Autism


OK, I have a couple of apologies.

Firstly, Boo has discovered the joy of commenting. This morning he was watching me on my NaBloPoMo page and declined a friend request.

Mad scramble to apologize to said requester and added her as a friend (sorry Lotus) God only knows if there were others.

If I declined you, it wasn’t me it was the tiny terrorist on his reign of send-Mummy-round-the-bend.

Secondly, he has been randomly clicking on my bloglines and commenting on blogs. So if you have got an abusive comment blabbering on about being pre-pubescent and taking anger out on people he likes….

I am deeply, red faced embarrassed SORRY!!!

I have not finally snapped. I haven’t changed my name to Harry Potter, Homestar runner or any of the other alias’ he has assumed to slander his poor mother.

And finally one that I can’t blame on Boo. Look, I don’t like Ugg boots. As far as I am concerned they are slippers and only to be worn inside the house to keep your feet warm (I don’t even like them then, but that is my personal preference) I particularly despise these

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especially when people wear them in the office. It is a running joke that people scramble to see my reaction when someone (yes I am talking about you Marie) walks in with them on….. with a freaking skirt….

Anyway, I was apologising…… I am sorry if they are your footwear of choice. I am sorry if I offended you. I am sure that you feel that you are the height of fashion and my poor choice of footwear will send me to the podiatrist in years to come and you will be able to wear your, um, shoes right up to old age.

But as I always say, grow some balls and put it in the comments section instead of emailing me privately. At least Ellen had the guts to confront me about it. *waves to Ellen and blows a kiss*

**********

 

party blog has been updated

Boo is home today.

Boo is not in a good mood.

Boo is an arsehole.

Boo is now in his room contemplating WHY he shouldn’t beat up his mother.

Shit.

I am in the lounge.

I am nursing my wounds.  He only punched me a few times in the arm and head butted me.  But shit it hurt!

We were attempting to make jelly,  he was not agreeing with the amount of boiling hot water that was needed.  He tried to throw it.  I stopped him.  He took exception to that.

I am taking solace in the internet and coffee and  a family block of chocolate.

I joined NaBloPoMo,  a post a day for the month of November.  I wonder if I can manage that *snort*

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AND I worked out HTML all by myself and put the badge on my sidebar.  The badges on the site have flash or whatever in them so can’t be supported on WordPress.  But I got around it and now I have a pretty new button!   All while listening to Boo tear his room apart in a rage and my arms burning.

So if you click on it you will go to my NaBloPoMo page.

I really truly rock you know.  I do.

I hate the start of Daylight Savings.

Scratch that.  I HAAAATE Daylight Savings.

I don’t care that the extra hour of sunlight will kill the plants or fade the curtains or wake the cows early and curdle the milk.  I hate the fact that it will now take ANOTHER FUCKING HOUR for Boo to go to sleep.  His internal clock is permanently set on ‘awake’.

‘Get your feet off the wall’

Now I am lamenting that I let him play outside for that extra freaking hour – yes Daylight Savings gives an extra HOUR to play in the freaking mud – and then couldn’t be bothered giving him a shower just a wipe down (cause he has to shower in the mornings due to nocturnal mictruition) and now I have foot prints on the walls.

‘Put it down’

As he pulls a book from under his bed.

‘Give me that car.  It’s sleep time’

Where the hell did that come from?  He didn’t have it in the bed.  I know it wasn’t there cause I had to change the sheets before he went to bed cause he used them as toilet paper five minutes before.

‘Lay down properly.  It is nearly 11.30.’

But in his little melatonin diminished brain it is only still early.  So par-tay on.

‘Get your hand out of Pikachu’s eye and GO. TO. SLEEP’

Boo has a soft Pickachu bedhead that I made him.  Over the years he has picked the stuffing out of the eyes.  And eaten it.

Interesting when you are wiping his arse and stuffing comes out.

I am so tired.  That bone tiredness that makes your brain all fuzzy and your mouth feel like the morning after a big night out.  My body is aching to go to sleep and Boo is doing the Macarena.

‘Leave my feet alone’

He is now resting his head on my feet.

‘Lay down properly Boo or so help me….’

giggle ‘Help you what Mummy?’

‘Don’t worry.  Just go to sleep!  Please, Boo, please.  Go. To.  SLEEP.

He is manically giggling.  Bouncing around the room.  I have tomorrow off work as a rec day.  Gunna waste my day that I was going to spend cleaning (oh the joys of a working mother, rec days are for deep cleaning) walking around like a zombie.  Or worse still, with Boo home.

‘Get our foot out of Pikachu’s ear!’

Oh God, someone, get this kid to sleep!

He has stopped moving.  He is still.  Is he….. asleep?  Or has he passed out from choking on some of the the Pokemon pupil?  Do I dare check?

A faint snore.

Oh.  He is asleep.  And it is only midnight.  Better hightail it outta here and jump into bed cause who knows what time he will start the all-singing-all-dancing one man show again.

The party is over.

One more to go, but six days to recover.

Boo had a wonderful time. The kids were well behaved. A couple I wanted to strangle. A couple I want to adopt. 10 kids didn’t show, 6 had tummy bugs and their parents called to apologise –WOW – one mum went as far as popping over before the party to say J wasn’t coming but here is Boo’s present anyway……. How cool is that!

27 kids. 5 surly teenagers until the 6 month old baby came, then marshmallows in Emo garb. 4 adults. 3 conversations with the ‘ferals’ – one of them is growing a freaking BEARD! So I asked her how she liked my t-shirt. Bwaaaa haaa haaa!

Everyone but T had a good time. T is a tiny little dynamo, blindingly street smart with amazing blue eyes. She drives me nuts sometimes she is so freaking adult, but I love the kid. She was having a good time until I had to tell her off. She was on the trampoline with a boy and beating the living shit out of him.

It was a fun wrestling game that quickly got out of hand after she had eaten her body weight in unicorn turds (aka mini meringues). She was physically picking him up and body slamming him down. The boy (also T) was trying to save face cause T is half his size. But enough was enough. I ended up having to scream at T to get off him.

He’s all like ‘It didn’t hurt’,  ‘I’m OK’,  ‘I let her do it’ (so brave for a 7 year old) limping into the house trying to hide his tears. I sat T down and told her that she really shouldn’t do that cause she could get hurt one day when someone fights back.

‘Don’t worry Kelley, I can take care of myself’

Damn right she can. She scares me!

So T spent the rest of the party sulking. Refusing cake, icypoles and further turns on the trampoline. She sat out the potions class and pretended to be unimpressed with the teens ‘exploding’ experiments. Oh, it was so wife-pissed-off-at-husband-get-back-by-punishing-myself, I was stunned.  And amused.

Boo got some amazingly thoughtful gifts, adorable cards (lots of ‘you are a good friend’, ‘I love you’, ‘we are best friends’ handwritten cards *sob*) and some what-the-fuck presents.

The 2 blocks of DAIRY MILK chocolate from the woman I was lamenting having to do everything dairy free to and she gave me a fucking RECIPE. WTF?

This make your own animation thingy that plugs into the TV…. oooh it is so cool! AMAZING!

A dirty ball. You could have fucking washed it first before re-gifting dickhead. WTF

The mum that called from out the front to ask what to buy Boo….. I told her $5 in a card is perfect. She walked in the door 1 minute later, $10 in a generic card……. LMAO

Tons of artist supplies. Pens, paper, paints, sketch pads, textas, crayons, artist canvas, coloured pencils, charcoal….. Boo will be set for at least a month 🙂 BRILLIANT

The weather was perfect. A little warm but the rain held off. Thank you everyone for doing those little anti rain dances for me.

After everyone had gone and Boo had enough time to decompress, he came to me.

‘You know what Mummy?’

‘What my Boo?’

‘It was a great party’

‘Yes it was precious. Did you have a good time’

‘I did. Fun was had by all’

Yes, indeed. Everything was so worth it just to have that conversation with my Boo.

You rock Boo. Now it is 10.30pm, get the fuck to sleep.

***************

I will update the party blog with more details and photos over the next couple of days. Right now I have a hot date with a huge glass of red and a footspa.

Are you ready to RUUUUUMMMMBBBLLLLEEEE!!!!

(many thanks to my brother for teaching him that one)

Round one:

Mummy is in the kitchen, doing last nights dishes (that someone didn’t do today cause they were too busy scratching their arse while I was flying around the place getting ready for the parties)

Boo is in the loungeroom.

Boo puts Shannon Noll’s ‘Loud’ on continual loop on his computer while simultaneously shredding and masticating a metre long piece of packing foam.

Mummy is down for the count.

Round 1 awarded to Boo!

Round two:

Mummy is tidying Boo’s room.

Boo is on the toilet.

Boo snaps another towel rail in half. Finds the toothpaste – no prizes for guessing what he does with it.

And then he wipes his arse on the now puddled on the floor towel. My favourite towel. The lovely huge fluffy blue one.

Mummy clutches the doorway and smiles sweetly. Through clenched teeth.

Round 2 winner is Boo

Round three:

Mummy gets Boo ready for bed. Dreams of sleeping alone dance through her head. Oh the bliss, the decadence the spread-out-and-take-all-the-pillows-ness.

‘It is sleepover night tonight’

Shit.

Boo jumps into Mummy’s bed.

Mummy sighs and gets in too.

Mummy needs a bottle of red and a straw.

And the winner tonight is Boo……… Just like last night.

And Moo is rather pissed off about it!

So there I was, at work.  Everything was taken from my desk.  I rang IT support and while talking to DH I was chatting to him on IM.  That feral mum from school bugging me to use the phone while her snotty nosed kid was wiping her boogers on my nighty.  DH was telling me not to tell anyone but my desk was cleared cause I got the job as a nurse in Maternity at the hospital.

‘Wake up Mum.  It’s 7 o’clock’

My eyes flew open.  SEVEN O’CLOCK!!  My alarm didn’t go off!

I flew out of bed and looked at Too.  Her eyes were hanging out of her head.  Dark circles surrounded her enormous blue eyes.

‘What’s wrong babe?’  I enquired as I threw on some clothes.  We need to be dressed and out of the house at 7.55.

‘Boo woke up at 1am.  I sat with him cause I know how tired you are’

My heart melted.

‘He went back to sleep at 5.30.  Sorry, I fell asleep so I didn’t wake you earlier’

Isn’t she just the best kid you have EVER seen!

What makes it even more betterer is she is in pain.  Not better cause she is in pain, I am not that bad a mother, but she thought of me.

She has dermatitis on her feet.  They are bleeding it is so bad at the moment.  Because of that she is favouring one foot.  Because of that she has hurt her ankle.  Because of her ankle weakness, yesterday while doing sport she hurt her hip.  So her whole lower body is ‘caning’ but she still stayed up all night with her brother because she knew her Mummy was tired.

Oh, Too, you are a super star!

So she is home today.  She is not impressed cause she loves school (yeah!  I know!  A 14 yr old that loves school!) but she is hobbling around the place and I can’t stop smiling and hugging her.

And Moo is pissed off cause SHE wants to be the ‘golden child’.  It is her birthday on Friday, and she is trying to score extra points cause apparently that equals extra presents……

 I wrote this this afternoon.  While I was white hot with anger.  I considered deleting it, but thought better of it.  I considered toning it down a bit, but thought, no.  So will I regret it after hitting the publish button? Perhaps……

*****************

I am sitting here shaking with anger.

Oprah is on  and that fucking moron Jenny McCarthy is spouting her sons recovery story.

I want to reach through the TV and wring her fucking neck.

Do you REALISE the damage you are doing!

MOMMY FUCKING INSTINCT.  If she says that one more time I will lift the hulking enormous television and throw it through the window.

So, Ms McCarthy, all the parents without ‘recovered’ kids (apparently Autism is like being hit by a bus, you recover and then you have a little boo boo – WTF!?!?!) just don’t have MOMMY INSTINCT. MI for short.  I am sure she has trademarked that one.
OMG.  I just don’t love my kid enough.

My son is GFCF by default. LOOOOOOOOONG before the Autism was diagnosed he was milk free, LOOOOONG before I heard of the ‘autism diet’ we were trialling gluten free.

My kid did ABA, speech, OT, no artificials etc etc, but my kid is still Autistic.  He will always be.  The shit and toothpaste all over my walls is freaking testament to that.

But if I had MI ™ and a little more love for my child, he would be cured.

Oh Jenny.  You, my dear, are delusional.  Sitting there with your Pob (just like Miss Posh) talking about your son being broken In. Front. Of. Him.

I look at that kid and I CAN SEE THE AUTISM!  I thought he was recovered.  I hear the echolalia.

‘He says the most amazing Budda things’?  You fucking idiot.  He is mimicking.  It is echolalia.

He is clearly maturing.  It is clear that the therapy has made a difference.  ABA does that.

Now she is talking about the MMR, apparently she had a little voice tell her it would cause Autism.  Apparently the seizure her son had  was preceded by the ‘little voice’.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My phone is going to be ringing off the hook tonight.  I will be inundated with people asking me to help them recover their kids.  Any one have Ms McCarthy’s phone number?

My son was diagnosed with Classic Autism.  Classic, no language, screaming day and night.  I was told he would never have functional language or toilet train.  I was told to take him home and love him.

He is now doing amazingly.  Thanks to therapy.  Thanks to hard freaking work.  But he still has Autism.  He will always have Autism.

He is not recovered.  You cannot recover from something that is – in my view – an inherited neurological condition.  Minimize the  extreme behaivours, work on other issues.  Some kids will respond to therapy, some will not.  Regardless of how much MI ™ their mothers have.  Regardless of how much they love their child.

I read a book once that the mother basically beat her child every day and then sent him to boarding school.  Now he is ‘recovered’.  Do we endorse that shit?  No.

I am sure that diet, supplements, therapy etc etc etc have helped numerous kids.  Maybe even thousands.  But in my opinion (remember I deal with parents with children on the spectrum every day so I have some experience) if your child is ‘cured’ then they were never on the spectrum in the first place.

The other chick, Holly Robinson whatever.  Her I like.  I agree with every thing SHE said.

But that McCarthy freakshow needs to be gagged.  But first bitch slapped.

And Oprah.  How could you.

Now excuse me, that child that I obviously didn’t love enough to cure needs me to go and wipe his arse.

and Boo has been awake since midnight.  I have given up on trying to go to sleep.  The warm fuzzies I was feeling are long gone and the kid is close to being smothered with a pillow.

If I only had the energy.

Right now we are watching an infomercial.  Windsor Pilates.  Sexy women with lovely legs.  Boo is in his element.  I am actually getting quite into it.

Where’s the phone?

Oooh!  I just got an email.  I’m gunna be rich!  My friend (well he started off the email with Dear Friend, so he must be, right?) Fernando Carlos is offering me 25% of 16.5 million dollars.  Some guy died with no ‘hairs’ so apparently we can just take it.

All I have to do is send him my name, address, bank details, phone number and occupation……

But wait! Mr Edwin Martin has just offered me 40% of 384 million pounds!  And his offer has to be better because it is full of ! and “” as in, will be sent to you ASAP!! and “dead customer”.

Not really sure of what a “dead customer” is.  The ” ” have confused me a tad.  Does it mean he is “technically dead” or does that mean he is “dead when we say he is dead, just give us the go ahead and your bank details” dead?

Any rate.  I’m gunna be rich!  No calculations for me at 3am, but whatever percent of hundreds of millions of dollars is quite a lot huh?

I can get me a babysitter to deal with Boo’s nocturnal games, build a padded soundproof room and get me some sleep.

Oh and the Windsor Pilates system.  Only $70 bucks every two months for drink coasters.

Bargain!

Ok, as you know I have had a rather, ahem, freaking horrible week.  I haven’t even bored you all with half of it.

Don’t go!  I won’t whinge anymore I promise!  Well at least for tonight.  And what I have to say doesn’t constitute as whinging per se…..

On Friday nights we have sleepover in the loungeroom.  His highness (aka tiny terrorist, little turd, shit-and-toothpaste-mural-artist-extrodinaire, or my loving son Boo) has decreed that Friday night is the night that Mummy bunks down on the loungeroom floor while he does cartwheels around the room, pausing momentarily to fall, nappy clad arse first, onto said bed fellows face.  Until, at the very least, 3am.

Well tonight DH is working and in my bruised and battered and broken state I cannot possibly lug the queen sized mattress from our broom closet sized bedroom down the hall to the lounge.  So we are doing the sleepover in my room.

I had plans for tonight.  I was going to make the wands for his party.  I was going to get a head start on the washing for the weekend.  I was going to do some more of my looooong overdue advocacy work and reply to some emails.  But I am in bed.

Since 7.30pm.

Every other night it takes at least an hour to get him into bed, let alone asleep, but tonight?  He is quietly lying next to me staring at the ceiling while I type (thank God for laptops!) occasionally turning to ask me a question.

‘Hey mum, what is blood for?’

‘Where do moth’s mummies live?’  There was a moth in the room earlier

‘ What are we going to play tomorrow?’

I have so much to do.  I am going to be running around like a madwoman for the next week.  I really should get out of bed and get something done.

But right now I don’t think there is anywhere else I would rather be than hanging out with my Boo, laying side by side in my bed that is so warm and cozy.  His chubby little body snuggled close to mine, humming a tune that I can’t quite catch, his hand reaching out for mine.

The soft whisper,

‘I love you Mummy’

Yes, I have heaps to do. The washing, oh so much washing. But nothing in this world is more important than cuddling with my Boo.

I am sure everyone will understand.

Undies can be worn twice can’t they?

I just spent 4 hours arguing with Boo. About his birthday invitations.

It was 6 hours the other night.

At one point I threw my hands up in the air and screamed.

He smirked and said ‘Strangle me, like Homer does’

Friggin’ hell. If I beat him within an inch of his life, it would be rewarding the little shit.

So he won. My fabulously creative, freaking AMAZING invitations complete with the signature of Minerva McGonagall and Hogwarts crest is now in tatters on the floor.

And he has done his own.

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and the flip side.

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It has taken 3 days and he is STILL freaking screaming about it….   tonights hysteria is about the RSVP.  He wants it to be 24/7 as in 24 hours / 7 days.

He is mumbling about it right now, as he walks his feet up the wall.  That is my fault. I said

‘You are driving me up the wall’

His reply, ‘No I am not.  I am walking up the wall.  Can’t drive, stupid.’

Fair call.   Literal little bastard.

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