Graduate Student Barbie

Just like you, only crazier.

A couple of weeks ago I saw a blog post about Graduate School Barbie.  If you have gone to graduate school and have not yet read it, you really should.  It is brutally honest, still very funny.  For those of you who went the "Real Job Skipper" route, it will probably make you glad you made the decision you did.

I have finished up but a friend of mine (bless her heart) is still in the midst of the torture process, so I sent her the page.  We had some great laughs about the whole thing, but in particular, we enjoyed the following passage:

"Grad School Barbie's Medicine Cabinet comes in Fabulous (pepto-bismal) pink and contains Barbie sized bottles of Advil, St. Johns Wort, Zantac, and your choice of three fun anti-anxiety drugs! (Barbie Medicine Cabinet not available without a prescription)."

It reminded us of a very funny moment from school.  We were talking to a female professor about something, and for reasons that neither of us remember, the conversation turned to anti-anxiety medication.  I think we were joking about another student who we referred to as "needing a medication adjustment."  The professor seemed surprised that this guy was on meds.  My friend and I laughed and acknowledged that we were on medication, too. 

Our professor was even more surprised at this point, and asked "Are ALL of the grad students on medication?"

I don't remember which one of us said "All of the ones that are successful!" 

Ah, grad school.  We laughed and laughed.  And cried and cried.  Some of the best (and worst) years of my life, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Don't Pet the Goldfish

Swim for your life, Dude!  That kid is here again!

Years ago, when our boys were about 6 years old, I was talking to my friend on the phone.  She was pretty irritated, telling me about her son's friend who had been at the house.  She walked into her son's room and saw the friend with his hand in the goldfish bowl. 

She said, "What are you doing?!?!"

He said, rather calmly, "I'm petting the goldfish."

She yelled at him that it wasn't a very nice thing to do to the fish, and his response?

"You never told me not to pet the goldfish."

Really, kid?  Do you NEED to be told not to pet the goldfish?

Since then, the phrase 'Don't pet the goldfish' has become a bit of a mantra for us. 

So, as we are about to go forth into a new year, my advice to you is to never be the kind of person who actually has to be told not to pet the goldfish.

From Monkey Butt to Monkey Brains

I while back, I blogged about a product I found called Anti Monkey Butt.

Well, a few days ago, I was at Wal-mart a super-classy, up-scale retail establishment and found Monkey Brains hair products.

(Does not contain actual monkey brains.)

A few comments, in no particular order:

• These items were NOT with the children's products. They were shelved with regular adult hair products.
• I did not think it was possible to make bananas look even more obscene, yet this packaging manages to do just that.
• I guess if you use "Grease Monkey Hair Pomade" you would have to use "Goop Out Shampoo" to clean up.
• I do not think I want anything with the word "Sticky" in my hair. Not"Super Sticky", and definitely not "Psycho Sticky." Kind of makes me picture the movie "There's Something about Mary."

As a service to the community, I will continue to be on the lookout for more monkey stuff.  Hey, what are friends for?

Ah, Structure, Thou Art a Heartless Bitch

Actual family calendar would have less 'white space'

One of our family's favorite shows is "The Big Bang Theory".  In one episode, Sheldon (who is widely believed to be an Aspie) says, "Ah, gravity, thou art a heartless bitch."

I feel the same way about structure.

All of us find comfort in structure.  The predictability means that we don't have to quickly adapt to unplanned scenarios.  Most of us, though, can muddle our way through the unforeseen, and may even enjoy the surprises along the way.

MOST of us.  Not so much with folks on the spectrum.

I saw a post on Facebook last night from a friend who was confessing to feeling like a terrible mother.  She was looking forward to going back to work today after the long Christmas weekend, primarily because it provided her with a break from her child.

Been there.  Done that.  Got the t-shirt.

Oh, yea.  Still there and still wearing the t-shirt.

Boo is 17, and Christmas break is still kind of rough.  He gets bored, starts acting up, gets fussed at (by me), then gets agitated.  When he gets agitated, his annoying unusual behaviors get more pronounced.  When the behaviors get worse, I lose my patience and fuss more.  I think we see the beginning of a pattern here.

Anyway, my message to those with younger kids is that it does get better.  He is old enough to amuse himself for longer periods of time, and can express that part of his problem is that he is bored.  He can read or play games for a few hours, and is more likely to go do things with his friends.

Yet, in the back of my mind is still this thought...8 more days until school resumes.  Hey, I said it gets better.  I didn't say it gets wonderful!

Author's note: As I was working on this, my favorite Autism Army Mom posted this.  Great minds think alike.  Or maybe we just go crazy together in sync.

P.S. The Onion has a great (sarcastic) piece on the need for structure for people with autism.  If you are not overly sensitive, you might get a kick out of it.  If you insist on political correctness, don't say you weren't warned.

Small Talk, Nerd Style

My "peeps".

One of the great things about having old friends come to visit is being reminded of forgotten memories. A former student of mine is here for the holidays.  She was working on her doctorate in engineering when she first met Boo, who was 9 at the time.

Like many single moms, when Boo was a kid I often had to take him to work with me.  Because I was in grad school and then worked in a University, Boo has always been surrounded by, well, kind of nerdy people.  I am one, too, so I really say it with love.

Anyway, my friend reminded me of one of Boo's little quirks from a few years ago...

Through the use of social stories, Boo had been taught a certain set of 'opening lines' as conversation starters.  Common ones they teach the kids have to do with asking people what types of games they like, or TV shows they watch.

Somehow, from hanging out with all of us nerds, he picked up a more unusual one: "So, what is your dissertation topic?" 

What is even funnier than an elementary-aged kid asking about a dissertation topic, is that everyone would always launch into a very animated discussion about their research, excited that someone would ask, and then actually listen to the answer.

It is interesting how well an Aspie fits into the engineering academic environment.

The "Night Before the Wedding" Talk

I know it seems kind of odd, but Christmas sometimes reminds me of a story about my parents' wedding. No, they were not married at Christmas. It was March.

So, why the association with Christmas?

Picture the setting: My grandparents' house, the late 1960's.

It is the night before my parents' wedding. My grandmother calls my mother into the bedroom...for 'the talk'.

My grandmother sits on the bed, and pats the bed next to her, signalling that my mother was to sit down.

My mother, probably wanting to die at this point, sits down.  And waits.

As we say in the south, my grandmother 'hems and haws' for a few minutes.  She finally takes a deep breath, my mother braces for the worst, and my grandmother blurts out:

"There is no Santa.  It has been me and your dad this whole time."

Then she gets up and leaves the room.

It is a bloody wonder that my brother and I were ever born.

Christmas Sweaters

Actor portrayal.  Not actual teacher.

A couple of weeks ago I posted an article on Facebook about Gaudy Christmas Sweaters making a comeback.

Boo's teacher from last year (who is one of our most favorite people!) commented on the link, telling me that the special ed department at his school has an ugly sweater contest every year.  She won last year and had already gotten what she believed would be the winning outfit again this year.  There is apparently a trophy at stake and she wants to keep it in her room for another year.

I had to ask her (as I 'LOL'ed) how many of the kids even realized that the teachers were trying to look silly.  After all, this is a small, rural, Midwest town.  You can see some fairly ugly sweaters on the Walmart shoppers pretty much year round.

Then she sent me a picture of her wearing her 'winning' outfit.  Oh, boy.  It was pretty special.  The red sweater had giant snowflake happy faces and a faux-fur collar.  The read and white checkered skirt reminded me of a Christmas tablecloth at an Italian restaurant.  One of her colleagues commented that it was too bad the picture was not a full-length shot since the shoes 'made the outfit'.  I can hardly imagine!

Anyway, so while I was looking at the picture on my computer, Boo walked in.  He came over, saw the picture, and said "Hey, that's Mrs. V.  She got that outfit for Christmas last year."  Then he walked away without any further explanation.

While I was impressed that he remembered the outfit from last year, I had to laugh about how he said it.  As if she had received it as a gift, rather then wearing it as a joke.

I guess that's why we don't ask teenaged boys on the spectrum for fashion advice!

Christmas "Loves"? Not So Much...

Wrong.  Just wrong.

So, I covered many of the things I love about Christmas.  Now it is time to present a few things I could live without.

Here are some very bad Christmas songs...  

• Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. 
• Dominick the Donkey. (Possibly one of the worst songs EVER.) 
• Jingle Bells, when barked by dogs. 
• The Chipmonk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late) 
• I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas (I just noticed an 'animal' theme in my list.)

Trust me.  It takes a lot for me to really hate a Christmas song.  Even after this rendition by Peter from Family Guy, I still love Carol of the Bells.

Not a fan of random items with Santa on them...

• such as the toilet above.  I wonder how Santa feels about that.  If I was Santa, I would be pissed.  (tee hee hee...)
• underwear that is meant to be 'naughty'.  'Funny undies' I am fine with, but let's not go X-rated with St. Nick, ok?

I strongly dislike having to shop anywhere for anything, even the grocery store.

And what do I hate the most? (cue drum roll)

Two words: turkey carcass.

My Christmas "Loves"

If I could fit this in my house, I would be a very happy woman!

I know it is sappy, but I LOVE this time of year.  I already discussed the Christmas of my youth, but I still get as excited as a kid about so many things.

I love the sounds...

• the Salvation Army bell ringers in front of store.
• almost all Christmas carols.  I especially love the older ones popular with carolers.
• a house full of people laughing.
• the glee of a small child when they finally spot Santa at the mall.

I love the smells...

• Gluhwein, because it reminds me of walking downtown when I lived in Wiesbaden.
• cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and pretty much any food that contains them.  Those are my favorite type of candle, too.
• a real Christmas tree.  I hate vacuuming up the needles out of the carpet until February (or March), but I can't give up the way it makes my house smell.

I love the movies...

• A Christmas Story ("You'll shoot your eye out!"  "It's a major award!")
• Christmas Vacation ("Merry Christmas. Shitter was full." - best/worst movie line EVER!)
• A Charlie Brown Christmas (I love Linus' monologue at the end.  Don't judge.)

I love the tastes...

• candy canes, peppermints, peppermint bark, etc.
• gingersnaps, gingerbread (especially a recipe that I have from my aunt.  I need to post that sometime.)
• those Brach's hard 'ribbon' candies.
• Terry's Chocolate Orange Ball (Milk Chocolate, Dark Chocolate, Toffee Crunch...I'm not picky.)
• warm apple cider, full of spice, especially if you can see cinnamon sticks and whole cloves floating in it.
• sweet potatoes.  I figured I should add something nutritious to the list!

 I love the sights...

• lights, of all kinds.  I like lights on trees, houses, professional displays, and even when a student just puts a string around their dorm window.
• bright wrapping paper.
• gingerbread houses.
• the delightfully tacky things kids make at school and bring home.  (Maybe I can find a picture of the wreath my kid made out of toilet paper cardboard rolls.  Charming.)

I am feeling TOO warm and fuzzy now.  I guess next I will need to post about the things I could live without this time of year!

Raymond Briggs' The Snowman

When Boo was about 4 or 5, my friend Stacy gave him the movie "The Snowman."  To be honest, I had never heard of it before.  I was raised, of course, on all of the classics that are shown on TV every year: "Frosty the Snowman", "How the Grinch Stole Christmas", "A Charlie Brown Christmas". etc., but this was a new one for me.

When Stacy gave him the movie, she told me she thought it would be a good movie for us.  OK, whatever that means :)

It really is the most amazing movie, especially for kids who are easily overstimulated.  The only talking is a sentence or two in the opening scene.  After that, it is very soothing music, beautiful animation, and NO annoying songs for a kid to fixate on!

Boo was hooked the first time he saw it.  FYI - there is a scene in the beginning when the boy is changing clothes so we get a one-second glimpse at his butt (always good for a chuckle), and when they get to the North Pole the snowmen have mugs of beer that are Oktoberfest-worthy.

When he was young, we would watch it almost every day during the holiday season.  I would even put it in sometimes during the rest of the year if he was very agitated.  It had an almost hypnotic effect.  And frankly, it was pretty relaxing for me, too!

Still, it is 26 minutes long - the perfect length for getting a few chores done but you aren't held hostage for an hour and a half!

Track Him Through His Cell Phone? Not Necessary

Many parents of teens track their kids through the modern miracle of a GPS in their cell phone.  I do not know how to do this.  Despite my engineering degrees, I sometimes struggle with what I refer to as 'the practical application of technology'.  In other words, I can't figure out how to work the dad-gum thing.

I'm sure I could figure it out if I really tried, but I have never had the motivation.

Like most Aspies, Boo sadly has almost no social life.  This has improved tremendously, though, the past few years, as his teachers at school have encouraged him to become more involved in extra-curricular activities.  (See this post, towards the bottom, to see how much I love his teachers!)

Since he does not drive yet, I have to pick him up when he returns to the school after events.  He isn't very good at estimating an arrival time, so he texts me at specified points in the evening, such as when they get back on the bus, when they get off the interstate, etc.

So, last night Boo was at an out-of-town activity.  He texted me to tell me he was on the bus and had had a great night.  After a while, I was curious as to where they were, and he said that the bus wasn't moving yet.  Once they did get underway, he let me know.

Since my husband and I were out to eat, we wanted to get an idea of how much time we had left.  I decided to ask what Interstate mile-marker the bus was at, and I could estimate an ETA. 

This is what I got:

Yes, he was providing me with real-time data on his travel progress.

I would like to think that this was sarcasm on his part, but I don't really know.  Perhaps I don't really want to know!

Still, with details like this, who needs to use a GPS with him?

Where IS Bikini Bottom?

Is it just me, or could he be trippin'?

Boo used to be a HUGE SpongeBob fan.  He probably still would be if I let him.  Time to let it go, kid.  Time to Let. It. Go.

One year, when he was still a fan, he was scheduled to go on a several-day field trip to a marine biology facility in southern Alabama.

Then, as often happens in life, a hurricane hit.  This time it was an actual hurricane, though, rather than just the random stuff life throws at you.

Since school was cancelled for the day, I had to take him to work with me.  Good times. 

My boss, attempting to make conversation with Boo, asked him if he was worried about SpongeBob.

Boo, looking at him like he was stupid, said "No. Why should I be?"

"Because of the hurricane.  Are you worried about Bikini Bottom getting damaged?"  (Let me interject for a minute here...is it really a good idea to plant the idea in a spectrum kid's brain that their favorite cartoon character might be in mortal danger?)

Boo: "Why would I be worried about Bikini Bottom?"  (About now, I was beginning to think that he had a better grasp on fiction vs. reality than I had originally thought.)

"Because of the hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico."  (Again, let it go, dude, before the kid loses it!)

"Bikini Bottom is in the Pacific Ocean.  Not the Gulf of Mexico."  (I had not recalled the cartoon ever mentioning the Pacific Ocean, but I didn't spend NEARLY as much time watching it as he did.)

Apparently, my boss was not aware of this geography either and said, "Really?  I didn't know that."

Boo, rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically, said "Stephen Hillenburg, the creator of SpongeBob is from Encino, California.  California is by the Pacific Ocean.  Therefore, Bikini Bottom is in the Pacific Ocean, NOT the Gulf of Mexico."  Then he walked off, apparently disgusted by the total ignorance of the people in his life.

As soon as he was out of earshot, we both busted out laughing.

For years after that, my boss used to tell the graduate students that story and say that as soon as they could defend their dissertation with that kind of logic and conviction, they were ready to get their Ph.D.

Why Gingerbread Sometimes Makes Me Sad

I grew up in Germany.  (It was West Germany at the time.  Yes, I am old.)  I am not German, but my dad was in the military.  Even as a kid I knew that it was a very special experience.  I met my husband there...a story for a different time. Anyway, over the past few years, I have reconnected with many of my fellow military brats through Facebook.  We talk about about where we are now in our lives (physically, professionally, emotionally, spiritually...), and we talk about what we miss most about living there.

 Recently a friend posted the following picture of me on Facebook:

Yes, I have always had a keen eye for fashion.

It was taken on the train, on our way to the Christkindlesmarkt in Nuremberg, Germany.  How do I know it was on the way there, and not back?  Well, I don't know for sure, but given all the candy I tended to eat while I was there, I suspect I was not smiling as much on the trip back.

Every year we took a field trip there.  We all went to the Bahnhof, piled on the train, there was always a big 'boombox' or two, and disco (yes, disco) would be blaring down the train.  I particularly remember "Good Times" by Chic.  Yes, those were very 'good times'.

When I was at Aldi the other day, I bought Dark Chocolate Covered Gingerbread.  Gingerbread, particularly if it is more savory than sweet, is a very German dessert.  It brings back a flood of sense-memories...Gluhwein, roasted nuts, Christmas carols, twinkling lights.

I know that while I look at that picture, eat my gingerbread, and hear "Good Times" in my head, I should be thrilled that I had such wonderful experiences in my youth.  And that I have managed to reconnect with my old friends so we can get nostalgic together.

Still, I can't help but get a little homesick.

I miss Christmas in Germany.  And I miss my friends.

*****

If you want to read more about the Christkindlesmarkt, below are links in both English and German.

http://www.christkindlesmarkt.de/english/

http://www.christkindlesmarkt.de/

These pictures are not mine, but they are beautiful, and much like I remember it...

Excuse me? WHAT did you just say?!?!

Ever have one of those conversations with someone where you can't remember how it started, but at some point you can't believe what you are hearing?  Given that I have an Aspie kid, I have those with him quite frequently, but when it happens with others it can catch me by surprise.

My husband and I were cleaning the house before we had company for the holidays and he made a reference to the downstairs 'Dungeon".  Boo's domain.  Home of the gas-station bathroom.  The forbidden place where I descend as seldom as possible.

Cleaning up that disaster is a somewhat Herculean task for Boo since it involves a certain level of organization that he simply does not possess.  Therefore, I usually break it up into more manageable chunks for him. 

• Bring your dirty clothes upstairs.
• Bring the trash upstairs.
• Clean up your books.
• Clean up the bathroom, etc.

Anyway, on this particular day, something happened and my husband wanted to do something differently.  I don't remember what it was he wanted, but I commented that it wasn't the way Boo was used to doing it, so it probably wouldn't be a time- and energy-saver.

At which point, Albert makes the comment, "Well, he just needs to learn to improvise."

Seriously.  Improvise.  Not really something we associate with kids on the spectrum, is it?

I just put down what I was doing, looked him in the eye, and said, "You haven't read a single one of the things I gave you about Asperger's, have you?"

"No.  Why do you ask?"

"No reason, dear.  No reason at all."

*sigh*

Thanksgiving Afterthought...

Not actual family photo

It's funny.  We spend weeks planning our Thanksgiving menu, going to 4 different grocery stores to get all of the food, shampooing the spots out of the carpet, cleaning the house, planning lots of activities, and cooking for hours.

Yet, looking back, my favorite moments from the holiday were when we were all in the living room watching TV together.  When will I learn that all of that other stuff doesn't really matter?

I hope your holiday weekend also included plenty of 'sofa time' with the family.

Way to Make Small Talk, Kid!

My son has been exposed to a lot of different religions in his life.  He has (semi-regularly) attended church in Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian churches.  He want to Catholic school for a year (and there will be PLENTY more stories about that, later!)  And, I have had Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu friends that he was comfortable asking questions of.

He has never particularly cared to attend church, but it has more to do with having to sit down and be quiet than with the religious issues.  Instead, he prefers time reading his bible (or other materials) by himself.

Yesterday, we went by our local Catholic church for a few minutes.  I attend with my husband occasionally, but Boo always stays home. 

Boo meets Father John, who is exactly what you expect of a middle-aged priest.  The priest (who already knew of Boo's diagnosis) smiled very sweetly as Boo spent a few minutes literally wandering around the sanctuary, looking under the table clothes, peeking around the alter, disappearing for a minute...

Of course, I was trying to mentally 'will' him to come back and stand quietly with us, but Father John just calmly said, "He will be fine.  Let him look around."

After he had satisfied his curiosity, he did rejoin us.  Then, he speaks...

"Father John, I have a question for you."

"What is your question, son?"

"God loves us, right?"

"Yes."

"And God created everything, right"

"Yes."

"Then why did God create hell?"

That's my kid, the master of small talk.

How to Speak Aspie, Part I

When my husband moved here so we could get married, he had zero experience with Asperger's.  I had tried to explain it, but let's face it: on-the-job training is the only way to really get it!

A few days after the hubby moved in, Boo (15 at the time) needed to get some blood work done at the lab. I asked Albert to bring Boo from home and meet me there. I figured they could bond some in the car and I needed to work late.

When they pulled up next to me in the parking lot, Boo got out of the car with a can of soda in his hand.

Me: "Boo, you can't take a drink into a medical facility." (I pause to give Boo a minute to figure out what to do. It can take him a few seconds to process things.)

Albert, not realizing why I am pausing: "Just slam it, dude."

Boo looks at Albert a little oddly, says "OK" and proceeds to chuck the can to his feet, with great gusto. Then starts to walk away.

Albert's mouth falls open and he says "What the heck?!?!"

I laugh and say "Boo, he meant to chug it, not throw it to the ground."

Boo: "Oh, that makes a LOT more sense!"

Albert just stood there, shocked, while Boo picked up the can and put it in the car to be recycled.

He still has a lot to learn about living with a kid with Asperger's (don't we all?) but at least he has a good sense of humor, probably the most important part of the equation.

Men are just different...in SO many ways.

I have always known that men and women are different.  Not just the whole 'sit versus stand' thing.  There is also the love for shot glasses and the Three Stooges.  I once saw a set of Three Stooges shot glasses.   I am pretty sure a man designed them.

But I digress...

We have company for Thanksgiving.  Family, but still guests in our home.

It's not like I am terribly domesticated.  In fact, I am pretty much the opposite of that.  Still, I like for my guests to fill at home.  My priorities earlier in the week included the following:

• Clean the guest room.  Really clean it, because of allergies.
• Buy new pillows.  The old ones are going flat, and who wants their guests to have flat pillows?
• Change the sheets on the beds.  No one had slept in them since the last time they were changed, but I still like them to be fresh.
• Clean the house and do laundry, because we all want to give other people the impression that we live a spotless life.
• Get the menu planned and shopping done, especially since the whole Thanksgiving holiday kind of centers around food.

My husband's list of things that HE thought needed to be done included:

• Get the cats their annual vaccines.  Rabies and distemper.  Seriously.  They are indoor cats.  Were they really going to get rabies over the holiday weekend?
• Oh, and get his tires replaced.  Who gets their tires replaced unless one of them is flat?  Ok, ok, I know that you aren't supposed to wait that  long, but were they going to die over the next week?

 Anyway, our guests arrived safely, the house looks cleaner than it has since the last time we had company, the cats are vaccinated, and he has new tires.

Oh, and I refrained from yelling about the cats and the tires.  That's something we can probably all be thankful for.

True Thankfulness (sans the snark)

Those of you who know me also know that I am almost always a bit snarky.  Today I will put that on hold and talk about what I am most thankful for...all of the people that have shaped Boo into the remarkable young man that he has become.

He was 2 when he was diagnosed.  He was in Kindergarten when his anxiety got so bad that I allowed him to be put on Paxil.  Since they do not make pills for 5-year-olds, he was given liquid.  Those of you familiar with sensory issues know that it can also translate to food and liquids.  After the first dose, he threw it up and cried because he said the medicine was slimy and sweet.  I could not get him to take it.  I talked (cried) to the pharmacist whose family had owned the drug store for about 100 years.  He said that he could take the pills, crush them, measure out the appropriate dose, then make tiny little capsules.  All he asked was that I give him a day's notice because it took some time.  He didn't even charge me for this.

Boo gladly took the capsules, saw the pharmacist as a hero, and was a changed kid afterwards.

First grade was a complete disaster for us.  His teacher tried very hard, but she had her hands full with that group.  We wound up at the local Montessori school for second grade.  These teachers went above and beyond, creating an environment that was calm and peaceful for all of the kids, not just mine.  Boo was really obsessed with geography for a while that year.  One day when I dropped him off he ran up to the teacher and asked if she had gone to the library.  She told him she had and to look in his cubbyhole.  I asked her what was going on and she informed me that he had gone through all of the geography books in the classroom, so she had been checking out books from the local library for him.

Boo still talks about all of the great times he had with those teachers, though I don't know if he remembers the library books.

Just before fourth grade, we moved to another state.  I spoke to the local elementary school principal ahead of time, and he asked us to come up to the school so he could show Boo around.  He turned out to be one of Boo's biggest advocates.  When he was tricked into saying a string of curse words (loudly) in the cafeteria, he wasn't punished.  He sat down with Boo and explained that he wasn't in trouble, but those words aren't appropriate at school.  When a kid tried to beat Boo up on the playground, he took great pains to make sure Boo felt safe.  When the school district's psychologist did not want to test Boo to see if he was eligible for more services, he placed a call and told her that the tests would be done.  They were, and his services were increased.

Boo still remembers him by name, and his white pickup truck, even though it has been 6 1/2 years.

He struggled horribly in middle school, as do probably all Aspies.  His grades were okay, but he struggled socially. As they were planning his course of study for high school, I was told by a number of professionals that I needed to have realistic expectations about his future.  He may not be able to get a regular high school diploma.  As a college professor, I have to admit that the news was difficult for me.

The summer before 10th grade, we moved again, and got to enter yet another school district.  The planner that I am, I called ahead to make arrangements.  On registration day for sophomores, Mrs. S met us and took us through all of the different 'stations'.  It was very loud, and Boo started to get nervous.  She had him wait off to the side and took care of much of it for us.  It is a large high school, so she took us on a tour.  She made sure that no matter where he was, he could find his way to her room, or his case manager, Mrs. G's room.  Mrs. G and Mrs. V, another special ed teacher, became so important to Boo, that when I got married the next summer, he wanted them to be there, and they were.  The two of them helped improve his organization skills, as well as his social skills.  In 11th grade, they worked with the basketball coach and he became a manager for the team.  The kid who started the season on the verge of panic every game because of all the noise in the gym, learned how to handle it and look almost relaxed.  He even earned a 'letter' like the athletes on the team and was asked to manage again this year.  For his senior year, he is taking all college-prep courses, has a 3.97, and has scored high enough on the ACT for guaranteed admission to the local university.

As excited as he is about going to college next year and living in the dorms, he loves his teachers so much he is already talking about volunteering at the school after graduation.

Boo has always had the very odd gait common in spectrum kids.  I could spot him easily in a crowd just because of the way he walked.  He also had very poor muscle tone.  After we moved here 2 years ago, I got him a personal trainer at the local hospital fitness center.  His trainer works with him twice a week and has become a tremendous role-model for Boo.  In addition to working with him on strength and fitness, he talked to him about being a good man.  Boo has volunteered at this fitness center for the past two summers.  He has worked mostly with children's camps and loves it.  The staff there have worked with him on the most basic of job skills: show up when you are supposed to, do what you are told, be nice to everyone, and act like you are happy to be there, even if you aren't.  He is so good with the kids that he was asked to work one-on-one with a kid who needed individual attention.  He has not had many opportunities to feel successful in his life, so this was a particularly wonderful gift.

There have been many, many others who have made a difference in his life.  Too many to list.  I am thankful for every single one of you who have helped him grow from the kid who would hide behind his Kindergarten teacher's cabinet, to the young man who in turn helps those around him that have needs.

PS - The smart-ass version of Lily will be back tomorrow.  No worries.

Who doesn't love butt humor?

So, let's be honest.  How doesn't love some good butt humor?  I am apparently a 13-year-old boy on the inside.  Or at least I have that same sense of humor.

This train of thought started a while back on the Autism Army Mom site.  She had a very funny post called "A Bad Case of Swamp Ass".  It was the first (and last) time I have asked my husband to read her page.

It turned into kind of a disaster.

I would come home from the gym and say, "I'm going to take a shower." His response?  "Got a bad case of swamp ass?"

He would come home from work and say, "I'm going to wash my swamp ass and then start dinner."  (By the way, picturing 'swamp ass' before dinner is a great way to diet!)

One time our sweet kitty came out of the bathroom after a rather stinky adventure in the litter box, jumped on the bed, and the hubby said, "Hey there, Swamp Ass!"

So, I was at the local Wal-mart the other day and saw this:

But (butt) does it work for swamp ass?

Yes, I did take out my phone and take a picture.  I couldn't help myself.

Even funnier than Baby Anti Monkey Butt?  Lady Anti Monkey Butt!

Honey, if your butt looks like that you need WAY more than powder!

The moral of the story?  Heck, I don't know.  Maybe, 'How old do you have to be to not find 'monkey butt' funny?' 

The Big Reveal

If you missed yesterday's post on the run-up to senior pictures, you don't want to miss it!

So, for outfits...well, maybe some background would be helpful.  Boo tends to get fixated on things.  (So uncharacteristic for kids on the Spectrum, right?)  Sometimes this translates to clothes.  Back in elementary school he had back-to-back years with almost identical shirts.  In 10th and 11th grade, he wore different shirts, but they were both light blue, striped, button-up shirts over a white t-shirt.  Not really a significant difference.

A day or two before the 'big event' I asked about his selections.  After much negotiation, we wound up with 3 'outfits' (we were permitted up to 4), and I am using the term 'outfit' loosely.  He picked out the light blue, striped, button-up, long-sleeve from last year, a short-sleeve, medium-blue, button-up shirt, and a blue and white striped Polo.  All of these were partnered up with a white t-shirt underneath, tan cargo shorts, and tennis shoes.  Not really the wardrobe I had envisioned, but I could live with it.

As we head off to the studio for pictures, there was much 'discussion' (from him) about why we were heading to the one in the next town over, rather than their facility near our house.  "I don't know, Boo.  When I made the appointment they told me to go to the big place."

"But, can't they take my picture at the place near our house?"

"Maybe there are more backgrounds available at the bigger place."

"DIFFERENT BACKGROUNDS?!?!  WHY didn't you TELL me?!?!"

I swear, if it wasn't 8:00 in the morning, I would have packed a flask in my purse.

By the time we make the 10-15 minute drive to the studio, he is in a 'mood'.  We walk in, he sits on the sofa, crosses his arms, and takes 'sullen' to a whole new level.  I look at the lady behind the counter, think to myself, "What the hell...I'm paying them a bloody fortune," and tell her I am going shopping.  "See you in a hour!"

The actual shoot went pretty well.  Apparently the photographer was a 'whisperer' of sorts.  While we are finishing up, the lady behind the counter tells me about reviewing the proofs.  She explained that we will have a private viewing, the pictures will be in a slideshow, set to music, and displayed on a giant flat-screen monitor.  I pointed to Boo, who at this point has reached his limit, has his hands on his head, is moaning softly, and is rocking back and forth on the sofa.  I tell her, "No thank you.  It would really be best to not put him through that. We would just like to see a proof sheet."

She agrees, but that may have just been a tactic to make us leave.

Two weeks later, it is time for the big reveal.  I take Boo to a local fast-food place for burgers and frozen custard, and tell him about what they wanted us to experience while viewing the proofs.  His eyes got huge, as I quickly explained that they had agreed to just let us look at proof sheets.  "Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou, mom!  There is NO way I could deal with that!"  For about 15 minutes he was my biggest fan.

Then we got to the studio.

We get shown back to the viewing room (and yes, I was already started to smell trouble), and what is on the big flat screen monitor?  Boo's face.  Set to music.  The physical sensation I started feeling at that moment was probably pretty similar to the Captain of the Titanic once he realized they had started taking on water.

Boo starts yelling at the poor woman, "My mom said there wouldn't be any music!  Turn it off!  Turn it off!"

The woman (who, in my defense, had been warned two weeks earlier) started messing with the mouse and was saying, "I don't think I know how!"

Boo, in a very condescending voice, starts saying, "Put the pointer in the bottom right corner!  Right!  I said 'right', not 'left'!  See the speaker?  The thing that looks like a speaker!  A speaker!!  Click on it!  Click on it!! I said 'Click on it'!!!"  By now, this chick is on the verge of a stroke.

On the bright side, they were so anxious to get rid of us that they let us leave with the proofs!  I took them home, got to view them with Boo (NOT in a slideshow set to music!) and all is well.  The pictures even turned out great.

The portrait studio may have even learned a lesson...when an autism mom tells you clearly what her kid's limits are...trust her.  She knows what she is doing.

How important ARE senior pictures?

Recently, over here, there was a discussion about the 'beauty' of having your kid's picture taken at school.  I have been pretty lucky on this one.  When he was younger he loved it!  I have tons of pictures from the early years, where he is adorably cute!

Then came 'Middle School.'  Side note: what is it about middle school that turns perfectly pleasant children into the spawn of Satan?  Do they put something in the water?  Do the 8th graders, who have mastered the art of surly, pull the 6th grades aside and say "Let me share with you the secret to making your mother drink"?

But I digress...

Well, this is Boo's senior year, which means...Senior Pictures.  By this point in his life, he would prefer to be invisible most of the time, so you can imagine the look of glee and delight on his face as I broke the news about senior pictures.

Boo: "BUT WHY CAN"T THEY USE MY ID PHOTO LIKE THEY HAVE THE PAST FEW YEARS?!?!"

Me (using a remarkably calm voice): "Because when you graduate from high school, you send out announcements to friends and family and you put your picture in with it."

Boo: "ANNOUNCEMENTS?!?! Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

Me (still calm, but it is becoming more difficult): "Probably because the subject never came up.  I promise it was not a vast conspiracy to keep you in the dark."

Boo (not noting the dripping sarcasm in my voice): "But WHY do we have to send out announcements?  What's the point?!?"

Me (just starting to lose it): "Because if you don't send out announcements, then no one knows that you are graduating, and you won't get any gifts."

'New' Boo, with a refreshingly changed attitude: "Gifts?  People send gifts?  What kind of gifts?"

Me (sensing a change for the better): "Cash, honey.  They usually send cash."

Boo: "Oh, ok.  Well I guess I can get pictures taken."

Fast forward to a few days before the photo shoot...

Me: "Boo, we need to get your clothes together for your pictures."

Boo: "I was just going to wear shorts and a blue shirt."

Me (with Spidey-senses tingling): "That will be fine, but we need to pick out several outfits.  We can have as many as 4 changes of clothes."

Boo: "WHAT?!?!  I HAVE TO HAVE SEVERAL SETS OF CLOTHES?!?!"

Me (wondering if there are exceptions to the no-drinking-before-5:00-rule that involve Aspies and senior pictures):  "Yes, Boo.  You do."

Boo: "WWWHHHYYY????"

Me (taking a page from The Big Bang Theory, a family favorite): "Because it is the social protocol."  (Don't judge.  It works for Leonard when he is talking to Sheldon.)

Boo:  "It is?  Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes, I am sure."

Boo: "OK"

Silly me.  I kind of thought it was settled at that point.  However, a few days later I went on the computer for something and the recent search history popped up.  I kid you not, the following had been researched rather extensively:

• how important are senior pictures?
• what are graduation announcements?
• money for a graduation gift?
• changing clothes for senior pictures?

Thankfully, all of the pages he had visited confirmed what I had told him, but as my dear friend Kellie pointed out, "Exactly how many times have you lied to this kid to make him verify the topic of senior pictures to this extent?"

Tune in tomorrow for 'the rest of the story...'

In the beginning...

I have been told (by people who should know better!) that I should write a blog.  I guess some folks find my ramblings amusing.  Probably in the same perverse way that we all crack up when we see someone slip and fall on their butt in a mud puddle. Sometimes it is a relief to see that while we may have our own problems, at least we aren't the one sitting in mud.  This time.

The first person to suggest that I write was my best friend from high school.  After listening to a very long story I was telling that started with the sentence "It was, by far, the strangest funeral I have ever been to," she suggested that I start writing my memoirs, and that should be the title.  That gives you an idea how long ago it was.  'Blog' wasn't even a word yet!

Since then, I have fallen in love with a couple of blogs.  I will introduce you to them later.  But they have often allowed me to laugh on days where my knee-jerk reaction might have been to cry.  I have come to realize that many of the fears I have are not so uncommon.  And, in some ways, I have felt a little less alone.