Vacation for Everyone

Twenty-nine years ago, my mom and pop packed Hambone and me in the back of our poo-brown Datsun 210 wagon and headed south.  Hambone and I were both in diapers, and Mom's little brother came along to play with us and give Mom and Pop a little bit of a break.  We ended up at a charming resort full of little red cabins, just up the hill from a gigantic, pristine lake.

Each and every one of us fell in love with the place, and our family has been vacationing there every year since.  Mom and Pop have graduated to going about three times a year now, and I introduced The Hubbs to this family haven a couple of years back.

***

As I sit here in Pop's chair typing on Mom's goofy little netbook, I can't help but feel like a kid on Christmas Eve.  The Princess and I are heading down there in the morning with The Grumps and Jessie (their fur-kid).

This will be The Princess's first adventure there, and I can't wait to show her all of the water.  This kid lives to swim, and you really have to watch her near pools, lakes, puddles...you name it.  She is all about the water.

Well, this lake is a hundred and fifty feet deep in some places, and the water is crystal clear.  We'll see how she does in the boat, and if she likes it, then great.  If not, that's cool, too.  They also have an in-ground pool in the middle of the resort compound, and I have a feeling we'll be spending quite a bit of time there.  I believe, between me and The Grumps, that we've packed something like six little swimsuits for her.  We're anticipating a very wet few days.

And while we're there, The Hubbs will be taking a well-deserved breather of his own. Have I mentioned lately how much this wonderful man does for The Princess and me? He'll be up for sainthood one day, I just know it.

All of a sudden, I find myself breathing a little easier and smiling a whole lot more.  Between my full-time job and full-time school schedule (both of which I love...don't get me wrong), I'm ready for a break.  I'm under no illusions that the road trip will be pleasant the whole way, but I think the pot of gold at the end of that particular rainbow will be worth the hoops we'll have to jump through to get there.

Wish us luck, folks.  We're all on vacation.  (Happy sigh...)

The Movies (according to The Princess)

 Well, hi, all you big people!  My name's The Princess and I went to my very first movie this weekend.  I know, right?  I'm four whole years old, and I ain't never been to a movie before!

Momma and Da say that's because I'd hate it.  They tell me it's noisy and boring, 'cause you, like, have to sit still and junk.  I think they're right.  That sounds about as fun as getting a haircut or going to the dentist...two more things I wouldn't be any good at.

So, anyway, Momma and Da decided to try takin' me to the drive-in movie theater by our house to see how it went.  On Friday, we ate dinner and then piled into the car.  I thought it was really neat, but kinda weird, when we pulled into this huge party parking lot and Momma and Da let me get out of the car.

Da was on me-duty while Momma put down the back seats in our little car and spread out my blankies and toys.

Then, Da and Momma decided it would be hilarious to put me in the back of the car to see how I liked it.  Here's me, sayin' something like, "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

It was really kinda neat.  The car turned into my own little fort.  The only problem was that the back windows weren't open enough for me to escape.  But I tried.  Oh, boy, did I try.

Here's my Momma and Da standin' in front of the car with the movie screen behind 'em.  They may be older than dirt, but I think they're cute anyway.

Just before the first movie started, I curled up with Momma in her lawn chair (yeah, we roll HIGH class 'round here).  Don't let this picture fool ya...I'm not just here for the cuteness; she also has a bag of super-yummy potato chips in her lap, and that's the REAL reason I've decided to stay put.

The movie hasn't even started yet, and I'm ready to chill out in my car-fort with Arlington and DP.

Momma and Da say that the movies that played on Friday were Cars 2 and Pirates 4, but I'll have to take their word for it, since I slept through the whole thing. 

All in all, we had a pretty stinkin' good time at the drive-in.  Momma and Da even say we might be able to do it a few more times this summer if I'm good.  Yeah, right.  Like I'm the one they need to worry about!

Under the Radar

Well, folks, it's that time again.  The summer semester is well under way now, and it looks as though I'm going to have to take a bit of a break.  I'll try to post as often as I can, but chances are that updates here will be sporadic at best.

Wish me luck!

Any Pointers?

¡Hola!  Me llamo Una Madre.  ¿Cómo está?

Seriously.  I keep trying to translate everything into Spanish!  Did you know that I can now successfully count to 39 in Spanish without really thinking about it?  We haven't learned how to say "forty" yet.  And I can count backwards from 39 to 0, too.  Word to the wise: if you’re trying to learn to count in a different language, take up knitting or crochet.  I’ve been counting my stitches in Spanish, and that’s the best way I’ve found so far to help the information to stick.

Sounds like I have a bit too much time on my hands, doesn’t it?  Well, I can assure you that is not the case.  I’m looking for ways to incorporate this into the stuff I’m already spending oodles of time on, in a futile attempt to help at least some of the new information take up residence in my brain.

I know at least a few of you who read this blog have studied Spanish or another language in the past.  Any pointers?

And last, but certainly not least:

La Princesa starts her summer school classes today.  She conked out at 6:30 last night, and was up again by 12:30 playing.  That's 12:30 AM, as in just after midnight.  I just put her on the bus about ten minutes ago.  Anyone care to venture a guess at what time the Chris Farley dead-fall will occur tonight?  :)

Zonked

Remember when I was raving about the magic pills that made my back feel better?  Well, they're still working...but I've discovered a side effect.  I can't seem to wake up in the mornings.  Especially on the mornings when I come into work an hour early, I feel as if I'm in a fog. 

I sleep like a brick all night after taking these things, but my body seems to be telling me I still need more rest.  Here's hopin' this doesn't last too terribly long, 'cause it's no fun feeling like a zombie.

To All the Dads

As I sit here staring at my computer screen, entirely too late in the evening on Father's Day, I can't help but erase everything I start to write.  Nothing I put into words seems to be enough, and most of it comes across as silly or cheesy when I read it back to myself.

So I'm just gonna go ahead and say it, cheese-factor be damned.

Every little girl has a daddy, a man who she loves unconditionally, who she idolizes like no other.  Mine is called Pop.  The Princess's is called Da (or The Hubbs, but, hey...this is about daddies, not hubbies, so we'll use her name for him).  Others in my family include Grampy, Great Grampy, M, A, Uncle J, Uncle C, and Hambone.

No matter what you're called, you all have one thing in common: each and every one of you is a daddy.  Each of you is high up on that pedestal with good reason, and each of you is loved more than you could ever possibly know.

Here's hoping your Father's Day was half as special as your kiddos think you are. 

Happy Friday

...from one cool chick!

Hope y'all have a fabulous weekend.

Heaven is for Real

Does the title of this post sound familiar?  Have you read the book?

If not, I'm here to recommend it to you.  It only took me a short afternoon, and I'm glad I made the time.

In case you've been living under a rock, this is the story of almost-four-year-old Colton Burpo's visit to heaven during an emergency surgery.  It's told by his father, a preacher from a small town in Nebraska, and - whether you believe in the subject matter or not - it has a way of tugging on the ol' heart strings.  Especially if you're a parent.

I'd offer to lend you the copy I read, except for the fact that it isn't mine.  One of the surgical nurses at work brought it in for me, and it's already been returned to her.  Ask around, though.  Chances are good that someone you know owns a copy they'd be willing to share.

Come December

Heaven help me; I'm taking 10 credit hours over the 8-week summer semester, and my first class met last night.  The (normally four-hour) entire class period was taken up with a bunch of us feeling like preschoolers, learning - and attempting - to introduce ourselves and start a polite conversation.  I'm glad she cut class short, because I don't think I could have handled any more on the first day.  And I'll have it again tomorrow.  For four more hours.  Did I mention the fact that it's a Spanish course, and the only things I know how to say in Spanish are a few (fairly impressive) insults?

Okay, breathing now.

I'm also taking Abnormal Psych and Marriage & Family as correspondence courses.  I've found over time that my psych/sociology courses are usually the ones that work out best from home.  Here's hoping that hasn't changed since last semester.  Want to know another super-fun little tidbit about Marriage & Family?  My first assignment is due today.

Oh, right...breathe.

And in the middle of the semester, right before midterms, I'm hoping to take a long weekend (over the 4th of July) with The Princess and The Grumps.  We'll be heading down to our family vacation spot a few hundred miles south, as long as I can swing the gas expense (crossing my fingers!!!).  The day we leave, as well as the day we get back, I have Spanish class at 5:00.  Oh, and this will be my first time attempting a road trip with The Princess for such a long way...not to mention the fact that it'll be just me and her in the car.  Reinforcements won't be far away, with The Grumps in their truck, but I'm sure it won't be anywhere near the same as having someone actually in the car with us.

Breathing.

Even while I sit here psyching myself out over the new semester (and new material), I can't help but feel excited.  Once this semester is done, I only have one more to go before I have my Associate in Science degree.

Next big life decision: what the heck do I want to be when I grow up?

But before I go jumping headlong into that pool, I think I'll take some time to enjoy where I am right now...or, more accurately, where I'll be come December.

She Went

Since July 2009, we've been muddling through the oh-so-fun task of potty training.  There have been ups, there have been downs, and there have been countless dollars spent on Pull-Ups.  I should have bought stock in Huggies.

The Princess never "got" the potty chair idea in the beginning.  It didn't click, so we started her on the Big Girl Potty, you know, the one Momma uses.  For nearly two years now, we've been plopping her on it and she's been sitting there looking like someone who is waiting for a bus.  You know the look: a vague middle-ground stare that's not quite bored but not quite engaged.  Sometimes she goes, but most times she doesn't.

I've often wondered if she understands it at all.

Back in May, The Princess and I went into the Big Bad City with JAK, Nana and Grampy for Walk Now for Autism Speaks.  On that trip, I was impressed by the JAK method of road-trip pottying.  They bring their little potty chair with them, and when K has to go she tells them.  They stop and get out the potty, she goes, and it's taken care of.  No foreign toilets, no fruitless search for a rest stop, no waiting in line...and - best of all - no loudly echoing toilets to scare anyone.

After the Walk, K proclaimed her need for the potty before heading home to Nana and Grampy's house in the suburbs.  The Princess watched and looked at me.

Why not?

When K was done, The Princess took her turn.  And went.  I was so proud of her, and we made a big deal out of it.  There was much giggling and grinning involved.

Back home, the battle has continued.  We think to put her on the potty only after she's gone, or if we happen to catch her with a dry Pull-Up, nothing happens when she's on the throne.  Inevitably, we all give up just a smidge too soon, and she ends up going in her Pull-Up mere minutes after sitting on the pot.

And the Pull-Ups aren't the only things getting soiled around here.

She's figured out that she doesn't like the feel of a wet Pull-Up, so she disrobes and goes.  In her room.  On her bed.  Wherever she may be.  I'm proud of her for taking that one step in the right direction - pulling off her bottoms - but The Hubbs and I haven't been able to help her understand that she needs to let us know when she has to go.  She just does it.  There have been days where she's gone through 2-3 sheets on her bed, simply because she's gone when she's had to go.  And number two?  Don't even get me started on number two.  I'm shuddering just thinking about the messes we've had to clean up from that.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for the gift of language.

Recently, The Hubbs and I began talking about getting a new potty chair, similar to the one K had at the Walk.  The Princess had used it properly, so maybe if we got one like it, well, it couldn't hurt, right?

Turns out that particular potty chair is a bit out of our price range, but we were able to find one similar.  And - bonus - The Grumps offered to get it for her this past weekend.  It certainly couldn't hurt to try, right?

On Sunday evening, The Grumps stopped by for dinner (flounder, Spanish rice and broccoli -- pretty stinkin' tasty, if I do say so myself!) and brought this little guy with them:

We put her on it a couple times Sunday night with one teeny-tiny success at the end.  Could it be?

Last night after work, I put her back on the pink froggy, and she went again.  I made a big deal about how awesome she was, and I let her flush the toilet after dumping the cup from her potty.  She was ecstatic.

You think that's cool?  Keep readin'.

And then (drumroll, please), while The Hubbs and I were reading on the loveseat, The Princess quietly walked into the living room and began to disrobe.  She freed herself of her pants, then her (dry) Pull-Up.  She stood there for a minute, seemingly unsure.  I told her it was okay and helped her down onto the seat.  Where she peed.  Full-out peed.

She knew she had to go, so she stopped what she was doing and walked into another room, took off her bottoms, got on the potty and went.

Arlington

In late November or early December of 2010, Grumma, The Hubbs and I ventured to a suburban horse racing track for one of the biggest craft fairs in the area while The Princess hung out with Grumpa for the day.  The mission: to get a little bit of exercise and finish up the Christmas shopping.

The Hubbs and I had already procured presents for our folks and siblings, and the only remaining question mark on our list was The Princess.  This was before we started our newest gift-giving ritual for her, and we weren't really sure what we wanted to give her.  There's always the question of how much she understands about these events, along with the fact that she had yet to get into the excitement of opening gifts.

Since she was an itty-bitty thing, The Princess has had special relationships with certain toys or stuffies.  First, it was Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.  One of my good friends from the train I rode while I was pregnant sent an adorable stuffed Piglet home with me for her before she was even born.  If you press his tummy, he'll "sing" Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.  "Pig" was the first sign she ever really picked up on her own and used appropriately without prompting.

After Piglet came the ducks.  Stuffed, embroidered on a onesie dress, bath toys, puppets, you name it.  This girl loves her ducks.  So much so that this was one of her first words somewhere between 9 and 12 months of age.  Back when she had words, that is.

And then came the giraffes.  Grumma's cousin gave The Princess a Lamaze giraffe with all sorts of fun stuff on him at the baby shower, and Raffie the giraffe has been a favorite for as long as I can remember.  You may remember the story of Bah the giraffe as well.

When The Princess latches onto a friend, they're in the club for good.  She doesn't seem to want new stuff, and we've taken advantage of that for as long as we have been able.  Christmas, though, was not a time when we didn't want to give her anything.  It just didn't seem right.

So there we were, combing the craft fair for anything that screamed her name.  I had all but given up when Grumma and I turned a corner to come face to face with the most adorable giraffe Pillow Pet.  I'd never seen this one before, and he called out to me.  He was carefully placed (butt-first, with his head hanging out for air so he could still breathe) into a plastic bag, and I proceeded to cart him out of there.

Our new pal, Arlington the giraffe, resided under the Christmas tree, carefully wrapped with airholes (of course), until bright and early Christmas morning.  This was when The Princess tore into his wrapping and proceeded to drop him on the floor, choosing the oh-so-irresistably rippable paper over the actual gift inside.

I've talked to Arlington many times over the months since Christmas, assuring him that she'll love him...he just needs to give her time.

And, seemingly overnight, he's in the club.  Arlington and The Princess, The Princess and Arlington, they're like this.

My Own Private Slice

Summer vacation: the time of year every kid looks forward to.  Long chunks of uninterrupted fun.

So much fun, apparently, that certain four-year-old little girls can't seem to be bothered with little things like sleep.  For the past few nights, The Princess has been staying up progressively later and later.  Nothing has changed since she got out of school a couple of weeks ago that could possibly seem to cause this.

No reason, really.

She just doesn't go to bed anywhere near a normal time.  Wednesday night, for example, she kept The Hubbs up until one o'clock in the morning, happily frolicking and playing the whole time.

Naturally, this was the evening of the first day my back didn't hurt, so I ended up conking out a little bit early (still getting used to the medicine, I think)...which means The Hubbs was left to his own devices with our sweet little whirling dervish for a good four hours after I had fallen asleep.

That man is a saint.  He treats me like a princess and devotes oodles of time to our beautiful daughter and our fur kids, not to mention the fact that he takes care of all of the housework (and - believe me - there's a lot...I'm no peach!).  All of this is done with a smile on his face, as if this is the way it was always supposed to be.

That girl is an angel.  She may walk to the erratic beat of her own special little drum, but she is by far one of the happiest kids I've ever known.  Sure, she stays up late and hasn't taken a nap since she was 18 months old, but she's the smile-iest, giggliest little shorty around.

It may not always look like it from the outside, but this here is my own private slice of heaven, folks. 

The Absence of Pain

November 2009 was an interesting time for me.  The Princess's diagnosis was fresh in our heads, having been made official during the month of October.  After nine years, my employer and I parted ways...well, rather suddenly.  The very next day, I threw out my back for the first time in my life.  There I was, playing with The Princess, when I felt a twinge.

For nearly two weeks, I couldn't even get out of bed.  I needed a cane to walk, and - come to think of it - "walk" may not even be the right word.  It was more of a hunched, pained shuffle with all of my weight on the cane.

Over time, it's gotten better.  I can stand up straight and walk without assistance.  But it's never been the same.

On and off, there've been comparitively minor injuries, but only one of note.  I have no idea what I did, but for almost a year now, I've had a constant pain starting in my lower back and shooting all the way down my left leg into my ankle.  It's been around so long that we've actually named it: butt-leg-foot.  Whenever it starts bothering me, The Hubbs can tell, and he asks, "Butt-leg-foot?"  Sometimes, I can only grunt in response.

Having recently procured health insurance for the first time since November 2009, I bit the bullet and made an appointment with our family doctor.  I visited her office this week, and she determined that my butt-leg-foot pain is being caused by a pinched nerve.  She gave me a couple of prescriptions that should reduce the inflammation in the muscles around my spine so that it can heal properly.

I was skeptical.  I was certain I'd need a chiropractor, that I had a slipped disc or some other horrible ailment.  I trust my doctor, though, so off to the pharmacy I went.

The very next day, the pain was gone.  I was able to sleep through the night comfortably for the first time in I-can't-tell-you-how-long.  I swung my legs over the side of the bed when I got up the next morning, and I felt nothing.  All day, I remained upright without the previously ever-present pain from my waist down.

I hesitate to say this too loud, but it seems like the prescriptions may be working.  Here's hopin' they do their job and I can stop taking them within a week or so.  Cross your fingers for me!

For now, I think I'll just bask in the glory of the absence of pain.

Frisbee

I'm sitting on the couch unwinding before bed, and The Princess bounds into the room. She fixes me with her baby blues and presents me with a miniature neon orange-and-green frisbee.

Huh. Okay.

I thank her, and she plops her tushie down in her Winnie the Pooh armchair. After a minute or two, I feel her eyes on me. I look up and smile, and I swear she rolls her eyes.

Ever so slowly, she gets up and walks over to me. She looks at the frisbee in my lap, then looks me in the eye. Frisbee, eye. Apparently, I'm being daft, but - for the life of me - I can't figure out what I've missed here.

She deliberately holds eye contact with me while reaching down and grabbing the frisbee. Never looking away, she carefully turns the frisbee over until it resembles a bowl, and places it in my hand. She gives me one last look before walking back to her chair and plopping down once again.

Oh.

It's a bowl.

I get it now.

There's no bowl in the room, and she's hungry. So she's found something similar and made a connection. And essentially explained this fact to me with the patience of a veteran school teacher.

She can be so creative. And me? I'm just so proud.

Kickin' Back

The Princess and I have both been in between school terms for the last couple of weeks.  My summer semester starts next Monday, and hers doesn't get going until the Wednesday of the following week.

What does this mean?

Time to kick back and enjoy a bit of family time over the next week before things get crazy again.  I think I'll putter around the garden, maybe take The Princess down to the beach to see if the water's warm enough yet, you know, the important stuff.

After hanging out with my very best pal from my previous job this past weekend, it's really starting to feel like summer.  For the first time this year, the evenings are amazingly beautiful, to the point where we could actually sit outside on a deck for dinner and stay there - happily - until after 10:30 without jackets, heaters, or a campfire. 

And, really, what kind of a momma would I be if I didn't insist upon taking advantage of this while we can?

Happy summer, y'all.  It's finally here.  :)

Walking The Walk: The Day In Pictures

(Read Part One)
(Read Part Two)
(Read Part Three)
(Read Part Four)
(Read Part Five)

The crew, making our way to the field.

I bet The Princess would have loved to get her hands on this!

Soldier Field, starting/ending point for the Walk

Wardrobe change for The Princess!

Great Auntie T, The Princess, and I all match!

Ridin' in style.

Team One Mom's Journey: Great Auntie T, A, K-Bear, J, me, The Princess, Grampy, Nana

Jello, I still think we should have hoisted ourselves up here for a picture.  :)

JAK!

The Princess and me

On one of our breaks, we found this fantastic tree.  Can you see all the people behind us?  The line went on forever.

Me, The Princess, K, and J.  The looks on the girls' faces kill me.

The Princess's Great Auntie T

Nana and Grampy

We did it!

Ridin' in style once again...at least she figured out what to do with her hands.  :)

Unky A, providing the bestest ride ever.

Poor little K-Bear just couldn't take it any more.  What a sweetheart.

That's right, I said RIBBON!  A momentous occasion such as this must be photographed.

And that, my friends, concludes our story.  Thanks for following along!

Walking the Walk: Part Five

(Read Part One)
(Read Part Two)
(Read Part Three)
(Read Part Four)

As we made our way back to the van, it began to drizzle.  The Princess looked up at the sky and began to cackle.  Grampy made a comment about how nice it was for the rain to hold off until we were done so it could cool us off for the ride home.

Uncle A gave The Princess the bestest ride of her life, lunging deep and low with each step.  She cackled and grinned and grinned and cackled.

In the van, K-Bear promptly fell asleep, and Nana held her head up for the duration of the ride home.

The Princess, though, seemed more stoked than tired.  She held her balloon and babbled.  I mimicked her sounds and she smiled.

And then, holding onto the ribbon that was tied to her balloon, she said, "Rib."

I began to mimick, but she gave me a look.

"...bon."

She said ribbon.  And then grinned and giggled.  Everyone in the van heard it, and I think a few of us had to pick our jaws up off the floor before congratulating her.  This, of course, made her laugh even harder.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty stinkin' good day.

(Up Next: The Day In Pictures)

Walking the Walk: Part Four

(Read Part One)
(Read Part Two)
(Read Part Three)

Three miles. 

The course took us out of Soldier Field and along the beautiful Chicago lakefront, and I was in awe.  Being in the thick of it, there were so many more people than I ever would have imagined.  It was a mob of walkers, strollers, wagons, you name it.

I had no idea.

There was no bickering, no condescension.  If someone had a hard time with any part of it, everyone around them understood.

Everyone.

I know plenty about the autism community from my online wanderings.  I hear people toss the word around all the time.

I had no idea.

It really was a community, moving as one.  Forgive me for the cheese-factor here, but I found myself getting choked up more than once at the sheer massiveness of this event.

Making the turn to head back to Soldier Field was the biggest "wow" moment for me.  Turning around to see where we had just walked, and the staggering number of people who were following us, not to mention the amazing amount behind them, still on the beginning of their journey...well, if there was ever a part of me that didn't believe in the community, the Walk fixed that forever.

K and The Princess were patient and sweet throughout the entire walk.  Who doesn't love a wagon ride, right?  When they got antsy, we pulled off the path and let them run in the grass.  The Princess made an admirable attempt to swan dive into Lake Michigan, but - luckily - I caught her before she could do any damage.

Crossing the finish line, Nana ran ahead to snap a picture of JAK, The Princess, and me.  Never before have I experienced such a feeling, and I will never forget it as long as I live.  I'm kinda tearing up just writing about it, k? 

When all was said and done, more than 20,000 people made this three-mile journey.  I can't even begin to tell you how proud I am to have been one of them, or how proud I am of my girl for salvaging what could have been a hellacious day and turning it into a giggle-fest.

(Up Next: Part Five)

Walking the Walk: Part Three

(Read Part One)
(Read Part Two)

I knew I had to do something, and fast.  Major sensory overload was setting in, and I had to make a split-second decision.  I couldn't keep her out on the field with all these people; that was for sure.

As we made our way back toward the tunnel, The Princess attempted to steal some poor little boy's balloon.  I tried as best I could to explain to her that this was not her balloon, that she had to give it back.  That was it.  I'd lost her, and the tantrum of all tantrums hinted around her features. 

Seeing what was going on, Nana met my eyes.  I pointed to the tunnel, and she nodded, telling me that she'd inform the group.  She set off in the other direction to meet up with them as I made my way through the crowd and the noise in search of some peace for my little girl.

The second we entered the tunnel, the noise disappeared.  I found a large empty corner and settled in with The Princess, whose muscles were relaxing noticeably with every additional foot I put between us and that.  Within minutes, she was sitting on the floor with me, happily playing with her toys and demolishing her fruit snacks.

After a short time alone in the cool, dark, relatively quiet tunnel, I saw six familiar faces coming our way.  JAK, Nana, Grampy, and Great Auntie T all joined us with smiles and understanding in their eyes. 

And a balloon.

Oh, Nana, you have no idea.  You are a rock star of the highest order.

And then we were off.

Picking up our wagon, our group of eight headed out into the overcast morning and joined the haphazard crowd that was beginning to drift to the starting point.

Up next: Part Four

Walking the Walk: Part Two

(Read Part One)

On Saturday morning, May 21, I awoke bright and early in the basement that used to be The Hubbs' apartment when we first met.  I stretched and yawned, looked to my left, and saw The Princess happily tucked under Dirt Pink with only her toes hanging out.

It was Walk day.

After showering and gently waking The Princess (a process that took about 45 minutes from beginning to end), the whole family assembled in the great room.  The Princess, of course, made right for the tent.  She held court and took her breakfast in there with a sippy cup of juice, and we adults made sure we had everything we needed for the big day ahead.

Unfortunately, K-Bear woke up coughing like a 90-year-old with a respiratory condition, and it seemed she would not be able to join us.  Right up until five minutes before takeoff, it looked as though two thirds of JAK would be staying behind while J drove us into the Big Bad City and walked with the group.

As this was being explained to K, she puffed out her little chest and put on her best big girl voice to proclaim, "I'm not sick.  I will walk."

What.  A.  Trouper.

And so it was that our group - Nana, Grampy, JAK, The Princess, and myself - piled into the minivan and headed out for the main event.

Let me just reiterate here that this was the first time I - or any of my team - had ever participated in the Walk.  We had no idea what to expect, but there was definitely a jazzed energy in that van on the way to Soldier Field.

And let me also say that driving into the city is a lot less stressful from the passenger seat.  Even more so when you're sitting in the back of the van with the kids to keep you company.  :)

When we got close to Soldier Field, we started to notice those flashing construction signs you see on the interstate for traffic direction.  They were becoming more and more common, and all of them bore instructions for Autism Speaks.

Still, I had no worldly idea.

J masterfully wedged her van in a space that by all rights should have been too small, granting us Rock Star Parking status (which we'd all appreciate later!).  Shimmying between our van and the neighboring vehicles, we unloaded the wagon and headed toward the field.

Walking in, there were volunteers screaming and cheering, jumping and waving pom-poms, boisterously thanking us for our participation and wishing us luck.  As we passed them, all I could think was How in the world did an autism foundation allow this?  Don't they know that such things can seriously stress out the very people we're walking for...and with?  I was worried...scratch that...I was sure the entire day was going to be filled with an epic meltdown.

Leaving the group in a relatively quiet corner, I quickly went through the registration line to grab my tickets for our tee shirts.  This is something I was very excited about...for every $150 you raised, you were given an event shirt to show off, and I got three: one for me, one for The Hubbs, and one for The Princess.  Hers is by far the best.  Since she's so small, the smallest size they had available hangs down past her knees.  But, by golly, she wore it.

I met back up with our group, we met up with The Princess's Great Auntie T, and we all made our way through the stroller and wagon check so that we could join the fun out on the field.  Holding The Princess's hand, I walked down the tunnel with these people I love who came out to support her, and we were thrust into a gigantic crowd.  A gigantic noisy crowd.  With live music blaring to get the walkers ramped up for the event.

Not ten seconds in, The Princess went into panic mode.  Her grip on my hand tightened until I nearly winced in pain, her eyes started darting around too fast for me to track, and she catapulted herself into my arms.  Those beautiful little eyes filled with tears, and she squished me hard.

What the hell was I thinking?

Up next: Part Three