First Day of Spring (you're doing it wrong.)

In the winter the days seem to drag on forever, each bleeding into the next. It is cold and dark and my kids are eating cheetos and watching TV, and I wonder where I went wrong. Jude is screaming and Sage is whining, the place is a mess and WHY didn't I become a nun?

Because I liked men too much.

All I ever wanted was a happy little family. No one could have wanted kids more than I did, and I reasoned that since we all almost bought the farm during three horrific pregnancies and births my deep gratitude and wonder at our survival would prevent us from slipping into the dull aching pain of helpless mediocrity I grew up with. I admit it. I wanted a happy family.

It seems naive now, in the midst of a cold nasty winter. I makes me want to cry. I try to laugh instead. It doesn't work. I feel like a failure. Our lives are a jumble of doctors, hospitals and therapists who tell me I'm doing it wrong. I look at my developmentally delayed four year old, shoving ramen in his mouth as he watches Barney. They're right. I'm doing it wrong.

Our car is broken. We have to take the El to therapy to be told I'm doing it wrong. At least the weather is nice. Actually, we realize as we step out onto the sidewalk, the weather is AWESOME. Eden is in the front pack and Sage and Jude are holding our hands and skipping along. I take a deep breath and think I may just live until my next birthday.

My friend Joseph from the halfway house sees us and walks us to the El. He falls in step with us as if he is one of our kids. He is happy, too, to be outside in the sun.

When we get to the station Joseph blesses us with a chant and some hand gestures and lopes down the street. We manage to get through the turnstile without injury and wait on the platform. Jude flops down next to a large Hispanic man with heavy metal hair and tattoos and takes his hand. "Sorry," I say. "No problem," he says with a smile.

The train ride goes by uneventfully with Jude plastered against the window. We get to the clinic and Sage and Jude and Don all race up the stairs. Jude somehow manages to get through the session without too much screaming, and I manage not to yell at the therapist when she tells me I am coddling him and need to push him more. I tell her his hair smells like summer and my heart dances when he laughs. I am not sure she knows what to make of this. This day is shaping up pretty nicely, though, so I realize I don't really care.

On the way home the train is crowded by young professionals returning from their McJobs and such. They are all looking at us and smiling, and I wonder why. Don't they see what a pathetic little band of medical and emotional issues we are?

Jude stands up on his seat, inspired by the el ride, and yells, POTATO! POTATO! PO.. TA...TO!!!! at the top of his lungs. Now they know, I tell myself. They understand how cloudy the genetic pool is. But the yuppies love this. And they are still admiring my boys.

Jude, exhausted from his outburst, sits down and lays his head on the lap of a young well dressed gentleman next to him. "oh, I say, I'm sorry. He likes to touch people. He hasn't gotten that personal boundary thing down yet."

But the guy is smiling. "Wouldn't it be nice," he says, "if we were all more like that?" I think, wouldn't it be nice if people were all like you, but I don't say it. I sit back and have my little epiphany.

It's all about death and resurrection, I remind myself. Winter sucks, and so do bleeding disorders and autism, and so my pathetic dreams of a perfect little family are crucified.

But Spring is here, and God is it beautiful. All these people are smiling at us, not because they can't tell we're defective, but because we are a absolutely beautiful little family.

I take Eden and Don picks Jude up because he has fallen asleep on nice guy's lap. We wave goodbye to all the nice yuppies on the train. They wave back and smile, because we are such a lovely little family unit. Joseph is there to meet us and we walk back to our house. Sage tells Joseph,not unkindly,"you're poor." Joseph happily concurs. He sees us to the door and heads back to Wilson Care.

There are dull, pathetic days ahead, I know. But days like this remind me. God's gifts put my silly little dreams to shame. I can take days of tantrums, ramen stuck to the walls, late nights at the ER and God knows what else as long as I know. Easter is on its way.