I got really weepy in Costco today. Why? Because I walked by the Toy Story 3 display and saw the montage of the character “Andy” as a little kid, playing with Woody and Buzz. This made me think about the part when Andy grows up, turns into a teenager, and leaves for college. Which in turn made me think about my own son, Newt, leaving home (presumably) in 10 years. And so, yes, I started tearing up in Costco (which made pushing my cart through the crowd of densely packed holiday shoppers even more frightening).
This is nothing new for me, especially during the holidays. I cry at every Hallmark commercial, even if I’ve seen it twenty times. A really cheesy Folgers coffee ad got to me the other day. And the other night while I was doing the dishes, I started watching that annoying game show, Minute to Win It, and the sappy “encouraging videos” from the contestants’ family members got me all verklempt (now that’s embarrassing). This is really why I should just stick to news (because that just makes me pissed. . .).
The thing is, I don’t know if I’m strange or normal. I don’t know if every person — if every mother — walks around with an acute sense of time being so fast and fleeting. The other night, while we were putting up the Christmas tree, I started having flashbacks to when Newt was “little” (he’s 8 now). For us at that time, the days between Halloween and New Years — which sadistically also contain at least three family birthday celebrations — were. . . painful (actually, they’re still pretty painful, but that’s another post). I know that life with small children is no picnic for anyone, but trust me, this was different.
Newt was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He’s since, as I like to say, “worked his way out of it,” but until about age five, it was brutal. There was never any chance of standing in line for a picture with Santa. Or decorating gingerbread houses. Or sitting through The Nutcracker. We dreaded family dinners at restaurants because we were paying to be anxious. We hated parties because we had to follow him around constantly and never got to talk to anyone. We tried to cover for him by making him look interested in the presents that people gave him because he couldn’t grasp the whole toy-under-the-wrapping thing, and once he did, he didn’t want to move onto the next gift. And the meltdowns. . . oh baby Jesus, don’t even get me started on the meltdowns.
It was, in a word, stressful. I remember hoping we could just get through things, and then being so sad that I wasn’t enjoying all, or any, of what were “supposed” to be special moments with my son. I knew he was growing up quickly, but I couldn’t help but wish it away. I couldn’t help feeling like we were in a nightmare that was never going to be over. I couldn’t buy into the old, “This too shall pass,” because there wasn’t any evidence that it would.
So while I was decorating the tree with my now very “normal,” “typical,” “well-adjusted” child who loves opening presents, sits for hours to work on projects, is going to see The Nutcracker, and actually watches other kids at parties, I couldn’t help but get a little weepy. Because I realized that in a few short years, he wouldn’t even want to be there with us on a Friday night, putting up ornaments and eating pizza. Pretty soon, he’d be hanging out in his room because putting up the tree was “boring.” Or bugging me to drive him to the movie theater to meet his friends.
And while I’m more grateful than anyone will ever know that he’s the kid he is today, it makes me sad to know that my window of opportunity with him as a little boy who enjoys Christmas is closing. Especially since it feels like it was hardly open for very long in the first place.
This too shall pass. We use that phrase to get us past the tough stuff. It’s just too bad that it applies to the good stuff as well.
Tammy Soong is a writer, wife, and mom from Reno, Nevada. She takes an absurd amount of pain medication, but not enough to have actually named her children "Newt" and "Elfie." She spends most days stressing out over clutter, writing stuff for this place, and working on podcasts with her gal pals, the Blogging Betties.
so I cry at Toy Story 3, Hallmark Commercials, the sappy videos before The Biggest Loser, American Idol and all those shows, Glee, Parenthood…and blog posts. Like this one.
Because I totally totally get it.
A friend told me that the days drag but the years fly by. So true.
I actually kind of have to disagree with you on this one. Yes, I admit I am obsessed with how quickly time passes, and how my boys are growing up so fast, but I think that the holidays are always special. Sure as teenagers they may roll their eyes at the thought of a night at home decorating the tree, but I think they come around again. Most people want nothing more than to be at home with their mom and dad for christmas. They want to eat mom's special crab dip, and watch football with dad in the den. They want to look at all their old Christmas ornaments and walk down memory lane. That's what I think. I'm sticking with it 🙂
@Alysia: Of course you do. What a shock that you're also a sap like me. . .
@Getrealmommy. Don't get me wrong. I'm still going to torture him by making him stay home and do all this stuff. It's like his aunt who hugs him with reckless abandon. I'm just bracing myself for a period of time when he'll be disinterested in us. Hopefully it'll all work out after the terrible teens.:)
Stopping by from MBC. I get all weepy and sappy too sometimes when I think of my kids getting older and “outgrowing” some of the things they liked as little ones. I can only hope I get to repeat it all over again with grandkids someday. Cheers to you this holiday and know that there are still special times ahead of you as well.
i teared up last week at that folgers commercial. i get it. my boys are 10 and 16. i feel that time….and as jack johnson sings….”it not that it goes too fast….it's that it goes at all”.
p.s. i'm loving the teen years….although, i need therapy about allowing my son to learn to drive.
I too find myself weepy this time of year and it doesn't help at all that my birthday is in the middle of all of this brightly colored, and lit up holiday season. Your honesty is breathtakingly refreshing because one of the things that we so rarely talk about is the marriage of regret and gratitude. You captured perfectly the actual cost and weight behind the phrase 'This too shall pass'.
Beautifully written-you've got me crying now:)
I feel similar to you. I want to enjoy the holidays and do all the magical family things. But my youngest is a terror that causes nothing but stress when she is on her game 🙂 She is the literal “terrible 2's” most days. I love her but a small part of me just wants to get past this phase and have her grow up!
And then another part laments the time that has gone by and I just want her to stay a sweet little baby 🙂
Visiting from Red Writing Hood
You know, my experience isn't all that different. I have a 7 year old who is highly sensitive to stimulus – he's been evaluated and tests “normal” but parties were NOT fun, school performances were NOT fun, and anything loud, noisy, or at nighttime was NOT fun. Until now.
I almost blew Santa's cover this week, and all i could think about is that Christmas is finally fun, and magical and exciting and I almost killed it. We've solved our little debacle, but still…it almost slipped through my fingers (and his).
I enjoyed finding your blog! Stopping by from TRDC.
It's just too bad that it applies to the good stuff as well.
What a poignant and true statement. Thank you.
@sandbox gems: I really try to be all Buddhist about it — you know, stay in the moment, appreciate what you have. But I'm frankly not that mature and evolved. Still a work in progress. Thanks for stopping by!
@deborah: I will be calling you about the driving thing.
@Jennifer: I love how your comment that compliments me on my writing is so beautifully written. You're quite something at throwing down the heavy phrase.
@Valerie: If I don't make at least one person cry each day, I haven't done my job (I count myself as “a person,” btw).
@Carrie: Ugh, so feelin' your pain. I hate wishing away my day because I'm so “done” and then feeling guilty about not appreciating it. Because the self-flagellation never really has to end. . .
@Adelle: It would be really interesting to talk to you. I think there are a lot of “us” out there, some of whose kids were tossed into the autism bucket. And are now doing “fine.” It's a story that frankly stresses me out. Anyway, glad it worked out for you with Santa. One more year, right?
@Rebekah C: I just LOVE it when someone does that (pulls a quote). Surprises the hell out of me because honestly, I usually can't even believe that it came out of my head when someone else makes it seem so cool. Thank you.
Gorgeous post and totally tugged at my heartstrings. I am just like you. I spend way too much time being nostaligic about times that are not already even over. But it is so true. Childhood is fleeting. I can hardly believe my Nino is already 6. It seems just yesterday he was crawling around on the floor and eating random things he found on the carpet. Oh wait. That was yesterday. Anyway, moving right along.
But seriously, I totally feel what you are talking about. The transition to motherhood was challenging for me in many ways. And some days I felt like I was just counting the hours as they passed. Even though I adored the crap out of my sweet baby, days were just so incredibly long. And Nino was so needy. He never entertained himself at all. He still barely does at age six.
I'm not sure if Nino could be considered a high needs kid? But either way, things are getting easier as he gets older. I don't count the hours anymore, in fact, I really cherish every second our time now esp. since he spends so many hours in school each day.
To me, that's the part that is so hard about motherhood. It requires you to give so much. So much that you sometimes lose yourself and find yourself almost drowning. But at the same time, you wouldn't trade your life for anything and you regret each moment that you spent feeling anything but intense joy for your little darlings.
Thanks for keeping it real. I love your honesty. And I love your writing. So beautiful. And so validating for so many other moms out here.
So this is embarrassing. I’m sure I read this THREE years ago, but I’m just now responding. I’m going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say I wrote a really lovely comment in my head that never got here. I blame the kids.
And you say it eloquently, as usual.:)
I have just found you through Debie Hive from you post on chronic pain. I love the idea so I looked deeper and am delving into your walk through autism.
This is the first post I’ve read about Newt and your journey and first of all… tears– all the freakin time! Folgers commercials are the best 😉
Secondly, Toy Story 3 has me crying every time I watch. I have a 21yo daughter so I’ve walked this path with her in “real” time and we have a 4yo son and 2yo daughter, so the path is now renewed with the wonderment of toys that magically arouse empathy in children.
Our son is somewhere on the spectrum. We don’t know where yet and really, the diagnosis isn’t quite the point, just the beneficial services that come with it.
I understand the holiday anxiety, it’s a very familiar scene here although I think we’ve been lucky with timing and Santa pics were taken. Memories have been made but behind the scenes it can be absolute madness. It’s amazing the emotional toll we are willing to pay for a “beautiful” memory to reflect on later (we only remember the good stuff right?)
I will continue reading your journey and just wanted to say, thank you. Thank you for your honesty and candid approach. I look forward to learning from you and your son.
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Thank you so much for stopping by — sorry! Somehow this comment got lost in the shuffle. Let me know if I can help as things progress with your son. You can always email me. 🙂
Tammy Soong recently posted..How to Create an Epic, Scavenger Hunt Adventure