On Tuesdays

I count my summer by Tuesdays.  It makes me feel a bit wistful that there are only four left before school commences and we return to our typical week:  Mondays drag and Fridays feel like the finish line.  In the summer, Mondays are restful and Tuesdays are a party, for one simple reason.  Tuesday is Friend Day.

Bubbles!

Over the past year, my children (ages 4, 6, and 8) have all developed a strong friendship with someone outside our family.  I wondered how long it would last when the boys described their brothers as their best friends.  And especially for my oldest, on the autism spectrum and introverted in the extreme, I wondered if he would ever have a friend who didn't share his last name.

It's a hard thing that I never considered before the diagnosis.  I have been blessed to have the same best friend for the past two decades, as well as a husband who often fills the role.  I have friends at church and friends to chat with at pick up/drop off, friends who work at the library and Starbucks, friends to go see movies with and hang out on a lazy afternoon.  (Not that I have those anymore.)

But this kid, this sweet, silly boy, has a hard time engaging other people.  He experiences much of life on another plane, and tends to keep to himself.  Even when other kids desire to interact with him, he just doesn't participate in conversations the same way, or answer questions in a linear fashion, and I can see the frustration on the faces of his classmates and kids at the playground.  It's just easier to leave him to his own games and carry on with tag or basketball with the other kids.

Playing "Minecraft in Real Life"

A while back, one of my friends started working on Tuesdays, and needed someone to drop off her kids at school.  I volunteered, since we live close to the school, and her kids are always a delight to be around.  When summer rolled around, she still had work on Tuesdays, and three kids in need of a place to play.  It worked well that her kids' ages fall near my own kids' ages, and they got along great for 12 weeks.  The most remarkable part was that her son, a few months older than my sweet James, loves to play video games, and wanted James to teach him how to play one of our games.  So, week after week, James had a friend to play with.  They could sit side by side (but more often, James bounces around the room while he plays), complete tasks together, and they actually talked to each other!  Ian would ask questions, and James would answer in his own way.

I watched nervously, trying to serve as interpreter, or to catch James' attention when he seemed to be ignoring Ian.  But mostly, the two boys worked it out together, and a bond was established.  They play games together, and if James is intent on doing things his own way, Ian finds something to play with the other kids.  And now James looks forward to Tuesdays, to having his friend come over.  The kid who would rather be left alone, who seemed content to go through life solo, has a friend!  And it touches my heart every week to see them together.

Lego Star Wars!

It takes work, and special attention, and a whole lot of luck to match kids with special needs to someone who genuinely wants to spend time with them.  So many people in our kids' lives are there in a professional capacity, that finding someone who wants to be a friend is a gift.  And I'll do my best to appreciate whenever we find those gifts.

Coffee Day

Dear Coffee:

I held you in my hand as I browsed Facebook this morning, and I discovered that it was your special day!  People were toasting you and roasting you and telling you how wonderful you are, and I had to join in.  Of course, you know how much you mean to me, not just today, but every day of the year.  A love like ours doesn't need to be validated by social media, but it is so magical that it has inspired me to climb to the top of my online platform and declare to all my readers that I am in love with you.

Remember when we first met?  I was only 8 years old, and I breathed in your unique aroma.  I drank of your brown goodness (2 sugars and 3 creams) and I knew I'd found something special.  I tried to get as much of you as I could, at restaurants and on the road, in the kitchens of my relatives and even at home.  You were everywhere, in one form or another.  When I look back on my life, the stressful moments and the celebrations, the holidays and birthdays, the hotel lobbies and airplane galleys, you were there for me.

Our relationship changed, naturally, as I grew up.  These days, I enjoy you with a little flavored cream, often in a to-go mug as I run my kids to school in the mornings.  Occasionally, we even meet up at a local shop.  I still enjoy the times we can sit outside together, fresh air and warm coffee.  You have perked me up after sleepless nights, given me the energy to get through another day of diapers, laundry, pbjs, repeat.  You have kept me warm on the cold days, when rain has soaked me through as I struggled to get three kids in their car seats.  You are who I want after an afternoon snowball fight.

Coffee, you are universal.  You go with everything.  You wash down a delicious pastry as easily as a ham sandwich.  You pair with dessert and breakfast, or as a stand alone.  You taste delicious dressed down in black or dolled up with whipped cream and caramel.  You let me choose cold or hot, and you never ask anything from me.

We both know I've dabbled in some other beverages.  You forgave me for the Butterbeer I drank over spring break, accepting that what happens in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter STAYS in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  You co-exist with water and Coke and wine, because you know that you'll always be my first love, that none of them compare to you.  And you'll be there for me to the end.  I've seen you in the hospitals and nursing homes, and we know about the senior discount.

Happy Coffee Day friend.  Thank you for all that you give me, the caffeine and sugar and warmth.  Here's to many more years of you and me!

My Thoughts on Women

I woke up this morning with a question on my heart:  Has there ever been a better time to be a woman?  The answer is an emphatic NO.  One only has to watch season one of Mad Men to realize how much has changed for those of us living today, how much freedom we have to think and act and be who we want to be.  Thanks to the tireless work of the suffragists, the educators, the trailblazers, the leaders, the law changers, I get to live in a time of unprecedented opportunity.  I can choose what job I want to have (homemaker!), what color to dye my hair (I'm thinking purple next...), what books to read (The Trumpet of Conscience, go read it NOW), who to vote for (that one's trickier since politicians suck as a rule).  Don't even get me started on the advancements in menstrual care...from red tents and rags to those bizarre belts and toxic shock syndrome, and today researchers are hard at work finding ways for us to avoid that monthly debasement altogether.

Girl Power! (I'm in the yellow shirt) 2006

I shared last week how I feel about men, both the general men of the world and the men closest to me.  It is because of these men who love me, my husband and father and sons, that I find my femininity.  It is in response and in relation to them that I see who I was created to be, see all my strengths and weaknesses clearly.  We have both, sisters, because we are whole people and we are flawed people.  The weaknesses of our gender aren't too hard to discover.  We wound with our mouths.  We gossip and whisper, we exaggerate and lie, we criticize and we judge.  And for all of the pain we inflict, we are mortally wounded when the tongues of others lash our skin.  Chris Rock says, "Women would rule the world...if they'd stop hating each other."  We allow envy to course through our veins and we forget to cheer each other on.  We forget to embrace the positive side of womanhood.

BFFs 1998

Because we live in a world that says we have to be like men to be worthwhile, we have forgotten why it's so great to be a woman.  We carry and birth new life.  We are created to safeguard the next generation with our bodies, and are capable of so much love, tenderness, and nurture.  If the children are the future like the song says, then ladies, it all begins with us, with our wombs and our breasts and our arms.  Let us never forget to wonder and celebrate at what we bear within us.  And closely related to our child-bearing is our child-birthing and ridiculously high tolerance for pain.  I firmly believe that if men had to experience the process, the human race would die off.  But we don't just stop there, with the necessary aches and groans of labor, we inflict more pain on ourselves in the name of beauty.  Waxing and tweezing and high heels and underwire (not to mention the torture of Jillian Michaels) and we don't even bat our eyes.  That's nothing.  We can endure and we can triumph through it all.  And our greatest strength is really the flip side of our greatest weakness.  All the infighting and verbal assaults we wage against each other can very easily be steered towards good.  Because our most feminine quality is our ability to go deep.  We learn about each other.  We open up about our hurts.  When we let our hearts swell with love, we realize how much we actually care about each other.  We realize that your victory is my victory and your pain is my pain.  We learn how to join arms and hold each other up.

It takes a Village 2013

I went to high school.  We all went to high school.  So we all know how scary other women are.  I chose to inflict pain right back at those who hurt me.  That seemed like the only way to survive.  But it's not.  I've been learning the past few years about another way to go, about real, healthy female friendships.  What it is to accept someone for who she is, to notice her abilities and her beauty and not feel threatened by it.  I've learned how to be vulnerable because I know I'm with safe people.  I know what it's like to be freaking out and scared and realize that my girlfriends (or sisters or roommates or classmates or whatever) are the last people I want to call.  Which is a real shame, because I have a few ladies on speed dial that are better at talking me down than even my husband (that's really saying something, since this is the guy I chose as The One to talk me down for the rest of our lives).  And WOW!  When I can reach out and there's actually another woman there who doesn't make fun of me or criticize me or judge me?  It's an incredible feeling ladies.  It's what I want for us all.  But we have to make it happen.  We have to be the change we want to see.  (Ghandi!!!)

Sisters (at Madame Toussaud's) 2013

For all that we have left to accomplish, the changes of the past several decades give me hope.  We aren't "there" yet, but we can get there because of the advancements women have already made.  We have platforms and microphones and education and spending power ladies!  We have voices and passions and we were made to be part of the solution!

*All the women pictured are dearly, deeply loved by me (even Oprah), and I will always feel tremendous gratitude to each of you for being a friend, a sister, a mentor to me.  You ladies rock!*

On Getting Messy

A few years ago, Chris and I decided it was no longer enough to say and do all the right things without actually touching the hurting world around us.  We weren't satisfied to remain in our comfortable suburban life, raising our two biological sons, so we went out.  Outside the box, outside the established order, outside what we knew.  We looked complicated and messy in the eyes and rolled up our sleeves.

It would be inspirational to say that we love this life.  I would challenge you to join me in this messy work because I would show you pictures and tell you amazing stories and I would say, "It's so worth it."  But the truth is that stepping out of comfort and into the messy lives of other people, touching their wounds and sitting through their dark nights is hard.  And there are days when I wish we hadn't changed anything.  Days when I long for suburban comfort and simple answers.

And then I pull out my Bible.  Something that has been hitting me hard lately is where I find Jesus in these stories.  Jesus is never at the extreme.  He isn't supporting sexism or racism or elitism or terrorism.  Because those are easy.  It's easy to say you don't like people who don't look like you or live in your neighborhood or speak your language.  It's much, much harder to take each person as they come, to get to know them all and realize that some poor people are great, and some are kind of obnoxious.  Just like some rich people are kind, and some are huge a-holes.  Good leaders can be found among men and women.  Jesus knows that, because He knows people.  Jesus can always be found in the middle, in the tension between two extremes.  While politicians debate and opposing sides entrench in their beliefs, Jesus walks among the crowds, healing and teaching.

This is where I am tonight.  I am frustrated and tired and not sure what comes next.  I am looking back with longing at the life I could have continued in and wishing for easy answers.  I don't feel like an inspiration or a paragon.  I can't promise that you won't get dirty in this tension.  But it's the only place I know to find Jesus.

On Holiness

I recently shared how much I love to read the Bible.  Since September, I've been part of a women's Bible study group at a local church and together we have read through the book of Exodus, which tells the thrilling story of Moses, Pharaoh, and God, and how God's people were set free from slavery.  The Bible study continues this month as we jump into Leviticus, which is the not-so-thrilling list of rules and guidelines for the newly formed nation of Israel.  Bo-ring!  I have read through this before and struggled to get from page to page, sentence to sentence.  Most of it no longer applies to modern readers, as we don't present animal sacrifices or live in a desert climate and have access to, you know, modern medicine.  And yet, this time, Leviticus seemed to come alive for me.  Instead of reading through a bunch of stuff I don't have to do, I saw each description as a picture of God.  God is not diseased, and so his people need to be purified from their disease to live with him.  God is incapable of sin, and so his people need to be purified from their sins to live with him.  God is honest and fair, and so his people need to be honest and fair so they can live with him and each other.

I think the Old Testament, and especially Leviticus, gets a back rap (I have personally complained about both).  But when I got to chapter 19, I had to stop and reflect.  The chapter is a list of rules and commands that don't necessarily seem to go together.  The chapter is titled "Holiness in Personal Conduct".  It includes:

• "Each of you must show great respect to your mother and father, and you must always observe my Sabbath days of rest." verse 3
• "Do not steal.  Do not deceive or cheat one another." verse 11
• "Do not defraud or rob your neighbor." verse 13
• "Do not insult the deaf or cause the blind to stumble.  You must fear your God." verse 14
• "Do not twist justice in legal matters by favoring the poor OR being partial to the rich and powerful.  Always judge people fairly." verse 15
• "Do not spread slanderous gossip among your people.  Do not stand idly by when your neighbor's life is threatened." verse 17
• "Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against a fellow Israelite, but love your neighbor as yourself." verse 18
• "Do not defile your daughter by making her a prostitute." verse 29
• "Stand up in the presence of the elderly, and show respect for the aged." verse 32
• "Do not take advantage of foreigners who live among you in your land.  Treat them like native-born Israelites, and love them as you love yourself.  Remember that you were once foreigners living in the land of Egypt." verses 33-34
• "Do not use dishonest standards when measuring length, weight, or volume." verse 35

I know what you're thinking...this sounds like every Christian I know, right?  We do such a good job keeping these commandments.  Oh wait, no, no we don't.  But like I said, Leviticus doesn't say as much about me and where I fall short, as it points to who God is.  What I learn about God by reading through this chapter is his commitment to equality.  Don't treat people differently because they are old, or poor, or rich, or blind.  Don't cheat each other.  Be honest.  Love each other the way you love yourself.  And I also learn that God knew what we would actually do.

If there is one thing that all people have in common, it's this tendency to constantly rank ourselves according to the people we know.  Like, they have a bigger house than me, her kids are better behaved than mine, but that person doesn't dress as nicely as I do.  We tend to bow to those we perceive to be "better" or "higher" than us, and to look down on those "lesser" or "below" us.  We derive our worth from our ranking.  I know striving to be better than everyone else characterized most of my teen years, and carried over a little into my twenties.

Take my friend Liga, for instance. She is much prettier than me.  She has a bigger house.  She has beautiful, special kids (and more than me).  Most days, I feel like she's a better mom than me.  She takes her kids on outdoor adventures and makes art with them on snow days.  She is more generous than me.  When we first met, I didn't think we would become friends.  I looked at how she was just so much MORE than me.  I felt self-conscious and inferior.  I needed to find some flaws to level the differences between us.  Instead, what Liga offered me was a grace to transcend our differences.  We became friends not because I was able to lower her to my level, but because she sees worth in the way that I do things.  And so I have found myself in this new kind of friendship where I tell her she is an amazing mom and then she tells me that I'm an amazing mom.  It doesn't matter what our houses or cars or clothes look like.  There's an equality that doesn't insist on all things being equal, but delights in the differences.  It's a blessed relief from the "mom-petition" (like competition, but when moms do it to each other).

It's a Levitical relationship when we stop trying to match up and accept each other for who we are.  For instance, there wasn't much that a blind person could offer to society at large, certainly not in comparison to someone whose vision was intact.  But we are told not to hurt them anyway.  A daughter wouldn't be worth as much as a son thousands of years ago, but parents were told to offer them the same protection anyway.  Foreigners have never had rights or power ever in human history, but we are to treat them with dignity anyway.  Jesus even taught about this in Luke 14:12-14 when he said, "When you put on a luncheon or a banquet, don't invite your friends, brothers, relatives, and rich neighbors.  For they will invite you back, and that will be your only reward.  Instead, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.  Then, at the resurrection of the righteous, God will reward you for inviting those who cannot repay you."

I think we should take Jesus literally.  Not only will God be pleased by opening our homes and sharing our meals with those who don't "rank" as our equals, but we can be pleasantly surprised to find new friends where we hadn't thought to look.  Because when we stop measuring a person's worth by what they can offer us, or by their sameness to ourselves, we can look at people with eyes wide open and realize that we are all equals as human beings and children of God.

On Nicknames

I love a good nickname.  One that rolls off the tongue, that you can't help but remember.  I wanted a nickname for the longest time.  Something better than Rachel.  Something that would remind me of a great moment, a funny story for years to come.

Because children are cruel but not very creative, I (like many of you, I'm sure) was given a taunting name in elementary school.  My last name rhymed with rabies...sort of.  For a while, I was Rachel Rabies.  Or Rachel Has Rabies.  It did make me want to start biting people.  Fortunately, we moved, and the name didn't come with us.

What did come with me was my sister, who decided to make a play on my middle name; for years she called me "Elvis snores" and later shortened it to Elvis.  I wonder if she even remembers the origin of this name, which she occasionally still calls me to my face.  (When she actually talks to me, AHEM, Sister, you are IT in this one-sided game of phone tag!)

In high school, I tried to give myself my own nickname.  It came to me suddenly, something cool and unique.  I asked my friends to start calling me Ramacious.  I tried to make it work, but it didn't catch on.  You don't get to pick your own.

My college roommate jokingly gave me a "Black Girl Name", but since it was "Rach-a-Mange", I killed that one quickly.  It didn't sound so much like a nickname; more like a potentially life-threatening disease, and not much better than Rachel Rabies.

A lady I worked with in my early twenties always called me "Rach", and she insisted that this was a nickname.  I disagree.  It's just a shorter version of my name.  If a girl is named Jennifer, but we call her Jen, is it a nickname?  Or if a guy is named, oh I don't know, Andrew Tyler, and everyone calls him Tyler, does that count?  Not to me.

When I got married, I tried to take on my husband's nickname.  He played baseball in high school with several boys named Chris, so they each got nicknames to tell them apart.  His was Lippy.  So I thought, Great!  I'll be Mrs. Lippy.  It's cute, it rolls off the tongue, his-and-her nicknames!  But again, it didn't stick, because, again, you don't get to pick your own nickname.
 
The worst part of this whole thing is I am a terrific giver of nicknames.  I have successfully marked several people for life with unforgettable names, many of which are too cruel to post here.  (For those who have only known the adult me, I have to admit, yes, I was one of the cruel children we lament about.  I should probably try to find some of those people and apologize.  You never know who has your name on a list a la Billy Madison, am I right?)

What I'm saying, what I'm BEGGING, is for someone to give me a good nickname.  Please?  Make my lifelong wish come true!

On our Twentieth Anniversary

It's hard to believe that we met 20 years ago.  That's two-thirds of our lives!  That's twice as long as our marriages.  I don't even remember how it happened exactly, how you went from being the girl in front of me in 6th grade science class with the multi-colored leggings (and yes, you reminded me of a frog, the way you jumped from your seat with those long slender legs when it was time to collect your homework), to my soulmate, my very BFF.  I don't say these words out loud to you, because I have a hard time expressing my feelings that way, but you already knew that.  You figured it out years ago, back when I was discovering that more than anything you needed someone to love you for who you are and encourage you.

And I have.  Loved you, that is, in the most platonic of ways.  I feel I should add that since this is very rapidly turning into a love letter and apparently I've been bottling it up all this time and finally letting it out is causing me to go completely off the rails.  But I want you to know what your friendship has meant to me, because it has grown and changed over the years, just as we have grown and changed.  And I honestly don't know how sixth grade ended and seventh began and that was when I first thought of you as my best friend.

It was a struggle during those years.  My family had moved, we had left our whole life in Texas and we were starting a new one in Ohio.  My parents had new jobs, my sister was at a different school and finding her own ways to make friends and fit in, and I felt lost.  I didn't understand the customs of the other kids, couldn't figure out how to join a clique.  And maybe this is how we found each other, because even though you are friendly and likeable, beautiful and kind, you've never really been part of the "in" crowd.  Maybe our shared glasses-braces-band geek combo brought us together.  Middle school was awkward; only many years later did I realize that we all felt that way.  But when you and I were together, walking to school and sharing a bag of popcorn, organizing music in the band room, in love with the same boy in art class, all the awkwardness fell away, and I got to just be myself.  You made me strong.  You made me bold.  Knowing that NO MATTER WHAT, you would still be my friend, gave me peace in the midst of all the uncertainty.

High school was different.  It broke my heart when you dropped French, when you no longer sat beside me in my favorite class.  Because you had already started dating that boy, and later you dated the other one, and you went back and forth for a few years, and I was jealous of the time you spent with them.  It started to feel like we were going in two different directions, and I wondered if it would be the end of us.  You were the only one who could get me to dress up for school, to deviate from baggy jeans and thrift store sweaters.  You got me to sing karaoke.  You introduced me to 80's music, especially that Cyndi Lauper song you always wanted to play in the practice room during study hall.  You were playing music and I was studying for a test.  After school, you wanted to get ice cream and I just wanted to go home and watch cartoons.  But then we both got jobs at the movie theater, both of us crushing on boys who worked there.  And somehow, between band camp and work and that tv show we liked, we made time for each other.  I met the man who would one day be my husband, and you got a break up letter tied to your garage door.

We went to different colleges.  I had been advised to NOT go where my friends were going, to avoid pulling a Felicity.  That's one decision I've regretted.  I think we both would have been better off transitioning into that new phase together, and I could have become a Buckeye fan years earlier.  I felt lost once again, I didn't have you by my side to give me courage, and I fell on my face.  The best memories I have of college were the weekends we spent together.  Thank you for that, for being a constant, even from a distance.  I should probably thank you for helping me actually begin my relationship with Chris, for passing along my contact information after I left for school and decided I missed him.  For being a very welcome third wheel while I tried to get over my shyness.

And then it came: graduation!  And you were there.  And oh, the freedom!  I got to move away and start my "career" and thanks to cell phones and unlimited nights and weekends, we got to talk for hours and hours.  But the best part of those post-college, pre-marriage years was the one when we lived together.  I'm so glad we did it.  I don't care that our furniture was mismatched or that my "bed" was a mattress on the floor.  I loved watching Law and Order: SVU marathons and Family Guy on your tiny tv, all our trips to Wendy's and Kroger, battling traffic on game day.  Mostly it was fun to be adults together, to figure out our friendship as we entered another phase of life.  You were the first one I showed my engagement ring to, the one who would stay up so you could get me to say funny things in my sleep, the one who supported my plan to destroy the alarm that went off for an hour each morning as our other roommate kept hitting the snooze.  We had our Oscar and Felix moments too.  I can't count how many times I came home after being gone a few days to a counter full of dirty dishes.  I know...it was our other roommates who left them there.  I know...you were just about to wash them.  Except that you didn't.  Ever.  I had imaginary fights with you as I scrubbed those dishes, complaining in my head that you always *said* you were going to clean, but you very rarely did.  Bygones.  You have so many wonderful characteristics, it's okay that you aren't Martha Stewart.

2005 was supposed to be a great year.  I got married, and you were there again, standing next to me, supporting me.  You got engaged just a short time later, and I was so glad that it was him, a man who doesn't mind driving us to Taco Bell late at night and laughs as we try to order as The Target Lady.  Then you took that trip with your mom and sister, not knowing it would be the last one.  We went dress shopping with your future mother-in-law, and I wished that she and I could make up for the fact that your mom wasn't there, that she spent the day getting tests done.  And even though your wedding was coming up quickly, it didn't come soon enough for her to be there.  Because just two months after she got the diagnosis, she was gone.  And I came to the calling hours, and I was once again amazed by you, how strong you were, standing next to her casket and greeting everyone as they came through.  Your dad seemed a little overwhelmed, a little lost, and your sister was still so young; you were the one keeping it together.  I didn't know what to say, how to tell you these things that I saw that week, really all those weeks when you were taking care of her and trying to do so much.  All I could offer was pizza and a night to take a break from all of it.  Two months later, you were saying your vows, you were lighting a candle in memory.

It was hard to keep up the pace of friendship the way we used to.  We lived in different cities, we both worked, my husband is allergic to your cat.  We didn't have the unlimited time we used to.  But still we kept at it.  We visited, we called, we made a place for each other in these new lives.  When I had my first baby, you came to see me, to meet him.  You made me laugh so hard I was afraid my stitches would tear, and the doctor would have to go back to work on my belly, making me look like Frankenstein's c-section.  I had my second son, and worried that we had become too different, but then one day you called to say you'd peed on the stick and it was positive, and you were so nervous that the baby would fall out, and I laughed like the experienced moms do, because I remembered that feeling.  I thought about you alot during that pregnancy, about how much I relied on my own mother for advice and help with my kids, and I wondered how much you were missing yours.  And each year, I think about you in October, I always think I should send you flowers or something, but it doesn't seem like enough.  And I think about you on Mother's day, a day that is now about celebrating you, because you are a wonderful mom, but it's also a day to remember your own.

How do I sum it up?  You have been my life jacket, my dance partner, my better half, my ride home, my confidante, my roommate, my friend.  I can't imagine what my life would have been like without you by my side.  Our 20th anniversary seems as good a time as any to put it all into words, to let you know how much you have meant to me, and to wish for many more years to come, to see how we change and what stays the same.

Worthy

 

Mama and baby, summer 2007

My favorite animal is the cat.  Just your ordinary housecat.  We had several as pets as I grew up, ones that were acquired as kittens and grew up before my eyes.  Ones with silky soft fur and loud, rolling purrs.  It wasn't just because they were sleek and easy to care for.  I love the independence of cats.  I love that they don't give their affection to just anyone (you know, not like those gross drooling dogs).  You have to prove yourself to a cat.  You have to be calm, be kind, and then you have to wait for them to come to you.  I remember the cat that jumped from my sister's arms as soon as she brought it in the house and streaked down the hall to my room, where it cowered under my bed for three days.  Three DAYS.  It might have snuck out to use the litter box or get some food while we weren't home, but whenever we walked back in, there it was, hissing and spitting just out of reach.  After the first day, we stopped trying to coax it out.  It might have been out of compassion, or just frustration.  Either way, we let it be.  And, after three days, it did.  It had decided that we were okay people (probably after we stopped crawling towards it in that dark, close space, and calling for it to come out).  And what happens once you've earned a cat's love?  All over you.  On your lap.  In your bed.  Its not as easy to notice how close cats stay, because they are quiet, and also because they have this way of seeming as though you've both just walked into the same room by coincidence.  Oh, were you coming to the living room too?  Sitting on the couch?  Me too, the cat seems to say.  Isn't that funny?  Well, we may as well sit together.  No sense pretending we don't know each other.  And if you could just scratch riiiight there...you know the spot I like.

Duck Hunt 2009

And, not to trivialize or disrespect anyone, but autism can be like that.  My son reminds me of the cats that I loved to cuddle but had to give up when I started dating my husband (he's allergic).  He doesn't have that loud, sloppy, friend-to-anyone doglike tendency that some kids display.  In a new setting, an unknown house for example, he's more likely to do the human equivalent of hiding under a bed for three days.  He will never willingly become the center of attention, he lets his little brothers handle that.  The way a cat will survey the perimeter, keeping its distance...that's how he acts around people he doesn't know.  He won't answer your questions, no matter how loudly you pose them.  He may, in fact, shy away from those who persist in their queries, for some reason raising their voices in response to his lack of eye contact and "refusal" to answer.  Its not because he doesn't understand, or because he doesn't like you.  He's keeping his distance until you prove yourself.  And I'm waiting for you to show your true colors too.

This is one of those aspects of special needs parenting that can either be a positive or a negative...it all depends on how we see it.  For me, using my child as a barometer for the worthiness of our relationships is a good thing.  It saves so much time.  It weeds out the half-hearted and self-centered.  What is left is a smaller number, but it is powerful.  It is a group of warriors.  People who care SO MUCH that they don't let hand flapping or perseveration keep them away from us.  People who drop down to his level to say hi, who let it go if he doesn't respond in kind, who break into huge smiles when he does.  People who join in the hunt for discarded shoes and scarves when its time to go, who help with trips to the bathroom when our hands are full.  People who say, "Come on over!" or better yet, "Drop them off!" and we can say okay.  Because we know their worth.

Brother love after the first day of kindergarten, August 2012

What kind of Vert are you?

I had the immense privilege this past weekend to go out of town with a group of ladies who amaze and fascinate me, and perhaps the most amazing part is to realize that I am one of them, that there is a place for me in their group (there's a place here for you, come with us next time!).  As our time together was winding down, I was like an electric charge of energy, despite the very short night of sleep and the assured chaos waiting for me at home.  I thought, I must blog about this experience.  I need to write out what this weekend was for me in order to process how much I loved it (and also to answer my husband's barrage of questions without having to actually talk).  But once I sat before the computer, my brain refused to cooperate.  There was too much, I was exhausted, and it just wasn't going to happen that night.  So I hoped inspiration would come to me this week as I ease back into my every day routine.  And this is the first part that I can properly relay here.

After a day of conversations (how easy it is to talk to each of you...I loved how our words weaved in and out, how we could have one large conversation or 3 smaller ones, how it was more than just noise, but love and encouragement and laughter bringing us together), we ended the day at The Melting Pot for chocolate fondue, coffee, and even more talking.  Then came the question:  Are you an introvert or an extrovert?  Each woman spoke, gave her reasons and examples.  I considered not speaking up, because I was right in Mandy's eyeline, and I just knew that she would disagree with my answer.  Sure enough, when I said, "I'm an introvert," she responded, "What makes you think that?"  Well, dear Mandy, only my lifetime of experience being me.  HA!  But then I thought about it.  Is it possible to change from one to the other?  After spending decades as an introvert, could I have turned into an extrovert?

I am an introvert.  As a child, I lived in my imagination.  My parents love to tell stories about how Rachel could sit in a corner with a dish towel and a stick and entertain herself for hours, making characters and telling stories.  I have always had a small group of close friends, one or two "best friends", and everyone else intimidated me.  I was quiet anywhere public, terrified to talk to new people, completely mute the day a sub showed up to teach my first grade class.  But in private, with my friends or family, the people who knew me best, I was a ham.  I cracked jokes and my voice became loud and I could "be myself".  When I was 12, I found Melissa, my very best friend, and realized something magical had happened.  Because no matter how many strangers or new people I found myself with, as long as Melissa was by my side, I had the courage to be myself, in all of its loud, sarcastic glory.  When we went to separate colleges, I floundered, completely isolated and not knowing how to make a friend without Melissa there.  That was the year I started dating a boy who became the man I married.  And the magic continued.  Because Chris became, not just a crush or a love interest, but a friend.  Over the years, he has become my partner, my other half, and slowly, I have been able to pull back the curtains on my inner self.  And because of this unveiling, I am, for the first time, completely myself, comfortable with who I am and able to be that all the time, not just in certain approved locations, with an exclusive list of people.  I can meet someone new and say "Here I am, this is me!" and be content for them to take it or leave it.  As a mom, I've been forced to push the limits of my own comfort, with children who need an advocate and a spokesperson, being quiet and avoiding new people is just not an option.  Does that mean that I'm an extrovert?  I'm not sure.  I still need some time to myself.  I often escape to my room when my husband gets home and take some much needed alone time, a chance to regroup, be still, have no little hands grabbing at me.

 But I think there's something to Mandy's questioning.  I have moved out of my hiding hole at the extreme end of the introvert spectrum.  It comes from embracing what's inside, and sharing that with a man who welcomes the revelation.  It comes from rising to the role of Mama Bear, being the advance guard for my cubs.  And it comes from a comfort and love that are bigger than all of us, knowing that I am loved by my Creator, that I am living a life that was made just for me.