Hold The Meatballs

Last weekend we began implementing some self-help life-skills that we felt the kids needed to learn on their way to adulthood. Our goal is to make them self-sufficient and contributing members of our household and eventually, society.

But boys have that "Y" chromosome that allows them the ability to walk past, step over, or walk around something on the floor for months, and never, ever think "Maybe I should pick that up". Stuff that is not theirs or needed immediately is on the periphery and  it will stay there until they need it or are told to deal with it.


Our goal for #1 was to teach him to make his pasta, which he calls "my pasta with sauce and melted cheese".  Although the type of pasta can vary, it has to be the same every time. God forbid you add a meatball.

We have been trying for weeks to get him to do at least one step, but every time, he ran off while saying, "no, you make it." When I told him that I wouldn't make it without him, he replied, "no, it's ok, I'm not hungry." And then I'd find the pretzel jar on the table with a not-so-fine line of crumbs to his chair.

Last week we were determined.  I prepped him in the morning and when it was time, he ran away.   Once we caught him, we told him we would do it together.  Finally he said, "Mom, show me the cook book", he said. Husband brought up a cook book and let him look through it. I then sat down with him and wrote down the steps. And then it didn't look so bad.

We made a list like Special Agent Oso, and it had nine steps.
1) Put water in the pot, add some salt
2) Put pot on stove
3) Have mom turn on gas
4) Wait for water to boil
5) Add Spaghetti
6) Start timer for 9 minutes
7) Drain pasta
8) put in bowl
9) Add sauce and cheese


We labeled which steps he would be responsible for and which ones I was. But I told him we would have to be together to do each step.

Remarkably he stayed with me as we worked down the list. And in the end, we made his pasta and he did it. 

Will he be as cooperative next time? Who knows. One victory at a time. Cheers!

Spewing insults in a messy room

Anyone that has ever tried to teach their children how to clean, understands that teaching to clean is a million times more tedious than doing it yourself.

Last weekend we wanted to teach the boys how to clean as part of their self-care/help with the house series. These lessons are never met with enthusiasm and the transition to them takes an eternity. Usually the initial prep is met with resposnes like, "I won't clean" and "why are you so mean?" I usually have to round up all the electronics and promise permanent banishment for actions to happen.

We had them help clean the basement. We organized the toys, decided which toys were going to charity, cleaned and vacuumed. #2 and #3 did most of the vacuuming and sometime during their chores, they named the vacuum "Sucky".

The next day, we cleaned their room. All three boys sleep in the same room together. When we lived in NJ, we only had a three bedroom house and they all slept together in quasi-harmony. When we moved to our bigger house, they chose to remain together, even though one of them could have opted to bunk alone.

We had to teach them the foundations of cleaning: pick up stuff off the floor, put stuff away, wash the sheets, clean and vacuum under the bed. Sounds easy right?

We found countless Legos and mini figure bonded together and scattered all over the room. Under #3's bed was an unofficial mating ground for Legos.  He was excited that he found so many of his figures that he wanted to play, and got really mad when I redirected him back to the task at hand. And although #3 adores his Legos, he despises picking them up and screams when you suggest that he cleans them up. "You are so mean Mommy." You think that is mean, just wait until Sucky eats them.

#2 was angry at me before we started cleaning and his agitation only increased during the cleaning. Every time he was told to pick up stuff or was reminded to keep cleaning, he would give me an explanation of why I was so awful. So awful that he said, "When I grow up, I'm going to have my family over to my house, but not my parents. I'm going to tell my kids they don't have grandparents." Ouch, did he just say that? Where did that come from? I responded, "Well, that's ok. I'll be on a beach somewhere having fun." #2 was a bit surprised that his words had little affect. He repeated it a few more times until he realized that it didn't deliver the punch he had intended. And then #3 began to cry. "He doesn't really mean it", I whispered to him, "and even if he does chose to do that, you don't have to."

Little did #2 realize, is that it did sting. Especially since I had a falling out with my own father the year before. The falling out was a culmination of events, ending with an exchange with my step-mother that rocked me to my core.  It made me question their role in my life and decided that their toxicity was more hurtful than helpful. I put the relationship on the shelf until I decided what to do next. That was a year and half ago.

I had kept my issues with my father on the DL. I never spoke ill of them and offered the kids the chance to call them if they wished, but they never opted to. #2 wasn't mimicking a behavior he had see from me, this idea was all his and it was disturbing.

In the grand scheme of parenting, what is the fine line between nurturing and smothering, the fine line between instructing and nagging and the ideal balance of work and fun? Apparently from the exchange with #2, his opinion of that line and mine were remarkably different. 

I also realized that the relationship between parent and child is uneven from the get-go. From the moment a child is born, the focus is on the child, as it should be. We subconsciously teach them that the world does revolve around them as they watch us sacrifice for them. We show them that they get stuff, and we as parents, are meant to be second to them. By us wanting them to have what we didn't, we have taught them entitlement.  
But in the end, who has the power? The parents have the power to set rules and demands, but the child is really the one who chooses when they will behave and listen, and maybe, inevitably hold us at arms-length or shut us out. I understand that some of that is a child's attempt at Independence, which is good, but some is payback. When we get to that last stage I can't imagine it being easy.

Will that prevent me from holding them responsible to do their chores? Hell, no. Am I prepared to accept the ramifications of my judgements? Absolutely. But does it sting sometimes? You bet. I can only hope that when I am looking at my 40 year old, #2, I can say that I did more good that bad. I guess that what any parent aims for; "not the best, but better than most." I will always have Jerry Springer to thank for being better than most.

Until then, Sucky is going to have a nice, long relationship with the kids. I will ride that wave as long as it lasts. And with five kids, the probability of all of them being angry with me at the same time is quite low. I'll take those odds.

Autism ass-kicking

When you have to deal with behaviors, it is so easy to lose patience and just react. We are human after all, and that is how we roll. If we wake up on the wrong side of the bed, have a surge of bad hormones, didn't have coffee, whatever, we tend to act a bit more hastily than we would on any other day.

But when you're dealing with special needs,  you have to snap out of the muck and practically become a robot-human and follow the plan, since it may be the only thing that works. Most days, I have a plan to navigate out of it, which works 99% of the time.

And then there is the 1%, and that kicked my ass.

It was hockey Saturday and we had to get the boys dressed and ready to go, #2 has awful trouble with transitions. Going somewhere new is always hard, but even going to places, like hockey, where he goes every week have been increasingly difficult. I'm not sure if the process of getting all the gear on is troublesome, or just the transition from home to the car, but he has been a mess.
 
#3 was very angry that we woke him up and every time we brought him downstairs to get dressed, he took off, back up the stairs to the comfort of his bed. 

So there we were, struggling to get two children dressed for hockey among the whining, the crying and the tantrumming. Plus we had to keep restraining #1, who was complaint and completely dressed, but was overly agitated by the fussing of the other two. This is my life. 

Somehow we got them all in the car and the crazy had calmed down.  But when we got to the rink, I had to put on their skates, helmets and gloves. That's when round two began. As I put on #3's skates, #2 was yelling and pushing #1 and each time I yelled at him to keep his hands to himself, #1 would antagonize him by acting like a monster that was going to eat him by letting out big roar. The roar would flip out #2 even more and the vicious cycle was unbearable. One of the mentors came over to help me put on #2 & #1's skates and we manged to get everyone on the ice, but I was a mess. 

How did my life get to here?  I took a seat on the bleachers and began to cry.
I realized this would always be my ground zero. This drama would always be a part of every Saturday. Isn't the definition of insanity to do the same thing and  expect a different outcome? And then the tears came faster. 

My friend Connie came over to comfort me and said, " It sounds like Autism kicked your ass today." Yes it did. It wiped the floor with me.  She let me vent and eventually the conversation shifted to other things and I got pulled back to the light side. By the time they got off the ice, I was better. Still felt like throttling #2, but kept it together.

 I told #2 he wasn't allowed to talk the entire car ride home. I think it was the longest he has even been quiet and not sleeping.    

During the silence, I came to the conclusion that if he was indeed miserable, then he shouldn't have to go to hockey anymore. His drama was just bringing everyone else down and who needed that?  

When we got home I said to him, "you don't have to go to hockey anymore. But you sill need to exercise, so we need to discuss that. Also, you cannot play any electronics during the time that you would normally be at hockey."

After he heard that, he looked relieved and happy, but still needed to clarify,  "You mean, I don't have to go to hockey anymore?" He asked. I nodded and he acted like I told him he won the lottery.  Was it really that torturous for him? He liked spewing everything in his brain to the mentors. He liked the older kids. What was I not seeing?

The following week, I got the boys up for hockey and took just #1 & #3. The car was quiet on the way there. #2 wasn't yelling at #1 for his radio choices and I didn't have to remind #2 to keep his voice volume in the tolerable zone. I didn't have to yell at #2 for putting his hands on #1 and saying mean things to him. It was just a peaceful morning. By the ride home, I realized that #2's presence made everything crazy. There was no antagonizing behavior, no squabbles, no whining, and no yelling just because he wasn't there. By removing him, peace was restored.  It was the sad truth. 

I guess there is always a time in a parents life that they have to address the question; "to quit or not to quit?" True, it is important teach them the importance of commitment, but it is equally important to teach them to identify their likes and dislikes and to support their choices. We can't make them feel like our approval is solely based on them making the decisions we want them to make. In this case, I realized he felt like he had no choice and when I gave him one, he made it. Not the one I had hoped for, but it was his choice.

Each week since, I've hoped that he would change his mind and go back, but so far that hasn't happened.  Regardless of what he chooses in the end, I am glad the drama is gone from hockey and that is a good thing. 

No need for vodka in the OJ. At least on hockey days.

Sensory Santa Left Me Twitching

When I was a kid, I asked my father why Santa didn't come to our house. My father replied, "because Santa hates Jews", Yes, I know. He was being funny, but to an impressionable four-year-old, it was just upsetting. My father grew up Orthodox and my mother converted to Judaism for my dad. After my parents divorced, I felt like one of the lost children who couldn't believe in Santa, because he hated me.

I decided to teach my kids that Santa was a humanitarian, a Good Will Ambassador to all the children in the world regardless of faith. He brought the kids one present. At least they'd save some money on therapy that way.

So when our local mall was hosting a Sensory Santa for special needs kids, I thought it would be the perfect time to take the kids. I had visions of all the kids greeting Santa, sitting nicely on his lap and telling him what they wanted. I envisioned the smiles and the good memories that would be captured on film for them to view in the years to come. 

And that is when reality quickly kicked my fantasy to the curb and mocked it like a laughing hyena who just stole my food. 

Me, Twin "R", Santa & My iPhone

We got to the mall and got our line-number. We then waited about an hour and let them look at the train display and run through the otherwise closed mall.

 By the time we were on stand-by for Santa, #1 had reclined on a bench, Twin "R" had thrown herself on the floor, and #3 ran off screaming, "I SAID, I HATE SANTA. I DON'T WANT TO SEE HIM!" Ok, buddy, I got it and so did he and the rest of the mall. 10-4, over and out.  He gave his trademark pout and then marched off to a corner and sat down.

When we finally got called, #1 sat down with Santa and I'm not sure what he said, but he smiled for his pic and then promptly departed. #2 took his spot and probably told Santa more than he had heard from any kid that morning. Twin "S" walked up and sat with him. She said nothing to him, but she got her photo taken. Twin "R" acted like Santa was a rabid gorilla and wanted nothing to do with him. She threw herself on the floor and refused. Finally, I had to pick her up, gave her my iPhone and sat with her to get the photo done. Who would've thought? She was my social one. As I sat with her for the photo, I saw #3 on the other side of the mall. Giving off the vibe, "screw you, bitches".

#2

After the photo, I had lost #1 for a few minutes. The mall wasn't very big, and the shops were not open yet, so I wasn't worried. And then I noticed that the pizza shop had opened. Sure enough, he was standing at the counter probably asking for pizza. When I called him, the kid working behind the counter looked relieved. "Mom, I want some pizza", he said. I denied his request and he got angry, "what do you mean I can't have some?"

By the time we were loaded back in the car and headed home, practically everyone was melting, and I wondered why I had bothered. Why did I work so hard to get them all dressed, out the door to the mall to see Santa, when they all just turned into little screaming and whining ingrates. I gave up my gym-time for this.  I wanted them to have a nice experience captured with  the photo to preserve their childhood memory. Didn't realize that photo would cost me a few grey hairs and some extra acid in my ulcer. Who knew? Really, I should've. 

"Why do I have to wait so long?"

Note to self, Sensory Santa=need for flask. 

Next year, we'll just wave to Santa and send him an email.

Kids, stick that in your memory book. Mommy is done.     

#1

Twin "S"

It's a Happy New Year until school begins

Nothing says "hell" more than the first day back from a school break.  Today was the day I've been dreading since the first day of school. With kids like mine, their world falls into two distinct categories: the schedule I like to keep and the schedule I have to keep. The first one is easy to maintain during breaks, and the second is where all the problems come from.

Why is it that every day during the break they can wake up at 7am, yet the first time they HAVE to get up, they don't and bitch about, "having to get up sooooooo early"?  WHY??!?! Murphy's Law, you are wicked in your truths. 

It was almost 8am and no one was awake. Crap, crap, crap. As soon as I told #2 it was time to wake up, he launched into an argument of why school was horrible and why it should be abolished. I told him to look on the bright side, that he could be Japanese and they go to school all year round. By the growl he gave me, I think he didn't appreciate the sentiment. He yelled, "School is horrible. I hate school." I replied, "Yes, it the most awful place in the world. It is worse than picking up trash in Cambodia. Horrible. But if it wasn't so horrible, break wouldn't be so good." Another growl. I was striking out, big time.

I knew that the majority of issues would come from #2 and #3 and by the time they left the house, anything could be thrown at me and it would been fine, because I had already been to hell and survived. 

#3 was a bear to wake up. He is the type of kid that may be awake, but will feign sleep if it means you leave him alone. His mood is always teetering between "I can be amused" and "I want to punch you in the face". Apparently you can't take the boy out of Jersey either, and it is a delicate dance. Proceed with caution or he will melt. I scooped him out of bed and pretended he was a baby again and talked baby-talk to him. He is actually a few pound lighter than the twins, so he isn't very heavy. I then offered him every possible incentive/bribe/reward to entice him to complete his morning rituals. I almost had him there, he was holding the green mini-figure package in his hands and I was telling him all the combinations we could make if the new guy was the gingerbread man. Then he snapped and ran into the basement. Husband grabbed him and took him upstairs to get dressed.

He was off the charts. He was standing in his room protesting being dressed, screaming louder than a holler monkey and trying to punch whoever was closest to him. I was surprised that the girls didn't wake up from that, but then again, they are conditioned to deal with noise. I had to hold his arms while Husband put on his pants. #2 was getting all his little digs in on #3 and #1 and we had to yell at him.  At that point #1, who was still in bed, was starting to reach his tolerance threshold and began yelling. We had to move #3 to our room to put his socks on. We got the socks on, but he was still charging us. At least he didn't strip back down. I picked him up, threw him suplex-style on the bed, took the king-size pillow and started whacking him on his back and pelvis. It's sensory, my dear. Once I started, he laid there absolutely still. And then it happened, I suddenly got very hot. A hot flash? Now? Really? Come on? Repeatedly whacking your child with a pillow is a work-out in itself, I didn't need the extra juice. This is the perfect time to remind me that my body once ran a lot ore efficiently. Thank you hormones. Thank you very much. Thanks for the memories. 

It was past 8:30. The bell rang at 8:40, they were going to be late. We got their coats, shoes and backpacks on, husband loaded them in the car and took them to school . Not sure if they made it on-time, it wasn't my problem.  I manged to get #1's teeth brushed and got him out the door when his bus pulled out front. 

It was 8:40 and the boys were out the house. The twins were still sleeping and at that moment, I felt like I could accomplish anything. Afterall, I had been through hell and back, anything was possible. 
Even hot flashes. Thank you, thank you very much.

Homeless Woman

I was a chaperone for #1's field trip to Philadelphia. The entire fifth grade from his school made the two hour bus ride to tour historic Philly.  I really wasn't sure how much he was getting out of the experience.  I had to give him the camera so he had something to do and didn't wander off.  


We were making it through the morning fine until #1 saw a homeless woman on a bench. When his teacher saw him getting close to her, she rushed over to him to move him away from her, since she had seen the woman have a verbal altercation with the park police, just a couple minutes before we arrived.

But, regardless of how much we told him to stay away from her, he kept going back to her. I'm not sure if it was her cart or  anything in particular about her that drew him to her. I think to him, she was just a person sitting on a bench he could interact with.

But, the woman became agitated with him, and my friend Mark, who was also a chaperone that day, and also the parent of a son with autism, tried to explain, "Sorry, he has Autism", but she responded hostilely and then said to us, "I don't care if he has Autism, he needs a wrap-around". She then  attacked my parenting abilities. I had to leave before I made her an organ donor. Can't raise the kids from prison.

As we walked away, Mark and I looked at each other and asked, "What's a wrap-around?" His teacher told us, it is like the one-to-one aide #1 has at school. Hey wait, that homeless woman knew about supports for special needs. Was she one of us? Did she have a child or a relative with special needs? Why did she know this?

And just like that, my anger turned to sadness.

Sad because it was a cold and rainy day and she had no place to go. But mostly sad, because she had most likely brushed off the one person who saw her as a person. Not a homeless person or a person with any social stigmas attached, what-so-ever, just a person that was worthy of being talked to just as much as any other. He wasn't scared or wary of her because of her appearance, hell, he didn't even notice that. He just saw another human-being on that bench and wanted to talk her; nothing more, nothing less. He gave her a gift, but she was so tainted from her life that she didn't see it, and that was sad. 

#1 asked me after we left, "why didn't she want to talk to me?" I told him that not all people are nice or friendly and we should leave those cranky people alone. "But Mom, why was she cranky?" Did I really want to get into that? "Well, she was cold and had no home, so she was cranky", I told him. "You mean, she doesn't have a home?" He was intrigued now. "No buddy, not all people are lucky to have a place to live and we should be grateful for our home and what we have", I told him.

"Why doesn't she have a home? You mean she lost it? She lost it forever? Will we lose our home?" and the questions kept coming. I finally said, "no buddy, we're not going to lose our home, and I don't know her story. But, don't worry, we will be fine."

"Can we go back and see her?", He asked.

Nope, never. Na-ah. But I knew if I said that, the questions would resume. I said, "If we go back to Philly again, we can see if she is still there."

He asked when we'd go back and I told him, "maybe over spring break". He seemed satisfied with that and then settled back in his seat and didn't ask about her any more. 

Anytime I see someone in the same situation as our hostile homeless woman, I wonder what events in their life that led them to that bench; that terribly unpleasant place that now is their lives. I always opt for compassion and sympathy and that event tested me. When she verbally attacked my child and me, I was ready to rip her guts out, but I redirected and moved on. It wasn't about me or him, it was all her.   I may never know her story, nor why #1 was so determined to be in her space, but I know for certain, that his ability to look past the external stimuli to see what he sees in things and people is rare, and regardless of her reaction, he truly gave her a gift that day.

I wish he could use that gift to find a missing Rembrandt at the next garage sale.

A moment of nothingness in a sea of crazy

Right now, I am having the guilty pleasure of sitting in my house in silence, aside from the little ding from the cat's bell, and enjoying the cappuccino that Husband made me before he went to work.

This week was a tough one. Husband had to travel for three days and I was left minding the store and I never sleep well while he is away.  He used to travel quite often and I've been able to roll with things, but recently, I started working again. And by "working" I mean, one massage client and two yoga classes. Not enough to pay the mortgage, but enough to keep the essentials like coffee and vodka in stock. 

With him away, I had to find someone to watch the kids while I went to work. If we had the wonderful babysitting group we had while we lived in NJ, it would've been easy.  However, since we moved to Baltimore three years ago, we still have not been able to establish one steady person, let alone a core group.  I did the mad scramble and was able to find coverage.

What made it even more difficult, was that #1's field trip to Philadelphia was also that week, and I had to go with him. Great, Just freaking great. I had to be at school at 7:30 am, and we were scheduled to return by 4:30pm. That meant, that  I had to have someone watch the girls during the day, watch the boys an hour before and after school and them to and from school. I was twitching at the thought of hoops I'd have to jump through to accomplish that. 

I asked my neighbor, who is a retired teacher, to help with the morning. I dropped the kids off at her house and she delivered the boys to our friend, Becky's house and she took the boys to school and kept them after school. My friend Shanae picked the girls up from my neighbor and kept them until I returned home.

The plan was set and in motion. I pushed the list of all the possible things that could go wrong, out of my head and went on the field trip. I had my phone and if there was an issue, I would deal with it then. 

In the end, there were no issues, no behaviors and everything worked out well. Though after that field trip, I had a new appreciation for vodka. I am glad I had my little village to help me out. It's the people who say "yes" and "how can I help?" in a time of need, that let you know who has your back.

 I have enough vodka for all of us.