The R.A. makes all sorts of noises and sounds. That's what they sound like to our human ears. In reality he's probably on conference calls to the home planet - "I didn't think it possible but these people are actually becoming even stupider as time progresses. Let's deep six the invasion and just vaporize the bejeebers out of the whole planet. I think it would be a real public service for the whole universe. Oh, and is Whurt Mlerb 8 there? I have another ketchup recipe for his wife. Sure, I'll hold."
Anyway, sometimes the noises sound like certain words. For a while he was making sounds that resembled, "Pop Pop weeeezil." One day my husband said, "I think he's saying, 'Pop goes the weasel.'"
"No, he's not," I disagreed. "Where would he have heard such a thing? It isn't in his orbit."
My husband counter disagreed with my disagreeing and insisted that the R.A. was saying "Pop goes the weasel."
"Look," said my husband. He turned to the R.A. and said, "Pop goes the weasel." The R.A. became excited so then my husband started singing the song. This only excited the R.A. more.
Son of a gun. My husband was right. The R.A. was singing "Pop Goes the Weasel." Where he heard it, we don't know. I asked his teacher and she said they did not sing it at school. Maybe it is on his greatest hits MP3 player from the home planet.
The R.A. was thrilled that his significantly dim caregivers finally copped on to his favorite song. Despite our dimness, we were thrilled that he was using language. We always sing to him and with him to encourage his language development and added "Pop Goes the Weasel" to our limited repertoire. (We'll never be confused for a white, mixed gender version of Destiny's Child but we sing with great gusto. Hopefully that makes up for our general lack of "bootyliciousness.")
Eventually, instead of us initiating the singing of PGTW*, the R.A. would come to us, jump up and down, wave his hands and say, "Pop Pop Weeeezil" meaning, "Excuse me, Mother/Father, I should very much like a rousing rendition of my favorite tune, 'Pop Goes the Weasel." Gladly we would oblige, and would sing the first 27 rounds of it with tremendous spirit. By about the 28th or so our enthusiasm would wane not to mention that we had lives to lead so we were unable to sing PGTW completely uninterrupted for hours at a time. To this the R.A. responded, "Not my problem." Of course he didn't say "Not my problem" but we could tell by his body language (grabbing our arms and shaking them while demanding "POP POP WEEEEZIL") that's what he felt.
The other night I was getting my dinner ready. The R.A. was keeping me company - toe walking around the kitchen while making his nightly conference call to the home planet and also lining up his trains on the floor - you know, the usual. Suddenly he decided it was music time, tugging on my shirt and saying, "Pop pop weeezil." One never denies a command performance so I started to trill, "All around the cobbler's bench..." and pretty much kept it up right up until I finally sat down and picked up my fork. I thought since I'd sung it about 42 times I had satisfied the R.A. and also earned my right to a meal.
I believe the R.A. comes from a very tough planet. They probably think ancient Spartans were nothing but a bunch of froofy Princess Kitties - "Come back with your shield or on it?" the R.A.'s people would scoff at this common directive from Spartan mothers sending their sons off to battle. "What sort of delicate deely beepers (home planet equivalent to our daisies) need shields?" Then they no doubt laugh uproariously.
This toughness no doubt permeates all life on the home planet including entertainment. I say this because although I kept telling the R.A. that I could not continue singing as I was eating, he wasn't buying it. He grabbed my hand that was holding my fork and shook it - "POP POP WEEEZIL!!!" To no avail was I able to convince him that singing and eating were not a good combination. Obviously there is no messing around with dinner theater on the home planet. Woe to the alien that is not tough enough to perform and consume dinner. (I would also hate to see the state of the floors and tables during these shows. I wonder if the audience is provided with rain type ponchos to keep themselves somewhat clean during the performance.)
This type of thing is not something to compromise on. It isn't safe to sing and eat and anyway, even if the R.A. does have autism he still has to understand that I am the parent and what I say goes.
Yeah, right. You know darn well that I sang and attempted to eat dinner simultaneously. I do not recommend it as there is a lot of sputtering and choking involved, neither of which is tolerated by the R.A. who viewed them as unnecessary interruptions. When it was finally over he looked at me as if to say, "Not your best performance." I was just relieved he didn't make me start all over again. I live to sing another day! Oh, wait. Maybe that isn't such a good thing...
*"Pop Goes the Weasel"
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."
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