Streeeeeetch and Retreat

It’s true, I’ve realized lately. In the new paradigm I inhabit with my unwilling and unruly children, I’ve retreated the tiniest bit, back into my nest. Part of it is the divorce and my children’s emotional space- How much can I write about where I’m at without violating their small personal space? I don’t have that answer. It doesn’t help that the loose ends are not all cut yet, and there are ravelling strings blowing in the wind, and as the strings ravel and knot, they become nests of their own. Despite the divorce being legal and final. Is “final” even in the equation when you have three precious children? No matter how big the mistakes that were made? All the non-answers float around my head and steal my sleep.

Jeffrey asked me where my wedding ring was today. It’s the small pebbles in your shoe that trip you up- like a child thinking his parents’ marriage implodes is because he lost the cufflinks on the dresser.  No my sweet, it’s not, no never, not ever, your fault. My wedding ring is shut away, with my popped heartstrings, in a tiny white leather box lined in red velvet- crimson on the inside, and when you crack the box, it’s like cracking my heart. “Can I have it mom?” Innocence. You already do, son. The others chime in, nervous the lion’s share is being commandeered by the firstborn yet again- “I want it mom! I want it! Where is it?!” “Mama, can I have your pretty diamond ring, the silver one?” It’s not silver, I hold the words in my mouth, unhatched like a robin’s egg. It’s my remnant, my fossil, child. We shall wait and see. You do not know what you ask…

Something had to give, and it turns out it was “housekeeping”. For a while I thought it was “taking care of me”, because I must like my lessons warmed over for twelve to fifteen years on endless repeat. But I was wrong. And I am finding the path again, mercifully close enough that my feet weren’t far. Just get me through… just get me through… my prayers are like a mantra, giving rhythm and cadence to my day. Get me through, and leave me alone, because I cannot write a paper on the contrast between Aldous Huxley and Camus while singing the song from Backyardigans with you. I cannot do it. I cannot… please child… Two more weeks… Just let me finish.

Guilt. Fear. Frustration. Surrender.

And then ironically, buoyancy. Like a saucer floating over the tides, somehow, what seems impossible comes to pass, and I am left standing on my lawn with my painted red toes wet with dew, watching the sun rise. Somehow, it all works out. What should be terrifying and paralyzing- at least by any logic sensibility- ends up instead being peaceful and, perplexingly if I look at it too long, lovely… I am carried, and peace finds me.

The Miracle of the Cheerios

Triumphs with an autistic kid can be sparse a hard-won when they happen. Then, every once in a while, it’s like a switch just clicks over and something miraculous happens. One of Bean’s biggest issues is food. He eats smooth peanut butter and non-bumpy  jam on one of three things: toast, english muffins or Ritz crackers. That’s it. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Every single day. For the last, oh… five years? Yeah, that’s about right.

But lately, he’s been edging outward, tentatively- and if I look at him or notice, he runs back to the peanut butter. But he’s eating vanilla yogurt. And bananas- sometimes. This morning, he saw Abby eating a bowl of Cheerios, and then he stood in the middle of the kitchen for a few minutes watching her with open disgust. He hates messes and never gets anything on his face- except lately. Yesterday he ate a fudgecicle, and he had chocolate around his mouth- I let it ride for hours because it NEVER happens. When he finally glimpsed himself in the bathroom mirror, he freaked- but it’s still progress, because it means his food touched him and he didn’t notice. See? Small victories.

So this morning, as he watched Abby get milk on her chin and spill little o’s on the table, I was shocked when he said “Mom! (it’s always an exclamation from him) I want a bowl of Cheerios!” I look at him sideways, not wanting to cause the peanut-butter retreat. “Okay, Bean. Let’s get a bowl for you.” I pour the o’s in a bowl, not making a big deal AT ALL about WHAT A BIG DEAL THIS IS- because that’s what you have to do. Pretend a child who’s eaten the same thing for 5 years asking for a bowl of Cheerios is normal! “Do you want them dry or with milk?” He opts for milk, but wants to pour it himself. This sometimes happens- he sees a food that looks like a fun process, then once the process is done, he won’t go within 5 feet. I am expecting this with the Cheerios. He pours the milk, and I return to my homework- but not really- I’m watching him covertly over the top of my computer.

HE ATE THE WHOLE BOWL.

Only the mother of another ASD child with food issues will understand that I want to SHOUT this from the rooftops! Now, will he do it again? Or was this a fluke? That’s the million dollar question. Welcome to life with autism.

Sundresses

Two things: First, I clearly don’t like to change my thread colors, and just sew everything in off-white. Oh well. Second, what is up with the little girl clothes in stores? We’ve had this conversation before- the hoochie mama clothes and sizing for girls’ clothing is absurd. Perhaps if you have a daughter who is a whisp, some of the clothes available will look cute on her. But whispy girls tend to look cute in everything anyway. No offense to the whisps of the world. All I wanted was a simple sundress for Abby, made from cotton and not synthetic, and without spaghetti straps. Shouldn’t be so hard, huh? Well, I suppose if I wanted to shop high-end I could have more options, but instead I found this one-yard sundress pattern:

Okay, it actually calls for more than a yard, but if you are willing to put a seam up the back and not have a second fold, you can totally jimmy it out of one yard. Once I made the first one, I started to add details, ruffles, trim and what not. Fueled by an Excedrin headache one night, I made all six sundresses for Abby. Stacked ‘em, whacked ‘em and sewed ‘em up. They came out really cute, I think, and they are big, loose and airy- with not buttons or zippers, and are perfect for my girl. And probably for yours too.

Laws of Illusion

Not that I’m glad or anything, but what an amazing gift amid the ashes and rubble. Sarah McLachlan went through a divorce last year and is now raising her two children alone- and guess what her new album is about? I can’t breathe it’s so good. She says:

“I thought I was this person, and part of that is the artifice of the fantasy that we build up to hold up the perceived reality,” she explains, having clearly given it a lot of thought. “It’s all kind of a big illusion: the white picket fence and the perfect marriage and the kids. Check that box off, check that box off, and move forward. And then it all falls apart underneath you, and you’re left to pick up the pieces and sort out, ‘Well, who am I then?’ Because I thought that’s what I was and who I was, and I’m not all that. Or that’s not my life any more and how do I move forward from this place?”

From Forgiveness:

And you ask for forgiveness
You’re asking too much
I have sheltered my heart in a place you can’t touch
Don’t believe when you tell me your love is real
Because you don’t know much about heaven boy
If you have to hurt to feel

If Only

I wish wish wish I could show you the snapshot I took yesterday of Abby sitting on the toilet –naked– with only her Darth Vader helmet on, reading a Richard Scarry book. Hilarious. But even I have some limits.

Taking a Break

The other day I got sick and tired of looking at this, which really is where I spend the majority of my time (4.1 current GPA, baby) and instead packed the kiddos up to do a little bit of this:

I love this picture- it’s my life in a nutshell.

Shifting Stable

Nothing is wrong, right? I can’t even tell anymore. My soul has been stirred up today, whipped around and disquiet. Ache and worry settle in and wrap around the crook of my neck, hugging the curve of my spine, and shoulders crawl towards my ears in their familiar upward journey of tension and tendons.

I think my neighbor smokes; all day the so-subtle-I can’t pinpoint-it aroma of smoke has bothered me on the edges of my awareness. It couples with nest of tension snuggled in at the back on my head and creates a blossom of uncertainty and unrest.

So many things that need me, so many little hands and hearts and eyes that need me- and I am so distracted by my own seeping worries I cannot even see what to focus on first. So many piles I can do nothing about, that I cannot really find the ones that I can do something about. Sorting. Sifting. Shifting. Culling. Swimming.

My heart wanders the house tonight, looking for a place to rest…

Oddness of Smooshing

Most of the time I’m fine. But sometimes, the loneliness really gets to me. It did today. I have a lot of good friends, family that loves me, and you couldn’t create a better ward from the ground up. I don’t have a lot to complain about. It’s just that sometimes…

Today my old neighbor called from my big fancy house. The one I left quietly- holding my utterly smashed heart leaking from between my shaking fingers- that house. It’s on the market now. It’s also legally not mine anymore. The phone rang while I was hauling groceries from a quick stop at the market after our family hike this morning. I was juggling three dirty, tired kids, and about 6 bags of food, with 90 degree + temps in  the house.

My old neighbor was calling not to say hello, not to chat or ask how the kids and I are faring. She was calling, she tersely informed me, to let me know the yard looks like hell, and I had better do something about it. Stunned, my hands full of groceries and a kid pulling on my leg begging for lunch, I stammered. “The yard? Huh? What?” See, I don’t go by there anymore. I go out of my way to not drive by that house. I think for anyone who knows me, the reasons are pretty obvious- so if the yard isn’t getting mowed, it’s not something in my realm of awareness.

I think I stammered something about the house not being mine anymore, and she could call another number if she was concerned- and she hung up. And for some reason, this just really crushed me. I know, in the grand scheme, it’s not important. But she was my neighbor for three years, and she didn’t care one whit about me or my children, only that a house on her street wasn’t looking up to snuff for the neighborhood. Stupid neighborhood. Stupid appearances.

When she hung up, I went to my room and sat on my bed in the dark. I was sad, but I couldn’t figure out if I had enough in me to cry over this. Odd. All I could put my finger on what that I didn’t know one single soul who who I felt had ever been in my boat. And I bobbed along over the surface of the sea.

Someday, if this is ever all behind me, and I have the chance to own a home again, I have learned two things: you get nicer neighbors in less affluent neighborhoods, and that I think a small house suits me better. So I guess that’s something… right?

Things I Love Today

Nag Champa incense. Mostly I hate stinky things, but this mild Indian incense washes over me in tidal waves of memories of living in Capitola 20 years ago (can it be that long…?) Bean even liked it, as we put it in the kitchen window and the summer breeze carried it away in fragrant whisps.

Finding new areas of my town that I didn’t know about. After my midterms, I had to run an errand, and found myself in a new old neighborhood- and it was fun to drive around and see what it was about.

Ice. Chewing ice is something I’ve done all my life, and few things are as satisfying as a nice cup of chew-able ice. Yeah yeah yeah, I know what they say about it…

Iced peppermint tea sweetened with honey. Oh mercy.

Health food stores. There is that certain… smell… to health food stores. From the tiniest natural cupboard, to mega-nature behemoth Whole Foods, there is just something about them. It makes me feel safe, and at home. I think it’s a combination of vitamins, produce, and bulk bins that blend into that smell, but I don’t really care. It’s comfort to me. (the photo is of the actual Co-Op my crazy chicken Annie used to take me to when I was a very small girl..)

Cloth grocery bags. I’ve been using them since 1989. Did you know that? I still have some of my original ones, and the girls at the market have complimented me on my awesome bags. They go back to my teenage years in Santa Cruz when I worked at Staff of Life.

Speaking of Staff of Life, have you ever made my chai? I’m not huge on being self-referential, but this recipe is seriously the best…

Doctor Bronners soap. Any flavor will do, but peppermind and almond are my favs. Put a little in a squirt bottle with some water, and it’s all I use to clean my counters. Smells good, low waste. You can kill aphids on your roses with it too.

(Wow, this is turning into an expose on what a little hippie I am deep in my heart. Funny how the pendulum swings. As I get older I see how we come back to our center, time and time again. This is clearly mine…)

Fuchs toothbrushes. (made in Germany, pronounced FOX) Been using them for years- recycled plastic, and natural bristles. I love the way they feel. And while you’re at it, add some anise or Silly Strawberry toothpaste from Tom’s to make me really happy. Also, Burt’s Bees grapefruit shampoo. Makes your hair SO shiny, and has no pthalates or sulfates. Smells nice too.

Red nail polish, but on my TOES only. Not in a million years would I paint my fingernails red- or anything besides clear really- but my toes are always brightly painted, and I love me some No Miss polish- and it’s pthalate and formaldehyde free as well. Also been using this for more than a decade. (Wow, I am SUCH a hippie! I totally was NOT planning on that being the bent of this post!)

Okay here’s a couple of non hippie, non granola things I like: Flour sack kitchen towels. I love the non-terry texture and size of flour sack towels. A close second is a white cotton bar-mop, but the flour sack towels are the best. Also, cellulose pop-up sponges rock. I get mine at Trader Joes where they are substantially less pricey than Williams Sonoma though…

Tapped

I don’t have time for this, yet when my mind is full of wind and aching, the only option is tapping the craggy bark  and letting the sticky, messy sap flow. The last few days have not been kind to me- and I have not been kind to myself- or to anyone around me. My patience is short and I have been sharp and curt with my kids, and then when they fall asleep and inevitably look like angels, I weep and am plagued by guilt.

Jeffrey asked me tonight if I could have any wish in the world right-this-minute what would it be. I stopped, wary of ways I might inadvertantly hurt my child with a quick, quip answer full of adult cynicism and pain. “I would wish I was done with school so we could have a normal life again…” I offered cautiously but sincerely. My shoulders burn from tension and my gut aches from stress, but I want my child to sleep well tonight.  ”I would wish for a billion billion dollars and some Legos.” I nod solemnly, agreeing that would be a good wish.

Mo told me once that our kids are like mirrors. There is no way we are not going to mess them up slightly, scratch them a little- the trick is not breaking them. This terrifies me. Every time I look at my kids right now, I see my shortcomings reflected back. This was never the plan- this lone mother with three kids thing- and they have the right to look at me and ask “Why, mama?” as I push them off again, hit the books- short on patience, time, hugs, bubbles, homemade bread and picking strawberries in July. Instead it’s midterms and yet another paper that I doubt the professor even reads. But I steel myself against the wheel, damn my tears, and push on. Midterms are tomorrow.

I pray to God this is worth it. I plead and put my hopes in a leaky mortal basket that my shortcomings are forgiven and bridges are built in my children’s hearts and souls from finer things than what I have to work with currently, and by finer hands than mine.