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.