Pets

Just Walking the Dog

When I moved our family from New York one of the things I promised my children was that we would get a dog.  We chose a soft coated wheaten terrier because that breed is known to be gentle, consistent and possess all of the feisty intelligence of a terrier but none of the snappiness. Also, wheatens are used as therapy dogs for children with emotional challenges. Even so, AJ spent the first weeks of the dog’s life with us on top of our kitchen’s island, huddled like a gargoyle.

AJ and Diva didn’t get each other.  My husband, my daughter and I gave the puppy gentle consistency; AJ gave her fits and starts of overenthusiastic behavior and aloofness.  Sometimes I just watched Diva looking at him, trying to figure him out. Sometimes, he stared at her: who really knows what he was thinking.  But I did have AJ feed her once a day,  so she would understand that he was important to her.

So how did I tie my autistic son to our dog and vice versa?

Big Sister

One of my newer friends put The Question to me after a barbeque that I’d spent a week planning and a night without sleep obsessing about my decision to impose a social function on my shy son.  She asked me bluntly: “So, how did you do it? Most siblings of special kids are angry, resentful and jealous, and leave the home as soon as they can.  But your daughter is so confident and well adjusted!  She even told me that she plans to stay close to you guys even after she leaves college so she’ll always be a part of AJ’s life. So how did you do it?”

It was the first time I would admit the truth to anyone.  “We spoiled her rotten,” I replied, shamefacedly.

It was true. May daughter discovered her sense of style in the 90’s and was bringing home names like Dolce and Prada  as often as she brought home friends.  Since these were the 90’s years. we could afford to indulge her.  Later on this  indulgence became trips to London,  Madrid, then onto Aix on Provence to get her French (which eluded her grasp, although she did acquire an eye for the architecture and  interior design of French farm houses and a taste for the the meals that might be served inside them.)

My daughter was generally, spectacularly, unhelpful around the house.  I didn’t fight with her; I didn’t want the tension. Or maybe I was afraid of it.  I wanted, and needed her to be happy and feel close to me, because I was afraid of not being the perfect mom for both of my children.  I ignored the pointed looks and remarks from other family members at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. My husband and I gave her own space, let her appoint it with fashion and later, with philosophy.  My husband always drove her to school (rather than have her ride the private bus we paid for) because high school was a delicate time for her and she needed his gentle, sage advice.  I didn’t make her  AJ’s default babysitter when I wasn’t around. And I had the good sense to make her our only daughter, so that she would always be Daddy’s Girl.

So how did all that extra housework, tongue holding and ignoring good advice work out for me?

King of the Road

Who Needs a GPS? I have an AJ!

The first time I noticed that AJ does not get lost was on our first disastrous trip to the movies when he was five.  He got out of his seat mid-movie in the dark, crowded theater and ran around the entire circumference twice with me chasing behind like a madwoman.  Then, without pausing to see where his dad was sitting, he stopped in the aisle precisely at our row, and went back to his seat, greatly entertained.

“It’s called landscaping,” his doctor explained to me.  “It’s a savant trait, like being able to count cards or dropped matches instantaneously. AJ uses his eyes to process what he sees more precisely than most people do.”

I got my first glimpse of the practicality of AJ’s talent one night after Boy Scouts.  This was before GPS’s were popular.  The scout leader gave me almost two pages of complicated directions that I had to follow to get to her home.  AJ did not enjoy the meeting – none of his favorite foods were there and the gathering was too loud – so, as usual, we had to leave in a hurry.  I was feeling frustrated with AJ because his behavior caused yet another unsuccessful social outing and so I had made two wrong turns before I realized that I had left the directions at the woman’s house.  I pulled into a driveway while two pitbulls barked at me; then I realized that I had left my cell phone at home.

“That way,” said AJ,  pointing.  I had no other option but to follow him.  And he got us home, without hesitating.

“Pretty amazing, right?” I asked my daughter after I explained later that evening.  “It’s better than interesting,” she said.  “It’s cool.”

Dealing with the Straights (intolerant people who hate to share space with special people)

Pigeons are what finally got my anxious three year old son down from my husband’s arms during our visits to the crowded city.  He discovered that if he stalked them, surrounded them, then shot up his arms to the sky – effectively doubling his height – he could scatter them to heaven to the luxurious sound of a dozens of flapping of wings.

On one visit to my husband’s office in the World Trade Center AJ scattered some pigeons directly into the path of two young women who were wheeling their incredibly well apppointed strollers through the marina.  The children whooped and laughed, but their mothers freaked out.  “Control your child!” one screamed to me.  “Look at him.  That’s all he’ll ever do in his life!” said the other to her friend in a voice everyone could hear.

Say Yes! to Family Vacations

I admit it – the idea of taking my son on a vacation terrified me.  But we have a daughter, too, and we didn’t want her to miss out on all the wonderful things I enjoyed on my family vacations growing up: no real bedtime, the smells and sounds of summer in bottles of sunscreen and stress-less parents.  So my husband and I brought up the idea of a vacation to our daughter.  She was part of that generation of lucky girls who grew up watching the Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and the other excellent fairy tale movies that Disney had produced in the 1990’s. We braced ourselves for the one location we’d have to say no to.

 

Off We Go on the Little Schoolbus

The realization that AJ and I were to be permanent passengers on the Little Schoolbus hit me with all the subtlety of New York snow storm on my son’s first day of school.  The bus for our Mommy and Me program was outfitted with seats for the parents and seats with about twenty safety straps for the children.

“Who is riding with us?” I asked another mom with the same stressed out, guilty face that I know I had. “Frankenstein?”

“That’s Fronk-en-steen to you,” she answered, cheerfully trying to coax her hysterical six year old son onto our bus as she evoked Gene Wilder from Mel Brooks’ classic movie.  The child was screaming because he was terrified of wheels.  “That kid is Frankenstein,” she continued, pointing to a little girl who was with the group of children and their parents on the far corner waiting for the Big Schoolbus.  This child was screaming because her caregiver had packed Twinkies in her lunch instead of Sun Chips.