Sean asked me that after I, perhaps unthinking, said "Your autism is showing." We were at an outdoor event at church. Sean had needed to use the restroom so we sent him to the port-a-potties by himself--he'll be 9 next week and this is an area where he is asserting his independence; he does NOT want to be accompanied to the restroom. There was one of those wonderful hand washing stations that have started to accompany outdoor restrooms in the last few years (yay, progress!), and after about 10 minutes of watching him circle the portable sinks perhaps trying them all out but mostly just circling them, I went over to retrieve him.
"Sean. Sean come on we need to go back and sit down. Sean, let's go. Your autism is showing."
Let me back up a bit. Since getting on this roller coaster that is parenthood, and then discovering we get to go on an even BETTER (by roller coaster fans' standards perhaps) roller coaster of parenting a child with autism, my husband and I have taken looks at our own tendencies and behavior and figure we're not too far off the spectrum ourselves. Sean did not fall far from our trees. We're both very introverted and quirky ourselves. It's a phrase we've used with each other when we catch each other withdrawing in a social situation mostly, but on occasion when we're being overly sensitive to something--for me smells can be overwhelming that my husband doesn't even notice, and I need to touch things. Hence, the yarn obsession. If either of us is getting grumpy because being around people has become overwhelming or we're being extra-persnickety, the other might say, "Your autism is showing."
On this day it popped out of my mouth before I thought about what Sean would say. We have talked about what autism means though not at great length and more often to his neurotypical younger sister than to him. On that day I just told him, "Autism is you, Sean. It's the things you do and the way you experience things." I left it at that and let him ponder on it. I think we'll have to have a real, in-depth discussion of autism and what it means to him.
I've been thinking about starting up a blog again for a couple weeks. I don't want to forget all the things Sean says and do. He really is a wonder. If we were fated to have a child with autism, we have been very lucky with Sean. He is relatively easy-going for a child on the autism spectrum. He's just so happy most of the time! He's currently obsessing on Super Mario Bros. , and he's discovered Youtube.com. He could--if we let him--spend all day watching videos of the short-lived 80s Saturday morning cartoon program, videos of tips for playing any of the myriad Super Mario Bros. games, videos of funny cartoons people have made with Mario, Luigi, etc. as the characters.
This morning, I was sitting in the family room sipping my coffee when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a Mario-related video playing on the computer in the office. I went to the door of the office and stood there with my hands on my hips and a pseudo-angry look on my face and said, "Sean Thomas!" He looked up at me and grinned--he can tell when I'm really angry and when I'm going to be funny. "Come here!" I told him. He chuckled and left the computer chair to meet me at the door for a big hug. I carried him--quite a challenge these days--to my chair for snuggles and said, "What do you think you're doing getting on the computer without snuggling with me first? What does the computer have that I don't?" or something to that effect.
"We-ell," he said, drawing out the word as he always does when explaining something that should be obvious, "the computer has videos!"
Indeed. "Well, the computer doesn't love you. Why do you love me, Sean?"
"We-ell," he said again, standing by now several feet away because he can't be still for long, especially if you're trying to have a conversation with him, "because you love me!" With that, he ran to me and launched himself into my arms for another big squeeze. I heart him so much.
The Mario obsession is really wearing on me though; the Star Wars obsession was easier because I like Star Wars. The third season of The Clone Wars can't start soon enough for Sean; I'm going to work through as many of the Star Wars novels as I can find at the local libraries. But I digress. I have discovered one way to use the Mario obsession to my advantage: the star-man music/effect. When Mario gets the star-item/man/whatever in the game, he speeds up superfast. Sean goes around with his toys sometimes singing the music: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. Things move fast if the music is playing. Yesterday, when he was lollygagging instead of getting dressed, I said, "Sean, what if you hit the star-man before you got dressed? How would you get dressed if you had the star-man?" It worked. Speed-dressing to the tune of the star-man: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. It worked at bedtime too. Sometimes these obsessions can annoy the heck out of us, but other times, they provide tools. Tools with annoying music perhaps, but nonetheless tools we can use to make life easier.
No comments:
Post a Comment