Mom's Day Off

Every so often, I tell my family that I am taking the day off. Even mom's need time to re-charge their batteries. To be able to take care of our families, we moms need some time to enjoy non-mom and non-wife things. Kids and husbands don't always realize it, but they get a lot more play time than their wives and mothers. (I'm not sure how this works in same-sex relationships... and I'd be interested to know if one partner feels like a traditional "mom" and needs to set boundaries down harder to take a day off...)

I prepared the kid earlier this week that Saturday was going to be an "entertain yourself day". or at least a "don't expect mom to succumb to your every whim day". I told the kid, of course, that I'd provide three meals for him, but snackage was his responsibility (and possibly my nightmare). I also reminded him that I'll be around for boo-boo mending, but otherwise, pretend your mom is at the spa.

I said the similar lines to my husband. His response was supportive, with a hint of "why is she telling me this?" because he doesn't truly realize how difficult it is for me to get away. That's understandable since he's sequestered more often than not in his convalescent area (aka our bedroom). He'd love to need to day off instead of dreaming of having everyday on, so to speak.

I thought I had everyone prepared. Thought being the operative word. You see, my little social aspie creature, who a year ago would be happy to go an entire day without having to have a conversation with anyone around him has turned the opposite direction. The poor child is used to having someone entertain him in some way, shape or form. He's spent the past few months with family and/or friends, visiting or being visited, at home doing something extraordinarily fun or out and about doing summery things. It's great and has been a huge distraction in the absence of his father from his daily life, but it does not bode well when we have a chance for down-time... or I have a chance for down-time.

While I got to sleep in until eleven in the morning (sleeping in was more like I couldn't be roused due to sheer exhaustion), I haven't had much other time off. As a matter of fact, I spent the greater portion of today doing what I always do. Then when I reminded said kid about said day off for mama, he promptly called his aunt to tell her I needed him to go spend the night with her. Cause, you know, I'm taking the day off?

She wasn't game and she shouldn't have to be. My boy has plenty of independent play skills (despite him forgetting he has them) along with plenty of games, books, movies and toys to provide a rich, fun experience when no one is around to play with him. Instead, he was bored (which is code for "help me cope with not getting my expectations met").

And he started to meltdown... so Mom swooped in, took him outside where he was more able to keep himself together. We reviewed the misery which is his life (Sam's not home, Dad is having a bad pain day and Moster said no to staying the night). I told some stories of my childhood that revolved around having to entertain myself when I didn't want to. I'm not sure those stories help as much as the change of scenery and talking being used as a way to cope do.

I love that my kid is relishing in socialization while hating that he isn't prone to moderation. It's all or nothing. One extreme to the next... for now. The boy has learned a lot in the past year, especially in the past three or so months. He's been asked to deal with a huge amount of stress, more than any kid should have to bear. Through it all, he's been absolutely amazing considering all life has thrown our way... thrown his way.

Now that Daddy is out of the woods as far as he knows, we are seeing the kid's stress manifest in strange new ways, like this no longer being able to keep himself company anymore and not wanting any downtime at all. He's all go-go-go these days. Of course, that makes it harder for me to take any breaks because either I'm going with him, shadowing him with his peers and on the days he's sleeping over at my sister's, I'm running the husband to appointments, running errands and taking care of non-kid related things.

I knew he's been in sorta Asperger's pressure cooker all this time. I just didn't know what the result would be or when the lid would blow off-- I just knew eventually we'd find out! Well, this is part of it. The child doesn't want to be alone... at all. This isn't anxiety related, or not like it was before the Paxil (irrational fears keeping him prisoner), but its something. It's not wanting time to dwell on the what ifs, perhaps?

In any case, I'm trying hard to help him cope through this period, to remind him of his wonderful imagination and other outlets he has that are fun, yet independent. And I am encouraging him to do little things with his dad, like have lunch in bed together. As a matter of fact, I've been able to write this because the two guys went to the store together-- Daddy was finally feeling up to it.

Yet, I'm thinking with the manifestation of this newest symptom-- the inability to do anything solo-- it may be appropriate to go back to therapy. As a mom, I see this as a regression back into toddler-hood, when I couldn't take my eyes of my boy for a second without disaster. We are just a small step away from bringing him into the bathroom with us because he refuses to occupy any room by himself for more than two minutes. We are also a small step away from losing the ability to sleep in his room by himself (or self-soothe at bedtime). As the stress creeps out of his little (okay, bus sized) head, I worry about regression.

We've worked so hard for so long on all these independent and socialization skills. Matt has worked hard, extremely hard on acquiring skills and coping mechanisms, managing his behavior and expressing himself and feelings. I saw today his own frustration seep out. Yet in this, he recognized and expressed that he did not like how he was feeling. My heart breaks for him in these moments.

Facing the mortality of a loved one is hard as hell for a normal adult. For a kid with Asperger's Syndrome... well... is there an expression worse than "hard as hell"? Whatever you can come up with would fit.

So while I didn't get a true day off (which I never really expected anyway), I did get something that is important to moms: I got an understanding, a clearer picture of my son's reaction to his father's Chiari recovery. The only way I can help him get through this is to see the big picture. It's just one piece to the newest puzzle we are putting together.

We'll just keep working on it until he can find that balance between introversion and extroversion, always wanting to be alone or never wanting to be alone. Until we get it right, we'll all be taking a lot of deep breaths and taking things one second at a time. Like boy said just a few minutes ago (they came home a little while ago) "We'll try again tomorrow for a day off".

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.