Always laughing?

Having a sense of humor is:

a. valuable

b. preferable

c. mandatory

d. all of the above

Standing at the sink, I made statement "a" like an opening bid then raised it to "b" before Jim added "c" and the correct answer "d."

In progressive waves, we have realized this truth. Was a time, we could not laugh. At the mere suggestion we'd make the cynical retort, "It's that or cry." Worse yet, "shut up, it is not funny!" which I think I actually said to my mom when she suggested, "it helps to have a sense of humor about it, don't you think?"

"It" being the precarious predicaments Reid gets himself (and us) into or our inability to control him. At the time, it may have been climbing into a recycling bin or cutting to the front of an ice cream line unabashedly.

Another time, a college buddy of ours came to visit with his family of four from Ohio. We hadn't seen them in years nor met each other's kids. The hallmark of this guy (and his wife coincidentally enough) has always been his sense of humor. On and on the stories go, of spring break trips when he used cream cheese to soothe his sunburned face since Noxema was unavailable. Or numerous one-liners he's coined which live on in our collective family lexicon but make no sense cause "you had to be there" for his Chaplin-esque delivery.

Leave it to them to identify the humor in our family dynamic. It was his wife who said, "So are you just laughing all the time?" For that was their experience of a day with Reid. What a funny, entertaining household must be created by his antics. Hahahaha...the possibility gave me pause. When had amusing become annoying and how could we go back?

Yesterday, for whatever cumulation of reasons, Jim and I were genuinely, simultaneously, heartily both belly laughing with Reid (not at him which is a key distinction) in public! It felt like a milestone of joy replacing grief. Reid's exuberant joy superceded any vestige of anger and fear we used to hold.

On the way home from the beach we had stopped for the ritual Roberto's burrito. Often we get it togo. Tonight Kool and the Gang was wafting through the outdoor patio seating area which drew Reid out like a magnet. While Jim ordered at the window, Reid was in plain view. I saw him approach a solitary male diner but could not hear what he said. The man bemusedly looked around for a parent or some explanation. I laid low in the car in my barefeet and modest cover up. He hadn't done enough to require my intervention.

Then began a series of dance moves in between the two-top tables. Starting with a little step ball change, he transitioned to the Snook torso twist, the Linus and Lucy dance, then what looked like the Elmo slide from my vantage point. The sequence brought unavoidable chuckles from a neighboring table of 2 men.

Jim rounded the corner of the building, grinned at his dancing fool and offered his own woot woot and Latin hip movement to the party. To which Reid shouted, "let's get Mom!" "Let's all dance....come on mom get outta the car."

I tried to duck, hide behind my hand, and lower my gaze but the entire town had eyeballed me by the time Reid got to the driver's side car door. He opened it and tried to pull me out across the front console. I had to go now. The last time this happened I was in a wedding dress back-paddling out of the mosh pit Jim's (they-don't-call-him-Gumby-for-nothing) relatives had formed at our wedding. I've changed since then. For this time I raised my hand above my head and busted out my best John Travolta Sunday Night Fever move as I came around the car.

So much for take out. We sat there groovin' and movin' enjoying how contagious joy can be...and grateful we'd caught it!

Dancing with Mal

I just finished Emily Colson's book, Dancing with Max. It is a terrific read disclosing her journey getting to know both her dad and her son all at once. Her faith and immense love--themselves gifts from God--are central themes enabling her to appreciate that her son with autism is a gift. Her masterful writing and disarming humor refresh the familiar story line of diagnosis to acceptance. I could particularly relate (as in, laugh outloud) to this excerpt:

Max had an appointment with a doctor who specialized in integrative medicine. He wasn't one of those crystal-worshiping, incense-burning practitioners, but a rather sophisticated doctor utilizing both alternative and conventional practices... He needed Max's treatment history, and of course, in the process, he would realize I was not neglectful crackhead parent, but a serious overachiever-type mom. The cross hanging around my neck would speak of my faith, my commitment, my clean lifestyle. I even found a way to tell him that I'd spoken at several area conferences, just in case he might need such a service. All those years as a graphic designer creating corporate identities taught me the power of communicating the right image. I pictured this doctor eventually inviting us into his home, telling me secret cures for autism, while he stood at his kitchen counter mixing Chinese mushroom powder into wheat grass. And he would realize that helping Max, the innocent child of a loving Christian and by-no-possible-fault-of-her-own single mother, was his life's mission.

"Does he have any language?" the doctor asked as Max sat silently outside the door.

"Oh, yes. It doesn't come easily, but he uses full sentences now," I answered.

He fired off a list of questions about sleep habits, diet, digestion, but kept coming back to the issue of language. "You said he does speak, is that correct? He's right outside my office door, and . . . I don't think I've heard him say anything."

"Yes, he's just very anxious here," I explained as if we were colleagues.

Our appointment was nearing an end, and I was pleased at the doctor's willingness to order numerous laboratory tests. "Could your son come in so that I could talk with him a bit? Would

he do that?" he asked.

"Maybe," I answered. "Max," I called as I looked into the hall. "Can you come sit with Mommy for a minute? Then we'll be all done and do something fun." Max stood up as if he always followed my requests and entered the examination room. The doctor greeted him, but Max brushed past his desk and stood silently at the window gazing out over the Cambridge neighborhood. "Good job Max," I proudly commended. "We're going to do something fun next."

And then it happened. My son must have a locator device implanted in his brain, because it only took him two seconds to see into a storefront window on the street below that obviously had commercial refrigerators. And with that motivation, my son spoke his first, and what would be his only, words for the doctor to hear.

"Mom, after this we can go to the liquor store."

Delighted at the prospect, Max walked out and sat beside my mother, who looks as much like an alcoholic as Mary Poppins.

The doctor's eyes shone on me like headlights. I was so busy being perfect that I forgot to laugh. The more I tried to explain, the worse it looked; he wasn't buying the whole refrigerator-obsession thing.

She has been there! I have been there. She has been where I have been! Thank you Lord that you do whatever it takes to free us from a spirit of pride.

It happens bit by bit--like becoming real. Reid, like Max, has taught his mom many things, not the least of which is to recognize embarrassment as the indicator light of pride. Having a son with absolutely no social inhibition continues to set me free from a fear of man.

Allie too. Just last week, she recalled sitting in a theater dying a thousand deaths because her brother was "so embarrassing." "What was he doing?" I'd forgotten. "Being overly happy," was her description. Is that such a crime? It's exactly what he does though. He expresses uncontainable joy so much so that it's socially unacceptable.

Even when he was a toddler, I found it hard to correct him for being too gleeful during library storytime, too excited to meet Mary Poppins at Disneyland, or euphoric when Souplantation had Barney bean salad (our term, not theirs) in the buffet smorgasbord. Gradually (unable to control or contain it), I've come to realize that it is more my problem than his. He embodies joy. That is a gift to those who receive it. And if it bothers someone on the way, that is their problem.

Now only a vestige of my pride remains. I recognize it in this clip of Reid cutting loose at a recent Banding Together coffeehouse concert. He's the one--the only one--on the dance floor doing aerial 360's. I am one feigning nonchalance in the black and white raincoat. Who's the woman dancing with him unabashedly? That is Malvina. Thank you Lord for friends who have more love than pride . . . who dole it out liberally all over everybody . . . who don't squelch his exuberance. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:9-10

The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. Psalm 28:6-8

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:7-9

Contribute an Essay

"How do you do it?"

Have you been asked that question?

Many of us are accustomed to fielding the question, "How do you do it?" either from long-time friends in prayer or innocent bystanders in line at the pharmacy, in a clinic waiting room, after an IEP meeting, on the church patio or at a school assembly.

As many times as I've heard it, I have not formulated a very succinct response. Most often I stammer in a mixed emotional stew of flattery, embarrassment, pressure and humility. So much depends on who's asking. What is there interest? Do they have time for the answer? Is it personally relevant? Inquiring for a relative on the spectrum? Or are they just as tongue-tied in shock, dismay, and pity? Is it something nice to say when "Your kids are so well behaved" doesn't apply? A euphemistic alternative to, "what a little terror" or "what's up with your hair?"

What if we told them? What if some joyful moms like my fellow bloggers and friends at the Autism File photo shoot gave words to what's behind those beaming smiles? What if we printed your 500 words or less answers and distributed them to people who want to know? People who are in the same boat and need a paddle.

Here's your chance. Consider this a Request for Essay Submissions answering the question: "How do you do it (with a smile)?"

I will post selected entries here as guest posts. I will also choose 10 of the responses at a time and compile them into a simple, handmade book for distribution (5x7 staple bound).

Think of it as an over-sized, special interest tract that we will distribute at our fall Concert of Prayer, the Walk Now for Autism event in San Diego, and around town to those who ask!

If your essay is selected, you will receive a supply of booklets to distribute in your town at church, school, support group...and local pharmacy!! I also plan to make them available to Joni and Friends, The Gray Center and Future Horizons.

I better get busy on my response...and can't wait to read yours. NPR's This I Believe site offers some good essay writing tips. Feel free to forward this link to other moms, dads, or full-time caregivers you know who have a witness and like to write.


Contribute an Essay

How do you do it with a smile?

"It" = raise a child with special needs

500 words or less

Deadline: July 31

Please submit entries to andreamoriarty@mac.com.


Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. Joel 1:2-4


Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect 1 Peter 3:14-16


Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord." 1 Corinthians 1:30-31


photo credits: comecleanclothing.com, www.loc.gov/exhibits/religion/f0709s.jpg

We Did It!

What a day! What an hour! What a group! Six mothers in the San Diego area, acquainted through their children's autism, congregated at the beach. Inspired by Autism File magazine's example and challenge, we each grabbed a friend in order to stage a photo shoot in our city.

Along with hundreds of moms around the world, we were psyched to celebrate and document our camaraderie, triumph over adversity, strength in numbers, love that moves mountains, and our kids abilities and accomplishments.

Have you ever met a new friend who was not a stranger? Among the six of us, many were meeting for the first (or second) time. No matter. Our invisible tattoos matched! All of us had made similar choices, seen beauty in the same light, endured related pangs, been patient for healing, and bear the same badge with pride. Without much explicit sharing or rolling up of any sleeves, we knew each other's life stories--in large part. Amazingly, as the photos illustrate, we left the beach having formed a sisterhood. Women are amazing creatures. And adversity is an amazing bonding agent. Autism is like Krazy Glue.


Look with me through the 3-D super sonic, invisible, tattoo-seeing, infrared glasses to appreciate that one of these women has been widowed for more than a decade, one lives in chronic pain, two have two boys on the spectrum, one has a son in a group home, three have homeschooled, one currently homeschools, one has a daughter on the spectrum, one is in the military, and one adopted twins (ok that one's easy). What I love about the video is the joy that shines through it all like the sun through our San Diego marine layer in the morning along the coast. It's as if the friction of life has caused the glow of each soul to burn brighter.

Autism mums can be a diverse lot. Some are angry, some are militant, some are bitter, some are divorced, some depressed. And yet, some glow. This group of women amazed me as, unbeknownst to even us, we sounded a common chord last Sunday: we don't want pity; we are so blessed; we want to stand up and be counted. As if after a good stair work-out (I've heard), we are pumped with endorphins saying, Feel the burn!



A friend loves at all times, and a (sister) is born for adversity. Proverbs 17:16-18


So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Matthew 28:7-9


They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:9-10

Tragically Funny

I have just discovered a new blog, Mama on the Edge. Mama Mara is hilarious and gut wrenchingly honest. I laugh until my eyes water at posts like The L Word at our House is Lithium and Anatomy of a Morning. The brutal reality of them convinces me on some days, that I am not alone, and on others, that it could be worse. I'm a little taken aback actually. What is it about tragic comedy that appeals? Is it just me?

Laughter is good medicine, all agree. Mara gives me a channel to tune into for a healthy release. I had a morning like hers where Reid and I were in a total stalemate while the bus honked at the curb. The internal pressure and helplessness of not being able to control his actions--namely, get him dressed and on the bus--has to go somewhere. Better to come out in laughter than in anger. It has been said, and regrettably, I can vouch that the worst kind of violence stems from helplessness. I just don't feel at liberty to express my rawest feelings. Inhibited am I. Mama Mara does it for me. She is an online surrogate where we can all do a little corporate ranting.

Laughter, especially at ourselves, releases us from all sorts of paralysis--pride, control and pure tension. Of course, if we're not laughing then we're crying. And that is way more debilitating and unattractive.

In Chicago, my personal year in the desert, Reid was diagnosed and my husband was gone Monday through Friday on business in San Francisco. Mind you, we had just moved from California for a job that was too good to refuse. In less than a month, he was basically commuting back there by plane, while I remodeled and listened to people ruin my life by speculating what was "wrong" with my precious toddler--out loud in front of my other precious toddler! Go figure. (I'm grateful it was not 40 years.)

I would alternate between crying myself to sleep on the couch and watching Mary Tyler Moore for solace. You get the connection? Picture Mary pitching that blasted package of meat in the proverbial basket. (I know it was a grocery cart.). Her undying optimism couched in cynicism and satire, made me laugh. Everybody sing, "We're gonna make it after all...du do dewt do...dute."

One of my favorite books is about a woman fairly trapped in the 50's with 10 kids, no car, and an alcoholic, abusive husband. Sounds like a masochistic tragedy until you read the book, The Prize Winner from Defiance Ohio: How My Mother Raised 10 Kids on 24 Words or Less. Written by one of the 10 kids, it is the funniest book I've ever, made all the better 'cause it's true! The mom, Evelyn Ryan, is a prototype of modern day mommy bloggers, maybe specifically, autism mommy bloggers. Her creativity, wit, and writing acumen lift her out of impending doom. She cranks out fabulous advertising jingles, enters them in the popular contests of the day and wins! She wins BIG, to the tune of paying off the mortgage and putting kids through college. It is a tragicomedy filled with redemption, love, and hope. As always, the movie doesn't do the book justice.



Is there a tragicomedy in the Bible? Job is tragic but I'm not sure how funny he is. Reading Job makes most of us realize we have it pretty good (no leprosy, multiple family deaths, loss of livelihood). His lifetime of belief offers principles on how to get through the difficulties we all face in life--some for days, others for years at a time. Beyond Job, the Bible is laced with humor, real true grit, and way more hope than Mary Tyler Moore. God still considers David a man after His own heart, despite an affair on his roof and the arranged murder of the woman's husband (2 Samuel 11). Saul is taking a leak in a cave--do we need to know this?--when David cuts apiece of his robe but doesn't kill him as easy bait ( 1 Samuel 24). Sarah laughs in God's face (Genesis 18 ) to learn she is pregnant at age 90! Now, that's tragically funny.



A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones. Proverbs 17:21-23


Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing the testing of your faith produces endurance. James 1:1-3


He makes the barren woman abide in the house as a joyful mother of children. Psalm 113:8-9

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