Do You Hear What I Hear?

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.