The Addendum to Dancing

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

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

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

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

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....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.....

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

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.

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...

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

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

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

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

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!