Share and Share Alike?

The other night on Facebook, I posted things I thought were the worst. I said Evite (it was frustrating me), self-check out at the grocery store (it just irritates me), and then homework (my kids', not mine). The worst is really a parent or child dying (I've lost my mom and others close to me).

I also really do not like clowns. Seriously, very afraid. However, I do not share that tidbit about me with many people. In fact, at this point, just my sisters and college roommates know that fear. (The college roommates pasted clowns everywhere in my dorm room, my sisters just laugh and say you better run, there's a clown).

My question today is how much to share with the people you kind of know? But primarily, how much to share about your child with people your child knows but you don't. Ideally, your child will be friends with them at some point? I don't always tell other people Builder is ADHD or on the spectrum. Of course, my close friends all know.

Yet, my life would be so much easier if everyone knew how Builder thinks. It isn't wrong, it is just different than many others. He knows he has Asperger's. I'm not sure how much he understands it; but he knows it makes him special and unique. He has talents and skills the majority of his friends and family do not. He also has limitations, mostly social. However, it is impossible to let the world know.

So, as much as I would love to print postcards with helpful hints, I don't. Certainly, considered it. I feel we need to help Builder understand how the other side thinks. It doesn't seem right to say he has Autism. It sounds like a disease. I prefer to say he thinks differently. His brain works in a distinct way.

Much like mine. I just can't get past the face paint, red nose, and really big shoes. I just hope I never have a clown behind me in the self-checkout line at the grocery store.

Halo-ween costume

Tomorrow the children will all be parading around parking lots or gymnasiums, showing off their Halloween costumes. Some kids have known for the past 364 days what they will be. There will be sports players, Hannah Montanas, witches, clowns, inflatable sumo wrestlers (my youngest), and a duct-taped Storm trooper.

Huh? I meant to say an orange and blue striped, duct-taped Storm trooper. I do love the colors, as a University of Illinois alum. As a mom, I am worried.

Builder started working on his costume back in September. His teacher had called him Dr. Duct Tape. He loved the name. It is perfect for the mini-mogul he is. His duct tape purse and wallet business is still going strong two years later.

First, he made a top-hat. I believe it was modeled after the duct tape prom wear. Plus, adding a top hat always exudes professional. Think chimney sweeper.

However, it was too small to stay on his head. Problem #1. But still doable, I suggested a lab coat or scrubs to go with the duct tape. He looked at me and said, "That doesn't make any sense." Clearly, he had a different vision of his Dr. Duct Tape than I did. Son of Svengooli perhaps?

Next, he saw a picture of Halo, the game box super soldier. Problem #2. He wanted to morph the two costumes. He went to work on his old Star Wars costume.

Thus, a striped, duct-taped Storm trooper will be parading tomorrow. I will be the mom in the tiny orange and black top hat praying the other children appreciate his efforts as much as I worry about them.

Home-work- SCORE!

As a teacher, I never really liked homework. It just seemed like an unnecessary evil. As a 23 year old, I baby-sat four girls for a week at a time, I realized then, kids and their parents did not have time to do homework, let alone eat dinner most nights after school.

As a parent, I'm all for banning it. For my family, we have exactly 4 hours between the last school bell and bed time. After school activities, play dates, dinner, shower, and reading fill that time. Our kids go to sleep by eight and will sleep ten to twelve hours. Builder is on the 12 side. Sleep is a huge regulator.

Add to the matter, what "regular" students can do in 20 minutes for homework is multiplied by 9 in my house for him. The older he gets, the harder it is to impart why he needs to do his homework and do it well.

Understanding the relationship between studying and grades is a huge stretch for him. He lives in the moment of NOW. Now never includes homework for him. However, the now includes WORK for me to get the homework done.

But if the Bears win on Sunday, his teacher told the class they won't have homework on Monday. SCORE!

Pick Up the Phone

Note to readers: There will be minor profanity in this post. Please remove small children from the room. So, I get a phone message from Builder at 3:05PM. He is supposed to be at school until 4:30 at Bucket Band. He has called to say his teacher has a tooth problem and needs to go to the dentist after school. It is a stretch and I don't really believe it, but OK. This is the message:

"Mom? It's me, Builder, I don't have Bucket Band today because Mr. N. hurt his tooth or something and needs to go to the dentist or something after school. So you need to pick me up after school." That's the home line.

"Mom, It's me, Builder? Where are you? There's no band after school. You need to pick me up. Where are you? Pick up the d*#n phone!" That's my cell.

I must say, I laughed out loud when I picked up this message. For so many reasons.
1. 9 yr. old says d*#n to his Mom. 2. Can't believe I am that Mom. 3. He really doesn't see anything wrong with it. 4. He was frustrated and that is how it goes. 5. This is my life, just like I imagined. Again, laughing.

By accident, I deleted the message before I could counsel Builder on the error of his ways and laugh more that night while playing message for DH. Luckily, Builder remembered the message verbatim when asked exactly what his message said. Clearly, he still did not see a problem with his word choice.

I told him I was at the library where I could not answer my phone. He said, "Oh." I then explained succinctly, "If you ever phone me and use bad words, you should know I will not be picking you up."

"OK, I will find a ride with my friends."

Life's like this.

Calm is Cool

Remember the Seinfeld episode where George's Dad just kept yelling "Serenity Now" in an effort to control his chaotic environment and situations? I do. I have tried shouting it on numerous occasions...to no avail. The problem is you are yelling, your eyes are bugging out, and your fists are clenched. Not so cool. Not so calm. You are not in charge of anything in that moment. So, I have been working on my coolness factor. For about 25 years. I admit, I run at high most days. High energy, high activity, high emotion. I do get quite a bit done. However, running at high and dealing with another person at high idle...not so cool. Tonight, I did it, I stayed calm through episode after episode with Builder. No school means there were quadruple the incidents, in addition to the usual breakdowns and malfunctions of a day. Here are the highlights and how I handled them:

Cleaning pet cage: Tight parameters: Get it done in the next 15 minutes.
Going to movie he didn't want to go to: Direct order: You are going.
Wanting sugar snacks at movie: Statement: NO.
Not wanting to go to class Mom forgot to pay for and didn't really want him to go to: Flexible: OK, convince your Dad in a reasonable manner. Try not yelling or throwing stuff and just talking to him.
Hot spaghetti sauce accidentally spilled on him by him: Calm: "Do you need medical attention?" in response to expletives of pain and swearing at me.

He didn't need medical attention. He just needed a good cry. But he had had a long day like he does everyday- just managing daily life. Me too. By staying calm, I could wait through the fits and still be available to help him process the wrong behavior and supply the right words and actions to him.

Clean or Quarantine?

That is the question today. Put away your phones, turn off your t.v.s and stereos. Breathe. If you are like me, you also close your eyes. Why? Because there is not a space in our home not covered with a project, food wrapper, spilled sticky something or half-assembled fishing pole made of PVC. I can't bear to look at it all anymore. The only place left to have a meal is on the floor...after we kick aside the clothes and bags Builder has strewn about the home.
I can't go outside for some Zen. The grass is littered with bikes, scooters, buckets of dirt, cardboard boxes that once housed Mr. Fluffy Pants, the most recent animal caught and examined for the day. That mouse was lucky. He was released alive. Forgive me, I digress.
We are mulling the question "Should I just clean or quarantine him?" When Builder and Bounce were little, I picked up the toys. We happily reset Disney every night. I am a Fly Lady trained cleaner. Clutter begets clutter. We want shiny clean surfaces. It brings me peace and happiness. I am not asking about getting cleaning lady. That's me.
This is about how responsible do I insist Builder be about "If you make a mess clean it up." I have tried it all to instill responsibility. Consequences, big garbage bags, throwing it away. DH says I am guilty of "piling it on" Builder. Is there perhaps a mathematical formula for what percentage of his ginormous messes he should have to clean up? Do I do just pick up the left out food and clothing? Do I start making space for dining in the attic? Quarantine him to specific rooms? (Actually much harder to do than one would think)
In the picture book Love You Forever, when the boy is 9, the mother feels like she might sell him to a zoo. His manners, his appearance, and vocabulary are driving her crazy! But forever this child will be her baby. I guess it's time to reset the park. I need some shiny surfaces where I can smile.

The Beginning

I ran into Builder's very first preschool teacher the other day grocery shopping. She asked what grade he was in and how he was doing. I was able to tell her well and we had eventually figured him out. I also told her I would always remember her because she was the first person to validate what I knew about Builder. He was different from other kids. Three pediatricians had told me it was nothing, no big deal, the fact he was unable to go anywhere in public successfully at age three. Our extended family had suggested in turn, "sibling rivalry", "terrible two's", "it's just a stage" and "little kids-little problems, big kids-big problems" and "spare the rod, spoil the child". In other words, deal with it.
However, Builder's very experienced teacher finally called with the words, "Why is he so angry?" "Uhhh...we don't know, why is he so angry? What is up????" And I was thrilled, finally someone else saw what I did. This child needed help and wasn't behaving normally. So we began the path of therapies, studies, evaluations, and hoisting money toward anything that might help. As a teacher, I knew we only had six years to work with; I have always felt if you don't fix it by ten, the teenage years take control. We have six more months before Builder turns ten. I think, hope, and pray, our past arduous years will pay off.