Susan Senator

And you, Pharaonics navy blue spiraling jewels, may be my next Bhuz purchase…
Really, now, how could I not?

Going to New Jersey (Laura’s) for Thanksgiving, so today we begin our trip by heading to Connecticut, to M & D’s first. We’re going as soon as the pie is done and also as soon as I’ve xeroxed the Lincoln Lines and distributed it. Also, as soon as I’ve packed. (None of them pack. It’s always me, and because of that attitude, it always will be.) I was hoping to work out, because I don’t know when I will next, but I doubt that will happen (besides, my hair is behaving and sweat would ruin that).

Last night we had C & W, perhaps our oldest friends, for dinner with their radiant little boy. They now live in Florida, so it’s been a while. I made meatballs with spicy pork I had frozen left over from my birthday party. They were bland, but still good. Also lots of wine — they like red, we like white, so each couple had their own bottle. And three different Ben & Jerry’s — Ned’s favorite is Chunky Monkey, (banana and chocolate chunks, too bad about the walnuts) so I had a few bites of that, but not too much. I bought Half-baked with cookie dough and brownie mix chunks (!) for the boys and peanut butter cup as the default. (I must admit to nicking a few chunks of peanut butter cup as well. So incredibly good!!)

It’s one of those relationships where as soon as they walked in we fell right back into conversation as if we’d just seen each other yesterday. A is the same as always, sharp witted and funny, on the opposite end of the political spectrum from me in some ways, nose-to-nose in others. C looked beautiful, and there was a lot of news to catch up on. She teaches aerobics and we talked about the idea of combining our talents and wishes to have our own studio. But how? She’s way down their in Florida, and I’m up here! I’m going to visit her in February and maybe we’ll find a way. If any of you have an idea that doesn’t involve moving, let me know!

Benj played with their little guy the whole time, even though M is half Ben’s age! M is a bright and chatty little boy and interested in the same exact video games as Benj somehow. So, a match made in heaven. Nat was nearby, and there was a lot of giddy silly talk and fast walking, the latter of which is sometimes a precedent to mischievous behavior, but we are not in a phase like that (knock wood) and my heart goes out to Lisa in Nawlins who is, right now. (Trust me, Lisa, it will pass, and you will still find fun and happiness during this time!)

I’m thinking of getting Beast a 504 plan so that his teachers will know to accommodate him in certain ways academically. I wish I could instruct them not to give him assignments that force him to write about mushy emotions, that just throws him. He gets in the blackest moods whenever he is asked to “write about something you are grateful for.” “LAME!” he says. Ah, Little B.

But I — Mushster that I am — love that assignment, so here is mine:

I am grateful for my friends A & C
Also Ruth, Lisa, Miriam, Beth
W and E
College friends John A, Bruce, Danny
Paul and NancyBea
And newest friends, Don and Sonny
And of course, for Nat, Max and B
For L, J, K, and P
B & A, Grandma O, S & E, Y and P
I love love love my M & D
Brookline Schools
Brookline pols
my therapist and Ben’s Dr. P

I love all my readers who are friends
I hope your kindness never ends
Thank you ASD Mom, Autismville, Teresa, Maddy,
Jan, Jen, Melinda, Lisa, Tina G
Also big thanks to Guy Rude
You must know he really is a lovely dude

I love Silly Talk (hoom, heem, and feen)
And Daffy Laughies and sideways hair
And overgrown beards I adore
Large stinky Vans
Left to fester near the door

I am grateful for Atkins Diet
If you want to lose quickly, you should try it
I am also grateful for carbs like bread
cake, ice cream, and the fact that Ned
is not a carbie

I am grateful Max once bought me a Barbie

I am grateful for bellydance
and that my abs no longer cause a jelly-trance
I am so thankful for Arabic pop
Especially Natacha Atlas and Hakim
Who send me over the top

I am grateful for love, laughter, and life
And of course to God
Who made me Ned’s wife

I wish happiness to all of you out there
Who may have just a little too much to bear
Be good to yourselves
Be good to each other
That’s about all
I intended to cover.

I am so excited because I am going to write about the Baby Bellies class — the ups and the downs — alongside how Benj did “Kids as Teachers” one day in his fourth grade class. Sort of compare my experience as a hapless BD teacher of little Jewels, Ben’s experience, and Ben’s teacher’s vast experience as a decades-long veteran from Brookline Public Schools.

Oy, Baby Bellies. They are so sweet, so scattered. There, like nowhere else, I have learned a bit about not taking myself too seriously, a great lesson for me. As two of them split off from the group and just fooled around on the gym mats wearing their trays on their heads, I felt the dusty, dry mouthful of frustration today, but I stood there, regrouped, and got over it.

I had that same feeling in my class yesterday as I tried to master a hip lift traveling step with alternating sexy hands. It looked fantastic when Najmat did it, but on me, it’s like I have a headache or I’m saluting or something. Lisa wanted us to do it together in the Middle East last night, and I tried, but I was pretty embarrassed. I’m much better with things on my head, I guess.

I feel I have to apologize about writing so much about bellydance, it can’t possibly interest that many people, but it is in some ways my guilty pleasure. There is a part of me that feels I shouldn’t be doing it, I shouldn’t be enjoying myself so much while people in the world are starving, that kind of thing. I feel like why doesn’t every woman know about this and do it? Doesn’t everyone want to feel good? But I know that is simplistic. Everyone finds their own ways of feeling good — hopefully.

One of the main ideas I want you to get out of reading this blog is that life is for us. We are here, I believe, due to randomness but also due to Someone’s sufferance. I am not a religious freak (I am not all that religious) but I do feel some kind of presence sometimes that is kind of holding me up, loving me, helping me. Call it what you will.

So there is something about movement in a certain way that raises my endorphins and my adrenaline, all those nice scientific words, and reaches my mouth and makes me smile. Or maybe it is the connection between my eyes and Ned’s or Nat’s (my main audience). They are watching me with interest, and every now and then Ned let’s go a “wow!” or “Very sinuous.” Ned appears to be a small complimenter, until suddenly he lets loose with something like, “You are the deluxe model woman,” or calls me “Face!”

I think that as long as you can keep surprising each other and taking one another’s breath away every now and then, you will continue to have a good marriage. We stumble upon things that startle one another into taking another look. Like pretending we just met, at a party, like the other night. Or the poems he has written me over the years. Or when I make him something with bacon or coconut in it.

I think the dancing takes my own breath away.

Last night we went to a birthday party of two friends who proudly proclaimed they were turning forty this month. (Aww, only forty! How cute!) They had rented out a room in a club in Boston, hired a DJ, and made the theme be ’80’s. (I guess the ’80’s has some allure to the young folks; having come of age in the ’80’s I can tell you it was a cultural/musical/fashion wasteland. Big hair, big shoulders, flats and Madonna eyemakeup, Cyndi Lauper, Boy George, DuranDuran, Michael Jackson…)

I was in a bad mood beforehand because I did not know what to wear that would be both flattering and ’80’s like. I started out in a long frothy lavender tulle ballet skirt, pink lingerie top and bronze wedge platforms, only to realize this was utterly wrong (it was just that I really really felt like wearing all that! And I still have not worn those shoes!). I pulled out a black miniskirt and black stockings, pointy black stillettos, huge pink plastic earrings, and clipped my hair back so that it rose over my forehead. Blacked my eyes like a raccoon, blah blah blah, Ned’s jean jacket with rolled up sleeves, and — voila! I was Stockard Channing meets Desperately Seeking Susan (remember that movie??). Ned met the costume requirements by putting on a polo and flipping up the collar.

We asked the boys if they wanted to go, since kids were welcome. Nat did, so after a discussion with him about what he would wear:
“Nat, how about this new shirt [flowing beautiful blue polo]?”
“No new shirt.” [Why? Because of the tags all over it that I should have cut beforehand! Damn you, tags!]
“Nat, you have to change [out of the Special Olympics shirt] because this one is dirty.” [and smells like an Israeli bus]
So Nat pulls out another tee shirt and it is — Special Olympics! Sigh. But still — so cute, what does it matter? Teenage boys have — and shall forever insist on — their own idea of what to wear.

The party was excellent, despite all preliminary nervousness. The food was yummy – bouquets of chocolate-dipped fruit, lots of wine, cheese-filled something-or-others. Lots of people I had met before, so it was easy to mingle. My friend Michelle/Najmat performed, so Nat saw his first (real) bellydancer! She is my favorite bellydancer, I think, which is why I am now taking classes from her.

And the ’80’s dancing was — fun! I learned a line dance from a 12 twelve year old girl and I relearned the Macarena. Nat and I danced a lot — he did a lot of hopping, flapping and grinning, and I did bellydance in spikey heels (what a pair we are). Sometimes Ned and I danced and once, just for fun, we pretended we had just met. I highly recommend it, especially for couples who have been together a long, long time.

Sonny, Yesterday my life was filled with rain
Sonny, You purred at me and really eased the pain
–Bobby Hebb (and me)

My friend Don did a real mitzvah yesterday. He offered me his cat Sonny on a trial basis. He saw that I was sad about the whole Guardianship process for Nat, the whole transition that is starting, and he loaned me his kitty. I had never met Don face-to-face; he was a friend of a friend who got to know me through my blog, and I through his.

So Sonny came home, as Shawn Colvin would say, although there’s no arson going on here, thank God, knock wood. I spent yesterday (aside from being with my parents and Benji’s class for a turkey-less Thanksgiving feast) with Sonny, getting to know him. I gave him his little stinky food (Ocean Whitefish, a cat with sophisticated tastes), his kibbles, his water, and showed him where his litter box was (Max’s bathroom, behind the clawfoot tub, next to the radiator).

My right eye blew up and my left elbow crease erupted in hives. (A few hours after taking Claritin I was back to normal, and attended the Shriver Kids-Special Olympics-Eunice Kennedy Shriver forum at the Kennedy Library. I had a second row seat, behind Larry Lucchino and Ted Kennedy. I made friends with Phyllis Karas, who wrote The Onassis Women, and was there for People Magazine. I loved hearing Eunice K-S talk about how not only incredible luck and familial love, but also adversity and witnessing the sting of rejection (on behalf of Rosie) forged her vision and determination. I want to get inside her head and write about her and Rosie somehow, bouncing off me and Nat.)

Don assured me that all Sonny would want is a lap to purr in. This is true! He has determined that I am the Momma, and he comes to me, purring, and kneading me as if I had kitty milk in my thigh. But in order to continue with this relationship, one would have to keep cats entertained as they get bored real easily. Hence, if you want it hanging around you, you could indulge in Cat World to get to know all the ways you could keep it happy.

Nat is skittish around him. He thinks the name of the cat is, “No Cat.” We have tried to tell him that Sonny is just a little furry friend, and little by little Nat is relaxing around him. It’s funny how scared he is of Sonny!

Max likes him but declined holding him. 🙁 But he is very friendly to him, which is nice.

The best part is how Benj loves him. Sonny settled next to him on the yellow couch and Ben smiled and smiled! He also slept in Ben’s room most of the night. At 4 a.m. there was a cat-based disturbance, so I went downstairs to sleep with him on the couch for a few hours, to get him to leave the rest of them alone, and to give him the lap extraordinaire: Me in jammies, under blankets, asleep and warm.

It is adorable and poignant beyond words. So here are some pictures.

Tonight in Boston there is an event for Special Olympics, honoring its founder, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, at the JFK Library. Maria Shriver, and her brothers Mark, Anthony, and Robert. will be part of a forum on the Special Olympics movement. Their brother Tim could not attend, which is too bad because he’s the actual CEO of Special O — and a friend.

Our local NPR station asked me to do a commentary for them as part of their coverage of this event. I am attending the event as a member of the press, and I am very, very excited about it. It is no secret how much I love SO for what they have done for Natty’s life. Last night Ned and I went into the studio at WBUR and I did my fourth commentary for them; this time, on what Special Olympics has meant to us as a family. (Interestingly, for the last three years on Nat’s birthday WBUR has asked me to do a commentary! I get very busy writing around Nat’s birthday, and do some of my best stuff because, well, you know.)

Ned brought some live audio from a race of Nat’s, and the engineer fit it into the broadcast for Morning Edition. You can listen here. Or just read it, but it is worth the click.

I sometimes wonder what was going through Eunice Kennedy Shriver’s head when she came up with the idea of Special Olympics and turned her backyard in 1962 into a summer camp for disabled kids.

They say it was for Rosemary, her older, learning disabled sister. That Eunice saw how difficult things were for her and was inspired by her struggle, and that she also saw that including Rosie with the right support worked out well.

It is certainly true that having a disabled person in your life can really alter your perspective. You become very familiar with the dark underside of the world, the realm of “can’t do” and “will never be.”

My son is autistic, and I have been jamming my foot into closing doors all his life. From the renowned doctor who shrugged and pronounced him “retarded,” to the synagogue that would not let him have a Sabbath bar mitzvah, to the local principal who was afraid to have him attend her school.

One day, however, a door swung open wide where we least expected it: sports. Nat, at age elevn, tried a gymnastics class run by Special Olympics. The coach was inexperienced with autism but full of energy and patience. She worked him hard and got him to the State Games that summer. We experienced the odd sensation of feeling both proud of our son and of being able to trust others with him. Then at fourteen, Nat learned how to swim, on the local Special Olympics swim team, and it was the first time he ever seemed to look forward to something. “Swim races, swim races,” he would say over and over, with a huge grin. Now, at eighteen, Special Olympics taught him how to be a part of a basketball team.

Our life with Nat is often very hard, but at his sporting events it is not. There, he’s just another team member playing his hardest. Nat is just one of the guys, and we are like everyone else. There is no “can’t” in Special Olympics. Whether she knew it or not back then, I think this is what Eunice Kennedy had in mind when she set up that daycamp. Even though the Special Olympics athlete’s pledge is “let me be brave,” the stunning thing about Special Olympics is, we parents don’t have to be.

I was able to crawl out of my black hole this morning and squint at the bright daylight and yellow leaves and think, like Dido, “It’s not so bad, it’s not so bad.”

My boy is all grown up. Eighteen years old. A man. Long, gangly, hairy arms and a beard on his face. But I went into his room before he was fully awake and I kissed and kissed him and it was like putting my lips on cake.

And speaking of cake…
Nat chose a Duncan Hines yellow cake and chocolate frosting. Benj made Nat’s cake. Ben. Yes, Ben. Well, I helped. And so did Nat. And of course there were ulterior motives, but let’s not get into that. He was really, really sweet. He was grumbling about what Nat liked as if it was all so dumb, but he kept on working at it and telling us his ideas. He had the idea of adding a rectangle of vanilla frosting on top of the chocolate frosting! Genius. Sweet B!!!!

We woke up with a bang this morning. No, not that kind! A real loud noise, like something fell over downstairs. We were scared, so we went together to check it out. For some reason, a picture had fallen off the playroom mantle and had knocked over to other things. We could not figure out why. I said, “Is Ghostie back?” And Ned said, “Maybe.”

I wonder why she is back? Our houseghost was always a benevolent presence, if a little mischievous. She seemed fond of hanging out on the second floor hallway and front staircase landing. Once Ned looked up and saw me coming down those stairs. He looked again, and there was nobody there. Another few times Little Tiny Benj complained about a “little blue ghost with a silver hat” in his room, which we think was the fire hydrant outside. But still. He constructed a ghostcatcher to get rid of it, and we thought it worked.

Until now. It could be that they were a pair, or that we have a new one? Or else it was a vibration from the heat going on. Uh-huh. I think whoever it is wants to wish Nat a happy birthday! Just next time, let us sleep a little later, okay? Boo-tiful.

My solution to feeling utterly overwhelmed by the upcoming 18…

See my Tabblo>

(Note: Nat’s birthday is not until Thursdsay, the 15th, but as you see, it is with me now.)

What else You got?

And now —
The birthday they all wait for
The Big One
Teenager shrugs into Adult clothing but somehow it fits
Votedrinkdrivemarrygraduate
Leaveletgo

Pen on paper, scratching lines into my face and my heart
until I am bleeding ink
And instead —
he is mine forever.

But, well, he always was.

Ned and I took a friend out to dinner last night, at one of our favorite places in the South End. Even our drinks were beautiful!

What do I do? What would he like? How do I make this birthday special for him?
He said, “frosting. Birfday cake.”
Ned said, “What color frosting?”
Nat said, “Chocolate and vanilla, chocolate and vanilla. Bake Nat’s birfday cake now, yes.”
Ned said, “We could make him a cake every day this week?”
I said, “I could.”
I have bought him one book, National Geographic’s Planet Ocean, a huge tome of simple questions everyone wants to know about the sea, with gorgeous glossy photographs and answers.
I am thinking about renting a moonbounce, and having one or two of his friends, but it is cold out.
On his birfday I will be like clockwork. All meals served and cleaned up on time, all family members seated on time, using salt, eating correctly.
I will probably play a certain song that was on my labor tape and cry a lot, remembering. But not while he’s around, because he hates it when I cry.
I will try to guess his silly talk, because lately that makes him laugh and laugh.
I will look at his baby pictures and the video of his bris with him.
His teachers will throw a big party for him in school and invite other classrooms to attend.
I will hug and kiss him a lot.

I had lunch with a friend yesterday and we got to talking about feelings, and what they really feel like. It was surprising to me to realize that I never actually simply feel my feelings, without attaching some kind of context, explanation, and most likely, action to them. What is it like to just feel feelings? What do they feel like?

I have run the full gamut of feelings in the last few days, because of a series of unfortunate events and the time of year (see book), and so it was an interesting exercise to me to figure out what I was feeling and when, what was that like in my body, rather than focusing on why I was feeling it, and what to do about it. Giving myself the time to simply be aware of emotions and feelings is a way of taking care of myself.

Here is a catalog of what I discovered, in terms of what my feelings feel like and where they tend to reside in my body.

Happiness: warm, sleepy, still, dreamy, present, covers, pillows, bath, soft, around the mouth and nose
Anger: on the edge of something strong, in belly and throat, also behind the eyes
Sadness: a silvery pulling downwards from throat to chest/heart
Confusion: masks sadness and anger, deep inside head and behind the eyes, forced space between thoughts

What do you think? (Feel?)

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know where I’m a-gonna go
When the volcano blows.
— Jimmy Buffet

The other day, I heard Nat whispering, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know where…volcano.”
I said, “Nat! I know that song!” and startled him out of his Parrot Head world by singing the Jimmy Buffet song to him.
“No ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,'” he said, but he was laughing.
Ah, Nat, your mouth says “No” but your eyes say, “Yes, yes!” So I kept singing it, and he kept laughing. Max looked on, smiling. Ben was quiet.

We just do what we can to be happy. In the end, there is only oneself and loved ones to rely on. Though we may find others to help us and to connect with us, ultimately, they are few. I think in some ways Nat doesn’t know that at all, and in some ways, he knows it better than anyone. Full-blown autism can be like pure self-ishness (in a non-pejorative sense, meaning, that it is all about the self, almost like solipsism ) and on the other hand, autism can be a kind of pure self-lessness, whereby one is utterly dependent on, or at the mercy of, the forces around one.

The solution to my Time problem (I lack a crucial fifteen minute transition time from Ben’s therapy ending to Nat’s coming home) is that I am not going to hire some fabulous young person who will figure out just how to be Nat’s buddy, keep him calm and happy for those fifteen minutes. I met two people yesterday, and even though they were kind and smart and willing, I just did not feel that I could entrust the situation to them. Call me a clinging mother but I would rather do the job myself and be all tired out but certain everyone else is alright, than let go and let God. Or let go and let Northeastern Students. I know, I know, one day Nat’s not going to have me around, but I — evil genius that I am — I am working on never dying. But then — oh shit — that would mean I would have to experience my loved ones dying one day. Okay, that’s not going to happen, either. Seriously, how in the world do I solve this one? How do I prepare Nat, Max, Ben, or me for that day?

Don’t think about it, is what we all say (unless we are Buddhists or something). When Benj realized I was going to die one day, the tears splashing his milky cheeks were delicious drops I wanted to revel in. I told him not to think about it, but that yeah, it was true. But a long way off. He said, “What’s the point?”

“To live and be happy while you can is the point.”

The trick here is that nothing huge is going to get resolved in a few days. I find that to become ready for big letting-go-type things with Nat, it’s as if an ocean has to pass over me first. Wave after wave of experience and event must thunder past me and over me, and I have to learn how to first tread water and then to actually swim in the stuff.

Extended metaphors aside, I ain’t ready and neither were those students. So, I worked out a solution with Ben’s therapist, whom I adore. (She looks a bit like Laura, small and scholarly, and smart and caring. She also wears terrific little jackets. Anyway, Ben loves her and I know exactly why.) So we all flexed a little, and here I am at home with two of my sons and the seas are calm, for now.

But I don’t know, I don’t know…

Trouble with the Baby Bellies is, I don’t know what progress is supposed to look like. I don’t know what my goals should be for them, or how to get them there, or how to judge if they are there. This is the same thing I felt about Nat, way back when he was first diagnosed. No one could tell me what he was capable of, what level he was in any area. I was to use my intuition, guided by knowledge, and decide for myself what approach worked and what did not.

That is a lot to put on a parent, but that is why when you sign on for that job, you’d better be a mensch, at least some of the time.

I signed on to be a bellydance teacher, and I want to be a bellydance teacher, but I have very little teaching experience. I am used to giving talks, lecturing, or else teaching my own children. Having an interactive class is new for me. I would like to become a better teacher.

The Baby Bellies are first and second grade, allegedly neurotypical. But I could not reach them today. I almost could not engage one of them at all, and another disappointed me by clowning a lot. I didn’t want to be too much of a firm presence because this is supposed to be optional for them, pure fun. But maybe next week I will be a bit more demanding because maybe they will find it more fun if they are made to focus and progress. Which brings me back to the beginning…

That’s all I’m asking for. I need those 15 minutes on Wednesdays so I can get Ben home from therapy with a few minutes’ buffer before Nat gets home from school. Lately the driver had been bringing Nat home at 3:45, getting him 15 minutes late from school, and this had worked out perfectly for Ben and me. Prior to that, Ben had been getting very anxious about going to therapy, because he was afraid we’d be home late for Nat and Nat would have a tantrum in the bus if I was not there.

The school administration seems pissed off now because I did the 15-minute buffer thing. So now I have to go back to the 3:30 drop-off, and find a way to appease both Ben and Nat. I think I am about to hire a young man studying to be a physical therapist to come and work with Nat as a buddy. Maybe he can get to our house at 3:30 and bring Nat inside, before I get home with Ben. But then, of course, I’ll be stressed worrying that the new helper won’t be able to handle Nat on his own.

Where’s Max in all this? Off with his friends. That’s as it should be. Yes, I could ask him to do this for me, but actually he gets scared by Nat’s tantrums, as big as he is. It isn’t about size. It’s about not knowing what, exactly, to do. It is upsetting for everyone. I don’t want that for Max.

So in this game of who has to pay for it, who has to take the punch, it will always be me, because I’m the mother. I’m the one who gives the biggest shit, so they’ve got me by the balls, and believe me, I’ve got huge metaphorical ones. Yeah, I’m pissed. I need a more understanding world; anyone know where I can find one?

Today it really looks as if there were no more vember. There is only a raw, sticky rain, the kind that pulls down the remaining leaves and mashes them into the ground.

So what did I do on such an ugly day? I bellydanced for three hours, at a workshop given by Bellydance Superstar Rachel Brice. For those of you who don’t know, Rachel Brice is probably the number one tribal-style bellydancer anywhere. Tribal is an American contemporary dance form, derived from gypsy, Indian, and other forms and melded into bellydance. You get a lot of sinuous snakelike and very slow movements to music that sounds like garbage cans clanking around in a puddle. It is very freaky in some ways; the girls often wear hairpieces of rasta-braids, beads, ribbons, and feathers, and belts of cowrie shells and lots of metal. Tatoos abound, especially on backs and bellies.

Rachel Brice is a fantastic teacher, who knows exactly how to describe how a movement should feel. “Squoosh your right ribs together like an accordian, and stretch your left ribs up. Then, holding that, shoulders move straight out, to the right. As they start to go up, pull your right ribs up, up, up, and then squoosh your left ribs together.” This is the “sidewinder,” a fabulous torso figure 8. She has you do this for several minutes at a time, thoroughly drilling it in. She is really funny and warm, and walks around the room stroking backs that are too tense, and pointing into spines that are too curved.

We had only one 20 minute lunch break, and some yoga stretching before and after. The rest of the time we were doing Mayas (reverse verticle hip 8s), Omis (interior hip circles), hip locks on the up and on down, chest slides and chest circles, shoulder rolls, arms (a disaster) and glute squeezes. The glute squeezes were so funny looking (it is just what it sounds like: you squeeze one side of your tush by contracting only that muscle, and then the other side) that Rachel played merry-go-round music to the exercise, to let us know that it was silly and not to worry if we couldn’t get it exactly right.

My hair was dripping wet when we were through. I drank two bottles of water and ate two little candy bars when I got home. The good news is, my hips hurt less now than they did this morning! That’s because we did so many good stretches and because Rachel showed us every single move generating from obliques and low abdominals, rather than from hips. So now my hips don’t have to lie, cry, pop, or die.

And tonight, the Bellydance Superstars are doing a show, and we are going! Rachel Brice, Sonia, Petite Jemillah — all my favorites. I am totally psyched. And at least Ned will be happy to see Petite and her adorable little pout. Lets us forget the lack of vember outside.

Our town has finally gotten its act together regarding special needs kids and fun. Our Parks and Rec Department is huge, their budget is as well, (I say this as a former jealous School Board member. Not that our budget was small! But because our town splits school and town pretty much down the middle, which is largely a good thing because it guarantees a good budget to the schools, the problem is that the School Board does not like to ask for more when they need it, unless they really, really have to, so they often do without if they can. And so, nice programs get cut. Then I look at all that Parks and Rec has and does and I would get jealous. It’s probably an irrational reaction. I actually believe our town is well-run, as towns go. They just need a little more of a clue when it comes to special needs children.) and they have an entire booklet of activities offered to people of all ages. But for years the special needs parents I hang around with have been feeling overlooked. Most of us just cannot access the typical programs, even if they say they accommodate. They don’t have the right mentality when it comes to our kids. They see our kids as a burden or worse. So we often feel we need to be separate but equal. We believe in inclusion when you can do it, but sometimes inclusion should simply mean, “included in the offerings within the town.” And when you look around at towns nearby, similar to ours, like Newton and Belmont, you see that there are a wealth of interesting recreational programs offered to special needs people.

Things changed for my town a few years ago Parks and Rec hooked up with Special Olympics, and if you know me at all, you know how much I love that organization. SO teaches any kid a sport. They figure out how. They get terrific volunteers, excellent coaches, plenty of staff, and the staff listen to the parents, which is truly the way for children to learn — education must be a partnership with the families.

Now we have a swim team that practices at the town pool, The Brookline Sharks, as well as a soccer team, a track team, and more.

Last night began a new initiative on the part of Parks and Rec: Trips Unlimited, with Drew Bilillies. Drew is one of these Can-Do people, on steroids. (Not really) He operates out of the western suburbs (the Route 128 tony towns) and takes special needs kids, with aides, to all kinds of fun places and restaurants. We met Drew eight years ago when Nat attended a school program out there, and it was through Trips Unlimited that Nat filled his school vacation weeks.

Nat’s friend — with whom he went to the Extreme Sports Camp this summer — shared an additional aide with Nat last night on their first outing. They went to the Good Times Cafe in a van with other kids they knew (some of whom they’ve known all their lives!) and they had a blast, as far as I can tell.

It was a very strange and wonderful sensation, being at home last night (after my two speaking events, which were both excellent gatherings) with just Ned and Ben. I felt both young and old, playing around with Ben while Ned read to him on his bed, waiting for Max and Nat to come home!

Max came home first, around 10, just brimming with things to say. It is National Novel Writing month, and he and his friends are all trying to write 50,000 word novels in one month. He asked if our third floor was habitable so that they could all write there sometime! I was so happy that he wanted to bring them here! It means I have to buy some fuel oil to heat it, but it’s well worth it. I haven’t even met some of them, although Ned has. I’m also glad he is interested in writing. He is great at it, and, well, I feel a sense of pride in that fact.

Then Nat came home, and he had not much to say. He said he had a good time, and then got ready for bed. I was already in my jammies, and I was so tired — from waiting up for my two teenage sons!

Thanks again to Don, for sending me this on a morning where I am (was) crabby and stressed out about speaking at a Harvard conference! Now I is smiling. Put yer sound on and youze will laffs 2. Teh awesomz.

(Oh God please take away my cat allergy I want a cat so badly! And I ain’t gonna pay thousands for a non-allergic freakazoid kitteh. I wants teh real thing, adopted from a shelter.)