To Go Where No Man Has Gone Before

The Holy Grail

Atlantis

The Ark of the Covenant

Popover Mix

Through the centuries men have searched for legendary and mythical treasures, often embarking on dangerous quests, driven by ambition and an unquenchable desire for discovery.  This is the story of one such backward/footie-less footie pajamaed adventurer.

In addition to being plagued by environmental allergies, the R.A. suffers from food allergies.  As he grows older he is outgrowing many of these food allergies.  Thankfully his extreme food rigidity still ensures that the number of foods he will deign to eat is still in the single digits.

We were lucky enough to embark on the Allergy Adventure at the same time we plunged into the Great Autism Adventure.  So while we were navigating the world of Early Intervention, Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy, Music Therapy, and ABA we were also negotiating the world of Food Allergies.  Ever the over-achievers, one condition was not enough for us.  When it comes to food allergies we found that although there are lots of food on the "No" list there are "allergy food substitutes" that promise to be very similar to the actual foods that they are subbing for.  What we also ascertained is that 98.4% of the time that is a BIG, FAT, STINKING lie.  Case in point - Sunflower butter.

Sunflower butter is presented as a substitute for peanut butter.  We quickly determined that not only is it a lousy substitute, it isn't even in the same category as peanut butter.  They are so dissimilar they should not even be allowed to ever be referenced together.  Let me put it this way - Tom Brady is peanut butter. Mark Sanchez is sunflower butter who then gets substituted by the even yuckier Tim Tebow.  See? There is is no comparison among them.

Shockingly, the R.A. soundly rejected the sunflower butter.  We could not blame him.  Sunflower butter has the consistency and taste of something used to caulk a bathtub.

Sunflower butter was quickly abandoned and we plodded on in our journey to discover edible allergy foods.  Then we entered the exotic and sometimes just plain weird world of allergy cookies.  I don't know if some of the substitute ingredients were the result of desperation or a dare.  Finally we hit on a brand that was extremely close to tasting like an actual cookie.  True, it had the weight and consistency of a small hockey puck but it didn't taste like something from the putty section of Home Depot.  And the R.A. liked them.

This is not to mean that our affair with this allergy cookie was not without its trials and tribulations.  As with most crappy allergy substitutes it was more expensive than the non-allergy item but a low interest loan from my credit union aided with that.  And because it almost tasted like real food, other people liked them and stores tended to run out.  Obviously grocery store staff in charge of ordering  those cookies did not have children with food allergies because they often took their sweet time re-stocking them.  My husband did manage to work out an arrangement with an assistant manager at our local market.  I think he finally wore her down with his pleading and tears of desperation.  Sometimes making a scene is a good thing.

Eventually, some of the R.A.'s food allergies abated and he was able to consume more "non-allergy" items, well, at least it said so on paper.  The R.A. moved away from his allergy cookies to real cookies, a day my husband greeted with much jubilation.  Not only are "regular" cookies cheaper but Market Basket store brand chocolate chip cookies are always in stock (of course they are only two levels above allergy cookies in texture and taste which explains why they are always in stock.)

"Wait!" you cry.  "What does a long winded allergy history of the R.A. peppered with Patriots and Jets references (meaningful only to New England fans) have to do with quests?"

I am glad you asked.  The Patriots inclusion is pretty much because they are on a bye week and my husband was telling me about an article some sports jake-hole wrote ranking quarterbacks that ranked Brady third.  I mean, seriously?  Third?  Who wrote the article, Rex Ryan?  Even he can't be that stupid.

Anyway, the reason I included the R.A.'s allergy history is because it is related to quests - the R.A.'s current quest to be exact.

We first became aware of the R.A.'s quest yesterday when my husband discovered him standing on tip-toe on top of our stove brandishing the Stick of Infamy in one hand and clutching a box

popover mix in his other hand.  To access the stove, he had dragged over a small footstool/ladder.  One is supposed to unfold the ladder to expose the steps.  The R.A., ever a man of quick action, didn't have time for that and climbed it folded.  My husband removed the R.A. from the stove top and then wrangled the box out of an incensed R.A.'s iron fisted grasp.  After the intense yet impromptu wrestling match, the R.A. shrieked at his father, "Cookie! Cookie!"  Pointlessly Daddy attempted to explain that the box did not contain cookies, all the while wondering why the R.A. would think it was a box of cookies.  Much to the R.A.'s ever potent fury, the popover mix was returned to its place in the cabinet above the stove.

Never one to say "never" (really, he has never said it), the R.A. was undeterred and determined.   A short while later my husband found the R.A. back on top of the stove with the SOI and box of popover mix. This time he had used 24 packs of diet Coke and diet Pepsi to reach the stove top.

And so it went for pretty much the entire afternoon - the R.A. on his Popover Crusade and his father attempting to thwart him.  It was like a really boring Errol Flynn film.

However, all was not for naught (as I believe Errol Flynn said as Robin Hood) as my husband did decode the R.A.'s mysterious obsession with the box of popover mix.  It dawned on Daddy that the popover box was sort of similar in appearance to the allergy cookie box, hence the R.A. screaming "Cookie! Cookie!" while clutching it.  Seeing as he hasn't eaten an allergy cookie in over three years, this association was astounding, as was my husband's revelation.

I was at work all day yesterday but when I got home, the R.A. was still at it.  In extreme irritation my mother snapped at my husband to hide "the damn thing."  I got the happy task of occupying/tussling with the R.A. in the living room while his father put the box in another cabinet.  Wise to us, the R.A. yowled in rage while attempting to free himself.  Once the deed was done he wrenched free from my grasp and ran into the kitchen.  Like a mad man he surveyed the room.  He then caterwauled something along the lines of, "It doesn't matter what you do!  I will find it as the Kitchen God is my witness!"

My husband then left to run some errands/escape.  A short time later I heard a loud crash in the kitchen followed by an infuriated yowl.  I ran into the room to discover the R.A. on his back on the floor, flailing his arms and legs in agitation and frustration.  Above where he lay the cabinet door was opened to reveal the box of popover mix.  This time to climb the counter the R.A. had used a large plastic container of pretzels and a box containing a "Hello Kitty" chia pet in an attempt to hoist himself up.  Unfortunately he made one critical mistake - instead of balancing the pretzel container on top of the more stable box, the R.A. had precariously balanced the box on top of the pretzels and thus fell, much to his bitter disappointment.

Apparently, even for the R.A., this was the last straw.  Savagely caterwauling he stomped up to his room no doubt to plan his next attack which involved being naked as a short time later he ran down the stairs sans clothing.  I think the R.A. was going for the ancient Celtic warrior thing and was on his way to get a blue marker with which to color himself.  Sadly our little Braveheart was intercepted by his sister who alerted the local authorities (me) who then subjected the R.A. to backward/footie-less footie pajamas (our equivalent of a prison jump suit) as well as to a documentary about Marlene Dietrich which he watched with me, probably thinking it a cruel and unjust punishment.

And no doubt plotting his revenge.

Holiday Funk

I haven't written in a while because a plague has gone through our house.  It started a couple of weeks before Christmas and as with most illnesses that strike our home, is traced back to our very own R.A. also affectionately known as "Patient Zero."  I don't know if it's because of his alien physiological makeup but we very rarely get run of the mill viruses - runny nose, cough, maybe a fever.  It's always something that seems like the Influenza Pandemic of 1918 but not as mild.  Initially I thought the illnesses were always worse because the alien R.A. has sensitivities to our earth atmosphere.  Remember how in "War of the Worlds" the Martians were felled by plain old human germs?  However, following the past few epidemics that have ravaged my family I'm thinking it's actually reversed - in reality the R.A. is attempting to use germ warfare on us.  Unfortunately for him, although we are an agonizingly stupid people we are quite robust and manage to recuperate from whatever his contagion du jour.

The R.A. has been on vacation this week.  This means he has had a lot more free time to devote to his various hobbies such as jumping up and down in front of the television while flicking the screen with his fingers and loudly caterwauling; teetering around the edges of our china cabinet on tip-toes while brandishing the Stick of Infamy; creating wall art masterpieces in crayon and Sharpie marker.  He has been having a wonderful time. Us, not so much.

Here are some Christmas vacation low-lights:

An Homage to Tito Puente
The Stick of Infamy II is back and louder than ever.  Although the R.A. still utilizes it in a "Mussolini" fashion i.e. furiously waving it around while harshly reprimanding us for whatever our recent failures, ever the innovator, he has discovered another use for it.  The R.A. has determined that he does in fact have the rhythm in him and the SOI is his instrument.  His impromptu concerts consist of him repeatedly whacking the floor with the SOI.  Some of the pieces are purely instrumental while on others he adds energetic vocals.  The concerts primarily take place during times that his grandmother is trying to sleep.  Despite being somewhat cacophonous, my husband and I are concert fans as it means the R.A. is engaged in an activity that is neither death defying nor involving permanent markers.  My mother is not a fan and therefore wrangled the SOI from the R.A. and deposited it into her bedroom.  A couple of days following this incredible act of defiance the R.A. paid a visit to his grandmother in her bedroom.  He was very sweet and affectionate.  After the R.A. left the room my mother discovered that he had swiped the SOI.  He is our own Mata Hari with freckles and outrageous cowlicks.


Another favorite concert spot is standing on top of our convection oven which is located on top of a table in our kitchen.  For these concerts the R.A. is a conductor using the SOI as a baton, directing an unseen orchestra who apparently are not very good, based on the amount of yelling he does during the program.

I Am Master of All I Survey (as Well as All That I Don't)
Apparently everything that the R.A. is currently interested in is located on high shelves or cabinets.  They are also things that my husband and I cannot fetch for the R.A. quickly enough as we are goofing off doing things like laundry or taking a shower.  Never one to let the grass grow under his feet (partially due to allergies), the R.A. then takes it upon himself to get what he wants.  Sometimes this involves complicated feats of engineering like dragging 24 packs of diet Coke across the room and using them to construct make shift ladders to scale the stove to reach the cabinets over the stove.  When a man needs Snoopy gummies he will apparently stop at nothing.  So much for putting snacks in hard to reach locations.

Give Me Liberty or Give Me Lollies
The freedom of vacation is transferring to the R.A.'s desire to be liberated from his clothing.  In addition to having to closely monitor him to keep him from climbing convection ovens or decorating the living room walls with crayon, we have discovered that any time the R.A. is left unattended he removes all of his clothing.  For some reason his preferred "undressing" room is the stairway that goes from the first to the second floor.  As a result, the R.A. has spent the later part of his vacation sporting backwards and footie-less footie pajamas.  (And rockin' the look as always.)  We are only dressing him in pants and a shirt if we are going out.  We still have two days left of vacation so that could change too.

We will have to see how our remaining days go.  I fully anticipate his Grand Finale will involve scaling the roof or hot wiring his father's car.  While dressed in backwards and footie-less footie pajamas, of course.

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.