October 25 evening

Spark is laying out the four pairs of mittens and gloves.  He's preparing for the winter cold.  The end of October here means an opportunity to trick-or-treat in freezing rain and/or snow; I can think of many childhood Halloweens where I had to design a costume that would fit over my winter coat.

I'm on the couch with the laptop, looking for new jobs.

The kittens, Hazel and Mabel, are hiding in the folds of five layers of blankets on Primo's bed.  Our house is uninsulated, yet we find ways of keeping warm.

When I'm stressed out, I tend to write less and less.  I eat less. I sleep more. In the last three months, we've had one cat go missing, one cat need to be put down, my parents moved across the country, and I received official notice that my employment will end by December 31.  It's been a bit of a hard go for my emotions.

Primo's voice is changing.  Spark is getting taller and skinnier and sweeter by the moment.  We filled the kitty void with two seven-month-old female kittens.  Hero is playing more music with friends. Maybe we're finding some balance of the difficult with the joyous. 

A family with new twin babies. What would you tell the parents?

I had a delicious and delightful, yet long overdue tea time with a dear friend and my sons yesterday.  We went to a tea house that I'd never visited before.  Each one of us feasted on banana-coconut-chocolate cake, the colors of the walls and pillows in our tea room, and the presence of those we love.

This morning, my friend sent me a message about some friends she has, who have just become first-time parents to a boy-and-girl pair of twins.  The mother asks, "How can I do this?"  We are gathering love and strengthening words for them.  Feel free to add yours to mine:

Keep them alive, minute to minute.  Yourself, too.

Drink lots and lots of water.  Eat everything your body tells you to.

Ask for help for the things you don't feel you can get to.  Ask often and with force, if necessary (just like the babies do).

Sleep when they sleep.  

Do not wake sleeping babies on purpose, if you can possibly help it.

Invite people to come and hold the babies while you take a shower, feed yourself, etc.

Let you mind be blown by the amazingness of new life.  Boom. Pow. And go back to bed.

It's all right to be afraid.  Just push through it.  

There's going to be the next nursing, the next diaper change, the next bath, the next and next and next . . . you'll find your rhythm.

Overthinking in the first few months of their lives is a first-world problem.

There is evening, there is morning, and each day is good.

Looking up into blue eyes

In the quiet of the upstairs hallway this week, the family going through our morning routines, Primo came upstairs to say Hi. I was freshly dressed, putting on makeup in the bathroom, getting my hair in some proximity of rightness. He stood in the hallway, wearing his size 13 shoes for the first time. It was the last hot day of a long hot spell; we were looking forward to wearing pants and sweaters after a rainy day.

I asked him how the shoes felt.  He said they were a little tight.  I looked down at those big feet of his, and assured him that he'd find the shoes comfortable pretty soon.  He sighed and shifted his weight.

I then realized that, as he was facing me, his nose was above mine.

For the first time, in his shoes, this boy is taller than me. I told him this, and we and laughed a little. I hugged him tight and kissed his cheek, telling him I love him. 

There is only one moment like this in our lives.

An adult child, letting go

I knew when I started this blog that I would eventually need to write about my parents.  I'm just now starting to be well and truly honest about my feelings regarding my relationship with them.  I need a safe place to work through the emotions and ask for advice from peers.

The main reason this blog is anonymous-ish is that I want to keep it from being easily found by my parents.  They would, of course, recognize my family and me from the content right away.  I firmly believe in owning one's truth.  The conundrum is being willing to write it out, knowing that if my dad finds this, I'll have to deal with the consequences.  So be it.

Six days ago, we had a fantastic Sunday. It was one of the best days our family has had all summer!  We'd been to a local town fair and parade, had a cookout with Hero's family, relaxed with cousins, remarked on the beautiful blue sky, and left before there were any meltdowns from the kids.  I went to work, had a successful and productive shift, and came home to Hero just getting a meal on the table and kids running to hug me at the door.

Then my dad called in the middle of dinner.  He's got great timing.

A little background: This year, my dad turned 70.  He and my mom know that they may not have many more good and healthy years left.  To celebrate the summer and his seventieth year, they decided to take an around-the-country tour of his brothers and sisters, and some of their friends.  The trip ended up with them visiting my own brother in Pennsylvania.  They'd been thinking about the fact that my brother is their designated medical power of attorney person, and that it could be good to be nearer to that person, should health concerns become an issue.

My Dad said that he and my mother will be moving halfway across the U.S. to live near my brother and his family.  He told me that they had found a condo just minutes away from my brother's house, made an offer the same day they saw the condo, and that their offer was accepted. 

Two times twice exceptional (aka, We Hit the Jackpot!)

As I wrote to a dear friend today,

Now I've been drinking some gin + lime + soda, trying to recover from an empowering but emotionally draining day at the therapist's office with the youngest son, who is getting through the process of being diagnosed as twice-exceptional: gifted to the point of genius in certain ways, and also having dyslexia and dysgraphia.  

Another Saturday gone, hours upon hours spent with therapists.  Finding out that Spark ranks in the exceptional/genius range for some innate skills, and he's at kindergarten level for what his teachers have been trying to help him learn for the last three years.  What a mixed blessing.

Spark is gifted in some of the same areas that Primo is, which will be a great help as we try to build on their shared interests.  But where Primo taught himself to read at age 6, and read Rowling's complete Harry Potter series TWICE over the summer when he was 9, Spark is still trying to keep his lower and uppercase letters straight.

We're also looking at moderate to severe depression in Spark.  My mother heart aches for him, knowing that this kind, creative, spunky, imaginative kiddo thinks of himself as one of the 'dumb' kids.  Can't keep his days straight.  Never knows how long a minute or an hour feels.  Can hear everything that's going on in a room, but can't focus on what one person is saying.  We're all going to learn how to support him in this.

So, this family is blessed with two healthy, amazing sons.  One may be going to the university at age 15, and one may turn out to be an engineer who can't spell.  

Like many special-needs parents, I'm in it for the long haul.  I might have to pull over and cry every now and then, but I know these guys are worth every bit of effort we exert on their behalf.

Time, and time in the garden helps a lot

Two days ago, (see previous post) Primo and I had an interaction in the car that ended up with him pinching a huge bruise into my upper arm, and me speaking in a hurtful way.  

I was truly shaken.  I sank into an ugly and dark funk.  I wrote that post.  I felt deeply saddened by this violence, discouraged that we could have such a setback, ashamed that even though my son had hurt me, I wasn't able in that moment to keep my temper in check and stay calm enough to keep from scaring him.

Then we cried separately and together for forty-five minutes, talked, apologized, hugged, and moved on.  Here's the rest of the story:

At age 12, Primo is almost as tall as I am now, and though he's very much better at controlling his temper, he does still have trouble with safety issues when he's angry.  He said that by the time he thought to calm himself and be safe, he'd already torn apart some things in the car and pinched me.  That's his fight-or-flight response and the autism delay.

Tomorrow Spark is going in for his second all-day dyslexia evaluation appointment.  I'm so excited to get the data and strategies that we need, but I'm not so happy to give up my only day off to be there.  We do know he's right in the middle of the 'spectrum' of dyslexia (forgive the autism metaphor), not severe and not mild.  We're starting to be able to tell him about the ways he is smart, and we'll learn how to help him know it for sure.

And well, that Hero, and the music, it's something that's integral to his being, something that cannot change, even if he tried.  I think I'm feeling, first, the pre-summer crisis of confidence in our abilities to manage childcare without school; second, a lack of shared purpose in my life with Hero.  We need a spoken agreement on our priorities.  We've been just surviving and tag-team parenting for so many years now.  

Our marriage is a true partnership based on deep love (and wacky humor), but the part where we enjoy each other and have fun together is missing.  The majority of the time we spend together occurs when we're asleep.  We don't know who's the leader when we're both home at the same time.  We don't know how to make conversation at the dinner table when all of us are together.  

I'm hoping that a change in schedule at my office may be coming, so that we'll be able to be a complete family more evenings each week.  I'm not sure whether that means I will have a new job at a different business, whether my position may be terminated, or whether I'll be allowed to simply work a shorter schedule.  My next career step is a big question mark right now.

That brings me to today.  Today has been pretty grand.  I've breathed deeply.  Our geographic area has had a week of stormy weather, drenching downpours, rapidly shifting temperatures, and then sunshine.  Today is a mostly sunshine day.

When the boys and I got home after school, Spark went outside to explore the yard and observe bugs.  I let the cats out so that they could bask in the sunshine and eat grass tips.  They were calmly joyful, as cats can be.  I looked through all the little parts of our yard where I like to plant things, and got more ideas for what I'll work on this weekend.  

I was a very lazy gardener last year, planting very little, not weeding, not mulching.  A perennial that looks very like creeping bellflower (campanula) went to seed and has started taking over our and our neighbors' yards.  Time in the garden, just keeping my mind on the plants and getting my hands in the soil, is healing to me.  So that's the plan for the weekend.

Dyslexia, gardening, and laundry and family.  Sounds all right to me.

Sad today

Oh, Lord, I am not the one best suited to raise this child.  Please help me.  God, please, please help me.  I'm married to a man who seems to love music more than he loves me or his family.  He is so often distracted and un-present. I have one son who is sweet as pie and so very smart, and dyslexic.  This other son, the one who hurt me today, has autism and mental illness.  We are just starting to dig our way out of debt after years of being in it up to our eyeballs.  I feel like everyone expects me to keep us functioning on an even keel.  When I've asked for help, I first get a question about payment for services.  I feel so alone.  The weight of this life is so much.