Heavy Load

Alright. I think I'm coming out of it. The writer's block, that is. Let's just see how it goes.

However, it's not just writer's block keeping me from writing. Recent issues with middle son (Joel) are all-consuming. His diagnoses of ADHD, mood disorder, and "possible" Asperger's (possible?) seem to be colliding and causing monumental problems that we are only beginning to figure out. It feels suspiciously like the first couple of years spent struggling with youngest son's (Seth) autism. You're living in a maze that you must try and make some sense out of before even beginning to know which way to go.

The good news is that he is a spectacular kid. His heart is huge and nurturing, and his love and eagerness for God's word are astounding for a kid of 11 years. And I am working night and day on his behalf - with counselors, with his psychiatrist, his teachers, his school, his youth leaders at church. Being a special needs parent to even just one child with issues is a full-time job. Two can feel overwhelming at times. And three? Meet me at the looney bin for drinks when my nest is empty. I'll be the one in the bingo room using bullets to mark my cards.


What I am beginning to be amazed about with Joel is that in all of his frustration with the issues he is dealing with, he pushes on. Yes, we often take two steps forward and five steps backwards. He is pulling a heavy load - a lot more than a kid his age should have to; but the way he can filter through his feelings, articulate them to us, and muddle through them is a gift. I hope and pray that he can continue to do that.

Through it all, we "keep our eyes on the prize." One of the ways we try to help Joel cope with what he's going through is to emphasize that this life is temporary. It is but a blink of the eye in eternity; and what he has to deal with now is not permanent. God has prepared a place for us that will not include these worldly problems.

There are days when I think his faith is stronger than mine. There are days when I think he could teach me a lot more than I am teaching him. And there are days that temptation gets the best of me much more than it does my 11-year-old son.

Life is a journey, right? A journey that takes turns that we weren't expecting and detours that take us off the path of where we probably should be going. I recognize that. But right or wrong, I also recognize that every detour, every seemingly wrong decision, every experience we choose (or may not choose) to engage in is woven into the fabric of who we are and who we will become.

Everything that Joel is enduring right now is building his character into the person he is intended to be. We are not privy to the "whys" of it all; we just have to try and keep the train on the tracks.


photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian

Wanna Make A Bet?

I am not above admitting that I am planning on being the laziest person alive this winter. Let's recap.

My youngest son is now in school all day. Said son had turned me into a therapist of all sorts since being diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder at the age of 2 1/2. So having him out of the house from 8 am until almost 4 pm gives me a whole new life.

Yes, one I've been struggling with lately, but a new life nonetheless.

So now that winter is beating fall into submission here in central Indiana, I have decided that if it is not sunny and beautiful outside this winter on a given day - I refuse to leave the abode. Or even leave my pajamas. Unless, of course, I absolutely have to (one of my boys is throwing up, bleeding profusely, or on fire at school).

Mrs. Zipps laughed in my face when I told her this. This makes me want to prove her wrong.

Carry on, Internet.

Block Block Blockety Blocked

Blocks - and Not the Fun Kind
Nothing can make you break through writer's block like writing . . . right? We'll see. I'll keep up the drivel until I knock something loose.

So in the midst of brainstorming ideas to become self-employed eccentrics who work in their pajamas and don't leave the house for days at a time (hey, wait a minute ...), Sean, Mr. Zipps, and I started tossing out book ideas - and I think I may have hit on something. They are always telling me to hurry up and write my bestseller so they can quit their jobs and the Andersons and Zipps can live happily ever after on the proceeds. (They obviously don't quite get this writing/publishing thing.)

I'm not divulging the idea here for obvious reasons, but let's just say I hope this writer's block dissolves soon so I can get moving. Pray, please?

Everything I Needed (but Didn't Want)
To Know About Holly, I Learned One Day
On Her Blog When She Had Writer's Block
Hair totally skeeves me out. Especially long, wet hair that's not attached to my own head.

The only coffee I drink at Starbucks is a grande, non-fat, two-pump mocha with light whip.

The coffee I drink at home has non-fat hazelnut creamer and light whipped cream on it.

I won my third-grade spelling bee and came in 3rd in fourth grade.

I once won a proofreading award (I know, so sad.)

I was on the equestrian team in college (western, not english).

I find almost everything funny in some way - to a fault.

I was saved from being hit by a train by a stranger when I was two.

I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.

I was caught by the police driving before I had my driver's license (They only called my mom - an advantage of small-town living.)

Sean and I met on the first day of 7th grade when our lockers were next to one another, began dating in 10th grade and married at 20.

I loooooooove to cook and share it.

My mind and personality are exercises in contradiction. I think very analytically about most things and there's a method to almost everything I do. Yet, I'm extremely creatively scatter-brained much of the time. Good luck figuring that out. My parents - after 38 years, and my husband - after a bazillion years, cannot. I have no desire to figure it out - that might make my head explode.

I have wanted to be a writer since I was little. My friend, Lisa, and I used to write books together. Pretty funny reading today.

My mom used to tell me I should be a lawyer because I love to argue so much (and can wear just about anyone down until they want to gouge their own eyes out). This is not so much a good quality if you are not a lawyer, as I am not.

This one quality, I passed on to my middle son. This is called karma.

I am a Ball State University grad with a degree in Journalism. Go Cards! Yep - David Letterman, the founder of Papa John's pizza, and the creator of Garfield, and me - BSU can really turn 'em out, yes?

I can be a little obsessive about things being a certain way, but have let a lot of this go being the mother of three boys. Mainly in the area of housekeeping. Clearly.

I wish more people would have retained what they learned about grammar in elementary school.

That is all.

So This Is How It's Going to Be.

I continue to struggle to write and get mundane things done during the day even though all the planets are aligned correctly; meaning - the sun is shining; it's a beautifully-colored fall season; I have plenty of uninterrupted time; in other words - the conditions are ripe for motivation, so the words should flow.

Not so.

I. Am. Struggling. With daily life. With my boys' issues. With autism. With a mood disorder. With. Life.

No reason. No big incident. Just a creeping stream that's becoming a raging river. I can navigate the stream just fine on any given day. But to navigate the river takes stamina. And a positive outlook. And self-confidence. All of which I'm sorely lacking recently. So erosion is starting to occur.

And the thing? Here's the thing. The thing of it all is this. It's driving me crazy that I can't figure out why. Why? What is the origin of the problem? I haven't a clue. Perhaps I'm just worn down.

It really is emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting dealing with some of the issues I deal with daily, but I don't often realize or notice because it's what I deal with daily. I think sometimes it takes someone else's reaction to some of what we endure to see it for what it actually is - super, unbelievably, cosmically difficult (which is the nice way of putting it).

I am sick of autism. I am sick of a mood disorder that "borders on bi-polar disorder." I am sick of having so little control over my boys' issues. I am sick of doing all the right things and watching an entire day spin out of control and trying to pick up the pieces so that what they remember from their childhood is good. I am sick of gloriously conquering one issue just to have the next one ready and waiting at its heels.

I am sick of the guilt.

I am sick of the worry.

I am sick of how none of it makes any sense. My mind grinds and spins and smokes trying to make even the tiniest part of any of it reasonable, so that I can attach a solution to it. But that's not how these gears fit together - not even close. They laugh at reasonable solutions and spit them out.

On most days, I can roll with it all and laugh and employ strategies that may or may not work and chug along because this is how it is and this is how it's going to be. This stuff isn't going away.

But I'm struggling. With this overflowing, raging river that's normally a trickling, manageable stream.

photo by Kodiak1

Dear Indiana Fall,

I love you with all of my heart. You make my heart sing and my emotions all tingly. You make me want to frolic in a golden meadow, wear those weird gloves where the fingers are cut out holding a warm cup of cider, jump into a pile of leaves and come out with a bunch of them tangled in my hair. Just in case there is any doubt in your mind after having said that, then let's settle this: your beautiful, sunny, orange and rust-colored days lift my spirits so high, I could almost fly.

Now having said that, let's have a talk.

Indiana Winter is stalking you. It does this every year - have you not caught on yet? I hold out hope every year that you will be strong, turn around, and look it in the evil eye and - for once - stare it into submission.

Could this be the year?

Your counterpart in Houston is really on the ball. The years we lived there, Southeastern Texas Fall did its job. It faltered sometimes for a day or two and we had to turn our heat on (gasp!); but for the most part, Fall turned right into spring after a few weeks of non-stop rain in January.

We did not miss snow. We did not miss ice. We did not miss living half the year in a colorless world.

So if you could, you know, get a little more confident in your abilities, I'm sure you will find that Indiana Winter is not something that you cannot take on.

If nothing else, undermine its self-esteem by constantly telling it that nobody around here really likes it at all. Tell it we only tolerate it to a small degree - and if there's no pretty, white, fluffy snow on Christmas; well, that's a deal breaker right there.

C'mon - this is totally your year! You can do it. I have complete confidence in you.


photo by Anita K

I Have Nothing To Say!

I have writer's block. So I'm writing about not having anything to write about. Strike that. I have plenty to write about, but nothing is coming out of this big ol' brain of mine right now.

Several areas are suffering, not just this rambling, mindless blog. If I don't get my head out of the clouds, they're gonna fire me over at Blissfully Domestic Publishing. Well, that's my take anyway.

In other news:

Fall
We've literally made the shift to fall this week in Indiana. Highs in the 60's for the most part, going to have to kick the heat on soon at night. This brings me to one of my favorite things in the world: burning candles.

To me, burning candles is a cool weather activity for the most part. Late afternoon every day when it's cold outside, I light all the candles in my house so that it is filled with a warm feeling and wonderful aroma that usually is a blend of pumpkin and apple in the fall and pine in the winter. I know what I like and usually stick to it.

Life Unexpected
My brother, his wife and my nephew (Doug, Mona, and Daniel) recently lost their beloved dog, Rufus, when he was tragically hit by a car and killed. This makes my heart ache and many prayers have left my mind for them, having gone through losing our own golden retriever last year when he died at 12 years old.

You can't really understand the emotions behind it unless 1) you've been through it, and 2) you are a pet lover in the first place. It's a special kind of mourning that you are not quite ready for because you didn't know it existed before it hit you. You spend your time with a pet for the most part acknowledging that, to some degree, you love this being; but knowing that, after all, it is a pet and not a human member of your family.

And that is all well and good until you lose them, at which time you realize that they were more than just an animal, but a larger part of your life and day than you consciously accounted for. Until they are gone.

They lost Rufus, and next year they will lose their only son's daily presence in their life when he goes off to college. It may sound petty, but it's not. Tough transitions never are.

It's funny how life lays itself out sometimes. On my desk right here - to the left of my laptop sits a photo of Hunter, our dog who died last year; and to the right is a photo of Doug, Mona, and Daniel (the only photos on my desk).

These photos have been there for, goodness, at least a year; but are now a constant reminder to pray for them - strategically placed there before I ever knew why.

Also strategically placed near me is our new golden retriever, Buddy, whom we recently adopted from the same rescue organization through which Hunter came to live with us so many years ago. He always lies at my feet when I'm working at this desk, which is also a constant reminder that life goes on, and we move on to a new normal in due time.

God is so awesome.

Project Homebound
In an effort to curb spending and quit running around every weekend throwing money at whatever we happen to stumble upon doing, Sean and I have decided to throw ourselves into projects around the house on the weekends to keep our butts at home. We have several that we've been talking about starting, but have not. Stayed tuned. If I've put it out there for all to hear, then we're going to actually have to do it. That is the theory, anyway.

I'm sorry, Starbucks, that you just lost 1/3 of your profits that come out of my pocket.

Commence Project Finally-Repaint-the-Dining-Room? Project Watch-the-13-Episodes-of-Lost-I-Have-DVR'd-From-Last-Season? Oh, the anticipation!

Green-Eyed Monster
My neighbor is going to Miami for work several time in the next few weeks. I am jealous. That is all.


photo by Christa Richert

Thank You, Hazel Dell Elementary

I cannot say enough good things about Noblesville Schools. Seriously. Our family has had three kids in the school system in the five years since we moved here from Houston, Texas, and I absolutely, positively, supremely love this district.

We've had experience in a Hamilton Southeastern elementary school (in the late 90's), in elementary and middle schools in our former home in Texas, and now elementary, intermediate, middle, and high schools here in Noblesville.

My belief is that they cannot be beat.

Specifically, what has sparked this particular happy outburst is my youngest son's life as an autistic student at Hazel Dell Elementary. He is only in first grade, yet he's starting his fourth year in the school, having been there since he turned three and began the early childhood program.

Seth is high-functioning on the autism spectrum, yet he didn't start there. Through years of early intervention as well as private therapies, he has progressed to the point that the average person probably would not know he has an Autism Spectrum Disorder at all. Much of this is due to the outstanding people of Hazel Dell.

From the speech, occupational, and physical therapists on staff to his teachers and right up to the principal - they have done an excellent job balancing what the school system has in place to offer and what Seth needs to not only fit, but thrive. I've not once had to fight for a service or argue that they are not doing enough. They not only have made sure Seth has had the services and intervention that he needs, but have continued some services "just to make sure he is covered" in areas where he is already doing extremely well. I have witnessed the principal himself, in a case conference, read over Seth's paperwork and question why he wasn't receiving a certain service, and then state that he be re-evaluated in order to receive additional therapy.

As a principal, John Land is top-notch. Perhaps the fact that he is a special-needs parent himself makes him uniquely qualified and determined to push his school to the head of the class, so to speak. Whatever combination of circumstances and standards, Mr. Land's Hazel Dell Elementary certainly earned last year's designation of Blue Ribbon School honestly and appropriately.

It's just one of the many reasons that Noblesville is one of the Top 10 Best Places to Live.

Rock on, Noblesville Schools!

photo by Cavell L. Blood

Can You Do What Al Franken Can Do?

I don't care who you are, this is pretty impressive:

Who Are You and What Did You Do With My Personality?

Sucksucksucksucksuck. That's what this day has done from hour one. For no particular reason other than the fact that I'm lost in my own house. Which would be great if that were literal and I lived in a supremely huge abode cleaned by anyone other than me.

I'm having a harder time with being alone all day long than I thought that I would, which sounds crazy coming from the woman who was counting the milliseconds until the time came. I'm feeling a bit like my tracks have grown over with weeds.

Let me clarify.

I am encountering large amounts of trouble getting motivated each day, feeling like I'm puttering around the house like a retired hobo. There. I said it.

I didn't feel like I led a particularly meaningful existence to begin with, and now I feel lower than that.

Let me also clarify that I do not wish for my children to be back home all day long. I am enjoying the solitude and house to myself, it is just affecting me differently than I had imagined it would. Instead of feeling full of potential and flying high with the power of time on my side to tackle all kinds of projects, I am struggling profusely to get anything done. Because what I need to get done is not at all what I wish to be doing.

Wow. That sounded incredibly selfish and immature.

Doing what I need to be doing produces the most mundane of feelings inside me - makes me feel like I'll waste away at any moment; and doing what I want to be doing produces terrific feelings of guilt and frustration because 1.) I'm not doing what I need to be getting done, and 2.) what I want to be doing is frivolous and seen by no one and produces no income or really, anything of consequence at all.

Taking my journalism degree and folding it into the shape of a spider monkey seems like it would be about the best use of my time and efforts right now. I'm not sure what the missing piece of the puzzle is, nor do I know where to look for it.

So I putter. And search. And pray. And wonder how long this can go on before I'll need to double my medication.

photo by Cathy Kaplan

Who Wouldn't Wanna Be Me?

This blog is called My (Un)Controlled Chaos for a reason. It's a reflection of my life. I have a couple of friends who walk away from an hour in my house thanking God that they don't live here. With three boys, there is always food out somewhere, clothes thrown somewhere, shoes, Legos, action figures, paper airplanes, games, movies, light sabers - good heaven above the light sabers.

Can one really ever have enough light sabers? I mean, some light up and some make sounds. Some do both. Some have spring action. Some come apart. Some change colors. I'm hoping they come out with one soon that can open a bottle of wine.

But I digress.

We also have a fussy little white dog who has this compulsive need to lick shoes. And shred tissues from the bathroom trash. What a freak . . . she fits right in. Add to this the rock band in the basement (oldest son plays drums), middle son who has taken up playing the saxophone, and youngest son on the autism spectrum who somehow, some way, manages to live among all of this and thrive.

We are loud - every last one of us. We laugh at odd things and circumstances. We know trivia about weird things. We are like the Adams Family without the creepy hand in the box. We think our environment is completely normal, while outsiders walk in and wonder what bizarre world they've crossed over into - and are probably eyeing the exits from the moment they enter.

Okay, so maybe that exaggerating a bit. And maybe not.

So what does a family who already lives in utter chaos much of the time do? Well, adopt a 2nd dog, of course. This is Buddy:


















Buddy is coming to live with us tomorrow night because we need a little more excitement in our life.

Our little tissue-shredding, talk-like-a-wookie-when-she-wants-your-attention maltese-poodle mutt just isn't enough.

The autism isn't enough.

The middle son's mood disorder just isn't enough.

The current level of messiness isn't enough.

It's getting a little boring around here. Time to shake things up.

Don't you just wish you were me?