Road Rage

To the man behind me in the right-hand turn lane at the red light who repeatedly honked his horn, encouraging me to either turn onto a street that was already filled with cars or cut off an approaching car to turn when that same street that was slightly less filled with cars and while I was also right next to a police car - thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain to my children what a jerk is. It is always helpful to have concrete examples when you're trying to explain such an abstract concept.

And thank you also for pulling up next to me once we had both safely and legally turned onto that street and screaming at me from behind your closed window. I thoroughly enjoyed the 30 minute conversation I had to have with my 3 year old, trying to convince her that The Jerk wasn't going to come and hurt her, while alternately agreeing with her that you should go to jail.

Thanks a lot, asshole.

The thing

Here's the thing They don't tell you about parenting. Certainly not in any of the books you read. Of course, if They did tell you, you wouldn't believe them.

Here's the thing They don't tell you about parenting: it will rip your fucking heart out.

A few days ago, Rory told me that he wanted to invent a machine that would let you stay one age for your whole life. The age he chose was 5, when he was in kindergarten only half-day, when he got to stay with us the rest of the time.

School is not going well. My quirky boy is not fitting in so well. School does not play to his strengths - the ability to entertain oneself for hours while imagining the science you'll do when you grow up is not really conducive to the learning. Instead, his inability to catch or hit a ball, his extreme dislike for the sound of children singing, his slow and methodical approach to tasks, an approach that must not be upset, are making it hard for him to learn, hard for him to be like the other children. He is having a hard time.

And to write it all out, to put those quirks into words, or even to say them aloud like I did today to an occupational therapist, it seems obvious, doesn't it? Something is wrong. He needs help. And he is getting help.

But here's the part that rips my heart out - and I know it shouldn't but it does - I didn't realize any of this last month, last year, 3 years ago when he developed an irrational fear of heights, 4 years ago when my once fearless boy stopped hurtling himself through life and became more sedate. He was talking, I thought, and hugging, and loving, and learning, and and and. And I missed it. And how hard has school been for him because I didn't see it?

If I could choose a time for him to be forever, for us to be together forever, I would have chosen when he was 3. Before. Before the things that started happening that I didn't see. Before when my heart lived in him and was safe.