Guilty as Charged

The problem with writing your thoughts down on paper or computer, is someday, someone might read them. Or in the case of a blog, you either really want many people to read it or you at least, like myself, kinda want someone, at least one, to read it and relate. However, you are fully aware it is writing being made public on the Internet for anyone to see. It is the exact opposite of my sixth grade notebook writings that were carefully hidden under my mattress. The only audience of those twelve-year-old laments was supposed to be me. Except for the time my mom found it and she cried.

Now, dear reader, you will see what I have been charged with in my latest writing class. A veteran, published author of personal essays has suggested that perhaps my essays, "share the beginnings of real emotion...but stop short of real disclosure." Hmmm...well, maybe. She suggested, "Have I always been a self-sufficient person and therefore asking for help is hard?" Well, I haven't spent much time thinking about that until she asked...but, yes, guilty as charged. Getting feedback on a personal essay gets pretty personal awfully darn fast. I think, I feel, if I ask for help, then I am not succeeding. Or upon further thought, I am not perfect. Not perfect as in perfection, but my all is not good enough. And as a parent of a particularly challenging child on a daily basis, I almost always feel like my all isn't good enough. Now, isn't that the truth?
I wish I could ask my mom if all parents feel like "giving their all" isn't good enough on a lot of days. I know she felt it, the day she read in my notebook, I didn't like her.

1-2-3 magic

The title of this post makes me smile because it is also the title of one of the first books I bought to help me parent when I had an eighteen month old. I had actually ordered three books in a desperate attempt to add some positive discipline and order to the daily rebellion. I was embarrassed enough having to order the books. As an experienced elementary teacher and veteran babysitter, I had believed this parenting stuff to be a walk through the park. And it had been. Until Builder started walking and talking. Strong-willed and spirited child is what the experts like to call these children. My mom and dad would call it payback for my teenage years. But really, I was desperate. The days were getting harder and harder. So, I ordered up some books that were promptly delivered to my neighbor, who opened them, and then delivered them to me. "I think these are yours"...they couldn't possibly be for me , I have 3 girls. Great, I thought, the whole 'hood knows I can't parent. As if they hadn't seen my desperate actions in stores or at the park. At any rate, I read those first books, tried it out, and quickly ordered more heavy duty tomes. My early favorite, quickly dismissed, was the 1-2-3 Magic book...all you really needed to say was 1 - 2 and by the time you got to 3, why gosh darn if the child wasn't supposed to be behaving. Ha. As a teacher, I already knew to count DOWN from three because, the clever kids knew you could count up forever, but always knew you needed to end at zero. I then ordered more books and consulted more experts. The prescription from all of these professionals was usually the same. Add more parent to the child. Play their way. Five positives for every correction. Empathy, then read them the rights. Advice much more constructive and understanding to combat their ferocious need to control their world. However, I have recently gone back to adding some 1-2-3 magic my way. If we need to clean Builder's room, I "pre-clean" it. (Think toss one garbage bag worth out before cleaning the room together) Adding a reference source to help him finish some super hard homework..I supply it. (Think 15 words that have "war" in them) And of course the best way to use 1-2-3 magic is to count them in your head very, very slowly as you decide to turn and walk away from the arguments, defiance, or mess.

Building Strengths for Builder

I am usually seeking, finding, investigating the next step, therapy, or group my son needs. But not anymore. I am looking and finding activities that suit his personality and interests. He is now eleven. Well, not really, but that is what age he tells he is to everyone he meets. I am trying to be attuned to his interests and wants. It is a teeter-totter act. I think. Negotiating with these independent thinkers, we call middle schoolers. It is the fine balance of suggestion and knowledge of your child. Some suggestions will be met with rolled eyes and an "OMG." And some will be met with a "really? cool." But it is up to us as parents to present these opportunities to our kids so they can find a strength, a stress outlet, a friend. This week it is a create and skate class...paint and individualize your skateboard. It's cool.

Oatmeal in the litterbox and other moments

What does oatmeal in the litter box, a bike without its wheels, and a guitar case made of duct tape all have in common? You are correct, nothing much. Nope, it is not the punch line to the latest Internet joke. It is simply a sample of the various events of my week here at home. And the boys were in school most of the hours of the week. Actually, all of these situations were produced by Builder. Here is why. In order to build a super rocket you need a bigger size cylinder, an oatmeal box or two. Does it really matter if they are full? No, not if you need them at 6AM before any parent is awake and you find a handy spot to hide the oatmeal. How can you possible build a ski bike if the bike still has wheels? You can't. Remove wheels immediately. Dismantle cross-country skis, attach to bike frame with duct tape. Wait for snow. Does it really matter if it happens to be your younger brother's bike? No, of course not! In fact all the better to leave your own bike intact. You have a case your electric guitar came in that is cloth and soft sided. You have seen real guitar cases that are solid, hard-sided, with handles. What better use for the multiple card boxes and duct tape you have stocked up in the past week? None. Let the projects continue, right after you vacuum up the oatmeal from behind the cat box.

Blog because...

I started this blog as a place to do some prewriting, thinking, and venting...hence it is a blog. It seemed self-indulgent and kind of silly. However, when it was eventually shared with my one to five people audience, it was well received. Primarily by the target audience it was intended for...moms and dads struggling with the unbelievable task of parenting a special needs child who requires an inordinate amount of time, patience, and grace. It is a nonstop, 24 hour challenge, pocketed with even more difficult situations and experiences you could have never ever imagined. Yet, here we sit and sigh. We are blessed with a child who sleeps all night. So many others in this boat have children who rarely sleep. I pray for those parents daily. The point is this blog may ramble, rant, and occasionally be nonsensical. However, this blog is a celebration of one more day, week, month of progress. Even if I don't always see that daily, weekly or monthly.

Rock On?

So one of the activities Builder and I love to do together is garage sales. We have since he was one, pretty much every toy, baby accessory, clothing he wore was purchased at a garage sale with a big grin on my face. Awesome, I always thought as I dragged the collapsible play tunnels, high chairs, and cozy coupes home. Because we didn't pay full price for it we had more of it. Not such a good practice. However, this past Saturday, I went garage sale haunting with my ever needy Builder. It is a dangerous combination, bargain hunting mom and kid who desires everything. We only hit two...that's the lingo. But we came home with an electric guitar, amp, roller blades, travel bag (that maybe a cat urinated on, did not know that until it sat in my car overnight), snow pants for Bounce, and some dress shoes for Builder two years from now. Forty bucks later, it does all sound crazy to me!!! What was I thinking? An amp? Apparently it is just one more thing Builder and I can argue over. The shoes? He has informed me he is never going to a social dance in sixth grade with girls...apparently he can barf on demand. Who knew? Although I think he did try it last night to avoid going to bed...However, all that being said, he loves his electric guitar. It really is so him. And I knew it would be. We strive endlessly to find the paths he might be successful in even if it is not our first choice. My son loves to be center stage. We call him our "shock jock". I guess I would rather raise Bon Jovi than Howard Stern. I can live with rocker with an attitude. OK,turn it up, but eventually turn it down. I am sure his first song he writes will about the massive oppression he lives under as we require him to not swear, be nice, and have some respect for others. My question is...will I at least make the liner notes?

Summertime and the living is easy?

Summer..not so fun for parents like me. Unstructured days mean really hard work for us special needs parents. For example, today, my ten year old and I (he is more 5 developmentally) set up fishing and paper mache, went to Target and cleaned the back room. And of those activities got us to noon. I advocated for calling for play dates. But, he knows like I do, there are none to be found. I am his play date and he knows it. Briefly, there was an opportunity for him to go with his brother on a group play date, but I chose to have his brother away from Builder for that brief time. Bounce needed the break from his brother more than Builder needed the play date. These are the decisions we make every day about our unique children. These are the decisions no one else knows we make. They are brokered by silent rules of who has been the most damaged by the recent outbursts, arguments, or activities.
Another mom and I took all the kids plus some extras to the pool at four. I forced Builder to go after he had set himself up with a cooler filled with water and his legs inside. He was hot. I had already told him no, but that is never a deterrent to him. He didn't want to go to the pool, but I told him he had to go with us. He loved it. He got to play in the water, mostly with his mom.

The best relationship my son and I have will occur this month. There will be no reprimands. No questions about his actions. No arguing. Just perfect peace and happiness. Why? He is at overnight camp. I get to send him care packages that show him I am thinking of him and want him to be happy. The boxes he get include silly and fun things I would normally just be saying no to at the store the eleven other months of the year. For example, I just sent a flying screeching monkey, bouncy ball,and a puzzle book consisting of all gross words. He couldn't wait to be dropped off at camp this year. He is a returning camper and looked forward to doing all of his beloved activities. Almost everyday, he gets to fish, collect stray creatures, and stay up late...with all boys. He gets to hang out the very cool counselors, who have a much more laid back attitude than I do.

Big Sigh

I know I was difficult at eleven. Rolled eyes, big sighs, and the very clear implication my mom was the dumbest person on earth. It wasn't enough I would perform those actions and blatant disrespect in front of her, I also journaled about it. Some things never change, I guess. Here I am venting about being on the other side; even as I clearly remember those feelings of Tweenness. I really thought I would handle it better being on the other side. As the mom, I am handling well enough, smiling through most of it. Providing empathy as appropriate, or just walking away from the disdain. Or sending the disdain back to his room. On the occasions I confront him about his super disrespect or inappropriate tone/manner, I am greeted by "OK, smart one." Well...now we are getting somewhere I think to myself. I believe he is trying to call me a "smart aleck" but his Aspie brain just won't let him. He doesn't have a definition for aleck. And truly, neither do I. The only Alec I knew was in college and really a very nice young man. Never disrespectful. However, a smart alec is someone very smart or clever, and at times irritating. I am guessing "smart one" has the same definition in my son's book. And my mom's. Big sigh. Sorry mom.

Understanding

One of the issues parents face when they are dealing with their child's issues is who, what, and how to help with the current situations. All potential help options costs lots of dollars. Primarily, not reimbursed from insurance. Yet, the child still needs the recommended therapies.
We have investigated and done most of the available ones out there. At this point in the game, I find it ironic, experts still feel like they know what is best for my child. They are convinced there is an easy or doable fix. I also find it a whole lot disheartening to me, as the mom.
I have spent the better part of the last eight years of my life trying to figure out my child. I know him. I know what works and what doesn't. In the old days, I never took it personally when someone was trying to help us. As my step-mom and I agreed, no stone unturned, until we figured this out. So, our wallets were emptied via occupational therapy, psychological therapy, psychiatric therapy, neuropathy, vision therapy, social skills, and IEPs. Many of those therapies helped Builder, some helped me, some of that money would have been spent at the track for all the good it did.
Now, I am much more discriminating. We cannot afford to go down the ineffective path, emotionally, financially, or behaviorally. It is too uncharted and precarious.
There is a hard fact many people don't know. The therapists are befuddled by these unorthodox children. They have never before seen a situation like ours. Thus, we, as parents, get blamed. Shamed. Scolded. We happen to have another child living in our home, one year younger. He is a typical child. Way easier, not perfect, but doesn't need interventions. He just needs compassion and understanding of the brother and home life he has. So do his parents.

Mom's Away, Boys Will Play

I am gone for three whole days and I know my boys are celebrating. All of them. Finally, there will be no one asking why X,Y, and Z are not done. And wondering when the P, Q, and R will be finished, so we can all enjoy some M and Ms.
I admit, I am all about having dinners in a timely manner, homework done, laundry put away, and bedtime early. Why? Because our children, mainly Builder needs a structured, predictable environment. He also needs an on-time bedtime and limited amounts of sugar. I am not kidding when I say, well he's acting this way because he is super tired and super-sugared. He didn't get enough sleep.
I am the mom and I take the fall for most things. Why is the reading log never done? Where is that gym shirt? Why can't we have a bag of marshmallows for dinner? I am the resident buzz-kill. I am OK with it. Mostly. I say No, I ask Why, What are your plans for that pocket knife, and I say I Don't Think So. Well, until I am gone. Out of town on a a much needed girls' weekend. My only thought at the end of the day is, I hope they are home safe, put sunscreen on, and brushed their teeth. I fall asleep probably only one of those ideals have been met.

Little Man

My recent blog was dedicated to a fellow mom in the trenches. She was/is inspiring to me. So is my youngest son. No labels, no extraordinary issues, he is what most parents have, a neurotypical child with typical developmental patterns. He is also (self-described) as kind, generous, and giving. He is. Always has been.
I used to hope and pray for a child who is like my husband. I got it. He is kind, patient, friendly and nice to all. His usual state of mind is happy.
Bounce just happens to look more like my side of the family. Not to say, he didn't get some of my traits. He did...like stubbornness, determination, or crabby when hungry. Plus, run away, when mad, sad, or tired of it all.
However, like my husband and I, he also got persevere in tough times. He sticks around and goes with the flow. He believes in the best and cries over the worst. We all do. WE ALWAYS HOPE AND PRAY. Odd, that wasn't supposed to be all caps and was. Strange. I am leaving it. Because I believe in it. However, I digress.
I asked Bounce the other day if he could handle another child who had anger issues and threw tantrums. He replied, quickly and easily, "Of course, I'm used to it." I knew what he meant. We are used to it, the perpetual unpredictability of Builder combined with the constant thought what's next? Builder is so much better than before; but still has a long way to go. His behavior can be extremely trying. But we know he doesn't mean it. He would be the first to protect us from harm. His daily antics, experiments, and outbursts? We can take it. We know how to deal with it. It is not typical for most families. It is for ours.
Bounce has long been known as "Little Man", I think he is deserving of his title.

Effective Consequences....

My husband and I are pretty right one with immediate consequences and the repreccusions they bring. They usually work. They did when we were kids. Not so much with our kids. It is very different. From the minute one. "If you chose to leave your bike out in the yard before bed, I will wake you and make sure you bring it in."
"What time will you wake me up?"
"Huh"
"Just bring your bike in."
The children of today have sense of consequences because really ther are no in today's world. Just keep on keeping on.

Sandy

When you have a child with special needs, you sit in a lot of waiting rooms. Often. Sometimes every week, sometimes all year long. While your child gets the amazing therapy he/she needs to succeed in life, you wait.
If you are like me, you could try to run one errand, try to read a book, or clean out your purse in each fifty minute slot. But, really, you can't do those actions every week. Some weeks you are so tired, you could sleep in the waiting room on the hard plastic chair. Some weeks you are so keyed up, you could easily lead a marching band through the room. Other weeks, the weather is so awful, you are just happy to sit quietly.
For the siblings of the child in therapy, you prepare. You play, you cajole, they usually meet other waiting sibs and depending on those children's social skills...you intervene and read your child a book or let your child deal with it.
Sometimes you meet another mom with the same time slot or waiting for the same group your child is attending because so is their child. If it is the latter, you have a great deal to talk about and share. It is the "free" therapy session for the moms of these unique kids.
Sometimes, you meet a mom who is meeting the daily challenges of her child with grace and magnificence. She is still smiling and making jokes. She is kind and friendly to your other children. She is interested in you, your life, and your child. She is one of the few moms who you know immediately understands your life.
She can nod in agreement with how you handled a potentially, truly, explosive moment and share back a tip of how she handled the same scene with her son. You will nod in agreement at how sometimes her husband isn't exactly on board with the latest parenting method or class.
You are amazed even your non-child experiences are the same. You have both been let go of jobs because of ill-tempered supervisors, you are the same age, she wants to become a teacher and you have been a teacher in your prior life.
She is the friend you will have over for coffee some morning or a drink some summer night. You haven't yet asked her; because every week you know how busy her schedule is and truthfully, so is yours. Se leads the entire Cub Scout troop for her child's school. She meets with her son's teachers to help them help her child. She is like you. Tireless and committed to her son and her community. She is an amazing mom that you admire. You are so glad to see her smiling, seated across from you every week in a waiting room of hard chairs.

Shockingly, Sandy passed away suddenly last week. She will be missed by so many.
This post is dedicated to Sandy Meinholz, her husband, and her son, Trevor.

What It Is

Last month, I had my car window smashed in and my purse stolen. I know better than to leave my purse in the car; but I thought I was in a safe area. I thought, of course it could happen- but it won't. But it did. I was upset and shocked.
However, you quickly get over it. Simply because you have to. There are phone calls to make and cards to be canceled. You just deal and ride home a little bit more breezy than you might have liked.
Thinking more on it...it is very similar to how we deal with a diagnosis of autism or ADHD or whatever else is thrown our way. You deal with it. You start making phone calls. You deal with it immediately and the many months after.
You are upset and a bit dismayed that this situation has happened to you. It is not what you expected to deal with at all. You have always taken every precaution so this type of situation wouldn't happen.
But it does. And it did. And it has changed you. It changes how you interact with everyone else in the world.
You view the world differently than others. You take nothing for granted. You understand when parents talk to their children what they are really thinking and feeling. You know why children are behaving certain ways and why they are not. You have examined every parenting book known to mankind. Your knowledge base is extreme parenting. You want to offer advice, help, and encouragement. But only in small doses so as not to seem obnoxious.
In an effort to help you understand your own child, you now understand most children; yet still not always your own. However, you get it. You understand the others now. It is what is.

Good Work

Tonight Builder was busy on the computer. Not unusual. He is usually looking for the newest product he can buy or build. Often, it is the Obsession of the Week, any item he has seen somewhere,or heard of, and must have immediately.
Tonight, he had printed out copies of a rat playing a saxophone. That's right, sax playing rat. Real rat, tiny sax. I saw the photo. Very real.
He was busy writing a note to his fellow sax playing classmate. "You are a realy good sax player." He then included the picture of the talented rat and sealed it up.
I helped him with spelling and added some paper clips for him. I believe it was one of his first gestures to show appreciation for someone else's talents. I know he is impressed his friend can play the Sponge Bob Square Pants song. What I don't know is if he realizes how much his friend will appreciate this gesture.
Builder is still very concrete in his thinking. Friend is good sax player-tell him he is good. He doesn't have the concept of good deeds lead to good will.
I don't think he realizes the many opportunities for telling someone they are a good sax player. He just sees it as it is.
Do most of realize the value of a good compliment? I always try to compliment the fast cashier, the person in front of me in line, or the phone operator who was helpful. I think it is harder to do with the people you know and see all the time. Because you know them and see them all the time. Just for this week, try to tell them a trait or talent they have that you admire-- in honor of Builder.

REALLY?

I get all the women's magazines and parenting magazines. I even enrolled in two middle school courses to learn about my middle school kid. (Actually the state required me to have them to teach this unique and unpredictable age). Prior to having children, I had considered myself an expert on this developmental stage. (Hence, I never took the classes). I taught in a middle school for over ten years. HA! Apparently teaching over 700 adolescents means nothing when dealing with ONE of your own. REALLY.
Apologies to all the former parents of my students for anything I said when I was single or married with no kids. I now know I am equal to the worst parents I ever had to deal with...I am a lethal combination of over-involved and under-competent. I know I am the one the teachers talk about in the halls and in the lunchroom (not in a good way). REALLY.
I appear as a slacker parent. And I know it. How horrifying is that to a teacher of teachers, right now? Very. However, I am the involved parent...I sign the assignment notebook, even though stuff isn't done and it will never be. Reading log...forgetta about it. Not going to happen. Explaining where the notebooks and folders are...gosh you got me, until I do a thorough Spring Cleaning or Summer Break rolls around. Same with the overdue library books.
Conferences are next week. Embarrassing. I have to talk to the single "me" when I was young and naive. I am considering giving her a stamped self-addressed envelope with enough postage for ten years from now when she wants to say sorry to me. She now has a ten year old and gets it. Because I will need it. REALLY!

A Tween Day in School

Today I spent the day as an eighth grade student. All day in school. Started at 8:15...finished at 2:15. As part of my middle school course training, I had to to shadow a eighth grader. I happened to shadow a really happy, outgoing, friendly adolescent. The opposite of me in middle school. By the way, we called it junior high then, and we all were left to fend for ourselves on our own.
What I realized is important. It is a long day and they sit on very hard chairs. When I taught, I was always moving and leading the class in some way. Most days I got them moving. I now apologize for any day we didn't get out of our seats at least for a bit.
Some teachers are really not so good. Without a lesson plan, the class unravels into a free-for-all. Other teachers make you want to stay in their room all day.
And for parents everywhere... "we" (tweens) want rules, structure, and a game plan. It completely relieves our anxiety and need to perform. We hate a gap in the day's structure. We will fill it with noise, chaos, or technology, or just obnoxious comments.
If your child comes home from school stressed out. It might not be their fault. It is difficult to sit in a 50 minute class with an ineffective teacher. It is really boring. Also very loud. I felt anxiety after three classes of kids yelling out and teachers responding with inane comments.
Lunch? Not so relaxing. I barely had time to eat 1/2 of my lunch. No time to head to the bathroom if I wanted to be on time.
From class to class, I primarily sat in a chair. Mostly bored. The good teachers were great and my mind was busy the whole time. I felt good after being in those classes. I felt I had something to share or pursue. For example, if your child has a good teacher this year, send them a thank you and tell themm what they are doing right for your child. If your child doesn't have a good teacher this year, send them a note saying these kids just can't sit in a chair for more than 20 minutes.

Love You Forever

As many of you know...I love the book Love You Forever. I really cannot ever read it without tearing up. Ever. I know, as much as I "blog", I know what the B stands for...I already miss these days. Just like I already miss those days that were so long and so busy and so filled with the constant needs of little kids. I miss strollers; they kept them captive. I miss car seats; they limited movement. I miss Mommy and Me classes...not really at all, ever. I do miss art at Wilmette Community Center with Jan. But, I miss Mommy and Me. Naps. Hugs. Pulling them out of the car enabled you to kiss them quick.
So, here is a fun game to play using the book, Love You Forever. Last Spring, Builder and I played Bingo at the school fair for about four hours. The first prize he grabbed..and I knew he would...I guess I do have hope...was a stuffed bunny that looked identical to the bunny in Love You Forever. Needless to say, I was thrilled.
He took the bunny to overnight camp and sleeps with it every night. He really does love me? Maybe? So, tonight, he took the bunny and threw it at me from his loft bed. I threw it back and said, "Love You Forever." He smiled and threw it back and said, "Love You Forever." I threw it back and said, "Love You Forever...even though you say swear words at me." And so it went...back and forth. He loved it. I was acknowledging that he does a lot of really trying behaviors...but we still love him. He tried to come up with reasons to fault me or not like me..but luckily he couldn't. Well at least they were not fact based.
Here's to hope. And acknowledging the bad behavior is not acceptable. And that the child within is.

Boy-o-BoY

Boy-o-Boy...emphasis on the Y. The Y chromosome that is. You know the cute expression, "He's all boy!" I now know what this means. To be clear, I am not soliciting for sympathy, pity, or a straight jacket. I have always wanted all boys, 4 of 'em. I now have 2, but if I apply the Builder multiplier, it feels more like 11.
I grew up with girls, but my best buds were often boys. I hitched along on the coattails of older boys as the "adopted" little sis in high school. In my opinion, boys were just better than girls. Simple. No tricks, games, deceit, chit-chat, or gossip. Plus, they were always doing fun things like switching street signs late at night or park district pool hopping.
As a mom of young boys, I got over my initial intimidation of their tremndous energy when I saw how easy it was to entertain them. Spin some wheels, crash some cars, and make a new train track everyday. Combine that with 90% time spent outdoors in mud, sand, or snow and there's the day.
But now, they are nine and ten. I'm not good at video games or disassembling explosives. Plus, they have their own agendas. The essence of boy...which is really-- "Who cares?" is coming out. They would rather be with friends or investigating new ways to throw something into trees.
Put away laundry? Lift the seat? Flush? Wash hands? Homework? Why bother?
I am convinced those with the Y chromosome live fully in 5 minute increments of time. Anything before or after that...seems...so..so what. It's over. It's a little hard to live with on a daily basis. But I am trying.
Because really, daily hygiene versus planning the next big experiment or life-threatening adventure? The answer is always Y Not? Y not try to drill the top of pen cap on top of the fabric couch in the family room?

10 in 2010

Ten years ago today, we picked up our healthy infant boy from Catholic Charities. He is so tall now and such a big boy; it is hard to believe, when I look at him, he is ten. Although, just today when I looked in the rear view mirror of the car, I got to see his little baby face again. He was looking at his brother, his mind going a mile a minute and trying to figure out what to say or do next.
After dinner tonight, DH and I were in the kitchen and I said we were going to celebrate his adoption day or "gotcha day" rather...it took six months for the actual adoption. Builder popped around the corner, smiling, and said, "You mean ten years since I joined you?" We laughed and said, "Yes." I commented on his super sensitive ears. He can hear like a bat; one of the first indications of his sensory issues.
The past nine years have been nothing like I imagined. The first year, yes, probably too good to be true...my Dad named him Cruise Control- he was so easy.
However, maybe I should have been wiser. Anyone having children should have no prior idea of what their life will be like. Ever. Anyone breathing, for that matter. It can change on a dime, as my friend said this weekend.
I am still musing on Builder's terminology "when I joined you". For some reason Mork from Mork and Mindy comes to mind http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mork_&_Mindy. Mork showed up and observed life. He reminds me of my child. Builder showed up and observed life. He taught us not everyone is the same. Not everyone is on the same page. Some people are indeed dancing to a different drum. His drum just happens to have a lot of duct tape, a rat, and not a lot of homework done. And a missing gym shirt.