Literally speaking

Gus can be very literal minded, as can all kids, and sometimes he takes it to the most endearing extent. This was a conversation we had yesterday morning:

It was pretty frosty in the house, and we have no pellets to make a fire, so I tried to tell him to go upstairs and get his robe. Of course he ignored me. So, I said, "Okay, now fly upstairs and get your robe so I can help you put it on."

He looked at me, head to the side. "Um...I think I have to walk."

Taking advantage of my momentary ambush, I replied, "No, no! You have to fly up the stairs!"

"It's too far," he whined. Of course it was; that's why I didn't go myself.

"That's why I told you to fly - much faster." So hard to keep a straight face at that point.

"Do I have to pretend to fly on top of an airplane or something?" So literal minded, this one.

"Nah, just..." and here I kind of put one fist up, ala Superman, and mimed bounding into the air. "Whoosh!"

And so he did. He got his robe. He also forgot to come back downstairs, so I had to make a trip up anyway, but who cares. It was fun while it lasted.

Yet, at other times when some children would let their literal mindedness upset them, Gus is just fine.

Our neighbor was putting up a six-foot Winnie the Pooh and Tigger Halloween decoration as the kids ran around it playing. Gus kept poking them, so we joked that if he kept it up, the vampire-Tigger was going to eat him up. Gus laughed at that; the neighbor's four year old started to cry.

"I don't want Tigger to eat him up!" She was really quite inconsolable. This is the same kid who can watch Pirates of the Caribbean without blinking twice.

They really are fascinating beings, children are.

Whose Fault is it Really?

Gus decided to go pay a neighbor a visit this evening. Under normal circumstances, this might not be such a big deal. The problem is that we don't really know these neighbors and he barged into their home uninvited.

This hasn't been a problem in a while. He used to run into our old neighbor's apartment across the hall, and when we first moved here, he went into our next door neighbor's house. But he hasn't done that in about a year.

I want to throttle someone, but who? Do I blame the six year old who was just curious about what the people down the way were watching on television? Do I get mad at the father who was grilling outside and was supposed to be watching his son? Do I kick myself in the butt for allowing Gus to go out, when I know my husband can't multi-task, when we already had an incident earlier when my husband was supposed to be watching the kids, while I was inside mashing sweet potatoes? Who's really to blame here?

Or maybe I should just be grateful that our neighbors aren't maniacs and didn't try to hurt my son or scream at him (like the guy next door did last year) call the police or some other reaction that could have made this situation much worse.

Gus has been punished and is losing all video game and computer privileges for three days. I told my husband that I thought he should lose his gaming rights for three days as well; he was supposed to be responsible while Gus was outside or else he should have sent Gus in until he could pay attention. But he apparently does not agree.

So what I've learned today is that I cannot turn my back long enough to pee or to make a side dish for dinner.

And they say that having a child with special needs can put a strain on a marriage. I can't imagine why. By my view, it's not so much the child or the special needs that are the problem.

Please comment and let me know: am I wrong and/or crazy?

A Born Leader

"Titans, go!" Gus shouted in his Robin costume and then took off racing across the room, probably after the baddest of bad guys, Slade. His sister, dressed as Starfire, tore after him. Amusingly enough, the three other kids did the same. He leads, they follow. Not bad for the kid with the poorest social skills of the lot.

We went to a Halloween themed birthday party this afternoon, and I'm so proud of Gus. The room was full of people, but he managed himself like a champ. He only attempted to leave the room once. The rest of the time he ran with the other children, took part in games like Duck, Duck, Goose, and was accepted as one of the crowd. It was awesome to see! Heck, he knew the rules to Duck, Duck, Goose better than I did.

He did not have a single meltdown at the party. The diet went right out the window, but everything was fine. For a day, treats and sweets won't kill him.

Even toward the end of the day after we were home, his only meltdown was when the computer started acting wonky, and I think that was more hunger than computer frustration. How do I know this? Because he sat down for dinner without doing his usual laps around the living room. That only happens when he's famished.

Anyway, it was a good day and the costume has survived enough for Halloween.

The Problem with Pragmatics

Pragmatic, or social, speech is a problem for Gus, and this is pretty typical of individuals on the autism spectrum. No big news there. Because of his difficulty in grasping the different connotations of words and because of his very literal mind, I now have a child who is terrified of Tootsie Rolls. Honestly I don't know how we got there, but there we are.

It all started two days ago. We have a prize box where the kids can pick prizes from when they received enough stars on their charts for good behavior. Any manner of thing can end up in that box, such as the Tootsie Roll push light that someone had given Gus at the end of last school year that had ended up in a cabinet. So Gus chose the light for his prize and I thought all was well.

That night, he asked, "What's a Tootsie Roll?"

"It's a candy."

"Is it good for you?"

"Well, no. Candy isn't really good for you."

I should have seen the slope getting slippery, but it was late and I just wanted to get his brushing and compressions done. When he asked what would happen, I should have thought longer before I spoke.

"Well, too much candy can make you sick and it can give you cavities."

Isn't this a typical response about the evils of candy? Ah, but I'm not dealing with a typical child, am I?

"If I eat a Tootsie Roll, I'll get sick." The bottom lip started to quiver, the eyes started to water, the breath started to hitch. Within a second, he was full out crying. Stupid mommy. "I'm gonna diiiiiie!"

Of course all my attempts at damage control were pointless because once he latches onto something with that wonderful perseveration of his, it's all over. But I had to try.

"You won't die from eating a Tootsie Roll. I said that if you eat too many you might get a tummy ache or cavities. You won't die from those."

"I'm gonna get sick and die!"

I tried everything - even making funny faces to snap him out of it. Finally, the faces somewhat worked. He told, through sniffles, that he didn't want to be copied. We were saved from a major meltdown because of my extraordinary facial control.

I thought the drama was done, and obviously I'm still a stupid mommy.

We went through almost an identical scenario tonight, except this time I didn't let it go on so long. For one thing, my patience was much shorter tonight. Finally, I asked, "Do you want a Tootsie Roll? Is that it?"

"No! I'll get sick!"

"You won't get sick. Do you want a Tootsie Roll?"

"If someone gives me a Tootsie Roll, I'll get sick!"

"Did someone give you a Tootsie Roll?"

"No."

Now I was wondering if there was some talk of stranger danger or something going on at school to bring this up.

"No one's going to give you a Tootsie Roll."

"But if they put it in my mouth I have to spit it out or I'll get sick."

"Okay." I didn't have the energy to debate it any more. It was bad of me, I'm sure. But thankfully, he let it drop and he went to bed. No tears tonight over the candy.

Then I just had to console him over the Pirate story he asked me to read that set him to tears. I can do nothing right this week, apparently.

Grass is always greener

I know that most people with children on the spectrum would love nothing more than to have their children speaking. And honestly, I wouldn't want Gus to not speak because then I'd miss the wacky jokes and hilarious observations he makes. However...

There's always a 'but,' isn't there?

I don't know if he's doing it more, or if my nerves are just more sensitive than normal, but the constant noises and chatter are driving me batty. Almost from the minute he walks in from school until the time he falls asleep, there is a constant stream of sound coming from this boy. It's often accompanied by running through the house (like he is now). There is literally a cacophony: words, words, words, engine revving noise, earsplitting scream, engine revving, words, words, maniacal laughter, words, scream, engine...on and on. And by the way, the words are either unrelated to each other or are slightly varied repetitions of each other. Here's a for instance: I would like a chicken sandwich...I would like a macaroni sandwich...I would like a peanut butter sandwich...I would like a naked mole-rat sandwich...I would like a knuckle sandwich...I would like a trampoline sandwich...

Sometimes I can tune all the sounds out - I have to because noise is a bit of a sensitivity for me. To much of it makes me nuts. It helps in a way because I'm able to really empathize with him when certain sounds are upsetting him. But at times when I am trying to get him to focus, like when we are doing homework or eating dinner (or when I'm trying to explain to him why he can't put the chair upside down on the stairs and he's ignoring me) it's extremely frustrating to have him just droning on constantly.

Heaven help me when MM decides to chime in and rev him up even more. Then we get a situation like the other night when I finally just screamed, "Why do I bother to say anything in here?" I really just wanted to get through dinner. I don't feel too badly about yelling - I don't think anyone heard me.

My life is a comedy of errors

Let me preface this by saying that in all the time my son has been in school - several years - I have never had to have my emergency contacts contacted. Ever.

This morning Gus woke up and sounded like he was wheezing slightly. He's had a cough for a few days. Nothing major - he gets one every year around this time. So as usual, I sent him to school & asked the teacher to let me know if he was in fact wheezing. I planned to take him to the doctor after school.

Now, I've arranged my schedule so I am only working 1 morning during the week, and my classes are only 90 minutes long. I typically turn my cell phone off during class - it's yoga and kind of expected. I pretty much figure - what could happen in an hour and a half. Plus, the school has the studio number anyway. To top that off, my husband was home sick today. You already see where this is going, right?

My class ends at 10:30; school calls my cell at 10:00. They call 4 times. They call the house; DH is out getting his car inspected. For some unknown reason, I neglected to give the school his cell number. They also tried the studio, but my boss, who was there, didn't answer the phone. Er...okaaaay. Now we're into the emergency numbers. Obviously, we are neglectful parents.

First emergency contact just misses the call by minutes. Probably out emptying the garbage or something. As she is trying to call back (and getting busy signals) the school gets the second contact, who is also home sick, with a 3 year old. She leaves to pick up Gus while first contact finally gets through. She is now worried why no one can reach me.

Right after class, I get the messages and call the school. After several busy signals, I finally reach the social worker and find out that someone (she doesn't know who specifically) is on their way to get my son.

After ripping several hairs from my poor, distressed head, I finally pick up Gus from my cousin, take him to the doctor and guess what??

He's FINE!!!

He's got a cough.

Yeah, yeah, protocol, blah blah.

A bit stressful today. But I've learned my lesson - the ringer on my phone stays on, period.

Blind leading the blind

"Which way is right?"

This is not the question to ask someone who routinely mixes up lefts and rights, especially when facing said directionally-challenged person.

I'm not totally incompetent about lefts and rights. The problem is that when I teach yoga, as I was taught, I mirror the class. So, I have to say "right," but use my left hand or leg and vice versa. It is a constant source of amusement for my students and bemusement for me. It's particularly interesting when one part of the body is going one way and another is going the other way, like when we're twisting. I'll admit, when it comes to twisting, I cheat.

"Um..."

Gus was trying to engage me in his game and I wanted to respond, but the explanation was too long and he would have lost interest if I made it too complicated. So how could I explain that it depends which way is right? Did he mean my right or his right? Should I have even gotten into all of that? The easiest thing would have been to tell him his right, which was actually my left. What did he care about my right? Why couldn't he just have asked for north, south, east or west? Those are fixed directions and I have them memorized in relation to our house. There's no ambiguity there. Hm...his right would have been north and my right would have been south...

This whole rationale spun my brain right into a knot.

Apparently I took too long to answer; he lost interest. But then, miracle Sunday, he came back! And he snuggled his back against me. "Which way is right?" Easy-peasy, my friend.

"It's that way."