Lately everything feels like it's colliding in some way. I got a call from Isaac's school the other day that he was warm, inconsolable and...tugging his ears (yes, I have learned my lesson). When I arrived, he looked up at me, face streaming with tears, and wailed "I want to go HOOOOME!" I felt the tears well up myself, mostly out of love for him and also, I have to admit, out of delight at such a clear, communicative sentence. Being naturally overanalytical AND the parent of a spectrum child is a dangerous combo--it's hard to take things as they come. Should I become more wise or enlightened about this anytime soon, I'll let you know.
In other news, I now have a renewed appreciation of Sigmund Freud. Isaac has lately taken to waking up in the middle of the night, coming into our room and announcing: "I want Daddy to get out," whereupon he jumps into bed and tries to push my dear husband out of bed. We are working on a game plan for this, but it's hard to be all Floortimey and supportive at three in the morning. My suggestion: a 24-hour Floortime house call hotline. There's a market out there, I know it.
Last night, as I walked into the parking garage near my office, I saw a tall young guy wearing a white, floppy wig, black pants, and a black shirt. Didn't think twice about it until I saw another guy, similarly dressed and wearing the same wig, as I pulled out of the driveway. At that point, I couldn't resist, so I asked him what it was about. He rolled his eyes. "The museum is doing a special show, so we have to wear these," he muttered. And as I turned the corner, it all came into focus: a whole reception line of identically dressed, multiethnic Andy Warhols, welcoming visitors into the museum. I can only take that as a sign. Of what, I don't exactly know, but it was a lovely sight.
As we were getting Isaac ready for bed last night, Jesse and I chatted about a media story that had caused a flurry of activity at work yesterday. This was a brand-new word for Isaac, who tends to respond to new words much the way he does to matchbox cars: with a belly laugh, followed by intense exploration. "Me-dee--ahh," he repeated, grinning at us. "Yes, sweetie, 'media,'" we answered, and continued our conversation. And then, after another minute, he crawled up into my lap, looked into my eyes and announced: "I want to say bye-bye to the media." And so we did.
This post is so full of wonderful images! I love the multitudes of Andy Warhol lookalikes; and I too shall wave goodnight to the me-dee-ah!!!
Posted by: jennifergg | May 05, 2007 at 06:55 AM
Ars poetica, perhaps? The me-dee-ah comment is priceless!
Warhol was on the spectrum-----all those repeated images of Campbell soup cans....
Hope Isaac goes back to sleep soon after waking.
Posted by: Kristina Chew | May 05, 2007 at 09:01 PM