Great Expectations

I felt like a different person last night.  I offered up an invitation on facebook..."Any ladies want to come over and watch Pitch Perfect after 8pm?" and three of them said yes.  The boys went to bed, my husband made popcorn and then disappeared upstairs, and we watched a funny, girly, grown-up movie together in the middle of the week.  One thing I've lost in motherhood is this time to sit and watch together with girlfriends.  The last time I watched a movie with a friend at home was a year ago when I spent the night with my best friend in Columbus, and after karaoke and Taco Bell, we stayed up ridiculously late to watch Bridesmaids.  Before that?  I think I had one kid, and I watched Mad Men at a friend's house.  I miss that friend time.  Because, of course, once the movie ends, the girl talk begins.  We talked about pregnancy and shared belly photos.  I ran upstairs to get my pregnancy album, and then started flipping through James' baby pictures, and then I got lost in memory.  Seven years ago...

A newly pregnant Rachel thought and planned for her future.  She thought about all that she would do with her child, where they would go, who he would become.  The plans for the child were as high and far-reaching as the plans she made for herself.  And then came the day when the doctor sliced her open to bring the baby into the world, and her heart and her mind were ripped open too.  There was nowhere to go in the hazy days of her son's infancy.  Just to the changing table, the bathroom, the couch, and back to bed.  Over and over and over.  And the child she brought home was not the empty vessel she had planned to fill with all her loves and passions; he came fully-formed with a voracious appetite for breast milk and a primitive religion that worships vacuum cleaners.  He didn't want to lay in the air-conditioning and watch Gilmore Girls or sit quietly in his stroller while she browsed at Borders.  He wanted to be outside, on the move, learning about this great world.  And so Rachel took him outside.  They walked around the neighborhood, they explored the flora and fauna in their very own yard.  She found a book about trees so she could say "This is a spruce; feel its soft needles" and "This is a maple; touch its huge leaves".  He learned to roll over on the grass, he played with sticks and pinecones, and as he grew, he chased squirrels in an attempt to befriend them and join their society.  And so it was that the child became the teacher, and the mother became the student.  She learned to see up close what had all been background.  She began taking in the stillness of a summer morning and existing in the simple moments motherhood offered, instead of planning for the future and running off to do.

The son grew older and learned new ways to have fun: video games and cartoons, bowling and swimming.  But he remains a lover of the outdoors, as he spends his days spread on a blanket in the yard, watching the birds that fly from tree to tree, and exploring gardens and parks.  And he was followed by two little brothers who shared his appetite for milk, his reverence for the vacuum, and his need to be outside.  So this morning, when my plan for a morning outing went sour and we returned home to regroup, I found myself once again exploring the yard with my youngest.  It started as him streaking, running through the still-wet grass, free as he has never been before, and delighting in the chance to watch his pee stream forth unchecked by a diaper.  But after a while, I dressed him, and then he took my hand and said, "Walk."  So we made a tour around the front yard, then back past the garage to check on the garden.  We picked flowers and pulled leaves off the tree and he made his own garden.  The big boys were inside with their electronics, but out back we simply delighted in the fresh green space we've been given, the calls of the birds and the swift movements of the squirrels.  I left my phone on the picnic table, because I didn't need to connect with anyone outside of our yard.

Its the biggest lesson the boys have taught me: to be and enjoy, to slow down and look at all the beauty and differences in the world.  To leave deadlines and schedules and expectations behind.

The second son

Just a few weeks old

Last year, I sat at the computer, trying very hard to write a loving blog post about my Winston.  I didn't expect it to be such work, such a challenge, to put together all the good stuff and leave off the bad.  I kept dismissing "He's a terror at bedtime" and "He unspools all the toilet paper when I'm not watching", thinking there had to be something enjoyable about him to share with the world.  And really, what does it say that I found it easier to think of all the things I love about my autistic son, by definition the one who should be difficult, and came up blank for his typical brother?

I'm glad to say this year is different.  I couldn't wait to sit down and put Winston together here.  Part of it is probably the difference between a boy turning 3 and a boy turning 4; there is much more participation and creativity than defiance and destruction.  But I've also given him more attention this year.  I've scheduled out the day so that he gets one-on-one parent time almost every day, and tried to make sure we do the things he likes at least as much as we do what everyone else likes.  I've purposefully scaled back the yelling.  I wish I could say I don't do it at all, but sometimes the evil mommy that lives inside me roars out and still makes tears rolls down those smooth white cheeks.  The good mommy punches her and forces her back into her cell, then scoops up 36 pounds of future man and makes the calming "shhh" noises he likes and wipes the tears.

1 year old summer 2010

A few weeks ago, we were getting ready for bed and Winston asked that I come lay down with him for awhile.  I said ok, although usually it makes him more hyper and he only really starts to settle down for sleep when I leave the room.  But I climbed in his bed and started straightening out the covers.  "This needs to be a bed, not a nest," I said in frustration.  "We are two little birds," came Winston's response.  I cracked up.  Where did that come from?  That wonderful, silly sense of humor?  Why did it take almost four years to notice it was there?

The past several months have given us the opportunity to play games together, starting with Candy Land, which my infinitely more patient husband taught Winston to play.  Then, with basic game-play established, I came in with Chutes and Ladders.  We branched out to Connect four and UNO.  For his birthday, we purchased Hungry Hungry Hippos.  I have to admit, I've been looking forward to this since I became a mom.  Family movie night.  Family game night.  Popcorn.  Candy.  Laughter.  Bonding.  Winning and Losing.  Enjoying my children.

Choking his brother to get some Sprite

Winston also loves racing.  He runs around our yard, challenging each of us to race.  I can only do two before I need a break.  Michael ambles along, outpaced in the first two steps, but determined to follow.  When we met up with friends and had 9 kids playing together, Winston asked that we establish a course, and could the others race him?  So we convinced 6 of them to make a lap around the yard, and the "big" boys (ages 5 and 6) were delighted to come in first and second place.  Winston pounded up behind them, followed by the less agile, shorter-legged competitors.  There was joy on every face as the crossed the finish line (aka, gave me a high five and jumped over a log).  Because of Winston.  I love his initiative.  I love his desire to play with others.

I also love his excitement to eat vegetables.  I have no idea where it came from.  When he sees lettuce, he happily grabs the "trees" and chows down.  It makes me look good, like I'm a mom who serves her children veggies, who maybe even inspired this behavior by eating so healthily while pregnant.  That is so not the case.  If Winston loved to eat bowls of mashed potatoes and Big Macs, then I would say, "Oh, yeah, probably because I ate so many while I was pregnant."  But lettuce?  Carrots?  I have no idea why he likes them.  His brothers certainly don't.  His father grimaces whenever forced to eat them.  His mother smiles and pretends to like the healthy stuff while secretly imagining she is biting into a molten chocolate cake.  If it weren't for Winston, we wouldn't even have that kind of food in the house.  So thank you son, for making us look good and elevating the contents of our fridge a little.

Walking for Autism September 2012

For all the ways he delights and challenges us, for the love he shows his brothers and the unique person he is, for the mind that is as quick as his feet.  For my second son, a huge section of my heart is yours.

Feeling Down while Watching UP

It was the first rainy day of summer break, so we spent it watching movies and playing games.  James requested UP, which we just got from the library yesterday (Oh yes, I'm that together, we picked up a few movies and some new books in time to spend all day inside).  I haven't seen it for awhile, partly because watching it always makes me cry.  It may be the most emotionally charged animated movie ever.  I still remember the first time we watched it, with 3 year old James and baby Winston snuggled on either side of me, buttered popcorn and a quiet family night.  And then...the first twenty minutes.  Tears. 

I see myself in Ellie.  The young girl with crazy hair who maybe talks too much, who dreams of seeing the world and having adventures, who owns a blank scrapbook because she is waiting to fill it.  Then she gets old as life happens, and she never does go to Paradise Falls.  So her husband determines to honor her memory by flying their house to South America and parking it next to the waterfall, just the way she drew it when she was 8.  The movie is almost over when he finds her old scrapbook, assuming its still empty.  But then we all discover that she did in fact fill it in, that her adventures turned out to be living a life that seemed ordinary.  The second time I watched UP, I noticed that Ellie has tape and scissors in her hospital room, just before she hands Carl the scrapbook.  She wanted to finish it before her life ended, to let him know that she was glad at how things had turned out, that he hadn't let her down by never taking her to South America.  I hope my own husband knows this.  That if I die first and he finds my diary from when I was 18, the one that actually has a "10 Year Plan" entered in it, almost none of which I've actually done, that he'll know that my life has been an adventure, way more exciting and worthwhile than anything I dreamed of when I was a teenager.  That I wouldn't trade a single poopy diaper or this lumpy, post-baby body for an exciting job in a big city or a fabulously decorated home that always stays clean.

http://youtu.be/3zfJvTXKdsg

Later, I was struck by the unlikely band of friends that comes together in this movie.  Mr. Fredrickson, the grumpy widower.  Russell, the abandoned boy.  Dug, the dog who just wants a master's love.  And I thought of loneliness, how we can miss all the people around us who are suffering from it.  How the solution is so simple...just walk out your front door, and you will find a little boy in need of a father-figure, an old man who is living with regrets.  We don't need to be perfect or special, just present.  And opening ourselves to others is an adventure all by itself.  When we let people into our lives, even if we do it thinking that we are doing them a big favor, we cannot help but be altered by it.  It will make us see more clearly, teach us the actual, real definition of love.

Grandpa during WW2

 And as if that were not enough, as if watching this movie had not already wrecked me...I found out yesterday that my Grandpa has pancreatic cancer.  My best friend's mother had pancreatic cancer, and she died 10 weeks after her diagnosis.  So what are the chances of an 86 year old man?  I've never been super close with any of my grandparents, and I made my feelings about the elderly clear, but this man has always existed in my life, strong, independent, full of life, and I've gotten used to thinking of him this way.  I realized I almost expected him to just keep going, year after year, not realizing that each year just brought him closer and closer to this point of illness and old age.  I'm not ready to lose him, this man whose birthday is a day before mine, who makes quick jokes and has a beautiful singing voice.  And I wonder about my grandma, with her very loose grip on reality.  What will it mean for her to lose her companion of the last 65 years?  Will she find a new adventure like Carl, or spend the rest of her days waiting to die?

Grandma and Papa

I guess the hardest thing about watching UP is the way it forces me to acknowledge how little I know, how elusive "the answers" really are.  For a completely fantastical movie (1,000 balloons can lift a house and fly it to another continent?), it is such a mirror, a reality check.