You're taking this really well...

I looked at the doctor and I must have not given her the look she was expecting, because she said, "You're taking this really well." I moved my eyes off hers for a minute and looked at the Banshee, who was busily playing with a toy in the corner. She looked at me and smiled. I grinned at her. Banshee, so nicknamed by the primal scream that came out of her when she was born, is one of the best things I have ever made. Pixy being the other best thing.

It had been a long road to get to that moment. One we decided to keep private, mainly because the people we told thought we were crazy and went so far as to say, " I think you are the one with the problem." To us, her parents, something in the puzzle that is Banshee, was not fitting correctly. We suspected Banshee was autistic and we needed validation.

You see, in Banshee, there is a spot where the pieces didn't quite fit. Let me start by saying that she is a happy child. When the world has the rest of us down, she always has a smile to cheer the rest of us back up. She is extremely smart for her 2.5yrs of age. She knows her colors, uses 8 words or more in a sentence, and loves music so much, it is almost as if it is an extension of her person. All amazing traits in a child, but... she lacked social skills. She didn't like to play with children, not unless it was the Pixy. They didn't inspire curiosity in her, nor the need to be with them. We believe that there is no need to be social in her world because she is happy the way it is and that we are allowed in it because we inspire love and safety. We are her pack, along with our dogs, who are an extremely important part of her life. In our little wolfpack, Banshee is the lone wolf. Full of surprises and mystery. And awesomeness.

I guess when the doctor told me that Banshee was mildly on the Autism Spectrum, she was expecting denial, shock, tears, maybe even anger on my part. I am not sure, so the fact that I was smiling and breathing quite a few sighs of relief, really must have been startling to her. "I am happy that now we can start finding her the help she needs," I answered the doctor. To that the doctor replied, "Honestly, I am happy that you are ready to go. Let's get the ball rolling!"We talked shop: scheduled visits, took down some numbers of local agencies that can help us out, and completed some forms. Banshee, meanwhile, just played happily and would check-in with me by asking, "Are you ok, Mama?" The doctor loved this exchange between us and made a note of it, while telling us that our 2 hour ordeal was over. I couldn't help but thank her profusely, as I finally got the validation I needed. I wasn't crazy, or making up things, I wasn't even being 'too watchful' of my children. It made the load I was carrying on my shoulders feel quite light.

Still, as I broke the news, I was met with resistance. Perhaps it is because of the stigma that autism carries, or maybe people just don't  know enough, but no one wanted to believe that the Banshee could be mildly autistic. Let me tell you, that this inspired a bit of anger in me, which is always dangerous. The need to be fiercely protective of my family is so strong, that it trumps decorum any time of the week. I couldn't understand for the life of me why it was so hard for people to accept what was in front of them.  We could see it, why couldn't they?! I found myself speaking through clenched teeth things like, 'Yes it could be typical of a 2 year old to repeat certain things, but it is NOT typical for a 2 year old to repeat them ten times, and no it is not because the answer you gave her isn't satisfying. ' It was frustrating beyond measure, and still is to this day. This, however,  wasn't going to stop me from my mission of finding the help I needed for the Banshee, no matter what. Come what may.

In spite of all that, and with the help of some amazing friends who pointed me in the right direction(as in, met me there and walked me to the right office. You rock!), I was able to get in touch with a preschool program at the Kennedy Krieger Institute geared toward children like Banshee, who need a little extra help to understand the world around them. I was floored at how fast the process moved along for us and before I could process everything that was going on, I was told  that Banshee would begin school on Tuesday. WOW!

Needless to say, my head went into a tailspin. How am I going to do this? The Sailor isn't here (he is away on tour), I am on my own, and I have to get the Pixy to school every day. It was crazy to think that I could make all this work. I mean, I am good, but am I that good? 'I guess we shall find out soon enough!', I muttered under my breath. I took a deep breath, made the necessary arrangements to have Pixy get to school on time, and organized myself so that life would be a little bit easier for me. HA! Tack on appointments, activities, and just keeping up with the housework...well, let's just say that the calendar looks more like a rainbow than an organizational tool. But, it is there. Our new reality. In technicolor splendor; or something very close. I will say that we are lucky The Sailor is a phone call away and can keep him updated on life as we know it. He feels awful that I am on my own right now but his confidence in me feels good: "I have faith in you. I have never known a person that can take so much, and make it look like the easiest load in the world. You are one tough lady and I am proud of you." He makes me smile.

Every now and again, as I find myself meditating on life as it stands, I think of all the things that could have been different. I could have ignored my gut feeling, I could have never taken Banshee to the doctor, I could have even learned to dismiss what was in front of me. Maybe, I might have even told the doctor that I didn't believe it, or ignored my friends help. So many things could have gone differently...it humbles me. It makes me thankful that my belief that 'the universe always unfolds as it is supposed to' holds true, in everything. It might not take the route that we envision, but eventually, we get where we need to be. Come what may.

For now, I sit here waiting on tomorrow, when Banshee begins her first day at school and Pixy begins her first day in Before Care, not fully wondering how it will all go. No. I am thinking of taking that first picture of my youngest baby with her backpack and new clothes on, ready to face the future. I am thinking of hugs and kisses for each child at the door, of words of encouragement that today will be the best day ever, of the sigh of relief when everyone makes it where they need to be, and of the strength it takes to get it all done because 'I will be damned if I let all this beat me!'. Tonight, Mama Wolf just sits here, gathering her strength for battle, because we all know that she-wolves are never truly off-duty, no matter what. Come what may.

Games little wolves play...

Picture it! (No, not Sicily 1972) It is about 19 degrees outside and all is quiet. The snow is still falling and won't let up for another two hours. The Sailor and I were not looking forward to shoveling the driveway and the sidewalk. I think we savored our pot roast dinner longer than we usually do, just to avoid the last chore before bedtime for the girls.

I don't know who thought it first, or how we even got on the topic! After dinner, I was suddenly inspired to look for all the girls snow gear. It turns out that we didn't have any for the Pixy, since she had outgrown the clothes she had. (I will not mention that there was no snow last year AFTER I had bought all the necessary gear...thank ya very much Mother Nature!) Banshee though, was golden! All of Pixy's old stuff fit her. I gathered everything up, improvised a little, and shepherded everyone into the living room and started dressing everyone up to go outside. Well, not the wolves but you know what I mean.

I could tell that the Sailor was happy that he wouldn't be alone outside and he quickly got dressed. The cold seeped in through the doorframe, and the girls shivered on the landing. "Let's do it!", I said. "Who will fall first?", the Sailor asked the still night and we shared a chuckle. The boys, my two pups, were excited to go out too. Who would be the first to cave in and ask to go in for the night?

It was actually pretty cool to see the girls hesitate, as if the serene street shouldn't be disturbed. They stood and listened to the "sounds of Nature", a skill I feel is very important because if you can't recognize what Nature is telling you, then you might find yourself in a serious problem. Both of the girls swore they heard the snowflakes landing on the ground, and I agreed as I started skipping over the pristine white snow covered on the yard. I heard little squeals of happiness behind me, as they both struggled to catch up. My big white GSD, lovingly called "The Big Bad Wolf", complained a bit as the girls got a little too far from him. "Oh, it's all right! You can go grab them in a second", I said. My other pup, was just scouting the yard for trails of things to hunt. It was pretty cool!

"Mama, this is the most fun ever!", Pixy shouted. So much for keeping playtime quiet! The girls quickly got bolder and went exploring around the yard, because "it is so different at night!". I went to help the Sailor out by clearing off the truck of snow, as I hummed "who's afraid of the big bad wolf?". As I moved to the truck, I took a quick look around at the undisturbed snow. It looked like someone had dropped golden glitter on the ground. It was really beautiful and..noisy? The Sailor started attacking the girls by shoveling snow on their feet and the dogs were happily barking. He laughed and said: "Watch out! Memories being made!".

I thought about this, as I cleared off the snow off the cars and kept an eye on the adventurous spawn and the boys trying their best to keep them close to the house. We all access childhood memories, but can we access the small details? The sounds, the tastes, the feel of it all, seem to get lost somehow. I found myself trying to access any memory from my youth and see how many details I remembered. Immediately, I remembered one! As if by magic, I was transported to a warm afternoon in sunny Puerto Rico, which was ok with me! It was 19 degrees, remember?

Maybe it was the cold but I remembered the cold tiles on the porch of my grandmother's house in Guayanilla. The memories all started flooding back, building a scene whose small details I thought lost forever. Growing up does that sometimes, you know! Anyway,  I remembered the feel of the cement pathway on my feet as I made my way through the backyard to my grandfather's work space. As I kept thinking about this space, I remembered the feel of dog fur between my fingers. It was the family dog,  a big German shepherd, who I thought was my personal horse and best friend(probably where my obsession with these wolfy dogs began). I also remembered the feel of fresh sawdust on my fingers and the sharpness of fresh cut woodchips on the bottoms of my feet. You see, my grandpa was an amazing hobby carpenter and his work space was my playground. I shifted noiselessly in my snow boots, as if they were somehow slowing this process down.

The small details did not stop coming, though. I remembered the sound of my grandmother washing dishes and running the water. I remembered the feel of the heat of the kitchen, as the stove was on. But most importantly, I remembered the feel of sitting on the old wooden swing beneath me as I sat with my grandfather, whistling at the Coqui in the bushes, listening for an answer back. I was awoken from that memory, as the girls hit my face with a snowball. I giggled and chased after them, but stopped in my tracks when the Sailor said, " Do you smell freshly cut wood?". Huh. That's interesting!

It felt nice to remember that and I wondered if I was doing the same for my girls. Would this night, through the details, become so ingrained in their memory that they could access it this fully later on in their life? I could only hope so. They seemed to be enjoying it. I mean, it was almost as if we were all alone in a little world of our making. Our noise didn't draw anyone out to peek out their windows, nor were there many cars out. The night was ours and I wasn't going to waste it reminiscing.

We quickly finished the shoveling, cleaning off the truck, and went off to play with the girls. They were pretending to be pixies in the garden and the dogs were their guardians. The Sailor turned into the werewolf that howled at the moon, and apparently, I was the deer that was going to get eaten. The dogs, both white in color, got in on the hunting and brought me down very quickly. It was a fun romp. A LOUD one too! Just like that, the fun was over and we entered the house as one.

"That was really fun, Mama. Thank you," said the Pixy. " I loved it. We play in the nighttime," said the Banshee. As I looked at them, I couldn't help but think about accessing those details for the future. I tried to remember every single moment, as I patted my back for being the coolest Mom on the block. I wanted them to be able to recreate this memory of all of us being crazy enough to go play in 19 degree weather. At night. I wanted them to be able to access all the details so fully, that someone near them would ask, "Do you feel a cold spot?".

As I sit here typing this out, all warmed up, the house is now as quiet as the night was when we invaded it earlier. The girls and the boys are sleeping, the Sailor is working on his music, and the house is making the night sounds houses make when they are resting. Through the windows, moonlight hits the now disturbed snow, and though I would agree with the Sailor that our house cannot be mistaken for a house with no children or animals, all I see/feel/hear are memories . Let's hope that when the time comes, the girls can access them.

As far as my memory, as easily as I remembered it all, it has now been tucked away to access later. For when I really need to feel the warmth of a regular sunny afternoon in my grandparents' house in Puerto Rico.

On an airplane, with Anita Blake

I was tired. We were in the airport, after an uneventful flight, to visit the Sailor's family and I was ready to call it quits. Find me a cozy reading spot already, won't you?! We had woken up early, taken the boys to their sitter (a chore by itself, not everyone wants to babysit these two. They're huge), and made our way to our airport for an early afternoon flight.

I had packed my book in my awesome Little Red Riding Hood bag and as we settled ourselves into our seats on the plane, I told myself: I dunno why you delude yourself. The girls are gonna be jumping up and down and you are not going to get any reading done. But...I had to. You see, the book in my bag was an Anita Blake novel and it was begging for some attention. I had just left Anita in the midst of an encounter with some wererats and some vampires. I.must.read.

The plane took off and within 5 minutes, the Sailor and the spawn were passed out! EUREKA! All asleep. We use white noise at bed/nap time and the white noise created by the plane in flight sounded the same. It was perfect! I opened my book and escaped again into the world of Anita Blake, which let's face it, is an awesome place.

In Anita Blake's world, vampires are everywhere, ruled by Masters of the City in which they live, wereanimals live by strict rules and always look for loopholes for them, and zombies are a lucrative business. See, Ms. Blake is an animator. She raises the dead for a living, so that grieving families (and sometimes shady people with ulterior motives) can take care of any unfinished business between themselves and the deceased. It must be done within a certain amount of time after death, so out to the cemetery Anita Blake goes, and she takes care of business. Anita might think she does this because of her great work ethic. Me? I attribute this all to the fact that she is part Latina, Mexican to be exact, with awesome curly hair and a no-nonsense attitude that gets things done. YES!

 I am sure, that by now, you must be asking yourself: What the hell is so cool about that? Well, besides the fact that culturally speaking, the line between fantasy and reality is extremely blurry for Latin people, Anita Blake shares some of my characteristics. I have curly hair, I do not tolerate nonsense easily, I am comfortable in my skin (for the most part) and I get things done. I am also not tall, which is a Latin thing. Put me next to the 6ft. tall Sailor and I look positively puny. But, don't let the size fool ya! I have a temper on me that rivals whatever boogeyman you got hiding in your closet. Hell hath no fury like a Latina, baby.

Because I tend to lose myself in my reading, the short flight was even shorter. I had to put my book away. Sigh! We made our way through the airport and finally, met up with the Sailor's family. After our round of hellos and hugs, we made our way to the baggage area. As we were waiting for our bags, I grabbed my book, ushered the spawn to a nice seating area and began to read. In this certain passage, it seemed like Anita was wrestling with what her place in the world should be, and that hit very close to home. I may have mentioned before that the Sailor is bi-racial, Polish, Slovak and Filipino, and I am Puerto Rican (a whole 'nother kettle of fish as Puerto Ricans have African, European, and Native blood in their veins). My children are what is considered bi-racial here, and to be frank, if they ever ask me where they come from, I am going to have a hell of a time explaining everything to them.

While I was reading, the girls decided to start taking things out of my Little Red Riding Hood purse and play, but something about this must have made it different, or interesting. All I know is, suddenly I felt eyes on me. I closed my book and began to look around. There, in the corner, there were some people unabashedly looking at us. Nay, staring.

Let me clarify, I am by all accounts a nice person, but I am no shrinking violet. I am also really good at reading body language and I am not afraid to ask for clarification. So, as I saw this group of people staring my way, I stared right back at them. Enough to get them all to look away, except one. He had a mission, I could tell, and he soon started to walk over to us. Call it instinct or being overprotective, but the she-wolf in me was not happy and ushered the girls a little behind me. He came over but stopped about 4 feet away, since I hadn't stopped staring him down. I waited patiently for him to speak and this is what he had to say: "Excuse me, but your children are striking. What are they?"

I think I may have stared at him for a couple of seconds, as he repeated the question. I answered: " I got you. What do you mean?" I was a little shaken, because there I was reading this passage and being moved by it, only to be interrupted by this person asking me about the very thing that bugs me. He went on to explain that he was there with his family and they were drawn to the sounds of the girls playing. He said once he looked at them, he couldn't stop because he couldn't figure out what they were. Why does it matter?? I thought about his question, looking for the best answer. This is what I gave him: "Do you really want to know what they are?" He nodded. Oooookay,  "My husband is Polish, Slovak, and Filipino. I am Puerto Rican. They got the best of each of us." He looked at the girls again, who by now, were looking very curiously at him. He whispered, "Wow.", wished us well and walked backwards for a bit before returning to his group. I presume he shared his findings with them. Huh.

See, the thing is, after reading that specific passage and having this encounter, I realized my kids are totally like Anita Blake. Probably more like her than I am. They are the best of each of us. Just as she was the best of each of her parents(though I am sure she'd say no dice).  One has brown skin, the other has light skin. One has curly hair, the other has straight hair. They both have more than their fair share of sass and prefer Monster High dolls to Barbies (Banshee actually walks around with a voodoo doll in her pocket; a gift from a friend). They are perfect in every single way. What bothers me is that they might wake up a day not too far from today, and ask: What is my place in the universe? Do I live on the sidelines or take an active role in something? Where do I fit in? Maybe, I realized, what I am really afraid of is that I am not going to be able to answer and that they will be disappointed in me.

The rest of the day went by as any other, we got our junk, got to the house, had a great time with family. But this thought, this idea, would jump out at me in between chapters of the book. It became this huge monster in the room and I had to acknowledge it.

Finally, after an eternity, I did. I thought about what I would say to Pixy and Banshee... and the answer is actually quite simple. I am going to start by saying,  "I don't know. I have brought you here for my own amusement and you will deal with it." If that doesn't work, which I am sure it won't, I will say " You know, a long time ago, I was sitting in an airport reading a book...." I will talk it out with them and see where it leads. I might explain to them how I was always looking for my place in the world, questioning everything, and maybe how their Dad felt. Who knows? He might have something to say about fitting in too. How many Polish-Filipinos do you know that live in Milwaukee? 4. Just 4. I will also give them a copy of the book, so they get hooked but so they see something concrete of that day.

Sigh! I guess that is something I will have to deal with when the time comes, but one thing is for certain, I will try to answer it to the best of my ability and let them come up with their own conclusions. Because otherwise, I'd be teaching them that being afraid to question is ok, or that not pushing boundaries to get answers is ok, or that dealing with monsters is better than dealing with people because the monsters don't discriminate. Yeah, I like to think that Anita Blake would have a problem with me if I taught them that.

Here's to continuing a tradition of strong women who kick ass! Guess what I am giving the girls on their 15th? Thanks Anita.

Letter to my 15yr old self

Hi Lisa!

You might not know me now, but you will know me later on in life. See, my name is Lisa, and to put this simply, I'm you. You see, I'm sitting in a dark dining room of a house you will know in the future  and I thought to myself there are some things I think you should know. I'm not sure the why of it all,  but maybe that will become more evident in this missive.

I want to begin by telling you a story. There once was a forest, and in this dark place, lived a she-wolf with her pups. She was a strong thing, always kind to her pack, loving with her pups, and free. Free to go wherever she pleased. By her side, after dealing with more line wolves than she'd care to admit(thank ya very much), there stood a wonderful male wolf. He was kind, bold, daring, and a bit of a jokester. Even though the she-wolf was strong, she was faltering. You see, she'd lost two pups through no fault of her own, members of her pack had left her, and she found herself not as free as she used to be. She would go through the motions doing wolfy things, but she had lost her way. That is a bad thing for an Alpha. It means that the rest of the pack is confused, unsure about what to do because their leader isn't there. When one falters, they all falter together. Well, in one of her usual trips for food and such, this she-wolf saw a ray of sunshine. She decided she would chase it and eat it, because that's what wolves do. She never stopped to think that it might be to replace the light in herself, because she'd become as dark as the forest. She chased it, tumbled a few times, and she thought she ate it. Well, the truth is, she didn't eat it. How can you eat a sunbeam? But, a funny thing happened to this she-wolf. She regained her strength, she walked in beauty, and for once felt she was at peace. When asked by her pack what changed, she'd mention the day she ate a sunbeam and it changed things for the better. The pack would smile and were happy for her, but they wondered what was up. Then, something happened to one of her pups; she wasn't as happy as her other pup, something was wrong. The she-wolf faltered and was angry because the sunbeam she ate must have gone out. She was so angry at the forest, at her pack, at the world, that she went out looking for a new sunbeam. She didn't find it and became angrier still. So she ran until she couldn't run anymore to get this anger out. When she stopped to catch her breath, there in front if her was a little meadow surrou ded by new trees, new flowers, and all throughout there were sunbeams! She didn't believe her luck and attempted to eat every single one of those sunbeams. Suddenly, after trying to eat the sunbeams for what must have been hours, she stopped. She looked around her and thought how silly she must look doing this thing. Seriously?! Sunbeams?! She thought, meditated, and tried to figure out why she felt so happy when she ate the first sunbeam. Did she eat it? She wasn't sure anymore but she knew that she felt happy, carefree, like her old self after that. Maybe that's what made her feel better! That she paused long enough to be impulsive and do something just to see where it went....like she used to before she had terrible times. Well, she trudged home, thinking all the way and she told the pack about her journey. That's what it was, a journey! She told them how she felt, how she was feeling, and that she wanted badly for things to change for the better. The pack felt her strength returning and so they were happy. It was almost like there was a chain connecting all of them and they were all themselves again. The she-wolf didn't know what was ahead of her, but she knew that as long as she remembered her sunbeam journey, she would be all right. She'd never let herself go back to that dark place in the forest again, she'd walk in sunlight and beauty wherever she went.

Do you understand the story, Lisa? That she-wolf in the forest? She's you. You as a young girl, as a young mother, as a young woman...she is you. I want you to know that there will be times that you will find yourself in that deep, dark part of the forest. You will feel lost, confused, and weak. I cannot promise that you will find that meadow of sunbeams right away, but I never want you to stop looking for it. You are not alone. You will have a great partner who will love you above all things, you will have two children here with you, and two you have lost. You will surround yourself with your own pack. And all will be as it was meant to...in its own time.