Seriously? Another Snow Day…

I live in the south.

It would be more common to have several tornados blow through my town than to be able to calculate snow fall in inches. Yet here I sit, another snow day.

This snow that came upon us last night was unexpected. It was wet. It was cold. It was dreary. It was sudden. We didn’t long for it the way we have for the other recent snows. We would have rather it stayed away. But, as with all things, we can’t keep the dreary, cold times away. We have to approach them just as we do the happy, content times. We have to accept that, these too, help us achieve a balance.

So, instead of rushing out to sled and make snowmen and play, we are all content with staying safe in the house. Not venturing out into the cold — but, being here, with each other. Safe. Warm. Happy.

I have often thought about unconditional acceptance.

There are many people in my life that I think have my full unconditional acceptance. For some reason, I was listing them in the shower the other morning. It made me think, maybe I dish out this supreme form of acceptance a little too quickly.

I definitely have unconditional acceptance for my kids. We have to don’t we? How many people in our lives can we say the same thing over and over to and when they still don’t do it we just let it pass or delve out a punishment — but we never quit loving them (yes, I am absolutely thinking about how messy my kids rooms are right now). After a few minutes, we carry on — we hug, we talk, we love.

What I was really thinking about (yes, in the shower — some people sing, I think) the other morning, was if it’s possible to have unconditional acceptance for friends. So, I made my list. Right off the top I came up with two names — two friends that are definitely in the say anything, do anything category. But then my list grew. I started to think about people who I hadn’t seen or talked to in years — people I went to high school with and college with — people I think could tell me just about anything and I would still call them friend. I would still sit down to chat. I would still want to be in their presence.

But, maybe I’m wrong on this one. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to give out unconditional acceptance. Possibly when you give out unconditional acceptance you are expecting it in return — you are expecting to be able to say anything to that friend and them have the same response that you would have…and that’s not necessarily the case. But, whether perfect or not… it’s difficult to give. But I do. And I will.

So, back to an unexpected snow day.

Back to a cold, wet, dreary day that can only get better with friends and kids and hugs and perhaps a little Dr. Seuss.

Back to the unconditional acceptance (I know some of you will like this video!) of those you love — and who love you.

Back to another snow day, seriously.

The Quest Continues… (or Superhero Part II)

So, I was thinking about this superhero thing and how superhero’s are completely evolved into these…well, superheros. Superheros have this way of walking into your life and making it seem a little more bearable. And hopefully, they stay. Hopefully they don’t fly away to answer the next cry for help.

I recently read a post by my good friend, the brilliant Judy Clement Wall, about how sometimes we have to step into reality and focus on the things that physically bind us together (ok, so that may be my interpretation — not hers!). But, as usual with her writing, it made me think.

I thought about how much I love to spend time with my kids. We often do fun things together — like go to the lake, take trips to Disney, hold each other, hug, talk, laugh. I love for my kids to smile and be happy. Sometimes they’re not though — that’s just the way it goes in human nature. And when they’re not happy, I reach for that borrowed superhero cape and pretend for a moment that I can save the day, that I can rescue them, that I am their superhero.

By nature, kids want to be happy — it borders on selfish I would say. Not in a bad way, don’t get me wrong. But, they need to be happy because that’s what feels the best. It’s primal. It’s instinctive. So, as a mother who aspires to be a superhero, I try to shield them from anything other than the “happy”. But, sometimes, it’s unavoidable. Sometimes the “happy” seems so far away that attaining it is, quite simply, impossible to fathom — especially in the mind of a child. As a mother who aspires to be a superhero, that is the hardest part. To stay focused on an end result that you know will bring the “happy” to everyone — just maybe not soon enough for the child’s need for immediate gratification.

So, the quest continues. The quest to be a superhero is long and tedious. It changes everyday with each new cry for help, with each new need to make the “happy” stay as long as possible.

Superheros seem happy don’t they? At least the make-believe one’s always solve the crisis with a smile, a kind word — and then they leave. But, the real superheros — I think — stick around. They don’t need to fly off. Maybe they need someone to help them find the “happy” too. Maybe the real superheros, with a little help from their friends, can get past all the masked bad guys and find the “happy” — and then share it, especially with the kids.

Oh, to be a superhero.

Oh, to be a Superhero…

Superheros.

Who can resist a superhero?

Oh, to aspire to be a superhero.

They have special powers, they have special weapons, they have sidekicks. There’s much controversy surrounding the ultimate superhero — Batman, Superman, Spiderman. I have this friend who thinks that Batman is the ultimate superhero. I’m not going to mention any names, mainly because she is so wrong on this one. Seriously, Batman’s costume has pointy ears on it. Who can take him seriously with pointy ears? The real ultimate superhero is Aquaman (hey, it’s my blog, my superhero).

Bear with me for a moment while I give you the run-down of his abilities:

1. He can hold his breath for a really long time.
2. He has telepathic ability to communicate with underwater creatures — (and from a really long ways away too.)
3. He can swim up to 10,000 feet per second. (Don’t believe me? You know I googled.)
4. He can see in near total darkness. (As someone who doesn’t really care for the dark, this is very beneficial.)
5. Here’s a good one — he has the ability to create portals into mystic dimensions. (Tell me that’s not cool.)
6. Did I mention Batman has pointy ears?

There are superheros in our lives everyday, actually. They have special powers of their own — power to heal, power to laugh, power to listen, power to care. But, wouldn’t it be great to take these special powers and add a little something extra to them?

Here are some of the superpowers I think I might like to have:

1. The power to slow down time. Don’t get this confused with stopping time. I’ve never thought stopping time was a good option — we should always be moving forward, even if just a little. But to slow down time would be great. Like when you’re talking on the phone to someone and you just don’t want to hang up — you want to linger a little longer. Or when you find yourself in a quiet, peaceful place — just to be able to stay there for a few minutes more.
2. The power to jump forward in time. Now this one can be tricky, you have to use it just right so that not too much is revealed. But wouldn’t it be nice to fast forward a little so that you can enjoy the outcome.
3. The ability to shine. Some people actually have this superpower — it’s rare to be sure. But, the ability to give off a light that other people long to be in the shadow of… must be a wonderful superpower.
4. The ability to hold your breath for a really long time. Ok, so I stole this one from Aquaman. But, I think mine might be a little different. Maybe instead of holding your breath, it would be good to just take a breath — to breathe, to relax, to enjoy.

Superheros don’t always wear costumes or satiny capes. They don’t always try to conceal their real identities. They don’t always get there just in the nick of time. But when they do show up, their superpowers are unmistakable.

Superheros.

Who can resist a superhero?

Oh, to aspire to be a superhero.

Who’s your superhero?

Let Me Introduce You To Extinction

I have mentioned before that I work (read am obsessed) with children with autism. There’s a behavior term that we use quite often when talking about how to reduce problematic behaviors — extinction. I love this word. It my professional world, I might encourage a teacher to ignore a behavior such as throwing paper or pencil to the ground. The child might simply be wanting the teacher to talk to him or to look at him and therefore creates a reason for this to happen. Ignore it and the problem might possible resolve itself.

Behaviorally speaking, here’s what extinction means:

Extinction is defined as the withdrawal of the consequent stimulus that previously maintained the problem behavior. In other words, extinction is stopping the positive reinforcement that has been encouraging the inappropriate target behavior to continue.

In simplified terms, it means to ignore.

How many times in our lives have we told someone to “just ignore it”? How many times have we been told to “just ignore it”? It’s really one of the best behavior modification techniques around. It can be hard to “ignore” certain things though — hard to pull off the perfect extinction.

I’ve talked about the girls I work with — they’re a great group who keep me level-headed and laughing (if those two things can exist together). Our running joke to each other when someone is doing their best to infiltrate our good time is to put them on extinction. We put many people on extinction on most days. Try it — (you’ll thank me later.)

But, as with any good behavior technique, the extinction could lead to bigger problems. Sometimes the behavior you are trying to ignore will escalate and become worse than you ever thought possible. It can be scary. It can make you fearful. It can make you re-think the logic of the extinction. Somethings are hard to ignore.

There’s a tricky side to putting a behavior or a person on extinction.

Here’s something I think that if you can pull off, you possess superpowers for sure. Try putting yourself on extinction. This is difficult at best. When you recognize a flaw in your behavior and try to reconcile it yourself — a bit of reverse extinction. By putting your own behavior on extinction, you are recognizing the problematic behavior, recognizing that it affects someone other than yourself, recognizing that you need to just stop.

I have always been under the impression that the ability to recognizing your own faults was quite divine — quite empowering. But then what? Where is the resolution? Really, the resolution comes when you take action. When you consciously work to create a solution and to practice the solution — when you work to just stop.

Of course, there’s the fear involved again. Fear of recognizing a problem. Fear of pinpointing a solution. Fear of taking action to resolve your own faults. To quote a friend, “I think about how futile it is, how fearful, and odd, and fierce… how majestic it is – her rage.” Tackling our own faults can make us fearful. It is what we choose to do with the fear that leads to change, and there are many things worth facing your fear’s for — many things worth creating change for — I get that.

So, back to extinction and my quest to become a superhero — (wait, I didn’t talk about my quest to become a superhero? Ok, next time). Use it freely, but understand the risks. Understand that in change, there is always fear. But in the fear, there can also be a little rage — just enough.

Afraid of Fear

There was a storm the other night. Typically when it storms at night, I am always awake. I have a very hard time sleeping when it’s thundering and lightning and when the wind is shaking the windows — actually, I don’t sleep at all during storms. And, unfortunately, you never can tell when a storm might be approaching. You never can tell when you should wait it out and hope it goes away or face it and take shelter. Storms are unpredictable.

My oldest dog, Scout, is afraid of storms. It’s over-whelming for her really. She can sense when they are approaching — wouldn’t that be a great ability to have, to know when turbulence is coming? Anyway, back to Scout. When the storm is coming, she immediately needs shelter. She stays close to my side. I stroke her head and talk to her and brush her. And when the fear is gone, she’s ok. She doesn’t need me to constantly comfort her — but, there are those times when she will panic if I’m not there. We all need someone like that don’t we? Someone who will just sit with you until the storm clears. You have to take shelter sometimes, even if for just a little while. But, storms don’t last forever.

I was driving my daughter and some of her friends home from school one day after it had stormed. We all noticed the most beautiful of rainbows arching its way from the damp ground to the partially concealed sky. The serene moments after the storm out number the storms — isn’t that the way it should be?

Now, back to Scout and her ability to predict those approaching storms. I think if she were able to predict the storms approach and then do something about it, like stop the storm or calm herself, then her ability would be quite the superpower. As it is, she only becomes afraid that much sooner. She becomes afraid of the fear she knows is approaching in those dark clouds and resonating thunder.

But still, she has me. And I like being available to her, I like being needed.

We all need someone to sit through the storms with us. And besides, you never know when a rainbow will appear and then you will have someone with you to enjoy the rainbow.

Sometimes, We Should Just Pause

I am a routine follower.

I am task oriented.

I have always believed that the reward should come after the task.

Monday the sun came out after a couple of days of cold rainy weather. We had all been a little stir crazy from our inability to venture outside the house and given it was a long weekend, even school and work couldn’t save us from us.

I had worked on a variety of tasks around the house all weekend — cleaning out drawers and closets, laundry, grocery shopping, vacuuming. When Monday finally came and the sun popped out, I still needed to wash some sheets and fold some clothes and clean some floors.

Something came over me though.

I stopped all my tasks.

I packed a picnic.

I decided to take my two youngest kids to the lake (my oldest is smart enough to have made plans with friends). This is very unusual for me. I have a bad habit of needing to get everything looking the right way — when you do that, sometimes you can miss out on life. And who really ever cares about the appearance? Isn’t it what’s real that everyone really cares about?

We loaded up the car and drove the two miles to a nice spot on the lake — two miles to a spot I had never taken the time to visit in the four years that I’ve lived in this house. It’s funny. I remember when we were looking for a lot to build a house on — this lot seemed ideal and one of the reasons was its close proximity to the lake…the lake I’ve never taken my kids to because something always needed to be done.

At the lake, we had a picnic, we saw some seagulls (yes, in Tennessee — I’m sure they have a different name but we went with seagulls), we (attempted to) feed some ducks, we found some snail shells, we skipped rocks, we watched the boats, we went on a hike, we laughed, we held hands.

After the lake, we drove to the bookstore and had hot cocoa and looked at some books (and toys) and bought a few things.

When we finally made it home, the dinner I had planned on making didn’t have time to cook so I changed my plans and no one cared. The laundry I didn’t have time to put away waited until the next day and no one cared. The floor that didn’t get vacuumed waited until the next day and no one cared.

The thing that gets remembered… the thing that becomes a memory, is the day at the lake.

We all have to just pause sometimes to see what really matters. Pause to make sure that we focus on the things that really are important. Pause to create the memories that will be the focus of tomorrow’s stories.

Once, I Met Rosa Parks

When I was a freshman in college, at Memphis State University, Rosa Parks came to lecture to the students on campus. I’m not going to lie — at the time I was eighteen and was more interested in the fraternity party that was set to begin an hour in to the lecture. But, I had a professor who encouraged all of us to go listen and even offered extra credit if we managed to meet her. I needed the extra credit and thought this particular professor was really dreamy so… I went to listen to Rosa Parks.

The auditorium was packed. It was the same auditorium that my Intro to Psychology class met in — there were more kids in that class then were in my entire graduating senior class of high school. That night, if it was even possible, the auditorium held more people than I thought capable. It was mid-September, 7pm, and sweltering hot outside. The heat poured in to the auditorium and everyone was fanning themselves and fidgeting in their seats. Then, Ms. Parks came on stage.

She was old, even then in 1986. That was the first thing I noticed, her age, 73. Then I immediately noticed her frailty — she was small, and timid, and needed help on to the stage, and sat while she talked. The auditorium was laid out so that I could see her really well — she looked like the pictures I had seen, her hair pulled back in a bun, her glasses, her sensible shoes.

The crowd calmed when she walked out, the fanning stopped and I thought that everyone must be feeling the same calm breeze that I felt. The woman who was assisting her addressed the crowd first. She told us that Ms. Parks was feeling tired on this night and wondered if it was alright if she just sat in her chair and answered questions from the crowd. I remember trying to take notes on the questions and her answers but I became so caught up in watching her speak that I lost track of the writing and eventually gave up. I desperately wanted an intelligent question to come to my mind so I could raise my hand and have a minute to speak to her — but, it wasn’t to be. The others had questions that were so thought out and intelligent and my mind had only been thinking of that fraternity party just an hour earlier.

Every word she said reminded me of listening to a grandparent tell you about their life, about their loves, about their hardships and their triumphs. I could barely remove my gaze from her face — it was so small and smooth and content.

The questions eventually turned to that day on the bus, when everyone knew her name. The story she told still makes me smile — like that I have the insider information to what really happened. She said she had been a seamstress and had had a very tiring day at work. She got on the bus and sat in one of the only available seats. She said the bus driver drove on until the next stop when he needed the white only seats and needed for her to get up. She said it was late and she was tired and she didn’t have any intention of getting up. I think the kind of tired she was talking about wasn’t really related to her physical state as much as her emotional state — she was tired.

We all get tired don’t we? We all need a place to sit down and collect our thoughts. But, we don’t all necessarily have the strength to stop the tired. I often thought about Ms. Parks and how, given her frail size and soft voice, she was able to take control of her tired. She was able to say “that’s enough”. It’s strange how we sometimes find strength in other people — how their words and their stories lead us to our own strength.

I stayed after the questions had all been asked. I wanted to see her — closely. I wanted to touch her hand and see if it was as soft as it looked. I wanted to hear her voice without the microphone. I was one of the last people she spoke with that night — a memory I will have forever. My friends went to the fraternity party but I met Rosa Parks.

I Love The Vacuum (and other strange phenomenon)

Well, I’m hoping the title didn’t throw you off — but, I guess if you’re still reading, it didn’t. I’m obsessed with vacuuming. Laugh if you want, but I’ve carefully considered the reasons why I love to vacuum and to buy vacuums and to talk about vacuums and… oh, sorry — I’ll continue.

Working with children with autism, I’ve discovered the importance of our senses and how our sensory system helps regulate our emotions and our behaviors. About 75% of the cases I assist on are related to some type of aberrant behavior and that aberrant behavior is often tracked back to an inability to regulate sensory input — oh, I did it again didn’t I, sorry — I’ll continue.

I can remember when I was very young, I would so very easily fall asleep to the sound of the vacuum — its steady hum sent me immediately into some hypnotic state of Neverland. When my mother vacuumed at night, it was the best story I could have ever been read or the best lullaby I could ever have been sung. I could breathe deeply, relax, and let go.

When my oldest daughter was born, she was an excellent crier — the best, really, I wish there had been a contest. She cried at exactly the same time every night — 7:12 to 11:34. Although I knew this was coming and could try to plan my emotions around it — every night when it started, I always felt helpless. I was trying to soothe her one fateful night and trying to clean the small cramped apartment and stay focused on other things so as not to completely crack under the pressure of her cry. So, I coddled her in one arm and reached for the vacuum with the other.  As soon as I switched the vacuum to on — her crying stopped and I was able to take a deep cleansing breath.

That was my solution for her for the next 5 months. I went through three vacuums but I maintained my sanity. I’ve thought about this many times over the years. Whether or not her crying had something to do with my lack of mothering skills. If she was able to sense my tension at such an early age and her cries were reflective of that. And… if the vacuum helped me regulate or helped her regulate.

I vacuum quite often now. I usually begin my day by vacuuming my house — I know this might seem strange, but it can be very cleansing. I also typically vacuum the house as soon as I get home. For me, it’s not about all the carpet fibers going in the same direction (although that is an added bonus), and it’s not about the actual cleaning of the carpets (although, again, a bonus to my obsession), it’s about the sound. The dull, low, hum that resonates deep in me.

We are all trying to regulate our senses, to gain control of our emotions, to let go and breathe. Maybe mine seems a little strange. I would like to discuss it with you, as soon as I’m through vacuuming.

Maybe I Haven’t Done Closure After All

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about closure. At the time, I thought that if I posted about closure then it would come more easily — and maybe it did. It’s hard to tell sometimes, when the memories will take your breath away and when they will let you rest.

I made a new friend on twitter last week (oh really, can you just let it go). It’s strange to think how easily friends can be made on social media outlets, maybe I’ll conquer that post on a different day. Back to my new friend, Lisa Bonchek Adams. Turns out, on top of being really funny (which is always my first qualification), she is a writer (am I that predictable), a thinker, a survivor. I read a post of her’s recently about her mother-in-law. It greatly affected me, I won’t tell you about it here — you’ll need to visit her site and read it for yourself. But, the name alone, Barbara’s Closet, sent the closure I wanted retreating to a far away corner.

I’ve gone through most of my mother’s things and sorted them for family and Goodwill and me. There are a few things remaining that I’m not quite sure what to do with.

When my grandmother was 81, she moved in with my parents. My grandfather had passed away just a few short months earlier and given her own weakened health, she couldn’t live alone. She lived with my parents for about seven years before she passed away. I remember going in my grandmother’s closet at my parents house — it never dawned on me that my mother never really cleaned that closet out. I don’t think my mother ever gave away all of my grandmother’s clothes. There was always something of her in that closet.

A few months ago, I was cleaning out my mother’s dresser. I came across a pair of pajama’s that I immediately recognized — but they weren’t my mothers. They were my grandmothers — her favorites. I remember seeing my grandmother in those — light blue, satin, pants and a shirt. My mother kept them in her drawer all these years — 13 to be exact. What am I supposed to do with them?

The things left for me to sort in my mother’s closet don’t really amount to much, but they were hers — her favorite things. It was hard to box her things up and give away — clothes, shoes, purses. I haven’t known what to do with the things she was using when she passed away. You know, her purse with all her stuff in it — driver’s license, lipstick, compact, the tissue she was using. The clothes I had just washed for her are still on the dryer. Her make-up, perfume, a half empty bottle of scope, her hairbrush. What am I supposed to do with these things?

I think my lack of ability to “throw out” these things isn’t necessarily tied to an emotional state or memory. I’ve never been one to tie my memories to objects. I tie my memories to senses — a smell, a feel, a taste. But in the case of my mother’s most recently worn clothes, her hairbrush, her purse — I think that my mother might need them again. I keep thinking she’ll need them.

So, for me to do closure, I suppose I need to actually do something with those clothes on the dryer. I need to toss out that bottle of Scope. I need to give away that last purse.

Closure is funny isn’t it? I guess you can get by, get on, get going without really being completely accepting of the circumstance. Maybe closure isn’t about accepting and moving on, maybe it’s about remembering and staying whole.

Snow Day!

The snow day is one of the most sought after treasures the world can offer, really. And living in the south, they carry much more meaning. We get snow (or what we refer to as snow) maybe two or three times a year — always resulting in a day off from school. The anticipation is ridiculous — from the weatherman, the schools, the grocery stores. It’s all anyone can talk about when snow might be in the forecast.

My grandparents lived just outside of St. Louis, so I knew what a large snowfall looked like. I remember there being feet of snow falling overnight. I would literally wake up to a winter wonderland. The closest we’ve come to a major snow fall came about seven years ago. Snow had been predicted but hadn’t started falling before the schools got underway that morning — again, the anticipation was grueling. It started snowing at about ten — the schools immediately closed early. But, it was too late. It snowed seven inches in what seemed like twelve minutes.

The entire mid-state region came to a standstill. I was unable to leave school with my  kids (just two at the time). Many students at the school where I taught were stuck, there, at school, with us – the buses couldn’t get to them, their parents couldn’t get to them — you would have thought Armageddon was real and resting in Nashville. It was oddly fun though, being stranded at school. We raided the cafeteria and made pizzas and hotdogs and everything else we could find to cook for dinner (yes, we really were stuck there with about 200 students and teachers). Once I finally did get home (a four hour drive that usually took eighteen minutes), we were snowed in for about four days. (It just dawned on me that my youngest was born nine and a half months later in October — hmmm.)

But, back to this snow day. The anticipation of a snow event is really all we need for the schools to close down (thanks to the 2003 event) and so we knew fairly early in the day that school was going to be cancelled the next day in preparation.

The kids all went to bed after flushing ice cubes down the toilet with spoons under their pillows and with their pajamas inside out just to make sure the snow would come – it didn’t, not really. But there was enough ice on the roads to call school off the next day as well. So they repeated the ritual and waited for the snow to come — it didn’t, not really. So we had to come up with alternate snow day plans.

The alternate plans involved a movie, an art project, a trip to the pet store to look at the fish, a trip to the bookstore that turned into a bout of pouting for a toy as opposed to a book (I have a hard time buying toys at the bookstore, but… happened anyway), and ended with a great dinner out. They also included my oldest daughter spending the day with friends, making her own memories. The ones she didn’t need her mom to plan for her — revelations hit us all the time.

Strangely enough, on our way home from dinner, it finally started to snow. So, once again we all went to bed with the anticipation of  snow when we awoke. This time, it was here.

I pieced together a little video of the events of the last three days, mainly because I hadn’t used the movie editing software that came with the computer and I wanted to try it out. I think you’ll agree that this result is a clear sign that I need more practice!

So, there it is, a snow day video that actually took place over three days while we waited for the treasure of the new fallen snow. There’s just something about snow that makes you feel unusually warm and cozy — or maybe, it’s the hot cocoa.