Wounded

This week Erik got off the school bus with a relatively deep scratch across one cheek. This was paired with the recurrent wound that appeared a few days earlier on his nose. He sustains the nasal injury every few months, and we are never able to determine its origin. A round scab simply materializes in the same place, perfectly centered on the bridge of his slightly upturned nose like a dermatologic crop circle. With the additional flesh wound freshly etched on his cheek, he looked a little like had had just finished a UFC cage fight.

I asked Erik what happened, not really expecting an answer. He stated very matter of factly that a little boy (who shall remain nameless in the interest of preventing vigilante justice) had scratched him at school.

When we arrived at school the next day, we were greeted by apologies that we had not received a phone call about the incident. Because Erik's teacher has been terrific about calling me about Erik's accomplishments and occurrences in the classroom, I reassured her that I was not upset. The teacher confirmed the very boy Erik named had scratched him while they were both standing in line at the sink to wash their hands. When confronted, the boy had apparently confessed, but an adult hadn't seen exactly what occurred.

I sometimes witness Erik standing too close to other children, making them visibly uncomfortable, perhaps asking them a hundred times what their name is, despite the fact he was in their class last year, or attempting to spark a conversation by emitting animal noises. He often doesn't understand that he is surrounded by a tough crowd and continues on with his act, which is sometimes quite painful for me to watch. Some children simply walk away. If they know their parents are watching, they will often stand still and attempt to be polite, but I can easily see their true feelings just underneath the surface. Children are much too honest to hide much for very long. At this age, they are beginning to be slightly cruel and very competitive, loudly pointing out Erik's differences to others to pad their own budding sense of self. The more curious ones ask me questions about Erik's behavior, and I am slowly getting used to providing simplified answers. There are some who don't like having someone who is so different pressing his nose directly against theirs.

In this case, what happened will remain a mystery.

Maybe this child accidentally scratched my son with an unruly hand making a sudden, uncontrolled motion. Maybe he was throwing a tantrum of his own. Or maybe he waited until the adults weren't watching and hurt the strange kid who just refused to get out of his face. In any case, Erik undoubtedly loves this kid today every bit as much as he did a week ago.

And I suppose that is one of the things that makes my son so "strange" and "different."

Life As We Know It

Today Erik accompanied me to the store. I shop without him during the school year, but now that preschool has concluded, he rode with me today. I forgot how much more interesting a public outing can be with one Mr. Erik Quinn.

When we arrived at the store's parking lot during lunch hour (I was already kicking myself), it was packed with impatient people trying to accomplish their errands in an hour or less. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself as I crammed Erik into the shopping cart. I threaded his rapidly expanding feet (now a size 10) through the holes designed for chubby baby appendages, and, miraculously, he settled down in the seat without upending the thing like a monster truck attacking a row of sedans. I exhaled a sigh of relief. Usually, if I run into anybody I know, Erik gets wide, scrutinous stares, as people perceive him as gigantic now, huge for his age. I suspect that at least half of this stems from the fact that he is crammed in shopping carts such as this and appears freakishly large, like an grotesquely swollen, middle-aged man dressed in an adult-sized diaper and sitting in a crib the size of a Buick at a carnival side show. The truth is, he is of average height on the typical growth chart. Also contributing to the effect is the fact he has inherited my long, clumsy legs, making him appear even taller. There is also not a lot of extra fat on my kid, despite the fact it seems he consumes his weight in peanut butter each and every day.

Erik is a big fan of the Sesame Street DVDs I purchased to keep him entertained while I work. He adores the characters I grew up knowing as a kid. His Mr. Hooper impression is dead on. As we rolled into the store today, he was channeling the deceased storekeeper, yelling, "David! David! I can't find my glasses! David! I can't see a thing without my glasses!" For a moment it seemed there was an irritated, elderly gentleman in my cart threatening to spurt phrases in Yiddish.

Like many children, Erik has yet to hone his skills of appropriately engaging strangers socially. However, his attempts seem different than those of most kids his age. While many children are shy, Erik shakes hands like a politician. He greets even the infantile ("Hello there, baby!") He smiles widely. And he sometimes shouts to get a passerby's attention. He has learned that his window of opportunity sometimes closes quickly as his shopping cart rolls by, so he shouts whatever comes to mind at that very moment to attract attention. This usually emerges in the form of engine sounds, "Yee haw!" or animal noises, especially the ones cats and dogs make. It makes for awkward moments sometimes, but I mostly flash a smile and move on, as I am used to this phenonmenon now. Four years ago, my formerly shy self would have been horrified.

Today was slightly different. He craned his neck to glimpse a couple of boys his age walking quietly beside their mother and yelled, "Hello girls!" The mother looked more than annoyed, and I kept rolling along, wincing slightly as we passed out of sight. From there, he transformed into a hot dog vendor, something he also likely picked up from Sesame Street, screaming, "Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs herrrrre! How 'bout a little saurkraut? Catsup?" The New York accent was perfect. It was as if I were listening to a recording of someone entirely different. He sounded like a 35-year-old man working a job in Yankee Stadium.

We spent an hour in the store filling our cart to the brim with groceries. Erik spotted things on the shelves of interest, like chocolate ("Oh, I looooooove chocolate!"), and giggling with delight at the photos of fluffy kittens on cans of cat food ("They're looking at me! I loooooooove little kittens!").

It was a real adventure, just as I had promised him.

After we had annoyed everyone behind us in the checkout line, as the man checking made a big, slow show of things especially for Erik's benefit, we headed home. To the west, the clouds formed gnarled, pearlescent columns lit by the sun that were so incredibly massive and bright you could hardly look at them. I asked Erik if he thought they were as beautiful as I did, and he said yes. To the east, the sky was as black as night. The clouds seemed to churn slowly, as if something was working behind them, and I told Erik the thunder would begin soon.

When we got home, I unpacked our things and made myself comfortable in the kitchen, my favorite place to be in the middle of the day. Erik devoured two waffles with strawberries and half of a peanut butter sandwich. The sky above our house began to emit deep rumbles, and I took a glass of wine, a candle, and Erik's toy semi truck out to the front porch. I stretched out on the chaise lounge while Erik rode his truck back and forth, laughing out loud he was so happy. A bolt of lightning snaked down from the sky over the desert, and Erik stopped in his tracks as the sound of thunder that followed seemed to spread behind the clouds above us. Slightly alarmed, he came to me quickly and put his hand on my knee. I put my palm over it and assured him that we were perfectly safe. I asked him if he thought the lightning was beautiful, and he said that it was. I heard the sound of hail pellets beginning to slam into the ground, and soon the yard was being peppered by dense balls of ice. I looked back at the open kitchen window and saw Gracie-Cat's round, furry face materialize, seeming to float behind the screen in the darkness. Her eyes were dilated to maximum diameter, infused with primitive fright. A thunder clap sounded, and she disappeared.

When the cold wind picked up and chilled the air, I collected our things and took Erik's hand to lead him back inside. He cried in protest, but I assured him we would do it all over again tomorrow.

Heart-Hangover #1584

Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made

-- "No Rain" (Blind Melon)

One of Erik's friends celebrated her 3rd birthday this weekend. We had a fabulous time with our friends at the party. I enjoyed getting a good dose of the sparkles, pastels, and glitter that come with having a little girl around. The snow came down in big, gorgeous flakes all afternoon, and it was very cozy inside. Erik sang "Happy Birthday" with as much emotion and energy as Whitney Houston singing the national anthem and clapped his hands together when the song concluded. He allowed me to steal frosting from his piece of cake, and in return I let him eat in peace without my fussing over him like I usually do. He is really enjoying his own friends now and asks about all of them. I no longer have to listen to him begging me to turn the car around when we are on the way to visit children his age. He was even interested in the opening of presents and was delighted to see a purple monster truck emerge from under layers of wrapping paper. He staged a miniature carjacking and took off with it for the nearest tile floor.

One day after the party, the familiar heart-hangover set in once again. Although it is much easier for me to attend children's birthday parties than it used to be, my response varies greatly these days. While I do just fine sometimes, on other occasions I feel like collapsing the next day. Some people are afraid of the dark. I just happen to be afraid of balloons, buttercream, and birthday candles. Last night I asked Brian if he had difficulty watching Erik interact with everyone, and he very quietly said yes.

That made me feel a little better.

Erik gets in faces, whether they are familiar to him or not. He knows no strangers. He says hello hundreds of times to everyone for at least an hour, which often generates slight irritation from other children. It shows on their faces, which I suddenly feel like slapping, although I suppose I can't blame them. This now keeps us from taking him to the adult functions we would have taken him to when he was younger. While everyone is generally very kind and seems to find Erik's personality delightful, it's hard for me to hear the laughter that goes with taking him anywhere. And I hear it EVERYWHERE. I know they aren't laughing AT Erik, really, but my mama bear protectiveness kicks in each and every time, and that's exhausting. I admit that sometimes I wish he could just blend in a bit. When he saw my friend's father come through the door at the party, he yelled, "HI, SANTA!" The room erupted in laughter, and I wanted to crawl under something and die.

Although we often have to intervene when he is completely inappropriate with a stranger or someone who might find his behavior uncomfortable or disruptive, it is now necessary to let him go in a safe environment and watch what happens, even if it makes me very nervous. It's incredibly difficult for me to do. I was a shy child. I did my best to blend in and not do anything to draw attention to myself unless I was completely at ease. Erik is my polar opposite that way, and it terrifies me. He is always completely comfortable around people. His personality is very unusual. His behavior is even more unusual. I guess "blending in" just isn't part of the plan for Erik.

It's obvious my kid couldn't hide his (halogen) light under a bushel if he tried.

So, after binging on cookies and opening a bottle of good wine by myself yesterday, I suppose I feel better. There's nothing like a sloppy, pathetic session of feeling sorry for myself and letting the emotions ebb and flow. Facing what I feel head on seems to make the next birthday party a little easier.

While I was writing today, I thought of the "Bee Girl" in this music video. I haven't seen it for years. I found it, and it was just what I needed. Watch the whole thing, dance, and enjoy.

Just Wait

Today I stood at the front desk inside Erik's school waiting for the receptionist to feed Erik's immunization record through the copier to prove he received his hepatitis shot last January. I have never talked to this woman before, and she didn't look familiar to me in the slightest, but that's not unusual. I have never been great with names and faces.

When she reappeared behind the desk, she returned the waxy, yellow document to me, and I slowly folded it up to place in the zippered pouch inside my purse. She made small talk by commenting on my organizational skills, and I laughed, knowing that yesterday's crusty breakfast dishes were soaking in my kitchen sink waiting for me when I arrived home. What she did next surprised me. She leaned over the counter, directly into my personal space, as if she were about to reveal a guarded secret.

She said, "You know, Erik is my favorite."

She then explained how he had reached up to tightly grip her hand when it was time for him to board the bus the other day. She described how she let him lead her out the front door and the way he jumped with alarm when the incoming bus hissed loudly to a stop. How he apparently looked up at her and said, "Air brakes." She giggled at the memory, and I smiled back.

I can't count the times I have heard that Erik is somebody's "favorite." I know that people generally love children, but I am beginning to wonder if some of that weird special something in Erik that I have always seen is shining through in a big way and pulling people in. At the beginning of this, I dismissed my amazement, knowing that I do not see things very clearly in my role as his mother. Especially one who has never been around children a heck of a lot. After all, even if he were miserable to be around, I would still believe he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. However, as time passes, I can clearly see the unique effect he has on the people around him. Even the pathologically cranky ones. I am often amazed at the magic that Erik seems to exude. Erik has a confidence I can only dream of.

For people who are new at this Williams syndrome thing, all I can say is JUST WAIT.

Yes, the diagnosis is devastating. I know this well, and it always will be at some level. Yes, it feels as if the world is ending. Hang in there. You will be completely blown away as your personal story unfolds and you dare to open your eyes. As the innocence manifests itself. As the love pours from your child like a river from an almost heavenly spring you cannot see. As you let your defenses fall away and the world sees your child for who he is for the very first time. As little miracles become everyday occurrences. As he touches people who are hurting in places you could never reach with your adult words and your carefully rehearsed, socially acceptable phrases. As he becomes your personal hero. It sounds completely crazy. I know it does.

I wish I could share with you how incredible this experience feels.

For now, there is only one thing I can say.

Just wait.