How is it that I can feel older, slower, and creakier than ever and still have times when I feel embarrassed that my inner petulant five year old is at the helm? Yesterday Sarah and I clashed over cleaning her aligners in the new cleaning device that I bought. I thought it was a great plan to pop her aligners in while she finished eating lunch, but she did not agree. She wanted those aligners back NOW. I was mad about her inflexibility and how it didn’t make sense because she wouldn’t be putting them in her mouth right then anyway. She wanted to be in charge of her own stuff and did not want her aligners out of sight. That is reasonable. So I was frustrated but also embarrassed that I had forgotten to give her more agency. I was embarrassed to be struggling so much with my feelings that I wanted to be swallowed by my chair. Without finishing my own lunch I went to the basement to cry by myself because that was much less embarrassing than being such a human, fallible, feeling-five-years-old MOTHER who is supposed to be mature and have figured these things out by now. Eventually I had to resurface physically but it took much longer to resurface emotionally. It helped to go do an activity with our extended family volunteering at the Pittsburgh Prison Book Project. That is an endeavor to send books to people in prison, reading their letters and trying to match their book requests as closely as possible from the supplies that have been donated. I loved doing it and could happily have spent more hours there, absorbed away from my own issues that feel both petty and monumentally engulfing when I’m on my own with them.
It is exciting to see my book in the few stores that carry it. It is also hard for my ego and jealousy to see other books by mothers writing about autism that are being placed front and center and designated as “must read.” I feel small and grumpy and very what-about-me-ish. I’m embarrassed by these feelings too. Then I dust myself off and see what other podcasts I might be a match for or if there are any book festivals that I missed. I didn’t get picked by the Pittsburgh book festival but what is most frustrating about that is that apparently the rejection is just a lack of response in any way. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a void where none of my emails make it to their mark or, if they do, they don’t garner a response. When I get nothing then it is like standing outside a house after ringing the doorbell and you don’t know if it rang inside, how long to wait before ringing again, or when to go away.
Happily, I do continue to do podcasts, and I’m very grateful for the people hosting me. I am excited to do a paired book signing on May 4th at the Barnes and Noble in Plymouth Meeting, PA (Philly) with Kathleen Somers, author of Barely Visible. Our books are both memoirs about parenting someone on the spectrum – just different ends of the spectrum. We feel like they pair well together, and I’m thrilled to have a signing buddy. If you are in Philly, please stop by on May 4th from 1-3pm. If you aren’t in Philly or can’t come to the signing, I highly recommend reading Barely Visible. I didn’t want to put it down, and I think anyone who has parenting doubts and struggles can relate to what Kathleen shares so beautifully.
Some other good things. . .
Last Sunday we went to a performance of Frozen that one of Sarah’s friends was in. Sarah sang along and moved her arms to many of the songs. It’s always a hit or miss about whether Sarah will enjoy any given performance or need to leave at some point, usually quite vocally.
Friday night Carl and Amy went to a performance at the Glitterbox theater. Anna was performing, and Amy volunteered to be part of one of the pieces. Amy did beautifully, contributing ideas as if they had been rehearsed even though they were completely spur of the moment thoughts.
So there you have it. I’m embarrassed to share my confusions and low times, but doing so because I expect I’m not the only one to get lost like this sometimes. While I would like to feel older than five today (but less creaky than my 48 years?), I also think the answer may be to go more towards the things I loved when I was five, when I knew more clearly who I was and didn’t doubt my inclinations so much. Wishing you as much clarity about your loves as Sarah has about her love for no parking signs.
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