Autism Vox

Chaos Is Come Again, And Goes

by Kristina Chew, PhD on September 4th, 2008

So on Wednesday morning it was chaos in our house. Only for about 15 minutes, but any minutes of Not Fun is Not a Great Way to Start the Day. Charlie had woken early and got up and smiled and wanted a shirt; he was pulling it on backwards (it’s an Oakland A’s t-shirt with numbers on both sides) and I gestured wordlessly to turn it around and his eyes clouded and he made a low noise. I stepped away and then heard thump cry and the chaos ensued.

But I don’t mean the chaos of a crowd of a massive throng of humanity in a crowded space and someone yells “fire.” Chaos is from the ancient Greek word chaos, which means a “gaping [hole],” an emptiness, a vast void. Really, chaos is what I feel when Charlie has a tough moment: Things happen both quickly and slowly as someone darts for a pillow and someone stays with Charlie and there’s ice and crying. As a parent, you just want to help your child and things happen and you feel your can try your everything-est, and still something kaka—that’s ancient Greek for “bad things”—happens.

Wasn’t the end of it, either.

Charlie stayed with my parents—-as I’ve said too much, he starts school next Monday—-and I dropped off Jim at the train and headed to Jersey City where I was supposed to meet a student at 8.30am, which did not happen because, due to being distracted by the latest chaos, the string of back to back classes and appointments on my calendar, and being in the third day of, how shall I put it, losing most of my electrolytes whenever I attempted to eat anything, I missed my turn-off to Routes 1 & 9 North and the Pulaski Skyway and found myself heading towards the toll, and then signs that said “Lincoln Tunnel” and “George Washington Bridge.”

Believe me, I was in no state to find myself driving into midtown Manhattan Wednesday morning. (Quizzes tomorrow in both elementary Latin and Greek classes and we needed to get ready.)

Jim had shown me an alternate route that would take me over the Route 1 & 9 truck bridge but what exit off the Turnpike? 15B? The sign said Exits 15F-15H or some such, where was 15B…..

15F turned out to be correct, as indicated by the sign proclaiming Jersey City and the steel arches of the Skyway rising straight across from me across the reeds and steel containers and concrete roadways and cars (moving and rusting, and still) that populate the Meadowlands. Jim called me back as I was getting onto the truck bridge and I was only 15 minutes late to meet the student, and a beat-up yellow schoolbus was only partially blocking  where I park so I could get my car in.

The day spun off from there. We went over the present tense of verbs in Latin class and the I drilled the Greek alphabet in my Greek class, read Virgil with more advanced students, sorted out schedules for students panicking because the last day to drop/add classes draws nigh (it’s today), fielded phone calls and explained how to register for the GRE, had a really lovely talk with a student about things that are very important to me and (as I learned) to her, talked about how to write personal statements to a law school-bound student—-got into my car to go home early to have dinner with my parents and Charlie (who’s had a very nice day with a trip to the aquarium) while Jim worked late and learned about new plans for the student newspaper, backed my car out (the street is a one-way going down on a slope) with one student offering to keep an eye on traffic——stood behind Charlie to practice piano—-

Let chaos come; at least the idea of order returns again.

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POSTED IN: Charlisms, Classics, New Jersey, Work