Phrase that Sprung Today’s Post: Blatant Jealousy
I must admit that I’m jealous of the stories I hear from friends and acquaintances about all the Cool Stuff they do with their kids. Such as create castles out of cardboard boxes. Or five-course meals for Father’s Day. Or read a series of books together. I never read Harry Potter because I was saving that for when Holden turned five or six, and then we could read together. But Landau-Kleffner Syndrome put the big ka-bosh on that. LKS does that A LOT. I’m jealous, of course, but then I’m reminded that I shouldn’t try to live vicariously through my kid. If I want to make a papier-mâché version of the solar system, I should go right ahead and do that. Even without LKS, maybe Holden wouldn’t like craft projects anyway.
It’s easy to slip into these mini pity-parties for myself. I planned to be a Cool Mom. An Active Mom. A Creative Mom. I think, when I get selfish in this whole “raising a kid with special needs” “journey” (excited to blog on different days about those words and phrases in quotes) it’s because I don’t get to be the kind of parent I always imagined being. There. I said it. Instead of researching “101 Ways to Spark Your Kid’s Creativity” and ticking those off our summer To-Do List, I’m researching echolalia and anomic aphasia and analyzing Holden’s contextual use of visual learning prompts. It sucks some of the time. Only some of the time. As a total nerd, I like research and I get lost in all the interesting things I’m learning about the brain and the body and how it all works. I get excited and then I remember why I’m doing it, and I’m like, ‘Oh, yeah. I’ve got to apply this’ so I can understand what’s happening with my own offspring.
My friend in Toronto, Karen Gold, studies all the ways that folks narrate illness, disability, and trauma. I’m trying to crowd out what I’ve learned from her as I write this blog post. I don’t want to “meta” myself. And I’m trying to ignore the creative writer in me that says “give them scenes, give them literary moves.” Those are for later, I suppose, in my poems and creative nonfiction. Raw For Now. I just need this forum to get this all out, honestly. When I feel anger welling and/or the aching tickles of sadness creeping toward me, I need to do something with it. And I’ve decided that this is the It.
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