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.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
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.
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,
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.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
A Loverly Day for a Picnic - Or a Hangin'
We knew it would be a bumpy ride when the R.A., led by one of his teachers (captors), came out of the school building glowering furiously while simultaneously caterwauling and covering his ears. When my husband and I appeared the R.A. looked even more hacked off. If there was a speech bubble over his head it would have read, "Great. There's a tent on the front lawn when clearly there shouldn't be and it's stuffed with all these weird strangers and now these two, weirder and stranger than all the rest, arrive. What fresh hell is this?"
As it was so close to "Grandparents Day" (another Hallmark manufactured bogus holiday) the school encouraged families to invite grandparents to the picnic. My mother promptly generated three excuses as to why she could not attend. One was actually valid (Sorry, Mom, we know you do speak English, fluently, so lapsing into faux Bulgarian was a waste of time as was feigning death) so she got out of it. Unfortunately my husband's parents were not as quick with their excuses and got roped into the picnic. At least they got free meals out of it and the weather held. Happy Grandparents' Day!
Grudgingly the R.A. sat with us, intermittently yowling and scrupulously avoiding eye contact. If anyone did attempt conversation he would growl angrily or ignore the remark and energetically peer around the person as if to say, "Whatever is out there is much, much, much more interesting than you. Oh, look! A tree stump! Riveting!"
Once my husband and I determined we spent enough time "visiting" with the R.A. to satisfy school staff who were probably grading us on our interactions with our son (no doubt we failed spectacularly), we left the food tent and took the R.A. outside. The R.A.'s favorite activity at the June picnic was the bouncy houses. He so enjoyed jumping that he refused to come out of one of them when his turn was done and my husband was forced to climb inside and wrangle him out. Luckily for us it was about 100 degrees and 93 % humidity that day! Therefore, based on this past experience which indicated to us that the R.A. liked the bouncy houses, we took him to one of the bouncy houses. As we approached the bouncy house the R.A.'s bitter caterwaulings transformed into caterwauls of joy. Gleefully he removed his sneakers and in his excitement almost removed his socks and pants. The R.A. then launched himself onto the attached inflatable ramp that leads into the bouncy house. And then he stayed there, refusing to actually enter the bouncy house. The R.A. intended to spend his bouncy time on the ramp not inside the house. I don't know if he saw it as his own personal piece of bouncy real estate or suddenly had a yen for outside bouncing but the R.A. desisted entering the bouncy house. Obviously my husband and I figured it must have something to do with that particular bouncy house so we tried the two other bouncy houses. But no. The inflatable ramp preference was assigned to all the bouncy houses. My husband and I were desperate to get the R.A. inside a bouncy house as we thought (stupidly) that once we could get him inside the bouncy house he would recall that he liked it. The R.A., however, would not cross the threshold of the bouncy house entrance, firmly staying on the ramp. At one point he was crouched on all fours with his head at the entrance and I barked at my husband, "Just push him in!" I believe that the fact that we were surrounded by school staff intimidated my husband and he refused. I was so frantic that had my hands not been full of sweaters, water bottles, and the R.A.'s backpack, I would have given him a firm shove.
Much to the R.A.'s dismay we did not allow him to remain on the ramp. He was unconcerned that he was blocking the way for the other children to enter and leave the bouncy house. I guess the R.A. figured that was their problem. Finally we had to physically remove him from the bouncy area. As my husband and I tried to determine our next course of action, the R.A. yowled in fierce indignation - I believe it was something along the lines of - "How dare you, you backward flibbertygibbets! How dare you manhandle me in such an undignified fashion! Do you know who I am?!" He then grabbed my sweater, threw it on the ground and then plopped on top of it - an apparent act of vengeance against me, his bouncy ramp oppressor. It's as they say on the home planet - vengeance is a sweater best sat upon. My husband was lucky to be sweaterless and so escaped unscathed.
I then tried to distract him from his crabbiness with a sno-cone. The fact that I went the sno-cone route clearly demonstrates my high level of anxiety as the combination of the R.A. and a sno-cone is not pleasant for his caregiver. Surprisingly enough, the R.A. does not consume a sno-cone as your A-typical earthling would. For starters, he refuses to hold the sno-cone which means the parent must hold it and periodically squat down to present it to him. The R.A. then quickly darts his tongue in the sno-cone concoction and quickly withdraws his tongue. In all, after about 45 minutes, he has licked maybe 8 bits of shaved ice. At this juncture the ice has melted leaving mostly the syrup which the R.A. finds offensive. He then proceeds to order his caregiver to get the galling item out of his sight, immediately if not sooner.
Sadly, the sno-cone lacked its usual magical delight. It did not deter the R.A. from his churlishness. We moved on to the arts and crafts table. Perhaps the R.A. was feeling more introspective because as he worked on slapping stickers on a small white gourd, his yowling was not quite as surly. It was only when his work of art was completed that his rabid caterwauling resumed. Staff must have been as desperate as we were as they quickly presented another gourd for the R.A. to decorate. If the gourd art is any indication of the R.A.'s emotions, he is seriously pissed off. Really? He hides it so well! Thank the Kitchen God he has his art to express himself.
We were honestly surprised by the R.A.'s unhappiness as compared to his behavior at the June picnic. After thinking a bit I realized that my daughter had attended that picnic. Sometimes the R.A. is calmer at functions that she attends. He sees her do something and then is more inclined to also participate. I believe what happens is, she enters the breech first and if she isn't poisoned, beheaded, or made to listen to bad 70's easy listening rock music, the R.A. feels safe and will follow. She's the Odie to his Garfield.
Fortunately we only have to wait one month (exactly one month) until the school's Harvest Dance. Should the R.A.'s current sentiment regarding social functions continue at its current level, I'm guessing he will arrive with a shiv he made from a Pringles container.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Finger Licking Good!
It's official. I am a nitwit. Although, if you have been following this blog you have probably honed in on that within a couple of postings.
In the R.A.'s opinion, I am now too stupid to eat without a food coach. No, I don't mean someone to work with me on planning healthy meals. I literally mean too stupid to engage in the act of consuming food.
Tonight the R.A. actually coached me through my dinner. He paced in front of me while I ate - back and forth, back and forth, never taking his eyes off my dish or me. Occasionally the R.A. would stop - I am assuming to check my progress. As he is so detail oriented, a mere glance at my plate was not enough. The R.A. would stop pacing and lean over my dish, effectively blocking me not only access but a view, his face mere inches from my food. After assessing the situation he would then straighten up, jump up and down and flap while caterwauling, obviously offering me direction:
"I want you to slice here, like this. No, no, no! Aren't you following? Good Kitchen God, there are juice boxes that are more astute than you!"
"Well? Are you gonna chew or are you posing for animal crackers?"
"What are you doing? Are you taking a drink? You've ruined the symmetry of the moment!"
Apparently my glass of milk very much offended the R.A. I don't know what the glass of milk did, but at one point it received a very loud and very furious dressing down. Unfortunately, following the vicious reprimand the R.A. deemed the glass as being insolent and it and the R.A. almost engaged in a shoving match.
At one point my insertion of food into my own mouth was determined to be sub par and the R.A. attempted to not only put food in my mouth but also tried to manipulate my tongue. Or perhaps having ascertained that it was actually my tongue that was gumming up the works he may have been trying to remove my tongue.
Oddly enough I am now battling a case of indigestion. I can't for the life of me think why...
In the R.A.'s opinion, I am now too stupid to eat without a food coach. No, I don't mean someone to work with me on planning healthy meals. I literally mean too stupid to engage in the act of consuming food.
Tonight the R.A. actually coached me through my dinner. He paced in front of me while I ate - back and forth, back and forth, never taking his eyes off my dish or me. Occasionally the R.A. would stop - I am assuming to check my progress. As he is so detail oriented, a mere glance at my plate was not enough. The R.A. would stop pacing and lean over my dish, effectively blocking me not only access but a view, his face mere inches from my food. After assessing the situation he would then straighten up, jump up and down and flap while caterwauling, obviously offering me direction:
"I want you to slice here, like this. No, no, no! Aren't you following? Good Kitchen God, there are juice boxes that are more astute than you!"
"Well? Are you gonna chew or are you posing for animal crackers?"
"What are you doing? Are you taking a drink? You've ruined the symmetry of the moment!"
Apparently my glass of milk very much offended the R.A. I don't know what the glass of milk did, but at one point it received a very loud and very furious dressing down. Unfortunately, following the vicious reprimand the R.A. deemed the glass as being insolent and it and the R.A. almost engaged in a shoving match.
At one point my insertion of food into my own mouth was determined to be sub par and the R.A. attempted to not only put food in my mouth but also tried to manipulate my tongue. Or perhaps having ascertained that it was actually my tongue that was gumming up the works he may have been trying to remove my tongue.
Oddly enough I am now battling a case of indigestion. I can't for the life of me think why...
Friday, August 31, 2012
Code No Please!
Membership in the Special Needs Club is not exclusive, especially if you are a card carrying member of the Autism Spectrum Division. It seems that nowadays one can't walk 50 paces without tripping over someone on the spectrum - even less paces at my house and it would probably also include a shove.
There's a saying, if you've met one person on the autism spectrum, you've met one person on the autism spectrum. The autism experience also varies from family to family. Parents sometimes have differing opinions on autism topics. For example, there is the whole issue of "labeling." Some parents don't want their kids coded, believing a label might limit their child's potential or make the child feel different. That's their decision. But let me just say this and then I'll shut up about it. If a parent thinks that strategy will keep his kid from being labeled, think again. It's just that instead of being labeled by a developmental pediatrician, your kid will be labeled by some other kid at school. I personally would rather someone trained in child development assign a label to my kid. Plus that way you've got a better shot at getting a good out of school placement. Okay, I will shut up about that now.
Other parents don't mind the label. I fall into that category because let's face it, the minute someone sees the R.A. toe jumping, flapping for Britain, and caterwauling, the cat's pretty much out of the bag. There's no "passing" for neurotypical.
I'm pretty up front about the R.A.'s autism. Frankly I think it's due to habit. It's the culmination of years spent chasing after a sprinting, yowling, "dead-set-on-destruction" R.A. while I bellow, "He has autism!" It's really more of a warning to the innocent bystanders at the park, the beach, the mall, etc. It's sort of like, "The British are coming!" or "Man your battle stations!" or "Danger, Will Robinson!"
I have no qualms telling people the R.A. has autism. I recall after one particularly harrowing church experience I turned to my husband and said I wished I could put the R.A. in a sandwich board. One side would say, "I have autism." The other side would say, "What's your *@$%# problem?" My husband put the kibosh on that idea, pointing out: 1. the R.A. would never leave the sandwich board on as it would impede climbing 2. the R.A. couldn't wear something that had *@$%# on it to church. I countered that *@$%# wasn't a real swear word. My husband counter-countered that even implied swear words count at church. Sulkily I conceded. *@$%#!
Confession time. Occasionally, at the park or beach, I won't broadcast that the R.A. has autism because I enjoy seeing the puzzled expressions on the other parents' faces as they observe his antics. Their bewilderment is amusing. ( I also have a t-shirt that has a picture of 19th century armed Native Americans that has the caption, "Homeland Security. Fighting Terrorism Since 1492." I like it because it makes white people uncomfortable. *@$%# that nasty streak!)
There's a saying, if you've met one person on the autism spectrum, you've met one person on the autism spectrum. The autism experience also varies from family to family. Parents sometimes have differing opinions on autism topics. For example, there is the whole issue of "labeling." Some parents don't want their kids coded, believing a label might limit their child's potential or make the child feel different. That's their decision. But let me just say this and then I'll shut up about it. If a parent thinks that strategy will keep his kid from being labeled, think again. It's just that instead of being labeled by a developmental pediatrician, your kid will be labeled by some other kid at school. I personally would rather someone trained in child development assign a label to my kid. Plus that way you've got a better shot at getting a good out of school placement. Okay, I will shut up about that now.
Other parents don't mind the label. I fall into that category because let's face it, the minute someone sees the R.A. toe jumping, flapping for Britain, and caterwauling, the cat's pretty much out of the bag. There's no "passing" for neurotypical.
I'm pretty up front about the R.A.'s autism. Frankly I think it's due to habit. It's the culmination of years spent chasing after a sprinting, yowling, "dead-set-on-destruction" R.A. while I bellow, "He has autism!" It's really more of a warning to the innocent bystanders at the park, the beach, the mall, etc. It's sort of like, "The British are coming!" or "Man your battle stations!" or "Danger, Will Robinson!"
I have no qualms telling people the R.A. has autism. I recall after one particularly harrowing church experience I turned to my husband and said I wished I could put the R.A. in a sandwich board. One side would say, "I have autism." The other side would say, "What's your *@$%# 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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)