The Unofficial Beginning of Summer or an Aborted Mission

For the past several years one of our friends has held a cookout on Memorial Day weekend.  As you can imagine, for us, something as simple as a cookout really isn't.  It takes careful strategy and it doesn't matter how many times we've done something as we are always dealing with that unpredictable variable - the R.A.  I think us going anywhere is sort of like Normandy but with more screaming and bloodshed.
Cookout morning found us getting ready, as usual, hours before the actual event. As we bustled about, my husband remarked, "At least we know there will be plenty of ketchup there."  I think he was looking at it as one less thing to worry about..

The cookout actually occurs after a casual softball game.  Some cookout guests play in the softball game while the rest us take our offspring to an adjacent playground.  Luckily the R.A. was familiar with the playground and it also had ample playground equipment including several swings.  According to the R.A. this playground gets a 5 ketchup bottle approval rating (out of 5!)

Initially the R.A. partook of his favorite playground activity, the swings.  But what really caught his attention was the sandbox.  Much to our surprise the R.A. used the sandbox in an appropriate way.  Although always harboring a sandbox interest, in the past the R.A. manifested this by running over to a random child in the sandbox, jumping up and down and gesturing wildly at said child who was predictably whigged out by this as would be the child's accompanying adult.  As the R.A. easily outruns us we would stagger up to the sandbox gasping, "Autism!  He has autism!  He's just saying hello!"  Usually the other family just looked confused and would quickly hustle their kid out of the sandbox.  My level of crabbiness, usually in direct ratio of how fast and far I had to run to get to the R.A., would dictate how I handled this.  If not too far or too fast, an awkward, "Ok, we'll see you on the swings in a bit."  If we'd already had some anxiety producing moments before hitting the sandbox, I would yell at the family's retreating backs, "Don't worry!  Autism isn't contagious, you know!"  Why, yes, we are the hit of any playground we visit.

After the playground we headed to our friend's backyard for the cookout.  As the R.A. does not frequent  this place very often, he needed time to acclimate himself to the new environment.  No doubt he was also sending back communications to the home planet to get reports on the layout.  This meant we had to set up camp far removed from the rest of guests.  The R.A. would have preferred we then set up camp at one of the houses across the street. Instead we settled on the other guests on one side of the yard while we took over the other side.  The first part of the re-acclimation procedure involves the R.A. not acknowledging anyone.  Those who foolishly attempt any interaction are snarled at.  We strongly encourge people not to approach the R.A. during this stage as we can't predict or control any biting or throwing of objects.

The second phase of re-acclimation involves the R.A. making outrageous, diva-like food demands of his dimwitted parents.  This means that although we packed all and only the foods the R.A. will eat, he wants none of them.  For some reason they now offend him and our incompetence disgusts him.  Incomprehensible orders are barked at us.  The R.A.'s patience wears even thinner.  So far we are really enjoying ourselves.

After about two and half hours the R.A. now feels comfortable enough to leave his corner of the yard. This may be because he has received a report of the parameters and therefore feels more comfortable to venture forth to "mingle" with the other guests.  I'm not sure if "mingle" is the right word as what the R.A. really does is move forth in straight, unbroken paths that do not take into account chairs, tables, plates of food, beverages, coolers, or people.  This type of "mingling" doesn't involve any type of true interaction with the other guests beyond his attempts to take something from someone else that has caught the R.A.'s fancy including chairs which may or may not be occupied.  Of course interaction is greatly increased if the guest does not want to share (give) the item to the R.A.  At this point the R.A. becomes quite spirited in the exchange and at times at his end it does sound like a profanity-laced tirade.  I'm fairly certain that many Earth mothers have been soundly insulted during these rants and it's not such a bad thing that nobody understands him.

During the cookout the R.A. did commandeer another child's stroller.  He climbed into it, tossed the child's doll aside, and barked, "Push!" to my husband who was standing nearby.  Well trained, my husband did indeed push the R.A. around the yard.  It called to mind Julius Caesar being hauled around in his litter.  The R.A. had my husband shuttle him from one end of the yard to the other.  At each end the R.A. would hop out, grab a sip of his juice and nibble a chip, hop back in and demanded, "Push!"  Obediently my husband pushed him to the other end and so it went.  My husband remarked that he felt a lot like a rickshaw driver.

What never ceases to amaze me are the instances when the R.A. suddenly notices something that is obvious to everyone else.  At the cookout it was the massive staircase that led from an outside deck down to the yard.  The R.A. looked the steps up and down, growing more excited.  The expression on his face seemed to say, "When did that guy get these?  Are they new?  Are they just for the cookout?  They are very high and there are a lot of them.  I like them!"

Now I will be the first to admit that I rarely know what is going on in the R.A.'s mind.  But when I saw his little eyes light up when he took in the staircase even I knew his goal - total staircase domination.

The R.A. has a great fondness for stairs (and pretty much anything he can add the words "death defying" to.)  He likes to slide on stairs, roll on stairs, engage in some sort of alien stair yoga.  The R.A. loves stairs' railings and banisters as they contribute to that death defying penchant of his.  At our house he removed the railings from under the banister as they impeded his ability to swing around the banister.

The stairs at our friend's house were gold standard as far as the R.A. was concerned.  So many stairs, so many railings.  And that banister!  He was giddy like it was the equivalent of alien Christmas.

But the R.A. is no dope and knows there is a long and painful history of pesky adult earthlings limiting his access to desirable stairs.  He took in the backyard and quickly assessed that unfortunately the majority of cookout guests fell into that dreaded "pesky adult earthling" category.  The R.A. prides himself on his superior alien intelligence.  He figured he would wait until we were all too distracted to notice him and then he would make his move.

I watched him hang around the bottom step, looking very casual like, "Hey, what's up? I'm not doing anything, just hanging out.  Oh, hey, is that a step?  Oh, yeah. It is.  I'll just hang here by the step."  Occasionally he'd glance in my direction.  To his disappointment I was not becoming distracted.  Sometimes he'd put a foot on the bottom step, glance at the adults around him to see if they noticed him.  We did so he'd quickly withdraw his foot.

It was during that activity that our friend's dog trotted over the R.A.  The R.A. looked startled and took a few steps back and then recovered his composure and took a few steps toward the dog.  Then both the R.A. and the dog froze.  They stood perfectly still gazing into each other's eyes.  I swear to God it was some sort of mind-meld communication going on.  Then both of them stuck out their tongues and started wiggling them around.  I swear this is true.  Like everything in this blog it's too out there to make up.  Then I think the dog said something shocking or offensive as the R.A. took a couple of steps back and then raised his arm, flicking his wrist as if to say, "Enough!"  The dog was determined to have his say and the R.A. was adamant that the dog be quiet.  The R.A. kept waving his arms and barking at the dog.  Finally the dog barked back and trotted away.  I'm guessing the dog is also an alien operative and almost blew the aliens' plan of world domination.  It appeared to be a close call for the R.A. and must have shaken him as he abandoned his mission to explore the stairs.  He spent the remainder of the cookout in the corner pacing back and forth.  I'm no expert on the alien military but I would bet money that later on that night the dog was heartily chewed out by his superiors.

Escape Tonight!

My husband is usually the one to come up with entertainment plans for the family.  This might be because he is braver than I am or maybe more optimistic than I am.  But what I really thinks drives this is he works second shift for child care purposes and gets far less sleep than I do and we all know sleep deprivation can affect one's judgment and make a person do some crazy sh#*.

This week my husband decided we ought to try a drive-in movie with the kids.  As we work different shifts, during the week we primarily communicate via e-mail.  When that one showed up in my work in-box, I read it and re-filed it in my "Hell No" folder.  As I finished reading it my mind created the news report that would result of such an endeavor: "And in local news, the perpetually clueless parents of a severely autistic boy were unable to monitor him in a locked and parked car at a drive-in movie theatre.  With said stupid parents in said vehicle, the little boy managed to hotwire the vehicle and drive it through the theatre lot and two towns over before state police were able to pull the car over.  After the incident the parents claimed they were so happy that their son was keeping himself occupied doing something not involving sharp objects that they were loathe to intervene."

My husband, however, is on to my filing system.  When there was no response to the e-mail he finally asked me about it.  He looked so upbeat and hopeful I agreed that we should try.  In preparation for the event I did what I usually do and tried to forget all about it.  Sometimes it works in that everyone else forgets too.

This time it didn't.   Saturday afternoon my husband was all boundless Boy Scout-like energy in trip preparations.  And it is like a trip, anytime we go anywhere.  There is always packing involved.  This time we had a backpack, a large canvas bag, blankets, pillows, jackets, and food.  Anyone looking at us would have thought we were off for a three day trip to a place that didn't have stores.

Off we go. The drive-in is not quite an hour away from us.  Of course, our first stop was McD's.  And then, not taking any chances on the ketchup front, my husband stopped at the supermarket and picked up a bottle of ketchup.  He was not going to leave anything to chance.  My husband was also tickled because the store was having a condiment sale and not only got the ketchup reduced but mustard too.  In his mind the endeavor was already worth it.

We finally arrive at our destination, two hours before show time.  Both my husband and I are somewhat nervous about this big block of time that we have to occupy before we even get to the movie.  We've already discussed that real possibility that after all was said and done we might not get to see the movie.  My husband decided it was a risk worth taking, particularly as he'd already made out on the condiments.  At this point I was pretty much along for the ride so what the heck.  Let the chips fall where they may.

As we don't go out a lot, my daughter is beside herself with excitement.  She is thrilled to be at the drive-in, eating her nuggets in the car.  She can't wait to hit the 6 foot by 6 foot "playground."  She keeps asking when it will be dark so the film will be shown.

The R.A. is also enjoying himself.  He is a fan of long car rides and swings.  The R.A. noticed all 6 of those in the "playground" as we passed them.  As we did arrive so early my husband and I knew we couldn't have the kids sitting in the car for all that time.  It wouldn't be good for them and it would give the R.A. a really long time to study the mechanics of the parking brake.  So we took them to the "playground."  Our biggest fear was once we let the R.A. out of the car we would not be able to get him back in but we felt we had no other choice.  We were hoping that if he did struggle on re-entry into the vehicle, since it was a warm day his palms would be sweaty and that would affect his grip when he'd latch on to the car door and we'd be able to maneuver him in.  Yes, this was not our first rodeo.

My daughter quickly realized that the "playground" was nothing more than a training ground for the RMV as all 8 pieces of equipment had really long lines.  Not fun.  The R.A. quickly claimed an infant swing.  One of the perks of his "no nutrition astronaut" diet is that it keeps him extremely slender and he still fits in infant swings.  He was loving it.  Time killing for him was solved.  Bribed her with an ice cream and she was all set.

Finally it was time for the film.  Initially the R.A. rejected being re-inserted into the car but a quick re-visit to the swings and he got it out of his system and we were good to go. 

I don't think the R.A. watched one minute of the film.  I don't think he even realized that there was a movie.  The R.A. spent most of his time climbing around the interior of the vehicle.  He especially enjoyed climbing between the front and back seats, either plopping on to his father's lap or just landing on top of his sister (who is so used to having to do activities despite her brother's antics, barely noticed, she would just shift her body so she could see the screen.)  The R.A. also had a ball playing out scenes from horror movies.  He would get very quiet in the back seat and then come pouncing right next to his victim.  I think he was testing our heart rates.

It was a warm evening so we had the front windows open.  It wasn't long before the R.A. noticed them and decided tonight was the night for escape.  My husband and I did spend some time trying to block the R.A. from climbing out the windows.  If we were quick enough we'd roll up the window.  If not we'd have to grab him.  The people in the car to our right did look startled when we'd yell, "He's getting away!  Quick!  Put up the window!  Grab his leg!"  You know what, I saw how much junk food they let their kids eat.  They have some nerve judging us.

After about 45 minutes of car aerobics, the R.A. was spent.  We looked back to see he had strapped himself into his car seat, grabbed his pillow pet, tucked himself in with his jacket and was snoring gently.  The rest of the family enjoyed the film without the fear of being kicked repeatedly in the back of the head by his solid alien feet.

It was supposed to be a double feature but by the end of the first film I was spent.  My exhaustion wasn't so much from being up so late but rather from the stress of the preparation and worrying myself through the activity.  As established earlier, the R.A.'s dad loves a bargain and part of the drive-in's attraction was the cost - $20 - and that was for two films!  He loves numbers and was breaking down how much we had actually saved by creating scenarios about how much a movie for four would actually cost as well as a movie for two and not even including dinner (or a large bottle of on sale ketchup.)  By making him leave early I had decreased the sale value of the endeavor.  Despite that disappointment we did agree the evening had been a success and my husband is already planning future trips to the drive-in.  Maybe next time we'll save even more money by packing our own bottle of ketchup.

Sour Dough Waffles at Dunkin's?

I do believe that life is probably very frightening for people on the autism spectrum, especially for those who have limited verbal skills and are therefore unable to convey their feelings.  Not able to make sense of the seemingly nonsensical Earthling world, they spend their lives just trying to calm themselves down.

All of us, if we think about it, have had experiences akin to that.  A few years back I visited my brother in San Francisco.  I found some of their "things" puzzling - an insistence that winter means heavy and cold rain but no snow (coming from New England that's not winter but rather our fifth season or as we like to call it - "transitioning to spring"), cancelling plans due to heavy cold rain, calling highways "freeways," and their extreme fondness for anything sour dough.  I was particularly confused by their sour dough pancakes for many reasons - taste being just one of them.  I'm not saying this to slag on West Coast Earthlings. I also visited my brother in North Carolina and was puzzled by their attachment to places called "Waffle Houses."   And yes, I will admit that here in New England we have our own "oddities" such as an affinity for giving directions that always include Dunkin' Donuts as landmarks - "You're gonna go Route 28 for about a mile.  Take a right at Dunkin's but make sure you go right at the second Dunkin's.  Don't go right at the first or you'll end up God knows where."  I point these things out only to show that we've all been places where we've wondered, "What the hell is this about?" which is probably how people like the R.A. feel most of the time.  If you've ever seen photos of my son that's actually his expression in about 97.9% of the pictures.

I'm saying we need to use these experiences to help us when we're dealing with our loved ones on the spectrum.  Maybe it will make us more compassionate and dispel some impatience or frustration (or high rising panic - see "Ketchup Part Trois.")  Of course, now that I've informally started this experiment, whenever the R.A. is "having a moment" for some reason I get a vinegary taste in my mouth.  I've just realized I'm channeling sour dough pancakes.  Yuck! It's happening right now!

If you can't recall your own WTH moment, I have some suggestions of situations/places that elicit feelings of sensory overload, confusion, panic, and frustration:

1. The RMV on the last day of the month where you and 238 other people who also forgot to renew their licenses that month are trapped.  You are also stuck sitting next to a very large and very irate tattooed woman who is having a loud melt down via cell phone because she lost her teeth and her wedding is tomorrow and she's not sure if she knows anybody who can lend her some.  Nobody understands that she is the bride and it is her day!  And no, you can't move.  There aren't any other chairs.
2. Chuck E. Cheese during three simultaneous birthday parties during a long holiday weekend complete with torrential rain (perhaps in San Francisco?) while some sort of highly anticipated play off game is happening (maybe not San Francisco?).  One party is for a screeching infant.  Unfortunately that's the one you're at.  The party ends with said infant becoming so upset that he projectile vomits. 
3. Any IEP meeting (Oh no she dinn't!)

Ketchup, Part Trois

Ketchup, Part Trois?  What is this obsession with something so insignificant?

If you just asked that, you obviously do not live with someone on the Spectrum.  

Yes, ketchup is a very, very big deal for my family.  It can make the difference between a completely miserable experience and a sucky one.  That is significant.

You see, not only is having ketchup available important but so is presentation.  What can I say, the R.A. is very strict about presentation.  Maybe he is the home planet's equivalent of Martha Stewart.

To illustrate this, let's take a little journey down memory lane:

It is an early afternoon in the fall.  Obviously my husband and I are completely sleep deprived (The R.A. is a strong believer that sleep is for the weak.  I think he is determined to toughen us up.  It's like living with an ancient Spartan.) and therefore lacking judgment because we decide to take the family out to lunch to a place where we have never been as a family.  It is a bit of a finer establishment than we are used to - Papa Gino's - but we are feeling giddily daring.  We decide to do our usual McD fry pick up and head to Papa Gino's.  The balls are in motion.

So first we parade into Papa Gino's with our McD's. bag.  As it is a new place the R.A. is reluctant to enter the building, never mind sitting down at a table. He demonstrates his reluctance by clinging to my husband and croaking out, "No! No!"  My husband and I struggle to get him settled which really looks like Greco-Roman toddler wrestling and an unfair version as it's two adults against one child.  Meanwhile my daughter decides to sit at a separate table.  No one blames her not even her parents.  Hey, most times I would sit at a separate table if I could.  In a separate restaurant.

It is at this point that we realize a family from our daughter's new school is also in the restaurant.  We know this because my daughter joyfully announces, "Look!  There's Bobby!"  My husband and I jerk our heads in that direction to find the other family staring at us, open-mouthed.  Apparently God thinks the pressure of breaking in a new establishment is not enough - God is also a Spartan.   It is thrilling to introduce new people to our version of the dog and pony show.  We weakly wave at the new family.  They return a similar greeting and nobody makes eye contact, not just the R.A.

We turn back to the task at hand.  I continue getting the R.A. settled while my husband goes to the counter to order the pizza.  The only thing that has been holding the R.A. together is the promise of his fries and ketchup.  Proscribing to the custom, I lay a handful of fries on a napkin and squirt a puddle of ketchup on the napkin.  The R.A. views it and has a Martha Stewart-like nutty.  I am shocked.  I have followed the procedure.  What could be the problem?  My husband has returned just in time to witness the fury. 

"What did you do?" My husband barked, neatly grabbing the box of table napkins that the R.A., in his rage, has shoved across the table.

"I didn't do anything!" I barked back, managing to grab the ketchupy napkin before it was thrown to the floor.  As I glared across the table at my husband who was cradling the napkin holder it occurred to me.

"It's the napkins!" I cried.

"What?" My husband snapped.

"Look, they're brown!"  I gestured wildly.  In the McD fry and ketchup system the napkin is clearly white.  "We've messed up the presentation!" I hissed.

My husband looked down.  "Good God!"  He grabbed the McD bag.  "They didn't pack any napkins!  They never pack napkins!"  And then before he went off on his usual tirade against McD's for never packing napkins, ketchup, or barbecue sauce I cut him off, my panic rising.

"What are we going to do?"  Then, a moment of sanity.  "There are some white napkins in the car!"

My husband dashed out the door so fast you'd have thought there was a sale at B.J.'s (his obsession).

It was at this point that Bobby's mother approached my daughter who was sitting serenely at her solo table.  I should also note that my daughter had her back to her own family.  Again - I don't blame her.  The woman no doubt saw my husband race full speed out of Papa Gino's and was concerned for the little girl with the wacko parents.  Bobby's mother's concern and confusion was probably tripled when my husband booked it back into the restaurant in nano seconds, triumphantly holding a pile of white napkins in his raised hand announcing, "I've got the napkins!  We're safe!"

We all exchanged awkward smiles and the woman tiptoed back to her booth.

I am glad to report that the issue was the wrong napkin and that once we had arranged his lunch on the proper napkin, the R.A. graciously settled down.

Unfortunately my husband then proceeded to have an allergic reaction to something in the restaurant so we had to leave.  This was even more unfortunate as by that point the R.A. decided he quite liked the ambiance of the new restaurant and was quite reluctant to leave, illustrating this point by attempting to latch on to the table for dear life as we tried to go.  We didn't even look in the direction of the other family.

We haven't gone back to Papa Gino's since.

And that family hasn't spoken to us since.  Their loss - we are obviously a fun group.

Would you like fries with that?

That depends.  Where are they from?

As I earlier posted, one of the few Earth "foods" that the R.A. will eat are french fries, specific french fries.  He does not eat them plain but rather enjoys them with his favorite condiment - ketchup.  Currently we are lucky that he is not fussy about the brand of ketchup.  (Not that we are unaware that that will be coming.)  We were thrilled when the R.A. discovered ketchup as we thought, "Hey!  He's finally eating a vegetable!  He's eating something that has components that are not solely factory produced!"  We were giddy with the thought of all that Vitamin C he was ingesting.

I do think the R.A. enjoys the combination of the fried strips of potatoes and tangy tomato goodness.  Eventually he recognized that the ketchup on its own is a pretty delish treat and would smear the ketchup on his hands and lap it up.  Again, this was o.k. with us as the R.A. was "eating healthier."  Plus, once he tired of the lapping he designed some wonderful finger paintings on the table top.  And - this is very important - it kept him occupied for 5 minutes.  (It's amazing the things we let the R.A. do in the name of keeping him occupied - unraveling entire rolls of toilet paper, ripping a coloring book to minuscule pieces, coloring in his latest IEP.)

Due to his limited diet you can imagine how excited we were when the R.A. became interested in chicken nuggets.  For years, doctors, nurses, dietitians, school staff, support staff, family, friends some cashiers at Stop and Shop, the girl behind the counter at Dunkin' Donuts have all been saying, "Gee, you ought to try to see if he'll eat chicken nuggets." Obviously, contrary to their beliefs that we are a pair of dopes, we had repeatedly tried the R.A. on chicken nuggets.  Even we know that chicken nuggets are de rigeur for the toddler and preschool set.  We would place one in front of him and  he would wave his hand over it.  His disdainful expression clearly read, "Remove this slop."

But for some reason (maybe his orders from home dictated it), the R.A. actually started to ask for chicken.  It wasn't long (even for us) before we quickly realized why the change of heart.  It wasn't so much an interest in chicken as a food but rather an increased like for ketchup.  The fries were not large enough to scoop up all that red, sweet and sour yumminess.  The R.A. understood that the nuggets were bigger therefore he could get bigger mouthfuls of ketchup.  So basically the nuggets are like spoons.

His love affair with ketchup has led to some experimentation.  The R.A. quite enjoys his raw baby carrots and ketchup, but then who doesn't - yummo!  Over the weekend he attempted to combine his red nectar with green grapes.  Too weird even for him.

Most recent missive home:
Vaporize the humans.  Save the ketchup.

I Wanna Go to Friendly's!

Have fries, will travel.  That's our family's eating out motto.  The R.A. will only eat about 8 things (none healthy) and they are very specific things - no substitutions allowed.  On those rare occasions that we do go out to eat we are required to stop at McDonald's for french fries for the R.A. as he will only eat those fries or fries from a local restaurant in town.  When we first started making the McD stop prior to entering another eating establishment, shamefacedly, we would stuff the McD fries into the R.A.'s lunch box and covertly pull the fries out during the course of the meal. Now we march right in with our McD bag, almost defiantly, practically daring someone from the dining establishment to say something.  No doubt much chaos has ensued before we have even entered the restaurant and I'm pretty sure both my husband and I have these slightly crazed looks.  Ok, totally bat-shite crazy looks.  No punk, not even one from a Clint Eastwood film would feel that lucky to approach us. Mostly restaurant staff just wants to get us in and out with as little insanity as possible.  Nil on both counts.

This weekend we hit Friendly's, with our McD fries in hand.  Toward the end of the meal the R.A. became very interested in his father's eyebrows, beard, and hair.  What's fascinating for us is that the R.A. acts as if he has just discovered these things but my husband has been walking around with most of these hairy items for all of the R.A.'s time on earth.  The R.A. was very thorough in his examination of his dad's hairy accessories.  Not only did he study them with his eyes but also used his hands to really get in a good examination.  The R.A. looked very thoughtful, as if he were really considering it all.  He became extremely interested in the circumference of my husband's head.  Perhaps his superiors required the R.A. send a detailed report of Earthling features.  It is particularly interesting that they wanted the head information.  I'm sure the R.A. report regarding the examination of my husband's head read:

After my thorough examination I have concluded that in this instance size does not matter.

And now, we take a break from the hilarity to bring you this bit of hope

Graduation reflection from Kerry Magro, who graduated from Seton Hall over the weekend.  Take in the joy!

Yawyee Posh

There are not many activities that we can do with both children at the same time When we try we tend to have to do two versions of the activity – Earth version and Alien version. It’s very confusing as we rarely understand the alien version of the activity and the R.A. just ends up tremendously frustrated with our stupidity.  He does a lot of sighing with us.  Therefore, we usually end up doing something with my daughter and then something with my son.  On Friday afternoon I was working on a puzzle with my daughter.  We were working on our overly comfortable hard wood floor.  The R.A. demonstrated his interest or probably more his resentment at being ignored by constantly walking through our work area.  We are well trained and just worked around him.  He finally became bored and wandered to a nearby area of the living room.

The puzzle was a more challenging one and my daughter and I were quite engrossed in the task.  When I shifted my body to try to get more comfortable, well just plain comfortable, I noticed what the R.A. had been up to.

Now we’ve all heard the theories about crop circles, most notably that aliens are responsible for them (that and two guys from Northern England called Gar and Alan).  Although I am currently a host to an alien, I’m not sure that aliens are designing perfect circles as a means of communicating with Earthlings.  I mean if they are that advanced a species surely they could manage Facebook.  Especially since they know how clueless human beings are.

But Friday afternoon my opinion was challenged.  The R.A., using a bag of Dum Dum lollipops (or yawyee posh as he calls them,) was creating intricate designs on the floor.  It must have been a practice exercise for creating those circles.  I must say I was impressed.

I think it translates into:
These dopes make morons look intelligent.  I say the invasion is on.

Chin Chin Cherooo

It's not usual for people on the spectrum to "stim" - an action that self stimulates the nervous system.  Actually most people stim, it's just that primarily people not on the spectrum partake in more socially acceptable stimming - sitting and tapping or jiggling a foot, drumming fingers on a table, jingling change in a pocket.  The stims of people on the spectrum are different from what most of us are used to.  ASD stimming may be spinning, hand flapping, toe walking.  Or even more exotic things. The R.A. engages in the three that I just mentioned and also something we have named "chinning."  Whenever he is overly something - angry, frustrated, excited, thrilled - he "chins."  Basically he digs his chin into whatever is around, his own hand, someone else's hand, arm, leg, whatever is available.  Let me tell you, that kid's chin is tough.  I've had bruises on my arms or legs from chinning episodes.

We don't know why the R.A. does it.  We only know it occurs at that "overly" moment.  Lately he seems to be doing it a lot. So I guess he's been experiencing lots of emotions.  Of course it all hearkens back to the home planet.  It must be something that they do at those "overly" moments.  When they are happy it must be an alien equivalent of a high five.  When unhappy it must be like a mini tantrum.  Maybe instead of boxing they have two aliens in a ring who chin each other?  Or perhaps it is more of a display sport where aliens chin themselves in front of a panel of judges and they received marks for form, technique, and creativity.

"Q-Quork 7 is back competing after recovering from a horrific chin accident that sidelined him for most of last season.  The question is, does he still have it?"

"39:X8 is the rookie but she is truly a fresh face in the world of chinning today.  Seemingly single-handedly she has generated a renewed interest in the sport, creating the innovative chin squeeze and release and chin move."

Typically part of ASD treatment is to channel the unusual stimming into something more socially acceptable and in the R.A.'s case something that doesn't leave bruises.  One member of his team (who does not interact with R.A. that often) gave us hard rubber balls to use.  The idea was that whenever R.A. chinned we were to give him the ball and he would chin that.  Not to be a "Debbie Downer" but  I knew immediately that the balls would not work.  We've been working with R.A. on playing catch and of course using different kinds of balls as a way to combat that generalization thingee of his.  Well, every time the R.A. chins and we hand him one of those balls he stops briefly, tosses the ball and then goes right back to chinning.  I guess in a way it does detract him but only for a few seconds.  The good news is that he does have pretty good generalization with balls.  Hey, we find our blessings where we can.

Trash bin

According to his school (or his Earth indoctrination institution as I am sure he refers to it in his

communiqué to the home planet) the R.A. has trouble generalizing.  This means that you can show him a picture of a tricycle and work with him to say "tricycle" when you show him that picture which eventually he will do - mostly to get you off his back.  However, you can then show him an actual tricycle but he won't recognize it as a tricycle.  He will only refer to that original picture as a tricycle.  As you can imagine this leads to much hilarity and hi jinks.  Take for example, trash bins.

Trash bins can only be large and round.  This means not only will the R.A. not recognize smaller trash containers (i.e. trash bins in bathrooms) but conversely will use any large round containers for trash bins (i.e. laundry baskets, fountains, museum exhibits.) That said, he completely breaks from this when it comes to his own room. In there the R.A. uses the baseboard heater, obviously, even though we did purchase him a trash can.  But his room (or cell as he probably refers to it) is quite small and we can't fit an industrial sized trash bin in there.  Therefore he refuses to recognize it as a trash can even though we've reviewed this fact with him.  Daily I have to fish around in the baseboard heater for bits o' trash.  Not an easy task.  I do have freakishly small hands but it's still a tight squeeze even for my munchkin digits. Sometimes it is hot in the baseboard heater and there are also sharp thingees. I have sliced fingers on more than one occasion. Apparently what is happening here is that on the home planet trash is tucked into walls.  It's not just trash but insulation.  They are an advanced species!  No wonder the R.A. is so disdainful of us dopey Earthlings.

Listen to this! You'll Love It!

This morning the R.A. was in his room, chattering away in Martian-speak and giggling to beat the band.  I told my husband that the R.A. was in communication with the home planet.  We decided he was regaling them with stories about us here on Earth and they were laughing at how weird we are.

"No, seriously, every night that Mommy woman makes me stick a small brush in my mouth and has me move it around.  Then she sings this God awful song about something called teeth.  It's hilarious.  Sometimes it's too much and I crack up in the middle of it.  I just can't hold it together. Ridunkulous!"

"I've got that Daddy guy very well trained.  All I have to do is gesture at my big box o' trains and he moves it.  I'm telling you, taking over this planet will be a piece of cake - whatever that is."

"And what is their obsession with the potty?  It's so tedious. Oh, God!  Don't get me started about them pooping in the jacuzzi!  It's thinking about that that keeps me up at night.  Gross!"

A New Therapy for Autism

Researchers have come up with this new therapy for children on the spectrum.  Considering the R.A. is allergic to his own hair I don't think we will be trying this one - http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504763_162-20062550-10391704.html.

Yes, the R.A. is allergic to his own hair.  It only adds to the excitement of cutting his hair which unfortunately falls to my husband and his handy dandy razor.  There's the screaming, pleading, and crying (and that's just my husband!) and then afterward the red itchy hives (that's my son.)  Despite living among earthlings I think the R.A. is allergic to us and 99.9% of the planet, including his own self.

How's Mediation Going?

ARGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And that's just the frustration of trying to actually set up the date for mediation.

Autism and Thomas the Tank Engine

For some reason, Thomas the Tank Engine is extremely appealing to children on the Autism Spectrum.  There have even been studies done on the topic and now Thomas materials are used in some ASD activities because ASD kids respond so well to him.  Personally, I don't get the appeal.  After having been subjected to thousands of episodes, I find that after viewing I have an overwhelming desire to line Thomas trains up in neat rows, flap my hands and not make eye contact.  I think Thomas makes one autistic.

Has the Space Ship Landed

R.A.'s latest thing is running to the living room window and crawling under the shades to peer out the window.  We now ask him, "Has the mother ship landed?  Have they finally come to take you home?"