pink pills

Hello, from Puerto Vallarta!!

The workshop cruise is going great!! No big snafus, and everyone seems to be enjoying both the classes and the cruise.

Just wanted to pop in real quick and share this "Lucy and Ethel moment...

Today is our first chance off the ship. We'd planned a lovely excursion to a gorgeous beach for snorkeling and swimming and lounging. My leg hurt this morning because I hurt myself last night on stage in the big Princess theater, where I got myself hypnotized. More on that later. So, my sister hands me 3 pills right before breakfast and says they're Ibuprofin.

An hour later, as we are getting ready to get off the ship for the excursion and I realize that my mouth is talcum powder dry and I am sleepier than I know how to describe. I mention this to Marylou.... Her hand flies to her mouth as she exclaims, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god".

Turns out I'd just taken 3 Benadryl. I'm a medication lightweight. 'nough said.

I spent the first 5 hours of the 7 hour excursion dead asleep in a beach chair. Dead asleep.

Expensive sleep. But the last 2 hours were fantastic!!

More on Lucy and Ethel later!

am i in a movie????

It's possible I am no longer sane.

With only 7 and a half hours to go before my taxi comes to whisk me off to the airport, I decide I want to clean off my desk a little before I go.

On my desk is a mid-sized box from Amazon.com. I am always ordering books, then forgetting what I've ordered, and sometimes the boxes just sort of sit around for a while before I get around to opening them....

I decide to open the box...just in case there's a really juicy book in there that would be perfect for the cruise. I slit the tape and pull open the flaps and pause. I see a beautiful white box nestled inside. This is no book. The box says "Omega". My heart beats a little faster and my brow furrows a bit in confusion.

I pull out the white box and lift it's elegant lid, and inside is a most gorgeous cream-colored box tied with a satin red bow. What the heck is going on? Do I have a secret admirer?

I pull the smaller box out of the larger box and open it's hinged lid...and gasp. Gasp, I'm telling you.
I gasp.

Inside is an Omega diamond-studded woman's watch. A $2000 woman's watch. (I only know this because I just now looked online.) I know I do not have a secret admirer who would send me a $2000 watch. No one does.

I scrounge around the shipping box for a clue - there are authentication cards...but no personal notes or messages....Then I see the packing slip! Surely that will solve the mystery...

It sheds no light whatsoever. None. Zero. It only makes me doubt my sanity.

Under Billing Address is a woman's name I do not recognize from a city I've never been to. Under Shipping Address it says "Ann Kullbert" and my correct shipping address.

I do not understand. I can't understand. There's nothing here to help me grasp the meaning of this.

When did I slip over the edge???? I always thought it would happen more gradually, you know?

In all seriousness, though...if anyone has any idea what this is all about, or any suggestions as to what I should do, please let me know. Obviously I can't keep a $2000 watch from someone I do not know.

Meanwhile, I don't have a juicy book for the cruise....

this isn't a pity party...

I am supposed to be packing my workshop suitcase right now.

But I owe you a post or two, don't I?

This is my family. Katie on the left, her boyfriend Nathan's three children, Nathan....and then my son Kevin on the right.

Tonight, I picked up Kevin from his group home and drove to McDonald's where we met with Katie, Nathan and his kids. Kevin loves to watch the kids play in the playground area, and he can eat McDonald's burgers (he can't chew most foods) so it's his favorite place. He had a good time tonight, laughing at the kids as they jumped and twirled and slid down the slide. And after a couple of hours of hanging out, I took him back home.

That's the part I don't like. He maybe hangs his head a little as I get ready to leave. Or does he? Am I just so afraid that he might be sad that I imagine it? Am I just so afraid that he might be sad that I gloss over a truly hanging head, imagining that I am just imagining it?

There is no end to guilt when you have an autistic child. Kevin is 22. He's never spoken a word. He's still in diapers. He laughs when nothing is funny and cries when nothing is hurting. He giggles when you cry. He finds other people's sneezes knee-slappingly funny. He watches Barney & Seseme Street....he's been watching the same videos for 17 years. He bites his fingers - they are scarred with swollen callouses. He wouldn't see anything wrong with walking around naked, but if you happen to run out of diapers and you just have to put his pants back on without a diaper, he'll fight you tooth and nail. If there is no diaper, there will be no pants.

You're liable to find him in the morning with a different pair of pajamas on then when he went to bed - and usually inside out. I even went in one morning to wake him for school years ago, only to find him fast asleep with his tennis shoes on. At 3, he was a pro at assembling his toys into groups - trucks in one pile, cars in another, Seseme Street figurines in a third. At 22, he is a pro at stacking piles of videos, then re-stacking them (loudly) and re-stacking them, and re-stacking them, and re-stacking them. Hours on end of rearranging stacks of videos.

There is no end to guilt when you have an autistic child. No end. He shouldn't just be watching Barney videos. But he loves Barney videos. I should have done more. I couldn't do more. I should have given him every minute. I couldn't give him every minute. I should talk to him more. It's too hard to talk more to someone who doesn't seem to hear you and who never, ever answers. He should be at home with me. He can't be at home with me. But he should. But he can't.

Is he cold? Should I put a sweatshirt on him? Is he hot? Should I take off his sweatshirt? Should I give him the blueberry yogurt or the lemon yogurt? Would he like a chocolate milkshake more than a strawberry one? Are two burgers enough? I wonder if I should get him a cookie? How can I ever know? What's the right answer? How is it that it always comes down to me feeling like somehow I should know?

Maybe if I were just a little bit better at all of this, I'd know whether he prefers chunky peanut butter over creamy....

He's in a fantastic group home. It's a 3-bedroom apt, and he shares it with two other non-verbal residents. The caregivers are kind, and the supervisor is amazing. There is an aquarium in the living room, a Christmas tree during the holidays, home-cooked meals and outings 3 or 4 times a week. He should be home with me. He can't be home with me. I don't want to leave him there. I have to leave him there.

I wonder if he knows how much I love him. I wonder if he cares that I do.

I'll never know.

i know, i know!

I know, I know! It's like I up and died, huh? I didn't!!! It's just I had to complete 2 issues of FMP , answer the 200+ emails that were in my Inbox when I got home, plus get ready for the Mexican Workshop Cruise...which sails in 5 days.

So I have been quiet. Silent, actually.

But not in my head! In my head I've written several stunningly mesmerizing posts! Why haven't you been reading them? It's your fault if you haven't!

I still have no time...but here's a teaser. I've put up a few pix from the last "resort" we stayed at in Belize, called Singing Sands. Resort is a term used quite liberally and loosely in third world countries....so don't think 5 star.

Do, however, think absolute heaven. We four (I went with my mom, daughter Katie, and her boyfriend, Nathan) were the only people there the 5 days we stayed at Singing Sands.

Nirvana.
Peace.
Just me and the pelicans day after day....
I nearly didn't come home again.

See pix HERE.