June was given bunny

when she was 2 days old by our friends Pete and Diane. Bunny has been with her every day since, except for the couple of weeks we thought we lost her when she was really at the bottom of Fred's closet. When I say Bunny goes everywhere with June, I mean everywhere. At school, she stays in June's cubby while June works (Montessori school). There are some people close to us who are a bit afraid of the germs Bunny carries but in fact I am sure that June's immune system is all the stronger for having such a loved, filthy bunny by her side.

Bunny is now a character in June's pretend play; there was a big to-do this afternoon, in fact, when Bunny pushed June. They worked it out, with me playing the teacher. Right now, there are a number of other dolls/animals who travel with us through the day; this week it is a baby doll called "Baby Moses," a Precious Moments doll my mother-in-law gave June for Chanukah whom June either calls "Mariel" or "Moona" depending on her mood, and a stuffed mommy and baby elephant.

June surprises me every day with how complex her narratives are becoming; she weaves in conversations she's overheard, tv shows she watched weeks ago, accounts from school and home, fairy tales and bible stories. It's fascinating for me to experience the way her stories change and grow. It is hard not to see myself as a child in June; I remember from a very young age making up stories and acting them out. June has the dramatic flair, too, and will find just the perfect prop to act out her tale.

June has been giving Mariel/Moona and the elephants little bandages under their arms made out of my gauze tape. June likes to watch me shower and get dressed and she is very interested in the bandage under my arm. "Yeah, it's just there to help me heal," I tell her when she asks me for the thousandth time, "What you got there?" looking up at my incisions. "It feels so good that my body is strong and healing," I say.

Today I heard June say,"You're okay, Moona, you're healing now" as she put on Moona's bandage.

"Junie," I said, "God gave us amazing bodies that do so many amazing things!"

"Let's go on a treasure hunt," June said.
****
Georgie processes and expresses things differently. He is not like me or June at all in that language is so unnatural for him. Georgie's brain is naturally suited to doing visual-spatial tasks, like completing new jigsaw puzzles that I would struggle to do.

But being George's mom has taught me to look beyond how a child presents intellectually; George has taught me how to quiet my own mind so I can be really present with him without thinking a zillion thoughts a second. There is an openness, a spiritual energy that flows easily between George and me when I can do this (not always possible for me to do). He senses presence and I think appreciates it. He is sort of like a dog in his communication, in the way that he reacts to energy. You might be a total stranger but if you put out an open, loving vibe, George will cuddle up in your lap. If you emit tension or fear, he will avoid or test you.

So right now, George's processing of what is happening with Mom is all about the vibe I put out. Friday afternoon when I went completely mental (I must say) and screamed, George had a very good fight or flight response and totally tuned me out. June, in turn, put her little finger in my face and said "Mommy, you don't yelling at me!!!" and stamped upstairs.

These kids and our adventures together are pretty humbling for me. Saturday morning when I woke up feeling rested and regulated, George welcomed me with his beautiful smile and his smiling brown eyes. George forgives by his nature. He doesn't possess the ability to hold onto anger.

June had a new drama going on Saturday; it seemed Bunny was the hero Daddy who came home and gave crazy Moona mommy a glass of purple juice.
****
We are working with George doing a wonderful cognitive therapy called RDI that is allowing him to experience more nuanced emotions. But the process of learning things, like sharing joint attention with another person, that do not occur naturally in his specific neurological make-up is a long, slow process; a marathon, says Dr. Steven Gutstein, the creator of RDI, not a sprint.

In this particular moment in our lives, I don't think it's bad that he's missing some of the nuances of what is happening here.
****
June made up a treasure hunt. She drew a map (primarily scribbles), just like they have on the Dora show, she gathered an umbrella, her fairy wings, Bunny, George and me and said we had to cross the toll bridge. June's arms were full and George dashed away from her for a moment. I thought maybe he had had just enough of her for one day and was making his escape, but in fact, he ran to the table and picked up Moona, where June had left her, and then re-joined us.

"Oh thank you, Georgie!" June exclaimed. "You can carry Mariel."

June bossed us around for a while; the umbrella was to protect us from a snow storm and then we had to jump to an island and eat dinner made of legos. George carried Moona for June all the while.

I forget that I have no idea, really, what is happening inside his mind. Maybe he sees the bandages. Maybe he gets the whole thing.
****
People comment frequently about how good it is for George to have June around; how engaging she is, how she must help him with language. All of that is very, very true, but what it takes a more nuanced eye to see is how very good George is for June, as well. George supports June. George is kind to her. George is not a typical 6-year-old brother who might make fun of her, tease her, call her stupid and refuse to play her silly games. No, George validates her strength and her creativity and her gumption.

I think about how their unique gifts will help each other all of their lives and how June is growing up knowing that differences are part of life and how George is growing up seeing how to be your own self, proudly, always.
****
Peg Kessler, the visiting nurse who pulled the tube out of my arm just a little over a week ago, discharged me today. "You're terrific," she told me. "You've just done a terrific job here..." no doubt referring not only to the way that I didn't scream or actually pass out when she pulled the tube out and how I'm a good diabetic because my wound is healing so quickly but also to the general way she's seen me manage my health and home through this little ordeal.

Dammit, Peg! I thought. I have been doing a "terrific job" at this kind of thing my whole life, I am actually trying to let go and fuck up and not be so terrific here. I am trying to be honest and vulnerable and when I am, I know that it doesn't read as "terrific."
****
Maybe what I'm learning is how to navigate between worlds. How to trust my feelings are just feelings and to find safe places to let them out. How to pull myself together and out of my feelings when it's time to be present and mom. How to vent and scream when I need to without actually screaming at anybody (except maybe Bunny if June's not around?)How to make space for praying and healing and meditating even when there is no "illness" to remind me to do so.

I need a long life to work this all out and Fred assures me that I will have one because after all, I'm a "fighter" (Was that a fight? I thought that was a conversation.)

Amen.