The R.A. woke up today in a rage. He has never been happy with his current mission. At best he tolerates his Earth assignment and all of its outrageous accouterments. Some days his level of tolerance is higher than others. Today was a looowwww tolerance level. The R.A. probably woke up and his first thought, at realizing that yes, he was still on this Kitchen God forsaken planet, was, I hate those 'effin' people and I hate this 'effin' planet. So he tantrumed to let out all of his resentments and frustrations.
Responding to the furious yowlings, his father let him out of his room. Fortunately the R.A. had "slept in" this morning (meaning 6 AM - YIPPEEE!). As the R.A. passed his father he barked out his breakfast order and "immediately if not sooner" was implicitly implied. Knowing not to brook any nonsense, my husband scurried down to the kitchen to do his master's biding. It was there that I ran into him as I was returning from the gym.
My husband bustled around the kitchen. We knew not to dilly dally with chit chat and risk antagonizing the R.A. My husband headed back upstairs while I remained downstairs packing snacks and lunches. A few minutes later I heard the R.A. caterwauling as he made his way down the stairs. As my mother was sleeping on the couch I was afraid the R.A.'s migration was permanent and would wake her up. A favorite activity of the R.A. is to stand over a sleeping Nana and stim his fingers wildly, mere centimeters from her face or worse, brandish the "Stick of Infamy" centimeters from her face. It looks like he's doing some sort of alien Voo Doo on her. Most times she sleeps through it. My fears were quickly allayed as the R.A. had only come downstairs to fetch the "Stick of Infamy." Once he retrieved it he headed back up the stairs, wildly waving the stick. I knew from his determined gait that my husband was in for it.
Several minutes later I ascended to the second floor to hear my husband say, "You have crackers. They're right there." The R.A. then responded, quite firmly, "Quackah!" I was met in the hall by my husband who was on his way back downstairs. "I told him he had crackers but he doesn't want those crackers." I nodded sympathetically. Many times a day we are confronted by the R.A. wanting something, you give it but he won't accept it but will accept a complete duplicate replacement. It must have to do with his Napoleonic complex.
While my husband was gone the R.A. and I engaged in a rousing and somewhat hostile game of Dammit Turn Off That Light-I Will Not, I Need It to See (DTOTL-IWNINITS). Sometimes, when his level of earth toleration is high, the R.A. will at least permit us to close the bathroom door and turn on the light, even though he can see the light under the crack in the door. This morning, however, it was not allowed. I did attempt to close the door a couple of times and turn on the light but the R.A. kept charging the door. I finally surrendered and finished brushing my teeth in the dark (I'm pretty certain I did spit into the sink.) When I finally resigned myself to brushing in the dark, the R.A. still ran up to the bathroom and reached for the light switch. He stopped abruptly when he realized I hadn't turned the light back on. At that point he withdrew his hand from the light switch, composed himself and waved the "Stick of Infamy" at me and yowled which I'm sure translated into, "Good, no light. And see that you leave it off. Carry on."
I wimped out when it came to showering in the dark and while I was showering the R.A. and his dad played their own action packed game of DTOTL-IWNINITS with the bathroom light. Fortunately my husband won the round and I basked in the luxury of being able to see the soap and shampoo.
The R.A. was determined to be the ultimate victor in DTOTL-IWNINITS and while I was blow drying my hair turned off the light again. Unfortunately as I moved to turn the light back on I knocked over my hot curling iron which landed on my big toe, eliciting my own tortured yowls. My husband rushed to the bathroom to see what happened. The minute he turned the light on, the R.A. turned it off. My husband flicked it back on and roaring ferociously, the R.A. turned it off. Meanwhile I was supporting myself on the bathroom counter while balancing on my good foot. As I teetered there I thought that perhaps the R.A. was so passionate because we had hit the playoff rounds of DTOTL-IWNINITS. He is extremely competitive.
By the time the whole light situation was settled I had hobbled off to continue getting ready for work. Luckily the rest of my preparation didn't require lighting, well actually it did but I thought the heck with it. I didn't want to risk losing my one good foot.
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."
Friday, February 3, 2012
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