The All-County Incident

(Note: All conflicts and feelings of malice resulting from the described incident below have long since been resolved. High school gives us healthy competition and sometimes not-so-healthy competition. Either way, we live and we learn…However, sometimes it’s not until years later that we learn the WHOLE story. Tonight, I will attend the funeral of a childhood friend’s mom, whom we’ve just lost also to cancer, and I guess it’s just gotten me thinking about the loss of my own dad and how we learn to cling tightly to the good memories so that we can continue to survive with the bad… Anyhow, I hope you get a laugh out of it and if you, my dear frienemy from high school, are reading this, I hope no hard feelings are stirred up and that you will correct anything that I have wrongly depicted that you feel needs correcting.)

Up until my sophomore year in high school, playing ball was my jam. It came so easy. I was 5’8” by the time I hit middle school and came from a father who could have/should have played college ball (I learned this only after he passed away when his family told me. I knew he’d chosen to join the Navy after high school and that his family was poor but I never knew it cost him his hoop dreams. Turns out, he couldn’t have afforded to go to college without the Navy, even if it had been on a well-deserved basketball scholarship. Instead, he joined the Navy and sent money home to his family. That’s just the kind of man he was.) I grew up with Dad coaching me on and off the field whether I wanted him to or not. 

I was best as basketball because of my height, as I towered over pretty much everyone else at that age, but it was softball I loved. I was a slugger and by my freshman year, I earned an award for the Varsity team’s most homeruns hit during the season.  By that time, dad was just my off-the-field coach, but like me, he always had a hard time staying silent when he thought a wrong was done and I can recall one particular incident that caused me an especially hard time in school…

It was nearing the end of that 9th grade softball season and the All-County Team was getting ready to be announced.  The coach made his nominations and I wasn’t one of them.  Another freshman, however, was.  As I recall, Dad’s objection was that she was a great ballplayer but had been hurt and out for most of the season and there was a better choice for the nomination he felt the coach had overlooked.  Anyway, Dad spoke up and pointed this out to the coach who apparently told the nominated player’s mother who said something to dad before one of the games, something along the lines of, “You shouldn’t have said (so and so)” and Dad replied with, “You don’t even know what I said”, and they let it go at that.  Well, I guess the player’s mom told the player who told her/my (high school is so complicated…) friends and they gave me hell about how we(Dad and I) were just jealous that I wasn’t nominated and so forth.  Everyone, including myself, assumed it was me that Dad thought should have been nominated.  After all, I had the most homeruns… Anyway, I hadn’t had anything to do with Dad talking to the coach, but I’m sure I stood my ground, because that’s just what I did back then, right or wrong.

Later on in the same month, the All-State Team was named.  I, as a freshman, received Honorable Mention for All-State.  I remember sitting in my same seat in English class, surrounded by the same kids who had mocked me just weeks before for our “jealousy” over the All-County team nominations, and just grinning to myself and thinking, “We sure showed them, Dad.” 

 

Years later, not long before he passed away, I found two softballs on my dad’s desk with game scores written on them.  Of all the homeruns I’d hit, why were those two the ones he’d chosen to keep, I asked dad. He asked me if I remembered the ordeal at the tournament where he and so-and-so (the player’s mom’s name shall go unmentioned as, again, peace has long since been made) had bad feelings over the All-County softball nominations? I said, of course, and he proceeded to tell me the rest of that story a la Earl Pitts in my early childhood memories:

After they’d had those few words, he chose to move his chair to behind the outfield fence and watched the game from there, I assume alone, to avoid further confrontation (I guess. Remember, this is being recalled some 20 years later.)  Anyway, that’s where he was sitting when I sent not one but two homeruns from back-to-back at bats over the fence right to him.  He was so proud and, because he’d been sitting out there, he was in the right place to grab them and stick them in his coat pocket. 

When I told that part to Dad, about the other kids making fun of me in class for being jealous that I didn’t get the All-County nomination and then how I was so proud of the All-State nod, Isaid, “Well, then I guess we showed them twice, didn’t we?Once with the home runs and once with the award.” He looked at me like I had three heads and said, “I wasn’t even arguing for you to be nominated. I was talking about Jess.  She was a senior who pitched well every single game and had a solid batting average.  He wouldn’t have won a game without her.  You were just a freshman!”

Well, at least I’ll always have my home run balls and another memory to bring me a smile when I miss him more than I think I can stand it.  Sometimes, I look at my two beautiful daughters and think, “Look, Dad! I hit two more home runs for you to be proud of.” I think they are keepers, too.  

 

 

The Mom I Want to Know

  I'm sitting at IBH (Integrated Behavioral Health) this morning with my oldest daughter, waiting for an appointment with our 3rd new psychiatrist in the past year. On the table of the IBH waiting room is a table full of celebrity magazines. Kim Kardashian stares up at me and the cover article invites me to take an inside look at her life. I look up to see a young boy, probably about 10 or so years-old (my daughter's age) come out of the office and close the door behind him. He has on wide-rimmed glasses and something about him, his lovable quirkiness, makes me wonder if he is on the spectrum like my baby. His mom asks him how his session went, then she gets up to go see when she should bring him back. I can't hear the receptionist's answer, but they must not need to come back for awhile because the mom smiles at her kid and says, "Well, you must be doing good, then. Way to go!" Something about this simple exchange makes me want to know this mom- to become her friend and see how she is navigating not only the already murky waters of raising a pre-teen, but raising one who has the need to see a psychiatrist for whatever reason (ADHD, Asperger's, whatever). I want to say, "You must be doing good too, mom. Way to go!", because I know it's tough. It's tough, not only watching your kid struggle, but also tough not knowing how to help them, especially when you have to maneuver through the hoops and red tape of insurance policies, ever-changing doctor, and waiting lists. This particular mom seemed to be doing this dance well and SHE is the mom whose life I want an inside view of. Not Kim Kardashian with her millions and her paid help. I want to know how this mom copes with having more than she can possibly do in one day and still raise a kid who needs a little extra from her just to grow up and be "normal". I want to know this mom and tell her she absolutely rocks in the way I want to rock. She's a rockstar mom, the kind I want to know, and being a rockstar mom is way better than being Kim Kardashian, and I guarantee it pays way better- just not in a tangible way. 

   

The Asperger's Road/My Advice for You

When I started writing this blog, I had hopes that I could help other parents in the early stages of an Asperger’s diagnosis with regards to their children feel a little less overwhelmed and lost; maybe I could guide them down the Asperger's road a little bit. I realize that I haven’t done as much of the explaining and paving of the road as I would have liked.  Here’s why: There is no road.

  When Presley’s first-grade teacher and counselor first approached me with the thought that my perfect, funny, brilliant daughter might have a “disorder”, I was floored. I wanted to read all I could read and figure it out, but, the more I read the more confused I was. The children in the books who were exhibiting “characteristic Aspergerger’s traits” of outbursts and violent meltdowns were nothing like my mild-mannered angel. I was horrified. I put the books down.

  When we finally accepted that this was really happening, we started the LOOOONG journey of trying to get the proper documentation and diagnosis. That is probably the one thing I have been able to document well during the course of our journey and you can find that journey in my blogs, "The Sparks Experience I and II" and "Catching Up".  The diagnosis, although it took nearly three years, a hunk of change out of our pockets and quite a few tears from pretty much all of us, turned out to be the easy part.  You pretty much have a limited choice of doctors in your area (and by "your area" I mean within a couple hundred miles") who offer the needed tests and your pediatrician and/or school can make the referral(s).

  After that, the “What now?” hits. What therapy does she need? Which doctors do we need to be seeing? What about her schooling? Do we stay in the small, private school we love with no IEPs or Special Education or move her to public school where the above is offered but her world is upturned by the loss of the familiar friends who have surrounded her since kindergarten? Homeschool? (Ummm….no. Please, God. Just no. Not for us.) I wanted to find every doctor, therapist, group, or counselor who could help her and FIX it NOW. What I found was that even if you do find the very best counselor for what you are dealing with at the time, tomorrow may present a whole new set of circumstances for you to deal with and then you start all over. But isn’t that life for all of us, diagnosed or not? The best advice I can give you if you are a parent stressing over if you are making the right decisions or not is what my friend and co-worker Connie told me was passed on to her and I agree, “We make the best decision we can at the time with the information we have on hand.” And also, “It’s ok to not have all the answers.” This last bit of wisdom is my own…Because, honestly, even if you DO find the right answer, tomorrow there is going to be a whole new question.  Ex: our precious OT in Huntsville, Sharon, helped TREMENDOUSLY with handwriting issues and shoe tying/self-care; but now we are looking for a Math tutor who understands how Presley’s brain works and where the answer is “getting stuck”, because we know she knows 9 x 9 = 81…so why the tears?

 I can tell you what has and has not worked for us, which doctors we loved and which centers we won’t waste our time with again, but in the end, your child and your journey is going to be different than mine. What I'd like to tell you is:

1.  Surround yourself with positive, Godly people who will pray for you.

2.  You, yourself, pray like CRAZY (with your spouse, if applicable).

3.  Just keeping facing each challenge as it arises, without letting them cause you to worry so much that you miss all the fun, laughter, and joy that comes with a child designed just the way God meant for them to be.

Third Time’s the Charm (When it Comes to Dealing with Grief During the Holidays)

Everyone expects the “firsts” after we lose someone we love to be difficult: the first birthday without them, the first anniversary they aren’t here to celebrate, and certainly the first Holiday season. What got me was that the second Christmas without my dad was nearly as tough as the first. The hole was still there. I still felt like when I looked to the end of our pew during our church’s traditional Christmas Eve Candelight Service, he should be standing there singing. It still caught me a little off guard when he wasn’t. Grief stole from me yet another joyous holiday season.

  But this year was better. Do I still miss him? Of course. So many times, I think how much he’d have enjoyed something my daughters did or said. It still breaks my heart that mom celebrated alone during the times that we couldn’t be there with her, when we were with my husband’s family. My parents would have celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary just one week before Christmas. I had planned that party in my head for years, imagining something like the picture I’d seen so many times of my grandparents celebrating their Golden Anniversary. I’m still angry that cancer stole that from my mom and dad. They endured so much over the years to finally make it to “the good life” as Dad called it.

  But, the truth is, it DOES get easier. The first year, I wanted to punch people in the face when they told me that. There was no way missing the most important person in my life would ever get easier. I didn’t want it to; because, that would mean I was forgetting him or that I cared less. Year two, the shock had worn off and he was started to seem further and further away. I struggled so hard to hang onto every detail, every little memory, that I wasn’t able to enjoy what was happening around me. But in year three, I found the peace I’d been missing since his passing. I KNOW without a doubt that my dad waits for us in Heaven. The time we’ve had so far is just the beginning as there’s an eternity of joy waiting when we all get there. I’ve known that, but had to heal enough that I could rest easy in that knowledge and stop hanging onto his memory so tightly. I’ll never forget him. I spent 31 years talking to him, and usually seeing him, on a daily basis. He’s in the mirror when I look into it and see the nose I used to hate but have come to love because it came from him. He’s in my oldest daughter’s corny jokes and in the youngest’s forehead.  He watches over us as we continue to live, to love, and enjoy the days that are given us. Because these days won’t last forever, no more wasting them on grief…

  This year, as we sang Silent Night holding our candles (just before my youngest broke out in screams of “I want my own (candle)!!!”, and tried to light the place on fire-  oh the irony of singing about a Silent Night with a two year old), and I saw my family as it is today- my mom, my husband, and our two beautiful children, one age 9 and one born 9 months and 1 week from the day my dad went to wait for us in heaven. The baby reminds me that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; that life is about changing and rolling with the punches.  She reminds me to enjoy life, and those in it, before mine is over and new life begins. But, most importantly, she reminds me that there is joy to be had even after such loss…it just sometimes takes 3 years to fully feel it again.

 

Making Christmas Memories (Like It or Not) and Quick & Easy Peanuts Costumes

My kids are going to look back on their childhoods and fondly recall all the fun times we had, parades we were in and parties we went to. Hopefully, they won't remember all of the kicking and screaming they did on the way to those events. This applies especially to my oldest who is not big on getting out of her comfort zone (the corner of our sectional sofa, curled up with her iPad) and facing the world; but we do it anyway and both kids are usually glad we did. 

  Now, I'm not what you'd call a natural-born mother-type. Don't get me wrong- I love those babies something fierce- that's not the problem at all. It's the domesticy stuff that gets me: cleaning (Lord, help me), sewing (I can't even thread the needle), and basic household organization and management duties are just not my cup of tea. But, for my babies' memories of all our fun times to be as perfect as possible, I give it my best shot, because making them happy and as well-adjusted as possible IS my cup of tea- no, it's better than tea. It's a big 'ol frothy glass of root beer in one of those ice-cold frozen mugs like the ones they have at Cracker Barrel...ohhhh, man. That's good stuff. Ok, ok. Back on track- the babies. 😍😍😍

 Anyway, as I was saying, to make the babies' memories as Norman Rockwell perfect as possible, I always spend way too much at Hobby Lobby on supplies I'll probably never use and some I'll never even know HOW to use, trying be "that" mom who can craft and construct whatever the need may be. Throw in 5 minutes on Pinterest and I'm rolling into the house with a dump truck size load of felt and tee-shirts and all I can say is thank Heaven for glue guns. So, I take my Pinterested game plan, my load of Hobby Lobby miscellaneous, and that trusty glue gun and we make what my babies sweet memories are going to be made of. This time, we needed costumes for the yearly Christmas parade in town with my oldest girl's Girl Scout troop. Our theme was "Peanuts: A Charlie Brown Christmas. Here's the 4-1-1 on how I made what we needed:

 We'd previously decided on Snoopy and Woodstock for the two girls' costumes and then I figured I could be Linus without much effort. All it took was using a $5 oversized red tee from Hobby Lobby and adding some black Duct Tape stripes. I threw it in over my black fleece leggings, borrowed an old blue baby blanket as my prop, and - TaDa! I'm Linus!

For the big girls' Snoopy top, I used a plain white sweatshirt under a fuzzy hoodie, both from Wal-Mart, to make sure she'd be plenty warm. I found a large piece of plain old black felt at Hobby Lobby and cut out an oval for the spot on Snoopy's back. (I later swapped favors with my mom and got her to sew this spot and Woodstock's

feather boa onto the costumes while I fixed her printer😉.) For Snoopy's head, I started with a plain white baseball cap I'd found at Hobby Lobby where I had also found some black peel and stick felt that was simple to cut small strips and a round circle circle for Snoopy's eyes and mouth. I found a pattern here -> (http://its-fitting.com/2012/11/halloween-snoopy-costume/snoopy-ears/) for the ears. I printed the pattern, used it to trace around, and then cut out the ears from a second plain piece of black felt before using my trusty glue gun to affix them to each side of the hat. 

She already had some black mittens and since white pants (even leggings!) were impossible to find in December, we just used a pair of black Nike ThermaFit pants over a pair of black leggings for warmth and there was our Snoopy! (We had meant to let her wear her red scarf but forgot it the morning of the parade, so she borrowed the necklace I'd worn to work and called it Snoopy's collar, instead. 

Finding a solid yellow top for Woodstock was harder than I'd imagined,so I wound up buying a fuzzy "minion" shirt from Wal-Mart and flipping it inside out. 

Finding a yellow hat and gloves was impossible with my limited time frame, so I made my own with a $3 bottle of RIT dye (also from Wal-Mart) and a cheap white toboggan and gloves. (Instructions are on the dye bottle and it takes about 30 minutes and some boiling water.) They didn't turn out as dark of a yellow as I'd hoped but they served their purpose. I found a foam visor, like children often use for crafts, also at Hobby Lonby, and used two strips of the adhesive black felt again to make Woodstock's eyes on the visor which would be worn over the toboggan. 

Hobby Lobby also had these inexpensive feather boas that spruced up the neck and bottom of the "Woodstock" shirt again as well as cute little feather ponytail holder in case the girl didn't want to wear the hat. 

Black leggings and a pair of black leg warmers that I also found at Hobby Lobby completed the Woodstock outfit! 

Nothing fancy, but we all had costumes and everyone was happy. Well, at least once the parade got rolling, we were happy. The hour and a half when we stood in line waiting for the parade to start was a different story and of course there was the typical, "I don't want to go anywhere!", drama with trying to get my oldest ready. However, once the parade got rolling, my babies waved and "Merry Christmas"-edl like little pros. I was one proud mama! 😍 P even saw a friend from church and went over to talk. She introduced her school friend to her church friend. All this in the middle of a crowded, noisy parade! In our world, this is big. And that's making for one happy memory for her mom.

I 

At Home in Homewood

Homewood, AL makes my heart smile. I love this bustling little area and all it's trendy and unique little boutiques sandwiched between classic Main Street USA-type old time bakeries and businesses. From Homewood Toy & Hobby, the oldest toy shop in the Birmingham area which has been family owned and operated for the past 50 years, to the Pink Tulip where my love-err...obsession- with lacy, flowing boutique tops is fueled by their decently priced and available-on-Facebook fashions, my oldest daughter and I have to hit this area on our bi-monthly trips to the 'Ham.

   Our latest trip started off as usual with the main purpose for our journey south, a visit to Pitts & Associates where my daughter sees our beloved Dr. Le and now also their new Nurse Practitioner who handles the medication we've tried at all costs to avoid, but finally realized the necessity of. (That's a while 'nother blog.)

  After our visit, we typically would head straight to 18th St. in Homewood, just a couple of blocks over from the doctors'office, for lunch at our favorite restaurant, Urban Cookhouse. They serve up fantastic fresh, locally sourced produce as well as a fabulous "Half-baked Cookie" that comes to your table in a small cast iron skillet and is pure, gooey heaven to your tastebuds. However, it's a pretty popular little place and not very big. Being so, the smell and crowd noise can be a little too much for my girl, so during warmer weather we dine in the outside area, right on the sidewalk where we feel so fancy, just like we are in New York or Paris instead of just an hour and a half from our home in Caddo.  Now that the weather is turning colder, we are in search of a new diner. This time the girl chose Subway, but even Homewood's Subway is a uniquely arranged, two-story little stop-in where we have managed to have the upstairs area all to ourselves both times we've visited, and we're able to look down from the balcony to the rest of the store and it's passersby. It's a pretty cool, quaint little place for fast food, especially. 

  Our plan for dessert was to skip a few blocks over to Steel City Pops where they, like Urban Cookhouse, use fresh, all-natural or certified organic and locally grown (whenever possible) ingredients in their popsicles; But, our deal is that I get a treat and she gets a treat, and since my treat was on our way to the Pops, we made a "quick" stop first.

On this trip, I wanted my treat to be from Seibel's Camp & Cottage Outfiters, another fabulous little nook we'd previously discovered while wandering up and down 18th St as we attempted to walk off part of the previously-mentioned cookie.

***Pres swinging inside Seibel's***

They have everything you need to give your lake house, cabin, or Caddo home a well-decorated cottage feel with lots of cozy fabrics, furniture, and rugs, but that's just the big stuff. I scored a fantastic new burlap tree skirt from Seibel's then we headed a few doors down where we "oooh"-ed and "ahhh"-ed for a good hour inside our newest "must see" while in Homewood: Alabama Goods.

This store sells exactly what the name says: Alabama goods made in Alabama by Alabama artisans. But these goods are amazing. There's jewelry...

and hand-carved wooden toys...

and my favorite, the "Prodigal Pottery" items handmade by the women of King's Home, a shelter for women fleeing domestic violence (Hello, perfect Christmas gift!?)...

Not to mention the gourmet goodies...

Seriously, need I say more? This place is perfect. The precious ladies at the counter beautifully wrapped our purchases and even pointed us across the street to another Homewood treasure, Savage's.

 This bakery and deli has been serving up tasty treats since 1939, and to be quite honest, it doesn't feel like this place has changed much since it opened. It's like walking right into the past and walking right out with delicious gingerbread men and sugar cookies ALMOST as good as my mama could make them. ;) 

  By this point, I'm knee deep in nostalgia and quite positive that life would be perfect if we lived here. Not only would we have access to resources we don't have at home for Presley's educational needs but all these fabulous stores for my pocketbook's demise. Then, we see this: 

A weekly Pokemon tournament for my girl who LOVES the weird, anime, nonsense. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto. We sure don't have stuff like this in Caddo. Have I mentioned I love this place?!?

Treasures from the Past

Talk about finding treasure!! Today's find was better than gold... My precious Aunt Glenda Wright (married to my Dad's brother Tom who passed away a year after dad) recently sent me a box that came from my Grandmother's home, which Glenda and Tom had purchased after Granny Wright passed away in the year before my dad (yes, we had a rough few years...) In it was a quilt made by my Grandmother so that both of my girls now have one. Also in the box, I found this pic of a great (great?) uncle eating watermelon and thought it would look perfect in display as we are doing some redecorating in what I call a "funky farmhouse" motif. I'm in love with vintage EVERYTHING!

So, today, I dug a little deeper into the box. There was a large envelope that had "Sonny", my dad's nickname, written on it. Inside was a pic of my dad's recruitment platoon/squadron (terminology??[ Apologies if this is the incorrect term. I even googled it but failed to find an answer]) as they prepared to ship out of San Diego on June 1, 1960. 

Dad is the tall, skinny one with the ears in the back center. 

I thought that alone was cool but then found a pile of yellowed papers that had fallen out from behind the picture and landed on my table!

The pile consisted of my dad's report cards from 5th-12th grades. Apparently, he struggled in History, too! 

There was also a post card mailed from the U.S. Recruiting Office in Nashville to my dad's family in Etheridge, TN in 1960 telling them how he'd passed his exam and would "probably leave today." 

Another letter home written by Dad on April 28, 1960 tells that he was made "Squad Commander" and didn't like telling others what to do and being called "sir". He mentions mailing his civilian clothes home via Parcel Post for $1.97 and seemed concerned over the cost (He always was a penny pincher!) 

Also in my treasure pile, a newspaper clipping of what I recognized as his ship, the "Oriskany", having its mast removed and lowered to the dry dock floor so a new system of some type could be installed (the Naval Tactical Data System) to "meet the demands of modern warfare, in which aircraft and  missiles may approach a task force at speeds of thousands of miles an hour." 

(Today, the Oriskany lies off the coast of Floriday and is used as a barrier reef.)

The pile also included some type of membership card that belonged to my grandfather and a business card perhaps of someone named Casey O'Brien who offered "custom made clothes" in Fresno, CA apparently in 1938 as indicated by the calendar on the card's backside.  

What special finds on such an otherwise ordinary day! Can't wait to find a unique way to display these items! Any ideas??