overheard

"Come on, Andrew! You can do it! You just have to believe in yourself!"

THUNK, SCREECH.... is that a child running into a wall or a book being dropped from the bunk beds, or... OUCH!

"Uh, okay, maybe not like that."

And... another great life lesson learned. Sometimes, things take more than a healthy belief in YOURSELF. Huh. There are things you won't be able to do, things you won't really want to do and end up watching other people do, and then resent that they can do it, while you.... yes, CAN'T.

This is perhaps not the most mature of attitudes, but I honestly don't know anyone that doesn't feel this way from time to time. Maybe it's why we feel the need to upend conversations towards what we did to solve a particular problem, citing all the evidence we can that masses of people agree with us, that we are authorities to solve the multitude of other people's problems--- when the whole time, people just want to be heard. Just want to be acknowledged that their problems are hard and not just simplistic ready made permission slips to lecture at.

I don't know, but I find myself more and more dis-trusting pat answers. Absolutes. Black and white. There's too much complexity in the world, too much color and situation and nuance. I've come to believe that the only real answer to be trusted is what's already in your heart and gut, and getting to that is already complicated enough. Getting to a place where you can quiet all the outside strain and chaos and expectation and just listen. 


For anyone following this rambling thought process of mine, let me assure you that no, no child was hurt previous, during, or after the making of this post. No heads in walls or books careening off bunk beds, where, in all likelihood, they would have ended up smashing someone else's head. Phew! Yeah for learning! Which can also sometimes be simply amusing and not painful!

a long, long time ago...

When I lived in California, there was a mother I knew, more from a distance than on any kind of intimate buddy level, that was raising four-five boys on her own. She looked it. Her figure looked like she was perpetually losing weight (and not in a good way), the bags under her eyes had their own bags under them, and she had this perpetual calm about her that seemed zen until you tried talking to her. At which point, you would then realize that she was simply freaking exhausted and not really fully awake at any point of time.

Of course, this was just my shallow impression of her, put together over a handful of times of seeing her at church, the grocery store, etc. At least one of her boys had 'behavior' problems, or so I heard. This was why I'd only see her in passing, or so I assumed.

Then, one of my actual friends, whom I had spent enough time around to have an actual conversation or two with, shared with me her own experience when she happened to be dropping in on said acquaintance. She was going with the intention of sharing that month's visiting teaching message, but instead of reclining on the couch and swapping cute kid stories, my friend was literally pulled into this woman's home by her shirt tails. Before she could really get her bearings, she had a child shoved into her arms, the curt instruction to keep him with her, and that she'd be right back---- and under no conditions was she to follow her into the back room.

Long story a little shorter--- her older child had had a... well, melt down seems such a light term, but we'll go with that.... melt down, and she had three or four (the numbers are sketchy in my mind now--- I only had one at the time, and any more than that always seemed like a million more too many) to get away from said melt down child, who was throwing, biting, and otherwise presenting a danger to himself and others.

I remember sitting there and listening, and feeling sympathy for this woman. She was single and didn't have much choice except to dig in and work with what came up. It didn't occur to me that she was doing anything wrong, I just figured she had some kids in legitimate need for medication---and (this is the hitch), I thanked my lucky stars that I would never have such monster problems with my own kids----

The other day, I was telling a co-worker of mine about an upsetting melt down that my oldest put out earlier that afternoon. And when I'm done, she says... can we guess? She tells me, gosh, honey. And I thought my kids were bad! It makes me feel better, knowing someone else has it worse!

For the record, she's a friend of mine, and I got what she was saying (not like the jerk from the other night, spitting on my music!), but it still made me pause. Did I make my child sound so horrible? Or maybe you just don't think you can handle it until you're given no choice but to handle it. Of all the people in my present family, I would have thought that I'd be the one they were talking away from the kitchen knives (that's just an expression by the way--- no contact with knives... yet.), but, what do you know.... it's my kid!

I did get a number from a fellow autistic-mommy. Someone who can maybe help Adam out. We'll see. I did the hard stuff and actually left a message--- for some reason, the first step is always the hardest for me.

that's encouraging

On night three of my four, one of my 'younger' co-workers wanted me to guess her age. Which immediately cued me into the fact that she was probably anywhere from 19-25, so I said, I dunno, twenties? Don't you want to try a little more specific than that? is her reply. No, I think, but whatever--- so I say, hey, twenties is a good spot to be! I myself was in my twenties until yesterday morning! 

Oh my gawd--- you're thirty? she says. That is so old! 

I should have her talk with my 7 year old, who's amazed that any of us last past 19. Because that is ancient. 

And really, being the 30 year old mature person that I am, I could blow off any insults to my experience, but turns out, that this young co-worker (21, thank you very much--- and a nursing student, so she knows, like, tons!) also felt the need to criticize my taste in music. 

Wow. I don't know anyone who likes that band. In fact, I hate it! Nothing personal, I just can't stand her. 

People, people: Age is just a number, but music is sacred. I once heard it said that if you really want to get to know and understand someone, listen to their music. You don't rain on someone's mixed tape. Like, ever. 

Especially if said mixed tape includes Florence and the Machine. 

Whom I get to see in July! Squee! 

night shift

It is official! I am a night owl! That gets to be paid! This week has gone surprisingly smooth since I started my first night shift on Wednesday (I had to think there.... it's beyond weird to come in on one day, but then to leave on another one. I had to ask Mike if it was Thursday or Friday today. I'm sort of really overjoyed it's Friday--- even though I still have tonight's and tomorrow night's shift to get through.... )

Ben has been very helpful in helping me acclimate to night shift by staying up most of the night Monday and Tuesday. He came down with a pretty solid case of croup, so I had him on the nebulizers by Tuesday evening, but still.... he was not having a good time there for a little bit. Right now, said boy is sitting next to me, chatting away about all the things he's jotting down in his notebook. He's getting to where he can trace letters pretty well, although we still don't know what he's saying half the time. Doesn't stop him from trying though! HeHe! To which I say, thank goodness actually. I'm glad he's still trying.

Anyway, he's feeling loads better. Still a bit of a runny nose and dry cough, but he has color back in his cheeks and he's back to eating, so... I'll chalk it up to another successful foray into and through the childhood world of sickness. Yuck! I really do not care for February. All the nastiest viruses/bacteria/whatever seem to hit in February!