The Never Normal

This morning Andy left to help his friend Dave sheet-rock the new addition to his house.  (My husband is the go-to-guy who will help anyone with anything).  While I love this about Andy, I also knew it would be harder to get though the day without him…it’s a beautiful day today and I wanted to take jonah outside, probably to the park — and if you’ve been reading “Jonah’s Journey” you know what that’s been like lately.  I was bucking up for it, though, and Jonah seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

So as soon as Andy leaves, I decide to first vacuum the house a bit.  Jonah loves the vacuum and usually is entertained just watching me.  But no sooner do I turn it on when the phone rings and it’s Dave, the guy Andy has just left to go help.  Andy had offered to run to the store for Dave, and so Dave was calling (one minute too late) to take him up on it.  I consider making the 35-minute trip to his house myself with Jonah, but then it turns out all he needs is soda, so i asked him to have Andy go to the nearest store once he gets there.

People don’t realize it, but it’s hard to take Jonah to the store…I mean, I don’t even take him at all, for our groceries.  Andy does, or I go shopping alone when Jonah is in school.  You have to be able to hold him in your arms, balanced on a hip, while you shop with the other hand.  There is no other option.  Yes, sometimes he’ll sit in the cart, but only for a limited time — and putting him down to walk is not a possibility, because he will not hold your hand or follow you but rather cry to be picked up and/or throw himself to the ground, screaming.

Which, ironically, is what the rest of my day turned out to be like, even though I didn’t go to the store for Dave…

So I hang up with Dave and turn the vacuum back on, but immediately the phone rings again and it’s Andy’s mother, Jane. She is coming to Albany (where we live) for something and decides she’s going to bring up a whole bunch of soaking wet crap that got ruined in a basement flood they’re experiencing. (She brings it to us because we have free trash pick up because we live in the city of Albany).  No problem.  So I tell her I may or may not be here and to please leave the stuff on the back porch.

By this time it’s still early, maybe 10:15am, so after I finally run the vacuum, I decide to take Jonah outside in the yard or in the driveway to play.  I get his juice and my soda and we walk out the back door.  He goes to get in his plastic orange play car thing and there is a dead bird on top of the roof.  Jonah is of course oblivious and goes right toward the poor, broken, possibly-diseased thing, so I block him and tip the car over to dump the bird on the driveway.  Luckily Jonah is more interested in the car than the bird, so I am able to hunt around the porch till I find paper towels to scoop it up and throw it in the trash can.

For a while Jonah plays with the car and in the sandbox in the backyard, but then all of a sudden there’s a police helicopter who has decided to circle our neighborhood and the noise is making Jonah all antsy and I’m wondering if some thug is about to appear from the bushes — we do live in what i would call a safe, family neighborhood, but a cop copter circling just can’t be good.

As it is passing I put Jonah in his little red wagon to distract him and then I start down the long driveway to the road.  But no sooner do I get two doors down when he ditches the wagon and runs full-out up the street.  So I shove the wagon into the grass and go running after him.  When I catch him he grabs my glasses and throws them on the street, and I have to pick them up, pick him up, and retrieve the wagon.

So somehow I get him inside, kicking and screaming. I’ve got to wrestle Jonah’s clothes off to change him and refresh his juice and God knows what I look like right now and then our back door opens and in walks Jane, chattering about a pile of stuff in her hands, photos of Andy’s grandmother and grandfather.  e — and though our driveway is ARROW STRAIGHT, she cranks the wheel and comes within an inch or two of smashing into the house.

After Jane leaves, I take Jonah to the park. Bravely, I hoist Jonah to my hip and walk to the playground area — which is down this path along the baseball fields (where lots of parents & kids are congregating) and up (and over) a grassy hill.  Two or three times I try putting my 40 pound cherub down, hoping he’ll hold my hand and walk!  But to no avail, and carry Jonah I must.  It is ten minutes to noon.

Finally the swings come into view and luckily there are two free baby swings. I put Jonah in one and give hum pushes, and I’m thinking maybe I can actually do this — and it really is a beautiful spring day.

I start dodging between the swings, yelling getchoo getchoo! until he’s shrieking with laughter.  Then we go play on the climbing equipment.

The other kids are obviously aware that something is weird with Jonah — he is so single minded about getting from the stairs to the tunnel to the slide that he will literally push right through, past, around, on top of, or under any other little kid in his way.  He is not mean about it, but nonetheless it starts to be that should I start telling the parents that my kid has autism? thing where he is grunting and not talking and not making eye contact and maybe the parents are wondering what’s wrong with this little boy…

Jonah starts to get some visuals going on this very tall pole nearby that has a night lamp on top.  He cranes his neck up to look at it and starts walking around the pole in ever-widening circles, forgetting about the Big Climbing Thing and Me.  I keep an eye on him and hope he reels himself back in.  No luck, of course, because now Jonah is in full-autism-throttle, grinding his teeth, grunting, running off with no fear or care for where the hell mom is.

Finally I chase him down, pick him up, and start back up & over the hill toward the baseball fields. For about three seconds, Jonah allows himself to be carried but then wants down and I try to make a game of it:  Run! Let’s race up the hill! because my arm and back feel fucking broken and I just pray he’ll run along –and Jonah collapses, crying, on the grass.  I go back to him and heft him into my arms.  He struggles and screams and I have to put him down again.  Now we are on the other side of the hill at the edge of the path between the fields, and there are lots of parents all over the place.

Jonah is lying on the ground kicking up dirt and screaming fucking premeditated bloody murder.  I sit next to him for a few seconds and just let him scream.  I have no idea what to do.  I’m keeping it together, though – I mean, it’s some serious progress for me that I am not in tears by this time… and eventually I lift him again, and he slips one hand down my shirt (his old favorite self-soothing activity that I have been trying to break him of) and grabs my glasses with his other hand.  Luckily he does not throw the glasses this time.  It is now thirty five minutes after twelve.

I put a screaming Jonah into his car seat and hand him a sippy cup full of juice and then play Keep it Together to drown out everything.

When we get home I make him a milk and rock him in the chair and he goes right into his crib no problem, THANK GOD.  This is now one p.m.and I am ready to go the fuck to bed.

Instead I come here and start to type this but jonah wakes up after only an hour, so I have to abandon my typing to hold him on the couch.  Andy finally got home and showered and then took Jonah somewhere, probably to the park, to give me a break, THANK GOD.

I don’t know if this all seems petty, and I don’t care.  I can’t put out another ounce for anyone right now.  I just can’t.

But THANK GOD everything wasn’t/isn’t worse. A nd, as Scarlett O’Hara liked to say, tomorrow is another day….