Mumbling Madly

Pic by: victoria vanbruinisse http://www.hotavocados.com/blog

I tried to stare down my cold today…no advil, no antihistamine, no nuthin’. My appetite returned, but my nose ran with a vengeance. I worked for a few hours, came home, felt terrible, and put together pot sticker soup. Then I made a chocolate cake to curb my dessert craving. I pieced together fabric for a Christmas gift and hunched over the sewing machine until my back went stiff. I read, I watched TV, I sucked it up. I have to go to rehearsal now; I don’t know how I’m going to put on shoes, get into my car, and head out into the rain…somehow I have to do it. There’s no other way: I just took advil, cold, and sinus.

One boy is all checks and balances. He is followed around with a laminated card. A series of positives equal checks which equal one starburst candy. If he doesn’t look at the teacher or spaces off, a notation is made for future reference.

One boy is at constant odds with his body. He wears a unitard under his clothing for modesty–his pants like to come down. He has been known to pee next to other kid’s desks. The moment he touches his toes for a 10 seconds it is so precious, so genuine; the whole room seems to hold its collective breath.

One boy seems to always be overlooked. Void of emotional drama, physical challenges, and problems with authority, he floats from one thing to the next. A shy, sweet smile spreads across his face when he sees me, eager to dance. Very little words escape him, instead he gallops happily from one corner to the next. I try everything I can to verbally recognize his silent grace.

One boy is terribly conflicted internally. One moment he is fine with being brought back into the world, next thing you know he is howling with offense. Hands clutch his ears, eyes close defiantly, he slacks and wobbles and refuses. This is one of the hardest parts about autism for me: for a few precious moments I can see the little boy within, the genuine article, before it slips away and he is no longer touching his toes with joy but hiding, oppressively, under the table.

The one, solitary girl, is so beautiful it’s shocking. Bangs cut neatly across her head, long eyelashes, and pink tights hiding her diaper. She never sees me, only glimpses around me, past me, through me. Vapid.

Received a flu shot and promptly tumbled into the misery I always feel when getting a shot. Last year I tried to avoid getting one and became incredibly ill. This year, I scheduled the flu shot on a Friday so I could take Saturday off. Sunday was spent going from location to location for an elaborate FD photo shoot. (Per request, pictures will be released Saturday).

On Saturday morning, in an effort to feel better, Josh and I dined at the breakfast place down the street; ordering the classic breakfast and a waffle–plus an extra plate. We carefully divided both meals in two and read the paper in companionable silence. There was some discussion about getting Josh a haircut but we quickly abandoned this idea and settled into a day of no driving, no working, and no obligation. We fired up our coffee maker and spent the day in an on-going, coffee drinking, relaxed stupor. I realized this was the first weekend I hadn’t performed in a long time. Between the improv theater and the FD gigs, I’ve been a busy, busy lady.

The Sunday photo shoot was massive with multiple costume changes and the final shoot location at a roller rink. A friend of a friend loaned me a pair of skates. We struck all sorts of slightly awkward poses, our toes firmly planted using the knobby skate brakes. In between shots we skated around and around, our feet cramping in the cheap leather. Because it was in between events, the roller rink was ours alone–sans music. We sang old skate songs from the infamous Skate Night everyone remembers being held in their hometown once a month. I remember my Mom taking me to a few Skate Nights when I was really young…maybe 2nd grade? It was there that I first experienced Licorice Rope–a foot of long red licorice encased in plastic you could wear around your neck while you skated. I also remember hearing Twisted Sister for the first time and recognizing it as something truly bad ass. Skating was a big leap for a nervous 7 year old; I went from clinging to the training bars that were away from the action to actually going around the roller rink floor–hands clinging to the carpeted edge the whole time. Years later, I (we) managed to recapture the lure of Skate Night as older, creakier, adults…dressed outlandishly in striped knee socks and short shorts. Our stomachs filled with cheap tacos from the strip mall Mexican restaurant next door, we glided and giggled, our nostalgia pushed to epic child-like proportions.

My husband, fed up with my toothpaste habits, has gone independent. No longer does our little cat coffee mug hold both of our electric toothbrushes and a tube of paste. Instead, my own toothbrush and a balled up, oddly disjointed, tube sit in disharmony together. Josh recently stashed his own brush and a fresh tube of toothpaste in a top shelf next to his contact lenses and gel. What began with a simple comment about my lousy toothpaste squeezing led to Josh simply avoiding the conflict altogether and going solo. Oh sure, he tried demonstrating to me how he carefully squeezes from the bottom in order to push the maximum amount of paste out and onto his brush. “See, when you push from the bottom you never have to squeeze multiple times in the middle to get it out…the paste just travels up to the top instead of being pushed back down.” I took the paste and immediately dented it in the center, pleased with the quantity that came out. “No, no, no!” Josh cried in dismay; his perfect toothpaste set up destroyed by a single swipe of my thumb. 5 years ago, he would have suffered my toothpaste disrespect in silence. 9 years ago he would have never brought it up. These days, however, Josh is taking action. Why put up with a sloppy spouse when you don’t have to? Better to hide a tube of toothpaste from me altogether and never have to worry about it. I admire this strike of independence because I would rather have it resolved…and it means I can push the toothpaste however I want.

I know I’ve been posting nothing but pictures lately, but I’ve been so busy that sometimes a photo is the only way to describe the recent events:

That’s me lying on a certified Equity cot in the very nice dressing room at the ACT theatre. The Freedom gang was invited to perform with the illustrious musicians from “Awesome” this weekend. It was absolutely amazing–one of our best gigs ever! We danced, paraded around, kicked up our legs, and frolicked–all while narrowly missing the dozens of instruments and 8 talented musicians that shared the stage. The show combined music, multi-media, theater, and a smattering of dance to highlight our political climate–past and present. The audience was a combination of the fringe theater crowd, the theatrical elite, and music-lovers. There is a real energy in the air that’s largely generated from the sheer happiness everyone is currently feeling over our election. All we had to do was yell, “Let’s hear it for President-elect Obama!” and the audience went nuts. (Maybe a cheap trick, but no one ever seems to get tired of hooting and hollering over Obama these days).

Pics are here.