As much as we would have loved to have packed up and taken advantage of the long weekend like so many families do--camping, day-tripping, etc--we've learned our lesson. I think we gave it more than an average effort. Throughout Braden's life, we've tried to make sure that he doesn't miss out on any typical childhood experiences because of Autism.
As a family, we've been camping. We've rented cabins. We've gone to the museum, the zoo, the water park, and the amusement park. We've seen baseball games and traveling musicals. We've even gone to Walt Disney World (Believe me, I know we've been very blessed to even have the opportunity to do half of these things). And while every trip has had good moments, the reality is that the stress has far outweighed the fun. (If you can really even call it that).
So when I say we've learned, I mean we've learned. With our recent move, there was no question that our finances would benefit from staying put. There's still plenty to unpack or organize. And who in the world would care for our dozen hens if we left? Even more than all of that, we're just tired. (I think that's the hardest part of the 'tism for me. The sheer exhaustion that isn't cured by naps or good nights of sleep).
Of course, rest isn't exactly what we're getting at home. We tilled up the patch that will become our family's first garden last night. And then I picked out the rocks and (damn it all!) potatoes that littered the dirt. The normal routine must also be kept, and that means late to bed and early to rise for Captain ASD.
Today I got the opportunity to spend some time with my little guy; we decided to bake applesauce cookies. So Big B played outside while Daddy did...whatever it is Daddy does outside. As I was getting ready to put the first batch of cookies in the oven, in walked B. What followed surely must only happen in ASD-land.
B grabbed a handful of fries that were left over from lunch and handed me the bottle of ketchup. As I turned to grab the bottle, I processed the scene. Braden was stark naked, dripping wet and holding the food in his hands. Blood was running down his arm.
I took the towel off my shoulder and pressed it to his arm and ushered him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet, the lid of which was up, while I held the towel and fumbled for the peroxide and antibiotic cream. He starts to tinkle because, hey, he's on the potty. Trying to shove a fry into his mouth, he dropped a few others onto the bathroom floor.
So I'm half-heartedly trying to tell him not to eat the floor fries (we have 3 boys living here!) and whole-heartedly trying to clean up the blood. I realize that the blood is coming from a scabbed-over mosquito bite that's been torn open, so we don't have a serious injury on our hands. I remember that the name-brand antibiotic cream is near Braden's bed because he asked for it by name the other night as he er, um, stimulated himself to sleep (ASD and puberty may prove to be a lethal combination for me, by the way). I decide he'll be fine and slap a Band-Aid on it.
Crisis averted, I suppose, but as the moment passes I can't help but feel like I'm not managing this disorder very well. The number of moments that are like this one are more frequent than you would believe. But then, my angel puts it all into perspective. Garret walks into the hallway, surveys the scene, shakes his head and says, "Oh, Braden. You gotta love him."
Ah, Garret. The completely dry, totally dressed, not bleeding child who reminds me not only that I'm not a complete failure as a mother, but also that it's all going to be okay...as long as we keep staying at home. I mean, really, do you want to spend your holiday with this unfolding at the campsite next to yours?
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