SEDATE ME!

The ice that used to cover Lake Superior is almost gone.  It is slowly being pushed by the wind to the shoreline and into the harbor.

Our trip from Duluth to Gooseberry Falls took longer than expected as we stopped often to watch the newly created shoreline between the ice and the open water.

Gooseberry Falls has never been high on our list of must-see waterfalls.  Not becaause they're not beautiful but because they're so close to the roadway that they usually have large crowds.  As I expected, the hiking trail was paved and even wheelchair accessible.  It was one of our more challenging hikes though because Duluth still has snow that has turned to slush.  And that slush, after bright sunlight and hours of foot traffic had turned to ice.  We encountered our first adventure of ice hiking.

All "ice hiking" means to my son is adventure.  To me it means constant fear and nearly uncontrollable anxiety that screams 'SEDATE ME'.  I have no idea how I will tame my son's love of free-climbing.  This trip was not the trip to be climbing on the cliffs.  The rocks were slippery and one wrong step would have landed him directly into the rushing falls.  My internal stress rises even as a write this. 



Parental Compromise.



See the look on the boy's face?  This is the look of "see, Dad let me climb down here by the water".

I've tried to convince him to take rock-climbing classes thinking that they will offer safety lessons. Ya, ummm... no go yet.  On this day I resorted to the age old parental tactic of "you can climb either here or there but not over there".  I knew that forbidding climbing would lead to attitude, disobedience, arguing and perhaps losing the battle.  And with the current conditions, losing the battle was not an option. 

"Dylan, other people think I'm a bad parent because I let you go so close to the water".
"Oh, Mom.  You're not a bad Mom.  I'm just an adventurous boy!', he replies with a smile as he runs off to the car. 

Great. 

Not of my flesh...

He was not born of my flesh.
I did not hold him in his first days.
I am often spared his stumbles and heart-break
and I savor the experience when I witness his triumphs.

I have been Austin's step-mom for 5/6 of his life.  He is not an autistic child; he is a child with autism.  I remember the challenges of his first years, searching for the right diagnosis.  We were introduced to more acronyms than any family should.  And I remember crying in Daniel's arms when the diagnosis was confirmed by many.  You see, I'm a health care practitioner.  I rely on the blood test, the physical exam and the objective findings.  Autism is not like that.  Once you've met one autistic child you've met just one autistic child.

My favorite memory of Austin was when he was seven years old.  Dylan had just been born and Austin was with us for the weekend.  He had previously been fairly unconcerned about this new baby brother.  But on this night, Austin took a keen interest.  He carried him up the stairs and wanted to do all the bathing for baby Dylan.  He diapered him, clothed him and brought him back down the stairs to feed him the bottle.  I was a nervous wreck  And then, as quickly as the interest appeared, the next day it was gone.  It was a fleeting moment of the sibling attachment that parents so long for.  

There are many great memories and today I am so proud of the adult that he has become.  He is the captain of Stillwater High School's adapted soccer team.  Last year he was voted by his team as the most valuable player. The self-confidence I saw in him this weekend warmed my soul.  The crowds would cheer when he scored a goal and I could see his expression change.  He wouldn't jump up and down and celebrate.  In fact, I don't think he even smiled.  But I saw his posture change as he walked to the other side of the field.  I saw something different in his walk. I saw a different look on his face.  And as he looked up again, inside this child with autism, I saw his pride.

Accomplished

The High Falls

                                                                                                                    No one will ever say that I am a great housekeeper. No one will ever say that I am a great chef. We left the house in a complete state of disaster. But it was a beautiful weekend and the thought of forfeiting it to housework was dreadful. Instead, we packed our bags in 10 minutes flat, booked a hotel room while driving and headed north to Duluth. By 8 pm Saturday night we were pulling up to the last hotel room available in the city.  A short twelve hours later we were on the trail to the High Falls of Tettagouche State Park. These falls are 80 ft. tall and sit about 3/4 of a mile off a pretty challenging hike.

We took the dogs this time.  Not something I'd suggest doing again. 

Rosie (the Bulldog) runs so close to the ground that her underbelly is raw from sticks and rocks and grasses.

Lily (the Lab) is an old lady.  She will be stiff for several days after the rough terrain.

All summer long I had been trying to figure out how we were going to get to the High Falls.  It was too long of a drive to do it all in one day. None of the campgrounds in the area had the camper cabins that seemed like a perfect mix of camping and hotel room.  No weekends seemed to line up for a mini vacation.  I had resigned myself to the idea that we probably weren't going to make it.  So as we sat on the rocks, the deafening sound of the water rushing in the background, I actually sighed, "THIS is the one I really wanted to see."

 Another mile of hiking brought us to Twin Falls.  As the name suggests, this is actually one waterfall that drops into a small but deep pool.  The water then falls over the second drop into a large lagoon.  We spent a long time here.  Dylan is fearless when climbing the rocks along the bluffs.  In a second he is gone and the roaring water makes it impossible to call out for him; he won't hear you.  This is my boy who hates amusement parks and thrill rides.  If we go to a county fair, he will use all of his money on the food and games.  He will literally fight for his life if you try to manipulate him into going on a roller-coaster.  Yet when it comes to rock-climbing, he will tip-toe on the bluff, jump from rock to rock and pause only briefly as he crawls just millimeters away from falling to his death.  I must get that boy a helmet.  

As we drive back into town, its just about to get dark.  We're tired.  The car is now a disaster and I'm a little crabby just thinking about all the work we've left behind. Yet I feel a little bit of accomplishment as well.  I'm not always as spontaneous as I wish.  I love the idea of surprise trips to an unknown destination or a fantasy of just jumping on a plane to anywhere.  But the fact is that every day life just becomes a priority.  I hate that. Today is different though. On this day I feel accomplished in our twenty four hours of impromptu togetherness.  On this day I feel accomplished in making memories that our children will remember.  On this day I feel accomplished in truly understanding what it means when people say "do it today because tomorrow is never guaranteed".  On this day I feel accomplished ... even if I do have to rewash all the laundry in the washer.

On the glorious splendor of your majesty, and on your wondrous works, I will meditate. 
~ Psalms 145:5

Wolf Creek Falls, Banning State Park, 09/08/2013

The beautiful Kettle River.

Banning State Park is stunning.  It is lesser known and smaller than the other parks we've visited this year.  That means that the crowds are non-existent.  Yes!  Finally. We only saw two other families the whole day.

We hiked three miles into the park, through the woodlands and over rock formations.  The water was really low.  No rain this summer means that the waterfall is barely running and the falls were
only about a quarter of what they normally are.

My camera is out of service.  Poor quality photos but quality family time!

Dear Dylan,

Dear Dylan,
The purpose of this blog was to never forget the little memories, the one's that happen quickly and then leave just as quickly.  And so I wanted to take a minute to talk to you about this past week.

I am very proud of you.  Starting sixth grade is very different than the start of any other grade.  I've told you this many times, but sometimes I just look at you with amazement at how quickly you're growing and developing into a young man.  Not a baby, not a toddler - not quite yet a teen - but certainly a maturing young man.

You confidently ventured out the door to a new school, many new faces and a completely different routine.  I only saw one moment of apprehension as we stood in the kitchen on that very day of middle school when you said, "Mom, I'm really nervous".  Thank you for holding my hand as we prayed for God to protect you and bring you comfort and peace during those nervous moments. That tells me a lot about your character. And then, with a big sigh,  you pushed forward and ran out the door.  I remember days in the past that you would have cried and asked not to go.  Doing something new and unknown is scary, but you're maturing and growing and learning.  I'm very proud of you.

In case you forget all the new hurdles you've met, this week you:

• mastered an alarm clock
• started your day an hour earlier than in the past years
• rode a new school bus, with new kids and a new driver
• figured out how to use a combination lock 
• met eight new teachers for eight new classes
• figured out how to get back to your locker, grab your stuff and get to the next class in 5 minutes flat
• found someone to sit with at lunch
• submitted your first on-line assignment
• remembered to bring home the homework from 1st period, even after 8th period
• set your own after school routine that included both outside time AND homework

This week is just one of the many changes you'll encounter in life.  How you master change will say a lot about you as a person.  There are many things I don't know.  I don't know where you'll go to college (or IF you'll go to college), I don't know who you'll choose for a life partner (or IF you'll choose a life partner), I don't know what you'll do for a profession (yes, you WILL get a job), but there's one thing I do know.  I know that your Dad and I will always love you, encourage you and support you.  We are blessed.

Love, 

Mom

Going home.

There is something special about going home that takes me back at least two decades. Hey, who am I kidding?  Probably three decades. 

Today I layed in the front yard with my back to the green grass and my face to the sun. I watched an old farmer drive down the city street on a red tractor. I watched a high-school kid leave football practice and drive home on his ATV. My Mom took the dog to the vet without a prescheduled appointment and still got service (in about 3 minutes!). These things don't happen at my adult home. 

Today we also worked at the garden. Holy tomatoes!  On Sunday my Mom and I will probably can whole tomatoes, tomato juice and probably salsa too. I hope Anne and Dylan will join us. Maybe the tradition of canning will survive one more generation. 

I always wonder if we should have stayed in small town Minneosta to raise our family. It's a nagging, reoccurring question without much validity really. It just seems to linger in the back of my mind. The truth is that I believe we are exactly where we're supposed to be. Might it be that if I had never moved away from small town roots that I would never appreciate them now?  Going home is rest. Going home is fellowship. Going home is grace.

Every good and perfect gift is from above. -James 1:17

It's TIME...

There are some things I can't do in the middle of a figurative storm.  I can't listen to music; no music.  Not upbeat hip-hop.  Not that crappy rap that the kids somehow love.  And certainly not heartbroken country music.  I also can't write.  Writing is like bearing my soul and I never really know if I should share that.  So I don't.

I haven't written in over two months.  Which should give you a bit of insight into my recent state of mind.

But with that, I know that my storm should never be my children's storm and we have a waterfall quest to continue.  So here we are:  Cascade Falls in Osceola, Wisconsin.  We visited these falls a few weeks ago.  Dan was with us and it was fun to see him understand the joy that this little quest gives the kids.  Up until now he has never really understood the calling of the waterfalls and couldn't appreciate the benefit our little adventures.  We took in the falls and then went hiking the distance of the river down to the St. Croix.  Wading into the northern part of the St. Croix was a bonus for the trip.

In the month or so that has passed since our visit, I've done much reflection.  It strikes me that perhaps my life (maybe everyone's life) is not much unlike that of a drop of water in this very creek.  It sounds corny, but hear me out.  This drop of water is just floating along the Osceola Creek.  Ya, the water sometimes gets a little turbulent; sometimes flowing faster; sometimes flowing slower.  But life as a little drop of water is okay.  Until suddenly the current becomes faster and almost suffocating.  You try really hard to keep at the top of the water - to keep it all together - why is the current rushing so fast?  Everyone seems to be aware of the impending disaster and the anxiety is paramount, but the reason is still so unclear.  Until...

Until the falls.  Suddenly it becomes apparent.  Smashing.  Crushing.  Disastrous.  Smothering.  The life previously known, of floating carelessly in the creek, seems like it never existed.  In this moment, the only consciousness surrounds survival.  Clinging to a rock seems safe, put its only a temporary safe.  You see, in order to reach the calm waters below.  In order to proceed - In order to keep living - one must weather the falls.  The choice is not "if"; the choice is "how".

My friends, each of us has either recently gone through the fall, is currently in the fall, or will be there sometime in the future.  It might be a sudden serious illness or death, it might be the end of a relationship, it might be a financial ruin.  My question is this:  What are you doing today to prepare for the fall?  Because it will happen. How will you weather the storm?

And so here we are.  I think we're near the bottom of the falls.  The calm waters ahead are in sight.  I reflect upon the past two months with a bittersweet taste in my mouth.  I have much to be thankful for.  I hate the fall but I love the promise of the waters ahead.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him and he will direct your path" ~ Proverbs 3:5-6