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Pride

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This Pride Month has hit a little bit differently than in the past. We’ve always stood as allies of the LGBTQ+ community, but now, more than ever, we understand the need to defend the rights, the very existence of LGBTQ+ human beings.

I am the mother of a transgender young adult.

I am the mother of a transgender person who is currently transitioning, having started hormone therapy nearly two months ago.

I am the mother of a transgender young woman.

The person known as E will now be known as N, with she/her pronouns. I will not live in the middle anymore. For her, when I speak of her, of her existence, of her as one of my children, she will not be E or he. She will be N and she. I have one son and two daughters.

I am not sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. I’m not sorry if you don’t agree. I’m not sorry if you feel you can’t accept this. I’m not sorry if you believe transgender is something made up, some kind of sickness, some attention-seeking action. My daughter was diagnosed by a psychiatrist and has been under the care of a therapist for over a year now. This is who she is. I will not put your feelings and thoughts ahead of those of my child. Her health and well-being matter to me more than anyone else’s comfort. I will not justify her existence as she is to anyone. She is my child and I love her no matter what body she’s in, no matter what name she uses, no matter what gender appears on her identification.

If you’d like to have an honest, open discussion, I’m willing to engage. I will not discuss what’s happening to her, to her body. Her journey is hers to discuss and share, if and when she wants. I will continue to talk about my journey as her mom.

It is a dangerous time to be a transgender person. It is a terrifying time to be the parent of a transgender person. It is awkward to go from talking about my “son” to now talking about my daughter. It awkward when people ask my how my children are doing, people who’ve known N her whole life and they suddenly are confused by my calling her N and using “she” and “her”. But if she can have the strength to live her life as she is, to have courage to go out into the world that doesn’t generally accept her as she is, want her as she is, then I can deal with the awkwardness of some conversations.

Am I sorry if this sounds defensive? Maybe a wee bit. I already know we have people in our lives who not only know what’s been going on the past year, but they have been supporting and cheering us on, loving our N for the courage and strength she’s shown to live her authentic life as her true self. We are now putting it out into the world, beyond our very-immediate family and inner circle, come what may. I know there will be some (maybe many?) who will not accept this reality in our family, will not accept N as she is. Those can see their way out. Is that harsh? Maybe. But my child comes first, before anyone else’s beliefs or comfort.

Pride hits a little different when some of those letters in the acronym describe your family. Here we are. Take us as we are, or not. I’m proud of ALL my children – my son, and my two daughters.

The 7’s

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I had a birthday last week. It wasn’t a big birthday, and it was relatively quiet. I don’t typically mind having a birthday. As my Daddy used to say, it’s better than the alternative (not being alive for another birthday) and I generally take them in stride. What I have noticed is it’s usually the 7’s birthdays that give me some hesitation and struggle.

It started when I turned seventeen. I was so ready to be done with and out of our very-small town, ready for the next journey in my life. I had one more year of high school yet, and knew it would be somewhat challenging. I’d had some major friend drama the spring before and it was spilling over into basically every part of high school, including the cheerleading squad I was on for my Senior year. I knew academics would push me – I was in the race for Valedictorian and Salutatorian and the competition was rough going. We had another round of SAT’s, college applications, and so on. I also had the internal emotional pressure, sense of failure over never having dated anyone much less have a boyfriend. It made me feel somewhat immature, at the same time I knew there were more important things in life for me to be focused on. I don’t know why I struggled so deeply with that birthday. I still have the whole world, so much life in front of me. But I was in a funk for a few months at least. It was also kind of a lonely birthday – my birthday always fell a few weeks after we got out of school for the summer, and people/my friends were usually gone on summer vacations or busy with summer jobs. Honestly, I don’t remember what we did or didn’t do to celebrate. I just remember I struggled with it.

Twenty-seven wasn’t a whole lot different. I had left home, gone to and finished college, started a career, moved out of my mother’s house (into my brother’s). But I had just the year before ended a three-year relationship I’d thought would be the one that lead to marriage. I felt I was behind in life. Most of my friends were married, or had been married, had children, careers they truly enjoyed, were buying houses, beginning to travel. I had a career I didn’t love, was in debt, living in my brother’s home and nowhere near being able to buy my own home, an unreliable car, a career I did not love, and some health issues that were ongoing. I just wasn’t where I’d expected to be at that point in my life, and here I was now in my LATE 20’s. I felt like I was coming up against a finish line I was completely unprepared for. I just thought I’d be further in life. It made me sad and depressed, lonely, disheartened.

It’s amazing the difference ten years of life will bring. By the time I reached thirty-seven, I was married (and had been for 8 years), we had three children, and had bought or second and forever home. I’d left my career after baby #3. Did I still struggle with turning 37? A bit, yes. Life was relatively good, but aging and thinking about aging is weird. I still felt I’d missed the boat on some of life, had not met my own expectations for my life. But I knew I had a good life, a good marriage, incredible children, a beautiful home, amazing friends. At 37 I still struggled with self-esteem and self-image, HARD. I sometimes felt lost in being a wife and mom. Our lives were busy, and about to get busier, as far as the kids’ school and activities. And, my god, I was going to be FORTY in three years!! It seemed so overwhelming. So 37 was easier than 17 and 27 had been, but still gave me pause.

Then came 47. Oof….that one was so difficult. I was staring 50 in the face. I wasn’t young anymore, and was really starting to feel middle-aged. Perimenopause had begun. Our teenage daughter was driving me to distraction – she was such a challenge. I was exhausted, feeling all the feelings, and just in a general malaise. The one thing I did like about being in my 40’s was learning to not care as much about what other people might think about me. I was better at setting boundaries. I had fewer effs to give, and it was freeing. I still struggled emotionally with the thought of being in my late forties – just aging and the idea of aging.

If you’re keeping track, you may have figured out where I am as far as my age. I will say, this was the first seven I didn’t really struggle with at all. I’m in a very good place in life. I’m happy. More than happy, I am content. I know how privileged a life I lead not just financially, but in the partner I have, the friends I’m surrounded with, my relationships with my children, the things I get to do, and see, and be. I retired at the beginning of this year and having each day be my own for the most part has had a huge impact on my outlook on life. Do I see 60 staring me down? Yep. Is acknowledging I’m in my “late” 50’s sting a bit? Also yep. But I am happier with me. I have even fewer effs to give, and am VERY good at setting and sticking to boundaries. I’ve learned to only spend my time and energy and care on the people and things that give the same in return and have earned it. Aging is still a thing – the body doesn’t look the same, the face has some spots and wrinkles I didn’t used to have, 10pm seems like a very reasonable bedtime, going out after 8pm seems aggressive, conversations with friends of an age now include discussions of our injuries, aches, and health conditions as well as our hormone patches and things we blame on menopause. Friends of my children I’ve watched grow up are getting married and having babies of their own. We are actively planning retirement life (Spouse still has 8-10 years left working full time), and prioritizing travel locations.

Did you have a specific year that always gave you trouble? How are you handling aging?

Missed Milestones

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Lately, I have been seeing a lot of graduation photos and posts. I didn’t think much of it at the beginning – it is, after all, that time of year. But then I began seeing all the college graduation posts of N’s peers -friends and people they went all the way through compulsory schooling with – and it kind of took my breath away for a minute.

N took their last finals at the local community college. It isn’t official, but they have technically earned an AA degree. And that’s where it will end. They have determined they will not pursue further collegiate education. It’s fine. College isn’t for everyone. Not everyone who’s successful in life has a Bachelor’s or higher degree. N hasn’t quite found their path yet, but they know they are done with schooling. They will take a winemaking/viticulture class in the Fall at another community college, but it isn’t for any grade or credit. They are done. To be honest, I don’t have the energy or motivation to push the issue. They are an adult, for all intents and purposes, and we are allowing them to make the decision.

Often, I can almost forget their autism and the impact of the outside world on them. Oh, we see their social delays, anxieties, emotional age that lags far behind that of their peers. It’s just who they are. We haven’t had to deal with it in an educational forum for four years. Seeing all the college graduation photos of kids I’ve known since N was in kindergarten just reminds me our world is not like that of neurotypical kids/young adults. The contrast is more evident when your child isn’t reaching those same life milestones.

We always knew N would have a different path. Somehow, though, I had convinced myself they would reach a point they’d be less “different”, more capable. I still imagined them going off to a four-year university at some point. Over the last couple of years, we’ve become aware that was not a likely prospect. It isn’t off the table completely. They could do it f they chose, with supports of course, especially if said school were far away from home. But they’ve decided they are just done with school. Fine – I get it. I just need to come to terms once again with their journey looking oh so different than many of their peers.

I guess calling this a “missed milestone” infers someone is less than if they don’t go to college and graduate. I don’t mean that in the least. That’s not my intention with this discussion and sharing of where we are. My point is, in spite of N’s autism, I had always pictured them going off to college like their siblings have done, as many of their friends have done. The visual reminders that that will not be is what has hit me lately. It’s another thing N won’t be doing, another sign of their difference.

Side note – WordPress now does “memories” like you’d see on social media apps, linking other posts I’ve written on June 1st over the years. One that came up was titled “Diffability” talking of the time we were flying and N saw on their pre-board pass it was for people with any disability. We had a discussion about that word, and how they didn’t see themselves as disabled. We came up with another word – diffability – as they are just differently-abled, not necessarily disabled. It served as a good reminder for today’s topic. This part of the journey is just another sign of their different abilities, and we will see where this road takes them.

PS – Happy Pride Month!!

I Don’t Use it for That

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We’re going to take a sharp turn away from the heaviness of the last few posts. We can all use some lighter fare from time to time, yes? If you’ve been around the Herd for any amount of time, you might know the adventures we typically get up to, the disasters that befall us, the weird things that happen, the absolutely clumsy hot-messedness that is us is just a fact of life and typically provides the humor without us having to work at it. We may come across as very put together, but I am here to let you know we are indeed not put together, in the least. There’s a lot of duct tape involved in the presentation (proverbial, not literal, just to be sure).

I saw a Reel the other day talking about people of a certain age (okay, people my age – I am solidly middle-aged, pushing into straight up old) and the phone. First, that phone was attached to a wall. The only way you could walk around while on the phone was if your parents ponied up for the extra long cord, of if you were one of those “rich” families who could afford a cordless but even those didn’t arrive until the mid-to-late-80’s if I’m remembering correctly. Second, you might be able to add a second line to your house (again, if you were one of the rich people), but otherwise, it was one call at a time to anyone living in that same house. I vaguely remember when call waiting became a thing, but I feel like that was a 90’s thing. Third, there was no such thing as caller ID. You got what you got when you answered a ringing phone, picking it up with no clue who might be on the other end of that call. Can you even imagine?

Bear with me as I take a brief tangent to help you understand what comes next. I am basically an introvert. I might come across as a little extroverted, but no, I’m a fairly shy person underneath it all. It was paralyzing when I was younger, something I’ve spent years working on. But wouldn’t you know, this English Lit major, right out of college, somehow decided becoming an insurance claims rep was a solid career choice for her. Sure. This was in the early 90’s. I worked in auto claims for nearly ten years and homeowners claims for two. Much of that job was spent on the phone – explaining coverage, benefits, processes, payments, taking statements, negotiating with insureds and claimants, other claim reps, repair shops, and rental car companies. We HAD to answer the phone, unless we were officially on break, and/or had specifically asked our unit secretary to take our calls for a set amount of time while we worked on something else. And, you guessed it, no caller ID. It might be anyone on the other end of that line…..they could be asking for something simple, or calling you to scream at you. Trust me, in insurance claims, it was a LOT of that second thing. I spent nearly twelve years getting yelled at, cussed at, questioned, disparaged, insulted pretty much at least once a day, every day. I slowly over those years began to hate the phone, any phone. I would twitch when a phone rang near me. I would get that flight-or-fight response, and have so much anxiety.Can you imagine my delight when caller ID came into being? At least I could mentally prepare myself for what was coming at me, not that I knew every number calling me, but still…..life improved as far as the phone was concerned.

I left the insurance industry when our youngest was born. I just couldn’t do it anymore, and maternity leave (trust me, I took EVERY minute of leave I was allowed, including paid family leave) seemed like a good transition out of the insurance workforce. We still had a home phone line, as well as our cell phones, with caller ID. Spouse couldn’t understand why I hated answering our home phone. And as texting came into being, and utilized more and more, along with email and social media, I hardly ever talk on the phone at all. People will ask, “Can I call you?” I will straight up look at them and say, “I don’t use my phone for that.” In all seriousness….I do NOT use my phone for that if I can avoid it, and truth be told, I can find any reason to avoid calls, even when I know the person calling me.

I hate talking on the phone. If it can be an email or text – and really, what can’t? – please send me those. Fire off text after text, or even send a voice memo. But please don’t ask me to take a call. Send me reels, memes, instant messages, pictures, video. But please don’t ask me to talk on the phone. I don’t use it for that. You should see what I go through when I actually have to make a call. I mentally prepare and go over more than a couple of times, what I’m going to say. If I have to schedule appointments, I’ll usually block them into my planner to get them all done in one day so I can then go about the rest of my week or month without having to talk on the phone. I have gotten comfortable with FaceTime, because the adult children away at their schools and jobs – I need to have my eyeballs on their faces. I’ll talk to my Mom L on FaceTime too, but those are the only exceptions, typically.

You should have seen my face when I realized I could make my phone have spam calls not even ring through! Fewer moments of panic every day. If you aren’t in my phone, I won’t be answering your call. If you are in my phone, you have about a 50/50 chance of me picking up. I really just completely hate the phone part of my phone. You know how a lot of parents get their preteens/teens those brick cell phones that ONLY let them make and take calls so they can keep them from social media and the internet? Can I get the opposite of that please? I want my phone to do everything but be a phone. Please. Can we make that a thing? I can’t be the only one who doesn’t use their phone for that.

Black vintage candlestick telephone with rotary dial on wooden desk

Do I owe it to them?

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Five years ago, give or take, I wrote about a Different Kind of Coming Out in which shared that Little Man, now Z, had come out to us and his friends/school/community as non-binary and pansexual. They changed their name from E to Z. We rode the wave as supportive, loving parents do. The Z quietly slipped away less than a year later, reverting back to E and he/him pronouns. Definitely still in the queer community, and when they got their drivers license, requested the X for their gender. They’ve had a boyfriend for over two years now, but it’s been crickets on the rest, until this past summer. And now I am back in that confused-but-trying parental space of new language, and wondering who I owe what, as far as explanations, conversations, information.

To put it plainly, last summer, Z was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. What that means is the body we see, and what they see when they look in the mirror at themselves does not match the gender they are in their brain. We were unaware of this struggle, but they have told us they have felt this since they were rather young. They are in therapy and have been since this diagnosis. We have met with their therapist with them, and are doing our best to understand and be supportive. This is still our child regardless of gender, sexuality, appearance, name. They did ask to wear makeup – eyeliner and mascara – which we’ve honored. They asked to use a different name, which we’re working on. They asked to start HRT – we’ve said no for now. More on that in a minute.

This isn’t my journey, and yet it is. Because Z – whom we will now call N – lives at home, and is just part of my everyday life, everyday conversations, it is my journey. They come up in regular conversations with friends and acquaintances, with people we see every day/most days and people we see infrequently. Honestly, I don’t know how to talk about them, with most of these people. But then I asked myself, do I owe it to them? Do I owe them our truth, or our truth for now, however that turns out? Do I just use the old name and old pronouns with some because it’s easier rather than going into a very long explanation, or if I believe they may be “unsafe” for my gender dysphoric child? I want to honor my child and who they are, no matter where this journey takes them, but at the same time, I need to protect them. To whom do we owe any explanation about our kids anyways?

I just struggle – one of my own hangups, besides protecting my children, is the comfort of others. I also avoid confrontation of any kind. And, to be honest, not knowing where this path is going to take N makes it challenging for me to just use their new name without any kind of explanation. Sometimes that makes it just easier to use their old name and pronouns so I can avoid any confusion, any conflict, any strangeness. But again, why do I owe the comfort of others more than I owe honoring my own child? I just never know in any given moment of any conversation about this child what I should say and how I should say it. That doesn’t mean to say I am ashamed or embarrassed of this development at all. It’s just not your run-of-the-mill topic, ya know? You don’t run into it every day.

Here’s the other part of the conversation – N is an adult. They are on their own path, as they have always been. We are walking a fine line of being supportive while they work through this, and holding the line on some things. They have asked to do hormone replacement therapy – yes, to transition. We have said not now……and set some boundaries and expectations. We want them to be in therapy for a good while working through all that is and can be as far as their gender dysphoria and what transitioning will mean, physically, mentally, and emotionally. We want to make sure their current wants “stick” if that makes sense. We have also told them we will not be paying for any medications, thus they need to get a full-time job and keep it for longer than six months. They need to show us they are a responsible adult who can truly be independent and take care of themselves. We aren’t there yet on any of those things. We have come to the agreement to use their new name, they/them pronouns, and keep open minds to what they’re going through. What I will not do is tell my child we don’t believe them, don’t accept them, don’t trust them. We have been down the road of them having suicidal ideation before. Once you go through that, it is never far from your mind. I live in a half-fear status when it comes to N. I will not do anything that pushes those thoughts back to the forefront for N, nor will I allow anyone in our lives to potentially push them into that corner. Gender dysphoric/trans people have a very high rate of suicide and I won’t be one whose lack of understanding and support makes my child a statistic. I will protect them at all costs – do whatever it takes to keep them in this world. They are my priority over anyone else’s capacity to care, attempt to understand, or be comfortable.

So if you know us, and suddenly we aren’t talking about E, but rather N, just know this is what it’s about. You may not accept it, you may not approve of it, you may not understand it. This is our truth, our journey, our path. We’ve had the most supportive network and community their entire lives. I’m sure that will hold even with this new path. If I seem lost or confused when my children come up, just know I am processing what words and how in any given moment I speak of them.

Therapy

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Our family moved from a large city to a very small town when I was ten years old, my sister eight, and my brother fourteen. To say it was an upheaval and traumatizing doesn’t even begin to touch the level of impact it had on all three of us. We know now our parents were doing their best for our family, and I am glad I spent half of my childhood in that small town, but it was very difficult. It took me a few years to feel settled, like I belonged, had my own space and friends. I don’t fully grasp the deep scars it left on my siblings, particularly my brother.

I was just-turned eighteen, and had just graduated from high school when my parents split up. If I’m being honest, they probably should have separated when I was nine or ten (maybe that was part of the impetus for the move – a reset and restart of sorts?). They came back from a weekend away in Reno, had a huge blowout fight – which was extremely abnormal for them as they never fought, ever, in my memory – and that was that. That was the end. Just over two months later, I left for college, a five-plus hour drive away from home. I felt the guilt of leaving, starting my own life to a certain extent while my parents were suffering at home, while my sister was the only kid left at home to endure the fallout.

College is an adjustment on its own. Add the normal childhood trauma, as well as my parents’ divorce, feeling torn between two (or three) worlds, the struggle to learn how to study in an entirely different way, and to accept that school was going to be more difficult than it had been for years, feeling like a failure, in addition to an eating disorder exacerbated by all of the above, and by my second semester of my first year, I was a train wreck.

I was in my tennis class and had the mother of all meltdowns. The instructor/coach pulled me from the courts to a bench in the shade. He said something like, “This seems like more than not being able to hit a tennis ball where you want it consistently.” I huddled into a heap of tears on that bench. No one besides my closest friends knew what was going on at home. No one really had bothered to look deep enough. We were all so caught up in studying, having fun, experiencing life away from home for the first time. At home, it never felt we children were able to need deeply, to show strong emotion. That coach let me cry it out for a good bit, then said to me, “I think you need to talk with someone,” once I gave him a brief picture of what was going on in my baby-adult life. This is more than one person can deal with on her own. He prayed with me (I went to a private Christian college my first two years of school), excused me from tennis for the rest of the day, and sent me back to my dorm room. Later that day, my Resident Director came to my room with a number to call – the on-campus therapist.

That was my entry into therapy. It wasn’t a magic pill by any means, but having someone to talk with, someone outside of my circle/family, someone who didn’t judge me, judge my parents but rather just let me work through things was life-altering. It didn’t fix everything immediately. It would be years before those hurts were more easily managed. Of course, in the way of life, there would be new hurts to come along. Back to therapy.

I don’t know who I’d be, how damaged I would still be if I hadn’t had that coach set me on a road out of that space, introducing me to therapy. I know plenty of people who don’t believe in therapy, in talking things through with a professional. I know plenty of people who don’t think it’s a viable option for them. To each their own I guess. Therapy is work. It’s scary telling someone you don’t know your issues, what’s happened in your life. It’s scary and it’s work, and then you’re given work so you can get to the root of your issues, learn to manage them and/or your responses to triggers. I still encourage people to seek it out, if they’re at all inclined. It saved me.

I’ve spent the past couple of years thinking about that childhood as I try to figure out why I feel the way I do sometimes, my reactions to situations and other people. I haven’t gone back to therapy, but I have taken that toolkit back out I was given so long ago, the things I learned in therapy in college, right after, and as a young mom. There was a situation last week (not an emergency or anything, just a situation) in which someone I know was struggling with something that wasn’t really a problem but more of an inconvenience. They were extremely frustrated in the moment. I knew it was more than just that immediate problem. I also knew it wasn’t my job to fix everything for them – logistically there was no way I could fix it, but even in theory, I couldn’t fix it. But I felt my whole body tighten, my heart begin to race. I recognized my reaction for what it was – my need to manage everything, to make everything perfect for everyone in my life so they’re never inconvenienced or unhappy, and feeling like it’s my failure if something goes wrong for them. I noticed that reaction, and then made myself stay quiet. I wasn’t there to solve the problem for them. I didn’t have to solve the problem for them. They weren’t asking me to solve the problem for them. They just wanted me to be there while they worked through the problem. I made myself NOT try fix it. I told myself their inconvenience was NOT my failure, and I breathed. Thank you, therapy.

Therapy doesn’t make us perfect, doesn’t make us “healed.” It doesn’t make it so we never have bad reactions or emotional responses. It doesn’t make us stop feeling those feelings. It just helps us recognize and then change the destructive reactions. It’s not that I ALWAYS can do what I did in the moment the other day. But it gave me those tools, helped me recognized my own patterns. To that coach whose name I couldn’t recall if I tried, and that first therapist, I thank you deeply.

“Nothing weighs more than someone else’s belief in you.”

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I retired 22 days ago. Still feels weird to say that. I don’t consider myself technically old enough to be retired. I definitely don’t consider myself “old”, and yet here we are. I am retired. In the months leading up to my last day, it felt I was constantly being asked, “What are you going to do?” How does one justify their existence when the children are done being raised, but you are not being productive in the way the world understands ie a paycheck or something tangible to show you’ve DONE something with your time? I knew I would be busy. I knew I had plans. But even those sounded the tiniest bit lame when I said them out loud, even moreso when I said them out loud to successful businesswomen. Was I doing the right thing, walking away from something I’m good at, leaving behind a ten-year career even if it wasn’t a C-Suite type of career (I left that life behind a very long time ago, when baby 3 arrived in under 4 years)?

What plans do I have to fill my days? First, I plan to slow down. For over 25 years, life has been lived at a pace set by others….career, spouse, home, children and all their various schooling and activities, pets, family responsibilities, volunteer responsibilities I’d signed up for. Mornings were a five-alarm fire drill from the moment the phone starting beeping its wakeup call until the children were dropped off, but only to rush me into getting all the things done in the few hours I had while they were at school, followed by the next fire drill of getting them to and from extracurriculars, feeding, herding through homework and bedtime, taking just enough of a breath to get ready for the next day. I still have an alarm set for weekday mornings, but it’s set back over an hour from those busy school days, and half an hour from the past four years, post having children in compulsory school. I don’t jump right out of bed….I allow myself to slowly wake up, clearing texts and emails that come in over night, checking my sleep app, and the weather for the day before rolling out of bed to brush teeth, put on the exercise clothes, start the coffee, and get the dogs their treats and breakfasts before feeding myself. I take time to journal a few lines in my planner most days, play my New York Times games (Wordle, Strands, Connections and the Mini, in that order), and grab my current non-fiction reading selection for 10-15 minutes. I’ve spent the first few weeks of the new year organizing/reorganizing, getting the donation truck here, putting away holidays, celebrating my retirement over a long weekend visit from my bestie. Now I am just settling in to the plans I had set for myself.

I went to our club yesterday to sign up for golf lessons. Spouse is an avid golfer, and I want to at the very least not embarrass him on the course, and keep up the pace of the game. I’ve had clubs and gone out a few times a year for maybe ten years? But I’ve never had a lesson, sooooooooo…..lessons it is! Just waiting to hear back from the club pro to schedule the first lesson.

I have been journaling more in general. It feels good, centering, cathartic, healthy. The house is less cluttered, more clean, than it’s been in years. I have the time every day to wash those few dishes, actually put the laundry away that no longer languishes in the dryer for days at a time (if it even makes it that far). The new puppy is taken outside frequently in a solid effort to get her potty trained. She’s a teacup Yorkie, so you know that is a huge challenge. Yorkies aren’t known for being easily potty trained. Challenge accepted.

The other thing I am doing….I knew I had to put it out there, verbally and in writing, to hold myself accountable. I am writing a book. I am trying to write a book. I am working on writing a book. I feel like an imposter of the highest order, just saying it out loud. I don’t know it will ever be published, but I promised myself when I was young and writing in my very first journal that someday, I would put my words out into the world. My biggest dream was to be an author, a real one. My daughter has known this wish of mine for years. She knows I had pushed off my dreams for career and motherhood. She knows now is the time. She knows what I’m writing about, and she believes in me. I do feel that as a weight, but not in a bad way. It pushes me…..I want her to see her mom live a lifelong dream, whether or not my words ever see a shelf in a bookstore. I have to try. I have to overcome my own fear and insecurity and at least try. Each day I don’t write, I feel the weight of ignoring my dreams and wishes, of shoving hopes down. It’s not just the weight of her belief in me though, it’s that of friends and family I’ve told of this thing I want to do, to be. They believe in me, in my ability.

I don’t know my thoughts and words will ever be published, out there for the world to see, judge, buy. But I have to try. I have to do this for me, for those who believe in me. That’s what pushes me to my computer, not every day, but right now, at least one day a week, to put those words down and craft them into something like a book that hopefully someday people will hold in their hands.

PS….the quote titling this post is out of my favorite book of 2025 (heck, it’s in my top ten of all time), My Friends by Fredrik Backman.

A Small Thank You to the Tism

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My friends with young adult children and I have been talking lately about the things we don’t miss from our kids being younger. Among the things we miss least (or not at all) is all the driving around – school drop off and pick up, and the hauling around to all the various activites/practices/rehearsals/classes/camps. For. The. Love. The time I am NOT spending in the car anymore is so much better spent these days. I’m still thankful for it, and it has been nearly four years since the last time I had to do a school drop off or pick up, and even longer since the last time I took a child to the dance studio, golf practice, or any kind of meet/rehearsal/game.

From the time they were old enough, we had all three kids in all the activities….dance, little league baseball, soccer, golf camp, Y camp, swim lessons. You name it, we did it, or at least tried for one season. The back of my SUV always had blankets, camp chairs, snacks, various uniform parts, water jugs/bottles, and the wagon to haul it all. We essentially lived in the car on weekdays, starting our days with school drop off at 7:45am, getting home from our last practice often around 8pm or later as they got older. I could never finish any projects at home because as soon as I’d start something, we’d have to leave to take or pick up from one thing or another. I felt like my world was in constant chaos, everything halfway done, if I even started it at all – laundry, dishes, cleaning, grocery shopping.

From the age of five until about eight, we had Z in all the activities as well, painful as it often was, and let me tell you, it was very frequently PAINFUL. As Z got older, we began to realize it just wasn’t worth it. We were torturing them, their teammates, their coaches, ourselves, for very little gain. Their peers were outpacing them in ability and size to the point it was a danger to our child. They just couldn’t keep up, and didn’t care to keep up. When it came time to register them for Minor B baseball (coach pitch at the beginning of the season, and kid-pitch by the end), we knew we were done with baseball. That following summer, we made the decision to pull them from soccer as well. Suddenly, they weren’t doing any extracurriculars.

Z is on the spectrum. They also are ADHD, oppositional/defiant, and have executive function disorder, as well as sensory issues. They are also our youngest – they were going to get slightly different parenting as it was. But add in all those other issues, and everything just looks different.

Why a small thank you the Tism? When I think about Z NOT being all those things, and what life might have looked like if they had been neurotypical, I get even more tired. With just two kids doing all the activities all the way through high school, I was exhausted and often overwhelmed. I can’t even imagine adding all of that for a third, youngest kid. It’s not that we didn’t have things for them….when they were first diagnosed on the spectrum, we had weekly therapy, monthly psychiatrist visits, IEP meetings, med checks, on top of all the “normal” doctor, dentist, parent/teacher conferences and school stuff. We did not have two or three practices a week and games on the weekend to add to the chaos.

So, thank you, Tism, for giving me one small reprieve.

The Great Light Fight

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I grew up in a family that didn’t have much. We kids were hounded to remember to preserve resources – Daddy constantly hollering at us to turn off the lights when we left a room, close the doors to outside to keep heat or cool inside where it belonged, don’t stand there with the fridge door hanging open while we decided upon which snack to choose, don’t leave water running and walk out of the room, etc. Not a day went by one of us wasn’t yelled at for one of the above. We all became super conscious about lights, electricity, heat/cool, water. Add to all of this, we live in California. It’s just part of the CA culture to be aware of resources, and preserving them.

Fast-forward however many years to now. Yeah, Spouse grew up in the same state. I’m sure he got the same presentations at school growing up (although he went to private school so maybe no?). And this isn’t to bash him at all….he does care about the environment. He just has a different perspective. And iso began the “Great Light Fight.”

I am of a mind that if you’re not in a room, you turn off the light. At night, the outdoor lights are off. Doors closed and locked. If I’m not downstairs, why should any lights be on downstairs? When the kids were in high school, I would constantly yell at them to turn off the porch/courtyard lights when they came in or came upstairs. I was forever finding the dang lights back on after I’d turned them off. It came to light (pun intended) recently, with two of the three kids having been out of the house for years, they simply could not be the culprits. Come to find out, it’s been Spouse this entire time, coming along behind me and turning the porch, courtyard, and carriage lights back on after I’d turn them off each night.

A couple of weeks ago, I’d turned everything off and headed upstairs. He apparently came back downstairs for something, and turned them all back on (outdoor lights, not indoor). I came back down for water later and was like, “WTH?” and turned them all off again. When I got back up to our room, he asked, “Did you just turn off the courtyard lights?” I said yes, to which he asked why. Uhhh…because we’re not using them. Why would I leave them on? He asked if I always turned them off. Uh, yep. Who do you think has been turning them off all these years? He really wanted to know why I turned them off. I then wanted to know why he left them on. We, my friends, appear to have a different philosophy here, and it really doesn’t have much to do with the energy bill. In my mind, yes, I do hear Daddy preaching about saving energy, but also, why would I give any potential thieves or troublemakers extra light to help their endeavors? In his mind, he wants lights so he can see them on the cameras. I had never even thought of that angle.

The great light fight ensues, however. Some nights, he wins and all the outdoor lights are on. Sometimes, I am the last man standing, and all the outdoor lights are off. Do you have a great light fight at your house? What’s your philosophy/reasoning for lights on or lights off?

Why would anyone care?

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I started blogging in the fall of 2005. The Herd were very little and we were in the thick of all things young children. At the time, I was very involved in an online community for NICU parents. Blogging was a forum in the community. It gave me an outlet, a sounding board, a way to process all we’d been through in creating our little family, as well as gave me resources for all that would come throughout their growing up. I moved my blog here in 2009. It still remained mostly a “Mommy Blog”. By then we were dealing with various diagnosis, along with the usual growing up stuff. As they moved into teenage years, I struggled with writing so I could process, and giving them their privacy.

They’re all three grown now. While the parenting never ends, their stories are their stories, not mine. The writing has evolved. In the last few years, I’ve gone rounds with myself over continuing on with writing. Really, are blogs still relevant? I won’t do Vlogs or TikTok’s or any of that. I’m fine with a keyboard. I’m horrible trying to actually talk, much less talk on camera. I’ve gone through entire seasons without writing anything at all besides emails. I wonder if I should even bother anymore

There is a lot going on in our world…most of which I have feelings and opinions on, especially lately. But why would anyone care to read what I might have to say? I write from a place of privilege. I am an upper-middle class, middle-aged, suburban, white female. Why would my words have any impact? Why would anyone find merit in anything I have to add to the conversation?

This is where I’ve been sitting the last year or two. And then when the discussion began on the government starting a national autism registry, I shut it down. My writing has been used against us before. I won’t let it happen again. I will protect my child at all costs. However, I refuse to stay quiet about all the horrible things that are happening in our country now. When this is over, when we are on the other side, I want to know that I stood, loudly and proudly, on the side of human compassion. I need to know that I stood for something, stood up for those who don’t live in my world of privilege.

I guess my point is this…..I suppose I will keep writing. It’s no longer a mommy blog. You may not hear much about my adult children, unless they give me permission to share something. You may get quite a bit more political and social stuff than you’d like or that you’re used to seeing from me. There may be more bookish content. There may be more middle-age, sandwich generation talk. But I’m here, whether anyone reads or not. We’ll see how it goes.