GBE2 Challenge: Wonder

My husband and I were sitting in our formal living room less than an hour ago. Yes, we actually were. We sat there, I in one of the wingback chairs covered in a bright silken damask and he on a stark white couch. We were the picture of the Vanderbilts...

...well, except for the fact that our older son, barefoot and clutching his Baby Einstein push button books, was running hard and fast in a circle with an interesting chant spilling from his lips.

'Round and 'round and 'round he ran in a wide circle, probably three or four times. It wasn't enough times to make him dizzy. The chant meant something to him, what, I didn't know. Well, I did the unthinkable, the Cardinal Sin of parenting: I started to laugh.

I sure wasn't laughing WITH him, either. I'll just be honest. It looked so ridiculous, as does absolutely everything in our lives, that I laughed from my toes as he ran 'round and 'round. Tears spilled from my eyes.

At the same time, I just looked at him and wondered, what does it all mean? What the heck was he doing?

And, in the bigger scheme of things, what the heck are we all doing in this seemingly nonsensical life of ours? Our household is driven by a language all its own. We're living in a land where clothing is optional--for that matter, so are toilets.

AND NOBODY THINKS ABOUT THAT TWICE!

I was at my end-of-day, mama-has-lost-her-marbles stage. I laughed without breathing at the sight of my circling child and our crazy life, remembering the time when something like this would eat away at me.

Years ago, an unexplained action, for me, became subject to a clinical study: what did he eat recently? When was the last time he'd had a bowel movement? What did it look like? Did anything unusual happen in school today? Has he had all of his supplements? Do we need to tweak any of the doses? Perhaps he reacting to one of them...

I would spend so much time watching behaviors. Watching. And wondering.

That wasn't all that long ago, you know--maybe five years? I don't remember much of it. The memory is lost in a blur of digestion and behavioral logs that I kept while I was trying to explain all of the unexplained behaviors.

I wonder if he'll remember that from his childhood? I hope not.

The truth is that there is a lot about our sons that I can tell you. And, there is also a lot about them that I can't explain. Sometimes, particularly our older son who lacks a good deal of language, they will do things that seem extraterrestrial.

They will also do some things that are pretty spectacular.

I was in the car the other evening with two of my friends and their son. I love the way this little boy thinks. He loves life. He loves to talk, and he also happens to have autism. At one point, he drew an analogy between what he and I were saying to a lesson his mom was trying to make with him a week or so ago. Except, well, maybe his thinking wasn't following the conventional route. As his mom tried to get him to follow the conventional route which she intended, he continued along his own route, which--call me crazy---started to make magnificent sense after a while. Oh my goodness, how this child could split hairs and rework a situation until you didn't know which direction you started!

If I were his parent, he would make my brain hurt.

But I'm not! I'm his friend, and I had the pleasure of marvelling in this gift he had to work his thoughts in a way most kids can't. What a wonder that was!

I get to live that wonder in my house every day. Some days, it makes me talk like a truck driver. Some days, I cry over it. Every day, I recognize how unique to life it is.

So, there I was in my rarely-used formal living room, dismissing my questions of what the heck was making our son run in circles almost as soon as those questions came to mind. Maybe one day I'd figure that action out. Maybe one day I wouldn't. The truth is: his running in circles wasn't about me. For that matter, this life that I'm leading, well, it isn't about me, either.

In my house, we have two truly special kids. Thier lives are absolute wonders.

Quite often, I am just a spectator.