21 posts tagged “family”
Don't ask me why; the kid's been to plenty of movies in theatres before and never had a problem.
Yes, he took all his meds today just fine.
But, just got back from an "Asperger's moment" at a showing of the new Pixar movie "Up," and it's still upsetting me.
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Eldest Son was wiggling. He can't help it; he's fidgety. Apparently he kicked the seat of the guy in front of him; apparently he did it enough to bug the guy. Guy's a grown-up, a dad; his own wife and girl are there too. Daughter seems about the age of Eldest Son.
Guy turns around and says to Eldest Son, politely, "Will you please stop kicking my seat?" And we all think that's the end of it.
('Course not!)
5 minutes later, Guy turns around and says AGAIN to Eldest Son, "Will you PLEASE stop kicking my seat??"
D.H. intervenes, saying strictly to E.S., "You need to move, or else you're leaving."
E.S. goes rigid in his seat and starts to ask loudly, "Why do I have to move?"
I try to play peacemaker, saying, "Just come over here with me" (to where there isn't anyone in front of us) "I'll move too."
E.S.: "NO! I can't SEE as well from there!" (3 seats to the left.)
D.H. (to me): "He has to move, or else he's leaving."
E.S. (bursting into loud, shocking, sobs): "NO! Why do I have to move? I didn't do it!"
But I get him to move. I sit down with him, 3 seats over.
Crisis averted?
Heavens no!
E.S. cannot stop sobbing. Loud, heart-rending sobs. I hiss, "E.S., you HAVE to be quiet, or you will have to leave!"
E.S. (loudly, sobbing): "I WILL be quiet, if you'll just tell me why I had to move!"
Me, whispering: "I'll tell you afterwards, but you need to be quiet, RIGHT NOW!"
E.S. (sobbing): "I CAN'T!"
(It's true, when he gets like this, he can't.)
Me: "Just try! Please! I don't want you to have to--"
Mom from row in front of me gets in my face: "I know he's upset, but my daughters can't hear the movie, and--"
Me: "I understand, but my son has Asperger's, and--"
Other Mom: "I understand, but my daughters--"
D.H. (from further down the row): "He has to leave, now!"
D.H. grabs E.S. and hustles him out.
I slink over to sit between my two normal ("neurotypical" or NT) children for the rest of the movie, weeping -- silently.
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What do you do when you have an eight-year-old who looks like a ten-year-old and talks like a twelve-year-old -- and can't manage himself in a movie theatre as well as his four-year-old brother?
Did the guy in front of us have the right to watch a movie without having his seat kicked? Yes, of course.
Did the mom in front of us have the right for her daughers to watch the movie without being disturbed by my son's howls? Yes, of course.
Did someone have to remove E.S. from the situation until he could calm down? Yes, of course -- and since I didn't do it when it became necessary, D.H. had to.
Was there some way we could have handled the situation so that my eight-year-old child could have seen the rest of the movie just like all the other kids?
What should we have done differently?
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Guy no doubt left the theatre thinking he was in the right, thinking, or perhaps even saying out loud to his fam, "Can you believe that mom wouldn't take that rotten kid out of the movie theatre?"
Guy and Mom in Front of Me were probably congratulating themselves on the calm-but-firm way they stood up for their rights to that over-indulgent mama who was letting her kid get away with murder.
Other parents probably were thinking, "How dare that noisy brat ruin the movie for the rest of us!"
Other parents may have said to their kids later, "No kid of mine's ever gonna behave that way!" (I have had one boy innocently report to me that his parents said that to him, concerning Eldest Son's behavior.)
And they're probably right, none of their kids WILL behave that way, and lucky for them. But instead of patting themselves on the back for what good parents they are, in reality, they need to realize it's because their kids are NT. After all, my NT kids did fine, too.
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Agreed -- Eldest Son had to leave the theatre, at the point where he couldn't keep quiet. I KNOW that when he crosses that line, he really, truly CAN'T help it -- and I should have let D.H. take him out in the first place, before he started howling. Maybe he could have gotten it together in the lobby and come back in.
If an epileptic kid went into seizures in the theatre, they'd take him out -- he can't help it.
If a diabetic kid got low-blood-sugar-y and started to convulse, they'd take him out -- he can't help it.
I should have taken E.S. out myself. I should have let D.H. take him out.
But I didn't want him to miss the movie, either.
I really, really wanted for him to just move to another seat and calm down, and watch the rest of the movie.
He was almost there -- I truly do BELIEVE he was almost there -- when Mom in Front of Me had to stand up for her daughters' rights. (Can I blame her, really? If all my kids were NT, wouldn't I do the same?) But then it was Game Over.
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So, everybody -- can you please have a little more compassion if you see something similar happening?
Do you really believe that a kid that big would behave in such a way as to have to leave a movie he really wanted to see -- if he could help it?
Do you really believe that a parent who cared enough to take all her kids to a movie like that would allow him to behave that way if there weren't extenuating circumstances?
Remember, we paid money for the tickets, too. And 2 of our 5 family members missed half the movie.
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This is our life. Always on edge, never sure when or where, exactly, the explosion will occur -- just knowing that sooner or later, it will. And, when it does, neither we as parents nor our child will be viewed with compassion by those around us, but rather, will be judged. And judged harshly. Will be blamed.
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Dear fellow movie-goers: Y'all had to put up with a couple of minutes of it in the movie theatre, then D.H. obligingly removed the problem from your midst.
We live it.
We eat, sleep, and breathe it. Literally.
Every meal we eat as a family is influenced by Eldest Son's rigidity, his obsessiveness, his socially inappropriate outbursts. Every evening is shaped by his inability to turn off his restless mind and just go to sleep -- like our NT kids do. Every picnic, every party, every school play, every play date (not that there are many of those), every visit to a playground, every family get-together -- we live it.
Waiting for the explosion that, sooner or later, WILL come. We cannot escape it.
Eldest Son lives it too.
Everyone's always mad at him. He's always getting hauled off from one thing or another because of his outbursts.
Do you think he likes that? Do you think that's fun for him?
He lives it too. He can't escape it either.
It's in his head. It's who he is. He can't escape it either.
And doesn't he have rights too?
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So what SHOULD we have done differently? So that Guy's rights and Mom in Front of Me's daughters' rights, AND Eldest Son's rights could have happily coexisted?
Should have hauled him out sooner -- check. But then that might have precipitated the very explosion we were trying to avoid. (Believe me, that's a frequent occurrence.)
Should we have him wear a scarlet A on his head, and explain to everyone around us exactly what it means to be a kid with Asperger's? Or is it none of their stinkin' bidness? Or does it become their bidness when his neurological problems disturb their peace?
(By the way, we've avoided talking to him in terms of the "label." He knows he's different and finds some things hard that come easily to others, but we've never sat him down and said, "You have Asperger's and this is what it means." Maybe we should and we intend to later -- but his therapist agrees that now is not the time, yet. -- He was too wound up to have noticed when I whispered it to Mom in Front of Me.)
In retrospect, I wish I had asked E.S. to sit on my lap or something the first time Guy turned around. But, at that time I already had Littlest Brother on my lap -- he had been burying his face in my shoulder at some scary part, I no longer remember what. So I was preoccupied and didn't pay enough attention to the incident until it was too late.
When your oldest child is a special-needs child, and your younger children are still young enough to be needy, whose needs do you drop? You're juggling these 3 little eggs, which one do you let go splat on the floor?
Today at the movies, it was Eldest Son.
Things are getting normal around here again.
(Thanks, you guys...)
Writing:
I submitted one short piece last week, I'm submitting another one today, and I think I can get another one ready before the weekend is out. And I've got three more that I really want to finish and I think have a lot of potential. I feel ready to move into longer pieces -- novellas and novelettes. 10 - 20K, or 30 - 50K. And I've got three or four of those I want to bang out, too.
Home:
I've begun to get my house more organized. The piles are off the dining table and counters (AGAIN), I've cleaned up Precious Princess's room so that you can actually close the closet doors and see the floor, and I've restored one laundry basket to its intended purpose (from stashing place for piles of miscellany). Friday: Tackling Eldest Son's bedroom. (This will be a bigger challenge.)
Kids:
I've gotten my child to at least try his medication, at least until we see the doctor again and he can talk to her about it. (Lengthy conversations around our house that go something like: "I don't like how it makes me feel." "How's that, honey?" "It makes me feel happier." "And why don't you want to be happier?" "Dunno, I just DON'T!" "Why do you think it's the medication? Maybe you just had a good day." "Because I've never felt this happy before!" "But why don't you want to be happy? I really want you to be happy -- for your sake." "I just DON'T!")
Work:
I've gotten two websites up and running, one for me as an author, one for me as a marketing / communications consultant. I've registered my company name with the county. I need to take more active steps to drum up business, but, per Dear Husband's support, I don't feel pressured to do so yet. (Though if anybody NEEDS some marketing advice or business writing, let me know, 'kay?)
Marriage:
This Friday will be our 16th wedding anniversary! Yipes. If our marriage were a kid, it could drive. Which reminds me, I need to see if I can't find a baby-sitter and make some dinner reservations.
Weight Loss:
Ohhh, shucks. Back to my bad old ways. Which reminds me, I need to jump on that treadmill, right now.
Bye.
I adore the music of Sara Groves.
I don't generally care much for Christian rock -- I hear so much more divinity in traditional choral music -- but I can never get enough of Sara Groves. Her music is richly haunting, and her lyrics deceptively simple, many-layered. She so richly expresses things I need to hear; and almost every song of hers makes me think. Hard.
Tuesday afternoon I was thinking of this song from her "All Right Here" album:
"You Cannot Lose My Love"
You will lose your baby teeth
At times you'll lose your faith in me
You will lose a lot of things
But you cannot lose my love
You may lose your appetite
Your guiding sense of wrong and right
You may lose your will to fight
But you cannot lose my love
You will lose your confidence
In times of trial your common sense
You may lose your innocence
But you cannot lose my love
Many things can be misplaced
Your very memories be erased
No matter what the time or space
You cannot lose my love
You cannot lose
You cannot lose
You cannot lose my love
***
That last stanza made me cry the first time I heard it. My husband's grandmother had died not long before, after a long period of progressively worsening dementia. My own grandfather was dying, and following a similar course. It was very hard for me to watch the diminishment of these beloved people, especially as my own small children were doing the exact opposite. Every day my son became a tiny bit more capable, and every day my grandfather became a tiny bit less.
Dementia is sort of horrifying and terrifying to witness. After all, what am I -- the "I" that thinks these things -- if not a being capable of rational thought? What am I if not my own unique collection of memories and experiences? And if those memories disappear, if my intellect disappears, what will be left of me? I know dementia is not catching, and yet, I have always found it extremely disquieting, if only because it is a reminder of our own fragility and impermanence.
Then I heard this song.
When it came to the part about how, "Your very memories be erased, but you cannot lose my love" this expressed so strongly to me how the essential person-hood -- the soul -- of my grandfather was separate from his intellect and his rapidly vanishing memories, and how there was still something precious there. Something God loved. Something I could love. And I cried, hearing it; but it was a good kind of cry.
In a smaller way, at various times, I have lost many of the other things mentioned in this song -- lost and in some cases, regained. So I find this song comforting, as a reminder of the one thing, of all things, that I cannot lose.
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Tuesday afternoon this song came to me in a new way.
(This was why that vote of confidence from Precious Princess later in the evening was doubly precious.)
Had a difficult phone call from Eldest Son's principal. Heart sinking, feeling defeated, not knowing what to do or how to approach the kid, how to solve this particular problem and how to steer him away from repeating it.
Unlike me, I prayed. I do not have a strong instinct to pray -- wasn't raised with it -- and it is not usually my first reaction when things get tough. But this time, rather than let my mind race about like a frantic hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere except exhausted, I decided to pray.
Song lyrics came into my head, together with their melodies.
First came, "Love one another, love one another, love one another... as I have loved you."
Then came the song above, the Sara Groves song.
This time I knew that it was not only a comforting reminder to me, but a directive as well.
I had to find a way to reach my son, to impress upon him the seriousness of the incident, to help him think of a way to make amends, to help him decide for himself that it was wrong and he shouldn't do it again, help him take ownership of his misbehavior... and yet, and yet, avoid making him feel bereft of my love.
Make him feel that no matter what else he loses -- in this case, his temper and his impulse control -- he cannot lose my love.
Ranting and raving was going to do more harm than good.
He's a stubborn mule, that kid; the harder you pull, the harder he digs in his heels.
I needed to not give him a reason to dig in his heels on this.
I think I managed it. By the time everyone went to bed, I was pretty sure he had taken ownership of the problem, taken it seriously, taken a step toward making amends... and still believed I loved him.
No matter what the time or space, he cannot lose my love.
Is it bad to drive when your eyes can't stay focused?
I only ask because twice now within the past 2 weeks, I've found myself driving along a freeway, desperately trying to keep my eyes tracking together and focusing on the cars and road in front of me.
(Anybody else have that thing where your eyes want to go off in two different directions when you're trying not to fall asleep? Used to happen to me all the time in college lectures. Sort of like when you're taking notes as you're falling asleep, and while you're doing it you're utterly secure in the knowledge that you're grasping all the really important points, only when you go to read your notes later, they trail off first into gibberish, and then into chicken-scratch??? Really embarrassing on those occasions when I was sitting in the front row...)
My grandfather used to make a habit of falling asleep while driving.
It's, or it was, while he was alive, sort of a standing family joke. He never killed himself or anyone else (I don't think) while falling asleep while driving, so he sort of enjoyed the luck of fools and madmen. He and all of his passengers, who sometimes included his four children. Who all survived to become my father and aunts (or Pumpkinshell & Jamoker's mother and aunts and uncle). So that's what makes it sort of a joke instead of a tragedy. You have to laugh or else you'd cry. (Meaning utterly no disrespect, of course, to anyone who has suffered such a tragedy.)
So anyway I'm wondering if that could be hereditary, and if so, does it mean I'm getting old? Or just that I'm not getting enough sleep? Or just that I should stay off the road??
G'night.
At the Big Lake. Our favorite Lake Michigan beach, Meinert Park Beach.
It's in the middle of nowhere, it's never crowded, it doesn't have "issues" with E.Coli counts (b/c nowhere near a major river outlet or city), there are potties (though they're locked up in October), it's entirely covered in sugar sand, has dunes to climb, and a river runs through it. Well, a little stream actually, but that's enough to bring variety to the beach experience.
Plus, the fun of it is, it's a small enough stream that a family with shovels can change its course as it wanders across the sand. Another family did, on Saturday -- much to Eldest Son's chagrin. We spent Sunday trying to change it back, without success. Oh well. It'll undoubtedly be different when we go back at Thanksgiving. Its entry to Lake Michigan is always in a different spot, every time we go.
The Big Lake. I grew up swimming in it, often at this very beach, jumping in its waves, sailing on it, absolutely loving it. I could never get enough.
For you non-Midwesterners out there -- You look to the north and you look to the south, and as far as the eye can see, it's sandy beach stretching away from you. You can look across the blue water to the horizon without seeing land.
And yet, how can you tell it's not the ocean? Because you can. The most recent beach I visited before this was at the ocean, and somehow you can tell.
The size of the waves, the feel of the water, the color of the water -- the little curl of turquoise you see just before the wave breaks -- it's different. No foam, no tide, no hissing sizzle as the wide waves fan out over the strand . No salt to wash off, afterwards. Your feet squeak in the clean dry sand in a way that just sounds different from walking in salt-water sand.
Had a fabulous time at the Mother-Son Magical Evening, and so did my date.
He is sweet enough to be looking forward to the day when Littlest Brother is old enough to come with us. Isn't that awesome?
Also, couldn't have asked for a better weekend over at The Cottage; the weather was unbelievable.
Spent too many hours at The Big Lake and let my poor kids get sunburned.
(BAD Mom! BAD!)
Pictures to follow, some other time. I'm just too tired.
Tonight I'll be taking Eldest Son to our local Rec Center's "Mother-Son Magical Evening."
We went last year and he absolutely loved it.
50 or 60 little boys and their associated moms, pizza and pop, and a real live magician; what's not to love?
Most of his magic tricks started or ended with something gross -- snotty Kleenexes and the like. This, of course, thrilled the boys.
Eldest Son's been looking forward to this for weeks.
Then bright and early tomorrow morning, we're heading over to The Cottage, to take my grandma's boat out of the water for her.
So, no blogging from me for the next few days.
Cheers!
Bowl of Cherries!
More scenes from vacation:
(By the way, for those who aren't family members, that's not their dad, that's their uncle, my brother Tom.)
(Just so I don't give you an unrealistic view of our recent vacation, bear in mind that I did NOT photograph the tantrums, the fights, the whining, the sleep deprivation, the almost-drowning, the bug bites, etc. <<== All of those refer to the kids, by the way. The adults were pretty well-behaved! ;-) )
New camera, new camera!! Took me a while to install the download software on my computer, etc. Also, we were on vacation with (believe it or not) limited internet access.
Scenes from the first 4th of July weekend, at The Cottage:
But in a good way.
I mean the grandparents are back from Florida!!
Oh joy!!!!
And they've just taken ALL the kids away for the entire day!!!
Oh joy and rapture!!!!!
I would feel guilty about being so happy to be away from my kids, except...
When I can't respond to them in any other way than hostility, I know I need a break.
I need a break from my regular job, and, unlike my Darling Husband, I don't GET a break from my regular job on weekends.
You know, my job, which starts at 6:30 in the morning, whenever the first one wakes up, and ends about 9:30 at night when the last one gets, and stays, in bed? That job. Hm. 15-hour days. And on call all night. And no weekends off. Hm.
If I worked that way for my former corporate job, I wouldn't feel the least bit guilty for taking a little "comp time" here and there.
