by Preston
(original post on July 14, 2011)
Well, we almost had a meltdown last night. It was a long, frustrating day at the office, filled with calls from folks that think I know how to do their jobs better than they do. It’s probably true. Then, as soon as I get home, I have to run our older son to the church for a youth activity. By the time I’m almost home, I decide that I’m too tired to cook, so I call Lisa and get her opinion on which favorite fine dining establishment I should pick up dinner from. Hardee’s was the choice.
I get home with two burgers for Lisa and me. We share a large fry and get water or drinks from the fridge. Stephen gets his usual from Hardee’s, the children’s chicken finger meal. Surprisingly, he eats 2 ½ large chicken fingers and barely touches his fries. I then remember that he had occupational therapy during the day. On days he has OT, he usually eats better.
After clearing the table, and allowing Lisa to go to the back of the house to continue recuperating from her shoulder surgery, I invite Stephen to play Wii Frisbee Golf with me, since it’s not his day to have time on the Wii. He decides to watch homemade Mario Brothers videos from YouTube on the iPod touch. However, he was watching me as well, and laughed several times when I would mess up. Truth be told, I messed up some just to get him to laugh.
After my game, I went to the back for a few minutes to chill with Lisa and Sebastian the German Shepherd (a.k.a. Bubs, Bubby, Big Bubby, C-Bass, the German Shetland Pony). I somehow convinced Lisa to pick up Phillip from the church. While she is gone, I enjoy a little time with the dog while watching a little TV.
After Lisa gets home, things start going downhill. I don’t understand why, but bedtime is always the worst time at the Lane house. As much as Autistic children seem to like a firm schedule, bedtime is an exercise in how much time each child can find new and unusual ways to make a 9:15 bedtime stretch to 9:45 or later. Last night was no different. Stephen started complaining that he had a tummy ache and wanted to sleep on the couch in the living room.
Lisa offered a compromise of allowing Stephen to sleep on the couch if he could brush his teeth by himself, with one of us washing his dental appliance. During this time, we somehow got Phillip in the bed while printing out a thank you letter and burning a DVD of pics and videos to send someone who sent the kids some gifts a few weeks ago. Stephen kept stalling, trying to get us to practically carry him to the bathroom and do everything for him. When he didn’t get his way, he started his “whiney voice” that I honestly can’t understand. I mean, I don’t know what he is saying…it’s almost like another language. Someone Lisa and Phillip can understand him when he does this. Maybe I need my hearing checked.
As this dragged on, and we tried to get things done, he started complaining about the size of his bedroom and how it’s just too small for him. This is the same room that I spent nearly $2,000 and countless hours on last fall gutting, insulating, putting in new framing, electrical, sheetrock, doors and moulding, etc. Lisa and her dad did the painting, because I’m not to be trusted with a paint brush (go figure?!). Needless to say, I was getting peeved.
Out of frustration, I committed the major faux pas of telling Stephen to either do what he was asked to do or go to bed. At that point, he started crying while lying on the living room floor, with Lisa fussing at me telling me that I am undoing what was done during OT. So, I shut my mouth and let Lisa do her thing. She gets him calmed down enough to explain about how there is nothing we can do to make his room bigger, that my feelings were hurt because of how much time and money was spent on the room, yadda, yadda, yadda. He does eventually go to sleep on the couch. Although I probably should have tried to comfort him, I was afraid to say or do anything. I didn’t want to start things going downhill again, so I just kept quiet and allowed him to go to sleep.
This morning, as soon as I hopped in the shower, Stephen climbed into the bed and had snuggle time with Lisa and his dog. He was as happy as he could be. I was running late, so I didn’t get to say much to him. Hopefully I will get some fun time with him tonight. Maybe I should take him to Chick-fil-A or a Mexican place for just dad/son time. Heck, maybe just playing Mario Brothers on the Wii with him would be good. I could let him win…not that it would be that hard. He’s great at video games.
I work on computers for a living. Like a computer, quite often I think in a binary fashion. 1’s and 0’s, on and off, yes and no, black and white. When stuff like last night happens, I have to think differently. I have to fight the instinct that a lot of fathers have. Sometimes I just want to yell the title of the new “children’s” book called “Go the F*** to sleep.” I have to remember that my son needs me to put aside the instincts. It doesn’t matter that I’m tired and/or had a bad day. In his mind, his day is what is important. He doesn’t function when he’s getting fussed at. All he knows is that when he’s getting fussed at, the whole world is bad and against him.
His perception of the world is different from most folks. I know it’s different than mine. I sometimes worry about his future. I wonder if I’m the right father for him. Was there something we did wrong when Lisa was pregnant with him that caused him to be Autistic? Heck, even the thought “why can’t he be normal” has crossed my mind. I guess these are all questions and doubts that parents of children on the spectrum have.
I need to learn how to meet his needs on his level. Every day, I try to be better. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail. Sometimes I get good advice and guidance from others, and sometimes what I get from others doesn’t work. I try to make mental notes of all this. It’s hard, especially when I’m tired or had a long day, or both. Ultimately, it is up to me to learn his "language" and what he needs. If I don't do this, then I have failed him.
All I know is this: My child is Autistic, but I’m the one with the problem.
(original post on July 14, 2011)
Well, we almost had a meltdown last night. It was a long, frustrating day at the office, filled with calls from folks that think I know how to do their jobs better than they do. It’s probably true. Then, as soon as I get home, I have to run our older son to the church for a youth activity. By the time I’m almost home, I decide that I’m too tired to cook, so I call Lisa and get her opinion on which favorite fine dining establishment I should pick up dinner from. Hardee’s was the choice.
I get home with two burgers for Lisa and me. We share a large fry and get water or drinks from the fridge. Stephen gets his usual from Hardee’s, the children’s chicken finger meal. Surprisingly, he eats 2 ½ large chicken fingers and barely touches his fries. I then remember that he had occupational therapy during the day. On days he has OT, he usually eats better.
After clearing the table, and allowing Lisa to go to the back of the house to continue recuperating from her shoulder surgery, I invite Stephen to play Wii Frisbee Golf with me, since it’s not his day to have time on the Wii. He decides to watch homemade Mario Brothers videos from YouTube on the iPod touch. However, he was watching me as well, and laughed several times when I would mess up. Truth be told, I messed up some just to get him to laugh.
After my game, I went to the back for a few minutes to chill with Lisa and Sebastian the German Shepherd (a.k.a. Bubs, Bubby, Big Bubby, C-Bass, the German Shetland Pony). I somehow convinced Lisa to pick up Phillip from the church. While she is gone, I enjoy a little time with the dog while watching a little TV.
After Lisa gets home, things start going downhill. I don’t understand why, but bedtime is always the worst time at the Lane house. As much as Autistic children seem to like a firm schedule, bedtime is an exercise in how much time each child can find new and unusual ways to make a 9:15 bedtime stretch to 9:45 or later. Last night was no different. Stephen started complaining that he had a tummy ache and wanted to sleep on the couch in the living room.
Lisa offered a compromise of allowing Stephen to sleep on the couch if he could brush his teeth by himself, with one of us washing his dental appliance. During this time, we somehow got Phillip in the bed while printing out a thank you letter and burning a DVD of pics and videos to send someone who sent the kids some gifts a few weeks ago. Stephen kept stalling, trying to get us to practically carry him to the bathroom and do everything for him. When he didn’t get his way, he started his “whiney voice” that I honestly can’t understand. I mean, I don’t know what he is saying…it’s almost like another language. Someone Lisa and Phillip can understand him when he does this. Maybe I need my hearing checked.
As this dragged on, and we tried to get things done, he started complaining about the size of his bedroom and how it’s just too small for him. This is the same room that I spent nearly $2,000 and countless hours on last fall gutting, insulating, putting in new framing, electrical, sheetrock, doors and moulding, etc. Lisa and her dad did the painting, because I’m not to be trusted with a paint brush (go figure?!). Needless to say, I was getting peeved.
Out of frustration, I committed the major faux pas of telling Stephen to either do what he was asked to do or go to bed. At that point, he started crying while lying on the living room floor, with Lisa fussing at me telling me that I am undoing what was done during OT. So, I shut my mouth and let Lisa do her thing. She gets him calmed down enough to explain about how there is nothing we can do to make his room bigger, that my feelings were hurt because of how much time and money was spent on the room, yadda, yadda, yadda. He does eventually go to sleep on the couch. Although I probably should have tried to comfort him, I was afraid to say or do anything. I didn’t want to start things going downhill again, so I just kept quiet and allowed him to go to sleep.
This morning, as soon as I hopped in the shower, Stephen climbed into the bed and had snuggle time with Lisa and his dog. He was as happy as he could be. I was running late, so I didn’t get to say much to him. Hopefully I will get some fun time with him tonight. Maybe I should take him to Chick-fil-A or a Mexican place for just dad/son time. Heck, maybe just playing Mario Brothers on the Wii with him would be good. I could let him win…not that it would be that hard. He’s great at video games.
I work on computers for a living. Like a computer, quite often I think in a binary fashion. 1’s and 0’s, on and off, yes and no, black and white. When stuff like last night happens, I have to think differently. I have to fight the instinct that a lot of fathers have. Sometimes I just want to yell the title of the new “children’s” book called “Go the F*** to sleep.” I have to remember that my son needs me to put aside the instincts. It doesn’t matter that I’m tired and/or had a bad day. In his mind, his day is what is important. He doesn’t function when he’s getting fussed at. All he knows is that when he’s getting fussed at, the whole world is bad and against him.
His perception of the world is different from most folks. I know it’s different than mine. I sometimes worry about his future. I wonder if I’m the right father for him. Was there something we did wrong when Lisa was pregnant with him that caused him to be Autistic? Heck, even the thought “why can’t he be normal” has crossed my mind. I guess these are all questions and doubts that parents of children on the spectrum have.
I need to learn how to meet his needs on his level. Every day, I try to be better. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail. Sometimes I get good advice and guidance from others, and sometimes what I get from others doesn’t work. I try to make mental notes of all this. It’s hard, especially when I’m tired or had a long day, or both. Ultimately, it is up to me to learn his "language" and what he needs. If I don't do this, then I have failed him.
All I know is this: My child is Autistic, but I’m the one with the problem.
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