Sunset Dreams and Coffee Cup Wishes
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  • A Dab of This...

A Force to be Reckoned With

4/30/2016

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     From the moment he drew his first breath, my older son Jonathan proved he was a fighter...the definition of tenacity.  Forty-eight hours of non-productive labor was beginning to take its toll on both me and my child; I was losing strength and his heart rate was sporadic. But still, he kicked angrily through the womb at the fetal monitor encircling my body and constricting his playroom. 
     My nurse laughed and shook her head every time she had to reposition the belt. "That kid's a wild child. He'll be a force to be reckoned with."  No one knew how true her words would be.
     As a result of the hard labor and bad reaction to the labor-inducing drugs, Jonathan was stricken with a seizure disorder at the age of two years. And he had delays. Simple things like holding a crayon or speaking short sentences was something my precious angel couldn't manage. But always with a smile on his chubby face, Jonathan would take the crayon from my hand, and in an almost painful manner, make a few marks on the page, Staying inside the lines didn't matter--we both celebrated each colorful scribble as if it were done by Picasso.
     Jonathan received occupational/speech therapy when he attended pre-school, and every report from the therapists were the same. My child would sometimes get frustrated with what was asked of him, but never gave up. 
     Through the years, fingers that found it difficult to manipulate scissors  handled a camera with the skill of a seasoned pro and won Jonathan the honor of being an award-winning photographer. Faltering words was replaced with a quiet speech pattern that won my child district speech contests in 4H.
      As a teen, rather than being entranced by the electronic hum of video games, Jonathan placed his insecurities aside and joined my husband and I in assisting in various community-based charity events.
     Our family's world crumbled when my younger son Joseph was diagnosed with autism. Time and energies were spent find appropriate resources, and for a while, Jonathan was almost forgotten. Still, he made it his personal goal to educate people about the disorder and advocate for his brother. 
     "Someone was my voice when I  had none, so it's my turn to pay the favor forward," he always explains.
     Yes, years ago the nurse was correct when she said my child would be a "force to be reckoned with." I couldn't be prouder.


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Thirsting for adventure

4/11/2016

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     I’ve always had a taste for adventure. My joy, when I was ten years old, was to catch one of my horses in the pasture and in one fluid motion jump onto their back. I loved the feel of their hair, slick and shiny after months of concealment under winter coats, warmed by the sun, smooth as satin beneath my bare legs.
     Yelling, I sent my mount off at gallop with nothing for control or guidance—that’s right…no bridle. The tall prairie grasses whipped my calves as we raced across the sunbaked ground, as if punishing me for my recklessness. At that age I didn’t worry about the dangers that loomed. Truth is, I didn’t care. I was tasting excitement and loving it. I had adventure that is, until my grandmother stepped out onto her back porch one afternoon and witnessed my indulgence.
     I never saw her look so serious as made me promise not to embark on any more adventures that were so obviously reckless and selfish. And she sealed the deal by uttering four words every child wants to hear “I won’t tell Mama.” And let’s face it, seeing my seventy-year-old, prairie skirt-wearing grandmother hurdle a three board-high fence and run toward me, arms flailing like a scarecrow in a windstorm, wasn’t a sight I wanted to see again
     Now, I have different adventures as a parent. There have been times when my younger son (angry because he couldn’t get his way) has announced in Costco that I was “having fainting spell” and would “go home with anyone who had a bed.” In the same time span he asked if I planned to cook chicken for supper. Hmm…I guess the offer to be rid of me came with restrictions. And there was time that the same child announced to our grocery store’s door greeter that I planned to keep my pants on so the meat wouldn’t become rancid.
     My older son is subtler. Born with my snarky sense of humor, Jonathan once dressed the family dog in my rattiest underwear and encouraged it to model the attire for company—our new neighbors, a prudish couple by the names of Tomi and Paul. The next day I found a gift card for a local boutique shoved in my mailbox.  Of course Tomi, red-faced with embarrassment over the suggestion, denied doing it. But I had my doubts. A pup wearing undies with the words “Red Hot Mama” on the rump is enough to make even the most straight-laced person take action.
Yes, parenting is an adventure, sometimes containing more dangers and snares than riding a half-wild, bridleless horse, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

What's your most humorous adventure moment?

Honoring the adventures of parenting, I will be giving away one (1) prize consisting of a signed copy of my book and a necklace set. Check out Rafflecopter below to enter.

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a Rafflecopter giveaway
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La vita e bella

4/2/2016

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A couple of weeks ago I was honored to be a guest on the George Wilder Jr. show, and during the course of our conversation we discussed several topics, including autism.

The show was a joy to be on, George is a great host, but I was caught flat-footed when he asked me to read an excerpt from The Toilet's Overflowing and the Dog is Wearing My Underwear.  Yep, I wasn't prepared--I missed that lesson when I was a girl scout.

So, in honor of National Autism Awareness Day, I thought I'd share a story from the book that also originally appeared in Mothers Always Write.


LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL, EVEN WHEN IT'S A ROLLER COASTER

  “Bless your heart, you‘re burdened,” is usually the comment from strangers to me after my twelve-year-old son, Joseph, has a meltdown. In the past, I almost fell over myself in my haste to offer an embarrassed apology and scoot away from what seemed like a throng of people as quickly as possible.
     Now an older and wiser me, with teeth gritted, smiles and offers an explanation for Joseph’s actions–he has autism, and something in his surroundings has over-stimulated him, thus the meltdown. Like an infomercial host, I explain ASD–what it is, symptoms, and how things in our environment might affect someone with autism. Sometimes, that’s followed by a sad look from the other person, and they mutter, “My, my…you didn’t ask for that, did you?”
     In those circumstances, I bite my lip to keep sarcastic, almost hysterical laughter at bay. The stranger meant well. She was offering compassion, something often lacking in our society. But no, I didn’t ask for my child, my heart, to have a neurological disorder.
     Having a child on the autism spectrum is comparable to a roller-coaster ride. There are the up moments. Like when your child says for the first time “Mama, I love you,” and you’ve waited seven years to hear it because he’s been almost completely non-verbal. Or countless hours of teaching and tears (because there doesn‘t seem to be comprehension), trying to get him to kick versus dribble the soccer ball into the net. But at the state Special Olympic games he kicks it in on the very first try.
      Then there are the times when you’re at a restaurant, and your child is having a screaming, kicking fit because the waiter cut the burger in half, and Junior never eats his burger cut in half (kids on the spectrum like routine). Every eye (it seems) is focused on your family, and you wish you could crawl into that darn sandwich and hide from the world.
But, this has been a journey of learning for me. I have discovered how to look past physical appearances and abilities and see people’s determination and beauty within. Though I’m a perpetual work in progress, I have been a scholar of lowering the walls, practicing empathy, moving past emotional scars, and loving with my whole heart.
     And Joseph has become my biggest teacher. He has taught me to appreciate the smaller things in life: the majesty of the sun setting on the hills; the magic in a bird’s song; delicious aromas of the earth as it awakens in the mornings. Nothing is to be taken for granted, especially the sweet, sing-song chant of a child’s conversation.
     One Saturday, Joseph walked into the living room and watched as I danced to “Uptown Funk.” Wordlessly, he stepped in front of me and began stomping in time to the music–an accomplishment for someone on the Autism spectrum. Tears clouded my vision. I was grateful when the song ended because I have all the grace of an ostrich on ice and I wasn’t prepared to spend Saturday morning in the emergency room.
     Joseph chewed his finger as he studied me. “La vita e bella, Mama?” he questioned, reading the front of my shirt.
     “Yes Joseph, La vita e bella. It means ‘Life is beautiful.’”
     And it is, even when it’s a roller coaster ride of emotions.
 
First appeared in Mothers Always Write e-zine (07/2015).
 
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    A little info about me...

     Award-winning  author (and sometimes illustrator) Debbie Roppolo grew up in the Blackland Prairie region of Texas, where miles of grassland and her horse stimulated very imaginative adventures and served as writing fodder for later years. She had to do something with those memories; having tea parties with chickens was too good to keep to herself.

         She has written for several of the Chicken Soup books in addition to various magazines and newspapers. Her children’s book titles include: Amelia Frump and her Peanut Butter-Loving, Overactive Imagination; Amelia Frump…is Cooking Up a Peanut Butter Storm (award-winning activity/cookbook);  and He’s My Brother.

          Shortly after beginning her own family, Roppolo discovered the reason why her mother turned prematurely gray, and that a cell phone, toilets and toddler make a poor combination. Rather than sitting in a corner, whimpering, and eating her weight in chocolate, Roppolo wrote her first parenting humor book, The Toilet is Overflowing and the Dog is Wearing My Underwear, that was based on her family’s antics. 

          After her younger son was diagnosed with autism, Roppolo and her husband co-founded Central Texas Autism Network, a network for persons who may have a relative or friend diagnosed with Autism, or professional that may deal with Autistic persons. She serves as an advocate for people with autism through her writing, by speaking to groups, and spreading awareness as various health-related functions.

         Cooking is her second passion, and Roppolo holds the honor of being an eight-time award-winning baker.

         Married for over twenty-four years, she resides in the Texas Hill Country with her husband and two children.

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