Susan Senator

What a day. Mostly good, because there was so much pink involved. I got a sparkly pink pedicure, and pink-tinged French manicure. I wore my new pink Anthro sweater, a tiny little thing with silver flower buttons. Tonight I will dance in pink.

I am preparing for my birthday. But one bad thing, not at all pink: I got into a red rage with a close friend. Terrible.

I was on my way to pick up Nat, and this thing just erupted, all while on my pink cell phone. I was pink-cheeked and swollen-eyed by the time I got to the House. But seeing Nat made me feel much better. That, and listening to Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon. A friend of Ben’s had borrowed it (!) and gave it back to me at pick-up at the school. My Arabic CDs were in my Baby Bellies bag, so I had some slots left in my CD player, so in it went. My car filled with unbelievable music. Nat LOVED it. I played the song Dark Side three times. All that you love, all that you hate… All that you slight, and everyone you fight…Went along excruciatingly, flamingly well with my recent argument. Sigh.

So when we got to the song, Up up up up up up up up And Down down down down down down down down… And after all, we’re only round and round and round and round and round…
I was enunciating the words markedly so that Nat would really hear them. I had a feeling that he would especially like that one, because the words are so discernible and the concept is so stark. I was right. “You want to hear this, Nat, or should I turn it off?”

“You want to hear this.”

“Who wants to hear this?”

“I want to hear this.”

I. It’s something that is so necessary to know, and so difficult to teach. But my darling has finally mastered it. It’s like my pink Grandma used to say (the one who always wore pink, and who called me, “Darlink.” The fat one who was a Taurus and loved me to death. The one who, miles away in Florida, while near death, heard me saying, ‘Don’t die, Grandma. It’s too soon, too soon.’ And she didn’t. She gave me the chance to come down there one more time and say good bye.)

Pink Grandma used to say, “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just a little slow.” And when I think about how happy a guy Nat is, where just a ride in my car makes him grin his cute head off, and there I go, zooming around, hanging up on people, crashing into things, making so many mistakes in my life, I think, well, maybe slow is a really great way to be.

Got not much to say. I think a lot about teaching these days, but I’m afraid to say too much in case any of my students actually read this blog. The thing that is fascinating is, no matter how much I plan for a given lesson, there are always so many questions, and things I did not consider! I kind of play a game with myself, trying to psych it out, and figure out what they are going to pick out that is unclear or needs to change.

Yesterday was the midterm exam. I spent about an hour designing my one essay question. Me, the writer, just sitting there deleting and re-writing, worrying and wondering if this was just right (the format, the clarity, the extent of material covered). I thought about the length, the sources. I thought about how to make it fair but tough.

So I get there with my brilliantly spelled out essay question, I even put it on the board as I always do for those who need to see it in a different way from just on paper, I left 5 minutes at the beginning to read it through with them.

Wouldn’t you know it? There was question after question. Also, there was so much renegotiating! “We can’t do the group we already wrote about?!” and “Three pages single spaced or double? What?! Single is SO long!!!” and on and on.

All good points. I had to think and rethink my entire test. I stuck to my guns on most of it, but for things that made sense their way, I allowed it to change.

That is how I teach. I go in with a lesson plan and in-class work, but there is always something unforeseen. Teaching (at least for me) is dynamic and ephemeral; I always have to think on my feet and process quickly, making sure that I am 1) answering their concerns; 2) adequately covering the material; 3) engaging their attention; 4) maintaining my credibility; 5) keeping them on-task. And on and on. It is exhausting. I don’t know how “real” teachers do it, with 8 periods a day and more than 19 kids in a class.

My kids really want to be there. They seem to be extremely motivated, even though many of them have rather complicated lives, whether they are from another part of the world, or work full-time(!) or struggle with one thing or another.

I just adore them, and I don’t know when I’ve had as much fun. But on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I just collapse by 5. Lots of take-out this year. Utterly delicious, mind-consuming days.

Now that I am finished with my class’s midterm exam, I can go back to my book. I thank all of you who wrote me such wonderful things about your lives, and your children! I have learned so much, and I have been trying to incorporate most of what I’ve received.

The chapter I am most interested in now is about you, yourself, and your happiness. How do you (the singular form of “you”) find ways to enjoy yourself, sans enfants? Without children, without partners? What is your most fun thing to do as an adult, when you get the chance? Even if it is “daydreaming while my kid eats sand,” that is what I want to know. There has to be something you do, even for a few moments, that makes you feel good and strong again.

For example, I talk a lot about discovering bellydancing and how that has made such a huge change in how I feel about myself, my life. It is an escape that I can plunge into, just by putting on a sparkly skirt and some Egyptian pop music.

So I want to know what other autism parents are doing, that is, just for themselves. Do you write? Are you a poet? An artist? An actor? A blogger? A runner? A cook? A reader? A polker player? A People Magazine fanatic? A bathroom-scrubber? A phone-gabber? Think, all of you, and tell me how you have figured out what makes you smile (that is NOT about your kids!!!)… Okay, even if the thing you do is about your kids, tell me that!!

What do you do for yourself when you are not doing your autism parent thing?

I can’t wait to find out!

1) A new jar of peanut butter with the swirl smiling innocently in the smooth middle, and getting to be the first to stick my knife into it.
2) Another bright yellow and orange and green mid-fall morning.
3) Little boy still asleep and still little.
4) The gigantic confident man who has replaced my other little boy, living his entire secret life behind a closed door covered with stickers and hostile signs leftover from pre-adolesence, also still asleep.
5) Lesson plan finished and thorough.
6) The absence of pain in my right foot.
7) Head clear and no longer cloudy with sad.
8) Coffee with snowy sweet foam
9) Anticipating Baby Bellies this afternoon
10) Laughing with Ned at something bizarre on YouTube, from our childhood.

Soda cans and dirty plates lie lazily in the sink,
enjoying their own sticky odors like filthy children
joyful three days without a bath
A breakfast of English muffin, not the stale sameness of Big Bird yellow eggs
because I felt like it.

Your drawers are left open
where you crammed your clothes in, so that your pants hang outside
I can see your long legs filling them.

And the TV cabinet is closed
The clashing colors of your videos are now hidden
Peace to my eyes, sadness to yours.
My handbag sits with open mouth and zipper teeth gaping
hungry and stupid, waiting to be fed
Like us, bright shiny family of four.

There is freedom with you gone.
My house, my self, can relax
But the languid ease of your absence
The sloppiness of Normal
Is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to bear.

“He looks just like you,” the woman said to me as we stood on line at the Dunkin’ Donuts. I was having that lumpy, bleak, empty feeling I get when I’m taking Nat back to his House, which was why I was delaying that moment at the Dunkin’ Donuts. The cloying coffee smell did not make me feel any better.

“Yeah, a blond Me,” I mumbled.

“How you doin’?” she asked Nat.

I prompted him to answer. “Nat, she asked you how you were doing.”

“I’m good,” Nat replied. I patted his arm, waiting for that awkward moment when she or her daughter to would notice Something Else about Nat.

She turned to me and said, in a lowered voice, “Is he autistic? My mom worked with autistic people, so I’ve been around them all my life. They’re human like everyone else, you know.”

I bristled a little when she said that but then I could see her eyes tearing up, and her tone was loving and warm, so I realized she only meant this kindly and reassuringly.

“I know,” I murmured, smiling at her and at her teenage daughter, who had been staring at Nat. I could see that I did not have to worry about what her stares might turn into once she took a gander at Nat bouncing around and flapping his hand, whispering to himself. I adore him the most when he’s doing that, because then I know he is happy and comfortable; but others often don’t see it that way.

This woman did. We talked for awhile (the line was long). I really liked her. She told me that her Blue Cross Blue Shield, where she worked, had hired several autistic people when they had graduated from Nat’s school (nearby). I never thought I’d say this but, “Hooray for an insurance company!!” This gave me alot of hope that Nat, too, would be able to hang onto his job once he left his school in three years. They already love him there, because he is so thorough and complete in his work.

She got her coffee and left, shaking my hand and saying it was so nice talking with me. When it was our turn, the woman behind the counter shouted, “Next!” I spoke up, ordering Nat’s blueberry muffin for him, as I always have done his whole life.

The guy at the cash register must not have realized we’d already been helped, though. “What can I get you?” he asked Nat.

“Blueberry muffin,” Nat answered before I could.

“Great job!” said two voices at once: mine and the woman behind the counter.

I smiled at her, realizing that she probably knew him because this was likely the Dunkin’ Donuts-reward mecca for his entire school. Or maybe she knew Something Else about Nat, and she, too, had a clue.

“How you doin,’ Buddy?” she asked Nat.

“Good,” he answered.

“Great. You take care,” she said to him as we walked out.

I left with a full heart and a tight throat because I could see that Nat really does take care of himself, and just as wonderful, many unknown others take care of him, too. That Nat. He really is something else.

My birthday is not until next Saturday but my family could not be here on the 18th. Since they all had a three-day weekend, they came up on Friday. Nat was also home for the long weekend, so it was a really satisfying and complete gathering.

Ned asked me on Thursday what we had planned, and then he answered for me: “Oh yeah, when your family is here, all you guys do is exercise, eat, drink coffee, and talk!” Sounds good to me. That is my idea of a perfect weekend.

And exercise, eat, drink coffee, and talk we did. I went for a three-mile run with my (71-year-old) Dad, who actually ran four miles, feeling especially energetic. That’s Dad for you. Mom, Laura, and Nat went on a long walk, ending up at Starbucks for — you guessed it — more coffee. Turns out Nat loves the way Laura drinks her lattes: nonfat milk, no sugar. Benj and Kimmie stayed home in their own little cousins cocoon, and Ned played with them when he could, but his (unnamed) laptop allowed him more access.

For dinner the adults (so to speak) went to my favorite restaurant, and ate until we were bursting out of our clothes (well, I will just speak for myself. I was trying to wear my beautiful red silk shirt from Anthropologie that I got for my Brookline book party at Emily’s, and suffice it to say, I ain’t no 17 inches no more.) Just lovely (the meal, that is).

The next day, after exercise, we walked into Coolidge Corner to my favorite cake store, Party Favors, and I picked out 9 fabulous cupcakes, with the famous inch-thick frosting. We all loved them except for Laura, who doesn’t like chocolate! She got a pecan tart, and shared it with Nat, who had also had fudge and a cupcake and probably gained not an ounce.

So good, and gorgeously decorated. See for yourself.

Finally, some public accommodations for autistics! Sensory-friendly movies! I am so psyched about this. Although there are no theaters offering this in Boston yet, there are some all over the country. What makes this so great is that it is a sign of growing awareness of other needs in society.

This way of thinking is also an incentive for families to get outside and live their lives, with their families intact. The more people who “get it,” because they are exposed to disability and difference, the more enriched all of our lives can be. Less staring, less ridicule; more welcoming, and more learning.

What I’d like to see is more of this kind of common sense everywhere. I remember when we took all three boys to see the theater production of the Lion King, and when I mentioned Nat’s autism and possible noisiness, we were given the option of buying tickets that were accommodated to any disability. I don’t remember if they were special seats near aisles (for hasty tantrum-driven exits) or special performance days. Although we didn’t avail ourselves of that option, we felt more welcome there because they had offered that. (By the way, I was so proud of them that night — they were so well-behaved and because they so clearly enjoyed the show — that my head nearly exploded.)

Now I’m thinking of taking Nat to see the Bellydance Superstars perform at the Arlington Regent Theater in early December when they tour again. (Sonia, pictured at right, is giving a workshop here at that point and I will take it. Sonia specializes in the art of the drum solo!!!) As you know, the BDSS are my favorite BD performers, and they put on a gorgeous show, with music that transports you. It’s amazing how I don’t even think about “will he be okay? will he need to leave?” anymore, knock wood.

To get tickets for three to the Bellydance Superstars: $60

To be at a point in the life of our family where I can take Nat anywhere he and I want to go: priceless.

Out of the night,

When the full moon is bright

Comes a horseman known as Zorro.

This bold renegade

Carves a “Z” with his blade

A “Z” that stands for Zorro.

Zorro —

The fox so cunning and free

Zorro —

He makes the sign of the Z!

Out of my sight,
Is my “Baby Delight”
He’s a young man known as Natty
This tall kid so dear
Fills up hearts everywhere
The young man known as Natty

Natty —
The guy who’s stunning and sweet
Natty —
His cornbread is a treat!

(Thank you, Ali, for the gorgeous pictures!!!)

Today I had another column in the Newsweek/WashPost joint website called “On Faith.” It is about how we can find Hell and Heaven in this life, right now. I wrote about how a doctor’s assessment of Nat as being “retarded,” made me think deeply about what labels mean.

I’m sitting here watching the Debate. I already know who I’m voting for, but I’m trying to encourage the boys to be interested in current events. I had to explain economics to Benj today, and I think he understood more than I did about it!

This is not a politics blog. This is a life blog. So I will let you all make up your own minds and I will hope for the best.

Want to know something really great that happened? Yesterday Benj had an assignment to draw what a 20th – 21st century archeological layer would look like; what kind of artifacts would a person from the future find and learn about our era? So Ben drew a disco ball, for the 1970’s; a game console for the 1990’s; a car; John McCain’s casket (I don’t make these things up); an iPod; and a beaker that read, “Cure for Autism.”

I did not realize that he felt that way. I did not believe, until now, that he even cared about the state of Nat’s disability. I can’t believe that I was so unseeing.

But suddenly I understood so much. I think that Ben’s anger at Nat has actually not been anger at Nat. It’s been anger about Nat. I think he has been sad and angry and disgusted with the fact that his relationship with Nat is so poor. I am NOT “blaming autism,” nor am I putting the blame on Nat, God knows.

Who do I blame? Do I blame God, for allowing a child to be so unprepared for this complicated world? Do I blame the world, for not understanding the beautiful gifts Nat has as the person he is, for seeing him only as limited? Do I blame myself, for not being able to find the approach that would raise his reading level or increase his word count?

There is no one to blame. It just is. It is unfair that Ben feels that he has nothing with Nat. I have tried to show him all the things Nat can do, but what Ben wants is to have a brother he can relate to, not a brother he has to work so hard to understand.

I feel so bad for him. But I am also so glad that he is thinking and feeling about how things could be better for him, for Nat, and people like Nat. I know that people don’t have to be rid of autism to be happy and successful, but Ben doesn’t believe that — yet.

What Ben doesn’t know is that despite his profound feelings of loss, he has already learned so much about people, about limitations, and about what love feels like. Someday he will realize that he has two wonderful brothers, each full of potential, whether that beaker gets filled or not.

There are some topics I wonder/obsess about, that I am interested in including in my book. The book is aimed at autism parents, but it is not strictly about parenting. It is more about finding happiness while parenting. I have talked to tons of people, but I still want to know the following, and feel free to send me your thoughts in a private email. Always let me know if I have permission to quote you in the book, and to mention your child’s name and your state/country.

Here goes:

What do you think of the concept of the Autism Spectrum? Do you find the wide spectrum a helpful, applicable and relevant concept for your child and for your family’s needs?

Do you think that diagnoses are most of the time accurate when kids first get them? (I mean the first formal diagnosis of ASD) Did your child’s diagnosis change in one way or another since then? To what do you attribute that? (faulty diagnosis? something you did that helped? something else?)

Aside from finding a cure, if that is what you wish for, what else do you wish researchers would work on, or what is most needed to make your life easier (education approaches; bona fide mainstream medical establishment research into the alternative biomed strategies like GF-CF, omega 3, and chelation; funding for family support; generous insurance; you tell me …?)

Do you want to say anything about the earliest days, how you first knew about the oldest child’s autism? What helped you, or what was not helpful (stuff your doctor told you, something a family member did or said, etc.)?

Also, do you go out with your friends much? How do you manage it? Do you have family to help? Sitters? A respite worker? How did you find them?

How are things feeling with your spouse?

Do you all go on vacations together? How do you do that? Anything you have learned that makes it easier?

What fun things do you do with your kids?

Are you happy (you, yourself, not in terms of anything or anyone else) a) most of the time?
b) some of the time? c) almost never?

Why do you think that is the case?

Do you have a parent who would like to say something about having an autistic grandchild and what was helpful to know about that grandchild? Please have them contact me, if so.

In the beginning, there was Chaos. A morass of ideas and hot air colliding and mixing in my brain. I guess I have had two very off years. Since the end of my book tour (beginning of 2006), I have felt kind of aimless. Sure, I’ve gotten things done, like learning bellydance, writing Dirt, some articles, essays, and of course, creating this blog (on paper and off). But I feel like I was doing those things haphazardly, in a whirlwind of activity and impulse. I think I was trying to escape painful things, some emotional and some professional.

But now — at the risk of giving myself a kinna hurra — I have been feeling a new sense of purpose and vision. Continuing with my incredible new ability to compartmentalize and focus on the one thing I really need to do at that given moment. I have been able to do my lesson plans ahead of time, my school newsletter, and lately, to write my book! Why does that always amaze me?

I am still accustomed to thinking of myself as a bubblehead, probably from years of not knowing what I was doing with myself other than raising children. I had always intended to have a Career, and that is what I always wanted, too. So I think I felt like a failure for all of the early childhood years. But in my late thirties and early forties, I have begun to have real evidence that I am not. Maybe I’m a little fizzy, or frizzy, but overall, that myth has been deconstructed. The bubble has popped. I have had some fine times mothering them. The best times where those moments when I really did what I wanted to do with the boyz, without worrying about if it was what you’re supposed to do or not. Like take them to the mall with me just to have them with me, strapped into strollers so that they couldn’t do any harm. So that I could have their company in an easy way (Max and Nat really tolerated my clothes shopping very well.) and not have to play kiddie games. Kiddie games were not my strong suit. To my deepest regret, I always felt a huge yawn growing in my throat whenever a child asked me to “Pway wif” him. Now of course my heart seizes when I think of that idiotic young me! Passing up a chance to play choo-choo (Max), or pretend something with Lego characters (Ben) or look in wonder at lined up Fischer Price dolls (Nat) ! Oh, my cute, cute, now-too-old Darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

But one thing I do do well (Hah, I said ‘doo-doo!’) is those kind of warm comfortable homey things like stuff that you make. I always liked Max’s Dr. Dreadful kits, where you could mix gelatin (which would be named “guts” or “bone mix”) with water and pour it into monster molds and get monster parts to eat. We also love baking special birthday cakes. And we love making costumes! Yesterday I spent a lot of time putting the finishing touches on Ben’s Kafei costume (I kept thinking, “Kafei Canum,” wondering how to make it into a joke). Ned and Ben did the Pikachu-like mask, and it is most awesome. Max’s hooded cape (his choice is to be Simon from Gurren Lagaan, who saved the universe and then just walked away, but lived among everyone in his hooded disguise) is also all done, and I also put together Nat’s Zorro costume for his House Halloween party, which was yesterday. (Nat always wants to be Zorro, so every year his costume must be adjusted. This year I made the mask myself, while DeAnnie, a staffer at the House drew on the dashing mustache.)

Thanks to my new clarity, the book is really taking shape. I now have a decent Prologue and first chapter, as well as the fourth and fifth chapters done. I had to do the fourth and fifth for my proposal, so they’ve been kind of done for a while. But having finished the first chapter is a real milestone because it must take you through the beginning, the thesis, the first examples, and also set up the structure and content of the book. The Prologue is important in that it grabs the reader, pulls him in, and then reveals for the first time, in one poignant and brief portrait, the book’s heart.

So it’s like all I want to do is my work: making stuff with my kids, teaching my other kids, and making my book. It also feels like play.

It is as if my muse/psyche/God has finally said, “Let there be light.”

And I see that it is Good.

I may have to rename this computer. Ben just suggested “Twilight Princess,” from the Legend of Zelda, a name that I like even better than Sirius White. That’s because I feel that this may be more of a female-type of machine, softer and more beautiful than I first thought. Sirius White is clever and cerebral. Well, that’s not really me, now, is it?

Come to think o’ it, this might be a great Halloween cossie for someone. Why not? I’ve already done Ben’s and Max’s and Nat’s!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
me likey sirius white

It seems like every time I talk to Nat on the phone lately, he’s kind of sad. I might be reading into what he’s doing, as I am prone to do, but I feel that when he talks to me, all of his longing for home comes up. He does very well apart from this; Ali tells me that when they are outside together and the wind blows in his face, he giggles. He is also doing a lot of purchasing with her at the grocery store — extremely well — and all kinds of chores and fun around the House. Walks with K, running with B, movies, dinners out.

When he’s here he is also very on. He is aware of everyone, and very interested in what we are doing. This past Monday we went down to my parents’ house for Rosh HaShanah and we had a traditional Jewish dinner (chicken soup, chicken, matzah balls, gefilte fish, tsimmis, challah). Nat was terrific. He said prayers along with his brothers. He waited patiently for us to finish the soup and all the foods he does not eat. He was sweet and a pleasure to be with. In Temple he was riveted to the Rabbi the entire time. He was following along the service with his prayer book, and he was smiling and exhibiting absolutely zero behaviors (I’m getting ready to write about that, definitely).

So it is strange how he has been with me on the phone. He starts out strong: “Who’s this? How are you, I’m fine.” And then he answers questions I ask him about his day, and he volunteers information about things he enjoyed that day. But suddenly, by the end of our conversation, his voice gets very small and shaky. He starts repeating himself: “Friday, home. Saturday, Halloween party. Friday, home.”

I always respond, “Yes, Nat, Friday you’ll be home. Saturday you are going back to the House for the Halloween party. You’re going to be Zorro, right?”

“Right, yes.” And then, “Friday, home.” His voice gets tinier and tinier, and shaky. I start to feel that pang, that ghost of doubt rising from my belly and clouding up my eyes. Is he okay? Is he lonely? Does he get it? Is it finally sinking in, that he’s living there now, for the most part? Is he sad?

I can’t bear that. But I have to.

But I know he’s not sad, for the most part. There is so much I know, and every day that knowledge covers me like a blanket. Nat is in good hands, and his ability to talk to us, and tell us real things about his day, as well as his good-natured willingness to do things with the House people proves that.

It’s just when there’s that little voice; then my heart connects with his, and that cord is still there in spirit, my firstborn, child of my soul. My brave young man.

Does the crisp, clean air of fall clear the mind of foggy, humid, dazed thoughts of summer? I think so. For I have never felt so focused, so organized. I think it’s because I have a job outside the home for the first time in 19 years. Because of that, there are things that I must get done on certain days because the other days are taken up with working downtown at Suffolk. In between those kinds of house-and-kid related chores there is writing the book and of course, working out and catching up with friends. I have never had to be so regimented, and I like it.

Yesterday I found myself in Peet’s while waiting for a lunch with a friend whom I wanted to interview. I had my new laptop (which I am typing on right now), and I was aware of how organized I felt, watching the time, watching the parking meter, not wasting time with emailing or, well, blogging.

I thought to myself: I feel so grown-up, in a good way. It is all so purposeful, so serious. I realized that the crispness of the new laptop helped me feel that way: the keys are so flat and springy; the new mail program is so finely drawn; the screen has no fingerprints; the color is so uniform. The white, the white, the white, the white!

And then I had it: Serious. Serious. It’s all so serious… My mind, jumpy as it is, associated to “Serious Black,” because Ned and Ben are racing to finish the Harry Potters (ain’t Sirius a sexy devil?). I then thought: Sirius Black... Serious Black went to Serious White…

And then…

Then I was laughing and laughing. My new computer’s name is Sirius White. Sure, it makes sense: serious new life, named after a wizard of dubious background, who had to prove himself and ended up being a beautiful hero, Harry’s godfather. Sirius White replaces Precious, turns up on the scene looking like a nouveau riche, an upstart, a wanna be. But slowly, I am impressed by my new laptop’s capabilities, such as taking pictures, being very fast, and having letters on the keycaps. Perhaps there is something to this new MacBook other than apparent superficially sleek style. Perhaps Sirius White is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, a whole new phase in my life, after all. Maybe he’ll even be able to fight off the Dementors..

Here are a couple of demented Dementors.
Expecto-rate Petronus!

Typing away on the big old Dell…
Of course, the lack of Precious frees me up so much (when God closes a door, He opens a window, or Windows, as the case may be).

So yesterday was a Boys day. Max had been sick Friday night, (unbeknownst to Ned and me, who were at the Ben Folds concert at the Orpheum Theater downtown. Ben Folds is Ned’s favorite. I love him, too. He’s a very angry piano-rocker, of the Elton John/Billy Joel mode, but for this generation. Listen to “Landed,” and you will know what I mean.

We were, of course, the oldest people in the theater. No matter, we made friends with the kids next to us. We were just loving the tunes, as the youngsters say, when the worst thing that can happen to parent out on the town happened: the cell phone buzzed, and it read: “Home.”

We could not hear so finally I had to run, run, run, outside, screaming into the phone, “What? Max, text us, okay?” I get the text: i threw up.
We determined how he now was, and what to do. He was okay after the one episode, thank God.

Next day was, therefore, a day to be home (no friends or girlfriends). We decided it would be a costume day for M and B. Max needed a long, voluminous brown cape. Ben, a Kafei costume. We looked at cosplay. com and found a forum that explained how to make a pikachu-like mask out of model magic. Ben and I figured out the rest, and off we went to Joanne fabrics, the four of us, to find stuff.

For Ben’s, I had already bought some blue sweats, a blue top, and a white top, all to cut up into the shapes of the costume. At the fabric store we bought interfacing to stiffen the decorative flaps on the top; fabric paint to decorate, a plain plastic mask and model magic, brown felt for the yoke of the top, and a purple wig that we would style later on. “Are you sure you know how to do that, Mom?” Ben kept asking at each step of the operation. “Cause, no offense, I’ve seen some of the stuff you make.”

It was decided that Ned would make the mask with him.

I then bought a “simple” McCall’s pattern and 7 yeards of fabric for Max’s cape, which spilled like a river of brown corduroy, spreading all the way from the entry hall to the livingroom. Max cut out the pattern pieces from the tissue paper and had his first introduction to the strange and archaic language of sewing. “Why do they use such delicate paper?” and “This is utterly incomprehensible!” and “What is a nap?” and so on. He kept saying that “the virtual world is so much better than the real, physical world,” which alarmed me. “What are you going to be, a hermit?” I asked. “It’s true, this world is not perfect. But in the virtual world, you can’t touch something…” Then I let it drop, and just now I remembered when Max was a toddler and how he would refuse any cookie that had the slightest imperfection: “I want the fixed one,” he would say. So, okay, I get it.

But sewing is strange, and yet it is wonderful. You start with this mass of flat fabric, and as you lay out and pin and snip, you start to get shapes that are more manageable and that make sense. I told him about how when you sew, you can call upon the Spirit of Irving to help you. He smiled at that. My Grandpa Irving Senator was a tailor, and he could make the most beautiful alterations. He fixed anything, using the tiniest scraps of thread, or “cotton,” as he called it, letting not a thing go to waste. He would sit at my fancy sewing machine, and turn the wheel by hand, which is the way his old machines worked, and I would tell him over and over that the wheel only went one way and it was powered by a motor. “See, Grandpa?!” I’d ask in a barely-controlled panic. He’d nod and then do it his way. But actually the machine never broke.

I showed Max how the pieces would fit together, and suddenly he started saying how he was going to have a huge awesome cape. We decided to stop when all the pieces were cut — even though Ben wanted to continue onto the painting and the gluing and the making of the bell sleeves of his costume. I told him you have to stop when you’re tired or you start to make mistakes.

We all settled down to watch some stand-up comedy on Comedy Central, all of us content that it had been a day of purpose and success.

Precious has died. Long live the Queen.

I am using B’s huge PC desktop, the one that Max built for him. I get my email at most twice a day, because it is such a pain. Twice a day! Me! Actually, it is good for me. I get an idea of what it is like to sit in the livingroom and just sit in the livingroom, sitting, just, living. In the room.

Coincidentally, I had just gotten my contract, literally (no pun intended) — the actual three copies to be signed and returned to Shambhala — and then Precious blacked out. She was just holding on until the next new phase could begin, bless her artificial soul. Ben actually cried. I got a little emotional myself. I have been through so much with that computer! I wrote MPWA on it. I began this blog on it. I developed an email obsession on it. I wrote Dirt on it. And I conceived the new book concept on it.

Now that Precious has expired, I found out that we had not been backing up all my shit on a regular basis. So, after many attempts on Max’s part to resucitate (all kinds of old Mac boxes exhumed from the third floor, a panicked call to Mac Repairs Ipswich, thick white aorta-like power cords, hook ups from one laptop to another for transfusions, and then waiting, listening in horror, while her fan roared awake to a black screen, and then a strange high-pitched moan followed.) we had to bring her in for major surgery — really more like an organ donation at the site of the death — to get her heart and some of her brain out. Her memories are full of all my important stuff: email addresses, conversations with friends, loved ones, publishers, editors, agents, kids’ teachers. Jeez. When the “genius” at the Apple Genius Bar told me that “We might not be able to get to your hard drive stuff if it is truly fried,” I felt my stomach drop. “Neddy!” I cried into my cell phone, “They might not be able to do it!!!”

“They will, Sweetie, don’t worry.” If Neddy says so, then it will be so.

As long as we pay them $150. Plus they did not give us the Educator’s discount because I was not there when he and Max bought the new MacBook. So that is like $250 that Apple screwed out of me. Apple doesn’t need that money! And I could have bought a gorgeous bag to go with the New Laptop (whom I will name when it is clear what that name should be, if anything. It seems kind of lacking a personality, so clean, so white, all the letters right there on the keys, and the screen is a horrible stretched-out rectangle rather than Precious’ pretty little square shape (she was an iBook G4, which they no longer make)!! And by the way, if they can make all those colors in an iPod, then why can’t they offer their Macs in colors? What’s so great about white, black, or God forbid, stainless (which is akin to saying your favorite color is “clear,” which is funny but also sad).

What’s their problem? Something rotten in the core there.

The people that you meet
When you’re walking down the street
They’re the people that you meet each day!
— Sesame Street

I feel I need to devote a blog post to the people in my life, rather than the objects, who are also Keys to the Universe; no-fail relationships, people that pretty much always do what I hope for. They are people I do not really know very well, but I’m always happy to see them. (I am probably not going to list obvious loved ones — Ned, the boyz, Mom, Dad, Laura, et al., because those relationships are eminently satisfying and also at times deeply frustrating, but completely necessary to my most colorful happiness.)

1) The shoe repair man on Alton Place. It is a less-well-known fact that I am incredibly hard on my shoes. When I love a pair of shoes, I wear them all the time and, trust me, they never have a rubbery or resilient sole. They are often simply pretty and therefore ephemeral in their structure. So to my little shoe repair man, I say, shoes off to you for always restoring my chausseurs to their original appeal.

2) The dred-locked Barista at Peet’s on Harvard Street. She never remembers my name, but who cares? I’ve given her made-up names before, so she allows me to be “Lilia” at times. Anyway, she makes me my high-maintenance drink, as foamy as I need it to be, every time.

3) The dry-cleaner on High Street. He is unfailingly cheerful, and always gets out every single stain, can sew anything, even foil-wraps my delicate buttons, and never shrinks anything.

4) The guys at Pizza Stop, Cypress. Where would an exhausted mom be without weekly pizza take-out? And now, when I call up and say, “I’d like some pizzas delivered,” they immediately say, “What would you like, Dear?” and then they ask if it’s me, just to be sure, and then they help me remember Ned’s complicated toppings. They say, “half an hour,” and it’s always less.

5) The crossing guard policeman at Cypress and Walnut. He is so careful with all the precious little people who cross by him, and also doesn’t make me wait too long when I need to make my left turn in my car.

6) My mailman. After he delivers the mail, he takes a long jog through the neighborhood. He also stores some of his things on my porch because it feels safe to him.

7) The tree guy, Dave, from Hartney-Greymont. He knows how to give me more sun, and he always asks about Nat.

8) The guys at Family Restaurant. They make my Greek salad exactly the way I need it to be: romaine, rather than iceberg, (what’s the point of iceberg, folks? it is like scrunched up paper and cold water.) They are the best-natured guys in the world: I can imitate them, and they have a really funny sign outside, and they never get mad if I laugh at it.

9) The cat outside the Institute of Psychoanalysis in Washington Square. He/she/it is black with faint dirty rust markings and his meow is rusty, as well. He is one of those love sponge cats who just wants to walk in figure eights around your ankles. I always say, “There’s that funny cat that I love! Hello, Sweetie!”
“Squeeeeeeeeeow”

10) The guy who packs bags and brings back carts at Stop & Shop, the French guy. He knows how to pack exactly the way I like it, as if he knows the very layout of my cabinets. He puts pasta with cookies; tuna with kidney beans; all fruit together; ice cream with Purdue Done It, which I freeze, cereal and nothing but cereal. No tiny bottles of spice forgotten and thrown away, hidden in the rumpled the bottom of a bag of freezer goods. Once he followed me out and unloaded my stuff for me. I’m sorry I forgot his name at the moment, this happens to me more and more lately. It’s at the tip of my tongue.