To all of Boo's "Mothers"

I have mentioned many times about all of the wonderful people we have had in our lives, but this Mother's Day, I really want to say "thank you" to all of Boo's other "mothers".  In roughly chronological order...

Miss W came into our lives when he was almost 2.  She was his preschool teacher, and so much more.  She helped potty-train him, diagnosed his chicken pox, and loved him unconditionally.  When he was in the ER from a nasty fall, she and her cousins (who also loved Boo like family) overran the place and refused to be told that there was a limit to the number of people who could come back to the exam area.  All they needed was to see that he was OK.

T's and J's mom, S, was always there for him.  For a few years, we were both single moms and regularly pooled resources.  We shared meals, laughs and tears.

Stacy, my best friend from HS, has always been  there for us, but became an even more awesome resource when Boo entered school.  She is a special education teacher, and fellow mother, so she was able to give me very practical advice on how to prepare for the dozens of IEP meetings we have had over the years.  On a more personal note, a very large portion of my AT&T minutes have been spent on the phone with her venting about the trials and tribulations of my life. 

I have mentioned Kellie before, as well as her complete lack of maternal desires.  (Frankly, I was shocked when she got a dog, and dogs are WAY less work than kids!)  She has known Boo since he was about 6, and has always been his buddy.  A few days before I got married, and Boo was freaking out about a variety of things, she was amazing.  We sat in her car outside a restaurant a few days before the ceremony and she was encouraging him to vent and get it all out before we went in to have dinner with some folks.  He would rant for a minute, then pause, and she would ask "Is that all?  Are you done, or is there anything else you are thinking?"  He would take a deep breath, and spew some more.  Finally, he had nothing else to say, we went in, and had a fabulous evening.

C and his mom L are still such a big part of our lives that their whole family adopted us.  C's grandparents have had us at their farm for Thanksgiving several times and there have been too many great memories to ever put in a single list.  L's sister-in-law (J) and I have decided that we are probably sisters separated at birth!

I have mentioned Boo's teachers, Mrs. V and Mrs. G before in True Thankfulness (sans the snark).  As his senior year comes to a close, I cannot help but really gush about them.  They love him so much that they put in hours of work to help him and his date (K) get ready for Prom.  They met with them to answer all of their questions and prepared a Social Story.  Since neither of these kids drive yet, they picked them up, took them to dinner, and then dropped them off at Prom.  Mrs. V sent me a couple of text messages and posted a few pictures during dinner to assure me that they were all having fun.  When I picked him up, he even said, "I had a great time!" and he meant it.

These are just a few of the amazing women that have become my sisters in this journey.  They are Boo's other mothers and are a big part of the reason that he is what he is today.  I love you, and more importantly, Boo loves you.

Childbirth and Basketball

I wasn't raised a fan of college basketball, but I eventually settled down in NW Arkansas in the early 90s, and the Razorbacks were VERY good at the time. 

The 1993-94 season was a fantastic time for Hog fans.  The new Bud Walton Arena opened that season, President Clinton was in office and would occasionally come to town for a game, and the Razorbacks were consistently very highly ranked.

I was pregnant with Boo during that time.  I started childbirth classes that spring, on Monday nights at the local hospital education annex.  I went with two of my girlfriends, Sherri and Ramona, who were also Hog fans.

The meeting after the Final Four had been determined, one of the dads in the class asked if the Razorbacks were to make it to the National Championship game (the following Monday night), would the class be rescheduled for another night?  The dozen or so dads were all very disappointed when they were told that the class would not be able to be rescheduled because there were no available rooms/times.  The class would go on, regardless.

The following weekend, Arkansas beat Arizona and went on to play Duke for the National Championship.  I don't think that Sherri, Ramona, and I even discussed what we would do.  We just skipped class and stayed home to watch the game.  (Side note: my brother, who had just moved to town and was living with me, watched the game with his pregnant sister and her two friends.  Probably his lamest sports spectator moment of all time!)

Arkansas won the game, celebrations erupted all over town, and we Hog fans had one of our best weeks ever!

The next Monday, the three of us girls went to childbirth classes, looked around at all of the married couples, and one of us said, "So, how many people were actually here last week?"

All of the wives glared at us, and all of the dads had this look like "Oh, boy.  They really stepped in it this time!"

One woman spoke up.  "Everyone was here except for you."

We probably should have felt bad.  About skipping class.  About giving the impression that a healthy birth took a back seat to basketball.  About causing marital discord between all of the couples there.  Should have, but didn't.

Skip ahead a few months to when I was in labor.  It was 3:00 in the morning and the doctor was on the phone with me trying to determine if I should go to the hospital.  He asked a few things, I was clearly clueless, and so he asked if I had gone to childbirth classes and did they discuss false labor.

"Well, I did take the childbirth classes, but I skipped the night they covered false labor.  It was the night we played Duke for the National Championship!"

The doctor perked up and said, "Oh!  Okay.  Let's just get you on in to the hospital to get you checked out!"

He totally got it.  Awesome.

THAT'S What you Bring up in Therapy?!?!

It was a Sunday afternoon, and Boo walked to a friend's house with instructions to be home by 5:00.

Albert and I, still being 'newlyweds' of sorts, decided to have some 'quality time'. To put it delicately, 'quality time' was over but we were cuddling and talking.

We did not hear Boo come through the front door.  Hours early.

We DID hear Boo stand at our open bedroom door and scream.

We heard him scream and run all the way down the stairs to his room, we heard him scream and bang his head on the wall, and we heard him scream while he twisted his glasses into a knot, probably hoping he would never see anything again.  Ever.

The next morning, while he was still freaked out, and had no glasses, I called Mrs. G. one of his two favorite teachers.  It was, by far, the most awkward conversation I have ever had with a teacher.  I was afraid that all of his teachers would ask where his glasses were, and that he would have no response he was comfortable with.

He came home in much better spirits, telling us that Mrs. G. told him that almost everyone, unfortunately, catches their parents.  It's just that most people never speak of it.  And Mrs. V. told him that her friend once caught her grandparents.  I think his exact words were, "Ew, gross.  That's even worse!"

Luckily, we managed to move on, but a few weeks later we were at Boo's doctor's office.  My hubby and I were out in the waiting room while Boo was in there by himself.  Boo came out, obviously upset, wouldn't look at us, sat down, and the doctor called us in for 'our turn'.

We all sat down, and the doctor broke the silence with, "So, I hear it has been a bit eventful lately.  Boo is pretty upset."

For a few seconds, my husband and I looked at each other, and we both thought, "Aw, crap.  This is going to be embarrassing."

Before we had a chance to speak, the doctor continued.  "So, Albert, I understand that you and Boo are arguing about you putting the bread in the refrigerator rather than leaving it on the counter like he is used to."

Seriously.  The subject of catching us naked has NEVER come up in therapy.  The bread in the fridge?  Still an occasional topic.

Why the Trayvon Martin Case Scares Me

Note: I have several friends in law enforcement.  I would trust them with my life.  More importantly, I would trust them with my son's life.  But, like most mothers, I do not necessarily trust strangers with my son's life.

I doubt that there is a parent in the United States who hasn't been emotionally touched this week by the tragic death of Trayvon Martin.

President Obama's commented, "You know, if I had a son he would look like Trayvon."

Dwayne Wade (Miami Heat basketball player) said, "As a father, this hits home. This situation hit home for me because last Christmas, all my oldest son wanted as a gift was hoodies. So when I heard about this a week ago, I thought of my sons. I'm speaking up because I feel it's necessary that we get past the stereotype of young, black men and especially with our youth."

Boo is biracial, but is very light and (to use a politically incorrect term and concept) can "pass".  So, I do not have the exact fears that Gayle King described when she talked about having "The Conversation" with her son.

My fears are much more like the scene in the movie Adam, when he is confronted by the police and has the meltdown that spectrum moms know so well.  (If you have not yet seen the movie, I highly recommend it.  Boo watched part of it with me, but Adam's meltdown in the lawyer's office upset him so he stopped.  I may try it again with him soon, though.  It depicts dating issues (gulp!) which is another conversation we need to have soon.)

I wasn't scared as much when Boo was younger, because he never ventured anywhere alone and unsupervised.  If I wasn't with him, he would have a teacher or other trusted adult with him to intervene.

But now he is 17.  He has a learner's permit.  He starts college in the fall.  He will move in to the dorms.

I will not be there to help him regulate his behavior.  I will not be there when (not if) someone thinks he is acting strangely.  I will not be there to help him interact with authority figures.

To say it scares the crap out of me is an understatement.

Yes, there are resources.  Yes, I am trying to teach him every single thing that I can.  Yes, he attends classes to learn independent living skills.

And yes, I am still a very scared mom.

The Great Taco Meat Fiasco

Yummy!

Boo loves nachos.  Then again, who doesn't?  Crunchy chips, savory meat, creamy sour cream, gobs of cheese...

Damn, I am getting hungry.  But I digress.

One of my favorite things about nachos is that I can cook a pound or two of taco meat, toss it in the fridge, make sure we have all the fixings on hand, and Boo has after-school snacks for a few days.

I like nachos, too, but just the first day.  After day one, the leftovers have always been Boo's.

Having always been an only child, and in a single-parent household for 15 years, he never really had to 'compete' with anyone for food.  And, then I got married.

Many, many things changed for Boo after I got married.  You can imagine how thrilled he was with that.  For months, he tried really hard to be patient and understanding of the changes his new step-father was trying to implement.

Things came to a head one day, though, when Boo went to the fridge to heat up some taco meat to make himself some nachos.  Turns out that Albert had beat him to it, and the treasured taco meat was gone.

I hear this blood-curdling "AHHHH!!!" coming from the kitchen, and take off running, expecting to find him with a severed artery.  Instead, Boo is standing in front of the fridge with the door open, looks at me with a face filled with raw fury, and screams:

"THAT FAT BASTARD ATE MY TACO MEAT!"

The next few minutes are kind of blurry.  I was holding my breath to try and keep from laughing, while simultaneously feeling like this type of inappropriate behavior should be nipped in the bud.

Still, it was funny as hell...

"Reporting for taco-meat-eating duty!"

Tornado Alert

Boo went to Catholic School for 3rd grade.  It was meant to be a 'transition' year between his time at a Montessori school and reentering the public school system.  The teacher already knew and adored him, so I knew he would get great support.

So, a couple of weeks after school started we were watching Die Hard 2 together.  There is that scene towards the end of the movie where everyone is running through the airport in a panic.

He asked why they were running and screaming and so I decided to use it as an opportunity to explain why we have emergency drills.

I asked him, "You know what to do if there is a tornado while you are in your classroom, right?"

"No."

I thought that was odd given that we lived in a very active tornado area.  I followed up with, "You have had a tornado drill, haven't you?"

"Yes."

OK.  "Do you know what to do in your classroom if there is a tornado?"

"No."

*sigh* The conversation continued like this for a few more rounds, when he finally looked at me like I was the stupidest thing on earth, and exclaimed:

"I know what to do if there is a tornado and I am in the Principal's office.  I just don't know what to do if I am in my classroom!"

*****
Epilogue: I asked the teacher about why he was being sent to the Principal's office and no one had told me.  It turned out that when he would start to get agitated with the noise in the classroom, they would let him go to the office where it was more quiet.  Over time, the Principal even set up a little work area for him (small desk, some supplies, etc.) so he could work more effectively when he was there.

It actually worked out pretty well for him.  He learned to recognize when he was getting overwhelmed and had the option to remove himself from the situation.  Over the course of the year, he retreated less often.  I think he felt comfort in having some control over things.

Adventures With the TSA

Who doesn't love a man in uniform?

Let's face it, TSA is always in the news, and the media rarely puts a positive spin on it. But 10 years later, the mention of TSA still cracks me up.

We used to travel quite a bit when Boo was little.  By the fall of 2001, at the ripe old age of 7, Boo could navigate the airport pretty well.

Then 9/11 happened.

Since I grew up on a military base in Germany, the sight of heavily-armed guards was not a big deal to me.  But, I realize they can be pretty intimidating to most.

The first time we flew post-9/11, I spent a great deal of time explaining to Boo that things would be different.  He had seen the news and was concerned about safety, so we talked quite a bit about the soldiers that would be at the airport to make sure we were safe.  I showed him pictures of soldiers and detailed the new security procedures.

We went through security at our regional airport with no problems, as it was exactly how Boo expected it to be.  He was nervous, but held it together great.

Then we got to Dallas. 

As we made our way to McDonald's, we were trudging along with the crowd of mostly business people, all quietly, quickly, getting to where we needed to go.  We passed one of the many security points that fed into the terminal, when I saw it: a male member of the National Guard, in complete combat gear including weapons, leaning against the X-ray machine flirting with a young, female TSA agent.  Seriously, it looked like a scene from "A Night at the Roxbury."

Unfortunately, Boo saw it, too.  He stopped cold, nearly tripping up the folks behind us, points at the pair, and shouts, "That man is NOT keeping us safe!"

Everyone around us cracked up, but sadly, the young couple in question did not even notice the pointing, the loud declaration, or the small crowd laughing.  So much for security.

The "F-Word"



Oh, fudge!

A friend recently commented on that parenting rite of passage: a child's first cuss word.

Personally, I don't really understand why some words are considered profanity and other words (that mean the exact same thing!) are considered appropriate.  And frankly, if I don't get it, I don't really expect an Aspie to get it.

When Boo was younger, I worked pretty hard to keep him from hearing these "special occasion words", since he had no sense of when to really not use them.  Still, he picked up on a few things.

When he was in 2nd or 3rd grade, he had figured out that there was an "F-word" that was not to be used.  Ever.  And kids who said it got into BIG trouble. One day he referred to someone as a 'fool' and I told him that wasn't a good thing to call someone.  He put these two facts together and deduced that the F-word was 'fool'.

So, what is a mom supposed to do?  Do I tell him, "Oh, no, Boo.  The F-word is actually f***, but promise you will never use it, ok?"

Yea, right.

After a few years of being sheltered in private schools, he rejoined the public school system in 4th grade.  Thankfully, his Principal (who we loved!) was very understanding when Boo was tricked into letting loose with a very loud string of profanity, including that actual F-word, in the school cafeteria.

Fast forward half a decade to when I marry a Yankee whose language is very colorful...

Because he hears these words at home, daily - insert sad face here - Boo's language has 'flowered' a bit.  My concern is not so much about the actual language but about the situation in which it is being used.  I have told him repeatedly that it would be a very bad habit for him to pick up since he often does not take context into consideration when making social decisions.

Case in point: Boo's last IEP meeting was a few weeks ago.  His teachers started teasing him a little about a girl who likes him.  He did a facepalm, and said "Oh, f***." 

Way to go, Boo.  Way to go.

The Thrill of Victory, and the Agony of Defeat

As I have mentioned before, Boo is a manager for his high school basketball team, and last night was the annual Basketball Banquet.  Since it is Boo's senior year, it was one of our last 'parent' events to attend.  As I was ironing his shirt, and he was pacing nervously, the phrase "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat" popped into my head.  It occurred to my that it is a great way to describe special needs parenting.

For most parents, banquets and other events are a time to enjoy a meal that they didn't have to cook, an opportunity to socialize with other parents, and (of course) watch the kids get honors and awards bestowed upon them.

And then there is the experience of a Spectrum Parent.

When they are young, preparation for an event like that includes a Xanax for mom, struggling to get clothes on said kid that will probably initiate a sensory meltdown, social stories, implementation of a reward system, another Xanax for mom, selecting a seat by the door in case of emergency, prayers that all of the preparation will pay off, apologies to other parents when it does not pay off, tissues to dry your kid's eyes when you leave in tears, and a Xanax for mom.

As Boo has gotten older, the prep routine has changed.  Sort of.

We still argue about clothes some, but we have reached a decent compromise.  There is no need for social stories since he has figured it out now.  He is too old for a reward system, and I no longer give a damn what other parents think.  Xanax still makes a cameo appearance, though.

The pre-event anxiety remains, in large part because I want him to enjoy himself, but the threat of a meltdown still looms in the background.  He will occasionally lash out beforehand, either at the house or in the car, because he has so much nervous energy but can't always figure out how to get it out appropriately.

Yesterday was no exception.  He came home from school and mentioned something about speaking at the banquet.  I tried to ask a few questions to figure out what he was talking about, but he got agitated so I dropped it.  He asked if I would iron a shirt for him, and I was thrilled that I didn't have to explain to him why his Green Lantern t-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts would not be a good idea.

We dropped him off early so he could gradually 'ramp up' to the crowd rather than get bombarded by walking into a crowded room, and my hubby and I hid out for a while.

Unlike last year, he decided to sit with the team.  He laughed, he ate, he joked around.  At one point, Albert went up to the 'team table' to take a few pictures and Boo was pretty cool about it.  That sort of opened the flood gates and half a dozen moms converged on the group like the paparazzi at a Red Carpet event.

As the coaches began honoring the players, I sat back and just watched Boo.  As the 7th grade team, the 8th grade team, and the Freshmen team were all brought up, he cheered them on.  When they go to the JV team (who he works with a lot) he was high-fiving the players as they walked past him.  It was pretty awesome to see a kid who used to hate being touched acting this way.

On the Program, between the JV team and the Varsity team, it simply said "Senior Remarks".  I assumed that the seniors would each speak for a minute about their post-high school plans.  I was nervous for Boo, but figured he would simply decline if he got too nervous.

The Head Coach returned to the stage, and said that Boo had asked to speak for a minute about how much the team has meant to him.  I nearly died of shock as Boo came up with a big smile on his face and took the mike from Coach.  I wish I remembered specifics about what he said, but I don't.  He joked about the team and everyone laughed.  He told the team he was proud of them.  He thanked Coach for asking him to be a manager.  And, I smiled so big I thought my face would crack.

When it came time for the Coach to honor the Varsity team, he started with the managers.  He brought Boo back up to the stage and talked about how far he had come.  He told the story about the start of last season when Boo would be close to a meltdown after a hard loss or a rude crowd.  He talked about how hard Boo had been working out lately and how he had lost 50 pounds.  Coach told him that he was proud of him and Boo was grinning from ear to ear.

When it was over, parents and kids milled about...the boys giving each other 'man hugs', and parents taking lots of pictures.  Other parents took a bunch of pictures of their kids with Boo, and I realized that he had truly become a part of the team.  He was 'one of them', and we have been so blessed to have these coaches and these fine, young men as part of our lives the past few years.

The thrill of victory...

Boo takes the stage.

Happy MeDay!

Hello, my dear friends!

Yes, it had been a month and a half since we last chatted.  For a while there, life got in the way of the blog.  I have missed you so!

After Boo's basketball season finished, we got all of the college admission/advising out of the way, and I wrapped up a major project at work, I had a self-declared MeDay.

That's right.  After weeks of being mom, wife, teacher, etc., I decided that for ONE DAY it would be all about ME.

For those of you unfamiliar with MeDay, here are the rules...(as I have declared.  They are not published formally, because I kind of made this whole thing up.)

1. Inform the family of the rules of MeDay.  (Then threaten bodily violence should they choose not to comply.)

2. There is no make-up on MeDay.  Unless you really want to, but seriously, it is MeDay.  Don't do it.

3. There is no errand-running on MeDay, except to buy things that you really want.  Not need, but want.  My hubby took me to the local used book store to treasure hunt, which is one of my favorite activities.  They must have know it was my MeDay because when I walked in a book I had been looking for was right there, front and center!  (Bitter is the New Black : Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass,Or, Why You Should Never Carry A Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office) 

4. Take a nap on MeDay.  

5. Rent a Chick-Flick on MeDay.  Or, in my case, finally catch up on "Up All Night" on the DVR box. 

6. Get a pedicure on MeDay.  (Mine had to be cancelled, because she had a sick child.  I substituted with a nap and more reading.  Still great!) 

7. Have your hubby take you out to lunch for MeDay.  Or a friend.  Or go by yourself and read a good book.  Whatever.  Just treat yourself.  Oh, and don't count calories.

8. Make sure you have your favorite beer/wine/moonshine on hand for MeDay.

9. Wear very comfy clothes on MeDay.  Those yoga pants worked beautifully while enjoying lunch, dinner, and beer.

10. The most important rule?  There is NO GUILT associated with MeDay.  

Moms (especially special-needs moms) tend to give, give, give, and give until we have nothing left to give.  Every now and then we desperately need to recharge our batteries.  And we need to send the message to our families that we are human.  We have needs.  We are not an unlimited service provider. 

My husband talked to Boo and explained to him how important this was to me.  In a rare, unprecedented move, they worked together to help make it happen. 

MeDay was great for all of us.  I got a much needed break, and the calming effects are still in place, even a week later.  Most importantly, I felt like I was truly appreciated.  I am in a better state of mind now.  MeDay put the whole family in a better state.

So, take a MeDay.  You won't regret it!

No More Waffle Day

These guys seem awful happy.  Maybe TOO happy.

I have mentioned before, that one of Boo's favorite teachers is Mr. H.

He does lots of fun things that Boo talks about.

I forget the specifics, but two days a week he has "Would you rather...?" questions that he asks the class.  The one I most remember is "Would you rather be the strongest person in the world, or the fastest person in the world?"

One day a week he does riddles.  None of the riddles have come home 'in tact' enough for me to understand and repeat them.  I have been assured, though, that every single one of them awesome.

I think that Friday is 'Fail' day.  You know, those Epic Fail pictures that show up on Facebook all the time?

So, we were in the car the other day and Boo was talking about how great Mr. H. is.  Then he mentioned that it is too bad that Mr. H. isn't allowed to do Waffle Day any more.

"What's Waffle Day?" I ask, somewhat stupidly.

"You know, when you plug in a waffle iron and make waffles."

"He's not allowed to do Waffle Day anymore?"

"No, and it's stupid.  I can't imagine why they won't let him do it anymore.  It's not fair."

"Boo, could it be because Mr. H. teaches Anatomy and Physiology, and his classroom is more like a lab?  Perhaps someone thought that preparing and eating food in there was a bad idea."

"But I am sure the lab tables are clean!"

Ewww.

First of all, let me just point out that Boo does not always get his facts straight, so I am not sure there ever really was a Waffle Day, or if it was just an idea that was floating around, or perhaps sarcasm that was lost on the kid.

If there was, indeed, Waffle Day, I don't know if Boo's lack of concern about the setting was a product of autism, or simply because he is a guy.

All I know is this...

Waffle Day: good!

Waffle Day in an Anatomy and Physiology lab: yea, not so much.

A Lesson from the Kindergarten Playground

Trouble in Paradise?

Boo had one of the wisest, most wonderful Kindergarten teachers ever.  Seriously.  Even her name was awesome.  Mrs. Safely.

Anyway, she had quite the rambunctious class, but handled it with amazing grace and poise.

One of the boys was a particular 'handful'.  He was one of those kids who was always referred to by his first and last name.  Probably because he was always in trouble.  For the sake of anonymity, let's call him 'William Smith'.

I had a babysitter who also sat for his family.  She was convinced the kid had Tourette's.  I think he was just 'high spirited'.

Anyway, Boo came home from school and was complaining that William Smith kept call him a Butt-Head.  He was (understandably) upset about it.

The next day, instead of dropping him off outside, I went into the room to talk to Mrs. Safely about it.  As I told her, my main concern was that Boo (with his impulse control issues at the time) was going to get so upset that he would punch William Smith in the mouth, and then Boo would be the Kindergarten felon all of the other mothers don't want their kid to play with.

She had a sweet smile on her face while I was sharing my concerns.  When I was done, she paused, then said, "Yes.  We share the playground with the fourth grade classes for our morning recess."

I thought to myself, "So?"

She continued, "Despite my talks with him, William Smith has been calling some of the fourth grade kids that same thing."

Again, I thought, "So?"

Her smile got just a tad bigger as she said, "I believe it will be a self-correcting problem."

Sure enough, a few days later Boo came home and (perhaps gleefully?) exclaimed, "William Smith got punched by a fourth-grader on the playground today!"

While I do not condoned violence, and strongly believe that teachers should do everything in their power to put an end to bullying, Boo was never called a Butt-Head by William Smith again.

There have been many times since then that I sit back and ask myself, "If I just leave this alone, will it be another 'self-correcting' problem?"  Not that I am the type of mother who is not involved.  In fact, quite the opposite, sometimes.  Still, it was a great lesson about letting some things just play themselves out.

Class Participation is Supposed to be a Good Thing, Right?

"Oh, oh, oh, Mr Kotter!"

My son came home from school earlier this year telling me that one of his teachers, Mr. S., had put a limit on the number of questions he could ask in a day.

"How many questions are you allowed?" I asked.

"He only lets me have 3 questions a day!"  (Keep in mind that it is a one-hour class.)

Since I am a teacher, too, I explained that teachers need to let everyone ask questions, we have a certain amount of material we need to cover so we don't get behind, etc.

"But all of my questions were ON TOPIC!"

I think that statement is very telling of his teachers' most common complaint over the years, in that he is always going off on tangents.

A few weeks later, Boo told me that he thinks Mr. H. had been talking to Mr. S.  I asked why he thought that and he said, "Because Mr. H. is limiting my questions now, too." 

"So, you are only allowed 3 questions in Mr. H.'s class now?"

"No.  Mr. H. gives me 7 a day."

I burst out laughing so bad I probably had snot fly out my nose.  I couldn't help but ask him, "How the hell many questions have you BEEN asking that your limit is now 7?!?!"

"But all my questions in that class were on topic, too!"

A few weeks after that, Mr. S. and I were exchanging some emails and laughing about the whole thing.  He was telling me that it was all in good fun and that they were using sarcasm to get him to think about what he was asking before things fell out of his mouth.

Boo is lucky to be in an environment where he is so comfortable that his teachers can use humor and sarcasm as instructional tools.  We will miss his school when he graduates.

Isn't There Always "Something Going Around"?

"Uh oh."

If Facebook is any indication, my household is the only one on the planet that hasn't had anyone throw up in the past couple of days.

I really hope I didn't jinx myself just now.

I do not miss the barf days.  Don't get me wrong.  Little kids are cute, but I did not enjoy cleaning up anything that used to be food...no matter what end it came out of.

I'm not sure if I got lucky and Boo threw up less than other kids, or if my brain is being kind and blocking out many of the memories.

The event that sticks out the most in my mind was a good learning experience.  Boo was about 5 and had not been well.  I set up the living room with all of the things that would make him comfy.  I threw a thick towel on the sofa (in case of accidents), a trash can on the floor next to him, and started playing whatever movie he was into at the time.  What could go wrong, right?

Boo got up for some reason, and while he was standing by the sofa, he started puking.  I still don't remember what possessed me to scream, "Run to the bathroom!", especially since there was a trash can right there.  But I did.

Being the occasionally compliant child that he was, he took off running.  Well, we had hardwood floors in that house, so when he projectile vomited, and then ran through it, not only did that make an even bigger mess, but he also fell in it.

So now, instead of just the misery of feeling sick, he is hurt from his fall, and is covered in puke.

I learned several lessons from all of this.

• If you have hardwood floors, cleaning up one puddle is way better than cleaning up a path that leads from the sofa, through the living room, through the dining room, and almost to the bathroom.
• Puke on hardwood floors is a safety hazard.
• Never tell a vomiting child to run.
• And, Kellie probably has one more thing to add to her list of reasons not to have kids.

The Pez Fiasco

I do not remember when/how Boo got so fixated with Pez dispersers.  It seems like something my mother would have gotten him hooked on.

He had quite the collection, though, unlike this picture, his were in shoe boxes.  He would pull them out of the box, line them up, sort them by genre: superheroes, Star Wars, Disney, Christmas, cartoons...

He could sort, organize, and re-categorize all day.  Don't judge me.  I was a single parent in grad school.  It was better than parking him in front of a Barney tape.

He even liked the Pez candies.  He could never load them up in the dispenser, but if I loaded it for him, he was one happy kid.

One day, he was playing and eating his candy, when he suddenly started hollering.  He came running to me, pointing at his noise, trying to tell me something.

Yea, you guessed it.  He had shoved a Pez candy up one nostril.

Apparently, they are a perfect fit.  Going up.  Not so great to try and get out.

He was unable to understand as I was suggesting he take a deep breath, we could cover the other nostril, and he could blow it out.  (The kid couldn't even blow his nose when it was just boogers.  I don't know why I thought he could manage with a Pez up there.)

We was also getting upset.  Not just the normal panic about having an object up his nose, but his nose was starting to water.  If you are familiar with Pez, you know that when you put them in your mouth and they start to dissolve, they kind of fizz.  Well, when they mix with boogers, they REALLY fizz.  Which apparently kind of burns one's sinus.  It also causes a pastel foam to start pouring out the noise.

At this point, as my kid looks like he has some kind of weird 'nose rabies' I figured, what the heck, it looks like it will be dissolved enough to fall out on its own in a few minutes.  And it did.

We both sort of lost our taste for Pez for a while after that.

Though, "The Pez Dispenser" episode of Seinfeld still holds a special place in our hearts.

Jerry: Anyone who would laugh at a recital is probably some sort of lunatic anyway. I mean, only a sick, twisted mind could be that rude and ignorant.

Elaine: Well, maybe some mental defective put something stupid on her leg.

Jerry: Even if this so-called mental defective did put something on her leg, she's still the one who laughed.

Social Stories for Husbands

Every mom of a kid on the autism spectrum knows what Social Stories are.  Basically, they are used to improve the social skills of these kids.  (If you want more information, you can click here.)

Examples of Social Stories for these kids include things like how to act at a birthday party, what to expect when we go to the airport, what to do when we get mad, etc.

I have decided that "Social Stories for Husbands" should be my next project.  Here are some proposed titles:

• When my wife has a screwdriver in her hand and is cussing like a trucker, do not casually ask (from the other room) "Everything going OK?"
• When my wife is eating chocolate ice cream out of the container, and there is a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, I really should just shut up.
• If I buy and use a calendar, I will be able to predict when my wife will be eating chocolate ice cream out of the container, there will be a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, and I will need to just shut up.
• Why does my wife keep buying those little green anti-gas pills and leaving them on the counter next to my stuff?
• When my wife asks what I want to watch on TV, and I say "Whatever," I should not complain about what she selects.
• If I use my wife's tweezers to pluck my nose hair, she will yell at me.
• Even if I mean it to sound nice, when I hug my wife around her waist, I should not say "I love your muffin top."
• If I let loose a "silent-but-deadly", and try to blame a cute little 3-month-old kitten, my wife is probably not going to believe me.

Clearly this is a "Work in Process".  I am open to suggestions for additional Social Story ideas.

Footprints

We have a three bathrooms in our house. Boo has one downstairs in his 'dungeon', there is a master bath, and then one in the hall off the living room.  Since Boo is downstairs most of the time, that's generally the one he uses.  I have written about (what my husband refers to as) the gas station bathroom before.  I rarely go down there.  Of course, when he is upstairs, Boo uses the hall bath.

I generally use the master bathroom, as it has all my stuff, and frankly, I am a creature of habit.

Recently, though, I was in the hall bathroom.  I was sitting there (try not to get a visual, OK?) when I noticed that there were two slightly dirty spots on the wall across from me.  They were almost two feet from the floor, pretty symmetrical, and about a foot apart.  I looked at them for a minute and it finally occurred to me what they were.

Footprints.  Yea, apparently when Boo is in there, he likes to prop his feet up on the wall and get comfortable.

My future daughter-in-law is going to be one lucky woman.

New Year, New Deductible *sigh*

Our system is broken and needs help.

I was on the phone yesterday morning with Kellie while I was driving to the pharmacy.  (Don't judge.  The car and the bathroom are the only places I get privacy.  Isn't the car the better option?)

Anyway, I was telling her that I was a little sad.  I had to pick up Boo's ADD medication, and since it is the first of the year, that meant no help from insurance until we meet the deductible.  She asked how bad it would be, and I told her that I think it was $267 last year, but once insurance kicks in it is $50 a month.  Still outrageous, but manageable.

When I was pulling up to the window I told her I would call her back once I was done crying over the cost.  Being the awesome friend that she is, she assured me that I could call before I was done and she would listen dutifully.  I love her :)

Since I am a pretty regular customer at the local Walgreens, I know the folks.  The kid who often works the drive-thru in the morning is a cutey and very sweet.  I told him that I needed to pick up Boo's medicine, and as he was typing everything into the computer, I told him "We haven't met the deductible yet, so I already know it is bad.  Don't sweat having to tell me the bad news."

About then, I guess the amount popped up on the screen, because his (cute) little eyes got huge and he just said, "Um, OK."

So, he grabbed the bag, rang it up, and I said "Let me guess...$267?"

He turned to face me through the window, sighed, and broke the bad news.  It wasn't $267.  It was $400.  Well, $405.  Actually, it was $405.89, but I guess we can round.

Then he asked if I still wanted it.  Of course I wanted it.  Boo needs it.

I gave him my card, gave a little laugh, and promised him that I wouldn't cry until I had pulled away from the window so he wouldn't have to see it.  He looked at me, gave a sad smile, and said "Thanks.  I really appreciate it."  Kind of made me wonder how often he has to deal with customers screaming or crying over the high cost of prescriptions.

The whole thing really bothered me, though.  I make a decent middle-class living.  I have decent health insurance through my job at a state university.  Still, over $400 for a one-month supply of just one of his medications.  For just one of our family members.

How many kids with health issues are not being properly medicated because their parents are part of the 10% of Americans who are unemployed right now?  Or because their parents don't have adequate health insurance?  Or because, even though their parents have jobs and insurance, they still can't afford $400 for a one month of a single prescription?

Some may argue that Boo's ADD medication isn't the same medical necessity that many other drugs are, and they would be right.  But, when not medicated, he lacks focus so much that he finds it difficult to complete tasks as simple as getting fully dressed, much less complete an assignment at school.  He can't function socially because he can't stay on topic in a conversation, makes lots of mouth noises, and has some pretty obvious (and annoying) moves.

Medicated, he is a successful student with great grades, a good reputation with his teachers, and just got accepted to college.  He has a few friends, and he is a manager for the school's basketball team.

Yes, I want the medicine.  He needs it to be a functional, happy person.  I am just grateful that for our family that is an option.

Author's note: It was pointed out that I forgot to include Kellie's quote: "Well, that's 400 more reasons for me to not have kids."  I apologize for the omission.  

Letter to my Friend

Dearest Mike,

You befriended me when I was new to the high school.  I was 15 and had just moved from Germany.  For the next almost-30 years, you were one of the most special souls I ever met.

I have so many wonderful memories of you.

I remember sitting on the beach watching you and the guys surfing.  I learned from you what a surfboard leash is, and how to recognize the tell-tale tan line of someone who uses one.

I remember sitting on the ground watching you and the guys work on your Mustangs.  At one point, I think 4 of you had Mustangs.  I still think of you guys when I see a Mustang, particularly an old one.  Or a green one.

I remember us driving (too fast) on South Tropical Trail.  I knew it was a bad idea, but we got lucky and no one ever got hurt.

I remember that your mother had one of those quilted rooster decorations on the vent hood in the kitchen.  One time you put the rooster on your shoulder and got that goofy grin we all loved.

I remember eating tubes of raw chocolate chip cookie dough with you and Mark.  I had never seen it before I met you guys and I thought it was the best stuff ever!

I remember that when we would all raise our glasses and say "Prosit", you would say "Post Office".  It was a running joke, because you had misunderstood what was being said when you were a little kid.  When I got married last year and we toasted to old times, you said "Post Office" and we laughed.  It felt nice.

I remember how we would all joke about pulling up in front of the liquor store, you would take your shirt off, and fluff up your chest hair...you were never carded.

In high school, we partied on a pretty regular basis.  As people started going off to college, we got together every break when everyone came home, and it was like no one had been gone.

Slowly, people in our group graduated, got jobs that turned into careers, got married, and had children.  Some got divorced and remarried.  A few lost children.

We lost parents, including your mother.  She was so loved, by everyone, especially you.  You never seemed to recover from that devastating loss.

I don't remember when we started to worry about you.  It seemed to slowly creep up on us of all.  To know that you were slowly slipping away was heartbreaking.  We watched the demons eat away at your body, and your mind, but you always had that same beautiful soul.

I regret that I never told you how much you meant to me.  I'm sure you knew, but I should have told you. 

And now you are gone.

You are loved, you are missed, and you will never be forgotten. 

A Conversation With My Husband

Author's Note: My husband knows about this post, and is amazingly okay with it.  I am not sure what to think about that.

So, my husband and I were driving home from dinner tonight, and he mentioned that as long as Boo was at a basketball game tonight, and we had the house to ourselves, we should
(in his words) 'hit it'.

(Stand back, ladies.  He is all mine.)

 I kind of paused and said, "Well, when I was driving home from dropping Boo off, I had thought I might strip down naked and try to seduce you."

"REALLY?  Why didn't you?" he asked with that look of glee that boys of all ages get.

"Well...when I got home, I had to pee."

"So?"

"Well...apparently you had taken a huge dump while I was gone," I say, hoping I haven't crossed the line.

"Oh.  Were there skid marks in the toilet?"

"Sweetie, the term 'skid marks' would imply that it was a small problem.  You did much worse than that."

"Oh.  Kind of ruined it for you?"

"Well...I had thought I could get over it, and regain 'the mood', but then I could hear you hacking and coughing like an 80-year-old emphysema patient.  Once you got that fur ball up, I was pretty grossed out."

"So, that was what did it?"

"Well...I had considered taking a deep breath and just 'taking one for the team', but when I started to come out of the bedroom, I heard a burp that rattled the floorboards, and then I heard you kind of make that 'Mmmm' sound that guys do after a particularly lovely belch."

"So, the burp was what killed it for you?"

"Honey, I could have probably lived with any two of the three, but the 'hat trick' was more than I could handle."

The Chinese Buffet Fiasco

Dude, you are about to look even more unhappy.

One summer, several of us were teaching early evening classes and we decided to have a standing 'date' to go out to eat afterwards.  It was usually just a couple of us, but one night there were about 10 of us who descended upon a local Chinese buffet.

Boo was 12 at the time, so an all-you-can-eat setup was pretty attractive.

It was a large restaurant and was pretty packed that night.  On one of his trips to the buffet, I heard a loud crash and said the parent's silent prayer: "Please, God, don't let it have been my kid."  My prayer was not answered that night.

Boo broke dishes pretty regularly at home, and my first concern was always whether or not he was okay.  The routine started as: (loud crash), "Are you okay?", "Yes, Mom, I'm okay", "Good, now clean it up."

Eventually, this was shortened to: (loud crash), "I'm okay, and I'm cleaning it up!"

Well, after the plate shattered at the buffet, the entire restaurant (of course) got dead quiet.  Everyone turned to Boo, who had that deer-in-the-headlights expression as he realized the eyes of the world were upon him.  He then hollered, "I'm oooh-kaaaay!"

On the bright side, at least it looked like he had been 'raised right' as he tried valiantly to take the broom and dustpan from the Chinese busboy (who apparently didn't speak much English), and kept saying, "My mom makes me clean up my own messes!"

Eventually, the plate fragments were cleaned up, Boo got another plate (or three) of cheap Chinese food, and everyone moved on with their meals.

As we finished out meals and were just talking, Boo got up from the table, walked to the wall where the mural was, and just stood there for a minute.  With his back to the mural.  There was a young couple sitting at a table nearby giving him an odd look.  He returned to our table and took his seat without a word.

One of the more 'dainty' Southern ladies at the table turned to him and nicely asked, "What were you doing over there?"

I prayed a second prayer for the night, that he wasn't doing what I suspected, or that he would at least lie about it.  Again, my prayers were not answered.

He looked her right in the eye and said, "My mom doesn't like me farting at the table, so I went over there to do it."

Not my proudest parenting moment.

It's a New Year!

It is that time of year again when (almost) everyone decides to make New Year's resolutions.  I tend not to do that.  First, it requires a certain level of self-assessment that I prefer not to have.  Second, when I do (finally) notice something about myself that 'needs fixing', and I decide to fix it, I try to do it right away.  Granted, that doesn't happen nearly as often as it should.

Also, I am not big fan of setting myself up for failure.  Seriously, is that the way to start off a new year?

Instead, I prefer to focus on the positive.  I Googled "popular New Year's resolutions" for some ideas, and found a USA.gov site devoted to helping people find resources to achieve their goals.  There was a list of 13 popular resolutions.

Using that as a starting place, I have contemplated what each of these things means to me.  So, here goes...

• Drink Less Alcohol. I am pretty happy with my current consumption level.  Let's leave that one alone, shall we?
• Eat Healthy Food. I am all for eating healthy food, so long as it is balanced with an appropriate level of chocolate.  I am pretty sure I have found that balance, so I probably shouldn't mess with it.
• Get a Better Education.  While I enjoyed grad school, there isn't enough medication in the world that would get me to go back.  See Graduate Student Barbie for details.
• Get a Better Job.  I am pretty lucky here.  I kind of have my dream job.  Sure, I have days when it is tough to get out of bed, but it really is a pretty awesome gig.
• Get Fit.  I have been pretty good about going to the gym 2-3 times a week, so if I can keep that up, I will be happy.  If I could increase that, yippee!
• Lose Weight.  In my first year of marriage, I managed to put on 20 pounds.  Over the last 6 months I have taken it off.  If I can keep it off over the next year, that would be great.  If I could take off another 25, that would be divine.
• Manage Debt.  My debt level is actually pretty good.  However, if I don't get a little more rigorous with retirement savings, I may need to work until I'm 80.  OK, maybe there is a serious resolution there.
• Manage Stress.  If one defines 'manage stress' as not smacking anyone upside the head, no matter how much they deserve it, then I have managed my stress well.  If one defines it as not fantasizing about smacking anyone upside the head, then perhaps I could work on this one, too.
• Quit Smoking.  I had my last cigarette in 1993, the day I found out I was pregnant with Boo.  Resolving to not start smoking this year seems like a safe bet.
• Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle.  I recycle 100% of my beer bottles, and most everything else that I can, so I am pretty good here.  I could probably reuse some bottles as redneck candle holders, though.  That reduce thing probably isn't going to happen.
• Save Money.  Hey! I already covered this one!  Moving on...
• Take a Trip.  Is it inappropriate for me to fantasize that this one is a solo adventure?  Or maybe just me and a gal-pal?  Drinking frozen margaritas?  Being served by a pool-boy named Juan Carlos?
• Volunteer to Help Others.  Even I draw the line at being snarky about this one.

So there it is, in a nutshell.  My hopes and dreams for 2012.