A Few Images From Omega

This was the view as I walked up to the sanctuary for morning meditation.

This statue graced the entrance of the Ram Dass library on campus. I'm sure it has all kinds of symbolic meaning, but I just thought Riley and Seth would get a kick out of it.

And this, was the view from my hammock. Check out my tan lines.

~~~

"Our rational minds can never understand what has happened, but our hearts.. if we can keep them open to God, will find their own intuitive way."

-Ram Dass

A Hip, Hop, A Hippy to the Hop and You Don't Stop...

Seth is bouncing back nicely. His throat no longer hurts and he has some energy. The vocal tic is still quite pronounced but he's found a way to make it work for him. He and Riley have been playing dress-up all day, putting on skits. There has been a scene at a spa, a zoo, a library, a circus, and my favorite bar none has been the rap concert. Seth dragged my computer chair behind the piano bench, made a pseudo turn table, and pretended to spin records while he rapped.

~

"Mom! I think my tic is helping me rap!"

That's right, the "glunk" became part of the act.

"Boom-ticka-glunk-glunk, boom ticka-glunk."

"Ticka-ticka, pft,pft, glunk glunk glunk."

Play that funky music white boy.

So glad you are feeling better.

Counting My Blessings

Seth missed 25 days of school last year due to illness. He has IgG defieciency which means his immune system is quite weak.

Tuesday he said his throat hurt. Today the tics started, full throttle. He looks like he has Parkinson's with the head nodding and hammer fisting, and "glunk, glunk, glunk" vocal tic. We got a positive strep result this morning. He was flat on his back all day.

So Riley spent the evening "making him feel better." She moved the mini trampoline in front of the couch where he'd been resting, and put on a little variety show. She jumped up and down and told him jokes. She did the chicken dance. She went over to the piano and played Michael Jackson's Bad. She read him excerpts from the latest stack of library books. She made a mustache out of paper and taped it to her face, then draped a purple blanket around herself and pretended to be a bull fighter. And, this one really gets me, she took his many Diggy Tick pages, and read him his own story, flipping each page as she went like an 80's INXS video.

He smiled for the first time all day.

Last night, Todd was working and I put Seth to bed on his mattress on the floor in Riley's room. He loves to sleep in there whenever we let him and his mattress was already in there from the night before. I was too tired to move it myself. Todd found him in the middle of the night lying on the bathroom floor. He'd been coughing and didn't want to wake up Riley. Or us.

He's six.

She's nine.

They certianly come with their challenges, but I could not ask for better kids.

Making My Way Toward Foxy

Since "autism" isn't covered by medical insurance, every year we set aside the maximum amount in a tax free flex spending account for medical expenses. This is the first year we've not spent it all and don't have imminent plans to do so. The account is use it or lose it. We were kicking around what we should do, and I said, kiddingly, "Maybe it's finally time for my Invisalign." I've been dreaming of Invisalign for years.

Todd cocked his head, and said, "We could do that if you want."

And that's how I found myself sitting in the orthodontist's chair yesterday, mouth open wide, getting little spokes glued to my teeth (for the retainers to snap onto). The spokes are a little freaky. A bit fang-ish when the retainers aren't in. They cut the inside of my mouth when I try to eat. You can only take out the retainers for eating. I've never had any type of orthodontia before. It's a whole new world. After my appointment, I took the kids for ice cream, but didn't get any for myself because I didn't have a toothbrush handy. You have to brush your teeth after eating and then pop it right back in. Perhaps I didn't think this through. Then again, perhaps I'll lose weight if I have to consider whether it's worth brushing my teeth every time I'm tempted to haphazardly pop food into my mouth throughout the day.

I came home and e-mailed Todd at work:

I look ridiculous and I talk funny!
I'm like Dracula with a lisp.
Will you still love me?

He e-mailed back,

I will ALWAYS love you.

Then another e-mail came through:

I will love you on a train.
I will love you on a plane.
I will love you in a car.
I will love you near or far.

He may be a plagiarist, but he so deserves the straight toothed skinny chick he'll be sleeping with this time next year.

Art Heals

Abigail Thomas is a writer you could just listen to for hours and hours. I had the privilege of getting to hear her read from her work Saturday evening at Omega. She goes right to the heart of things, ruthlessly revealing her own vulnerability, mistakes, joy and regret.

One of the pieces she read was about the night her daughter was hospitalized and in great danger of losing a pregnancy. In it, she described a moment of inertia, when she asks her son-in-law over the phone, "Should I come?"

He tells her yes. Adamantly.

Because he said yes, she was able to mobilize and go, and to be the mother she had always wanted to be. The mother who was there for her child and knew what to do when she needed her.

I'm the kind of mother who wouldn't need to ask. I'd like to see you try and stop me from coming, but Abigail made space in my heart for other kinds of mothers. Those like mine, who perhaps aren't indifferent, but don't know what to do. Those who question if they are wanted in the lives of their children. Those who are still unsure even after their kids are grown and having babies of their own.

My mother was not invited to help me get ready on my wedding day. She was not there for my miscarriage. She was not at the births of my children. She did not come when Todd had his emergency appendectomy and I was alone hauling two small kids to the hospital. She meekly asked if she should come, but I felt if she had to ask, she really didn't want to.

After being let down so many times by my parents, I don't ask for anything. I'm a fucking island.

But Abby (can I call you Abby? I feel so close after such an intimate evening)cracked open a little space in my heart around all this Saturday night when she read her piece.

Sometimes moms just don't know what to do. What a concept.

Imagine.

Quotes from the workshop....

"I don't know anything about grammar, and I don't give a shit. I sit down and I write."

-Malachy McCourt


"When I hear the words 'narrative arc' I reach for my revolver. I don't believe in it."

-Abigail Thomas


"Writing is art. Have you ever heard of a painter being edited?"

-Marta Szabo


"Platform. I hate that word. I don't even know what it means."

-Martha Frankel

Back From Omega

The memoir festival was so good.

Upon my return,

Me: Well, it's official. I'm in love with Malachy McCourt.

HT: You're not going to leave me for him, are you?

Me: If he'll have me.

HT: Does he have money?

Me: Lots of it.

HT: Send me a check.

More tomorrow. I'm off to bed.

Nighty-night.

Off to Omega

I'm off this weekend to hang with Abigal Thomas and Malachy McCourt. Before you get too jealous, here are my accommodations(no this is not the outhouse, it's my cabin, but I'm assured there is a bathroom, nearby).
Love & writing,

MO'N