I'm Your Biggest Fan

There are two people the R.A. finds fascinating.  One is his sister but I believe that fascination is primarily due to her stuff.  The second person is my brother.  I think part of this interest stems from the fact that when the R.A. looks at his uncle he is looking into the face of the future.  Literally.  For some reason, whenever people see my son they tend to remark, "Oh my God!  He looks just like your brother!"  Mind you, people rarely say the R.A. looks like me.  They mostly say he looks like my brother.  I know, creepy weird. And it's not a passing resemblance either.  My son looks pretty much exactly how my brother looked at age 5 years.  Therefore we can confidently deduce that what my brother looks like as an adult is how the R.A. is going to look. (Sorry, R.A., no hair for you!  But you will make up for it with thick luxurious eyebrows.)

My brother has been away for several months.  We weren't sure how the R.A. would react upon his uncle's re-entry into the old family homestead.  His arrival would mean something different from how things usually are and would interrupt routine.  We also were uncertain how the R.A. would respond to having another earthling in his precious space - he already has to deal with four excruciatingly stupid earthlings.  Would one more earth dope send the R.A. over the edge? Great, great.  As if I don't have enough clueless dolts to deal with.  Let's just add another to the Dope-a-pah-Loosah Festival.  What, are we busing them in now?

We needn't have worried.  The R.A.'s fascination for his uncle had not waned.  There wasn't even the customary "I need to warily check you out" time (1 - 7 days) that typically accompanies any new person or new situation.  I have come to believe that the R.A. holds his uncle in higher esteem than the rest of his family.  He doesn't think his uncle is quite as slow as the rest of us.  Why?  Hey, we're dealing with alien logic here.  It might be that the R.A. prefers his uncle's footwear to the rest of the family's.  Maybe they don't have hair on the home planet so the R.A. senses a connection with his uncle.  It is one of life's mysteries and one of the many that surround the R.A.

Within the first day of my brother's return, the R.A. paid his uncle a visit in his uncle's room.  Thrilled, the R.A. ran into my brother's room, literally jumping for joy and stimming for Britain, physically with his hands and orally with his mouth, yowling with glee.  And then promptly shut himself in the closet.  It's like he was saying, I am ecstatic that you are home.  If you need me, you can reach me in the closet. So great to see you!  Of course at that moment my brother was strumming his guitar.  The closet move may have actually been one of self defense,  I'm happy you're home but your guitar playing sucks.  As I can't tell you this I will just hang in the closet.   Again, we'll never know.  So that's how the R.A. and his uncle spent their first visit together.  It was pretty mellow.  But both enjoyed their time together.  That's what it's all about - family spending time together.  If we're all honest, most of us would find time spent with certain family members better if we could hide in closets.

Sit, Roll Over, Play Dead

Autism is hard.  It is hard for the person who has it.  But it's also hard for the family because despite the challenges of the autism, there is still a whole family that needs to function.  Over time, without a conscious effort, you start adapting the family's life to the autism.  You do all sorts of things that are seen as odd to "civilians" without giving it a second thought.  The seemingly odd becomes your family's "normal."  Everyone in the family just goes along with it - like McDonald's runs before going to a restaurant to eat, making sure to know where the McDonald's is before going to an unfamiliar place, double-checking the white paper napkins in your car's console.  It's like you're trying to live a life despite the autism.  Or as best as it will allow.

As I said, all this "autism adaptive" behavior, happens without the family realizing it.  What really has occurred is that the R.A. has gradually and methodically trained us well:

I will only eat McDonald's french fries.  I know we are in the middle of the White Mountains but that's your problem, not mine.  Figure it out!  And by the way, get this Burger King slop out of my sight!

I know there are 48 other stores in the mall but we will only ever visit two. I'm feeling magnanimous - the Food Court doesn't count.

I realize it's 4 o'clock in the morning but I have a hankering for Pringles NOW!  So get your lazy, sleep drunk as* out of your bed and hustle down to the kitchen and get me some - unbroken.  And get me one of my juice boxes while you're at it.  And don't try to pass off one of those substandard "Mott's Tots"  boxes o' crap.  I will be able to tell.

In many ways the R.A. has broken us.  We don't even protest or attempt to disagree.  We just do as the R.A. demands.  It's easier that way.  I think we are also so sleep deprived that there isn't much left of our already deficient mental capacities.  I now understand why sleep deprivation is used by cults to control their members.  I do all sorts of crazy sh*# because the R.A. instructs me to.

This evening the R.A. has been working for hours on intricate Dum Dum floor models.  The models stretch from the living out to the hall.  The areas the R.A. has chosen for his models are high traffic areas but we know better than to attempt to move them or the R.A.  Instead, we are all contorting our bodies and tiptoeing in between and around the lollies - even if we're carrying things.  My brother, the world traveler, is currently home until his next international adventure.  But even he adapts without asking questions.  Tonight my brother came in from a frisbee game, wove his way through the models, complimented his nephew on his designs, and hit the shower.  It's just the way things are.  Pretty much all the time.  We are extremely tractable.

Good humans, now go get me some more ketchup before I ask the Kitchen God to vaporize your entire planet.

The Mall, Part Too (Much)

The Only Predictable Thing About Life with Someone on the Spectrum Is That It Is Completely Unpredictable.

- True adage about Autism that is unfortunately way too long to put on a t-shirt therefore I won't be making any money on it.

We have had a nice block of rain these past four days.  I don't mind rain during the work week as I am at work (although I do get a bit cheesed off when it rains all weekend and then Monday is gorgeous.  It's sort of like God giving us the cosmic finger.)  I do, however, get a little freaked out when it rains on the weekend as it means lots of indoor time with the children or as I like to call it a "forced hostage situation" with my husband and I being the hostages.  Friday night I already started mulling over what to do with the children on the weekend - knife throwing lessons (too boring), French lessons (neither one of them is fluent in English yet, let's get that under our belt first), clog dancing (unfortunately no place close by offers it).  Finally I hit it - the mall.  But with a twist.  The mall has one of those "paint overly priced not very artistically designed" plaster paint places.  I have taken my daughter before and she enjoyed it.  The R.A. does like to pick up the old paint brush and paint himself (hands and face) but also has been known to paint the designated item (and then go back to his version of a self portrait.)  I thought the plaster paint place would be a good idea as both kids would enjoy it.  It's not always easy finding something that both kids like.  For some reason they have very divergent tastes in amusements.  My daughter is into arts and crafts, My Little Pony, and eating junk food.  The R.A. is into Thomas, toe walking, and not sleeping.

Feeling very proud of myself I conveyed my idea to my husband.  He didn't think it sucked so off we went.

Once in the mall parking lot, we followed protocol and my husband removed the ancient stroller from the trunk.  The R.A. knows we are a pair of clueless boobs so supervised us closely to make sure we did in fact pull the stroller out.  Only then did he exit the vehicle and plop himself into the stroller.

I admit I was looking forward to our outing and anticipated a good time for the family.  Now, I'm not completely naive and expected that there would be some glitches.  Of course as I based my idea to go to the plaster paint place on neurotypical logic, I totally miscalculated the situation.  Yay me!

Upon entering the store the R.A. first looked confused then panicked then pissed.  As my husband noted, the R.A. was no doubt thinking, "This is not proper mall procedure!  Where the hell are we?"  He wouldn't get out of the stroller.  We tried to jolly him along, "Look!  Painting!  Fun!"   With gritted teeth and our usual dimwitted determination we soldiered on (no, we never learn to retreat.)  My husband wrestled him out of the stroller and handed him a paintbrush and guided him to paint a Batman decoration.  The R.A. cried the entire time as he slapped paint on his decoration, using extremely angry strokes.  It wasn't so much painting as punishing the decoration.  I'm sure he was picturing our faces receiving the paintbrush's lashes.  After about a minute and a half the R.A. tossed the paintbrush and declared, "All done!"  He then crawled back into his stroller and attempted to buckle himself in, refusing to look at anyone or anything in the shop.  The R.A. also attempted to leave the shop by rocking the stroller back and forth making it move about half a centimeter.  Boy was crazed.  And that was only for the base coat.  We still had to put on the actual paint.  But you know us - Never give in!  Never surrender!  The R.A. and my husband went for a stroll in the mall while the base coat was drying.  My husband and I reasoned (incorrectly) that this was a new place and the R.A. needed time to get used to it.  By the time they returned, the R.A. would settle down and have a swell time painting.  At this point if the R.A. chose to paint himself and not the decoration that would be okay with us.  Heck, if the R.A. chose to paint one of us and not the decoration that would be okay with us.

The minute the stroller crossed back into the shop's threshold, the R.A. started chinning and keening.  So far not so good.  Undeterred by his obvious abhorrence to the shop, we continued on - our obvious lack of intelligence made up for by our obnoxious tenacity.  After wrangling him out of the stroller, the R.A.'s second foray into painting primarily consisted of getting paint on his hands and the stroller and not much on the Batman decoration.  He dodged and weaved his way back into the stroller, again doing his best to buckle himself in, yelling the entire time.  I'm not fluent in "R.A.-Speak" but I'm fairly confident he was yowling, "What in the Kitchen God's name is wrong with you people?  You are not following protocol.  You drag me to Kitchen God knows where to do Kitchen God knows what.  And then you have the temerity to say it's fun.  FUN?  Seriously?  I have paint all over my hands and I didn't even mean to put it there!  We are leaving NOW!"

During all this high drama my daughter was quietly and contentedly painting away on her own unicorn piece.  It's not that she doesn't care about her brother.  It's just that if she allowed every R.A. crisis to interrupt her endeavors she'd spend her entire life unfinished - unfinished meals, unfinished television shows, unfinished unicorns, etc.  She's just trying to live her life despite the drama. 

My husband and I finally, yet grudgingly, admit defeat.  He stays with my daughter so that she can finish her unicorn and so that he can finish Batman.  I take the R.A. for a walk in the mall - he in his stroller, of course. 

The R.A. was so wound up he was stimming his hands to beat the band.  We walked for a bit and then stopped and sat and watched the passing freak show.  This the R.A. quite liked.

After I deemed enough time had passed for my husband and daughter to have finished their creations, we headed back to the plaster shop.  As the stroller pulled up outside the plaster shop, the R.A. started whining.  Luckily dad and daughter had just completed their projects and we were able to hustle out of the store.  I have a feeling the R.A. is traumatized by the plaster shop experience and we are going to have to restrict ourselves to the opposite side of the mall.  Thank the Kitchen God the plaster place isn't close to any mall stores we regularly frequent.

We needed to leave the items at the store for 30 minutes to dry so we decided to hit the food court and have lunch.  The R.A. enjoys the food court and we hoped it would calm him down.  Unfortunately,  by now the R.A. is completely wigged out and spends lunch ranting.  My husband and I, fearing we are living on borrowed lunch time, shove our food into our mouths, barely chewing.  Another spectacularly enjoyable dining experience. 

In a last ditch attempt to placate the R.A. we rolled to the candy store.  Peace at last!  Finally contented, the R.A. slumps, relaxed, in his stroller sucking a "yawyee posh."  Kitchen God bless those sweet confections!

We did have to return to the dreaded plaster shop to pick up the decorations.  This time the R.A. and I stay outside the shop of horrors while my husband and daughter fetch their items.  I park the R.A. next to a clear plastic wall where he can watch people coming up the escalator which he digs, conveying his interest by flicking the wall and rocking in his seat.  He was probably thinking it was the best part of his day.  Thankfully nobody on the escalator was carrying any plaster decorations. 



The Kitchen God

The R.A. is not really a church going man.  It's not for lack of trying or even because he doesn't like it.  It's more his interpretation of appropriate church behavior and the congregation's interpretation of appropriate church behavior are extremely different.  Like at the playground, we don't have loads of friends at church.  It's yet another place that when people see us coming they sigh loudly or try to move somewhere else without looking like they are trying to move somewhere else and that it's because of us.  It's awkward for everyone.  I often want to reassure them and tell them I don't blame them and if I could sit somewhere else I would (but my husband won't let me - I know, I've tried.)

The R.A. doesn't have lots of verbal language skills.  But every once in a while he says something surprising - such as the time my family was scootching into the pew at church.  The R.A. was standing on the seat.  He turned to the people behind him and said, very very clearly, "Oh, sh#*!"  Twice.  It took him months to master "kwakah" (cracker) but he nailed sh#* on his first attempt.  Being the stellar parents that we are, my husband and I didn't look at the R.A. or even at each other, pretending we didn't hear the R.A.  But we all heard him.  I bet they heard it clear as a bell up in the choir loft - at the church further down the road.

Then there was the time at church when the priest was thanking the congregation for their prayers for his father who had recently had surgery.  For some reason the R.A. found this incredibly amusing and broke into hysterical laughter.  The more the priest talked about his father's condition the more the R.A. laughed. Did you hear the one about the father's father?  Hilarious! 

He loves music, even church music.  But once the final notes of the opening hymn start to fade, the R.A. is ready for some new entertainment.  Being someone who believes in taking the old bull by the horns, the R.A. doesn't mind providing it himself.  To start off, he looks within the pew for some pleasant diversion.  The R.A. very much enjoys walking across the pews, regardless of people already sitting in them.  His family doesn't mind leaning forward and sitting perched on the edge of the seat and getting punched in the back but unfortunately other parishioners sharing the pew are not as keen about sitting like that (I know.  What's up with that?  Unreasonable, right?)  After several wrestling matches involving the R.A., my husband, and myself where we attempt to prevent the R.A. from pew walking, the R.A. now looks elsewhere for amusement.  So he bolts out of the pew with my husband in hot pursuit.  The R.A. finds this hilarious.  He laughs upon pew re-entry, probably thinking, "You should see your faces!  Look at the big man.  Could his face be any redder?  A riot!  Good times.  Good times indeed."  My husband doesn't look quite as jolly.  One time the R.A. engaged in an Olympic worthy bolt, really challenging himself.  He didn't just bolt down the aisle - he bolted down the aisle, through the back lobby, shoved past the organist, out the door, down the church steps (of which there were many as the church is a Gothic design - I told you he outdid himself.  It's like he's preparing for some sort of Autism Iron Man competition), to the sidewalk.  For a big man my husband has a lot of hustle and managed to grab the R.A. just before he hit the street.  Since that day, except for holidays, the R.A. has been on church sabbatical and my husband and I take turns bringing our daughter or as we fondly refer to her "our little neo-pagan" (she thinks the R.A. is lucky to have autism because he doesn't have to go to church - "What a gyp!")

But don't assume that the R.A. is not a spiritual man.  He worships at home.

In our kitchen is a small bookcase in which various cookbooks are kept.  Recently the bookcase has become extremely interesting to the R.A., this interest illustrated by his jumping up and down in front of it and flicking the cookbooks with his fingers while making noises that sound like chanting.  He will do this for a bit and then stop and then start up again.  To me it looks like he is worshipping at some sort of Betty Crocker shrine.  The repetitive jumping, flicking, and chanting are like some sort of religious ritual.  I do think it's fascinating that the R.A.'s shrine of choice involves cookbooks considering due to his food allergies and food texture issues he wouldn't eat at least 99.9% of any of the recipes that were in the cookbooks.  I guess like any true religion, his is also full of conundrums.  I'm dying to see if the R.A. starts leaving offerings to his kitchen god - lollipops and bits of Pringles, maybe a Thomas train.  All I know is I hope he's saying a few prayers for me.  It certainly couldn't hurt.

Let Them Eat Cake!

Because I sure as hell won't! The Reluctant Astronaut

This past Sunday an amazing thing happened.  Well, a couple of amazing things happened.  First, the R.A. sat at a dining room table in a chair while other people were also sitting at the table.  He then allowed the other people to remain at the table.   The R.A. toddled over himself, bringing his Pringles and juice, plopped down on the chair and began eating, looking very much like a "regular" person.  I nearly fell over I was so surprised.  Normally the R.A.'s preferred method of eating is a grazing system.  He strolls around, stops, picks up an item of food, eats a bit (or merely contemplates eating it and tosses it to the ground as he deigns it is unworthy of consumption), then resumes his wanderings.  No wonder the R.A. hardly weighs anything.  He's perpetually burning calories, even while eating.  The calories don't have a chance to set in.

But it got even more amazing.

There was birthday cake at the gathering.  Every once in a while, more for sh#*s and giggles, my husband and I attempt to try the R.A. on a "new" food.  Apparently, on Sunday, we were feeling a bit "devil may care" as my husband and I decided to see if the R.A. would try some cake.

Due to his severe food allergies which manifested themselves when the R.A. was a baby, the R.A. has never had a bite of ye ol' typical cake and frosting - birthday cake.  I remember when the time rolled around for his first birthday I researched "allergy" birthday cakes.  I came upon a series of allergy cookbooks authored by a woman whose son had food allergies.  She had a recipe for a birthday cake and swore it was so scrumptious that it was the only cake she served at her son's birthday party for all the guests, those with allergies and those without..  With an endorsement like that, I made it for the R.A.'s first birthday (also providing a "regular" birthday cake for attendees.)  Let me just say that if my first ever orientation to cake was that cake, I too would never touch another piece of cake in my whole entire life.  That cake wasn't nasty.  It wasn't good enough to be nasty.  The cake was so gross that it was spit out of one's mouth immediately upon entry.  I couldn't believe the cookbook author made her guests eat it.  She was probably one of those overbearing cows that everyone was terrified of so they didn't dare tell her how gross-tacular the cake was.  Heck, they probably didn't dare try to bow out of her spawn's blasted birthday party. That cake was so bad that I brought it into my work where those people eat pretty much anything including expired condiments, two day old donuts left an entire weekend in the open air, and refrigerator items that are so old that they no longer resemble what they were in their past lives.  They passed on that cake.  It didn't help that the cake looked like cow patties wrapped in tar (but not as airy and light as cow patties wrapped in tar).  You couldn't even rise above, "I bet it tastes better than it looks." 

The following year I found a recipe for an edible allergy cake.  Honestly, this cake was pretty good.  It was actually a cake that they used to make during World War Two when there was rationing.  Fortunately it didn't taste like it has been made during World War Two.  Unfortunately, either the R.A.'s autism had really set in and his food texture issues started as he refused the cake or the damage had been done by the previous year's "cake" debacle and he refused the cake.  Luckily my brother really liked the cake and ate the majority of it.  I had been threatened by co-workers not to bring in any cake leftovers.

Back to Sunday.  We laid the cake out in front of the R.A. as he sat at table.  My husband and I were fully prepared for him not only to refuse the cake but to smear it on the table and squish it into the floor  to demonstrate his annoyance (we weren't at our house which explains our cavalier attitude about this anticipated possible and highly probable outcome.)  We even included a fork, something extremely foreign to the R.A. as he is strictly a finger food man.  Everyone sat very still and watched.  Initially the R.A. sat, looking quite puzzled.  He raised his hands over the cake.  My husband and I moved closer, on the ready for when the R.A. grabbed the plate and tossed it to the ground.  All of a sudden the R.A.'s hands froze over the cake.  He cocked his head and then picked up the fork (we took a step back in case he used it like a shiv.)  The R.A. then began to attack the cake, stabbing at it repeatedly until the cake was nothing more than crumbs.  He seemed to quite enjoy himself, ceasing only when he smeared frosting on his hand, thus wigging himself out and ending "The Great Cake Massacre."  Believe it or not, this was a victory of sorts.  With the R.A., as with many people with autism, the first step with anything new is tolerance.  Therefore, the fact that the R.A. interacted with the cake was an extremely good thing.  We're hoping he'll expand this positive interaction to people sans fork stabbing.  Baby steps.  Baby steps.

Mall Rats

Another big Saturday night for the family - this time we hit the mall.  We do go to the mall fairly regularly.  I think I've spent more time at the mall as a parent than I did as a teenager which is amazing considering as a teenager I worked in a mall.  We have become mall rats primarily because I get to the point where I look at my husband and say through clenched teeth: "We have got to get these people out of my house."  As we ain't exactly millionaires, we tend to patronize establishments that are cheap - parks, library programs (for my daughter, not my son), Sonic (added bonus - we don't have to leave the car and they have ice cream), and the mall.

As with most things in our lives, the whole mall endeavor is rife with routine.  The R.A. will not walk on his own steam in the mall.  In the mall parking lot, he will only exit the car if it is clearly evident that we have brought his stroller.  It's like he's being transported in his royal litter, feeding into his Julius Cesar complex.  I have visions of the R.A. being 32 years old and my elderly husband and my elderly self struggling to push him along.  My biggest fear is that we won't be able to find a stroller big enough for him.  Maybe we could pimp something out for him - mag wheels and huge sound system that blasts Backyardigans tunes.  Then we definitely won't be able to get him out of it.  Add a lollipop holder and it would be irresistible.

The R.A. loves the mall.  He sits in the stroller, leaning forward, his hands flapping like mad.  He is so "flap happy" I'm nervous that one day he's going to be uber excited and end up slapping himself silly.  For the R.A. the mall is the ultimate people watching experience.  His little head swivels around as if he's watching a Williams sisters' tennis match on ultimate fast forward.  He's afraid he's going to miss something.  Looking at the mall's clientele, it's quite a freak show and therefore understandable that the R.A. would feel this way.  He's probably thinking, "And they think I'm the strange one.  Did you see that girl's outfit?  Just cause they make them in your size, honey, doesn't mean you should wear them.  Did you see that guy?  Someone should tell him he missed the Lynard Skynard tribute band auditions." 

Although there are restaurants in the mall we've never eaten in one as a family.  We are strictly food court folks.  My husband and I understand that the restaurants could never offer the R.A. the same stimulation that the food court does.  This stimulation is important to us too as it allows us several precious moments to eat our own food.  The only down side to our mall's food court is that they do not have a McD.  They do have a Burger King whose biggest drawback is that they are not McD.  However, sometimes the R.A. is so whacked out with excitement that he forgets himself and does eat the BK fries.  Other times we put them out for him in proper formation and he acts like we're offering him store brand dog food.  On occasion he lets this ride, too caught up in the drama of the mall to be bothered.  I also think it's extremely hard to actually eat when one is flapping for England* (one day he's just going to propel himself right up into the air.)

After our meal we stroll the mall.  Every now and then we do try to remove the R.A. from the stroller and have him walk.  Most children fight parents over being put into the stroller.  True to form, the R.A. battles us over getting out of the stroller.  For some reason, leaving the perceived security of the stroller terrifies the bejaysus out of him.  I guess it's understandable.  Our world doesn't make sense for the R.A.  That must be extremely frightening.  Add in the mall freaks and it has to be positively terrifying.

One store is a must stop - the candy store.  Out of the thousands of sweet treats housed there, the R.A.'s candy of choice is a lollipop.  It's one of those lollies that are used to make up candy bouquets.  His fondness for these lollies started a couple of years back.  On a mall visit we hit the candy store so that my daughter could get a candy treat.  The R.A. had a total nutty over a lolly.  At that time we didn't even know he knew what a lolly was.  But his extremely animated (slightly violent) reaction to the lolly convinced us he sure did.  The R.A. has lots of horrible food allergies.  We didn't want to get him the lolly as we didn't know if there was something in it he was allergic to. (The R.A. is so sensitive that one of the workers in the candy factory could have had a cat owning aunt that lived 3,000 miles away from the factory worker, that the factory worker had never met and the R.A. would have had an allergic reaction based on that.)  The R.A. had a full blown tantrum over the lolly.  We bought him the lolly, deciding it was tightly wrapped and the R.A. wouldn't be able to open it.  He would probably be content to simply have the lolly.

Of course on the ride home the R.A. opened it.  My husband looked in the rear view mirror and discovered the R.A. happily sucking away on the lolly.  We handled it as we do most crisis situations - we panicked.

"Get the epipen!"  My husband yelled.

"I don't have it!" I wailed.

"Shouldn't we be carrying it with us for these kinds of moments?" My husband asked/hollered.  "Where is it?"

"At home."

"At home?  Why in God's name is it at home?" My husband demanded.

"I was afraid we would lose it!" I roared back.  Let me justify this - we lose a lot of stuff.  This is supported by the fact that my husband didn't say anything else after that statement.  (Don't you dare judge us!  It's not as if we are up for "Parents of the Year.")

I undid the seatbelt and twisted myself around so I could keep watch on the R.A. to make sure he didn't go into anaphylactic shock.  Fortunately he didn't and we added yet another "food" to his miniscule list of "foods" that the R.A. could ingest without an allergic reaction.  So see, if it weren't for our lax parenting skills we never would have known that.  There is a method to our madness.

*"________ for England" is an expression meaning to do something excessively.  I use that expression frequently and frequently find people don't know what the hell I mean. 

Baaaaddd Boy

The R.A. is not very verbal, not in English or any recognizable Earth language, anyway.  Sometimes he does have these very long, very animated monologues.  These happen mostly in his room.  Actually I think they are rants against his astonishingly dense parents.

When the R.A. was a baby he was not a big sleeper (Well, okay, he still isn't a sleep super fan.)  But being industrious, even from such a young age, he felt the need to occupy his time.  He did this by crying - a lot and loudly.  The R.A. also made these noises that my husband and I started referring to as his "Goat Boy" sounds.  We spent many a night being tormented by those "Goat Boy" sounds. I swear some nights I was begging for him to shriek like his sister used to.  After being so terribly sleep deprived for so long I shuddered every time I heard "Baa Baa Black Sheep."  Still not a favorite.

Why I bring this up - Tonight the R.A. and I conversed longer than we have in a while.  Here is a portion of the transcript:

R.A. Baaaaaa

R.A. M.*  Baaaaaa

R.A. Baaaaaa

R.A. M.*  Baaaaaa

R.A. Baaaaaa

R.A. M.*  Baaaaaa

You get the drift.  It went on for quite some time. 

At that time it seemed fairly innocent, mundane even.  Upon reflection, now I'm afraid that during that conversation I inadvertently agreed to something:

R.A. This evening I am going to take every can of Pringles and every bottle of ketchup that we own and then climb up to the roof.  After I consume all of that I am going to take off all my clothes and walk tippy toe across the roof.  And I am not going to take my allergy medicine.

R.A.M* Okay.

*Reluctant Astronaut's Mom

Avoiding a Dumb Ass Move - For Once

I'm always really thrilled when the R.A. seems to be interested in Earth things - in an appropriate way as a regular Earthling would be interested.  So I tend to encourage it.  Unfortunately, in most instances, once I get involved the interest quickly wanes.  But I am ever the optimist and keep trying.  Or more like - I am ever the dimwit and keep trying.

Tonight was shower/bath night.  We always start off with a shower.  The R.A. very much enjoys his shower.  Sometimes he will even stand under the water.  Other times it's enough for him to stand in the tub next to the running water, sort of like standing near a waterfall.  It must be those moments when he's feeling very Zen.  The R.A. is no doubt calming himself after yet another exasperating run-in with his astonishingly dense caregivers.

After the shower portion of this hygiene event we move on to a bath where the actual cleaning takes place.  The R.A. tolerates the cleaning portion.  He does quite like having his head soaped up but like most things one has to take the good with the bad.  The bad in this case being the rinsing.  Often the R.A. attempts to run away from the rinser - while still in the tub.  It's a mad and very wet game of chase.  By the end of the bath often the parent is as wet as the child.

One would think that after being freshly laundered, the R.A. would enjoy some time in the bath.  Of course he doesn't.  His father and I would love it if he spent a few minutes splashing around the tub so that we could at least towel ourselves off.  He's not interested in playing with tub toys.  Anytime we put them in he removes them and plops them onto the floor.  We've even tried Thomas the Tank Engine bath toys and no dice. (This is truly amazing and I can't help but think that a Thomas rejection such as this could cost him his Autism All the Time membership card.  Surely there are strict rules governing the Thomas obsession.)  Instead the R.A. immediately hits the little button that drains the tub.  Of course, once all of the water is drained from the tub, now the R.A. is ready to play in the tub.  Sans toys.  He likes to slide around the wet tub like it's a bizarre luge run.  Sometimes the R.A. gets so into it we have a hard time getting him out of the tub.  Maybe he's close to beating the tub luge record.

Lately I've noticed when the R.A. is in the tub during the bath portion of the program, he seems to be drawing on the bath walls with his fingers. In my desire to encourage an Earth appropriate activity I thought it would be a good idea to give him my daughter's tub crayons.  Now when it comes to the R.A. I've learned that a good offense is a good defense meaning always take an idea and saturate it with "What if" scenarios, no matter how seemingly outlandish.  Tonight, as I reached for the tub crayons I did have a "What if" moment.  I envisioned the R.A. enjoying his tub drawing.  I was pleased.  Then I envisioned the R.A. liking it so much that he spent a lot of his time drawing in the tub, even when not bathing.  Then I got to the vision of the R.A. drawing in the tub with black Sharpie markers.  Although one thing you can predict about the R.A. is his unpredictability, I could totally see him not recognizing appropriate tub drawing instruments verses inappropriate tub drawing instruments.  This is based on experience as several walls in my home boast the R.A.'s Sharpie marker designs.

I am very proud that I managed to avoid this potential dumb ass move.  Most times I'm too overwhelmed and exhausted to be remotely clever.  Most days the best I aspire to is not completely incompetent.  I wish I could say that a lot of the time.  But as you know from this blog...

Chinese Fire Drill

Occasionally we like to live dangerously.  Saturday night we took the family out to dinner.  Feeling a bit roguish we even went out to a "nice" restaurant - the China Buffet.  We designate a restaurant "nice" if they use real utensils.  Yes, our bar is exceedingly low.

We also like the Buffet because it is non-stop action - and, in most instances does not involve our family.  It is probably one of the few places in the world where other families are crazier than ours.  It's like a very dysfunctional version of dinner and a show.

A few years ago we made an interesting discovery at the China Buffet.  At that time the R.A. was still allowing us to sit him in a high chair, albeit grudgingly. (Those days were magical as we could actually eat a meal without having to sit perched on the edge of the booth because someone was trotting back and forth behind us, occasionally punching us in the back.)  So anyway, there we were, enjoying our meals when halfway through, a group of young Chinese men came in and were seated at a nearby table.  They were speaking animatedly in Chinese.  Upon hearing them the R.A. twisted his little body around to face them.  He himself became quite animated.  It was almost as if he understood their conversation and was getting a real bang out of it.  A couple of times after one of the young men said something, the R.A. would turn to us, throw his hands up and make a comment.  It was as if he were saying, "Can you believe he said that?"  The young men finished their meals before us (we weren't done completely trashing our table - we still had to break the dishes and set fire to the napkin holder) and as they made their way to leave, the R.A. tried to pull himself out of the high chair, as if he were heading out with them.  He became quite upset and keened after them.  It was as if he were heartbroken at being left behind.  I admit I was a little insulted.  I mean we're not that bad.

Later on I thought about that incident and believe I know what happened.  Remember that he is a Reluctant Astronaut and not wild about his mission here.  Part of his problem is that I think he had a lousy intelligence officer.  I hypothesize that guy was lazy and when conducting his research on Planet Earth first came across billions of people speaking Chinese and that concluded his research.  He was like, "This is the language on Earth."  So that's what the astronauts learned.  Then when the R.A. was sent here he was like, "What the hell?"  In the restaurant that night the R.A. was overjoyed to finally understand what somebody was saying.

Back to Saturday night.  If you have read enough of my blog entries you know that our nights out are not without their challenges.  This particular night we did make the requisite pre-dinner McD run and the R.A. was furious not to be given the french fries right there in the drive thru.  When we finally made it to the restaurant the R.A. decided he wasn't thrilled with the actual dinner destination and refused to get out of the car.  Once we got him out of the car he refused to walk and demanded that my husband carry him.  As always the good and faithful servant, my husband obliged.  Keep in mind, this is what happened before we even entered the restaurant.  As a testament to our dimwittedness we soldiered on.

Once we finally made it into the restaurant and were seated, we carefully arranged the white napkin, fries, and ketchup.  After which the R.A. promptly refused to have anything to do with them.  For some reason, that night, they were a total affront to his personal convictions.  On the one hand my husband and I were a bit panicked about this rejection.  It could spell disaster for the actual dinner portion of the night.  On the other hand we had persevered through the whole car and parking lot thing.  I mean what would have happened if the Donner Party had turned back.  Oh, wait....  Anyway, we decided to stay.  Sometimes  we don't just throw caution to the wind, we shoot it out of a cannon and then drive a steam roller over it.

We get our plates and start to eat - really, really, really fast because we know we are on borrowed time.  The R.A. is alternating between standing in the booth and jumping in the booth.  He is also turning to face behind him and flicking his fingers on the top of the booth, like a crazed bongo player who has suck rhythm but a lot of enthusiasm.  We feel quite badly for the people sitting on the other side of the booth and several times demand that the R.A. sit on his bottom.  Which he does for precisely 8.7 seconds.

Finally my husband discovers that we are sitting wrong.  Usually the R.A. sits facing in the other direction.  Obviously he is thrown off by the cataclysmic shift.  Annoyed I point out it was actually the R.A. who selected the seats for the evening so it's not my fault.  It's his.  Obviously my husband's blood sugar was in a better place because he rationally noted that it's nobody's fault.  Naturally this annoyed me.  A spirited discussion might have ensued about who was at fault had not the R.A. then began to sneeze repeatedly over the booth at the other family at which point my husband attempted  to pull the R.A. into a seated position to sneeze on our food instead.  As you can imagine, the R.A. was not down with that idea.

"What should we do?" I hissed.

"We could switch our seats around.  Then we'd be in the right spots," suggested my husband.

"What?  You mean now, in the middle of the meal?" I was incredulous.  Despite the fact that "insane" is my family's "normal" even I thought this was around the bend.  We both surveyed our table which was full of dishes, glasses, and silverware.  But then the R.A. lunged up like a demonic Jack in the Box and that sealed the deal.

"Okay.  Let's do it," I said.

And that's how we conducted a Chinese Fire Drill in the middle of the China Buffet.  My poor daughter was moved in mid-bite.  Those nutty actions are business as usual in her world.  Without a peep and with fork in hand she switched to her new seat.  My husband and I re-arranged the dishes, glasses, and silverware and sure as Bob's your uncle, we popped into our new places.  Within ten minutes of doing this, the R.A., exhausted by his dinner time workout, began to doze off.

When the waiter came to check on us he did look momentarily confused.  I'm certain he attributed it to some stupid American peculiarity.  Oh, if he only knew.

Fish N Chips

The most interesting person the R.A. knows is his 8 year old sister.  There is a lot to be said about a woman who can carry off a fairy dog mother outfit while also doing handstands.  Heck, there's a lot to be said about a woman who can just carry off the fairy dog mother outfit.

Among the numerous things the R.A. finds fascinating about his sister, her bedroom ranks in the top five.  I think the significant appeal is that his sister's room is verboten.  Despite having a slide lock on the door, the R.A. is crafty.  No daydreaming if you are going in or coming out.  You have to be extremely vigilant.  If not,  he somehow manages to sneak in.  I swear, sometimes it's like living with a Black Ops expert.  So then you have to haul him out and he's of the opinion that if he figured out how to get in, he's earned the right to stay.  As in any situation where the R.A. needs to be removed by force (95.7% of situations if you are wondering) it isn't pretty - mostly that gruesome Greco-Roman small child wrestling hoo-ha.  The hard part is getting him out of the room and getting the door locked.  If you're not careful he makes a bolt back in and you're back to square one only now you're exhausted because you've already had to wrangle him out of the room.  Chances are you're winded and sweat is now dripping in your eyes so you are at a definite disadvantage.  And he knows it.

His sister's bed has tremendous appeal as he doesn't own one.  I should say the R.A. doesn't own one any more.  The bed wasn't so much for sleeping as much as a mechanism to launch himself into the air and on to other pieces of furniture in the room.  Therefore he loves to jump on to his sister's bed and rocket around the room.  The R.A. is also a huge fan of the headboard.  He enjoys climbing up on it and balancing on it on his tiptoes.  But then who doesn't?

The R.A. is also a big fan of his sister's closet, naturally.  Any new one is quite novel. 

But the main draw for the R.A. has nothing to do with furniture.

The R.A.'s sister loves animals and spent years desperate for a pet.  Unfortunately her family of origin is allergic to fur, feathers, hair, down, and some types of polyester.  Pets not really our thing. Pets especially not the environmentally and atmospherically sensitive R.A.'s thing unless we just had him go around in an HAZMAT suit.  (But knowing him we'd spend all the money on the suit and then he'd refuse to wear it.)  My daughter finally wore my husband down.  He talked me into getting her a fish.  I was quite hesitant mainly because it would just be one more thing to take care of and let's be honest, we were sort of shaky with the two children we were supposedly responsible for.  But my husband swore he would take care of the fish.

Right off the bat we knew the R.A. and a fish would not be a good combination.  It is pretty much a given that the R.A. will always be interested in something that you desperately wish he were not and conversely will never be interested in something that you wish he were - like talking or sleeping.  We discussed the best place to keep the fish so that it would have no contact with the R.A.  Finally we decided to put it our daughter's room and to put a lock on the door so that the R.A. would not have access to the room.  We also agreed to go super cheap as really, for all intents and purposes, this pet was disposable.

Our daughter was thrilled to receive a bright red beta fish for her 7th birthday.  I gave Fishy Noodles three months.  Part of me felt guilty like we were setting our daughter up for heartbreak.  My husband was more easy going about it and preferred to think of it as a possible life lesson.

Two days after Fishy Noodles became a member of the family, the R.A. discovered him.  My husband and I were alerted to the fact that the two had become acquainted by our daughter's hysterical screams.  We ran into her room to see the R.A. crouched on his sister's bureau, his chubby hands splashing around the fish bowl, crying delightedly, "Fishy!  Fishy!"  Amidst all the shouting (pretty much all of us at this point and I'm betting even the fish) we were finally able to drag the R.A. out of the room.  Once the R.A. was out of the room and ensconced in his own, we checked on Fishy Noodles.  I was afraid we would walk in to find FN flopping away on the bureau or floor.  That would really make me feel like a failure if we couldn't keep the fish alive for a week.  Thankfully FN was still in his bowl - cowering underneath the fake plant - but alive nonetheless.

Unfortunately for FN, we were as lousy caregivers for him as we were for the R.A. as we were not overly diligent about keeping my daughter's door closed and locked.  The R.A. had lots of access to "Fishy!"  As a result FN became extremely jittery.  Anytime anyone entered the room he would start to shake and attempt to hide under the fake plant or in the little castle in his bowl.  My daughter's screams were a regular event.  The most memorable time was when we couldn't find FN in the bowl or on the bureau or surrounding floor.  At that point we were panicked that the R.A. had ingested FN.  We had the R.A. pinned down on his sister's bed and were trying to pry his mouth open when my daughter called, "It's ok!  Fishy Noodles was in the castle!"  Relief all around!  Especially since we didn't have to make a trip to the ER and have to explain what we thought our son had swallowed.  And no doubt he would have been allergic.

Amazingly enough, we passed the three month mark.  We passed the four and five month marks.  We hit the sixth month mark!  Despite suffering from serious nerves, that Fishy Noodles was one tough hombre.  But alas, he was living on borrowed time.  The final encounter between FN and the R.A. proved too much.  My husband and I are not forensic experts but based on what we saw in the bowl, either the R.A. dropped the castle on top of Fishy Noodles and crushed him to death or during that enforced "playdate" Fishy Noodles' heart finally gave out.  He expired and then the R.A. dumped the castle on him.  Either way, I think in the end it was a blessed relief for FN.  Peace at last.

My daughter was heartbroken.  We didn't tell her the details of Fishy Noodles' demise as we figured that was the type of thing that would lead to a lifetime of resentment. Because they are both so young there's a whole lifetime for that.  Why not save it?

After some time had passed, my daughter felt ready to start anew with another fish.  I confess that I still wasn't ready.  I was traumatized by the whole Fishy Noodles experience.  Again, my husband talked me into it.  And purchased a bowl with a lid.

This time we gave my daughter the fish on the Q.T. so that the R.A. wouldn't know about it.  We thought if he didn't know about Phil he wouldn't be so gung ho to make friends/terrorize him.  That's exactly what we did and Phil enjoyed several weeks of peace.  We enjoyed having a fish who didn't have tremors or who spent his time hiding underneath his fish bowl toys.  It was nice to see a fish in a bowl swimming.

But all good things must come to an end.  One morning my daughter and I were in her room getting her ready for school.  Before I knew what was happening, the R.A. had propelled himself into her room and onto her bed.  He was maniacally jumping on the bed and I was frantically trying to grab him before he saw Phil.  I finally managed to wrestle him down onto the bed, face first.  He was wild, fighting to free himself and yowling.  I tugged and pulled to get him off the bed.  He lifted his head to let out a roar and at that moment he noticed Phil, merrily swimming not three feet from the R.A.'s face.  Immediately rage turned to sheer delight, "Fishy!"  I took advantage of this lull in the rage, swooped down, snatched the R.A. off the bed and hustled him out of the room.  He was not pleased to find himself on the other side of the door.  He pounded on it and hollered, "Fishy!  Want Fishy!"

This time around we are much better at remembering to lock my daughter's door, much to my son's dismay.  My husband said that one day the R.A. was in the hallway outside his sister's room, keening pitifully.  His father asked him what was wrong and the R.A. went to his sister's locked door and actually said, "Want Phil.  Want Phil."  I'm pretty certain that Phil is not on the other side saying, "Want R.A.  Want R.A."  Live long and prosper my little aquatic friend.  Although honestly, the odds ain't so great.

But Enough About Me

What do you think of me?

The R.A. can be a smidge self-centered.  This manifests itself in his determined gait which veers for no man, woman, child, small animal, large animal, breakable object, spillable object, traffic, or any water form.  If the R.A. needs to get from Point A to Point B, heaven help the poor slob in his path.  The R.A. has been known to step on, push, shove, bump, or goose people out of his way.  And that's just when he's being polite.  If you catch him on a bad day you may be tackled or head butted.  Although his body is very slender, the R.A. does carry the bulk of his body weight in his head and he can do some serious damage with his noggin.  Talk about using one's head!

There is really no understanding about other people's feelings or other people in general.  Therefore the R.A. always feels comfortable helping himself to whatever he wants, whenever he wants it - if he isn't barking at his hapless caregivers to obtain it for him or if we won't get it, then he helps himself.  Like the time I stupidly brought both of my children to beach on my own.  Unfortunately we weren't all on the same page about what going to the beach would entail.  My daughter and I thought that would be swimming in the water.  The R.A. thought it would be fishing (we're at the beach - ha! ha!) through other women's beach bags and (always the overachiever) removing other people's fishing lines from where they were propped up in the sand.  Oh, yes.  What a fantastic day that was.  Good times!

Or take this very evening.  I finally sat down to eat dinner, operating under the assumption that the R.A. had finished his tasty banquet of Pringles, grapes, carrots, ketchup, and Dum Dums.  As I sat and began eating there was the usual activity - my daughter practicing gymnastics while dressed as the "Fairy Dog Mother" (not a typo) and my son alternating between ripping apart his toy area and arranging his Dum Dums on the floor - in other words, a typical night at home.  As I attempted to eat and read a book in the midst of the chaos, the R.A. climbed up next to me and began bouncing.  Although it made using utensils hincky I persevered.  The bouncing became more frantic and as I turned to look at him I nearly had my eye poked out by the bouquet of Blow Pops that the R.A. was thrusting in my face and demanding, "Open.  Open this."  Obediently I abandoned my coolish dinner and did as I was told.  Unfortunately I was unable to resume my seat as I had to finish dinner while standing at the stove.  Earlier today we had a new air conditioner installed in the kitchen.  To my mother's dismay the R.A. took an immediate interest in the air conditioner and spent the better part of the evening jumping and flicking his fingers in front of  it.  I guess he finds the cold breeze running through his crew-cutted head intoxicating. My mother wanted to get at least one full day out of the new AC before the R.A. started cramming gummies into its vents so I volunteered to stay in the kitchen with the R.A.  I have visions of spending most of my summer eating over the stove.  The R.A. shared his excitement by frequently coming over to me and punching me in the back.

This self-centeredness also demonstrates itself with photos.  As we are constantly attempting to introduce the R.A. to the world around him, we constantly show him photos and have him label the people in the photos. These photos are of various family members.  We also show him generic pictures - boy, girl, dog, etc.  He struggles with generalization.  Whenever we show him pictures of any boys or any babies, the R.A. always says his own name. I guess it really is all about him  But the other night it became very apparent that he truly believes he is the most important person in the world.  I was showing him the pictures on our fridge, primarily himself and family members.  The last picture I pointed to was one of Jesus.  The R.A. looked very solemnly at the picture and then pronounced his own name.  I know most Irish mothers consider their sons on par with the Messiah but seriously?

Resistance Is Futile

 Lately the R.A. has become interested in creating geometrical patterns.  If you recall my posting of May 22nd, he used Dum Dum lollies to design intricate patterns on the floor.  I proposed that this was because he was taking a correspondence course from the home planet on making crop circles and it was a homework assignment.  Lately the R.A. has been very busy laying out all his tiny vehicles, Thomas and non-Thomas.  The above photos show the progression of yesterday's project which started in his room, progressed out of his room into the hallway, down the stairs and into the living room.  Mainly my husband and I were thrilled he was keeping himself occupied not doing something death defying or involving emptying large containers of sticky liquids on to hardwood floors.  But then I started really looking at it and thinking about it and realized it was reminding me of something.  Do you recall the scene in the X-Men: Last Stand when there is mass chaos and all these cars are jammed up on the Golden Gate Bridge?  That's when it hit me.  The R.A. has been designing invasion models.  It's coming, people.  The designs are more intricate.  The intergalactic phone calls are more frequent and longer. He keeps running to our living room window and peering out at the sky.  I'm just hoping that when it does come he'll look at me, snort, and say, "Her a threat?  Seriously?  Yesterday she put my pants on backwards and didn't notice until two hours later.  And it wasn't the first time." I will then be spared vaporization as the R.A. will have determined that I am already too stupid to live and if I've so far beaten the odds, who is he to intervene?

No, we will not accept the charges

It's not unusual for the R.A. to engage in behaviors or activities for a time and then abruptly stop.  Or he may really like something, for example, a certain brand of gummies, and then all of a sudden not like them anymore.  Our favorite is the food fondness one as we are big fans of anything that the R.A. will ingest willingly.  But it's the food one that usually ends up biting us in the backside.  My husband, thrilled that the R.A. has added something to his diet, will rush out to his beloved B.J.'s and purchase two utility sized containers of whatever item it is.  It is typically within hours of that purchase that the R.A. will decide he no longer cares for that food.  Then we are left with vast quantities of it.  The worst time was when we got stuck with these vile allergy cookies.  So gross were those cookies that the rabid raccoons in our yard even refused to eat them.  I can't say I blame them.  It's bad enough to have food allergies but then to subject sufferers to those disgusting bits of yuck was a travesty.   There should be something in the Geneva Convention about those "cookies."

There are a lot of activities that the R.A. has engaged in and then stopped.  What's interesting about the activities and behaviors is that sometimes he will re-engage in them after a time.  (Sadly that never happens with food.  Since most of the "food" the R.A. likes is synthetically engineered it never goes bad so we could just hang on to it until he decides he likes it again.) 

For a time the R.A. was really into closets.  He would go into the closet and close the door.  Often the R.A. would just stand in there.  Sometimes we could hear him carrying on a one-sided conversation.  Other times he would try to lug in things that one would require when hanging out in a closet such as a large medicine ball.  An interesting closet that the R.A. would frequent was our bathroom closet.  This closet was a testament to the R.A.'s unusual taste and abilities as it has shelves meaning he would have to contort his body to fit in the closet while the door was closed.  This was his favorite closet as it came already stocked with interesting items such as full bottles of shampoo and toothpaste.  The R.A. especially liked it when his toothpaste was in there.  As the R.A. still hasn't mastered toothbrushing (the spit out part) he can't use fluoride toothpaste.  Therefore he uses toddler toothpaste, no fluoride and no spitting.  The R.A. is not a fan of toothbrushing but is a huge fan of his toothpaste.  One day we found him in our bathroom closet sucking back not one but two of his toddler toothpastes.  He was very cross when we made him come out of the closet and then infuriated when we wrestled the tubes out of his clenched fists.  I think what the R.A. was shouting translated into, "Hey!  I'm not done eating that! Get your own!"

He abruptly stopped his closet breaks and hasn't had one in months but this week the visits started back up again.  I found him in our bathroom closet.  The R.A. was having a spirited discussion with someone or something.  When I opened the bathroom closet door he became quite agitated and pulled it shut yelling, "No! No!" and then some other things that I didn't understand the actual words but if I could interpret tone meant, "Could I possibly get a moment to myself?  What is wrong with you?  Can't you see I'm busy?  I live my life with an audience.  Just once I'd like five minutes by myself.  That woman never leaves me alone.  What is her deal?"  Obediently I backed off.  (I knew where the toothpaste was kept and it was no longer in that closet and I was pretty sure we had nothing else "edible" in there or nothing that was supposed to be edible.)  The R.A. remained in the bathroom closet for quite some time and at times his long monologue became extremely loud.  I have since decided that the closets are actually some sort of intergalactic telephone booths. "Listen, that dog/alien nearly blew the entire mission.  You'd better accept the charges!"  Or maybe they are like those booths on the "Real World" where participants talk to the camera about their recent endeavors.  I bet that's it.  It would certainly explain why the R.A. gets so emotional in there.  "I distinctly conveyed to them that I do not like those new juice boxes.  But what do I find on my tray?  Those damn new juice boxes!  I have made faces when presented with those juice boxes.  I have grunted, groaned, and acted quite unpleasantly over those juice boxes.  Why, I have even shoved those damned juice boxes to the floor.  How much clearer could I be?  I'm telling you, it's like being held hostage by imbeciles dressed up as morons.  I don't know how much more of this I can take. Oh, there she is again.  I gotta go.  She's all excited because it's bath night.  That lady needs to get a life. Ciao."

Germ Warfare

The R.A. is sick pretty much all the time.  The breaks between his ailments are the only times he is well.  It's been this way pretty much since birth.  The first 9 months of his life the R.A. was sick because he was allergic to his formula and we've since discovered he's pretty much allergic to everything.  One of my friends remarked that the R.A.'s system is very sensitive to the earth's atmosphere.  I also think we have the only alien bent on world domination that has to carry an inhaler - it really ruins his street cred if a nebulizer is part of his arsenal of mass destruction.

Citizens of Earth (cough, cough)!  Today is your day of reckoning (wheeze, wheeze)!
You are now under my control (cough, wheeze, cough)!
Okay, seriously, is there a cat in here?  There must be a cat in here. (cough, cough)
Is that freshly mowed grass?  I can't do this under these conditions.  Can someone get me my inhaler? (puff, puff) I mean, honestly, do we have to invade a place with so much dander?  Surely there are other planets that are more hypoallergenic. (puff, puff). 
This is no way to run an invasion.
When epidemics strike our house it can pretty much be traced back to the R.A. or as we fondly refer to him, "Patient Zero."  The first signs of impending illness - the R.A. is extremely quiet and calm.  This sends a rush of panic over me because I know what's coming and it usually involves a trip to the Emergency Room.  During the various phases of whatever illness the R.A. is combating I spend most of my time yelling at my daughter to keep away from him as I try valiantly to control the spread of the epidemic.

Timing is everything when it comes to epidemics and the R.A. is fond of being sick on weekends, long weekends, vacations, birthdays, anniversaries, special occasions, and holidays.  I think it's all part of his plan to mess with us.  As last weekend was Memorial Day weekend the R.A. was, of course, sick.  As part of his plan of world domination he has used germ warfare to subdue us. My husband and I both have his cold. 
I'm also finding that as time goes on, the R.A. is coming up with new and more exotic conditions.  I'm sure at a future doctor visit we're going to be told he has ink disease which will be puzzling as that only affects kangaroos.  Not only will it cause us to wonder when the R.A. came in contact with a kangaroo but how someone who is "technically human" could come down with the condition.

Well, I'm going to see if I can bum the nebulizer off of Kangaroo Jack. (cough, cough, wheeze, wheeze)