Weekend Grateful: Are we, yes?

To be honest I was tempted to link up my FYBF post from Friday, as in reality it sums up one of my big reasons to be grateful one, two, three.

But then in fear of the wrath of Maxabella, and knowing there is more to it, I decided to post a separate Weekend Grateful.

I have much to be grateful for in my life, and the more I look around at what others face, the more I realise just how much. Think I'll take a leaf out of Ms Maxi's book and make a list for you all to sit and go "Awwwwww" at, m'kay?



Melbourne Cup 2011

1. I have a wonderful husband, Big Boy. Many around us are going through hard times in their relationships for many reasons, many a night we sit on our lounge and ponder. I guess one of the main things we talk about is how very lucky we are to have each other and to agree on so much. Don't get me wrong, we are not perfect and we argue, and there are times I want to bury him in the lime pit under the avocado tree... oh, did I say that out loud? Whoops. Okay, we are human but when it comes to the big stuff we are two peas in a pod.  You can vomit now. 



Madmother house 2011

2. We live in a beautiful part of the world, in a lovely home, hidden away from the world at large. And we are lucky enough to own our property in these times of financial hardship. Alright, the bank shares in owning it but you get what I mean.

Boys Sept 2011

3. Kids. Our kids. What can I say? They are intelligent, handsome, quirky, unique, frustrating, boundary-pushing, wonderful boys. We have the most amazing conversations, and when I say they make my brain hurt I am not kidding! Surely I didn't do this to my parents? I didn't query the world and question the big things? Did I? Oh. That's right. I did. Payback is a bitch.

Me and one of my besties 2011

4. Our friends. So very, very many incredible, loyal, fun, special people in our life. In fact, so many that we never seem to have enough time to be with them! And the circle is growing and growing as we get to know their friends and the friends of friends!

Party time

Home - right here, right now!

5. Life opportunities. One door closes, another opens. Life is change and change is good. Most of the time. Says a woman who hates change. Meh.

I could keep going but I'm not going to. Instead I am going to go cook bacon and eggs for my three fantastic boys, after which we are tackling the Dr Who Board game before going outside to garden and have some fun.

Toodles!

What are you Grateful for? Go, join in the fun... it is good to sit and look at the good in your life sometimes.

Life is Unfair.

I have a Billy Joel song playing again and again on an endless loop in my head. Only the good die young.

It is a strangely upbeat song for someone sinking into the darkness.

These are the lyrics which echo in my mind after hearing Big Boy's words when I rang him with the news... "Why do the nice people in this world suffer these tragedies and trials, yet the toxic nasty ones go forth without nary a ripple of discomfort?"

We have been friends for over twenty years, I can even pinpoint the date we met. 8/8/1988 - the day I began work at a large investment insurance company. Even through divorce, distance and life's ever changing cycle of demands we have always remained friends. We talk weekly. She and her husband flew in for my 45th bash a few years back. We have shared laughter, tears, anger and sadness. We have had drunken nights, saved kittens under cars, danced at each others wedding.

Friends. The genuine thing.

Today I received a text. In February they diagnosed her with a type of pre-leukaemia with a name so big I could not begin to pronounce it. It was the day she was due to have her large bowel removed after many years of issues. They did not go ahead, obviously. And in the months that have flown by my words of frustration and anger at the lack of action or treatment whilst the medical big wigs pondered this medical dilemma which is my friend, have echoed down the phone line.

"Do you want me to fly in? I am good at kicking medical butt after Wise Woman's fiascos."

"Not yet, I'll tell you if I need you."

"You sure?"

"Yep. For Now. You can be my secret weapon."

"Or your loose cannon, heheheh."

"That too."

Finally they decided to go ahead with her op... but today I received the text.

"It has developed into acute leukaemia. Op off, chemo starting next week."

I have a huge solid knot of fear pitted in my stomach. My gut instinct is sending huge red pulses of angst through out my soul. Those fucking idiots - they had caught it so damn early and yet failed to act. Now I am scared it is too late. I am terrified we will lose her. I am helpless, frustrated and angry.

And if I am feeling this way, how in hell must my gorgeous girl feel?

For God's sake, her girls are only so very young. She is a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend. This is not right. It is so very wrong.

Only the good die young, and she is pure goodness to her very core. Please let it not be so this time, please, please, please...

The Night We Met

And no, I am not stealing Nadine's story - but go check it out. Our local publishing house and author claim to fame...

This is the story of how Big Boy and I  well, became Big Boy and I. Thanks Bern - but mine is probably a little long and convoluted to put in a comment.

1993, a fine year for romance... or maybe not. The first quarter of this year I was backpacking around America, Mexico and Canada. The previous year I had completed six months in Europe doing the same. I arrived back in Oz in March, just in time to walk into a local pub to surprise one of my besties for her birthday. Little did I know this date was going to be important for the rest of my life. Not that I met HIM that night, but it will become clear later.

March was also the month I attended the first of two weddings. Coming down from the high of nearly a year overseas I did what any self-respecting party person would do when trying to settle back in to reality, I picked up the best man. Not that he was the best man, he was more of a young, fit and hot you'll do for now cause I'm bored sort of man. Did I mention young? I was 29, he was 22.

I was living back in my country home town, intent on spending time with family. He was a part time distraction to keep the insanity away. After the bright lights of many fine cities and intense experiences, returning to my childhood haven was a little like watching flies stuck on drying paint. A zzz-zz every now and then and not much in between.

Roll around June, and the next wedding. This one was in Newcastle, a couple of hours drive away. The bride had already drilled me on the "hot" best man, and being the ornery beast I am, I had told her in no uncertain terms: "Not interested!"
"Madmother, you are nearly 30, don't you think it is time to give up the toy boys and meet a nice guy and settle down?"
"Ah no, I am quite happy with my not-nice hot guys and not settling anything, but thank you for thinking of me."

I was still happily bumping uglies with aforementioned toy boy and was seriously NOT INTERESTED (you can see where this is heading, right?).

Off I toddle to the Novocastrian Nuptuals, staying with a friend who lived in the area (no, not THAT sort of friend. A happily married mate and his wife and sister).

The wedding was fun BUT the wine was terrible! Remember, I am a broke newly returned backpacker without a brass razoo to buy drinks, especially ones priced by this large flash hotel. So I go the "other" option at the bar. Sweet Sherry.

You can imagine how messy that became rather quickly.

The BOY had been introduced to me at the church.  It was rather flattering the way his eyes had lit upon meeting me, but there was no way I was having a bar of it. And, I must admit, I had my eye on the MC. Every time the poor devil tried to talk to me at the reception I walked away, quickly.

But the Sherry intervened. As did the newly ex-wife of the MC who was also at the wedding!

By the time the bride announced an auction for the two groomsman I was feeling little pain. And barely noticed when I bid $2 (I was broke, remember? And the first bid was 50 cents so I was being generous) and she called an instant stop to the bidding and announced me the winner.

It was nearing the end of the ceremonies, and my two slaves, plus the MC and the ex all decided to party on at a nearby nightclub. Or two.

From that point Big Boy bought all my drinks, thus switching to my drink of choice; Southern Comfort. The MC and his ex got into a heated discussion at the bar.

Somehow BB and myself ended up pashing on the dance floor. I was feeling no pain. And he was hot. Even if he was a set up.

He walked me back to my car, which I was in no state to drive - and had no intention of driving - for more pashing. Car pashing.

I think he got my number pretty quick when I desperately needed to pee and walked up to the bushes on the side of the road, and squatted in the gutter - on one of the main streets of Newcastle. Hey - it was in the bushes and I was desperate!

We drove - or rather he drove back to the townhouse he was staying at with 4 other guys. I crashed on the lounge for a couple of hours (way too drunk for any hanky panky) and then snuck out before dawn.

Without leaving my number.

Yes, there is more to this story, but it can wait for another time. After all, 18 years, a wedding ring and two kids later we are still together.

Oh, and that date of my besties birthday? Well, guess who else was born on that date?

Weekend Grateful: Happy To Be Me.

After a week of wonderful blog finds, a little drama and some rewind therapy, today I am grateful to be me. Why? Well, after reading of some of the family history and ongoing issues I realised a couple of things. Firstly, I may be considered by some to be confrontational, I know there are people who think I'm a bitch.  But I like me. I am a strong, honest, outspoken woman who yes, can be blunt, but am proud of who I am. I stuff up at times, I am not some sort of perfect person. I get things wrong but do own my mistakes and apologise when wrong.

You want to know why I am happy to be me? Why I know and like myself? I was loved unconditionally, supported unequivically, and told that nothing was impossible if I worked hard. My family, my wonderful, loving, amazing family which continues through to the new generation. Through hard times and tragedy, always together, always there for each other. Ongoing with my husband and children. Live, life, love. Truly blessed. For this I am grateful. Always.

Oh, and if you want to know more about these wonderful people from my childhood, read about:

• Wise Woman
• Grumblebum
• Flame-Haired Hellraiser
• Yee-ha Grandma
• Monty

By following those links. As for Big Boy, Boy 1 and Boy 2, well there are so many posts I'll let you track those by searching those terms in my blog, lol.

Back to add another blog hop on the recommendation of Maxabella!

Blog Gems - First.

Today I have joined in to the Blog Gems linked hop for the first time.

Jump on over and join in. Great concept. I linked back to a year ago, Boy 1's twelth birthday. It is hard to believe I am now the mother of a teenager. And yes, he is still as wonderful if not more so. *Sigh*

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day for those who celebrate it. We do - every single day of our lives.

Sunday Sessions - Our Song.

Better late than never... Sunday Sessions at Thea's for Valentine's Day.


There is only one song, our song. The song we danced to at our wedding. The song that plays as his ringtone when he calls me. The song that comes on the radio exactly when I need to hear it.



The song that sums up our love. Big Boy, you are my soul mate, my life partner, my strength, my anchor and my rock. I love you. I will always love you.

Memoir Monday - The Ring

Here we are for another Memoir Monday on a Tuesday, yada, yada, yankee time difference, blah, blah, blah... oh, and Trav. I WAS here last week, where were you? Hmmmm? Bit hard having a Memoir Monday without the host, ya know.

Now, a little back I referred to my heartbreak over losing my ring. In that story I mentioned the importance of this engagement ring, not only for all it symbolises between Big Boy and I, but also because of the role Wise Woman played in the whole fiasco situation.

And so today my Memoir Monday is, as it says in the title of this post...

THE Ring.

I am sure I have mentioned my performance before, probably in one of those 10 things about yourself posts in the early days. Forgive me if I am repeating something you have already read.

We are going back, back through the years, back to the beginning of the Madmother & Big Boy clan. My wonderful soul mate has just proposed in a reasonably romantic manner, well romantic for the boy he was. Loving and knowing me well, he chose not to design THE RING prior to this proposition, choosing to avoid a madmother meltdown if her control freak ways were not catered to cater to his beloved's little endearing quirks of nature.

Now I will let you know I adore vintage and antique rings. In fact at that point I already owned three, left to me by my wonderful Yee-ha Grandma. So I knew pretty much the design I wanted. I even had an old Angus and Coote catalogue from the 1920's, again left to me by my beloved Grandma, from which I picked a design, or rather a blend of several of the designs within the pages. We went diamond shopping (yes, one of those brokers who specialise in stones alone and would only let you past the armed guards and the security locks if you knew the secret squirrel password and hush-hush handshake), and we went jeweller shopping. Now the first jeweller was situated in the glorious Strand Arcade.

Gorgeous, isn't it. Wise Woman tagged along as she was on holidays staying with us. And because I asked her (a woman of far more elegance and discerning taste than I will ever be). Off we toddle, meet up with Big Boy in his lunch break (looking mighty fine as a boy in a suit, I might add). Discussed design, showed them the various elements from the catalogue I wanted, received quote. Let's just say back then it would have served perfectly as the deposit on your first house. Holy crap! In their defence a lot of the cost was in re-creating the old moulds used to create such fine work on those rings. Well, that's what they told us anyway.

At this point I could quickly see my perfect ring fast becoming an unattainable dream, but we decided to go out to a more suburban shopping centre for another quote, just in case it was feasible.

Big Boy had to work (to earnt the $$$$ to pay for his delicate little petal's obsession desire), so Wise Woman and I went on a preliminary reconnaissance all by our lonesomes out to Eastgardens. Now, do remember back in them days it was not the massive centre it is today. Noooo. It was actually quite small by today's standards. There was a jeweller I had dealt with previously, and I was sure they could help. Off we trot, anticipation building as we ride the escalator up to the top where they were located.

To find them shut. A Jewish holiday apparently. No, I'm not Jewish and had no bloody idea they were. And so, Madmother threw a tanty. A pretty embarrassingly loud, large one according to my mum.

Now, Wise Woman had been dealing with Madmother for thirty-two years by this point. She may have been slender and elegant, but she was also a tough lady underneath that gentile exterior. Quick as a flash she grabbed my arm in a vicelike grip, hissed in my ear to grow up and stop behaving like a five year old, and she had spotted another jeweller at the bottom of the escalator. By this time I am in martyr mode and sniff disdainfully "Well, I am sure THEY will have nothing suitable for ME." But I have no choice in the matter as she maintains her hold and drags me back down to the store.

Well, you guessed it. Not only was the man a master designer and jeweller, he had been apprenticed to his father and still had his Dad's ORIGINAL MOULDS. Voila! One glorious brilliant cut diamond solitaire ring, designed exactly along my heart's desires, and at HALF the price quoted by the city centre lot. And so this ring became a symbol of more than the love between a man and woman, it represented the love, tolerance and none of that behaviour from you young lady relationship of a mother with her daughter. 

As per usual my wonderful Wise Woman was right. You'd a thunk after having her as my mum for the previous three plus decades I'd of learnt to shut up and listen, huh?

This is my Memoir Monday. Love you Mum, wish you were here.



Auction for Lori  is about to start tomorrow. Pop on over to facebook to see the goodies, place a bid, and support this gorgeous woman in her time of need.

Today

I am an orphan. Today I am planning my mother's funeral. Today I face life in a very new and scary world without my biggest support.

We lost her at 3.30am 21/10/10. Like everything, she chose her own way to leave the world, and her own time. The doctors' thought it would be days and I stupidly went home late the night before planning on returning before sun-up in the morning. But she beat me to it. At 4am another of those dreadful calls came through, and as soon as it woke me I knew.

She was quite coherent until the end, had made her wishes more than clear. Tired, in pain, and finished with life. Gave the doctors strict instructions on a DNR. Expressed her gratitude to me for not denying her the right to choose death. Yesterday a dear friend reminded me: "Just like your grandmother chose to leave." And she was right. Strong stock these Madmother women.

Wise Woman asked to say goodbye to Boy 1 and Boy 2, which was another reason I chose to leave. Even though she had been in hospital nearly two months they honestly thought Nanna would bounce back, after all she always had in their lifetime. They cried, told her they loved her, thanked her for being there and everything she had ever done for them. She left them in no doubt as to how she felt about them, they had given her reason to breathe for the last decade or so, without them she may well have chosen this path earlier believing her work to be done.

"But why is she dying? what is she dying of?" Boy 2 cried. How do you explain to an 11 year old about choosing death. As bright as he is the choice was simple: you love me, why leave me?

I spoke to him as clearly as I could get my mind around it (and I must admit there was a little girl inside me screaming the same thing)... "Nanna is frail, the pain is too much and her tired body is worn out. She has lived a wonderful, happy life and does not want the end of her life to be full of misery and anguish. It is her choice and as WE love her we need to let her know it is okay and we understand."

Driving home from the hospital, after much thought he states: "I am really sad, but inside me is a little part rejoicing for her."  God, these children, they amaze me and give me strength to go on.
Boy 1 was quiet, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Once home he asked me: "How do I go on without someone who has helped me all my life. How do I get used to her not being there?" I could not answer straight away for I too feel the same.
I must face life without her, knowing that the one person who saw me warts and all, who loved me no matter what, and who was my biggest safety net when I fell, is gone. Not in my heart but in my physical world. No more can I ring her to laugh over something, no more can I seek her wise counsel when the angry world confuses me. No more can I drop in unannounced, giving her last minute warning with a "tooot toooot" at the door.

I am hurting, and yet grateful. To have had Wise Woman in my life for so long is an incredible blessing. To be raised by such a woman, well, words fail me.

Mum, I love you, I will always love you and hold you in my heart. I promise to do you proud.

Wise Woman

5/10/1919 - 21/10/2010



daughter of an incredible woman.

The One I Didn't Want to Write: Or the Second Worst Thing...

The phone broke the silence at 1.30 this morning. It is the sound you dread in the early hours of the morning when someone you love is at risk. We were bringing Wise Woman home today. Yes, she was frail. Yes, we had big battles ahead. But we were ready.

And at 1.30am the worst living issue we could face came roaring into reality. She had fallen. At first the garbled message led me to believe she had broken her leg and her kneecap. Jumped in the shower (because I needed to), jumped in the car and DROVE like hell. It is an hour to the hospital and I know the road inside out after seven weeks of daily driving. Once there I tracked her through the hospital from rehab to emergency to ward. And found my fragile, tiny mother swaddled in blankets, scared, in pain, vulnerable. With a fractured hip. Our worst living nightmare due to the state of her bones.

This time I cannot rant and scream at THEM. This time it was a foolish choice by her to pick up something because of her dignity, to put herself at risk due to her pride, to lose the gamble so tragically. I understand why, I know the what for's, as angry as I was at first it has now drizzled down to sadness and compassion.

In the wee hours of first light I sat in my car and sobbed. People walked past watching, understanding, for where else but the carpark of a hospital would we cry so freely? Then I did what she has always taught me. Suck it up, get on with it. WW has always had the belief where there is life there is hope, where there is hope there is no excuse to chuck in the towel. Plenty of time for tears when the battle is lost, never when there is a lull in the gunfire whilst the enemy reloads.

And so I am loaded back up. Placing one foot in front of the other and remembering to breathe. Most of the time. Kick me when I forget. Please.

I Am...

tired. So very tired. We have fought the battle, and lost. Not the war, by hell not the war, but yes. The battle. Today I took my mother to hospital. The pain was just too much and I could not find a solution. She reacts to nearly everything, becomes physically ill from most pain medications. And being ill is the worst thing you can do with a fracture. Hospitals scare me for her. They look at her on paper and tend to go *meh*... she's old. They do not see the vital person she is/was until 3 weeks ago. I tell them, make sure they know this 90 year old Wise Woman was doing her Excel spreadsheets, getting her complicated tax return ready for the financial year. I let them know she is the only surviving grandparent my kids have, inform them of the bond she and Boy 1 have. Give them the person not the number.
But still I worry. We have gone to the good hospital, the one an hour's drive, further away than the others. I just hope they get it. I love her so much.

Have I failed her?

A Letter to My Mother,

My Darling Mum,
You know I adore you and you are my best friend in the whole world but sometimes you drive me crazy. I love the fact you are fiercely proud of your independence, but as it looks like we are rapidly heading into another spontaneous fracture situation please, please listen to me. Do not bend to pick ANYTHING up, do not twist, lift or even stand too long.

You are an incredibly strong-willed woman but as the daughter who loves you and who has now witnessed four of these fractures, I am very aware just how much the agony and pain cost you. You turn 91 in 2 months time,  have lost 8 inches in height in the last decade and now weigh only 43 kilos. You are human and as such are fragile at this time in your life. And your bones are letting you down. I realise how frustrating this whole situation is, especially for a woman as intelligent and self-reliant as you are. And you constantly worry about putting pressure on or being a burden to me.

Let me tell you this: you could never be an encumberance, for you are the reason I can put one foot in front of the other and remember to breathe when things are bad. You are my strength, my calm, the one person who loves me exactly as I am, even though you quietly yearn to wash out my mouth when I swear, without you to guide me I flounder.

I love you Mum, and cannot bear to think of life without you, so please, I beg you, listen to me because I selfishly want you around enjoying life for a lot longer.

Your adoring daughter

I know, I know...

I missed a day of my five family days of fuzziness, but I was spending my one day off with Wise Woman 1. Isn't that better than sitting at the computer blogging about her (which was the one I intended to do)?

I am at work right now so I'll do my post tonight when I can access my photos.
Sorry. I am terribly unreliable you know...

Memoir Monday - When We were Very Young

I'm getting an early start this week. Memoir Mondays are (in Trav's words):

Hey y'all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I'd be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I'll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!


In keeping with the five family days (oops - forgot to mention that, did I?) theme this week this memoir is from my youth. Our family took off a couple of times a year for caravan holidays. Mainly travelling up the North Coast to sunny Queensland.


Now Trav, like your family ours was somewhat traditional. Mum stayed home and did the happy housewife stuff, Dad was the breadwinner and the head of the house. We two girls did what we were told, especially when the treats on holidays were dangling in front of us.

Caravan packed, kids in the back off the Holden, off we'd toddle usually about 5am as my Dad was an early departure man. The highlights of these tours included the Golden Circle factory (the smell of burning sugar still makes me wanna barf), the Big Banana, the Porpoise Pool, Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary and Santa Land with a miniature village. Real family time with Dad smoking like a chimney, and us passively inhaling in the back seat with the windows closed. Ah, those were the days!

Oh, and no comments about the plaits. I was a kid, okay. No choice given in hairstyles.

A warm and fuzzy one today, in keeping with five family days. For a more typical Madmother Memoir check the other entry on my skating blog.

Muse Wars Challenge 6 - The Sunset

Originally started by Melissa @ The Things I'd Tell You, the Muse Wars continued with the 2nd challenge set by Tanya(me) @ Meaninless Meandering From a Madmother, and the 3rd by Kakka @ Menopausal Mumma, the 4th challenge by Lori @ Random Ramblings of a SAHM, and the 5th challenge by Gemma @ sometimes you just need to vent.


 The first person to link their story to this post  @ Menopausal Mumma, will win the right to choose the next photo and set Challenge 7.


Are you up for it? Anyone can join in, you just need to write a story as your interpretation of the photo in around 500 words (although this limit was removed by Melissa in the first challenge so it is merely a suggestion).
 
 "Can Mummy see us too, Daddy?"  "Yes Tim, I think Mummy can see us too." "Pink is her very favourite, isn't it Daddy." "Yes son, I think God may have given her a pink sunset specially because she loves it so much." "God is nice isn't he Daddy. I think I will like Heaven."

Gerard took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next onslaught. This was a lot harder than he had ever imagined, and he had thought it through on so many sleepless nights. The innocence and unconditional love of this child swelled his bruised heart, giving him strength to go on. The summer breeze playfully tugged at their identical close-cropped brown curls.

"Daddy?"
"Yes son."
"Do you think God knows who I am?"
"I think God knows exactly who you are Tim."
"That's good. God must have a very good memory to know everybody musn't he Daddy. Daddy?"
"Yes Tim."
"Does God know Mummy is my Mum?"
"Oh Tim, of course God knows she is your Mum. Don't you have the exact same green eyes and big smile?"
"Do you think Mummy is smiling now Daddy? Right now?"
"I don't know Tim, I hope so."
Finally his son runs out of constant questions. They stand together in synchronised silence watching the spectacular sunset, waves quietly lapping around ankles, wet sand squishing underfoot. The light slowly begins to fade as God's afternoon sky display draws to a close.

Gerard turns to his child in the dim evening glow. "Time to go, eh Tim?"

"Do we have to Dad?"

"Show is over matey, we better head back."

"TIM! GERARD!"
A tiny figure frantically waves from the top of the beach near the carpark. The calls grow louder and louder as the distant figure rips off their shoes and begins to run down to the water.

"TIM...GERARD!"
They squint, unable to make out the face clearly, they both begin to wave frantically.

"TIMGERARD" All three run, heading to each other from opposite directions.


"Mummy!" Gerard stands back allowing his son to leap into his mother's arms. Tina smiles over their child's shoulder, his small arms clenched around her neck.
"Did you see the sunset Mummy? Did you see it from the doctors? It was for you, full of pink from God."
"I saw it from the window Tim. It was beautiful. A happy pink sky."

Gerard gazes questioningly into the sparkling green eyes of the mother of his child.

"A happy pink sky?"

"Yes. A happy pregnant pink sky. A girl baby sky, maybe?" Gerard joins in the embrace, encircling his wife and child in strong arms. After so many failed attempts over the last six years, they had given up hope. This, this, was an unexpected blessing from God. A bolt from the blue.  A happy pink girl sky, he thought, I can deal with that. I can definitely deal with that.

The Glass Heart

He has a glass heart, gloriously beautiful, vibrant and filled with the colours of innocence, passion and joy. It beats in syncopated rhythm with a tempo driven by loyalty, imagination, friendship and compassion.

But a glass heart can shatter if hit hard enough. Or it can be slowly chipped away until the damage is so great it can no longer sustain its purity.

It can erode under the everyday pressures which flow from expectations, judgement and censure. It can dissolve under the strain of conformity, the weight of derision, the tension of trying to fit in.

I can only keep it safely encased in my hands for such a short time, then it must be handed over to the care of others, less experienced and more careless than a mother. And I must sit and wait, and hope it is not returned so badly damaged that it will never be repaired.

Coming Attraction: Interview of the Heart

An in depth expose about life as the brother of a boy with Asperger Syndrome.

We ask the hard questions to one who is often overlooked in the Autism Spectrum Disorderdrome, the sibling. Tune in for heartwrenching honesty and simple sincerity. The truth as only a child can tell it.

Bring tissues. And excuse the tearstains on the blog.