Quirks run in the family

My second son, who turns three next week, has always developed according to his own internal schedule. He does some things, like knowing his letters, freakishly early, and other things really really late. Like speaking, and allowing other people to touch him. He's been evaluated by Early Intervention (incidentally, one of the best uses of tax dollars I've seen) and by Kennedy Krieger, and both evaluators described my boy as "not autistic, but quirky."

Quirky. I like it. Not as ominous as a diagnosis, not as mundane as normality. It recognizes but does not pathologize my son's special approach to life. I don't get a handy label to use when trying to warn new people in my son's life not to touch him (and I think I often end up sounding loopy myself instead of accurately conveying his loopiness), but otherwise, it works nicely as an adjective for the boy.

Since my mother moved in with us last year, the adults in the household have spent many evenings companionably watching TV and chatting, and it has become apparent to me from some of my husband's reactions that my mother and I are not entirely quirk-free ourselves. Perhaps quirkiness has a genetic component.

Tonight, for example, I have spent several hours in the fruitless pursuit of curtains for my front room while watching Donnie Darko (which I'm really loving, by the way, it's like a clinically insane Napoleon Dynamite). Curtain shopping may seem normal, but I've been looking for curtains for the front room for going on three years now. I hate to think of the number of hours I've spent so far looking for that perfect fabric. I vascillate between tapestry and lace and crewelwork and ultimately just start clicking links in ebay at random and going to bed with dry eyes and a headache. Tell me that isn't classic Pisces indecision!

I could give dozens of examples of my mother's quirks to prove the multi-generational quirk connection, but I'm losing both the thread of the movie and the inclination to type. Who knew Patrick Swayze was still working, by the way?

Damn it. My posts would have more images if Blogger didn't suck. I swear, it's at least half the time that it just doesn't work at all. Stupid Blogger. I think I might switch to wordpress.