Looking Up. Or at Least Putting it on My To-Do List.

Do you ever look up?  I mean really sit down and look up at the sky?  I just did that and in doing so realized I never do it and it's nice.  It relaxes some muscle in your eye that never ever gets any reprieve.  No rest for that bottom eye muscle.  Just work, work and no play.  Looking forward.  Looking down.  Looking in our rear view mirrors.  But when is there ever a time to look up?  Just to look at the sky and the tops of the trees glowing in the yellow of the setting sun? Just to look at an individual leaf?  Lovely.  Lovely, I say.  However, my moment was not all that tranquil since the neighbor's (who appear to be having a patio built or something) workers are still there, even though it's almost 8:00 p.m., with the jigsaws, jigging or sawing or whatever.  

So, I've been absent lately.  From blogging.  But very much present in the middle of a big pile of craziness I call my life.  Let's start with the packing.  We packed our old house up bit by bit so when we returned from vacation, we could pretty much be packed and ready to move.  Good idea.  Not really accomplished, though.  

Okay, so the vacation.  Beautiful town (Fairhope, AL), wonderful being all together, quaint bicycle rides along the boardwalk by the bay.  But more packing.  A bag for the pool.   Pack a bag to go out to eat.  Pack a bag to go to the beach.  Then, there's the rest of the trip. Remove kids' clothes.  Apply sunscreen covering the bodies of two 20-some-pounders - with one recipient making it extra challenging by thrashing about like those stupid bass my husband is in love with.  Put on swim diaper, swim suit.  Don't forget, pack a bag.  Swim.  Back to room. Remove swim diaper and suit.  Put clothes back on.  Pack another bag.  Take off more clothes. Eat.  Pajamas.  Pack a bag.

Louie recently started his first day of public school.  I expected it to be a little sad.  Maybe a misty-teary-type moment or two.  I did not expect a full on melt down.  That's me; not Louie. Me.  Completely freaking MELTING-like-lava down.  Louie is in a self-contained classroom. All of the children in his class have autism. We'll discuss this on some other post.  I know self-contained vs. inclusive classrooms for children with special needs is a controversial topic among educators and parents alike.  

Louie's school has a balanced calendar and the longest break is June and July when they are out for six weeks.  During this six week break the teacher holds two weeks of class (shortened school day).  The extra weeks work out to be every two weeks during the break so that the kids aren't out of school for more than a two week period of time, as children with autism need routine and can quickly regress without constant interaction, guidance and instruction.  

Louie's first day was the first week back from the regular school year, during one of these "extra" school weeks.  In the interim, between the regular and "extra" school week, the classroom was moved down the hall to a bigger room. As you may or may not know, children with autism don't like change.  At all.  So here they had been out for two weeks and then when they returned, everything had changed.  Not happy. Lots of stimming behaviors, lots of repeating phrases and words, lots of just plain losing it.  Every kid was in full on "I HAVE AUTISM" mode.  I thought to myself, "This is not the place for Louie.  This is wrong, wrong. All wrong!" ("Hello, Denial.  Where have you been lately?"). Everyone, all the kids, Ace, me - everyone was crying.  Except Louie.  He was fine.  Thank God. Seriously, thank God.  If he would have been crying too I'm pretty sure I would have taken him and ran far and fast. Instead, I just grabbed Ace and ran to my car, both of us crying like babies; at least he had an excuse being a baby and all.  So I drove home sobbing and messy crying and my whole stomach just convulsed from it all.  I'm telling you...this was a major freak out.  

But, alas, there is good news.  When I picked him up that afternoon, he proudly walked out in his walker (this is big deal), smiling, the happiest kid ever.  He used to lose it when I showed up to get him at preschool. Just cried and clapped for "more" when he saw me until I picked him up.  He doesn't do that here.  It's totally and completely where he needs to be.  He's already made a ton of progress.  It's his place.  They have visual supports everywhere in the classroom.  It's structured with a ton of teacher support.  He's in his element.  His element. Not mine.  I understand that now.  

Okay, so then there was my appendectomy.  That's a boring story.  It just happened one night at 4:00 a.m.  There was only one memorable moment and it was right before I was about to go to surgery.  Chris wasn't able to be at the hospital with me since someone had to be with our kids, right?  He and Ace came up for a minute and was able to talk to me right before I went in (Under? The knife? Whatever. Yuck.); I guess to say hello/goodbye in case I kicked the bucket during surgery. Then he left to go pick up Louie from school.  And there I was alone on that white railed bed with curtains on each side and other patients on either side of those curtains.  Here's where it gets blurry.  Oh morphine, you silly, silly, where-have-you-been-all-my life drug.  Just kidding.  That morphine.  Isn't it just awful?  Anyway, the anesthesiologist (I'm pretty sure that's who he said he was) came to talk to me and sat down by my bed.  I told him I was afraid. He said he understood.  His kindness was reassuring. Or maybe it was the drugs because right after that they said my name and it was over.  Is that a bizarre feeling or what?  There ya have it.  Appendectomy.  Check.  

Oh yeah and it has to be said that I thought I was going to die the next day when I had some kind of delayed reaction to the anesthesia and threw up every 15 minutes for 5 hours.  Keep in mind this whole time we're trying to figure out when we're closing on our house, still packing and all that.  Well, I say "we" but really it was just Chris since my head was in a trash can.  He was taking care of the kids, me, trying to check in with work intermittently, all the house stuff.  It was a lot for him all at once.  He came in during the middle of my puking my organs out and said "I'm about to have a nervous break-down." (P.S. Seriously, what is a nervous break-down because just judging by the name I would say I have one of those about every day.)  Anyway, I just remember trying to talk and reassure him but all I could do was move my mouth.  No sound.  Okay, so really, that's the end of that story.

We've moved into our new house.  I'm not going to bore you with all the gory details.  But I did realize during all of this is that moving is one of those things in life that you just simply forget how very bad it is.  And then when your friends complain to you when they're moving you just kind of tune them out and mumble something like, "Mmmm...that stinks for you.  Sorry."  Kind of like how you do when people tell you their dreams.  Except I like to hear Chris' dreams. They are interesting to me.  Speaking of dreams, I have to tell you (I know, I know), the other night I had a dream that Ronald Reagan bought me a portion-sized box of that cereal Pops.  It was 10 cents.  He got one too but he didn't have to pay for his because he worked for the government. And this all took place in the convenience store next to my elementary school.  Hmmm.  I don't know what to tell you about all that.  Oh yeah, we got milk too.  A small pint-size.  

I feel like I have so much more to tell you.  But as you can see in the pictures, I just simply can't live like this anymore.  This chaos.  This asking "where's that ointment for Louie's rash?"  "Hey, Jenny, do you know where the meat strainer thing is?"  "Have you seen the nail clippers?"  It's got to end!  It's true as with anything in life.  Some people are better at things than others.  Some are better movers than others.  I've come to realize I'm not so good.  I thought I was organized; that I'd labeled each box with such specifics.  How could I have been so wrong?  So very, very wrong?  I have a friend who I witnessed, who I saw with my own two amazed eyes, move in to her new house in the morning and was serving chili to a crowd by evening; kitchen completely organized and put away.  She's good that way though.  

Well, I'm off to get organized.  Find some order.  Put away some clothes.  Consolidate my to-do list. But I'm also going to try looking up more often.  At the sky and the trees and the birds. You know, exercise that bottom of the eye muscle.  And not let all the moving and school and the packing of bags make me forget about occasionally just looking up.  There's cool stuff up there.