I was looking at an assembled puzzle with SMILE the other day. He doesn't like it when puzzles are taken apart now. Anyway, this one was all about animals from Australia. We sat on the floor naming the animals, "this one's a wallaby, this one's an armadillo," for a while before we got to "kangaroo." I was impressed when he knew what a baby kangaroo is called and, in a fit of playfulness, slapped my legs and told my little joey to sit on my lap. He smiled his dazzling smile, got up, and jumped- feet first- onto my lap. OUCH!
The harsh reality is that my boys are getting physically bigger and stronger. When SMILE tantrums or is even playful, he can hurt now. It hasn't happened yet but I think it's a matter of time before I get a black eye. Not that he intentionally hits. He just doesn't have the slightest notion of space or his strength, so it's easy to get hit by a flailing arm or get head-butted while he shakes his head. Even a hug can be a little dangerous because I never know when he's going to squeeze my neck too tight, hang from my neck, or cause me to fall when he wraps himself around me. I've taken to finding a wall, banister, chair, etc. any time he comes near me just in case. WINK has never struck out during a tantrum but he, too, can be too rough when he's just trying to be affectionate.
Another harsh reality is that, as they get older, my boys are trying to take more liberties without being emotionally ready to do it. Case in point, WINK will try a challenging ladder at the playground and then scream and sob when he gets spooked at the top. Or SMILE will walk out of the house without me (something he should not do) but then get scared when he turns and I'm not right behind him. As they get older, their behavior seems more and more out of place and I'm slowly realizing that my beautiful boys are not just "typical" children in disguise. This is real and will continue to get realer still....
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Great Bee Escape
Sometimes my SMILE is so cute, I just can't stop hugging and kissing him. He and I had taken WINK to an after school activity the other day. When we returned home, just SMILE and I, my little man froze in our driveway.
"What's the matter, SMILE?" I asked, resting my hand on his back because I could see he was nervous.
"There are bees in the plant," he said. I looked over to a small bush in front of our stairs. I didn't see anything, but I've learned to trust SMILE's heightened senses.
I walked over to the steps to illustrate that I wasn't afraid at all and hoped he would follow. No such luck. I tried to reason with him by telling him there was no other way to get into the house, so he'd have to walk passed the bush. He gave me a look that plainly stated, "Hey, not my problem, lady," even though he didn't have the words to say it...
And then, inspiration! I took off my black sweater and wrapped it around his head, neck, and torso. "You look like a shadow, SMILE. You can walk right by the bees and they won't even see you." It worked. He confidently strode passed, up the stairs, and into the house. Once safely inside, he declared, "Mommy, I have an idea..." I'm not quite sure what he said after that, exactly, but I heard "sweater" and "every day."
So, naturally, that means I forgot it when we left the house the next morning. Once again, he froze. I immediately realized I had messed up. My mind scrambled as I looked at SMILE standing stiff and unmoving in his white polo shirt. Hmmm...
"SMILE," I said, "You can walk right passed those bees because...you look like a cloud and they won't even see you." And it worked.
Now all I have to do is make sure he only wears shirts that are black, white, or blue (for the sky) and I should be set.
"What's the matter, SMILE?" I asked, resting my hand on his back because I could see he was nervous.
"There are bees in the plant," he said. I looked over to a small bush in front of our stairs. I didn't see anything, but I've learned to trust SMILE's heightened senses.
I walked over to the steps to illustrate that I wasn't afraid at all and hoped he would follow. No such luck. I tried to reason with him by telling him there was no other way to get into the house, so he'd have to walk passed the bush. He gave me a look that plainly stated, "Hey, not my problem, lady," even though he didn't have the words to say it...
And then, inspiration! I took off my black sweater and wrapped it around his head, neck, and torso. "You look like a shadow, SMILE. You can walk right by the bees and they won't even see you." It worked. He confidently strode passed, up the stairs, and into the house. Once safely inside, he declared, "Mommy, I have an idea..." I'm not quite sure what he said after that, exactly, but I heard "sweater" and "every day."
So, naturally, that means I forgot it when we left the house the next morning. Once again, he froze. I immediately realized I had messed up. My mind scrambled as I looked at SMILE standing stiff and unmoving in his white polo shirt. Hmmm...
"SMILE," I said, "You can walk right passed those bees because...you look like a cloud and they won't even see you." And it worked.
Now all I have to do is make sure he only wears shirts that are black, white, or blue (for the sky) and I should be set.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Sometimes I wonder....
I think that age old curse that parents tell their children really works. You know the one: The "I hope you have children just like you when you grow up" one. I can come up with so many examples; WINK's dizzying argument style, SMILE's easy...well...smile, and their general manners. But I always laugh out loud when one of my boys says something that stops me in my tracks with indisputable cosmic justice.
I just had an autism encounter with SMILE. My little guy melted down hard because I gave him and his brother some french fries to share for a snack. I thought I had it all very well planned out; I divided the fries into two equal parts (yes, I counted), and presented them in the styro-foam take home box from the pizzeria. I didn't factor in that they had been my and SMILE's fries, left over from a Mommy and Me lunch date I had with my little man a few days ago, and that SMILE would not want to share (yeah, yeah, yeah...I know). But, WOW, he melted down. I mean an instant crying, total devastation breakdown.
Now, I'm patient with both of my boys when they let their autism flags fly high, but I draw a line when either one gets physical or mean. SMILE did both. He pulled on my arm, hit my hands, and grabbed my face, the entire time screaming. So, I pulled his beloved Wii remote out of his hands. Now...you have to understand...the Wii is his thing. All autistic kids have something that is valued above all else. The thing that will get their attention, hit them where it hurts (figuratively, of course), and drive home any lesson. But, taking it away comes at a price. Any tantrum will escalate because taking away that thing is a betrayal that is too great to tolerate quietly.
SMILE yowled and kicked. He cried that it wasn't my turn and I had to wait for my turn. I calmly agreed that it wasn't my turn, but I had taken the remote away because he hit me.
Scream.
"But, once you calm down,"
Scream!
{ahem} "Once you calm down and say you're sorry, you can have the Wii remote back."
Scream!!! "But...but...it's mine and you've taken it quite enough!
Ironically, my inability to stop laughing was what snapped SMILE out of his tantrum enough to apologize. I gave back his remote and walked out of the room to where DAD was sitting.
"He's so much your son," he beamed.
I know. I think I should call my parents and apologize.
I just had an autism encounter with SMILE. My little guy melted down hard because I gave him and his brother some french fries to share for a snack. I thought I had it all very well planned out; I divided the fries into two equal parts (yes, I counted), and presented them in the styro-foam take home box from the pizzeria. I didn't factor in that they had been my and SMILE's fries, left over from a Mommy and Me lunch date I had with my little man a few days ago, and that SMILE would not want to share (yeah, yeah, yeah...I know). But, WOW, he melted down. I mean an instant crying, total devastation breakdown.
Now, I'm patient with both of my boys when they let their autism flags fly high, but I draw a line when either one gets physical or mean. SMILE did both. He pulled on my arm, hit my hands, and grabbed my face, the entire time screaming. So, I pulled his beloved Wii remote out of his hands. Now...you have to understand...the Wii is his thing. All autistic kids have something that is valued above all else. The thing that will get their attention, hit them where it hurts (figuratively, of course), and drive home any lesson. But, taking it away comes at a price. Any tantrum will escalate because taking away that thing is a betrayal that is too great to tolerate quietly.
SMILE yowled and kicked. He cried that it wasn't my turn and I had to wait for my turn. I calmly agreed that it wasn't my turn, but I had taken the remote away because he hit me.
Scream.
"But, once you calm down,"
Scream!
{ahem} "Once you calm down and say you're sorry, you can have the Wii remote back."
Scream!!! "But...but...it's mine and you've taken it quite enough!
Ironically, my inability to stop laughing was what snapped SMILE out of his tantrum enough to apologize. I gave back his remote and walked out of the room to where DAD was sitting.
"He's so much your son," he beamed.
I know. I think I should call my parents and apologize.
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