Grooming the Cat

I love a morning that I can sleep a little later and not have to wake up to an alarm. Now that the boys are older and a bit more autonomous, they can take care of themselves and help the girls with their breakfast, which allows me a little extra sleep. Usually, I become quasi-conscious after #2 wakes up. He has full conversations with the wall and walks like an angry giant. All of the boys don't have the ability to self regulate their volume yet. We are constantly asking them to speak less loud.  I heard them talking and I turned over and tried to sleep just a little more. I was enjoying my moment.

That is, until I woke up to a twin standing over me, covered in something, yet to be determined, pointing erratically toward the hall and with that, the screaming registered in my foggy head, and I realized that some shit went down while I were sleeping. After I rubbed my eyes while singing a verse of Theory of a Dead Man's, "I hate my life" I got up and discovered that someone opened a box of granola inefficiently and the contents and what used to be the box were laying on the floor next to the toddler scissors. There was a trail of milk from the refrigerator to the pile of granola on the floor. At that moment, I wished I had a dog, contemplated the probability of borrowing someones dog, and then looked for the secondary mess. 

When you have more than one child, there is always a secondary mess which is usually more gross, damaging, and infuriating than the first. And then I noticed something else, all the kids had vanished. Where could they have gone? They knew that the second I found the secondary mess, I was going to pop a gasket and that is why they disappeared.  But, no, I wrote in my parental pledge book that I would not lose my temper and yell at the kids. Well, I guess that was an unrealistic expectation. I am yelling at their asses when I find them.  I was on a quest: to find the secondary mess and the five offspring, I fondly call my genetic mutations. Where were they hiding?

And then I felt something rub against my legs, it was our cat, Psycho. She felt different. Her fur felt different against my legs. Weird. And then I looked down. The cat was covered in sticky tape. Upon closer examination, I discovered two things: there was an awful lot of tape and the tape seems to be holding something. I looked around the room and found the evidence: a pair of toddler scissors, an empty box of cookies and a little pile of cat hair. I then looked at Psycho and started to peel the tape off her. They had cut off some of her fur and tried to tape it back on. Oh, I'm loving my life and the person who thought of putting vodka in breakfast drinks. Where were those little vandals?

I found the twins and they told me who the perpetrator was. Gotta love little chatty four years old who are happy to please.  #2 the Aspy, confessed that he had read some article about the importance of pet grooming and decided to give it a try. I then had a talk about not doing things they read or saw on YouTube  without permission. That is, unless it involves cleaning.

All parents know, that when the kids are quiet, trouble is imminent. But sometimes, I am willing to turn a blind eye to probable chaos in exchange for a few more minutes of sleep. After all, it was just a kitty haircut and not surgery. Thanks George Jessel for inventing the Bloody Mary, it is the only way to start the day at Casa de Crazy.

Sense This

The Baltimore chapter of the Autism Society of America, ASA, recently hosted a speaker to come  and talk about Sensory Processing. Sensory Processing is how your brain via the central nervous system processes all stimuli from the environment. The disorder is when the brain misreads or over-reacts to the external stimulus and it could cause issues among all the senses or just one. It can cause a myriad of reactions, like: when a child freaks out because the florescent lights are flickering or humming even though no one else in the room seems to be affected. It also causes people to cover their ears due to sounds, voices,or excitement. It is why some people can't eat certain tastes or textures. It is why some people freak out going to IKEA.  It is why some kids spin in circles, unaffected and why some kids are afraid of falling. It is about hyper and hypo sensitivities within the senses which means that their brain is unable to regulate them properly.

Most people have some type of processing disorder, be it large or small. After all, we can't expect perfection from our bodies. They are very complex and since so many parts rely on each other, it is easy for something to ago awry. We all know people who can't stand certain voices, and it just may be a coincidence that it is their mother-in-law who triggers the "fight or flight" response. I feel so overwhelmed when I walk into Bed Bath and Beyond, that I have to leave, and it is not because I forgot my 20% off coupon.  Some people love roller coasters and some people can't tolerate them. And some people gag at certain sights or smells.

Our guest speaker brought in different types of materials that are used to help people with Sensory Processing issues. Since they affect all the senses, she had many to appeal to every one, which ranged from squishy balls to snacks. And we were allowed to try them all, which may have not been the best idea for a very giddy, happy to be out of the house, ADHD person like myself.

Because, then she brought out the Body-Sox. It is a stretchy bag with a Velcro closure that you can completely fit into and close. When it got to me, I had to give that baby a whirl. After all, I had several children with sensory issues and #1 would LOVE it, so it was research. I had to do the mommy investigating. In the middle of her presentation, I stepped into the bag, closed the Velcro half way and did my best "here's Johnny"'(my favorite scene from the movie, The shining), causing the speaker to pause while everyone else who knew me, cracked up.  I have to admit, it did feel pretty good in there. If I had on the noise canceling headphones that were playing classical music while in the Body-Sox, it would've been that much better. 

Sensory integration issues are really quite subtle. People react to external stimulation in a number of ways and sometimes, it is often mistaken as bad behavior.  I am sure many people have lost their shit because they heard one too many Barney songs, their in-law's voice, an alarm that won't shut off, or the flickering of a fluorescent light bulb.These things trigger the "fight or flight" instinct which is so overwhelming that it can cause aggressive behavior,  While I was at #3's field day, which had to be inside because of the rain, one child in particular was misbehaving. It wasn't mine, Yippee! He was sent to he office and brought back a bit later. I knew he had some special needs so I walked over to him and asked him if it was too loud for him. He looked at me and smiled, it seemed he was relieved that I understood the issue. He was so overstimulated by all the kids and noise that he couldn't help but bother other kids by touching them and swinging his body around. When I offered him a quiet spot which became sitting in front of me on the floor while I gave him some deep pressure, he relaxed and smiled. And in that smile was his message, "thank you for getting it."

For many of us, it is hard to stop and redirect ourselves or others while we are being sucked into the the "fight or flight" vortex. Many times, people in the midst of a sensory meltdown can't tell you what will make it better, so you have to know how to respond.  In my years of dealing with my kids and learning about all things Autism, I have learned that there are so many subtitles that exist within the diagnosis. I find that if you just sit back and observe the environment and the child's reaction, you can get a general baseline of how they will react to certain stimuli in the environment. But as much as you think you are ready for everything, there will always be something that causes the child to react in a way that screams, "I am having a sensory reaction"  but  you can't pinpoint the cause and it can be very frustrating for all parties involved.

That may be your cue to grab the vodka, headphones, walk into the closet and crawl into the Body-Sox.

Playing Appropriately

This morning, my 10 year old, #1 with Autism, was playing a game with his siblings. It was loud and it involved running.  I didn't care that they were running in the house or being loud because they were playing appropriately. The twins and #3 would approach #1 and make a duck sound. Then, #1 would lurch at them like a monster and then the three little crazies would run away screaming, leaving #1 laughing with a big smile on his face. The game continued all morning until they left for school. At one point, #3 sat down to play his DS, but #1 still wanted to play, so he stood in front of #3 and said, "I'm waiting here", His perfect pitch does allow him to imitate my Jersey accent perfectly, and then the game resumed.


While I was getting the kids ready for school, I told #3 several times to get his shoes on, but he wasn't complying. #1 knew that if #3 continued to be non-compliant,  he was going to get into trouble, so he  picked up the shoes and tried to put them on #3's feet. He has never done anything like that before and I stood there, stunned. He wanted to play with #3 and didn't want him to get into trouble, so he was trying to protect him. It was subtly amazing. If you didn't know anything about him, it wouldn't have even tipped the radar, but I stood there and watched him do everything so matter-of-factly.  He did have some trouble putting on #3's shoes and I decided to talk him through the process instead of jumping in to do it, and he did it. I had to correct the wrong feet, but he did it, just like a big brother would. Just like a typical big brother would. Earth to ground control, we have a connection.  

We have noticed that #1's interactions with his siblings has been more deliberate and reciprocal lately. Before, the girls would pull him places or make demands on him and he would comply even if it made him unhappy. He is a child of ABA, he is trained to comply with demand. When he was almost three years old, he began ABA therapy. He is accustomed to people placing demands on him and regardless of his feelings about the tasks, he would have to complete them. We have seen him switch off a show he was watching because the girls told him to change it.  He would get very upset, but he did as they asked. We've seen him give up playing his X-Box because one of his brothers kicked him off of it, which caused him to run off screaming and took him hours to recover from. We had to teach him the phrase, " you're not my Mom or my Dad and I don't have to listen to you" to counter the brothers when they were bossing him around.  All the kids viewed #1 more as a tool and less as a sibling to interact with.

Lately, he has been acutely plugged in to what his siblings like. He knows about Star Wars because his brothers like it, but he is more drawn to the girls just because he likes the same things they do: Disney Jr, My Little Ponies and Jumping on the trampoline. I have walked into his room to see the twins sitting with him playing ponies. I watched them laugh and play together so spontaneously and naturally. I have forced myself to look past the six year difference between them and the fact that a typical 10 year old has an entirely different set of interests than #1, to see precious sibling interactions. He is not just responding, he is engaging them appropriately, and that is no small feat.

I have watched all five kids play games on the trampoline together. It is seldom that all five can have a prolonged positive interaction, so when it happens, I have to sit back, appreciate the moment and wait for someones head to get bonked to break the streak.

We always stress to #2, the aspy, that he needs to be helpful to the siblings and act like a big brother.  I think that somewhere in #1's head, something clicked. He realized that if he is older than #2, then he should act like a big brother too. Or maybe, his helpfulness partly stems from his Auditory Processing issues, since it is much easier to help them so they don't cry, than to listen to them cry. Maybe it started there, but when he gets the positive reinforcement for playing with his siblings: fun, he see the value in it.

The primary driver of ABA is the reward. To get a child to complete a task, the reward must be worthy of the effort. Many kids with Autism view communication or interaction with people as a functional act; I need something, they need to help me get it, I need to use my communication skills. It is a pragmatic use of communication. When they are using their communication skills appropriately and the reward is not tangible, but a feeling, like having fun, it is a milestone. For kids on the spectrum to seek out interaction with people because they feel it is fun, is so huge.

There were times in the past that I worried about what his capacity would be as a functional, contributing, sibling, classmate, and person at large. I must say, that I am worried no more. His skills are emerging and improving daily.  Thanks to his siblings, who push him and see him for who he is, his potential is so much more than if he were an only child.  I have seen the shift in the way he deals with the twins and his brothers and although he may be emotionally a few years behind his typical peers, I have faith that he will get there in time. Even the turtle finishes the race eventually. 

My Heart Will Go On

At the end of the school year, the teachers usually host an event to give thanks to the many parents who helped out during the school year. When I went to #1's school, they had an elaborate spread and the highlight was when the sign language club performed a few songs.  #2 & #3's school, had their volunteer appreciation breakfast last week, and I was happy that I was able to bring the twins with me.

Everything was great. There was food, coffee, juice and some awesome moms. But, then the music teacher brought in the fourth grade class and they were all holding their recorders. Great. One kid practicing the recorder at home is painful enough.  Forty kids playing recorder in a quasi-controlled group is just one way the music teacher can express her feelings about not getting any holiday presents or special accolades during teacher appreciation week. F-U people, I teach your talentless kids and it is a thankless and painful job.  I'm going to let you know how much I appreciate you. Welcome to hell on earth people. 

Before they began, the music teacher gave a little speech about how the fourth grade had just finished a unit about the Titanic and their first song, they were playing more than one?, was in tribute to the unit. They were playing the theme song from the movie, Titanic, "My Heart Will Go On" and from the first note, I struggled to contain myself. Tears were streaming down my face and my friend Katie had to stop looking at me because she was laughing too. It was positive feedback at its finest.  I was grateful that I had one of the twins on my lap to hide behind as I tried to regain my composure. They were murdering a song about death. How ironic.

I never thought of the recorder as a musical instrument. It is just a glorified whistle and is not capable of not sounding like shit. I never heard of anyone at Julliard majoring in recorder. I never heard of anyone doing a recorder recital at Carnegie Hall. What merits does the recorder bring to the music world other than upset the homeostasis within the home of every third grader who touches the horrible offender? Please don't send me YouTube links to people playing the recorder less painfully, I have enough reasons to drink already.

When the second song began, Twin R told me she wanted to dance, and as soon as she got up, her sister joined her. They got up right in front of everyone and danced. When the focus shifted to the two, little, crack butterflies dancing in front of everyone, the music became less painful. The music shifted to the periphery and the girls became the main event. Maybe it was not what the passive/aggressive music teacher had planned, but they saved us all. No therapy needed this week due to recorders. 

Thanks to my crack butterflies, I  did not need to enhance the OJ and survived being appreciated recorder style.

Perfection is an illusion

Long before most of us had kids, we had an idea of what we'd be like as parents. We had the ideal fantasy of what our world with children would be like. And while we sat staring at our first child, we put together a little list of the things we wanted to teach our kids, the things we needed to modify within ourselves to be that "perfect" parent, which of course had no resemblance to our own parents at all. We clung to it as our personal parent bible and we would rise to the challenge. We would be the best parents the world has ever known. 

With that, the first kid is watched like a hawk, juice boxes are evil and you hyper-hover so that no chemicals via manufactured foods will ever get inside your kid. You do the kid classes and although they may not have a clue what is going on, you feel validation in a room full of mother's doing the same thing. 

Then the second kid comes along, and a couple of the things you used to micro manage, lose their ranking on the priority chain. It takes some reworking and time,  but eventually you adjust to two kids. Kid classes are harder with two, so you stop going. You say "I can play with them at home",  pat yourself on the back and carry on.

And then you have more kids and everything goes to hell. The house looks like several small tornadoes ransacked the house at all times, even after you spent several hours cleaning it. Juice boxes become the norm and you let them have any type of chemical-laden food just so they give you a few minutes alone, and if that occurs while you're in the bathroom, then it's a double bonus. Classes become too expensive and too difficult to manage with all the kids, so you stay home and plug them in because you're too tired. You're just happy you've made it through the day so far. 


People see you in public with all the kids and say things like, "are they all yours?" No, I got the BOGO code and got a great deal in aisle 13, and, "I don't know how you do it", I drink, lady.  Lots and lots. If crack came in a patch, I would be wearing one.  I miss the days in NJ where the the liquor stores were attached to the grocery stores and I could wheel everyone into the liquor store after grabbing milk, to fill my cart up with essentials. The cashier would make the observation that I was buying more beer than food, count the kids and nod her head. You feel my pain, lady?

When you start allocating a percentage of the grocery money for beer, all the ideas you had long ago, about being the perfect parent become laughable. You realize that you yell and threaten your kids as much, if not better than your parents. "I'll give you something to cry about". But instead of hitting, we'll introduce Barbie to the recyclable bin. You have become your parents and every time you say, "How many times have I told you...", you grimace and have to squelch the impulse to soak your head in the sink. 


You shift your focus on surviving the parenting experience, and hope that your kids will be resilient enough to not need as much therapy as you think they will.

You let go of the word "perfect" and strive for "better than most", which is way more realistic. Perfection is like a unicorn. It is a unattainable fantasy, just like the ones you had before kids which hyper-focused on the novelty of having children, instead of the challenges they provide.  

And believe me, they are a challenge. Mommy needs her juice box.

 

Anarchy on the Horizon

When Memorial Day weekend comes, it is a reality check. It is a friendly reminder that there are only three more weeks of school. Count 'em, three. Oh, fuck. And that is when you realize that maybe you should have had a plan about camps, activities or something. Anything.  Maybe there is still time to order duct tape, Benadryl, sun-screen, anti-depressants and bug spray in bulk. Maybe even a liquor store that delivers.

Suddenly the kids you sent to school every day, that still have perfect attendance, will be home. All day, every day, until summer school or Extended school year(ESY) starts. In my house, the day after school ends is the definition of anarchy. Now, I'm sure every parent with a kid on the spectrum says, "I'm gonna have a schedule and we are going to plan trips and outings." Yea, good luck with that one.  After trying to get five kids to do anything and failing miserably, our schedule falls to ruins even before one of the kids rips it off the wall.

Let me tell you what our schedule becomes: wake up, play video games, eat breakfast, change out of PJ's after mom threatens to take away video games, jump on trampoline, eat snacks, play video games, fight with each other over something,(to be determined), eat pre-lunch, play video games, conspire with a sibling to pick on another sibling(s), make sibling(s)cry, sit in time-out, run through house with other siblings like a pack of screaming banshees, act out self-scripted fight scene between Star Wars figures and My Little Ponies on the trampoline, and that is all before 10am. Sometime after that, at least one kid will run through the house with crackers falling from their mouths, someone will spill something liquid, someone will dump toys that were organized prior to dumping, someone will make someone else cry, and my beer fridge inventory will be greatly reduced. I will be begging Calgon to take me away.  One way.

Our home becomes an unstructured mecca of chaos. Home to the swarm of locusts that will eat everything in it's path all day long and will even eat ketchup from the bottle if you let them, that is, after they try to replicate a Jackson Pollack painting on the wall with it.

"The pool! I can take them to the pool", you think, but, I absolutely hate pools. I used to manage a pool as part of my job, and I know that no public pool ever has great balance for very long. They are nasty pools of ick.  And then you have to deal with all the gossipy moms and all their bratty kids. I'd rather be dissecting my own eyeballs. But, for the sake of the kids, you go anyway.  And then you have to get five kids suited up, sun-screened and out the door.  But don't forget, you have to first pack up the other half of the kitchen that they didn't eat, because inevitably, as soon as you get to the pool, five minutes later, you'll hear, "mom, I'm so very hungry." I swear my kids are missing some type of enzyme. Then, when you get to the pool,  you have to keep track of them all. I am usually the one mom standing at attention counting to five continually as I monitor each of their moves. It is absolutely exhausting to be that responsible. The kids might like the pool, but the pool sucks.

The thought of the summer to come, makes me wish that Publisher's Clearing house offered a sweepstakes that gave you a nanny and a cleaning lady instead of the big ole check and balloons. As soon as you opened the door, they just took over. "ok, lucky mom, go take a nap." Now that would be the ultimate prize. 

Now I have three weeks to figure out a plan. First on the list is to stock up on vodka and find a liquor store that delivers. Second, stay away from the pool. Third, buy food. The rest I'll figure out as it goes. May the force be with me.

 Who's got Game?

Last month we took the kids to the National Zoo in Washington DC. All through the zoo, #2 the aspy, would rattle off facts and observations about the animals he saw. Though sometimes he has a rough time distinguishing between pure fact and his facts. What we saw over and over again was that the males in any species were prettier than the female counterparts. In my one class in Genetics, I learned that the males are prettier because they are trying to attract the females and spread their DNA to attain the goal of Mendelian Fitness.   "Hey mom, the male peacock wants romance", said #2 as the peacock opened his feathers to full display.  Peacock's got game.

So what the hell happened with people? How come with humans, the females are the pretty ones and the pretty men are men's men? It makes it harder to find suitable seed when the playing-field is laden with so many undesirable variations. If the males primal need is to spread his seed, and he doesn't play for the NBA, then he has to get game somehow. Living with your parents and mastering video games isn't the way. Nor is eating like a 15 year old. If there is one thing we've learned from Jerry Springer, it's that if the first guy that comes your way doesn't have teeth, there might be a winner in the next trailer. I just don't get it that women fight over men. Really?  Looking at half those guys that are the middle of a cat fight, do you really want to perpetuate their genes? Eeeww. Well, someone has to live in the trailers.

Some guys hit the gym and work on the moves to actually find a female to reproduce with. Many move to suburbia and have kids and that is when they start to go downhill fast.

We moved to Baltimore three years ago and joined the pool each summer. The majority of pool patrons are families from a pretty homogeneous neighborhood with a few tokens thrown into the mix for good measure. My observations are as followed: The women tried to look good, at least some of them worked out and owned that swim suit. The guys however, all looked like the centerfold of Dump magazine. Really, put that shirt on. Your boobs are bigger than most of the ladies. It seemed that once they had kids and "spread the seed" they let themselves fall into a state of decay, much like a flower after it has been pollinated. If you looked hard at them and at their kids, you could find traces of the attractiveness that used to be, but it is hidden under at least one layer of Krispy Kreme.

Those type of guys are usually the same ones you see trying to pick up the "barely legals", that you and your friends laugh at during Girl's night out. I remember those guys that used to hit on me in my early days. They'd moan and complain that they weren't getting laid or serviced and how their wives shut down. Well, if you looked like a doughnut covered, shadow of a man, you used to be, I wouldn't be knocking on your door either. Stop whining and get your fat ass to a gym and go buy your wife some fucking flowers, asshole. It's not her, it's you.

This weekend when the pool opens, I will get to see all the puffy men and pretty women and for some, I'll look at their youngest child and mentally do the math as to how long it has been since they had sex. And for others, I'll see the cumulative effort of all their gym days. Nonetheless, it should be fun to see all our neighbors half naked. Well, at least they all have their teeth.