A Christmas Miracle
GOD BLESS US, EVERYONE!!!
And of course, this woman has NOTHING to do with what I am going to write about. But hell...if the chick pics get the page views, then by GOD I'll do what I have to do. And hey, she is pretty miraculous, huh guys? (The few guys who actually read this thing...and to the gals, um...sorry.)
I started out with a post that I had begun to write on Christmas Eve, about something good, something that, in reality, was a Christmas Miracle*, if one could be said to exist in my world, and yet to get to that point in a day filled with tremendous ups and downs the damn thing turned into a novel.
SO, I had to cut it up and figure out a way to chop it into some different blogs for different times. Let's focus, for now, on just the good part of that day, not the twists and turns that got me to it.
Besides, been doing a LOT of bitching here lately, haven't I?
It's OK, I can admit it. Call me Mr. Scrooge if you want to. Or worse, I can take it. I wore my big boy pants today. Well, I wear them every day, to be quite honest, but that's besides the point. I just sometimes get them soaked with tears by not ACTING like a big boy. At least I stopped peein' in 'em.
Hey. Shit happens, what can I tell you?
It's a Hard Knock Life. Sometimes.
Other times? It isn't. Other times? I have my head out of my ass long enough to appreciate the fact that it could be worse. It smells much better out here, let me be up front about that. Far easier to breathe and a lot less peanuts.
And since I've done my fair share of pointing out just how horrible Life has been of late, I would be completely and utterly remiss if I did not acknowledge something that was absolutely...not.
Besides, I owe you all that much.
Especially after Thursday, after you granted my first Christmas wish and bumped that Followers list over 100. Many thanks for that by the way.
If anyone else is looking for any last minute gift ideas for me. I really want a Gandalf Premium Format Statue...or I can wait until January 25th for Dead Space 2 for the X-Box 360. I already treated myself to Call of Duty: Black Ops. Yes...I broke my own game rule.
And, of course, I can now have a sense of inner peace knowing that I enter 2011 having broken three digits on the Followers badge with enough to spare that it can withstand the few that fall off. And there will be fall-off. Always is. I was so psyched when I broke 300 on my friends list on Facebook. Then noticed it was 294 one day.
But I was not bummed out on Christmas Eve. Well I was at first.
Things...were not going well. I had been having...well, a very emotional day (I had written a TON about that, but let's save it for a rainy, dismal day, shall we? More fitting). Carter was upset over many things. Bennett? I might as well change his name right now to Hellboy, because there are times he is simply a Seed of Destruction. I swear that he has cost us hundreds, maybe into the thousands, of dollars worth of damage to stuff in this calendar year due to his aggression.
One of my goals in 2011 is to try to solve that particular problem. Maybe I can, maybe I can't, but I am determined to give it my best shot.
But the psychological toll his behavior is taking on poor Carter really gets to me, because Carter doesn't understand why his brother suddenly clocks him, for no apparent reason. I don't get it either. I also don't get why Bennett pushes me away when I try to hold him. 97.987% of the time.
We'd planned some things for Christmas Eve. All shitcanned due to the weather forecast. Cloudy with a Chance of Bennett. No one had the strength or the energy to move forward with him in the Red Zone. No one had the will. The spirit. We were all just fucking drained. I don't even think we ate dinner. We just foraged for food in the cupboards.
At around 9-ish, Bennett chilled for a few hours. He must have found one of Daddy's old reefer stashes that even Daddy had LONG since forgotten about. The Feral Kid took a break. We have no idea why. He was giggling, he was playing, he was laughing. He was engaging with toys, his brother, his mother, and God help me...even his father. He let me pick him up, he let me hold him, he even let me play with him a little while.
It was the second greatest gift I could have received that night...an hour or two of peace and joy and quiet amusement amidst what has become the most intense and chaotic period of our roller coaster of a life.
When it came time to take the kids to bed, Jen said to Bennett to say 'Nite-Nite', which he did, in fairly clear Binglish. She said 'Give Daddy a kiss.' This usually means Bennett will kiss his hand looking past me at the curtains. Instead he walked over to me, and for the first time in his life he leaned over in my general direction and put his face next to mine and made the *swak sound*. His face never got closer than ten inches, but it didn't matter, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen him do, and the single most directly affectionate act he has ever bestowed upon me since February 11, 2009.
It was wonderful, amazing, all the things you want it to be. And yet even now I hesitated..., hell it has been almost a week, and I was not sure if I should share it with you or not. Why? I feel so guilty. I'd been sitting on it and sitting on it. The 'Publish Post' Button was always there, but I'd yet to work up the courage.
It was complete, and here I am, today, revising it again...because today I read SingleDad's response to a comment I made a while ago in one of his posts and I realized some things that made me feel like even more of an asshole than I already felt. Why did I feel like a sphincterino?
For hijacking his blog, for making assumptions about how other people deal with their own lives and how they feel regarding their own kids, and for leaping to the conclusion that this was something you 'get over', which was just a dumb thing to even suggest. I was projecting a fear of mine, not thinking things through clearly enough.
You know, crazy radical thought here...maybe I don't feel that things just happen for NO reason...the jury is still out on that. Because why then, today, did I also happen to get into a discussion via e-mail with someone whom I met through SD's blog about guilt and measuring one's own circumstances against someone else and it reminded me that I often have to continually remind myself that everyone's slice of Hell's Pizza has it's own unique toppings on it?
And it reinforced to me that I should write about that Christmas Eve moment with Bennett, that I should discuss it. This was my slice of Hell's Pizza, and I got a temporary reprieve from it that one could look at as maybe some positive signs to hope for changes down the road, and I am responsible enough to recognize that disability life is no different than regular life in the sense that everybody's is unique and different, and it doesn't mean that we don't all have a helluva lot to learn from each other. No matter what.
In fact, and I hope she (my e-mail pal) does not mind me swiping a quote from her e-mail, but she said something that really fascinated me. She said 'I think humanity owes a lot to the parents of kids with disabilities who blog. The world is able to see somewhat, what it is like to raise a disabled kid....all of the work both physical and emotional.'
I found that very poignant, and something I had never considered about the very act of blogging in general. Since blogging is something that is beyond 'reporting' or 'writing articles'.
It is a very unique form of writing, something we just haven't seen much of in our human history. I wonder...a few hundred years from now when we are enslaved by a race of insect-like aliens and our species is almost entirely wiped out, what emotions or regard will our descendants look back on these blogs with and gravitate to?
Will they respect and admire and want to preserve and read the blogs about celebrities or fashion trends or the newest iCrap? Or blogs about real people in extraordinary circumstances?
Probably the latter.
*Please note that in my world, I use the world miracle to describe something way cool that happens with NO CAUSAL EXPLANATION GIVEN. Draw your own conclusions. If you are Christian and wish to believe the Hand of God reached down and knocked over a chess piece, be my guest, that is not what I believe. When I use the word I am just saying 'HOLY SHIT THAT ROCKED AND I DIDN'T SEE IT COMING.'