One day down, two to go...

I've never been a big fan of the Venn Diagram.  I could never understand them.  But then I had an epiphany.  I finally figured it out.  It helped that we lived in the grey area most of the time.  I take that back.  Alex wasn't in the grey area the whole time.  I was.  

I've been on pins and needles trying to get the kids through this visit.  See, all of my husbands family traveled here and that makes the time spent together more intense.  I've been trying to give the kids breaks, walks and private time just so they can be better able to handle things.  

Alex finally lost it at diner time when it was time to come inside and eat.  He stomped and flapped the whole way in and I could just tell by looking at him he was imploding.  I hurried him to the laundry room, turned on the dryer and held him.  Scratch that.  I didn't hold him.  He wouldn't let me.  He quickly worked his way to a corner and started rocking back and forth.  Trying to calm himself.  Trying to block things out.    

Every fiber in my body wanted to reach out to him.  To hug him.  To hold him.  But I couldn't.  Touching him at that moment would have been like trying to hug a cornered panther.  He would have attacked.     

For as much as I wanted to hold him and tell him things were going to be all right, I didn't, I couldn't.  It would have helped me but not him.  

So instead I told him how well he was doing, how loud it was and how hard it was to just be in the same house with all the noise, smells and other kids.  That it hurt my brain too.  He just started crying.  Hot tears went streaming down his cheeks and he was still rocking and holding his knees, working himself into a tight little ball.  I slipped his headsets over his ears and we sat in silence listening to the hum of the dryer.    

And I think that was the worst part of the day.  Sitting in the laundry room, silently cursing the Gods.  Wanting to take it all away but knowing I couldn't.  

Normally there is all sorts of pomp and circumstance about who gets to go first with the food and all sorts of other BS and by the time they're all through patting themselves on the back, the foods all cold.  Not this year.  As we came out of the laundry room, I gave everyone a big fuck you, got my kid a plate of turkey, ripped open a baguette to get to the soft inner bread he likes and, with me as a human shield, we sat down at the table and he ate. 

With a wave of my hand I told them all to help themselves and to stop staring.  And with a look in my eyes, I dared them to say anything.  Anything.  I got him the remote and we watched re-runs of How It's Made.  And I dared them to turn it off.  

They didn't.

And it was at that exact moment I knew we were going to survive this.  

Note: We still have family here and its been it harder and harder to get a few moments to myself.  I am finding I simply cannot do everything so I'm going to take this next week off and get the kids sorted and take care of  them.  I will be back next Friday.  

Go on and touch her already. Just a little touch.

Do you ever just get to the point where you go, "Eh, Christ, I'm sick of this and I want to go home."  Only you are home and there really is no other place for you to go? Anybody?  Anybody??

Or is it just me?  If its just me, please be generous and lie and make stuff up in the comments.  Tell me about your pet pony, I don't care.  

So I've gone on and on about how blissful our summer has been and like a vise grip getting tighter and tighter I can see my happy little boy slipping away from me.  Out of my grasp.

Our window is closing in on us.

And I'm scared.

I can see Alex's sphincter tighten as we get closer to next week and I'm dying a thousand deaths for him.

We had our last swim lesson and he was so sad and mad and I don't know what that he went up and slugged his instructor.  Normally he loves this girl.  Not today.  He didn't know how to tell her he was sad and mad and I don't know what and the next thing I knew he hauled off and just slugged her.

Even with his back turned
I know.  

Everything has been so rough on him in the past few days.  He's been trying desperately to hold it together and he just fell apart today.  And of all things it was when we ran out of cookies at the pool.  Cookies.

And he melted.

"Mom, Lizzy ate all the cookies and I'm hungry."  He's already started bawling, his chins quivering, snot running down his nose, over his lips and down his chin.  Rivers of tears streaming down each cheek.

Like a switch that's been turned on, I can see what's coming.

"I'm so hungry, Mom.  I want to go home."  He's pacing in circles.  Flapping.

"No babe, we're not going home.  Lizzy's not done with her lesson.  We have to stay."

"I WANT TO GO HOME!  I WANT TO GO HOME NOW!  NOW! NOW! NOW!  TAKE ME HOME NOW!"

He's going in circles, faster.  He's still sobbing.  And flapping.  He gets to our stuff and starts throwing the empty cookie bag and launched it across the pool deck.  Moved on to tossing the water bottle and all the goggles in the pool and got part way through our bag, chucking things out before I could get to him.  And I was all of one chair down.

Lizzy, not a care in the world. 

What he lacks in coping skills he makes up for in speed.        

"No.  No, hon.  We're not going home.  We have to wait."

"I WANT TO GO HOME.  NOW!  I WANT TO GO HOME!"

He's moved on to sobbing hysterically, his whole body wracked with waves of angst.  "I WANT TO GO HOME."  I'm trying to hold on to him.  He's pushing me away.

He's moved on just that quickly from throwing things to curling up on himself, on the pool chair.

It always amazes me the fury that can be unleashed in a split second.  And the next, yet just as startling, is the child curled up so tightly in a ball, so vulnerable.  Scared.

"I know.  I know.  I know.  I'm sad too."  I say sitting next to him, trying not to get too close for fear of setting him off again.  "It stinks that Tracy has to go away for college and this is your last lesson.  I know that.  It makes my body sad too.  And I'm a little mad and a scared too.  Ya wana go over and tell Tracy you'll miss her?  You don't have to say anything you can just go over and touch her.  Just a touch.  She'll know what you're saying."

"NO.  I WANT TO GO HOME."  He's not moved an inch, just talking to me through the slats of the pool chair.

"I know, I know. But listen to me.  Did you know if you use your words, she'll understand your feelings?  She will.  Trust me.  I bet she's sad too."

He sat all though his sister's lesson curled up in the fetal position.  Was a moody as a feral cat coming back home.  Refused to talk to Tracy the rest of her time with us.

Right as she was walking out the door he went up to her.  Touched her on her hand and walked away.

He's been up in his room on his computer ever since listening to his music and making mazes.

There are so many things that are upsetting to me about what happened.  I know this scenario will replay itself all day, just with a different trigger.  He was unable to use words but for him to make that move, that touch, gives me pause.

It gives me hope.

The flapper

Back when my Aspie was about three I noticed something was different when he got excited.  He flapped.  And flapped.  And flapped some more.  It was like he was in one of those old Lewis and Clark movies where they put wings on their arms and launched themselves off buildings and tried to maintain air.  He'd get his little arms going and off he'd go.  I never noticed it until my sister said something about it.  Then I noticed it all the time.  He'd flap when he was excited, when he ran, when the doorbell rang.  It was the one thing that helped me pinpoint what was going on with him.  To this day he still flaps.  It's not as noticeable but it's still there. 

At the time I was really worried and didn't have a clue as to how to stop it or how to get him to shake out of it.  Turns out, he was flapping as a way to regulate all the external stuff coming at him.  All the excitement, excess stimuli, anything different.  It was too much for him to take in so he'd flap as a way to gate-keep what was hitting his front door.

I found out that a lot of Aspie's flap for self-regulation purposes related to sensory issues-either as a way to calm themselves or to regulate (perhaps block) all that extra external stuff coming at them.  Basically it's a coping mechanism.  Our little Aspie would also flap if he was upset or if he couldn't do something as a way to "get his angry out' as he would call it.

There are ways to decrease the flapping such as interrupting it as it happens or allowing flapping time at certain points during the day.  We tried to interrupt him a few times but it made him flap more and stressed him out.  He truly didn't understand what we were doing.  He wasn't hurting himself or anyone else so we left well enough alone.  The flapping really seemed to be something he needed to do.  It calmed him and allowed him to focus on what was going on rather than getting more hyped up.  I was uncomfortable taking away something that was working for him so we left things be. 

As he's gotten older he's been better able to regulate his body and what he's doing with it.  Yes, he still flaps but he seems to have grown out of most of it.  A little flapping never killed anyone, right?




My flapper.  I love him for it.