The Disordered 9/27/04

The Infamous J has been writing so beautifully about "being different" and her experiences special parenting her severely autistic child, CT, in her blog, http://alittlepeaceofme.blog-city.com/ (trackback provided) that, with a tip of the hat and a hearty thanks to J, I am inspired to tackle some of my own "special" relationship issues. J's words continue to ring in my head: "Oddly it never occured to me to pray that she be neurologically organized." When I was a young woman in my twenties I didn't really have a full comprehension of the meaning of mental illness, personality disorders or learning disabilities. In retrospect, my naiveté was remarkable, especially considering the fact that I had taken college level psychology courses. I honestly believed that anyone, except the obviously severely disabled, could do anything they set their minds to doing, and was quite certain that *I* could accomplish anything, with perseverance. I was wrong. I knew that my fiancé was different. He was very intelligent, highly creative and unusual, and I was attracted to him partially because of how different he was from anyone I'd known before, but it never occurred to me that he might be hopelessly mentally ill. I knew him well for five years prior to our six-month engagement and although, looking back, there were two or three little signs I might have picked up on, he must have worked very hard to be what he knew I needed him to be, until the wedding. From the moment of the wedding, he changed, and I haven't seen the man I knew before, in the twenty-three years since. I spent our two-week honeymoon in a panicked shock, wondering what I had done and what I could possibly do next, but it was when we returned to live in my house that the real gravity of my situation became evident. The morning after our return to the US, I reported to work at our local airport, scheduled to fly a three-day trip as a flight attendant for the major airline for which I'd been working for the previous six and a half years. After three days of constant vomiting on take off and landing, it was pretty clear to me that I was pregnant. When I arrived home from my trip, I found my groom there, with his clothes (all he possessed in the world) still in his car. However, all of our wedding presents, which I'd arranged to have neatly stacked for cataloging by family and friends after our big wedding, were all put away and separated from their gift cards. He seemed pleased with his work, proudly displaying the stack of gift cards in his hands, and was deeply disappointed (in fact, angry) that there was no glowing approval from me, rather I was apoplectic, knowing that I no longer had any way of determining who gave us what, for purposes of writing thank you notes. It's been downhill ever since, and I now know that, in a process of intense denial that continues until this day, he had kept secret from me his mental illness, an almost untreatable personality disorder, which was diagnosed long before, in seminary. So, nine months and thirteen days after my wedding, at the age of twenty-eight, I gave birth to our first son and learned what it really, really means to fall completely out of my mind in love. Even though I had never been a mother before, I knew something was different about this baby from the beginning. He could hold his head up at birth, but could not control the movement of his eyes, which darted around independently of each other. He could turn himself over from front to back at three days old when we got home from the hospital. He slept very little, was highly irritable and difficult to comfort, but when he was energetically entertained he was gleeful and unusually animated. He was alert and advanced in his physical development, sitting at two months, crawling at four months and running and climbing as his main means of transportation before he was nine months old. People would gasp and exclaim, "He's a genius!" and all I could do was sigh, knowing that more likely the truth was that he was seriously hyperactive. It was 1982. The airline industry was recovering from the air traffic controllers' strike that had occurred when we were out of the country on our honeymoon. I could only hold three-day trips when I was called back and denied extended leave when our baby was nine months old. Unable to keep a sitter (they would take care of him one time and then never come again), or depend on my husband for any kind of support, I realized that I couldn't leave the special needs baby home alone with the special needs husband for three days and expect to come back and find everyone safe. I loved my job and had always believed that I would work for this airline until my retirement, but there was only one decision to make. I quit the job to take care of the child, and steeled myself in my determination to support my husband's entrepreneurial endeavors and make the family work, somehow. As time passed, I got used to not being able to take our oldest out in public for any length of time or leave him with anyone, although we did eventually find one wonderful young woman, the oldest child of the mutual friends who had introduced us, who was fabulous with him and a true Angel to me. At three, his hyperactivity was obvious and we were known to all the staff at our local emergency room, so I found a Montessori school for him, where he excelled at math but couldn't seem to learn to read. I knew he wouldn't survive at the Catholic school where we'd intended to send our children, the same school my husband attended as a child, a short walk from our house. I also strongly suspected that in our local public, he would have quickly been placed in a Behavior Disorder class, and stigmatized for the rest of his academic life, so we scraped together every penny and enrolled him at the Episcopal elementary across the street from our home. By the end of the first grade, he could do math and spell, but still couldn't read, and after extensive testing he was diagnosed with severe ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and additional Learning Disabilities. All I can say is that mothering this child has been like riding a bucking pony since the day of his birth. He was always in trouble, and even in the early grades he was always the first child in detention for demerits in the Episcopal school, but they loved him and they helped me and he stayed there, with the help of LD qualified tutors, until it was clear that he wanted out, to be at the local public high school with his older, naughtier friends, in the fall of his 8th grade year. We withdrew him from the Episcopal school, amidst support and tears from everyone. I will never forget the mother of one of his friends asking me, "Aren't you worried that he might fall in with the bad crowd at the Big Public?" I laughed out loud. "No," I lamented, "I'm quite certain that he will define the bad crowd!" There is often a light side and a dark side to mental illness, personality disorders and learning disorders, a gift on the other side of the curse, as J has suggested. The hard stuff makes us what we are. My husband is one of the most genuinely creative people I've ever known, and although I'm frustrated that he cannot think inside the box, ever, his outside the box thinking has led to innovations that may very well be genuinely important and hopefully, will provide something of lasting value for us to pass on to our children, somehow making it all worth it. On the other hand, our wonderful oldest son, after tearing a demonic swath through high school that led us to ultimately remove him from the Big Public and place him in the Tiny Alternative private school in the spring of his sophomore year, is the strongest personality I've ever had the privilege of knowing and can light up and "work" a room like no one else I've ever seen. I remember his high school years as angry and estranged, but he's been different since he went away to another state for college in the fall of 2001, and realized how close he had come to missing that experience. It hasn't been easy, and in the course of parenting him, I've come to terms with the fact that I am also ADHD, and have been treated for it over many years, which has greatly helped me, not just to be a better mother to him, but also to understand all of our special needs, gifts and deficiencies. He's a twenty-two year old junior in college, majoring in Communications Studies, a golden-tongued charmer who writes like an angel but cannot do math (a reversal of the earlier manifestation), and a great comfort to me, even from a distance (perhaps better from a distance?). He "handles" his father considerably better than I do, and I hope they make fine business partners one day, for both their sakes. I take great comfort in knowing that if something happened to us, he would know what to do with the patents. At the end of his first grade year, armed with the results of the barrage of psychological tests, I met with his Episcopal School Headmaster to discuss his future, or lack thereof, and will never forget that man's words to me: "They don't want these kids at Catholic High (Dad's alma mater) and these kids don't go to college." He might have been half right, but in my heart at that moment I knew he was wrong. _________________________________________________________________________ Note: Although I have attemped to add a link to the Infamous J's blog in my first paragraph, it doesn't seem to be showing as a link. Additionally, although I have entered the URL of her recent entry which inspired me, it's not showing under trackback. Apologies. :-\

Girlie Girl 9/30/04

I woke up yesterday morning feeling, for lack of a better word, feminine. I have no idea where *that* came from, and am thinking that I must need to lower the precarious dose of black cohosh and soy isoflavones that sort of staves off the episodes of flaming red face and neck accompanied by profuse sweating, known to the rest of the world as hot flashes. Maybe it's fall and I'm reminded somewhere deep in my brain of the distant past and sweet quiet walks in the cool hills of West Virginia, wearing a letter jacket that didn't belong to me and falling in love for the first time. I dunno. Whether it's hormonal or seasonal, it better freaking GO AWAY! I went to Target yesterday to pick up a case of bottled water for our baseball game last night and found myself drawn to the cosmetics, shaking my head with puzzled fright, wondering just what sort of being (clearly a female one) had taken control of my body. I didn't linger long, lest I be seen, but I surreptitiously snatched a dark red lip gloss and plopped it down on top of the water to pay. I loaded the case of water into the trunk amidst the team equipment, slipped the lip gloss in my purse and threw away the packaging. What in the world was happening to me? I sat down in the driver's seat and pulled down the visor to look in the mirror. I felt so tired and haggard, certain that, while understanding that I can't really *see* myself (at least not as others see me), I must look older than I am. I put on the lipstick. Now, I had a pedicure for Two's high school graduation last spring, a nice unobtrusive frosted peachy color, because I was forced into wearing a dress and fancy shoes for the occasion (actually, twice), but I confess that I've been carrying my favorite dark red nail polish in the bottom of the surprise-filled gunny sack I call a purse for more years than I care to admit. I looked at my watch and started the car, and by the time I realized what I was doing, I was walking into the nail salon. I now have dark red toenails that perfectly match my new lip gloss (accompanied by just the tiniest bit of guilt for spending even a small amount of the grocery money on myself), and no idea what has come over me. None of this is good news, although I do have some, 'cause we won our baseball game last night and are now 2-3 for the season, which beats the hell out of being 1-4. The bad news is that I let my hair down (literally, not figuratively) at the game and I'm still struggling with this strange uncontrollable surge of femininity today. Every time I catch a glimpse of my adorned feet, they startle me and I wonder for just a second, exactly whose they are and why they look so nice. Upon accepting that they're mine, or at least that they're attached to my legs, I steady myself, confused and not at all sure of what I'm going to do next.

1st debate perspectives 10/1/04

I was shocked at first by how scripted the candidates seemed, both of them, but as the debate wore on, Bush appeared to tire and repeat several general themes: “Stay on the offense,” “It’s hard work, everybody knows it’s hard work,” “Flip flopping - he changed his position on the war in Iraq,” and he did so without showing full grasp of the rationale, while Kerry began to take advantage as Bush appeared to tire, and seemed to have, personally, a firmer grasp on his issues, as well as their underlying complexities. By the third or fourth time Bush emphasized the theme of having to “stay on the offense” I began to suspect that his handlers had given him a debate strategy, and pounded it home, that he could also apply towards his strategy of governance. Sort of along the lines of, “Keep it simple, stupid.” It must just be horrible for them, when he’s standing behind that podium. Every time Bush said of Kerry, “He changes positions on the war in Iraq,” I couldn’t help but think we should expect our leaders to change positions when the situation changes. Bush himself has often used the argument that we had erroneous intelligence that indicated the presence of weapons of mass destruction and active Al Qaeda in Iraq, and has defended his actions with the argument that the information that led to his decision to go to war was not correct. Colin Powell was put, by this incorrect intelligence, in a position of speaking before the UN untruthfully, as we sought their support for our reckless and impulsive rush to war. So, here’s to flip flopping, because upon receipt of new information, it’s the right thing to do, the brave thing to do, the honest thing to do! I want a leader who is big enough to admit when we have it wrong, and strong enough to turn the policy around and head it in the direction that’s indicated by the changes in the information and the situation. I have long believed that the need to be right and the inability to admit mistakes is one of the greatest pitfalls of being human, because it dooms us to repeat our mistakes, ashamed to admit them, unable to correct them. Bush suggested that Kerry’s flip-flopping sent a “mixed message,” but I can’t help but think that the real “mixed message” comes when you don’t change your position in response to revised intelligence. One extremely shocking admission on Bush’s part was when he acknowledged that we were surprised by the ease of our early apparent military “victory” in Iraq. He said we thought they would, “stay and fight,” a de facto admission that our military strategists never planned for the possibility that they would surrender, disappear, conserve and regroup as a guerilla force. Our lack of preparedness for this most effective strategy, especially when a smaller force is facing overwhelmingly powerful might, is appalling to me. I want leaders who are prepared for anything and are armed with more than just excuses. I cheered Kerry's plea that we are, "Not to confuse the war, ever, with the warriors," and think that's something that needs to be repeated as often as possible, especially to those who fought in Vietnam and were spat upon in lieu of being welcomed home, brought back one at a time with no debriefing or support, used and abandoned by the Army and hated by their countrymen for their service. I thought that Kerry’s statement, “What is at test here is the credibility of the United States of America and what it means to the world,” quickly followed by saying, “I think we have a lot of earning back to do,” is the heart of the matter in question in this election and sums up our current precarious situation in the world, perfectly. It’s sort of like baseball, when things don't go as planned and the game starts to fall apart. Sometimes, when that happens, the best thing to do is to change pitchers, just for the sake of change, even when it might not all be the fault of the starting pitcher. The change alone becomes the important factor, just to demonstrate to the other team that it's a whole new ball game.

Previously frozen beer 10/2/04

Previously Frozen Beer isn't so bad, stumbled upon occasionally, snuck back into the fridge from the freezer by the offending party, who is never to be identified. It's flat beer, better than no beer, and less likely to cause heartburn. That's a good thing in this particular case, because I have that already, despite the acid-reducers. We had a conference call with the Great Big Company ("GBC") yesterday, and I'm hoping that by writing here, it might begin to all make some sense to me, although it's really clear that there is something big we don't know. Looking back, when the Crazy Consultant, pseudo-friend, first came to us (six months ago?) and said he had identified an opportunity at the GBC, we should have been suspicious of our ease of entry, of their seemingly specific direction to us, which all mimicked a viable deal, because, in fact, that probably meant that when they saw what we had, it so strikingly resembled something else they had already bought from someone else, that they teased us, simply to get enough information to be sure they either weren't infringing on our intellectual property or that they were already purchasing a version of the product that was protected by our intellectual property, via a different avenue. I suspect they have discovered that the latter seems to be the case, and have dismissed us, clearly indicating that, despite the fact that we acted under their specific direction for six months, there is no opportunity for us at this time. I'm watching for our product on packaging everywhere, soon. Where do we go now? Does our manufacturer know? I think they do. I believe that our competitor is purchasing our product for the GBC, from a former manufacturer of ours who is claiming to still have a license, a fact that we dispute, but no one will tell us anything. Now, as far as we're concerned, these are all great big companies, and there is no way we can out-litigate even the smallest of them, and this is just one way inventors are forced to give up their patents, because, when the product in question is truly valuable (most are not), this is what happens: a free for all of grubbing greed, with companies losing their heads and grabbing at whatever piece of the perceived windfall, daring the little guy to sue, knowing he can't. So the inventor, if he's lucky, will carefully choose among the players in his field (we have about five), the one that stands the most to gain by owning the portfolio and lets it go, because his family's pain threshold is finally met, and there's nothing else to be done. I've gone back to job-job hunting and sent out a resume last week for one that sounded genuinely interesting and in line with my skill set. Unfortunately, I've had no response, not even an acknowledgement of receipt of my resume, so I guess, that's that. Maybe they're just disorganized? In that case, I might fit right in. I've rejected the opportunity in the pottery studio. It's tempting, to be a studio assistant/teacher for six hours a week (two three-hours shifts) in exchange for my personal use of the studio free of charge, but I can't afford materials, and they're not really set up for heavy production, which would be the only way I could justify the commitment. I'd love to make pots, and it's actually my fastest path to cash, although not *much* cash, but with two kids in college, it doesn't work for me unless it's on a larger scale. I have a little Intellectual Property freelance job, cleaning up some Trademarks, which might buy some groceries in the next week or two, and I'm grateful for it, but it's not the solution, and it does nothing to address the mess that has built up around our patents, almost from the invention's inception. We're hardly speaking to each other, stunned and confused, in separate parts of the house. He's lost himself, dozing in front of a series of college football games, a perfectly noble and historically respected man-activity. I'm writing, and thinking and puttering, trying as hard as I can to see our next steps, but not being able to, finally resorting to looking through the bottom of a bottle of Previously Frozen Beer.

Business, Baseball and Politics 10/5/04

It's been a difficult week. Stunned from the sudden and complete loss of the opportunity with the Great Big Company ("GBC") last Friday afternoon, we've been adrift without clear direction regarding what to do next. The local newspaper has yielded only one opportunity that looks to be a good fit for me, and they've had my resume for ten days without responding. The job had been posted for a week before I found it, so I'm assuming it's taken. Monster.com has become a pimp service for employment firms, and rarely includes a job posting (at least in my fields) other than those vague positions at unnamed companies offered by professional search firms, although I continue to scour it. I've done my work on the little freelance trademark project and sent the proposal mid-day Monday, but have not yet heard back from the business owner who requested it. Last night went well. My baseball boys beat a very good team 9-1, bringing our record to 3-3, in what was their best game of this fall season. We got great pitching, good hitting, and really fine defensive play. We were also fortunate enough to have the early game, which got us home just in time to watch the VP debate. I thought both men performed fairly well. At least Cheney didn't have the appearance of having lost a grip on reality the way the President did (I happen to be expert at identifying this particular "look" since I sport it myself, often, these days). I felt like Cheney and Edwards, whose styles are so very different, were fairly evenly matched, and that all of the handlers must have been pleased with their lack of gaffes. I remain appalled, though, at the Repulicans' continued and pervasive hypocrisy, and am convinced that they are certain that the American electorate is too stupid to see the difference in what they say and what they do. I learned a long time ago in marriage counseling, that when there is a difference in someone's words and their actions, believe what they do. They call themselves "fiscal conservatives" but they are anything but, having been the most free-spending administration in the history of our nation. They say they stand for less government interference in the lives of citizens, yet by seeking an amendment to the Constitution banning same-sex marriages, they are calling for what would be the first constitutional amendment that restricts rights as opposed to granting them. Cheney said, of terrorists, "We need to battle them overseas so we don't battle them here at home," but I believe, as do many experts, that our actions overseas have simply poured fuel on the fire that endangers us here at home, while simultaneously diluting our first responder force all over the country by using our reserves and National Guard, a disproportionate number of whom are deputies and police officers and EMTs, to fight a foreign war. In his closing comments, Cheney said, "We have put this economy on an upward path." I don't know about that at all. My experience may be anecdotal, and perhaps not representative of the nation as a whole, but it is my story and I must act and vote and write in accordance with it. The eight years of the Clinton administration were the best financial years of our lives and our small business thrived during those eight years. Within one year of Bush taking office, we had lost our business, and since his inauguration we've also lost our health insurance and been forced to sell our home. Our income is a small fraction of what it was during the Clinton administration, and maintaining any kind of decent life-style (paying our bills) has become impossible over the last four years. I am personally insulted that this administration doesn't think we're smart enough to know when our leaders are lying to us. Cheney is smug and self-serving, lining his pockets and the pockets of his friends with gigantic tax breaks for the wealthy, in what was nothing less than a raiding of the US Treasury by our richest citizens. Bush, the reckless buckaroo, appears to be struggling with mental illness (some have suggested substance abuse), and even the appearance of this renders him unfit to lead. We need a change.

Speaking Bush - Debate Number 2 10/9/04

He howled, angry, almost yelling in his deepest Texas drawl, interruptive and petulant, and seemed perturbed and bothered throughout the entire debate. It was an improvement on his last performance. This time, he at least appeared to be lucid and aware of his surroundings, but compared to Kerry’s calm and focused demeanor, Bush did not seem any more sane than he looked last week. I can’t help but think it’s not in his best interest to continue to hound home the point that we WENT TO WAR because we thought Iraq had WMDs, focusing the nation on his big mistake, his lack of thoroughness, his failure to discern the truth before spilling other people’s blood. Bush himself said last night, “First of all, we didn’t find out he didn’t have any weapons ‘til we got there.” Every American who has loved someone who died, or killed or was otherwise injured over there, should be enraged that Bush does not consider this a mistake. My advice to Bush is to stop talking about WMDs if he wants to win this election, and he would do well to stop mentioning that Kerry voted for the war in Iraq initially, because, as the challenger pointed out last night, “Weapons of mass destruction was the reason congress gave him the authority,” to attack Iraq. WMDs, or the lack thereof, was his colossal blunder, his Big Lie. A good man would admit his mistake, and Bush made himself appear unsubstantial and cavalier with the lives and blood of other people’s loved ones when he said, almost flippantly, like the misbehaving child caught covering one lie with another, “We all thought there was weapons there…. I waddn’t (sic) happy when we found out there wasn’t (sic) weapons.” Grinding his teeth, blinking (and winking), and pointing his finger confrontationally, Bush did not come off as a calm focused negotiator who has within his power the ability to construct a sentence, much less rebuild a country and bring peace to any part of the world. His confession, “This is a long, long war,” contradicts what the American people were told when asked to support the initiative in the beginning, and I, for one, would feel much better about his ability to catch the “terists” (Bush for “terrorists”) if he could only manage to say the word. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m puzzled by everything that comes out of this president’s mouth. When he says of Kerry, “He’s not credible when he talks about being fiscally conservative,” the irony of that statement appears to be completely lost on the biggest spending president in the history of this land. The same is true of his statement, “I guess you’d say I’m a good steward of the land,” uttered in conjunction with his position that the best way to take care of trees is to cut them down to prevent forest fires. Finally, Bush says, “I don’t think the Patriot Act abridges your rights at all.” He is quite simply, wrong. Bush thanked each questioner, particularly the ones whose queries seemed oppositional to his positions. In fact, he spent a fair amount of time thanking questioners, while rarely calling them by name, to the point where it began to look like a device for using up time. Even during the spin fest after the debate, Karen Hughes was still thanking the questioners, completing the sustained repetition of the device, making it appear calculated, insincere and solicitous. Bush quote of the debate: “I reconize (sic) I’ve made some people to cause other people to not understand our values.” That you have, Mr. President. That you have.

Mistakes 10/10/04

I tried to watch Saturday Night Live last night and just couldn’t stay awake after a tough baseball game (no, not the Braves-Astros, but my high school guys!) and a delightful post-game debriefing with friends. It appears there was a wonderfully insightful parody of the second presidential debate that included that now famous “three mistakes” last question. What it brought to light was the amazing opportunity Gibson offered to Kerry, and Kerry’s failure to seize the chance to simply answer with three of Bush’s mistakes, say thank you and sit down. While Kerry’s debate performance was otherwise strong and the world got a clear view of FURIOUS GEORGE, it’s too bad Kerry missed a delicious chance to end the debate with a knock out punch (Mistake: Kerry). A word to Kerry, Edwards, Bush and Cheney: Pick three mistakes now because this question isn’t going away. When George Stephanopoulos asked Edwards the question on “This Week” this morning, Edwards only had two mistakes at the ready, although he very graciously said he was sure there were plenty more if he had a little time to think (Mistake: Edwards). Well, guys, I hate to have to tell you this, but you’ve all had time to think about this question, and although, as politicians, it goes completely against your nature to admit your mistakes, this time around you are going to be expected to do so. Cokie Roberts (also on “This Week”) suggested this inability to acknowledge one’s mistakes might be a gender issue, not limited to these four men running for office. It’s a tantalizing thought, and Kerry’s insistence on living consciously, evaluating decisions as he goes and making corrections when appropriate, rather than charging ahead blind repeating mistakes like the guy who’s too stubborn to ask for directions when he’s lost, has to have helped his position with at least one segment of the electorate: women. This woman is thinking not just about politics this weekend, but also about baseball. My little baseball team is in the middle of a two game weekend. We were short players last night and lost in a close game played without our catchers, and now face this evening’s games against a better opponent, having spent our best pitchers in last night’s loss (Mistake: Sophmom). In a time honored baseball tradition, I’m praying for rain. I have a long-time youth baseball friend who is fond of saying, “Baseball is a cruel mistress.” Whether they are his words or a quote of some famous baseball pundit, I don’t know, but it’s the truth. Well, that cruel mistress is never more evident than in the fall, when the season pares down to fewer and fewer teams (I’m talking about the big boys now, the pros), and one by one, the rest are eliminated and must pack their cleats and go home for the long winter without baseball (or to the Dominican Republic). Today the white-hot Houston Astros have a chance to send the Atlanta Braves home for the winter. It’s something the Astros have never done. As a long-time Braves fan, the pre-game nervousness of wishing for just one win on the road in the post season, to bring the contest home to do or die, is a very familiar one. It’s hard not to like the Astros, but today what I want is just one more game before the season is over. Go Braves!