Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Sometimes you have to examine the simple things in life in order to get the big picture.

Our frenzied trip to Oklahoma this weekend went AMAZINGLY well. We're all exhausted. The kids are sleeping late this morning while I lazily begin unpacking, sorting, and doing laundry. It's a good way to start the new week.

The plan on Saturday was to meet my college roomies and all of their kids at the Tulsa zoo. When Ian and Ainsley found out there was a butterfly exhibit, that is all they wanted to see. Oh, sure, they enjoyed the elephants and primates, thought the enormous catfish and alligators were cool. They even shared some French fries at lunch time without too much of an argument as long as the ketchup was readily at hand.

When we finally found the "Wings of Wonder" exhibit, they couldn't wait to hand the attendant their gold coins at the entrance. We quickly discovered that the wait in line would be about 45 minutes. The adults knew our kids would not survive that kind of a delay without major behavior issues creeping up, so we opted to detour to another exhibit and return later. Ian did not handle that transition well at first. When we reassured him that after we went through the rain forest we would come right back, he agreed. Then he quickly began telling us about all of the creatures we would see in the rain forest, what they liked to eat, and where they preferred to seek shelter. Sherri and I giggled knowingly.

The line to see the butterflies was down to about 30 minutes and was well worth it. The quiet calming effect the butterflies had on the kids came just in time. Watching the wings flutter silently as the colorful creatures landed gracefully on petals made wonderful smiles. Ian was disappointed that none of them would land on his finger. I told him I had taken lots of pictures of the butterflies and that he could choose one to hang on his bedroom wall. Then it would be there for him to remember our great trip to the zoo. He thought that was a good idea and decided it was o.k. to move on.

Upon returning to my mother-in-law's house early in the evening, Ian curled up in a chair away from all the family, put on his headphones and worked with his leap pad. Within 45 minutes, he was a new kid. We drove 2 hours to my parents' house with very quiet children and one panting dog. And no tired meltdown.

Sunday was less hectic in the morning. We had time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, then headed to my sister's house for her daughter's birthday party. We assumed since swimming was involved both of our kids would be eager to dive in and get splashing. Ainsley wasted no time. Ian, however, was extremely hesitant to enter the pool. As each new child arrived at they party, Ian withdrew more until finally he decided swimming was no longer part of his agenda for the day. He retreated inside.

I know my son well enough to realize that when he wants to be alone, you respect his wishes and help him find a comfortable place to decompress. He spent most of the rest of the day indoors, away from the screaming and splashing. It was good for him. It is even better that he knows when it's time to pull away.

When it was time for birthday cake, he perked up. My mother was so sweet: she made a special milk-free chocolate cake just for Ian. He was so excited to know he could have as much of it as he wanted. I cut him a huge piece, dripping with thick, gooey, chocolate frosting. He went outside with the other kids and started eating. That cake made his whole day. Suddenly, he was ready to play with the other kids - well, not the ones he didn't know, but at least he wanted to be around his cousins at that point.

The rest of the afternoon went very smoothly, as did the ride home. Until we were about 4 miles from our house. Everyone was very tired, as it was about 9:15 p.m. and no one except Steve had slept in the van. Even the dog stood and panted the entire 3 1/2 hours. The kids started a battle over something, and the next thing we knew headphones were flying across the back seat. Ainsley got decked in the nose. No major damage, thank goodness.

At home, the exhaustion was almost unbearable. Ainsley was crying, Ian was coming unglued, and Steve wasn't going to listen to any of it. Normally, I put Ainsley to bed and Steve takes Ian; this time we switched because the 2 Monsters I drank on the way home left me in a better mood to deal with the wild boy.

He was ranting in his usual Asperger's way: yelling about things that didn't make sense just so he could vent all the steam that had built up over the weekend. Sugar (the dog) had finally crashed next to Ian's bed. I gently stroked her head and said, "Ian, I think Sugar wants to sleep in your room tonight. Would that be o.k.?"

Ian suddenly stopped screaming, quit stomping his feat, ceased flailing his arms. "Yes, I think that would be o.k.," he calmly answered.

"Could you please come over here and tell Sugar it's o.k. for her to stay? She is so tired. I think she needs you to pat her head a little." I requested.

Ian approached slowly. He bent down next to the dog and gingerly placed his hand on her drowsy head. "It's o.k. Sugar," he whispered. "You can sleep with me tonight." He stayed beside her for the several minutes, petting her sides, back, and head. I crept out of the room to go kiss Ainsley good night. Then Steve went to see what was going on with Ian.

After a few minutes, Ian put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and got into bed. No more arguments, no more yelling. Just calm.

Yes, the weekend was a blur. Yes, we attempted to do much more than we should have. Yes, we will all pay the price today. Was it worth it? Seeing my children interact well with other kids is a beautiful thing. Watching them appreciate the wonders of nature is priceless. Putting them to the test and seeing that they can handle it means they are getting it. And THAT is absolutely worth it.