Forgive me. Let's chalk it up to a from-the-hip diagnosis : MMAD syndrome, menopausally maniacal advocacy disorder, otherwise known as 'Mom's MAD'.
Now, free of that behavioral burden, let's dish about summer.
How was yours? If you spent it with an autie or aspie family member, you don't need to tell me how busy you've been.
But did you get to spend a few lazy, sunny days on the beach or sit on the porch or lay out by the pool? I truly hope so-- I'm certain you've worked hard and deserved to pamper yourself a little.
If you actually went on a real vacation, I'm truly happy for you and I promise I won't be jealous either.
Have you noticed how the older we get, the shorter summer break seems?
At 15, I felt that my June 1st through Labor Day vacation was endless and full of the promise that an unlimited time-frame can offer. I recall that I could hope for almost anything to happen in those magical, sun-infused months.
Not only did I dream of having the darkest tan of anyone in my high school ( unrealistic as I am a celtic roots, slightly-auburn-haired-Irish-cream-skin kind of girl), I was also able to convince myself that I could entirely remake my stubbornly hourglass hips, my social life, and my profoundly dysfunctional family in one summer!
Ahhh, youth...
More recently however, I've gradually lowered my expectations of summer -- maybe too low, in this constant-crisis year I'm dealing with.
I woke up the past few days to the southern heat and haze of August and after dark, I've noticed the neighborhood crickets' volume going up and their tempo slowing down-- late summer has already arrived!
This saddens me and reminds me that I've totally lost the season of my boys' childhood. Just two weeks ago, when I pitched the formerly well received concept of a picnic at the park, they groaned, "awww, Mom there's no wi-fi at the park."
I made them go anyway, if just to blanket their white flesh with a few moments of real, live sunshine.
There we were, our family foursome eating our home-made, um, I mean, carry-out fried chicken dinners, by the Tennessee River. It was a lovely mom moment. I sighed with fulfillment--my husband and my boys seated around me were framed in the laced sunlight of late afternoon trees, and then...
my 18-year-old son asked if we could go home, just as he finished throwing dinner down his throat.
Maybe he wiped his lips with the napkin, but I can't remember.
I was recovering from the shock of my own altered reality.
There are only rare glimmers of our former life-- you may recall reading previously that I was a home-birthing, demerara-sugar and home-made-carob-cake-earth-mother, before autism, revealing itself through a geographical ministry relocation, moved into our household of six kids, ultimately producing two very weary Aspie parents.
A few weeks ago, my 13-year-old did mention that we haven't gone to the pool yet this summer and while that comment seemed to portend some promise, all hope failed, days later, when I suggested he accompany his adult sister and niece to the pool. He quickly informed me that he "preferred to stay on the couch and play" his favorite online game.
I had to force him to go outside and ride his bike recently, by using the excuse of entertaining his visiting niece thus manipulating him to play outside! This is my youngest child who used to LIVE outside.
It's my fault, really. I've been sitting in my office chair daily, for much of this summer, trying to drum up free-lance web, video production and writing work to keep us in a few luxuries like food, electricity and housing.
So I understand their de-motivation. They're just doing the parallel play thing-- mom's hips are getting wider while she's sitting at the computer, so we'll be Aspie-cave-teens and do the same.
Meanwhile, a slowly creeping realization has overtaken me-- my physical and relational world has gotten much smaller while my virtual fellowship of friends and my online vocational and social opportunities have grown exponentially.
OMG, I really am acting like the Aspie, I've been told I am. I am getting more aspergated...
and, I haven't sat outside on the porch at all this summer. I haven't seen friends at gatherings, haven't gone on a single camping trip or outing to the pool, or an outdoor concert,
while I have grown more excited by the day with my virtual and tech-production pursuits.
[cue: play theme from Psycho movie, to distant sound of female shrieking in her home office]
Even worse, I sent my husband (who graciously doesn't mind helping at all, dear, beloved, man) outside to grill chicken! Unlike the stereotypical men of our southern climes, my Bruce doesn't grill and especially not chicken because we don't like salmonella poisoning. He often doesn't know what "done" means in poultry terms.
"Neurotypical Earth to Sharon...do you read me?"
So... breathing deeply...and trying to refocus...
I've made a small decision: for the next few weeks, I'm going to put on my Deep-South requisite flip sandals, take my laptop and my butt out on the front porch, wave at neighbors driving by, walk in the park at least two times each week and maybe, maybe, we'll make it to the pool this weekend although I don't know if my swimsuit will fit.
We all need and deserve a little break in the routine and a little sun on our faces, don't we?
I mean, they're going to close and winterize the community pool in a few more weeks!
