I Forgot to Be Thankful

Ah, Thanksgiving. I've said it before and I'll say it again--I don't believe thankfulness and gratitude are things to practice one day a year. This year, though, I was given cause to stop and think - really think - on what I'm forgetting to be thankful for this year. That's a tall order, considering most days I feel like gratitude is all that keeps me from losing my way. Having spent all of my adult years on the verge of (or in) poverty after enjoying a youth built by the 1%, I can attest to the fact that the less you have, the more grateful you become for it.

Sometimes, though, even living in a perpetual state of gratitude isn't enough. It doesn't make us any more aware of what we're forgetting. So when the reminder showed up unexpectedly, I balked. Of course I'm thankful for what I have. For my loved ones. For the opportunities I've been allowed at the hands and generosity of others. Of course I am. Those things are never out of my mind or my heart. In fact, they're kind of in my face every moment of every day, whether I want them to be or not! But when I separated out the resentment, I found something else hiding beneath it. That it happened right before Thanksgiving is a coincidence (if you believe in such things) only.

So this year, I'm not going to tell you what I'm thankful for today. I'm going to tell you about the things I forgot to be thankful for all year long.

I forgot to be thankful for my resilience. That no matter what life throws at me, I take a breath and dive in. Sometimes, when life throws a seemingly endless barrage of storms at us, it's hard to remember that we're weathering them. This has been one of those years. But I forgot to be thankful for all the times I've picked myself up in the past, all the times I've offered an umbrella; all those things that became a resilience that may stretch thin, but never breaks. All those troubles gave me strength, which in turn allowed me to do what I needed to do this year.

I forgot to be grateful for my downtime. Instead of beating myself up for being lazy, for missing all my writing goals and not filling out enough job applications, I should have jumped straight on into my great project of the year. The one that has nothing to do with productivity or words written or money made. The only reason I could do what I've been doing for myself this year, to make me healthier and happier in the long-run, is because I didn't have to focus on a job, or on writing.

I forgot to be thankful for my heart. I always thought it was the reason I accrued so much baggage that I had to take this year off from life to sort through it. Turns out, it didn't deserve the blame. It wasn't my heart, it wasn't my head. Much of it wasn't my fault at all. I worry a lot that I feel too much and overwhelm others too easily. I should, instead, be thankful for being given my mother's tenet to love without conditions, my father's ability to give without reservation, and my grandfather's example to be the rock in the storm. Those are so much the core of who I am, and I should be proud of them.

Those are the things I should have been thankful for this year. The things I forgot to see, or pushed away because they felt too selfish. I will be thankful for them tomorrow.

Today (okay, I guess I lied about not mentioning them), I'm thankful for friends who surprise me; relationships that age and change and yet stay exactly the same; silly siblings; memories; and my grandma's mashed potatoes (which I am always for on Thanksgiving, and for which I will stop being grateful in a week when the scale forgets which way it's supposed to move).

But most of all, I'm deeply thankful for my great project. The one thing I've held onto all year is how proud I am that I reached a place where I could face it and grow stronger. It's been weird and scary and heart-crushing and eye-opening and painful, and I haven't enjoyed it one bit. But I am thankful that I am strong enough and peaceful enough to face it, and that I found the courage to begin.

O Captain (Picard), My Captain

Most people who've known me since my teens years know that deep down, I'm a Trekkie. I mean, my mom was awesome enough to hand draw and then paint the Enterprise D on my bedroom wall; if you spent any time at my house at all, it was pretty obvious. I still have several boxes full of "action figures" and "sets" that mostly gathered dust in my closet (and starred in a couple school projects from time to time). When I attended the Colorado Symphony's Music of Star Trek night, I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried.

The first book I ever really intended to finish writing was a Star Trek novel with Wesley Crusher front and center (yes, I know. But he was kind of my hero - brainy kid who has to learn to hold his own with adults because he doesn't quite fit in with those his own age...). I only made it about a chapter in before my brother, in a fit of brotherly amusement, deleted it. He's alive still only because my heart was broken, and I therefore had no oomph with which to do him in.

The only club I ever got into in junior high? Star Trek club, where I furnished most of the movies we watched every week. My cousin fed me a steady stream of novels and took me to conventions (though I never managed to dress up). Many an hour did I spend reviewing the classes I could take at Starfleet Academy, if only it were real.

Most people knew I was a total nerd. For the most part, I was okay with that. I accepted the friendly teasing and the elbow jabs with small smiles and only a twinge of pain.

What most people don't know is that Star Trek saved my life.

Fifth grade was a hard year for me. It was the year of the Great Cootie Division, when I was suddenly not allowed to be friends with my friends. All the boys who kept up with me, mentally, physically, or creatively; all the people I could talk to, share things with, and feel comfortable around; they were all gone. I didn't know what to do with girls who stood around and talked about things I had no interest in. Girls who either couldn't or wouldn't keep up. It was the year I would have skipped a grade, except my social skills couldn't handle sixth grade. I spent most recesses talking to the teacher's aid. When everyone else went on a trip to Estes Park for a few days, I stayed behind and spent the days grading papers for my fourth grade teacher (whom I adored). And then I had to sit and talk to the assistant principal about how we had agreed I would push myself socially, and how I had failed to do that. How I had disappointed her.

The perfect setting for a geek to be born, right?

I managed to eke through to summer eventually, wherein I got a tv in my bedroom. Oh, the glory! Originally, I watched my dad's tapes of the original Star Trek series to have something to do. With no friends and not enough to occupy my brain, I would have been happy with anything. But by the time I started sixth grade, I had blown through all the tapes, lots of the books, and firmly embedded myself in Next Generation.

And then came sixth grade.

Sixth grade was the bane of my existence. I was bullied almost every day by girls who made fun of my clothes and my hair, who called me ugly and disgusting until I believed it with every fiber of my being. My teachers were busy at best and downright mean at worst. My brother shunned me and forbade me from talking to his friends. I spent many a lunch eating pizza huddled against a wall (which wasn't so bad, since it often took all but five minutes of the lunch period to get through the lines to buy food).

Since I had no friends, I made them up. I immersed myself in Gene Roddenberry's world of truth and honor, justice and altruism as deeply and completely as I could. On the worst days, the days I didn't know how I was possibly going to keep surviving, the crew of the NCC-1701-D came to school with me. Sure, I made them up. Sure, I knew they weren't real. But in the absence of friends or safe spaces, they were real enough. They couldn't stop the bullies, but they could tell me things I needed to hear. I could help them out of interplanetary binds or show them how to navigate the '90s. I played pretend - Master Level - and some days I never stopped.

26 weeks out of the year, Captain Picard and his stalwart crew taught me something. They showed me the power of true friendship, of camaraderie, of holding to one's principles no matter what. They taught me tolerance of things I didn't understand and how perspective can change everything. Above all, they taught me that things could be different. They could be better. That someday, somehow, humanity would grow up and come into its own, if only we just push ourselves to be a little stronger, a little less self-serving, and a lot more aware.

Some days, it wasn't enough. Those days, I would lie in my room and think through the best ways to end the loneliness and torment. I knew myself well enough to know I was too scared and too weak to run away and fend for myself. Where would I go? How would I make money? On the worst days, I thought about the mess I would leave behind. I thought about my little sister being the one to find me. I thought about how unfair and selfish of me it would be to leave my mother broken, and how I would be taking her away from my siblings...

And then I turned on Star Trek and choked down another day.

Next Gen got me through to second semester, and the launch of Deep Space Nine helped me make a friend.
A couple months later, it helped me recognize that I had become a foul-mouthed jerk whose friends had grown into black-magicking, smoking druggies who were having sex or getting high in the bathrooms instead of going to class.
It was there to welcome me back after my arch-nemesis staged a coup that not only stole all my (bad) friends but also destroyed any semblance of belief I had left in myself, my brain, and my creative abilities.

Star Trek was there when my teachers yelled at me instead of asking important questions.
It was there when my peers told me they hated me. When I hated myself.
It reminded me that I didn't want to be a girl who lied, cheated, and swore her way through life, and then gave me a better example to follow.

By the time I hit eighth grade, I knew who I was. I knew I didn't need people to like me in order to survive. No amount of peer pressure would have made me cave on anything important because I wasn't afraid of being alone.

So I let my friends - good, real friends - tease me because I liked a geeky show. I let them think it was just because I was a geek, too nerdy and too anti-social to be into mainstream pursuits. I was okay being weird because it was easier than ever admitting the truth.

But the honest truth is I'm not a geek by today's standards. I don't geek out. I don't express extreme amounts of enthusiasm. I don't love Star Trek just because it's awesome sci-fi (although it is).

I love Star Trek because it's part of who I am. I love it like the dear friend it was, with loyalty and gratitude, the same way I love the real people who made a difference in my life.

The truth is, I didn't sit at the symphony and hold back sobs as the orchestra launched into the gorgeous, somewhat haunting strains of Deep Space Nine's theme song in a fit of extreme geek love; I cried because the music reminded me of the little girl who almost gave up. I cried because it climbed inside my soul and touched the wounds it once helped to heal.

So here, in the week of its 50th anniversary, I say thank you. Thank you, Star Trek, for all that you have been. Thank you for being there. Thank you for the dream of a better future. Thank you for helping me find the best parts of myself instead of giving it all up.

In honor of Gene Roddenberry and his beautiful world: May we all live long and prosper; enjoy a quiet cup of Earl Grey, hot; and laugh with those who stand beside us in battle, whether our foes are angry, hot-blooded warriors or a mindless cultural hive whose only goal is to force us to be just like them.

Peace and long life, my friends.
And from this Trekkie to all of you:

Never stop exploring.

1st Grade

Gooseberry is now in first grade! He missed the first week because his uncle gave him chickenpox. I thought that was the reason I was feeling a little...off. We just didn't settle in. Plus, Jeremelon's brother and his family (wife, two-year-old, and newborn) are living with the rest of us, and it's not a big house. Big enough, that's what I keep telling myself. But honestly, four adults and three kids bathing in the same bathroom is...problematic. We've been making it work, but I think everyone is constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Heck, we caught Gooseberry's back to school cold, and I just can't shake it. Stress, stress, stress. It doesn't help that Jeremelon and his brother are complete opposites.

So, it was understandable that we were having trouble adjusting, and that I had hesitant feelings.

Except yesterday, after their first half-day for meetings and whatnot, I got a call from the principal. They're moving Gooseberry to a new classroom. (Actually, she said, "The District" is...) I have no idea why, as I got the message after hours and woke up today with laryngitis. So I'm sitting here, freaking out about what's going on and how he's going to handle it. He made a wonderful transition from his K classroom to his 1 classroom because they spent three or four weeks sending him over for an hour. And now we're going to uproot, probably give him a new teacher, possibly all-new classmates...and he only JUST started getting used to this one. Maybe the district has good reasons. Maybe it'll be better for him. But there are SO MANY variables when switching any young child's environment, and it's at least double the stress for spectrum kids. I'm trying REALLY HARD to stay calm, not panic, and not be angry. There are only four kids in his class right now, so the obvious answer is restructuring to conserve resources. But who knows?

Did I write an update post to show just how far he came last school year? I don't remember. If not, I need to do that. Today's post isn't about that. Because although I *want* to remember that stuff, today is a frustrating day.

Gooseberry is six. It's not uncommon for autistic kids to hold off potty training at all until now. Thankfully, Gooseberry has been using the toilet with no problem since preschool...with one exception. Last year, we had finally gotten him to a place where he was fully potty trained. He had the occasional potty accident when he got really focused on something and didn't want to have to stop to go. Like playing a video game. But we had a good month or so when we had no serious accidents. We had a free and clear horizon ahead.

And then he started school. He was in the functional class, where they work primarily on teaching kids functional skills to be able to take care of their own kiddo needs...like going to the bathroom. We could always tell when he was either learning something really hard or stressing over something, because he'd have a week or two of coming home in a different pair of pants. It was particularly bad at the end of the year. But in kindergarten, they scheduled potty breaks. They taught them to ask to go in between breaks, but they also made it part of the daily routine. For most autistic kids, that's probably a good thing. They need to learn to use the bathroom first, and schedules are their best, most favorite tool. But for Gooseberry, it made him regress. He went from being in charge of his own needs to needing reminders. From having control to being able to forget.

We spent the whole summer working on going #2 in the toilet. And he was getting better. But he's back to coming home from school in the wrong pants at least twice a week. Maybe it's just getting used to his new environment. Maybe he'll even out and we'll be able to retrain him to pay attention to his body. But if he changes classrooms? Then what? If he gets a new teacher he doesn't know? New classmates he's never met? He's a pretty darn resilient and brave little boy...but he has his limits.

And I'm going to have to write a note to his teacher that says, "Please stop throwing away his underwear. We don't have the money to keep buying new ones." And that just adds insult to injury...

March Update

My goodness! I haven't updated since September! I've been thinking about it. Listing in my head all the things I should comment on. All the progress Gooseberry has made since starting school. But then I think of all the emotional energy I have to pour into that, and I go work on something else, instead. And the tribute to Alan Rickman I need to write? Forget about it.

Living with the in-laws is a study in lying low. Making us as small as possible. It's better than the first go-round in 2012; I don't feel like *I* have to be smaller, just that we need to make as small a footprint as possible. I'm worried about the next month or two, though. My mother-in-law snapped an old rod in her knee a couple weeks back and had surgery on it yesterday. Because of the damage done by a rod that was apparently too small, they had to put her in a whole-leg cast...which she can't lift because of her extremely advanced rheumatoid arthritis. So I have no idea how she's going to do things she needs to do - private sorts of things - when I'm the only person in the house. Suddenly, getting a job seems even more enticing than usual...

Life is stressful right now, mostly because our spring break was cancelled due to lice. We were supposed to spend ten days in California with my family after spending a day at Disney. Instead, we got the notice that someone in Gooseberry's classroom had lice the day before we were supposed to leave. So we spent that night and the following morning shampooing and washing and doing our best to mitigate the problem...because all three of us had evidence of the nasty little buggers. But the washing machine sort of broke, making things even more difficult. I didn't want to infect my mom and brothers, so we ended up going to Disney for a day, driving up to have breakfast with my family, and then coming back to Phoenix. It was a LOT of driving, and exhausting. We still have to go through the follow-up treatment tomorrow or the next day, and then maybe I can stop worrying about. (Except I won't...because Arizona is a superlice state, filled with little bugs who genetically aren't affected by the over-the-counter stuff. GROSS.) Really, that's my life right now. GROSS.

And that's really all we've got going on right now. Exciting, right? I could tell Disney stories - Gooseberry was wonderful and loved it SO MUCH. But I have to get to my professional stuff now, before the day is gone and I've frittered it away. :)

Enjoy your spring (Yay, spring!), and may you never have to learn how to kill lice. (Also, never ever EVER do an internet search to find out what they look like, even for reference. Just...don't.)