No account of our summer break would be complete without mention of our trip. In the planning stages, I felt somewhat apologetic for taking a less ambitious trip than last year’s trek to Chicago. I quickly realized, however, that the trip may have been less impressive in terms of distance travelled, but in my mind it was a more challenging destination.
In our family, it is difficult to find activities with wide ranging appeal because not everyone shares David’s fascination with leaving the native Nebraska elevators to cross state lines and visit a new crop of fascinating foreign elevators. But, since David and Andrew both share a love of the water, we had decided to visit a water park, and not just a glorified pool with slide, but a full-fledged aquatic adventureland.
After having already informed Andrew of our destination and consequently well past the point of changing plans, I began to panic. What was I thinking taking David to such a massive place? What if we couldn’t even get him in the front doors? What if we lost him in the park? And would he tolerate a semi-permanent tattoo with ID information across his chest?
So, I bribed reinforcements--two extra sets of eyes to come with us, namely my niece and nephew, Katie (age 18) and Thomas (age 14). Andrew went off with his older cousins to tackle the water slides and David stayed with Michael and me (having almost attained the perfect ratio of 2.82 adults per every David). After some initial hesitation, David loved the park. Or should I say, David loved the only attraction that he would try, the Lazy River.
Lazy River. Doesn’t that bring an image of lounging on an inner tube, one hand skimming the surface of the water as you are transported effortlessly around the ride? But with David--not so much. First, let me say that the river had a little too much current to be “lazy” by my definition and came complete with rapids that could flip your tube. That is, IF you were fortunate enough to be on a tube. Because David had quickly decided that the tubes were for sissies and to be used solely as a springboard on which to crouch in hand flapping anticipation of the next wave, at which time he would spring off the tube into the peak of the wave, I did not have the luxury of floating, either. Rather, I got to dodge other people’s inner tubes, fighting the current in a sometimes vain attempt to keep sight of David as he drifted away from me.
Well, the water park was a success and we survived without incident, which meant that we left the park with the same number of people we came with and no one collapsed from heat exhaustion on the 100+ degree day. Actually, the whole trip was a success. And since I started here by discussing the lessons I learned over break, I will continue that theme and outline some of the lessons we all learned on this trip.
Michael most definitely learned that when travelling with six people, it is worth the splurge for the two bedroom suite at the Residence Inn if, for no other reason than you have two bathrooms. I learned that my rule that no one could bring more than two electronic devices was, in fact, unenforceable and would be broken by multiple people including my own husband. Katie learned that a Kindle and an iPod are the two essential electronic items for passing the time and simultaneously trying to look anonymous while on elevator duty (aka sitting in the hallway with David while he watches the doors open and close). Thomas, having never before eaten at a Waffle House, learned that “steak” is not a universally defined term. Andrew learned that it is possible to outgrow the sewer slide at the Science City Children’s Museum and, having become wedged, was able to use the light from his iTouch to get his bearings, which when combined with the boost from the feet of the girl behind him, enabled him to become dislodged.
And finally, David once again learned the importance of being adaptable and, when ripped away from his beloved hotel elevators for some forced fun at the Science City, was able to improvise a new activity in his new surroundings. Up the blue elevator and down the silver elevator. Up the silver elevator and down the blue elevator. Up and down the blue elevator. Up and down the silver elevator. Well worth the $40 cost of a family admission.
P.S. This trip was taken prior to the aforementioned broken arm and cast. With deepest apologies to Thomas for chronicling our summer break out of chronological order.
We interrupt this regularly scheduled recap of our summer break to bring you this important announcement.
David came home from school yesterday with this beautifully hand crafted invitation to last night's Open House. As you can see, there are four images and, coincidentally, there are four people in our family. Because David will rarely draw anything for me, it has taken me a long time to believe that he actually does write, color and cut at school and that the teacher is not routinely either sending home some other child's work or alternately, sitting at her desk, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, practicing her best Kindergarten handwriting imitation just so that she will have papers to send home with David. Really, she has better things to do.
So, with my new-found confidence that David did, in fact, draw this picture, I asked him about it after school. According to David (who, as the artist, should know) pictured from left to right are Ginnie (David's name for himself), Andrew, Daddy and MomMom.
Wait, what? David, of course is the smallest in red and older brother, Andrew, is slightly larger and pictured next to David. The fairly petite, albeit extremely large-headed purple person is Michael and the green giant on the right, who is having an extremely bad hair day and appears to be squinting, ME!
Okay, so tell me the images are sized based on order of importance to David. Right?
Do you remember as a child having to write the obligatory essay each fall outlining how you spent your summer vacation? No? Really? Well in all honesty, neither do I. But, over the next few days I will make an attempt, the highlights (or lowlights, depending upon your perspective), the Cliff Notes version of how we spent the last three months, autism style.
Most kids count the days until summer break. They look forward to lazy mornings, unstructured time and trips to new places. But for David, who craves structure and routine, who thrives on the familiar and repetitive, sometimes “vacation” can send him into a tailspin.
So, this year I actually spent time working to make a smoother transition for David. I had drafted a visual schedule and rewards chart, loaded with summer fun. I found activities that I thought he would enjoy and took the time to introduce him to them ahead of time. In fact, I now read back to my very last post, where I was bragging about finding the rainbow park, cheap and highly motivating entertainment for David.
Well, my summer fantasy came crashing down the stairs with David one Friday afternoon. Or perhaps more accurately, David came tumbling down a staircase, taking my summer plans (oh, and incidentally my laptop computer complete with the unprinted visual schedules and rewards chart) with him.
As the physician’s assistant wound the protective gauze around David’s broken arm that day in preparation for a cast, I stood mentally checking water activities off of David’s summer list. Oh, and helping my husband to hold him down because David had decided, at that moment, he was not too fond of casts and would really rather take a pass. I said a silent goodbye to the rainbow park, the swimming pool, the sprinklers and bath time for David.
I had imagined, (naively, I know) a summer filled with fun and frivolity, but still packed with those teaching moments that would enable David to surpass his peers academically--a little private joke that might be obvious only to me and to the handful of people who can understand what he is saying most of the time. Don’t get me wrong--even without our most highly motivating category of summer activities, David did make excellent progress over the summer which was described by his teacher as night and day difference from last year. But, as is so often the case, I seem to have learned plenty of lessons, as well, which I have outlined below.
David’s appreciation for the color red apparently extends only to apparel.
David does not consider a cast to be an apparel item.
David is a resourceful boy and if thwarted (say, for example, in preventing a cast from being applied to his arm) he will move quickly to plan B, which may include but not be limited to trying to crack it open on the floor or get it wet in the sink before even leaving the exam room.
I can be equally resourceful and quickly realize that the favored black splint covering the hated red cast might just do the trick, although make the removal of shirts somewhat difficult.
David is able to generalize his hatred of X-ray machines to different machines in varying facilities around the city.
If I am the person guarding the door of the X-ray room, it is important to count the number of exits prior to the beginning of the procedure.
David is fast.
I am not as fast as David.
Sometimes those handicapped accessible, automatic doors serve a valuable purpose in distracting a sprinting child just long enough for an exercise-challenged mother to catch him at the front doors of the outpatient clinic.
Always buy Dell’s extended computer warranty with hazard coverage.
Yes, the boys enjoyed the break from school and I had a somewhat unintentional break from writing, but I am glad to be back to our schedule, our routine. Let my vacation begin.
In the movie, Pretty Woman, the Julia Roberts character, Vivian describes herself by saying, "I'm actually, no I'm not a planner. I would say I'm a kinda fly by the seat of your pants gal, you know moment to moment." I have never been a very spontaneous person, a "fly by the seat of your pants gal," but spontaneity becomes an even greater challenge with autism introduced into the mix.
As you might guess, David is the polar opposite of spontaneous; you might say rigid, scheduled, deliberate. He does not tolerate change well and we spend a great deal of time preparing him for the next season, next event or trip to the store, next shift in wardrobe. I did not give a second thought, however, to preparing him for our first visit to the splash park, technically a sprayground (how clever) which is close to his school.
We were waiting for some workers to be finished at our house one weekend afternoon, which was irritating David, so Michael and I decided to drive past this splash park. We grabbed a towel and piled into the car without telling the boys where we were going. I wasn't sure exactly where the park was located and my niece, while extremely talented in many areas, shares my sense of direction (or lack thereof) and had given me pretty vague directions.
We did manage to find the park and I knew from David's reaction to that very first glimpse that he was hooked. In fact, he immediately dubbed it the rainbow park in honor of the four curved metal spray arms, each painted a different color of the rainbow. I felt so relieved in the knowledge that David and I could have a new summer hangout with no legwork necessary. I did not have to prepare him for the visit. There would be no coaxing of cajoling. What a tremendous relief.
Still giddy with excitement, we pulled into a parking spot and decided to let the boys spend a few minutes running through the water. As David and Andrew charged up the sidewalk I happened to notice a pile of discarded clothing in a heap behind the blue bench. Did the earlier kids just strip naked? I thought to myself.
And then I heard Andrew yell sternly, "David, NO!" I looked up, but not before I saw the trail going up the sidewalk—first Crocs (called pool shoes in David's vernacular), then a red shirt, followed by David's shorts a few feet away. I looked up just in time to see the SpongeBob Squarepants undies making their descent.
In all my nonchalance about the rainbow park, I had neglected to tell David that it was okay to get his clothes wet.
For the time being, we are probably not to be classified as an impulsive family. The closest David has come to being a "fly by the seat your pants" guy was probably that day at the rainbow park—flying up the sidewalk with the seat of his pants exposed. Do you suppose that counts?
