One day down, two to go...

I've never been a big fan of the Venn Diagram.  I could never understand them.  But then I had an epiphany.  I finally figured it out.  It helped that we lived in the grey area most of the time.  I take that back.  Alex wasn't in the grey area the whole time.  I was.  

I've been on pins and needles trying to get the kids through this visit.  See, all of my husbands family traveled here and that makes the time spent together more intense.  I've been trying to give the kids breaks, walks and private time just so they can be better able to handle things.  

Alex finally lost it at diner time when it was time to come inside and eat.  He stomped and flapped the whole way in and I could just tell by looking at him he was imploding.  I hurried him to the laundry room, turned on the dryer and held him.  Scratch that.  I didn't hold him.  He wouldn't let me.  He quickly worked his way to a corner and started rocking back and forth.  Trying to calm himself.  Trying to block things out.    

Every fiber in my body wanted to reach out to him.  To hug him.  To hold him.  But I couldn't.  Touching him at that moment would have been like trying to hug a cornered panther.  He would have attacked.     

For as much as I wanted to hold him and tell him things were going to be all right, I didn't, I couldn't.  It would have helped me but not him.  

So instead I told him how well he was doing, how loud it was and how hard it was to just be in the same house with all the noise, smells and other kids.  That it hurt my brain too.  He just started crying.  Hot tears went streaming down his cheeks and he was still rocking and holding his knees, working himself into a tight little ball.  I slipped his headsets over his ears and we sat in silence listening to the hum of the dryer.    

And I think that was the worst part of the day.  Sitting in the laundry room, silently cursing the Gods.  Wanting to take it all away but knowing I couldn't.  

Normally there is all sorts of pomp and circumstance about who gets to go first with the food and all sorts of other BS and by the time they're all through patting themselves on the back, the foods all cold.  Not this year.  As we came out of the laundry room, I gave everyone a big fuck you, got my kid a plate of turkey, ripped open a baguette to get to the soft inner bread he likes and, with me as a human shield, we sat down at the table and he ate. 

With a wave of my hand I told them all to help themselves and to stop staring.  And with a look in my eyes, I dared them to say anything.  Anything.  I got him the remote and we watched re-runs of How It's Made.  And I dared them to turn it off.  

They didn't.

And it was at that exact moment I knew we were going to survive this.  

Note: We still have family here and its been it harder and harder to get a few moments to myself.  I am finding I simply cannot do everything so I'm going to take this next week off and get the kids sorted and take care of  them.  I will be back next Friday.