Perfect 10

Sky turned 10. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this, actually. When he was an infant, I looked at moms of 10 year-olds and they seemed like parenting pros. Ironically (or, perhaps, totally predictably), I don't feel any more competent or skilled as a parent than I did the day he was born (though I am a heck of a lot better at dealing with bodily fluids).

On that day, when it was just the two us for the first time, I felt pretty overwhelmed. I had no idea how I would parent this kid. But I did know that we were definitely in this together, and that no matter what, I would always love him and I would always have his back. I told him that then. He sighed and snuggled, still getting used to the bright big world.

Last week, I told him this story of our first conversation. The cool thing about Sky is that if you slow down and pay attention, you can watch him hear you, process what you said, and then react slowly and deeply to it. I watched him do this after I told him this story. It took a couple of seconds for the light to shine in his eyes. He knows I love him, but he also longs to hear every detail of the wondrous story of us. "Thanks, Mom," he said with with a huge smile. I could tell he was simultaneously relieved and really touched. In his book, if I've had his back this far, I'm good for my word.

Random Sky Art

To tell you the truth, though, I feel unbelievably lucky to be this kid's mom. Sure, it's challenging and mind bending at times, but holy cow! He's so smart, funny, and creative. He's kind and a genuinely sincere kid. But, none of these adjectives comes close to describing what it's like to join him in his world and glimpse things through his eyes. It's a trip, and it's also the best ride of my life.

And, the thing that makes it all better is that we are slowly but surely figuring out how to make autism manageable for us, for him. There are still days when the stims, the anxieties, and the social/sensory stuff just totally quash our good vibe, but we are figuring it out. And, more importantly, Sky is figuring it out. He's learning to see all the awesome in himself and share it with others. He's learning how to track with the rest of us, and It. Is. So. Much. Fun.

Yesterday, we went into the Hallmark shop where we discovered the newest collection of Christmas ornaments. Much to the chagrin of the woman working behind the counter, we tried out most of them. I was particularly fond of the Brady Bunch ornament (in case you're wondering, it plays the whole entire theme song). Sky was interested in the newest Star Wars offerings. If I buy one, it will be the Cantina Band ornament. It will most definitely not be this one:

Go ahead, click on the link. Trust me. You'll be sorry if you don't.

When we listened to this in the store (after looking for the darn button for about 5 minutes--hint, it's on Vader's left), it seemed to be turned up to the-whole-store-can-hear-it volume level. At another time and in another place, Sky would've freaked out when I pushed the button to stop the ornament short, saying, "Wow. I can't imagine an ornament with more Christmas spirit."

Instead of freaking out, though, he laughed and walked out of the store grinning. No meltdowns. No resistance. Just good-natured ribbing.

On the way to the car, I said: "It's like saying, oops. I killed the woman I love. Merry Christmas!"

He joined me on my riff, "Or, someone ate all the Christmas cookies. Nooooooooooooooooo!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Nothing says Happy Holidays like death and destruction!"

We're in a sweet spot.  Sky's coming into his own. He's figuring it out. He's understanding jokes. He's learning to read people's non-verbal cues. He getting better at keeping his sensory-driven impulses under control. Sure, he still has to work hard, and it's not always easy. But to me he's  perfect--a perfect, perfect 10.

Back to School

School started today. Like everyone else, we went on a wild goose chase for school supplies: washable markers for Pink P but not for Sky. Eight-pack of crayons for Pink P instead of the standard (and much cheaper) 24. Four reams of copy paper and three containers of disinfectant wipes between the two of them.

Normally, I forget to start early and find myself desperately buying, and then sharpening, ten number 2 lead pencils in the wee hours of the morning the day school starts. But not this year. This year, in anticipation of Ren's back surgery, I got everything early. So early, in fact, I forgot that I'd gotten it. Then, I inadvertently bought everything again. Apparently, I have an uncanny ability to remember everything on both supply lists and no ability to remember I bought the stuff already. There's nothing I love more than another trip to the store just to return stuff I bought twice. Really.

When we roll into Sky's classroom for the first time, we come with a little more baggage (and a few extra supplies) than the other kids. Each year our list of "extra" supplies grows as we become more adept at figuring out Sky's sensory issues. Here is some of the gear he'll be using at school this year:




(Drat! That's supposed to say "The Frugal Mom's Guide to a Weighted Vest," but PSE won't let me fix it. And I don't have time to start over! Sigh.)

Sky and I always meet with his new teacher a few days early. This gives us a chance to drop off (and explain) our Sky gear. It also gives him a chance to quell his anxieties about the first day and me a chance to give his new teacher a crash-course on life with Sky. I used to try to be more "hands-off" and less "helicopter-y." I'd love for his teachers to organically come to understand how Sky ticks, but frankly, that takes too long. So this year I went "all in" the first chance I got. I was unmistakably clear with his teacher about about what she's up against.

He will become overstimulated.
He won't always hear you.
He will interrupt.
He won't respond well to frustration.
Part way through the semester, he will regress, and when he does, you will feel like everything you tried up to that point was useless.
It wasn't.
You know, two steps forward, one and a half steps back.

Welcome to my world. I hope you enjoy the ride.

I Know that Somehow I Will be Held Personally Responsible for This

Sky got tadpoles.

It was inevitable.

After all, we'd given him a Dagobah Frog Habitat for his birthday (how could we not?) at the end of last year, so it was only a matter of time before the tadpoles.

Sky pulled out the habitat last Sunday and helpfully reminded me that I promised to get a tadpole once the weather turned warm. Since we bought the habitat on super-duper clearance back in June, the mail-in coupon for our free tadpole had expired. By a year. So, this Memorial Day, after a morning at the playground, we went to the pet store and spent $14.38 for two tadpoles, water conditioner, and some fish food. I don't know a thing about animals. But how hard could it be to pick up a couple of tadpoles?

When Ren saw them, he asked two pretty important questions:

"Good lord, how old are those tadpoles?"

and

"What kind of ginormous frogs will they turn into?"

Why, I'm glad you asked that, Ren. They're bull frog tadpoles. And, now that you mention it, Sweetie, they do seem pretty monstrous.

Still, I kind of wished he hadn't asked those questions in front of Sky, because now Sky is worried that the frogs will not fit in Yoda's cave, or worse, that they will go inside and then have a phenomenal growth spurt that makes it impossible for them to get out ever again. Meanwhile, now I'm going to have nightmares about giant frogs suffocating me in my sleep. *Shiver*.

Anyway, since I knew that somehow these tad-frog-miniature-godzilla wannabees would become my responsibility, I set to work acclimating our new friends to their Dagobah swamp by helping them adjust to the new water temperature and making sure their habitat was neither too sunny nor too cold. As I was obsessing about all of this, Ren kindly reminded me (and by "kindly reminded" I mean, "scoffed") that they're just frogs and to quit worrying already.

Meanwhile, Sky insisted the tadpoles be put in his room on his desk. I'm pretty sure we won't be able to keep his desk a comfortable 75-80 degrees for the tadpoles, but we will be able to keep them generally out of my sight (yay!) AND when they do get large enough to break out of their habitat and suffocate sleeping humans, they are far more likely to go for the closer targets of Sky and Pink P. My mom sense almost always alerts me when one of my kids is in trouble, so surely, in case of bull-frog attack, I would hear the scuffle and jump to the rescue. Yes, the tadpoles belong on Sky's desk. Problem solved.





Only, I'm pretty sure the tadpoles won't make it to frog-hood. This morning I went in to find their plastic container surrounded by "Where's Waldo" books. Those books give me a headache. I can't imagine what they do to tiny tadpole brains. And a couple of hours later, I went in to find that Sky had placed them on top of a light-up ABC toy. Not only was the habitat sitting on the toy totally catawampus, but it was also directly on top of an object that had music playing at full volume while lights flashed vigorously and randomly. I remember reading studies in my undergrad neuropsychology class about how caged rats that were shocked at random developed deadly cancer at a much higher rate than their counterparts who were shocked only when they failed to perform a specific action.

As Sky obediently returned the tadpole habitat to the corner of his desk, water sloshing inside, I tried to explain to him about those doomed rats.

"Buddy, you can't keep changing their environment. You're going to stress them out."

"I thought they'd like disco lights in their cage."

"Maybe, but you can't keep moving them around."

"Why?"

"Because whenever you move the cage, it's like they're having an earthquake and tsunami all at once."

"O~oh."

Star Wars Gets in Line

Okay, so I have always heard that kids on the spectrum like to put things in order. Various doctors and therapists have asked me if Sky did this--either now or when he was little. And while he like trains and building train sets, and while he loves Legos, I really never realized he lined things up. I mean, he never put the trains in line. He never put his Hot Wheels in line. He was particular about how things were set up, but maybe I never realized how much. Then today, when he was at his OT appointment, Sky was playing with his Lego mini-figures. He had them grouped and set up on the table. And Jeremy (his therapist) nonchalantly rearranged them. Sky promptly put them back in the same order. Then Jeremy had him turn his back from the table and asked him to tell him the order. Same order again. And as I watched him arrange the figures in the same order over and again, I realized that Sky was putting them in order of when he got them. Turns out he not only remembers exactly which figures came with which set, but he also remembers when he got them, who gave them to him, and how he felt when he received them. I also realized I need to pay closer attention. I mean, he's six, and I have never noticed him organizing things. Maybe it's the first time he's done it, but I somehow doubt it! One thing I've noticed in the three months since his diagnosis is that it turns out a lot of what Sky does is a result of his autism. This doesn't mean it's bad or needs to be corrected, but figuring out what he's doing and why he does it can't hurt either!

Maybe my problem is that I take these things too literally. Since Sky didn't put the Lego characters in a straight line, I didn't think he was obsessively organizing them. He's probably been doing equally subtle organization his entire life, and I have just not picked up on it. This reminds me of when Ren's retina detached(long story). The eye doctor told us it might, but when it actually started to happen--Ren described it as ink slowly filling in from the bottom of his eye. Since all the information I had read about detached retinas described the process as a black curtain falling over the eye, being literal, I assumed that a) it would happen from the top down, and b) it would happen quickly. Talk about not being able to generalize concepts! Fortunately, we called the doctor anyway and after emergency surgery and several weeks sleeping sitting up with an oxygen bubble that resembled Mickey Mouse floating in his eye, Ren was able to see again. It's a good thing I am not a doctor.

To TV or not TV

Ren is an awesome dad. He comes up with the most insane yet totally effective ideas for getting the kids to do things. Kids leave all the grapes in their bowl? Put them in a cup, add a little water, and tell them it's magic grape juice. Almost 3 year-old not ready to give up the pacifier? Pretend to eat them, thank her for the yummy food, and never let her see them again. (That day, when I got home from work, she was quick to tell me how incredibly silly daddy was, forgetting about pacifier separation anxiety altogether).

Sometimes Dad's ideas misfire (usually because cultural differences get in the way). We've already established that Sky is a huge Star Wars fanatic. Dad likes to check out videos from the library but he doesn't like to sit for an hour and watch Sky play on the library computers. So on this particular day, Dad promised Sky he could watch a "new" Star Wars cartoon as soon as they get home if Sky didn't do the computers that day. Both came home happy, and Mom was proud to hear how well Dad managed to use positive reinforcement avoid a Sky-rific meltdown.

That is until Mom saw what the movie was -- Family Guy Star Wars. Sure it contains a warning that says it's not meant for children. But the writing is small and in a corner on the back of the case, and Dad was too busy keeping track of Sky to read it anyway.

Now, we don't let Sky watch much TV period because either a) it zombifies him, or b)it immediately causes him to imitate what he has seen. Take Thomas the Train for example. Like every other 2-3 year old, Sky loved Thomas. Problem is that Thomas and his friends crash, a lot! So first watch Thomas crash, next watch toddler crash into walls, furniture, people, etc. Turns out Sky identified a tad too closely with Thomas. Walking through the streets and train stations of Tokyo, this became a major issue. All the bumpy strips (for the visually impaired) that run down the middle of sidewalks and through station concourses look a lot like train tracks to a 3 year-old autistic kid who believes he's a train. So, first we'd hear the extremely realistic sound of a train releasing steam, and then he'd be off following the strips (which never take shortest route and which usually didn't go where we were headed). We only really lost sight of him in the crowd once (at Shinjuku station), but by then, he already had a tag pinned on him with his name, address, phone number, and a message that said he didn't speak much Japanese.

Of course, we didn't know he was autistic at the time, but I suppose this could explain why whenever he was uncomfortable in a social setting or whenever he wanted to make a new friend, he suddenly turned into a human train, usually to humorous effect. Want to impress the group of 20 college women at the next table at Olive Garden? Give them your best high decibel train whistle. Upset that the pastor is pouring water on your baby sister's head (i.e. baptizing her)? Toot at him, loudly, just as he closes his eyes to say a prayer. Uncomfortable when new people come to the house for dinner? Run in circles imitating a train, station stops and all.

So, yeah, anyway, television can be a problem at our house.

Thing is, autistic kids don't process unexpected change well, and when it comes to Star Wars, there is no reasoning with Sky anyway, so not watching the movie Dad promised was not an option. After all, Sky had done a really good job on their errands.

Worried about the foul language and the sexual overtones,I made Sky promise that he would under no circumstances repeat the words or imitate what he saw. "OK, Mommy," he promised, puzzled as to why I was so worried about a Star Wars movie.

When I sat down to watch with Sky (to do damage control or stop the movie altogether if necessary), I had to laugh. I mean, there was a lot of inappropriate content for a kid his age, but the only thing he even noticed was the "bad" word "stupid." And when he heard that, he exclaimed: "Mom, he just said a BAD word! Don't worry, I never say stupid!" He was so enthralled with the space ships and the familiar characters, he never even registered the other stuff (though it didn't hurt that I fast-forwarded through large sections of the movie whenever Sky left the room--something he is prone to do whenever the music crescendos). It also didn't hurt that I told Sky Pink P was too young for it and "disappeared" it altogether the minute she got home from preschool.

***

This incident reminded me of the first Father's Day we celebrated after moving to the US, when Big Sissy was still in high school. Back then, she met weekly with an English tutor, which turned out to be a very fortuitous thing. On the way home one day, she said, "My tutor told me to show you the present I got for Dad for Father's Day," and pulled out a key chain. We're lucky I didn't crash the car. In bold sparkly letters, the key chain said "Sugar Daddy."

Thank you tutor for your intervention!