It's Fall, Ya'll- again

In a purely non-metaphorical sense, I love fall. I love the first morning I wake up and it's not 100 degrees outside. I love seeing my breath as I let the dog out in the morning, the pumpkins that begin dotting the grocery stores. I love pulling out the sweatshirts and jeans but needing shorts by the afternoon. I love how those afternoons grow cooler and cooler until we need to wear sweatshirts all day. I love pumpkin patches

Pumpkin pancakes, apples, baking again after a three month break. (Who wants to turn on their oven during the hot midwestern summers? Not me!)

I love Halloween and cutesy Halloween decorations. I love McDonald's pumpkin buckets that their Happy Meals come in. I love pumpkin apple muffins, pumpkins,

Yes, they painted the white pumpkin

 ... and did I mention fall leaves?

*/-

This morning, Camille took forever to walk to school because she was crunching through every leaf pile between the house and school. I kept urging her to hurry up... but I honestly couldn't blame her. Leaf crunching is awesome.

I many ways, though, I've been hanging out in fall, plunging towards winter, for a long time now. I've spent some time in winter- in the worst of winter, white-out blizzard conditions. I knew I was close to home, to safety... I could feel it. But I couldn't get there. I was standing cold, naked in a blizzard, trying to find the warmth and comfort that I knew was there. I could see it. I could see the people, warm and happy in front of a fire, popping popcorn and drinking hot tea... but I couldn't get there.

When the blizzard receded, I spent more time in fall, fighting off the niggling weatherman in my head that was telling me a blizzard was coming. I ignored him, yet stockpiled my canned good and battened down the hatches because I knew, I knew, a blizzard could be coming.

And I fought to stay inside, to stay warm in the midst of winter.

I've spent very little time in spring. I've spent most of the past three years in fall. There has not been summer.

With Georgie beginning preschool, I knew winter could be coming. I could feel myself on edge. I was stress eating like nothing else and doing alot to keep my physically busy. I rearranged the playroom. I deep cleaned. I organized the basement. Adam asked if I was nesting. I was snappy, moody and tense. I could think of nothing else and couldn't think beyond the 19th, the day he started school. The fact that it was exactly 2 years and 11 months to the day that my water broke and everything changed was not lost on me.

Georgie was not a happy camper when I dropped him off. I am sure our nerves were feeding off each other, even though I just hugged him good bye, told him I loved him and got out of there. I finished up paperwork and went home to be with Cole, was had an ear infection and was a crab pot.

I nursed Cole, put him down for a nap... and the house was quiet.

Dead quiet.

Not creepy-quiet but peaceful quiet. For the first time in three years, no one was demanding anything of me. No one was asking to nurse, needing to be changed, hanging on my leg for attention. There was no whining, crying or fit throwing. I tossed dinner in the slow cooker without anyone trying to help chop raw chicken. I tossed the laundry in the dryer without someone trying to climb into the washing machine. I used the bathroom in peace.

I had no idea how tensed and stressed I was until it was gone. I felt light, giddy and was nearly stress free. I had just been telling my therapist that I wanted to be happy again. I missed being completely happy... and now, I was happy.

Georgie was getting the help he so desperately needs. I was getting a repiste from the demands of taking care of a child with special needs. People are finally listening when I say that he needs help. For the first time in 2 years and 11 months, everything seems managable. Before the 19th, taking care of the house and kids was overwhelming. I knew I needed to take care of myself but I couldn't go there... because it was too much to think about. For the first time since Georgie was born, the "extras," things beyond cooking, cleaning and childcare, seem managable. Do-able. I can make this work.

I love my son. I would lay down my life for him. I would do everything the same, again, just to get him as he is, apraxia, SPD and all. I would do it all again to have Cole and the life we live. But it has been very, very hard.

I still have dragons to slay. I still have PP mental illness and PTSD. But for the first time in years, I feel like I am entering spring. Am I wary? You bet. I know any moment I could be slammed back into winter. I know I live on the edge of fall.

But you know what? It was fall, ya'll. But now it's spring.