Greener Grass And Fences And Shit: Why We Are No Worse Off Than Anybody Else

I sometimes speak in a proverbial shorthand I learned from my father.  It started years ago, when my mother, a catalog-shopping enthusiast, told me I needed to be more careful with my money.  My father, blown away by the irony of my mother offering financial advice, attempted to tell her that this was like the pot calling the kettle black.  Only it didn't come out that way.

"Pots and kettles and shit!" he shouted, waving his arms in some kind of gesture meant to indicate a connection between us.  "I mean, are you kidding?!"

A new way of talking was born.

I've taught proverbial shorthand to my colleagues, and it's served us well as educators.  Like when we call a meeting to discuss the attitude problem of a student, and meet the surly parents.  "Wow! Apples and trees and shit, huh?"  Or when we give up our lunch periods to tutor kids who don't show up.  "Oh, well, you know.  Horses to water and shit."  Or even the notion that we have to jettison the entire existing curriculum to accommodate the Common Core.  "Really?  Don't you think that's just baby and the bathwater and shit?" 

Note:  It's imperative to add "and shit" to the abbreviated phrase.

Anyway, this all leads me to my point, which is, "Greener grass and fences and shit."  I mean that we sometimes get it into our heads that our NT friends have happier lives than we do.  But I don't think they do.  Their lives are different, for sure.  Easier?  Most likely.  But happier?

There are times when it's almost impossible not to compare.  After spending an afternoon at a friend's house, Big Bro was uncharacteristically quiet.  I asked him what was up.  Didn't he have a good time?

It turns out he had a really good time. He and his friend played soccer and basketball and manhunt with her younger brother.  Then they went swimming and ate pizza and played video games--all three of them, all day long.

"It's just...she gets to play with her brother.  It must be nice.  My brother doesn't play like that."  And there it was.

I tried to explain how different the circumstances were.  Laura and her brother were a year apart in age.  There's a five year age gap between our boys.  Apples to oranges and shit.  But he wasn't having it. 

"Look," I said.  "Our family is different.  But there is no less love in our house.  Yes, Laura and her brother play together, but they also fight like cats and dogs.  Your brother doesn't play ball with you, but he does idolize you.  To him, you are better than Elvis and the Beatles and Derek Jeter all in one.  We do things differently here.  But we still love each other just as much."

That doesn't mean it's easy. 

One night, when things were getting particularly "interesting" in our house, my husband got frustrated.  "Other families get to watch movies together.  Other parents get to relax a bit.  Why is nothing easy?  Why is everything such an effin' tractor pull?"

And I responded, "I don't know.  But nobody is any happier than we are."  And I meant it.  I mean it.

We were once an NT family--just the three of us.  Were we happier then?  Of course not.  We had our worries and stresses and arguments.  We didn't know at the time that our lives were relatively simple.  We didn't know that a few years down the road, we would be installing locks on every appliance and door.  We didn't know that we'd be in this club we'd never asked to join, but has the most amazing members.  All we knew is that our family didn't feel quite complete. 

Well, it's complete now.  He's our miracle.  And yes, it's hard.  We're on our toes 24/7 and we don't get enough sleep.  But we get to celebrate every little milestone.  We get as excited about the boy playing Candy Land appropriately as we do Big Bro making the honor role.  They both bring us such joy.  We're going to worry about some things that other families don't worry about and they're going to worry about some things that don't cross our minds.  And that's cool.  Everybody has their shit.

And shit does get weird around here.  Sleep is interrupted all the effin' time.  Our conversations revolve around meds, therapies and meltdowns, as well as report cards, scout meetings, and baseball practice.  Every outing requires Navy Seal-level planning.  There is often some kind of food substance stuck to our walls.  And we watch an awful lot of Raffi.  But we laugh an awful lot, too.  My kids are funny.  I mean, the boy was naked and trying to hang rosary beads off his junk!  That's good comedy!  We have dance parties in the kitchen to Harry Belafonte and the Beastie Boys.  And I can hardly wait for the weather to get warm so I have an excuse to blast the kids with the garden hose.  Oh, how we all laugh!

Other families likely have cleaner houses.  Other families definitely have quieter houses.  But I don't believe that other families have happier houses.

Home and heart and shit.

ASD Cribs! Or, Lifestyles of the Stressed and Shameless

Hi!  Welcome to our Autism Home!  The Boy is here to greet you, too.  Honey, where are your pants?  Remember our rule.  We wear pants for guests.

Come in, come in!  I'll give you the tour.  This is our living room.  Have a seat!  Yes, the couch cushions are on the floor.  That's how we like it.  Feel free to put one on the couch if you prefer.  To each his own.  This is our entertainment center.  Yes, that is a genuine tube T.V.!  It was the last one PC Richards sold before switching to flat screens.  We like it because when he bangs on it with his Handy Manny tools, he can't do much damage.  Notice the hand-prints?  We think they really personalize the space.

So, if you'll just step over the trampoline--doesn't every living room have a trampoline?--I will show you the rest of the house.  And by the way, would you like to see his box of decapitated and dismembered Disney figures?  He has quite the collection.  I think it just goes to show how remarkable he is.  Other kids just play with their toys.  My son bites their heads off.

What is that, you ask?  Is that an original Jackson Pollock?  Alas, no.  It's just our wall, splattered with chocolate milk.  The boy did it all himself.  I know, right?  He has a real creative streak.  We think he might have a future in action painting.

The magnet covers scratches!

And this is the kitchen.  Can I offer you some iced tea?  Great, let me just find the keys...Well, of course we have appliance locks on the fridge and freezer!  How else can we keep him from buttering the couch?  Not that we want to stifle his creativity, but you know how it is...butter on the couch cushions, couch cushions on the floor...it can be a bit of a bother.

Now if you'll follow me down the hall...No, I can't turn on the light.  We took the light bulb out of the fixture in the hallway because he would turn on the lights in the middle of the night and wake us all up.  He still wakes us up, but at least he doesn't hurt our eyes!

These walls were,well, redesigned when we foolishly thought we could keep him in one part of the house using baby gates.  How silly of us!  He's just so gosh-darned determined.  But we really like the effect.  It's like our own little homage to the great crumbling villas of old Tuscany, or...what's that other place?  Pompeii?  Wasn't that the city that was destroyed by a volcano?  Yes, like that.

This is our bedroom.  Yes, we love the "shabby chic" look!  It's taken us years to achieve it.  You see, when my husband and I got married, we bought nice things.  Then we got a dog and had children, and voila!  All that tacky newness and "cleanliness" has worn away and we have this look.  It's more authentic that way, don't you think?

The bathroom--decorated in beautiful Disney decals!  Yes, we do have soap, but we have to hide it, or else he'll squeeze it all into the sink.  Don't walk barefoot in there.  The boy is trying to learn to pee standing up.  Practice makes perfect!

Here is Big Bro's room.  He has a slide-latch on his door, but as you can see, the boy used an overturned wastebasket from the bathroom as a step-stool so he could unlock it and get in.  How clever!  It doesn't worry him that the wastebasket was full.  Don't worry; the dog will get that.  So yes, Big Bro's room--oh, look!  They're fighting!  Let me just close this door...

Hulk Smash!

And now, the pièce de résistance!  The boy's room!  See how we sawed his door in half?  We did that so we could keep him from wandering in the middle of the night.  But, as you can see, he hulked out during a time-out and ripped the door apart.  So strong!

So, that's the tour!  I'd show you the yard, but the gate has a lock on it and I can't remember the combination, so you'd have to stay forever.  Tempting, I know.  Hey, why don't I take a warm bottle from the broken wine fridge, and we'll chillax on the floor in front of some Raffi on VHS?  The party just never stops around here!