Family

Marathon training, week 5

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I am tired already. I come up with a lot of my blog ideas while running and apparently develop my ideas best between 3:30 AM and 6:00 AM. Yesterday I woke up at 3:30 AM, laid in bed until 4:00 AM, got up, wrote my blog, tried to go back to sleep without success, and decided at 5:30 AM to go for my 18 mile run before the storms moved in. It was humid in the morning, the last few miles I think I was getting a little dehydrated. Every muscle in my body hurt, even my feet cramped up and a toenail was bleeding. 

I saw a deer on my run, we eyed each other up a little but decided we would not be running partners or adversaries. On the last mile, another runner was coming towards me along with a truck with a trailer on the back. To make things more suspenseful, there was a black cat in the middle of the road. The cat ran in front of the truck escaping by a couple of inches, the runners were safe as well. 

Today is my day off. I took my daughter in this morning to get her wisdom teeth out which has been rather uneventful. I remember getting mine out when I turned 21 after being in a lot of dental pain. All is remember is crying hysterically and getting bloody drool all over my roommates car. On the last day of recovery, I met my husband on his birthday. It has been almost 20 years since I got my wisdom teeth removed. How ironic that after having my wisdom removed, I made one of the smartest decisions in my life. 

Two more days of training this week, then my first 24 mile run next week. Yikes!

Confessions of an inexperienced blogger

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I have been a blogger for almost a month now. I am a “cave man (mom?)” blogger. I don’t know what I am doing. I can barely figure out how to capitalize letters much less add pictures. And talking about pictures, should I add one of myself? Will people know who I am? Is that ok? I’ll be completely honest, I was going to link my blog to my Facebook account but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. But then I thought, how am I going to be completely honest if people that don’t really know me really know me. When asked if the dress makes you look fat, I usually say green really is your color. I change the subject when I really want to say that dress makes you look fat. So I decided it would be better to share all the personal experiences in my life with complete strangers. 

I’m sorry I never “liked” your blog, I did like it. Sorry I never responded to your comments, I haven’t figured out how yet. I always knew I would end up being a writer. As a child, I would sit in my room and write novels on paper. Yes, paper! Who ever thought something like this would be possible? Now I could never write fiction. My walk through life so far has been so interesting and crazy that I couldn’t be imaginative enough to make half of this crap up. I will work harder to try to figure out the technology end of blogging. These are the crazy thoughts that keep me up at 4 AM. 

Daddy issues

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I wish that Hallmark would come out with a new line of Father’s Day cards for dutiful children whose dad never gave a crap. I opened many cards that spoke of loving advice, warm embraces, and gentle guidance. Nope, nope, and nope. I’m probably not the only one out there that feels this way. 

My dad never hugged me or told me that he was proud of me, even when I graduated from college. My dad never told me I looked beautiful in that dress, even on my wedding day. There were no father daughter “dates”. We didn’t go out to eat together, to the movies, or anywhere. He showed up to events when he “had” to. Warm fatherly words of advice consisted of “shit happens” and “life’s a bitch, then you die.” Ok, you get the picture. I never dated anyone without daddy issues either. 

My husband, Paul, is a 1960’s love child. He was born to a single, unwed, high school dropout, teenage mother in Chicago. They were dirt poor. Paul spent the first half of his childhood in low income housing in Chicago. His mother enjoyed a brief marriage while there, just enough to change her name. When the city started to get rough and gang activity started heating up, his mom moved him out of the city along with his retired, widowed grandma. They moved up to a small town in northern Wisconsin. Talk about culture shock! Paul did get teased because he had the same last name as his grandma. His mom had a different last name, but still no dad. What a small town scandal in the 1970’s, for sure. 

Paul has a brilliant Mensa level mind. He earned his MBA while starting up his own successful business. He is always sought out to help organizations with their finances or in leadership roles. He is also a great dad to our children. But where does he go for fatherly advice? He has a great step-dad now, but his only two sons both got out of prison last year. Probably not the best place for advice. Certainly not my dad either. 

Paul’s mother is a little slow, she never could complete her GED. She would rather play the slots than play with her grandkids. There were countless occasions where she would cancel out last minute, not show up at all, or come hours late. When she did show up, sometimes she would leave angry spewing out obscenities. For all of her shortcomings, I have to thank her for not aborting my husband and for moving him out of the city. 

For all of you dads out there celebrating Father’s Day this weekend, have a good one! If you are struggling to be a good dad, it is never too late for change. You can still lead a relatively happy life with daddy issues. If you have a Hallmark card dad, tell him how much you appreciate him before it is too late. 

Drowning Luke

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It was an unseasonably warm day for May. My parents decide to take a day trip up north to check on the cabin. I am six years old, almost seven now. The next door neighbor has his dock in already and the boys want to wade in the water. I can’t go in the water very deep because I have my pants on. I am too old to strip down to my underwear like the boys. Matt is 5, Mark is 3, and Luke just turned 2. Mom and I watch the boys “swim”. My dad keeps calling my mom into the cabin saying that Alissa can watch the boys. 

My mom leaves me behind to watch the boys. I can handle this. The boys were splashing around having fun, but Luke likes to push things. He keeps wading deeper and deeper in the water. Now he is flailing around in the water. Mark keeps yelling excitedly that Luke is swimming. I think that Luke needs help, but I have my clothes on and am not supposed to get wet. I stand up with one leg perched over the water ready to jump in. I can’t move, I can’t yell for help. Panic froze me like a statue. I am watching Luke drown. 

Thankfully, my mom felt uncomfortable inside the cabin because she could not see the kids in the water. She came out to check on us. She jumped in the water with her clothes on to save Luke’s life. It was a cold ride home for her in wet jeans, but my brother is alive. I would have let Luke drown. 

The cure for autism, part 6 

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The new age mystical crystal healer….I know you were just waiting for this. 

My mom joined a food co-op back in the day where she could buy organic/health food in bulk. Every month they would go through a long catalog of items for ordering, foods that we could easily walk into a grocery store and buy today. Then once a month, early in the morning, they would unload their purchases from a semi. My mom was a member of the co-op along with a large group of Eastern Orthodox Catholic women buying food in bulk for their large families. It was through these Catholic women that my mom heard that there was a healer in town. 

My mom invited the healer into our house. She told us stories about getting married an hour after she met her husband. She was an empathetic listener and a bit eccentric. She told me that I had a good yellow aura. I liked her but it felt like she could look right into your very soul. She told us that we had a very powerful negative force field in our backyard. The negative force field was taking good energy. This is very sketchy, but I think that she wanted my mom to buy crystals to ward off this negative energy. 

Eventually the Catholic women realized that this woman was into new age healing and she was not welcome anymore. My mom decided to follow suit. Even though she liked the healer, she would not compromise her beliefs. 

Still no cure. 

Up north, part 1

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My great grandparents build a cabin on a quiet, secluded lake in 1950. It still has no internet and TV, yes! But no shower, no! Fast forward 65 years and the lake is no longer quiet or secluded. It is more of a party lake which tends to happen when a lot of people find out about a really great quiet lake. I spent the weekend up there with my family, my parents, and Matt. Time changes people. Matt is no longer that wild autistic boy who runs around hurting himself and others. He is entering middle age, less then a year from 40. It has been almost 13 years since he attacked someone, my oldest daughter. My dad has mellowed out over the years, but is still a surly old man who says hurtful things. My mom has really stayed the same. 

I did take some time to huddle up by the fire and lounge with a beer by the lake. The most exciting thing that happened was walking to get some ice cream. Even though I was technically off from marathon training over the weekend, I am still very active. I am the type of person that has a hard time sitting still, although marathon training has helped with that. There were about 100 bikers outside of the ice cream place and adjoining bar. I just wanted to get out of there. Just me and my two kids, disabled brother, my senior citizen mom, and a dog that probably could develop a liking for cigarette butts. And 100 bikers! 

As we were leaving, a biker came out of the bar and passed out 5 feet away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against bikers, just so many people that I felt a little trapped. I am not afraid of anyone. I could get into the biker lifestyle with the piercings, tattoos, leather jackets, skulls, not to mention having my hair blowing freely on the open road. There is a certain freedom in that. But, alas, my husband is a sailor not a biker. 

Last year we bought a 25 foot sailboat. It has already provided us with a lifetime of adventure (another blog). I can imagine a vagabond lifestyle country hopping, seeing the world. I imagine a future of sailing or driving across the world with no plan. In real life I am a schedule freak. Everything must be in its place and control must be maintained at all times. I run a tight ship. But in my dreams I am calm, relaxed, serene, peaceful. I am driving across the country in a VW robin egg blue hippie van, wearing bohemian clothing, and listening to 60’s music with no cell phone and just a camera slung over my back. No itinarary, no schedule. If I can run a marathon, what can stop me from doing everything I want to do in life? At 40, I am as young as I will ever be. 

Marathon training, week 2

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Maybe the title should be marathon training, too weak. That is how I feel right now, weak. Weak, weak, weak. Weak, depressed, and exhausted. Is it some sort of midlife crisis? Marathon training 6 hours a week? Running a business with my husband? Raising 3 teenagers? Keeping the house obsessively clean? The endless laundry? Or starting a blog about the demons I have spent most of my life running from? I feel like a cracked and broken vessel. But who doesn’t inwardly love the sound of shattering glass?

I want to quit, give up. I feel angry. Why should I be telling you all of the intensely painful experiences in my life? Stories I shared only fully with one other person. I am standing in front of you naked, broken, ugly, alone. I don’t even want to run anymore. Maybe I am finally strong enough to face my demons and finally use it to help others. Outwardly I am beautiful and strong, inwardly I am broken and ugly. I will never be a completely unscarred human being, but I can help you get through this life. I was meant to help you. I know my purpose. I was meant to do this, but I want to quit. I need to tell my story to help others who have a sibling with a disability. I feel your pain. I feel your rage. I feel your sadness. And if I ever forget or run out of things to say, I have a box full of journals written during the most painful moments of my life. Pray and have faith that your life will get better, mine has. 

Maybe next time I will write more about marathon training. 

The cure to autism part 3

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Mom took us all in for allergy testing. I remember the little pinches of shots on my arm and waiting to see if any got big and red like mosquito bites. It was also the first time I got my blood drawn. I watched the blood filling the vial when all of a sudden the needle slipped and blood started running down my arm followed by a huge bruise. Now before you worry about me, I have AB blood type. Yup, universal receiver baby. That really lifted a lot of guilt about not wanting to be a blood donor in the future. But I digress. 

Matt was allergic to everything. He needed more testing. Except Matt’s behavior was so violent they had to close the clinic to other patients. I just realized why my brothers and I went in for testing right now. Guilt. He had to close the clinic to other patients but my brothers and I were “immune” to Matt’s violence. This time mom was literally paying for Matt’s behavior. 

Matt had a totally gluten and casein (dairy) free diet and only ate organic foods, yes back in the 80’s! Not only that but mom did not allow artificial colors or sweeteners in our diet. I didn’t live on Mac and cheese as a kid and we were the only kids in the neighborhood who weren’t guzzling milk. Don’t tell my mom this, but she never was the worlds greatest cook. It didn’t help not having a lot of options. We would eat chicken sprinkled with paprika and roasts with grease soaked carrots every week. 

My dad wasn’t a big fan of my mom’s cooking either. Supper time was very stressful in our house. My mom had to tie Matt and Luke to their chairs with aprons so they would stay at the table. Luke was hyperactive and acted up to get attention. My dad would come home from work, set down his tool box by the door, and come to the table. He would take a few bites and start yelling, “what is this dog shit”?  This was followed by him by him banging his fists on the table and flinging his plate across the table. He would sit in the next room and watch TV, laughing at the funny parts. At this point, my mom would leave the table crying. Now it was time for my job, it was time for me to be the comforter. 

Needless to say, this was not a cure either. Although it seems to help with some of the stranger behaviors that I will expand more on later. 

The cure for autism part 2

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It is amazing what an extreme loss of control can do to a relatively sane persons mind. My mom has now taken over the cure since my dad’s little misstep in part 1. I can’t remember the order of the cures anymore, just the cures themselves. 

This cure is to keep my brother away from all exhaust fumes. My parents had a somewhat long gravel driveway. In the summer of the refrain from auto exhaust cure, my mom set up sawhorses half way down the driveway. No one was allowed to park or go past those sawhorses with a motorized vehicle without the wrath of my mother. My dad even used a non motorized push lawn mower that summer. In those days, we still did not have A/C in the house. If there was an east wind, we had to barricade the house and lock all the windows so the wind would not blow auto exhaust fumes in the house. 

Riding in the car was particularly tricky. Back then the major highways by us were two lanes. Being behind a semi would elicit a panic attack from my mother. All vents blowing exhaust fumes into the car had to be turned off. My mom would go to great speeds to pass the trucks. 

The winter provided new challenges too. My dad would snowblow the driveway and get exhaust fumes on his clothing. If he did not remove his outer clothing in the garage my mom would scream at him for bringing exhaust fumes into the house. 

Big surprise that this cure did not work. Please if you know who I am, please do not tell my mother about this blog. I still need to protect her. 

The cure for autism part 1

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My mom said Matt was a normal baby. Brilliant, in fact. He knew the alphabet before age 2. He was speaking. Then one day she went to get him from his crib and he wasn’t there anymore. He stopped talking, only screamed from nightmares we knew nothing about. Blame. Blame. My mother sought medical help and found no answers there. Refrigerator mom, that is what they said. 

My dad thought he found a cure. My first memory, I was around 4. Matt was 3, Mark was a toddler and mom was probably pregnant with Luke. We were all crying and I remember being afraid. Matt was having another fit, screaming and throwing himself on the floor. My dad was yelling and hitting Matt. I heard banging against the cabinets in the kitchen. Crying, my mom trying to hold us back stop us from seeing. Oh, but I did see. I saw that my dad did not find the cure for autism. And that was the beginning of my mom trying to find a cure.