Tag Archives: Enigma

Poetry Slam 2013

Poetry Slam 2013

In 6th grade, at our Middle School, there is a Poetry Slam that brings together classrooms of 11-12 year old kids to recite haiku, limericks, ballads and the like.

Today, it was Enigma’s turn.

I’m often reminded, usually in a flurry of “crap, how am I going to make it to this school event,” of how lucky I am that I battle this WAHM thing in order to be a part of my kids’ lives. 99% of the time, it works out, and I happily took off my yoga pants and donned crappy Stepford clothing to assimilate with the other parents, to hear… middle school poetry.

I read something recently on a Special Needs post on Facebook an argument about how great it was that X kid with Y disability was still able to function somewhat in “normal” society. I really kind of took it to heart, knowing that while Enigma’s disability is not severe, it is still going to profoundly affect his life. Mostly, I believe, in a social way, and in his ability to function as an adult without reminders on how to live independently.

Some of that, I can admit, may be slightly due to a coddling factor I have. Not to mention Martian. But, still, Enigma is Enigma, and as I look to his future, I really don’t know if he will be able to live on his own and not end up in squalor, happily overdosing on soda and Buffalo wings, his hands and face covered in… well… none of us are really sure. We just don’t use his laptop, unless totally necessary.

But, today, Enigma was just a sixth grader, reading poetry. He actually has this little light in his eyes when it comes to performing. It kind of astounds me, in a way, but the boy really loves to be on stage, in the spotlight. So, I sat with the army of parents who were awaiting literary brilliance, and Enigma walks in… in a grossly wrinkled orange golf shirt and cargo pants. All the other kids were in button downs, slacks, skirts or dresses. Again, I fear that his “manhood” plus Autism is going to lead to complete functional disaster in the real world. But, he chose it, I went with it, and we moved on.

He got up to the podium, read his haiku, and looked directly at the crowd and smiled. He smiled his famous heart-melting Enigma smile that friends and family know, but, with an added stage aura to it. With tears in my eyes, I smiled as our eyes connected (not always an easy feat, whether just in middle school or with someone with Autism), nodded, snapped my fingers (per Poetry Slam rules) and watched him walk to his seat…

…which he really used as a turning point to come and give me a hug and a kiss, totally out of place, as the next kid read his poem. He was so proud, and happy I was there. He just had to touch base. Gods, I love this kid so much.

I sat there, sniffling (his teacher later said she saw me, her eyes full of tears, as well), remembering that stupid Internet post about how great it was that an atypical kid could function typically, and the resulting argument about “my kid is special and amazing and don’t label him, congratulate him for fitting in, etc., blah blah blah,” and, well, more tears.

Granted, I tend to cry at any and all performances. Big, small, killer whales, Broadway musicals, first grade “famous Americans,” etc. But, still, the bigger picture, the “stage,” the intermission snacks, and the lack of cell phone service… plus, he’s my baby boy, doing his best to be “normal” in a world of assholes. I think he won, personally, but I’m a little biased.

I feel lucky that Enigma can be with kids his age, and be accepted, to an extent. I cannot wait for the day when he makes a friend. Honestly, unless you’ve been there, knowing your child has no friends is devastating.  There were kids at the Poetry Slam with more severe disabilities, and I was misty-eyed for them, too (I’ve known one since Enigma was in kindergarten). But, I have to say, that out of the 40 kids there, 4 were “special,” and while I’m happy Enigma has that chance, I also maybe cried a bit at how far away from the “normal” 12 year old he really is.

 

 

 

 

He’s 12 Today

He’s 12 Today

Enigma hit 12 today. My baby boy is one year away from teendom, and while the course he is on is divergent from the mainstream, the fact remains that he is older, wiser and generally a lot smarter than I am.

This is the boy who has a smile that melts hearts, who will forever keep me from getting lost, and will likely be the person who helps pick out my next car. The person who has taught me the most about patience, alternative thinking, and unconditional love.

His idea of the perfect party? Me, Twitches, ComicBoy, Superman, the Dynamic Duo and Martian. At Outback, with steak and bottled root beer. It’s all he talked about this morning, and after school, and he got his party.

My baby boy is 12 :)

 

Today’s Glimpse, Brought to You by WAHM, Inc.

Today’s Glimpse, Brought to You by WAHM, Inc.

I have a meeting today with a client. I also have 4 kids home with me for the summer (although, one is MIA at ComicCon right now). Normally, I don’t do meetings in the summer, because finding childcare is always a last-minute thought pain and, well, I can only be so detail-oriented before my brain explodes. Plus, the child eaten by superheroes is my main babysitter, and, well, he’s off having a life without me. Meh.

Normal meeting prep consists of making notes or getting a presentation/report together. This, however, is the first meeting I’ve ever brought all my kids to, and they don’t really seem to understand the concept of personal space unless I’m holed up in my bedroom typing frantically. Even then, they’re up my ass. Attachment parenting fail :)

Today’s meeting prep began last night when I told The Twitches that we’re meeting with a local interior designer I work with.

“What’s that?” they asked.

“She makes rooms and houses pretty,” I said, “she could take your bedroom and make it beautiful!”

“With Ninjago?!?” asked Dozer.

“And flowers?” asked Sunshine.

“Um, well, yes, she could do that…” I said, watching them cultivate a plan to turn their room into some girly-yet-deadly fortress of utter 6-year-old delight.

They smiled, content, and somehow thought that my meeting was going to be all about decorating their room. I persisted with the “you need to be on your best behavior” speech and how important it was that we act like a team so Mommy can work, ignoring their dreams of bedroom re-design.

“Are there screens there?” they asked.

“No, but we’ll bring stuff for you to do,” I replied.

“Snacks?”

“No, we’ll bring some”

“How long will the meeting take?”

“About an hour, I think”

“Does she have kids?”

“Yes, two, but they won’t be there.”

“Why not?”

“Because she has it more together than I could ever have” “Because they’re in school or have a nanny”

“Oh,” they replied, sad.

“So, we’re going to all work together on this, right?” I pleaded asked.

LALALALALALALALALALA (no answer)

Sigh.

****Later, this morning****

Enigma: “So, we’re going to a meeting with you today?”

“Yes, with a client, and I need you to be on your best wha-wha-wha-wha-wah-wah” I repeated, mostly to myself.

“Ok, are you going to introduce us?” Enigma asks, pacing.

“Yes, she wants to meet you,” I said.

“Good,” he replies, balling up his fists and smiling his evil smile, “I’m going to introduce myself as The Evil Emperor.”

Double. Sigh.

 

Who’s Yo’ Daddy?

Who’s Yo’ Daddy?

Miss me? I may have changed my mind about blogging elsewhere. I miss it here. Blog masturbation. Mmmmm.

I have about 3.8 minutes before I crawl over to my bed and pass out. Week 1 of Summer Break has ended with a Father’s Day bang (haha, not the good kind!) and I am beat. Only 9 more weeks of summer to go!

I don’t even know when the last time I actually blogged was. My life got a whole lot more intense in the last 6 months and things weren’t flowing. I met that boy, fell in love, and we are happily moving toward living together, or not, depending on the day of the week or the scent of the wafting breeze. Work-wise, things have really taken off, and I am busier than ever, but, it’s the kind of busy where I can actually hang it up at night, when I want to. For the most part. The kids? EmoBoy (new name pending) is about to start high school. Enigma is about to start middle school (same school, same grade as Superman’s #1 Son, to be blog-named soon) and The Twitches are heading into 2nd grade.

In 9 weeks, of course.

I am, again, working from home all summer. Sometimes with my 4, sometimes with just 3, and sometimes with 6-7 kids. I have coincidentally discovered Snappletinis and aside from the caloric adversity that has caused me to rethink my stance on exercising, I am in love with a new drink. I have a big road trip coming up in a month, and just about that much time to make sense of my whole world before seeing my Grandmother.

I just made up that deadline, just so she sounds like a mob boss. The Grandmother.

Oh, and, somehow, I’m helping to throw her a 90th Birthday Bash.

Ummm, I’ll be back. I promise. Have a great Father’s Day, or what is remaining. I’m going to be drinking in the corner, picking at a chigger bite and steeling myself against 63 more days of fun and adventure.

 

 

Two Hours of Fame

Two Hours of Fame

I have really begun to enjoy the time I volunteer at the Elementary Kids’ school, especially since 75% of my kids are there and its literally a 3 minute walk from my house. That may be a Stepford perk, come to think of it, one of maybe three. The others may revolve around the drama I get to make up while spying on my neighbors.

I don’t do that. Much.

Today, I was merely an audience member, and book fair chaperone, hopping between two first grade classes full of the most fantastic beings on the planet – First Graders.

When I walk into a first grade class, I am met with smiles and gasps and “That’s Sunshine/Dozer’s mom!” and waves and the sheer adoration of my awesome presence. When they are allowed, they run up to me and tell me I’m beautiful, that they love my hair, clothes, boots (because, well, duh) and that they’ve missed me. The teachers regale me with the latest accomplishments of The Twitches and tell me how amazed they are at my ability to manage the kids, work, and everything else they must imagine I do.

I’m just waiting for a teacher to tell me about some single guy they know who needs a date for his weekend trip to Paris on his private jet. Hint.

When I leave, I see the sad faces, I get hugs, I hear them tell The Twitches they love me… and I get high fives and fist bumps. Plus, at this particular school, they have a gesture of solidarity that looks like they are all saying “rock on.” We all rock out, first grade style.

In short, I would freaking live there, if I could.

Plus, today, I stayed even later to have lunch with Enigma, because he’s awesome. We held hands almost the whole time, and he told me that his chicken sandwich was real, not the fake kind like I eat.

Between the four horsepeople of my own personal apocalypse, I will never, ever, really be without a handler. And, I remembered, that this is why I stayed so late on Monday. I have awesome shit to do, and sometimes, work just gets in the way.