Susan Senator

I don’t know if you’ll see it the way I do, but here goes…I think Nature is quite the bawd!

This is a press release about my very close friend, Ruth Kaplan. I could not be more proud, and more optimistic now about education in Massachusetts!!!

Governor Makes Quality Appointment to Board of Education

Citizens for Public Schools would like to extend our congratulations and support to Governor Deval Patrick for his first appointment to the Massachusetts State Board of Education. He has chosen Ruth Kaplan, a member of the Brookline School Committee who supports public education, education reform and public school students.

In choosing Ms. Kaplan, Governor Patrick has found a supremely qualified, dedicated, thoughtful and open-minded activist to fill the parent representative slot on the Board.

As a longtime member of (Citizens for Public Schools) CPS (a broad based coalition that supports public schools) and co-founder of CPS’s Campaign for the Education of the Whole Child, Kaplan, a lawyer, has demonstrated great intelligence, compassion, courage in speaking out against the over reliance on standardized testing, attempts to privatize public education, and the marginalization of underserved English language learners, special education and urban students.

She has been a voice for quality and equitable education with great effect in her various roles as School Committee member, MASC board member, teacher, special education advocate and mother.

With this appointment, Governor Patrick is making good on his promise to bring together people of good will with diverse views and to bring on board qualified people who want to make a difference for those who have felt marginalized or excluded.

CPS is a coalition of more than fifty civic, religious, civil rights, education and labor organizations. It was formed in 1982 to support public schools in Massachusetts.

Marilyn Segal
Director, Citizens for Public Schools
www.citizensforpublicschools.org

I just got back from a conference in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I loved the place the moment I stepped off the plane; the air smelled sweet and dry, like heated rock. I had a flash of memory-feeling, of being there before, and smelling that big, dry, Western sky. We had gone to the western part of the state when I was little, to Badlands and Mount Rushmore (of North by Northwest fame).

I gave my usual talk, Making Peace with Autism or Extreme Parenting or What’s Autism Got to Do with it? and right after I was interviewed by KELO-TV for their six o’clock news program, and then right after that, I did a breakout session called “Helping Siblings Make Peace with Autism,” which was fairly new for me. I think they went well. I had a lot of attendees and a ton of questions during and after, which is what I think a workshop should be about.

At lunchtime I heard a couple talk about their sons, one of whom has autism, and the ups and downs. This was not a “poor us” kind of talk; the couple had a great rapport with each other and a wonderful, bouncy attitude. Their lives are not easy at all with 10 year-old Aaron, but it is obvious that they think the world of him, and that they are not afraid to be eccentric and creative in order to live a happy family life. I love it when I come across people like them.

I had a nine-hour trip home (maybe one of those hours doesn’t count because of the time change but tell that to my red eyes). I won’t say it was uneventful, in fact parts of my flight were downright scary and bizarre, but I don’t feel like going into it. Yes, can you believe I am declining to write about something that bothered me??

Nat and company did great while I was gone, probably due to a highly detailed calendar I drew up for him. He was all smiles as he read it, so I guess that’s the magic formula these days. Little B didn’t even seem to know I had left, and Rasta Boy seemed his happy-go-lucky self. Ned was in good spirits when I walked in at 11:30 pm. I am glad it is the weekend so we can really catch up now.

Feeling a bit wrung out even though I went running and weeded the garden. I am trying to get Ned an amazing birthday present (I have some already but this thing he really wants, I don’t know a whole lot about, or where to buy it. I can’t tell you because he might read the blog). It is his 45th birthday on June 16. I remember baking cookies for him when he turned 19, and shipping them to him in New York. He told me that they were the best cookies he had ever had, that they tasted like they had molasses in them (they were oatmeal, his favorite). So if you want to wish Ned a happy birthday on the 16th, do so, and don’t forget the cookies!

Give me a head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shiny, gleaming, streaming
Flaxen, waxen.
–Hair, the most wonderful Broadway musical from the 60’s after Funny Girl

Yesterday I spent around four hours total (two before and two after dinner) putting dreadlocks into Max’s hair. We had found a great, informative site and researched how to segment, backcomb, twist, and wax the hair into bonafide dreads. This set of tasks was the result of a protracted conversation about this proposal, to further probe the outer limits of accepted hair style (he already has the fading remnants of a partial blue dye job).

Why did I let him, some may wonder. Because he wanted to, is the most simple response. Max has a very soft voice, both figuratively and metaphorically speaking; he does not put himself “out there,” unlike others in his family. Over the years, I have learned to pay close attention to his quiet expression of desires, feelings, and wants. Like his brother Nat, these moments come out when I least expect them, not as a result of a heart-to-heart or some well-thought-out plan; but rather, sitting side by side in the car while I concentrate on traffic. Or while I am in the middle of cooking two or three different dinners. Or blogging or coming up with a great kicker to an article. Nat’s and Max’s revealing moments are like the legendary green ray of light before sundown (referred to in an Eric Rohmer movie and Pirates 3); they happen in a flash, a heart-stopping gulp of time, and you are lucky to experience them at all.

It was not enough for Max to be 6′ 2″, drop-dead gorgeous, and have blue hair (now only slightly lavender pink in parts and bright blond in others). He wants to stand out even more. He wants this particular look, and who am I to say that it is not right? Not that it matters, but I think the short dreads look is kind of cute, whacky and innocent, somehow. A male happy-go-lucky Pippi Longstocking. Ned likened it to Sideshow Bob. Yes, but without the murderous tendencies, Thank God.

I would have drawn the line at tattoos, which are permanent and involve needles that may or may not be clean (I shudder at the thought of that, being a recovered OCD). Some piercings I would have also refused, but I am on thinner ground there. Each new idea he has about fashion, he brings to Ned and me and we talk about it for a while, over time. Some things we allow, some things, we don’t. One issue at a time.

While I worked, we talked and watched stuff on his Mac. We watched Steve Jobs introduce the iPhone at a conference. We talked technology (as users, not creators). We talked about Uru, hacking, calculators, funny television shows, and not-so-funny ones, like Lost and Heroes. He showed me some of Lost and I tried to get into it but that show freaks me out, I can’t help it. I just feel scared the whole time I’m watching, and who needs that?

I thought from time to time of the irony of never having had a little girl whose hair I could braid, etc., and here I was now, putting tiny little pigtails all over my very masculine son’s head. I thought about how I used to want to be a hair stylist, and how I would be good at it, I think. I liked holding onto his pink-blond locks, which were straight and soft and glossy like my favorite Barbie’s or Little Kiddle’s hair, and then teasing them into finger-sized dreads that then reminded me of toy Trolls’ (or Finks’) hair. The wax smelled good, like vanilla. Ned remarked as we were falling asleep, that I was like a vanilla candy bar.

I decided that what really mattered to me about this hair venture is that he keep the dreads clean and that he not actually be a “stoner,” though he may look like one to some. He will probably have to deal with people staring, or even treating him not so well. So this will be a learning experience for him, I suppose.

I did a furtive check of his email while he went upstairs to wash his hair with the special residue-free shampoo that prevents mildew(!) in the dreads. I felt horribly guilty but also intrigued. No signs of drug deals or being part of crime or porn rings. All he had was Uru stuff and facebook stuff. When he came downstairs I confessed to him, explaining it was my idea of a random drug check, and he forgave me, laughing softly.

We are here, we are here, we are here!
…A person’s a person, no matter how smallish.
Dr. Seuss, Horton Hears a Who

Ned and I managed to sneak out to dinner last night. We gave Nat his pills a little early to make sure he would be at his calmest, (per our doctor’s advice) and we talked to him about our plans all through dinner. We must have repeated the following conversation 20-30 times:

Nat: “Mommy and Daddy going out to dinner, come back at bedtime.”
Me: “That’s right, Nat, Mommy and Daddy are going out to dinner and we will be back by your bedtime.”
Nat: “Mommy and Daddy going out.”
Me: “Yes, Honey.”

Over and over. Finally I got so tired of this, and so annoyed, because it just didn’t seem to be sinking in or making him any calmer. In frustration, I flipped open my laptop and tried to block him out for a moment.

Nat suddenly said, “Listen.”

I looked up. He was staring right at me, those periwinkle blue eyes wide open.

He said it again. “Listen.”

My face was turning red, my heart, burning. “Yes, Nat, I’m listening.”

“Mommy and Daddy going out to dinner, come back at bedtime.”

“That’s right, Darling.”

He was fine last night.

Lest any of us forget, these children of ours who can’t always speak: they are here. 100%

Slaughtered, gutted and heartbroken.
But things could be worse.
–Squeeze

Today all I wanted to do is escape. I took two naps. I drank a ton of coffee, but no buzz was to be found. I ate all the carbs I felt like. I worked out for an hour. I busied myself with my presentations for my Sioux Falls conference this Thursday (I am going to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Augustana College’s conference, to be their keynote.) I got Ben a favorite playdate. I made them good healthy lunches. I figured out how Max could see John Hodgman speak at the sold-out Brookline High School graduation. I got Nat a different version of Alice in Wonderland and he and Ben watched together.

I am making this list so that you will see that I am not an awful person. But I feel like an awful person. I had no joy today. No fun. No pleasure in the teaming life surrounding me. I am worried about Nat. He is still having growly tantrums just about every day. Out of the blue. Or sometimes not out of the blue, but because we simply cannot stick to routines he would like us to. The front door must stay closed at all times, even when it is sweltering out. No one should sleep past 6:30 a.m, especially on Saturday and Sunday. All laundries must be done and put away. All dishes out of the sink. Everyone must eat lunch at the same time. Mommy and Daddy cannot go out at night.

But I need to go out. I need to be alone with Ned. I feel like I’m in prison again. I don’t know how to help Nat feel better and I feel like I can’t leave. Ever. Even when I do, I hold my stupid cell phone in my sweaty hand and check, check, check, afraid that whoever is left at home with Nat is going to need my help. I am so worried about going away to South Dakota Wednesday night. Will Ned feel overwhelmed? Will Nat be unhappy and inconsolable? He got that way when I went to Town Meeting last week. Town Meeting only lasts like 4 hours.

What happens to other people who feel they can never leave their homes or their kids? What happens when it is only the husband and wife who feel they can manage their child? What do single parents do when it gets like this?

They end up feeling like they have to take two naps a day and eat themselves into oblivion. They look at their spouses and think about sex but it seems like a distant dream. They feel weighted down, leaden, gray, shriveled, cold, sour, finished.

Flush this day right down the toilet! Where’s my bed?

A reader sent me this (thanks Mark!) and Ben, Max and I laughed our heads off! Max said, “OMG, Ben is a meme!” So now I know what a meme is.

You have come at the best of all the year
–Timmy Willie to Johnny Town Mouse, as he arrived in June for a visit to the country

C’est juin!!!!!

What could be better? My wise older sister once called June “the Saturday of all the months.” She is right. June means so many great things:
1) The beginning of summer
2) My roses bloom
3) School ends
4) Ned’s birthday
5) Special Olympics State Games
6) Average temperature: 75
7) Many Cape Cod visits
8) Father’s Day
9) The evening air smells sweet
10) Happy Nat
11) Cook outs

Conversation at my table right now:
“John is another name for a toilet, you know.” –Ben
“Ha ha ha ha, really?”–his friend, M
[munch munch munch on chocolate cookies — ah, the smell!]
“Is Mr. Dumb here?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha”
“Is Doncha here? Doncha Want Me To Poop On Ya?”
“Is God here? Gotta Fart?”
“Hahahahahaha”
“Let’s go upstairs and play.”
[they exit, leaving lots of milk and zero cookies behind them]

I just love the nine-year-old mind.

Speaking of which, here, FYI, is the column I did in today’s paper. It’s chock full of local minutiae so it might not be too accessible to everyone, but there’s a couple of good chuckles, I think.

Ad hoc, ad loc
Quid pro Quo
So little time
So much to know.
–The Nowhere Man, Yellow Submarine

Here is an article written by one of my closest friends. We have been activists together in our town and schools for more than ten years. I am so proud of how she manages to push consistently for her issues, and yet still remains a credible member of our School Committee and town. Sometimes her work may irritate people, as does mine. But we cheer each other on, and remind each other that it is not often a comfortable place, being an advocate for change.

It is hard work, calling people’s attention to something they don’t want to think about (they have their own crap to think about, after all) and trying gently to get them to care about one more thing. And not hate you for bearing that message! Everyone’s got their full plate, plus the newspapers add a second helping of stuff to worry about, so it is a lot to expect others to automatically care about our issues. I am convinced that people need to hear things, the same things, many, many times in different formats before they start to really absorb a message that is not of natural interest to them. I confess that issues other than disability take a while to get my attention. I think to myself, “Jeez, now I have to care about that?” when some new news item pops up. Well, that’s how the issue of disability comes across to those who don’t know from it. So it is up to us to find novel ways to grab some of that precious bandwidth and ultimately get others to care and do something to help.

One of my goals with this blog is to encourage you all to become a little publicly active in your situations, whether you are a parent of a child with a disability or a person with a disability. Or if you grapple with some other thing that draws you to these pages. (An overarching, deeper goal of mine is to encourage and exhort you to be who you are, proudly (whether autie, aspie, mommy, tinker, tailor, soldier, spy, bellydancer…)). The best thing you can do for yourself probably is to find a constructive way to express what goes on in your particular life and relate it to something larger out there. When you find and articulate that connecting point, you stand the chance of opening someone else’s eyes and making them think. Causing people to think about something anew and afresh is how you change the world, and God knows, it could use a few tweaks (no offense to God Above but, come on!). Gather with a few other parents and exchange stories; if you have a little more energy, start a group with them. Or write a letter to the editor; call your state rep. Talk about it, make your case special. The act of talking/writing/expressing constructively is cathartic and eye-opening. And we cannot go through this one life we are given with our eyes and mouths shut. There is too much to be done.

If you plant ice, you’re gonna harvest wind.
–GFD, Roll Away the Dew

Sometimes even a big guy needs a little nap… Max is putting in a lot of academic hours these days, what with an honors physics final today, and the state’s science test (the infamous MCAS) in a week. He came home yesterday and was just kind of hanging out with me, chatting while I finished up making reservations in Colorado(! Thanks to everyone who wrote me with ideas and suggestions and encouragement. We now have an aide who is going with Nat, so there will be an extra level of support. Ned has set me loose with two guidebooks and a map, and I have planned a great trip!)

In this picture, I was telling Max about where we were going to go in Colorado. “Cool,” he would answer. Eventually, though, he grew quiet and when I looked up, I saw he was sleeping. I IM’ed Ned (the one person I like IMing with because he never overdoes it and he goes slow) and told him, “Little Little is asleep!” He said to take a picture, so I did. Max didn’t even wake up!

When Max visits with me like that it makes my heart beat a little faster. I feel almost lightheaded with happiness that he wants to sit and talk to me. At times like that, it is so unforced and easy, with him just raising topic after topic while I work on my computer. I think perhaps he chooses those times subconsciously because I am not looking at him intently so it is less intense for him.

I guess that when my boys are adults they might look back and say how overly intense Mom was, how super-attached to them I was. Then again, sometimes I worry that I am not attached enough, because I need my space and I take it. Maybe they’ll say how uneven Mom was, thank God Dad was so steady! Or maybe they’ll think I was a lot of fun to be around, like my family, who are not all that steady in their moods, but mostly a real delight to be around.

But I just am what I am. C’est ca. I work around the boys, I nap in the middle of the living room while they talk and play. But I also just grab them and kiss them whenever I feel like it and they don’t seem to mind, or maybe they just think, “Yeah,that’s Mom.” Benj will say, “Mom, just call me Ben!” (instead of Little B or Beastie) and I’m trying, I really am! Ben is really growing up. Today we had an actual conversation about autism, about who in our lives is and who isn’t. He attended long enough for me to explain that there are different types, different levels, and that Nat has it a real lot, and that it is all about how your nerve cells (brain cells, whatever) are taking in information differently. I had the chance to reiterate that Nat is not stupid, as Ben would like to think, but that he has trouble getting out the right words and gets overloaded with stimuli. Ironically, Ben gets extremely upset if we use the wrong word or get a fact wrong or can’t guess what he’s talking about; but he himself is very careless with words and often not tuned into what we’re talking about. I try to use those moments when he is upset with me for that, to hammer the point home that this is how it feels for me! This is how it feels for Nat! Ben’s therapist says to use those moments to teach him. We do. But it takes a long time. We’re just planting the seeds; someday we’ll have a harvest. Provided I don’t under-water or over-fertilize.

Trying to build a family where everyone’s needs count, where everyone’s happy, takes a long time. But it is so worth the effort.

I think that email, I.M., and txt msging are all very satisfying to use in their own way, but they also have their limitations and there is an etiquette involved. The etiquette is different from face-to-face or phone conversations. I am fascinated with various forms of interacting and I wonder what it is that makes the differences.

Take the difference between a driving encounter and a face-to-face encounter. In our cars we are often by ourselves or just a loved one or two, and we feel completely sealed off from others. I think many of us (I am including me, unfortunately) kind of become someone else behind the wheel. I swear a lot more than in real life, for one thing. It seems that being closed off behind metal and glass I feel stronger and safer and yet, at the same time, more defensive and offensive. I assume the worst of people; someone who is going too slow is perhaps doing it to teach me a lesson? Someone who is tailgating me is giving me a message to go faster? I almost never think, “Oh, she is lost, so she is going too slow.” Or “He is nearsighted; or has no sense of distance; or he’s merely trying to read my bumper sticker.” Or is unaware of what he is doing. These days I am so aware of my bitchy driving habits (because my children and husband seem to tense up in the car when I drive) that I am trying harder to breathe, breathe, breathe.

In terms of email and IM, I find I love using email but I hate IM. I hate the intrusive immediacy of IM. You hardly get a chance to collect your thoughts when they have sent yet another under-capitalized message. Sometimes a whole new chain of conversation has started on their end and you’re still answering the first. It can get very confusing. Also, if you are silent for a while, they say, “Hello?” which always seems a little sad to me. Sometimes I’m just thinking! But the etiquette is such that you have to say, “hold on…” or something like that.

And how do you end an IM session? Sometimes the other person is deep into their thing with you and you realize Jon Stewart is on or your sweetheart is going up to bed and you absolutely must go to sleep at the same time or one will wake up the other. So many times, the other person is just chock full of I-Mergy and I am trying to break in, the way you can in a normal face-to-face conversation. One person I know was so oversensitive on IM that the minute I paused to think he would say, “Are u there?” And by the way, I also hate the abbreviations. I am too old and cranky to do that kind of stuff, I guess.

Recently Max showed me how to txt in my phone. Now that is really energy/time consuming! But I was having a “conversation” with someone and he stopped in the middle! The next day I asked him what was up and he said he had fallen asleep. In the middle of txting! Not even a gdnght. Is that rude, or is that the nature of txting? I have to ask Max.

GTG

Look at what Max discovered, and Ned just blogged! And we thought we were so good. My big question is, who got to eat it?? What is that fondant stuff, anyway? Why mix in raspberry or orange flavors? Doesn’t everyone know that you should not mix fruit with chocolate, it clashes! But still, oh wow, is this genius!!!

All you gotta do to join is to sing it the next time it comes around on the guitar.
–Arlo Guthrie, Alice’s Restaurant Massacree

Here is a good letter you all can copy and adapt to whatever situation is going on where you live. The only way to make changes is to make the changes happen. I am not Yogi Berra; this is true. One good way to raise consciousness is to write for your local paper. Raise the issues that piss you off. If you see school officials dissing special education, object. Tell the public instead about all the good special education does. Tell them any positive growth your own child has had because of your town’s efforts. Tell them people are not being “overdiagnosed,” they are now being picked up before they would otherwise slip through the cracks.

To the Editor:

I hope that there was a different context to [insert elected official or school administrator’s name] comments on special education (SPED) costs last meeting. It sounded as if the school department is beating up on special education, and the special needs families feel that as an extra hardship in their lives. What’s more, it makes no sense at all legally to imply we are not going to be able to sustain these cost increases much longer. We are legally required to. We are morally required to.

I’d like to see exactly where the SPED money goes as well, all the good it does. But the way it is presented in the budget time and again it is one big category, “Special Education.” Special Education is many many things: aides, adapted curricula, speech/language pathologists, reading specialists, learning center teachers, private placements, behavioral specialists, psychologists, excellent programs like [insert program name here], and the list goes on and on. I have been saying for years that what there should be is a presentation of the many different programs in special education and the good they have done. But [so-and-so’s] comments made it sound as if the school department resents those programs and their costs. By the way, why not the same breast-beating over the 12-15% increases in healthcare insurance for educators and town workers?

I would suggest that you try to set it right for your constituents and colleagues.

Sincerely [Disappointedly, I’m-Going-To-Run-Against-You-Next-Election],
You, the outraged.

Cape Cod boys they got no sleds, heave away! Heave away!
They go down hills on codfish heads
We are bound for Australia.
–Old Folk Song, I know the Weavers’ version

We snuck out at 8:30 last night to beat the Memorial Day traffic. I had the car loaded and ready by the time Max got back from Pirates 3 and our pizza had been digested. We breezed through Boston and the former Big Dig and sailed down 93 to Route 3, and only had some hassles around Duxbury where you lose a lane (the famous Massachusetts-type merge).

No traffic getting onto The Bridge except for a bunch of slow, awed drivers who were searching for their lost rotary (the one Mitt Romney got rid of, his one smart move as former governor). This was probably a lot of people’s first time onto The Cape since last summer, and the infamous Sagamore Bridge Rotary is no more.

Got to M & D’s house in no time, most of us nodding off inside the lulling car. A little bit of Arab music kept me awake for the final push and we rattled into the screened porch and on into the lovely little house. Nat grinning from ear to ear. Our summer was nearly here.

And this morning, my favorite thing in the whole world: waking up to a shiny blue sky on Cape Cod. I rode bikes with Max, saw the ocean, and got back to eager guys who also needed to get to that beach. Threw together some PB&J; for N, M, and B, and tuna for Nat and me, and Ned picked up snax at the Superette.

No lines, and the park ranger let us in free.

So we spent 3 1/2 hours by the sea, even went in because it was so hot — but the water was frigid! Still, Ben got used to it and played in the waves. I just basked in it all.

And now summer has officially begun.

Benj’s third grade teacher was also his second grade teacher. They kept the classs together for two years because they had done so well with her and third grade curriculum was new to her. She is a total youngster, young enough to be my daughter, yet she was a pro from the start. She is very centered, very wise, and a lovely woman, too. Libby is getting married at the end of this school year, so the parents decided to throw her a bridal shower that the kids could be a part of.

I am one of the room parents, so I went with another mom to Tiffany’s and we bought her champagne flutes and a crystal apple with the money we had collected from the parents. We also got decorations (a white lace parasol, rose petals, candy kisses, fake gold rings for all the kids!) and we decorated the beautiful cafeteria. That is not an oxymoron. I say “beautiful cafeteria” with all seriousness. The kids’ school is the pride of the town, built in the early 1990’s to replace a falling down old thing. This whole part of town was renewed because of the school and the dynamo principal who reigned for as many years. It is a gorgeous building, designed by architect Graham Gund to fit in with the 19th century neighborhood, so it is brick, lots of windows, and a slate roof! The cafeteria is a renovated carriage house, also from the 19th century, with long palladian windows all around it. So we were able to make a beautifully decorated place for her, all white streamers and stuff.

The kids were so excited and we all hid and yelled “Surprise” when she came in! Her fiance was also there. We had cake and juice and I wrote a song for her:

Lovely Libby
(sung to the tune of “Lovely Rita,” by The Beatles)

Lovely Libby
Teacher-Made
Where would we be without you?
We gave you our kids
Such things you did with them!

Met her when
They were just tiny
Thought her smile was always shiny
Told her we would really like her to teach them again

Got her for third
We knew we’d made it
Our kids’ success was truly fated
Sitting in the classroom with Ms. Brent, too!

Oh, Lovely Libby
Teacher-Made
Nothing can come between us
We move to grade four
We’ll always adore — YOU!!

I think she was very pleased with the whole thing. I know we have been more than pleased with her. She has taken Ben by the hand and gently led him into academic and social success. She understands him, she adores him, and she doesn’t take any crap from him, either. I will really miss her when he starts fourth grade and I know deep down in his little tough guy heart, Ben will, too. Good teachers make the world go round.

Do other people feel lucky this time of year? I look out the green-filled window, the trees outlined in early morning sunlight and I feel such a strong sense of wellbeing and possibility. There’s a mild, pleasant pressure in my middle which I believe is the physiological expression of anticipation. In other words: yay, spring!

Yesterday was a solidly wonderful day. People say, “When it rains, it pours,” and that is so true. Why is it that a day like that is filled with fun and happy surprises, and other days are just such drek? Randomness of the universe? I think that’s a pretty inefficient way to run things, myself. If I could advise God, I would tell Him/Her/* that he needs to step in every now and then and set things right, stick to his plan. But perhaps God is a Libra, and also experiences shifts and multiple points of view? The more I think about it, this must be the case, because of the utter beauty of the world, and also the utter chaos and flakiness. And of course, there is the delphinium, which is not only proof that God exists, but that * is deeply steeped in a knowledge of Beauty. (Note to readers: just because I, too, am a Libra, please don’t construe that I am becoming manic. It is only that I am most familiar with this sign, it being my own, and thus my construct of God would fit most easily with that, with what is in my own head. We all have to imagine God based on our own minds, to some degree.)

Enuf of dat! I ain’t no theologian, for God’s sake. I was merely trying to express how taken I am, year after year, with late May. Why is it so lovely? Why? What’s the Point? So I figure, the Point is, to make us gasp in delight every so often just that we are alive. We get to see this, we get to live this. Pity the Martians, who have to live on some reddish, rocky thing all year round. Sure, they think it’s beautiful. But we know they are wrong. And they are all Aries, by the way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it is the opposite of Libra.

I have not flipped my lid, I am just sitting here drinking that coffee of mine, making myself laugh even before my eyes have de-puffed. I am happy for a few reasons, unrelated to the soft green light outside.

First of all, I had a long talk with Dad yesterday, one of our finest in a while, where he did his Dad thing and said stuff like, “This is a golden opportunity for Nat! Wow, how great for him! I’m jealous.” And “You guys — it almost doesn’t matter which ruins you see, which town you’re in — you are going to have the time of your life because it will be so different from what you always do!” And “You and Laura also didn’t want to do things; we just made you try them and then you were glad you did.” He made me laugh and smile and feel strong.

Second, I found an aide to go with Nat to his camp, one of our longtime sitters, a former teacher of his, a very dear girl (well, she is a woman, actually) who loves my kids, zits and all. She is excited to do this, and she will provide us with that extra level of support and that familiar tie to home for Nat.

Third, I taught a bellydance class for the first time. A friend of mine teaches in a local studio and she asked me to round up some friends to do intro to bellydance, so I did. Only three of them came, in the end, but those three were so into it! I had written up a lesson plan and burned a class CD, and so I was fully prepared. All I wanted to do was give them the joy of bellydance, the understanding that this is different from many things we have been exposed to because there is so much body acceptance involved, and a few basic moves. I brought hip scarves and veils and showed them some basic isolations and traveling steps, and also the principal of intro, middle, and end of a dance piece.

We had so much fun. We went out to dinner afterwards, to a local restaurant I have never been to, but have wanted to try. We had drinks and appetizers for dinner, and a really nice time. We were all in our bellydance clothes and even kept on our hipscarves, because they were so excited to be wearing them. There is something magical and empowering about tying one of those around your hips. You automatically feel like a different person, a dancer. Confident, strong, beautiful.

The owner of the studio then asked me to teach a series of classes next time! I am so excited about that. I have been studying this religiously for a year now, which doesn’t seem all that long for becoming a teacher, but maybe it is enough for conveying the most important aspects of Raks Sharki, bellydance: there is no right and wrong, only better form. Perhaps God, with all the inconsistencies and ups and downs and startling beauty in the Universe, is also a bellydancer.

Keys to the universe are no-fail items or activities that always, always either do what they are supposed to do or always, always make me happy.

1) Pepto Bismol. When you eat like a freak, the way I do, it’s a wonderful thing to have around.
2) Gel nails. They last two weeks and cost the same as a regular manicure.
3) Atkins Endulge chocolate caramel candy bar. Tastes just like a Snickers but is only 2 grams carb. See item #1, however, if you eat more than one!
4) Fage yogurt. It tastes like sour cream (mmmmmmm) but is no fat and only 3 grams carb. a serving. You get it at Trader Joe’s.
5) Putting on belly dance costumes.
6) Book contracts.
7) My push lawn mower. Works great, needs no stupid gas, and my boys can mow the lawn with it without injury, knock wood.
8) Working out with R. Always full of laffs and gozz about town politics.
9) The Middle East in Cambridge, of course.
10) Catmint and sedum. They grow anywhere and look pretty.
11) Kissing any one of the following faces: Nat, Max, Ben.
12) Helping a parent whose kid is newly diagnosed figure things out
13) Realizing my children have good senses of humor
14) Ned’s poetry (it is rare but it is incredible)

I am feeling a little better today. I appreciated all the comments on my previous post, encouraging me to go ahead with our original plan, and one person, I think is was Em’s Mom (lucky Em!) suggested I send an aide along with Natty Boy/Man. So I’m asking his teachers, but of course that would mean they would have to take off a week of work. D’oh. I need to find some good respite types again, since I am no longer relying on Mr. Maxi Million, who got so spooked last time.

It’s just that I am not thrilled with the Colorado thing, either. I don’t want to offend anyone, it’s just that it’s not my favorite culture. Although I love, love, love the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and read them something like four times, including once to Max. I love the clothes of the West, the bustiers and the cowboy hats and boots, and I love horseback riding. But — when I look for places to stay, for the most part they are unexciting kinds of motel 8. I want a gorgeous resort so that I can feel pampered, and I want Max to have WiFi. Does anyone know of beautiful places to stay in the towns of Salida, Pueblo, and Durango? Aspen was not a problem; it was too expensive, in fact!

(There’s no pleasing me. I want things “just in the middle,” Do you know that joke? All I remember is the punchline: “Lady, kiss my *ss. Not too much to the left, not too much to the right, but Just In The Middle!”)

What I really, really want to do is take the boys to Greece, to Santorini, that amazing place with the white buildings going up the mountain and the blue sky and the Aegean Sea. But — not this year, I guess.

Seriously, I welcome suggestions of things to do, but only in Colorado. I do not want to stray further than 4 hours from Nat during that week, aide or not. Oh, Sweet Guy!!!!!!!

Also, no more advice on how I need to let go and let him breathe, my dears. I will NOT be doing that any time soon. That is my hardest life lesson: letting go. And that boy is very, very tenacious. And I’m a Jewish Mama!!!

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I love Wednesdays because there is a lot of bellydance. I have the morning class at my gym, with a young and lithe teacher; and my evening class with my original teacher and my new bellydance buddy, L. L is like a dream come true. She is tall, gorgeous, about the same level as me at bellydance, she has a kid and is nearly my age. She is kind, openhearted, generous, and lots of fun. So I am totally psyched for class tonight and the Middle East afterwards with L and another dancer we know. I could use the break from planning this trip!

This post was poorly written and perhaps kind of idiotic. I apologize.

I spent a few hours poring over my guidebooks but the thing is I am just not psyched. My heart isn’t in it. I guess it is because of Nat, mostly; not knowing how he will feel about our leaving him in camp. If he is sad about it, I can’t bear it. I could write the mother of all Nat books, which Ned said to me as I drifted off to sleep last night. But what if it doesn’t help? What about the unforeseen outburst over not knowing where his dirty socks should go, or if he’s afraid at night but doesn’t know how to say it so he just yells. ARGH. You sign on for motherhood, thinking only of plump rosy babies and dirty diapers, and you never realize how much more it is. It’s language-impaired teenagers who are lonely but don’t realize it. It’s not knowing how much more your boy wants out of life, but just kind of resigns himself to a vaguely painful existence. I am not complaining, I am observing. Well, maybe I’m bemoaning.

And then there’s the rest of it. I began to get excited because I found a place called Comanche National Grasslands, a park in Southeastern Colorado where there are huge dinosaur footprints, and you can’t even get to them unless you are on foot or on horseback. So I figured we’d ride! But Max and Ben don’t want to.

They do want to go to Mesa Verde, but I’ve been there two or three times. I guess the thing is I am not that excited about mountainous vistas, rivers, lakes, tall pines, etc. I’m a beach girl. I love the ocean.

Nat loves the ocean, too.

So why am I sending him to a camp way the heck out there away from everything he’s ever known and loved?

Maybe I won’t do it.