Month: August 2015

Thirteen Cents of Dog Meat

My dad had a volleyball-sized tumor removed from his stomach, intestine, spleen, and pancreas this week. He was under the knife for six hours. The surgeon, who deserves a major award, got all of it, along with portions of my dad’s organs claimed by the cancer. When I saw him less than 24 hours after surgery, he told me he…

You’re Not the Boss of Me

It’s a strange thing to go from straight up motherhood 24/7 to jumping back into work part time. It’s surprising in a couple of ways. For instance, I’ve always felt that I should be THE expert on raising my children, because I am their mother and they are my children. If anyone knows them intimately and pervasively, it’s me. And…

Dark & Light

Sometimes God talks to me. Not in a prophetic sort of way. He just says things that I hear inwardly, things that help me move forward. I know it’s Him because it sure isn’t coming from me. Usually I am in a quiet place when it happens. I’ve sought it out because there is no inner quiet, only a crashing…

Send Complaints to Ira Glass

I have had somewhere in the ballpark of 827 conversations this week with Jack’s bus driver, bus aide, principal, teacher, and school nurse. We’ve talked meds, seat belts, meltdowns, extreme hunger, sensory integration, menacing the bus dashboard, and rocky transitions. Back to school hurts. But it’s a good hurt. Jack had a major behavior incident of whacking people and things…

Diagnosis Day: A Retrospective

The morning of January 20, 2005 was gray and not especially cold. I rarely wore a coat anywhere that winter because schlepping my red-headed baby and preschooler places made me hot, always. I rushed my children out of pajamas and into clothes, hurrying to make our appointment with genetics. I wore a stretchy cowl-neck sweater in mossy green (my favorite…

My Day in Some Sentences

School starts this week. Charlie sobbed about the back-to-school open house all morning. When we arrived, a boy named Michael said, “Charlie! I always knew you’d come back!” They played pirates and snipers on the reading loft with three other boys. Everyone forgot school. Everyone remembered friends. Hello autism class. Hello miracles. Goodnight summer. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over…

It’s Working

This week as I drove home from having a rock chip filled in my brand new windshield, I stopped at the four way stop by the park. I came to a complete stop, because it’s what I do. Yay, me. I waited to turn left, watching as three boys took their sweet, unhurried time crossing the street. One of the boys stopped…

Just Another Tragic Sunday

Sundays are a recurring day of existentialism where I question everything in my life. The pattern is obvious, but how to change it isn’t. “How can it possibly keep being this hard?” I ask myself all the time, come every single Sabbath morn. It doesn’t matter what strategies we employ or what help we seek. It is getting harder. The…

We Have a Boat

The cottonwoods whisper outside my open window. I can hear crickets when the wind ebbs. It’s nighttime and summer waxes awhile yet, as I lie on my bed in the dark and mull that here we are, again coping with med changes for Jackypants. It’s an awkward tango where we adjust the timing and doses of the meds that are…

Post-modern, Post-weekend Tiny Letters

Dear Three-Year-Old, I have fetched your drink, fixed your blankets, tucked you in eight times, and the screaming continues. I am now recusing myself from this situation.   Dear Canyon, Thank you for being cool and drizzly tonight, and for the smell of rain falling on grass.   Dear Book that I am Reading, You, The God Who Weeps, are perfectly…