40 Things I Know

August 25, 2011 //
7

Today is my 40th birthday.  How do I feel about that?  Frankly, I think it’s fabulous.  I’ve never had a problem with the fact that I’m getting older.   It’s just a number, folks.  I don’t feel 40.  I don’t think I act 40.  I hope I don’t look 40.

My good buddy Angie Weber, who bravely faced her 40th birthday back in June, took to her FB page to share 40 things she knows about herself at 40.  I loved reading her list.   It reminded me why we have been friends for 30 years.  And it inspired me to do one of my own.

Here are 40 things I know  - about myself and the world – at 40:

1.  I’ve been fat and I’ve been (relatively) thin – but my upper thighs are gelatinous no matter my weight.  Thankfully, I know my self-worth isn’t contained in my cottage cheese thighs.  (And Lands End makes a killer swim mini.)

2.  It’s impossible to mix peanut butter and chocolate and have the end result not be freakin delicious.  (See #1)

3.  There is no comfort greater than being in the arms of the man you love, especially when he’s clean shaven.

4.  There isn’t a single adult on the planet who couldn’t benefit from the services of a skilled clinical psychologist.  We all have our demons.  Those of you who scoff at this are the ones who need to make the first appointments.  Just sayin.

5.  Siblings.  Everyone should have one.  If your kid doesn’t have one, make one.  If you don’t have one, find someone who fits the part and pretend.  (It’s worked for me and Auntie Gina and Aunt Marpa for years.)

6.  You don’t have to attend church on Sunday to be a good, moral person.

7.  You know the saying, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”?  It’s horribly painful, but true.

8.  Cancer and politics suck.  Seriously.

9.  A happy childhood is a beautiful gift.  You should thank the people responsible for yours.

10.  It is possible to physically attend college and still miss out on the experience.  Just ask Aunt Marpa. But if you do it right, it will be some of the happiest years of your life.

11.  One of the greatest pleasures in life is being a member of a small, intimate group.  The high school jazz band.  A college fraternity.  The summer staff at a Girl Scout Camp.  The faculty of a small elementary school.  Belonging feels good.

12.  If what you’re doing doesn’t make you happy, stop doing it.   Life is too short.

13.  A runner’s high is real.  Such a shame there’s only one way to experience it.

14.  Hearing your child take their first breath is a life altering experience.  Unfortunately, I know the opposite is also true.

15.  It is possible to speak volumes without ever saying a word.

16.   Boones Farm wine is highly underrated.  Just sayin.

17.  Right now, there is someone who wishes they had your life.

18.  You never forget your first love.

19.  A good teacher can alter the course of your future.

20.  In your darkest moments, something or someone will appear to give you a healthy dose of perspective.  Keep your eyes peeled.

21.  You can’t move away from your problems.  They’ll always find you.

22.  I don’t care what color you are, what religion you practice, and who you go to bed with at night.  I just care if you’re a good person.

23.  Everyone should choose a professional sporting team to love – and then support them, win or lose, for the rest of your days.  There’s nothing better than being an athletic supporter.  (I crack myself up.)  Go Steelers!

24.  Photographs are priceless.  Take pictures often. ( I highly recommend the photo 365 app on your iphone.)

25.  Being really organized is hard work, but it makes day-to-day life so much simpler.

26.  Las Vegas isn’t reality.  But its super fun.

27.  When raising a child, the days are long, but the years are short.

28.  Halloween is a stoopid holiday.  I’d like to boycott, but I like dressing up my kids too much.

29.  I have the soul of a vegetarian and the taste buds of a carnivore.

30.  Kindness is contagious.  Unfortunately, I think shittiness is, too.

31.  The most homophobic person you know has a bad case of self loathing.

32.  Good parents realize that their children will learn a lot more if they are allowed to stumble and fall than if they are shielded from ever doing so.

33.  The unhappiest people I know are the ones who spout sunshine and flowers every day on Facebook.

34.  I’m convinced that the only real path to happiness is to love and be loved.

35.  I can recall moments in my life when I was a total shithead to people – and it really makes me sad.

36.  I’m pretty tolerant of the use of the word “retarded”  - but if you call someone a “retard” I will come at you like a spider monkey.  I have zero tolerance for “retard” and “faggot.”  If you are the parent of a teenager, do what you can do erase those words from your child’s vocabulary.

37.  Feet are gross.  So is Feta cheese.  And I’m convinced the similarity of those two names isn’t mere coincidence.

38.  I try to be forgiving, but when I’m done with you, I’m done.  I can hold a grudge.

39.  If your family doesn’t have any traditions – even silly ones – you need to start some today.

40.  Bravo reality TV is good for the soul.  Word.

 

Thanks for blessing the first 40 years of my life with such intense happiness, friends.

Categories Uncategorized

Two Wallets Left!

August 13, 2011 //
1

Don’t miss out!  There are two fuzzy little nuggets of happiness left for the taking, which means that Auntie Gina’s fundraising effort is $75 richer thanks to Penny, Kelly, and Jen.  (Thanks, friends!)  Aunt Marpa is lobbying hard to take home one of these beauties (even though she received an enlarged version in black as a Christmas present 2 years ago) so hurry up and claim yours so I won’t have to keep saying no!

Categories Uncategorized

Something in Return

August 11, 2011 //
2

It’s been a busy month at Chez Hogan.  We’ve been to the Outer Banks, spent lots of quality time with our friends, and have been concentrating on seeing our glass as half full.  But more on all of that later.

I’m here today to talk to you about Auntie Gina – my best buddy for 20 years.  In just 5 short weeks, Gina will be traveling to Seattle to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3-day For the Cure.  This is a serious undertaking.  Auntie Gina will be walking 60 miles over the course of 3 days to raise money for breast cancer research.

I remember a couple of years ago when my friend Evelyn first mentioned the “3-day” to me.  She wanted me to commit to doing it with her. I told her if it was a 3-day Krispy Kreme binge, I was in.  A 3-day knit-a-thon.  I’m there.  3-days of reading on a sunny beach?  Count me in.  But three days of walking?  20 miles a day?  Thanks.  But no thanks.

So I am in total awe of my friend Gina’s commitment to this daunting task.  She’s walked.  And cross trained.  And walked.  And done yoga.  And walked.  And done body pump.  And walked.  All year.  I wish I had an ounce of the get-up-and-go spirit she’s conjured up for this walk.  I’ve sat back all year and watched my friend be transformed by this experience, too.  She’s more confident.  She’s being more patient and forgiving with herself.   She’s kicking a** and taking names.  I love it.

Of course, she’s left this former runner in the dust – sitting on the couch with a dozen chocolate chip cookies.  But that’s neither here nor there.

So I decided to do a little something to show my support – and to help her reach her fundraising goal of $3,000.  I got out my knitting needles and made some cute little felted wool wallets.

Here they are straight off the needles.  They are knitted in 100% wool.  After I finished them , I threw them in the washing machine in super hot water, and voila!  Felted wool credit card wallet:

They are pink (how appropriate) and fuzzy and thick and lovely.  Perfect size for your credit cards or gift cards.  Each one has a magnetic closure concealed by a covered button.

They make me happy.  Would you like one?

The first five people who visit Auntie Gina’s fundraising page:

www.reginaiswalking.com

And make a donation of at least $25.00 will receive one of these pink lovelies free of charge.  Just come back to this blog and leave a comment telling me you made a donation, and I’ll send one off to you post haste!

(You can send mailing information to zeroexpectations.hogan@gmail.com.)

So support a good cause, and get a little something cute and fuzzy from yours truly in exchange!

(Family members of both the walker and the knitter are not eligible to receive a fuzzy pink wallet.  This means YOU Aunt Marpa.)

Categories Uncategorized

what i didn’t say

July 18, 2011 //
8

Mac is autistic.  If you are my friend on Facebook, you already knew that.  If you are just a devoted blog reader, you probably didn’t because I never wrote about it.  I’ve known since he was 8 months old but I didn’t tell you.

Forgive me?

Why didn’t I mention this, you ask?  In all honesty, there were just other much more important things going on.  I was consumed by Lois’s medical condition and the overwhelming day-to-day battle we were waging.  When I did find the time and the motivation to update the blog, I knew it was Lois you wanted to hear about.  I hinted a few times that I had something to tell you about Mac, but it just never seemed to happen.

Keep in mind, although I knew my boy was autistic, nobody else seemed to want to admit it!  The few friends who got to see Mac during Lois’s illness tried desperately to reassure me that he was a typical toddler.  Every speech therapist, physical therapist, infant educator, and music therapist who walked through my door to work with Lois heard every week how concerned I was about Mac.  They all patted my hand and told me he was fine.

Am I angry about that?  No way.

I think my friends knew I had a lot on my plate and were just trying to reassure me so I could have one less thing to worry about.  They were trying to spare me.  Bless their hearts.

Did it work?  No way.

Since I couldn’t get them to take me seriously, I went to to Mac’s pediatrician and begged for an evaluation.  She cocked her head, and gently put her hand on my arm, and said, “Catherine.  Lightning doesn’t strike twice.  He’s fine.”

No, Dr. S.  Sometimes lightning strikes THREE times.

I love my pediatrician.  I remember at the time being really frustrated that no one would take me seriously.  But in hindsight, I just lump her in with the rest of the crowd who were trying to protect me.  Granted, she wasn’t doing Mac any favors, but I can’t hold that against her.

For Christmas I asked for this book:

Could it Be Autism?

And I read it from cover to cover in an afternoon.  There were some little diagnostic checklists inside that I eagerly filled out.  One contained a numbered list of behaviors, and for each behavior your child exhibited, you put a checkmark next to the number.  After tallying your checkmarks, if you had more than 10 you were to seek further evaluation.  Mac had 20.  Then there were 5 critical behaviors, and if your child got a checkmark on ANY one of those, you needed to seek help.  Mac got a checkmark for all 5.

Hello?  That’s some pretty convincing stuff.

Miss Judy – Lois’s head cheerleader and one of my favorite people on the planet – finally got Mac an evaluation with the Early Intervention program, and he easily qualified.  At sixteen months old he had no words.  That’s a severe enough delay to buy you a first class ticket into speech therapy – or in our case, into the arms of a capable, knowledgeable educator like Miss Judy.

You know, all this time I’ve thought my friends were just being kind to me when they refused to see Mac’s autistic tendencies.  But you know what?  I’m sitting here considering that maybe they really didn’t see them.  I bet you have a picture in your mind of what an autistic child looks like, right?  Is he staring off into space?  Flapping his hands?  Screaming?  Biting himself?  Tantruming?

Yikes.  That’s an awful stereotypical description of autism.  You should be ashamed of yourself!

OK.  I confess. It’s what I picture, too.  Shame on me.

Mac doesn’t do any of that.  When you walk in a room, he knows you’re there.  He’ll look at you and make limited eye contact.  But he probably won’t smile.  He certainly won’t greet you.  And he’ll more than likely avoid you like the plague.  (Unless you are Mr. Dustin or Uncle Scootie, both of whom Mac has taken a shining to.)  He laughs.  He smiles.  He understands peek-a-boo.  He runs across the room into his father’s arms every day when Jay gets home.  He does the motions to the Wheels on the Bus.  He’s laid back, calm, and hardly ever cries.

Let’s just say that I can see why my friends were reluctant to label Mac autistic.

Me?  I had no reluctance whatsoever.  I knew he was, and I knew I needed a professional to agree so that I could begin to get him the help he needs.   That finally happened shortly after Lois died.  He was evaluated by Commonwealth Autism Service, and this evaluation was no joke.  Mac sat in the floor and worked with numerous different therapists and educational experts while the rest of the team watched behind a two-way glass partition.  Then the entire team came together with Jay and me and talked about what they saw.

They saw a beautiful, charming, sweet little boy – with autism.

I was so relieved to finally have my suspicions confirmed I wanted to stand up and cheer - probably not the reaction they are accustomed to when delivering that bit of news.

The $250 I paid for that evaluation was some of the best money I ever spent.  I received a 50 page report detailing exactly what Mac’s strengths and weaknesses are, what he needs to work on, and where I can turn for help.  Awesome.

So faithful blog readers, although we have a new address, it turns out my new blog isn’t much different from the one I left behind.  I’m still writing about an extraordinary child and all the ways raising that child is making my life extraordinary.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But frankly, I think I speak for my husband when I tell you that we could do with a little “less” extraordinary from now on.

Categories Autism

all your fault

July 8, 2011 //
7

Hi friends.  Are you surprised to hear from me?

You’re confused by the new blog title, right?  It’ OK to admit it.  It won’t hurt my feelings.  I know I’m running the risk of casual readers assuming it is some kind of statement regarding raising a child with special needs.

Laughable.  Seriously.

It actually wasn’t until I thought of this blog name that I finally felt free to write again. Can I explain?

I started Lois’s little blog to keep our friends back in Christiansburg updated on the comings and goings of the Hogan family.  (Honestly no one really cared what Jay and I were up to.  They just wanted to see pictures of Lois.  And I took at least 400 a day, so it was quite easy to accommodate their wishes.)  But Lois’s blog became more than a communication tool with friends far away.  It reached a much larger audience than I ever imagined, and suddenly I was educating people on raising a child with Down Syndrome.  I certainly wasn’t offering any formal education, but I believe every reader learned something about Down Syndrome – about the value of a human life – about the magic of loving a child with special needs.  Writing about Lois came as easy to me as loving her did.  Sharing her with you was pure joy.

And you wrote me kind comments and emails and told me how much you loved reading my blog.  You loved my conversational style.  My humor.  You thought I should write a book.  You chastised me when the blog went quiet for too long.  You invited friends to share our story.  If I had taken your comments to heart, I would not be able to navigate my over-inflated head through tight doorways.

Instead, I found your praise paralyzing.  What once came so easily was now torturous as I tried to live up to the expectations I perceived you had for me and my little blog.  And when we lost our darling girl, I knew you wanted to hear from me.  I knew you waited for a blog update that would explain what happened and how the Hogans were coping.  I knew you wanted me to be able to make some kind of meaning of the tragedy that befell our family – to put a neat little bow on Lois’s life with my words.  But I was simply unable to write.

It’s all your fault.  You and your stinkin’ kind words.  I hope you feel appropriately sheepish.

Jay and I have been seeing a counselor to help us try to bridge the chasm that opened up under us in February.  We’ve done some talking about this whole expectations thing in the past several weeks.  I won’t bore you with the inner workings of my mind, but this is an issue that plagues me (like I think my friends expect me to be “ok” about losing Lois) and one I’d like to try to beat.  So here I am.

I know you’d like to hear about the last months, weeks, and days of Lois’s life, but I also know you’ll forgive me if I’m not ready to talk about that yet.  She is painfully, horribly, dearly missed by her parents, her aunt(s) and uncle(s), her cousins and her Grandparents.  Every day brings a reminder of her absence and to add to that pain by detailing her death just really isn’t my idea of a good time right now.

But we were blessed with another precious and special child to raise, and every day we get out of bed because he deserves all the love and attention we can give him.

Thank you for traveling this journey with us – and still being here on the other side.  Just check your expectations at the door, please.

Categories Administration
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