The last 24 hours have been...trying.
I'm caught in the whirlpool of "wow, my son really, REALLY has autism" emotions. Yesterday morning we fought the battle of dark vs. light. Again. We got through thirty minutes of that and within five minutes he was happy as a lark and ready to "go-we school...socks, shoes..." and I was reeling with the whiplash of his turn-on-a-dime behavior.
Then, David had a hard time getting him to LEAVE school yesterday afternoon. Usually Stephen grabs the backpack picture from his schedule, pops it in the "all done" pocket, and he's ready to roll. But yesterday, his new teacher was reading him a book, and he didn't want to leave till she was done. That would've taken another 10-15 minutes, and so they had to stop after one story...and he melted down. David had to drag him, kicking and screaming, to the car. He fought like a wildcat in the car...wanting his daddy to somehow "weeed!!!!" and drive at the same time. They got home, up the stairs, into the house...and SNAP. He runs to his room and starts playing happily.
Is your head spinning yet?
I got home from work to relative calm (that's what comes before the STORM, dummy!). I got started on dinner, and even decided to get a head start on the next night's meal. Kerry was playing with Legos, David was watching the news, and Stephen was playing somewhere in the back of the house. He was quiet and, for the moment, self-sufficient, and that works for me, especially if I'm trying to cook.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little niggling thought started pestering me - like a gnat that won't stop buzzing around your head. I ignored it once, and then...I heard a sound. The toilet seat? Yeah. Kerry's in the hall bathroom.
Except...there's Kerry still at the table. Must be David then. I lean out of the kitchen and glance toward the living room, expecting the couch to be empty. Except...David's still sitting there.
Damn.
I ran down the hall, and there sits Stephen, in front of the toilet, scooping out water with the cup we use to wash his hair, and pouring it down his front. I grabbed him, and he looked up at me, dripping, and said, "I take a bath?" Oh, god. He pulled out one of his golden oldie tricks...playing in the toilet. It got so bad several years ago that we had to put locks on the outsides of the bathroom doors. Eventually he got over that behavior, and one of the locks broke anyway, so we assumed (wrongly, ya think?) that we had successfully deterred him from doing that.
I stripped him down, threw his wet clothes in the sink, and started running bathwater. Of course NOW he doesn't want to be wet...he wants to watch a "vee-yo." At this propitious moment, someone knocks on the door. It's the downstairs neighbor (aka the dragon lady) complaining that there's a water leak in her bathroom. I said, "I guess it's from the water Stephen just spilled in here," and indicated the hall bathroom. "No," she says, "It's the bathroom in the back."
OH GOD. Leaving David with Stephen, I ran to the back. Sure enough, there's no water left in the toilet bowl, but plenty on the bathroom floor.
Gritting my teeth, I went back to Stephen, forced him into the tub, crying and fighting, and got him cleaned up as quickly as I could amidst his "I gee yout. I gee yout!" demands. Finally, I was done, and said, "Okay, you can get out now." He sat there, suddenly content, looking at me as if to say, "What? No, mother, let me sit and soak in this nice tub of water."
Is your head spinning yet?
I got him out, finally, and got him dressed and settled with a book. Gritting my teeth again I went downstairs to explain that he had spilled water in the back as well, and apologized. She was actually pretty decent (although she couldn't seem to look me in the eye) and said, "It's all right."
Trudging back upstairs I'm thinking, "Yep. I'm definitely tired of this crap." How's THAT for expressing myself?
We got through the night, and Stephen slept. Thank goodness for small favors. I got Kerry to the bus stop and then came back in to get Stephen up and ready for school. He woke up fairly easily, and was just starting to feel damp from a saturated Pull-Up, so I got his clothes and got him cleaned up. The shirt went on with no problems, but for some reason today the nylon running pants he's worn a dozen times wouldn't do at ALL. He started crying, and so I gave up on those, and grabbed some regular sweatpants. Fortunately those were acceptable, and then we moved on to socks. He grabbed them and handed them to me in a very dismissive way. "That will be all. Thanks. Buh-bye."
GRRRRRRR.
Thus ensued a wrestling session. I tried in vain to grab a small foot and at least partially put a sock on it, but he would have none of it. Kicking with all he was worth, he cried and fought and sobbed. At this point I wanted to sit in the floor and scream right along with him. Finally I got him on his feet, (with difficulty - he's upwards of 85 pounds now) grabbed his socks, shoes, and backpack, and hauled him to the living room. It took David and me five minutes to hold him down and get his shoes on. Before we could get him upright again, he had both shoes off once more.
With a last ditch effort, I shoved the shoes back on, we got him on his feet, firmly put his backpack on his back, and I dragged him out the door, crying as if his heart would break. See, at this point, I'm hoping I'm doing the right thing...what if he's sick? What if he really doesn't feel good? Unless he's throwing up or running a fever, there is often no empirical way to know. So, we go on the assumption that this is a product of transitioning issues. Plus, he's got that new teacher at school (who is freshly graduated from a local university, and is at least 10 pounds heavier than Stephen) and so we've got those changes going on as well.
He sniffed and whined and snuffled on the way to school, but was slowly calming. I even heard a whispered "Gone fishing!" or two. I felt my chronically tense muscles relaxing ever so slightly. We turned into the school driveway, and parked in our normal spot. I got out, opened his door...and he started crying again. I leaned in, hugged him, wiped his tears and said, "Come on, baby...time for school." The little guy finally let me swing his feet out and he shrugged on his backpack. We walked down the sidewalk, and out of the corner of my eye I saw his left hand come up and flicker in front of his eyes. That's a sign that he's getting the idea, that the transition is complete. Seeing a "stim" usually indicates that he's feeling like himself again.
His teacher met us in the hall, and we walked to his classroom. A tiny smile is forming, and by the time we get to the room I can almost feel Stephen sighing..."Here's my space. I KNOW this room. I know these puzzles and pictures and desks." He turned to me, "Goo-bye" and he was off into the sensory area. I left, and looked back through the little window in the classroom door. There he stood, slightly rumpled as usual, face still a bit pink and puffy from crying...and he's okay. His teacher promised to call me at lunchtime to let me know how he's doing, so I'll hope for the best. My little love, struggling so hard just to exist in what has to often seem to be a maddening world.
I'm going to close, as is becoming a trademark (habit) of mine, with some lyrics. It's been long known that "Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak," and that is certainly true in my case. Music has become a real part of my life, and I love the kind that expresses raw and honest feelings, and that gives us a connection to the collective thoughts and experiences that link every human soul.
It's such a cloudy day
Seems we'll never see the sun
I feel the day is all uncertainty
Burning in the moment - trapped by the desperation
Between how it is and how it ought to be
~N. Peart
Seems we'll never see the sun
I feel the day is all uncertainty
Burning in the moment - trapped by the desperation
Between how it is and how it ought to be
~N. Peart
Trapped by desperation...nothing could sum it up better. But, we made it through today, and we'll make it through the next. Until things become what they ought to be...
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