A promise kept (finally)

I'm still not sure what possessed me to make my 5K promise last year. I do know that I blew my self-imposed deadline by a number of months. Life and health got in my way for awhile, and though it was tempting to let my online commitment fade quietly away, I decided a promise was a promise.

Athletic activities have never come easily to me. When skills like motor coordination and endurance were handed out, I was out to lunch. I'm a lousy runner.

On March 16, I kept my word and ran my first 5K. In case anyone is doubting my assessment of my capabilities, know that the 25-year-old winner of the Shamrock 5K finished the entire course in less time than it took me to complete a mile. I met my goal of running the entire race, with no walking and no long pauses. 

I have nothing but respect for a race in which at least half the field warms up with a beer.

At the starting line. During the race I got a lot of compliments on my Team TACA shirt as people passed me. 

Post race. More beer. Tired feet.

To mangle a quote from Dorothy Parker, "I don't like running. I like having run." Which probably means I need to sign up for another race. I'm unlikely to run for the love of it; the looming spectre of another 5K will keep me going.

As of April 1, the fundraising cycle begins anew. For our annual update and slideshow, visit my 2014 Family and Friends page.

The numbers are up. Again.

I told Mike this morning that I can't decide who aggravates me more, the people who deny an autism epidemic or the ones who characterize autism as a gift.

Mike chose option 2. Good call.

If it's a gift, then on behalf of the 1 in 68 children the CDC now estimates is affected by autism, I'd like to return it.

Some may read that and decide that I don't love or accept my daughter. They’d be absolutely wrong. Leah is loved and valued for who she is. She is a gift. Her autism is not.

Autism bestows seizures on some children. My friend whose son is attended by a nurse at school because his seizures are life-threatening has never expressed gratitude for his autism. Her love for him shines through when she talks about him, though.

Children with autism are six to eight times more likely to have GI problems than their neurotypical peers. Leah was diagnosed with celiac disease at 3. I'm fairly certain frequent warnings from her parents about food that isn't 'safe' for her gets old.

Almost half of all children with autism wander, and 42 children have died as a result of wandering since 2011. Do those grieving families think of autism as a gift? Doubtful.

My friends whose toddlers stopped talking overnight have never characterized this as a gift. Some of those children regained speech after a lot of hard work. Others didn't.

We've worked for years to treat Leah's autism. She's happy, which is great news for her parents. She's progressing, albeit on a different trajectory than her sisters. And we've been able to identify and address issues like her celiac disease precisely because we pursued treatment. Her life is better because we ignored anyone who implied there was nothing we could do.

Meanwhile, the government, via the CDC and the IACC, has watched the autism rate rise with no sense of urgency. Even the likelihood that a significant chunk of the lucky 1 in 68s will need government assistance when they reach adulthood doesn't seem to be motivating anyone. We're preparing Leah for a job -- she goes to a school with a robust work-study program and works on life skills at home, too. But she will never drive a car, and is unlikely to land a job with benefits or a high salary. I have no illusions: It will fall to us to care for Leah for the rest of her life.

That's our privilege, because we love her, but that's also an extremely expensive 'gift.'

More gems from the afterlife

Those we love are never truly gone, especially when we find old letters from them during the process of digitizing financial records.

During my scanning extravaganza (my ScanSnap portable document scanner was money very well spent), I found a letter titled Really Really Useful Advice that my dad wrote me when I was a fairly new college graduate. The letter has turned out to be a good companion to his Guide to Good Nosh. Sprinkled among the legitimate advice were a few gems, probably meant to ensure I read the letter all the way through.

"Beware all brokers. They are bungling chameleons who shall be named Rupert." -- Benjamin Franklin

"And God took pity on Lucifer, so before casting him forth from heaven to live amongst the debris of Humanity he taught him to speak French." -- Attila the Hen [sic]

"And God confounded Satan by creating real estate agents." -- Archbishop of Canterbury

So I'll be digitizing the letter, too, so that it can be passed on to Lauren and Maddie at the proper moment. 

God is an Englishman ...

Travel adventures

I was spoiled in 2013, with a trip to Florida for the BCS championship game (a fabulous time, but the less said about the actual game, the better); trips to California for a TACA conference and for spring break fun; a European vacation with Lauren and Maddie, my mom, and my sisters; and a trip to Vegas to celebrate Mike's milestone birthday and our milestone anniversary.

When the holidays rolled around, I discovered Mixbook, a great site that allowed my sisters and me to collaborate on photo books. As much as I love digital photos, and the convenience of pulling out my phone to show off important pictures, I still love making and looking at photo books. Part of me still loves holding a finished product in my hand.

Here is the book I designed for Lauren and Maddie:

| Start your own Photo Books | Create custom Christmas Cards

The year in pictures

2013 lent itself to photo gifts. Lauren and Maddie had a lot of adventures to commemorate and also have freshly painted rooms, with plenty of space for wall art. 

The day we spent at California Adventure may have been Leah's favorite day of the year. All of the day's activities revolved around the Phineas and Ferb Dance Party showtimes. Luckily, Lauren and Maddie were game. Leah spent all four shows getting as close to the title characters as possible. The whole cast was very tolerant.

Swim team is the highlight of Maddie's summer. Mike and I cannot take any credit for the shots of her in the water -- she has a teammate whose father shoots hundreds of pictures at every meet. I thought she should get to enjoy some of them.

 

Lauren is in a major photobombing phase. She deserves to have some of these faces staring back at her in the mornings.

Happy birthday, part 2: Nosh on!

For my father, there was a very fine line between 'poignant' and 'snivelly.' A few weeks after Lauren, Maddie, and I got back from Europe, I was looking for some culinary inspiration and ran across this gem:

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After he retired, Dad discovered he quite liked taking charge of the cooking and was adept at improvising in the kitchen. One Christmas, he decided he needed to pass on the culinary knowledge he'd accumulated over the years. His 'Guide to Good Nosh' was born.

Thumbing through it, I could practically hear him. Sprinkled throughout the recipes were Dad's unique pearls of parental wisdom.

A few examples:

• His cooking instructions for Salmon Dijon Eh!: "Stick in oven. Pour glass of wine and sip while waiting 25 mins."
• Marinade for kebabs: "Mix and mash, simmer for as long as you like. This also removes odors from most bathrooms."
• Louisiana Crab Cakes: "Serve with remoulade sauce or store-bought tartar sauce if you are planning to prepare the spare bedroom."
• Oven-Roasted Lamb Shanks (notes about the red wine in the recipe): "Any red plonque will do, but I prefer port wine ... The raisins plump up into little port pills!"
• On the red wine called for in his Coq Au Vin recipe: "If you are cooking a lot you can use half wine and half chicken stock -- you miserable cheapskate."
• Serving suggestion for his Rubbishy Lemon Chicken recipe (which shares a page with his Classic Lemon Chicken recipe): "Serve with any old rubbish your laziness deserves!"
• Bashed In Chicken (the first step to making stuffed chicken breasts): "Take a meat mallet, baseball bat, chopper blade or rolling pin and pound the hell out of the chicken. I find it easier if you pick a chicken named Hillary."
• In the tapas section: "Give one to each guest and keep the rest for yourself."

I can almost hear him saying Buenos noshes!

Happy birthday, Dad

Today, my father would have turned 70. I am (naturally) behind on posting the summer travel pictures. In Dad's honor, I am skipping to the middle of the trip, to the day we dedicated to him. 

As the plans evolved for my summer trip to Europe with Lauren and Maddie, we added an important day to our itinerary. My mom decided it was time to bring Dad home to England. He was cremated; the plan was to scatter some of his ashes in significant places. We spent a Saturday morning leaving pieces of him at four important places.

Our first stop was the final furlong at Ascot racecourse. My father grew up in nearby Sunninghill. His father was a frequent visitor to the track here. There was no racing that day, so we were able to access the grounds and walk right up to the rails.  

The grandstand was redone in '06, and many, including Dad, were unhappy with the views from the grandstand after that. Nonetheless, Ascot was one of Dad's favorite places for most of his life.

The new grandstand.

The final furlong.

After a beautiful walk, and more than a few tears, we went on to a spot along the Thames River, in Runnymede. We chose the Thames because Dad always loved the water.

He would have enjoyed the boat docked across the way, too.

Our third stop was the churchyard where his parents are buried. Bringing part of him back to his parents felt right.

The church.

I still can't look at this picture without tearing up a bit.

We went on to the Nags Head, meeting up with old friends from our time in England, including Dad's best mate, Reg. The best part about the group from the Nags has always been that it doesn't matter whether it's been 10 hours or 10 years since our last visit -- the welcome is warm and the conversation is easy. We left a bit of Dad in the garden there.

Site of many midday pints back in the day. Now that Heather is an adult, she found her luck with the fruit machine wasn't quite the same.

It was the perfect end to our tribute to him. And it truly felt like we'd brought him home.

Fiddy

Our summer adventures started in May, with a certain milestone birthday. We celebrated Mike with a surprise party, and in retrospect, scheduling said party 10 days after the birthday was an act of genius, since I spent his birthday weekend with a still-contagious case of pneumonia.

Mike's friend/former coworker Stacey used a golf game to get him out of the house. Somehow, even though she gave him a 10-minute head start, Stacey arrived at the party before he did. [Insert elderly driver joke here. We did.]

He was greeted by this:

Best. Party favor. Ever.

My sister Heather introduced me to the Face Kebab when she had a bunch of them made for my brother-in-law Kevin's 40th. I knew we needed them for Mike too. Since we still have quite a few of them left, it's possible the kids will all go as Mike for Halloween.

He ditched the head gear as soon as he could.

The party location was Putnam Lane's usual site for shenanigans: the shared driveway area across the street from our house. One driveway held the food (including County Line barbecue), another held the band, hidden behind a garage door until showtime. Their mandate: To play as many Who songs as they could.

Mike joined the band for a few numbers

He wasn't the only one enamored with the bongos. Leah was particularly enamored, and the band was really good to her.

The festivities continued well into the night. The next morning, Mike wasn't the only old who might have been feeling his age.

Some partygoers were exhausted by 11 or so ...

... And then found a fifth wind and kept going.

Not in my backyard

One of the hot topics in my news feed last week was a hateful, anonymous screed directed toward an Ontario family living with autism. I've mentally responded to the writer about 15 different ways, sometimes like a trucker, other times with a lacerating monologue (think West Wing in its heyday). It wasn't just the writer's vicious words that upset me -- the letter itself was a reminder that Leah's world may never be completely insulated from intolerance.

I left those responses in my head, because taking the time to type them felt akin to giving that writer more energy than he or she deserves. Soon another, happier thought rose alongside the anger: Not in my backyard. Whatever happens in the wider world, in this neighborhood, Leah is safe. We have awesome neighbors. And the good people are the ones who deserve the words, not the sociopaths.

Leah flaps and vocalizes and sometimes delivers 'yes' or 'no' answers in threes. Sometimes she doesn't answer at all when spoken to -- one thing she has in common with many 13-year-olds. At our neighbors' houses, she has made herself at home in upstairs bedrooms and in backyard hammocks and swings, usually without taking the trouble to ask permission. Once we had to stop her from breaking into the home of her favorite cat because she wanted to say hello.

How do the neighbors respond? With acceptance. With smiles. Sometimes with kindness we may never fully repay. Wherever the fun is on Putnam Lane, our family feels welcome. This week's story reminded me that we can't take that for granted.  

Thud [Cough]

The other shoe dropped, again, which gives me the opportunity to make another running-related pun.

Off I went on Friday, for another endoscopy to gauge my ulcer recovery. The innards looked fine, the anemia numbers are improving, but it turns out I was incubating a case of pneumonia.

So instead of carousing in honor of his birthday, Mike spent Friday at the hospital with me for said endoscopy; Friday night with the kids and the puppy while I tried to sleep off a fever; Saturday chauffeuring kids and canceling the sitter while the fever persisted; and Sunday sending me to the Minute Clinic and cooking a dinner that I ate in bed.

I have no experience with pneumonia, and had to quiz the doctor on duration and symptoms. The longest-lasting one? Fatigue.

I'm fatigued with fatigue.

Even though I am making outstanding progress toward my $5,000 goal, at this rate the June 5K isn't going to happen. However, my word is my bond (I think Elizabeth Dole once said that about Bob when he ran for president), so if your reason for giving was the image of me running, don't despair. I will keep my word on a new timetable, and run in the fall. The added benefit? You can imagine me training in July.

I am behind on my thank-yous, and happily, I have a quite a few to give:

Julie O'Sullivan. My sister. How does she owe me? Let me count the ways ...

Patsy Hamilton. My mother-in-law, and a devoted grandmother. But which half of her made the donation? The mother-in-law half might have ulterior motives.

Andrew and Jamie Dorman. He and I go back to high school. Enough said.

Cheryl Grant and Christine Musselman. Members of the Bunco group I've lost money to on a regular basis. Cheryl is the workout buddy of my neighbor Heather, and probably wants someone else on the business end of Heather's wine-fueled training plans.

Theresa Baxter, Teresa Crofoot, Michelle Rancourt, and Tara Wittig. Neighbors who are either really supportive, need a good laugh, or want to use me as target practice.

Karen Ramey. Fellow Domer. I thought alumni were supposed to stick together?

Christine Lucy. A friend of my sister Julie's from Georgetown. What did Julie tell her?

Seriously, TACA families appreciate your donations. Your help keeps our families moving toward recovery. Our page is still live, until June 30.