• No Shame

    Well, it had to come. Some of you readers have been with me for a while now. You’ve read these random blogs and followed along on Facebook as Jax came home from China, was diagnosed with all the things, and proceeded to grow up into a teenage boy. He’s gone from tricycles to bikes, from building blocks to creating airplanes, from Thomas the Tank Engine to his own You Tube channel. It was bound to happen – and it did. Puberty. The big P. His voice lowered, he grew right past me in height, and his shoes look like canoes.…

  • “See you next year?”

    I volunteered to go to an education meeting last week with a foster kid. This kid was in high school and not too interested in me at first. I didn’t blame him, I’d never met him before and this was a child who lives in a constantly-changing world with constantly-changing people. This was a kid who had no one, not a single person to show up for him to this school meeting. I was just another face. I did my job. He had decent services, a caring team, and for better or worse, he was at a school with a lot of kids like…

  • …Except That It’s Christmas

    This time of year, man. It’s stressful and chaotic and my annual intention of providing a Pinterest-perfect Christmas lasts about a day and a half until I decide that F-bombs will definitely help me assemble the gingerbread house. Ahhh, December. This year, the sparkly exterior strands of house lights worked perfectly on the ground, but after a four hour installation, decided to offer a non-working section of fifteen lights right over my front window.  And I have to tilt my head to the left, like I’m pondering something serious, for my Christmas tree to look straight. If the devil is…

  • Dear Donald Trump, from an adoptive mom.

    ­­Dear Donald Trump, My son thinks ­­you want to deport him. I’m sorry, did I jump ahead of myself there? That was rude of me. Let’s start over. Hi there. I’m Rebecca. Yes, yes, nice to meet you, too. I have an adopted son. He was adopted from China in 2008, when he was three and a half years old. He’s ten now, an American citizen, and I’ll state the obvious: I love my son. A lot. So much. He’s the greatest, Donald, just the greatest. This son of mine thinks you want to deport him. Literally, Mr. Trump. My…

  • The Invisible People

    I was at a Ross the other day. I love Ross. There is one by my son’s school, and on the days I don’t feel like laptopping at Starbucks, I walk around in their exceptional summer air conditioning while having riveting conversations with myself about my need for their various wares. “Becca, this is a $3 cutting board! That’s tough to beat.” “Truth, B. But do you really need a cutting board when the only thing you buy is prepared food from Trader Joe’s?” “Bec, look! Cute and flowy boho pajama bottoms!” “OMG, Rebecca, do not buy those. We both know that…

  • monopoly-by-rebecca-masterson

    Monopoly

    My son, Jax, is obsessed with Monopoly Junior. He thinks it is the best game ever invented, which let’s be honest, is slightly unfortunate for those of us around him. We play it after dinner, before breakfast, on the iPad. It’s a lot of Monopoly Junior. I feel like I am participating in a Monopoly-marathon, but with no glorious finish line in sight. But I’m playing. My all-airplane-all-the-time son has found something that isn’t aviation-related, and this seems like a good thing. I’m going with it. Jax hasn’t been in school much this year. We tried, we gave it a…

  • “What if I Don’t Love Him?”

    A few days ago, I was looking back at the photographs I have of my son before we brought him home, photos of when he was still in China. One of his therapists wants to do a photographic timeline with him, and I was click-click-clicking through the photos on my laptop pretty quickly. There aren’t that many, and I’ve seen them all a thousand times before. I was on auto-pilot, dragging the ones I wanted into a folder. There’s my little guy after his first surgery, there he is hanging out with a big green ball in the orphanage, there…

  • Always Put the Good Stuff First.

    New school year, new teacher, new parents meeting. “Tell me what I should know about your son,” asked his new teacher. I started in. Crazy energy, impulsive behavior, he can talk for 12 hours straight without taking a breath, has a tough time sitting still… Ay. You see what I did? In my effort to prepare his teacher, I led with the baggage. Because of my ulcer-causing hope for a smooth transition, I put the negative stuff first. I want a redo. (You know that sound that sitcoms use when the characters are going back in time, and everyone rewinds at super fast speed? Insert that sound right here,…

  • Available for Pre-Order: Soothing Blood Clot Bottles.

    Time Out Bottles.  Pretty, glittery flowy gunk housed in a repurposed water bottle. This is sooooo Pinterest. In theory, a stressed-out kid grabs this bottle, flips it upside down, and like the magic of Calgon from days of yore, the gentle swirling of the glitter from top to bottom resets a child’s mini brain back to peaceful and serene. They are supposed to look like this: Oooooooooh Aaaaaaaaah. Was this going to work for my son? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.  But we Autism moms will try anything. Very easy sell, we are.  Come to my door and offer to…