Milestones

Image via WikipediaThat stone I've been carrying uphill these 15 years?
He's making his own now.
On the cusp of 15, the Dude has a wallet, a check card and a cellphone.
He needs me less and less. Tells me less and less. And teaches me lesson after lesson.
Today he came home from school and planned his evening: "I need to take a bath before Explorers, so I'm gonna play some xbox, then take a bath."
He's going to take a bath voluntarily?
"Do you need anything from me?" I asked.
"No."
And in short order, he played Xbox, took a bath, dressed, ate, packed his gear, screwed his courage to the sticking point and went to Explorers (currently a source of both pleasure and anxiety). He had a brief moment of panic when he realized he'd forgotten a permission slip, then took a breath and muttered, "Next week."
So he organized himself, took responsibility for his hygiene, managed his anxiety, and went out into the world.

Da boy in da basement

Image by AltoExyl via Flickr

Playing da video game.
I don't like it.
I'd rather he be gainfully employed.
Fishing. Biking. Camping.
Volunteering.
But he's in the basement playing Xbox.
Sleeping til noon and playing Xbox.
Like any teenage boy on break.
But this teenage boy has autism. On school breaks he used to fall apart. Completely.
Now he acts like any teenage boy on break.
On July 4th, he's off to his beloved Camp Kodiak for seven weeks; seven learning-rich, social skills-building, tightly-structured weeks.
That will be followed by a camping (there it is: the camping!) trip with the Treehouse gang.
And immediately back to school.
So I'm gonna try to lay off and enjoy the "teenage boy on break" experience.

Season of Miracles

Image via Wikipedia

*Friend* in the house, playing Xbox with Elmer.
Just a couple of guys doing stuff.
That's a miracle for Elmer, whose elementary school years were miserable and lonely. Whose wonderful 7th grade year met all his needs but one: friends. A friend was the missing piece; his heart's desire.
Earlier the two boys, who look like Mutt and Jeff, played Killer Bunnies and got something to eat before moving downstairs to the Xbox. No need for management or parental intervention.
I am going to have to renegotiate my contract -Elmer does not need the same level of services. These days we are enjoying the blessings of normal.
And for us, normal is a miracle.

SuperBoy

Image by Thomas Hawk via Flickr

Diver just cleared his throat.

It's a nasty, fleghummmy snort. He used to make it umpteen times a day, grossing out one and all.
"I have to clear my snot!" he'd insist.

Was it a tic? An inability to blow his nose? One thing for sure: it was gross.

When I heard it this morning, I realized it had disappeared. Hadn't heard it for weeks. Wow.

Which put yesterday's events into a clearer light. Diver's pants split at school and he spent the day in a funk. He announced he was not going to Civil Air Patrol Cadets, and proceeded to shoot Xbox bad guys.

At dinner, he asked, "Are you mad at me? Why am I asking this?!?"
He was reading my non-verbal signals.
Wow.

Shortly thereafter, he said, "Where's my B.D.U.*? We're going."

He had gotten himself unstuck.
Wow.

Major accomplishments. Super powers for someone with an ASD.

He's not just growing tall.





*Battle dress uniform