Saltwater

Most of the trips we take these days are definitely not a result of our spontaneous desire to get in the car and go. We would probably never leave the house if we didn't receive invitations from our friends and family members to travel with them. I am coming to realize how important it is to say yes to these opportunities, even though we don't know how Erik will eat/sleep/cope with a change in scenery. What parent knows for sure how their kid will react to something new, anyway?

Friday we headed to the beach to meet my friend and her family. On the way, we stopped at Brian's parents' house for a quick visit. We had a beautiful lunch by their manmade waterfall and pond. Erik was encouraged to feed the koi, some of which have grown to the size of salmon in their roomy habitat. Their white, gold, and orange scales glistened in the sun but failed to really capture Erik's attention. Instead, he wanted to kick at the neat layer of pea gravel or run unfettered under the trees. Brian and I traded off the sweaty duty of chasing after him to prevent him from tripping and falling head first into the pond with the fish or destroying flowerbeds. Erik did stop moving long enough to devour an alarming amount of fruit and homemade muffins.

After lunch we said goodbye and drove across one more mountain range to the coast. We wouldn't see the sun for the rest of the weekend, but the air was fairly warm and pleasant. We located the beach house my friend had rented in a housing development striped with wide, soft drifts of sand. Rows of ranch-style houses surrounded by more sand and beach grass lined the streets, most of which were empty and/or for sale, but a few families milled about in driveways around vehicles bulging with suitcases and beach accessories.

Our two-bedroom, two-bath house was relatively new and full of soft light with an open kitchen. The guys set up two small barbecues in front of the open garage door, and oysters and slabs of steak were grilled for dinner. Shaena and I baked chicken breasts in the oven and fed the kids hot dogs and pasta. By the end of the day, Erik had briefly cried himself to sleep in his bunk in our room, and his friend Samantha had retired to her toddler mattress on the floor of her parents' room. We all poured ourselves cocktails and relaxed. The guys retired to the family room in front of the television/stereo, and Shaena and I found ourselves in chairs on the front deck underneath a relatively rare coastal lightning storm playing across the sky. We talked and drank until we were exhausted and could no longer keep our eyes open.

We tackled touring the aquarium up the highway the next morning. Erik seemed only slightly interested in the exhibits. He did enjoy the creatures that were available to touch. The place was crowded with strollers and noisy children, however, and it was soon apparent he was completely overstimulated, a phenomenon I assumed was history at his age. Brian finally resorted to carrying all 38 pounds of boy on his shoulders, something we do when Erik refuses to walk any further and begins completely melting down. We hastily found the exhibits we wanted to see, briefly separating from our friends and texting each other our locations, finally meeting up in large, plastic tubes surrounded by saltwater and marine life, including sharks. By now, Brian and I were both on edge, as Erik was in a full, defiant meltdown. He whined and whimpered. He refused to walk on his own. His limbs flailed spasmodically. He yanked on our arms and refused to hold our hands.

Against my better judgment, we drove on to lunch on the waterfront. Tourists crammed themselves in shops full of gifts and candy. One of the oldest, most popular restaurants we love had a long line snaking along the front. We decided to attempt waiting for a seat, which would take approximately 20 minutes. We stood on the sidewalk in front of the tiny restaurant with strangers for nearly half an hour. Erik found one woman with spiky, bright blond hair and an easy smile unusually irresistible, and she allowed him to hold her hand. Finally, we were led into the tiny, bustling dining room and seated at a long table in the middle of the crowd. I ordered a bay shrimp sandwich with an ice-cold beer for myself and a grilled cheese with apple juice for Erik. He devoured nearly the entire sandwich with gusto. We ended up having a really nice lunch before heading back to the house. As Erik had reached his limit long before lunch, we decided the brewery we thought about visiting was a no-go.

Erik's friend Sammy invited him to watch videos with her from time to time on the leather couch in the family room of our beach house. He really took a liking to the Pixar feature called Cars. He did very well inside the house or playing with sand on the deck without the extra stimulation of strangers and unexpected noise. He interacted with Sammy in new ways and was able to converse with her a little more than he had in the past. Brian took him to the beach, which apparently went well until it was time to go. When I met up with them on my way to the ocean after a trip to the grocery store, Erik was walking down the street with Brian. His toes were bleeding very characteristically from the beating of being exposed, and he was blubbering. He told me very dramatically that he loved me, and I had to giggle. His clothing and coat were soaked with seawater and covered in a thin layer of wet sand. Through his exhausted fit, I could tell he had loved every second of what he had just done. He had apparently splashed in the chilly water thigh deep and fallen at times, explaining his condition. He absolutely loved it. I spent a little time on the beach myself, feeling the sand erode under my soles as the waves rushed back into the ocean and felt my toes begin to lose feeling in the frigid water. I stood still, feeling the power of the ocean vibrate every cell in my body. I guess I had a little word or two with God while I was standing there, too.

Sunday we packed our things and vacated the house, which seemed to be hard for all of us to do. We drove to the valley and met at Wendy's for lunch, where Erik began the familiar signs of nuclear meltdown yet again when a family with noisy children seated themselves directly behind us. He put his head in my lap and covered his ears. His feet kicked. Finally, I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. He said yes, and we amused ourselves in the parking lot next door in front of a Chinese restaurant, a Mexican bakery, and a dark barbershop. Erik walked atop the parking curbs, sometimes requiring my help to maintain his balance but becoming annoyed when I tried to help him. When everyone else exited the restaurant and it was time to go, he had another major malfunction. He stopped short of sitting down, but his legs became heavy and extra clumsy. He burst into tears. He yanked roughly on my hand when I tried to move him along. Losing my temper, I snapped at him with a raised, impatient voice. He cried even harder.

I got us both into the Jeep and felt my emotions seep through the exhaustion that comes with packing and traveling. Tears rolled down my face silently for a minute or two, and Brian patted my knee. I was tempted to give up and go home without our scheduled trip to the amusement park at this point, but we finally decided to press on.

Up the interstate we went.

I finally spotted the large sign in front of the familiar theme park, a place I have not been to since I was small. We parked in front of a castle wall and joined our friends. Erik seemed excited and held Sammy's hand. The guys paid our admission and tickets for the rides inside the park, our optimism bleeding through once again. My sense of humor spurred me on as I read the rules that were posted on a Medieval-looking sign at the start of the trail and added my own. No outside food or drink. No toplessness. No pooping in the moat. Shaena and I giggled ourselves silly.

We followed the trail into the darkness of the park under a gorgeous, green canopy of foliage. Brightly painted concrete buildings illustrated assorted fairy tales. I entered the ones that would accommodate my adult body, peeking through windows at ancient exhibits that sparked memories I thought were lost. The audio portions of many of the featured tales were garbled beyond recognition, even for my transcriptionist's ears, but the tales were easily recognizable. Erik reluctantly entered a large rabbit hole with his father, who was on all fours, and Shaena and I ran ahead, looking for the place where they would emerge.

By the time we had come to the portion of the park featuring rides, Erik was melting down yet again. He entered a wooden door labeled "saloon" in the Wild West section. Inside was a straight, dark hall, and the floor was soft and unstable, designed to make you feel like you were intoxicated. He ran back and forth, almost frantic. He began making the incessant engine noises he makes when he is in full freakout mode. Sammy was across the narrow street, patiently allowing a man who looked like Abe Lincoln to put period clothing over her own outfit for a photo opportunity. Brian wondered aloud if Erik would hold still long enough to do the same. We quickly came to the conclusion that he would not. Instead, we watched and let our kid run back and forth.

All six of us stood in line on wooden stairs for the little roller coaster in the trees, which would be Erik's first. It had been constructed in the late 1980s and was intended to look and feel as if its riders are in bobsleds. Shaena and I decided to ride together. We crammed ourselves in one capsule with Shaena sitting between my outstretched legs and me with my chin resting on her shoulder. An opaque plastic cover with large holes in it was snapped down over our heads. I couldn't help but think of Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels on that moped in a scene from the movie Dumb and Dumber. She began discussing the sign she had happened to read about getting splashed with water on this ride and how interesting it was that I had chosen the seat in the back. I began giggling, wondering if I could possibly survive this experience without wetting my pants. The ride jerked to a start and we began screaming immediately, despite the fact our car had just begun to move. I was thankful Erik's car was in front, away from our gleeful hollering. We gained speed and rocketed through the forest for two and a half minutes, our screaming gaining new volume with every violent turn. When we all escaped at the end and made our way down another flight of wooden stairs, my knees were actually a little shaky. Brian reported that Erik emitted a "YEE HAW" or two but that he quieted down as the ride progressed. However, he protested and thew a fit as we walked away from the attraction. His defiance would only intensify. We came across a tiny Ferris wheel and debated on whether or not to trap Sammy in a cage with Erik on the thing. Brian wondered aloud regarding the worst thing that could happen, and we all laughed. Erik refused to ride, however, still upset about leaving the roller coaster and mumbling about the promise we had made about him seeing a train. We kept going until we saw the psychedelic-looking kiddie train, its lights merrily flashing in the rain. Erik agreed to ride with Sammy. Shaena and I took shelter from the weather by the bumper cars, where we could watch and snap photos. Erik and Sammy were seated in the first car shaped like the train's engine and patiently waited as other children found their way to their seats. Brian yelled over the fence to the kids to push the illuminated button in the dash, and when they did, various animal and train noises blared from speakers. Erik covered his ears but was interested. The ride finally began. Lights flashed, and the cars rocked gently as the train went a few times around an area decorated with giant toadstools and tiny village scenes.

When this was over, we gave our remaining tickets to our friends, and Brian carried a now hysterical Erik out of the park through the rain. I used Ye Olde Restroom on the way to the parking lot one more time and we found our Jeep. I was kicking myself for forgetting the cord to Erik's DVD player, a device we never seem to really need until the trip home. We listened to music for a while, but Erik finally snapped at me to turn it off. Erik never really falls asleep in the car, but he finally lost consciousness, surprising us, and the ride over the mountains was fairly pleasant. We feasted on coastal fudge and salt water taffy until I felt happy and more than a little sick.

In the end, the trip was enjoyable, but I wouldn't say we had time to completely relax. I was on edge a lot of the time. I told my friend that trying things with Erik is scary but always rewarding in some sense. Even a day afterwards the memory of the disastrous diaper blowout in the driveway and the tantrums are fading. After all, we will never know what will work and what won't if we don't make an attempt. Would I do it again? Of course.

There is, however, always a price to pay.

More to Come

We are on the way to a new adventure, and I plan on posting stories/photos next week. I'm sorry my posts have been few and far between lately. I even have a video I need to post but haven't gotten around to doing so. It has been an emotional few weeks for me for a variety of reasons. Looking back at my last posts, I am alarmed to see what I have written. Not for my sake, necessarily, but for my friends and family. I have always refused to be anything but honest here, however, and I do nothing but continue to write what comes to me.

Erik has been cracking me up lately. Today I was unstrapping him from his seat in the Jeep in our driveway when he spotted the last three pretzels I had placed in his cup holder for on-the-go snacking during our errand running.

He said, "You know what, Mom? I'm going to take these home."

He gathered them up in his hand and took them inside the house, being careful not to drop them during the process. He has such a delightful, unusual way of expressing himself which is textbook WS. It's one of the millions of things I love about him. Frankly, it's one of the parts of WS that I completely adore. I am finding myself appreciating the uniqueness that comes with this diagnosis. There is a lot to love that isn't very apparent at the beginning of this story that is now revealing itself to me.

Oh, and did I mention today that he used the toilet in a big way this morning?

Hal-Lay-Lu-Yah.

Homecoming

Erik went to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time (and loved it). He went shopping in Boise. He hugged a complete stranger at Old Navy. He charmed Dawnita's friend. He greeted a bus full of senior citizens on a shopping excursion. He showed his uncle that he can run like the wind. He ate green beans. He ate his first McDonald's chicken nuggets. He played with his cousins. He sat on the toilet. He made everybody kiss Stinky Dog. He made people laugh. He learned to pretend he was asleep when someone checked on him.

When I talked to him on the phone yesterday, he sounded different. He asked me a question for the first time over the telephone instead of simply rambling on about construction equipment and fire trucks. He said, "Go see Boppa and Gua, okay?" My heart skipped a beat. I told him we would see my parents soon and that I loved him. He said he loved me, too.

As for me, I drank margaritas this week. I had people wait on me in restaurants. I went bowling. I spent time with Brian. I painted my nails bright pink. I didn't clean the house. I spent time writing. I took a nap. I went shopping. I played video games. I spent hours on the phone. I watched a trashy movie. I made a beaded bracelet. I did the advanced aerobics DVD collecting dust in my closet. I took a bath. I lit many candles. I cooked spicy food. I shared a bottle of champagne. I served a candlelight dinner. I ate a meal at the table in the formal dining room.

It was a wonderful week, but today I'm doing the happy dance. Erik is coming home!

Status Report

Thank you, boys! It's been great!

-- Erik (to his cousins as he was being carried to bed)

The reports from Idaho have been reassuring regarding Erik's spring break with his aunt, uncle, and cousins. He is definitely in good hands. Sending him away for a few days was a difficult decision to make, but it was obviously a good one for all involved. He is a crack up, and it makes me happy we can share him with our family.

The following video was taken by my father on one of their walks. Their usual route is approximately two miles, and Erik is now able to run all of it. Watching this makes me realize how important physical therapy has been in Erik's development and how able Erik is to adapt to the challenges of gigantic deficiencies in his visuospatial ability. He is truly an amazing little boy.

His reaction at seeing the camera is pretty priceless. He is also a serious ham.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow

Erik is in a different state today. We loaded up the car yesterday morning for an Easter road trip. Brian's brother and his family simultaneously drove towards us from their home in Idaho to meet us in a small farming community hours across the desert. The drive was quiet and uneventful except for a large chicken crossing the highway as we left town, which Brian avoided turning into roadkill. Erik enjoyed the collection of snacks I packed and movies on his portable DVD player. He glanced up to admire tractors and cows as we passed, but there wasn't a lot to look at. He soon tired of traveling and asked to go outside. I shed my tennis shoes in order to go back and forth between my seat and the back of the vehicle to join Erik, a feat that is much easier for me this year after getting in shape. I held Erik in my arms on the drive and attempted to snort every last molecule of the scent of his hair I could before we had to say goodbye for a portion of spring break.

We finally arrived in a small community with more dealerships for tractors than for cars and saw Brad's gigantic, gleaming Ford truck parked in front of a greasy spoon with a large, yellow sign announcing the place served home cooking. Amazingly, the establishment was open on a holiday afternoon. My sister-in-law looked up from where she sat in the truck, and her face lit up as she spotted me. We grinned and exchanged our usual dorky waves.

Once we were parked, we greeted Brad, Dawnita, and our two rapidly growing nephews and made our way into the restaurant, where we were welcomed by a slim waitress attempting to fill out a pair of Wranglers and a crisp, striped button-down shirt. She was pleasant, but it was quite apparent she ate very little from the menu and seemed less than enthusiastic about food in general. Dawnita and I made our way to the pitiful little salad bar, where I said a prayer requesting that I not contract salmonella and dished up a plate of vegetables drenched in wine vinegar. Why they insist on putting the pale, miniature corn cobs that taste like dirt on every salad bar in America is beyond me. I ended up enjoying my meal and watched Erik eat crispy french fries and half of a buttery toasted sandwich oozing bright orange cheese. Amazingly, he also drank most of a giant glass of cold milk. A handful of locals dressed in their Sunday best silently smiled at our nephrews' antics. Erik smiled, too.

Our pleasant lunch was soon over, and we headed out to our vehicles. I changed Erik's diaper one last time in the back seat and tugged his suitcase out of the back of our Jeep so it could be be loaded into the back of the big truck. Brad and Dawnita buckled Erik in a car seat between his two cousins in the back of the crew cab. He smiled at me, unsure of what was going on, and we said goodbye.

Brian and I then started our car and headed back the way we came across the desert. The emptiness of Erik's seat in the back was painfully palpable to me, but I knew I would feel better as soon as we got home and stopped traveling. I chased a chalky anti-anxiety tablet I keep for road trips with a swallow of cold and gritty leftover coffee and turned on the stereo. Brian spotted a simple brown sign showing the outline of a glass of water and pulled over. There was a natural spring by the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere. It was a place we had wanted to stop before but had not chosen to do so with a small, impatient boy in the car. A pair of thin metal pipes jutted out of the rock cliff and came down to our level. Cool water spurted out of the end of another pipe set in a small, crude pedestal made of lava rock held together with old concrete. Graffiti in a kaleidoscope of colors, some of it relatively ancient, was sprayed over the rocks that surrounded us. There were neon-colored markings left by best friends, lovers, and graduating teenagers from years past. I finally dared to bend down and take a drink from the water that magically spurted out of the desert rock. It tasted wonderfully sweet on my tongue. Fuzzy childhood memories flooded back to me, sparked by the taste. We walked back to our vehicle and continued our drive. Soon we reached the only town with any significance whatsoever on the trip. Brian took a right at one of the only stoplights there and headed up a deserted street, past a small grocery store to a building shaped like a giant, taupe-colored circus tent. An impressive tangle of poorly hidden, chunky duct work on the side of the building hinted at how hot the place became inside during the summer. He identified the place as the casino he and his friends went to on their way fishing in the mountains last year. There were signs indicating where we should park if the place was full, but we found a spot in front in a nearly deserted gravel lot. I put on a coat of lipstick, and we made our way to the building.

Even though Brian told me about visiting this casino before, I could never quite picture the place in my mind. Now I know I will never forget it. We entered through wood and glass double doors that shut with a loud bang. I kept my PTSD in check and managed to not hit the floor. It was very dark inside with little decoration compared to the gorgeous Native American casinos consisting of the beautiful timber, glass, and neon I was familiar with. It seemed that the very smell of the decomposing tent was instantly offensive, as if someone had stepped in something foul and had only managed to scrape a portion of it off. A friendly security guard at a front desk greeted us, and we made our way to the center of the giant structure. We saw rows and rows of dying slot machines. The ones that did not have an "out of order" sign on them looked as if they had electronic cataracts over them, making it difficult to see the display. I found a vacant seat at one, which wasn't very difficult, and put $20 in. I pushed the "spin reels" button. A feeble gurgle of chimes announced I had won $2.50, and I cashed out, feeling creeped out. A very attractive young man offered to bring me coffee or soda and called me "ma'am." I smiled back, amused at the formality in this setting, and declined. By now, the smell was beginning to get to me. Through a set of metal doors, I could see that it looked as if the bingo room had been cleared of all of its former furniture, and it was almost completely dark inside. I spotted Brian, who had made his way over to a bank of brand new machines with fancy double displays. He was drinking a Styrofoam cup of Sierra Mist over ice. I sat down next to him, and we spent the next hour or so giggling and gambling. We lost everything we fed into our machines, but we had a great time. We got up and walked out holding hands. The dimly-lit lunch counter in another part of the tent emitted the very faint, welcoming smell of something fried, but it quickly lost the battle against the general odor of the building and was lost. Brian offered to buy me something to eat, but I declined, even though my stomach was growling like an angry bear. As we made our way to the exit, I glanced into a video arcade, apparently for children, and saw it was empty. Half of the games inside were unplugged with signs crudely taped on them. The bored-looking security guard thanked us for coming in, and we found ourselves back in the parking lot, which was lit by the setting sun. I felt as if I stepped out of a Stephen King novel and realized the scent of the place had sunk into every one of my pores. We hit the Subway sandwich shop on the way out of town, where Brian purchased a foot-long Veggie Delite with honey mustard for me, and I scarfed it down as if I had not eaten in days.

On the last leg of our drive home, the remnants of snowbanks sagged in the spring temperatures, and we occasionally pointed out the white rumps of antelope herds. I spotted the glowing eyes of a deer glancing at our car as we whizzed past. It was making its way down an ancient, jagged lava flow, trying to disappear into the sagebrush. I watched a portion of a movie on the tiny screen of my iPod as Brian drove, cursing myself for forgetting to bring my Will and Grace box set to watch on Erik's DVD player to keep my mind off of how much I missed my boy.

Now that we are home, we are free to do as we please, but my heartstrings are pulled tight. The initial reports we have received indicate that Erik is doing just fine, although he had a bit of a crying spell early this morning. He has asked for us both, something that is still fairly new. We will spend a few days apart for the second time since he was born. I remember the days when he didn't notice my presence or absence at all and how it broke my heart into a billion pieces.

My, how times have changed.

Giving Thanks

My brain and my heart are full tonight. I don't even know where to start with this post.

Thursday morning we began a six-hour drive across the desert to visit Erik's aunt, uncle, and two cousins. It has been many years since I have been able to say I have been in the middle of nowhere geographically speaking. What made this trek especially spooky was the fact that before we left, I did a frantic load of laundry and in my haste forgot to extract my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans, rendering it nothing but a fancy paperweight in a matter of seconds. Not that I would have gotten a clear signal where we had to go, anyway. We spent hours traversing miles of volcanic rock and sagebrush, passing through newly-born ghost towns offering us nothing but sagging, eerily blank gas station signs and shattered windows. We stopped once to use the restroom at a truck stop, and Brian bought a cup of coffee that was dispensed from a machine stating it wasn't for wimps. It tasted like I imagined truck stop coffee would. We continued our journey and saw nothing else but an occasional herd of striped antelope for hours. This was Erik's first trip out of state. Although I was nervous about how he would do, he was, of course, amazing, as always, munching on cookies Boppa and Gua provided and watching Sesame Street for just the last hour of our trip.

The weather held beautifully, and we spent the weekend relaxing at Brian's brother's house in Idaho. Oh, yes, there is a God. I love this family to death. Amazingly, despite my neurotic/paranoid/antisocial tendencies, I am completely relaxed in their home, and my sister-and-law always greets me as if we saw each other just a few days ago. After Erik adjusted to the kids, he did fairly well, although he certainly didn't interact with them like a typical child would and clung to us the majority of the time. His cousins are aware he is different, although they have yet to understand exactly why, and they tend to be sweetly protective of him. We saw him make giant strides in a matter of days. He used the term "upside-down" correctly, much to my surprise, and played with his older cousin for an extended period of time. He insisted sitting with us the day his cousins enjoyed children's movies in the other room, and, although he did wonderfully overall, he still preferred our company over the children.

After a security check, we were allowed to tour the more public areas of the nearby military base, and the sheer bleakness of it all along with the heavy planes we saw sitting on the tarmac ready to rip into the sky brought stinging reality to my brain and a strange, persistent nausea to my stomach. It's impossible to ignore the fact we are at war in that particular setting and what that means to our family. We mingled with military families at the BX, a shopping facility that appears a lot like a less fancy version of Wal-Mart at first glance but feels very different. I was perusing a rack of incredibly-priced, fabulously-scented shower gel when I heard a very pleasant female voice on the loudspeaker announce, "Auntie Nancy, could you come to the jewelry counter, please?" I thought I was hearing things, but it just so happened that my oldest nephew had gotten separated from us and had asked a clerk for help. I am proud to say that I have now been called into action on a military base.

We slept well in general, although it was dicey at times. The nearby trains that shrieked every couple hours upon their arrival caused Erik to kick fitfully in his sleep or cry, but we had been warned by my sister-in-law before we arrived, and we left his reaction to chance. Was it difficult at times? Yes. Was it worth it? Definitely. It's these little things that serve as reminders that no matter what we do or where we go, there is no vacation from WS. By the last night, Erik cried the horrible, strange, colicky infant cry he still has not left behind at the age of 3 for at least an hour before he finally settled into a restless sleep. The next morning he very simply asked to go home.

It was the first time in a long time I wasn't itching to go home after two days on a trip. After traveling a bit in my younger years, I desire nothing but to be home. Thankfully, I felt as if I was home all Thanksgiving holiday. While being around typical children can be heart wrenching, I love my nephews with all of my being and am so proud of both of them and who they are becoming. Looking at their photos upon our return, I am shocked at how grown up they suddenly seem. There was just one moment during which I thought my heart would break into a thousand pieces. Without warning, I realized I desperately wished things had turned out differently for us. However, the rest of the time brought nothing but happiness, and I know that even in the midst of our challenges, we are surrounded by friends and family who love us and support us no matter what our situation brings. As far as an emotional hangover, it did attempt to hit me today, but I was so incredibly busy today that I didn't have time for it.

Instead, I spent the morning acquiring a new phone from a young man who instantly and inexplicably fell all over himself the moment I came through the door of his store. I joked with him and asked him if he was awake yet, which only seemed to make him worse. I finally completed our transaction and left with a brand new phone with a Gwen Stefani ringtone. I then spent the remainder of my day trying to complete four hours of bone densitometry scan reports, two trips to the vet, countless loads of laundry, and unpacking. By the end of the day, I found myself at the animal hospital nodding thoughtfully before a series of illuminated films showcasing the twisted, thickened insides of my cat, who seems to have been stricken with either cancer or irritable bowel syndrome. I chatted with a veterinarian while Gracie-Cat shook off the effects of a double dose of sedation used to tame her during the studies, which ended up costing nearly $400. As I was interested in adding a little weight to my vehicle with a snowstorm on its way into town after the appointment, I stopped to stand in line to pay $3.25 a gallon to fill up my Jeep. I was feeling thoroughly financially ravaged by this point. It was there I found myself rummaging through my purse to the hoarse screams of an increasingly conscious, pissed-off feline when I saw the empty window in my wallet and realized the flustered young man who had helped me with my phone in the morning had failed to return my drivers' license. As it was five minutes to five, I left the gas station at mock speed, peeling out in the parking lot, making it across the intersection to the wireless store just before I assumed they closed. The sheepish clerk reached under the counter and stammered an apology that made no more sense than our conservation from earlier in the day. I smiled but had no time to respond. I had a screaming, increasingly pissed-off cat with freshly shaved buttocks freezing to death in the back of my car and had just spotted a familiar truck with two familiar shadowy silhouettes inside turning off the highway just outside the store.

No time for deep thoughts or reflection. I had a little boy and his father to meet for dinner.

Surf 'n Turf

We took a rare three-day weekend to head to the beach and camp. The concept of sleeping in a tent has always been a romantic idea to me, but when it comes to actually doing it, I can't help but feel like I'm zipping myself up in a water-resistant body bag to save somebody the trouble later. I hate being the creamy filling in a giant bear Twinkie. I never sleep well with the sound of tree limbs deciding to topple down around us when they were perfectly sturdy during the daylight or enormous-sounding creatures rummaging through our campsite. Don't get me wrong -- I'll do it, and I'm definitely not a wimp when it comes to the outdoors by any means, but I simply appreciate being comfortable while I'm having a good time. Add a toddler to the mix, and it's a must. I'm also fairly certain that 10 years ago I wasn't crippled for two days after a night of sleeping on a leaky air mattress atop a layer of lumpy volcanic rock.

Our state has a handful of campgrounds that offer the rental of small structures called "yurts." The original yurt was a type of tent-like, timber-fortified shelter used by Central Asian nomads for hundreds of years. The ones for rent here are roomy, contain sturdy, comfortable furniture, and, most importantly, are heated.

A large group of us headed for the campground this weekend. We were three of approximately 22 old and new friends of all ages from all over who rented a row of yurts and consecutive RV spaces to enjoy the weekend together. My friend Shaena and her family traveled with us. We followed each other over two mountain ranges through progressively gloomy weather until we could finally see the whitecaps of the Pacific Ocean. We moved our belongings into our yurts and walked down the trail with our friends to the beach. Instead of running directly into the sea this time, Erik sprinted up and down the sand in his little yellow raincoat, and my friends were amazed at how quickly the boy could travel. It was readily apparent he was going to enjoy the weekend. He was happy to see so many people together.

The girls cooked dinner the first night. I threw chicken fajitas in my Crock Pot and simmered the mixture all afternoon inside our yurt. I scrapped my original plan of barbecuing when I realized it would probably be pouring down rain while I did this and I opted not to fry meat with rainwater pooling in my brassiere. We gathered at Randy and Leanne's yurt for dinner, and we ate a variety of salads, meats, and desserts with a mostly Mexican theme under portable rain canopies. There was a nice campfire to warm up to and an impressive selection of spirits. The mood was festive, and even Samantha and Erik enjoyed the evening immensely. The rain really magically seemed to stay at bay every time we wanted to be outside. We had more friends joining us later who had to drive over the mountains, and, unfortunately, an impressive storm swept over our heads and went on to create a snowstorm on the pass. They made it safely but reported it was snowing hard. There were reportedly two inches of snow in our yard while we were miles away enjoying sweatshirt weather on the beach.

The first night was a bit rough at first. Erik sobbed when it was time to retire, and we ended up sandwiching him between us in our flannel sleeping bag until his breathing deepened and he slipped into sleep. The storm brought massive rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning, the likes of which I had never experienced on the coast before, especially in October. The yurt didn't budge one millimeter in the wind, and our heater kept us toasty.

The next day after a wonderful, hot shower at the campground's facilities, we hit the historic waterfront in town. It's a must to get a cup of clam chowder at our favorite ancient restaurant downtown, and a large group of us went there for lunch. I had chowder and fish and chips washed down with an ice-cold beer. Erik enjoyed a grilled cheese and potato chips. We crossed the street to the docks after lunch, and a young couple gave Erik some crackers to feed the pigeons with. He was a little frozen physically but seemed to really enjoy having the chubby, cooing creatures milling around him, their feathers occasionally flashing purple and green in the afternoon light. I spotted a healthy-looking seal cruising the water along the canneries and fish packing plants looking for snacks of slimy chum or anything else that might happen to get lobbed over the railing by tourists. We visited the candy store and filled crisp, white paper bags with every flavor of saltwater taffy imaginable (even butter, which gave the girls a horrible case of the giggles for some reason). We then drove into the more modern, less odoriferous part of town to get supplies, and Shaena and I were able to steal a little time away together like the old days before marriage and children. She bought a saucy, purple hat, and I ended up being sorry I didn't buy one as well. My big purchase was a container of antibacterial wipes.

Back at the campground Brian and Erik left to watch the Oregon game in a luxury RV bus that belonged to part of our group. I found time to light my favorite Yankee candle, chew on an alarming amount of taffy, and read almost an entire book for the first time in months. I occasionally put my book down on my lap to rest my eyes and listened. I could hear the sound of happy birds, the sharp laughter of my friends down the road, and raindrops hitting the plastic skylight in the yurt, but underneath it all was the unyielding, powerful roar of the ocean. I closed my eyes and could almost feel it vibrating through my body and my surroundings. It was strange that I didn't hear this powerful, constant roar unless I stopped to listen.

Saturday night brought more feasting like royalty. We dined on ham, potatoes, steak, chicken, and more salads and desserts. Leanne brought a cake for October birthdays, and when she heard Erik mention his obsession with birthdays and birthday candles, she and a couple of the girls found a long fireplace match that they lit and anchored in the frosting. We sang to Erik, and he blew it out, looking pleased but a bit surprised we made such a fuss over him yet again. I do love my friends. Everybody treated Erik like they would their own child, and he was welcomed by everyone even though he was almost constantly in motion and chattering sometimes incoherently about trucks and heavy construction equipment. After this, many of us hit our bunks early to drift to sleep to the horrible, feral screams of a bloody raccoon death match in the tree above the location of our evening's feast.

Sunday morning after a decent night of rest, we packed our things. Of everyone in our group, Erik was especially fond of Leanne's father, whom he called "Crazy Don." Don was sweet enough to hold him upon request and make an impressive variety of tractor and truck noises. I was happy to learn that Don and his wife Norma had a 30-cup coffee maker in their yurt. If I ever tired of the lonely silence in our yurt, I wandered to over to theirs or to Shaena's parents' camper for more hot coffee and a lively chat.

We said our goodbyes and were back to our original group of two families. We headed down the windy coastal highway to a busy little restaurant for breakfast and consumed plates of omelets, hashbrowns, and fluffy, maple syrup saturated pancakes before heading back over the mountains again. The storm had long passed, and the roads were clear all the way home. Except for two bouts of sobbing that seemed to go on forever and a very awkward, unattractive diaper change on the side of the highway that required me to hold my increasingly lanky child's legs and bare buttocks out of the vehicle while I changed his pants and he screamed bloody murder, we all made it home safely without much drama at all.

The only part of the trip I disliked was attempting to find the outhouse in the dark without my contact lenses in (and the way back to the correct yurt with the correct family inside). Oh, and I gained three pounds in three days.

It was completely worth it!

Tailgating

I went to see the preacher
To teach me how to pray
He looked at me and smiled
Then the preacher turned away
He said if you want to tell him something
You ain't gotta fold your hands
Say it with your heart
Your soul and believe it
And I'd say amen

-- "Bang a Drum" Bon Jovi


I have no idea where to start with this post, so I will just start typing and see what happens.

Saturday Brian and I drove to Corvallis for the Oregon State/Idaho State football game. We dropped Erik off at my parents' house before we left town. We found a nice parking spot in our usual lot next to an emerald-green park and unloaded our little barbecue. The meat had marinated in a cooler on the drive, and we cooked up juicy slabs of chicken and steak. We were soon joined by Brian's friends from work and their friends in the spot next to us. When it was time to go to the game, we walked to the stadium and hit the bookstore on the way to purchase some OSU gear. I was initially very concerned because the afternoon started out very cloudy and cold, but the sun soon emerged and I didn't end up getting frostbite after all.

The game was not the most exciting match I have ever witnessed, but I enjoyed it, anyway. I admit that the most entertaining part of the whole experience was the group of bear-sized gentlemen in front of us. They enjoyed an impressive array of snacks and smokeless tobacco and continuously spat at their feet into a brown reservoir of Copenhagen under a layer of floating sunflower seed husks. One of the men in their party, whom I named "Mr. Random-Man," shouted insults at whomever was in front of us on the other side of the retaining wall. Sometimes it was a player practicing kicking a football into a netted cage. Sometimes it was the crowd control monitor. Sometimes it was the cheerleaders. As the game progressed, his comments seemed to become more random and more frequent. I wondered what the cup they passed around contained. He also freely exchanged the name of Pocatello, Idaho for "Poke-A-Fella," much to the delight of the visiting team. Another man in this party, who was apparently trying to look tough in his oversized novelty football jersey, took off his hat and revealed he looked exactly like Mr. Weatherbee, the principal of Riverside High School, from behind. The young man of skinnier stature in the group had lips that peeled back to reveal a wall of pink gums and tobacco-yellow teeth when he smiled.

Once the game had finished and Idaho State was thoroughly beaten, we walked back to the truck and began a drive down dark highways in bright rivers of horrendous traffic to our favorite casino. When we arrived, we were easily spotted in our orange Oregon State gear and were greeted by people who wanted to know the final score. After freshening up in our room, we hit the casino floor. Brian hit the craps tables, and I hopped from slot machine to slot machine. After a dinner of fried food (oh, how I miss fried food) at the cafe at nearly 1 a.m., we hit the sack. In the morning, we started all over again, and I walked out $150 richer.

Sunday was my father's birthday, and we stayed for dinner at my parents' house when we made it back to town. It was good to see Erik, and Brian and I agreed he looked bigger somehow than the last time we saw him.

I was in Erik's way yesterday, and he said, "Excuse, mommy" as he went past. His language is evolving now at light speed. Tantrums are becoming more frequent, which scares me. I can't determine what is normal and what is Williams, although I suppose it doesn't make much difference. I only wonder because they are sudden and seem completely out of character for Erik. From what I have read, with the correct response, they will diminish with time, and angry outbursts followed by feelings of great remorse are quite common with this syndrome. As I sat in front of a slot machine this weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Even mindless gambling isn't mindless anymore for me, as my brain no longer shuts off. No matter how far we travel or what we do, the brick in my brain that is WS is palpable and something I must carry with me at all times. Some days it feels lighter than others, but it is always present.

It was good to get away, but it was good to come home, too.

I sure missed that little guy.

Earth Day Getaway

Whenever I need to "get away," I just get away in my mind. I go to my imaginary spot, where the beach is perfect and the weather is perfect. There's only one bad thing there: The flies! They're terrible!

-- From "Deep Thoughts" by Jack Handey (Saturday Night Live)

Last week my mother's friend Susan offered me a gift certificate for a lengthy treatment at an expensive resort spa, including a 50-minute massage and a 50-minute facial. She was kind enough to transfer this offer to me before the certificate expired in May for some much-needed stress relief. Quite honestly, the thought of being at a spa makes me more than slightly uncomfortable. It's not normally my cup of tea. However, since Brian and I have vowed to have more fun and step out a bit more, I dared myself to schedule an appointment for Sunday. It's at a resort 20 minutes away, and, frankly, the drive through the rain was even relaxing.

Since traffic was light, I arrived earlier than I expected. I flipped through the brochure in the car, which told me I could utilize the spa bath if I arrived early. I walked through a dark, cave-like lobby to a glossy counter, where a stout woman with a deep voice greeted me enthusiastically and asked if I had visited the spa before. I told her I had not, and she answered, "Well, you're in for a real treat." She held up a key card and a gold locker key on a stretchy red and white wrist band and asked me to follow her into a small locker room. Lockers of dark wood surrounded a simple bench, and there were gorgeous twin sinks fashioned from cobalt bowls of bubbly glass sunk halfway into black granite countertops under a generous mirror. A wicker basket held a hair dryer and curling iron, and various lotions and sprays lined the vanity. She explained that the main locker room was just beyond another wooden door down a short, carpeted hallway past stacks of fluffy, white towels, and that is where I would find toilets, showers, and spa tubs. I opened my locker and found a thin, silky robe with a fluffy terrycloth lining and black spa slippers. I shed everything I was wearing and slipped into the provided attire. I padded down the hallway and slid my key card through the slot on the door, which opened with a clunk. I stepped into a softly lit hallway with a hard floor like black rock. Frosted doors opened into single glass showers, and a row of wooden doors opened to reveal toilets. There were more dark rooms of lockers at the end of the hallway, and I saw only a few women milling about in robes like mine, silent. Their obviously normally perfectly coiffed hair was swirled into fantastic, gravity-defying bed head sculptures from lying on tables and receiving various body treatments involving oils and sprays. I passed a glossy, black panel of glass with a metal handle and identified it as the entrance to the steam room. No thanks. My icy Scandinavian genes won't allow me to enter anything that resembles an oven in any fashion. Further down the hallway I found a metal gate, over which I could see a large, dark room with an empty sea foam green tub glowing in the center. I hurried back into the locker room to retrieve my swimming suit. I was in no rush to be nude in front of God and country. Next time. I returned to unlatch the gate, let myself in, and slipped on my suit. I located a dial on the wall in the darkness and twisted it, sending a loud rush of bubbles from hidden jets shooting into the water. I slowly descended the stairs into the large tub and faced the back wall of the room, letting the hot water envelop my body to my chin. The room was designed to look like a desert setting. A wall of rocks jutted up above me as if I sat at the bottom of a canyon, above which the wall was painted as if it was twilight in soft blues, purples, and finally black. Pinpoints of light twinkled in the dark ceiling like stars. Well, half of them did, anyway. Soft music played above the sound of the dissolving foam on the surface of the water. I thought of Erik at therapy, and I kicked my feet in his honor. I pierced the foamy surface with my freshly-painted scarlet toenails and smiled to myself. Time to let it all go now. No more therapy. No more stress. No more work. Usually after five minutes of hot water, I'm done, but I tiptoed out of the tub twice to reset the timer for more bubbles. When the clock in the hallway above the gate told me I had 10 minutes before my appointment, I searched for an empty glass booth across the hallway and quickly peeled my wet suit off and rinsed chlorine off my skin. I let myself back into the private locker room and ventured out the front door, across another frighteningly public hallway, and through a set of giant frosted glass doors to the spa, where light came through the majority of the ceiling. The girl at the desk verified my identity and directed me through another set of frosted glass doors into the relaxation room, a spacious but more intimate-feeling place decorated in shades of taupe. A cabinet on one end of the room held two types of natural teas and ice water. I poured some light amber tea into a thick glass cup without a handle. I sank into a chunky, soft armchair and put my feet up on an ottoman. I relaxed with my tea for maybe five minutes before I retrieved the slightly outdated copy of Newsweek by my feet. I began reading an article on Ken Kesey and J.D. Salinger but was interrupted by a man who looked remarkably like a member of the janitorial staff. His hair was disheveled, and he wore a taupe-colored jumpsuit that reminded me of a lion tamer. He said, "Nancy?" The woman at the other end of the room silently sipping her tea stood with me. He said, "Massage and facial Nancy?" I nodded, and she sat back down, looking slightly irritated. I win. He placed a hand firmly on my back, guiding me out of the room down yet another hallway lined with small rooms full of soft lighting, tables, and towels. He demonstrated a horribly pronounced limp. We entered one of the rooms with a massage table in the center. He turned down the lights and left me to slip off my robe and slippers. I climbed onto the table and slid under a crisp sheet and a thin blanket. To be completely honest, I am not one-hundred percent comfortable with a stranger touching me, let alone one of the male variety while I'm completely naked. He returned, and I took a deep breath. We chatted briefly before he massaged every part of me that was legal in this particular setting, starting with my toes and ending up with his fingers in my hair. I was jiggled violently, stretched, and poked. He successfully popped my back by contorting my body into a pretzel. It was fabulous. My favorite part was the work he did on my hands and wrists. I voiced my approval, and he smiled.

After the massage, I slipped back into my robe and slippers and met my masseur in the hallway. He offered me a clear plastic cup of water. We said our goodbyes, and I again made myself at home in my chair in the relaxation room before my next treatment. I was soon greeted by a 30-year-old woman named Melissa. She was petite, adorable, and soft-spoken. Her eyebrows were impeccable arches, making her look a little surprised at all times. And no creepy jumpsuit. She offered her miniature hand to me with a purposefully limp wrist and made me feel instantly very large and masculine looking down at her. I suddenly felt like her prom date. She led me into a room identical to the one where I had my massage. There was a rock slab on the wall covered in a silent sheen of slowly descending water. She left me to undress, don a taupe terrycloth coverup, and slip into bed again. She returned and began examining my skin, asking me what my concerns were. I laughed. I may hate everything else about me, but I'll never hate my porcelain skin. I do nothing to it except apply a moisturizer with sunscreen each morning and avoid the sun like the plague. I don't even wash my makeup off until the next morning. Bad girl! Of course, I didn't admit to that degree of neglect. She assessed my pores and epidermis and began applying essential oils to my face, neck, and chest. She named them all as she went. Geranium. Rosemary. Eucalyptus. The eucalyptus brought back a flood of childhood memories of having a cold and being tucked into bed with Vicks VapoRub in a shiny smear under my nose. As the floral scents wafted to me, I imagined myself standing in a bright garden breathing warm, humid air scented with green, living things. The Native American music gave way to more New Age sounds, and I scolded myself for letting my relaxation break long enough to allow my brain to begin its usual barrage of ridiculous and silent comments. As the sound of distant harps and flutes washed over me, I could hear one of my synapses whisper, "And now for Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey." I ignored this rudeness and pretended I was an adult with one single, sane personality for the lovely Melissa's benefit. She applied a mild skin peel and yet more oils, massaging me without a break. After I was good and greasy, she applied a mud mask with a wide paintbrush. I felt like a glorious work of art. Every part of my body, whether I liked it or not, felt cared for and honored. No room for modesty here. If the masseur had forgotten to caress anything, Melissa had it covered. Even my earlobes were tended to. I heard the door to some sort of warming appliance open, and hot, scented towels were applied to acres of my exposed skin, after which heated obsidian rocks were gently but firmly dragged over my slick face in a mysterious ritual.

After two and one-half nonstop hours of having people tend to me, I was ready to collapse. It was exhausting in a way, yet my body felt wonderful. My face, freed of those extra pesky few outer layers of skin, glowed as if I had been slapped. Every muscle sighed with relief, and my hands, which formerly ached from hours of work, were loose again.

Would I go to a spa again? Most definitely.

Is it still slightly outside of my comfort zone? Absolutely.

However, there's just no denying it was the most fun I ever had in public without my underwear.