indigo dog

my son is not a "funny looking kid", he was working those babygros from about 3 months old, he was the baby everyone greeted with a "duuuuude". he's seriously popular, and kids can be shallow people.

my son is not "slow". i'm sick of people- of friends-telling me, apropos of nothing, that "it's not important if he doesn't ever go to university", based on their feeble grasp of his diagnosis. wtf? first of all, he's four (4). secondly, he's scary bright and a great communicator with adults. third, he's obsessed with robots and comes from a long line of celebrated engineers on all sides. i had to seriously hold my tongue this morning as someone laid the "so what if he's not academically clever" crap on me whilst her own child had just picked his nose and riffed on bums and willies for a good five minutes.

my son shouldn't be persecuted on his own turf in the interest of "toughening him up". we are currently under siege by neighbouring kids every day after school and on weekends as some fences are down and those responsible can't be bothered to replace them. these kids will stroll into my house and use the play equipment even if my kids aren't around. i'm laid back, but these kids are really really not very nice, and their parents assume the issue is that my kids are "too sensitive". i am turning into an alsation; montana is likely to throw down some cgi werewolf madness this weekend should this continue.

my son is awesome, eerily placid, with a delightful take on the world. ignorant pigeon-holing haters are beginning to rile me. it's bringing out the indigo in me. it's not good.





.

warning- contains mild teen drama references.

in march, i thought, "oh! it'll be bliss, the easter holidays. i'll be able to rightfully reclaim some functional sleep patterns and catch up with my sewing/ correspondence/ decorating/ outstanding work in garden/ cv tailoring/ freezer cooking/ father."

i thought, "the fun we'll have together... myself and the kids... as we craft together, bond over our favourite taxidermy exhibits at the museum, bake whimsical easter treats, and shop for new school shoes."

i thought, "how wonderful it will be to do all this over a hazy, blissful carousel ride of two neverending weeks, bathed in the warming yellow sunshine so typical of bristol in april."

i thought, "things will be different after the easter holidays; i can feel it."

and today i thought, "well, clearly i am a delusional idiot."

it rained. at some points it thundered. i spent the grocery money taking the children to see "monster vs aliens" (official verdict- "meh."). we came back to find that there was no heating and nothing to eat in the house other than a large slab of maya gold green & blacks chocolate. but, hey ho. could be lots worse. i just wish i'd stop setting myself up like this.

the future, in my mind (beyond june and its inevitable robot/ ape takeover *taps nose*), is always bathed in warm yellow light. i weigh 120lbs, and have become inexplicably wealthy. i never clean, i have infinite time to get all my important work done and also indulge in the myriad hobbies i choose to persue, whilst making a positive difference to the lives of others along the way. essentially, i believe my future is an episode of the o.c., only with less angst, more small children, more falling over, but roughly the same number of my little ponies. incidentally, my brother is the spitting image of adam brody, so i am not being completely insane here- he is enabling this bizarre delusion.

so, really, i need to have a word with him about that. and in the meantime we haven't done too badly this easter. we aquired a new "octopus" prime toy which my son is now heavily involved with, and which i just saw advertised at 250% of the price i paid; my man and i broke our nuptials doom-spell; my daughter hasn't fallen off anything and had to go to accident and emergency even once *touches much wood*; we discovered some religious imagery on the crust of a fish pie; and on easter day we had much tabbouleh and a really big bonfire. because that's just the way we kick it, as the good man sandy cohen might say.



.

oy...

in zadie smith's second novel, the autograph man, her dual heritage character alex li-tandem has spent many hours of his life devoted to many seemingly pointless exercises, and one of them is a book. a book of categorisation.

with alex's book, his aim is to look at every object, thought, verb, theme, occassion or happenstance and assign it to one of two camps- jewish or goyish. for example- "goyish smells of the 17th cenury (sandalwood, walnuts, wet forest floor)" and "goyish holidays/ festivals which are actually jewish" and "jewish trees of note (poplar, sycamore, oak)".

at the core of his assignations lies his fundamental truth- everything interesting, everything with integrity, everything with soul, he defines as jewish.

and my point is i now realise that i am in danger of becoming this way about the autistic spectrum, such is my fervent defensiveness/ evangelism, and just maybe the point of this blog is to assign an a.s.d. to everything awesome. this could mean that in six months time a sample from it might read

aquilegias
space hoppers
new chanel couture collection
=
landau-klefner syndrome.


well, its a thought.




.