Warm fuzzies

[matril]

Most of my recent posts have been grouchy rants, so I wanted to be cheerful for once. Good grief, it's Christmas! What am I grumping for? It doesn't matter if the house isn't decorated perfectly, or if I don't get the absolute perfect gift for everyone on my list, or if the Christmas letter doesn't get sent out until after New Year's. Perfection is not the point. The point is peace. "Peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth."

I have this cringing fear that my kids are going to grow up thinking Christmas is the most stressful time of year, when mommy goes beserk. Much better for them to remember their Decembers fondly. I have happy memories of Christmas with my family. My mom learned to make figgy pudding, and we'd eat that and drink her homemade wassail on Christmas Eve. We would read Luke 2 and other related passages, sing Christmas Carols. The next morning we would gather in my parents' room (a little earlier than they would have liked!) and then go downstairs, youngest first, while my mom took pictures of our reactions to the lovely piles of presents under the tree. Then we'd take turns opening our presents, youngest to oldest and back again, one present at a time. After swimming in an ocean of wrapping paper, we'd eat a nice big breakfast. We'd spend the day playing with our new toys, maybe eating some yummy trifle if my mom had had the chance to make it. Good food, good presents, family. That's what I want for my kids.

By the way, I realized today what my boggart would be. A doctor or some other official sort, telling me, "I'm sorry, but you just don't have the capabilities to take care of your son. He'll need to stay in a group home. Maybe you can visit him on the weekends." I need to find a Riddikulus charm to counter that. And some chocolate to counteract the dementor-induced memory of that time just after Thanksgiving last year when the doctor told us Luke would probably never be able to function independently. Come on, Matril, be cheerful. *sigh*

Comments

[sonetka.livejournal.com]

Your Christmas sounds lovely - especially the wassail; I've never had it. Do you have your mom's recipe, by any chance? (I've seen premixed wassail in the grocery store and it just feels ... wrong. It's kind of like having the Magi bring gold purchased from Fred Meyer Jewelers - out of sync).

And a pox on the doctor who told you Luke would probably never function independently. I'm not going all Pollyanna-ish here, but how old was Luke at the time, TWO? He still has a lot of growing up to do, and who knows what might be different even in five or ten years. (I can't help wondering how much things like the net will change things for autistics, especially nonspeaking ones - in a world where you don't necessarily need to ever see someone in order to conduct business or interact with them, it could be much easier for autistics to function independently, as he put it. Or maybe I'm just blowing smoke. Sorry, it just annoys me that he would say something like that about such an incredibly small kid).

[matril.livejournal.com]

Well, in her defense (woman doctor) she didn't outright say, "He'll never function on his own." It was more that she gave us the basic diagnosis, and my husband asked what exactly it meant, what we could expect when he grew up. She was reluctant to say anything definite, but we were so desperate for some sort of assurance that he'd eventually be fine, and she finally just had to say, "Most people with this form of autism seldom achieve total independence." I guess she didn't want us to develop unrealistic expectations, but it came across as "Don't hope." I definitely do not envy her job, I can tell you that.

I don't have a precise recipe for the wassail, but I experimented with it myself last Christmas for the first time, and it turned out pretty well. Basically, it's just apple juice and orange juice - more apple than orange - with spices like cinnamon and nutmeg. Heat it up, stir it, and keep tasting it until it seems right. Definitely more fun that buying a mix, even if it's not perfect. :)

[sonetka.livejournal.com]

Oh, that makes more sense - I was under the impression that she had just sort of volunteered this, in a "Hey, want another fun fact?" sort of way. But yes, her job has to be hard. (One reason why, while I'd like to get into ultrasound, I'd hate to work in a fertility clinic; so much bad news to deliver amid such high stakes). Thanks for the wassail recipe! I think I'll give it a whirl this weekend.

[matril.livejournal.com]

Oh, you would have had great fun as the technician for Emma's ultrasound today (note the sarcasm). After having one too many scary experiences in doctor's offices, Emma isn't about to trust anyone with strange equipment who wants her to take some of her clothes off. No matter how we assured her it was just to take funny pictures of her insides, she cried and thrashed relentlessly. And...they didn't find anything wrong. It's good news, but it probably means they'll subject her to some other test in their relentless search for a diagnosis.

[sonetka.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor Emma. I hope she was in a better mood after it was over. Did she get to keep any of the pictures? (Maybe she's different, but when I was little I was fascinated by the idea that I had all of this bizarre stuff inside me which I couldn't see).

[matril.livejournal.com]

Well, she's only 20 months - she didn't really understand about taking pictures of her insides. If only she did understand, she probably wouldn't have been so frantic.

I'm personally fascinated by pictures of human anatomy in biology books and the like. I don't have the stomach to be a doctor and actually look inside of people, but I like the concept of it. ;)