A tremendously huge milestone…

Consider, please, that J is 21.  He is signed up for Selective Service, he can buy alcohol (which he doesn’t like,) porn (which I’m sure he’d enjoy)  and cigarettes (the smell of which he finds disgusting.)  He can go into the movie theater and watch any movie he wants…no restrictions.

And now, drumroll, he can tie his shoes.

Is it done prettily?  No.  Is it done quickly?  No.  Is it done without an intense look of concentration?  No.  But it’s done.

Not bad, I think, for a couple of people that the world assumes spend their whole day twiddling their thumbs.  No, dagnabbit, we get stuff done…and that stuff, right now, is shoe-tying.

Don’t ask me how it happened.  I’m pretty sure that it was as close to Eliza Dolittle surprising Professor Higgins by properly pronouncing and enunciating her way through “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

First one shoe…then another.  After years of  trying and trying, and failing and failing….

You know how people say “in the end it was anti-climatic?”  It wasn’t.  It really, really wasn’t.  Two days running, it still isn’t.  We actually celebrate it every time he does it.  It’s almost up there with when he finally got potty-trained at the age of eight.  It’s a big, big, BIG deal.

I am sure that people think we do very little when we’re here all day.  I know this because people often complain that I don’t answer their calls, e-mails, text messages, and don’t have “time to hang out” with them.  I am tempted to do an auto-reply on my e-mail and text, change our voicemail greeting, and have a t-shirt made that reads “trust me, we’re doing important stuff.”

Life sometimes reminds us that we’re not just running on idle.  Life sometimes throws us a little gift like this miraculous shoe-tying development.  I would say we’re not worthy, but I firmly believe that we are because we try, people; we really really REALLY try.

In the middle of everything else (the tense negotiations about the PECS board, the echolalia that drives us to distraction) a little ray of “we haven’t been wasting our time” shines through, and J achieves something that truly makes him more independent.  And he is proud of himself.  This is not just about us not having to sit on the floor with his foot on our leg as we tie his shoes…this is about J being able to do a little more for himself.

Many of my friends announce their children’s achievements on Facebook.  I think that’s tremendously cool.  Moving away from home to start college, joining this or that organization, winning this or that competition.  Even those friends who have kids with disabilities share their successes, and -believe me- I rejoice with them.  I don’t feel envy, but I do have moments when I wonder “what would have J done if…”

I snap out of those.  I know he’s doing a lot.  I am aware of the effort he puts into everything he does.  I am tremendously proud of him (even when it’s a “I have to say this X number of times to quell my anxiety) and I tell him all the time.  He knows the sign for PROUD, and when I tell him I’m proud of him he smiles broadly.  J knows.  J is aware.  J accepts the recognition, and he values the time we spend working because he knows he’s going to figure something useful out in the end.

It’s not that we don’t get frustrated.  We do.  Some days can feel long.  Some hours spent working on a seemingly menial skill can feel even longer.  We have moments when we both get upset and have to take a breather from each other.  There are times when we set aside whatever it is we are trying to master (we…yes…not a royal we…both of us are trying to master it…he the learning, and I the teaching) so we can try again later…maybe much later…both of us refreshed and renewed.

We enter September with a new skill learned.  It’s a biggie.  We are thrilled.  We are thankful.  We feel empowered.  On to the next thing!  Bring it on!  We can do this!!!!

Of course, we’ll have to stop dancing little random jigs to get on with whatever comes next, but -for now- let us bask in the glow of the shoe-tying.

 

 

A little rant on a Thursday…

Please, bear with me…I know I’m going to come across as a horribly old, cranky, not-with-it person, but I do have a point.

Raise your hand if you have a child, or are close to someone, or actually have ASD.  OK…good.  Present and accounted for, and I should have waited until AFTER my shower AFTER our run to raise my hand, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every single day, as J’s parent and primary caregiver, I work with him to make him more socially functional.  This is, as you know if you raised your hand, not as easy as it sounds to those uninitiated in the intricacies of ASD.

J has been taught when to say HELLO, and still has to be reminded.  His response to HELLO is something he has learned through effort and consistent repetition.  HELLO means to him something he does to fit into a social scenario.  When it does happen spontaneously, it is quite lovely, and we make a huge deal of it.

J has also had to learn that eye contact (while disturbing and difficult for him) is something other’s expect, and we encourage it when he feels comfortable with it.  We have also taught him to respond to his name; he knows when he’s being addressed, and we expect him to show a certain degree of attention, even if it’s only for a very brief moment.

We don’t expect J to be a walking, living, breathing example of Emily Post’s etiquette, but we do expect him to behave closer to what is considered acceptable social behavior so that others know an effort is being made, and so he will feel more a part of his social surroundings.  He is NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, a trained monkey, and we know that there are moments when his social behavior will be contingent on other stimuli that he cannot process in a way that satisfies others.  We do, however, expect him to ask for HELP and ESCAPE if he’s feeling overwhelmed and that, as you know if you raised your hand, is a significant social consideration towards others.

And here goes the rant…

Our tall, handsome, burly son is looked at like a weirdo when he displays any degree of antisocial behavior “out there” in the world.  People look out of the corner of their eyes, once in a while you can see they’re commenting, and they react as if J has committed some horrible faux pas if he doesn’t act like we think people are supposed to act when in the presence of others.  By this I don’t mean scratching his but, picking his nose, chewing with his mouth open, or farting in public (although he has done that, and we’ve told him he should ask for the bathroom because it’s off-putting.)  No, what I mean is when someone talks to him, J doesn’t answer or look at them.  That, my friends, is considered RUDE by the general population…

Let’s cut through the myth of the benevolent, happy-go-lucky disabled person who smiles and is extremely friendly.  That can be true, but it can also be bullshit.  Everyone has their moments, and (if you raised your hand) you KNOW that responding to the social cues in the way people expect can be overwhelming and, at times, even physically painful.

This is my point…really, I’m getting there…

We stand in line at the store, and in front of us are countless people who are on their cellphones.  They are talking, or texting.  They barely acknowledge the cashier.  They answer curtly, abruptly, rudely.  They ignore the “good morning” or the “did you find all you were looking for today?”  The cashier might roll his/her eyes, and chalk it up to “that asshole was rude.”

Cue us getting to the register.  We are NEVER on our phones.  We try to engage with the cashier with greetings, and thank you, and what not.  But heaven forbid the cashier should talk to J and J should not engage with them.  The sourness in the face of the person who says hello to him and doesn’t get a hello back is so obvious!  We try to explain, and we encourage J to respond socially…sometimes it works, others it doesn’t.

When you tell a cashier that your adult child has ASD and is non-verbal, they might reel back the deflation they previously displayed, or they might ignore YOU.  Why?  Because the rudeness, or the lack of social skills are the result of something that cannot be controlled.  If a person is focusing on their iPhone and acting like a self-absorbed ass, well, that iPhone cost a lot of money, and they’re paying for a service.  If a person is acting self-absorbed because Autism is part of their make-up…well, how dare they????

Look…I have nothing against cellphones.  Ok, that’s not true…I think cellphones have caused a greater deterioration of social skills than any other item we carry on ourselves.  Cellphones have destroyed our ability to communicate with each other because we are so focused on that one thing that we block out what surrounds us.  People now text in abbreviations and acronyms.  People no longer know how to sit in a waiting room not looking at what they have in their hand.

Case in point: on Tuesday I went to the doctor.  I was the only person there with a book.  The people who were on their phones suddenly saw something on the TV screen that they could latch on to for conversation, and they were GOOGLING about it while talking to each other.  I suddenly realized that they were looking at me like I was the rudest person in the room because I was not participating in this ritual…because I was reading.  So my absorption in this task was rude because I couldn’t look for a contribution to make to their conversation in an item that has no capabilities for accessing information from the ether.

I will sound like an old and cantankerous old lady, but the majority of kids out there are rude!  They don’t know how to talk to grown-ups; they don’t have the basic skills of courtesy and social interaction that my generation had to learn because our parents expected us to know how to behave.  Those same kids look J up and down like he’s a freak because of the way he acts, but how different is their self-absorbed, phone-obsessed, socially-inept behavior from his?  Oh, wait…it IS different because he is not focusing on himself, and failing to focus on others, in a socially-acceptable way.

I’m sure that if J walked around with earbuds, sunglasses, a cellphone in hand, people would just say “oh, he’s just a product of his generation.”  As it stands, J is just strange and antisocial, and we REALLY should’ve done a better job helping him adapt to society…

AAAAARGH!

Rant over…thank you.  As you were.

Ah…the weekend…

I have never claimed to have this whole thing figured out, but on Friday I pretty much kicked ass.  That is: I managed to take J to the movies, lunch and shopping without a major incident, and without regretting that I don’t make a habit of carrying a flask full of hooch with me.

On Tuesday J reorganized his PECS board to reflect a trip to the movies on Friday.   Then he switched to “watching a movie at home.”  This happened at least ten times over the course of Wednesday and Thursday, and I had to -very quickly- research WHAT movie, and when. I settled on Kubo and the Two Strings, and even showed him the trailer on You Tube.  As is my habit, I prepared for this possible outing by over-preparing.

I had money, a cab booked with plenty of time, clothes picked out, and a timeline that would make synchronized swimming look like disoriented ducks trying to swim out of a bowl of noodle soup.

I wanted to make sure that this would happen because J insisted (even when he was changing his mind,) and I used the expression “I PROMISE!”  He raised his eyes at that.  Goes to show how often I unequivocally promise that something will happen.  I usually say “we will try,” “weather permitting,” “if the opportunity arises,” “it is quite possible,” “we’ll see if that’s a possibility.”  This time, my friends, I made a solemn vow, and I wasn’t (under any circumstances) going to break my promise.

So after changing his mind, and assuming that I was all bluster and no filibuster, J was pleasantly surprised when I told him (at precisely 11:25 per my schedule) that we were getting ready to leave for the movies.  By 11:35 we were headed out the door to wait for the cab at the complex’s leasing office and, as I had requested, we were notified via text that our cab was running a little behind so it would be a while before we got picked up.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over time is that you book cabs to arrive with plenty of time for your outing, and that way you won’t be disappointed if they’re running late.  J, who was impressed that I was this committed, patiently sat annoying anyone within earshot with his Proloquo and I WANT TO GO TO THE MOVIES, I WANT POPCORN, I WANT A SODA, I WANT CANDY.  When the cab arrived I think people danced around why taking shots of whisky.

We made it to the mall with plenty of time to go to lunch.  I’m not big on going to lunch at the mall, but I figured since J had done it with his classmates, and he no longer has classmates, it would be fun to see that those outings are still possible.

When we walked into the Chinese buffet, the lady at the counter addressed J by asking “two for lunch?”  He turned to me and handed me the iPad.  I explained that, yes, we would both be having lunch.  We ordered our drinks, and sat there for a moment before I realized that J was looking at me like I’m the dumbest person in the world.   I asked what was wrong, and he rolled his eyes and pointed to the buffet.  Ah…the lady who never goes to lunch at the mall didn’t know that you just get up, grab a plate, and serve your food.  He patiently led me through the buffet, and we sat down to eat.

From there we went to Old Navy.  J loves Old Navy.  He knows how to SAY Old Navy.  He asks to go to Old Navy.  He was so happy when he saw they had the pajama pants he loves that he let out a whoop.  I don’t know if other people get excited when they get Old Navy Bucks, but J was in seventh heaven…he handed them to me like they were a sure-fire winning lottery ticket.

We made it to the theater on time.  J ordered his snacks, handed his rewards card over, and off we went to watch Kubo and the Two Strings.  There were only six people in the theater.  This is good because we were comfortable, but it’s sad because it’s truly the best animated movie we’ve seen this year.  J loved it.  Not only was he happy that I kept my promise, he was thrilled that he liked the movie we went to watch.  He was so happy that he didn’t even mind that he only got a medium soda and popcorn, and that I ate half of his M&Ms.

After the movie we walked to Target, and bought the things we needed for the weekend.  Dada picked us up when he was done with work.  We headed home, and J had a happy, lazy smile on his face.  He was happy to be home and his new pajama pants for the rest of the evening.

On Saturday, however, he was a little less patient with us.  I’m sure the fantastic outcome of Friday went to his head, and he was expecting another solemn vow, but I had to say “we have cheese at home,” and “you are NOT having TWO hot dogs from Five Guys.”  We were not friends for a bit, but we managed to make peace without me losing my foothold on “I’m the mother, darnit!!!”

I know a lot of you are probably thinking “this is no big deal, lady!  We take our kids places all the time, and it’s not a huge production.”  Well, people, I don’t drive.  I am the crappiest, most unsafe, anxious driver ever, and I reserve my driving for “a life must be saved and it’s in my hands!!!!”  J also is used to getting to the movies via Dada or, formerly, TGG.  Going alone with me hadn’t happened in a very long time, and I believe TGG was with us then.  J was also significantly smaller, younger and lighter, and I could handle his squirming, screaming, thrashing, tantrum-throwing body a lot better.

So, Saturday was more of a low point, but Friday was amazing.  And I’m proud of us.  J knows that school has started for everyone, and seeing that life goes on outside that context is awesome for him.  We went to the movies…just J, Slinky and I with an iPad.  And  it was great.

 

It keeps you (sorta) running…

J isn’t an athletic sort.  I think anyone who sees his hefty frame, and watches him walk (gambol?) to the mailbox can tell that he’s more awkward than not.  His toes turn slightly in, and he doesn’t necessarily keep pace with anyone who walks with him.  Neither can anyone keep pace with him.  There’s a bit of a skip, and a bit of a sway.  He looks joyful when he’s walking, but he doesn’t look athletic.

J only actually runs (the proper definition of “run”) when there’s some sort of thing that freaks him out; dragonflies, moths, butterflies, dogs, birds, or any other imagined threat will make him break into a trot, canter or gallop.  There isn’t, let’s face it, a single chance in this world that he will ever excel in track-and-field events.  He cannot keep up a proper pace, and his breathing is laced with laughter and humming.  He sometimes runs out of breath and coughs, all while smiling broadly and laughing.

J running is reminiscent of the screaming boy in Robin Hood: Men In Tights, or Phoebe Buffay jogging in Friends.

As you all know, if you’ve been reading this, J is a fan of using his elliptical machine while watching musicals.  I have to leave the garage because this is a thing he likes to do by himself.  Whether he’s watching Guys and Dolls, The Sound of Music, My Fair LadyOklahoma!, Gigi, South Pacific, or The King and I, I am not allowed to burst in and sing while he’s working out.  I get a firm (but broadly smiling) BYE!  While out on our walks, I am his personal jukebox, and I take (of course) requests, but while he’s exercising…nope…not allowed.

J alternates his elliptical machine workout with his Wii Fit.  This, my friends, has been tricky.  A) The Wii Fit isn’t smart enough to know that it’s dealing with a person who doesn’t understand some of the instructions, B) J has trouble fulfilling some of the requirements of the correct form for the exercises, and C) running was something we had to do with him whether we wanted to or not.

Ah, yes…aging is not easy, friends.  Aging after you were an extremely active youth who had very little respect for all the fine mechanisms within one’s body is a pain in the ass.  Our knees (oh, our knees!) creak, crack, snap, squeak, and make us yelp.  There are days that, as with life in general, easier than others.  On those days, we are as bouncy, flouncy, pouncy, trouncy as Tigger himself.  Other days are laced with groaning and dread at the thought of running.

It was on such a day, not that long ago, that J insisted on running with the Wii Fit, and I had to accept that, unless the Wii Fit was the thing to use, exercising wouldn’t happen.  After slathering myself with Tiger Balm (which promises to become the fragrance that my body exudes as I age further) I told J “we’re going to figure out how to run with this thing.”

When I say “figure out how to run” I really mean it.  J, left to his own devices, will get the Mii to stand there while the clock keeps time, and every other Mii in Wii Fit Island passes him while looking over a shoulder.  So teaching J to “run” (something we all basically take for granted) had to be done.  Stability, something to anchor him, was the key.  The first time (after the Tiger Balm and some Tylenol,) I ran next to him as he held on to…drumroll, please…a stepladder!

Look, it’s not the most gracious running you’ve ever seen.  It’s nowhere near a cheetah, a gazelle, or Usain Bolt.  The pace continues to be choppy and less than consistent, but now J runs with the Wii Fit, and he listens to his music while watching his Mii being waved at by his relatives’ Miis.  The musical selections are eclectic: some days he starts out with Lou Bega’s Mambo No. 5, and works his way through Christina Aguilera’s What a Girl Wants, and sometimes he’s bouncing around to Todd Rundgren, The Spice Girls (don’t tell him I told you that,) Beck, The Cars…  He started running for five minutes, and now he’s up to 30 minutes.  He covers about five miles in that time.  He sweats and drinks lots of water.  He laughs as I do the chores in the kitchen and dining room, or take care of the plants in the driveway.

Like I said: not the most elegant runner in the planet, but he works at being fit.  He knows he’s doing better than we (the old, creaky people) are doing in that department.  He actually stands on the doorway and giggles when he sees us doing our run in the evening before we cook dinner.  He peeks in on us, and shakes his head as if saying “that’s all you’ve got???  HA!”  And off he goes to set the table for dinner, or to get things lined up for dinner prep.  J will never be thin, or graceful.  J will always go into interpretive dance when telling me if he wants to do the elliptical or the Wii Fit.  Saying RUN sounds more like “WUHN,” but I can tell from his arm and leg movements what he means: expansive back and forth with deeply bent knees means elliptical and musical, and a quick back and forth of close-to-the-chest arms, and tiny, quick steps means Wii Fit and iPod.

We are, like just about everyone else on the planet, following the Olympics, but not with the TV…we know who has medaled by reading the news and following the medal count.  We know the greatest athletes in the world are out there achieving great things.   And then there’s Robel Kiros Habte, the Ethiopian swimmer who has received attention for being the least Michael Phelps‘-like swimmer in the competition.  Like Florence Foster Jenkins, he is probably the best example of doing what you do because you love it, because you want to, because you have a right to be there with everyone else.

Not everyone will live up to what they see in Michael Phelps.  THAT is why he IS Michael Phelps.  How long did it take for Michael Phelps to outdo Mark Spitz?  The thing is that the chubby kid, the uncoordinated kid, the awkward kid, the clumsy kid, the asthmatic kid, the kid who is afraid of water have as much right to dream, and maybe their dream won’t be to BE Michael Phelps, but rather to BE there, too.

So, yeah, J runs…sort of.  He doesn’t win medals outside of our home, our garage, our milieu (limited as it is.)  But he runs.  He didn’t before.  He does now.  You do what it takes, and you should be thrilled when it works out.  I know we are.

We can do this your way, or we can do this the right way…

J has come a long, long way.  There’s no arguing that point.  I see it every day, and I can attest to the fact that leaps and bounds are the measure for his progress.

That, however, doesn’t mean he’s not human, and it certainly doesn’t mean he won’t try to get his way if he thinks it’s possible.  But, heaven help me, I am the mother and I get to call some of the shots around here.  Not too many shots because I respect the fact that he can choose like any ol’ Tom, Dick or Harry.  I do, however, take out my thick marker and draw the random line here…or there…or maybe over there…

Many years ago, when Dada and I were choosing to make our lives OUR LIFE, we agreed that it was crucial (as we embarked in co-parenting these extraordinary children of ours) to not forget what it was like to be whatever age they were at any given point.  So, very often, the urge to punt a child over a balcony translated to “I remember being nine, and THAT thrilled about Christmas morning,” or “I remember being sixteen and wanting my license SO BAD!!!!”  With J, of course, the game is a little more complex…

We have in our midst a 21 year-old with a fully-grown body, and the sliding-scale emotional age that is par for the course in his situation.  He can be tremendously cool about some things, and he can be five and on a sugar high about others.  When the 21 year-old body (with the goatee and the deep voice) reacts with the thought process of a five year-old, well, it can be interesting.

J gets overexcited about things.  He hasn’t yet figured out how to react.  Sometimes, when he’s extremely happy, he goes into SIB, and all the while he is telling you how happy he is, and how much he loves you.  The strategy is now to control the SIB until I can get him to sit down and focus on telling us how he feels, and why.

This sounds a lot easier than it is.  We are, after all, also human, and we get frustrated with the brief spats that arise when J is overstimulated with something we’ve yet to identify.  But we’re getting there.  We’re figuring it out.

J has realized that school is about to start.  Anywhere you go there are reminders of the school year that is about to start, and we know he understands that it doesn’t include him.  That there would be a hint of nostalgia, some regret, a tinge of oh-man-why-not-me, and a definite undercurrent of “crap, I’m stuck at home” is totally understandable.  We know that is playing a part in the minor eruptions that take place from time to time.

The calendar is, for the first time since 1999, completely bare of school-related notes.  The only thing highlighted are the home-game Saturdays for WVU, and the days when parades and other activities might snarl traffic beyond all manageable proportions.  Friday is move-in day…we’re doing our grocery shopping/Friday outing today.  A) The store shelves won’t be bare, and B) we won’t have to deal with crowds.

My dad was a ham radio operator.  I remember sitting next to him as he gently turned the dials on all his equipment, seeking the signal he needed, wanted.  Sometimes the slightest movement would make him lose that signal, and he’d patiently go back and lean forward to listen for a voice (garbled though it might be,) or a bit of Morse code.  Even when I couldn’t make out what was being said, he would smile and feel satisfied that that was as good as it would get, and it was what he needed at the time, and he’d jump in and participate in whatever conversation was going on…

I’m taking that lesson and I’m running with it.  I turn the dial gently, and I listen carefully, leaning forward to get a better idea of what is happening.  I do the best with the signal I get, and I jump in and do what needs to be done.

Every single day.

 

I wouldn’t say “like clockwork…”

Once in a while (actually, once a week,) J gets anxious and has a “moment.”  It doesn’t last very long, but it is exhausting.  The PECS board is involved, and there is a rather dramatic insistence on scheduling things until he is satisfied that I (we) have paid attention to what he wants when he wants it.

J times this perfectly.  The moment that I am busy, rushing about, hands full of things, attention focused on something that requires me 100%, THAT is when J will want to go over the board in minute detail.

There is a lot of deep breathing involved.  There is a lot of me reminding myself that this, too, shall pass.  There is a lot of holding a PECS card up to my face, tapping it repeatedly and quickly with one finger, and expecting me to stay calm.  I do my best.  I don’t deny that there are times when I bark and say “yes, yes” because I have either something on the stove, or am slicing something, or am trying to get to the bathroom.

If J doesn’t get the EXACT quality of attention that he requires (because he has his standards and they are on a sliding scale that is unavailable for perusal from the rest of us,) he gets angry.  That’s when the chin-flicking comes in.  Once in a while there is light stomping.  Today we had soft fists hitting the chin on both sides.

My strategy was to say “yes, J…we will go to -insert place here- on -insert whatever day he was pointing at-.”  I said it many times.  J was either unconvinced, or the number of times he had to ask, point, demand attention was higher than on other days.  I said yes, yes, my dear…as you wish.  (Oh, Westley…it didn’t work for you, but eventually Buttercup did figure it out, didn’t she?)  I didn’t really have a problem with this insistence because a) I’m used to it, b) it’s pointless to have a problem with it, and c) I knew it would pass…eventually.

After ten minutes of chin-flicking and chin-hitting I decided to say, rather firmly, “ok, well…I understand that you are pissed off and want things your way, but I don’t think this is productive.”  I went to the balcony, and closed the screen door.  J decided that he should take this opportunity to become even more vocal about what he wanted.  I came back inside and he came up to me, quite close, and repeated the tapping of the PECS card, the chin-flicking, and the chin-hitting.

I don’t tell J he’s being bad.  Even when he’s being a brat, I try to say he’s being rude rather than bad.  Rude is an attitude; bad is character flaw.  So I said “J, you are being rude.  I understand that you want something, but we cannot get on with your breakfast and everything else until you stop this.”  He was shocked that I would take that tack so he got closer, flicked harder and tapped more insistently.

I grabbed the keys, took the security bar with me, and stepped out on the porch.  I grabbed the keys in case J decided to lock the door.  Ditto for the security bar.  I could see him because the door has a window, and I know he could see me.  I locked the door, and stood there looking at the tomato plants on the driveway.

I was more irritated than angry.  I know my son has difficulties communicating how he’s feeling, and I know he can get tremendously anxious, but (as I said to him while he was stomping around the kitchen protesting against life and its hiccups) we are stuck together and all the chin-flicking and PECS-tapping doesn’t help.  “I will help you, but you have to listen when I say whatever it is I’m saying.”  On the way down the hallway towards the door I said “I will come in when you’re ready to listen.”

J’s silhouette filled the window.  He was still standing in the kitchen, his snack portions ready to put in the box, the packages ready to go back to the pantry.  I gazed at the tomatoes and took a deep breath.  I counted to 100.  While I did this, I could hear J walking back and forth between kitchen and garage as he put away the snacks, and then stored the box on top of the fridge.  When I got to 100 I opened the door, replaced the security bar, and hung my keys.  J was standing in the kitchen with his binder, and he was obviously done being upset.

I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he showed me the breakfast burritos.  I told him to get the things ready, and stood back in case he needed help.  With very little intervention on my part, he made and ate his breakfast.  He kept looking at me between bites, and I smiled at him in a conciliatory manner.

After that we tidied up the kitchen, made beds, gathered laundry and headed to the basement to do whatever it is we do in the mornings.  Every time I stepped into the TV room, or he came out to the sitting room, he told me he loves me.

At 10:30 we did a few more chores, and then I asked him if he wanted to exercise.  He chose The Sound of Music for his workout movie, and climbed on the elliptical machine.  By the time intermission rolled around, I told him it was lunchtime, and he was happy and ready to eat.  We made lunch, and then he asked for his bath.  After his bath he wanted a shave, and after that he wanted his band-aids and wrist brace.

It is an anxious day.  I know that.  He has been “off,” but he has worked his way through it.  We didn’t start very well, but we figured it out.  Maybe it’s the weather.  Maybe it’s just the excessive togetherness of two adults in the house together all the time.  Maybe he’s just needing the reassurance that he has a say on what he wants to do, and when.

I understand what little I can figure out about all this.  I make sure that I am as fair as I can be, and that -because he was worried about me not being around the day of my surgery- I stay where he can see me if I have to “step outside.”  It is the same dynamic, but it has changed.  I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s the way it seems.  New and improved?  Same formula and new packaging?  I don’t know how this would be marketed…

All I know is we’re trying to make it work.  It’s not quite running like clockwork, but if you’ve ever looked at a clock’s mechanism (not a digital one, of course) you know it’s quite complex and beautiful.  It takes years to become a master clockmaker.  It takes effort, and attention to detail.  It takes patience and skill.  It takes vision and an understanding of the way pieces work together.

We’re working on it….

 

 

The downside of being beloved…

Would you like to discuss my ability to wear shoes for the past five days?  It is not that my feet are swollen, or that they hurt.  It is not that my shoes are uncomfortable.  My ability to wear shoes is being hampered by my son.  You know him.  He is J.  The kid who now realizes he loves me and cannot stand the thought of me leaving the house?  The one who has been taking my shoes away because they might propel me out the door much like Dorothy’s ruby slippers eventually led her home after a bit of heel-clicking wishful thinking?

I am not complaining.  I am merely pointing out that being in J’s radar has its not-so-cool moments.  We have previously discussed his ability to go all Droopy Dog on me.hqdefault

We have gone a step further.  We are now a weird combination of Buddy the Elf and Rhino from Bolt.

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Friday evening J’s helper came over so Dada and I could go to the grocery store.  We were back in less than an hour.  On Saturday we had dinner plans so we had made the arrangement with J’s helper to come over with her husband and, as they usually do, cook dinner for them and J while we went to a restaurant that we’ve always wanted to try.  This place is closing for good tomorrow night so we figured we’d sneak in one meal (especially since all their wine has a 30% discount.)  After breakfast, we arranged J’s board and put the corresponding picture for our outing and his helper.

J was outraged.  J was not having it.  J removed the PECS, and I put them back.  He removed them again, and I put them back.  Once more…and once more again.  I waited until ten-thirty to call her and re-schedule for Tuesday.  J was satisfied by this…

We ran our Saturday errands, and when we got home J unceremoniously removed my shoes and continued to do so the rest of the weekend.  I explained I can’t go outside to water the garden barefoot.  I was handed my shoes, sent out to the garden, observed while doing my chore, and -no sooner had I stepped foot indoors- divested of my shoes once more.

I tried being casual about footwear.  OH, here I am, sitting at my desk wearing my garden slip-ons.

Like Obi-Wan Kenobi, J can feel a disturbance in the Force quite easily.  Propelled by his instinctive knowledge of the sound that shoes make as they cover skin, he came out of the TV room and removed the offending items.  Or he came to the garage, guided by his inner voice (which, I’m sure, sounds a lot like Sir Alec Guinness, and not necessarily in Star Wars…maybe more like The Bridge on the River Kwai?) and pointed to my shod feet.  This dance has gone on consistently for the past few days…

Yesterday morning J hijacked my closet.  Not in a Stanley-Tucci-in-TheDevilWearsPrada way.  J hijacked my closet so he could hide all the clothes I might wear to go out.  Anything I’ve worn out of the house (and not just in the garden or going to the mailbox, mind you) had been pushed back to the deepest recesses of the the closet; all else had been buried under layers of clothes that are at-home garments.   We had it out.  I put things back.  He put them away.  I sent him out of the room.  He sneaked back in.  I raised my voice.  He flicked his chin.

We were exhausted by the time we were done, and I had to lock the bedroom door and listen to ten minutes of J pacing back and forth while trying to determine if it was worth it to get a butter knife to unlock the door.

Eventually he age up, and we negotiated a peace pact.  He got a very small pizza for lunch, and I found my shorts.  When he was pleasantly relaxed after his turn on the elliptical machine (he skipped the intro and the intermission and entr’acte, but he watched the rest of The Sound of Music while working out,) I introduced the prospect of Dada and I going to dinner.  The crust, cheese and pepperoni inspired some benevolence and we managed to go out to dinner.

This is good.  It cost an arm and a leg to pay the helper, leave ingredients for a nice dinner for them and us going out to dinner by ourselves, but it was totally worth it…

Of course, I had to pay with relinquishing my alarm clock to the deepest, darkest depths of the back of the bottom drawer of my bedside table, but it’s a small price to pay for only getting the once-over and being found satisfactory in my at-home outfit of yoga pants, t-shirt (with holes in it…because that makes it look more sincerely at-home-y,) and no shoes.

Yes, I’m pandering.  Yes, I know that’s bad.  Yes, I’ll work on being more assertive.  Yes, I’m half-lying right now…  No, I don’t mind admitting that.

People think J’s behavior is cute.  Dada relates these experiences to his co-workers and he invariably gets and “aw!!!  That’s sweet!  He loves you!!!!”  Yeah, he loves us.  Yeah, he seems to have realized that he wants to have us around.  But…

J IS 21 years old, and he IS tall and big and heavy.  This is not a cutely obsessive waif-like figure we’re talking about.  He is not dangerous, but being bossed around by a dude who has overcome his Hulk tendencies while remaining entirely capable of performing a haka to convince me that I want to put my alarm clock away…well, it can be overwhelming.  I don’t give in because I’m afraid he will hurt me.  I give in because not doing so can be tremendously exhausting emotionally and physically.

For the time being J is my bestest friend, and he wants to be with me always.  I know this will change.  I know he will start giving me the emotional Heisman soon enough.  I don’t want this to fray our relationship so I will accept that, for the time being, my shoes are strictly on a “need” rather than “want” basis.

It’s the downside of popularity.  I get it.  Celebrities love the attention until they hate the attention.  I am currently wishing for some mild rejection, but it’s not my decision to make…as long as my entire closet doesn’t disappear…