There is the friend who sent me relaxation in the form of a spa gift card.

There is the parent who offered to get a group of people together to take my son on the field trip he wasn’t allowed to attend, and who also wanted to throw in a Reds game. Sharks, beer, and peanuts? Count me in!

There are my in-laws who provided me much-needed respite. I even took a bubble bath.

There are dozens of people who emailed, texted, hugged and listened. There are so many friends praying and hoping for us right now. Thank you.

I haven’t felt this good about humanity since the infamous meat-wagon, freezer incident of 2009.

And, maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe every now and then we need to be reminded that there is more good than bad; that for every awful thing you read or experience, there are hundreds of good deeds going unnoticed or unmentioned.

If I’m going to share the bad, then you’ll have to bear with me as I share the good, too. That spa gift card, though? I’m keeping that all to myself.

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My son and I went for a walk last night.

We talked a lot while we were strolling. He likes to talk. One of his favorite things to do is plop down next to you, wherever you are, and ask, “So, what do you want to talk about?” He gets his chattiness from me, for certain. Lately our conversations are all about his behavior and it’s not a pleasant topic, so last night I tried to let him enjoy himself without discussing, what has become, this disruption in our lives.

standing atop the roots of his favorite tree

We didn’t really know where we were walking; there was no destination in mind, no idea where we would turn off the path and exclaim, “This seems a good place to stop.” We just went where our feet took us.

We laughed at dogs playing, we talked to our neighbors, we stopped to watch the ducks swimming and get a glimpse of our reflections in the pond. We were happy. There are few things that bring me as much joy as my daughter’s laugh or an authentic smile on my son’s face.

My son wore his plaid fisherman’s hat and I carried bottle water and a chestful of overwhelming guilt and confusion. As if my own weight weren’t enough!

Our life, in this moment, bears many resemblances to walking out the front door into the unknown. Private school? Public school? Therapy? Meds? What will it take? I like to be prepared when venturing into battle and right now, well…I might as well be going up against a fire-breathing dragon armed with nothing but 16.2 ounces of spring water. But, one way or another, I will slay that sucker. You can be sure of that.

We saw some strange things on our walk; a bird’s foot, lots of goose poop, a wrapped tampon laying in the road, which is far better than an unwrapped tampon, I can assure you. And, we saw beautiful things too; like the blue sky, trees in bloom, and a man sitting on his front porch reading to his wife.

As we have for the past 11 years, we find ourselves on a journey for which we have no map. It’s hard to be lost, but I hope more than anything that my son will be smiling along the way.

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Sometimes when you have so much to say, you find it difficult to say anything at all. That’s where I find myself right now.

I can’t comment on the events in Boston. I still can’t even talk about Sandy Hook. I’m tense every time I let my daughter go to the movies, or drop my kids off at school, or get on an airplane, or now…stand on the sideline of a foot race. These events make a person with anxiety want to stock up on plastic, duct tape, and canned goods and never leave their house again.

I can’t talk about my son right now either; at least not without crying. As if he hasn’t had enough challenges with his body, now we are dealing with challenges of the mind. He gets his OCD and anxiety from me, but he gets his defiance from his dad. Hi, honey! The difference is that my husband is only defiant with me and my son is defiant with authority.

Right now we are lost, floundering in waiting lists, county funding, new doctors, and a teaching staff who has completely lost their patience. I’m sad. I’m angry and hurt by the entire situation. And, I’ve been let down on so many levels and honestly, I don’t feel that I can bear that any more. I wish I could go back in time and put my advocating and fundraising to use elsewhere. Though, let’s be honest, if I had a time-machine I would first go to 1988 and get my skinny body back.

Tonight, I sat here sobbing for the sixth hour straight, with a throbbing headache, wondering why God has chosen this path for me. This week has been heartbreaking.

And that’s when, on cue, the toilet upstairs started overflowing and leaked right through the kitchen ceiling. Because nothing quite says, “Up yours! This week isn’t over yet!” like john water in your fruit basket.

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This week has been anxiety-ridden for me. There has been a lot of teeth-grinding, cuticle-picking, and ingestion of guacamole. I haven’t slept well either. I woke up every morning before 4:00am and when I did sleep, my dreams were filled with disastrous circumstances involving guns, seedy neighborhoods, and baby poop.

One night this week, I dreamed that my son and I were running away from a crazed man and we hightailed it down the alley where Bruce Wayne’s parents were killed and ended up hiding under the porch of a house that was supported by concrete blocks. We hid there, me with a loaded gun in my hand (a revolver of all things…like I was in some kind of Wild West movie, because anyone who knows me realizes I would clearly pick a 9mm) (I digress), we heard the man approaching and as is typical, we must have been about to die because I woke up.

The next day, when I was wide awake, I dropped my daughter off at her softball game while my son and I ventured off in search of food. Not in the hunter/gatherer sort of way, but the drive-thru kind of way. With Siri directing me, I followed turn after turn until we found ourselves in a part of town called North Hilltop, which is just west of a neighborhood called The Bottoms. It looks a lot like this, but without the police car and cute blue house:

© Copyright 2013, WBNS-TV, Inc.

The Hilltop recently had a fella going from house to house who the media dubbed, “The Hilltop Creeper” and I was driving through the side streets thinking about my dream when I passed a porch supported by concrete blocks and I realized, just hours earlier, I had foreseen my own death. But, instead of a revolver, I was armed with a veggie burger from Burger King which wasn’t going to hurt anybody, unless “anybody” is my large intestines.

Obviously, we made it out alive with only minimal damage to my already whacked-out psyche and abdomen. This proves that dreams don’t always come true and I’m really glad because the baby poop dream was pretty disgusting.

It also proves that I’m glad this week is over. My Friday involves yoga pants, a blanket, working from my couch, and possibly Whoopie Pies, which is to say it’s not all that different from any other day, except the Friday part. Either way, I’m happy about it.

I hope you enjoy your weekend as much as I plan to enjoy mine. Sweet dreams, people. Sweet dreams.

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