Elituq-"She is Learning"

Winter Respite

2012-01-27T22:12:00.000-08:00

We made it. No words today, just images.....and what lovely images they are.

God Willing? Why Wouldn't God Be Willing? It's Hawaii!

2012-01-26T09:21:00.000-08:00

Bear has been responding to everything lately with "Aloha!" Guess that makes him tri-lingual. Ha.
I'm up early on a day I didn't need to be up early, even though it's a Thursday, because the AK Fam is going away. Far away. Like, up, up, and away-way.

This is the day we've been waiting for - after two failed attempts to get this winter-weary, bone-sould-tired family to Hawaii, we're finally leaving this afternoon. God willing.

I say "God-willing" because yesterday it seemed as if God wasn't willing. Yukon had felt a bit punky after laying around all day Sunday due to a seriously obnoxious bout with a stomach flu. Sent him flat out on the bed, it did. As in, no movement for over 8 hours. See where I'm going with this?

He called me from his office around 9 a.m. and said "Something's not right." He called me again an hour later from the imaging center, then again from the hemotologist's office, where I had sent him due to said "not right" feelings.

Again. DVT again. Unbelievable, and almost, (forgive me friends), unforgiveable. Seriously? The day before the vacation of a lifetime? When I have no writing agenda other than a Hemingway-esque date with a Mai-Tai, umbrella chair, and my laptop? ARGH. But it was true.

Fortunately, Yukon knows his body by now, and knew when to question it. The clot is small, he's on a massive injectable to dissolve it, and now we have but one hurdle left before my blood pressure can safely return to normal.

The flight. We don't know about the flight. He's been medically cleared, has all the instructions, we're flying MVP so there's plenty of leg room, but we still don't know. It's gonna be risky.

But, God-willing, we'll get there, intact and in peace.

From the Wolf Den: Educating and Graduating, or Not

2012-01-20T21:34:00.000-08:00

I've spent the day on my laptop, clickety-clacking away in the hope that someone in the Alaska educational field would be able to tell me how to graduate my kid.

Wolf has successfully (or, almost so) completed his credits for high school. A decided advantage to having a child in residential care is the commitment to year-round schooling, because these facilities (as opposed to mainstream school districts) know structure is master where education is involved. So, even though Wolf has had myriad false starts on many a school day, he nonetheless has gathered up enough credits at various residential institutions to, in theory, graduate. But there is one problem.

Alaska is a state with an "exit exam" that actually proves a student's aptitude. While I have many reservations about the whole program for a number of unrelated reasons, I also have several specific questions about how a child who has never attended an Alaskan high school could possibly be expected to take a test about which he knows nothing. Or, at least, not what other Alaska kids have been tutored to pass.

Wolf left the Anchorage School District in 8th grade; moved to a parochial school, he attended September through May, then moved down to CHYC in Utah; after which began the second tier of behavioral health madness.

Nobody seems to have an answer for me; Wolf continues to be the conundrum of education, just as he was for state behavioral health social workers.

Perhaps by the time he is 21 we shall have an answer.

Perhaps.

As if I Wasn't Busy Enough....

2012-01-11T18:25:00.000-08:00

It's a tool. Or I'm slightly crazy. Maybe both.

At any rate, I have another blog. Alaska On the Go: From Blog To Book intends to follow my book-writing journey from inception to launch, and beyond. Hopefully, way, way beyond.

So check it out, see what, where, and how I'm writing. Enjoy the ride, it ought to be interesting.

Occupy Wolf

2012-01-06T17:11:00.000-08:00

Today my oldest child turns 18. I, like so many other parents whose children are now considered by the world to be clinical adults, am greeting this day with joy and sorrow. Mostly joy, though.

I thought of the People -

People who have walked beside us these past 18 years, witnessing the arrival of this incredible kid and becoming immersed in his physical, spiritual, and emotional growth. You are the people who have put up with pushy playdates, biting, running off, and an inappropriate mouth. You are the angels who have picked up our son from the gritty soil and placed him gently in the arms of other angels. Some of you, I have never met in person. Thank you.

People who have been the cornerstones of "practicalities." Things like school, medical appointments, or insurance approvals. You have been the ones to say "yes" when everyone else said "no." The teacher who spent three afternoons a week personally tutoring Wolf, the counselor who cried when we relayed a story about the circumstances around his birth, the Alaska utilization reviewer who fought hard for Wolf's current arrangement. You believed me. You believed in him. Thank you.

People who have never met Wolf. Not once. But you car for our younger son when Yukon and I must travel far away; you go like mad to keep up with me when I just need to get outside and run the feelings of despondency away; you light candles, pray, contemplate, or simply sit in support of our family. You send me notes, texts, and wine. Thank you.

That's an Occupy with staying power.

Let the Photos Speak For Themselves...

2012-01-04T17:59:00.000-08:00

The holidays came to a peaceful finish up north in Talkeetna, Alaska. The Alaska Railroad provided the transportation, the Talkeetna Roadhouse, lodging, and Mother Nature, the scenery. -26F did not deter our AK Fam from plunging determinedly into the frosty wilderness that is Alaska.

Just breathe it in, friends.

Because I Can.

2011-12-29T18:34:00.000-08:00

Some days I wonder if I've got what it takes to sit down and actually write this book. So many details, so much research, so many writes and edits and additions that I of course always think of after I've sent off the section to my editor; and I'm only a teensy way through what will undoubtedly be a long, long year of tap-tapping away at my keyboard. The local coffee roaster will be making a bundle off me, I can tell already.

Combine writing a book with, oh, yeah, my family, then sprinkle in the AKontheGO website and a little radio show called Alaska Travelgram, and I realize once more that I've gotten myself pretty deep into a lot of stuff. It can make a girl rather depressed. At least, it did, me, until the incredible forces of Yukon once again came to my rescue with this:

"If you are meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don't do it, you not only hurt yourself, you destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet. You shame the Angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God. Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It's a gift to the world and everything in it.

Don't cheat us out of your contribution. Give us what you've got."

- Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

Snow On Snow On Snow

2011-12-25T19:54:00.000-08:00

I can scarcely think of a better way to help a family grieving one more Christmas without their son and brother than a feathery falling of snow.

Christmas Eve was the perfect excuse to grab snowshoes and dog to head for our favorite community trail system, where my spirits are always renewed by the healing breath of nature. We spied a little hawk perched high in a cottonwood tree, chased each other around the stubby spruce trees, and let Bear show us the snow shelter he built last week at outdoor survival daycamp (yes, given many options for vacation fun, he picked winter survival; go figure).

I was content with 14 inches of perfectly perfect snow already on the ground, and our dreams of a white Christmas would have been fulfilled, easily. But when kid is in bed and all the lights are out except for the Christmas tree, and the eggnog is poured, and Midnight Mass is on the radio (I am a sucker for Christmas and Easter High Holy Mass), falling snow pushes me over the edge of sentimentality. And did it ever snow! Way beyond our bedtime of 1 a.m.

Bear woke up this morning to a new sled from Santa and a deep desire to try it out right away. Obviously.

The only other thing that competes with falling snow for a lump in my throat is the sight of a little boy flopping down on his brand new Christmas sled and belly-whopping down the sledding hill lovingly built by his dad.

It almost made up for the other boy we are missing. Almost. But it sure helped.

"A People In Darkness Have Seen a Great Light..."

2011-12-21T17:52:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to keep that phrase close to my lips this week. Today is December 21, the shortest of the year and one that sends most Alaskans into a tizzy of excitement; not for the extreme non-length of the actual hours today, but for the additional eight seconds tomorrow. Sometimes that's how we must think, here.

Normally, Winter Solstice passes as a peaceful, snowy interlude with lantern walks, evening ski and snowshoe adventures, and hot cocoa beside a roaring backyard fire. It is the night before The Night To Come, and yet another way those of us who consciously choose to live in the Far North recognize the balance between nature and creature.

This year was something else, again. A month of warming, blowing, absolutely insane weather has played tricks on our usual celebrations. Trails are icy, roads are treacherous, and sledding hills are, shall we say, insanely dangerous (although that doesn't seem to be stopping some people).

In the wake of not one, not two, but three storms of 90 mph magnitude, we were tired. Tired of the creaking house frames, tired of picking up trash and chasing trash cans, tired of the darkness created from not enough snow to create the sparkling wonderland we have come to associate with Winter Solstice.

But the sun came out today. It warmed the earth, made the soggy snow to look something special, and gave me a special gift while I was out running on a local trail this afternoon, waiting for Bear to finish winter survival day camp.

The sun started to go down around 3:15 this afternoon, fingerlings of whispy clouds reaching toward my for my tired body and brain, offering energy, respite. Suddenly, the very bland colors of an Alaskan winter changed from gray and beige to orange and red and yellow.

We simply cannot have one without the other.

From the Wolf Den: IT.

2011-12-18T17:08:00.000-08:00

This weekend I've done just about everything I can to avoid doing what I really should.

Actually, I should have done it a few years ago.

But here I am, sitting at the big family table with way too many chairs for the three of us and crumbs underneath Bear's seat (see how distractable I am?), staring at a pile of papers with such words at the top like "IN THE SUPERIOR COURT FOR THE STATE OF ALASKA" and official-looking lines and numbers and acronyms I don't want to read.

Today is December 18, 2011. I know this because I've written it at least five times so far on two sheets of paper.

In 20 days my son will be 18. Tomorrow, Yukon and I will troop the State of Alaska Court System and file a Petition for Guardianship.

IT.

I've visited with our attorney, I've listened to the fantastic staff at Mountain High School (who really pushed us this last time to get the legal bowling ball rolling). I get it, I really do. Wolf does not have the capability to make decisions regarding his current and future level of care to help him succeed as an adult. He thinks he can leave MHS the day of his birthday, despite what really will happen (nothing). We must do this. Our heads know, but our hearts have yet to accept the rational explanation.

But it's a big decision, and an ironic one, perhaps.

When the kids who used to be his peers start receiving college acceptance letters or letters of scholarship awards, my son will be receiving an official letter from the State telling him he is now our ward, signed, sealed, and delivered.

Yukon and I are so very torn between sighing with relief that we will be able to continue aiding our disabled son, and signing with resignation at the inevitable fireworks that are sure to follow.

We hope and pray Wolf's birthday on January 6, 2012 will be a true "ephiphany" for him. We hope somehow, in the middle of his ranting, he will feel, if only just a little bit, how very, very, very much he is loved.

But for now, on this dark, windy, and cold afternoon, I continue to sit here; scribbling on my file folders, listening to an Andrea Bocelli CD.

Oh yes, God Bless Us, Everyone.

Please.

Still, Still, Still?

2011-12-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

Ever since last week, when I wrote from Homer while waiting for a flight home after a crazy wild windstorm flummoxed even the most hardy Alaskans, life has been a bit noisy.

Weather in Alaska is noisy, I've discovered. From the grating, grinding of snowplows to the sound of chainsaws cutting up tree limbs that have dislodged from their trunks in a violent reminder from Mother Nature that we are all, by the way, guests here.

Despite all assurances that the storm of last week was but a distant memory, one week later, here we were again, but this time, God Himself showed up. Saturday night winds topped 65 or 70 mph, compelling Yukon and I to make fast the bbq, Christmas decorations, and garbage cans. Power flickered all over town as the southeaster howled until 5 o'clock the next morning. Bear was scared and insisted I sleep in the basement family room with him while Yukon and Dog braved it upstairs on their own.

Yesterday brought temperatures in the mid 30's and snowfall as heavy as I have ever seen, but we were immersed in holiday fun around downtown Anchorage, so, as all good Alaskans do, we simply ignored it. Until, of course, reports from Facebook and Twitter started flowing in talking about 110 mph winds gusting all over town.

We returned home to find carnage; chimneys damaged, fences down, and four trash cans in our back yard that had crashed through our chainlink gate (severely damaging it), spewing recycling/garbage all over the back yard. In the dark and swirling wind, in our fancy "downtown" clothes, Yukon and I alternated between comforting a very frightened Bear, picking up broken glass and shredded documents, and keeping the dog out of whatever the neighbors had had for leftovers (everybody's trash was here, it seems).

After about an hour of futility, we finally left the mess and came inside. We went to bed early, fully planning on picking up the rest in the morning.

But morning came with an uncharacteristic hush. Nobody, it seems, had anticipated the foot of new snow that fell, and was still falling, as I rose from my bed at 6 a.m. Blizzard? I guess that was the right word. At any rate, this stuff was wet, heavy, and practically impossible to shovel. At least it covered the garbage.

We received another blessing, though; no school. Since this hardly ever happens, we took it as a holiday and allowed Bear to sleep in, play outside all day, and take an evening snowshoe around the neighborhood park with both of us.

Still, still, still, it is, tonight. I had forgotten how stillness feels.

What It Is: Writing Words

2011-12-04T14:35:00.000-08:00

I think everything happens for a reason. Right now, I'm perched high above Homer, Alaska, at a friend's house, waiting. But I'm glad to be waiting.

Since Friday afternoon my focus has been on Homer, Alaska, and writing. Setting up camp at my favorite bakery/B&B, I've been all about words, words, and more words. I'm writing a book, see. But the weekend has been more than that.

Yukon is a smart husband, and he knows when his wife needs to fly away for a little while. More important, he knows that to me, writing is akin to breathing; vital, deep, and refreshing if I pay attention to it.

So I've been writing; molding words at my fingertips, fact-checking, proof-reading. I set up my "desk," a little table in my room upon which I set my laptop, reference books, pen, water bottle, and a few apples (writing makes me hungry). I had to move the coffee maker across the room in front of the television, because, of course, I wouldn't be watching any TV this weekend.

The weather was wild, with driving rain, wind, and melting snow; perfect writing weather . I'd sit in front of the modest glow of my Mac for a while, until the word count reached another thousand words, then I'd pull on my Xtra Tuff boots and rain jacket and go outside for a break.

I'd planned on returning home late this morning, but Mother Nature had other plans. 100-mph plans. Anchorage was slammed with a Chinook that brought heavy rain, wind, and ice on every surface. As brave as I had been feeling about flying on small planes this summer, I was not ready to fly on one, today.

So here I am, watching the clouds toss each other an occasional sunbeam. Perfectly relaxed, utterly spent, and waiting.

The Family Regroups: It's Just Different

2011-12-02T09:30:00.000-08:00

It's been difficult to post, lately. Yukon and I have, all of a sudden (or perhaps not) been thrust into this crazy, vortex-like salad spinner of emotions that leave us a little bit confused.

We have been told by those in the know (it's lovely to be friends with doctors and spiritual advisor-types) that this is not uncommon following a traumatic event. Since we've had several this past year, we can expect to multiply the subesequent meltdowns by two, or three, at least.

Seven months have gone by since Yukon dove into a pot hole of ice and mud. He is back on Nordic skis and is able to return to his flip-turning, machine-like swimming regime at the local pool; the dedication on his face, and within his very spirit, is palpable. It's good, but it's also different. Bear, in particular, notices that Daddy is not home right at 5 p.m. on some days because he's at the pool or on the ski trail. It's not bad, mind you, for Yukon would never sacrifice his family for his fitness; it's just different.

Wolf is returning to old patterns of behavior at Mountain High Facility. The staff are exemplary in their reactions and consequences and incredible sixth-sense of getting to the bottom of whatever set Wolf off, this time, or that time. The phone rings and I hear the report, and I listen to Wolf tell me all about it when he calls. But here's the thing: I'm done validating and commiserating. Wolf knows by now what to do, and all he needs now is to ask for help doing it. But he won't. In one month, he will turn 18. We, and a choir of supportive voices have made so many opportunities possible, but we cannot sing the solo for him.

"Elituq" too, is ready for a re-group, too, I think. But I'm not sure just what that will look like, or how, or if, things you read will change. So stay with us, if you like, and continue to be a part of our virtual support system. But know that we are reconfiguring our lives as we go, and sometimes that regrouping, that "not-bad-but-different" can look a little messy...

Here We Are Again: Four Holidays Later

2011-11-22T18:18:00.000-08:00

If I could do math, I'd calculate how many months, weeks, and days it's been since Wolf has spent a holiday at home. I'm not even sure we really know what "home" means to him, anymore.

For all the blessings heaped upon Wolf and our family this past year, we are also sad that he won't be with us again this year, on the last Thanksgiving and Christmas of his "childhood."

Oh, I know he is safe, warm, and loved where he is, and that his surrogate family will do their absolute best to make sure all the boys are treasured and gifted. But Wolf, like so many kids who don't "get" the whole concept of their disability, only wants to know why he is not home. Even after four Christmases away, he does not connect the dots from behavior to privilege to home.

It is not surprising, perhaps, that all the kids experience escalating behaviors around the holidays, which makes it harder for staff to enforce boundaries and families to just ask for a child to be "let off the hook" for the holidays. The irony is painful for the entire family. I'm tired of cutting and pasting together Christmas cards with single images, divided, instead of one, solid, family photo.

Bear told the dentist the other day that Wolf might be coming home for Christmas; interesting, because we have not talked about it at all. Wolf said today in the New Hour of Power that he just doesn't understand why, if he wanted to come home, that we wouldn't "let" him.

If only it were that easy, boys. I'd wish both of you together in a minute.

Simple Gifts

2011-11-02T21:36:00.000-07:00

When Yukon texts me, I sometimes panic. Often in a hurry and failing to realize I read between the lines a teensy-bit too much, his fast messages like "Call plz" send me scrambling for the telephone, especially this week. This past month. Okay, for a long time.

We're officially seven months from the date of Yukon's accident that broke his elbow and forever changed our lives. We're three weeks from the latest surgery to unfreeze stubborn joints that, happily, seem to be staying mobile. And now we're three hours from the text message.

"Call me plz."

I did, gripping the phone with a sweaty hand, hoping and praying that what he had to say would be the beginning and not a U-turn from the past weeks and months of utter confusion and pain for all of us. I took a deep breath as Yukon's deep voice answered his cell phone, skipping my usual greeting and offering a query of "Well?"

"Everything's just great!" The words practically tumbled out of his mouth and into my willing ears; and it was. An ultrasound showed no blood clot and no veinous residual from previous clots. He'll have to be careful for long flights, and the risk factor, while low, is still present, but for one who is lucky to be walking the planet upright, that was more than enough good news.

Then he started to cry.

"I'm just so relieved," this unbelievably courageous father, son, and husband said. "I didn't want to worry anybody else, anymore."

The Aaron Copeland CD in my stereo began to play a favorite melody as we reaffirmed our "better/worse, richer/poorer, sickness/health" vows to one another over the telephone, a fitting ending to Yukon's best day, ever...

"Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be-

And when we find ourselves in the place just right

It will be in the valley of love and delight."

Deep breath, Yukon. We did it.

Winter is Here.

2011-11-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

At least in Alaska....

Winter arrived with a bang this year after a prediction of "cold and dry" from the folks at NOAA. We woke up to 1" of snow Sunday morning, much to the absolute delight of Bear, who guessed the first day of snow dead on and won the Family Bet. Doubly exciting for him since this year was the first time he had chosen a day other than his birthday. (He is, right now, cashing in on that winning bet; pizza and Clone Wars DVD, btw.)

Halloween was an interesting day as well, with temperatures hovering around 22 degrees, causing my little Hansel to wear long underwear beneath his costume at school. Then, right as Yukon and Bear were heading out the door to canvass the neighborhood last night, a blizzard hit. And how. Sideways snow, gusty wind, and of course the now-Mummy-Skeleton-Zombie wouldn't wear a coat.

It was a very cold duo who showed up at home 30 minutes later. Took me at least 10 minutes to dust the top layer of snow off the remains of his costume. Yukon needed a hot toddy, too. But Halloween in Alaska sort of follows the US Postal Service motto:

"Neither rain, or snow, or gloom of night..."

Keeps an Alaskan kid from Trick or Treating..

From the Wolf Den: In the Zone

2011-10-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

Wolf and Yukon made it safely to Colorado Springs, weary but in good spirits (or, in as good of spirits as a duo who had been shuffled around more than a deck of cards could possibly be).

Yukon was treated very well by the car rental company who gave him a free upgrade to an SUV, a little benefit that would come in very handy, later. The guys drove up to Denver, found Mountain Time Zone without any difficulty, and proceeded with the admissions process. Wolf almost immediately found a pal from CHYC, a rather nice young man, and then was spied by another kid from New Facility. He was thrilled to know two people, already, and didn't want to leave them to go on his tour of the campus with Yukon. Nice.

According to Yukon, the campus is lovely, in a pleasant neighborhood with attentive staff who seem to possess a great deal of compassion for the youth they serve. There is an indoor swimming pool, "real" school, library, and three small businesses older students utilize as part of a vocational training series. By all accounts from Yukon, the general atmosphere was vastly different from CHYC, and he felt very good about leaving Wolf that evening. For his part, Wolf was quite willing to stay and get settled without any fuss.

Yukon spent the night at his best friend's house in Denver, leaving at 3 a.m. for a 6 a.m. flight out of Colorado Springs to Minneapolis, then Anchorage. In a snowstorm. In that SUV.

He arrived in Anchorage at 3:45 ADT, unshaven, exhausted, but still smiling. Of course he was, he's Yukon.

All I could do was throw my arms around him and thank him for coming into our lives, over and over, and over again.

From the Wolf Den: Fortitude in Failure

2011-10-25T10:52:00.000-07:00

Absurd moments are inevitable in any travel experience; as a journalist, I witness them every day, usually because they involve me. Normally, the abject absurdity results eventual resolution and laughter over a bottle of wine that evening, and life goes on.

When one is traveling with a child on the Autism Spectrum, however, the ability to laugh over a snafu is a bit more difficult. Actually, it feels downright impossible today.

Wolf was/is due in at Mountain Time Zone this morning after what should have been a great dual-parent trip where we could all march into the school together as a family united in treatment with our disabled child. As is typical when important decisions are made on Friday afternoons, however, the travel-planning-discharge wheels did not grind forward at all on Monday morning, and Yukon and I were again faced with a "who will go-who will stay" coin toss. After considerable contemplation and consultation with every medical authority at New Facility, and after Wolf promised to take an anti-anxiety med to hopefully calm his nerves, Yukon volunteered to once again deliver his son to a new and strange facility.

Supposed travel arrangements were made, but not actually confirmed, as was discovered late last night when we arrived at the airport. Ticketing agent to counter and back again we went, trying to figure out where, exactly, these two would be going, and aboard which airplane. A decided lack of paperwork in hand (yes, we left the facility without a formal itinerary; Wolf needed to go and go then, we could not wait another day, a truly AS behavior), I sent Yukon to the Alaska Airlines counter, where a fabulous agent/supervisor spent the better part of an hour tracking down the reservation (only one leg was actually secured), finding seats together (big fail on the part of New Facility), and eventually getting the boys to Colorado Springs.

Yes, you heard correctly. Colorado Springs. Not Denver. Seems New Facility Discharge Planner never mentioned that the flights to Denver were booked so she booked them to the next-closest in her mind. Right.

Before any adult melting down could occur, Yukon and I looked over at this child, who was watching our every move, pacing, muttering, and also fading fast from the anti-anxiety meds, and bent over to have a brief confab with Agent, who was by this time looking at us like we were positively crazy to even be there without the proper information.

"This child must. go. tonight." The words came out just like that, along with a 60-second synopsis of the Wolf and his long, arduous situation.

She jumped around her kiosk counter, said "I'll be back in a second, sit down," and disappeared into the back room of the Alaska Airlines offices.

Around 30 minutes later, she reappeared bearing printed tickets for all flight connections (it was the best she could do), Yukon's return flight itinerary (oh, yes, did we mention Discharge Planner did not even book Yukon to come back to Alaska?), and coupons for a few free drinks (for Yukon). She had also contacted United Airlines by phone, informed them about Yukon and Wolf, and asked on their behalf for early boarding in Chicago.

Agent told Wolf that O'Hare was a great airport, and listed a few things he should make sure he saw during their 2-hour layover. He brightened considerably at this, and said a "thank you" in his best monotone voice, hands still shaking as he clutched the Cinnabon I bought him as a reward for behaving so well during this crisis.

I had planned to capture all sorts of family photos illustrating our family goodbye; group hugs and all that. Yukon was also going to take the camera from me and use it to record Wolf's arrival at Mountain Time Zone. Drat. Instead, Bear and I hugged our big guys (it was almost 11 p.m. by this point), waved them through the MVP line (at least that was a good perk), and then I picked up my weary littlest son from the floor and we headed to the parking lot.

Yukon and Wolf made it to Chicago safely, I have yet to hear about an arrival in Colorado Springs. But I'm sure things will go smoothly from here.

Won't they?

Happy Birthday To Bear!

2011-10-23T13:27:00.000-07:00

Wow. Seven years old, already.

Sometimes I think he's seen too much, yet other times, I don't believe he's seen enough.

This is one compassionate, insightful child, and I'm lucky to be his mother.

From the Wolf Den: Mountain Time Zone

2011-10-20T22:53:00.000-07:00

Wolf has been down these past few days, we think caught up in the nothingness of his current situation. New Facility is an incredibly caring, compassionate place, but they are not meant to be a long-term solution. Wolf is bored, frustrated, and so were we, until about 2 p.m.

Best Therapist Ever, who has been working with a dilligence I don't often see in therapy staff, called us this afternoon while I was sitting in the waiting room of Yukon's physical therapist (it seems all I do lately is wait around for or attend therapy in one form or another). Mountain Zone facility in Colorado, one of the leaders in treatment and management of issues similar to Wolf's, accepted him. Even more important, the State of Alaska Medicaid system approved him for transfer, which, we feel, was absolutely due to the Utilization Review Goddess.

Now we begin the process, again. Yukon may or may not be going with us, depending upon his medical clearance. My gal pal from Anchorage, who has worked as hard as we these past few months to help Wolf, will go if Yukon cannot. We've arranged childcare, switched schedules, and taken a few deep breaths in order to prepare ourselves.

We're happy for the potential in Wolf's future. We're happy he will finally have a chance to show us and every member of the Team that he can do this.

And So It Goes...

2011-10-18T21:18:00.001-07:00

Alaska and the Kirkland family are playing a waiting game.

Alaska's is seasonal; ours is situational. Both are important.

This is the time of year when our weather swings between rain, snow, and sun, and sometimes all three together. Nature holds it breath until the day the rain turns to snow and stays that way, with sunbreaks relieving the darkness that threatens to undermine the little bit of light we do receive. It's a harsh but beautiful time of year, this, and I love it. Alaskans congregate indoors to get used to this shift in both temperature and atmosphere; we bake more, we sleep more, and we tend to accomplish indoor sorts of tasks we put off during the busy (and light) summer months. But we're still waiting for the day when we wake up to the muffled sounds of the snowplows and shovels, scraping and sliding along the sidewalks and driveways, signaling the beginning of another long winter in Alaska.

As a family, we are holding our breath on a number of fronts. Yukon is recovering from his second surgery and spends most of his day enduring physical therapy and home therapy, both of which bring him pain. Wolf waits, still, for a final referral to a facility out of state for, we hope, the last time. Bear is waiting anxiously for his seventh birthday on Sunday, not totally understanding why we can't invite the entire class over but at the same time understanding our need to keep things mellow this year.

And me? I just wait for everything to be thrown up into the chilly fall air and return to earth in a fashion I hope will not look as haphazard as I feel.

More coffee, please.

Yukon: Haven't We Been Here Before?

2011-10-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

If these photos look somewhat familiar, join me in saying a big "ARGH" to the fact that yes, Yukon did indeed have surgery again. His elbow and shoulder were just not experiencing the range of motion desired by both he and his surgeon (not to mention our friend and physical therapist), so on Wednesday we returned to the Anchorage Surgery Center for Round Two.

Thankfully all ended well; two pins came out (the figure-eight wire will remain forever), an elbow was bent, and a shoulder was rotated. That was the easy part.

Now comes the weeks and weeks of painful physical therapy. Since the surgery Yukon has had an IV port connected to his neck and a little "power pack" delivering a nerve block to his entire left arm. Physical therapy began on Thursday, and the block will allow his brain and body to accept the amount of movement our PT pal is delivering.

We've only heard screaming once, yesterday, as Bear and I sat in the waiting room. It was awful.

The block comes out today, thanks to a visiting nurse, and we are anticipating a painful night as the full feel of such surgery becomes more real.

It has been sort of nice, though, to ease into this point. We were able to plan and that makes a huge difference.

Why I Left, and Why I Came Back

2011-10-12T22:21:00.000-07:00

The award-winning film "A River Runs Through It" was on the top shelf of Unit Director B's office at CHYC. Wolf never wanted to watch it with me, even after I said it had antique autos, fishing, and Montana in it. I ended up purchasing the DVD at Wal Mart in Salt Lake City and watched it on my last flight home this past June.

I enjoyed it immensely; being part Montanan (my mother was born and raised there, most of her life was spent in Missoula, where the film takes place) I guess the sweeping landscape and familiar rivers drew me in before the story line. In fact, it took the last lines of the film to provide the ah-ha, the validation, and the new reality of our family life.

Reverend Maclean, father to author Norman Maclean (and to Paul, the antagonist of the story), was preaching in the Presbyterian Church of Missoula, after Paul had died a violent death due to his lifestyle, personality, and choices.

He says:

"Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: "We are willing, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed?"

For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give, or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us.

But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding."

I left this blog almost three weeks ago, just after Wolf had entered New Facility Anchorage, and just after he had presented (been evaluated) to the State of Alaska as a child/adult with few options for his future. Yukon and I had some difficult and painful decisions to make, and I wanted to make them with wide-open eyes to the possibilities ahead.

Wolf does not have the capability to love; he does not have the capability to empathize with others who hurt on his behalf, and in the same vein does not understand the agony of my mother-heart when I see the bruises and scrapes on his body because of some behavior-related incident.

The reality of Wolf's life is instutional; he likely will transfer out of Alaska once again, he likely will be in a locked facility where he and the community will be safe. Wolf hopefully will receive the long-term assistance he needs to graduate from high school, learn independent living skills, and perhaps get a job nearby.

Yukon and I have had to think of "what-if's" with regard to Wolf's future, and what we will do if he refuses treatment, runs away, or injures himself or someone else. That is raw emotional torment, having to make a plan like that, for a lifetime, but honestly, Yukon and I know at our cores we have made the right decision.

That's why I left; to decide.

I came back to write it all down.

From the Wolf Den: And So We Reach

2011-09-26T00:25:00.000-07:00

This is a hard post.

Wolf is struggling, and as a result, so are we. We shudder when the phone rings, shut our eyes when a new email pops up, and our eyes fill with tearful uncertainty when someone asks about him.

There are so many reasons for Wolf's swings of emotion, and we purport to know only a few of them. Indeed, when he is raging at staff, his therapist, or us, he repeats the only fact we, and he, know with absolute certainty:

"You don't understand! You Just Don't Understand!"

We never could, and probably never will.

Our family will eventually come through this crisis as intact as we possibly can, but right now it is a painful reminder of just how tragic this "mental meth-lab" of behavior disorders truly is.

We are reaching up, and out, and all around, as far as we can, to find some way of helping Wolf.

I'm going to take a blogging break, hopefully returning soon. Please join us in praying, thinking, pondering, meditating; whatever you feel comfortable doing, for peace in our son's soul, and in ours.

From the Wolf Den: The Wheel Goes Round and Round, and Round.....

2011-09-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

Now that Wolf is back in the same city as family, Yukon and I have noticed a decided shift in his behavior. Having a taste of the same air as us, knowing our weather patterns and traffic noises, Wolf is beside himself to "come home," even though we, and probably he, knows he can't.

As a result, he is spinning his emotional wheels, trying to drag me under them in the process. Our telephone conversations are abrupt, long, and full of "Why me's" and "How could you's" that do nothing but make me feel as if I suck as a parent, and do little else for Wolf than ramp up his already ramped self.

Staff at New Facility are now getting to see what Wolf is like when he is angry, and on one level, I am glad. On another, I am painfully aware how horrible it must be to live like this, and it makes me sad.

But like a wheel that keeps turning around and around and around, eventually the tires wear out and something has to change. I just hope Wolf will be able to recognize that before the axle breaks and he flies off into space.

Autumn in Alaska

2011-09-18T22:21:00.000-07:00

The AK Fam took a trip to Fairbanks this weekend, during which was intended to be a visit with Wolf. Even though he has returned to Anchorage, and given that arrangements had already been made, we went anyway.

I'm glad we did, for Life, in its unexplicable and unpredictable ways, manages to go on.

Be Not Afraid

2011-09-13T23:23:00.000-07:00

Trudging slowly through the thick stands of willow and alder trees, my calm exterior belied my shivering insides. I was three miles up a small but vigorous creek in Hallo Bay, Alaska, some 100 miles from Homer and more than 300 miles from Anchorage. A guest of Hallo Bay Bear Camp, I was there to gather material for an article in Alaska Coast Magazine. I'd been there before; a day trip last June left me curious about this camp so far off the grid they used solar, wind, and occasional generator power to function with 20 people in a safari-like atmosphere. I wanted more. What I didn't count on was a whole lot more.

Those who know me best know I have had a strong aversion to bears over the course of my lifetime (I've gotten over the small plane thing; this is Alaska, and if I ever want to get anywhere cool, I've got to fly. So be it.). Bears are big, they are unpredictable, and they are known for doing things on their schedule at their whim. It is not my nature to be in Nature with these beasts, sharing the same trails and creekbeds, and yet there I was.

Hallo Bay guides work endlessly to establish a sort of rapport with these bears, meaning they stay out of their space if at all possible. Guests are drilled on a set of instructions before, during, and after each "encounter" to ensure safety and preparation for the next one; because at Hallo Bay, there is always a next one.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending upon who you talk to, Guide B. and I were the only two-legged people out on the creek that day. It was incredibly stormy, with rain and wind swooshing against our hip waders and rain jackets. It was also noisy; recent rains had left the creek high and water boiled and rushed, leaving us, and the bears, with less warning should the other suddenly appear. My reticence to enter the green, creekside thicket was not unfounded.

As Guide B. slowly led the way over logs, through leafy underbrush, and across smaller stream channels, my brain screamed over and over and over "We.should.not.be.here," an internal monologue I kept up despite B.'s attempts at chatting about our various college degrees, football season, and travel.

Some spots were simply too rough to navigate on land and necessitated a return to the creek where, at our final count, eight bears had been seen fishing or sniffing or scavenging along our three-mile hike. With every bear we spotted and passed on the way up, we knew that the gauntlet would need to be run on the way back, so we ticked off bears; Silver Ears, Scaredy Bear... numbers dwindled as we got closer and closer to the creek's outlet near the beach.

I was nearly there. Faced the giants, even. Damn, I was good.

But then.....

A sow with her three-year-old cub came ambling around the corner, he (?) slipping in and out of the chilly water, playing in the grass, like all youngsters do; she carefully watching his every move yet allowing some freedom, since this was likely the last year he'd be under her protective wing.

B. eased us out into a sand bar to watch their progress and ensure visibility, knowing that bears, with eyesight comparable to ours, would be smelling us soon and our popping out from a willow grove would not be appropriate. We crouched quietly on the shallow sand, and waited.

Cub strayed up to the trail we were standing upon minutes before and Mama remained in the water, but both kept heading our direction; she on one side of us, he on the other. B. took out a flare all guides carry for protection (no guns or spray are allowed at Hallo, but flares provide heat and light and are reliable methods of deterrant) and said "Just wait here, and we'll see what she does. I'm pretty sure she'll cross in front of us to get in between us and her cub."

Pretty sure? Unprintable words rose in my throat as I froze, hunched over on the sandbar which suddenly seemed way to small and infinitely vulnerable to something so, so large.

"Good bear. You're a good bear." B. crooned with the smoothness of Bing Crosby as Mama and Cub came close enough for us to smell their fishy hides. "You're sure she'll cross over?" I quavered. "Sure I'm sure," B. replied, his eyes not leaving Mama for an instant. I did notice, though, that his thumb was heavy on the top of the flare and a large raincoat was within reach of his other hand, something I found out later was also a deterrant (bears hate the noise of flapping fabric).

Seconds felt like hours as the two bears indeed met at our sandbar's point and proceeded to pass us at about 20 feet, so close I could look into Mama's eyes as she warily, but steadily, lumbered by.

"Keep on going, bear. Nice bear, good work, keep moving." B. kept up his one-sided conversation until the two were well on their way upstream, then he slowly placed the flare back in his pocket, strapped the raincoat on his pack, and said, "Let's go."

So we went, our footprints seeming more than a little out of place on the wet sand next to the two other, larger sets.

It was only later that night, sitting in front of the woodstove at camp, that I realized something.

If a mother bear could walk past something so potentially dangerous as two unfamiliar creatures very obviously in her space, and with a cub to boot, then would it not make perfect sense that I could do the same?

Be not afraid.

Mom Goes Away

2011-09-08T09:43:00.000-07:00

It is fortunate that I had a trip already scheduled for Hallo Bay Bear Camp, today through Saturday. Given everything that's going in our world, the timing could not be better for an off the Grid, cellphone-silenced, computer-void (sort of) experience.

Yep.

Hallo Bay Bear Camp is an hour or so out of Homer, Alaska, down on the Kenai Peninsula. It's lovely, and I'm looking forward to visiting again and staying for a few days. I'm anxious to see if the bears I saw back in June (above) are still moseying around now that fall is upon us and the primary mission is to eat, eat, and eat some more.

Yukon is in charge of the home front, and friends are helping out with Bear. It's cub scout orientation night and an open house at the German Halls of Higher Learning, so it will be a busy evening. But tomorrow is Friday.

Wolf is hanging in at New Facility. Our clock has begun ticking as to future plans, and hopefully the Team will keep plugging away in my absence. It is likely, though, that we are looking at more out-of-state placement, since Alaska has nothing to support a young adult with his constellation of issues.

One day at a time, and right now, I am taking one for me.

In Step

2011-09-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

"When you get married, it's time to learn how to dance correctly."

A resident at the long term care facility I managed told me this just before my wedding. Her generation married young but already knew how to dance. In fact, their children knew how to dance, too, because they were enrolled in etiquette classes. Not so for my generation, and all my residents knew it. They had seen me stumbling around, trying to lead, which was bad, they told me.

For a young lady to truly dance correctly, these proper women patiently instructed, she must both give and receive. Give; as in surrender the irrepressible urge to always know the right way to go, and when, and how. Receive; as in allow the dashing young man (they're always dashing, aren't they?) to completely sweep you into his arms and carry you away on the music, even if the music is unfamiliar, harsh, or not particularly to your liking. As in, trust him to make it work, or, at least try to make it work as one entity, rather than two individuals.

"Partner: Either of two persons who dance together." (Webster's Collegiate Dictionary)

It's our eighth anniversary today.

It's an unfamiliar tune to which Yukon and I are dancing lately, but I trust him to help us with the steps. And he trusts me to let him when I just can't seem to figure out the sequence and my ankles turn on those crazy spiky shoes. The music is indeed harsh, and uncomfortable, but we are moving across the dance floor, one turn at a time.

He's a good partner.

The best, actually.

From the Wolf Den: Full Circle

2011-09-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

Wolf and his escort landed in Anchorage last night around 9 p.m. Wolf was anxious but willing to go along with things, thankfully. During the course of our day I reminded him that he likely had an advantage; he had been through residential treatment before and would be generally familiar with procedures and routines.

That said, it was a nervous teenager who called us from the airport, saying he'd safely arrived and was headed to New Facility.

We're again so thankful to our friends, T & J, who sat with Wolf over the weekend and were parents-by-proxy for Yukon and me. What a blessing to have people be in the right place at the right time.

Update From the Wolf Den: Today

2011-09-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

It has been an impossibly long 24 hours for the whole family, and for the people to whom we are close. Here is an update as things stand at this particular milisecond (thanks to another blogger friend who provided me this appropriate word), and how amazed I am at the people who have wandered in and out of our lives:

Yukon and I completed intake procedures for an Anchorage-based inpatient treatment facility to stabilize Wolf and conduct some additional testing to investigate his current behavioral trend. Through the course of the day it was discovered that Wolf probably had not been on a consistent medication regime since his arrival at Arctic Manor.

Wolf found his way to a kindly older couple's house who fed him, talked with him, and encouraged him to call us, whereby we found transportation to the hospital's ER for a checkup and the beginning stabilization process. He is currently safe, warm, and sleeping after a traumatic series of events that, understandably, were exhausting for him. This older couple deserves our humble thanks and appreciation for using enormous amounts of grace to refrain from judging Wolf, us, or the organization. They probably saved his life last night.

Initial Arctic Manor House Parent N deserves our thanks as well for remaining in contact with our family even though he was under no obligation to do so. Without his support and obvious compassion, Wolf may not have agreed to go to the hospital.

Friends from Anchorage are visiting family in Fairbanks and blessed us with the offer to collect Wolf's possessions from Arctic Manor and visit him as he waits in the ER for transport down to Anchorage. This couple likely the people who understand Wolf the best outside of our immediate family, and we are so, so thankful they are helping take at least a bit of the worry from Yukon and I. Update: Wolf just called and said they were there, bearing McDonald's, which made him feel "pretty good." He was surpised to see them, and "very, very happy" they came.

New Facility's Associate Medical Director is the individual who first diagnosed Wolf with Asperger Syndrome in 2007, and is one of the few clinicians with whom Wolf had a rapport, and the only physician I trust thus far. That he is still at this facility provides me with a level of relief I have not felt in some time.

However, the bed that was initially available at New Facility last night is no longer available today, and now we wait. Wolf will remain in acute care in Fairbanks for the interim, which is hard, and is a constant issue among mental health providers throughout the State of Alaska. But he sounds rested, and much, much more at ease with himself than earlier in the week.

I am cleaning the house, because that's what I do when I'm stressed.

Update From the Wolf Den: Everybody Hurts

2011-09-02T13:25:00.000-07:00

Changes are hard, even traumatic, for children on the autism spectrum. For Wolf, they are made even more difficult due his extreme impulse control problem. He's been struggling mightily this week after a transition into a strict, unbending, yet very loving new home (a good thing).

He's been running away almost every night. It's not safe, it's not appropriate, and it's hell on us.

And now our worst fears may be realized. Bringing Wolf home was a difficult decision driven partly by Alaska Medicaid and partly by us. Three years at CHYC was a long time, and something had to change. As initially positive the move back to Alaska was, and as beautiful our moments of reunion were, Wolf is resorting to primal reactions to basic interactions (and conflicts) with other people, and is manifesting his disorder(s) through running and all the absolutely negative behavior that goes along with it.

Who knows? Maybe I'd spend my life running, too, if inside I had no idea who I was or why my brain was telling me to do things I didn't understand, and if the world appeared to be a jumble of other people telling me to do things as well.

I have spent the day on both my cell phone and the landline, on multiple conference calls, to put together a plan of care for Wolf in both the short and long-term. Thank God I have a background in long term care, for the scenarios and paperwork and emails might otherwise swallow me whole.

Nonetheless, my kleenex box is as empty as my heart, right now.

Summer Love

2011-08-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

Yukon and I had a date today. Like a real, adult, all-by-ourselves-do-what-we-want date. With other real adults, no less.

The Alaska State Fair is in full swing, and while I usually don't attend any of their special events, I did make an exception this year for Garrison Keillor's Summer Love Tour. Because I think Garrison Keillor is a writer's writer, a wordsmithing genius who makes me shut my eyes and let my mind slide over the gems that come out of his mouth.

Since both Keillor and his famous Prairie Home Companion show are due to retire in 2013, and since seeing/hearing the man live is most definitely on my List of Things To Do in Life, we went.

Brilliant blue sky (those of you not living here in Alaska must appreciate that the Fair is usually shrouded in clouds and rain and, at the very least, not-so-warm temperatures), cold beer, and a perfect spot on a warm, grassy slope to witness a master of storytelling and my literary hero reminisce and ruminate about Love for three hours.

There has not been so perfect a day in a long time.

"Love," Keillor mused, "Is not meant to be a neat and tidy thing. We are purposefully entangled in its hollows and reaches."

The Summer of Love. Yukon and I needed a little help to figure that out this year, if only from a funny-looking man in red sneakers who managed, somehow, to be speaking right to us.

Genius.

Like a Hurricane...

2011-08-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

Listening to frenzied news reports coming from the southeast, I'm thanking God I don't live there anymore, with all due respect to my dear friends in Summerville, SC. I just don't think given the events of our lives these days I could take a hurricane on top of it all.

Swirling here at home is our own frenzy of activity as we sort out calendars, make plans, and otherwise prepare for a hurricane to hit the Kirklands. Yukon's surgery has been scheduled for October 12; Hawaii has been put on hold (this fact will undoubtedly hit me later); Wolf got in a fight today at school; Bear said he likes the dog better than me.

Sigh. It's been one of those days.

But.

But, our friends, as usual, have been undeniably fantastic with offers to take Bear, make us dinner, and otherwise soothe the soon-to-be crazed family Kirkland. We'll make it. We did it before, and we can do it again.

Everything happens for a reason. And perhaps the best reason of all is to show us how resiliant we truly are as a family.

First, the Good News...

2011-08-22T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day of school for Bear. All trumped up and ready by 7 a.m., my little casanova had his hair spiffed, his bright yellow shirt all buttoned, and brand new, uber-cool Sketchers on his fast-growing feet.

A nice surprise was finding him assigned to a grade 1-2 split this year, which should be an interesting challenge for our little know-it-all. Thank goodness for faculty who understand my kid and his learning style!

We heard from Arctic Manor staff who, too, are pleased with progress both at the house and at school. Seems as if everyone is settling into their places with bright shiny faces. Haven't seen that in a while...

Now the bad news....

Yukon needs surgery again. Seems as if that elbow is just not presenting enough movement, despite endless physical therapy and exercise. Adding to the difficulty is a left shoulder that appears to be "freezing up," reasons for which will not fully be understood until Surgeon gets in there to see for himself.

Two-for-one; that's what we have coming on October 12. A long recovery coming, too, according to Surgeon. Ten days at least. Right after we are supposed to get back from a week in Hawaii, meaning that Yukon could conceivably be away from the office for three weeks, meaning that maybe we won't go to Hawaii. Meaning, also, that I am in a bit of a funk tonight.

I do, however, have a raspberry cobbler in the oven, because that is one thing I can control tonight. Dessert.

From the Wolf Den: Firsts

2011-08-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

I have tried not to think too much about "firsts" anymore where Wolf is involved. Our "firsts" are not like other people's firsts, and it used to drive me nuts. Baselines and standards, and all that.

But today was the first day of Wolf's senior year. A first worth remembering, because Yukon and I were not sure this day would arrive on time, if at all. But it has.

Wonderful N. at Arctic Manor sent me a message last night saying Wolf had organized his stuff a few times and was subsequently wandering around nervously, not wanting to go to bed. I had called earlier in the evening and listened as Wolf shared his list of new school clothes and supplies both N. and I had purchased over the last week. This was a big day.

It was an anxious day for me; wondering if the school would meet his academic needs as I knew it would his behavioral ones, for better and/or worse. Would the other kids be a hinderance rather than a motivator? Would staff truly understand Wolf's intellectual capabilities yet be ready to support the emotional fragility and anxious behavior?

I received an email from the school administrator around 4 p.m.

"Just wanted to let you know that (Wolf) had a very good first day. He easily made friends and is excited about the class he was placed in. He feels he has a lot in common and is on the same level as his classmates. We should be on track for (Wolf) to graduate on schedule, if not earlier."

We've never had a first day like this first day. Ever.

From the Wolf Den: Oh Boy, Tomorrow!

2011-08-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

The family is in an uproar tonight. We found out at 5 p.m. that Wolf will be making a quick visit to Anchorage tomorrow. I'm excited, I'm anxious, and I'm hopeful.

Hopeful because a family who loves Wolf almost as much as we do is going to be so happy when we drive up to their house and he pokes his 6'2" frame in their doorway, and I know that 30 minutes of seeing their faces will provide power for the rest of Wolf's day.

I'm anxious because medical appointments rarely go as planned, especially with new psychiatrists in Alaska, where nothing is certain personality-wise, and options are few.

I'm excited because a little brother has the chance to wrap his arms around his big, big brother on home turf; show off bike-riding skills; eat a popcicle; read together.

This is bound to be an interesting day.....

From the Wolf Den: More Than This

2011-08-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

I drove out of the hotel parking lot this morning with more than just coffee fueling my tired body. It was bound to be a full one; taking Wolf to the El Dorado Gold Mine to show him the ins and outs of Alaska's chief mineral mining process, visiting the Fairbanks School District to sign papers releasing them to do necessary testing, and taking Wolf to a potential school where, I knew, a fight was imminent.

My expectations were unfounded, however, for as much work as Wolf needed to do throughout the day to maintain his behavior standards and not break down into tears when we arrived at the alternative high school to where he will be placed, Wolf did fantastic.

Not to say that he didn't have his difficult moments; kids with Asperger Syndrome always will. But he rallied, pulled back, and was willing to listen to what we adults had to say.

House Parent N. accompanied us to the gold mine and had a great time. New to Alaska from Kansas, N. had not panned for gold before and found the opportunity sort of fun, and quite educational. It was nice, too, to see how N. managed Wolf's actions and words, and I'm sure it was nice for him to see the same from me.

School is going to be different for Wolf. It concerned we adults that asking him to mainstream into a large public high school when he has never before had such an opportunity would be crazy, and potentially set Wolf up for failure. So we are enrolling him in a small (23-student) high school operated in partnership with the School District and a family service organization.

Once Wolf found out it would not be like CHYC-unlocked, he calmed down, checked out the classrooms, and met the teachers, all of whom are absolutely incredible individuals. I continue to feel blessed by the amazing people we are meeting up here. Everywhere we go. All the time.

As a reward, I took Wolf to buy some "necessary" school supplies, consisting of graph paper, a zip-up binder, and a stash of pens/pencils. Since he's not had the chance to buy supplies in quite some time, this was a special event, indeed. I sweetened his behavior pot further by buying him a model and the necessary accoutrements, and when I left Arctic Manor this evening, he was peacefully organizing his new Titanic model.

I feel as if we both are waking up and seeing each other for the first time after a long, long, winter.

From the Wolf Den: His Home

2011-08-11T22:10:00.000-07:00

The first thought that drifted into my head early this morning was of how grateful I was not to be sitting on a red-eye bound for Salt Lake City. The second was how unbelievably comfortable it felt to be headed to a city I know, and know well, with people I trust and land I know almost as well as my own in Anchorage.

Wolf, I hope, will feel this way, too.

Arctic Manor is situated a bit out of Fairbanks, away from what hustle and bustle this small Alaskan town can produce. Along a bike trail, in the trees, the house is roomy, comfortable, and calm. Incredibly calm. Part of that has to do with Teaching Parents C. and N., their small daughter, and engaging little dog, Phil (I can use Phil's name because, well, he's a dog, and I don't think he'll mind my revealing his monniker).

Serenity also comes from Wolf himself. He is happy, and although the obsessions and impulses are still there, he says he likes where he is, and that's good enough for me today.

We took a walk this evening after a full afternoon of meetings at the school district for me, and anxious waiting for Wolf. A heavy summer shower had just passed over, leaving the air smelling like a hay field and causing flowers to nod with the weight of raindrops. The sun was out, though, and Wolf and I took our time ambling along the bike path, Phil sniffing and snorting in the tall grass.

It was nice. Really, really nice.

From the Wolf Den: All That Glitters is Not Necessarily Gold

2011-08-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

I swear my son was a racoon in his former life. Attracted to anything shiny, bright, and/or with the perception of value captures his immediate attention and usually sends the adults around him into hyperspace with fretting when these "treasures" are discovered. Case in point was the fact it took me a month to clean Wolf's room after he first left for CHYC.

After three years living in a fairly regimented environment where all possessions are logged, categorized, and kept fairly minimal, Wolf now finds himself in a place where he is permitted to keep more "Stuff." Now that he lives in one of the gold mining capitals of the world, guess what shiny item is taking center stage? Argh.

Gold Fever is real because I'm sick, sick, sick of talking about it. I'm sure the Arctic Manor staff are, too, but we all suffer with good humor because Wolf is so darned cute when he is talking about gold, mining, panning, and/or sluicing. We can't help it.

However, we must remind ourselves fairly frequently that Wolf's impulses are indeed brash and solid and hard to control, so should the mailman deliver three "authentic" gold coins to the Arctic Manor mailbox, it is a teachable moment (or two, or three) to explain why they need to be sent back.

I can't wait to see what he's hiding under his bed.

From the Wolf Den: With the Freedom Comes the Pain

2011-08-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

As we are joyful at Wolf's presence back to Alaska, we are also reminded of how difficult this transition is for a young man with Asperger Syndrome.

Arctic Manor continues to be a fabulous option for Wolf, if he will allow it to be so. In a typically Asperger Syndrome sort of manner, Wolf is struggling with both the loss of old boundaries and the tightening up of new ones. There have been so many signs that perhaps he did indeed absorb some of the skills taught to him by CHYC, but, when presented with stressors in a very real world in which he now lives, his coping approach doesn't exactly match the situation. Unfortunately.

I cannot even to pretend to know what goes through Wolf's mind as he tries to manipulate in the fashion he is accustomed; in this case it is a staff member to whom Wolf finds a little too direct (bossy, as we are told) in telling him what to do, when, and how. In Wolf's mind, as in that of most people with Asperger Syndrome, he assumes this person, and all people, will submit and see things "his way." It is an extremely difficult existence, thinking one is the master of all and yet, it is actually the other way around.

Wolf knows he has freedom, but like a dog who escapes from his fenced-in yard and runs amok in the neighborhood, he has no idea how to safely and appropriately use it.

In looking at behaviors that are so immature, it becomes difficult to match the antics to the face we see. This is Asperger's at its most painful, and watching Wolf muddle his way through this most important time of new freedom reminds us further that the sand is slipping further and further into the base of the hourglass.

We can only take one deep, cleansing breath at a time, and wait for tomorrow.

Upside-Down in Mother Nature's Arms

2011-07-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

The photo above shows a clump of moss and lichen clinging to the skeletal branch of an old spruce tree. Not very unusual at first glance, I suppose, especially since it was taken in southeast Alaska, where moss grows like grass and spruce trees are numerous.

No, what is unique about this beautiful, mossy image is that it was taken from nearly 50 feet in the air by a wet, slippery, and unsure photographer; me. I was lured to a ziplining excursion in Ketchikan on a day even most southeast Alaska residents would call "too wet," along with a group of adventursome (or foolish) other people gathered to propell, rapell, and zip our way from treetop to treetop in a sort of Tarzan-esque experience.

I'm not afraid of heights but I do possess a number of control issues, just ask my kayak instructor and the pilot who flew me out to Hallo Bay last month. The very idea of sliding rapidly down a mountain with nothing but nylon butt straps between me and the forest duff below was not really my idea of a great time. But I did it, and ultimately loved it.

I am the daughter of a forester who taught uhis kids to look up. Up at the sky beyond the tippy tops of evergreen trees, up at the frosty green leaves and branches whose arms stretched to the heavens. I never believed one day I'd be standing among them, on their terms, held tenuously within their generous hands.

That clump of moss with the little sword fern growing out of its deteriorating branch would not have been found near the ground. It grows only there, and in that way, and I would have missed it had I said "no thanks" to the ziplining invite.

It was quiet up there in the trees; the rain made tentative taps upon my helmet and against the decking of the 5' X 5' platform we stood upon as we waited our turn to zip. Occasionally, the wind would gently move each individual tree back and forth with a rhythm that was, surprisingly, not scary at all.

Perhaps Mother Nature is less scary than we think, if given the proper respect. Perhaps Life is, as well.

Quick Update From the Wolf Den

2011-07-28T20:30:00.000-07:00

Yukon, Bear, and I are now home from our 14-day excursion around southeast Alaska. Be it ever so crumbled (haha), there is indeed no place like home.

With our return, it is time for me to unpack and pack again for a trip, north this time, to see Wolf and his new digs at Arctic Manor. I have been saving posters and important "stuff" I know he wants just for this occasion. We've talked a bunch over the course of these past few weeks, and I am so incredibly blessed to have such a compassionate, open-minded team of houseparents who are looking over this next phase of Wolf's life.

I will leave on August 10th for a fast trip to Fairbanks, where I'll meet with the school district to begin negotiations (because that is what it will be) of how, where, and in what form Wolf will return to a mainstream high school. It will be hard for me; I have one set of expectations, I am sure they have another; and I am not the easiest person to communicate with when I think (or know) I'm right. But this is my kid, who, if not me, will advocate for what he needs most?

Bear desperately wants to go with me, but I think I'll leave him behind this trip so I can completely focus on my tasks at hand, and so that Wolf and I can get outside, take a hike, shop for new bedding and such. It's funny to have two kids to get ready for school, the first time ever.

Feels pretty good, all things considered.

A Taste of Alaska

2011-07-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

We had a spectacular visit to Anan Wildlife Preserve today, watching bears catch fish along Anan Creek near Wrangell, Alaska.

Completely different experience from Hallo Bay. Equally impressive. Bear did a great job of following the "bear aware" rules, further reinforcing my belief that Alaskan kids have a solid knowledge of their environment.

I can dig it.

From the Wolf Den: I'm Me and Nobody Else

2011-07-23T22:40:00.001-07:00

How we've worked so hard to get here. Being Wolf, all day and all the time, is not easy.

I called him yesterday to check in from southeast Alaska, where Yukon and Bear and I are still ferrying around the Inside Passage.

Wolf was doing his morning chores, washing dishes along with another kid. He took a time-out to tell me that he wanted to get some clothes for school. Of course he does, and I said I'd help him take care of that when I got up there.

"Uhhh, well..."

I found this fascinating.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, nothing, exactly," came the reply. "I'm just trying to find a way to say something in a way that won't sound disrespectful."

Wolf wanted to buy his own clothes.

I high-fived him over the phone.

From the Wolf Den: He Got to Tie His Shoes

2011-07-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

Wolf is back in Alaska. A bit shaky, a bit nervous, but back in the state he has missed so much. Arctic Manor's director flew down to CHYC last night to receive his paperwork, meet with Therapist B. and get to know Wolf a bit before they boarded a flight north at 8 a.m.

I cannot imagine what was going through my son's head and heart this morning. I do know that he tried so incredibly hard to keep it all together before he left; both Yukon and I (and all of you who know him as well) are very, very proud of him. He reported to me his stomach was upset the whole trip and that cannot have been comfortable for him. Arctic Manor called tonight to tell us all was well, and in Wolf's voice I could hear relief. That's good enough for me, especially since we couldn't be there ourselves to welcome him home.

Wolf also got to tie his shoes today. Most of us don't even think about the act of tying shoes. It's automatic and trivial, unless you live in a residential facility where anything that could be used as a tool for self-harm in this litigious world we live is taken away. Same with belts, hoodie strings, and the like.

When Wolf left CHYC this morning, he was wearing new shoes I bought for him during my visit a few weeks ago. They had bright white laces in them. Brilliant, white strings that demanded attention.

What a liberating feeling it must have been for Wolf to thread those laces through the shoes' holes, to feel the smoothness of the material on his lanky fingers, and to loop with finality a bow on top. I bet he stared at those white laces a while before walking out the front door of a place that has been both is most comforting haven and worst nightmare.

Those shoelaces were more than trivial to Wolf, they were freedom. They were a connection to home, and they were, finally, his own.

Bless him, and bless all of us as we lace up our own shoes tomorrow.

The tie that binds.

Southeast Alaska and Other Updates

2011-07-15T18:21:00.000-07:00

The one thing about southeast Alaska is its unending uncertainty regarding the internet. Always. So forgive me for the blogger silence; I've been frantically trying to find a wifi hotspot for the AKontheGO work I must do first. This morning I had to beg the hotel staff (who were most happy to oblige me after they realized I would be writing about them, HA) to let me use their front desk computer to update things. Argh. All seems to be working at the moment, but since I never know when the magic of wifi will magically go away, I thought I'd better provide some updates....

Wolf will be coming home on July 19. When we had the last Hour of Power (we were at the airport waiting to board our flight for Juneau), Therapist B. and I told Wolf the exact date. After a speechless moment during which Therapist B. said Wolf was a bit teary-eyed (who wouldn't be; I know I was), Wolf jumped into the air and yelled "YES!" Yes, indeed. Bear and I will go up to Arctic Manor in Fairbanks as soon as we can after our arrival home, and get the big lad all set up for school and life in the Interior region of Alaska.

In the meantime, the rest of us are down in Juneau, enjoying a sunny/cloudy day after a drizzly start to our trip yesterday. Nonetheless, we are indeed Alaskans and have had a wonderful time no matter the weather. Whales bubble-feeding (photo above), hiking atop Mount Roberts; it's all be special and magical and a trip to be cherished. Tomorrow we board the Alaska Marine Highway System for Skagway and a little Gold Rush immersion. Bear can hardly contain himself.

Yukon and I are having a glass of red wine while the late afternoon sun filters through the tall, dark spruce trees we were so glad to see after so much time spent up North. We miss the big trees and the scents they release; it is a little reminder that the Pacific Northwest is, was, and will always be, Home.

We're thinking a lot about Home these days, every one of us.

The Best Day of His Life: Bear Learns to Ride a Bike

2011-07-11T19:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a long saga of timid attempts by Bear to learn to ride his two-wheeler. A very cautious kid, he made sure Yukon was there for weeks, holding on to the crossbar. Yukon, anxious himself, made sure to provide short spurts of teaching intermingled with plenty of attaboy's.

I did things a little different. Not better, mind you, just different.

I remember teaching Wolf to ride his bike; a bit cautious himself, but more willing to take a chance and see what happened if he fell off. Which he of course did, but since I taught him on the two acres of lumpy pastureland upon which we were living at the time, it was a fairly harmless way of learning to ride a bicycle.

Bear had been grumpy all day, I'm sure due to one phase of growing up or another, at any rate, he stomped outside to ride his training wheel bike (we have several bikes to choose from, thanks to cool neighbors), and I began mowing the lawn. It was obvious he was ready to ride the two-wheeler, and it really didn't take much convincing to get him to straddle the fiery red and yellow bike and let me hold on to the rear of the seat. (key, here).

We had gone about 10 yards before it was obvious the only thing holding him back was indeed his cautious nature, so I loosened my grip to just below his lower back, so he thought I was still holding on. Hah.

Is there anything more liberating to a little boy than the moment he takes off, unaided by grownup hands, and pedals off into the sunset? Nope. I don't think so.

And three or so hours later, he's still out there, standing up to pedal and turning around like a pro.

We're on our way.

From the Wolf Den: Angels

2011-07-08T10:57:00.001-07:00

There are angels, then there are angels, and right now I'm missing the ones I left behind in Utah.

When I drove out of the CHYC parking lot last Friday night, I realized with a sudden certainty that this was the last time I would walk across the green grass of the school's quad, the last time I would go through the double doors that were so tough to open with my arms full of snacks, clothes, and a double-tall latte for me. Flying across Great Salt lake, I realized it would also be the last time I would see the collection of absolutely wonderful individuals who have become like family.

The photo above shows Miss J, a beautiful soul who has cried with me, laughed with me, and high-fived every accomplishment my son has made in the last three years. She also is credited with asking Wolf, every single morning, "What kind of day are you going to make, today?" Every.Morning.

We've talked about Alaska, kids, ex-husbands, and new babies. I've listened to Miss J. chew out delivery men who tracked mud into her freshly-polished floor space, and watched her, without reservation, hug a mom who had just delivered her daughter to CHYC and now was walking out the door without her. Miss J. made the long trek from CHYC to my hotel room last Thursday to bring me chicken soup and ginger ale when I was sick. There are not too many receptionists with that level of kindness intrinsically built into their souls.

I will miss her. Wolf will miss her. She made three years more bearable, more like home, more like family.

From the Wolf Den: Time Keeps on Slipping Into the Future

2011-07-07T08:11:00.000-07:00

Wolf's current obsession is, understandably, his discharge date from CHYC to Arctic Manor (Yukon and South Neighbor came up with that name last week while having cocktails on the deck in my absence. I will allow them the luxury of naming the new home. Ha).

During today's Hour of Power, he must have asked three or four times for hints, "ideas of when", "general ballpark days", and any other term that could be utilized to establish a firm date for when he will depart CHYC and fly north. Fortunately Therapist B. has a good sense of humor and answered his questions with a spontaneity that impressed me. "Between now and the first day of school" is as close as he'd come with Wolf, and by the end of the session it seemed to placate him fairly well.

Yukon and I are scrambling to accomplish the myriad tasks required to move a disabled child from one state to the other in a fairly short span of time. The week of July 18, in fact. Right smack during our Alaska Marine Highway trip. Of course, fate has a way of doing that to us. But we'll manage; in fact, I think we'll manage better due to the fact Wolf will have an escort in the form of Arctic Manor's clinical director, who will have ample opportunity to bond with Wolf on the airplane. Probably more than he ever anticipated. Wolf will be able to get to know the other boys (there will be five total, such a nice chance from 19 in his current situation), and the house protocols before I ever show up. Nothing more embarrassing than having your mom there to ask questions for you. In so many ways Wolf is a typical teenager and I constantly have to remind myself of that: "Don't embarrass the boy, don't embarrass the boy."

This morning I am printing off and signing Releases of Information, HIPPA documents, applications for psychiatric med management, and creating a whole new file folder for this whole new chapter.

The file is labeled "Wolf-Fairbanks" .

It is a pleasure to have it sitting on my desk.

Independence Day at Independence Mine

2011-07-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

We took a break from the stress and excitement of Wolf's transfer back to Alaska by immersing ourselves in a little Alaska. Nice huh?

A friend went with us (single mom without her son all summer, so she was lonely and wanting a little AK Fam excitement; we gladly provided!) to Hatcher Pass and Independence Mine, high in the alpine lakes area of Palmer, Alaska. Palmer is the site of the 1935 Colonists/New Deal by then-President Roosevelt to hopefully jump-start the economy and their farming lives. It sort of worked. Now the area is prime farming land (in an Alaskan sort of way) and one of our favorite destinations.

We climbed high to a mountain lake, ate a yummy lunch of smoked salmon, crackers, and cheese, then came back to our house to enjoy cocktails in the back yard. A pretty nice day. Very nice, actually.

How was yours?

From the Wolf Den: "What a Marvelous Puzzle You Are"

2011-07-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

"Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people. Perhaps this is the merely a chance to go beyond your dreams." - Reepicheep

Reepicheep is a rodent braveheart and important figure in the latest "Chronicles of Narnia" film. With his gallant yet sometimes cutting personality, he manages nonetheless to establish a relationship with a young, snooty, somewhat boorish English lad named Eustace in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." Unfortunately, at the point of the above quote, Eustace has found himself turned into a dragon. Reepicheep is trying to comfort Eustace and encourage him for his uncertain future.

For Wolf and I, watching this movie was our final activity together. It was, I believe, a preface for the coming weeks of uncertainty and awkwardness for Wolf, who can, as we all know, act boorish, quite irritatingly so.

Wolf will be transferring the week of July 18 to Northern House (I just made that up). He might find, as Eustace eventually did, that being a dragon might not be so bad. But, as Eustace also discovered, it is up to him to find out how. Wanting so much to be the coolest but not knowing how, Asperger Syndrome has created a wonderfully intelligent but socially confused young man, desiring the best of friends but only succeeding in pushing others away.

Perhaps, if he looks at himself for what he is and what he can be, he will be the stuff of his dreams. Dragons aren't so bad. They spit fire, have wings and, as Reep said so eloquently, "have skin of chain mail to deter any swordsman."

To be a dragon. To be extraordinary. To save the day. For Wolf, the sky's the limit. His chance is finally here.

Join me in wishing him that.

From the Wolf Den: Transitions

2011-07-01T12:42:00.000-07:00

I would have updated y'all much earlier, but I was sick yesterday. Nothing like a fever when you're away from home to make you want your mommy, or at least your own bed. Oy. At any rate, today I feel almost human and spent the morning with Wolf and the details of his sooner-rather-than-later discharge.

Really. Sooner. Not later.

At a team meeting with the entire CHYC crew who has dilligently supported, cajoled, and figuratively kicked my son's fanny these past three years, we had on the line via telecon the powers that be from Alaska Medicaid and the new Group Home Wolf will soon call his home (we'll give it a name as soon as I think of something snappy). I was prepared for a "No, we don't think we can take him," or at least a "Let's wait a while longer," and was surprised when the general consensus seemed to be soon. Like in two weeks.

There is much to be done and many people to talk with, along with the mechanics of such a move with a kid who collects stuff like a racoon does shiny things. Wolf and I spent the morning making a list of questions to ask the Group Home clinical director and he was a trooper during the phone call, asking apporpriate questions and, I hope, alleviating some uneasiness of this move.

We also spent time writing thank-you notes to some very special people at CHYC who have been more like parents these past 36 months. I don't think the reality of moving hit until Wolf was writing the notes; very sweetly he listed the reasons he was thankful for these individuals and how he was going to try and "make every day a good day".

When I commented on his choice of words, Wolf said "See, I'm not a mean guy." Nope. Not at all.

I just hope the rest of the world will understand.

Bound For the Wolf Den

2011-06-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

I'm both packing and unpacking tonight as I prepare for my unplanned visit to see Wolf. Flying out at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning for a full day of travel as I'm unpacking from our trip to Homer and packing in advance for two weeks of work/vacation aboard the Alaska Marine Highway system, I'm not sure just where I'm coming from or going to at this point.

To make matters worse, the cottonwoods are flinging their cotton all about Alaska and causing my brain to explode.

Bear is at day camp all week, a friend will pick him up, Yukon has been duly instructed in the mechanics of lunch-making, clothes-changing, bed-time-enforcing, so hopefully things will slide by fairly smoothly around here.

Haven't heard from Wolf since he hung up the phone on me last week, so our meeting will undoubtedly be interesting. I'm ready, though, to make some decisions as to what we will be doing and when and where. The Asperger's is talking, and it's up to me to find Wolf in there someplace.

Wolf and Me and the Bears

2011-06-26T21:38:00.000-07:00

We are home tonight after a wonderful four days of much-needed relaxation and celebration in Homer. Relaxation after and before a busy summer (with weeks of travel ahead of us and weeks behind us), celebration of Yukon's conquering the 50th birthday. I can say, howeve, we were not counting on Wolf to spring into the middle of all this in the way he has...

I stated in my last post that I was about to hop aboard a plane and fly over to see some bears. I did that, but I also addressed two fears. I hate small planes and, up until last Thursday, hated bears (I say that with all due respect to their existence, just not my existence among them). Convincing me to board a teeny-tiny little airplane and fly across the Gulf of Alaska to Katmai National Park and Hallo Bay Bear Camp to see bears close-up, on purpose, filled me with fear (thus the other reason I was up all night Wednesday; there, it's out).

Flew on the small plane with four other souls and the pilot. Landed on a remote, sandy beach pockmarked with bear and wolf tracks. Hiked through a peaty bog to a lush, green, beautiful meadow where I saw Mother Nature's bear-children engaging in their own version of family dynamics. Complicated, painful, and utterly epic in their scope and importance.

My jaw dropped. My brain whirled. My hatred cleared.

I saw animals just trying to survive. I saw females fighting for their rights. I saw neediness and joy and jealousy, and anger.

Then my own kid's struggles came into perspective.

A Much Needed Respite

2011-06-23T07:58:00.000-07:00

I've been awake since 5 a.m., partly due to the eagle out on the beach chattering away at some early morning find, and partly from a chronically overactive mind.

We're down in Homer, a favorite spot to annually recharge the family batteries. A group of family and friends have gathered at the Homer Seaside Cottages to continue celebrating Yukon's 50th birthday.

Arriving from Anchorage yesterday, we were happy to see the sun as we drove south along the Sterling Highway, and, this morning, it looks about as perfect as Alaska can get for mid-June. The photos above are from our late-night stroll along the beach at around 9:15, and you can see Bear is sufficiently enjoying himself.

It's been a crazy week in the AK Hacienda; Wolf continues to backslide and as a result I've had to cancel some presentations and projects and schedule an impromptu visit to Salt Lake. Since we arrive home on Sunday and leave again July 14 for our mega-ferry trip around southeast Alaska, I'm understandably a little frazzled to add one more trip to the agenda.

But more on that later.

For now, I'm drinking coffee and taking this moment for what it is; simple, quiet, and utterly refreshing for mind and soul. I'll deal with the other crap later.

Amen.

From the Wolf Den: Oh *&%#%

2011-06-20T16:51:00.000-07:00

My favorite aspect of Wolf's return to the Original Unit at CHYC has been Unit Director B. A charming lady who understands a) me and b) my son, B has been my biggest ally and most prominent figure in the never-ending quest to save Wolf from himself.

However, we have not yet had the chance to talk in person since Wolf's return to the Unit. Well, until this afternoon, that is. And it was not a good chat. Wolf is continuing to exhibit impulsive behavior that ended him up with a fat lip because somebody else ticked him off. Sigh. Such a tangled web of misunderstanding is Asperger Syndrome.

The kicker came when B and I were discussing Wolf's impending discharge in August. B wanted to make sure the group home in Fairbanks would still take him given his last few weeks of not-so-nice behavior. I had assumed people would be talking amongst themselves (lesson learned, they don't always do that. Gah.).

What do I know as of this afternoon? We don't know if Wolf will go to this group home. We don't know if he'll go to a group home in Alaska at all. We need a Plan B. I need a valium.

Regrouping. Reassessing. Yet eternally grateful for Unit Director B and her pragmatic, no-nonsense approach to this. Solve the problem. Make something happen.

And Wolf? Hopefully having to nurse a fat lip will cause some deep pondering about the meaning of his life. But I can say that, I'm not the one with poor impulse control.

From the Wolf Den: A Loss of Words

2011-06-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

It's been a tough week for Wolf. One of the more difficult aspects of life at CHYC is that each kid shares a room with another resident, in part for logistical purposes, but more to increase social skills and the all-important concept of getting along with anybody.

Wolf has been sharing a room with one, two, and occasionally three other guys for the majority of his time at CHYC, and when he was transferred back to his original unit, we all hoped for a more harmonious situation.

Starting off well, Wolf's first roommate subsequently graduated and left the community, and, seeing glimmers of leadership beginning to emerge from our son, staff crossed their fingers and placed a new boy as Wolf's room partner.

Thursday morning Wolf called for the Hour of Power with an angry, resentful, and frustrated tone to his voice. It seems that Roommate New Guy got angry when Wolf and some other guys wouldn't let him play Dungeons and Dragons (don't get me started on that game with Asperger boys, but I'll save it for another post someday), and flew into a rage, stomping into the shared room and wreaking havoc upon Wolf's stuff.

Wolf was willing to let go the bedding flung around the room, the Pokemon cards hitting the ceiling and such. What really hurt was the books. His favorite titles (and some of mine) ripped in half, torn with a retaliatory fury. As an avid reader and the mother of one, the idea of someone sacrificing books in the name of his own personal insecurity gave me great pain, and I could empathize with Wolf in a way we have not, to this point, been able to connect. I got it. I get it. I am angry too.

The other boy has been dealt with, for sure. But that's not entirely the point. Yukon, Therapist B. and I have all been working really, really hard to help Wolf understand that stuff like this (figuratively or literally) happens all the time in life. And sometimes we (figuratively or literally) are at a loss for/of words. And wow, does that hurt. But not fighting back and carrying on is so hard to explain to a child who thinks in the now and not the later except from a revenge sort of mantra.

But then, my words are sort of lost right now, too.

Yukon's 50th in the 49th

2011-06-13T12:26:00.000-07:00

Yukon turns 50 today, and we're celebrating.

Celebrating that he is here to have a 50th birthday, for one; celebrating our life together, for another.

We've been through a lot, Yukon and I, and he's been the rock solid reason for having a best friend with whom I can share my world.

I'm a lucky lady.

From the Wolf Den: What Can I Say?

2011-06-10T23:26:00.000-07:00

The reality of Wolf's contact (or lack of) with his natural father is slowly beginning to resonate, and I am now faced with the delicate dance of saying enough but not too much.

Information that would have been discussed and processed much earlier than at 17 1/2, had Wolf been a typical teenager. Information that might be too much for him to process and decipher in a healthy fashion. I can't tell Wolf some things. I can tell him others. It is difficult.

What he really wants, I think, is to be loved by his father in the way most kids are; because no matter how much or how often Yukon says and demonstrates his love in a thousand and one ways to Wolf, Wolf still clings to a distant memory of a dad who took him motorcycle riding, to McDonald's, and to the movies. Oh, and sent him photos of his tour in Afghanistan holding an assault rifle. Lovely.

Like so many impulsive teens with Asperger Syndrome, Wolf sees something he deems as cool and grabs hold with a grip of iron. He lives, eats, and breathes this "coolness" and forgets about the potential risks. The image of his dad is cool right now. And he wants it. He does not feel it.

It is difficult to help Wolf separate the reality of his father from the idea of his father. During the Hour of Power yesterday Wolf asked me at least five times to call his dad and ask why he hadn't contacted him. I told him to write a letter. Therapist B. backed me up.

We are looking forward even more to Wolf's return to Alaska, where he will be busy and working hard, and won't have time to dwell on what makes him despondent. And he will see his family often. I need to remind myself that Wolf has been gone a long time, and he is aching to see familiar faces as much as we are aching to see him.

600 Posts Later....and Mommy and Bear Do Alaska

2011-06-08T23:27:00.000-07:00

How the heck did I get to 600 blog posts about our family's life in Alaska? That's a lot of emotion and information. You can read our very first post on November 17, 2007 right HERE. Dang, I just killed 30 minutes reading all these old musings.

Anyway........

Yukon is faring relatively well down in Oregon, missing his "guys" as he terms it, but learning a lot and even participating in physical therapy so as not to miss even a single day of recovery. What a guy.

Bear and I took a time-out together down in Seward the other day, embarking upon a lovely day cruise with Kenai Fjords and staying overnight at their Seward Windsong Lodge. He was a trooper, since I had to do my usual work/play combination and asked a lot of questions, took a lot of photos, and talked to way too many grownups for his taste. But Bear is nothing if not personable, and he managed to woo his way across Resurrection Bay with a minimum of fuss.

I'm catching up on things before a bunch of friends and family arrive from the Lower 48 for Yukon's 50th birthday. That's another story in itself....

Yukon Goes and I Stay

2011-06-04T19:25:00.000-07:00

This is the first night I've spent alone in my bed not lying huddled under the covers crying and praying and bargaining with God to please, please, save my husband. Nor will I wake up every five minutes thinking I heard the landline ring or my cell phone vibrate.

Yukon is gone, and I'm here. I didn't even get to take him to the airport where he left for a week in Medford, Oregon for a business trip. Strange, but at the same time wonderful. How crazy is that?

Granted, our lives are different, now. While Yukon's elbow has healed well it is still locked in a funky position that makes carrying things like luggage a bit difficult. This is the first solo trip since the bicycle crash that sent Yukon and our family careening into a month of hospitals, therapy appointments, and discoveries of faith and loss. But he, and we, survived, and I suppose this day had to arrive at some point.

This is the part of caregiving many people forget about; the letting go. Letting go the pain of illness. Relinquishing my almost-constant supervision over Yukon's broken body and allowing him to make decisions concerning therapy and treatment and asking before jumping in myself. Releasing my patient and reconnecting with my husband.

This will be a good week for both of us. Yukon can power ahead with some important work and visit his parents, who are most anxious to lay eyes upon their youngest son. Bear will be able to see with his own eyes Dad is able to get through the airport, onto a plane, and to his grandparents house all by himself (this has worried him).

And I?

I'm going to finally switch back to my side of the bed.

Where I belong.

From the Wolf Den: Listen To Me

2011-06-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

I like to think I listen to my children, but in reality I probably don't as much as I should. In 17 + years of parenting there is a lot of listening; to joys, fears, irrational explanations, complaints.

We have a lot on our minds, we moms and dads, and sometimes we're way ahead of our kids when they rush through the door at the end of the day, thinking already about what to thaw out for dinner or how the heck we'll manage to drive to running club while juggling a teleconference.

Kid says to us "Guess what happened today?" and before he even has time to throw his backpack on the floor we're already interrupting to say "Put your backpack in the proper place and take off your shoes and don't forget to start your homework!" Kid goes to do all these things, and we both forget what happened today.

Guilty.

It's even more complicated with Wolf. With so much of our communication over the phone and so many limitations currently placed upon his worldly experiences, it's hard sometimes to listen. Add in an endless explanation about the current Obsession of the Week and sometimes 15 minutes feels like 50. This weekend was one of those conversations. Memorial Day crowd over at the house, a beautiful day, and Wolf wanted to talk about the Enterprise.

Guiltier.

But we try, and to be fair, Wolf does, too. Knowing that sometimes he falls back into a comfortable form of communication when stressed or tired or upset means Yukon and I must be the ones to ask the questions and do the engaging. Active listening at its best.

Bear calls me on it all the time. "Mommy, you're not listening to me!" And perhaps I'm not. Perhaps this child is the one to be my reminder when Wolf comes home and requires more listening than other kids.

Listen to me.

Listen. To. Me.

Memorial Day in Alaska

2011-05-30T22:27:00.000-07:00

Ours is a family rich in military tradition. Yukon's father was a submariner in WWII and beyond, and Wolf's paternal grandfather was not only a Chief in the Navy, he was also a prisoner of war in the famous (and notorious) Burma/Thailand area. Yukon works hard every day to enhance the lives of veterans in Alaska. Both sons have grown up appreciating and embracing the difficult jobs of service members and their families sacrificing everything, sometimes, for the sake of their country.

As a member of the VA Healthcare System in Anchorage, Yukon was expected to attend the annual Memorial Day ceremonies at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson. A beautiful location for a final resting place of men and women of our armed forces, the Fort Richardson National Cemetery was sunny and warm today, with a light breeze just right for setting our American and Alaska flags to fluttering.

The last time we attended as a family Bear was but a preschooler and found the music just fine but the speeches, not. This year, however, his attention span and empathy for other people had matured. The photos above show just how powerfully he was affected by today's events.

One family had just buried a son not ten days earlier, and had come bravely to the ceremony. Bear watched solemnly as mother, little brothers, and girlfriend sobbed at his freshly placed headstone, flowers trembling in their hands.

When the 21-gun salute was announced, he asked why they fired off guns when soldiers died. Yukon explained it was a respectful way of sending a soldier off to heaven. I watched widows, some in their late 80's, shudder as they heard the shots, bowing their heads with remembrance of their own, personal link with such a salute, and I was amazed at their fortitude.

Bear got it. He held his ball cap over his heart as Taps wafted, in echo, across the wide expanse of Alaskan acreage, lilting and lifting and eventually fading away into the warm, breezy afternoon.

Disney Dreaming: How Would Wolf Handle the Magic Kingdom?

2011-05-27T17:41:00.000-07:00

Yukon and I knew we might be heading into hot water with Wolf when we conducted our weekly Hour of Power via the room phone from the 9th floor of the Disneyland Hotel suite thoughtfully provided for us by Disney.

Wolf, I'm sure, feels bad sometimes when Bear gets to go places he doesn't, and justifiably so. I'd be ticked if it were me. Disneyland is the top of most kids' fantasy vacation list, and our oldest son's was no different.

I'd spent two whirlwind days exploring Disneyland and adjoining California Adventure with six year-old and 49 year-old children. Park work, part play, it was my job to find the undiscovered, or at least unwritten-about "little things" at both parks. Thinking about Wolf was constant, but not always despairingly so.

I learned this about Disney: If a child wishes to visit the park and has particular needs, be they physical, mental, social, or otherwise, Disney will make sure it happens. We saw kids in wheelchairs who had broken legs two days before leaving home for the vacation of a lifetime. Kids undergoing chemotherapy, kids with cerebral palsy, sight-impaired children, children in foster care; they were all there, and all were treated with respect and dignity and, most important, just like everybody else. Isn't that what all kids want?

It is comforting to know that should we decide to take Wolf to Disneyland, they would take care of him. And us.

From the Wolf Den: "Not Otherwise Specified"

2011-05-23T16:37:00.000-07:00

As we begin the tedious and anxious process of bringing Wolf back to Alaska this summer, I am relearning all the disability-Wolf-related terminology and jargon once so familiar to me.

As trite and perhaps crass is it may sound; I've been glad to rid my mind of these terms for a while. As any parent of a disabled child knows, diagnoses with acronyms like AS, FASD, ADHD, and NOS become more familiar than our children's names. Not for our lack of trying to make it otherwise, be assured. But medical people and social workers and teachers find it easier to refer to our kids by these letters, and one we've been hearing a lot lately is "NOS".

Standing for "Not Otherwise Specified", it sounds like a cop-out, a diagnosis-without-a-diagnosis to make sure a child has something listed in the medical box on forms for school, medical assistance, therapy, you name it. Apparently, we've learned over the years, a blank box is B.A.D. Wolf's current diagnoses are many, the latest of which is NOS, because, I suppose, one cannot put in the blank box "Pain In the Ass" as a qualified medical diagnosis.

The Fairbanks North Star Borough has made that perfectly clear, in the most polite way, of course. Wolf's admittance into an accredited residential treatment program was not enough, and I found out a signed, sealed, and delivered diagnosis is required for him to qualify for special education his senior year. We are in a bit of a quandry, too, because Wolf never received an IEP (another acronym standing for Individualized Education Plan/Program) over his school years K-11.

Why?

He was never considered to be in enough trouble. Ironically, according to the Anchorage School District, special education department heads wanted to avoid "labeling" my son.

Good grief.

Enraptured by the Rapture

2011-05-20T20:21:00.000-07:00

I will say that this whole Rapture silliness was funnier before I talked with my teenager, who believed all the hype and truly did think the world was coming to an end.

This must be terribly confusing for he and others with similar disabilities like him, who take everything literally.

Part of me thinks, though, that I busted his bubble when I said the zombies were not coming to take over the earth. His favorite book is the Zombie Survival Guide.

Good gracious. Enough already.

What a Day

2011-05-19T22:53:00.000-07:00

It's the last day of school for my children, and a milestone day for Yukon. Me? I'm just the recorder.....

Bear: Finished kindergarten. I will allow this fact to sink in later, probably when he gets up earlier than a normal school day and asks if he can watch cartoons. After an agonizingly long wait, cajoling and rewarding and scolding, he finally received his second "Sprachmeister" (speech master) badge for speaking German for 20 days in that classroom (1/2 of every school day). Bear is nothing if not stubborn, sometimes. I look forward to First grade. This ought to be good. Oh, the hair in the photos. It was crazy hair day, so I sprayed the child's hair orange.

Wolf: Achieved and maintained Level 4 at CHYC and was able to go river rafting with the other boys on his unit. This is the first recreation outing he's been able to go on in almost 18 months. Incredible. I have not heard much from him today, but I assume that's because he's all worn out. At least, I hope so.

Yukon: Left his bulky polyester splint behind and is now a free man. Splint is to be worn at night, but seeing him look at his arm like one looks at a long-lost love was quite humorous (get it?). There is quite a bit of stiffness, however, and unless he gets to exercising the arm, he'll have to go in for a procedure to get that rusty hinge of an elbow to bend. I don't want to even think about that. I don't think he does, either, because every time I see him he's bending, flexing, and grimacing.....

Me: Beyond excited that three of us will board a plane Monday night for southern California on behalf of JetBlue for their inaugural flight from Anchorage to Long Beach. From there, Disneyland will host "AK Fam" as we surprise Bear with three days of Disneydom....

It's been a good day. We deserve a good day around here.

Bear Blows 'Em Away. What I Learned from Wolf.

2011-05-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

As my children grow up and begin to manifest their unique talents and skills separate from what I as their mother think ought to be said unique talents and skills, I am amazed. Amazed that they have managed to do so despite my prodding and pushing to do other things. Funny how parenting is like that.

With Wolf we tried all sports and activities, quickly finding that those requiring team spirit were not exactly successful. Duh. Children with Asperger Syndrome prefer singular sports and such, and Wolf did exactly that, enjoying Taekwondo and roller blading and Nordic skiing, as long as things moved along at his preferred pace. Fine with me, once I let him be. Ever tried to make a kid like something he a) has little coordination, ability, or social skills or b) hates because of a). Letting Wolf simply embrace the things he loved was the biggest motivator for raising Bear to do the same, minus all the slip-ups.

Bear does not have poor coordination or pitiful social skills. On the contrary, he is quite an athletic youngster which, if he belonged to other parents, could have driven him toward early learning on the baseball diamond or soccer field. But he doesn't, and we don't.

Bear likes to do the things he likes to do, and since we've already been down this road, we let him, within reason. He wanted to do taekwondo, but after three years became weary of the not-so-fun-anymore format, so at the end of our contract we let him quit. He likes to ski really, really fast but we keep that within reason too with family ski days and plenty of freewheeling time on the slopes. What he really likes, though, is to run. And run. And run.

He ran a race last week with me as his "guide". A 3k sponsored by our local running club and the first "official" race of the season, the Do Run Run was an out-and-back race with only three other kids and a bunch of grownups. Our only goal, if you can call it that, was to "run" the whole way, since Bear, like most kids, dashes out at the start only to huff and puff 50 yards later in exhaustion. Good enough.

We ran together, he and I, with his big old feet slapping the pavement but with a highly-qualified runner's stature, arms pumping evenly at his sides, steady pace, and head up high. Ran the whole way, Bear did, and when we arrived at the final 1/2 k mark, I told him to give it all he had for the finish line. So he did, passing all the other kids and a good number of adults to finish 4th. Overall.

Yukon didn't even have a chance to take his picture crossing the finish line because he assumed we'd be at the back.

Bear crossed the line, cheeks pink with pleasure and wiping his sweaty head with his Running Club ball cap, a treasured possession. "Can I have a cookie, now?" he asked.

Life.

2011-05-14T22:53:00.001-07:00

Five weeks after Yukon's accident, spring seems to have really arrived in Alaska. A fine, green mist of new leaves covers the bony branches of our birch and cottonwood and willow trees, and grass is tentatively beginning to show up under shaded areas of our yard.

Sporting a little more mobility every day, Yukon continues his recovery slowly but steadily, and we hope this continual slog upward will prove positive in the weeks to come. The pins are due to come out of his elbow around June 1st, when physical therapy will ramp up to recovery mode. At this point, therapy focuses on slowing edema (swelling) and mobility of shoulder, wrist, and fingers in addition to the limited elbow exercises our friend and PT pro insists upon three times a day.

Yukon is tired, to be sure, but given permission to return to work full-time has been a blessing, overall. I do have to remind him not to overdue, but with an "all clear" from his doctor regarding the embolism and DVT, he can work, and work out, at his discretion. Finally.

Thursday evening our family participated in the local running club's first race of the season. Called, appropriately enough, the "Do Run Run", Yukon decided to pin on a bib and give it a try, eventually walking a 2k and welcoming a very successful Bear (and moi) at the finish line. (Bear, btw, flew through his 3k race with a very impressive 4th place finish).

Last night we went on our first Date Night since the accident. Nothing fancy; just dinner at a local pub and a walk around Potter Marsh, a wildlife/bird refuge affording beautiful views of Cook Inlet, the Chugach range, and the marshy grasslands housing hundreds of migrating birds.

It's been a long time since we could walk along together for no particular reason at all. Not across a medical office parking lot or the pharmacy or the office. Just walking.

From the Wolf Den: A Lesson in Suffering and a Light Through the Darkness

2011-05-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

I just hung up the phone after talking my teenage son down from a ledge of darkness. I hope.

(Yes, all appropriate staff have been notified at CHYC of the current situation, before anyone becomes alarmed)

I almost wasn't here tonight to take this call.

Wolf called tonight and almost immediately I could sense all was not well in his world. It's so, so hard to gauge his mood, affect, and sense of self over the phone that my brain has to do a mental checklist of possible reasons for his lowered voice and muttered answers to "How's it going?"

He was still doing well on the Unit. Still on Level. School was going "fine". Medications were still okay. I'll bite: "So what seems to be happening to make you so sad-sounding?"

"I can't tell you because I'll disappoint you." Bingo. This is a tactic used by Wolf to preface a really, really big announcement that once probed and pulled and yanked, usually results in what's really on his mind. From a parent's perspective, however, there is no worse feeling than a child saying he can't tell something because he fears repercussions. My brain said "Oh Sugar." But not really Sugar.

I took a big swig from my Red Chair Ale (my mom-evening-alone-beverage), followed that with a big breath, and said in my best therapist voice, "Tell me about it."

What he told me factually doesn't matter. What he told me figuratively does. Bottled up inside that constantly-revolving and evolving brain of his was the "whys" of suffering, death, and pain. Still grieving the loss of his cousin a few months ago, Wolf is consumed. He is confused and is grasping at anything that will be sympathetic to the darkness he feels.

It is hard enough to explain death and dying to grownups; it is doubly so when explaining such to a young man in a child's body. Going back to the basics of love, life, and learning, I reiterated how much the people in his life love and cherish him for him, and nothing could ever change that. But also, that Life as a rule is full of suffering. Things are born and, if lucky, live full lives. But sometimes they do not. We talked about God and the power to change this fact if He wanted to. Yes, indeed. He could.

But, I asked, who would we be as humans able to make decisions about what we do and how we act, if God made all the decisions for us?

I don't know if I made any sense at all, but the whole exchange gave me pause, especially after the suffering in our family this spring.

I left Wolf with one final thought: You are never, ever, ever alone. Not for one second.

My Mother's Day Contribution in Anchorage

2011-05-09T23:31:00.000-07:00

I blog for a fabulous radio show called Kids These Days!Radio in Anchorage, broadcast on our local NPR affiliate station. It occurred to me that some of you could care less about my Alaska travel stuff and want more about our family life. The KTD blog is a nice combination of the two, blending travel with Yukon and Bear (and hopefully soon, Wolf), and how we make it all work so other families can make it work, too.

Last Friday I did a post about the most significant Mother's Day to date; and how Yukon and I relied upon a shadowy trail to bring us out of our confusion and utter relief.

Here it is, all about our other mother; Earth.

From and To the Wolf Den Today

2011-05-08T18:40:00.000-07:00

This is the day I sit down and reflect upon my son's journey. Well, the whole family's journey, really.

Who we were and where we were and what we were doing, and who, where, and what we are now...

This to this. That to that. There to there.

One child's disability leading to an entire family's evolution.

Enough

2011-05-02T21:47:00.001-07:00

I think I reached the pinnacle of sanity last Friday. We were beginning the process of adjusting to our family's "new normal"after Yukon's accident, getting him back behind the wheel of his beloved Ford Valdez, allowing him to breathe without me in the room, that sort of stuff. We had a delightful, meaningful Easter together, quietly enjoying each other's presence and the beautiful day. I finally began to get my own projects under control, including a huge grant for our pastor's sabbatical in 2012 and a participant guide for the upcoming Mayor's Marathon in Anchorage, mixed in with a thousand other little things a business owner must do.

Yeah, what was I thinking? Yukon of course was overdoing things a little, as I suppose any of us would when allowed back into the realm of our regular world. I stopped by his office to drop off a car key and noticed as soon as he walked out of the building the familiar shuffling gait, the pale face, the reluctance to respond to my inquiry of "How do you feel?"

Shaking, I told him to call his doctor and tell him he was on the way. I had to take some friends to the airport and it was too late to find someone else, so we asked Yukon's coworker (god bless him) to take him to the doctor's office and I would meet them there. I drove my friends like a crazy woman to the airport, dumped them off at the door, and raced back to the physician's office, where co-worker sat nervously reading a magazine.

Running up and down hallways with a jigsaw puzzle of closed doors, I finally found Yukon and the doctor discussing a plan. "Can you take him over to the ER for another CT scan?" Dr. asked. Crap. Of course I will.

ER staff said "Hello, are you back again?" (I've decided this is not such a bad thing), hospital chaplain friend thought I was joking when I said we were baaaack, as did another friend who had to pick up Bear from school, again. Sigh.

Nurses listened and were concerned about lack of breath sounds, (his not mine). Scheduled him for CT and ultrasound, said it would be a bit of a wait while they recorded EKG and such. I left to ostensibly let The Dog out of his kennel and grab some things for a long stay, just in case.

I sat in my car sobbing. Positively gushing tears for a scared Yukon, an exhausted me, and two boys who I feared might not be in the presence of their father for much longer. I simply could not stand one more minute. Not one.

After three hours of nail biting tension, we found out Yukon had experienced an asthma attack due to his increased activity and all the dust in our Anchorage air. The CT and ultrasound showed, thankfully, no sign of pulmonary embolus or the offending clot in his leg. Good news.

When we were about to be released from the ER and the nurse was out of the room getting our paperwork, Yukon looked at me from his narrow bed, still attached to tubes and wires.

He started to cry.

"I was so afraid for you," he said.

I think we've all had enough of this.

"Uncle"!

2011-04-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

We always think we know our extended family. For me, it meant a gaggle of cousins, aunts and uncles all converging at one house or another for whatever holiday was in season. My mom is second-oldest of six children, three boys and three girls so I have 14 first cousins, which made for a lot of people and, as far back as my mind cares to remember, a lot of fun. There was the Ranch in Montana, where I learned how to drive an old, blue stick-shift truck to collect a million or so hay bales each summer, and where I followed my grandfather around like a pesky mosquito, anxious to learn everything he would teach me about cattle, fence-fixing, hailstorms, and quiet evenings where the smell of sage mixed with alfalfa became my preferred perfume.

Almost every memory I have of my mother's siblings drifts back to our gatherings in the most positive of ways. There were issues, tragedies, and triumphs, but as children, we neither cared nor worried about them.

I'm grown up now, and a few months ago my mother's brother sent me a message on Facebook telling me he was coming to Alaska in the spring. Facebook is a marvelous tool for family reunions (ahem, Mother). I hadn't talked too much to Uncle G. ("UG" as he calls himself) in years, since my own sister's wedding four or so years ago. But he says he's coming to Alaska to connect with his niece and her family. Rocking cool.

He spent four delightful days in Anchorage; some time was spent with a family friend, some on his own exploring the Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum, but lots of it was with us. UG and I took a walk down along the Coastal Wildlife Refuge one morning. Unusually quiet for springtime, the marsh was a spicy-smelling collaboration of browns and grays and dark water that sat perfectly still. Only a few sandhill cranes poked their way across the grassy fields, and even the traffic was light.

Over the course of these few days we ate together, talked about life together, drank beer together (let me tell you how cool THAT is). I told him about Wolf. He told me about his youngest, recently married. Bear hovered, always near, asking me later "Is that the joking uncle you told me about?" Yes.

I never really knew my uncle. Not from an adult perspective, anyway. How he struggled to find his way during tumultuous teen years, or how my mother brought him to Seattle from Montana for a fresh start. How the death of my cousin, his son, took him to hell and back during one eternally long week in Anchorage in 1994. I never noticed before how strikingly similar in appearance he and my mother look, or knew that airplanes and their innards are as much a part of his body as the hands that built many of the craft cruising the skies today.

He's in his late 60's. I'm 42. What took me so long?

From the Wolf Den: Mud Song

2011-04-24T23:16:00.000-07:00

As Wolf nears the end of his time at CHYC and three years of joy and sorrow for our family, we here at home celebrated another holiday without him. This Easter was filled with a bit more visceral emotion than those I've experienced in the past, in part due to the knowledge that our family will at last be collectively residing in one state instead of two come July. While I know in my heart I am not the same mother who waved goodbye in May 2009, anymore than Wolf is the same child who held his hands together to resemble a heart that evening, I am reticent to admit how terribly tenuous the road ahead truly will be.

It's been a week of trials in our house and I will freely admit Wolf has been on the back burner out of psychological necessity. His brokenness and my brokenness and our family's brokenness all combined together to create one Big Broken Thing that I just couldn't touch. Not this week. And I felt bad for that.

So, sitting right up front of our standing-room only church service this morning was me, the mom and wife of Family Broken, in between two of my three men. Easter, we heard our friend and pastor say, was about finding; an original game of hide-and-seek, as it were. Except we don't do the finding. Someone Else does; because we're too worn out to find Him ourselves.

My oldest friend, D. has posted similar thoughts this week about brokenness and difficulty and pain in parenting children with disabilities. It is dirty work, whether these kids be at home with us 24/7 or away, like Wolf. Just when we think we're on top of medications, behavior plans, treatment reviews, or dietary changes, somethings happens, and we're back to the beginning, stuck, as in a muddy puddle.

This is the Mud Song. It talks about that, and of being found. It's sad. It's happy. Just like parenting.

"...you made me yours, found my orphan heart, and brought it home, and I'm safe here and I sing..."

Update From the Wolf Den: Back Where He Started...

2011-04-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

Wolf is back where he started. Literally, though.

While the rest of his family was engaged in keeping Yukon alive and well these past few weeks, Wolf's therapists and support staff have been hatching a plan to return him to the unit at CHYC that started it all...

After a tough winter in his current living situation with guys who seemed intent on making his life miserable, I received a call from my fav Clinical Director, R., who manages the original unit Wolf started out on his journey to CHYC three years ago. "I think we need to get him out of there," said R. in his characteristically cool voice. "We've all been talking here and think we can make it work, so let's plan on next week."

To better equip Wolf with the social skills he so desperately needs prior to the transition up North to Fairbanks, a move back to the Asperger's unit will work on group dynamics, leadership (Wolf is now the oldest rather than the youngest), and independent skills necessary for going to a regular school in Fairbanks. Big agenda at even bigger stakes.

During our morning Hour of Power, Wolf's voice was happy but serious, since the Unit Director, Miss B. told him the leash is pretty short. Really short. Like, don't go out of my sight short. He has some work to do, but this move is the first positive step towards July, when hopefully the final leap will be out of the building forever.

What a feeling.

Trying to Keep It All Together

2011-04-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

The most difficult aspect of Yukon's accident and subsequent illness has been the flustery feeling of not quite having my world put together. Normal for me is probably obsessive-compulsive for everyone else, and having to suddenly create New Normal doesn't feel very good (and we wonder where Wolf gets it...).

There is never a good time, I have discovered, for someone in the family to engage in a life or death sort of struggle; but Yukon's could not have come at a worse moment on the Kirkland Family Life Map. A month left of school, Wolf's impending discharge (which has been shifted a few months, for a good reason and one I shall share later this week), Yukon's upcoming trip to Texas, my long list of deadlines. I was stressed before and I'm even more so now.

What's even more difficult is trying to articulate this to Yukon without complaining, a delicate maneuver. My wonderful husband is the epitome of laid-back, accident or no, and moving him along the busy schedule of life at this juncture is becoming a little more difficult, especially since he is not able to drive yet. Medical appointments, blood work, physical therapy, pick up Bear, back to pick up Yukon at the office. Groceries? What are those? Gas for the car? Hey, when did prices go up so far? Took me almost $100 bucks to fill up the Ford Valdez (joke, ask my Travelgram Cohost about that nickname).

Many of you have suggested I take a nap. I would, if I could find my side of the bed underneath Yukon's stash of pillows. See? Here I go.

What I really need is a weekend alone at the beach. I don't think that's wrong of me to wish for it. Is it?

Yukon and His Elbow

2011-04-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

A quick Yukon update before collapse in front of my laptop after another crazy day of appointments, phone conversations, and medication juggling.

The patient continues to do well, evidencing excellent skills in the area of eating with one hand, tapping out cryptic messages on the computer, and even starting the dishwasher. Off pain medication but still on blood-thinning injections and oral meds, Yukon must remain close to home for careful monitoring of both. Which also means he is at my (ha) elbow all day; a lovely privilege for sure.

I drive Yukon to appointments and for the brief sojourns to his office for check-ins with the Boss Man Director. Usually he needs a nap mid-day; I guess the combination of stress on his body and stress on his mind means he needs extra recovery time and napping is the best way to return him to his usual bouncy self. I wish I could say the same for me. Nap? HA.

Physical therapy by our fabulous friend S. is tough, but according to Yukon, a wonderful hour of making sure things that are supposed to bend one way, do, and things that are not, don't. Today's session was mainly desensitizing the skin around the incision, an area full of nerves that have been through major trauma.

Friends, we have found, are a wonderful gift up here in Alaska. They have fed us, taken care of Bear, sat with us at the hospital, and, God bless their shooting arms, provided twice-daily injections to my husband's belly. These people are GOOD.

The photo above was taken at physical therapy this morning. Yukon manages a lovely smile despite the forthcoming twisting, turning, and flexing. That's my guy.

These Precious Things Remind Me of You

2011-04-11T22:28:00.000-07:00

I mentioned in an earlier post how Yukon and I had engaged in a discussion the very day of his accident. Our commitment to "powering down" a hectic lifestyle in order to spend more time with each other smacked us right upside the elbow that day, and we agree the timing, at least, could not have been better.

The weeks leading up to Yukon's crash were full. Overflowing full, with meetings and deadlines and tearful, late nights when neither of us could sit down and eat a meal together (something we previously did 6 of 7 days). For a family who thrives on traditional togetherness, we were faltering badly and didn't even make time to notice that. Date night? What's that?

Even when, post-surgery, Yukon was struggling to stand upright and figure out the depths of his oxycontin-fogged brain, we still didn't get it. I had deadlines to meet. He still had session work at church. Bear still had to be picked up and dropped off and the dog still needed to be walked.

Until last Friday.

Sometimes things become crystal clear in a moment; for us, it was the long, painful look that passed between us when the ER doctor came into the room and informed Yukon that he did, indeed, have clots floating around within his lungs. At that moment, just about every ounce of air left mine, and time stopped as two pairs of eyes, one terrified and one anguished, looked at each other.

At that very second, our lives changed.

What do you say, then? I'm sorry? I love you? Don't you dare leave me? All that and more came rushing out of my mouth as I struggled to maintain a confidence I didn't at all feel. Looking into eyes that have calmed me, excited me, and led me patiently through valleys of darkness, I tried desperately to comfort, knowing these next few hours would mean the difference between what is and what could have been.

We were lucky; Yukon made it to the hospital in time (ahem, thank the wife's intuition for that one), he received mega-doses of blood thinners, and was released Sunday afternoon. With Bear away at a friend's house, we had time to settle back into what we hope will be a manageable New Normal. With his elbow pain (Remember that? He broke an elbow) now under control and a new splint on board, Yukon decided he could manage to sleep in our bed for the first time in almost two weeks.

The most beautiful sound in the world was listening to Yukon breathe. In, out, in, out, with none of the gasps heard during previous days. I awoke early to him smiling at me.

"I listened to you breathe all night," he said.

"It was great."

Yukon

2011-04-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

I just had a feeling, all day, something was not right. Not right at all, but couldn't put my finger on it.

Yukon, up until two days ago, had been doing very well. A trip to the surgeon on Thursday meant a new splint applied by our friend, a physical therapist, and a ton of laughter as she and her assistant took careful steps to ensure a cool cast. Yukon had only mentioned in passing that his leg ached, but "just a little." That's what started my uneasy feeling.

Fortunately, the physician assistant took heed of my worried look and sent us promptly to the imaging center for an ultrasound. As the time stretched into a half-hour, I began to worry even more, and when the tech came out to find me, I knew.

DVT (or deep vein thrombosis) is a blood clot that can develop in the legs after extended travel, surgery, or, in Yukon's case, no reason at all. There will be a reason, but we don't know it yet. He had DVT back in 2003 right after we were married and I had been keeping a close eye on him post-accident just in case.

After a few hours in the ER, we were sent home with blood-thinning meds to inject into Yukon's stomach and strict instructions to come back if he became short of breath, dizzy, etc etc. Yeah, try explaining to a man how to tell his wife he feels dizzy, short of breath, yada yada and see how far YOU get.

I slept next to Yukon with one eye and ear open that night, and watched yesterday as he puttered around the house with more energy (seemingly) than he had had all week. Hmmmm. As I fixed us lunch, however, he sat at the dining room table with one hand resting on his chin, looking thoughtful and a bit distressed (hairs raising on back of neck).

"What's up?"

"I'm just trying to decide if I am short of breath or not."

"We're leaving right now."

And we did. Left half-eaten sandwiches and the sattelite guy up on the roof, pounding around to fix our storm-damaged dish. Threw The Dog in his kennel and called a friend to pick up Bear.

Pulmonary embolism. Hospital stay. Frantically hunting for legal papers and signing two of them with the witness of friends.

I went back home around 11 p.m. Thought I was doing okay until I saw all the things of Yukon. Shoes. Our bed. His toothbrush. Wedding ring.

Funny when someone's not there how loudly their presence can be announced in other ways.

Broken Wings Mean Different Things....

2011-04-04T21:44:00.000-07:00

This post has had to rest in my mind for a day or so in order to not have it appear as if I am whining about caring for my dear husband, who is exiting Day Four of post-pothole-accident aftermath.

Darn, though, this caregiving thing is difficult. We have three unique personalities involved in this accident, and I've come to learn a lot about how we do (or don't) react to a family emergency. Fortunately, Wolf's understanding of the whole thing is rather limited, and we purposefully left it thus, since he's fortunately not here to witness the daily mockery of our family routine.

On the humorous side, Yukon is rather entertaining in his narcotic-fueled state. Excited about such things as the hospital chapstick and the supply of kleenex next to his bed downstairs in the family room, he has constantly provided laughs to the steady stream of friends who have come to provide comfort in his time of need. Really, though, I'm starting to think they are showing up just to hear what he says next.

Physically, though, it's tough. I've never known Yukon to be injured or sick to the point of incapacitation. He can't put on socks, wash his face, or even get up without assistance. He doesn't like it, I don't like it, and Bear certainly doesn't.

Yukon, I'm also discovering, does not like pain (well duh, who does); but not any pain. After an excruciating experience in the hospital while being x-rayed, Yukon has a framework of the Pain Scale that no one should have to go through, and he wants it stopped. Like, now. Like, "Honey, it's been 3.25 hours since my last pain pill, and if you give it to me know I'll be good to go by 3.50 hours." Oy. Since the pain is quite regular and thus pain medicine must be administered on the dot.0, moi must also be around at the appointed time to untwist the bottle's cap. Poor Yukon.

Bear is trying to figure out a reasonable sort of understanding as to what has happened to his Hero. It took until last night for him to allow Yukon to read him a bedtime story because he was afraid of the enormous dressing on his daddy's arm. He desperately wants the Yukon he knew Wednesday morning, not the Yukon who came home Wednesday night, and is trying so hard to help in his little-boy way.

I'm learning a lot about my family this week; how we respond to hurt, how we interact with each other, how we see each other in a time of our most extreme weakness. It's strangely comforting and uncomfortable. I wouldn't ever want to do it again, but then, I don't think we would know each other in such an intimate way had Yukon's accident not happened.

Yukon's Day

2011-04-01T20:45:00.000-07:00

After almost a day of waiting on pins (pardon the orthopedic pun) and needles (ha, another one!) to see the surgeon, Yukon and shuffled into the Alaska Surgery Center early this morning for some elbow fixin'.

I'll let the pictures do the talking, since it's been a long day.

As evidenced by the bottle of wine and bag of chocolate chip cookies from two separate friends who know me too well.

Never Take Your Life for Granted: Yukon and I Learn a Lesson

2011-03-31T11:40:00.000-07:00

Just yesterday morning Yukon and I were having a conversation over the telephone about our need to slow down our lives, just a bit. Too much going on too quickly, we agreed; further stating our commitment to have "quality family time" for the remainder of the week and as much of the weekend as we could.

Cruel, cruel irony coming up.

With the weather looking lovely, I bailed on my writing assignment for the day, fitting it into my "after bedtime" writing time, and went running with The Dog. Picked up Bear from school and took him to get a Happy Meal because he earned a sticker for speaking German all day at the German Halls of Higher Learning. So far, so good. Even better was a phone call from my friend, a physical therapist for all things shoulder, arm, and hand (this is important), asking if Bear and I would like to hike with she, her two children, and old golden retriever. Of course we would.

A quick phone call to Yukon to say we might be gone when he arrived from his Wednesday-to-work bike ride, and off we went. Gal Pal and I had a lovely conversation about Life and how it never seems to go as we plan, but how of course God knows the Plan and we need only just chill about it. Fair enough.

Returned home well past the time Yukon was to have arrived home. No Yukon. Odd. Perhaps he left late since we were not going to be home, but it was only a 30 minute ride, max, from the VA to our house.

It was due to snow, so I was out in the back yard picking up dog stuff when I heard Yukon's voice and a car door slam. There he was, limping gingerly towards the open garage door, cradling his left arm in the right. "I got in an awful crash," was all he said, and the angel who picked him up off the pavement agreed. "I thought that damn pothole swallowed him right up," said our samaritan (who I shall love forever).

Emergency Mode. Threw Dog in kennel, threw boots on Bear, took him next door with chicken nuggets and french fries, wiped forthcoming tears of fright, helped Yukon into car, helmet, boots, and all, and sped off to hospital.

Five hours and a barrel of pain meds later, Yukon is the proud owner of a severely fractured elbow requiring surgery and many, many months of rehab. Surgery forthcoming as soon as swelling goes down.

Long night, and a sick kid was added to the equation around 4 a.m. I am operating on adrenaline. Yukon and Bear are operating under the influence of some stuff I wish I had.

But we learned something. Yes, we did. If you don't slow down, God will do it for you.

From the Wolf Den: Fearful

2011-03-26T14:04:00.000-07:00

It only took about five seconds of the Hour of Power on Thursday morning to discover what the trouble was.

Wolf is terrified to leave CHYC; and he's willing to fight like hell.

Not that I blame him, mind you. For three years his world has been a self-contained unit of careful supervision for everything from handing out toothpaste to telling him, verbatim, what he should say to someone else in certain situations. While staff makes every effort to assist students in making the transition, for some kids, this is the most difficult move they will ever make. Wolf, it appears, is one of these.

Fear does interesting things to people. Fight or flight. Stay or go. Walk away or punch the other guy in the nose.

Illustrated in a very Alaskan way, it's sort of like meeting up with a large, brown bear while hiking. We're told how to handle various outdoor scenarios in which bears figure; from a distance, up close, with kids, yada yada. It's drilled into our brains, but unfortunately, it's not always drilled into our body. The biggie safety tip, after making noise and hiking in groups of five or more (I prefer ten or twenty slower people than me, personally) is this: Don't Run.

Gotcha. I promise I won't run away from a thousand-pound, stinking, potentially new-mother-bear who finds me tragically in the wrong place at the wrong time. Try telling that to my Fight or Flight reflex. Or my knees. But that's the advice, and it's the correct advice, and if ever in that situation, it will take every.inch.of.my.willpower. not to run as fast as my legs can or cannot carry me. And I don't have Asperger Syndrome.

Wolf listens to his body most of the time. He can't help it; the signals coming from one side of his endorphin-fueled brain sending signals to his arms and legs and blushing face are stronger than the signals from the other side of his brain saying "Whoa, now, mister, let's just think about the options here before we lay into this dude and you get in major trouble."

While I have the ability during a crisis to (try, anyway) to think rationally and make a decision based upon the environment and others in it (bears included), Wolf feels something happening and lets his body decide for him.

He's scared he'll get beaten up. He's scared other kids will make fun of him. He's scared no one will understand. So he'll fight back. Hard.

All Yukon and I could do on Thursday morning was repeat, over and over and over again, "We're here. We'll help. We love you."

By the end of the Hour, things had calmed down. Yukon talked with Wolf last night and reviewed some of the things he could do to let his brain catch up with the arms and legs.

This could be the longest road, yet.

From the Wolf Den: Admitting I Was Wrong

2011-03-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

Oh, but that's the hardest part of being Wolf. Admitting he screwed up, took the rap, assumed responsibility. We're not exactly sure why this is so darned difficult, but whenever he is found at fault a big falderal takes place, never ending well.

So was the case today, apparently. The most challenging environment for Wolf at CHYC is during Gym class, most certainly not his favorite after being tossed around like a wet noodle at a school in Anchorage and blamed for it due to his argumentative behavior. Today was not a good day. Argument-> Fight -> Bigger Fight -> Restraint. Damn. Damn it all to that Dark Place.

If he'd just let it go he'd be in such a better place. But he can't. All he can do is respond with some primal instinct that keeps telling him not to flee but fight; and fight he does, with all 6'2", 155 pounds of wiry bad self.

In nine hours the Hour of Power begins. I'm struggling tonight with how to respond when he calls. Part of me wants to say nothing. Part of me wants to lay into him like a drill sergeant. Unfortunately, I have not much hope for either choice. Were the stakes not so high, I would be less inclined to put on the pressure for proper behavior.

Perhaps I was wrong for saying that.

All Aboard the Ski Train

2011-03-21T12:02:00.000-07:00

I regularly count myself fortunate to experience so much of the 49th state, all in the name of family travel. Somebody's gotta do it. Every trip is an adventure, every person we meet considered one more character in the realm of Alaskana. We dig it, all of it, and most of the time I keep my work writing separate from my personal musings just so I can keep it all straight and not confuse anyone. This time, however, I just can't keep my mouth shut or my fingers still.

Bear has been working hard on his Nordic (xc) skiing this year, and although he would rather die than admit he likes it as much or better than the faster-paced alpine style, had advanced to the point where Yukon and I agreed he could handle a day-long trip aboard the Alaska Railroad for the annual Ski Train. Sponsored by the Nordic Ski Association of Anchorage, the Ski Train is a tradition dating back to 1972 and is an epic day of choo-chooing, skiing, and all-out eating or partying, depending upon one's age and or inclination.

We boarded the train in Anchorage at 6 a.m. Saturday morning, and traveled four hours to Curry, 22 miles north of Talkeetna, where the train stopped, spit out 730 skiers and snowshoers, then sat in the warm Alaskan sunshine until 4 p.m., when it again collected us for the ride home. It was, my friends, a blast. No roads, no technology, nothing but our own power to propel us around the historic town site and birch forests along the Susitna river.

Bear did a great job of navigating the non-groomed trails and crusty spring snow, enjoying the atta-boys from grownups as he sidestepped, climbed, and schussed a number of tricky hills.

His favorite part, however, was his unfettered access to the train, which sat, engines off, all day, allowing him to go on, off, on, and off the train for at least an hour. He was (gasp) even allowe

d to touch the shiny springs and wheels of our car and talked in person to the engineer who sat, puffing on a cigar (of course) in his high-up post, surveying the territory around him.

We dined on smoked salmon, crackers, cheddar cheese, and beer for happy hour, then moved on to a gourmet dinner of barbeque and salad for the ride home. Denali, the Great One, stood watch over our train as we lumbered home, and at least ten moose were equally silent sentries to our forested haven for a day.

I feel as if we were gone an entire weekend instead of only one day. Epic, I tell you.

Let it Snow?

2011-03-17T21:47:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure why I included a question mark in the title; after all, it is only the middle of March and snowfall is not only common, it's expected. But I guess we, and most of Anchorage, had forgotten that with all of our gorgeous sunshine this past month.

I took a breather from a bunch of writing projects late this morning to shovel the driveway, very carefully, for the sunny days and cold nights also led to extremely icy conditions. Like, Zamboni ice, so underneath the five or so inches of snow lay a slick layer of frozen water. Yikes.

The Dog was quite excited at the prospect of going "Outside?!" and, as you can see, promptly dug up his tennis ball for a little catch and release while I shoveled away. A minor problem of the ball becoming buried in the fluffy snow became a lovely exercise in "Find it!"

Temperatures grew so warm (in the 30's by noon) that I discarded my coat and ended up shoveling in my Carhartts and a fleece sweater. Nice, very, very nice. Now if only I could do something about Yukon's old Ford Explorer (we call her "Old Betsy") and her accumulation of ice from a winter of sitting dormant in the driveway.

The snow had all but melted off the major roadways and everybody's decks by the time I picked up Bear at school. I think spring might just be on the way. Maybe.

From the Wolf Den: Helpless (But Not Hopeless)

2011-03-14T17:23:00.000-07:00

It's been such a long, long time since I've read the ID on my sort-of-smartphone and seen "Wolf-CHYC" listed there. When my phone rang this morning I was at a coffee shop trying to get my writing assignments in order after almost two weeks on vacation. It was a beautiful day today, full of sunshine only an Alaskan winter morning could provide, and I was expecting a wonderfully productive day (now that Bear has gone back to school).

Seems there was a little tussle at CHYC; somebody aggravated Wolf (so easy to do, and the other boys know it) and he neglected to walk away, instead trying to charge headfirst into the other guy. Thankfully, staff got to him first and held him back.

It's so hard to control impulses for these kids. Wolf doesn't even have the most basic ability to say to himself "Don't do it." When you were a kid, did you ever see something in a store so incredibly cool, so absolutely beautiful, that you had to touch it, even if the sign said plainly, in big block letters, "DON'T TOUCH"? Yeah, that's my kid. Always.

I remember one time when Wolf got suspended from school in the first grade for jumping on a kid just because the class bully told him to. When I asked him "Why? Why would you do such a terrible thing?" He just stared at me and said "I don't know."

Now, all parents know there is nothing quite so aggravating as the "I don't know" response. Even in the best of circumstances it makes us feel helpless, as if this child to which we gave birth is suddenly and unexpectedly a stranger. It's not a good feeling.

At this juncture of Wolf's life, when he is so close to coming back to a less-restrictive living situation, losing one's cool like today simply will not do. Consequences will be swift and dire, and that leaves me with a degree of helplessness I cannot describe.

But not hopeless. Yukon and I have pledged, in the most painful way a parent could, to support Wolf to the best of our ability, to talk openly with him, to share suggestions where they are wanted, to coach and remind and remonstrate. And that's not a message of hopelessness. It's a message of reality, of positive parenting, and we'll try as hard as we can.

It is easy to feel helpless with respect to our disabled children. But hope is indeed the thing with feathers, and sometimes it flits here and there and lands in the most interesting places. We must hold on to hope when it comes anywhere near.

From the Wolf Den: Hour of Power Away

2011-03-10T06:36:00.000-08:00

It's a little complicated to conduct the weekly Hour of Power with Wolf while on a trip. In the first place, I always feel a bit guilty talking about the cool places we are, doing the cool things we do, with the cool people we do them with. Especially when our trip included seeing family and friends of Wolf's past. Hour of Power is a bit of a delicate dance between dealing with the current issue of the week and our desire to share some of our life in Alaska.

The second reason is purely mechanical. Time changes, remembering to tell Therapist B. the land line phone number of our current stay, and actually remembering that it's Thursday all factor in to the H of P from far away. Sometimes we can't even have the Hour of Power because our location that week is such that no phone can get through, never mind my sort-of-smartphone.

This morning I'm sitting in the front room of my in-law's condo that overlooks the Willamette River in Lake Oswego, Oregon. Had it not been for Bear needing to get up and use the bathroom I would have not happened to glance at the clock and notice the time.

It's a rainy, windy, genuinely stormy Pacific Northwest day in the works, I can tell by just a glance out the enormous windows. Still a bit dark outside, I'm enjoying this rare chance to just sit for a little while and relax, even if it is 6:30 in the morning.

Down on the Farm

2011-03-06T19:31:00.000-08:00

As a travel writer, I'm often besieged with requests to visit places and people, just about wherever we go. Sometimes I take folks up on their offer, sometimes due to time constraints I simply can't.

Today was our scheduled departure from Issaquah after five great days with my folks. The second leg of our journey took us down to Portland where we will spend the next five days with Yukon's folks and my sister, P., who lives in the neighborhood made famous by Beverly Cleary.

We had received a request from a friend in Anchorage, however, to visit her brother at the family farm near Winlock, about halfway between Seattle and Portland. Called Olequa Farm, it is a little treasure tucked in between Toledo and Winlock, and along the main Seattle/Portland rail line. At over 100 years old, the farm is now about 32 acres and part of the community supported agriculture-culture so popular with consumers. Heirloom seeds, organic farming, and a family atmosphere are what makes places like Olequa tick, and we found a gentle spirit in owner B. and his wife, L.

Nothing fancy but everything genuine, B. walked us around the property, stopping to show off his kids' favorite haunts, like a swimming hole and the barn loft, the 5,000 strawberry plants he intends to plant soon, and a pack of puppies who followed Bear around, clutching at his heels every step of the way.

The day was bright, the river whispered and gurgled as we walked its banks. Yukon, Bear, and I slowly shook off our wintery sluggishness over the next two hours, the historic buildings and squishy soil bringing sunshine back to our souls.

A few fresh blueberry muffins later, we piled back into the van and finished our trip; slower, now, than perhaps we were before. No rush to get there. No rush at all.

Downtown Isn't as Far As it Used to Be

2011-03-03T16:23:00.000-08:00

I remember when a walk to downtown Issaquah seemed like it took forever. In actuality, it was something like five blocks. To the dime store, to the grocery, to the library or park, going into town was a big deal during a time when kids were allowed to roam the sidewalk-laden streets of this tiny town with one flashing stoplight.

Yukon, Bear, my Dad and I all walked downtown yesterday to stretch our legs in between crazy spring storms. Our destination was the Issaquah Brewhouse, former site of Mr. Kramer's Butcher Shop where my mom purchased our meat, milk, and liver for the cat. Now it's a trendy little pub and Rogue Ale brewery that Yukon simply must visit each and every time we appear in Issy. Not that it's difficult, mind you.

That we decided to walk is also important. In Anchorage, there are few true "neighborhoods" like this one; places where residents have sidewalks and access to such luxuries as parks and brewhouses and the like. Being able to propel ourselves sans motor was big fun. Bear rode his scooter and we ambled along behind, stopping to look at the various attributes (or former attributes) of a city that's changed a heckuva lot since my growing up years in the 70's and 80's.

I took Bear to see the Salmon Hatchery next door to the Brewhouse; a place where thousands of kids have seen spawning salmon and where, I told my son, my entire neighborhood passel of kids would launch our truck tire inner tubes into the icy waters and float, without any grownups, all the way to Lake Sammamish some five miles away. Awesome.

The annual Salmon Days festival was an opportunity to see scores of dying fish clogging the same waterways; in disbelief we'd look, every year, over the railing of the then-wooden bridge at the flopping, stinky salmon. Then we'd go over to the festival booths and eat ourselves silly of cotton candy and Bohem's ice cream bars.

Bear looked at the water, looked at the holding tanks with leaping little fishes, wandered around the hatchery house, then asked, "You used to come here a lot?"

Oh yeah, man. I used to come here a lot. Five blocks, at least.

Old Home Week

2011-03-01T19:08:00.000-08:00

It's been a few years since we ventured back to the familiar landscape of my growing up years. Bear didn't remember anything about his grandparents' home in Issaquah and our trip down was full of questions; "Where did you play?" "Who were your friends?" Stuff like that.

One of the first things Bear wanted to do upon our arrival was take a walk despite pouring rain and puddles everywhere...no problemo. I think most of it had to do with his desire to carry one of Grandma's umbrellas.

Off he went, through the neighborhood that has seen the tracks of my sneakers more than once. My mom gave me a walking tour, who was there, who had moved away, who had begun remodeling. It was nice to see her still so engaged in the comings and goings of a place that held a generation of kids within its quiet streets.

Those same streets aren't so quiet now, though, and I had to keep reminding Bear to stop, look and listen when we came to a crossroad. We sure don't have this many cars in our neck of the North.

Bear was also highly interested in the sidewalks and driveways of the older houses along our route. Anchorage houses (at least in our neighborhood) are clearly 1970's style; built in a hurry and with no sidewalks. My son found it most delightful to run up and down the driveways of people I don't know, sort of funny that he assumed the owner wouldn't care because a kid is outside playing, right?

Always so fascinating to see the differences in awareness and thought of my Alaskan child when we visit the Lower 48.

Mass Exodus

2011-02-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

Of Biblical proportions, I would imagine.

Alaska schools begin their spring breaks over the next two weeks, and already the airline terminals are filling with overanxious, overeager, and definitely over-wintered 49th state residents ready for a respite.

We witnessed this phenom last weekend while walking toward terminal C at Anchorage International. C1 was leaving for Honolulu, our friend H. the First Officer, and he said flights had been full lately. "We're outta here" is the general mantra, he told me, clutching his passenger manifest and glancing at the crowded gate area. And we were going to Fairbanks. Bummer.

Weather wise, winter 2010/11 hasn't been particularly brutal to Anchorage-ites. No -40 degree nights, lots of sunshine; our only complaint was not enough snow rather than too much. But health wise, it's been a tough one. Between Bear and I, enough cough, cold, and flu medicine has been taken to assure stocks in such pharmaceuticals for a long, long, long time. The same can be said for much of the state. H1N1 reared its ugly self, Influenza of other types came to visit, and the usual coughs and colds left many a classroom down many children at a time. It, for lack of a better descriptor, sucked. Badly.

So we're leaving in search of green grass and flowering things and bare sidewalks. Quite the irony that our destination seems determined to be white instead of green. But Grandma assures us it will merely be raining when we show up on Tuesday. And, for once in my life, I'm ecstatic to hear it.

Ten days of lounging around, hiking familiar trails, running without spikes in my shoes and mittens on my hands. Bliss. Bear is excited to bring his Christmas scooter along to get a jump on pre-summer riding, making his pals jealous.

I do know, however, that it won't be long before Alaska joins the rest of the nation in thawing out, melting down, and greening up. I can see tired, brown grass underneath the tree wells of spruce in our neighbors' yard, and birds are starting to show up in greater numbers at the feeder. The days are longer now, and The Dog has begun curling up in his favorite late-afternoon "patch of sunshine" at the back slider. He does this every year about this time, it lets us know spring isn't really that far away.

We're ready this year. Boy, are we ready. But first, the exodus.

From the Wolf Den and Other News

2011-02-24T17:39:00.000-08:00

Not too much other news, really. Bear, Yukon, and I made it home safely from Fairbanks and our wild winter getaway. After a quick trip to Ice Alaska, the home to World Ice Carving Championships and a park full of kid-friendly, icy slides, climbing things, and critters, we arrived in Anchorage to my panicked realization that Bear and I depart for Seattle and the Grandparents next Tuesday, with Yukon following Wednesday. Ack.

Pulled out all the organizing stops as soon as my feet hit the ground from the SUV, unpacking, doing laundry, making corn dogs, putting Bear to bed, then waking up the next morning sicker than sick. Again.

This is indeed getting old.

Poor Yukon has a week full of meetings and an appointment with our wonderful, cussing, Tax Man, so he was a little stressed to find his wife unable to do much more than make toast. Pass the whiskey, please.

Wolf, on the other hand, continues on his upward trend toward summertime discharge from CHYC. Despite a tragic turn of events on his father's side, he has not only maintained his level, he has climbed it. Today we skipped the Hour of Power (thank goodness) in favor of an outing to the movies and Wal Mart with some other guys from his unit and Therapist B. We are nothing short of amazed.

The power of positive. Gotta love it. Maybe if I try I will feel like something other than day-old bread.

From the Wolf Den: Looking North

2011-02-22T09:55:00.000-08:00

Yukon, Bear, and I have been in lovely Fairbanks, Alaska the past three days scouting out a potential group home situation for Wolf, and doing our annual Interior visit to this wonderful community.

In a crazy twist of weather-fate, yesterday reminded me of the stories told by my eastern Montana-raised mother of blizzards, howling winds, and driving snow that hurt when it hit the face. We woke up Monday morning to almost 18 inches of snow, crazy wind gusts, and flickering power at our hotel.

Thankfully we had accomplished most of our AKontheGO missions, but did have to have hotel staff (our friend C. is the manager here) haul out the snowblower to get us out of our parking space so we could make it to the meeting with said group home staff.

We were pleased with the meeting; staff seem to be on the same wavelength as our family, they operate as a "family", and work hard with the young men and women to achieve independence so necessary to survive in the "real world". I left there feeling as if we had finally found a fit. A hole that is square enough to accommodate my four-cornered-kid. Time will tell, of course, but I think he'll do well up here.

Yukon drove us downtown in a wind tunnel of blowing snow to the School District offices, where we gathered paperwork for an impending IEP (something I am totally unfamiliar with since the Anchorage School District never felt Wolf was "disabled enough" to require one-don't get me started). Standing there, talking about "my son", making plans that after three years actually, physically require me to do something, felt strange and wonderful at the same time.

I could see Yukon felt the same way, too.

From the Wolf Den: So Proud

2011-02-18T17:13:00.001-08:00

It's been a very difficult 24 hours for Wolf. He lost someone very close to him in a tragic turn of events that has left his natural father's side of the family stunned, confused, and asking questions.

After trying all day to contact Wolf I finally reached him about an hour ago, and, after a conversation with the staff member who has been with him since receiving the news last night, had the chance to talk briefly to my oldest child.

His voice was shaky, his nose very obviously running, and his emotions were wildly swinging. But as I myself struggled with what to say to this grieving young man, one thing became clear. He was acting appropriately, and had been since receiving the news.

Beyond sad, yes. Crying, of course. But no hitting, no running away, and no attempts to sabotage any of the week's progress because he could not process the events of the last day.

In the wake of this river of sadness flowing through him tonight, I am so very, very proud.

I am sure there are those reading this who understand completely.

Shades of Something Colorful

2011-02-16T15:41:00.000-08:00

This is when I start combing store aisles and nurseries for color. Daffodils, tulips, anything at all to remind me that spring is going to come eventually and spread greenery all over the state, seemingly overnight. I just need a little push to get there.

Yukon, who knows my penchant for yellow during these gray and beige end of winter months, bought me these tulips for Valentine's Day. What a guy.

Bear and I spent last weekend helping out at one of our favorite places, Campbell Creek Science Center, where I am a board member of their Friends group. Despite -15 degree temperatures in the morning hours, Bear and I handed out flyers, stamped hands, and went on a ski with my pal and radio co-host, who showed up to make some promo videos for our weekly program. That's us clowning around for the camera. Bear was somewhere in the trees making a snow fort.

The sun was spectacular, warming things up to around 20 degrees and causing us to take a moment to just play in the brightness of it all.

That was a good reminder, too.

Perspective

2011-02-13T22:25:00.000-08:00

It's been that sort of week, one in which the days scream by and none of us can catch our breath with any sort of ease. Like that. It is 9:30 on a Sunday night and Yukon and I have just finished our dinner. Yes, that sort of week.

Ever since my trip to see Wolf morphed into a sort of planning session for the next six months, I've been wrestling with my Inner Overachiever to try and discern what, if anything, needs to be adjusted, adapted, or simply eliminated from the double-booked Kirkland calendar.

It all began with my decline to the Magazine an offer to work on an upcoming program guide for our Native Youth Olympics. I hate saying "no". Obviously. But with a radio show, two other program guides for said Magazine and a few other interesting, albeit cheaply paid gigs to which I had already committed (few shekels or no), and a two-week vacation to see aging grandparents on both sides of the family, I simply could not carve out one more minute. And, frankly, I didn't want to.

Social media and I also have been having a disagreement on how much is too much, and it has bothered me. I've been asking friends all over town what they think and how they have managed, and have come to the decision to power down a bit.

Really, if anyone was to ask some forty years from now, what I had to contribute to the world and the community around me, do I really think it would be about the quality of Tweets I created?

Don't think so.

I'd rather be known for helping build up my oldest son's sense of self, or assist my pastor in the sabbatical journey of a lifetime, and be remembered for loving my family without a smartphone in one hand.

That's what. Stated firmly, with a glass of merlot in my hand and not the phone.

Amen.

The King of Hearts

2011-02-11T20:51:00.000-08:00

All we need is love.

Bear's early celebration of Valentine's Day started with his feet hitting the floor at 6:30 a.m. Church pants, check. "Button shirt," check. Cowboy boots? Sure. My little buckaroo was ready before 7:00 a.m., before, even, Yukon and I had fully fortified ourselves with coffee.

Boots clattering against the floor, Bear proceeded to pack his own lunch ("I put in goldfish crackers and a fruit leather"), pop a waffle in the toaster, and suck down some orange juice. Clearly, the day held great anticipation for our smallest son on this his first Valentine's Day.

When I got there after lunch, the kids were all assembled at their tables, small paper plates full of pinkish snack items. I helped peel some oranges, open some juice boxes, all while trying to reel in five and six year-old enthusiasm for what came next.

When turned loose to fill each other's envelopes with treasures, treats, and assorted valentines sporting SpongeBob, Lightening McQueen, and/or Tinkerbell (double those), this class of 19 danced around the room with glee.

Everybody was happy. Especially me. Even more so when we arrived home and fished a red envelope out of the mailbox to find a card addressed to Bear from Wolf. That one got top mention when Yukon came home tonight.