Radio Silence

I have some startling news for you...  Well, it may not be news to some of you, but here goes:

A person not returning your text, phone call, social media message, email or even your letter sent by carrier pigeon...  Isn't about you.  It's about that person.

Wait.  Hold up.  What?  

Yep.  It has nothing to do with you!  You are now free to relax and go about your business!

I can't believe I even have to write about this.

I feel the need to explain this concept because it recently became an issue.  I'm seldom this harsh with my posts, but the point needs to be made.  This may be a bit of a rant, but also apparently a lesson which should be taught.

Most of my friends understand I am busy.  They understand I have two children whom I homeschool.  These two children also have autism and a variety of other needs, all requiring multiple therapies, several of which are an hour's drive away.  I make that drive several times a week.  Most of my friends also understand this time of year is difficult for me due to grief and now, missing my oldest.  What I haven't shared publicly (until now) is my health has taken another unexpected turn.  I am not feeling well and I am just plain emotionally, physically and spiritually drained.  Right now, just breathing and walking around my house are taking more effort than they should.  I'm doing my best to compartmentalize this year in order to concentrate on my family.  I am trying my best, and mostly succeeding, to be present for them (instead, I'm over here fuming over this entire matter which should be a non-issue).  As you can see, my plate is quite full.  So please forgive me when it takes a few days to reply or when I don't reply at all.  Sometimes I just don't have the emotional energy to do so.  I have to pick and choose what receives the energy I do have, and most often, the recipients are my immediate family.  It's called prioritizing.  Sometimes, because I'm an adult, I recognize I don't have anything nice to say, so I refrain from replying to those particular texts and emails.  And yep, I'm human, so sometimes I just forget!  So yes, I just might be posting to social media even though I'm not replying to various forms of communication.  Why?  Because social media often does not require the headspace that responding does.  And quite frankly, if I want to take out a space in the newspaper, charter an airplane to write a message in the sky or rent a billboard all while not responding to communications--I can do that as well!  It's really none of your business.  Why?  You do not own my time and it is not my job to feed needy, fragile egos.  I do not owe you, or anyone else, a thing.  This is my life and I'm the one who decides how I live it.  

When a friend of mine is slow to respond or doesn't respond at all, I know it's not personal.  We are all living in a world of massive overwhelm right now and I'm okay with my attempts at communication being delayed or even disregarded.  A few of us exchange memes back and forth, understanding life is just too much most days.  We check in, we send jokes, we understand the other person most likely won't be able to respond--and as adults, we're okay with it.  We expect nothing (and certainly do not demand) from one another.  We love each other through life, accepting each other where we are, never attempting to force communication--and we absolutely know to not ever take radio silence personally.  I know my friends have lives, families, jobs and so many other responsibilities and obligations.  I also realize there are things I don't know about my friends, things which might delay a reply.   I understand that sometimes we, as humans, just need to shut down.  My friends just might be prioritizing.  I don't allow my feelings to get hurt--this is an active choice I make, but kind of feels like a no-brainer.  I do not jump to conclusions, I do not accuse my friends of things I know aren't true, I don't take to social media to complain, and, key point here, I know it's.  Not.  About.  Me.  In fact, I typically wonder if everything is okay, especially if such radio silence is unusual for my friend.  I might even reach out again a few days later to check in.  If I absolutely need a response, I'll circle back to double check if my friend even received my text.  The last thing I'm going to do is make my friend's lack of response about myself.

So, why I am explaining a concept most people understand?

Last week there were several texts I did not return, but I did post to social media.  Radio silence.  I did not have the capacity required to even reply "Thank you," but social media was there providing a good distraction. 

And someone took issue with it.

Rather than come directly to me to with her issue (Matthew 18:15-17), this person made a very snarky, very passive aggressive post to social media about it.  This person made an active decision to make it about her.  Before you accuse me of doing the same with this post, I did go directly to her and was summarily dismissed.  With two short sentences, she continued to make it about herself, then ignored any further communication from me.  I suppose she might've thought she was turning the tables, so to speak.  Or perhaps she's actually embarrassed by her behavior.  Who knows?  Who cares?  Nothing ruins good friendships like behavior like this.  Anyway, we're adults, so I handled it like an adult.  Speaking in not-so-hypotheticals, I named the above reasons in an effort to help this person understand where someone not responding to texts but posting to social media may be coming from.  I also spoke of the need for compassion, grace, empathy and understanding, and reminded her of Matthew 18.  Courtesy and respect go a long way.  I did not receive an apology.  What I did receive was the equivalent of a spoiled 5 year old stomping her feet while pitching a temper tantrum and screaming "I NEED ATTENTION!"

Folks, I just don't have the time, patience and energy for this level of immaturity and disrespect.  I really don't.  Grow up.  I don't know if it's age (I'm too old for this shit and life is too short), that I value myself more than I used to, or growing up with a mother with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (among others), but my tolerance for bullshit behavior is much lower than it used to be.  I've spent the past few days trying to move past this, but I'll admit I'm having some difficulty with it.  I'm extremely frustrated and upset with this presumptuous and audacious behavior.  It's awfully sad I have to discuss this at all.

I've said it a hundred times already, I'll say it thousands more:  We never know the battles another person is fighting, and assuming we do and believing we should take precedent in another person's life quickly leads down a slippery slope (to say the least).  Not just this time of year, but all year long, please remember everyone deserves grace and understanding.  Those go much further than an egocentric view of the world.

I Need a Silent Night

Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith are my two favorite Christian artists.  They have unwittingly written the soundtrack to my life.  At every stage, there's always been a poignant song which has hit home.

As a mom, two of Amy Grant's Christmas songs never fail to bring on the tears.  Breath of Heaven is one, I Need a Silent Night is the other:

"I need a silent night, a holy night

To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise

I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here

To end this crazy day with a silent night

What was it like back there in Bethlehem

With peace on earth, good will toward men?

Every shepherd's out in the field

Keeping watch over their flock by night

And the glory of the Lord shone around them

And they were so afraid

And the angels said fear not for behold

I bring you good news of a great joy that shall be for all people

For unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord

And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace"

This song especially makes me realize the things--which aren't really things at all--I'm missing in my life.

It's no secret the past three years have been really difficult for me.  One of Amy Grant's albums in particular has been the accompaniment music to my grief.  I miss my best friend, I miss my sister--I desperately miss what might have been with both of them.  What should have been.

 I'm not over it, I'm still searching for comfort and much-needed solace.  I'm begging for a little peace right here.  PLEASE.  I need to hear an angel voice through all of this fucking chaos and noise.  I want to believe again that Abba is still good, even if not (Daniel 3:18).  I want my faith in humanity restored.  I want my life back to the way it was.  I want to laugh and smile and feel that genuine contentment I had.  I just want normal again.  I'm tired of learning lessons, I'm tired of--I'm just plain tired.  Christmas only makes grief that much more profound--the empty chair at the table, the laugh that is missing, the silence which becomes deafening.  Most days I can stuff the pain down, I can keep it at bay, I try to ignore it, I try to go on about my ways pretending that shadow isn't hanging over my shoulder.  However, even with the resounding message of hope, the holidays make it nearly impossible to ignore that looming pall.

Today, it's been three years without my best friend.  Three fucking years.  I still miss her as much today as I did those first weeks, as the shock wore off and reality sank in.  There's still an ache deep in my gut.  A feeling of utter anguish, with peace and comfort just out of my grasp. 

The funny thing is, I know Angie would shake her head at me for carrying on this way.  She'd be upset with me for my inability to move forward.  My grief would absolutely earn me a stern lecture from her!  When her oldest daughter died, Angie had these prophetic words for me, "I miss her so bad, but I know she's in heaven and I would never take that away from her."  I remember the look in my friend's eyes, her smile when she said that.  The moment we shared was tragic, wistful and oddly amazing at the same time.  I had no words were for her, but words were not what she needed.  Although neither of us knew it then, Angie was telling me how she wanted to be grieved.  I would never take my friend away from the beauty she gets to live with now, but there are so many things I want to tell her and there are still days I deeply want her back.  The stupid fucking god-awful irony of grief is quite often, the person you need to help you through the pain is the person you are grieving.  I need Angie to tell me how to do this.  I know she would want me to celebrate her life.  I also know the best way to do so is to stop mourning her so much, concentrate on my family and do for others.  That's what she would want.

At a time in my life when I no longer wanted to believe in God and I was so very angry at Him, when I lost faith in myself, no longer wanted to live and was making really stupid choices, when my marriage was failing and I knew I would lose my only child, Angie became a lifeline for me.  Complete strangers when we met, she immediately recognized my need for unconditional love and acceptance, my need for hope, my desperate search for belonging.  At yet another time when I needed hope, peace and the voices of angels amid the chaos and noise in my own head, Angie stepped in and stepped up.  

Easing me into a comfort zone, earning my trust, she first invited me to her home for what her church called "small group," a Bible study of sorts, but more importantly, a gathering of friends who became family.  Then she invited me to her church.  It grew from there.  I grew from there.  My family grew from there.  My marriage repaired itself, my mental health restored, my relationship with Abba healed.  Even better, I healed.  I no longer felt the daily need to escape, the daily desire to just check out.  

Angie was a gift.  Even when her own family often went without, she made sure the neighborhood kids did not.  She made sure those kids felt loved, she made sure they knew they had a family, she made sure they had a home to go to when they needed to escape their own chaos and noise.  Angie had the biggest heart.  This is how I choose to remember her.  The world is so much better for having had her light shine in it, and certainly at a deficit without her any longer.  

This is my request for today:  Be Angie to someone in need.  Carry on her legacy.  Help someone fight through their fear.  Help someone make it through another day, and then another, and another.  Be the calm in their storm.  Give them the anchor they need.  Hold the door open for someone.  Make a meal for a friend and leave it on their porch.  Treat a stranger to a meal or coffee. Tuck a note for a tired mama in the diaper aisle.  Hide a $20 with a Christmas turkey or under the lid of a can of formula.  Hand out flowers to strangers.  Hug someone who needs it.  Compliment a stranger.  Smile and ask how someone else's day is going.  Call a friend you haven't spoken with in a while.  Encourage someone.  Listen well.  Help someone find the peace they need, be that angel voice, help someone have that silent night we are all so desperately in need of.  Be someone's lifeline.  Lead someone to hope.

It costs nothing to be kind, and often takes very little of your time.  

Most importantly: Please, love big, love hard and love well.  

The world needs more Angies. 

Santa Claus and Toothpaste Words

Yesterday was a day here in our household.  

An hour-long tantrum was had by one of our children over his schoolwork.  We'd given him some extra chores for lying to us and mistreating us, and that only fueled his fire.

Capping off his tantrum, he screamed, "I KNOW YOU AND DAD ARE SANTA AND THE ELF AND I HATE YOU!"  A snide smirk, an absolutely hateful look in his eyes and a just plain nasty tone of voice accompanied these words, and he was trying to be loud enough for his brother to hear in the basement.  Judging by his tone and the look on his face, he did this to intentionally hurt me, knowing how deeply it would cut.  Even worse, he really seemed to want to hurt his brother.  The entire matter broke my heart.  In the words of our OTs and ABA therapists, I'm having a lot of big feelings--anger, shock, disappointment, frustration and the intense loss of my child's childhood, to name a few.  Even trying to write about it now, fresh tears are clouding my vision.

Important backstory so you are able to understand why this is such a profound wound: I LOVE Christmas.  As a 45 year old woman, I still want to believe (I'll never forget the Christmas morning a few years ago when all of the "sleigh runway" luminaries in our driveway were knocked over as if by the SWOOSH of a sleigh.  I remember jumping up and down while clapping my hands, grinning like a fool, thinking, "SANTA?!?!?!")!  By the time I figured things out when I was a child, my sister had two littles; I never wanted the magic to end, so I didn't say a word.  My love language is gift giving, which puts Christmas right up my alley.  I love the music, the memories (I was 35 weeks pregnant with Noah our first Christmas as husband and wife, and I listened to Amy Grant's song Breath of Heaven on repeat.  I was so scared and so excited and that song just spoke to me--it still does, but for different reasons now), the traditions, the decorations, the laughter and smiles and everything else about this entire season of HOPE.  I love doing everything I can to make sure Christmas happens for those who may not otherwise have it--I LIVE to play Santa (I don't even mind that he gets all the credit for our hard work), and as tired as I am of the Elf,  I love seeing my kids' faces light up when he returns, and the treasure hunt for him each morning.  As much as I dread having to reply every night to the many Santa letters my kids put in the Santa mailbox each day, I know I will miss this terribly when it's all over.  While I still have these moments with my kids, I'm doing my very best to soak them up.  I love the warmth of the fireplace, the cozy tree lights and allllllll the gaudy, tacky decorations my kids choose.  I love the daily advent readings with my kids, and on Christmas Eve, listening to my grandmother read The Night Before Christmas and the Christmas story from the Bible on a cassette tape my husband lovingly restored for me (she first recorded it when I was just a few days old).  Christmas is thirty days of "me time" while doing for others.  I nearly ruined the past two Christmases with my intense grief, so this year I'm determined to be okay because my kids need this, especially with Noah missing.  This is the time of year when every shitty thing can be brushed aside as we usher in another year of hope, symbolized by a tiny little baby born to humble circumstances, yet destined for greatness.  Even through all the tears I cry throughout all of these holiday festivities (I've always been a Christmas cryer though--happy, sad, reflective--those tears are going to come) and the heavy grief I still carry physically, as well as in my heart and soul, Christmas is still a time of pure joy and excitement for me.  Christmas is a time of restoration for my soul, my heart and my body.

Okay, back to the actual point of my story.

At the end of Avery's accusation, and before he could say anything else, I owned our Santa and Elf roles quickly, for Ezra's sake and hoping to avoid anymore screamed exclamations.  When Shawn and I talked about it later, he said he was going to try to play it off, but it all happened so quickly, he couldn't interject in time.  I just did not want Ezra to come upstairs in the heat of the moment and overhear any of it.  Immediately, I was angry, hurt and crying.  I could not understand why my child chose this way to hurt me so much, nor could I understand why he would ruin the magic for himself in such a tremendous way.  I understood even less why he felt the need to try to destroy the wonder of Christmas for his youngest brother.  I can be a bit of a drama queen at times, but when I say this has devastated me, I'm not exaggerating in the least.

When Noah was this child's age, Shawn and I talked to him about Santa, mainly due to fear he'd accidentally blurt something out in front of Avery (because autism, yo)--and, as I learned last night, Noah and I have very different memories of how it happened!  I remember it as a whole ordeal my best friend had to talk me through, as the idea of my child no longer believing in Santa absolutely shattered me:  How to tell him without crushing his spirit, enlisting him as Santa's helper, explaining why his dad and I chose to do the Santa 'thing,' as well as reminding him of the origin of Saint Nicholas, and connecting the love of Jesus to all of it.  Noah took to his new role, seemed to enjoy being in on the secret and even helped with the Elf once he arrived.  And please don't allow Noah to tell you otherwise--he loves giving gifts every year just as much as I do.  He's even laughed as he told me his goal is to outdo the Santa and parents' gifts (I quote, "I'm going to win Christmas this year!  PBBLLTTT!")!  Avery's declaration feels akin to the death of his childhood, whereas with Noah, it was an opening to a new chapter in his life.

As I relayed Avery's actions to one of my best friends, she replied, "Ohhhh those are toothpaste words.  Once they're out, you can't put them back in."  I'd never heard it put this way before, but that's PRECISELY how it felt (if you'd like to read more about the Toothpaste Words origin, here's the link: https://www.scarymommy.com/toothpaste-lesson-amy-beth-gardner/ ).  I'm quite certain Avery realized how badly he hurt me rather quickly because he did apologize, as well as backpedal, but it really was not a genuine apology, but more of a "Crap, I messed up."  We do teach our children to apologize (and we want them to mean it, so forcing apologies is out of the question), and we lead by example, but we also teach them they don't have to immediately accept the apology if they aren't ready to do so.  Last night, I did just that--I calmly told Avery I was deeply hurt by his words and behavior, so I just wasn't ready to accept his apology.  I explained further, as I knew this was his way of intentionally hurting me.  I did not withhold love, gaslight him, mistreat him or retaliate, nor did we punish him (I stress this point because that was how my mother--still--handles her anger towards me, and anyone else, for that matter).  I simply told him I was extremely upset and unable to accept his apology.

We've known for the past year or so that Avery's time of believing was coming to an end, but I was hopeful it would be an easy, understanding transition.  Given how dedicated Avery has been to believing, I wasn't even sure he'd say it out loud when he figured out the truth.  In past years, he's completely thrown himself into believing the magic, and this year didn't appear any different.  Because Avery believed so hard, Shawn and I threw ourselves into doing everything in our power to keep that magic alive.  I never could have anticipated the anger and spitefulness he exhibited last night.

Shawn and I really tried to be calm about it.  Emotions were already running fairly high and anything short of calm would've been counterproductive.  Knowing we had to protect Ezra's belief, but still address Avery's revelation and behavior, we tread carefully.  We explained why his actions were wrong, and discussed better ways he could have handled it.  As we did with Noah, we approached it from the Santa/Jesus angle, explained our reasons for Santa (wanting our kids to have that magic and hope, because we love them and want Christmas to be a time of fun and wonder). We stressed the importance of continued secrecy for Ezra, then we tried to enlist his help.  We tried to empathize, telling him we understand if he feels lied to, but again, explaining (malicious) lying was not our intent, only to add joy to the season because we love them so much.  Using the "toothpaste words" suggestion, we also talked with Avery about carefully choosing our words, especially in the heat in the moment.  We explained he can never take back the words he said.  Impulsivity and the inability to think ahead are symptoms of not just autism and ADHD, but the age and stage Avery is in right now.  I'm genuinely hoping the toothpaste example put things at the very least, in a partial perspective for him.

I know I need to find a way to move through this.  And I will, but in the meantime, if you need me, I'll be over here trying to cram this toothpaste back in the tube.

Think Before You Speak

 During Avery's ABA session today (Digression: shockingly, Avery's therapist hasn't quit yet! *sarcasm* However, apparently Ezra's new therapist was supposed to start today--which I wouldn't have known had I not emailed the site manager this morning--but she quit yesterday after being hired on Monday.  Why am I not surprised?  I haven't responded to the email because I really have nothing nice to say--a few suggestions, definitely [maybe improve your hiring standards?], but nothing nice), anyway, after working on some math lessons, our case manager remarked to him, "Yeah, you'll never need the math you're learning when you're an adult."  She just might need someone to save her from me.  I sat at my kitchen table fairly stunned by her words, absolutely fuming, unable to step in and correct her because I knew I couldn't respond kindly.  

Later, she wondered out loud who invented kinetic sand, "Like, maybe a glue specialist?"  Uhhhh, perhaps an ENGINEER who used MATH??????

My kid struggles with math enough as it is.  He struggles to like it, he struggles to learn it.  My husband (math nerd) works really hard to make it as fun and interesting as possible.  We know how much Avery loves science, 'useless' facts, and research, so we do our best to approach math from those aspects.  He also loves a good challenge, so Shawn makes huge efforts to devise fun math challenges for Avery.  So, to have a person who specializes in children with autism (although, this applies to typical children as well!) tell my kid he's not going to need this math as an adult sets us back yet again.  She should know better.   This was not up to her to speak over my child's life, and certainly not his future.  

I did use this as a learning opportunity for Avery later.  We talked about using our words wisely and not to discourage others.  We also did our own research and brainstorming, finding all the careers, and even daily life experiences which use math.  Just a few things in which math is applied that immediately came to mind: a cashier or bank teller counting change for a customer (and balancing out the till at the end of a shift), a customer counting out cash to a cashier, understanding a bank loan, and prerequisite/foundational math for any college major involving further math classes (I had to take statistics as a psychology major!).  How many of you love video games?  Whether you realize it or not, you're using math!  Many artists even need to know math!  According to https://www.cuemath.com/learn/math-in-daily-life/, other necessary daily math skills include managing money and being able to budget, calculating time, understanding discounts, exercising and dieting (anyone counting calories out there?) and driving.  https://www.mathunion.org/icmi/role-mathematics-overall-curriculum states "Mathematics is a fundamental part of human thought and logic, and integral to attempts at understanding the world and ourselves. Mathematics provides an effective way of building mental discipline and encourages logical reasoning and mental rigor. In addition, mathematical knowledge plays a crucial role in understanding the contents of other school subjects such as science, social studies, and even music and art."  Mathnasium.com ("Ten Reasons Why Math is Important to Life"),  https://blog.mindresearch.org/blog/why-is-math-so-important and https://edubirdie.com/blog/why-is-math-important list even more reasons from cooking and sewing to critical thinking skills (and, if you know anything about autism, critical thinking skills can be difficult to build, and a reason why we chose ABA is to help us help our kids build those skills!).  There are also many medical reasons a lay person uses daily math, for example, calculating the correct dose of an OTC medicine; diabetics often need to count carbs in order to properly calculate the insulin necessary for their meals.  And let's not forget homeschooling parents, and even parents with children in traditional schools who have to help with math homework (and in some cases even teach it, depending on the child's teacher)!  

I hope you can understand why my brain was on fire over this one.  As one of my close friends said, "Math runs the world."  Whether you liked it or not as a student yourself (I didn't), whether you excelled in it or not (I didn't), math is an everyday fact of life. 

"Mathematics is the queen of science and arithmetic is the queen of mathematics." 

--Carl Friedrich Gauss