But Shane Was Easy.
I am leaving Shane for the weekend.
This time, it’s to take Dylan on another college road trip. It’s the third one of its kind, where Shane gets left behind. And there will be more to come.
I always plan things for Shane to do while I’m gone. I think way ahead, and find things he can do with his dad or his grandparents. Then I create an itinerary for Shane, too, since Dylan and I have an itinerary that’s usually set six months in advance.
Shane likes itineraries.
The challenge for me is that Shane is the baby of the family. This means that – in spite of my best efforts to the contrary – Shane has fewer baby pictures, fewer videos, fewer at-home educational opportunities, and even fewer lullabies. By the time Shane got here, I was just too tired to sing the whole song I sang to Dylan, so I sang a shortened Paul McCartney song instead.
While Dylan got special time with me for three years, we hardly noticed Shane for his first three years. First of all, he was so quiet. I didn’t know babies could be so quiet. But he seemed content – and probably was – so we just let him sit there. Dylan, on the other hand, was entertained non-stop from the time he came out of the womb. I don’t know how much of this forms their personalities – or how much their personalities dictate what happens to them in life.
But Shane was easy.
Shane is still easy. Someone told me once that easy babies can be brutal as teenagers; I’m still anticipating that.
But for now, Dylan still gets all the attention. He needs constant stimulation. And we’re always working harder with Dylan, trying to make sure he’s okay.
I don’t know if this is just the nature of a special needs child or not. When Shane was undergoing vision therapy treatment, we went to his doctor several times a week – but when we came home, Shane magically did his therapy “homework” on his off days, with no prompting from us. When he needed our help, we helped. But mostly, he just did everything he was supposed to do, and we watched as his processing abilities improved.
But Dylan needs to be reminded to do everything. Six times. We have meetings with his teachers and his case manager and special testing people. I’ve emailed hundreds of people about Dylan, for various reasons, trying to explain him. “He’s brilliant,” I say. “He just can’t remember anything you tell him to do.” By contrast, I almost never email anyone on Shane’s behalf.
I don’t need to.
Dylan took special classes, entered special programs at school, and went to private school for a whole year. He’s had extracurricular activities of every sort, and more jobs than I can count.
While Dylan was in the gifted program, Shane and I sat in the car and waited for half an hour, every day, for the end of Dylan’s school day. Then we went inside and I talked to Dylan’s teacher while Shane waited for me.
Shane learned to dress himself at two, and fed himself breakfast and got himself home on the bus every day while I was driving 45 minutes to pick up Dylan from his private school. It was Shane’s last year of elementary school, and I mostly missed it.
I guess I’m feeling a bit guilty that I am leaving Shane again.
I try hard – very, very hard – to spend quality time with Shane. I just hope he is getting enough love.