Kids Make Us Say the Darndest Effin' Things

When Big Bro was little, I used to tell my friends all the adorable, funny things he said.  They'd crack up and urge me to write them down.  "These are priceless," they'd say.  "You don't want to forget them."  He's so precious--how could I forget? I wondered.  Well, I forgot.  I know, I suck.

What has stuck with me through the years is all the crazy stuff I've said.  I don't know where it comes from, but somewhere along the line, I lost the plot.  I groan like Marge Simpson.  Often.  When Big Bro told me I'm like a cartoon mom, I yelled, "Marge Simpson is real!  And she is me!  Or she is I.  I is her.  Oh, fuck it."

My children led me to this.  And I know, as an autism mom blogger, I tend the emphasize the impact of autism on our family and on my brain.  But guess what?  Both boys have turned me into a ranting lunatic.  My NT child is just as guilty as my ASD child.

So let's play a game.  I will list some crazy-ass things I've said, and you guess who made me do it!  What it the ASD Boy, or NT Big Bro?

1. Get the whipped cream out of your pants.
2.  Minnie Mouse doesn't want to see your penis.
3.  What's the rule about light sabers in the car?
4.  PEE IN THE POTTY, NOT THE FRIDGE!
5.  Don't rub your butt on the store window.
6.  Don't rub your butt on Harry Styles.
7.  No pants, no ice cream.  These are the rules.
8.  Get your foot out of your brother's potty!
9.  Do not wipe your nose on my butt!
10.  Just because you rub something on your penis, it doesn't make it yours!
11.  Did you really just poop in your hamper?
12.  Play the piano with your fingers, not your butt.
13.  If you pee on the potty, I'll give you candy.

Are you sensing a theme?  Yes, boys are gross.  That's my theme.

Answer key:  1) Big Bro 2) The Boy 3) Big Bro 4) The Boy 5) Big Bro 6) The Boy 7) The Boy 8) Big Bro 9) The Boy 10) Big Bro--he was trying to lay claim to a chocolate bar 11) Big Bro--he just wanted to see if he could 12) The Boy 13) Both of them.

As I'm finishing this, the Boy enters the room, butt-naked except for a large blanket arranged around his shoulders in a regal fashion.  He is pushing a stroller with Mickey and Minnie in it.  

"Mommy, sit on the couch please."
"But you're not wearing pants.  I couldn't possibly sit on the couch unless you put on pants."

Add it to the list.
 

There's Always a Full Moon in Autism Land!

Holy effin' ess.  Holy.  Effin'. Ess.

Things have gotten especially weird here.  Just when we think we're making progress, the boy loses his effin' mind and is baying at the moon.  

Blame it on the moon.

The old problems are back.  Obsessing over a ratty shirt.  Not sleeping.  Getting clingy during therapy.  And now...bedwetting!  (He's been dry at night for over a year, and now this?!)

The boy didn't just wet any bed.  He wet our bed.  And he didn't just wet it--he hosed that mother down.  We're not sure how he did it, really.  So we moved him to his bed, changed the sheets, and went to sleep...for a few hours.  Then, at three o'clock this morning, he woke up raring to go, and demanded the damn Phineas and Ferb shirt.  Then he wanted cereal.  And juice.  And a video.  And when none of that satisfied him, he decided that everyone needed to be up with him.  So he jumped on his brother, turned on all the lights, and dumped chocolate milk on our newly-changed sheets.

He kept this up until it was time to leave for school.  Then he sat down on the toilet and peed all over the front of THE shirt.  So I made him change, which caused a hysterical scene of crying, screaming, and running shirtless out of the house.  I am the meanest mommy ever.

(I mainlined coffee all day at work.  I'm pretty sure nothing I said made any sense, but that's ok because I teach middle school, and they don't understand sense.) 

We arrived home from school, and were hit with the stench of piss and God-knows-what-else when we opened the door.  While vacuuming and febrezing madly, I noticed a brown stain on our long, gauzy curtains, and I knew the awful truth before I even took a sniff...

The boy had used our bedroom curtains to wipe his ass.

And that, Gentle Reader, is when I started to cry.  This time it was poop, and it was just too much.

I don't think it's just me or just my kid.  It seems that many of my ASD-parent friends (including all y'all I've met online) are reporting that their children, too, are going stark raving mad.  I mean, we're a resilient bunch, so if our kids are acting wacky enough to worry us, something is going on.

There is a full moon tonight.  Is there something to that?  Maybe things will calm down tomorrow and it'll be smooth sailing...until May 25th!

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Skid marks on my bedspread make me cry.

"POOPING!!!!" shouts a voice down the hall.
My husband and I freeze.  Is he actually telling us that he's pooping?  I run into the bathroom to find the boy sitting on the toilet with a big grin on his face.
"Did you poop?" I ask.

TP--it's not just for playtime anymore.

"Pooped!" he replies.  I look.  He did.  It's huge.
"Good job telling Mommy!"  I congratulate him and pick up a wet wipe.
"Bend over," he says, before I can tell him.  I wipe him, we wash hands, and we celebrate.

Flush!

We are celebrating that my son did not attempt to wipe with his bare hands and smear it on his legs.  We are also celebrating that he didn't skip wiping all together and then sit bare-assed on the couch, the piano keys, or our bed--like he did yesterday.

We've slept in many a skid mark.  I know it's gross.  There have been times that we've been too tired to notice.

Poop or chocolate?  Poop or chocolate?  Oh, God help me, it's poop.

I know parents of toddlers who've said those words.  We say them often.  Our son is five.

It's gotten to the point where we're cool with any crisis as long as it doesn't involve poop.  It's become our motto.

"He smeared toothpaste on the mirror."
"At least it's not poop."
"He stuck play-doh in the carpet."
"At least it's not poop."
"He's throwing a tantrum."
"At least he's not throwing poop."

Poop is an important topic for parents of ASD kids. 
Seriously...google "autism and poop."  Your computer will blow up.