The Autism Spectrum Can Suck It.

This isn't going to be pretty. Or nice. Or uplifting by any means. But sometimes the realities of others need to be seen. And heard. And felt by someone else; if for no other reason than to validate that these feelings exist among people in this world - and not just by me. 

It's been rough around here and I've refrained from writing about it because I honestly get tired of being the *one* who has *something* going on. I just want to melt into the social/parenting/friend/community woodwork sometimes because it's more comfortable than, well, always being the ONE.

Today I hate Autism. I hate Asperger's Syndrome. I hate every inch of the entire Autism Spectrum and every spike that it leaves on every day of my life. Selfish? Yes. Egocentric? Perhaps. But you know what? My entire being is about making sure everyone around me is okay every. single. day.

Yes, that is basic parenting. Every parent has to do that. But for ASD parents, that is kicked up to a whole new level. Let's even call it few stories, depending on how deeply your child or children are engulfed by this elusive disease.

e·lu·sive adjective

1. eluding clear perception or complete mental grasp; hard to express or define: an elusive concept.

2. cleverly or skillfully evasive

Some days, I hate my role as an ASD parent to several sons on the spectrum. Some days, I hate parents of neurotypical kids because they represent what I will never have - not through hard work or dumb luck or strong belief or playing the lottery or being really good on Jeopardy.

And I know hate is a strong word. I know.

There are days when I hear someone complain about their kids bickering like typical siblings, or mouthing off, or pouting, or, or, or - and I want to throw a brick at them and say, "Hey! For the love of God, I'd give my right arm to only have to deal with that!" A little over-the-top reaction, you say? Well, that's how it feels. Can't imagine? Exactly.

I want to throw a fit some days about the fact that I can't seem to be able to finish any single thing I try to accomplish, or do anything very well because I am constantly pulled in a different direction for a day, a week, or longer depending on what child is now going through whatever crisis or new phase that we all must now bend in all different and strange ways to accommodate. 

On a good day, I can reason with myself about those feelings. Everyone's reality is just that - their reality. And you cannot blame someone for not having to experience what you do. It's not their fault that this is the life you've been handed.

But this is not a good day.

Most of the time I can handle this life with grace along with my very "realness" that makes me who I am. Sometimes I fall.

Today I'm in the pit and it stinks to high heaven down here - like something went and died. I think it may have been my spirit.

What Matters?

That's what my middle dude, who is now 14, would say when he meant "So what?" when he was a toddler.

Me: "You have toys spread out all over your room."

Middle dude: "What matters?"

I have gone through many up and down periods in my life centered around answering that question. I'll admit that I get tripped up by the concept that what some people are doing matters more because it's more visible, it's major outreach, it touches many lives. Those people are amazing for doing what they are doing.

But comparing yourself to them is a slippery, slippery slope - one that cannot be easily climbed back up once you find yourself sliding down.

In the last year, I have found myself slowly creeping down that slope. Circumstances in our life have dictated that I spend less time volunteering and doing much of what made me so happy with my church and beyond, and focus more time on situations that are not so fun but must take priority. And it stinks to high heaven.

It has made me feel unreliable and like I have abandoned many who could always count on me. I have people from all directions wanting more from me; and I have two paths to choose from.

1.) Give everyone a little, spread myself too thin and do no one any good.

2.) Give up a lot of what I do for some people and focus on others who take priority.

Both paths leave people unhappy with me, and leave me emotionally exhausted and upset that I'm letting someone down.

You'll notice that neither of these avenues has me going on mission trips, speaking out for or raising money for causes important to me, or doing anything that makes a difference in lots of lives.

So we're back to square one. What matters?

Well, I don't think there is an answer to such a trick question. Or at least a definitive one. Obviously it is different for each person, but even to each person this is an evolving concept - one that is a finicky beast.

We all have foundational things that inherently matter. For me that is God and family. Those do not change. But beyond that, it's like that carnival ride where the whole thing goes in a circle while each individual compartment with people in it also twirls. Sometimes they twirl in the same direction and sometimes in opposite directions. Add to that the differing speeds of the two, and it's no wonder you spend your time on it wondering which way you're going, when you'll get there, and was that last night's curly fries I just tasted at the back of my throat?

Trying to follow what matters in your life sometimes feels like that when the concept beyond your foundation is always evolving. Or is that the problem? Should it not always be evolving? How can it not be?

I have no idea at this point. I just know that I feel like I've spent a lot of time chasing my own tail this past year only to realize recently that I DON'T HAVE A TAIL.

So what do you think?

What's Inside?

Relaxing is a dingdangdong lot harder to do than it should be. I mean really relaxing - your mind, your brain, your heart, your body, your psyche, your judgements, your demons. By definition, to relax is to make less tense, rigid, or firm; to diminish the force of; to bring relief from the effects of tension, anxiety, etc.; to release oneself from inhibition, worry, tension, etc. When was the last time you relaxed? I can't remember the last time I relaxed. Watching Dancing with the Stars does not count.

Everyone needs a person other than their spouse. That one person. The one who knows the look in your eyes is different when no one else does. The one who understands - even when they don't; who agrees with you - even when they don't; who hugs you - when they really want to hit you; who catches you when you fall. The one who thinks beyond you and ahead of you when you just can't do it. Do you watch Grey's Anatomy? Yeah, that. What Meredith and Christina are talking about when they say "you're my person." Everyone needs one of those. Do you have one? I don't think I have one, or I wouldn't feel as alone as I do so much of the time. 
 
Vegetables are good for your body, but so many people's bodies, for one reason or another, cannot tolerate so many different vegetables. Why is that? Why do things that are good for us sometimes hurt? And things that we need to stay away from seem so impossible to resist? Life this side of heaven makes so little sense much of the time, and I've about had enough of it. I often feel like a leaf blowing in the wind that could just as easily end up crushed in the sewer as pressed in a book somewhere by someone who saw it as beautiful and worth keeping forever. 

Each day is a new beginning - even when it feels like you're living out the movie Groundhog Day and nothing will ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever change. Like in that classic film (classic in our house, at least), subtle changes we make - small, seemingly imperceptible differences - can change the course of everything. At least this is what I am hoping.
 
All dogs do go to heaven. I believe that with all my heart - and do you know why? Because God has prepared a place for each of us in his kingdom, and I believe that for each of us that place will be our own utopia. And my eternal life will not be my own utopia without all of the dogs I have lost (and will lose) over my lifetime. My husband will be surrounded by Diet Coke and Twizzlers. 

Life is not like a box of chocolates at all. I'm sorry, Forrest - yer mama was wrong. Chocolates are rich and savory. Boxes of chocolate are special - not everyday or ordinary. You don't put "box of chocolates" on your grocery list. You receive them, most of the time, as a gift that was meant as some sort of gesture of love or admiration. This is a cynical view, for sure; but I've been worked over, so NO, life is not like a box of chocolates.   

Every day I wonder about, search for, and beg God to reveal what it was that he stashed within me that makes me worthy or capable of raising the precious people he put in my care. If I don't find it - and soon - it's going to be too late to tap into it to make this all turn out okay.

Doing things for others should be a selfless act. Every. Time. Did Jesus do things for others during his 33 years on earth and then go into the garden and cry to his father through prayer when no one did anything for him in return? The Bible never tells us of any such thing. He cried to his father about other things, but did he ever break down and just lose it out of sheer exhaustion? He was human, after all. He felt human pain, human emotions, human disappointment, human joy, human betrayal. Do you think he ever cried to his father that he was ready to join him NOW, and can we please just forget all of the rest of this sacrificial stuff I'm supposed to do to teach these people? Can't someone else teach them? I guess this is a conversation best filed away for when I see him face-to-face. 

I'm Not Dead. Yet.

Check it out, people! I'm writing! Take note - this must be important.

Today is my nephew's 11th birthday. He is like many, many other boys his age. He plays in the backyard with stick-swords with his 9-year-old brother and 5-year-old sister and neighborhood friends. He loves being spoiled by Nana & Papa. He plays sports like his dad and brothers. He goes to public school and has to do homework. He complains about doing chores and bickers with his siblings. He swims like a fish in the backyard pool in their ho-hum midwestern suburban Ohio neighborhood. He has a cat.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

Not so fast on the judgement there, friend.

__________________________________________

This is Marco.

This is where Marco would have grown up, had his birth mother not had the courage to let him go so he could have a better life than she could give him. 

My sister and her husband already had the "nuclear" American family going on with two children - one boy, one girl. Why mess with that?

But they heard and answered God's call to adopt from Guatemala.

I'll never forget the day she told me on the phone that they were considering this. It was such a significant moment that I remember exactly where I was. 

My reply was tears. But I don't think she knew that - because we were on the phone, and tears rolling down your cheek make little noise.

Perhaps her heart heard them anyway. Sisters are like that.

 __________________________________________

This was Marco
when Mark & Aimee met him in Guatemala
for the first time.

As I have already pointed out,
he came home to a typical American family. 

He does silly things

with his siblings.

He loves Halloween.

He's a typical American kid whose life just happens to be the result of God's hands guiding two families toward one another from thousands of miles apart.

Two different worlds, two opposite cultures.

One Big God.

 __________________________________________

But there was much more at work here than that. God often works like that, doesn't he? 

That sly deity.

Clearly from the photos above, you can see that Marco isn't the youngest of the Davis clan. There were two more children waiting to be conceived and born into our family half a world away.

Listening and responding to God asking them to live out their faith and take a blind leap led to this beautiful family:

Mark, Marco, Zack, Gus, Katie, Ana, and Aimee

and my sister's deep, abiding love for the people of Guatemala,

whom she has worked tirelessly for both there several times a year as well as from here - as (among other capacities) an adoption coordinator bringing other families together with their waiting children, and the coordinator of a group of families who have all adopted children from Guatemala so they can grow up with others from the same culture.

I love my sister and her heart and all she is.

I wanna be just like her

if I ever grow up.

Happy birthday, Marco!

See how God has already used you in a big, big way? I can't wait to see what the rest of your life holds!

My #Storyline

And Here It Is.

I'm tired. I'm so tired I could weep and weep endlessly for days and days until there is no more weeping to be had. I don't even care if that doesn't make sense, which it doesn't. I feel like I could fill an ocean, drain it, and fill it again. Don't come undone, my environmentalist followers. The ocean is filled with salt water, which is similar to tears. Minus the fish. Let's stay focused, here.

But do you ever stop living long enough to wonder what your next thought will be? Do you ever float just far enough outside of yourself to see and hear what you are saying to the person next to you in a whole different context than the one your mind is creating the words in?

I am tired because I put too much pressure on myself to solve my boys' issues. (Hello, God, are you there? It's me, the person trying to inch you out of your position here at the company. Again.)

I am tired because I do not do well letting the pieces fall where they may.

I am tired because I have too many plans and not nearly enough . . . anything.

158 ideas + (-420 hours of time to accomplish personal goals)   x little confidence  = You probably oughta hang it up.

 the square root of ain't-ever-gonna-happen                                                                        

I am tired because I feel lost in the shuffle every day of my life.

I am tired because it is draining hearing about the stellar parenting accomplishments of people close to me (which is not their fault).

I am tired because the feeling of epic failure weighs more than the Aquanet bangs I had in high school.

I am tired because I virtually lose my mind daily trying to find and tap into whatever it is that God placed within me that holds the key to me being able to do anything I try effectively.

I am tired and I just want to sleep through it all.

But then I would miss the snuggles. And the hugs. And the laughter that is so deep it hurts. I would miss the joy I feel when I look at the hold God has on the hearts of all four of my men. I would miss the moments when my youngest son's blue eyes look so deeply into mine, that it feels like nothing could ever separate us. I would miss my middle son's caring touch and soft words of wisdom beyond his years when he sees that I'm not feeling quite right. I would miss seeing my oldest son grow more and more from the tiny boy I once held in my arms to the man God has in store for him to be.

I would miss every single, tiny moment that marrying my best friend continues to bring me after over 20 years.

These things - these beautiful, God-given moments in time - I am willing to endure the rest for.

Please remind me of this tomorrow. And every day after that until I die or snap so far from reality that it won't matter anyway.

Illustration by Ivan Bachev.

You'd Think I Have Too Much Time On My Hands

Sometimes I just look around me. My house, my environment, my life, the challenges we deal with, the blessings we are showered with, everything - it all makes me who I am every day. 

Those who know me closely know exactly how those dots are all connected to make me, well - ME. And ME is one oddly put-together personality. Meet me for the first time and spend 30 minutes with me, and you'll either walk away very uncomfortable not sure how to take most of what I said (was she really serious or just joking?), wonder if I'm really that much of an open book (I will usually tell anyone anything about myself or something that I've been through) or just vow "that's just not for me" as if you just ate Indian food for the first time and decided, right then and right there, that you're really just a burger and fries kinda person.

See? Right there. Am I joking? Am I trying to be funny?

I walked down the stairs on my day off earlier this week, apparently, with someone else's eyes on. Because everything I saw around me hit me like I was walking through a museum of some really odd person's life on display. It hit me that it is all so normal to all of us that we think nothing of it, but most who walk in our house for the first time probably see all these subtly odd things and wonder if we're a bit off our rockers. 

It really is subtle. Upon first glance, we all seem like a perfectly normal suburban family. I think. Maybe I'm even more delusional than I thought. We just make life work for us in a mostly humorous way, and we do what we can to embrace the fact that we have some family-crippling issues to deal with at times.

In a nutshell, we are two best friends raising three boys, two dogs, and one snake who just celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. We met at 13 and became friends though we were complete opposites in every way, began dating at 16, had a baby in college just before we turned 20, married later that year and the rest is blissful, odd, fun, challenging history. And our life shows it. 

So that morning, I had the entire day off, and it was amusing me to take photos of the things that we live with every day, but were suddenly standing out to me. It was cracking me up and I was having fun. Forget laundry. Laundry doesn't make me chuckle. 

I thought I'd share with y'all. Because remember? I really am such an open book. And if something amuses me - I immediately want to tell someone. My close friends know this well - as they get odd texts at odds times - usually with photos.

This is a photo-heavy post. You may want to stop now. 

No? Okay - here we go.

This was my coffee - notice the hidden Kahlua in the pattern on the cup? Yep. Notice that I am so very adept at the process of making my coffee that I know exactly how much creamer and whipped cream to put in the cup before I brew my Keurig K-cup into that cup that there is not a millimeter to spare at the top? Yep. I'm that good. Yes - I put the creamer and whipped cream in first. It's what I do. Yes. I said whipped cream.

This is Jesus. In a piece of pottery on our kitchen window sill. Christ is the head of our family and always will be. Our faith is deep and it is wide. Don't test it. It will win every time.

But why is Jesus in that?

That piece of pottery has a great story behind it involving my brother and sister-in-law, a great trip to Asheville, NC, an awesome restaurant, and a woman who has a business in her home with a golden doodle dog who acted weird after having surgery.

Don't you wish you knew it?

Back to Jesus. I can prove it's Jesus. And here's how. No one else would have another person's name tattooed on their foot. Tattoos hurt to get. I know. I got one. In Asheville.

It just gets weirder and weirder, doesn't it??

This is our garage fridge.

And That's a Nike shoe box in it. Odd enough. Guess what's in the shoe box? Beer. Story behind that, too. 

When I got the shoes that were in that box when my son's girlfriend and I were shopping on Black Friday, we cracked up and decided that the symbol on the box means that no babies from zero to three months are allowed to be in the box, play with the box, touch the box, or otherwise look at the box. 

After that - you're free and clear. Do you notice how sad this makes the baby?

Moving on to my workroom, which we call "Richard" by the way. Another funny story.

I love pigs - have since I was little. If you really want to know the story, I'll tell it sometime - just ask. But I won't boar everyone else with it right now. See how I did that?

This is a pig that someone sketched, not sure if it was Alexx (my oldest son) or Kat (his lovely, lovely girlfriend), who are both amazing artists. But it's an awesome pig - with wings and a light sabor. It may be the greatest pig of all time. What other pig could top that? Certainly not the "Largest Pig in the World" you can visit at the State Fair. That thing can't even walk, I'm sure. Hold a light sabor? PLEASE.

It happens to be sketched on the inside of a Lipton Onion Soup box.  

I don't even know the background on that one.

But I put it where I can see it every second that I'm working because it makes me happy.

Speaking of what else makes me happy in Richard - the desktop on my computer - a picture of me with Mac Powell, my favorite singer of all time - from Third Day. If you aren't listening to their music, you are not living.

And that Dr. Pepper? I stole that from my boss at work (Club Canine). Now she's going to know it. So I have to buy some Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper to put in her fridge at work so I don't get fired.

My desk coaster, I think, says it all.

This is the crate that we bought for Joshua when he came home a year ago at 11 weeks old. We no longer put him in the crate (though he likes to nap in it), but I made a work surface of it a long time ago with a clearance piece of something-or-other from Ikea that I got for $1, so I'm not willing to take it down.

I love this piece of art. It reminds me daily that I am precious and loved and a child of God, no matter what stupid things I do or say.

When I brought it home, I knew I wanted it in Richard somewhere since I spend so much time in there, but I couldn't decide where to hang it. Fast forward to us having to get a new heating/cooling system, which came with a new thermostat, which was smaller than the old one.

I'm too lazy (or too busy) to sand the area and fix it with the new paint on the walls, so I found the perfect place to hang my picture:

This is Pedro - see him peeking his head up in the back? We love Pedro. We adopted him from our Jr. High Pastor at church (WRCC - check us out!) We previously kept Seth's (8-year-old) class snake for the summer and had a ball with him, so this is our 2nd snake to love. (Hey - all boys, remember?) And you know what? They have totally different personalities! Who knew?

Pedro just shed, and so I need to hang a housekeeping tag outside his door for service. Totally cool when they shed.

Pedro eats live mice - and I have a funny story about when one of the mice we bought for his meal chewed its way out of its box before we got it out to feed him ... good times.

This sleeping bag was dragged out of storage for the fall Scout campout that Sean, Seth (the Scout) and Joel (13-year-old) went on in October. It has become a favorite cover-up around the house. Should we put it back in storage or just leave it out? You know what the laziness devil on my right shoulder is whispering in my ear.

These are tile coasters I made a few Christmases ago for fun. They were never packed away - so we have Christmas spirit all year long. In theory.



I brought this basket home from one of my trips to Asheville, NC. It was handmade in India (if I recall correctly). I just fell in love with the colors and the shape - just all of it! I haven't yet decided what will be perfect to store in it.

Joel and Seth tell me that they put Victor (the previous class snake we were caring for) in it once last summer to see if they could get him to come out the top by playing music.








I kind of really am a crazy dog chick, as they call me. And I'm cool with that. I have always been the crazy dog girl. Just ask my parents. Big, long stories there, too.

So this is reflected in every part of my life:

This one offended Seth when I hung it up. Seriously. He was mad.

I have my live Christmas wreath up! It smells so good. Nothing odd about that.











But I left the magnet on the door that is there all the time above the "Pets welcome" bone sign:

Here's the back of the door. 

Just a reminder for the boys that we aren't takin' any of their crap, 

that they need to clean up their own crap, and more dog stuff, of course.

 In our downstairs half-bath, I got so tired of cleaning pee off of every surface *around* the toilet, that I took an oil paint pen and drew a smiley face inside the toilet bowl and told the boys to "AIM TO HIT THE GUY IN THE TOILET, for crying out loud."

When that one faded, I had to draw another one. Seth asked if he could help me. Sure! Why not?

That is a stupid question, by the way, that will be answered in 1,000 different, bad ways if you ask it as the mother of all boys. It was answered in this way this particular time:

That's the faded remnant of Seth's rendition of the guy with the smiley face 

with "hair that's on fire." 

Sigh. 

But, by the way, the smiley face worked. To a degree.

I now clean up considerably less pee in places that it does not belong.

I am known for writing notes to my people on the mirrors in our house with either dry-erase markers or lip stick that I've gotten for free and will never-in-this-lifetime wear (have you met met?). 

So Seth, following my actions (great parenting), didn't write the rest of us a note,

but drew a dinosaur in bad need of orthodontic work. 

And just a glimpse of our reading material in said bathroom. 

A nice variety, yes? 

That says it all. I live the boys' life, try to do it simply, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I'M STILL A GIRL, someone please talk to me about make-up, clothes, 

and famous people that none of us know.

That morning, my wonderful, awesome, superdupergoodsmellin' husband let me 

sleep in until just before he left for work. When I came downstairs, this is what I found that the 8-year-old had eaten for breakfast.

Hey - nobody's died yet. Don't judge.

Just to show you that we aren't all odd and different, a few vastly normal qualities about us:

When you walk in our door, in the foyer is what we affectionately call "The Grandma Chest." My great-grandad made this chest as part of his and his wife's "setting up house" furniture when they were married.

When I was little, I was completely enamored with this piece of furniture, which was by then in my grandma's house. I *loved* it for some reason.

When Sean and I were married and we moved into our first apartment, Grandma gave it to us. It means the world to me, because it represents Grandma's love for me and my family and our history.

On the Grandma Chest are two photos that also mean the world to us. The one on the left is Sean's grandfather, whom he was very close with until his death when we were 21.

The one on the right is my great-grandad (who made the chest), my great-grandma, my grandad, and two great aunts. Grandad died when I was just two, but I grew up with my Aunt Sarah (until I was 8 or so) and my Aunt "Ita" (Juanita - who died in my early 20's).  Also nothing odd about these things - I just wanted to share - along with a few other things:

We love to take photos - not staged photos, but "I gotta get my camera!" photos. Or sneaky, no-one-knew-I-had-my-camera photos. Or just we-have-GOT-to-capture-this-fun photos.

This wall is from the foyer to our kitchen,

and some of my favorites are:

These are photos I took of Seth sleeping one day at around 6 months old. He still looks just like that when he's asleep.

This is Alexx (12) and Joel (almost 5) meeting Seth the day he was born.

Papa (my dad) loves these boys enough to do everything from engage in water gun wars . . . 

 

to quiet walks to settle down little Seth during a particularly difficult "autisic moment."

One of my favorite pictures of Alexx (now nearly 21 yrs. old).

And in case you were unclear, these are the loves of my life right after my human family.

Joshua (1)

Heidi (6)