Crazy Family, My Kids, Myself, Rants, Special Needs, Uncategorized, writing
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On Shit and Watching a Nap on a Sunday

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Yesterday was a pretty good day.

I slept in late.  Got up and drank coffee and then spent the day doing domestic things like laundry, and kitchen duty and taking down the Christmas tree and all of the Christmas decorations.  You know, it sure is wonderful to put it all up, enjoy some twinkly lights, smell that Fraser Fir for a few weeks…But it’s almost more wonderful taking it all down and enjoying your space in it’s usual circumstance.

Some friends came over Saturday night.  One of them brought me lilies.  Another friend left flowers and wine on my porch a few days prior after reading my last blog post (angel) and I took the lilies from that bunch and put them with the others and my house smelled like heaven last night.  There was this gecko underneath the table with the flowers last night.  I was able to open the back door and herd him outside, without him running off to hide somewhere inside to be later devoured by the cat.  When I got him out, the air was sharply cold, and the sky was full of very bright, twinkly stars.  It’s moments like that when you are all, “hello, God!”  Finished the night with tea and knitting and that SNL episode hosted by Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.  Oh, and I DIDN’T COOK AT ALL.  Pretty effing glorious.  So maybe it was better than good.  Some days are gifts like that.

Today, I was happy to go back to work.  But it’s complicated.  As I mentioned in my last post, we currently have no nanny.  So I had to leave early.  Today was not as easy.

I worked 4 hours, then came home and solo mommed it for 7.  Therapy, cooking, cleaning up, bath…By 8 I was just done in.  And it’s going to be that way for awhile.  Allen is starting a new job, and it will place a lot of demand on him and keep him late.  So I can expect some days like this.  We have a consult with a new nanny agency on Thursday, but they’ve cautioned us that it can take up to 45 days to place someone.  So I have to pull up my big girl panties.  And my arms are tired.

Today I put Lucy down for her nap.  When I put her to nap I snuggle her, then half the time can’t get out of there.  It’s simultaneously nice, and not nice.

Not nice because when I do it, I think of all of the other things I need to be doing.  Laundry. Folding laundry.  Kitchen cleaning.  Emails.  Phone calls.  Taking off my chipped nail polish. Writing…

Nice, because when I do it, I lie there and look at Facebook.  Or Twitter.  Or read an article or a book.  And sometimes I get really peaceful.  Sometimes I fall asleep for a bit.  No matter what, I  look at Lucy.  Usually when she starts to stir, and I know we have 15 or 20 minutes before she wakes.  Her face flushed rosy pink.  Her hair damp on her forehead from the childhood sweat of deep sleep.  Her lashes fanned against her still-plump baby cheeks.  Her golden feathery eyebrows.  There has not been a single day in her life that I’ve watched her sleep and didn’t think that she looked absolutely angelic.  I still think that when I watch 18 year-old Eden, as a matter of fact, in those rare times she falls asleep on the couch.

So today I watched Lucy as she slept.  Pink, sweaty, lips parted, lashes fluttering.  And I got choked up because she looked so perfect.  You could watch her sleep and never know that her brain isn’t wired the same way a typically developing 6 year-old’s is.  You could watch her sleep and never guess about the tantrums and the obsessions and all of the ways she is different from other children her age.  But she’s not perfect.  And you can crucify me for saying that, except…

No kid is perfect.  No parent is perfect.  No family is perfect.  No situation is perfect.  And that’s the irony, right?  We are all angels when we sleep.  We are all flawed when we function.  No one got given a perfect brain, or perfect temperament, or perfect manners or perfect anything.  But still, I cried.

I think the point is that my tears should go to a higher purpose.  Not wishing that she was perfect, by whatever “normal” standards we generally adhere to for children.  Maybe they should be given in gratitude?  That she’s unique and funny, that she sleeps beside me peacefully, and that when I shed them while she sleeps I can also kiss her pink cheeks, and feathery eyebrows and damp hair.  Because let’s face it…when each of us wakes up every day, we’ve all got our shit.

And at the end of the day, and it is the end of the day, I think that means that today was a pretty good day, too.

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