One of the sure signs of spring for those living in the Washingon, D.C. area is the annual White House Easter Egg Roll. It may be a concept unfamiliar to those outside the region as I doubt there is much coverage of the event on your local news. Allow me to explain.
Apparently, in the eighteen hundreds, rolling eggs on your lawn was a high passtime. Given the difficulty with keeping children entertained in an era that includes tv, the internet, and malls, I can sympathize with whichever parent dreamed this event up. It became so popular that in the Hayes administration, the White House started to host an annual event on Easter. It has managed to be elevated to a top-notch event in the DC area, to the point where when the free tickets are being handed out by the Park Service, people camp out the night before to secure a set.
Which is what my brother did. Since he was accompanying a friend, he decided to pick up a set and offer them to me to take the boy out to the South Lawn of the White House and join the festivities. Despite misgivings associated with taking a boy with autism to an event such as this, I did. I don’t regret it but it proved to be a perfect example of what life with The Boy is like.
We headed down to Metro reasonably early in the morning; we were to enter the South Lawn at a designated time on our tickets. Having grown up in the DC area, I outright refuse to drive in DC itself–it is a nightmare of strange streets, questionable neighborhoods and vastly overpriced parking. Metro is quick, efficient and I don’t have to drive on the beltway. Win.
We ended up at the Ronald Reagan Building which has a fabulous food court and is right on the blue and orange line. We took this opportunity to fuel up for our time outside. After some beverages and a tasty treat–The Boy’s favorite part–we headed out into the streets of DC to head for the Ellipse (which is the place where the national christmas tree is every year).
It was very crowded but The Boy was extremely excited. He ran around the lawn area with glee and was thrilled to use the portapotties that were on the lot. I dunno, I guess he felt like a big boy. Gross. Either way, we had to wade through a crowd of people to get to the tents that we were to wait in.
It was a rugby queue. For every polite person who was waiting quietly with their children, there was a psychotic grandmother who would run you down to try to get closer to the front. And then the line was finally released, leaving people yelling and pushing, if only to escape the dark gloom of the tent. Still, after a brief wait in a security line (to be expected) and a small hike, we were on the White House grounds.
It was a zoo. Every actual event had a long line of impatient children and long suffering adults. The actual roll line was so long, I knew in advance The Boy wouldn’t be participating. He wanted to paint but again, that line was so long, it wasn’t going to happen. There was a great deal of music, at various stations. This included the Jonas Brothers, that teenybopper band that actually reduced the gathered preteens to screaming. It was horrible.
Regardless, there were lots of places to play and stare and that very choice left The Boy overwhelmed and exasperated. He ran from place to place, unable to focus on any one thing for any length of time. He colored, watched water, watched people, watched performers until he started to beg for food. Frankly, the crowds overwhelmed me as well and I was happy to oblige, picking up our goody bag on the way out. My mother lead the way up 17th street till we found a place to eat. This made him much happier.
Nonetheless, he still had a meltdown, crying from the stimulus of the day. Sounds especially seem to bother him, upsetting him when there are too many unusual ones. Which is exactly what he had there. So, while successful, it was also rather intense for him, leaving him tired, weepy, and ready to go home.
It was a success! But a mixed one, of course. For every good thing, there was a bit of a hard thing or an upsetting thing. I’m glad we went finally, for the first time in my life. But it would not be something to repeat.
I’m thirty-two years old. I have a five year old son who will henceforth be referred to as The Boy. I am getting divorced. I could be a bitter angry bitch. But that’s a waste of time and energy.
Instead, we’ll see where things go from here. I’ve decided I get a chance to redo and start from scratch. It’s a different sort of scratch from the last time I did this; I didn’t have a child then. But it is a start nonetheless. Coming to this realization and accepting it has been cathartic and has filled me with hope. Will it be easy? Certainly not. Will I be angry and furious, at both myself and my situation? Most definitely. But we don’t often get a chance for a restart and I intend to make the most of it.
