More N Deliciousness

It was just after Religious School, and I'd run into our rabbi outside his office; he'd stopped to chat with me. Once N's friends had all dispersed, N joined us. Somehow, the topic turned to fruit; I think N was eating a tangerine.

"What kind of fruit has its seeds on the outside?" N asked suddenly. It's a 'riddle' he likes to bring up any time the word fruit arises in conversation; he learned it in his PE class, where the teacher throws them one or two word/logic type puzzles a week.

"A strawberry," Rabbi answered promptly.

I laughed; N is used to stumping people with that one. "Ah, see? Rabbi knew, N!"

N turned to me, rolling his eyes. "Duh, Mom. He's a rabbi. He's supposed to know everything."

Rabbi literally roared with laughter. Wiping his eyes, he patted N on the head. "Hate to break it to you buddy, but I don't know everything."

N looked at him levelly, then shrugged. "But you know God's name," he said. That, clearly, settled the issue; he turned and walked away, while Rabbi and I just looked at each other and grinned.

Dear name-of-God. That kid.

Your Son: An Email Exchange With N

[Verbatim. Because if this doesn't translate on its own--and it may not, I may be the only one guffawing here--no amount of embellishment or explanation is going to help.]

From: N
To: TC
Subject: your son

ples writght me back

love
your
n

-------
From: TC
To: N
Subject: Re: your son

Hi, my son! ;-)

I love you.

Love,
Mommy

-------
From: N
To: TC
Subject: Re: your son

ok wright more complents

------
From: TC
To: N
Subject: Re: your son

I'm not sure what "complents" are. Do you mean compliments? Do you want me to tell you how much I love you? Or how good you are at golf? And how much I enjoy reading stories you write?

Love,
Mommy

-------
From: N
To: TC
Subject: Re: your son

to many questins

Dobby Has No Master, But He Does Now Have a Family

So we've been out and about a lot lately. I'm not just talking about my trip to New York with N, to see my folks and celebrate my mom's mumbledieth birthday (best reaction to a surprise ever!), or even to the fact that, while we were there, Em and Baroy spent a 12-plus-hour day at Disneyland. I mean I'm working more hours than usual; Em, at 13, has the social life of...well...an exceptionally busy 13-year-old; N has his 73 different after-school activities; and Baroy's been working on more than the usual number of projects, including a documentary about a special-needs soccer team. (No, N's not on it. More on all that one of these days.)

What all this means is that Snug's been on his own more than we'd like him to be. For most of the five years he's lived with us, he's had near-24-7 human companionship. But no more. And so we've worried. We've fretted. We've felt guilt.

Enter Dobby, that sleepy-headed, only-been-here-five-day-but-can't-imagine-life-without-him-already moppet at the top of this page. How ever did we find him? Via Facebook, natch.

Officially, we're doing a favor for one of Baroy's friends, a woman involved with a rescue group; the foster mom taking care of this particular mutt (and I mean mutt, since I see about 45 different breeds in him--from Wheaten to wolfhound to scotty to possibly corgi) was going out of town for a month, and she put up some photos and a plea for someone else to step in and fill the gap.

Step in we did. But any filling of gaps was all Dobby. Especially if you're talking about the gap in our family...the one we didn't even know we had.

And so, in less than a week, we've named him and bought him toys and taken him for walks and introduced him to friends and given him a new collar, tossing the raggedy one he came to us with. And while Snug pretends to find him annoying, the two of them are already spending half the day running around the backyard playing tug-o-war with one or another toy, and the other half sleeping butt to butt on the couch. At night, Snug has continued his working-dog tradition of curling up at the bottom of N's bed, a boy-guard like no other; Dobby's lost no time in staking out a place to stretch out alongside Em on her bed. (And here I thought it wasn't possible for things to get any more gaggingly cute at our house.)

As long as Snug gets his food first, and there are no bones to jealously guard from the interloper, and we make sure to ignore Dobby in favor of Snug when we walk into the house after any absence...he's plenty happy to share his home with the new kid in town.

Which is good, since there's not a chance Dobby's going anywhere.

People let me tell ya 'bout my best friend...

The Club

I was spending the weekend with three of the world's most amazing women; Baroy was spending the weekend helping film a documentary that involves special needs kids. (More on both of those in more detail in the not-too-distant future.)

On Sunday, they were filming--among other people--N's occupational therapist (who is, if you ask me, a not-so-minor deity). Because Em has expressed interest in seeing how filmmaking works, and since I wasn't at home, he ended up taking both of them for a full day of filming.

By the end of the day, I'm told, N was done. D. O. N. E. He began to whine and suck his thumb and just generally get under everyone's feet...and skin. So, Em told me later, during the last interview of the day, pulled him onto her lap and held him tight, giving him the oh-so-calming sensory input that, really, almost all of us would do well with when things are just more overwhelming than we can handle. But, I digress.

They were, by this time, filming the family of a boy from Em's middle school who has autism; at one point, the boy was talking about going to a Galaxy soccer game, and how he felt about it. He said he felt nervous, and the interviewer asked him why. "I get nervous being around people I don't know," he admitted.

It was then, Em says, that from her lap came the barely audible sound of her brother's whisper. "Join the club," he said. "Join the club."

----
I recently pulled aside the aforementioned OT after a session in the clinic, to ask if it was unusual that N really never acknowledges his differences in any real way; doesn't seem to notice that not every child goes to RSP twice a day, has clinic and at-school OT sessions, gets pulled out for speech, gets pulled out for a little weekly psychotherapy.

"He's ten," I said, twisting my mouth a bit. "Shouldn't he recognize what's going on by now?"

"Well," she said. "by ten you might expect him to recognize his differences, maybe be concerned about them. Or, at least, you would if...you know...he didn't have a developmental delay." She emphasized the last two words, raising her eyebrows at me slightly, ever-so kindly, but meaningfully. "Which is, of course, why he's here in the first place."

I got it. I dropped it.

But now, I think, it may not be a delay. It may just be that recognition comes in many forms. It may just be that--despite the fact that he never cries about being "different," never asks about his quirks, never really talks about them as quirks--he sees himself clearly nonetheless. It may just be that he sees himself in others, that he gravitates toward 'his people,' and that he recognizes likenesses instead of differences.

It may just be that he sees himself as part of a club. Club Quirky. Club Spectrum. Club N.

He's Got Skills, All Right

There's ugly stuff going on at our tiny little synagogue. Political, maddening, saddening stuff. Where it will end, no one knows. I'm not sure there's a way back, but I'm not calling the game over quite yet. Where there's faith, there's hope. Or something like that.

But all that's too much for me right now. Too hard, and too long, and too complex, and not really all that much my story to tell. I'm pretty much peripheral to it, though it's been at the center of my thoughts for weeks now.

Which is why, instead, I want to tell you a light little shul story. One that focuses on our temple family, and not on its dysfunction. One that involved laughter to the point of tears, instead of just tears.

This weekend was the bat mitzvah of one of Em's closest friends, the daughter of one of my closest friends there. That meant that all of the key players in my part of our temple's little world were at services on Friday night. And as we are wont to do when we're all together, there was a lot of musical pews going on. Em was in the front row with her posse, all of them cheering on their friend as she led parts of the service. Baroy settled himself a few rows back. I flitted a bit--first next to Baroy, then to quickly whisper to the mother of the bat mitzvah, then to another friend who'd recently arrived. N has never sat in one place for more than 30 seconds during any service. Never. So he was doing his thing, too.

At one point, two of my mom-friends, C and F, were sitting near the back, and N plopped himself down between the two of them. C started idly rubbing his back. After a moment or two, N looked over at F and said, "This feels sooooo good. But you know what would feel better? Two hands!" And then just smiled brightly at F.

C was telling me this story later that evening, and I stopped her at this point. "So how long did it take F to start rubbing his back too?" I asked.

"Twelve milliseconds," she replied. And then started laughing, the kind of laughter that turns into painful gulps of air, tears streaming down your face.

"The thing is," she said, "at that moment, I just sort of flash forwarded about ten years..." And that was all she could get out, until she'd gained enough control to choke out, "I think it's possible that he doesn't really need those social skills therapies, you know? I think it's possible that he's going to be more than just fine."

A Big Bear Miracle

We've been coming up to Big Bear every year for the past nine years.

Each year, N has been terrified of sledding down the hill across from the house we stay in.

Most years, he has refused to even get on a sled once the entire weekend.

Every now and again, he's agreed to go on with Baroy. Once. Only.

Last year, just days before we came up here, he had surgery for an undescended testicle. Obviously, he wasn't allowed to sled. In classic contrary kid fashion, he spent the entire time complaining about the restriction. We just rolled our eyes.

This year, freed from the threat of popped stitches and uncontrolled bleeding, he insisted he was planning to spend the entire weekend making up for what he missed last year. Again, we rolled our eyes. We knew better.

We were so very, very wrong.

Neither crash, nor 62^nd crash, nor sled washed out to sea (OK, lake...sticklers) could stop this child.

(Yes, that is specifically why we couldn't let him sled last year. Can you imagine?)

Somehow or other, they managed to get that sled back. I'm not sure i want to know.

 

He was the first over the father-built moguls, the first up the hill after each run, and the last in the house after each excursion out. 

His sister had a blast, too. But that's par for her course.

But for him? For us? It was a Big Bear Miracle.

Books I Listened to in 2010

I'm starting this with optimism: that I will finish it before December of 2011, that I will get all the books into this one post, that anyone will bother to read it (or skim it) to the end. I am nothing if not optimistic. (Several of TC's friends snort derisively.)

This was a big year for audiobooks. It was, for one thing, the Year of Harry Potter. Jim Dale...I've listened now to probably close to 150 or more audiobooks, and he is hands and feet and all other appendages down the best narrator out there. I tried reading these books, mind you...several times. Never got past the first few chapters of Sorcerer's Stone. But I absolutely ATE these up. Was entranced, from beginning to end. And I don't DO genre. Especially not popular genre. I'm just too snobbish. It's a fault. Jim and Harry are the overwhelming exception to my rule.

1. Persuasion by Jane Austen: I think this was the first time I'd read this; I thought I'd done a full Austen tour back in the day, but upon listening to the story, I realized I must have missed this one. Imagine my delight in getting to read a "new" Austen! Love. Her.

2. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling: My journey begins.

3. Bonk by Mary Roach: Subtitled "The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex," this is, as many people have said, the kind of book you just want to stab yourself in the eye for not having thought of writing. The only problem with that would have been that the Mary Roach wouldn't have written it, and it wouldn't have been quite so pitch perfect.

4. Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen: This is actually my least favorite Austen, by which I mean I'll only reread it incessantly *after* I've reread all her other books.

5. The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld: Sorry. I didn't love Prep, and I really didn't love this.

6. Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher: Two disappointments in a row. This wasn't a book; it was never supposed to be a book. Sorry, Carrie.

7. Fool by Christopher Moore: I really do love Christopher Moore. This had some off moments, but overall, it got me.

My first night of Hanukkah present.

8. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by JK Rowling: LOVE Dobby. Need I say more?

9. Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier: Here's the problem with leaving a lot of these descriptions until the end: I can't remember if I actually finished this book. I seem to recall giving up on it somewhere in the middle. If I didn't, then I can't remember the ending. So I hope I did.

10. Wild Child by TC Boyle: Boyle's a master, no doubt, but this was no my favorite of his colletions of stories. And I can't quite put my finger on why.

11. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling: Not sure who I love more, Sirius or Lupin. Of course, I know enough about this series to know that I shouldn't bother to become overly attached to either of them…

12. No One Belongs Here More than You by Miranda July: Quite possibly the most depressing stories I've ever read. Incredible writing; can't point out exactly why, but take my word for it. Incredible.

13. The Women by TC Boyle: I'm not sure I agree with a lot of his choices in this book. (Why go backwards? Why so much focus on Miriam in all the 'parts'? Why not tell Kitty's story?) And it took me a while to warm up to the story overall. And yet, I found a lot of it fascinating and gripping nonetheless.

14. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by JK Rowling: Ah, Mad-Eye. I'm so conflicted about my love for me.

15. You Better Not Cry by Augusten Burroughs: These just didn't do it for me; they have their moments, but overall...just not quite there.

16. Shanghai Girls by Lisa See: I generally hate books in which there is a lot of secrecy and lying and the potential for it to all explode. But I didn't hate this one at all. The ending flummoxed me, if only because it felt more like cliffhanger than anything else. (Is there a sequel coming?) And it didn't transport me the same way Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, in particular, did. But it entertained.

17. The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield: I wasn't expecting much. Surprise! I got a really fun twisty 'ghost story.' I enjoy almost any book whose plot manages to surprise me, and especially those whose endings manage to satisfy me. This did both. Yay! A definite not-really-expected big ol' recommend.

18. My Man Jeeves by PG Wodehouse: Oh, Bertie. Oh, Jeeves.

19. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by JK Rowling: No, seriously. Did Harry give one real, genuine smile in this entire book? Have a single lighthearted moment? I think not. This was my least favorite, though it had some truly great lines. (Also...SOB. Oh, you who I won't name so I won't spoil it for the .23 people who have yet to read the series. I'll miss you!)

20. Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger: I already wrote about this. But, to sum up, WTF, Audrey, with that ending? You had me--again, against my expectations, with yet another ghostish story--up until about the last quarter of the novel. But the end? Pissed. Me. Off.

21. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by JK Rowling: Now, see? This was a fun book, death and destruction and heartbreak aside, of course.

22. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling: I always hate endings, but this one, after seven books and all those hours of listening, could have REALLLLY pissed me off. It didn't. It needed a big bang, a true conclusion, and a (relatively) happy ending. And it delivered.

23. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot: I write about science for a living; I've even written about HeLa (the cells, though, not the woman). Reading science books, to me, often feels like the proverbial busman's holiday. Not this time, though. Powerful story, emphasis on STORY. Bravo. If you read one nonfiction book this year or ANY year, this is the one to go for.

24. Here If You Need Me by Kate Braestrup: My new boss K recommended this to me; I was worried that a book about a minister--in no matter HOW cool a ministry, and a forest-ranger ministry is WAY cool--would just not quite do it for me. I was wrong. I like Kate. I want to be her friend and hang out with her. But not in a helicopter over dense forests. Just in case she was thinking of calling to ask me...

25. Angle of Repose by Wallce Stegner: I mentioned in a previous book post this week that I can never decide between this and Crossing to Safety when naming my favorite Stegner. Since this is what I listened to most recently, it's definitely this one. Masterful. And much more sweeping. Though Safety's pretty kickass too!

26. I Know I Am, But What Are You by Samantha Bee: Nope. Sorry, Sam. More shtick than substance. And I didn't really think of it as a memoir, because half the stuff didn't ring even slightly true; there were so many internal inconsistencies due to what must have been significant instances of exaggeration that...I just didn't laugh that much. And it was supposed, if not else, to be funny.

27. Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby: I will say this; I didn't expect to love this book, though I do love Nick Hornby in general. It's about music, and I'm not a music fan. But, oh, I loved it. It felt so true and insightful. Really, really good.

28. The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver: This blew me away. The last quarter depressed me; I didn't want what I saw about to happen to happen. And then it did. And THAT depressed me, too. But still. Beautiful. Real characters and fictional character meshed perfectly, and minor characters came completely to life. I was really impressed.

 ******
Woot! I did it!!!! In one go. In early January. Now I can sleep.

Thanks for reading. Or pretending to. I'll never know the difference.