Leverage

Three little words in our home are equal in power to any weapon of mass destruction. The biggest and oldest of our two Bichon Frise, Annie-Annie, not only understands what we say, she buys into the power of persuasion when it comes to her Daddy.

Weekend mornings, she lays in wait, listening for any of the three, harmless little words. “Go.” “Walk.” or “Leash”.

Sometimes, when the Bichons are outside, my husband will whip open the slider and simply raise the leash like a flag – a beacon of hope that Annie has not been forgotten. Other times, the two will have a elongated stare down. The subliminal hope in a thought that she will get to strut and brag with her beloved daddy down the street.

Then, those mornings, when the moment seems right. I whisper a key word under my breath. Ever vigilant, she typically looks at us in disbelief. Of course, I cannot say with all certainty that my husband is ready for a little jaunt, however, there is no turning back the clock to the moment before the “mistaken” utterance. “Oops! Sorry Hon.” I mock wearing a devilish, sideways smile.

“Well then, I better get my shoes, and you better get your leash.” ~ Dan Frye

“Peeves do not make very good pets.” ~ Bo Bennett

Whistle Stop

There is a considerable amount of free-flowing information on the internet, in the papers and on the television regarding the spike in the rate of diagnosed cases of Autism.

An Autism diagnosis does change the entire landscape of the family.  From my own personal experience, receiving the diagnoses for our eldest son approximately 15 years ago was nothing less than getting hit by a freight train.  The freight train that hits you is travelling full speed, at night, in the dark and in total silence.  We never saw it coming.  Most parents, grandparents and caregivers in our generation never saw it coming.  In our “day”, it was 1 in 10,000…..now; sadly 1 in 88 is the official number.  Again, I reiterate, it has only been 15 years since our son’s diagnosis.

While the debate churns and turns even nastier regarding the cause of Autism, we do know deep in our heart what happened and how our son became so ill.  We instinctively did what we felt we needed to do for our son to get him back to “well”.  We will always be skeptical of all statements, studies, suppositions or rehash on the subject.  However, regardless of how I feel and what I know, I am standing HERE, on this blog in neutrality – and choose to only educate those who read this simple blog, on my simple page about my complicated life with the same wry twist that has saved our sinking souls.

You see, we honor our sons, both the “astronaut” and his “heroic brother”.  While we never saw the train coming, we did ultimately jump off the tracks in the attempt keep our sanity.  It was necessary, but it was not easy, and the scars are still red welts, bleeding and miserable.  We ultimately went off the grid, did the fringe therapies that were emerging science at the time, and have never second guessed ourselves then or now.

It really is surreal, sensing your son was mugged and robbed of his childhood on so many levels left sick, scared and seemingly left behind to ultimately be sent to a group home or institution when he turns 18. 

Well, he’s 18 now.  He’s healthier and stronger BECAUSE he’s had to prove himself every day since he was diagnosed.  He now walks tall, he didn’t die, and he has transformed his life and ours – paving the way to excellence in his own way.

That little boy didn’t have much of an early childhood beyond therapies, medicines, treatments, procedures, surgeries and the like.  But now, right now and into his future lays a bright and beautiful landscape.  In our thoughts, those years should have been full of the wonders and delights kids experience when they are young and learning about the world.  We feel the same type of years that were stripped from our son is now in front of us. So, we GET to flip forward and continue to parent our son after his majority year, does it really matter that much if we do? No, it doesn’t matter because he is now much healthier, engaged and driven to succeed.  He is actually enjoying the idea of continuing his education in the subjects of his choosing….and thankfully; he’s letting us come along for the ride.

As the debates escalate, parties divide and research is conducted regarding the Autism debacle, feel free to visit here at Juggling the Astronaut.  I will strive to offer up some humorous, side-ways stories, thoughts and ponderings.  Even though I will never underestimate the healing ability of humor –  I can’t promise to always be funny here every time, all the time……all I can do is try.  ~ Wendy Frye

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”  ~ Havelock Ellis

Spring Break

Took a quick break to phone home today. The boys and my husband are home for Spring Break – no bikini beach getaways, just a Dad and his boys, the oldest on the Autism Spectrum, at home for the week…..with nothing especially pressing to do (obviously).

Husband:
(ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…..) “Whew, HELLO????, (slurp, burp, breathe deep, exhale)..

Wife:
“Honey? What in the world are you doing?”

Husband:
“It’s a BIG match!” “Playing Kinnect golf”, “Just hit an EAGLE babe!”…

Wife:
“…oh, cool…”

Husband:
“Oh, yeah! I’m doing a full on celebration dance!, got my butt wiggling, the younger son is getting physically ill and the dogs ran upstairs!” “I’m a winner, I’m a winner, I’m THE winner, winner CHICKENNNNNNN Dinner!” (Can’t be pretty)

“Hey Hon, glad you called – can you pick up some toilet paper on your way home from work? Oh, and I should have a cold beer as an award for my EAAAAAGLE!….” (Seriously, and I’ve been working all day?)

Younger son in background:

“Ice cream, vanilla with chocolate Magic Shell, please!”

Older son in background:

“Pizza! and Diet Coke for me!”

Husband:

“You should have SEEEENNNNN my shot!”

Younger son still in background:

“Don’t ignore me.” “Don’t ignore my request, Mom!”

Oldest son:

“Hey, you always forget me!” “What about mine?!?”

I start making the list.

Husband back from celebrating and out of breath:

“Did you get it all?”

Needed to check reception, took the receiver and bashed in on my desktop at work, one, two, three times – just to be sure. I startled everyone in the entire credit union. And now that I had my husbands full attention:

“Seriously?” “After working all day?”

Husband:

“I can’t go, it’s nearly a 3 way tie, your oldest shot over 300 yards on his drive and the youngest has your smack talk gene”….”gotta go”……

Perfect.

On my way home from work I stopped at the grocery store. Picked up all the items on the list and returned home. The boys will remain out of psychotherapy for having their snack needs abandoned. And I? I was rewarded with a hot dinner, ready on the table, with three happy men at my sides. I heard about every shot, slice, divot, swear word, and who smelled the worst with sweat.

“Everyone in the shower!” I announced……

Tonight, before bed, I wrote out tomorrows “Honey Do” lists. Punishment? Maybe. But not really, only adding laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning and of course, a little Kinnect golf. Why not?

Battle on boys, battle on! ~ Wendy Frye

“I realized my family was funny, because nobody ever wanted to leave our house.”
~Anthony Anderson

Sunday Shimmy

Sunday mornings are the best. Waking slowly, cuddling up with the puppies, drinking a strong cup of freshly brewed coffee (the first sips are always the best!) and taking time to talk to each other.

Our youngest son is, inquisitive, sharp, funny and sturdy souled. The Sunday Morning Takeover starts the precise moment he enters the den to dominate the paper. He then carrys on to narrate the morning conversation topics. He is the self appointed, epic champion of all knowledge in our family. Usually, my husband and I have to defend our opinion (on everything!) and answer to “Why?” about 8 billion times before satisfying his deep curiosity.

Our oldest son cares only to look at the Best Buy and Hastings ads, check out up his favorite comics, and then move downstairs to play music. This manuver is expertly orchastrated and happens very rapidly.

This Sunday It was just me and the husband on deck. We were chatting away when I found a page advertising a screaming deal for a outdoor greenhouse. It would be perfect in the garden. You see, I was one woman who desperately needed a hobby. D.E.S.P.E.R.A.T.E.L.Y! Anything to deviate from the routine of working, cleaning, laundry, working, cleaning, laundry, working, cleaning, and laundry and drinking a little wine.

A garden. A simple raised bed garden. Awesome!

Two years ago we started with a couple of raised beds. It was a nightmare trying to keep our beloved Bichon Frise from taking every opportunity to jump in and dig like she was possessed with the devil himself. The look of sheer satisfaction for poor behavior shining on her dirty face was the motivation to build the fence.

Our simple garden has grown exponentially. 8 beds in all, oh ya – it’s now colossal in size and productivity (never go halfway) as well as a hobby for us all. Spying the ad, I thought I’d share my thoughts with the husband. Yes, a greenhouse would be an excellent addition to the garden this year!

In reply, my husband gets up for a kleenex, turns around to walk back and says to me, “Why don’t you shimmy on down to the store during your lunch hour next week and cram it in your Prius”. He then proceeds to dance the dance of the ground-hog from that golfing movie. A little hip gyrations and giggle to boot.

I reply. Number one. Shimmy belongs on the dance floor. We (as a couple) have not treaded a dance floor since before we had the children. Our couple dance is a lot like a lumberjack jumping after dropping the butt of an axe on his boot. It’s not pretty and certainly something that does not need to be described with any additional details. Number 2. Where did that smart ass remark come from? Number 3. I can tell you where, from the warped brain of a man who has used humor to dispel the sheer terror of losing control of his life.

Humor is great medicine. So is talking like pirates. Sometimes my husband does both with the boys. Gotta love it.

Well, by the end of the morning The Lumberjack landed a date with destiny to shimmy himself down to the store over the weekend, pick up the greenhouse and assemble it. Maybe he will let the dog in the garden area to attempt a frantic dig in the frozen dirt….

~ Wendy Frye