![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Red Devil, and Others
Aug. 18th, 2008 12:10 amAfter yesterday's big snorefest (briefly interrupted by a trip 'round Yonge/Dundas way, where I picked up a couple of new paperbacks and tried unsuccessfully to track down the DVD copy of The Stand miniseries I know I saw in HMV just last week), today was a frenzy of activity: Chores, agincourtgirl coming over to babysit Cal, my Mom's SummerWorks play, a drive-by at green_trilobite's birthday, dinner with Mom, Mad Men. The play in question was The Red Devil, about an Albanian family trying to make it to Canada with the help of fake Italian passports; we went with Steve's friend Peter and his wife Alma (herself Albanian), plus several of Alma's relatives. The Albanian community has been very supportive in general, and Mom was amazed to discover quite a few repeat viewers in today's audience, including one woman who'd seen it three times over its entire week-long run.
For my part, I'm just glad it's over, since she's been badgering me about it for what seems like a month--if I never have that damn conversation about did Steve call Peter? Did Peter get the tickets? You know it's the last show, right? You know it's going to be hard to buy tickets at the door if Steve doesn't call Peter and Peter doesn't order the tickets online, right? again, I'll die a happy woman. And yes, it was good, she was good, holy shit...but I was metal-mouthed and exhausted from the antibiotics, and apparently didn't ever produce the right sort of effusive praise/support that she must have wanted. We also had to play the "are you mad? You seem mad" "no, you seem mad" game, which is never particularly useful or amusing.
In other news, I finally got a call from TPAS, the Toronto Partnership for Autism Services. These are the people through which you arrange legitimate IBI sessions (people Lisanne, our IBI therapist, used to work for), and though I'd been telling people I thought I was on their waiting list, I had no real proof of that assumption. Well, turns out, I've been on the waiting list since October 2004, and my wait is finally over; this means that we're almost throug the usual year lag between registry and services, too, which means Cal (once assessed) will go to the head of the line. Eeeexcellent.
Finally, one of Mom's PAL acquaintances asked permission to take pictures of Cal and do a little essay on him, which she posted at flickr.com. I hesitate to link to it, for obvious reasons, but I will say that the pictures are beautiful and her sentiments seem heartfelt. It's a bit odd to read other people's comments, though; you want to take them aside and assure them that though, yes, he's certainly a very cute guy with a very sweet soul, he's not necessarily this silent, mopey little "angel" muddling along in a stew of "interior turmoil"--I've lived with him long enough to know he's also chock-full of mischief, liveliness, humor and the usual rough-and-tumble contrariness that all four-year-old boys seem to have. He just expresses it in startlingly different ways.
Okay, anyhow. It's late, my own interior turmoil is getting to me, and I'm still not really up to writing more than this. Tomorrow I'm going to do some hard thinking about my next project(s), but tonight, I just want to sleep.
For my part, I'm just glad it's over, since she's been badgering me about it for what seems like a month--if I never have that damn conversation about did Steve call Peter? Did Peter get the tickets? You know it's the last show, right? You know it's going to be hard to buy tickets at the door if Steve doesn't call Peter and Peter doesn't order the tickets online, right? again, I'll die a happy woman. And yes, it was good, she was good, holy shit...but I was metal-mouthed and exhausted from the antibiotics, and apparently didn't ever produce the right sort of effusive praise/support that she must have wanted. We also had to play the "are you mad? You seem mad" "no, you seem mad" game, which is never particularly useful or amusing.
In other news, I finally got a call from TPAS, the Toronto Partnership for Autism Services. These are the people through which you arrange legitimate IBI sessions (people Lisanne, our IBI therapist, used to work for), and though I'd been telling people I thought I was on their waiting list, I had no real proof of that assumption. Well, turns out, I've been on the waiting list since October 2004, and my wait is finally over; this means that we're almost throug the usual year lag between registry and services, too, which means Cal (once assessed) will go to the head of the line. Eeeexcellent.
Finally, one of Mom's PAL acquaintances asked permission to take pictures of Cal and do a little essay on him, which she posted at flickr.com. I hesitate to link to it, for obvious reasons, but I will say that the pictures are beautiful and her sentiments seem heartfelt. It's a bit odd to read other people's comments, though; you want to take them aside and assure them that though, yes, he's certainly a very cute guy with a very sweet soul, he's not necessarily this silent, mopey little "angel" muddling along in a stew of "interior turmoil"--I've lived with him long enough to know he's also chock-full of mischief, liveliness, humor and the usual rough-and-tumble contrariness that all four-year-old boys seem to have. He just expresses it in startlingly different ways.
Okay, anyhow. It's late, my own interior turmoil is getting to me, and I'm still not really up to writing more than this. Tomorrow I'm going to do some hard thinking about my next project(s), but tonight, I just want to sleep.
