Endless Tiring Afternoon, With a Dash of Understanding

Hectic crazy stressful crying yowling (suddenly, in the deep end of the pool all while swimming most excellently) tense scared face and hunched up shoulders.

Yesterday was that kind of afternoon for Charlie and me.

It was an everything not in place kind of day with a call from the ESY director as I was walking out of class. Another student had been having a hard time, Charlie didn’t ask fast enough to go out of the room, the teacher was on jury duty: I was very glad the director added that last point. Charlie’s class had also gone on a roller skating field trip yesterday, so they’d had a day off from their classroom and the teacher wasn’t there…….

He was himself getting off the bus—though I was on my cell about something sad—and looking forward to seeing the speech therapist and then the speech therapist called and it turned out she couldn’t really come. I vacillated a bit too long about how to fill in the time and Charlie went out to the car with his stuff and then needed to come back in and there was loud moaning, extremely loud stomping and NO’s. I talked too loud too and immediately regretted it and we went back inside and then to the pool.

As is pretty much a sure thing, Charlie’s expression changed once he stepped into the water. He was splashing and sinking to the bottom and turning somersaults and floating on his back when two dozen children around his age—YMCA summer campers—–jumped into the pool. I swam along the sidelines and watched happily as he continued his swimming routine, seemingly unconcerned when he got jostled or someone dived in right near him. He did, from time to time, have his eye on the blue and red foam boat that a crowd of kids was sitting and trying to stand up on. With two girls hanging onto it, Charlie pulled himself up on the back and there were some interesting moments when Charlie, just because of the way he was hanging onto the boat, was looking straight at the girls. (I don’t think any words were exchanged.) They drifted about and then the girls jumped ship and Charlie had the boat to himself and he grinned and kicked up a storm.

This was intermixed with sounds of distress and I crouched at the side of the pool and talked about what had happened today—no teacher, speech therapist not able to make it, waiting his turn for the boat—-and he seemed ok. And then he’d smiled and then start crying out again and sometimes it seemed that there were no noises to be heard but his anxious voice—I waited it out and tried (ok; magical thinking) to direct any negative feelings into me and away from Charlie.

Charlie did his own almost-dive off the side of the boat and we went to the slide area. He jumped in eagerly and was promptly almost hit on the head by a small basketball a boy waiting to use the slide let fall. The lifeguard was aghast and stood up and demanded the ball, which she set to the side of the pool. Charlie splashed about and then was stymied because two teenage boys—the ball had been sent down by one of their friends—were leaning on the stairs. Finally they sort of moved and Charlie asked for the towel and we went to shower. I heard my name called: There was a Russian family getting dressed and one of the girls was also K(Ch?)ristina. We all left at about the same time and a tow-headed toddler started running after Charlie, who started to run too. Charlie went out the door and I hurried up and leaned over the other little boy and said he should wait for his mother—she was running down the hall, calling to her son—-I had to go out the glass door as Charlie was on the sidewalk.

We both sat in the car and took a deep breath. I asked Charlie, “What if we go the mall?”—we hadn’t been there in awhile as it’s not what you would call a sensory-friendly place. Charlie said “mall” and then asked for the grocery store and then “mall” again and after getting stuck in very slow-moving commute traffic, we were there and Charlie stood around and waited for me, looking at the ground and around. It occurred to me to tell him that, yes, it was Thursday, but unlike last Thursday, I wasn’t going anywhere, I’d be here, Mom’d be home with Charlie. “Mom and Charlie,” said Charlie.

As we walked out, I felt that twinge of “we did it” as our last trip to the mall had included an unhappy moment on the escalator. I had just back out the black car when a man in another car started gesturing intently at us, or at the back of the car? I rolled down the window.

Flat tire.

I have AAA, on the insistence of Jim ever since we came back to New Jersey and have had to live in the suburbs for Charlie’s education, making long drives into the urban areas where I’ve worked a necessity. I tried to coax Charlie out of the car to go to the food court since we had an hour wait, but Charlie did not want to get out. He sat with the windows rolled down and I stood by the car and explained to a couple of people, uh, no, the parking place isn’t free, I have a flat tire.

And then it got easy. AAA came in record time and put on the spare, Charlie agreed to get out so the car could be jacked up, and we drove slowly, stopped for chicken brown noodles and were most glad to be home. After he ate and practiced cello, Charlie almost fell asleep sitting in a chair and went to bed early, and then cried out a couple of times just as he was about to doze off I told him I hoped that his teacher had not gotten jury duty—at least two of her kids really need her!—and that I’d be here when he woke up (I was gone when Charlie got up on Friday, as my flight to San Francisco left at 7am) and when he got off the bus. I’d be here, as usual, and we’d all do things, the three of us, together, maybe go to New York and more swimming and the beach.

(In a rental car—black car, as it turns out, needs new tires.)