ZZZEEEEYYOOOOWWWMMMM

Like any boy, my son like all things vehicular.  Trains, cars, airplanes, trolleys, bicycles, hell--he'd prolly like rollerskates if he saw some.

And like many boys with Autism, he's got a few "stims" (a repetitive movement hypothesized to stimulate one or more senses).  One stim he's had since I can remember is peripheral gazing.  Basically--he brings things up to the corner of his eye and watches them go by right in his periphery.    Usually, those things are vehicular.

And lately, he's added sound effects.

Because, like other kids on the Autism Spectrum, he loves him some you-tube videos of trains. And most of those videos have sound.  And that sound, besides the "clack clack" (which he also scripts) sounds like the title of this blog.  ZZZEEEEYYOOOOWWWMMMM!

So, whether he is playing with his train tracks in his room, a car out in here in the livingroom, a straw that has suddenly become a rocket at a restaurant, or his favorite 99 cent store train in the car, his gazing now has a soundtrack.  Sometimes, a very LOUD soundtrack.

Better, I guess, than scripting the sound of ice clinking in mommy's glass...

Yesterday

Yesterday, i had a big headed, stubbornly NOT wanting to be born little boy with a future full of possibilities.

Today, I've got a smaller-headed, but still stubborn boy with just as many possibilities--but now neither of us know what they are.

Yesterday i had a little munchkin who ate pumpkin soup, green beans, meat and a myriad of other foods.

Today i have a child who will eat 5 things, and a much easier and equally frustrating menu plan.

Yesterday I had quiet bonding mornings with baby to breast.

Today i still miss it.

Yesterday i had a little grub who labeled everything in sight, and never asked a question.

Today i've got a kid who actually asks me what i'm doing.  constantly.

Yesterday we had playdates and mommy & me and friends at the park

Today, we don't.

Yesterday, i would watch him spin and shake his head, and worry.

Today i watch him toe-walk and peripherally gaze, and i don't.

Yesterday i had Yo Gabba Gabba and Thomas

Today i have Thomas, and even more trains.

Yesterday he closed one circle.

Today he can close 5 or more.

Yesterday we had routines.

Today we have routines.

Yesterday i had doubts.

Today, i have doubts.

Yesterday i had meltdowns.

Today i have meltdowns.

Yesterday i had questions.

Today i have questions.

Yesterday, tomorrow made up most of my day.

Today, i put both yesterday and tomorrow aside.

Because, in the end, they don't matter.

XANAX

So, every male in this house has some sort of sensory "issue"--and yes that includes the dog. Thus, i spend my day tiptoe-ing around them, trying not to be too loud, or too chewy, too babbly or too....too. And before you say--oh you poor thing--that sentence just made it sound worse than it is. Most days I clomp around the house in loud clothing, babbling on about nonsense, munching on celery and banging on pots and pans in the kitchen. They usually don't have their issues all together, (and one of them i can actually REASON with) so I only have to tiptoe around one of them at a time. (as if i REALLY take into consideration what the dog feels. HAH!) But sometimes--oh SOMETIMES--I end up with a trifecta of sensory overload, where anyone without ovaries in the house is having a BAD FUCKING DAY, and they are letting me know about it.

THIS (and the state of Democratic politics, Somali pirates, the crisis of potable water and the fact that I am 40 years old and STILL don't know what i want to be when i grow up) is why the doctor looked over her glasses at me, and told me in her Filipino accent that I have an anxiety disorder. 

yay. for. ME.

But you know what else gives me anxiety? taking pills. You ever see that scene in "As Good As It Gets" when Jack Nicholson is talking about taking pills? that's me--without the compliment to Helen Hunt and her fussy little look. I have TRIED to take pills regularly throughout my life. Let's just say it's a wonder I didn't get pregnant in college, that Ben exited my womb with an intact spine and that my bones are still in working order. I TRY. I get the friggin pill containers. I fill them up. I look at them daily, and I just forget to take my pills.

G-d help me when I am an old woman (keep yer cracks to yerself) and I have to take pills daily in order to keep myself from dying.

Look, as much as routine is important to my kid--that's how much it ISN'T important to me. It chafes. I can't do it. Yes, I know, my world would be much nicer if I could just swallow that damn B-vitamin horse pill every day and watch my pee turn bright yellow, but I have some sort of internal demon that just won't let me do it.

So when the doctor "suggested" I take some sort of pill to deal with my anxiety--after acknowledging that i have a VERY full plate (seriously--the dog can't even sit his butt down on anything that isn't carpeted), i looked at her like she was suggesting an exorcism. Me. take a pill. yeah.

But it turns out she isn't quite the quack I've made her out to be in my head. She gave me a lovely prescription for Xanax, to "take as needed"

THANK. YOU. G-D.

Someone out there understands that I live life as it comes to me. Some days only need a moment in the sunshine to recharge. Others need a fifth of SOMETHING and my little pill bottle. (not that i actually condone the mixing of alcohol and anxiety pills, or anything else that might lead to me having to take more pills after my liver kicks it.) So now I can deal with it as I come to it, and not have to dive deeper into my own "issues" to take some stupid pill daily.

Now if something could just help me deal with the strange anxiety i feel when the carpet in the main room gets flipped back or "scrunched", I'd be just about perfect. After a cocktail, of course.

Wind

So the wind picked up this morning.  I'm talking the kind of wind that makes the palm trees in front of our house look like they are gonna SNAP!  The kind of wind that redirects the air traffic to Burbank Airport directly over the house, looking like they are gonna slam into the NBC universal building.  The kind of wind that makes my kid a little...nutty.

All i can figure is that the noise, the feeling of the wind, the visual (we have a lot of trees around our place) must be a lot for him to take in.  On these days he gets super stimmy, toe walking, scripting, and the head shaking.  He doesn't shake his head much (he used to do it a lot) but I've noticed when he's on sensory overload--or visually overloaded, he shakes his head back and forth (as if to say no), but he seems happy doing it.  We called it "the beans" when he was little, so sometimes he'll add a squeaky voice saying "beans!"

I kinda understand it.  The wind has always invigorated me.  I love the feeling of being in strong winds, being whipped about.  One of the many Hebrew names for G-d--since we're not supposed to call him by name--is Elohim, which means "winds."  So maybe i am partial to the winds because they engage a certain spirituality within me.  Perhaps, my own version of "beans".

Or maybe i like a good excuse to mix up a batch of hurricanes.

For now, though, imma run around with my kid outside so we can both feel the wind on our faces.

Vexation

It vexes me.  I'm deeply vexed.

Ben has this thing.  Usually when he's tired, hungry, anxious or breathing…he will ask for something, you give it and then he cries for it as if you are withholding it.

It's like a john crying through sex with a  hooker.  I don't get it. 

Just a few minutes ago he cried woefully to his father for "DVDEEEEEEEE!" to which my Old Man said--"we're already WATCHING dvds dude.  Look at the TV!"

Frankly, its making me a little batty.

I realize, it's prolly just some independence thing or what-have-you that he can't really explain at the moment, and in a few months we'll all be laughing about it--mostly because I refilled my xanax prescription.  But until then, I'm gonna lose it if I have to hear that whine again.

And on top of it, its making the dog howl.  When Benji starts his scream/tantrum/outburst/song and dance, Manny (our fierce 7lb chihuahua) will join in with his own whines and howls.  Of course, if ANYONE has the right to howl and whine in this house, it's Manny.  What with the being tempted with food, being yelled at by me, being chased/terrorized/strongly loved by the boy and being growled at by the Old Man every time Manny tries to eat whatever food he leaves on a plate on the couch without any claims of ownership (scent marking being frowned upon by she who cleans), and being taunted by a local squirrel that sits on the other side of the picture window and just twitches his tail, it’s a wonder he doesn't howl more often.

Now if you'll excuse me, the little man is in tears over a peanut butter sandwich sitting right in front of him.  And my glass is empty.

Unapologetic

"Never make a defense or an apology until you are accused."
~ King Charles I


I feel like I've entered a new stage in accepting/understanding Ben's Autism. Or maybe it's just because I am 40 and am stubborn. But I am becoming more and more unapologetic about it.

Now--lemme 'splain a little. When I say I am unapologetic, this does NOT mean I don't apologize to people when Ben, oh, I don't know, hits their kid with a limp T-Rex silly slap or screams "Oh, the CARNAGE!!" directly into their ear at 80 decibels. And it does NOT mean that I haven't taught Ben to say "I'm sorry" to people when he is rude or hurts them in some way (even if it is a bit rote at this point, like me telling my bartender that I like my martini DRY). You catch more flies with honey, The Golden Rule, yada yada yada.

This is not the type of apology I mean. That’s just manners. I am referring to definition #2:

apology (n.) -- a defense, excuse, or justification in speech or writing, as for a cause or doctrine.

I became quite familiar with this version of apologetic in college--since I was studying religion, and it seemed I was reading one apologetic treatise after another. It took me a while to realize each religious expert was not saying "I'm sorry" (although I still think a few of them should), but was actually being their religion's cheerleader in saying "This is why we're AWESOME!"


It is the nature of humans to be defensively apologetic--to defend oneself or one's cause, even if you are not being attacked. It can be witnessing at its best and worst.

For example:

"We've found that removing dyes and preservatives from his diet have greatly improved his behavior. That doesn't work for everyone, but it sure seems to help Ben."

OR

"What? You let them eat THAT? WE only use (insert product here) because it is the best and here are 5 articles to prove my point, and have I mentioned my child is more awesome than yours? Mostly because he's dye-free, and because I'm his mother instead of you, tramp."

I hope you know me by now kind reader, that I *try* my best to lean toward the first example. Alcohol permitting.

And as much as parenting tends to lend itself to a certain apologetic stance, parenting a child with Autism does also--maybe a little more-so.

When Ben was younger, and soon after his diagnosis, I found myself "explaining" him all the time. "Oh, that's just this thing he does." Or "Oh, he won't eat that because of this", or "Yeah, I don't know why he does that, really. But here's information I just gleaned from the five millionth book on Autism I've read."

And in doing so, I was just putting him deeper and deeper into that box checked "different."

And I refuse to do that anymore.

So, here it is. This is my kid. He does stuff. I think he's awesome. That's the most apologetic I'm gonna get.

And I'm sorry if his screaming hurts your ears. We're working on that. I find earplugs help.

Or a stiff drink.

Or both.

And he IS more awesome than your kid. And it's not because he's dye-free...it's because he has a mommy who loves him so unconditionally that she no longer feels any need to apologize.

Tickle

Ben, luckily, likes touch.  He craves it.  Quite often he is pushing against us, cuddling, wanting to be squished or get a good back-scratch.  But mostly, he likes this(especially from his Savta):

(note the ham moment in the middle where he stops to say "cheese!" for the camera...