Oy in the Vey

Image via WikipediaThere's only so much supermom -- or superkid -- can do.

We've been doing a rapid ramp-up to a new school. Today was to be Day One.
Elmer has been masterful at managing his anxiety; naming it, claiming it, coming up with coping strategies on his own. Even after a tough time sleeping last night, he scrambled to be ready for the bus at 7:20.
Which didn't come.
At 7:40, I called the bus company, which admitted and apologized for their error, and promised to have a substitute bus here ASAP.
Meanwhile, anxiety is eating away at Elmer like bedbugs; a worried face, intestinal distress, diarrhea and more diarrhea. When the bus finally arrives (30 minutes later), he is still in the bathroom. The bus idles,the gut churns, Elmer gets as far as the stairs; then anounces, "Nope. Not gonna' happen."
And so the best laid plans of Anonymom succomb.

It takes a village

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Sometimes an army.

He's not at Def Con 1, but Diver's anxiety is high. Watching him grapple with the beast is inspiring, tiring, and funny.

Last night it was the Blizzard from Dairy Queen; followed by a long Xbox sortie; processing; yes and no questions; and, a flat out rejection of all suggested anxiety-busters. This morning, when asked what would help with the anxiety, Diver muttered, "A blizzard. An actual blizzard so there'd be no camp."

And yet with the help of two parents, a different water bottle-that-did-not-sweat, an early departure for the bus stop, a parental backtrack for juice and muffin, a ban on jokes, and a code of silence, he got on the bus (first, of course), sat down in his seat (front, of course), and went to Day 2 of his Leader-in-Training program.

All hail the king of coping!

Post-script

He has more to cope with than I thought.  Here's the email I just sent to the camp director:

Diver and I have been sitting here processing the first couple of days and doing some problem solving about things that are rough for him.  

He reported that on Monday he got hit in the face  and while he was upset, he thought it was accidental.

Today he told me the he was kicked by the same camper, someone named George.  Diver believes it was intentional. He says that that third boy in the L.I.T program has been harassing him about his stuttering.  That has to stop.  He reports that the hardest part of the day is at the end when everyone awaits the buses in the amphitheater.  He says that the combination of the noise and the crowd and the heat at that time of day overload him and make it unbearable.  He asked if he might wait in the office instead.  I hope so.  That seems a reasonable accommodation. 

Diver says that is all he can think of.  I will keep you posted if anything else arises.  

The Y has been a great resource for Diver and we are grateful.

At the zoo

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"Remember the good times," I whispered to our departing visitor at the airport.

After a lovely couple of days, the last 24 hours were rocky. When we sat down to seder, Diver announced, "This is wrong. I should be at Auntie L's. That's my routine. I always go to seder at Auntie L's. " And there he stayed stuck. Nothing we did was right. Eventually he stormed off to his room, reappearing after our guest had gone to bed. "I hate having guests," he declared.

He seemed better in the morning, and we set out for a day at the zoo. As we approached, he had a major outbreak of autism: "Are all these cars going to the zoo? All these cars are going to the zoo! It will be too crowded! Where will we park? Park here! Park here! Don't talk. Come on. Come on. Walk faster, walk faster! Two adults and one child. I know I don't look like a child but I'm only 12. Bye. Meet you at the Minnesota Trail."

And he was off. He was on high anxiety all day, complaining about our pace, our jokes, our age, muttering "I hate guests." What did our guest think of all this? What does any outsider think of all this? What do I think of all this?

Today is another day; my birthday, as it happens. And I have to pull out my special yardstick, the one custom made for measuring Diver's growth. Mark #1: Diver gave me a birthday gift.

Mark #2: The gift (a Swiffer Wet-Jet) was exactly what I wanted. Mark #3: He paid for it with his own money. Mark #4: Keeping his impulsivity in check, he kept it under his bed until today.

So I got a lot more than a mop.