Take That Autism!

Sometimes Autism sucks.

I never use that word in everyday life. I would be all over my kids if they said the word "sucks", but no matter what word I put in its place it just didn't work. So let's just say it like it is...

Sometimes Autism sucks.

Monday night was one of those times.

This past Monday was Memorial Day. Jacob had been looking forward to this day all week as it was his best friend's 9th birthday and we were celebrating it at Jacob's favorite place in the world, our local MLB stadium.

Years ago it had been a struggle to get Jacob to go to the baseball stadium because of his fear of fireworks. Despite his love for the game, and his love of the team, he wanted nothing to do with it because of the fireworks at the end of the game. But after many times of forcing him to sit through the game and fireworks at the end, it became a non-event.

So it really wasn't on my radar to be worried about attending the game for our friend's son's birthday. But it should have been.

The party started out just fine with 23 kids and adults enjoying sandwiches and cupcakes in the parking lot prior to the game. The boys were having a great time alternating between playing their own game of baseball and grabbing food. It was about 45 minutes to game time, and we began packing things up and that was when the first "BOOM" sounded.

"What was that?" Jacob asked running over to me. "Did you hear that boom? Was it thunder? Was it a gun?"

Uh oh...

I tried reassuring him that it was nothing, a one time thing in celebration of Memorial Day. A cannon maybe? Some kind of old gun? But nothing to worry about.

Jacob didn't believe me and headed to our van. While his friends were anxiously waiting to leave the parking lot and head into the stadium and the adults cleaned up the mess, Jacob's heart was beginning to race. I could see the look in his eye. He was terrified, and beginning that downward spiral.

I honestly didn't think there would be another cannon blast. Between my husband and I, we convinced Jacob that everything was fine and he should walk into the stadium with his friends.

But for Jacob everything was far from fine. As we walked in he began to panic. "It's ok, Jacob. You're safe," I quietly whispered over and over. He grabbed for my hand and I hoped that just knowing his parents were there would be enough to get him through this. Around us, his friends kept talking about the loud "Boom" and what could have caused it. The more they talked, the more I felt Jacob tense up. It was as if he was walking into a line of fire as we walked into the stadium.

There were people everywhere. As we weaved through the crowd trying to find our section, patriotic music played, flags waved, the field below us was full of military being recognized, and Jacob became more and more tense and clung to my hand.  For whatever reason, I thought we just needed to get to our seats and all would be fine. Jacob would see that nothing more was going to happen and we could all relax and continue with our fun night.

It took some adjusting to get our large group settled. Jacob was in the row below us right next to his best buddy. Why I hadn't thought to have him in the middle is beyond me. Like I said it just wasn't on our radar that we would have any problems. He loved baseball and had been to plenty of games over the years with no issues. His little sister was seated among the girls to my left, and my husband to my right. We had just taken our seats and I remember thinking at that moment how glad I was we were so close to the restrooms and concessions, when Jacob sprung up from his seat with that panicky look in his eye and took of running screaming the entire way.

I yelled to my husband to run after him, turned to my friend to make sure she could watch my daughter, and took off running as well.

The joke on my son's baseball team is how slow Jacob runs. He runs (and walks) on tip toe and often I hold my breath after he hits the ball and is running to first base because he is not exactly what you would call speedy. But somehow, when he is scared, that boy can run!

We caught up to him outside the stadium walls, yet inside the fence. He had paused right  in the middle of the smoking area. My husband ran up to Jacob and held him tight, restraining him for his own safety, because when Jacob runs, he runs, without looking, without thinking, and without any thought to his safety. We tried talking to him calmly. We tried reassuring him that everything was ok. And while we did that he screamed, and cried, and hit, and kicked trying to get away. We assured him we would let him go as soon as we knew he wouldn't run, and he would promise, but the moment we let go, Jacob would attempt to run. Or he would be fine for a moment but quickly the panic would rise again.

This was nothing new for my husband and I. We had done this plenty of times with Jacob, held him close to keep him safe, safe from himself. But it had been a long time, and this meltdown was big.

People all around us were staring. How could they not? A boy screaming and throwing a huge fit, punching and kicking his parents. I'm sure to most people they had no idea they were witnessing Autism at its worst.

We tried reasoning with Jacob even though we both knew it was pointless when he is in that horrible place. I think both my husband and I just weren't sure what to do in that moment. We both knew Jacob's intense love for baseball and his MLB team. We also knew how much his best buddy meant to him and how long he had been waiting for this day. We knew our daughter was sitting inside, so we couldn't just leave. We knew two other friends had rode with us in our van and we had to make sure they had a way home. And we knew once you walked out the stadium fence line, there was no return.

So there we stood among the smokers who continued to smoke their cigarettes yet taking this all in out of the corner of their eyes, with passersby gawking at us, employees of the stadium slowly walking by assessing the situation wondering if they should intervene. Around us "God Bless America" hung in the air coming from the stadium, and every once in a while a cheer as the crowd applauded the Veterans being honored each time making Jacob quickly cover his ears anticipating a loud boom. At some point a 21 gun salute went off, causing Jacob to become frantic looking for an escape. We were unsure what our next move was as we continued  to attempt to calm our son, when above us a man starts yelling from the top of the stadium wall.

At first I couldn't make out what he was saying. Nor did it even register that he was yelling at us. But it soon became clear that he was very intoxicated and indeed his garbled words were meant for us, and I made out a few words. "You shouldn't be hitting your mom...blah...blah...blah..." He just kept yelling. "...disrespectful to the armed forces!"

That was when it all became too much for me. I stepped away from Jacob, towards the man high above me. I felt like everyone around was watching to see how this was going to play out, and I yelled back to him, "My son has Autism! Do you have a problem with that?"

He yelled back that he couldn't hear me, and he quickly disappeared. I have no idea if he really did hear me or even if he would have any idea what I was talking about. But my yelling wasn't just for that drunken man. I needed and wanted everyone who had been witnessing this scene to know what they were seeing. Autism at it's worst.

I turned back to Jacob and my husband. Jacob seemed less tense.In fact, he seemed broken, like he just wanted to fall on the ground and sob yet my husband held him in place. Jacob wanted to go inside. He didn't want to miss the opening line ups, his favorite part.

A young guy smoking behind Jacob said something about "that idiot had been saying stuff in the parking lot, too." Another person said, " You're ok little buddy." It was interesting to me how suddenly the tone had shifted slightly. Those inquisitive curious judgmental faces suddenly seemed much more full of compassion and understanding.

Jacob took a few deep breaths and we walked back into the stadium. I wish I could say we stayed. We were there only for a moment. Patriotic songs were still playing and Jacob said, "They are singing!" The field was lined with Veterans. The fans were cheering. And then this...

"Fire away!"

Jacob sprinted from the stadium again, not glancing back for a second. He was anticipating a cannon blast, and he had to get out of there. He didn't realize they were talking about firing in the first pitch. I reached Jacob first, and put my arms around him tightly as if in a bear hug, keeping him from running anymore. While I held him we slowly walked toward the exit. Jacob was sobbing and saying, "I just want to leave. I just want to go home."

"Ok, honey."

At that point my husband and close friend joined us. We were back in our same spot in the Smoking Section. We were becoming all too familiar with this spot. My husband took over holding Jacob and my friend talked calmly to Jacob. I could tell Jacob was too far gone. He looked exhausted. Suddenly, high above military planes flew over the stadium. We all looked up. Even Jacob with tears streaming down his face. I looked at my friend and realized we needed to end this. She was outside with us, instead of inside the stadium enjoying this moment with her own son on his birthday.

Jacob heard the starting line up begin. I could tell he was torn, wanting desperately to be there, but terrified of more cannon or gun blasts to come. Our new plan was to go to Guest Services hoping they could tell us if the Memorial Day celebration was over and if the rest of the game would be a typical day at the park.

Unfortunately it wasn't going to be. Guest Services checked for us, and the plan was for a cannon blast with every run scored. I looked over at my son sitting there with his new much too small baseball cap given to him by Guest Services upon his head, his little face still wet with tears, and knew we had to leave.

After retrieving his sister, who was also crying now because she didn't want to leave, and his friends coming to say goodbye, we began our walk to the van. Jacob was still panicky at this point. He just wanted out of there fearful that his favorite team would score before we could exit the parking lot.

Once on the highway his mood changed. It usually does. Instead of anger or panic, he became remorseful, apologizing over and over for having to leave despite us reassuring him that no one was upset. He was worried that he had ruined his best buddy's birthday party. He was beat down. Tired. Exhausted. Drained. He was finished. We all were.

I would like to say it ended there.

Once home, Jacob played baseball outside with a neighbor friend for a short while, came inside and got ready for bed, and fell asleep fairly quickly. I was relieved that the evening was over, or so I thought.

As I got ready for bed that night exhausted myself, I thought I heard Jacob in his room above me scurrying around. I paused and listened again. Surely it wasn't him. He had been asleep for hours, and I had just checked on him minutes before and he was sleeping soundly. All was silent, so I finished getting ready for bed.

I turned to get into bed, only to find Jacob nestled in my side already fast asleep. I gently woke him, and he rose to walk to his bed without opening an eye or saying a word. Again I tucked him in bed, and quietly exited his room. But right at the door, I heard him say, "mom..." I went to his bed and found him shaking uncontrollably. "Jacob, are you OK? Are you cold?" I asked placing a hand on his forehead like any good mom would do. For the longest time he didn't answer. Concerned I sat on the end of his bed to make sure he was going to be alright. Again Jacob said, "mom..." "Yes honey," I replied.

"I'm scared, mom," he said, "I'm just so scared."

I laid down beside him and held him for the longest time, as he continued to shake.

He was up most of the night begging to go to sleep yet his fear prohibiting him, and often times demanding to know why God had made him this way, a heartbreaking thing for a parent to hear their child say. Finally at 5:30 he fell asleep.

Yes, Autism, you won that day. Thanks for the reminder that no matter how much we plan, prepare, or think our son has overcome the obstacles you present, you are still there.

There's a saying in the Autism community that I hear often when a child does something that conventionally people would assume a child with Autism could not do. It is "Take that Autism!". As I was feeling defeated and deflated yesterday by Monday's events, I realized something. When we were standing in Guest Services getting ready to leave and Jacob was crying and saying goodbye to his friends, he asked "Can we do this again with all of us here coming back to a game?" Even though he was in the middle of one of the biggest meltdowns he had ever had, so freaked out enough to where I was wondering if we would ever step foot at this stadium again, Jacob already was planning a return trip, just not on Memorial Day.

So "Take that Autism!"

I'll give you Monday, but we have the rest of the summer.

How "Dum" Could I Be?: The Red Dye Bandit Strikes Again

Last night something happened that hasn't in a very long time. We left a restaurant.

Now mind you, every time we go to a restaurant it is an adventure. I am envious when I glance around the room seeing other families where their kids are sitting quietly and everyone is enjoying their dinner, as my son is usually either laying on the floor, bothering the people around us, or bolting for the restroom. Obviously we have to eat out occasionally for my own sanity. My husband and I have just gotten used to our restaurant escapades.

It has to be pretty bad for us to actually leave.

So the plan for last night was this...

• Pick up Jacob from school
• Do 1/2 hour of study time and homework
• Dad gets home from work
• Leave for baby sister's first dance class
• Watch baby sister dance
• Enjoy a nice relaxing meal at a family chain restaurant that happened to be offering kids eat free
• Come home and get ready for bed

But of course every good plan can easily be foiled.

All was going great. Sure, Jacob was a little excited about the dance class, which means he was asking a million questions while I was trying to bring up my confirmation email on my phone to prove that we had indeed signed the baby girl up and paid ahead of time, because they did not have any information on us. So yes, things were slightly crazy as Jacob was interrupting me during my conversation with the gal at the desk all the while little girls in tutus fluttered around us in the much too hot room.

We figured out where we were to be, and headed to the dance studio, searching out the "Butterfly Room". After descending the stairs, we located the Butterfly Room for three year olds. As we opened the door, we were greeted by about twenty adults and the same number of littles smooshed into a room the size of a closet.

Ahh...the plan was beginning to unravel.

This teeny tiny closet was the waiting or viewing room. All the little girls shuffled into the dance studio room while the adults remained in the itty bitty space. I knew this room would be too much for Jacob, and I suggested to my husband that they go run a few errands.

He obliged, and for the next forty minutes I took turns with the other parents in the un-airconditioned closet, trying to spy through the small mirrored window to get a peek of the baby girl. If you looked sideways you could almost see her twirling in her pink tutu skirt.

Just on time, Jacob returned, and in typical Jacob fanfare, he somehow made his way politely yet in a manner no one would question, to the little window. After taking a peek, he announced, "They are done!" and opened the door despite my objection.

But all was ok, as the instructor was at the door dismissing the little girls and handing each a dum dum sucker from an overflowing basket. As the instructor paraded around the room with her basket of goodies, she made her way over to the baby girl who quietly accepted the sucker from her hand.

And then there came Jacob, "I want a sucker!" and instead of waiting grabbed one from the basket.

Before I could protest his rudeness, it was already in his mouth and the instructor had moved on. I decided to let it go, not wanting to start a scene and instead moved on to engaging the baby girl trying to get every detail about her first dance class.

We made our way to the van, where my husband was waiting, and began the short probably half mile ride to the restaurant. It was 7:30 and we were all starving at this point.

Once parked, Jacob bounded out of the van, and began dancing on the sidewalk showing us the new moves he had learned at school that day during a movement break. He was talking fast and very excited, and it should have all been a sign or a clue, but I didn't catch it.

At the door I told Jacob before entering that he needed to stop dancing and he assured me he would.

Once in the restaurant, it was as if everyone else was standing still. Instantly Jacob was everywhere! Pacing, talking, moving, running...and we hadn't even been seated yet. The hostess brought us to our table and while we sat, I noticed Jacob was over trying to talk to an employee and pointing to the TV. Yes, that's my son. He won't hesitate to take it upon himself to solve a problem. He wanted to watch the baseball game and it wasn't on. Who cares if we just got there and the TVs had on the football game, Jacob wanted baseball!

He made his way back over to us, and instead of sitting he is standing and talking in the aisle, pacing and moving.

"Jacob, calm down." "Jacob, relax." "Jacob, sit down please."

Over and over my husband and I repeated these words trying to get him to sit. When he did finally sit beside me, I placed my hand on his back. His heart was racing! I began to rub his back in circles in an attempt to relax him. But no luck.

I gave up, and instead tried to focus on the menu, but it was impossible. Jacob was bouncing. I mean bouncing so high that his bottom was coming about a foot off the seat cushion of our booth. As much as I tried to distract him with his Nintendo DS, or the baseball game now playing above us, he continued to bounce, only stopping to stand and loudly cheer on his team clapping his hands and yelling "Woooo Hoooo!"

I looked to my husband, "What is going on?"

Jacob kept right on bouncing, and in between would stand, pace, sit, bounce, all the while being in all the servers ways. Somehow we ordered drinks, but I couldn't even read the menu.

"Should we just go?" I asked my husband.

"NOOOOOOOoooooo...." came a wail from Jacob.

"YES!"

We hunted down our server, asked what we owed for the drinks we had ordered yet barely even touched, and left.

I admit I was frustrated, hungry, and tired. It was close to 8:00 and we hadn't eaten yet, and my kids should have been heading to bed shortly. My patience was thin, as I responded to Jacob's repeated question of "Why did we have to leave?" My husband was the patient one with Jacob as he reminded me to calm down myself.

Instead we rolled into a sandwich shop, and while my husband and Jacob went inside, I went over everything that Jacob had eaten trying to figure out what caused this spike in hyper behavior. It's always something, yet I came up with nothing.

It wasn't until this morning that it hit me.

Duh!

I quickly got my smartphone, and googled "Dum Dum suckers that have red dye."

Sure enough. There are only 5 dum dum suckers out of the 400 potential flavors that do not have red dye. FIVE! That means even lemon has red dye!

Q13: Which flavors of Dum Dums do not contain red coloring?

Flavors that do not contain red coloring: Blu Raspberr (blue), Sour Apple (green), Cream Soda (no color), Cotton Candy (light blue), and Blueberry (blue).

Holy cow! It was the Root Beer Sucker! How dumb could I be.

For those of you that don't believe that Red Dye #40 can cause such a drastic chance in behavior, I really wish you could have been there to witness it last night. It was undeniable.

Yep, the Red Dye bandit strikes again.

***********************

Want more information about Red Dye #40? Here are some excellent links.

Side Effects (They go way beyond hyperactivity)
A Little History
In The News

Still not convinced? Just Google "Red Dye #40 Side Effects" and the over 20,000 pages may convince you.

The first thing our doctor said to do when Jacob was diagnosed was to eliminate Red Dye #40. Thankfully we were already doing that, and have now been Red Dye free for close to three years. But it isn't easy, as you can see because it is in everything, and every once in a while it slips in without notice.

So I challenge you to read the labels and notice the difference.

Searching for Answers...and Finding Confidence

 

 

It happened yesterday.

It's been a while since it's happened. In fact, I'm not even sure I can tell you the last time. Which is great, considering it used to happen frequently and with much more fanfare.

Yes, my husband had to physically restrain Jacob while we were out and safely get him to the car.

Which means people were staring. I don't blame them. I'm sure they were curious as to why this child who appeared old enough to know better, was yelling in the store. I'm sure they were right there ready to intervene if needed, as he screamed, "No Daddy!" wondering if indeed Daddy was acting appropriately. I get it. But that doesn't mean I like it.

It used to be a nasty scene, of Jacob hitting, yelling, and just throwing an all out fit. When he was younger, we could simply scoop him up and carry him out of the store kicking and screaming, swiftly putting an end to the moment. We still got stares. Sometimes they were stares of disgust, an all-knowing look of "your kid is a brat". Other times it was a look of sympathy saying "I've been there". But as Jacob gets older the looks have changed, becoming less accepting, and getting him out of the situation is no where near as quick and easy.

I had a feeling yesterday as we pulled into the packed parking lot that it was not going to be a fun trip to the store. Our area had just been hit with a bad snowstorm, and another was looming, so the store was packed. So packed we had to park at the very end of the parking lot.

As always when something is out of the ordinary, I prepped Jacob for what to expect and what was expected of him. We went over how the store was very busy, how we were in a somewhat hurry as we were heading to church after running our errands, and how it was expected of him to stay by us and use walking feet in the store.

I always say that, but rarely does it happen.

We stepped into the store, a big box retailer, and Jacob was thrilled to spy a sample station up ahead. "Samples!" he yelled and took off in search of something yummy despite the fact that we had just finished lunch not ten minutes prior, and forgetting my request of "walking feet".

While I weaved through the mass of people making my way to the pharmacy, Jacob began to fill his tummy and strike up a conversation with the sample lady, an older woman who seemed pleased that this young boy was so interested in her product.

Sure enough after filling my prescription, I found Jacob standing in a packed aisle with the sample lady scouring the shelves for the last box of coconut chocolate energy bars at $5 a box. They found one, and Jacob began filling our cart with boxes of various flavors while the sample lady scurried around through the mess of people in search of coupons for me.

"We are not getting him energy bars!" my husband announced. "The last thing he needs is more energy, and they are $5 a box!"

I knew we weren't getting them. I had no intention of getting them for Jacob. But I also didn't want a meltdown right here in the middle of a packed aisle and with the sample lady there to witness it all. Instead we guided Jacob to the cereal bar aisle, and let him choose whatever he wanted. The aisle was still packed with people and Jacob was adding to the congestion as he went back and forth on what to choose. But in the end, he was happy, I was happy (at $1.50 a box who wouldn't be happy) and the energy bars were put aside.

We passed the sample lady and proceeded to the check out, meltdown squashed before it even started.

Ahh....but I shouldn't have been celebrating a victory so soon. As we stood in line waiting, Jacob noticed the CDs lining the endcap. "Mom, look. They have the NOW 45 CD," he told me. "I wonder if they have the NOW 43 CD here?" Jacob asked.

As I unloaded my items onto the conveyor belt, I notice that Jacob has politely pushed his way to the front of the line. The woman standing there graciously stepped aside as Jacob cuts in line, interrupting the conversation the cashier is having with the woman.

"Excuse me," Jacob says, "Do you have the NOW 43 CD?" he asks the cashier.

"Jacob, get back over here," I say and thankfully he obliges. The cashier clueless as to what my son had asked, continues on and the woman pays for her items.

"But mom! I just want to know if they have it!"

As the cashier begins our transaction, I explain to Jacob that the cashier couldn't possibly know if they have a certain CD in the store. And then opening my big mouth, I tell him that only the people working in electronics would know the answer.

Jacob was off.

He was heading for the electronics department, determined to get his answer to if they did in fact sell that CD. He had no money of his own, and he knew we don't just purchase items for him for no particular reason. But he had to know the answer, and he was off to find it.

My husband took off after him as I continued checking out. It wasn't long before they returned, my husband gently guiding Jacob toward the exit. As we moved as a family together, me pushing the cart with the baby sister in it, and my husband physically holding Jacob by the shoulders helping him walk, Jacob began to yell, "No Daddy! No!"

Of course people looked. Out of curiosity. Out of concern for this child. Out of judgment. They looked and stared, and my non-reactive husband did what he needed to do. He kept hold on my son for his own safety and walked him toward the door.

The stares don't bother me like they used to. For the most part I don't even notice anymore. When Jacob is having a moment my focus is on him and his safety. But for one moment as we passed the Starbucks located by the exit, I happened to look up, and I saw the sea of faces looking our way.

"Just get to the car," I kept thinking to myself. But we had an entire parking lot to walk, a parking lot full of impatient drivers trying to stock up for a snowstorm. None of those drivers were concerned about my son's safety. Their minds were filled with finding a parking spot, or their list of items needed if they happened to get snowed in for days. A child darting out of nowhere was not on their radar. But that was all that was on my mind.

In situations like this my husband and I both know how Jacob will react. He's a runner. And he wanted nothing more than to run back into the store to find his answer. And boy was he trying to get away from my husband.

"Daddy, let go!"

"No, Jacob, there are too many cars and I want you to be safe," my husband replied again not reacting.

"I promise I won't run, Daddy!" Jacob replied.

My husband wanting to trust our son loosened his grip slightly, just enough for Jacob to wiggle loose, and sure enough he darted out into traffic.

I screamed at my husband to grab Jacob. Thankfully he was fast enough and got hold of him again just as a car came barreling down the aisle.

I didn't care what people thought of us at that point. I didn't even know if anyone was looking at us. All I wanted was my son safely in the car so he couldn't bolt at a moments notice. I wanted him safe.

"Just get to the car, just get to the car..." I repeated in my mind.

We got there, finally, after more attempts at running, more yelling, and more chaos.

As my husband and I reflected on it later, we realized we handled it poorly. Sure we didn't react, not like we would have years ago pre-diagnosis when we were frustrated and unsure what was going on with our son. We've learned to keep our emotions in check when Jacob is upset. When we escalate, it only escalates the situation more. So we did a great job remaining calm despite how upset our son was about not finding the answer to his question.

In that regard we have come a long way. We've learned a lot on how to handle difficult moments with Jacob. With each meltdown, tantrum, or fit, as we dissect it after the fact, we realize what WE did wrong, and how to be better for next time.


What if we had simply let Jacob ask? What if we had waited those few extra minutes as he politely asked the electronics employee if they had the CD giving him his answer? Sure we may have been a few minutes late for our meeting at church, but Jacob would have been satisfied, and he would have walked out of the store on his own.

It wasn't Jacob's fault. He couldn't stop. He HAD to know the answer right at that moment. There was no reasoning, he was on a mission, and he needed to complete it. And we foiled his plan.

The silver lining in all this is, here is this sweet, polite boy who has enough confidence to ask the sample lady where her product is located. Confident enough to kindly ask the cashier for assistance. Confident enough to march over to the electronics department alone to find his answers. It doesn't matter where we are, the library, the store, a neighbor who happens to be outside, Jacob will not hesitate to strike up a conversation. It's times like this I am so proud of him. A boy who at seven struggles buttoning his pants, or opening a straw, yet believes in himself enough to seek out answers on his own.

So today I am joyful for my son's confidence. I am thankful for the great partner I have in parenting our son. And I am humbled in knowing that we will never have all the answers to parenting our son. And that is ok, as we continue to learn something new from Jacob every day in this journey as he searches for his own answers.

*Ants in Pants and Pie Thrower*

Jacob hates getting his hair cut. I mean HATES it.

When he was little, it was a source of a sure meltdown. It didn't matter if there was a promised sucker at the end. Nothing could stop it. (On a side note, I've often wondered why hair shops give kids that are covered in loose hair suckers as a reward)

Anyway, with every hair cut came a fight. I dreaded taking my son to get his haircut. As a toddler, he would kick, hit, scream, and do anything short of getting us bounced from the shop. As Jacob got a little older, and realized it was happening no matter what, the kicking stopped, but instead came the constant wiggles and fidgeting. The hairstylist all but put him in a headlock to keep his head from bouncing all around. Sometimes they are nice and just get a little snip in here and there until it is done, while others you can tell are genuinely annoyed. Many a time you can see where one snip went a little too far compared to the others, and there is a visible unevenness to his hair.

I'm sure in some haircutting database somewhere there is an asterisk by Jacob's name that says "Ants in Pants"!

And I get that he hates to have his haircut. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, so of course it is a MAJOR sensory issue. He very much dislikes anyone or anything touching his head. Getting him to take a shower for the first time was about impossible. He still has to take his time getting his head wet when stepping in the shower. It's as if he coaxes himself into it.

How ironic that the poor boy was blessed with a mop of hair. I mean thick, thick, thick hair that grows incredibly fast. At the age of six months he had so much hair, I would have servers at restaurants trying to give him a kids menu. The kid was barely starting his pureed veggies, and people assumed he was so much older by the hair on his head.

And so each time we begin mentioning that it is time for a haircut to Jacob, we are meet with much resistance. His new thing is he will say, "But I can still see! I don't need a haircut!"

But this time, he could barely see any longer. His hair was so long he had to do a flip similar to Justin Bieber to be able to see.

The other morning Jacob walked into the kitchen greeting my husband and I with a "good morning". He was dressed and ready to go for the day, and I could see he had wet his hair to get it managed for school. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. Jacob was sporting a comb over that even The Donald himself would be jealous of! My husband and I both lost it. It was hysterical. Yes, it was indeed time for a haircut.

Jacob didn't think it was funny and said, "Stop laughing at me!"

We tried stifling our laugh and explained to Jacob that we weren't necessarily laughing at him, but with him. See, that's another thing he really dislikes. Being laughed at.

But who does like being laughed at? No one. I get that. It's more being the center of attention and not understanding what is going on that bothers Jacob.

I remember vividly at Jacob's first birthday party. He was sitting in his highchair with a blue birthday boy party hat on top of his head. All of my family was crowded in our little kitchen around him and we began to sing happy birthday to Jacob. Instantly he began to scream! Of course at the time we were years from a diagnosis.

It wasn't just his birthday party he cried at. Any time the song "Happy Birthday" was sung, Jacob burst in to tears. This went on for years! Just in the past few years have we been able to actually sing at parties in our house.

But it wasn't just parties. Many a time I would be pushing him as a toddler or preschooler through the check out lane. The cashier would be smiling at Jacob lovingly and maybe even make a comment about how cute he was, when sure enough he would scream, "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" Ah...such a cute thing to come out of a 2 year old's mouth.

He used to lunge at, hit, or kick when he thought someone was laughing at him, or looking at him. Thankfully over the years he has gotten over that impulse and can now control it.

Just this past Christmas at our church's service, Jacob wanted to go up and sit for the children's sermon. He had never done it before and I was nervous and proud of him all at the same time. It was something he never would have done a year ago. Heck, he couldn't even make it through a service a year ago. The pastor asked the kids a leading question, one as an adult you know will bring funny responses. Sure enough, Jacob raised his hand super high and got called on. And sure enough, his response got a laugh from the congregation. I watched as that all too familiar look came across Jacob's face. He looked around wondering what was so funny because to him, his answer had been quite serious. In just a split second I said a silent prayer, hoping that he wouldn't scream out, or worse yet hit the pastor sitting next to him. Thankfully the congregation laughed at another child's response and I saw Jacob visibly relax in front of me.

So yes, for the most part he can control it. But every once in awhile, something still happens.

My husband had volunteered to take Jacob to get his haircut. Not sure if volunteered is the correct word, and I do admit that this task is typically reserved for him. He made a reservation so it wouldn't be as long of a wait.

It didn't take long, and they returned, Jacob with a pretty good new hair cut. At least no major chunks taken out.

"How was it?" I asked my husband.

"Well..."

He went on to tell me how Jacob was wiggling all over. Wouldn't sit still and they were having a very hard time cutting his hair. And then right in the middle of it, a huge crash came from the backroom. Apparently the entire shelving unit holding all their hair products completely fell over. I'm sure it was a huge crash, and probably made Jacob even more unsettled than he already was. So then the hair stylists where all laughing and discussing it, when Jacob got upset and yelled, "Stop laughing! I'm going to throw a pie at your face!"

Yeah...he's not exactly the best at knowing what to say when upset or frustrated.

I'm sure they had no idea what was up with this kid or why he was threatening to throw a pie that was no where to be seen. At least "haircut" can be crossed off the list, for a few weeks anyway. I'm guessing they will be ready for Jacob next time, as I'm sure the asterisk was added after he left.

*Ants in Pants and Pie Thrower*

The Morning Reminder List

It started with just a comment from Jacob's teacher back in September. While picking him up, I asked how his day had gone, and she mentioned that he had been playing a lot of baseball with his pencil during class when he should have been doing his work. She asked if I could talk with Jacob about it, and I promised I would.

So for the next week, I hit it hard. On our way to school each morning, we discussed the rule of no baseball playing at school, and when and where it would be appropriate. There were promises of treats and rewards, and Jacob did great. Within a week it seemed he had it down and baseball playing was done at school.

But I continued with my morning reminder every day, right as we were pulling into the school parking lot.

And then I picked him up from school again.

"Well, we kind of had a problem with Jacob climbing the bathroom stalls today," his teacher told me.

I nodded as she told me the details about what had happened earlier, and knew I would be adding that to my baseball pencil reminder each morning. Who did my son think he was, Spider Man?

I wasn't shocked by the climbing of the stalls. It had happened the year before at his old school, and I should have known to have talked with Jacob about it before he began his new school. The thing with Jacob is, he can't transfer one thing to the next. Just because it had been a rule at his old school to not climb the bathroom stalls, he wouldn't put it together that his new school would have the same rule. No one had told him, so it was fair game.

So as we pulled in the next day, I began our little talk while driving on the street before the parking lot, making sure we had plenty of time to cover both the pencil baseball and the bathroom stall climbing.

Gradually in the last two months, more and more rules have been added to our morning reminder list.

Let's see....

No hitting friends, no spitting, no falling out of your chair...

The list was slowly getting longer week by week.

And then I got the phone call from Jacob's principal. It's never a good thing when the principal calls. Apparently Jacob had been "tooting" on some of his friends or just "tooting" in general to get a laugh. Yes, my son's developmental age is a little behind. Passing gas is hysterical to him right now. So that was an interesting conversation with the principal. Jacob got to spend the better part of the day in the principal's office doing his school work. Thankfully she is an incredible woman and very tuned in to Jacob and wanting to help him at all costs. She knew that a day of sitting and just doing work would be an impossible task for Jacob, so she would set a timer for 15 minute increments and if he did his work he could spend a few minutes with her looking at a book or talking. At one point she had him go an entire 30 minutes solid of doing work, and if he could do it they would sing a song together. And Jacob did it! I still laugh when I think of Jacob and his principal in her office singing "Forget You" by Cee Lo Green.

And so the list was getting longer, and our morning conversation was now starting as we turned into the subdivision of the school.

The next week added another. No showing private parts. EVER!

Yes, my son thought it would be funny to shake his naked bottom at a boy in the bathroom. Really Jacob! What were you thinking? (Again, why had I not gone over that this was a rule at his new school as well?)

When I asked him about it, he told me he was mad at the other student because they were laughing at him for something he had done. So we went over what he could have done instead and that showing your privates will only get you in trouble EVERY time! There was nothing funny about it.

Again, we added it to the morning list.

For awhile, the morning list stayed the same with no new additions. That is until last week.

"How was Jacob's day?" I asked his teacher.

"Great! He had a great day! But we did have to have a talk about him singing songs with the word sexy in them, and at lunch not pulling the outsides off his corndogs and calling them weiners."

UGH!!!!

So again, we added them to the list and had a lengthy discussion. The funny thing is, Jacob really has no idea what he is saying. He doesn't even say the word correctly. He says "EX-SEXY" instead of sexy. For the past month he has been walking around the house singing, "Heyyyyyyy EX-SEXY lady...". Oh yes, we are doing it "Gangdum Style" at our house.

And if it's not that song, he's singing, "I'm EX-SEXY and I know it".

So Jacob came up with alternative lyrics. He is now singing "I'm happy and I know it" and "Heyyyyyyy Silly Lady...". Both much better choices for a seven year old and school appropriate.

I probably should have squashed it earlier, but I figured it would be short lived like every other pop song, and since Jacob didn't know the meaning of the word, I figured it was just best to not draw attention to it. Now he is quick to point out any time anyone says the word "sexy" although he still doesn't know the definition.

As for the corndogs...he heard a friend of ours refer to hotdogs as "weiners" and thought it was funny. Again, Jacob just has no filter as to what and where things are appropriate. But even funnier is he thought it was in reference to weiner dogs!

And so my list for Jacob keeps growing and growing. We now start our discussion as we round the corner from our house heading towards school. We just finished the first quarter of the school year with three more quarters to go. Pretty soon we will be circling the block a few times in the morning.

I'm thinking by May we will be leaving an hour early and taking a drive on the highway to get the entire list discussed.

The Good, the Bad, and the could have been Uglier

It's been a smooth ride here lately for us. Ever since Jacob started his anxiety medicine, the roller coaster ride we had gotten used to has leveled off. Don't get me wrong. Although leveled off, we have still been racing forward at top speed as there is never a dull moment with Jacob around. Until his head hits his pillow at the end of the night, we are always in over-drive.

And so this weekend caught me a little by surprise.

First the good.

Jacob had been invited to a birthday party of a fellow baseball teammate who is also in his new class at school. Jacob doesn't get invited to a lot of parties, and when he does, he is super excited to the point it is hard to bring him back down.

Before the invite had even arrived, the mom of the birthday boy had inquired as to how Jacob would do with a roller skating party. Knowing my son, I knew this wasn't his thing. Something new. Something where he would feel completely out of control. So it came as no surprise when I asked Jacob weeks ago about the party, he said "absolutely not!". I left it at that, and told the mom that more than likely Jacob would not be attending.

How surprised was I when a few days later Jacob tells me he is going to the party. Turns out, my husband knew just the right spin to put on the party to make it appealing. Plenty of music, arcades, and snacks were enough to turn his "absolutely not" around. And of course a promise of helping him skate.

I had figured his excitement would waver in the weeks to come, or he would completely change his mind. But Jacob remained steadfast looking forward to his first time ever to skate. Saturday came, the day of the party, and Jacob was more than ready. His dad was taking him, so I anxiously waited for them to return to hear how it had gone.

As the time for the party to end arrived, I  braced myself for the whirlwind that could come storming through the front door more powerful than a tornado. If the party had proven too much for Jacob, the tone was set for the remainder of the day with little hope of recovery.

Yet in he walked with no real fanfare. When I asked about the party, he told me with a huge grin on his face that it had been "super fun" and he couldn't wait to go skating again. "Please, mommy, can we go skating again?" he begged. "Sure! You get to do it next week in gym class," I told him.

Jacob was ecstatic to hear that, and I was relieved knowing that for the next few weeks skating in gym class would be welcomed by him and not a challenge to get him to school in the morning on those days.

He went on to tell me how great of a skater he was. In fact, he was so good he didn't fall once! "Wow!", I thought, "Maybe skating was his thing." He was so good, he even danced while skating he told me.

My husband hadn't entered the house yet, so I went outside to find him and get his version of the party. His was slightly different. Jacob had done awesome and of course he was incredibly proud of him, but when I mentioned about Jacob not falling, my husband just laughed. "Yeah...that didn't happen."

Turns out Jacob fell about 50 times, dashing my plans of him becoming an Olympic speed skater. He told me how Jacob had fallen hard in the middle of the rink and began crying loudly. I could envision the scene, Jacob laid out flat on his back screaming out in pain, while my husband stood over him and people skated around looking over their shoulders wondering if Jacob was indeed hurt.

"So what did you do?" I asked him knowing all too well how Jacob responds in that state. He has to be handled carefully so it doesn't blow up into something much bigger.

"I told him to get up or someone would skate over his fingers!" my husband told me. Sure enough it worked and Jacob got right up. I loved it!

So that was the good. And yes, I couldn't have been more proud of my son for willingly trying something new. A year ago I guarantee he wouldn't have even walked in the building. And if he wants to think of himself as the best skater ever, so be it.


Now for the bad...

Unfortunately Jacob had little time after returning home from the party before he had to get ready for his baseball game.

I almost didn't go to the game as I was supposed to work and wasn't sure if I could find anyone to cover my shift. But I knew the importance of being there. Not only to support Jacob, but being there "just in case". This year baseball had gone fairly smooth for Jacob, but you never know if something could set him off, and I needed to be there "just in case".

I arrived at the game a little late, loaded down with two folding chairs, an umbrella for the sun, a bag full of snacks, drinks in hand, and my other hand grasping the baby's girls fingers slowly guiding her to the field. Before I had even set my stuff on the ground, Jacob was right there invading my personal space. "I'm on the bench!" he happily announced. "hmmm... that's never a good sign," I thought.

Immediately I got a sense of Jacob's mood. He was soaring pretty high, the excitement from the skating party still with him. He was bouncing around in nonstop motion. And he wasn't listening. As I tried to arrange our chairs, and make pleasant conversation with the other moms, Jacob was right there in the middle of it all. " I want popcorn!" "I want something to drink!" "I want candy!" as he wildly dug through my bag of snacks.

"Jacob, you need to be in the dugout with your teammates," I told him. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and went in the dugout. But only for a minute. Sure enough he was right back, demanding more food, grabbing and digging, bugging his sister, in my face. He was just all over the place.

"Jacob, enough!" I told him. "Get in the dugout and you can have a snack after the game."

Back and forth he went, not listening to me, not paying attention to the game going on right in front of him, oblivious to the calls from his dad to find his glove, bat, or helmet. He was definitely not in baseball mode.

And then it was time for him to get on the field. My gut was telling me that things were not going to go well, and I told my friend next to me that I had a feeling I would be taking Jacob home. Jacob slowly sauntered out behind home plate, with catcher's gear from top to bottom. Jacob loves playing catcher. Well...normally.

His demeanor was saying differently. It was as if he was moving in slow motion. First he refused to hunch down, and insisted on standing. Then when his dad got on him to do it correctly, he ever so slowly moved to the correct position.

The first pitch came and Jacob barely flinched. Usually he is a pretty good little catcher, at least giving an effort to catch the ball. But this was as if you couldn't even tell there was a ball headed right towards him.

Another pitch came, and with this one Jacob did move, again ever so slowly, but instead of trying to catch the ball, he splayed himself out flat on his stomach covering home plate. And he just laid there. The umpire looked over at my husband to see what was going on and why this catcher kept holding up the game. My husband yelled at Jacob to get up. I did as well, trying to encourage him.n

"Please, Jacob, please," I thought to myself. "Just get up. Not here. Not now. Please."

He got up, again moving at the pace of a snail. If he got the ball, he barely lobbed it back, the ball only going a few feet. Pitches zoomed right by him. He refused to hold up his glove. At this point it was obvious to everyone that something was up, and the rest of the crowd started yelling words of encouragement as well. But knowing my son like I do, I knew this would just add fuel to the fire. Sure enough, he turned and said, "Come on! Oh my gosh!" toward his dad in the dugout. He was annoyed.

My husband who was sitting in the dugout doorway just a few feet away whispered to me that he wanted me to take Jacob home. I replied that I was already planning on it. So while the inning continued with Jacob's not even half hearted attempts at playing baseball, I packed up all my stuff preparing myself for what could be a major blowout.

We've been down this road many times. Jacob making a scene in public, having a meltdown with everyone staring. It's not fun, for sure. I hate it. I hate that my son feels so out of control. I hate that events that should be fun instantly turn into a fight with an audience to boot.

And so as the inning came to an end, my husband and I knowingly looked at each other as if asking, "Are you ready for this?". We were. But then again, we had no other choice.

The Could Have Been Uglier

It's a whole different story when your three year old is having a fit. People look at you sympathetically as if saying  "Oh, I've been there".  But when your child is seven and looks closer to ten, and he is having a meltdown, people just stare. I don't blame them. But it doesn't make it easier.

We've had ugly scenes in the past. Jacob kicking and screaming as one of us carries him out of whatever public event we happen to be attending. Times where Jacob has just hit us repeatedly. Times where I felt like I could barely hold on to his flailing body, but knowing I had no other choice for his own safety. Times where I want nothing more than the meltdown to end, for people to stop staring. Times where I wish people just knew. This is Aspergers. This  is NOT my son.

My son is loving. He's thoughtful. He's first in line if I suggest cuddling. He's a happy kid. He is not the crazed looking child out of control hitting his mom while screaming at the top of his lungs. That's not my Jacob. That's Aspergers. Not him.

And so as we were stuck back in the middle of the ball complex on field #4, there was no time to wonder how it would play out. As Jacob made his way into the dugout, my husband pulled him aside and kindly told him the news that he would be going home for the remainder of the game. We both reassured him calmly that he was not in trouble. He just needed a break.

Of course we knew it wouldn't be well received, and Jacob instantly was angry and began to yell. But thankfully neither my husband nor I got sucked into it. We both remained calm, and my husband started gently guiding Jacob around the back of the outfield to avoid the crowd of people.

Oh, we still were a scene. I'm sure everyone could hear Jacob's persistent crying and screaming. With no reaction from either of us, we continued our journey toward our van with the baby girl tagging along behind.

"My team needs me!" Jacob kept insisting. "I promise I will listen!" "I don't want to leave!"

I tried reassuring him that even the best major leaguer needs a day to rest. To which he quickly reminded me they at least get to sit in the dugout!

On and on he went. But both my husband and I knew it was the best thing to get him out of there and just somewhere quiet where he could decompress. The day had been too much for him. It wasn't his fault.

With Jacob securely buckled in his seat behind me, I began driving home. It had gone pretty smooth, at least compared to past meltdowns. We've come along way, my husband and I. We've learned that reacting only makes things worse. Getting sucked in to Jacob's anger, only makes things worse. A year ago that scene would have played out much uglier.

Today's score.

Home Team: 1
Aspergers: 0

"I Got this, Dad"

I've been absent, I know. I've missed blogging. It's not that I haven't composed blog post after blog post in my head. There has been plenty to write about over the past few months, and it seems I have good intentions. But life has been busy in our household.

It started back in May when we decided to sell our house. Or should I say, I decided it was time to move. I think it came out of left field for my husband. Sure we had talked about it over the years, but for some reason, it just seemed like the right time.

So my wonderful husband spent countless hours getting our house ready to put on the market. How surprised were we when it sold in two weeks time. We were elated, but then the real pressure was on. We had two weeks to find a suitable house to avoid having to move into some kind of temporary housing. It was crunch time.

With Jacob's Aspergers, there was no way I could do that to him. We had to know where we were going. Change is very hard for him. There was no way I could have him leave the security of the only house he had ever known, and move him into an apartment. He would not understand that.

And so the hunt was on. I figured it would be easy. I'm not that picky when it comes to houses. And our house was so small, the main thing was just finding some room to breath. But it proved more challenging than I had imagined.

I couldn't tell you how many houses got nixed with Jacob in mind.

We would drive up to a house and before even stepping out of the car my husband would announce, "Nope! Jacob wouldn't like the driveway. Next!"

He was right. Steep driveways had to be out. We had already battled the balls rolling down the hill fear. We didn't want to go back to that.

Or we would go from room to room loving everything, until my husband would ask, "But where is Jacob going to play baseball?" knowing all too well that Jacob rarely is found around the house without his nerf bat and ball in hand. We stock up for the winter months as he goes through about six bats a year.

Again next house.

Over and over the theme was, "Could this house work for Jacob?" It seemed like it always came back to that question.

He for sure had opinions. He wanted a big yard for playing baseball, a big bedroom, and no more than two steps up to the house. Really? Where did that come from? He claimed our house had too many steps to get in and it made his legs tired. Great, one more thing to add to the list.

Too small of yards, too busy of streets, too old of neighborhoods, too small of bedrooms. It was supposed to be fun looking for a house. We had thought it would be easy. It was losing it's appeal, this whole moving thing. And I was beginning to think we had made the wrong decision.

Where would my son start school in the fall? How could I do this to him? Start him at one school and then move after a few weeks or months once we knew where we would be living. I was feeling awful and full of regret.

Most people reading that wouldn't understand why it would be a big deal. Move into an apartment for a few months. Who cares? But when your child has a hard time with change, you want nothing more than to make it easier for them, not harder.

And so even though my husband and I were both at our rope's end, tired of looking at houses, we kept pushing forward, knowing that it was what we needed to do for our son. Praying for the right house to turn up.

And sure enough it did.

After a late night at Jacob's baseball game, we were telling some of the other parents about our house hunting. Sure enough on the way home, one of them called saying a house in their neighborhood had just went on the market. We called our realtor and the next morning we were the first to see the house. We loved it!

The rooms were big. It was on a cul-de-sac. The yard was decent size. There was plenty of baseball playing room throughout. There were only two steps to get up to the front door. And best of all, Jacob already knew four kids that would be at his new school.

So that's why I have been absent. Packing, packing, packing. Then unpacking, unpacking, unpacking. And now organizing like crazy!

Yet though it all there has been no major hiccups. Jacob started his new school one day, and the following day we moved into our new house. Talk about major change. But somehow, Jacob handled it all like a trooper. Out of all of us, he has probably handled the new changes the best.

On the second day of school, my husband dropped Jacob off. I was worried as in the past he has had a para meet him outside and walk him in and he would go back to the resource room to read or draw before the bell rang. I knew there would be no para there to greet him as we had barely familiarized the new school about Jacob yet. And knowing how drop offs the last two years had gone at the beginning of the year, I was worried Jacob would have a meltdown not wanting his dad to leave. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that as my husband approached the school curb for drop off, Jacob turned to him and said, "I got this, dad."

Yes, Jacob, you do. You've got this. And your mama couldn't be prouder.

It's Taco Bell, Not the Ritz Charlton!

I realized today we are THAT family. You know the one I'm talking about. The one that draws the attention of everyone in the restaurant. The one where the kids appear out of control despite the parents best efforts. Or maybe the parents seem oblivious to their disorderly children. Or maybe the parents are just plain over it! At some point everyone in the restaurant notices this family. What I ask is for you to see that family in a different light.

That family is my family.

Today was to be a lazy day at our house. When I asked my husband what he wanted to do today, he wanted to go to Taco Bell and try the new Doritos taco. A simple thing and kind of an odd request. So that was the only thing we were wanting to accomplish today. Easy enough.

I felt like the dynamics changed the second we walked into the restaurant. The baby girl was thrilled to find a long booth spanning the entire wall and quickly started crawling on it. At two this isn't that big of a deal. The restaurant was fairly empty and no one was occupying the seats. But the problem began with Jacob thinking he could do it as well. Seeing a 6 year old who is much more the size of a 9 year old crawl around on a booth does appear odd and unruly. My husband and I ordered, rounded up the troops, and found our spot with both kids sitting on the long booth.

For the most part the meal was going well. No one was loud and everyone was staying seated. That is a HUGE problem for Jacob. Dinner time at our house consists of Jacob many times pacing back and forth in the dining room while chewing his food. Particularly when he is talking, he has to walk back and forth. So for him to remain seated, is a challenge. At that moment we probably appeared like every other family in the Taco Bell.

Jacob finished first as he typically does, and usually at this point is when he tries to lay down. If he is in a booth he sprawls out, or sometimes he tries to descend to the floor below to lay. It stems from him eating too much too quick and he needs to rest his tummy. We have discussed this in detail on so many occasions, yet it happens more often than not. So Jacob lays down on the extra large booth, first just a little bit. I tell him to sit up, which he doesn't do. I can tell the woman and her teenage daughter who have now sat on the end of the booth are annoyed by the looks they share and the eye rolling our way. Trust me, I know how it all looks. Yes, my son looks like a brat.

Instead of sitting up, Jacob spreads out completely and with his large size his legs reach to the woman's purse clear on the other end. Again, "Jacob sit up!" I order. Reluctantly he does after kicking her purse a few more times, and I apologize to the woman. I notice the looks exchanged again as they continue eating their tacos.

We are finishing up when Jacob announces his tummy doesn't feel well. This too is our typical restaurant ritual. Jacob says his stomach hurts and one of us runs him to the bathroom. My husband quickly guides Jacob to the restroom, and I see that the woman on the end mouths the word, "Good" as they get up. Really? I'm so sorry we ruined your lunch, lady. But it's Taco Bell not the Ritz Charlton!

The thing is, I know my son can be annoying. I live with him. There are times where I want silence. There are times I want him to just be still. I get it! So I can completely understand people's looks, and of course I would feel awful for being disruptive, but I'm sorry, I had to say something. I was fuming.

I filled up our drinks, grabbed the baby girl, and walked over to their table. I am guessing she was expecting an apology. Sorry lady, I already gave you one, and one apology is enough. Instead I said this, "I just wanted you to know, my son is not a brat. He has Autism. Sitting is a challenge for him."

I could tell she was taken aback by my words. Her reply in a huffy way, "That's fine, but he was kicking my purse."

Ok lady, I get it, but if you think I am saying sorry again after how you reacted you are crazy. Instead I said, "I realize that, but I thought you needed to know WHY he was acting that way." She just stared at me. She had no idea what to say. I walked over to wait for my son and husband to exit the restroom.

The lady and her daughter finished their meals quickly and headed out the door. Jacob and my husband came out right behind them. As we were walking out, Jacob was singing and had a big smile on his face. Right in front of us was the woman getting ready to back out of her parking spot. I hope she saw my son. I mean REALLY saw my son. I hope at that point she was maybe feeling a little bad for her reaction and preconceived ideas about him. I hope she realized that maybe these parents have a lot on their plate, much more than purses being kicked. I hope she felt like a heel. But more than anything, I hope she realizes that things are not always as they appear. There is always much more under the surface. And I hope the next time a little boy kicks her purse she has learned some tolerance, and kindly smiles to the parents and says, "It's ok. Don't worry about it." Because I'm sure those parents could use a little compassion instead of judgment.

Maybe next time she can "Think Outside the Bun".

No Bad Gas!

I'm sure the title enough has peeked your interest. Last night our family got together at my sister's house with her family for a fish fry of fish we had caught on our family vacation last summer. It was a beautiful night, so Jacob decided to eat outside on the patio with some of the others, while my husband, nephews and I sat inside. While enjoying the fish, we heard a loud single BOOM off in the distance. A firework I am guessing. One quick little blast, and my husband and I knowingly looked at each other.

Jacob is terrified of fireworks. They are probably one of his biggest fears. How ironic that my sweet boy was born around the Fourth of July. Even the thought of fireworks sends him into a panic. The other day he handed me a kids book and told me he didn't want it anymore because it bothered him. Sure enough when I glanced inside, there was one page that had a photo of a fireworks display. It doesn't matter if he hears the boom sound. In his mind it is real and it terrifies him. Nothing can get him over his fear. Not even his love for our major league baseball team. The single firework they shoot off after a homerun keeps Jacob fearfully at home to watch the game on TV.

And so last night, it didn't take but a minute for Jacob to carry his dinner plate inside because of the bang he had heard outside.

"Mommy, was that a firework?"

"I'm not sure." I said trying to sound uninterested to help downplay the situation. " I don't think so, but even if it was, it is over."

"I think it was a firework," Jacob insisted. I knew we had to do something or Jacob would never want to return to his aunt and uncle's house again, forever associating the firework with their home.

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't a firework." I replied.

Thankfully Jacob's uncle stepped in, "I think it was just a car backfiring."

"What's that mean?" Jacob inquired. His uncle briefly described what would make a car backfire, but I could tell Jacob wasn't listening, but instead the wheels were turning wondering if this could happen to our car.

Sure enough. "Mommy, would our car do a boom?"

I needed to squash this fast or Jacob would never get in a car again. "No, it happens to really old, old cars. Not our cars."

Still not satisfied with my answer he asked, "But what if it does?"

"Jacob, it won't. It only happens when you have bad gas." I replied not thinking how funny that sounded.

"Mommy, do you have bad gas?" Jacob asked seriously, and I heard my nephews let out a chuckle.

"No, nope, I do not have bad gas."

"But how do you know if you have bad gas?" Jacob asked and again my nephews quietly laughed at the connotation of the conversation.

"I just make sure I don't get bad gas. Before I get my gas, I ask the guy, 'Hey, do you have bad gas?' and if he does I don't get his gas." Again more laughing.

Not satisfied with my answer he turned to my husband, "Daddy do you have bad gas?" To which my husband proudly responded, "Yep! Sometimes."

"And I get really mad if daddy has bad gas, " I added.

By this point my nephews are rolling with laughter. Jacob goes back and forth trying to get reassurance that we do not have bad gas, the humor of the situation lost to him. Finally the conversation ends with Jacob saying, "Whew...I hope I never get bad gas!"

So if you happen to see me at the pump and Jacob is with me, don't be surprised if he leans out the window and yells, "Mommy, make sure you don't get bad gas!" Or better yet, maybe I will just let that job fall to my husband.

The Meltdown

I should have known it was coming. You could feel the tension in the air. It was inevitable that there would be an explosion of emotions. The night was far from great. In fact, it was awful. And I wish I could have prevented it, but the meltdown occurred.

The meltdown was like so many in the past. There were tears. There was yelling. There was feelings of rage and anger. There was one difference. This time the meltdown was mine. I own this one.

The day wasn't particularly bad in anyway. Everything was running like a well oiled machine, until Jacob stepped in the door after baseball practice tonight at 6:45. Stepped isn't exactly the right word. More like ran in guns blazing. He was fired up and I didn't have any idea what was about to go down. I knew from his footsteps that he was upset.

"Mommy, I am not eating that goulash!" Well, that explained it. It was about dinner. Suddenly Jacob has became pickier than ever when it comes to food. I knew when making the goulash this afternoon that he wouldn't eat it, but figured he would eat some chicken nuggets or a sandwich instead.

"Jacob, you don't have to eat it. You can have nuggets or a ham sandwich."

"NO! I want macaroni and cheese!" he demanded yelling at me. "Make it now!"

Again I tried patiently to reason with him hoping to ward off any impending meltdown, but I could tell we were already beyond that. Jacob proceeded to pick up the goulash and tried to throw it in the garbage. At this point I had already had enough. I took the goulash from him, filled myself and the baby girl a plate, and sat down to eat determined to ignore him hoping it would fizzle out. My husband walked in from returning from practice, and he was immediately sucked into the drama. With Jacob there is no way not to get sucked in. He is relentless. My meal was far from pleasant as he continued to cry, yell and scream about the dinner choice. At one point he even tried to remove my plate from in front of me.

"She is only thinking of herself, you, and the baby sister and not me!" he told my husband.

I knew I was at a breaking point. I was trying to be apathetic about the situation, but like I said, it is about impossible not to get sucked in. Jacob is good at baiting you and reeling you in before you even realize it is happening. Jacob continued to rant and rage all the while the rest of us were attempting to eat our dinner. He went back and forth from tears to anger still demanding macaroni and cheese.

Just as each child with Asperger's is different, there meltdowns are different as well. Jacob's tend to go on and on for hours. When they are done you feel as if you have been beaten with a wet stick drained of any emotion. For Jacob they seem to come in waves. He will go for long periods of time with no meltdowns or fits of any kind, and then you would think World War 3 was going on with the way they happen so frequently. Typically his meltdowns go back and forth with anger and sadness where he is feeling sorry for himself. During those times he will sometimes reach out wanting to be held, but soon the anger will continue.  He is extremely impulsive and irrational during a meltdown. There is hitting and kicking. Many times we have to physically restrain him so he doesn't hurt us or himself. We try to get him to his room so his sister doesn't have to witness the meltdown, hoping some time alone will help him calm down. Most of the time that requires us sitting in his room with our backs against the door to prevent him from getting out. He's been known to try to run from the house to which we have had to put chain locks on all of our doors. The entire time during the meltdown he is talking nonstop arguing his point better than any defense attorney in the state. And don't even think about trying to get your own words in. There is no hearing or listening during this time. Just a never ending looping conversation that eventually makes your head start to spin. Afterwards comes the remorse and the promises of never doing it again.

Usually when Jacob is having an episode, I hold it together for the most part. My husband and I typically take turns dealing with it, trying to give the other some relief. Tonight I just had enough. When he started going on and on about how I was the meanest mommy in the world, I just couldn't sit and listen anymore. I apologized to my husband and went to my room to have my own meltdown. I laid in bed crying listening to the rain hit the windows. Yes, it was my pity party. As I laid there I envisioned other families enjoying dinner together talking about the days events. I pictured them afterwards playing a game, or sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn watching a movie as they laughed together. And then as the night wore down they snuggled in bed reading their favorite books before soundly drifting off to bed.

Don't get me wrong. We have those moments, too. And I know not everyone's life is full of roses. And of course every child has their days regardless of Aspergers. But we have many of those days. Tonight was my pity party, and I will move on. As strong as I try to be, sometimes it just becomes too much to bear and I break.

As I laid in bed crying, I heard the bedroom door open. I wasn't surprised to see Jacob standing there. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Mommy." Usually when he begins to be remorseful, the meltdown is close to ending. I pulled myself together and went out to help him find some dinner. At this point the clock said 7:45. Had it really only been an hour? It felt like an eternity.

I am guessing his meltdown had little to do with the goulash. I am guessing there is something deeper bothering my son that has yet to surface. He is so on edge and it doesn't take much to set him off these days. But I'll continue to ride the waves of his meltdowns and I know at some point the sea will calm down again, if only for a while.

What Would you do for a Klondike Bar?

There is nothing Jacob dislikes more than running errands. I've learned to do them during the day while he is at school because I don't exactly like having him along for the ride either. It's hard to concentrate on my list when I have a six year old asking me every minute if we are done yet or better yet running around not listening. But today I was desperate. I had a few things on my list that were a must. Pay some bills, return the almost overdue library books, and a couple of necessities at Walmart. So yes, I bribed him. I told him if he came along and behaved, he could pick out a treat at Walmart. Surprisingly that was all it took and he said yes with no hesitation.

So off we went, list in hand. We weren't even to the end of the street when Jacob presented his "good idea". How about going to the DQ afterwards for a treat instead of getting something at Walmart. "Maybe. You are right, that is a very good idea," I said. We made it through the library and post office with little fanfare. Jacob was on his best behavior and in one of his moods where he asks countless questions. I was up for it, so we talked and talked. All was good, until we got to Walmart.

At Walmart, It didn't take long for him to start thinking of the promised treat. He spied a big bin of theater sized candy and zeroed in on the Mike & Ikes. Yummy, yes, but with us eliminating Red Dye from Jacob's diet, it would leave him with only a handful of candy. He opted to put them in the cart anyway just in case he didn't find anything better.

As we made our way through the store, Jacob spotted the bakery off in the distance. "Donuts!" he yelled, "I want donuts!" "Ok, but then the Mike & Ikes have to go back." Hmm...Jacob wasn't so sure about that. And then I had a brilliant idea, or at least it seemed like it at the time. Since Jacob had originally wanted to go to the DQ, I suggested picking out a box of ice cream treats at the store. In my mind, less expensive and more convenient since we were right there. He was up for it and we headed to the freezer section, with the donuts already long forgotten.

We never really buy boxed ice cream treats and apparently Jacob has never even looked at them. Instantly he was overwhelmed by all the choices. He read all the boxes to me savoring over each one. That's when I knew I had made a big mistake. It was too much for him to take in. There was no way he could pick when they all were equally appealing.  Knowing his love for brownies and oreos, I tried directing him towards one of those choices, thinking it would be easier for him if I helped narrow it down to three. But he wanted all three. And then the tears started flowing. Not in a "I want it and am a brat way". He seriously couldn't decide. It wasn't a loud tantrum cry. He wasn't having a meltdown or fit. It was more of a silent cry, with big fat alligator tears running down his sweet face with every so often him quietly saying, "Mommy, I just don't know. I just don't know what to do." shaking his head as he stared at the ice cream case conflicted.  I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. Right there in the freezer aisle as my son cried, I was rolling with laughter. Oh, I bet we were a sight to see.

We stood there in the freezer aisle for a good twenty minutes. We discussed the pros and cons of each choice, did the math on which box would provide more additional treats for a later date, but still Jacob could not decide and tears continued to flow. "It's such a hard decision," he said as I hugged him right there in the freezer department. And it truly was for him. He was so worried about making the wrong choice having never been given such freedom before.

I knew that the situation was fragile. Jacob was already overwhelmed and choosing for him would just make him upset. Just leaving was not an option, because that would turn into a huge unwanted meltdown resulting in a return trip to Walmart. And so instead, I patiently helped him work through it.

At times we were joined by others, some giving me knowing looks that they had been there before. While others gave me looks of "You are seriously going to buy that child ice cream?" And yes, I was. He deserved it. He was incredible on the errands. He did everything right. Stayed right by his mom. No running, jumping, dancing, none of the usual stuff that he does at the store.

And so after a lengthy discussion, he opted for the Oreo Klondike bars. Six in a pack leaving two extras if everyone in the family had just one. So what would I do for a Klondike bar? I would patiently stand in the freezer department at Walmart for close to half an hour helping my conflicted son pick an ice cream treat.

But next time, I'm driving through the DQ ordering his regular mini brownie blizzard. Easier on both of us.