Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me...

Waiting rooms make great metaphors, don't they? And they are.
In a way the special needs blogosphere I inhabit feels a lot like a waiting room. We're all here while our kids are close by, doing what they need to do, and while we wait, we compare notes.

In the last five years, I have spent more time in waiting rooms than I care to calculate. I've been pretty much every kind of waiting room parent there is: I've been the coach on the sidelines, watching my child's every move through the viewing window; I've been the obnoxious cell phone talker, though only when other pressing matters such as sick family members necessitated it; I've sat silently brooding; I've read outdated and germy looking copies of Oprah's magazine, though I can't recall a single article; I've invited conversation; I've lurked; I've wept. I'm not always good "in a room." When I am, when the waiting room works best for me, I connect.

Just like via blogs, I like when a waiting room dialogue reveals a productive idea, yields a valuable insight, or unearths common ground. I like making friends. I like helping others. I like figuring out my rooster boy.

On my last post, I had a comment from a new reader. I met Diego's mom at OT, in the waiting room. I have seen here there for almost a year of Monday mornings, her sweet boy working and playing alongside the rooster on trapeze and swings, and I had no idea she was an artist, or that our husbands would have things in common, or that she, too, blogs. This week, at the rooster's second to last OT, we talked, swapped urls. Her blog is so beautiful! It makes me feel so WORDY and ugly! She's an amazing mom, about to put her career aside for at least a year to help her son attend an impressive and intense school that demands a substantial parental commitment. If you get a chance, drop in on her over at http://www.elsita.typepad.com/. Tell her Rooster's mom sent ya.