Before the summer was over the girls and I decided we needed to get out of the house and do something. Something other than going to the zoo or park. So we decided on a small road trip, to go out of town and eat lunch at a restaurant we have never been to before.
We packed up a small amount of supplies; snacks, diapers, and wipes for the boy. Ipods, magazines, and bottled water for them. Off we went and we really enjoyed ourselves. Unfortunately as we were turning into the parking lot of the restaurant we had decided looked good, Connor had started to nod off. He is of course grumpy as we wake him up and as I take him into the restaurant he starts to scream and kick. I leave my girls to find us a good spot while I take Connor to the restroom in hopes he will calm down. He lays crumpled in the floor now that all appendages have turned to jelly. I sit near him but do not touch him, if I touch him he kicks or throws an arm at me. A little girls walks out of the stall and stares at us as if she had come across a murder scene. She barely washes and dries her hands before darting out, all the while making a noise "Oooohhhhmmmm!"
He has decided he is suddenly happy to be there and is OK with leaving the bathroom. He takes my hand and we walk toward my daughters. We walk hand in hand and he is taking everything in and I actually see a smile on his face. His hand then starts to slip out of mine and his little body is starting a slow descent toward the floor as he sees his sisters and where they expect us to sit.
He is fine with sunlight when he is outside, but sunlight streaming in from a window is not tolerated. A table in the corner of a room that has a window on each wall where the rest of the room is relatively dim is absolute torture. There are no other tables available so I try to put him in a seat with his back towards the largest window hoping this will suffice. As I suspect the placement doesn't make it any better and he places himself where he finds it most comfortable for all senses, under the table lying on his stomach with his head as close as possible to our feet.
I reason with myself that if left alone he may calm down enough to adjust to his surrounds and that a pleasant lunch isn't totally out of the question. The waitress comes to the table to take our drink orders, she is much older and seems to very be concerned about the situation. She tries to talk to him like she would any other child his age. "Honey, you don't wanna lay down there. That floor is dirty, you'll getcha clothes all messed up"
"He is autistic, it may be awhile before we get him up off the floor." I tell her, hoping it will encourage her to go ahead with the drink order.
Still looking down at him like she expected him to react, she says in a very pleasant southern singsong voice, "Well........Oh well!" and leaves us to get our drinks.
I look at my oldest daughter and see she is red in the face and stopping herself from laughing. I chuckle a little and ask "She has no idea what the heck I'm talking about does she?"
"Nope not a clue."
At that point my youngest daughter pipes up "Who cares we aren't ever going to see these people again. He's not hurting anything, let's eat!"
Very sage advice I think.