For being one of nine offspring, Benjamin takes a big chunk of my mental acuity. Even though a collection of adults keep close watch of his meds, and moods he continues to be an enigma.

 

Last month I saw the impending conditions that were scheduled to converge.  His companion left midweek on a well deserved vacation. I was teaching sewing camp with half a dozen adorable children. John, Zack, and the twins flew to Colorado to celebrate our firstborn's fortieth birthday. Meanwhile Benjamin, who does better with routine, had a completely empty schedule. 

 

How was this supposed to work? 

 

I guess the answer is "barely".

 

The sewists had a ball, tugging fabric off the shelves, and pushing stuffing into pillows. Some of them stuffed their own shirts just to know how it feels to be a cushion. They created crowns with beaded embellishments, and fairy capes. Each afternoon after I caught my breath I picked up buttons and refolded cloth. Yet it became clear that I needed to replenish a few notions. I opted out of dragging Benjamin to the fabric store with me for velcro and elastic. He took initiative and went on a walk.

 

There was a text saying that he had taken a jaunt around the block. My town is sweet that way, keeping me appraised. Ben made it home safely. 

 

I have no security cameras to let me know if he did indeed have a meltdown, or eat all the ice cream in the freezer. But when I returned he was in his chair, with dirty bowls around him like souvenirs. I asked how his adventure had been. 

 

"Wanna hear a joke?"

 

"Sure Ben."

 

"Why shouldn't you give a bear the remote?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Because he will always push pause."