Oh, Dear

I should have known something was wrong when the child wouldn't eat his Go-Gurt. The slimy yogurt that comes in a plastic sleeve for the pleasure of slurping its gooey goodness did little to entice Bear for breakfast today. I chalked it up to being Monday. I did not for a minute think he was sick; that is, until I picked him up from preschool.

Pallid beyond belief, with dark circles under his eyes, I could not believe the ghost-faced little boy I was collecting was the same I had dropped off a mere two hours prior. "My forehead hurts, Mommy" was all he said when I asked if he felt okay. Uh-oh.

Double uh-oh when he followed that up with "I think I need a nap". Yes, that is certainly cause for alarm. Bear is now curled up in his bed, stuffed animals wedged all around him, shaking and sleeping at the same time. A dose of ibuprofin seemed to curb the initial fever, but only time will tell if we are dealing with the dreaded scourge of Swine Flu or some other virus. Poor little guy, and his birthday is Friday.

Given that Anchorage kids seem to come down with any number of viruses during the fall/winter months due to the fact that every window is kept tightly closed and people proximity is close, it is no wonder. We know two families who have been slammed hard by the H1N1 in the past week, and I am not looking for any reason to join them.

I'll be disinfecting the house, car, and dog now, should anyone need me.

Why We Write About Alaska

I've spent the weekend in and out of a fabulous travel and outdoor adventure expo in downtown Anchorage, so bear with me while I wax sentimental.

Yukon, Bear and I had a wonderful time meeting and greeting most of the travel vendors I have communicated with via email or phone this past summer. It was a bonanza of schmoozing for the coming year and making some new contacts for family-friendly Alaskan travel.

It is always amazing the depth and breadth of activities in Alaska; the hard part is weeding out the duds from the stars, which is another reason AKontheGO began. So enjoy my little soapbox post...

Family Fun at Mt. Hood; Part Two

Here are more pictures of our family fun weekend at Mt. Hood, our home away from home. Bear clearly had some good times frolicking among the trees and helping his Grandpa in the wood pile. Nice to have a child who truly does believe in the work = play scenario our cabin affords.

A highlight was embarking on a whole-family hike along the Ramona Falls trail, around 3 miles round trip. Love the photo of my sister, brother-in-law, and little nephew. It was nice to be able to spend some quality time with everyone and much laughter was available...

Yukon and I have decided Columbus Day makes a perfect time to visit; airfares are down, airports are quiet, and school is back in session. This may be a bit more difficult next year as Bear enters Kindergarten, but we'll adapt. After all, we are of the travel-aids-learning cadre.

Update From the Wolf Den: Teenage Wasteland Revisited

Raise your hand if you want to be a teenager again.

You remember those years; stressing about what to wear to school but maybe wearing the wrong thing anyway, lamenting bad hair days, zits, glasses, and lack of a boyfriend or girlfriend on football game days. Bodies were changing fast, or not fast enough, parents were wierd, or not wierd enough, and our lives were opening up and spitting out mixed signals that spelled confusion at best and utter chaos at worst.

You couldn't pay me to go through that again. Try going through it with little self-control and few skills to navigate the whole process that seemed to last simply forever.

It's a fascinating journey back to the teen years via Wolf, and watching his clumsy attempts at maturity are painful reminders of teen turmoil. It has been quite difficult to explain the value of being yourself when both Yukon and I remember how much teens want to be like everyone else. But our son will never be "like everyone else", so we're trying to find a safe zone that promotes maturity without sacrificing safety. As one can imagine, however, this creates some angst, so the virtue of patience has extolled itself upon us. With a few thousand miles separating Dad and Mom from the child in question, Therapist B. becomes our ally, smoothing hurt feelings and offering explanations about things misunderstood.

It was much, much easier to manage Wolf and his behaviors when he was little; I only needed to redirect, reassign, or remove, and bingo, behavior ended. Much harder with a teenager. Too smart to be redirected and too big to remove, AS teens require some sharp eyes and quick thinking on the part of parents, teachers, and caregivers, and only sometimes do we catch a behavior. The techniques of "thought switching" and utilizing coping skills becomes even more critical for teens struggling to fit in with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a life ring, and Wolf only gets it about a quarter of the time.

The good news is that by the time Bear reaches this stage, I think we'll be well-versed in Teenage Discussion Forums. No escape, little brother. We're all over this teen thing.

A fact Wolf was rather proud to hear this morning.

A Weekend at the Cabin

We ditched the rainy, windy weather of Anchoage on Friday morning and, despite threats from the National Weather Service of hurricane-strength winds blowing from the South, managed to arrive in Seattle, then Portland, in record time.

What began as an easy, off-season method of visiting family during the off-season last September is now morphing into an annual trip South. With both sides of the family located in either Portland or Seattle, and the family cabin near the lovely Mt. Hood, it makes the most sense to fly into Portland, spend a few days at The Cabin (as it is known), and then go back to Lake Oswego for the remaining time.

Bear enjoys his time with Grandpa, chopping wood with a hatchet, visiting the Zig Zag river that splashes and pours alongside the lower reaches of The Cabin's property line, and wearing his Adventure Hat. The Adventure Hat is an old hiking hat left by one visitor or another, and Bear has acquired it as his key to all things adventurous. He wears it everywhere and counts on its power to help him help his grandpa.

Yukon and I just took it easy, if you can call chainsawing downed trees from last winter's storm and hauling the remains down the driveway relaxing.

At least the beer was cold and the food good. And Grandpa and his oldest daugher had some chainsawing, tree-dropping, wood-hauling kind of fun. Just like once upon a time...

Mama, Do You Love Me?

Most Alaskans are familiar with Barbara M. Joosse's popular book that talks about the unconditional love of a mother for her child. I bought a copy of 'Mama, Do You Love Me' when Wolf was about four, subliminally knowing even then that we were in for a long parenting journey. Even more so now, as that four-year-old grows into a young man of sixteen. It was a hard family therapy session this morning, made even harder by Wolf's difficulties with honesty and his own self-esteem. Perhaps other parents of children with AS will be able to relate to some exerpts from Joosse's book today...

"Mama, do you love me?
Yes I do, Dear One.
How much?"

As much as it takes. As much time, effort, and tears to help you help yourself on a journey I am not sure most adults would be willing to embark.

"...How long?
I'll love you until the
umiak flies into the darkness,
till the stars turn
to fish in the sky,
and the puffin howls at the moon."

In other words, forever. Some things might happen; some crazy, unexpected and painful things, but I will be there. Still.

"Mama, what if I carried our eggs-
our ptarmigan eggs!-
and I tried to be careful,
and I tried to walk slowly,
but I fell
and the eggs broke?
Then I would be sorry.
But still,
I would love you."

Even when you tried to cook dinner by yourself and burned the pan black; even when you gave me recycled toys of your own for my birthday, even when you lost your friend's bicycle helmet trying to do the right thing...

"...What if I threw
water at our lamp?
Then, Dear One,
I would be very angry.
But still,
I would love you."

I was angry when you removed the stones from my grandmother's jewlery. I was even more angry when you lost them. But I still loved you, didn't I? You are more precious than those precious stones.

"What if I ran away?
Then I would be worried.
What if I stayed away and sang with the wolves
and slept in a cave?
Then, Dear One, I would be very sad.
But still, I would love you."

Even if, Wolf, you take a spot in that cave of darkness and pretend you belong there, even if we both know you do not, I will always welcome you back.

"What if I turned
into a musk-ox?
Then I would be surprised.
What if I turned into a walrus?
Then I would be surprised
and a little scared."

I understand your struggle to find your identity as You. I understand even more your desire to fit in among your peers. But you'll have to find your own space, where you are comfortable in your own skin, not that of someone else.

"What if I turned
into a polar bear,
and I was the meanest bear you ever saw
and I had sharp, shiny teeth,
and I chased you into your tent
and you cried?"

"Then I would be very surprised
and very scared.
But still,
inside the bear,
you would be you,
and I would love you."

Even confronting my worst wild animal fear would not stop this mother from coming out of her tent if it meant seeing you beyond those sharp, shiny teeth...

"I will love you,
forever and for always,
because you are
my Dear One."

Update From the Wolf Den

I'm sitting here in my office, watching the sun finally creep its way over the Chugach mountain range (yes, it is that time of year when the sun takes a bit longer to appear), and waiting for the phone to ring.

Every month (mostly), the staff of CHYC and I engage in what's called a "Care Coordination Review", which loosely translated means a roundtable discussion of all aspects of Wolf's care and feeding. When/if I am at the school during these discussions, I attend them in person. If not, I attend them via conference call. Wolf also is required to attend.

As a former assisted living administrator, I am no stranger to care conferences. We were required to update each resident every 90 days, and meet with the families and others involved in the care, and talk about what is or is not working. They were, from an admin perspective, a necessary evil; time consuming and tedious, but important to the continuity of care. Now I am on the other side of the desk.

I understand now why families would refuse to rush through the treatment plan, why they would come in with a list of questions that needed clarification, because that now, is me.

If there was one aspect of CHYC that disappoints me, it is in this area. Given the nature of the distance that separates us from Wolf and the school, and given my nature of organization and information, it is difficult sometimes to obtain what I want to know. Why, for instance, did no one call me when Wolf was put on a new medication? How come he has not visited a dentist since his admission?

In fairness to the staff, I know that Wolf's needs are being met, and he is cared for, deeply, by the men and women who work there. And I do understand that there are many kids whose parents do not wish to be informed of the same information I do.

I think on some level, however, I feel as if Wolf does not "belong" to us anymore. He is their child, under their care, and they make the decisions for his day-to-day wellness. Which makes sense, but it is difficult to release, for I am his mother.

And mothers do not let go so easily...