Dear Antibiotics,

So most of you will remember the disaster that was our last round of antibiotics, and if not, then you can relive the almond-milk bath here.

So KK got sick again last week...I knew it was most likely another ear infection. I dreaded having to take him to the dr. because I knew this would mean more antibiotics. I'm not quite to the point of "letting nature take it's course" or trying homeopathic remedies for a bacterial infection, but I have to admit it crossed my mind. We went in to see our pediatrician, and I filled her in on the demonic qualities of Augmentin in autistic children. Of course, this was news to her, so she suggested Omnicef for this round. During the last demonic possession, my autism advisors had suggested amoxicillin or Omnicef, so I was ok with this strategy...mostly.

So I held my breath...he started them on Friday, Dec 9th. When I came to work on Monday everyone asked how the timeline compared to the last go round...turns out that Monday would have been almond-milk hair conditioner day. But as I sit here completing day 8 of Omnicef, the demon never appeared...neither did the terrible diarrhea...the general misery...for either him or me.

Now I definitely notice some side-effects, specifically hyperactivity! He's not mad, he's not sad, he's just BUSY. And to notice a difference in his activity takes a pretty dramatic shift because if you know KK, well "busy" is his middle name! Teachers noticed it as well, particularly his lost need for a nap. We had one night where he didn't fall asleep until after 10:30pm...I refused to go to bed until he was out, so it's been a long week.

But he's happy and attentive and not sick, so score one for Omnicef!

I know I've been promising a post on what we're doing, how we're doing it, and what we're going to do in the future. One of my plans has fallen through for the short-term, so I'm in a regrouping mode...as I do that, maybe I can lay out our strategy more effectively.

For now, we manage each day the best we can. I take comfort in his arm wrapped tightly around my neck, in his need to take me everywhere with him, in my being his security blanket, in Larkin's attempts at teaching and prompting him, and in my husband's attempts to prove how much more he's capable of.

We will get there. I am still learning. I am still digesting. I am still opening my mind.
I feel the need to try harder, to move faster, but each of us can only take so much...so we regroup and gather strength for the battle ahead.
We will get there.

Am I Running FROM Something or TO Something?....Yes

"Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive"
Dog Days Are Over, Florence + The Machine

I get asked a lot of questions about running...select from the following.
"How do you find time to run?"
"Why would anyone want to run that far?"
"What do you do with the kids?"
"How long did that take you?"

Quick answers “I make time”, “To prove to myself I can”, “I have an awesome husband”, and “Less time that you’d think”.
And you know I pose questions to myself as well...specifically the title of this post...

Am I running FROM something? On most days, hell yes! A bad day, a crappy email, a dinner meltdown, a pile of Halloween candy that's singing to me, a crabby mood, you name it.

But more importantly, Am I running TO something? And I've started to realize that the answer to that question is also yes.

Several good friends and autism mamas have stressed to me the importance of not forgetting yourself in all of this. They've reminded me that if I'm not functional, none of this is going to work.

So running is how I stay functional, a way that I'm physically forced to have "me time" on a regular basis. Some women go for a pedicure, some women go to happy hour, some women curl up in a tub with a good book...and while I would thoroughly enjoy all of those things, I just don't have the time to do all of that regularly and stay sane. But I do find time to run. And my amazing husband makes sure of that.

And it's in his best interest to keep me running because it keeps me sane...and it's cheaper than therapy. I joked with a friend on Facebook about the fact that I run so far so that I don't crack and hold up a Target or something, but there's probably some truth to that.

Remember that scene in Father of the Bride where Steve Martin loses it because the number of hot dog buns in a package is disproportionate to the number of actual hot dogs per package?

Yep, I'm basically one spilled glass of milk away from that scene on a daily basis.

So I run...I run to survive. The monotony is soothing, the physical exhaustion calms my busy brain and lets me actually put together a coherent thought. Sadly I don't run and appreciate the trees or the sunset or the cars passing by. I run and slowly work through my series of lists that are constantly circulating in my brain. I would think that if someone could visualize this list-based layout of my brain it might look like the arrivals/departures board at an airport combined with the stock exchange ticker, multiplied by 100.

But somehow between the first step out of the driveway to the last turn back into the cul-de-sac, it all starts to make a little sense. Priorities are made, problems are solved, feelings are dealt with. I come back a better woman than the most likely frazzled wife and mom that walked out the door an hour or so before.

I know many of you are thinking “she needs to go to yoga!”. And you know what? I LOVE yoga. Completely adore it. If yoga were a competitive sport, I would have gotten a college scholarship. I’m extremely flexible and very well balanced. Taller, skinnier friends have wondered how it is I do it…it’s in my genes, I’m a little wide set and low to the ground with strong legs, I was made to balance on those hips and find strength in those legs ; ) But the problem is when they tell you to quiet your mind…it’s impossible for me. I just can’t. I absolutely can’t. Instead the lists that I mention above seem to get louder, and yell at me for just laying there. I still love yoga, but I need the running first. The running calms me, the running keeps the bad feelings at bay, the running keeps me “me”…

"She has to run everyday or she goes crazy, she's like a border collie" - Phil Dunphy, Modern Family
I am always one missed run away from a meltdown.
I run from the bad of the day, so I can open myself up to appreciating all the good…and there is so much good. I need that reminder every single day, and regardless of what goes wrong, there is a smile or an arm wrapped around my neck that makes me remember, makes me appreciate, gives me the strength to do this all over again tomorrow...and for that I am so grateful.

November Training in Review

Well the training has definitely caught up to me. I was sick (antibiotics required) for a bit, and my foot tendinitis finally acted up after spending three days in heels at a conference and then trying to get my long run in the day after I got back...but I hung in there...and I KILLED my numbers compared to last November. I'll let them speak for themselves.

November 2010
Longest Weekend Run: 13 miles
Longest Midweek Run: 4 miles
Highest Weekly Total: 22 miles
Total Runs: 13
Missed Runs: 5 (foot tendinitis and travel from what I remember...)
Total Miles: 68

November 2011
Longest Weekend Run: 16 miles
Longest Midweek Run: 8 miles
Highest Weekly Total: 29 miles
Total Runs: 15
Missed Runs: 2 (one for being way sick, one for foot tendinitis recovery)
Total Miles: 109

And so I hold my breath until January...
All I want for Christmas is a strong marathon, one where I feel good, and feel like I'm ready!

Halloween 2011

Allow me to interrupt our usual crazy life with a dose of normalcy...our Halloween pics! To reflect on years past, Larkin has been a chicken, a lamb, and last year both a ladybug and Minnie Mouse. This year represents the first time that Larkin had a serious opinion about her Halloween costume. Initially, she kept saying she wanted to be a dinosaur, but this eventually changed to being a zebra. Now where in the world was I going to find a zebra costume? Well I completely lucked out! Introducing our sassy zebra...

Now Kellen is a little more difficult. He's been a lobster, and last year he was a dragon and Superman. He tends to not like any large headpieces. Last year, when we put the dragon costume on him, he would go completely limp LOL! The headpiece and the long tail had him totally confused. Picture taking was an adventure...that I wouldn't know about because poor Patrick and Annie had to handle it since I was out of town at a conference!

So in shopping through Target, we ran across the perfect costume for Kellen...and he loved it the minute he saw it.

Truly, KK is exactly like Dash from the Incredibles...

And he proceeded to "dash" around the room the entire time we took pictures...somehow this is my favorite ; ) Thanks to Lindsay Moore at Fabulous Occasions for entertaining my little fashionista and my little tornado! And to finish our tale, Larkin had her first experience with trick or treating. Kellen was feeling a little sick (see last post...), so he went to bed on time. I decided that Larkin could stay up a little and maybe hand out candy in her costume. Then that evolved into well maybe I'll take her to a couple of houses here in our cul-de-sac so she can see what trick-or-treating is about. Somehow when we got to the door, I convinced Patrick to take her. I would sit in the driveway with Kellen's monitor and hand out candy while they went down the street...well 15 minutes passed and they still weren't back. I called Patrick. Apparently she had such a positive experience with the first 2 houses that she wanted to keep going! She kept saying "What about this house Daddy, their light is on?" Long story short, I almost had to put out an alert on a missing zebra! They came back about 45 minutes later with an entire bag full of candy.

Suffice to say, she definitely knows what trick-or-treating is now! She had a blast, her daddy got some much needed bonding time with her, she made out like a bandit (I would only have taken her to 2 houses!), and she was asleep before I got downstairs. It was her night, and I'm so grateful we were able to give that to her.

Regression and a Confession

As with everyone, certain song lyrics get stuck in my head…and a certain couple have been playing over and over lately.

“…Is this as hard as it gets? ‘Cause I’m getting tired of pretending I’m tough…” Yes this is in fact from a Josie and the Pussycats song…don’t judge, the lead singer from Letters to Cleo sang it!

But back to the matter at hand…it’s apparently common knowledge that kids with autism “regress”. Some kids have an initial regression that leads to the diagnosis, but apparently all of them have regressions along their journey…an ebb and flow with the tide. It’s known, it’s expected, it’s hell.

We had our first real experience with regression this weekend. And to bring the good with the bad, I truly believe the only reason we saw the regression was because we were seeing such awesome forward progress. Our plan with therapies, diets, schedules, etc. deserves a post on its own, but suffice to say, we were moving in the right direction…and then he got sick.

A little cold, no big deal, but he got sick and grouchy by Tuesday, and on Wednesday I took him to the dr. In the room, he was just in my arms, hugging me, snuggling, his warm little body content to have the comfort of his mother. It was one of those moments that you hate because that means he’s really sick, but one of those moments that I know I’ll think about someday when he’s too big to sit in my lap…

Our pediatrician walks in and immediately says “Oh, he IS sick”…mostly because tornado Kellen is rarely in one place for long in the doctor’s office. We constantly sit there watching him tear up the room thinking “Why are we here again?”, but this time he was really sick. Turns out it was a double ear infection. It’s his first season without ear tubes, but also the first time we’d made it all the way to November (2 days in!) without an ear infection. One tube has fallen out, the other one is on its way out. I was really hoping to not have to redo his tubes, jury is out on that one, we’ll see.

We get to talking, and I mention the diet changes we’re undertaking, and to my surprise she was nothing but supportive. We actually had a great conversation where she said that science and medicine still don’t have a clue about autism. She said she knew that I would thoroughly research any potential treatment/therapy, so she was happy to help wherever she could. She also asked me a few questions so that she could be informed for her other families with autistic children. I was hesitant to initially tell her about the diet change, but her welcoming attitude let me know that we’d have another partner in our journey, whatever path we chose to pursue.

Anyway, it’s common knowledge in my kids’ records that Augmentin is the only antibiotic that has worked without fail (amoxicillin and omnicef have failed miserably in the past for both kids). My biggest concern was how to get him to take it…if I’d only known.

Patrick was gone most of the day on Satuday…and truth be told…so was my Kellen.

In his place was what I would consider a stereotypical poster child for autism. He was angry and agitated. He was kicking, hitting, screaming, crying. He wouldn’t ask for his cup, he constantly wanted to be someplace else (much of the fighting was over wanting to go downstairs). I felt like I needed a class in restraining…and when I’d finally get him to calm down, he still wasn’t there…he was in la-la land.

Sunday seemed to start out a little better, but then more of the same. Patrick was there, and he saw it, too. There was some sort of fundamental shift. As I stared in the bathroom mirror, I saw a tired and frazzled woman covered in the almond milk he had just slapped out of my hand and I was of course doing the ugly cry. I was trying to pull myself back together to walk out there, and all I could think was “We’ve lost him. He was there, he was happy, he was present, and we lost him. How?”

It was the worst parenting weekend of my life…I did not measure up to the challenge like I should have. I fell apart and Patrick was left to clean up the mess (literally and figuratively). It felt like a terrible nightmare, which for me would probably involve large bodies of water…and I was most definitely drowning.

We both implicated the antibiotics…it was the ONLY thing that had changed. I found myself Monday morning wondering if another friend, who was also dealing with a regression with her son, had an antibiotic connection…and she did. So I start researching and guess what…this was basically “to be expected”. I’m glad I did not know this ahead of time…because the regression was SO obvious and SO terrifying that I came to the antibiotic conclusion on my own, both as a mother and as a scientist. This is truth, this is a valid hypothesis in my sample size of ONE (and potentially TWO).

It’s no secret that antibiotics alter the bacterial communities throughout your body…much of the science behind autism is based on the fact that these communities are out of synch, out of proportion…too much of one, not enough of the other, shifts wreaking monumental havoc throughout the entire body. I plan to break all this down eventually…as an actual scientist not a Playboy playmate (although I really did like Jenny McCarthy on Singled Out).

We lost him…but he came back. He woke up happy on Monday morning, and I left him at school cautiously wondering if I should leave a note for his teachers saying “Warning…”. When I picked him up, they said that KK was back to himself…their comparison being “sick KK” last week as opposed to the “disaster KK” we saw this weekend. As my mouth dropped in awe at their report, I see my KK, my actual KK, running full speed across the playground, looking straight into my face, big toothy grin…and my KK is back in my arms, hugging me tightly. He was back, and I was overwhelmed.

He was fine all evening, asking for his cup, gesturing emphatically while going on about everything, laughing, playing, singing…he kept getting my hand and taking me places all evening…just to have me where he was. At one point, he took me to his room. We played for awhile and then he turned to leave, got to the door, looked back to see if I was following, then smiled and doubled back to grab my hand as if saying “Oh Mama, come on already…you don’t want to miss this”.

I held my breath again this morning, but my happy boy was here…I hope he comes home again today.

In all of this, I learned that I’m not as strong as I’m pretending to be (see “almond milk covered ugly cry” above). I need to learn to ask for help, this much Patrick managed to get through to me this weekend. Because keeping in line with the “confession” title of this post, I won’t even let him help half the time. I need to let go of some of the guilt, I need to learn to weather the bad days, and I need to have faith that there will be more good days. I have a lot to learn…

And so we move on…and to tie back to my lyrical stance today…only my dear Sarah McLachlan can say it so beautifully. This is what I was singing to Kellen in the doctor’s office when I held my sick sweet boy, and I realized that this is our song…

"Answer"

I will be the answer
At the end of the line
I will be there for you
While you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty
I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance
If you can't look down

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a
Place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
'Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all burned out
You'll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind

October Training in Review

I'm firmly in the middle of my marathon training schedule, and I thought it was worth it to not only review my training for the month of October but to also compare it to my training last year. We scientists really like our data...and let's just say that the numbers probably go a long way in explaining how I ended up with a painful two knee brace 5 hr plus marathon day last year...

For history's sake, last year I trained with a group using the USAFit plan...which to the "real marathoners" looked like really low mileage. Considering I had no freaking clue last year, I just followed the herd and basically ran too fast and overall too little to consider it anywhere near a respectable training cycle. Oh well, live and learn. I was determined NOT to let this happen to me again this year, so I'm following a sort-of hybrid Higdon plan (combining Novice 1 and 2). Higdon plans seem to be well revered, and I've had several friends feel more than prepared following them. Last year...I NEVER felt prepared for any distance beyond 10 miles.

So without further delay...the numbers:
October 2010
Longest Weekend Run: 13.1 miles
Longest Midweek Run: 4 miles
Highest Weekly Total: 19 miles
Total Runs: 13
Missed Runs: 4 (wow....I only ran 3x a week?)
Total Miles: 73

And then this year...
October 2011
Longest Weekend Run: 13.1 miles
Longest Midweek Run: 6 miles
Highest Weekly Total: 24 miles
Total Runs: 17
Missed Runs: 1 (took an extra rest day after my half marathon)
Total Miles: 96

What's even more important to me is that all of my October 2010 miles were run with 2 knee braces and had me at the ortho's office with foot pain that we thought was a stress fracture but ended up being tendinitis. So far this year, I'm still brace free! I'm not saying I won't need them, the miles are about to get longer, but I will say that I'm holding up a little better this year!

We'll see how November goes with more miles, a work conference, and the holidays, but I will tell you that my November 2010 total was...wait for it...68 miles. I sure hope I can do better than that this year!
72 days to go!

Battle Scars…Old Wounds and New Wars

SIX…Had life (fate, God, the universe, my uterus) chosen a different path, we would have 6 year old twins right now. I still remember the very first time I found out I was pregnant that February morning in 2005. I couldn’t sleep because I had an idea that this was really it, that I was really pregnant this time. I took the test, did the obligatory turn around and pray while I waited the 3 minutes, and there were the lines. I crawled back into bed crying and Patrick assumed it was the usual, another negative. I had to stop him from comforting me long enough to tell him it was positive. What a naïve, unassuming, hopeful time that was. We thought the hard part was getting pregnant back then…we thought the battle was over…but life was about to begin to show us just how tough we were…just how much we could endure.

It’s a long story- one that I’ve told before, just not here. It’s hard to know which loss was the hardest, they were all difficult, they were all unkept promises, they all chipped away at our souls, at our hope. But that first battle was a rough one. To find out days later that I had an ectopic pregnancy (and be immediately admitted to the hospital for surgery the next morning), and then by some miracle find out 1 week later that there was a second embryo (this one actually in the uterus instead of my tubes), well it just seemed like we were the luckiest people in the world. Turns out I was just a statistical anomaly…heterotopic pregnancies are very rare, and rarely end well. We lost the second twin a few weeks later, cue another surgery. And for the Cliff notes version of the rest of that journey: found out I had a defective uterus, fixed uterus, still needed fertility drugs, got pregnant, miscarried, more surgery, rinse/repeat . Finally figured it all out (daily blood thinner injections for the duration of the pregnancy!) and we got Larkin. Then as an added surprise, Kellen happened all on his own.

I revisit this now because that first pregnancy had a due date of Halloween, so every year it falls upon me to reflect on this journey, this old battle, which literally and figuratively left me with a few scars to carry.

So you stop and think…had things happened differently, we would have been trick-or-treating with two 6-year olds. But I would have missed out on my sassy zebra that charmed the neighborhood, and my snuggly boy that was a little under the weather but was giving awesome hugs last night. And I’m grateful. Our infertility journey made us stronger, prepared us for what was to come, proved to us that even when everything in and around you is telling you, begging you to give up, to give in, that you just freaking can’t. I constantly thought to myself that I would just try again because what if next time was THE time…and eventually it was…and they are everything that we dreamed they would be.

So I take these battle scars with me to the new war, and I will do my best to maintain the same attitude. Because in trying to help Kellen there will be bad days…and it will hurt, and we will feel like giving up, and we will lose our hope, and we will question our faith, and we will ask repeatedly “why?”…but we’ve been there before. We survived, we grew, we latched onto each other like our lives depended on it…because they did.

It brings me to a polarizing statement that has some history…
“Everything happens for a reason”
People love to say it when they don’t know what else to say. This actually used to be my mantra in life…back when the worst thing that ever happened to me was family drama (and who doesn’t have that?!). But as “life” happened, it got a little harder to swallow that well-meaning phrase. There are some things that are hard to find a valid “reason” for. Five miscarriages seems a little excessive…but if that’s what it took to get Larkin, to get Kellen, well I would do it all again in a second.

And you can’t help but try to find a “reason” for every family struggling with a diagnosis of autism. But instead of reasons, you just come up with more questions.
What will we face along our autism journey? Who knows.
Are we ready? Probably not.
Will we survive? You bet your ass.
Will it all be worth it? We have two beautiful kids…it already is worth it.

Race Report: Houston Half Marathon

I am now beginning Week 7 of Marathon Training, but that also left me with the Houston Half Marathon to run last weekend. I was feeling pretty good in the week leading up to it. Had a great pace run mid-week, but then some sore hips later in the week. I was determined to HOLD BACK for this race. It should be a training pace run, a celebration of running with NO knee braces, but it was going to be a test of will LOL!

The night before Patrick talked about wanting to take the kids out for the race, but simultaneously we were learning (as was everyone in our area!) of the massive invasion of terrible mosquitoes!! Thankfully, when I took off at 5:30am the next morning, I had the carseats with me so I knew he wouldn't chance it!

This was probably the first race I've ever done completely on my own...drove on my own, no surprise family appearance, just me. I was impressed that I found an easy parking spot, and got to the starting line in plenty of time. I really hadn't mentally prepared myself for the race at all, and it hit me the day before.

As most of you know, I am fundraising for the Organization for Autism Research for the Houston Marathon this year...and we all know that I'm doing that for our Kellen. Well I recently received my OAR race singlet, and I thought the half marathon would be a great chance to test out my race shirt. What I didn't anticipate was the overwhelming emotion that came with putting on that shirt. As I walked through the crowd that early morning, I felt people looking...and I felt myself caving...

Did they think I was just looking for a cause to run for? Could they tell that I was a mom that this mattered to? Did they pity me? Did they have any tiny idea of what my life was like?

And as I pondered all of this during the pre-race routine, the line-up, and the first couple of miles of the race, I let the emotions come. I let myself cry a little, I let myself feel, I let my skin toughen.

Because I am a mom of autism, because I am a mom who will do something for every mom like me but more importantly for every child like our Kellen. Because I am not ashamed, I am not weak, and I am not afraid of yelling (on the front of my shirt) the name of my struggle.

And once we start moving...I'm just like every other runner. I was committed to keeping this run to training pace (easy long run pace). Last year, I "raced" this course, and I did it with 2 knee braces and felt pretty miserable after and for several days following. This year, I have my focus FULLY set on January 15th.

So I took off slow, kept it easy. I was all out bored and still breathing through my nose at mile 8 when I choked on a Gu Chomp...LOL! Then I decided I had been a good girl and I should have a little fun on the backside ; ) It was a lot of fun pretty much passing everyone in front of me for the last 5 miles. I had TONS left at the end, I was still breathing through my nose at mile 12. The little uphills (overpasses) that bugged me last year were of ZERO concern this year. It felt good, and while I took a couple of rest days after, I could have run the next day. Major improvements from last year (even though my time was 3 minutes slower), and I'm proud of myself for being smart. It was one of those mornings when I felt good, and I knew I just could have gone if I'd let myself...but I continuously held myself back, and as I sit here two days later, my knees are thankful.

I crossed the line at 2:10:54...smiling widely in my OAR race singlet.

Exhibit A: What a good girl I was...my first half split was 1:07:59 at a 10:23min/mile pace. Nice long run pace, very conservative.

Exhibit B: I told you that I got bored at mile 8 right?...my second half split was 1:02:55 at a 9:36min/mile pace. What's not to like about a negative split? ; )

Just one more step along the way of this journey...

Race Report: Ten for Texas

So while many other things have consumed my posting lately, I *am* still running LOL!

I was super excited to run Ten for Texas this past weekend, and the Thursday before I just maybe started feeling a tad bit under the weather...I was getting the kids' cold. Then I spent most of Friday at work in denial and simultaneously infecting everyone around me with this miserable cold (sorry everyone!). Stubborn as I was (am), I took cold medicine Friday night and still got up Saturday morning to head to the race.

I was a stuffy mess, but I used my Afrin spray in the parking lot (reclined my seat for the full nose clearing effect), and sucked it up (literally and figuratively). Thankfully my friend Jenn was happy to run together at a reasonable pace with plans to walk the water stations.

The weather pretty much sucked. It was pretty warm for October with an occasional breeze that had a habit of being a headwind. Oh well. Had I not been stuffy, I would have been content with the humid warm temps, but not so much with my 50lb head of snot.

Anyway, Jenn and I took off at a pretty normal training pace and managed to hold steady throughout the entire race. We walked each water station, but after mile 2, we were pretty much passing people the entire time. We actually had a great rhythm of weaving in and around people the whole course, so we were in a groove. Lungs did well, nose bugged me a little, felt sluggish overall with an ab cramp at mile 5 and a weird back cramp at mile 7, but overall, not nearly as bad as I expected. I was feeling pretty good around mile 8.5, and I think Jenn probably could have killed me. I certainly would have been more conservative in the early miles had she not been with me, but I have a tendency to always have a little kick left in me at the end, so I started to pick it up a little. That last half mile we were moving pretty good, Jenn started protesting a little, but I managed to convince her to stick with me. And just at the last turn before the finish, I see something I have never seen before...

...as a complete surprise to me, there is my sweet husband with KK in his arms and Larkin standing beside him. I could not believe it, I totally spazzed out and did the goofy wave with Larkin finally seeing me (he was apparently in awe of all the runners), and then I had to pull myself together to not be doing the ugly cry in the finish line photos. They totally made it worth it, and I was so happy to have that moment! They had never seen me in a race before, and I still dream of seeing them somewhere along the course at the marathon this year (the weather and timing were terrible last year).

We hung out at the post-party a little, saw my ob/gyn who delivered both kids (LOL! We see her at races all the time!), and then headed home. I was already feeling pretty rough but was doing a decent job hiding it. We got home, I took a shower, Patrick took Larkin to soccer, I struggled to get KK through lunch and down for his nap, and then headed to bed myself. I soon realized I was headed downhill fast. I took my temp and was not surprised to see 101.2, CRAP! Took some meds and spent most of the afternoon in bed. Thankfully after some great rest, I recovered decently on Sunday (just congestion and little cough), and was fully functional by Monday.

So running may not have been the best decision, but we live to race (or not race) another day!

Final time: 1:45:05 I am proud that I maintained my training pace and did not try to "race". Mostly I have my illness to thank for that because had I been feeling good, the crowd and the adrenaline would have most likely pushed me to go too fast too soon and that could have been catastrophic for my knees. For now, I'm happy to say that I made it through 10 miles WITHOUT knee braces for the first time in my life!

Rewind: The Autism Evaluation Process

Another retrospective post in order to shed some light on how we got here...

So I've caught you up on how I knew something was wrong and how I decided that I wanted him evaluated...well...then what?

Finding the right place for his evaluation
I work for a large nationally acclaimed hospital that has a huge autism/developmental pediatrics department. Naturally, that was where I would have Kellen evaluated, right? I had a hard time digesting the fact that there was potentially a few month's long wait list to be seen, but when I was told that the current waiting time for evaluation was ONE YEAR...well I can't remember if I cried, cursed, or drank (oh please, that's easy, I did all three). No amount of complaining, string pulling, favor calling was going to help that because #1 an eval is not like sneaking in for a quick ENT appt and #2 all of those people on that waiting list were people just like me, who had been waiting a lot longer, and you know what, it just wasn't fair to jump ahead.

Thankfully about the same time, Patrick spoke with some colleagues at school and they recommended another independent center. I don't want to list places here, but if you'd like to know where, then contact me via email, message, facebook, etc. and I will happily share our story (and center contact info, etc.).

I put our name on the waiting list of both places the first week in May. The last week in May I got a call from the independent center that a couple of appts had opened up and we could be seen the following week...our eval process would most likely be completed by the end of June...less than 2 months from my first call to them. It's October, 5 months since I called...I'm still waiting to hear from my hospital...

Appointment #1: Initial Intake Interview
This appointment was hard to prep for...the thought of having to walk into a center like that. Patrick met me there with KK, and I remember sitting in the waiting room looking out the window, waiting for them to get there. And I had a thought that has stayed with me the past few weeks....at that exact moment...mothers everywhere were sitting in waiting rooms...the waiting room of the emergency room...of the cancer center...of the funeral home. I would take sitting in that waiting room over any of those other options, I would be grateful for my son who I know loves me, who I know needs me, who I hope and pray I have decades with. So I sucked it up and put on my scientist mode as we began the interview process.

We met with a psychologist who asked all the usual questions, listened to our greatest concerns, and walked us through what the arena assessment would be like the following day all while Kellen proceeded to destroy her office (apparently her office was made for that, she had bins of toys, but Kellen still managed to knock a table over on that poor woman's foot...LOL!). This was not an appt to get any potential diagnosis, just an appt to set the stage for the following day, let us know what to expect, for her to get to know him to try to help him the following day (he loves cars, he doesn't talk at all, he's not generally afraid of new people or closed spaces, he really likes cars...). But she said a couple of things "Does he usually walk on his toes like he is now?", "Are those guttural sounds typical for his speech pattern?" To which my inner monologue said "Toes? He doesn't walk on his...does he...is he....well he's just tentative right now because he's someplace new, he doesn't usually do that...I don't think...crap, I don't know...and those sounds, well that's just KK, he makes silly sounds, why is there something wrong with that?" I don't think I said any of that, I think I just looked like a deer in headlights while thinking 1) she thinks he's autistic and 2) she's a psychologist so she's currently evaluating my reaction to the questions she's asking and I hope she doesn't think I'm crazy or defensive or in denial (I may be/have been all three...).

We left that day with an idea of what to expect the following day...and I tried not to freak out for the next 24 hours. What did I want from the assessment? An answer...I still held out hope (a lot of hope) that they would tell me what everyone else was..."Oh he's just a boy with a chatty older sister, a late bloomer, we don't see enough to classify him as autistic, he'll just grow out of it..." I hoped to hear that, but I think I always knew I wouldn't...so then I just wanted confirmation, I needed to hear the words, and I couldn't move on until that happened.

Appointment #2: Arena Assessment
This was the appointment I dreaded. I dreaded that we were going to walk in this room and have multiple people evaluating my son's every move, and I dreaded even more that it would be weeks after that appointment that we would actually discover the outcome...but it didn't actually happen that way. An arena assessment allows multiple therapists/specialists to perform simultaneous evaluations. I can't even remember how many evaluation tools they ended up performing, but it was beyond thorough. We had one person interviewing us while observing Kellen's responses/reactions to the various trials they were putting him through. She was someone who had been doing this for 20-30 years, so she knew what she was looking for, knew what she was seeing, knew what to ask us.

It's a hard thing to sit there and answer questions while you're simultaneously trying to watch your son to see if he's reacting appropriately, doing as well as you know he can. And then you're watching them to see how they're reacting to his reactions...good, bad, confused, someone tell me something!

He walked in that room and charmed them...that boy is his daddy through and through...he was cute as can be, and I thought he was doing well. One of the evaluation team members actually favors me quite a bit, and he went over and grabbed her hand to get her help with something, then did a double take and realized that I was across the room and ran over, everyone thought it was the cutest thing ever. He had one tantrum, but nothing too major. He ran into a door in the play kitchen (leaving a pretty angry red mark on his cheek) and it didn't phase him (oh crap!). He started losing it over the lack of juice/snacks (oh crap!). He was playing and ignoring most of what they were asking him to (well, that's pretty typical KK).

And so you sit there worrying about what they're thinking of him, and then worrying about what they're thinking of your reaction to the situation (they're therapists after all!). The team was just great, and in the end, they said they would compile all of their results and let us know the final diagnosis, but the most senior evaluator basically laid it all out at that moment. She said that she felt like "a diagnosis on the autism spectrum would most likely be appropriate". I remember that moment...because I wasn't expecting it. It was just the assessment, we weren't told we would even be provided with a tentative idea much less a point blank, "He is". It felt like the wind was knocked out of me, but I was grateful. After that cat was out of the bag, all of the team kept saying he had so many strengths, and that he would most likely be extremely high functioning. But I think I stopped listening somewhere along the way. They decided they'd like to perform an additional evaluation in his daycare setting. We smiled, collected our happy toddler, and left with a plan for follow-up, knowing we'd get the formal feedback session in a few weeks...
I turned 35 the next day...

Appointment #2.5: Daycare Evaluation
No surprise and no need to go into detail...they saw what I saw...it only contributed to what they'd already seen in the arena assessment.

Appointment #3: D-Day
Diagnosis day. My parents took the kids for a couple of days, so Patrick picked me up for the appt, which was at the end of the day. We walked into the office where the team was already assembled around a round table. There was folder placed in front of each seat, and in the center of the table, sat a box of Kleenex. I proceeded to stare down that box of Kleenex repeatedly over the next hour...there it sat, willing me to cry, telling me it was okay to cry, expecting me to cry because everyone did...but I refused to do it.

Pages and pages of data from the various evaluation tools...each one suggesting the same conclusion...so finally we turned the page and we saw it...and they said it. Kellen met the full criteria for a diagnosis of autism. I sat there and nodded, acting unsurprised, being the most stoic I may have ever been in my entire life.

Screw you Kleenex I'm not crying. I'd break down in rivers of tears everytime we got bad news while trying to have a baby. I would be overcome with agony and emotion and despair and could not hold it back...but that was then. I had survived that, and I had a gorgeous daughter and amazing son...and they needed me to be strong...and that I could do...for them.

So I sat there and listened to all of the results, all of the recommendations, all of the potential strategies...and I did not shed a single tear. I didn't cry because my heart already knew. I didn't cry because my son was autistic not dead. I didn't cry because he needed me to someday tell him the story of how we found out and I wanted him to know that I could handle it, that we could handle it, that he could handle it.

In the end, they went on and on about how many strengths he had. Physically he's amazing. He has so much potential. They called it his baseline evaluation because it was pre-intervention. He's supposed to be evaluated annually...and while I don't know what "normal progress" is, it gives us something to work toward...something to dread/look forward to...because I will be whatever he needs.

I will be strong for him, I will endure his meltdowns, I will keep searching for what might help him, I will not give up on him...because someday next summer we'll walk into another assessment...and I will not cry.

Patrick and I went to a wine bar after the assessment. It was a nice evening, we enjoyed some good wine, a nice atmosphere, and we digested. We didn't sit and feel sorry for ourselves...we talked about what we wanted to do next, and how much we knew that he would be okay. I don't think I really cried until the next day...when we went to get them from my parents. The moment I had him in my arms, the waterfall came. I needed him in my arms for it to feel real. But I dried my eyes, sucked it up, and I started us all on this journey...thanks for coming along.

How Did You Know?

So this is the first in a series of retrospective posts related to how we got here, but before I get into the most common question we're asked lately "How did you know?", I'd like to make a shameless plug. I'm running this year's Houston Marathon (my second) in honor of Kellen by running for the Organization for Autism Research. Should you have a few dollars to spare, I would greatly appreciate it. You can donate here...please pass on to others who might be interested in donating to a terrific cause!

Donate for KK!


So back to the topic at hand...How Did You Know?


In the womb?

Let's see. Was he less active than Larkin? I can't say because I was so busy taking care of an infant...did I miss a sign? I don't think so. I certainly knew what he was doing...if anything he seemed "busier" than Larkin. Now of course, we all know about him being born prematurely, but do I think that played into his autism...no, not really. Yes, he was early, but those were biological issues related to physiology not autism risk....right? Yet, we find ourselves questioning everything...


The first year?

So maybe he rolled over a little later than expected, but even though I gave birth to small babies, they quickly turned into chubby snuggly worms...so I fully blame that on the big baby belly (right?). Looking back in my notes on him as a baby, he was more difficult than Larkin. He had inconsolable episodes (which Larkin never did), he was more temperamental, he was more attached to me, but more concerning...

He didn't wave bye-bye...
He didn't turn when we called his name...
He didn't have any first words...
I've never had the joy of hearing him say "mama" and mean me...

In summary, were there signs? Well yes, I see that now, but I was in denial then.
He also started rice cereal later than expected (because he shunned it), and we had a harder time starting baby food (gagging followed by a general picky eater)...but you're not supposed to compare the first and second kid, so how could I know that something was really wrong? (right?)


The second year?

He walked on schedule...but he still wasn't talking...or waving bye-bye...or turning when we called his name when we walked in a room.

His eating was still very picky, and when we switched to solid food, there was lots of gagging. I remember him surviving on Gerber puffs for quite a while.

His inattention to our voices became a serious concern at 18 months...so we had his hearing tested...it was perfectly fine.

So then we started speech therapy...and got nowhere...and then he almost got kicked out of daycare...because he started biting his classmates, for no discernible reason.


The third year?

It was just past his second birthday, after a few weeks of speech therapy, that the biting outbreak occurred. As part of our strategy, I went to daycare with him as his "shadow"...and by snacktime that morning, I found myself standing outside daycare crying profusely into the phone talking to Patrick. It wasn't just the aggressive attempt to bite (which was disturbing in itself)...it was how far behind he was compared to his classmates. He was unengaged. They would run around crazy and loud, he would attempt to hide behind a bookshelf. They would sit in circle time and sing songs, he would sit in my lap and retreat into himself. They would come too close, be too loud, move too fast, and he would bite to say "leave me alone"...

Something was wrong, I saw it, I knew it, I had known it for months, but had listened to everyone else...
...he's a boy...
...he's second born...
...he has a chatty older sister who talks for him...
...it's normal...
...so-and-so didn't talk until they were 3, 4, 5...
...he's a mama's boy...


That one hit hard...a mama's boy. Did I coddle him too much as an infant? I certainly was careful with him...you know because he was premature and delicate and difficult and...did I know? Did I know even then that he was? I certainly knew before anyone else, before anyone else could detect it and way before anyone else would admit it. But after my shadowing morning, I could take it no more...and no one fought me...because while they did not want to admit it either, they knew it too. So we went forward with his formal evaluation...which is another post in itself...for another night...soon.

A Dog's Life

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a dose of life...and death.

We lost our Great Dane Skylar unexpectedly almost 2 weeks ago. It was as unexpected as possible considering that she was 10...and Great Danes have a life expectancy of roughly 7 years...10 being the upper extreme really. So I'd like to take a little time to recount the tale of our sweet Skylar.

Once upon a time I married a man named Patrick...who dreamed of having a dog...but not just any dog...a Great Dane. Luckily, I was an animal lover, and he'd tolerated the cats, so as soon as we were able, we began to look. As soon as we started building our house, we started thinking of a dog. It so happened that each summer we'd go to the huge dog show here in town. I'd LOVE to go by the Great Dane Rescue groups booths and just pet those huge sweet dogs. Well 10 summers ago, we stopped by that booth again, thinking that we might be ready to put our name on the list, thinking we'd be waiting a long time for a puppy. Then that day we walked up and saw the pictures of a litter of Great Dane puppies...and fell in love.

Turns out that their mother had been taken in by the Humane Society a week before. She was so skinny they were shocked when she went into labor the following day. She had 9 puppies...4 lived...2 went on to live a happy, full life at our house : ) We went to visit the foster home thinking we'd pick one, and Patrick immediately picked the biggest boy (that's our Tristan), but Skylar picked him (she came over, laid beside his hip, and refused to move). So we chose them both (designated as BigBoy and LittleGirl by their foster parents), and continued to visit them at their wonderful loving foster home for almost 2 months.

Then our new house was finished. We closed on a Friday, moved in on a Saturday, and the dogs were delivered on Sunday. This house has always been a house of paws.

So now a few random facts and stories about our sweet Skylar:

* She was named for Minnie Driver's character on Good Will Hunting.

* One time her and Tristan were playing and she tackled him so hard that his head put a hole straight through our living room wall...they were 3 months old (the house was less than a month old!).

* She liked to sleep in bed with me whenever Patrick was away.

* When Patrick was home, she slept on the floor on my side of the bed, leading me to always feel for fur with my foot before stepping out of bed in the middle of the night.

* Once when she was younger, she jumped out of the window of the Expedition while it was moving (thankfully only about 10 mph). Scared all of us (we drove straight to the vet), and we always had to keep a close eye on her hips her whole life.

* One time there was a chocolate donut in the back of the Expedition we forgot about, then saw the empty bag and realized one of them had eaten it. We had to take them to the vet and they made them both puke since we didn't know which one was the culprit. Turns out it was not Skylar, she was pretty pissed at Tristan about the whole incident.

* Skylar was always gentle and always loved kids. I used to take them out to soccer games, and Skylar would just lay over and let the kids crawl all over her loving every minute of it.

* She had a way of coming over and laying her big head in your lap whenever you were sad. Instead of trying to play with you, she would simply come over and be sad with you.

* She ate shoes when she was younger...some of them looked like a small shark had taken a chunk out of them. I lost many a flip-flop including my favorite Diadoras, but I miss my Doc Marten Mary Janes the most...

* She loved the cold weather...and the rain.

* She was a good dog, actually followed commands, tried to keep her brother in line as much as she could.

She's been having a hard time the past couple of years. Her hips had caught up with her, so she didn't move around as well but her quality of life was still good. The kids would go and pet her, she'd sleep a lot, she moved slower, but she was eating and happy. She went downhill in the course of 12 hours. Turns out she had a massive tumor that spanned her entire body, and some shift had happened constricting her breathing. The choice (as if there was one) was easy, and she looked at us with such peace that we knew she was ready. Patrick and I were both there with her, she was loved, and she went peacefully.


She sits on the mantle in a gorgeous cherry wood box now. We've thrown all of our love and attention to Tristan to try to get him through this. He's doing ok, but I know he needs to grieve a little too.

These dogs were our children before we had children, when we were trying (and failing) to have kids, they were and are a huge part of our lives.

We miss you Skylar, but we know that you are sprinting across heaven right now feeling no pain. We are lucky to have had you in our lives, and I'm so grateful that the kids were able to know and love you.

Little Victories

So we have a lot going on (when is that not the case?), but I'm making a pledge to update more often! I'm especially going to take advantage of Patrick's coaching nights and try to do at least two posts a week. I really do have a lot I'd like to document and some backtracking I'd like to do both in relation to Kellen's diagnosis path and just general family fun (we went on vacation...seems like forever ago).

For now, I would like to comment on little victories. So I have now firmly allowed/convinced/strong-armed/bribed/brainwashed myself to stop comparing Kellen. I vow to stop comparing him to Larkin because well let's face it, there has not nor ever will be another Larkin LOL!
I also vow to stop comparing him...
... to the kids in his class
... to the other kids at birthday parties
... to my friends' kids on facebook
... to your kids on your blogs
... to my newlywed ideal of what my son might be like someday
... to other autistic kids
... to anyone other than the kid he was yesterday, last week, last year...
I vow this for my sanity, I vow this for both of my kids' confidence, and this new outlook allows me to openly celebrate things like walking to and from the car!!

This is HUGE people. Kellen is a little bit of a Mama's boy...and when you have two kids less than 11 months apart, well one is going to get carried because it's all about containment in open parking lots at that point people! So somewhere along the way, Kellen got used to being carried (you know, probably because he used to be a baby that didn't walk and stuff), Larkin would walk holding our hand (because she being Larkin got to a point where she refused to be carried!), and so was life for the past oh 2 years!

So we realized (when I say we I mean Patrick told me) that we had no idea why we were still carrying Kellen. So we'd try to make him walk in...drama ensued. So we ditched that...about 30 different times.

It's volleyball season, and due to a variety of different factors, I'm really pulling extra duty this year. I have dropped off, picked up, done dinner/baths/bed solo more times in the past month than in the past 2 years it seems. So be it, many women have had it way worse. I have the luxury of a wonderful supportive husband, he just happens to not be home a lot lately, but I'd rather have him in some gym across town than in some desert across the world, you know? (I've really been trying to put an end to my pity party days, can you tell?). So anyway, it's HARD to carry 40lbs of Kellen while keeping track of a very speedy Larkin, all while being my size!

Anyway, one day about two weeks ago, Kellen was adamant about bringing this car at school home with him. So I said "You know what, ok, but you're walking your booty to the car"...and so he did...stopped a few times, couple of complaints, confusion on all of our parts of how to open the car door and get everyone in without my parking lot freakout, but we survived.

The next morning we get to school, Patrick's turn...Kellen sat down on the sidewalk...and refused to budge. Larkin and I actually went in to log them into the system and sat and watched them on the surveillance cameras wondering how long they would sit there...long enough that Larkin and I headed to the breakfast room! And then there they came around the corner...walking...

Rinse and repeat with a few tantrums thrown in here and there but we did NOT, we all out refused to let him get out of walking to and from the car to school everyday for...TWO WEEKS. And just like that we made a huge change for him. He walks to and from like a big boy, he's even attempting to get in and out of the car by himself. What I wouldn't let him do for so long, he was more than capable of doing all along...so I again am humbled, and we all need to re-evaluate other ways that we may be inadventently holding him back.

Once I started along that path, he's also brushing his teeth by himself (standing on the stool, waiting for toothpaste, etc.), he's helping to dress himself, he's waiting patiently for his milk when we get home (and I'm allowing him to play downstairs without quickly ushering him to his chair to be contained). I even found out at daycare that he's tolerating standing up diaper changes...so next week...
...I'm buying pull-ups instead of diapers...
...and the next week, we'll start putting him on the potty...
...because who says he's not ready to potty train...
...who am I to say he can't...

Oh and he's saying "Noooooooo!" clearly, purposely, and turns out he has a lot of opinions...because well, he is my son after all ; )

He Sings

I need to be doing better about blogging…for sanity, for progress tracking, and just for documenting life in general. Yesterday was a day worth mentioning.

First, the crappy part…my poor husband has a herniated disc. Apparently this is painful? I’m not sure how it compares to childbirth, but interestingly, there are striking similarities! Yesterday, my biggest baby (that’s Patrick) had to get an epidural steroid shot. This is supposed to help with inflammation around the disc so that maybe he’ll have better luck with physical therapy. Surgery is still potentially on the table, but we’re taking it one step at a time. Regardless, I tried to prep him and tell him that epidurals don’t hurt (mine didn’t at least), but I also tried to avoid telling him that steroid injections hurt like a bitch no matter where you get them! I’ve had A LOT of shots in my life including self injections of blood thinner right into my growing belly every single day I was pregnant. Not a one of those shots compared to the stinging of the steroid I got in my rear when I got strep throat a couple of years ago…but again, I may have failed to mention that to him ; )

He took it like a champ though (I give myself credit because he knew he could show no weakness or I would ridicule him with the “Oh please, I had two epidurals and THEN had to actually give birth after them.”). I just hope it helps…

Anyway, so we got home with the kids last night and my sweet boy did the most amazing thing. First, he ate his mac and cheese like a champ. He was in a great mood, asked nicely (signed for more) for his milk, asked for his cookies (the “c” sound suffices), asked for his cup (the “c” sound is multi-purpose), and then he sang me a song…

I mean he really sang me a song. I was holding cookies out to him one at a time, so I could continue to hear that wonderful “c” sound, when he stopped eating, looked at me, and began very obviously singing a song. He sang the whole thing, with repeated sounds that had a definite rhythm, melody, and even hand motions (it looked like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!) through the whole thing! I mean this lasted like 45 seconds, and it was a complete song. He seemed very intent on finishing the whole thing and then very proud of himself when he was done. Thankfully Larkin knew when he was done so she clapped and said “yay!”…while I sat there awestruck fighting back the buckets of tears that were eager to fall.

Patrick and I looked at each other and had what I realize was a glorious moment of hope. Kellen was “on” yesterday, he was present in that moment, he was engaged the whole evening. He even said nigh-night when I put him to bed…I haven’t heard that in months. The song was completely new...the words were unrecognizable, it just sounded like some wire was crossed in his speech, like he was very deliberately using specific sounds, but to us it sounded like another language (we heard the same sounds repeated). What was so different about yesterday? what changed? what went right?

The scientist in me is fighting to start logging every detail of his life so that I can unravel this mystery. We’ve always said he responds so well to music, maybe we can sing directions to him, maybe we can use sounds as requesters, maybe if we can record him singing "words" to a known song, then we can try to translate those sounds into words, what if Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is the rosetta stone to deciphering what he's trying to tell us…

But then maybe I should just sit back and calm down and be grateful for a moment because…

…he sings…and that's forward progress...

It Changes Everything... and It Changes Nothing

So many of you have been wondering what’s going on with us, and a few of you know already, so I’m just going to spit it out…

Last week, Kellen was officially diagnosed with autism.
Ah yes, there’s the frog in my throat I’ve been expecting...I’m still waiting on the big breakdown but it hasn’t shown up yet. I guess I’m still processing it really, we all are. We have a long road ahead of us though, and I can’t help but think that our infertility journey prepared us in many ways for this new struggle. Once upon a time, a blog was my outlet, my unfiltered venting place…and I think I’d be well served to do that again. Because what good is the struggle if it can’t help others who are dealing with the same.

So be forewarned that you’re about to be subjected to more than you ever wanted to know about autism.

A few random thoughts before I start future posts on the details of the autism diagnosis process (hint: it’s LONG!)….

• I’ve “known” for about a year. I remember that feeling of dread really settling in last July on vacation…and that feeling never went away. Everyone (including doctors) tried to explain it away as being a boy, second born, having a chatty older sister, etc. They were wrong and this was one of the few instances in life that I regretted being right.


• I feel like Larkin knows. She translates for him regularly, she looks out for him, she gives him his space. I know that through this process she is going to be his (and OUR) greatest teacher.


• We are united as a family. Just as the miscarriages drove Patrick and me closer together, this has done the same. By leaning on each other, we will get through this.


• We did not get the worst aspects of autism. He’s not talking, that’s concern number one. But physically…watch out. He’s advanced…case in point, yesterday he stood on top of his bouncing zebra and proceeded to start to let go and stand up completely while balancing (think circus act), none of us could do that!


• I love my son, and thankfully I know he loves me. So many of the heart-breaking stories I hear related to autism are tied to the children that don’t show emotion, mothers who don’t get hugs or snuggles or kisses. I am VERY lucky. My KK hugs me daily, runs to me when he sees me, gives me kisses every night, grabs me by the hand and takes me over to share a bowl of popcorn. I am beyond grateful for this.

So here we go. We have a lot to learn, a lot of decisions to make, a lot of planning to do. One step at a time. He is technically in the mild to moderate range with the expectations that he could do very well with the right interventions since the diagnosis was made so early, prognosis improves exponentially if we can get him to talk. So we have work to do…and we will do everything we can for him. I don’t know how to fail, I refuse to do it…and I will not fail him.

The diagnosis will require a lot of fundamental changes in the way we do things, the way we approach learning with him, the way we approach life in general...but in the end, he’s still that athletic, loving, hilarious wild boy that everyone loves.

In the end…it changes everything…but it changes nothing.

The Little Things that Keep Me Sane

I think it’s probably safe to say that I’m not coping well lately. To my family and friends, SORRY, I know I’ve been a terror as of late. I’m hoping that surviving this next week and looking forward from there will help us all regain our focus.

But this weekend brought me several moments that had me step aside from my stresses and truly cherish the life I’m lucky to lead.

My sweet husband…He could see (and hear and feel and probably wanted to run away from me) that I was not handling myself very well so he picked up the phone and scheduled me a massage for Sunday (and made sure I got to yoga Sunday morning as well). Well when I got out of my massage Sunday afternoon, I checked my e-mail and there was an Evite from “ME” to Margaritas and a Movie…I responded yes and really crossed my fingers that I hadn’t just agreed to a date with some creepy stalker. He had already set up the babysitter, we all had an early family dinner together (second day in a row!), and we had a nice night out…a little time to discuss what’s on our minds plus a little mindless time at the movie…just right.

My hilarious Larkin…She’s been on a roll lately with her little attitude, but that girl can make me laugh when I need it most. She was running circles around the first floor before dinner both days this weekend because “she needed to exercise”. Then when we were trying to explain to her that there were limes growing in the backyard and that her daddy would take her back there to see them the next day, her response was “OH MY GOODNESS!!! LIONS???” I literally fell on the floor in the kitchen crying laughing. She was not the least bit concerned about lions living in our backyard, rather she seemed really excited to meet them. We also made cupcakes and did our toes together, and I always enjoy doing girly stuff with her (because she loves it so much)!

My adoring Kellen…We have a lot of frustrations right now, but there was one moment in particular this weekend that melted my heart. I had gone in our bedroom to put myself together after my massage because we were headed to the grocery store. Patrick and the kids were sitting in the middle of the gameroom floor around a big bowl of popcorn having snacktime. When I emerged from our bedroom, Kellen immediately ran over to me and grabbed my hand. I assumed he was going to pull me to the top of the stairs because he wanted to go down to get juice or something….or that he was going to pull me to his room to open his door…or maybe to a toy he needed help getting…but it was none of those things. He took me by the hand, looked up at my face, and very slowly and gently walked me over to the bowl of popcorn and pulled me to sit down. He sat across from me, looked me dead in the eyes again and smiled. I handed him a piece of popcorn from the bowl, which he took and then did his little happy dance (he does a little side-to-side dance when he’s happy, or when something tastes good, etc.)…he did his happy dance because he’d brought me over to sit with all the people he loved and share some popcorn…not because he needed anything, but because he wanted me there with them.

And in that moment…I knew that whatever this week brings, we will be okay. In that moment, I knew I’d be doing my happy dance again soon.

Larkin Grows Up

It’s hard to believe that Larkin is 3. Not in the “OMG, it feels like she was just a baby yesterday” kind of way, more in the “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with a 3-yr old” kind of way. When I was a kid, they used to say I was like a little adult…carrying on conversations with the adults in the room rather than running around throwing mud or coloring on the walls, you know, typical kid stuff. As I sit and have debates that I’m starting to lose discussions with Larkin, it’s becoming evident that I may not be the easiest person to deal with. My poor parents…my poor friends…and poor Patrick because now he’s stuck with TWO of us.
But hey, we’re cute and sweet and smart and loving…isn’t that enough to make up for being bossy and prissy and moody…and always right? ; )

I had one particularly interesting exchange this weekend.
Larkin: Mama I want cereal for breakfast.
Me: No Larkin, we’re making Daddy omelets today because it’s Father’s Day. I told you that yesterday.
Larkin: No you did not.
Me: Yes I did.
Larkin: Unfortunately, you did not tell me that yesterday.

I had no comeback for that one…unfortunately.

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The good thing is that she does show promise in the area of science.
Me: Larkin quit banging your feet against the kitchen counter, it hurts the fishies’ ears.
Larkin: But Mama, fish don’t have ears, see? How can they hear if they don’t have ears?
**Fleeting glance between Patrick and I as we realize we will never get the repeated “Why?” questions from her but rather explanations of the fundamental flaws in our responses**
I then attempt to explain that fish hear through their skin by feeling vibrations through the water. My biology teacher husband did not correct me, so I’m hoping that was some semblance of right. She absorbed the entire concept and proceeded to repeat it back to us. I can picture her this morning reciting this entire exchange to her preschool class…Little Miss Know-it-All…Version 2.0.
She’s me…but with WAY more confidence (and taller)…Lord help the friends who tolerate her…the man who marries her…and help us to keep her just the way she is ; )

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But the biggest change for her as of late is the “big girl bed”. She’s been ready for it for a long time, but I’m really glad we waited. It went off without a hitch. She was so excited! Over and over she just kept saying “Thank you”. It felt really good. She did great, and we’ve pretty much had zero issues with her not following the bed rules. She stays in her room, she mostly stays in her bed except to turn on her bedtime music or grab a book. She has really impressed us with how well she has followed our directions.

Someday we’ll give Kellen the same freedom…but I have feeling we’ll catch him out on the couch turning on the DVD player in the middle of the night just for fun. ; )

The first night was pretty entertaining though. About 3am we hear her crying, I go in thinking she’s had a bad dream. She tells me she hears squeaking. As I start some response about how it’s probably squirrels outside, my thought process is interrupted by *BEEP!*. At this point, I begin talking to the video monitor about the fact that there is in fact something squeaking and honey, can you hurry up and get in here *BEEP!*? Patrick walks in the *BEEP!* room, and we realize that of all the nights of the year, Larkin’s first night in a big girl bed coincides with the night the battery in her fire alarm goes on the fritz! After locating a chair to remedy the situation, she happily went back to bed in her squeak-free environment. We woke up at 5am to find her still in her bed but with her music playing…guess she wanted to avoid any other interruptions ; )



You may wonder why these pictures are so yellow...that would be my fault. When I designed her nursery, I fell in love with this light from Ikea...you know because it was the sun and stuff.

I'm pretty sure Patrick still has nightmares about installing this light. Turns out the Europeans make cute/cheap stuff, but they're not very good electricians. After numerous tries, the light was installed and does work...but it makes the entire room yellow. Which is a little funny because the room actually IS yellow, but the color effects require you to take outfits out of the room into the game room in order to not send her out into the world with red shorts and a hot pink shirt. Anyway, I think I'm finally ready to change the light...but I don't know how to break it to Patrick : )

35 Redux

I have to say that my birthday was fairly well-received (by me) this year. Turns out I had a fairly stressful week leading up to it, so the idea of getting older just didn't seem like that big a deal. As to what the particular "stress" was...well that's going to require a lot more time. I'm not quite ready to lay it all out there yet. Suffice to say we're starting down a new and difficult road. It's something that I think I plan on being very open about, but I'm just not quite ready yet. And before anyone freaks out, we're all still healthy, no one's dying or anything. It's really not that bad...just a struggle that I need a name for first, and then you'll probably get sick of me talking about. It's something that will change everything, but will change nothing. And we are united as a family as we embark on this new adventure.

So anyway, major life stress followed by turning 35...not really in the mood for celebrating. Kids went to school, Patrick went to school, I went to work. I actually went for an early morning run before work because well, it was my birthday, and I needed to destress! I also found my car taking me through the Starbucks drive-thru that morning so I was handling it all pretty well.

No big fuss, just a couple phone calls (which I didn't answer), texts, facebook posts...low key birthday was fine by me.
Then I walked in my office to this...

Let me say that it was impossible to walk, roll my chair, answer the phone, etc. without first parting the sea of balloons all over the floor. I also had confetti perpetually stuck to me for the remainder of the week. And you know what?

It was just what I needed. One of my research assistants kept laughing because she said it was impossible to take me seriously when I was trying to be all sciencey in the middle of that mess. And maybe I needed to be a little less serious that week...just for a little while.

I got new running clothes for my birthday which couldn't have been more perfect. I equally think and don't think while I run...and I'm going to need to be doing a lot of both this summer.

How do you get to 35?

1 PhD
2 Amazing miracle children
3 Years being a mom
4 Furry family members
5 Miscarriages before Larkin
8.5 Years loving my job
11.5 Years wedded bliss

Equals 35 years down with a lot of living and loving to go!

Turning 30 was a rough spot for me. Not because I was getting older, but because I was still deep in the fight of trying to have a baby. It amazes me how much has changed in just 5 years. Finished my PhD, had two awesome kids, and I'm in better shape now than I was at 30...no complaints from me! I can't wait to see what the next 5 years hold!

Astros Race for Pennant 5K

So spur of the moment, I decided to go ahead and run the 5K on Monday. I wussed out of it last year, and I didn't want to have to live that down again.

Annie and Jeff were nice enough to pick me up, and then Annie was nice enough to make fun of me for wearing a fleece in May in Texas...I'm cold-natured (cold-natured I said NOT cold-hearted...most of the time). We had plenty of time once we got down there and met up with fellow runners. We did a warm-up lap, and I definitely felt like I'd rather still be in bed. My right Achilles was a little sore in the days prior, but more problematic was that I still felt sleepy...oh well!

Anyway, the start was anticlimactic, and I can't say that I was really all that excited to take off. It was at this moment that I realized these were the first few miles of the marathon course...thankfully I appear to have mostly blocked out that experience, so it didn't really cause any ill effects.

I took off at a nice pace weaving around families of people choosing to walk the course...which don't get me wrong, I fully support, but line up in the BACK people! Then came a HILL, which is actually an overpass, but still, how rude to put that in a 5K, then came more hills, and then any time goal I had went out the window. I still pushed it at a reasonable level, but I knew I had to hit those "hills" again in a minute because it's a stupid out and back course!

Anyway, so I kept Annie in sight most of the race. I joked with her before that I wanted to run a 5K with her and let her be my "bunny". It seems the word I was actually looking for was "rabbit", but being me, I've taken to using the word "bunny" instead. For my non-running friends, a bunny (well actually a rabbit) is someone that paces elite athletes to make sure they stay close to their goal finishing time. Annie is faster than me, so I've been wanting her to pace me on a 5K to see how hard I could really push myself. But when the hills hit and the heat was brutal, I said forget it.

So I'm past mile 2 and there's my bunny Annie within sight! I pick up the pace and catch her in the last half mile. I pull up along side and say "Come on bunny!" which she hears as "Come on money!" I find this absolutely hilarious. This exhange was further compounded by her replying "I threw up" which I heard as "I blew up". I'm giggling again just thinking about it. Anyway, dumb and dumber here finished out the race the best we could. Once again, I finished knowing that I could have run harder, but oh well, stupid hills messed with my confidence. Someday we'll run a 5K on a cooler, flatter course and we'll really see what we can do.

But in the end, I finished at 27:13 with Annie a few seconds behind me (even with the puking). This is just 6 seconds slower than my recent 5K time, so at least I know the other one wasn't a fluke ; ) No races on the schedule anytime soon, so back to base-building and speedwork I think...

Notes on a Funeral

So I had to go to a funeral recently, and it had me pondering many aspects of life and death.

You can’t help but sit there and reflect on every other funeral you’ve ever attended in your life (which makes you even sadder as you sit there).

But worse, you can’t help but let your mind wander to consider all of the funerals you have YET to attend in your life. Now that thought is truly terrifying and heartbreaking.

So when those thoughts hit me, I quickly shifted gears into something more constructive…planning my own funeral. Hell, I’ll be dead, so no sense in being sad about that myself. Unless all my science training has failed me, I’m pretty sure death is inevitable, so I figure it’s just good planning…very Stephen Covey Quadrant 2 of me to think about this now.

Anyway, so let’s face it, we all have thoughts, preferences, etc. about what we want for our funeral, so here I shall record my requirements so that it can be said that “Even in death, she was bossy!”

The Crying…Some people will say that they want people to be happy and remember the good times and make it a happy celebration of life. Well what the heck! I want people to be SAD! I want to have lived the kind of life and be the kind of person that people are PISSED about not being around anymore. I mean I want people doing the ugly cry, throwing themselves at the coffin, screaming “Why?” ala Nancy Kerrigan and the clubbing incident, etc. I want to have made that kind of impression on the world that people are devastated that I’m not in it anymore! Just give me 2 hours of drama devoted to me…then after the funeral you’re welcome to get drunk and “celebrate” my life and all that ; )

The Singing…good LORD if you have someone in there in a girdle and blue hair singing off key with too much vibrato I may in fact come back to haunt the person responsible.

The Program…If there is a spelling mistake, again, please expect to be haunted if you are responsible! Check your refrigerator magnets for evil messages.

The Flowers…If you know me at all, you know that I think that carnations are the cockroach of the flower world. If I see a carnation in my arrangements, I will most likely jump out of that coffin and pluck them out one by one myself!

The Pictures…Good funerals usually have nice photo slideshows of the deceased. Should I live to be old, please make sure to have plenty of pictures of me in my younger days. I don’t workout this hard now to not get credit for it later ; )

The Eulogy…While I’m being very tongue-in-cheek about the above statements (except for the carnations…seriously), my only true wish for my funeral is that my kids have something nice to say about me. I hope that they have so many stories of “Remember that time Mom…” that they can’t even choose. There will inevitably be stories that start with “Remember that time Mom fell…” and “Remember that time Mom got mad about…” I do hope that I’ve lived the kind of life and done enough for them that they miss me, but more than that, I hope I’ve done enough for them that they’ll be just fine without me.

And I need to go before Patrick because I’ll never survive without him…

Larkin's First Race Report

So when I realized that I was ready to start running again, I tried to find a 5K. When I looked into the Sprint for Life 5K, I was immediately intrigued by their Tot Trot for kids 3 years and younger. It was Mother's Day weekend, Larkin is always fascinated when I run, and I thought it would be worth trying to run our first race together. My fear was that she was going to be completely annoyed and uninterested...but the outcome was the exact opposite!

She was talking about it for weeks before the race. I managed to find her a super cute (but athletic!) running outfit...and just maybe I managed to match it to one of my outfits ; ) I also made a huge frilly bow. We Luna girls may run, but we run with style!

The night before the race I told Larkin to remind her Daddy about her race number in the morning. Apparently, she woke up talking about her race number (and her racing shirt...and her racing shorts)...so she was ready to pin it on as soon as she got there.

We managed to get some cute mother daughter pics as well. It might be early and I have no make-up on, but what an awesome way to kick-off Mother's Day weekend.


Once we were over by the start line, Larkin was really ready to get going...but we still had like 20 minutes to wait. So we talked serious race strategy.

We don't look alike at all you know...

Once we lined up, she was all business.

Now let me say that we know very well that Larkin is "all girl". I fully expected her to run like Phoebe on Friends and inevitably to fall at least once...but it didn't happen.

That little chicken took off with better form that I run with and she was FAST!

She totally would have won the race...except Nina forgot to double knot her laces!!

She did get a little tired on the way back (so did I...no way that was just 150 feet!), but she toughed it out and never walked.

If you look closely, you can see Nina snapping a picture with her phone on the left : )

Everywhere we went that morning we heard lots of "Awwwww", "How cute", and "Look at them"...it was one of those events that you know you'll never forget. Here was my mini-me. She was so excited to run...to run like Mama...to run with Mama. Everyone was watching this cute mother-daughter pair in matching outfits, and I couldn't have been more proud. Thoughts of sad Mother's Days past danced on the edge of my mind, and it all felt like a dream. Kellen was even extremely well-behaved and let us have our mother-daughter time. I was so grateful for that entire morning, and I knew it would be a mother's day I would never forget.

To celebrate, everyone got a popsicle...and then we took an impromptu trip to the zoo.

Best Mother's Day Ever...

Only problem is that Larkin can't stop talking about her race...I can't put on my running shoes without her asking to go with me! We're already looking for her next race : )