I had a lighter post to share to sashay right back into my spot here in the hammock after going all 'incognito-private blog-skittish cat' on you all. My apologies. If you're still here and checking in on my sorry self, my hugs to you. Most days I feel like it's just me here. Me and Russia. We're buds, me and Rus'. But I digress.
I became my mother today.
My mother, or I was allowed to slip into the skin of an individual with autism, including sensory issues and ADHD. Please know, I mean NO disrespect to the challenge of the disorder. If anything, my experience today heightened my compassion. You see, I am, first and foremost, the mother of a child that endured a neurological disorder and all its accompanying issues. I am, at present, the professor of a class that teaches about exceptionalities. Trust me, I
do not just approach this topic from a clinical, educational standpoint. I weave flesh, and heart, and soul into my classes. My students
feel when they leave my classroom. In that room, seeds of empathy are planted. So please do not take offense at my opening statement in this paragraph. I honestly sat there at one point 'in the very moment' and thought, "Oh my gosh...this is what is like to feelseehearsmelltaste EVERYTHING at once.'
It had been a day. I know. It's Friday. Whoo to the Hoo. I had plans to finalize for class. I had to squeeze in an observation, emails and two classes all before two o' clock. A rush down the road to meet with an architect instructor and more frustration. My nerves have floated at surface level all day. Weird things have been going on with my body for the last week or so.
The day has been the color of a smudge, cold with just enough drizzle to dampen your coat, rendering it ineffective. For me, it was as if Mother Nature consulted the Lord and knew what kind of day I would have (narcissistic, I know) and said, "Here, perfect backdrop to the kind of day You have slated for THAT girl today." I had run, hamster-like, on a wheel of a day too condensed to be sane. Zip to campus. Blaze back down the road. Meeting. Home and cook for in-laws coming for dinner. All in between I have texted/emailed/called to check on my parents enduring the pure hell of having to put a beloved pet down today. I have ached and cried for them too, in between the raindrops. It has just been a.day.
I am just beginning to feel the effects of what they call the 'sandwich' generation. That experience of being a parent of children still at home (thank you GOD for sovereignty that I am not parenting a wee little one at this stage of my life), working full-time and having parents (2 sets) that are advancing in years. It is an honor. I consider myself richly blessed to have not one, but TWO sets of parents on both sides that are alive, well and walking miracles (one had a massive heart attack in December). I would NEVER complain in a million years because I know firsthand what they did for me. Yet, I want to be everything for everyone. I want to call and write and text and email and invite to dinner and make visits and all those good and wonderful things. And I work. I get tired. I have this personal need to retreat and be quiet. I have a daughter at home that will pile up beside me to spoon and talk. I have a Hubs that likes to have me present to watch a movie or a favorite t.v. show.
I am meandering. This post was no straight shot, point A to point B. We are roaming aimlessly, people. Bear with me. Jump on my train and stay close.
So this evening we took the in-laws to my daughter's place of work so they could get dessert and be proud of their granddaughter 'in action', working and being responsible. Remember, my nerves were exposed, raw and flailing in the elements.
We were sitting in the booth, after having had almost continuous conversation, talking, climbing over each others' words, interruption, dialogue, debate. It was (is) a Friday night in a small town. What do families do for entertainment? Go out to eat. The place was teeming with families and talking and laughing and children's noises. Normally I am nonplussed by such extraneous sound.
Tonight my body and my soul must have been craving quiet.
Suddenly it was as if someone turned up the volume on my every sense. In an instant I was intently aware of my surroundings. That second, I was on sensory overload and I knew that had to be what it might be like for sweet children that truly do have a stimulus gauge that is faulty. I also became my mother, who gradually became more and more sensitive to her surroundings as she got older to where her 'practical-to-a -fault' PhD of Common Sense self could hardly tolerate the raw humanity on display out and about in various places of business.
I felt the thump-thump-thump of the child skittering back and forth on the attached booth behind me, kicking with each turn as he made his way back to the other end. Parents sat chewing. Chewing and watching him repeatedly flop and pace on the seat.
I took in every sound - the soda machine. the baby screeching. the couple in front and to the left nearly sucking each others' face off over the table, him enveloping her nose in her mouth...in a restaurant. the woman chewing - smack-smack-smack mouth rotating her food like a tire rotation job, husband across from her on his phone. the father wrestling to get his redheaded toddler son into the high chair- three tries. child bowed up stiff as a rod. exclaimed no. last try, dad just got him out and turned him loose to go find his mother. toddler won.
At the table, the talktalktalking continued and my dear father-in-law cranked up this handrubbing habit thing while his wife told a story...lips pursed in an unusual expression, hands rubbingrubbingrubbing...I had to get up and escape the confines of my 8x15 inch space squeezed into the booth. I excused myself to the restroom to shut myself into the quiet of the stall and breathe. breathe. breathe.
This world wears me out.
God bless the little, overstimulated, brilliant-but-needs-space children.
In the last half hour, I found my solace in a quiet moment by a flickering fire and silence.
Good night.
