Of Mice and Boys

I knew I couldn’t avoid the torture chamber known as Chuck E. Cheese forever.  It was only a matter of time before the continuous television commercials seeped into Connor’s brain and turned him into a mindless, mouse-zombie.

Also, every Saturday on our way to play group we pass a Chuck E. Cheese.  And every Saturday, Connor says “look mom, Chuck E. Cheese, I want to go there!”

So this past weekend, for Connor’s 7th birthday party, we braved the wilds of ratville and held his birthday party at the noisiest place on earth.  But in order to maintain a degree of sanity, I scheduled it on a Sunday morning, and only invited 3 friends.  They were friends from play group.  Friends that think nothing of a meltdown, or a demand that there be NO SINGING (like there was at his 5th birthday party).  And having a smaller group minimizes the potential of Connor becoming overwhelmed and overstimulated.  I mean, with all the other pandemonium in ratville, at least I could control that one little aspect.

Surprisingly, it went well.  Great, as a matter of fact.

The kids played in the arcade area until it was time for pizza and a show.  Then they all gathered at the table and Connor was presented with a red, inflatable birthday crown, and a special “birthday star” medallion around his neck.  He felt so special, and so important…it was worth every cent.

Then Mick Jagger walked in.

No, not the real Mick Jagger.  It was Chuck, or Mr. E. Cheese as we peasants call him.  When he walked in, the kids Lost. Their. Minds.  One little girl from our group threw her arms around the giant rat and held on for dear life.  Her dad had to pry her off of Mr. E. Cheese, like a groupie at a Motley Crue concert.  Connor high-fived and shook hands, over and over and over again.  He called out, “I love you Chuck E. Cheese!!”

I love you man, I love YOU!

Until finally, Elvis left the building.  Seriously, that’s what the E. stands for.

And then, then it was time to get in the ticket wind booth.  Oh yes, each birthday child gets a turn in the wind booth, where they have 30 seconds to try and grab handfuls of swirling tickets, for redemption at the Booth of Crappy Toys.  And in the swirling mass there is one, coveted blue ticket, worth 1000 tickets (or about 30-cents).  Connor stood in the tunnel, not grabbing tickets, but instead just enjoying feeling the rushing air.  As it came to a stop, he reached down on his way out the door and grabbed the blue ticket.

The magic wind machine of happiness.

Hey man, what the rat doesn’t see won’t hurt him, right?

And oh my god, who do I have to kill to get one of those wind booths delivered to my house??  Hours of fun, I tell ya.

From there, it was cake, presents, and a few final games.  Oh, and we all got to sing “Happy Birthday” without any protestations.  And then, finally, we cashed out all those hard-won tickets, and we came home with:

A giant, purple, bouncing home wrecker…

Yep, no matter how old Connor gets, his first love will always be giant bouncy balls.

Oh, and balloons, of course.

Believe it or not, it was one of the best, and happiest, birthday parties that Connor has ever had.  We had a party in the middle of a noisy, chaotic place, surrounded by screaming kids and giant rats, and it went off without a hitch.

We’ve come a long way in the last couple of years.  There is still work to do, but we have truly seen a lot of growth and change in our son.

Happy Birthday, Connor.

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Wordless Wednesday

 

Happy Mother’s Day

None of the baby books I read prepared me for my son.

In every way,  Connor was…more.

From the beginning, he let me know that he would do things his way.  In his own time.

And I learned that it was okay.

And I realized how lucky I am that he is not ordinary.  He is extraordinary.

Thank you, Connor, for taking me along on this ride.  I’ll try to keep up.

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Of One-Eyed Dogs and the Boys Who Love Them

Long before the Dingo came on-board as chief security patrol of the house, we had another dog.  Bailey, our 12-year-old golden retriever was with us long before Connor was a sparkle in my eye, or a zygote in my uterus.

Bailey was there when we brought Connor home from the hospital.

It doesn't smell like kibble.

Bailey patiently took a back seat to the new Emperor of the Kingdom.  In fact, he pretty much steered clear of Connor unless he had toys out, because the crying and fussing made him nervous.  Balls and toys though, now that was intriguing.

When no one's looking, the toy balls are mine.

As Connor grew and left the whining, fussing, tail-pulling stage behind, the two of them forged a great friendship.  Since Connor sometimes perseverates on new tasks, Bailey patiently obliged him as he overfed him biscuit after biscuit.   And Bailey was grateful, oh-so-grateful for Connor’s enthusiasm.

Thanks for being a spaz, kid! Another cookie please!!

But now since Bailey is in his “golden years” of dog-hood, he’s had some health challenges.  A recurrent eye problem had him back at the vet.  Connor accompanied hubs and Bailey on this recent trip.  Now, as is typical for Connor, he was so busy playing around, messing around, running around, jacking around, and climbing around that he did not really catch the gist of the conversation my husband was having with the dog ophthalmologist.  So it was news to him when I informed him of the dog’s health, and ultimate outcome of his eye.

“They are NOT going to take out Bailey’s eye!  There is NO WAY I’m letting that happen!!!”

I’ve never seen such moral outrage and indignation from a six-year-old.  And I felt so proud to see him feel empathy and compassion for his friend.

But a tumor in the eye is a big deal.  So we talked about it, and about the pain that Bailey is in.  Connor agreed that the doctor needed to help Bailey.

And when you have a tumor IN your eye, apparently the entire eye must come out.  There is no other option.

We brought Bailey home that evening.  He was still seeing purple elephants from the anesthesia, and looked like he was in the worst bar brawl ever.  Connor was so gentle, so kind, whispering words of encouragement and endearment.  Softly petting Bailey’s back.

At bath time, he came into my room and broke down.  He sobbed and said, “it’s not fair, it’s not fair that they cut Bailey’s eye out!”

I explained about tumors and aging, and tried to get him to understand that Bailey was very lucky to be alive, and not hurting any more.  He calmed down and has rolled with it.

This morning, he was back to feeding him biscuits.

So that stereotype about autistic kids lacking empathy?  Bullshit.  I can’t speak for every kid with autism, but I can say without any doubt that someone can be on the spectrum and still possess boundless empathy.

Now that the ordeal is over, we need a new nickname for Bailey.  Because humor heals, people.  Between the angry birds and the dog drama, I’m spent.  The only names I’ve come up with are:

Blinky

Frankendog

Captain One-Eye and the Empty Socket of Doom

See???  I need help.

I need you guys to leave comments with suggestions for a new nickname.  You’re all much more creative than me.

Connor will help me pick a winner.  The winner gets…glory and recognition (you’ll get linky love and I will whore the winning post all over web-nets).  That’s it.  (Hey, having dog eyes removed isn’t cheap, so I’m on a tight budget this month.)  I will post a picture of poor Bailey (come on, don’t act like you’re not the least bit curious to see what a one-eyed dog looks like), with a banner around his neck with the new nickname.

Come on people, bring the creativity!

 

Editor’s Note:  We are not changing the name of our 12-year-old dog.  We are simply coming up with funny nicknames for him.  Our other dog is named Dora, and we refer to her often as “the dingo”. 

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Autism Awareness: Inclusion Begins In Our Own Communities

When Connor was younger, a trip to the park required a high-protein breakfast and a good, solid pair of running shoes.  It was common for him, without any notice, to take off running as fast as his little legs would carry him.  Whether for the feeling of the breeze blowing through his hair, or the sweet, sweet taste of freedom tantalizingly close, we will never know exactly what drove this desire to bolt like an unbroken stallion.

As soon as he could walk he was running.

Venturing to the park with Connor was never a solo mission for either my husband or myself.  Not because we were lazy, but because it was dangerous.  Chatting idly with another parent or sitting peacefully on a bench and reading a book were not options.  We had to be alert at all times, and stay close to the boy, lest he disappear quicker than a winning lottery ticket.

A simple outing to the park is a stressful situation for many parents of children with special needs.  I remember wishing for a place I could take him, where he would have a certain degree of freedom, but would still be safe.

Recently, an inclusive park opened less than 5 miles from our home, and this past weekend I had the chance to team up with a friend and her daughter, and take Connor.

“The essence of our effort to see that every child has a chance must be to ensure each an equal opportunity, not to become equal, but to become different, to realize whatever unique potential of body, mind and spirit he or she possesses.”  That right there, that is inclusion.

The first thing I noticed about the park was that it’s completely enclosed by a fence, with a double gate at the entrance.  While a fence may be reminiscent of a prison for some, for me  it represents a safe, confined freedom.

The park is divided into different sensory play areas. Each area is big enough to accommodate a large number of children, and each area is wheelchair accessible.  We spent 20 minutes in the sandbox.

There was an area with instruments for those  that appreciate auditory sensory input.

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.For the child that craves movement, via rocking or swinging, there is a sway cart (I don’t know what else to call it) that rocks back and forth, based on your body moving forward and back to cause movement. Unless you have a willing mom, who will stand and make the thing rock like a carnival ride for you.

Apparently my friend, Sabra, doesn't get vertigo, so she was the designated sway-er.

Of course, there was an extra-large playscape:

And it's shaded...

Oh, and more stuff for kids that like movement:

I was all about merry-go-rounds when I was younger, but now it would make me puke my guts out. But see that laughing boy, yeah, he's mine.

Easily the most unique and fantastic thing about this park is the mini-city.  Yes, I said MINI-CITY!!  They have mock buildings for the grocery store, hospital, library, and fire station.  And they have a mock street, complete with crosswalks and a street light.  For any parent that is nervous about teaching their young child about street safety and learning to cross a street, it is the perfect place to begin practicing that skill.

There's my friend, setting a bad example by not staying on the sidewalk!

About the only thing missing from the park was a water play area, which would be a popular  feature here in Texas, due to the high summer temps.  And I know my son would spend most of his time in the water.

I absolutely loved the design of the park.  More than that, I loved seeing NT kids playing right alongside kids with special needs.  When we talk about wanting inclusion for our children, it starts right here on the local level, with a park like this one.   It’s autism awareness month, and this is the kind of thing we should be advocating for in every community, because integration begins with our children learning to play together and accept one another’s differences.

Big kudos to the city of Round Rock, Texas, for making this park a reality.  You can read more about it here:  http://www.roundrocktexas.gov/playforall.

We had such a fabulous time at the park, we stopped on the way home to take pictures of wildflowers.  And what did that little shit do?

You gotta be kidding me, little boy.

I don’t think I’ll be packing away my running shoes just yet.

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I’m Still So Weak I Can’t Even Think of a Good Title

Sometimes I think, “With all this craziness going on, what could possibly happen to make things even more crazy?”  And then the universe answers me by having the school nurse call me at work, to tell me that Connor has a fever.

But HAHAHAHAHA, screw YOU universe, because hubs took Thursday and Friday off to nurse the sick boy.  You didn’t get me, I went to work ALLLLLLL week!!!!

Yep, I sure did.  And Friday night, about 7:30, I said to hubs, “is it cold in here to you, because all of a sudden I’m freezing?”  And thus began my four days of intense sickness hell.  So, um, sorry universe, you won this one, okay?

It turns out that hubs had to work a 14-hour day on Saturday, so Connor and I worked out a nice little arrangement wherein he retained property rights over the living room sofa and big-screen TV, and I maintained the “vacation home” property, which features my bed and smaller TV, which was tuned to a marathon of Hoarders episodes.  We coexisted peacefully all day Saturday, with me getting up every two hours, shuffling 20 feet from my bed to the living room to change his movie, refill his water, and dose him again with some kind of fever/cough/cold remedy.

I do not endorse any one particular medication...but sometimes when you switch them around and mix them????

On Sunday, we had the satellite TV people coming, because it was time for the biennial “changing of the TV service to maximize savings” extravaganza.  But see, we also needed groceries.  Desperately.  We were out of bread, and since Connor and I were surviving on toast and water, we were in dire straights.  I decided to drag myself and the boy out of the house for a quick grocery shopping trip, to leave hubs to deal with the TV nonsense.

I had high hopes that getting out of the house would make us feel better, but when you’re still fighting an intermittent fever, it does not help one little bit.  So I dashed through the store, with Connor standing on the bar of the grocery cart, holding the handles, and wanting to lie against my upper body while I pushed the cart.  “Keep me warm, mommy.”  So yeah, we probably looked like lunatics, but we were too fever-brained to really care.

Where we live, the grocery business is dominated by one main chain, with only one other minor chain scattered around.  So this chain, called HEB, has developed itself a mascot.  I’m not really sure why a grocery store needs a mascot, but they have one, and maybe that’s why they’ve achieved total grocery dominance in the area.

So, you might wonder what kind of mascot a grocery store would have.  A can of corn?  A stalk of broccoli?  No.  The mascot is a brown, paper grocery bag.  And that’s funny, because my kid doesn’t even know what that is.  He’s never even seen a brown, paper grocery bag.  Because they don’t use them anymore.

So.  They really take this thing seriously, and they call it “HEB Buddy.”  As we’re shuffling through the grocery store, walking toward us is someone dressed as the HEB Buddy.  It’s a full-on suit, complete with white gloves.  Sort of like one of those Disneyland characters, except not as cute and well done, and certainly not a fun place to be like Disneyland.  But maybe they are trying to emulate the Disneyland ambiance, because here comes Buddy, being escorted by a female staff person.  Look, here’s Buddy:

They couldn't pay me enough to wear this.

So, we have fevers, we’re coughing, we’re weak and sweaty from being up and mobile, and here comes Buddy.  And Buddy’s perky handler says to Connor, just bubbling over with cheer,  “hi there, would you like to say Hi to Buddy?”

And Connor says:

“Hi, Fathead.”

Fathead.  That’s what he said.  Didn’t even hesitate, just let it flow.  And let’s be honest here, Buddy is a fathead.  Look at him up there, with his big, fat head.  And because I am a super awesome mom, I immediately started laughing.  Yep.  I just laughed right out loud.  And then I noticed perkilicious looking at me, and I realized I was supposed to do some kind of mom thing here where I correct my child for his faux pas.  So I said, “Connor, that wasn’t a nice thing to say, please apologize.”  And so he said, “sorry.”  And as we walked away, I leaned over and whispered, “but it sure was funny.”  And he giggled and said, “yeah.”

And that right there was the highlight of the past 4 days.  Well, that and the fact that when the doctor swabbed Connor’s nose she caused a MASSIVE nosebleed.

Now I have to go back to the store for stain remover.

Poor kid, it was like adding insult to injury.  And at the end, when she thanked him for being patient, he said, “thank you.  Thank you doctor, for sticking that thing in my nose and making it bleed.”  So, um, yeah, I had to prompt another apology.  Sigh.

We’re back on the mend, and out in the world again, and I think that’s it for updates.  Oh wait.  There’s one more update.  It appears that Lizbeth, from Four Sea Stars has tagged me for ANOTHER meme.

Ahem.

Thank you, Fathead Lizbeth, THANK YOU for tagging me for yet another of your memes.  I will jump all over that mofo and make it my bitch by Friday, I swear.  Really, thank you soooooo much for that.

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Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

My mother is moving in with us.

Seeing it in writing like that actually made me catch my breath, and I can feel the flutters of panic in the pit of my stomach.

I love my mom.  Really.  And I’m so happy that Connor will get to know her and spend time with her.  He hasn’t seen her since he was a baby, because she lives so far away.  It’s just that it’s a big change.  For everyone.  The entire household dynamic will be altered with the addition of another person.

Oh, and another dog.  Yeah.  There will be, count ‘em, 5 people and 4 dogs in my house.  Is my fear and trepidation beginning to take shape now?  Oh, and in addition, she will be here in less than 2 weeks!

So.  The only uninhabited bedroom was, in fact, Connor’s small toy room.  So small that there was no way my mom and her stuff would fit comfortably in there.  The only reasonable solution was to merge Connor with his toys, together in the toy room, and prepare his old room for grandma.

“But I like my room, I don’t want to move.”

“All my stuffed animals like that room and they don’t want to go to the toy room.”

“What about my pictures?  And my books?  And my clothes?”

It took some time to assure him that all his things would move with him to the other bedroom.  Except the carpet and walls.  I clarified this for him because he was unclear as to what was considered moveable and not moveable.

Finally, after more negotiation, I had a total and complete nervous breakdown an honest conversation with him about the situation, and asked for his help in solving the problem.  Of course, he came to the same inevitable conclusion about moving his room.

It killed me to have to ask him to do it.  Like I don’t already have enough parental guilt, right?

Anyway, when we commenced to moving his furniture, hubs flipped up his bed and this is what he found:

It's like a cozy little nest under there.

Socks, toys, a comb, candy wrappers….it was a veritable wonderland of trash and crap.  No wonder he didn’t want to move, he knew his hiding place would be ferreted out.

With much pushing and cramming and organizing, we have managed to fit all of Connor’s things into the former toy room.  Barely.  There wasn’t much room to spare, so let’s hope he doesn’t have an abrupt personality change and decide he actually wants to play in his room.

Not even enough room to fart in there.

So far, the change hasn’t caused too much stress.  Except to me, but I digress.  Connor has slept in the new/old room each night, at least until about 2am, when he wanders in and plops himself down in the homeless camp in our room.

But….he has had a spike in wetting accidents this week, which tells me there is probably some underlying anxiety at work here.  And my mom isn’t even here yet.  I’m crossing my fingers that this is the worst of the damage.

Because, damn it, we’re all out of rooms.

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One Million Books campaign

Lana, at Along Came the Bird, had this posted yesterday.  Being an avid reader, I thought I’d steal her words (stolen from somewhere else), and pass this on to my fellow book lovers.

 

 

List your favorite books, help a kid in need: Scholastic recently kicked off the One Million Bookprints for One Million Books campaign, an initiative to donate one million books in need through the nonprofit Reach Out and Read.  When you join You Are What You Read, you make a “Bookprint”—a list of 5 books that have shaped your life. Both kids and adults can do it. For every Bookprint, Scholastic Book Clubs donates a book to kids in need, distributed through pediatrician offices around the country.

You can also check out the Bookprints of some famous people,too, like Taylor Swift, Bobbi Brown, The Jonas Brothers, and Eli Manning.

Words With Hubs

If only all our conversations could be this exciting.  Oh wait, they are.

This is the part where you go, “Wow, I am sooooo glad I have a girl”, if you just so happen to have a girl.  If not, then you’re going “been there.”

And then, hubs throws me under the bus.

See what I live with?

It’s More Portable Than a Mini Chihuahua, But You Don’t Have to Feed It

I totally overslept this morning, which means that much chaos ensued.

 

“Get dressed, Connor.  Get dressed!  GET DRESSED!!!!”  For a child that is always moving, always going faster than everyone else, it’s amazing how he can drag his feet in the morning.

 

We were about ready to bolt out the door, when he says, “wait, I have a note in my backpack to show you.”

 

Crap.  We don’t have time.  But I held my breath and bit my tongue, because it was important to him.  He takes this folded paper out, opens it up, and says “I want to read it to you.”

 

“Mom, thanks for taking me to school so I can be smart.”

 

I almost missed that moment, because I was worried about being late.  To hell with being a couple of minutes late.

 

Super awesome progress.

 

Now I could get hung up on the spelling, or the fact that he wrote “has” instead of “thanks”, but I’m more fixated on the fact that this is amazing progress.  And I’m ashamed to say that I had feared my son would not get to this point.  I had serious concerns that he might not learn to spell or write.  A few months ago, as he sat at the table crying because the homework was too “hard”, I told him “you will learn to read and write if it kills me.  I will not let you grow up to be dumb.  You are a smart boy, we will not give up until you learn, and I promise you, one day you will thank me.”

 

This note was totally a first-grade style thank you, complete with awesome pictures of us in the car.  See how we’re both smiling?  That’s because we are so happy to be out of the house at the ass-crack of dawn, driving to school in my five-wheeled car (I’m such a super awesome mom that I have an extra wheel on my car, in case of some kind of wheel emergency).  Also, our house has no windows because it is the homework dungeon of doom.  But who cares, it worked??!

 

Me:  “This is the best, most perfect note you have ever given me.  I’m going to take it to work and hang it up at my desk, so I can look at it all day.”

 

Connor:  “But what about after work?”

 

Me:  “Uhhhh, well….”

 

Connor:  “You know, you can just fold it up and take it with you.  You can take it to the beach with you.”

 

Me (thinking):  We live in the middle of Texas.

 

Connor:  “Or you can take it with you on the train.”

 

Me:  I’ve never been on a train in my life.

 

Connor:  “Or you can take it in the car when you drive around town, and go to Target.”

 

Me:  DING-DING-DING-DING, we have a winner!!!!

 

Me:  “You’re right, I sure can fold it up and bring it with me, wherever I go.  Thank you so much.”

 

Connor:  “You’re welcome.  Now, let’s DO THIS THING!!”

 

Me:  “Okay, let’s do this thing.”

 

And after school, the stitches come out of his noggin.  It’s a good day, people.  Maybe I’ll take that note with me over to the Target and get some Hard Lemonade to celebrate!