Reign

     Adults love C. He manages to charm just about everyone he meets, so when a grown-up comes along that doesn’t seem to be captivated by him, I admit I’m perplexed. It leaves me wondering if I’m just biased in thinking he is, in fact, the coolest kid in the world.

     I remember when C was a baby, I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “He is such a gorgeous baby, don’t you think?” I asked Husband, my Mom, random strangers in the park. Now, I look back at those newborn pics, and although it pains me to admit it, he was just as much a Winston Churchill lookalike as every other baby in the world.  

     This previous display of bias calls into question my label of “coolest kid in the world” as potentially not being true. I only start thinking about it when an adult in his life doesn’t fall in love with him like everybody else seems to do. It’s probably good for him to experience people who don’t like him, but he gets enough of that from the kids at the park, so I have to wonder if the adult in question is legally sane. Yet there is a moment of wonder. Is it possible he’s not  the coolest kid in the world?

     Nah, not a chance.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

     No, just trains, really. I don’t like to resort to the stereotypical, but C is obsessed with them. This seems to be a common link for many little boys with autism, to the point that one of the specialists we see joked that a love for Thomas the Tank Engine should be part of the diagnostic criteria.

     C’s first train set was a GeoTrax, which has been a wonderful toy for child and parents as well. Fun to build, we have spent countless hours creating enormous train track set-ups with this great toy. His collection of pieces and track is massive, mostly due to the fact that we used GeoTrax pieces as incentive for trying new foods. I would hold up the piece and talk about it while I unlocked it from its packaging. It was the perfect distraction in the attempt to keep C from throwing up the new food he was trying. GeoTrax turned out to be far cheaper and far more motivating than feeding therapy in the long run.

     But really, it’s all about Thomas, as any of you in the know, know. Thomas engines, Thomas track, Thomas “destinations,” Thomas underwear, swimsuits, alarm clocks, room decorations, birthday themes, video games, pajamas, videos, dishes, blankets, etc. It’s never ending, and it’s a marketer’s dream. I’d say Thomas’ branding rivals McDonald’s in its power over the preschool (um, and sometimes older) set. C can spot the Thomas logo from afar in the most crowded store aisle, and makes a beeline for anything he sees.

     Someone, somewhere, is getting quite rich off C’s love for Thomas. Now why didn’t I  think of it?

The top 10 mysteries of C

If I only knew the answers to these questions….

1.) Why he puts his hands over his ears when he’s eating something that freaks him out.

2.) Why he sleeps with his blankie wrapped around his head and/or neck. Even when it’s hot.

3.) Why ketchup is okay but tomato sauce is not.

4.) Why he hit his habilitation worker yesterday.

5.) Why he wants ants and spiders to crawl up his arm but he won’t touch a plastic cockroach.

6.) Why he sleeps upside down, sideways, and everywhere but where he’s supposed to, and what that means if he ever gets married.

7.) Why he asks for cardboard flavored rice crackers but I have to beg him to eat a cookie.

8.) Why he can sit still and watch hours of Thomas movies but can’t keep his bottom on the chair for 2 minutes of anything else.

9.) Why he can remember what food he tried to get each and every piece of his GeoTrax train set and in which order he received them, but can’t remember to put his shoes away. Ever.

10.) How he got to be so dang cute I don’t really care much about any of the above.

Dog days of summer

     Is it bad to say our dog and C remind me of each other? I say it with undying love for both dog and kid. Dog was our firstborn; we used to joke when I was pregnant that if the baby was allergic to the dog, the baby would have to go. Dog wasn’t sure about C for awhile, and usually gave C a wide birth as a baby. He did, however, sleep under C’s crib, and usually parked himself next to his carseat on the floor, which is where C spent much of his baby time. C needed lots of calm, quiet, non-interactive time as a baby as he was easily overwhelmed, so I put him in his carseat, sat him on the floor and did things around him. Dog kept watch.

     Yet as C grew, I began to note some similarities between Dog and C. Dog definitely has sensory issues. Despite being bred for sheepherding in the moors of Great Britain, he doesn’t like to get his feet wet. When we walk after rains, he takes care to walk around puddles and will go to great lengths to avoid wet paws. I picture Dog with his paws up, fingers splayed, much like C when his hands are dirty. 

     Along with sensory issues, there are social ones. When C was a toddler, he would go up to other kids in the park and just scream with glee. He had no words yet, and the general response from the other kids was to run screaming in the other direction. C had no idea about personal space or social rules. Dog is the same. He dances in circles around other dogs, jumping and barking happily and probably wondering why the other dog has his tail between his legs. I call it “happy aggressive,” and I have described C in the same terms.

     Despite the social difficulties, both Dog and C are social butterflies. Being a herding breed, Dog can’t stand it when we’re all in separate rooms. Just like Dog, C likes to be in the middle of everything and wants everyone together. Truly ones of a kind, both Dog and C wear their hearts on their sleeves and fill the world around them with joy at the same time.

     I have no doubt they are related.

All the things I wanted to be

     “What did you want to be when you growed up, Mommy?” C asked me tonight. Like many little girls of my generation, I wanted to be a nurse, a cowgirl, Miss America and a ballerina. In my answer, I changed the nurse to a doctor, dropped Miss America and did my best to be mostly truthful while trying to stave off the inevitable decline into predetermined gender roles.

     “Did your dream come true, Mommy?” he asked a few moments later. We were in the midst of puzzle building and I didn’t really think we were having the same conversation we were having a few moments before. I asked him what he was talking about, and sure enough he was still in the same vein. ”Did you become all those things you wanted to be?”

     I was sort of dumbfounded for a moment. How does one answer that question to a literal child? My dreams simply changed from childhood to adulthood, as most dreams do, so I didn’t want to make him feel as though my dreams didn’t come true. Yet there’s likely a real possibility C will become one of his current career aspirations, so I also didn’t want to dash his dreams by saying dreams change.

     Sure, the sight of blood and needles makes me swoon, so becoming a nurse/doctor really fell off my radar screen at about age 10. And yes, I did actually do the pageant thing for awhile, and also did the urban cowgirl thing for awhile. I even taught ballroom, country and Latin dance at Fred Astaire Studios, so I guess in a way, I did do some of those things, but I didn’t think that was the answer he was waiting to hear. As I sat there, pondering the meaning of life and trying to answer this child’s question without ruining his day, he reminded me that sometimes I overthink him. He simply continued on in his one-sided conversation and said, “Because I want to be a puzzle maker, and I can be anything I want to be.”

     You’re right, C, you’re right.

C-isms Part VI

Can we bring a toilet on our trip?

On May 27th I learnt a new language. Chinese.

Look at the state quarters in Daddy’s quarter book - they’re in yearical order!

(As we looked at old black and white photographs), Mommy, if you were born a long time ago, would you be black and white?

Daddy, are you usually diurnal?

Adventures in theater

     Today we participated in an ill-fated adventure. One that lasted too long and was too loud. We left, C in tears and me being frustrated that the world is so difficult on him. What were we doing, you ask? A Rolling Stones concert? A rocket blast-off? Times Square on New Year’s Eve? Nope. Nothing quite so dramatic. We just went to see a movie.

     C isn’t into movies, although I thought we had found one that might change all that. The only movie he sits through is a feature-length Thomas the Train movie. Mom and I took him to Curious George several years ago, and even though we managed to get him to stay for the whole thing, he was far more interested in reading the credits at the end than watching the movie. Mom and I were completely exhausted from the constant re-directing and re-focusing we did. Silly us, that was back in the days where we thought if we just did typical things with C, he’d be interested in typical things. It wasn’t an effort to make C typical, but rather to show him that some things he might not expect to be interesting actually are. How mistaken we were, how naive; I look back at myself then and laugh much as I do at my high school hair-do pictures.

     Yet Aunt J and Uncle T went to see Wall-E, and since C wants to do most anything they do, he wanted to go see this movie. So off we went. I had high hopes, as he has grown up so much since we saw Curious George, and I thought perhaps he was ready for a movie in a theater. Apparently, however, there is a weight requirement, given his inability to hold the seat bottom down with his weight alone. I settled in for a long 2 hours of holding the seat down for him, so ready was I for him to see a real movie.

     Mistake number one was going early. By the time the previews started, he was pretty much done with the whole experience. When the lights went down and the previews began, he was completely done. I watched him watch, and it was like being in a 3-D movie - his head snapped back every time something blasted onto the screen, and while this probably had something to do with his vision issues, it probably had as much to do with the pure shock of such live, larger than life action.

     He lasted about 10 minutes into Wall-E (which looks like a delightful little movie), before he decided it was time to go. An understanding manager refunded our money, and home we went to some in-house Thomas viewing, where we can control the volume and the light.

     The highlight, however, much to my thrill and excitement (sarcasm intended), was the preview for Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Through covered ears, curled up into a ball so only his nose and eyes were sticking out, C laughed out loud at the preview for it. I see movie number three in our future, and I only hope Uncle T and Aunt J are in town to take him to that one.

What if?

     Whenever I see those shows where someone has achieved something wonderful, I always wait for the inevitable question that follows. “What was the best advice your mother gave you?” I’m not sure how I’d answer that question, because my mother wasn’t full of platitudes with me like I seem to be with C. It would probably not thrill my Mom that the thing I remember her saying the most was, “What price beauty?” This was usually in response to my complaining about the discomfort of panty hose or high heels, two things I no longer own in adulthood. And she was, for the most part, joking. Yet I’m sure she’d just keel over if, as I’m being interviewed by CNN for brokering world peace, the reporter asked me what great advice my Mother gave me and I shared that one with the world.

     Lately, C is using those platitudes in his famous echolalic way. He uses them appropriately, but he’s applying them to everyone but himself. Today, to his hab worker as they were throwing a frisbee in the pool, he said, “Everyone’s good at different things.” This was after she told C she wasn’t good at frisbee. In the next breath it was, “You have to try new things,” when she refused to go down the slide that has a weight limit of 60 pounds.

     My latest saying to him is in response to his current mode of questioning. “What if?” is his question of choice, which likely taps into his constant worrying. This breaks my heart because nothing I say can seem to ease the worry for him. ”What if a dog goes to his bowl and there’s nothing to eat?” “What if we get to camp 5 minutes late?” “What if the sky falls down?” All legitimate questions, yet I can rarely contain my desire to say the most pointlessly true statement of “How about we worry about what’s happening right now?”

     I’m pretty sure that one is going to come back to haunt me, and I know where and when it will. Around the second week of school, when we’re working on homework for the upcoming week, my words will be repeated back to me. Again. And again. And probably again. I will remind myself (again) to think ahead before so carelessly spitting out the platitudes.

Little Lawyer

     C has incredible debate and discussion skills that fluctuate between charming and irritating. He has the ability to drone on, asking question after question, that renders the person to whom the questions are directed completely foggy. “Yes.” “No.” “I don’t know,” I’ll say, and realize after 30 minutes of questions that I’ve zoned off into la-la land and I’ve completely tuned him out. Too much of our interaction is simply meaningless drivel because he’s assaulting me with lists of questions and I’ve ended up in this place where I’m a zombie and it doesn’t really matter what I say as long as I say something. This is hard for me to admit, as it brings to mind a parenting style I don’t wish to emulate.

           Granted, he is a curious child, but I see through this barrage of questions, and see his need to constantly connect with the people around him. He’s simply trying to engage, in whatever way possible, with the person on his radar screen. His way of engagement is battering one with questions, often ones asked a zillion times before, but perhaps in a slightly different way. While this curiosity is a positive trait in a child with an autism spectrum disorder, I see it for more than simple curiosity - it’s perseverative. Yet I think to myself it will make him a dynamite litigator someday.

     This rapid-fire questioning is coupled with a truly frustrating habit, which includes his coming up with another idea for anything I ask him to do. “C, please pick up those building blocks and put them away,” I’ll say. His response? “But I have another idea, Mommy.” This is followed by some other suggestion about building with those blocks, Mommy putting away those blocks, or throwing those blocks out the window. “But I have another idea” has become my least favorite sentence in his vocabulary. It doesn’t matter if the task is something he wants to complete or not, boring or fun, interesting or mundane. He always has another suggestion. And looking on the bright side, I tell myself it’s good he’s asserting his independence. 

     We waited many years for C to talk. I wouldn’t take back his words for anything, and I know how lucky we are to hear his voice. Yet in the same nanosecond of thought about how lucky we are to hear his voice, I admit to the occasional fantasy of joining a silent convent simply for a little peace and quiet.

Sibling Revelry

     We have a pot on our front porch in which a desert quail pair have made their nest. Eagerly we watched as one after another egg appeared. With a grand total of 15 eggs, Momma Quail settled in to sit on them day after day. We left on a 10 day trip figuring we would miss the hatching, but much to our delight, Momma and eggs were still here upon our return.

     Yesterday, when C cried to me because no one has invited him over all summer, I wondered again about our choice to have only one child. A choice made for a variety of reasons, and a decision made largely before C was born. Husband and I each have a brother, and while there were many times in my young life I would’ve paid someone to borrow my brother on a permanent basis, I now consider him the closest of friends. I regret C won’t have any siblings, nor any cousins, and wonder if someday he’ll feel all alone in the world. 

     Yet I knew, deep in my heart, that I only wanted one. Our early and later struggles with both C’s health and developmental challenges further solidified this decision, as we felt it imperative to give C our full attention. I look at large families with both admiration and awe for the energy Moms and Dads seem to have. Husband and I both recognized our own fatigue, partly due to our starting a family later in our lives as well as due to the issues we faced with C.

     I know families with lots of children, and they parent their brood with a grace, patience and skill I simply do not possess. A friend and her husband, after giving birth to 5 biological children, decided to foster, and subsequently adopt, a child with extreme bipolar disorder, fetal alcohol syndrome and asperger’s. Another friend and her husband have adopted 5 children, all on the autism spectrum, and are raising them off the grid with homegrown food, homeschooling, and the constant love and attention they need so desperately. In my book, these people are saints.

     As we watched this evening, another large family was born. A number of the 15 eggs hatched in our pot, and Momma Quail kept reigning the hatchlings in with her wings and ensuring they didn’t make the jump to the ground before they were ready. I reflected on what must be the joy of having a large family at the same time I reminded myself that having another child simply for a playmate for C would not have been a good decision. As he watched the pot through the window for glimpses of the babies, C announced he’d like to be a quail, and when I asked him why, he replied he’d like to know how to fly. Although I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t just that he’d like 14 playmates to call his own.