I’ve failed at maintaining this blog because of it.  Fear.  It occurred to that maybe this blog should have more focus, but what? Then it occurred to me that perhaps it’s getting too focused, on autism in particular.  Then I got to thinking what do I want this blog to be? Are all the autism posts going to expose me too much, will people stop reading, because I complain too much?  Will the people who follow me because of the autism connection stop reading because they couldn’t care less about my chickens?  So I stopped writing to think about it.  Now there’s a way to please everyone. Ooops, I guess not. Instead I’II go back to writing for me

I’ve also been really focused on a new Website.  I’m finally finding myself at a point in my life where I think I can build something for myself.  Become someone I want to be. Elijah is doing better than ever, and the baby, well… he isn’t much of one at all.  I have a passion for knitting, and I’m good at it, really good at it.

With a little coaxing from a friend, she and I submitted a knitting book proposal to an agent.  She loved it. She would represent it. Yay! But, it needed more polishing, and we needed a solid platform. Booo. We could have polished it, that would be easy. But as for building a platform, that was going to take some time and thought on how to do it.

Building a website could work. I’m fussy though, it couldn’t just be any generic site.  It would have to be polished, look clean, professional and be able to compete with other knitting sites. As a one income family with a kid in therapy, others in activities, a mortgage to pay, and Kyle’s unknown employment next year there was no money to pay anyone. Fear. Could I get it to look good enough? How would we do it?  It took us months to get the site up. It’s lovely in its simplicity. I think an expert likely could have done it in weeks. Thankfully, Kyle is a genius, and can figure just about anything out, given enough time.  We learned CSS and HTML, we figured out plugins. I worked on content while Kyle worked on the majority of the tech stuff.

There was no way I could come up with a handful of patterns to feature in a short amount of time.  So with my friend’s blessing we pulled our book, by choosing not to re-submit the proposal. Fear. I hope it was the right thing to do. I’m not sure, but it didn’t come without a lot of thought.  The idea is that in the future with a strong platform I will have the same opportunity. Only l’ll have a stronger platform and I’ll be a stronger designer. Walking away still scares me.

I’ve decided to actually pursue knitwear. Fear. What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not ready? What if I suck?  What if knitters hate me? What if I’m wasting my family’s time on a pipe dream that will never happen?

Pushing past that fear, I continued to learn about web design and work on content. I submitted my designs to be test knit by other knitters. Test knitting proved that my first pattern…well… it sucked. Fear.  The design was good, but boy-o-boy did it have a lot of mistakes.  I am so lucky to have had an amazing tester who essentially took my hand and helped me make it right, she helped me do better, she helped me learn about proper pattern writing. Then she praised me, told me it was great, and lifted me up. She gave me confidence, and then said she couldn’t wait to work with me again. Praise God.

When I come up with an idea, it’s always big.  So…I have big ideas for my site.  It took me some time to accept that it wasn’t all going to be done when I first launched the website. Fear. I often fear that if I don’t do it all at once it won’t get done. I had to let it go. The site would never be ready if I kept waiting for perfection, so many of my big ideas are stuffed in my brain, waiting to roll out a little bit at a time.

I have a whole branding idea in mind, for that I needed a logo. As much as Kyle and I can figure things out, and as much as I have an idea in my mind, I stink at drawing, and the idea of trying to learn to use illustrator to come out with mediocre product was not going to be the best use of my time.  I know an amazing illustrator, but I don’t want to take advantage of my friends, I’d want to pay him full out, and I was pretty sure I couldn’t  afford it.  Instead I hired another graphic artist who had an affordable rate in the hopes of having a graphic ready for when my website went live.

It didn’t happen, it wasn’t ready, and I decided that instead of waiting, my website could go live and still be “good” enough.  It did well, I was pleased.  I continued to wait for my vector (graphic design image). In the end it didn’t work out, not for lack of trying by my designer, but because it wasn’t entirely what I had in mind.  I had already paid her, and I didn’t feel it was going in the right direction.  I felt she had worked for the money I did pay her, and at this point she was now working for free.  I wasn’t comfortable with that.  People deserve to be paid for their work.  It was a difficult decision to tell her to stop. Fear. I was stalled.  I was working in the direction of what I was going to do with this logo. Now what?

Plan B. Actually talk to the illustrator friend. Nervous, I did it.  After talking and emailing him I felt things were going to go in a really good direction I was excited. Then I got the cost. It was way too much for me right now.  We probably could have made it work. I really wanted to make it work, but the stress on our bank account was just going to be too much right now. Fear.  What the hell do you do when plan B doesn’t work out? And how do you settle for hiring someone with less vision when you think you’ve found the person you want to do it.  How do you reconcile that you can’t spend the money when you know it takes money to make money? Well…I re-wrote Plan A: after some clear thought, I had to decide that there are better places to put that money right now.  As much as I want a drop dead gorgeous website and clear direction for branding, working at improving my patterns, by paying a tech editor, test knitters, buying a dress form, yarn and perhaps taking some classes are all better uses for our money right now. My website looks good, and if that temporary photo needs to be temporary longer – it can be.  It’s content that needs to be strong, no one is coming back for the prettiness if the patterns are not worth it. Not that I didn’t sulk. I did. A lot.

And now we’re here… today. Everytime you saw fear, I wanted to quit, I could have quit, but the thing is: I want this more than the than the idea of quitting feels good at the time.  I’m scared I’ll fail. I’m scared people see me as a bit flaky, with several stay at home business attempts in my past. I’m scared I won’t be respected. I’m scared I won’t be loved. I’m scared it’s going to be harder than I think. I’m scared my luck is going to run out. I’m scared others are going to start later and get to the finish sooner. The thing is, now, here today,  time has already been invested, and it’s not just my own, it’s the time of many others, Kyle , my kids, test knitters ,and the tech editor I did hire after serious conversation with another designer about how necessary it really is. There’s no turning back, and I don’t want to.

I know that it is impossible to fail at something you don’t give up at. It might take more time, and you might have to work harder than some (talk about a huge lesson learned from Elijah!), but you can’t get worse at something, only better.  The only way to fail is to stop committing to its success.  I have talent, it’s there, I am an expert at the things I know.  These days I have office hours where we’ve made time in the week set aside for me to work.  I have plans. I have patterns written in my mind, and even though I don’t know the right path to my success right now. I’m blazing it. I am committed to my happiness, and this makes me happy. I will be more than self-published, you’ll see me in magazines eventually, and I can’t wait to do book signings.  It may seem overly ambitious, but I can’t dream small, it’s not who I am. I don’t expect to become a celebrity knitwear designer, but I do expect to become a knitwear designer. I want to be happy, and I want to be profitable. This is my beginning, it’s not everything I wanted it to be, but that’s what beginnings are for: starting, improving, a place to become more from. Now I just have to get over the fear of it not happening all at once, and the fear that I’m not ready.  I am. It will happen. I will make it. It will take time. Expect big things from me.

You want to know what else I’m fearful of? Saying this out loud/hitting publish. I should probably just stop thinking right now.

August 08 2011

These are the photos of me I like best.  Blurry photos, or ones that are highly over exposed. They wash out my flaws, or make them invisible with motion blur.

I am a harsh critic.

It’s why I almost never turn the camera on myself.  It’s why when others take photo’s of me I am very uncomfortable.  I don’t like being on the other side of the camera.  I have no control. I don’t get to delete.

And yet when my children grab hold of the camera, they often chose me to snap pictures of.  I don’t want to rub off  my insecurities, I want them to be fearlessly self-confident, so I let them snap away happily, excited they get to play with Mom’s toy.  Then they pull up the album and show me the best ones they took.   They tell be how beautiful I look and what great pictures they take, and I agree with them.  I hold back the criticisms about not having my hair washed, the stain on my shirt,  the unplucked eyebrows, and the other endless things I don’t like about me.

They think I’m beautiful.

I am what they want to capture on “film”, they see me as so much more than I deserve.  I think I should try to see me through their eyes a  more often.

*photo taken by Petra age 6

All Hipstamatic settings chosen by her as well

Lens – Chunky

Film – Ina’s 1935

Flash – off

This morning I put a frozen pork roast in the crock pot to make shredded BBQ pork.  There was a time I thought we’d never eat all the pork in our freezer after butchering out two pigs, but sure enough the stash is getting low.

Once I had it in the slow cooker in walks Petra “hack, hack, cough, cough” can we have soup for dinner?  Now this girl never asks for anything, in fact, most nights end with us begging her to please eat something.  So I said sure.  I ran downstairs and grabbed some navy beans and  set them on low to simmer, so I could make the soup in time for dinner.  Thankfully it was 11 am because I didn’t have any beans canned, so I needed to cook them from dried.

So here it is my first posted recipe:

Anderson Acres Bean Soup.

2 cups dried navy beans or about 4 cups cooked/canned navy beans

2l pork stock or veggie stock

2-3 carrots

3 ribs of celery including the leaves

2-3 parsnips

1 medium sweet potato

2 cups of chopped kale, or whole trimmed spinach

4 slices thick cut bacon~ 3.5 oz (ham is also good)

1 1/2 tsp thyme

Salt and black pepper to taste (we like it rather peppery)

1 tsp fennel seeds (optional)

In a stock pot cover the dried beans with water. Set t0 medium heat and when it starts to bubble set to the lowest heat that still produces a simmer.  Do not add salt to the water as it makes for tough beans. Simmer the beans until they are re-hydrated and firm to the bite but not cooked too soft.

While the beans are simmering cook the bacon until it is crisp, but not crunchy. Remove grease and cut into 1cm (1/2 inch) pieces.

Strain, and rinse.  Put beans back in the stock pot, and pour in the stock, and add the bacon.  Simmer on low heat for about 1-2 hours.

While the soup is simmering chop the vegetables into chunky slices 1-2cm (1/2 -1 inch) pieces. Once the beans have simmered an hour or two, add the vegetables and simmer 1 hour on low.

During the the last half hour of cooking add the sweet potatoes, thyme, ground pepper, fennel seeds, and salt.  If you are using kale add it now, if using spinach add it during the last ten minutes.

Serve hot, I add two or three dashes of tobasco (Mmmmm).

I don’t know how many calories or how much fat is in this soup.  I don’t watch what I eat, other than to watch what I buy.  We buy real meats and produce, we try and buy local as much as we can/want, we buy a minimum of processed foods, and raise our own free range pork and chickens.  In the winter we feed them organic grains and food scraps from our mostly organic kitchen, in the Summer most of their food comes from forage and garden weeding.    My BMI is perfect for my height and we feel good about the food we eat, my kids don’t know that soup comes from a can other than what we preserve in our own mason jars.  For them real food is normal, and I love that.

Oh, and dinner for tomorrow is done too, the pulled pork is done, and just needs to be reheated.  That worked out well.

Autism isn’t the tragedy that Kate’s death was, in fact it’s hard to call Autism a tragedy, but for many of us, Autism means worrying about tragedy.

Part of what makes Autism so difficult to deal with is the tendency that many kids with autism have to wander.  To make matters worse a lot of kids with Autism seem to be missing the ability to feel fear, or sense danger.  I can think of two incidences with Elijah that makes my blood stop.

One day while putting his baby sister upstairs to bed, Elijah undid three locks on the front door and let himself out, naked.  Thankfully it was summer, not winter.  We lived in Chicago, at an intersection of two very busy roads, Western Ave and 119 street.  When I came downstairs the first thing I noticed was he was missing, and the door was open.  The police were called, and I frantically searched the area asking passer by’s if they had seen him.  The truth was, since he loved cars I feared he was already dead.  Traffic doesn’t stop in Chicago, crossing the street is a ridiculous danger.   To make a long story short he was found safe, and sound, and I was never the same.

A few months later while on a trip to see a Floortime therapist, we were taking Ky’s car instead of the van.  I strapped Elijah into to his booster seat, both age and weight appropriate for him.  A half an hour later while going 70 miles/110km an hour down I-94, Elijah undid his belt, and opened the back door.  Luckily the force of our speed made opening the door difficult, and it shut again.  I pulled over, yelled at him, called Kyle, cried, and belted him back in, and always used the 5 point harness seat.  Death was too close again.

When we lost him in line at Disneyworld while waiting to see one of the 3D movies, Kyle didn’t hesitate for a second to pop up on a rail, so he stood above the crowd, and shouted at the top of his LUNGS: ” Attention, my son with Autism is missing, he has a blue shirt on”, and then gave a description.  In a matter of a only a moment he managed to get to the other side of  a packed lobby of a few hundred people without any concern that he couldn’t see his parents.  A few moments more he may have found an exit, and few more and who knows.

During these scares Elijah didn’t speak more than a handful of words.  If kids are found wandering and are unable to tell an adult who they are, or where they live, they are more likely to be abandoned by that adult, because they are unable to help immediately.  The older the kid, the more likely this is, in fact a wandering 16 year old isn’t likely to be approached with help at all.

A while ago I wrote about James Delory who died  of hypothermia after wandering from his Nova Scotia home.

Adam Benhamma

Today I am a wreck over beautiful Adam Benhamma, Adam wandered away from the people he was with.  The “fading hope” has me feeling helpless.  As I sit here typing this blog out, his family is worrying about whether they will be arranging a funeral tomorrow.  As a mother I’m heart broken for them, as a mother with a son with autism I can imagine it could be me, as a mother who’s buried a child, I hope above fading hope that he’ll be found.  Adams Story

More and more we hear stories of kids with Autism dying due to wandering.  With our collective US and Canadian governments refusing to see Autism as an epidemic, even with a a rate of 1 in 110, and as high as 1 in 65 in some pockets, we should all get ready for more autism deaths.  Autism is killing our children by robbing them of a sense of danger.  Children are dying from incidents that stem from their Autism.   And just like babies dying, there is no gentle way to say that.

Part of me wonders if the outrage isn’t as strong as it ought to be, because it’s not normal kids dying.  These are the weirdos, the kids who bang their heads, the ones who don’t talk, the ones who scream, who hit and bite, the ones who spin in circles, and flap their hands.  The ones whose mothers and fathers love them dearly, whose bothers and sisters don’t care that he/she isn’t the same as other kids, the ones who have a special bond with the family pet, because animals don’t judge, the ones who love back in unconventional ways. We should all be outraged.

Elijah is getting better, he bolts less often, we can keep him engaged more these days, and he’s learning to play with his sisters, so he stays near more often now.  I can look away for a second, and it’s okay.  But when I can’t find him, my heart goes straight back to that place that has me wondering if we’d bury him beside his sister, and what we’d write for his epitaph.

So what can you do?  Other than donating money to an Autism charity?

Parents of kids with Autism are often tired, its an extreme sort of parenting.  We feel like we don’t fit.  It can be hard for us to make other mommy and daddy  friends, because parents would rather their kids didn’t play with ours.    So here’s some of my suggestions of what you can do.

If you are good friends, offer to babysit in their home, so mom can have a nap.  But don’t expect a yes until you really learn what it means to babysit a kid with autism, take the time to learn what the dangers are, are they likely to bolt, drink/eat things they shouldn’t,  and what kind of attention they need.  Find out what sets him/ her off, find out how to calm them, what they can and/or will eat, and how they communicate.  Plan to spend some time with them beforehand, so the he/she trusts you.  Don’t be offended if we come down from our “nap” several times, it’s not that we don’t trust you, it’s just that we need to know our kid is okay, shooing us away is not the answer.  Know that that even the shortest break is appreciated, and if you keep offering help, and you seem to truly be able to handle our kid, we really will sleep eventually.  The reason most of us say no to your offers to help is because we know you can’t handle our kid, we don’t mean that condescendingly, we know that some days it’s almost too much for us, and we’ve eased into it from infancy, it’s important to us that you know what you’re getting into.

Short of that, you should know most of us have been shunned at moms groups, gym class, ballet etc. if not outright kicked out.  Befriend the mom with the odd kid in art class, be friendly, be kind, be open, and check your judgement of what kind of kid and/or type of parents they must be at the door.  Over time maybe invite us over for a playdate?? When that playdate ends with the kids not playing together, toys played with in other ways than their intended use, and with shrieking and/or complete silence, and with the mom hovering over the kids, invite them to come over again!

Short of that, make a meal, shovel a sidewalk, mow a lawn, or volunteer with an organization that makes a positive impact to individuals with Autism.

Short of that, donate your internet space on Facebook, Twitter, or other social media to promote Autism Awareness, Autism reform in your State or Province, or to support a family who is struggling (make sure they are okay with you sharing their struggle).  This month it’s easy, April is Autism Awareness month.

Short of that, when one of ours kids goes missing in your community, help us find him or her.

And today pray for Adam, Adam’s family, and for all families dealing with Autism.   Pray often for fewer deaths, more acceptance, and better programs to help individuals with autism make meaningful and positive contributions to an more inclusive society.

In the mean time, I’ve met this amazing mom blogger who inspires me.  Somehow, she manages to write everyday.  I don’t know how she finds the time.  I would accuse her of making her kids up, but she speaks from a heart that undeniably has children.   I highly recommend her blog if you have kids, have a child with ASD, have had a baby die, or if you have multiples.  Can you believe we have that much in common?  Oh, and both our husbands are teachers, and are prince charming handsome.  How is that for unbelievable?  You can blog stalk her here, Four, plus an angel

Her posts aren’t always very long, but always packed full of head nodding and the like, and her short post today has inspired me to just write a post, partly on inclusion too, or more like exclusion.  Today she writes a letter to her storytime mom’s group telling them why she’s not going back, and it’s about acceptance.  It got me to thinking about our playgroup experiences, why we quit before we could be kicked out, and how those moms choose not to let me into their circle because Elijah refused to be a part of the music circle.  I was the mom with the weird kid.  This was before our Autism diagnosis.  I wonder how many of them assumed there must be something wrong with my kid, which then got me to thinking about this time at church, which is what this post is about:

Somehow I’ve become a lapsed Catholic.  There was a time when I wondered how people could let that happen.  I was self-righteous, I figured if I could make it to church after Katie died, after having twins, and later with two toddlers and a baby, there was no good reason for anyone else to allow their faith to lapse.  That was until Autism.

When we packed up and made the big move to Chicago we figured we would find community at church, and we did meet some great friends in the young families group there, who are friends still.   Though we were going through the gauntlet with Elijah,( two and a half to three and a half  was my own personal hell) we continued to go to church every week.  He couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t keep quiet, he wouldn’t play quietly during the service.  I could feel all eyes on me when he would scream, run away, or otherwise misbehave.  I was embarrassed.  I couldn’t understand why my kid was so unmanageable.  I was strict, I would glare angrily over at Kyle when I felt he wasn’t doing enough to keep him in line.  I wanted nothing more than for him to be like the other kids there, and I figured by continuing to go every week he would eventually learn.

One Sunday, while sitting near the front, I was holding Elijah, who was trying his best to break free, so he could run around like Max from Where The Wild Things Are.  Frustrated that I was stronger than he was, he screamed, and lunged forward and bit my face HARD, I had lingering teeth marks in my cheek.  I was mortified, people saw, and I imagined they must think, that he is either the most unruly kid in the world, or I was the worst parent.

Soon after that we stopped going to church.  I needed the break.  Somewhere in that break we got a diagnosis of Autism for Elijah.  Sometime later we went back one Sunday for a service.  While taking Elijah out for a walk during the service in the foyer, I ran into a lovely woman who said we had been missed, and wondered what had been keeping us away.  Upon telling her we had been coming to terms with an autism diagnosis for Elijah and we needed some distance,  she said,” Oh, we thought it might be something like that. “

I died a little inside that day.  It was obvious to everyone that my kid was damaged, I wasn’t ready for that.  I wasn’t ready to know that people were armchair diagnosing my kid with various neurological disorders, either.

Shortly after that we were packing up and moving again.  We didn’t do much to find a church.  The Catholic church believes that church should be experienced as a family, so there’s little in the way of children’s services.   Besides I’m not sure if Eli could go to an unparented children’s bible study, or if he’d be too much, and we’d be kicked out of one more thing.    He doesn’t do mass so well either, it’s too long for him, and doesn’t hold his interest.   We could go to a more intresting chruch, one that’s louder, has more music, a better program for kids, but I don’t want to, I feel like I’m a Catholic.  So now I’m a lapsed Catholic, because I don’t feel like we can go to church.

I miss  going to church, I miss the communion with God, I miss the quiet moment dedicated to prayer.  I miss believing.  Over time , I’ve come to worry at the possibility of no God.   In some small round about way Autism has stolen my faith, along with my energy, patience, and the parent I imagined I would be.  No God means no Heaven, and no Heaven means no future with Kate.  Autism, it seems, is slowly stealing her away as well, it’s too unfair. I pretend I still have faith. I cling to it with hope, that in saying it out loud it might make it true, but I worry about nothingness with a dread I can’t even begin to explain.

So I stand at this crossroad wondering what to do.  Give up being a Catholic for a church we might integrate into better, give up church, or start going to a Catholic church again and pretend the eyes on me aren’t there, when Eli starts making sound effects during communion prayers.  I’ve been standing here for some time, and I imagine I’ll stand here a bit longer, losing my faith all the while.

Or it could very well be,

“What?! I don’t get any broccoli?!” (our kids really like broccoli)

Which usually leads to me saying something like. “I won’t get you anything, if you talk to me like that. Please try again politely.”

I want my kids to have good manners. The world is kinder to you if you do, and respect is reflected.

So, why is it that I can be so bad at thank you? Face to face I’m good, but in extended graces I can be terrible.

Next Sunday will mark a year since Micah’s birth.  At the beginning of April it will mark a year since Kyle’s Grandmother died.

At the funeral Kyles Aunt R said “I have a little something for Micah, it’s in my car.”  She’s always been so sweet and always buys a little something for all the new babies, and Kyle’s family is rather big.

Somewhere between the service and in interment we never connected, and the present was sent to us a few weeks later with Kyles parents when they made their annual visit from the Philippines, where they are retired.

It was a lovely hand crocheted blanket. Done in a rainbow of colours. Being the fourth child it was the only one he got. The littles, being the firsts, could have drown in all the hand made blankies they got.  I love it, and we use it all the time.

After opening it I made a little mental note to send an email. Then I told my mother in law to remind me, she did, and I still managed by the time she left, to have it on my list of things to do.

Now I’m a busy mom of four, there is no arguing, the kids are all under 5, and the baby has been,well, an infant for the past year, but no one is so busy that they can’t take a few minutes to say thank you.  Unfortunately, once I back burnered it, it was something that would often drift up to my forebrain just as I was falling asleep;  ‘tomorrow, I must remember to send that thank you’.  Eventually I forgot to think of it every day.  It became something I thought of whenever I would pull out the blanket, usually as I was wrapping it around him to take him from the house to the car, so I would think; ‘when I get home I should remember that email’

Somehow, impossibly, a year has crept up, and I still haven’t said thank you.  Part of me  is embarrassed to send an email now, after such a long stretch, but as they say, better late than never, so here it goes.

Dear Aunt R,

Thank you so much for the beautiful blanket you made for Micah.  We love it, he and I both.  It was his bassinet blanket.  As an infant I kept an antique bassinet downstairs, so that he could be close while the kids and I played, he slept so peacefully in it.  He is the picture of perfection wrapped in it’s soft colours.  Once he was too big for the bassinet, it became the blanket we use to go from the house to the car.  Your blanket has kept him warm, and has served as bit of home that  travels with him, whether to the supermarket, or on trips to other provinces.

Thank you, for the generous gift, as someone who knits and crochets, I know the work that goes into handmade items like this. Please forgive me for being so tardy with the thank you, you deserved long before now.

Erron

I know a friend who flew to Vancouver secretly, there and back in a day,  so he could present his bride with a blue Tiffany’s box on their wedding day.  I dream of stuff like this, but it’s not the stuff that Kyle is made up of.  Heck if we get in a big argument there aren’t even flowers when he gets home.  I can’t actually remember the last time I got flowers, it was either for my Anniversary, or Micah’s birth, but not both.  Even his flower choices are always practical, mixed bouquets because they last the longest, and cost less than roses.

When I was pregnant there was no way he’d ever make a craving run, and there was no sparkly present from a small box when I delivered our babies.  He is not with out his romantic gestures, while dating I did get a whole pile of roses once, and for our tenth anniversary I did get sapphires, though I really wanted a Parisian vacation, the sapphires where a delightful surprise.

He’s not a man of grand gestures, or public displays of affection, nor though, is he a burly man’s man. It’s just really easy for us to get caught up in the daily task of parenting, and forget that we are also a married couple.  Our needs take second place to those of our children.  We’re also in the thickest, most time intensive part of parenting.  Currently we have 4 kids, 5 and under.  It will ease over time and there will be more time for us, as our kids become more independent.  For now though, we can go a whole day without stopping to hug or kiss each other.

And despite all of this, despite, my wish for the husband strait out of a romantic comedy.  I believe I have a love greater than most.  I never worry that our love will fade, or that we may not make it.  I know we are solid.  In talking with some other women, many have  spoken of the relief of having their spouses go to work,  and on those blissful business trips.   Life is easier when he isn’t around for short spells some feel.   I, on the other hand, would prefer to have my husband home with me everyday.  I get the driving you crazy because he does things differently than me bit, because we have that same issue, but I still would rather look up from my incorrectly made lunch and see him across the table.

There was a time when we would languish in each others arms on the sofa for hours, and wake up with our bodies tangled together.  Now there are only brief moments on the couch together, and we never wake up  pressed against each other like two spoons, because some small person is invariably in between us.

We have been through some terrible things, things that split marriages apart for others.  We met at 17 and 19, and married young at barely 20 and 21.  We made it through living well below the poverty line while Kyle finished grad school, we came out the other side after the death of a child, we’ve dealt with stressful family dramas, we overcame an international move (twice), and we continue to persevere while parenting a sparkling boy with Autism, even though we believe very different things about the cause of it, and have had serious head butting issues on how best to treat it, and parent for it.

We’ve taken on each of these challenges as they come, one at at time.  We’ve faced each of them, we use them to strengthen our commitment to each other, and to love regardless of how empty life can seem.   We haven’t allowed the wedge, that can be driven between people, get to deep between us.  It sneaks in some times, and it can be difficult to remove, but we do.  The greatest part is, it’s a joint effort, we pull each other together, each of us, equality.

I know I am loved a great, deep and meaningful love, and that is an immense gift.  I live a, not always so happily ever after, fairytale romance.

Thank you Kyle for loving me, ever flawed, never perfect, but always in love with you.

Please verify that I have your order
correct, and notify me if I don’t.

Only 22 more to go to change the life of another
family! I’m so excited! Tammy, Morgann, and Samer I don’t
have your address will you please send it to me?
erron.anderson(at)gmail.com Monica, shall I send yours
overseas?

The order was sent to the puzzling piece January 13^th.  This may seem like a long wait for those of you who sent your money electronically, however a little over half our orders where paid by cheque .  Unfortunately we were not in a position to float the order while waiting for the cheques to arrive via Canada Post.  Once we painfully waited for the mail to arrive, and we had most of the cheques I sent in our order right away.  The puzzling piece, though running out of jewelry after such a successful program, filled our order and sent the iPad and jewelry the next day.  You can track the parcel through USPS with this tracking number cv 014 603 346 us.  It is currently in customs.  Once I have your pieces here I will separate the order, address envelopes, and send them to you immediately.  I’m as excited as you are to receive my package, hopefully it won’t be too much longer.  I anticipate early next week it will arrive, though I won’t be surprise if it arrives late next week, or early in the next.

As ever with much appreciation of your support,

Erron

PS we are 27 pieces from providing a second family with an iPad.  To help see this post



I love good food, I love food that’s good for you, and I’m passionate about good food that’s good for you.  As of late I’ve given up my morning coffee in favor of green smoothies.  I am late to the craze, but I love them.  Kyle bought me an awesome blender, that we’ve had our eye on for over a year. With some saving, and buying refurbished instead of new, Kyle bought me a Blendtec for Christmas.  Wowzers, does it ever make a smooth drink!  Typically my morning smoothie will have Kefir, 1/4 of a cabbage, two big handfuls of spring mix or spinach, one large floret of broccoli, Cacao nibs, a 1/2 a banana, some berries and chia seeds.  Because of the cacao it still has the caffeine kick, and it tastes surprisingly yummy, mostly the banana and the chocolate shine through.  Slowly over the past two years we’ve been making better and better food choices, I would say at this point we could be accused of being food snobs, and we wouldn’t have much of a defense.

A few years ago I was starting to get quite sick, I won’t give you all the crappy details, but it seemed that some foods, particularly wheat, were giving me quite the upset tummy.  Elijah now seems to have the same problem, though I think we ought to have him tested for a true allergy, because when he sneaks wheaty food he gets a rash up the backs of his legs.  I was tested for celiac, and thankfully the test came back negative.  Since taking up the green smoothies, likely because I’m getting a whole lot more fiber, probiotics from the kefir, and I’m guessing the extra nutrients don’t hurt, I’ve been feeling better then ever.

So, am I worried about being judged because I drink a green breakfast?  No. Here it is.

The other day while in the car listening to DNTO on the CBC I heard the host talking about her boyfriend, who has very serious aversions to food because of Ulcerative Colitis, talking about sway testing.  Ultimately sway testing wasn’t accurate enough for the hosts boyfriend, so they went on the SCD diet. **note this is not an endorsement of this particular site, it just happens to be the first one I found that describes sway testing well, this is the only page I’ve read on this site.

It got me thinking though, maybe I’ll start sway testing food to see what foods may potentially upset me.   I’ve experienced a type of this kind testing when I was seeing an acupuncturist.  He would put an herb on my chest and while I was laying down he would try to push my legs together.  It was fascinating how for some herbs I could not resist my legs slapping together no matter how hard I tried (it was not good for me), and for others it was easy (the right herb to try). When I told Kyle I was going to start sway testing food he was sure I had gone absolutely bonkers.

“That is something we are going have to disagree on” he said,” no way it works.”

When I asked him about the same testing he had gone through at the acupuncturist, he’s decided it was a trick. I think otherwise.  I think (so this is where you might start thinking I’m crazy, if you haven’t already) that if we are capable of putting off energy, then other things likely do too, and some energy reacts positively with you and other energy negatively.  The idea is that you take the food hold it to your chest close your eyes and focus on it, asking is this good for me,  if it is, you’ll sway forward, if you shouldn’t eat it, you’ll sway back.  I know that reading this is likely making some people I know cringe the way Kyle has been, but I bet most of you try it.

I’ve been sway testing, this and that, to see what I should eat today.  I could see Kyle catching glances at me when I would open my eyes with a smile of amusement, and a head shaking that indicates that he really does think I’m plum nuts, but I’m going to give it a shot, it’s not going to hurt anyone if I stop eating olives because I test negatively to it.  And after some time if  I feel like it’s changed nothing I’ll stop.  But what if it works, and I feel better because of it?  That’s what has me decided to give it a go. Now I wouldn’t test for other people as the link above suggests you may be able to do, and I ABSOLUTELY would NOT rely on it for prescription drugs, but for me, a personal experiment is just the kind of kooky I am.