Robotic Woman

Hello, I'm a Mac. A MacBook Pro to be exact. Macs have a host of cool features that PCs don't, like the Robotic Woman. Every hour, on the hour, she quietly tells me, "It's 3 o'clock", "It's 4 o'clock" ECT.  At first, I thought she was pleasant, helpful, keeping me on track. Isn't it surprisingly kind that someone would care enough to give me the time and I didn't even have to ask?

Now that the holidays are here, now that I'm so busy with work that I'm drowning in it, now that my eyes are burning at night from exhaustion, she taunts me. "It's 9 o'clock" she just whispered, reminding me that it's getting late, and I'm still editing. "It's 9 o'clock" she calls out, reminding me that I haven't folded the clothes, and that they're quickly wrinkling in the hamper. "It's 9 o'clock" she screams, torturing me with a million things that I intended to do today, but didn't.

Guess what?! It's 9 o'clock and today I dragged my butt out of bed at 6:00am to make myself look decent, I lead worship at two SCC services, went to lunch with my family, cuddled in bed and read with my kids for an hour while the slight drizzle and chilly air kept us inside, finished editing a session, started another one, put in three print orders, picked up the house, called my Grandma June, bathed two wiggly kiddos, read in bed again, and sent my Husband happily off to poker night.

Booya, Robotic Woman.

While I Edit....

I'm editing.

Every night.

It's beginning to exhaust me.

My image files are huge, so while they take 2 minutes (each) to save, I'll write. Last weekend I sat around a huge table and listened to 7 other Moms (and a few Dads!) share about their Autistic children. Aden is about to start receiving in home ABA therapy, and we (we-meaning whichever one of us can make it) have to attend three Saturdays of parents training. The training was incredibly mind numbing (I basically consider myself an Autism expert at this point) but the stories were riveting, heart breaking. I've made it a bit of a habit to cry in front of total strangers. Long gone are the days when I could pretend everything was perfect, or even fine. Nothing is perfect, and some days aren't fine, some days are horrible.

I did a lot of listening on this particular Saturday. A year ago, Aden was a different child. Today, he is very high functioning. He's extremely verbal, and he expresses love. These parents have children who do not speak. 12 year olds that do not speak. 5 year olds in diapers. They use double barrel locks on all of their doors to keep their kids inside. One little girl will try to rip your shirt off if it's blue. Blue is her favorite color. She will drag a chair out into the yard and spin on it, staring at the sky for hours. Another little boy will eat anything. Anything. Leaves, paper, toys, clothes. These parents talked about the years that it took for them to convince their pediatrician that they needed a referral for testing. These parents are dying inside because they can't help their children.

Autism is not a Developmental Disorder (shame on you, school districts). It is not a Psychological Disorder (shame on you, Psychologists).

Autism is a NEUROLOGICAL Disorder. Specifically, a NEUROTOXIC Disorder. Our children's brains have been poisoned, and each child's poison is manifested differently, with varying levels of severity. Some children are born with a weakened immune system. When we are pregnant, we expose out babies to toxins. We have ultrasounds, and a flu shot, or take medication to stop our pre-term labor. There is no way to know your child's immune strength in advance. Then we immunize them when they are born. Then we spray for bugs, then we put delicious smelling lotion on their bodies, then we feed them baby food from a jar instead of making or own with organic produce, then we microwave their bottle, then we immunize them again, then we brush their teeth with toothpaste full of fluoride, then we clean the house with chemical cleaners, then we give them an antibiotic because they have another ear ache, then we see a rash, then we put more delicious smelling lotion on, then they have diarrhea, then the DR says, "it's from the antibiotics" because the DR is ignorant and doesn't see that the rash is caused by an over growth of yeast in your baby's gut that is caused by too many antibiotics. The your baby slowly become pale because the yeast is eating holes in his gut and he is leaking out all of his nutrients. Then you immunize him again, and you think that he may die from it because he's so ill that he can't lift his little blond head up. Then you take him to urgent care twice and back to the DR twice and beg them to make him better. Then NO ONE will write in his chart that he is having a reaction to his MMR and you want to SCREAM. Then you think he is getting better because he is running around and playing once more, but he isn't getting better. The poison is spreading. He starts repeating your words, obsessively. He is obsessed with his routines and the way things look. He opens and closes doors until you force him to stop. He stares at lights and out windows. His body is still with you but he is gone, somewhere far away. You clap your hands to bring him back. He lines up his cars. He lines up his blocks. He lines up his animals. He lines up his entire life because he can't tell you that his brain is falling apart. You have no idea. Then someone slaps a label on him. Then you ask your pediatrician what you can do medically that will help him and he says, "NOTHING". Then you...

Then you...

Then you...

Then you...

Then you....want to die....because someone has told you that you can't help your son.

This is Autism.

Then you pick yourself back up and fight. It's a long road, but a year later, it was the right road to follow.

Much to Catch Up On...Not enough Coffee To Get It All Out

Yes, yes, yes....I'm a bad blogger. I'm supposed to be writing about "Every Little Thing" in an effort to document my family's life. The truth is, business is booming and if I'm on the computer, I'm editing, or Facebooking client's images, or blogging about them here. I assume that in January, this madness will end, and blogging will resume.

I'm beginning to love parent/teacher conferences. Aden's teacher made me cry yesterday as she went on and on about how smart, sweet and loving he is. Of course as his mother, I already know all of this, but it's nice to hear that other people agree with me (as they should). She's going to start supplementing him with kindergarten materials, she said that she has nothing left to teach him. He's supposed to repeat pre-k again next year so that his age will line up with the other children's age. (he's very young for pre-k). We'll see how well pre-k year 2 goes.

"The only thing we need to work on is his eye contact and interaction with his friends, which is greatly improving".

Ya...eye contact shmy contact. 

I used to worry about things like eye contact. I used to have an internal freak out when he would talk to me and stare at my shoes. Last year at this time, he would repeat everything I said. Now he says things like, "Wow, that sure is sour!" and "Daddy, how was your day today?" and...

"Mommy, I love you so much, you're my best friend."

Ya...eye contact shmy contact.

This is why I love living in the desert. My sometimes-assistant (otherwise known as my little brother) and I were setting up for a shoot in the middle of nowhere this weekend, and we turn around to see the sky like this. Within 5 minutes, the magic was gone, but for a short while, we got to bask in the glory of something amazing, something so much bigger than ourselves, God rocked the sky.

My little girl is almost 3. She's potty trained. She's feisty. She's beautiful. She deserves her own post....coming soon.

Twitch...twitch....twitch twitch twitch....

Wednesdays are good. Wednesdays are soul-filling, help you get through the end of the week kind of good. I have Mom2Mom at church, and the housekeeper comes. 2 blessed hours of uninterrupted Mommy bonding, coffee drinking, speaker hearing sweetness, and when we come home, the blessed housekeeper is gone. Clean, organized, oh-how-I-love-you Wednesdays! On this particular Wednesday (yesterday) I opened my exhausted eyes, and felt a little twitch. In the shower, another twitch. All through Mom2Mom my left eye kept twitching. It's been over 24 hours and my eye is consistently twitching. I decided to research this irritation and here are the causes taken from www.EyeCareBasics.com....

• Fatigue or lack of sleep (check)
• Over consumption of caffeine (check)
• Physical or emotional stress (check)
• Anxiety or phobias (umm bees, anyone?!)
• Brain damage or other neurological disorders (nope)
• Associated with temper tantrums (especially in children) (<---------my daughter, anyone?!)
• Eye stress associated with extended viewing of the computer screen (editing for hours, anyone?!)
• Epilepsy (nope)

So basically I need to sleep more, drink less coffee, stop stressing about work, get over my fear of ANYTHING that flies, get my daughter to stop throwing hour long fits and stop staring at the computer....

I had better get used to this twitch...

The Last Frame

Here it is. Not focused, unaware, unassuming, unprepared for what was to happen, the second our shoot changed. The last frame.

I don't want to see it, but I can't stop staring at it. Some times, when it's quiet and I actually have a moment to think, I think that I should have known. I should have been more careful. I'm not superwoman, things can hurt me, hurt the people I love. Things can go wrong. I should have known.

The Good Part of the Aftermath

I had the most beautiful drive on my way to work on Saturday. I was shooting a wedding in Topanga Canyon, near Malibu. Here I am, blond hair everywhere, driving down CA HWY 1, waves crashing about, dense and salty air pouring through the car, with German opera blaring through the speakers. Here I am, singing and spitting (German opera, people, a bit of spit is required) at the top of my lungs, and I didn't care. People thought I was nuts, people stared, I didn't care, and it was glorious. I thrive off of creative, sporadic and fleeting moments like this. All too soon, the German opera was over, and on came something in Spanish. I can't sing in Spanish...

It was overwhelmingly fitting that most of the songs at church this morning were about being alive. "It's all because of Jesus I'm alive". I stood in the dark next to Holly, glancing at her occasionally, watching her try to keep it together, to not let her tears actually fall. If they fell, then she would be crying, she doesn't like to cry. I've seen her cry more this last week than I have since I've known her, which has been since we were 17. I dropped Ava off in her classroom, and Tyler was waiting for her with a warm smile. I wanted to scoop him up and squeeze his safe and healthy little body. He was not having it....I suppose he didn't get the "Hey Buddy, we were in a totally terrorizing, horrifying, scar you for life, freakish incident and now we all love each other a whole lot more than we did the day before" memo.

Since the bee attack (yes, the attack), I've come to find that I'm so much more in love with my God, my husband, my kids, and my life. Today we went to the mall after church. We ate greasy food court pizza, and shopped for a suit...Hubby's dressing up for a friend's wedding. A night away for us is in the very near future, thank you Jason and Melanie, for getting married and giving us a great excuse to get away! Thick, juicy, savor-every-last-drop life.

There were so many times when the responsibilities of my family and my growing business would overwhelm me....not anymore. I've hired a housekeeper, she starts on Wednesday. I dated my husband this week. Dinner AND a movie...it was divine and intoxicating, not just because of a delicious glass of Pino Noir at dinner, but because of us. US. We've still got it, and it's good. A few days ago, he told me that it felt "new". I've let that slowly sink in over these past 4 days. It's been 7 years, and he feels like it's new....deliriously intoxicating.

The Aftermath isn't all good, though. It isn't all love and children and wine and a clean house. There are fears, phobias, if you will. I know that these will not soon ease, we'll address them later I suppose. I may need more Pino Noir to write about that....it's still too fresh and new.

Our Story: My Side

(If you've just stumbled upon my blog, read the post just below this one first)

Part 2

One frame. The last frame from our shoot haunts me. I didn't want to import it, if I did, then this all really did happen. I've debated posting it, I don't know how Holly would react to seeing it. It's the exact second that our shoot changed. The exact second that her worst fear came true, the moment that defined who we are as Mommies. Fight or flight.

"Click" said the shutter within my camera. One frame.

This all happened so quickly, at first I didn't remember it all. It was like a giant blur. Over the past 2 days, it's come back. Little glimpses into a living nightmare, seemingly never ending. I hear new words that were cried, new sounds, new muscles are a little more sore each day. I think that God has slowly revealed what He knows we can each handle on a daily basis...

Tyler was covering his eyes, hiding from something, something flying. I had time to take one step toward him (I was about 4 steps away) and bat away what I assumed was a gnat in his face. That's when I heard Holly cry out.

"Katie they're all over me, they're all over me!"

I run to her as she jumps about, I can now see bees all over her sweater. Tyler follows. I grab Landon from her wavering arms and hit a bee off of his back. Holly tears off her sweater. That's when I felt the first one.

Sting. My right side near my ribs.

Tyler begins to scream, they've found him. Holly frantically starts hitting at his jeans.

Sting. My left shoulder.

Sting. My left hip, through my shirt.

I let out a scream each time one gets me. Landon screams. Tyler screams. Holly screams.

We know that no ones can hear us. No one is coming. No one will come. No one can save us, all we can do is run.

I hooked Landon in my arms, somehow my camera strap wound up wrapped around his trunk. I know that it helped him stay in my arms.

"Holly stop, just run! HOLLY RUN!"

I turned to look at her as I took off down the long and winding path back to the street. She was crouched down hitting at Tyler's jeans. I could see through the swarm was was following me, and I could see the swarm that was surrounding them. I could see her flinch as they stung her. She looked up at me with terror in her eyes as I ran from her. I knew that she was desperate for my help. They were attacking her, her baby. They were attacking me. I knew that I couldn't turn back for them. I knew the bees had Tyler, I couldn't let them have Landon too. I saw her pick Ty up and begin to run. I didn't look back again. I took her baby and ran...

I've tried to be a runner. I have great running shoes, and an iPod full of great music, even a great small group that meets 3 times a week to run. To me, though, running isn't great. I can't do it. I don't enjoy "feeling the burn". My heart is weary after about 45 seconds, I just prefer yoga. In these 3 or 4 minutes of running, I wished I had stayed in that small group.

I held Landon across my chest and ran past the wheat field. He cried. I couldn't be gentle. I couldn't soothe him, or sing to him, or tell him that it was all going to be alright. I didn't know if it would be. The sound of my dirty, black converse hitting the path was punctuated by screams. My screams. "Help!" I cried out, I could hear the echo of my voice coming back at me. No one was coming to help us. "HELP!" Landon grunted every time I stepped into an uneven spot in the path, and jostled him around more than he had become accustomed to.

Sting. My left side, through my shirt.

Sting. My left side, through my shirt.

Sting. My left side, through my shirt.

Sting. My left side, through my shirt.

I couldn't swat the bees off of my body, I couldn't drop the baby. I ran, they followed, they stung. We ran past the pumpkin patch.

Sting. My right shoulder.

Sting, my right wrist.

Eventually, Landon stopped crying. He used what energy he had left to grunt. Each time I let out another scream, he let out a whimper. When we hit the apple orchard, I could see a few cars parked on the street. We were almost there. Someone would kill the bees that were left on me, if any. Someone would call 911. I just knew that a strong and brave man would run up into the orchard and take Tyler, carrying him quickly to a safe place. That didn't happen.

Once I reached the fence, I sat Landon up in my arms and threw my camera at a sweet old man. I ran across the street and to the car, looking Landon over. I turned and saw Holly carrying Tyler like a baby in her arms, his pants around his ankles. I threw Landon in his car seat, he wasn't crying. He was safe. The baby was safe. I cried out to her "Do I need to call 911?!". She didn't know. No one knew what Tyler would look like once we got him undressed. When she got to the car, we pulled off his shoes and pants. There were still bees in the folds of his pants. I hit at them. I knocked them to the street. I stomped on them so hard that I could feel the bones of my feet aching. Once both boys were safely in the car, I stripped my shirt off, and Holly and I frantically searched each other for more bees. They were gone. We jumped in the car, and drove. We didn't cry, we didn't know what to say. We drank water. We stopped at Walgreens for Benedryl gel. We were swollen, everywhere. We were short of breath, wheezing, coughing, reacting. We were in awe. We had been protected. No one was there to save us, except our God. 30 Minutes into our drive, there was a bee crawling up the window next to my head. It was never ending. The anxiety was palpable.

Between the 4 of us, we were stung about 25-30 times. Tyler was stung twice, Landon was stung once. Miracle. Holly's boys were fine, it was a miracle.

Tyler and Landon's shoot was a "hold in your hands, God was with us, God saved us" kind of miracle. It has changed me, forever. My God....is amazing. I am in awe. I will never doubt Him, I know that He is there when all I can do is cry out to Him...He heard me.