posture toward the world we find ourselves in.
                                                                    Josh Marshall 

 It was tribal warfare between Trump's us-against-them nation and Clinton's we're-all-in-this-together coalition.
                                                                    David Corn

The first one because I can choose to take a "moral posture" even when it doesn't seem warranted. The second because I have been feeling so "us-against-them" and I don't want their way to define my thinking, if that makes sense. (For the record, TODAY I feel hella us-vs.-them. But I can see myself working back to stronger-together. Maybe. Someday.)

Thanks to my loving Sweetie for sending me that first one.

Virtual Jar

I keep reading about an idea to write down something you're grateful for, or a highlight of your day, then put it in a jar. At the end of the year or whatever, you read the things in the jar.

That's lovely, but then I'd have to keep track of paper, pens, and a jar.

So here are today's highlights.

This morning Lochlan asked for his pink kitty nose and whiskers again.

Later, Azadeh blew grape-scented bubbles around us as we snuggled on the bed. Lochlan asked Sweetie to keep him warm, so they cuddled under a blanket. Then Lochlan said, "Daddy, be a ghost." So Sweetie put the blanket over their heads and said "OoooOOooohh." Lochlan replied, "Meow."

At bedtime, Lochlan was a little fussy, so I started singing to him, but with meows instead of words. He asked me to lay down next to him, and I did, and then he joined me, meow-singing, too.

What to even say?

Yesterday, Donald Trump was elected the President of the United States of America.

That had two pretty profound effects on me.

First, it told me that the America I thought I loved and the people I thought I counted on are not what and who I thought. I thought I could trust them, ultimately, to vote to protect my family, my friends, my children. And I couldn't. I lost faith in America.

Second, I discovered that my optimism, which has rarely let me down, is a failure now. It's a part of myself and my identity and the way I think of myself that is now an untrustworthy black hole. I lost faith in myself.

And I logged on to Facebook and saw the messages I would have posted once... about how to move forward. About Martin Luther King and the arc of history. About Anne Frank and her faith in people.

And I saw -- even though, I admit, I have manipulated and blocked and hidden and unfriended my Facebook page into an echo chamber of liberals -- that on almost everyone else's expressions of grief and dismay, there was some white dude (not a stereotype if it's true) talking about why or how or gloating or defending or in some way trying to tell people like me that our feelings aren't real.

And I had e-fuckin'-nough. I deactivated, probably temporarily, my Facebook account. I don't know how I will face my students today. The articles all those lovely people were posting suggested that we tell our students we will protect them, make sure their parents aren't deported, make sure they don't lose their health care, make sure they don't lose their rights. And I don't think I can tell them that lie today.

So I made pancakes, and I am going to get through today. That's what I can promise.

Lochlan's 2nd birthday

I think 2nd birthdays are a lot of fun. It's really the first one where the kid can kind of understand it. So for about two weeks, we've been telling Lochlan that he's going to be two ("No," he says), and that we're all going to sing him "Happy Birthday," and he's going to blow out a candle (and we showed him how to practice), and we're going to have presents and cake!

A few days ago, he started getting really excited about the cake. Not about eating it, but something about the idea that other people would eat his cake was really delightful to him. He kept asking, "Adadeh eat cake? Grandma eat cake? Daddy eat cake? Boompah eat cake?"

And when we would sing him the birthday song, at first he would say "NO!" but then he'd smile and laugh.

We were telling him what his presents might be -- toys, books, shoes -- and he said "monkey shirt." We asked, "Do you want a monkey shirt?" His current affirmative nod is amazing: he leans his head WAY back, then pauses a suspenseful second, then, grinning, throws his head forward, hair flopping. Yes, he nodded, he wants a monkey shirt. 

So we had the party today, and he liked everything. The cake, the presents, blowing out the candle... He loved, in particular, a farting dog on wheels (hey, whatever floats your boat, kid). When I came out the door with the cake in my hand and started singing, he was so overjoyed he just threw his arms around my legs so I couldn't even walk anywhere. 

He got his monkey shirt.

Later, he confirmed that everyone had some cake. 

He has no chill when it comes to cake.

Later still, we were in the car on the way home from dinner, and he wished me, Azadeh, and Grandma a happy birthday (pretty clearly, too). "Happy burday, Mama!" 

Happy birthday to you, too, my sweet boy. 

Lochlan is nearly two

So it's time for some updates.

First, his language is really coming along. He can say a lot of what he means, like "Need cracker now" or "Mama eat beans." (He really likes to feed me stuff, edamame included.) However, he still really likes to babble, so he'll wander around going, "Baby eat treat.. AAAHHGAGAGAGAKAKKAKAA! Hooeydooey." He sounds like a Minion. Some of my favorite little language quirks right now are that he calls me "honey," and that he has picked up on how often we call each other "Bear," as in "Papa-bear." So he'll say, "Need Papa-bear."

He's a total contrarian at times. He's been pointing to a poster in his room and saying "bunny." But it's not a bunny; it's a dog named Snowy. But if I correct him, he shakes his head and insists it's "bunny." Yesterday at his checkup, the doctor gave him a new book. It has animals and the names of their infants. It says stuff like "A baby cow is called a calf." Lochlan disagrees, and he points at the page and says insistently "baby cow." I'll say, "yes, a baby cow is called a calf. Calf, see?" "No," he says disapprovingly. "Baby cow." I told the doctor he had philosophical differences with the book, and she said, "Well, that's a new one."

He's still a huggy, kissy, cuddly, lovey snugglebug. Sometimes he gets to stay up extra late because he goes and lays on Daddy's chest, and we're powerless to resist the cuteness. He also loves his stuffed animals, and he says all their names, and he often lays down for a nap or bedtime clutching them. He's very empathetic, like the other day when Sweetie burned himself on a hot bite of food. His little face looked SO concerned, and he said, "Daddy okay? Drink water. Big water. Okay, Daddy?" He also cries if Azadeh cries, wailing, "A-deh cry!" when asked what's wrong.

He's a bit of a sneak. He tries to delay bedtime any way he can. We're still nursing a couple times a day, and one of them is at bedtime. So he'll have "nuh-nuhs," then wander around trying to climb Daddy or get into Sister's room, and I'll come to get him to put him to bed, and he'll declare that he needs more nuh-nuhs. Other times, I'll ask if he wants nuh-nuhs, he'll say no, so I'll scoop him up for bed and he'll say "nuh-nuhs now!" Anything to delay bedtime. When I start singing him a song, he often leans back and shakes his head wildly, going "no no no no no!" But give him 7 or 8 seconds, and he puts his head on my shoulder and relaxes, and by the time I put him down, that's the last we hear from him for ten hours, minimum.

Funny song interjection: Today we were cuddling and I started singing.
"Twinkle twinkle--"
"No."
"Old MacDonald had a--"
"No."
"There was a farmer who had a dog--"
"No."
"Frere Jacques--"
"No."
"Where is Thumbkin--"
"No."
"Um... There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold and she's buying a stairway to heaven."
He nods slightly, so I sing all I remember.

He loves to have his nails painted, and the other day he was so proud that when Sweetie got home, Lochlan went running in to show him, saying "A-deh paint nails purple."

He does not, however, like to be accused of wearing girls' clothing. I put some old yellow sweatpants of Z's on him, and when Sweetie asked, "Are you wearing sister's pants?" he looked SO offended, and said, "baby pants! Mama put on." Okay, bro.

He knows his colors well, and never misses the opportunity to use them. He likes Green Brobee (from a kids' show), blue cat (same show), and pink yogurt. Actually, any yogurt is fine by him.

In sum, he's a pretty cool dude, and he's really enjoying life. He loves playgrounds, water, pools, food, his sister, the rest of us, cats, dogs, most other mammals he's met or seen on YouTube, books... you know, there's not a lot he doesn't like.

It is in this one that I REALLY see how much he looks like I did as a kid. I should see if I can hunt one up that will show you, too (my parents will know immediately what I'm talking about). 

The boy is sweet

Man, this election cycle, this news cycle -- it's got me down.

Fortunately, I get to spend my days with this dude.

This dude, when you pick him up to sing him a lullaby and pat him on the back, he pats you on the back, too.

This dude almost never passes up the opportunity for a hug or kiss.

This dude came over to give me a hug while I was sitting on the ground, and then he pushed his legs against the ground so we just rocked back and forth for a long time. "This is nice," I said. He nodded.

This dude, when you tell him you love him, smiles and nods.

This dude can't quite say "love" yet, but he can say "heart sister" or "heart Papa."

This dude, if he has some really yummy food, wants you to have some, too.

This dude doesn't want to bathe alone -- he wants sister to come join the fun.

He also doesn't want the babies to be lonely in their solitary baths.

He likes the toys where there's a mama and a baby the best.

He likes to peep into strollers to see the baby, and wave hello.

Today as we turned into the parking lot of his sister's camp, started saying "sister! Sister! A-deh, A-deh!" She got in the car, and I told her, and she said, "Aw, what do you call me?" He answered, "Honey."

Every kid is different.

This morning I sit at ArtBeast, where Lochlan happily rolls trucks around, filling them with sand, emptying them, and rolling them around some more. We stay in one place for about 40 minutes while he plays. I flash back to Zadie's toddler years, when a trip to ArtBeast involved climbing multiple sets of stairs, trying to clean up messes while she ran out the door to another area, apologizing to the other mothers for various things, and getting to sit down basically never. I stand up now to stretch, and Lochlan pats the low brick wall. "Mama... here." I sit down again, and he rolls a truck across my knees.

I remember her artworks, most of which contained the same funny brushstroke, a little swirl on a vertical. I never thought much of it then. As I often do, I wonder how I didn't know she was autistic until she was seven. But I always come to the same conclusion -- she was my only child. She was different than I expected, but isn't every kid different?

My mom used to say that people would comment on how early and how well I talked, but she had the same issue, no real point of comparison. Azadeh is a lot like me, and all kids are different.

Having Lochlan -- who is without a doubt the calmest, most patient, most affectionate kid I know -- puts her behavior in a starker relief. He pretends to feed his stuffed animals. He gives me bites of food. He helps out -- just yesterday when picking up up Z from camp, I said, "Lochlan, can you go get the pink flower bag and bring it here?" He fetched her lunch bag and handed it to me.

It's almost a year since we sat on a little couch at Kaiser, her in her overalls, tangled hair hanging in her face, staring at her Kindle with her big earphones on. The doctors told me there were a few other tests that needed to be done to know what services she qualified for, speech, occupational therapy... I asked, "when will we find out if she has autism?" The doctor looked almost surprised. "Oh, she definitely has autism." All of a sudden, it wasn't an "every kid is different" thing. My kid was autistic. My kid had special needs. My kid was gonna be a struggle -- not that she wasn't already, but she wasn't going to grow out of it, either.

Since January, she has been receiving ABA, a type of therapy that sometimes gets a bad rap for how it was practiced decades ago. It's been terrific for her. She now brushes her hair, brushes her teeth, washes her hands after using the bathroom, and generally gets dressed without help. Her ABA technician taught her to ride a bike, finally! We're working on cleaning her room and doing a few chores, and it's going well. We've addressed some of the sleep issues (that one's ALWAYS going to be an issue, but we're going through a good phase [knock wood]). Our next plans involve working on speaking politely, asking in kind tones of voice, that kind of thing. She still sometimes says really mean things out of nowhere.

When I first got the diagnosis, I was a combination of relieved and terrified. I mean, what does an autistic teenager do? An autistic adult? She used to tell us she was going to live with us forever, and the thought that it was a real possibility flickered through my mind.

There are still things I worry about. Puberty, for one. The awful things that can happen in junior high and high school when you're a weirdo (and diagnosis or not, a weirdo is a weirdo). Boys.

But overall, I can see a future for her. I don't know what it is. Science? Writing? The arts? She's a passionate person, and despite her issues with interpersonal stuff, she does desire companionship.

I was reading the book Neurotribes, and there was a passage stating that Asperger's syndrome* people are basically completely without issues if left alone in their room with the door closed -- all their perseverations and stims don't bother anyone if you just let them be by themselves. I don't want that, though, and I don't think she wants that.

Other parts of the book talk a lot about finding your space in the world -- whether it's Star Wars "fandoms" or computer programming. I think she will find that.

And in the year since the diagnosis, I've realized that the diagnosis itself -- although it did help us get services that have made a huge, positive impact in our lives -- isn't that big a deal. My kid is still my kid. She's hard to live with sometimes. She's smart as hell. She's funny and weird. She's different. But every kid is different.

*Asperger's syndrome is no longer its own separate diagnosis, but is part of the autism spectrum, according to the DSM-V. However, the more I read about it, the more I am certain that Z would have gotten that diagnosis under previous editions.

Making music for dummies!

When I was a little kid, my grandma had an upright piano and a couple books with songs that taught you how to play by numbering the keys. They were about frogs and things, and went "3-2-1-1-1, 3-2-1-1-1."

When I was in high school, I joined the choir. I am an adequate singer.

I mean, I think I've said before that after getting kicked out of the performing arts school, I was a pretty big fish in the small pond of my new high school. I was in the regular choir and the smaller performance choir. I loved my teacher, and she did her best to teach us some basic musical notation. I still remember "Every Good Boy Does Fine" and that the notes with just outlines last longer than the filled-in ones. But I cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, read music. She would sing us our parts, or play them on the piano, and I can memorize, so... 

In college, I joined the madrigal choir. I passed the auditions for the small group, but then the music issue came up: without reading music, I was falling a bit behind the others at learning the parts. But the other members and the director helped me out, and I got there. We performed before the Shakespeare festival for several weekends (in costume, even!) and it was a lot of fun. 

When I was 23 or 24, my friends Skye and Althea and I decided to start a band together. None of us had any musical experience, but Althea's dad played guitar, so she picked guitar. Skye chose drums, and I figured I had decent rhythm and would try the bass. I went to Skip's music, bought a "how to play bass" VHS tape (I know, right?), mastered the first couple lessons ("My Girl" and "Stand by Me
), and was on my way. By which I mean, I'd figured out the fingering and tuning and everything, so I was ready to write songs. And I did. I mean... DIY ethic, right? I played things that sounded good, more or less regardless of key and time signature. It worked, too -- the three of us were a team, so we worked together to make it sound right. We had a lot of fun playing our sort of riot-girl/punk/nerdrock. We broke up around the time I got married, when I was 29. 

After that, I fooled around with my uncle's ever-changing procession of dudes who got together to "jam." Some of that I chronicled here on the blog (anyone remember Jeff the Arhythmic Drummer?). It wasn't hard. The guys would tell me what chords they were playing, and I'd play that root note, sometimes fooling around with the timing, and you know... bada bing, bada boom. Not a great bassist, but I could keep the beat, play a goodly number of songs, and I had a good time. 

Somewhere around three years ago, some guys Sweetie works with asked if he played any instruments. Anything. They were desperate! He said no, but his wife did. That's how I joined "Rogue Scholars." They were real musicians. And although I was in it to have fun, my lack of skill started to interfere in certain ways. We'd agree to learn a song,  so I'd go home and learn it by looking up the tablature (sort of like sheet music for dummies -- it uses the 1-2-3 system just my Grandma's old frog songs). But then we'd start playing, and it would sound horrible. "Are you playing this in F?" They'd ask? Well, I have no idea!! I'd try hitting a few of the notes one or two frets down, and it would sound better, and so I'd try to re-learn it that way. If you're a musician, you're realizing the problem, I think: not everything benefits from being just moved over one. That shit's complicated.

But I *mostly* got it *most* of the time, and we played a lot and it worked, except when someone would say, "Oh hey, can we try that in E instead?" Because for everyone else, playing a song in a different key is no big deal. For me, it meant days' worth of work re-learning something. 

The band broke up recently (no major reason other than that we were paying a lot for a rehearsal space, never playing any shows, and kept losing singers). Within the week, a friend at school (like, my very oldest teacher friend -- we sat together at lunch at teacher intern orientation day 16 years ago!) asked me if I could play bass for an upcoming gig for his Star Wars-themed band. 

I said no. It was in March, and there was no way I could learn a whole set of new songs by then.

He came back a couple days later and said he was wrong about the date. It was in May. Could I do it? He didn't have music for me to learn from, but I could listen to the songs.

I said no again. I really didn't think I could learn that many songs in two months with no music to work from. 

The other member of the Star Wars band then came to my room, practically begging. He would try to make tablature for me. I said yes. 

He made the tablature for two songs, and then I got together with my old friend and he showed me how to play about three more, but there were still two more I didn't have music or even a demonstration for. I was on my own. I asked him to send me just the bass track separated out, and I listened over and over, but it's fast, and there's no recognizable pattern (the guy who played it for the recording is some jazz virtuoso) and I have to listen, then try to pluck out the patterns (all without waking the kids)... It's been very frustrating. 

The Rogue Scholars were doing covers, so they'd suggest some song and I could just look up the fan-made tab, or even a video tutorial of someone playing it, and the bass track by itself.

As you might imagine, this is not the case for a two-man Star Wars band.

Worse, my old friend is a music guy. Like, he'll give me suggestions like, "you could just play around in B, you know? Maybe throw in a seventh or something? That'd be cool. Hit that third like wee-ooh."  The brotha might as well be speaking Old Norse.


So I Googled until I found an app into which I could play that bass track, and it would spit out musical notation, and then I Google stuff like "which key has two sharps" and then I write down which version of Every Good Boy Does Fine I'm working with (because they're not all the same, oh no!). And then I make a handy little key for that, and then I use that key to translate my musical notes into the names of the notes (it's easier to work with tab, but I can at least locate the notes on my fretboard), and then, finally, I will figure out which 6 or 8 notes per measure I can hit and still have the song sound good, leaving out the 27 fiddly jazz bits I can't play anyway, and THEN I will be able to play this one goddamn Star Wars themed rock song. 

Anyway, the point of this isn't a pity party. I'm very glad to get to make music, no matter how badly I sometimes do it. The point is that I really wish I had learned to read music. It feels like a gap in my education. It is embarrassing to be in a room full of people who can do something well and only do it at the most basic level. (Incidentally, this is why it is futile to invite me to one of those "Ladies' Wine and Painting" nights, unless you need a wine taster.)

The raising two kids and having a job thing makes extracurricular activities kind of difficult to schedule. But someday, I plan to take a music class at community college, and maybe an intro to bass guitar class as well. I feel like I need the fundamentals I skipped past on ye olde VHS tape. I'd love to be able to walk into a room of real musicians, have someone go, "Hey, do you want to just jam in F for a while?" and be like, "Yeah, let's do it!"

Last week I emailed a kid to make a proposal. He does ONE presentation he's scheduled for, does some work from a lower-level class, and switch out of honors class and I'll give him a pity C.

As you might imagine, he's in pretty deep shit, grade-wise.

He said he didn't want to drop the honors class, he'd make up anything, I'd really lit a fire under him, and could he please work out a schedule with me to turn in old work?

J's a tall kid with a kind of retro flat-top. He's cocky as hell. Twice this year he's gotten in trouble for mouthing off to teachers. It seems like it's mostly female teachers, too, like we wondered whether maybe he has a problem with women in authority. I like him though. He's cocky for good reason -- a good mind, a good writer, funny.

Yesterday his mom was supposed to come to the school, so the counselor, the history teacher and I sat around and waited. She never showed. We tried to get her on the phone but there was no answer. His social worker was there, but she wasn't on any of the official school paperwork, so we couldn't hold the meeting with her. I wondered what had happened in between setting up the meeting and attending it.

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I try not to have favorite kids, but you know... When Azadeh asked if I had a favorite student, before I could even think about it or deny it, M's face was in my mind. She's a great questioner. She questions everything. She wants to know why we do education the way we do. Who chose the curriculum? Why this book? In what way, exactly, is this going to help her get to college? She's got more philosophical questions, too. I love a good question. And she's involved.  Mentoring, clubs... She actually misses class more than a lot of other kids because she needs to talk to the counselor, the director of a group she's in, her mentee... or she's on a field trip to colleges. It's that fine line some kids walk between doing a lot and doing too much.

Just recently, her work has slipped. She didn't turn in an important assignment. I kept trying to catch her to talk to her, but with all the in-and-outs, I didn't get a chance. Finally today I told her I was worried about her. She spilled the beans: she'd had trouble getting her work in because her mom had kicked her out and she didn't have regular access to a computer.  Her mom kicked her other sister out last year -- she knew I'd remember because one of the other teachers on campus adopted her. Apparently, the mom just gets this way. She sees the girls on the path to success or whatever and flips out. Stops parenting.

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A is that kid who, though she is different than me, reminds me of myself. She's a little brash. Different. Not into what everyone else is into. Constantly challenging the rules. She wears a hat into class every day, her earphones balanced on her head (both dress code violations). She drops the F word a LOT. Last year she got expelled, went to a credit recovery school for a while, and then came back this year.

She's one of my best writers. Completely not in the same category my other kids are in. Just a total risk-taker. One assignment early in the year was a "pastiche," a parody of a writer's style. Hers was so funny I laughed out loud in my chair, told my colleagues about it, saved it for ages before finally feeling obligated to give it back to her.

The other day we were talking about college. Her grades aren't that great, so I was asking if she works or does community service. She works three jobs. But she assured me over and over that it wasn't that many hours total -- some of them are only occasional. Today as we talked a little more about her life -- dad's in jail, mom's a bipolar drug abuser -- I asked her, "if you want to succeed, and you're capable of succeeding, why aren't you succeeding?" She looked at me as if in total confusion. Behind the big mirrored sunglasses she kept on, I saw a tear. "What's stopping you? Like, when you get home, what do you do?" "I go to sleep. I pretty much go home and go to sleep."

I asked her if maybe she could be suffering from depression and she told me that she had been diagnosed with depression and had been on medication for it and been in counseling, but basically felt so judged by her mom for it, that she'd stopped.

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A few hours later, after school, my colleagues and I were talking about social-emotional learning, about restorative justice, about self-management, goal-setting, and grit.

And I'm so conflicted, because of course our kids need that stuff! Of course it will help them succeed! Of course the only way to really help them achieve academically is to make sure they have these things in place.

And also... I was supposed to teach English. Verbs. Counter-arguments. Similes and shit.

I don't know if it was clear: all three students described above are in the most challenging classes on campus. They're striving for admissions to the good colleges. They've voluntarily taken on the hardest work in exchange for some bonus GPA points. They're motivated, they're trying, they want it. They're struggling so hard, and the challenges in their way are so huge.

I find myself, fairly or not, kind of mad at their parents. I mean -- these kids are doing their best. If you can't help them, could you at least get the fuck out of their way?

If my best kids, the top five or ten percent, are struggling like this, what's going on with the kid in 3rd period whom I haven't seen in two weeks and whose special ed teacher would only say his family issues were "serious"? The kid living with a "kind of like a guardian"? The "gang-identified" kid, the kid with the pregnant girlfriend, the kid with anxiety and old scars on his arms?

I know I'm a bleeding heart liberal or whatever. I don't know how I would even begin to address the problems they face, since they range from poverty to health to violence to abuse to drugs to... I know that to outsiders they look like "ghetto" kids and kids that won't go anywhere and kids that are scary to sit next to on light rail. But they're kids. They're my kids, and I love them, and I'm seeing how few of them -- even of the most motivated and successful ones -- have the kind of resources and support they need. They need and deserve loving, stable homes, and so many of them don't have that. And I don't think all the lessons on "grit" in the world make up for what they don't have.

Venn diagramming

The kids have things in common. They're both ridiculously good-looking, for one. Both big eaters (and adventurous ones). They both like the outdoors -- in fact, both kids, when upset, generally calm down if you simply walk them outside.

And some of the differences I've already brought up. She doesn't sleep, and he does. She was fussy and he's mellow. She was verbal and he's not.

But we keep noticing funny little things. Some of them are things that I don't think I'd have ever particularly noticed about Azadeh if Lochlan didn't present such a contrast. For example, she never cared much for stuffed animals. He loves them! He picks them up, points to them, naps while cuddling them, asks us to kiss them, offers them a turn at nursing time... He loves trucks and buses still, of course, but he often jams an Elmo doll into the top and drives him around.

She liked to be held, but was otherwise not that affectionate. She didn't want kisses or hugs. He voluntarily gives both, and smiles bashfully if you just kiss and kiss him. Yesterday there was a video on that he was watching. He was standing in front of me, and my left leg was crossed over my right. He rested his arm on my leg, and then thoughtfully stroked my leg back and forth while he watched. He likes to be within touching distance of you, to pet your hand, to gently pinch your forearm.

She never wanted to be groomed -- she'd run from having her hair combed, and until this very spring, getting her to brush her teeth often resulted in screaming matches. He happily opens his mouth to have his teeth brushed, watches you pleasantly while you comb his hair, and lifts his little chin towards you if you threaten to put Chapstick on him.

And he really watches for other people's reactions to him, in a way that she never could be bothered with. If you turn on Sesame Street, he laughs and points and smiles and whoops, and every few seconds he turns to you to make sure you're watching, too. If you're reading and he knows you're about to make a funny face, he turns to watch your face. If you set him free to walk on the sidewalk, he'll go, but he'll turn to make sure you're there.

She's gotten more affectionate as she's gotten older -- she especially likes it when I pick her up and swing her around. But she's never been a big kisser. I try to respect her boundaries. Tonight I asked, "May I give you a hug?" and she said yes. When I asked if I could have a kiss, she turned her head away and changed the subject. That's okay, too.

Lochlan's an easier child. That's not to say that he's easy. He fights diaper changes. He spills water everywhere. He harasses the cats. I love them both like crazy, but I admit it is a little nice to get a volunteer to snuggle here and there.

I should really post pictures, but I'm too lazy to go grab my phone and upload them. Another day soon, I promise.

Eight years is a long time!

Today was a very nice 8th birthday. We sang Z the birthday song and let her open one present -- a cool bag full of stuff for geocaching ("swag" to put in the caches, a retractable mirror and magnet). Then we went to Fox and Goose for breakfast. On the way home we stopped and found TWO caches in East Portal Park near our house. She was really excited. 

She then got to play with her friend from across the street for a while, and we packed a lunch. We went to Effie Yeaw nature center (the neighbor, Fidget, and her dad went with us) and played around a bit, walked to the river, ate some lunch, then spent a little time in the visitor center. Finally we came home for just a bit more playtime. Then it was karate (she opened her new gi from Grandpa first), where she was the class leader, and we dropped off her black belt project collection box. Then we picked up Chinese food for dinner, opened a few more presents, and then she and Lochlan just played with balloons for a while. 

While I don't downplay, in this space, how difficult it sometimes is to raise her/live with her, I am not sure I say often enough what an absolute pleasure she can be, too, and what a blessing, and what a smart, kind, funny girl she often is. At the age of 40, you'd think I'd stop being astounded at how many years have passed, but I never really am, and to think that we've had her in our lives for eight years (1/5th of my life!) is just marvelous. 

Happy birthday, Azadeh Finn.

Fun quickie trip to Santa Cruz.

It's a three-day weekend, so we made reservations at our favorite hotel, Hotel Paradox, and had a leisurely breakfast on Saturday morning, then made the drive at Lochlan's usual nap time. It worked great: he slept from about Davis to Fremont! We had a couple patches of slow traffic, but nothing serious, and we got to Santa Cruz around lunchtime.

Ready to go!

After settling in to the hotel room and putting a few things away, we walked downtown to Pacific Avenue. We split up a bit -- Sweetie and Z went to a comic store and L and I went into Chefworks and a couple design and clothing stores. We met up again and went to Logos, the used and new bookstore.

Then we went back to the hotel and had dinner in the restaurant. It was mostly lovely, although Lochlan is quickly heading into that difficult-in-restaurants phase that involves loudness and messes. I ended up walking him in circles around the hotel lobby until I saw that our food had arrived.

It was a big meal, so we all skipped dessert (what?? I know, right!?) and went back to the room to change into bathing suits. They have a lovely heated pool and spa, and we enjoyed both before heading back for our bedtime routine. Lochlan went right to sleep and slept soundly, but Z couldn't go to sleep with our lights on, so we turned them out and didn't read like we usually do.

In the morning, we got up, got ready, and went to Cafe Brasil for breakfast. Well, we actually got there a bit early and drove to a couple places to try to find sand toys (we had some, but no shovel). With no luck and 8am approaching, we went back to Brasil. Man, I like that place! Lochlan was somewhat better behaved, but it was also a shorter wait for food, which helps.

Clifford the Big Red Dog accompanied us.

Back at the hotel, I put Lochlan down for a nap, and Sweetie tucked in, too (he had hurt his back and not slept well). Azadeh and I walked to the park and played (I read) for quite a while. The cherry blossoms were all in bloom, and they were wafting down around us. She picked up a handful, climbed to the top of the snake slide, and set them free on "1" of a three-count. Luckily I starting clicking early.

Cherry blossom time!

Then we went back to the room, packed beach bags, and stopped at Trader Joe's for snacks.

We spent about two hours at Natural Bridges. On the way in, we took the path down to the viewing area for Monarch butterflies. It wasn't the best time of year to see them, but we saw several.

Looking for butterflies.

We made sand castles, dug holes, ran in the surf, ate our food, and just generally dinked around. It was wonderful. Lochlan was absolutely drawn to the water. He kept running towards it, and even when the surf was at his toes, he'd try to run into it. Even with both Sweetie and myself right next to him, we couldn't quite get him out of the way in time for one bigger wave, and he got soaked! But, you know, I had sunscreen, so we just let him hang out in a diaper. For the car ride home, I put him in his sweater. It was fine.

He looks crabby here, but he didn't even cry about getting knocked over by the wave. 

It was a pretty high tide when we got there, and apparently it was still coming in. We had to move our blanket further up the beach. At one point, Z found a hole someone had dug and started to hollow it out more. As soon as L saw, he went crab-walking over to it and jumped in, like, without hesitation. You could see it in his eyes: "I want to be in that hole!"

Here's a funny note: it was Iranian day at the beach. Sweetie nudged me and said, "MAN we stand out wherever we go." "Huh?" I asked, thinking he meant our family. He nodded his head a little and I saw a lovely family of olive-skinned people with, well, big noses. And another down the beach the other way. Anyway, I had noticed in myself the tendency to pronounce "Azadeh" the Iranian way -- a little more "eh" than "ay" and equal emphasis on the first two syllables rather than a stressed-unstressed -- when around Iranian people. I'm not sure why, but there you are. Well on the beach, with the other Iranian families around, Sweetie stood up to call her from somewhere and HE did it too!!

We stopped in the visitors center, where I got Z a bracelet and a tidepool chart and myself some earrings based on Hokusai's "The Great Wave." I held up two books for Lochlan and let him choose, but he kept waffling. "Which one, Lochie? Butterfly or frog?" "Butt! Butt!" he'd say, right before switching to the baby sign language for frog. Finally I decided he was slightly leaning towards butterfly, so I bought that one.

We went back to the hotel and changed into bathing suits and had an afternoon dip. Sweetie's back was really bothering him, so he didn't swim long, but he sat out on a lounge chair while the kids and I swam. Lochlan had a blast! He loves splashing and being hoisted in and out of the water. I hope I never forget the look of sheer joy on his face. Z also had a good time -- she found another kid to talk at, and impressed him by doing about 20 cannonball/bellyflops.

Then we showered up and got ready for dinner. We walked back downtown and went to Mobo Sushi. Luckily, even though it was Valentines Day, we didn't need a reservation. They stuck us in what we have come to realize is the kid room, which is fine. Z got the kids' "Roll Your Own," which is some nori, some sushi rice, some tempura yam, some avocado, and teriyaki chicken. I got Lochlan an avocado-cucumber roll. I had a roll with yam and avocado, and another with yamaimo (Japanese slimy potato), shiso and ume. I like shiso and ume so much that I didn't give a lot of thought to the slimy yam. It tastes like daikon, but it drips snot, so that was weird.

My wee valentines at Mobo.

Afterwards, we went to Bookshop Santa Cruz, then to several other shops. I had planned poorly. I wanted to go to Palace Arts and Paper Visions, but they were both closed. Still, I had gotten to most of the shops I wanted to. I stopped and got a few cookies from Pacific Cookie Company to bring home, and then we met (Sweetie and Z had gone to It's Sugar, the overpriced candy shop that Z loves) at Mission Hill Creamery, which has terrific ice cream. I had been carrying Lochlan on my back in a baby carrier, so I opted not to give him ice cream but handed him a cookie instead.

Then we went back to the hotel and did our bedtime routine stuff. For some reason, Lochlan woke up at midnight and could not be consoled except by cuddling (and nursing) in our bed. So he ended up being in there all night. I didn't sleep too well, but it was okay.

This morning we packed up everything fairly bright and early and checked out. Then we drove down to Kelly's French Bakery. When I was a 19-20 year old, everything at the west end of town -- at least down Swift Street, my path to the beach -- was warehouses and factories. But there's been a ton of development, and now there are both big companies as well as organic tea houses and natural foods stores and charcuteries and wineries. In one particular little plaza is the bakery we love. They have full breakfasts, lots of pastries, several different kinds of baguettes, and decent coffee. We grabbed a couple seeded baguettes, two cinnamon rolls, and a fruit and yogurt plate and sort of split it up. Well, Sweetie just had bread, but the kids and I all had a little of everything.

Then we went for a last look at the beach. There's an overlook where you can park for 20 minutes, so we went and stared out for a while. We saw some seals. When it was time to go, I told Lochlan "say bye-bye to the ocean." He looked very intensely out towards the waves and said "bye" about twenty times.

Two afterthoughts: First, we read the butterfly book when we got back to the hotel room. When we got to the middle, there was a page with no words, just a picture of a butterfly and a frog. When I turned another page, the words were upside-down. I flipped the book over. It was two books in one! We didn't have to decide at all. We'd gotten the frog book AND the butterfly book!

Also, Lochlan has started to throw some fairly epic temper tantrums. He throws, drops food on the ground (or flings it from his tray with a sweep of his arm), and yells. He's also figured out hitting. It's a real bummer. We keep working with him on "gentle hands," but I know sometimes these phases take a while. A couple days ago, he tried to hit me and I said no, and asked him for gentle hands. I guided his hand over my arm, and then he did it himself. So I think there's hope. But it reminded me that I keep meaning to tell you, gentle readers, how gosh dang sweet the boy is.

Azadeh is a wonderful child in many ways. But she's not really affectionate. She's not a lap-sitter. She's never volunteered the kisses. Even now you have to ask for a kiss, and sometimes she'll just turn her cheek to you. But Lochlan is the AFFECTION MAN! "Can Mama have a hug?" I'll ask. And he'll throw his arms around my neck and squeeze. "Mama kiss?" I get a big one, then two or three or five more. Sometimes I just have to pucker up and make the kiss noise and he'll shower me with kisses, grinning the whole time. And I don't even have to ask every time -- he voluntarily gives me hugs and kisses, pats my arm, holds my hand, rests on my lap. My gosh, it's so rewarding! And it's not even just me -- he wants to give his babies kisses, too (a couple stuffed pigs, a couple cats, a dog, and a plastic giraffe). And he wants me to give them kisses. He will hold an animal up toward my mouth, I'll pucker and kiss the thing, and he'll smile at me like all is right with the world. I even saw him make a pig and a giraffe kiss the other day, and then a cat and a truck. It's miscegenation, but it's beautiful to me.

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I just love baby at the beach pictures. I'd have gotten more of Z, but she's fast!

Not that bad is the new good

No, it's... it's fine, more or less.

As Zadie's behavioral therapy becomes a normal part of life, I have figured out the stuck-at-home thing, and it's not so bad. She has gotten more used to her normal technician, and it went pretty well on Monday and Tuesday of this week.

We even had a nice weekend together, going used-book shopping, vintage store browsing (I fell in love with a dresser set and later had Dad take me back there to pick it up for the very-nearly-ready Lochlan's room), ramen-devouring, train-game-playing...

School's been up and down. She's had some good days, but I got an email today that she was threatening another kid.

And today also, the technician's supervisor came. Remember how I said that since the technician (I don't remember if I've given her a fake name yet, so let's call her Nellie) was new and young, that I was afraid Z was going to walk all over her? Well, that's sort of been true. She really pushes the limits. It's been sort of friendly, but still a lot on Z's terms, and Nellie has been easing into it to build rapport.

Amber, on the other hand, is an old pro, so she comes in insisting on compliance. Z doesn't like that, so she pushes back, and today was a shitshow. She was throwing things at them, trying to hit them, telling them what not to do "if you value your lives." Which, where the fuck does she even get the mafia talk?

Anyway, that's over now and she's in bed and we don't see Nellie again until Monday, so we have a bit of a break.

The boy is good! He's doing more signs and animal noises and some more words (yesterday he said "bad cat" when the cat scared him).

He's snuggly and sweet and affectionate, which is so awesome. And he loves his stuffed animals almost as much as his trucks. He's very mechanical, in some ways. He loves to put shapes in the shape sorter thingie. He likes to find things that fit into or onto one another and put them together (a pencil in a jar! A lid on a bowl!). He is funny -- he loves to play peekaboo and then laugh hysterically. He looks at us so slyly during practically every meal, puts a piece of bread or something on his head, then says "hat." Then he nerd-laughs like that's the funniest damn thing.

The other day, Sweetie was playing air-guitar and humming Jimi Hendrix, and the Lochlan started enthusiastically rocking side to side. We decided it was dance party time! We put on Dee-Lite's Groove is in the Heart and all danced, and then we put on the B-52s' Rock Lobster. He seemed to really like that, so we were singing it and humming it off and on. Part of it goes "Lots of trouble, OOOO-AAH! Lots of bubbles, OOOO-AAH!" About the third time I did it, Lochlan repeated "OOOOH-AAH." He looked really proud of himself, too. Since then I've gotten him to do it five or six more times, but never on video, damnit.

She's been experimenting -- badly -- with makeup. 

Sweet big sister. 

Lochlan loves books. 

Stuffed animals. Truck. What more could a guy want? 

Perhaps a pith helmet? 

I think I was trying to distract her from something, but selfies are fun. 

Baby attack!

More stuffed buddies. He calls the pig "cat." 

Z and the neighbor girl being models.

Peanut butter face. Who can resist? 

Aw hell, I want to go snatch him up out of his crib and hug him right now! 

Still doing well in karate. Starting her black belt project.