Weight of the world

Most normal people, whoever or wherever they may be, would boggle at my want for half of a well planned out thought in my head. I am finding more and more that forgetfulness is evading my brain and I find myself doing silly things. Like calling the grocery right after I leave to ask them if they would please hold the smoked sausages for me, that I just forgot in the self check out.

I am also getting very tired and stressed. Meltdowns have been getting far less often and in less intensity, except for the last two weeks. Wednesday seems to be the day for the long drawn out screaming, kicking and flailing sessions. Last week he had no speech therapy, his therapist had gone on vacation. Going back this week we sat in the waiting room and Connor couldn't keep his eyes off of another little boy in the room. The little boy walked over to Connor and as soon as he reached out to touch Connor, the boys mother gets a little panicky. "Don't now, be easy. Leave him alone he is sitting there being good!" She squawks as her son does joint compressions on Connor's head and by accident sticks a finger in his eye.

I wait calmly to see if this is what will send him in to flight mode. He sits there rubbing his eye and making small attempts to get free of the stroller. The speech therapist shows up right on time, I set him free and he walks with her hand in hand. When he sees we are going to her room it is too much. Aggravation followed so quickly by disappointment sends him over the edge and he collapses onto the floor.

Half the session is over before he calms down and participates. I sit in front of the door to bar escape and brush my arms and hands. My face, arms and hands are scratched, my hair pulled, and my shoulders popping. My feelings are hurt and my heart in pieces about what he must be going through to do such things.

When we leave he is perfectly fine as if nothing has happened, so I head to the store to pick up forgotten sausages and get pull-ups. He was a perfect gentleman in the store until we head to the exit and he sees "APPLES!"

"Honey we have already checked out and we have apples at home." Have to be told no sometimes, right?

I wrestle through the parking lot trying to keep my toddler from diving head first out of the cart, hold on to the groceries he is trying to throw out, and stop the contents of my purse spilling out. Once he is in his car seat and everything is calm enough to pull out, I can't find my keys. I check the bag, I check my purse 15 times, I check my pockets over and over. I stand behind the car looking at the ground to see if I dropped them. I can't find them. I sit in the drivers seat and let my shoulders slump. pop! pop! pop! They attempt to place themselves correctly.

I want to scream or hit something. I want to cry, but I wont. I am the adult here I have to figure this out. I have to buck up, get him back out of the car and go find these keys.

"OK, now that you have calmed down. Would you like to go get an apple?"

I found my keys in the cart he tried to escape from, and he was happy as can be with a 3/4 pound Fuji apple. I do fear I forgot to get some Aleve. Maybe I can order by mail?

An award!

Walksfarwoman from Kissing the Dogwood has bestowed upon me the Schmooze Award. Thank you Walksfarwoman, I am quite honored.

“Good schmoozers effortlessly weave their way in and out of the blogosphere, leaving friendly trails and smiles, happily making new friends along the way. They don’t limit their visits to only the rich and successful, but spend some time to say hello to new blogs as well. They are the ones who engage others in meaningful conversations, refusing to let it end at a mere hello - all the while fostering a sense of closeness and friendship.”

I pass this award to;

The Mixed Up Thoughts Of A Jadedsoul

Oh, The Joys

Whitterer on Autism

Full-Soul-Ahead

Identity Crisis

Occupational Monday

The same ammo as every Monday.
Pressure vest? Check
Stroller? Check
Toys, books, wax candy? Check, check and check
Get there by the 11 o'clock appointment time? Why the hell bother but, check.
OT 15 minutes late for the appointment and send someone up to say she had a kid in a meltdown? Uh huh, what is she doing to this kid?
My kid in meltdown mode because his therapist has exhausted his patience? Yep, and he has hit his foot and is escalating to flight mode.

I have my suspicions about OT's being of the late persuasion. His last OT was always late and now this one is. I should just expect it by now but it still irritates me. When he sees her he has already started to recover and grabs her hand. He was delighted that she didn't take him to the same old room but instead to the gym. On the way she apologizes and tells me all the things I should not be hearing about the patient before us.

I get right down to business, I am to report how he did the past week after the listening therapy. "Monday he did a couple of good things and then Wednesday and Thursday were pure hell. I was at a point that he was never going to listen to music again if I had any say over it."
"What happened Wednesday and Thursday?"
"Any type of redirection or reprimand was met with whatever was handy thrown at my head, or things within reach knocked off of cabinets. He would stand there looking straight at me and doing whatever came in to his mind that might make me upset!" I am almost in tears thinking about it.
"So what happened the rest of the week?"
"The rest of the week was filled with REALLY good stuff. More words, more sentences, and he was able to hum to tunes better, where as before he was so offbeat. He told his sister Turn light on. He asked me What are you doing? He has been having some small steps toward potty training. Most importantly at bedtime when he is patting my face and nose, he isn't pinching them off. It's like he is realizing his strength." Once again I am close to tears.

"So do you want to try the therapy again this week? I'll try a different CD this time and maybe that won't cause the problems he had last time." She waits looking at me for an answer while nightmares of Wednesday and Thursday come flashing back in my mind. Then I think of all the good things he accomplished and a wise statement from Mcewen at Whitterer on Autism, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

Turn about is fair play

My mother doesn't know about my blog and if she did she doesn't have internet connection at her house. Just not a techno savvy person. However I was thinking over this weekend and what good is it to laugh at someone else if you can't laugh at yourself. So in this spirit, I give you the following story.
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When hubby and I were first married we were very monetarily challenged. We had bought our first house, a tiny little one bedroom house that looked like it could have been made of gingerbread.

I had taken a job babysitting for a friend's son during the day so I could be at home with our daughter who was only a few months old. The boy was about 4 at the time and we would play all kinds of games and entertain each other throughout the day. He even on occasion helped out with the house work.

One day when he was helping with the vacuuming, I remembered what my Mother in law had told me about cleaning the coils under the fridge. She had told me if I vacuumed the coils it would reduce the energy bill. I figured it didn't hurt to try as we could use every penny pinched. I pulled the hose off the upright, bent over and started cleaning. The little boy, being the good little helper that he was, pushed the upright a little closer so I would have enough hose to reach.

The phone rings, I reach around and switch off the vacuum and as I go to stand up the vacuum falls over, the roller brush stuck in the back of my hair. Turns out that when he moved it closer to me the brush of the vacuum was still rolling, and my hair that was quite long got sucked right in. I am quite upset as I am now a Siamese twin to a vacuum cleaner with no means of separation. I finally answer the phone in tears.

My husband was on the line demanding to know what was wrong with me and in between my sobbing and trying to tell him what happened, he decides he had better come home. The little guy had grown quite concerned and I laugh for him when he asks "Are you stucked?"

A short while later, still not able to get the evil thing out of my hair, I hear a knock at the door. It's the little old lady that lived two doors down. She knows I am home but I am not keen to open the door in my state. I go to the door, the vacuum hanging from my head and open the door a tiny tinny sliver to see what she wants.
"Honey, are you OK?" she asks.
"Yes I fine. Did you need something?"
"Well...uh..your husband. A lady came over and hit his truck head on."
"Is he OK?" I forget about my little problem for second and start looking up and down the road my stomach in knots.
"Oh yes, he is fine. The EMS are checking him out. The wreck was right before our house. He keeps telling the police that he has to get to his wife that somethings wrong. I told him I would come check on you."

I fully open the door in a new state of tears and show her the vacuum hanging from my hair. She in turn goes to get her husband to see if he has any tools to get me loose. They were a great old couple and I'm sure they had one hell of a laugh when they got home, but for the time it took to get me loose they never cracked a smile. They were even so kind to watch over the two children while I ran down the road to see for myself that my hubby was OK. He was fine, though I was feeling incredibly guilty.

Round brushes and dicie boxers

Sleep was not easy to come by with the constant rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. When I allowed myself to fully awaken the teens were ready, so I threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, socks and shoes, did a quick brush through my hair, then grabbed coffee and keys and we were out the door. The lightning and thunder had not relented and the rain was coming hard and constant making the air cold. I didn't much care for driving on this ominous morning, but responsibilities are not put off for inclement weather.

There is a five car pile up on the road going the other direction across from Connor's favorite elephant that is safe in the confines of the putt-putt. As we near the high school I grew even more nervous as I know there are teens with very little experience in driving on the very wet streets. I drop the oldest teen off at the front doors of the school safely and relatively dry.

The youngest teen and I find an alternative route to the middle school as the traffic has thickened considerably from the 5 car pile up. We do eventually run into a bit of traffic but thanks to the detour she arrives at school with time to spare.

I get back to the quiet and dry house, hubby and Connor still asleep in their cozy beds. I try to take a bit of time to sit quietly with a cup of coffee and read email. I barely get signed in and my in box opened when I hear knocking at the side door. I am startled at first but the urgent rapping on the door tells me it's my mother.

Swearing under my breath at the inconvenience I go to the door. As I get closer I see her outline silhouetted on the drapes, but something seems strange about it. On the left of her head there appears to be a horn. I dare a peek out of the window and realize the problem straight away. The poor thing is standing at my door step with a round brush sticking straight up in the air, relentless stuck in the hair by her left temple.


As I open the door she pleads for help. I try to restrain myself from laughing and instead ask her if she drove all the way over like that. When she looks at me I realize what a stupid question I had asked. She sits at the table and drinks some coffee as I go gather supplies that may help in freeing her head without leaving a bald spot. About this time the two layabouts have gotten up from bed to see what the noise is about. Hubby asks me to turn her head so he can run through in dice and flame decorated boxers to get to the basement laundry room. I am glad her head is turned when he comes by, she is too emotionally fragile for the look on his face when seeing her plight.

As I start to work on the problem Connor wanders over to see what is going on. He doesn't understand why she has a brush fixed so close to her head. Being one who does not like a brush to be anywhere near his head, he is terrified. Aversion to people with brushes stuck in their hair, who would have guessed.

After Connor is calmed and attention directed elsewhere I continue to work. Hubby comes back upstairs to asks the same stupid question I did. "You drove all the way over like that?"
"Well it's no different than those kids wearing picks in their afros!" she defends, arms flapping.
"Yeah it is. They can get those out when they need them. How did that happen anyway?"
"I sneezed. I was curling my hair and I sneezed." she explains.

Thankfully he doesn't go on about it any longer so I don't have her here in a blubbering mess while trying to get this brush out. She is so tender headed that every touch is meet with "eeks" and "ohhs" and hands flying in the air as if I was ripping the hair out of her skull by the handful.
"Can you just cut it out?" She is reaching her limit.
"No I can't have you going around looking weird. You just went through all the trouble of having your hair done and we are going to keep it in tack!" I wouldn't like to see her back in frizzy ponytails.

That gave me an idea and I run to the bathroom and grab a pair of nail clippers. I clip off the bristles of the brush and have her free in a matter of moments with a majority of the hair still attached to her head.

Later that night as I am recounting the story to my sister over the phone she starts to laugh. Not just a giggle but a tears in your eyes and face hurting kind of laugh. I thought it was a funny situation but hadn't thought it that hilarious. "What's got you in stitches over there?" I ask
"Well it was on her left side so she couldn't hide it from other drivers could she?"
"No I guess not." Still not clued in.
"Well imagine you are going down the road and you happen to look over and see a rusty old white 72' Chevy pickup with pink and purple pin striping, and then you see an old woman driving it with a brush sticking up out of her head! Just goes to show you can't go on a first impression can you?"

Breakfast with Friends

Very rough evening so I guess I am kind of cheating and taking a Wordless Wenesday late. Oops guess not totally wordless.

Just say it, please!

For awhile I thought he had problems with the muscles in his mouth (Apraxia), because sometimes when he opened his mouth to say something his tongue would just dart around everywhere and words would fail to come. Now I believe he can say anything. Sure some of the consonants could use refinement and his grammar isn't the best. He always pronounces cookie as tookie, lion as wion, water as wader, but I look at these as 3 yr old kid pronunciations.

He has short sentences, most scripted but we all have to start somewhere. His conversations have few exchanges but we are seeing more and more back and forth.

He shows his teasing sense of humor at the dinner table while we eat. Putting his knees in his chair he puts the weight of his upper body on his elbows, leans sideways, looks at his Dad and says "I gonna fall!" in the cutest sing-song southern drawl.
"You're not gonna fall if you straighten up in your seat." Dad responds.
"I gonna fall!"
"No you're not, sit down right and eat."
"I gonna fall Daddy!" He screams and laughs. Daddy just can't help but smile because it is too darn cute and he said "Daddy."

I had swore that if he ever said "Mommy" I would probably faint from shock. I used to spend so much time teaching him that word, just to have him stare blankly back at me or say something totally different. He started talking never saying it and then when he did, he was only making noises. He wasn't talking about or to me at all. I was sick of all the evaluators and his OT calling me "Poor thing." when they found out.

One night at dinner we were playing a game of "who is that?". We would point to another person at the table and ask "Connor, who is that?" Finally one night I was blessed and he said "Mommy" and was talking about me! I didn't faint or fall out of my chair but sat there and cried a little, hoping that it wouldn't discourage him from saying it again.

It hadn't discouraged him and we are hearing it more and more. One night last week when it was Daddy's night to tuck him in, he sat up real fast looked around his room and asked "Where Mommy?" I was in the bathroom and heard him. Between you and me, that felt really really good.