New Floors!

I made Yukon swear that we refrain from saving all of our remodeling projects for the day we put the house on the market. We are NOT moving, but in the past our M.O. has been to decide on a relocation, select a realtor, put the sign up, and realize almost immediately how outdated our home truly is. Not this time.

Last winter it was a complete remodel of two bathrooms, for winter 2010 we move to floors. All floors upstairs, to be exact. No more gunky, old, blah-beige carpet that was probably installed in the 1980's. Nope, we are replacing the stained and tattered wall-to-wall with a lovely Hawthorne Hickory made by Swiftlock Plus and arriving in packs of 10 planks measuring 16.37 square feet. Want the bar code? I could tell you with relative ease due to the fact that the whole 900 square feet of Hickory is sitting right next to me in my office, the only room in the house without an abundance of displaced furniture. At least it smells good.

Yesterday our Handyman's Handyman (the stepfather of friends and one of the most gruffly compassionate men I have ever met) ripped up carpet in the living room, dining area and hallway with the help of a five-year-old who couldn't resist a little jig in the now echoing area.

Today Handyman is laying new subflooring over the almost frightening old; it's a wonder no one has ended up in the casement below. Oops. By next week the first phase should be done and we move to my office and the two bedrooms, where anything outdated, unworn or unused has little chance of surviving my Value Village triage.

Update From the Wolf Den: If, Then...

I have written before about my personal struggle with control. Control over Wolf with respect to his past, present, and future situations has been a way to secure, in my mind, anyway, his behavior and hopefully prevent any disasters. We all know that hasn't happened. But the mind is a crazy part of the body, and still I kept at it with a dilligence only those who have similar personalities, or children, could understand.

When Wolf moved down to CHYC, the burden of 24-7 supervision was suddenly and delightfully lifted from my body, mind, and soul with a sense of freedom I am sure compares only to the lifting of a thousand bricks from one's back. But a mother is not released from her child so easily, and after a full year had passed, Wolf's behaviors had evolved, and questions had risen about his diagnosis, appropriateness, and future, a new kind of thinking appeared.

I wrote about the "Triple Think Threat" last winter; my ability to create Plan A, B, and if need be, C, to be ready for just about anything (I'd be a wonder on a disaster planning team, fyi). Now, as Wolf is learning how to avert his own behavioral downfalls, I, too, am figuring out how to simply let some things be. Yes, just Be.

This involves confronting my worst fears and feelings about Wolf head-on and eyes wide-open with no plan, no contingency, no nothing. Learning to ask "What if?" with all the things that may come with it. And then simply letting it go.

Sometimes one must sit still in order to prepare to move forward.

I'll Have to Try That Again...

Huh, how about that? Shortly after I wrote about my son's apparent lack of ability to communicate with his parents, he calls. Go figure.

I must try this again another time....

Oh, and Wolf is fine. He is working with the Group (peers who all hold each other accountable and subsequently vote one another up a Level when the time comes) to possibly move up today to one.more.level.

Hello, Wolf, Hello, Come in, Wolf...

Yes, having a child living out of state is in some ways like perpetual summer camp. You know, when moms always say 'be sure to write' and the kid says 'yeah, yeah' and then never does? Such is our life these days, although with greater consequences.

Usually when Wolf resists picking up the telephone to call us, it is because he is in trouble and does not want to tell us, as if telling us makes the incident all the more real. The mind of a teenager is interesting enough without the denial and lack of empathy of an Asperger's brain not accepting the reality of a situation. Yukon and I receive information second hand via Therapist B. who is fabulous at letting me know via email what is truly up. Or down, depending upon who tells the story.

I am sure when we talk on Wednesday morning the explanations will be interesting, to say the least.

Winter Hangs On, But Here Comes the Sun

I had to wear my sunglasses after 5 p.m. yesterday. Indeed noteworthy due to the fact that last week I wasn't. Nobody was. Finally, finally, Anchorage-ites can enjoy a few extra minutes of daylight, enough to turn even the most S.A.D-ly affected towards the West.

Even five minutes helps, although the encroachment of longer days is so subtle people aren't really sure it is happening. We're afraid to be too encouraged by the fact that most of the commute home is now in dusk rather than dark, or that kids are waiting for the school bus in a gray haze rather than a starry night.

We'll take it, though, since sunshine has the incredible ability to improve our moods and lighten our loads, no matter how heavy they may be. Even a near-zero degree day seems no match for the power of sunlight, as we found out today during Bear's weekly Nordic ski class. Bundled to our eyebrows at Kincaid park in southwest Anchorage, we all enjoyed a few hours of blissful skiing under bluebird skies.

Rosy-cheeked Bear skied so hard he finally collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the little hill upon which the kids practiced their "super slides" and "pizzas". It took a valiant Yukon to trundle him back up towards the park chalet, skis and all.

No, it's not quite Hawaii, but then, Hawaii doesn't have our view.

The AK Fam Takes Off

Every once in a while during an Alaskan winter, this mommy will start to lose her mind and begin fashioning delusions of grandeur about trips to Hawaii or Mexico or, at the very least, someplace where there is no snow and daylight until at least 5 o'clock. I want out. Now.

But then we end up taking a trip like the one we returned from yesterday, and I throw all those warm-weather notions into the ditch. It's been a tough winter, but Yukon and I and little Bear somehow managed over the course of three days at Sheep Mountain Lodge to remember why we live here and recall how a place where frozen eyelids and frost-nipped fingers can engage a passion for life unrivaled by anywhere else our family has managed to call 'home'.

A quick and scenic few hours from our front door, Sheep Mountain is a popular spot for summer tourists travelling the Glenn Highway on their compulsary tour of the state. In the winter, the Lodge is the secret treasure for Anchorage-ites looking for some uncrowded Nordic skiing, snowshoeing, and/or relaxing. Few people, little traffic but for the occasional overland transport truck or the one school bus from nearby Glacier View School, and the quiet confidence of owners Zack and Anjanette Steer, an Iditarod mushing family whose unobtrusive yet gracious hospitality made us feel as if we were old friends from the moment we met.

Our log cabin hideway was perfect, the beer stayed cold, and our little son was able to play and play until his little paws were dragging the ground; which he did after a morning sledding with the Steer's youngest cub. We slept in, ate good food, and skied along premium ski trails affording views made even more spectacular by the stunning blue skies and near-zero temperatures.

Zack Steer was in the midst of last-minute training for his Iditarod team, choosing and changing and making final preparations for this race (beginning of March) and the Yukon Quest, which begins in a mere two weeks in Fairbanks. The blue tarp in front of the winterized actual Lodge building houses the stash of supplies and food for both races, and the Lodge interior has been transformed into a staging area and workshop for Zack and his dog handler, Jake. It was a fascinating look into just how much work is involved for a 1,000+ mile race across a frozen land, and we were humbled to see the whole family's efforts.

No TV, no radio, no internet or cell service. Just we, they, and the Alaskan wilderness. We welcomed the yips and yowls of nearby coyotes every evening as a final statement that all seems well in our world, just as it is.

Update From the Wolf Den: State of Alaska Showdown

For the past month, Yukon and I have been confronted with requests for information from the State of Alaska Department of Health and Human Services regarding our son. It seems that the State, benefactors of Wolf's Utah experience, are beginning to inquire as to the appropriateness of his treatment and progress (or lack thereof) in their review and subsequent "discharge planning".

While we are indeed eternally grateful to the State for their willingness to provide funds to care for children like ours if such cannot be provided in-house, we are not always thrilled with the line of questioning that appears periodically.

Up until this point I have been reluctant to bring the State of Alaska into my blog and brain, preferring instead to walk the yellow brick road in a state of implied ignorance until such time as my parental facts are required. I have a background in long term care and Medicaid through my time in Washington State assisted living; I know how long it takes for the wheels of anything state-related to grind forward, and I also know sometimes it is better to wait for them to come to me.

In this case the latter is proving more effective. Our son is a conundrum, an anomoly, an "interesting case" to those who push the paper around and call the shots. He also happens to be a living, breathing person with as much potential as any other teenager, and I, along with my Team (Yukon and Therapist B., among others) are not willing to make many concessions for the sake of the State. Sorry. As in, Over My Dead Body sorry.

I will expand on reasons for all of the above later; it is a volume of information that requires much explanation, but suffice it to say I am climbing a mountain made from paper and phone calls, and need extra-clingy crampons and an ice axe.

It is interesting to note that for my fifteen years of being on the "other side" of a residential facility, making daily decisions and concessions and judgements without knowing the inner workings of my residents, not really; I now find myself in that seat fighting for the future of my own loved one.

Full circle.