My posting and reading of other posts as of late, has been lame, to say the least. What I love is that my fellow Autism Mommas and Papas are always around (let’s face it…when thrown into the land of Autism, it ain’t like we’re jumpin’ ship for Belize). They make me laugh, help me relate, allow me my crazy moments, and offer so much support. Thanks to all of you.

Big Daddy Autism
Four Sea Stars
The Connor Chronicles
A Chameleon’s Blog
That’s Right I Said it Dot Mom(where the hell are you Grace?)
Solodialogue
Bubble Gum On My Shoe
Autism Army Mom (how’s work?)

We were in the Chicago area this past weekend for a family wedding. It’s family I haven’t seen in over five years and IT WAS SO FUN! If you want someone to lead the limbo at your next special event call me, I might know some people.

Just prior to the ceremony, I whispered to Ben that if he happened to forget anyone’s name, in all likelihood, it’s either Mary or Mike – two of the most popular saint names on this side of the family. After sneaking in quick hello hugs to several cousins before kick off, Ben leaned over to me and said, “Remind me, which cousin that is.” I replied, “That’s Mary”. Why doesn’t he pay attention?

Every time I’ve heard the term “lifestyle change”, I’ve wanted to puke. I equate that with, “No more cookies, you fat bitch. Ever. What? You want a Cheetoh? Well, the only thing orange you’ll ever eat again is a carrot!” I know. Not overly dramatic or illogical in the least. I never am.

One thing I can be is tenacious. After my third chin grew and started puberty, I decided it was time to get it ready to send off to college. I wasn’t prepared to commit to the dreaded “lifestyle change”. So, I didn’t. I decided to try not to eat so much crap and exercise more. Also, for all you water whores out there, I’m glad drinking 45 glasses of water each day works for you, but it tastes like wet dust to me and does not fake me into feeling full. I make sure to drink some, but I have no camel ambitions. I don’t count points or calories either. It makes me nuts and I don’t have time. Again, I know it works great for some. For me, it just makes me think about food more. Blech.

So yeah, it sucked at first. I knew it would. I also convinced myself to be patient. That, if I did have a cookie, it didn’t mark the end of the world. That I didn’t have to polish off the entire bag in a dramatic finish. I even plateaued with my weight. For an entire month. I kept on keeping on. Even ramped up my work outs and minimized my carbs.

The results are fantastic. I feel great. My knees no longer pop when I lower myself onto the toilet or go down the stairs. Also, the combination of eating better and working out has taken away my desire to eat garbage. So, that “lifestyle change” can suck it. Even though that’s just what I’ve done. We’ll keep it our secret.

All in all, this is my pep talk to myself. Keep going, Kara. I’m proud of your hard work. Your first 5K will be here before you know it and you’ll be ready. You’ll have lost even more weight, increased your metabolic rate, upped your core, decreased your muffin top, sweated like an old fat man in a sauna, and a whole host of other official exercisey sorts of things. Now. Get out there and enjoy that 100 degree day! Only about 20 pounds to go!

We may have a replacement perseveration. Is perseveration a word? I can’t be bothered with googling. You know how exhausting that can be. Opening a new window tab, typing, scrolling, blah and blah blah.

Back to perseveration. If it takes the place of the ever-exalted tank tops that preceded (I can’t even be bothered to relink to the thirty seven tank top posts as a reference. Take my word for it. I thought it would never end.), I would be willing to walk on my hands. For the rest of my days. Ellie has taken to showering. All by herself. It’s awesome. She takes two, sometimes three showers a day. AND, she tells everyone else about it. So, it’s a double-bonus whammy, if you will. The cashier at Target gets to listen to the 7-part lecture series on showering while I can kinda zone out, PLUS Ellie’s initiating conversations! I could care less if she scripts or lectures, she initiates conversations. With other people. Often times with some eye contact. I refuse to look further down the path to see when this might become problematic. At the moment, she smells like strawberries and I don’t have to answer questions about tank tops. SCHAWING.

The word “playground” or “park” used to throw Ellie into full meltdown mode because that meant other children would be there. Today, Ellie enjoys the playground. The only time she melts down now, is when she is trapped between a kid waiting to go down a slide or ladder and another kid coming up behind her. No one is moving and she can’t take it.

Much to the chagrin of the other little urchins, I haul my wide load up to wherever she’s stuck (which, by the way, is never close to the ground…it’s always a three or four-story slide with climbing structures not meant for my beefy hock meat) and help her work it out. Once she’s unstuck, she’s good to go. Back in the day, that meant she was D.O.N.E. It’s so nice to see her enjoying things typical kids enjoy.

A couple of days ago, swinging by herself just clicked. She got those little legs pumping along with the rhythm of pulling on the chains and there was no stopping her. It’s the first time I had the personal experience of seeing what swinging does for a kid on the spectrum. There was a group of about eight to ten heathen children all around her. Screaming. Bumping into her. Getting in front of her. Things that she would choose to move away from in most other instances (can’t say as I blame her…heathen children and their dead beat, magazine-flippin’, cell phone chattering parents shouldn’t be allowed at the park…just sayin’).

This girl was so relaxed, centered, and calm, none of that phased her in the least. She just got back on course. After about thirty minutes, I took a seat on a bench behind her. Ellie was SO calm that she didn’t even notice that the entire length of her little butt crack was sticking out. She nearly swung right out of her capris, a situation made worse by not having much for the capris to cling to in the first place. She clearly gets this from her father’s side of the family. I would know if my crack even considered making an appearance AND my hips provide plenty of wealth for my pants to hold onto. Again, just sayin’.

My friend, Lizbeth, meme’d me with a Sunshine Award. This is ironic for two reasons. 1) She, and my other Autism Mama/Daddy Posse (is it still cool to use the word “Posse”?) bring a lot of rays this direction and I’m so very grateful. [End Sappy Scene]. 2) I’m a GoGo. Or a Bangle. Whichever girl group walked on Sunshine in the 80s. Yep. 2012 is the year for walkin’ on Sunshine at our house.

In the last year, since our family participated in an intense, two-week, parent training course for kids with Autism, the changes we have seen have been amazing. The most life-changing strides occurred at Christmas. I feel like Cindy Brady the year Santa granted her Christmas wish for Carol’s voice to return in time to sing. Better even.

Ellie is looking at us and smiling. SMILING. Most people remember the first smile at four or six weeks, but the one at four years was brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. She made connections with extended family. Real connections. During all previous holiday visits, Ellie was an additional layer of epidermis on my torso. It was painful to watch her pain. There was too much noise, too much unpredictable behavior from others, and dogs. The dogs were the icing on the cake of unpredictability. It was difficult to participate in the joy of the season when Ellie was anything but joyful.

This year, she joined her little cousin in playing with her wonderful, teddy bear of an uncle who loves to get down on the floor and be a big kid himself. She JOINED. She also chose to engage both Grandpas and was a true little buddy. She followed them around, showed them her favorite books, and if they thought about leaving the room, she interrogated them about the precise moment of their return. She talked to me about them as if they were the best invention in the world and forlornly told me she missed them when we returned home. SHE MISSES THEM. Oh, and she’s playing with toys. TOYS. On her own, she is initiating play.

AND. If all of that weren’t enough, for the first time in her little life, she is happy. There is true peace, harmony, and laughter exuding from this little girl where fear and anxiety previously gripped her. This is truly the year of walkin’ on sunshine. And breathing. Oh, how I’ve missed breathing.

So, part of the Sunshine Award involves answering some questions. They are, as follows:

Favorite color?
Sunshine yellow.

Favorite animal?
Those who enjoy basking in sunshine.

Favorite number?
8. That is how many letters are in “sunshine”.

Favorite drink?
Whiskey. It makes me feel warm. Like SUNSHINE.

Facebook or Twitter?
I can’t commit to either. I’m tepid on both.

My passion?
Crocheting. I’m currently making the sunshine a cowl.

Giving or getting presents?
I enjoy both equally.

Favorite day?
SUNday. Actually Friday, but did you seriously expect a different response given the topic?

Favorite flower?
Hostas, which oddly, prefer shade.

Ben’s car wouldn’t start this morning. I’m hoping it just needs a new battery and doesn’t have anything to do with that pesky check engine light that’s been on for a few months. Living paycheck to paycheck is okay until something breaks. However, the song we got to listen to during our commute took our minds off all financial woes. It was rather free form. Sung softly from the backseat and is still making me smile this afternoon.

We love everythiiing today.
We LOVE everything.
We love the clouds in the sky and the roads and the signs.
We love the apple juice and the kittens too.
We looove the arch when we seeeee the arch.

We love everything today.
We love the playgrounds and the slides and all the school work today.
We love the friends of the world today.
We love all the things in the world.

We love everything in the world today.
We love the lights and the sculptures and the buildings of the world.
We love trucks and cars and even motorcyyyycles too.
We love the butterflies of the world flying all around.

Yes we love everything today.

My good friend Flannery over at Living on the Spectrum: The Connor Chronicles, awarded me with a meme. I’ve never received one nor do I know what one is, but she compared it to a fungus and well, I’m honored to have her fungus. Apparently, said meme involves telling you seven things you don’t know about me, that may or may not be pivotal in your admission to ever knowing me at all.

1) I drove a fork lift for two summers to help with college expenses (i.e. quarter beers at the Gin Mill). Toward the end of summer number two, I was introduced to a fine young man whom I was to train for my position. While going through the safety points, he copped attitude. I apologized and asked him if he had already been trained to do this. He replied, “If you can do this, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it covered.”

I handed him the keys, and drove my little warehouse scooter back to my office. Fifteen minutes later there was loud crashing. I remained seated at my computer. My boss came in with a very bulbous vein protruding from his forehead. When I explained what happened, he promptly released fine young man (who was merely a temp) from his duties. Sweet justice.

2) I have a horrible fear of opening pressurized tube dough.

3) I grew up on a farm. I raised a lamb, neglected by its mother at birth (during a harsh winter) to adulthood. The lamb was really like a puppy and knew when he saw the school bus, I would be home to feed him. One morning he actually squeezed through the fence, followed me to the bus stop, and jumped on the bus. Guess what song I own the copyright to? “Jesse’s Girl”. I digress. When my lamb reached adulthood he became an ungrateful bastard, backed up ala Spanish bull style, charged me, bowled me over, knocked the wind out of me, and returned to his original position to trample me. I am now a city girl.

4) My secret fantasy career is to be a backup singer.

5) On Saturday nights, as a kid, I lived for “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island”. See, I grew up on a farm.

6) I won a perfect score at a state music competition for a solo I sang in grade school. I can no longer carry a tune in a bucket. No lie. I sing like Elaine Benes dances. It doesn’t stop me from doing it, but I suck.

7) I saved someone’s life once.

I’m glad there’s not an 8 because I would have to confess that I have yet to find a pair of underwear that doesn’t make it’s home in my crack. At least one cheek is always exposed beneath my clothing. This might be the main reason for my sometimes abrasive moods.

So’s not to break the award chain, I’d like to bestow this coveted prize to my friend Cari over at bubblegumonmyshoe.com. I love her.

On August 23, 2011, Ellie found a monarch caterpillar at her friend Katie’s house. Ellie named it Izzy, put it in a jar and brought it home. According to Google, these caterpillars only eat milkweek. Um. Ok. Izzy owes her life to Google images.

That afternoon, we “procured” milkweed from an undisclosed location [my apologies to the Mom with three children whom I frightened by wielding a scissors so closely to the swings which should NOT be located so closely to the butterfly garden...see what happens?!].

Izzy was a VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR (the results of which created astounding, mounding, and pretty gross results…Eric Carle is a leaver out of details). On September 2, we transferred Izzy from her jar to a high-rise butterfly condo. The next morning she was a chrysalis, technically a pupa in a chrysalis. Give me a break. I was an art major.

This documentary takes place on September 13.

We have been sprinkled with magic fairy dust. Another respite angel has joined us for two mornings a week. Her name is Maya and if she ever needs an internal organ for any reason, I’m her girl. She’s here now. At least I think she is.

For the past forty five minutes, I have heard not one sound in this house with the exception of my own breathing. In the last four years, I have not experienced .05 seconds of consecutive silence at home. I don’t know what they’re doing but I feel compelled to check that Maya is not suffocating or having a heart attack. Yet, I’m not compelled enough to actually break the silence my ears are drinking in with the thirst of having walked the Sahara.

In conclusion, Maya, if you ever need a kidney you know who to call. However, if you’re currently buried under a blanket fort, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I am unable to help. The silence, peace, and tranquility you bring me is a force stronger than myself. Your patience and creativity with Ellie is awesome. So really, it’s kinda your own fault.