My ears are broken. It’s really my heart, of course. It’s just easier to pin it on my ears.
Saying “My ears are broken” is kind of funny, to me anyway. I mean, how do you break an ear? I watch my fair share of football and fútboll and rugby, and I’ve never heard anyone say “He’s out with an ear!” although rugby players do get that awful cauliflower ear. Very not pretty.
In any case, my ears are broken from listening. And they’re crushed from carrying the weight of that listening.
Mr. Rugby is worried about his back. Really down in the dumps, which is so unlike him. He’s insanely funny and “light” all the time so, when he’s brooding it’s bad. And so sad. It takes all I’ve got to pull him out of his head.
And once he’s out of his head, I could nap for three days. I’m not 25 any more. This shit is exhausting.
Then there’s Mr. Happy to Be in His House and Not the Big House and I’ve already detailed a thousand times his talent for talking nonstop and his penchant for walking down bad memory lane and drowning me with the details. Yes, yes, what that guy did to you was awful. You’re right honey, you never used that word and shouldn't have been suspended that time. Oh sorry. You’re right. Twice. You shouldn’t have been suspended twice. It’s almost impossible to get him to stop when he goes on like this, at least not in any nice way. Usually I have to put my hand up and say Stop.
It’s like that whole “Talk to the hand” thing and I hate that. But so many times it’s the only tool I’ve got.
Or so I thought.
Last night I’m watching a movie, alone, both boys too lost in their misery to join me, which is fine. I’ve got The Big Short, (Christian Bale, Ryan Gosling, doing their thing beautifully as always), my book (Ordinary Human Failings, so far, so excellent), and my wine. Of course I have wine. It should be on IV drip all day long, for God’s sake. I’m curled up in my favorite spot on the sofa, relieved neither of my loving sons are talking to me, when Mr. Rugby comes out of his room.
Of course he does.
He sits on the floor. Says nothing. Want to watch with me?, I say. No. Want me to pause this so we can talk?, I say. He nods. I pause the movie. He starts to talk. It’s the same sad loop. He wants answers now. He wants to be all better now. He doesn’t understand why this has happened to him. Why him? I preach patience. Remind him we’ll have a few more answers in a few days. Tell him what I know in my gut (and I have a world class gut), that I KNOW he will get better, that he WILL play rugby again.
But I’m running on fumes. He’s lost in his head, words, sadness, fear tumbling from his mouth. He pauses for breath and words rush from my mouth.
“Well if you think that’s bad,” I say, “I haven’t pooped in five days!”
Total showstopper.
He got up, got ice cream, and went to bed.
Holy shit (no pun intended). Who knew?
I certainly didn’t. Not that I want such un-mom proclamations to be my go to but, hell, it was like stopping a tsunami in its tracks.
I had to know if it would work again.
This morning as Mr. Happy was leaving for work, he did what he always does as he’s walking out the door. He starts talking. It’s not fair I have so few hours. Every job does this to me, they cut my hours. Why me? It’s my autism. I hate being autistic. I hate this!
I feel my ears disintegrating. My heart squeezing in my chest, breaking for my boy. I have no answers. I encourage him to talk to his manager. Be polite, be professional. He hears nothing. The door is open, the cats are trying to escape, he’s still talking. The breeze is making my feet freeze – but not my mouth.
“Sweetheart,” I interrupt, “it’ll be ok. Now go, don’t be late, and say a prayer your mom finally poops.”
Silence. And then, “That’s gross,” and he’s gone.
Oh. My. God. It worked. It shut him up. It shut them both up!
The “talk to the hand” business is terrible, and this TMI is no better, but I’m sitting here laughing. And laughing feels a whole lot better than heartache.
Thank you for taking this long, strange trip with me. I appreciate you and your many comments and emails. If you’d like to read parts 1-38, you can do so here.
Hilarious! Keep on laughing!