Picures and Stories

Jake, on the boat to Fire Island

There are pictures and there are stories.

A picture is a frozen moment in time. How things looked for a fraction of a second, over there, from here. And the story that goes with the picture, well, a story is another thing altogether.

There is the story under the story. Beyond the story. On the other side of the story. There is what went on before, what happened next.

I took this picture last week, when I took a day off from dealing with the dismantling of my mother's life and apartment, the dispossessing her of her things, to spend a day at the beach with my sons.

This move couldn't possibly have come at a worse time: the dog days of summer when the kids have no school, no camp and no friends around to entertain them; when everyone who is capable of it has gotten out of dodge. But here I was, trapped, sitting in an apartment in the City, sifting through every last bit of my parents' life together, downsizing my mother into a few boxes.

But that's neither here nor there, one bit of the backstory of this photo, which has so many backstories, so many threads all woven together to create this one image.

The moment is this: I'm on the boat to Fire Island with my two sons, a friend, and her twin boys, who are friends of Ethan's and have gone to camp with him this summer.

Day-tripping, we have taken the subway to the train to the taxi to the boat. But arrived with short moments to spare before it takes off, thus the desired "top deck" outdoor seats are all occupied and we are relegated to the likewise nearly full benches below decks.

Jake's got the window seat and he's loving it. I take this photo. Instagram it, and send it out over Twitter and Facebook.

Friends chime in: "Have a lovely day at the beach!"

That was my intention, a laid-back day of sand and sun and ocean and beach town. A one day mini-vacation in the midst of so much that is sad drudgery and emotional quicksand in my life right now. And the boys were to have "Fun Mommy" back for a day.

But that's not how the gods of autism saw it.

Because about ten minutes after this photo was taken?

Jacob stuck his head just a little further out the window... and the sharp wind blew his hat sheer off his head, tumbling it in the air, plummeting into the ocean below and increasingly far behind us.

And Jacob? He howled. He screamed. He beat the bench with his fists. He threw himself down on the floor of the boat and carried on an autistic meltdown to beat all autistic meltdowns. On a packed boat.

His grandfather was a Cantor. That must be where he got the lungs.

"My hat! I want my orange hat! I want my hat back!"

I heard this, well, I can't say "non-stop," because he did, eventually, stop for short whiles before working up to full steam again, but I heard this near continuously for the next six hours. And then regularly, with slightly longer breaks, for the next six after that. (And I am still hearing the occasional "What happened to my hat?" today, five days on.)

The full-bore screaming tamped down after the first hour or so, but the sporadic sobbing continued for the rest of the day. Along with demands that we go GET. MY. HAT. BACK!

Jake doesn't melt down often, but when he does, it's a wonder to behold.

I was really not fond of the stares. But didn't have the time or energy to focus on strangers. My boy was in distress, miserable and out of control. And I had to protect him. And help him (as best I could, but good lord my best was not good enough). And oh my god yes I have another kid, too, and thank god my friend just whisked him away with her two sons, and we met up with them an hour or so later when the worst of the storm had passed.

No mini-vacation. No fun mommy.

Just barely-holding-her-shit-together-mommy, once again.

And so it goes.

But the picture is lovely.

And all that it suggests.

The day that might have been.

But that would be a different story.

I am linking this up with my friend Heather's Just Write

Random thoughts of a tired sandwich-generation mother on a Saturday morning

It's Saturday, and I've been writing posts in my head, scribbling cryptic notes about them into my phone since Wednesday. But still. Nothing. I don't have the concentration, the focus.

When I have a spare five minutes I play word games with friends on my computer or my phone. I know these are "time wasters" and I have none to spare, yet need the mindless soothing they provide. challenges with quick and clear outcomes (I won! I lost!) resolved in minutes, as opposed to weeks, months, lifetimes.

Jake woke up at 5 AM today again. He says it's "bad dreams" but I have no idea if this is really about dreams or if that's just a phrase he's picked up from TV/books/movies and finds convenient.

He won't elaborate. Neither is he capable of getting back to sleep.

So another night's sleep shot to hell for me.

It's supposed to be the hottest day of the year today. Triple digits.

We're supposed to be going out to the Island, me and the boys, see my mother, my cousin Annette and niece Katrina; find a body of water to throw our overheated bodies into.

But if I don't get a bit more sleep I'll be too tired to safely drive.

And now it's 7 and Ethan has awakened, also too early.

They will probably fall asleep in the car. Which is OK. (As long as I don't.)

Except it will probably be five minutes before we arrive at Mom's rehab center. So I'll be on the horns of a dilemma: drive around aimlessly to let them sleep a bit longer, eating up fossil fuels and making my mother wait for our visit, or wake them up after a mere cat nap and carry on.

How I wish I could declare today a lazy-stay-home-all-day-electronics day. But we need to see my mother, my cousins, and most importantly my Aunt Eva.

She is come home from the hospital now, under hospice care. All she really wants now is to be left alone. Although vastly more comfortable home than in the hospital, everything is still all too much.

Touch hurts, bothers her.

She has stopped eating, will take water in small sips from a spoon.

This may change. But if it doesn't...



I am sure she has no interest in seeing me. But I need to see her.

To say goodbye. To be there for my cousins and my uncle (who himself just developed walking pneumonia, being there for everyone else and neglecting the care of his own self).

All I want is to lie in front of an air conditioner and sleep.

Wake up and eat blueberries with sour cream; something I thought was disgusting as a kid, but now invokes my mother in the summer so strongly I feel she is at my side, lifting my spoon to her own mouth as I sit and take in the light and the dark, the sour and the sweet. Together.

As life often presents it.

Cousins on the 4th!

Mom & cousin Annette

So my Aunt Eva is not doing well. This past Monday she needed to go from the Sub-Acute Rehab Center (what we used to call a Nursing Home back in the day) that we had specifically moved my mother to, to be near her, back into the hospital.

And so her daughters - my cousins - came wheeling in from parts North with most of their children in tow.

Greta and Mom

This turned into a bonanza of visitors for my mother, and an unexpected family-reunion style 4th of July for me. I LOVE my cousins. And there's a whole post about that percolating. But for today, just a few annotated pictures of the gang and carryings on.

The gang who stopped by to see Sylvia & I on Tuesday

After taking in the new Spider-Man movie as a whole family in the morning, the boys and I drove out to the Island on the afternoon of the 4th, leaving their Dad home to "get things done" around the house. (And he did!)

We stopped in for a brief visit with Mom, and then landed at Chez Heimer, where we quickly changed into suits for a late day beach run to the Sands Point Castle Preserve just up the road. It's a "best kept secret" beach; quiet, LI Sound, with no waves but great swimming.

After the swim we ate a hearty dinner together. Badminton was played. Jess took the girls and Ethan out to get ice cream and then bring a hot fudge sundae to my mom, who was once again delighted by the hubub of a group of visitors.

Although I hear Ethan got disgusted with all the effusive girly-girl-kissy-face going on and declared "She's MY Grandma and I love her and all, but I'm about to barf."

The kids played Apples to Apples, Uncle Walt got a birthday cake, and Jake fell asleep watching TV in the basement. I drank a cup of strong coffee and we headed home, tired, happy, and sad that an era is soon come to an end.

Because this?

Back yard at dusk

Is part of why I love coming out to the "ancestral home" in Port Washington so much (besides the biggest draw: the people I love dearly). The woods and fields just beyond my Aunt & Uncle's house at the end of a dead end street that were the scene of much unsupervised cousinly roaming in my childhood.

Sitting on their back porch, looking out, it feels like you're in the jungle, deeply communing with nature.

And you are. But you're also a three minute drive from a store that sells organic rotisserie chicken, crusty fresh bread, and Haagen Dasz.

It was a lovely fourth.

Wordless Wednesday: What I Did on My Summer Vacation

For those of you who were reading me last year? This is going to look awfully familiar, because we were back at the in-laws' Great Barrington house again this year.

Which means a lot of swimming in the pool, Jake in love with the car, and me obsessed with the magnificent flowers in Patty's lovely garden. Wanna see?

Jake the fish

By the time I pulled out the camera, Ethan was already done, warming up in the sun

For those who doubt - see my husband does exist!

Flowers!

Big, beautiful flowers!

Ethan contemplating his new lefty mitt

Once again, Jacob delighted in watering the car

He takes his job very seriously

He even got Ethan to put down his glove and help out this year

Dude can get a little bossy

Jake supervising, Ethan pouring

Inspecting his work

Jake showing me where the hose is, to fill his watering can: "Go over THERE, Mommy."  If you know anything about autism, you know how important this photo is.

In a few years, Dude, in a few years. (Yikes!)

Brothers

Also? It was a really short trip this year. Rain, rain, rain, rain. But two glorious sunny days.

I could sit in this back yard forever

And then we headed home to pack up the boys for their week of camp. And for me to then drive back UP to the Berkshires 2 days later. This will definitely be known as the summer of the car. (And no, I'm not ever really wordless. Deal with it.)

And I’m linking up to Wordless / Wordful Wednesdays all OVER the place... at Angry Julie Monday... at 5 Minutes for Mom... at live and love...out loud... at Dagmar*s momsense... at Parenting by Dummies.


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Blog Gems at Summer's End

Can you believe a whole fortnight has passed since the last Blog Gems - Air Your Archives link-up? Me neither. What has happened to TIME this summer?

We've been so busy vacationing and preparing for vacationing (so much work I need a vacation from THAT) and this year for the FIRST TIME preparing to send the boys off to a week of sleep-away summer camp (sob, my baaaaabies, sob). Ethan is going with friends, and Jake is going to a special ASD camp where we hope he will find friends.

So while we are off depositing our kids in different states today, you....

Come! link up! Tell all your friends! I promised my friend Jen her lovely linky meme would be alive and well when she brings it back home to her blog, The King and Eye, some time in the fall (or whenever she's ready). So don't make a liar out of me.

This is what Jen says about Blog Gems:
How many posts do you have languishing in your archives? Great posts that will never be dusted off and brought out to breathe again! Maybe you created fabulous content before you had lots of followers, or maybe you have been blogging for years and your current followers haven't seen your older material.

Blog Gems - Air Your Archives is a fortnightly linky list where we will give a prompt and you select a post from your archives that fits the prompt. You do not have to create content for the prompt, unless you want to. All you have to do is copy and paste the url of the post into the linky list. Voila, an old post gets a second shot!

To take part:

1. Follow MY blog for now (and Jen's blog once I hand her back the reins) to get future Blog Gem posting information and linkys.

2. Grab the Blog Gem button and place it on your sidebar (html code here). Putting the button on your blog is not a deal-breaker, some people just don't like doing it and I have no problem with that at all. What I will say is that something like this can't be successful without 'word of mouth' so I would appreciate if you could find another way to let people know that this is available and they are welcome to join in.

3. Enter your link.

4. Read and comment on the submissions of the two blogs posted before you on the linky list. (Please!)

5. Help spread the word by telling your blogging friends, either by tweeting this or blogging about your entry.

And here's what I have to add:
It's a wonderful chance to get fresh eyeballs on your great posts from the past. People tend to put in recent posts because they're freshly in our radar, but I would encourage rooting around in your archive and dredging stuff up that's deeply buried, if you can.

The rule is that you're supposed to select a post from your archives that fits the prompt... but, being the generous, kind-hearted person that Jen is, it's a lenient rule. She states: "Broad interpretations of the prompt are encouraged so this could be a good chance to be creative!"

And now the theme (you may have guessed it)... as I'm currently wallowing in end-of-summer bittersweetness and nostalgia, full of feelings as my boys are about to go off to camp alone for the first time in our lives, this week's prompt is: Endings and Transitions 

Endings and Transitions... things that are over or about to be over... changing over to a new regime, or just the little daily transitions (that some of us have such trouble with). Take this as large or small as you want to go... the end of a day, a relationship, an era. Personal or political... macro or micro... happy or sad (or some of each)... have fun!

Ready? Good. Go link up!

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Wordless Wednesday: Beach Day

Really I've been talking about it for days, did you expect pictures of anything else?

I think I may ACTUALLY go wordless here today, let the pictures do the talking. But, um, they're allowed to have CAPTIONS, right? Goooood:

A boat! On a boat to the beach!

Nearly there...

Ocean: spotted!

Yes, it was one of those *perfect* beach days.

After our big swim, Jake spent a lot of time in the sand.

Jake loves him some sand. (SPD)

Ethan, on the other hand, was quite happy in the foamy shallows,

hanging out with his friend,

and helping some kids build a sea wall.

Anyone ever doubt me when I tell them Jake is a sensory seeker? Didn't think so.

 Jake made it his business to get as sandy as possible.

Very sandy.

Very, very, very sandy.

Sandy but happy. Win.

I’m linking up to Wordless / Wordful Wednesdays all OVER the place... at Angry Julie Monday... at 5 Minutes for Mom... at live and love...out loud... at Dagmar*s momsense... at Parenting by Dummies.


Looking for comments? To read or leave a comment, click on THIS post's title, or HERE, to bring you to the post's page view. Comments should appear below.

Breakers

We have gone to the beach, my children and I, finally this summer, in mid July.

Our toes slide past the shoreline’s tickling foam fingers with hours and hours of traveled anticipation at our backs pushing us further and further into the crashing waves.

The first slap of ocean upon sun warmed flesh a shock delicious and bracing, and as familiar as breathing to me, thrown suddenly way back to my beach-washed childhood.

They want to go deep, my sons. Beyond the breakers, with me.

"Swim, mommy! I want to swim!" Jacob has been chanting over and over, impatient through the processes of establishing our beachhead; of blankets unfurled and corner weighted, towels piled at the ready, glasses securely stowed away.

He will not be denied.

We stand thigh deep in the churning foam as I test the ocean’s resolve to push us under, pull us out. The waves are dramatic but not demonic, the undertow manageable. It’s a go.

This first time I must take them out together, as neither will countenance being left behind, shore-locked and waiting.

When I was their age I was out in the deep on my own, body surfing the breaking waves as my father had taught me.  But these are city boys, our forays to ocean beaches few and far between. Once or twice a summer season. (Last year not at all, to my heart's sorrow.)

And I, after an urban beginning, was raised an Island girl, the south shore beaches my constant summer's terrain.

It was a casual thing for our family. Once a week, sometimes more, we'd toss our towels and a couple of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches into a bag and we’d be off to the beach. And then as a teenager, I would venture alone with friends on the Jones Beach bus.

With my sons, however, it's an outing, a sojourn, planned, scheduled, only attempted when the stars align and circumstances are just right. Like last Sunday.

They want to run headlong into the surf but I hold them back, an old hand at this game.

“Do you want to get trashed by the waves?” I ask them.

“Noooo!” they howl, seeking to be spared this indignity.

“Then wait for my signal, move when I move, and fast!” I instruct.

I stand looking seaward, study the waves as they collapse upon the many small sandbars that carpet the ocean floor here, engendering a complex pattern, difficult to properly time our approach.

I watch the ebb and the flow, making sense of what looks like chaos, and slowly the patterns emerge. There are occasional rogue waves coming in from the right, but basically these big waves come on: one, two, three, and then a little lull, one, two, three and then the lull, the outgoing wave canceling out the incoming one, creating calm, the appearance of stasis on the surface when below there is a swirling pas de deux.

“Now!” I yell, hoping I‘ve got it, that the wave I see beginning to swell out beyond the red ball buoy is going to be small, shallow, cresting once we are well beyond it. And indeed it is.

“Jump” I shout as the wave passes, rising us up with it, nowhere near ready to crash and crush.

(Yes, I’ve called it right.)

We bob and sway with the tide. Our faces split open in joy. You wouldn’t know which twin is autistic out here in the deep, both boys happily treading water, calmly following my instructions.

“Over, over!” I yell, and we rise up together, laughing into the spray. With Ethan tightly gripping my right hand and Jake my left, I am sincerely hoping my nose does not start to itch.

Occasionally a wave rises up and up, curls over us ominously, and our strategy changes. “Under!” I command and we dive below, surfacing to the screams of those being crashed upon, further ashore.

A double wave catches us by surprise, causing me to drop right into its crest, expecting a lull. As I snort some ocean water, I feel my feet starting to cramp and realize I have hit the point where my body is tiring of this constantly alert state. Time to head in.

The boys howl in protest, would stay out here all day, rising and falling in the swells with Mom. But I am the grown-up here, know when I am reaching my limits.

“It’s not safe anymore,” I tell them, “I'm getting too tired to keep you safe.”

“Nooooo!” they wail. But I am the Mom.

I turn my body toward the shore, but my head and gaze swivel back to watch once again the patterning of the waves. I want us to travel with them, to use the waves’ energy to bolster our flagging reserves, riding them shoreward.

I am trying to describe my process to Ethan, trying to teach, to pass on my knowledge; but this is hard, making explicit what is inside me mostly a feeling.

There are so many variables, chaos theory in action. There is my mind, calculating, looking at the swells: how high will they go, how fast are they traveling, how long it has been since the wave before, how fast it is being chased by the next, when and where and how large is the wave returning from shore to meet it?

But what is happening in the ocean at any moment is more than the sum of these parts. There is a gestalt to it, a knowing of the ocean, a sensing of her mood.

I can’t even say how I know what I know, but I know it. I feel it.

I have spent hours, days, years in the ocean and been trashed maybe thrice. Not in years.

And so when I yell to the boys “NOW! Move with THIS wave, let it carry you in!” I know it HAS to be this one; that hesitation will bring disaster, our timing off, the pattern all wrong and a wave will crash at our backs before we are far enough in, possibly throw us down, pull us under into a total sand-face-mash-up.

Not the end of the world, these waves too gentle for real damage; but still, a scary incident, a glimpse into the dark side of the ocean’s magic that I am not ready to invite yet into their sweet lives.

But lo, the boys listen, they move with me and the waves, let themselves be carried in.

And as our feet hit the sand we run, slogging fast towards shore. So the waves catch up with us too low to pull us under, a sandy tickling caress only.

We splash around in the shallows for a while, not quite ready to leave the salty sea. And as we drop onto the sand happily spent, let the receding tide tickle our feet, we look out at the noisy ocean and laugh. How we laugh.

They like to go deep, my sons.


This post was inspired by a prompt at The Red Dress Club. This week's RemembeRED assignment was to write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.”

Please click on the button above, go to the link-up and read the other wonderful posts you'll find there.


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Wordless-ish Wednesday Rocks!

I love the "-ish" formulation.

Implying sort of, almost, kinda, in the neighborhood of, the ballpark of but not exactly; no commitments here.

And me? I am never truly wordless am I?

No, not wordy, wordy me.

So, here's some photos from the boys lovely Sunday in the park with Mom, and also some words (because I just can't help myself):

Sunday? Was a perfect beach day. But we didn't go to the beach (my lingering summer cold knocking me out just too much for that).

So we went to the park. And in New York City, when you say "the park," you usually mean Central Park, the mother of all NYC parks.

We did. And here's the pictures to prove it...

First stop: Victorian Gardens Amusement Park

Some days? I am very grateful that Jacob is a member of the sensory-seeking autism tribe, so we can do things like this. He LOVES rides and motion; and the loud commotion in the park? Doesn't phase him a bit. Crank up the music, yo, it's all good!

Ethan was there with friends, so I didn't see much of him. The beauty of it being a very small, contained amusement park (in the footprint of the Wollman ice skating rink) and of Ethan's being almost 9 is that I can now just buy him a ride-all-day wristband and send him off with his friends, keeping half an eye out for them as I follow Jacob around from ride to ride.

Ethan has the extra cell phone on him if he needs me, and we meet back at our "home base" (a centrally located bench the moms take turns sitting on, and my huge bag is stationed at) at regularly scheduled times. And when the kids come begging for money for junk food.

Fun!

And then, when we were done with that and walking home through the park:  ROCKS!

One thing my boys agree on (and they don't agree on much) is that rocks rule. They LOVE to climb up, down, all over and around big rocks. Love to find, move, stack and play with the smaller rocks.

 

Rocks, rocks, rocks.

A ton of exposed Manhattan Schist = great rocks for climbing. Something Central Park has in abundance.

Climb on, boys!  

Yes, they came home dirty, sweaty, hungry, and happy.

And slept very, very well that night.

Win.

I’m linking up to Wordless / Wordful Wednesdays all OVER the place... at Angry Julie Monday... at 5 Minutes for Mom... at live and love...out loud... at Dagmar*s momsense... at Parenting by Dummies.
 

Looking for comments? To read or leave a comment, click on THIS post's title, or HERE, to bring you to the post's page view. Comments should appear below.