It comes as no surprise that my morning training is going no where. As I'm unable to pull myself together and perform to his outrageously demanding expectations, the R.A. has expanded morning exercises. Either the R.A. is really pushing me to perform or he's punishing me. Knowing him, it's a little of both but mostly the latter.
The yowling at me has also increased. This is obviously a symptom of his overwhelming frustration. I can only imagine his missives home:
769th Day of Ypfklakdnbjdio in the 45766 Year of Our Kitchen God
Another headache-inducing, frustrating morning of stamina building exercises with the Mommy Lady. I had hoped that since she was not blessed with brain, her talents would be more physically based. Alas, this is painfully not true. To put it bluntly, that Mommy Lady sucks. Despite daily morning exercises, her coordination is not improving. In fact, I believe it is actually getting worse. I admit it was so atrocious to begin with that even I did not see that one coming. The other morning, while she attempted to navigate the obstacle course I had very carefully constructed, she misstepped and (horror of horrors) almost fell on top of me, knocking my chip out of my hand in the whole ugly process. Have no fear - she did pay dearly for that transgression. All I will say is that the punishment did involve a Sharpie marker.
The night vision is also not demonstrating signs of improvement, however, this is due primarily to her own weakness and stupendous laziness. We still battle daily over her insistence on turning on a light. In desperation she will also attempt to enlist the assistance of that Daddy Guy. This exercise does not concern him and I wish he would just MHOB.* Fortunately with one carefully directed head butt he is easily redirected.
Unfortunately, my attempts to toughen the old broad up are failing miserably. Instead of rising to the occasion as any warrior worth her salt would, the Mommy Lady whines, cajoles, and even (much to my disgust) begs. She also has surrendered on numerous occasions and subsequently has left the house looking like a Kweelfarxian refugee (no offense to Kweelfarxian refugees although some of the outfits the woman has cobbled together would even be offensive to them.)
I am at my wit's end. In my great despair I have invoked the Kitchen God to give me strength. Obviously I must stop coddling the Mommy Lady. I have decided to intensify our trainings. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
That is exactly what the R.A. has done. If I thought mornings were challenging before, we have entered a whole new stratosphere of torture. Training has intensified. Previously, the no lights mandate only involved the bedroom. It has now expanded to the entire second floor of the house - the hallway, his bedroom, the bathroom.
On the plus side, I can now shower in complete darkness. As long as I don't have to do anything that is in my best physical interest to see what I'm doing, such as shaving, I'm doing all right. Shaving can be tricky as you really need to see which end of the razor you're grabbing. If I do cut myself at least I have quick access to soap and water so the chances of infection are greatly reduced.
Originally, during the showering portion of my morning toilette, my husband tried to intervene. This resulted in the bathroom light being flashed on and off and lots of yelling. I sort of felt like I was having an epileptic fit.
Out of the shower is tough too. As my bathroom gets very warm and full of steam, I like to open the bathroom door once I'm out of the shower. At this point I do need the light to continue getting ready as I haven't mastered putting makeup on in the dark or doing my hair. This is what happens:
I hop out of the shower and flick the light on and within 30 seconds a little hand appears around the doorway and "Click", off goes the light. I click it back on. Within nano seconds the light is turned off. I turn it back on. The R.A. appears in the doorway, frothing mad. Now I try to block his hand from the light switch. He's not having it. We tussle. Despite the heat, I'm now trying to maneuver him out of the bathroom and close the door. He's really not having it. After an impromptu session of Greco Roman baby wrestling and extreme chinning, I get him out and quickly close the door. The R.A. remains outside the door, hollering at me. Here's a loose interpretation - "You can't do that to me! Do you know who I am, you intergalactic dung beetle? I've been thrown out of much better places! I know you have the light on! I can see it under the crack at the bottom of the door! I demand you open this door this instant!"
I wish I could just get everything done in that one session, but alas, I can't. I do need to leave and re-enter the bathroom which means we have repeat wrestling sessions. Sometimes the training is so rigorous I need to shower again.
The R.A.'s training regime has expanded to include his sister. She gets a "double dose" of toughening as not only will the R.A. turn the lights off on her while she's in the bathroom but he will also slam the door, one time jamming it shut which caused her to have a melt down during which she dramatically shouted that she would be "locked in the bathroom forever!" Despite that clearly being his plan, I was able to get her out. Of course the R.A. was most displeased at being foiled. He avenged himself by chinning me "on eleven."
It's pretty bad when you're completely exhausted and it's not even 7:30 AM. I'm at the point where I'm praying for vaporization to put me out of my misery.
*Mind His Own Business
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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