Here We Go Again (Yet Again)

As those who regularly read this blog know, the R.A. has his share of quirks/obsessive compulsive tendencies - coloring every square inch of a sheet of paper (both sides), lining up Thomas trains, a preference for McDonald's french fries, his eating habits in general.  He also has other compulsions that tend to be cyclical, randomly appearing and disappearing - for example taking every puzzle piece out of its frame and lining the pieces up on the floor or arranging Dum Dum's in distinct patterns on the floor. He will engage in certain behaviors or activities for weeks or even months.  Then abruptly, with seemingly no (earth) reason, will stop an activity.  But then, just as mysteriously, months later the R.A. will take it up again.  My theory is that these activities have to do with planning the imminent invasion of earth.

Currently the R.A. is back to his puzzle piece obsession.  There are four wooden puzzles involved - a number puzzle, an alphabet puzzle, a teddy bear puzzle, and a train puzzle.  All the pieces from all of these particular puzzles are involved.  It's never some of the train and all of the ABC or just all the number puzzle.  It's all or nothing and it's never nothing.  A new twist is that the pieces of the number puzzle must be removed at the bottom of the stairs and only in that location.  If we try to grab him as trots by us with the puzzle he will nimbly dodge us while yowling in frustration - "Don't you get it?  I can only set this model up in that area or the experiment won't work! I can't set it up in the middle of the living room as that will incorrectly increase the number of variations.  Oh my Kitchen God, these earthlings are so stupid!  It's a wonder they haven't annihilated themselves in bizarre washing machine accidents."

Once the pieces are removed and arranged he never touches them again.  We must step around the pieces, over the pieces, and sometimes (and painfully) on the pieces.  The R.A. tiptoes or toe jumps gracefully between the pieces, occasionally pausing to finger flick and yowl at random pieces. Perhaps he is reading patterns or working on some sort of brilliant alien equations - "Okay, so if there are roughly 7,054,543,253 people occupying this Kitchen God forsaken planet, and if my calculations are correct, we will need 17.6 zfbiks to vaporize half of them.  Give or take half a pzv."

When we ascertain that enough time has passed that we may request the R.A. pick up the pieces without him unleashing too much viciousness, we tell him it's time to clean up and to really bring the point home, we start to sing the clean up song.  He shrieks in indignation (either at having to break down his work or at our singing or a combination of both), chins himself and then usually the offending parent and thus begins the deconstruction of his models.  Every endeavor with the R.A. must also involve his unique imprimatur and puzzle clean up is included.  The R.A. doesn't just pop the pieces back into their designated spots in their frames.  Each piece is picked up, placed in its spot and then, with his right index finger, the piece is rubbed three times.  He does this for each piece he touches.  The rubbing procedure ensures clean up time takes at least double the time so we have to make sure we have allotted enough time in our own schedules for the enterprise.  Remember - nothing is ever simple with this kid.  That's probably part of his overall plan.

Another bit of R.A. whimsy involves his clothes or rather lack of clothes.  Back when the R.A. was about two years old he started removing his clothes during nap time and during the night.  Upon entering his room we would discover the R.A. in his natural state.  Taking the idea of "Nature Boy" to the extreme he would also wee and/or poo all over his room and all items in it (bed and toys.)  The R.A.  would greet us one of two ways -  crowing happily and jumping up and down in delight (often in a puddle of his own waste) or standing tip toe on his window sill growling, "Tuck! Tuck!" meaning "Stuck! Stuck!"  Although the R.A. could very agilely pull himself up onto the sill he could not figure out how to get down and would thus strand himself on the sill.  When this occurred he never called out for help instead waiting until the grown up finally appeared and then, irritated, demanded that the stupid adult pull him down.  Luckily the R.A. only has two windows in his room and even more fortunately one faces our street and the other is directly over our neighbor's driveway and faces right into their dining room.  Yes, they did have many memorable Sunday dinners as they often reported to me.  

Many issues were created by this "au natural" quirk.  My husband and I were very worried about the R.A.'s penchant to hang out on window sills.  Although we were distressed by the idea of the R.A. falling out the window, having been well acquainted with the R.A. and his talent for naughty, we were more concerned about him climbing out the window and on to the roof.  Because let's face it, there was a better chance of a naked roof stroll than a fall.  After much thought and consulting experts (carpenters, the fire department, circus performers) we decided to Plexiglas over the windows and sills, thereby preventing the R.A. sill access.

We only Plexiglassed windows in the R.A.'s room figuring when he got stranded on sills in other rooms in the house there would be an adult immediately on the scene.  Theoretically the adult would be so attentive that the R.A. wouldn't even get a chance to climb up on the sill...  Okay, sometimes we aren't always and literally on top of the R.A.  Don't forget that he is crafty in a super villain sort of way.  Listen, don't judge us!  The dishwasher is not going to unload itself! Despite living with said super villain we still have a home to run.

Despite taking care of the sill situation we still had the problem of the R.A. using his room as his own personal chamber pot.  My husband and I briefly discussed duct taping the diaper onto the R.A. but were dissuaded by the fact that the R.A. has sensitive skin.  Coincidentally at about this time my husband caught a documentary on television about a family that had six children on the autism spectrum.  Some of these children also removed pajamas during the night.  Their clever parents devised an ingenious solution, even more ingenious as it didn't involve anything expensive or complicated.  They purchased one piece, zippered, footie pajamas and cut the feet off them.  The pajamas were put on the children backward so that the children couldn't reach the zippers and therefore could not undress.  Genius!  Why those people were not nominated for a Nobel prize in science I will never know.  

Why I bring the "au natural" idiosyncrasy up is that it has reared its ugly head or rather bottom again.  Yesterday morning my husband discovered the R.A. in his room in all his "glories" and with various "presents" left all over the room.  As the R.A. had not engaged in naked time for well over a year, we had forgotten about it.  He has worn "regular" two piece PJ's to bed loads of times and has been put into his room for naps in his clothes without any incidents.  But that's part of the R.A.'s M.O.  He always lulls us into a false sense of security and then BAM! He's all about keeping us in a constant state of "What the hell happened?"  Between lack of sleep and messing with our heads the R.A. always has the upper hand.  So we're pretty much always where he wants us:

Confused, exhausted, frazzled, and a little frightened.

Frankly, I'm ready for the vaporization.

I Love a Parade...Sort Of

Yesterday we attended our town's annual Santa Parade.  As we did last year, we ate lunch at a restaurant on the route.  Other people had a similar idea and the place was packed, much to the R.A.'s dismay.  We also had a waitress who was unfamiliar with our routine, meaning the minute we entered the door an order for french fries should have been put in.  It was not and the waiting caused the R.A. significant anxiety illustrated by his constant observation of the pick up window, yowling, and energetic hand stimming.  The stimming was so vigorous I was afraid he was going to sprain his wrists.  To add insult to injury, my daughter and I both received our food before the R.A.  At this breach of protocol the R.A. caterwauled in fury: "Listen Lady, I don't know if you're new here but I'm sort of a big deal.  This is unacceptable.  I demand to speak with your superior officer!"  My husband and I were somewhat nervous that we would be in for a "Vomit of Retribution."  Finally the R.A.'s fries arrived and he settled down, his silence only interrupted by his barking for more fries.  There was one brief moment where we did fear a vomit eruption but it was averted by my scraping off the offending chewed up blob of fries from the R.A.'s tongue and then wiping his tongue with a napkin.  Fortunately he deemed his tongue and mouth reasonably cleansed from the repellent morsel and continued eating and we enjoyed the rest of meal in relative peace, well, for us.

The only slight ripple was when it was time to leave.  As the R.A. was still noshing on his fries, he was loath to leave and while we were wrangling him into his coat did attempt to lunge across the table to snatch more fries.  Twice.

As we left the restaurant, the R.A., still annoyed by our premature departure, yowled and chinned his father's hand.  I think it also included some preemptive caterwauling along the lines of, "Now what in the Kitchen God's name are you making me do now?"

The R.A. quickly discovered it was to stand on a nearby sidewalk.  He looked around at our fellow sidewalk loafers, his expression reading, "And we are doing this because...?"  A few times he stepped off the curb and looked up and down the deserted street.  He would then look around him as if to say, "I still don't get it." 

The R.A. had also decided that we were more than the usual embarrassment to him and he diligently worked to look as if he were not with us.  No matter how many times we requested he come and stand with us, he resisted.  Sometimes he would stand near us but then, slyly, shuffle a few more steps further away.

The parade had not yet begun but the toy vendors were trotting their carts up and down the street.  These the R.A. found quite interesting, especially when he noticed multiple "Sticks of Infamy" (SOI)* hanging off them.  The first time he recognized this he actually did a double take: "There are multiple SOI's?"  A few times the R.A. also tried to run after a cart.

His sister purchased a small red dog attached to a SOI.   Initially the R.A. was too busy chasing the carts to notice.  Eventually he did, illustrating this by jumping, flapping and caterwauling.  His sister, quickly catching on to what that meant warned him, "Don't even think about it."  The look he shot her said, "We'll see."

As we were on the sidewalk, the traditional thoroughfare for pedestrians, people did walk by.  This was a great affront to the R.A. and as people passed he would jump up and down indignantly and stim his fingers at them.  To the casual observer it looked like he was putting a hex on them.  Perhaps he was...

At this point the R.A. had become intrigued with a nearby family.  Initially we thought it wasn't so much that he was interested in the family as it was in an abandoned SOI that one of their children had carelessly tossed next to an unoccupied lawn chair.  The R.A. cased the scene.  Slowly and cagily, he would edge toward their "parade base" and then, confident that no one was looking, would charge toward the SOI only to be thwarted by me, my husband, or his sister.  Yowling in indignation, the R.A. would stomp back to our general direction, wait about 28 seconds and then renew his assault.  This went on a few more times until finally the R.A. admitted defeat.

He then turned his attention to a small grassy area that was behind us.  Children were running and twirling streamers.  The R.A. observed them wearing an expression that I'm sure Jane Goodall wore when she was out in the mist observing gorillas.  After a bit he ran into the middle of all the activity and began spinning and caterwauling.  The other children immediately dispersed.

Due to his numerous attempts to chase down vendor carts, steal an SOI, and spinning, the R.A. had worked up quite an appetite.  He stumbled back over to us and demanded juice and chips.  He ate a chip and sipped some juice and then carefully placed them on the sidewalk next to our backpack.  The R.A. then ran back to the grassy area for the start of the parade.  He would skitter back to us to nibble a chip and sip some juice and then scamper back to the grassy area, reminding me of a yowling squirrel. 

The R.A. then became enamoured of the SOI family, even going so far as attempting to join their group, obviously attracted by their fancy lawn chairs and assortment of SOI's.  He did try a few times to jump onto their lawn chairs,some of which were unoccupied.  The R.A. showed his unhappiness at being denied access to a new family by tearing his hat off his head and throwing it to the ground while viciously yowling.  For some reason this alarmed the R.A.'s potential new family.

Foiled in his attempt to be adopted by another family, the R.A. next turned his attention to a nearby row of trees.  He spent some time trying to climb them despite the fact that none had any low branches.  The R.A. eventually discontinued this enterprise and thus engaged in tree to tree to tree to tree wind sprints, pausing to boogie whenever a band marched by.  By boogie I mean rocking side to side while caterwauling.

While frolicking amidst the trees, the R.A. unwittingly acquired a playmate - an unwanted playmate.  Much to the R.A.'s horror a toddler was quite keen on wooing him to be her newest chum.  She tried to befriend him by offering him long twigs.  He vigorously rebuffed her gifts by turning his back toward her and even running to the other trees with her in hot pursuit.  Undeterred she persisted.  Eventually she concluded the R.A. was not a twig man and switched to pine cones.  These too were met with rejection and an expression that was a cocktail of panic, disdain, and exasperation - all made by energetically not making eye contact.  The R.A. finally accepted her offering of a leaf, probably just to get her off his back.  The minute the leaf touched his hand he batted it to the ground.  The toddler then tried to impress the R.A. by rubbing dirt on one of the trees.  He looked at her as if to say, "Really?  That's all you've got?  How lame."  The R.A. then stomped off to angrily demand gummies from his father and then irritably chomped on them.  The toddler, finally getting the message that the R.A. did not want to make friends, did not follow.

When we returned from the parade the R.A. made a half hearted attempt to steal his sister's new SOI.  He then shut himself in his room, obviously needing time to decompress after such a hellish afternoon.  The R.A. caterwauled for a bit and then fell asleep, drained by the Santa parade -  as most of us are.

Happy Howlidays!

*I have to mention that the original SOI was finally retired, covertly, earlier this year.  After withstanding many many rigorous and furious brandishings, it was quite tattered.  We had a small yet tasteful send off to the trash while the R.A. was at school.

Trick or Trick II

Halloween is a big deal in our house - for my daughter.  This is because when it comes to junk food, my daughter is very sheltered.  She was almost 3 years old when she had her first peanut butter cup.  I'll never forget it.  After eating it, my daughter came tearing into the kitchen, hollering, "Mommy, that chocolate had peanut butter in the middle of it!"  It's like she's Amish when it comes to candy.  That was also the year she finally understood what trick or treating was all about and attempted to go trick or treating for most of the month of November, becoming quite upset when we wouldn't let her.  Once she was so desperate she actually managed to get herself into her costume.  Granted, it was backward and upside down but it was still on.  She was so relentless in her demands to trick or treat that one night my mother and I, in desperation, allowed her to "faux" trick or treat.  My mother went into her room and I went into the bathroom.  My daughter, clutching her trick or trick pumpkin, would knock on each of those doors.  We would "answer" and put candy in the pumpkin. It was actually "recycled" candy as it was taken from her pumpkin but since she was so young it didn't register with her and she was just pleased to get the candy.

Let me explain that I am not one of those "we only eat all natural and healthy although crap tasting food" mothers.  I am careful about the sweets because my daughter comes from a short, round, and metabolically slow people and her idea of exercise is a good brisk sit.  This means that she already  has a propensity toward chubby.  One time my husband returned from taking her to a doctor's appointment and announced that based on her height and weight, our daughter is a perfect square.  That is why junk food is extremely limited in our house.  The minute the calendar changes to September my daughter starts counting down to October 31st.  She enjoys the costume aspect but it's really all about the forbidden fruit or rather forbidden candy.

I am quite parsimonious when it comes to doling out her Halloween candy, limiting how much she can eat at a time.  She will attempt to negotiate, "The container of Nerds is small so how about one box of Nerds plus a Milky Way?"  I, like George W. Bush, however, refuse to negotiate with terrorists.  The big rule is that all candy left in her pumpkin by the Monday after Thanksgiving is given to her father to take into work.  Two weeks prior, my daughter starts to become slightly unhinged. She will periodically take inventory of the contents, "Two Star Bursts, three Nestle Crunch, one Swedish Fish.  Sacrifice the fish, save the Hershey bar - unless it has almonds."  She will circle the pumpkin and mumble to herself, "Three Kit Kats left.  Need to eat those before...the Last Day."  By Thanksgiving weekend I wouldn't be surprised to see her caressing the pumpkin and crooning, "Precious, my Precious."

This year, due to Super Storm Sandy, trick or treating in our town was postponed to the Saturday after Halloween.  Understandably,  my daughter was quite distraught at the news - picture a drug addict discovering there are no more illegal substances available within a 3500 mile radius.  She actually sputtered, "They can't do that to me!  I've been waiting for  an entire year!"  Only the promise of two pieces of candy from our Halloween stash for dessert on Halloween night managed to get her off that ledge.  "I guess that is sort of like two extra unanticipated pieces of candy," she sniffed, magnanimously.

When Saturday finally arrived, my daughter was up at 6 AM, eager to make sure she didn't sleep through trick or treating.  We began the day with an animated discussion of why she could not have a peanut butter cup for breakfast.  "But it's our Postponed-Actual-Halloween!" she argued.

It was a loooonnnggg day, working our way toward the magic hour of trick or treating and not just because we started our day so dang early.  Any occasion for food (lunch, snacks) was pre-empted by heated exchanges involving inclusion of candy because it was "our Postponed-Actual-Halloween."

Finally it was time to don costumes and head out.  One of my friends came over to accompany us out trick or treating.  She even dressed in a witch's costume.  Not only was I impressed by her enthusiasm but amazed that she would willingly want to come to our house for any reason.  I tend to try to leave my house for any reason. 

My daughter was so excited she was practically vibrating.  As with any special occasion, the R.A. looked bewildered yet irritated.  Originally, the R.A. was supposed to be a pirate but unfortunately his pirate hat was lost in the "Great Vomit Escapade of the Unscary Movie" event at his sister's school. By lost I mean that he threw up all over it and I didn't feel like schlepping it and a vomit covered R.A. through the parking lot so I tossed it in the school trash.  Therefore my husband dragged out last year's Thomas the Tank Engine costume.  Bemused, the R.A. permitted us to drape it over him.  When I walked him to the front door, he balked.  "Outside?  You're making me go outside -into the wild?  But it's cold and there's no black Sharpie markers out there.  There's also fresh air and you know it makes me sick."  As I walked down the front steps with him, he did try and run back into the house a couple of times.  Of course my husband decided now would be the perfect time to get some photos of the children in their costumes.  During the photo shoot I had the happy task of wrangling with the R.A.  Any time I let go of his hand he would bolt and attempt to escape into the house while hollering, "No, please!  House, please!" It was sort of like a reverse prison break.

Off my friend and I went with the children to trick or treat, the R.A. bitching the entire time.   It wasn't screaming or shrieking.  It was sort of like a whiny yowl or a yowling whine. "Yowl, yowl, whine, yowl, whine, whine, bitch, yowl, whine, bitch, bitch, chin, chin, caterwaul."  Loosely translated: "This is so stupid!  I can't believe you are dragging me outside in practically subzero temperatures in this ridiculous get up!  I believe this is a clear violation of the Geneva Convention!  As the Kitchen God is my witness you will be among the first vaporized when the invasion comes.  And believe you me, it's coming!"  Gamely, we soldiered on, me half dragging the R.A.  I don't think the kid paused for breath.  He consistently maintained the yowling whine the entire time.  We would walk/drag up someone's driveway, up their stairs, ring the bell, receive the candy, stumble back down the stairs, walk/drag down the driveway, and head back on the road - all accompanied by the R.A.'s Halloween soundtrack of  "Yowl, yowl, whine, yowl, whine, whine, bitch, yowl, whine, bitch, bitch, chin, chin, caterwaul."   For the neighbors that knew us I just yelled "thank you" over the yowling and shrugged as if to say, "Well, you know the R.A."  For those neighbors that didn't know us (and often stood frozen in their doorways, clasping their bowls of candy in shock) I hollered, "He has autism.  I think he's having a bit of a hard time with the whole trick or treating thing," and then I smiled sheepishly as if to say, "Kids do the darnedest things, huh?"  I did not get any smiles back.

The R.A. was so infuriated with the whole exercise that when we would get to the neighbor's door, I would have to lift his arm that was grasping his Thomas Halloween bucket so that the person could put the candy in.  Often this was an awkward moment as the R.A. would energetically resist me and the neighbor would stand there with her hand suspended in midair, not sure what to do as not only had she never seen a child so resistant to candy but never seen a parent force a child to accept it.  During one such instance I stammered, "Take it.  It's not like she's trying to kill you or something."  I guess the only word to describe my neighbor's expression is horrified.

Some neighbors would offer the bowl of candy for children to make their own selections.  On these occasions the R.A. would charge at the person, caterwauling loudly, chinning his free hand.  He would then take a candy and put it in his sister's bucket.  I believe what he was saying was, "Fine!  I will take your poison, but only because I am being forced to.  However, I will make her take it!  So there, substandard, inferior earth creature!  I will always have the upper hand as I am the superior specimen!" I don't think there is word in the English language to adequately describe the neighbor's alarm.

About three quarters of our way through trick or treating I decided not to subject the R.A. (or myself or the neighbors) to trick or treating, sending my daughter up to the door while the R.A. and I  waited at the bottom of the driveway.    His sister, upon getting a candy would ask for one for her little brother, gesturing toward her brother who was pacing back and forth while muttering viciously and waving his hands around a la Mussolini.  I think people gave candy primarily out of fear.

Obviously we were a big hit in the neighborhood.

Shortly after making this decision, my friend scored a Dum Dum for the R.A.  It did seem to calm him a bit but not quiet him.  He still engaged in his whining yowls with the lollipop tucked to the side of his mouth.  But some of his vexation was tempered.  Thank the Kitchen God for Dum Dums!  Perhaps they are the home planet's equivalent of Xanax.

When we finally finished trick or treating and started to head into our driveway, the R.A. pulled free from my grasp, caterwauled joyfully and ran into the house.  Honestly, I think I wanted to do the same.  I don't know which one of us was more relieved that the ordeal was over. 

Me.  Definitely me.

Because Sometimes the Earth Swallowing You Up Whole Ain't Such a Bad Thing

Last Friday night we attended a "Harvest Party" at the R.A.'s school.  "Harvest Party" is such a quaint expression and makes me think that it would have been something attended by Louisa May Alcott's "Little Women."  But somehow I don't think their "Harvest Party" would have included guests dressed as Avengers, pirates, or Super Mario characters.  I also doubt that Meg or even Jo would have boogied to YMCA.  What costumes and disco dancing have to do with harvest, I can't say.

If you recall last year's "Harvest Party," the R.A. spent the majority of the event diligently avoiding doing anything party related or party appropriate.  He actually spent most of his time wrangling a pumpkin - the match ended in a draw.  (Interestingly, I did notice that there were no pumpkins at this year's event.)

This year the R.A.'s  sister attended. She was very excited to go because as everyone knows, as is custom, you get to wear your Halloween costume to "Harvest Parties."  That and the prospect of snacks meant she knew she was in for a good time.

The R.A. was far more subdued at this year's event.  It's either because pumpkins bring out the animal in him or because his sister was there.  Or maybe a combination of both.

Anything out of his normal routine can make the R.A. anxious.  A "Harvest Party" at school is waaaay beyond his interpretation of "normal."  But I do believe his sister's presence calmed the R.A.  He probably thinks, "They can't be planning to do anything too savage because she's here.  For some reason the dopes dote on her.  Kitchen God knows why as everyone knows I am the far superior specimen. No matter.  I will just make her go first and then should it be a surprise attack, I will make my escape in the chaos."

The R.A. did engage in a few party activities such as the limbo and dancing.  I can't say he had a wonderful time as he spent most of the evening looking puzzled.  If there was a speech bubble above his head it would have said, "What is this about?  Seriously.  What is this about?  I don't get it."  But he couldn't have thought it too atrocious as there was very little yowling or chinning.  Perhaps his confusion distracted him.  Before participating in any activity he would closely watch his sister, obviously thinking, "OK, they didn't blow her up and she's still in once piece.  I guess this "Limbo" thing is harmless.  Stupid yet harmless.  The things that amuse these earthlings.  The invasion is going to be a piece of cake.  Comparatively, cow tipping is more of a challenge."

Tonight we attended a program at my daughter's school - a "Spooky (But Not Scary) Movie Event."  My daughter was doubly excited because in addition to the movie, popcorn, and an after movie craft, she got to wear her Halloween costume.  Twice before Halloween - score!

As my husband had to work and for some reason we don't have loads of people lining up to babysit, I had to take the R.A. with us.   When it was time to purchase the tickets my daughter discovered I had paid for three.

"Is Nana coming?" she asked hopefully.

I shook my head.

"Did Daddy take the night off work?"  Her tone had a begging quality.   She knew who the third ticket was for but was desperate for it not to be true.

"No, it's for your brother."

"No!" My daughter cried.  "He'll ruin it!"

I could not disagree with her.  It's not like she just met the R.A. and his track record with events and special occasions is dismal.  We had a 50 - 50 shot that it would work out.  Well, more like a 40 - 60 shot that it would work out.  Okay, who are we kidding?  Realistically, 30 - 70 shot that it would work out, meaning that the conditions would be in our favor, primarily that the R.A. was not feeling overly vindictive or hateful toward earthlings.  All right, make it 25 - 75 that it would work out.

For the few days prior to the movie night, my daughter regarded the R.A. warily.  A couple of times I overheard her address her brother, "Listen, you'd better not ruin this for me.  I went to your "Harvest Party" and did not do anything to mess it up for you."  He stared back at her, no doubt thinking, "Not that it would have mattered to me.  I thought the whole thing was stupid."

Friday night arrived.  I squelched down any feelings of apprehension, anxiety, and terror and gamely got the children ready for the program.  They both looked awfully cute, my daughter as a witch and the R.A. as a pirate.

My mother wished us luck and off we went.

The entire less-than-five-minutes drive to the school I babbled at the R.A. - "We're going to Sissy's school for a party.  Nice party.  It will be fun. We're going to Sissy's school for a party.  Nice party.  It will be fun."  Not only does the R.A. dislike his own school but any educational institution.  It's like he's afraid therapists are going to swoop out of the woodwork, descend upon him and force him to engage in numerous ABA exercises and make him "use his words."  To ensure he wouldn't be too much of mad man as we pulled into the school's parking lot, I had to give him a heads up.  The trick is not to give him a heads up too soon as that just means prolonged yowlings and chinnings.  We've discovered it's best to do it in the car on the way to the function.  The R.A. is safely ensconced in his car seat and therefore we are out of range of a good chinning.  I'm telling you, there is a science to everything we do with this kid.

Fortunately, the R.A. was fairly mellow about the whole thing.  Maybe he still had memories of his "Harvest Party" and thought this could be similar and not require any torture.  So he only emitted a few indignant caterwauls.

It was sheer madness when we entered the cafeteria.  Children were racing and running and acting as if they had consumed two dozen double espressos just prior to attending the event.  I was also happy to have to lug our three metal foldable chairs while also toting our refreshments as well as our backpack of R.A. supplies while also herding the R.A. himself who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to run toward the children or out of the building.

After much juggling and herding, I finally managed to set up our chairs.  We sat down and the R.A. was extremely interested in observing everything around him.  I believe he was fact gathering for the invasion.  I was pleased because at least he was quiet and still.  Fortunately, every parent over 6 feet tall and 5 feet wide sat in front of us completely obstructing our view so I got the added treat of having to heave our chairs and associated crap to another area with the added bonus of some obnoxious parent grabbing one of my chairs when I went back to get the R.A.s juice cup.  Sweet!

The movie finally started.  The R.A. watched everything but the movie.  He was quiet and I felt somewhat relieved but seeing as we hadn't made it through the opening credits I wasn't allowing myself to relax.

And good thing too because at that point the R.A. coughed.  I urged him to take a drink of juice.  He refused and coughed again.  I was just about to tell him to drink when it happened - the R.A. started to throw up.  Swiftly I pulled him off the seat.  We managed to get five or six paces when the R.A. boofed again.  I started to panic because the bathroom was really far away and being acquainted with the R.A.'s barf M.O. I knew the floor would get several hits along the way.

Due to our previous school endeavors, my family is pretty much regarded as fourth class citizens at my daughter's school.  This whole scene bumped us back to seventh class status.  Although I was occupied it did not block out the stares of horror and disgust.  There were a couple of looks of pity no doubt from other fourth class parents who were aware of my family's imminent downgrade.

We finally managed to make it to the girls' room and I steered him over a toilet bowl.  Per usual, the R.A. initially fought me over vomiting into the bowl but when he realized there was no upholstered furniture in the area he gave in and threw up next to the bowl.

My daughter had followed us into the bathroom.  In between wrangling the R.A. over the bowl and quick runs to the paper towel dispenser, I barked at her to get our stuff.  She balked.  I'm sure she didn't relish having to face all those families.  Fortunately, at this point I was very calm and focused and screeched she'd better do it or else.  Probably figuring the "or else" was worse than the task at hand, she left.

The R.A. then decided if there were no furniture around to vomit on, his shoes would be the next best thing.  He also realized my shirt sleeves were very puke absorbent and energetically wiped his paws on them.

His sister returned, all our accouterments in hand.  Unceremoniously she dumped them on the bathroom floor.

"Okay, I think he's done," I pronounced.  "I need to go tell the PTO president what happened.  You two stay here.  If he starts to throw up again..." I looked helplessly at the puddle of vomit at the R.A.'s feet.  "Just let him.  I will be right back."

Then I had the most unfortunate task of seeking out the PTO president.  I had to walk past the various chair tee pees that cordoned off the R.A.'s boof spots.  As I snaked my way around families and the teepees, some parents made a big deal about warning me about the spots.  One mother hissed to her husband, "She knows.  It was her kid."  

I groveled my apologies and the PTO president was actually very gracious about the situation, even offering to give my daughter a ride home so she could stay for the program.   In retrospect I think this was because she assigned PTO underlings to clean up the mess.

I meandered back to the bathroom.  My daughter and the R.A. were still tucked in the stall and she was reaming out her brother for ruining her night.  The R.A. was extremely contrite and offered sincere and heartfelt apologies. Not.  He was jumping up and down in the vomit puddle and flicking his fingers at her.  Even covered in vomit he was defiant to the end.

My next task was to come up with an escape plan that involved not spreading any more throw up.  I surveyed the R.A.'s shoes. 

"Okay, let's take off your shoes," I instructed.

If the R.A. could speak fluent earthling I think he would have said, "Pardon?  But the floor is covered in boof."

I grabbed some of the last few remaining paper towels, deftly removed the R.A.'s shoes and wrapped them in the paper towels.

Two second graders entered the bathroom at this point.  Although my daughter was scandalized that the R.A. would be walking sans shoes, she was more mortified that other kids were witnessing the madness.

Despite being confounded at finding himself without footwear, the R.A. did leave the bathroom with me, no doubt thinking, "Well, it's finally happened.  She's completely lost her marbles.  To be fair there were only a handful left."  It was when I opened the door to the school yard and motioned he step outside that he energetically demurred.

Now we had attended the program component of the "Spooky (But Not Scary) Movie Event" for less than 12 minutes but  I was as exhausted as if I had run back to back marathons in the Andes (which no doubt would have been more fun.)  My sleeves were covered in vomit from the wrists to the elbows.  I confess that I HAD HAD IT.

"This is not the time for you to worry about your socks.  Out!"  I then gave the R.A. a nudge and with a yowl he stepped outside.

He yowled in indignation all the way to the car.  The loose interpretation is, "Don't you know who I am?  How humiliating to be seen traipsing around without footwear!  I look like a hillbilly from the planet QKhl*4 - with eyeballs, of course!"

My mother was not surprised to see us arrive home so early.  Nor was she surprised to hear what happened.

The R.A.'s sister was extremely upset and I don't blame her. I know the R.A. didn't do it on purpose (okay, I'm fairly certain the R.A. didn't do it on purpose) but it isn't fair that a 9 year old has to suck up so much and so often.  Sometimes well meaning people will say to me, "God bless you" with regard to the challenges that I face with a severely autistic child.  I think they really ought to ask God to bless the siblings of special needs kids because they are the ones who end up missing out on or sacrificing things.  In an autism driven world siblings are the ones to be honored and admired because they have to learn at such a young age to accept, adapt, and have courage.

A Quiet Night In

Yes, I know.  I have not posted in a few weeks.  Between the lavish European spa trips and yachting jaunts around the Caribbean I simply have not had time. Ah, the whirlwind jet set lifestyle that I lead...

The R.A. is quite the little alien about town.  For this posting I thought I would give you a peek into a quiet night at home.

Before I do, a little background about our family arrangements.  For childcare purposes, my husband and I work different shifts.  He works nights and I work days.  We both work full time outside the home and work full time plus 3 part time jobs inside the home.

My mother, a fellow POW, lives with us.  Don't be jealous, but she does the majority of the cooking.  I believe she primarily does this to ensure that there is food other than Pringles, gummies, and Dum Dums in the house.

With no further ado, I present, a typical night at home:

5:09 PM - Leave my day job and combat the mobile cavalcade of dopes also known as "commuting."
5:42 PM - Pull into my driveway.
5:42 PM - Give self pep talk to enter house.
5:44 PM - Anguish because pep talk ineffective.  Contemplate putting car in reverse and rolling soundlessly down driveway and sneaking to Friendley's.
5:45 PM - Plan foiled by daughter who forces me to leave vehicle and enter house.
5:46 PM - Enter house.
5:46 PM - Realize I have less than 15 minutes to do laundry, lay out clothes for the following day, wash the bathtub, sign various permission forms, check e-mail, write blog, etc. before the R.A.'s after school therapy session is done.
5:47 PM - Despondent because I am pretty certain I cannot accomplish the above mentioned tasks in such a short time frame.
5:48 PM - Have become paralyzed by despair.
5:49 PM - Apparently despair makes me hungry.  Have quick, healthy and gastronomically unappealing snack.
5:50 PM - Help corral R.A. back into living room for the remainder of his session.  R.A. protests by running at therapist and shouting, "Bye-bye, please!"
5:51 PM - Informed that therapist needs to leave early.
5:52 PM - Fight back tears.  Promised self I would not cry.  Again.
5:53 PM - R.A. demands "Feh Fies."  I tell him there are none.
5:54 PM - R.A. demands "Feh Fies."  I tell him there are none.
5:55 PM - R.A. demands "Feh Fies."  I tell him there are none.
5:56 PM - Without a yowl or caterwaul, R.A. takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen door.  He places my hand on the doorknob.  He looks at me meaningfully and says slowly as if I am an exchange student from Bulgaria, "Feh fies."  I assure him I understood him the first 37 times and that french fries are not forthcoming.
5:57 PM - 6:12 PM - Subjected to ferocious caterwauling.
6:12 PM - Attempt to lay out daughter's clothes for the morning.
6:13 PM - Remove R.A. from father's sock drawer.
6:14 PM - Attempt to lay out daughter's clothes for the morning.
6:15 PM - Remove R.A. from bathroom counter and wrangle baby enemas from his vicious grasp.
6:16 PM - Attempt to lay out daughter's clothes for the morning.
6:17 PM - Wrangle black Sharpie marker from R.A.'s tiny yet deceptively iron fisted grip.
6:18 PM - Attempt to lay out daughter's clothes for the morning.
6:19 PM - Prevent R.A. from scaling floor to ceiling bookcase.
6:20 PM - Attempt to remember what task I was trying to complete.
6:21 PM - Still thinking.
6:22 PM - Informed by daughter that she needs to eat dinner.
6:23 PM - Instruct daughter to watch R.A. so that I can throw a plate together for her.
6:24 PM - Daughter reports R.A., while wielding a black Sharpie marker,  is sitting on top of the television that is on top of his father's bureau.
6:25 PM - Figure out how to get R.A. down in a such a manner than neither one of us breaks our necks.
6:26 PM - Still thinking.  Difficult to focus as R.A. is brandishing the Sharpie at me while furiously yowling.
6:27 PM - Daughter reminds me she still has not eaten.
6:28 PM - Defy gravity and while precariously teetering on a rocking chair, wrestle R.A. from the top of the TV.
6:30 PM - Wrestle R.A. for the Sharpie.
6:33 PM - Notice Sharpie design on ceiling above TV.
6:34 PM - Mini melt down (R.A. and me).
6:36 PM - Daughter reminds me she still has not eaten.
6:37 PM - Feeling extremely guilty for snapping at daughter.
6:38 - 6:40 PM - Wrangle R.A. into time out chair.
6:40 PM - Stub toe on time out chair.  No longer give a damn about time out chair.
6:41 PM - Prepare plate of food for daughter.
6:42 PM - Alerted to imminent "Boof Fest" by sounds of R.A.'s gagging in the living room.
6:42 PM - Race into living room in attempt to transport R.A. into bathroom before vomiting commences.
6:43 PM - Too late.
6:43 - 6:45 PM - Grapple with a vomiting R.A. in attempt to keep him from throwing up or wiping his vomit covered hands on furniture.  He protests.  Apparently on the home planet, the more plush and upholstered  a piece of furniture, the more desirable a barf bucket.
6:45 PM - Hate husband.
6:46 PM - Daughter reminds me she still has not eaten.
6:47 PM - Informed by R.A. that he is "all done" so carry him up to bathroom.
6:48 PM - While on stairs it becomes apparent the R.A. is, in fact, not "all done."
6:49 PM -Hate husband.
6:50 PM - Daughter reminds me she still has not eaten.
6:51 PM - Peel vomit sodden clothes off R.A. and deposit him into the shower.
6:53 PM - Daughter reminds me she still has not eaten.
6:54 PM - Finally complete putting a plate of food together for my daughter.
6:55 PM - 7:11 PM - Embark on "vomit recon." mission in living room and stairs.
7:12 PM - Remove R.A. from shower.
7:13 PM - R.A. gags.
7:14 - 7:16 PM - R.A. throws up all over bathroom floor.
7:16 PM - Resolve to punch husband in face at first opportunity.
7:16 PM - Place R.A. back in shower.
7:17 PM - 7:21 PM - Clean up bathroom.
7:21 PM -Feel extremely sorry for self.
7:22 PM - Informed by daughter that she just spilled her drink all over the table and floor.
7:23 PM - Rail against the gods and humanity.
7: 24 PM - 7:28 PM - Clean up spilled milk. Do cry over it.
7:29 PM - Gingerly remove R.A. from shower.
7:30 PM - Warily regard R.A.  Try to determine if it's safe to remove him from bathroom.
7:30 PM - R.A. warily regards me.  Just standard operations.
7:31 PM - Warily regarding.
7:32 PM - Still warily regarding.
7:33 PM - Finally dress the R.A.
7:35 - 7:47 PM - Watch R.A. gleefully jump up and down on my bed like he's just consumed half a dozen double espressos.
7:47 PM - R.A. demands juice.
7:48 PM - Depart for kitchen to obtain juice.
7:49 PM - Return to bedroom to discover R.A. in father's sock drawer.
7:50 PM - Tussle with R.A. and finally remove him from sock drawer
7:51- 7:53 PM - Coax/wrangle R.A. down stairs to living room.
7:54 PM - R.A. demands "puhpul ice."
7:55 PM - Return to living room with purple Popsicle to discover R.A. attempting to scale television
7:56 PM - Wrestle yowling R.A. from entertainment center.
7:57 PM - Contemplate running away and joining the circus.
7:58 PM - Horrified to realize that I already live within a three ring circus.
7:59 PM - Hate stupid circus.
8:00 PM - Informed by daughter that it is time for her dessert.
8:01 PM - Consider driving to husband's place of employment not only to punch him but to get out of the house.
8:02 PM - Realize would have to bring children with me.  Defeats purpose of getting out of the house.
8:03 PM - My mother has barricaded herself in her room.
8:04 PM - R.A. is furiously coloring every square inch of a piece of paper.
8:06 PM - Realize paper is actually daughter's ice skating registration form.
8:07 PM - Because coloring means the R.A. is not climbing something, allow him to continue coloring the form.
8:08 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:08 PM - Contemplate joining French Foreign Legion.
8:09 PM - Wonder if there still is a French Foreign Legion.
8:10 PM - If there still is a French Foreign Legion, is fluency in French a requirement?
8:11 PM - Intercept R.A. from dining room where his stash of sister's art supplies are located.
8:12 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:13 PM - R.A. shoves a crayon into my hand.  It's his way of requesting I remove the paper wrapping that is impeding his artistic endeavor.
8:14 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:15 PM - R.A. shoves a crayon into my hand.  It's his way of requesting I remove the wrapping that is impeding his artistic endeavor.
8:16 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:17 PM - R.A. shoves a crayon into my hand.  It's his way of requesting I remove the wrapping that is impeding his artistic endeavor. 
8:18 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:19 PM - Prevent R.A. from climbing the microwave.
8:20 PM - Copious yowling (R.A.'s).
8:21 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:22 PM - R.A. demands more juice.
8:23 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:24 PM - Remove R.A. from dinning room hutch.
8:25 PM - Copious yowling (mine).
8:26 PM - Decide I must have been a real a-hole in a past life.
8:27 PM - Attempt to eat my own dinner.
8:28 PM - Copious yowling (daughter's) who informs me that the R.A. has somehow gotten at her special dry erase crayons and used them to color in his IEP.
8:29 PM - R.A. demands "Feh Fies."  I tell him there are none.
8:30 PM - Give up on eating own dinner.  Decide I will try again tomorrow.
8:31 PM - R.A. demands "Feh Fies."  I tell him there are none.
8:32 PM - Exhausted by his rigorous evening, the R.A. begins to tuck himself in on the couch.
8:33 PM -  Decide R.A. and I have spent enough quality time together.  Announce to R.A. it is bed time.  Despite being half asleep on the couch, the R.A. is offended by this idea and caterwauls in indignation and outrage.
8:34 PM - Lead/drag R.A. to bathroom for his evening "toilette."
8:36 PM - During "toilette" R.A. wees on floor.  Pretty certain it was a "wee of retribution."
8:38 PM - Tuck R.A. into his bed.
8:39 PM - 8:42 PM - Clean up wee.
8:43 PM - Join daughter on couch to watch ALF re-runs.
9:00 PM -Night prayers with daughter. Recall  Mother Teresa saying God never gives a person more than she can handle but that she sometimes wished God didn't think she could handle so much.  Amen to that!  Wonder if it's possible to convince God I am actually an under-achiever.
9:10 PM - Tuck daughter into bed.
9:20 PM - Crawl into bed.
9:21 PM - Pass out in exhaustion, taking comfort in the knowledge that I do it all again tomorrow.

A Loverly Day for a Picnic - Or a Hangin'

This afternoon the R.A.'s school (Institute of Earth Indoctrination) held its family fall picnic.  As expected the R.A. was thrilled by the occasion and had a terrific time - not.  Well, unless scowling and yowling dolefully yet angrily means one is having the time of one's life.  I don't think that is even the case on the home planet.

We knew it would be a bumpy ride when the R.A., led by one of his teachers (captors), came out of the school building glowering furiously while simultaneously caterwauling and covering his ears.  When my husband and I appeared the R.A. looked even more hacked off.  If there was a speech bubble over his head it would have read, "Great.  There's a tent on the front lawn when clearly there shouldn't be and it's stuffed with all these weird strangers and now these two, weirder and stranger than all the rest, arrive.  What fresh hell is this?"

As it was so close to "Grandparents Day" (another Hallmark manufactured bogus holiday) the school encouraged families to invite grandparents to the picnic.  My mother promptly generated three excuses as to why she could not attend. One was actually valid (Sorry, Mom, we know you do speak English, fluently, so lapsing into faux Bulgarian was a waste of time as was feigning death) so she got out of it.   Unfortunately my husband's parents were not as quick with their excuses and got roped into the picnic.  At least they got free meals out of it and the weather held.  Happy Grandparents' Day!

Grudgingly the R.A. sat with us, intermittently yowling and scrupulously avoiding eye contact.  If anyone did attempt conversation he would growl angrily or ignore the remark and energetically peer around the person as if to say, "Whatever is out there is much, much, much more interesting than you.  Oh, look!  A tree stump!  Riveting!"

Once my husband and I determined we spent enough time "visiting" with the R.A. to satisfy school staff who were probably grading us on our interactions with our son (no doubt we failed spectacularly), we left the food tent and took the R.A. outside.  The R.A.'s favorite activity at the June picnic was the bouncy houses.  He so enjoyed jumping that he refused to come out of one of them when his turn was done and my husband was forced to climb inside and wrangle him out.  Luckily for us it was about 100 degrees and 93 % humidity that day!  Therefore, based on this past experience which indicated to us that the R.A. liked the bouncy houses, we took him to one of the bouncy houses.  As we approached the bouncy house the R.A.'s bitter caterwaulings transformed into caterwauls of joy.  Gleefully he removed his sneakers and in his excitement almost removed his socks and pants.  The R.A. then launched himself onto the attached inflatable ramp that leads into the bouncy house.  And then he stayed there, refusing to actually enter the bouncy house.  The R.A. intended to spend his bouncy time on the ramp not inside the house.  I don't know if he saw it as his own personal piece of bouncy real estate or suddenly had a yen for outside bouncing but the R.A. desisted entering the bouncy house.  Obviously my husband and I figured it must have something to do with that particular bouncy house so we tried the two other bouncy houses.  But no.  The inflatable ramp preference was assigned to all the bouncy houses.  My husband and I were desperate to get the R.A. inside a bouncy house as we thought (stupidly) that once we could get him inside the bouncy house he would recall that he liked it.  The R.A., however, would not cross the threshold of the bouncy house entrance, firmly staying on the ramp.  At one point he was crouched on all fours with his head at the entrance and I barked at my husband, "Just push him in!"  I believe that the fact that we were surrounded by school staff intimidated my husband and he refused.  I was so frantic that had my hands not been full of sweaters, water bottles, and the R.A.'s backpack, I would have given him a firm shove.

Much to the R.A.'s dismay we did not allow him to remain on the ramp.  He was unconcerned that he was blocking the way for the other children to enter and leave the bouncy house.  I guess the R.A. figured that was their problem.  Finally we had to physically remove him from the bouncy area.  As my husband and I tried to determine our next course of action, the R.A. yowled in fierce indignation - I believe it was something along the lines of - "How dare you, you backward flibbertygibbets!  How dare you manhandle me in such an undignified fashion!  Do you know who I am?!"  He then grabbed my sweater, threw it on the ground and then plopped on top of it - an apparent act of vengeance against me, his bouncy ramp oppressor.  It's as they say on the home planet - vengeance is a sweater best sat upon.  My husband was lucky to be sweaterless  and so escaped unscathed.

I then tried to distract him from his crabbiness with a sno-cone.  The fact that I went the sno-cone route clearly demonstrates my high level of anxiety as the combination of the R.A. and a sno-cone is not pleasant for his caregiver.  Surprisingly enough, the R.A. does not consume a sno-cone as your A-typical earthling would.  For starters, he refuses to hold the sno-cone which means the parent must hold it and periodically squat down to present it to him.  The R.A. then quickly darts his tongue in the sno-cone concoction and quickly withdraws his tongue.  In all, after about 45 minutes, he has licked maybe 8 bits of shaved ice.  At this juncture the ice has melted leaving mostly the syrup which the R.A. finds offensive.  He then proceeds to order his caregiver to get the galling item out of his sight, immediately if not sooner.

Sadly, the sno-cone lacked its usual magical delight.  It did not deter the R.A. from his churlishness.  We moved on to the arts and crafts table.  Perhaps the R.A. was feeling more introspective because as he worked on slapping stickers on a small white gourd, his yowling was not quite as surly.  It was only when his work of art was completed that his rabid caterwauling resumed.  Staff must have been as desperate as we were as they quickly presented another gourd for the R.A. to decorate.  If the gourd art is any indication of the R.A.'s emotions, he is seriously pissed off.  Really?  He hides it so well!  Thank the Kitchen God he has his art to express himself.

We were honestly surprised by the R.A.'s unhappiness as compared to his behavior at the June picnic.  After thinking a bit I realized that my daughter had attended that picnic.  Sometimes the R.A. is calmer at functions that she attends.  He sees her do something and then is more inclined to also participate.  I believe what happens is, she enters the breech first and if she isn't poisoned, beheaded, or made to listen to bad 70's easy listening rock music, the R.A. feels safe and will follow.  She's the Odie to his Garfield.

Fortunately we only have to wait one month (exactly one month) until the school's Harvest Dance.  Should the R.A.'s current sentiment regarding social functions continue at its current level, I'm guessing he will arrive with a shiv he made from a Pringles container.

Finger Licking Good!

It's official.  I am a nitwit.  Although, if you have been following this blog you have probably honed in on that within a couple of postings.

In the R.A.'s opinion, I am now too stupid to eat without a food coach.  No, I don't mean someone to work with me on planning healthy meals. I literally mean too stupid to engage in the act of consuming food.

Tonight the R.A. actually coached me through my dinner.  He paced in front of me while I ate - back and forth, back and forth, never taking his eyes off my dish or me.  Occasionally the R.A. would stop - I am assuming to check my progress.  As he is so detail oriented, a mere glance at my plate was not enough.  The R.A. would stop pacing and lean over my dish, effectively blocking me not only access but a view, his face mere inches from my food.  After assessing the situation he would then straighten up, jump up and down and flap while caterwauling, obviously offering me direction:

"I want you to slice here, like this.  No, no, no!  Aren't you following?  Good Kitchen God, there are juice boxes that are more astute than you!"

"Well?  Are you gonna chew or are you posing for animal crackers?"

"What are you doing?  Are you taking a drink?  You've ruined the symmetry of the moment!"

Apparently my glass of milk very much offended the R.A.  I don't know what the glass of milk did, but at one point it received a very loud and very furious dressing down.  Unfortunately, following the vicious reprimand the R.A. deemed the glass as being insolent and it and the R.A. almost engaged in a shoving match.

At one point my insertion of food into my own mouth was determined to be sub par and the R.A. attempted to not only put food in my mouth but also tried to manipulate my tongue.  Or perhaps having ascertained that it was actually my tongue that was gumming up the works he may have been trying to remove my tongue.

Oddly enough I am now battling a case of indigestion.  I can't for the life of me think why...

Code No Please!

Membership in the Special Needs Club is not exclusive, especially if you are a card carrying member of the Autism Spectrum Division.  It seems that nowadays one can't walk 50 paces without tripping over someone on the spectrum - even less paces at my house and it would probably also include a shove. 

There's a saying, if you've met one person on the autism spectrum, you've met one person on the autism spectrum.  The autism experience also varies from family to family.  Parents sometimes have differing opinions on autism topics. For example, there is the whole issue of "labeling." Some parents don't want their kids coded, believing a label might limit their child's potential or make the child feel different.  That's their decision.  But let me just say this and then I'll shut up about it.  If a parent thinks that strategy will keep his kid from being labeled, think again.  It's just that instead of being labeled by a developmental pediatrician, your kid will be labeled by some other kid at school.  I personally would rather someone trained in child development assign a label to my kid. Plus that way you've got a better shot at getting a good out of school placement.  Okay, I will shut up about that now.

Other parents don't mind the label.  I fall into that category because let's face it, the minute someone sees the R.A. toe jumping, flapping for Britain, and caterwauling, the cat's pretty much out of the bag.  There's no "passing" for neurotypical.

I'm pretty up front about the R.A.'s autism.  Frankly I think it's due to habit.  It's the culmination of years spent chasing after a sprinting, yowling, "dead-set-on-destruction" R.A. while I bellow, "He has autism!"  It's really more of a warning to the innocent bystanders at the park, the beach, the mall, etc.  It's sort of like, "The British are coming!" or "Man your battle stations!" or "Danger, Will Robinson!"

I have no qualms telling people the R.A. has autism.  I recall after one particularly harrowing church experience I turned to my husband and said I wished I could put the R.A. in a sandwich board.  One side would say, "I have autism."  The other side would say, "What's your *@$%# problem?"  My husband put the kibosh on that idea, pointing out: 1. the R.A. would never leave the sandwich board on as it would impede climbing 2. the R.A. couldn't wear something that had *@$%# on it to church.  I countered that *@$%# wasn't a real swear word.  My husband counter-countered that even implied swear words count at church.  Sulkily I conceded.  *@$%#!

Confession time.  Occasionally, at the park or beach, I won't broadcast that the R.A. has autism because I enjoy seeing the puzzled expressions on the other parents' faces as they observe his antics. Their bewilderment is amusing. ( I also have a t-shirt that has a picture of 19th century armed Native Americans that has the caption, "Homeland Security.  Fighting Terrorism Since 1492."  I like it because it makes white people uncomfortable. *@$%# that nasty streak!)

Olympic Fever

Like most people, the R.A. is also suffering from "Olympic Fever."  We discovered the R.A.'s interest in the games of the 30th Olympiad when we noticed him watching the events with great attentiveness despite the fact that there was no ticker tape scrolling across the bottom of the screen.  He has two favorite Olympic viewing positions:

1. Jumping up and down in front of the television, yowling, while intermittently flapping his hands and flicking the TV screen
2. Sitting quietly on the couch, so absorbed in the action that he momentarily forgets his disdain for earthling protocol and thus looks like a "regular" earth person at repose, as opposed to his usual R.A. self

The R.A.'s favorite events, in no particular order are:
1. Platform diving
2. Springboard diving
3. Gymnastics

Whether jumping or sitting, the events hold the R.A.'s rapt attention and he thoroughly dislikes being interrupted while watching the Olympics.  When I do have the galling temerity to interfere with his viewing he snaps in Yowlish at me.  In English it roughly translates to: "For Kitchen God's sake, woman, zip it!  Can't you see I'm busy? I'm trying to understand this guy's technique for throwing himself off the diving platform.  How do you expect me to duplicate the same move from the top of the china cabinet?  You're so needy!  Take your own damn allergy medicine!"

We have determined that the R.A.'s engrossment in the Olympics is not in the interest of entertainment.  It's mayhem research.

During the Olympics there's been this one commercial that they've been airing about U.S. gymnast, Jonathan Horton. In the ad the narrator tells the story about how when Jonathan was four years old he climbed to the ceiling of a department store so his parents got him gymnastics lessons.  Every time my husband and I see that commercial we shudder.  We can't help think what it would have been like if we got "formal" gymnastics lessons for the R.A.  Wouldn't that be like giving the Green Goblin access to the Bat Lair?  Yes, I'm mixing my comics, but you get my point - don't empower someone with already freakishly potent skills.  I could see the television commercials for the R.A.:

When the R.A. was four years old, after two weeks of formal gymnastics training, he scaled the side of his house while clutching his sister's pet fish between his toes.  After one month of formal gymnastics training the R.A. absconded to Paris and was found dangling from the Eiffel Tower from one foot while clutching his sister's replacement fish in his other foot and demanding chips and juice from his father.

 I've been thinking about what the Olympics must be like on the home planet.  I'm sure quite different from earth competitions.  Remember - those people are like ancient Spartans on steroids but not as gentle, easy going or pleasant.  I'm pretty certain that there are no silver or bronze medals.  On the home planet there are no medals for "almost winning."  I would also bet that the losers do not go home in shame because as soon as they lose events they are beheaded.  There is no, "We'll get them next time" on the home planet.

Here are some events that I imagine make up the home planet competition:

1. Chinning: Refer to the entry, "Chin Chin Cheroo" for a description of this event.

2. Toe Jumping: Like earthling running events, Toe Jumpers could compete against each other for endurance (like distance runners) or speed (like sprinters.) -

WM476@#% is the reigning galactic toe jumping champion.  He took the event at the last Intergalactic Games.  All eyes are on him, seeing if he can pull off a repeat performance.  I guess we need to ask, how badly does he not want to be beheaded?

We should note that *!n74400X^ missed the last Galaxy Games due to a freak training accident during which she ricocheted into the training television that she was simultaneously flapping in front of.  

3. Hand Flapping/Finger Flicking: As with our earthling gymnastics, I would think these events would be based on judges' scores of performance and technique -

He is attempting a very daring "Flap-Flap-Triple Flick-Flap-Flick-Flap.  This is where we will see just how good his technique is.  Only one other athlete, ^^@,?0023B, has attempted such a move in competition and as we all know, he ended up with two sprained wrists which I'm sure didn't seem so painful once they lopped his head off.

That was a very innovative routine.  Now we will see if the judges appreciated her incorporation of an inverted Flick-Flick-Tap.  Perhaps it's just too avant-garde.

4. Large Gourd Wrangling: Refer to the entry, "Trick or Trick" for a description of this event.

One thing's for sure, the closing ceremony must be really brief because there probably aren't very many athletes left.  Bloody but brief.

Not for Those With Weak Constitutions

Or how my family is usually introduced to strangers!  Oh snap!


Yet sadly true...

Actually, this posting is really is about a topic that might cause those with weak constitutions to have an attack of the "vapors."  To put it delicately, I'm talking about boof and poop.  When it comes to vomit and other bodily excrement, my husband and I have become rather cavalier in our attitude.  In one month we have probably cleaned up more of the aforementioned than most people clean in a year. A disturbing yet proud accomplishment.  Boof and poop are such an integral part of our lives that we have the clean up down to a science.  For example, a couple of weeks back I rode in a charity bicycle event with a couple of friends.  After the event there was a cookout for participants and their families.  My husband and the R.A. joined us.  We were talking with one of my friends when the R.A. commenced with one of his "pre" boof coughs.  Alerted,  my husband and I quickly moved into our vomit defense stances.  First we swiftly navigated the R.A. away from my friends' plates and cups.  We might live a chaotic life but it hasn't dampened our sense of good manners.  While my husband positioned the R.A. in such a way as to limit the amount of throw up on his (the R.A.'s) clothes, I grabbed a handful of napkins from the buffet tent.  Once we were certain the R.A. had completed his act of reverse peristalsis, we used a nearby bottle of water to wet the R.A. down and clean him up.  Fortunately I had brought an extra t-shirt and we slapped that on the R.A.  Mind you, this whole endeavor took less than ten minutes, during which time my husband and I never ceased conversing with my friend.  She would keep saying things like, "Uh, we can talk later" or "It looks like you're pretty busy now" and we blithely reassured her that we had things under control.  Come to think of it, she did look pretty horrified by the entire thing which is pretty remarkable considering she is legally blind... If I was someone who wasted time with introspection I would investigate this.  But nope, I am not.


So moving along...

Anyway, my husband and I have become extremely skilled when it comes to these matters.   I like to think of us as an elite tactical Boof Removal Unit.

The past few nights this week the R.A. has been battling his environmental allergies.  Unfortunately for him, the environment is winning and we've had a couple of incidents of allergy barfing.  An incident earlier this week made a causality out of his Thomas the Tank Engine bed linens condemning this intergalactic war monger to sleeping on Disney Princess sheets.  

This morning the R.A. was up at 1:27 AM due to coughing which then caused him to boof all over himself.   Without a word to each other, my husband and I popped out of bed and went into action.  As this vomit event woke the R.A. up, in addition to throwing up he was also yowling in rage at being woken up.  My husband snatched him from his room and placed him in the bathroom, moving rapidly to decrease the amount of throw up trailage.  Although the R.A. was determined to climb into the tub to continue barfing, we managed to keep him confined to a little rug.  When we were confident the spewage had finished, we peeled his clothes off and put him in the tub.  There the R.A. continued to rage.  At this point his anger was increased  because he was rubbing vomit into his own eyes and by the Kitchen God he did not like it!  The R.A. was also further infuriated by my attempts to keep him from rubbing the boof into his eyes.  Greco Roman Baby Wrestling is fun on most days but throw in some throw up and it's triple the delight.  While I wrangled/showered the R.A. down, my husband went on vomit recon. in the R.A.'s room.  For someone so small who doesn't appear to consume much food, the R.A. vomits like a 7 foot,  4 inch, 345 lb. hung over longshoreman.  Let me just say that sometimes his room looks like something out of "The Exorcist" and we'll leave it at that (you're welcome, America!)  At 1:40 AM I pulled the still "gently" caterwauling R.A. from the shower.  Now he was annoyed with me because he was enjoying the shower and I was killing his good time.

Following these late night/early morning impromptu vomit/bathing episodes, the R.A. refuses to go back to his room, instead insisting on coming into our room.  Perhaps in Little Capernicus' mind if he's up, we're all up.  Fortunately the R.A. was quite refreshed after his "nap" and bracing shower and proceeded to yowl loudly and jump up and down in our bed from 1:40 AM to about 4:30 AM after which my husband tussled the R.A. back into his own room and lay down with him so I could try and get some sleep.  As the morning was still young, the R.A. then proceeded to jump up and down and yowl in his own room so loudly I couldn't sleep.  He finally exhausted himself at 6 AM and fell asleep until 9:30 AM.  Yes, part of me did want to go in and jump up and down on his bed and yowl loudly.  Lucky for him I was too tired to attempt such a thing.

Of course I had a program at work this morning.  I was bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to tackle the day.  Not.  I was bleary eyed, droopy tailed and yes, I was ready to tackle the day and then wrestle it to the ground, punch it repeatedly, kick it senseless and give it a bone crushing throttle.  Due to my lack of sleep I was a fun cocktail of exhaustion and crabbiness.

Today's program was an homage to the ancient Olympics and the kids' teams represented original Greek city-states - Athens, Sparta, Corinth, and Argos.  I was so punchy that I kept mixing up the teams, causing the kids to declare indignantly, "I play for Argos!" or "I'm an Athenian!"  At one point I snapped at a kid, "Listen, it doesn't matter.  Eventually Greece is going to end up having one of the weakest economies in the E.U. and practically on the verge of a financial collapse!"  I know, rough talk.  I told you I was crabby.

I believe the Kitchen God said it best in his sermon on the Eiffel Tower: 


Blessed are the sleep deprived for they shall be easy to conquer.  And we shall know them by their extreme under-eye bags and mismatched footwear.

What Are Those Things?

One of the most interesting earthlings the R.A. knows is his uncle.  They do this mind meld thing where his uncle bows his head and the R.A., from wherever he is, trots over to him and then they press their foreheads together.  His uncle currently lives on the West Coast and after six months returned home for a visit.  We were all a bit curious about how the R.A. would respond to him after such a long absence.  When his uncle entered the house the R.A. was in another room.  But the R.A. heard him, raced into the kitchen, and they mind melded. The R.A. was quite excited and yowled in delight.  I think it roughly translated into, "Thank the Kitchen God you are here!  I've been dying of boredom!  I can't wait to be entertained by you, you fascinating creature!"  As far as the mind melding thing goes,  I would say that there is an exchange of information going on but I don't know how large a deposit my brother has in his brain.  Surely it must be depleted by now.

The new thing after the mind meld is an examination of sorts.  After a bit of mind melding,  the R.A. then pokes his fingers over his uncle's hair deficient head.  Then the R.A. takes his fingers and runs them through his own crew cut.  He wears an expression that says, "Hmmm.  Very interesting." This is  repeated  several times.  Next the R.A. explores his uncle's very robust eyebrows.  Following a thorough exam the R.A. then touches his own rather paltry-by-comparison eyebrows.  At this point he visually appraises his uncle's eyebrows, his expression reading, "What is up with those?"  The R.A. appears very confused by the lack of hair on his uncle's head and the surplus of hair on his eyebrows.  It's like he's thinking, "Isn't that backwards?"

The examination of his uncle's eyebrows has re-ignited an interest in eyebrows in general and the R.A. has taken to studying pretty much any set he can get his chubby fingers on.  We have concluded that there are no such things as eyebrows on the home planet.  As the R.A. also has sporadic interest in arm hair we wonder if there is no such thing as body hair in general on the home planet.  So apparently they are a ferocious but clean shaven people.  I'm picturing Sphynx cats wearing helmets. 

The R.A. at rest after the invasion of earth - his father/man servant is the one taking the photo after which he resumes arranging his master's nuggets and fries.  (The Mommy Lady has been vaporized - at least she hopes to the Kitchen God she has been.)

Teeth also are of desultory curiosity for the R.A.  If the spirit moves him, he will attempt to study the teeth of whatever poor slob is within his arm's reach.  And no, it doesn't matter if the poor slob's mouth is full of food at the moment the R.A. gets a hankering for some teeth work.  Word of advice - at the first onset of the impromptu oral check up we recommend spitting the food out as opposed to choking on it.  Choking does not halt the dental inspection. In fact, the R.A. will regard the choking as an act of insubordination.

If a person is lucky, the R.A.'s sister is within arm's length as she possesses his favorite teeth.  The R.A.'s examination of her teeth is quite thorough.  It's almost as if he is tracking the progress of them- "Why yes, those bottom ones are coming in nicely.  Now let's see what is happening with that bicuspid."   I think her teeth are of particular interest as her oral situation is ever changing.  Teeth are coming and going at all hours of the day and night.  It's like some sort of dental serial - "Will Sissy's front tooth be in by Christmas?  Will the dentist cap her back left molar?  Tune in next time, for only the R.A. knows (and Sissy's dentist)!"

This keen interest in teeth also makes me wonder if perhaps, like Hermie the Elf, the R.A., groomed to be the fiercest of intergalactic warmongers, harbors a secret dental desire - "The R.A. wants to be a dentist!"

I've Got the Music in Me (or Maybe On Me)

Lately, life has been even more challenging for the R.A.  As we've started his new food program, we've taken away one of his few pleasures in life - his beloved McD fries and nuggets.  It also has not been exactly a barrel of laughs for the rest of us either.  The R.A. spends much of his limited free time following us around demanding "Feh fies."  He's so desperate that he's even resorted to being nice about it, adopting a Precious Moments expression and asking in a soft voice, "Feh fies?  Feh fies?"  It's really rather pathetic, like something out of a special needs Oliver Twist.  It is sad to see the once mighty war monger so terribly reduced to borderline use of good manners.  It's akin to Genghis Khan saying, "Pardon me" after beheading someone just for the fun of it.  It's not natural.

Car trips, long or short, have also been affected.  Anytime we pass a McD the R.A. keens mightily and presses his hands and face against the window.  My husband says it reminds him of one of those Garfield car window ornaments but "yowlier."

The whole situation is extremely distressing for the R.A.  To relieve the stress he has devised a new "stim."  The R.A. has occasionally covered his ears with his hands when assaulted with displeasing noises or even more displeasing edicts from his caregivers.  He has now expanded this action to create what we delicately refer to as "ear farts."  The R.A. takes his hands that are covering his ears and presses them on and off his ears, rather quickly thus formulating the fart sounds.  For someone with such dainty ears he can really rock it.  Dopes that we are, it took us a while to catch on.  We just thought he was having a bit of a bout with gas.  Of course we finally cracked the case in the middle of lunch at a restaurant and proceeded to howl with laughter which only caused the poor R.A. to engage in what can only be described as the "speed metal" equivalent of ear farts.  I think his tag line for ear farts is, "When simply blocking out the noise isn't enough."

Perhaps the R.A. is on to something.  We should get him on those Sunday morning political round table programs.  After someone like the Speaker of the House (John Boehner) pontificates about why it's so darn important to give tax breaks to the uber wealthy, George Stephanopoulos can then turn and say, "Let's hear what the R.A. thinks of that."  And the R.A. will then ear fart for Britain or maybe in this case ear fart for America (I can totally see that on a bumper sticker - "I Ear Fart for America.")

We will have to be careful regarding when and where the R.A. engages in his ear fart symphonies.  For example, it would be quite embarrassing for him to let loose when Fr. Carlos announces a second collection at Mass.

As that great sage, Uncle Ben said to Peter Parker, "With great power comes great responsibility."

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I think that slowly it has dawned on the R.A. that the rescue ship from the home planet is not forthcoming.  Therefore he has begun to gradually and grudgingly acquiesce to some of our earth mores. I think the constant state of rebellion is wearing on him.  I mean seriously, even superior creatures from other planets can only maintain that high level of disdain/fury/disappointment for so long. 

The R.A. has become better at going out in public to places that he has never been before.  And by "better" we mean he doesn't lunge himself while howling furiously at some unsuspecting and innocent bystander (think something out of "Braveheart").  He has also discovered that he very much enjoys earthling watching.  Some kids on the spectrum have a hard time with places that are crowded and noisy.  Not the R.A.  In those situations he crows in delight while rocking and flapping for Britain.  If he had more expressive language I think he would say, "Look at that freak show of humanity!  I can't tear my eyes away!  It's like they all got dressed in the dark like the Mommy Lady!  Honey, just cuz they make it in your size doesn't mean buy it!"

This new found earthling tolerance means we are able to not only take the R.A. to more places but are also able to stay at said places longer than 6.5 minutes.  My husband, ever the risk taker, decided that this new development meant that we ought to go crazy and try taking the R.A. to previously verboten places.  Last night we attended a Spinners game.  It wasn't just a Spinners game but my daughter's school night at the Spinners that included a before the game barbecue.  So basically we were in it for the long haul.  Frankly I haven't made such a serious commitment since July 31, 1999 - my wedding day.

There was a bit of a wait to get into the stadium.  Luckily it appeared the entire cast of Cirque du Freak was in town because there was a constant parade of weirdos marching by us.  This kept the R.A. happily occupied with gawking and yowling.  A few times he would catch my eye and excitedly caterwaul something that I believe translates into, "I'm telling you, even stranger than the folks on Planet *^F45.  This is great!"

Of course, once inside the barbecue, the R.A. did not eat any of the food.  We did bring his own lunch box which was full of R.A. sanctioned food stuffs but he was too busy people watching, yowling, and stimming to eat.  During the barbecue he also decided he was too cool to sit with us and spent a good deal of time trying to shimmy down the bench away from his family.  The fact that another family was sitting at the other end of the bench was not a detriment and the mother, whose personal space the R.A. was clearly invading, did a good job at eating her own dinner while being systematically edged further down the bench by the R.A.  A few times my husband and I did halfheartedly try to get him to knock it off but then we surrendered to the heat and our own exhaustion and tossed out the "My Special Needs Kid" card.  That's when you say apologetically and with an expression that reads feel bad for me, "He has autism."  Then the person you are encroaching on is forced to say, "Oh, that's ok.  It's no problem."  So we did that and she ate the remainder of her meal with her dish on her lap.  Hey, she said it was no problem.

For some reason, that family wolfed down their dinners and bounded out of there.  As the event was crowded, another family quickly moved in. As the mother made to sit down the R.A., in an homage to Tim Thomas, attempted to throw himself across the bench to block her.  We immediately apologized and my husband and the R.A. engaged in a quick match of Greco Roman Baby wrestling as my husband wrangled the R.A. off the woman's seat area.  Unfortunately the woman made the poor choice of selecting ribs for her meal.  This meant that not only did the R.A. want to invade her personal space but he wanted to pretty much  sit in her lap and closely observe her eating.  That family, too, consumed their meals in record time and ran out of the area.

Finally it was game time and we made our way to our seats.  As we slowly descended to our seats we heard someone call out hello to our daughter. I couldn't believe it, it was the son from the family that has this uncanny knack of being around when we are at our craziest.  He gestured in the direction of his parents.  At this point his parents and my husband and I had a moment of "Selective Autism" in that none of us made eye contact and we all mumbled inaudible sounds.  My family shuffled into our row.  I comforted myself with the knowledge that at least they were two rows in front of us so that if my family did engage in any of our traditional insanity it would be behind them therefore the odds of them observing it would be diminished.  Always look for the silver lining, I always say!

Upon finding our seats my daughter was delighted to discover we were sitting right next to her new teacher.  To illustrate her delight she quickly wormed her way around me so that I sat next to the teacher.  I too was thrilled that the teacher would get a full dose of my family and the school year hadn't even started yet.  Talk about starting behind the eight ball.  Already I was having the time of my life.

As the endeavor of watching a baseball game is fairly sedentary, my husband and I were somewhat apprehensive about how the R.A. would do during the game.  Fortunately he seemed to really enjoy the experience from the get go, illustrating this by his jumping up and down, caterwauling joyfully, and enthusiastically wiggling his fingers.  All the more incredible as the game hadn't even started yet.  We quickly realized that we were situated immediately across from a small screen in the outfield that was tickering, "Red Sox Game Rain Delay.  Lester to Start."  That was all it kept looping but it was enough to satisfy the R.A.*  We exhaled in relief and  felt the Kitchen God was smiling on us.  For once.  Usually it's some sort of smiting not smiling.

At around the bottom of the fourth/top of the fifth inning, my husband and the R.A. began a heated exchange.  The R.A. had become very taken with the chairs in front of us, never minding that a few of them were currently occupied.  The seat directly in front of the him actually belonged to a toddler who spent most of the game in his father's lap.  Naturally the R.A. decided he wanted to stand on top of the back of that seat.  Being his usual unreasonable self, my husband did not allow him to do this.  To show that he disagreed with his father the R.A. tossed his juice cup to the ground.  My husband retrieved the cup and then manhandled the R.A. into his own seat.  The R.A. then snatched his juice cup back and furiously hurled it.  Of course it hit the back of the chair of the mother of the family that has this uncanny knack of being around when we are at our craziest.  My husband and I were horrified yet not surprised that out of the hundreds of chairs in the stands, that's the seat that the cup ends up under.  Apparently neither was that mother.  I swear she reached down retrieved the cup and handed it back without even turning around to look at us.  My husband grabbed the cup and we knew that was our cue to leave. We climbed over my daughter's teacher, bid her a good night and happy summer and skedaddled our way out of Dodge.

This was one of the few occasions that my daughter was not disappointed by our early retreat.  She wasn't there so much for the game as for the forbidden junk food.  Once the goodies were consumed she was ready to leave.  Basically the R.A.'s sister was set to head for home in the middle of the second inning.

There you have it, folks, our own distinct imprint on America's Favorite Past Time.  I can't wait until our first hockey game.

*Lately the R.A. has become a big enthusiast of the sports channels.  Although he does seem to enjoy the action of hockey, we've discovered he is actually a fan of the news ticker that runs at the bottom of the screen.  As we're pretty certain he can't read we think there are alien codes being transmitted in the ticker because the R.A. becomes quite excited when he sees it, jumping up and down in front of the television, yowling, and wiggling his fingers aggressively.   He does not do this on news channels which further convinces us of the possibility of the home planet using the ticker on sports channels to communicate.