remains

Maybe it's the 91 degree heat here in otherwise London-foggy San Francisco. Maybe it's the back-to-schoolness of it all. I do know that my days have a sort of overexposed-photo quality to them, sort of as if my life were shot in a Steven Soderbergh film.

Anyhoo, we seem to be moving super slo-mo style in some sort of primordial goo, and managing to get through our days. Roxie has taken to Kindergarten like a fish to, well, water, and it's all learning all the time. She knows everything. Seriously. Just ask her. She reports on her classmates; who wore new shoes which day, and whose mother always comes late to morning circle. She can tell you what snack they will have next Tuesday at aftercare, and who farted in line.

She's off and running.

Miss M returned to her lovely little school with little fanfare; an old sage, she sauntered up to line and casually strode in with the group with nary a wave to my husband, who, by now, is 40 percent gray. Miss M, does feel, however, that it might take her some time to become accustomed to all of this socializing and play-dating that she was doing before the break; I just have to work my way back into it. It's exhausting being popular. She makes do with hanging with the new girl in her class, sitting on the bench at recess and telling stories, as the new girl isn't very active. Her legs hurt after PE. But I'm encouraging her to be athletic. Spoken from the kid who told herself stories alone on the bench for three years at her old school.

So, merrily we roll along. Hot and sweaty, but rolling.

Mama is in the thick of it at work; new position is kicking my ass with more beaurocracy, more meaningless meetings, more management of overworked, underpaid people. If I came home tired before, I positively drag my carcass up the stairs, scarcely able to do more than cook dinner, bathe children, and collapse into my pink sanctuary, lightly drooling.

Add to that a low-calorie diet with no frivolity or alcohol, and you've got a recipe for an epic meltdown.

My children are now school-aged. There is no more of the pulling-up of the pull ups, preschool, toddler anything, therapies, or cryptic emails home. For all intents and purposes, we're solid with this parenting thing. We know where we're headed, and by all accounts, we are looking good.

Miss M is pretty much who she is now - things seem to be preferences rather than problems, and it becomes a measure of motivation and desire to interact than deficit. For her, it's all about having the energy to - sigh - do the thing. Most of the time, she can get it up.

So what now? I am no longer dashing about to take M to therapies and groups, and betwixt and between, juggling rehearsals and classes. I no longer have this Autism thing pervading my every thought, sucking me dry of all of my energy. It's a consideration that comes and goes, but no, it's no longer the epicenter of my existence.

What remains is me, my job that has spread out exponentially, and my husband.

I look at him, and as I've mentioned, I can see how much we've weathered by the grizzle of his gray hair, the lines in his face, and the rounded stoop of his shoulders. God only knows how it's manifested on my body. I can't know.

I sit now, wondering, in the aftermath, who I am and why I'm here. What is my next move?

Sometimes people change after a life-changing event. Some emerge better for them. Some don't change at all. But couples? Changing together? In exactly the same ways?

I don't think it happens frequently.

I do know that I am scratching my head and looking over at my husband, who is yawning and staring at the wall, and wondering What happened to us? We've changed, certainly, individually - but together? What did we do before Floortime? What made us laugh, or have conversations unrelated to bills, schools, or children?

Emerging from post-traumatic stress syndrome, veterans often have a hard time finding peers - those who have similar experiences and can empathize. I have peers. All of you reading this, I'm willing to bet, are my peers, and judging from your comments, you are plenty empathetic.

I've been running with a partner, passing the baton, doing a good job with him. We're keeping the pace. As far as being in sync, or calculating movements - we are rusty.

Many posts ago, I posted some discontent about the attitude of the PTA at my daughter's school. I was hurting pretty bad, and everyone had a nice comment, or a suggestion. Carrie Wilson Link, bless her, simply said, "Having a special needs kid can be isolating sometimes. And lonely."

I was immediately relieved by her words, simply because she validated my feelings. She wasn't offering advice or a solution. She heard me. She saw me.

Sometimes that's all you need.