Walking Trial

I stare at my screaming two year old as he dramatically throws himself onto the pavement of our neighborhood walking trail, in a fit like the world has never known.  I take that back, every mother alive has seen one of these at one time or another.  My son's face reddens and his bottom lip quivers uncontrollably in an attempt to lay on as much guilt as possible.  His look says it all.  I am the worst mother in the world.  Why won't I just pick him up?  That is what I presume he is thinking.  My thoughts are the opposite.  I hear them slip from my mouth as I say, "You have legs, use them!"  My back is already aching from carrying him most of the way to the playground and I didn't bother bringing a stroller because he always insists on walking.  We stubbornly stare at each other until I finally give in fifteen minutes later.  I feel like an idiot for having a battle of wills with a two year old, especially since I lost.   I scoop him up, annoyed that I will now have to carry him the rest of the way home.  As he settles into my arms I discover his diaper is leaking.  Of course I didn't bring any supplies, because our walk usually only lasts thirty minutes.  I look at the time, 3:45pm.  We have been going for an hour and we are only halfway home.  At this point I am furious.  My two older sons drag their feet behind me as I cradle my toddler in a position that I hope will keep his bodily fluids away from my clothes.  No such luck.  This is going to be a fun walk home.  Today has been the first nice day since we returned from Colorado, so I thought it would be great to walk down to the playground for the afternoon.  Now all three boys are crying as I throw out threats of banning playgrounds for the rest of their existence if they don't pick up the pace.  Faces appear in the neighbors' windows.  I grimace as I try to calm the boys.  My arms are aching from the strain of carrying the extra twenty seven pounds of dead weight as my slow steady movement rocks my child to sleep.  He is obviously exhausted from the lack of exercise.  I try to nudge my boys along.  What I wouldn't give for two extra hands.  At least then I could drag them behind.  In all fairness, they each have their excuses for being so slow.  One has an extra thirty pounds to carry from his very absorbent pull-up (I know what you are thinking, but I swear both boys had dry pants when we left), and the other is claiming to have a broken butt.  The house is in view and, if my arms don't give out, we have all made it alive.  I am tempted to return to the trail later tonight with a sharpie marker so the sign will read "Walking Trail Trial".  I feel this would be more accurate.  I have learned a very valuable lesson from all this.  Never leave home without a double stroller, a package of diapers, enough pants to clothe a third world country, and two or three full course meals, because at our speed we were in danger of needing to spend the night on the trail.

Desperation

How desperate am I?  I have been spending an hour sitting in a small room every day for the past week and a half.  The only bit of light is the dim colored beam shining directly above my six year old son's face as he lays face up on a rotating bed as (ideally) he stares into the light and listens to choppy music.  He clings to my hands like they are his life support.  The calmness of the mood nearly puts me to sleep, but to my autistic son the experience is little less than torture as the treatment rewires his brain.  I wonder if this will be worth it.  Will this experience even cause a change in his life?  I am not expecting a cure; I only pray that this therapy will eliminate a little of the inner turmoil that my sweet little boy experiences on a daily basis.  I want to take him to the park without the fear of him seriously injuring himself or another child.  I want to go to the movies as a family without having the noise and lights throw him into a screaming fit as he bolts out of the theater.  I want him to be able to answer a simple yes or no question.  I want him to find something he loves without the constant obsessive behaviors taking over his every thought.  I want him to have friends and get excited to visit family.  I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me he loves me.  It doesn't seem like too much to ask .

Tasmanian Devil

I lay back on the hotel bed.  The sight of my autistic six year old is exhausting.  He hasn't stopped moving for the past four hours.  He reminds me of the Tasmanian Devil in the old Warners Bros. cartoons.  He tears through the hotel room at an inhuman speed leaving a trail of disaster behind.  I watch him leap from bed to bed.  His coordination is not great, and he face plants on the mattress.  He doesn't even blink an eye as he gets to his feet and goes again.  Where does he get his energy?  His special diet consists of little more than vegetables.  I have been eating this same diet for the past two weeks and I constantly feel like I have just swum across the Atlantic Ocean.  And yet there he is screeching at a volume that seems likely to be the cause of my mother's hearing loss.  Hopefully the hotel staff has learned by now not to room any other guest on the same floor as us.  I am afraid my mother may be regretting signing up for this trip.  I warned her that this sensory therapy is expected to have some rather nasty side effects for a short time, but I think she may have thought I was exaggerating.  She will not doubt me again.

Salmon Nuggets

Click.  I look up from my camera.  I had to take this picture because my husband would never believe me.  I can hardly believe my own eyes.  There before me is my two year old son with a huge smile on his face licking his fingers clean after he has just finished off the container of hummus.  This was right after he finished off three salmon 'nuggets' (patties).  I would not call any of my kids adventurous eaters.  Meal time is normally a huge battle.  I can serve spaghetti, hamburgers, or even pizza and one of my kids will absolutely refuse to eat on any given night.  That was before the 'special diet'.  After seeing the acceptance of today's lunch, I have to say that this diet has been quite an eye opener.  I will never again say, "My child would never eat that."

Special Diet

The store's automatic sliding door closes behind me.  My son's voice is amplified now that we are in the building.  I hear a man's voice behind me.  I turn to look at him, bracing myself for an irritated stare.  I am surprised at the reaction I see on his face; incredulity.  It is only then that I truly listen to the words coming from my six year old son's mouth, "Rice Cake, Rice Cake, Rice Cake!"  The man is amazed.  No pleading for candy or junk food from this small child.  My mother and I laugh; however his words make me want to cry.  How horrible is his new 'special diet' if it causes him to beg for plain/non-flavored, let's face it, Styrofoam.  All three of my son's have been living on a milk-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, preservative-free, colorings-free, taste-free diet for over a week now, and the rice cakes have been the highlight of their week.  We make a beeline for the aisle which should be labeled 'Almost Edible Foods'.  I quickly toss two bags of rice cakes at my son who clings to them for dear life.  His breathing starts to calm as he lovingly gazes at his own personal 'manna from heaven'.  As the cashier rings up the $30 total for the one small bag of groceries I realize that it is a small price to pay to see the look of complete joy on my son's face.

Hormones

I stare at my nine year old daughter.  Counting to myself, I only make it to three before the tears come streaming down her face.  She begins to hyperventilate from the tragedy of the situation.  It is a full minute before she is able to calm down enough to speak.  I roll my eyes; all this over two teaspoons of decongestant.  Medicine that she came and requested because she can't breathe when she lays down on her bed.  This is the third time that she has had a major meltdown today.  She is fighting a war with hormones, and they are winning.  I knew this day was coming, but I didn't know it would come so soon.  I must admit this is all new territory for me.  I was also plagued by adolescent hormones but the symptoms were manifest a little differently in me.  I was just plain ornery, none of this uncontrollable weeping just because her brother looked in her general direction, or breathed on her new dress.  Or there was the time that I walked in the room to find her a complete wreck, simply because she didn't want to be left in the TV room alone.  I am not making this stuff up.  It might not be so bad except I am very possibly the least sympathetic person alive.  I have probably cried fewer times in my life than my daughter has in the past week.  All I can do is pray that her little body doesn't give out to dehydration before she becomes a teenager and the real fun begins.

Allergies

My four year old son came wandering into the kitchen yesterday holding on to his backside.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said, "My butt hurts.  Will you go to the butt store and buy me a new one?"  I remained completely straight faced as I said, "I'll see what I can do."  Today he approached me again and asked where his new butt was.  I tried to explain that I can't just buy him a new one.  He began to cry and told me that he is allergic to his. Tonight he informed me that bananas are only for boys because bananas are allergic to girls.  I can't blame him for having allergies on the brain.  My autistic son had a bit of an incident this weekend.  Over the last few weeks I was suspicious that he was showing signs of food allergies.  On Friday this became completely unarguable when he broke out in massive hives after eating dinner.  This sudden escalation was enough for me to say, "That's it."  I talked to his school teachers and they agreed that it would be best if he did not return to school the remainder of this year.  I spent the afternoon training on the programs his teachers are using for him in school so I can continue his education at home.  It is probably for the best.  My house has been looking way too clean the last few days.  I must not have enough to do.  My son's teachers may have seemed a little too eager to see Daegan go.  But the feeling must have been mutual for my son, because he kept trying to run from the room and finally resorted to hiding in the 'timeout' corner to avoid contact.  Let's just say no tears were spilt.  So my plan to start homeschooling and an Allergy Elimination Diet has been moved forward, which is fine since I decided to put my youngest on a special diet because we are seeing signs of a sensory disorder in him as well.  Afterall there is nothing like starting a new highly restrictive diet right before a two week trip to really make the experience memorable.  And I would know.  This is not my first time.