Autism is generic.

Went to see the Easter Bunny today with the boys, meeting my mom and brother at the mall. It was an ordeal. In fact, talking Eddie into wearing a shirt with buttons was actually the easy part of the day, which is saying something.


Apparently my brother has developed a habit of indiscriminately flipping people off. Or that's the way I like to think about it. The "main guy" at the home where he lives told my Mom that Dale flipped off this old guy named Milton, who for the record, also flips the bird as I have seen with my own eyes. I thought it was just another freaky little feud between Milton and my brother, but then my sister Cathy said he was just randomly flipping people the bird while she pushed him to a store at the mall. Confronted about this, he insisted he had seen some "gang bangers" and needed to let them know he wasn't afraid. But that's probably just a lot of hoo-hah. My guess is that he has no idea who or why he flips the bird. This, along with the fact that he doesn't listen to her, makes my mom stressed and weepy. And with two 4-year-olds in the house, I can relate. I just hope that I'm not dealing with them at this level in 50 years.

So anyway, my mom was telling me about something she saw on TV about autism, which, she informed me, appears to be "generic." She then proceeded to muse about why my grandnephew has Aspergers -- a mild form of autism. "All I can think of is drugs," she said. When I told my niece about this strange conversation, she said perhaps it's generic drugs to blame. It just all struck me as absurd, particularly given that there are cousins and other relatives who clearly had/have some form of autism, that she would come up with drugs as an explanation when she clearly knows it's generic.

Room to grow.

So a couple of months ago, someone suggested that I turn the boys' bedroom into my office and "oasis" because they didn't need a dedicated playroom. "It's not their house, it's your house. They're just living there temporarily," she said. I was, of course horrified at the attitude.

But we've started looking at bunk beds etc. And moving new toys into their playroom. And Steph raised an interesting thought... Maybe we move their beds into the playroom, move the couch into what is now their room, turning it into an office/study/craft room for all of us (their computer will stay there, too.) We move the rocking chair into the space where my computer sits now, turning that into a story time corner. And, well, it's tempting. Very tempting. I don't want to take space from them -- I mean, it IS their house. And I'm living out my childhood fantasies by having a dedicated playroom. But geez, it does seem like a better use of space. And they do have the playroom, a bedroom, a good-sized chunk of the living room all dedicated to them and their stuff. Plus, they spend a goodly portion of their time in the parts of the house that are ostensibly Steph's and mine. So I think we'll give it a try.

But the office is still gonna have a Cars/Thomas theme. 'Cause that's how I roll.

Check up from Hell.

OK, the guys, they are 4. F-O-U-R. That's astonishing to me, and apparently to their pediatrician, who, upon enteirng the exam room for their annual check-up, looked at them, then at me and said "They're 4 already?!" And she seemed to be genuinely amazed in an "I just blinked my eyes and these guys transformed from scrawny infants into big boys" kind of a way. To which I said, "Tell me about it."

Anyway, things started well enough. They noted the mural of a monkey hanging by his tail and I began teasing them about also being monkeys while the nurse took some information. Then I made the mistake of asking why they never hang from their tails. "I don't have a tail. I have a penis," Chas said. "But you don't have a tail or a penis. What do you have?" The nurse is now snickering and I'm changing the subject.

Anyway, Eddie was extraordinarily nervous, so when it came his turn to get examined, I went with him to the table and he sat on my lap. Big mistake. The doctor had no more than looked in his ears and his mouth when Chas slipped and fell head first onto the hard ground. A goose egg and sobs ensued. So the doctor moved over to the bench area to finish Eddie's exam while I comforted Chas. Then of course, she breaks the news that they need immunizations. Four of 'em. Now I'm ready to weep because up until this check-up, I've always brought back up to assist me in this circumstance. But I'm overly optimistic still -- the last few shots Eddie has looked sort of pissed off, but he hasn't even cried.

So while waiting for the nurse to return with the instruments of torture, we talked about how vaccinations would protect them from sickness etc. Chas quickly volunteered to go first.

I held his arms and tried to distract him, but it was no use. He began screaming, tears literally flying from his face. "I don't want to go first! I want Eddie to go first!" Naturally, sensing that he's next, Eddie is also in hysterics. Four shots to Chas' arms later and I give him a quick hug and put him down to sob alone while I grab Eddie, who is fighting as if his life is at stake. I don't blame him. He knows we're bringing the pain. It ends and I'm left to put shirts back on two sobbing little boys. "When will it be over?" Eddie asks through his tears. I tell him it IS over, but he means the lingering pain in his arms. Shots are of varying degrees of painfulness, but as I recall, at least one of these -- the dpt or dip-tet -- is indeed quite painful. And when you are as tense and struggling as hard as they were, anything would hurt like a mother. Of which I felt like a not very capable one having come unprepared with a back-up comforter.

The irony is that Steph ended up staying home to work and could easily have accompanied us, AND my sister Cathy actually got up and started to get ready then decided to take me at my word when I said I could handle it on my own. Sigh.

They're over it. I, however, keep seeing those little arms, pinched up with needles jabbing violently into them while my sons struggled against me, not understanding why I would allow this torture, let alone participate in it. Or maybe I'm being melodramatic. Again. Hmm.

This Moment Four Years Ago...

I was laying in bed, talking to Steph. I can't remember what we were talking about. But I felt something and briefly thought, "Gee, did my water break?" But that was impossible, I thought. So I continued talking for a few more minutes. Then I shifted positions slightly and, well, the impossible suddenly became the almost certain. I jumped up and the night that would forever change our lives began. Just about 12 hours later, the boys were here. It seems like forever ago and just yesterday at the same time.

I try so hard to get that sensory memory of holding their tiny little bodies in my arms. But it's gone, lost to sleep deprivation, the terror of something happening to them and the shock of how utterly and completely my life had changed. But it's not just that -- I have a hard time really remembering them as anything but what they are at this moment. And then I see a picture from less than a year ago and I realize how much they've changed, and how much they continue to change, and how impossible it is to really hold them. Just as all the drugs and terror-stricken efforts of a resident on his first night of OB service couldn't stop them from leaving my body four years ago, I can't stop them from growing up and away. Maybe that's why I take so damn many pictures -- it's a futile attempt to stop time, to keep the boys I know at this moment. Because tomorrow these boys will be gone, replaced by the 24 hour older models. And while I love them now more than I know how to express, I still sometimes miss the boys I knew yesterday, or a year ago. But those are just hazy memories, now. No matter how much I think about this and tell myself to burn the memories of today onto my hard drive, it doesn't work that way. I live in the moment, but the moment is fleeting. Such is life.

Regardless, I have the most awesome children ever. They are beautiful, smart, kind, funny and sweet. And that, at least, hasn't changed. Yet. I'll get back to you when they're teenagers.

Now, where was I....?

OK, so it's been roughly forever since I last posted. Oh, so, so many things I should have posted. But first Chas got sick. Then Steph and Eddie. Then me. And it wasn't one of those namby-pamby colds. It was a chest squeezing, energy sucking colony of pure evil that took up residence in our bodies.

So here I post, with nothing interesting to say. But ya know, if I didn't post something, it would be like a horrible, awful ordeal to actually make that first post. So here it is.

The boys' birthday is next weekend. I'm alternately freaked out by the thought of them being 4 and by the prospect of having their birthday go off perfectly. I know the first is inevitable and the second is impossible. But being rational has never been all that much fun in my opinion.