Mother of boys
Shepherd of toys.
Collector of lace,
Endowed of face.
--Ned, to me, on our 9th anniversary

Tonight, even though it is around sixty degrees, it feels like fall. It is Halloween, which used to be my favorite holiday as a child. I remember once getting a really great costume together, a gypsy. I had on all kinds of scarves and schmattas, and a gold hoop earring and a bandana. I looked fantastic. I was probably around seven. I figured, if I could just keep this on until Halloween, I would have the perfect costume, no last-minute panicking.

The only problem was, it was only September. Mom said I couldn't wear the costume that long. So now, I spend the rest of my life trying to find opportunities to wear great costumes! Sadly, for women of a certain age, there are too few.

I haven't really loved Halloween as a mom. That's because none of my kids love it the way I did. I find it hard to relate to their indifference. They don't care that much about candy(!); they don't care that much about dressing up(!). It starts earlier and earlier and ends earlier and earlier every year.

Nat never really got Halloween. This used to make me miserable. I remember trying to get him to say, "Trick or treat," and to wait to be told to take candy. It was so hard for him! Plus not eating it until we got home! Crazy stuff. But really, there was one year when he was around nine and I went with him and Baby Benj around the neighborhood, and perhaps Max was with us, too, with tons of friends and their parents. I had a lump in my throat the whole time, which threatened to burst into an ugly mess of tears at any moment. Nat's different-ness and his utter indifference to what was going on made me feel as if I were living as two selves at once: the happy mom accompanying her three lovely boys out on Halloween, reminding them to say "thank you," and the sad broken-hearted mom wishing that things would just for once go the way I had expected them to. The one child I could relate to -- Max -- was already lightyears beyond us, surrounded by admirers who wanted him with them, leaving me behind with my angry baby who hated even his very first costume (a peapod sleeper). And of course Nat, who was so spacey and seemed only to want to get home.

I don't know why I was so sad back then. Who cares about that shit? Now I wish I had little boys again just because they're so cute!!!

I am just glad that I'm not miserable anymore. At last I have settled into my role of mother (in general and specific to Halloween) rather than participant, waiting back home while whichever of my men go out and get their candy. This time Nat and Max both stayed home -- Max is on the phone, of course, and Nat hung out and ate candy from my stash.

I seem to be getting a huge thrill out of just opening the door to the little people who come by dressed as always -- fairies, ghouls, firemen, Minnie Mouse, and of course, gypsies/pirates -- and entirely excited over the increasingly tiny bars of candy we hand out. I have lit candles and plugged in my birthday lights and I'm wearing a velvet top that looks Elizabethan, and a velvet choker -- my nod to the old Susan. And as Dido would say, "It's not so bad, it's not so bad."

And just as I finish this, before I can even press "publish post," the phone rings, and it's my friend Lisa asking me to go to the Middle East with her tonight for some Halloween fun and we're dressing up! I'll go as ...? Not a bellydancer!!!! But something girlie.

Life is always full of happy surprises, just around the corner, or in this case, across the river.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but some of you who live in the Boston area have said you are interested in hearing me give my talk. I'll be giving a talk for the Harvard Autism Conference/Cambridge Medical Alliance at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Boston, around 3 p.m. this Friday, November 2. This will be shorter than my usual because I am part of a panel. Anyway, it will be basically the same thing I always do. If you go, stop by and introduce yourself.

I'll also be speaking in Montreal on November 9th and at Brookline High School on May 8 at around 7 p.m. Other things come up here and there; you can always find stuff on my home page, under "events." That is, if Ned has been keeping it up to date. If you have an organization that wants to hear from a real live parent who has been there and still is there, email me. I love talking, especially if it does some good in the world. Tikkun Olam!

What's Good About Today

Red Sox won the World Series! Ned and I actually stayed up to watch it (well, he did. I got into my jammies and slept on the couch next to him until the bottom of the 9th, or whenever it was that Ellsbury made that catch). He woke me up to see the final bits. Yay! Too bad it didn't happen here -- I live pretty close to Fenway, though.

Crisp hot-cold air. Mostly still leafy trees. We get an extra month of fall because of the weird weather. (I feel like Pollyanna: "I've found a reason to be glad about global warming! Longer summers!")

House is all decorated for Halloween. Beastie and I made a skeleton guy with a hat and shoes. We webbed up the porch and I found $6 devil hands, which Beastie stuck into the porch bench so it looks like a bloody guy trying to get out. I made a Martha Stewart spider egg sack: one of Ned's (juggling) balls in one of my white stockings, suspended and then webbed up and stuck with plastic spiders (who look like they just hatched out of it). Gross! I bought two perfect large round punkins and the men will carve them tonight while I work on camel walking on my tip-toes.

I bought black ballet slippers, real ones from capezio, to practice in! So pretty and so good to my feet.

Just taught my third Baby Bellies Class. I love love love them! They are all getting much better at veil work and balancing. They can spin and spin and hardly get dizzy (unlike me). One of them brought in her own little zills! And while they danced, I practiced smiling while dancing -- it's easy around them.

Took care of a lot of Nat's paperwork. Feels good to get that stuff mailed off.

Getting ready to read Patti Boyd Harrison Clapton's book, "Wonderful Tonight," her memoir about life with George Harrison and then Eric Clapton.

Beastie is in a great mood. He said I was, "Da Bomb" today. He is so beautiful!!!

Natty is in a great mood. He is silly-yelling and grinning. He is so beautiful!!! He just got mad about the crowded refrigerator, biting his arm, and he reached out his fingers to pinch me and then stopped himself!!!!! Way to go, Nat!

This is now one of Ned's and my favorite things to do: photograph a bellydance session. I think Nat is just as into it! Look at his Sweet Guy face.

Fixing a hole, where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go
--Beatles

There is definitely a certain satisfaction with taking care of business. I frequently have four- or five- item lists on my kitchen blackboard (gloriously encased in a gilded frame; there should be nothing ugly or purely utilitarian in my kitchen. No plastic papertowel dispenser (it is black wrought-iron), no moldy rubber dishrack, (black wrought-iron again) no ugly pots and pans out, only French blue, yellow, or stainless. No tattered, mismatched dishrags. Hide that crap! Drawers are for ugly.)

The list this week contains these items: electrician, drain guy, plumber, AC ducts. I did two out of the four (the first two). The electrician rewired Max's room now that he has so much technology in there. And the drain guy took a video of our sewer pipe (sounds like a contender for an Oscar, don't it? Could call it "Roots," because there are 11 places in the 35 feet of outdoor sewer pipe that have trees snaking through them. Or perhaps, "Broke-bank Mountain" because this is going to be thousands and thousands of dollars. Or "Sure-Stank Redemption," which ends with a trip through a sewer pipe (thank you, Max!) I'm open to other (funny) suggestions.) Ned is totally rolling his eyes over these stupid puns, but I am cracking myself up!

But I am so happy to have done that nudgework! In college I learned about pacing myself, and having faith that I would get to all my work, I didn't have to do it all at once. And that is what happened. Bit by bit, the list gets checked off. If I can't do it today, I don't worry. I will do it tomorrow.

So why can't I apply that same mentality to my relationships? Why do I have so little faith in the ebb and flow of relationships, which have their great moments and then their periods of regrouping and struggle. Unlike how I felt at Penn, with my lists and lists of things to read and papers to write, I have so much trouble pushing my psyche past whatever is the current knot of feelings -- not unlike our house waste pipe.

I am so much in love with the book Rules by Cynthia Lord. It is a children's novel that deals with autism in the family, much like the wonderful Al Capone Does My Shirts, but this is contemporary, and told from a 12-year-old girl's viewpoint, about her younger autistic brother. It is perfectly done, not heavy-handed, and is completely believable.

It is called "Rules" because both Catherine, the girl, and David, her brother, like rules to live by. Catherine records David's rules, like "no toys in the fishtank," or "some jokes are to make you laugh, but some jokes are for making fun of you." She reminds him of his rules at times. It blows my mind to think of all the intricate social rules that neurotypical people make up and just kind of know, and what that must be like for autistic people. They, of course, have different rules. So David has rules that Catherine knows about, too, like, "When you don't know the words, borrow somebody else's." This he does, when he needs calming or is tongue-tied, he dips into the Frog and Toad books by Arnold Lobel, and uses dialog from there. It is very moving to read about David and Catherine exchanging this dialog and seeing the effect it has on each of them, that they understand the underlying meaning and that they care so much about each other.

I wish it felt like my boys cared more about Nat. Should I have forced more on them when they were younger, so that they would be in the habit of including him and interacting with him? Or would that have made them resent him? Or resent us?

I always felt that I wanted a natural, egalitarian family life, where no one person's rights were more important than another's. I did not want Nat to feel like an obligation to them, but he has not evolved into a pleasure to them doing it my way. Maybe obligation is better than oblivion. I know that I did not want an autism-centered house. Our house is mostly neurotypically-centered, because that is the majority here and in the world. But is that fair and right? Maybe it is, when love and respect are the central force. Hope so.

Now that Dirt is finished, at least a good draft for shopping around, my agent wants to know what I want to do about the Fun book, the one where I talk about how to find fun and happiness while raising a challenging child. You could make a case that I am a person who has found a way to have fun, no? Even with the difficulties around disability, like navigating the school and the state systems, dealing with the public, dealing with issues no one can help you with, we all still deserve to live our lives to the fullest, and not just as defined by our children. We need our own time, our own hobbies, passions, evenings, etc. We have to figure out a way to get them, sometimes without leaving our livingrooms. Or without spending any money. It's about closing your eyes and without judgment thinking about just what it is you want to do with yourself, what you wish, what you envy in others, even. All of our feelings, even the "ugly" ones, teach us something about ourselves.

I started bellydancing because I watched the Shakira video, "Hips Don't Lie." I was entranced with the way she moved. I felt a yearning, a pang, something missing in my life. I thought, "I want to be like that," and I immediately then thought, "No, I can't."

That is when I knew that I should.

When I bellydance, I completely escape into a world of my own. I hear the songs in my head and I feel the moves I want to make. I watch the other women in my classes and I get lost in dreamy contemplation of how beautiful they are doing the steps just right (one of them has been dancing for 17 years and she is only in her early 30's!). Last night, for instance, we learned this step that was incredible: three short steps on the diagonal to the right; three short steps on the diagonal to the left, with arms at midpoint going in an "S" shape to your body. Then you stop and do two complete turns, arms outward. Then you stand still, arms up over your head, hands outward. You look skyward in ecstatic contemplation of your arms and then you run them down, following the line of your body, eyes closed, hip shimmying the whole time. Then you thrust your arms upward and do vertical torso snakes to the right then the left. Then do the whole thing again.

It was so hard! And then I got it, by standing behind that really talented 30 something and imitating her -- and it was magnificent!!! The teacher also broke it down for me, which helped. She is so funny, but she has the feel of bellydance in her blood, in the way she speaks. She says you thrust your hands outward while doing the initial steps and turns, as if to say, "This is for you, my audience," and then, when you throw your arms skyward and shimmy it is as if you are saying, "But this -- this is for me."

And that is what life should be like. Some for you, and some that is just for me. We give and we take. That is what makes a complete, sane person. Find your own dance steps and make it happen! Then tell me about it!

I actually wrote this column two days ago, when the following series of events happened. This was before I got home and my blogger friend Don had sent me this link. Then Ned heard about this same issue on NPR (the cop interviewed in the story is my cop! Although as you will see, his advice is useless.) Turkey is in the air...

Opinion: Close encounters of the bird kind

Susan Senator/Edge of Town

Wed Oct 24, 2007, 03:34 PM EDT

I have found the book I want to read next: Reasonable People by Ralph Savarese. Read this bit from his website and you, too, may feel the same.

Ralph and his wife Emily, an autism expert, adopted DJ, an abused autistic boy, when he was six. Ralph's writing about the adoption alone takes my breath away. "We were not infertile," he says, trying to explain to the multitudes of people who could not believe anyone would do such a thing. Nor are they saints or martyrs. Nor were they trying to avoid adopting a child of a different race. It was simply that they had a connection with DJ, from Emily's work, and he needed them as much as they needed him.

My heart leaped when I read this. This, that he describes in his essay, is exactly how I feel. You and your child connect. It is that simple. God, goodness, hope, foolish optimism -- whatever you may call it -- are all involved in this dynamic. But it is through our own work (and, of course, God, or good luck, energy, magic, dedication, whatever else) that we make something positive of what we end up with.

You reap what you sow, but it takes a particular kind of wisdom to actually feast on what you've harvested.

"First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out."
--Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Holy Handgrenade Directions

All I have to do now is ...
Meet with the DMR liaison and get the forms.
Then I have to give my pediatrician the template so she can do the write-up about Nat's need for guardianship.
Then I have to take that form and give it to a licensed psychologist to sign off on said need.
Then I have to take that to a licensed social worker to sign off on the above.
Then I have to get a court date to have it approved.
Oh, did I mention the special form to oversee Nat's medication as his guardian?

This cannot be done before Nat turns 18 but must be done within 180 days of beginning of process.
This must be done before our spring IEP meeting, so that we can sign IEP for Nat as his guardians.
If not done on time, process must begin again. I think.

At the May meeting, we will have the local high school vocational adviser come and meet Nat and determine if his vocational support needs could possibly be met by Brookline High School, in which case we would work towards transferring him partly to his LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL for some of his job training. The idea here is that one day Nat would work and reside in the town in which he was born, walking everywhere or using the T(!)

But that is a big questionmark, because who knows what the high school staff will be willing to do...

And I'm one of the lucky ones because I know what I'm doing -- in this instance. Okay, one step at a time.

That is the news so far about Transition to Adulthood for Nathaniel Isaac Batchelder, son extraordinaire.

When there's no more for you
No more tests, no more school, no more meetings, no more funds, no more things to try
When the label is all that sticks
When people are sorry for me even before they know me
When even some know you and they forget you are still there
When you hide behind your little voice and your unknown words
And your big black velcro shoes make you seem a little like a clown
or an old man
Not serious
And your ruffled honey hair still bends sideways like it always did (you still don't brush it)

And they all forget that you hear, see, think and feel
Confusion, anger, yes. But also agony, ecstasy, boredom. Joy.
You just don't talk like them.
So they forget that you are.

Even after the whole world has given up on you
And everyone stops trying

Just remember that I never, ever will.
Because I know.

I have a new admiration for teachers -- real ones, that is, the ones who face classes of 20+ kids of all different learning styles and abilities for six hours straight. Or those who deal with classes of seven, like Nat's. I believe teaching is one of the most demanding jobs a person can have because I now see firsthand how you have to get to know each child and figure out how to get the material across to them, or why they aren't able to master it.

In my Baby Bellies class, I only have four girls, but each one brings her own special challenges. I can't help but start to love them as I get to know them and watch how they learn. Sometimes they make me want to laugh out loud, they are so fun and sweet. Other times, my patience is stretched worse than my thigh muscles, because this one is spacing out and that one is talking and talking and talking to me, and another is being so quiet that I don't know what she's thinking.

I began with showing them a brief performance DVD, Jillina from the Bellydance Superstars. Two different girls asked if that was me. Awwwww...

They squealed with delight when I pulled out new veils which I had made by cutting up the chiffon swags from my party decorations. I made them smaller than adult veils, which are around 2 1/2 yards. I had three different colors. I told them that at the very end of the session, they could keep them. More squealing.

Today we worked on isolations: head, shoulders, hips. I made them hold their arms out until they ached, so that they would learn how hard you have to work at this. I showed them isolations at multiple speeds: fast head circles, slow snake arms.

I had them try hip lifts while walking. I was trying to figure out why it looked so strange, what were they not doing right. They were doing everything I said, but somehow, it was wrong. And then, I had it: they have no hips! So I had to figure that if they were alternating sides, they were doing an approximation of a hip lift.

They got out their trays, and everyone could balance! They had all practiced. I was delighted. Now I am thinking that what I want to do eventually is offer bellydance to disabled girls and women. I figure that they might not get too many opportunities to explore their feminine, beautiful, creative sides. Or wear gorgeous hip scarves and play with veils. And anyone could use a little lesson in body control, right? So that's on my list, now. And of course, I want to come up with a really witty name for it...

This was a phenomenal party. Everyone wore costumes, though some removed them later just for comfort. Natty hang out the whole time, and danced with me. Ben stayed for a little bit, and Max, not at all, except to eat the cake. Around 30 people, and we all fit somehow!

One of the ways I enjoy being a mom is making stuff with my kids, like baking with Nat. These days he is in a pretty good frame of mind, as long as neighbors turn off their outside lights when it is daytime, so he is pretty amenable to projects. The other two boys are not as easy. But Ben asked me to help him make his Halloween costume, and that is right up my alley.

Ben is going to be a Super Mario Fly Guy for Halloween (pictured right). This is a character that is an enemy, someone you have to avoid when playing. The challenge for this costume was the face and the propellor. As you can see, the face looks like it can come off, almost like a paper plate. So Benj imagined it as a paper plate stuck on like a mask, holes cut, and a black stocking behind it, over his head. I made the paper plate into a secure mask by threading a needle with a cut rubber band, piercing small holes for the ends, and knotting the ends of the band.

Then we cut the eye and mouth holes. Then Ben drew propeller blades on cardboard, and I cut them out. The tricky part then was making an axis that could pierce the cardboard blades, hold them together, and stand up straight inside the red sweatshirt hood. I used two paperclips: one I unbent, and made into the axis, and pierced the sweatshirt hood with its end. The other clip slid over the center of the propeller and held it and the axis in place. Voila! It even spins a little. It is a totally adorable bad guy, so Ben. Just don't tell him the "adorable" part if you know what's good for you.

Now the next challenge: getting Max to tell me what he's going to be, if anything, and seeing if there's a way to help.

Nat came bounding off the bus full of piss and vinegar. He was hopping around, right away talking about Ben's lunchbox. He always checks Ben's lunchbox when he gets home, but today he was loaded for bear. There was going to be trouble, no matter what; I could tell just by the way he exploded off the bus. Today he hated the fact that Ben had brought an unopened juice box back home and that I wanted to save it for tomorrow.

We had an argument about it. He got so upset that he raised his arm to his mouth but he did not bite it. He listened to me, and hopped around, repeating, "Save it for lunch tomorrow, save it for lunch tomorrow."

So I said, "That's right, Nat!" (Phew, that was easy.)

But he, apparently, had only been giving me lip service. He couldn't stand it. "Frow it away, frow it away!" Bounce, bounce, bounce.

I said, "Nat, no! That is wasteful! Please don't throw it away! Let me save it for tomorrow for Benji!"

"No wasteful. No wasteful! Frow away juicebox!"

I said, "I can't believe you are doing this on my birthday!" And I would not look at him. A little Jewish mother guilt never really hurt anyone -- just ask Dr. Freud.

He got very quiet. After a moment he said calmly, "Save it for lunch tomorrow." My heart blew up bigger than the Grinch's at Roast Beast time. Oh, Nat, I love you!!!!!!

"That's right, Nat!"

We sat down at the table and he ate his ice cream, top speed. It was no good. He was just too upset about it.

I got an idea. I said, "Unless -- Nat, do you want to drink it yourself?" That would get rid of the damned juice without wasting it. A pyrrhic victory, but a victory no less.

He leaped up. "Yes!" He whipped out the juice box and popped open the straw, pierced the container, then ran over to the sink shouting, "Dump it in sink! Dump it in sink!"

"Oh, Nat," I muttered. "Drink it! Don't dump it!"

Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. Like a very long piss, Austin-Powers style.

Sigh. "Did you at least drink some of it?" I asked with a tired voice, not even looking up as he rinsed out the sink very thoroughly, destroying all evidence of juice.

"Yes," he said.

I am out of juice, but you gotta love the guy's logic and perseverance (you decide which I mean).

Twelve (+ six) long stem lipstick-red roses
Eleven (+ ) tiny cards hidden all over the house
Ten songs on my new Natacha Atlas CD
Nine Red Sox to pull a rabbit out of a hat
Eight steps in Ben and Max's scavenger hunt leading to new lavender iPod shuffle
Seven lovely cossies
Six yards of fuschia chiffon veil material overhead
Five + forty years
Four new silver Saroyan zills
Three darling children
Two crazy earrings
One first, best, true love

And a very happy birthday for me!

Even though it is not until demain...

Today Ned sent me pre-birthday flowers: blue hydrangea and lavender-blue roses and rolled-up bluish-purple calla-lily type things! Oh, NS!!!!!!! Stunning!!!!!!!!! And perfect with the festooned chiffon that is still hanging from the ceilings down here.

Several cards arrived from friends and family, one with a gorgeous poem in it (thank you Melinda) and some gifts are sitting there, thank you Sarai, CB, M & D, B & A xxxxxxxxxox.

A friend invited me for champagne to celebrate both of our birthdays, and one other friend's!!!

Also, my red and gold costume is here!!!!! A little tight, so I'm starving for the next few days. (Nah, not really, we'll simply adjust the lighting.)

And miraculously... Natty sent me a birthday email AND made a present for me in school!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh Sweet Guy!!! Oh, it's already perfect and it has not even happened yet!

Today I taught my first Baby Bellies class. I am offering an After-School Activity at Ben's school: Middle-Eastern dance for grades K-4. I got four little girls: two second grade, two first. All I can say is: WOW!!!! Being only the mother of sons, who never played much with girly-girls, this was my first exposure to real girly-girls since I was one myself. (I do not say "girly-girl" pejoratively; I only mean that these are the traditional kind of little girl, the pink-and- hairband-wearing, tights and leggings kind. The kind I was/am.)

I have hardly ever taught anybody anything. So I planned a lot for today. I burned a CD for the class. I studied my own bellydance notes to come up with a lesson. I bought round silver aluminum cookie trays for them to practice posture and balance; I introduced them to beginning veil and zills; I showed them two traveling steps; and I showed them snake arms and head isolations. They used my hip scarves and were delighted by the jingling of the coins and by the colors of the veils.

I am amazed at how quickly little kids learn. Quickly and joyfully. Questions, questions, questions. "Why do you have that on?" (my black lace hip scarf) "Why do they do that?" (balance stuff) "Is this right?" "Can we take these home?" (everything) They are so agile and flexible, they could do just about everything I showed them! And so gracefully! It is just a wonderful thing to watch; they all moved so beautifully, so naturally; delicate, yet strong. It is very different from dancing with older women. It is amazing to think how long it took me to master isolations like snake arms and head circles while doing the grapevine step; these girls tried a few times and could do it. They just needed reminding to slow down!

I am just so happy right now. I can't imagine a better way to spend my time, frankly, than teaching little kids something they really want to learn. My mind is blown. I hope I can keep up with them.

What's Good
Gorgeous fall day
House is decorated for my birthday/party. I went all out, Arabian Nights style.
Blood red fingernails, all dry no nicks
Went on Autism Walk with all of us
Nat in totally great mood
Book nearly done, I swear it is!
Bought a ton of different meats so meals will be easy this week
Birthday's a-coming
I'm so totally in love with my husband

What's Bad
Gorgeous fall day
Went all out for party next Sat., spent a lot
Ben hated the Autism Walk so finally I had to be a bitch and tell him to cut it out
We will need to pay for both Nat and his aide if we are sending him to social group outings
Not reading anything else at the moment
Shot self in foot vis a vis tons of meat -- no excuse not to cook
Ned's in a bad mood

What's Beautiful
All six cossies
My decorations
My children
Clean house
Peace, Health, Happiness, Love, Satisfying Work

What's Funny -- My latest Pun-Dit:
My newest joke: Yours until Viagra Falls.

Yesterday was a day full of pleasant surprises. It's as if the Day-Fairy just did not want me to have a bad day, though at first I was determined. Most of it had to do with my boys. Ever wonder if good days are like good dreams, where they are just good because of some hormonal bath rather than the actual happenings? This Penn Professor does. (My Penn friends and I know Seligman a bit differently -- he was the house master in our dorm, in fact he threw the party where Ned and I first met -- but his theories do merit some real attention.)

Anyway these days I take more than one hormonal bath a day! So I started out kind of harried because of all that I had to get done. I had to do a million little stupids, like CVS, dry-cleaning, meat-buying, talk to the cleaning women about not letting the toilets run (because that stresses out our old waste pipe, which we have to coddle until we decide to bulldoze the MF), I also had to workout, etc., and I couldn't find the nano (which replaced the shuffle, which died on my last run).

First I got an email from a good friend that really pissed me off. So I had to deal with that. Then I realized I had gotten a slow burn from a teacher at Ben's school, with whom he had gotten in trouble. She seemed a bit harsh, wanted to do an incident report, all that. I had worked out an apology essay as the consequence, but she didn't seem to want to let it go. So I knew I had to deal with that, and before my head built up to big a cloud of steam. Then another friend pissed me off, again on email. Syeestyer called and it was her day off but I knew I had absolutely no time to talk to her the way I wanted to, and when I did have a moment my phone was going "bee-woop" every few seconds; the battery was in the red. No cell-phone talkies for me, which is the only way I really like to talk on the phone: on my cell, while driving. Yes, I am one of those.

So I had a big nudgy burning in my belly for quite some time. I felt my day shredding apart. It was sure to be a lonely, hassle-filled day. I found myself wondering if I was going to have to flush Friend number one and Friend number two. I drove over to Great Eastern Trading Company after doing all of the above and hung out for a bit with Marlena, a bellydancer, who owns the store. I bought a white petal skirt and two pairs of really tarty earrings, totally gorgeous. Then, when I got home, there was a long email from Friend One. Very, very satisfying. And then, a brief but good email from Friend Two. So my equilibrium came back. I know it should not be so Other-dependent but that is me.

I went to the school to get Beast and have a heavy with that teacher. I noticed that my Tab column was up on the office door! That felt good. Upstairs I went, my heart pumping, my fingers ready to rip her head off.

She smiled really happily when she saw me, and totally disarmed me. I regrouped and told her that I wanted to make sure we were "on the same page about Ben." We really were. I really liked her! The whole incident was, at last, over. I took my Beautiful Beast and went downstairs. We ran into his little friend, C, whom he loves. C wanted a playdate!

Then two or three friends who hadn't responded to my party invite told me they were coming after all! The count is going up to 35+ which will be tight, even with a big livingroom. I decided, at last, on what my cake would be, and that was a relief, too.

Met and interviewed a young woman who will be working with Nat on weekends. A lovely person, with experience from working in Nat's school! I felt very good about hiring her, and she seems to enjoy Nat quite a bit. He greeted her nicely. Huge load off my mind. Now we can get back to expanding his leisure and community skills at home (see, this is one of those things that I pay for out-of-pocket that Nat really needs in order to learn all that he has to learn about being in this world. My school system will not pay for this, at least not for enough hours).

I wrote and wrote some more Dirt. Really, really almost finished now. There was more that I had to say about Eric, it turns out, (thanks Melinda and Ned!). Up to 290 pages. Fell into bed after a long, fruitful day but found I could not stretch out my legs, no matter what I did. What the...?

The bed had been shortsheeted! I guess I should have been clued in my the Simpson's joke book lying open to "pranks" that was sitting right on my dresser! Little B!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

I have restarted my column at the local paper, the Brookline Tab. You can read today's column here. That is a really fun job. I get to write about the stuff going on in my heart and head, as long as I relate it to things going on in town. That kills many birds, happily, because I like talking about what's going on around town. I like the opportunity to change people's minds or make them think about something differently, or just from my perspective.

I have also mentioned before that I am now on the PTO board at Ben's school, and that it feels surprisingly great. I am the communications co-chair, and so the newsletter described in the Tab column is my responsibility, as well as getting notices out to the Tab about important school events and speakers.

This job is far more geared to my skills and talents than being on the School Committee, which was largely a frustrating venture. There I learned all about being a "can't-do" kind of person, where I learned all the things that that particular position could not, or was not supposed to, or people did not want you to, do. I felt like Chicken Little, always pointing out how the sky was falling ("There's all these kids with autism who are not being well-served and it is going to be a crisis for the families and for the school system!" and "Social responsibility and social support need to be just as important as math and science and language arts!" and "If we don't have enough money we have to go to the Town and scream for it!") I also felt like the kid who said, "The Emperor has no clothes," because it felt like so many others around me were all ga-ga over my school system -- and as systems go, it is as very good one, of course, but far from Emperor- perfect -- and I saw so many areas that needed work. Maybe I just groused too much. It was not for me.

But being in charge of a newsletter: YEAH!!! I get to edit awkward text to my heart's content without having to present it first to a subcommittee, then to the full Committee for consideration, then wait another week for the full Committee to vote, and by then the issue would be a non-starter! On the newsletter, I get to decide what goes in and what stays out, and what gets premium, page one placement. And I have a vehicle for publishing Little B's art! I scan it in, shrink it down, and stick it in. So much fun! I have asked for artwork from all kids, I hope that happens.

That's all for today, folks.

My friend Michael Goldberg is my special needs news resource. Autism Bulletin is an excellent, no-nonsense, smart and elegant presentation of national special needs news stories, especially about autism. Today I read about a court case where the Supreme Court was tied regarding a New York City family, thereby allowing a lower court ruling to stand. So the family who had sued the city for cost of their child with LD won in this case. First I jumped to the conclusion that the family had been wronged by NYC and had triumphed. Then I learned that this was pretty much what I refer to as a "private school family," one who sends their children to private school from the start. So when the family learned that their child had a disability, they asserted their rights under the law to public money for services, and the school system has to pay.

From what an NPR Marketplace report said, it does not appear that the family ever even tried the public school program. This sounds piggish, but it is not clear what they did; they may have explored the public school offering without actually sending their kid, knowing it was sub-par. Unfortunately the reporting makes it seem that the family, who is very wealthy, was acting piggish and snobby as opposed to possibly acting in the child's best interests, not wanting to see the child fail first and founder in the public school.

I was once offered a public school placement for Nat at our high school that I never sent him to. I could tell that it would be too great a leap. I could not even get assurance that Nat's aide would have special ABA training. I could not get a tour of the vocational component. So I said "no thanks," sight unseen and continued to send him to his hugely expensive private program, at the town's expense. Why should I consent to put Nat at risk like that? I know what the wrong supports can mean (read the book if you don't know).

And so I reserve judgment on this case because I don't know enough of the behind-the-scenes. It feels a bit unsavory to me, considering that the family always sends all their kids to private schools, and yet it could also be that in this child's case, it was right to do so. Ability to pay is not a part of the IDEA, nor should it be. But I do confess that there are many, many services I have paid for on my own because I just couldn't bring myself to ask my overburdened school system to pay. But -- why are they overburdened?

Because state and federal legislators refuse to raise enough taxes to pay for the public education they have legislated because they want to hold onto their powerful jobs!!!! A curse on all their heads, as my great grandmother Sarel Wolfson used to say, referring to the Bolsheviks and the Tsar and his henchmen, the vile Cossacki.

Justice Anthony Kennedy apparently recused himself. When Ned told me this, we both looked at each other and said at the same time, "He must be a grandfather..."

In the end, is politics always personal? Is that inevitable, that we are informed by our personal experiences, but then we must strive to see beyond that and think of the Greater Good? But what is the Greater Good? I know, but do you? Of course you do, but we may disagree...

A packed, busy day. But to my disappointment, busy does not equal happy. I woke up far too early (5a.m.) and I've just been running all day. I had to give a talk today and I don't feel that I did a good job. I felt that my talk was stale because so much has happened since that slide show I made. I felt more cynical, mature, and also protective of my boys' lives. I don't know what that means. It is hard to look at the beginning of their lives and go through it all, up until now. It is so hard. Sometimes putting words to things/people freezes them and makes them less than what or who they really are.

Maybe because I'm tired, I am not happy today. So I tried to think about my party and my costumes, the things that will always make me bubble up again. I made this tabblo mostly for Ned to help me decide which one is the best/favorite. I sent it to him at work but he wouldn't even look at it! And then he left late. :(

Not making dinner.

Bubble, bubble
Toil and trouble.
--Shakespeare

Karma is a strange and satisfying concept. We had a big day yesterday. We had our first interview with the Department of Mental Retardation (DMR) to begin Nat's transition planning, (in Massachusetts it is called Chapter 688, as opposed to Chapter 766, which entitles him to a public education and the services required to make that happen. I'll bet some wanted to call it Chapter 666, because of all the money it takes and the paperwork it makes) because next month he'll be 18. There are no entitlements post-22. It is then all about eligibility, need, and ability to get it. (We will have all three, I'm sure. I will be in fightin' form for my boy.)

I came in with my sheaf of papers, all xeroxed and filled out, and the guy said, "Wow, you're hired!" You bet I'm hired. He was very friendly and had some very good information for us. There is nothing we really have to do now, except start to research vendors and their services. That doesn't mean I'm sitting on my ass. I made calls yesterday anyway. Fightin' Form, Folks.

He gave us a great website and the name of the person in charge of our next step, discussion of services once eligibility has been determined. I started to feel that bubble of hope in my throat, probably not what one would expect after talking to a state agency that is chronically severely underfunded.

This office of the DMR happened to be housed in the Fernald complex, which has been the site of a large political and emotional controversy and an example of the terrible choices people in government are forced to make when there is not enough money to go around where it should. Taxes, hello? No? Okay, so here's the choice, Solomon: Close an old institution for the severely mentally retarded and remove the vulnerable residents from where they've been living for decades? Can we really know how that will feel to those people? Or is it that we are seeking to take the huge profit those lands would bring and spread it around more effectively to the many, many other severely challenged DMR clients by investing in personal care attendant salaries, new, state of the art assisted living homes, group homes, job supports?


I think that you could probably still operate some of the residences there, the most needy and oldest residents, and try to transition out the rest to some first-rate residences and sell the rest of the grounds. Then plow all that money into those who transitioned out, and into the thousands of others who are probably almost as needy but living with aging parents or worse. Because if you don't, what will people like Nat have as adults? What about the quality of his adult life? He is so close to being able to be somewhat independent. With just the right combination of supports, he could do it. I think he could do it. That is my hope bubble talking, and when it starts talking, there is no shutting it up. But don't you dare try to pop it. Read the book, you'll understand.

On our way into the Fernald, we passed the Shriver Center, which is where we first had genetic testing as a couple when we were going to have our first baby (guess who). Back then we were screening for Tey-Sachs disease, but we as a couple are not Eastern European enough to give it to our kids (due to NS's Western European gene pool). Check Tey-Sachs off the long list. Okay, thank God.

The Fernald is also where Natty first went swimming with a class. Many schools out there use the Fernald pool because it is large and very warm.

And so there we were, at the Fernald once more, papers in hand, bubbles in throat, closing a loop.

Very disoriented this morning. Ned and I went to the Middle East and stayed pretty late because we really wanted to see the dancers, one of whom is a friend. I also wanted Ned to know everyone there because I go there so often.

Tired, can't really wake up, bad dreams where I was trying to clean out Mom and Dad's fridge, and it was full of very heavy old carrots and and yams and old water, and I made a huge mess getting them out, because the bag ripped. Then neither of them would hug me. D'oh! Hello, Dr. Freud??!

(Which reminds me, the other night I had a wonderful dream, where Ned tossed me in the air and I could do a double flip. Then he filmed it, and we looked at it and I thought my thighs were really fat and dimply. Then I looked again and I realized it was not true. I woke up so happy.

Rain, Nat pacing and worrying about our neighbor's light. They seem to leave it on all day when it's rainy, curse them! If I call and ask them to shut it -- well, I can't, I am too wimpy. It just seems too farfetched. I have no coyach today. Argh. So it's just a pacing and obsessing day until the sun comes out. I sure know how he feels.

Hah! I just called them and left a message, explaining our predicament and begging them to shut their outdoor light. I'm such an enabler!!! No, I'm a Defender of Darkness. No, I'm just a big squooshy Mommy, as Ned would say. (But not that big and squooshy, right?)

This counts as a blog post, though very high on the Lame-o-meter. But at least I did one good thing today.

You, glorious deep red Eman Zaki, are next.
It is a sickness, I know...
But -- red! Red!!!

O terra adio, adio valle di pianti... --Guiseppe Verdi, the best scene in opera ever

Got my first birthday present last night, from Beastie. Ned and Ben couldn't wait because I was planning my party decor and I kept saying how I was going to have to buy more chiffon for swags, because even though I already have 9 veils, half of them are not right for decorating (not big enough or too schvach in color). Then I said how I would make those lengths into veils when the party was over, but for now the plan is to take 8 veils of about 3 yards long each, and hang them in different places in the party rooms. The entry hall will have one or two as well, festooned overhead like the tunnels they created for the harem women to walk in privacy to the markets in ancient Turkey. (I wrote about this in my very first novel, In the Presence of Mine Enemies, copyright 1991, which takes place in Kiev and in Constantinople in the 1860's.) I'll put one long swag overhead down the center of the dining room ceiling. In the livingroom, I'll do a pair from the windowseat alcove and maybe one above the fireplace mirror. In the fireplace, I'll put a ton of candles on varied-height candlesticks. Clearing out the coffee table and another round table so that maybe people can dance, ahem.

So Ned and B presented B's gift. I recognized the bag, from Great Eastern Trading Company in Cambridge. Two veils! I pulled out first one long, multicolored veil, that sparkled and is so incredibly light it will be a breeze to dance with. And the other is a deep and vibrant green chiffon, it looks like something the Sea Witch wore in the lenticular picture book of The Little Mermaid that I had as a child, with thick cardboard pages of dolls acting out the scenes. Oh joy! How did they do that? The most beautiful book ever! (The real one, by Hans Christian Andersen, that is very, very sad but beautiful, because actually the Little Mermaid, who is not given the yuppie name Ariel, has to choose between dying with her beautiful long hair or cutting it off. She chooses to die, of course, because this was Hans Christian Andersen, rather than Walt Disney.

I guess I can be thankful that Disney did not at least make this a hair-extension happy ending.). In the book I had as a child, the Sea Witch was beautiful. She was old, but had flowing long hair and a green seaweed dress. MMMMMMmmmmmmmseaweed dress. In a world of young bombshells in clamshell bras and shiny fishscale botoms, she had a bit of class. Not like that Ursula-octopus thingy. (Thank you NS for the picture)

This green veil -- remember the green veil? -- had little rhinestone beads sewn in here and there. Benj said, "It has jewelry," knowing that this was something I would love. OH, LITTLE B!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Was there ever such a lucky mommy? Bonjiorno veil of smiles!

She's a summer love in the spring, fall and winter.
--GFD

I know that it is freakishly warm for autumn, but I think that is one of the things that is making me so happy. I usually kind of hate the fall, even though it has my birthday packed into it, because fall feels like an ending, like brown, dried-out death. Even the air is more brittle. The light is too bright and does not foster growth. I know it is pretty, but it is pretty like a supermodel; all the parts are right and perfect, colorful, sunny, and yet somehow, it is only that and kind of vapid and empty inside. Spring and summer are, to me, real, lush, full-bodied, perhaps uncomfortable, sweaty, chilly: the stuff that creates life.

So I'm being lulled into a happy summer state by the Indian Summer. It was 86 degrees yesterday (Boston!) and I could go for a run at the Rez in my old navy blue paint-spattered disintegrating Penn shorts (from 1984, rescued from Mom's house) and fluorescent pink tank top. (Pink always helps you succeed, at whatever it is you're doing.) No wind to hurt my ears. Ducks a-splashin' and Canadian geese a-shittin' everywhere like it was early June. The lake smell of the water. The happy oldsters walking and talking. The moms and nannies pushing fancy strollers, fat babies straining to get out. College girls going impossibly fast, no fat on their bouncy bodies.

Crazy weather, but so much fun. My iPod finally died, after all this time, at the halfway point, yet I could keep going because those same old Arabic and John Denver and Bob Dylan songs are just so in my head, that it was as if it was playing for real! I feel like I know the Arabic words by now, but of course I'm just singing it all phonetically. I have to ask my Lebanese friend what are the following words: damon, ay-wah, leysh, el, and one that sounds like Miss Honeydew?

Well, I've just had coffee cup number two (never as good as # one, that's why it is #two) out on the porch, again, like it was July. So sweet. Made Natty a bagel and greeted N.S, who is shopping for a new stereo (our oldie finally broke; it is so old it came with a record player). He is also buying me a dark purple, fuschia, and lavender velvet costume with holographic beads and gold fringe for my birthday. Deep Purple: Wa-Wa-Waaa; Wa-Wa-Wa-ah; Wa-Wa-Waaa; Wa-ah. I will provide no link because you should be able to guess what that crazy thing is.

Boys two and three are still asleep, and probably look SO cute, but I'll leave them alone. I will kiss Ned instead, who just got out of bed, a sleepy look about his head.

Ah, Saturday in the "summertime." Feels like my whole life is stretching out lazily, like a beautiful, entitled cat.

I know I'm being so boring but I just have to write some more about dancing! I put on the full gold cossie tonight, hair in a high ponytail wrapped with a gold sparkly tiny turban, and a slave bracelet on my ankle, which looked fabulous and sounded jingly. I took out my longest veil, the very first one I ever bought, the pale pink chiffon. I must get more veils, my colors are hurtin'! I need the veils anyway for the after school kiddo belly dance class I'm teaching at Beastie's school. Plus I will use the veils as decor for my birthday party.

I started with a bunch of Greek tunes from a CD M & D bought me, lots of jangly guitars, traditional lovely high-spirited stuff. Perfect for what I wanted to do, which was master the barrel turns! I did the turns with the veil in back and then in front, with a long mirror leaning against the living room bookcase. I was so excited about how great it looked that I called Ned in to watch. He loved it, too. I could really do it and by the end of the half hour I was no longer getting dizzy because I figured out exactly how to spot.

I am always amazed at how much my ballet training is used in bellydance. This new teacher likes us to do everything elevated, in rélevé (on the toes), which is very Egyptian. What I do is picture the hieroglyphic drawings, of the women in long straight gold skirts, hands bent artfully at angles, taking little steps. That is the spirit of this dance, with a lot of coquetry thrown in (lift the hair off the neck, or put your hand to your forehead, that kind of thing). I did throwing the veil down, throwing it up with one snake arm (shoulder, elbow, wrist, knuckle, fingertip), and you watch your hand with great interest. My audience goes crazy every time (it's only me).

I'm just immersed in this Egyptian thing. I don't know if it's because it is all intrinsically beautiful or if it's a little bit of forbidden fruit (Egypt vs. Israel), but that's probably kind of bullshit. I think it's mostly that I love that I'm doing this dance that is very close to ballet in discipline and form (on the toes, arms rounded but graceful, core straight up) but -- the costumes are even more beautiful and the dance moves are far sexier!!! And you don't have to be rail-thin, cause God knows, I ain't. You have to love it, feel it, and then you are simply beautiful because you are it.

To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under Heaven.
--The Byrds, and also, Ecclesiastes

Last night felt like a miracle to me. I went to my new bellydance class, ready to work hard, but a little nervous. Last week had been so hard, so new to me. I had never done turns before. So I had practiced them at home all week, and now I was feeling a little more confident to try them in class, but I knew something was still missing from what I was doing.

I walked in and went off to the side, where the barre was, and started stretching. A woman named Ritia came in shortly after and we started to talk. I asked her a few things about the mechanics of the three-step turn, and she answered me, but I was still confused. Then she showed me while the other women got ready. While I watched Ritia, something clicked about the turns -- you are always supposed to start each turn from the same leg, so you need to do a small setting-up step in between turns. I tried this, thinking of her feet in motion, and I could do it.

The whole class then lined up in front of the huge mirrored wall and started warming up with Katia, our teacher, leading us. Katia, who is a delight, seemed more playful this week, or maybe it was that I was more relaxed, and could tell at the beginning of most things what it was we were supposed to do, but I found I could concentrate on the little nuances of most moves, the kind of accents that make your technique engaging and playful. I was so happy to be able to keep up with just about everything she had us do.

When it came time for each of us to do our turns from one end of the room to the next, I struggled a little, but was able to remember what I had just learned -- with Katia coaching me. When I completed my row, Katia had the class applaud for "Lilia." She calls me by my dance name! And I didn't feel stupid, I felt proud. It was a truly wonderful moment.

Then we learned barrel turns, which is a gorgeous turn with a veil held behind you at arms' width. As you turn, your arms and the veil appear to be making a fan shape, and a rhythmic flutter of colored fabric behind you. It is mesmerizing.

I could not do it at all at first, no matter how much Katia broke it down. Once she moved away from me, I asked Paulina, the woman behind me, who had it down, to show me what she was doing. She demonstrated how you just keep alternating one arm up overhead and then the other; using the veil makes it easier to get it right, we found. (My veil was pastel pink; hers was an earthy rust.) I realized that just by watching and feeling where her arms were as I raised my own, I could do it, better than when it was broken down tiny step-by-tiny step. I thought it was fascinating to realize that sometimes breaking something down into little steps hinders understanding. It makes you overthink at times.

You would think that, knowing me and how much I love to massage any point, overthinking would be impossible. And yet, in dance, it turns out that just doing may be more effective for me to learn.

I wonder. If that is true for me, could it also be true for Nat? But Nat is largely taught in a method that breaks tasks down to little steps. What if Nat needs to see the whole of something, or needs to understand the overall purpose of an exercise, for it to make sense?

I am now going to try to find ways to step back and show him things I want him to understand, all in one piece, because that might be the way he learns -- like me.

Here is my ranking of the times of the day:
1) Early morning. This is my favorite, because I feel so happy when I wake up, so eager to begin, so psyched to taste my coffee. I love watching the darkness gradually take on the familiar, beautiful shapes of my backyard view, the gray sky turn lavender and then pink and then suddenly blue. reading my email, unloading the dishwasher, making lunches, all when the house is quiet and I'm alone. It feels like a precious moment to me, kind of an "extra."

At about 6:30 I have to wake up Max, to take his shower. I go in and he's all covered up under his indigo comforter, a giant with my baby's face, now roughened by beard. I can lean over and kiss him, rather than reach up. He is a complicated young man now, but in sleep, I can still remember who he was, who he will always be.

Nat's already awake because he is such a light sleeper. He says, "Yes," as soon as I come into his dark room. "You have a few minutes, Sweet Guy," I say, and he, of course, says, "Yes." I give him a kiss and tiptoe out but the old floors creak mercilessly.

Ben is never up and has to be awakened several times. His blankets are a mess, his sheets are twisted. He sleeps with an Uglyguy, and sometimes PBG (Purple Bed Guy, who apparently is a Pokemon, whom I don't recognize) but no more Blue Beary. He is a little precious darling, he has my face, but with small, perfect features (no lumpy nose, no pimples, no marks except for the faint square freckle nestled next to his nostril, furry dark las