love Archives - Page 5 of 9

Feb 14, 2011

Behaving Badly

Over the weekend, I made my weekly pilgrimage to Target, shrine of everything-you-need and even more that you probably don’t need, but hey, it’s cute and in the dollar bin!

The first game at Target is always finding a parking spot. I cruised down one aisle, but all of the spots were taken, so I decided to take a right and try the next aisle over.

As I made the turn, a middle-aged couple were walking from the store out into that aisle. They were walking right down the middle of the aisle, to be specific. I wasn’t in a hurry, though, so I slowly inched forward behind them. The woman drifted over to the far left side, but the man remained in the middle of the aisle, clearly planning to keep his course.

He did start to drift to the right side, though, leaving the middle of the road open for me. I guessed that they must have different cars, since they were on different sides of the aisle and he had fallen behind her in pace, so I slowly drove between them (with plenty of room on each side) and then pulled into an open space on the left, pausing to make sure the woman wasn’t going to cross the open space. She instead went to the car just before the space.

As I put the car in park, out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the man beside my window. Apparently they were taking the same car. He was opening up the passenger door of his car, and in that side-glance instant, I caught him peering into my window, his eyes attempting to bore holes into me with hatred.

I was immediately uncomfortable and turned my head to the passenger seat, taking extra time to gather up my purse and put away my keys. Did I really see that or was that side-glance misinterpreted? Confused, I turned back and prepared to get out of the car, knowing he was still likely right there.

As I opened the door, my eyes trying to remain anywhere but near a human being, I was aware that he was already in his car. But my eyes again drifted up and there staring right at me from the passenger seat in the next car over, was a man I’d never met before, with a look on his face like he was about to jump out of his car and beat me. In that quick glance, his eyes, his body language communicated that he hated me. I’ve never seen so much negative energy coming off of a person before, especially towards someone he didn’t even know.

I quickly closed my door and walked away, still unsure of exactly what happened and not wanting to wait around to give the guy a chance to speak. What could I have done to make this person so angry? I kept my car well behind them when they were walking to their car, never wanting to be pushy. And if he was upset that I was somehow pushy for trying to drive down that aisle, did that infraction truly deserve that severe of a response? Even if he was just having a bad day, why take it out on me?

I’d like to think this was an isolated incident, but I’ll admit I’m seeing it more and more every day.

Like the person yelling at a customer service representative because they didn’t ring up the right sale price at the register.

Like the guy weaving through traffic, nearly causing accidents because he’s more important than anyone else on the road and deserves to get there first.

Like a parent blowing up at a neighbor for having the nerve to ask her child to please not walk through her flower garden, screaming that no one tells her child what to do but her.

People – we’re losing our ability to interact with each other.When the world around you feels more like a reality TV show and less like actual reality, something is wrong.

Our society is teetering towards a loss of all civility. It’s like people are rebelling from the politically correct atmosphere of the last decade and swinging to the polar opposite. Maybe all of the power of anonymity on the internet is spilling over into our day-to-day behavior? (Note to offenders: when you act like an internet troll to the people in your community, we actually know who you are. And then don’t like you.)

We’re becoming a Jerry Springer culture, zero-to-pissed-off-and-swinging in 2.3 seconds. If someone does something that inconveniences you, clearly they meant to do it and therefore deserve to be punished. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is unheard of, and if done generally means that you’ll be the loser when the other person chooses to strike first in the war of angry words.

I’m so sick of it.

Look, I’m socially awkward, but even I know the basics of how to behave in public. Be nice to people. Give them the benefit of the doubt. If you’re upset, bring it up to the person calmly and rationally and give the other person a chance to explain or make it right.

People who get angry all the time intimidate me – I never know when they’re going to blow up next. My coping mechanism is to conjure up the image of screeching chimpanzees: out-of-control and primitive, which is really how these people are behaving. And when you imagine them as chimps, they look ridiculous.

My challenge to all of you is to practice kindness this week. Do something nice at a moment when no one expects it. If you feel like you’re about to yell, pause and ask yourself if it’s really worth it to pummel the other person with all of that negativity. Slow down. Make others smile.

And for goodness sake, show some understanding and love to all of the random people you interact with in public each day. Don’t be the chimpanzee in the room.

Filed Under: daily life, love, rant · Tagged: idiots

Jan 18, 2011

Illness & Rare Moments of Clarity

By Christina ·

When Cordy’s teacher called me on Friday to tell me that Cordy was complaining of a sore throat, I wasn’t convinced. Cordy had been practically vibrating around the living room that morning, excited about going sledding with her class. I figured she had simply burned out on excitement and was claiming a sore throat to be given the chance to rest after expending so much energy.

The teacher wasn’t convinced, either, as Cordy went from complaining about a sore throat to happily eating a snack. Cordy had no fever, so her teacher wasn’t inclined to send her home, and I agreed. Cordy had a great day and came home happy.

Saturday I was gone for most of the day visiting a friend, and when I left everything seemed fine. When I came home that night, I was given the report that Cordy had fallen asleep at the table in a restaurant for lunch, and then refused to eat anything for dinner that night. When I peeked in on her, she was curled up in bed with her PJs on and an adult-sized fleece jacket over it all.

It wasn’t until early Sunday morning that my fears were confirmed, when I heard a low moaning sound coming from her room. When I went in she was tossing back and forth in her bed, saying she hurt all over. She was hot to the touch, too. No doubt, she was sick.

Cordy has the strongest immune system I know. She’s only been sick a handful of times, often avoiding the common colds and stomach viruses that go around. While I’d like to claim credit for good parenting and teaching her about proper hygiene, I know that isn’t likely the reason – after all, she’s a 6 year old with a sensory fear of water. So when she’s sick, I get concerned.

She spent most of Sunday either on the couch or in her bed. All food was refused, but she did drink a little bit of juice for us. Medicine helped the fever for a little while, but it always came back quickly. I could only sit by her side and hold her hand, telling her to rest and that she would feel better soon.

The worst part was her realization that she was sick, and that sickness can lead to death. “Mommy, am I going to die from being sick? I don’t want to die, I want to live,” she cried to me at one point. I held her tight and assured her that she would be fine and that everyone gets sick sometimes.

But something else happens when Cordy gets sick – she also becomes amazingly clear-headed. Instead of the random thoughts that come out in a rapid-fire string of consciousness, she can hold long conversations and remain focused on the topic at hand. She doesn’t get easily upset over little things, and she doesn’t have the same low threshold for sensory overload. She’s quieter, more still, more deep in thought and more aware of everything around her.

I can’t describe it well, but it’s as if the fever somehow blocks her autism and lets the child that is tangled up in it shine through. And while I’m always concerned about her when she’s sick, I also took the time to marvel at how different she is during these moments.

By Monday morning she was still weak, but starting to feel better. And by Monday evening, the Cordy we know and love was asking to eat dinner.

I’d never wish for Cordy to be sick, but I’ll admit that when she is sick I do take advantage of those rare quiet moments with her, comforting her, holding her hand, stroking her hair, and remind myself how grateful I am for all that she is, whether sick or healthy.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, love · Tagged: sick child

Nov 16, 2010

A Day Out With Cordy

By Christina ·

Over the weekend Mira was invited to a birthday party for a little girl in her preschool class. As any 3 year old would be, she was proud she had an event to go to, something that was just for her as well as her parent escort.

I decided to make the most of it and have a one-on-one morning with Cordy. Thanks to a little sister who insists on always being on my lap or hanging off of me whenever we’re at home, I feel like Cordy and I often don’t get much time to chat and bond. This would be our chance to hang out with no interference from Mira, where she could have my undivided attention and I might get the chance to see what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.

I left the plans open to her, and she decided we were going to the zoo, followed by lunch at Bob Evans. Thankfully, the forecast was for a warm, sunny day – rare in November – so I happily agreed.

Once at the zoo, Cordy was intent on riding all of the rides. The Columbus Zoo has an area called Jungle Jack’s Landing that features carnival-type rides for kids, but this area was blocked off with a sign announcing it was closed for the season. Cordy was disappointed, but I suggested we try to look at some of the animals while we were there, since, you know, it IS a zoo.

With no little sister to object, Cordy demanded we go to her favorite places: the fish and the snakes. For some reason, those two exhibits are her favorites. She loves watching the fish swim around, “driving” the boat in the manatee area. We talked about all of the different fish, and she oohed and aahed over the pretty colors of the coral in the tank.

In the reptile house, she pushed all of the buttons in the information area before moving on to the display animals. She chattered about each one, pointing out one was really long, another was hiding in a tree, and yet another had a funny shaped head. We had nowhere to be, so I let her go at her own pace as she went through her normal routine of pushing buttons, asking me to point out where we live on the map, and then talking about each snake as we walked past them.

Outside of the manatee exhibit, I also let her climb on the manatee sculpture – something I’m usually unwilling to wait around for. But it wasn’t crowded, so there was no wait.

(Cordy, the manatee rider!)

After that, Cordy wanted to ride the carousel – the only ride open in the zoo that day. I purchased a ticket for her and we waited in line. When did she get so big that she now wants to go on the carousel? I remember her crying at the thought of riding it years ago. I remember sitting with her on the bench seats of the carousel because the up and down motion of the horses scared her too much. Now here she was picking the horse she wanted, holding on tight and waving to everyone instead of keeping a death-grip on me.

Having seen her favorite animals and taken her ride on the carousel, Cordy announced it was time to go to lunch. But not before asking to pose (yet again) with her favorite penguin statue.

(This well-loved statue could use a little paint.)

We then went to Bob Evans, where Cordy got to sit on her side of the little booth with no one next to her. “Mom, I’m all alone over here,” she announced, “Can’t you sit with me?” I explained that there was no room for me over there, and that she was big enough to sit by herself now. Stretching out her arms, she decided she liked all of the space to color and work on her activity sheet.

After the meal, Cordy begged for dessert. I normally say no, but since this was her special day, I gave in and agreed. She loved every bite of her sundae, even as I cringed and realized the coloring in the hot fudge and cherry might provoke a behavioral reaction later.

(Side note: it did. She didn’t act the same the remainder of the day and had a fierce meltdown that night over spelling a word wrong. My lesson from this? Even if it’s her special day, we still have to hold firm to rules about “bad” foods.)

(And notice that big gap in her smile – she lost both front teeth in the last 2 weeks!)

On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, but not before telling me that this was “the best mommy-Cordy day ever.”

And it was.

I don’t know how many more years she’ll want to spend time with me in public, but I’ll selfishly hang onto these moments for as long as I can.

Filed Under: Cordy, daily life, family time, growing up, love, memories ·

Sep 21, 2010

Six

By Christina ·

How did time go by so fast?

How did my baby girl:

…become my six year old?

(Photo courtesy of Heather Durdil Photography)

Happy birthday to the girl who made me a mother. You made sure that my first experience with motherhood was anything but typical, just like everything else in my life up to that point. You turned my world upside down, you showed me new depths of love, and you taught me new heights of tolerance. Because of you, I discovered an inner strength I never knew I had.

You’re brilliant, even if you don’t want to show it. You light up a room with your warm, cheery personality, and it’s hard to find anyone who isn’t immediately charmed upon meeting you.

I’m convinced the reason you rarely sleep is because there is too much of the world left for you to discover. Perhaps sleep will come when you’re older. In the meantime, how can we say no to letting you bring book after book to bed with you?

I can’t predict what the future holds for you, Cordelia, but I know you’ll continue to surprise us.

Happy sixth birthday to my Amazon warrior princess.

Filed Under: Cordy, growing up, love ·

Sep 15, 2010

Ninety and Still Going

By Christina ·

My grandmother (my mom’s mom) has had a long and full life of ups and downs. She was born to a farm family, and from the stories she was told, she was lucky she was a happy, easy-going baby. She spent her earliest days left on a bed, her mother too busy watching the other children and doing the chores that needed done on a farm to spend a lot of time with the tiny baby who stayed so quiet.

She grew up in the Great Depression, and remembers going to the only store in her tiny village, trading what little their farm produced in exchange for flour, sugar, and other necessities for a family to survive. They reused everything and made do with what little they had. She also met my grandfather in that small farming community.

During World War II, she joined the WAVES, the female support staff of the US Navy, while my grandfather served as a fighter pilot in the Canadian Royal Air Force, and then in the US Air Force once the US joined the war.

After the war, they married and returned to their small rural Ohio community where they raised livestock as well as three daughters. Even in the 1950’s, she still had no indoor plumbing, getting her water from a well outside the house. Cooking a chicken for dinner involved grabbing a chicken from the yard, cutting its head off, and then plucking it and preparing it for dinner.

Eventually they moved to a house in the nearby village – with indoor plumbing – and my grandmother became a secretary while my grandfather went into law enforcement and eventually become the sheriff of the county. They pushed their daughters to further their education, to become women who would make a difference in the world, with one earning an MBA and another her PhD. The third earned only an Associates degree, but she gave them a different and just as precious gift: a granddaughter.

Then, in 1976, just months before I was to be born, my grandmother lost her husband to a heart attack. She’s been alone ever since.

And yet she hasn’t been alone. For a short while my mother and I lived with her. And even after my mom was able to afford her own place, we were only two towns away from that tiny village and visited often. Her other daughters have remained close, too. In the past six years, she’s seen her two great-granddaughters born, and where she remained more distant in my upbringing, she’s increasingly warm towards my girls and enjoys watching their silliness.

She has traveled the world with her daughters and her friends, enjoyed her hobbies, and maintained a level of independence that baffles even me. Her life experience has given her a hard exterior – she’s a happy person, but she sees no point in being overly emotional. Depression and exuberance are equally useless to her. She believes in a strong work ethic and the simple morals of being honest and good to people.

This spring, my grandmother had a stroke, and suddenly the family was hit with the realization that this woman of steel was mortal. Amazingly, she bounced back from the stroke, fighting her way through rehab in order to get back to her own house again. She gave up the two-story house in that tiny village a few years ago, now living in the single-story house I grew up in so that my mother is closer to her. This is a good thing, as the stroke has left her weaker, more tired. But she still insists on living by herself, independently.

Today, my grandmother turned ninety years old. 9-0. At ninety years old, she still lives alone, drives her own car, and makes her own meals. She’s been a widow for 34 years now – longer than the time she was married to my grandfather. And while she sometimes repeats the same story over and over, forgetting that she’s told us before and we already understand the message in it, her mind is mostly clear and sharp despite ninety years worth of experiences crowding the space.

I don’t know how much longer she’ll be with us. My grandmother is slowing down, looking more frail every day. And while we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye (my teenage years were rough on both of us), I do respect the tremendous amount of knowledge and experience she has. I only hope I can take advantage of the time we have left to preserve more of her stories, her history, so my daughters can someday know more about the woman they call G-G.

Happy birthday, grandma. You made it to ninety, just like you said you would at your eightieth birthday party.