Wherein, I become a bad example.

I'm conflicted. I have a happy, wonderful story to share plus a screw-up I made. I think they are both important, but almost separate stories, though they happened together. I'll start with the good stuff first.

Last night, we took our first ever, family bike ride. We rode about three miles. I think John is somewhat hooked, loathe that he is to admit it. He chose to accompany me on my personal exercise time this morning.

We went back to the Riverpark for another three miles. We had such fun. He didn't fall when starting. His stops were smooth. He was usually ahead of me. I'd catch up and find him stopped at a water fountain or looking at something interesting. I'd just wave and keep plodding. A minute or so later, I'd hear a cheerful bell ringing as he'd pass me on the left. One time he passed me and playfully called, "What, are you taking it easy because you're still getting used to that bike?" I reveled in the happy ease of this time. Not many things with John are easy and fun. I don't see him gleefully (or even willingly) participating like this often.

Another time he stopped and was staring into the woods like a hunting dog on point. I stopped and he said, "I smell frogs..." I laughed and told him I was going to get ahead. A few minutes later we came to a bridge that crossed a sea foam green bog. It was foggy and had gnarled trees jutting up through the green. He was elated. "That's why I smelled frogs!" I explained we needed to go back. He agreed but expressed a desire to come back and explore this area again, soon.

I turned, mounted and started to ride. Behind me I heard a female voice call, "On your left." John had weathered every other passing well, but this time he was in the middle of a start. He still weaves a little on starting. A moment later I hear an agitated "WATCH IT!"

There are times I've wondered if I had that Mama Bear instinct. I'm usually quite calm about my children and their interactions with others. I usually am quick to see the other side, finding at least some fault with my children. John used to sometimes do things like step on someone's foot and when I'd get on to him the adult would say "Oh, it's okay. It didn't hurt." I'd be frustrated because whether it hurt or not wasn't the point. I've stood up for my children before, just in a quietly determined way, instead of a fierce way.

Today, I felt fierce. Here was John just over a week into his biking odyssey, he had been doing so well and he wasn't being a menace. He gets a little confused about left and right and I'm sure he scared this rider as she passed. What I heard was an accusation in her tone, like he was intentionally trying to trip her. I detected disdain. I detected judgment. I was angry at her for interjecting that into our wonderful experience this morning.

I yelled as she passed, "Brand new, special needs rider!!!" She hollered, "What do you want me to do?! Go practice!!!" It's a good thing she was in much better shape than me or I might have chased her down. I thought about yelling that's what we were doing and so forth. I wanted her to come back so I could explain how her tone was inappropriate. I brooded on it for a while as we rode.

I came to quickly realize I had behaved poorly. I was conflicted. Turns out, I am a Mama Bear. But, in fact, my child wasn't in danger and he needs to learn how to respond in these situations so he doesn't actually cause harm to himself or anyone else. I also realized the lady had no idea about John's special needs and was, in all likelihood, scared on top of frustrated.

When we got in the car, I explained I shouldn't have done that for two reasons. I was feeling protective but he was not in danger when I yelled. The other reason was that I had used his special needs as an excuse, which is precisely what I've told him never to do. He agreed and said, he'd been thinking about why I yelled at that lady because he realized I was using an excuse. I apologized and said it was a bad example.

He said, "Mom, I know she was being mean because people usually say 'watch out' when they are being nice and 'watch it' when they are being mean. It's like when I hit Hannah when she does something wrong. You always say you can't get on to her because I get in trouble myself with my hitting. It's a lot like that."

Wow! He seems to be quicker than his mother today in more ways than one. I wonder how many other moms out there of kids with special needs won't allow them to use their diagnosis as a crutch while making excuses for them at the same time. What do you think about that? I'm proud that I'm willing to come fiercely to the defense of my son and I'm embarrassed by my need to explain something unnecessarily in terms of his disability. Have you ever had a similar experience?

Taking Time to Smell the Dogs

We've been very busy around here. The same week John had bike camp, our city's nine-day music festival , Riverbend, started. We were all excited and had already been running on high so we piled in the van in ninety degree temperatures and headed downtown along with tens of thousands of others.

John was immediately unimpressed with the idea. "I hate Riverbend. I hate listening to muuuuuuuuusiiiiiic. I'm not going" with his classic, arms-folded-across the chest maneuver. He loves music. Geez. We reminded him of all the fun he'd had before and just kept on with our plans because we decided a long time ago that we might have to make accomadations for John but he was not going to run the entire household with his ever-changing desires.

He warmed to the idea and started to get excited, though he picked on his sister most of the way there. Then we had to walk a mile and he was livid. He also had to pee. And he was thirsty. OH. MY. WORD. How on earth could we miss that he was thirsty? He informed us of the fact about a million times.

He also stepped in front of us, close enough to trip us, grabbed things out of our arms, back talked, picked on Hannah, complained, and was generally no fun to be with. Let's not forget it was extremely crowded and we didn't know where the port-a-potties were, let alone, the closest place to buy water.

We got some super expensive water and took him to the bathroom but that didn't stem the flow of complaints and insults. He was picking fights even with me, his staunchest supporter. We were rushed along by the pace of the crowd and the desire to see an act and frankly to find some loud music to maybe distract or at least drown out John while juggling three kids and folding bag chairs. We were in a hurry, a little lost and it was getting very frustrating. I asked Theo, after John stepped on my toes, both literally and figuratively, again to take over because I was feeling much less than gracious toward him and he didn't deserve all of my ire. Some of it, maybe, but not all.

Within five minutes, I saw Theo, red-faced, speaking very intensely and pointing at John. I realized we were both about to blow our tops. Something about seeing someone other than me being that angry with him allowed me to feel a little compassion. It frequently happens that way. I think it must just be a quick change in perspective.

I suddenly started thinking Aspergers and realized this was a major assault to his system. Not only had we not given him a verbal or written plan (which generally helps tremendously), he was being bombarded with intense sensory stimulation and the only people in the world who could help him were getting angry and saying mean things in harsh ways toward him. This place was an Asperger nightmare.

I sent Theo on with the Hannah and told him I was okay to deal with John now. He nodded thankfully and huffed away. I completely understood how he felt. I walked over and put my arm around John in what I've learned is a safe way. Too light a touch is received badly, too heavy and he feels trapped. A hand too high on his shoulder and he wrenches his body away and runs. I smiled at him and said, "This is really hard for you, isn't it?"

Immediately, all the hostility melted and I saw my John again. "Yeah Mom!" So I took a few minutes to walk at his pace and explain what we were doing and the plan for the rest of the evening. I also reminded him he could ask for help instead of being mean. I also apologized for being nasty with him. He leaned into me as we walked in the stifling heat but it felt so much better than our relationship just a few minutes before.

As we walked near the stage, John spied this lady with a dog at the top of a rock incline. He asked if he could go say hi to the dog. I hesitated. I wanted to say, "No, John. We are already missing the beginning of this show. Daddy and Hannah are already finding seats and visiting a dog is the last thing I want to do because I'm also hot and tired of walking and ready to sit down. AND I don't feel like rewarding your behavior."

But I thought better of it. What did it matter? We were close enough I could clearly hear the music even though I couldn't see the performers. I could see Theo and motion to him that we were alright and would be there shortly. So I told him sure and reminded him to ask the owner first.

He walked up and spent the next ten minutes having a lively conversation about all the dogs and cats he knows and how important they are to him. He talked about his aunt's dogs, his grandma's dog, the cat we found at the dam. He loved on the dog and returned completely calm and ready to participate. He was grinning, relaxed and happy. He had a positive social interaction, do something self-directed, and got to be with an animal. Ten minutes bought us almost a full evening of peace. It was a good investment.

As I watched him, I found myself calming as well. I realized we were going to have many days at this festival and I actually giggled as I reminded myself of an old saying translated into Aspergers: Take time to smell the dogs.

Oh, I almost forgot to share the dog's name. John said, "Her name is Cemetery. That's an interesting name. Of course, a cemetery is where you bury people so the name must be based on the other meaning."

Pause. Blink. "Um.."

"Mom, what IS the other meaning of the word cemetery?"

"There isn't one, John."

"Oh. Well, it was a cool dog anyway." A beat. "Weird name."

Bike Camp: Day 5 (Run, Forrest, Run)

John woke up on Day 5 keyed up. He was anxious to go to his last day of bike camp. He wanted to see his favorite new friend and wanted to ride his own bike. He was clumsy and speaking fast and a little impulsive.

He marched confidently into the gym and mounted his new bike while it was steadied for him. He promptly hopped off and grabbed his crotch in a most dramatic and graphic way. Some adjustments were made and he tried again, each time raising off the seat and adjusting his privates.

I could see the change in his face. His love for his bike was changing with each lowering of his body onto the bike. But his entourage, once again, pulled it out and he was happily walking his bike to the parking lot. By the time I got outside, I could tell he was frustrated. His bike was a little bigger and heavier than the one he had used for the last two days.

He was having difficulty starting, stopping, wobbling and sitting on the silly seat. One of his faithful volunteers had the idea to run inside and get a gel seat cover to make it softer. John was willing to try again though he was quick to tell me he hated his new bike. He kicked it a few times and tried to ride again.

Things went passably for a few minutes when I noticed three people in yellow shirts running across a large field. UH-OH! John had taken off. It was reminiscent of Forrest Gump. I wondered if he would ever stop. Further, I marveled at his amazing speed and coordination. He unfastened his helmet and threw it to the ground without slowing. My son who normally runs clumsily and heavy-footed, with his head down and his arms straight to his sides was loping across the field, head up, arms pumping. Two tall teenage boys were full out in pursuit and not particularly gaining on him.

I suffered indecision. Do I intervene? Do I let him run until he loses steam? Do I call off the boys and hope that when he isn't being chased that he'll stop panicking and stop a safe distance away (like he usually does) until he is ready to return? At last it looked like his energy was flagging and the boys were starting to close the gap. He turned and planted him self resolutely facing a brick wall and standing between two tall bushes.

The boys greeted him warmly, albeit somewhat breathlessly, and congratulated him on how wonderful and amazing he'd been doing. I think they were also impressed and quite surprised at his running ability. His new friend, fellow camper, came over and was trying to encourage him. The two of them moved off as John was no longer running but still putting as much distance between himself and his confounded new bike.

He went to the gym and locked himself in the boys bathroom. They have staff members just for occasions such as this. Andrea showed up and had a list of solutions to the problems that John had been having. After a great deal of coaxing John came out of the bathroom and spoke to Andrea. As he had calmed to a certain extent, I realized my presence might add to his stress so I returned to the parking lot to let her work her bike training magic.

Finally, they showed up in the parking lot, donned helmets and went back to work. She showed him a new kind of start, called a "power start" which would keep the pedals from hitting him on the ankles. They practiced starting and stopping on his bike and at last he was out making his volunteers chase his blue and chrome streak all over the place.

He even fell at one point, entangling his bike with his 16-year-old victim. We all held our breath waiting for him to bolt. He sucked it up and got right back up on the horse, so to speak. He ended on a high note and we went inside to watch a wonderful slide show of all the successes the campers had this week and to watch them receive gilded bicycle trophies.

Chattanooga Bike Camp works miracles! See ya on the trails!


Bike Camp: Day 1
Bike Camp: Day 2
Bike Camp: Day 3
Bike Camp: Day 4

Bike Camp: Day 4

There was a lot more of the running/biking/sweating. He made a new friend. He learned to start and stop. And a third camper launched by the end of the session.

Bike Camp: Day 3

Day three started just like the other days. He found his coaches, jumped on a bike and started wearing a rut in the floor. He did look just a little more wobbly at first. Maybe they had adjusted his bike again.

About thirty minutes in, I noticed a staff member brought out a two-wheeled bike with a handle attached to the back. I smiled. Oh, someone is going to try to ride a regular bike, I thought. I surveyed the campers and wondered who it might be. I quickly came to the conclusion that the person most likely ready in this session was John. I ran for the camera. Almost before I was back and before he had time to protest, I saw him perched on it as if it were just another in a million laps he'd made already.

A super fast running push (I assume speed helps maintain balance at first?) and she released the handle and I watched my son fly! He took off and enjoyed 5-10 seconds of complete independence as the staff member caught up, grabbed the handled and helped him come to a safe stop. Applause and whoops went up throughout the gymnasium. Tears spilled down my face. And before I had completely enjoyed the moment, John was granted some high fives and was escorted out the door, bike at his side.

I threw the baby on my back in the carrier and took off. By the time I got to the parking lot, he'd already ridden solo again. He spent a very sweaty 45 minutes tearing up the pavement while I snapped photos, posted to facebook, called his father and cried and cried some more.

On two wheels, on pavement, he got faster and faster. The poor volunteers got more and more tired. They gasped as they threw back cups of water between stints of escorting my fledgling. I couldn't believe he was riding a bike on day three.

A staff member came over and instructed me on what kind of bike to purchase. He needed a cruiser style bike. No front brakes because if he started going fast later, he'd have the tendency to brake too hard and throw himself over the handle bars. He needed a low slung frame that he could easily step through. He could either go with 24" or 26" wheels depending on how low the seat could be set. It was important for him to be able to put both feet flat on the ground while sitting on the bike for his sense of security.

And we were off to buy a bike...

Bike Camp: Day 2

On Day 2, John's coach friends greeted him at the door, brought him his helmet and got him right back to work. He rode around, around and around. They ran around, around and around.

At one point, he was switched to riding a very interesting tandem bike and then right back to the grind. 75 minutes were once again taken in constant physical motion. I was prepared with lunch packed in the van for day 2. He was extremely hungry.

I was afraid he might be getting bored going around in circles for so long, so i asked if he was having fun. He said he was tire of having to work so hard and getting blisters on his butt, but it was all worth it "making those guys run." He would go faster and faster trying to get away from them and taunt them by yelling over his shoulder things like, "Run, slave, run!" and "Haul your booty!"

There was also some diabolical laughter involved.

Bike Camp: Day 1

The staff and volunteers at the Chattanooga Bike Camp of Lose the Training Wheels were amazing. I had concerns John might run away or refuse to participate, but he got right in and started working.

They put him on a funny-looking bike adjusted to fit him just so and he was assigned a very special set of teenage volunteers who pledged to stay by his side for the next five days.

Day one, he rode for 75 minutes, stopping a couple of times to get a swig of water while his bike was adjusted to become almost imperceptibly more wobbly. He would hop back in the saddle and his trusty sidekicks talked and encouraged him through endless laps about the gym. Occasionally one of the staff members would call everyone to switch directions to keep from developing an inability to turn right, I suppose. As John's balance, confidence and coordination improved rapidly, his entourage found they had to take turns resting after jogging to keep up with him.

While John experienced his odyssey, several other campers were on journeys of their own. They were cheered on by siblings, parents, volunteers, staff members and previous campers as everyone worked so hard to lose those training wheels. Everyone had exactly as many attendants and adaptations as were necessary for that individual. It was fascinating to watch everyone work together to make it possible for each camper to achieve the most independence possible.

Although, I could see John improving and having a great time, I still wasn't quite sure how this process was going to get him on a two-wheeled bike by the end of the week.

Water Rights

So, John loves baths. He runs all the hot water in the entire house into a bath and has no qualms about not stopping when the water reaches the level of the overflow hole. He fills it to the brim with the hottest water possible and sinks down until only his nose and eyes remain above the water. He loves to soak for long periods of time that way. (Don't ask him to use soap or shampoo. That's another post entirely.) Then he likes to air dry for about twenty minutes.

Therefore, he's only allowed to have baths on Saturday morning. The rest of the week, the water is needed for additional people and he has a schedule to adhere to. The rule is that he is to set his watch timer for ten minutes and then get out and get on with his day.

On weekdays, my Mother-in-law who lives in an apartment downstairs, helps get the kids up and gives them breakfast. It's a great setup. I get to exercise and she gets out of a monthly bill we pay in her stead. It's cheaper than a gym membership and of more benefit to me. She was out of town for a week and my niece was visiting so we've been off schedule. John was sleeping in and getting baths more frequently.

This morning, she woke John up and ten minutes later went to knock on the bathroom door only to discover he had run a bath for the last ten minutes. She reminded him it was a shower day. It was obvious he had made a legitimate mistake. She said, "Okay, well, it's time to go ahead and get out so you can get everything else done."

That's where things started to go south. He understood he had messed up. But the rule, according to him, is that he gets a 10 minute shower. Since he had run this magnificent bath, he was entitled to soak for 10 minutes. So he curtly told her, under no uncertain terms, he was not getting out until his timer went off.

I was still around instead of exercising because I had sensed a disturbance in the force. This was one of those sticky situations that if it wasn't handled in a certain way would color the rest of our day. I consulted with Theo and started to write out the situation for John. Writing is easier for him to accept than my voice usually.

But I realized the issue was too convoluted for written word at that moment. I had already decided he would have to pay the ten minutes back in some way. In my conversation with Theo he mentioned we should also deal with defiance. I was disturbed by the word and a small argument ensued.

My issue was that while, yes, he deliberately disobeyed his grandmother, he wasn't doing it to be defiant. I know that sentence makes no sense. It certainly didn't to Theo. The deal is, yes, the action was defiant, but John, when I try to explain the situation to him and garner a more respectful attitude is never going to agree that he was defiant.

He wasn't disobeying his grandmother intentionally, he was operating under a set of rules that in his mind were set in stone, albeit to his own advantage. He doesn't quite so rigidly obey rules that don't suit him, of course. In John's world, the word he would understand based on previous interactions, was inflexible. He wouldn't buy that he was being defiant, but I was sure I could logically argue that he was being inflexible. I realize now that I had been speaking Aspergers to my husband and I should have been speaking neuro-typical.

Sure enough, when I found John air drying and lounging in his room with his towel thankfully wrapped about his waist, he was confused by all the hullabaloo surrounding his actions. I had had time to calm down before I went in his room. I explained first of all that the reason behind the rule was not only that he used too much hot water but that he also wasn't able to complete his morning routine on time seeing as how he was supposed to be sitting down at breakfast at 7:30. We both noted he was sitting in a towel, undressed at 7:36. He was nowhere near finished with his routine.

For the first time since this started, his expression switched from one of bewildered self-righteousness to a little sheepish. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that part. Good point."

I had him firmly in my parental grasp. Speaking Aspergers is so much more rewarding than screaming, insisting and getting angry. That usually results in the opposite of what I want to happen.

I decided to steal another base.

"When you used up your ten minutes running the bath, you used more hot water than ten minutes in the shower. Your father's shower right now is a little cool."

*More generalized sheepishness*

"You were also rude to your grandmother. She was trying to help you stay on your routine. When she pointed out what you did wrong, you should have listened to her instructions in order to make it right even though it was a horrible shame to lose the wonderful bathwater you just ran. This is one of those times where..."

He joined in with the familiar phrase, "I should have been flexible."

HOMERUN!!!!!!!!!!!!

I explained that he would have to take his banana and eat it while he read in order to be done with reading at 8:30. He understood it was necessary and not unreasonable to get back on schedule. I also told him he would have to pay back the ten minutes in some way. He completed the rest of his routine quickly and politely.

I went to get a shower. I was wracking my brain trying to decide how to have him pay it back. I mean, I've learned that instituting consequences don't influence his behavior in the future but I felt like he'd inconvenienced people and I shouldn't let it go. Mid-shampoo, a word drifted through my mind: retribution.

That was it. About a month ago, we introduced John to the concept. It's not a consequence so much as a tool to make it up to the person you have wronged. In our family, we all subconsciously attempt to make retribution when we mess up. We've explained it to John as taking just a few minutes to repair the relationship with a person you've wronged. It backs up your verbal apology with an action apology.

I decided that he probably owed several of us retribution this morning but the person who deserved it most was his grandmother. I suggested the ten minutes belonged to her when I had them both in the room. They were both on board.

John said, "Oh yeah, this is like doing charity work."

I hesitated, "Ummmm, no... more like..."

John's mental lightbulb was nearly visible, "Oh, it's more like when you are a drunk driver and you can either go to jail to be punished or pay back the community by wearing one of those vests and cleaning up litter!"

Ok. Yes, I think that works. He was excited and walked over to his grandmother and offered a heart-felt apology which she accepted. We decided she didn't have ten minutes of work available for him right now but she had a few minor less-than-a-minute jobs he could do over the next several days. So we are keeping an index card with ten x's on it. He can circle an x when he's carried her trash or recycling out or helped put away her groceries.

Relationship restored. And maybe the flexibility has been ever so slightly increased?

Word of the day: Retribution. Consequences that serve a purpose other than getting back at the disobedient child but aren't necessarily aimed at preventing the future behavior. All that time explaining and coming to an understanding is what does that.

Dramatic Results with Role-Play

Occasionally, we would role-play in different classes in high school and in college. I always just accepted it as a potentially valuable tool but most of the time it fell flat. I would inwardly roll my eyes when I knew it was an up-coming exercise. I much preferred auditory examples, stories, to aid in my assimilation of new materials.

That said, on my last wit's end this afternoon, I took a deep Mommy breath and mentally groaned (like when I have to clean vomit) as I facilitated a role-playing exercise between two of my children.

How did I get to that place? Well, since you asked...

John (11) and Hannah (4) have been at each other's throats for months. She picks at him and pushes his buttons. He flies off the handle and tries to parent her. She responds with high annoyance, girlie screeches and tattling. Then he hits her.

Well, no, he would say he technically didn't hit her because that would be wrong. Instead he kicked her, or pushed her, or held her down, or ruffled her hair in a roughly loving manner. I think he attended Asperger School of Law. So of course, I've learned to simply say, "Did you touch your sister inappropriately?"

Well, yes, that he did.

It was no different today. And frankly, we are all at the edges of our tempers. It's hard to feel sorry for the whiny little bully but you can't exactly feel bad for the huge guy using his size to control another person. As soon as one of us starts to get onto him he screams, runs away in panic, sometimes kicking and throwing and telling us horrible things about his sister. While we are trying to get rid of tattling in our house, we have to protect them from physically harming one another and let's face it, they aren't equally matched.

We've been praying. Others have been praying for us. I've been reading books to help with Hannah's issues, John's issues, sibling issues, my issues and so on. Nothing seems to have quite hit the nail on the head to get him to keep his hands off his sister long enough we can work through any issues whatsoever.

In exasperation, I lined their chairs up in a row facing my chair in our homeschool room. I usually do nothing quite that formal. I called them both in the room with an I-mean-business-Mama-roar. I decided I was going to ask them what we should do. They stared blankly at me and then started pointing fingers once again.

They were mean. I felt mean. I realized we've all been too mean for a while. I told them we were all going to be the nice police. We were going to help each other be nice. I thought I'd go through what they were supposed to do (ONCE AGAIN) instead of doing what I normally do which is to tell them what they aren't supposed to do.

I suddenly realized my stories and scenarios were going nowhere. They'd heard it all before. In a moment of inspiration (perhaps I should say desperation) I told John to go get his iPod. This is his most prized possession. I handed it to him and told Hannah to grab it out of his hand. His face turned red. He snarled at her. He kind of made a swipe at her.

Uh, whoa. He wasn't acting. I asked how he felt. He was shaking and said he was angry and sad. He knew it was pretend, but he felt the emotions nonetheless. I instructed her to hand it back. We talked the scenario through again and then tried it.

Hannah snatched the ipod. He was slightly more in control this time and looked to me for help. "Tell her, 'Hey, I was using that. Please give it back.'"as I modeled a calm tone. He did.

But I told her to say, "No! NEVER!" I could see the panic welling in his eyes.

Then I said, "Now, here is where you come to me and say, 'Mom' and wait for me to look at you. Then you say, 'I need help with a situation.'" After all this time, I stumbled onto a way for the kids to tell me they had a problem without tattling.

I came up to them and noticed Hannah was clutching the iPod tightly to her chest. I looked at John and asked, "Does your situation involve the ipod?" He nodded. I looked at Hannah and said, "May I please have the ipod? Thank you, I will put it over here until we've decided what happens next. Now, do you want to work this out on your own or do you want me to supervise?"

John wanted supervision. Then I asked who had been using the ipod. They both answered they were. I told John, "Here's where you tell Hannah, it doesn't matter because neither one of us has it now." He did, but he immediately followed with, "Hannah, I only had ten minutes left on my movie. If you want to use it when I am done, you can."

I believe my jaw dropped. Hannah breathed, "For real?" in wonder.

We practiced a few more scenarios. John noted that even when I grabbed the dried-up, useless highlighter out of his hand he felt angry and upset. But when Hannah asked to see the ipod, he handed it over without any negative feelings.

I'm still processing how role-play affected him. I'm blown away how he was actually learning experientially through a process I had previously determined a frustration, at best.

About an hour later, John came up to me in the kitchen. He said, "Mom" and waited until I turned. I figured he was going to ask for more food. Instead he said he needed help with a situation, like it was something he'd been doing for years. "Tell me what's going on."

"Well, Hannah's sitting on my lap and doing all these little blah blah noises and its driving me nuts."

"That would drive me nuts too. You have every right to tell her that you'd love to have her sit on your lap but she is not welcome if she makes those sounds." I paused. She had been sitting on his lap and he hadn't tried to kill her? "Do you want her on your lap?"

"No. Not really."

"Oh, then you should tell her that you don't want her to sit on your lap right now."

He left. No fireworks. My jaw got quite the workout this afternoon.

When I speak his language, he catches on unbelievably fast. That's part of the frustration. He'll be back to his normal antics tomorrow and he will have to relearn his new conflict resolution skills. But that's okay. I have a new Aspergers vocabulary word.

Say it with me: Role-Play.

Waffling Emotions

John has a morning routine. This includes taking a shower, stripping and washing his sheets (he wets), starting laundry, turning off lights, taking medicine and breakfast prep. It took years to get him used to taking a shower in the morning. He would scream "no!" fume and stomp around the house upwards of an hour each morning, but somehow we made it through and now you couldn't block him with an armed tank from taking his morning shower.

Other parts of the routine however, are a little less, um, routine. He's mastered most of it and it runs very smoothly except the breakfast prep. We aren't talking about a hard job. He usually is supposed to unload clean dishes from the dishwasher or set the table or whatever odd job that I might deem helpful on a certain morning. He's been a little slow in the mornings so he hasn't had time to help. Unfortunately, on days when he does, he is insistent that he should not help, does not have to, and certainly could not do any work.

Like most of John's chores, if I give him a break, it is extremely hard to get him started again. It is not received as a favor. So this week, after strong resistance the other morning I've been saving little jobs for him to do before breakfast.

This morning, I let him sleep in a little. (Favor which is not received as a favor.) When he got in his shower, I started making waffles, homemade-from-scratch-gluten-free waffles. I also made some hot tea, which he loves.

I could already tell he was a little agitated from the first moment. I'm not sure what set him off, but I was about to set him off more. I greeted him and spoke sweetly and calmly. I reminded him to finish his routine and he went about it. Just before he sat down, I mentioned that the dishwasher wasn't very full so it would be easy for him to unload.

You would have thought I had offered to cut off a limb. He screamed no and ran out of the kitchen banging into two walls in his hurry to get away. He kicked a box of picnic supplies and started screaming and yelling.

I've learned when he's like that, just to a wait a few minutes instead of chasing him or yelling. That only escalates it and makes me more angry than a parent should be. So I continued mixing and cooking. I almost unloaded the dishwasher three times but reminded myself he needed to do his job.

He calmed in a couple of minutes and returned to the kitchen and he acted as if nothing was unusual. I mentioned breakfast was getting close to ready and he could get the dishwasher done pretty quickly. Then the barrage of insults and complaints began.

"You just want me to be your slave."

"I can't put the dishes away. I hate that job."

"You never do anything for me."

"I hate waffles."

"You just want me to do this stuff because you are too lazy to do it yourself. You have plenty of time to do it while you cook.... but noooooo, you are saving it for meeeee..."

These were all flung out in nearly incomprehensible bursts. My frustration and anger were mounting as I tried to remind myself that he isn't doing any of this to be a jerk. And trust me, we've been through the gamut of behavioral discipline techniques but through time I've learned some things about Aspergers and some things about John. I waited. I continued cooking. Hannah and Cote and I enjoyed our breakfast amid claims that I was cruelly starving the poor boy.

Five minutes into breakfast, he quietly got up and started unloading the dishwasher. He was still working as I got up and started to clean the kitchen. Since he had calmed, I had the time to point out how hurtful he had been to me and how I was already doing some of his after-meal chores. He sweetly said "Thank you mom for all you do for me." He asked if I could warm his waffles up and I did. He said they were yummy as he snuck a taste from the plate on the counter. Before that he had claimed he didn't like my nasty old waffles anyway.

I pointed out that he seemed agitated this morning and he told me he wasn't sure what was wrong but that he couldn't sit still so much. It is important to note that he was standing at the time and was milling about the kitchen and I hadn't told him to stop. I offered him a hug and he hung on for dear life, which is pretty intense from a 5'2" tall boy. I also took the opportunity to remind him he can ask for a hug instead of waiting for me to offer one. He nodded and was humble, sweet, kind, even remorseful.

I feel like sometimes when he is like that, that I should DO SOMETHING to make him behave. I know I would never have talked to my mother that way. I know I've done everything to him that my mother did to me and it hasn't worked. But yet, I feel like people are always looking over my shoulder shocked that I'd allow him to "get away with" these things. I used to consequence everything and we even implemented "home jail" with the blessing of his therapist. But those things never served any purpose except to make everyone more angry and John to become more disrespectful and disobedient than before.

But when I start to second guess like I did this morning, I find the Biblical parable of the two sons coming to mind. The father asks the first son to work for him and that son says no. But later changes his mind and works anyway. The father asks the second son who says yes but doesn't end up doing it. Jesus asks which one did the will of the father. Obviously, it was the one who first said no but did the job anyway. It comforts me that maybe we aren't failing as much as it feels at the moment.

Aspergers Vocabulary Word of the Day: Wait.

Ask and wait. Observe and wait. Instruct and Wait. Don't react, wait.

I'll need to practice this one frequently, to get it through my thick skull.