The Holiday Party
I was right. The teen-age boys at the school are learning simple household tasks and courteous conversation. "Howayou?" inquires Arthur as we pass in the corridor. Edward, who is about ten or eleven, I think, is becoming competent in Swiffer use, mopping around my feet as I sit at my computer. Even the littlest students are learning skills and social interaction; I was truly tickled the other day when little Michael (who has Down syndrome in addition to his autism) was using the paper shredder and when he encountered a bit of a jam was able to clearly say to me, "I need help."
Last week was the holiday party for faculty (everybody else) and staff (me). It was held at one of the teacher's beautiful homes. The place was packed. Because not just the teachers were in attendance, but their handsome young boyfriends and husbands. And their children. I lost count of how many people under four were present. Young moms were tending fussy babies and discreetly nursing while pregnant teachers were watchful, knowing their turns are just around the corner. One of the teachers wasn't there because she was busy being a bridesmaid for her friend. Mothers knew when their little ones had had enough, and took them home. And, for a group of people so young, they turned out to be darned capable cooks (everyone brought something to share). I had a glass of "Jingle Juice" that someone had concocted; it was delicious, but when I heard the entire contents, I put my glass down and went back to my bottle of Poland Spring. I had to drive home.
And when I got home and Himself asked, "So how was it?" I was delighted to tell him: "It was wonderful! NO ONE talked about a hip replacement! NO ONE is getting ready for a colonoscopy! NO ONE has a husband who was just diagnosed with COPD!"
Yes, I surely did make the right choice.