Latest entry in the R.A.'s Diary:
629th Day in the Month of Svvvvmkdiejflnfodj in the 6793rd Year of Our Kitchen God
The past few nights I have been burning the midnight oil as well as the 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM and 4 AM oils. Unlike the home planet which boasts 62.3 hours in a day, the feeble earth day of a mere 24 hours is simply unacceptable. No wonder earth culture is so backward. It's like the entire planet is on a permanent half day schedule and everyone knows that people slack off on half days because it's not a "real" day. Since they don't have actual full days, nothing important is ever accomplished like harnessing cold fusion or inventing a peanut butter that doesn't stick to the roof of the mouth. Of course we consider them the hillbillies of the galaxy. All they need to do is to hoist the planet up on cinder blocks to complete the picture.
My caregivers insist on a set bed time, completely disregarding that I have a pressing agenda. Why those two half witted dimwits don't get it, only the Kitchen God knows. There simply and literally are not enough hours in the day for me to get it all done. The Daddy Guy's bureau isn't going to climb itself and my trampoline jumping totals are way off. I've also initiated a new project of climbing around the edge of the china cabinet on my tiptoes. And don't even get me started on the invasion plans. I am so far behind that I haven't sent back any Dum Dum reconnaissance models in weeks.
I simply do not understand my caregivers seeming obsession with sleep. It is a waste of perfectly good hours. Hours that they should be using to improve themselves. Kitchen God knows they need every second they can get their hands on. Therefore, although I do have a significant amount on my plate, I have decided a far more important task is to break them of this bad habit. Sleep is nothing but indulgence and indulgence is a sign of being soft.
The sleep deprivation exercises have been ongoing all week, commencing at about 3:30 AM. Unfortunately my caregivers are excruciatingly lazy and sometimes it can take up to an hour of non-stop caterwalling and wall kicking before they rouse themselves from their nocturnal stupor and release me from my cell. As they are extremely indolent, once we re-enter their bed chamber they climb back into bed which completely defeats the purpose of the entire exercise. I then must engage in excessive trampoline jumping and bureau climbing in attempts to bestir them. Simultaneously I am yowling loudly. These attempts to awaken them are often futile. I then must resort to pulling the Mommy Lady's hair and whacking the Daddy Guy with the television clicker. These actions don't always result in getting them up so I am forced to tug on arm hair.
The sleep deprivation project has not been easy as my caregivers are two of the biggest daffodils in the universe. After only three days of the program they are reduced to tears, begging me to "Please be a good boy and go to sleep." Pathetic. I confess that most of the time their undignified behavior disgusts me. No wonder I never make eye contact with them.
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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