Saturday, December 23, 2017

Winning (just a little bit) at Christmas

Every year it's been the same story. I've written about it here, about how Christmas usually goes. Somehow, despite my best efforts, I get caught in the whirlwind stress of expectations and obligations. There's lots of sighing and crying and not as much joy. Worst of all has been my frustration at trying to move the kids ever-so-slightly away from the me, me, me mindset to thinking just a little more about others.

I read blogs, articles and posts about what other people were doing and felt exceedingly depressed, even while knowing that I don't need to be them or their family. We're us. We're who we're supposed to be.

This year November rolled around and I thought, let's try this again. Because that's what we must do, right? I figured even if we tried and did something, anything, it would be better than nothing at all. And somehow, thankfully, I felt I needed to approach everything with a little more peace and a little more humor.

I grabbed a piece of paper one day after Thanksgiving and wrote in red and green "The 12 Acts of Kindness and Giving." I don't know where it came from, but there it was, in front of us. I called Anna, Ethan and Chloe over and tried to speak quickly before Ethan lost interest (a continued issue in the past). "Guys, this year before Christmas we're going to do 12 things for others that we haven't done before, things we talk about but never get around to doing." I announced. We chatted for a few minutes about ideas (well, Chloe drifted off to do something else). I mentioned them using some of their allowance or thinking of ideas themselves.

And so the adventure began.

The first thing we did was grab that catalogue that comes in the mail every year, the one where you can donate a certain amount to give people in other countries a goat for milk or a sheep for wool to help provide for their families. Every year we look in the catalog and talk about what would be nice to give and then it gets buried under mail or presents and suddenly the holiday is gone. Or someone would talk about how they didn't want to spend money on that. This year, miracle of miracles, I passed the catalog around and both Anna and Ethan picked something. I did too and before the day was out filled out the form and put the check in the envelope. There was no way we were going to let this one get away from us this year! #1 was complete.

A few days later I paid for several people's Dunkin' Donuts orders behind me in the drive-thru (#2). This felt a little like cheating because I'd done it before, but I wanted to keep the momentum going. Every time we completed an act, we wrote it on the paper.

A while after that we had a wonderfully snowy Saturday we spent baking cookies and making Christmas cards. #3 nearly broke my heart. I'd read an article about a little boy who had been in that horrific church shooting in Texas. He'd survived 5 bullet wounds but lost many in his family...and he wanted to receive Christmas cards from all over. The kids and I sent him a card, and prayers.

I can't remember the exact order of how it all went down (and so numbers that follow may not be completely accurate), but I will say that the more we did, the more our enthusiasm grew. Soon Anna and Ethan (yes, Ethan!) were asking what we were going to do next.

I asked both of them to give towards something they felt strongly about, so Anna decided she wanted to get something for the no-kill cat shelter in town (#4). We picked up some food that we need to deliver ASAP, and I think we will add a donation to that as well.

Ethan suggested we give hats and mittens to his school, collecting for a local women's shelter (#5). We've purchased those and are going to give them to either that or another organization collecting for people living in the area from Puerto Rico who were displaced by Hurricane Maria.

#6 didn't quite work out but I'm hoping we can salvage it. We had hoped to donate small toys to someone going on a mission trip to Haiti but they didn't make it to their destination in time. I am still hoping to donate the items (maybe to Goodwill).

We did #7 on my birthday, out to eat: gave the waiter a super big tip and an encouraging note. I told the kids beforehand we were going to give the big tip, EVEN if the service was bad. That's what grace is all about.

Two of our most "fun" acts (#8 & #9) were ideas I actually found somewhere else. Anna and I spent a little time slipping a few small, encouraging notes into library books. And Anna and Ethan cut out coupons from a BJs coupon book and we then made a trip there to place coupons next to the actual items in the store. This one surprised us because when we went to do that, we found someone else had the same idea! There were coupons next to most of the same items. We just added a few more.

#10 was whimsical and some people might think it's a little crazy. It's another idea I saw somewhere else. I have a ton of spare change. We drove around and just randomly sprinkled change in parking lots and on sidewalks, like fairy dust. If someone really needs it, I know they'll take it.

There was a real sense of gratification that came with #11 due to the debacle that was last year. Last Christmas I bought a number of items to put together little bags of to give to homeless people. Each pack was supposed to contain socks, gum, a little change, toothpaste, a water bottle...a few other items. Only we only got around to making one bag last year. And it sat and sat in the car. We'd always forget about it. Then one day someone really needed change. And there was no toothpaste in the house. Or we needed the socks for some indoor play scape that required socks. We began to dip into the "homeless bag" until it became a pathetic kind of joke. There it sat, ripped open in the car, mocking me and my inability to complete a good deed.

This year I said forget the bags, but did hear about a drive in town collecting socks for the homeless. So we bought lots of socks. And all cheered as they left our car to actually get donated to someone in need.

#12 was homemade cookies we brought to the nursing home down the street. Chloe and I had been there a few weeks before, caroling with her school. It was quite an experience for a sensitive almost four-year-old. She'd never seen people in quite that condition. "Some of them weren't real, mama," she kept claiming after. "They were statues." I knew she was thinking of those who sat in wheelchairs staring straight ahead, as if we weren't there. But many others clapped and sang and smiled, their faces shining. I will never forget the little lady behind a locked door. We couldn't open it: she was in the Alzheimer's Unit and had to be secured behind the doors. But we sang on the other side, and she followed the sound of the music and came right up to the window, peering out at us happily.

When I brought the cookies, I was reminded how uncomfortable I really am stepping at all out of my comfort zone. I don't like walking into places where I don't know people and where someone will undoubtedly ask, "What are you doing? Who do you want?" Even when it's a donation. I hate the awkward feeling. But I pushed through it when I was being gently grilled by a confused staff person. It's amazing how often people don't understand when you want to give them something. They don't always want to receive it at first.

That made me wonder how often we all do that. Why is it that sometimes, especially when we are older and weighted down by life and disappointments and our own feelings of unworthiness, that we find it so difficult to receive?

I ended up talking with this woman for a few minutes. I told her my grandmother had had Alzheimer's and stayed in a similar facility and she confided that her mom had too. I told her we'd come with the carolers. "I remember that," she said with a smile. "There were so many of you."

And so those were the 12 Acts of Kindness and Giving. Did we change the world? Did we do anything that revolutionary? No. Did Ethan say, "Yay, we did everything on the list! Do I get money for that?" Yes. This is a work in progress.

But we took baby steps. We did something. We all stopped for a few minutes to think about the world around us that we touch every day in different ways and how we might make it just a little better. In the process I felt just a bit more connected to my community. And understood a bit more how important it is to push past an uncomfortable, self-conscious feeling if it means helping someone else.

I learned that the 12 acts weren't about a list or duty, but about real, living people who are dealing with all kinds of things. I hope the kids remember that, too. What a gift that is...true compassion. Empathy. And a journey away from selfishness.
















Wednesday, December 6, 2017

The Center of Everything

A few years ago Ethan fell in love with the rock group Trans-Siberian Orchestra. They're known for their over-the-top arrangements and dramatic sound and lighting productions that often synchronize the lights and music. Ethan had several of their CDs and for a while and knew many songs by heart. I can't tell you how many times I caught him upstairs blasting music at a staggering volume and singing at the top of his lungs (or playing air guitar).

He especially liked their Christmas album, and while his interest has waned a bit over time the Christmas-themed songs by Trans-Siberian Orchestra are always his favorite when they come on over the holiday station in the car.

Ethan just had his 10th birthday, and since he chose to get a bigger present rather than have a friend party, Dan and I thought the perfect "big" gift would be tickets to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra live. They're not cheap (but thank you, Groupon!). His first concert (we won't include that trip to see "SuperWhy" back five years ago) -- ideal to celebrate a double-digit birthday, right?

Maybe.

Unfortunately the only seats available were at the 8pm show on a Sunday, a school night, an hour away at the casino. Not ideal, but what could we do? The weekend ended up being a busy one. We were out Friday evening, then Saturday on a whim Dan decided to surprise the kids with a  trip to New York City. They had a blast (Chloe included) walking around near Rockefeller Center and checking out the Nintendo store.

The only downside was that Ethan didn't get to play the new Mario game he's been trying to beat. He worked to talk himself out of being too upset. There was a train to ride and sights to see. I think he told himself he would focus on Mario on Sunday afternoon.

Only by the time he turned on Mario on Sunday it was later in the day. And whatever it was he was trying to beat, he was having an extremely difficult and extremely frustrating time. When Ethan can't beat something he really wants to beat, he does not want to turn the game off or shift his attention in any way possible.

But it was time to leave with Dan for the concert.

Ethan didn't want to turn the game off.

Dan came upstairs where I was after talking with Ethan for a moment. "Okay," he said, "I'm going to try to not have my feelings hurt here..."

Ethan didn't want to go. And he was making that very clear.

I went down to talk to him. He had just "died" again and was finally turning things off. He wasn't happy. He was actually pouting, refusing to budge from the couch.

"I know you're frustrated about the game, but didn't you want to go to the concert?"

"No!" he exploded. "Mama, I'm sorry, but I don't really like them as much as I used to. I was disappointed about those tickets and wanted a BETTER big gift for my birthday."

"Like what?" I asked tiredly.

"Like all the screen time I want. Why couldn't I have that?? That would have been a good present. I don't want to go to this concert. It's stupid! I want to play my game! It's not fair!! I didn't have enough time on it!"

I walked out of the room, tears blinding me and marched upstairs, where I slammed the door to our room. Dan knew what was coming.

"Yeah, he doesn't want to go, and he made that QUITE clear," I snarled. Then I said what I'd been really wanting to say. "Look, I know he can't always help it sometimes. But I HATE how autism is so so self-centered! It's always got to be about THEIR routines, THEIR preferences, THEIR schedule. I'm sick of it!! And why do we do anything for our kids, if they are this ungrateful? What have we done wrong!?!"

I raced downstairs, still crying. Sorry folks, but this is the ugly truth.

"You WILL get your coat on," I spat out at Ethan through tears. "And you WILL stop complaining about your game. You went to New York City and a concert within 24 hours and this is the way you respond?? I don't think so."

Ethan was startled enough to start getting himself reading to go, albeit reluctantly.

"I've had ENOUGH of this whining and complaining and ungratefulness!" I felt like a pressure cooker, squealing. "I know you love screens above everything else but you can't use your autism as an excuse to say whatever you want. You HAVE to start thinking, as hard as it may be for you, about other people, too!"

Ethan and Dan got ready to head out the door. I sat down to clear my head, but I couldn't. Everything was a confusing swirl of guilt and frustration. Was he just being a brat? And if so, how could we encourage more gratefulness and a better choice of words? If it was the obsessiveness of autism speaking, what could we do? I vacillated between feeling tired at the same story playing out again and again, and the guilt of knowing it could be so much worse.

How could I complain and lose it, when he's so high functioning? One voice yelled. There are people who can't communicate. Who are self-destructive. Who are completely dependent on others. There are people who have LOST their children. This holiday season is hell for them. YOU'RE the one being ungrateful! 

And what kind of mom was I? Another voice screamed. What kind of mom was I that I had such a hard time MYSELF with self-regulation? Why did I again and again tell my kids (and so often YELLED at my kids) not to lose it when I so often did, or was even in the middle of doing so? The irony. 

Never mind that, what kind of CHRISTIAN was I? Another voice sneered. These things always seem to happen on days after I've done churchy stuff, like sing on the worship team or do a Bible study. Oh, you act so pious at church and look at how you are once you're home with your family, the voice taunted.

I couldn't let him go off after I'd just yelled. I hated doing that. And so I gave him a hug, and I apologized for yelling, and then I still felt angry as he went complaining and grumbling into the car. Dan sent me updates by text. Ethan would barely talk the entire time in the car. He kept grouching about not wanting to be there. We just wanted to give him a gift we thought he'd enjoy. Something special. One on one time with dad. Was that too much to ask?

It was a long time coming, shaking the anger, and shaking the guilt.

Ethan and Dan ended up coming home before the concert was over (it was already way too late) and as I suspected, despite everything he'd spewed, he'd ended up having a pretty good time. The effects were amazing. Ethan was wowed. It may not have been his best birthday present ever, but he muddled through until he found some joy.

Sometimes I long for him to grow more aware of how his words and actions impact others. Maybe a lot of people say that about their kids. Maybe sometimes I just want to feel like the ways I am trying to help them are making any kind of impact.

Sometimes I need to remember to accept that all of those yelling voices in my head may hold a kernel of truth. Yes, being integral, counting my blessings, and having self-control ARE important. And yes, it was okay to feel frustrated and hurt.

It's not all or nothing -- not living in oblivion or sinking into depression -- but just the reality of a situation that wasn't ideal.

I got angry because the nature of autism is to become the universe that all else revolves around. But self-centeredness is not an autism trait, it's a human trait. Among those kernels of truth for me to swallow is that I do the same thing, and that one of my greatest failings is to turn any difficult situation to something about me, my hurt, my response, my disappointment. Beating up on myself was still, well, self-focused.

I know there is a better way.

I'm just still working on that: not with only good intentions, but with God's grace, at the center of everything.