by your side - sade

update: basement cleaned. 

If I just start and steady-on. Start with whatever makes the biggest difference fastest (splash). Seeing is believing. If he can see it, touch it, he finds his own velocity toward it. He just has trouble on steps. Like

him: I want the pc in this corner 

(Pause)

me: ok move the boxes of it and monitors all over to that corner.

him: ok

Like that. It's. Everything is a process. I am not used to slowing down or speeding up or any making room for someone else daily, and he doesn't know how to take up any room. But we got it done. Space cleaned, a rug ordered, outlets planned, it'll be pretty nice we think ... by the time we were shutting down for the night, he was happily imagining a 55 gallon fishtank. 

He needs to land on wanting something and then be walked through the step by steps towards it. It's a bit exhausting, but it's mostly nesting like an animal's den thing rn. which I can do (make bunker den - verb) to death so fine cool

we had a philosophical discussion about bedding. I insist: make your bed. I always insist that of myself, it's a sane grounding habit. when he makes his bed, it looks like a body is in it shitty. there are choices. my giving up on him making his bed is not one of the choices. so. do we change the man or the bed? if he cannot teach himself to make the bed, he's going to come home and find all his bedding replaced with a hodgepodge of textured throws in wild colors and a bunch of different pillows so that even unmade it looks made, like it's supposed to be that way. I'll make it so that he can't not make the fucking bed even if he tries. I remind him I used to sew all their bedding to be like that when they were little (prolly why they never make a fucking bed now 🤦🏻‍♀️). his eyes light up, I remember that!, it was and he rubs his fingers together. yours was corduroys. right!! I didn't want to change the kid(s) much, I'd rather sew.

we found it down there with other retro everyday shit. he loves it. it's his new (humungo) yoga water bottle, it's hilarious

update: accomodation letter process via psych started ✅️ I have developed a coping mechanism called 2nd morning: I drag my ass outa bed to drag his ass to wherever then go back home, new pot of coffee, start again on my own day. there's only one horoscope though, so I have to forget it to read it again (it's still stupid). no fish, he's cooled on it because Meow gets too big, so ok

me: how about ___?

him:

me: ok then what about ___? 

him:

me: are you hungry?

him: not really

me: (patience/breathe) we are driving by the art museum and we are 🤏 close to that being our day unless you can WANT something else

him: ok then let's work on the mancave / clean the basement 

me: ok

we go home via shitty wok (aka tim hortons) cz I need a GALLON more coffee. we pull in the driveway...

him: let's have second morning first 

me: (sigh) I do like that. ok. come and get me when you're ready

him: ok! (he's never gonna lol 🫩 - his BUTTERKNIFE genes are emerging 🤦🏻‍♀️🫩) 

-_0 the thought flitted through my mind of wishing I could drop him off at an excellent pre-k then go slowly grocery shopping alone, slowly anything anywhere alone, knowing he's safe so my arms could be empty for just a min 

I blogged and unblogged a pic of what I can't see but felt like my body registering all this by developing outsized shoulders. and it was true. from the back, it looks like I lift and lift and lift weight. not weightS, weight. like a human fulcrum. like a mother 

odd how what makes a child relies, at least for a minute, on feeling in your own skin enough to want someone else to touch you. then you might not be able to feel that way again