Wanting meltdowns to melt-a-way.

"Mommy", he asks, "is it okay if I call the cat the 'p' word?" 


"No, you'll get in trouble", I reply in harmony with my husband. I think about it for a minute. "Wait...what 'p' word do you mean?"

In a whisper, he says shyly, "Patches".

Patches was my cat's name when I adopted her. She didn't look like a Patches and I can't say she had a great life under that name, so I changed it. I had to laugh at the kid's sheer innocence. Patches, of course, not that other word. Not pussy cat... The boy makes me laugh. I still had to explain to him that the cat's name was special and something I worked hard to get her to recognize as her name. We don't want to remind her of her previous life.

Summer is is coming upon its last full month. Our August calendar isn't filling up quite so quickly either, which I hope means that we will have free time to enjoy the sun and sand, water and outings that we are accustomed to this time of year. I also hope that means less time in waiting rooms and hospitals along with fewer trips to the pharmacy.

My greatest hope is that my kid can will feel more secure, feel like life is normal again. The cracks are starting to really show as his behavior reverts. We are having more meltdowns, he is clingy, he is more impulsive, he just isn't at his best.

The other day, he had a meltdown because his aunt's daughter came for a surprise visit, usurping his special time between him and his aunt. It's his only real one on one time these days. He figured if his cousin spent the night here, he could make up for that lost time with his aunt; A plan to which neither his aunt nor parents agreed. 

It was two hours of pure autistic meltdown. As his parents, we were not prepared at all. It was the longest meltdown we've had in quite a long time. It wasn't especially violent, but it was filled with spiteful words, sobbing, wailing and stopped time in our house. It was also the third one in a week.

We simply aren't used to these long, dramatic meltdowns anymore. For the hubby, its terrible. His brain is still healing meaning he is sensitive to sounds and does not have the patience he once did. He gets as frustrated as the kid because he a) can't squash the meltdown and b) can barely handle it because the shrillness and shrieking causes sensory overload. 

I have to admit that I was half deer caught in the headlights and half calming force. I thought to myself that I needed to re-read my "How to Deal with Metldowns" section in our Family Manual. The kid looked to me to help him negotiate and cope with his feelings and I was a tired, stuttering mess.

I should add to this that our current heatwave effected all of us at the time: I have no tolerance to heat like this, never have and heat exhaustion is something I succumb to easily. I had just begun to cool down after being outside when the tantrum ensued. The kid was also coming directly in from the heat. He was hot, tired and upset. The hubby's pain has increased significantly since the heatwave started, which is common for Chiarians, but worse being only two months post-op and possibly having a leak of some sort (increased intra-cranial pressure bites). As a family, we muddled through the whole thing.

I don't think the kid understands how to cope with what he is feeling. I've said this before and I'll say it again: Watching and worrying about a parent go through a major medical condition, surgery and recovery is hard for an adult. Not only is the kid not an adult, he's emotionally delayed thanks to Asperger's Syndrome.

While he was amazing during the initial process and immediately after the surgery, he's now able to have all those fears and worries come to the forefront (as it is for all of us). He's adjusting to Daddy in recovery as opposed to Daddy the Mother Hen, fart joke buddy, and generally his go to guy for all important kid stuff. He's adjusting to what Chiari means for his Dad, him and his family. This is just one phase of what will be a long recovery. 

With Asperger's, having your entire world turned up-side-down and inside-out is devastating. Anyone who doesn't realize that is not thinking about the kid. Daddy has always been his rock, so this is the hardest thing the kid has ever been through. Daddy always understands him, is always there for him, is his... well, dad.

But it isn't the same anymore. Daddy isn't around-- not like at work not around, but convalescing not around. The strongest man alive according to the kid isn't so strong right now. Yet, Daddy is trying his hardest to still fill his own large shoes, even if its in short increments. There are times when Daddy tries to be there longer, be stronger, push past his current limits to be the best dad he can be. Sometimes they have those normal for them father-son moments. Sometimes pushing past his limits, Daddy doesn't always succeed... yet the effort means something for all of us.

Because of Chiari changing our lives, I am looking for a therapist for the kid to see. I would prefer a male, but it is rare to find a male therapist willing to work with children-- my husband was one of the only in our area. There are three female candidates, one is probably out because she is the hubby's boss (and so busy!), which is a shame because I trust her the most. The other is the one we saw previously, who made no great impression on me (or the kid). The third is through the agency dealing with visitation, but who has not actually started work yet.

Speaking of visitation, that adds another stressor onto my poor kid. While we've discussed it briefly with him (because with Asperger's, you need a lot of warning for any new thing), we haven't gone into great detail. The hubby and I are going to visit with visitation therapist first to go over the information and get some guidance on the best ways to discuss the subject in detail. I need to do some reading, too, about Asperger's and supervised visitation (there really isn't much out there, ugh).

This is something I'm not really good at because I have a gut reaction that is extremely hard to control when I even think of the subject. So, the hubby has been taking the reigns on this matter. In a strange way, that has been positive thing-- it reaffirms fatherly strength.

With all that has happened, its no wonder we are back to meltdown several times a week. It's not only the hubby that is recovering, but each person in our family. Providing the kid with a safe outlet to process all his emotions is at the top of my daily to-do list. Remembering to have patience with everyone, including myself, is in the second spot. Reminding myself that its okay to muddle through life when it becomes unfamiliar is just fine, too. I wish I could have a magic candy that not only melted in his mouth, but melted away the kids meltdowns and made him feel like he was again on solid, less stressful ground.

Booby Traps

Asperger's is such a fun and interesting disorder because you never know what your kid is going to do next. Right now, we are into skateboarding. That's probably because we've expanded our social horizons and have some Paxil each day that makes us want to get out and shred (a term meaning skateboard as far as I can tell). Most kids in our town skateboard, so I'm glad the my boy has a way to break the ice with new kids he meets while enjoying common interests  with his regular group of friends. 

It's a little scary to watch him maneuver on a skateboard.  As a mom, my super power is the ability to see ever single injury-- big and small -- that could occur while he's practicing tricks. "Wear your helmet" is my new motto it seems (and for someone with sensory issues it's a miracle I can get him to put it on). I try to ensure a proper fit every time he puts it on. For him, it's entirely uncool to have your mom dote over you like that. (Evil safety freak, I am. I'm also no longer allowed to refer to myself as "mommy" because that, too, is uncool and embarrassing.) My boy does have cat like reflexes on hit skateboard and since his birthday, I've only dressed one skinned knee. It makes me wonder if he is a re-incarnated skater, because with everything else and like his mom, he's a klutz.

But bragging about my super powers to see his future broken bones and his amazing ability to not to break anything while trying the latest skating trick is not why I write this post. Skating is his new interest. When his anxiety was higher, when he was worried about intruders all the time and before Paxil, his obsession was digging little holes, or booby traps, around our house whenever he was outside.

At one point, he'd dug so many holes in the backyard that my hubby went to work filling them all in and we instituted a no digging holes in the backyard policy.  Why? Because the only people the kid was going to thwart were himself, his family and his friends. The only thing thwarted after the great hole filling in by daddy was the no more holes policy. The boy was literal. We said no more holes in the BACKYARD. With asperger's, you have to be specific.

The kid started a small pit to China in the side yard, or alley between our house and our neighbor's -- right split in the middle. The hole once again was to trap anyone who meant us harm. We put a stop to that digging as soon as we discovered complete silence and a missing shovel. We explained to the boy and his hole digging companion (after all, boys love to get into the dirt, so the kid's obsession was cool)  that that's where our neighborhood had a special drainage system put in because our gutters were emptying into our neighbors house and garage. If he'd hit a pipe, it would have been disaster. I kept meaning to fill in that hole, but never got to it. I also reminded the kids that part of that hole now belonged to our neighbor, who wouldn't appreciate the extra security.

Then we parents instituted the absolutely no digging holes anywhere at anytime without express permission, except at the beach. No use of shovels without permission, except at the beach. Specific enough? I think so. 

The other day, I was looking for my less fearful much braver kid whose forgotten almost entirely about intruders (and only says "lock the door" 50 times a day instead of 5,000) and whose focus is now playing with other kids like a regular, non-anxiety having kid. He's supposed to let us know where he is going and who he is with whenever he changes locations. This time, he didn't. Mommy, er mom, was irritated because he forgot a lot that day. (Too many children in the neighborhood behind us are unsupervised, unless its by me our neighbor, which is one reason we worry when the kid goes-a-playing out of our line of vision.)

I was walking along the side yard in a huff when I discovered his booby trap worked really, really well. As I fell onto my right knee, sliding across the grass and dirt, my left foot (the one I'd injured severely as a teenager, which has never been quite the same) did its own crazy Tony Hawk like trick. I cussed, I held back tears, I said "the boy is now grounded officially" and I realized that his booby trap was successful, especially since enough time had elapsed to allow grass, when it needs mowing to hide the almost adult foot sized pit.

It being Fourth of July weekend, I couldn't imagine hobbling into the emergency room to wait ten hours to be told what I already knew: I sprained something. So, I did all the good first aid stuff while my husband found the kid playing happily with well supervised kids. The kid felt bad that because we were looking for him and because he'd dug a hole, I got hurt.

The kid and I both learned some valuable lessons from that experience. The first is that yes, the kid needs to report his where-a-bouts because bad things happen when you don't, which he's taken to heart. The second is that there is a reason we don't dig holes in the yard (a phase I think is over). The final thing is that his booby trap was really well designed and all those times I thought about filling it in, but put it off makes me currently an idiot.

I also think I now prefer skateboards to booby traps. 

My foot didn't get better, so I ended up at the emergency room at seven in the morning to beat the crowds today. It appears I injured the middle of the foot, in which is an area difficult to x-ray clearly. The doctor guessed that nothing was broken with caveat that sometimes you can't see a break until it starts to heal. He gave me something for the pain, said I didn't necessarily need crutches as long as I stayed off my foot for a few days. Since it was already injured, I could have strained the innards of an already weak foot. If it doesn't get better within a few days, I'll need to see a specialist-- either a podiatrist or an orthopedic surgeon. So let's pray it gets better because its summer, we need beach time and I still have a recovering husband.