Jack is asleep beneath a quilt in the armchair and outside it is snowing.
Jeff and I saw La La Land this afternoon and I’m warm and happy and sad, all at the same time. I am one of those people who falls disreputably in love with a musical, no questions asked. Disreputably and desperately. Don’t even talk to me unless you want to rehash the opening song and the observatory scenes with Stone & Gosling. We either discuss at length or you get out.
Jeff’s take on Emma’s and Ryan’s performances (we’re on a first-name basis, see), “They both just smoldered.” They did smolder. Significantly.
Also, I unequivocally loved Moana, possibly even more than my little boys did, and keep singing “there’s a line where the sea meets the sky and it calls me” into perpetuity. Can’t stop won’t stop.
If nerding out over movies where people break into singing and tap dancing is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
At this moment in time I am in my little corner of heaven, which is beside the fire, cigar chair beneath and behind me, laptop on my knees. I am such a simple creature. Just give me stories and songs and heat and comfort. It’s all I ask for. And something to type on. And soup. And dark chocolate. And boys being peaceful. And post-date euphoria.
It’s all I ask.
Which is a lot.
I ask for a lot. Because in order for a date to happen, we need reliable respite care. We need people who know and get Jack. In order for Jack to occasionally fall asleep on a weekend instead of raging and spazzing out, we need all the meds to be in perfect balance thanks to the psychiatrist we’ve known for years. For the other boys to be happy of a snowy Saturday, they need friends nearby, and snow gear on hand that fits every changing foot and body and head. And we have it—all of it, huzzah!
Me at peace on a weekend is a 180 reversal of our weekend tradition since we entered the Autism Spectrum Parenting adventure theme park, nearly thirteen years ago . I can relish it as a reactionary opposite to years of Death by Special-Needs Saturdays.
It’s the concept of not fully appreciating a gift until you realize how precious the gift is, and how good.
I’m aware that just because this quiet Saturday is a thing of beauty, doesn’t mean that all future Saturdays will be.
Knowing this makes the date and the fire and the laptop and the boys playing in the snow and Jack napping that much sweeter.