A Wonderful Friday Coming Up.

Yesterday I actually got things done. The kitchen looks wonderful and I've started on cleaning KidThree's room. KidOne didn't get home before I left, so the bed is still not in its new spot, but the new spot is cleared and swept and ready for the bed.

Last night I babysit a sister and brother whom I watch on those days when both parents are working late. This usually entails me picking them up at daycare, then taking them to their home for dinner and books and bath before their parents come home, but last night was much later--I was there past eleven. MissA is four; she loves to be read to just as much as I love to read and she is as cuddly as I am, so of course we get on like a house on fire. She loves to take all the books out of my ubiquitous bookbag to see what new ones are there and what familiar ones have shown up again. One book I bring every time, as it is her favorite. We always start out reading that one, frequently reading it again between other stories. I get the feeling MissA doesn't get as much of this sort of activity with her parents as she would like, probably because her brother can be so demanding, particularly of attention from their mother. Her brother, LittleJ, is two. He is an interesting child. A lot of the time I think he is somewhere on the autistic spectrum, other times just that he is his own little individual self, developing in his own way. I've dealt closely with autistic children in the past and, in many ways, he reminds me of them. He has several fixations, doesn't make much eye contact, plays solely by himself at very repetitive 'games,' is totally non-verbal (at least with me), and rarely interacts with other children in the room. But, he can interact sometimes, sometimes does make eye contact, and has progressed over the past few months from screaming at the sight of me to smiling and holding up his arms to be picked up and carried out to the car. I just don't know about him, so I keep my eyes open and watch him closely. What I wonder is, how do you tell parents you think their beloved son might have a disability, especially one like autism? For now, I just watch and wait; if a conversation ever comes up with the parents that gives an opening, I might mention it obliquely. Children are so very individual, two years old is such a flexible age, from still being totally self-involved to learning that others are participating in their activities, and boys do develop more slowly than girls in so many ways. Another puzzlement. At any rate, I do enjoy these children and am always happy when their mother calls to see if I can watch them.

KidTwo is having difficulties down south. Her father's wife is not a happy woman and is now saying she is going to leave him and that she has asked him to sign separation papers. KidTwo has tried to talk to her father about this but he says that this has happened many times before and doesn't mean anything and all will be well. KidTwo is sure this time it is for real, as paperwork has apparently never entered the picture before, so her father's denial of real trouble is making her crazy. She doesn't want him to get hurt and doesn't want him to lose her baby brother, especially as the wife is not an American and has another country to hide in if she so chooses. All I can do from here is give KidTwo all the love and support that I can, both by email and by phone when she calls. KidTwo was born with no protection at all from the pain of others; their pain is her pain, sometimes even more so. She is so very tenderhearted and sympathetic. It is frequently hard to be her mother because of the difficulty in trying to help her negotiate the line between helping as much as possible and surrendering oneself to the needs of others. That line is so hard for her to see and the pain she feels is so real. This is one of those times when I hate that she is so far away; I want to take her on my lap and hold her and rock her and rub her back like I did when she was small, telling her it will all be okay somehow because mama will find a way to fix it. Sigh. My poor, tenderhearted pussycat of a daughter. I do love her so.

This is a three-cups-of-coffee morning. Usually I stop at two, but last night I didn't get to bed until well after midnight, then up again in four hours. I got home before midnight but then stayed up to finish Barack Obama's "Dreams from My Father." What a marvelous book. I've already read his "The Audacity of Hope." He is so very able to articulate what for most people are the totally inchoate emotions of who one is, and what one's place is, and how one can and cannot make a difference in the world. I am so joyously anticipating an Obama presidency.

I've just started Ben Fong-Torres' "The Rice Room: Growing Up Chinese-American--From Number Two Son to Rock 'n Roll." He is another marvelous writer with the ability to make clear all the machinations that go on in his mind and self. What marvelous talent these two men have.

The coffee water is boiling. Time for me to make that last cup, then take my shower before heading off to watch BabyJ for the morning. Then home for a nap. Tomorrow is my day at the Senior Center. KidThree is hoping to be able to go with me. I hope she can. What use is it having such gorgeous, wonderful daughters if I can't show them off occasionally?

A