I was at home, really I was. David had been in and out of the front yard, "watering the tree," which is his code for messing around with the hose. It is a frequent activity at our house, during which time I hide from the neighbors. I know that we are in the middle of a drought. I know that David is wasting huge amounts of water, but I invite anyone to try to explain that to David.
I was relieved when David came back into the house. A few minutes later, I heard the telltale beep…beep…beep of the alarm system that indicates a door has been opened, but since I was sitting in my office, I knew he had not gone back into the front yard.
Good. He is in the backyard, where excessive water usage is less visible to the whole world. I will go check on him in a minute.
Famous last words. I will go check on him in a minute.
I did not need to check on David. He found me and asked me to get him a glass of milk a few minutes later.
It really couldn't have been more than five minutes and when I went to deliver that milk this is what I saw.
David once let his iPad battery get so low that it shut off and needed to charge before it would power up again. Consequently, he is mildly obsessed with making sure that all the electronic devices that he is using—sometimes three at the same time—are appropriately plugged in and charging.
And when he decided to watch his SpongeBob movie, simultaneously with the video recorded on my iPhone of crossing over the interstate bridges all while gazing at his favorite picture of a telephone pole on the iPad in—wait for it—my CAR, parked in the garage on a day when the mercury is supposed to reach 100 degrees, apparently David's concern was to find power for everything. Could I make this stuff up?
Sooooo, he plugged all of his devices into a heavy duty outdoor extension cord that we use for Christmas decorations. That, in turn, was plugged into what he calls the "circle charger," which is an adapter that turns a car cigarette lighter into an outlet. The circle charger was, in fact, plugged into the cigarette lighter and (deep breath here) the keys were in the ignition turned, David was quick to tell me, JUST ONE CLICK, which provided the required power.
Incidentally, the large landscaping rock on the back seat of the car, recently stolen from my parents' backyard, was just for ambiance and did not play any functional role in the electrical circuitry.
Last night, we went out to dinner. At a restaurant. With David.
It has been literally months since we tried to take David to a restaurant.
Sometimes, he does alright, but much of the time, it is frustrating for us and for him.
David does not really like to eat, so for him there is no attraction in waiting for the food to arrive.
And there are distractions—oh so many distractions.
A few months ago, we tried to meet my parents for breakfast one weekend morning. We picked a restaurant that we knew would be pretty noisy, so David would not be too disruptive to the other diners, and that had the capacity to deliver a plate full of crispy "de-witch-ous" bacon nearly simultaneously to David's rear end settling into the chair.
We could not even get David to go into the restaurant. He wanted, instead, to sit on the bench in the waiting area and no amount of coaxing could convince him to walk (willingly) to the table.
Maybe, it was too noisy. Maybe David was too tired. Maybe we should have called ahead and had the bacon waiting for us so that we could lead him like a rabbit with a carrot into the restaurant.
As we walked back out to the car, the problem became apparent. Located just across the street from the restaurant was a car wash, the exit perfectly positioned so that the cars in the final wash were visible from the bench of the waiting area, but would not have been visible from any of the tables.
After a quick huddle, we decided not to be deterred. We would go to a local grocery store and see if David would tolerate eating in their little cafe and if not, we would simply buy the ingredients, take them back to my parents' house and cook breakfast for ourselves.
Imagine my surprise as we pulled into the store parking lot.
There it was. In full view. Another carwash. And, my best attempt at shielding, blocking, distracting and finally hustling David into the store did not work. David spied the sign almost immediately.
I am happy to report that all was not lost, however. The restaurant had a full wall of windows, so David was willing to sit, and he quickly lost interest because the wash happened to be situated in such a way that even David decided looking at the brick wall was not all that thrilling.
So, I suppose you could call that experience a semi-success, but I hope (400 words in and I will try finally to make a point) that you can see sometimes it just seems like trouble. Too much trouble.
David, according to all printed reports, had a successful visit to a Mexican restaurant on the last day of his teacher training last week so we decided to take advantage of it and make a return visit to the restaurant while David still remembered having a good experience there.
This particular restaurant is part of a local chain. We drove past four restaurants—5 miles, 9 miles, 11 and 12 miles away from our house. Yes, we drove more than twenty miles each way or an hour total in the car so that we could visit not just ANY Romeo's Mexican Food and Pizza, but the VERY SAME Romeo's Mexican Food and Pizza that David had visited previously because it is, after all, "nacho typical restaurant."
Well, on a scale of one to ten with one being horrendous and ten being a relaxing meal, I would have to rate the experience a six which is pretty good. David did not do anything that would have disturbed those eating around us, but we did have to make a few trips to the entrance to watch the doors open and close.
Oh, and David marched off toward the kitchen in search of his basket of fries when the waitress brought everyone else's food to the table except David's. Why do they do that?
For those of you paying attention you can probably guess. But, for the rest of you I will make like Aesop and spell it out for you.
The moral of the story is—if you order a margarita in an attempt to calm your nerves, don't get it blended because you absolutely cannot drink it fast enough to get the calming effect before brain freeze sets in.
For the past few months, I
cannot stop obsessing about the wedding crashers. No, not the Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson
characters from the 2005 movie, but honest to goodness wedding crashers who
showed up at my niece’s wedding over Memorial Day weekend.
They were not there for
the usual reasons—or at least what I would think would be the customary reason
for crashing a wedding, having never done so myself. They certainly were not scheming to meet
vulnerable, emotional, single wedding guests as portrayed in the movie.
They did not attempt to
blend in so that they would be treated to the delicious sit-down dinner, as
they arrived long after the empty plates had been cleared from the tables.
They were not there,
trying to be inconspicuous in order to take advantage of the open bar.
No, in fact they marched
right up to the bride, handed her a $50 bill and asked if she would mind if
they danced and enjoyed the music for a while.
These “crashers,” a
handful of women, apparently were staying at the hotel where the reception was
being held and I believe that their motive was simple. The guests at the reception looked and
sounded like they were having fun, and these women wanted to be a part of it.
When was the last time
that I actually sought out fun, saw an opportunity like the women at the wedding
and took a hold of it? Seized the
day. Carpe diem and all that.
I am certainly not going
to go in search of nuptial celebrations to crash this weekend, but I do need to
remember each day to take an opportunity and make it a little bit more
enjoyable, or to spend a minute helping someone else or giving a compliment. Or even to go with the flow because I am not
always a go with the flow kind of gal.
I will try to pause and
appreciate the things that make me happy, like the herbs growing outside my
kitchen window, or how David flashes me a “happy smile” each morning—you know,
not just a grin but a smile full of teeth, with eyes twinkling. Or the fact that Andrew periodically stops to
give me a kiss on the cheek, just because. Or when my nephew, Thomas, insists
on wearing my striped dish towel over his head like a shepherd the whole time
he is eating his lunch.
For some brides, the
arrival of the wedding crashers might have spoiled their preconceived notions
of the perfect wedding day. But my
niece, my lovely and gracious niece, took it all in stride. She joined in a group dance with these women,
took some photos and, as the evening was coming to a close, even tried to
return their money with her thanks that they had given her a wedding story to
tell for many years to come.
And I noticed that she
even has one of the pictures as her profile pic on Facebook, a happy reminder
of a great day.
Here is an excerpt from
David's school journal last week:
David and his peer took
turns assembling a Mr. Potato Head toy. After initial hesitation, David did
well taking turns when prompted by his peer and the teacher.
David does have some
trouble taking turns because he does not really enjoy playing with his peers. It is comparable to the fact that David also
has a difficult time in a restaurant, but since he really does not enjoy eating,
perhaps he doesn’t see the point. (Boy,
I wish I could say the same about myself.)
Anyway, back to turn taking. And then there might also be the teeny tiny
issue that if David is participating in a preferred activity, he does not want
to miss a turn. Surprise, surprise.
So, I was encouraged to
read these comments in David's journal. I
made a mental note to move “turn taking” up the perpetual to do list so that I
could reinforce the work that they did last week in school.
Let me first explain that
David is susceptible to the hiccups and, for some reason, he seems to
believe that burping helps to relieve his hiccups. He will actually swallow great quantities of
air to be able to belch and the louder the better.
Last night, we were at my
sister’s house for a Sunday family dinner.
David, who of course had respectfully declined to sit at the table with
us, appeared on the landing coming down from the second floor. In great flourish, he paused, smiled and then
burped, which not surprisingly made us laugh, reinforcing David’s inappropriate
behavior.
I guess I should say that
David’s action made most of us laugh. My
15-year-old nephew, Thomas, chose to respond not by laughing, but by burping back. For several minutes, the cousins took turns
burping, each trying to outdo the other, one longer, louder, grosser (if that
is even a word, which I suspect it is not) than the last. There was no hesitation on David’s part, as
witnessed during the Mr. Potato Head game.
I have amended the to-do
list, which I am sorry to say now includes discouraging burping.
Progress? You tell me.
