Davis had a cold, which shifted into viral induced asthma. So, he looks and sounds quite awful. Which is a step up from frightfully congested and coughing up a lung. On the mend, he went to school yesterday after being away for more than a week. I picked him up at noon and we went out for sushi. We talked about Minecraft, or rather he told me all about his house in the hill and how many diamond and gold blocks it would take to make a wedding ring for a potential wife if he ever wanted to get the mod? that would afford him interaction with villagers, but he finds them too scary looking so he is content on his own. And did you know that it is quite hard to be a vegetarian in Minecraft? Anyway, I learned that and many other weird and wonderful facts about his new life's passion. The most interesting part of our conversation came when I asked him about how his morning went.
"We'll, the SSW (Student Support Worker) had super terrible breath today!"
"Oh," I said. I've heard plenty of feedback about my and everyone else's body odor from my two olfacorily enhanced boys. They are very sensitive to smell. (Ben told me in the school lobby the other day that he knew I had entered the building before he turned around because he could smell me- because of the same perfume I've been wearing since he was born, he says. Makes me sound on par with a teenager in love with his Axe Body Spray.)
"We were sitting at the same table doing math, but I had to get up and walk around, to get a break from the awful smell," he said. "I hope she didn't know why I got up."
"But I can still smell her in my nostrils."
"Interesting," I said.
"It smells bad, like a foreign Chinese food restaurant where somebody was murdered."
He blew his nose. He stared, looked at his Kleenex, blew his nose again.
"It's me," he said. "It's my snot."
"Pardon?"
"It wasn't even her, it was in my nose the whole time," he said musingly.
"We'll, as disturbing as that is, I am really impressed that you didn't say anything to her about what you thought was her intense and disgusting smell. That may have hurt her feelings."
"I know... I didn't want to make her feel bad, so I just got up and moved away until I could stand it again... But then it stayed with me..."
"That is pretty funny," I said, smiling.
"Well, it's informative anyway," he said, nodding.
"You handled that very well," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "I still smell stink everywhere I go."
---------------
I am proud of him for trying to be sensitive to her feelings by not accusing her of smelling like death and bad Chinese food.
Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Lemonade
Ever had a really long day, and you are so tired and you just want to go to bed, and there is still so much to do, and it's midnight which makes it technically tomorrow, and time is running out on the deadline for the inspiring new initiatives your new boss has stipulated you propose to him or you will lose your job, one of your children has a double ear infection, the other two are coughing and calling for you, your wife is crying while updating you on all the rotten things that happened this week that you can do nothing about, including that your son accidentally broke her computer while trying to do something nice for her by updating her system and she is expecting you to be a miracle worker and fix it before her 9:00 am meeting, and you haven't eaten since lunch, and you saw a picture of yourself today that made obvious to you that you are losing your hair...
Anyway, this is a sampling of my husband's day last week, which put him in the state of mind to heavily sit and slump, and say to me:
"They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
But you can't make lemonade out of urine."
We both laughed, and felt better.
Anyway, this is a sampling of my husband's day last week, which put him in the state of mind to heavily sit and slump, and say to me:
"They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
But you can't make lemonade out of urine."
We both laughed, and felt better.
Thursday, 10 January 2013
Reminder to me
We've all had times in our lives we would like to forget. Some memories are super embarrassing or painful. Some just remind us how dumb we can be. We need to give ourselves and each other a break. We all make mistakes.
Something I say to myself that applies to everyone, especially kids with exceptional strengths sometimes hidden to the untrained eye:
"Just because you've seen me at my worst, doesn't mean I don't have a best."
One of the boy's teachers forgot this and it made for a very hard year.
Cheers, to all the teachers and student support teams who see the golden nugget in every kid. And here's to the resilience in all of us.
Something I say to myself that applies to everyone, especially kids with exceptional strengths sometimes hidden to the untrained eye:
"Just because you've seen me at my worst, doesn't mean I don't have a best."
One of the boy's teachers forgot this and it made for a very hard year.
Cheers, to all the teachers and student support teams who see the golden nugget in every kid. And here's to the resilience in all of us.
Monday, 3 December 2012
Butt Mom
I finally got to do something I've been wanting to do for years. It was as funny as I had hoped, to me anyway.
Years ago I saw the movie Jack Frost; it was Christmas and I was feeling brain dead/cheerful enough to watch the TV holiday movie on at the moment. Now, the context is hazy (I've forgotten the entire movie except for one part), but there's a scene where the young son is complaining to his Mom about having to do something he doesn't want to do. You know, we've all done it as kids, but it so annoying as a parent to be on the other side of immature manipulative techniques (or sophisticated, depending on the level of charming). The boy says, in a whiny voice, "... but Mom..." and her response was great. I laughed so hard. And I resolved right then and there that I would tether this comeback in the back of my mind, and let it loose at the perfect moment.
Ben was a toddler at the time, but yesterday, almost 10 years later, my opportunity came, unexpected, like magic. Un-magically, I was unloading the dishwasher. I asked Ben to help. He came in the kitchen, head to the side, shuffling slowly. "But, Mooommm...." he started, and I perfectly timed,
"Did you just call me butt Mom?"
He stared. The wheels turned. "Nooo..." and while he back-pedalled, I laughed, and then we both burst into laughter. He has a great sense of humour. I even slapped my knee.
Part of the reason why I found this funny, was because it was a hard-earned joke. Ben is, almost always, highly effected by language. Where a coma is verbally placed, tone of voice, order of words, logical context requests(?)... can bring a smooth response and easy compliance, or a long drawn out argument, integrally linked to his mood and level of sensory overload. Oh, the stubborn stare that could have been avoided recently if I had just said "Yesterday you helpfully pointed out that we are low on toothpaste and batteries. I would love your help to make sure we get the right kind of batteries, and at the best price, so how about we go to London Drugs right now which is right beside the Rec Centre where Kate will be for a birthday party from 12:30 to 2:00. This will give us plenty of time to also compare the Canon and Nikon cameras you have been wanting to show me," instead of saying, "We need to leave now to take Kate to the birthday party," in a directional, distracted tone.
And if you just had the thought that kids should just listen to and obey their parents regardless of how they stipulate that the chores get done, I used to agree with you, but then I didn't have a son with Aspergers. And believe me, how you say it matters.
But, sometimes we can breezily shake off words, they make a soft sound, like plink plink of keys on pavement, like I can imagine they might in one of my favourite books, The Phantom Tollbooth. Who needs words when conversational nods communicate the restful delight in sharing an amazing cinnamon bun. Those connections are awesome.
Ben's laughter is infectious and his smile changes how I perceive time; a moment can feel like the best kind of forever.
(Ben just read this post, and said "It was funnier than that, but I can't think of any advice for you.")
Years ago I saw the movie Jack Frost; it was Christmas and I was feeling brain dead/cheerful enough to watch the TV holiday movie on at the moment. Now, the context is hazy (I've forgotten the entire movie except for one part), but there's a scene where the young son is complaining to his Mom about having to do something he doesn't want to do. You know, we've all done it as kids, but it so annoying as a parent to be on the other side of immature manipulative techniques (or sophisticated, depending on the level of charming). The boy says, in a whiny voice, "... but Mom..." and her response was great. I laughed so hard. And I resolved right then and there that I would tether this comeback in the back of my mind, and let it loose at the perfect moment.
Ben was a toddler at the time, but yesterday, almost 10 years later, my opportunity came, unexpected, like magic. Un-magically, I was unloading the dishwasher. I asked Ben to help. He came in the kitchen, head to the side, shuffling slowly. "But, Mooommm...." he started, and I perfectly timed,
"Did you just call me butt Mom?"
He stared. The wheels turned. "Nooo..." and while he back-pedalled, I laughed, and then we both burst into laughter. He has a great sense of humour. I even slapped my knee.
Part of the reason why I found this funny, was because it was a hard-earned joke. Ben is, almost always, highly effected by language. Where a coma is verbally placed, tone of voice, order of words, logical context requests(?)... can bring a smooth response and easy compliance, or a long drawn out argument, integrally linked to his mood and level of sensory overload. Oh, the stubborn stare that could have been avoided recently if I had just said "Yesterday you helpfully pointed out that we are low on toothpaste and batteries. I would love your help to make sure we get the right kind of batteries, and at the best price, so how about we go to London Drugs right now which is right beside the Rec Centre where Kate will be for a birthday party from 12:30 to 2:00. This will give us plenty of time to also compare the Canon and Nikon cameras you have been wanting to show me," instead of saying, "We need to leave now to take Kate to the birthday party," in a directional, distracted tone.
And if you just had the thought that kids should just listen to and obey their parents regardless of how they stipulate that the chores get done, I used to agree with you, but then I didn't have a son with Aspergers. And believe me, how you say it matters.
But, sometimes we can breezily shake off words, they make a soft sound, like plink plink of keys on pavement, like I can imagine they might in one of my favourite books, The Phantom Tollbooth. Who needs words when conversational nods communicate the restful delight in sharing an amazing cinnamon bun. Those connections are awesome.
Ben's laughter is infectious and his smile changes how I perceive time; a moment can feel like the best kind of forever.
(Ben just read this post, and said "It was funnier than that, but I can't think of any advice for you.")
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Book Strike
In Grade 1, Davis went on strike.
"I won't read any more books!" he said.
On library day at school he refused to even look at the book racks, instead hunching over with arms folded on the big fading couch in the corner by the plants.
Week after week the librarian encouraged him to at least wander with his classmates in the picture book section.
Dark scowl.
The teacher was concerned. "He's a very good reader," she said. "This is usually a student's favourite time of the week."
She tried picking a book for him and sending it in his backpack. We tried sticker charts and rewards. He would have none of it. And for some reason it became a bit of an issue, because he seemed angry and disconnected from a previous joy of reading.
Finally it came out in one big spill. "I hate reading kids books!" he said one night. "They lie. They say it's good to be different, it's good to be yourself," he looked down, "And then my class sits in desks all in a row and they make everyone be the same and write the same way and do art the same way, and forget all the smiles in those books!"
"I won't read any more books!" he said.
On library day at school he refused to even look at the book racks, instead hunching over with arms folded on the big fading couch in the corner by the plants.
Week after week the librarian encouraged him to at least wander with his classmates in the picture book section.
Dark scowl.
The teacher was concerned. "He's a very good reader," she said. "This is usually a student's favourite time of the week."
She tried picking a book for him and sending it in his backpack. We tried sticker charts and rewards. He would have none of it. And for some reason it became a bit of an issue, because he seemed angry and disconnected from a previous joy of reading.
Finally it came out in one big spill. "I hate reading kids books!" he said one night. "They lie. They say it's good to be different, it's good to be yourself," he looked down, "And then my class sits in desks all in a row and they make everyone be the same and write the same way and do art the same way, and forget all the smiles in those books!"
Thursday, 6 September 2012
The huge moth fluttered and spun along the ceiling, down the wall, toward the bed. Five-year old Kate dug under the duvet to tunnel away from its bulbous brown furry body. I sat beside her. We both called, "Dad!" We needed rescuing. Sort of, I just didn't want to touch it.
Ian hopped around the bedroom, stepping everywhere except on Kate's head, still buried under cover, her mewling peeps urging him to hurry... and not hurt it, but get it out, and put it outside, but not hurt it...
Davis came running in to see why all the commotion? Ian grabbed at the moth, and for the tenth time it flitted just out of reach. Davis ran to get the dog. "Go get the moth!" Davis told her, swishing his hands in its direction. Our little white puppy stared, head bobbing back and forth, watching the flying creature move closer. Davis picked her up, facing the moth, dangling her in mid-air. Our attention then went to encouraging him to put the dog down. He ignored us, running with her toward the erratic flying wings. The puppy wiggled and wiggled, Davis was losing his grasp, paws everywhere.
"Get the moth! Eat it! Eat it!" Davis yelled.
Kate cried, "Is the moth gone?"
"No!" Davis punched the air with the dog.
"Get it! Eat it!" The puppy squirmed, Davis held her above his head, to reach the moth.
Ian got the puppy, then the moth. He questioned the frustrated chaos of Davis' attempts to feed the dog.
Kate came out from under the covers, red and sweaty, wiping tears, and relieved.
Davis was angry. He wanted to make sure the moth went outside, that it wasn't crushed in Ian's hand. He was angry at us for not letting him force the puppy to eat the moth. The puppy curled up and went to sleep.
Later that night he told me and the dog that there was only one okay way to get rid of a moth, besides putting it outside, but that's not good either because moths might struggle to live through the cold of the night.
"If Dad killed the moth, that would be murder. If I killed the moth, that would be murder. But, if the dog killed the moth, that would be part of the cycle of nature. So, you see, I was trying to help Kate by giving the moth a natural death."
Monday, 6 August 2012
We had a playdate today with a five-year-old girl, Lily, who played with Kate, and a nine-year-old brother who played with Davis. While the two girls played post office, and grocery store in a tent in the living room of their home, the boys parallel played upstairs with lego or hung out in the back yard. Overall it was a very pleasant afternoon.
After a couple of hours we stood by the door to say our good-byes, and thank-yous for a delicious lunch.
Kate's friend asked me if Justin was going to bite her. She seemed genuinely worried.
"Who's Justin?"
"He's Kate's husband," she said.
"Pardon?"
Apparently, Kate is married to a boy named Justin that she met at the park two days ago.
He's 5. And imaginary. And he bites.
"He bites people he doesn't know. He doesn't bite me, though," Kate added. "I think he would bite Lily because he doesn't know her yet."
Lily started to cry.
Her Mom and I asked Kate if she could ask Justin not to bite.
"I can't control my husband," Kate answered.
"Sounds like a real marriage," joked Lily's good-natured Dad who happened to walk by.
"He doesn't listen to me when I ask him to not bite. He has Aspergers. Even if I ask him five- hundred times, he doesn't learn it. He'll still bite people he's never met before."
"Sounds like he needs to learn some social skills," I said, a bit surprised, trying to be funny. Lily's Mom and I raised our eyebrows and looked over at each other, sort of laughing.
I took Kate aside into the kitchen, probably making things worse by trying to convince her to tell Lily that Justin wouldn't bite her, as now Lily was burying her head under her brother's arm and quite upset.
Kate was adamant. Justin would bite anyone who was a stranger to him, and she wasn't going to lie to Lily.
I tried to be encouraging and turn this imaginary husband scenario into a teaching moment, by telling her that everybody can learn not to bite, and it's totally doeable with help. Kate didn't look convinced, which kind of bothered me.
We walked back toward the door while Lily's Mom assured her she wouldn't let anyone bite her, while trying to keep it light and friendly. Lily has developmental delays and really believed that a boy named Justin was going to bite her. Saying he was a pretend friend as a game, or down-playing it by moving to another topic seemed to backfire with both girls.
Lily's Mom joked that maybe Kate should have married a different guy, and Kate's voice rose, insistent that she wouldn't! Thoughts of future arguments over suitable boyfriends flashed through my mind.
Davis stood by the door, and as I turned to get my shoes, he slapped Kate's cheek, not hard, but hard enough. She screamed. He just stood with his arms straight at his side, staring at her, sure he was justified "because she had married a jerk!" he concluded.
I separated them, watching Kate's cheek turn instantly pink.
I praised her for handling that situation well by moving away from Davis and not hitting back. I've learned from experience how futile it can be to hash things out in the moment with a kid with Aspergers, we would discuss it later.
We reached the car. I said, no more talking about Justin, until we could do it calmly. Davis stormed ahead yelling he wanted to meet this Justin guy and he couldn't believe she had married a jerk who bites!
"He's not a jerk," she yelled back, "he has Aspergers!"
Crazy ironic.
"It is time to sit quietly for the next 10 minutes", I said, reminding myself to breathe.
"His eyes are telling me he is so mad", Kate said.
"I'm not talking", Davis growled through clenched teeth.
"His eyes are talking", Kate replied.
Davis gripped his seatbelt as if it was the only thing keeping him from lunging at her.
He stared harder.
We were all quiet, until Kate whispered, "I fibbed".
"You fibbed?"
"I fibbed about Justing biting. I taught him to do that, to protect me. I taught him to bite to protect me from my brothers when they get mad. He wouldn't bite my friends. I'll tell Lily that."
Aside: On the way to the car I calmly talked at him, being clear to everyone else how inappropriate it is to hit, especially in the face, for sure when we are feeling mad... he was too irritated to hear a word I said. Rather than insisting on apology right then I tried some deep breathing of my own and attention to Kate; we would discuss it later when he was calmer; he would apologize and acknowledge to Kate that he had made the wrong choice, and do something nice for her. I was mostly saying it to validate my distaste for his actions to myself and Kate, and my efforts at teaching appropriate emotional regulation and impulse control at the apex of his frustration and inflexible thinking, felt deja-vu non-effective. There would also be time later to accknowledge his feelings of protectiveness, loyalty and caring for his younger sister, and that there are better ways to show it.
After a couple of hours we stood by the door to say our good-byes, and thank-yous for a delicious lunch.
Kate's friend asked me if Justin was going to bite her. She seemed genuinely worried.
"Who's Justin?"
"He's Kate's husband," she said.
"Pardon?"
Apparently, Kate is married to a boy named Justin that she met at the park two days ago.
He's 5. And imaginary. And he bites.
"He bites people he doesn't know. He doesn't bite me, though," Kate added. "I think he would bite Lily because he doesn't know her yet."
Lily started to cry.
Her Mom and I asked Kate if she could ask Justin not to bite.
"I can't control my husband," Kate answered.
"Sounds like a real marriage," joked Lily's good-natured Dad who happened to walk by.
"He doesn't listen to me when I ask him to not bite. He has Aspergers. Even if I ask him five- hundred times, he doesn't learn it. He'll still bite people he's never met before."
"Sounds like he needs to learn some social skills," I said, a bit surprised, trying to be funny. Lily's Mom and I raised our eyebrows and looked over at each other, sort of laughing.
I took Kate aside into the kitchen, probably making things worse by trying to convince her to tell Lily that Justin wouldn't bite her, as now Lily was burying her head under her brother's arm and quite upset.
Kate was adamant. Justin would bite anyone who was a stranger to him, and she wasn't going to lie to Lily.
I tried to be encouraging and turn this imaginary husband scenario into a teaching moment, by telling her that everybody can learn not to bite, and it's totally doeable with help. Kate didn't look convinced, which kind of bothered me.
We walked back toward the door while Lily's Mom assured her she wouldn't let anyone bite her, while trying to keep it light and friendly. Lily has developmental delays and really believed that a boy named Justin was going to bite her. Saying he was a pretend friend as a game, or down-playing it by moving to another topic seemed to backfire with both girls.
Lily's Mom joked that maybe Kate should have married a different guy, and Kate's voice rose, insistent that she wouldn't! Thoughts of future arguments over suitable boyfriends flashed through my mind.
Davis stood by the door, and as I turned to get my shoes, he slapped Kate's cheek, not hard, but hard enough. She screamed. He just stood with his arms straight at his side, staring at her, sure he was justified "because she had married a jerk!" he concluded.
I separated them, watching Kate's cheek turn instantly pink.
I praised her for handling that situation well by moving away from Davis and not hitting back. I've learned from experience how futile it can be to hash things out in the moment with a kid with Aspergers, we would discuss it later.
We reached the car. I said, no more talking about Justin, until we could do it calmly. Davis stormed ahead yelling he wanted to meet this Justin guy and he couldn't believe she had married a jerk who bites!
"He's not a jerk," she yelled back, "he has Aspergers!"
Crazy ironic.
"It is time to sit quietly for the next 10 minutes", I said, reminding myself to breathe.
"His eyes are telling me he is so mad", Kate said.
"I'm not talking", Davis growled through clenched teeth.
"His eyes are talking", Kate replied.
Davis gripped his seatbelt as if it was the only thing keeping him from lunging at her.
He stared harder.
We were all quiet, until Kate whispered, "I fibbed".
"You fibbed?"
"I fibbed about Justing biting. I taught him to do that, to protect me. I taught him to bite to protect me from my brothers when they get mad. He wouldn't bite my friends. I'll tell Lily that."
Aside: On the way to the car I calmly talked at him, being clear to everyone else how inappropriate it is to hit, especially in the face, for sure when we are feeling mad... he was too irritated to hear a word I said. Rather than insisting on apology right then I tried some deep breathing of my own and attention to Kate; we would discuss it later when he was calmer; he would apologize and acknowledge to Kate that he had made the wrong choice, and do something nice for her. I was mostly saying it to validate my distaste for his actions to myself and Kate, and my efforts at teaching appropriate emotional regulation and impulse control at the apex of his frustration and inflexible thinking, felt deja-vu non-effective. There would also be time later to accknowledge his feelings of protectiveness, loyalty and caring for his younger sister, and that there are better ways to show it.
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