Oh, good grief

I've always felt a kinship with Charlie Brown.

It seems like I've been trying to kick the damn football for years...only to have Lucy snatch it away at the last minute.

AAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!

Preach on, brother.

Lucy takes on many forms. She's a shapeshifter. You can't trust her, and you can't always recognize her. Get married, have a baby. Fabulous! He's a golden child who embodies joy and fulfillment. Hey, let's try this again. Another baby. Hmmm...a bit different, but so far so good.

Until Lucy snatches that ball away. The baby...he's not talking on schedule. Wait, now he's not talking at ALL. He's acting weird. YOINK. It's autism. Falling flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me...

But then Lucy shows up again...this time, she's got a signed document! There are treatments for autism, and we're gonna fix that boy right up. That ball is going to go SAILING down the field. I back up, fix my face into a determined expression, and take off at full speed.

YOINK. (Pssst. The treatments don't work. At least not for us.)

Splat. Funny thing about that document. It was never notarized.

Sigh. Lying on my back, staring up at the sky, wondering when I'm ever going to learn not to trust Lucy...

This morning, my darling baby boy woke up at 5:30 a.m. I ignored him for a while, hoping he was talking in his sleep. But no such luck, and I creep down the dark hallway only to find out that his PullUp leaked again. I dig around in the boxes of winter clothes that need unpacking (mental note: DO that sometime) and find something for him to wear. By now it's time to get K. up to make sure he has recovered completely from the chicken pox that broke out last week, in spite of his vaccine at age 1. Then the epic struggle begins...to turn on the lights and start the day. S. falls apart..."Off. Off." The transition from night to day is one of the hardest for him. K., ever the solid rock of the family, takes it all in stride. He ambles slowly down the hall and eases into the day, as usual. The next ten minutes are not good. I mean, like, really bad.

S. climbs into recliner. "Off!"

"No. It's morning. Time for school soon." A tantrum ensues. Pick him up, haul him down the hall to his room, where no lights are on. His dad steps in to help keep him corralled in there long enough for K. to get ready in relative peace.

He escapes. More crying. "Off. OFF!"

"No!" Back to his room, where he collapses onto the bed flailing and crying. Somebody knocks on the door. It's 6:45 a.m.

Oh, LOVELY. It's the lady from downstairs, the Melodrama Queen of Valley Drive. With back of hand laid on forehead, she intones with Shakespearean tragedy..."Can't you KEEP him quiet? He woke me up from my sleep!" Oh, forgive us, your majesty...we are but peons trying to deal with the impossible...please, continue to yell and curse at your own children so loudly that we can hear every word...and forgive us for the trespass of having a child with this CURSED disorder. "I complained and they (the office staff?) told me I could call the police...but I'm not going to do that, because he's a child." Oh, thank you, Our Lady of Mercy...thank you for not having our 7 year old autistic son arrested. Whatever.

At that moment I hated her and everyone else in the world. I wanted to scream, to tear out my hair, and then run as fast as I could away from it all. D. was literally VIBRATING with anger, but somehow we both reigned ourselves in and responded to her ridiculous attempt to chastise us. I finally closed the door in her face and finished getting K.'s snack ready with shaking hands.

D. walked K. to the bus stop. I put S. in his room for the 23rd time, and went to dry my hair. In the interim, the acceptance switch clicked in S. and when I came out of the bathroom I found him on his tummy in the living room, happily reading a Thomas book. That's how fast it changes. One moment, chaos, and the next, he's humming to himself and giggling. My emotions take a little longer to readjust.

Well, it's almost Halloween, so to continue with my Charlie Brown theme, let me end with this. Today, at least, I feel like in the great Trick or Treating game that is life, everybody else got candy or bubble gum or a chocolate bar.

I got a rock.