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Saturday, September 24, 2011

Just The Right Spot

I am writing from my Mobile Mom Cave today. Oh, how I wish it were a tricked out spa on wheels instead of any of the places I am right now.

My husband has not displaced me from his office (my weekday Mom Cave) for the weekend. He is actually working at his place of employment right now. We thought we'd start a new routine in an effort to give him more time at work...Saturdays. Ugh.

I don't think it would be so bad if the agancy worker lined up to offer support actually made an appearance. For whatever reason, she didn't. So, the plan for our new weekend routine was turned upside down. Husband at work. Mom on the go, blogging via phone to stay sane.

Somehow, it is all working. Somehow, it always seems to work. I guess that is life, but, truth be told, I would prefer that things be a bit more predictable.

At any given mment in our house, one can never expect what will happen. Clothes stripped off because a drop of water got on them? Younger son painting the dog? An escaped frog from the tank? BM explosions in the hall? Diarreah of the mouth? The person you were counting on to help you handle it all for a few hours deciding to ditch you? Truly, anything is possible.

I breathe. I rub my temples. I LAUGH as much as possible, but, truth be told, when the hits keep coming, I have yet to find my true place of peace. Yes, my Mom Cave is a great refuge, but when I am there, let's face it: I AM HIDING! One can't hide forever.

Where is my place of peace amidst chaos?

I ask this, because I am looking at our son right now.



Here he is. We are at a local mall. Most malls in our area have carousels, and this is one of his favorites.

Lately, he likes to park at the carousel entrance, drink in the view first from the outside window before entering the mall and creating this special spot. He pulls a chair right here to the center of the carousel.

Blast those planters that are off center! He even tried to move them, but, alas, they would not be moved. Do you think he'd move his chair so that he'd be in the center of the planters? Nope. The goal is to be in the center of the carousel. And, when he situates the chair just so...

It's the perfect spot. It restores his eqilibrium. When he sits there and watches that carousel spin happily 'round and 'round, all is right in his world. I think we could sit there forever, which is rare for this child. He is always on the move.

To tell you the truth, I'm envious. I wish I knew the trick to finding peace amidst chaos. My approach with his has been to adjust and power through, but I can't say there is always peace.

Each day I wake. I have an idea of what my perfect spot is: on the couch with coffee, a quiet spot in the kitchen as I made breakfast, a moment to steal so that I can shower--whatever. Each day, autism has a different plan. And so, I spend the day readjusting my expectations.

I have a magnet on my refrigerator which reads, "Life Doesn't Begin Until You Are Living Outside Your Comfort Zone"

Why is that stupid magnet on my fridge? I hate it. I like my comfort zone and I like my life within it, thank you! Ugh. Maybe I was trying to validate my daily struggle to find my comfortable spot in the swirling chaos around me.

It isn't working.

Five days ago, our older son suffered a seizure--the first of this level of severity to warrant a trip to the ER--and it was then, amidst the chaos of that curve ball to the day, that I found my seat.

A calmness washed over me, and I felt as though there was no other place for me to be. My thoughts were clear, and I would have argued for any other person who would have wanted to take my spot in the ambulance beside him or as his protector those first couple hours in the ER before my husband arrived.

In the severity of that situation, I was where I belonged.

I suddenly felt as though all of my daily battles with trying to find my way through the chaos had served as a training ground for a more serious kind of chaos--a medical emergency related to the disability that lands your child in the hospital.

Here's where I'm going to date myself: is anyone else thinking of those famous "Karate Kid" (not the latest version) words, "Wax on. Wax off."

Have I been in training?

Yet another way our son has become my greatest teacher.

1 comment:

  1. They do teach us. Every day and in a host of ways. That's the good stuff.

    Oh, and pitch that damn magnet. With gusto.

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