Of all of us, younger has the best self image.
This old soul has never let anyone or anything define him. He patiently suffers fools to a point before he calls them out in the baldest terms possible (I alternately chuckle and cringe).
He ignores the labels and roles assigned him. I’ve never met anyone so completely comfortable in their own skin.
I’m paying attention. Watching and learning from a master.
I’m trying stuff on.
I bought a paddle, so yeah, I’m dragon boating again. I need to get new tips for my darts because I’m beating the hell out of them. And I found a women’s group in the next town that does random stuff.
To wit, I had a cooking class with one and a baby shower for the other this weekend.
And don’t think for a minute I didn’t “what the fuck am I doing?” All the way to both places.
I’m always glad I am doing the thing once I’m there, but oh brother, the anxiety getting there. I’ve gotten into the habit of broadcasting my intentions because that level of accountability ensures I do the thing I said I’m going to do.
So why? Why do it?
For years I said no to a lot because I had coaching/teaching/chaperoning/shadowing for one or both kids. Make no mistake: my work is not finished. However, I’m finally doing some stuff I’ve wanted to do for a while for no better reason than I CAN.
Plus, doing stuff that takes me out of my regularly scheduled reality helps me stay sorta sane.
And i’m so far down 15 pounds in an effort to stave off medication for diabetes and cholesterol. My next round of blood work is in 3 months and the goal is to double my current loss. So yay. Also closing the loops every day on my watch, so it’s a work in progress.
I’m a work in progress.
I’ve said before my younger guy is full of surprises.
He’s been quietly blazing his own trail in big brother’s wake; woe to the person who assumes younger is the same as elder. They couldn’t be more different, which makes their bond all the more special.
So, while his post K-12 trajectory looks identical to his brother’s on paper, the reality couldn’t be any more divergent. Elder tolerated community college; younger jumped in with both feet. He wants involvement, and…it looks like he’s starting to find his groove and his people.
His radio show is his favorite thing right now. Every week he sits down with his notebook and laptop and puts together his playlist. After the first two shows, he stopped consulting me, so I was as surprised as anyone else by what his shows would be.
His choices never fail to move me.
Occasionally, he peers out at me from the control room to gauge my reaction. Most of the set, he’s in his own world, head gently bobbing in time to the music as he sets his levels. He always emerges at the end of his set in a good mood.
He’s found his thing.
We have his penultimate IEP meeting tomorrow.
What a long strange trip it’s been….
Man, I don’t know what’s worse: the level of disorganization, or the level of heartbreak that comes with going through all the objects and deciding what stays and what goes.
My office/aviary needed some TLC, so I cleared out so I can at least throw some darts. My night stand yielded all kinds of flotsam, birthday cards, old pictures, books, and the predictable kick to the gut that life isn’t executing for my guys the way I’d hoped.
I keep reminding myself we’re not done yet; there’s plenty of story left to write. I’m struggling with how much input I need to be giving at the moment. My younger guy needs less; elder requires more, but won’t accept direction.
So I gotta watch him flail.
The fuck.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
October 2008
Took my first couple road trips without the family during my Train the Trainer days, back to back trips to Penn State, then Pittsburgh. The boys were 8 and just turned 5.
I keep thinking of a weekend a couple months back where I was thrown back in time, in more ways than one.
When I moved out on my own 35 years ago, I went straight to my own apartment; no dorms, or roommates, or any of the ups and downs that go with cohabitation. My first—and last—roommate was my husband. In November, I became a researcher in residence and stayed at the accommodation provided. For some reason, I pictured a room in an old house, that looked vaguely Bed and Breakfast-y.
Turned out it wasn’t that, at all. We stayed in a new building at the foot of the mountain that looked like a standalone dorm. In it, was a common living area, dining space, complete kitchen, and four bedrooms, each with twin beds. We were directed to bring our own food, if we wanted, or options were available in town, or at the box store development about 20 minutes away.
I packed light, as I always do. I brought a couple microwave bags of Indian food, a few tins of sardines, some fruit, and a few snack bags of nuts. I saw one of my roommates for the weekend packed a lot more than I did. I also saw that coffee was provided, so my unofficial job for the weekend was getting the morning pot of coffee going. (Apparently this was the best thing ever for the other roommate, which kinda makes me laugh, because it wasn’t that big a deal).
The first night, the heavy packer and I settled in to watch some Netflix (because we don’t have Netflix at home and there were a couple things I wanted to watch). The next evening, bad weather ended our session early. I settled in to watch something else while my roommate busied herself in the kitchen. She brought a bowl of gnocchi with tomato sauce over to me, saying she made too much for herself.
I thanked her. I’m sitting here now thinking about this; someone who I just met giving me a bowl of food.
I didn’t realize I was hungry until I tasted it; and it was so good, I sat with every bite. Intentionally. I thanked her profusely, and she retreated back to her room. And I sat with this little bowl of pasta thinking it was literally the best meal ever.
That weekend was something special. I signed up for the course because it was something I wanted to do that had zero to do with autism or anything else that constitutes my normal. And the entire weekend, from the class work to the field work, to the pizza party and owl banding our last night, took me completely out of my usual routine and gave me a glimpse of other possibilities.
I was happy to get on my way back to it, though. I planned my route home intentionally, enjoying the backroads that brought me first to my favorite second home and visiting with friends, then to my favorite Greek Orthodox Church for some amazing food to go to bring back to the boys.
I keep thinking that weekend should have been most memorable for the raptors and all the personalities I met.
But I keep coming back to that amazing little meal.
I think made magical because it was unexpected. And because someone else made it.
For me.
