Last night, my husband and I were sleepily snuggled into our bed. In the dark, we ran through our Christmas purchases aloud. We debated whether or not Garret really needs that RC helicopter. We agreed that there are more than enough Lego sets hidden in the attic, no matter how many sets made the list. And, as we always do, we racked our brains over the question that has stumped us for at least the last six years: "What do we do for Braden?"
Ever since Garret started making a list, we've stressed over the inequity in our Christmas purchases. We always spend more on Garret. Always. It's easy! There is little he doesn't flat out ask for because, blissfully, he's a typical kid. There is little we wouldn't give him if it's in our reach (or even slightly out of our reach). But Braden...that's another story.
I've been asked in countless appointments and meetings, "What does Braden like to do?" Yet no matter how many times I've been asked, I always look like an idiot when I try to answer. "He likes...well, um...he likes to...he likes blocks."
"He likes to build with blocks?"
"No, he likes to line them up. Or carry them around. And markers. He likes markers."
"He likes to draw?"
"God, no. He likes the markers. He likes to have them."
He doesn't really do anything. He runs around the house (or anywhere else we happen to be), usually while humming or screeching. 9 times out of 10, he is tossing something in the air and catching it in an amazing display of hand-eye coordination. On occasion, he'll stop to watch a YouTube clip or watch a commercial. On rare occasion, he'll dance. On even rarer occasion, he'll push around a toy car or stack blocks. But none of that really constitutes a hobby or even a preferred activity.
Which brings us back to Christmas. What do you buy the kid who doesn't want anything? More blocks? More markers? Seriously, the amount that we already have is obscene. But it's Christmas and we have to get him something, and we have to try to keep things fair between the kids. Right?
Or do we...a set of markers, a set of blocks, (a really big) pair of footed pajamas, and a fresh copy of Goodnight Moon will make Braden's day regardless of how many times he's gotten exactly that for Christmas (in fact, now that I think about it, that makes a lot of sense...comfort in routine, right? Christmas is new markers, new blocks, etc. in packages you have to open. Hmm.) No matter how many new and outrageously priced packages Garret has to open, Braden isn't keeping count. No matter what we did or didn't get Braden, he will not be disappointed.
One of the blessings of life with the 'tism, if you choose to embrace it, is that happiness comes from the smallest things (I once did a dance and cheered like I'd won the lottery because Braden threw up in the toilet). There are definite downsides to a life with someone who is oblivious to social norms, but there are also tremendous benefits. Sometimes I think he's the only one in this house who is capable of true, uninhibited joy. And isn't that what Christmas is really about?
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sleeping In
I am openly envious of people who get to "sleep in." Braden rarely does, and if he does it is almost certainly on a school day. On those days, I'm lucky enough to have to drag him out of bed and initiate a title fight.
After years of not seeing eye to eye on whose turn it was to get up with the kids, my husband and I have worked out a schedule. Whatever time the day starts (or more accurately, whatever time B starts the day), I get up on weekdays and one of the two weekend mornings. A little unbalanced, yes, but I am a stay-at-home mom so I've come to agree that it's reasonable that I carry more of the load with the children.
Much of the time, however, he is working on Saturday. So he gets up early and heads to work, and I get up with the boys. Sunday is, of course, his day because he "worked all week." Which he did, and I appreciate. Sleepily.
Why include this marital hot button here? Because the root of why it's an issue is Autism. See, in the average American household children ages 8 and 11 can manage themselves in the house if Mom or Dad need a few extra hours on a Saturday morning. Isn't that why Saturday morning cartoons were created?
But not in this house. For one, B tends to wake up...um...happy. So he's generally running around the house and shrieking from the minute his feet hit the floor. He's throwing toys into the air and watching (and listening) as they crash to the floor. He's smacking walls, windows, and furniture as he runs past. And, his newest addition, he's stomping his foot with all his might. (Got sensory issues?) He's also foraging like an animal readying for winter.
And then there's the other child. He's in the middle of the chaos and at the mercy of his 10" taller, 60-pound heavier brother. No self-respecting mother would leave him in that position (at least not for more than a snooze or two).
So I've become a morning person. Well, I've become a person who is capable of rolling out of bed in the morning and pretending to function. I drink too much coffee, and I sneak a nap when I can when the boys are at school. And I try really hard to not to harbor a grudge for the number of hours my husband spends snuggled up in our bed. Especially on days when my "alarm" goes off at 3:45 AM on a Saturday.
After years of not seeing eye to eye on whose turn it was to get up with the kids, my husband and I have worked out a schedule. Whatever time the day starts (or more accurately, whatever time B starts the day), I get up on weekdays and one of the two weekend mornings. A little unbalanced, yes, but I am a stay-at-home mom so I've come to agree that it's reasonable that I carry more of the load with the children.
Much of the time, however, he is working on Saturday. So he gets up early and heads to work, and I get up with the boys. Sunday is, of course, his day because he "worked all week." Which he did, and I appreciate. Sleepily.
Why include this marital hot button here? Because the root of why it's an issue is Autism. See, in the average American household children ages 8 and 11 can manage themselves in the house if Mom or Dad need a few extra hours on a Saturday morning. Isn't that why Saturday morning cartoons were created?
But not in this house. For one, B tends to wake up...um...happy. So he's generally running around the house and shrieking from the minute his feet hit the floor. He's throwing toys into the air and watching (and listening) as they crash to the floor. He's smacking walls, windows, and furniture as he runs past. And, his newest addition, he's stomping his foot with all his might. (Got sensory issues?) He's also foraging like an animal readying for winter.
And then there's the other child. He's in the middle of the chaos and at the mercy of his 10" taller, 60-pound heavier brother. No self-respecting mother would leave him in that position (at least not for more than a snooze or two).
So I've become a morning person. Well, I've become a person who is capable of rolling out of bed in the morning and pretending to function. I drink too much coffee, and I sneak a nap when I can when the boys are at school. And I try really hard to not to harbor a grudge for the number of hours my husband spends snuggled up in our bed. Especially on days when my "alarm" goes off at 3:45 AM on a Saturday.
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