People who equate truth with fact are missing the point.

Slow River

This morning at 10 am, Carter and I were eating toast and watching Little House on the Prairie when I said, “I’ve hardly been on the computer for days. I should go to my office for awhile.”

Carter, who has a (inherited) flare for (melo)drama, sighed loudly. “We had so much fun the last 2 or 9 days!”

Carter’s sense of time is a bit non-specific.

He finished his toast and asked, “Do you think we could do some more today? There’s still tons of stuff to clean.”

Yes, we could do some more today, and we did. If you think I’ve been absent for the online world for the past week or so because I’ve been riding roller coasters and surfing, you’d be wrong. But neither have I been hiding under the metaphorical bed, too sad to speak to anyone even virtually.

A month ago, I wrote about Carter’s new stability and how much trouble I was having. I couldn’t decide how to spend my time and was overwhelmed by how much work I had to do to reclaim our lives, so recently released from the grip of Carter’s illness.

With the help and encouragement of Brian and you, my readers and friends, I did something radical (which was not, in fact, radical, unless one is sister of Erin, daughter of Janet, granddaughter of Margery and Margaret, and on through the (extremely tidy) generations). I decided to let go, to let the dirty laundry fester and the dog hair continue to collect in the corners until I felt ready to deal with it.

A few days ago, I felt ready. Carter is out of school for 2 1/2 weeks and he’s excited to help because he wants to surprise his daddy, who is in Brazil this week. We defrosted the freezer and vacuumed under the couch cushions. Carter loves the lambswool duster and is unimpressed with cleaning toilets (I concur).

Most of all, my boy is here, fully himself. He tells me stories while he flings the dust off of the books and into the air. He asks me questions while I show him which tools and cleaners to use in the bathroom and which to use in the kitchen. He loves, above all, to sort the socks.

Carter’s illness is like a snarling, slobbering monster. In stark contrast, this stability is like a wide, slow river and Carter and I are here on our raft, telling stories and making jokes. We’ll come to shore soon, but for now, the air is warm and what is there to do on a raft, really, except enjoy each other’s company?

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