Boys Will Be Boys

When Andrew was about David's age, we stopped by the local TCBY for a cool treat on an especially warm evening. We pulled up to the window, gave our order and were waiting for the cones to appear when Andrew announced from the back seat, "She's HOT."

After the realization that Andrew was taking about the fit, sun-kissed, teenager with blond hair pulled back into a pony tail who had taken our order and not me, his beloved (and, if I do say so myself, extremely cute) Mother, I was quick to scold him. I am not sure why I reacted the way I did. I suppose I was just surprised that, at such a tender young age, Andrew had learned to use that adjective, the same one I typically reserve for describing temperature, to describe members of the opposite sex. To hear my husband tell the story, I shot an accusing glance his way before I launched into a speech about more polite ways to describe people as attractive.

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David is currently enrolled in his third session of adaptive swimming lessons. All the kids in the class have some sort of disability and the objective is simply to teach them how to swim back to the side of the pool safely. They are not trying to find the next Michael Phelps in the group, just preparing them for a time when they might find themselves in water over their heads. I must admit I haven't yet given up on the idea of David winning Olympic swimming medals, but I guess we need to take first things first.

Michael has been taking David to all of the lessons this session because of the locker room dilemma. At six, David is past the age when he can come into the women's locker room with me and I obviously cannot go into the men's—nor would I want to. I haven't been in a men's locker room since I accidentally wandered through the wrong door at the YMCA after my swimming lesson years ago and I am still traumatized by the experience.

Anyway, since it is so cold and David cannot come out to the car wearing his suit, Michael currently has swim lesson duty. I had been feeling sorry for him having to take David to all of the lessons until he happened to mention, in passing, like it was no big deal and he had most certainly mentioned it before, that David's swim teacher this session wears a bikini.

I often wonder what David is thinking. His language has certainly come a long way, but there still is an incredible gap in our ability to communicate with each other. Does he, like his brother did at the same age, look at this fit, attractive, bikini-clad woman and think to himself, "She's HOT." He loves to go to the pool and asks about it almost every day. By all accounts, he gleefully buckles the belt to his Aqua Jogger Junior before he paddles all over the pool for the entire 30 minutes. And as for the question of being able to make it back to the side of the pool safely, I am confident the odds would increase exponentially if his teacher were standing on the pool deck, cheering him on.

Stir Crazy

I have long been a fan of the month of March. Maybe it stems from a fascination with the grade-school description that it "comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb." March brings the promise of spring and if not daffodils peeking up through ground, certainly at least the grocery store variety popping up on the shelves in the produce section of a supermarket near you. Plus, a March snow will never stay on the ground long (though you may need to remind me of my optimism on Wednesday night after our as of yet unpredictable "significant snow event.")

David does not share my appreciation for the month, however. We have a calendar hanging on the inside of our front door (doesn't everyone?) and each morning as we are waiting for the bus we talk about the weather and what day it is, a part of our routine since school started in August. David has gladly tolerated every month until March when he expressed his disdain on the very first day of the month. In David's opinion, the tag for March has no place on our calendar. After his initial attempts to destroy the label were thwarted by yours truly, he now allows me to hold it up to the calendar until we are finished, at which point he proclaims, "I put it away" and slides it back onto the hallway bookshelf.

Maybe David, too, is tired of winter. It is putting it mildly to say that he is not the easiest person to take on errands, so he spends many of his weekend hours cooped up in the house. That must be difficult for him after his highly scheduled weekdays, especially when it is too cold to don his dinosaur galoshes and troop around the backyard racing my garden carts down the hill.

He finally hit his breaking point yesterday. When he put his clothes on for the day he asked me, "Go get a haircut?" At the time, I laughed and thought that he must be desperate because although it is a frequent Saturday morning activity, it is certainly not his favorite thing to do. After I reminded him to go to the bathroom, he asked, "Go to church?" and later in the morning decided to go for broke, "Go Cago?" which is his name for Chicago, last summer's vacation destination.

Not having received the affirmative answer he was anticipating, David decided to take matters into his own hands and I later looked up to find him ready to go, wearing his pool shoes without socks, coat zipped up to the chin, which is still a difficult task for him. With his hat perched on top of his head, he said goodbye to me. When I asked him where he was going, he answered, "I going to Granny's houch."

I think he would have walked the more than three miles to my parents' house if I had let him, but instead I called them to see if we could come over for lunch. They had been out running errands and were headed to a nice lunch downtown, but when I told them about David's pronouncement, I think I heard the tires squealing from one-hundred blocks away as they made the U-turn and sped back to the house.

Sentence Structure

I have said before that I appreciate every word that David utters because for quite a time I was not sure I would ever hear his voice. I am certainly not going to backpedal from that remark; it is still and will always be true.

I must admit, however, that there are certain combinations of words that I do find troubling. I take great delight in hearing David string words together to make longer and longer sentences, but sometimes words in a certain sequence, while eloquently spoken, can make my heart skip a beat.

For example, Michael and I were preparing for a rare night out when I realized that it was strangely quiet in our house. I hastily finished putting on my makeup, grabbed my shoes and started down the stairs looking for David. When I did not immediately find him in the family room, I called his name with that questioning tone that mothers have that, all at once says, "Child, where are you and what are you doing because if you are up to something you better have it cleaned up / finished / hidden / repaired by the time I find you or there is going to be trouble."

Incidentally, in spite of his autism, David does understand this tone and his answer was as immediate as it was gleeful, "I making the coffee!"

A four word sentence is a big accomplishment for David and, taken individually, the words are certainly benign enough, but in combination….

Confession Time

Heather over at The A-Word tagged me in a meme. I know it sounds painful, but having just googled the expression—again—I find that I am still not at all certain what it means. My Dad always used to tell me that it was great that my high school friends would ask me for help with their math homework because, he would say, your ability to explain something to someone else is a good test of whether or not you truly understand it yourself.

Consequently, CONFESSION NUMBER ONE—I do not understand what a meme is and am not going to try to explain it to you, but feel free to google it yourself and see if you can make sense of it. Here are the rules to this particular meme as Heather has outlined them.

1) Take a pic of the books you are reading currently and add them to your post. 2) Describe the books and if you are enjoying them. Why or why not? 3) For every book you are reading, you have to tag one person. 4) Leave that person a comment, letting them know you tagged them.

That leads me to CONFESSION NUMBER TWO, I am not reading anything at the moment. There, I said it. I was an English Literature major in college and I love to read, but sometimes I go through periods where I just don't seem to have the energy. My time for reading is after everyone else in the house is asleep and often I don't feel like opening a book at 10:37 p.m. Sometimes, it seems like too much effort to even pick out a book.

Now, Heather actually tagged me a few days ago and I briefly considered finding some books to put on my nightstand. But, that would mean that I might actually have to dust the nightstand first and then decide what to choose. There would have to be one classic, one bestselling but well written novel, and at least one book about autism—that would be well-rounded, wouldn't it? I even considered going to the local bookstore and just taking a picture of some books there, but that seemed ridiculous.

I actually attended my book club last Thursday and had to admit that, not only had I not finished the agreed-upon book, I had not started it because I did not at any time in the last month even have it in my possession. I could not even remember the title of the book, but here is what I did remember--the main character of the book was a kid with Asperger's Syndrome. I was not sure if I could stomach reading another book about autism. I made my sister read it first to see if it was "safe" for me. After I made my admission to the book club, it was in fact pronounced "safe" and so it will be the next book that I read.

You will note that I have chosen to link to this book on Amazon rather than photograph it on my nightstand. I wouldn't want to be forced to dust.