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.
The earth-bound adventures of a reluctant alien astronaut and his not overly bright human caretakers.
So what is it like having a child with autism?
So, what is it like having a child with autism?
I get this question a lot and actually like it when people ask. Unless a person has significant contact with someone on the spectrum he/she doesn't really understand what an autism driven world is about. Saying that, it isn't always easy to convey what having a child with autism is like. After much consideration, this is what I've come up with -
For me, having a child with autism is like living with an alien from another planet. I call him the "reluctant astronaut (R.A.)" because he really didn't want to come to earth, had absolutely no interest in this space mission. As a result, he didn't pay much attention at the briefings prior to the mission so doesn't know anything about Planet Earth - nothing about language, customs, or Earthling niceties in general. In fact, he is so disinterested in Earth that even though he was sent here, he has absolutely no desire to assimilate into Earth society. Meaning he still doesn't give a rat's ass about Earth mores.
That's also how I "explain" things he does that are pretty much unfathomable to me. For example - for a certain time period he liked to sit in the toilet. No, not on the toilet but in the toilet. I reasoned that on the home planet the toilet is a jacuzzi. Although eventually we managed to break him of this habit, the jacuzzi explanation popped again during potty training when the R.A. demonstrated not only an aversion to the toilet but would have all out nuttys when placed on one. He was probably thinking, "Poop in the jacuzzi? What is wrong with you people? Miscreants!" That's what he would say if he could speak English or any Earthing dialect.
For a time I was also convinced that not only was he a reluctant astronaut but was actually an alien cat that somehow ended up in a human body. It does make sense -
Cat
Has to everything his way
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Don't touch me!
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Doesn't speak human language
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Doesn't wear clothes
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto (Well, would if he had his way)
Of course I don't really believe my son to be a Reluctant Astronaut.
But sometimes it sure makes sense!
Disclaimer: Although I sometimes describe things about life with my R.A. in a humorous way, please understand that I am not laughing at him. He is my son and I love him very very much. I come from a family that had its share of challenges and I learned from a young age that laughter is powerful. A situation cannot completely hurt you if you are able to find humor and laugh at some parts of it. So that's what I do. And I don't use humor solely with the R.A. My daughter was born with a heart condition that required immediate surgery. (No, I don't make good babies. They come out broken.) She was whisked away by ambulance to the hospital in Boston. It was all unexpected and traumatic. A nice young intern came to speak with my husband and me and was re-assuring us that nothing we had done caused the baby's condition. The stress and sorrow were overwhelming. When the nice young intern concluded I turned to my husband and said, "See, I told you it wasn't from all that smack I did during my pregnancy." The intern froze and then let out this huge belly laugh. Was I appropriate? Probably not. But I had to do something to relieve the stress. Astronaut life is stressful so find the laughter where you can.
And as G.K. Chesterton said, "Humor can get through the keyhole when seriousness is still hammering at the door."
I get this question a lot and actually like it when people ask. Unless a person has significant contact with someone on the spectrum he/she doesn't really understand what an autism driven world is about. Saying that, it isn't always easy to convey what having a child with autism is like. After much consideration, this is what I've come up with -
For me, having a child with autism is like living with an alien from another planet. I call him the "reluctant astronaut (R.A.)" because he really didn't want to come to earth, had absolutely no interest in this space mission. As a result, he didn't pay much attention at the briefings prior to the mission so doesn't know anything about Planet Earth - nothing about language, customs, or Earthling niceties in general. In fact, he is so disinterested in Earth that even though he was sent here, he has absolutely no desire to assimilate into Earth society. Meaning he still doesn't give a rat's ass about Earth mores.
That's also how I "explain" things he does that are pretty much unfathomable to me. For example - for a certain time period he liked to sit in the toilet. No, not on the toilet but in the toilet. I reasoned that on the home planet the toilet is a jacuzzi. Although eventually we managed to break him of this habit, the jacuzzi explanation popped again during potty training when the R.A. demonstrated not only an aversion to the toilet but would have all out nuttys when placed on one. He was probably thinking, "Poop in the jacuzzi? What is wrong with you people? Miscreants!" That's what he would say if he could speak English or any Earthing dialect.
For a time I was also convinced that not only was he a reluctant astronaut but was actually an alien cat that somehow ended up in a human body. It does make sense -
Cat
Has to everything his way
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Don't touch me!
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Doesn't speak human language
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto
Cat
Doesn't wear clothes
Reluctant Astronaut
Ditto (Well, would if he had his way)
Of course I don't really believe my son to be a Reluctant Astronaut.
But sometimes it sure makes sense!
Disclaimer: Although I sometimes describe things about life with my R.A. in a humorous way, please understand that I am not laughing at him. He is my son and I love him very very much. I come from a family that had its share of challenges and I learned from a young age that laughter is powerful. A situation cannot completely hurt you if you are able to find humor and laugh at some parts of it. So that's what I do. And I don't use humor solely with the R.A. My daughter was born with a heart condition that required immediate surgery. (No, I don't make good babies. They come out broken.) She was whisked away by ambulance to the hospital in Boston. It was all unexpected and traumatic. A nice young intern came to speak with my husband and me and was re-assuring us that nothing we had done caused the baby's condition. The stress and sorrow were overwhelming. When the nice young intern concluded I turned to my husband and said, "See, I told you it wasn't from all that smack I did during my pregnancy." The intern froze and then let out this huge belly laugh. Was I appropriate? Probably not. But I had to do something to relieve the stress. Astronaut life is stressful so find the laughter where you can.
And as G.K. Chesterton said, "Humor can get through the keyhole when seriousness is still hammering at the door."
Saturday, June 18, 2011
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