Year-end rant. You don't want to read this one, I promise.
Christmas was lovely. My beloved Mommy, sister and niece were here. The girls had a great deal of fun together; my sister and I got to bond a bit and Mom got a chance to chuckle over her two harried-mother daughters.
Everyone got home safely but they spent a year during that day; Lilianna didn't sleep for 7 hours of the 9 hour drive. To top it off, upon arrival they discovered Mommy's heater had decided to hand in its notice in their absence. So instead of sleeping in comfort, the crew loaded up the dog and three-year-old and moved into a hotel for the night, whereupon the three year old promptly baptized the bed with the contents of her stomach owing to all the excitement. Another long night and a lot of cleaning, a frantic dash around town to secure any space heater at all in the Missouri Ozarks until an electrician and heating guy could come and take a look. Caryn and Lilianna finished the rest of their drive. Mommy went home and found out that her dog had worms. All is taken care of now, but still--what a rude introduction to the new year!
Cut back to West Virginia. I set up a vet appointment for Redward-the-White and our newest Little Victories adoption, Ellie (wonder where the worms came from? I don't...Mommy's getting a reimbursement check from me soon.) After taking down the holiday decorations and discussing finances with my angel-man (I'm SO lucky to have him in my life!) we alleviate Mom's fear of looming heater replacement bills. Then all hell breaks loose anew.
The neighbors decided to have a knock-down, drag-out evening. (It was bad enough that Jesse wants to speak with a realtor about ways and means of enlarging our yard this year.) An old clunker of a jeep being stored on our property for one of my dearest friends suddenly disappeared. Hours on the phone with every tow service in town, the city and the police establish that it was stolen. That her beat-up, non-running jeep was in my care and its theft happened on my watch...well, to say I was a bit peeved would be an understatement.
Days quieten a bit. The children and I enjoyed a day out after being housebound during a brief cold spell. We started with a trip to a little branch library whose staff and patrons love the girls. The children selected books and movies and played innocently by while I learned that one of our friends there with tremendous joie de vivre suffered an aneurysm on Christmas Day (http://news.herald-dispatch.com/obituaries/index.php?id=36910830.) I contributed to his funeral expenses in numb shock. I'm not certain yet that I've processed the news.
From there we went on to a little park near our house. I had armed ourselves with a box of garbage bags and a picker. The girls and I filled up several of the garbage bags with the canned, plastic and foam detritus washed up on the banks of the Ohio River before they deemed it too cold to continue. We moved on to an indoor playground to romp for a bit, and then visited a dear friend with a small child. This friend is part of an animal rescue network and was nursing a sick puppy that a couple of meth heads had dropped at Petco the night before. I was told, "they had open sores. They threatened to take the puppy out back and shoot it or give it to us. My niece had heard this line before, but she believed these two were going to carry it out." It was a Saturday; she was monitoring the 10-week-old sweet fluffball closely with the idea of taking him to the vet on Monday. She didn't leave the room she'd installed him in for a single moment without first making sure that another animal-loving, responsible adult was cuddling and watching the little pooper. We celebrated little victories: sleeping with eyes closed, keeping the head out of the water bowl for bits of time.
Then he took a turn for the worse. Loss of sphincter control, bobbing head indicating neural damage. Telling the girls calmly that Mr. George was allowed to feed them anything he wanted with the exception of chocolate and that Mommy was going to take Ms. Kelli and the cute puppy Walter to the veterinarian, we hopped into my truck and tried to put the pedal to the mettle. About 10 minutes away from the animal ER, Kelli began chest compressions and breathing...but he was gone. She ran into the ER while I parked. Apparently the entire place was rooting for us, as when I rushed in and asked a room full of strangers "where'd she go?" they all pointed to room one...everyone there knew from our faces what was up. And there was not a dry eye in the place as we exited less than 10 minutes later with a towel-wrapped little body.
That little tail was so. happy. before he lost consciousness at the house...it was the first indication Kelli had seen of happiness in the little guy. I sometimes think he was saying hi to family then, and the rest of the trip was just for us.
What a mix of a day. And trying to talk it over with anyone was futile. No-one else went to the little branch library with us; that's something the girls and I do together. My mother-in-law was a dear about the puppy--that was a bit of a help. But the calm, happy Mommy face couldn't drop as the children are too much affected by it. I chatted with my angel-man a bit over the phone while he was taking lunch at his work. Knowing me as well as he does, he helped a great deal.
The family sleeps peacefully, and we have a quiet Sunday. We've missed church and roller skating, but no matter...we have fun together at home. Jesse wakes in a good mood and cuddles the girls a bit; I take a 10 minute shower. I come out to Aria letting out a terrified scream and heartbreaking sobs. She runs straight to me from somewhere upstairs; this isn't one of her dramas or made-up fears. This is real terror. Ultimately, the story takes form when everyone else descends: Jesse saw Aria begin flailing at her sister. Without realizing that Caoimhe had likely been goading her, or that he could get between the two quickly with his strong arms while talking calmly to de-escalate, he reverted to his childhood training. He picked up Aria by the neck and moved her. When once downstairs and sitting next to me with stricken face and slack frame while I snuggled and calmed the girls, he told me that he didn't see how anything else could have been done in that instant.
At times like this, I really, REALLY envy those with a strong support network of family and close-knit friends living nearby. Raising a child on the autism spectrum with a partner on the spectrum does have some extremely difficult days.
My little time keepers told me it's time for Mommy to wrap up typing and tuck them in. Quite rightly, too! They've been read to, kissed, cuddled, tucked in and crooned to sleep. Their little apple cheeks are resting on fluffy pillows covered in floral prints. Dimpled hands are thrown over favored stuffed familiars. Chests are rising and falling rhythmically. I'm back in my journal, typing away in a vain effort to draw order from chaos. I freely admit it. I also concede that it is impossible to do so. However, hope is what has kept humanity strong for millenia. So I'm going to continue with my pointless quest until I'm exhausted with the attempt or have managed to find some comfort in it. "So put that in your kettle and drink it!" to paraphrase a Downton Abbey grande dame.
For the past week and a half, pretty much since the strain beginning end of 2013, I've been humming "Fix Me, Jesus", a spiritual I'd never heard until I stumbled across a dated library movie on a bored October day. The movie was forgettable, but the hymn suddenly popped into my head and I've been singing it for solace for more than a week now. It's Caoimhe's new lullaby when I'm not singing "We Shall Overcome." (At least I've progressed from Aria's one-time fave of "Gallow's Pole.") The songs one sings in times of strife...some I understand, some I have absolutely no clue about. An example of the "Huh?" variety: during the week of Daddy's funeral, running interference for Mommy with anything and everyone I could to help her out, I was belting out "No Day But Today" from Rent. Notwithstanding that my Daddy would not have a shred of patience for the content, nor that some of the more conservative family members would prefer getting rectal cancer to listening if they ever saw the musical and understood its import, that song was on my lips from sunup to sundown, regardless of the company I was in. Aunt Krisanne even asked if it was an old hymn and could I get her a copy as it was beautiful. A triumph in teaching tolerance! I said to myself. Too wise to accept that, myself gave me a swift kick in the pants. Yet I continued singing. To this day, when I think of that blurred week, I'll hear myself humming ditties from Rent.
While prepping for Christmas this year, (it really was fun. We derived a lot of pleasure from the happy looks on Mommy's and Caryn's faces;) I was stuck on songs from "The Book of Mormon" musical...most of which can't be sung out loud around children.
Not entirely certain that I've found order, but at least in releasing the pent up frustration, the poison has gone out of the sting. And so, good night. May the best of years past be the worst of your future, and may every year heap ever-increasing blessings upon you.
Everyone got home safely but they spent a year during that day; Lilianna didn't sleep for 7 hours of the 9 hour drive. To top it off, upon arrival they discovered Mommy's heater had decided to hand in its notice in their absence. So instead of sleeping in comfort, the crew loaded up the dog and three-year-old and moved into a hotel for the night, whereupon the three year old promptly baptized the bed with the contents of her stomach owing to all the excitement. Another long night and a lot of cleaning, a frantic dash around town to secure any space heater at all in the Missouri Ozarks until an electrician and heating guy could come and take a look. Caryn and Lilianna finished the rest of their drive. Mommy went home and found out that her dog had worms. All is taken care of now, but still--what a rude introduction to the new year!
Cut back to West Virginia. I set up a vet appointment for Redward-the-White and our newest Little Victories adoption, Ellie (wonder where the worms came from? I don't...Mommy's getting a reimbursement check from me soon.) After taking down the holiday decorations and discussing finances with my angel-man (I'm SO lucky to have him in my life!) we alleviate Mom's fear of looming heater replacement bills. Then all hell breaks loose anew.
The neighbors decided to have a knock-down, drag-out evening. (It was bad enough that Jesse wants to speak with a realtor about ways and means of enlarging our yard this year.) An old clunker of a jeep being stored on our property for one of my dearest friends suddenly disappeared. Hours on the phone with every tow service in town, the city and the police establish that it was stolen. That her beat-up, non-running jeep was in my care and its theft happened on my watch...well, to say I was a bit peeved would be an understatement.
Days quieten a bit. The children and I enjoyed a day out after being housebound during a brief cold spell. We started with a trip to a little branch library whose staff and patrons love the girls. The children selected books and movies and played innocently by while I learned that one of our friends there with tremendous joie de vivre suffered an aneurysm on Christmas Day (http://news.herald-dispatch.com/obituaries/index.php?id=36910830.) I contributed to his funeral expenses in numb shock. I'm not certain yet that I've processed the news.
From there we went on to a little park near our house. I had armed ourselves with a box of garbage bags and a picker. The girls and I filled up several of the garbage bags with the canned, plastic and foam detritus washed up on the banks of the Ohio River before they deemed it too cold to continue. We moved on to an indoor playground to romp for a bit, and then visited a dear friend with a small child. This friend is part of an animal rescue network and was nursing a sick puppy that a couple of meth heads had dropped at Petco the night before. I was told, "they had open sores. They threatened to take the puppy out back and shoot it or give it to us. My niece had heard this line before, but she believed these two were going to carry it out." It was a Saturday; she was monitoring the 10-week-old sweet fluffball closely with the idea of taking him to the vet on Monday. She didn't leave the room she'd installed him in for a single moment without first making sure that another animal-loving, responsible adult was cuddling and watching the little pooper. We celebrated little victories: sleeping with eyes closed, keeping the head out of the water bowl for bits of time.
Then he took a turn for the worse. Loss of sphincter control, bobbing head indicating neural damage. Telling the girls calmly that Mr. George was allowed to feed them anything he wanted with the exception of chocolate and that Mommy was going to take Ms. Kelli and the cute puppy Walter to the veterinarian, we hopped into my truck and tried to put the pedal to the mettle. About 10 minutes away from the animal ER, Kelli began chest compressions and breathing...but he was gone. She ran into the ER while I parked. Apparently the entire place was rooting for us, as when I rushed in and asked a room full of strangers "where'd she go?" they all pointed to room one...everyone there knew from our faces what was up. And there was not a dry eye in the place as we exited less than 10 minutes later with a towel-wrapped little body.
That little tail was so. happy. before he lost consciousness at the house...it was the first indication Kelli had seen of happiness in the little guy. I sometimes think he was saying hi to family then, and the rest of the trip was just for us.
What a mix of a day. And trying to talk it over with anyone was futile. No-one else went to the little branch library with us; that's something the girls and I do together. My mother-in-law was a dear about the puppy--that was a bit of a help. But the calm, happy Mommy face couldn't drop as the children are too much affected by it. I chatted with my angel-man a bit over the phone while he was taking lunch at his work. Knowing me as well as he does, he helped a great deal.
The family sleeps peacefully, and we have a quiet Sunday. We've missed church and roller skating, but no matter...we have fun together at home. Jesse wakes in a good mood and cuddles the girls a bit; I take a 10 minute shower. I come out to Aria letting out a terrified scream and heartbreaking sobs. She runs straight to me from somewhere upstairs; this isn't one of her dramas or made-up fears. This is real terror. Ultimately, the story takes form when everyone else descends: Jesse saw Aria begin flailing at her sister. Without realizing that Caoimhe had likely been goading her, or that he could get between the two quickly with his strong arms while talking calmly to de-escalate, he reverted to his childhood training. He picked up Aria by the neck and moved her. When once downstairs and sitting next to me with stricken face and slack frame while I snuggled and calmed the girls, he told me that he didn't see how anything else could have been done in that instant.
At times like this, I really, REALLY envy those with a strong support network of family and close-knit friends living nearby. Raising a child on the autism spectrum with a partner on the spectrum does have some extremely difficult days.
My little time keepers told me it's time for Mommy to wrap up typing and tuck them in. Quite rightly, too! They've been read to, kissed, cuddled, tucked in and crooned to sleep. Their little apple cheeks are resting on fluffy pillows covered in floral prints. Dimpled hands are thrown over favored stuffed familiars. Chests are rising and falling rhythmically. I'm back in my journal, typing away in a vain effort to draw order from chaos. I freely admit it. I also concede that it is impossible to do so. However, hope is what has kept humanity strong for millenia. So I'm going to continue with my pointless quest until I'm exhausted with the attempt or have managed to find some comfort in it. "So put that in your kettle and drink it!" to paraphrase a Downton Abbey grande dame.
For the past week and a half, pretty much since the strain beginning end of 2013, I've been humming "Fix Me, Jesus", a spiritual I'd never heard until I stumbled across a dated library movie on a bored October day. The movie was forgettable, but the hymn suddenly popped into my head and I've been singing it for solace for more than a week now. It's Caoimhe's new lullaby when I'm not singing "We Shall Overcome." (At least I've progressed from Aria's one-time fave of "Gallow's Pole.") The songs one sings in times of strife...some I understand, some I have absolutely no clue about. An example of the "Huh?" variety: during the week of Daddy's funeral, running interference for Mommy with anything and everyone I could to help her out, I was belting out "No Day But Today" from Rent. Notwithstanding that my Daddy would not have a shred of patience for the content, nor that some of the more conservative family members would prefer getting rectal cancer to listening if they ever saw the musical and understood its import, that song was on my lips from sunup to sundown, regardless of the company I was in. Aunt Krisanne even asked if it was an old hymn and could I get her a copy as it was beautiful. A triumph in teaching tolerance! I said to myself. Too wise to accept that, myself gave me a swift kick in the pants. Yet I continued singing. To this day, when I think of that blurred week, I'll hear myself humming ditties from Rent.
While prepping for Christmas this year, (it really was fun. We derived a lot of pleasure from the happy looks on Mommy's and Caryn's faces;) I was stuck on songs from "The Book of Mormon" musical...most of which can't be sung out loud around children.
Not entirely certain that I've found order, but at least in releasing the pent up frustration, the poison has gone out of the sting. And so, good night. May the best of years past be the worst of your future, and may every year heap ever-increasing blessings upon you.
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