7 things I learned while losing weight April 21, 2013

Two weeks have passed since the conclusion of the Meltdown weight-loss challenge at my gym.  I’ve wanted to write sort of a debriefing, but after writing two really dull attempts already, I decided a list was better.

Here is a summary of what I learned while getting skinnier:

1. It is easy to eat too much delicious food, yet eating too much boring-ass chicken is almost impossible.

2.  Once I adjusted to drinking black coffee, I was able to drink way more coffee than I used to, especially once I added in that 3rd mug around 3pm.  Ilovecoffeeohsomuch.

3.  Although nobody ever mentioned that I baked too many cookies and cupcakes or that I watched too many episodes of The Office on Netflix when I was heavier, I was unprepared for all of the well-meaning people who told me that weight lifting was dangerous and that I exercised too much.  I guess that if I was a knitter, and I knitted for 20 or 30 minutes every day (or maybe longer, if I got together for special knitting parties a couple nights a week), people would not tell me that I need to slow down and not knit like such a crazy person.  Put down the needles girlfriend; that’s your second scarf this week.  

4.  My new favorite food is a sweet potato, baked forever, covered in cinnamon.  I eat this 1-3 times per day, every day.  My second favorite food is mustard (see #1 above).

5.  Paleo isn’t perfect.  I had very stubborn ideas about which foods were best for me when I started the challenge, but during the course of the 3 months, I discovered that Paleo wasn’t going to take me where I wanted to go.  It promoted good health, and it brought me to an attractive, healthy weight, but the high fat content was preventing me from getting leaner, and because I was so full on fats, I wasn’t eating enough carbohydrates, and that meant that I didn’t have the energy to perform well in the gym knitting circle.  When I say lean, by the way, I’m not talking about getting 6-pack abs (although it seems more possible than ever before), I’m talking about waking up one morning and realizing that the hump of fat at the base of my neck, which I have felt self-conscious about for at least the last ten years, was gone.  Also, rice is amazing.

6.  Patience, planning, and consistency were ultimately the keys to my dieting success, not willpower.  I have very little willpower.  If I prepared food ahead of time, packed meals to take to work, and just made small, good decisions every day, the weight slowly came off. If there was something I really wanted, I told myself I could have it when the challenge was over.  I saved several treats in the freezer, and waited for the end of the challenge to crack open my long-awaited box of Samoas©.  They were a disappointment.

7.  Eating adequate protein and lifting heavy weights preserves muscle.  This is really important in the context of weight loss because merely restricting portions or calories will result in losing both body fat and lean muscle tissue.  I fought muscle loss with barbells, egg whites, and chicken.  Thank you chickens and your unborn babies, as well as my coaches,  for making this possible. I can’t say enough how grateful I am for my coaches; with their encouragement and training I set new personal records for every Olympic/Powerlifting lift during the time that I was dieting, as well as developed the ability to do pull-ups.  I’m sure that dieting alone would have resulted in similar amounts of weight loss, but the change would not have looked as impressive.

Or maybe this only looks impressive to me?  I’m okay with that.

A Tale of Two Chins February 10, 2013

March 30, 2012

Last spring, Shawn and I officially entered the ranks of Middle America when we signed our lives away for the next 30 years and bought a home.  I snapped a photo of us, above, to commemorate this occasion.  We were nervous, but excited (I was excited, he was nervous) but it’s been almost a year now and we still love it.  Since we closed, we’ve both turned 30, learned a lot about indigenous plants, where the best yard sales are, how to mow grass, adopted a big ol’ dog, survived the heartbreak caused by an Autism diagnosis, had our first Christmas as a family unit at home, and even had a couple of house guests.  All in all, a great year.  I suppose I could play off of my (painfully witty) title and say something about the best of times and the worst of times, but I won’t.  Oops.

Anyway, falling under the category of not-so-good times, I got sick this summer.  Sudden, sharp, awful stomach pains, sometimes nausea, chest pain, and some other unsavory issues that I don’t want to bring up were the symptoms of my attacks.  I didn’t realize that there was a pattern to my complaints at first.  They curtailed a visit with friends in Virginia, and then I was quite ill the morning we ended up adopting our dog Bert, and then after another couple of miserable attacks, I realized that the symptoms occurred after an indulgent meal, especially when alcohol and dessert were included.  Concurrent to the other issues, extreme discomfort in my right lower shoulder blade began.  I called up my sister, Nurse Beth, and she mentioned the possibility of gallbladder disease.  Crap.  I made a doctor’s appointment to discuss this potential problem and then took a look at my diet.  If you know me, you know I like paleo/primal style eating: meat, veggies, fruits, eggs, and nuts are the mainstays of my diet.  I avoid all grains, especially wheat, limit dairy, alcohol, and sugar, as well as a few other processed or chemical-laden ingredients, like artificial sweetener and soy.  Well, most of the time…

Some cookies happened, maybe a Diet Coke now and then, alcohol, ice cream, etc.  Sugar has always been the hardest thing for me to give up.  I would start my day off on the right track, but often succumb to the temptation of treats at work or an ice cream cone in the school cafeteria.  I love to bake, and I really love to eat frosting, cake batter, and cookies, so any time I made treats for someone else, how could I resist some quality assurance testing?  Add to this the fact that I was doing NO EXERCISE whatsoever (I went to the fitness center in our apartment complex a total of 3 times in the 8ish months that we lived there) and I had not only an ill person, but also sort of a fluffy person looking back at me in the mirror.  This bummed me out.  In September 2011, I did a 30-day ultra-clean paleo eating challenge (a Whole 30, in case you’re interested, go check out www.whole9life.com) which had left me thinner, healthier, and with better skin than I had seen in years, if ever.  The wheels fell off that wagon around Halloween, got worse with Christmas, skidded sideways through Valentine’s Day and Easter and before I knew it I had packed on about 10-12 lbs, maybe more.  My pants were very uncomfortable and I was getting lots of use out of my “slimming” tank top and Spanx.  By the way, wearing both of those on the same day is not a good idea, I think it smooshes your internal organs.  Makes me wonder how women in the Victorian Era or whenever survived in those corsets!

But back to the doctor.  My bloodwork was all very good.  On paper, I looked magnificent, even though my weight was bordering on “overweight” on the BMI scale.  (“BMI doesn’t take muscle mass into account, so it’s sort of bogus anyway,” I told myself.)  I had Googled the symptoms of gallbladder disease and I had nearly all of them, so I was convinced that was the problem.  The doctor, who had never heard of paleo and when I tried to describe it sort of wrinkled her nose (maybe she was a vegetarian?) and told me I was probably suffering from indigestion and a pulled muscle, but scheduled an ultrasound for my gallbladder anyway.

I went home and Googled the symptoms of GERD and acid reflux.  Aside from nausea, I didn’t have any of those symptoms: no cough, no bitterness, no burn.  I had not done anything physical that would have pulled a muscle, and I disagreed with the doctor’s suggestion that I might have hurt myself lifting my toddler.  It’s not like I hadn’t been schlepping him around everywhere since 2009.  But hey, maybe so.  I would have to wait and see.

At this time I was scared.  Despite reassurances from family that gallbladder removal was no big deal, I feared getting surgery and how it would further impact my ability to digest fats properly.  I feared pain and recovery after surgery, and I really feared the idea of taking out a part of my body- what if that didn’t fix the problem?  I scoured the internet and was not encouraged.  In the meantime, I cut alcohol, dairy, grains, and all processed food (aside from the occasional slice of bacon on the the weekends) out of my diet.  I consumed only foods that I had prepared myself from scratch ingredients, sourcing as much food from the Saturday farmer’s market as I could.  Farm fresh eggs, grassfed meats, local vegetables.  It took about 2 weeks for the worst of my digestive issues to calm down, and a full 6 weeks for the shoulder/chest pain to go away.  My ultrasound revealed no cysts or stones, but if I wanted, I could have requested a hida scan to check for functionality.  The doctor’s office prescribed me Prevacid, which I never purchased.  Eating better food seemed to be helping.

A couple of months later, I had a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks and had a solid 48 hours of Every Previous Symptom Possible, including the referred pain in my shoulder, so I decided that probably indulging in sugary treats was unwise, although I did still periodically have a little cheese here and there.  I also had a slightly embarrassing take-me-home-lest-I-shit-myself moment in October while visiting my best friend and eating cake, cookies, and drinking 3 really delicious Pumpkinhead Ales.  Sigh.  I should’ve warmed up the ol’ intestines for that night.  I resumed careful eating, although I did enjoy a few pieces of Halloween candy, some of my dad’s homemade pie on Thanksgiving, and definitely at least a gallon of eggnog during the holiday season.  The fear of getting sick kept me, for the most part, on point with my eating habits.

During this same time frame, I started working out.  I bought a dealsaver trial membership and went to my first WOD at a CrossFit gym (www.crossfitdeprivation.com) during the last week of July.  It was an amazingly humbling experience.  I went in with the attitude that I possessed some natural strength (what with flinging that toddler around and whatnot) and surely I had some residual strength from all of those BodyPump classes I had taken back in Virginia before we moved.  Um, yes.  That turned out to not be the case and I started from zero.  Like newborn babies could probably perform some of the movements as well as I could.  Pull ups?  No.  Even jumping up from a box they were nearly impossible.  Jumping rope?  I was suddenly transported back to PE class in elementary school.  There’s a good reason I was never able to raise more than $5.00 for “Jump Rope for Heart,” and that reason was that I SUCKED at getting the rope under my feet.  I had to scale literally every exercise down, when there was an option.  Apparently you can’t scale down a sit up, you just take 3 times as long to get through them.  Have you ever watched that first workout that Biggest Loser contestants have to do?  Every moment of CrossFit felt like that for me, and while it’s not like I weighed 300 lbs, when I encountered experienced CF athletes, that’s how I felt; not that I felt fat, but that I felt like getting to their level was impossible as I panted and struggled.  I didn’t cry every time I left, but at least once a week I did.  Keep in mind that I had some emotional stuff going on with Owen.  Sometimes, when I was struggling through an exercise, I would tell myself that getting physically stronger would help me get emotionally stronger.  Since drowning my sorrows in ice cream could guarantee that I’d spend the night in a cold sweat in close proximity to a bathroom, exercise proved to be an ideal stress-relief coping mechanism.

In the meanwhile, I also made some friends.  Sharing the experience of a really difficult workout is an amazing bonding activity.  Between the cameraderie and the post-exercise endorphin release, I got hooked on CF and have been going regularly (3 times a week for the first 4 months, and now I’m up to 6x per week).  Throughout this time period, I slowly lost weight.  About 1-1.5 lbs a month.  I also got faster and stronger, and I can do things now that I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams just a short time ago.  I also love seeing the progress of my peers and never knew how much fun it could be to race someone and have them beat me.

5 weeks ago, I made some drastic dietary changes.  The box (because that’s what you call a CrossFit gym if you are cool) started a weight loss challenge.  The owner and head coach looked at our diets (which required us to turn in a 3 day food log, which forced me to admit that I really like wine and I really really like heavy whipping cream) and then presented us with a prescribed diet plan.  This plan included some foods that I don’t eat, like whole wheat pasta, oatmeal, grits, and rice.  At first, I was really resistant to it, because the diet also severely limited my fat intake that I was accustomed to.  It took a solid week of freaking out for me to get it under control, and I’m pretty sure that I still don’t have it quite as low as he would like.  I flat-out refuse to eat bagels, pasta, etc, but I carefully reintroduced rice (some brown rice, but white rice is easier for me to handle) and gluten-free oats.  My skin has not appreciated the dietary changes.  I want to blame the grains, of course, but it’s possible that it is also dry winter skin, or my reduction in dietary fat, but I’ve had some issues with eczema-like rashes and a return of blotchy skin on the backs of my arms.  Also, farting.  Like, a lady shouldn’t produce the smells I do.  (TMI?  Sorry.)  I was also skeptical of adding so many additional carbohydrates to my diet, but I was mistaken.  The increased carbs, mainly from sweet potatoes (sometimes I eat them 3 times a day) has provided me with more energy than I had doing strict paleo, which can sometimes be low-carb by default if one is not eating a lot of fruit or starchy vegetables.  However, this diet has produced the desired result: in the first 4 weeks I dropped 6 lbs.  A lot of it came off of my face and my waist, which is good, because if it keeps coming off my hips and bust, I’m going to look like a 10 year old.  A ten-year-old with laugh lines and old lady hands and stretch marks.  (I know, I know, I sound so sexy it’s really a surprise that Justin Timberlake isn’t writing song lyrics about me even as I type this.)

I still have 7 weeks to go.  I’m almost nervous.  Weight loss, which had always been sort of a background goal as I tried to get my health on track, crept up on me and then BOOM suddenly, it’s here.  It was so sneaky, like I was playing with Legos and suddenly I turned around and realized that I accidentally built a 1:10 scale model of The Great Wall of China.

January 22, 2013

A couple of weeks ago, I posted this photo on facebook.  I asked Shawn to take the picture because I thought it was so funny that Owen and I had accidentally worn matching outfits.  (Shawn dressed Owen that morning, and I wasn’t aware of what he put him in until after I walked out in my dress).  I was not expecting any comments about my size.  This is the Great Wall moment I was just talking about.  Scroll back up to that first picture.  Now, back down.  My face.  Granted, I am very tired in the second photo after a long day at work, so I don’t look as bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed as I would normally prefer to be in a published photo, but this was the one that made me realize how dramatic the change has been.  It happened so slowly that until I started charting the changes, I didn’t even realize they were occurring. Total weight loss between the two photos has been about 12-15 lbs.  I feel like it is also important to say here that when I made the changes that I did back in July, it was with the goal of feeling better.  Although I was a bit heavier than I would have liked in the March photo, I didn’t hate my body.  I wasn’t about to go bikini shopping, but I had a positive image of myself.  Even when I started CrossFit, my primary objective wasn’t “get skinny” but “get strong” and that is something I’m still striving for today.  The first time that I have actually said to myself “I’m going to try to lose weight” has been within the context of the challenge.  I had a bumpy start and sometimes I feel very, very whiny about how little I get to eat (even though it’s allegedly twice as much food as my office mates eat, because they are absolutely awestruck at the quantity I can shovel down) and how much I miss avocados and fried plantains.  I’m still hitting on average 1500 Cals a day containing 130 g of protein, so don’t worry, I’m not actually starving.  The diet is a temporary thing.  When the challenge ends in April, I will hopefully not fall facefirst into a bathtub full of wine and chocolate-covered bacon, although that does sound like the ultimate Valentine’s day gift, doesn’t it?  Instead I will slowly step up my calorie intake, adding a bit more over time to keep my metabolism fast.  I also hope to cut the grains back out.  All in all, I’m looking at this as a really intriguing experiment on myself.  Plus, I’d like to win.  I like winning.

Feeling Resolute December 31, 2012

For the first time that I can remember, I don’t feel an urgency to change myself when I flip the calendar page over to January.

Normally, on December 31st, I’m scribbling down a list of lofty goals, resolving to clean more, eat less, learn to love running, etc, as I pinch the roll of subcutaneous fat around my midsection and wrinkle my nose at the stack of folded laundry on my dresser.  Not so, this year.  Granted, there is a stack of laundry and midsection-squishiness and oh dear, I’ve been walking around the house in white socks and I am rather disappointed at the sight of my soles, but I feel so satisfied with it all.  I do indeed have a good life.

That being said, here are this year’s goals:

1.  Put away my phone when I’m home with Owen.

When I was a very new mom, and I was feeling overwhelmed and I couldn’t believe how anyone could actually survive having a baby and maintaining some level of existence (just the minimum: bathing occasionally, cooking, washing clothes, sleeping), I called my mom for advice.  She pointed out to me that it’s harder now.  ”We didn’t have facebook or the internet, or any of those distractions.  They take up time.”  I’m guilty of checking my facebook CONSTANTLY, even though (sorry friends) there isn’t really anything that crucial going on.  I’m just nosy and addicted, and I like the attention I get when people like or comment on my posts.  I do, I’m vain and I freely admit it.  I’m not going to delete my profile and quit cold turkey or take a month off or any of that, though, because I also really love being able to see what my far-flung friends and family are up to, and I want to see pictures of their babies and their breakfasts, and their cars buried under the snow and new nail polish and go on, repost that ecard I’ve seen 4 times, because it allows me to make a judgement of your personality.  I love it.  However, it’s starting to get in the way and I need to set some boundaries.  When I need to be 100% focused on playing with Owen, or reading to him, or just giving him attention, I want to be 100% focused.  So, I’m going to limit myself to checking it here or there in the wee early morning or right before bed.  I apologize if this negatively impacts your facebook experience.

2.  Be a more communicative daughter-in-law.  

I think I’m pretty good at calling my parents on a regular basis.  Whether it’s because I need advice or I want to share some new eureka moment, I call home or at least text more than once a week.  My mother-in-laws, on the other hand, don’t get that much attention.  I could blame Shawn, tell him that it’s his family, he should be calling to share our news or at a bare minimum, updates on Owen, but I married a quiet man.  Quiet men have a hard time drumming up topics of conversation.  As awkward as I feel on the phone, I’m still the chatty one.  So, I resolve to call, email, or text, on a regular basis so that my extended family has some idea of what we’re up to.

3.  Do a dead-hang pull-up.

I am so glad I have an entire year to accomplish this, because I think that is exactly how long it’s going to take.  I only need to do one.  Just one.  I have some other fitness goals, like dead-lifting 200 lbs and squatting 150 lbs, and I would also like to do a handstand, but this one pull up is the one that matters most.  As an uncoordinated, nonathletic child, physical fitness tests in PE class were the absolute WORST.  I couldn’t do a pull up, couldn’t do the flex-arm-hang, I couldn’t run, couldn’t touch my toes, and couldn’t do sit ups.  Five and a half months ago, I decided to take advantage of a trial membership offer at a nearby CrossFit affiliate, and found redemption.  I’m often the last one done, and it’s difficult, and I get sore, and I have calloused man-hands, but I really love it.  I love getting stronger and faster and I feel so confident and proud of what I can do.  Besides, once you’ve started your day with 20 minutes of pure physical exhaustion, crunching numbers at work is a breeze.

4.  Cure Autism.

Okay, so that one’s not realistic.  But I am determined to do everything I can to get my little man talking, to be his advocate, and to remember that his diagnosis does not define him.  I also need to stop letting those feelings of doubt and overwhelm creep up and interfere with regularly-scheduled parenting, like teaching manners and potty-training, so that I can give Owen a fair playing field with other kids his age.  Yeah, there are some delays, but that doesn’t give us a pass on raising him properly!

5.  Take better care of my skin.

I’m currently in the midst of an awkward age.  How can one face have both wrinkles (just baby ones!) and still break out?  It’s really unfair.  After ready a particularly preachy article in the January issue of Martha Stewart Living, I have decided that I cannot just wipe off my face before bed with a Pond’s wipe and scrub my face off with Dove in the shower every morning.  I need to start thinking about anti-aging or at least some gentle exfoliation.

So there they are.  My resolutions for 2013!

See that giant rubber band? I don’t want it!

To My Son, On The Occasion Of Your 3rd Birthday (Yesterday) December 10, 2012

 

Dear Owen,

Happy Birthday!  Today you are three years old.  I don’t know if you realize the significance of this day, but in your itty-bitty life, you have done so many things already!  You have flown in an airplane, lived in 4 places and two different states, eaten all sorts of exciting foods, including lamb sausage with pesto, which surprised all of us, and created works of art that are worthy of a gallery show.

You have chased cats, dogs, and bubbles.  You have been to the ocean and been knocked down by a scary wave (sorry about that one, little buddy).  You have bumped my elbow and sloshed coffee all over me more times than I care to mention.

You give sweet hugs and kisses at bedtime and hop like a bunny when you’re happy.

You are a champion snuggler and trusty Target-shopping sidekick, although I think Daddy has trained you to pitch a fit when I start buying too many things.

When I see you every morning with your crazy bedhead, it is the greatest moment of my day.  The second greatest moment is when I pick you up from day care in the evening and buckle you up.  About that bedhead, I usually don’t try to tame it because I want the rest of the world to revel in its glory.  Sorry if that’s been an issue.

You are SO SMART.  I mean, it’s not a surprise, really, based on your genetics, but truly, you are impressive.  You figured out how to open the bottom cabinets in the kitchen to step on the shelves and reach for desired items on the counter tops.  You know your numbers and letters and can read several words, including your name.  You know that after home football games, Daddy is supposed to get a milkshake for you.  You know the layout of the pantry and refrigerator and where we keep the good snacks, like chocolate-covered raisins and raw cashews.

You eat cashews.

You know how to use an iPad.  In fact, right now I really hope you’re not watching “Weeds” on Netflix.  Oh good, I just heard you pull up “Jeopardy.”  Nevermind.  But really, I watched you scroll through Netflix and you know exactly how to get to the row of children’s programming, find the show you like (such as your current fave, “Super Why”) and press play.  Thank you for not watching Barney.

Owen, you have a lot of people who love you.  It’s not just Mommy and Daddy and the obvious ones, like grandparents.  There are teachers, and other kids, and like, a whole squad of cheerleaders, and speech therapists and complete strangers!  You make good first impressions, probably because you are so attractive.

As your mom, I’m constantly caught in between celebrating each amazing new thing you do as you get older and mourning the fact that you’re growing up too fast.  Sometimes I miss my snuggly, slobbery baby, but then you go and do something hilarious like throw my boots in the laundry hamper or help me put ornaments on the Christmas tree and I take a moment to appreciate right now.

So here’s to another year of smootches and smiles and maybe some more adventurous eating (a vegetable perhaps?  ANY vegetable?).  Thank you so much for coming into our world!

Love always and forever,

Mommy

Patriautism September 15, 2012

Whoa, what a week.  I don’t feel the urge to blog often, because usually I can capture the essence of my day in the form of a 1-3 sentence facebook status, and that is sufficient.  But then, sometimes I feel I need to elaborate and this week had a few of those times.

On Monday, I woke up at 4:30am and discovered that the part of my body that is supposed to keep food in my stomach went on vacation or was no-call/no-show.  Shawn, who had to leave at 6 to chaperone a field trip, was really rooting for me to rally by 7 am and make it to work, but it didn’t happen.  I dragged myself out of bed long enough to take Owen to daycare, make it home again, talk to Ralph on the big white telephone, and then I crawled back into bed for the rest of the day.  No exaggeration.  I did not leave my room until 5pm, and that was just to lie on the couch for 3 hours and then go back to bed at 8.

Tuesday, I woke up feeling better, but still not great.  I put on a comfortable dress, what I thought was enough makeup, and shuffled to work.  It was not enough makeup.  Several people commented that I looked unwell, and truthfully I felt like I watered-down version of myself and I was still kind of scared to eat food or drink coffee, so as you can imagine, I looked like I needed more makeup.  I chose to not post a facebook status describing my whereabouts on September 11, 2001.  I did that last year.  My news feed was full of flags and eagles and reflections on patriotism.  There were also some slams on the President, but in this election year, I almost can’t even see everyone’s political blatherings anymore.  It’s just like when facebook changes the layout and 80 people complain about it.  Unoriginal.  Besides, I had another, more personal situation going on Tuesday.

At 9:45am I left my office and drove just over a mile down the road to see the developmental psychologist who did Owen’s testing this summer.  I had an appointment to go over her results.  Shawn couldn’t go with me; he had a class and didn’t find coverage in time.  I said it was okay.  My nervousness about the big reveal ran parallel to my residual queasiness from Monday while I waited to see the doctor.  I like her.  She is tall and has an Eastern European accent.  I think she is from Hungary, but now I can’t remember.  She wears a lot of big, jangly jewelry and embellished sandals.  If I was a kid going to see her, I’d be all about those sandals.

I sat on the couch in her office and after only a moment of discussing the components of the report I was holding in my hand, she cut right to the chase.  ”Owen demonstrates the signs of Autism.  His diagnosis is Autism and ADHD.”  Or something like that.  The momentary sensation that my head was caving in made it hard to hear everything she said.  I bobbed my head up and down, trying to stop my tear ducts from working with sheer willpower.  I was totally hanging in there, too, until she handed me the box of Kleenex and said, “I know this is very hard to hear.”  Damn.  I’m usually okay until someone says something like that or tries to hug me.  I fumbled with the brown, nearly-empty box.  The plastic film that dispenses the tissues was gone, so I had to stick my whole hand in there to grasp one while trying to avoid water damage to the oh-so-important document in my lap.  Owen’s label.  Owen’s ticket to maximum  assistance in the form of therapy and special education.  The Official Notice That Your Child Is Not Normal.

“Autism is a neurological condition.  No one knows what causes it and there is no cure.  It is going to take a lot of hard work, a lot of time, to see improvement.  It doesn’t happen overnight,”  she said while my head wobbled up and down.  ”I’m sorry to tell you this, but at the same time, I am glad that I can tell you so that you can start getting help.  I know how you feel because I have been there.”  Another reason I like the doctor, aside from her accent and bejeweled sandals, is that her son has Autism.  She does a lot of work in the community to raise awareness and fund research.  She does behavioral therapy with kids.  ”It’s just not what we expected I think,” I croaked out and reached down into the box for another tissue.

The doctor went over various scores that are listed in the report, I noticed approvingly that she had described him as handsome, but the acronyms and percentages just sort of glanced off my eyeballs and meant nothing to me.  I finally had a word, though, even if it was a scary one.  She talked about sensory activities that will help him, like gymnastics and swimming, and said that in a few years we should take him horseback riding.  There is something special about horses that helps kids with Autism Spectrum Disorders.  She hugged me.  Shortly after that, I left the office with a list of names and phone numbers.  I cried all the way back to work, but stopped when I turned off the car.  Shawn was out of class so he met me and I handed him the report.  I didn’t really cry about it again, even though I wanted to, until I told my mom.  But that was it.

I’m totally done crying about the word Autism.

First of all, let’s have some perspective, shall we?  My kid is still the same kid he was before the testing.  I disagree with the label of ADHD completely.  Owen can be very serene, very focused, and he sits and waits and participates in group activities at daycare every day.  I think that in a way it will help though- the doctor mentioned that the stimulant ADHD meds that are normally prescribed do not work on Autism kids.  Hallelujah.  I have a perfectly good reason to shun the medication.  Sorry, but even though I work at a school and worked hands-on with second graders last year, I don’t agree with the usage of psychotropic drugs on children.  Yes, there are cases where a family turns to them as a last resort, but I feel like use is too widespread, and I think that often families don’t examine other, more holistic approaches, like eliminating processed foods or ingredients that could be causing issues for their children.  Of course, you already know how I feel about processed food, so I hope Owen is prepared to give up animal crackers.

I told a few people at work, some family members, and a couple of my friends.  I got a little sympathy, which is fine, although kind of unnecessary because it’s not like Owen is ill or we are suffering, but mostly encouragement and affirmation that we can handle this.  I talked to Owen’s amazing speech therapist, and she concurred that the ADHD label was a surprise; I attribute it to the fact that during the testing, Owen was meeting a new person! with new toys! in a new place!  That can get anybody wound up.  It is entirely possible that she did not witness the full scope of Owen’s capabilities, but in a way, that’s okay.

You see, I would rather Owen have a more severe diagnosis than none at all.  I would rather force my insurance company to pay for the best-possible private speech therapy, in tandem with the free/low-cost services that the school system is required to provide.  I’m not worried about a teacher dismissing my child as a lost cause or incapable of keeping up with other children in class because I’m not a passive parent.  I will ensure that Owen’s teachers continue to recognize that even though he can’t speak, he is wicked smart and can do anything else that a “normal” child can do.

So, I have my marching orders.  I have some goals mapped out.  I have a list of people to call now that I’m sure my voice won’t squeak when I tell them what I need.  Oh, and I still have a hilarious, snuggly, strong-willed, devastatingly-handsome son.  The next few years before he goes to school will be very important and yes, I supposed “hard work” but really, not that hard.  Harder than plopping him down in front of a TV, harder than having a child that can communicate when something doesn’t feel good, or can just ask for some raisins instead of impatiently yelling at you until you come back into the room and then taking you by the hand to lead you to the cabinet and then doing Jazz Hands to indicate that he wants to be picked up so that he can reach the container.  No problem.

This morning, I ran a 5K downtown with some friends from my gym.  The Tunnel to Towers 5K, which honors a NYC firefighter, Stephen Siller.  Siller was on his way home from work on September 11, 2001, when he heard about the planes crashing into the WTC on the radio.  He turned around to drive back towards ground zero.  When he reached the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, it was closed, so he parked, put on his gear (which weighed 60 lbs) and took off on foot to help save lives.  He lost his in the process.  Locally, the proceeds from the race benefit a wounded war hero.  The money raised will help build a smart home for SFC Michael Schlitz, who was wounded in Iraq in 2007.  During a road-clearing mission, and IED destroyed the truck he was in, killing his crew and causing devastating injuries.  He had burns on 85% of his body and lost both of his arms.  His recovery has been hard work.  I got to watch him cross the finish line today.  He was surrounded by friends and it was really touching to see how someone can sacrifice everything for their country and refuse to be a victim.  To me, that is hard.  That is difficult.

So yeah, we’re cool.  I’m pretty sure I have nothing but blessings in my life.  I just thought everyone might appreciate an update.  

Cheering Up a Second-Grader Who Just Faceplanted May 11, 2012

Today at recess, I was mindlessly watching children scurry about in the noonday sun, batting away the boy who was clinging to my wrist and asking me what time it was every minute (really, no exaggeration), and answering various questions about my preference for ice cream flavors.  Then, the sound carried to me across the playground by the breeze, I heard my name: “Mrs. Cooooonnnnnnnoooorrrrrrrrs????” and saw a boy, facedown in the sand, two or three other boys huddled around him.  Not the sand in the sandbox, but the enormous amount of sand that is directly to left of the sandbox (sandfield?  It’s huge) from where weather and wee ones have spread the sand out across the grass.  There was no arm waving in assurance that he was fine.  (Kids wipe out all the time, they find it hilarious, but if I don’t get a signal, I dash over to see if everyone is okay.)  As I took off, I muttered substitute swear words under my breath; I’m pretty sure I used the word shillelagh.

Our victim, let’s call him Samuel, was sprawled like a chalk outline at a crime scene, his right cheek pressed into the sand.  I asked him if he was okay, as literally 3 other boys started talking at the same time describing the incident.  I told them to run off, Samuel was conscious and he could tell me, but allegedly they had been racing around the perimeter of the sandbox and he tripped.  Or maybe he collided with Tripp, it was confusing because they were all talking at once.  He looked up at me with one not-quite-crying-but-almost brown eye.  I knelt down and patted his back between his shoulder blades and asked him if he was okay again.  No answer.  It seems to me that if I had just fallen on my face in front of 30 or so of my peers, I would also choose to just stay on the ground for a minute.

Naturally, a concerned crowd gathered.  “Is Samuel okay?”  “What happened?” and some where genuinely concerned, others, just nosey.  One boy said, “he fell” which caused a nearby girl to say in a shrill voice, “How?!” and to me, it sounded like a seagull.  This gave me an idea.  I explained quite loudly that Samuel did not accidentally fall, as others were claiming, but that he suddenly decided to take a nap.  Very suddenly.  The watery brown eye looked back at me.  I continued, “He’s pretending he’s at the beach, which is perfect because you all sound like seagulls CAWW CAWW!”  Sure enough, that triggered a chorus of gull-wannabees, and I switched to making swishing ocean sounds.  Meanwhile, I asked him if anything hurt or tingled, and if he could move his arms and legs.  He flopped slightly.  I then, at the top of my lungs, sang

ROCK A-BYE SAAAAAAMUELLLLLL, ON THE SAND PILE

WHEN YOU HEAR MY SIIIIIIINNNNGGING, YOU CAN’T HELP BUT SMILE.

WHILE YOU ARE DOOOOOOOWWWWWN THERE, WATCH OUT FOR ANTS,

IF YOU’RE NOT CAAAAREFUL, THEY’LL CRAWL…..UP……YOUR………

(and then everyone nearby joined in on the obvious last word) PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANTS!!!!!!!

By this point, Samuel was moving again and other children were singing their own riffs on lullabies with Sam’s name, so I wandered off.  A moment later I saw him back up and running again.  I win.

5 Things That Can Happen When a Second Grader Pushes You On The Swing May 8, 2012

1.  Lots and lots of butt touching.  Personal space must be checked at the playground entrance.

2.  The pusher, unaware of the basic laws of physics, will be unprepared for your decent back towards him or her and he or she will be knocked over by your butt.

3.  You might spill your drink.  (It was just sparkling water, by the way, which according to the second grader is totally gross.)

4.  Someone will, inevitably, say something along the lines of “Mrs. Connors is HUUUUUUUUUUGE.”

5.  An If-you-give-a-mouse-a-cookie situation will occur and next they will ask you to do the monkey bars, which will be either humiliating or awesome, but painful either way, and maybe also you will have to go down the twisty slide (terrifying) or, if you wore pants and are feeling frisky, you could do a flip off the chin-up bar.  Base that decision on how your arms feel after the monkey bars.

FYI, if any part of an undergarment is revealed during these feats of physical prowess, you will be immediately and loudly notified.