Ch-ch-ch-changes

Change can be hard to deal with for anyone, but for ASD kids it can be really hard.

Hank and Tucker

We are making some big changes to our house.  Two of the three bathrooms have become inoperable, and if we ever hope to move, we have to fix that.  The problem is that the house was built in the fifties and all the bathroom plumbing is behind tile.  That plumbing has started springing leaks, blossoming out into the walls and dripping down into the garage.  If we want to fix it, we have to tear out the tile, which  means serious business.  We've decided to redo the downstairs bathroom, moving a wall and making it much less claustrophobic. 

My brother-in-law (J) who has been doing tilework for 15 years, has redone many bathrooms, and is almost done flipping a house out in California, has graciously agreed to come and work on our house.  He and his two dogs are staying with us.  I'm totally psyched!  Bubba loves his uncle, and we do too.  The dogs are great...both border collies.  Zeek is 16, and getting on in years.  He's the smartest dog I've ever met.  Hank is one year old and just the thing to keep our Labrador in line.

The downstairs of our house has just become a construction zone.  There's a tile saw, drill bits, and all manner of pointy things. There's dust everywhere and we will be parking our cars on the street for a while.

The smartest dog I know

I'm a little worried, because we're losing the downstairs play area (it's also the guest room), and to some extent, the back yard (can't leave Ben unattended with the dogs).  On a typical (ha) day, Ben and I spend early mornings downstairs and late afternoons in the backyard.

We still have our walkabouts though.  Too bad it's ridiculously cold, and Ben refuses to wear gloves or a hat.

How is this going to work out?  I don't know.  It's going to stress Ben, for sure.  On the bright side, he's really happy to have these dogs around.  Zeek, for all his cranky-old-dog attitude, seems to get that Ben is not to be messed with  Hank was tested to be a therapy dog for the elderly and passed with flying colors.  J growls now and again, but I don't think he's going to bite.  Ben gave him a big hug tonight before bed time.


Bubba is way psyched to spend time with his uncle.  This may be a life-changing period of time for him (no pressure, J).  He's turning 10 this month, high time for some serious Uncle Influence.
 
At the end of all this (if things go well) is going to be the holidays.   My in-laws are coming to visit (love them!), and we're going to have an awesome Christmas.

It's going to be a challenge, but I think it's going to be worth it.

Wish us luck.

Quote o the day:

"It is a waste of energy to be angry with a man who behaves badly, just as it is to be angry with a car that won't go."  -Bertrand Russell

Things could be be worse...

ye olde rack

Back in the 90's, when I was a carefree grad student, I took up rock climbing.  Salt Lake is a ridiculously good place for that.  In the winter, I would go to a climbing gym.

I'm more of a top-roper than a lead climber.  If you don't know that that means, take it to be that I'm into the joy of climbing without falling long distances.

One winter's day, I went to the gym with my climbing buddy at the time.  I decided to lead a climb that was rated 5.9, easy enough for me to top-rope, but a little tough for me to lead.

When you lead a climb, you bring the rope up with you and clip it into carabiners above your head.  At the moment when you are about to clip, your fall will be at it's maximum -- twice the distance from the last place you clipped in.

I was just about to make my third clip when my grip failed.  I lost my balance and my feet slipped off the wee little friction holds they were on.  I dropped straight down, falling about 10 feet.  No big deal, usually, and my partner caught me just fine.  The problem was that I had let the rope trail around my right leg instead of keeping it clear.  When my 200 pounds came to a halt, the stretchy climbing rope cinched up around my leg, removing a 10 mm wide strip of skin all the way around.

I was left dangling upside down from my leg instead of my comfy harness.  My climbing partner quickly lowered me to the floor.  My leg was throbbing and oozing blood.  It looked kinda gross.  The staff at the gym was giving me the eye...I'm pretty sure they were about to staple the waiver I'd signed to my shirt.

At home, I squirted some antiseptic on it, then some ointment, and then taped on a maxipad (it was the only thing big enough in my cabinet).  A couple of days later, it was looking nastier -- filled with white goo.  I headed to the campus clinic, and got in to see a nurse practitioner pretty quickly.  She looked at my leg a little grimly, said "This is gonna hurt a bit," and brought out a scrub brush.  She abraded the wound with a scouring pad, removing all the white gunk.  It did hurt quite a bit, I must say.

My leg wrapped in a bandage, throbbing madly, I drove home.  Stopping at a 7-11 for supplies, I levered myself out of the Jeep and hobbled dramatically to the door...which was held open for me by a one-legged man.

He was in his 20's and was missing his right leg above the knee.  He was adroitly holding the door open with his crutch.  He had a wry grin on his face, but didn't say a word.  I blushed and thanked him and walked in with less of a limp.

That's it - that's the story.  It's not much, but I think about it now and again.  It's hard being where we're at on the spectrum, but things could be much, much worse.  In the early intervention program, we met some families going through really hard times and doing it with grace and good spirits.  All of you out there, dealing with this stuff without cracking up, are my heroes.  Thank you.

Quote o the day:

The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.  -Bertrand Russell