Welcome to the Circus

     My life is insane.  That's not to say that everyone else's life is, by comparison, more sane.  Or less.  I'm simply stating an observable fact.  I have two sons, and they are amazing.  They are also mischevious, dramatic, feisty, unruly, and at times completely incorrigible.  Today we went swimming at Pop-Pop's pool.  It was the kind of day that you daydream about:  cloud-free, hot but not blistering, humidity at a minimum.  My brother's dog was leaping into the pool to fetch her tennis ball-tube device at regular intervals, and the humans were playing and splashing and roaring with laughter.  Now why would my older son determine that this is a perfect time to take a rather large plastic shovel from the sandbox, fill it with landscaping rocks and dirt, and dump it straight down 9 feet to the bottom of my father's pool?  I have no idea.  What's more, I'm not entirely sure my son does, either.  You see, he is autistic.  That's no excuse: I'd still have happily choked him like a chicken in that moment.  However, it does make determining the cause of these inexplicable behaviors a bit like an interrogation in a Monty Python movie, or like the scene of a surreal Abbott and Costello skit. 
     "Why did you scoop up the dirt, buddy?" 
     "I thought the water was too flat." 
     "Do you understand that rocks and dirt can tear up the pool, buddy?" 
     "I need to think this over." 
At which point, he walks with unmistakable intent over to the patio umbrella that we have already discussed three or four times today and starts cranking the handle . . . again.  But make no mistake, this was a truly fantastic day.  No one threw themselves on the ground, no one screamed with the volume and pitch that could shatter a car window, everyone used their "listening eyes" and talked about their first week of school, and we even sang Happy Birthday (in whispers) and blew out the candle for Uncle with smiles on our faces.  He's the most brilliant person I know, bar none, and I know many very smart people.
     My younger son has a flair for the dramatic.  This evening we went to sleep with a rousing rendition of the theme from "Superman", done entirely in "dunh dunh dunh's"  and full flying position.  He wants his share of the spotlight, and he's willing to sing, dance, deliberately misbehave, cry, throw himself on you, or interrupt at the top of his lungs to get it.  He has the most beautiful face and the most adorable voice, and he is, quite simply, sass on a stick.  Half of the time I feel like hugging him with one hand and thwacking his ear with the other.  The other half of the time I feel like hugging him with both hands until he squeals with joy and squirms like an eel.
     My husband an I have been together forever.  Well, since we were fifteen, which is essentially forever.  He drives me crazy.  He makes me want to bang my head against the wall.  There have even been times, I have to admit, that I looked over at him and said, "Who ARE you, anyway?"  I love him so much, there are just no words.  We are a team, the ringmasters of the Huggable Circus.
     Welcome to the show.