??

A slow learner, yes I am. So slow I wonder if I'm teachable at all. You've heard this all before, friends.

Today, at school, where I work, I am asked, fatefully, "How's it going for Rooster at camp?"
Makes you want to smack me, doesn't it, knowing how I stacked the deck against us all? Ah, so.
"You know," I said, "not since he was an infant have I ever been able to pick him up day after day and everything is just fine. The teachers always say, 'He had a good day.' He has friends and he's having fun. I'm enjoying the reprieve."

Cut to:
I walk into camp, and the shadow is ready for me, and I know that look even though it's the first time I've seen it from her. "Today he had a tough day. Lots of tantrums. LOTS of them, just finished throwing a fit when he saw you pull up. Fighting with Amy. And he kicked me. Twice."

As goes Rooster's day, so goes it for us all, I guess. I had a tough one myself.

And I'm facing a quandary.

I have lost my mind completely and somehow agreed to attend my twentieth high school reunion in September, because two of my dearest friends will be there, one with her new baby I haven't kissed and squeezed yet, AND the reunion falls near my mom's big milestone birthday, and what she really wants is to see me. What she wants even more is to see a grandchild. Well, she WANTS to see kids, but if she's lucky she will get to settle for one.

I can manage to fly with one child, and, at that, I'd rather fly with snakes on a plane. I cannot (worth repeating CANNOT) fly alone cross country with both my snakes, er, children. It is not even fathomable without J, barely fathomable with him.

But which one should I take?

Last time I went East about a year ago I took Peaches. And she? Was. Awful. She went 36 hours without sleeping more than a catnap, never slept through any of the three nights we spent, startling every time she lost skin contact with me. I felt as if she would be my undoing, and with everything else going on, I was nearly undone for sure. When the second leg of our eternal trip back to Cali was delayed for hours, I sunk into the airport carpet and left a tiny piece of my sanity among the stains... I think I made a promise to the universe then that I'd never fly with Peaches alone again until she had a driver's license to show at security checkpoints.

So it should be Rooster's turn to go. He hasn't been in two whole years.

But Peaches will WANT to go, and Rooster will not. And Peaches will flip her little lid if I go without her. And Rooster will not. And Peaches will enjoy the reunion. And Rooster will not. And she will be able to occupy herself for a few minutes safely now and then in her Grandma and Grandpa's house, and Rooster will not.

I asked my mother, "Which one?" And she said, "Oh no, don't ask me to choose between my grandchildren, don't ever ask me to do that." I know, of course, that it isn't like that. I know my mom makes faulty oversimplifications when she says that. I know, as I've said before, fair isn't giving each child the same thing, but giving each what he or she needs.

Honestly, I want to bring Rooster. I want him to do better than I think he will. I want him to charm everyone with those gorgeous long lashes and delicious smile. I want people to tell me, "You exaggerate, he's doing so much better than how you make it seem." I want photos of him with family and friends. I want him to distract me from the people in my home town who are missing, who I am missing. I want him to enlighten people and make them care about autism. I want to be too busy caring for him to think about the last time I was home. I want to give him his turn, and to get a wee break from talk of fairy princesses and purple.

It's not that I don't want to bring Peaches. I adore her, you know I do. I just cannot bring them both, and it's his turn.

But then reality sets in. Rooster can't simply take turns like he's a typical child. Rooster travels with a pharmacy, and his daddy is the pharmacist, not me. The rural South has grits, gravy, hash browns, and disdain for special needs diets. I'd need to bring my own gfcf refrigerator. And neither the Rooster nor his mother need the pressure of those wishes I just described: WANTING him to do better than I expect pretty much dooms us, as I proved at the top of this post. I know in all likelihood that the Rooster would spend much of the trip begging to go home, missing his daddy and his toys, and that I would likely encounter painfully sympathetic looks from well meaning classmates and painfully unsympathetic looks from NOT well meaning classmates, and that I don't need any more reasons for holding grudges that date back to my angsty teen years.

Even with all his curly-topped charm, my rooster IS a tough little boy. He is difficult and challenging and roostery. But the truth is, as much as I whine and moan, I have a very hard time imagining spending a weekend far away from him.

I mean, did I tell you that he has a crush on a girl, and that he started wearing a watch, and that today he sounded out the word "mom"? He's getting so much better at... UH, UM, he's getting much better at driving me NUTS is what he's getting better at, so there. And tomorrow he's going on a field trip and it's going to be a TOUGH DAY. You hear that deities? A TOUGH DAY.