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Archive for the ‘autism’ Category

Andy called me this morning to remind me about Jonah’s glaucoma appointment with Dr. S.  

I’d totally forgotten about it so it’s a good thing he did call.  E and J brought Jonah up and I met them all at the office.  We always wait in the hallway because the waiting room is full of mostly 60-90 year olds, and Jonah could take every one of them down if we didn’t stop him.  Bruce Banner turned into the Hulk; Jonah turns into the Tasmanian Devil.

Wikipedia describes Taz as a dim-witted omnivore with a notoriously short temper and little patience. He will eat anything and everything, with an appetite that seems to know no bounds. He is best known for his speech consisting mostly of grunts, growls and rasps, and his ability to spin and bite through just about anything.

Yeah, that sounds a little like Boo.

He was all ramped up today when I first got there, and I’d already stashed my new glasses in the car, so I was literally going in blind.  Luckily he was lovey, and though he answered “no” when I asked if he wanted to sing a song, eventually he capitulated and took turns singing lines of Fa Fa and Keep it Together with me.

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He wanted to touch and knock at the pictures hanging on the wall.  Quiet hands, Jonah, we told him.

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He sat patiently, for the most part.  Then he’d get up, walk in a circle, and sit down again,

J is holding both of Jonah’s hands and rocking back and forth with him, telling Jonah silliness that Jonah loves to repeat…we had to wait for a little while and Jonah was getting impatient.

When the nurse tested his vision, he held up the little black plastic thingee that covers one eye and read what he could.  He’s fine when he can use his right eye, but his left seems much harder for him.  He gets frustrated and tries to cheat.  When redirected he becomes angry, maybe throwing the plastic thingee or hitting the nearest person.  But today he just gave a half-hearted swat into the air and allowed the doc to examine him.

“Okay, buddy, sit on your knees,” says the doctor.  Jonah just sits there.  J and E try to help explain it to Jonah, who then rises until he’s standing on the chair.  Finally J and E have to help Jonah into a kneeling sit so Jonah can scootch himself up and into the eye machine, miraculously cooperative of bright pins of light, strange machinery, a doctor telling you to look this-way-then-that-way, eye drops, and a gadget that touches your eyeball and take its pressure.

Amazing.

M & I took tomorrow off work to travel downstate and see another Guster show; we’re staying overnight, then M will drop me off at Andy’s on the way back.  After our visit with Boo I’ll hitch a ride back to Albany with my mom.

Sounds like a sweet plan.  I think the amount of times I’ve seen the Grateful Dead and the amount of times I’ve seen Guster must be about the same now.  Something like 18 each, maybe.  I wonder if I’m the only person who was first a Deadhead and then a Gusterrhoid.

The thing is, every show is different – every show a re-energizing.  I’m excited to see them.  And Boo.

(He’s kind of re-energizing too).

O

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so far so good

So far so good today.  I am home and took a pic to show you my progess. Much better today, no?

O

Perhaps tomorrow I will actually look presentable for work.

M is better too, and so is Jonah, so far.  Andy picked him up this morning for a visit.  I hope Jonah has fun and is non-aggressive.  I hope they can go for a walk somewhere in the warmish air.  I hope they are happy together and there are no problems gt all.  We’ll see.  I have to learn not to expect too much. 

Radical acceptance is really quite radical.

I’ll keep you posted.

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“Before you speak, ask yourself – Is it necessary?  Is it true?  Is it kind?  Will it hurt anyone?  Will it improve on the silence?”
~ Sri Sathya Sai Baba

How hurtful we can be without meaning to be.  You’d think I’d be used to being hurt, both physically and emotionally, but I’m just not.  And ’tis a horrifying thought to know I also have spoken quickly, without thinking, without asking myself these questions.  We all do it, I imagine.  This quote is so wise, whoever Sri Sathya Sai Baba is.  I learn lots by researching the person who uttered a quote I love. 

I saw Jonah on Wednesday at Albany Medical Center for his pediatric rheumatologist appointment.  E and J are back as the team who drives Jonah to and fro, but they do so much more than that, as I’ve mentioned.  I love these people and look forward to seeing them almost as much as I look forward to seeing Boo.  He did well at the appointment, mostly, but part of that was due to the caring doc’s speed and efficiency.  No waiting.  None.  We go straight to a room and as soon as she sees him, Dr. B is on her game and handling everything.  It’s refreshing.  I don’t know how she does it, but I’m more grateful for her than she will ever know.

I should have taken pictures but I keep forgetting my camera, or forgetting to charge my camera, so I’ll end the post with some more random pictures.  I like putting pictures in my blog post.  Tomorrow I’ll remember the camera when I go visit Boo, I promise.  I wish I had it at his doc appointment.  He was parroting in classic echolalia form.  “Jonah, sit on the table.”  Over and over.  He’d had enough at the exact moment she finished gently pulling and prodding his joints.

There are so many things I wonder about my boy.  I know the other kids like to cuddle with the caregivers on the couches and watch TV or play Wii, but Jonah doesn’t like it.  I know that much.  He wants to stay in his room a lot.  They coax him out when they can, it seems.   I hate thinking about him alone in his room.  If that’s what makes him happy, should I be more okay with it? 

I wish I knew more about what he likes to play with, and who he wants to be with, and things he says/does/sings.  They don’t tell you a whole lot beyond basic information but I want anecdotal stories.  I want to hear about it when he does good things, or funny things…not just whether or not he had “behaviors” that day, or how many, or what he had for dinner and whether or not he threw his plate.  I want to know more about my son. 

I know he is sick right now and I want to hold him close and let him lie on me and suck his thumb while we watch Barney or the Wiggles.  Of course I just described a fantasy.  Even if he were here in my home that scenario is highly unlikely, unless he were really, really sick.  He’d hit at me, pull my hair, scratch my face.  Is he angry at the world?  Is he angry at us all because we just don’t get it, whatever it is?

Some weeks it’s easier to have gratitude than others.  Sometimes I don’t sit down to add a blog post until I’m motivated by a hurt, worry, depression, shame, anger, or some other emotion that drives me to write.   I guess it means every blog post is skewed by its catalyst emotion.  I can’t do much about that, but today’s emotion, even though it’s Friday, is soul-tired.

I’m praying for a lot of people.  A lot.  They all have serious needs, problems, grief.  I don’t know what good the prayers do but I like to send them up anyway.  I’m a little unconventional with that, but I do pray from my heart and my heart always answers back you are not alone in your hurtYou are not alone.  And that’s the gift you get back when you pray for others; it’s all mirrored back at you, offering perspective and empathy and, if you dig deep enough, peace.

Blah blah blah.  Some pictures:

Me and an unidentified large bear, outside the Bass Pro Shop in Springfield, Missouri.

Me and an unidentified large bear, outside the Bass Pro Shop in Springfield, Missouri.

his mama's bony body and his daddy's tan

Mama’s lean body, daddy’s tan skin

old days, exploring in the forest near home

old days, exploring in the forest near home

the waterboy

Waterboy

daddy holds Jonah's hand and grandma walks beside them - away from his residence and across the campus to the car.

daddy holds Jonah’s hand and grandma walks beside them – away from his residence and across the campus to the car.

Mama will see you tomorrow, Boo.  Sleep tight.

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I’ve been kind of sick for too long a while.  I’d rather be sicker and have it over more quickly.  There is simultaneously optimism and fear inside me – and a disheartened kind of grief.  A good, gracious man I know died on New Year’s Eve; he was only 61.  I’m not sure what’s going on inside my head but I need to watch videos like this and seek out information like you get here in order to continue to have faith in humanity

I have to remind myself there are so many amazing things. 

I forgot to bring my camera on my trip to see Jonah yesterday, so I’ll have to share older pics.  Jonah was a good boy.  He didn’t want me to sing, though, even though he was in a parroting mood.  Andy had on the radio and Jonah was humming snippets of the top 40 music and saying things to himself… then suddenly he’s quiet, moving his thumb easily and naturally into his mouth as he turns to look out the window.  It was a warm day – maybe even 40.  My mother and I were quiet on the ride home as she tolerated my music:  things like Kula Shaker, Paul Simon, Radiohead, and Death Cab for Cutie, this day.  I won’t subject her to Greenday or the Grateful Dead; I know where to draw the line.   It was a good visit tinged with the usual feeling that comes inside when you are driving farther and farther away from your innocent ten year old son. 

Today I made chicken cacciatore and M and I are watching Dick Proenneke’s Alone in the Wilderness.   It’s such an amazing documentary that tears come to my eyes as I watch it.  This man built a cabin in the middle of Twin Lakes, Alaska (where he was the only human) and lived there for thirty years, 1968-1998, until he was 81 years old.  He carved spoons and bowls out of wood in a matter of hours.  He could chop down 40 trees and shape them into useable logs to build the cabin, all before noon.  Amazing things.  He built carriers for food and moss.  Caught fish and avoided bear.  Somehow didn’t go insane even while so literally alone.

The things he accomplishes – the way he thinks, the way he moves through the world — it’s so mind-blowing sometimes I have no reaction but to laugh out loud in astonishment.

He builds tools, tables, chairs;  intricate, near-perfect hinges; neat, even boards for shelves and working surfaces.  He narrates most of the movie, sets the camera on a tripod and films himself measuring, building, climbing, chopping, carving, cooking, gardening.  Everything handmade.  A plane would come only, I think, twice a year to bring him very basic supplies.  Are there still people like him, people who know civilization but choose to leave it, with talent and skill and that true harmony with nature?  I am in such awe of it.  No wonder I love Laura Ingalls Wilder.

For me these people speak of possibility, and resilience, and determination.  

It’s good for me today.  So here are some random things while I make my exit to watch some more about Mr. Proenneke:

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O

Silly Me

Silly Me

O

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ScareMeNots recycle!

The Hudson River in March 2002Rhinebeck NY

Baby Jonah...Looking right at me.

Baby Jonah…
Looking right at me.

Gustav Klimt'sThe Kiss

Gustav Klimt’s
The Kiss

O

my child of the water

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“You are always saying something
You swear you’d never say again…”

~ Fa Fa by Guster

Awareness is everything.  I too often play the ostrich, burying my head in the sand.  Not a good plan if you intend to see, or move, or live.  I have turned a corner, maybe, pushed gently but firmly into the light by my amazing friend R.  In part, he wrote to me:

You know damned well it’s the Key to the Garden 
To say, “yes”
To be silent to it, 
And by ‘it’ I mean everything. 
To witness preconceived…
To be the recipient of true mercy,
 
To repent to the beautiful,
 
To witness your own suffering from God’s embrace, 
Rather than punishing that very suffering, 
Locking it in the closet like some kind of monster.
And:
So too do we tend the garden of ourselves, 
We become the fountain
from which beauty becomes.
Open your mouth and pour forth.
The graying thorns push forth new roses.
So seemingly impossible it seems 
To disentangle from their clutch,
Without losing of the flesh, 
When it is merely a step backward,
A patient disentangling,
 
But Jesus H Christ it hurts.
And:
I could write inspiring and encouraging words, a pep talk Chicken Soup For The Soul, 
but I already fell into that trap.
 
I don’t have a fucking clue what it feels like to be you. 
 
Not a clue.
 
What the fuck do you know, R? 
You don’t know shit. 
That is so, that IS so.
 
I DO know that walking towards life is at once the brave path, 
And yet the only one that brings relief.
 
I do know that fucking much.
That much I do know. 

And so I answered “yes,” and something inside me woke up, and I am walking toward life, toward embracing life – all of it, even the suffering and pain – the helplessness and disorder.  At Four Winds they call it “radical acceptance.”
Because one of the things I never say here is how close I have been at any given moment to turning away from life completely.  How my bones feel like bars of a cage… how often I want to crawl out of my skin… how I feel utterly uncomfortable inside my body.  How close I come to running away in a literal sense – to driving until the gas is on empty and then curling up in a ball in a forest somewhere.

Yes, I know how ridiculous I sound.

I can change all of these things.  What you focus on expands.
It shall be an amazing, healthy, happy 2013.

And as if to drive this all home, Jonah was wonderful yesterday.  My mom and I risked the snow we knew was coming and drove down to Rhinebeck, luckily before any weather had started at all.
Jonah wanted grandma in the backseat and he proceeded to steal her gloves and wear them quite happily (which is funny because he won’t wear his own. Maybe we’ll get him a similar pair as these, which he loved and laughed about having “stolen” from grandma):
The satisfaction of a heist well executied:  pulling them on...

The satisfaction of a heist well executed: pulling them on..

Looking over to see her reaction...

Then glancing over to see grandma’s reaction…

I love how he looks like a little guru here, or as if in prayer...

I love how he looks like a little guru here, or as if in prayer…

Jonah sang and laughed and ate tune-fish-sandwich and chips and cranbewwy soda.  He took his bath and we went for car ride to transfer station (where you recycle).

My mother and I breathed a collective sigh of relief when we started home in the snow…we thanked God, almost in tears, for another good day, for a happy boy.

And later, having arrived safely home, I took a few pictures of the beautiful snow falling on my house and lawn.  I put Knockout Ned out there for the ScareMeNot Facebook page, so you’ll see him hanging from our lamp post:

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“And what you wished for could come true;
You aren’t surprised, love, are you?”

~What you Wish For, Guster 

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It’s interesting when some people worry about/disapprove of/mock my disclosing so much of my life here. 

In fact it’s almost funny.  The truth is I only” type & tell” about thirty-fifty percent of what is relevant in any given post, and that’s not a time crunch problem – it’s a matter of what to say and how to say it.   Or if I even have it in me to do so. 

And so tonight I’ll post two quotes and a bunch of pictures and leave it at that, before I start saying a whole bunch of crazy shit.  I promised not to sugar-coat, but I never promised to reveal all.

I cry out for order and find it only in art.
~ Helen Hayes

Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.
~ Helen Keller

God knows how Helen Keller had that superpower.  I sure don’t, though I love the quote.

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O

O

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“oh ho, alas alas” ~ john berryman

my first ever no-capitalization post, i think.  i am playing e.e. cummings for a few paragraphs and oscar is dead.  i write only because i need to release a few things tied up inside me…

andy picked jonah up at anserson this morning and the other children in his house had been picked up the night before (we have yet to even attempt an overnight visit), and the ride up was okay.   quickly things went south, though, once they got to albany, and jonah spent the majority of his time weeping uncontrollably, despite presents from santa and bath and turkey sandwich.  he wanted a car ride to the train (which never came) and at some point during the ride, inexplicably, his face froze and melted into sadness, anguish, pain.  he wept and wept, then threw his coat, shoes, and socks at andy – most of which i was able to deflect.

O

Eventually there was nothing to throw.  So Jonah kicked the back of the seat, hit hard at his window.

Andy pulled over so he could hug Boo, but Boo pleaded mama? so I got out of the car and I opened Jonah’s door and leaned in and hugged him tight.  Then tighter, giving him sensory pressure, loving him loving him loving him, until finally he un-tensed, collapsed into me, and wept harder – crying and sobbing.  We cried together, the back door open on the side of the road.  Then we’d calm him down and we’d get 500 more feet down the road and it would happen again.  No go back to Anderson?  Hot dog?  Bath?  Pa comin’? — confusedly, desperately.

Andy drove, and I cried, and Jonah alternately calmed down (and even giggled once) before again becoming angry and then falling backward into something like despair.

Inside my mother’s house, after the car ride, he punched me hard in the face and and kicked me in the ribs.  He head-butted Andy, trying to bite, enraged and frustrated.  We had to just lie with him on the carpet for a good long while

and whatever it is I’d pay a million dollars to fix it.  He breaks my mother into a thousand pieces, every time.

There is too much to say and who the hell wants to read about this anyway on Christmas Day?

I will post something better, later. Funnier.  I’ll be David Sedaris.  Just not on this particular December 25th.  Lo siento.  And I cannot forget Connecticut; I pick at its horrific entirely like a scab, imagining the families, those familes and their unthinkable Christmas pain.

We sometimes mourn for what we do not or cannot have any longer, or at all — for things and concepts; dreams, wishes, and people – we mourn for what is irrevocably gone.  But also we mourn for what will go on and on and on and on, painfully and unceasingly beyond our capacity to fix.

O

I’m so sorry, Boo.  Mama loves you.

God please help him.

Help all in despair this day.

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Resentment: Def. A feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury – real or imagined.

Andy has brought Jonah to three post-op doctor appointments this week.  God knows what would happen if he did not live where he does and have the job(s) he does.  E and J have been unable to bring him to his last 4 appointments.  What does the school do if there is a child who needs an eye surgery and doesn’t have the transportation to get there?

The laser surgery was medically successful, at least initially, but I had to take the whole day off Monday because everything happened excruciatingly slowly.

This video shows Jonah, gowned up and ready to go, stuck in a room Does he like Dora? the nurse kindly asked and we said yes and we said sure and we said thank you when all we wanted was to get going. Andy is standing between Jonah and me as Jonah walked his circles in the small space of the room.

Five minutes after this Jonah had a major flip out, throwing himself on the floor in the hallway, kicking, screaming, pulling hair, biting.  Nobody came out to help us.

Eventually we got him back to the room and calm.

O

The operation itself was quick.  Jonah got sick afterwards and kept wanting to itch his eye.  so I used a tissue to gently press on the eye, and I kissed it soundly, over and over.  Kiss eye?  Kiss eye?  Yes, Boo.  Kiss eye.  Of course kiss eye.

O

It was more difficult than usual to send him back to school, an hour and a half away from me, where I see him so infrequently and have so little control over what happens to him.  I have to trust.  One of the check-in people on eye operation day noted that Jonah was at a residential facility.  She mentioned that her daughter was autistic and how she would never, ever trust anyone to take her precious baby away from her.  “I don’t trust nobody with my baby,” she declared.   It was as if she had slapped me in the face.  Who says that to someone whose kid is already in a residential facility?  What do you know about why we did it?  I wanted to yell.

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Jonah & Andy, walking the halls before the room where you gown up.

– – –

And so I crawl along, filled with dread, with grief and terror for this world, with my heart broken for those at Sandy Hook in CT.  I read all the intelligent arguments about mental illness, parenting, gun control, and violent games/TV, and I find no answer in my heart — and that, maybe, is what frightens me most.  My mental state becomes fragile when I am confronted by humanity at its worst.

Which did not help when very recently I was the target of verbal anger, delivered in front of others and with a ramped-up rage that left me in disbelief, filled with embarrassment, and completely stunned. Despite a nonverbal apology later for the “confusion,” (not the behavior), I think maybe too many people enjoy railroading over people like me, who don’t fight back.  One witness, upon seeing my face fall, told me coldly to “suck it up.”  Maybe I really don’t belong in society, such as it is, because that kind of behavior seems so foreign to me that I have no response but tears.  It will pass, it always does, I regain the strength and something restores my faith and I keep on going.

Yet there is a lot that’s wrong with all the people in this world.  With our priorities and with our ignorance and with our anger.  All of us.  There are a lot of things one can say about me but I will say this for myself:  I may be meek, but I am kind, and I don’t take advantage of people’s weaknesses or vulnerabilities, and I care about how other people feel, and I have never treated anyone the way I was treated today.  So perhaps people like me really shall inherit the earth, like the Bible says.  Watch out then, bullies, because things are gonna get a whole lot more mellow. (Quite rightly).

If I were a Buddhist all of this would play out in my head and heart quite differently.  I would be thankful to this person for their challenge to my ability to be compassionate and understanding.  I would consider them my teacher.  I would not only forgive instantly but also revere the perpetrator – very similar to Jesus’ “turn the other cheek.” That’s some serious shit to truly take on, though, which makes me admire earnestly practicing Buddhists and Christians all the more.  Perhaps I should just up and go to Plum Village for a while.  I need to pound the lessons into my head.

Of course this whole story – every little bit of it – is nothing compared to what has happened and continues to happen in Newtown, CT.  Burials, burials.  An entire community with post-traumatic stress disorder.  Pain-filled awakenings from nightmare hours of darkness.  God only knows the horror.  God help all the mourning people. I just can’t muster much joy in Christmas this year;  I have had the wind knocked out of me and am only a stranger, miles away.  But I can pretend, and the pretending will become real.  Smiling begets smiling.  Breathing allows for release.

Hope.

At least I am still able to crawl along.  To let go of the resentment.  Breathe, breathe.  Let it go… Feel gratitude.

I’m a Weeble, you see.  I wobble, but I don’t fall down.

Weebles just, well, rock on.

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“Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown
But I thank the Lord for the people I have found;
I thank the Lord for the people I have found

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky…
But they can’t and that is why
They know not if it’s dark outside or light.”

~ Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, Elton John

I have not felt like writing.
I’ve been playing online poker and sending out (mostly Christmas) cards,
playing with stickers & markers like a kid
listening to (new to me) old music from the early 70s
(Genesis and Elton John, their really old stuff…)
I’ve been staying up way later than I used to
and trying to unravel the sticky red tape of Medicaid
and trusting it shall be unraveled, soon & successfully.
I’ve been dreaming of the Pacific sun over the Big Island
and not thinking about Jonah’s (4th) eye operation on Monday.

Perhaps some pictures. I’m just so very tired.

O

He looks like a pissed off mini-Beatle in this photo.  And, more and more I think, in pictures you can tell his left eye looks so different from his right eye.  Evidently he has just had a haircut, and S, one of his direct care workers, says he is muy bonito.  (She speaks Spanish and if I had kept up with my Rosetta Stone, so would I).  I can’t wait to see him on Saturday.  I couldn’t go last week because I had the kind of migraine where you puke 8 or 10 times and lay there in the bed in between, twisting and pushing your face into the pillow to seek comfort, cushion, relief.  Anything, anything.  I was so desperate.  I’d never hold up under torture.

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Jonah is high-fiving E, one of the kick-ass caregivers; she keeps track of all his records and she advocates, smiles, hugs, and is generally awesome.  Plus she and J drive him to and from many doctor appointments.    Here they are at Jonah’s recent glaucoma doc.

I took this (nothing really happens) video sitting next to Jonah in the backseat of car ride.  You can see how all around his lips are chapped (we took care of that in a few days with some Burt’s Bees) and he is rhythmically rocking to some Top-40 song Andy has on the radio she said disdainfully.  I like when he gets all smiley and turns toward the window.  By the end he reminds me of Carl from Slingblade.

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Manzo likes to be inside boxes and bags.  The bag is appropriately from the World Wildlife Foundation. <– Just as I typed that M opened the door to let Jack out and Manzo scooted out as well, jumping the fence into our next door neighbor’s yard immediately.  I am trying not to panic because I know we can’t catch him if he doesn’t want to be caught, and it’s cold out so he should come back in.

Damn it though.

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Raymond:  97X. Bam!  The future of rock ‘n’ roll.   
97X. Bam!  The future of rock ‘n’ roll.  
97X, Bam!  The future of rock ‘n’ roll.

~ Raymond Babbitt in Rainman

Oh, my sweet, precious little boy.  What a wonder you are!

This is the third Thanksgiving I’ve described in this blog.  Hard to believe..  The first was awful – so awful, in fact, that just days later I would check myself into a mental health facility, the second was fun (and was paired with two Guster shows, so how could one go wrong?), and yesterday, Thanksgiving 2012, which was easy-wonderful.

Andy was nice enough to drive Jonah up to Grandma’s house, and I met them there.  My boo came crashing through the front door, shrieking with happiness.  We ate turkey sandwiches; Jonah ate one and a hot dog as well, and chips, and bacon, and “white ice cream.”  He asked for train and we drove him there even though we knew Thanksgiving trains are few and far between.  All the way there my mom sat in the backseat with Jonah, but he kept asking mama in the backseat?  And my mother told him, “yes, sweetheart, as soon as we stop for the train.”  It made me feel good; usually he wants grandma in the backseat.

He also wanted music, and daddy turned up this station that he and Jonah enjoy: 92.3 FLY.  After one of the songs they announced the call station with snazzy-jingle-music and the deep voice and all.  Jonah immediately parroted it, really well, too, if I don’t say so myself.  92.3 – WFLY!  92.3 – WFLY!  92.3 – WFLY!  None of us could help laughing, which only encouraged him.  Giggling, he kept at it for a while, just like Rainman.

So there was no train, but I got to sit in the backseat with my Boo – and instead of telling me move (which means get as far away from me as possible and do not even look at me), he asked for hugs.  Over and over again he wanted hugs.  Bear hugs, he even said.  And so I reveled in this, moved close to him, wrapped my arms around him, and hugged tight, raining kisses on his Beatle-length hair.  More bear hug?  he pleaded, looking up at me sweetly.  Yes, Boo, I replied, hugging him closer, tighter, until it felt like we were one.  Oh thank you, I said silently.  Thank you.

And this week I get to see him again – tomorrow, which I hope will be as beautiful as today – and Jonah as lovey.

daddy-hugs

Before Andy and Jonah left, they came inside to get their share of a Thanksgiving dinner my mom had made just for the few of us.  So she had a bag with all their food in it, and Jonah and Andy were saying goodbye, when Jonah opened the freezer, snagged the rest of the bacon, put it into the bag of food, then looked up at us all as if to say “k, let’s go.”  Of course grandma let him take the bacon.

Mom and I had coffee afterwards and laughed at Boo’s adorable little ways.  We both had tears behind our laughter, but they were mostly good, happy, thankful tears.

We’ve plenty to give thanks for, that’s for sure.

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