"And Oh, How They Danced...the little people..."

If you recognize the title of this entry, rest assured that I know that you know that I know how old you are and I will not tell. 

Promise.

(If you don't recognize the title, then your sociological and musical canon is tragically lacking .Find a copy of "Spinal Tap."  Still funny after all these years.  (Still not telling how many...)

Good Party today.  Bit of madness, totally forgot the puffy-paint treatsacks, needed help tweaking the stew (curry and raisins did the trick), and (of course) was still in the shower when the first guests arrived.
LRHF opened all the presents as they arrived (and then updated  Thomas the Train a out each one on his pretend phone call.)  In the end, he (LRHF, not Thomas) passed out in the middle of the yard curled up under the rainbow parachute.  What a life, eh?

But how sweet to see people know and love your very different child.  To appreciate what makes him so very different. To take pleasure in his progress.  Maybe you haven't seen this, maybe you don't have an autie, or special needs kid (and that's really okay),  but trust me when I tell you that it is rarer than April snow. 

There is something so joyful in watching children play outside.  Please remind me of this when the next round of birthdays roll around and I'm eyeing up "Pump-it-up" as a venue. This is a party.  Hanging out and watching kids do kid things.  Knowing that if you look away for a minute, your kid will still be okay.  I confess I sat in the playhouse with another mom for over an hour just comparing notes on crazy.  We had beer just in case we felt dehydrated. 

It was good. 

It was the kind of party I imagine we'd have if we had family.  I'm probably wrong--everything imaginary looks good, but it's what I would want for my sons.  And so we make our family for their sake.  Hell, we force a family. We meet our neighbors and learn their names and find out how similar we are, how much we have in common, how varied and rich our talents and dreams are. And it feels like family.  (I think.  I am woefully inexperienced in this area.)

So often, I write of the ghost town my family has become, the distance between old friends.  So much more, with my brother hanging in the balance.  I don't undertand, I won't, and I can't pretend I do.  It hurts and I am scared and saddened, but it is what it is, you know? 

We made new friends today.  My sons made new "best" friends.  They ran and chased and yelled and jumped.  Then they all the obligatory melt-down. But it was good. 

Just for today, I stepped outside my tight little circle of sad, and yeah, I know I can't stay outside of it for too long, but I'm so very, very glad for days like today because even the smallest bit of light eases the dark.

And guess what? Next week we'rehaving a hoot-n-nanny!

 I can't wait.

Party On!

Finally. 
Almost a solid month after the fact, we will actually celebrate the twins' seventh birthday tomorrow.
How pathetic is that?

Well...see, with every passing weekend, the days get longer and there's less of a chill in the air. More chance to play outside. Less chance of too many little kids tearing through the house freaking the cat.  And if LRHF is going to be barefoot, as is his want, we should do what we can to make it seem less absurd.  No small task. 

What did I do today?  More importantly, why do I have so much freaking crap to do tomorrow, and why does so much of it involve puffy paint?

My babies are seven.  SEVEN. That's two syllables, which is twice as many as they had last year when they turned six.  Seven.  Good God. 

So much changes in that double-syllabled time frame.  I've lost all my grandparents, my mother drifts ever farther from, well, everything, then there's autism, autism, autism. Oh, and of course, there's the autism. And,now, my brother begins his journey Home, too soon, too quickly, and completely without my permission. 

And yet. 
We celebrate. We jump on the trampoline, we swing on the swingset, we play in the playhouse.  Good, basic stuff.  I hope they remember these low-rent so-not-at-Pump-It-Up parties as our gifts to them, our our sharing of them with our little low rent world.  We love the lives of our boys, LRHF's coy and stubborn smile, Fuzzy's e.e. cummings observations...they are so very different, so very lovely, and so very mystifying, even after seven years. 
I wish...I wish my family knew them, my sons.  I wish that for them, and it makes me sad. 

For now, tho, I need to find more glitter puffy paint for the treat sacks.  I think about all that other stuff later.

Maybe.

Priorities, you know.