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To Organize (Part 3): Getting to Work

  • Posted on July 27, 2010 at 12:52 AM

First, I wrote about how prioritization and balance between important and urgent goals is necessary for my organizational process.  Then, I wrote about how I need a system to put things and projects away.  Now, I will write about how I go about accomplishing the things on my to-do lists each day.

Obstacle 3: There are so many things to do, and so little energy to do them with.

This goes back to the spoons theme:  My energy (and yours) is always limited, and some days it’s more limited than others.  My energy also varies during different times in the day.

Along with limited energy, two other finite resources affect my ability to accomplish tasks.  One is my ability to concentrate.  Unfortunately for me, sometimes having energy doesn’t mean I’m able to concentrate.  Sometimes being able to concentrate doesn’t mean I have energy.  The most mentally challenging tasks have to be completed in those periods of time where having energy and being able to concentrate intersect.  The other finite resource is time.  This is significant, because there are tasks that are time sensitive and those that are not.  For example, today “call re: Alex’s teeth” was on my to-do list.  I didn’t get to it before 5:00 PM.  Therefore, it had to be bumped to the next day.  I cannot schedule a dental appointment for my son after 5:00 PM.  A complicating factor is that I have very little awareness of the passage of time while I’m doing something.  As long as my energy and concentration holds out, I will not notice as the minutes run into hours.  This is why I didn’t notice the time until it was too late to make the call.

Managing my to-do list with finite energy, finite concentration, and time-sensitive tasks requires its own degree of organization.

Solution 3a: Prioritize the Day

The first thing I do with my to-do list is I number it.  There are little boxes, courtesy of my Franklin-Covey planner in which I place the numbers in the order I intend to accomplish specific tasks.  This order is very flexible.  As the day progresses, I do not necessarily do things in the original order.  This depends a great deal on the speed with which I accomplish my tasks, my energy, and my ability to concentrate.  That being said, there’s a method to which I put things in order.

I start my day with some very low-pressure activities.  In the first one to three hours my ability to concentrate is minimal—I do NOT jump out of bed, ready to tackle life.  I’m more the fall-out-of-bed-and-stumble-down-stairs sort of gal.  This might have something to do with consistently getting inadequate sleep, but I think it also has to do with the jarring nature of the transition from sleep to wakefulness.  I think if I could sleep once a week and be good for the rest of the week, then I’d save a lot of time “wasted” on transitioning from sleep to wakefulness.  But, alas, sleep is something I need almost every day.  So, I start my day with easy-to-accomplish activities.

Then, assuming I got at least 4 hours of sleep, I have a period of high-energy/high-concentration that lasts anywhere from two to five hours (depending on how much sleep I got, how noisy things are, and a myriad other factors).  This is when I do my mentally challenging tasks.  Today, I spent that time working on a professional resume package.

Furthermore, to maximize this time I also give myself brain-off tasks interspersed between mentally challenging activities.  This is when I do things like wash dishes, vacuum, and wash, fold and put away laundry.  These activities require physical energy, but little mental effort.  I don’t know why I have more productive time when I flip back and forth between mentally invigorating tasks and mentally tedious tasks, but I do.

Then, I have a fall in energy and the ability to concentrate.  At this point I’m back to relatively simple, sedentary tasks.  This is usually where I do something like take notes on my writing studies (not my homework), go on Facebook, read a book, or watch a movie.

After a break of this sort, I have a rise in concentration or energy, but usually not both.  I either do mentally challenging work or finish household chores, depending on whether I get the energy or the concentration.

Then, whichever it was, I get the flip-side of that of that particular coin and do whatever tasks relate to this side.

Finally, during the wind-down part of my day, I’m back to the simpler, sedentary tasks.

The point is not that my pattern should be your pattern.  My point is that by recognizing your own pattern, whatever it may be, you’re more likely to maximize both your productivity and your effectiveness by scheduling your tasks in accordance with your own energy/concentration ratios.

Of course, you can always supplement with caffeine, ginseng, or other boosters to help you stretch out your energy, your concentration, or both.  But, if you do that too much, then you get rather dependent on those things—trust me, I know!

Solution 3b: Color-Coding Keeps Things in Order

One thing that should be clear from the description above is that while I only maintain two lists each day—the household list and the professional list—there are sub-lists to each of those lists.  I distinguish these sub-lists by color-coding.  For example, my tedious professional work is written in black.  My high-concentration work is written in red.  My writing—referring to my novels, short stories, and my book—is written in purple, not because it’s not high-concentration work, but because it’s easier to make myself do it and therefore less urgent.  Other less urgent work is in blue.

For my household work, the colors are different.  Black marks the things I have to do at my writing desk (i.e., the desk my computer is NOT at).  Red marks the things I have to do at my computer desk.  Blue marks chores, which usually have to be done outside of my office (unless the chore is to clean my office).  Green marks things I have to do outside the house.

Obstacle 4:  Getting to Work

By organizing my to-do lists in this way, I have a tenuous plan for the day.  But, it’s still only a plan.  To implement that plan, I actually have to get to work.

This can be difficult.  On really bad days it can seem impossible.  Sometimes I overcome the feeling of impossibility.  Other times I don’t.

And that’s okay.  I give myself permission to have bad days and you should, too.

Solution 4a:  Mark Up Your Progress

I start my day by checking my e-mail.  I don’t necessary do anything with the e-mails I received, but I do take stock.  It’s like a warm-up exercise before going for a run.  After that, I choose one thing on my to-do list—usually my prayer journal—and highlight it in yellow.  This means it’s something to tackle right away.  Then, I go and read from Daily Guideposts and my scriptures, respond to what I read, and write down a prayer.  After that’s done, I use a green highlighter to highlight over the yellow and put a check mark in the box.  It feels good.  My day is officially started. 

As my day progresses, I choose what I’m going to highlight yellow next based on my energy/concentration ratio.  The highlighting helps me focus on only a few of the many things I need to do at a time.  I try not to have more than four or five things highlighted in yellow on a side.  Sometimes, when I’m having difficulty concentrating, I keep it down to one or two things in yellow on a side.  And seeing the accumulation of green highlighted lines is very gratifying for me.  Of course, the pesky orange highlights—those items I’ve put off until a different day—can seem rather sad, but sometimes that’s necessary.

I use highlighters and colored pens because they’re bold and bright and they stand out.  It’s easier for me to see those things I want to see—like the next thing on my to-do list—without getting overwhelmed by all the other tasks.  It takes a bit of training to see the list this way—at least, it did for me.  But with practice, the green and orange lines are “gone” from the to-do list, except when I want to see what I’ve accomplished and what I’ve already put off.  While I’m working I can glance at the yellow lines and know what I’m going to do next.  It keeps me on track and it keeps me working.

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To Organize (Part 2): Putting Everything Away

  • Posted on July 13, 2010 at 1:06 AM

In my previous post, I wrote about how prioritization and balance between important and urgent goals is necessary for my organizational process.  After I figure out all I have to do, the next most important thing is having an “away” to put both things and projects.  First, I must note that having an understanding of what you want to accomplish and what is important to you is essential before you determine how to go about putting things away.  The decision of what constitutes away will depend a great deal on your priorities and your personality.

Obstacle 2: To put things away, you must have an away in which to put them.

While this seems pretty straight forward, it isn’t always so.  It can be tempting to resort to clutter piles.  I certainly do!  The problem with this is that if the clutter piles never get sorted, the tasks buried in the clutter piles rarely get accomplished.  Furthermore, documents you’ll need later are harder to find when needed if they’re not stored properly.

That being said, some vague “aways” are fine.  Just don’t use them to avoid work that needs to be done.

Solution 2a: Make an “away” for things.

Living in a materialistic culture like the U.S., families tend to accumulate things.  There are those who avoid this.  We are not among them.  My family is given many things throughout the year—toys, books, clothes, ect.  We are also sent things like bills and documents to fill out.  We collect movies, books, and games.  We are not as attached to things as our culture tends to encourage, but we have many things and they all need to have an away in which they are put.

So, the first step to organizing your things is having an away in which to put them.  In order to determine how many aways and what kind you require, you have to consider your priorities.  For example, we have a playroom where we keep the boys’ toys.  There is a big toy chest that is full of rarely used big toys.  There is a smaller toy chest that is full of often used big toys.  There are two bins for stuffed animals and two bins for plastic toys.  There are also smaller bins for particular sets of toys.  I used to be rather, um, compulsive about how to put all the toys away.  This compulsion didn’t help the boys find their toys—which was how I justified it—and they didn’t appreciate the effort I put into it.  So, I stopped.  It took a lot of effort, but I stopped.  The effort required to put things away where everything was sorted was too much work and too little benefit.  Take care to avoid activities that require more effort than the benefit they generate!

When putting things away, you have to decide how much sorting is necessary and limit yourself to that degree of sorting.  Is it enough to put all your books on book shelves or do you need the books arranged in a particular order?  The answer will depend on your needs and your priorities.  The same question can be asked of any set of objects, but only you can answer it.

Solution 2a: Make an “away” for projects.

While there usually are objects associated with projects, projects are categorized differently.  What kind of projects do you have?  If you are like me, many of your projects are ideas.  Between the computer and a filing cabinet or two, I can store most of my projects.  But I also have drawings, index cards, and other items to arrange.

The trick to arranging projects is to have a set of places for each kind of project.  I use cork boards to put long projects-in-progress on display.  I take a sheet of paper, make an envelope out of it, and store notes on index cards in separate “envelope” for each segment of the project.  I also sort projects (ongoing and past) in file folders, in/out boxes, and the like.

There are many systems you can try.  Or you can mix and match systems to create your own unique system—which is what I do.  The purpose is to be able to find everything you need for any project you wish to work on and to keep projects-in-progress safe from destruction.  Whether you use stacks of labeled shoe boxes or a tidy set of trays, you can organize your projects in any way that works for you.  This may involve some trial and error, but you’ll find that all that effort was worth its while once your system is up and running.

 

Organizing your work takes time.  Sometimes that time can be hard to come by.  However, the effort you put into organization saves you even more time in the long-run.  Of course, now that we’ve talked about the processes of organization, there’s still one piece missing.  How do you turn that organization into accomplishment?  That’s the topic of the next post!

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To Organize (Part 1): Finding Balance through Prioritization

  • Posted on July 9, 2010 at 4:20 PM

Being organized is a constant struggle in my life.  It’s not that I’m particularly unorganized, but there are several obstacles that make it more difficult.  The next few posts will be about obstacles and solutions—or how I manage to stay organized and productive.  (People have been asking that question again:  How do you do it?)

Obstacle 1: I have more to do than I can actually get done.

At first glance, this will seem like I take too much work upon myself.  There are those who would argue that’s exactly what this means.  It isn’t so simple.  Work needs to be done.  A lot of this work is simply mine—for example, nobody else can do my writing or my school work.  That’s mine to do.  A lot of the work needs to be done, and I’m just the one who is sure to get it done.  This includes much of the housework and household administrative tasks.  Again, it sounds like this is me taking on more work than I should, but the work I take on each day is only a fraction of the work I could take on each and every day and still leave plenty for the next day.

Being the “big picture” person that I am is a major complicating factor.  I see work on three different levels.  First, there is the work that requires years of daily or weekly effort to accomplish.  Raising my children, continuing my education, writing my books, writing my novels, running my business—these activities involve years’ worth of work.  And I see all this work laid out before me.  I don’t see all the little details that go into these major tasks, but I do see many of the major steps along the way.  This work never ends—at least, not while I am alive.  So, no matter how much I do today, there’s always more.  These are long-term goals that require a long-term commitment.  At this level, organization is primarily used to keep me from being too overwhelmed.

The second level of work is those mid-term goals.  This work includes teaching my children specific skills, completing my current class, planning my current book, writing my current novel, and managing and completing my current business-related projects, assignments, and tasks.  This level of work includes projects and assignments that will provide me with sufficient daily tasks for months to come.  Some projects or goals are longer in scope than others.  All require a significant amount of organization to keep me on task.

The third level of work involves daily, weekly, and monthly tasks.  Household management tasks generally fall into this category—though there certainly are those mid-term and long-term household-related projects that weigh on my mind as well.  Many of these third-tier tasks, whether they are household-related or business-related, are on perpetual repeat.  No matter how many dishes I wash today, there will always be more dishes to wash tomorrow.  No matter how many blogs I visit today, there will always be new posts to read tomorrow.  That sort of thing.  Organization is primarily a prioritization task in this arena.

Solution 1a: Find balance by breaking goals down into tasks.

With three layers of tasks, there is a certain balance required.  I could fill day after day after day with third-tier work.  There are people who live their lives that way, and live them quite contentedly.  I’m not one of those people.  I like progress; I need accomplishments.  I by no means wish to belittled people whose lives are contentedly lived on the third-tier.  There is something admirable about that—and their households certainly run more smoothly than does my own.  But I’m not particularly skilled at the domestic round, nor am I particularly contented with it.  I need to write.  And I need that writing to accumulate into big projects—books, novels, collections of short stories and articles and blog posts.  And, of course, I could fill day after day after day with second-tier or first-tier work, at the exclusion of all else, but then my family life would be chaotic.  I mean, more chaotic than it is.

So, we’re back to balance.  In order to live my life well, I must balance first-tier, second-tier, and third-tier work.  Generally speaking, I regard second-tier work as the highest priority and third-tier work as the most urgent.  First-tier work is accomplished by breaking it down into second- and third-tier work.  In order to write my books, I have to start by writing my first book.  In order to write my first book, today I must work on the outline of my first chapter.  Another example:  In order to help my children achieve independence, I have to build a set of skills.  In order to build that set of skills, I have to work on this with Willy, that with Alex, and the other thing with Ben.  In short, in order to attain balance, I have to break down each tier until I have a lot of third-tier activities.  The difference, of course, is that now many of these third-tier activities will accumulate into the accomplishment of second-tier and first-tier activities. 

By breaking down first-tier and second-tier goals into third-tier activities, I find myself back to having more work to do than I can actually get done.

Solution 1b: Prioritizing tasks to equal accomplishments.

With so much third-tier work to do, I must prioritize the many tasks into categories of importance and urgency.  The hardest thing is not to be so driven by urgency that you neglect important things.  I could easily fill my days with urgent matters.  The problem is that by spending my time solely on urgent matters my tasks would never accumulate to the achievement of my goals.  I could easily fill my days with important matters.  The problem is that eventually the neglected urgent matters would eventual compile into an unimaginable monster that consumes me—or I’d trip over that one toy out of the hundreds on the floor that I couldn’t dodge, fall down the stairs and break my neck.  Either way it’s a “game over” for me.

I don’t want to be consumed by the urgency monster and I don’t want to have to dodge toys all the time.  So, we’re back to balance.  I balance important tasks, urgent tasks, and tasks that just need to be done whenever I have a spare moment (these tasks are often neglected until they become urgent).

To do this, I plan my week and create daily to-do lists.  Daily, color-coded to do lists.  This is where effectively managed OCD becomes a good thing.  Really.  This is also where I become especially grateful for tools like a Franklin Covey planner and Microsoft’s OneNote.

Then, of course, it’s just a matter of getting to work.  Easy, right?  Hm.

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Willy’s Achievement

  • Posted on June 9, 2010 at 9:16 PM

Today was a day worth remembering.  To celebrate the last day of school at his old elementary school, Willy’s teachers made an assembly to honor the kids.  Each of the three classes of fifth graders elected a classmate to one of a variety of awards.  This ceremony would be followed by a slideshow of pictures from over the year.

Mark and I sat in the audience, listening as awards were cited and names were called.  Then, I heard Willy’s name.  His class chose Willy for one of the awards!  Which one?  Friendliest, of course!

Willy holding an award that says: Friendliest Award

Willy holding an award that says: Friendliest Award

Now, after school is all over, Willy took a quick break from his post-5th grade/beginning of summer festivities to give a short interview:

So Willy, how does it feel to win the Friendliest Award?

Great!

Why do you think you won this award from your fellow 5th grade class?

Because I got the most votes.

Why did you get the most votes?

Because they love me!

What do you do that is very friendly?

I pick up stuff when something falls down.  [With a little coaching he added] Like when a pencil falls off of somebody else’s desk.

How does it feel to be all done with your elementary school?

Feels great!

A little sad?

Mm-mm [no]

That’s all folks.  Off he goes…His next challenge, mastering the art of making videos with a digital camera!  In the meantime, I’m going to miss Roosevelt.  It’s a great school with a lot of great “cast members” who truly believe that all kids are worth teaching!

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Impacting Language

  • Posted on May 30, 2010 at 10:27 PM

As a writer by trade, language is frequently on my mind.  Usually, though, I think about ways that we might change the language in common use.  Then, there are those bright moments when I see that the change is already occurring.

Saturday evening I attended my nephew’s high school graduation party.  I’m certainly proud of his accomplishment and the decisions he’s making to help shape his future.  But as he sat around with his friends, I observed another reason to be proud of him.  Generally speaking, I appreciate the wonderful people these children are as I’ve seen them interact with their cousins, my children (okay, two of them are now grown children!).  I can’t say how much coaching it might have taken, but they’ve always accepted their cousins for who they are—limits, challenges and all.  I appreciate that and am very proud of them for it.  But today it was a little thing that caught my attention.

This nephew sat around the table with his friends.  Ben ran around squealing with excitement over the new areas to explore.  The friends talked on, until one of them swore in an off-hand kind of way.  My nephew, conscious of his little cousin, said, “Watch the language!”  A moment later, another friend made a comment about drug-use.  “Watch the content,” my nephew exclaimed in theatrical exasperation.

It seems like a little thing, and maybe it is, but it says something wonderful about his character and his choice of friends that he felt comfortable to make his point.  I also appreciated his manner and approach in doing so.  A gentle reminder—performed well and complied with.  The issue was important to him, but he didn’t need to make a big deal of it to get his point across.

More recently, I was putting in some time freshening up on my grant writing studies.  A small subsection, on style and usage, made a quick, short comment about “political correctness.”  In a few short paragraphs, with a similar important-but-not-a-big-deal approach, the authors gave a lesson on respecting people with regard to race, gender and ability.  The reason it struck me is because their manner wasn’t one of qualification—this is the language you’re expected to use—but instead carried a subtle but discernible undertone of respect.  They didn’t say this just because it had to be said; they mean it.  I especially like this part:  “Don’t sensationalize with phrases such as ‘afflicted with,’ ‘suffering from,’ or ‘victimized by.’”

Don’t sensationalize…  With those two words they make a great, but subtle point.  Not unlike a young man who’s comfortable enough to stand up for his values and the values of his family without making it seem like he’s taking a social risk by doing so.

Our language is changing; our ideas are changing.  Sometimes it seems slow.  Our culture still has much progress to make.  But it’s happening.

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Stillness

  • Posted on May 15, 2010 at 10:00 PM

Executive Summary:  Alex dislikes dental work.  I believe in empowering patients to make choices regarding their own dental care.  Yet, I do not allow Alex to refuse dental care.  The difference is that care is being sought for my child’s benefit, and not my convenience.

The waiting room was okay.  Alex bounded from spot to spot, reading as many words as he could find.  Then, the dental assistant came.  We talked for a few moments.  When it was time to go into the back I called Alex to me, but he didn’t come.  I took him by the hand.  He walked with me and stopped a few paces in front of the door.  I tugged gently on his hand, an act that was more communication then force.  He looked at me, and took just enough steps forward so he was inside the door.  The door closed behind him.  Step by step, we moved forward—him resisting, me encouraging.

I said, “I will carry you if I have to.”

Alex chose to walk.

The dentist’s office is a difficult place for Alex to be.  He generally resists anything that involves others touching his mouth.  He resists brushing his teeth, flossing, and all forms of dental care.  He resists us looking at his teeth or checking for wiggly, loose ones.  He resists the removal of wiggly, loose teeth or the removal of any miscellaneous particles he decides to chew on.

I expect resistance, which is why I travel two hours to take him to this clinic.  The staff is prepared for his resistance and the facility is equipped to make dental care as safe and as comfortable as possible.

This particular appointment was a “quickie.”  The task was to fill a chip on his front tooth.  Easy access.  No drilling.  No paste.  If Alex had cooperated the whole thing would have taken 5 to 10 minutes.

Of course, Alex did not cooperate.  Or, to be more accurate, Alex cooperated as much as he was able to do with his current level of oversensitivity and anxiety.  He squirmed most of the time.  He cried quite a bit of the time.  He got out some good words, through a pry-thing that forced his teeth apart, saying, “I don’t want.  Don’t want.  I don’t want.”

We acknowledge his words.  We told him we understood.  We explained as best we could that we had to fix his tooth so the big-boy tooth didn’t rot and break the way his baby tooth had done.  He understood.  He took a few ragged breaths and was relatively calm (but still squirming) for a few precious moments, which gave the dentist the opportunity she needed.

The dentist was quick as she could be.  She talked to Alex with respect while she worked within his limited range of cooperation.  She chided him when necessary and complimented him whenever possible.  In the beginning of the session, she joined in as I sang Alex’s special song to him to help him control his anxiety.

Alexander, Alexander.  I love you.  Yes I do.

Really special boy-oy.  Really special boy-oy.

I love you.  Yes I do-o-o-o-o.

Despite not liking the work she does, Alex likes his dentist quite a lot.  He made excellent eye contact with her, which is rare.  When it was all done, he even smiled for her.  But for all that he likes he, that doesn’t mean he’s able to cooperate while he’s in that chair.

The experience is hard on all of us.  He doesn’t want to do this.  I empathize, because I find the dental experience to be a miserable one myself.  I also don’t want Alex’s teeth to deteriorate the way mine have after a childhood (and much of my adulthood) of not receiving proper dental care.  I know, in the long-run, the misery of receiving dental care today is much, much better than the misery of decayed teeth with its tooth aches, drilling, pulling, and fake teeth.

One might think that all of this is beyond his understanding, but Alex gets it.  As much as he dislikes this he does get that we’re not trying to hurt him or ignore his wishes.  He gets that this needs to be done, and he gets that we try to make it as good for him as we can.  There was a precious moment after the filling was put on and set when Alex was calm.  He stopped squirming and crying.  He took a few ragged breaths.  He looked at the dentist’s face and he waited.  It was like he was saying, “Okay, what happens now.  I’m ready.”

The only thing that was left at the point was the x-ray.  Last time it took an extra person and four tries.  This time it only took two tries and no extra assistance.

We’re making progress.  Alex did really well.  The dentist and I praised Alex profusely.  Alex left with a smile, but he also left as quickly as he could.

Still, I look back and think about that precious moment of stillness.  As a mom, one of my biggest challenges is doing things to my kids that I know they don’t want, but need anyway.  Things like dental care, shots, and surgery.  These unwanted needs make me wonder how deeply my respect for my children really goes.  I strongly advocate the patient’s right to choose the type of care received or to forego care entirely.  I advocate these rights for patients who society deems incompetent to make these decisions.  Yet I make decisions like this for my children.

There are times I feel like a hypocrite.

Then, I think about that moment of stillness.  I think about the smile Alex gave to the doctor.  I think about the way he cuddled close to me after all of it was over, and how he relaxed after I told him he did a good job and that I was proud of him.

I think about how there are times, even as an adult, when I don’t want, but still need medical care.  I think about how anxiety-laden my own dental appointments are.  I think about how much it hurt to regain the mobility of my wrist.  I think about how, after the surgery on my wrist, I kept apologizing for needing a heftier dose of pain medication.  When I got home I apologized for needing my husband and my mother’s help.

And I let go of the guilt and the doubt.  I’m not a hypocrite.  As a parent, I have to make some tough decisions.  I have to decide what medical care has sufficient value to force that care on my children.  Sometimes this means dosing the child with antibiotics.  Other times it means restraining my child so a dentist can fix his teeth.  Sometimes it means talking the child through the anxiety of getting blood drawn or getting a shot.  But at no time do I do these things for me.  At no time do I put my convenience over my child’s care.  At no time do I treat my child as if his will doesn’t matter.  I talk, I explain, and I comfort.  I give my children choices whenever I can.  I refrain from making choices based on my needs or my convenience, but base my decisions on the long-term best interests of my child.  And my children recognize the difference.  That difference is going to empower my children to make their own decisions in the future.

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Alex’s (Mis)Adventure

  • Posted on May 13, 2010 at 1:32 AM

Today was a big day.  I had quite the adventure planned for Alex.  We were going to try something new!  So, with great enthusiasm, I loaded Alex into the car.  And off we went!

We got about seven blocks from our house and stopped at a stoplight.  The light turned green and I pressed the gas to start into my turn.  The radio flickered and died.  Oh, great, I thought, now I’m going to have to find a way to replace the radio!  Stupid car.  Then—before we’d even moved—the rest of the car died.

With an inaudible sigh, the car just stopped.  I figured the engine stalled.  It’s happened before.  So, I turned the key.

Not even a sputter.  I mean nothing happened.  The car was dead.

So, thinking it might help, I turned everything off, and tried again.  Nothing.  Not a thing.

Being the car-savvy person I am, I hit the dashboard and told it, “You’ve got to start!”  I turned the key.  The car—thinking hard as cars do on bitter, cold Wisconsin mornings (which this wasn’t)—considered turning on.  The gas gauge flew from an 1/8th of a tank to a ½ a tank.  The bad lights that say the car needs a doctor flashed on.  For a moment, I thought the car had decided I was right.  The car was going to spark and perform a rumbling imitation of good health.  Then, with an almost audible sigh, it died.  The gas gauge, the lights, and all of it turned off.

By now, the people behind me figured out I wasn’t going anywhere.  They moved around me.  By now, Alex figured out we weren’t going anywhere.  He started fussing and bouncing in his seat belt.  He didn’t like this whole stopped-in-the-middle-of-the-road-with-a-car-that-won’t-go bit at all.  To tell the truth, neither did I.

Across the street I saw a car repair shop.  It seemed like my best guess, so I found the hazards (which were a bit off-center and up, considering I was just starting to turn when the car died) and flipped them on.  Then, I got out and let Alex out.  No, he said in his non-verbal way, you do not get out of the car when it’s in the middle of the road.  You don’t.  You make the car go!

But we did get out.  We crossed the street on foot.  Alex protested the whole way.  He continued his protest as I asked the nice gentlemen at the mechanic shop for assistance.  He continued his protest as we walked back to the car.  And when these fine gentlemen started pushing the car, of all the wrong-est of wrong things to do, he really let me have it, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was not supposed to let wrong, confusing, unscheduled events like this happen.

Cars go.  Mom drives.  The car does not die in the middle of the road.  Strangers do not push the car.  This is not how things work.  As the mom I should know this.  But push it they did—right into the mechanics’ parking lot.

Alex calmed down as he waited in the car and the men looked underneath the hood.  He calmed down further as they hooked the car up to a charger that whirred and purred.  You see, waiting inside a car that is parked in a parking lot is allowed.  This is how things are done.  You park in a parking lot, not in the road.  After a little while with no more deviations, Alex became quite content with his circumstances and even came up to the front of our minivan to sit on my lap.  Of course, we had to be buckled up, the two of us together, because you wear your seat belt in the car even if the car is stopped.

Turns out our alternator was not doing its alternating thing.  It’s supposed to go round and round at high speed, feeding juice into our battery.  It went round and round.  It even went at high speed.  But it wasn’t sending as much juice to the battery as the car was sucking out.  So, the battery died.  The kind servicemen charged my battery, gave me a quote on replacing the alternator, and sent us on our merry way.  Alex was quite pleased to see the car go as cars should.  He was blissful as we parked in our driveway and got out.  This was quite a trip, and he was more than satisfied with his adventure, though it wasn’t the one I’d planned.

All’s well that ends with a happy, things-working-as-they-should ending.  Just so long as you’re not the one who has to pay for the car repair.

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Spring Flowers

  • Posted on April 28, 2010 at 1:44 AM

Spring is a time of growth and renewal.  After the cold, dark days of winter, life springs forth—bright and abundant in a renewed landscape.  For me, there’s no better sign of this than the plethora of violets that grow in my backyard.  Bright purple and pale purple blossoms pop through the grass, waving with the winds of spring.

When we first bought the house there were no violets.  There are no violets in our neighbors’ yards—at least none that I’ve ever seen.  Yet the violets now grow abundantly in our yard.  As if they were planted by the Lord’s invisible hand just for me.  So, while much of my days and my nights are spent in seemingly perpetual busyness, I try to take a moment or two each day to enjoy the rich floral blessings the Lord has provided for me.

Once in a while, someone gets the idea that having the violets growing and waving in my yard is not quite enough.  This time it was my mom.  She plucked a small bouquet of violets and prompted Alex to bring them into the house.  Which he did.  When he was far enough ahead of her so she couldn’t see him (this was in our dining room), he quickly shredded the violets—husking the blossoms from the stems and letting the petals sift through his fingers across the floor.

“Oh, Alex,” my mom exclaimed.  “You were supposed to give those to Mama.”  Instead, I picked up the blossoms and the stems and threw them away.

Willy couldn’t resist.  “I’ll bring you flowers, Mom!”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, “but you can go pick some flowers if you want.”

Off Willy went, leaving the backdoor wide open so Ben could follow.  Moments later, while I was washing the stickiness of the last bouquet off my hands, Willy came into the kitchen with a bouquet.  A yellow bouquet.

A bouquet of dandelions just for me!

“It was supposed to be the violets, Willy,” my mom said.  “The purple ones!”

Willy beamed proudly.  “You like yellow, too, don’t you Mom?”

“Yes, Willy,” I said.  “I like yellow, too.”

So I trimmed the dandelion stems and filled a small painted tea cup with water and placed my dandelions in their miniature vase.  And the violets stayed right where they belong.

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A Reason Not to Medicate

  • Posted on April 24, 2010 at 1:52 PM

Among my busyness, I recently took the boys to a medical appointment.  I brought up the issue of medicating Alex, because despite my preference not to do so, I recognize that he is experiencing distress and that, like Mark, medication may help Alex smooth out his experience of life.  This doctor is not the one who initiated the discussion, nor is this doctor the one who would be prescribing the medication.  However, this doctor did have a significant insight that I found invaluable.  The medication comes in the form of a bi-monthly shot, so if we choose to medicate Alex we will not also have to choose to put him through the daily trauma of administering medication by mouth.

This is very important to me.  This was a break-through concept that had me thinking maybe.  Then, the doctor spoiled it for me.

From start to finish, our appointment (taking both Alex & Ben at the same time) took about 2 hours.  First, we started in a rather largish appointment room.  By the time we were done that big room was getting rather confining for the boys.  They’d explored everything that had interested them.  They people came.  They talked.  They left.  As far as the boys were concerned, it was time to go.

But then we move to the smaller exam room.  It’s a much tighter space for two active boys and two much less active adults.  The boys were tired, they disliked the transition, and they were done.  No more cooperation.  No more quiet.  They were done.

Knowing my children as I do, living with my children as I do, I knew this was to be expected—I planned on it even.  The boys were loud, anxious, and done.  Yet the appointment was not done.  The conflict was natural.  Their impatience was “normal,” at least for them.  Their behavior—turning off lights to communicate they were done, getting frustrated and loud when their request was denied, moving constantly—was completely predictable, understandable, and even necessary.

The doctor did not appreciate this.  “Do they act like this all the time?”

The question took me off guard.  This is hardly the first time this doctor had treated my boys, nor was this the first time they had behaved like this.  It happened every time.

“Well, they’re often loud and active—but we are in a confined space and we’ve exhausted their patience.”

The significance of this condensed explanation seemed to have no impact.  “This would drive me crazy if I had to deal with this every day.  The medication would help with this.”

I take this concept in and look at it as if it’s a strange species of thought.  Then, with a shrug, I toss it in the pile of its familiars.  “I’m used to it,” I say.  What I don’t say, what I would say if I wasn’t just as tired and just as done as my boys is, “That’s no reason to medicate a child.  I’m not considering this for my sake.  The only reason I’m considering this is for what it may do to help Alex.  If you have nothing to add in that regard, say nothing at all.”  But that’s rude, so I’m told; and I didn’t have the energy to spare to try to open the doctor’s mind to this paradigm shift.

So I don’t say that.  Not there.  Not to the doctor.  I save it, knowing that as helpful as this doctor is concerning the issues this doctor addresses, my sons’ autism is not something this doctor can address effectively.  The idea that this—the behavior the doctor found so objectionable—had nothing to do with that—the mood swings and the increasing frustration and distress that has prompted us to consider medication for Alex—seemed unattainable.  The thought—the this/that difference—was so obvious and essential to me, I couldn’t think out to express it in words to someone who didn’t intuitively understand it.  Beyond that, the philosophy that medication should not be administered for the convenience of others—for any reason that focuses on benefiting others—but for the benefit of the patient is so fundamental to me, and yet so divergent from the contemporary norm.  How do you put that into words to someone who probably hadn’t considered the distinction?

So, I reflect and wonder if I should have scrounged up the energy to make the point.  Perhaps I should have.  Perhaps not.  It occurs to me, though, that some things should just be self-evident.

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A Little Reminder

  • Posted on March 23, 2010 at 9:02 PM

First, Alex came down with “it.”  The observable symptoms included coughing, sinus congestions and drainage, intermittent fever, lethargy, and vomiting.  Then, Ben caught “it.”  He had the same symptoms.  Now, Willy has it.  And now we know a bit more about what “it” is from the perspective of the one experiencing the malady.

Willy described his initial symptoms as a head-ache.  Then, the vomiting started.  Now, his throat hurts, but his head and stomach seem okay.  He’s also experiencing intermittent fever, like his brothers did.  But he doesn’t have the cough or the runny nose.  So, either Willy has something different, or his brothers had both the cough/cold along with “it.”  The latter seems most likely.

While this is a relatively simple example, one of the most difficult things involved with parenting a child who experiences a communication barrier is this inability to really communicate when something is going wrong with them.  There are certainly much worse examples.  A child who is being bullied can generally talk about it (whether or not they will is another issue), but a child who experiences communication barrier cannot do so or cannot always do so.  This creates a chronic worry.  The same is true for other forms of abuse.  Unless there are identifiable physical markers we just don’t know what to suspect and so that nagging worry remains a constant in the backs of our minds while we do everything we know how to do to keep our children safe.

I often hear parents mourn their child’s inability to tell them that he or she loves them.  While I appreciate the significance of the words, children can communicate this in many ways.  Hugs and kisses, the recognition in their face, and other forms of connection are proof that my two primarily non-verbal children feel and express love.  For me, the possibilities of illness, injury or abuse are much more profound.  Sometimes they can find ways to communicate these things; but often the means of communication are inadequate.  “Acting out” is a warning sign, for example; but it’s a warning sign for so many things.  Unless you can find facts, sometimes you just don’t know and there is no way for them to tell you.  And that’s what I consider the scariest thing of all.

These minor illnesses are just a reminder.  As if I could ever forget.

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