Chinny-Chin-Chin

     Last month I took a week long vacation. And in order for me to call it a "vacation" I left my son at home. So while I was in California, Tanner was growing a beard. As I sat at the beach, Tanner sprouted random whiskers and a scrawny fu-manchu mustache. I knew there was something different about his face when I got home. It looked kind of smudgy and shady at the corners of his mouth. I got closer and realized that my little guy had grown sideburns and had a dozen or so long hairs on his chinny-chin-chin.  Since the random hairs will never develop into a respectable beard I must somehow keep Tanner from looking like a dweeb.
     Recently while Tanner was in the tub I sneaked one of Hailey's dull razors and took a swipe at the back of his neck. The boy barely moved as I cut a nice clean swath across his forested upper neck. As I moved to his muttonchops he waited patiently. I guess shaving my autistic kid isn't going to be all that bad....for now.

Who Am I?

     Typically people have opinions about themselves. We know our strengths and weaknesses. We think about our pasts and our futures. I wonder, however, what my sixteen year old autistic son feels about himself. In the past I haven't thought too much about his self-esteem due to the severity of his cognitive deficits. I know that the boy still thinks he's little. I have watched him try to squeeze his teenage body into a plastic baby pool. Sometimes he tries to sit on my lap as if he's still a toddler. He even reaches his arms up to me when he wants to stand (as if I can pull a 120 lb sack of meat off the floor).. He loves for me to whisper in his ear and tell him how much I love him. He puts all his weight on me when he hugs me and he gives me open mouthed , slobbery kisses. So half the time Tanner thinks he's a baby.
    The other half of the time Tanner thinks he has power. Sometimes, when he hasn't had enough love and affection, he starts acting like a teenager. To establish his power he starts tossing pillows around. Next he casually chucks small stuff like pens and scissors and tape measures, constantly testing my reaction. If he still feels like he isn't given the attention he deserves, he continues his path of destruction until I stop everything  and give him some momma time (which is really just acknowledgement).
    Mostly the boy is a baby in a teenage body. He would rather be naked. He would rather watch TV. And he wants constant entertainment.. I know that he's more often a baby though because he is always smiling. Real teenagers don't like to smile. Real teenagers like to mope and complain but Tanner doesn't know anything about drama, thank goodness.

Hey That's Not Your Shirt

It seems that my autistic son never comes home with the clothes I sent him with. I will scoot him off to school with a nicely matched shorts and shirt outfit (with socks that compliment the color scheme), but when he returns home he is wearing somebody else's blue plaid shorts and a red striped shirt and only one strange sock. Over the last year I have "lost" five pair of custom hemmed pants and three homemade "onesies", not to mention seven socks (each of a different color). I have gained a pair of blue plaid shorts which I return but keep getting back even though they have the name "Robert" on the waistband.

At school there are eight boys. All are non verbal and all don't care what they wear. So when there is a spill or a messy eater or any other reason to change clothes, the boys will put on whatever shirt or pants are available. And since the staff have to deal with eight crazy guys they probably grab the nearest pants possible and stick them on the guy who needs pants the most. Unfortunately, the clothes I love the most and have spent an hour cutting and hemming, never return. And I have so many mismatched socks I don't know how to cope with the pairing issue.

With the new season I have purchased several trendy shorts and shirts for the boy. I have also written his name in Sharpie all over these clothes. There is a chance I may see them again, but maybe not. This is why I shop the clearance rack. Now if I can just decide how to pair up those socks... is it ok to pair a red sock with an orange sock or is that totally uncool?

My Closed Door Policy

     Young children require constant supervision, if not for their own protection but for your piece of mind. And so it is with raising my autistic 16 year old son. As with all children, if things get quiet then something is wrong. When I am with Tanner I rely on certain types of noises. His "sounds" assure me that he is safe. So if I hear the same scene of The Simpsons playing over and over I am confident that the boy is within remote control distance of the TV (which is good). If it is silent there is a guarantee that the boy is looking for trouble (which is bad). That trouble usually shows itself as an open door. Open doors of any kind are bad news. An open freezer means that Tanner has taken the ice cream and is presently scooping it out with his fingers and painting the couch with it. An open bathroom door and the sound of water running means that the boy is intent on overflowing the bathtub as he gets in fully clothed. If a bedroom door is open I can count on Tanner sitting in the middle of my bed, throwing my pillows around, messing with my blinds and dumping out my antacid tablets. The sphincter clenching moment is when I discover an open door to the outside world. In this case it's not only an inconvenience it's a jolt to my nerves. Most often I catch him fast walking down the sidewalk in hot pursuit of a neighbor's unlocked/open garage door. Any open door might as well have a sign which says "Come on in, Tanner!" Because that is just what he does.  Nothing pleases the boy more than to find what is on the other side of a door.
    So if you come over to my house don't be surprised if it takes me a while to let you in. I will be untying and unhooking and unbolting the door, and I might even say "welcome to my prison".Also remember to bring a toothpick in case you need the restroom. A toothpick will get you into all the special rooms in the house. If you need a drink of water you'll need to untie the ribbon around the faucet, if you want a snack count on unlatching the cupboard. Everybody is welcome to come over just lock the door behind you. 

The Big Dipper

    There is a good reason why my Autistic son drinks from a sippy cup. It's not that he is incapable of drinking from a "big boy" cup, it's just that an open cup with fluid in it becomes a big temptation to cause huge messes.Of course there is the uncontrollable draw towards dumping the drink into his dinner, or the delight in methodically pouring the drink onto the floor. Another reason for a closed cup is that Tanner is a dipper. If at all possible, he will dip whatever he is eating into something liquid. A sandwich will be dipped into a cup of milk or water, the same goes for a taco or meatloaf or scrambled eggs. It's gross! Imagine dipping your salad in your Diet Coke before you eat it. I try to provide a side of dipping sauce, like ranch dressing or ketchup, with his meals but inevitably he grabs MY drink and dunks his spaghetti into it.
    At times I question why the boy likes mushy bread or soaked fish sticks or dunked pizza. By all means he will eat anything, including non-edibles like candles, chalk and dirt clods, so why does he have to make good food so gross? I don't know....But I DO know that if I leave scraps in the sink, like crusts, tomato butts, potato peelings, Tanner will scoop them up and chow down.
    So for lunch today I will prepare whatever he picks out and I won't forget the ketchup...so he can dip his grapes.

The Newest Invention

     You may recall how I have been struggling to keep my skin on my bones. It"s not that I have a cannibal in the house, it's just that I live with a kid who can rake my face like Freddie Krueger in "Nightmare on Elm Street". After the dart gun suggestion failed, me and a buddy came up with a humane solution to help protect me from the cub when he is at his worst.
     What I needed was a barrier between me and my sweet, little savage. After much talk we came up with a brilliant plan. Why not make a shield, a barrier of sorts, that I can put between me and the boy as I try to direct him to his room. It would have to be equipped with handles, it would have to be light in weight, it would have to have an unbreakable surface. As I figured the dimensions my buddy talked about the materials needed to make a portable, uncomplicated barrier which can be easily accessible in times of crisis. I suggested clear plexi-glass, he suggested a a welded metal frame with handles for strength, stablility and maneuverability. The result was a brilliant hand made shield weighing in at 12 lbs. 30inX30in with foam on the edges, taped down by duct tape. It is a thing of beauty!
    And it works! The other day I was able to remain almost unscathed after Tanner flipped out unexpectantly. Not to say that I have things totally under control (there is a huge learning curve regarding this new device). Still, I avoided some face shots but fell victim to a couple of injuries due to inadequate counter measures. I will learn!..... If the shield is ineffective then the next step may be....cannabis?

If You Can't Buy It, Invent It

     As my autistic son grows up I find that what he needs doesn't exist. For example, when he was a youngster he wore a "onesie" like all other babies. This little body suit kept his diaper from sagging and also covered his little belly when his shirt rode up. Well, by the time he was five years old he had grown out of the XL size. I had this giant baby learning how to walk. And as a giant baby he also had a big heavy diaper and wandering hands. For another year I squeezed the boy into a toddler's onesie and found that the body suit kept his diaper in the place where diapers are supposed to be, around his bum and not his knees. Soon came the time when he was popping the crotch snaps of the largest size. There was no such thing as a onesie for big boys so I decided to experiment; afterall, isn't a onsie just a combination of a t-shirt and a tighty-whitey with an opening at the bottom? I bought a big-boy undershirt and some briefs and sewed them together. Then I cut out the crotch and used a bra "hook and eye" to secure the bottom. It worked liked a charm! So as he grows I just buy bigger t-shirts and underwear. There are so many advantages to this little invention. Mainly it keeps the boy's diaper up, but also, it keeps him decent when he takes his clothes off in public!
     Another nifty idea involves a belt and a chair. Invariably the cub feels the need to walk around while he eats. If allowed, he will carry his dinner plate throughout the house dropping food here and there. He  touches everything and soon there is Ranch dressing where it shouldn't be. Just trying to keep him at the table during mealtime ensures that I don't get to eat at all. After getting fed up with constant interruptions I got a nice wide "man-belt" and tied the kid to his chair. I lace the belt in between the slats of the chair and buckle it in the back. The boy can't get off his chair until I allow it. Now that he stays put I can casually eat without having to chase him down before he smears all the light switches.

An Ethical Dilemma

      Over the past few months I have wracked by brain for solutions to handling the boy's sudden mega-rages. Since I am no spring chicken (heck, I'm even too old to be a laying hen) I recognize that before long my skin will become like tissue paper and my strength will dwindle to a spark. In the course of many discussions, friends of mine have tried to help me solve the impossible question. How am I going to manage Tanner's tectonic tantrums and still keep us safe? My male friends are quick with solutions. " How about a tazer or a shock collar or a cattle prod or a stun gun or a paint ball gun or a tranquilizer gun or an electric fly swatter or karate or an awesome WWF hold!"  My brother suggested that I purchace a dart gun that they use on wild animals: I bet you can buy one off Amazon, he said. My response is, hey great advice! All I need to do is buy some tranquilizer darts and when I am in a death roll with Tanner I can just shout to my daughter, " Hailey!! get the gun and shoot your brother!" The comical part is picturing Hailey trying to aim at a moving mass of arms and legs and shooting ME instead of her wild brother. Now that would be priceless comedy.

     Still, I recently had a very expensive meeting with Tanner's autism specialists. I casually inquired into the use of the aforementioned methods and was met with serious frowns. Apparently even in jest, the very mention of a tranquilizer dart is strongly a taboo subject.  The one and only solution brought to my attention was the use of our local police department. I can see it now.....red and blue flashing lights in my driveway, two nice men escorting a curious Tanner to a shiny, exciting vehicle, going for a ride to a new place. It would be the most funnest day ever!!!

    Don't worry. I still have reasonable solutions to try out on the boy. These gentler methods come from my female friends. Women tend to be more realistic and less sensational. So when a female friend suggests that I put gym mats on Tanner's walls (reasonable) and when a male friend suggests a tazer set on low (sadistic), I think I will listen to the gal.

Manscaping

    I know that I am super good at yardwork; pulling weeds, planting flowers and trimming bushes. But when it comes to MAN-scaping I am a bit insecure. I have this 16 year old Autistic "man" who seems to get "overgrown" every two months. And since this teen shows absolutely no interest in self-care it is up to me to make him presentable to the world, which means I've got to make him look good and smell good.
    When the boy was younger I kept his hair short and his body scrubbed. It was an easy job. He was smaller than the usual pre-teen and had skin like a baby. Now that he has "come of age" I find him to be kind of ..uh... hairy! And since he is not toilet trained you can imagine the conundrum. I know that most guys do a little trimming of their furry parts. I know co-workers that manscape ALL their fuzzy areas including legs and arms. So I think it only polite to try to manscape my son as well, if only for the benefit of those who care for him at school. I am very considerate to those who are grossed out by overgrowth.
    So every two months I get out the shaver. Tanner knows that this is going to be a full body experience and he is not very cooperative. First I strip him, then I shear him like a sheep. His head gets pinned between my knees and I go at him with the shaver as he tries to break free. I start at the back of his head and peel off tufts of brown hair which fall into his lap like masses of feathers. Tanner looks at these clumps of hair and quickly pushes them away as if they are disgusting bits of rotting leaves. Both of us struggle for balance as I maneover and shift him into the right position in order to sculpt his hair into an acceptable shape. Around the ears is hard, the upper neck is worse. But there is more....
    The next step brings nervous giggles and uncertain eyes. I pin him so he is fully exposed. I carefully shave his nether regions, but not to closely. Tanner gets a bit nervous. I think the shaver pulls the hair ever so slightly enough to make him flinch. I don't try to be precise, only a quick trim of the hedge to keep it under control. Quickly I move on to his legs and armpits which requires only a slight passing of the shaver.
    When it is all done Tanner is rewarded with a long luxurious bath, followed by a full nail clipping and a manly smelling lotion rub down. He is such a high maintenence customer and leaves no gratuity! If I didn't love him so much I definitely would ban him from my Day Spa.

The Safe Room

    Don't you think it strange that whenever you commit something to writing it is no longer true? In the past I wrote that I had provided a safe place for my Autistic son to excorcise his demons, a room where he is allowed to go bat-guano crazy until he calms himself. So whenever the boy has a rage episode I lock him in his room where he can bang his head and throw things until he is satiated. I bragged that he never hurts himself seriously. I boasted that I just let him do his "thing" and everything turns out fine.

    Well my plan worked fine until it didn't. Last month, during a particularly lethal meltdown, I managed to get Tanner into his room and lock the door before he could tear the flesh from my bones. Then I proceeded to go about my business while waiting for the head banging and book flinging to stop. Once it was quiet I peeked in on the boy to make sure he was still conscious. What I found was an unusually bloody situation. Of course there is always some blood but this time he was covered in it (but still casually thumbing through a picture book). He had managed to split the side of his head open. I really wanted to ignore his injury, clean him up and then go to the Symphony as was planned beforehand. But there was this flap of scalp that needed an emergency room visit.
     Thus we visited the ER for the first time in Tanner's life. Talk about a craptacular experience! I wasted three hours of my life while the boy happily sat on a stretcher and thumbed through channels on his personal TV. Just when I thought that nobody in the world had been so thoroughly ignored as much as Tanner and I, a gaggle of staff came into the room, burrito wrapped Tanner and put six staples in his head. Ta da!!! Since the experience was so underwhelming I vowed to steal a staple gun and do the job myself next time.
     Then three weeks after I removed the staples I continued to feel a lump in his scalp where he split his head. After picking at the poor boy's scab for a few days I pulled out a piece of chunky plastic the size of my fingernail. Then I began to get a good idea as to  what happened the night of the injury...In his rage, Tanner threw a toy at the ceiling just to have it come back down and leave a gash in his head as well as a broken piece. Of course he banged his head on the door with great and enthusiastic force but the deep wound was due to a toy landing on his head.
     In reality there is nowhere absolutely safe where the boy can blow off some steam. I can't protect him from himself. So instead I am learning to ensure my own safety. In essence, the "safe room" isn't just a secure place for Tanner to wreck havoc. It is also a place that can "contain" him in those moments of dangerous behaviors. It is safer for ME to keep him in his room when he blows his top. I accept that there will be blood but it is time to let it be Tanner's blood and not my own.

The Sameness

     I often look through old photos and videos of my Autistic son's past; way back when he was younger and smaller. There are so many "Tannerisms" that I notice now that I am experienced. Back in the days when I was still guessing at a diagnosis I didn't see the subtle yet classic quirkiness of Tanner's movements and gestures. I have pictures of him as a two year old flapping his hands in the exact fashion that he does today. I find photos which show that he started biting his right hand quite early in his life. There are photos of him pinching the skin of my face between his thumb and forefinger in the exact way he's done for the last 15 yrs. When I notice images of a young Tanner grabbing and "twinging" the tendons behind my knee or "messing" with the sinew in my neck I see how he has always done that. In watching videos of a seven year old Tanner I notice the ritualized routine of turning on and off lights, patting a certain part of a certain wall .

     Besides body growth and voice pitch, the boy hasn't changed at all in eleven years. His movements are identical, his thinking patterns and his interests have remained downright fixed. It is a curious thing really. As Tanner's body changes his mind remains forever the same. The little pinches of a two year old are damaging as a sixteen year old. Light hugs from a spindly four year old are manageable but bear hugs from a sixteen year old sometimes knock me off my feet. When a six year old takes your hand to show you something it is a pleasant thing. But when a sixteen year old has a death grip on your finger and won't let go it can be a bit disconcerting.

     One thing is for certain; I really know my boy! I know the meaning of each sound he makes, I know what he wants just by his facial expression. I know his likes and dislikes more surely than I know my own. And the best thing is that I get to live with a teenage boy who still loves his mommy and is not ashamed to show it (although the heavy hugs and slobbery kisses do get a bit tedious at times).