Unorthodox is OK

The topic is vacation. Cue the music and relaxing scenes. Happy family by beach or pool, frolicking in the water. Maybe the parents are just sipping frozen drinks while the kids are in the Super-Fun Kid Club! Wish it could be me and mine. Alas, not so practical. For the past five to seven years, the husband and I have primarily vacationed without each other. And I think it has saved our marriage and family. No, truly.
I have felt guilty and ashamed this has been going on while the rest of the normal families vacationed happily and cheerfully around us. I felt jealous, they were bonding more than our unorthodox family. I felt, if only, we could all go together, it would be great and just what we needed.
You know what? It isn't. Nope not one bit... the last thing my family needs is more together time. Really.
We bust are "us" together during every week of the year. My husband and I communicate about every nuance of Builder and Bounce. All we need is some serious down time.
This not my childhood; where Dad was rarely home except to take us on Spring Break and Summer vacation. Nope, Dad is here every step of the way, every painful step of life we take, Dad is there. Mom is there is there to deal patiently every day after school, while we struggle mightily with completing 3 pages of work. We are exhausted. The last thing we need is to be together as a family more than we already are.
I want to sleep solidly without hearing snoring. I want to wake up and not mediate a fight. I want to hear nothing.
I love my family with every ounce of my being. But I do not want to vacation with them as a whole. Me and the boys with my gal pals and all their kids....Count Me In. Me and the boys with Dad and Jeanne...Count Me In! Me and the Dad...Count Me In. Me and all of my boys...count me with a prior engagement.
Only because I love them all so much! I'm pretty sure my husband is also OK with our unorthodox arrangement. He recently turned the packed car around after an hour and a half with us in the car. It's not just OK. It's all good.

ADD = CARPE DIEM

Carpe Diem. In high school, this was our motto. Seize the day. Live each moment. I'll admit...it more accurately portrays my college experience. Good times, lots of moments, very little class time. I don't regret a single moment of of those four years. I don't even regret most of the bad choices I made. So, for 2010, I really want to try and embrace the world my son lives in...choosing the present.
He has no choice but to be impulsive and do what he wants to do NOW! His brain works that way. My brain is filled with didn't dos, need to dos, and rules to follow. Boring. Painful. I will need to rethink how important is it to flush? Put your dish away? Do your homework? Not very in his eyes. NOW is the time to build a duct tape snow blower. Eat cheese sticks and throw your wrapper on the floor. Empty a tissue box just because you can use it to make a rat condo. NOW is the time! I am going to start with not harping about the wrapper, tissue box or duct tape remnants. What will you do? Carpe diem!

No Idea

I had no idea. These are the words people say to me when they have the rare moment of actually seeing, sharing, or living with some of the really super-hard behaviors of children on the spectrum or ADHD. They are truly shocked and surprised at the intensity and extremes of the tantrums, fits, or screamed verbiage.
It is hearing those words and that moment, every parent who lives with these behaviors daily, weekly, or monthly feels even more isolated. It becomes even more clear how different our child and lives are than the mainstream.
Ironically, we parents of spectrum-kids already knew "they had no idea." Because, how could they? Our goal has been and is to get through each day minus a breakdown (including our own.
Careful steps are taken to insure each day goes as smoothly as possible. Any indication the child is about to blow and we whisk them out of that scene as fast as possible. Before any family party or new event, husband and wife decide whether to bring two cars and who will be the designated caretaker. Of course, timing is everything. But sometimes, it happens, the terrific tantrum or fantastic fit.
And...I must admit, I had no idea it would be this hard.

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.

Little Known Fact

It's those hazy, crazy lazy days of summer...to the parent of a child on the spectrum that means it is hours of unstructured time. OH NOOOOOO!! What other parents welcome- and even I embrace (ever so slightly) is the freedom to not be somewhere at X in the morning. Hmmmm??...the ever challenging escapade of getting out the door in the morning? Versus the still in jammies, no one has eaten and child is bored now poking his brother? For me, the ordeal to get them to school has a pay off. I'm out of the game by 9AM. After two hours of struggles, I crave silence, peace, Oprah. But, I am a sucker for summer. I just need to remember, I must structure their day and make sure they eat. Most importantly, I must run them by 9am. By that, I mean out the door early. Bike riding, walks, events- whatever it takes to keep them interested, occupied, and separated.
If I do not heed these words, I must prepare to be my child's best friend for the next 8 hours. Because, no other parents call, there are no play dates solicited, my other child has run screaming to any house other than his; however, if you have access to where the kids are you might just get Junior into a crowd of active kids. (Apologies to my fantastic mom friends who DO always include Builder and appreciate his uniqueness!).

Progress Report

Annual review time. At school, Builder has had a great year; academically and socially. It is the first year I haven't talked to the principal on a weekly basis...so I believe it. It is is wild to think of the different boy we see. Luckily the school hasn't seen any of the behaviors we have in our home. Excellent...I guess. Of course, we are thrilled to hear he is doing well. But...what's up with that? Are you kidding me??? He can hold it together there and not here...really? Apparently, this is typical of "these kids" to quote a favored doc of mine. He hears that all the time. Kids are fine at school and at home they are a challenge. OK...so, this explains why other moms say how nice, sweet, and kind our kids are and gently offer advice on how to handle them. Raising my eyebrows and tilting my head, I always just nod and say yeahhh... What I should do is hand out passes to the nightly show that is most likely going to occur that evening at dusk. Apparently, the show must go on if that is what it takes for the release of the enormous pressure these children feel to keep it together for eight hours. As parents, we are ringmasters, tiger tamers, and high wire walkers.

Intensity and Frequency

These little words explain the difference between other kids and my kid. When Builder was five, I would go to Mom parties and try to get some other mom to help me understand why my child acted the way he did. Well, they would just laugh at my latest stories of madness and mayhem; then share one of their own little darling's equally as naughty anecdotes. However, the difference was, they were still smiling and laughing. Not me, I was exhausted, frustrated, and sitting in the aisles of the library for hours trying to figure out this enigma I called son. Yeah, son of a gun?! I just didn't get it. How come they could handle all these situations and monkey business? Well...not until completing some parent quizzes and interviews did I realize there is a professional term for this anarchy. Intensity and Frequency. Yes...every single parent on the planet has amusing "my child drives me crazy!" stories. But only the select few of us with children with special needs have the "NO, really my kid IS driving me crazy." We have the singular insanity of dealing with arguments about most everything, coupled with whatever major mess has been made, topped off with at least one to two tantrums a day. Then, don't forget the incredible difficult food menu and sincere disagreement to most clothing options. Intensity and frequency. Remembering those word just might keep you sane.javascript:void(0)

Stomper or Grower?

I have been called numerous names in the past few weeks by my overly-confident child. None that I can print. He has no sense of how truly awful those words are or how it cuts to the quick for a parent or sibling. He doesn't have empathy. Unless we spell it out for him, he is oblivious. Really, might never get it, how do your parent that? However, in the interim, I am trying to be positive and capitalize on the good...which for me is so super-hard! My friend was over and made the observation she thinks I am (and definitely my husband is) a Grower. Not a Stomper. A Grower encourages kids in their passions and quirks. I argued against my status as a Grower, because inately I think the role of a Mom is to be a bit of a Stomper. You know the roll...clean up your room, put your laundry away, feed the pet, is you homework done? Yet the roll of the Dad is way more free-falling...."Sure you want to blow up those old trees in the back...I think I have just the power tool to do that!" Totally not Stomping. My friend still persisted that I really was a grower. What she doesn't know is how hard it is to grow this child. I am naturally a grower, a teacher. I do crafts, I sew with him, I take him to libraries and places to feed his interests; but he only sees me as a "Interupter" and a "Distractor". The really super-hard aspect of raising an Asperger's kid is that the are truly only focused on themselves. They have limited empathy and limited tolerance for the mundane chores of life.

Tough Guy

The best part of Mother's Day...putting your children to bed; because later you can watch them sleeping and think how sweet they really are. During the day when they are clubbing each other, whining, and talking back...not so much. My Mother's Day really turned out quite perfectly. The children were convinced to help clean up in order to have family friends over for dinner. Husband cleaned out fridge and eradicated all mold growing in that environment. Sweet. You can tell I am not a roses and chocolate kind of gal.
Plus, I got a hand-picked out card and flowers from Builder this morning. He went to the store with Dad while I stayed on the couch with Bounce and watched a riveting Hannah Montana. The card Builder picked out says, "Happy Mother's Day to the best mom in the world from that always hungry, seldom serious, frequently wacky, often rowdy, occasionally tidy, not quite civilized, almost lovable little tough guy who grew up to be me." Designed to be given by an adult, I am not surprised Builder chose it. He thinks he is 25. But it did stop me in my tracks. He gets it. I need to get it too. Someday he will be older; and apparently, there have been many moms before me who also had Builders living in their homes. (Is it fair to say driving them crazy???) And they grew up. Most live in Seattle now, but still, on their own.
Tonight, while tucking them in, I thanked Builder for the card and quoted a few of the adjectives on the card to the boys. I asked Builder his favorite part of the card and he sheepishly said, "the bottom of the card". "You know Mom, tough guy".
He is my tough guy. In so many ways! He thinks he's tough because he can swear like a sailor and defy any request. (And he has mastered that cool guy walk!) I think he's tough; because I need to parent this pipsqueak Sinbad into a respectful, educated, kind person. He is my tough guy.

Ransacked!

Yesterday a man came to the front door selling meat from a minivan. Suspicious? Definitely. Coming from a long line of neighborhood crime fighters...I immediately called the police to report the incident. A young officer arrived and began to gather the details of the event. He told me it was possible they were planning a "rouse robbery". One man occupies the owner at the front door; while the other man slips in unnoticed at another door. Well, we have lots of doors usually unlocked and often wide open. Builder tends not to bother with minor details like closing doors. I was fairly certain the second man didn't enter my house; but the officer felt strongly I needed to make certain nothing valuable was missing. I had already checked the garage because of course that had been open. Which is where the problem starts.
The garage has become another domain for Builder's projects. Pink Styrofoam litters the floor from the latest hovercraft design. Chicken wire on the ground from a crayfish trap built 3 months ago. Tools and nails are piled up on makeshift tables. Plus the bikes, kites, and hockey gear are squished in with all of Builder's project remnants. It was impossible to tell if anything was missing! The golf clubs and bikes were still there so I decided it was fine.
As I returned to the house to check my purse and bedroom. I viewed the house as a burglar would....Yikes! As I well know, my purse is virtually impossible to find. Coupled with the fact my wallet never has cash, it would be a bust. The rest of the rooms are covered with Builder's indoor projects. The latest: plastic Porsche model, duct tape pet carriers, fabric sleeping bags sewn for rats, electrical modifications to three remote control cars that have been disassembled. Every table, couch, and floor is covered with his projects' debris. HE NEVER CLEANS UP AFTER HIMSELF. EVER.
The kitchen has the refrigerator door wide open, bread and cheese, often a stick of butter melting into soup. On this particular morning the boys had taken the drawers out of their dressers and left them all over their room. That means they placed them on unmade beds and a combination clean folded laundry and muddy clothes.
I can count my valuable jewelry on one hand and have hidden it so thoroughly I haven't been able to find it for over a year. If I was a burglar, I would have high-tailed it outta my house so fast. This place has already been thoroughly ransacked!

Overwhelmed

So for whatever reason, this year has been a terrific struggle with Builder. We have made some progress and in other instances we have fallen to the bottom of the well. (See February post.) He is bigger and badder. Not good English; but totally accurate. We have determined, it is pretty much our fault. Nice. Very demeaning as far as self-worth goes and good fodder for husband-wife arguments! Painful. It is the total conundrum of raising a child who just doesn't get it! And to boot they never will...Thus, apparently we need different parenting techniques. A great idea in theory. If this was college, I would completely take that class on consequences for the unconsequecable kid! I might even go everyday! And not just get the notes! Instead I took Botany and Biology and Economics. Obviously...those subjects have gotten me nowhere. The job I thought I was prepared for has floored me. OMG...need help.

Mother's Day

So I got my gift early tonight...because it was such a good gift that I would love, hubby couldn't wait. He started talking about it about 3 weeks ago. How great and how perfect this particular gift was for me. I should preface by saying two things. 1. I hate surprises. Totally, can't stand them. 2. I hate getting an expensive gift after being asked for 11 months to "cut expenses" (like at Target! not Prada). So, tonight, the boys unveiled the best gift for me: an industrial size hand sanitizer that mounts on the wall. With refills.
Granted, their hearts and minds were in the right place. But...NOOOOOOO! Opening the gift, I immediately flashed back to my classroom a year ago where multiple children would line up to use said object and/or the numerous times the device never worked and secreted an oozing goop of slime on the floor for days. Not a warm fuzzy memory...plus the fact I was dismissed from said job for lower paid neophyte. And...really what does it say about me????
Nothing good. And even though I know I am overly-zealous when it comes to hand -washing...at least I am old school. Hand-washing. In a sink. With hot water and soap. Happy Mother's Day to me...germ-a-phobe! It is my nightmare realized...
Two years ago, I was subbing in a classroom and the students were writing about what their moms always say to them. I must admit my first thought was, "Oh no, my kids are going to say, "Did you wash your hands?" But later that night, I asked my sons what I always say to them and they said you always say, "I love you." Phew! But yet, hand sanitizer as gift???

What Would You Pay?

So...I did it. I ordered it. The radio ads say there can be a total transformation. We will see. It seems since my child was two...I have been searching for the way to parent him that will result in a well-behaved or least not defiant child. I recall 7 years ago, a neighbor I did not know yet, returning a box of 3 parenting books to me, she had opened the box accidently after the mailman incorrectly delivered them to her house. I was so embarassed! It revealed the truth, I was incapable of handling a 2 and 1 year old! However, she is now the mom of two teenage girls and we are best of buds! Well, 25 books later, 7 seminars, and uuhmmmm,... probably over $100,000 in therapies-here we are still looking for the Golden Ring. Because, our family is struggling...everyday and evening. This child is so hard and difficult. He is not "getting it." Lying, sneaking, stealing, swearing, really the worst thing is his not caring. Truly.
Is it our fault? Seems so. But why, the other child has none of these issues. The Total Transformation offers a money back 30 day guarantee. If it works we pay $300 to keep it going. An offer I can't refuse. What would you pay to help your family?

It Keeps Getting Better?

In the car, jamming to tunes without children in the back, and I hear Christina's newer song, "Keeps Getting Better". Got me thinking...does it keep getting better?

It actually feels like everyday I am living the math problem from fourth grade. It goes like this, "the snail goes up the well 2 feet everyday, and at night the snail slides back down 1 foot; how long until the snail gets out of the well?" I have purposely omitted how deep the well is...because who knows how super deep this well is we are in!!! I'm actually surprised we are still able to breathe some days.

So, at any rate, some days "I'm a super Mom" and other days "I'm a super...not so stellar mom". On the good days, I think, "I can do this, have been doing it and there is progress." On the bad days I think, "I can't possibly do this one more minute, he will never get it." And at night, we discuss strategies and evaluate the progress.

He is now just primarily verbally aggressive instead of physically. The horrible daily tantrums are minor and less destructive. Progress? I guess. Still feels like sliding down the well to me. But, I need to hang on to the mantra "Keeps Getting Better." Without it, there's no way the snail is getting out.

Obsession of the Week

We coined this phrase about three years ago when we noticed a pattern to Builder's incessant wants. Whenever he sees or hears about something...he must have it...IMMEDIATELY. We are talking, non-stop cannot think about anything else 24/7. The newest obsession always takes precedence over the current obsession so with some careful maneuvering , we occasionally, can get out of the repetitive loop.

When he was young, it was trains. High five on that one, it is a universal one. Apparently so is the dreaded "claw machine" that insidious stores house. Yet, after age five, obsessions are less common with non-typicals. Thus, the ASD child tends to stand out a bit more with their compulsions.

Some of Builder's most unique OTWs are a Batman costume (he got it), a wet suit (he didn't get it), office space, Razor dune buggy, dirt-bike, and a certain cleaning cart he fancied. It only takes a fleeting glance at something to cement it into his brain that he needs the item. I have only mentioned the top five, in an average day, there are at least ten others.

We use the Internet as a research tool to help him explore the cost and features of an OTW. He researches, he makes proposals and attempts to refute our logical objections to most of his OTWs. He asked me the other day to not try to "mind-distraction" him as he insisted he needed another Beanie Baby simply because he saw them for sale..

However, we are still accepting all ideas on how to mind-distract an OTW.

Simplify

Still on vacation and I have noticed, I love being at a home where there isn't the "STUFF" of a family with children all over it. No endless school papers, projects, birthday gifts, toys from every and any place you have ever taken your children to...

Instead, Builder and Bounce are working out of two tiny carry-ons. 3 shorts, 3 shirts, and a sweatshirt. Quite honestly, add in some pants, and that is all they wear at home. Yet, at home they have triple the amount of clothes???!! Time to Spring Clean!

Same with toys, Bounce brought a PSP without a charger...and he's fine not playing it constantly as he is wont to do at home. A couple Beanie Babies, a toy car or 2 and he is content. Builder brought a stuffed dog. The duct tape was ready and waiting. We haven't really even had time for card or dice games. WHY? We are outside almost the entire day. Children do not need electronics, kits, or STUFF when they play outside all day.

It is not a new revelation by any means; but one that bears repeating. I understand many ASD children have a tough time outside, but finding a few activities your children enjoy outdoors is important. Builder can't bike more than 100 feet, but loves to scooter. He likes to look for birds' nest and birds and identify them. I was not that kind of kid, but if being a "birder" means building up Builder, count me in.

Of course, if it had rained everyday...that would be a different story. Last summer's trip out East!

Travel Plan

It always happens. I have just finished a three hour flight with Bounce and Builder. The chime has sounded and everyone, especially Builder is ready to get off the plane. No, really, Builder sees no reason he is not the first off the plane because, uuhmm..he wants off! The aisle-mate across from me stands up and says, "Your boys just seem so nice and well-behaved."

I grin from ear-to-ear because 1. I never hear this compliment anywhere else-ever. 2. 2 mini-bottles will do that. I smile and say, "That's why I travel." "They are much better behaved away from home. And so am I."

We have always traveled with our children. The way I see it, it is much easier to parent with other people than by yourself. You can be the type of mom you would be if you only had to "watch" your kids. In other words, you get to be a just a nanny while on vacation; at home, you are the cleaning lady, the cook, the dog-walker, the scretary, the grocery shopper, the constant picker-up-er-er, etc.

The children respond likewise when they know you are, to quote Oprah, "present" with them. Instead of mentally tabulating the 55 "things to do by the next hour", you can actually play and really listen to them. On vacation, the kids determine the activities of the day; thus happy kids. Happy kids=Happy Mom and vice-versa.

Junior

It has been 3 months since Junior arrived. He is named after Builder. Builder Jr, but goes by Junior. How and why would someone get a pet rat? Excellent question, one I also shared, especially after living in the city and not really so excited about wandering vermin. Plus, those tails are creepy. However, as a good friend put it, sometimes with an unconventional child you need to explore the unconventional options. This is excellent advice for the ASD parent! Therefore, after considering the gerbil, hamster, guinea pig options; we were getting gerbils! So I went to the pet store one month prior to Builder's birthday.

I was informed by the very helpful staff at Wilmette Pet, "Get a rat". Yup, "get a rat" for that 8 or 9 year old boy, the three teenage boys told me. Those were not words I wanted to hear looking at a white rat, with red eyes, and a long pink tail. But, I should listen to these boys with the superior look in their eyes. Apparently a rat is affectionate, comes when called, and won't run away from you. Naturally nocturnal, the rat can be switched to be more awake in the day. Really??? I couldn't commit that day; but did return home to do more research.

I recalled as a child spending endless hours searching for run away gerbils hiding behind the washing machine. The books and internet confirmed everything the staff had told me. So, on Builder's birthday, I did what I always do, if it is meant to be- there will be a sign. You know, from the Cosmos to guide me.

Walking into the store, one rat cage 75% off. That is one big sign! But is there a rat available? One rat, white and brown, brown eyes, grayish tail. Inexpensive and seemingly friendly, even I could get past that tail thing. Builder was overwhelmed, and bit apprehensive that evening accepting his new gift. However, in the past three months Junior has become a delightful addition to the family. Affectionate, comes when called, and easy to take care of for a nine year old boy!

Exotic Animals

After watching Merry Christmas Drake and Josh, my boys became enamored of the "sweet pet monkey" as a Christmas gift. Builder had just gotten a rat a month ago for his birthday and seemed content to let his brother add this exotic animal to his list for Santa. While Builder did all the research on the internet, I admit I did slightly encourage them by saying when I was their age, I too really wanted a pet monkey. They know I love animals and I am still "the coolest mom ever: for allowing Junior, the fancy rat.

They settled on a Carpuchin monkey from www.gotpetsonline.com . Apparently you can adopt a monkey from a conservation society. Picture included, this little Carpuchin was very adorable. However, after reading the description of the type of owner these pets need, I was struck by the similarities to parenting a special needs child. See what I mean:

"young apes are cute and appealing" check

"behavior problems may start when ape matures" check

"owners may be injured from bites" check

"they have a complex diet' check

"some owners are unaware of their special needs" check

"some can turn aggressive and unmanageable" check

"the owners need to be knowledgeable and responsible" check

"it can be challenging to provide them with proper care" check

So now I have a new adjective to describe my child. He is exotic: striking and attractive through being colorful or unusual (Oxford dictionary) And I could easily parent a Carpuchin. Piece of cake as an ASD parent.