A Close Shave

I am incredibly excited.

Because of Erik's anxiety and sensory issues, taking him for a professional haircut has never been an option. Brian purchased an electric hair clipper kit at Costco years ago. I fell in love with the little plastic cape, the cute little mirror, and the collection of clipper guards in various lengths. I cut Brian's hair twice with it but decided doing this was too scary. After all, Brian works in an office setting and needs to look professional. To cut Erik's hair, I have been using a pair of tiny scissors with blunt ends ever since he grew his first strands. He has so much of it now that this has become a ridiculous endeavor. I can get it to look presentable, but when it grows out, it sticks up all over the place. And I have lacerated the loose skin overlying my knuckles more than once when he moves suddenly. I bleed but continue to cut because getting him to sit still is next to impossible.

For the past couple of haircuts, I have taken the silver hair clipper out of its zippered case. I put it on the counter and let Erik touch it. After a while, I turn it on to let it buzz and hum under his fingers. Then I put it away and store it back under the sink before I begin hacking away at his hair with the baby scissors.

Today I got the set out again. I found a guard that looked like it would work, and I snapped it onto the shaver. I took a deep breath and readied myself to try something new. I told Erik he could watch his John Deere DVD after I cut his hair, and he agreed to sit on the counter for me. He very quickly spotted the shaver and allowed me to turn the thing on once again. We talked about it for a minute, and then I ran it across the top of his head a couple of times at warp speed. A couple of alarmingly giant gobs of blond hair fell onto the counter. I winced but continued, hoping my quick shear would not ruin any upcoming Christmas photos. He squinted his eyes shut, still smiling, and let me continue, seemingly enjoying the sensation on his skull.

What used to take me 20 minutes now takes me two. Sure, the guard was a bit on the short side, and he looks like a the youngest jarhead in history, but it's fairly even. He was tickled pink when we were through because he has seen his father use an electric razor and seems to like being a little more grown up these days.

Partied Out

(Erik and Sophie)

Erik had a great Sunday. Over the course of the day, we had six children come to visit. Sophie, one of his friends who also has WS, came to visit, as they were vacationing here in town. Erik played with Sophie and her little sister Ava and seemed to have a great time. Ace, the family's new baby boy, caused him to stop in his tracks briefly from time to time as he waited for the frightening infant noises that never came, but he seemed to enjoy his company, anyway. Erik even doled out (manly and casual) kisses when the kids left.

I put a stock pot full of beef stew in the oven in the afternoon and baked a berry cobbler. Friends of ours came to celebrate Brian's 40th birthday, and the house was once again full of children. Brian and I both agreed that Erik has turned the corner as far as playing with children goes. As I have said before, the most disabling facet of WS has been Erik's sensitive hearing. It isolated us from the world to various degrees for years now. While it is still an issue we struggle with, we are now able to enjoy the company of other adults for the first time while Erik plays independently with his friends. I noticed this happened a couple of weeks ago at Kathy's, when Erik stayed in the play room with Dominick for quite some time and I was able to enjoy a glass of wine without a child hanging from my neck. Truthfully, over the past four years, Erik has been less like a child and more like some sort of a fashion accessory I have worn to social gatherings. Without my lanky boy draped over me, I almost didn't know what to do with myself. I imagine this is a combination of Erik's friends maturing and becoming less unpredictable as far as noise and crying goes and Erik adapting to the noise of the outside world. Watching him adapt to compensate for and even overcome portions of his disability, sometimes so efficiently that it is difficult to remember particular struggles, is a beautiful thing to witness. He is amazing. I am also comforted by the fact that he has a high-quality group of friends who will grow up with him. Just like his parents grew up with me over the years.

Little Things

She drew her legs up to her chest and firmly embraced her knees as she sat on the porch. The sharp sound of crickets began to rise from the grass--a pleasant sound that slowly gained momentum and threatened to become abrasive to her ears. As the sun crept lower in the smoky sky and cast grapefruit-colored light across the desert, she suddenly felt like she was drowning but was too tired to fight the sensation or talk herself out of the rising panic in her chest. Exhaustion had soaked into each and every bone, deep under a burning layer of her aching muscles. It took effort at this point to move at all.

The dinner she had once again gathered ingredients for and poured herself into preparing for her son sat untouched in its yellow plastic bowl at the bottom of the kitchen sink, mixing with warm tap water and gradually becoming a cloudy soup of garbage. They had instead filled their son's growling stomach full of random bits and pieces they had found in the kitchen without much thought at all. Tears had threatened to spill from her eyes when he refused to place any of the food she had prepared in his mouth. It had been months since he had eaten much of anything she had prepared for dinner. The cheese quesadilla she fixed for him earlier for lunch was lying in a rejected, hardening ruin at the bottom of the kitchen trash can. She remembered that when her son was born, her breast milk had transformed into battery acid in his tiny throat, causing him to yowl in agony and develop burns on his chin. He had not been able to consume that, either.

When you are in agony, the little things bring you to your knees.

The top arch of the sun finally sank behind the dark wall of mountains, and she drew in a deep, greedy breath of evening air, clearing her head again. The crickets were practically screaming now, and her head felt like it was going to explode like a rotten pumpkin. She rose from her chair and went inside to lie on the bed to await dark, numbing waves of sleep and the hope of one more morning. To her, awakening to a brand new day was like opening a Christmas gift. Every day.

When you are in agony, the little things keep you going.