the most specialest day

Well, Christine, we had a great day yesterday. It was our first day at home this week because my parents had taken the boys home with them after the fireworks on Friday night. Bill and I had a weekend at home alone (very low-key- watching tennis and Harry Potter on tv and Arrested Development on DVD) and then I drove out to their house Monday to visit, spend the night, and we came back Tuesday.

Yesterday we rode bikes to the nearby elementary school playground for a picnic. A bike ride is still a lot more labor-intensive for mom than it should ultimately be. Thomas seems to have an unusual amount of anxiety whenever a car approaches or whenever he is "left alone" while I run back 20 yards to help Henry over a lip of sidewalk. (Henry pedals so slowly that he has no momentum to carry him over little obstacles.) Then, by the time we catch up to Thomas, Henry is so concerned about why Tommy is crying that he keeps asking him about it...

It's encouraging that Henry is so troubled when his brother is sad. It makes me really proud. But when one son has an anxiety attack about something small and then the other son has an anxiety attack about the first son's anxiety attack... it makes for not the most relaxing bike ride. Also, it was very humid yesterday and also, the city is re-paving a couple of the roads between here and there, so mom had to carry the bikes across the muddy ditches in the road. What an adventure!

But the trek was all worthwhile when we arrived, started eating our lunch, and Thomas announced "this is the most special-est day of my whole life!"

Henry had brought some books and papers to look at while we played, but he did ultimately join us on the playground for some playing, which made Thomas and I quite happy. When Henry came running over to join us, Tommy's face lit up and he exclaimed "Henry! What made you decide to play with us?!" I was wondering the same thing, but of course Henry didn't answer.

Our next stop was Henry's choice: the library. We rode over there (just 2 blocks back toward our house) and browsed the books and movies for an hour or so. I noticed signs for a magic show that afternoon but, bad mom that I am, didn't mention it to the kids. I thought it sounded dorky and wasn't sure that either boy would like it.

But, as more and more kids started showing up, I told Thomas about it, and he said he wanted to go. I was all "I'm a stay-at-home mom today. What the hell, we can stay and check it out." Henry sat in the back and looked at his books and movies, while Tommy and I sat on the floor with most of the other kids.

Thomas laughed and applauded and was amazed by the tricks. I was really glad we had stayed. And I realized that events like this help me feel a little more a part of our community. We've lived here for 7 years, but because I work in a different part of town and the kids' sitter is in a different part of town, we don't know a lot of people close to home.

Well, Henry does, from school. But you wouldn't know it. Perfect example from yesterday: Henry finally came down on the floor by us, to see if it was time to go yet. This boy sitting next to me said "Hi Henry", and waved. Henry gave a half-hearted "hi" and turned back to me. I bet Henry knew half the people in that damn room, but he could care less. And here are his mom and his brother, feeling like we don't know anyone. Oh the irony of life with autism.

One sour note about the magic show: the magician would call kids up to assist him. Since Tommy was sitting on my lap, giving off shy body language, I figured he wouldn't get picked to come up, and he didn't. Each child who helped was given a "magic wooden nickel" to take home. At the end of the show the magician made some throw-away joke about how if you put the nickel under your pillow, a dollar will appear in the morning, but be sure to tell your parents first.

Well, when Thomas realized that the show was over and he did not get a magic wooden nickel, the tears started flowing. He was not the only one, either. The magician might want to re-think that section of the show. Like 6 kids got the wooden nickels and then 94 other kids are feeling left out.

Once again, Henry was quite concerned about his brother's sorrow; inquiring about it long after the matter probably would have been forgotten. Henry used one of his favorite comforting phrases and I think it's really something for all of us to remember:

"Sometimes you don't get the wooden nickel."