It's October 1st. It's 86 degrees. The sun has turned autumn gold and the grass is fading. The temperatures dip slightly and then rocket back up to the 90s. The weather is a tease as always but I know after 23 years in this town, that the cold won't stick around until after Halloween.
The oldest child is 14. Beautiful, terrible 14. A world of possibilities. A world of fear. A world of self confidence. A world of doubt. Hair half pink, half blue. I've been roughly shoved into the world of apprentice colorist, as I learn to bleach and dye hair with a shave on the sides. This kid looks at me with pleading eyes and wants me to create the vision so clear in their head. I doubt myself, worry, set a timer, and try my best, and it ends up not too bad. My eldest child still flits through the world as a pixie, like a butterfly. Like a hurricane. Like a force of nature. Art still pours out of her fingers like it's life itself. Academics and theatre and writing take the stage now. Music is still there but got burned by a bad band teacher. She worries that she will never know enough to make it in the world. And then she turns around and amazes all of us with how much she has always been grown up in her mind. Our family learns speak the language of Autism better and better as time goes on, carving out a safe place for our neuro-spicy family.
The middle child is 12 and Lord help us all. The testosterone rage that descends on this sweet kid's mind. He alternates between sweet as honey and spicy as fire. He's learning to find himself. To know himself and what he needs. He's learning to speak up for what he needs. He's teachable and coachable but only if it's NOT me or his dad. He leans in where his strength lies and works hard, even at chores (amid loud protests). He's a loyal friend that cheers hard for his buddies and celebrates their achievements. He loves to play baseball, some for the game and I think some for the camaraderie. He still notices too much the moods of those around him and tries to make it all smooth as silk but that is in the power of no person, no matter if they are 12 or 112. He's still rocking his mullet, now with a pony tail we call his "Jim Hawkins" a la Treasure Island. He has his own style and ideas amid the mess of being 12. Music runs through him and it doesn't matter if it's trombone (even though he hates practicing but loves being good at it) or just riffing with his brother unconsciously as they go about their day.
The youngest is 10 and in some ways, found his stride with a good fit in sport. It was soccer. I should have known. He's the right build, has amazing speed and tenacity. Plight of the youngest child being dragged to whatever is easiest for Mama and Papa to make happen. But he spoke up for himself and said no more baseball, only soccer and running. He still does math like it's breathing, and spends his time on the trampoline, running shirtless and barefoot around the neighborhood, his summer blond mullet shining in the sun. We finally found the right bait to catch this last reluctant reader, coupled with a perceptive eye doc who gave him a bump in magnification to help his eyes track better together. He's still my jokester, still my black and white thinker. He seems so carefree and then surprises me with worrying about how he will ever learn to buy a house. Still strong and wild, still my monkey man. I love seeing him grow more into himself as the others have done before him.
I'm 46 and 11/12ths and after much mental resisting began to settle down of the business of being a true teacher to these kids, not just facilitating their curriculum. Seeking out information to make their learning go better and to navigate the peculiarities of their brains. I still have several books of my own cooking on the back burner of my mind and hard drive, (one added this month) which I give time to occasionally, but being a good teacher is my primary focus right now. I am still the queen of overthinking and still am plagued with the idea of the perfect "right answer" even though time has taught me there isn't one. Matt and I find more grace for each other and the kids as we learn to accept ourselves as we are and not as we wish we were. The lens of our neuro-diverse brains continue to color our world, often not the same color, but it blends to a good hue and works. I look forward to the year that is coming. To the change in the weather. To a change of scenery.
