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Posts Tagged ‘Gratitude’

Yesterday, this little blog took in more than 300 site hits after I posted Life Unraveled, my perspective on being interviewed by The Independent Florida Alligator about how Will’s needs and the current state of disabled affairs in Florida are just not compatible. After the newspaper article and blog post ran, friends and family started sharing these links via social media, and I checked in periodically throughout the day, trying to make sure I saw each post that was visible to me so I could thank everyone for posting and thank those who offered comments of support, good wishes, and prayer.

Then, something truly remarkable happened. People I don’t even know started sharing the links and donating to our fundraising link. They were touched by our story, moved to action, and began posting on their own walls, sending me Facebook messages directly or through mutual friends, and offering their help. I cannot adequately express how overwhelming it is to have such love, positive energy, and support coming our way, to know that so many people want to help me help my son. The response has been more than I could ever have anticipated, and I am so tremendously grateful to everyone who took the time to read about our little family, share the blog and newspaper article, donate to our fundraiser, post messages of support, and offer ideas and suggestions of their own.

So much has happened, I realized I need a place to list all of the incredible things we have going on. So this post, “Gratitude,” will be the place to see all of the ways people can and are helping us, and I will update it as events change, start, and end. If you’re so inclined, please share this with people who have asked you how they can help us.

Current and Upcoming Events:

November 10th – 15th, shop with Body by Vi!

Katherine Edna Boyette is a Body By Vi representative. I’ve never even met Edna; she reached out through my friend Stacey Steinberg. But Edna is contributing to our moving fund by donating her commissions for 6 days. Here’s the post she put out on Facebook: “A chilly Saturday Morning to all my FB friends. Since November 1, a lot of you have been posting what you are thankful for. Many says family, friends, healthy children, etc. I myself is thankful that I have a family that supports me and that I have a healthy daughter who is now living her life helping others via Peace Corps. But then some of us are not that lucky. If you want to know what I am talking about, please take some time to read the blog post of my friend Tara Fitzer Cohen. Her blog says it all –https://inappropriateoutburst.wordpress.com/2012/11/09/life-unraveled/. To help Tara, I am running a fundraiser starting November 10 to November 15, 2012. All of my 10% commission will go to Tara. If you want to help, all you need to do is to purchase any challenge kit from http://healthybody.bodybyvi.com/. With your purchase, you are helping Tara and at the same time you are giving yourself a gift of good nutrition. You can share this site to your friends too. I hope that you can find in your heart to help support this fundraiser.”

December 2nd or 4th (TBD): Join us at Corks And Colors in Gainesville!

Rebecca Barborak owns Corks and Colors, a painting studio in Gainesville where plenty of my friends have had super fun Girls’ Nights Out! I don’t know Rebecca personally, but still she Facebooked me and asked if she could do a benefit night for us! Corks and Colors will provide all of the supplies and donate 100% of the proceeds to my moving fund. With 34 seats available in the studio, at $30 a head, we could raise nearly $1000! Please let me know if you’re interested in joining us, which of the two evenings listed above work better for you, and check back for a Facebook event link once the date is set. 

 

Ongoing Ways To Help

You can also help by hosting an online or in-home Thirty-One party with me! Read more about being a hostess (and see all the great freebies and discounts hostesses get!) by clicking here: Tara’s Thirty-One Page! Of course, not everyone has time to host, even online, but pretty much everyone loves Thirty-One! So please consider doing your holiday shopping with me! I have started a “Tara’s Moving Fundraiser” link in “My Parties” (top left of my Thirty-One page). I will run these special fundraising parties for two weeks at a time so no matter when you order, you won’t have to wait too long for your items to ship! Please consider sharing this information on Facebook and letting your network know that Thirty-One has awesome holiday gifts! Plus, for all purchases through November 26th, you’ll earn a Medium Utility Tote for just $5 for every $35 you spend! Thanks!

You can donate to our move directly via PayPal at taracohen@yahoo.com, or you can donate through our GiveForward link at http://www.giveforward.com/helpingtara

What We Need:

If you’re local or will be in the area, we still need more moving boxes! Please email me or comment here to connect. Do you own a business? Please consider breaking down and setting aside your incoming shipping boxes for a few days for us! 

I am still looking for work. I’m continuing to take new clients through JayBird Media, but I am losing my health insurance in our divorce, and I need a consistent income to support my kids, so I’m looking for a “normal job,” ideally in the Los Angeles area. However, there ARE other places in the country where we will consider moving for the right job because there are many other places with equally outstanding autism services. As well, in marketing and social media, companies often offer telecommuting options due to the nature of the work. So if you know people in marketing and social media, or people looking for services in these fields, please consider connecting me with them no matter where they are located. My portfolio is available on JayBird Media, and you can learn more about my professional experience via LinkedIn

Most importantly of all, please know that I am nothing short of tremendously grateful for every single person, every bit of help, every prayer, every kind word, every burst of good energy that comes our way. My village is astounding, and my heart is full. I will truly never be able to feel I’ve paid this love forward enough. But I promise to try. 

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Will is on the couch fidgeting in his peripheral vision with a piece of frayed green yarn, artfully and very deliberately coated in masking tape by my hands under Will’s nonverbal instructions. Julia is watching Madagascar 3 for the thousandth time, and Marty, my soon-to-be-ex-husband and the kids’ loving dad, is in the kitchen blessedly making coffee. And me? I am at my desk, thinking about the article that ran about my little family in this morning’s Independent Florida Alligator.

Will was around 3 in this picture, but it’s one of my all-time favorites.

The reporter, Colleen Wright, a UF sophomore, showed up last week at my garage sale, having heard that my goal was to raise money so I can move to California where, while I don’t expect to arrive into some kind of Oz filled with free speech therapy centers on every corner, there are most definitely a lot more options and available, affordable, accessible services for a child like my son, Will, who, at 7 and a half, is nonverbal (we always say “preverbal,” because we remain hopeful) and has autism, OCD, sensory integration dysfunction, and a host of chronic health challenges. Wright questioned me for an hour that morning, respectful and inquisitive, but clearly with no background in autism.  (more…)

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As a little girl, I kept a diary. I entrusted my deepest secrets to this silent confidante, my safe haven. My diary was a mute therapist, a free space where I could speak my mind without shame or fear or reprisal. My diary was a little hidden piece of me, tucked away in the dark recess beneath my headboard.

My childhood passed into adolescence, and the stack of flowery little diaries gave way to a neat pile of black-and-white Composition Books straight out of a 1950s high school movie. My diaries had become journals. My journals had become a project. And along the way, I had become a writer.

Today my old diaries and journals are stored away, rarely opened but always held onto, tied in bundles with red satin ribbons, living in perpetual safekeeping like so many baby photos and pressed flowers. I doubt I’ll ever let them go. They are little, written portraits of me. And, when, on rare occasions, I look back at them, I notice one overwhelming trend that holds true from my 4th-grade, Holly Hobby, lock-and-key, 40-page mini-diary to my leather-bound traveler’s journal from my senior year of college: They’re all incomplete. Every single volume has at least one big, huge time gap.
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By Tara Cohen

He hit me again last night. This time it was so hard I heard my nose crack and I fell to the floor. While I sobbed in pain, he continued screaming, seemingly incensed all the more by my cries. I slunk from the room and fumbled through the freezer for an ice pack, all the while listening to his continued raging in the next room. Tears flowing down my face, I wondered how my life had come to this.

Long ago, I promised myself I would never marry a man who would even consider raising his hand to me or our children. I would never accept a partner who would intentionally hurt me because my adult life would be what I wanted it to be: happy, peaceful, free of yelling or violence or the threat of either. My children would never fear me or my spouse. They would know unconditional love and security at home. And yet, last night, I lay on the couch, icing my face, contemplating how much yelling, hitting, and eggshell-walking goes on in my home, no matter how much I struggle against it. How had I gotten to this place? How did I become  the type of woman who is grateful when her bruises aren’t easily visible? How did I come to have this secret and to carry this guilty weight of unabating abuse? Why was I so ashamed to tell my friends or family?
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by Tara Cohen

My friend told me she does not like Facebook, and I started hyperventilating. Ok, maybe not truly hyperventilating, more like moderately over-ventilating, but still, I was worked up. I mean, how can anyone not like Facebook? Admittedly, I spend far too much time on Facebook. I realize I’m a Facebook junkie. A Facebook addict. A Facebook fiend. It’s seriously become a problem. The quietest guy I knew in all of my grade-school days Instant Messaged me asking if I worked for Facebook because I was on so much. So now I use the “offline” setting so people can’t see how often I’m there. Like I said: it’s a problem.

I’m on Facebook so much that I made it my browser’s home page. I cannot sit down at my computer without spending at least five minutes responding to wall posts and status updates, application suggestions and group invitations, game nudges and friend requests. I live on Planet Facebook.

So when my friend “Miranda” (who all but made me swear on my iMac not to use her real name) said she just isn’t crazy about Facebook, I had this flash of deja vu and found myself thinking of my mother-in-law.

I’ve been on my mother-in-law for ages to learn to use a computer. A few years ago, she went so far as to accept a hand-me-down from my niece, but all it did was sit in the corner and make her nervous. My husband Marty thought she was afraid if she hit the wrong key she might accidentally bomb China, and honestly, I don’t think he was far off. She called me for advice, and the conversation went something like this:

MiL: Tara, I just don’t know about this thing.
Me: Mom, we’re coming down in a week, and I’ll teach you how to use it.
MiL: Well, bring a new whatchamacallit for the AOL with you because the one I have is the wrong size.
Me: What?
MiL: It’s the wrong size. It’s not going to fit the computer.
Me: What??
MiL: The thing. The whoosie. The…the disc. It’s the AOL ninety nine, and the computer is an oh-two. It’s the wrong size.
Me: Wait…what???

We visited, and, what do you know, the disc was just the right size for the drive. I set up an AOL account, shut down the computer, and started from square one: Turn on the machine. As the desktop flickered into life, my mother-in-law looked skeptically at the various icons and said, “Ok. Now, which one is for the airplane reservations?” And so we started again:

Me: Mom, plane reservations are on websites, not actually on your computer.
MiL: What?
Me: Well, we start by accessing the internet using something called a browser.
MiL: What??
Me: If the computer is your house, then the browser is your car, and you drive the browser to the internet, which is the mall. That has websites, which are like stores.
MiL: Wait…what???

In fairness, my desire to have my mother-in-law use a computer is a little selfish. I’m comfortable with computers. I grew up with them, starting with my dad’s first home IBM, a monster of a machine, complete with the ability to turn the “green screen” to “amber” with just the flip of one glowing switch! (Hey, when your folks won’t buy you an Atari, you make do.) The upshot is that, after a lifetime of computer use, my internet connection goes down for an hour and I’m having heart palpitations. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, was born during the Hoover administration, uses a corded phone, and does not, to my knowledge, own a single CD. I realize we speak two different languages, but I still just can’t get past wanting to get her online.

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by Tara Cohen

My friend Laura was recently at one of those big-box-nothing-under-100-pounds-can’t-escape-for-less-than-100-dollars behemoth warehouse stores with her husband and daughter, and she thought of me. Now, Laura, being the conservationist-social activist-cloth-diapering-vegetarian that she is, is not a huge fan of oversized portions of toxic plastic crap, so it’s worth noting that they were picking up bulk consumables like kitty litter and rice, not single-use plastics and disposable diapers. As they perused the streets of this indoor mecca o’ stuff, Laura loaded their cart with a super-mega-ultra-jumbo bag of cat food and noticed a woman staring at her with something like disapproval on her face.

Now, me, I’m used to strangers’ stares because children with autism, like my son Will, do tend to become the main attraction when they’re upset. I should charge for tickets to “The Will Show” for as long as some people stare at us. When that child is upset, throwing things, hitting, full-body-flailing in the stroller, crying, or all of the above (yes, that happens, and often), people shake their heads at us. They do the “Wow. That’s one bratty kid” double eyebrow raise. They roll their eyes, cluck their tongues, whisper their disapproval to each other, and stare at me with their appalled “Well, I never” expressions when I don’t look adequately humiliated. But we are living in the year 2 A.D. (that’s “After Diagnosis”) in my house, and I’ve had enough time to learn that my kid absolutely has to come first, and explaining ourselves to strangers takes a last-row-of-a-15-passenger-van type of back seat to taking care of his needs.

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