To Bee or Not to Bee: The sting of fear and anxiety

Boo recently developed a fear of bees. I'm not sure where this fear originated exactly. He's never had an encounter with a bee. He did rent The Bee Movie from the library this summer. And he did recently develop a perseverative interest in the show Fetch with Ruff Ruffman, which has an episode about bees in which one of the children is afraid of bees and talks about having been stung. Perhaps that partially explains it. Whatever the source, he began to express worry about bees, not wanting to go outside and play because he thought he saw one. We tried to downplay the danger, telling him there was no need for worry and that bees don't WANT to sting people so as long as you just be still and leave them alone they will leave you alone. Little did we know we were setting the stage for the perfect storm of anxiety.

It was a warm Wednesday evening. We were at my dad's house for our weekly "family barbecue." This has been a favorite summertime activity for the past few years. One evening a week our extended family gathers together for a barbecue at which the host (hosting alternates between families) grills an entree and everyone brings a dish and we enjoy a meal, each other's company, and the outdoors. Boo had been playing happily in the sand pile near Grandpa's driveway. Boo's Dad and I were sitting with the group chatting and eating some chips. When the meal was ready, I went into the shop building where the food was set out and filled a plate. When I came back outside I glanced toward the sand pile and something was just...off. Boo was sitting in a squat position in the sand, in absolute stillness. Boo is never still. Ever. Not even in his sleep. Something was wrong. Ever so slowly he turned his head and on his face was an expression I can't even name. He was clearly crying, but his features held a mixture of desperation and terror. I set my plate on the nearest chair and went running.

I knelt behind Boo and asked him what was wrong. He said there was a bug on his leg. I looked down and saw a fly perched on his shin and I waved it away. I said that it was a fly and that it is gone now. He wailed "I thought it was a bee! I saw stripes!" His head was soaked with sweat. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his hair was matted to his face. I assured him that he was safe and that there was no bee. He said that he had thought it was a bee and that he was trying so hard to be still so that it wouldn't sting him. I don't know how long he had been sitting there like that. His body was stiff. I began wiping his face as he wept bitterly, telling me over and over how scared he had felt. I asked why he didn't call for me, since I was nearby. He said he was afraid that if he yelled it would scare the bee and make it sting him. My heart was breaking as it became clear just how terrified my poor boy had felt. I put my arms around him and helped him stand up and that's when he told me that he had wet his pants while he sat there. I choked back my own tears, knowing that Boo cannot handle seeing me cry. I don't even know if I can fathom the force of will required for my boy to force his body into absolute stillness such as this. He hadn't even chanced a dip of his head to glance at the presumed bee. I'd had no idea his fear of bees had reached this level of intensity.

I managed to walk him through the garage and strip his wet sandy clothes off and get him into the bathroom. I helped him wash his hands and feet, and wipe his face. He continued to weep desperately and cling to me. He was begging to go home. He knew that there had been no bee after all, but he told me that he couldn't stop feeling scared, couldn't stop thinking about it. I assured him it was okay to feel his feelings, and that I would keep him safe. He kept telling me how much he loves me. He agreed to wait there in the bathroom while I got him some clean clothes from the car. I helped him get dressed and he agreed to stay in the house and wait just long enough for me to eat my food before going home...but ONLY if I sent Daddy in to wait with him. I went back outside and explained to Daddy what had happened, and he went in to sit with Boo. Shortly before I finished eating, Boo emerged from the house and began playing with the older kids. I was very surprised that he was willing not only to stay, but to be outside! I couldn't believe what a fast recovery he had made from the strangle-hold of anxiety.

I took a lot away from that experience. I will be much more careful from now on about helping Boo manage his fears and anxieties. Instead of taking it lightly and giving offhand advice like "just be still" I will work on giving him concrete steps and action plans whenever possible. We have discussed bees and he knows that he can move an arm or a leg slowly to let the bee know that "I am a person, not a flower" and the bee will fly away. I have also told him that he can ALWAYS call out to me when he is scared or feels he is in danger. I'm not sure how much got through to him. I was sure to let his teacher know what had happened so she is aware of the intensity of his fear. I didn't want her to take it lightly if he had difficulty on the playground.  And I still don't know how his fear turned so intense right under my nose without me realizing it.

Boo is Weird

Yesterday afternoon Boo was starting to get restless and unhappy, so I suggested that we go to the park. He was elated by this idea. He said he didn't want to go to the park with the red slide (two blocks from home) but rather the one with the blue slide (other side of town...which in my town means about a three minute drive.) This was fine with me, as I prefer the park with the blue slide anyway. So we loaded up and headed out. But as I neared the park I cringed. The park with the blue slide is along side of the community building, which townspeople can rent for events. There were cars everywhere. Clearly the community building was rented for the day. The park was crawling with people.

We pulled up in front and I parked the car. I stared into the park. There were children everywhere. Boo saw them too, but he was elated. I was worried. I looked at the community building and there was a large banner draped on it announcing a family reunion. I cursed silently in my head. I surveyed the scene. I was weighing the possible outcomes of leaving vs staying and invading this family reunion. I decided that the latter was the lessor of two struggles and we exited the car.

Boo ran happily over to the blue slide, climbed up, and started chattering at the kids. I took a seat at a nearby picnic table under a shade tree, eyes and ears on high alert. I heard him at the top of the slide announcing "It's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman!" and I chuckled. But immediately after that, I noticed a confrontation taking place between Boo and an older boy. The boys face was contorted with some emotion I couldn't quite name. I was trying to figure out what was going on and at what point I should intervene. Boo was trying to avoid the boy, but the boy was following him, hounding him. I saw them put hands on one another's chests, but never in an overtly aggressive manor. Boo kept disengaging from the boy and going back to the other children, but whenever he would speak to them, the boy would get in his face again. Boo was trying to push him away, but the boy would take that as an aggressive move and put hands on Boo. I was incredulous, looking around the park for this child's parents. A moment later, I saw Boo walking away from the slide area, down the walking path which winds around the park. The boy was following closely behind, taunting him.

"Spiderman is STUPID!"
"NO he's NOT!"
"Yes he is. Spiderman is STUPID and all kids who like him are WEIRD!"

Ok, this is enough. Just as I made the decision that it was time to step in and stop this bully, they both put hands on one another and the real shoving match began. I barked at them, a loud and terse "HEY" that was heard across the park. The boy's head shot in my direction and he took off, ran to another nearby picnic table area. He was still close enough to hear everything I was saying. I addressed first things first.

"Boo, you can not put your hands on other kids like that. If there is a problem, you get an adult to help."
"But mom, that kid said that Spiderman is stupid."
"I know. And that kid can think whatever he wants. That's just his opinion. We like Spiderman and that's just fine."

The boy's attention was rapt. He was taking in everything that I was saying, he was staring at me. I suggested that Boo just ignore that boy and not talk to him or play with him. I said "He's being mean to you honey. He doesn't want to play or be friends. He just wants to be mean and hurt your feelings. I think you should just leave him alone, ok?" I wasn't sure how much of that Boo took in, because he was acting very distracted. But he took off and started making laps back and forth along the walking path.

I sat there so incensed I was practically vibrating. I looked around the playground at all the children of various ages. My mind was racing. This is a snapshot of a school yard. This is what my son is up against. He's going to be bullied. Everything I've feared is playing itself out. Oh my god, how can I protect my baby? After a while, Boo decided to re-join the children clustered on and around the slide. A few minutes later, he was lingering on the opposite side of the slide where I couldn't see him. I got up and peeked around. He and the boy were sitting side by side on the large PVC pipe that surrounds the slide area. I tensed. But their postures were relaxed, their voices low. Soon, Boo stood up with a huge smile on his face and ran toward me shouting happily "He's not going to be mean to me anymore, Mom. Yeah, he's sorry he did that, and I forgave him." I exhaled in relief, realizing that I'd been holding my breath.

The children all continued playing together. I downgraded myself from red alert to orange. I picked up my phone and started a game of solitaire. There was another boy there who had caught my attention. He was gangly and cute. He wore glasses and a buzzed haircut. He was trying to assemble some sort of club amongst the children. The others agreed to join, but when he tried to assemble a "meeting" it quickly fell into chaos, due in part to Boo's incessant chatter and insistence on being the center of everyone's attention. The boy in glasses tried multiple times over the next hour or so to assemble his "meeting" with similar results.

I had relaxed even more in that time. Boo was playing happily, if oddly, with the children. They were tolerating him in an amused, sometimes confused, fashion. I was sitting at a picnic table in the shade enjoying the afternoon. The boy with glasses walked up to me and stated matter-of-factly "Boo is weird." My heart flew into my throat. Crap, crap, CRAP! I thought to myself. My mind raced. He doesn't blend. He doesn't fit in. The gap between him and his peers is getting bigger, not smaller. What if it becomes a chasm? What if he can't overcome it? What if he can't manage meaningful friendships? What if he's always thought of as the weird kid? What if...what if...what if...

I pulled myself together and calmly asked the boy with glasses "what makes you say that about him?"
"Well, he says weird stuff. And when we ask him something he says stuff that's not even words."
"What is your name?"
"Mick."
"How old are you, Mick?"
"Nine."
"Well Mick, have you ever heard of something called autism?"
"Um, yeah. I mean I've heard that word, but I don't know what it is."
"Well autism means that someone's brain works in an unusual way. Boo has autism, so his brain works differently than yours. He thinks differently and sometimes acts differently. But that's ok, because he's just a kid who wants to play and have fun, just like you. He just wants to be your friend. Also, he's only five, so he's not as mature as you are since you're nine."

Mick took it in stride and didn't ask any questions. He sat down at the table with me and struck up a conversation, asking me if I liked animals. As we chatted, he rattled off an astounding number of facts about a large variety of animals. He spoke in large chunks of what I recognized as "scripts," probably from a book or books. I began to wonder if autism was a word he had heard for a reason. We chatted at length and he pulled me in. He charmed me and wrapped me around his little finger just as I've seen Boo do with adults a hundred times. I got quite an education also. We spoke at length and eventually we were joined by the first boy, the one who thought Spiderman is stupid. I learned that his name was Nate. As it turned out, he was a pleasant boy, if a little intense. Eventually, the conversation wound itself up and the kids moved on.

Boo asked me to push him in the big swing. It's a large swing designed to facilitate kids with disabilities who can't hold themselves up in a regular swing, but it's very popular with kids of all abilities. When he decided he was done swinging, instead of just getting out he made a game of it. He called out to Mick. Mick and Nate came over, along with a few other kids. Boo told them "I made a code for you. If you can crack the code you can get me out of here." (A variation of the Jack Bowser game on PBSkids.org) They immediately began blurting out possible 'code words' they thought might work, like "Spiderman!" But that wasn't the kind of code Boo had in mind. He was acting out a "script" from a video game. He launched into a long rambling explanation of how it was to work. He was going to pose a number of questions to the other kids and they had a number of chances to get a number of correct answers in order to win the right to free him from the swing. The numbers and the details were being constantly changed as the explanation went on. Boo would repeatedly back up, start over, change parts, add rules, and generally make what was essentially a simple quiz game sound like the most complicated ordeal in the world. The kids were gathered around him in a circle, and I watched them continually exchange questioning glances with one another.

Finally, Boo got around to posing the first question. "How tall is a giraffe?"
Mick asked him, "Do you know the answer?" Boo replied that he did not, and all the kids laughed. Mick inquired "How will you know if we answer it correctly if you don't know the answer?" Not understanding Mick's question, Boo simply moved on to the next item. I don't remember what he asked, but it was also something that he himself didn't know the answer to. Mick posed the same challenge, and again, all the children laughed.

I looked at Mick. "Do you remember autism? He's trying to make this game be like a game he plays on the computer. That's one of the things he likes to do that seems a little funny to other people. But he just wants to play with you." Mick nodded, and he and the other boys answered the next several of Boo's questions and managed to 'free' him from the swing.

They ran around playing for a while, and then Mick again tried to organize his animal club meeting. I agreed to attend. Boo was happy to go as well, but was trying to run it and make people listen to one of his own soliloquies. I called him over to me and explained that what Mick wanted to do for the meeting was for us to listen to him tell us all about polar bears. Boo sat quietly, and Mick began his speech. He was repeating the information he'd told me earlier verbatim. Yep, scripting. I was starting to love this kid. He stood atop a picnic table, trying hard to recall enough facts to qualify as a speech. Boo was quickly uninterested, but I made it a point to give Mick my rapt attention. Nate was serving as 'secretary' of the club. As near as I could tell, the duties of that position included sitting on the table next to Mick and occasionally whispering more facts in his ear when his speech got stuck. (This was clearly a conversation that had been ongoing between them for some time) Eventually the meeting was dismissed.

At that point, we had been in the park for about two hours and it was time to leave. To abbreviate the end of this little tale, let's just say I had to haul Boo away kicking and screaming. He did NOT want to leave the other kids. It took a while for Boo to settle and his meltdown to subside. It took even longer for me to wrap my mind and heart around all that had happened. It was clear to me that it was possible for Boo to be successful in a social setting with his peers, but that it was not going to happen without support. I am certain that if I had not been paying close attention, it would have been ugly. And had I not been watching closely enough to see the beginning of the problem, he would have simply been in trouble for fighting and it would have left him confused and frustrated.

It was clear that not only do we need to work on giving Boo the tools he needs to navigate social interaction, but we also have to work just as hard giving his peers the knowledge and education they need in order to be understanding and compassionate. His classmates need to be taught about his differences. It's clear to me that he is not going to "blend" as well as I had hoped. I will have to do some work to figure out the best means of accomplishing that, and I am confident that the kindergarten teacher will be receptive and helpful in that effort. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it's important to face.

A Storm Brewing

It was a beautiful day. Boo and I had a great morning together. I got the yard mowed, and Boo and The Wiener Dog pretended to be superheroes while the lawn mower played the part of the villain. I had a nice bath and washed the grass off, and only at the very end did Boo attempt to climb in with me and insist on giving me toys. Because, you know, you are being deprived if you have no toys in your bathtub.

We made a quick trip to the local grocery store for a jar of mayo. Boo insisted on staying in the car while I ran inside. When I got back, I found him sitting in his seat with his chin on his chest. I asked him what was wrong. No answer. I asked again. No answer. "Booooo????" A small voice replied "I'm sleeping, stop bothering me." I stifled a giggle, then stage whispered to myself "Darn, I can't give Boo these chicken strips I bought him because he is sleeping." Grocery store chicken strips are one of his favorite things lately. Chin still on his chest, he reached one hand toward me and said with a sigh "I guess I'll take them. They help me to stop sleeping sometimes."

Back at home, Boo got busy playing with toys and imagining all sorts of games. His imaginative play is often structured like a computer game, complete with imaginary buttons he invites you to "click." I knew that the forecast called for storms in the evening. I noted that the clouds had begun to move in. Boo's normal complete inability to be still for two seconds hyperactivity was even more pronounced than usual. Boo's Dad arrived home for the first time in three days. Boo was ecstatic to see his dad. I set to work making a dish to take to the family barbecue later, and listened in to their play. Boo was scripting himself and his dad. He was creating races and had less than usual tolerance for deviation from his idea of how it should go.

Boo: "Dad, do you like car number 2?"
Dad: "Yeah!"
B: "No you don't."
D: "Ok."
B: "Dad, do you like car number 2?"
D: "No."
B: "Why not?"

later...

B: "Ok, Dad, the speed limit is 55, so you can drive that or slower. But not faster."
D: "Ok."
(Boo counts down and starts the race, and dad rockets around the "track" ahead of him.)
B: "NO Dad! You weren't supposed to go that fast!"
D: "I was only going 54."
B: "That's too fast."
D: "You said it was 55 or slower, so I went 54."
B: "No, it's only 5. I changed it."

The longer it went on, the more incessant Boo's chatter became. I was cracking up listening. Mostly because I was in a state of joy that there was another set of ears in the house again and it wasn't directed solely at me. Dad eventually went to attempt a nap before time for the barbecue. Next thing I knew, Boo was running circles around the house at top speed. He was a ball of pure energy, unstoppable and intense. I began to countdown the minutes till the barbecue began, longing for him to be able to run, climb, and pedal his way around the place.

Outside, the wind was picking up and the temperature was beginning to cool. I decided that Boo and I ought to change from shorts to pants. We changed clothes and I started gathering things together to get ready to leave. Boo wanted to take his toy Lightening McQueen with him but couldn't find it. He was screaming and upset, and refusing to go. It seemed like a meltdown was imminent, but suddenly he calmed and decided that rather than taking the plastic toy that had been on his birthday cake when he turned four, he could take the metal one he had been playing with just five minutes earlier. But we couldn't find that one either. It was a downright Lightning emergency. Finally it was located and we all headed out to the car.

For a while after we arrived, everything was perfect. Boo was playing happily. I was enjoying adult conversation. I realized I had forgotten to bring my dish, so I headed back into town to get it. On the way back I photographed this cloud bank moving in.

Shortly after I got back to my dad's house the wind picked up furiously and it started to rain. We moved inside the shop building, said a prayer, and began to fill our plates. Of course, there was nothing there that Boo would even consider eating. I had tried to get him to eat before we left home, but he only had three small strips of garlic cheese bread. He is usually content just to play outside while the rest of us eat but this time he was not happy about being cooped up in the shop. The floor in front of the shop doors was wet from the rain and Boo slipped and fell on the slippery concrete. He cried about his hip hurting, but soon got back up and insisted on walking back and forth in front of the doors repeatedly. After a few more falls I finally insisted that he stop walking in the wet area. So he decided to take up a campaign for going home immediately. He whined and begged the entire time I was trying to eat my meal. The main problem was that the seat of his pants was wet from his repeated falls on the wet concrete. But beyond that, he was simply bored.

I continually suggested that he choose from his selection of toys his grandpa keeps in the shop, but he refused. He decided that he wanted to play darts, and set about making the rounds among the family asking each one in turn if they were finished eating. He finally found someone to play with him and for a while his wet pants were forgotten. Later, as everyone was leaving, he found his tricycle and started riding circles around the shop at top speed, shouting "Look out, train coming through-woo!" I helped with cleaning up the place. But when it was time to leave Boo refused to get off the bike. It took repeated requests, and finally the threat of a swat to get him off the bike. He put it away but refused to leave. After having spent most of the evening annoying the daylights out of me begging to go home, when it was actually time to leave he was begging to stay. I had pulled my car around in front of the shop so we wouldn't have to walk far in the rain.

My husband was gathering our belongings as I attempted to get Boo to go to the car. He dug in his heels and his tantrum began to lean toward a meltdown. My nerves were hanging by a thread. The entire evening felt like a trial instead of a joy. I insisted, and he hit me. I swatted his backside and he hit meltdown status. I picked him up and asked my step mother to open the door for me. I carried him to the car, and had to force him screaming and flailing into his car seat. He was clawing at the seat belt trying to prevent me from buckling it, but I finally got it done. By then my husband was on his way out with both his hands full, so I opened his car door for him. As he sat down, Boo was furiously pummeling the back of the passenger seat with his feet and screaming like a banshee. I snapped at him to knock it off and he stopped kicking. As I walked around to my side of the car my step mom caught my eye from where she stood in the doorway of the shop and she remarked "You know, a wooden spoon works great for that."

I was tired, annoyed, stressed, standing in the rain, and ready to snap like a crocodile. I shot her the nastiest glare I could muster and shouted past her "goodbye Dad." Then I got into the car and drove us home. Boo continued his blood-boiling scream in the backseat for a couple minutes before it began to subside. He had smacked his finger on a table while pretending to be a train and now he suddenly decided this was a terrible injury. We arrived home and I got him settled with an ice pack on his finger and an episode of Spiderman and His Amazing Friends on the TV. He ate a bowl of cheese crackers while the show played, and afterward he happily transitioned to his bedtime routine and fell peacefully and soundly asleep. But the thunder in my mind and heart continued rolling long after the thunder outside faded into the distance.

"As the storm blows on, out of control...deep in her heart, the thunder rolls." 
The Thunder Rolls, Garth Brooks

The Haircut Post. My Epic Parenting Fail.

"I was looking shaggy, not too good, I'd put it off as long as I could. Lord, I hate to get a haircut out of town." ~Ray Stevens, The Haircut Song

Boo hates haircuts. And I've had so many parents tell me 'oh, I know, my kid hates them too' and I'm like, no. He hates haircuts with an intensity you can't imagine! His sensory difficulties kick into high gear. Although he's never been officially diagnosed with it, I'm fairly certain we are dealing with sensory processing disorder (SPD) along with the autism. Boo absolutely can not tolerate the sensation of the hair falling on him. In fact, he pretty much hates all things to do with hair. Washing, drying, combing. Even the gentlest attempt to comb through it with "tangle spray" applied makes him shriek in pain, saying that I'm pulling his hair. Consequently, we tend to go a looooooong time between haircuts.

But the longer the hair gets, the more difficulty we start to have with the washing and the combing. Plus, we start to get comments from family members. I have been trying to gently broach the subject of needing a haircut for a few weeks. He is adamantly opposed every time it is mentioned. Yesterday I was talking with him about it, tried to get him to sit for one, and he ended up telling me he wanted to do it at night. I knew this was just his tactic to put me off, and that come night he wouldn't actually be so compliant. But we struck a deal, and sealed it with a pinky promise.

Later that evening, I was shocked by his willingness to comply when I told him it was indeed time for the haircut. After a few attempts at stalling, he finally sat on a stool and I placed a sheet over his entire body like a cape. We were ready for a haircut. I knew from experience to save the bangs for last, since once he feels hair on his face he is done. I started by trimming around his right ear. He was watching an episode of Spiderman. I was patting myself on the back that this was going so well. Then I got real stupid. Instead of moving immediately to the left ear, I proceeded to start in the middle of the back of his head. Now, I am no sort of barber. I have been doing most of Boo's haircuts since he started getting them, but it doesn't come out real pretty. Still, he insists he is more comfortable with me doing it than going to the salon, so I hack away. If he can hold halfway still I can do a passable job. But he hates the sensation of the cutting. He hates the wet hair. He hates how it feels on the tiny space of neck that is exposed above the cape. With every snip, he was jerking and writhing, trying to get at his head from under the sheet. Just a couple cuts and he jerked the sheet and pulled it off, spilling hair down the front of himself. At that point, he was done. That was as much cooperation as I was going to get. But he looked ridiculous. One ear long, one trimmed, and a big chunk missing from the back of the head. I coaxed and talked, and he finally agreed to sit back down if I would get a new cape. So I got out another sheet and wrapped it around him.

But he had zero tolerance left in him. I did another couple cuts and he kept screaming and jerking and pulling the sheet off. I offered to "get it done really fast" by using the clippers. As badly as he hates haircuts...he abhors clippers! I tried reasoning. I told him he had to choose between the scissors and the clippers, and I would have to use the clippers if he would not sit still for the scissors. Every time I even turned the clippers on he went ape! He got down from the stool crying, and telling me he was finished. And that's when my brain apparently flew out the window. Because if I'd had an ounce of compassion or true understanding, I'd have left him alone. I'd have recognized his ability to verbalize when he's at his sensory limit, and I'd have respected it.

Instead, I looked at his hair. I looked at the jagged, ridiculous, half cut and I let my focus drift off of my child and his needs. Instead, I was thinking about what others would think. I was thinking about school the next morning. I was thinking of how silly he looked, instead of seeing how terrified he was. I knew better, but I failed to do better. I should have just left him alone, went in to school right behind him, and thumped anyone who had anything snide to say about his hair. But what I did was ugly. It's hard to even admit it in writing, but I've promised to be honest here. I took my precious boy and pulled him into my lap, then wrapped both of my legs around his waist to hold him down. I wrapped my left arm around his arms to hold them down, and I took the clippers in my right hand. And I forced him to endure it. And indeed it took a great deal of force. He is strong. And his adrenaline was pumping. He was screaming like I'd never heard him scream before. It reminded me of the time he had to have stitches in his face when he was a toddler. And while I'm pretty sure that the clippers themselves were physically painful for him...I think it was nothing compared to the physical and emotional pain I caused by restraining him and forcing it on him. He was begging me to stop. He screamed so horribly that my husband came up from the basement to see what was happening. Even with his help, it was all we could do to get the rest of the hair buzzed. I finally declared it good enough and let him go.

There was hair everywhere. Boo and I were both covered head to toe, and it was all over the living room. I quickly stripped him of his clothes, him still wailing because of the feeling of the hair on his skin. I picked him up and ran to the bathroom, promising to wash it off. I started the bath water and stripped my clothes off, while Daddy got him a cup of water and helped him rinse the hair from his mouth. Then I started trying to get him in the tub. But he didn't want to go in. He was just so worked up at this point, he couldn't even process what was happening and he resisted every movement, every word from me. Even as I took him into my arms and stepped into the tub together, he was screaming that he didn't want a bath. I sat with him and took a cup and started rinsing the hair off of him. My husband had to leave the room. I don't know if he was sad, frustrated, angry at me, or just couldn't take any more screaming. I never asked.

It took a long time, but Boo did eventually settle down in the bathtub. We got the hair off of him. We got the hair off of me. Through tears, he told me "Mom, when you were holding my arms and squishing me...I don't allow that." My heart broke. God love my son, he is certainly learn to self-advocate! He wanted to play, but felt he couldn't do so because of the hair in the water. So we drained the water and started again with fresh. We washed up. We played with the tub toys. We laughed and acted silly. I washed his hair and he didn't complain. Mostly because now that the hair was short, I didn't have to pull and scrub to get it clean. We got out of the tub and put on his robe. He went to have some play time with Daddy while I cleaned the hair from the living room. Then it was time for bed.

I cuddled up beside him, tucked him in with his bean bag blanket, and hugged him. A lot. I told him I was sorry for hurting him. He asked me when. I said, "when I cut your hair. I'm so sorry that I hurt you baby." He smiled at me. He told me "that's ok, mom. I forgive you." Then he very quickly drifted off to sleep. I laid beside him in tears. He forgave me. But it will take a lot longer for me to forgive myself.

When he was good he was very very good, but....

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her for'ed.
When she was good
She was very very good
But when she was bad she was horrid!

My Grams used to tell me this nursery rhyme when I was little. She told it to me a lot. In fact, now that I think about it, I wonder if it was some sort of commentary?...But I digress. ;) It reminds me of Boo. For the most part, he is a great kid. He is sweet, gentle, well behaved, and about as compliant as any four year old on the market. But when things are off kilter, when his coping skills are used up, it gets super ugly.

I love this post about the concept of triggers from A Resident Alien. My favorite quote from the post says "But we forget that triggers aren't the cause of meltdowns, any more than that one rainstorm caused the road to collapse. Just like the road had weaknesses to begin with, autistics don't have the sensory and cognitive equipment to deal with a lot of stuff that's trivial to deal with if you're NT." (NT stands for "neurotypical" meaning someone who does not have a form of autism or other disorder. I, like others in the community, prefer this word over the word "normal" because our kids are not abnormal. But I digress....again.)

I frequently find myself trying to explain the fact that whatever Boo is screaming about isn't actually what's bothering him. The trigger isn't actually the cause. I also find myself in a constant state of heightened awareness. Always on the lookout for signs that things are bubbling under the surface for my Boo, or for things which could tax his coping ability. But sometimes, even with my extreme caution and constant vigilance, I just don't see it coming.

Tuesday the 17th was a difficult one for Boo. I wrote about it <here> But we got through it. I let it go. I don't think he did. Wednesday was different too. It was supposed to be a school day, but I was apparently the only parent who didn't know that there was no school that day. So I got him up and took him to school, only to find the door locked. He was super upset. But we got through it. I let it go. I don't think he did. Tuesday having been my last day of work, Boo and I were able to spend the entire day together Wednesday and Thursday. I had looked forward to it for a long time. Boo was upset because he missed going to Mammo's house. But we got through it. I let it go. I don't think he did. Friday he was chipper and happy going to school. I had made arrangements to take a friend to town after Boo got out of school. This friend attends our church and she is unable to drive, so I had offered to take her with me when I go to Walmart. I picked her up and then went to the school to pick up Boo. But where I failed miserably was I forgot to tell him ahead of time that she would be with me. All that change to his routine, all that upheaval. I should have seen what was bubbling under the surface. I should have known that one more unexpected change to the normal way of things could send him over the edge.

I got out of the car and his teacher released him. He took a few steps toward me with his usual big smile. Then his face twisted up and he started to cry. I asked what was wrong and he said that he didn't want me to come yet. He wanted to wait till Little Britches's mom (the Boo Whisperer) came because he wanted to talk to her. (He pesters her every time he sees her, begging for a playdate) I was working him toward the car but when he saw my friend in the front seat he froze. Then he ran away from the car. In a flash, it was a meltdown. He flatly refused to get into the car. He was wailing, rolling on the ground, screaming, tears running down his cheeks. I was at a loss. I felt torn. Wanting to comfort my boy, who refused to allow me to touch him or to speak to him. Wanting to reassure my friend that this wasn't her fault, regardless of the fact that Boo kept screaming that he did not want her in the car and that he could not get in with her in there. She kept saying we should just cancel, she didn't want him upset, I was trying in vain to settle him and respond to her. Before I knew it, I was in the midst of a minor meltdown myself. (Mommies are not immune!) I was crying uncontrollably, watching my son so hurt and unable to control himself, to stop the fit. I was broken hearted. I was scared. I didn't know what the heck I was going to do. I couldn't leave Boo at school alone. I couldn't leave my friend there stranded. But it was clear that he was NOT going to get in that car with her today. It just was not going to happen. As I stood there having the ugly cry right there in public, (you know, cheeks red, tears streaming, nose running...the ugly cry) my brain froze. I could not think of a solution. My friend kept asking me what she should do, what I wanted her to do. All that my brain would scream (and I do mean scream) was "make my son not Autistic!" Finally, my friend graciously suggested that she go across the parking lot to Pastor's house (Boo's preschool is in our church) and ask his wife for a ride back home. I apologized profusely for the inconvenience and she assured me it was fine, but I felt lower than dirt. I packed Boo into the car and we left.

I made the further mistake of continuing on to Walmart. I felt like I was backed into a corner. I had been putting off the shopping till payday and there were many things we needed. One of them was a present for Boo's friend's birthday party the next day. I hoped he would be fine in the store. And for the most part he was. He never had any total screaming fits or anything. But he was spent, emotionally and physically. I could tell he was very tired. It was all I could do to get him from one part of the store to the next. He was agitated, easily upset. He picked out a gift for his friend within minutes of walking in the front door. But he spent forever in the toy section just looking and playing. I let him take almost all the time he wanted because I knew the day had already been hard on him. But by the time we got to the food section of the store, where I really needed to spend some time, he had used up all his reserves. His nerves were right at the surface. He kept saying that he needed to stop and rest. But he refused to sit in the cart because it hurts his legs. He was alternating between running around like a maniac and refusing to move because he was so tired. I was getting the stare from other shoppers. About a third of me could care less. Another third of me wanted to explain away his behavior by explaining all about autism and what a difficult week he was having. The remaining portion of me? Well, it just wanted to punch them in the face. At one point he found a likely looking spot in the shelving where they were running low on toilet paper and he crawled right in. It was like a quiet little haven in there. I didn't think I would ever get him out!

 

By the time we were done, I had been yelled at, screamed at, hit, head-butted, pushed and pulled all over the store. I had carried Mr. Fifty-Pounds-of-dead-weight-won't-wrap-his-legs-around-me much more then my back was happy with. I was aching from head to toe, emotionally and mentally and physically drained! I couldn't believe it when we got everything loaded into the car and we were ready to leave and I looked at the clock...we had been in that evil store for FOUR HOURS! I figured he had every right to hate me for that bit of torture.

When we arrived back home, I was trying to get the groceries into the house and put away, and he quickly went into another meltdown. This time was triggered when the neighbors were outside and I told him that he could invite them to our house, but he could not invite himself to theirs. (a very difficult concept for Boo that we have been working on recently) My husband ended up putting away all the perishables for me while I attempted to mitigate the situation. This one was worse than the first, if you can imagine. Piercing shrill screams and all. Eventually he got calmed down and he did end up playing with his friends for a while, and they did end up inviting him to their house. He was next door and I was trying to recover myself from the day's events but I just couldn't shake it. I went out in the back yard to sit and relax. I noticed at the neighbor's house I saw Boo in the backyard playing, but no other kids. I asked him where his friends were. He said they were inside. I asked why he wasn't playing with them. He said he didn't want to be inside. In the emotionally fragile state I was in at the time, I took this as some sort of terrible omen. It worried me that he was so content to be all alone, outside the group, not included. I was seeing a future of loneliness and solitude for my precious boy and it rocked me to my core. I sat on my patio and bawled.

Not being able to shake my feelings, I decided that some physical work was just what I needed. I wanted to mow the yard. My husband had to work pretty hard to get the mower running, and by the time I got going Boo had to come home from the neighbors' house. I assumed he was in the house happy with Daddy. Which he was. But what I did not know was that he had decided that he wanted to come outside and play in the yard WHILE I was mowing. When I came in the house he asked me if I was finished and I said yes. He. Went. Nuclear. It was one of the worst meltdowns I have seen to date. He was wild. Violent. Throwing his body around, slapping me, screaming like a girl in a horror movie. There was nothing I could do to help or to soothe. If I tried to speak it ticked him off. If I tried to touch him, same thing. And heaven forbid I remove myself from him when he was beating me up. It just kept coming wave after wave. And I kept thinking my God, he is four years old. What is this going to look like when he is 12? He is already ridiculously strong and able to really hurt himself or someone else. I have got to get a handle on this! I have got to do a better job with him. I have to learn to see this coming! Eventually it just wound itself down. The rest of the night remained tensely calm.

I told my husband later that it seemed like the entire day he was like a guitar string wound too tightly, looking perfectly fine till the moment someone strummed, just like they had a hundred times before without incident and suddenly, SNAP! He replied, "Yep. Contents under pressure." After he went to sleep, I took a long hot bath and cried. I felt so depressed. I felt like his future was grim. Like I had failed him. I climbed into bed that night almost wishing that I didn't have to wake up in the morning. But the night's rest was restorative for us all, and we woke up chipper and upright again.

The coming week on our calendar is ominous. Today we had his friend's birthday party. Monday a school field trip. Thursday the school spring program. (songs and recitations in front of an audience with a microphone!) And next Saturday is Boo's birthday party. Followed by no school the next Monday. So I'm sure that God will forgive me, but if Boo sleeps in or if he just doesn't want to go to Sunday School and church in the morning, we simply won't go. I have no fight left in me. And I don't want my baby feeling like he has to fight the world just to exist in it.