If the Food in the Pantry Could Talk

We're having food challenges at our house, and not the ViSalus kind that I would prefer. I have never wanted to convey my own issues with food to my kids, but it is happening anyway.  Perhaps it is inevitable that we should reveal our innermost craziness to our offspring. I want so much for them to have a healthy relationship with food and not an adversarial one.

Late in the afternoon, when the kids were avoiding doing their homework, they took turns scouting for food. First, Ian made a fruit-flavored mix-in drink. He seems to be living on them, especially the red ones. Next, Ainsley made a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich. We haven't had fluff in the house in a couple of years because most of us lose control in its presence. Finally, when I was on the phone and very distracted, together they ate most of a jar of Jiff peanut butter. I don't normally buy Jiff because of the sugar content. This one was given to us and immediately was sought after by everyone under the age of twelve.

By the time normal people have finished dinner, they were starting to get hungry again. I made everyone a Vi-Shake, which is an excellent meal any time, but is especially good when I don't feel like cooking. Ainsley slowly sipped hers through a straw over the course of about 30 minutes.  Ian chugged his down in less than 10 seconds like the Nestle Quik Bunny. Then he wanted ice cream.

I gave him a firm "no" on the ice cream selection, given the amount of peanut butter he had eaten earlier. So, he read the labels on the Jiff and the ice cream, then we compared that to the Vi-Shake. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed to save the ice cream for tomorrow. He stomped up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.  Apparently, I am ruining his life.

Then Ainsley decided that she needed a little something to soothe her hunger. I told her to go brush her teeth and she would forget all about it. She mumbled something and walked into the kitchen, where she quietly opened the pantry doors. When I asked what she was doing, she mumbled something and stood statuesque in front of the pantry.  A few moments later, she bounded around the corner, smiling, and said, "I just wanted to say good-night to the food!"

Huh? Seriously?

"Go upstairs and brush your teeth . . . NOW!" I told her. Then the tears came because I wouldn't let her say good-night to the food in the refrigerator.

Oh, for crying-out-loud! I know for a fact that she was in the kitchen eating marshmallow fluff with her fingers because it was all over her hands and face, the lid on the jar was crooked, and it was empty. Puh-LEASE!!!

THIS is why happy hour was invented.

Now, would someone please bring me a glass of cab?

Children with autism and gastrointestinal symptoms have altered digestive genes

Children with autism and gastrointestinal symptoms have altered digestive genes

Looking back on my son's first 11 years, this study seems to explain a lot about his difficulties. I hope there are follow-up studies planned.

It's Been a Long Time, Old Friend

For the last couple of years, life has put itself between me and my contemplative brain. Auto-pilot took over.  I said "yes" too many times to projects that were fun but not necessarily something only I could do. I am learning to say, "It is so nice of you to ask, but I really don't think I can provide the level of commitment you are looking for." It feels nice to say that.

Doing this has helped me stumble into awareness that my little Aspies aren't little any more.  They are more independent than ever, capable of surprising me with their kindness toward each other, their ability to get things done when I ask them to, and the level of sophisticated thinking they often reveal at unexpected times.

Parenting has not become easier, though. It has just changed.

Ian and I spent a great deal of time over the summer reading Freaks, Geeks & Asperger Syndrome: A User's Guide to Adolescence.  In fact, we are still reading it and less than half-way through.  I read aloud, and Ian sits next to me, reading silently along.  We stop every few sentences or after a paragraph or two to discuss the topic or some personal experience. Ian feels more comfortable about being a pre-teen now that he understands which challenges are Asperger's-related and which ones everyone his age is experiencing. Experiencing those "a-HA!" moments together has helped us grow closer.

I never thought I would understand my son very well, especially now, when he is really becoming a complicated guy. He is starting to be very persistent about having his room painted.  It has been the Serengeti since he was 5.  Now, he wants to venture into outer space. I keep putting it off until the daytime temperatures are below 80, so I can open the windows when I start painting in there. Part of me actually believes that excuse.  Most of me knows that clinging to the little guy who entered kindergarten just 6 short years ago is something I must do for just a little while longer.

The day I turn his room into our solar system is the day I have to admit that he is in charge of his destiny, not me. He is ready to explore without holding my hand. That is so much harder for me to admit than it is for him to do. In a few more weeks, I'll make an early morning trip to the paint store and start my own journey of letting go.

He just better keep his promise to take me with him to Mars.