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!)
Friday, August 31, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
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.
Friday, August 3, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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.
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!"
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!"
Monday, July 9, 2012
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."
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."
Saturday, June 23, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, June 8, 2012
I Don't Have a Problem. I Can Stop Anytime I Want.
As I have posted a few times, the R.A. enjoys his McDonald's french fries. Actually, "enjoys" is a monumental understatement. He doesn't so much "enjoy" the fries as he has what appears to be an addiction to them.
From the get go, the R.A.'s relationship with McD fries has not been what one would call "healthy" and I'm not talking calories or sodium. His obsession with them has drastically increased over time. Currently it's to the point where he spends most of the night following me around and demanding, "Feh fies. Feh fies." He doesn't buy it when I respond, "No french fries tonight. French fries go bye- bye." Anytime the R.A. hears the kitchen door open he bolts into the kitchen and yelps excitedly, "Feh fies! Feh fies!" convinced the person who has entered the house is delivering the fries. He then frisks the poor slob to make sure he/she is not hiding any fries down trousers or under shirts. As his addiction grows, so does his desperation. The R.A. has taken to grabbing my husband or me by our hand (or shirt) and dragging us to the kitchen door. He will then place our hand on the knob and instruct, "Feh fies" meaning, "Okay, obviously you're just too clueless to get it so now I'm showing you in addition to telling you. Go out and get me the french fries, stupid." The R.A. is also now so frantic to get his fry fix that anytime I go near my purse he interprets it to mean I am going out and therefore will pick up his fries. His despair at being denied his fries has now amplified so much that yesterday morning he attempted to corral his father to do his bidding for fries. The R.A. did not take kindly to his father's irrational excuses for not providing the fries such as fries are not acceptable for breakfast or that one couldn't procure McD fries at 7:30 AM.
We understand that it's not the addict talking (or yowling) but the addiction. Someone once told me that addiction alters an addict's brain so that he honestly believes he will die without his fix. In the R.A.'s case it's more like the R.A. honestly believes we will die if he doesn't get his fix.
Today we had a meeting at the R.A.'s school concerning his new food plan. Basically they are going to work on getting him to eat a diet that does not consist primarily of man made items whose ingredients are not found in nature. Their strategy is to use the R.A.'s beloved McD fries as a bartering tool - "If you eat one bite of broccoli you can have one fry."
Although they are very in tune to the R.A., the staff did not fully understand the depth of his McD fry addiction, failing to recognize that it goes beyond the actual fry and includes an entire process - involving presentation. His teacher wasn't sure if the fries really were the R.A.'s most treasured edible treat stating that a few weeks ago, she did buy him some McD fries. She reported that when she gave the fries to the R.A. he refused them, pushing them away with an emphatic, "No, please!" I then asked how she presented the fries. Puzzled she responded, "On a white dish." Her tone inferred - Obviously on a dish. How else would one eat food? My husband and I chuckled knowingly - such a rookie mistake. I pointed out that the dish was the problem. The R.A. won't eat food in a dish, on a dish, or near a dish. For some reason he finds tableware and cutlery offensive. I then proceeded to tell the staff that there is very strict protocol involved with his McD fries and nuggets. Even though the R.A. is addicted to the fries and nuggets, if the presentation is even slightly incorrect, he won't tolerate them. If you're lucky he will only refuse them. If your presentation is outrageously awry, the R.A. may throw the fries and nuggets to the floor in a rage. If your presentation is deemed extremely perverse, after sweeping the food to the floor he will yowl with such fury that he will make himself throw up. Bon appetit!
My husband and I then explained what proper McD nugget and fries presentation entailed:
We spent a bulk of the meeting detailing the whole procedure while the director took copious notes. Every now and then she would mutter things like, "Oh, boy." "Geez." "Amazing." She would also exhale loudly from time to time and shake her head.
Like everything else with the R.A., meal time with the R.A. isn't so much a time for relaxation as a military exercise. Again this is why when the invasion comes I'll be first in line to be vaporized.
From the get go, the R.A.'s relationship with McD fries has not been what one would call "healthy" and I'm not talking calories or sodium. His obsession with them has drastically increased over time. Currently it's to the point where he spends most of the night following me around and demanding, "Feh fies. Feh fies." He doesn't buy it when I respond, "No french fries tonight. French fries go bye- bye." Anytime the R.A. hears the kitchen door open he bolts into the kitchen and yelps excitedly, "Feh fies! Feh fies!" convinced the person who has entered the house is delivering the fries. He then frisks the poor slob to make sure he/she is not hiding any fries down trousers or under shirts. As his addiction grows, so does his desperation. The R.A. has taken to grabbing my husband or me by our hand (or shirt) and dragging us to the kitchen door. He will then place our hand on the knob and instruct, "Feh fies" meaning, "Okay, obviously you're just too clueless to get it so now I'm showing you in addition to telling you. Go out and get me the french fries, stupid." The R.A. is also now so frantic to get his fry fix that anytime I go near my purse he interprets it to mean I am going out and therefore will pick up his fries. His despair at being denied his fries has now amplified so much that yesterday morning he attempted to corral his father to do his bidding for fries. The R.A. did not take kindly to his father's irrational excuses for not providing the fries such as fries are not acceptable for breakfast or that one couldn't procure McD fries at 7:30 AM.
We understand that it's not the addict talking (or yowling) but the addiction. Someone once told me that addiction alters an addict's brain so that he honestly believes he will die without his fix. In the R.A.'s case it's more like the R.A. honestly believes we will die if he doesn't get his fix.
Today we had a meeting at the R.A.'s school concerning his new food plan. Basically they are going to work on getting him to eat a diet that does not consist primarily of man made items whose ingredients are not found in nature. Their strategy is to use the R.A.'s beloved McD fries as a bartering tool - "If you eat one bite of broccoli you can have one fry."
Although they are very in tune to the R.A., the staff did not fully understand the depth of his McD fry addiction, failing to recognize that it goes beyond the actual fry and includes an entire process - involving presentation. His teacher wasn't sure if the fries really were the R.A.'s most treasured edible treat stating that a few weeks ago, she did buy him some McD fries. She reported that when she gave the fries to the R.A. he refused them, pushing them away with an emphatic, "No, please!" I then asked how she presented the fries. Puzzled she responded, "On a white dish." Her tone inferred - Obviously on a dish. How else would one eat food? My husband and I chuckled knowingly - such a rookie mistake. I pointed out that the dish was the problem. The R.A. won't eat food in a dish, on a dish, or near a dish. For some reason he finds tableware and cutlery offensive. I then proceeded to tell the staff that there is very strict protocol involved with his McD fries and nuggets. Even though the R.A. is addicted to the fries and nuggets, if the presentation is even slightly incorrect, he won't tolerate them. If you're lucky he will only refuse them. If your presentation is outrageously awry, the R.A. may throw the fries and nuggets to the floor in a rage. If your presentation is deemed extremely perverse, after sweeping the food to the floor he will yowl with such fury that he will make himself throw up. Bon appetit!
My husband and I then explained what proper McD nugget and fries presentation entailed:
- It must be ordered as a "4 piece chicken nugget and small fry" meal. It is imperative that you order this particular meal. Don't try to save money and order the 10 piece meal with the large fry and think you'll just put some nuggets and fries on a dish or even on a napkin for the R.A. This is completely and utterly unacceptable. Illogical neuro-typical logic would celebrate getting two meals out of one and further determine that the R.A. still gets the same amount of chicken and fries so what's the big deal? The big deal, you witless dope, is that you have totally removed the authorized packaging from the equation - the small cardboard nugget box and white paper fry wrapper. And no, you can't substitute the large nugget box and red cardboard fry container. Do you see where you went oh so wrong here? If not, you deserve the R.A.'s wrath. May the Kitchen God be with you. You're going to need it.
- The laying out of the food must follow proper procedure. The nugget box is opened. In the empty side squish a generous puddle of ketchup. Keep in mind that no matter how much ketchup you squirt in there, the R.A. will always demand more as his meal progresses. And no, you can't save yourself subsequent ketchup demands by starting with a huge puddle of ketchup. The R.A.'s command doesn't have so much to do with his ketchup supply running low as with keeping you on your toes and making sure you are paying attention to him and fulfilling his every outrageous whim. All dictators require their subjects' undivided attention and no, it doesn't matter if you are in the shower or sleeping.
- Fries are placed on a white napkin next to the opened nugget box, adjacent to the ketchup side. Don't try to fool him with a folded up paper towel. Your foolish audacity will be soundly punished.
- The R.A. never eats the nuggets. These are primarily used as utensils to scoop up ketchup. Despite the fact that he never eats the nuggets, this does not mean anyone else is allowed to eat them. This is true even if the R.A. has finished eating. Once the R.A. has concluded his meal, the nuggets are to go into the trash. He primarily brings them to the trash. If someone else does he will follow that person to make sure he puts the nuggets into the trash, even going so far as to check the trash in case you tried to pull a fast one and pantomimed throwing the nuggets away. One time, when the R.A. had concluded his meal and was in another room, my husband popped a nugget in his mouth. It was as if the R.A. had been somehow alerted to the breach in protocol. My husband said the R.A. flew into the room and practically tackled him onto the couch. The R.A. then climbed up his father and pried my husband's mouth open and removed the nugget. The R.A. caterwauled in indignation something along the lines of, "That'll learn you!"
We spent a bulk of the meeting detailing the whole procedure while the director took copious notes. Every now and then she would mutter things like, "Oh, boy." "Geez." "Amazing." She would also exhale loudly from time to time and shake her head.
Like everything else with the R.A., meal time with the R.A. isn't so much a time for relaxation as a military exercise. Again this is why when the invasion comes I'll be first in line to be vaporized.
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