Fur Rendezvous Means Family Fun

It's our fifth winter in Alaska, which should account for many of our family's interesting habits, not the least of which include bizarre attempts at entertainment.

With a name like Fur Rendezvous, all sorts of interesting images might come to mind, but let me assure you that all intents are aboveboard and quite innocuous. At least, until next weekend when the Miners' and Trappers' Ball takes place, but that is another story completely.

At any rate, Yukon, Bear, and I, along with our good friends, took a field trip to downtown Anchorage today to enjoy a bit of Fur Rondy. The carnival atmosphere of the whole event, held since the 1930's, was to celebrate both the end of winter (sort of) and the return of trappers from a long and potentially dangerous season of trapping game. Pelts were bought and sold, much alcohol was consumed, and much celebrating insued as Anchorage saw the light of day for the first time since November.

Over the years a more family-friendly theme developed with carnival rides and other, tamer events became the norm. We enjoyed our day downtown, as the photo above illustrates. Not every day one can take a ride on a choo-choo in a snowsuit.

From the Wolf Den: Into the Lions' Den?

For several months now a little bitty idea has been rolling around in my head. An interesting idea, one prompted by friends and writing peers, and one that now has snowballed, appropriately, into something a bit bigger.

I've written about the conversations Yukon and I have had with the State of Alaska concerning Wolf and his progress, outcomes, and situation. I've pondered the recommendations from people who still do not completely understand the disabilities surrounding our child and the ramifications of a premature discharge from CHYC to merely meet a standard developed by other State of Alaska workgroups. "Bring the Kids Home" is an initiative launched a few years ago in cooperation with the Alaska Mental Health Trust Authority and Alaska Department of Health and Social Services. Like many things that happen in local government, this one sounded good to me when a) I had no personal connection to the idea and b) when a half-the-story newspaper published, well, half the story in a feature article.

Apparently, from 1998-2004, out of state placements of children to Residential Psychiatric Treatment Centers increased 800% from previous numbers, especially among Alaska Native Children. In 2004, lawmakers understandably looked at these numbers and the subsequent costs and impacts of such placements and lost their marbles. Understandable.

BTKH was birthed from a financial nightmare coupled with the emotional backlash from families such as ours whose children, some of whom had never left the state (or their village, for that matter), are now living and eating and growing someplace else. Whoa.

So, the idea? To write it all down. To ask the questions. To find the other parents and bring my story into their world in the hope that someone else will find comfort. Or at least a partner in this absolutely crazy journey. Our autism-spectrum kids do not, at this point, have a place to belong here in Alaska. Time for some hopey-changey, I think.

Oh.

It's snowing. Snowing a lot.
Guess we're not experiencing spring just yet. 10 inches expected before the end of the day.

I had good intentions of attending a meeting of Get Outdoors Anchorage this morning, then to the telephone store to fulfill my promise of moving into the Twitter age with a new Android Hero. Bear and I made it about a mile before a school bus slid down a hill and stopped all traffic, so we turned around and settled in for a snowy day at home.

Right now I'm listening in on a conference call for the meeting I cannot attend in person, and Bear is watching Sesame Street, the lucky guy.

Snow shoveling is also on the agenda...a lot of snow shoveling.

From the Wolf Den: Finding the Good Stuff

I read a lot of blogs written by a lot of powerful, insightful, and loving moms, some of whom I've known most of my life, and all of whom face their own challenges when it comes to parenting their children. Lately it seems as if those of us with special needs kids and teens are going through a rough patch. Maybe it's the season, maybe it's that our kids are all growing and changing and entering new phases of their respective disabilities, I don't know.

Reviewing my own blog last weekend, which I do once in a while just to check in on myself, my characters and sometimes in-your-face posts, I noticed one theme noticably absent when it comes to our oldest son; positives.

Not like the "accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative" sort of stuff; that would be unrealistic. But I admit that for all the bitching and complaining I do about my teenage son's behavior, I sort of overlook the good stuff that is, without a doubt, still present and for sure makes up who Wolf is as a person as much as the Asperger's or OCD or whatever the heck is going on inside his head.

This has followed me around for the last few days as our family of Three Minus One took a break at a local ski resort. As we skied, ate, and played in the hotel swimming pool I became acutely aware of other teenagers' behavior, their mannerisms and modalities, and wondered, if just perhaps, I had buried the Good to manage the Bad.

What is it I miss?

I miss a barky sort of laugh that comes with little reservation at a Pink Panther movie. I miss stacks of science fiction novels beside a bed that is no longer in this room. I miss an incredible mind that can process facts and history's important dates with the efficiency of a PC. I miss the boxes of Legos and K'nex and nuts and bolts. I miss a boy who somehow became a man with little help from his mother but who still, somewhere, possesses enough of my personality to remind me of me.

Perhaps instead of burying what is good, I should take a lesson from Therapist B. and remind myself that there is always positive to reflect upon, every day. And to celebrate it with as much fanfare as necessary until we all believe it.

Living it Up

Just when we needed it; another weekend away. Nice.

I'm sitting in front of a huge window at Alyeska Resort, the largest and oldest ski area in Alaska, watching the groomers pave a path in the slushy snow that has dominated landscapes across southcentral Alaska this past week.

We've been here since noon; Yukon and Bear had lessons, I skied runs in some tough-to-turn snow, and now everybody is relaxing in their own particular way. The boys are in the pool after a great dinner at a local organic restaurant and I'm wrapping up some particulars for a piece on spring skiing in Alaska.

We're here until tomorrow afternoon. It's nice to be able to get out of town. After weeks of flooring, child, and organizational stress, simply taking the time to do something fun, even as it coincides with the ultimate deadline of an article, makes sense.

I don't think it's an accident that I do what I do. Travel is a huge part of my life, and I'd be lost without its ability to escape, if only for a little while.

From the Wolf Den: He Spins Me Right Round, Baby...

It's challenging to parent a child with social and/or emotional disabilities. Anyone who has struggled to teach, discipline, or simply live with a child who doesn't understand the boundaries of basic human nature knows this already, but as that child grows up into a teenager, those challenges become more difficult and complex.

Normal 13-18 year-old behavior, coupled with co-occurring issues centering around things teenagers focus upon; boundaries, physical changes, social cues, and the like make Wolf's world, and thus ours a very unsettled place indeed. A week without any major incidents involving our son and his peers does not necessarily mean a good weekend ahead. A solid family therapy session on Wednesdays with a glimmer of understanding and empathy does not necessarily lead to follow-through on his part.

The past two weeks have been full of wild upswings and low blows. A visit from a State of Alaska social worker (as part of her annual in-person visit to all Alaska kids at CHYC) gave our victimstance teenager a perfect platform to list all the things wrong with the school, staff, and his peers. Fortunately SW had been given a heads up to this thinking error and hopefully took this information with the appropriate grain of salt. At the time Wolf had been in a fairly good place in terms of both his behavior and motivation at school and in therapy. The three of us had engaged in a productive dialogue and during a Care Plan Review the former Director from Wolf's old unit had mentioned the possibility of his return should things become more positive.

We were all feeling pretty positive, including Wolf, who stated his intentions to complete his workbook and therapy sessions and social skills groups, and promised to work hard to get back to the old unit.

Crash.

I could tell even before Wolf got on the phone last night that something was amiss. The staff person did not engage in any pre-visit chit chat (I know everyone there well enough by now that we are on a first name basis with many employees); when Wolf got on the phone his voice held the telltale gloom and doom.

My heart doesn't sink anymore, really, when I hear the Voice of Glum. I just complete an inward sigh and begin my processing with a child who is looking for symphathy and gets angry when I don't provide it. Upon recommendation of Therapist B., Yukon and I will merely validate and offer a pathway of processing of an incident to encourage Wolf to use us as a source instead of a rescue operation. Not so easy for any of us because our son conveniently leaves out crucial elements of almost every story, especially the parts where he has, (cough) erred.

What happened? No, start over; I do not want to hear how so-and-so dissed you, or told on you, etc. etc. etc. Now, what happened, and don't leave out a morsel of information.

What could you have done differently? No, stop right there. "I don't know" is not an acceptable answer. Tell me a specific thing you could have done differently. Let's start way back with when you walked out of the classroom...or dining room....or your room.....etc. etc. etc.

The worst response I get is "I wasn't thinking". Ah, the old "I'll blame it on my brain" excuse. Of all statements from the boy, this one is most aggravating. Well, perhaps "I forget" is not far behind.

Some days I feel like a record player spinning and spinning and spinning the same song. Somebody better come along and bump into me so that needle jumps out of its worn-out groove...

Apparently I Missed the Equinox

Were you, as was I, misinformed about the arrival of Spring? According to my son, it is tomorrow and we'd better be prepared. Obviously he is.

With the unlocking of Yukon's suitcase, the giving of copious gifts commenced, including the much-loved shorts and running hat from none other than the Nike Store in downtown Portland. Bear wears the ensemble every day, sometimes changing his shirt, sometimes not. If ever there was a child destined to be the next Prefontaine, it would be this one.

Today we took the dog to the vet and this of course was his outfit. We garnered many a smile from other clients, some in sympathy, for we Alaskans have indeed been fooled into thinking it might be spring. Temperatures today were in the low 40's, the main roads are clear and dry, and moose have once again ventured into neighborhood gardens to eat what remains of shrubbery.

Clearly my son, anyway, has acclimated to Alaska. He didn't even shirk as icy puddles threatened to innundate his socks. Such a trooper. I can't say as much for me. I still am wearing my hat and gloves, which probably made us quite the site trotting to dog off to his appointment.