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Hello, world. How goes it with tics, working full time, your husband’s new business venture, your half lab/half pitbull special needs puppy, the fact that you don’t see friends EVER and you’re so tired at the end of the day that you avoid your personal blog which really makes no sense as you’ll never create a paid membership site if you can’t even keep your free one current?

Hang in there, friends. You’re going to make it.

PS: Here’s my kids. I am selling them down the river so I can make money in corporate America. I’m not saying I’m an amazing editor, but I still had fun with the video, located at the bottom of the article.

http://www.believe.com/articles/Cool-Bibles-for-Your-Tween-by-Tynsdale/

 

Conversations with Stink can be considered either terrifying or hysterical depending on one’s mind frame. I choose the second option – it’s so much freer. People who insist in living life at option #1 are going to be forever frustrated with Stink’s personality. While those on Rigid Island insist my son is aggravating, Stink lobbies fart bombs and puns their way at such a rapid fire they don’t have much chance. It’s lovely living in Stink’s world.

On that note, here is a conversation we had last week. It involved my need for Stink to learn a life skill, so that he isn’t living with me for the rest of his life, and his insistence that I am horridly unfair that he only gets to play video games on the weekend. We settled on the agreement in the following manner:

Me: You can game 20 minutes/night if you learn an instrument. I’m thinking piano, violin, guitar, drums….

Him: I like the xylophone. Or the harmonica.

Me: Um… well… how about a language? We can go with French, Italian, Spanish…

Him: I have always wanted to learn Mandarin. I love Chinese. Don’t you just love Chinese people and everything about that country?

Me: Sure, Stink. Chinese people are amazing. But what about your hair? What are you going to do with an afro on the Great Wall of China? We will see you from space.

Him: That would be awesome! But you know what I really want my hair to look like?

Me: Short? (Dear Jesus on a pogo stick, please let him say he wants a hair cut.)

Him: I want my hair long. And straight. (Giant pause) And black. Like Violet… from the Incredibles.

Picture me passing out as I visualize my trans-gendered ticker in China collecting rubber ducks and passing out camel cards.

What are camel cards? His Valentine’s Day cards of course. Because “Humphrey”  – a silly stuffed animal – is his favorite hump day treasure. He brings it to school in the middle of the week, shouting, “It’sssssss…. Hump Day! Humpty humpty humpthy huuuuuump Day!” He took a photo on his Tablet, turned it into a card, and added a Pokemon to the inside of it. It matters little if everyone else likes Pokemons. He does.

Me: Is it possible you’re a bit old for this kind of, um, behavior?

Him: (faux offended, mimicking a knife going into his chest.) Are you kidding? People love Humphrey! People think he’s so cool. In fact, he is our class mascot now!

Of course he is.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I find this behavior outrageous, hilarious, and terrifying. If you’re a praying type, I accept your prayers. If you’re not, I accept your wine.

Good night, dear friends. If I can survive my kid, so can you. If you have a child like mine, he is not weird. He is an artist! And really, that is the way to be.

Andrea

PS: Stink told me he very much loves girls. He wants to marry a girl. In fact, Tuskany’s lovely lady is still #1 in his book. (Sorry, Tuskany, if my 6’9 beef cake whisks your petite doll off to China.) Stink also agreed to let me blow out his hair today. This is the result. He is now less Jew fro and more Beetles fro. It’s all great until the braces come. And his feet threaten to require their own bedroom.

Tics seem to be up for a lot of folk I know – including my own kid. More vocals – this time kind of a high-pitched squeak. Not really loud, but it is punctuating his sentences big time.

Last night, while doing math with him, he was doing quite a bit of nodding and squeaking, along with some eye rolls. Did it worry me a bit? Yes. But I also have to say that he cracked me up. He’s just so funny and charming.

We had this entire discourse on the pros and cons of adding up the perimeters of an object. I wanted to take the area of the invisible square and then do some subtraction, where he came up with some theory on multiplying a side by 10 and then dividing some fraction of the base and mixing it with the hair of a chihuahua and a bald eagle tail feather. (I swear, his mind moves so fast, I can’t keep up with his figures.)

Bottom line: We both got the same answer and had a lot of laughs in the process. I’ll take it, even if this means fighting my instinct to freak out about tics.

One might be led to ask, “Really? Then why do the acupuncture if it’s not working?”

I think that’s like telling a person who has been fat since childbirth to not exercise since they are large anyway. Movement keeps them healthy on the inside and keeps less chunk from accumulating.

Likewise, Stink has T.S.. As much as I want acupuncture to be a silver bullet, it serves more like a nice balance for his system. Some days are better than others. Martina is not the Tic Whisperer – she is not going to eradicate all symptoms  through her magical fingers – not when we don’t 100% stick to diet, a perfect sleep schedule, a perfect exercise routine and a no-video policy.

What is your tic management protocol?

I’d love to hear where you are all at in regards to managing tics. Personally, I am really listening to my readers who have T.S. and encourage me to let my kid be who he is. (As long as Stink remains happy regardless of a few twitches.)

If I ever sound like a broken record, too, I want to know.

In closing, I leave you with Martina, talking about how the Western label of “Tourettes” can be treated with the Eastern method of “Acupuncture.”

Martina Eberhard – Acupuncture Referral

Martina is available for acupuncture treatment in the San Fernando Valley. She also does phone treatments. More information can be found on her here. 

Find Me

You can follow me at Twitter @Andrea Frazer.

You can find me on Facebook under Happily Ticked Off

You can email me at HappilyTickedOff@Gmail.com

I’d love to connect with you!

My day job as a writer for Spark Network

You can find me writing about my faith at Believe.com. Any writers out there or people of faith? Contact me and I’ll be happy to link you from my posts when applicable!

Check out more posts about Tourettes at the New Jersey Center for Tourette Syndrome where this blog is syndicated.

Stink’s vocals are back. Stink has also not been to acupuncture regularly in two weeks. Me thinkey there is a connection!

He will start up again tomorrow. Meanwhile, here is Video #4 where Martina discusses the definition of acupuncture and how it affects tics and Tourettes.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

PS: You can find me on Twitter. Just look for Andrea Frazer with the picture of my family as my avatar. Apparently there are 4 other Andrea Frazers – who knew!?

As many of you readers know, I have a little girl I refer to as Pip. She’s a year behind Stink in school. She pretty much worships the ground her brother walks on. This includes not wanting to give up sharing a room with him, laughing until her eyes pop out of her sockets at him, and giving a speech at school about why “Stink is My Hero.”

None of her adoration comes from feeling sorry for his tics. Quite the contrary, she just finds him hysterical because, well, he is.

I write this because I’ve had this huge shift lately in how I talk about my son. While yes, he does tic (and with that comes some special accommodations like diet and the whole ‘he has T.S.’ speeches for new play dates and school years) he is not really what I’d consider special needs. There’s not a darn thing wrong with his academic or social life.

You know who does have special needs more and more? My daughter.

She is traversing those rocky waters of pre-tween years. Her math and science are starting to take a dip. Some of this could be said that I spend too much time with Stink, but truthfully, that’s not it. I am hyper vigilant about spending time with her, from our mommy daughter library days each Monday to our road trips and nightly reading. (We are half way through Anne of Green Gables. The little orphan kid is a kick in the gingham pants, for sure!)

The truth is that Pip is stumbling a bit because of me. I’m just not around as much as I used to be. I’m working full time. I am tired when I get home. I always figured my pragmatic Hermione Granger had it all together because, well, she mostly does! But these days, she needs some extra support, and all fingers point to me and my performance in the past 3 months. I have been there each day – picking her up after school at 2PM on the dot. But, after getting up at 4:30 for a 6am shift, I’m not there for her. And that needs to change.

The nail in the coffin came a few days back during one of my weekly gatherings.  With 12 kids running amok like feral beasts in my back yard, the conversation turned to male/female dynamics shifting at school. A friend turned to me and said, “Bekka really misses spending time with Stink. She thinks he’s awesome, despite the fact that some kids in school find him odd.”

* Side note: Last year that statement – the part about him being ‘odd’ – would have broken my heart. But this year, for whatever reason, I am 100% confidant in his “weirdness” as being what makes him brilliant and eccentric. Like my daughter, I find him outrageously hysterical. I am no longer going to put my fears on his tics. He is proving himself “innocent to self-confidence plummets’ until proven guilty.

“Belle,” I told my friend, “My kid is awesome despite some special needs.”

She slammed down her wine glass which, frankly, was kind of dramatic and awesome all at once. C “He does not have special needs!” she bellowed. “He has a medical condition! There is a difference.”

I was stunned. And you know what? She was right.

Then and there, it hit me like a ton of gluten free bagels from a toaster (which translates to the same as “bricks.”) It became as evident as white on rice that it’s time to put that special needs label to rest. I’m not against labels, but I don’t need them anymore to as a stamp of protection on my self-depricating “I know my kid has issues” defensive diploma.

In the blink of an eye, I got the upgrade I had been looking for but didn’t know I needed. My son has a medical condition. Not my fault! Let it go, mama! (Only took 5 years of blogging and a finished book to get there. I’m a slow learner.)

If you think about it, don’t we all have special needs? I do for sure. My throat is killing me. I haven’t seen a dear friend in over a month. My new dog is scared of other dogs and subsequently wants to eat them! And, yes, daughter has needs, too. Because of it, she’ll be getting some special attention today.

Today we will sit side by side in our local library. We will talk fractions and loft beds. We will discuss Junie B. Jones, Anne of Green Gables, and lament the fact that there has not been a new Clementine book in a YEAR!

And then we will go out for ice cream because my son with the special needs medical condition shouldn’t eat it right before acupuncture.

Do you have special needs? What are they? Mine is for connection, great food, a glass of red wine and a super book. What are your thoughts on labels vs. no labels?

PS: Here’s my latest column at Believe.com. If you’re a person of faith, or even if you’re not, I’d love for you to register there and leave a comment. Thank you!

In his book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller chronicles his journey from apathy to outrageous purpose and joy. Per the website link above:

After writing a successful memoir, Donald Miller’s life stalled. During what should have been the height of his success, he found himself unwilling to get out of bed, avoiding responsibility, even questioning the meaning of life. But when two movie producers proposed turning his memoir into a movie, he found himself launched into a new story filled with risk, possibility, beauty, and meaning.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years chronicles Miller’s rare opportunity to edit his life into a great story, to reinvent himself so nobody shrugs their shoulders when the credits roll. Through heart-wrenching honesty and hilarious self-inspection, Donald Miller takes readers through the life that emerges when it turns from boring reality into meaningful narrative.

Miller goes from sleeping all day to riding his bike across America, from living in romantic daydreams to fearful encounters with love, from wasting his money to founding a nonprofit with a passionate cause. Guided by a host of outlandish but very real characters, Miller shows us how to get a second chance at life the first time around. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years is a rare celebration of the beauty of life.

In reflecting yet again on this book, I am convicted in the truth our own life stories must be full of heroes, journeys and daring adventures. Unlike the movies, however, we don’t get to sit back from the comfort of our chairs and watch the hero. We get to be the hero, and that’s something entirely different, isn’t it?

Watching the hero you get to say, “Oh, wow, that action scene was epic! The special effects were awesome, and hair stayed perfectly coiffed, even during the knife fight!”

When you are the hero, suddenly the action is much more intense. You can’t rely on a trail guide. You have to bring your blade, cut down branches, forge new paths, cross scary rivers, and go face-to-face with giants. That’s not thrilling and inspiring. It’s not invigorating. It’s terrifying.

But mamas, isn’t this what makes you a hero in your child’s life? Regardless of circumstances, you bolt out of bed every day – ready to fight dragons? Sometimes you have someone at your side. If you’re lucky, someone’s left you an old tattered map. But oftentimes, you jump into the abyss with nothing but your brain, your courage and your big beating heart.

These days, I’m feeling less than courageous. I’m not one bit terrified of the T.S. beast. I mean, not one bit. Instead, I’m feeling defeated as to the motive behind my book. As I’ve said to a few of you, I wrote this book when I was knee deep in the pain and gunk and exhaustion of battle. But I have to ask the question – Did I do it for my own healing? To pat myself on the back and say “Hey, wow, good job, Mama! You sure are raising a great kid!” or did I do it for others?

Without a doubt, this website is for you lovely ladies. It’s meant to be a love letter for other soldiers in the fight. But the book? I’m not sure.

Feedback from others has been wide and varied, but since I’m down, I’m focusing on the less than exciting. As at least 5 people who’ve read it pointed out that throughout the narrative I make it clear that Stink is fine – – that it’s me with the problem. This leads to the question, “What is the book about then? T.S.? My marriage? Coming to terms with my fears?”

I really need your response, readers. What would you most want to read in a book about T.S.? Because I’m at the point where I’m just ready to give up on it and just blog here. I might just let it be something that I wrote to get me through a time with my kid that was scary, but now that is in the past.

I’m honestly just done with the whole, “My kid has T.S.” thing. I need more, “My kid is Stink” and this is how I parent HIM. And my daughter! Hey, I have a daughter, too!

I’m starting to think this whole T.S. theme is too exhausting and that maybe God has a different plan for my writing.

Any insight would be helpful. I fully admit, now, I’m tired and a bit emotional, so I will let this digest and get to my notes next week.

Pewwww on everything today!

Love you all.

Andrea

PS: My kid might need a hair cut.

I’m just going to say it – I don’t care about stuff. I don’t care about image. And I don’t care about who likes me or doesn’t like me. I just don’t have the time for that shit.

What I care about is connection. I am curious about the world and I’m not scared to put it all on the line and ask the hard questions because, well, if you don’t like me for asking them then refer to paragraph #1: I don’t have time for that shit.

At the same time – and this is what makes me so special  🙂 – I feel this enormous weight that comes with not giving a shit, because while I don’t give a shit about the drama that goes with peoples’ opinions, I very much give a shit about the person on the inside. I don’t give a shit because I want them to like me. I give a shit because I am generally concerned (and, I’ll admit it, curious) about what makes someone wounded. I want to know why they bleed and why they laugh and what makes them scared and what makes them fearless.

And then (this part always makes the wounded person crazy) I want to TALK about it. I want to sit with them and tell them it’s going to be okay. That in facing their demons they are really admitting that they are not perfect. That they don’t have to be. I want to tell them I don’t give a shit about their insecurities and I’m certainly not going to walk on egg shells around their cuts and bruises. But I will hug them and tell them that they are not the first person to feel so alone.

And maybe I want to do this because, full disclosure, I want someone to do that for me. I want someone to tell me that all the things that crowd my brain – concern over head shakes and my new job and my family dynamics and my new dog and my husband’s new job – none of that really matters. I want them to embrace me and say, “Andrea, I’ve been there, and guess what. I don’t give a shit. But I do care about you.”

That’s all I have for you today. Even though I don’t give a shit, I love you all.