Perfect Stillness

"She is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose." - from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

We find moments of stillness - and silliness - in a busy week.

On Monday, we were still in Wisconsin. The kids took a pontoon boat ride on the Chain O'Lakes and loved it. The sun was out, the water was clear blue, the sky was perfect. "In all the world, no lakes like these," and the motto rang perfectly true. We stopped for red, yellow and blue Superman ice cream cones at Clearwater Harbor. Pulled the boat right up to the dock, hopped out, and had cones at Moo's. Justuce and Justin had messy blue lips. I had a beer and Adam had a Mike's Hard Lemonade. You should see how easily those go down now.

Tuesday, we flew home, Green Bay to Chicago, then Chicago to Las Vegas. The kids were suprisingly serene, almost a mirror image of our originating flight the Thursday before. What's that old Twilight Zone episode with William Shatner and the gremlin outside the window? "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet?" We were at 33,000 and didn't see any gremlins, but Justin was bouncing off the walls, aisles, and at least two lavatories. You'd be surprised how many times a six-year-old can ask "how long we gonna be there?" from takeoff to touchdown.

Wednesday, back in Vegas just in time for back-to-back therapy sessions. Justin went first with me. We read a book about loving you, no matter what. We played the monkey in the tree game to work on turn-taking and fair play. Then we played Two Square and said a feeling out loud when we caught the ball. My feeling was happy. Justin's feeling was happy, too, but I think he just copied me because he's not crazy about the feeling ball. Justuce went next with Adam. They played Candyland and she had a tantrum when the tide turned and she wasn't winning the game. I don't think they bounced balls or did feelings.

Thursday we had the new place...Dream Therapies. Dreams are not discussed here, so the name is misleading. They're Justin's new occupational/physical therapy clinic. Very nice setup. It looks like a house, redecorated into a huge playroom. They worked on some body awareness exercises with him. Justin has low spatial awareness, which means if he's behind you in the checkout line at the grocery store, our apologies in advance, he's going to walk straight into your ass.

Friday, I had to run down to the Social Security office. Somewhere in this past busy week, a family court judge signed a magic piece of paper, my pumpkin turned into a coach, and after two months of endless paperwork and mountainous filing delays, my last name officially became Reisman. I applied for a new social security card, which I need before I can apply for a new driver's license, which I need before I can change my payroll and financial stuff, and, well, the leg bone's connected to the knee bone, and on it goes, up the ladder.

Tonight we had Shabbat services. "We" meaning me and Adam. The kids had a babysitter. We needed a breather from the week and so did they. When we got home tonight, Justuce was fast asleep in her beanbag chair and Justin was watching Power Rangers on my Kindle, which, in spite of all attempts to correct, he calls my Candle, which makes me smile.

We find moments of stillness and silliness in a busy week.

At dinner tonight - barbecued chicken wings for Shabbat - the kids' hands-down Friday night favorite - we were playing freeze, unfreeze. You know, that goofy dinner table game where you freeze the whole table in mid-bite, mid-forklift? I froze with a wing on my lips. Justuce had a chunk of challah frozen in midair, Adam had a forkful of salad, and Justin, whose glass of soda was up to his lips, let loose with a rip-roaring belch that shook the rafters. We all laughed like crazy and it was so funny we forgot to say "what do you say," which was really, really nice for a change, to just laugh together as a family, and nobody had to teach anybody a lesson.

This morning, early-early before the sun came up, Justin crawled into our bed and went back to sleep. My mind wakes up easily, so as soon as I felt him squirming back into his comfortable doze, I thought about work. I thought about doctor appointments. I thought about googling the half dozen diagnoses we've already got on Justin...sensory issues, unspecified motor delay issues, behavioral challenges...

And then I stopped.

I don't have to think about this all the time.

A sign taped up over my desk says, "Be where you are."

I put it up a couple of years ago, long before I knew Justuce and Justin, just to remind myself to stay in the moment once in a while. I'm so busy barking out "what's next!" in my mind, like Martin Sheen storming through the Oval Office in "The West Wing," I can't even enjoy the bliss right in front of me, snoring softly, this lifetime dream handed to me on a silver platter. Stop trying to fix these children every second of every day because for God's sake, if you keep trying to do that, you're going to miss what's right in front of you. You've been given a great gift. Start learning how to enjoy this.

Here he is, this perfect little boy with so many problems, coming to me in the dawn's early light, just to snuggle, just to be loved, and just to be safe. What an honor that is. And here's Justuce, pissed as hell that we're not her foster moms, but guess what? When the going gets tough, she still puts her arms up for either one of us, and quietly says, "carry me." And if that's not meeting us halfway, well then shame on us for expecting too much, too soon.

I'm not going to think about the busy week we just dragged our exhausted, collective spirits through, or the equally, ridiculously busy week ahead, or any number of medical appointments, or EEG results, or therapy schedules, or the paperwork that's still not filed for God-knows-who. I'm just going to blank it out of my mind and be where I am for a few minutes a day with these beautiful, perfect children. And I don't care what anybody thinks. They're perfect to me, and that's all that matters.

"Be where you are," I hear a voice whisper in my head, and it sounds like the voice of my dad, who died years ago.

"This is the most important work you'll do all day," says another voice, as Justin snuggles up to me, content and warm. It sounds like the voice of Adam's dad who's also gone.

"This is what matters...this, right here." It's my grandma's voice, as clear as my childhood.

And suddenly, they're all here again. A cascade of voices filling my mind and lifting me up...beautiful people who gave me hope and history and shelter and wings. Aunt Gussie is there. And Peter. And Smoky. And Reuben. And Uncle Lawrence. And beautiful people I haven't seen in years. And they're all telling me they're proud of me. And they don't want me to be so busy doing this that I forget how to feel it.

So I lay there sleeping with Justin on one side and Adam on the other, no worries, no fears, calmed and comforted by the people who left before me. All assuring me it's okay to stop, relax, and waste a little time. Schedules will keep. Moments like these are what matter.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose---" said the little prince so he would be sure to remember. 

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . . " 

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.