Like most humans on the planet, I've never particularly cared for packing to move. Packing for a trip is fun because, well, you're going someplace great, to get away for a while - and you don't have to take every single thing you own. Packing to move, though, is a whole different matter. It's all gotta go and sometimes you don't even know where to start.
This time, though? Packing to move is downright delightful. Moving into the first house we've ever owned and leaving this "apartment community" feels amazingly liberating. And even though we haven't got the official closing date set, through some trick of fate, some celestial mechanics, some miracle-type phenomenon, it seems that somehow it's all going to work out.
And so I have been in my element, dwelling in all the glorious possibility that exists in this, the land of the homeowner. I have rediscovered window shopping - that lazy, easy strolling through a store with an appreciative eye to what might work in this corner, what would highlight that wall, what color paint I could use in a particular room. These types of musings are pretty foreign to me after living in rented spaces for over a decade with little to no "scope for imagination" (Anne of Green Gables readers take note).
Yesterday was Saturday, the day created for errands and getting things done. Stephen and I loaded up his schedule with lots of things - a trip to the bank, a stop at Walgreens, (side note: their store-brand nighttime pull-ups are BETTER than GoodNites!) then to Home Depot and a home decorating store for those on a budget (Old Time Pottery, for the locals). Of course we swung by McD's before we went home. Stephen did beautifully, dancing through Home Depot and being uncharacteristically patient as I browsed through paintings at OTP - the mirrors he found in which to make faces helped a lot.
I was in a fantastic mood when we got home, feeling victorious to have accomplished what I needed to and overjoyed to have spent time imagining the possibilities of furnishing my new house - just thinking of the two tiny samples of paint I bought at Home Depot, ready to try out as soon as we get the keys, had me grinning from ear to ear.
It was in that spirit that I worked on cleaning out our bedroom closet. The way I see it, the more I can throw away/give away, the less I have to pack. I had the iPod going, and I was getting it DONE. Stephen was watching a video, then moved to his DVD player, and so I had some uninterrupted time. I got to the very back of the walk-in closet, and started cleaning out and re-organizing my gift wrap and gift bags. The closet was too cramped to actually spread out and get things straight, so I hauled it all out and laid things on the bed. BAD idea.
Stephen ambled in, and started intently watching me. I had really hoped he'd stay occupied while I finished this, considering his love of OPEN!(ing) presents. So I quickly folded gift bags and tissue, organized them by occasion, packed ribbons in a box, and lined up rolls of gift wrap in the organizer bought for those long rolls...and he was entranced. I moved things back into the closet...as I put the last roll of paper away, I heard the first whine.
Oh shit.
Things quickly escalated into a full-on tempest. Stephen: "OPEN!" David and/or me: "All done open." Repeat ad nauseum.
Crying, on the floor, stomping feet...wailing, floundering on the bed, grabbing for me only to slap me (hard!) and pull my hair... I'd leave the room and he'd follow me. Repeat the above sequence.
David kept trying to interest Stephen in swimming to no avail (this from the child who asked DAILY all winter for "swih?"). Finally I insisted that David and Kerry go on out to the pool and I was going to work on getting Stephen to go too. A bit more wailing and gnashing of teeth (on both our parts) and he sort of agreed to go out - and by agreed I mean he didn't fight me tooth and nail when I put his swimsuit on. He wanted to bring Pringles to the pool and I said no. More crying. Then he started asking, "Daddy? Kehwy?"
"They're at the pool. Let's go find them!"
Crying.
And this, friends, is the bottom-line, soul-rending thing about this kind of autism. To be unable to communicate such simple things to a child who has dealt with the huge disappointment of seeing wrapping paper that was not intended to wrap up delightful surprises for him - to be unable to get him to understand that his dad and brother were waiting for him just a few steps away...that's the rough part, the part that reminds me that no matter where we live, autism comes along. It's going to sneak into the boxes that I've carefully packed and labeled. It's going to show up in the new paint job, the new and precious pieces of furniture lovingly chosen and saved-up-for...it'll be in the backyard, in the basement playroom, in the kitchen...
Yesterday the pall that hung over the afternoon came close to taking away the shining moments of the morning, but after some time spent visiting with my friend Elizabeth last night, and a good night's sleep, I'm able to remember the fun of my precious little boy "shopping" with me. I'm remembering the strolls down the aisles of stores, mentally buying this or that, while he laughed at himself in mirrors. So, yeah, autism will come along when we move to our new place, but at least it'll have more room to spread out. And I think we'll all be able to handle it a bit better, maybe, just because everyone can have their own corner, to think and re-group. Just a few more weeks and we're outta here.
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