Keeping The Peace

I live in the land of bumper stickers. Some Portlanders idea of wearing their hearts on their sleeves is by applying layer after layer of stickers on their car bumpers. It makes for good reading during rush hour or construction. Bumper stickers know no bounds – a rusty old Volvo, a sporty Lexus or a sensible Prius will often wag its owner’s political, social and/or humorous point of view. I am a conformist, too. I have a Powell’s Bookstore bumper sticker, our current Governor sticker, Chicago Blackhawks 2010 Champs sticker and an In and Out Burger sticker (if you’ve had a burger there, you completely understand.)

Some of my favorites include:

“My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma”
“My Other Car is a Broom.”
“Tea Parties are for little girls with imaginary friends.”
“Keep Portland Weird.”

I read one the other day that left a permanent mark on my brain. An Albert Einstein quote that read, “Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.”

Like most things I read or hear I always have a tendency to apply it to my world, my life and mostly my relationship with Sean. I’m constantly searching for signs from a higher, divine being to give me some direction or meaning or hint of what this life I am living is all about and how to live it right or well or some days to just simply get through it. And this quote, in particular, spoke to me clearly – not on a global level although I certainly find it completely applicable to current affairs in the world, but more on a basic level, thinned down entirely to my relationship and struggles with Sean.

You see, it is summer. Yes, sunshine, the coo of morning doves, smell of damp rose petals, ripe berries drooping from our raspberry bushes and of course, the relentless chatter of Sean, his questions that he asks over and over:

“Who has a birthday in January?”
“Is Garfield the cat Spanish?”
“Why Aunt Maggie sneeze?”
“When is Pearl Harbor Day?”
“Where is my calendar?”

A unending interrogation, his hands pulling on my chin or turning my cheek to get my attention, his eyes wide and his lips moving as I answer his questions over and over until I say, “No more. I will not answer you any more if you talk about birthdays, cartoons in Spanish, holidays or the calendar. I will have to ignore you. Okay? Mommy can’t take any more of your questions. Mommy doesn’t want to end up in the nut hut.”

Lately, I find myself being very short with him. Rolling my eyes, big sighs, internal dialogue that goes something like this, “PLEASE shut up. I don’t give a rat’s fanny about January birthdays or Garfield and Odie!! Haven’t we talked about this a million times already?!!”

I have been grinding my teeth, my neck tightening, hands tensing, watching the digital clock on the oven – how many hours left in this day? And then, like a salty, refreshing wave that knocks me over, I see him clearly, his worried eyes, fingers bent with anxiety and his undeniable need for everything in his chaotic world to have some comforting sameness. He is the one feeling truly tortured, not me.

Some days I want to yell and scream and fight and force him to stop, with my words or an angry glare, but this isn’t the answer. It’s like the bumper sticker, it’s as simple as reminding myself to understand, to make it less about me and more about him.

I can take it too personally. The crying and fits and yelling and forget how difficult his world is for him to navigate, how he sees and feels and reacts, so different from what I know. And it doesn’t give me an excuse to shut him down, silence him, but rather lend him some heart and understanding. To use my calm, nice voice, “Okay, we are done talking about holidays, what else should we talk about?” Not dismissing him so readily.

So to obtain some sense of peace in our house I need to remember to do my best to understand Sean’s motivation, his need for repetition and the overwhelming anxiety and how it distorts the boy he is, deep down free from the chaos and fear that autism brings. I need to hold back my frustration, exhaustion and disappointment, and replace it with real understanding and of course, unconditional love.

Deep breathe, I remind him (and myself). Slow down. Relax. Meet in the middle. Keep each other from slipping away. Hold on, but do it gently. Be his soft place to rest his tired body and mind. Give him some peace.

It's May 31st Already? Are You Kidding Me???

I can't wrap my brain around it. The matter of Time. Where is it going and why is it moving so fast? I was going to have so much done by June 1st. I was going to have the carpets cleaned, the oil changed, an office set up in the basement, an organized garage, winter clothes packed away, flowers planted, (maybe an herb garden -- who am I kidding?) and be down a solid ten pounds for summer wear. Instead, the closets are stuffed with ski jackets and boots, the loser cruiser is chugging along smelling faintly of burnt oil, I have no office in the basement, the garage is still a scary, dark place, carpets are scary, too, the only flowers I'm growing are of the weed variety and ten pounds lost? HARDLY!

I can blame the spring. It's been lousy. A day of sunshine here and there and then rain, lots of it, constant. My bones ache from the dampness. I can blame it on over scheduling myself. But the truth is there are days when I'm wrapped up in an electric blanket like a burrito watching a marathon session of Top Chef and eating cereal for lunch and petting the dog with my foot.

Partly, I'm in denial that school will let out soon and there will be no respite from taking care of Sean. Long days with lots of questions, the same questions, that can be repeated all day long.

"Who has birthdays in January?"
"Does Verle know Miss Becky?"
"Can you make a lower case F? Now a lower case G."
"How do you spell Easter?"
"How do you spell macaroni and cheese?"
"Why do people sneeze?"
"Talk to me, Mommy."

I am trying to be zen-like, be in the moment and not to over-think it. To try to let go of my irritation and stress and to just be. Easier said than done.

There are no play-dates for Sean. No "run up to the park and see what the kids are doing." He can't navigate in that world. He is just so different from his typical peers and in some small ways he knows it. That's the heartbreaking part. I don't think he wants his best friend to be a slightly exhausted and crabby 41 year old lady with bad posture but that's all he has right now, me. And I am going to try harder to remember that -- when I've spelled Blue Heeler for the fiftieth time or shadowed him in the yard most of the day to make sure he doesn't run after a car -- I am all he has some days.

Two weeks left and then my boys are home. Hopefully in that time I can at least set up an office downstairs and get the oil changed in the car. At the very least, I can plant some flowers -- the idea of something growing and blooming always gives me some hope. And we all need hope.

And So We Tumble Into Fall

It is that time of year - the hustle of school buses, the morning air so crisp that I shuffle into my robe pulling it tightly around me as I wait for the coffee to brew. Coldness settles on the windowsill and the box elder bugs are starting to huddle on the screens searching for warmth. Even the bees are flying slower and stinging more impatiently.

Another summer has gone by, slow at times and other days passed with the quick, focused speed of a bullet train. My boys wake earlier, sleep in their eyes trying to adjust to the inky morning darkness, their limbs and eyelids heavy.

I scramble eggs and make toast and cook bacon, feeling my life coming back to me, my time returning. And perhaps I do this too greedily, forgetting how quickly this time does pass and how even the rough days will somehow be lost to me and I will probably miss it. It is the hard days that make the good days taste that much sweeter.

The summer was tough but I shouldn't let that put an overcast on the entire season. We did have some family fun. We camped at the central coast of Oregon near Florence surrounded by mountains of sandy dunes that led to the tumble of ocean. Sean scurried up and down the dunes, sand spraying like silver glitter.

We went to the high desert and slept in cedar cabins and ate corn and flank steak with friends. We hiked a dormant volcano, trudging and balancing up the sharp edged and polished black obsidian rocks.

We went to the Cascade mountains, and set up camp right next to a fresh, clean alpine lake. At night the sky throbbed with fat, electric stars, our faces sparkled in starlight as we tucked into the tent.

These were definitely glimpses of grace and beauty, reminding us that we live in splendor and that if we are still and far away from the noise and bustle, we can bear witness to the movements of angels and hear the hushed whispers of earth and sky. And although the moments were fleeting, when I close my eyes I feel I can see those stars as they were, unreal and pulsing, and pick them one by one like fresh, dewey apples, a bushel of stars to hold in my heart.