Susan Senator

Just got back from the movie Eragon. I took Nat, Max and Ben. Haven't done that in a long, long time. Usually I think the movie will be just too boring or silly, or Max doesn't want to go or has plans, or I'm scared to take Nat for fear of noise/tantrums/hard stuff. But that is so old. I'm a tough old bird and a little silly talk or arm biting just rolls off my steely spine. Let 'em look, I say.

When I was buying them sodas and popcorn, one of the cashiers was clearly giggling about Nat. Too much for me to think she was attracted to his beauty. Because first of all Natty had walked right up to the Counter Girl and then just stared at the soda machine, waving his hands and silly talking. He looks like he could buy his own thing, so why doesn't he, they must have been wondering. I said, "Two Sprites and a Diet Coke." But when I said, "Sprite," Nat said, "orange," so I switched the drink order to two oranges and a diet coke, and then Ben said, "No, I want Sprite," so I had to change the order again.

I was so psyched that Nat could tell me what he wanted, right away! But Cashier Girlie must have made a face so the Counter Girlie admonished her to mind her own business. I looked over at Cashier Girlie and I grinned widely, saying, "Boy, I guess it would have been good of me to ask them what they wanted first!" Ha, ha, isn't life just a jolly giggle! I was ready to say, "Can't wait until you have some kids!" But I continued to smile kindly, the Benevolent Old Mom Who Has Seen It All. I guess I kind of have. Cashier Girlie then looked at me kind of sheepishly. Nat took his soda and strolled away, silly talking at the top of his lungs, God bless him! I just laughed -- a real one this time -- and walked after him, Ben trailing after me.

Then there was some anxiety over -- you guessed it -- the theatre lights, which were still on during the previews!! Thought I'd have to take Nat home, but Max reassured us that they would go off when the movie started, so Nat kept repeating that, quivering and shaking his leg the entire time. Poor darling, he refused to start his soda or eat his popcorn until those &*^% lights went off.

Throughout the movie, all three boys were riveted. I, too, enjoyed it. A bit of a Lord of the Rings rip off, but the hero was cute enough -- although he looked a bit too much like Max for my comfort -- and so we were all entertained.

I am very proud of us, needless to say.

Remember when I said I am not a hausfrau? Well guess what? I think I really am. I feel so good right now because I cleaned my house! What's more, I did not do all the work! I had each boy dust his own room, plus Nat did some extra dusting downstairs and I did not even tell him to do it!!!! It is the Swiffer that I have to thank. The Swiffer is a trend that is sweeping the nation! (Okay, I stole that joke from Dane Cook, only mine is not X-rated!) But really, the reason I like the Swiffer is that I just give a boy a cloth and it picks up dust, no chemicals to worry about on their precious hands. Then I go over it with a Pledge-soaked wipe, at least the areas that people will see, plus I like the smell of the Pledge.

Then Nat did his blog post, telling me in his own Sweet Guy way that he was sick of seeing me walk around in my PJs, and that it was time to get dressed. Mr. Routine! You could set your clocks by Nat! And he's a Scorpio, in addition! So, before showering, I Tilexed the shower! Unfortunately, now I have Tilex in my nose, that I can't seem to get rid of, so I made some decaf in the hopes of eradicating those fumes. Where is the Cat in the Hat when you need him? Plus Little Cat Z, of course!

I think it is so funny -- and no accident -- that the Yiddish word for "good housewife" is balabusta, which sounds like "ballbuster!" As Marie Antoinette may have (should have) said in reply to her famous husband's quip: "La Balabusta, C'est Moi."

Max and his friend made a podcast that I think is terrific. It really shows you the interior life of the fourteen-year-old (non jock) boy's mind, or at least, these two wonderful boys' minds! Max is the main voice and his friend has the softer voice. I love it, but maybe because I'm the proud Mamma?

I think I am going to try to do a podcast, a talkshow that I have been dreaming about: Special!
I would have special needs parents on the show talking to me about their problems, thoughts, epiphanies, solutions. How they have fun. Also, perhaps some non-parent experts to give their two cents. Anyone interested in talking to me on a podcast? Email me (susan@susansenator.com) and we'll decide if this thing has legs or if it's just another Libra dream of mine...

1) Allergy medicine: Claritin -- it's cheap and OTC and did not make me drowsy throught XMas. (I have a cat allergy and my FIL has cats, as opposed to katz, to whom I am not allergic)
2) Song: Pump It, Black-Eyed Peas. Thank you, Max, this is the best workout song I have ever had. Yo, yo.
3)Work out at gym: crunches on the half-circle thing; arm weights (12.5 lbs in each hand, yeah, baby, I be a strong beyotch) and elliptical with iPod watching the big flat screens do their thing.
4) Work out at home: other than something with Ned, my DVD of tribal fusion BD (that's belly dance, FYI)
5) Belly dance costume: black leggings, black bra top, lots of beaded crap around my hips (Ned bought me all kinds of stuff: tassels, sparkly trim, bells, silvery and red ribbon to decorate myself with) and a big beaded thing wrapped around my hair so I look really tribal.
6) Snack: Atkins peanut butter crisp bar (only 2g and totally delicious).
7) Belly dance move: upper rib cage eight (see pic)
8) Bad habit: drinking too much decaf and foaming up my cream with this thing my mother bought me.
9) Magazine: The New Yorker What else is there, frankly? It's got comics, movie reviews, liberal reporting, witty exposes, and poetry!
10) Medical professional, other than my sister and sister-in-law: my doc! He answers my questions over email!!!
11) Bearded man: Ned
12) Movie star man: Jeff F***ing Bridges. He is the sexiest thing on the planet.
13) Spa treatment: Facial, sans extractions
14) Hair style: Just the right blow-out; not too flat, not too straight
15) Luxury I can't afford: A regular housecleaner
16) Shopping secret: Anthropologie has a huge sales section in the back
17) Thing to do with Nat: Read the surfing book. He is totally riveted.
18) Thing to do with Ben: Build a world with Legos (recent project: land of the dead)
19) Thing to do with Max: Shop at Apple store, drive around in car (it's how we talk).
20) Thing to do with friend: coffee
21) Thing to do with Mom: Shop and then eat
22) Thing to do with Laura: Walk and talk
23) Thing to do with Dad: Bike ride
24) Thing to do with Ned: Laugh
25) Thing to do with myself: Belly dance


Yeah, that's right! Want to make somethin' of it?

(Can you guess that Ned got a new camera for Chanukah and who is his favorite model?)

Sticking close to home these days. Not doing much of anything, except living moment-by-moment, which is sometimes the best way to be as a parent. I have a feeling of wellbeing that is rather inexplicable, so I thought I'd make a list of the things I've accomplished to see if I can understand what went right thus far. My therapist tells me that extrinsic achievements are not necessarily the route to happiness, but they sure help.

1) Wrote a great piece and submitted it to the WashPo at the request of the Asst. Editor. This accomplishment plus contact made me feel a bit more like a real writer than I have been feeling of late.
2) Decided to cancel trip to either NYC or DC, rather than leaving it up to Ned to say, "We don't really have the money." I can be the heavy sometimes.
3) Explored fancy options for New Year's eve here. Someplace where I can wear the red dress. All seemed too-too; strange combinations of scallops with caviar or mint and fennel, for like $195 a person. We are not foodies. We don't know wine from whine. Ned hates suits. Hmm.
4) Planned, instead an interesting New Year's eve sans Manhattan. There is a local (not at all fancy) sweet little place that is trying something new: Turkish band and belly dancer. So... maybe I can still wear red dress because it is New Year's eve?? Opinions? (This does not really count as something positive that happened)
5) Took Nat and Max out to get a snack while I bought coffee at Peet's
6) No Ben because he had a playdate, second day in a row! Nachas
7) Dieted successfully for two days now.
8) Danced for an hour last night after having gone to the gym in the morning, too.
9) Knee no longer sore, despite dancing.
10) Helped Max clean out desk so he can give it to Benj; helped clean off big desk he will use (from third floor).
11) Heard from someone interesting from my past but handled it well.
12)Did not bug Ned to come home early, though very bored.
13) Picked up dust bunnies with my hands.
14) Luxurious hot bath tonight
15) Going to watch either Taladega Nights, or Tourgasm, or Team America (Max's recommendation in exchange for watching Ordinary People with me).

By far
The thing I miss most
Is a fat shiny salt bagel,
With just the right crunch of toast.

No cream cheese
I can always eat that
No, with real butter
pale yellow, soft with fat.

Rounded halves
Sit buttock-like on a plate
The crystalline salt, tiny diamonds
Why do I have to gain weight?

Butter-soaked spongey bites
Between my teeth, rough on my tongue
Finished far too soon
My paean now sung.

Well, it's here. The most anticipated day of the year. So many of you must be feeling so extremely psyched right now (it is 6:59 a.m.). Probably kind of the way I feel waking up on my birthday, which is still my most fun day of the year.

We Jews don't have a guy like Jesus whom we celebrate like this. Ben was asking me how did Santa get into the mix, and I couldn't really tell him a whole lot. I hope my readers will fill me in. I think he came out of a tradition in Norway or something. A lot of people rag on Christmas for being not a sincerely religious holiday at all but the beauty of it is, it is a total conglomeration of traditions from all over the place. The tree, I believe, is a German thing, or even a pagan rite; Santa Claus is something from somewhere else; I think the Germans do a thing where they leave out their shoes and they get presents in them -- you can see that is similar to the stocking by the chimney bit.

It is disappointing the way commerce gets into the whole thing and makes everyone sick by blowing in Christmas songs as soon as November starts, and commandeering of late autumn, by forcing her to wear red and green for weeks and weeks. Anyone would be tired of that, even with the most fun day of the year attached! But thank goodness red and green has real staying power; it is one of the most beautiful color combos, because of all you can do with red (it can be maroon, fuschia, ruby, scarlet, tomato, purple, and pink). Green; not so much, but it is a perfect foil to red. It knocks blue and white out of the park, that's for sure; come on, what can you do with white, for God's sake, except maybe make it silver??

The thing is, though, there's always a moment -- come on, admit it -- when you get really psyched hearing those songs in the stores. Even a Jewish girl like me gets a lift in her step, unloading my three boxes of Lucky Charms onto the conveyor belt to "Baby, It's Cold Out There," or "Silent Night."

Maybe I'm luckier than a lot of you because Christmas has no emotional baggage for me. I don't have to remember when I was little and so-and-so spoiled the whole thing, or how this one or that one is always uptight or bitchy. I don't have to feel teary about this memory or that. I came to Christmas as a 19-year-old. My first Christmas was with Ned's family on Cape Cod. They always celebrated with Ned's stepmom's family, the McKeys, a large family with a great sense of humor. It took me a while to catch on, and to not feel weird being a Jew among such a deeply traditional, Christian family, (not religiously but culturally Christian) but I eventually realized that their bits and schtick were very much like my extended family's and now that we don't see them I find I miss them!

Now they celebrate it in New Hampshire, with just Ned's father, stepmother, stepmother's best friend, and Ned's sibs and spouses. That is fun, too, and it is where we are going today. We'll eat roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, beautiful desserts, at a gorgeous table with old, old family silver (Ned's family -- the Batchelders -- go way back; they actually have a huge old tome called The Batchelder Geneology, with all these Nathaniels who were sea captains, etc., from the 17th and 18th centuries) before those things were fashionable, and name cards with little symbols for each dinner guest, combined with funky theatrical stuff because a lot of them are in the theatre (both from Broadway and now up in New Hampshire, The Barnstormers). Everything is very classy and elegant but also warm.

A long time ago, when I was an angry young woman and went to the Batchelder Christmas, I requested that my kids receive presents that said, "Happy Chanukah" because I didn't want them to think they were celebrating Christmas. I look back on my intense younger self and try to forgive her for being so afraid of everything. I think now I was just really trying to stick up for myself, afraid I would disappear amidst all the Christmas stuff. I hate feeling invisible. I was afraid that Nat would be confused. (I am smiling as I think about that one.) Or that the boys would prefer Christmas, and not want to be Jews. Seriously, this is a fear that Jews have, of the tribe diminishing, of people leaving the team, of the religion dying out not from gas chambers and pogroms, but from funseeking!

I understand that. I am not so worried anymore. I think my boys will probably choose to be Jews simply because they are raised as such and it is part of their identity. And if they don't, they will still be who they are and I will love them and adapt, the same way I adapted to Ned's family traditions.

Now, so many years later, I feel like such a firm part of Ned's family and I see that there is no disappearing. There is blending. Like Christmas itself: traditions from everywhere. I don't care what it says on our presents. I just want it to continue to be the same, forever. I suppose that is the way most of you feel in your hearts today, too. You just want to feel the good that is Christmas, lifted out from the overly-chewed-gum feeling imposed on you by our Krazy Kulture, and to always be able to look forward to it being pretty much the same, every year, elves and all.

Enjoy! Be happy.

We went out last night to Fanueil Hall, to the Comedy Connection with friends to see Gary Gulman, (below) a really talented stand-up comedian. He does a lot of comedy about being Jewish in a Christian world, and he really gets it right. He also talks about cookies, about how the sugar cookie is the lowest on the cookie totem pole, being the only cookie that can only offer you a shape as its attractive quality. He says, "Guess what, Sugar Cookie? All cookies are sugar cookies. Without sugar, you've just got a cracker." Yeah, it loses a lot in the translation.

He is also extremely sexy, and 6' 6". Like a Jewish Matthew McConaughey. He was happy to take a picture with us; I asked him how old he was, feeling a bit like a yenta, but he told me, "36." Me, too!

Not enough said
About early afternoon coffee
My silver scoop, a trowel cutting black earth
You will join me; now it's an occasion
I say build a fire --
You furrow your brow.
Studying your new camera catalog
Getting ready to consume me with that big lens.

Sons spread around us, warm and industrious, birds studying what's beneath them.
The black table pitted and smeared with breakfast droppings
A messy sprawl of bags -- your family's gifts -- waiting for
tape and shears in the drawer that sticks from old paint
(they all stick)
While the squat black coffee pot pisses and smokes
like an old street man
From our days as two in that city of brotherly love
Where we found ours.

I think that Ned is planning on taking me away for an overnight somewhere. We are talking about Washington, DC, although I really wish I could go for dinner at the White House again! How can I get invited back? Though I suppose that's mostly so I can buy another gown and dress to the nines. We only got invited to one Christmas party this year; unbelievable! Usually it is seven in one weekend! WTF? Is it our deodorant?

More than partying, I have felt the real need to go off with Ned and cocoon. We have had some extremes this year, some very wonderful times but also some scary lows as a couple. Our shimmery golden 25 + year bond has stretched and broadened, and sometimes thinned in places so we have really needed to repair. We do this by spending quality time (stupid cliche but so true) and also by checking in with each other frequently. We I.M. during the day -- I have learned (the hard way) I.M. etiquette, whereby you must first say, "Hi" before beginning with some sexy thought. He gets annoyed with me when I just burst out with some declaration of love or lust online. But I love Ned on I.M.; he expresses himself more clearly with the typed word sometimes than face-to-face. I am intrigued by his I.M. voice. Perhaps I need to learn to shut up more in real life so that I can hear more of his spoken voice, but I suspect that I.M. somehow frees him up.

In DC, we are going to stay in some outrageously luxurious hotel; right now there are deals on five-star places, so sign me up. A long soak in a marble tub and an in-room massage; wonderful. Lying around on impossibly soft beds and then out to dinner at this restaurant in Georgetown, where they have belly dancing, of course. The next day we would probably do what he wants, which I would like as well: go to the National Archives and see the original Constitution and Declaration! Though I prefer his declarations...

A silvery wet rainfall this morning; white mist streaming in. It is warm enough that the grass seems to be greening up a bit. One of those wintry rains where the bark on the trees looks black against the powdery gray sky. I sip strong, sweet, creamy coffee and watch through white linen curtains, the stillness of a pre-Christmas Saturday.

I finish the last brown drop and pour another, a luxury. Usually I try to save two mugfulls for Ned, but I will just make him more when he emerges from the warm white cave of snoring blankets. I love Morning Ned. His hair stands up a little, which is adorable, he's without glasses, (like the Ned I first met), his eyes are wide, navy blue, and innocent; he's warm and he's usually humming.

Ned and Max are the happiest people I know, I think. Happy in the content sense. Not much bugs them. They have an interior that is rounded and smooth and that allows most irritating things people do to simply slide off. Hence, their nicknames Neddy Sweets, and Little, Little Sweets (way back when, Max was a tiny baby. It lasted for like a day, and then he became big. I called him Little, Little Sweets and it got shortened to Little, Little. Nat was Sweet Guy, and Ned was Sweets. By the time Ben came along, he was called "Littlest Sweets," but we quickly amended that because Sweet and Benji don't really mix! Ned calls me "Susan Sweets," by the way. At one point, when we were engaged, we considered taking a brand new last name: Sweets.)

Ben and I are rarely content. We swing high and low. Our happiness is sharp and bright; our crashes burn and hurt. Our anger is fiery and terrible, Old Testament style. It is our wiring, we can't help it, but most likely certain meds would soothe, if we were plagued by it too much.

And Nat? I think he is a content soul. Anyone who would walk around murmuring about the things that interest him, rarely cry, and grin over candy seems to me to be a content type. His anger is rare (knock wood), fierce, but short-lived and often he just takes it out on himself (biting his arm, poor darling).

The silence upstairs was just interrupted by a sharp burst of sound, hard feet on the floor, a deep-voice cough; Nat is awake and already active. He will get completely dressed, come downstairs, and eventually take his place in the center of the livingroom couch. There is the gentle murmur of his "silly talk," and a worried glance out the playroom window at the street lights and the Christmas lights. Good or bad? I still don't know for sure what it is he wants to see out there. I'm sure he's annoyed by the lack of sunlight, however.

Last night I heard him silly talking and one of the words I could make out, other than "dark," was "Funny Bunny," the name of his old stuffed animal. Hoping he wouldn't mind, I said, "Nat, did you say, 'Funny Bunny?'"

"No Funny Bunny," he said, but he was grinning widely.
"Natty, I love you, " I said, also smiling.

Nat had been excited to get a bag of candy from one of his teachers, Kristin, he told me. He sat down after dinner and scarfed the entire bag, while Ned watched enviously. Ned asked him for a bite, and Nat said, "No," grinning.
"Natty, you don't share?" Ned asked.
"No," still grinning.
I said, "How about me?"
Nat looked up, worried. "No -- " he started to say, and then I made a sad face and he said, "Yes."
Ned said, "Oh, you'd share with Mommy and not me?"
"Jewish Mother guilt," I said, smiling smugly. "It works on all three of them!"
Or maybe Nat doesn't mind saying he'll share with me because he knows I won't really eat the candy? Hmmm. It's like offering my dad a taste of a Devil Dog or Twinkie; you know he won't take a lot, (he calls it "tax,") so you don't mind. It counts as sharing, but it is hardly anything!

Sweet.

I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams
I'm as giddy as baby on a swing
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing
But I feel so gay, in a melacholy way
That it might as well be spring
Oh and it might as well be spring.
--Astrud Gilberto "It Might As Well Be Spring"

Holy Cow!
Ned bought me a pink velvet mermaid skirt and matching velvet gauntlets! It arrived today; a perfect fit! The mermaid skirt is tight and stretchy over the hips, with a wide hem of pink chiffon starting at the shins. It is like putting on springtime.

Today was a day just for me. It might as well be spring, as the song goes. I felt so happy and light, and it was warm: in the 50's! Green Christmas. I did some writing and then went to a spa to get a pedicure, even though it is winter, because I am a dancer and my feet show, so my toenails should be pretty. I decided to get a facial, too, and that was like a dream. A full hour of having my face stroked, steamed, lotioned, and masqued. While the masque hardened, she massaged my neck, shoulders, arms, and hands. When I was through, I did not need any makeup! For the rest of the day I went around barefaced, which I never do. That's how good I felt. And Ben said I looked "younger" than yesterday, bless him.

We had Chanukah early. Max loved his Star Wars book and Benj loved his new Legos. Nat did not seem to notice his new book. He just loves tearing the paper off a present and rarely looks at it. What he loves about Chanukah is the candles; he is mesmerized by them. We have six menorahs: one is all silver, and serious; one is brass, from the UPenn bookstore when we were first married; one is a lumpy, floppy ceramic triangle with tiny uneven holes done by Max when he was little; one is gold spray-painted noodles done by Benji in kindergarten (the noodles are all burnt black), and another is one M and B made of Legos with Lego flames, and another is the electric one in the window, and another is little metal choo-choo trains that hold three candles each. They burn all at once and are so beautiful, just perfect with their even little flames, like yellow cat's eyes.

Ned is not home because he went out to dinner with his colleagues to celebrate the final shipping of their product prior to Christmas. They made their milestones and they are very happy. I have never seen him so in love with a job! I am happy for him although sometimes jealous; jealous that he focuses on that so much (I want him to focus on me all the time! No, I don't!) and jealous that he has a job he loves so much. I wish I did! I love the writing and giving talks but I don't get to do it consistently! Silly, but human, I guess(?)

After Chanukah dwindled down I slipped in the tribal DVD and did some more practicing. Tonight I learned how to contract my upper abs (separate from middle and lower). I also tried doing a pelvic lock, which is a sharp contraction right under the navel. Everything was better than yesterday, so I stretching up to a new level of learning again.

Any day that ends with successful belly dancing is a good day by me. What would make it perfect is for Ned to get home already so I can thank him for that fantastic pink costume and see him unwrap one of his.

A tired bedtime fight
I fell asleep through some of our words
which tore open a crisp white envelope
and made a paper cut in your heart

Throat dry, eyes wet
Nothing more to be done?
Can't/won't?
Hope collapsing in my chest, pressing me to just give up.

Something about morning light
And the quiet, cold house
Where ordinary stretches to greatest heights
And you, so familiar, every mole and hair now a tiny reassurance
Your coffee flavored mouth
my breakfast.

Here is my column for today's Brookline Tab.

The Kindness of Strangers
Susan Senator
Brookline Tab, "Edge of Town"



This is the time of year when we focus on gift-giving. I try to
remember all the kids’ teachers, even though Brookline schools has a
policy against giving gifts to teachers, there's always some way, like
cards, or baking, to say thanks. But there’s often someone important
I forget, especially in my oldest son’s case. Nat goes to a private
program for children with autism, so rather than just one or two
teachers in the classroom, there are five specialists in his class of
eight, and rapid staff turnover, due to the intensity of the
job. Because of this I don’t always get to know everyone in Nat’s
life. But it feels especially remiss not to acknowledge all the people
who work with him, particularly now, when he is 17 and there is so
much left to do for him to prepare him for the world.



It seems like ever since the beginning of Nat’s life I have been
focused on how hard things are for him. Even when he was little I was
thinking about his future, and I have needed to rely on others:
teachers, doctors, therapists, and tutors to help teach him the many
things he needs to know.



Most parents worry about their children, of course, but back when Nat
was diagnosed with severe autism – so many years ago – we felt
completely alone. We didn’t know of anyone else like him. Now things
are different, but back then, all I knew was that my husband and I
were alone with a baby we loved but didn’t understand, and we were
scared. Questions and doubts colored every conversation we had: What
should we be doing for him? Who will help us? And the most horrible
question, the one that still makes my heart hurt: What happens when
we’re gone?



I have learned to live with such uncertainty by now; it’s just a small
line between my eyebrows, a soft twinge in my throat. We understand
that we cannot plan for every eventuality, even though we are teaching
Nat what to do in any emergency situation we can dream up and
recreate, safely. We can teach him to put a bandaid on a cut, but how
do we teach him how to know when he needs stitches? Those kinds of
gray areas are hard to teach, yet they make up the fabric of daily
living in a complex world We will probably always need to have help
for him. I am only just beginning to accept this.



Yet I don’talways accept it. I make jokes like, “Well, I just won’t
ever die,” while I continue to cultivate my relationships with the
staff at his school, keeping my eyes open for those special teachers,
those aides who go above and beyond, who really “get” him. I am
secretly looking for my future respite workers, for the people who
will help us when he’s an adult. There’s the music teacher who is
determined to teach him real music theory; the gym teacher who gets
beaned with willfully thrown balls, yet proudly calls him Adam
Vinatieri; the swim coaches who get pinched but cheer him on when he
races. And of course, the bus drivers. With little or no training in
autism, they get to know his quirks, his likes and dislikes, his radio
station preferences. They talk to him and keep him happy for an hour
and a half every day. Maybe it’s not as much as teaching him how to
count change, but sometimes I wonder.



The other day, because it’s close to Christmas, Nat’s driver handed us
a big bag of presents: a huge box of oreos and a polar fleece top to
keep him warm. “He always asks for cookies because I give them to him
sometimes,” she shrugged. “So I want to make sure he gets his
cookies.”



The old twinge in my throat flared up. I almost cried as I took that
bag from her. This gift was much more than a bag of cookies. What she
gave me was a little peace of mind. I still don’t know what the future
holds for Nat as an adult. But I’m pretty sure that there will always
be people out there who will care for and love him, even when it’s not
part of their job description. Even when it’s not easy. And even when
I’m no longer around.

Some friends are beginning to read my sample chapter to my new book, and the feedback has been very positive. The only suggestion I've had is that maybe I want to include other moms' voices, rather than just my own. The thing is, a big part of the success of Making Peace With Autism was my voice. My honesty, my story that others share so much, and my attitude. That is my best way of writing. I don't know if I could really do justice to other moms' voices in my new book. I don't know if it would come out right. I don't only want this to be a "useful" book; I want this to be a moving and good book!

It is so tricky trying to write a book. I have to be able to dig down to my most honest and raw thoughts to get it right. I can't write something that is a marketing manager's dream. If I am asked to write something that is too manufactured and slick and not quite me, it won't flow, it won't happen.

One friend is organizing a moms' focus group so that I can hear from them and get ideas. It's research. But I don't think I can take it any further than that and actually make other moms into characters with their own voices. I can't imagine doing that, the way I write, unless it's fiction!

Ned's father and stepmom bought me this DVD for Chanukah. They made an excellent choice! I had just begun to think about Tribal belly dance, because the other night, my teacher was wearing tribal garb and it was very interesting. She had on a metallic coin bra top, heavy eye makeup, and a long fringed and tassled hip belt over leggings. So this is a very different look from the cabaret-style Egyptian belly dance costuming I've been into, which is more sequined and beaded and at times a bit garish. The tribal thing is more ethnic and exotic. It fits yet another side of me, because I happen to be rather ethnic myself! Tribal is more focused on drum solos and a bit more infused with Eastern elements of yoga and spiritualism. Okay by me. I can use a little spiritualism/meditation, etc.

I watched the DVD and saw some extreme belly dance, performed by Rachel Brice. She could do things with her different body parts that looked like a Disney nightmare of a belly dancer, almost as if her head were separate and floating above curling fingers, slithering waist, flipping belly.

I had to try it. I took my laptop and DVD up to my bedroom and tried a little of it, but it was a bit uncomfortable because it was so hard to do! So I knew I was hooked.

This morning after everyone had gone I put on black leggings and black bra top and the silver belt made of tiny bells and blue beads that the boys had gotten me for my birthday. Also the matching silver and blue beaded slave bracelets (one I had bought and one Ned had gotten me for Chanukah)

I have ordered my own silver coin top and maybe I'll get one of those tribal belts with the fringe! But if I don't, I can wear it with the beautiful green silk scarf or the boys' belt.

So this morning, clothed in my tribal look, I practiced Rachel Brice's 30 minute routine. It starts with a whole yoga warmup, which I've never done, but I enjoyed and found pleasantly strenuous. Then I learned how to do a hip lock, which is a hip lift that you cut off sharply, no extra movment (and as little jiggling as possible). The non-jiggling is achieved, I realized, by lifting the torso/chest as high as you can and tucking the pelvis so that basically everything remains contracted except for the obliques which are lifting the hip. This lifting also improves the look of everything, especially if you have a more meaty middle due to 1) your age; 2) your Eastern European roots and 3) having eaten like a pig while pregnant three times, and thereafter until you discovered Dr. Atkins.

So all day I've been trying to sit and stand like that, to build my core (so that I don't get grossed out when I watch myself perform). I felt a bit of that high, that belly dance high, when I caught a glimpse of myself doing the interior hip circle correctly -- which is done only with ab muscles, not really hips at all!. In a flatter, leaner stomach you can see the muscles switch sides as they expand and contract. It is quite dramatic. In my belly, you can see a shimmer of that happening. Oh well, at least the piercing looks nice. In time, however, I expect it will all look better, and come more easily. And then I will perform.

I am already onto coffee cup #2 and still bleary. Why? I took Ambien at 3 a.m. Why? Because there was a beep that kept going off at seemingly unpredictable intervals (no, it was not Max's new Annoy-a-tron, but how ironic, if I were awake I would frown). Why? Because one of our many smoke detectors had an expired battery.

So here's my question, which I got from Ned, who asked it very pithily and pissedly at 3 a.m. last night:

Why the F don't our smoke detectors have little lights that stay on once the battery is dying, so that you don't have guess which detector it is that has expired?

And I would like to add:

Why do smoke detector batteries always expire at 3 a.m., the freak-out hour?

We had to stand for several minutes under each smoke detector, watching and listening, neck craned upwards, eyes pulling shut, waiting for the beep. Then, when we'd determined that no, this one was NOT it, we would move on to a different one. I fantasized for a moment about assigning a detector to each boy, but I figured I was the parent and and I had to let them sleep.

Finally Ned discovered it was the CO2 detector. Of course I asked worriedly, "You sure it's not a real CO2 problem?" But he didn't even answer and I might not have even asked it. It was so late and we were so tired that we might have eaten the batteries and thought we were dreaming of bad candy.

I got back into bed, a little worried that sleep would be spoiled by being awake a little too much at 3 a.m. but next thing I knew I smelled coffee.

Oh he never speaks his passions
He never speaks his views
Where other men speak volumes
The man I love is mute
In truth I can't recall
Being wooed with words, at all
Even now...
--He Plays the Violin, "1776"

Nat did not want to "play on the computer today." Still, I thought it would be good for him to get in the habit of articulating his thoughts and getting himself out there. He, like his father, and apparently Thomas Jefferson, is a man of few (spoken) words! He is completely unnerved by the December sky, which only starts to get light when he leaves for school and starts to get dark when he comes home. The street lights in our neighborhood are not well calibrated and they flicker on and off. Oh, insensitive Town of Brookline!

On another front, I spent a few hours with a friend in a local mall today, helping her decorate her house. We were hanging around in Restoration Hardware and I noticed a stocking stuffer type of gift called, "Chit Chat." They were billing it as a box of conversation starters. It was a lucite container holding little square cards, each with a question or statement that would get you thinking, such as, "What are the best landmarks in your city, and why?" and "What is your favorite entree?" Kind of typical Restoration Hardware crowd fare, but it got me thinking, there could be such a thing made for folks with ASD. Someone like Nat could really benefit from a modified "Chit Chat;" with questions like, "What was something good that happened today." or "Tell me what your favorite sport is."

My friend actually bought "Chit Chat" as a family Chanukah present. I think it's a great way to get talking. This is something Ned and I do sometimes. We just sit and tell each other favorite this or least favorite that, and sometimes we try to guess what the other would think. I find it's best played lying together on a couch or the wife sitting on the husband's lap. That way I can be sure to have his full attention; blocks the laptop quite nicely!

I'll be going to WGBH in Boston in a few minutes, because I'll be on the Cape and Islands NPR station (Cape Cod, Mass, that is) at 9:30 EST this morning, talking about making peace with autism. It streams on the web, so I thought I'd let y'all know.

"If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again
I'll never go any further than my own backyard
Because if it isn't there
Well, I never really lost it to begin with.
Is that right?"
Dorothy, to Glinda

I have to keep reminding myself of all the good things going on. I have a tendency to focus on the one bad thing in my life (this one or that one who hurt me) even though there are scores of wonders staring me in the face:

Last night Max helped me make a blog for Nat. Even though he (Max) had homework to do. Even though, as he said later, "He got way more comments in his very first blogpost than I ever have!" I can't believe Max, still, after all these years. How lovely to be with he is. Just being in the same room. He has that same golden gentleness that Ned has. A surrounding warmth and comfort. You feel joy just in his presence. When he was little I worried about people taking advantage of his kindness. I micromanaged all of his friendships; this one was too grabby, that one was too rude. But as Max got bigger (and he got really big!) I noticed more and more how he literally and figuratively rose above it all. He would smile down at me and my worries. He was fine. He is fine. Knock wood.

I gave Max one of Kevin Leitch's Neurodiverse tee shirts and he was totally delighted. He loved the strange "don't screw with the evil neurodiverse" saying and he loved even more the huge size it came in (3XL). I knew he'd be psyched to wear this seemingly "random" tee shirt, and he'd enjoy explaining it to his buds. Here is the song I made up for Max years ago, sung to the tune of Stevie Ray Vaughn's "Little Lover Boy"

Well you heard about my Maxie
He's short and sweet
You mess with him
You see his mom get mean

He's my sweet Little Little
He's my pride and joy
He's my sweet Little Little
He's my little Blankie Boy

Last night Nat got something like 15 comments on his post! And a link. After school today, I am going to try again, getting Nat to blog. I think what will help is to have questions written out for him, that he can read and think about. Also, perhaps lists of words that are important to him, like the games he likes, the parts of his school day, the weather, the lighting. I think the visual reminders will help him structure his thoughts and feelings.

I will wait for Nat to hang up his coat, put away his backpack, take off his shoes. I will then give Nat his chocolate ice cream, and when he walks into the living room, I will ask him to come into the playroom and look at the computer with me again. He will be reluctant. Yesterday, I said, "Please?" and looked at him with sad eyes. I actually used Jewish Mother guilt on him. It works with all three of my boys, but it is my very last resort.

Nat has a Jewish soul, I believe, in the oldest sense. He is the one who I can rely on to say the prayers every night for Chanukah, where I have to needle the other two. Nat seems to have more of an affinity for ritual, but I also wonder if he feels a comfort in speaking the ancient Hebrew, the way I do.

Benj, too has a Jewish soul in the way that his sense of justice is very Old Testament. When he feels you are wrong, he takes no prisoners. He has to stomp you to the ground, kill all your descendents, and sprinkle salt on your earth, and pepper, too. But ole Benj is changing, loosening up. Growing, learning. Last night he asked me how many days are 93 hours. These are the kinds of questions I, of the 520 math SAT (don't worry, I had a 780 verbal), am asked to answer while chopping onions for dinner. I put down the knife and think. My boys always make me think and stretch my poor head. "Okay," I said. "You have to see how many times 24 goes into 93. How many sets of 24 make 93. Because there are 24 hours in a day, right?" So I proceeded to ask him 24 + 24. He answered almost immediately, "Two less than 50." Right!!!
Then I said, "Add 24 to that." Again, almost immediately, he got the answer. No paper, no pencil, no fingers. He was seeing it all, right in his head. This is a kid they have been sending to math support in his school! I knew he had math down. I just knew it. He just needed to get a handle on his math facts, the boring part. The math concepts he seems to consume like chocolate.

So there you have it. The wonders of my universe. And I didn't even mention Ned. Oops, just did. Ned let me fall asleep crying onto his shoulder. He told me that the only important stuff was right here. My own backyard, as Dorothy Gale would say.

Announcing Nat's Blog. Max set him up with an account and together Max and I designed the page. I will try to do this with Nat regularly, when he gets home from school. I ask him questions about his day and his thoughts, and he says a few things, and I ask him some more, and then say, "Okay, type that." Then he sits and spells it out, and painstakingly finds the letters on his keyboard. So here we go, blog post #1, in Nat's own words, of Nat's own hand. Enjoy!

I've been out all morning, and I came home to this lovely email:

hi mom,
i hope you are having a
good day. i am having fun at school.
love nat

I just about flipped my wig, getting an email from Nat! But I don't wear a wig, so I just grinned my face off. Nat speaks! Much better than anything I've ever heard from Autism Speaks.

This weekend was a good one for Natty Boy. A lot of initiating, a lot of action on his part. Ned and I both took him to his Special Olympics basketball, so that I could see what it was all about. I met Coach Jim, and saw all of Nat's teammates, a group of DD teenage boys whom we have known forever. One of the kids is Sam, whom I mention in my book. Sam is now 16, and quite the young man. He looks like a more voluptuous Brad Pitt (he's a little hefty from certain meds, I believe, but totally gorgeous anyway). And there's Phil, whose mom was in my very first support group. So there I was, with one of my oldest friends (Sam's mom), and Phil's mom, and some newer friends. Such a tight community.

It never fails to blow my mind to see all these kids playing hoops together, and the moms just smiling and gabbing, and the dads just yelling, "Get the ball!" We have all come such a long way. Speaking of grinning one's face off, Nat was smiling ear-to-ear for the entire time, also dribbling the ball and shooting really well, and staying with the team. I kept thinking, "I wish the newspapers would send reporters to these practices. It would go a long way to dispell myths and misconceptions about what disability means. What the heck does it man, anyway? Nothing very dis-abled there. Yeah, obviously they all have their moments, when things get really difficult and scary; adolescence and autism can be a volatile mix. But we are up to the challenge, because for the most part, these boys of ours are a lot of fun and a joy to watch develop. In the end, they are just a bunch of goofy teenage boys having fun. And Nat is already better at basketball than any of the rest of his family! And better at it than he was last year; as always, the initial exposure wasn't so great, but it laid the foundation to improve at it this year. For Nat, all you need is familiarity, and then once he gets it, he loves it and internalizes it, makes it his own.

I am just reeling with this (my book rank). I got to #1,500 last night, at 3 a.m., according to one of Ned's colleagues who is always up. 1,500! That's practically Today Show numbers! WTF?? It's just my little old story, about my darlings!

I think Wendy is right. She told me that Amazon is doing some kind of email promotion of certain books, and that she had gotten an email announcing that my paperback was now available. That would explain why the Barnes and Noble sales are lagging. Right now, 11:21 a.m. on Sunday, 12/17, Making Peace with Autism is the number 45 Parenting book on Amazon!!!! Very weird for me, because number 35 currently is The American Academy of Pediatrics' Caring for Your Child, Birth to Five. That book was the one I used to tell me definitively that Nat was not developing typically. Laura gave it to me when she was a med student, shortly after that very difficult Passover when Nat was 2 and Max was tiny. Oy, vey.

I just wonder what my publisher is going to do about it. I've been a little ticked at them, even though they were so good to me with the initial release of the hardcover (they got me a publicist for three months, unheard of for a first-time author, who got me on the Today show for one thing). They told me they would not try to push the paperback before Christmas, because it would be "like shouting into a black hole." I went and got five producers interested in stories right away, just be emailing them, however; one of the shows will be on this Tuesday morning, WCAI, Cape Cod and Islands NPR. The other producer chose a different family, as I said yesterday; two of the others are considering at the moment; and the fifth producer, from a very big show which I will not mention for fear of jinxing it, is interested in talking to me in January. Some black hole. If that's a black hole, then what are all those stars and planets so afraid of out there in outer space? Jeez! Just imagine what Shambhala could have gotten if they had tried in the last two weeks!!! I'm sorry; I love them, but it pisses me off. And maybe now I can afford to be a bit of an Author Diva, no?

But I won't be. I'm too nice, right? Right??? ;)

The (paperback copy of my) book has shot up the Amazon list tonight! As of now, 8:30 pm., Making Peace With Autism is the #3 autism book on Amazon, and the #10 special needs book!!! I can't believe it and I don't really know what happened. I think what it might be is that I was supposed to do a show with NPR's Weekend America today, but they chose a family with two autistic kids, one who is older than Nat, rather than us. But the producer told me that they would link to me. However, Ned listened to the broadcast and searched their website and found no link! Nor can he find out anything from my blog stats! It is kind of a mystery, but a wonderful one. If anyone reading this knows what happened, drop me a line. And thanks for reading.

Now that I have a navy blue velvet costume top and scarf, I am building an entire navy blue velvet ensemble. Look what I found on EBay! At first I was not sure what to think of the navy blue thing; especially because I did not like the yellow gold coins. So I'm exchanging it for navy blue with silver coins, which I think will be perfect for me. Yellow gold is not my favorite. So it will be kind of a whole midnight-sky-with-stars theme. (You will notice I did not make the obvious connection to Midnight at the Oasis, a song that I detest.) I am thinking that this outfit will be the one I wear when I am ready to perform publicly for friends (at my friend B's house, whom I mentioned in a previous post) because this is the best-fitting costume I've had yet, more conservative than the rest, very comfortable because it is velvet. Did I mention the dark blue veil I will have? That alone makes me feel supremely happy! After months of pinks, this is a welcome and refreshing change. Not that I'll ever be through with pink.

The song I will debut with is the Misirlou (of course). It is hands-down my favorite. I like the version that Flames of Araby has recorded on a CD called Oriental. It has also been recorded by Arabic bands, Greek bands, and Jewish Klezmer bands. It sounds like something out of Arabian Nights, or Aladdin! Here is the way I would break down the dance:


There is an obvious veil segment at the beginning, the clarinet solo: you should always start wrapped up in your veil, where you go around and greet your guests, slowly removing bits of it, and eventually shedding the whole thing in a swirl on your favorite gentleman.

Then you would use your zills (finger cymbals) when the initial rhythm starts up. Zills, along with some simple traveling steps, like a grapevine.

Then you shed the zills when the first main theme starts up. I've been driving around listening to this for days, and the choreography I imagine here would be walking forward doing hip eights, and then reversing backward and doing Mayas.

Next, when the most passionate central theme begins, you would do camels (full body undulations that travel all the way from chest to a stepping forward in the leg, one hand extended upward, moving down the face).

Then when the bells and rhythm parts start up, you would do the "feeding the unicorn a golden apple" dance step, also known as "you want me, you can't have me," a kind of stepping in and then stepping out back and forth movement.

Then when the clarinet comes back, you stand still and do some chest slides and genie arms, some shoulder shimmies.

Then, turn with your back to the audience, as the last of the rhythm comes on, and do shimmies in time with the rhythm, moving from one side and then to the other.

Your assignment is to listen to the Misirlou so that you know what I'm talking about. Picture your favorite belly dancer dancing in midnight blue velvet (someone like me, preferably)

Yay! I don't have strep. The doc did that rapid test and it was negative. So whatever I have, it's just going to pass soon. I'm drinking a lot (I mean hot stuff, not alcohol!) to soothe my throat but I feel happy, probably knowing I am not streplococcied.

So I spent much of the morning standing on line at various Jewish bakeries and butchers, trying to buy Chanukah stuff. It is a double whammy holiday because it falls on a Friday night, which is also Shabbot (Sabbath). So the more religious Jews were out, too. It was really fun hanging out with all these very different types. Russians, Israelis, old, young, strange (the last type was me!). Some were clothed in the ultra-orthodox wear, like wigs (for the women) and payos, or sidecurls, for the boys. Very friendly to me. I was chatting it up right and left; anything to make the time pass in a long line. Flirted with the Israeli cashier at the butcher shop, very young and cute.

Corned beef came out great, although a bit fatty. Latkes: magnifique! Also, I got a navy blue velvet belly dance costume from my sister! So all in all, a good day. Especially the non-strep part.

Lots going on today.
I am a sick puppy.
Well, it's just my throat. It's very weird. I feel otherwise okay, because I slept a bunch, but my throat hurts and feels closed up. I'm thinking strep, because I had that so much as a kid that I got my tonsils out and the doc said he's almost never seen such a huge pair of tonsils. I still got strep once more, but as an adult, a few years ago. My boys tend to get it, too. It seems to run in families; some get it, some don't. But this feeling in my throat is awfully streppy. The only thing that gives me pause is that -- thankfully -- I don't feel any other symptoms. My appetite is good and I do not feel feverish, although I did last night. It's like when I was a teenager, and I had had a cough for months. My pediatrician finally gave me a blood test and found I had mono! I still ran track and went off to Israel anyway (btw I am really, really pissed at Jimmy Carter with that new anti-Israel/anti-semitic book of his; what the hell has gotten into him? Jimmy Cracked his Corn, you know what I mean? And I do care. What's next, Jimmy? Revisit the Protocols of the Elders of Zion? God forbid. Maybe he and Mel Gibson will start a club!)

Anyway. Would it be wrong for me to still go to my gym just to sit and soak in that wonderful hot whirlpool? Would I make others ill, possibly? I would hate that. Ned says I shouldn't but I am dying for a soak in that hot churning water. I'll also be going to the doctor around lunchtime; hopefully I can pursuade him to give some antibiotics even if he doesn't believe that I have strep. I love antibiotics; they work so quickly!

Speaking of being a Semite, I am going off to the Jewish part of town (yes, Virginia, there is such a thing in my lovely town of Brookline; I live in the relatively non-Jewish part) by which I mean there are kosher butchers, bagel bakeries, Jewish art and bookstores, lots of people who look like my grandmothers, etc. I plan on buying a corned beef and some Chanukah swag so I can get my house ready for that cute little holiday. Despite my throat feeling all closed up and hurting like a MoFo, I am going to buy some gelt (chocolate coins wrapped in gold paper) for my boys, some non-tacky decorations (good luck finding that!) and the hunk of meat for to boil. My sweet grandfather Paul Adelman, on my mother's side used to own a delicatessen in Brooklyn, NY, and I have his recipe! It doesn't get any more authentic that that. Maybe I'll call it Jimmy Cracked Corn Beef, in the ex-president's dishonor.

But seriously folks, I am psyched for Chanukah, even without a usable throat. I plan on making potato latkes, which my boys love. So nice to have a meal that they actually love! I make them with a little onion and actually my secret is to put butter in the pan, along with a little oil (you have to use oil as a nod to that famous lamp that stayed lit for eight days after the Maccabees beat the sh** out of the Assyrians, emphasis on ASS). The butter gives them an extra good flavor, trust me. Although technically I guess you are then not supposed to eat them with corned beef, that would be mixing milchig with fleischig and that is strictly verboten. Except I don't keep Kosher; I just like buying Kosher meat, it's a reflex, it's how I was raised. They have to answer to both the FDA and a Higher Authority.

I will close with "Chappy Chanukah" to all of you out there, and remember to stay polite when you're commenting; I hate nasty anonymous and I will delete you every time. I will emerge victorious against all oppressors. Chanukah is not, after all, the Festival of Slights. Call me Sue Da Maccabee.

Turn on your love light
Let it shine on me
--PigPen, GFD

Close up of cheery, twinkling Christmas lights. Camera pans from lights to inside Batchelder/Senator family dining room. Three laptops open, cereal boxes and cereal crumbs strewn across large black dining room table. Empty coffee cups sit, open-mouthed and drying.

Enter Nat, pacing quickly from dining room window in back to row of windows, and back again, like a caged tiger:

"Want the lights to go off!!"
Close up of Ned, sleep-rumpled hair standing up, glasses off, black sweatpants on: "Natty, everyone has lights on. They are Christmas lights. We're going to put our menorah up today, too!"
Nat: "Nat will turn lights off!"
Ned: "Natty, we can't. Should we go see the lights?"
Nat: "Daddy will hug me."
[Hugging, back-thumping, back-scratching]
Ned, to me: "Getting alot of hugs here!" Close up of me, pink striped pajama bottoms, black top, hunched over computer, smiling worriedly.
[Nat scans the dining room window]

Lights go off.

"Natty what happened?"
"Lights are off."
Exit Nat.
Silly talk resumes. All is well in the state of Denmark and Massachusetts.

Around my body
the veil -- warm firelight
soft red fabric, loose and tight
muscle and bone stretch within
The coins of gold
against warm pink skin
tingle cold and softly cling.

The throbbing bass of Misirlou
in whispered strains grows
with rattlesnake bells
a rush in my veins
my skirt flutters outward like a rose.

I shed the veil
discarded flower
I move with force, yet I'm still
one round hip, then the other
An infinite eight
sweet thrill.

the music rises sad and dark
but clings sweetly
like a lover
my arms rise in a perfect arc
inside my eyes dreams hover

And I am in a dessert
bare wintry feet on powdery sand --
Starry sky, foreign land
Though still here
-- my joy at hand

Beware of darkness
--George Harrison

Are you ready for another ride on the Susan Senator Roller Coaster? Climb aboard! We are going to go places you never dreamed of!

I now have 51 pages of my new book! 51! I mined things from past writings and updated them, shuffling them into the correct chapters, of which there are ten. This is my usual method. I start about ten different books over a period of months/years, I write articles and essays and now blog posts about the ideas, flesh them out, until the thing has baked sufficiently and has acquired its form.

I believe I now have the correct form for this project. It revealed itself to me just a few weeks ago, the day that my buddy over at Special Olympics told me he could not help me right now with my SO book. I always find that this is the way things happen to me: just when it can't get any darker, there is light. Just when I am about to give up, whether it's about Nat's progress, or mastering a belly dance move, or getting just the right book idea, it comes.

There must be some sort of darkness, a void that occurs, that is a kind of letting go out of despair. That is when it happens. I am suddenly filled with renewed energy, purpose, and light. I get an idea. I see where Nat is progressing and where the knot is that needs to be worked at. I let go of something I was grasping onto too tightly. Or I feel within my muscles the way the movement is supposed to be, and then suddenly, it is easier than anything I was trying to do before.

I remember when I was just friends with Ned during our sophomore year of college when this kind of moment happened. I think it was possibly the most miraculous moment of my life, up there with conceiving the boys. I was walking away from my dorm, through Superblock, where all the High Rises are, past Class of 1920 Commons, where we always ate lunch, onto the Locust Walk bridge that leads onto the main campus, and College Green. It was mid spring, late April. I had just been talking to Ned, I forgot about what. But I remember saying to myself, and to God (I talk to myself and to God very informally, in my head): "I love Ned so much, that I am going to just take him as he is. I am going to just be happy being his friend. If we can't be lovers, that's okay, as long as I can just be with him."

Ned had never had a girlfriend. He was a late bloomer. I had asked him out very early that year, while I was trimming his beard in my dorm room, and he had said, "I don't think I'm ready for that." His rejection totally mesmerized me. I was not at all used to that kind of response from a guy. So I pursued him relentlessly, hanging out with him all the time, teasing him, flirting with him. I could not imagine that he meant "No." It seemed so incorrect to me. It went against all the evidence that this was a fantastic relationship. We were each other's best friend; we loved each other's company. We shared bowls of Rice Krispies (ah, the carb-eating days of my youth!) at 2 a.m. in his dorm room down the hall. I did not think he was gay; I knew gay. Much of our dorm (called Van Pelt House, I kid you not. Me, Lucy Van Pelt incarnate, had found a real home) was gay. Ned just seemed quiet, but was definitely giving off the straight male vibe I had become so adept at detecting. I wanted him for that whole year, like I've never wanted anything before.

But I got to the point where I could not hope for it anymore. I had to let it go. I was empty. I was tired. And so, as I walked towards College Green, I knew deep inside that I was going to be okay with things however they were.

And then it all changed. Ned went away for the weekend right after that, and came back with his hair cut. His long, shoulder-length, gorgeous blond hair was now short (for him). Suddenly everyone was noticing Ned. One woman in my dorm said to me, "Wow, Ned's haircut has just made him Van Pelt's most eligible bachelor."

I wanted to kill her. Ned was mine. I loved him. I had from almost the moment I met him. And he loved me. I just had to wait for him. And I knew it, so I said nothing. But that night, Ned and I were studying together on my bed as always, and one of us -- he thinks it was him, I think it was me -- kissed the other. April 1982. The rest -- which I will keep to myself -- is history. And I have a master's in that, also from Penn!

There is a kind of beauty in letting go, and in acceptance. It can fill you up, especially when love is involved. What a long, strange trip...

There's always tomorrow
For dreams to come true
--Clarice, "Rudolf"

A good night's sleep helps a lot. Although my throat is strangely tight, and my back is hurting from the new ab crunch I've been doing (drat that Middle Age!) my heart is happy and hopeful. I will email Nat's psychopharm today and get an idea of what I can do about his new anxiety.

Last night I gave a talk and one or two people in the audience wanted to know if I had tried sensory integration for him, or The Diet. The answer is yes, of course I have. When Nat was younger, he had S.I. three times a week, sometimes more. I never saw much change in him. The same with the gluten-free, casein-free diet. Maybe I didn't do it correctly, but there was not much of a change there, either. I have since come to believe more in getting him to engage in physical activity on a regular basis, rather than something like sensory integration. I think he needs to go running again. Maybe I need to buy a treadmill for the winter months. Will he enjoy that? Treadmill plus iPod, perhaps. Works for his mom and what's good for the goose is good for the goslings.

I find that talking him through difficult moments is still the best approach for him -- and me. I think he starts to feel out of control for whatever reason and my calm and caring voice is a rope that pulls him back to shore. I know that I need that sometimes, too. I sometimes feel like I'm floating around, just orbiting this world, not fitting in too well at times, not wanting to a lot of the time, looking for just the right connection with someone. When that rope is thrown my way, I feel such great happiness and relief. It's not that I don't like being alone. It's just that I don't like being misunderstood and lonely. I imagine it is the same for Nat, who is closely related to me genetically. He is one of my eggs! It always makes me feel oddly happy to think of my boys as my eggs. I feel supremely maternal, I feel a real ownership of them that is physical, visceral. Sure, sure, there is Ned in there, too, of course (where else do they get their beautiful faces, quick minds, and warm souls?) but I love it when I can see and feel parts of myself in my boys.

In Nat, for instance, I see the same need for consistency that I have, and the same high degree of energy. Also the willingness to try again, whether it's with a sport, a visit somewhere, something new I've cooked, or a new video or a new book. He is extremely flexible and eager to please. He loves music the way I do, and has very strong preferences for types of music (he's stuck in the 70's). Nat also likes to be alone often, like I do.

In Max I see the thoughtfulness about issues and the left-leaning politics. I see the joy he takes in being with his friends, which are few but deeply held; this, too, is like me. I feel a nurturing coming from him that may be from me, but is perhaps greater than my ability to nurture. He also has an amazing ability to intuitively understand other languages, and lately we can speak French together (he is taking A.P. French at the high school). Also, Max's sense of humor is just like mine.

In Benj I see the same passion, perhaps more than me, even. Ben also has the deep and fiery need for justice. He is both judge and enforcement squad. He will take no prisoners when he is right, and he is a bit like me when I am angry. Ben also has the love for word play that I have, and he really grasps spelling. Ben is a lusty little boy, already intrigued by the differences between males and females (very like his mom).

Flesh of my flesh. Chicken and egg. My Three Sons. (Pictured here: my leg, and my eggs)

You howl
to strains of Beauty and the Beast
sit perched dead
center of the couch
Grabbing the books
Clawing at the pages like it's their fault
Pretending to read
to get me to leave
You alone
Your arm
newly bruised and torn by
your own teeth
something inside
or something outside
a teenage body
that doesn't understand
Ben is scared
hiding in the other room
Nothing I say can
ever make it right

Dear Sir or Madam
Will you read my book?
It took me years to write
Will you take a look?
-- Come on, you know

Today is the official day that my book comes out in paperback. You should be able to see it in a bookstore and buy it. I will certainly be going into bookstores around me and asking for it. Barnes and Noble is pretty good about stocking it and the one in "downtown" Brookline is great about leaving it facing out where I left it last. This picture is my first reading ever, at Brookline Booksmith, my favorite bookstore of all. It's a real bookstore, with staff who know books, and chairs, a fun kid area, and interesting people browsing the aisles.

Been working on the Next One, squeezing out a couple of pages a day. It is not Writer's Block, nor is it Writer's Constipation; it is more Writer's Irregularity. I wish there were a writing equivalent to Metamucil (or Maltitol candies) that would get things just flowing, but without the cramps, of course. (Too much information, even for me!)

I can't say what my new book is about until I sell the proposal. My goal is to finish one sample chapter. I need a block of two hours to feel like I can really write. I need it to be uninterrupted when I get going, or else I get really bitchy. When Ned comes over to show me something funny on the Internet or the kids start asking me for stuff when I'm in the middle of a streak -- ooh, it's kind of ugly. Yesterday I tried writing in Peet's and then Starbuck's and it was good because I could kind of lose myself in it while sipping sweet hot drinks. And because these were neighborhoods where I don't know too many people.

Maybe you're thinking, "What happened to the novel? Or the Special Olympics book?" The novel is complete, but no one is reading it whom I asked to read it. People are too busy, or keep getting stuck somewhere. The heroine sounds too much like me and people get uncomfortable hearing my thoughts. (Imagine that!) The husband seems creepy to some, who are probably expecting it to be Ned, who it is not, even if I insist this is fiction! Only one friend read it and critiqued it a bunch, which was wonderful. A few friends critiqued it here and there, but overall were not wowed. This hurts but it tells me something. The novel needs to stew for a while to become its better self, I think. I want my readers wowed. That makes five novels I've written that suck! Ouch.

Special Olympics book, not yet. I am waiting to see what my friend over there at SO does with his own book and neither he nor I have the energy to make it happen together right now. After Thanksgiving he told me he needed to redouble his efforts there and wants to give that a chance. I was down about it for about a day, and then I got this new idea. So it's okay, because my current project is a good one, even if it is coming out in drips and drabs. MPWA wasn't built in a day, or even a year. But now, it is also available in paperback! Hooray!

Good Things That Happened To Me This Weekend
1) Saw an old friend and her almost 4 year old boy, who is just the cutest thing on two legs (the boy is cute, too! ha ha)
2) Beastie went to a monster-glo-in-the-dark mini golf birthday party and cemented a friendship as a result. He hated the mini golf, however. "It wasn't glow in the dark because of the stupid disco ball."
3) Made a new friend who is also in politics in my town.
4) Baked oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies with Nat, who requested that I put the eggs into the dry ingredients so that he could just eat the butter-sugar combo mix without raw eggs! Well, he didn't say all that, but I was impressed that he instinctively shies away from salmonella-inducing activities.
5) Did not eat above cookies.
6) Swiffered the house. Ok, snore! But I am a (hot) hausfrauer and these things must get done!
7) Made our holiday card. Took around thirty pics of the five of us on the white couch, with nice shirts on. I may have had a little too much makeup on, you decide:
8) Wrote about 4 pages of my sample chapter, (I am now close to ten) so The Proposal is almost ready to go to my agent!
9) Did not work out except to dance Saturday night and my knee hurts anyway! What does that mean? Don't even think to tell me to stop belly dancing; you might as well tell me to stop smelling Benji's hair.
10) Got invited to do a keynote in Sioux Falls!!! Real travel! (Not until June).
11) Got very close to finishing the whole holiday shopping thing.
12) Have a great present idea for Ned! A really great SLR camera. He has a new hobby because of his new job, which is -- okay, shameless plug, but for those of you who don't know and have not signed up -- a new way to do digital photo sharing and also make actual paper products with your digital photos. So much more elegant than anything else out there (way better than AOL photo album, Flickr, Picasa).
13) Saw a bit of Max because he had no plans for Sunday! He is still a sweetheart, and so funny. He played a great Black Eyed Peas song for me and I downloaded it from iTunes ("Pump It"). He was really pleased that I liked it! (It will be a great workout addition.) I knew that inside that big man somewhere was my darling little Maxie!
14) Went food shopping so I don't have to do it today! Plus had all the big men in the house carry the crap inside so I didn't have to! Wonderful living in Land of the Giants. Forgot to buy Ned hard salami, however. (or was that something about "hide the salami?" that he said?)

The real us:

A bullet of grief
Burst through my head
Blood and tears
As I lay on my bed.

In my mirror
A picture of you
You look like you're trying so hard
It's just what you do

And then I thought
"Do you want to talk?
Is it that you just can't?"
And my heart stopped
My face in my hands

I could not bear
That you might want to
And all of these years
It's what you can't do

Dad had that dream
You were talking to him
He said it was real
But he was crying

Lying here still
My hand on my heart
I want to tell you
It's okay, be who you are

But if you are not happy
If life is too hard
I want to know that
Though it tears me apart

I will do anything
A piece of my brain?
I don't need you normal
But just ease your pain.

NancyBea tagged me with a new one: Write down your top five holiday songs/carols. Explain why, too. Being a Jewish girl, I don't have that many faves for this time of year that are Jewish. I do like some Christmas songs, and some off beat seasonal songs:

1) Adam Sandler's Chanukah song (the first one, not the others). "Get out your yarmulke, it's time for Chanukah." And then he proceeds to out famous Jews and non-Jews! "OJ Simpson, not a Jew;" "Some people think, Ebeneezer Scrooge is, well he's not, but guess who is: all Three Stooges!" Excellent to out people, either way.
2) Little Drummer Boy. It gives me chills, I don't know why. "Then He smiled at me, parumpapumpum...Me and my drum." Getting chills right now!!! Baby Jesus' attention! That would totally rock!
3) Baby, It's Cold Outside. Not a Christmas or Chanukah song, but oh, so sexy!
4) Santa Claus is Comin' To Town by Bruce Springsteen, the best holiday song ever! He laughs with Clarence Clemens, it is too cool!!!
5) God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, sung by Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLaughlin. It is so hot! Their singing is like caramel.

I tag Pete Lyons, Guy Rude, Kim, MomNOS, and Series of Tubes

I can barely settle down to write, I'm so happy, and so worn out! Ned and I went out to Karoun, an Armenian restaurant in nearby Newton (where, coincidentally we lived when we first came to Massachusetts from Philadelphia). My belly dance teacher Melinda dances there on the weekends. I told the owner I was her student and they gave me a great table, right next to the dance floor with a perfect view.

We ordered and ate while we waited. I had (what else?) a Greek salad, and some other dishes with plenty o' feta; Ned, (of course), had pork kebobs ("pigs taste good"). Good eatin'.

And then she came in, wrapped in a copper and black veil, with a head piece and coins holding it all in place. She balanced a scimitar on her waist, bent over backwards. She did snake arms while doing that. She then balanced the sword on her head, and did amazing eights with her hips, belly rolls and even some camels (belly undulations while walking forward). Finally, she put the handle end of a curvy dagger between her teeth and balanced the sword on its end!!!! Now I understand what she meant when she said in class, "I have a thing about balancing," as she makes us do these arabesques and balancing moves on one leg with the other leg up in the air behind us!

I could discern the bell-like rhythm of her zills. I was totally thrilled to be watching and understanding her consummate skill.

And then...! She asked three girls to come up and dance with her, who were obviously her students. She then came over to me and asked me to dance with her.

Oh. My. God.

So I did. I did snake arms for a little bit, and watched her, mezmerized. I started to forget what to do. So I thought and thought. Okay! I would try a camel. I did that. She ooohed! Then she said, "Do the turn," so I did a hip lift and turned all the way around, in a circle, even remembering my hands. YAY!!! When I came back to where I started she was grinning ear to ear and I said, "I'm sitting down now," and I blew her a kiss.

The audience clapped! Ned took picture after picture of me beaming. He also had taken a bunch of me dancing. "Your debut," he said. "Hey, I go out with a belly dancer. Cool."

Comfort is something I greatly overlook -- at least consciously. In the most superficial sense, I am not big on comfort. My shoes are almost never comfortable. I suffer for my fashion with pointy boots and high heels. I wear tight jeans and itchy earrings and makeup that sometimes has the opposite effect and makes my eyes puffy and my nose red. I shun down jackets because they make me look fat, so I bought my shearling last year which is deliciously warm but I can't get it wet, a la Seinfeld (so I can't wear it in a snowstorm, d'oh.)

But I read Cinthia's blog this morning and it really resonated with me. She talks about the perfection found in warmth and in watching white snow cover the shapes outside. Her thinking here might not sound like a big revelation to all of you, but it is quite stark in its very simplicity to me. The elements of winter are truly unlike the other times of year. There is a big movement indoors, and if you consider this metaphorically, it is a move to the within.

Moving to within has become very important to me in the last few months. Sticking close to home is one way of thinking of it, although I do not necessarily mean that in the actual sense, because I travel a lot (for me). I mean staying grounded, staying balanced, and staying centered.

I have two kinds of happiness: one form is a wild, colorful, giddy happiness caused by something external. Another person who has made me laugh; attention from something like benign flirtation; a book contract; an invitation to a fabulous party; having just the right outfit on and looking exactly the way I want to look. It flares up, consumes me, and then dies down, sometimes leaving ashes behind.

The other form is quieter, harder to see, more muted. It is caused by a state of mind, some cue, some reminder about what is good. A living in the moment, being lost in what you're doing and who you're with. You are not even aware of it, except maybe later. I think of being at the dinner table and watching Ben relate a story. I am looking at his wildly uneven teeth: one tusk-like front tooth descending while the tiny chips of baby teeth flap outward loosely, ready to leave any minute. Hearing Max tell me that his locker is "right next to the special ed class" and that "it's cool, because they're just part of the scenery." Ned coming home, smelling outdoorsy. Or the feeling of grinding away at a dance move and breaking out in the sweat of frustration, only to feel it dissipate as I hear the others laughing around me because they, too, are struggling. Or coming downstairs and sitting in the best seat in the house with my first coffee, with nothing else I have to do except blog. Still dark out, very cold, but I'm in lumpy sweats and a warm afghan. It's a more boring form of happiness, more mundane, but if I tune into it, I see that it, too, is beautiful.

Cinthia's post made me think of winter in a new way, which is really to remind me of something I've known all along: there is happiness to be found in sheer comfort and safety.

I just got back from coffee with a friend, a mom at my kid's school. B. is a kind and generous person. She is very centered and knows what she's about, which is what draws me to her, because I crave people like that, not being one myself. (She threw me a book reading/party last year which was just beautiful; just the right kind of hors d'oeuvres and flowers, etc. Warm and fun, too.)

B. lives in my neighborhood, and has one of the most magnificent houses I have ever seen. Hers makes my house look like the carriage house! It is a mansion originally built for Storrow, as in Storrow Drive, in Boston. The grounds were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted. of Central Park design fame. My friend has restored many aspects of the home to its original style, with coordinating layers of William Morris wallpaper, dark woodwork, sliding pocket doors, and kitchen with vaulted, coffered ceiling.

We got to talking about what we are up to these days -- our boys are not really seeing each other anymore, they run in different circles and classes these days; the third grade set is a really good group of kids with very diverse interests -- so we had a lot of catching up to do. B. is kind of a kindred spirit in that she is the first of the moms at my school who got a henna tattoo on her upper arm, which meant "wild woman" in Japanese. It was brown and the Kanji was very beautiful. It kind of set me free, seeing that. I joked to her then, "Oh, maybe I'll go get a navel piercing, ha ha ha."
She said, "Sure, why not? But do you really think you can lift up your shirt among all those teenagers at the mall to get it?"
Hmmm....
It took me months, but I finally did have the courage to do that. But that was after going through some really bad emotional turmoil this summer, and finally realizing that the only way out of the turmoil was to get through it -- and to find a new way of focusing my energy. That is why I plunged into belly dance. Belly dance was my ticket out of suffering over a very terrible thing that happened to me. It was the only thing that could help me not only forget, but to affirm myself, the good and happy side of me. Belly dance was/is something I could do by myself, rather than something I had to rely on others for. There was no possibility of being let down with belly dance because I was in charge of it, I was doing it myself, for myself.

So three weeks ago I went and got the piercing, after researching all aspects of it, from safety to germs to pain to healing. I found a place I was comfortable going to. I asked the young man, "Am I the oldest person who has come in for this?" And he said, "Well, you're not the youngest person I've had come in!" Love at first sight.

After it was done -- not much pain, only pressure, which he warned me about -- I felt I had done something momentous. For me, it was like a physical reminder of what was important: being centered. This bit of jewelry is right in my center, my core, and I can always feel it, the Mark of the Goddess. It tells me that I am a good person and that I know how to care for and nurture myself. I have to stay focused and remind myself of the good in life, which I can get from something within, something I do, and not necessarily from others.

I showed my friend the piercing and she was so happy for me. She knew exactly what this meant to me. She then offered to host my first "coming out" party, where I would dance publicly for our friends in her wonderful home. "Oh, we'll have Middle Eastern food, that kind of thing." My heart leapt with joy. I could really see doing it, and B. was going to make it possible, in such a classy and warm way.

Now I just have to get to a point where I feel completely confident of my dancing -- and body. That is going to take more than a little bit of navel jewelry!

Sometimes I escape my life into another world. Sometimes it is out of pain, other times, the escape is out of joy. Then, other times I love to connect my worlds together, so that it is all contained right there, in my arms. Imagine me, standing in the belly dancer's embrace pose, arms crossed in front of me, then pulling apart wide from the elbows, then circling back, crossed again. Opening up to different worlds, pulling them in towards me, letting them go, opening up to them again.

Last night I gave my belly dance teacher my book. She is writing a memoir, too, so I felt yet another bond with her. I was shy about doing it. It's funny; I did not give out any books as gifts last year. I was embarrassed to do so. I only gave books to close friends and family who asked for them. Otherwise I felt like it was kind of pushing myself on people.

But last night I felt moved to do this for the first time. It seemed to me that I could make Melinda understand what I was doing; that this was not at attempt at self-promotion, or to steal attention in her class and be the teacher's pet. This was about quietly reaching out to a kindred spirit and giving her something that I think will move her.

She was great about it. She stood there stroking the cover and asking about the design. Then she told the whole class that we had a "published author" with us. It was very sweet, very warm, all of us talking about personal things for that few minutes before we began. Me mentioning Natty. I love talking about him. "My boy is 17," I said proudly. "I'm glad people are finally paying attention to autism. It's been a long time."

Then we disbanded our cluster and formed out circle, hip scarves jingling, and got into position (arms stretched out, parallel to the floor, elbows soft, fingers up with middle and thumb almost touching, as if a tiny rubber band were pulling them together. The hands are very important; you can't let them be splayed or limp or sloppy. Pelvis tucked, back straight, chest out, knees bent).

We practiced turning, spotting, all the things I did in ballet. It is so similar to ballet, it is amazing to me! I never realized it. The same straight posture and attention to placement of hands and arms. But there is a warmth and sexiness to belly dance, a sassy attitude, where you pop your hip up and drop it down, roll your shoulders, or you look over your shoulder quickly and then look away (Melinda calls this move: "I want you, you can't have me.") Also, you don't get jingly coins or sequins too often in ballet, but I guess you do get all that lovely tulle, satin shoes, ribbons, and feathers. Sigh.

I sometimes just want to be lost in that music and the chiffon. It reminds me of when I was in my thirties and made all those turn-of-the-century clothes, and how I wanted so badly to be able to live back then, that I wrote books about living back then. I just had such a profound need to escape.

And that is what motivates me now, I suppose. As much as I am thrilled about my life here on earth, with my best friend/man-of-my-dreams husband, my new book idea, my strapping sons, etc., I am just as much in need of completely escaping it all. Is it because it is too much joy, the expression I made up for Nat when he was a baby, and would smile and look away or cover his little face when we smiled at him? Back then, I felt he was expressing to me that there was just "too much joy" in my gaze and in how it made him feel. Here was the song I made up about it, when I was 27, a new mother:

Baby Delight,
You give me baby delight
Oh, when you smile at me and cover your face
It's baby delight.

Baby Delight,
So full of baby delight
He loves to stand
He's Miniman
He's Baby Delight

Baby Delight
He's little Baby Delight
He drools and drools
he could fell ten pools
It's baby delight.

Baby Delight,
You give me Baby Delight
Oh, when you smile at me and cover your face
It's baby delight.

I knew but I didn't know. Sometimes it's still all too much.

Well, they've had plenty of time, I would say...

Now there are so many more families aware of autism and dealing with it. These are savvy moms. And they are well-educated about what their children need, and they are not going to put up with band-aid approaches to autism education. They are primarily interested in quality inclusion of their children in their neighborhoods schools, all the way through high school. They are serious about needing each school to be accountable to each child, which is tough in this era of school-based management, when most of the time the SPED director is in Town Hall somewhere, and not at the schools either physically or metaphorically.

This group is going to make some waves. I am determined that there will be positive changes in our town vis a vis autism education. I am the old lady of the group, too: they are all younger and more energetic, which is great.

I am telling you all this to exhort you to follow this example, if you have not already done so: organize the other ASD parents in your town or school district.

1) Host a meeting and get to know who they are.
2) Put up signs at every school.
3) Start a yahoogroup so that there is a safe way in to discusss your town's issues.
4) Meet with the administrators and forge a collaborative, but not co-opted, relationship.
5) Attend School Committee meetings and make courteous but meaningful comments during Public Comment, so that your School Committee and Superintendent hear about ASD and see that this is a large group that means business.
6) If all else fails, go to your local newspaper, write op eds and letters to the editor, and get them to report on ASD issues.

Autism is of huge public interest in terms of expense and population. The more the people of this world know about us and our kids, the more hope we have of 1) understanding of our children and rachmunis (compassion, understanding) for them; 2)a better education for our children; and 3) a better life for our children.

Remember: if the world is mostly neurotypical, then the world by definition has the social skills to accommodate our atypical kids. It is therefore the world that needs to be flexible and can be. But we have to continue to push and explain, gently, but consistently.

Raqs beledi
la danse orientale
belly dance

Any way you say it it is magical, romantic, mystical. Foreign. Ancient. Alive with the power of women. You dance together, you dance alone. Either way, you give yourself up to something very old and powerful. You can't do it wrong, and yet, it is extremely difficult to do it right. You stand completely still, and break a sweat with your effort.

I've got to do it soon and expel the demons. Burn away grief so that it becomes beauty. Tie on the sea green scarf, the heaviest one, with all the silver sewn onto it. Over the blood red skirt. The red top I made, too. Green sparkly earrings, down to my neck.

This morning I did the belly roll perfectly. My skin rippled, one muscle after another, like I had swallowed something alive. It went down my belly, dipping into the navel, now stamped by the Goddess with a silver jeweled ball. My belly is not pretty, but it is strong.

And if I bend my knees just right and push from the waist, push out one hip, bring it back, then the other, bring it back --
I get a perfect Eight. It looks like Infinity. I could dance forever. I wish I could dance forever.

Good things can happen to good people.

There's been a softening within The Beast lately. For months now, I have been feeling a greater connection with him. His therapist told us the same thing. He will be stopping therapy soon, because he has had such terrific growth. Oh, sure, he still talks and writes about bad guys like the Voguons being killed (by Max and Andy, super twins, dying in horrible ways). He still is quick to anger, and once angry, feels the need to crush everything in his path.

But, the other day, he explained Nat's autism to his therapist, in kind of an offhand way, "Oh, it means that his brain grows differently." And he didn't add (as he used to): "Isn't that stupid?!" And on Saturday, he wandered into the playroom, where Nat and I were playing Pajama Sam on the computer, he sat down and started to help. I left, and Ben stayed next to Nat, hand on mouse, for an entire hour! Finally he came and found me and said, "Mom, can you go in now? I've been helping Nat for so long!"

I could have seized him and mauled him with kisses, but he is a Little Wild Beastie and that is not recommended. (I think I did it anyway.)

So here we have, under one roof: Nat enjoying a computer game for an hour, solving problems and feeling engaged, rather than just wanting to lie on the couch, when he had seemed to have lost interest in those for nearly a year; and Benji playing with him and being kind, and feeling the nascent tender seedlings of empathy and compassion unfurl within.

I must take a break from The Book. 'Tis going well, but I get bleary doing all that thinking and research. It's like chewing gum: at first it is heavenly, crushing the sweet thin shell in your teeth and first connecting your tongue with the soft inside part. Then you chew and you chew evenly, passing the wad of gum from one side of your mouth to the other, fully experiencing its flavor while your saliva runs. You feel as if you could chew it forever.

Then suddenly, you're not sure when, the chewing becomes laborious. Your jaw aches a little. Maybe your head hurts. The little wad is harder, colder, and not as sweet. You keep working at it, out of habit. Eventually, abruptly, you make the decision to spit it out, provided you have the proper receptacle on hand (an old receipt in my pocketbook will do nicely).

So now I am spitting out The Book for a little while, until I get a fresh burst, which will be tomorrow, probably. And I have turned to my blog to relax.

What do I want to talk about tonight? Astrology. No, I do not believe I am a flake, but I'll bet all you Tauruses think so now! I just find the general characteristics interesting and somehow alarmingly true. It is fun to see who is what, and read up on it, who is well-matched with whom, and why. Earth sign, Air sign, Water sign, Fire sign, all that.

I'm a Libra (of course) and Ned is a Gemini (not at all obvious, except that he is a twin!). The way I explain Ned being the sign he is, is by figuring that he and Sarai, his sister, split the characteristics of the Gemini, or they trade off at times! Anyway, Gemini and Libra are supposed to be a fantastic match, and -- voila! C'est vrai.

There have been some very important Tauruses in my life. My Grandma, and her son, (my Dad), for starters. They stick to the facts in life; they don't like generalizations; they keep count of things; they are extremely loyal and passionate. I have also had a couple of Tauruses in my life who nearly drove me crazy with their passion for me! But if I can get them under control, I end up with a friend for life. They do have a temper, though.

Mom is a Leo. They are very charismatic and demand the spotlight. But married to a Taurus gives her a challenge to get all that. He keeps her grounded, I think. But she's got to get that attention, and she always finds away. She even has a mane of hair like a lion. I get along great with Leos. One of them pursued me and made me feel like a star. They have a temper, but it is less focused than the Taurus, burns quickly.

Laura is an Aries and so is Benj. They are excellent leaders and independent thinkers, and very bright. They can be bossy. They are a very good foil for Libras, almost complete opposites. I've had some Aries boyfriends in my time, a bit too analytical, I kind of just wanted them to shut up and kiss me already!

Max is a Pisces, and so was my best friend from junior high and high school. I think of Pisceans as people who make very good friends. I have heard it said that they can't commit to much, however. That hasn't been my experience with them. They tend to accommodate a lot.

Nat is a Scorpio. They are known to be highly charismatic, creative, and charming -- seductive, I suppose. Nat certainly attracts a lot of people to him. In our family, this is known as "The Cult." There have always been people who were in "The Cult;" meaning, they really got Nat, and were totally into him.

My book is a Virgo, born August 30, 2005. What does that mean?
Now, readers who identify themselves and show me your personalities from time to time: what are you? Here are some of my guesses, and some of you, I just don't know!!! But I want to know!

1) Guy You thought Was Rude: Pisces?
2) Kristin: Taurus?
3) Jen: Aries?
4) H n H from L.A.: Scorpio or Leo?
5) SA from B: Aquarius? Pisces?
6) Mrs. Gilb: Pisces?
7) susan: Libra?
8) Janet: Virgo?
9) Kyra: ??????
10) Mom, NOS: ????
11) Autism Diva: Aries?
If I didn't list you, leave a comment with your moniker and your sign and why you think it's you, or why it is not you!

I have mentioned that my Special Olympics book idea was not going anywhere. I could not pull it out of my heart, and my Kennedy connection is currently tied up with a lot of his own work, so it appears that it is not the time for that book.

However -- I have come up with a new idea that is based on an old one. I have been working on chapter headings and descriptions, as well as parts of the new proposal. I sent this little bit to my agent, who is no longer an agent but is able to be mine for a bit longer.

My agent LOVES my new project idea! You have to understand, she hardly loves anything!!!! She is a curmudgeon, with a heart of gold, but she is a tough New York chick so I always get chewed out when I send her stuff. ("Are you sure this wasn't already done by so-and-so?" and "The title is flat" and "Are you absolutely sure that every word here is your absolute best writing? No laziness!")

I sent her the chapter headings and descriptions and she actually wrote back within a few days, using words like "GREAT" and "FANTASTIC" and "YOU'VE DONE IT!!!"

Now the work begins -- and for me that is not the writing of the thing but the marketing analysis of the proposal. I have to spend days doing research and going to bookstores to analyze the competition and making my case. But -- I already have 20 pages of the proposal, because the "Why me/about the author" section was very easy. I already have a publicity record because of Making Peace With Autism, which is out in paperback, a fact that speaks very well for my marketability. (By the way, Making Peace With Autism would make an excellent gift for extended family members, neighbors, teachers, doctors, lunch ladies, bus drivers, friends; anyone who doesn't quite "get it" about autism but would like to. It is primarily a hopeful book, honestly written, not depressing, and nobody gets cured in the end, except me, of my autism myopia! It is not prescriptive, but rather, descriptive).

Once I've handed in the proposal (probably by the new year) I will go public with the idea and ask for your help because I want to make sure that this book matches the needs of parents with kids with disabilities.

So, stay tuned...
And buy my paperback! Heck, buy two! It's cheap enuf.
BTW, the opening line about Nat's birthday has been subtly changed... to be more fair to him, my sweet boy.

What a great time I had last night! Ned and I went with friends to Tangierino, that beautiful restaurant in very cool Charlestown (where the Bunker Hill memorial stands) where they have belly dancing. This restaurant has so much atmosphere, with each booth draped in ruby-colored gauze, tiny lights, and beads, and the walls covered with moorish shapes and exotic paintings, and the food is wonderful, that we wanted to go back. (We had gone for our 22nd anniversary in July, too.)

The belly dancer was the same one we saw in July. She was very beautiful and had that impossibly smooth, plump and juicy skin of the young-and-never-pregnant. She moved slowly down the aisle with dollar bills stuck inside her sparkly green outfit, which I think is so unfortunate because it really detracts from the whole look.

Anyway, she was very skilled; this time I could analyze what she was doing. She did some very good ab undulations and moved gracefully, but not much hip work and almost no zills (finger cymbals). We were all very taken with the whole thing.

I had a lamb, feta, eggplant, and carmelized fig & apricot dish (Sultan's Kadra) and we shared a white-and-dark chocolate mousse cube (!) and some good coffees. Fantastic!

It appears that I have given short shrift to a very important but lately latent side of myself: the guitar-playing me. My readers don't seem to realize that I play. That is my Fender Stratocaster in the background of my latest belly dance photo, on two posts back. I bought the strat
before Benji was born, back when Max was three and Nat was five. But I've actually been playing guitar since I was seven. I started out learning chords and playing folk music, stuff like the Weavers (which I hated) and also Paul Simon and Bob Dylan (whom I loved and still do), and as I got older I learned cooler stuff like the Beatle's Blackbird, and some of the tablature to Roundabout and Mood for A Day (which is arguably the best Yes song of all time, even more beautiful in some ways than And You And I, but And You And I is a fuller experience, like Close to the Edge, so I feel that all around it is a better listen. Do me a favor and listen to Mood for A Day and tell me what you think.). I even learned some Bach and some Segovia stuff. I was pretty good, for a teen, I have to say.

I did play a little in college. Our dorm had a variety show and one year I played Blackbird with a friend, Paul Downs, who happens to be NancyBea's husband now! He played the flute, just beautifully while I did the guitar licks. And the following year I did not play guitar but my friend Dirk Ziff did (of Ziff-Davis publishing, who also went on to play guitar for Carly Simon. Me and Carly, sure, we go way back!). I used to type Dirk's papers and if I had known how rich he was, I would have charged more than one dollar a page! He also wanted me to break up with Ned and go out with him. I, of course, would not. And no, I do not regret that!! It's the typing I regret. Jin Sung-Pak (now a higher-up in the Unification Church, a.k.a, the "Moonies") was Ned's roommate and our bassist, and John Hayden, another good friend, was the drummer. We were "Pat Senatar" and I was Pat, the singer. We did Hit me with your Best Shot, and it was a huge success. I do impersonations, and I could imitate her very well.

Then along came kiddos and other things not that much fun and I put away happy stuff like guitar while I suffered with depression and OCD and adulthood.

But when I was 32, I started to come out of it. I fell hard for Eric Clapton. And as you have probably guessed by now, when I fall for something, it consumes me. So I bought an electric guitar and some of the Hal Leonard books that give you the tablature for any guitar solo. I practiced a lot and could play the solos to a couple of Clapton things (slowly and badly), some slide guitar, some Allmans: Sweet Melissa, Ramblin' Man, Jessica. Also Bob Dylan, but that's just picking and strumming, no solos.

I get discouraged because I can't really solo the way you're supposed to: making stuff up within the scales and making it sound authentic. I can't improvise. I can imitate. So I stop because I want to be really good, like playing-in-a-band good, and a) I'm not; and b) I have no band.

So my guitar sits in the corner for now, until I pick him up again... Or until it comes around again, on the gee-tar...

Lover of light
Baby Delight
Hater of night
Keep you in sight

Devouring your sleep
Pleasure so deep
Challenge so steep
Worry I keep

Thoughts unknown
Desire - alone
Then something shown
Embrace as my own

In the past I have made lists of my Keys to the Universe, by which I mean the things that never fail to do what they are supposed to do. They can be light, they can be deep. I have some new ones that I would like to share with you, and I hope that you will share yours with me so that I may consider including them in my new book.

My Latest Keys to the Universe
1) Going to Great Eastern Trading Company, River Street, Central Square, Cambridge and just browsing, but let's face it: I always end up buying something there. Case in point: I just bought a gorgeous deep purple and lavendar beaded cabaret style Egyptian belly dance costume! It is incredible. Totally over-the-top (except the top actually fits quite well). Glass bead fringe, matching belt! It moves with a life of its own! Makes me look like I know what I'm doing!
2) Putting on a belly dance costume and practicing.
3) I.M.ing with Ned.
4) Lunch at Family Restaurant; it is the lunchplace to see and be seen in Brookline! I run into all my old Town Hall friends there. I talked to the owner and he says he is thinking of having belly dancers there, for special occasions...!!!!
5) Dinner at a restaurant (do you see a theme here?)
6) Visiting Nat's school. They now have a wonderful music teacher, who is teaching Nat some music theory!
7) A 20 minute nap, in the middle of all the action in the living room, on the couch with the yellow Restoration Hardware pillow under my head, and the green-striped Crate and Barrel pillow on top of my head, and the blue, green, and purple afghan Mom brought back from Wales.
8) Remembering to have Shabbat (Jewish Sabbath) on Friday night; it is a great way to end the week and set up a peaceful, family-oriented weekend. Plus I love making the boys recite the prayers in Hebrew, and watching their sweet faces as they struggle with the ancient, foreign words. Shehechiyanu, V'kiyamanu, V'hikianu, Lazman Ha-zeh. It is a Commandment, after all!
9) A good book idea. Yes, I have it. At last.
10) Giving a talk about Making Peace With Autism. It never fails; I always enjoy these.
11) My chocolate brown shearling coat. Totally gorgeous, totally warm. Makes me look forward to cold weather. Well, sort of...
12) Fun comments on my blog.

Your turn...

This painting was done by a woman who knows what is good in life. My friend and favorite artist NancyBea paints delicious food, trees in summer, her kids, her friends. She coined the term "Genre of Inclusion" (I think), which is where she paints pictures that might also have something different in them, something or someone we are not used to seeing in portraits, like her son stimming. When I look at her stuff, I want to be in that house with those women chatting, or I want to hug her boys, or introduce them to mine. Her paintings burst with honesty, color, and love. Just like her, come to think of it!