In Books and On Movies....

Booga has a tendency to go “overkill” on his chores.

He will take clothes down to the laundry room, unload the dryer, load the dryer (he's not allowed to do anything else in the laundry room...It could be bad) and load the dishwasher, (again, restraints are in place with the dishes also, because it could be a wet soapy mess-lest we forget the dishwasher episode)and then take the trash out of the bathroom
and the kitchen (and that's if he's desperate for a dollar more...He hates it)… all in the name of the almighty buck. He loves money.

He loves to have me go to Goodwill and shop because he can look through the old movies and see if there is anything he would like to have. He is one of the few people in the world that actually still own a VCR.

One day we were picking through the CD’s and I came upon “Evita”.

Understanding his penchant for musicals I picked it out and said, “Woo, look Boog, ‘Evita’.”

He was enchanted.

He bought the CD and since has seen the movie and now wants the movie as well.

It’s nice to know that little things amuse him.

With so-called “average” kids, it’s not so easy to get your thrills by going to Goodwill.

Mostly their thrills come from the Mall or from Wal-mart or from some kind of Boutique-like store that their friends go to like “The Gap” or “Old Navy” or something like that. My kids were never into stores like that…But I knew kids that were. Why? I don’t know. They are cheaply made clothes in high priced stores. Although, I happen to like “Old Navy” stores…They have fun stuff.

I look through the books at Goodwill but they rarely have anything I want to read. I like to read books that are made into movies. Usually after the movie is out and I’ve seen it and everyone around me says, “Oh, well, the movie isn’t as good as the book.." I want to know why?

I just got done with one book that they totally pooch screwed as a movie. They lost tract of what the book was about while making the movie.

It was a really good book. I liked it. I couldn’t put it down.

Now, I am reading another book that so far isn’t as good as the movie was because of the way it was written. It’s difficult to read. I don’t like the way it goes back and forth from the first person writing of each character. Yuck. It’s confusing. Maybe it will get better, I don’t know. I like travel logs, as long as their funny and some non-fictional self help and some non-fictional studies. “The Nun Study” was such a book, although it boardered on being dry and academic.

Boog likes books that are about Steven Spielberg; his favorite director. I daresay that I have ever seen him want a book more than the two he has on Steven Spielberg. Possibly if they bring a book out on a musical he likes or on the movie “Lady Hawke” he will get that or at least ask for it. But till that time, we go on allowing him to buy video tapes, DVD’s and CD’s at Goodwill.

There is the possibility this could all change.

As a child he loved “Star Wars.” Now he can’t stand it. He loved “Toy Story.” Now he can’t stand it. We don’t know why. I know why he can’t stand “Star Wars.” I mean if you watched “Star Wars” over and over again until eyes nearly bled you too would be sick of it. And for three years straight that was all he watched…After a while I wanted to tape over “Star Wars” and I loved “Star Wars” when I was younger.

For some reason, he hates the beginning music of “Star Trek: The Next Generation”. And he used to try and mimic “Space: The Final Frontier….” It came out “Space…..” And the rest was unintelligible. But now he can’t even listen to that opening music.

Maybe someday he’ll be the same way about Goodwill but I doubt it. It would take someone working there that he didn’t like. Like some kid at school that was a reprobate…But until then I guess I will have to put up with him going overboard on the chores every once in a while when he wants to go to Goodwill and shop for new and interesting music or tapes….

It could be worse.

Wolves in Cheap Clothing....

I absolutely hate driving somewhere I am not familiar with…I would rather have an impromptu colonoscopy than have to drive somewhere I am not familiar with. I especially hate it when I have to do it alone or with children. I do not feel like I should put anyone under the age of 21 in jeopardy of seeing my full blown fury or complete collapse of confidence should I either A) get pulled over or B) get in an accident.

Yesterday I had to take my niece to find a prom dress. This is something I told her I would do for her, citing the fact that I told her that she should go to every dance and every assembly and every party and every event no matter how small to enjoy her senior year of high school. I find that an important thing, since it will never come again.
Her father, my brother in law is a certifiable jerk. I have a lot of patience with him, but it has been tested time and time again by the fact that his parents refuse to discuss with him his Asperger’s, which I am almost sure he has and is undiagnosed. They continue to hold out for the idea that he can receive disability for the stroke he had due to his uncontrolled diabetes. Unfortunately it seems that they feel less ashamed of the facts that he is out of control with his diabetes and unable to work, and has hardly ever been able to hold a job (because his uncontrolled mouth, and uncontrolled anger) and would rather live with that than have him diagnosed with something as clean as Asperger’s.
I wish I could have some pity, but really, I’m not ready to sit with him through the diagnosis process, and really it is time for them to belly up to the bar, so to speak.

But I digress.
My niece and I decided to go prom shopping yesterday afternoon. About one o’clock.
We loaded Booga and my niece in the car and I took the path I normally take to get into town. I have been driving this road for oh, 22 years. So I figured I knew it pretty well.
My niece has been raised by wolves and I have to constantly remind her of protocol with nearly every social thing. So I had to tell her that we will, “Yes, be buying shoes, what’s wrong with you? You can’t wear the same shoes with every dress? What are you going to do with your hair? I can’t be there, I have an anniversary party to attend and you are on your own….Do you have hose? Do you have hairspray? Are you driving your brother’s car? You’re picking this boy up? His tux vest is maroon? Well, that’s not a color I’dove gone with….”

In this same instance, that I am quizzing my niece on all her accessories for prom, I’m failing to notice the cop on the hill. Mostly because I have driven this road forever and have been at the same speed limit since I started living here. By the time we got to the top of the hill he had turned around in a rather sloppy “Y” turn, and turned on his lights.
And of course I pulled over. I’m not a fugitive from justice. I don’t get speeding tickets-at least generally. I’m the one people are honking at or passing on the highway because I’m not going fast enough. Of course, then again, I was always the one driving the Buick LaSabre before….
Now I’m driving a sports car.
So he comes up to the window and asked me for my license and insurance and my registration and so forth and asks me if I know how fast I was going?  Apparently 30 in a 25…Then he asked me how my driving record was? And I told him perfect. And it is. With the exception of one time in 1995 when I was driving in my home town and I was caught speeding through a speed trap there. My mother was not happy at the police that day.
My niece was nervously giggling.
I sat in the car and waited. The long you wait the more assured you are of getting a ticket.
And I figured that was going to be my fate, because it was taking an ungodly long time to call this into the station. So there I sat with Booga and my niece laughing nervously. I knew she was laughing nervously, nothing to be done about that, everyone has their own way to handle stress, apparently that is hers and then Booga ask, “Are they gonna arrest me?”
“No Booga.”
I think aside from the cop at the high school, Booga has never really been around an officer in an official capacity. Police have come to our door for things before but he’s either not been there, too small to remember, or been sleeping. And of course, I thought he was going to say something that he pulled out of his repertoire of movies, so he could express himself. But aside from wondering about that, he was quiet. Unlike my niece, who was still giggling.
I had a friend who was raised for a short time in South America and was terrified of the police because of it. One time she got stopped and it was all I could do to get her so she wouldn’t bolt. She was so scared and upset; I actually had to tell her, “They’re not going to kill us.” And I was oddly the calm one. Weird.
I’m not crazy about seeing the police come up my driveway to ask questions about the neighbors or having to call them because some neighborhood kid decided to spray paint our swing set. But I’m not terrified of them. Do they make me nervous, well, when I’m in a car, in the driver’s seat approaching a ticket, yeah, I’d be stupid to say no?
I have a cousin who is a cop and a nephew who is cop; I have other people in my family in law enforcement. These guys don’t want to take you in anymore than you want to go in. They would rather this be as routine as ever. They don’t want to hassle you anymore than you want to be hassled.
My niece couldn’t stop giggling. My husband would later get angry about it and tell me it was totally disrespectful because here I was trying to do something nice for her…But there again, “raised by wolves.”
I didn’t want to get after her about it because it was something her dad would do. I didn’t want to say to her, “Keep giggling, this is going to come out the money I would have spent on your dress….” She’s had enough people putting her down and hurting her feelings in her life time. So I said to her, “Laugh now, someday this will happen to you.” Because it will, it’s inevitable. I don’t care who you are, you will someday get pulled over by the police for something. When you’re pretty it’s because you’re pretty. When you’re in a ratty car it’s because they are sure something is wrong with it or you are more likely to not have insurance….And when you’re in a sports car it’s more likely you’ve been speeding….They see a sports car and it’s just a cop magnet.
He gave me a ticket. Of course he gave me a ticket. I’m a middle-aged woman driving a sports car. I’m not 22 anymore. I was stirred but not overly shaken. I knew I had to keep my calm for my niece’s sake. I couldn’t allow this to ruin her experience of prom shopping. I just went about my business-move along.
Luckily, we got her dress for fewer than 200.00 because she picked one on sale. With shoes and bling it was a little over 100.00 and with lunch it came to a little under 200.00 and I told her that I had never gotten out of prom shopping that cheaply. Of course the ticket is going to cost me about 100.00 so, it’s about how much I figured for prom. Kind of stinks. I mean, it really does push one to say, “No good deed goes unpunished.” However, I maintain this is just another star in my crown in heaven. Maybe someday she’ll repay the favor to someone else in her life. Or maybe I will just be a footnote in her life as the aunt that took her to get homecoming and prom dresses. I’d be okay with that I guess; as long as I’m looked at in a good light.

I’m just going to be more careful when I drive through there. Although I believe I will take another route for a short time. At least I will take another route until I get more confident where the speed limits are again.
Am I happy about it? No.
But I can’t sit and stew about it. That’s not good either.
Just learn and go along with life.
Really, that’s all you can do.

Dancing Nancies

~ Could I have been anyone other than me? ~

My kids were here for a few days.

For about three days afterward I walked around my house finding pieces that said that they had been here.

There was candy, change, unmade beds (that I don't care about- I would rather do that myself anyway). I found shot glasses, and pillows, cups left in their rooms.

By next week this time perhaps the house will be back in order in a semblance of something that it was before my children danced back into it for a short time. Its funny how time blurs out the chaos and disorder of having children and how quickly it returns to that when they do…. 

Movie ticket stubs, wrappers from Nutty Bars, toys that they got as gag gifts for Easter-

And my daughter's broken Rosary. 

Just to be clear, we're not Catholic. My cousins are, in fact the whole family on the other side of my dad's immediate family are Catholic. This side is Lutheran.

My grandparents had a vague notion of religion, so my dad and my Uncle Clare matriculated to their spouse's form of Christianity.

There are some vastly huge differences.

And there are some vastly huge similarities….I was watching "Doubt" on television, which is a show about a Catholic school going to through a crisis and the hymns and liturgy were very much like what I grew up with in the Lutheran Church.

But again, there are vast differences.

 For starters, we don't use Rosaries.

I like Rosaries. I personally think that they're pretty. They are interesting because there are so many different ones. To be honest, I own a Rosary; it hangs behind my desk on a bookshelf. It's a cross and I like crosses, and I like worry beads and they are a nice combination of the two. The Catholic religion in and of itself is a source of great interest to me. I’m curious about certain aspects of it. Someday I’ll probably read up on it and have something intelligent to say about it. But until that time…I’ll remain curiously peering in and wondering about it while walking with friends through the Catholic supply store in town.

When my daughter broke her Rosary we went to that Catholic supply store. I explained to my daughter that it was okay to use a rosary like worry beads and that it was okay to use them to concentrate on prayers but to make sure that people knew that she wasn't doing "The Rosary"; because she isn’t Catholic and because it’s not what we believe. She rolled her eyes and explained to me that she already knew that. She said she was comforted by them in her pocket, she said that she rubs them and it helps her stay calm. Okay, that’s fine I guess.

We went in and like always I was confronted with a lot of Mary.

I’ve always been intrigued with this deep belief in Mary the Mother of God. Let’s be blunt, Mary was the mother of God. That’s a fact and Mary was a remarkable young woman; she was the mother of God. And like me, she was given a task….Now I'm not saying that what I do with Booga ranks right up there with raising The Son of God, I wouldn't even venture to say such a thing. I mean, he's God. But the "given a task" thing….You betcha.

We're all given a task. Some are more pressing than others. Mary's was monumental in and of itself. God did give her an amazing gift but at the same time gave her a tremendous burden and in the end a bitter heartache.

He gave me a bitter heartache but in the end a tremendous gift.

Boog was an unexpected package with really difficult moments from the get go. The pain involved in finding out that your child does not meet the expectations you gave them to fulfill at birth and to find that out in the bizarre and some times frightening way that Autism presents itself is calamitous at best.

But in the end Booga has been a comfort at times when I've least expected it. He's been comedy relief at times when the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He's been the ice breaker in many conversations, and sometimes, Booga has been the unwitting excuse to leave when we were in the midst of a miserable moment.

He amazing in the way he strives to be at his best at all times. He dislikes being wrong. He is a perfectionist. These are all good things for people to be, I believe. He delights in making me proud, which is all any parent can ask of any child. And he loves his parents and his Lord with an unconditional love.

He's a burden laden- tremendous gift.

My daughters Rosary was fixed and left on her fan in her room.

 I put it on her door. The foyer needs a cross anyway.

 The Rosary remains a nice poem for me-the piece of Jewelry a work of art like any piece of jewelry that might get left for me by my daughter when she leaves home from time to time- And I accept it like that.

 And I thank her for it.

.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.•·.·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·..·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·..·´¯`·.·•.·:*¨¨*:·.

Courage in the Face of Certain Tooth Loss

I’ve been told that I am brave and that I have courage.

I question that because I only do what I have to do. If I could choose not to do it, brother I would have in a heart beat.

Courage is not speaking rudely to someone.

Courage is not being cruel to those weaker than you.

Nor is it standing up for something when what you’re standing up for is unclear… or

simply going with the crowd against something, especially if your not informed on what that something is exactly.

Courage is that thing that you have to do for love of someone, something, or somewhere, because you love them, Courage is doing something because you have to, not because you want to and accepting that this is the only way.

It’s being uncomfortable with driving in a big city but doing it anyway, because someone needs you to pick them up from the airport. It’s watching someone’s children while they are ill and taking care of their house even though you’re terrified of being alone. It’s going out on a field and fighting for your country’s sake knowing that you might die.

It’s standing in front of someone to protect them from violence.

It’s taking a stand against someone for the betterment of someone else’s life.

Courage is saying to someone how you really feel about something in their lives and knowing that it is for their own good- even though it might damage your relationship. Even if it means that you might never see one another again, even if it means they don’t forgive you for a long, long time.

And that is courage.

Courage is not comfortable.

The reason that people who are courageous don’t see themselves as courageous is because the larger part of courage has to do with what is necessary. It’s not happy or fun, or something you want to do. It’s something you have to do. There’s not a choice in it. It’s something that must be done. And since it seems you’re the only one to do it, then you must.

That’s courage.

I’ve seen Booga be courageous in the face of something really awful.

And going to the dentist is sometimes really awful.

I think it’s the whole thing about dental work being in your head. I mean, it’s really close to your face, and you really can’t ignore it.

Booga had to have some dental work done and since I was dealing with the shock of my Uncles death- I forgot to soften the blow of telling him that he had to go in and have a wisdom tooth removed. On top of that I forgot what he was going to the dentist for? He had a cleaning a couple of months before but I forgot what else had to be done because there was talk of a possible root canal on one tooth that ended up being a filling. So I couldn’t remember what he was going to have done to his mouth. And so.... there was no preparing him. 

The nurse came out shortly after he went back with the dentist and told me that he was asking them to please not take out his tooth.

However, you know, he had to have it out- it was sideways. It was lying down inside the gum because that is Boog’s fate. If there is going to be something wrong with him it’s going to be REALLY wrong. So he had to be brave and have courage and just do it and …….He did. He lived off pudding and jello and ice cream for a couple of days.

Oh the pain of that….

That’s courage.

Courage is not screaming and running out into the lobby and lying down on the floor and kicking and thrashing and refusing to have the thing done. Boog’s not stupid. He’s autistic and he knows that tooth removable brings along with it a good deal of pain.

He’s had mouth surgery before.
He remembers it.

There are days I wonder about if I can take one more minute dealing with Boog’s problems, then there are days I ponder at the person he is, the bravery he shows and a strength of perseverance of his character, that leads him to propel himself towards adulthood.

He’s more of a man sometimes, than some of the typical men I know, and has more guts than some people could actually muster up to simply go out into the world and face the day.

So courage is being able to face the difficult near impossible and go, “Okay, I guess I can do that.”

We do it a lot without thinking about it. We just don’t give ourselves credit for it.