August 8, 2012 by Marj Hatzell
Sometimes I feel as though the longer I’m at this parenting gig, the more it’s like a battle.
Uphill, both ways, in the snow.
Often we’ll take a step forward, only to take a step back. Or so I perceive.
The toilet training, it goes well. As in, it’s finished. Bugaboo is toilet trained. He is dry when he wakes up most mornings. This has both pros and cons, since he knows how to hold it better than a camel and sometimes leaks on the way to the toilet, peeing on the wall next to the toilet.
Or on the kitchen floor.
Or he’ll just stand at the top of the steps and pee down. Because it’s SO! FUNNY! TO! WATCH!
Or he’ll pee into his hand and CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP stim in it, because clapping his hands in liquids is the new pink.
He has been doing much better taking his fiber supplement and his meds and for the most part, has been a giggly, fun joy to be around. We finally got it down to a science.
Until I discovered this weekend he “fake” sips. Holds it in his mouth and spits it out, even. Or dumps the whole cup in the sink when I’m not looking, fills it back up with water or hides the cup in the most obscure location ever. This causes Momma to have heartburn.
In other words, the past few days I’ve gotten notes home about his hyperactivity, his mood swings, maniacal laughter and the fact that he is bouncing off the walls all BOING BOING BOING.
Because he isn’t getting his meds, you see.
And then I wondered why he woke up every single night last week
Every time we think we’ve got it down, he figures something else out. Now tell me, how accurate is an IQ test if a child with an IQ of 42 can connive, sneak and figure this stuff out?
I’m thinking it isn’t so accurate.
Then there’s the iPad. Let’s just say it has helped him.
Sure, he likes playing games and listening to his music.But he’s also able to navigate 99% of it all by his lonesome. And he is reading sight words.
And he has mastered several games and tutorials. He can complete patterns. Match letters, colors, numbers. It’s a sight to behold.
As for the Bug Boy, we’re surviving the summer, he’s been busy with activities, diving, fencing and the like. And this week a computer camp. I walked in to drop him off the first day and sign him in and noticed it’s about fifteen boys and two girls and they are all SCREAMING Asperger’s.
Funny how that works, no?
Like when we tried a local boys group and I felt like I was walking into the Asperger’s support club. They have this knack for finding one another.
And yesterday I got a real dose of YOU SUCK AS A PARENT when I ran him to his class and we were running late and he said (as we arrived), “Uh. Mom? You forgot my meds.”
Not just any meds. The stimulant.
And his “keep my mood even so I don’t cry and throw things” med. The one that keeps his OCD in check? That one.
And he can’t have it after a certain point in the day because NO SLEEP FOR YOU!
So he spent the last hours of the day bringing echolalia back for good times sake, complete with movie scripting and saying the same word over and over at different octaves. For eight hours.
But don’t despair, he also deemed it necessary to watch forty-odd version of Kashmir to see how each one ENDED on yootoob. And he couldn’t just watch the ends. Oh no. Some versions, though thirteen minutes long, were quite intriguing and he had to watch them in their entirety. Because starting in the middle means he misses the first part and just watching the end is out of context and WHY YES, WE DO HAVE TO HAVE EVEN NUMBERS OF EVERYTHING. AND MY HANDS ARE DIRTY, I AM WASHING THEM AGAIN WHILE I SING PAYPHONE. IN ACAPELLA.
Somehow, I didn’t stab baby kittens today.