Praises::
::Both boys made Honor Roll. Manny's top grades: Religion and Handwriting. One could argue, what else matters?
::I overheard from the back seat, "Benic, let's make a low cost, special-effects movie. . . "
::Calliope clonked her nose on the barre at ballet and was able to, in the end, pull it together and go back into class.
::On Ridge Pike, near the turn off for Hart's Ln, there's an old barn with a caving roof. Clara pointed it out to me today and told me her plan. Oh my.
::The morning after Manny's seizure, I am laying in our patchwork bed of towels and quilts, after a night of swiss-cheese sleep, I hear Manny's footsteps. I am in disbelief: It must be Geoff. The night before, Manny had a partial tonic clonic seizure complete with the twitching arm, the river of drool, interspersed with profuse vomiting (Did you know that those with Epilepsy are more prone to seizures when they are sick? Oh, mercy!) from the tummy bug that he had. In the post-ichtal state, after a seizure, all you want the kid to do is sleep and sleep. So, I'm half asleep and thinking this is not Manny coming downstairs. But then I sit bolt upright and there he is. It is not an exaggeration to say that I felt like I was seeing the resurrected Lazarus.
The night before, Manny would not speak. Geoff and I were trying to joke with him about his magic show, about the New York accent he can mimic perfectly. But it was repeatedly to no avail. His eyes were locked to the right. I'm going, "I'm the boss' daughter!" like I'm from Queens, with tears in my eyes trying to get Manny to laugh or respond. So when I see him, resplendent in his school uniform, it is like the sun rising in Scandinavian countries when there had been months of darkness. Or like as my Dad describes the submarine ascending to the surface of the ocean and they had to come out on deck and salute. The horrible night had passed, the sickness had swept through him. And now he was fine. And apparently ready for school.
I don't think I'll ever be able to keep up with the ups and downs. One minute someone's in a seizure, someone's blowing my mind with critical analysis of Macbeth, someone is leaping off a kitchen stool and making her own tea, and someone is climbing into the crate with the dog. And they are all under the age of eleven.
Clinging helplessly to the verse, "He gently leads those who have young."
