I don’t believe that anything I’m going to write about here is unique to me. But I haven’t read a lot about it, which is why I want to write this.
In February, I turned 50. And leading up to that, I could feel a shift within me. It felt positive, it felt interesting–but I wasn’t sure what else it was, or what it meant.
I think this is pretty common at 50–I suspect a lot of people start looking at where they are, how they got there, and where they want to be. I think that this is particularly true for a lot of women. And I want to talk about it.
I also want to learn about it. So I’ve been doing a lot of reading, and I’ve started meditating and journaling (although I haven’t done either for several weeks, but more on that in some other post).
Often, though, that’s easier said than done. Because the other mask is needed so urgently, and so persistently, that it’s easy to forget that you even have one of your own, much less a need for it.
So people say “Oh, you and Mr. Sandwich need time together. You need to MAKE time. It’s important.” And we know. But it’s also hard in ways that they don’t understand, because they are thinking of their own situation.
When Baguette was a baby, family members could come over and take care of her for a few hours while we went to a movie or out to dinner. But after a very few years, that option no longer worked, for a variety of reasons. Sometimes her day care would have Friday evening babysitting. If she knew the teachers who were there that night, we’d plan to pick her up a couple of hours later than usual. She was with familiar people in a familiar setting–and she was already there, not getting dropped off–so it was comfortable for her.
We learned that she was delighted to stay longer at day care, but only until 8 p.m. That’s when she would start to realize that she hadn’t seen us in a very long time, and would start to get sad. Sad was not our goal.
So by the time we got home, and in the time before we needed to pick her up, it wasn’t really possible to see a movie. We generally would get takeout and watch things from the DVR. And that was fine, because it was time we were spending together as a couple. We don’t need to be in a restaurant or movie theater to do that.
But over time, the teachers she knew weren’t the ones providing extended hours. One of her teachers left the day care for another position and therefore was able to come to our house to babysit–but she soon moved home to her family, who lived out of state.
And then there was no one.
This is common, by the way. Finding babysitters was a snap when I was a kid, but apparently tweens and teens aren’t babysitting in those numbers any more, and there definitely has been pressure on parents to be more selective.
Finding a caregiver with experience with autistic children? We’re in a big city, and Care.com exists–but we’re easily talking $20 an hour, not counting dinner or the movie or whathaveyou. I don’t in any way think that’s unreasonable as a charge, but that’s a lot of money for an evening out. Plus, for Baguette to be comfortable with the person, we’d have to have them over at least weekly most of the time. It would add up fast.
Add to that the fact that Baguette developed the loudest, most piercing case of separation anxiety known to humanity, and we just weren’t willing to ask someone to deal with that.
But then there was “Hamilton.”
Colonial and revolutionary America is my era. I’ve studied it formally and informally most of my life, since visiting Colonial Williamsburg when I was six. And I love Broadway musicals. So when “Hamilton” was in its D.C. tryouts and a promotional video was released, I was instantly hooked. Everything about the production was incredible; the music, the backstory, the creators, the performers, the social media genius of Lin-Manuel Miranda, the #Ham4Ham mini-performances for people trying to get tickets by lottery. I got the soundtrack and listened to it for months during my commute. Mr. Sandwich got me the Hamiltome for Christmas, and I read the entire thing in a day and a half.
So here’s how this works. To get respite care–an aide in a day care program, or in your home–you have to be registered with the Regional Center. That process, with its forms and evaluations and assessments, takes more than half a year. We made it just in time for Baguette to get an aide to go with her to summer camp. And then when school started again, the director of the after-school program at her school refused to admit her. (This is a whole different post, and I don’t know if I want to write it at all, but I certainly don’t want to get into it right now.) We found ways to handle that, at great cost to ourselves (and mostly to Mr. Sandwich, who was the key player). We got another aide for summer. And then, at her new school, the after-school program was happy to admit her.
Once we got Baguette used to staying at school after the last bell, we focused on in-home respite. We were able to get the two women who were providing her after-school care, so they were known quantities to her. We had them over and did not leave, to get her used to having them in the house. We left for short trips, to the drug store or to buy groceries. And then the day came for us to see “Hamilton.”
Within 30 minutes of our departure, she had thrown her tablet across the room and shattered it.
You know what? The show was worth it.
Still, we went back to Square One. We stayed there for so many weekends that the aide told us to go out. We started, again, with short errands. And then the aide ghosted us, and we were back at Square One.
We’ve been through several aides, but Baguette is more accustomed to the idea of being home with someone who isn’t us. We usually have one at-home session and then go out for the second.
What this means is that we’ve had (nearly) weekly childcare for a year, and in that time we have been able to have lunch maybe half a dozen times.
Two weeks ago, we went out for dinner for Mr. Sandwich’s birthday. It was the first time we’d gone to a restaurant, just the two of us, in five or six years.
And last night we got to have dinner with friends. That? I don’t think we’ve done that since before Baguette was born.
We went to an area pub with Bestie’s parents. We ate delicious, bad-for-you food. I drank this Smithwick’s.
It, too, was delicious.
And you know what? We talked nonstop, but we didn’t talk about our kids the whole time.
It was incredible. It was rare. I had such a good time.
Thursday (our birthday weekends start early, by necessity)
Tour a school that we might want Baguette to attend next year.
Decide that we do not want Baguette to attend that school (it seems like a very good school–just not what we want for her).
Clean the house.
Clean the patio and back yard.
Go to speech therapy and music therapy.
Go to Costco and buy food and birthday cake.
Clean the house.
Make items for party games.
Friday
Clean the house.
Clean the back yard.
Do some work that needs to be done even if I am on vacation.
Clean the house.
Clean the back yard.
Clean the patio.
Welcome grandparents and great-aunt, who are visiting from out of town.
Go out to dinner.
Clean the house.
Make party favors.
Saturday
Make party favors.
Clean the house.
Clean the patio.
Make signs for food.
Clean the house.
Clean the patio.
Locate the Happy Birthday banner we bought two years ago.
Put up the Happy Birthday banner.
Locate more tape for the Happy Birthday banner.
Make the salad.
Put the Happy Birthday banner back up.
Welcome guests. Realize again that we have invited a really large number of people.
Abandon hope of keeping the Happy Birthday banner up.
Make sure parents and children are enjoying themselves.
Call the pizza parlor and confirm that the pizza is actually going to be delivered.
Make sure that Baguette has the chance to find some quiet time.
Put out the pizza, salad, and signs for the food.
Realize that I have left another parent supervising Baguette in the front yard for far longer than is reasonable.
Ask Baguette if she wants pizza. (“No thank you.”)
Ask Baguette if she wants macaroni and cheese. (“Yes.”)
Bring a chair we took outside for the party back inside, because Baguette wants to eat at the table in the breakfast nook like she always does, not at the table on the patio where her friends are.
Make sure everyone gets food.
Eat one slice of pizza and some salad.
Realize that, in spite of all the cleaning, the living room still contains a case of baby wipes and a 3-pack of contact lens solution.
Decide not to care.
Bring out the cake and put candles on it.
Try to light the candles.
Try to light the candles.
Try to light the candles.
Try to light one candle, which is the most that we may be able to keep lit with the breeze.
Abandon hope of lighting the candles.
Serve the cake.
Encourage Baguette to say “thank you for coming to my party” to as many children as possible.
Say goodbye to everyone.
Try to get Baguette to nap.
Abandon hope of getting Baguette to nap.
Regroup with grandparents and great-aunt when they come back from their hotels for dinner.
Order Chinese food.
Eat Chinese food (adults) and macaroni and cheese (Baguette).
Open presents from grandparents and great-aunt.
Accept that the most enticing part of presents is the paper, which tears interestingly and can be draped as a fetching hat.
Say goodnight to grandparents and great-aunt.
Sunday
Have morning meltdown (Baguette, with collateral damage to Mr. Sandwich’s hearing).
Regroup with grandparents and great-aunt.
Caravan to 7-11 for coffee.
Caravan to L.A. Zoo, because it is the weekend and therefore we go to the L.A. Zoo.
Look at zoo animals.
Get in line for lunch.
Take Baguette for a walk, because the line is too long. (Mr. Sandwich)
Realize that Baguette is screaming, and Mr. Sandwich is waving energetically from outside the cafeteria.
Take Baguette and try to comfort her.
Realize that 5 feet away, a zoo docent is holding a small constrictor.
Consider one’s pathological fear of snakes.
Ask Baguette if she wants to touch a snake.
Confirm with Baguette that she wants to touch a snake.
Hold Baguette while she touches the snake.
Wash Baguette’s hands.
Eat lunch.
Leave zoo.
After Baguette falls asleep in the car, take advantage of the situation to trim her fingernails while Mr. Sandwich runs into the hardware store.
Go home and let Baguette unwind.
Make brownies for Baguette to take to day care the next day for her actual birthday.
Watch Baguette start to spool up again when grandparents and great-aunt rejoin us for dinner.
Try to prevent meltdown.
Fail.
Take Baguette into her room, comfort her, and tell her that she can take time to calm down, but that we will be in the living room so she doesn’t feel abandoned.
Give Baguette iPad when she asks for it. (Mr. Sandwich)
Be grateful that, this time, the iPad helps her come out of the meltdown instead of exacerbating it, because there is no predicting.
Send grandparents out for In-N-Out.
Welcome Baguette when she comes back to the living room, feeling better.
Feed Baguette one of her favorite noodle dishes.
Tell Baguette that we will be on patio, and that she can come out when she wants to.
Eat In-N-Out while Baguette plays with party games on back lawn.
Say goodbye to grandparents and great-aunt, who are returning to respective homes on Monday.
Give Baguette a bath.
Open a few gifts for Baguette and talk to her about what they are and which of her friends gave them to her.
Write thank-you notes to those friends.
Wrangle Baguette into bed.
Sleep fitfully.
Monday
Put brownies in car.
Take thank-you notes to day care, along with party favor for one guest who didn’t get one.
Give brownies to teacher.
Realize that Baguette would still really prefer to have some quiet time.
Recognize that at this point there is nothing to be done about that.
Drop off thank-you notes.
Wonder how ABA will go tonight.
Wonder how birthday phone call with aunt and uncle will go tonight.
Wonder if Baguette will catch stomach bug that is running rampant through her school.
Think about how, at this rate, it will take several days to open Baguette’s presents.
Go to work.
Really, really intend to write the rest of the thank-you notes.
Sure, some people might schedule couples’ massages or elaborate al fresco lunches, but we live not in a commercial but in the real world of total exhaustion.
Also, we like superhero movies, and we never get to see them in the theater.
Plus, you know what you can’t do while watching a movie in the theater? Put all of your clothing in a pile on the floor and sort out what to keep and what to donate. Well, I guess you can, but only until you are thrown out of that aforementioned theater.
And now we are approaching the time to pick Baguette up from day care, which means we will finish the day of superheroes and wardrobe productivity with a trip to the pool.
My 45th birthday is coming up, and while I don’t think that 45 is any kind of a milestone at all, I wanted a way to mark the occasion. So between now (January 8) and my birthday (February 6), I’m going to do 45 good things. I figure these can be pretty much anything that helps someone else, be the effort large or small. I’m not saying I’m going to save anyone’s life, but maybe I can make their day a little less crummy.
So here goes:
1) January 8: Bought a sandwich and a bottle of water for the homeless woman outside of Starbucks.
I’ll keep a tally on the 45 Good Things page, and will use the hashtag #45goodthings on Twitter. Want to join me?
Forty-two Thirty-two (I really should check my math more carefully) years ago today, MTV was born.
I first encountered it in 1983, when we moved to Texas. We didn’t have cable in Maryland, where we’d lived previously, and as it turned out, we didn’t have it in Texas, either.
The cable company thought we did. They insisted that there was a main cable in our neighborhood. They never wondered why no one was subscribing.
Possibly because there was no main cable in our neighborhood. It took a surprising amount of lobbying to get them to lay one. So the lesson we can learn from this is that cable has always sucked.
The result was that I did not know what MTV was–and therefore I was very confused for a large portion of my friend’s birthday party. We ate lunch and cake, listened to Steve Martin’s Wild and Crazy Guy album about three times (do comedians still do albums? I can’t imagine why they would). And then, as I told my mother:
I don’t know what we were watching. There were songs, and sometimes there was a concert, and sometimes there was a little movie. I have no idea what it was, but we watched it for hours.
I kept hearing about MTV, and finally, after spending several minutes listening to friends talk about it, I wound my courage to the sticking point and asked a question that I knew would mark me as clueless: “What’s MTV?”
One of the guys said, aghast, “What’s MTV? Are you serious?”
I said, guessing (and hoping) that this would help, “We don’t have cable.”
It did help. Clearly you couldn’t hold not having cable against a fellow 13-year-old. He described it for me, and I said, “Oh, I’ve seen that!”
So it turned out that I just didn’t know MTV’s name, and was no longer an outcast. And I finally knew what on earth had been going on at that birthday party.
(Years later, my grad-school roommate injured her foot and did nothing but watch MTV. It completely turned me off the whole video phenomenon, and to this day I don’t use YouTube nearly as much as I should, considering that I work in marketing. Speaking of YouTube, embedding doesn’t seem to be working. So here’s a nostalgic and topical link for you. Enjoy.)
Yesterday was my mom’s birthday. She would have been 75. She should be 75. She should be here to see Baguette grow, and hear stories about what we’re doing, and pay long visits in which we’d spend time cooking together (or, given the way things work right now, she’d cook and I’d keep Baguette out of the kitchen).
But she’s not. So we made sure to have Chinese food yesterday in her honor.
Growing up, chow mein was never one of our family’s dishes. But my mom would have been delighted with how absorbed Baguette gets when she eats it. I know I am.
