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Posts Tagged ‘buzz cut’

Well I know I can’t be posting poetry all the time but poetry comes out of me in cycles, and when my mind shapes a poem I must write it.  I know most people don’t like poetry, especially mediocre poetry, so I apologize for placing it, perhaps, where it does not belong.

Jonah had a relatively good day in school yesterday, which was very cool to read in his log book – he’d gone roller skating and loved it.  He loves yoga too, and his scooter they pull him around on with a weighted-vest.  My sensory-craver boy…

Then D came over and Andy and she and I brought Jonah and the clippers outside, to the outlet halfway down the driveway – and between the three of us, we buzz-cut his hair.  D did the actual buzzing while Andy held Jonah and I sat on the driveway holding Jonah’s legs between Andy’s legs so he couldn’t kick or thrash.  He was hopping mad, of course.  It looked like a circus act, with hair flying everywhere and Jonah twisting around.  Good thing the neighbors weren’t out.  Afterward we had a near-bald boy who immediately ran inside to look at himself in his bedroom door mirror and run his little hand through its baby-chick-head softness.  I went outside to the driveway where all boo’s hair was scattered and picked up a lock.  Maybe it is silly, but I want it to hold when he is gone and I can’t be with him.

Of course he gave D and I plenty of trouble on the way to H’s house and pool.  Safe hands? he’d ask D, wanting her to hold both his hands.  She’d turn and hold his hands, then he’d try to pick his nose or swipe stray hairs from his face, so she’d let go, only to have him beg for safe hands again.  Over and over.  He kicked the back of D’s seat and head-rest, hit the windows HARD, flat-palmed, and screamed his loudest, his someone-is-murdering-me screams, laughing and giggling afterward.

What?  D and I would ask each other, unable to talk above the noise.  No wonder I am going for a hearing test this afternoon.  Between Jonah, my concussion, and all those loud 70s/80s/90s concerts I saw (like KISS, Rush, Def Leppard, Jane’s Addiction, and every other band where I’ve sat too close to the speakers on purpose), my ears are suffering.  I always did like my music loud.

Then Jonah started to beg for hot dog.  Hotdogwithmustard?  he asked repeatedly.  Hotdogwithmustard?  My plan was to stop at Stewart’s on the way to H’s, but then I called H and she said she still had some from the last time I brought some over, so she prepared one in her microwave, God bless her, so it would be ready upon King Jonah’s’ arrival.

Finally Jonah got both his naked swim and his hot dog and all was right with the world for a few moments, though the entirety of our visit was maybe 15 minutes, tops.  ADHD?  D and I were half-jokingly recalling the blessed days (which we used to complain about, believe it or not) when he would perseverate on just one thing at a time.  Let’s ride the escalator 75 times!  Let’s stare into the street sewer for a half an hour!  Let’s go on the merry-go-round 8 times in a row!

Going on the assumption that most folk prefer pictures over poetry, I’ll make sure to come back later and post some.  I might even upgrade my account so I can post video.  I’m taking pictures and video of Jonah with ever-increasing frequency, as if I can capture and visit him whenever I want.

“The candlelight flickers
The falcon calls
A lime-green lizard scuttles down the cabin wall
And all of these spirit voices
Sing rainwater, seawater
River water, holy water
Wrap this child in mercy…”

~ Spirit Voices by Paul Simon

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In preparation for Jonah’s new chapter in life we are (hopefully successfully) going to give him a buzz cut tonight.  Sitter/cousin D is coming over to help Andy and me- and with the 3 of us we should be able to get ‘er done.  Then, if it clears up and is nice later, D and I will take him to friend H’s to swim. 

I am starting to think ahead, beyond the time when Jonah goes away.  Before this I was simply thinking of it as a doomsday clock – that everything would come to an end on August 16th – that there was no point in thinking beyond this day or its inevitable heartbreak (and relief?).

My fantastic therapist, Dr. Alex, mentioned that I maybe should make a (real or metaphorical) social story for ME.  I’ve made one for Jonah and something like one to send to his care workers, but one for ME might help me prepare emotionally – to help me not block out, ignore, or go numb about all of this, which are the defense mechanisms I have been using.

Jonah has been awful at school.  Where usually he would be at camp during summer school, this year he has been disallowed (and, unfortunately, rightfully so) because of his behaviors.  I’m so happy the Anderson School has such a big, nice pool so he can swim.  At Wildwood he has been what they euphemistically call “smearing” almost every day.  YUCK.  Then they have to shower him and clean all the shit off him, the walls, themselves – and probably endure scratches, bites, and kicks in the process.  The dedication of these direct-care workers amazes me. 

It would be one thing if they were making the money they deserve, but the money just isn’t there.  I wish they could have a capital campaign earmarked specifically to raise salaries of these incredible individuals.  I am so grateful for them I want to fall at their feet and sob out my thanks, in my usual over-the-top style.  Instead I will make them gift bags and pray they’ll know, somewhere in their hearts, how much they (and Wildwood) have meant to us and to all the children who need them.  What a wonderful school. 

Here’s Jonah learning emotions, a year or two ago, with his speech teacher, L.  In an earlier post I put up a picture of “excited face.”  Here is “mad face” :

If Anderson is anything like Wildwood I will be so relieved. 

I have received ever-increasing support from everywhere – people e-mailing me, leaving comments here – people who don’t even know me, or who knew me from my childhood.  People I’ve met both virtually and personally who’ve been through this or are going through it…we’re like Sgt. Jonah’s broken hopeful hearts club bandI am not alone.  I am not alone.  It is my mantra and I cling to it like a proverbial rope you climb to get up and back over the cliff.

I yearn for Gina, for she was my sister-in-spirit.  I yearn for siblings, for I have none.  But I don’t want to yearn.   I don’t want to worry.  When I don’t want to worry I think of this Bible verse:

“Look at the birds of the air; your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:26

Stay focused, Amy.  Have faith.  Stay busy, stay optimistic, stay positive. 

And don’t forget to breathe.  When I want to remember to breathe I think of HH the Dalai Lama:

Practice for the New Millennium by the Dalai Lama

1. Spend 5 minutes at the beginning of each day remembering we all want the same things (to be happy and be loved) and we are all connected to one another.

2. Spend 5 minutes breathing in, cherishing yourself; and, breathing out cherishing others. If you think about people you have difficulty cherishing, extend your cherishing to them anyway.

3. During the day, extend that attitude to everyone you meet. Practice cherishing the “simplest” person (clerks, attendants, etc) or people you dislike.

4. Continue this practice no matter what happens or what anyone does to you.

These thoughts are very simple, inspiring and helpful. The practice of cherishing can be taken very deeply if done wordlessly, allowing yourself to feel the love and appreciation that already exists in your heart.

I’m trying; I’m learning.  I’m grateful. 

I just hurt.

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