Failure to Launch

Ian's Quote of the Day

Guess what! Last night I farted in the tub to make bubble power to launch myself out of the tub. I was a speed boat.

Note to self: If Ian says "guess what" while peeing, make sure he is aiming straight at the toilet and not the wall.

Embracing the Natural Look

Sensory issues make life interesting. I haven't always felt this way about them, but I have come to appreciate them for what they teach me about my son and about the human body.

When Ian first became overly concerned and bothered by clothing tags, I cut them out willingly. Then he would complain that the little scraps of the tag left behind were hurting him. After removing every last fiber of several tags, I began to suspect he was just trying to see how far I would go to please him. He began complaining about sock seams, waist bands, shoes, velcro, zippers, and every subpart of his wardrobe.

One day I handed to him a perfectly repaired t-shirt and asked, "Would you like fries with that, sir?" The look on his face told me I had made a big mistake. That was when I knew I needed to can the sarcasm and start taking him a little more seriously, even if his complaints seemed far-fetched to me. When he refuses to wear certain articles of clothing, there is a good reason.

Ian adores visiting with family and is generally very good about playing fairly and sharing his toys. When my nieces come to visit, the kids run through the house, scream whenever they feel like it, and generally enjoy being kids. But when 3 little girls squeal, the auditory effect is that of an arrow piercing his eardrum. My father is fortunate. When the kids get wild, he takes out his hearing aids and is lifted beyond the boundaries of pain. Ian cannot escape it. So when he puts on headphones and chooses to play alone, there is a good reason.

Whenever Ian feels too much sensory stimulation, regardless of the source, he prefers to remain nude. He has spent many days over the last few weeks in nothing but his briefs. The last few weeks have been extremely difficult for him on so many levels. When he refuses to get dressed, there is a good reason.

I have to put one requirement on his streaking activities - he must wear underwear. The shear shock value of having a young boy answer the door in his birthday suit makes for wonderful conversation at dinner parties, especially when it is a great neighbor with a terrific sense of humor who is being flashed. Still, I am sure most people would prefer not to see Big Jake and the Boys when they ring my doorbell.

He may be a little guy, but sometimes he knows what his body needs better than anyone else. I have to respect that and allow him the freedom to let it all . . . or most of it . . . hang out.

Love Is Blind...But She Ain't Stupid!

Parents of autistic kids learn, like good scouts, always be prepared. I learned this the hard way 3 summers ago when Ian broke his only pair of glasses the day before we were going on vacation. Now, we always have 2 pair of glasses for him, and we take the spare along whenever we travel.

Yes, it is expensive to do this. Whenever he has a prescription change we try to work with the old frames and just buy new lenses. This week proved to be the all-time worst week for glasses at our house.

For several months now, Ian has had 3 pairs of glasses. We let him select a new pair of frames to have something different to wear. New lenses were put in one of the old frames, and we left the oldest pair as is, but kept them just in case. A few weeks ago, that oldest pair became his primary means to view the world because he broke one of the others. The newest ones are rarely worn because the lenses pop out. They were just a bad choice altogether.

Yesterday was not a good day for Ian. His temper was seething all afternoon. When Steve informed Ian that it was time to turn off the computer and do something else, the maniac within was unleashed. It was like watching a miniature Incredible Hulk - he stormed to his room, mumbling something about running away from home. Then he trashed his room, took off all his clothes and proceeded to break his glasses in two.

Eventually, the cauldron stopped boiling and I was able to tell him through my own clenched teeth that I was going to have to think about the consequences for this destructive behavior. He went to bed wondering what his punishment would be because I was so ticked, I couldn't be reasonable about my expectations.

Today was better...sort of. Steve and I agreed that Ian should pay for his next pair of glasses. Rather, he will WORK OFF the cost of the glasses. We had just finished telling him about our decision, and I was on the phone calling opticians for prices, when Steve came back to the office and showed me what I was dreading would happen. In an altercation with his sister over a play-dough sculpting implement, a lens in the final pair of glasses had been cracked. The trip to buy a new pair, which I hoped would be put off until next week, was now being frantically rescheduled for immediately.

Before Ian and I left, Ainsley was informed that SHE would be working off the cost of Ian's backup pair of glasses.

When we returned about an hour later, Ian and I made up a list of extra chores he and Ainsley could do and how much each of them was worth. Unloading the dishwasher - $1. Sweeping the kitchen floor - $1. Helping to cook a meal - $2. Cleaning up dog poop in the back yard - $5. At this rate, they will each be just about old enough to begin using their college funds when they pay off these glasses (with interest, of course).

Q & A: aka Quandaries and Advice

We have a problem, and I need some input from all you parents who are part of my cohort.

Ian's new diagnosis, reactive hypoglycemia, carries with it the need to eat every 3 to 4 hours. Ian believes if he doesn't feel hungry, he doesn't need to eat (I wish I had that problem!). Some days, he will go 11 to 12 hours without eating, no matter what I offer him, no matter how much I plead, no matter what I do.

His health, not to mention his stature, is being jeopardized by his unwillingness to consume food until he is darn good and ready. HOW CAN I GET THIS KID TO EAT???

Keep in mind the following:
1) He is allergic to dairy and soy,
2) He is extremely stubborn, and
3) He is a very picky eater.

Any suggestions? Please post your comments below. I am eager to hear what you have to say.

At Least One New Diagnosis Each Year

Not long after Ian's diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome was made official, I joined a small support group. The two co-leaders were wonderful resources for me. The professional was a nurse practitioner who was able to address the medical aspects of autism and all it's related issues. The mother, who seemed to have all the parenting experience in the world (really, she was amazing!), had two children on the spectrum. With their help, in a few months I began to feel more comfortable with our situation.

One of the most astounding things they told me was to expect at least one new diagnosis each year for Ian until he was 18. At that time, Ian was 4 years old. He had already endured 2 ear surgeries, 1 eye surgery, and had 3 developmental and/or neurological diagnoses. To think that my little guy would go through more of this seemed so unfair. How on earth would he take it? Will he even understand? Would I be strong enough to help him?

Having that honest information in advance has made a tremendous difference for me because I have been mentally prepared for each new challenge. Every time I hear the words, "Mrs. Graham, your son has. . .X", I am able to take a deep breath and respond, "O.K., tell me what this means and what I need to do."

Being prepared does not necessarily make it any less painful though. I am usually the one who has to explain the situation to Ian, to tell him what the diagnosis means, how it will affect his life today. And I get to watch his eyes well up with tears because he can't help but be afraid of something he doesn't understand.

I try not to encourage Ian to look very far down the road, because there are too many unpredictable curves ahead. Changing course is always a scary proposition, but when he convinces himself that I have lied to him and made things different, he gets very angry at me. It is no wonder every time we visit a doctor, Ian wants to know if there will be any blood drawn for tests. Tests always seem to mean a new diagnosis. A new diagnosis means change. Change is usually followed by the loss of something he enjoys.

In December, we discovered he is allergic to milk and soy. That eliminated just about every food he loved eating. We were left with peanut butter, marshmallows and bread. Fortunately, he has slowly learned there are other foods he can eat; but it is obvious he does not savor them as much as his old favorites: ice cream, chocolate pudding, pizza, mac-n-cheese - those wonderful comfort foods that make us feel warm and satisfied.

This week the new diagnosis was reactive hypoglycemia. It is genetic. It requires him to eat every 4 hours and to limit his sugar intake. It is very difficult to explain to a 6 year-old.

Now, I can limit his sugar intake. It just takes reading labels and keeping healthy food in the house. What I am unable to do is make him eat. Concerta takes away his appetite for about 9 hours of the day. So far, Steve and I have been unsuccessful in making it clear to Ian how important it is that he eat SOMETHING when it is snack time at school and at lunch time - even if he doesn't feel hungry. He just won't do it. Perhaps he is waiting for a luscious piece of chocolate cake to fall from the sky and land in front of him. Or, maybe he wishes this was all just a bad dream. If he waits long enough, he will awaken and everything will be back the way he wants it to be.

One thing has changed positively, though. The psychiatrist put him on Zoloft to help with his anxiety. Since he began taking it, he has been getting to sleep sooner and with very few screams for me to rescue him from monsters after he gets into bed at night. He certainly seems more rested in the morning.

Part of his multidimensional personality has been more withdrawn over the last few days. A lot has been thrown at him lately: the 6 hour glucose tolerance test, the EEG, the beginning of a new school year, multiple visits to the doctor's office, a new medication, and the new disease on his chart. That is quite a load for a kid his age. Hopefully he will have time to adjust to these changes before the next ones come into play. Theoretically, he has 11 more years of compounding complications to endure before things start to level off. I just hope he can make it through it all and still be the amazing and wonderful person I know him to be.

A Low Flow Toilet, a Toilet Plunger, and a Six Year Old Boy

My head is pounding, and not in a good way. I am going to have to completely demolish the guest bathroom and rebuild it from scratch. Allow me to tell you why.

I was downstairs cleaning up from a lovely luncheon I hosted for all the ladies on my street. It was the first time I have entertained formally in almost 5 years. The good china, crystal, and silver made a beautiful table setting. All the ladies agreed it was nice to have the chance to sit down to a quiet lunch and actually get to eat something for a change.

As I was washing dishes, I heard a thumping sound coming from upstairs. No voice, just a loud thump. It sounded awful. So I ran upstairs to check on the kids. Ainsley was hiding in Ian's room. Ian had locked himself in the guest bathroom, but he let me in willingly. When the door opened I thought the Cat in the Hat had visited.

Mom, guess what! Ian said, eager to tell me his tale. I plugged up the toilet, but I used the plunger to get it unstuck!

And boy, did he ever. There was water and brown stuff EVERYWHERE!!! Ian was covered in it too. Fortunately, he was willing to jump in the shower. Together we scrubbed the mud-colored blotches from his legs and feet. He was so filthy that for a second I thought he might have actually gotten in the toilet and tried to stomp the stuff down.

Ian, I asked as calmly as I possibly could at the moment, what was the thumping noise I heard?

I was using the toilet plunger to climb the wall like Spider Man!

Gazing over my shoulder, I saw them.

Oh. . .that would explain the water rings on the wallpaper.

And now, as I type these words, I feel the back of my seat getting wet. Ainsley, my blogging "helper", the adorable cherub who stands behind me as I work, has just tinkled in my chair.

Exoforce and the Potty Patrol

Ian spent the entire day Saturday building a Lego Exoforce "combo model", which means you combine the pieces from 2 smaller tough dudes into one giant mega-fighting-dude.


Normally, I would try to get him to do something else at some point during the day. But this was more than just hyperfocusing. This was perseverance at its best. He built the entire model completely on his own, with encouragement from Steve and me - and a few snack breaks. The only time he asked for help was when he couldn't find a piece he was looking for. The kid was exhausted when he finished, but the sense of accomplishment he felt was so worth it. Naturally, it immediately became leader of the Dream Police.

It wasn't until he was about to take a bath that he realized he had not played on the computer the entire day. That fact would not have been apparent to him had Ainsley not loaded one of her Dora the Explorer video games. Then it became an issue.

Until yesterday, we NEVER let the kids play on the computer just before bedtime, and they knew it. The exception was made because of our new potty training reward system for Ainsley. She has been getting extremely lazy about using the toilet. Quite frankly, I'm tired of cleaning up messes, and she refuses to help. I don't want to get cruel, and I certainly don't want to make this a big negative issue for her. So, Ainsley now gets to earn her computer time with her potty successes. Ten minutes on the computer each time she has a successful trip to the potty by herself. So far, it is working much better than marshmallows and M&M's ever did. I'd rather bend the computer time rule slightly than have her go to bed thinking our reward system is a load of you-know-what.

The difficult part was explaining to Ian why she had earned her computer time. "Well, I went potty today, too!" was his argument. Great! Now we have started a peeing competition between the kids so they can play on the computer. It will probably escalate to an all-out war. What the hell...if it keeps my carpets clean, let the battle begin!

Tag...You're It

This is a fun game going around the autism blogs. I was challanged by Tara to reveal 5 little-known things about myself. So brace yourselves, this could get scary...

1. My favorite color is purple. Any shade. I love them all. It isn't something I wear or decorate with though. Purple, for me, is a state of mind. When I feel confident, I feel purple. When I am happy, I am mauve. When I feel calm, I feel lavender. When I am pissed as hell, my brain sees fuschia. You get the idea.

2. You wouldn't know it if you looked at either of my desks, my kitchen counter, my car, or most any place in my home, but mentally I am very organized. I think in outlines - Roman numerals and all! Appointments are arranged chronologically and subcategorized with my "to-do" list. It's a disease, really, for which there is no cure. Unfortunately, when I am going through the house trying to get things done, I am easily distracted by the multitude of tasks that need to be accomplished and the new ones that appear as soon as one is begun. I never seem to get anything completed because I get pulled away by the little disasters that need attention now. Call it ADD if you want. I just see it as having too much to do.

3. When I was 9 years old, I got a terrible case of gas. Not the kind that leaves your body quickly either. The kind that builds up and really hurts. My sister and her friend, both of them 11 at the time, were trying to help me figure out why my tummy hurt. Her friend asked if I had ever kissed a boy. I said, "Yes, when I was 4. His name was Marty." The friend said, "Maybe you're tummy hurts because you're having a baby!" Even at the young age of 9, I was pretty sure kissing didn't cause babies; but somehow, she convinced me that I had been pregnant for the last 5 years.

4. Just before Ian was born, Steve and I made a batch of sparkling wine/champagne. It was very good, and we drank every bottle, except one, which we have labeled as Ian's bottle. We plan to save it for his 21st birthday. So far, it has traveled half way across the country twice. Naturally, we felt the need to do something similar for Ainsley. Hers is a bottle of Cabmerlot.

5. I once met Esther Williams - the actress who did the movies with the synchronized swimmers. She was stunning at 70+ years of age. That's when it really hit home for me that beauty is something that comes from within.....a plastic surgeons office!


O.K. bloggers, if you just read this, you're IT!

Gaining Confidence

Last year at this time my little boy started Kindergarten. We went through a couple of first-day-of-school practice drills so things would seem familiar to him when school actually began. On day 1, I walked him all the way to his classroom. On day 2, I did the same. On day 3, I walked half-way down the Kindergarten hall and let his best friend walk him the rest of the way. They hugged before parting company. End of the first week, and no mishaps. Whew!

On the second week I held back a little farther each day, allowing Ian and Jack to navigate the corridor together. By the end of the week I felt sure they could do it alone come Monday. And they did.

Yesterday was day 1 of first grade. As last year, I parked the car, put Ainsley in a stroller with her Cheerios and sunglasses, and we all went side-by-side into the building. It was like Grand Central Station. Every kid under the age of 9 had a parent with them, or so it seemed. Ian scooted through the maze of people, dragging his red backpack behind him (just like the big kids do). When we passed his hallway, he stopped me and said,

Mom, we have to go back. It's over there.

I was so proud of him for noticing, because I sure didn't recognize the way.

He eagerly put his backpack in his new locker and went into the classroom without me. I felt a little guilty, because several parents were going in to take pictures of their children in the new classroom on the first day. Ian has never been one for formalities, and since he had already kissed me good-bye, I decided not to drag it out. My heart sank a little, but I was so thrilled at his competence that it really didn't matter that he didn't need me as much as the other kids needed their parents on the first day.

Today I was fully prepared to walk him to the front of the school, even to the first grade hallway if necessary. But Ian wouldn't have it. At breakfast he said,

Mom, remember the rule: Kindergarteners need their parents to walk them to class. First graders do it by themselves.

Well, ok then. Confidence. I like that.

On the drive to school I checked with him once more. He was sure he could do it himself. So I dropped him off and watched him walk proudly into the school on his own.

When All Else Fails, Jump

Ian's 4 1/2 days without medication has finally ended. He is so glad to feel a little more in control of his body. He seems more relaxed and is focusing on his favorite thing in the world....the computer. Just like Mom. And Dad. And Grandpa.

Each day of the long weekend, his hyperactivity got a little more severe. Thank goodness for the "Jumpmaster 6000" - that's what the kids call it.
They literally bounced their way through an entire weekend. Ian needed the sensory stimulation, and Ainsley needed to be silly with her brother. They both needed to release energy. Since Ian spent almost the entire time in nothing but his underwear, it was a blessing that they had something to do inside.

I highly recommend this contraption for anyone whose kids have ADHD or sensory integration dysfunction. Ours is 8' by 8' and fits nicely in our living room. It would probably do well in the garage too, but not when it is 104 degrees outside. It will hold up to 250 pounds. The manufacturer recommends a limit of 2 children on it at a time. There is a basket ball hoop inside as well.

Regression

Reality has slapped me in the face. This morning, as I observed my previously brilliant child sitting in the kitchen with breakfast before him, I realized that without medication he can barely function. I had to feed him. He was incapable of focusing on his bread long enough to pick it up and put it in his mouth. He stared off into space and occasionally made strange noises. Futile attempts to obtain yes-or-no answers to questions made my heart sink. In his lap, his clenched fists refused to work for him.

It has been so long since I have seen him this way. I thought he had moved beyond it. What actually happened was that wondrous drug that helped him concentrate also repressed these other symptoms. As I predicted, Ainsley is picking up on these odd, wordless noises and gestures and trying them on us to see our reaction. I have to keep telling myself to be kind, she is only 3 - explain it to her. Help her understand the way Ian is acting is not his fault, but I expect her to be a good example. She doesn't seem to be getting the message though.

Today is one of those days when it is really hard to be a mom.

Rules are Rules

One of the characteristics of Aspies is their strict interpretation of rules. This can be extremely humorous at times, as my husband discovered this morning.

The kids were upstairs playing, when Ian decided he wanted to play with water in the bathroom sink. Naturally, Ainsley wanted in on the fun. Since there wasn't enough elbow room for both of them to play at the sink, Ian decided they should take a bath.

When Steve went upstairs, Ian was singing

Oh, I just love a morning bath. . .

as if this were a daily occurrence. Oh, well, a bath never hurt them. I was a little concerned about them being upstairs, in the tub, unsupervised. Steve felt they would be fine. A little while later, I heard a lot of splashing and sloshing and dreaded what must be going on up there. After quite a long time, I went looking for bodies. Steve filled me in on the details.

He had opened the bathroom door to find Ainsley sitting in the bathtub and Ian sitting in the sink, full of water.

What are you doing? Steve asked.

Well, Ian replied, you won't let me make tidal waves in the bathtub, so I made one in the sink.

It was like a killer tsunami had hit the bathroom. Yet, in Ian's eyes, he had followed the rules.

Therefore, I am proposing the following to be posted every place inside and outside our home where there is a faucet.

Rule #1: No making tidal waves in the tub.
Rule #2: No sitting in the sink, unless Mom or Dad put you there.
Rule #3: Water is not be expelled from the tub, toilet, or sink in a manner other than through the appropriate drain.
Rule #4: If you spill it, you clean it up.

Ian will find a loophole in there somehow. I just hope he doesn't find it before I finish drying all of the towels that were used to absorb his little ocean.

What Does a Real Mom Smell Like?

Ian has been drug free for almost 3 days. It has been difficult for him. Sensory issues have precluded him from enjoying some activities he usually would enjoy. He has been like a lawn mower stuck in high gear, buzzing randomly around. Lots of yelling, hooting, and laughing at things in his head. He understands that he feels strange now because he is off his medicine, and he is dealing with it the best he can.

For Steve and I, it has been a trip down memory lane. This is the boy we remember from 2 years ago. The out-of-control wild child who was unfocused and miserable. The one who thought we didn't love him because we didn't understand him.

Fortunately, it is different this time because we know, and so does Ian, that in a few days this behavior shall pass.

Last evening, as I was putting dinner on the table, Ian ran up to me and hugged my waist tightly. He inhaled deeply and said, "Wow! You smell like a real mom!" Then he sat at the table.

I couldn't pass the opportunity to ask the question, "Ian, what exactly does a real mom smell like?" Man, this is gonna be good, I thought to myself.

He thought for a moment, and this is the list he came up with:

lots of flowers
bacon
strawberries
pizza with flour smothered on it
sweet smelling feet
fruit

O.K. This is a list I can live with. Strange though it may seem, everything on the list is something very positive to him. Perhaps when he is 10, I'll ask him the question again and see how his answer changes. Hopefully, it will still make me smile.

At bedtime, I snuggled close to him, and he buried his nose in my shoulder, giggling and sniffing my arm. I could feel his warm breath as it slowed and his body relaxed. For the first time in weeks, Ian was asleep at 8:40 p.m.

My Own Personal Spa

This morning my wonderful family treated me to my own personal spa.

Steve served me delicious Ethiopian coffee. Unfortunately, it was 6:00, and I was still asleep at the time. At 8:00 Ainsley brought me breakfast in bed, consisting of Cookie Crisp cereal in a plastic Sesame Street bowl. Then, Ian and Ainsley found my lotion and massaged it into my feet and legs. It contained a little extra exfoliant with the cereal crumbs worked in and smelled of a lovely combination of vanilla and cardboard box. Then the dog got into the act and began bathing my feet with her tongue. It was so special. I almost thought it was my birthday.


The best part was watching Ian cuddle with Sugar.

Waiting for the Leeches

Steve and I are playing tag team kid rasslin' today as Ian sits through 7 - yes, that's right, SEVEN! - blood draws. A wonderful and caring friend suggested I ask if we could do finger sticks instead of needles and tubes, but the phlebotomist said no. Thanks for the idea though, D.W. It was worth a shot.

The first stick was rough. He screamed, cried, thrashed about, and fought every way he could. The second one went somewhat better, mostly less screaming. Between each hourly draw, he would occasionally ask for something to eat. I wanted desperately to toss him a pack of Fruit Gushers, or a Tic Tac, or a piece of gum. Once I caught him trying to drain a single drop of water from the dispenser in the waiting room - by sucking on the spigot! It was one of those moments when I knew I should correct his behavior; but I was so embarrassed, I secretly hoped no one noticed and I could let it slide. I felt so sorry for him.

With no drugs in his brain, he was a jittery mess. He brought the portable DVD player to watch movies. I am not sure if he actually saw an entire story from start to finish because he spent the entire time with his finger on the controls...

FF FF FF RV RV RV RV PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE FF FF STOP PLAY STOP PLAY FF FF FF FF STOP PLAY EJECT SMACKLID EJECT SMACKLID EJECT SMACKLID PLAY FF FF FF FF RV RV RV PLAY

Thank goodness for headphones!

After it was all over, I took the kids to their favorite restaurant for lunch. Fortunately, there were only a few people there at 3:00 p.m., so our presence wasn't much of a distraction. Ian shoved French fries in his mouth 4 at a time, while Ainsley made occasional trips to the juke box to obtain invisible money (she pretends it is an ATM). Ian ate much less than I expected.

Later in the afternoon, Ian decided he wanted a bowl of Fruit Loops. This he devoured, except for the 2 he stuck up his nose. This is one of the many pictures I will one day show his girlfriends I don't like and want to scare off.

So, that is pretty much how our day went. The rest I cannot share at the moment because I am recovering from the party Steve and I went to later. I have to remember...tequila after a stressful day is only beneficial until it wears off.

I Need Chocolate...NOW!

What a day. I spent most of yesterday completing 22 pages of questions for Ian's new/first psychiatrist. This morning was the 2 hour appointment. I am overwhelmed AND I NEED CHOCOLATE to deal with it. I am having a Weight Wathcers Just 2 Points Mint Cookie Crisp Flavored Snack Bar. Sounds almost as good as a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. If I hadn't already eaten 3 boxes of thin mints earlier in the year, I wouldn't need the Weight Watchers bar now. I refuse to eat my way through this stressful event and end up wearing it on my ass.

Today I finally met a man of medicine who shares my view that drugs should be administered scientifically and monitored closely through precise testing. The shotgun approach is too dangerous. I am abandoning the physician who believes you throw supplements at autism and wait to see what happens. Although there is relief associated with this decision, our new quest is going to start with tests - not just of blood and brainwaves, but of the spirit.

On Friday morning, Ian will undergo a 6-hour fasting glucose tolerance test. Ladies, you may recall this from pregnancy. It's the ordeal your doctor put you through if you failed the first test for gestational diabetes. It is grueling. We will start on an empty stomach at 8:00 a.m. and finish at 2:00 p.m. Drawing blood from Ian in a good mood takes 3 people. I honestly don't know how we're going to pull it off.

Now, here comes the really fun part. Beginning Friday, we have to take Ian off all medication - yes, ALL - because he will be having a QEEG (Quantitative Electroencephelogram) on Monday morning. That means we will not be dealing with a rational child from the blood-letting through the torturously hot weekend and on Monday when I get to hold him down while electrodes are attached to his head.

It is a good thing I've been working out. It will take Herculean strength to keep Ian still for all the needle sticks on Friday and the electrode placements on Monday.

Hopefully, the results of the QEEG will be ready by Tuesday so Ian can start any new medication/s on Wednesday...THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! What a special gift I have for his first grade teacher: a wild child on new meds.

I know I can make it through this. Ian, most likely, will be fine. Ainsley will be a major pain in the butt the entire time because she will take great joy in mimicking her big brother. Sugar will sleep on my bed and run for cover if she is discovered by either of the kids. Steve is the one I am worried about. Lately, he seems so angry that Ian is coming apart. This is how he expresses frustration - by getting mad at the kid who can't help it. He forgets momentarily that the behavior is not intentional, nor is it directed at him. Sometimes it just takes a look from me to help him see that his anger isn't helping the situation. In many instances, Steve gets his own special "time out" (that's when he gets to go cool off some place quiet and I handle the situation solo). Goodness knows he has done it for me enough times that I surely owe him a few.

My first hope is that we will both keep our sense of humor this weekend and try to keep the kids focused on the fun aspects of being "bouncing-off-the-walls-hyper". I picture our family in the scene from Mary Poppins when Mary, Uncle Albert, Bert, and the children are able to float through the air simply by laughing. Oooooo - watch out for the ceiling fan!

My second hope: that there is enough chocolate in this house to sustain me until Wednesday morning.