This year, sickness has ruined our traditional vacation plans. We used to look forward to our beloved annual Christmas in New Hampshire with my husband Ned’s family. I am doing an inspection. To my horror, my youngest son Ben had a surprise positive test.
After that, I had severe gastroenteritis. My middle son, Max, was normally a very easy-going guy, but COVID-19 has left him in a terrible state of rage and despair when he missed Christmas three years in a row. .
My eldest son, Nat, has severe autism and is therefore a very quiet man, but when I told him we weren’t going, the anxiety came out of his body. We could see it erupt. Nat lives according to his calendar, and December means Hanukkah and Christmas. So over the years, I’ve learned how to recognize the signs of an impending meltdown and how to prevent it at the mountain pass—by negotiating. Try to find something to offer, such as a ride. But we have all just been exposed to Covid and everything has been shut down anyway. do you
Answer: I am making a gingerbread house. We’ve been baking gingerbread houses from scratch every year for decades. Our whole family participates. I’ve created all kinds of structures: Castles, Friends’ Houses, Castle Black, The Wall. Game of Thrones (Complete with a little candy elevator!). But our preferred building is our own home.
At some point long ago my husband Ned, a mathematician and model maker, created a template for a late Victorian house. It feels like home, but it’s small and tastes great.
Nat and I look forward to this project every year. This is because your taste buds have never grown and your stomach shows no signs of when to stop eating sugar.
This time will be different. I spent Christmas Eve uncomfortably in bed near the bathroom. On Christmas Day, I woke up feeling like my stomach was writhing like a sack of biting snakes. My skin hurt and I felt like my head was hitting my eye.When I was standing in the island kitchen and looking at the building materials–M&M, Snow Cap, Mini Marshmallow, Hershey Bar–How the hell did you think you were going to get through this?
But I had no choice. I had to stand for hours, roll the fabric, and help my sad son Max cut out the eaves and roof, as well as the tiny brick bathroom the previous owner added to his 1919 home. I did.
Being isolated Ben was unable to help us. Normally a pleasure, now our baking felt like a total drag. I had to keep pretending that I was.
Perhaps this should have been an opportunity and a teaching opportunity for 33-year-old Nat to learn that I’m just a human being and that I need to learn to deal with it.
error. I was faced with one of the most ‘immovable objects in the universe’. It was an obsession steeped in autism. There was no way to handle it at that moment. So, with trembling hands and a smirk, I would point at the crumbling roof and say, “Oh, Nat, you did great,” or, “Let’s use the Hershey bar for the shutter,” and so on. I was handing out pieces of dough. And a spoonful of icing for him.
Finally we are done. Rather than displaying it for days as usual, we decided to take a picture and then tear it down for Nat to take home with his group. This was another change Nat had to adapt to –I left the office a day early, but luckily he loves the group home so it was okay.
Ned and Max began preparing to send Nat back, and finally I got a chance to lie down on my favorite sofa. I was nervous that he would see me lying there and be reminded again of how different Christmas had been this year. did. i couldn’t do that. Let the pieces fall everywhere.
Source: Final product.Ned Batchelder
Nat came into the living room and looked at me carefully. She sees everything, but she is silent. I waited for him to panic again and urged him to get up and be a normal mom. But all he did was whisper two words, “No Covid.” and he left.
what did he mean? I wondered what he was saying. He hates sickness ‘ Or did you say ‘it will get better soon’? But I think Nat said that even Covid is no match for our gingerbread house.