A Look at Lunch

Ian, like all Aspies, is a creature of habit. He thrives on his routine. Changing it in the slightest is at the very least cause for "the look of death" - a squinty, angry stare that means he is really ticked off and you'd better watch out. I have seen it many times and know that I am walking on thin ice when he scrunches his face that way.

His lunch requirements are very specific and must be met exactly, or he does not eat. When he skips lunch, his afternoon - specifically Math class - suffers. As a mother, I hate the guilty feeling I get when he has had a bad day because of the lunch I fixed. In the morning when I make his lunch, I don't even have to ask what to put in it. In fact, he acts annoyed if I do. That's when I get the "Well, duh!" look.

This does not mean he never changes what he wants for lunch. He does. About three times a year. It's a huge event when he tires of what he has been taking. We go through hours, sometimes days of discussions, trying to find something he finds appealing. Last week, he decided he no longer wanted to take cheese burritos. He didn't like them any more. After scientific testing to determine if it was a cheese issue, we concluded it was a combination of boredom and dislike of the brand of cheese I had purchased.

Ahhhh .... but those burritos were pieces of art and very nutritious! I used a very high fiber flat bread called Flat Outs. Each piece has about 7g, or maybe it's 12g .... possible 140g of fiber. A mother's dream for her child who needs help with regularity. Of course, that was counteracted slightly by the cheese, but what can you do? Each piece of flat bread was spread with a very even layer of heart healthy margarine substitute and sprinkled with shredded colby-jack cheese, then rolled into a tight burrito and wrapped in aluminum foil. Precision and beauty all-in-one.

The cheese was a serious issue. It could not be Monterrey Jack cheese and Colby cheese from separate blocks. It had to be the marbled combination and above all, it had to be a certain brand. He could sense the subtle taste differences among brands and would refuse to eat them. Eventually, I found a version of the one he liked, made with 2% milk. Combining that with a small amount of the regular fat version was acceptable to him for a while.

It was NEVER o.k., however, to slice the cheese and place it inside the flat bread. If I was in a hurry or the cheese shredder was dirty and I sliced the cheese, I was scolded after school that his burrito was unacceptable. That's when he would get the "rolled eyes" look and a "Sorry 'bout that sweetie" from me.

Last week he decided it was time for a change. Burritos were out. He thought it would be o.k. to have Spaghetti Os every day. I nixed that. Occasionally, yes, but not every day. Not just from a nutritional standpoint but also from a labor perspective. WAY too much prep time for me. I have my limits.

He didn't want to go back to peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches. Fluffernutter sandwiches were out too. He refuses to buy his lunch because the offerings are not consistent (in his mind).

Finally, he decided on butter sandwiches. I agreed, as long as the bread was whole wheat and the "butter" was heart healthy. Settled.

My mom even bought him a cool sandwich container that will hold a sandwich and two side items and keeps them all separate from each other. He really liked that. Keeping things separate is a big thing for him. I am told by other moms of Aspies and kids with sensory processing disorder, that keeping different foods from touching is crucial to getting food inside our kids. So this container from my mom was a huge help.

All week he brought his lunch bag home with nothing, not even a crumb, left behind. Until yesterday.

I looked at the container that held his uneaten sandwich and asked if there was something wrong with it.

"You put it in the wrong container," he said.

This was true. I had used a plain, red, Tupperware, sandwich -sized container. He didn't seem to mind when it held peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. But the new container from Grandma was "obviously" intended for butter sandwiches.

"Well, sweetie," I said, "your favorite container was dirty. I had to use something else. Shall I save your sandwich for later?"

"Yes," he replied.

This morning when I began assembling his lunch, the sandwich was still in the refrigerator in the inadequate plastic box. I switched it to the new, clean one, filled the two remaining compartments with Baked Cheetos and apple slices, and sent it to school with him. I can't wait to see what comes home this afternoon.

Has the Smoke Cleared Yet?

No, I didn't burn the kitchen down. I am referring to the billowing clouds of furiosity that were the result of my trip to the grocery store on Sunday ... WITH MY CHILDREN!

You will recall I mentioned in my previous post that Steve has a cold. In an effort to be a loving, caring, nurturing wife, I took Ian and Ainsley with me to the store so Steve could rest. Let me just set the record straight now before I forget - When I returned home, the man who could barely open his eyes before I left, was sitting up in bed, eating a sandwich, and watching a football game! It's a freaking miracle!

Now, back to the grocery store trip. The kids have never done well at the grocery store. It is complete sensory overload for them. Too many lights, sounds, people, and choices. It's a nightmare. To get to the produce aisle, where I normally begin my shopping, we had to go through the florist and the bakery. Alone, this takes me about 7 seconds. With my offspring in tow, it takes 53 minutes.

Ainsley: "Mommy, I want to give my teacher some flowers. Can I get some flowers. Oh, I like these red ones. Mrs. E will really like these. Here I'll put them in the cart."

Me: "No, honey. Not this time."

Ainsley: "Oh, please Mommy? I really want to give her some flowers."

Ian: "I want to give my teacher some flowers too. I'll take these roses."

Me: "Stop, both of you, and listen. We are not buying flowers today. It's a really sweet thought, but we're here to buy what is on my list. If it isn't on my list, it won't be going in the basket."

Ian: "Can we have these?" He pointed to some small cakes.

Me: "No."

Ian: "What about these?" He pointed to some cookies.

Me: "No."

Ainsley: "Ooooooo... what about this?" She started to pick up a huge chocolate cake.

Me: "No."

Ian: "Awwwwwww. C'mon. You're always saying, 'no'. We never get anything."

Me: "And this is why the two of you do not have the privilege of shopping with me very often. We will buy what is on my list and only what is on my list. No discussion, no whining. Got it?"

Ian: "Hmmmmmmph."

Me: "Let's get some apples. Ian what kind would you like this week."

Ian: "Red Delicious, of course. I'll get five for me and an extra one for my teacher."

Me: "How about getting two for you and one for your teacher. The last time we bought Red Delicious apples you decided you didn't like them so much after the first couple."

Ian: "How about four for me and one for my teacher. I'll get one for Ainsley's teacher too."

Me: "Let's let Ainsley pick an apple for her teacher. What kind of apples do you want to eat this week Ainsley?"

Ainsley: "I want the yellow ones. And I want a yellow one for my teacher."

Ian: "Ainsley, you have to give her a red one. Teachers don't like yellow apples."

Ainsley [whining]: "I don't want to give her a red apple. I like yellow ones."

Me: "Ian, it's nice of you to help, but let Ainsley choose which one she will give to Mrs. E."

Ian glared at me over the top of his glasses while Ainsley began counting every apple in the bin. After some redirection, we finished with the apples. That little stop alone took ten minutes.

The can-I-have-this maneuver appeared again but was thwarted when we headed for the vegetables. Ian began feeling everything within reach and was fascinated when he found non-produce items conveniently located near fruits or vegetables that could be paired with them. Several times I had to call him away from the bananas. He was trying to hide a box of Nilla Wafers behind his coat.

Me: "Guys, one of the rules at the grocery store is 'If you're not buying it, don't touch it.' Ian, hold on to the cart and don't touch anything else. And put those Nilla Wafers back. Ainsley. . .Ainsley? Where the hell is Ainsley? Shit! Where'd that child go?"

Ian: "Mom, you're not supposed to say 'shit.'"

Me: "Don't be a smart-mouth. Help me find your sister."

We found her feeling up the kiwis. So began our two-hour trip through Tom Thumb, a ritual that normally would have taken me forty-five minutes if I were moving slowly with a raging hangover, and was talking on my cellphone - on a good day, thirty minutes. In the midst of our lengthy journey down the aisles came the time that I should have given the kids their afternoon meds for ADHD. That's when things really got ugly.

I must have blacked out from the baking aisle through the chip aisle, because it is difficult to recall the details or the words I said. At some point, a bag of marshmallows was tossed cleverly into the basket by small hands and removed by mine before a scuffle ensued. Said bag of marshmallows became mushy-mellows and had to be hidden behind some canned green beans. My apologies to whichever store employee finds them.

I do recall believing that I was thinking some things to myself that actually became audible. One of them was, "I know you are not intentionally trying to piss me off, BUT YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF!!!!" The rest of the excursion is a blur.

Poor Steve still hasn't figured out why seeing him watching a football game and eating a sandwich put me over the edge, or why his sudden winter illness has not automatically made him the recipient of my undivided concern and attention. At one point I wanted to say, "You'll have my complete sympathy for your pathetic little cold when I see you pass two watermelons with ADHD from your (insert name of any orifice in the male body) without an epidural!" But I didn't. He knows I win the toughest babe on the planet contest, and he doesn't even come close to qualifying for the competition.

I do care how sick he is. It sucks, really. That being said, however, Steve could be in a coma next Sunday; but I will be leaving the children in his care. They have a much better chance at surviving the day under those circumstances than if I have to take them with me to the grocery store again.

This is why margaritas garnished with jalepeno-stuffed olives are now my breakfast of champions.

Ho...ho...ho!

Until two days ago, my kids had never been to see Santa. They had never told him in person what they wanted for Christmas. They had never been asked by the Bearded One, "Have you been good this year?"

It wasn't that they did not want to meet Santa. Christmas is as magical a time for them as it is for any child who believes their goodness will be rewarded with wrapped toys (but not clothes...Ian hates getting clothes for Christmas). In fact, Ian believes with all his heart that Santa is real, and he is awesome.

We tried to visit the large red elf in the past. Long lines, enormous crowds, and thunderous echos of holiday shoppers made it impossible for my sensory challenged little ones to tolerate the wait. The first time Ian tried, he lasted ten minutes in line before he begged to go home. He was three, and I was pregnant and grateful although a little disappointed.

The next year we opted to send a letter instead. The year after that, an email. And for the last couple of years, we went back to snail mail. Although I continued to ask each year if the kids wanted to go meet Santa at the mall, they would always say "no, thank you" because the idea of actually seeing the big guy scared them to death. In their eyes, Santa is bigger than god.

This year was different. Ainsley not only wrote her first letter to Mr. Claus all by herself, she addressed the envelope and insisted I put a stamp on it. Fortunately, I intercepted it before it was picked up by our postal carrier and placed in the bin of letters that go to the North Pole. I have often wondered how big Santa's mailbox must be to accommodate all those letters.

Early last week, Ainsley decided she wanted to meet Santa. She was certain she must meet him this year and wanted to know exactly when they could be introduced. We decided to go on Saturday (yes, I know...big mistake). By the time Saturday had arrived, even Ian was excited about meeting the toy dude.

We opted for an upscale mall, knowing the crowd there would be much smaller than at more popular shopping centers. The one we selected had Santa stationed in front of an enormous snow globe depicting The Polar Express, with "snow" falling inside as we walked through it. There were several smaller globes to keep them entertained as we waited in line for two hours.

My children were amazing. They were patient most of the time. They were polite. They tried to be calm to the best of their ability (we had forgotten to bring their afternoon doses of Adderall and Focalin). Compared to all the other kids, they did just fine. Steve and I were so proud of them.

When it was finally their turn, they walked gingerly toward Santa. He encouraged them with a warm smile and big hugs. Once seated in his lap, they each told him the one present they truly wanted. When it was over, they sighed with relief. With enormous grins, they knew that Santa now had the information he needed to make this Christmas extra special.

Walking away from Santa, I felt tiny tears build behind my eyes. After nine years Ian had finally experienced one of the true joys of Christmas before growing up had time to take it away. The magic of believing had been confirmed.

For Ainsley, the excitement of meeting St. Nick was on par with the effervescing happiness she feels every time she sees my mother. Santa is love and goodness, just like Nonni. The soft Kringle beard reminds her of Grandpa and his quiet kindness.

I know they are counting the days until the presents arrive. Honestly, I am really stoked, too. But there is a new calmness that has come over our home in the last couple of days. It is as if everything is right in the world and in its proper place. This is the feeling of Christmas I have missed for so many years. I am so glad its back.