Today I had the honor of reading a very special story to a bunch of wiggly, curious, diverse, brilliant and open minded second graders. Greyson spends a small amount of time in this classroom each day, and I wanted to start an open and honest dialogue with these kiddos. Second grade is still so young, but not too young to notice differences. I thought long and hard and for weeks about how I could talk to them honestly, without feeling like I was betraying or disgracing Grey. I debated if I should even do it at all. I put myself in my second grade mind- How would I feel listening to this story? How would I feel if the story was being told about me? I thought and I thought and I thought until my eyes crossed and my mind grew dizzy. I bought different books on explaining autism and differences and thought about reading those. They were all so indirect and just didn't feel like me or Grey at all. And then one Saturday morning I woke up and I wrote. And I wrote and wrote and then wrote some more. I couldn't stop. I was in my pajamas until 1pm, in my bed- writing and creating and thinking and feeling. And on that day the story I am about to share with you was born. I started by sharing some objects with the kids.
"Can you tell how these objects are the same?" I asked them. They all starting yelling out answers and the room began to vibrate. FRUIT! The chorus sang. "Now who can tell me how they are different by a show of hands?" (I realized quickly I had to say that last part, otherwise everyone exploded into an answer all at once.)
"How about these items?" I asked, again looking for same and different.
"Now these items may be a little trickier", I told them. "How are these items different?" "Well one is a decoration and one is a piece of fruit", a child answered. "How are these same?" I asked, wondering if this would stump them. They had the GREATEST of answers: They both have a sticker on them (which they do. The yellow owl has one on the bottom.) They both cost money. Yes, yes, yes!!! I squealed, so excited that they were coming up with answers I hadn't even thought about. "They are both smooth", I added. I told them I had a very special book to share with them, one that also talks about same and different. I prayed I wouldn't curse or do or say anything inappropriate and I began...
It's hard to describe how I felt reading the book. Some mixture of profound sadness, and absolute elation and joy and love and acceptance. "Does Greyson really learn how to talk better when we talk to him?" One little boy with bright eyes asked. "Absolutely," I told him. His eyes lit up even brighter. A precious little girl walked up to me afterwards. "I really like your book." She told me. And then she hugged me and said, "I love you." Oh you guys- I melted, and then froze because I didn't know what to do. Do I say I love you back? Will I get arrested? It was like I was looking down at a little me at that age who just wanted to love. "I love you too." I told her. Because I realized instantly, I'd rather get arrested than hurt her feelings. And I really did love her. And I love you dear friend, reading this too. And gosh, I love second graders. A place where someone who has autism really isn't different at all. When the world hasn't yet told you the dumb, made up rules like- You aren't allowed to tell people you don't really know that you love them. I think that rule needs to be tossed out. These kids are so smart, and it's so easy for them to figure out how we are different AND how we are all the same too. It really made me realize that grown ups are the ones who get stuck on the different and lose touch with the same part. Turns out those little nuggets weren't the only ones who learned today. I'm so grateful for all the lessons they taught me, important ones that I will carry with me for always.
Growing up, by the end of the week mom was usually done cooking. By Thursday or Friday night- our dinner was a compilation of left-overs from the week. What's for dinner? I would ask expectantly, knowing that 92% of her responses made me groan in disgust. But "left overs" would garner the BIGGEST of groans. First of all- Sorry Mom. Second of all-I'm sorry to you, dear friend reading, in advance. Left over brain particles is all I got in me tonight. They are right next to some chimichangas. But it's been too long, and I miss you. The past three weeks have been a blur. I'm busy all day long, doing I have no idea what for 3-60 minutes at a time, with not really much to show for it at the end of the day. We are just starting to- (dare I say)- get kinda, sorta adjusted to school. The feelings are coming back into our limbs. I've hinted at it before, and without saying too much- last school year was extremely distressing for both Greyson and our whole family. I believe the proper term is it "sucked monkey balls." There's a lot of pain and fear I still carry in my neck and shoulders that can only disappear with time and with trust and with lots of exhales. (Big ones). Try it now- exhale the monkey ball stuff in your life out. Whhhhheeeeeeewwwwww. I love it when you play along. The Law of Conservation of Energy states, "Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it transforms from one form to another. For instance, chemical energy can be converted to kinetic energy in the explosion of a stick of dynamite. A consequence of the law of conservation of energy is that a perpetual motion machine of the first kind cannot exist." It's so true with our hearts and our precious and finite human energy too. When we were in the thick of it last year- I just couldn't write. I couldn't write about what was going on, and it's all I thought about. How could I write about anything else? I felt like a fraud and the well where I dip into for creativity- it was empty. All that energy went into fighting and tears and pleading to God at night for help. I would wake up numerous times a week at 3am with my hands shaking in fear or in rage. I think there is a permanent indention from the corner of my eye down the side of my face where my tears dropped onto my pillow. I took on so many roles that ripped me from any zone of comfort, and it was hard. I can say I was true to myself and my character the entire time. To me- nothing is more important than my word, and that's still the case. I can say I fought with love. I can say, without a doubt- I did what was right for Grey. I can also say- in the process- we met so many good humans with gorgeous character who tell the truth and do the right thing too. I like to say, if a cloud doesn't have a silver lining- then sew one in baby. But it's over. We are all ok now. I'm letting go of last year's pain because it is no longer meant for me to carry. And the landscape has changed. We gotta gem of a new Teacher, and we began the year with the full intention of embracing it as a brand new beginning. Because it is. And all that monkey ballness has made me stronger. I don't feel it yet- I still feel a little timid and shell-shocked. But I know I'm stronger in my bones. Strong doesn't mean fearless. It doesn't mean you know everything. It doesn't mean you aren't scared. It just means- I've been through some shit and I'm still alive. And tomorrow I'm willing to wake up and take on whatever comes my way too. I'm ready to let go. I'm ready to hope. Today I was driving and and old song from 1994 came on. Enigma- The Return of Innocence. And I realized I felt like me for the first time in a real long time. I rolled down the windows for the first time in a long time too- and while the wind whipped at my hair I just felt. Don't be afraid to be weak Don't be too proud to be strong Just look into your heart my friend That will be the return to yourself The return to innocence. And I listen to it now as I type. And I'm certain the lyrics were supposed to find me today. Maybe they are supposed to find you too... If you want, then start to laugh If you must, then start to cry Be yourself don't hide Just believe in destiny. And when the chanting started, I started to cry. Because it made me feel soooo much. Soooooo soooo much. Because my boys have a severe language delay- and the chanting reminded me that you don't even have to say words to make people feel so much that they can hardly breathe it's so good. I'll leave you with our 'Back to School' picture, and some words... Our pic doesn't look like anyone else's because our life doesn't look like anyone else's. Some days that's hard, but most days, it makes me really grateful. This has been our ritual for the past year. We get to school early so we can get one of the Special Ed parking spots, and it gives us both time to unwind and start school off feeling calm. Grey grabs his delicious homemade and organic breakfast (fine- it's actually a frozen waffle or cereal in a red solo cup(!)), juice, and his favorite cars of the day, and we tailgate. A beerless, footballess version of course. We just sit and watch the cars drive through, and watch the kids on the playground play. I drink coffee and get in trouble when I try to smooth down his wonky bed head hair. It makes me think of the quote in the movie, Up. Russell, the tiny mailman says, "That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.” And for us, this is absolutely true. The boring stuff is our favorite. love, chrissy
