Summer Storms

The last few weeks have been extremely wet in Texas. It rained for almost two weeks straight, then we had some sun and showers every day for a couple more. Now, although temperatures have risen into the 90s, signaling summer has arrived, we still see some afternoon sprinkles that remind us to be grateful for the goodness of rain.

With this odd amount of moisture comes some annoyances. Mosquitoes are eating us alive. They go right through the repellent and head straight for your jugular! They are savages! Ian can hear them coming at him, circling his head, and going in for the kill. He is convinced that too many mosquito bites will one day cause his death, so he prefers to stay inside as much as possible.

When it pours, the dry, cracked earth is unable to absorb much of the rain as quickly as it falls. The result is flooding. Where we are, high waters are very short lived; but they are fast and extremely dangerous. The kids and the dog are frightened by the thunder and lightning. The children can be calmed by letting them hide under the comforter on my bed. We can make a game of counting the seconds between lightning strikes and thunder claps. And believe me, there is nothing quite like the thunder that accompanies a good summer storm in the South. You can feel it rumble in your chest. Our dog begins to lose her mind when a storm is 20 miles away. By the time it hits our house, she has a full-blown panic attack that requires medication. I think she fakes it just to get the drugs.

The drought gave us nice dry air that made summer feel more like a clay oven slow-roasting our state to a deep golden brown. Rain has given us air that is 98% saturated with steam and sweat, and most of it is sizzling from the roof of my house. Stepping outside is like doing the Nestea Plunge into a pool of hot, liquid Jell-O. Everything moves slower. Breathing requires effort. The hair on top of your head gets plastered in the creases of your eyelids. There is really no point in applying makeup in the morning. By the time you leave the bathroom, it will have slid down your face, dribbled down your neck, and pooled in your bra.

The last month with Ian has been much like the weather. On cloudy days, he is depressed, argumentative, gloomy, agitated. He can't put his feelings into words, but it is obvious, to me at least, that storm clouds bring out his dark side. We have watched him melt down only to rise again in warrior stance, ready to strike down anyone who crosses his path. I often worry that he will hurt Ainsley, but she can probably defend herself fairly well. One of the difficulties is trying to help her understand why her brother acts this way. Seeing him gnash his teeth and hearing him growl, scream, and threaten scares her. Still, she wants to comfort him so he will stop. She knows he feels sick on the inside when he acts this way.

Small, unpredictable things seem to set him off. Everything will be fine, and in an instant he is accusing, yelling, hitting, biting - completely enraged over something he has interpreted as an assault. He was playing soccer at camp one day last week and was unable to appreciate the subtle nuances of the game, such as. . .the rules. He thought it was his job to keep the other team from scoring at all cost. So he would grab the other players and drag them away from the ball so they couldn't kick it. I believe some people call this "rugby", but even by those standards, he was being rough. Good sportsmanship is not, and probably never will be, one of his strengths.

For a kid who savors rules and ritual, he seems to feel smothered by the same. He doesn't want a routine in the summer, just wants to do his own thing. Hey, so do I, but that isn't going to happen. The other day we were talking about Father's Day coming up, and Ian balked at giving Steve a gift. He was angry at his dad for making too many rules and telling him what to do all the time. He wants to be able to make some of his own decisions, to have some privacy, to do things his way. We tried that one afternoon. We left him alone in the play room for about 10 minutes. Keep in mind that the play room also doubles as my art studio. I had begun a sketch, of which Ian's likeness was the focal point. When I returned, Ian had decided to "help" me by darkening the lines on the sketch. I mean really darkening them. A LOT. So much for giving Ian his space.

All kids go through phases, and summer seems to bring out changes in everyone. When you throw in a little autism with these seasonal hiccups, it just brings out the thunder and lightning that have been suppressed by the routines of the school year. The real kid comes out of hiding. The sensory overloaded time bomb explodes, and it leaves behind a big mess. Hopefully, this is temporary. Hopefully, each barrage will provide an opportunity to learn. Hopefully, these "opportunities" will occur within the confines of our home and not in the middle of Victoria's Secret while I am replacing my old undergarments. Thank goodness for internet shopping!