As has been referenced previously (numerous times), the R.A. finds earthlings disgustingly weak. Therefore he has us in a rigorous and constant training program in an attempt to toughen us up. It's been pretty slow going for all concerned. The R.A. gets frustrated by our consistent wimpiness and we are exhausted by the grueling training exercises. In addition to the exercises being grueling, he likes to include elements of surprise. It's sort of like someone tapping you on the shoulder, you turn, and WHAM! You get a whack in the face with a cast iron skillet. Only it's rarely that pleasant.
Currently the R.A. is working on my speed and my night vision both of which he finds lacking, as he finds with pretty much everything else about me. He is attempting to combat these deficiencies with a specific daily exercise. All I want to do is get dressed so I can drop his sister off at school and I can go to work. For him it is another opportunity to whip me into shape. The R.A. has taken my daily dressing process and made it as challenging as he can without actually involving mixed martial arts and that's probably only because he's under a time crunch.
By the time I need to get dressed, the R.A. is up and about. Well, he's been up for about 2 to 3 hours, caterwalling and yowling in his room, demanding to be set free, our usual cheerful morning greeter. His
man servant/father complies and releases him. The R.A. retires to our bedroom to spend time relaxing before he himself heads off to school. He spends time attempting to climb his father's bureau, demanding potato chips from his man servant, attempting to climb the bookcase, demanding pretzels from his man servant, attempting to climb the book shelves. You know, the usual wake up activities.
In the midst of this, I attempt to get myself dressed. The training exercise has begun. The first few minutes is like an obstacle course as I navigate around carefully arranged trains, Lego pieces, and puzzle pieces that cover most of my bedroom floor. It's sort of the R.A'.s equivalent to land mines. Stepped upon in bare feet it can be excruciatingly painful. I should also mention this exercise is done in the dark as the R.A. does not allow us to flick on the lights. In addition to being a night vision exercise, it is also an exercise in coordination and despite spending almost every morning encountering this field o' foot pain, much to the R.A.'s dismay, I never improve.
Eventually I make my way to my closet. In the dark. Now I really need the light turned on. Obviously this is completely unacceptable. The minute I turn the light on, the R.A. flicks it off, often barking at me as he can't believe my incredible gall. I think it translates into, "Did I say you could turn the light on, you worthless and weak earthling? You have not earned the privilege of the light!" We go back and forth for a few minutes. Sometimes the R.A. messes with me and doesn't go for the light switch right away and I scurry into the closet only to just touch a piece of clothing when, "Flick!" the light goes off. At this point my husband gets involved and a vigorous match of Greco-Roman baby wrestling ensues as Daddy tries to pull the R.A. away from the light switch. It's like the scene in Saving Private Ryan where they're storming the beaches of Normandy except louder and bloodier. There's screaming and tears. And the R.A. is upset too. When my husband finally manages to remove the R.A. from the light switch he hollers, "Now! Go! Go! Go!" I hurtle myself into the closet, knowing I'm on borrowed time. My hands are shaking and I'm cursing my color blindness, hoping against hope that I don't pull out something that makes me look like an Albanian refuge (no offense, Albanian refugees.) Half the time what I end up with is probably an affront to Albanian refugees.
Exhausted and traumatized, I finally dress myself. All told, this morning exercise adds about 20 minutes on to my "morning toillette" and takes about 6 years off my life. I'm seriously considering getting dressed the night before and sleeping in my clothes.
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."
You will be very blessed in your next life. Either that, or your were very naughty in your last life. ;)
ReplyDeleteI've been telling people that I must have been a real a-hole in my past life. Payback stinks!
ReplyDelete