Late last week, the news broke regarding the Equifax data breach. According to their website, mine was one of the identities compromised, but then later I read that they might just be randomly telling you that to lure you into signing up for their ID monitoring services, which start off free but then after a year require a fee to continue. So maybe my data was compromised, or maybe it wasn't, but at this point I'm not sure how much it matters, since my identity has already been stolen to file a fraudulent income tax return, among other things. At this point, who knows what my identity has been up to.
Also, there could be some really old college textbooks out there floating around that have my social security number written in them. When I was in college, students were advised to write their SSN's in their books. I think the reasoning was that in the event the books were stolen, it would make them easier to trace. This was probably bad advice, but I'm sure I did it anyway because I was a gullible freshman. I had just parted with $200 for a green hardcover copy of "The Poetry of John Donne"*, and I was going to guard that bad boy with my life. If you can find that copy of John Donne's master works, you too could steal my identity.
After all the data breaches my data has been part of, I could probably paint my social security number on my roof in red paint and it wouldn't make any difference.
To all you young whippersnappers out there who just cannot wait to become adults and get away from your annoying parents with their stupid rules and their nagging and their insatiable curiosity about what you are doing at school and who your friends are and why you spend so much money at Starbucks, here is one of the not-enjoyable aspects of adulting: figuring out what is good advice and what is bad advice.
For example, what to do about this Equifax data breach? Do you sign up for the monitoring service, or do you not? It depends on who you ask. Some advice-givers tell you to sign up, and some say, run for the hills; whatever you do, do not sign up for that monitoring service- why would you want the people who mismanaged your personal data in the first place in charge of monitoring if other people were trying to steal it? I have no idea what to do. This is outside the Mom of No's area of expertise.
For a brief moment, I mentally explored the concept of cancelling all the credit cards, going off the grid, and hiding all my cash in a coffee can buried in a secret spot that I would divulge to no one. However, I don't think my employer will actually pay me in cash and for the next four years I have to fill out something called a FAFSA, which requires income tax information, so going financially rogue isn't really going to work well for me logistically at this time.
Before the onset of Hurricane Irma, there was a meme going around Facebook advising people to store their most precious memories in their dishwasher. A dishwasher, after all, seems to be watertight, so in theory this idea sounds great. However, other people were saying that this was a bad idea and it didn't actually work- dishwashers aren't really watertight and if your house did flood, you could come home to a dishwasher full of wet paper pulp that used to be your prized photographs and your important documents.
No matter what problem you are trying to solve, or what stage of your life you are in, bad and conflicting advice abounds. Because I am approaching the early stages of geezerhood, I remember when the sources of information were limited to your family and friends, the 7 PM news on TV, newspapers, and books. Now you can log on to Facebook, post any request for information, and watch the conflicting information roll in. It's probably a good thing social media was not yet a thing when I had infants and toddlers; Mommy boards were bad enough. Facebook would have sent me over the edge in terms of attempting to make informed parenting decisions.
So, if you are wondering what to do about the data breach, or trying to decide where to store essential documents and important irreplaceable photographs, I'm actually not sure what to tell you. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. In a few weeks I have to fill out my first FAFSA; I'm sure it will take weeks to recover from reading all the Internet advice about that.
*John Donne, English Poet, 1572-1631, famous for the phrase "No Man is an Island". I had to write a paper on it. He's actually not that bad as poets go, although I'm more of a science and historical fiction reader.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Monday, September 4, 2017
The Plan
Quite awhile ago, I was surfing through the four thousand channels on the TV, looking for something interesting to watch. I'm not usually much of a TV watcher so I must have been home sick, or something- but I finally settled on a show about people prepping for the apocalypse. The family in the show was prepared to go off the grid for years after the total breakdown of society. They had a plan in place and they were ready. They had shelves stockpiled with food, water, medicines and sanitary items, all hidden in a bunker out in the middle of nowhere. It was absolutely impressive. As someone who appreciates a good plan, I was in awe of the logistics involved here.
After watching this show, I surveyed my pantry. I have enough food to last two teenagers about 5 days. Maybe six, if you include the stuff no one likes- canned beets, trail mix with coconut (coconut is not a preferred flavor in the Household of No), and the stuff that requires other stuff and the application of heat to actually become something edible, like flour or rice.
I didn't give it much thought after that.
Last week, as Hurricane Harvey unfolded in Houston, I called the Grandpa of No every day, checking on him. Water was backing up on his street. Water was in his yard. Water was up to the landscaping by his house. Water was nearly up to his front door.
What are you going to do? I asked him. What is your plan? The Grandpa of No has always been a man with a plan. What are you going to do about Mom? My mother's Alzheimer's is steadily progressing, and she gets agitated in unfamiliar environments.
Well, I don't know, he responded. Your mother refuses to leave the house.
Later, I was on the Internet with the Son of Never Stops Eating, looking for information on animal-related charities, and we came across some comments criticizing people who had stayed in the Houston area. Why didn't they leave before the hurricane? the commenter said. I would have been gone. I would have taken my fur-babies and gotten out of there.
Maybe people stayed because the footprint of the Houston area is huge, or because Harvey didn't impact just Houston but all along the Texas coast. Maybe people remembered the mess that was the Hurricane Rita evacuation in 2005, with freeways backed up for miles. Maybe more people than we realize have family members with autism and Alzheimer's disease and other disabilities and illnesses that make it difficult to just pack up and go. When leaving the house to go to the grocery store requires a series of carefully choreographed steps, planning an evacuation from a potential disaster probably seems overwhelmingly impossible.
The day after the water was at the Grandpa of No's front door, I called his cell phone and received no answer. I sat at my computer, mulling over options. I didn't have the phone number of the neighbor who had been checking on him. I wasn't sure who the law enforcement authority was in the area. Just as horrible possibilities started playing out in my mind, he answered his phone.
We're all good here, he told me. It got close, but we're still at the house and the water is receding from the yard.
The entire event made me realize, whatever plans we have, they're inadequate. I am the prepping equivalent of going into a disaster with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Planning for emergencies is easy to put off, because there are so many other things that require attention, and after all, what were the chances that a category 4 hurricane would slam right into the Texas coast, causing massive flooding in the metropolitan area where your parents live?
I don't think I'll be stockpiling five year's worth of water, however. Alas, I lack a huge underground bunker in which to store it.
After watching this show, I surveyed my pantry. I have enough food to last two teenagers about 5 days. Maybe six, if you include the stuff no one likes- canned beets, trail mix with coconut (coconut is not a preferred flavor in the Household of No), and the stuff that requires other stuff and the application of heat to actually become something edible, like flour or rice.
I didn't give it much thought after that.
Last week, as Hurricane Harvey unfolded in Houston, I called the Grandpa of No every day, checking on him. Water was backing up on his street. Water was in his yard. Water was up to the landscaping by his house. Water was nearly up to his front door.
What are you going to do? I asked him. What is your plan? The Grandpa of No has always been a man with a plan. What are you going to do about Mom? My mother's Alzheimer's is steadily progressing, and she gets agitated in unfamiliar environments.
Well, I don't know, he responded. Your mother refuses to leave the house.
Later, I was on the Internet with the Son of Never Stops Eating, looking for information on animal-related charities, and we came across some comments criticizing people who had stayed in the Houston area. Why didn't they leave before the hurricane? the commenter said. I would have been gone. I would have taken my fur-babies and gotten out of there.
Maybe people stayed because the footprint of the Houston area is huge, or because Harvey didn't impact just Houston but all along the Texas coast. Maybe people remembered the mess that was the Hurricane Rita evacuation in 2005, with freeways backed up for miles. Maybe more people than we realize have family members with autism and Alzheimer's disease and other disabilities and illnesses that make it difficult to just pack up and go. When leaving the house to go to the grocery store requires a series of carefully choreographed steps, planning an evacuation from a potential disaster probably seems overwhelmingly impossible.
The day after the water was at the Grandpa of No's front door, I called his cell phone and received no answer. I sat at my computer, mulling over options. I didn't have the phone number of the neighbor who had been checking on him. I wasn't sure who the law enforcement authority was in the area. Just as horrible possibilities started playing out in my mind, he answered his phone.
We're all good here, he told me. It got close, but we're still at the house and the water is receding from the yard.
The entire event made me realize, whatever plans we have, they're inadequate. I am the prepping equivalent of going into a disaster with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Planning for emergencies is easy to put off, because there are so many other things that require attention, and after all, what were the chances that a category 4 hurricane would slam right into the Texas coast, causing massive flooding in the metropolitan area where your parents live?
I don't think I'll be stockpiling five year's worth of water, however. Alas, I lack a huge underground bunker in which to store it.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
It's a Big State
As I write this, the coastal bend area of Texas is being pummeled by Hurricane/Tropical Storm Harvey. The area is undergoing massive flooding; damage is immense. The recovery could take years.
At the same time, friends who don't live in Texas are e-mailing and messaging me, asking if we are okay, if we're surviving, if we've had any damage, if there's water in our house yet. I look out the window, where the sun is attempting to peek through the clouds and a cool (for August) breeze is blowing. A few rain showers have come through, but, except for the adolescents of the household not being too excited about starting school tomorrow, we're doing well- because we're actually nowhere near the hurricane.
I know people mean well and they are concerned, and I appreciate that greatly. Texas is a big state, but you might not realize how big it is unless you actually live here, and decide that it might be fun to go on a road trip through West Texas to visit Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. You drive and drive and drive and drive and then realize that you're only in Abilene and you still have to keep driving and you are still nowhere near the New Mexico border- and in fact, it might be another hour before you even see a Dairy Queen because you are stuck in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway behind some truck towing some giant farm machinery that is going only 30 MPH.
That ended up being a great road trip, though. Good times.
I can understand how people might be confused, however, because if you've ever driven down Interstate 45 from Dallas to Houston, it takes an hour to get out of Dallas and before you know it, you're in the outskirts of Houston because Dallas is huge, Houston is massive, and both cities just keep growing so eventually they'll probably just merge into one massive metropolitan area with Austin and San Antonio. Maybe there will be a tiny rural circle left in the middle of the I-45/I-35/I-10 triangle with nothing in it but some cows and a Buc-ees (if you're not from Texas, you'll have to look that up).
People who live in Texas tell stories about friends and relatives from smaller states who come to visit and will say things, like, "Hey, let's drive down to San Antonio and see the Alamo this morning, and then after lunch maybe go to South Padre Island!", and the punchline of the story always involves the Texan explaining that they live in El Paso or Dallas or Lubbock and that it will actually take hours to get there so it would probably be an overnight trip, and the not-from-Texas relatives are astonished to learn this. I never believed these stories until I went to New England on a work trip and drove through three states in the same time that it takes me to drive to work.
Several years ago I volunteered at work to go to Beaumont, Texas after Hurricane Rita to assist in a disaster recovery mission. A woman taking care of logistics (who was probably not from Texas) called me to make arrangements for me to get from my house to Beaumont. She wanted me to fly into Houston and pick up a rental car at the airport.
Nah, that's OK, I told her. I'll just get a rental car here and drive down there. That way I can bring more than one suitcase of stuff (I tend to be an overpacker, especially when I know I'm going to be away from home for a long time).
How long will it take you to drive down there? she asked me.
About six hours, I told her. Plus or minus an hour based on traffic.
That's a long drive! she exclaimed. Are you sure you don't want to fly?
Nope, I said, I drive an hour to get my hair cut. I'm fine with it. Besides, I hate to fly.
You're crazy, she told me.
I'm fairly certain I'm not crazy, although people who come here to visit in August might dispute that. But just like almost every other Texas resident, I do drive a lot.
So to my friends and relatives who live beyond the Texas borders, we are doing fine, except for the usual back to school angst. Houston and the coastal areas, however, could use your prayers and your support, not just now but during what will likely be a long recovery.
At the same time, friends who don't live in Texas are e-mailing and messaging me, asking if we are okay, if we're surviving, if we've had any damage, if there's water in our house yet. I look out the window, where the sun is attempting to peek through the clouds and a cool (for August) breeze is blowing. A few rain showers have come through, but, except for the adolescents of the household not being too excited about starting school tomorrow, we're doing well- because we're actually nowhere near the hurricane.
I know people mean well and they are concerned, and I appreciate that greatly. Texas is a big state, but you might not realize how big it is unless you actually live here, and decide that it might be fun to go on a road trip through West Texas to visit Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. You drive and drive and drive and drive and then realize that you're only in Abilene and you still have to keep driving and you are still nowhere near the New Mexico border- and in fact, it might be another hour before you even see a Dairy Queen because you are stuck in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway behind some truck towing some giant farm machinery that is going only 30 MPH.
That ended up being a great road trip, though. Good times.
I can understand how people might be confused, however, because if you've ever driven down Interstate 45 from Dallas to Houston, it takes an hour to get out of Dallas and before you know it, you're in the outskirts of Houston because Dallas is huge, Houston is massive, and both cities just keep growing so eventually they'll probably just merge into one massive metropolitan area with Austin and San Antonio. Maybe there will be a tiny rural circle left in the middle of the I-45/I-35/I-10 triangle with nothing in it but some cows and a Buc-ees (if you're not from Texas, you'll have to look that up).
People who live in Texas tell stories about friends and relatives from smaller states who come to visit and will say things, like, "Hey, let's drive down to San Antonio and see the Alamo this morning, and then after lunch maybe go to South Padre Island!", and the punchline of the story always involves the Texan explaining that they live in El Paso or Dallas or Lubbock and that it will actually take hours to get there so it would probably be an overnight trip, and the not-from-Texas relatives are astonished to learn this. I never believed these stories until I went to New England on a work trip and drove through three states in the same time that it takes me to drive to work.
Several years ago I volunteered at work to go to Beaumont, Texas after Hurricane Rita to assist in a disaster recovery mission. A woman taking care of logistics (who was probably not from Texas) called me to make arrangements for me to get from my house to Beaumont. She wanted me to fly into Houston and pick up a rental car at the airport.
Nah, that's OK, I told her. I'll just get a rental car here and drive down there. That way I can bring more than one suitcase of stuff (I tend to be an overpacker, especially when I know I'm going to be away from home for a long time).
How long will it take you to drive down there? she asked me.
About six hours, I told her. Plus or minus an hour based on traffic.
That's a long drive! she exclaimed. Are you sure you don't want to fly?
Nope, I said, I drive an hour to get my hair cut. I'm fine with it. Besides, I hate to fly.
You're crazy, she told me.
I'm fairly certain I'm not crazy, although people who come here to visit in August might dispute that. But just like almost every other Texas resident, I do drive a lot.
So to my friends and relatives who live beyond the Texas borders, we are doing fine, except for the usual back to school angst. Houston and the coastal areas, however, could use your prayers and your support, not just now but during what will likely be a long recovery.
Sunday, August 20, 2017
Random Back to School Thoughts
It's about time to go back to school, and the Son of Never Stops Eating is having none of it. Earlier today, someone asked him if he was excited about starting high school; he responded by saying "Don't say school words! I still have one week of summer left!".
Oh, the suffering. Oh, the angst. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
So here, in commemoration of summer and in honor of school starting back up, are some random thoughts from the Mom of You Have to Go Back To School Whether You Want to or Not:
1. It's okay to use the same lunchbox or backpack several years in a row.
2. It's also okay to get a new one; sometimes, nothing is as empowering on the first day of school as a new backpack or lunch box with a superhero on it.
3. When I really want to torture my kids, I say "I think school should be all year long!". Sometimes I follow this up with "And I think uniforms should be required!".
4. In about two weeks, the Christmas displays will start going up at the mall.
5. Some people send their kids to school with healthy lunches of vegetables, fruit, lean meats, whole grains, and low-fat dairy. My kids pack their own lunches and based on the grocery list, Oreos and fruit snacks seem to be a favorite choice. Don't judge me.
6. I predict much social media angst over the school drop-off and pick-up lines. Remember the Golden Rule: Behavest thou in the school car line as thou wishest other people to act towards thee.
7. If you try to take a great back-to-school photo of your kids to share with your friends and family and all the kids do is roll their eyes and complain- join the club.
8. Deciding where to sit for lunch can be pure torture for some kids. If you're a kid, and you see another kid looking uncertain in the cafeteria, invite them over. It's lunch, not a lifetime commitment- and you might make a new friend.
9. The Son of Never Stops Eating has one favorite shirt, and he wears it all the time. If you are his teacher, I just want you to know that he does have other clothes; he just chooses not to wear them- and I am the Mom of Choosing my Battles Wisely.
10. I have to remember that I need to start leaving for work 10 minutes earlier now because I go through a school zone.
11. The start of school means high school football, great marching band shows, and delicious band nachos!
12. I completely forgot that I was supposed to order my high school senior's yearbook this summer.
13. If you can, you should definitely go to your teenager's school open house. Not everyone goes, and it's a great opportunity to meet your adolescent's teachers and get the scoop on what they're learning in class. Also, your mere presence in the school could be embarrassing to your teen, which is reason enough right there to do it.
14. Back to school also means fundraising season is now underway. Start saving your money for those band pies!
15. I haven't actually done any back to school shopping. It's kind of hard to envision wearing sweaters when it's hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of my car.
16. I still haven't sorted through all the paperwork from last school year.
17. I live in absolute terror that something will happen to the teenager's marching band uniform while it is in our custody, and I will have to pay for it. I have no idea how much those things cost, but I'm willing to bet they're not cheap.
18. It still feels weird to drive by the elementary schools my kids went to and realize all over again that time of my life is over.
19. Kids, when project at school are assigned, remember the P6 rule for maximum academic success: Proper Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance. Also, a mother who has to run to the Big Box Store at 8 PM the night before a project is due to buy 8 pieces of neon orange poster board is an unhappy mother.
20. If you are a friend of mine, I might have put your name down as an "alternate emergency contact" on the school paperwork. I would have put the Grandpa of No, but I suspect that they want someone who lives closer than 250 miles from the school.
21. The Son of Never Stops Eating is already hoping for ice days.
22. To all the kids out there who are sad that summer is over and school is starting back up, not to worry. One day, you will graduate and then you won't have to worry about going back to school in the fall- you'll be at work year-round, and the seasons all kind of blend together as you toil away. Adulting is fun that way.
Oh, the suffering. Oh, the angst. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
So here, in commemoration of summer and in honor of school starting back up, are some random thoughts from the Mom of You Have to Go Back To School Whether You Want to or Not:
1. It's okay to use the same lunchbox or backpack several years in a row.
2. It's also okay to get a new one; sometimes, nothing is as empowering on the first day of school as a new backpack or lunch box with a superhero on it.
3. When I really want to torture my kids, I say "I think school should be all year long!". Sometimes I follow this up with "And I think uniforms should be required!".
4. In about two weeks, the Christmas displays will start going up at the mall.
5. Some people send their kids to school with healthy lunches of vegetables, fruit, lean meats, whole grains, and low-fat dairy. My kids pack their own lunches and based on the grocery list, Oreos and fruit snacks seem to be a favorite choice. Don't judge me.
6. I predict much social media angst over the school drop-off and pick-up lines. Remember the Golden Rule: Behavest thou in the school car line as thou wishest other people to act towards thee.
7. If you try to take a great back-to-school photo of your kids to share with your friends and family and all the kids do is roll their eyes and complain- join the club.
8. Deciding where to sit for lunch can be pure torture for some kids. If you're a kid, and you see another kid looking uncertain in the cafeteria, invite them over. It's lunch, not a lifetime commitment- and you might make a new friend.
9. The Son of Never Stops Eating has one favorite shirt, and he wears it all the time. If you are his teacher, I just want you to know that he does have other clothes; he just chooses not to wear them- and I am the Mom of Choosing my Battles Wisely.
10. I have to remember that I need to start leaving for work 10 minutes earlier now because I go through a school zone.
11. The start of school means high school football, great marching band shows, and delicious band nachos!
12. I completely forgot that I was supposed to order my high school senior's yearbook this summer.
13. If you can, you should definitely go to your teenager's school open house. Not everyone goes, and it's a great opportunity to meet your adolescent's teachers and get the scoop on what they're learning in class. Also, your mere presence in the school could be embarrassing to your teen, which is reason enough right there to do it.
14. Back to school also means fundraising season is now underway. Start saving your money for those band pies!
15. I haven't actually done any back to school shopping. It's kind of hard to envision wearing sweaters when it's hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of my car.
16. I still haven't sorted through all the paperwork from last school year.
17. I live in absolute terror that something will happen to the teenager's marching band uniform while it is in our custody, and I will have to pay for it. I have no idea how much those things cost, but I'm willing to bet they're not cheap.
18. It still feels weird to drive by the elementary schools my kids went to and realize all over again that time of my life is over.
19. Kids, when project at school are assigned, remember the P6 rule for maximum academic success: Proper Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance. Also, a mother who has to run to the Big Box Store at 8 PM the night before a project is due to buy 8 pieces of neon orange poster board is an unhappy mother.
20. If you are a friend of mine, I might have put your name down as an "alternate emergency contact" on the school paperwork. I would have put the Grandpa of No, but I suspect that they want someone who lives closer than 250 miles from the school.
21. The Son of Never Stops Eating is already hoping for ice days.
22. To all the kids out there who are sad that summer is over and school is starting back up, not to worry. One day, you will graduate and then you won't have to worry about going back to school in the fall- you'll be at work year-round, and the seasons all kind of blend together as you toil away. Adulting is fun that way.
Monday, August 14, 2017
What to Say?
Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil.
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I were driving around town on a treasure hunt for something called "pre-cooked farro". Because there is an unwritten parenting rule that all deep philosophical conversations with your offspring must take place in a moving motor vehicle while the parent's attention is directed elsewhere, his timing was exquisitely perfect.
What do you mean? I asked him. What's on your mind?
North Korea, he said. I don't want to die.
Here is the challenge I face as the parent of an adolescent with autism and intellectual disability: How do I explain the world in a way he can understand and relate to? If you know enough to ask a question like that, you deserve to have your question taken seriously. He needs to know that the world is not a protective cocoon. He needs to know that there are people who are dishonest, people who will cheat and steal and take advantage of others or engage in cruelty just because they can, and that sometimes they will get away with it. He has to know this for his own protection. The world is not always a safe place for people with developmental and cognitive disabilities.
But how to explain evil? Pure, unmitigated evil? How to explain to him that evil is not a new thing, that since the dawn of time humankind has perpetuated evil against its own? How to explain the persecutions over religion, slavery, the many famines and genocides throughout history that have been perpetuated on people, often by their own governments? How to explain the Holocaust? How to explain that this is by no means even a comprehensive list of evil?
If you think that some or all of these things did not happen, or that they don't represent evil of the worst kind, then the Mom of No is not for you.
What do I tell him? Not to worry about it, that he will be taken care of and protected? That's an answer to give a toddler, not an adolescent- even one with a cognitive impairment.
I'm a middle-aged white woman who spends a lot of time hiking around in the woods looking for dragonflies and fungi, nagging her teenagers, and slinging band nachos. I am certainly not any kind of political animal. Sometimes I attend church, sometimes I'm out looking for birds on Sunday mornings- so matters of faith are not exactly my area of expertise either. My overarching philosophy on life is basically, "Take care of your business and try not to be a jerk to other people". I feel unprepared to deal with "Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil". Explaining North Korea and white supremacists was not covered in the How To Mom Manual.
I could tell him that love and goodness usually win in the end, or that we need to pray that things will change, or that, while we cannot control what other people do, we can be responsible for ourselves and our actions, and therefore the way to counteract evil in all forms is to be our best, to be kind and loving towards others. I could tell him that the way to counteract evil is to welcome others into our lives and be willing to walk through our lives hand-in-hand with those who are unlike us, to be generous, to respect that others have different stories to tell, and that these stories are beautiful and wondrous and heartbreaking and worthy, to stand up against hate when we see it or hear it, no matter what, knowing that sounds easy in principle but can be difficult in practice.
I could tell him all these things. I do tell him all these things.
Yet, somehow it doesn't seem like I'm fully answering his concerns- perhaps because I feel like I'm not completely answering the logical follow up question.
The world is becoming evil.
What do we do about it?
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I were driving around town on a treasure hunt for something called "pre-cooked farro". Because there is an unwritten parenting rule that all deep philosophical conversations with your offspring must take place in a moving motor vehicle while the parent's attention is directed elsewhere, his timing was exquisitely perfect.
What do you mean? I asked him. What's on your mind?
North Korea, he said. I don't want to die.
Here is the challenge I face as the parent of an adolescent with autism and intellectual disability: How do I explain the world in a way he can understand and relate to? If you know enough to ask a question like that, you deserve to have your question taken seriously. He needs to know that the world is not a protective cocoon. He needs to know that there are people who are dishonest, people who will cheat and steal and take advantage of others or engage in cruelty just because they can, and that sometimes they will get away with it. He has to know this for his own protection. The world is not always a safe place for people with developmental and cognitive disabilities.
But how to explain evil? Pure, unmitigated evil? How to explain to him that evil is not a new thing, that since the dawn of time humankind has perpetuated evil against its own? How to explain the persecutions over religion, slavery, the many famines and genocides throughout history that have been perpetuated on people, often by their own governments? How to explain the Holocaust? How to explain that this is by no means even a comprehensive list of evil?
If you think that some or all of these things did not happen, or that they don't represent evil of the worst kind, then the Mom of No is not for you.
What do I tell him? Not to worry about it, that he will be taken care of and protected? That's an answer to give a toddler, not an adolescent- even one with a cognitive impairment.
I'm a middle-aged white woman who spends a lot of time hiking around in the woods looking for dragonflies and fungi, nagging her teenagers, and slinging band nachos. I am certainly not any kind of political animal. Sometimes I attend church, sometimes I'm out looking for birds on Sunday mornings- so matters of faith are not exactly my area of expertise either. My overarching philosophy on life is basically, "Take care of your business and try not to be a jerk to other people". I feel unprepared to deal with "Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil". Explaining North Korea and white supremacists was not covered in the How To Mom Manual.
I could tell him that love and goodness usually win in the end, or that we need to pray that things will change, or that, while we cannot control what other people do, we can be responsible for ourselves and our actions, and therefore the way to counteract evil in all forms is to be our best, to be kind and loving towards others. I could tell him that the way to counteract evil is to welcome others into our lives and be willing to walk through our lives hand-in-hand with those who are unlike us, to be generous, to respect that others have different stories to tell, and that these stories are beautiful and wondrous and heartbreaking and worthy, to stand up against hate when we see it or hear it, no matter what, knowing that sounds easy in principle but can be difficult in practice.
I could tell him all these things. I do tell him all these things.
Yet, somehow it doesn't seem like I'm fully answering his concerns- perhaps because I feel like I'm not completely answering the logical follow up question.
The world is becoming evil.
What do we do about it?
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Change
On one of the trails I hike on frequently, I have a tree that I start watching closely at the end of June. It's not the tree that I'm interested in, although I like trees; it's that I'm watching to see when the first sad underwing moth will appear. For the last two years, I've observed these moths on that tree around the first of July. This year was no exception- my first sad underwing moth sighting was on June 30.
These moths aren't rare, or endangered; in fact, they're quite common on this trail if you know when and where to look- but for me they mark the transition between early summer and late summer. Early summer means the lazy days of vacation, sleeping in, cookouts, pool parties, 4th of July fireworks. The appearance of the sad underwing moth is, for me, a first harbinger of school supplies in big bins, e-mails from the school, marching band camp, of summer melting into early fall, the first whisper of Halloween. Change is coming, their appearance says.
Sometimes there is a clear line between what was and what is- graduation, a new job, a wedding, a birth. When I went into active labor with my oldest, somewhere between yelling at the Dad of No that running stop signs was perfectly fine, just get this car to the hospital NOW! was this thought: in just a few hours my life will be different forever. More often, though, change sneaks up on you and one day you realize, stuff changed. How did that happen?
Especially at the beginning of each school year, I become more aware of how my own offspring are changing. For several Augusts in a row, I'd head straight to the bins of crayons and markers on sale and stock up because I knew they'd be needed. Then one year as I reached for the crayons, the thought popped into my head: Why are you buying those? You still have boxes from last year! Instead of needing crayons and markers and construction paper in strange sizes I was buying graphing calculators and spiral bound notebooks and posterboard. The year came when the postcard from the elementary school informing us about "meet the teacher" didn't come, and then I looked up and realized that my youngest towered over me by several inches, and I realized that somewhere in there both kids had transitioned from childhood to adolescence, and it was bittersweet.
Recently, I noticed that the Teenager had started telling, as opposed to asking, us where she was going and what she was doing. Mom, she'd say, I'm going to Starbucks to work on applications with a friend. I'm going bowling. I signed up for an early Saturday shift at work. I'll be back later, I'll get something for dinner while I'm out. She is standing at the threshold of early adulthood, and it is bittersweet.
When I see young mothers with babies or toddlers, I have to resist the urge to tell them, as older women have told young mothers for generations, it goes by too fast. When I heard it, as a new mother, I was exhausted and in serious doubt about my own mothering skills, and it was inconceivable to me that it would go by as fast as I now realize it did. It never occurs to you when you struggle to put the infant car seat in the car that one day you'll be taking it out, that one day the kids will fight over who gets the front seat, and then they'll move to the driver's seat, and that you'll be asking yourself, how did that happen so fast?
Change is ever flowing- mostly so slowly we don't see it coming until it's already passed us by-in the inches gained at the well-child checkup, the lost baby teeth, the changing interests. It's in the once-treasured but now outgrown princess dress-up clothes being placed in the Goodwill basket to make room for softball or soccer or Girl Scout uniforms, which in turn will make way for a marching band or a cheerleading or a JROTC uniform , and then a cap and gown. It is in the hard-won trophies that now sport a layer of dust, a stuffed animal at the back of a closet, a storybook placed in the library donation pile.
Because we've lived in the same house since before both kids were born, sometimes I come across items in boxes, relics from the early years. A few months ago I found a diaper bag in a storage chest. It even still had a couple of diapers in it. I had likely put it aside one day because I hadn't needed it, probably on a day I was feeling confident about potty training progress, and I had never picked it back up. Change had happened, and I'm sure I had not even given it a second thought.
The sad underwing moths are all around us, subtle signs of the ever occurring change that cannot be stopped, change that often goes unremarked upon until a milestone year is reached, like the senior year of high school, when we look up from the routine and say to ourselves "How did that happen?".
And it is bittersweet.
These moths aren't rare, or endangered; in fact, they're quite common on this trail if you know when and where to look- but for me they mark the transition between early summer and late summer. Early summer means the lazy days of vacation, sleeping in, cookouts, pool parties, 4th of July fireworks. The appearance of the sad underwing moth is, for me, a first harbinger of school supplies in big bins, e-mails from the school, marching band camp, of summer melting into early fall, the first whisper of Halloween. Change is coming, their appearance says.
Sometimes there is a clear line between what was and what is- graduation, a new job, a wedding, a birth. When I went into active labor with my oldest, somewhere between yelling at the Dad of No that running stop signs was perfectly fine, just get this car to the hospital NOW! was this thought: in just a few hours my life will be different forever. More often, though, change sneaks up on you and one day you realize, stuff changed. How did that happen?
Especially at the beginning of each school year, I become more aware of how my own offspring are changing. For several Augusts in a row, I'd head straight to the bins of crayons and markers on sale and stock up because I knew they'd be needed. Then one year as I reached for the crayons, the thought popped into my head: Why are you buying those? You still have boxes from last year! Instead of needing crayons and markers and construction paper in strange sizes I was buying graphing calculators and spiral bound notebooks and posterboard. The year came when the postcard from the elementary school informing us about "meet the teacher" didn't come, and then I looked up and realized that my youngest towered over me by several inches, and I realized that somewhere in there both kids had transitioned from childhood to adolescence, and it was bittersweet.
Recently, I noticed that the Teenager had started telling, as opposed to asking, us where she was going and what she was doing. Mom, she'd say, I'm going to Starbucks to work on applications with a friend. I'm going bowling. I signed up for an early Saturday shift at work. I'll be back later, I'll get something for dinner while I'm out. She is standing at the threshold of early adulthood, and it is bittersweet.
When I see young mothers with babies or toddlers, I have to resist the urge to tell them, as older women have told young mothers for generations, it goes by too fast. When I heard it, as a new mother, I was exhausted and in serious doubt about my own mothering skills, and it was inconceivable to me that it would go by as fast as I now realize it did. It never occurs to you when you struggle to put the infant car seat in the car that one day you'll be taking it out, that one day the kids will fight over who gets the front seat, and then they'll move to the driver's seat, and that you'll be asking yourself, how did that happen so fast?
Change is ever flowing- mostly so slowly we don't see it coming until it's already passed us by-in the inches gained at the well-child checkup, the lost baby teeth, the changing interests. It's in the once-treasured but now outgrown princess dress-up clothes being placed in the Goodwill basket to make room for softball or soccer or Girl Scout uniforms, which in turn will make way for a marching band or a cheerleading or a JROTC uniform , and then a cap and gown. It is in the hard-won trophies that now sport a layer of dust, a stuffed animal at the back of a closet, a storybook placed in the library donation pile.
Because we've lived in the same house since before both kids were born, sometimes I come across items in boxes, relics from the early years. A few months ago I found a diaper bag in a storage chest. It even still had a couple of diapers in it. I had likely put it aside one day because I hadn't needed it, probably on a day I was feeling confident about potty training progress, and I had never picked it back up. Change had happened, and I'm sure I had not even given it a second thought.
The sad underwing moths are all around us, subtle signs of the ever occurring change that cannot be stopped, change that often goes unremarked upon until a milestone year is reached, like the senior year of high school, when we look up from the routine and say to ourselves "How did that happen?".
And it is bittersweet.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
The Smell Test
I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, teenagers, so I'll just dive right into it: Two things you need to know.
1. I love you dearly. You are my beloved offspring. I would do anything for you. Your health and happiness are constantly on my mind, and even when you finally fledge the nest and have to make your own dentist appointments and buy your own Doritos, I will still worry about you and show you my unending love through text message nagging to get enough sleep and be sure to eat a good, healthy breakfast before starting your day.
2. You are often quite odiferous.
The other day, I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating if he wanted to go somewhere with me. He did. As he walked by me to get in the car, I caught an unmistakable whiff of eau de adolescent. I glared at him. What? He said, staring at me.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your hair?
Son: I don't know. Maybe yesterday.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your teeth?
Son: Mom! My teeth are fine! Why are you asking these questions?
Me: When was the last time you used deodorant?
Son: Mom! Deodorant is for school! This is summer!
Among my favorite smells are fresh-baked apple pie, the cool spring breeze on a sunny afternoon, the faint salty smell of the ocean as you approach the beach on summer vacation, and freshly bathed baby. I remember the blissful wonder of rocking my children in the evening, breathing in that faintly lavender clean baby smell as they slept peacefully in my arms.
Many years later, I went to sixth grade orientation. The P.E. teachers begged the parents of the incoming middle schoolers to please, please, PLEASE make sure your kids use deodorant. You have no idea what it's like in here when there are sixty sixth graders running around. Have mercy on us.
Even after an entire summer, the gym still smelled faintly like sweat and moldy wet socks. I could sympathize with their pleas.
In other words,welcome to adolescence, Mom and Dad. Whatever you do, don't forget to take that P.E. uniform out of the backpack on Friday evening, or else. Trust me on this one; that was a lesson learned the hard way.
Another lesson learned the hard way- any time your teenager returns from sleepaway camp or a mission trip, or any time that they are away from home more than 48 hours, open the bag of dirty clothes outside. At least half of the items will be sopping wet, even if they were in a desert. I don't know why that is, it just is.
Parents of babies and toddlers might talk about daycare, or co-sleeping vs. cribs, or when to start solids foods. Parents of grade schoolers might talk about selling Girl Scout cookies, who has the best prices on school supplies, or whether or not to sign their kids up for soccer. Parents of teenagers talk about how much their auto insurance went up when they added a teen driver, how much food their teenagers eat, compare notes on who is currently getting the most teenager 'tude, and just how to mitigate for that adolescent odor. Mention it on Facebook, and watch the comments roll in. These are the common bonds that connect us all.
I'm not sure what the answer is- I've heard peer pressure, more frequent showering, buying lovely (or manly, depending on the adolescent in question) scented products and leaving them in the shower as a hint, and not to worry about it because the problem will resolve on its own once the teenager in question acquires a romantic interest, or that they'll eventually move out, and then you can have the hazmat crew in to fumigate.
I also know this- that after a day on the trails on almost any day between April and October, I probably don't smell like a rose myself. As a teenager, I spent considerable time around horses. The Grandma of No finally made it clear that after a day at the stables during the summer, I smelled like equine manure (literally) and to change in the garage. So I can relate. I feel your pain.
But please, even though I love you and I would do anything for you- deodorant is for every day. Not just school days.
1. I love you dearly. You are my beloved offspring. I would do anything for you. Your health and happiness are constantly on my mind, and even when you finally fledge the nest and have to make your own dentist appointments and buy your own Doritos, I will still worry about you and show you my unending love through text message nagging to get enough sleep and be sure to eat a good, healthy breakfast before starting your day.
2. You are often quite odiferous.
The other day, I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating if he wanted to go somewhere with me. He did. As he walked by me to get in the car, I caught an unmistakable whiff of eau de adolescent. I glared at him. What? He said, staring at me.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your hair?
Son: I don't know. Maybe yesterday.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your teeth?
Son: Mom! My teeth are fine! Why are you asking these questions?
Me: When was the last time you used deodorant?
Son: Mom! Deodorant is for school! This is summer!
Among my favorite smells are fresh-baked apple pie, the cool spring breeze on a sunny afternoon, the faint salty smell of the ocean as you approach the beach on summer vacation, and freshly bathed baby. I remember the blissful wonder of rocking my children in the evening, breathing in that faintly lavender clean baby smell as they slept peacefully in my arms.
Many years later, I went to sixth grade orientation. The P.E. teachers begged the parents of the incoming middle schoolers to please, please, PLEASE make sure your kids use deodorant. You have no idea what it's like in here when there are sixty sixth graders running around. Have mercy on us.
Even after an entire summer, the gym still smelled faintly like sweat and moldy wet socks. I could sympathize with their pleas.
In other words,welcome to adolescence, Mom and Dad. Whatever you do, don't forget to take that P.E. uniform out of the backpack on Friday evening, or else. Trust me on this one; that was a lesson learned the hard way.
Another lesson learned the hard way- any time your teenager returns from sleepaway camp or a mission trip, or any time that they are away from home more than 48 hours, open the bag of dirty clothes outside. At least half of the items will be sopping wet, even if they were in a desert. I don't know why that is, it just is.
Parents of babies and toddlers might talk about daycare, or co-sleeping vs. cribs, or when to start solids foods. Parents of grade schoolers might talk about selling Girl Scout cookies, who has the best prices on school supplies, or whether or not to sign their kids up for soccer. Parents of teenagers talk about how much their auto insurance went up when they added a teen driver, how much food their teenagers eat, compare notes on who is currently getting the most teenager 'tude, and just how to mitigate for that adolescent odor. Mention it on Facebook, and watch the comments roll in. These are the common bonds that connect us all.
I'm not sure what the answer is- I've heard peer pressure, more frequent showering, buying lovely (or manly, depending on the adolescent in question) scented products and leaving them in the shower as a hint, and not to worry about it because the problem will resolve on its own once the teenager in question acquires a romantic interest, or that they'll eventually move out, and then you can have the hazmat crew in to fumigate.
I also know this- that after a day on the trails on almost any day between April and October, I probably don't smell like a rose myself. As a teenager, I spent considerable time around horses. The Grandma of No finally made it clear that after a day at the stables during the summer, I smelled like equine manure (literally) and to change in the garage. So I can relate. I feel your pain.
But please, even though I love you and I would do anything for you- deodorant is for every day. Not just school days.
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