My Life With Peter

We Need Back-Up

2011-10-18T19:06:00.000-07:00

One thing I know for sure is that Peter has two "loves" in his life. I would like to say that would be me and Sara or me and Mike, or maybe Mike and Sara, but really, none of us can equate to the love that Peter has for going to church and watching "Cops". Yes, that is exactly what I just said...cops and church. Seems like an oxymoron to me, but that is Peter..pure love, pure engagement into church and cops.
So, it was with bated breath that Peter and I sat down the other night to watch his favorite show. Now me, not a big fan of the TV show "Cops" had snuggled in further down the couch. Three blankets, several pillows, and I am all tucked in for the next hour. Laptop statically placed on top of the blankets and pillows for emails, surfing the net, whatever would keep my occupied during this hour long event while Peter and I were having some Saturday evening bonding. Just him and I and a few ever present cops arresting various individuals on the telly. Peter, had also ceremoniously prepared for this event, by strategically placing his gun, his two pair handcuffs, and walkie talkies on the ottoman near his feet. So there we sat, Peter, the paraphernalia, and the cops. Really, close to any Norman Rockwell painting you could imagine. Close to nirvana I am thinking.
Perfectly happy to be catching up on email, and really thrilled to see Peter so entertained by this show, I was feeling quite smug about a nice quiet...okay, make that semi-quiet evening of the couch. It was only when the warmth of the blanket, that really cozy feeling had set in, when I overheard Peter frantically telling some Innocent person on the phone that we needed back-up. Just when I thought I might sneak in a quick snooze, I hear "HURRY HURRY, We need back up". Back up? Back up for....? His voice was raising and I am now pondering who he is calling. Peering from my side of the couch I am realizing that person is obviously, a very confused person as I could tell Peter was not getting his point across and loudly repeating his plea. Moving slowly from that nice cushy haven of warmth I am contemplating my next move. Should I make a diving leap for the phone, grab it and explain our imminent need for backup? Or do I just let the person remained in a state of confusion. I lurch, I grab, I explain.....you see we are watching this show about cops and you see they need back up and Peter would like back up, you understand??? Oh, you do...of course...

I return the phone to Peter who hears the words that back up will be here in a few minutes. And he hangs up content. He reorganizes his gun collection and quivers with excitement. Back up...is coming. Life is good......Yes, life is good. I quiver too, with that warm fuzzy feeling, the one only Peter seems to effect. Can't remember when I called for back up, but back up can be oh so good! Can't remember when I got so excited about back up. But we are all smiling, that happy smile!

A Taste

2011-08-05T06:34:00.000-07:00

As I continue my post operative vigil, I have decided to keep Peter busy tonight by taking him to the Taste of our City. These popular events seem to be crossing the Midwest, fairs where the tents line up and the vendors entice you with the idea of good eats. So, Peter and I went off to our version of the "Taste". I am feeling quite smug as I am thinking this is a great idea, entertaining for Peter, a mother and son bonding event, no car washing or cleaning involved....why I should go up for mother of the year. We park and proceed to walk to those white capped tent, and I anticipate the variety of food available, an opportunity to try something new and exciting. I am just feeling so good about this I should be sitting at the back seat of a convertible, waving that wave...look at me..mother and son...isn't this cute.
We enter, along with the scores of other food seekers who are looking sideways in anticipation of their meal. No one really is looking forward or straight ahead, as the tents line the side of the walkway, and one must take in all the menu's before making a decision. So with twisted necks, we began our bonding walk. And as I am looking, anticipating my dinner of various ethnic groups, taco's, steak on a stick, no egg rolls. I notice Peter picking up the pace. Politely, I remind him to slow down, it's crowded, Peter, and those reminders become louder as he plows along, he of course looking straight ahead, and brushing against those with twisted necks. Little did I know, he had been there earlier in the day, and obviously had scoped out his fare. My idea of fine cuisine is fading fast as I pick up the pace. Now, trying to dodge anyone leisurely enjoying this experience I tail Pete to his final destination. Weaving and winding, with many a near miss of walking bodies, panting and almost out of breath, we arrive at our tent. Here we are, this will be our dining experience, we have made it, breathless, to the hot dog stand where Peter has already put in his order, and I deciding there is no option of fine dining, add mine. And so we eat,with again an amazing record pace, but not without the conversation about the ice cream stand next to the hot dog stand. So, we go over the need to eat the hot dog before the ice cream. Eat the dog first, Peter which he dutifully consumes within minutes as I am once again, trying to keep up. Swallowing off we head for Gelato...that magnificent form of ice cream that is next to highway robbery and needed to be eaten with this minuscule spoon before it becomes some form of liquid. Of course, this wonderful delightful treat only lands on Peter's lap and he gives up. I, thinking of the eight dollars I just handed over for this tiny treat, scooped it back into the cup, now consume both his and mine...disregarding any calorie count at this point.Why, we cannot waste this divine form of ice cream, now can we?

My Norman Rockwell experience is near ending. That "won't this be a wonderful evening" feeling is passing quickly as we have only spent twenty minutes finding, dining, and now what do we do???? Leaving....I am thinking leaving is a great idea. I am done with the track meet, I am stuffed with ice cream and dogs...yep..time to go. We walk to car, still at record pace, leisurely, enjoy the night is just not in Peter's vocabulary. We find the car, still catching my breath, and Peter is just all smiles....he thinking this was just great. Beautiful night! And gives me that "whats next on the agenda look'.

2011-07-30T07:35:00.000-07:00

He's upstairs, he downstairs, he's all around stairs...Peter stop, it is only 5:30 AM, you had two wisdom teeth removed, one root canal, various tests, a boatload of anesthesia, are you not in pain, no suffering? Don't you think you need to rest, lay on the couch. I know I need to lay on the couch. I have not had my coffee, I see the coffee pot out of the corner of my eye as I whizz by in an effort to keep up. Peter, I am not short of breath as I am not used to this much exercise this early in the morning, especially with no coffee on board.

Most individuals who had surgery the day before would be on the couch, surrounded with ice bags. Not Peter, he fresh eyed and bushy tailed and now that surgery is done, he is ready to move on to his old tricks. Why, my little piles have long disappeared, the large one loom, and he is off doing his thing or that would be things. Outside, inside, up and down there is no stopping this young man. A shower...why not....games...sure get all of them out. The car wash....oh yes, that was on the list of bribes that escaped from my mouth yesterday. Yes, Peter if you go in this room you can wash my car tomorrow...I promise! Yes, Peter, I am good with my promise, but is is 530 AM and it is raining with a bit of thunder and lightening.....later Peter...after coffee...Oh if I could just stop to fill that pot....life would be good!
Thinking he must be in pain, he must be uncomfortable I reach for the narcotic analgesic and give him a shot in juice. Thinking I need him to be in pain, lay on the couch, sit for a minute. But the pain killers do not work, I think he now has more energy. Resigning myself that this will be a long day.....a very long day. I eventually work my way to the coffee pot, make that coffee, gulp and put on my game face, grab my sneakers and start the race. I will survive.

A Day I Could Do without.....

2011-07-28T08:04:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those days....those moments...those I do not want to be here moments. Or maybe more like....Okay God, I have enough on this plate...wait...life is not fair....c'mon give me a break moment. Oh wait, better yet...how would you like to be doing this moment. Yep...today...this morning...BIG I do not want to be here in my shoes moment.
Peter, had his annual, bi-annual surgery for his teeth cleaning. I do remember now, I skipped this event last year reconciling that he really did not need to have this done, which in reality was most likely, I do not need this, I do not want to do it!
This year, I knew I could not go into denial, the surgery needed to be done. The plan went into place. Last week the hospital called on a daily basis...the Operating Room head nurse, the Admission's office, anesthesia, security. They all know Pete well, so they had all their eggs in a basket, they had crossed their "T"s and dotted their "I's. No stoned left unturned, all tests in place, all drugs ordered, security on alert, they even were going to shut down part of the floor so Peter would not be intimidated. I gathered comfort in knowing that piece would be handled well. However, my part, actually getting him there loomed like a huge daunting task. How would I get him there? Used the police in the past and that was not option, Wilson...no, I am thinking. I will come up with a plan, and than the rest is in God's hands.
The day approached, hush was the word on surgery. I made plans to stay an hour away so I could spend my time driving to the hospital so Peter could be distracted. Early in the morning, off we went for the hospital, pouring rain, and I am thinking good, I can drive really slow, waste more time. Only the unexpected happened, and Peter had major diarrhea. Thank you God for Truck Stops. After a rather large cleaning event, we moved onward, and once I reached the city limits, I mentioned the "hospital' word, the agitation began, and did not stop. I continued to drive and ignore the loud verbal laments about not going, and we eventually ended up at the back of the hospital. The plan was to take Peter in the shortest way, avoiding the lobby, and get right to the dreaded surgical unit. Meeting us at the back door were two security guards with idea of swiftly whisking Peter to the floor. Not so swiftly, and with much convincing, we made it the second floor only to be met by Curtis the security guard, who came in on his day off to meet Peter. And than the fun began! Seeing Curtis must have reminded Peter of past experiences, so at this point, Peter announced his intention that he would not participate and the Mexican standoff began. This standoff lasted one painfully long hour with 5 security guards, a plethora of nurses and I, of course, trying to convince Peter to at least go into the room. Peter, having nothing to do with that idea, closed down one wing of the hospital. My only prayer...God, do not let him escape! Curtis did a great job by standing in front of the elevator buttons. It was only when the the anesthesiologist and crew captured him in the hallway, gave a quick sedative via his arm did he relax...mmmm, I wonder why. Becoming a bit catatonic, off he went into the Operating Room. Relief...the hardest part was over.
Thia is an experience I dread. A why cannot this be easier resounds in my soul. Feeling very sorry for Peter as he must be in dread, but also knowing this must be done. I never really knowing if he will really make it into the hospital, and now, most grateful when it is done. The hospital staff did a phenomenal job and made an awful experience as good as it could be. The amount of caring by those individuals was awesome!

It is done...we survived, not without a bit of trauma and drama, but we made it. The day I have been dreading throughout the summer, arrived and now I can saunter to the cafeteria for some breakfast. I sit, I eat, I am thinking maybe should we go eat at the hospital cafeteria everyday...would that help, maybe Peter would learn to love hospitals ...maybe a group outing....maybe someday he will outgrow this fear...maybe, there is always hope!

Talking to Me

2011-07-14T08:56:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I had a house full of painters, not quite sure why it takes so many painters to spread a coat of paint on an entry way, but they all showed up and made themselves quite at home during their short stay. Their presence was not only in the foyer, as they needed to rinse their plethora of brushes, they would saunter down the hallway, through the kitchen and find their way to the laundry room. It was during these short trips that they would suddenly appear in front of me, catching me unaware of another human being in my space, as after all, I am quite used to living in a quiet environment, and having no one to talk to but myself. As I am silently mouthing words, they would stop, as if I had something to say to them, but.....no, it just me and my own conversation in which I am quite involved. Previous to their visit, I would tell you that I do not talk to myself, that is definitely not something I do. However, by about the third episode of their surprised confrontation, their question of did you want something?, it became quite evident to me that, yes, I do carry on conversations with me...and only me.
Thinking, maybe I should be embarrassed, feel skirmish, consult a psychiatrist, I think of Peter. You know, the man of wisdom. the one who really knows. Not that long ago, I was riding with him in the car and he started to carry on a conversation. I immediately thought this conversation must involved me, so I start probing..."what Peter"....."what did you say"? He looks at me simply, honestly, with a "what is wrong with you look", and informs that he is just talking to himself. HELLO!! What don't you get about this. I am just having a conversation with me and you are not involved! And, I get the subtle message and say, "Oh, right"! Peter, of course, continues on with his own personal conversation until he is quite finished. Speaking that is, speaking and dialoging with himself and feeling quite comfortable about the conversation. I now proceed cautiously when he starts to speak as I do not want to interrupt this conversation, that there are just moments he is talking with himself, and he is just fine with that and if I have a problem with that....get over it!
So, looking at these painters bewildered looks, I decide to put a "lid on it" while they walk through my corridors. I also attempt to make myself aware of these one sided conversations and possibly, carry them on only in the bathroom. But really, who did set the standard on personal one way conversations. There is this part of me that fully believes that Peter has it right. Carrying on one's own conversation can at times be quite fulfilling, stress relieving, funny. So, maybe not when the painters are visiting, but I know, I will speaking again...to myself, and I will have Peter to thank for providing me with the opportunity to speak..without guilt, and know, I am still okay!

Driving the Cart

2011-06-06T08:07:00.001-07:00

And, it got even better! When our golf game was rained out and the only way I could participate was to bring Peter, he joined in the fun! At first, Peter absolutely refused to get in the cart. Nope, he would walk. Understand, it is ninety degrees and the first hot humid day of summer, so I am remain quite hopeful that walking may not seem like so much fun soon. So he walked. Happy, never having been on a golf course, and most likely not having any understanding that this walking would be an all day event, he set out with vigor. Only to realize that walking was only fun for a short distance, when he decided to lean on the cart,just lean and take a rest. Leaning led to sitting in the cart and taking a short rest. And than, I felt this foot on mine, nonchalantly trying to push the gas petal...and within the hour, Peter was in the driver seat...my chauffeur. Hey Peter, would you like to drive, was answered with a big smile. Now, driving did not come without some near mishaps. This is a person who has never had a steering wheel, in hand. And, I am still suffering from shaken mother syndrome as whenever I said the word stop, we stopped with such vigor, right on the money...just slam those brakes and all centrifugal force brought us to a screeching stop. Peter, did give a new meaning to stop, yes, STOP, and stop we did!. Having never held a steeling wheel in his hand, he did the usual slice to the right and than the left all within seconds. And, I kept a quick hand on the wheel to point it in the right direction. The feeling of bumpers cars overtaking my mind, but only open grass to catch the experience. But the joy, the bliss, the accomplishment, the comfort I felt in knowing he was fully capable of handling this situation. Awesome! Could I ever have imagined that he would be capable of going with me on a golf course. That he could participate, sit quietly, and wait to drive to the next hole. Who is this person, this young man who is cooperating. Who is loving every minute of being? Oh yes, Peter...he just gave me another freebie, another gift that years ago would have been unimaginable. The pure excitement I experienced driving down fairway number nine...him laughing, I squealing, to the right, no, to the left...

Who is this person?

2011-06-04T16:20:00.000-07:00

I have to admit, it was with trepidation when I picked up Peter for the four day weekend. How was I going to keep Peter busy for four days? Better stated, how I was going to keep Peter from keeping so busy in the house, that it would take me weeks to find my piles, sort through the laundry, you know the story. Even more concern, as I was hosting a dinner following a golfing event. But this weekend, Peter came with surprises. This young man, who in his earlier years, when I had friends over for dinner, would do just about anything to get them to leave. I being of the stronger will, usually outlasted him, but not before he turned on the music so loud no one could talk, started all known machinery during our dinner hour,including the dishwasher,the washer and dryer,and if all this did not gather attention, grabbed his CD player complete with headphones, and loudly, very loudly sang some song in his loudest, monotone voice, really, any activity that would draw attention and get them to leave....now, that would be Right Now. At times, shoes would go flying, doors slamming, and I just looked at my friends and said, "Oh, just ignore him, he be fine!" I am sure at times, these guest questioned my state of mind, but truly believing ignorance is bliss, we dined and chatted and Peter slammed, and washed, and flung. No Peter, they are not leaving! And after their departure, hours, maybe days would be spent in the clean-up. Of course, to me, an evening with friends is divine, even if it involves chaos.

But this time, with friends at the dinner table, he kept himself busy, not wishing to join us, but allowing us to enjoy the evening. He was helpful with the cleaning, but all within reason. Who is this person? This calm, well behaved young man? I did sit on the edge of my chair, kept one eye on him and the other on my guests. But he, maintained a sense of calm. Okay, not perfect...but enough to get through the evening, enjoy the conversation, and go to bed without a search for all missing piles. Who is this person? Who is occupying this body? I think I could get used to this! I think I will plan another party....one that includes Peter. I am thinking apron his size would fit nicely, so he can truly partake in the clean-up!

Good Morning

2011-06-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

Why didn't I listen to that little voice stirring in my head, the one that told me to get up now, that would be RIGHT NOW as Peter just made his way down the stairs to start his daily events. Peering at the clock that Saturday morning, realizing it was only 5:45 I really, really wanted to add just a few more minutes of shut-eye on my first morning that I could actually "sleep in". So ignoring that voice, the one that was making a major attempt to warn me of impending doom, I chose to catch a few more winks, allowing Peter to have enough time to become involved all sorts of activities. It was only when my sense of smell detected something overheating, possibly burning that I shook off the need for sleep, and charged downstairs to determine the potential damage. Barefoot, I walked to the coffee pot and noticed that previously "Spic and span" cleaned floor, was now starting to feel a bit as if I was walking seaside. Not really believing that those wet sensations had any association with my feet, I walked again across the floor to catch the full meaning. Yep, some event had taken place on my floor, something that involved drops, large drops of water. Making the towel, my new found slippers, I mop as I walk to the coffee pot to make the much needed coffee to start the day.
That first jolt of coffee was all I need to realize there was a major party going on in this house. Why, every light in the entire downstairs is shining brightly, so much, I am thinking sunglasses. The television, no that that would be the one located in the family room and the tiny one is the kitchen are simultaneously blaring Peter's favorite church show, only not quite in unison, sounding as if there is an echo....an irritating loud echo at this early morning hour. Oh, wait, over the preacher's voice, I do believe I hear that washer and dryer buzzing away! Yep, they are loaded to the max, almost rocking and rolling under the strain of it's contents. Television shouting, washers spewing,lights shining, I move my towel slipper over to the stove,where Peter is preparing breakfast which included pancakes, waffles, cereal..why it is a breakfast buffet!
Grabbing my sunglasses, I gulp down my first cup of coffee, I finish mopping the floor, relieve the washing machine of it's contents, and put on my mental jogging suit, much needed to keep up with Peter. Good morning Peter, I say, why you would think it is noon, the amount he has accomplished in so little time and it is only 6:30 AM. He looks at me, with a wink and a smile and says "You know, I am just trying to help!. Yep, I know this, so with a smile and a wink....I join in the breakfast feast, take in another cup of Jo, and know, Ho Ho Ho. it will be a good day!

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T13:37:00.000-07:00

It is here, yes, the annual day to honor Mom's. One thing I know for sure, we all have a mother. So, today, we honor that person with calls, visits, or possibly, through remembering. But, somehow, Hallmark has made this a day to honor. In years past, quite past, I remember brunches, and corsages, and gifts. And along with good of that, the bad of evaluating the day, the gift, the experience. And than, I got smarter. Today, is now a day I expect nothing. I already have my gifts, they came wrapped as Sara, Mike, and Peter along time ago. I already knew a great mom, who is looking down from above. So, what ever comes my way on Mother's Day is a freebie, an extra, a surprise.
So, today, I here are some of my gifts. Today at church, Peter's junior high school teacher offered to bring Peter to church whenever I could not. The kind man at church who bought an extra rose, trailed Peter out the door, and trust me, you need to be fast to trail Peter after church, and told him to give this to his mom. How thoughtful, how kind! That was followed by a handful of smooched dandelions....in case the rose was not enough. Peter, as proud as one is when one gives dandelions as a gift!
And if that was not enough, Peter taking Mike and I to lunch. Of course, that had to be Red Robin as he is quite fixated on the place. And yes, there was a gift card that he had from his sister Sara, and a donation by Mike, but the rest of the meal was going to be paid by Peter....with his own charge card. This is a child when growing up, I had no idea what would be. I knew there would be no college, I knew there would be no technical schools, I just did not know what the future would hold. I only knew during those formative years, that I would go day by day, and when ask about the future from some well-meaning friend, I had no answer as I truly did not know, and I considered worrying about it a big waste of time. Remember, my mantra, when God closes a door, he opens a window. It was not in my hands. So, did I appear ignorant, or possibly a bit naive...maybe. It worked for me.
And today, here I sit twenty three years later....Peter taking me to lunch on Mother's Day. Peter, paying the bill with his money he earned at Lakeside Curative. Peter, signing his own credit card . Before you get to excited...that would be Peter signing his own credit card with help and tip and strongly advised to write as small as you can. Wow, I am thinking! Could I ever have imagined it.
Mother's Day, a day to count my blessings....a time to thank my children...for without them...I would not be a mother and that is a gift that just keeps on giving!

Did you know he smokes.....

2011-04-06T04:25:00.000-07:00

Yes, it happened rather suddenly, unexpectedly, the day I noticed that Peter had taken up smoking. It was a Saturday morning, the kind where I like to start out slowly, get up, pour my coffee and stare obliviously at the television, or just into space, actually, space works fine for me as I am just staring, grasping the caffeine and acting as a complete non functioning human being for about thirty minutes. Sitting quietly until that first jolt of caffeine kicks in, and then it is all over. Up to that point, do not ask me any question of importance, as there will be no answer. Once caffeinated, the motor starts running. Peter, on the other hand, has been up for hours doing his thing. By this time he has done the Internet, and the Outernet, made piles, picked up piles, filled the washer and dryer to bulging, and put everything on the counter in the dishwasher, so he now is starting to become a bit edgy about life. Not sure why, probably could not smash ten more towels in the washer, or the dishwasher does not quite shut. So, he is pacing around my oblivion, when he mentions, no that is mutters, that he needs a smoke and off he goes into the garage. I, still in my stupor.....am thinking, did he say smoke?...No way, not even something I can comprehend. So, considering I am only half listening, I blow it off that he went out there to load items into the garbage...of course, items I will search for later. He returns, smelling just fine, and we continue our day. This incidence, this "I need a smoke", does not occur again until later in the day, when he starts revving up, mutters and lands in the garage. I still do not catch on...I am a slow learner after all, or maybe it is my fine art of denial. Off he goes, and I am thinking garbage can. It was not until he came home the following week, when I was informed by Mike that Peter was smoking in the garage. WHAT? NO WAY! ABSOLUTELY NO WAY! So, I sneak to the door, peer out, and there stands Peter with his imaginary cigarette "smoking" away. He has the drag perfected, he puffs, he stands there for the allotted smoke time, and even he disposes this unseen white stick into my flower pot. These actions come complete with several exclamations of "I cannot take this anymore", they are driving me nuts, and so on. And then, he walked in, passed me by, as if nothing happened, more relaxed, and ready to pick up his business. I have to admit at that moment I was still trying to replace my jaw that seem to have found it's way to the ground. Smoking??? Peter??? Okay, so it is only imaginary and knowing Peter, it will be replaced by another habit.
Turning from the door, I reflect...You know that Peter, sometimes he is right on the money! I have had those moments, those they are driving me nuts, I cannot handle this anymore moments......Mmmmmm......... maybe, imaginary smoking, stress relieving....mmmm......
So, if driving by you notice Peter and I waving our hands in the air, blowing, puffing, just wave and know that life is good!

The Gift

2011-04-04T14:59:00.000-07:00

Besides pure entertainment, the train ride also served the purpose of allowing Peter to spend his birthday money. Peter, who is a man of few means rarely makes any gift requests for any holiday which always sends me into a head scratching event of what should I buy this kid? Birthdays and Christmas routinely have been the time to replace the lost or damaged previously owned gifts that Peter conveniently disposes of when he deems these items are no longer functional. He actually was on his third pair of headphones in three weeks prior to his birthday, so I am thinking at least one of the pairs qualifies for a gift. Lets me off the hook of trying to decide what all to buy. Fortunately, Peter was blessed with dollars from gracious aunts, uncles, and friends who sent cards in the mail and add to Peter's thorough enjoyment of his birthday. Ching, ching! He now has dollars to spend.
In the town we have chosen to celebrate the day is a great little breakfast place, so pancakes are covered, and, better yet, an old fashion toy store. The one that carries those unique, yes, and often pricey items, that one cannot locate at the Target. So with full tummies, in we go to the toy store with the charge to Peter to spend his money. We look, we scour all the shelves, we go row by row, looking up and down for that special item, I suggest, I attempt to find anything train related, yet nothing is rocking Peter's boat. And yes, I must admit, I am becoming momentarily sweaty because we are coming close to the end of the store and our task is not complete, no birthday item in hand. Puzzles, Peter...No, I'm good. How about these nice books...good, mom. Connect four...no thanks. Oh darn, I am thinking we are going to leave empty handed when I see Peter on all fours, scrunched way way down on the floor and looking up onto a few items hanging by a hook. I hear a mutter, Yes, he is saying to himself, Yes! This will do. I am so excited that as I round the corner, I trip momentarily before I land on the floor and join in the scrunch. What has he found? What a joyous monumental occasion, for he has found something he wants, he picked out a gift on his own. I am just delighted!! So I peer, wondering what this could be?
And there we sit, on the floor, with his coveted gift....... A gun! Yes, that would be a hand pistol, AKA cap gun. Really, Peter a gun. A child who never could fathom the concept of cowboys and Indians...a gun. You sure Peter? Yep, this is what he wants and there is no going back. So we buy, and Peter continues to enjoy the day..why a train ride and a gun, could life get any better??? And I am wondering how many days will pass before I hear from his work counselors why he has a need for a gun and handcuffs in his book bag.

The Birthday

2011-04-03T07:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Peter turned 23 years old. Twenty three years of my life with Peter Labanowsky...how time flies!. I wanted to do something special on his birthday, something he wanted to do, not me...so aboard we went on the Metra to Chicago. The Metra for Peter ranks close to Nirvana. Peter, was aware of this event about four days before the big day, so he was happy. Happy, happy, happy!! A huge smile evolved on his face when I mentioned the word train and stayed there for the next days. He danced, he wiggled, he rejoiced...a train ride. This was definitely a mood changing event and nothing..nada..was going to get in his way of savoring the moment, anticipating the ride.
The big day arrived, and off we went to the train station. Peter's overjoy to be riding on this commuter train was easily observed as he skipped, hopped, and spoke to all those he passed on the boarding platform. He found the conductor standing there and started firing the questions, Is this train going to Chicago, Is this going the right way, When can we get on? The sleepy eyed conductor managed to break a smile, opened the doors, and Peter plowed into the car, taking the first seat so he could watch the doors open and close.
Off we went, in our own little world, Peter sighing every few minutes with delight. Body shaking, hands wringing as the automated voice reminded us, "The doors are about to close". Lacking sleep, my intention was to take a quick cat nap while Peter engaged in the door experience, but his behavior was infectious. Cracking one eye open, I could see the smile, his arm touching mine, I could feel the quiver, and that is all it took to snap me out of sleep mood and immerse myself in the experience. Soon, I was joining in with my best conductor voice, simultaneously Peter and I let everyone in hearing distance know..."The next stop will be Lake Bluff". "Caution, the doors are about to close". The joy of him watching the doors open and close, the sheer delight, the laughter opened my eyes...when have I taken time in the last few days, weeks, months, just to slow down and experience life, nothing fancy, just take in the moment. When I I stopped to just laugh, that down in your stomach, that over all feel good laugh?. When I have stopped to appreciate the small things in life that go by unnoticed? Why, it has been awhile. Peter, in his own way just opened my eyes.
We continue down the tracks as the train fills to the brim with many Saturday morning travelers. Feeling a bit crushed, I make an executive decision to stop and have breakfast in a town on the way to Chicago. Peter does not mind, he has had a train fix and we will be returning shortly. So off we jumped and onto to breakfast. The sun warming our faces as we walk this happy walk and I think, "Thank you Peter for inviting me on the train ride. Thank you for the laughter, and reminding me of the small things in life that evokes such happiness. Thank you Peter for the free high!" The warm sunny day, this happy young man experiencing the start of his 23rd year. Yep, it was a good day!

His Evil Twin Brother Pedro

2011-03-06T18:39:00.000-08:00

Those little piles, the ones that disappear with a quick motor movement of the Peter's hand, well, when Peter brings home his evil twin brother "Pedro", that disappearing act takes on a new look. Oh, those little piles, they disappear alright, but not into a drawer or the garbage, no soon you may find them deep underneath the "rock collection".
For some odd reason, when Peter comes home for a night, that would be a stay of less than 24 hours, he has this need to pack his green duffel bag and book bag to more than capacity, bulging at the seams, ready to explode. Begging, asking, pleading, to please do not pack your bags as I have clothes for you, just does not deter him from what I call packing and bringing his rock collection. When I pick up Peter and while he bounds out of his house and into my car, I am the one left struggling, barely able to lift the duffel and the book bag, muttering about his need to bring home his all his earthly belongings for the duration of one night, as I am dragging these bags to the car. Knowing that these coveted items will only be quickly disperse throughout the first floor, I slowly lift and than plunge these two bags in the back seat, convinced I will soon need back surgery or at least bed rest. Wearily, I climb into the driver seat and we start our little weekend adventure. This adventure includes several stops, the grocery store, the hardware store, the drug store. Of course, this is done to ensure that I will have even more bags to carry into the house allowing more time for Pedro to do his things.
Finishing the errands, we arrive in the garage and Peter jumps from the car, and now of course is fully capable of carrying his rock collection inside. I, burying my body into the back seat of the car I grab as many bags as humanly possible as I know what is now occurring on my island, on top of my table, and across the family room floor. You see, that is when Pedro arrives,the evil twin brother is not into picking or cleaning, his job is to unload, unload all those items within less than 60 seconds and make sure that they are distributed evenly throughout the first floor. Within these seconds, the contents are strewn, five t-shirts, two pairs of pants, pair of socks, sandals...did I say sandals in January, an extra pair of shoes, one sweatshirt and one pair of pajamas have now found their new home on the family room floor. But that is only the beginning, as that book bag, that bulging book bag, the one ready to explode is begging Pedro to empty it's coffers and so, five or six coloring books, a box of puzzles, two large quart sized bags, of markers, a football, a teddy bear, several various awards gathered over the years, a harmonica, a sheriffs badge and not one, but two pairs of handcuffs, how those handcuffs keep multiplying remains a mystery. And all of this occurs before I have placed one foot inside the door. Upon my arrival, I see the Pedro's artwork, the piles, the belongings scattered throughout the first floor.Long ago, I gave the idea of putting these coveted belongings in one place and came to the realization that I would just learn to adjust, to walk around, to incorporate the items that are now piled high on my island and table top. There is this inner peace for Peter following the scattering event. If disrupted, I know Pedro will be visitng again soon. And those little piles, long gone and lost among the handcuffs and crayons, I do hope to be found when Pedro leaves. My kitchen that once appeared somewhat organized, lies in disarray. To be honest, if a burglar happened on the scene, he or she would leave convinced the house had already been hit.
So the night is spent with now large piles covering those underneath. Peter sends Pedro off, his job is done. Life is good, Peter has moved onto his computer, Pedro is gone, and I am thinking a glass of wine while I nest amongst the clothes and cuffs.

Silence is Golden

2011-02-18T05:21:00.000-08:00

Everyday, or almost everyday, around 5ish I receive a telephone call from Peter. Thanks to caller ID, I know who is on the other end, so I generally start my conversation with a robust "Hi Peter" which is followed by silence. Thinking he did not hear my very enthusiastic greeting I repeat myself and add "are you there?" Of course, he is there and I quickly visualize that smile, that crunched up, eyes closed, lips upturned expression that has taken over not only his face, but his whole being. It is as if he is in Nirvana.
Now, I, not being accustomed to silence have this overwhelming need to fill the airways with my voice. I actually become a bit uncomfortable with these long pauses of empty airwaves. There is this need in me to have those filled, I just cannot stop myself. So while Peter is just soaking in the connection he has just made and is quite happy, I begin the chatter. 'Peter, what is new?"...nothing.."Peter, what did you do today?....idunknow...."Peter, did you have supper" "Peter, what did you eat for supper" Peter, what is everyone else doing?" "Peter"....I think you get the picture. My quickly fired off questions with the intent to spark a conversation is only answered in one maybe two syllable words which you may take your pick and are "idunknow, yes, no, or nothing". Of course, does that stop me from pursuing my need to have answers, my need to know. Nope! Of course, not! Why, I am the master of open ended question or so I think, so I start the dialogue again.
Why Peter, you know what you did at work today, I give hints, and yes I do finally with much coaxing get an answer which I already know will consist of Pledge, gloves or triggers. I also know that any further inquiry will only start the idunknow cycle again, so I move onto a dinner conversation or what are you doing tonight.
So this ten minute conversation to me evokes this feeling of work, of effort, of pulling the words or thoughts from Peter's brain to his tongue so that I can feel we have accomplished some sort of task or meaningful conversation.
Recently, the thought crossed my mind, and why it has taken me so long, so many conversations, so many years to understand this concept, I do not know as I really think I am an intuitive type person. My realization is that Peter, is absolutely fine with silence. Peter is just happy to be sitting on the phone with me. He does not need words to connect, he already made the connection at "Hi Peter". Why he is still scrunching and smiling, and wringing his hands, because he is just so happy to be. I on the other hand have this need to fill the space, that quiet.
Based on my new found realization, I have now resolved that when I pick up that phone, I will leave space, silent, no talking space. I will sit and take in the silence. Now, this is a monumental task for someone who has a need, a need to fill the quiet, a need to speak. But I am trying, fidgeting, feeling quite uncomfortable, but working really hard on the nonverbal part.
Silence...it is precious, the unspoken. The feeling of just being, enjoying the moment, the sounds and feelings that one absorbs during those unspoken moments. It is golden, and I do believe Peter has just reminded me of something very valuable. The peace, the lessons, the love that fills the silence.

Little Piles

2011-02-03T18:20:00.000-08:00

Peter is not just extremely efficient with loading the dishwasher. Oh no! He has his eye on my little piles the minute he walks in the door. Now, I am the queen of little piles which in my mind are all stacked neatly across, around, and on top of my island in the kitchen. This is where I sort the bills, in one little pile, and the coupons, in another, and the magazines and catalogs, and pictures, and recipes, and charity obligations, and my to do list, and..you get the idea. It is all there, waiting to be addressed. And I know, it will be addressed someday, maybe, when needed. So, my little piles sit, waiting for someone to a least appear interested in their well-being. And to be honest, those who do get addressed, whose well-being is meaningful to me are the bills, the ones with the deadlines, the ones that charge an enormous, no that would be obnoxious late fee, now those little piles feel the touch of my hand on a fairly regular basis. The rest, well, those coupons when addressed are usually expired and the catalogs, well by summer those winter items are not quite as interesting. But, I love my little piles, and in this disorganized organization I firmly believe that I have control over my life and I will someday conquer them and have a purely clean and exquisite island.
Now, Peter, seeing these piles believes that when I am not looking it is his responsibility to fulfill my dream of a spotless counter top. However, he would never discuss this matter with me, no, it is his secret. So, Peter, in his normal Peter like behavior, carries on as if those little piles have no meaning to him at all. He never looks at them in my presence. Why, there are more important things to do, like the dishes or the laundry so why deal with little piles. He appears to not even notice these piles, until, of course, SHE leaves the rooms. Now, SHE, aka ME, occasionally has a need for a shower, so I leave. Now, did you know that I have the one and a half minute shower down to perfection. There is no wasting time on my part, just lather, rinse, and run. Run downstairs as fast as I can to ward off any well-meaning cleaning event that Peter will participate in while my presence in missing.
It is during that tiny time frame of my car wash shower that Peter seizes the moment. Peter, who was totally absorbed into You Tube or a song, is now into his role, his Mr. Clean, Mr. I gotta clean that island before she returns, swiftly, without a sound takes those little piles, the ones that have sat there undisturbed for weeks, and with a quick "Whosh", he eliminates them from sight and returns to You Tube as if nothing has occurred. I, on the other hand, running into the kitchen and still a bit drippy and not quite dry, notice I can now see the counter top which belongs to my island. Not only is it empty, but it sparkles. Mr. Clean always includes a free wash in his cleaning cycle.
Panic spreads throughout my body, where have they gone those precious little piles that laid undisturbed for weeks. I begin my search into the various drawers, garbage bins, recycle containers to find the lost articles. Retrieving some, and reconciling the lost of the others.
And so, the process will begin again soon, I will forget Peter's love to remove, his love of a spotless island, and I will again begin to build the piles. Will I learn, no, there must be something in this challenge that keeps giving. Maybe it is the opportunity to see the top of the counter, maybe it is my way of cleaning the counter? I do know that their will be piles and there will be elimination and somehow, through some miracle all the bills will get paid and those coupons...oh well!

The White Tornado

2011-01-25T19:30:00.000-08:00

I can still see Mr. Clean, the "White Tornado" spinning around the house through the screen on my black and white television. There was something special about that man, and of all my childhood memories, he remains. Not quite sure why, but in a heartbeat, I can drum him up in my mind, that cross-armed man with the mermaid like body, only his tail was a tornado. Maybe through osmosis, or positive ""vibs", as I really did like Mr. Clean, Peter somehow managed to inherit some of his tornadic like cleaning skills. Maybe somewhere in that intricate set of DNA, he got the White Tornado gene, because Peter has certainly learned the fine art of white tornadoing.
Take the dishwasher for instance. The cleaning that goes on there is simply mind-blowing. If there in any indication that the dishwasher needs to be run, and that indication could be a lonely cereal dish, Peter starts with the dishwasher experience. He begins with the rinsing, and rinsing, did I say rinsing which makes one wonder do these dishes really need to be washed? Once the rinsing is done, which usually comes with a reminder that "Peter, those dishes are rinsed, than those dishes located closest to the sink are loaded. However, he has only just began. For really, Peter wants to include everything and anything in sight. He moves on to those items that are placed on the counter possibly for decor or some utilitarian kind of experience. Now Peter being a fair minded soul, does not discriminate between good china and bad, new or antique, Waterford or Kmart, no, he is really an equal opportunity kind of guy. If it is on the counter, it belongs in the dishwasher. And so, in go those items, loaded next to, close to, and on top of the cleanly rinsed dishes that really do not need to be in the dishwasher. Then, when one would think the dishwasher is near, no that would be way overloaded to capacity, he makes one last sweep and collects any remaining items within the vicinity and adds them to his menagerie of dishes. As in normal Peter fashion, with his keen sense of no one is watching, he starts that machine which will run at way over the limits capacity. Rocking and rolling, clinging and clattering, a sound one could assimilate to a finger running down a chalkboard. And so, the collectibles, the crystal, the cookie jar, the dog dish, the pots, the pans, are now best friends as they are getting a bath, hoping to survive the wash as they rub, crash, and clang hoping to make it through the experience without a dent. And Peter, stands, contemplating, what needs to be cleaned next. Why, I Mr. Clean Peter have just begun. I am only in the kitchen. His legs start moving, taking on a new whitish cone shaped look and off he goes to another room. I contemplating, do I stop the work of art created by this young man, do I unload before it is too late, as I am wondering what piece of glass I will need to replace following the washing experience, I think I best grab my sneakers and follow the storm.

Handcuffs

2011-01-19T08:31:00.000-08:00

"You never know when you need a good pair of handcuffs"...yes, those words slipped from my mouth and into the ears of an innocent young staff member of the Therapeutic Recreational program that Peter attended when he was in high school. This young man, most likely about the same age of Peter was hired to help with the special needs children who attended the after school program. And fortunately or unfortunately, he was given the task of asking me, the mom ,why her son was carrying around a pair of handcuffs in his book bag. I still remember his approach, he quietly pulled me aside, and ask if he could speak to me, Mrs. Mom, about a concern we have about your son, Peter. I reeling in from a long day at work and ready to adventure into the evening with Peter, agreed, thinking in the back of my mind...okay now what...I hope he makes it short....I am really, really hungry, at bit on the crabby side, and now, you want to talk. Okay, I am thinking, spill the beans, let me know what hurdle I need to handle, and let's get on with it.
So there he stood in all his innocence, standing up to the call, quietly, almost in a whisper, he informed me that my son Peter was carrying around a pair of handcuffs in his book bag and do I think that really is a good idea?, he asked. I, the mother, the responsible adult, the caretaker, had no idea where or when these handcuffs showed up in his bag. I did not know who gave Peter these handcuffs, when he was the recipient of this gift, but I know this particular item had some meaning to Peter. I, the mother of this child, also knew that Peter had absolutely no small motor movement dexterity that would enable him ever to place this cuffs on anyone or even use them. So there, out of my mouth, with a smile on my face, I said to this innocent young teen, who is only trying to do his job..."You never know when you need a good pair of handcuffs!!" and I smiled, retrieved my son, and moved on for the day. And yes, the young staffer just stood there with a look of shock and amazement, eyes wide open, jaw dropping, never in his wildest dreams did he expect that answer coming from any mature adult who had a child with special needs.
Did I remove the cuffs..nope! Reflecting, it was probably a small stand in saying "Get a grip, he is not holding some S and M type event, he just likes these silver things that seem to have made a home in his book bag." And so, the handcuffs remained in his book bag for years, carrying them through graduation and into his work world, until this weekend when Peter told me he needed to leave the handcuffs home.."Ann said..." And so they lay, lonely in his kitchen drawer.
The curious thing about these cuffs is that Peter never lost them. Now we are talking about a person who loses everything! The black stocking hat, the one I paid the extra 20 dollars because it said "JUMP AROUND"..gone, in a day. The number of hats and mittens that have been lost and been replaced. The hundreds of dollars I have spent on buying the coveted Cd's that seem to disappear overnight. Just recently, I hunted down the last of "High School Musical Three" because Peter has lost the previous 4 or 5 or was that 6 copies of that particular movie. If Peter likes it, he loses it. But not these handcuffs! These items have remained his constant companion for years, until today. He told me he had to leave them home.."Ann said". So, there they lay, lonely in his kitchen drawer.

I must admit, I have grown accustomed to their presence, and no, I will not be throwing them out. They will stay in the drawer, a reminder of Peter, the part of Peter I do not understand, the part I can't explain. What attracted him to these things in the first place, and why, he never managed to lose them for years. I will never understand. However,....I am now thinking..... shadow box...hang them in his room...it just seems fitting after all!!

Season Two:There Was No Drama

2010-12-29T18:55:00.000-08:00

Christmas, the season that seems to grow more hectic each year is now over, the New Year approaching, and I reflecting on the past days. Was it seamless, no, there is no seamless with Peter Labanowsky. Was it chaotic...momentarily yes. But this year, no phone calls to churches asking if they sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. I gave that up last year when the realization came....unless I wanted to go to the synagogue, there would be Silent Night with candles at any church we would be attending. I developed a new game plan, ask when entering when the "song' will be sung, take the candles to make the appearance that we will be participating, and reassure Mike that we will be leaving as soon as the there is any evidence that the the lights will be dimmed and the candles lit. Of course, that means the I scoped out a door near the back of church where one will supposedly quietly escaped before the singing of the song.

And so we sat, quietly, unobtrusively, in the last of the rows. Me, Silent Night lingering in the back of my mind, yet absorbing the evening, the music, the message. Peter, enthusiastically participating in the the service, especially our "fav"...Gloria in Egg Shells Seas Dayo. Singing his heart out, he maintained a sense of serenity, a new phenomena. Sleeping through the sermon, he awoke just in time to realize it was time. Evidence that soon those overhead lights will be glowing less, and those candles will be be lit. Having rehearsed the method of quietly sneaking out, we left through the side door and made it outside without a hitch. No door slams, no special words, just out the door and outside. It was almost anti-climatic! No drama..no trauma...could this be? We did it. Is this the beginning...will next year be the year we might consider...staying....for.....

you know....SN...don't tell Mike......it may be a consideration!!

The Setting of the Clocks

2010-09-30T13:27:00.000-07:00

In a "normal", household one usually sets clocks during daylight saving time or if the power had gone out, but in our household, setting of the clocks is a rather regular occurrence. Peter, when you least expect it, will change the three clocks in the kitchen, that would be the one on the stove, the one on the radio, and the one on the microwave. These three clocks are the ones that I rely on to get me wherever I need to go and need to arrive on time. These clocks that I glance at frequently, when I have timed myself done to the minute, and know if I leave exactly at 700 AM, I will reach my destination with a few minutes to spare. I, never wanting to waste a minute of my time, prefer to arrive with no minutes to spare, and love that feeling of breezing in, with a sigh of relief, knowing I made...just made it on time. That has worked quite well for me these past years, and I must admit, I an usually never late, right on time, not too early, but usually never late.
However, add the love of Peter to change the clocks and that smug feeling of "I made it on time and I am in control" is only a fleeting memory. For Peter, in his own unassuming way, does not say, "Mom, today I am changing the clocks, so please do not pay any attention to the time", no, Peter quietly, quickly, without any notice, changes the time on the clock, not by much, maybe just 10 or 15 minutes, a small amount so it can and does go unnoticed as the day or days pass by. And then it happens, when least expected. I in my need to use all my daily minutes, calculated to the minute when I should leave my house, am relying on those very precious clocks to inform of the time I need to leave my house so that I will arrive to my meeting or classroom filled with students. The very important mechanisms that will get me to where I am going on time. Only, I did not notice that Mr. I Like to Change Clocks had put the time back 15 minutes. So, as I now am down to the last few seconds, still confident I will arrive on time, I land in the front seat of my car, turn it on, and than, and it is only then, I look at the clock in my car and I realize it is not 700 AM or 100 PM, it is actually 715 AM or 1:15 PM and now, that 15 minutes I need to arrive on time and appear as if I am in control....gone! The voice goes of in my head that sounds like this....PETER!! And I now frantically race to my destination. If you would ask me how many times this occurrence has taken place in my life, I would honestly say more times than I can remember. You see, Peter, does this when you have had just managed to forget the previous event. He changes those clocks with such efficiency and with no notice that one forgets this can occur.
Yesterday, I was done to the usual race and needed to get to a class so my students could take an exam, and yep, when I landed in my car was when I realized I was lacking the 15 precious minutes that I need to arrive on time. Racing across town, and cringing when I fly by the three police officers, I manage to skim into the classroom in a nick of time.Yes, I made it...by the skin of my teeth! Maintaining a demeanor of calmness, I begin explaining to my students, who are really wondering why their instructor is cutting it so close on the day of an exam,telling them the Peter story, secretly wondering if they are buying into this "excuse". Wondering, would I believe them with such a story? They laugh, and now they ask for the password to start the test. This week, for some reason, I chose the password "peter"....so , I tell them the password is peter...NO! That would be PETER!!!

Bennies and Freebies

2010-09-17T15:25:00.000-07:00

Today, I got one again. A freebie, a benny..right in the middle of day. This weekend Sara decided to join a 5K...why a 5K always sounds like part of a retirement plan, I do not know. But now she is running, pretty good for a non-runner. The Freebie came from Sara today who wrote this little blurb and then sent it to the local radio station which they decided to share via the airwaves. Here what the people of Minnesota heard:

Hey Morning Show!
Tomorrow will be my first 5K ever.  I absolutely HATE running.  When I
heard there was a 5K to raise money for Special Olympics I knew I had
to do it.  So with the help of the couch to 5K program I've learned
not to hate it so much.  My brother Peter is a Special Olympics
athlete and I know how much these group needs a little extra money.
There is nothing more inspiring than going to a Special Olympics event
and watch the joy in each athletes face as they participate in their
sports.  For them winning has no meaning its the joy of being able to
just do what they are doing.  Peter was unable to walk until he was 5
years old and today at 22 is one of the fastest out there during his
track and field events.  So tomorrow I'll be running with Peter as my
inspiration because if he can run so can I!
Thanks again for putting this together and I'll see you in the morning!
Sara

Hey, need I say more...isn't that just best!

Mr. Fix-It

2010-09-11T19:55:00.001-07:00

I have this telephone set, I guess that is what I would call it. It has abase unit which contains an answering machine, and two handsets that I locate throughout the house, although when the phone rings, I usually end up finding the two handsets in the same place and always at the opposite end of the house. This incurs a frantic run either up or down the stairs to reach the phone or that would be phones in order to answer one of them before the answering machine turns on. Now, we do know that when one tries to talk with an answering machine running, you can hear yourself talking in that nasally voice or if you attempt to turn it off this loud , very loud annoying microphone takes over the conversation. Normally, there would be three phones in the same area, but the base unit has been broken for months. I, not wanting to replace the entire set, knowing it was outdated, read the instruction manual very thoroughly, and spent a good hour talking to my new friend in the Philippines and it was determined that this main telephone had reached the end of it's rope and needed to go to telephone heaven. The message that read "There is no link to the base unit" meant go buy another phone. Yes, I thought, someday I will buy a new one, but you see, I am still celebrating my new garage door purchase and...my new sump pump purchase so I decided that as long as the answering machine works, and the two handsets work there is no immediate need to run to Target in search of a replacement phone. So, for months I have been just fine with my two non centrally located phones.
I am sure by now you are wondering what this has to do with Peter. This is after all about Peter. Last weekend, while Peter was visiting and spending his time doing the laundry, getting in his quota of opening and closing the garage door using about a quarter of the spring life, washing my shower, and doing his usual Peter activities, I noticed he had called Sara AND he was talking on the main handset phone, the one that died months earlier, the one that had no link to the base unit. I looked at him and told him that phone did not work any more and he looked right back at me and calmly said, "Yes it does, I am talking to Sara". And there he stood, talking to Sara on a dead phone that now came back to life. I, not believing took the phone from him and sure enough...it worked. Occasionally over the past months, I have picked up that phone and tried to get it to work...but nope! Nada..nothing. No dial tone, nothing.Only that constant message reminding me there was no link to the base unit.

What Peter did to make that phone work, I will never know. But he did...free of charge. In need of a handy man? Possibly a garage door opener, the one that will stand at your door and push the button 99 times to check to see if you garage is working. Laundry anyone? Phone broken? Just call 1-800 PETER4U!

LOST

2010-08-29T07:39:00.001-07:00

After writing and reading the story about Peter's Sunday excursion around the Forest Park neighborhood, and his eventual return, my heart skipped a beat. Living through Peter's runaway events, his running through airports, and his total LOST experience was part of our life. It was what it was. Although, hours were sent explaining the whys of not losing one's family, our approach became a matter of attempting to be proactive. We put locks and hooks on doors where Peter could not reach...actually, if you walked through my house today, you would see the remnants of leftover locks, hooks, and reversed locks which had been installed in order to prevent a potential disastrous runaway. The family all put on a daily game face, we had a plan, a loosely developed plan of what we would do when we could not find Peter. Because of this extremely frequent occurrence, it appeared as if we were in some drill, a drill that had been conjured up over time by actually seeking out Peter. My voice, serving as the bell or siren, called out to Sara, Mike and the neighborhood children to start the search, as if programed, they stopped their play, whether it was soccer, or swinging on the play set, or maybe a friendly game of playing house in the backyard shed, whatever these children were engaged, they stopped, with no questions asked, and started of in the various directions in search of the lost child, of course, unbeknownst to him. He did not have any conception that he was lost and was in need of being found.

The changes a child with special needs has on one's family is profound. These changes sneak up with really such subtly that one doesn't even noticed. One is only reacting to the effect of the child in order to adjust, survive, or cope. We, as a family, did just that. We, changed our lifestyle, in order to meet the needs of Peter. It was a daily education and the book was written, the rules, the guidelines were posted as we went along. Most of the time, it was a guess. What did not work on the particular day, may work tomorrow, or maybe was never a good idea.

Peter's antics effected all of us. But, when it came to his Speedy Gonzalos moves, we devised our own way of coping. Reflecting, was it the best? Probably not, really, a good fence may have been the answer to solve the daily problem of running. At that time, that was not the answer. A fence in our neighborhood was unheard of that time, now, everyone has fences. A fence at that time was also cost prohibitive.

I know we tried the best we could. I know God gave us patience, good neighbors, and a large dose of overseeing...of course, He always was aware of Peter's wear abouts! I think of Peter, who on the major LOST day, when we found him acted as if he was being picked up by strangers, and Peter now, who hugs and appreciates his family. Peter, who now can go on trips and stays with his group. Who during his growing years learned to stay closer, that family is a "good thing".

Could someone have given us a book on how to raise this child...maybe? I can now look back and say I would not change a thing, there is a reason how this developed and formed. In the midst of the "battle", the growing, sure there were painful days and many tears, but I never lost Peter...not permanently, although, reading and reflecting I do believe...that was nothing short of a miracle!!!

Yes...."Idunnoknow"

2010-08-22T18:02:00.001-07:00

I was right. When asking Peter about his trip, those three words which Peter has turned into a one syllable word flowed quickly from Peter's month. "Idunknow" . Peter,who did you room with? Idunknow" Really, Idunknow was the response for any question asked. But, as I was told, he had a great time! And, Mr. I was afraid of boats, took a historic boat tour, and did just fine. And, Peter, who when we took him to a movie theater would either bolt within the first few minutes of the movie or refuse to come in and take a seat, sat quietly and enjoyed the Broadway play!! As I was told...he was so good!

Funny, when I picked him up for church this morning, it was as if he had grown up a bit since last week when I had seen him. This week, he walked slowly into church, okay, so he still took way more snacks than requested, but than he placed all his items on the table and proceeded to find one our of neighbors, one he has not seen in a very long time, and go shake his hand and ask him how he was doing today! Excuse me, but is this the same Peter that last week was running into the place?

He stood, he listened, he was just so calm. I cannot help but think that trip was not only enjoyable, but a great learning experience. One that he got alot of bang for his buck! Fun and learning. A experience that at one time in his tiny life I would never have imagined! Now...if he would only stay at his workstation until the end of the day...life would be good!

The Working Man

2010-08-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

Recently, I attended Peter's annual job review at the curative workshop where he goes daily. A workshop where companies have individuals with special needs fill orders for them. I know at this particular workshop, Johnson Wax has been a very good sponsor. I must admit, I was a tad apprehensive as last year his review did not go so well. He was having a hard time staying on task, staying in the lines, and was really attracted to the time clock, so much that he would leave his piecework job and go punch everyone's cards, of course, that would be in the middle of the day! So last year at this time, Peter was managing to push people's patience buttons to the max, that would be people who already have an extra dose of love and patience. At that time, I went into overdrive and tried to come up with ways to help Peter. I walked him between the yellow lines and made him repeat "Stay within the lines, the lines are your friends". We discussed the purpose of time cards and how important it was to complete his job. I know there was bribery involved and I hoped and prayed he would eventually figure out his new role in life.

This year, I was told, he is still working on staying friends with the lines. But, after listening to his review, I was beaming. Over the past year, he has managed to stay on task and build triggers and put caps on triggers, all fairly demanding for someone who struggles with fine motor movement. Triggers, you see, are those things at the top of a spray bottle, that allows us, the customer to spray the windows, the toilets, whatever. This year, he increased his productivity thirty percent, and made six hundred dollars for the year, enough to pay for a special trip to Chicago. And, did I mention that they removed the time clock, so he lost the need to go and punch everyone's time card. Now that was a blessing! I am sure one of his autistic behaviors was drawing him to that clock, and that need to punch.

Remember those doors and windows I talked about earlier, well, if you asked me, this is a window of opportunity for Peter. A chance for him to move into the adult working world and feel good about himself. An opportunity to be independent, have somewhere to go everyday and spend time with others like him and than come home at the end of the day and relax...now there is a working man!

Still Beaming...

2010-08-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, Peter has made me proud because he is trying very hard to do better at his job. But, today, again, I am just so excited! Today, Peter is leaving on his trip that he paid for with his own money from his job at the curative workshop. After putting all those triggers together, boxing Pledge, and trying very hard to stay within the yellow lines at work, Peter is going on vacation. Nope! Not with me. He, is going with his friends on a special bus to downtown Chicago and spending three days in the city. Peter will be rooming with Wilson, his buddy from his house and from his work and supervised by one of the managers, Ann. He gets to go sightseeing to Navy Pier, to the Aquarium and to a Broadway play. Now how cool is that!

I love taking Peter on vacation, but there is something very special about Peter doing his own thing. When he was growing up, I never knew what would take place after Peter finished high school. And like I said, I did not spend time worrying over fretting over that concern, but, I really never knew. People would asked...and I think I just smiled. I had no answer. I was going one day at a time, so there is no future planning in one day at a time. Sure, I conjured up thoughts and wheres, but that is about as far as it went. Could I have imagined this? Not this good! Could I have ever imagined that Peter would be living in a phenomenal group home with his friends from high school, having a job, a really nice job, happy, still growing, and also, so close to my house. I know in my wishful thinking, that wistful dream was never this good.

And now today, he leaves to go on a trip, not with me, with his friends to a big city. I am just so excited for him! I cannot wait until he can tell me all about it!! Okay, I must get real here. I know when I ask him what he did he will say "Idunnoknow". But, I know that in the "dunnoknow" he had a marvelous time! I can see the smile now! Way to go Peter, way to defy all odds and grow up and be an adult. Oh yes, and thanks for keeping the child in you. so the rest of your family can still play.

One Sunday Afternoon

2010-08-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

I still remember the day, it was a bright sunny Sunday afternoon when we went to visit the local relatives. We were picnicking, talking when my brother-in-law started giving line dancing lessons on the backyard patio. Always wanting to learn this type of dance, I joined in the fun. Peter, at the young age of maybe four or five, was entertaining himself by running out the back door circling the ranch style house to open the front door, run through the kitchen and again run out the back door. This form of entertainment was keeping Peter well occupied as the afternoon progressed, and I believing he was safe began to learn the fine art of line dancing. We danced and Peter circled through about every 30 - 45 seconds, slamming the doors and have big time fun as far as he was concerned.
Laughing and dancing away, I noticed that I had not seen Peter circle in the last few minutes, so I broke away to do a check, thinking he was most likely in a bathroom, had found another door, or joined the rest of the children in the basement. Looking in the bathrooms, closets, and any orifice that had a door, I could not find Peter, so I called on the kids and cousins to help me look and asked the dancers if they had seen Peter, Shortly, all twenty of us were searching the house again, and slowly spreading into the neighborhood. No Peter could be found. Where could he have gone?
Concern raising, we broke up into groups, some in cars, some on bikes, some walking, all of us going in different directions. We looked in yards, and at the nearby school with the wide array of playground equipment, we searched and searched. When we stopped and asked the local neighbors, some out washing their cars, others doing yard work, they also joined in search, giving up the their Sunday activities. We walked, we circled, we called, we checked any swimming pools, and the longer we could not find Peter, the more my heart was sinking. Could this be the time we would not find him, or would he be hurt when we did, did someone take him?
I still remember hearing sirens in a distance and thinking that this is where we would find Peter. Thinking he had escaped to a busy road several blocks away, I maintained a calm demeanor, quietly praying, and continuing the search. By this time, the police were involved, three or four cars, so as we were walking we would see them circling.
It seemed like an eternity, and it was well over an hour, maybe two when we got the word from the police department. The police had enlisted the help of young boys on bikes and when these boys noticed a little boy swinging away on a swing set located in a backyard, they went up to the door and asked the owner if they knew him. Nope, not their child, so they called the police.
Finding Peter, he was just sitting and swinging. Was he all excited to see..not really...he was swinging. Was he afraid? No, he showed no sign on any anxiety, no comprehension that he has caused any commotion. He was just swinging. Did he understand that by now about forty people were now involved in the search and as every second passed, the enormity of the situation was weighing heavily on our hearts. How he walked blocks and blocks away without being seen, how he did not get hit by a car on his way, why he stopped where he did...nothing short of a miracle. And there he sat, swinging, just swinging, almost bothered that we had stopped the motion and he had to come with us.
This was just one more day in the life of Peter Labanowsky. It was as if he walked with this invisible wall around him, a wall that protected him, this wall seemed to encompass Peter in many experiences, this one a bit more harrowing than the others.
We went home, Peter as if nothing was array. We counting our blessings and thinking how we can never, and I mean never leave him out of our site! Thinking maybe we should be the first in the neighborhood to put up that forbidden fence, everyone hugging Peter, and he wondering "what is the big deal?"

Do You Hear What I Hear?

2010-07-31T14:51:00.000-07:00

Do you hear what I hear...well, right now that is the song I am hearing, it is Christmas in July at our house, and Peter has tuned into his favorite Christmas carols and yes, we are both singing along as if it were December 23rd. Windows open, neighbors listening, they can join in if the would like!
Actually, my plan was to tell you about my new purchase, but just as I sat down, Peter started blasting out the Christmas tunes, and of course, that included one round of Silent Night, can't do Christmas carols without Silent Night, unless of course, it is Christmas Eve and you are in a candle-lit church and than it's another story. But right now we are safely singing Silent Night in the middle of this sunny summer day. So, hum with me, pick your favorite as you read.
I finally did it. I had to fork over the money and buy a new garage door. Now buying a chocolate brown new garage door that closely resembles the old garage door is about as exciting to me as buying a new sump pump. Something that needs to be done, but personally, a new piece of furniture or dress would lift my spirits rather that a major investment into a garage door. But the old creaky, rusted and soon to be splintered garage door had to be replaced before it stayed permanently in one place. So, now I am the proud owner of this piece of equipment that serves to protect my car and keep the raccoons from entering during the night time hours.
Wondering if Peter would even notice the newly acquired door, I decided not to tell him about the new purchase. Why I thought he may not notice? That is an "oh duh, Diane". He was hardly out of the car when he squealed with delight that we have a new garage door. The incredibly large smile that covered his face, and the accompanied hand wringing reassured me that he was totally enthralled by the purchase. Why did I not save this purchase for Christmas, and give it to him as his present? What was I thinking? Maybe that is why he is playing Christmas songs...maybe it reminds him of Christmas? He spent time looking at the inside and than we needed to close it so he could see the outside. It was just so exciting. We have spent the rest of the day, leaving, but sitting patiently in front of the door so we could "Ooh and Aah" as it descends. You would think we were watching fireworks.
I now have a new appreciation for that door. Peter's love has made me cross over to the other side and I am beginning to see the beauty in the simple brown thing that goes up and down. Without Peter, it would have just been another irritating expense, but his absolute excitement over the door has made me appreciate the finer things in life!!

Dancing in the Rain

2010-07-28T20:23:00.000-07:00

"Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass...it's about learning, how to dance in the rain.."

Okay, so I recieved this in one of those emails that you get, the ones that a friends send out and than you are expected to send it along. I will admit, I am picky about what I send on, as not to fill another's mailbox with too many good things. But, when I read this one, I got that very warm feeling...oh, this is good feeling. I like this one.

Isn't is true? Does it not make sense? In life, save for a few, we get bumps along the way. Some of us seem to get bigger bumps than others, or maybe we are given bigger bumps because God knows we can handle it. I really do not know the answer to this one, but I do know there are the bumps of life. We could be bitter, we could give up, we could complain, and sometimes that happens, but in order to take control of these bumps, we need to face them head on with the trust and grace that we will be given only enough bumps that we can handle.

And that is why today, when I read that saying, I thought..how perfect..how fitting. It is the dance of life that gets us through the day. I really think Peter gave me that ability to dance, partlly because he literally loves to dance and sing. And in those down momements, he danced and made me dance along.

Peter is not here today, but I think I could use a little dancing. I think I need to haul out those CD's of his, and dance in my kitchen...sing out loud, remember all the good things I have in life, remember how well I am blessed. So what if I am doing a little YMCA by myself in the kitchen, I'm dancing!

Thunderstorms

2010-07-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

Peter hates thunderstorms, or maybe the correct word would be fears thunderstorms. The tiniest threat of a storm puts Peter on heightened alert and you will find him glued to the "Weather Channel" accompanied by a small amount of nervous pacing. Pacing close enough to the television and always aware of any upcoming storms that may appear red or pink on the screen. Now, if storms are appearing across the country, he will need constant reminders that this is taking place in Texas and Peter, you will need an airplane to get there, so you need not worry. Does he really understands? He professes he does, and continues his attention to the television waiting for the local update. During the day time hours, if he is aware of the storms, he will pull all the plugs to the televisions, washing machine, radio's, if it has a plug you will find it lying next to the item that is is attached. He will pull out flashlights, just in case the lights go off, and he will be prepared to go into the basement if alerted to an incoming storm. At night, he seems to be able to hear a storm, long before it approaches, and does not like to be alone. As if he was a toddler, he will come running into my room, attempt to fly over my body, and land next to me in my bed. He hasn't quite caught on that he is a larger person now, and going around the bed would provide more comfort on my part. Especially, because he never quite clear my body. The urgency he displays in an attempt to move into my bed is evident in the modified broad jump he attempts over me to land on the other side.

Recently, after a past thunderstorm, I pondered as to how he developed such a fear of the booms and the bangs. I am thinking I need to raise my hand and take credit for his hate of thunderstorms. Peter, the copy cat, I am sure is emulating my behavior from past storms. Yes, it is true, I do not like thunderstorms and when an individual points out that there is nothing like a good thunderstorm for sleeping, that statement goes beyond my comprehension. Sleeping, during a thunderstorm? How does that work? A thunderstorm, especially a loud and well lit one evokes me into promising God just about everything in order to ensure my safety. How did I come to this? Could it be growing up in tornado alley when if the sirens were going off, you spent no time in getting your anny fanny into some basement, because in those days of prehistorical radar, that siren indicated that tornado was impending, or already past. Could I have developed my strong distaste for storms because following any storm event in my small community where I grew up, my parents would take us all in a car ride to survey the damage and count our blessings that this time we did not get hit. Comforting experience which I think must have set me up believing the next tornado would be going down our street. Or was it the lightening strikes that sizzled in the outlet next to my bed that made me take storms so seriously?

But now for the payback. Peter as he sat by watching me absorbed all these behaviors and now, he probably does not even understand it, he has a fear of the angels bowling and the free light show. Possibly hypnosis would cure this fear, but no logical explanations, no you are safe, no let's enjoy this experience will change his hate of the storm.

It is what it is. I, on the other hand, have become more comfortable with them. Maybe he will pick that up...maybe not. But until that time, I will be rebooting the cable box, replugging, and explaining that really, the storm is in Oklahoma.......

Windows

2010-07-19T15:55:00.000-07:00

Windows come in all shapes, sizes, and depending on your house's age, will vary from crank windows to those that lift up and down (I am sure there is a name for that). Being an 80's sort of house, we have those long, about 5 feet long, narrow crank type windows in many areas, of course, not the one over the kitchen sink. Nice, long windows that allow a nice breeze on a 72 degree day.
Naps, which young children take, also come in all shapes and sizes, depending on your child. Some children love naps and take two or three naps during the day while others take a relatively one sized long nap. During this nap time, the mother usually has her moment of peace and quiet, possibly watching a favorite television show, or reading a book. It is your choice, you get to choose how you want to spend that hour more or less of pre-arranged quiet time or nap that God built into children so you can maintain your sanity and than move onto the supper hour.
Peter, the child that seemed to be given an overdose of energy and spirit, after spending his pre-walking days sleeping for long periods, after learning to walk seemed to want to use all the daytime hours to motor. So after the age of two, he moved right into that shorter afternoon nap period. That time period was one I relished. A true moment to regroup, an opportunity to sit,clean, or stare aimlessly for the short period of time while he was re-charging for the next eight hours. Major peace and quiet in my mind.
Then, one day, that momentary, my one hour of free time changed. I, thinking Peter was resting well, and doing the usual peek into the door, just to make sure life was good, noticed a bed with no child. Realizing, he had not escaped the room, I quietly opened the door to locate the boy. Noticing he had not removed his body to the floor, I continued my visual search, heart skipping a beat to observe him standing OUTSIDE the window on approximately a four inch landing area below the window, the one where you crank it open, slide off the screen, climb over the window ledge, and somehow manage to position your body on the very tiny landing. My heart was no longer skipping, it was now in my feet as I tried to slowly calmly move to the window, so I would not scare him, and retrieve him. Understand, this bedroom window is on the second floor and situated over the driveway, not a good place to loose your footing and fall.
How he managed to do this, at his very young age, how long he was standing there, how he did not fall, I will never know except that something short of a miracle had just taken place. Peter, stood there quietly, holding onto the outside wall while I slowing grabbed him and brought him back into the bedroom. Again, no discussion was needed as the understanding of how absolutely dangerous this outdoor window standing is, not to mention I just lost another ten years off my life. No, we screwed all those upstairs screens so tight that no one could take them off. And nap time, took on a new meaning where I would plant myself outside his door with one ear tuned to any activity occurring in his bedroom which shortly turned into no nap time.
Remembering this whole event still sends my heart into a bit of a pace, thankful that nothing drastic occurred that day, but also realizing that this just was Peter, always quietly exploring a new venue without one ounce of care in the world that he could be in danger. Trusting that he would be found, would be safe, and life would just go on another day. So, innocent in his mind, a tad bit unnerving in my mind.

I Love My Children

2010-07-15T08:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, who does not love their children? Of course, there were those teenage years loving could potentially be a bit of a challenge. Or thoses days that you momentarily lose that loving feeling, but overall, I have great kids! So, when did this revelation take place, as if I should not have known this all along. On the Fourth of July, during the annual fireworks, I realized I needed to take a moment to recount my blessings. What happened that day that caused me to reflect on my family?
On the Fourth it does not take much to evoke all those warm and fuzzy feelings about family and fun. The picnics and parades are usually enough to conjure up some past memory of a happy time when the kids were young and life seemed oh so "Normal Rockwellish". But this year, standing on the boat dock watching Sara and Mike keep Peter in one place so I could enjoy the fireworks, was just as rewarding as watching the fireworks.
We were able to partake the firework watching on a sailboat, or if you did not fit, on the pier that surrounds all those lovely boats owned by those individuals who partake in water events such as sailing, jet skiing, and boating . Thinking this would be great opportunity to get close and personal to the fireworks, , we ventured down to the local yacht club to join in the others already stationed in or on the boat. This boat is owned by Nick's grandparents who recently moved it to the Kenosha harbor. Obviously, we all momentarily forgot that although Peter had formed a new found love for boats, that would big boats, easily accessible boats that one could hold a hand and skip across the water and land inside the boat. We somehow, forgot, or more likely, being new to this adventure did not realize that in order to get the our boat, we would need to work down the four foot wide pier that was now already covered with chairs, and people who already were imbibing, and dogs! Yes, dogs, tons of dogs, big ones, small ones, nice ones, and a few pit bullish looking dogs. How we would ever get Peter to walk the two blocks intertwined with dogs, people, and parties would take a minor miracle. I had given up the minute we were inside the locked door where Peter was had this great attachment to going to the bathroom in order to avoid the trip down the pier. However, Sara and Mike were all about taking on the task. of convincing Peter this was the best way to view the bright colored splashes or orange or pink or purple and OOOH and AWWW. I, on the other hand, was ready to jump ship to the small grassy oasis outside the yacht club.
Nope, Sara was fully convinced that she could handle this, and " please I can do it and you go ahead, mom". Of course, she had already gained Peter's respect that day as he had earlier decided that he was only listening to Sara and Mike, and somehow I had been demoted. Knowing, I was no longer first in command, I twisted through dogs and people to get to the boat. I must admit I did return a few times to to check on the progress and offer my willingness to move to the grass . However between Sara and Mike there was no going back. The amount of patience Sara displayed was awesome. On one of my returns I noticed her jumping up and down on the pier demonstrating to Peter that it would not break. Another time, discussing the benefits of this mode of fireworks watching. Forty five minutes later, and a boatload of patience, Peter finally made his way through the party goers and dogs to very tentatively agree to stand and only stand and watch the show. Just in time for the fireworks to start. Mike, during this time was adding his support and encouragement and after Peter arrived, took over the official duty of standing close enough to Peter during the entire display to ensure that if Peter took one step sideways he could grab the back of his shirt and prevent any unexpected swimming events. Mike, always on the lookout for the new misstep that could occur. You see, this incredibly nice man whose yacht was within five feet of us graciously played all those patriotic songs Peter loves, so Peter also took up pier dancing. Quite a trick when you only have about four feet of dance floor.
Sitting back admiring the fireworks, I admired the two of them taking on that task. A major undertaking on their part. event, whatever you would like to call it, one that makes a mother proud! The fireworks were spectactular, my kids awesome!

My New Homepage

2010-07-08T20:14:00.000-07:00

Metra...the train that takes us to Chicago. The train Peter loves, the one that Peter enlists the help of Youtube to make it sound as if the Metra is landing in my family room. Yes, the Metra. Today when I logged onto my homepage which is usually just good old MSN is now the Metra homepage. Interesting....how can one who cannot read or write turn my boring MSN homepage into the Metra??? Please? I know I will need to ask Mike to change it back, because I will not know how to change my homepage, but obviously Peter had no problem locating Metra and than making it my new homepage. Actually, it is growing on me and maybe I will just keep it. Realistically, now that Peter has "figured this one out" he will always change my homepage to the Metra, or possibly a different one that will meet his needs. Yes, I think I will just out smart the boy and keep it on the Metra. Ha..will see where that goes?

Of course, on Peter's recent visit he also once again changed the answering machine to something like "Hi Mike, call me, I am waiting for you, call me back"....and, you know...I am taking a stand here. I am not changing that greeting. It is what it is...and oh well, so it does not meet the standard greeting criteria , I am thinking it works for me. Besides, even though I will change it back...you know, the minute he has that opportunity to change to make his own thing, he will.
So, today Peter is the winner in the Mexican standoff. I think I will succumb...I will let Peter rule the answering machine and the Internet....does it really matter anyway? The phone will ring, and those who really need to leave a message, they will. And the homepage...the Metra works for me. Life goes on, and really, I must admit, when I open my computer, I think of Peter, and the machine..yes, a divine reminder of his tricks! Have a nice day!

A Sonnet

2010-06-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

So today for my creative writing class I needed to write a Sonnet. I know I do not have the rhythm quite down, but here is my sonnet:
A CHILD
The child that is a gift from our God
The beginning of smile, a wink or a nod
The hopes and the dreams that you wish will come true
That is the gift a child gives you

This gift that holds so many good things
These gifts that can make your heart truly sing
Can also bring tears, oh, it is so true
This gift, not so perfect, that came from you

A child when born fills your heart with joy
This child in the form of a girl or a boy
This form, when the mold did not come quite right
This child will still be lovely in your very own sight

Whatever the challenges that may lie ahead
There really is no reason to be sad or to dread
For as God gave this gift so precious and true
God will every day, be right there with you

For everything there is a reason, you may not see it now
But clearly, down the road, you mind will allow
To see the beautiful lessons that you will learn
From this child with whom you now will sojourn

From this child, the lessons will be awesome and great
You will learn more to love and less to hate
You will learn of great blessing, unknown before
You will thank God for the great gift you truly adore

The days will fly fast and before you are done
You will remember the task of this child of one
And thank them both, your God and your son
Because you are really the one who has won

You won patience and kindness and love all around
Your empathy for others is left unbound
And those lessons of love the you learned everyday
You only have two people to thank and to say

God gave me a challenge, He gave me a gift
I didn’t understand it, at first I was miffed
But my eyes are now open, I really do see
God knew all along what the best gift would be

This child, this special boy in the form of a son
Not so perfect, but loving, my heart he has won
And simply, he taught me the importance in life
Of counting my blessings and not all the strife

He taught me to laugh and to dance and to sing
He taught me to not care about everything
He taught me humility, and patience and such
And, if I have not said it, I love him so much

Wall-eyed

2010-06-27T12:45:00.000-07:00

Wall-eyed. That is what I am when I am with Peter. It is the opposite of cross-eyed and means that instead of my eyes crossing, that are actually looking outward, in two different directions.
Having just spent the last 12 hours with Peter, I am now very wall-eyed, and attempting to cross my eyes to get them back in the right direction. How does one become wall-eyed..that would be Peter walleyed. Well, it started in the grocery store where Peter and I ventured shortly after I picked him up. I, knowing I would be accompanied by Peter had made a list. Now, I am not a list person, but knowing I would need to acutely aware of Peter and those items I needed to put in my cart, I, planning ahead, made a list. Thinking I was so smart, as I already knew we would not be visiting the Speedy Zone, been there, done that, and won't be repeating that act again went grocery shopping with a purpose. In and out, I am thinking. We were doing just fine, until Peter announced that we needed bagels. Really? Peter has never eaten a bagel in his life, and now the boy wants bagels? Not only did he announce he needed bagels, but he insisted that we find the bagels immediately. Did you know that the bagels are located at the opposite, farthest away, going from northeast to southwest in the store? And this is no White Hen we are visiting. I, however, pointed out to Peter that I needed to find the things on my list, before we went to the the North Pole to find the bagels. That did not sit really well with him, but he very hesitantly agreed, stating every fifteen seconds that we really needed the bagels. He was really trying hard to cooperate, but the agititaiton was increasing as I was frantically running down the various aisles to find my listed items. Afterall, I am thinking, this list is kind of cool and I really wanted to stay on task!
Finally, we get the bagel land, and things were a new calm. After studying every kind of bagel available for us shoppers, we decided that plain is the one for us. So, off we went to finish gathering the groceries on my list, when I ran into my friend, my friend who I have not seen for years, and of course, we really did want to catch up...you know, how are the kids, and are you still...and that is where I became very walleyed. As I tried very pleasantly to fill her in with the data and really intently looked at her with one eye while the other eye was watching Peter filling up the cart with items that I knew he would insist were quite necessary. I really did try keeping the conversation going, and shouted out a few "Peter, we really do not need that", which went unnoticed by Peter who was now adding tens of dollars on the bill with various kinds of juices and milks. Finally, when both eyes were really out of whack, and the panic looked was emerging onto my face, my friend realized that our catching up needed to take place at another time, and offering my apologies for not being able to converse, I rescued the cart and moved along.
As I was finishing fulfilling the list of necessities and making a few more quick stops, I noticed when I turned around, Peter had vanished. Walleyed..now where is he. Knowing he still has that loving feeling for automatic doors, I rushed to the front of the store and there is he stood, patiently watching the doors open and close, wringing his hands, and laughing in sheer delight over the whole affair.
At this point I decided my shopping experience had ended and whatever items were in that cart now belonged to me, and whatever was missing, well there was just no going back. So, I waited patiently in the long check out line, daring not to step over to Speedy as I knew that would only announce to Peter that I needed his help checking out, and unlike Silent Night...I am over that one!
The checking complete and Peter still focuing on the door experience, I let him know we could leave and yes, I have the bagels. So, out the store we went, Peter nicely holding onto the cart..the angelic person that he is and I unscrewing my eyes and refocusing for the next event... whatever that may be!

Ravinia

2010-06-23T17:22:00.001-07:00

Peter loves Ravinia. Attending a concert at Ravinia Park tops his list of "favs". And incredibly, overall he is well behaved, for the most part....
When I decided that Peter might enjoy Ravinia, and tired of finding Peter sitters, I devised a plan. Peter and I would take the train to the concert park where we would meet my friends. The picnic supplies, food, blanket, and table were left in the hands of those who chose to drive some type of van or SUV in order to accommodate all the supplies. These supplies almost fit into one of those metal grocery carts that you sometime see a person of another generation pulling behind them following a trip to the grocery store. Knowing I would need to keep a close eye on Peter, I announced I would send my "part' with the van, and bring only Peter and our chairs on the train. Why did Peter and I take the train, because for Peter there is no other mode of transportation that brings sheer joy than the Metra. And the Metra drops one off right at the entrance to Ravinia.
The train ride to Ravinia went smooth, as Peter was quite entertained by the train experience. Anxiously awaiting the announcement of our destination, Peter was ready to jump as soon as the doors opened, and, in anticipation had gathered our belongings. Following the major leap off the train, even though Peter had no idea of his final destination, he maintained a 10 foot lead, and I, ignorant of my behavior, shouted for him to stay with me. He, of course, had no intention of listening to my pleas, went through the entrance without the ticket, and I explaining briefly about my situation... and please just let me go through, I need to find my son, in this one acre park that is now filled with thousands of people, got into the park and continued my search for Peter.
Having located Peter who did finally stop as he did not have a clue as where to go, we headed to our home for the next four hours. That would be an extremely large blanket filled with a table, chairs, people, food, and the coveted candle. Need the candle at Ravinia to light the table after the food has been consumed, and the music begins.
So Peter, now thinking he is in Nirvana, sat quietly, ate everything ounce of food that was packed for him, and when the symphony commenced, Peter reminded all of us in the Home to please be quiet and listen to the music. So under the sky filled with stars, we laid on our backs or sat in our collapsible chairs, breathed in the fresh air, and calmly listened to some version of Mozart. Really is Nirvana, a little space in time to relax in a atmosphere of music, candlelit tables and friends.
Feeling quite comfortable with how the evening was progressing, I was so proud of Peter who sat like an angel throughout the event. Hours later, the concert was ending and we, the train goers needed to head out to catch the only train headed north to reach our destination. Actually, there are two trains located outside the park, one heading south and one, situated on the other side of the tracks heading north.
Somewhere in Nirvana I forgot about the part where Peter really loves trains and really was only sitting patiently waiting for the concert to end, so he could ride that train again. At the first sign of the last song, the erupting claps, and the pleads to do an encore, Peter decided it was time to leave, and off he went. I, trying to disassemble the chairs, grabbing the pieces, and attempted to catch up with Peter who was now lost in the mass of those trying to get to the parking lot first, so they would not be caught in the parking lot of a traffic jam later. Fighting the crowds, and weakly apologizing for my behavior I ran as fast as I could. My fear, Peter would get on the same train that we disembarked, the train that would be filled to the brim and heading south. How could I get to him to tell him it was on the other side?
Approaching the tracks and seeing no sign of Peter, I conjured thoughts of Peter on the wrong train, thinking how would I find him, do I call 911, do I jump on that train and look for him? Panic slowly creeping in to all parts of my body.
I made a quick decision to check the other sides of the tracks and maybe, just maybe, and I do not know how, Peter would be on the right side of the train. Maneuvering across the tracks, running through the small spot of woods, and up the hill, I breathlessly approached the platform, praying all the way that Peter would be there. And miraculously there he stood, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the train. I counting my blessings that it had not arrived, because I knew he would board one of the many cars and I again would be at a loss.
How Peter knew...I do not know. How this ending did not turn into some disastrous event, I do not know. Peter happily boarded the train without a care in the world, I had just lost another ten years off my life from the momentary panic that had set in. Talking to Peter....you know the story.
Did this event stop me from taking Peter to Ravinia. Nope! We just have one assigned to be glued to his hip post concert. It is their only job, they do not need to participate in any cleaning up of the momentary blanket home. Just stay close to Peter and follow him on the train, if necessary. It works!! And we can still enjoy a moment of Nirvana on a starry night.

A Poem

2010-06-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

This week for my Creative Writing class, we get to write a poem. Having never done this, I did not and still do not have a clue, I came up with this. So, here is my idea of a rhetorical poem....

A Special Gift
Writing about having a child with special needs,
There is so much to say, so much to tell
Do I start when he was born, the feelings of love?
The feeling of profound sadness when we thought he was blind
Do I tell the story of the many doctors?
Of those who built hope and those who destroyed?
Or the looks, the looks of those who could not comprehend,
Or those who knew and wanted to wrap their arms around the experience
Do I tell of the siblings, and their need to love and be loved
Or do I tell of the stories of those who promoted growth
Who sometimes understood themselves and sometimes judged?
Do I tell of the sadness of realizing that he would not develop a pincer grasp?
And who really thought that was all that important anyway?
Or that he would never read or grow quite tall or act much older than a six year old.
Possibly I should tell about the love, the unconditional love that belongs to any child
The lessons that he has taught me that one cannot learn from a book
The amount patience one acquires when given this special gift.
Or maybe I should tell of his siblings who have been given the gift of understanding like no others
It’s free, you know.
It came with the package.
So, I will tell of the great blessing that I received the day he was born. The one, I did not quite realize
The blessing that came so quietly into my world and still works wonders in my heart.
That gift, that package that has brought both joy and sadness,
But most of all a it’s love, it’s a free high.

Silent Night

2010-06-16T15:21:00.000-07:00

Before the last of the Christmas decorations are stored, while those tiny white bulbs are still sited in my neighbor's yard, and while thoughts of Christmas still linger in my head, I will tell the tale of Silent Night. Now, in most families the mention of Silent Night conjures up happy thoughts of Christmas, a beautiful church filled with candles, a song sweetly sung. Not in the Labanowsky household. Those two simple words puts one in a heightened state of awareness and sends that prickly feeling up your spine that goes into to your head and alerts you to "Danger ahead". Why, it was only several months ago, that I was calling churches asking "Do you sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve". When we heard that the church we normally attend was singing Silent Night in the beginning of the service, it was unanimous....sure disaster. So, this year we chose the contemporary church with hopes we might "rock" to Silent Night". Upon entering the church, with new hopes for a good Christmas Eve experience, Mike noticed the candle in my hand...me, the eternal optimist that this would be the year we would do Silent Night, and he said.."Mom we are not doing this" which if interpreted meant..."Mom, what don't you get about Silent Night???" Once again, the heightened awareness began as we awaited the first sign of the lighting of the candles, we kept our belongings in hand, and mentally found the nearest exit. This year we were ready for a quick escape. Actually, the good news, this year we did get out rather smoothly!
So, what elicits the Flight or Fight feeling when one knows that Silent Night will be occurring. Well, it all began many years ago, when Peter would play his CD of Christmas songs well into July. We were the only family in the neighborhood, loudly playing Jingle Bells on the Fourth of July. You know, it is that Christmas year around feeling. Peter's favorite was Silent Night, and if it was dark, he would turn off all the lights and invite you to sing along. You would think that on Christmas Eve this was his favorite song, after all, he sang it everyday, and several times a day with the lights off.
Several years ago, maybe five..eight..I have lost count, on Christmas eve, we went to church, sang Silent Night, the service ended and as I was leaving and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, Sara ran back into church and literally grab my arm, pleading for a quick exit. I found this rather strange, as Sara was always second in command and could change Peter's behavior rather easily if needed. So, listening to her pleas, I left, only to find Peter closing the big iron gate on the parishioners, and trust me, he was not wishing them a Merry Christmas....his words included ##**XX..words I will not write, but words he had emulated from another parent who set less than quality standards. We rushed him along, trying hard to quiet him down, Peter not willing to let go of his feelings was hurried into the car. At that point, we did not realize that was the beginning of the end to Silent Night and a quiet Christmas Eve service.
The following year, now quite believing that Silent Night would again cause such an uproar, I took him to the children's service. We discussed that at the end of the service the children would sing Silent Night. Peter reassured me he would be fine and he would sit quietly during the song. and than it happened. The candles were lit, he jumped up, swearing loudly, ran out of church and, yes slammed that heavy door as loud as he could during that song. That night, pouring my self a large glass of wine, we sat and discussed Silent Night and all he could say was that he just could not handled. And whatever he could not handled, unearthed some really bad behavior that brought Peter to tears mixed with anger, and a bit of door slamming.
Again, being the eternal optimist, and after all, another year had past, I truly believed this was the year Peter was over Silent Night. Life had settled down at my house, less trauma and drama, so I was totally convinced this was the year we would make it through Silent Night. I even incorporated the help of the ministers, one who actually came back to the church entrance, to give Peter reassuring looks and provide moral support . We made it through the first verse. Then came the second verse, and Peter decided he had enough! His goal now would be to turn UP the lights in the in the darkened candle-lit church. The pastor spent the next two verses dodging Peter and keeping his back on the light switch while I tried to convince Peter to leave. And we did...of course, with the heavy door slam and a large mental note to myself...give it up Diane.
So, if you asked Sara or Mike about Silent Night, you will receive a wide eyed look of terror that only belongs to one who lives with Peter Labanowsky. During this years service, the minister mentioned that we would be singing Silent Night, and all of us turned with that "Oh No, he said the word!!". Peter who was reverently bowing his head, looked up and said, Silent Night...stupid silent night....and we left. That was our cue, as if we had practiced our escape, we were out of there in seconds. Running as fast as we could before those lights were turned down and the candles were lit. Counting our blessings that would were no heavy oak doors to slam.
If anyone who knows of a Silent Nightless church on Christmas Eve...please let me know. My children will eternally be grateful!!

Thanksgiving and other such cooking days

2010-06-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving is one of those special holidays in my mind. Rather simple, no major gift giving taking place, and the menu, as far as I am concerned....a no brainer. Your family wants the same thing every year....tradition, and if it is missing from the menu, their is a professed loss among the crowd as to where are the green beans this year. So, I, in order to maintain tradition, change nothing. Simple as that. I like to hold the Thanksgiving dinner at my house as it is easy, I have it down to a science, and I like the warmth of family that Thanksgiving provides. So, this is on holiday, where we are all around, maybe watching a football game, or just chatting while I cook the same standard Better Homes and Garden Thanksgiving meal.
Now cooking with Peter has and still remains a challenge. During the course of the preparations, I need to keep one eye on those items in the oven, and one eye on Peter. For Peter, for whatever reason....likes to help with maintaining the heat of these items.
More that one Thanksgiving has passed, when other family members have arrived and we become engaged in conversation. I, thinking, I have this all under control, have all the main dishes safely tucked in the oven at 350 degrees, and all I need to do is wait to hear the buzz of the timer...and Presto...a Thanksgiving dinner will commence to proceed from the coffers of the oven and unto the table. Magic! Just like that. And most likely in an ordinary household that is how it works. But, in this house, where Peter always makes a move...quietly, when no one is watching, when one thinks she has it all under control...will unobserved, sneak up to the oven and, yes, turn it off! Just like that! And for some reason, time will pass, and I will think, everything will be done at 300 PM, right on time to serve this ravenous crowd, will than notice that the oven is no longer in a functioning capacity. Now here is the trick..how long was that oven off?? I know my recipe says to cook for 4 hours...so was if off one or two hours....mmmm? When will we actually eat this turkey?
Yes, Peter has the fine knack of turning food off in the midst of the cooking cycle and walking away as if nothing occurred. Many a dinner has been served at this house and at a newly appointed time, as we wait until we start the recooking mode. Peter, my dear son, is also quite sneaky with the grill. The gas grill, which sits steps outside the back door is conveniently located for Peter, so in this case, when no one is watching, he will turn it up! Now, if I had a choice in the matter, off works much better for me. At least in off, we would not be consuming the remains of charbroiled meat.
So company, and family dinner are always an entertaining time in this household. We are entertained by our company, at times we are our own entertainment, and if that is not enough, Peter will provide a bit more excitement with his cooking antics. In all this excitement, we will eat. Maybe we will not eat on time, oh too bad...just will need a bit more wine or maybe our steaks will be very well done..another good excuse to serve more wine, but we will eat, and we will laugh, and we will enjoy the day.

Fireworks

2010-06-08T06:52:00.000-07:00

The culmination of a great Fourth of July ends in Fireworks. Following the parade, the picnic, the looking for Peter in neighbor's doorways, the camaraderie of friends, who helped us locate Peter, we would gather the children and head to the Fireworks. Now in our area, that meant heading to the lakefront where various parks were located, and one could choose the park of their liking to scout out a good seat. That seat being one where the fireworks could be fully taken in and along with your new friends seated on the blanket next to you, one could "ooh and ahh" as loudly as possible.
Being creatures of habit, we usually chose the same park every year and the same location where we would plant the blanket, haul out the cooler filled with drinks, and gather for an evening of laughter and fun. Knowing friends who lived in the neighborhood near the park, we usually secured a parking spot in their driveway, or at least close to their house. Little did I know that feature of habit would turn out to be to my benefit in the future.
As the years past, the children grew older, we became less important, and the number of those attendees on our blanket grew smaller, until eventually only four members were left in the original group, that being Peter, myself, and the Ehlers. Several years ago, the Ehlers, Peter and I ventured down to the lakefront ready to end our day with a good dose of that good patriotic feeling one receives after watching the sky light up. We, again, parked close to our friends home and walked the mile to the park. Parking there also gave us the option of a quick getaway after the fireworks, as the hundreds of others heading west would get caught up in virtual parking lot of a traffic jam and we would head south to avoid that particular lot.
We parked, we observed, we loved the sky show and the fireworks ended with a bang...literally! As we were gathering our belongings, Peter decided to get a head start, and in his usual method did not announce his plans. He took off while we were bending over the blankets and coolers, discussing the last of the fireworks.
It did not take long for me to realize Peter was AWOL and even though my eyes scanned the crowd, he was no where to be found. That crowd of hundreds were all madly rushing to their cars to get first in line for the traffic jam, and somewhere embedded in them was Peter. The crowd was enveloped in darkness, as without the fireworks, and except for a few street lights, one could not see beyond a few feet. We took off full speed ahead, trying to out maneuver the crowd and find Peter. Hoping he was standing near a tree or light, we continued on to where the crowd forked. Appearing as a herd of cattle, one group headed west and one south, Peter was no where to be found. Always in the background post fireworks, if one notices, you can hear the sound of sirens. Those sounds, only invoked a feeling of helplessness in me, wondering if that emergency vehicle was heading towards Peter. At that point, 10 minutes into a lost Peter, my heart was racing. Did he head south, did he head west? Where was this child that would not be able to tell anyone his name or where he lived? That child, who would most likely run from anyone trying to assess that information.
Calling 911, I asked if they had found a child. The 911 operators, although very kind, at this point were being inundated with calls. I gave them my number and they promised they would let me know. We walked, we searched and hoped. The mile walk to the car, among the crowds seemed interminable. I called 911 again. Nope, no child.
Finally, after what seemed like hours we turned the onto the block where we had parked. Midway down the block, standing next to the Ehler's car, stood one young man nonchalantly waiting for us. Not a concern in the world. He knew where he was going. He had no idea that I had just lost ten years off my life stressing over his location. He had no idea that 911 was involved, and expressing these thoughts to Peter would only waste my time and breath. Telling Peter not to run.......yeah right!!
So, Peter, that Fourth created his own Fireworks in my heart. The next year he was given fair warning and was told he must hold my hand following the Fireworks...and he did. Me and my twenty year old, hand in hand, until we reached our destination.

Haircuts

2010-06-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Peter and I ran into Peter's favorite hairstylist while grabbing a quick bite to eat at McDonald's. Peter, who refuses to go to anyone else, has been going to Kelly since he was a baby. Peter was born with a really nice head of hair, that even at birth was relatively long. And Peter, along with Mike got the good hair gene in the family. Nice think dark brown hair that has a bit of a wave and grows rather quickly, if you ask me! When Peter was little, I used my unskill of hair cutting and kept Peter fairly recognizable with a somewhat short hairstyle. However, as Peter grew, I knew it was best to keep my real day job, that would not be a stylist, and find someone who would have the patience and understanding when cutting his hair.
At the saloon where I went, my stylist's younger sister, Kelly had just entered the world of the beauty saloon, so I asked her if she was up for the challenge. Kelly, young, wide eyed, and ready to take on the world, agreed. Little did she know what she was getting into.
Peter's haircuts went like this. I stood and held him...first of all, he was too floppy to sit, and Kelly cut. But Peter, possibly fearing the unknown, although he did not cry, made a great effort to "wag" his head while she cut. So, the three of appeared as if we had some dance going on. She danced around us, I tried to stabilize and Peter wagged. After a good forty five minutes of the act, we usually agreed that was about as good as it would get for this time around and off we went. This little performance went on for years, until one day Kelly suggested I put him in chair. Being quite apprehensive, and have dentist visits visions flashing in my head, I agreed. And what to my amazement happened, but he sat. Not only did he sit, he sat incredibly still and acted as if he really enjoyed this.
Time passed and one day I made a decision that Peter really did not need to go to the expensive saloon, but he would do just fine at one of those store front clipper places, the $9.95 haircut. Thinking he had matured enough to try a new place, we went off on a sunny afternoon to get Peter a much needed haircut. .....Forty five minutes later, and a definite Mexican Standoff occurring, Peter continued to refuse to get off the chair in the entry of this clipper joint and move to the back. Again...yes, you know the story, no amount of coercing, bribery, demands on my part would convince the young man that he needed to go from place A to B to get a haircut. Finally, after this scenario had been observed by many around us, I decided to leave. Yep, he won. Why change a good thing, why not go to the spa for a haircut, if one can! Peter knows a good thing when it happens.
Today, Peter just loves going and getting his haircut, he is so relaxed he usually falls asleep in the chair, and I would venture to say, that is the time Peter is totally still. Not a movement takes place. He has even been told he sits the best of anyone who gets their haircut.
Seeing Kelly today, Peter immediately lets her know he is in need of a haircut...it's getting kinda long, he says. Walking away, he tells me that she is so nice, such a nice person, she is way up there, pointing to the sky. I cannot remember Peter ever being that verbose about anyone thing or anybody.
Whatever she did or does, for Peter it is special. For the rest of his life, Peter will be going to see Kelly until she retires...hopefully, not for a really long time. Until then, Peter will continue to have a spa experience every time he gets a cut.

The Fourth of July

2010-06-04T05:55:00.000-07:00

The Fourth of July, that special day when we are most grateful for living in this fine country, no matter the politics, this remains a great place to be located. On the Fourth of July, our day started with a neighborhood parade where the local kids decorated their bikes, scooters, and wagons with the traditional red, white, and blue crepe paper and multi-layers of flags. Really, it was the parents who used their talents to intertwine those colorful strands in and out of the spokes. The parade, which actually started at our house, went around the neighborhood block and ended up at the Gourley's where the participants received ice cream and soda.

Peter's participation in this parade varied, as when he was young, he had no choice but to ride in the wagon. Following the years the Peter would have been considered a toddler, well beyond the "norm", Peter took up scooter riding, so his method of transportation in this patriotic parade became his scooter. I, always thinking Peter would follow the rules just as his siblings, thought this child would walk as the other children, moving slowly along, waving at those cheering on the sidelines, smiling and taking in the event as it unfolded down the tree strewn street. Wrong!!! Long before the parade began, he would sneak outside and remove my neatly placed star spangled bannered crepe paper and throw it away. Once he was in the parade, he made the decision to do the parade in typical Peter fashion. Never one to follow directions, but still wanting to be a part of the action, Peter, using his well built quadriceps, pushed that scooter full speed ahead, and completed the parade route within minutes, leaving the rest of paradees well behind. Was it that he wanted to be first in line for the ice cream that awaited the participants at the completion of the parade? Most likely not, Peter not being a big foodie really never had a concern about getting served first. Was it, because the "crowds" of twenty made him feel claustrophobic...naw...do not think so. I can philosophize and ponder the why. I can reason and come up with answers. It really did not matter, if Peter was going to participate, he was going to do it quickly and expediently. And that's the way he liked it. Always happy to be a part and feeling quite accomplished that he finished.

Living in the area that we did, we never feared that Peter was in any danger. We know that the neighbors were keeping an eye on Peter until we arrived. The security of the neighborhood, the comfort of knowing the neighbors were taking charge until we caught up with the youngster allowed us to complete the parade with the rest of the gang. He remained safe at the Gourleys, awaiting our arrival.

Recently, I made the decision that we would be really good on the sidelines. The parade has increased twentyfold with motorized vehicles involved, firetrucks and ambulances, a plethora of decorated baby strollers, those on Rollerblades, and the usual and customary bikes and walkers. Handing Peter small flags and turning up the patriotic vibes on the CD player, we do well cheering on those in the parade. I know he is safe. And, if we are lucky...maybe we will score on some candy!!

Motherhood 101

2010-06-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

So, did you ever have those days when you thought you flunked Motherhood 101? I did, just yesterday. Peter had arrived home for the weekend, and either I forgot how quick and fast he was or I was low in the patience bank, but he came, he conquered, and he left.

I seemed to forget that when I have guests over, Peter takes it as an opportunity to clean, to be as busy as possible. I know he means well, and he has a real need to keep busy, so I entertaining, somehow managed to organize and make a meal and keep one eye on Peter. Fortunately, the guests, well aware of Peter behavior, totally understood when I jumped up approximately every minute, chewing on my dinner, to corral Peter and convince him to try another task that would keep him busy. They kept the conversation going, and I tried to catch up, returning each time to a new topic. I will begin the scavenger hunt to find all the lost items that were "cleaned up' at another time.

That was the first day of the weekend. As the days progressed, I realized I needed to be one on one with the man. Yet, somehow, while I was sitting right next to him, having given up the idea of doing anything but just abiding my time glued to his hip, or at least I thought he was glued to my hip, he managed to fill a large bucket with soapy water and in his attempt to take that bucket from the laundry room to the garage...it broke...not sure how, it made a very large noise which made me jump, and there it was, all two gallons, on the floor in the laundry room, seeping into the bathroom, and running down the garage steps. Peter, knowing this was not good, was attempting to sup up the water with the rugs. I, asking him to please stop, was at the end of my patience bank. Now, I should know, 22 years later, that raising my voice, showing my frustration, only makes matters worse. When did I forget?? Peter, only more agitated, chose to waddle through the water with soaking wet feet, and into the carpeted family room.....Peter, I asked, what did you not understand about not walking through the house with soaking wet feet.

Peter, when he knows he messed up, only becomes more agitated. I, knowing this, should have been one step ahead of the game to outsmart him and to get him to work. I did not. Cleaning up the mess, I started thinking that I really failed in my motherhood classes today. I really did not promote the sense of well being that I could of or should of!! The guilt! The feeling of how I could have done better. Do we not all do this to ourselves? Do we not second guess what could have been done differently?

I guess the good is the opportunity to try again, and in raising children, any children, that is good. Children are also very forgiving, so we get alot of second chances. The bad, is the guilt, the beating yourself over the head feeling that one gets when one thinks the outcome should have been different. For many years, I second guessed. I tried to think what could have been different. Then I came to the conclusion, it is what it is. I will do my best, and my best may not always be good enough. There will be days when I will be more tired than my kids. As for Peter who was told he was not coming home next weekend, just called me two days later and asked when I was picking him up...gotta love that short term memory.

The Speedy Zone

2010-05-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

So, you know the check-out counters in the grocery store where you can do it yourself? You know, the ones that you take the item, say Peanut Butter, you search for the tiny bar code, than carefully place it above the glass, and some light from underneath flashes, and magically, your Peanut Butter price shows up on a screen, and this voice, some ladies voice, announces to you that your jar of PB costs you two dollars and ninety six cents. At which point, you dig into your grocery cart of twenty items, and repeat the process. I am not sure of the name of this modern day grocery checkout system, so I will call it the “Speedy Zone”. I really like to use this method. I do not know if it is because I am a grocery store checker “wannabe” or I just think I can get out of “dodge faster”, but I am really drawn to this method of checking out my groceries.
The other day, I, along with Peter, decided to use the Speedy Zone self-checkout system in the local grocery store. I, looking at the long lines in the other lanes, and in a hurry, decided this method would be much quicker! Why, I thought this was a good idea with Peter... I do not know??? I am not sure in that brief moment of making the decision to be speedy, that some voice did not surface and tell me... “Diane, get real...this is not a good thing”. But, nope, I never heard that voice of reason so off we went...thinking we had made a great decision. Now Peter, my twenty two year old son with a mind of a six year was ready to join in the fun and be extremely helpful. That is where the excitement began. Before I could even get my grocery card out of my wallet, I, who was searching in the depths of my purse so I could begin the checking experience, looked up to see that Mister Speedy himself, Peter, was scanning and rescanning the same item, and thinking this was how you played grocery store checker. I looking up from my desperate wallet hunt search in the depths of my purse, stood there with a look of bewilderment and a thought of how do I stop this commotion? The look on my face was all that was needed to call the nice lady, the one who monitors to the Speedy Zone, to come over, smile intact, and put in her much needed code into the machine and helped us regroup. We did regrouped, I in the process secured the much needed cards to once again commence this checking experience. In the past, I actually had this feeling of “Look at me, I am in charge of my own groceries, I can handle this with ease!” Today, I was beginning to lose that feeling of control.I do admit in my past checking experiences, I have a hard time with the veggies, the looking up and the weighing of those items. Having those green and yellow objects in my cart and awaiting to be bagged, I had already put on my game face for this event, when Peter decided to put his hands on the bagging area which immediately detected an unpaid item and once again, the process was stopped. Nothing could be done. The hopeless, helpless look was once again taking over my face. I grimaced and looked at now that machine, the one who has no personality and thought, “ No machine...I have paid for every grocery item up to this point, and NO, I am not going to pay for Peter...really, I do not think that is necessary. Besides, haven’t I paid for him already?” And so, over walks the nice lady, smile still intact, puts in her code, and life is once again good and swell, or so I think. I can once again pretend that I love this self checking process and that I am in control of my own destiny, at least, my ability to check out the groceries. And, yes, we regroup. Please realize, at this point, I am starting to sweat a bit and have made a decision not to make eye contact with those lined up behind us. That would be those individuals who now have lost their smiles, who are not being entertained by this event, and who have joined us in the Speedy Zone, because they also believe they would leave this store in a more timelier manner than if they had gone through the traditional checkout line.
I am now trying to scan the rest of the groceries and make a request to Peter to stand behind the cart, please Peter please stand behind the cart, over there, see where it is safe and you cannot get into any more trouble. Of course, to Peter, this is no trouble at all! No, this is big time fun, he has no care in the world that the five people behind us are ready to wrap their hands around our necks and squeeze really hard. It was at that point when Peter decided that he really needed and I mean really needed to check the FREE AutoTrader magazine that he managed to collect somewhere along the way. No amount of coercing would convince him that he need not do that. No, Peter, that will not work, we do not need to do this, was falling on ears that just must have been full of earwax, as there was no listening or comprehending involved.
Once again, the distress call came out, and yes, the nice lady, continuing to keep that smile intact, not only came over to put her code in the machine, she decided to become our new best friend, and did not leave our sides until we were done. I, observing her kind demeanor realize that she knows now that if she just stands there and does not move, hopefully, we would soon be out or her hair!! We did manage to finish with her help. I still maintaining my forward glace and not looking behind, expressed my extreme gratitude. I cannot tell you how much I appreciated her help and her ability to stand there between Peter and the machine, so I could finish the process. Peter, still tried to sneak that magazine in, however, we had luckily finished and no more damage could be done. And the individuals behind us, smiling ingratiatingly, taping their feet, and wishing we would be out the door soon, were relieved that the Speedy Zone act was done.
Leaving the store smiling, I remember muttering about never doing that again. I am considering even shopping at a new store for awhile in hopes that we would not be remembered. Peter, once again, providing a moment of entertainment...I am not sure who were the recipients of this...but made the Speedy Zone grocery experience is one that I will not forget!

Believe

2010-05-24T14:02:00.000-07:00

Holidays...a day to experience that warm fuzzy feeling, a family day, a happy day...well, let's get real. Holidays are not always that perfect day that one conjures up in one's mind as that "special" day. In this household, we have had some really nice holidays, and we have had some really not so nice holidays. Trust me, we have had our share of both! But either good or bad, Peter has a way of making them special. Partly because he still believes. And in the saying...Believe...you've seen it around Christmas...it does make the holiday a bit more special. So whether the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus is showing up at our house, at the mere age of 22 and next year it will 23, Peter believes and neither Sara, Mike, or I are letting him in on the secret. No way!! Why wreck our fun!
So, Christmas, yes, I admit, still use the...if you are really good....Santa will bring you....line. And every Christmas, now 28 years and going strong, I still wake myself up in the middle of the night to sneak downstairs and bring the Santa gifts and to hang the stockings. I have delegated the eating of the chosen Santa cookies to those individuals still up on Christmas Eve playing some video game. Those chosen never complain and the the cookies are eaten and the crumbs carefully strewn to appear as if the one indulging really enjoyed the selection.
And Easter, no matter where we roam, EB still visits, bringing a basket or a bag of goodies. And those bags, yes, need to be hidden, carefully when one my not be looking in the hotel room.
The sheer belief, the look on the face of one who still holds on, it just a great feeling. Last year, at Peter's work party, the room was filled with believers ranging in age from 18 to 65. When Santa gave them a $5.00 bill, you would think they had won the lottery. The joy, the laughter, the need to tell you that they got a $5.00 bill...A FIVE DOLLAR BILL!! Wow, I am thinking, if we could all just be so happy that we got a five dollar bill. If we could all experience the sure pleasure of receiving this gift. In that moment, you just had to feel good all over.
So, this family is all bound to not tell Peter. We love it! We get into it as much as he does. Cheap thrill, maybe...actually . it's free!!

Answering Machines

2010-05-23T19:05:00.000-07:00

I really was planning on discussing holidays, and I will, however, again a break in the action, I have a need to talk about answering machines. You know, those very benign machines that when you purchase you compose an announcement regarding your inability to answer the telephone but if the caller leaves a message, you will gladly call them back. If I would venture a guess, I would think that most people do not change their greeting once it is set. Maybe never, maybe once or twice. However, in this household I change my greeting so often I have been known to wear out the tape.
So, my need to discuss this unique machine occurred today when Sara called and asked me if I had listened to my message on my answering machine. Laughing, she suggested I go home and listen. So there is was, Peter erasing my previous instruction regarding how to reach me, replaced it with his own version which stated something like "Hi Sara, this is Peter, Call me Sara, I am waiting for you." Now this message has been on this machine at least a good week, maybe longer, and has one person who called and left a message even hinting that something may be array?
There was a time that some nice person would call and gently remind me that I needed to make change. Peter, who would change the message, of course, when I was not around, did this on a fairly regular basis. I would make a nice little saying, Peter would change it to state something about how we were not home and maybe we were cooking or dancing, or he would leave messages to his brother and sister. Always something different, always something that did not quite fit the greeting standard.
When he was not changing the greeting, he was Johnny of the Spot to see the message button flashing and erase all the messages before they met my ears. Not sure why he thought that was entertaining, but he did. When we returned home, and I opened the door, Peter and I practically ran each other over to see who could get to the answering machine first, I tripping and begging, Peter please do not erase those messages!!! My standard greeting for a long time included a little ditty about if I do not return your call, I probably did not even know you called, as Peter beat me to the answering machine.
So,, this simple machine that really does not bring pleasure, but just conveys a message to stay in touch, in this house, at times brought laughs, interesting conversations among friends, sometimes a source of irritation, but always a something out of the ordinary.
So, I will sign off, go compose a new message which will last for a time. Until that moment, I will again get a call, a hint of laughter in the caller's voice, asking if I, that would be I who live here, have called my answering machine lately!!

A Change of Pace

2010-05-22T04:21:00.000-07:00

Whew...all that talk about hospitals was exhausting! I think I will change directions and talk about something fun...how about Halloween, that is always a fun topic.
Now, if my memory serves me correctly, Peter, being the third child, was probably dressed at an early age and brought along for all Trick or Treat events. If I would guess, he most likely was placed in a wagon, and literally dragged along. Because he was tiny and did not speak for a very long time, he would be picked up from the wagon, and place on the stairway near the front door. Prodding to say those words "Trick or Treat". he would mumble something and my wonderful neighbors would oblige by filling his pumpkin to the brim. Now Peter, being half the size of the pumpkin would stagger back to the wagon, and we would empty that round into a grocery bag,ready for the next round. My memory also stirs up pictures of Peter really not all that interested in candy. So, his family obliged by helping him eat his candy, with some of us still holding the memory of that particular event on their hips...if you know what I mean.
Peter, liked Treat or Treat while he was accompanied by his bro and sis, but his interested waned when they gave up the sport and it was just Peter and I. Because Peter is Peter, he did this sport well beyond the norm. Finally, he made the decision to just hand out the candy. I, for the first time in years, did now need to to spend the afternoon visiting the locales in search of candy. I was thrilled. So, Peter, standing at the front door and in charge of the basket filled with candy, waited patiently and answered the door, I supervised, until I felt he understood the concept. Then, in my comfort zone, I headed to the kitchen, ready to to help if needed. And so, the doorbell rang, and Peter gave. Until....the doorbell rang and rang, and I drying the dishes went to determine why these youngsters were not the receipts of any candy. There, to my amazement, found...NO Peter, gone, candy gone. Apologizing to the youngsters, I ran out the door in search of the MIA child and candy. Shortly, I found him, Trick or Treating himself with our basket of candy, going door to door. He was not convinced to return, so we continued on with this large sized witch basket as his Trick or Treat bag, and I, dish towel in hand, attempting to explain to the neighbors "our look".
That was the last year Peter did solo on the handouts. I never left his side after that. He was closely supervised, no more multi-tasking for me. I learned my lesson that day...not quite sure why I did not know better. What was it that past experiences did not remind me that Peter handing out candy would be an ordinary event? I guess it is just part of me, the hopeful person, who always thinks that this will be the time.....only what will happen during that time is always entertaining.

Getting in the Door

2010-05-20T09:55:00.000-07:00

Getting out of the house and into the hospital has always been a task that has taken every once of patience and outwitting that I owned. Always very apprehensive, that at any minute Peter would bolt and there would be no return. Peter, in his later years, was no match for my strength, so it always came down to a verbal discourse and an enormous amount of convincing and bribing...not sure if anything of that worked; however, it somehow made it in the door. One year standing by the elevators never to go into the room. Another year, standing outside the door, refusing to enter the pre-op room.

So, the stories go. At the local children's hospital, Peter was "drugged" enough to allow me to get him to the floor and into a room. But, at the first site of a MD in a scrub, that Valium had run it's course and Peter became aware, on guard, and if anything, Peter seemed more agitated and afraid. To be honest, that day, the anesthesiologist could have handled the situation better, as it took 6 very tall doctors and me to hold Peter down, long enough to give him sedation and the whole time Peter had the edge. The doctors begged me to join them in the OR, fully clothed in street clothes I said, but to them it did not matter. Those were the moments I really, and I mean really want to sit down and cry hysterically. I remember, gulping in a sob, and reassuring those men that yes, I would come with them. Smiling, looking fully in control...a good cover...my heart was breaking and wishing to be elsewhere.

In another hospital visit, and again dicey at best. The hospital engaged all the services needed to convince Peter that this was a good thing. Actually, as "bad" as it was, it was also as good as it could be. The nurses and MD's were all on the same page, quickly and expediently they handled Peter. The security personnel became his new BFF's for the day and Peter trusted them. We are here to help you, Peter, they said, and they held his hand, of course, hoping he would not bolt, but using comfort techniques to keep him safe. The anesthesiologist, having worked with children with special needs, swiftly walked in, and Peter who was now sitting on my lap, was given a dose of Ketamine, a drug that immediately induces a sleeplike state, right through his shirt. Sound awful, but having done this so many times, it works the best. This hospital team gave Peter and me it's all, and made a extremely hard situation the best it could be.

My thought, my wish, my prayer, that God would wave His magic wand and take away the fear. I really think someday that will happen. Hopefully sooner than later, because for Peter, as painful as this is for me or the hospital staff, I know that his fear is so much more really than anything I feel.

So there will be another tale to tell, another story this year, but until than I will continue the hope and prayer that Peter will be less afraid this time.

Getting to the Hospital

2010-05-17T05:22:00.001-07:00

Really, going to visit a doctor’s or dentist office is a piece of cake compared to taking Peter to the hospital. This is one experience I still dread when it occurs and does occur on an annual basis. You see, Peter as a child, had many ear infection, so at one point needed to have a tube put in his left ear. He also, when young, resisted and fought teeth brushing on a daily basis, so now Peter has a month full of bad teeth. Very unfortunate! He has gotten better at that…good thing, but is still suffering the consequences. So, because of this inability to lie in a dental chair and even open his month without spewing, he needed to receive teeth cleaning and filling while sedated and that meant a hospital.
The first step in this hospital experience was always just getting there. That turned out to be a major undertaking in itself. When he was little, we just carried him and held his close. But the older and bigger he became, that just was not happening. So we needed to become crafty. Early on we started giving him Valium to relax him, so we would put it in his juice and off he went. However, as he grew that nasty tasty juice was a signal that either he would be visiting a dentist or going to the hospital. Good memory! When he was in high school, we engaged the whole class in a hospital experience as the teachers had snack time, and everyone got juice, only Peter’s contained a mixture of various drugs all meant to induce a sensation of relaxation. When Peter was deemed relaxed, I who was waiting in the parking lot retrieved him and we were on our merry way to the hospital.
Peter, as he grew, starting realizing that funky juice was usually connected with a hospital experience. And, in the last two years, has refused to drink knowing what the next step will involve. Two years ago, he had a surgery scheduled complete with dental work, every immunization known to mankind, blood work, TB skin test, you name it, we included it under the anesthetic period. That morning, Peter absolutely refused to do anything. I, totally at a loss, knowing a surgical team was waiting and he needed all these good things, did not know what to do. On advise of a good friend who said…you need to do this, you cannot give in…I was really ready to cave….we called the friendly Village police who quietly came and explained to Peter he could either go in his car or ours. Peter chose my car and off he went. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Officer Friendly, Peter was not going that day. I thank the nice gentleman dearly, who took the time, was kind, and really had a big impact on our life. Peter would never gotten in the group home, had he not had all those tests under the anesthetic.
Last year, we incorporated Wilson to come with Peter and somehow that worked. However, once we get there, getting him to go in and getting him to sit in the room and wait for surgery involves many members of the hospital staff, which I will save for another time. Let’s just say…that these times were extremely trying, however, those who helped in pitched in made the difference in getting the job done.

Doctors and Dentists

2010-05-13T11:27:00.000-07:00

As long as I am in the behavior mode, I might as well continue with doctors. From a very early age, Peter was seen by many doctors, so many, you would think they would be his BFF's. But no, somewhere along the way, Peter developed an almost phobia when it came to the medical profession. I wish I could remember when it happened, or why it happened, but it happened. It was not so much a dislike, but a fear, an all and all out right fear of the MD. Not that they did anything wrong, he just did not like to be touched by them...and after all, isn't that a part of an exam.
So going to doctors took and still takes an inordinate amount of coercion, sometimes trickery, and an extreme amount of patience on everyone's part. Something as simple as a blood pressure was considered by Pete majorly invasive, something to be feared. Taking one's clothes off, for a peak, wow, major trauma and drama. His pediatrician was an extremely patient man who took his time and was able to complete the task. However, beyond a peak and a quick look, Peter would be dressed and out the door before you could even say "Now you can get dressed."
His love for dentist probably ranked even lower than his love for doctors. Never, not once in his life, has any dentist ever convinced him to lie in that chair. Now, when he was little, we laid together, but that could only take place for awhile. After that dental exams were performed usually in a chair, sitting upright, with Peter maintaining one hand of the door for the quick bolt, I hoping that the exam would be complete before the bolting took place.
You wonder...did she consider sedation pre-dental visit. Yes, that would include Benadryl and Valium. Did you know that some individuals actually react opposite to the needed effect of some drugs. Peter, who was valiumized to the point of needing assistance to walk a straight line, once in the exam room, woke up, had a heightened sense of awareness, and no drug could keep him sedated long enough to perform the exam. It was as if the antlers arose, and he know...dentist coming.....no touching. Oh, yes, to complicate matters, Peter, if asked by a doctor or dentist to open his mouth, develops this amazing gag reflex that you would think that at any minute you will see his lunch in your lap. Sort of like a conditioned response sort of thing that only occurs when asked that question within the realms of a doctor's office.
So, going to doctors and dentist's office does not evoke any warm fuzzy feelings within me. Rather, pre-visits included sleepless nights, and hours of thinking of the new "how to get Peter to cooperate". Peter of course, was never informed until the last minute, the very last minutes, the very last nanosecond.
Recently, Peter at the mere age of 22, needed to switch from his pediatrician to an adult doctors. For those of you who watched friends, it was kinda like Ross still going to his pediatrician. It was me, Peter, and the 2 year olds in that waiting room. So, I looked and searched and called to try to find the new replacement.
Off we went, having to visit his office in the hospital...a major task to get Peter in the front door. However, once in, the Medical Assistant had a very laid back manner and got Peter to jump on the scale and take his blood pressure. The new Doc...not knowing what he was getting into, played along, let Peter keep his clothes on, and let him keep the door open..so we were all involved in the physical..the secretaries, the bookkeepers, it was a family affair of sorts.
But we made it through, we made a new friend that day. I always pray that Peter will not need major anything, because it is traumatic. My hope, is next year, he will take another step in trusting. Peter will take off his clothes, shut the door, and feel more comfortable. Because as traumatic as it is for me, I know in Peter's mind, it is even more traumatic, because his fear is real to him.

The Day Made for Mom's

2010-05-09T06:03:00.001-07:00

This was Peter's message inside the card he gave me this morning. I found it upside down on the other side of the card. It reads " I love you, Peter", now the "I" is buried in the love. Kinda a cool concept if you think about it! As I am writing this, he is sitting, headphones on while attached to his computer and singing to me...well, I pretend he is singing to me. With his monotone voice and his hand slapping the ground, I feel as if I am about ready to meditate...hip-hop style. He is slapping, and squealing and laughing, which of course, I find quite entertaining. I know it will be a good day!
Mother's Day, also a day to celebrate...in years gone by, at some fancy brunch with my family. Again, you would think divine. With Peter, always interesting, as Peter from little on did not like to sit or eat...he had no pincer grasp so sitting in a high chair eating cheerios like most kids his age...just wasn't happening! Those fancy cloth restraints meant to secure a child in a high chair, either he squirmed or cried mercilessly to be released. So, he usually ended up on my lap where major squirming took place and my task was to get the fork to my mouth in one quick movement before a flying arm met the fork and flung the food across the table to someones face. Not cool, as we were all dressed in our Sunday best and spending a day's salary on the meal. Putting him down, meant that he would be out the door ASAP, and one of us would go in search, always concerned that he may end up in the duck pond. Smiling, grateful to be there enjoying this nice meal on Mother's Day, I remember, I was always happy when it ended without some major trauma taking place. Not that I am ungrateful, as those were very special times....just not the peaceful calm experience you would expect on Mother's Day.
To our Mothers...we would not be here without them! For all the great things they did for us, no matter how long they were with us, here's to you Moms! And to current mothers...keep on smiling and count your blessings..that would be your children if they are crawling up under your skirt as you are eating today! And to those who want to be mothers..may your prayers be answered.
In honor of all mothers, I have added two thoughts which I found, so read on:
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. - Washington Irving
However...this one.....I thought held true meaning..
A mother is neither cocky nor proud because she knows the school principle may call at any minute to report that her child has just driven a motorcycle through the gymnasium. - Mary Kay Blakely

Enjoy the day!!!

Dating

2010-05-08T10:58:00.000-07:00

Yes, dating. Around the time Peter was eighteen, I found myself in the dating world. Having not been there for a very very long time, I decided to take on this task with a new vengeance. Living in the Internet world and the world of professional dating services, I and a friend decided this would be an "investment" into the future. So off we joined and proceeded to meet many nice professional males. This to us was a safe and convenient way to meet members of the opposite sex. And I, wanting to get my monies worth, met quite a few.

At that time, Peter was living with me and there was no concept of a group home. He was still in high school, and once he graduated...well, that would be the next step. So, at that time, the plan was that he was with me and would be with me on a daily basis. Now, when I met these fine men, I usually did not divulge that I had a child with special needs living with me on the first date. Why waste my time explaining, if that would be the first and last time I would be having any discussion with this person. However, if he passed the first round, then the second, and third followed. It was usually during that time, that I brought up Peter. Peter, became the barometer of my dating sessions. If I detected a hint of apprehension, than off the list you went. Very surprisingly interesting...that never happened, and these fine men always wanted to know more.

The next test came when they got to meet Peter. I, observant of all behavior, watched as how they addressed him, engaged him, and reacted to him. Now let me tell you, this is no easy task, as Peter is a man of few words, so engaging was an art form and I understood the enormity of the task. However, it was in the effort that I observed and evaluated. And once again, pleasantly surprised. Only one person, who could not stand up to the task, and for reasons I won't indulge, I understood why. However, reason aside....out the door, no more to be seen.

When I decided I had gotten my "monies worth" and the initial excitement of going to dinner every other night starting to wear off, I began to narrow down the field. So one "lucky" man got to have quiet candlelit dinners at my house while Peter decided to be Peter.

Many a quiet dinner included door slamming and those four letter words that Peter had picked up from the person who had previously lived in this house. (That will be made even more known when I tell you about Silent Night!). Peter, who usually was well behaved, may have been sitting on a tack or just hungry, but some of his behavior was definitely not date like material for anyone trying to impress. So, during these romantic candle lit dinners, I would calmly state..just ignore his behavior....and we did, as an occasional shoe may have passed our heads, or the door went slamming, or some #!*+ was said.

I was never questioned, never judged, and trusted that I knew what I was doing. Of course, I really never was quite sure I knew what I was doing, but I had to make a good appearance. He, also got very good at judging Peter's behavior and would haul out food before I could say..quick he needs something to eat.

Honestly, a true quality to me was tolerance of this. Not everyone would have the wherewithal to sit quietly as these events takes place. My Peter dating barometer helped me to select quality individuals who had hearts and understanding. And Peter, has made the dating experience most likely unique by any standards.

It was not always about singing

2010-05-06T04:30:00.001-07:00

No, Peter's life was not always about singing and dancing, although that filled his time and kept him focused. Life with Peter did not always end with a round of YMCA and High Fives. Nope, there were those times that weren't so rosy. At times, his teenage years were, what would be a good term, excitable, turbulent, crazy at times, as his small frame was filled with raging hormones. With a mind of a youngster, he was not in control at all times. Normally, hormones are hard, but when you really have no understanding, how do you give meaning to that?

When Peter was the tender age of nine, I started noticing changes in his voice and body that indicated he may be going through puberty. Feeling, like, come on, not one more thing...this is not fair, Peter and I took the trip to the Children's Hospital and met with a specialist who confirmed my fear. Yes, it was true, Peter was in the small percentage of children who went through puberty at a very early age. And yes, we could bring him in on a regular basis to receive injections that would stop the process. Peter, who already was developing a strong dislike..make that phobia of doctors and hospitals, just did not seem to be the candidate to subject to weekly "shots". So, both I and the medical professionals agreed, it was probably best not to pursue this mode of treatment.

So we returned to life, and Peter began his trip into puberty, never quite knowing what hit him. He still was a small child, and because developmentally behind, we still carried him around like a toddler. Now, this toddler like person, was developing facial hair, his high squeaky voice was now cracking and becoming lower, and you know...so were other things changing. He was the only child in elementary school to have a mustache. Really, heartbreaking at the time, but what are you going to do? It is what it is or was what it was, so we just dealt with the development.

Unfortunately, along with the facial hair, came years of on and off outbursts. The trick always being one step ahead of the outburst. Prevention, if possible, in the form of food and out thinking. Chair time outs, not working! And Peter, who has not one ounce of fat on his body, developed muscles...strong muscles.

So, on occasion things went flying...I became very good at catching, spindles broke, and at times life was tenuous. We put up our guard, and spent days making sure we stayed one step ahead. Learning, the best way to react to these outburst was to ignore them. Hard when things are flying by your head! His favorite, slamming the door to the garage. he was so good at that, I thought the house must be moving on it's foundation. Raising a voice only increased his agitation and lack of control, so the more upset he became, I learned to slow it down a notch. When I thought I had no patience left, I needed to dig even deeper in the patience bank and make another withdrawal. Nice easy deep breaths.... I needed to make decisions about what was important to discipline, and what you could let go. Not ever really sure if I was making the "right" decision, but someone needed to decide and be in charge. So, at least I convinced myself I was making the right decision.

The good news, the hormones have settled. At time, an occasional door is slammed. He may need to be reminded that he does not do that anymore...he has outgrown that. He does try and sneak it in. He has grown, has matured, and seems to even have a bit of an understanding of his body. I really do think living with three other males his age has helped with that growth and understanding. So again, when times were tough with his development and hormones, his need to play with the neighborhood children, that would be him, age 20, and the kids, 5 or 6, hormones slowing down, but still there, God opened the window and I found his group home. Amazing, simply amazing!!!

Singing

2010-05-05T06:41:00.000-07:00

Peter, as I mentioned previously, has difficulty reading and writing, but can sing the words to many many songs. All different sorts, and when driving in the car with him, he randomly switches radio stations, finding the song of the moment which could be oldies, newbies, Country Western, Contemporary worship, and if he wishes to bring back good memories of visiting our friends Betty and Humberto in Mexico...tele mundo...or that would be radio mundo......maybe....
And when he finds his songs, he stops and sings, head nodding to the beat and arm waving included if needed. He sings loudly, and happily, as if he wants the whole world to hear.

Now, the one thing you need to know about Peter is he is monotone...m..o...n...o...t...o...n....e...
The same note for every song, the same very low note for every song. The sound that resembles a chanting of sorts, maybe someone meditating, as if in a Buddhist monastery. The only song I have ever heard him change his pitch is the Twelve Days of Christmas, where on the Fifth day...Five golden rings...some versions sing that part very high...so Peter has managed to change from monotone, to in a very high squeaky voice sing Five Golden Rings...enough to bring a large smile to my face every time I hear it.

So, Peter, arriving home from school would want to start the jamming going, and would play his CD'S or radio, sing and dance to which I usually joined in, unless of course..I needed a bit of P and Q or needed to listen to the news, or was having house guests. What do to....how to keep Peter entertained, me sane, and my house guests happy. That is where the Walkman and various versions came in. A small disc player with headphones...loved the headphones as Peter would sit at the kitchen table, play his songs, and sing.

Think about it.....Peter thinks he is Frank Sinatra, so he is singing away...loudly, especially if there are house guests, just wants to make sure they know of his existence. But, we on the other end of the headphones, do not hear the music, just the very loud voice of Peter...the very loud monotone voice of Peter singing to his heart's content. The very loud one tone voice singing away.

Many a book club was spent discussing our latest read while being accompanied by "We are Family" in pure monotone. Nice background music...very especial. He seemed to have a sense, that we may not hear him, so he would just turn up the volume...his volume and sing. What I like about this....he loves to sing and he does care or know that he is monotone...isn't that great. No bad feelings, just the love of singing...and really who cares if it is just one note. For him, it's a world of music. A means to communicate, a joyful moment. For us, entertainment...monotone version.

Button, Button...

2010-05-04T10:31:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago my friend Jeanne and I gave a birthday party for everyone in our book club. To ensure, LOL....lots of laughs, we decided to play your usual party games, pin the tail on the donkey, drop the clothes pin in the bottle, musical chairs, and Button, button who's got the button. Of course, we needed to Google how to play the button game. Why am I bringing this up, you may ask? Read on...
So off Peter went to play and off I went to play housekeeping. You see, Peter's short visit did not include washing this time. Oh no, we were all over that. He, however, was into cleaning up. Instead of playing "Button, button, who's got the Button?", I will be playing Sink plugger, sink plugger who's got my sink plugger?. I will be unloading the dishwasher which is filled with every item on my counter. I am still looking for the plug for the garbage disposal and the the thing that sits in the sink...can't remember the name., but it is MIA in my house.And, when finished with that, Mike and I will spend some time playing in the recycle bin, as Peter decided to dump all the grass clippings and leaves in with the bottles and cans. That would be an entire garbage can of grass clippings. Oh yes, and I will look for the doormats, I am sure they are somewhere..maybe?
These small tasks come with Peter...it is part of the package. And, yes, it may be a bit on the borderline of crazy, I love the package. Even Mike, as he stood and scooped for hours, cleaning the recycle bin, never complained, just took it in stride. It is part of our life...it is what it is. It is just understood, incorporated in the day. And, even though we watch vigilantly, it only takes a slip, a moment of distraction, and remember the radar...it will go up and Peter will seize the moment to do his thing.
So, Peter will be home again soon. I know we will be our washer alert and dishwasher alert. I have no doubt, Peter will come up with a new plan. A new way to clean or a new area to clean. And I have no doubt, that after he leaves, I will be playing some sort of housekeeping game.

Playing

2010-05-03T09:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a bright sunny day and after church Peter very enthusiastically told me that it was a nice day and he would be able to play outside today. And play he would, like a 6 or 8 year old. Should I be sad that my 22 year old man was planning on playing today. I wondered, should I regret that he would not be in the graduating class of 2010 at some University? I am most sure if he had attended college, he would be on the five year plan, so this May would have been his graduation date. He would be out seeking jobs in a few weeks, along with the other graduates, who I must say, might find it hard. But no, he is not graduating, instead today he is playing, and tomorrow, he will head for his job at a wonderful curative workshop where he most likely will box up Pledge. And, yes, I am most thankful that he has that job!
There were many times, although trying hard to put the "best construction on everything"..something my mom would say and still rings in my ears, that I did not. That I looked wistfully at Peter and wanted him to be more. Prayed for a miracle, as if God would come down with his magic wand and just fix him. Now, I really never got into what would really be fixed, but I just wanted a quick fix. Many days were spent with tears, and wishes of something better. The what if's that fills one mind to try and rationalize how things could turn out different...if I just had....
Yes, I had all those feeling. And, I understand the heartache that accompanies those feelings. The longing, the "life is not fair" kind of feeling. Yep, had all of those! But today, when he smiles at me and is just so happy that he gets to play outside because it is a nice day. I laugh. You are right Peter, it is a grand and glorious day and you will be able to enjoy every minute of sunshine. And he glows. His gift, living the moment, experiencing life for what it is. So simplistic.

I do not regret that he is playing today at the age of 22. For Peter, it may not be a college degree this month, but he graduated from high school, he is living independently in a phenomenal group home with his high school friends, he has a job, and a better social life than me.

I am rethinking this...I do believe God did come down with his magic wand. I do believe He did His magic, He did fix it ...for what more could one ask?

Today is Special Olympics Day

2010-05-01T05:40:00.000-07:00

The annual track and field day has arrived, so have Nick and Sara. We will all go and watch Peter run his 100 dash. This is one of the events that one waits a year, and just like the Kentucky Derby, it is over in a flash. One never knows how this race will turn out. Will Peter run as fast as he can, using his true Forrest Gump like talents and finish the race? Or, will he run as fast as the person next to him, trying to strike up a conversation about the race, isn't this fun, maybe make a few smiley faces. Or, will he be distracted, as he was last year when someone fell, and he stopped and offered to help him up? One never knows....It is a bright sunny warm day..that is a good sign. Normally, this day turns out the to be the coldest, rainiest day of May, having to go in search of winter attire, just to make it through the few hours of entertainment.
So, I will leave for now. Go watch the opening ceremonies which always brings tears to my eyes. I will cheer for all the athletes as they do their own personal best to walk, or run or throw. I know it will be a warm fuzzy day, and this year the weather is a big plus. And, I will continue this story. The details of this long awaited race, the one Sara and Nick drove 6 hours to watch. I will let you know....

So the Harley Riders and Police Escort arrived on time, escorting the flame, the Star Spangled Banner was sung, and the games began. Pretty sunny picture, except, oh how could I forget, Peter reverted to his usual Special Olympics behavior of I am not going to participate. I need to eat, he tells us. But, Peter, you are running in a few minutes. Hot dogs, he states. Knowing that if he did not have a 1000 AM dog, he would most likely not participate. Sara, looks, and lets me know..I'll cover him mom, you go get the hot dogs. Luckily, she followed him as she was able to observe the stashing of the uniform into the trash as he took off. Several minutes before the race, Peter was stuffing his face with a hot dog, nothing like hot dog loading to get one to run. Uniform, back on, Peter is sent to the Lining up tent. And, we head down to the end of the track. As we patiently await his heat, Sara reminds me of all the money spent for her and Mike to go to soccer camps and tennis camps, and lessons and that Peter is now the only child left participating in a sport. Mmmm..and running is free!!
So we wait, wondering if between the line-up and the starting line will Peter make another participation decision. We squint, we look, ..does that look like him down there. And then we see him, he takes off, and runs....the best he has ever run. He does not stop, he runs fast, and crosses the finish line!! A major accomplishment. No, not first, or second, or even third...but a winner by completing the task.
So a quick soft ball throw, and this years events are over. Many winners there...all the participants trying their best. All the volunteers giving there time. And Peter, happy he participated, happy to have a pre-run hot dog, and now onto Boccie ball...his next Special Olympic Event.

The Addendum to Dancing

2010-04-28T18:29:00.000-07:00

The Addendum to Dancing was to take place after “Dancing” however; I was a bit sidetracked by the washing and shrinkage event! Now, back on course. I must say, yes, I am proud to be an American, but I am also proud that Peter is my son. For many reasons, but today, for the sheer joy he brings into my life and others. Take Sara and Nick’s wedding for example. Okay, so I am a bit prejudiced, but really, if you want to spice an event, I suggest you could hire Peter and his compradres. No, not to do the wash, or wash your car, but to dance.
The night of Sara and Nick's wedding, the night went smoothly...Peter could have received the award for best sitter and best behave. No shenanigans. However, he was under the watchful of Ann, and he was soaking in the moments. But really, I think he was just waiting with bated breath for the dance. He sat, he waited patiently, and finally, the DJ announced the dancing would begin...that would be for everyone. The bride and groom dance over, the mother/father dance over, and now it was Peter's turn. And Peter and his compradres, Andy and Wilson, rushed the dance floor. The place erupted, the dancing began, there was no room on the dance floor, so people danced between the tables. I even saw my friends dancing in the hallway. There was something about Peter and his friends that seemed to send a message..let's dance! And so they did....all night. Even the DJ, observing the rush to the dance floor, jaw dropped in amazement and later he told me us...I know it was going to be good night!
The dancing continued. I have never seen so many baby boomers doing the YMCA in one place, at one time. We were "Shouting" and "Celebrating" and having Big Time Fun!!! I have never seen so many folks just having one good time...and I cannot help but think that Peter and friends had something to do with it.
Having attended other events that include Peter et al, and dancing is included, there is just something special about dancing with them. Maybe it is just their sheer enjoyment in the event. The I do not care what others are thinking, I am having a good time attitude. That feel good, laugh out loud feeling.Love it!
So, if you are in need of a boost, I am sure you could just call Pete and gang. I know they would oblige...and it would be free....in more ways than one!! And, I am quite sure, you will have BIG FUN!!!

A Reminder

2010-04-28T10:03:00.000-07:00

I just had a Peter experience. Something I did not address when I discussed his love for the washing machine and his love to wash inordinate amounts of clothing on a daily basis. You see, Peter did not just like washing his clothes, he loved to wash anything he could find. When washing, he wasn't really good a choosing between Dedicates and Hand wash or Hot, Warm or Cool. Peter was a basic Cotton Sturdy - Hot kinda guy. Now, with his clothes, that worked. Got his clothes really clean, although, they were probably clean anyway, and had just been washed the day before, once or twice. But for me, I prefer Delicate and Hand wash and usually Cold was a good idea when it came to my wash. I, at one time, also used the clothes shoot, but when I was repeatedly finding my nice new and rather new t-shirts or tops, that I so carefully placed in that clothes shoot, now in the dryer mixed in with the sweats and the towels, all 44 pieces smashed together, my new size 8 t-shirt now a 2, I had to once again be creative. I needed to hide my clothes that needed washing, in order to stop the flow of donation bags to Goodwill for those who would actually fit into the new now sized 2 clothing. So, I bought baskets and hampers, and hid these objects under clothing in my closet, Peter, you know, was and is a wise one. He would search and search for items to add to his washing routine. At times, I won, and my clothing remained safe, and then there were the times, I slipped and somehow those precious, special items that so carefully needed to be washed got smashed in with the rest, and became victim to Hot and Cotton sturdy.
So, last night, was once again, a slip, an event that has not occurred recently, but yet today I will be visiting Goodwill with some really nice clothes that now will fit some cute petite person. For Peter, who was here briefly, and I mean briefly, managed to fill the coffers of the machine, wash on Hot, and sneakily throw the clothes into the dryer all while we sat and watched Michael open his birthday gifts. Now, just to let you know, that was all of about four gifts to open, so you see, that Peter is one talented guy.
Today, when I opened the dryer, I found my new sized clothes all muddled with towels and sweats and such. I know I muttered ...Peter!!! I really did like those outfits...really thought they were nice....I am hoping now someone will like them as much as I did.
With Peter visiting on weekends, I thought the clothes shoot remained a safe haven for my clothes. I should have known better!! Oh well...a reminder..back to the clothes hamper...back to hiding. Ya still gotta love him....after all, he was just trying to help!

Singing and Dancing

2010-04-24T06:58:00.000-07:00

Peter's love for music grew as he did. Music seemed to be a way for him to communicate and retain information. Peter, who cannot really read beyond a kindergarten level, and who when trying to teach him something repetitive, it just did not stick, knows the words to many songs, many and varied songs. He started with the Patriotic songs, and than added quite a few songs to his own playlist. For a while loved Fifties music, he developed a short love for Country Western, spent many hours listening to those favorite wedding songs, you know...Celebration, Shout, YMCA, and more, he loves Mama Mia these days along with of course, High School Musical, and his true love..contemporary worship songs. I overheard Sara during our last visit, bribing..yes, it was an all out bribe..Peter is you run really fast in your Special Olympics race, I will buy you a new worship CD. Sort of brought back memories of the Frito dangling to win the race...only now it will be from the side lines.
Peter loved music so much, that we once again should have invested in the boom box companies and the company that makes the CD as we have spent major amounts of money on replacement CD's and the boom box itself. Oh yes, and those cute things to store CD's so they won't get sratched. I won't even repeat the demonstration story, because Peter just loves to stack and carry his CD's wherever he goes, and even the fancy scratch remover for CD's cannot get rid of all those scratches that occur during the travel time in the book bag. So everyone knew what Peter wanted for his birthday, the same CD they gave him last year.
The best part about Peter 's love for his CD's was that he does a combo dance sing routine when he plays certain CD's. One of his presents was a radio/CD under the kitchen counter CD player, so as soon as he arrived home from school he was into heavy diskjocking in the kitchen. Singing and dancing away. Laughing and squealing. Actually, Peter is quite a good dancer and has the beat...if you know what I mean. No matter, how bad my day, no matter how sad my heart, Peter and his dancing moves always made me forget my woes, and I almost always joined him at the disco. I cannot tell you what a great feeling it is to be making dinner, and the next thing you know, you are doing the YMCA in the kitchen. And that would be followed by Shout and a glass of wine...and life is good! I actually have become an expert in various wedding dances, as I would stop, listen to the words, and follow along. I am really good at "right foot two stomps, Charlie Brown, Charlie Brown. It was all that practice in the kitchen that enables me to join the youngsters on the dance floor and keep the beat.

I must admit, I miss those days of singing and dancing around the island. I miss the sheer delight of letting go and being our own entertainment in the kitchen, acting as if we had no cares in the world and the only thing that matter was making it through the Macarena. Maybe, I need to go out and purchase one of those CD's and just keep it on hand, play it as needed. Really, there is nothing like singing and dancing to lighten the soul! Once again, Peter, in his own way, made the crazy times in my life so much more bearable with his entertaining spirit.

I"m Proud to be an American

2010-04-23T07:19:00.000-07:00

When it comes to dressing, Peter has his favorite pieces, of course, the hooded sweatshirt being the highest on the list, anything red, loves that vibrant color, and flag shirts. His love for flag shirts started shortly after 9-11.
9-11, the day none of us will ever forget. The day we all know exactly where we were when we starting viewing the events unfolding before us on the television. A day that still evokes feelings of sadness, unbelief, but also a strong sense of patriotism as we then watched the city of New York so bravely take on the disaster, and show the world, that city and the US would not be broken. During the days and months that followed, many patriotic songs were played on the radio, and many events were held that included the Star Spangled Banner and other such songs that renewed a spirit of patriotism. Peter became intrigued. Peter who never sat and watched TV at an early age, no he just ran, was beginning to sit for periods of time and watch a show or two. I never quite understood why he did not watch TV, was it an attention span thing, vision? I did not know, but knew he was not capable of paying attention to anything on that television set for any period of time. However, post 9-11, Peter watched. He watched and waited to hear the songs. He soon developed a love for any patriotic song and for years we bought him patriotic CD's.
For months, really years after 9-11, Peter remained a true Patriot. Peter who in his mind never could comprehend what really took place that day, did seem to understand how fortunate we are to live in the US. So, years after the new found patriotism became wearing off in many of us, Peter remained a stoic. I remember thinking during that time, if everyone had a Peter in their life, they would be daily reminded that we are so fortunate to live in the US. If everyone started the day out with the Star Spangled Banner or I am proud to be an American....would not we all just have a better attitude about all the good things we have by living in the US?
Peter usually started the day with the Star Spangled Banner, and the song I have my on play list..."Proud to be an American" was also usually played a minimum of twice a day. Peter would hunt out any event on TV that was playing the Star Spangled Banner, just to hear the song. When he found it, he would grab me, stop me from whatever I was doing, ask me to stand still, hand on chest and sing along. I cannot tell you how many times I sang that song, I even got pretty good at mixing with one hand, chesting with the other, singing and finishing dinner for the evening. Sara and Mike also were asked to join in, as a matter of fact, if you were anywhere near the kitchen or the TV, you would be asked to stand, chest, and sing. What I loved about these moments was the reminder that I am proud to be an American. We have so much, and sometimes are not appreciative, and Peter in his own little way, keeps that thought forefront. So, today, I would like to thank Peter for that pure simple reminder of that great blessing...freedom! For keeping the thought alive on a daily basis.For making me stop in the middle of a busy day and taking the moment to sing and know, no matter the politics...we do live in a great place. Hopefully, as you are reading this "I'm Proud to be an American" is on, if not, click... guaranteed to give you a good feeling, a realization of how blessed we are!

Dressing but not as in turkey

2010-04-22T05:22:00.000-07:00

When our family was blessed with Peter, we were also blessed with his small size. Peter, remember the missing pincer grasp, cannot button, zip, or tie. So, lucky for me, Peter still fits in kid's size clothing. And, thanks to Land's End, who has boys clothes with rubber waist Peter can dress up in his rubber waist pants and still look pretty cool! Even though, Peter had hours of OT, he never developed the ability to button. On those rare occasions when he wore his suit, that would be his wedding and prom suit, we would dress in up in a matching blue shirt that unless closely supervised when undressing, he displayed an superman type behavior and with one quick movement, that shirt came off along with the seven buttons which were seen flying in every direction. This past Christmas, I made the decision to put that suit to rest, along with the blue shirt...I am tired of sewing on buttons, and from now on Peter will be seen in a crew neck sweater without any button shirts involved. No more zippers...just rubber waists.
Because Peter's clothes did not involve buttons or zippers when he was growing up, in Peter's younger years, Peter's wardrobe consisted of sweatshirts, hooded sweatshirts, and sweatpants. And as in Peterism, Peter loves his clothes. He loves those sweatpants and even more the hooded sweatshirt. There is nothing like a good hooded sweatshirt that keeps you warm and secure. When Peter is feeling bad, up goes that hood that seems to provide him comfort. These are the sweatshirts that when near a dryer are repeatedly warmed before applying.
He loves these outfits so much, that when winter is ending, the chill is out of the air, and summer is upon us, you will still find Peter in those layers of clothes. Ninety degrees does not deter Peter from wearing sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a hooded sweatshirt. Convincing Peter, that shorts would be a better idea, goes unheard. So, again,, creativity takes place. At the end of the season, when one needs to change attire, I needed to hide all of those heavy clothes and replace them with the season at hand. Hiding a closet of clothes, again a trick, as Peter was the master of finding these items. So, between the washing and the seasons, I hid and retrieved.
When winter came, Peter so loved his shorts that I once again, had to hide those clothes. Recently, I received a phone call from his group home, stating he would not give up the season's clothes, and now his clothes are hidden again. Dressing, so easy for some, so hard to choose the perfect outfit. For Peter, security in warmth and familiarity. No concern about the look!

Measuring....

2010-04-20T06:55:00.001-07:00

As you have noticed, Peter has a definite issue with quantity, tending towards the "too much" end of it. Too much soap for the car wash, too much soap for the washing machine. Actually, as I relayed the story the other day, I received a call from Sara who asked me if I remember the time she was watching, that would be "watching" Peter and he pulled the same stunt. Only she did not know the washing machine was spewing enormous amounts of soapsuds, so Peter took it upon himself to clean up. He did this by gathering every scatter rug in the house...not that I am a big scatter rug person...that belongs to our parents and grandparents, the scatter rug generation, but Peter managed to find the rugs that caught the mud and snow from the winter months, and the bathroom rugs and use these rugs to cover the mounds of soap. A valiant effort which ended in soap and mud soaked rugs along with the remaining scattered soapsuds. After Sara relayed the story, I pondered...did I remember that or was that another incident I just plain blocked from my memory???

So, back to amounts. Never too little, unless you are seeking information from Peter, but always too much. As in his need to wash his clothes. His idea of "helping" is to wash his whole closet...on a daily basis. So, to encourage the dirty and clean concept I purchased various and sundry types of laundry baskets or containers where he could place his dirty clothes. We are now the proud owners of Big Bird Hampers, baskets, bags, large waste baskets..if it was cutsie and could collect dirty laundry, it was on the purchase plan for me. Under close supervision, Peter was watched to demonstrate that he could take off his dirty clothes, place them in his new shiny cute hamper, and put on his pajamas. Dirty here, clean stays in your closet, and you put on the PJ"S. Easy! I really do not know what Peter did not not understand or still will make an attempt to understand as when the opportunity evolves, he will remove as many items from his closet and quietly, yes, so quietly, sneak into my room and throw them down the clothes shoot.

The clothes shoot where pounds of laundry filled it's coffers on a daily basis. I never really knew what actually was clean or dirty, gave up the battle and washed. Washed and washed. Peter's real plan was always to then sneak downstairs and do his own laundry, which of course he was able to implement on a fairly regular basis. Again, a conceptual amount issue. How many clothes can I actually stuff into that machine before it starts to rock and roll. His idea of doing a load correlated to stuffing it full, holding one hand on the clothes to prevent the clothes from falling to the floor, and finalize with a door slam.

The washing activity became such as time consuming task that I needed to hide his clothes. And hiding also became an activity as Peter became the master of finding the hidden or supposedly hidden clothes. I would empty his closets and drawers and only hand out the clothes he would be wearing for the day. This worked for awhile, until the clothes that were hidden were found or I just got tired of climbing into the cedar closet, going under boxes or blankets, to find an outfit for the day. As the seasons changed, my battle to keep the clothes hidden was always replaced with the thought that maybe Peter would not wash this time. He was usually good about this for awhile, and I kept watch for awhile and than the process started again.

To this day, Peter loves a good wash. And if that goal cannot be reached, he is really into warming up his sweatshirt in the dryer. This, I can handle, many dryer runs, but safer, user friendly. It involves less soap and he love the warmth the sweatshirt provides...try it someday! As I did throughout Peter's life, I learned to "pick my battles" and also needed to decide what is really important to pursue, to lose sleepover. When it came right down to it...not much! When it comes to store bought parts, those can always be replaced, so I kept that close to my heart. As long as nothing was broken, as in body parts, no one was hurt....than it could be replaced, and so my sanity remained cohesive...or at least, so I thought!

Staying over

2010-04-18T07:44:00.000-07:00

For as old as Peter is, his behavior has remained rather consistent throughout his life. Yes, he has grown, and slowed down a bit, a very bit, but when he comes to visit as he did last night, he still will try to wash clothes or sneak in an indoor car wash in my shower. He just quietly sits and waits, and when I am not in the room is gone in a flash, as if I would not notice. He was only here a few hours when he went MIA and was found early evening giving my new clean shower doors a much needed coat of soap. He tried very hard, that would be extremely hard to do some laundry, but being on the top of my game plan, he was deferred. Luckily, he now has the Internet and Skye to occupy his time. He will call you ahead of time to remind you that you need to be on Skye...not quite understanding that his sister and friends are not just sitting there waiting for him to be Syped! So during the evening hours, when not soaping or escaping he browes and Skypes.

He has also yet to understand the concept of "sleeping in". Peter, you can sleep in tomorrow until 800 Am, how about trying 700 AM.... It is a really nice feeling, Pete, to sleep in!! And as always, he promises and I believe.

So, this morning at 600 AM, as I hear the cupboard doors opening and motors running, I mosey on downstairs to start my day. Peter has already started up the Internet and is looking up his "favs". As he had invested in a fair amount of time last evening reviewing "car washes", he has now moved on to looking up trains. Peter loves the METRA, and has found that there are many "pieces" of information regarding this train system. He especially loves the one that arrives, I believe in the Aurora train station, I should know this as I have heard so many times. What he likes about this particular clip, is the LOUD clanging the train makes as it enters the station. To assimilate the actual train arrival, he turns up the volume and if you did not know better, you may think that Metra was landing right in your kitchen. This little activities will take place for approximately an hour or so, and then he moves onto his absolute favorite saying, which is "The doors are about to close". He will repeat these words in his lowest base voice that he can muster, but than likes to use his soprano high pitched voice, like a munchin, saying these words over and over in all different levels of tonation, the doors are about to close. All these variation of the tones to the phrase bringing him absolute joy and laughter!

This morning as he is eagerly googling his favorite topics and I hovering over my first cup of coffee and trying to wake up the brain and get it motivated for the day. I hear " You have reached your destination". Now, that is a new one..the GPS? You can google the GPS? So I ask..Peter you can google the GPS? He replies that yes, it is very easy...you just have to put in TUNV...magic I assume! So, as I foggily prepare for the day, not really know where I am going, I am reminded, frequently, I have reached may not have reached my final Destination, but my journey is good!

The Washing Machine

2010-04-17T05:57:00.000-07:00

As am I reminded of the car washes, I find the words car wash synchronous with the word soap, and that inspires me to discuss the washing machine. You see, in our house, my washing machine is conveniently located between the kitchen and garage, placed there so I would not need to climb the long steps to the basement to place a quick load of wash. Conveniently located that during the course of the day, I can do many loads of wash, as the washing equipment is just steps sway. So convenient...and,even more convenient for Peter.
When my second hand washer and dryer finally called it quits, I made a decision to go out and buy what I thought was the best, most convenient, top of the line washing machine, you know, the ones that are very popular these days, the front loading ones that require minimal amounts of soaps. That one. I am thinking this will be the perfect machine where I can place items on the top, or better yet, fold the clothes on the top as the top is no longer needed for entry. So thrilled with my purchase, my new Maytag washer and dryer arrived and I was in wash heaven. Perfect, I am thinking. Looks good, convenient...could life get any better?
In my search of this new machine, I forget one small item that would make a significant difference in my life...that machine, that pretty, cream colored, expensive machine's door, was at the perfect height for Peter to open. Most likely, not an issue when buying the machine, as previous to this new Maytag arriving, Peter showed no interest in washing...nope, probably could not get him to wash if you paid him. So, in my list of things I needed or felt were essential in a new washing machine, a front loader at Peter's height was not a concern. Knowing what I know now....top loader would definitely be the washer of choice...but who knew that Peter would add a new business of washing every item he found in the house when, I of course, was occupied.
This fancy machine was computer operated, no more knobs and dials...totally push button, and when the salesperson recommended the buyer protection package that costs half the price of the machine every three years, I bought in. My mind did go to Peter playing with these way to easy buttons, and, as he said, if the computer goes, that will cost you about $800.00. Peter insurance I am thinking. So every three years, I bought, and now have paid twice the amount for that machine! However, the dials, although of interest, were somewhat intriguing to Peter, not just as intriguing as the act of washing itself.
He found a new activity which has kept him and me occupied since the day my new found friend, the machine entered the door. The one thing Peter just could not comprehend, was the amount of soap needed to wash. Remember Mister I need a whole bottle of Dawn to wash a car, well, Peter maintained that Mister I need a boatload of soap to wash clothes. No hiding of Tide, explaining how much to use, nor any method of constraint could convince Peter that if he decided to wash, he needed small, that would be minuscule amounts of soap. Peter always made a decision to use as much soap as he deemed necessary. He also maintained the fine art of sneaking in a wash while one eliminates..if you know what I mean.
I distinctly remember one fine sunny day, when I came downstairs and heard the machine going, only to roll my eyes, and understand what had just taken place. By this point, I had come to accept the event and move on with my day. I, remaining in the kitchen, detected an unusual sound emitting from from my friend the Maytag, it was as if that machine was suffering from severe gastric distress...the whirling and the churning that was taking place was painful to my ears. I approached slowly, entering the small laundry hall, hoping to analyze and solve the problem. I had much to do that day, so a quick fix was in order. But, to what to my eyes did appear, I really needed the Christmas clock at that point playing a small round of Jingle Bells, as the washing machine, as if it was vomiting, has expelled gargantuan amounts of fine white tiny bubbles. Mounds of white puffy soap was filling the room, so much, that I needed to make a pathway to the machine. Winter soapuds, in the middle of summer right there in my laundry room. Never experiencing such an event, I was not quite sure where to turn, what does one do when Frosty the soap man is melting all over ones floor and building knee high piles of soapsuds in the process. Walking through the piles, I turned off the machine, and than made a grave mistake... I opened the door, the front end loader door where the rest of the machines "stomach distress" lie. The machine, with the door open, removed the remaining soapsuds that was causing so much pain and that soap landed on me and the floor. I, standing in knee high soapsuds, was now covered with bubbles. I, now, have a one to one experience with Frosty as that was who I momentarily appeared to be.
Do you know how long it takes to get rid of soap bubbles? Do you know how long it takes to get the soap out of the clothes that were in the washer before they can be replaced, only to be washed again?
Things changed that bright sunny day. Deanna got a call, and spent the afternoon cleaning the laundry room. As for Peter, he thought it was great fun, there was nothing so exciting as seeing the machine spew the soap, it equated to an automatic door experience, a hand wringing, squealing with delight experience. Oh, to be so easily entertained! I, on the other hand, needed to dig deep that day, to see the immediate benefits of entertainment one derives from a washing machine experience a gastrointestinal event!!

Taking the Car Wash inside

2010-04-12T05:21:00.000-07:00

The car wash did not always take place outside. Peter, in his own creative mind, was able to find inside opportunities to Paint the soap inside the house. This took place when Peter either stated he was going to take a shower or was asked to take a shower. The shower door, inside and out, became the car. Spending a generous amount of time in the act of cleanliness, Peter would empty my shampoo bottles in a washcloth and "clean' the shower door. I am amazed, as this event still takes place today, the amount of soap one can apply to such a small area. The soap, which again resembled frosting on the cake would later be cleaned by me or Deanna. Not a small undertaking as the layers are thick. Now, you may ask, why not stop Peter from playing car wash in my shower. You see, with Peter it came down to Inside car wash or momentarily peace and quiet to which I made the decision that those fifteen minutes of peace and quiet were well worth the one half hour of cleaning that would take place later. If I allow him fifteen minutes of cleaning, which included a shower as I always reminded he had to wash his body first, than I would have a few minutes to spend for me. Fifteen minutes where I was fully aware of Peter's location and fifteen minutes where I knew that the only "damage" would be soap of the shower door. A trade of utmost importance in the sanity cycle of life. Those precious fifteen minutes may include making dinner, a phone call, a moment to sit and read the newspaper. Fifteen minutes of P and Q...a refueling moment if needed. What is a bit of soap on a door anyway? In Peter's life, I made decisions that most logical people may question, but in my life, made perfect sense.
The carwash now also takes place, rather quietly, on Peter's lap. During Peter's car wash years, the Internet came along with You Tube. Peter, who has the reading and writing level of maybe a kindergartner has the ability of googling CAR WASH and will spend hours viewing all those post on You Tube...occasionally needing a bit of monitoring based on the level of clothes those participating in the car wash are wearing. He is mesmerized by these hundreds of car washes, and sits for hours and watches, squeals with delight, laughs, wrings his hands, and thoroughly enjoys the moment of You Tube car washes. Very entertaining as this could go on for hours. To be honest, the computer and the Internet has been a "God send" as now Peter can spend hours googling car washes and trains, the Wiggles, and recently before going to Minnesota, spent hours trying to find the Lite Rail. With a refurbished laptop on his lap, he remains in my view which cuts down on the soap consumption, inside and out. In my mind, a small window that opened for Peter which keeps him entertained. And for me, an opportunity to sit next to him, a glass of wine in hand, and read, or watch a show, or stare aimlessly into space,enjoying the peace and quiet

The Gas Station

2010-04-07T08:29:00.000-07:00

Peter did not always play car wash, on a rare occasion, that would be a one time rare occasion, Peter decided to play gas station. Imagine yourself on a beautiful sunny summer day, a kind of day that is perfect for spending in the yard, picking or cleaning or maintaining the yard, surrounded by your family happily occupying themselves with either helping you, or just being entertained by themselves. A day to accomplish much needed yard work, surrounded by your loved ones, Perfect..sunny..warm..fuzzy! Feel it?
It was of course on this day, that we used the ASSUME word...you know that word...you know the one I tell my student's never assume because if you take apart the word..you get the meaning. So assuming we did. I assumed some family member was either playing or watching Peter, and others in the group also made that same assumption. It was the perfect family bonding afternoon, so someone had to be in charge. Assuming away, and thinking Peter was playing car wash on Sara's old car, so we were not concerned about the pounds of soap that he would apply, we went about our business. After awhile, I decided that I really needed to check on whoever was watching Peter, so I headed to the front of the house. There I found Peter, contently playing a new game called gas station. You see, when one plays gas station one takes the garden hose, turns if on, and then puts it into the gas tank of his sister's car. Filling it up...just like in the old days, full service, what more could you ask. Gasping, hoping it wasn't true, that sinking feeling that I had previously experienced related to Peter's activities, the inner voice that wanted to scream "PETER" all gathered within my spirit. I cannot believe this is happening. Just when I think that Peter has done everything imaginable on earth, he comes up with a new activity!
Immediately, I ran and turned off the water and tried to explain to Peter that was really not a good idea. Peter, in his innocence, really did not understand and was just playing, staying busy. Realizing the damage was done, I called several gas stations and asked for advice. I have to admit I do not know anyone who ever had their gas tank purposely filled with water. But, now I can tell you what you do when that happens.
The rest of that perfect day was spent observing Sara's car lifted carefully on a tow truck. Did you know that you cannot turn on the car once the water has been infused. The junker than spent the week drying out at the local gas station and could be retrieved only after the tank had been removed, dried, and reinserted. The cost equivalent to the price of the car itself.
The silver lining...always found it important to find the silver lining in these meaningful events. At least we knew there was water in the gas tank, as the damage would have been horrific had she turned on the car...and we probably would not have realized the cause.
I am thinking that my sheer look of terror when I saw this event occurring made an impression on Peter. He must have learned that day never to play gas station again, as this scene was not repeated. The calm hysteria that occurred following the discovery must have sent a message somewhere to his head. And we, held a small gathering, the neighbors coming to view the car removal, and we explaining oh it was just Peter....and they smiling, telling me I should write a book...that day, I could only think of the check I would be writing! Some day, a tale to be told....

The Chandelier

2010-04-05T09:13:00.000-07:00

I am expecting company this weekend, so knowing that my house is in dire need of cleaning, I needed to call my cleaning lady Deanna. She has not showed up for awhile and after a very stern discussion with her...get you anny fanny over as I do not want to have my college roommates thinking I live in a dirty, hasn't been cleaned since Christmas house, she agreed to come. So, Deanna, (AKA me!) has dedicated the entire day to making the house look like Mr. Clean, was he the White Tornado? lives here. Ha..fat chance this cleaning event will be happening again soon.
As I am cleaning, I find Peter's imprints of life throughout the house. Take for instance, the chandelier. The beautiful white cracked porcelain chandelier that we saved to purchase from Porter's the fancy furniture store in Racine, many moons ago. The very expensive white cracked porcelain chandelier that is now not so perfect because it was touched by Peter. As I am dusting, I now make the connection of how he learned to fling that bowling ball so far down the alley. Peter, for as tiny as he was, learned the fine art of flinging Big Bird over the balcony which looks into the dining room where you find the wonderful white cracked porcelain chandelier which has those tiny little cups located at the end of the candlestick like lights. The ones that would catch the drips if they were actual candles. Well, all mine won't be catching drips, as on his flight to the floor or the table, wherever he landed, Big Bird managed to come in contact with these cute little drip catchers and so several of mine have rather large chips. And no, the company is out of business, so the catchers will remain forever chipped. This chandelier holds many memories as often, returning home late at night while the kids were supposedly being carefully supervised by a responsible teen, we would find clothes hanging from the chandelier or various stuffed animals surrounding the table, all having been thrown by Peter over the course of the evening. It became such a regular occurrence, that as I turned off the lights for the evening, I included the gathering of the objects that were used to play over the balcony baseball earlier in the evening. See, the special memories that chandelier holds. I cannot look or dust this chandelier without these wonderful fond (?) memories. At the time, I am sure, I had many a discussion with a sitter, why, we even had doors installed in the balcony opening in order to spare the chandelier, but Peter,in his own way, still managed to toss that incredibly heavy bird overboard or is that overbalcony.
As I went on to dust the collection of books found underneath a coffee table, there I noticed the replacement book from Mexico. Yes, I remember that night we were had friends over for dinner, a nice fire going in the fireplace, and what do I see out of the corner of my eye, it happened so quickly, the beautiful book that I found in southern Mexico depicting all the places we had visited, slowly engulfed in flames. Peter feeding the fire. The book never to be found, was replaced by another, not quite the same. And yet, the book burning, such a vivid memory!
And now, into his bedroom where one of the roomies will sleep. I wonder which of the five alarm clocks they will set? Peter loves clocks, so he over the years, received several alarm clocks, all fully functioning in his bedroom. Peter loves clocks so much we have a large variety. Maybe when they come I could hang the train clock which sounds like a train entering your kitchen on the hour, or the obnoxious bird clock...it is spring afterall. Oh wait, I think I will go retrieve the Christmas clock, it will make for good conversation and keep us on time. We could use a little Silent Night mid-April.
So, my journey through my house, brings smiles and laughter. The broken pieces, the replacement parts. All pieces of Peter that has made up my life with Peter Labanowsky. All pieces that I would not change one bit.

Bridges

2010-04-05T05:57:00.001-07:00

So, my very special boy, now really a man, still boy, turned 22 this weekend. He had the best birthday weekend ever, as he visited his favorite sister Sara...works when you only have one, no competition involved, and her husband in Minneapolis. Because Peter has a love for trains, it is on the same love level as car washes, he chose to ride the Lite Rail to Mall of America. The sheer simple joy of a train ride is all he needed. That and a hotel room made up for the perfect birthday.
Spending six hours in the car inthe drive to Minnesota definitely shed some light on Peter's development since he moved into his group home. Since the move, several years ago, Peter has matured nicely and has become more talkative..that would be 10 words per sentence now,, rather than 5 or 6. He has experienced more group activities, so taking him to a Twins game was an enjoyable experience, as he participated, stayed seated, yes, stay seated which is a major improvement throughout the game. He loved being there, did not want to leave, and ate two of the largest hot dogs known to mankind. He even likes to shop and engages himself in looking while we shopped. Again, all these changes are amazing in our eyes.
However, the surprising moment came as my friend the GPS was having us cross the Mississippi every two blocks, the voice saying turn left, oh that would be left again, and again, and over and over. So, we continued to cross the Mississippi, back and forth. On one of our crossing, I attempted to point out the new bridge, was quickly reprimanded by Peter to pay attention to my driving and than professed that Bridges made him very nervous, to me, a new found phobia for bridges. Really Peter, bridges? Oh, I am very afraid of bridges he claimed. Looking very scared I held his hand to cover the last of the many bridges we crossed, I pondered. Dentists, doctors, thunderstorms, boats..now bridges? Peter has never had a care in the world about bridges. So what is with the new concern? I do know that when Peter is around anyone long enough, he has a tencency to pick up other's behaviors. Is this one of them? Is one of his roomies afraid of bridges? So, Peter, does Andy not like bridges? Yes, Peter admitted one of his roommates did not like bridges, so I guess, Peter made a decision that he also does now not like bridges.
In my mind, I am thinking, Oh no..we are not going there. No new fears..old ones, okay,....new ones, NOPE! So, after finally, arriving to our destination by pulling the cord on the GPS and calling Sara, Peter and I have a bridge heart to heart.
Peter, I say, in my most convincing voice, you are not afraid of bridges, you never have been, you are not now, and you will not be afraid of bridges. Peter looks at me and says..I"m not? No, you are not afraid of bridges!! Really? Really!!! Okay, he agrees, and that was the end of the bridge phobia. Interesting, no more bridge fears for the rest of the trip.
Why, do I think the next time it may be escalators...because I know Peter, and he will observe this behavior and think that he needs it. We will have this discussion again. Remember Peter, you are not afraid of that. If only life were so simple I could convince him that he is not afraid of dentists!

Back to the Car wash

2010-03-31T07:10:00.000-07:00

Peter's love for the car wash is intriguing. He can spend hours slowly painting the soap all over the car, inside and out. Meticulously applying the soap in a circuitous motion, round, and round, and round. without a break for hours, until enticed to come inside, usually to eat, which of course, he would announce firmly that he was not hungry, he had more important things to do by washing the paint off my car. A tiny Mexican stand off, and than he would agree that he the car wash man needed a break, and I thinking, so does my car. He also learned the fine art of washing the inside, and snuck that in whenever the gatekeeper forgot to lock her doors. If you would be my passenger today, you would notice streaks of soap near the vinyl or is that leather on the door. Remnants of a Peter wash. The one item that Peter really refused to do was the rinse, lessons in rinsing were tossed by the wayside in order to put the focus on the wash. So the numerous demonstrations were for naught, and not to be used, if only be the overseer.
As he grew, he decided to make car wash signs and sit at the edge of the driveway in hopes that someone would provide him with a car to be washed. He would print with a magic marker on a old piece of cardboard car wash signs that also contained other words such as Sara, mike and mom, grab a lawn chair, and sit for long periods of time by the road. Infrequently, a youngster would come along and offer to help, but the young neighbor boys patience for the carwash did not equate to Peter, so he would move on to other boy play. On occasion, an extremely good hearted neighbor would leave their car for the afternoon, and Peter would wash. I, always on the outlook for their return, was in charge of the rinse. The good hearted neighbor would than give Peter a dollar for his efforts. For Peter, it was not about the money, but all about the joy of the car wash.
Now, you would think that Peter should be employed at the local car wash. Makes sense, doesn't it. I actually think Peter would do well under supervision at a car wash, as long as there was a rinser involved. However, you can not pay or coerce Peter into any car wash where you sit inside your car while it is being washed. If one drives into a car wash, Peter has his hand on the door and is ready to bail the minute the car stops. Because I could not always plan my car washes without Peter, he established a short term relation with the attendant at the local car wash connected to a gas station. I went in, gave a brief explanation of the concern, and the attendant would engage Peter for the five minutes it took to wash my car. Peter always obliged by filling his arms with items from the small gas grocery store, you know, the ones that are double the price, and I always obliged the man's time by paying for everything Peter decided he needed during the car wash interval. I guess you could say it was a sort of pay it forward kind of thing...you watch my child, I shop your store. We were the proud recipient's of gas station cookies, soda, really any junk food you can imagine. It was usually dinner that night.
SO the car wash serviced our neighbors, kept Peter busy, and made us new friends at the gas station. All good things that came out of something so simple...at the car wash.

The DInner Date

2010-03-29T08:05:00.001-07:00

The Dinner date ended up at our favorite small Mexican restaurant. Peter did have a moment of indecision as to whether we would be visiting McDonald's or IHOP, however, when I mentioned Los Comprades there was no doubt in his mind as he loves to go there. Having taken Peter to Mexico to visit our friend's Betty and Humberto (who we lovingly call the Mexicans) and who live on a ranch (AKA a 600 hundred year old hacienda that spans probably about 6 city blocks), Peter has developed a love for anything Mexican . While driving in the car, he will scan the radio stations until he hears music that sounds like he was in Mexico visiting Betty and Humberto. So we drive, and listen, and sing, because we do not speak Spanish we just make up our own words to the songs, singing and laughing, we elicit fond memories of our trips to the ranch. When it comes to eating Mexican food, we have standard criteria when choosing the restaurant. English must not be spoken there, and if it is, it needs to be the kind of English that invokes in you a sense to speak louder and over pronounce your words, thinking this will make the waitress understand the word "T-A-C-O. Of course, we do not to that, but there always is this sense that if we would shout and over pronounce we would get our message across. Other criteria, includes tele-mundo in the background, a jukebox that contains the latest Mariachi music, and tacky decorations. Cleans works, but the other criteria are of utmost importance in the selection of an authentic Mexican restaurant. Oh, yes, and I almost forgot...we want to be the only gringos in the place. A moment in time, in space, a slip into our visits to the Zaragoza's, mmmm..you can almost feel it!

So, off we went to get our fix of Mexican food. Peter, loving the chips and ordering an hamburger...okay, so he is not so good at tacos and I ordering my favorite shrimp smothered tostada. Peter watching tele-mundo and swaying to the music from the jukebox. Squeals again are immersed through the chewing of the chips and the music. A big smile remains throughout the entire experience. Feeling just peachy..although a bit too early for one of those Peach Margerita's.

Satiated, that would be over satiated, as we already had Hors'devours at church, we leave. Peter skipping to the car. I feeling relaxed and sunny as if I just spend an afternoon in the laid back version of life on the ranch. One day, I hope to take Peter back to the ranch. He loved the incredibly large door that was next to impossible to move....he tried and it did keep him occupied for hours. And for our next dinner date.....we will see what luxurious restaurant will appear on our agenda. Maybe Chinese....

Commercial Break

2010-03-28T07:31:00.000-07:00

I just got a call from Peter. Just to keep you updated, Peter and my routine generally goes like this. On Sundays I pick Peter up for church at 10, must be 10 as we need to get to the church on time to get a table and adequate refreshments. Peter, who loves the snacks always needs to be reminded to take only three, and I am running behind him, sneaking around the already packed kitchen, repeatedly saying, only three Peter, only three. Peter, reassures me that he knows to take only three snacks, I know, I know he says,, and than when I am not looking and reminding, he fills his snack plate to overload, and walks to the table. What was that you did not understand about the three. After which time I spend the rest of the service placing the objects of food in front of his face , making sure he fill his face with snacks, all the ones he took, heaven forbid I would leave a morsel. To be honest, Peter who is all involved in singing with his hands raised, may be seen with a banana in one of his hands.

Following church, we will occasionally find a breakfast joint, grab some eggs or pancakes, and head out. Why, because it is fun and obviously not because we need to eat again, as we are still stuffed from the muffins and cookies. But it is part of our routine and also the reason I am ten pounds overweight.

So yesterday, I get a call. A very important call from Peter. Peter usually calls me about three times a week to make sure I will remember to pick him up at ten, that would be ten on the dot, no later. So, I was expecting the usually reminder call, when Peter, in a very grown up voice, asked me if we could go to Dinner after church. Dinner? Yes, Dinner after church. Of course, my mind is scrambling, thinking what supper club is he talking about. Dinner equates to mash potatoes and gravy, a real sit down thing, waiters in nice outfits. What could he mean..dinner? at noon? Now, the older two, dinner would mean the nice Italian restaurant downtown, but Peter who only eats grilled cheese and french fries is now requesting a dinner? Quickly, thinking on my feet, Dinner, sure do you want to go to Dinner at Danny's (the local breakfast joint) or IHOP. Peter's response was...oh you pick...Either one would work for him...that is his dinner. Okay, so I can do dinner, noon tomorrow, can't wait. Why, because for Peter it does not have to be some magnificent glorious restaurant that may break the bank...no, it's the simple things, the enjoyment of just going out. It could be McDonald....to Peter it's dinner!

Dinner it is.......I can hardly wait!

The Car Wash

2010-03-25T10:33:00.000-07:00

So what does one do when he has tired of flushing toilets, opening and closing garage doors, and running away....he washes cars. I really do not remember what caused Peter to become totally enamored with car washing, but I would have to say it is his all time favorite. Just a few days ago, while shopping at Target, I noticed Peter standing wishfully in front of the car wash supplies, coveting a new shamie. Not today Peter, put it on your birthday list. That of course was my method of procrastinating the purchase, as you see, we have been the proud owners of many shammy's who have saturated the laundry and spewed suds all over as shammy's in Peter's hands become laden with soap.
Reflecting, I will guess that I got a brainy idea one day that if I gave Peter a bucket of water with a touch of soap he would stay occupied for a period of time by washing my car. I was correct in that gut instinct as Peter could and still can spend hours in applying soap to a vehicle. Peter will meticulously apply the soap in circles, painting a white scene on the side of the car. This "painting" of soap can take literally hours and in the moment, he is immersed with the activity. However, he is not so hot on the rinsing part, but the applying....superb. Incredible amounts of soap will be placed in effort to clean.
Why the tons of lather, you ask? Harmless, you are thinking. Let me fill you in on a few details. Peter's idea of filling a bucket with soap and water meant that he would empty the entire bottle of Dawn into the pail . No amount of demonstration regarding "a drop" would change the behavior. In an effort to not travel daily to the grocery store to buy dish soap, I hid the bottles of detergent in areas I believed Peter would never find. Above the refrigerator, above the stove, in pots and pans. If I could find a good hiding spot I used it, as in time, Peter's dish soap radar always found my spots. Interestingly, occasionally, I still find an errant bottle of Dawn which appears in the most interesting location. During those days of playing hide the dish soap, .I cannot tell you how many times I resorted to Tide to clean my dishes, chagrined, as I was not going to the store. Reaching under my sink for the soap, it would be MIA and a cry of "Peter" slipped from my voice. Too late and too tired to go shopping, Tide was the dish soap for the evening.
Initially, my car washing idea was to do this event together...a bonding experience per say, with Peter washing, and I helping, and the end result...a nice shiny car. The perfect Norman Rockwell painting on a sunny summer day. However, because Peter loved the experience so much, he did not want to wait for the Norman Rockwell sunny days. Peter wanted to wash cars everyday, all year long. Basically, Peter followed the same behavior he did when he played the run out of the back door and go hide in a neighbors door frame when it came to car washing. With his bucket brimming with soap, and I in the bathroom or otherwise occupeid, Peter would go out and wash my car. He washed all my cars...minivans at the time so well, the paint was danger of coming off. Because of his rinse issue or lack of finishing the job, I also became at frequent flyer at the local spray car wash, no matter the time of day or night. Peter was so good at the sneaking out, that he could apply the soap, return inside, and appear as if nothing happened. Many mornings, as I was leaving for work, did I realize that my now burgundy car was white. Usually, cutting my time close, I prayed for rain on those days. And if people stared, no big deal, I just smiled and waved...if they only knew, I thought!
One of Peter's "best jobs" was the night his bro and his bro's date agreed to watch Peter for me while I left for a few hours. I am not sure how much watching was going on as when I returned late on that cold frigid night, there stood Mike's girlfriend's car...looking like a Lemon Meringue Pie, completely covered in white frozen soap. Now there is a way to get to a girl's heart. Luckily, Mike's good friend worked at a gas station with a car wash that stayed opened late...so you where that date ended.
Peter's love for car washing remains to this day. And so, a new theme to discuss...car wash theme.

I Almost Forgot Skiing.....

2010-03-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

Getting off the Special Olympics theme and in the midst of a potential computer crash, I was looking through my pictures and remembered that Peter also took up skiing...briefly, at a very early age, and than once when he was older.

Peter, being the youngest, was packed along with the other kids into the mini-van and spent the next 8 hours driving north through snow and winds, to end up at Powderhorn mountain. This was an annual event with our friends the Ehlers, where we spent long hours driving for a two or three day weekend of skiing. We always ended up at Big Powderhorn Mountain, as we loved the day care and even more, the Big Bird Chair Lift. Because we showed up every year, the grandma type day care person, there must be a better name for that...got to know us and we and the kids looked forward to seeing her. For an incredible price, the kids could spend the day in the daycare center, watch movies, eat, and receive two free ski lessons while, we the adults took in our annual dose of skiing and hot cocoa. That would be hot cocoa with just enough peppermint schnapps to make you feel warm and cozy. At the end of the day, we would retrieve the kids and join them on the Big Bird chairlift for the annual parent-child run. The thing about the Big Bird Chair lift was it was kid sized which meant it hit you right above your ankles at mid-calf. So when you sat your anny fanny down, you needed to be quick and expect a bit of a drop from standing to sitting, as that was a long way down. Once, as an adult, you maneuvered yourself into the seat, off you went with your toddlers, etc in tow. There was just something about that chairlift, that even as I am writing...I have a smile on my face and am envisioning laughter, sun and fun. It was always sunny of the Big Bird hill.

Now, Peter, being the youngest, was just part of the gang and he ended up in daycare with the other kids, and when he was old enough and had developed enough muscle tone, he also participated in the ski lessons. So, at a very young age, he went onBig Bird and skied down between our legs. Thinking back, that was pre-phobia time, where he just was put on the lift without a concern. We, of course, holding onto him tightly, as we went up the mountain.

As the older kids grew, the trips to Big Bird were replaced by other types of family vacations such as scuba diving until the year we decided to go out West. Peter at that time was about junior high school age, and we found an outfit in the Colorado Rockies called Breckenridge Outer Education Center for skiers with disabilities. So off we went, Peter enrolled in this high level ski school. Walking into the building I was extremely impressed to see individuals who were blessed with a missing extremities, or lack of vision, or cognitively impaired. All skiing, having a great time, and overcoming any challenges they were facing. Why, there was even a Special Olympics ski team. Seeing this was so exciting!

Peter, all signed up, was left for the day in the hands of two Physical Therapists who were going to teach Peter to ski the big mountain. No small task for someone who had developed various fears by this time. At one point, I received a call, that Peter was shaky, but a bit of food and some hugs changed that. Finally, at the end of the day, there was Peter, the two therapist at his side, skiing down the hill! Triumphant, as if he was showing Sara and Mike that he could be just like them.

That was the only time Peter skied on that vacation as we moved to other areas, and truth be told, I think Peter was exhilarated by his accomplishment, but glad to hang at the condo. If I lived closer to Breckenridge, I would sign Peter up for more lessons. I think he would make a great bunny hill skier. Maybe someday we will return. I am just pleased that Peter overcame many fears that day...the big chairlift being one of them and he accomplished skiing down the very large hill. In his own way, he was very pleased with himself and endless praises throughout the week were lauded around him. Way to go Pete! We spent about three days at Breckenridge and throughout the experience there was always a skier next to you with a special need, it may be the skier was blind, or in a wheelchair, or skiing with one leg...whatever...really cool to experience this. Just another visual of those with challenges overcoming!

Big Bird

2010-03-22T05:19:00.000-07:00

When Peter was a baby he did not need or require a "beek blanket" or special animal as did Sara, Mike, and most kids. For Sara, it was a yellow thermal blanket, which I bought a large supply and replaced when one was worn, and for Mike, it was a sturdy teddy bear named....quite out of the ordinary...Teddy. But Peter did not have a need to cling to anything at an early age most likely due to his poor small motor movement and his inability to cling to anything.
It was not until around the age of 3 or 4 that Peter became interested in one special item. Coincidentally, that was also around the time of the talking stuffed animals, such as Teddie Ruxpins which was now owned by his older brother. It was also during a time when we were desperately searching for some toy to occupy Peter's time. He was not a TV watcher...could have been a visual thing, he did not build with Lego's...could have been a small motor thing, he was in his running stage and I was becoming in much need of anything that would keep his attention for at least some of the time. And then there was Big Bird.
Big Bird, if you recall, was also a talking animal that I think must have weighed ten pounds itself, for when I carried Peter and Big Bird...it was an armful and heavy. And for years, they were a twosome. What Peter loved about Big Bird was his fascination with his talking beak. Remember the autistic like behaviors that Peter possesses...well, a talking mouth is somewhat like a closing garage door or a toilet that has been flushed. After we realized the connection between Peter and Big Bird we thought we had hit the sanity jackpot! My only mistake, was not to buy every Big Bird at Toys R Us. Because Peter so loved his Big Bird, Peter went through them every several months and we were more than willing to oblige in replacing the coveted animal. Peter would sit and watch the mouth for hours, but than grab the mouth for hours. Peter loved Big Bird's plastic hands so much that he actually broke down the plastic, and yes, Big Bird ended up in the bath and pools and wherever Peter could find water. Realizing this, I also should have bought stock in Fisher Price, as we were one of their best customers during those years. For years, the two of them were BFF's and in our house, BB's relativity was elated to the highest of standards. We all understood the importance of his presence in Peter's life and his ability to occupy Peter's time.
Eventually, FP decided not to make Big Bird anymore and with this realization, came panic. I had many talks with customer service, explaining my need for the Bird. They helped me hunt down the last of them, and soon I resorted to calling any second hand toy store asking about his presence. Pre-eBay days, so that option did not exist. Finally, there were no Big Birds left in the country, and an silent fear was settling in at the Labanowsky's. The last Big Bird did not talk anymore, there were no hands, and dirty???? Oh my gosh! Dirty and stinky! Time to move to Big Bird Heaven.
We huddled, discussed, and came up with a new plan. Fortunately, around that time...maybe this was a window....the Teletubbies arrived and Peter developed a very basic interest in watching TV. For some reason, although, probably a teen by now, he loved the Teletubbies and the gibberish. So, we found a talking, Dipsy. One that if you pushed his stomach, he spoke some language that made Peter laugh and love him. And so the story goes, no I did not learn, and yes, we replaced as many Dipsy's as Big Birds, only this time I could use E-bay when Dipsy's was not manufactured anymore.
Today, underneath Peter's covers, lies the last of the Dipsy's. His antenna oddly sewn on many times, and his voice activated stomach, now defunct. But when Peter meets up with the Dips, the affection displayed to that..what is it anyway..not an animal..oh that's right..a teletubby is awesome. Peter holds and rocks Dips, gently kisses Dips, and literally squeals with delight. Watching Peter elicits this warm fuzzy feeling inside me. I cannot help but laugh and just feel good all over. Again, freebie....lucky me!

The Polar Plunge.

2010-03-20T17:38:00.001-07:00

One thing I know for sure, and that is, if Peter was not my child, I would not have ever done or considered doing the Polar Plunge. Who, at my age, would consider jumping into a freezing cold lake in the middle of February?

Several years ago, I was approached to first contribute, and than asked if I would consider participating in the the Polar Plunge for Special Olympics. My initial response, was "No thanks, but I will donate." After a bit of soul searching, I realized I really did not have a reason not to do the Polar Plunge. Physically, I could do this. Sure, it would be cold, and talk about a bad hair day...but I thought about all the people who live with disabilities, whatever the disability could be...some of these individuals struggle every day, they may be in pain, and the majority of the time, a smile is present on their face. So, a little uncomfortable coldness, and drippy looks were no reason to not participate. I signed up.
Now collecting money or asking for sponsors turned out to be fairly easy, as I have extremely generous friends, but also, when I asked my friends to join me, they were very willingly to donate in place of jumping as they said, we will cheer you on from the sidelines. So fortunately, the year I jumped, I was graciously rewarded with donations. That made the experience even more sweet.
I jumped for Peter and all his friends who participate in the games and all his volunteers who coach and help at all the events. Was it cold? Very! Did the majority of my toenails break in half because they were frozen...yes. Did it take all day under many blankets to warm up. You, betcha! The most interesting phenomena that occurred was after I landed in the water. We jumped off a pier into water that was over our heads. When I came up I experienced an amazing sense of calm, and felt no need to move, until I heard the four paramedics yelling to move, swim. Later, under my ten blankets I googled this phenomena and learned that is called cold water shock. Reading that information, and actually experiencing it, I gained a sense of comfort for those on the Titanic, that would be the ones who did not get into the boats. If they felt like I did, I am thinking they just slipped into oblivion without distress. That discovery in itself was quite rewarding. The cold water shock theory made for an interesting experience, however ,one that would influence further jumping decisions. Will I ever do it again, most likely not. I will let the youngsters do it. I will gladly donate and help, but most likely will not participate in the jumping. It was a great experience, I am glad I did it. I am glad I made the decision to at least give it a try. I laud those who do this every year...especially the "older ones" and think it is a great event. May the jumping continue and the donating for those of us, who like to watch.

Looking back...

2010-03-18T06:21:00.000-07:00

As I am writing these stories of Peter's life with Special Olympics, I started thinking as to the "why" I insisted that Peter keep going to the practices and the events. It definitely did not appear to be on his list of top ten favorites to do in life. Running out the backdoor and hiding at the neighbors, now that was his thing, not running between two narrow lines to a finish line. And, what is it about swimming that he absolutely refuses to get into a pool these days, when I know he can swim and once in the pool, loves the experience.
These are and were the days, I just wished for one second, Peter could come out with a sentence explaining his needs and wants. Knowing this was not happening, I guess I became the decision maker and based these choices on my past experiences with Sara and Mike. Now, as you know, one never really receives the book on good parenting. Oh sure, there is much information out there, although when my kids were little, really only Dr. Spock was the authority...and may I say that was quite limited. And there was no book or talk show on how to raise a child with special needs. No, those directions came only from the heart and instincts, guessing all the way.
In retrospect, my life and Peter's may have been much quieter, less stressful if I had not pushed the S.O. and baseball occurrences in his life. Would it have been a good choice? I do not know, but what I do know, is now, at the age of 22, Peter likes going to bowling and he does not run into the parking lot in the middle of the game to get away...maybe the bathroom, and maybe the soda machine, but the days of running to the car and refusing to come back are hopefully over. And, Peter does run in Track and Field, although, how he finishes is always a guess, and I know Forest Gump could be the winner if he put on his best shoes. Swimming, I am ever hopeful!
When Peter was still little, post Waismann days, after I stopped my search of finding a diagnosis, I decided to take him back several years later, just as an update, and see if any new research had been done in his disease or syndrome or whatever name we give it. The doctor, after spending several hours with Peter, told me that Peter was doing much better that he expected. Words I still embrace.
So, my personal philosophy which I applied to Sara and Mike, is that it is good to be involved in sports or any other activity that will encourage friendship and that feeling of being involved that would support a good self concept. My other philosophy was that I would treat Peter the same as I did Sara and Mike. So, was that why I began the many Mexican standoff's on bleachers and parking lots? Is that why I spent many occasions having mini pity parties..or was that peter parties behind close doors, in bowling alley bathrooms, in my car wishing Peter would just cooperate? Looking back, I would not do it any different. I did what I thought was best for Peter at the time. I had already gotten over the whole embarrassment thing, and when I wondered what other people were thinking, I replaced it with the thought...you can not make any comments on this behavior as you are not walking in my shoes. I had my reasons, and personally, in my mind, they were good reasons.
Would I have the stamina today? Probably not..but that is why Peter was given to me, as a gift, at a time in my life when I had extra heaping of patience and stubbornness, and a strong will to "we will survive this". And, every triumph, no matter how small, was a moment of celebration, and with Peter...we had many of those moments...and, you probably know this by now.....these were free....priceless as the commercial would say...and there is nothing like this feeling!

Flunging the bowling ball

2010-03-17T06:43:00.000-07:00

Not everyone is blessed with the gift of coaching a Special Olympics team as was in the case of the gracious person who offered to be the bowling coach, AKA m___ bowling lady, who will be now referred to as the MBL. I laud the MBL's time and potentially well meaning behavior that she invested into this activity, as she consistently showed up at the lanes, started off with good will and a smile, and I really believe she wanted to be patient, kind, and treat everyone equally. I do believe that was her intent, she just did not get the memo that when you are a coach or parent of a child with special needs, and your patience bank has run out, you need to dig deep, take a loan, borrow more patience, do whatever you need to do to refill your bank. MBL when she had reached her limit, as in Mount Vesuvius, exploded, just lost it. Now, if you know anything about caring for these kids, that once you have lost it...it is hard to regroup. In order to maintain peace and quiet, utter calmness, prevention of a disaster is worth it's weight in gold...or gold being sanity.
Peter, actually, really liked bowling, but in his usual Peterism, would need the normal coercing and sometimes bribery to play at the practices. I found that if I just dropped him off, his participation level increased significantly. So, I would spend the hour practice doing errands, walking around the outside of the bowling alley, or hiding in the crowd of parents, hoping he would not detect my presence. His instinctive radar, like he could smell me, allowed him to almost always found me in the crowd. When it came to the big day of participating in the tournament, Peter probably about 99% of the time, would decide he was not going to bowl. Now, this was a very sensitive time for me, as if Peter did not participate, he let his team down. If Peter chose not to participate in a track event, he only lost out, but in this case...it was the whole team. The pressure!! The "no egg on your face" feeling I had every morning that we needed to get the the bowling area. He always got there, but never without a huge, that would be HUGE amount of discussion, bribery, sometimes tears, before he even got in the car. Yes, at times, I, the mother, even resorted to deceit, leading Peter to believe he was going somewhere else, that would not have the name Bowling Alley on it. Of course, getting him out of the car when confronted with Bowling Alley...I won't even go there! Writing this, I wonder if it would have not been easier just to stay home, no, because it was truly my philosophical belief, that engaging Peter in these activities would eventually lead to a more well rounded person and get him over this hump....this A to B thing.
Finally, after years of convincing, Peter did get up one bowling tournament morning, and decided that he was going to participate. Hallelujah!! He wanted to go, his friends were on his team. He even put the dreaded Bowling shirt on, and off we went, met his team, he sat down to play. Now, before I go to far in this dialogue, just an FYI, Peter was not on the MBL's list of favs...probably would not take alot of thinking as to the why. I really do believe she wanted to like Peter, he was just alot of work. Back to the story, the day of play, I could even sit behind the imaginary line in the bowling alley where the fans sit, cheer, and never, and I mean never cross. I sat, Peter bowled...nirvana.
Peter had this unique style of bowling where he cradled the ball close to his navel, ran up to the line, and flung the ball down the alley. The longer he bowled, the higher the flung and the louder. I do not understand how his ball never ended in his neighbor's alley, but it did not.
On this particular day, Peter and his team were doing great, headed for the Regional tournament, when in the third set, Peter's flungs were getting higher, and MBL's patience was getting lower. Peter, got an in your face warning which I thought for sure would send him to the parking lot. But his love for his friends, brought him back to the bench who had just been disciplined for some behavior that MBL deemed inappropriate. Undaunted, the team decided to engage in that game of hands which little kids play where you flap your hands amongst yourself and laugh and laugh and laugh. Guess who was not laughing.....being behind the imaginary line, we the parents, could say nothing but watch with abated breath the next events. Putting the MBL over the limit, the boys received a in your face, finger pointing, incredibly loud warning to stop that behavior. I was convinced that Peter's bowling game was finished. Done for the day....
To my surprise...Peter did not leave. He sat there calmly waiting for his turn, his team mates in tears. When it came, he slowly rose, squarely looked the MBL in the face with a look that you may put into your own words, turned around, and put the ball into the gutter, and once again, returned the same look at the MBL. He repeated this behavior until the second in command, observed the situation, calmed the team, and got them back on track. Although the bench of parents were yelling No Peter, there was this little voice in me say "Yes!!".
Peter's team did not go on that year, as they ended in fourth place. But, Peter, in his own way, seemed to have overcome another obstacle. He got there, he stayed, he made a point. The MBL was relieved of her job that year, and a much more loving and friendlier coach took her spot.
Peter now, at this point, likes bowling, goes to bowling, goes to the tournament and has a great day. Maybe all those years of coersion, crying, bribery paid off and were well worth the effort. Again, a Mexican stand off... did I win? No, I think Peter won!

Peter and baseball

2010-03-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

Peter and baseball….not Special Olympics baseball, but an off shoot of Little League that was for children with types of special needs. This league was organized and run by a very special person named Jackie, who deserves a standing ovation for all the time and energy she put into this activity. Come summer, without any hitches, summer baseball took place at one of the town’s tiny parks. Over the years, the number of participants grew so much, that Jackie actually petitioned the city to make three diamonds, with mini-dugouts, a home for the game. As Peter grew, the league grew with the number of participants and varying special needs, from visually challenged, orthopedically challenged, or mentally challenged. Wheelchairs abound on the playing field; everyone played…fun to watch.
Every Saturday, until recently, Peter and I traveled to the park to play ball. Always wanting to have Peter included in whatever he could, I signed him up at a young age. Peter, being Peter, in the beginning resisted going to play. You know the story…I do not know why…once on the field he had a blast. It was always getting him from A to B. A being getting him there and B is getting him to play. What happened in that never land between A and B in his mind remains a mystery to me.
At this young age, when he joined or should I say, I signed him up, began a Mexican standoff that lasted for years. I, believing, this was a “good thing”, drove him every week to the park. Getting him in the car was challenging in itself, but then, getting him to play was an even more grievous task that took years to overcome. You see, Peter and I were both blessed with a huge heaping of Stubbornness, and who would win, was always ongoing. I, the mother, was going to win this one. So, every Saturday, we got up early, got dressed, I managed to coerce him into the car, we drove, and when we got to the park, Peter refused to play. I decided that if I kept coming, eventually Peter would play. So, every week for several years we drove, and then Peter and I sat on the bleachers, whiles I and the coaches gently tried to get Peter to at least bat. Much bench sitting passed until one day; Peter made the move to bat. Finally, he went from the bleaches to the batting cage! How glorious! However, once up to bat, there was the issue of the helmet which weighed more than Peter. He did agree to put it on, cockeye, leaning a bit to the left and then the right, and off he went to bat, a huge accomplishment in all our minds, another step for Peter.
The volunteer pitcher cautiously threw the ball at Peter. Now, if you want to seek an act of patience taking place, it is the pitching process to batters. The ball gets thrown as often as necessary until it is hit, touched, or at least, gone in the general direction where it could be counted as “in play”. Minutes may pass, as one bat. Then the “hit” takes place. The hit could be a dribble, and drop to the ground next to the player’s feet, it could go five feet, or twenty and it did not matter. As in Peter’s mind, it was of course, a home run. After the hit occurs, everyone jumps to their feet, shouting “great hit”, no matter the length, and the batter runs around the bases, sometimes passing up the person in front of him or her. And the volunteers try so hard to get the batter out with no avail, they accidently drop the ball, and just cannot quite get the runner out.
Peter continued his baseball days until he was out of school. Throughout his years, he remained a bit skeptical sometimes playing, sometimes only hitting, and other times truly engaged in the sport. Every day a triumph for him in some small way. What motivated him to play some days and not on other… I will never know…..maybe someday I will discover the secret, the answer, the line that connects A to B. Until then, I know there will be more coercing, negotiating, and clapping when the “B” is reached.

Peter and the Pool

2010-03-10T06:51:00.000-08:00

Now Peter should be an Olympic swimmer, that is a Special Olympic swimmer. After all, he was treated just like Sara and Mike and literally thrown into a pool at a very early age. I do not know if "Mommy and Me" classes are still the thing you do when your children cannot walk or talk, but when my children were under the age of one, they were hauled off to a "Mommy and Me" class, and, yes, I their loving mother, dropped them into a nice warm pool and watched them come up for air. Standing close by was the instructor who spewed words of encouragement that they would rise to the top..instincts, she said. And they did, soggy diaper and all, they rose, turned on their backs and floated. An amazing event, which now, may be considered uncool, and maybe, if I did a literature search, may even find and article or two on how this dunk may affect one's psyche.
With Peter it was different. Peter had poor muscle tone as an infant and early toddler, so I was apprehensive about his ability to get to the top..of the water. So, I held off his swimming lessons until he was older. I was determined that he would learn to swim, as we often visited places that included water. The other factor, that kept swimming on the back burner, was finding an instructor who specialized with children with Special Needs.
Peter grew, I researched, and, eventually found a super lady in another city that had a pool in her home, and as I was told, "was good with children with special abilities".
So, off we went, twice a week for swimming lessons. This time, she was the dunker, not I. I sat and watched. Seemingly, this would seem easier, but sitting fully clothed on the side lines, watching Peter struggle at times, took a major dose of patience and trust.
Although Peter took more lessons to catch on, it was a great day when he, fully clothed, in sweats, jumped or maybe he was given a nudge, went into the deep end of the pool, and swam safely to the side. I still see him in his black sweat pants and sweatshirt, making his way to the ladder. Triumph rained, and Peter could swim...or his version...dog paddle.
After the pool event, Peter loved the water and would spend hours in a pool or the ocean. Loved water, water slides, shouts of joy were heard throughout the area as Peter was just happy surrounded by water. Of course, when he was done swimming, he was done..you know the story.
Today, Peter absolutely refuses to get into a pool. Hour of conversation, maybe over a glass or wine and chocolate milk, have been spent discussing the "Why" of this and still no insight. No negotiations, no bribing, nada..nothing will remind him that he really does like to swim. No Special Olympic swimming for him. Maybe next year will be the year.....there is always the hope, the anticipation that some magic button in Peter's mind will turn on or off, and he will again enjoy the water. And, if I ever discover that button, I will be the one pushing it.

Peter and Track

2010-03-09T06:16:00.001-08:00

I like themes. So, now I am on a Special Olympics theme. Peter's Special Olympic days began when he was around the age of 10 or 11, not quite sure on the year. Kenosha was in the initial stages of forming a school aged Special Olympics team, and Peter was asked to join in or maybe I received a flier...can't bring my memory banks back to remember the details, but Peter ended up on the Track and Field Special Olympics team that year.
We, the family, thought this would be a great event for Peter, as we envisioned him the next "Forrest Gump". Why he could outrun any of us in an airport, he could outrun any neighbor kid, why he was destined for fame. Speedy Gonzales within two track lines. Twice a week, for several months, I drove Peter across town, so he could practice his skill of running. I am thinking, practice? Why Peter has this sport perfected.
Peter practiced, got the line thing down, and we awaited with great anticipation his first attempt at the 100 yard dash. This was the year the Special Olympics were hosted at Sara's high school and Sara's soccer team was acting as volunteers. Perfect, she could keep an eye on Pete. For some reason, and again I have a short in my memory banks, the day came, and we anticipated that Peter was not even going to participate in the event. Mmmm, oh that's right, he was not going to play basketball either the other day....some 10 years later. I guess that is his theme. practice, make them think that you will participate, change mind the day of the event.
So the day arrived, and we realized we needed to be creative in getting Peter to participate. In order to get Peter to run to the finish line, Tyler, Sara's friend and a person who Peter just loved, stood at the end of the finish line. See, Tyler told him if he ran, he could have the bag of Fritos that he would be waving in his hand so Peter could retrieve across the finish line. Peter agreed. Tyler stood waving Frito's, we stood in anticipation of Forrest Gump Juniors first race, screaming "run Peter" and Peter....you would think he was running for public office. He walked, waved his hand at everyone with that vote for me look, and somewhere after all his opponents had finished seconds...minutes, before, Peter crossed the finish line and retrieved his Frito's.
What happened to the kid who could outrun the best of us? "Idunnoknow". But he finished! He was thrilled, he got his chips, his last place ribbon and to him, he was a winner! That was really all that mattered.
Peter's track years continued where in the next several years when he did start to run, only, however, as fast as the person next to him. That was followed by a few years of all out brilliance where he proved he was quick, ran, ignored the people around him, went to State and captured first place.
Now, Peter has a new track routine. He starts out as if he will be in first, running like a mad men, and then about ten feet in front of the finish line, stops, waves, and walks. No amount of coercing will get this young man to keep running. It is just Peter, being Peter.
Maybe this will be the year, he runs fast again and finishes without walking and waving. We will wait, as always, with anticipation to see what will occur, We will shout loudly "Run Peter!" and no matter what the finish, we will have a good day!

Why I like Special Olympics

2010-03-06T18:38:00.000-08:00

Today, I got another free high, thanks to Peter. That freebie, was going to the Regional Special Olympics Basketball tournament. If you ever get a chance, spend an afternoon watching one of these events. Although, not perfect, Special Olympics, is as it says...special, where one can cheer loudly for both teams, cheering on the effort, the attempt. I personally feel that every child and parent,..probably more parent, especially the ones screaming at the coaches, refs,etc should spend a day at a Special Olympics event. It is there that one sees the all out effort put into a dribble, or just running down the floor. As said, "Let me win. But if I can not win Let me be brave In the attempt"
Today, when I arrived, Peter remained in his street clothes and was sitting amongst his fully clothed team mates with no intention of participating. After some brief negotiations, he dressed and played enjoying every minute. Now, understand his idea of basketball is keeping your hands in the air at all costs, even if the ball hits you in the stomach..hands up is our motto. He also has the learned running back and forth, or occasional skipping back and forth. But he had his game face on, cheering for his team and the other. If you asked at the end of the game if he won or lost..he would tell you he won. Just to let you in on a secret....their team lost 40 - 4. An occasional sad face, but mostly the joy of playing was seen on his team. And on this particular team, I would applaud the coaches who allowed everyone equal playing time. Their encouragement and patience was awesome. His coaches did not penalize him for getting dressed at the last minute, they loudly applauded him for throwing the ball in and it even went to the correct team, these coaches made him feel special!! Now that is what I call a phenomenal coach!!
So today, I cheered loudly for all those individuals who were trying so hard to do their best, whatever their best was. And for all those coaches who take the time to volunteer so these young adults and adults have an opportunity to play with individuals with their same abilities. Good feeling....and it's free!

The Boat Phobia

2010-03-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

Remembering Peter giving Kristin hopefully a loving push into the water, also reminded me that was the year Peter decided to hate boats. Loved airplanes, hated boats. Do not know why, but Peter had somehow unknowingly developed a strong hatred, really a phobia about boats. I really did not realize that fact, until several years later, when on the same lake Peter absolutely, no way, refused to go on the boat, this being a pontoon, AKA party boat, which in my mind was absolutely harmless. So, during this week, on a very warm day, that would be an incredibly hot day, I thought that if I held Peter on my lap while we slowly cruised around the Chain of Lakes, holding him and Big Bird, and calmly telling him that he would be just fine, that he would learn to love boats. This boat went very slow, had nice fence around the boat, had great cushy seats, no waves, how could one not like the boat. At least, he would fall asleep. I don't think so.... Peter spent the entire time, screaming, as I held him tight, along with Big Bird and the pound of sweat developing along all my body parts. Fearing he would bolt, I did not dare let go.
That boat ride turned into the never ending boat ride and only served to reinforce his hatred of boats. So much for my thinking of exposing him slowly to what I perceived as a phobia.
The boat phobia continued, with many notes to teachers explaining that Peter would most likely not go on the boat trip, and many teaching assistant spending the day on the pier with Peter. Several years later, traveling again with friends, this particular group decided to take a car ferry across a large river. Thinking Peter would be safe inside the car and no boat phobia, I was surprised that Peter who appeared calm as we went onto the ferry, jumped from the car as soon as we hit water. Luckily he ran into Clete who most likely aborted a swim by Peter. Clete proceeded to calmly talk to Peter while we crossed the river. I think there was hugging involved, and a shout new BFF thing going on during that interval. Clete and Peter discussing the problems of the world, or water, whatever, it worked to keep Peter on board.
In another major boat event, we were in Playa de Carmen planning to visit the island of Cozumel to go scuba diving. Needing to board a Hydrofoil to make the cross, the word on the street was mumm..do not use the boat word prior to the event in hopes that Peter would just walk the gang plank and not even notice it was a boat. The "boat" being rather large and sort of looking like an airplane...maybe...the eternal optimist thinking this would be the day.
Yep, the entire group boarded the large enclosed cabin boat,happy to be spending the day on Cozumel as Peter and I watched as he ran, refused, to get on that boat. No cajoling would convince him to get on the boat that "Why Peter is it just like an airplane". Waving good bye to my friends, saying it would be okay, and telling them to have good day, I decided this called for a downright good ole, pity party right on the dock. So there sat Peter and I, tears flowing down my cheeks, no holding back. It was not long, never one to be down too long, that a thought crossed my mind. Mmm... in Mexico the pharmacies sell Valium over the counter...maybe a bit of Valium would be just enough to relax Peter. Okay, before you think I am a really bad mother, I think Mr. T had to take Valium when he went on a plane. So off we went in search of drugs.We found a tiny pharmacy close by, and then with my best Spanish, I wrote, and through my arms in the air, spoke loudly, and secured a small dose of Valium and a bottle of juice. With renewed hope, I walked back to the pier, mixed the drug, and gave it to Peter to drink, which he dutifully did. All this being watched by two locals, who turned out to be very helpful after Peter's stomach decided it did not want the concoction. They could not have been nicer in helping me clean up Peter. No language barrier there, just camaraderie in the cleaning process.
About that time, the ferry returned and Peter, most likely not wanting to drink again, cautiously agreed to go on to the "Boat". So we made it on, him standing and squeezing a pole, and I in a recycled airplane seat. During the trip, realizing I had not visited a "ladies" in hours, engaged the help of another local couple who agreed in Spanglish that they would watch him, I was able to leave him shortly.
The boat phobia continued until Peter entered his later high school years where miraculously his teachers were able to convince him to ride boats on their many field trips. When I was told he went on the boat, amazed to that this could really take place, I made the usual phone calls and emails announcing another milestone had been crossed. Never understanding the why of the phobia before and the new acceptance of boats.
What is was about boats I will never know. I do know, it was painful, downright scary for Peter to be on a boat. Again, a time I wished I could get an answer..what is it about boats..please fill me in on the secret. The only answer...the mumbled "Idunnoknow". During that time, we had boat conversations, do not use the boat word, tried various ways to help him deal with boats. Peter, as only Peter can do, in his own time made the decision. Today, he is the first one on the boat...go figure!!

Such good friends.....

2010-03-02T08:41:00.000-08:00

That is Peter pointing in the direction of the water...he had just pushed Kristin in the water, Kristin, just a toddler, was much smaller than him, so for whatever reason, Peter thought she was in the way on the pier and off she went for a swim. Now, this is where you know you have really nice friends for Kathy, her mom, who is always on the ball, quickly fished out Kristin, and with a laugh, told me what had just occurred. Now, how many people do you know remain that calm when they are fishing their children out of the lake?? And than do not hold a grudge? I know many frienships have been broken over kids, and I am thinking for reasons less than pushing one's friend's child in the drink.
Other acts of kindness also surrounded us as Peter grew. When the kids were young, we held the annual Fourth of July gathering at each other's house, followed by fireworks at the lake. Always a fun event, kids playing, Peter hiding in the local neighbor's door, good food. At one of these events, again, carrying on a conversation with the adults, I was called to please come outside. It was always that panic tone that sent me running and the thought...what did Peter do NOW!!
On this sunny Fourth of July, complete with flags and the Star Spangled banner in a picturesque backyard, with a cool breeze....are getting the picture...are you feeling all warm inside??? Peter, my beloved son, no did not bang their door, had not pushed any children, or flushed the air freshener down their toilet. He chose that day, to go gardening...in their beautiful backyard garden...oh that would be what was their beautiful backyard garden. He decided to unearth all the many geraniums I am sure Kathy had spent hours planting. There they were, the geranium's that is, sprinkled all over the ground. There I was...seeing no humor in the situation. How do we fix this one???
Kathy and Greg were very forgiving, and we were invited back. No hard feelings. It was just Peter after all, doing his thing, for whatever reason he does his thing.
Over Peter's lifetime, we have been blessed with so many kind and caring friends who have allowed and still allow Peter to be a part of their life's. Many vacations and picnics were spent while Peter flushed their toilets or slammed their doors, and we were asked to come back. These friends, in this story, in the past tales, the blogs to come, are all very special people.
If I haven't thank you yet, or if you have another tale that I have blocked from my memory, please let me know. In meantime, thank you all my kind friends, who I owe shoes,flowers, life preservers, and probably new door springs. Thank you for understanding, patience, and kindness!

While down under

2010-03-01T06:30:00.000-08:00

Isn't that picture cute...Peter, Sue, and Julie are standing there looking so serene on the pier. One of the places we visited with the family was Cayman Brac, a small island located off of Grand Cayman. That was good, as it was laid back, and we could keep a close eye on Peter. We usually tried to find a place that included a large fence around the entire property or a small isolated place where one could find Peter by a nearby door. Usually elevators were not in demand at these locales, so that was one area we need not look. Automatic doors either, so just the toilets and the doors were the key outposts for Peter.

On this particular trip, we were staying in a condo unit. The back was within a short walk to the ocean, and the front faced a small pool area and snack bar. Very laid back, quiet, and small. Besides us, a few other families were located in the units that were all connected and looked the same.. If you can imagine, a row of about 8-10 condo's lined up, looking the same, the kind that if you do not know the number or location you could potentially go into the wrong one.

On one of the last days of the trip, we, the adults, decided to take an adult dive, only the mom's and dad's were allowed, and the kids were left behind to play in the pool. Not concerned about Peter, as Sara, a very dutiful sister would be in charge, along with the four other high school kids who would all pitch in to keep a watchful eye on Peter.
Off we went, an adult dive, no watching wayward children under the sea. To me, scuba diving offers a moment in time. Peace and quiet, just me and the fish, no one talking, just like the song...my friends and the fish, and of course the dive master who I always became BFF so someone was watching me...in case I needed to ask for directions.
After two quiet and wonderful dives, we returned to the dock with a line up of teenagers and children. Taking a quick head count, I noted everyone there, including Peter, the place is still standing...why they just must miss us! Approaching the pier, I noticed a look of chagrin on Sara's face and a Peter attached to her hip. We were hardly off the boat when we heard that famous quote...Mom, do you know what Peter did!!!! Dispersed among sighs and major eye rolling, the story unfolds. You see, while under the watchful eye of a myriad of teens, Peter decided he had enough of swimming, and why he could be independent, and get dressed himself. Of course, he did not notify anyone of his plans, and just took off in search of his clothes. He found clothes, alright, just not his. He ventured into another condo, found some man's clothes, three times his size, put them on, and went back out to join the rest of the gang. As the story goes, than these teens, needed to play a spontaneous game of Clue and find out which condo Peter had entered, find his clothes, replace the man's clothes, and come out spelling like roses. Peter, was of no help, after all, the condo's all looked alike. They played the game, found the clothes, and redressed Peter. Since everyone else in the condo units were most likely diving...to this day.. the owner of the original clothes remains unknown.
After the dramatic version of the story was finished, we the adults looked at one another and burst into laughter...why that was the funniest story we had heard all day. At the time, Sara was still recovering, and walked away in a huff! For once, I was not the story teller, I was not walking away, not seeing the humor in the situation. Someone else was walking in my shoes. Someone else did not see the humor at the moment. That day added to Sara's understanding and appreciation of Peter.
This tale, when brought up at a party or dinner always evokes a smile or laughter..that do you remember when Peter....For if you have ever been on a island, having had one of those yummy island concoctions they call rum punch.. you also may have pulled a Peter...maybe without the clothes.

In the Air with Peter

2010-02-25T13:03:00.000-08:00

Traveling with Peter always made our life a bit more interesting. When the family was young, we liked to pack them up over spring break, join our friends, and fly someplace warm. Because we liked to scuba dive, those warm places usually ended up to be in the Caribbean. So, off we went, down south. Now, Peter loved to fly and getting Peter to the airport and on the plane was somewhat "uneventful", although everyone in the travel group was "assigned" to keep an eye on Peter so he did not take off in those large airports. In other words, all eyes were on Peter because, Peter, had also developed an uncanny sense of finding elevators. Oh, yes, did I mention that along with flushing toilets and opening garage doors, he could spend hours in front of elevators watching the door open and close. Or, you might find him on an elevator taking a ride. The trick was always figuring out which floor he chose to get off. So panicked moments were spend riding up and down elevators pushing every floor button so he could be found. Again, he was nowhere off for the worse, however, I would have just lost 5 pounds of sweat as I rode up and down trying to find the child who was on the seventh floor or was that the eighth?. So, everyone, made sure he stayed close, because losing Peter at O'Hara or the Miami airport always put a bit of a damper on the trip.

The bigger challenge however, came after the plane landed. You see, once Peter was on the plane, he was very content to sit, sleep, the perfect child, until..the plane landed. At that point, trying to convince him to stay seated until we stop, stand by me so we could leave TOGETHER...he was just not going there. He did learn keep his seat belt on, but as soon as Seat Belt Fasten sign was turned off, and the automatic rise of everyone in the plane to reach into the overhead, that was a signal for Peter to get out of dodge. Remember, now, he is tiny, so off he went, between people's legs, and right up to the front of the plane, smiling and wringing as he waited for the flight attendant to lift that big lever and open the door. For some reason, no one ever stopped him. As soon as that door opened, Peter must have thought he was in the 100 yard dash, down the ramp and into the airport at ninety miles an hour to find an elevator. And he did not stop until one was found..no matter what the distance.

So, where was I during this event? Previous to the flight, I had spent hours trying to convince the Special Needs department that I needed a seat close to the front. Some airlines were most accommodating while others were like..sure lady, everyone wants to sit up in the front. I persisted, called to higher levels, and usually was within a few rows of first class. However, it was those few rows in front of me that appeared as Mount Kilimanjaro, as I could not make a pass. My overhead belongings were already assigned to anyone who could reach, and my job, and only job was to get out of the plane as fast as I could and find Peter. Smaller airports were not an issue, it was those big ones, the ones that you needed to stop at before the islands, that sent waves of panic in us all. Asking politely to please could I get by, you see my son, the one that just went between your legs, you see he is on his way to get lost in the airport. Those words were almost always rewarded with another..yeah right lady, or the body block which implied..."don't think you are going to get passed me". What is it about people leaving planes? What is it that brings out the absolute worst behavior in people in order to be first to baggage claim to stand there for 15 minutes?
Once past the barrier of people, I would run, with no concern that this may look silly. I had my job and I was intent. Behind me was a family, always concerned that this would be the time we would not find Peter. By the time they were out of the plane, I had located the elevator and the child. Life was good, the next time we would land, it would be a small airport and even when he ran through security...it was island life and no one cared.
In all my years of travel, I will admit I have never once observed a bolting child like Peter. However, when I travel, and someone has a need to pass, I let them go. There most likely is a reason, because no one really wants to interfere with the body block and those stares one receives in trying to step out of the plane line.
So, until the next flight with Peter, I will store my special run down the ramp and into the airport as fast as you can shoes.

The Holday Inn

2010-02-24T05:15:00.000-08:00

When the children were young, we had a family reunion with the Michigan relatives. Always an event we all anxiously awaited, as the kids could see their cousins once removed, if not by distance, by some perpendicular line drawn on a lineage chart. The half way point was chosen, and off we went to some domed hotel which featured a swimming pool in the center surrounded by rooms. Pack the van, pack the junk food, and off to drive around the south end of the Lake of Michigan as we headed for a fun filled weekend.

I especially liked these events, as I knew I would not be the sole observer of Peter as my parents would be joining us, and my cousin Denise, always offered her services to stay with the kids. A little break, complete with relatives that I had not seen in a year, one could not ask for more. Every year, we enjoyed each others company, covered last years events, and agreed to see each other again in the spring.

Peter loved these events, as he had many hands to keep him entertained and was able to join into the other children's activities. The year he was the age of toilet flushing, just the right height to flush, watch, and wring,he changed the course of events, as we knew it. That year, the weekend progressed with it's usual array of fine activities, if I remember I think there was even an egg hunt, prizes, shopping, swimming, dinners that all added to the perfect weekend. When the time came for us to leave, we packed our bags, and gathered to do the annual hugs and see you next year event. It was a group of around 20ish, so the gathering and the hugging, was done expediently, as we all were in a hurry to return to our abodes, however,it did consume a small chunk of time. Somewhere in that chunk, whether it was one of those assumed moments of "I thought you were watching him" or one of those moments where you just put that pint sized Speedy Gonzales down by your feet and try to entangle him between you knees, he escaped. Gone in a flash, no neighbors to retrieve him here, and he was gone. Gone for an incredibly long period of time. Noting he was missing, the hugs and goodbye session turned into a hunt. Everyone participated, and as the time pass, the search became more fervent. Peter was not to be found in any relatives room, near the pool, near the game room, near an elevator, and most certainly not near a door.
Enlisting the help of housecleaning and security the search continued, and I started to conjure up those "what if thoughts" as we could not find him and time was passing.
We were really running out of places to look. Finally, and I do not know how he connected the dots, but he always was a very smart person, my Uncle Terry found Peter in a room where the occupants had left, standing in the bathroom, yep, you guessed it, calmly flushing toilets and when Terry appeared wondering what was the big deal about him missing anyway??? By that time, the sweat was running down my head, and I would guess the majority of others.

Now if you think of a huge busy hotel chain on a Sunday morning when everyone is leaving, and you think of the large number of empty rooms, and think of those heavy doors to those rooms that automatically, I know I am still amazed that we found Peter. Eventually, he may have been picked up by housekeeping and put in the lost and found, but really, that would have been hours.
The moment of Peter finding is still fresh in my memory, as I can still remember the fear of not finding him, and the absolute relief when we saw him there in the abandoned, unclean room flushing away. Not one bit concerned that now, about 40 to 50 people were seeking his appearance, and soon the police would be involved. When, one finds Peter in these situations, he would just look up at you, give you that smile, like "life is good, it is a good toilet afterall", and those conversations to nowhere about not running away, you might as well save, because to Peter those were a meaningless set of words.

So that weekend Peter gave new meaning to our family reunions. He added the joy of being found, another tale to tell and after that year, he was never left out of any one's site...and the famous "do you know where Peter is" was spoken every two hours.

Never Assume

2010-02-23T04:40:00.000-08:00

As Peter was growing up, it was obvious to us that it would take a family to raise Peter and a neighborhood to "pitch in". If asked how many children I had, I would say "three, no make that four, Peter counts as two". When Peter was up, Peter was up and going full force waiting for the perfect opportunity to make an escape or do his "business" as in flushing toilets or exercising the garage door. Sara, being the oldest took on the responsibility without looking back, with no questions asked. Michael, when Peter was born, was still a toddler, not yet three and finding his way. I know, Michael lost some toddler years in there as I sought out help to determine what could be done to "fix" Peter. Can you read the guilt in between the lines? I do remember that Mike never took out any anger or frustration with Peter, and provided him with the rough and tumbly stuff only a brother could add. And, Peter loved it. Peter, would just wait until he could play around with Michael, after all he was his big brother and his favorite brother. Sara, of course, being his favorite sister. That was easy....

When Peter was in his early childhood years, pre-kindergarten, we were invited to a Parent's or Family night at his school. We packed up the van, and headed out to see what Peter was learning. Engrossed in the evening's event, meeting other parents, and keeping track of Peter, we "sort of" lost track of Mike. At that time, Mike was probably in kindergarten or first grade. Mike decided he wanted to check out the other classroom across the hall and started playing with a game in that room. The time came to leave, and the kid's father announced he was leaving. I, assuming, he picked up Mike and took him in his car, gathered up Sara and Peter and we headed home in my van. With three kids, we usually did the divide and conquer, so one would take one child and the other would take two.

Arriving home with Sara and Peter, I again assumed that Mike was taking a shower and was not concerned when I did not see him. You know that saying about "ASSUME', well it is true.

After time passed, I asked a question about Mike only to realize that he had not come home with his dad, which was about the same time the principal of Peter's school was calling to tell us we had left a child behind. Now...that was embarrassing..talk about making a good impression with the principal. After, profusely apologizing and explaining that we really were good parents, I know I broke the speed limit to return to the school, which was located a distance from our house.

I arrived at the school, less a speeding ticket ,and there in the doorway, stood Mike, with a good friend or ours, Sue who noticed he was without parents. Sue, calmly reassuring Mike that his mom really did love him, this happens all the time, and your mom will be here shortly. Once again, saved by a helpful hand, a caring person who understood.

So, today, when I see Mike, I will ask him if he was traumatized by the event. I do not recall that lament, MOOOOOM, when I picked him up. But just to make sure....I will ask 20 years later!

The Security of Doors

2010-02-21T18:02:00.000-08:00

Peter actually seems to find security in doors. If you cannot find Peter, he is most likely near a door. Or, if Peter does not feel comfortable in his environment, he will find a door and there he will stay.
At a very early age, Peter had introduced himself to our new neighbors by placing himself inside their door frame. Around that same time, at a family Fourth of July party, in a Wally Cleaver neighborhood, Peter once again went in search of doors. Thinking Peter was once again under the watchful of eyes of the men in the crowd, I calmly sat talking to the female contingency. Then the call came out that Peter was missing. The boatload of children and the males, who really were not watching went on the hunt. Since Peter was not on familiar territory, no one brought him back. After much searching, Peter was found safely squished in between the screen door and front door of an unassuming neighbor. Peter, standing there, patiently waiting to be rescued. At that young age, there must have been something very special and comforting about standing between a screen door and a entry doors.
Peter, can also be found at the door if attending a play, a concert, really any place that requires one to sit and be entertained. There is conversation that takes place on the way to these events, where Peter will convince me that this will be the time he would come in, and remain seated the entire feature, offering me reassurance that this would be the time! At times, Peter may begin sitting, but I would have to say, always bolt at some time and heads for the door, never to return.

During these times, Peter usually becomes new best friends with the Security personnel, ushers, or whoever is closest to the doors. I, running up to the doors, as in the Kohl center in Madison at a Badger Band concert, or at a smaller venue, as in a play at a local high school, would be reassured that Peter is perfectly fine and his new BFF is now in charge. Go back to your seat they say...he is just fine!

One of the best moments that Peter became acquainted to a new best friend was a Christmas program that included members of Cirque de Soliel. Having just spent one and a half hours in the car, holding the "now you will sit with us during this performance" conversation, and anticipating a great evening, I honestly, thought Peter would accommodate my need for him to sit. Why, I even had the Special Needs seats. Unfortunately, we arrived after the performance started, and Peter wanted nothing to do with sitting, but preferred the spot by the door. It was not long until a female usher, came over to inform me that she would watch him and I should enjoy the evening. Occasionally, she would come over to reassure me that Peter was just fine. By the end of the evening, Peter and her were arm and arm singing Silent Night...a major undertaking! When you read about Silent Night...you will understand. Tears running down her face, she told me that this was the best Christmas ever, that she was so moved by Peter. I, of course, joined in the tearful moment, as I could see how Peter had left a special place in her heart.
So, again, a door, a secure place for Peter, but also a place where friends meet, and where others have taken over the responsibility of Peter for a short period of time, giving them a special moment with him and for me, an opportunity to pay attention to what is in front of me.

Peter Slammed-God Opened

2010-02-20T09:21:00.002-08:00

I am thinking that during Peter's life he was into major door slamming while God was into major window opening. Remember that mantra of mine, "When God closes a door, he opens a window". When Peter was growing up, often I was asked the following questions, “What will I do in the future, What will you do when Peter is an adult?” One thing I never did was go beyond one day at time. The future was going to happen, no matter what, worrying and fretting over what might be was going to do me "no good". So, I lived, one day at a time, denial has always been my best friend, and any psychologist may say that is unhealthy, however, it worked for me,taking one day at time. The coolest part of not spending time worrying for me, as just when I was always, and really I mean always, on the verge of "oh, what is the next step, How will I handle this?"... a window opened up. Peter has had so many windows in his life, it is really incredible.
One of his earliest windows was our friend Jean, who was a pediatric ophthalmologist who guided us through those early months of blindness. And Jane, the nurse who appeared out of no where that gave me the direction to go the Waismann Center.
But, it was just not people who were windows..it was programs. When Peter was around 18 months, Kenosha began an early childhood program, at that very early age, Peter received help, and met the Kugler twin, Lauren and Leigh, or as Peter called them both LaurenandLeigh. You will hear more about them later. That program continued and Peter attended school at at very early age, three, when I literally had to lift him to the bus, because he was so small.
Inclusion, another window, was just beginning in the school district as Peter entered kindergarten and first grade. He was one of the first students included in the local grade school and what a wonderful experience that was!! Such great and well meaning staff at Southport school. That continued throughout his junior high school and senior high school years, where it ended at Indian Trails, a work to life transition program, complete with great teachers.
When Peter was a bit older, and I went back to work, and was truly at a loss as to how I was going to get him after work, there was no after school care at the junior high and senior levels. That year a wonderful program called TRACS opened up, where kids with Special Needs could attend an afterschool program where he could swim, play, and spend time with kids just like him. That was such an amazing gift, a window,a blessing and it came at the perfect time when I really needed help.
Another window, I also needed help in the morning, the really early morning, and through my hairdresser, I found Heather, who would wake up in the middle of the night and get to my house, so I could go to the hospital and Peter could go to school. Peter loved Heather and her chocolate chip pancakes...another window..a true gift!
And, than, as Peter was getting older and it was Peter and I, 24/7, I really did not know what to do. He would be out of school, I was working, where would he go. I began looking for help for the weekend, just a break for me and Pete. And that is when I found Peter's group home, a phenomenal place where he now lives with LaurenandLeigh, and three other buddies from his high school with an amazing staff. Just like a "frat house".
So you see, just when there was a need, there were windows. Just when I thought there was no hope, magically, there was a window.. a new program, a house, a person.
So as Peter kept slamming, God kept opening. And life fell into place.

Slamming Doors

2010-02-18T11:33:00.001-08:00

Peter’s love for doors not only focused on the garage door, but he had a different “love” for other types of doors. He particularly liked heavy metal doors which he engaged when he wanted to and wants to express himself. Peter, a man of few words, does not communicate his needs, concerns, feelings easily. If you ask him “What did you do today?” You will hear a one word“ I dunno know” which comes from a closed mouth. A skill he has developed over the years of speaking with his mouth closed and still being able to convey his message. The “I dunno know” can refer to just about anything. Peter, what did you have dinner? That would be dinner you just ate 5 minute ago…”Idunnoknow”. Mmm, Peter, see it is sitting on the table….oh! That dinner! Referencing what was done during the day, you will definitely receive a "iduunoknow", as that was hours ago and long forgotten.
In order to get Peter to speak when he was younger, more in his teen years, I would pick him up from after school care, begin the 15 minute ride home, and start talking about my day. If I assumed he was having a bad day, I would conjure up stories of my bad day, and how someone really “pithed me off”…I knew he could relate. In this effort, there was hope that randomly a voice would emerge and some short sentence about so and so, or how he did not want to go swimming…or something that made him have a bad day. This could be within minutes of my dialogue or hours…words hopefully would spontaneously just come out of his month and, when I was within hearing distance.
There was a clue to Peter having a bad day. The door slam…evidence to me that Peter was tired, hungry, not feeling well, or something just set him off. Now in our house, the only good door to slam to make a statement was the metal door between the kitchen and the garage. He perfected the talent of slamming that door so hard, I thought the house would fall down. Things would shake on the wall…our own little mini earthquake, right in our home, sometimes on a daily, hourly, basis. Mike or Sara may have picked up Peter for me, and in would first come Peter, and SLAM. I had this way of flying down the steps to begin to slow down the potential catastrophic events that may occur after the slamming. Mike or Sara, having just had the door slammed in their face, with a panic stricken look, would say…we gotta feed him mom. Interestingly, food was almost always the cure for Peter’s bad behavior.
Many hours were spent on the time out chair, and than as Peter aged, he would be “grounded”, all in an effort to decrease the amount of times that door would be slammed. Grounding meant taking away a privilege such as watching TV, or playing on the computer. Of course, you know, grounding always meant as a parent you ground yourself, because now you sit and stare at each other. You cannot do anything, as that would allow escape time, and you know where that is heading!
Peter still has difficulty expressing his needs and still will slam a door when he is upset. The grounding, the hundred and one conversations about just telling me how you feel, has not quite set in. Hopefully, over time, Peter will be able to say he is not feeling well, he is hungry, he needs a hug. Presently, door slamming still remains the key to how he feels.
So, door slamming..in our house has a new meaning. It is a part of a conversation..it is a feeling..it is communication. Think of that next time you shut your door...oh go for..if you are having a bad day...just slam it!

The simple joy of a garage door?

2010-02-17T15:01:00.000-08:00

Peter has given me alot of freebies in my life and like I said, taught me things I could have never learned through any course or seminar or self help book. I guess you could say living it and giving it through and by Peter. Recently, I told you how Peter taught me how to handle embarrassment. It was that rather loud moment in the library when the siren was ringing that I just gave it up..embarrassment that is. At that point, I had either gotten used to the moments, decided I did not really "give a rip" anymore, or just came to grips with it. For whatever reason, embarrassing moments were just opportunities to laugh about the situation.

Another one of Peter's gifts to me is his ability to just enjoy the absolute simple things in life. Peter really does not need much to make him happy, and in that simplicity, I realize all those things that seem so important at times, put in perspective, aren't really necessary.

One of Peter's loves is garage doors. The sheer going up and coming down of garage doors elicits laughter and cries of joy. A garage door. Up and down. If only life was that simple. Now this simple gift of enjoyment did come with a bit of a price. The garage door, has two springs. You see, I am well versed in garage doors as I am the proud owner of many new springs. Those springs can only go up and down so many times. I am also on a first name basis with the garage door company. Why the last time I called, they asked about the family, how has life has been. Not your usual garage door business questions. They like us...you see, I have paid for all their children's college education through garage door repairs. The last time I was told, this garage door can never be fixed again. It is on it's way to garage door heaven, being blessed by Peter regularly.

I know it is in those "autistic like" behaviors that make Peter attached to the garage door. In his escapee days, he was often found playing in someones garage. When the neighbor who he was visiting, heard their door going up and down, they would find Peter and bring him home. Going for walks, Peter had a need to want to shut any open garage door, so conversations centered around how those neighbors really needed that garage door open and no, you cannot shut their door, and if I would have looked away, a beeline would have been made for the door. It was like a magnet pulling Peter to the switch.

Because he loved these doors so much, and we were trying to cut down on garage door repairs, we tried to be creative and found toys with garage doors that opened. Jackpot, we thought we were so smart. Only they too would break. We also developed unwritten garage door rules at our house, that state only Peter is in charge of opening and closing. Often I would hear Mike explaining this to his friends, warning them not to touch the button as they looked on with this somewhat confused look. And Mike, he was serious...do not mess with my brother's garage door, man. To this day, we have garage door conversations with our guests.

So this door,this simple garage door can keep Peter occupied for hours. To Peter, it is entertainment, intriguing, joy, so simple, so rewarding. Really, think about,if only we could find joy in something that simple! As Peter recently told me..there's nothing like a good garage door.

When it wasn't summer

2010-02-16T16:39:00.000-08:00

So what did Peter do when it wasn't summer and when he was not playing hide and seek with his family and neighbors. Does it surprise you when I say he had other tricks up his sleeve? Do you remember the story of Peter and I going to UW-Madison and the Waismann Center when he was young. During one of these visits, in addition to his diagnosis of Severely Cognitively Disabled, Peter and I were told that he fell into the gray area of Pervasive Development Disease, also known as Autism Spectrum. Peter did, and does have autistic like behaviors which have changed over time. One of these behaviors is wringing his hands when doors close. Other repetitive behaviors, that I will begin to mention, were those behaviors that caused him to carry out his business. One of his Businesses was to flush toilets.

So replacing running through the neighbor hood at amazing speeds, you could find Peter in one of our four bathrooms. Why I thought four bathrooms was a good idea when we built our house, I will never know. For Peter, four bathrooms was heaven, a place to escape, a place to carry out his business plan for the day. He followed the same routine, mom is busy or distracted, she is not paying attention to me, so off to flush I go. Flush and watch and wring my hands...that's the plan. Flush and flush. Flushing really wasn't a big issue, except for the major increase in the water bill. But WHAT was flushed became the concern. Peter, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, found great joy in flushing items down the toilet. Now, we did not catch on to this, until things would go missing. Soon, we resorted to locking all the bathroom doors and the only entry was by using a paper clip to pop the lock. However, soon the clips were left inside, door was locked, and when you have to go....idea was only SO good.

The flushing continued until one day, our septic system backed up. Not knowing the cause of the problem, the honeywagon man came over, dug deep into the system, and to his joy he found shampoo bottles, many and I mean a congregation of Fisher Price figures, (remember those cutsie little people that fit perfectly down a toilet, well ours all went for a swim in the local spetic pool), toothbrushes, and brushes. If it could be flushed, it was floating. Standing at my sink that day, gazing out to the backyard, I witnessed this man looking as if he just discovered gold. He came pounding on my window..."Look, Look , he called. Look what I found!" begging me to join in his excitement. Obviously, he never had experienced such an event, as the joy radiated from his body. Leaving my post, traveling to the backyard, and viewing the floatees, I was hardpressed to start jumping up and down in glory. Instead, I was shaking my head!! An "Oh my gosh, can you believe this feeling"!! There were the farm friends and the animals from the train all taking a swim. That voice that went PETER, was sounding off in my head.
I am sure Mr. Septic System shared his jubilation with his friends. I know that day, Peter made one man happy. For me, it was just another day with Peter Labanowsky. I reinstated the paper clip locking system with new resolve. And for those farm friends and and animals..they found a new home...down under.

My Moon

2010-02-15T19:50:00.000-08:00

Okay, so now I am all about the playlist. It is just so exciting to me. Again, it's the little things. I added the song "I Do Not Want to Live on the Moon" when I was searching for the neighborhood song. I remember that I really liked the moon song when Peter was growing up. Thinking back, I wondered what was it about that song that caught my interest so much? Then I realized why I liked it! There were days, many days, that I really did want to live on the moon. I really did not want to play the game of life anymore...not in a bad way, in case you are getting thoughts that I was majorly depressed. But that "my plate is full feeling", "stop filling my plate", "oh only if life could be"....So, my escape..the moon or probably anywhere else I would rather be, just not in the present. What I liked about the song is it made me think...the grass is always greener somewhere else..or at least in one's mind it is. So going to the greener grass or the moon or being that "astronaut" seemed to be so much easier. But in that very simple song, one can take a make believe trip to the sea or the forest, but just to visit, to get away. And, when I sang it and I went to "the moon and looked down and saw all the things that I loved"...I knew I would miss my life down here! And that is when I realized my moon was here, in Carol Beach, with great neighbors and friends and family. Neighbors who not only understood, but help. It sort of was it took a village to raise Peter theory. And from above, I saw Peter, who would come up with a new trick tomorrow, make me laugh or cry, and I would love my life.

Who really are the people in your Neighborhood.

2010-02-14T19:15:00.000-08:00

Now that I have my song to go with my neighborhood...life is good...I will continue to ponder the stories of those wonderful people who populate the "the hood". Last weekend I spent time with my friend Sherry, who happens to be one of the friendly neighbors. Spending time with Sherry, brought back this memory, tale, story..whatever you would like to call it.

Sherry and Jim's son James was Michael's age, so when the kids were younger we would often get together and have family gatherings or picnics. Always fun to do, as you could include the kids and not need to worry about a babysitter. One nice summer weekend day, Sherry had invited the family over for a backyard picnic along with several other mutual friends and her sister's family. It was a perfect day, and since Sherry's house is situated on Lake Michigan, the kids would definitely spend time in that water..after all ,kids do not mind the cold water.

So, as the day progressed, I remember sitting in the kitchen, a cool summer drink in my hand, and carry on an adult conversation with the female entourage. The kids and men were all outside, and I was confident Peter was safely being watched by one of the many children or male adults. Nirvana...I am thinking..peace and quiet with the girls. I knew on thatday, Peter would not escape under so many watchful eyes, and the water would keep him busy.

We sat and chatted, and drank our cool drinks, and the men took the kids to the lake to go swimming. The children neatly placed all their shoes on a large rock and then proceeded to waddle and wiggle and splash in the water. All was good. Only shouts of joy and happiness filled the air between the crashing of the waves. The perfect Norman Rockwell painting.

No, Peter did not escape that day, nor did he advance too far in the water, he had other plans. While the men and the children soaked in the sun and enjoyed the water, Peter decided those lovely lined up shoes needed to go to Michigan. So, he sent them, flying in the air, and into the water off of Michigan City, never to be retrieved by one living in Wisconsin. Just like pitching pebbles, but shoes. The shouts of joy turned to shouts of "There goes my shoes"!.

After hearing the news, I remember taking Peter home, saying something about a nap. I also remember I must have walked home barefoot, most likely silently stomping, because I still remember the sharp pains on the bottom of my feet and the tears streaming down my face, thinking could one day just be normal?

I know I took it harder than those who lost their shoes, as only one mom accepted the offer to replace the shoes. The rest just laughed and took it in stride. So, start humming..those are the people in my neighborhood, that people that I get to meet each day....lucky me!!