All in a Day's Quirks

Rules by Cynthia Lord



My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Read this together with my 11 year old son for a Newberry winner book report. Easy, fast, funny read, believable characters - he loved it. I was looking for a bit more insight into issues siblings have with with autism and its' effects on families. This book translates into compassion for all disabilities, but autism proper, not as much. An excellent read and a great message for kids to be themselves, not cave to peer pressure and accept disabilities.








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My husband told me yesterday that our 9 year old chicklet M was disappointed. Her teacher had asked the class who would be going to work with a parent on "Bring your child to work day". DH has been working stressful 15+ hour days for months and there was simply no way for him to take her. I asked her if she'd like to join me on my day as Mom. She lit right up!

And so began our workday. 3 a.m., I awoke after only 2 hours, couldn’t sleep, my husband snoring and me filled with anxiety. I tried to relax, but finally went downstairs and watched tivo. M came in about 7, I wrapped her into my lap and I fell right asleep. My darling girl got up and played quietly with my 4 year old awhile later, to let me catch another hour of sleep.

We entertained ourselves with goofy activities – drew pictures, played school, ate poptarts for breakfast. Yum! It’s Earth Day, so we drew pics of the earth, trees, flowers. I took video of them singing “Happy Earth Day” to the tune of “Happy Birthday”, and posted it to YouTube. OMG, you’d think she won the lottery – jumping up and down, “we’ll be famous!”. By day’s end, even after linking to my Facebook page, we only had a handful of views, but I dared not burst her bright bubble. She’s a star!


We got G ready for preschool, and waited for his new schoolbus to arrive. G was recently diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum (ASD, HFA, PDD-NOS). He started in a new special education program a few weeks ago, and the biggest perk for him is getting to ride on the “big orange schoolbus” like the older kids. Today was only his 2nd time, so he’s still in Awesome! mode. M was elated, and acted like a proud mommy, kissing and hugging him over and over as we waited excitedly. She was thrilled to see that his bus driver is HER bus driver – bonus! She watched him get buckled in and waved like crazy as we watched his little bus drive off.

Our time! I’d given her a few choices, so off we went after loading the car with bags and bags of donations that we’d cranked out last weekend. We made our drop, then made a return, and browsed at shoes for awhile. Next stop Red Robin, her restaurant choice for our special mom workday lunch. She asked in a mature tone, “Do you often lunch?” Never! I told her stories of how I used to love lunching with girlfriends. Good times, long ago! We played tic-tac-toe, worked through the play-placemat while she slurped her smoothie. We munched and chatted about her friends at school. We bought quarter gumballs. The hostess asked if she’d like a balloon, and I saw M’s inward struggle: childhood fun vs. tween-age sophisticate.  Finally she picked a bright balloon.  Inward high five to myself!

Absolutely the greatest $50 spent on a surprise treat…
On a whim, I’m not really sure why at all, I turned into a nail salon. I fully expected it to be booked or too expensive. It was neither, so I succumbed to whimsy. We chose perky colors, deep luscious purple for me, vibrant pink for M. She sat for her first manicure, excitedly perched on the edge of her seat, studying the hard-working serious nail goddess. Me – I got acrylics! I’ve only had my nails done one time, for our wedding 15 years ago. I have hideous nails! I’ve struggled for years with breaking-peeling-jagged-short nails. We kept stealing gleeful looks at each other, feeling naughty for doing something so luxurious. M got a pretty design on her thumbs and loved it! She marveled how her nails glowed when the tech put mysterious goo on her nails and led her to sit under an ultraviolet light. She had to wait awhile while my nails were worked on, but she gaped at every little detail, absorbing feminine swank. A joy to behold for each of us, as I watched her. We talked about our nails the rest of the day. We waited expectantly to see how long it would take our boys to notice our gorgeousness. She delighted in keeping a secret from them, waving her nails in a flourish.

I’ll admit to fluttering my perky purplicious nails a bit too. And giggling. Lots.

Most wonderful gift of all: Chicklet told me and her dad over and over that she had “The Best Day Ever with Mom”.

Collecting the dots, not connecting the dots...

Watch CBS News Videos Online

I know it's been a great day when bits of dried up play-doh fall out of my hair in the shower.

http://www.hasbro.com/playdoh/en_us/

Funny funny funny...

You never know what might happen while you nap in the park on a sunny spring day...
FOUND Magazine The Best Thing Ever

Powerful PSA...

Lots of statistics here...
Fighting Autism - Autism Population Clock, Incidence

Easter fun with peeps...
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2008/03/21/GA2008032101983.html?referrer=facebook

Autism Awareness Day and Month. I'm feeling particularly passionate these days since G was one of the kids diagnosed at 4 1/2. Early intervention is key! We're making up for lost time, busy-busy. Watch those kids, trust your instincts. YOU know your child best. That's my speech for the month. ;) ♥

http://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/actearly/index.html

Feb 27, 2010 



My 3rd miracle baby/1st biobaby was specified today non-specified. autism’s star equivalent to 70’s schizophrenia. dumping ground. esoteric. yet oddly Pervasive with a slight penchant for less or more services based on lots of $, PAPER time tears plus or minus the square root of my heart…


I mean truly…I’m not usually too big a whiner…am I? nah don’t want to know right now. scratch.


The point is, I gotta write that book. blog. tweet. website. social media group. whatever. this life o’mine has been way too much fun to keep to myself.


repeat: can I do nothing the simple way? patti prefers undulating un-simple pathways weeping with worry delighting in design wondrous words friendly faces


Plus: her toxic 10, find out wh...


epiphany!!!


oops,


no. time. now.


I’m gonna turn up some music and shake it up with my “whine”.


Maybe some blues. Oh yeah.



Note to self: start my groovin’ G on music therapy in the morning…

The signs were all there...



I have 1.5 hours to fill while N are M are at summer Nature Camp. I decide to head to a nearby megamart for some groceries. The G Machine and I head to the restroom just inside the door. As I chatter enthusiastically about going potty on the potty, G listens to the tinkles and peeks at my “doings” as I discreetly try to shield any unpleasant body views. He moves towards the flusher (no), plays with the paper roll (no), the mini silver wall wastecan (No! Ewww!), then moves on to twist the door handle 14 times, hesitates, then finally climbs under (NO!) just as I flush. Flustered, I “zip” out of the stall, purse flipping.


Gloop-gloop, pshhhh, whirrrrr. We wash and dry our hands a couple hundred times while I coach him verbally on what our shopping trip will be...” Mom will get a cart, you’ll sit down and be a good boy and you can drink a POP and help me get corn, pool stuff, milk, and so on – Wow, that will be fun,” etc…. He darts out the restroom door, through the automatic doors and straight down the aisle before I get a chance to wave to the greeter. I chase, catch, drag/carry him back KS (kicking and screaming) 4 times before the kindly senior greeter brings the cart to our struggling mess several yards away. G applies the “rubber legs” tactic when he’s caught, then the “stiff leg” maneuver as I struggle to wrestle him into the cart. We have a tantrum together and finally get going. I’m exhausted, sweaty and crimson only 10 feet into the door. G sings happily, “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands…” Clap, clap.


Ever the optimist, I plod forward, determined to make it a fun retail adventure for my adorable 2.5 year old. I rush around, find him some items to occupy him when he gets crabby, and at all costs – avoid the little scanners every few aisles. He’s learned to recognize the overhead “Price Scan” signs, even though I alternate stores to throw him off. If he catches sight of a scanner, he lunges into the back of the cart to search for an item to scan or grabs something off the nearest shelf, waves it and wails until I flip out or scurry to scanner. Getting away from the scanner is an altogether frustrating prospect. This day, I have a little extra time and I let him scan every item in the cart only 3 times each before fighting him away from his little electronic friends. Beep, beep. As I wait, I map my plan of action, avoiding the enemy.


Mid-store, I park him at the tropical fish and internally thank the store designer for placing the tanks strategically so that I may travel a few yards to 4 different aisles to quickly grab some items while G talks to the fish. This time we avoid a “goodbye fish tantrum” because G spilled his barely-touched McD’s bribery pop all over the floor, thus distracting him from his usual separation issues with the colorful fishies. “LOVE YOU, Mom!” he sweetly yells about 64 times, delighting over his echo. I rush along, not wanting to draw attention to our mess. G alternates between loving hugs and crabby screeching. I notice the passerby only in a haze: an array of sympathetic looks, and scowls, stares and avoidance. I’m thankful that I’m travelling too fast to hear their comments.


YIKES! G throws a blue box of mac n cheese, grazing a lady’s ankle. “It’s ok, really,” she graciously responds to my horrified face and G’s bobbing blonde ringlets and toothy grin. “We’ve all been there.” This woman surely must be an angel. I apologize profusely, mentally kiss her sandals in gratitude and make my shamed escape, G blowing her kisses en route. Whew! Screech! Around the bend, we almost crash into a manager with huge brown eyeglasses and cleanup crew working on G’s pop spill on the fish aisle. I express my embarrassment that it was our mess and my regret that I couldn’t find anyone to report it. Mr. Specs was so friendly and sympathetic to my utter desperation that I might have hugged him, but I had to dash off. Whooooosh…G is silent and still from the cart’s intense G-Force.


I fly in autopilot, a frustrated storm brewing in my head. I vow for the bazillionth time to shop alone in the future. When did I turn into the wimpy mom ruled by a mere 2.5 year old? Is G that much more difficult than my other kids were at his age, or am I simply worn down? It used to be that I could chat on the phone, consult my shopping list, compare labels, leisurely check out clearance aisles, dance to the snappy music AND keep him content without resorting to begging, bribery, yelling, tears or SURRENDER. Now no matter of preparation or promises will work at this stage with G. I feel sheer panic when he into this mode. My white flag for the shopping battle is rising. Sigh.


G seems to calm down a bit when I get to the produce section. He “helps out” the most there and I’m glad that I travelled the store in reverse order and hit it last today. He causes a scene at the grapes until I give him couple. I can’t fathom buying sour grapes, so I try a sample on the sly - he has caught on - my fault. “Grapes, Mom. More please?” G stands and starts to reach, though I’ve positioned the cart 5 feet away for just this reason. I push him back down and a skirmish ensues. I’m beat at this point and he senses it – an easy target. “Mmmm-yum!” he squeals excitedly as I pop him 2 while I select 3 huge bags to freeze. Bonus – the grapes are perfect today. I no longer judge haggard looking moms who open packages of cookies in the store and shove them at their unruly children, whispering a prayer and rolling their eyes. I feel their pain.


We get to the register, the end of this fiasco in sight. I start to unload our loot and G excitedly helps grab items and puts them on the conveyor belt. He greets all within 50 feet at top decibel, “Hi! How are you? Good!” By this time I’m frazzled and totally task-driven so I don’t notice or foresee what happens next. I push the cart backwards to reach the pop down below. Standing back up, out of the corner of my eye I see G winding up... next a blinding FLASH then CRASH. My hand flies to my forehead, I look at the exploded shrimp cocktail sauce jar on the floor in front of us, then incredulously at G. Frustrated tears come immediately as the pain kicks in. Our cashier calmly comes around to clean up and I help, wanting something useful to do. The cashier in the next lane completely stops her order to bark out, “Bring ice, bring a chair, get a Manager!” The neighboring cashiers and customers are abuzz. A growing circle of red-shirted employees surrounds the end of our lane. A pretty woman in a power suit with a walkie-talkie appears to supervise the action. My new friend Mr. Specs the cleanup manager from the fish aisle runs up and helps bag and load the cart. My tears keep flowing, I don’t even try to hide them at this point. I bag our groceries to work off my nervous embarrassment. Power Suit Lady hands me ice and tells me to sit, looking very alarmed. I take the ice and cry harder, thank everyone and apologize. The red shirt brigade tells me that my head is purple and the bump is huge. It’s not just my imagination - it must look as bad as it’s thumping then. Power Suit Lady brings me around, “That big purple lump is not doing your sharp new haircut justice!” I’m grateful for the opportunity to laugh. I had just gotten a short new “do”, and now stood imagining how I would sport a colorful lump for awhile.


During all of this, G has the most amazing furrowed brow and look of confusion. He watches silently, careful as I finish my transaction. I talk the red brigade out of staying to sit and rest awhile. I simply can’t bear this attention! Power Suit Lady and Mr. Specs persist to our aid and accompany us to the car to load the groceries and even buckle in a bewildered G. They direct me to sit in the cool air conditioning for a few minutes with the ice on my head before driving off. Many instructions and thanks later, I wearily close the door and let out a loud wail. Hot, tired, grumpy. G breaks out of his confused spell, “Are you ok, Mom? Are you ok?“ Total role reversal I think, whimpering.


Game over, we both lose. I’m taking a hiatus from shopping with G for quite some time. As inconvenient and tiring it is to wait until I can get out alone late at night to shop, it will be so much less hazardous to my physical and mental health and less destructive all around. I imagine scenarios of him injuring a stranger, breaking something valuable, falling out of the cart. Not worth it. I should have stopped months ago when G became the epitome of a 2-year old shopper from hell. I guess this was his way of “knocking me over the head” with the obvious.


Guess what? I still have a beautiful bag of frozen shrimp with NO cocktail sauce.