A Ballerina and Her Brother Go Shopping

Today began so smoothly. I took the dog for a walk, drank my coffee in peace and quiet, and even took a shower all before 8:00 a.m. It was a beautiful thing.

The kids awoke on their own around 8:15 and meandered downstairs to the kitchen. They ate their breakfasts with just a little prompting - and a lot of bribery. I promised they could play with their NinetendoDSs once they finished eating, dressed, and brushed teeth and hair. It worked. I felt victorious at 9:30 as we walked out the door to go to Ainsley's ballet class. We weren't rushing and no one was yelling.

Ian met some other older brothers in the waiting area of the ballet studio. They, too, had brought their NintendoDSs. It was the closest to a testosterone bonding moment any eight year-old boy could have. He wasn't a nerd or an Aspie - he was just one of the guys.

After class, I wanted to go to three stores. The prognosis for success was excellent so far. Everyone was in a good mood, but we were getting a little thirsty. To keep spirits high, I pulled into a 7-Eleven for Slurpees. This was a good move. The excitement of getting a cold, fruity drink on a hot June morning is a three dollar investment that usually pays large dividends.

As we were exiting the van, Ian climbed over Ainsley in an effort to be first. He's a bull in a china shop when it comes to social graces. We had a brief discussion (for the 400th time) about how the person sitting next to the open door should get out first to avoid unnecessary injuries.

Most people experience a Slurpee stop as a brief pause in a busy day. For us, it's a major undertaking, requiring quick thinking and organization. One distraction by the chip or candy isle can mean a complete derailment of plans and a meltdown of volcanic proportions. Almost as bad is the discovery that the flavor one of the kids wanted is out. Fortunately, neither of these situations arose. Our main difficulty was in getting the straws out of their tight plastic wrappers. Then Ainsley dropped her straw on the floor by the checkout. Naturally, she felt compelled to lick it after it landed. I shuddered to think where people's feet had been and then decided against having her tongue amputated as a precaution. But we did go get a new straw.

Back at the van, Ian got in and fastened his seatbelt with record speed. Ninendo was waiting. Ainsley needed a little help getting in and determining what order her tasks should take. I held her Slurpee and Nintendo and helped her negotiate the seat belt. The rest was easy after that.

Next stop: the framing shop. A mat I ordered on Saturday was ready. Neither child wanted to leave the car. I assured them this would be a very short stop. Ian was not thrilled, but he complied. Less than ten minutes after I had instructed him on proper van exiting etiquette, he again attempted to climb over his sister to get the unwanted chore done faster. I could tell he was already beginning to tire of our errands.

At the next location, both kids began to protest having to go inside. I assured them we were only going in to buy dog food, and then we'd be right back out. Even I knew it was a lie. No one ever leaves Costco with just one item. It just isn't right. We didn't make it either. As we meandered down the isle I thought would get us to the dog food the fastest, Ian decided we were running low on mac-n-cheese. OK, throw a box in the basket. Then came the fifty pound bag of Beneful. Ainsley said she was hungry and needed a snack. I decided we'd stop by the bakery and get some cookies for the upcoming holiday weekend. On the way there we found a great beach umbrella to put next to the pool. Eventually, we made it to the bakery where Ian picked chocolate chip cookies, and Ainsley decided she needed chocolate chip mini-muffins. OK - BUT NOTHING ELSE!

As we were standing in line at the check-out, Ainsley's mouth was going non-stop. Each sentence seemed to run together and get louder. She kept repeating, "Mama, I want to carry the muffins." No matter how many times I said that was fine, she kept repeating and increasing her volume. Then suddenly, the sentence changed:

"MOMMY, WHY IS THAT MAN SO FAT?"

She was speaking of the large young man who walking toward our line.

"Ainsley!" I said sternly. "Stop talking!" I said in a loud whisper. She kept on with the FAT comments. I repeated my command, yet she continued. Finally, I put my hand over her mouth, looked her straight in the face and explained that we don't make comments about other people's appearance. It is not polite.

I was mortified.

Never trust an adorably precious girl dressed in a pink tutu.

On the way out to the car, Ian insisted on carrying the cookies, and Ainsley just had to carry the muffins. When we got to the van, I opened the side door with my remote and proceeded to unload the cart. Then, just as Ainsley was climbing into the doorway, Ian ran her over and plowed through to his seat on the other side. Ainsley was left crying, one sandal half removed from her foot, and a container of muffins smashed on the floor of the van.

"IAN DO NOT TOUCH THOSE COOKIES OR YOUR NINTENDO!" I boomed. I hugged Ainsley and helped her get into her seat.

"Ian, which is more important: cookies and your Nintendo or your sister who is hurt?" I asked as quietly and calmly as I could with Ainsley screaming in my ear.

"Ummmmm.... Ainsley?" he replied meekly.

"That's right. Did you make a good choice in running her over like that?"

"No," again in a saddened voice.

"You owe her an apology," I said sternly.

"Sorry, Ainsley."

I could feel the creases in my forehead deepening and turning purple as I tried to stay calm. The next decision was an easy one - we were heading home. The grocery store would have to wait until tomorrow. It will be weeks before I feel I can show my face at Costco again. Next time, I'll leave the kids at home and wear a baseball cap and dark sunglasses.

When Nighttime Falls

I am so glad it is summer and my attitude about schedules is fairly loose. We have been weening Ian off Zyprexa for the last few weeks, and in doing so, his sleep patterns have changed dramatically. It seems that the bi-polar diagnosis was way off. Ian was only bi-polar because he was over-medicated. Now that his meds have decreased in number and dose, my little guy is a very happy dude.

He took his last dose of Zyprexa on Thursday night. Originally, this was used to help him sleep and to gain some much needed weight. Thursday he was awake until 10:15 p.m. Friday, with none of the drug in his body, he was awake until 11:00. Last night, it was almost midnight before he fell asleep.

Around 10:00 Saturday night, Ian called for me to come to his room. He never gets out of bed to tell us something is wrong. He only gets out of bed to do something wrong. For example, I watched a quilt crawl across the floor into the play room Friday night. It then sat in the chair in front of the kids' computer and began playing Star Wars, and was surprised when I admonished it and told it to go back to bed. Last night was just as silly, but a little different.

I went to Ian's room and asked what he needed. It took about 3 minutes for him to be able to say he wanted me to snuggle with him. It made me feel good to know he still considers close time with mom to be the antidote to all his woes. The room was really dark. All I could tell was there was a strange shape in the bed, and it was breathing. I reached out to give Ian a hug and to straighten out the covers when I touched something very smooth and close to my face. It wasn't Ian's face. Thank goodness I didn't assume it was his face and offer a smooch prior to investigating.

"Ian," I asked, "is that your butt?"

Giggles came from under the quilt.

"Why is your butt on your pillow?" I inquired further.

"I don't know," he laughed.

He continued to toss himself around the bed for a few minutes, eventually planting his head on the edge of his pillow. Just when I thought he was calming down, I heard a loud thud. A moment later, Ian dived off the side of the bed next to the wall, leaving only his ankles an feet visible above the mattress.

"Ian, what are you doing?" I asked with exasperation. Only grunts and snorts came from below. "Get back in bed, silly child."

He made his way back up, brandishing his light saber.

"Will you be sleeping with that tonight?" I asked.

"Yep," he said.

Still more tossing and turning. It is difficult to cuddle up to a light saber, I would imagine. Eventually, I became weary of being the victim of random thrashing, so I tucked in Master Ian and his weapon and left the room. Descending the stairs and shaking my head, I wondered how many more hours this would go on. Before I reached the bottom step, another thud echoed from above. Steve was waiting in the foyer below.

"It's your turn," I sighed. Looks like tag team bed time is back.

Saying Good-Bye

Telling my children I am going somewhere is never easy. They know when a suitcase is involved that I will be away at bedtime, which is when they seem to need me most. On Monday, I waited until the very last minute to tell them I was going to Kentucky for a couple of days. Ian took the news fairly well; Ainsley was very sad. She didn't cry, but when I told her why I was leaving, she seemed more concerned about me than about how much she would miss me.

I have two aunts, and I love them both dearly. One of them died on Sunday. Explaining this to Ian and Ainsley took careful consideration of my words.

"Was she old?" Well, to them perhaps she was; but not to me.

"Was she sick?" Yes, she battled a very aggressive form of cancer with tremendous courage and strength. She outlived her own mother by twenty years and three days. To her, that was a victory.

"Are you sad, Mommy?" Yes, dear ones, I am very sad. When I was a child, she was loving yet firm. She didn't hesitate to discipline me if I misbehaved, and she was lavish with praise for the things I did well. In my adult years, she became my friend. She was there to listen when I was learning to deal with autism in my babies. She offered her knowledge as a nurse and a fellow sufferer when I was diagnosed with the ailments so common in the women in our family. She loved me as her own, and I will miss her.

My children have not experienced a tremendous loss yet in their lives. By the time I was Ian's age, I had been through the deaths of both of my grandfathers, one grandmother, and two great-grandfathers, each loss leaving its mark on me in a different way. As I get older and I understand the losses, the grief I feel is more profound. Yet, behind the pain there is also joy from the wonderful memories I have. Teaching my children how to see past the hurt is something I do not know how to do. I think I just "got it" myself in the last few years.

Last night the kids selected some of their old toys to give away to charity. I offered to sell them on Ebay so they could earn some money; but they chose to donate them to children in need. I am so proud of them. When Ian discovered that Ainsley had (at my suggestion) put the old Barney doll in the pile, he began to cry. Barney was his favorite comfort toy as a baby and toddler, and he was not ready to say good-bye yet. The purple dinosaur had soothed him to sleep in his earliest months, and this is a memory for Ian that gives him peace.

I wasn't ready to say good-bye to my aunt. But I have gained strength by being with my cousins and uncle in her home where so many things remind me of her. Now that I am back in my own house, I feel a little lost. I know it will get better in time.

Aunt Mary was an avid reader of my blog, even in her last weeks when she was tired and very ill. We were connected by the words, photos and stories of family. She would not have wanted me to restrict access to this information because it has the potential to help so many. I have decided that is more important than the chance that someone might choose to use this information for harm. Now, when I write to all of you, I'll have her on my mind, pushing me to do whatever I can to bring knowledge and understanding to those who are struggling with autism in their lives.

In Case You are Wondering

I made a difficult decision this week to close my blog to the public. A few days ago I learned that a convicted sex offender has moved into our neighborhood and is residing very close to my children's school and our neighborhood swimming pool. Because of this man's predatory history of violence against children, I felt it was in my family's best interest to restrict access to information about the kids.

Because I do not have email addresses for everyone who reads my blog, please let me know if you are aware of anyone who might have been a reader who now cannot access the blog. I'll be glad to add them, as long as know who they are.

It's a crazy world.

Happy Father's Day

This is my great-grandfather. I don't remember much about him, because I was very young when he died. I do recall seeing him at family reunions out at the farm. He had a great smile.

Grief and Creativity: Day 3

The culmination of two and a half days of soul searching was as easy as placing the time line of my life on a long piece of paper. Happiness, sadness, successes, failures, changes that left their mark. It's all there marked in colored pencils on a four foot piece of paper. It was so easy.

And then I had to share it with my fellow students of the art of grieving. I had to be honest. I had to find that common theme throughout my life that has caused or contributed to the pain I have such difficulty dealing with. In those moments of revealing the events and challenges of my life, the light bulb went on.

Each time I repeated the key phrase, the one act that was consistent throughout every painful experience, the more open I became and the easier it was to understand not just the "why", but the "what am I going to do now?" I know my options for breaking the chain. The tools are in my hands. It's up to me.