Fresh and Blood
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn
-- "You Learn" Alanis Morisette
Yesterday Erik's teacher, Miss Jeannie, rushed up to me as I dropped him off at school. She told me that as the little bus came to a stop in front of the school Tuesday, it let out a sharp hiss. Erik quickly replicated the sound and blurted, "Air brakes!" Sure, my boy may have difficulty removing his own jacket or using a toilet, but he is more than familiar with the intricacies of conveyance braking systems.
I don't have a lot to report this afternoon. The world around me is still a dirty, grimy mess, but I have accomplished some early spring cleaning. I cleaned out the coat closet. I unscrewed the light fixtures from the master bathroom and washed them all in the kitchen sink. A friend called to report that his wallet was missing after a visit to our house, so I removed all of the couch cushions, plunged my arm into the bowels of the furniture, and vacuumed everything out almost violently with the long wand as if I was performing liposuction on our living room set. Instead of a stray wallet, I found a book, a hair comb, a DVD wrapper, and enough crumbs to reconstruct an entire pastry. I sorted and bagged unused and outgrown items from Erik's ridiculously roomy closet. I cleaned out his toy boxes. I spritzed the entire house with Febreeze. I dusted. I caught up on laundry. I even worked a little bit on some surplus medical reports that my partner sent my way and made a couple bucks.
I have continued to work out each day with my tiny, blonde personal trainer, who yells, "Faster! Run!" He works out along side of me intermittently until his attention span gives out and he gets bored. He then spins in circles until he collapses into a drunken, giggling heap. I have made avoiding his careening body part of my workouts and am getting a bit more graceful and agile myself in the process.
Erik continues to challenge us daily. He kicks. He hits. He growls. He tells me he doesn't want me to do the things for him that he enjoys just for the sake of telling me no. Yesterday as I shut his door after I struggled to get his diaper changed without getting a black eye and he told me to turn the music off that I know he loves during his nap, my heart ached. I went on with my day, though, and thought that today might be a little better if I tried harder to connect with him somehow. I think we both tried harder. Overall, we had a great morning at physical therapy with the horses and hanging around the house. I'm constantly changing my approach to the daily tasks that set him off. While this doesn't always guarantee success, it saves my feet and my feelings from being stomped upon.
It's nice to see that the sun is shining again. The wall of dreary clouds has dissipated, and the mountains are gleaming in the afternoon light again, at least for the moment. When I can see them, I always feel anchored somehow.
Slowly but surely I am feeling better.