As I walked home from school with my 8 year-old daughter today, I noticed many of the neighborhood children enjoying the sunny afternoon and playing with friends outside. Some rode their bikes, others walked to the park. A few were walking leisurely home and talking. It's the same scene when I bring Ian home from middle school.
Instead of thinking about how nice it is to live in a neighborhood where the kids can still ride bikes and run through the yards playing games, it made me sad. My children don't do those things that I enjoyed when I was their age. Most of the time, they prefer to come home to quiet, video games, homework (ok, they don't prefer that, but it's part of the schedule), and spending time with each other. Even if someone asked them to go for a bike ride they wouldn't, because they are both too embarrassed that they still need training wheels to keep their balance.
There are a few select kids who will venture forth to enter the worlds of Ian and Ainsley. Often, that is one world. They have always been close, each others' favorite playmate and best friend. They know each other like the backs of their own hands, almost as much as twins would. Outsiders learn quickly that they prefer to be a package deal. They are most comfortable when they are together.
I wonder . . . is that enough for them? Do they ever feel lonely? I worry about Ian, especially, because right now he really has only one good friend from school. There are boys from our Lego club who he enjoys playing with a few times a month. Is that enough? Ainsley socializes a little more at school, but not much. She knows everyone, but when it comes down to true friends even she really has only one.
Does it bother them that they don't ride bikes and run through the neighborhood? Do they even want to have friends? Are the rules of social interaction so complicated that they would just prefer not to bother at all? If I ask these questions out loud, will it open the floodgates of self-pity for them?
Are they happy?
I think Ainsley is, but I'm not always sure about Ian. He's a tough egg to crack.
There are times when he knows a situation calls for a smile, and I can watch as his brain slowly sends the message to the corners of his mouth to turn upward. These contrived faces are obvious to me because his eyes don't reflect what the rest of his face is indicating. At least he knows when to fake it. Other people are not always aware of how difficult it is for him to read unfamiliar situations. Does this make other children less interested in being his friend? Is it just too hard to be his friend that no one wants to make the effort?
Every morning when we part company at school, he says good-bye to me at least 4 times with and I-love-you in the middle. There is no emotion on his face, only words. We regularly cause the carpool line to be backed up into the street because of our tradition that has been going on for over 6 years. I love those moments, and at the same time it tears at my heart to say good-bye that way.
As I look at the clock and see that it isn't long until I'll pick him up from school, I am looking forward to seeing his genuine smile, the one that lets me know how glad he is to see me. I've missed him today. Maybe we'll work on some friendships this afternoon ... if they want to.
Showing posts with label Asperger Syndrome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asperger Syndrome. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
What to say when your son says he punched his best friend at school
Whenever the phone rings and Caller ID says it is the school, I panic. God, what did he do today? His teachers and the school nurse have grown accustomed to saying, "There is nothing wrong, I just called to tell you ...". Still, my heart does a minute marathon when they call.
Today I didn't get a call. Today, my little Lego Einstein came home from school and told his dad point blank that he "accidentally" hit one of his best friends at recess. Only it wasn't really an accident because she tripped and as she was falling and then something she was holding flew out of her hands and hit him in the face and all he could do was react because he thought she did it on purpose so he hit her and then realized she hadn't really meant to but she was crying.
At this point, my husband and I exchanged looks that were a cross between "WTF???" and "Do you want to handle this or should I?"
We were able to determine that he had, in fact, apologized to her and that they hugged and made up. This is where it requires much strength for me not to get angry. It was just yesterday when we had an extensive lesson about feelings, how to know what different feelings - including anger - feel like in his body, and how to take a moment to think about his feelings before reacting to a situation.
Yes, I know he is not an expert after one practice session. This is my frustration with Asperger's Syndrome. It takes MANY ... like, hundreds ... of practice sessions before he starts to remember this stuff. It doesn't stick. Practicing in made-up situations doesn't seem to help much. He needs someone with him when the real thing comes along to walk him through it in slow motion. It takes doing that over and over and over. And we've been doing this for most of his 11 years.
I wanted him to write her a note, telling her how important her friendship is to him. In my heart, I know that her friendship with him is probably just as important to me. I want him to know that someone outside of his family can, and will, accept him for who he is and how he is if he can grasp the importance of trust in a friendship - like being able to count on not getting clobbered when you're already on your way to the ground.
He thinks an apology and a hug are enough. I wonder if she does.
Today I didn't get a call. Today, my little Lego Einstein came home from school and told his dad point blank that he "accidentally" hit one of his best friends at recess. Only it wasn't really an accident because she tripped and as she was falling and then something she was holding flew out of her hands and hit him in the face and all he could do was react because he thought she did it on purpose so he hit her and then realized she hadn't really meant to but she was crying.
At this point, my husband and I exchanged looks that were a cross between "WTF???" and "Do you want to handle this or should I?"
We were able to determine that he had, in fact, apologized to her and that they hugged and made up. This is where it requires much strength for me not to get angry. It was just yesterday when we had an extensive lesson about feelings, how to know what different feelings - including anger - feel like in his body, and how to take a moment to think about his feelings before reacting to a situation.
Yes, I know he is not an expert after one practice session. This is my frustration with Asperger's Syndrome. It takes MANY ... like, hundreds ... of practice sessions before he starts to remember this stuff. It doesn't stick. Practicing in made-up situations doesn't seem to help much. He needs someone with him when the real thing comes along to walk him through it in slow motion. It takes doing that over and over and over. And we've been doing this for most of his 11 years.
I wanted him to write her a note, telling her how important her friendship is to him. In my heart, I know that her friendship with him is probably just as important to me. I want him to know that someone outside of his family can, and will, accept him for who he is and how he is if he can grasp the importance of trust in a friendship - like being able to count on not getting clobbered when you're already on your way to the ground.
He thinks an apology and a hug are enough. I wonder if she does.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Time to get back to business
I have been away. Things got very complicated around here for quite some time, and sitting down to write every day was not a priority. As my commitments from the last couple of years are drawing to a close, there appears to be a window of opportunity to do what I love again ... write and paint.
My thanks to Stark.Raving.Mad.Mommy for helping me see that sharing with others is where I can help the most.
My thanks to Stark.Raving.Mad.Mommy for helping me see that sharing with others is where I can help the most.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Pride
For Veteran's Day, our school put on its annual musical program that draws a huge crowd. This time it was the second grade's turn to sing patriotic songs and remind us about sacrifice. I took Ian and Ainsley to the evening program so we could watch together.
I know they really don't understand what it means to be a soldier. Actually, I am relieved they haven't had to worry about such things, even though one of my cousins spent years in Iraq as a Marine. The horrors of all that are too much for them to comprehend.
They do understand respect for service and honor. During the program as photos of their classmates' family members flashed on the video screen at the front of the room, they watched closely and read the names out loud. The last military branch to be applauded was the Air Force. I held Ian's left shoulder and Ainsley's right and said, "Watch closely and tell me if you see anyone you know."
Their eyes stared at the screen until the last picture came up and they read their grandfather's name. They gasped and jumped up and down, "It's Grandpa! It's Grandpa!" Each of them squeezed me and grinned - no, beamed with pride!
Whether they currently understand exactly what his contribution was is not as important as the fact that they recognize that someone they love did something very brave for people he didn't even know. They can learn the rest of the story later when its impact will be more profound in their eyes. Right now, being proud of grandpa is very cool.
I know they really don't understand what it means to be a soldier. Actually, I am relieved they haven't had to worry about such things, even though one of my cousins spent years in Iraq as a Marine. The horrors of all that are too much for them to comprehend.
They do understand respect for service and honor. During the program as photos of their classmates' family members flashed on the video screen at the front of the room, they watched closely and read the names out loud. The last military branch to be applauded was the Air Force. I held Ian's left shoulder and Ainsley's right and said, "Watch closely and tell me if you see anyone you know."
Their eyes stared at the screen until the last picture came up and they read their grandfather's name. They gasped and jumped up and down, "It's Grandpa! It's Grandpa!" Each of them squeezed me and grinned - no, beamed with pride!
Whether they currently understand exactly what his contribution was is not as important as the fact that they recognize that someone they love did something very brave for people he didn't even know. They can learn the rest of the story later when its impact will be more profound in their eyes. Right now, being proud of grandpa is very cool.
Friday, November 06, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sticviews Helps My Aspie Kids Be More Independent
Social stories are an exceptionally helpful way to assist autistic children learn complicated processes and social mores. In this case, Ian and Ainsley needed help with bathing. They couldn't remember what to do much less what order to do it in.
Now they have a Sticviews social story that gives them the information they need to do it all themselves. I created the social story on my laptop using photos of key elements of their bathroom.
Then I uploaded the social story to the Sticviews website, www.sticviews.com. It was printed out and shipped to my door (o.k., actually, Bryce from Sticviews delivered it in person - but don't expect that kind of special service if you live outside of ... oh, north Texas).
Both Ian and Ainsley are doing MUCH better not just at bathing independently, but they are washing themselves better too. It's amazing how an 8"x10" piece of waterproof vinyl can change your world!
Click here to see a great video about the shower stic!
Now they have a Sticviews social story that gives them the information they need to do it all themselves. I created the social story on my laptop using photos of key elements of their bathroom.
Then I uploaded the social story to the Sticviews website, www.sticviews.com. It was printed out and shipped to my door (o.k., actually, Bryce from Sticviews delivered it in person - but don't expect that kind of special service if you live outside of ... oh, north Texas).
Both Ian and Ainsley are doing MUCH better not just at bathing independently, but they are washing themselves better too. It's amazing how an 8"x10" piece of waterproof vinyl can change your world!
Click here to see a great video about the shower stic!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Making Progress and Accepting Change
Ian will be taking his first TAKS test next week. Don't ask me what TAKS means. I have too many acronyms in my head and not enough brain power to remember what they stand for. This one is the state-mandated reading assessment test.
Ian hates tests. He does better when he can say the answers aloud. When he has to write his answers, he stresses about the challenges he has with handwriting and makes mistakes. We have put in place some accommodations for him that should make the process easier so the knowledge will flow freely from his big, brilliant brain to his hand.
Ian also thinks he knows everything already, which is why school is such "a waste of time" [his words, not mine]. Whenever he finds a way to solve a problem or answer a question in a manner he is comfortable with, he insists that any other way is wrong. Unfortunately, he prefers not to accept other people's assessment of his work when they explain his answer is incorrect. Because, after all, he knows everything already.
For example, when answering questions about a reading passage, Ian is supposed to prove his answers. In other words, he is to refer back to the passage and underline the information that contains the answer or an inference to it. Ian believes this is "a waste of time", even though he gets the answer correct when he does it and often misses the answer when he does not.
Last night we worked on this test taking method at home. He was not thrilled to be doing it, but he did it nonetheless. I said, "Ian, I have no way of checking your homework to see if you are correct unless you underline where you found the answers. Please do that so I don't have to read the entire passage too. You can play with your Nintendo once I finish checking your work." (ding-ding-ding-ding! The winning outcome!)
He was eager to show me how he found his answers and even corrected two that he had marked erroneously. "Oh! I didn't mean to mark that one!" he said, erasing quickly to make his correction. He flew through an assignment that normally would have taken an hour of arguing just to get him to start working on it.
"Ian, this is awesome! I am so proud of how quickly you finished your assignment. You did a great job!"
"I know that I did," he said calmly, but with a smile. "Can I play with my Nintendo now?"
I smiled back, handing his NintendoDS to him and kissing the top of his head.
This morning we talked about the test taking process again. I reminded him that even though this test is not for a grade, it is still very important that he do his best. I wanted to make a deal with him. If he will prove all of his answers on the test and try to do the best he can, I will take him to the toy store to buy Legos next Tuesday after school. His eyes lit up, his smile widened, and he said, "It's a deal!"
He has the knowledge. He has the confidence. Now he has an incentive.
For more stories like this one, see my blog on Trusera.com
Ian hates tests. He does better when he can say the answers aloud. When he has to write his answers, he stresses about the challenges he has with handwriting and makes mistakes. We have put in place some accommodations for him that should make the process easier so the knowledge will flow freely from his big, brilliant brain to his hand.
Ian also thinks he knows everything already, which is why school is such "a waste of time" [his words, not mine]. Whenever he finds a way to solve a problem or answer a question in a manner he is comfortable with, he insists that any other way is wrong. Unfortunately, he prefers not to accept other people's assessment of his work when they explain his answer is incorrect. Because, after all, he knows everything already.
For example, when answering questions about a reading passage, Ian is supposed to prove his answers. In other words, he is to refer back to the passage and underline the information that contains the answer or an inference to it. Ian believes this is "a waste of time", even though he gets the answer correct when he does it and often misses the answer when he does not.
Last night we worked on this test taking method at home. He was not thrilled to be doing it, but he did it nonetheless. I said, "Ian, I have no way of checking your homework to see if you are correct unless you underline where you found the answers. Please do that so I don't have to read the entire passage too. You can play with your Nintendo once I finish checking your work." (ding-ding-ding-ding! The winning outcome!)
He was eager to show me how he found his answers and even corrected two that he had marked erroneously. "Oh! I didn't mean to mark that one!" he said, erasing quickly to make his correction. He flew through an assignment that normally would have taken an hour of arguing just to get him to start working on it.
"Ian, this is awesome! I am so proud of how quickly you finished your assignment. You did a great job!"
"I know that I did," he said calmly, but with a smile. "Can I play with my Nintendo now?"
I smiled back, handing his NintendoDS to him and kissing the top of his head.
This morning we talked about the test taking process again. I reminded him that even though this test is not for a grade, it is still very important that he do his best. I wanted to make a deal with him. If he will prove all of his answers on the test and try to do the best he can, I will take him to the toy store to buy Legos next Tuesday after school. His eyes lit up, his smile widened, and he said, "It's a deal!"
He has the knowledge. He has the confidence. Now he has an incentive.
For more stories like this one, see my blog on Trusera.com
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Cooking For an Army of Four
When I was growing up, we ate dinner at 5:00 every day. Everyone was present, no excuses. Once in a while Dad would teach a night class, which meant we ate Lean Cuisine and salad instead of the usual meat and potatoes. Or rabbit (that's a story for another time). We had a delicious, home made, balanced meal. We discussed the happenings of the day and bonded as a family. That was then.
The last several months found me frazzled when it came to preparing dinner. Ian is getting pickier by the day. Ainsley just gets an attitude once in a while that sends me through the roof. Steve is rarely home at dinner time, except on the weekends. And after school activities during the week prevent us from having regular sit-down meals. This goes completely against my grain.
I am learning to adjust.
No longer do I expect us all to be seated at the table at 6:00 with napkin in lap and a hearty appetite. I am grateful if I can get three-fourths of our family to sit for thirty seconds at a time throughout the meal. Napkins? HA! My kids use their sleeves, shirt fronts, and pant legs for cleaning up, if they wipe their hands and faces at all. Using silverware is NOT optional, even though fingers are easier to manipulate. It's a constant battle to teach and reteach the same mealtime manners every evening. And it's exhausting.
There is no wonder why, over the last several years, I have given up on gourmet cooking. Oh, there was once a time when Steve and I would never eat the same dinner twice in a month. Every meal was an experiment in tantalizing flavors, scrumptious textures and colors and glorious aromas.
Now I try to limit chicken nuggets to no more than three meals per week with sandwiches ... sandwiched ... in between. That is all about to change.
My girlfriends get together once every few weeks and make entrees in bulk, then take them home and freeze them. I envy that their children will eat just about anything that is put before them. While I have yearned to join their group, it just didn't make sense to prepare huge casseroles that my children will not consume (no two foods are allowed to be combined or touch on their plates, or all hell breaks loose).
Today, in a stroke of pure genius, I came up with an alternate plan. I am going to prepare as much of the weeks VARIETY of menus as I can in the next twenty-four hours, freeze some of it, and relax the rest of the week. No more McDonald's drive-through in an emergency. No more mac-n-cheese from a box. No more friggin' chicken nuggets!
My mother-in-law bought me a new programmable crock pot for Christmas, and I plan to use it as much as possible. The bread maker that I so dearly love, will become its best friend as they sit side-by-side on my counter humming and rumbling and baking delicious meals for my family. Ian and Ainsley will surely give each appliance a special name. They believe all inanimate objects can talk and should have names. They will probably be very unique ... like "Bready" and "Crocky". Their first task: to make chicken soup and corn bread for Steve, who has been knocked out by a winter cold.
Did I mention it was 81 degrees yesterday? Just thought I'd throw that in.
The weekly menu is planned. The grocery list has been made. Now all that's left is to get my butt to the store and start shopping, chopping, stirring, and savoring.
If later today you see fire trucks outside my house, you'll know I overloaded the circuits in the kitchen. Wish me luck!
The last several months found me frazzled when it came to preparing dinner. Ian is getting pickier by the day. Ainsley just gets an attitude once in a while that sends me through the roof. Steve is rarely home at dinner time, except on the weekends. And after school activities during the week prevent us from having regular sit-down meals. This goes completely against my grain.
I am learning to adjust.
No longer do I expect us all to be seated at the table at 6:00 with napkin in lap and a hearty appetite. I am grateful if I can get three-fourths of our family to sit for thirty seconds at a time throughout the meal. Napkins? HA! My kids use their sleeves, shirt fronts, and pant legs for cleaning up, if they wipe their hands and faces at all. Using silverware is NOT optional, even though fingers are easier to manipulate. It's a constant battle to teach and reteach the same mealtime manners every evening. And it's exhausting.
There is no wonder why, over the last several years, I have given up on gourmet cooking. Oh, there was once a time when Steve and I would never eat the same dinner twice in a month. Every meal was an experiment in tantalizing flavors, scrumptious textures and colors and glorious aromas.
Now I try to limit chicken nuggets to no more than three meals per week with sandwiches ... sandwiched ... in between. That is all about to change.
My girlfriends get together once every few weeks and make entrees in bulk, then take them home and freeze them. I envy that their children will eat just about anything that is put before them. While I have yearned to join their group, it just didn't make sense to prepare huge casseroles that my children will not consume (no two foods are allowed to be combined or touch on their plates, or all hell breaks loose).
Today, in a stroke of pure genius, I came up with an alternate plan. I am going to prepare as much of the weeks VARIETY of menus as I can in the next twenty-four hours, freeze some of it, and relax the rest of the week. No more McDonald's drive-through in an emergency. No more mac-n-cheese from a box. No more friggin' chicken nuggets!
My mother-in-law bought me a new programmable crock pot for Christmas, and I plan to use it as much as possible. The bread maker that I so dearly love, will become its best friend as they sit side-by-side on my counter humming and rumbling and baking delicious meals for my family. Ian and Ainsley will surely give each appliance a special name. They believe all inanimate objects can talk and should have names. They will probably be very unique ... like "Bready" and "Crocky". Their first task: to make chicken soup and corn bread for Steve, who has been knocked out by a winter cold.
Did I mention it was 81 degrees yesterday? Just thought I'd throw that in.
The weekly menu is planned. The grocery list has been made. Now all that's left is to get my butt to the store and start shopping, chopping, stirring, and savoring.
If later today you see fire trucks outside my house, you'll know I overloaded the circuits in the kitchen. Wish me luck!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
What Dreams May Come
I don't like to make New Year's resolutions because I know my incentive to do anything for 365 days only lasts about 72 hours. It could be ADD, I don't know. Being resolved to something seems so concrete and final. I prefer for things to stay fluid and full of possibilities. Life changes every day. Clinging to expectations made months or years past prevents us from taking chances.
Now I shall call them "potentialities" instead of "resolutions". They are my dreams for what may happen in the new year ... but who knows?
1. I hope to paint more and play Spider Solitaire less.
2. I wish to hear, see, and feel more love demonstrated in my home.
3. May my family show the world random acts of brilliance and kindness that will change someone's opinion of what it means to have autism.
4. I aspire to move my body more ... ten more minutes a day of yoga, 30 more minutes a week of heart thumping exercise, 6 more hours a month of not sitting on my ass.
5. I would like to travel to a different country.
6. I want to discover something new in the familiar.
7. I believe I can be stronger for my children and because of them.
8. I promise myself I will try to be forgiving.
9. I will look at the bright side.
10. I will laugh as often as possible.
Happy New Year! May your "potentialities" find you.
Now I shall call them "potentialities" instead of "resolutions". They are my dreams for what may happen in the new year ... but who knows?
1. I hope to paint more and play Spider Solitaire less.
2. I wish to hear, see, and feel more love demonstrated in my home.
3. May my family show the world random acts of brilliance and kindness that will change someone's opinion of what it means to have autism.
4. I aspire to move my body more ... ten more minutes a day of yoga, 30 more minutes a week of heart thumping exercise, 6 more hours a month of not sitting on my ass.
5. I would like to travel to a different country.
6. I want to discover something new in the familiar.
7. I believe I can be stronger for my children and because of them.
8. I promise myself I will try to be forgiving.
9. I will look at the bright side.
10. I will laugh as often as possible.
Happy New Year! May your "potentialities" find you.
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