Parenting With Chronic Illness- from my blog at Fredparent

 I think it's time to talk about this subject.  I know many sweet friends that are dealing not only with toddlers, children, activities, and diapers, but also with illness and pain.  Probably many people you know may be coping with a hidden illness. Hidden illnesses or conditions, are the diagnoses you can't see. A lot of people truly just don't like to sound like they are complaining, so they don't talk about their illness at all.  Some people downplay their suffering, because, unfortunately, other people tend to doubt symptoms they can't see. Given that I am raising children with sometimes invisible symptoms, I have a soft heart for those that are undertaking parenting while dealing with a chronic illness.

Everyone gets sick sometimes, and if you are the mom who is sick, you know it is next to impossible to take the day off.  I had the flu the month of March (like the whole month), and I wrote about having backup plans for everyone to have on standby so others could step in and help, if it came down to it.  Don't take for granted that your spouse automatically knows what to do, just because you live together; mine didn't and we've been together over twenty years! Bless him, he was like, “what?! You do that?! How often?! When!?”  Talk about a comedy of errors. We are still married, by the way, and we’re always better for those tough moments, but lesson learned: write down the medication schedule, if nothing else.

So, I have friends that are struggling with different ailments such as:  lupus, multiple sclerosis, migraines, scleroderma, depression, fibromyalgia. The list can go on, and on. These aren't illnesses that you always see. These people usually suffer in silence. I found out just recently that one of my friends had been dealing with multiple sclerosis for a few years only because I saw her out, limping with a cane one day. Even still, she was saying things like, “it's no big deal, it only happens sometimes.” Later in the year someone was complaining about how forgetful said friend was, and how she was always sick. As gently as I could, I remarked, “Well, yeah.  You know she has multiple sclerosis, right?” So? What's that? As if that is any excuse.

Oh my.

Friends, we are better humans when we are building one another up, rather than tearing each other down. First off, don't be so quick to judge something (such as forgetfulness) as a negative character flaw! Given today’s social climate, everyone has a responsibility to try a little harder to have a more open heart toward people that are different than ourselves. When we (humans) seek to understand each other, instead of complaining about one another, the world is simply a better place. Invisible diseases (or conditions) hurt. Usually, they hurt a lot. Migraines are debilitating. MS causes numbness and paralysis. Scleroderma makes the skin ache. Depression, anxiety, and all the obsessive compulsive disorders are extremely hard to deal with, and to live with. Just trying to get everyone in the family up, fed, dressed and presentable is hard when you're feeling good. Imagine having to accomplish all that while having a pounding headache, or when you can't feel your legs, or when your skin feels like sandpaper if someone brushes up against you. 

So, when you see your forgetful, sick friend out and about, at Target or the grocery store, tell her she looks beautiful and be kind.Tell her it's great to see her up and out. You never know what it took for her to get out of the house. 

Everyone is always dealing with something.

When the fibromyalgia diagnosis first started showing up across the country, I was a young know-it-all-hot-shot nurse. I would dutifully roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, “drug seeker” whenever I was assigned a fibro patient. Don't misunderstand- I loved nursing, and my patients and I treated everyone with respect, compassion, and dignity. But, you can't see fibromyalgia, and pain is subjective. I couldn't really wrap my brain around it, and back then, the medical community didn't have a lot of information or research to effectively treat fibromyalgia. Pain medicine was the treatment of choice. When you spend a year as a nurse on a med-surg floor, inevitably you have a lot of drug-seeking patients, and when you are new and young and you know everything, judgement happens.

Fast forward fifteen or so years… One day I wake up not feeling great, again, and I start thinking about it, and I'm wondering why am I having so many headaches?  What is this constant pain on my breast bone? Why are my hips burning, and achy, and what is up with the leg pain? One symptom blends into another, time goes by, then I started having trouble sleeping, even though I was always tired. I was really tired, and always achy, and constantly getting sick.  So, when, one day, at five o'clock in the afternoon as I was starting to put the kids to bed, so I could just go lay down and rest, I stopped myself. I started to do some research, and decided to see some new physicians. Guess what? Welcome to the club. It's fibromyalgia. And it hurts. For real.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.

Our circumstances can define us if we let them. I don't really accept that, though, for me or my family.  Yes, of course, some things do change, have changed, and will continue to change, but illness doesn’t define me- or the family. For us, we have had to rearrange some schedules, say no to some activities, and we need to remain flexible. We have slow days, for sure. Thank goodness we homeschool, so pajama days are blessings. Everyone pitches in to help out- not always willingly- but they do. Cleaning is a group activity. Cooking is what I like to call “collaborative”.  Schwans, Digiorno, and Green Giant are my friends. Sometimes, frozen food is where it's at. Everyone knows they can turn on the oven and bake a meal. The crockpot is good for easy meals, too. We definitely don't schedule things for early in the morning. Quiet time is absolutely a must. I’ve gotten a lot of great advice from some very sweet friends, and I will always share that advice with others. The best advice I have though, is to be kind to yourself. Some days will be just fine, but when the days come that are painful, or exhausting, just remember that your body is different than it used to be, and it is ok to slow down and say no to extras. And pay attention to your nutrition. Frozen meals are better than McDonalds, and vegetables are important. Be aware. Be kind. Don’t judge. Keep calm. Parent on!

Life Skills- post from blog at fredparent

 If you were to ask me in my twenties about life skills, I probably would have answered that they were just common sense. I would probably use words like obvious, instinctual, and innate. If I didn't know something, I could just figure it out. Besides cooking (I'm a terrible cook), I could totally live on my own at eighteen (I didn't, I know, not really, but I could have). Microwaves were invented, and I went to college. I had Domino's on speed dial (pre-cellphone era); I knew how to do laundry, study, and keep myself groomed. Life skills. Easy-peasy. 

Twenty(ish) years and three kids later, I realize that life skills are not obvious or innate for everybody. I didn't know what autism was, really, back in my twenties, back when I was first “adulting”.  I had never heard of sensory integration or executive functioning. While all kids, especially teens, and especially boys struggle to see the importance of clean clothes and toothpaste, for some kids it just doesn’t occur to them that they smell bad or have food in their teeth. Beyond that, unless they are reminded, they won't change clothes, deodorize, or brush their teeth. It's frustrating, to say the least, and heart breaking at times.  One day Tommy came home from highschool with macaroni and cheese in his eyebrows.  A phone call to his case manager at school insured it wouldn't happen again, but things like that happen all the time. He needs to be told to use a napkin, and to check the mirror before he leaves the restroom.

Tommy needs reminders for Every. Single. Thing. I'm not even exaggerating. He wakes up on his own, and goes on Wikipedia to get evidence to convince me the multiverse is reality on his own, but everything else needs prompting.  Did you shower? Did you use soap? Did you change your clothes? Did you brush your teeth? Did you remember the toothpaste?  It goes on and on and on. I'm even needing to smell him sometimes because the reply is often as automatic as the question.  Yes, yes, and yes.  I'm like, “Really? Come closer! No, you didn't!”  So, while most kids will realize eventually that it's important to be clean, Tommy just doesn't, and probably won't.   A lot of kids with autism don't and won't grow out of the stage of teenage unsanitariness. It just won't occur to them that it's necessary. Tommy won't figure out how to budget, meal plan, or organize himself by himself.  He needs a little extra help, and sometimes (at this stage of life) that help needs to come from someone other than his family members.  I call it launching him, this preparation for independence that needs to happen without the immediate safety net of his people always directing and guiding him. Forward progress!

So, Tommy had an evaluation week at the Woodrow Wilson Workforce center a few months ago.  It went so very well, and he was recommended for the first part of his training to be the Life Skills program, which is nine weeks long.  We left yesterday and dropped him off (gasp)! He is living in a dorm, he is having to live with someone, and share a bathroom with eight other boys.  I'm excited and terrified, again. I wasn't quite as emotional dropping him off this time, but it is definitely unsettling for me-- for all of us in this family.  Katie did cry, and Mark was really quiet on the ride back home. It's what we want for Tommy, and it's hard to let go.  Parenting is kind of like signing up to have your heart broken a little at a time, and then to have it put back together, but it's just not ever the same. It's a beautiful and terrible thing. 

The biggest worry Tommy had, mind you, was his roommate.  “What if he is not like me at all… What if he is an atheist sports fanatic or something?”

Bless him.  I'm happy to report that the roommate was not an atheist sports fanatic, and, indeed, was quite a bit like Tommy.  They both like DC comics, Gotham, and conspiracy theories. The roommate is writing a book about the presidents’ secrets.  All the presidents. All the secrets. He is very organized. I was impressed.  Tommy and he fell into a very easy dialogue (and debate) about aliens, Area Fifty-One, and the “fake” lunar landing.  I left feeling good, a little less worried, because I was nervous about the room-mate possibilities, as well.  Part of life skills is social skills, and that is always a struggle for Tommy.

So, all in all, it's going to be an interesting nine weeks for this family!  One week without Tommy was fine, but nine weeks?! I'm a bit beside myself.  It's already so quiet. I didn't wake up to hearing him pacing around the house (laps, inside, every morning, with a very heavy heel). I didn't have to answer questions about him being the best swordsman in a multi-dimensional universe, scarf wearing fraternities in Brazil, or parallel Star Wars outcomes and theories, ad nauseum.  My brain won't know how to think without all that stimulation, I'm afraid. But, I'll keep you posted!  

Keep calm! Tommy is launching! And Parent on!

Autism Awareness from my fredparentblog

 With it being autism awareness month, I wanted to write a few posts about living with autism in our family.  I can officially say I have two kids on the spectrum.  Some speculation about other family members being autistic is always there, too.  I kind of feel like I have developed a radar for seeing autism where others don’t see it at all.

So, Tommy (our oldest) was diagnosed when he was five, but he had been in our county’s PIED program since he was about eighteen months old.  I get a lot of questions about how and when we (my husband and I) started to suspect any issues with Tommy’s development; after all, he was our first child, we didn't have experience with any other kids, we weren't teachers… So, how did we know?  Well, Tommy was born the same day as one of my friends’ twins.  So, as the twins started crawling, walking, talking, doing, etc.  and Tommy wasn't doing any of those things, I became concerned because he was an “only” child, and he wasn't doing the things that the twins were doing.  I knew that oftentimes twins development can be a little slower, especially in the area of language.  He eventually met most of those milestones, and he wasn't so far delayed that he qualified to receive services, at first.  It wasn't until he was almost three that he qualified for speech, and then he qualified for the special education pre-school once he turned three.  Tommy, by age three, was walking, and meeting a lot of the developmental milestones, but he was behind in language, fine motor, and visual and auditory processing.  We weren't really concerned that he was autistic until he developed language, when he was four years old.  With language came decreased eye contact and flapping.  It's so interesting to me how different autism looks to each individual family!  It's fascinating, really, to hear and study all the differences, and all the similarities, as well.

For me, I actually felt validated when he was finally, officially diagnosed.  I really felt that once it had a name, I could understand what we were dealing with, and proceed from there.  I know that other people may feel very differently, but I was glad to be “in the know”.  With validation, for me, I could go through the grieving process, and move forward.  It's not that I was ever sad, per se, it's just that I had typical expectations for parenting, and that was all changed.  So, yes, there is a grieving period.  And, yes, it's OK to say that.  And, everyone in the family has to go through that at their own pace.  My acceptance and grieving looked much different than my husband’s did.  A lot of marriages, actually, don't survive special needs parenting, and I totally understand why.  For us, we have had to go through some very painful, and trying times, hard, hard conversations, and vast different ideas on how to deal with a wide range of topics… And that's just related to parenting Tommy.  Marriage, at best, is hard.  We truly believe we can't do marriage without God, let alone anything else that gets added in to life.

So, fast forward twelve years.  My youngest was born when we were going through the diagnosis process for Tommy.  She came two weeks and one day early, and hit the world running, and has. not. once. slowed. down.  True story.  This girl is my “crazy Katie-cat”  and her Daddy’s “special K” and she is busy.  She is fearless when she should have fear, and horribly afraid of things that are unrealistic.  She can do math in her head, but has a hard time with reading.  She loves minecraft, horses, gymnastics, and cats. Let me let you in on a little secret:  when you’ve met a child with autism… you’ve met a child with autism. The spectrum looks so much different for girls, especially hyperactive, anxious little girls.  I’ll add, also, that having one with autism, and then suspecting you might have another with autism does not mean that you are trying to pin a label on everything. Let me release you from that, please, because following your gut-feelings about the child that you live with may get you ahead in terms of therapies or medications your child could benefit from.  I really believe that knowing is half the battle.

So, there is our diagnosis story- or a snapshot of it, anyway.  It's been a wild ride, to say the very least.  I've been fortunate to have a ton of support from friends and family, near and far.  I know that sounds cliche, but it's the truth! I've also been fortunate to find resources to include doctors and therapists who have listened, guided, and recommended strategies and tools to help us parent and raise our family well.

I’m Used to Be Smart- From my blllog on Fredparent

 Once upon a time, I was the mother of little people. I was exhausted. I didn’t shower every day, or every other day, and a ponytail/messy bun was the hairstyle dujour. I could not see the end of being physically and bone-weary tired from taking care of little humans, and keeping them safe.

And then I had teenagers. 

I went through a phase recently that had me convinced I needed to re-read every parenting book I had ever read, and then I probably needed to read a few more. I mean, seriously, how do I manage to say the wrong thing. every. single. time. I speak to my daughters? Furthermore, I totally have the worst timing ever. I may not physically be warding off burn injuries, flying from second story window injuries, or window blind injuries, but, I am still physically and, more to the point, mentally tired.

Now, I’m a little bit mad, here, but I am also a little bit sane. The jury is still out on the smartness factor of my brain, but I have not ever been told I’m certifiably crazy. I’ve tried, actually, and I’ve had years of therapy, but I do not have a “you-are-out-of-your-mind” diagnosis. So, far be it from me to point out the obvious, but I know for sure that I can drive a car, I’ve graduated from a four year college (in nursing, mind you), and I can keep track of homeschooling my kids. So, how is it that I know nothing? Have I gone through some type of mind sucking machine?

My children are so much smarter than me, and they know everything. This makes me tired. I so love repeating myself thirty-seven times a day to get the chores done, do the school work, and put on deodorant. I also adore the fact that I can tell my teens that drinking Mountain Dew (why is that stuff not classified as a legal drug?!) will keep you awake all night. It’s not like I’ve never been to college (or have a nursing degree). 

“Mom! I didn’t sleep at all last night!” said my youngest precious Sunday morning when I had to wake her up for church.

“Well,” I answered, knowingly, “that is what drinking Mountain Dew does to you.”

She looks at me with that worried little thinking face for a few moments before shaking her head no. It took about everything in me to return the gaze with any kind of neutrality.

“No, Mom, I don’t think that was it.”

Oh, really? Caffeine and sugar don’t tell your brain to stay up? I read somewhere that arguing with thirteen year olds over obvious things only make the mom more angry, and the child just adds to their brain that mom doesn’t know anything.

When I facetime with the boy-man-child who is away at college, he keeps the camera on his eyes only. Tommy has a rule (that I have no real way of reinforcing), that he has to shave daily, and can’t have facial hair until his acne clears up.

“Tommy,” I say, “let me see your face.”

“You can see it,” he replies.

“No, your whole face,” I answer.

“That’s as far as the phone goes.”

Like I said, I don’t know anything anymore. And, I’m tired. I am mentally jousting with smart kids every single day, now, and they are a savvy bunch, these children. Not only do they know everything, they also think that any experience I may have with any kind of issue doesn’t count because that was before the internet. Right. I lived back in the dawn of history. I got it.

What does one do when their children know more than they do? I’m trying to parent and learn all of history every day. Apparently, I have to discipline and be mindful of all the feelings (their feelings, mind you), or I’m causing brain damage. I also have to have a PhD in psychology, psychiatry, botany, and child development in order to raise humans that will be productive in society. Did I mention I’m tired? By the way, I still have to tell my youngest to look both ways before crossing the street, my middle is driving (!), and my oldest is living away from home, so, I’m still trying to keep everyone safe. So, even the “well-at-least-I-kept-them-alive-during-their-early-years” phase, is also now a “I-pray-they-can-stay-alive-during-the-teenage-phase.” 

There is no rest for the weary.

That you get up and wrangle, love, nag, teach, love, and keep alive the children in your care every day is worth a celebration. When you fall into your bed each night, weary with worry, exhausted and overextended, just try to rest in the fact that the day was successful.  If you aren’t dead, you are successful. If you are still parenting and raising a family, you are part of something special! Read some books, but don’t live or die by them. Take all advice with a grain of salt, because your family is unique, and you know them best. While your children may think you are as dumb as the day is long, just remember that it’s a phase. It’ll pass. One day, they will be twenty-five and needing your advice again. At least, that’s what I hear. I’m not there, yet. Apparently, I’m still in the ignorant time frame of parenthood. I know nothing.

So, hang in there, parents! Keep calm, repeat each morning and evening that you are super-woman or super-man, and parent on!

From “We’re All Mad Here” Pancakes and Fire drills

 We have had some crazy happenings as parents, especially in regards to parenting and family-ing with autism spectrum in the house! My husband and I got into a laughing fit while we were reminiscing the other day.  I had been talking to him about trying to come up with a crazy-funny story to write about, and he was, like, “are you kidding?!?”  I wasn't kidding. Sometimes I feel like all the creativity has just evaporated. I tend to idle a little high, anyway, and bend toward the anxiety side of thinking (shocking, I know). So, I answered, “what do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean,” he says, “you could write a book!”

“Well, we've had crazy… I’m not sure it’s funny.”

He laughed.  “It's all funny!”

Hmmmm… Really? I thought about it for a second- maybe two- and then started laughing.  In hindsight, a lot of it is kind of funny.  The stuff of life, the every day, the mundane, it can be pretty funny.  I often think about how deep and meaningful things are.  I can easily get caught up in the frustrations, and the pain, but the everyday?  It's just stuff, right?  Sometimes, maybe.  It's hard to find humor in the meltdowns; except that sometimes, the humor is what keeps me sane.  If I'm not laughing about something, I'd probably be crying.  Now, crying, of course, is necessary, and important, and I'm not advising in any way that laughing at someone else’s expense is appropriate. There is a time and place for everything.  But, changing a perspective, in hindsight, anyway, could be good. It could be funny, even.

Not too long ago, I was home alone with the kids and the dog. I say the dog, because usually the dog would be with Mark at work.  We haven't had the dog very long, and I'm always afraid I'm going to wreck him, as in, mess up his training, because he's a working search and rescue dog.  He's, like, a rock-star (to me, anyway).  So, because the husband wasn't home, we were having pancakes for dinner.  I only cook if Mark is home- partly because I've raised the pickiest eaters in the world, so why bother cooking something that only I would eat, and partly because when he's not home, I'm done at, like, four o’clock. I'm ready for bed. Sometimes we even just have cereal on nights that Mark is at work.  I digress, and eating/cooking/food issues are a whole other story altogether.

Pancakes.  The most perfect food in the world is pancakes. I don't even mess them up.  This is an important part of the story.  Pancakes are the only food I never mess up.  

Tommy is always, consistently, very talkative around four o’clock in the afternoon. It's like he gets his second wind, and realizes it's time to communicate.  Plus, I think he sees me cooking, and he knows I can't just walk away from him especially if he's talking about something that doesn't make any sense.  Which is most of the time.  So, I've mixed the pancakes, the stove is on, and Tommy has me cornered.  It's the perfect time to launch into painstaking detail about some obscure capybara martial art in the time space continuum and fighting the Mongols in ancient China, and, “Mom. Right? Mom. Don't you agree? Mom? Can't you see me doing that? Mom? Maaahhhmmm?”

Me: um-hmm, um-hmm… Flip pancakes… Um-hmmm….

Katie enters the scene.  For whatever reason, Katie and Tommy don't ever seem to understand or acknowledge each other talking. So, she just starts talking over him, because she is louder and younger and has estrogen, and she talks really, really fast. It's weird.  For both of them, it's like they just don't hear each other.

“So, Mom, there's this new Barbie and she, like, dances and does gymnastics and ice skates, and she's at Target and maybe Walmart and she is only fifty dollars and I need my allowance so I can get her,like, tonight, Mom, are you listening, it's really important, tonight, Mom, Tommy, I was talking!! You're interrupting! Mom!?”

Obviously, conversational speaking is not one of their strong points. I'm about to address this, so, of course, my over achieving smoke alarm decides to go off at this exact minute, because why? Because I'm cooking? I'm cooking!  I'm not even burning anything-- it just senses me in the kitchen, so it has to alert the whole house that I'm cooking, and that something is probably going to catch fire, which, by the way, has only happened… less than five times….So, I'm offended by my smoke detector. By the way, my smoke detector has some serious nerve, because, if Mark is ever cooking, I promise, the alarm won't alarm.  It's true.  

Apparently, the dog is offended by the smoke detector, too.  He comes trotting into the kitchen, knocks over Katie, who proceeds to start screaming. Loudly. So, the dog starts barking- not at the smoke detector- but at Katie. Loudly. The smoke alarm is beeping. Loudly. Tommy starts yelling, “turn it off, turn it off!!” - and he's hitting his face like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.  In fact, when Tommy was younger, we would call his tantruming a “rainman”, or we’d say, “he’s rain-manning.”

And he is doing it how??? You guessed it. Loudly.  

And I’m not allowed to tell the dog to stop barking, because it’s his job to bark...

I'm wondering- Can we get a reality TV show? Where are the cameras? I think we’d make a really good reality TV show.  I could cry, for sure, but laughing is sometimes just as effective to reset a situation.  So, I'm laughing, but kind of in a hysterical way.  This, of course, is when Mark decides to call to check in for the day.  We have an unspoken rule that all calls need to be answered.  We are not allowed to ignore each other’s calls. I take a deep breath.

“Hello. We are having a situation. I can't talk.” I am sure it sounded like I was at NORAD announcing ‘defcon 1’. He answered very professionally, “copy.” Click. It was that easy.  Without missing a beat, Danielle strides into the kitchen with a magazine, and starts fanning the offending smoke detector. Bless my neuro-typical child. She and I make eye contact, and we are both just shaking our heads.  Within a few minutes, she had Tommy distracted, and I was listening to the virtues of yet another Barbie for Katie’s collection.  As soon as the pancakes were on the table, I called the husband to assure him that we were not being attacked, and that the dog was fine, but did not appreciate a screaming little girl.  He even gave me kudos for handling the situation appropriately. Happiness.

This is what I mean about laughing. This is just a snapshot of 20 minutes in the life of our family.  Is it always so crazy? No. Can I always laugh? Well, no.  Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I'm so silent that everyone is asking if I'm ok. But laughter sure makes life feel good.  When we can all look at each other and not take it all so seriously, I think we move forward with positivity; we learn a few lessons, and we thank god for another opportunity to smile in the midst of challenging times. 

 

Keeping Positive and Rolling With It

Life continues to be interesting. In the immortal words of my good friend, Bernie, “Life is not for the weak!”

Indeed.

I’ve found it moderately hilarious that things will go awry when you are already in somewhat of a spiral!  There is a full moon coming, and two months in 2026 have back to back Friday the 13ths (what even in the heck?!?)

But that is neither here nor there…

On top of it all, this week, Satan decided to attack my Bible streak on the You Version app and make it look like I skipped a day. The very nerve. We got that fixed, like, right away. Minor panic attack. I know it seems silly, but sometimes those silly things can really throw you (me) for a loop.

I’m in the midst of some interesting health… things, we’ll call them. One thing has led to another, then another, and all of the sudden I have four new specialists and a full-time follow-up career with appointments and consults and tests. This was the perfect time for my dad to start having some health issues as well, so I had to pause my health-interesting-journey in order to come help him with his. And of course the timing is just “perfect” (imagine the eye roll/sarcasm/deep sigh) because, well, life. 

Again, not for the weak.

My theme song, when I was an unstable, overworked, anorexic, underpaid, severely understaffed ICU nurse was “Roll With It, Baby” because- what else could you do but try to keep your patients alive and give your heart and soul to the families of the patients for twelve hours on night shift so you could go home, crash for a few hours, have nightmares about all the things you might have forgotten to do, and then return to do it again(?)…

That is kind of how this feels… Everything in the world (albeit my world) imploding, disappointing situations, hard realities, trying to heal, pain, and me giving and giving and still giving…and I’ll do it until I die… so I’ll just roll with it. There is no other way. I roll with it, and pray, and God is God, and I am not, so… just roll with it.

                                                 

And, no matter how things may play out, there will be no regrets. My dad gave his all for me. He’d do it again. He still tries to. It’s a privilege to be here for him and to be able to care for him. He is almost eighty-two years old, and time is short- I get that. I don’t want there to be any doubt that I didn’t give him my all, when he gave me his. I want to be here.

                                                  

Silver lining: while it was in the 30s and sleeting/freezing rain back home , it was in the 60s and 70s here, and the sun was shining!