And That's All I Have to Say About That

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Aaugh!!!!!

Never underestimate the strength, the will, or the misplaced anger of a 7 year-old boy. Ian has been on a rampage all afternoon. The momentum and intensity just kept building after each meltdown until. . .



The strange part is, I am not sure who fell harder - Ian or me.

Let me back up a bit. The first catastrophic even occured just before dinner when Steve and Ainsley were racing on the Plasma cars. Steve misjudged a turn and ran over Ian's foot. Ian completely lost it. Not his foot, just his composure. He started screaming at Steve and pounding him, then ran off to finish his tantrum in the bathroom. It took 15 minutes for us to figure out what had happened, then another 10 minutes to convince him that it was an accident. Eventually, he calmed down and joined us for pizza at the table.

After dinner, Ian decided to stretch out on the living room floor and pretend to sleep. He took off his glasses and left them near his head. Then along came Ainsley, sneaking up on him on hear hands and knees, when she accidentally smashed his glasses. We combed the area rug for pieces of the broken lens. The frames are probably salvageable, but I'm not telling him that just yet.

A few minutes later, we all went upstairs to begin the kids' bedtime rituals. Ian's attitude was stuck somewhere between annoying self-pity and stealthy viciousness. I placed a basket of his clean clothes next to his closet and suggested he start putting them away. When he refused, Steve and I encouraged him to put down the toy he was playing with for just a few minutes until the clothes were put away. Still he seemed to be ignoring us. Steve touched Ian's hands to get his attention, and the war began. Screaming, hitting, kicking, punching, crying. It would have been unbelievable behavior if I hadn't seen it many times before.

It took both Steve and I to pry the offending Buzz Lightyear claw launcher from Ian's superhero grip. With the toy now out of the picture, Ian began a piercing scream that made the dog get up and leave the room. He then ripped his OTHER pair of glasses off his face and bent them in half. They are now history.

I hope you were paying attention to the time frame here, because all of this took place IN LESS THAN 30 MINUTES!!! Two pairs of glasses valued at about $300 each down the toilet in half and hour. Unfortunately, this is not the first time such extreme circumstances have taken place in our house. It was just 4 short months ago that we went through this same crisis. It took weeks to get a replacement pair. This is not good news for a kid who is probably legally blind without corrective lenses.

I have already informed him that part of his punishment is cleaning up the dog poop in the back yard 3 days a week starting tomorrow and continuing forever. When Sugar gets old and dies, I'm going to make him go to neighbors houses and pick up their dog poop. And if no one else on our street has a dog, then I'll have poop shipped in from the Dog Pound.

I feel very strongly that Ian needs to lose a privilege as well. Deciding which one is the tough part. He is really good at making the rest of us pay dearly when he doesn't get what he wants, which just makes me more resolved to make the punishment stick. So, do I want to make a big impact on Ian AND guarantee that the rest of the family will be tortured by his whining for the duration? Or. . .is being unable to see until the new pair of glasses gets here going to do the trick? Where do I draw the line between tough love and just being cruel?



I am going to have to sleep on this one tonight. I must not have paid attention during the chapter on punishing a kid who intentionally breaks expensive things in the The Great Big Book on How to Raise and Aspie without Going Postal. Feel free to make your suggestions in the comment section below. I am at a loss.

A Cautionary Note

Any child in possession of an unsecured ant farm is in serious danger of being bitten by really pissed off ants. I recommend that you duct tape or superglue the lid on. This is because no matter how many times you tell him not to, no 7 year-old boy (autism afflicted or otherwise) is able to resist the temptation to remove the lid. Ian made it 8 hours before having his neck savagely chewed by one of those crazed little buggers. Good luck to all of you who gave these as Christmas gifts last month.

A Work in Progress

Today was a snow day. I do not mean to imply that there is any actual snow on the ground, because there isn't any. School was cancelled because the roads were a little slippery, and we wouldn't want anyone to crash their Lexus SUV in the carpool lane, now would we? O. K., it was a little worse than that, but not much.

An extra day off in a week already shortened by the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday was cause for celebration at our house. For Ian, it meant a day to play and grace period for not doing his homework last night. For Ainsley, it meant another pajama day. For Steve, another day to work from home without taking a shower (that's two in a row hun - it's about time you met a bar of soap!). And for me, a day to paint.

The kids enjoyed a six hour play date with Jack and Georgia. It astounds me how well 4 kids - 2 sets of siblings - can get along. Ian and Jack studied the ant farms he got for his birthday and Christmas. They watched closely to see which ants were digging tunnels faster. Never in a million years did I ever think having huge red ants on my kitchen counter would be something I would condone. Now I have allowed them to be present during lunch. What has gotten into me?

This afternoon the kids got together to watch Robots for the hundred millionth time. Toward the end of the flick there was some unusual giggling and running around. When I went upstairs to check it out, Ian was doing his Captain Underpants impersonation. No, really. This is a real dude. A superhero extraordinaire. The idol of every first grade boy on the planet. I AM NOT KIDDING! Ian's favorite book thus far is Captain Underpants and the Big, Bad Battle of the Bionic Booger Boy, Part 2: The Revenge of the Ridiculous Robo-Boogers. With great literature like this on his shelf, I just know the Ivy League is in his future. Probably not in the academic sense though. Maybe "Janitorial Science"?

All kidding aside, days like today help to remind me that even though I think of him as the worlds most brilliant child, Ian is still a work in progress. He has to experience the things that all young children do. There is no skipping anything. His quirkiness allows him to see things differently, sometimes magically. His perspective of the world is helping him build the framework for whatever castle in the sky awaits him.

Meanwhile, I continue to paint visions that are inspired by my children. They have no idea how they challenge me to test my own limits and grow with each piece. They push me to see the tiny details that make life interesting. The other day Ainsley found a tiny string on the floor at Kinkos. It kept her intrigue long enough for me to have a photo of Cragside Castle enlarged so I could paint it. At least the string kept her eyes and hands away from the candy display just next to where we were standing.

Perhaps I'll paint a minuscule detail into this picture that only they will see.

Sailing

One of the nicest things about living in Texas is that the sun shines about 90 percent of the time; and most of those days are nice enough to be outside. So, even though it was the middle of December, a bright day just a couple of weeks ago found our family at the park.

Ian has a remote control sailboat that he launched for the first time on the pond. He was so excited to be controlling his watercraft. The intense concentration seemed to rev his little engine. It was very windy that afternoon, and Ian found the sail to be more of a hindrance than a help, so he and Steve removed it and created an r/c motor boat instead. It worked great.

At a time of day when Ian is normally checking out and avoiding contact with others, he was fully engaged and eager to tell me about his boating adventures. One nuance that particularly caught his attention was that sometimes the wind or waves tried to capture the boat and take it beyond his reach. Sometimes, he just had to wait for the water to calm a bit before he could steady the vessel and bring it closer to shore.

Not so long ago, this lack of control would have quickly frustrated him, and he would have thrown the remote on the ground as he stomped home. But that didn't happen. He enjoyed the challenge. He began to appreciate the influence nature has over things made by man. He realized, at least in this case, that he is not always in control ... and that is o.k.

And for me, giving up control meant standing back and watching Ian do his thing. Not giving advice, not placing limitations, not saying a word. Just enjoying the peaceful moment of a boy sailing his boat.

What is it About Water?

I should have been a plumber. Something around here is constantly getting wet by the gallon, not by the cup. Usually, not always, but usually Ian is involved. Today both of my children flooded my world.

The kids have been getting along really well this weekend. Things have been relatively quiet. This morning, after a late breakfast, Ian went upstairs to play with his toys. Ainsley stayed downstairs to watch t.v. I was in the kitchen planning this week's menu and making my grocery shopping list.

Steve is on a business trip and called from his hotel to let me know he was leaving for the airport soon. We chatted while I worked on the kitchen and had breakfast. When I hung up the phone, I thought to myself, For once it will be nice for him to come home from a trip to a family that isn't in crisis mode.

As I took a load of the kids clean laundry back up the stairs, Ian called for me. It sounded as if he was in the bathroom. I looked in his bathroom, his bedroom, Ainsley's bedroom, the play room. Then I saw the closed door to the guest bathroom. He called for me again. I reached for the handle and found it locked. Ian knows locking the bathroom door is not allowed. I began to worry.

Then I saw the carpet on the outside of the bathroom was wet. O.K., so there's a mess to clean up. No big deal. But he refused to open the door. He insisted I was going to be mad at him. Don't panic. Stay calm. Don't get angry. I tried to assure him, in the most loving voice I have, that I would not get angry. Whatever mess there was could be cleaned up, and everything would be fine. He wasn't buying it.

I sneaked into the next room to find something I could use to unlock the door from my side. Nothing I could find would work. I'm sure if I were 7 years old I could find plenty of things that would open the door. Finally, I told him if he didn't unlock the door, I was going to have to call the fire department to come get him out. Not even that convinced him I would be able to handle the situation with grace and dignity.

Have I lost it that many times that my kids are afraid of me? That they don't trust my word? I've never lied to them, why is he thinking this way?

"You're going to be mad at me forever! I hate myself!" and he began to cry.

Oh, my God! He's too young for this. Depression and self-loathing aren't due for at least 6 or 7 more years when his first real girlfriend dumps him for some jock.

After more begging by Ainsley and me, he finally opened the door. There he was naked, shivering, and teary-eyed. I grabbed a towel and wrapped him up. Then we sat on the floor and had a good cry. I sent Ainsley on little errands to get her out of earshot while I asked Ian why he'd done this, but more importantly, why he said he hated himself. He'd wanted to take a bath, but not a real bath. So he filled the sink with water and sat in it. It overflowed and made a mess, and that's why he hated himself - because he'd made a mess.

After some reassuring that it was just a little water, not a catastrophe, he went to his room to read quietly in his bed. Then he wanted a snack. About 45 minutes later, I finally got the mess cleaned up and calm restored to our home.

At 1:30 I decided it was time for me to get out of my pajamas and get on with the day. Upon entering my bathroom on the first floor, my feet encountered a soaked bathmat, then an Oriental rug that squished when stepped upon, and finally, water logged carpet in the closet.

"Well, golly!"* I said.

*Substitute any string of effervescent 4-letter words here.

I looked all around the room trying to find the source of the water. No faucet was on, the toilet was not running, nor was there water near it. But the bathtub faucet was wet on the top side. I looked up and saw 2 tiny droplets of water clinging to the light fixture above the tub - directly below Ian's personal water park.

Guess I should have been an electrician, too.

I cleaned up that nice little pond, then rolled up the rugs and carried them outside. Have you ever tried to lift a wet wool rug that fills a large bathroom? And carried it through the house to the back yard? Then placed in on a hammock so it could dry? I think this should replace power lifting in the next Olympics.

O.K. crisis number 2 (or 1 1/2, depending on how you look at it) dealt with and gone. Whew. Ainsley had a great idea. Take popcorn and lemonade outside and play in the club house. Brilliant child, that one! She ran outside with one yellow crock on her foot (she couldn't find the other one) and headed for the club house. Ian continued putting together a Bionicle on the kitchen table while I popped the corn. Soon, I heard Ainsley calling me.

Somehow, she had gotten her head stuck between the protective slats of the clubhouse. You know - the ones that are supposed to keep a kid from putting their head through and getting stuck! Funny thing about heads: they don't like to go back the same direction through which they came. She was good and stuck.

I screamed for Ian to come out and help me. Fortunately, he came running. At first I asked him to stay with Ainsley while I went to the garage to get a screw driver to take out one of the slats. Ainsley got hysterical. She didn't want me to leave her. My brain was whirling. Think, dammit, think!

I started giving Ian instructions on where to find a screwdriver in the kitchen. Geez, there are like 150 drawers in there, he'll never find it. So I told him to go to the kitchen and bring me the phone. I'd call my neighbor, Kris, and if he didn't answer, I'd call 911 - for real this time! Ian ran in the house. While he was gone, Ainsley kept pushing on my shoulder with her head. The next thing I knew, she had maneuvered her body sideways and slid all the way through into my arms.

Thank God this child is brilliant!

O.K., the part about getting her head stuck - not so brilliant. But ON THE WHOLE, and extremely bright child.

Ian came running out with the phone. I thanked him, then grabbed both of them in the world's tightest family hug we've ever had. When I finally let loose of them enough for us all to breath, I began counting the minutes until Steve's plane would land. He should be home any minute. When he walks in the door and asks how we've been, I'm going to say, "Go read my blog. I'm going for a walk."

Update on Ainsley

So many of you have emailed or called, wanting to know how Ainsley is doing. First, let me say, "thank you". It means the world to me to know you are concerned, and it helps tremendously to know there is support out there. It's like 100 arms are extending through my monitor to hold my hand or pat my shoulder. It is really uplifting.

Ainsley is doing better this week. Much of what she is going through right now is typical 3 year-old limit testing, just magnified by the intensity of her personality. I have been trying to get her to focus on new things so she doesn't spend so much time in her fantasy world. Occasionally, this seems to work by shortening the length of her tantrums and lessening their severity.

Giving her frequent play dates with her best friend, Georgia, is also helping. Georgia is extremely patient and kind. She gives Ainsley her space when she needs it and welcomes her back with open arms when the time is right. Her brother, Jack, is Ian's best friend. He, too, shows friendship at a depth far greater than is typical for his age. I am extremely grateful that these children have found each other. They seem to bring out the best in each other.

This is also a self-declared pajama week for Ainsley. She has been in street clothes for a total of 10 hours at the most since Monday. Her refusal to get dressed was a tremendous source of frustration for all of us the first couple of days. But she is much more agreeable in her pj's, so we're going with it for now. Next week, it's back to school and back to appropriate attire - like it or not.

As with Ian, I have to pick my battles and allow each child the opportunity to control some aspects of their environment, even if it isn't necessarily something I would choose for myself. I am there to make sure they are safe. Hopefully, each will learn from the decisions they make.

I will still have her evaluated, but I may wait just a bit longer to make certain I can document the behavior patterns, not individual instances. It is still difficult to know what is sibling imitation and what is a true personality characteristic.



What I do know, is this is a beautiful child.


Yesterday, as I teased and tickled her, we had this dialogue:

Mom: "Are you a silly bunny?"

Ainsley: [giggles] "No, Mommy!"

Mom: "Are you a green frog?"

Ainsley: [more laughter] "No, Mommy!"

Mom: "Are you a hairy gorilla?"

Ainsley: "No, Mommy! I'm not a hairy gorilla!"

Mom: "Then, what are you?"

Ainsley: "I'm your best friend."