tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308817492648203282024-03-06T01:13:32.304-08:00Wildflowers for JadeGaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-10601654442088198702022-02-09T12:39:00.001-08:002022-02-09T12:55:50.312-08:00Sacrificed To A Greater Good<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZXsQle3cmCbATeA8CX47jACmi7N8gZ9CAOaqxRsndtn6FOlH-Et5aY2AVjXLB2qJgvzlT8ZDIXnKaUt0XdmdMNBmwf55gpACKFtRNwBRfzR0vQWPkNtCuse5UokK0I5LDiU4v1hOPBoGkzIc8AzYrHp8TopqJ1TW_aaFvcJhFme-aPr9SqCuN24gV=s3264" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZXsQle3cmCbATeA8CX47jACmi7N8gZ9CAOaqxRsndtn6FOlH-Et5aY2AVjXLB2qJgvzlT8ZDIXnKaUt0XdmdMNBmwf55gpACKFtRNwBRfzR0vQWPkNtCuse5UokK0I5LDiU4v1hOPBoGkzIc8AzYrHp8TopqJ1TW_aaFvcJhFme-aPr9SqCuN24gV=w150-h200" width="150" /></a></div>The chimes sing a discordant song orchestrated by the wind. The birds sing their own song in glorious refrain. Looking out on the waters of the bayou, sparkling with wind and sunlight, I'm filled with the life of the world. But I was never here. <p></p><p>I don't know if the things you've done, good and bad, tip more one way or the other on the scales. I don't know how mine tilt either. How we contribute to the world, even the world doesn't know. The people around us can internalize one thing or another that we've said and done, and be better or worse for it. They may never know the weight of it themselves. </p><p>In a dream I was sacrificed for The Greater Good. I and my child. I tried to define Greater Good first, to make that decision, but that decision wasn't asked or allowed of me. Only my sacrifice was demanded. </p><p>Our Christian history is full of martyrs. Martyrs for God's Good and Glory are of a different story. The World's leaders don't get to decide for me, and especially for my son, what The Greater Good is, and demand my sacrifice. There is no Great Good if it's gotten there on a road paved with human bones. </p><p>Continued in "<a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2022/02/this-and-moral-line.html">This and the Moral Line</a>"</p><br /><p><br /></p>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-12015664344118823472022-02-09T12:04:00.004-08:002022-02-09T12:17:29.347-08:00This and the Moral Line<p dir="auto" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>Before
we answer “Why is this happening?” or “Should this be allowed?” should
the whole question be defined first, or the question of what is “this”? </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>If
we separate and define what “this” is, examine it by itself and
question whether it be good or bad and should ever be allowed, we come
up with a line, a rule to judge the second. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span> </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>If,
instead, we define the whole question, outlining a situation that may
at the moment seem dire and urgent in its own way, we can ask “is
basically anything allowable now that we’ve determined that the
situation is a thing that really must be stopped?” </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span> </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>In
defining the problem first, with no moral line placed on whatever the
solution may be (or the determiners may say the solution is,) then there
is no line that couldn’t be crossed. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>That
is part of the fight over the Constitution and the Amendments, which
defined “this” for several things and said for no reason should “this”
be infringed: not even a good and urgent reason. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>If we define “this” as never permissible, we don’t force no solution but better solutions. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span> </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>If
anything is permissible under the right circumstances, then the right
circumstances will certainly arrive, and we as a race concede that
morality may be erased at any moment if it is For the Greater Good. The
Greater Good of whom or what entities can be fuzzy. Lines that can be
moved were not lines. A humanity that occasionally gives up its humanity
for fear or convenience of uncreative solutions has given up on
defining anything - up to and including their own sacrifice - as a line
that can’t be crossed. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>A
whole world view looks at no one in the face, cares about and remembers
no one. It makes everyone into part of a chart of statistics. If those
statistics are basically trending good, it will be called good, and your
particular harms will be defined as an “acceptable casualty.” </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>We
must never give up looking at humans as individuals with their own
humanity, their own choices and God-given rights to choices. If you
would not be okay being an acceptable casualty, or your children,
neither should you be okay with someone else or their faceless children
being an acceptable casualty for your Greater Good. That, ultimately, is
human sacrifice; a practice that never seems to go out of style. </span></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span></span><br /></p><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span>Therefore,
we must define “this” and the acceptability of “this” before we define
any pressing circumstances that may infringe upon it. When it does, we hold the line. <br /></span></p><span style="color: #888888;"><p style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span><br /></span></p></span>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-26046121378672728322022-01-05T18:13:00.002-08:002022-01-05T18:20:58.401-08:00How To Take Action Against Injustice<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLNw52RSF7Bos8gzd5-N9zDyLGzyC2g84og0u2wekNtDjIGODpOpVIMRhFzeKc9bRGTxGBikK6iZPj92frcR7NQqzBmEqSxYiwSdBHvQulKpg6gLeha2lwniswen_6HE5ptsbfIb-koVlOMIbp0_ElGB9QOpsO2IOZriGXHCgqD1N0J4kcUnMXtavw=s600" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Archangel Michael defeats Satan ~ Guido Reni" border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="407" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLNw52RSF7Bos8gzd5-N9zDyLGzyC2g84og0u2wekNtDjIGODpOpVIMRhFzeKc9bRGTxGBikK6iZPj92frcR7NQqzBmEqSxYiwSdBHvQulKpg6gLeha2lwniswen_6HE5ptsbfIb-koVlOMIbp0_ElGB9QOpsO2IOZriGXHCgqD1N0J4kcUnMXtavw=w218-h320" title="Archangel Michael defeats Satan ~ Guido Reni" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span dir="ltr" lang="en"><i> <br /></i></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>We live in a world where injustice (or perceptions of it) is always in front of our
faces, 24/7, flooding our veins with the adrenaline of a fighter with nothing
to fight. Even before the internet (oh shush, you young whippersnappers) one of
my pet peeves was the well-laid-out and long articles detailing a major problem, that
ended with no way for me to contribute to a solution. Today we have our social
media accounts to go gripe to, and the amount of shares and likes we receive count
as the amount of difference we make in the world. But deep down, we know
better.
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">There’s very little, it seems, that we can do about so many
things, while so many things seem to be piling up. Yes, I see that injustice!
What can I do? Tell me where to go. I’m ready. But no, we’re little peons with
pocketknives for swords. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It may surprise you to know that Jesus’ times were full of
injustices, too. I mean, slightly surprising. Because
Jesus didn’t really talk about it, per say. But where humans exist, atrocities
abound, and 33 A.D. was no different. There was sex-trafficking, rape, murder,
and infanticide, and the unjustly accused dying. Jesus lived in an occupied
country. And while those around him tried to trap him into talking politics on
several occasions, He didn’t go for it. He did, however, address it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Blessed are you who are poor, for the Kingdom of God is
yours.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be
satisfied. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude
you and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of
Man. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Luke 6:20-22 (read also 23-26)</p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus came to change hearts, not minds. We should do
likewise. Starting with ourselves. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But to you who hear I say, love your enemies, do good to
those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you…
Luke 6:27-28 (read also the rest of the chapter)</p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, clickbait!” you say. “I wanted a way to take action!” I
know. I’m telling you, be patient. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ but do not do what I
command? Luke 6:46</p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus came to change hearts, not minds. Arguing on the
internet or across the Thanksgiving table with Uncle Joe may be a favorite pastime
for some people, but it’s spinning on a hamster wheel, even if you score a few points or some
likes. What does it do? Change the heart, and the rest will follow. We have to
start with our heart to make it ready, malleable, presentable. That can only be done
through constant prayer and connection with our Lord and Savior.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, </span></span></b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Whatever
your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” Ecclesiastes 9:10</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We see all the big out there, and want to do big and change
big, and stomp all over the small things that are front of us to do. Take care
of your family, be kind, pray, get involved with local things. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You see, we are coming apart at the seams because <b>we’re the
seams</b>. For some of us, whatever little thing in front of us doesn’t seem big
enough, and it can get ignored for the desire of a <i>nobler cause</i>. Something
falls apart that wasn’t supposed to. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So yes, that’s it. I know it seems unsatisfying to some.
Read, pray, love, do what’s in front of you, this day, to do. Turn off the
internet more often. Goodnight. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Don't miss: <a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2021/12/i-cordially-invite-you-to-sin-against-me.html" target="_blank">I Cordially Invite You To Sin Against Me</a></b> <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-72714465821081477342021-12-27T14:12:00.004-08:002021-12-27T14:21:26.436-08:00A Beautiful Wedding And Tough Conversations Part 2<p>I've hesitated for a long time about updating this blog anymore with personal information. It was mostly about Jaden and his journey, and he's fine now, and if he wants anyone to know anything else, he can say it himself. And believe me, he's about to. Wisdom is his superpower, and he writes like a college-educated adult. It's about to get fun. </p><p>But about us. My ex-husband is no longer my ex. <a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2011/08/what-beautiful-wedding.html" target="_blank">Jaden got his wish</a>, and we were remarried in 2018.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWQnTH02cUI8X0-CGF_hUeLmJca70A89r345nIVfNiwCMda-BRAqg2gVxq3jbwvgTQsKx-0h7HIv4UtdKucn9CVy1ezXWi_32U4pcjWP-K1J6o_Rdwk3I1c8vXdYsQUJpk8Z18j_1Ub08tjfB6_3zvYjkAg6dYc8zcgocV34tWUEJckrvA0rSxhKda=s4032" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWQnTH02cUI8X0-CGF_hUeLmJca70A89r345nIVfNiwCMda-BRAqg2gVxq3jbwvgTQsKx-0h7HIv4UtdKucn9CVy1ezXWi_32U4pcjWP-K1J6o_Rdwk3I1c8vXdYsQUJpk8Z18j_1Ub08tjfB6_3zvYjkAg6dYc8zcgocV34tWUEJckrvA0rSxhKda=s320" width="240" /></a></div>And again this December, but I'll get to that. Covid did us one favor and allowed my husband to work from home, so we moved to da Louisiana bayou. Then God did an interesting thing to my ever-searching-but-never-finding heart. He led me home to the Catholic church. We went through 6 wonderful months of spiritual education, my first marriage was annulled (I was twice-divorced,) and my husband and I were married up again with a good and proper Catholic wedding. <p></p><p>A week before Christmas we were all confirmed in the Church. It's been a beautiful month. For anyone who is tempted to save me from myself, stop. I've been Protestant most of my life and have read, thought, searched, prayed. I also used to know everything. Arguments are funny when they're one-sided and the accusations not true at all. </p><p>But my soul has found rest and I'm home now and that is that. It was a very unexpected turn of events all around, for sure. </p><p>So about us. I have thought for a long time, "Nobody cares what I have to say." That may be true but I guess it's time to say things again and let other people decide. This time my wonderful autistic kiddo will also be chiming in with his own posts. Do look back at my old posts, because it wasn't vanity that drove me to share our life, but the hope of helping others <a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2014/05/letting-yourself-drown.html" target="_blank">who may be drowning</a>. </p><p>So stick around, keep following. <a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2010/08/beautiful-apologies.html" target="_blank">Jaden and I have a lot to say</a>. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRDXtakTMroRa4QlKUa84k3K0rcJilEdlXLY6eIKNKLtJtL0lVViSYanaIlesWV-lv4aBANTzN1rZawlu7nRUPxuw0i_HPcd2-VZGTZrlwgDbD_YP_upxjqlmcY-J4otGzPso5WNFQlISquDd2NoOMt-KM2x6kk74YcahHhY067hICuuqBMZw3HDhl=s1488" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRDXtakTMroRa4QlKUa84k3K0rcJilEdlXLY6eIKNKLtJtL0lVViSYanaIlesWV-lv4aBANTzN1rZawlu7nRUPxuw0i_HPcd2-VZGTZrlwgDbD_YP_upxjqlmcY-J4otGzPso5WNFQlISquDd2NoOMt-KM2x6kk74YcahHhY067hICuuqBMZw3HDhl=s320" width="242" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Don't miss: <a href="https://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2021/12/i-cordially-invite-you-to-sin-against-me.html" target="_blank">I Cordially Invite You To Sin Against Me</a> <br /></p>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-39779071434355730402021-12-27T12:38:00.000-08:002021-12-27T12:38:25.311-08:00 I Cordially Invite You to Sin Against Me<div class="separator"><p class="MsoNormal">It seemed to begin in earnest with reality shows. Oh sure,
it was a thing already there, always lurking, hiding in the world’s oldest
professions and creeping out like the snake it is to infect all parts of our
lives. When you’re invited to sin with open arms, the temptation you face is
made stronger by the fact that sometimes a person is tempting you with all
their actions. It begins to feel like a victimless crime if the victim asked
for it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p></div><p class="MsoNormal">Why reality shows? Because those people signed on for the
cameras, for the scrutiny, and ultimately for the ridicule. And if you ridicule
someone who asked for it, in the privacy of your own home, who does it hurt,
really? So you did, and you do. You judged their hairstyles, their walk, the
way they laughed, their five extra pounds, the way they related to the world.
Anything you could ridicule, you grabbed onto with both hands. You called it a
“guilty pleasure.” It was a sin. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eventually your scornful nature stopped feeling bad about
it, stopped listening to that check in your spirit. Everyone does it, and you
find like-minded scorners to show yourself that you’re in good company and
everyone does it. You were, after all, invited. The monster fed is a monster
that grows, and your scorn spills over to anyone that opportunes themselves.
“Hey, if they didn’t want to be ridiculed, they shouldn’t have ---.” Guffaw. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If they asked for it, what’s wrong with that? For that
matter, what’s wrong with sleeping with a hooker, or looking at porn, or taking
up a willing one-night-stand? You always think a sin of this nature is to fight
against Satan’s attacks on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you,</i> and
that it’s about… you. If the person wanted it, it’s you who is the tempted, therefore
it’s you who is the victim. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You were cordially invited to sin against someone, and you
cordially accepted the invitation. Why a certain person may feel inclined to
put themselves in a position to be victimized is varied and complex. It usually
comes from places of previous victimization, deceptions, possessions. In other
words, they have had a breakdown of their identity. Somewhere <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who they are</i> has been decimated or
twisted, and they are now acting out a part handed to them. Every sin invited
and sin accepted against them is an affirmation that this twisted picture of
identity is an accurate one. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>The sins of scorn, sex, and porn are related, because it
accepts a rotten and objectifying view of a human being. It makes the person
less human, to become a toy for your pleasure and amusement.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How can this affect anyone if you’re at home alone? Well, it
never ends that way and that’s that, but that’s the ending. There are spiritual
laws (Luke 6:36-38) and let’s say: you are certainly not praying for that
person and, in a way, praying against them. “For of the abundance of heart his
mouth speaketh,” Luke 6:45. In spite of your beginning intentions, it starts to
come across towards people in your own close circle. They notice. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What I say on the internet is the internet.” There are
people behind those memes, those 80s hairstyles, the “retarded” memes, the
people you communicate with that you think are idiots. Humans whom God loves,
and in spite of what they say, have soft and breakable hearts. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000;">If God singled one person out and thundered loudly “I love
her, do not sin against her,” would you ever dare make fun of her or look at
her naked, even if she by her actions invited you to do so? </span>I would hope you’d
be too afraid to touch that, and move on to the next. But God feels that way
about all of his lost children. He called us to be a witness, not one of the
rabble tearing people to shreds and body parts. The world laughs at us for this
reason. They know our hypocrisy and crack it open. To take the Lord’s name,
that he gave you, in vain is a terrible witness. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Christians argue <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ad
nauseam </i>about theology, but when asked what was the most important
commandment to follow, Jesus made it clear. “’Love the Lord your God with all
your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your
mind’ and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ‘You have answered correctly,’
Jesus replied. ‘Do this and you will live.’” Luke 10:27-28 (NIV) Jesus made it
simple, in the most difficult commands ever. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Broken people will invite you to sin against them. An
engraved invitation to sin is still sin. Whatever a person says or thinks about
themselves, or how they present themselves, is not an excuse to go against
God’s laws and His desires for that person. Every one is one whom God puts
forth, and Jesus uttered through his actions on the cross, “I love them.” He
has an identity for them. We should all be more reverent to others in light of
this knowledge. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-52183732038784808522021-10-07T14:02:00.003-07:002021-10-08T14:47:33.077-07:00Does God Honor Evil?<p> Many people are only now starting to look up terms like <b>HEK293</b> and perhaps finding that it's in and <a href="https://www.patheos.com/blogs/throughcatholiclenses/2021/01/if-any-drug-tested-on-hek-293-is-immoral-goodbye-modern-medicine/" target="_blank">used for so many things</a>, the list could feel overwhelming. What do we do with this information? Some would say, honor the sacrifice for the Greater Good. What man meant for evil, God meant for good. I mean, yeah, I know that scripture, but let's not get out of hand. </p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"></p><blockquote><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">What is HEK293? They took a baby who had been aborted, took cells from it's parts, and made a <i>cell line</i>, tissue cultures that are experimented on.<i> HEK</i> = Human Embryonic Kidney. </span><br /></blockquote><p></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Does God honor the acts of Great Evil</b></span>? That's the real question isn't it? If we say "yes," then any evil could be excused into perpetuity as long as it's for the Greater Good. And before you cry "hyperbole!", perpetuity <i>is</i> what we're looking at.</p><p> </p><p>A vast amount of medical science and knowledge was gleaned from the <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1361275/Americas-shocking-secret-US-experimented-disabled-citizens-prison-inmates.html" target="_blank">horrors of human experimentation</a>. I'm sorry if you didn't know that, but it's true, and it would be dishonest to have this discussion without bringing it up. So many people blink and eventually say something like "so many lives have been saved." True, in a way, but so many have been lost. Human experimentation (of the horrific kind) never died, it just went underground, and the little bits of knowledge tossed out from the government about what the government "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra" target="_blank">used to do</a>" is enough to make a sane person sick. </p><p> </p><p>Aside from that and back to "so many lives have been saved." Medical errors are the third leading cause of death in the US. THIRD seems like a lot. This, of course, does not account for all the recalls in medical equipment and medicines, because ten years later it seems some these medicines are killing people. Oops. So we're all being experimented on, and these medicines aren't always that great. </p><p> </p><p>Who can count up the total of lives lost to lives saved? What's the balance, in the end? </p><p> </p><p>Let's say, for the sake of argument, that it's true. Many lives saved to lives lost (lives we try not to think about.) What are we saying? That extended life is what we were meant for, by whatever means? That saving our own lives until we eek out every last drop from it, taking more than giving, is not only the point, but worth the human sacrifices along the way? At what point <i>could</i> you muster the courage to say that your life is <i>more</i> worthy than to extend it through honoring evil, <i>less</i> worth than torturing another soul for to gain a few years? </p><p> </p><p>No, not all medical advances were built on torturous human experimentation. Some of it was. Is it honored?</p><p> </p><p>Let's look at the here and now. <a href="https://www.ucsf.edu/news/2013/05/105671/human-brain-cells-developed-lab-grow-mice" target="_blank">Human brain cells are being grown in mice</a>. Aborted baby parts are being sold at a high price, and we know it's not for nothing. Aborted baby cells are being kept alive to grow medicines, to test medicines, <a href="https://www.kingdomclaritylabel.com/news/a-comprehensive-list-of-food-companies-and-products-that-use-senomyx" target="_blank">to test your food for flavorfulness</a>. Does God honor these things for the Greater Good, or does He see them as the High Places that need to be torn down? </p><p> </p><p>We have no right to condemn the ancient tribes for practicing human sacrifice. They were trying to save the many with the few, for the Greater Good. One death for a crop, one child. How could we judge? But God did. He pulled down whole nations for it. </p><p> </p><p>What you do with the information you gleaned is between you and God. There are no easy fixes. My life was also saved once through medical science. But we must be sure not to assuage our own sense of complacency and call it The Lord. He has always demanded that we tear down the High Places. Only One human sacrifice was pleasing to Him; the One He sent Himself. WE have no right to demand that anyone give up, be tortured for, or risk their life for ours. <b>We have no right to take evil and say it is good.</b></p><p><b> </b> </p><p><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>May God have mercy on our souls, we have turned a blind eye to medical science and whatever it is doing at the moment, as long as the outcome is to our benefit. </b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>Read <a href="https://www.patheos.com/blogs/throughcatholiclenses/2021/01/if-any-drug-tested-on-hek-293-is-immoral-goodbye-modern-medicine/" target="_blank"><b>If Any Drug Tested On HEK293 Is Immoral, Goodbye Modern Medicine</b></a><b> </b>whose argument is that that we can't escape being touched by evil. The author is not wrong on that account, so make up your own minds. There is also quite a list of things that HEK293 is used for, so I won't go into here, and description of so many ways that we all have blood on our hands. </i></p><p><i>Research <b>Synomyx</b> <br /></i></p><p><i>Read <a href="https://www.kingdomclaritylabel.com/news/a-comprehensive-list-of-food-companies-and-products-that-use-senomyx" target="_blank">A Comprehensive List of Food Companies and Products That Use Senomyx (Used Aborted Babies)</a></i></p><p><i>Read <a href="https://stopthecabalblog.wordpress.com/2021/08/18/list-of-companies-using-fetal-cells-from-aborted-babies-to-flavour-products/" target="_blank">LIST OF COMPANIES USING FETAL CELLS FROM ABORTED BABIES TO FLAVOUR PRODUCTS</a></i></p><p><i>Read about <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra" target="_blank">Project MK Ultra</a> </i></p><p><i>Read <a href="https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-ethics-of-using-medical-data-from-nazi-experiments" target="_blank">Nazi Medical Experimentation: The Ethics Of Using Medical Data From Nazi Experiments<br />by Baruch C. Cohen</a> </i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-6421501187107723092018-09-12T13:11:00.000-07:002018-09-12T13:11:44.407-07:00I Could Walk Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTccYxaB5e5UWmGrKUsSM_pFdDNpgp3k-5siXMk6bKrhpX-rMGnQTlJPW-D9RFbaIGSlXJa4nB7VOsFkO9VEFG_DAW7dsPeDoZHO6hBKBoqgpz9f-IXDyrzuKqsJRaOgi1Fxg76rnW7Qw/s1600/IMG_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTccYxaB5e5UWmGrKUsSM_pFdDNpgp3k-5siXMk6bKrhpX-rMGnQTlJPW-D9RFbaIGSlXJa4nB7VOsFkO9VEFG_DAW7dsPeDoZHO6hBKBoqgpz9f-IXDyrzuKqsJRaOgi1Fxg76rnW7Qw/s320/IMG_7370.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<i><span style="color: blue;">"I could walk away now," I told someone in January. And until the words were out of my mouth, I had never even thought them. Not once considered them. But they echoed in my head for days into weeks, weeks into months. And with every passing day I took another step away.</span></i><br />
<br />
I've been writing, blogging, admining, researching everything autism and special needs from the moment we got my son's diagnosis. Before that time I had already been writing, researching, etc. attachment parenting, and long before that studying child psychology. I'd say "It's just what I do," but really it's for the kids. It's always for the kids. Children aren't resilient (that's why so many grownups need therapy and are dx'd with personality disorders) and childhood can be a nightmare for some people, and if I can be that one little light in the dark for one person, then its worth it. But it starts with the parents, and parenting, because ultimately they hold the most influence.<br />
<br />
Then I got thrown into my biggest challenge yet - parenting my own wonderfully stubborn (I'm serious, I dig that about him) child with a plethora of personal obstacles he had to overcome. Every moment meant something important and I wore myself out making sure it meant something important and all forward progress; to being the most confident, caring, self-reliant version of himself that he can be. It was hard work for both of us. I'd love to tell everyone how we did it, so I wrote more articles and counseled more people and, and, and... I'm tired. He's doing pretty good now. We continue to make forward progress, but on autopilot. Meaning, all the stuff is now second nature and we just do it.<br />
<br />
So I went to school and got my English degree and made myself more tired but happy, and put up a website that I mentally gave myself a year to start making enough money to pay for itself. I was a single mom, I didn't have that much. Then I said the words and thought the thoughts. "We're doing really good. I could walk away now." From all of it. From a world I didn't volunteer for. Its a chance I know a lot of people don't have. I wasn't getting a lot of feedback. As far as I know, my voice is swallowed up in the wind of a million other voices and maybe doesn't make it past my face. I don't even know anymore. Was I helping anybody?<br />
<br />
I didn't make a decision out of the blue. I just stopped. Rested. Thought. Stopped using Facebook. Stopped listening to the screaming fray. Stopped trying to yell over them. Just took a step back, and then another. Did a lot of thinking about what I wanted to write. About what I would have been doing if this parenting-special-needs gig hadn't swallowed me whole.<br />
<br />
I decided to be selfish.<br />
<br />
Then I got a text and drove 9 hours to Louisiana to help someone with a very difficult, stressful thing and did that for a month.<br />
<br />
When I put the two together I said "God is laughing at me." Jaden said "It just proves you are who you are." Because he is wiser than I am, and less apt to jump to the conclusion that I'm the constant punchline of a cosmic joke. I'll still wonder.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNSMnNx8ktanlLSezno0rdowu4-BLDWRwKG78aMIzaCky3JzdXJO49ldFKB_-pS96JOaVkl6LpOtEtsUfJphzDx1MEDMXSepYSgtaFDhx0lvaqEZ6l5p2nNqwuZrInj8e0EZScxuNtQg/s1600/IMG_7584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNSMnNx8ktanlLSezno0rdowu4-BLDWRwKG78aMIzaCky3JzdXJO49ldFKB_-pS96JOaVkl6LpOtEtsUfJphzDx1MEDMXSepYSgtaFDhx0lvaqEZ6l5p2nNqwuZrInj8e0EZScxuNtQg/s200/IMG_7584.JPG" width="150" /></a>So I guess the conclusion is that I did walk away, deciding to work on different types of projects. Still avoiding the world of online, preferring instead the company of bumblebees and the breeze blowing in the trees while I sit with a pen poised over paper. But I'm always on call.<br />
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-7127586771053596712017-12-27T14:58:00.001-08:002017-12-27T14:59:24.339-08:00Should You Tell Your Child About Their Diagnosis?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“When should I
tell my child about their diagnosis?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Should I even tell him?</span><span style="font-size: 16px;">”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I haven't had the heart to bring it up yet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once upon a time, children who were adopted were rarely told that they were adopted until they were adults. This would be a devastating
revelation because by that time, they felt that their whole life had been built
on a lie.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">Keeping a child’s diagnosis from them is the identity lie of the
21st century. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We would only commit the lie of omission because the
thing we hesitate to reveal is bad, right?<br />
<br />
As much as you may not understand
it, a mental health diagnosis is part of who your child is. Even a diagnosis we
learn to overcome, such as anxiety or OCD, leaves grooves and scars, and shapes
us in ways that a neurotypical person will never understand. If someone you love has a diagnosable condition, you may feel and even hope
that if you ignore it, they can ignore it also. Life doesn't work that way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Any health condition, and any mental health condition, is
something that is going to make life more difficult in some way for the
individual. If the atmosphere in your house is that “we don’t talk about this,”
then the individual will probably feel that they shouldn’t talk about their
difficulties. They should try harder to be normal, or at least look and act
normal. The fact that this is a struggle when it seems to be so easy for
everyone else is a cause for depression, heightened anxiety, mood disorders,
self-harm, and even suicide. This isn’t hyperbole or a scare tactic. Children
who commit suicide overwhelmingly deal with the struggle of trying and failing
to fit in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Ignoring the issue won't make it go away. It makes it worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><b>No matter what you do or don’t do,
your child will know that they are different. </b></span><br />
<br />
On the other hand, knowing that
it’s not all in their head, or that there are others like them with the same
struggles, and that it isn’t their fault for not trying hard enough, can be a
bittersweet relief. In our desire to fit in, even finding a seat with your name
on it in the Island of Misfit toys brings the comfort of community. And there
is a community with your name on it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when should you tell your child about their diagnosis?
<b>Right now!</b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red;"><b>How should I tell my child about their diagnosis?</b></span><br />
<br />
The diagnosis should be revealed in a
positive way. Parenting isn’t about you, it’s about them. You can
have your cries in the dark corner of the Target parking lot, or get drunk and
compare parenting notes at the next Moms' Night Out. And if you haven’t found your local special
needs parenting community, that should be your next mission. They’re out there.
But when you talk to your child about themselves, it’s about them, and your
struggles parenting them shouldn’t have a voice in the conversation. Their
identity shouldn’t be tangled up in improving your life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My son was quite young when I started talking to him about
his autism for the first time, and his receptive language skills (the ability
to comprehend what’s being said to him) was low, so I kept it simple. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your brain works different than a lot of other people.
That’s a good thing! The world needs people who think different. My brain works
different too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he and his comprehension grew, so did his questions. I
got books that we read together. He spent a lot of time among non-typical
peers, and among our special needs community. We could both relax around other families who don’t blink an eye at
odd behaviors; the ones that make everyone uncomfortable in neurotypical groups. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And like that, autism has always been a word in his life.
There are no bombshells, no feeling isolated because he’s not like anyone else,
and he doesn’t feel any negativity about his diagnosis or himself. He’s
actually rather proud of his differences, while still understanding the extra struggles that
it's brought him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Talk to your child about their diagnosis, keep it on a
level they understand, grow the conversation as they grow, and keep it positive.
Find your community of non-typical peers and parents who laugh in the face of a meltdown. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-64077645376213326612017-10-12T23:40:00.000-07:002017-10-13T15:10:50.841-07:00Why You Absolutely Should Be Friends With Your Child<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtulCbIgUKe9q-vYnvlYa3rPxBTRDTKJMBzJjUn1xOVB5TRESDHweWZe16nzem9MHdBzVGqxG5jidM5WyvSxhFzEkpdJVs3ztBeFYze9rwwpW0JmuleTyyg7cuYgRFZmJd2UpYRMkjUY/s1600/IMG_2310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtulCbIgUKe9q-vYnvlYa3rPxBTRDTKJMBzJjUn1xOVB5TRESDHweWZe16nzem9MHdBzVGqxG5jidM5WyvSxhFzEkpdJVs3ztBeFYze9rwwpW0JmuleTyyg7cuYgRFZmJd2UpYRMkjUY/s320/IMG_2310.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
“Am I scary?” I asked my son.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wrinkled his brow. “Only when you mean to be,” he answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That seemed appropriate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was random question inspired by a somewhat disturbing novel I was reading, but I do like to check in with him from time to time. I like to get his take on how I’m doing at this parenting thing. Even if I were to disagree with some of the finer points of his perspective, it’s good that he feels safe enough to be honest. And sometimes he has a valid point. I’m not perfect. There’s still room for improvement.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The art of raising a child is in keeping the end goal in mind – while cherishing every moment of the present. The end goal is that we are raising them to be adults. In every act of discipline, teaching, admonishing, there has to be that question: how will this best shape their future selves?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Like every one else I’ve seen the parenting advice making the rounds on social media; the ones that say you should absolutely not be friends with your child. I say that’s absolutely wrong. That’s a terrible way to approach parenting; to keep your child at arm’s length, practically insuring that that distance will widen to an irreparable gap. Who will they turn to if they can’t trust you, or feel that you don’t trust them? They will either turn inwards, to their own inexperienced council and lies bred on insecure identity, or peers who are equally inexperienced and of questionable loyalties, or both.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Why not you?</div>
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<br /></div>
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The advice seems to grow from an erroneous belief that to give your child the gift of friendship will erode our position of authority. And I suppose if your goal is not to raise stable adults but raise fearful subjects, that will be true. If you want to keep yourself on a pedestal as long as possible, if your desire is for your children to bow in submission to your god status, then continue shutting them out. But really, you’re not that special. And really, your kids should know that. Otherwise, every parenting mistake you make, every insulting slip of the tongue, roll of the eyes, or temper tantrum you have, they will turn inward on themselves.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That’s why therapists get paid $150 an hour.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because we’re all human and make mistakes, insult, roll our eyes, and have temper tantrums, the least we can do is save our kids twenty years of ‘self-discovery’ and tell them upfront that we’re idiots, we’re sorry, and it’s not their fault. We were idiots even before they were born. Humility is not a thing that will knock you down. When you show your child that level of respect, your god-like status may crumble but you will earn so much more of something real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, really dude, this parenting thing isn’t about you. It’s not about us. If you need it to be about you, you might want to try the therapy thing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnDaeoYncAhM6YZm-bB8oo-I2W9bgmIO-O75naalg8BIEKJ-5NZ1YKaGSq6RaaW74JKB82OthaU8OXUUW7rUXwiIvh-n8YPFT5wG1frIrWSnkS_9amjkEJ8DmPfZ2R5O-hjbm0U_o1jI/s1600/IMG_6593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnDaeoYncAhM6YZm-bB8oo-I2W9bgmIO-O75naalg8BIEKJ-5NZ1YKaGSq6RaaW74JKB82OthaU8OXUUW7rUXwiIvh-n8YPFT5wG1frIrWSnkS_9amjkEJ8DmPfZ2R5O-hjbm0U_o1jI/s200/IMG_6593.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am, however, reaping the most amazing benefits from deliberate parenting. I have the coolest kid. He’s bright, articulate, kind, and polite. He still likes me better than chocolate cake. We respect each other. When discipline is needed it’s like a quickly passing cloud on a sunny day. We never let it last long, never let things fester, because we’re friends.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-3736541316323856592016-11-14T22:31:00.002-08:002016-11-14T22:41:22.808-08:00Untitled is still a title<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I started this blog so, so many years ago shortly before Jaden got his autism diagnosis. I’m actually a fairly private person (no, really) and even more, I try to stay respectful of my son’s privacy. I don’t post things about him that I wouldn’t have wanted posted about me growing up. Which means I didn’t write about a great many things, even if they could help others. Mistakes and issues and various quirks are part of the growing. I’ll leave full(er) disclosure for when he’s old enough to consent.<br />
<br />
But – and especially at the time Jaden was diagnosed – autism fears, misconceptions, and ‘woe is me’ parenting attitudes dominated the headlines. Perhaps sometimes they still do, but my eyes have turned elsewhere. So this blog became about him, and really how awesome he is, and me trying to figure out my own part in his world. Guess what? Being a parent is hard, and parenting a child with special needs is even harder. Mostly because we don’t want to screw it up. Because raising a child right is so very important. The most important thing.<br />
<br />
I’m still completely dedicated to special needs advocacy and parental education and this isn’t a goodbye post. But I have to tell you why things might not be the same. Well, obviously things aren’t going to stay the same. Jaden isn’t 3 anymore and I’m not still lost and desperate. We got this. We climbed the *bleeping* mountain. I forged paths that others could follow, if they want to.<br />
<br />
And when I got him to stable ground, it was time to do the same for myself. So I went back to college and instead of writing blog posts I’m writing papers. Actually, I’m still writing blog posts for my college because I work there as well. So we’re both in school, and I’ve joined the American ranks of the way-too-busy to sleep. Which is… really not much different than too stressed to sleep.<br />
<br />
But we’re happy. And that’s different.<br />
<br /></div>
Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-27612740788075697032016-07-25T08:02:00.002-07:002016-07-25T08:04:23.816-07:00Jaden gets a birthday surprise! (It's a puppy!) <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Jaden has been asking for a dog for a long time. We had to save up for one that we can train as a service dog for him. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">I took him to visit a friend while his dad went to "fetch" the puppy. Watch his reaction! It's priceless.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sMFilZ9ultA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-49383257304045595552015-09-05T22:24:00.000-07:002015-09-15T11:06:43.732-07:00I'm a PG-13 Parent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started cursing when Jaden’s dad left. I’m not saying I
never cursed before, but the divorce proceedings brought out an unrestrained,
almost talented stream of cursing and epithets. I don’t know about you, but I’m
reminded of Clark W. Griswold’s epic Christmas speech.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TQXuazYI_YU" width="480"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not that talented.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most often I would save this angst for the trips to and from
my son’s therapies. Nashville traffic, after all, is the perfect sounding board
for projecting anger. Instead of taking it out on him or anything in our
personal lives, I saved it for the asshole who cut me off and made me slam on
the breaks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes Jaden would say, with awesome autistic logic, “You
know they can’t hear you, right?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well duh. That’s kind of what makes it perfect. Not that
I’ve never told off someone in person who needed the telling. I am, after all,
an autism parent.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some time ago I read one mother’s account of her “worst
parenting moment ever.” It was a cute little story where she had accidently
blurted out “read ‘em and weep, bitches!” while her angels looked on in open-mouthed
horror. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">worst</i>
parenting moment?!” I yelled at the computer screen. Because this was part of
my therapeutic M.O.. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keep up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Either she was lying or she’s the holy mother’s twin. Either
way, she thought her “worst” parenting moment so soul-cringing that she posted
it for all the world to see and have some lolz. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My worst parenting moments I’m not likely to write up and
glorify, but instead crawl cringing on my knees to beg my son’s forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s okay,” he’d tell me in soothing tones. “We all make
mistakes. Remember when I said I hated you because I was mad? But you know I
didn’t mean it. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re mad. I know that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because he has the wisdom of Buddha, and the temper of Zeus.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think of raising a child as one big experiment. The
difference, I think, between raising a down-to-earth human or causing a
personality complex is admitting your mistakes, your humanity, and asking for
forgiveness. And offering a just amount of understanding and forgiveness in
return. Some parents never say they’re sorry. To them it would be weakness to
admit they fucked up as a parent. It would undermine their authority. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can be human and a parent at the same time. To me, that’s
the only way. My son needs no delusions of me as a God figure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">about</i> God?”
someone might ask. Oh right, the whole nary takingeth the Lord’s nameth in vain
clause. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I doubt you want to hear my theological musings at this
point because that would take us well into the night, and require a copious
amount of coffee and personal trust.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I find it funny that my “god dammit” would offend people
who wrap themselves up in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">name</i>
Christian while, I don’t know, cutting off a mother and her child in traffic
(Honk if you love Jesus!) Or calling someone “retarded”. Or telling their kids
that they are lucky they’re healthy and whole and not like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>. Or slurring people who want to live differently in peace, or
gossiping, or malice of any kind, all while wearing the name of Christ. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m pretty sure that’s the real definition of taking the
Lord’s name in vain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But hey, none of us are perfect. I forgive you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My own little angel has a potty mouth too. I tell him to
reserve it for my company only, but he slips up sometimes. I don’t really give
a damn. I’m raising him to be a man, not a perpetual child. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His mouth better run though, if I hear the “r” word, a
racial slur, or malicious gossiping or insults come out of it. I do have
standards. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-3695915147486418122014-08-29T04:42:00.008-07:002021-12-27T19:55:44.041-08:009th Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
New Orleans wasn't the only area hit by Hurricane Katrina. 70 miles south, at the mouth of the Mississippi River and just a few miles from "the end of the road" (literally) is where I grew up. The eye of the storm made a direct landing here. To give you some context, New Orleans did not get the eye. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Seeing the aftermath of total destruction in the town you were raised in is indescribable. I'll always be homesick for a place that no longer exists. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The stores my grandma took me to when I was a toddler, </div>
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the house she used to live in, </div>
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the house we used to live in, </div>
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the tree I climbed every day for years to see over the levee, </div>
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the place my dad took us on picnics, </div>
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the restaurant I helped my grandma in and had special family dinners, </div>
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the auditorium where I bravely belted out lines from Our Town, </div>
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the library where I devoured every worthwhile book, </div>
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the place where I had my first date, </div>
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the piece of ground we were standing on when my dad's eyes twinkled as he said "Let's make a memory," </div>
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our favorite fishing spot, </div>
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the church where I last saw my grandma and spent the night on the pew refusing to leave, </div>
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<br /></div>
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the, the...</div>
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<br /></div>
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A childhood devoured. </div>
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I rarely mention it. I lost little compared to everyone else in my family. But to think of the loss is like standing before a void that shouldn't be, and still not comprehending it. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I only meant to post the photos on this post. It's difficult to look at them and not get nostalgic. </div>
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<br /></div>
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"After" pictures are not as effective without the "before" pictures, but I don't have those right now, except in my memories. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTMIq6QOgdJwLdB-9-iE2Ruj3EEiIfO26inGfjVHtrRJI9rnKi75glyEZE-x4Kc6RmmNZqYm8_5ieCH8rIHOlwjkxp0AiWjkoLcXq1nC-D1Xyo9DcfdZ9MlIa1YQ_GhSM2_QaJBFR8Tw/s1600/01.bmp" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTMIq6QOgdJwLdB-9-iE2Ruj3EEiIfO26inGfjVHtrRJI9rnKi75glyEZE-x4Kc6RmmNZqYm8_5ieCH8rIHOlwjkxp0AiWjkoLcXq1nC-D1Xyo9DcfdZ9MlIa1YQ_GhSM2_QaJBFR8Tw/s1600/01.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the football field at Fort Jackson. <br />
Only the very tops of the bleachers and press <br />
box can be seen here. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mO3wC2lf4Img5eIBCDxZtzZogRK6DK2mTGbtVaZrnkgVHCs0WwLp62Burp5lXm8bHv_0GA4VEds06aKNMhwK2DVcnFPW0zs71zgc7UWtRyIoU-nE67SWRPxRUv9bIHwNnHjNnDv1Dx4/s1600/02.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mO3wC2lf4Img5eIBCDxZtzZogRK6DK2mTGbtVaZrnkgVHCs0WwLp62Burp5lXm8bHv_0GA4VEds06aKNMhwK2DVcnFPW0zs71zgc7UWtRyIoU-nE67SWRPxRUv9bIHwNnHjNnDv1Dx4/s1600/02.bmp" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfzdU91bxZhyx0tM1SqfEzfKaXuei4ctTWZzupJr47N_wBs-pftm_W6ebLbM2Hja-XaGvlpcXxTWXEiO8GtOPiJxruewA4hhvdeLtGsZdbOpisOOe9XNq7MhRzddQSR99KhNhyphenhyphensyYWeU/s1600/03.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfzdU91bxZhyx0tM1SqfEzfKaXuei4ctTWZzupJr47N_wBs-pftm_W6ebLbM2Hja-XaGvlpcXxTWXEiO8GtOPiJxruewA4hhvdeLtGsZdbOpisOOe9XNq7MhRzddQSR99KhNhyphenhyphensyYWeU/s1600/03.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The line of land is the levee. To the right, the lane<br />
of water was the road. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNRlybmZ1a4lG8iMVk54OeSh09fyQuGJGA1jqoj_kG9buq85e0dmr3go3yleaqGuKHLTt5YaK112Hh_zQsoCbraPuFuZF2Hc_kBNSZw1SQpowkSZ9oIOs77diKS6QlaKy6uZJ2t18BHc/s1600/04.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNRlybmZ1a4lG8iMVk54OeSh09fyQuGJGA1jqoj_kG9buq85e0dmr3go3yleaqGuKHLTt5YaK112Hh_zQsoCbraPuFuZF2Hc_kBNSZw1SQpowkSZ9oIOs77diKS6QlaKy6uZJ2t18BHc/s1600/04.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boats washed onto the levees.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBv2-JiuD1o5X313WHKSe1mzhV-oQeAuOconAoMA-z8533aKziZ3KBx6CmvpddKaqJcODEyOWQFd1ji_iy7vK1b3GmcVEiUb4qy3V0SvKSWwKFXqVvuYMXy_8ky553pxk7rrYY7xRs-Y/s1600/05.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBv2-JiuD1o5X313WHKSe1mzhV-oQeAuOconAoMA-z8533aKziZ3KBx6CmvpddKaqJcODEyOWQFd1ji_iy7vK1b3GmcVEiUb4qy3V0SvKSWwKFXqVvuYMXy_8ky553pxk7rrYY7xRs-Y/s1600/05.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buras High School, where my dad went to school<br />
and played football. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykntqt4jBPLdxdPoRuSpjH2jU1fpnMjzT7GLm7-t7vB1OwfcFce6ZP5um5ZCguU5LD2QqZ5w7ZWiNi497_xtmOvnZv1m_aI90sBIDH2XLWY1KhmCFVQS8CODJ7oik0ytbLGwjuce4s4o/s1600/06.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykntqt4jBPLdxdPoRuSpjH2jU1fpnMjzT7GLm7-t7vB1OwfcFce6ZP5um5ZCguU5LD2QqZ5w7ZWiNi497_xtmOvnZv1m_aI90sBIDH2XLWY1KhmCFVQS8CODJ7oik0ytbLGwjuce4s4o/s1600/06.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure where this is with it completely<br />
covered with water. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSmKM1tISIIso5orQlQj3TK0YaEAjx6qapqcm6XjIyvZr2WUYuh914RbN18i8l0Lts52Mv4q2T-dkQn91UfkvBagb01OU2sgzH1D8qgXHDNeiGn39iaI5twMfrNPqVYlKSib5sYhaFac/s1600/07.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSmKM1tISIIso5orQlQj3TK0YaEAjx6qapqcm6XjIyvZr2WUYuh914RbN18i8l0Lts52Mv4q2T-dkQn91UfkvBagb01OU2sgzH1D8qgXHDNeiGn39iaI5twMfrNPqVYlKSib5sYhaFac/s1600/07.bmp" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoUsTO38n1C9pbWgbsLciQ1DcpzN_lcNllrLzJTpsLBhYGYPQk2glS4pRtciGunXGhz64b3YCxVd0nPYSQNlxpRLzEpg-AXyM8oRcTCAqBNXRTn51U9URfpE9aE3rMSOGy5TWHEUq_-0/s1600/08.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoUsTO38n1C9pbWgbsLciQ1DcpzN_lcNllrLzJTpsLBhYGYPQk2glS4pRtciGunXGhz64b3YCxVd0nPYSQNlxpRLzEpg-AXyM8oRcTCAqBNXRTn51U9URfpE9aE3rMSOGy5TWHEUq_-0/s1600/08.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bottom of the Empire Bridge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3Sg0rpih623hsYzCxvj7FwskrLi3yvgFiqTdBjlvkK_tb67MUAhULRNkzFbr20nWFaFOYoQzijLc0KnDjnT5__9PDzlI1EsMvPVwxiUCbCM8xk3-q6iocbBlPjyt6ftog-VCcGgEhaI/s1600/09.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3Sg0rpih623hsYzCxvj7FwskrLi3yvgFiqTdBjlvkK_tb67MUAhULRNkzFbr20nWFaFOYoQzijLc0KnDjnT5__9PDzlI1EsMvPVwxiUCbCM8xk3-q6iocbBlPjyt6ftog-VCcGgEhaI/s1600/09.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of Buras, Buras High School is<br />
on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jiQQk530PhQgZVBeIkauM1Ta6D7I0uEduY6wvBU9PjkHy94swTdEDQdZMKO5ez98rubYRTQ9S5suo7HHWGOLp54g2UApWto8bPawH09XBuneFXgACY3A0EZ-pX4pHttO_uaQWrcZPsg/s1600/10.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jiQQk530PhQgZVBeIkauM1Ta6D7I0uEduY6wvBU9PjkHy94swTdEDQdZMKO5ez98rubYRTQ9S5suo7HHWGOLp54g2UApWto8bPawH09XBuneFXgACY3A0EZ-pX4pHttO_uaQWrcZPsg/s1600/10.bmp" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIX883rI-gS6a4Vurdo8Koz1IycneY5cmdJE3Wb-p0KO9uz_dFoWgUktildw4PxlJwk6djv3h0qSPMfmiz5_YL0wh5381yDR8ns-fUrFAlGDxj-rJugJonBwUA3v3GgXX0Ru0tpYxpYr0/s1600/bvhs.bmp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIX883rI-gS6a4Vurdo8Koz1IycneY5cmdJE3Wb-p0KO9uz_dFoWgUktildw4PxlJwk6djv3h0qSPMfmiz5_YL0wh5381yDR8ns-fUrFAlGDxj-rJugJonBwUA3v3GgXX0Ru0tpYxpYr0/s1600/bvhs.bmp" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My school, K-12, built on strong stilts for exactly<br />
this scenario. I used to think it vaguely amusing. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-17710757566855285032014-05-05T06:39:00.002-07:002016-04-28T21:53:13.886-07:00Letting yourself drown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="color: red;">and learning how to breathe. </span></i></div>
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Some time back I wrote how getting the diagnosis and learning to live in this altered universe was like</div>
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<br /></div>
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drowning. </div>
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Maybe I should take you into my own (strange) head because I want to explain. </div>
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In the movie Abyss there was a scene (which was also about where I stopped watching it) where they had to fill their helmets and breath in this amniotic fluid stuff to go out into the deep. Obviously, their bodies fought the unnaturalness of it at first. </div>
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This was the analogy I was really thinking of when I wrote those words. This is what goes on in my head. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2OxstD2jN08?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Or (and a more lovely thought) that we have gills, the inherit ability to breath in the deep, we just have to learn how to use them. Either way, living with or parenting special needs is a different level. This isn't the white picket fences, all-American Brady Bunch or Leave it to Beaver. This is no level of perceived normal. This is our strange Atlantis. </div>
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When I read about struggles where it seems to turn the darkest, the grimmest - I can see many of these parents still trying to find the surface. They're still gasping for air. They're still trying to find normal instead of breathing in that this is their normal. </div>
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They still care about what people think when they get "the look" or (don't ever) read the comments. They care too much what the neighbors think. Or their family. They haven't got a community around them of people who live</div>
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and breath</div>
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under the surface of normal. </div>
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I'm going to tell you something - </div>
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<b>Trying to pull a struggling, drowning man to surface will get you killed. </b></div>
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I was the unfortunate non-volunteer that this was demonstrated on as a child in swim class at the YMCA. It was etched into me that day. Every drop of drowning water. </div>
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I see people struggling, striving to swim with one arm flailing on the surface and the other tugging their child's collar trying to get his head to the surface. And they drown. </div>
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What do you do then, when your child is down there, in the depths? </div>
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You take a deep breath. </div>
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And let yourself sink.</div>
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Take their hand.</div>
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And learn to breathe in their world. </div>
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Breathe</div>
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Their world. </div>
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Because what does it matter </div>
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what the Jones' think, how June Cleaver is keeping her house sparkly with one judgmental eye slanted your way, that they're praising Jesus in the church (that their kids are "normal") while you run out with a child who's screaming or praising Jesus too loudly, that the old lady in the mall remarked in your hearing that misbehaving kids should be spanked, that your uncle or brother or cousin or all of them give you a lecture when you feed chicken nuggets to your child at Thanksgiving, that your child isn't keeping up in school, that you have to drive to your child because he gets bullied on the bus, that your husband walked out the door because he couldn't handle the stress, that that that</div>
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<br /></div>
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it doesn't matter. </div>
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<span style="color: red;">What does it matter when that's your child standing in front of you? </span></div>
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When it's your child that's distressed. </div>
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When it's your child waiting, hoping, screaming for you to "fix it" and you DO whatever tiny, little anything you can to make it as better as you can even</div>
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<br /></div>
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if it just means</div>
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<br /></div>
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Taking them out of the crowd. Sitting with them in the dark. Pulling them out of school. Holding them as they fall asleep. Hugging them when they rage. Crying with them when they melt. Learning to understand them. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>Drowning with them. </b></i></div>
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And if you're lucky they will teach you how to swim in it. </div>
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And search for treasure. </div>
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And nothing, nothing, nothing up there is worth breathing </div>
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more than breathing your child</div>
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<br /></div>
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's world. </div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-11675037604116020282014-03-07T08:57:00.001-08:002015-03-14T07:46:08.267-07:00Children should be seen and not heard <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The clerk at the gas station listens with wide eyes and a whisper of a smile as Jaden spits out what seems to be my life story with 100 mph words. The line behind us builds with semi-patient and rapt listeners. Once or twice the clerk's eyes flit up to mine with an "isn't he cute?" smirk. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Yeah, yeah, lady, he is. <i>Please</i> just let me pay and get out of here. </div>
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"Shhhh(ut up, kid)!" I think, because I don't actually talk to him that way. In front of people. </div>
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Back in the car I hand him his M&Ms but he's still talking at full throttle. </div>
<div class="p2">
"That lady was really nice. And I don't think she was faking nice, I think she really is." We've been learning about people who pretend nice on the outside but have bad intentions on the inside. An especially difficult lesson for a person with ASD, but all the more important. </div>
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<br /></div>
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All the while I'm thinking of T-shirt slogans like: </div>
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While other parents were trying to teach their 5 year olds their home phone number, I had tried and failed. I couldn't say I was sorry about that. I determined that I would just watch him really close anyway. If he was kidnapped - God knows what he'd tell them! </div>
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<div class="p2">
All a clerk at a hotel front desk had to do was say "Address?" Jaden would launch into a loud and drawn-out history of "Mom and Dad's deeborce," explaining to everyone within a half-mile radius the details of why "dad doesn't live with us." </div>
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<br /></div>
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Honestly, if he'd have known my address and phone number at the time (which I would practically whisper in a much more discreet voice under his diatribe,) he would have been a walking, talking business card. </div>
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"Hey guys, my mom's single! Do you want to know her number and the address to where we live - alone?" </div>
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<br /></div>
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At those times I was especially glad that I was raised in the deep south. I know how to use a gun with accuracy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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"Shhhh!" </div>
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<br /></div>
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I think of the old adage "children should be seen and not heard." For the first time I consider that it might not <i>only</i> have been a sign of times when children were under-valued minions. Perhaps it was their best option to keep their kids from spilling family secrets. It was a time when a speck of dirt could irreparably harm your good name. Thank goodness television came along to distract us. </div>
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I've tried to explain to him the middle ground between public and secret. "By the way, you don't need to be discussing ____ with other people." </div>
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"Is that a secret?" confused, because it doesn't seem like "secret" kind of stuff. </div>
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No, son, you're not growing up in a mystery house full of boring secrets. </div>
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"Not secret, just private. It's like when you go to the bathroom and everyone knows what people do in a bathroom, but you don't have to TALK about it. Because it's private." </div>
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<br /></div>
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And that's really a useless analogy on a 7 year old boy. He thinks the funniest thing in the world is bathroom humor. </div>
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So back in the car I acquiesce and let him enjoy his moment. </div>
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"Wasn't she nice, Mom?" Jaden asked for the tenth time. </div>
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"Yes, honey, she's very nice. Did you give that cute guy my phone number?" </div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-72423981337078705632014-02-04T15:43:00.001-08:002015-03-14T07:46:08.274-07:00I love homeschooling, but it's not what you think<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">I love homeschooling, but it's not what you think.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZro1ZS39ncguT_nXuC1___DuRpphdbtElN91IAfAvC3Znge22GLYZFOuVzL5g1BUlWMdjb7BgmvGAh95kp9KUh5v35hZHUyHREyOWxQ63DYuGMgXVZJ1uCC7VMy2Z7LpNT6Rz-S4UH38/s1600/295289_4141411347368_768932397_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZro1ZS39ncguT_nXuC1___DuRpphdbtElN91IAfAvC3Znge22GLYZFOuVzL5g1BUlWMdjb7BgmvGAh95kp9KUh5v35hZHUyHREyOWxQ63DYuGMgXVZJ1uCC7VMy2Z7LpNT6Rz-S4UH38/s1600/295289_4141411347368_768932397_n.jpeg" height="320" width="238" /></a></span></i></div>
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I ran across a post recently about 'reluctant learners' and mothers who subsequently feel like they are failing in homeschooling. I could relate to it. <b>Then it made me wonder if I've been sending the wrong message to the world. </b></div>
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OK. Not the whole world. But at least the handful of people who are paying attention. </div>
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I don't do it on purpose. But I can see that when I say "I love homeschooling!" and you think <i>Oh but that's because you don't have my kid, </i>or <i>obviously you have more patience than I do, </i>you've gotten the wrong idea. I am not a patient person. I just love my son enough to send him to his room for his own safety when I've reached my limit. And I'm supplied with whiskey. And no, I don't have your kid, but I have mine and that's more than enough. </div>
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I don't really love fighting him to get to the table and fighting him for every page that I know he could finish in 5 minutes but we have to go through a half hour of drama first. I don't love the drama. </div>
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A little note about me: I hate, hate, hate whining. Aside from all the little buttons it pushes in me, I watch the clock and think '<i>so much time wasted on this DRAMA!'</i> Hey, I have other things I could be doing as well. I often think about all that I could be accomplishing for myself if he was in "real" school. I just finished my first novel. I did it on the weekends, while he was away at his dad's house. I daydream about all the books I could write, the cleaning I could get done, the relaxing I could be doing. I don't homeschool because I have no other life-goals for myself. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But these are fleeting thoughts. In reality I am assured - by many, many reasons that I'm not going to list here - that this is the right thing to do for him. Motherhood isn't about me and neither is my decision to homeschool. </div>
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Not just in spite of all of the struggle, but partly because of it, I love what I do. He challenges me in ways that another human wouldn't be allowed to. He challenges my intellect with his insightful and philosophical questions. He challenges my creativity - <i>how can I teach him this concept in a more interesting way?</i> He challenges my life philosophies - <i>why do we do what we do? How can we look at things differently?</i> He challenges my patience and sense of self - <i>why does this bug me so much, and how can I be a better person? </i></div>
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I don't enjoy being constantly challenged. It's exhausting. <b>But I need to be challenged.</b> </div>
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More than anything, however, is that when all the drama is finished, my struggling learner has learned something new at the end of the day. He does this in spite of himself. I understand him. Part of the fighting is because he lacks confidence. Every accomplishment adds another piece of confidence back to himself. He goes in fighting and walks away smiling, and a little prouder. I listen to him read now and I'm blown away every single time, because every time I flash back to the difficult years it has taken to get my dyslexic child here. His accomplishments are my accomplishments. I think of the research and the articles and the statistics that bemoan the poor academic performances of children with learning disorders and the national question of 'How can we stop failing them?' and know that we are ahead of where he would have been conventionally. </div>
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At the end of the day, what's not to love about that? </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Crosspost from <a href="http://wildflowersforjadehs.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Homeschooling Aspergers</a></span></i><br />
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-89338008024431514812013-09-21T09:09:00.001-07:002015-03-14T07:46:08.277-07:00You - my little runaway <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last night Jaden got mad at me and 'ran away from home' for the first time. I stood in the rain with an umbrella (amused) to watch him wander around the backyard, trying to figure out where he wanted to go live. </div>
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He came back to take the umbrella from me with a "thank you," and left again. While I went to get another umbrella his dad made him come back because he was wandering out of sight.<br />
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He was still grumpy so, in my pjs, I asked him if he wanted to take a walk in the rain with me. We wandered the sidewalks as the rain started pouring even harder. I told him I was very glad he came back, because I would miss doing these things with him. He replied "I didn't come back, dad made me come in." </div>
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We stood and watched water gush down the hill so swift it was almost violent, as it poured into a drain. </div>
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I knelt beside him under a street lamp, our umbrellas overlapping, drops trickling into my hair, and told him it was moments like this that were the reason I wouldn't let him play Minecraft 10 hours a day. The reason he was angry with me. "Because we would miss special moments like this. And this, one day, is what you're going to remember." </div>
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We sang "Singing in the Rain", twirling our umbrellas, undeterred by the rain on our faces. When we came back home I ran a bath for him while he splashed me with cold water and started a water fight, him giggly and finally confessing that he felt better. </div>
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Later, as I tucked him into bed, our heads on pillows close together, I asked him where he was trying to go when he ran away. </div>
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"I don't know," he said. "I was just trying to think of a place to go and live. But I felt like a magnet kept pulling me back." </div>
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"I love you so much," I told him. "I would miss you if you were gone." </div>
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"That was the magnet pulling me back," he said. </div>
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"What?" </div>
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He poked his finger into my shoulder. "You."<br />
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-84555085740676815452013-07-20T16:12:00.004-07:002015-03-25T03:34:50.056-07:00Taking Annatto Seriously <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I want to do a quick follow-up to <a href="http://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2012/11/annatto-drama-aka-annatto-is-devil-or.html" target="_blank">my Annatto post last November</a>, lest anyone think I've forgotten about it. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's on my mind almost daily. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YfA2ZZq9iwikiMO7tOXLBFBGqaZsFem-MkHFGaicnwREXsfR5VEr-yxQSxkJdmfUzvOZ-khgcgCKbeyRfTlnZ3Af0C6ocUw6Sqp_JXpIDPg_Oar6ASMXehbbWcpCOmhSq54GNy_shmM/s1600/NoAnnatto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YfA2ZZq9iwikiMO7tOXLBFBGqaZsFem-MkHFGaicnwREXsfR5VEr-yxQSxkJdmfUzvOZ-khgcgCKbeyRfTlnZ3Af0C6ocUw6Sqp_JXpIDPg_Oar6ASMXehbbWcpCOmhSq54GNy_shmM/s1600/NoAnnatto.jpg" /></a>I was very slow to treat the issue like a serious allergy. I mean, it's food, and it's natural and it's in everything. My son has Autism, and it just didn't occur to me that a majority of his behaviors could be coming from something he was eating. I didn't realize (or obviously I would have done this years ago) that eliminating that one ingredient would be a life-changer for us. </div>
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It is. </div>
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Whenever I hear someone talking about how their child exhibits extreme irritability, head banging, screaming, irrational behaviors, huge meltdowns, I think "it could be annatto". I don't always say it. I don't want to annoy people by being repetitive. I'm not an evangelist. I'm not even some kind of expert. I'm only a mother who figured out something that still shocks me. </div>
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But it can leave me breathless sometimes, the thought "how many children, how many adults even, are on behavioral drugs because of annatto? How many may have even been institutionalized because of violent behaviors possibly brought on by this unnecessary ingredient?" </div>
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And I have to say, it's worth a shot. Isn't it? It's worth a two week elimination of something small to see if this is the issue for the person you love. Or yourself. If it changes nothing, you can move on without having lost anything. If it makes a difference, your child can have a different life. </div>
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To do this though, you have to understand that it's really in almost everything that's processed. Treat it like a serious allergy and don't assume without seeing the ingredients. If you don't know, call and ask. Get on the internet and look it up. That's how I found that Duncan Donuts uses annatto in their donuts. That's how I found that Annie's Pretzels don't use it for their pretzels. Yes, I typed and scrolled on my phone to be sure before I said "yes" to a pretzel in the mall. Purity ice cream sandwiches - yes, they have annatto. So do Pepperidge Farms frozen cakes. Damn it. </div>
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We did have some trial and error. I am able to detect an "oops" now by what happens in the days after, then had to go over in my mind what he had eaten. I've eliminated some brands (especially flavored chips) that did not have it listed in their ingredients, but fully assume that it's hidden somewhere because of his reaction. </div>
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My son, who is only 6-going-on-7, already understands. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel either. Someone recently gave him a bite of something, but when he realized it had yellow cheddar in it he spit it out. </div>
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It pains me to know that somewhere, a child is having another preventable annatto freak-out. Please share these posts, and if you've had the same experience, please leave a comment! Let's get the word out. </div>
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Read:</div>
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<a href="http://fedup.com.au/images/stories/SC160bannatto.pdf" target="_blank">collection of annatto reaction stories on fedup.com</a></div>
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<a href="http://fedup.com.au/factsheets/additive-and-natural-chemical-factsheets/160b-annatto" target="_blank"> Annatto fact sheet</a></div>
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My previous post: <a href="http://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2012/11/annatto-drama-aka-annatto-is-devil-or.html" target="_blank">Annatto drama aka Annatto is the devil or turns my child into one </a></div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-76554891051139018592013-04-01T23:31:00.001-07:002016-04-28T22:03:41.290-07:00The Autism Wars - The Great Mommy Wars of Special Needs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: red;">W</span><span style="color: blue;">e</span><span style="color: lime;">l</span><span style="color: orange;">c</span><span style="color: purple;">o</span><span style="color: #674ea7;">m</span><span style="color: magenta;">e</span> <span style="color: #274e13;">t</span><span style="color: #674ea7;">o</span> <span style="color: red;">A</span><span style="color: blue;">u</span><span style="color: lime;">t</span><span style="color: orange;">i</span><span style="color: purple;">s</span><span style="color: #674ea7;">m</span> <span style="color: magenta;">M</span><span style="color: #274e13;">o</span><span style="color: #cc0000;">n</span><span style="color: #073763;">t</span><span style="color: #674ea7;">h</span>. My Facebook wall looks more like a <span style="color: #cc0000;">war</span> <span style="color: #990000;">zone</span>. <b>"Autism is wonderful!"</b> "<b>Autism is horrible!"</b> <i>"Those who are saying it's horrible/wonderful are screwing up the message for the rest of us." </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Niicolas Celaya</td></tr>
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There are some times my Facebook wall looks like it's about to implode on itself in a fiery mix of issues. I am connected to and FB friends with people from many beliefs and life-views, and often those views will clash. Loudly. Sometimes I'd like to tell both "sides" of an issue to shut the hell up and stop fighting. OK I actually did that once a few months ago. </div>
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And now I'm sort of doing it again. </div>
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I hate boxes and prefer think of each issue as separate, because they are. As for <span style="color: red;">A</span><span style="color: blue;">u</span><span style="color: lime;">t</span><span style="color: orange;">i</span><span style="color: purple;">s</span><span style="color: #674ea7;">m</span> - </div>
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<b>It is two sides of the same coin.</b> I wish people could see that they're arguing different issues and semantics. Autism may be an "umbrella" but under that umbrella there are different pieces. </div>
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<b>Issue One:</b> </div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Autism is Awesome.</b></span> It is wonderful. Well, our children who have Autism are wonderful. They are. They're awesome human beings who certainly have differences and also sameness as other NT awesome children. They love, they laugh, they cry, they create, they have talents and mad skillz.</div>
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And the push for the message that Autism is Awesome is because people hate. People hate our kids. People who have never met our kids hate our kids for having Autism. People have prejudged them ever since Autism was a word, and mocked, and bully. Oh do they ever bully. Police misunderstand them, teachers harass and even kill them, and vice versa. </div>
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Then there are people who still don't know what to think, and that have only seen the (usually very wrong) stereotyped media portrayals, if anything.</div>
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So if you're asking yourself why <b>Autism Awareness Month</b> that's why. We want you to be <i>aware</i> that our children are <b>first children</b>. They really are. We want you to be aware that they feel and love and hurt. We want you to be aware that they are vulnerable, and that they need - <i>no we're going to demand</i> - that they be given a seat at the table of life. There's plenty of room for everybody. Stop being so damn greedy. Aww, look how sweet they are. </div>
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<b>Issue Two:</b> </div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Autism is not Awesome.</b></span> Not meaning the homicidal commenters who troll the internet, or even Autism $peaks (which is issue three…) but the mothers of kids with Autism who think Autism is not awesome but their children are awesome. </div>
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Can you see how we're saying the same thing here? </div>
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It's because they love their children. This is where we get into the spectrum/umbrella/everyone is different thing. People with Autism can get to a good place. They can get to a great place. A lot of the first group are those who have found their creative niche or are adults with Aspergers or raising kids who will be adults who can function - even if sometimes awkwardly - in society. </div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">Autism is not awesome</span> parents are spending sleepless nights and hellish days watching their children/adult children suffer from a very physical side of Autism that can be torture. There is nothing awesome about watching your child try to destroy himself because he's in pain and have not much you can do about it. I think we can all agree on that. If your child is physically suffering, the thing that's making him suffer is<b> </b><i><b>not</b> awesome</i>. </div>
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However the <span style="color: #674ea7;">Autism is Not Awesome</span> crowd needs to also be aware that broadcasting their "not awesome" message too much too loudly too adamantly might look like "our kids aren't awesome" to outsiders. Who we are trying to reach. Who really can't help your kid's medical issues anyway. </div>
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And the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Autism is Awesome</span> crowd needs to be aware that … sometimes Autism is not awesome. And that they look callously either unaware or uncaring that <i>some</i> people are truly suffering from it. </div>
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***</div>
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In a discussion with a friend of mine we partially addressed this divide. The awesome crowd vs the not awesome crowd. Which is largely also the vaccine injured vs the not vaccine injured. Tragedy vs not tragedy. I think (I hope) we came to a consensus that we could agree we are talking about two sides of the issue and both have equal validation. </div>
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If the 1 in 50 is even in part caused by vaccine injury, the injury is a tragedy. If someone is born with genetics that make him/her Autistically gifted, it's an occurrence. <u>In neither case is the child a tragedy</u>. The thing that happened is a tragedy. </div>
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Everyone has a different story, even when we end up in the same place. I try to respect each one's story. We're not the same. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQoDNJLg0r3gzmOQLQ_wtEHbmVPoxMVGR3hk9xGC_fg7qwQGgksAGVsIfgUS13d0fZfokFJzHyRAI6ifTb2vTmEw6hRv9DitHQXWrnKIj7kyMep8i5jveLmppa6-ZSF76rtP0r6hNccc/s1600/MEME-Grumpy-cat_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQoDNJLg0r3gzmOQLQ_wtEHbmVPoxMVGR3hk9xGC_fg7qwQGgksAGVsIfgUS13d0fZfokFJzHyRAI6ifTb2vTmEw6hRv9DitHQXWrnKIj7kyMep8i5jveLmppa6-ZSF76rtP0r6hNccc/s200/MEME-Grumpy-cat_2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Now I'm quite (quite) sure that I can extrapolate all I want, and the two sides will go on raging. It's not</div>
black and white, and I'm aware it's even more complex than what I've said here. Probably I will still have to either spend all month waiting for my FB wall to implode, or start hiding stories to make it more pleasant until all I have left is pictures of kids and puppies and cute grumpy cats. But I'm still holding out that my friends can make some peace with each other's POV, even if they don't know each other.<br />
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(There is a <span style="color: #3d85c6;">third issue which is not part of the coin</span>: People who think our children with Autism are not awesome, but tragedies. Entities that exploit and make our kids look like tragedies in a money grab for donations that don't actually go to help our kids. Then there's the parents who can't accept their children. Control freak parents. There are parents who can't accept Autism to the point where they are ashamed of and reject their own children, in either little ways or big ways. That is not a side of any coin, that's a distressed family that needs <strike>a slap in the face</strike> to get some counseling and suck it up that life isn't like playing barbie dolls. You can't control who other people are. Your children are awesome and you need to wake up to that and love them for who they are are, not who you want them to be. )</blockquote>
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As for me: </div>
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My son reacted badly to his vaccines. Every one of them. After his first year shots he regressed in speech. I finally wised up and stopped before his MMR. I still get on my knees and thank God for that. </div>
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No I can't prove that vaccines "caused" his Autism, though I am convinced they at least greatly attributed to it. Because I was there, and you weren't. That is a tragedy. </div>
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My son would get SO frustrated, and I would stoically struggle with never letting him see me cry over it. He tried so hard to communicate with me. He couldn't get the words out right. He couldn't understand my words. I'd look into his eyes and see the emotional pain from it. That is a tragedy. He gagged on his food and couldn't eat it, until he got down to 3 foods. That is a tragedy. I had to listen to him asking what is wrong with him when he couldn't keep up with his peers and say he wanted to kill himself at age 5. That is a fucking tragedy. </div>
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I love my son. I love his personality. His health - while we have some issues - is really pretty good. I love that - in spite of my concerns and me watching every minute of his therapies like a hawk to make sure they didn't break him - instead it helped his true personality shine through even more. That is wonderful. Remembering with clarity the exact moment he unprompted said "I love you Mommy." That is wonderful. That he knows nothing of what's cool or uncool to his peer age group and doesn't care, that is awesome. That he still plays with what he wants to play with, and still crawls into my lap 100 times a day to tell me he loves me. That is awesome. That he's so obsessed with Godzilla he knows enough about it that he could write a Zillapedia on it. That is awesome. That he is completely and totally his own person. That is awesome. </div>
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Forget the label. It's not about Autism like it's a personality that can have it's feelings hurt. My SON is Awesome. </div>
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Now, let's all try to get along. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gina_Carano_ground-and-pound.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWVk4859VXVaiXdjPoZGe-yIYIYOil4L5N_PZDSV_a26xjNu_awAY-YBDHH4QDRygvWmu72pP_8PBlqH2Sy1dMMcZKFy1uK-hsPmpafohqxhSMgGfgTMalxZIeEBb4ER5KLvZ5qW5M8Y/s200/Gina_Carano_ground-and-pound_Matthew+Walsh.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gina_Carano_ground-and-pound.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Matthew Walsh</a></td></tr>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-89372800962296086602013-03-17T21:34:00.002-07:002015-03-14T07:46:08.281-07:00Good reasons to drop that bad advice and DO look back on your life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Excuse me miss, you dropped something: </b><b>Good reasons for Autism moms to drop that bad advice and look back on your life</b></span></div>
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"I used to enjoy cooking."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfpS_Ht2EkqEU6LylP6Lmsfc_IX8aknEmnjjj_XROC_Le-DSZObZbHbOCv3ply7AU54h3kND4Kc602l-DNqB-AbNA1aQAPKxSiZwUzcLYbknHe8ZORMcqg4x2T46L56ZsaiMAiZl1gcc/s1600/IMG_2723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfpS_Ht2EkqEU6LylP6Lmsfc_IX8aknEmnjjj_XROC_Le-DSZObZbHbOCv3ply7AU54h3kND4Kc602l-DNqB-AbNA1aQAPKxSiZwUzcLYbknHe8ZORMcqg4x2T46L56ZsaiMAiZl1gcc/s200/IMG_2723.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homecooked meals at my parents' home</td></tr>
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That thought came to me suddenly one day. I was almost surprised at the revelation. It's funny how I'd forgotten that, and how much things had changed.<br />
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"Why? Why did that change?" As I reflected on it, I could easily pinpoint where that joy had gotten lost in the messy years that followed. There were a few minor things: the fact that my ex didn't like vegetables and I was a vegetarian. That had thrown a bit of a kink into my normal menu plans. But in all honestly that wasn't the major assault to that piece of me. </div>
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When I ask myself when I stopped cooking, I remember one specific day. There were many days like it, but that was the day it broke me. Jaden was at the peak of his food aversions. He'd lost 8 pounds at 3 years old. That's a lot of body weight for a 3 year old. I went to the grocery almost daily, combing the isles for something that he might be able to eat. I say "able" because he tried to eat some things, but he couldn't.<br />
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That day the sun was streaming into our apartment and Jaden was playing at the dining room table. I was making homemade macaroni and cheese from a recipe I'd gotten. I tasted a bite. It was delicious. Nothing like the boxed kind. </div>
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Jaden came into the kitchen sniffing the air like a cartoon character following the beckoning scent. </div>
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"That smells so good! Can I have some?" he said (when I translated it from his twisted Autism language.) </div>
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I happily fixed him a bowl and put it in the freezer to cool, while he impatiently twirled and danced on his toes. "I'm so hungry, Mommy!" </div>
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When I took it out of the freezer he followed me dancerly and sat down in front of it. First bite, tentative.</div>
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"Mmm, mm!" </div>
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Second bite… then it started. He gagged, then gagged again, then panicked and spit it in his plate. He sat back forlornly and pushed the bowl away. </div>
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"Let's try again," I said almost pleading. </div>
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"I'm not hungry," he replied. </div>
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<b>And I was broken.</b> </div>
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I couldn't even count anymore how many times something I cooked smelled good to him, only to have him gag on it. Then later he gave up, and only eyeballed the food warily and said he wasn't hungry. Then we got to everything smelled awful to him, could I eat it in the other room? </div>
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I felt like I was torturing him. How could I continue to fix meals he loved the smell of but couldn't eat? </div>
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Over time I'd forgotten that I ever cooked, that I cooked often, that I enjoyed it. We live off of sandwiches, microwaved vegetable burgers, and quick meals. </div>
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And really, when I look back, life is all around just different. So much got lost on the cutting room floor when they said "Autism" and our "Autism life" began. </div>
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I know there are a lot of people who will know what that means. </div>
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***** </div>
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After a few years of feeding therapy Jaden can eat new things now. Like me, he also lost something back there and became accustomed to avoidance. But he *can* eat, even if he refuses it, and I *can* cook again, even if I have to work through my own feelings of avoidance to do so. </div>
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<i>What else was lost back there on the cutting floor? </i></div>
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They say don't look back. I say "they" give a lot of trite advice that's sometimes just plain bad. </div>
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This is my advice: </div>
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<u><b>Look back</b>.</u> It might be painful, but sometimes you just have to work through the pain and deal to get to something good. </div>
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<b>Get a pen and notebook. Write down everything that used to be YOU.</b> The things you did, what made you the person you were, the things you enjoyed. All the things you considered good. </div>
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Do this even if the diagnosis is new to you. Or especially if it's new, and you're going through the cutting room floor. The hard stuff won't last forever, and one day you're going to have more than 10 minutes on your hands between therapies and you'll want to remember you. </div>
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When you go through this list, you might find things you'll want to cross off again. You might be past the phase where going clubbing or playing poker with friends even tempts you anymore. That's ok. The difference is this time you'll be making the choice to cut it, instead of being forced by circumstances. </div>
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There are some things circumstances will still prevent. Put them in their own list and save it. </div>
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Then there are the things you will remember that you liked about you, and lost, and that you can pick up again. It's difficult to break out of old routines but these things can be put back in slowly. Go buy a cross-stitch pattern or bake a casserole or start a story, or read a book. One that doesn't have the "A" word in it. I know for some of you it's been a long time. </div>
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What did you lose back there? </div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-64497257990764410832013-03-03T16:14:00.000-08:002016-11-14T22:47:22.659-08:00Baseball & Ballet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After a brief hiatus (ok long) from extracurricular activities, we've thrown ourselves into the Spring mix again with ballet and baseball. Our hopes for ballet is that it will help him get more in touch with his body (<span style="color: blue;">OT</span>) and because it's good for him to have some discipline with following directions and peers (<span style="color: blue;">speech, ABA and socializing</span>.)<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">I just don't think I'm ever going to think in 'normal' terms again. </span></div>
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This is also our first drop-off situation. Well, to me but not to him. We dropped him off at the Brown Center but then I'd go in and watch from the monitors. No monitors here. Jaden however is so used to being observed by camera that he thinks it's natural. </div>
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I ask him about what he does in ballet, because I have no idea. He likes to answer with one or two word sentences, which I patiently try to stretch into at least 3 or 4. </div>
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"If you want to know what we're doing, why don't you just watch from the monitors next time?" he said last week. </div>
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"They don't have monitors at ballet," I answered. "So I can't see you at all. I have no idea what sort of things you do, and I'm just curious." </div>
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"No monitors?" He looked at me baffled. </div>
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I wonder again what life is like inside his head. </div>
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"We had to do our legs like a diamond, but I wasn't very good at it." </div>
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"How do you know?" </div>
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"The teacher came and straightened me up."</div>
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"Did she fuss at you?" I wondered, because he seemed unhappy. </div>
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"Why would she do that??" he answered in an offended tone. "She's a nice lady." </div>
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It comforts me to know that she's such a "nice lady" that even to question her offends Jaden. I nervously had taken some advice to not mention to them that he has Autism. After meeting his teacher, though very briefly, I got the impression it wouldn't have mattered. She expects her students to listen to her and that's all. I'm ok with that. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaZGVuWuUrSkxc3yIXdvtLwfPcu4U62pkanAeilhc3-U7ip4AGpCrn9PVbGLaYP0tfero57sggpZr-iTxAzDwgXR1eWY17uS8sx1qja-On-pr-6I0aBSzijx_bFe1OP7mauLHRCKXthE/s1600/download-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaZGVuWuUrSkxc3yIXdvtLwfPcu4U62pkanAeilhc3-U7ip4AGpCrn9PVbGLaYP0tfero57sggpZr-iTxAzDwgXR1eWY17uS8sx1qja-On-pr-6I0aBSzijx_bFe1OP7mauLHRCKXthE/s320/download-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a>I also didn't tell his baseball coaches. Not yet anyway. Unless it's someone's job to work with Autism, I've found it doesn't do much but cause awkwardness. I can imagine they'd just look at him differently like "What am I supposed to do with that? Should I treat him differently?" </div>
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No, please don't treat him differently. He needs to learn to pay attention and follow directions the same as the other kids. </div>
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So then, what's the point of mentioning it? </div>
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The coaches are patient and they're pros at teaching the kids. And unlike soccer where most of the kids had apparently been on the field since they were 2, all Jaden's teammates seemed to be just as awkward and confused as he was. </div>
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Yes, this makes me happy. Just once in a while we need a level playing field and this might be it. </div>
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He did space out some from all the stimuli, and it was difficult for me to see it. At home he's so engaged now. So it meant that the coach would call his name about 5 times until his dad or I got his attention, and that happened several times. But once he would realize he was being spoken to again, he did good. </div>
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I think a lot of Autism moms will understand when I say I am hopeful, and it's a big deal that this goes well. If you were reading my blog last Spring you'll know that soccer did not go well. He gets discouraged easily and that only served to make it worse. He needs something he's good at, that will show him that work and practice can pay off. </div>
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He objected to going to practice again tonight, but I sent him off with his dad with what I hoped were inspiring words. Whether or not it helped, he called me on his way home, though he doesn't usually like to talk on the phone. </div>
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<b>"Mom, I did great!" </b></div>
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He then proceeded to describe to me, without prompting, everything he had done. There was pride and excitement in his voice. </div>
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That's a home run. </div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0Nashville, TN, USA36.1666667 -86.78333329999998135.7543572 -87.426033299999986 36.5789762 -86.140633299999976tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-4757578644153752762013-02-17T23:03:00.001-08:002016-11-14T22:38:45.011-08:00Not so comandive <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If I had to name my parenting character flaws, one would be that I am probably too lax with Jaden. Not much; IMO there's a lot to be said for being casual in parenting. But maybe a little. </div>
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Perhaps no child, still being a child, will ever confess their environment to be not restrictive enough. No matter how unrestrictive it is. </div>
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Following a joke I made to him about his future self and his future kids, he replied "Except I wouldn't be as comandive as you are." </div>
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"'Comandive'?" I said in surprise. "You think I'm comandive?" </div>
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As an aside, I didn't think it was the time to correct his grammar, and I kind of like the way he makes up words. </div>
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"Yes, you are a little," he said, putting two fingers together closely. OK only a little, whew. But I was still bemused. </div>
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"Wait," I said laughing. "You're bossy *now*! I don't think you're going to change that much when you grow up." </div>
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He still insisted he'd do it better, so I went through the list with him. </div>
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"So… you won't make your kids go to bed? Will you let them stay up as long as they want?" </div>
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"No, I'll make them go to bed." </div>
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"Will you make them take baths?" </div>
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"Yes." (That's a relief.) </div>
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"Will you make them pick up their own toys sometimes, or will you be ok with cleaning up after everyone all by yourself?" </div>
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I know his weakness. His eyes widened at the thought of having to not only clean up after himself, but clean up other people's messes all day as well. </div>
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"No, I'll make them clean up their toys." </div>
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I continued ruthlessly, referring to an 'argument' we'd had earlier over his one regular chore. </div>
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"Will you ask your kids to help around the house and help you put up the groceries?"</div>
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"No I won't," he insisted. </div>
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"Then that's the only point you won't be as 'bossy' as me. So you are you ok with doing everything by yourself?" </div>
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He winced and stuttered, then a look of revelation crossed his face. </div>
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"No, wait a minute," he said with dawning relief. "I won't have to do all that. I'll have a wife."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5YFIY0DZH6w89SrOrh85jmaSZEcW3czd1yUJpZ1TzyG4gl6UScoLI-Yn3UcN3Y9EgE3bBbcE8swYCAF0WdAPRFbI6c-m5emmAV8WIkoZDSzyigVhNhpW57OhWGol7yq4KZvVse2LnOQ/s1600/Y.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5YFIY0DZH6w89SrOrh85jmaSZEcW3czd1yUJpZ1TzyG4gl6UScoLI-Yn3UcN3Y9EgE3bBbcE8swYCAF0WdAPRFbI6c-m5emmAV8WIkoZDSzyigVhNhpW57OhWGol7yq4KZvVse2LnOQ/s1600/Y.jpg" /></a></div>
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And so the Y chromosome rears it's head again. </div>
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Read also <a href="http://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2012/02/nature-of-boys-vs-nurture.html" target="_blank">The Nature of Boys - vs Nurture</a> :) </div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-55769556882753814742013-01-21T02:00:00.000-08:002021-10-07T11:26:39.610-07:00Did Pharma lie to drug your child?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIg1rMAPZJLyRi_8nihu7i_4EnklG7MAWgF3MYyjvQn07A1RpVyY-KIRDhzBWSahJE90qhCNDyjXex39P8M2G7XsVEGNz8_p85MQ_2lwcDHrk7xMM316G2jqgH9cIz_3rarI4eIdzVNI/s1600/GYI0061378785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIg1rMAPZJLyRi_8nihu7i_4EnklG7MAWgF3MYyjvQn07A1RpVyY-KIRDhzBWSahJE90qhCNDyjXex39P8M2G7XsVEGNz8_p85MQ_2lwcDHrk7xMM316G2jqgH9cIz_3rarI4eIdzVNI/s320/GYI0061378785.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b>Are drug maker deceiving you to get to your children? </b></div>
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In July of 2012 GlaxoSmithKline settled for a hefty $3 Billion for using a plethora of underhanded tactics to push their drugs. One of the charges against them included proof provided by whistle-blowers that Glaxo <b>had deliberately misreported research in order to push the drugs on children. </b></div>
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"GlaxoSmithKline employed several tactics aimed at promoting the use of the drug in children, including helping to publish a medical journal article that <b>misreported data</b> from a clinical trial." - <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/03/business/glaxosmithkline-agrees-to-pay-3-billion-in-fraud-settlement.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">NY Times</a></blockquote>
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Let's look at that for a second. Let's hold it up and examine it's many facets and implications. </div>
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1. Glaxo lied to sell a pharmaceutical drug to children.</div>
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2. This drug was not actually good for children, or they wouldn't have had to lie. </div>
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3. Glaxo lied to sell a pharmaceutical drug to children. </div>
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4. This knowledge was only brought to light because someone in the company escaped with proof. </div>
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5. Glaxo's unethical practices to make a profit is proof that Glaxo will use your children for money. </div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>6. Glaxo was able to publish it's falsified research in a medical journal, thereby presenting to the world that it was medical fact. </b></span></div>
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7. The medical world and parents everywhere might still think it was fact (and they may still) if this knowledge had not been brought to light by said whistle-blowers. </div>
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8. This is likely neither the first nor the last time that Glaxo has published a blatantly falsified study in a medical journal. </div>
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This leads us to several easy conclusions. Drug companies can, will and do make up or manipulate research to support their cause. Their cause is to make money. It is not to save lives or to make sure little Suzy will make it to adulthood in the healthiest way possible. If it were, they would not have manipulated data in order to sell their unsafe drugs to children. </div>
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In case you think this just implicates Glaxo as being not completely in your child's best interest, Johnson and Johnson recently <a href="http://nashvillesnkids.blogspot.com/2012/01/risperdal-and-whistle-that-no-one-heard.html" target="_blank">settled a similar case concerning Risperdal</a>, and Abbot Laboratories settled in a case on Depakote. </div>
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Amongst the accusations was also a list of kickbacks given to doctors to push these drugs on patients who may not understand that they had become pawns in a high stakes, high money game. Not small kickbacks like a coupon for Denny's. We're talking vacations to Jamaica and the Bahamas. So doctors who swore an oath to do no harm and that people trusted their lives and their children's lives with shut their eyes to looking deeper into the health effects of the very drugs they were prescribing, and literally flew off into the sunset. </div>
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What is most disturbing about these cases (as if there aren't several things) is that while some money was settled that to us looks like a major cut, for companies that make hundreds of billions off of these practices, they won't be bleeding. </div>
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$3 billion represents only a portion of what Glaxo made on the drugs. Avandia, for example, racked up $10.4 billion in sales, Paxil brought in $11.6 billion, and Wellbutrin sales were $5.9 billion during the years covered by the settlement, according to IMS Health, a data group that consults for drugmakers.<br />
“…a $3 billion settlement for half a dozen drugs over 10 years can be rationalized as the cost of doing business,” said Patrick Burns, spokesman for the whistle-blower advocacy group Taxpayers Against Fraud. - <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/03/business/glaxosmithkline-agrees-to-pay-3-billion-in-fraud-settlement.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">NY Times</a></blockquote>
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No one person was criminally charged, there was no jail time, no one was implicated in the possible and very likely real physical damages that might have been done to children who took these drugs. No one was fired. And there was no subsequent investigation into what else might be lurking behind the closed doors of big pharma. Glaxo did however agree in the settlement to an unprecedented move: they threatened to take away the bonuses of anyone in the company caught being that naughty again. Ouch. That might mean little Timmy the fourth might have to wait on the new Bends his crooked daddy was going to get him. </div>
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It's like the government pocketed the money, shook their finger and said "Don't let us catch you doing that again!" </div>
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Though, it does seem that government would profit an awful lot if one day they did catch them again. Government, but not the victims. </div>
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On the flip side of this, true victims of say, proven vaccine injury,<a href="http://nashvillesnkids.blogspot.com/2011/02/vaccine-makers-immune-to-lawsuits.html" target="_blank"> are not even allowed to sue the pharmaceutical companies</a> according to a 2011 Supreme Court ruling. </div>
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So the take away from this is before you pop that pill into your mouth or the mouth of your child that you would most likely die for, research. Then go back and research again. Question whose research study you're looking at and who funded it. Question the FDA standards (I'm sorry, I can't say "FDA" and "standards" together with a straight face) that let anything through if it's got the right brand logo on it. Question if the doctor who prescribed it to you really did it because they've also researched it and know it's both safe and effective, or if they got a memo that told them to take someone's word for it and "Hey team, let's - push - those - drugs!" </div>
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On my way to college my dad wrote a note to me, mostly in jest but - knowing him - all serious. </div>
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"Trust no one! - except me. :) " </div>
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20 years of hard lessons later, I told him he had been right. No one will advocate, research, or care for your child like you will. </div>
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<b>Read also:</b><br />
<a href="http://nashvillesnkids.blogspot.com/2012/01/risperdal-and-whistle-that-no-one-heard.html" target="_blank">Risperdal and the whistle that no one heard</a><br />
<a href="http://nashvillesnkids.blogspot.com/2011/02/vaccine-makers-immune-to-lawsuits.html" target="_blank">Vaccine makers immune to lawsuits according to Supreme Court</a><br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/03/business/glaxosmithkline-agrees-to-pay-3-billion-in-fraud-settlement.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">Glaxo agrees to pay $3 billion in fraud settlement</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-01-19/johnson-johnson-to-pay-158-million-to-settle-texas-risperdal-drug-case.html" target="_blank">J&J to pay $158M to settle texas drug case</a><br />
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-15457875101219157262012-11-11T23:19:00.000-08:002016-04-28T22:38:28.746-07:00I Go Exploring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Chase and Pip are here! Kindle version and in paperback. Beautifully illustrated story of fun adventure in rhyming verse, for kids ages 2-5.<br />
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And yes, you will be supporting a single mother of a child who has Autism as well! (Shameless plug, maybe, but it's true.)<br />
If you want a hard cover book stick around just a little bit longer, it's coming soon! </div>Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330881749264820328.post-60406459762070575462012-11-07T01:50:00.002-08:002016-04-28T22:21:22.019-07:00Annatto drama aka Annatto is the devil or turns my child into one<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It began with a free cookie from Publix. Jaden was just a little over 3 yrs old. I <br />
was hesitant but didn't think too much of it when they offered it to him. He went all hyper in the store after that, a little more than usual but that happens. I don't know if it's the florescent lights or the chemicals they clean with or the smells or… but something in the grocery stores set him off. Only he never calmed that night, until he was whipped into an absolute frenzy. It was hours later, 1 a.m. with me trying to hold down my screaming child to keep him in the bed when it hit me. He was yelling at the top of his lungs "Help me! Somebody help me!" At the time I lived in an apartment with people living under, over, and on three sides. I had horrible visions of the police banging on my door and ripping my screaming child from my arms into the night, because it sounded like he was being tortured. </div>
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"What the hell has gotten into him?" I wondered desperately. "It's like he's been drugged." </div>
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Just like. He'd been drugged. </div>
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The next day I was at the customer service desk at Publix wanting the ingredients list of that cookie. They made calls, I made calls and sent emails. Two days later it was in my hand. It was a simple and short list. I understood and ruled out every ingredient except one. What was annatto? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GeneralEmilioAguinaldo,Bixa_orellanajf9216_15.JPG" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lf8TJEHl2R6v92Wzn0PhInfPrLKOFt4QHv7vRlNMWzrQr7jk3Pwb3Ihg1HEODp8xVFfZQ9Q0IaBjw2Nggnh83y_YNmW1EwyzAesyBjZQOVIHWkBXvj-mHVU_bNZ7dZyFVOgu5FXoUDI/s200/Annatto.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GeneralEmilioAguinaldo,Bixa_orellanajf9216_15.JPG" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Ramon FVelasquez</a></td></tr>
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Annatto, if you don't know, is what makes cheese yellow. Actually if you're eating something yellow, there's a good chance it's annatto. I had no idea previously that cheddar cheese was actually white, and they dye it to be yellow. Why? </div>
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Annatto is a natural food dye, but it's also the most allergenic of natural food dyes. Unfortunately there hasn't been much study of it, so everything I will tell you is from years of anecdotal evidence. </div>
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My first round of research turned up some odd stories of children so allergic-yet-addicted (it so happens some people crave what they're allergic to, don't know why?) that they would only eat yellow and only wear yellow. I wasn't even sure if I believed all that, but there was enough to make me wonder just how far this connection was with Jaden. </div>
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He did have some annatto in his diet already but not much, due to his very self-limited diet. Grilled cheese was one of his 3 staple foods, and I used yellow american. I switched to white american. There was some slight resistance but it wasn't terribly difficult for the fact that the cheese was inside the bread, and not prominent. And I fed him in front of the TV so he wasn't staring at it the whole time. </div>
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Slowly, his speech started to improve. At that time his speech had been very twisted. Twisted is really the best way to describe it. The words were half wrong, he would say one word when he was trying to say something else. The other half weren't even real words. Not only that, but he said them all in the wrong order. </div>
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A few days ago I watched a short video of him from that era. He was talking and I was responding, and I thought "How on earth did I DO that?? I can't make out a single thing that sounds like a word!" I can't even begin to describe the copious amounts of desperate effort it took to understand that child… I must be a saint! </div>
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I digress. In a few weeks his words started making more sense. Less scrambled sentences. Words that were actually words. I won't say it "fixed" everything. He still needed speech therapy for two years after that. But there was a definite notable improvement that made speech therapy more effective. But was it really the annatto? It's often difficult to tell in these types of trials. I started to doubt myself, often. There was still some slight trace of it in his diet, in the vegetarian Morningstar Chick'n Nuggets he ate it's listed as an ingredient (and I tried but could not get him to switch.) But I've ascertained that it can't be very much. Sometimes I gave in to his love of Goldfish. And I regretted it. Every. Time. His speech would become twisted again, his thoughts more confused, his behavior more hyper. After enough times it was too obvious a change, when that was the only thing that changed. It had to be the annatto. </div>
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I think of that Publix cookie as a life saver. Thank you, Publix, for dosing my child with a large enough amount of unnecessary annatto that I could finally root out something that had been too subtle in his other foods. Seriously. How else would I have figured it out? I wouldn't have. It was also a backhanded blessing that his diet at the time was so severely limited. Finding a needle in a haystack is more doable when you've eliminated most of the hay. </div>
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Why am I writing this rambly annatto post? Because I made a mistake again. I was prepping for a long trip, and Jaden's dad offered to make a last minute run to the store for road trip snacks. There's not a whole lot he can eat on the road. White cheese to put in the cooler (we switched to provolone btw, he's loving it,) bakery bread, and … oh I don't know. He was standing by the door keys in hand. "Goldfish." </div>
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Why didn't I ask for his veggie sticks? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Goldfish-Crackers.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVepCdLKwL5f_SHKTWrlYmM_Wo7A4ckwwadYe-29gTA-0FczKvVvbfzEJO4Oa21SNuw0hg9TBL8yxUfCic9Y5MLE0R2n98Xn_QD3ipHq0UYQfH-iSe5HRs11KabKU-xSi86K2ZI7DJzo/s200/File:Goldfish-Crackers.jpeg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Goldfish-Crackers.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Evan-Amos</a></td></tr>
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So a whole huge box of Goldfish was bought and I tossed a handful each into two baggies. A little tiny bit every 6 months or so is not *that* bad… </div>
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Until that night, 8+ hours later we arrived at my parents house, all travel-weary and stuff. Unpack the car, talk to the parents… while Jaden snags and eats the whole rest of the box of Goldfish. </div>
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And so begins my 5 whole days of some of the most hellish behavior I've ever had from him. I'm. Not. Kidding. </div>
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I told my dad (or maybe screamed at my dad, it's all a blur) "He's not usually like this! If he had been, there would have never been a custody battle!" </div>
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For the record, there was never actually a custody battle. Also for the record, it's not a bit true anyway. I was just at one of those I'm-pulling-my-hair-out moments. Was all of this really from the Goldfish? Or was it the change of scenery and routine, or stuff between me and his dad, or… </div>
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And on day 6 I had my child back. Still hyper, smart-mouthed, and easily frustrated but no longer these things at a screaming 20 on a scale of 1-10. His true personality was back and no longer drowned out. I realized how much I had missed him. Nothing had changed but that it had been the right amount of days for a whole box of crap to get out of his system. I will never feed him another Goldfish again and will body slam anyone who comes near him with one. Just saying. </div>
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After all this drama I realized that I can't, just can't, be the only parent of a hyper child with Autism and SPD who goes off like a baby on crack when fed annatto in the world. I might just have been lucky enough to figure it out where others haven't who weren't given a free Publix cookie at the time when their child had limited themselves to only 4 foods which happened to include chocolate chip cookies. I'll concede that might be a rare chain of events. </div>
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So I'm writing this for them, or you, whoever you is who is trying to figure out why your child turns into the tasmanian devil sometimes and if it could possibly be a random, unheard of, seemingly innocent food additive. </div>
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That is all. Oh and as a word of warning to everyone else. I will body slam you if you come near my child with a Goldfish. </div>
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"Natural food colors such as annatto extract have not been extensively investigated with respect to potential allergenic properties." <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annatto" target="_blank">Wikipedia </a> </div>
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"Allergy symptoms for Annatto include…<br />
<b>Mood changes</b><br />
<b>Behavioral changes</b><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.rightdiagnosis.com/f/food_additive_allergy_annatto/intro.htm" target="_blank">rightdiagnosis.com </a> </span><br />
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ETA: </div>
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<a href="http://fedup.com.au/factsheets/additive-and-natural-chemical-factsheets/160b-annatto" target="_blank">Food Intolerance Network Factsheet: Annatto</a><br />
There are a lot of anecdotes here that describes similar physical and behavioral reactions to annatto.<br />
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Read my most recent post on annatto: <a href="http://wildflowersforjade.blogspot.com/2013/07/taking-annatto-seriously.html" target="_blank">Taking Annatto Seriously </a></div>
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Gaynellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09977665114140787384noreply@blogger.com19