Irish history is filled with difficult times that make the heart weep:  invasion, colonization, exploitation, starvation. Does this suggest that the Luck of Irish is bad luck?

Or, does the phrase “Luck of the Irish” has its origin in the days of the Wild West (in the United States) when many Irish people struck it rich during the Gold Rush or were prosperous in silver mining?

This metallically auspicious time also has a shadow.  Many non-Irish Americans of those days didn’t think the Irish were capable of success through intelligence or hard work, so they attributed the accomplishments of the Irish to luck.

What do you think?  Are some people just lucky, while others are not? MORE

“People always ask me if I know I’m buying two of everything.  Yes, I know!  I have twins.  What do they think I am, retarded?” The woman in front of me at the checkout said to the cashier.  She looked kind and intelligent.  I know she was talking without thinking.  I know she didn’t intend to be hurtful.  But retarded does not mean stupid.

The next day, I was listening to the Diane Rhem show on NPR and one of her guests, a seasoned reporter, said that one of the Republican presidential candidates was “acting as if he had Tourettes.”  Diane gently pointed out that this might be offensive to those who live with Tourettes.

When I entered “Tourettes” into the search bar on Twitter, these tweets came up:

• “About to play like I have tourettes if these folks keep staring at me”
• “Work is causing me to have a severe case of tourettes. Floored at the workload. FLOORED! Calgon, take me away.”
• “i keep RT’n u its jus cos u feel how i do & surprisingly ur puttin it into words, i seem to have tourettes right now”

When I entered “retarded” into the search bar on Twitter, these tweets came up:

• “I feel retarded when I’m trying to txt with cold hands.”
• “A cheerleader is a dancer gone retarded”
• “Still having trouble using the correct “you’re/your”? Use “ur” because you’re retarded.” MORE

Authenticity.  The challenge has been niggling at me for a while.

Then, this week, Authenticity began seriously stalking me. 

• Joe Rumbolo talked to Robert Rabbin about authenticity and authentic self-expression.  I bought and started reading Rabbin’s book.
• Alexandra Franzen’s most incredible blog post showed up in my in-box.  One of the titillating questions:  Should I reveal my true identity — tassels & all — or a buttoned-up simulacrum?
• Danielle LaPorte asked:  What boat do you need to burn?
• Lynne Sorya asked:  What Does Authenticity Look Like? and answered with a list of authenticity challenges for autistic people.
• I spent a long evening chatting with a friend with whom I can be and am authentic.
• During the Motivation Mondays session for writers, Kyeli Smith of The Connection Revolution asked a question which I slightly modified to What surprising permission do you need to fully and completely be yourself?

Challenge Accepted

I’ve been ruminating on being more authentic on this site.  (How?  Should I be?  Souldn’t I be asking what you want instead of asking Who am I?)  What follows is my first attempt at moving toward 100% Real.  I’d like to post it on the welcome page.  Make it the first thing people see.  Let you see the real me as I discover and embrace her myself.

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Rianna kicks, hits, and pinches.  Jordan sits in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest and his cheeks turning red.  Then he starts screaming.  Both are angry.  Very, very angry.  Their parents are scared, sad, frustrated, and likely, very angry themselves.

Anger and rage attacks are complex phenomenon and are sometimes associated with ADHD, depression, impulse disorders, addiction, and brain chemistry abnormalities.  Homeopathic remedies can have profound affects in transforming emotional patterns and facilitating mental and physical balance and harmony.

For chronic or severe anger issues, it is advisable to work with professional homeopaths and therapists.  MORE

It is February 13, and, yet again, I have not bought those silly, pre-printed Valentines for my elementary school-aged kids to distribute to their classmates. Though I will.  It is required.

The class lists for addressing Valentines were sent home few weeks ago.  Other children came to school today (a whole day early!) clutching red-heart-decorated shoe and boot boxes to collect the cards and treats.  I will supervise reluctant card-signing tonight.  MORE

I revel in the amazingness of human beings.  I love the video clips and drawings and music that show that autism is really awesomism.

• I cry each time I watch the YouTube video of Carly Fleischmann, typing “hurt” and “help” at age 11 when, until that moment, she had been presumed to be retarded and unaware of what was going on around her.  I love that, after refusing to type on demand for the television crew during an interview, she types “Is he cute?” when the reporter mentions that he has a son. MORE

Sunday morning, I prepared Ellana and Jonathon for Candle-Lighting and caroling with their Ukrainian Scouting Group.  Daniel  flicked his fingers near his eyes and asked a quick series of questions.

“Why I not speak Ukrainian?  Why even learning to speak English hard for me?  Why I not talk until four and a half, like Einstein?”  MORE

We’ve been living without schedules and school since June. And we liked it.  But a week before Christmas, we finally moved into our new home and enrolled the children in school.  Today was their first day.

Ellana, 13, was excited to go.  She had her schedule and school map highlighted and coordinated, a new binder, and a new top.  Her main request was, “Please don’t meet me at the bus stop.”

Stephen, 9, jumped out of bed and was dressed five minutes after I woke him.  “Might as well get this over with,” he sighed slouching into a fleecy sweatshirt.  His biggest concern was finding friends.  (He’s very discriminating.)

We met a boy about his size as we walked to school.  By the time we got to the door, Stephen knew someone in his class.  They went to line up together.

When we arrived at Daniel’s classroom, his eyes filled with tears.  “I’m a little bit nervous he said,” looking terrified. MORE

I rowed for 14 minutes today.  My first exercise in months.  Why did I begin before the Big January 1 Start-Your-New-Year’s-Resolutions day?  I chose my Word for 2012 and the rowing just happened.  (Watch out Nike!)

How I Managed to Just Do It! (for this is not my usual way)

We have been busy house-hunting, selling, and buying since August.  I used the busyness of the move as an excuse to eat more cookies and exercise less.  I promised myself that once we moved into our new home, I would return to healthier habits.  MORE

A week before Christmas: Most of our belongings stood scattered throughout our house in big, brown boxes, evidence of our third cross-state move in four years.

There is a delightful video clip circulating on the Internet.  In it, a woman approaches Michael Buble during a concert and tells him that her son “sings really good.”  Buble looks amused/annoyed. The surprised boy is beckoned to the stage and Buble says, “You’re 15 and you want to sing?”

Sam mumbles something that is not audible in the video.  Then the mom says something and Buble says into the mike, “I know you’re a mom.  I’m a singer.  I show up and do this.”

Buble then throws up his hands and says, “You know what?  We’ve taken it this far already.  Come up here for a minute.”

Sam Hollyman is lifted over the bar that separates the audience from the stage.  When he begins singing, Buble’s eyes go wide, he jumps up and says, “Holy s#itzballs mom. Sam can sing.”  The audience applauds wildly. MORE