today is that sad day when the Christmas tree comes down. when we put things in a box that won't be opened until next year. it's a day of endings. even Christmas music doesn't sound right anymore- but i did listen to the messiah one last time- in that sort of painful way- like listening to the song you slow-danced to after you break up with someone. and i started thinking about closure.
the act or process of bringing an end to something.
this has always been an important concept to me. when i was growing up, even in 4th and 5th grade, after school on the last day, i would climb a tree, sit alone and reflect on the year for a while. i would pause and think about what i'd learned and how we were all growing up and that time was moving and nothing i could do would stop that. i guess it's just in me. so endings are hard and i feel nostalgia and melancholy and quiet.
that's where i am today.
the sunny late afternoon of late december on the equator just doesn't feel right. i need snow or cold or bare branches, a fire crackling, those things that help me close the year. i have seasonal jetlag.
so i did the best i could. i went for a run- short and i wouldn't say sweet- but needed. i organized shelves, and put away stockings and ornaments. i baked gluten-free bread from scratch because someone sent xanthum gum. i did laundry and thought about planting things in our yard. i stripped beds and settled disputes about the fair distribution of lego men and reminded zoe 100 times to complete her waking up routine. it rained for a while- a good hard rain- like a little gift of almost winter.
we find ourselves in the mundane things. who we really are, is who we are when we pick up our lives and make meals for our family and separate legos and remind kids to close the door for the 1,000,000th time.
last summer in atlanta i felt like a broken record stuck on , "SHUT the door!!" because of the air-conditioning. and here it's the same thing- but because of the bugs. i think i should attach a tape recorder to the door that is triggered when the door opens and just says it for me. but these are the pieces of life, and there is no closure- it just go on and on. raising children is just like this. you say things hundreds of times and suddenly they reach an age where they begin to shut the door. (and i bet it would be reached at the same time if i never said 'shut the door' again).
raising a non-neurotypical kid is even more like this. you say it, say it again, say it louder, and again, until you feel like you're being scrapped on a human size cheese grater. this week we were lamenting about how long the basic learning takes. sometimes it helps to remember that some skills have been 'mastered' or at least greatly improved upon, but sometimes it doesn't help, sometimes it's looking your life square in the face and thinking about the cheese grater. mike did some quick calculations based on her learning to effectively wash her own hair and figured out it took about 100 times longer to teach her than another kid. granted that is possibly the mac-daddy of tasks for her. it integrates, strength, motor planning, will, sensory issues, motivation, task completion, multiple ordered steps, and keeping arms above the head for a while which is hard with a malformed shoulder. but she's doing it- doing it independently, effectively and usually with out using the entire hot water tank.
the evening is here, the monkeys are on the roof, the sky is pale and the trees have become black silhouettes. the air is cool and feeling slightly more like december. the house lights are on, a soft glow of home.
the day is ending. i will hold this closure, and enjoy it and appreciate it. i will let go of the long seasons i'm used to, and be thankful for the short ones of each day. they're more my speed anyway, more manageable, more forgiving. what is in a moment? what is in a day?
the act or process of bringing an end to something.
this has always been an important concept to me. when i was growing up, even in 4th and 5th grade, after school on the last day, i would climb a tree, sit alone and reflect on the year for a while. i would pause and think about what i'd learned and how we were all growing up and that time was moving and nothing i could do would stop that. i guess it's just in me. so endings are hard and i feel nostalgia and melancholy and quiet.
that's where i am today.
the sunny late afternoon of late december on the equator just doesn't feel right. i need snow or cold or bare branches, a fire crackling, those things that help me close the year. i have seasonal jetlag.
so i did the best i could. i went for a run- short and i wouldn't say sweet- but needed. i organized shelves, and put away stockings and ornaments. i baked gluten-free bread from scratch because someone sent xanthum gum. i did laundry and thought about planting things in our yard. i stripped beds and settled disputes about the fair distribution of lego men and reminded zoe 100 times to complete her waking up routine. it rained for a while- a good hard rain- like a little gift of almost winter.
we find ourselves in the mundane things. who we really are, is who we are when we pick up our lives and make meals for our family and separate legos and remind kids to close the door for the 1,000,000th time.
last summer in atlanta i felt like a broken record stuck on , "SHUT the door!!" because of the air-conditioning. and here it's the same thing- but because of the bugs. i think i should attach a tape recorder to the door that is triggered when the door opens and just says it for me. but these are the pieces of life, and there is no closure- it just go on and on. raising children is just like this. you say things hundreds of times and suddenly they reach an age where they begin to shut the door. (and i bet it would be reached at the same time if i never said 'shut the door' again).
raising a non-neurotypical kid is even more like this. you say it, say it again, say it louder, and again, until you feel like you're being scrapped on a human size cheese grater. this week we were lamenting about how long the basic learning takes. sometimes it helps to remember that some skills have been 'mastered' or at least greatly improved upon, but sometimes it doesn't help, sometimes it's looking your life square in the face and thinking about the cheese grater. mike did some quick calculations based on her learning to effectively wash her own hair and figured out it took about 100 times longer to teach her than another kid. granted that is possibly the mac-daddy of tasks for her. it integrates, strength, motor planning, will, sensory issues, motivation, task completion, multiple ordered steps, and keeping arms above the head for a while which is hard with a malformed shoulder. but she's doing it- doing it independently, effectively and usually with out using the entire hot water tank.
the evening is here, the monkeys are on the roof, the sky is pale and the trees have become black silhouettes. the air is cool and feeling slightly more like december. the house lights are on, a soft glow of home.
the day is ending. i will hold this closure, and enjoy it and appreciate it. i will let go of the long seasons i'm used to, and be thankful for the short ones of each day. they're more my speed anyway, more manageable, more forgiving. what is in a moment? what is in a day?
3 comments:
Your comment about children one day shutting the door on their own touched me. That sounded SO familiar! You won't believe how quickly, though, they are closing the door behind themselves as they move on to a life elsewhere.
again, thank you susan!
it can be so hard for me to remember this- and then to just savor it. i like your perspective!
have a wonderful end of the year!
I am the same way. Incredibly nostalgic and I think this year I haven't had much time to sit and reflect enough. Thank you for reminding me that I need to though.
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