It's because you're like Job

It's because you're just like "Job"

Why do people feel they HAVE to have an uplifting remark every time they see me or my son.  It seems there are 3 groups of people in this world as it relates to the special needs community....

There's the  group that just interacts with everyone they meet as needs and life direct with no agenda  whatsoever.  (I like these guys the best)  no fuss, no frills....just life .

There's the "A hole" that I wrote an entire book about that doesn't realize how inconsiderate and ignorant his behavior or comments are.

...and there's the well meaning, well intended do gooder that always feels that they HAVE to say something encouraging.  It's like that one person you know that has an inspirational quote for everything and you can't be around them without being assaulted by uplifting philosophy...

....we're  going to talk about the last one for a minute....

OK, here's the disclaimer...I am a Christian myself.... never said a good one; just said I am one.  But this fellow Christian nonsense of comparing parents of special needs children to Job needs to go the way of the Buffalo.

Stop it!  No I'm not! and especially NO MY CHILD IS NOT!

If you tell me that I'm just like Job from the Bible, you've just told me and my son that he's just a tragic event that has happened to me to test my resolve for God.

Is he not his own individual in God's care?  Should we really be likening human beings caring for one another to this story any longer?  Does my son deserve to hear blatantly in front of his face that he has been selected as a means to torment his family?  That his very existence is the definition of torment and struggles? That he is likened to the boils that afflicted Job?

 Please people, stop this insanity.

Oh please....who is this helping?

Sure,. tell me the story of Job when my house burns down, when my husband loses his job, when I get cancer or when a tornado sweeps away my crops..  or heck even when I run out of chocolate ice cream.

But don't, no matter how well meaning you are, walk up to me thinking you have the love of God in your heart tell me in the presence of my son how I should use the difficulty of "having to care for a child like this" to prove how God has helped me overcome such tragedy.

So many things can be said, not said, or done when you feel awkward or desperate to help rather than this.  Instead of struggling awkwardly to figure out what to say or a story to tell,  realize that WE DO NOT NEED YOU TO SAY ANYTHING AT ALL.  Consider that the person you've just "likened" to Job, may actually use this experience as a reason to shy away from Christianity.  They might even be led to think  that you are suggesting that God Punished their child intentionally.  Who in their right mind would go nearer to a crowd of people subscribing to that theory?

I don't know any parent in my circles that views their child as a burden.  The burden is being exposed to people that say and think stupid stuff!

Don't teach people that they should see their child as a tragedy handed down as a trial from God.  Our children are blessings from God....not persecutions that God allowed Satan to hand out as tests.

If I can leave any Christians with a new thought it would be this....don't alienate the group of people that need your support and inclusion more than any other.

You don't realize how lonely we are, how excluded we are.  In fact, most of the time while you are ministering to us the "reasons that God has allowed this tragedy in our lives" you're forgetting that we can't even attend a church to hear the full story because you lack a place for our children in your sanctuary or Sunday school.

Can we take a deeper look at how we encourage people?

Under the Rubble

Dedicated to all parents in the autism / special needs trenches battling for help for their child.  May you all be heard when you cry.

Under the Rubble

Piles and piles of concrete, debris and dust cover you and your child and you can't move.  You can't see.  You feel a tremendous weight all around you.  You can't do anymore than just yell as loud as you can for help.  You can't move enough to help save your child.  You can't see well enough to know if they're ok. 

You hear rescuers walking all around the rubble.  You hear equipment, you see glimmers of light shifting around moving debris.  You know they're out there! People that can help you!  People that can save you and make a difference.

You yell and yell and yell and do everything you can to be heard.  You make yourself as loud as you can for the sake of helping your child.  Surely they'll stop moving about their jobs long enough to listen for you.  Surely after a while they'll realize that they had to listen in order to know where your cries are coming from?  Surely, if they hear you they will choose the right tools to save both of you?

Now the weight becomes heavier all around your child.  They've still not heard even one scream.  If they'd just listen you could direct them to your child.  You could tell them what they've got to see in order to help you.  They've worked hard and used so many tools but until they stop and listen they will never find your child.

Wait....you stop yelling to listen.  It's quiet now.  You rejoice in your heart because that means they are trying to listen for your voice!  You yell again with all your strength.  Nothing.  No more noise, no more tools, no talking.....and no more listening.  They've given up.  They think they've done their job.  Through a tiny crevice you can see them gathering.  You can hear them discussing how hard they worked and what good they did for the other people pulled from the rubble. 

The tools have been packed up, the rescuers have gone home to their families.  You and your child are still here trapped under the rubble to deep to be heard. 

If you are in a position to listen.....really listen.....to a special needs parent, be sure you listen with all your heart and use  the  tools that they suggest.  Their instructions may not make sense to you, but it is they who are trapped and only they know which direction they can move.

Don't leave it to someone else.... You may be the only rescuer that heard their cries.

Fight or Flight

Fight or Flight

Quite some time has passed since my last blog entry.  In fact, quite some time has passed since I felt compelled to ramble on for months on end and publish the deepest depths of unbelievable experiences in my book "Autism & Assholes".

I spent a huge amount of time in the last year or so feeling that dreaded emotion, guilt, that I'm sure every parent of a special needs child feels every time they vent, blow off steam or just plain blow a gasket. " I sound so angry", I thought! " It really just sounds like I'm an old bitter woman" I thought.  I've continued through each day mutt-ling through desperately trying to conjure up nothing but positive emotions, positive reactions, and understanding thoughts with regard to all my son and my entire family has encountered.  

 I felt the need everyday to recalculate experiences. I frantically searched for all the good things that others have brought about for my son.   Sure, people were still ignorant around my son on a daily basis.  Yes, I still dealt with teachers and staff that refuse to follow the ARD or even present a plan that fit within my sons reach.  Of course there were days that I saw no hope at all for positive behavior ever interacting with my child.  Still I kept about thinking, "It's all in my attitude".  

I did pretty well at this until May of last year. 

My husband, myself and my special needs child (for those of you that haven't read the book, he is now 16, is totally blind from birth, and non-verbal low functioning autism) all went on a family vacation to visit our other son who is currently serving proudly in the United States Military.  

If you have a special needs child, particularly a severely autistic child, you know that the idea of traveling away from home, going to new places and following a very different routine is terribly unsettling and normally just not even possible.  Needless to say, for us, flying was not an option.  So off we went in a minivan from the great state of Texas to the West Coast for some sun, surf and a visit with another one of our sons. 

Ups and downs happened all along the way and my son tried his best to be as brave as he could encountering all of the "new".  Alas we arrive, settle in to a hotel room, go through the normal routines of learning the layout and accepting the meltdowns as they came.  All in all, however, the meltdowns were slighter than we imagined they would be and my husband and I felt liberated to be out of the house, much less out of state!  Hurray!  We were really doing this!  

One attempt after another to find outings that suited the whole families needs, some successful and some definitively NOT.  Remember...I still had strapped on my handy dandy positive attitude and my understanding of ignorance helmet.  

All of this attempt to stay positive  came to a crashing halt the day we decided to take my son to the beach.  After all, water is his absolute favorite thing in the world!  Back home we go to the beach as often as we can and he always has a terrific time.  Change number one hit my son like a ton of bricks when out of his normal wheel chair he came as we attempted to lead him to the water after our long walk from the car to the beach.  We had carried everything with us that he would need so needless to say our arms were a little overloaded.  My son encountered the deep sand of a west coast beach and immediately froze.  No big deal.  I went to park our things in a nearby spot and my husband just picked my son up to get him to the water's edge.  Once we got to the water we new all stress would dissapear from his face and he'd be free to enjoy some time in the waves.  

Sounds simple right?

What I got was far from simple from that point forward and what my son got was just plain horrific.  I noticed out of the corner of my eye as I laid our belongings down on a spot near another family, that a group of surfers were headed my direction from the water.   Well that's nothing strange considering I was on a beach.  It got strange, however, when one of them separated from the rest and walked toward me beginning to yell things I couldn't quite make out.  "Wow" I thought, "There must be someone behind me that this boy is mad at", I thought.  I looked but no one was there that seemed to be his target.  As he approached all I saw was an enraged expression on a fast walking surfer with a board that he then flung at me .  Thankfully the board didn't hit me but it would've been, I think, an easier injury than what came next.  Now, unfortunately, I could hear what he was saying.  I proceeded to be completely stunned as he continued further towards me ranting at the top of his lungs about my son.  "We don't want him here" , "No one wants him here" he said.  

So this is when I must've been still trying a bit of positive thinking and I assumed that he must've misunderstood my son and thought he was a young person that had had too much to drink.  "I'm sure that's what it is" I thought but still feeling like it still was horrible that this boy was attacking me.  I tried to get a few words in to explain that my son is autistic and blind and that's when the horror struck.  He knew!  He knew my son was physically and mentally disabled.  He wasn't perceiving things wrong or coming to the wrong conclusion!  Here in 2015, in the most (supposedly) politically correct , be nice to everyone state there was a boy screaming vile profane statements about my son and his lack of welcome on that particular beach.  In fact, I was informed very loudly with many unrepeatable words how disgusting my husband and I were for bringing him in public at all anywhere!  

Now to those who know me or have read my book you're probably thinking "Im sure she killed him dead and now she's writing this from her Jail cell".  Nope.....the exact oposite happened.  I broke.  I lost the ability to even function.  I became a trembling, sobbing mess that could barely speak.  The shock was so severe I could not even gather a response.  To this day almost two years past the even I still feel horrible guilt for how weak and emotional I became.  Hence the amount of time that has passed between the event, and my blog about the event. 

This is when I had a brief chance to gain a few feet of distance between this disgraceful human being to yell for my husband who had almost made it to the water's edge with my son.  His face immediately dropped open in shock when he realized what was happening.  Naturally he could not set my son down and leave him to run to my aid so here he came carrying my 16 year old 100 pound son back up the sandy slope to rescue me from what he thought was just a lot of yelling.  

When he got close enough to hear his pace picked up immediately.  I thought for sure this brazeness that the boy must be feeling would wane at the sight of my 6ft 2 husband and my son.  Nope.  This didn't stop him either.  Instead he did the unthinkable and proceeded to continue his vulgar attack but this time he directed it at my son.  

So if you retrace you'll remember we have a ton of stuff with us, plus a wheel chair, and are forced to carry my son.  The sand is deep everywhere so you can't get anywhere quickly as your feet sink 6" everytime you take a step.  That would've been fun if we weren't trying to escape.  

As the attack went on and my husband felt helpless to shelter my son from this boys words and decibal level, I looked around thinking "why isn't anyone helping us?".  We needed help.  So I looked at the man and women sitting behind me by about 15 feet and said "can you help my husband please?"  To this his wife replied to him "honey don't talk to her, you don't know what's going on".  

I was astounded.  Not only at this point was the yelling still going full force but no one around us would even try to intervene or even offer to help us carry things so we could leave faster.  

My son is now in full blown meltdown of the worst kind.  All of this on my husbands back.  

Finally after about 5 minutes but felt like hours a woman walked by yelling "I'll get the life guard".  

Normally I would've had a snappy come back for all of these people or just taken the kids out myself with a stiff right hook, Nothing.  I could do nothing.

My husband and I continued to try and walk toward the exit as finally the couple I had asked for help told us "oh don't let that ruin your day, just stay anyway".  I cried uncontrolably when I spoke "you don't understand, he won't calm down from this.  We have no choice but to go."  But....that ofcourse is something only the parent of a severely autistic child would understand.  Instead of consideration or God forbid, help of any kind, we were now not only the object of a direct verbal and almost physical assault, but also under the intense scrutiny of other beach goers firmly believing that we were unreasonable not to just stay and enjoy the day anyway.  WE were now the ridiculous ones?  Yes, that's what they believed.

After a few more moments of what I can only assume were pangs of guilt, the husband of the woman behind us that didn't want him helping us got up and proceeded to help me up the slope with all of our things and my husband was able to begin a quick retreat with my son over his shoulder up the hill to our vehicle.  Of course, after my son and I were safely in the car, he made his way quickly back down the beach for what I was sure was going to be a brawl that left me stranded in a foreign state with not enough money to bail him out of jail.

Thankfully when my husband arrived back down the hill at the beach the life guards had finally gathered near the person that had attacked us.  But what he found was NOT a lifeguard calling the police, was NOT lifeguards expelling this person from the beach.  NO, in fact everyone was gathered in what seemed like a cluster of disorganized staring at the person that had committed this atrocity.  NO ONE was doing anything!  My husband demanded that the police be called to which the lifeguard stated, "we don't have that capability".  In other words, had my husband just given up and left, nothing would occur.  NOTHING.  My husband insisted and the police were called. 

The lifeguards at this point were acting only because they had been backed into a corner.  The offending person was still standing there for the duration of this exchange and continued his vulgar attacks to my husband and now the lifeguards as well.  Only when he felt the police might actually arrive soon did he remove himself from the beach and start the trek up the hill on foot with his board .  Did I mention that the large group of surfers with him did nothing to stop their co-surfers behavior?  It was clear that they did not agree with his attack, but again, nothing was done.

So after about 20 minutes the police arrived and assured my husband and the lifeguards that they would "look" for this person.  My husband rejoined me and my "in full meltdown" recovery son in our vehicle and we left the parking area.  On our way out we saw the person as he was walking up a neighboring hill in plain view of all of the police.  Ok, NOW I was mad.  They didn't even try!  They did nothing to actually look for him or proceed so that this person could face any consequences at all.  My husband drove back to the police car and said "there he is!  He's walking up that hill right there!"  We were met with this response "oh, ok, I'll look into that". 

After parking our vehicle again and watching, we saw no "looking into that".  No attempt was made at all.

After settling my son, we headed back to our hotel room and replaced a day at the beach for a quiet soak in a spa.  Why?  Because no one cared about my sons rights as a human being.  Him being attacked was somehow less important than someone else.  Because to the "untrained" "uneducated" eye we could've just ignored this person and gone about our day It was deemed unimportant and we were labeled "ridiculous". 

No amount of positive thinking therapy could change the switch that was flipped back to the "on position" in my head.  I've learned something since this event.  I've learned that God gave me my son to care for BECASUE I have the spirit of a fighter, BECAUSE I don't shut up when inequalities and unfairnesses occur.  I was given this child; I was ENTRUSTED with this child BECAUSE God new I WOULD fight for him no matter what the cost.  I let God, my son, and myself down that day.  I allowed fear, sadness and the illusion of political correctness to beat me.  For that my son suffered. 

So onward and upward with my senses reawakened and my fighting spirit restored.....I move on for the next battle to protect my sons rights to exist in this world in peace.  If I had never let my guard down; if I had not been "guilted into" trying to be more passive or positive, I would've stopped this altercation before it could've ever affected my son.

 The guilt that once consumed me for writing my book "Autism & Assholes" is now gone forever.  The guilt for being a constant source of vinegar in a world that thinks honey is easier to manipulate.... also gone.  Those days are over and I will never again, for my sons sake, be fooled into believing that fighting for my child's rights makes me a negative bitter person.    It makes me a Guardian; and that I shall stay forever.

I am a "special needs parent".  I don't have the luxury of being passive.









 

 

Autism And Assholes read the book intro

Introduction to Marie Duke's book "Autism And Assholes"

Maybe you’re reading this book because you’re autistic to one degree or another and you do not like assholes!

Maybe you’re reading this book because a family member of yours is raising a child that has a physical disability,  autism, or both and you want to help or somehow begin to understand how they sometimes may feel while raising this child.

Maybe you’re reading this book because you’re a person with a child that was recently diagnosed with some form of autism or disability or both.

Maybe you thought you bought a book about raising donkeys and now you feel really stupid! (This book will be of no help to you.  Just walk away.)

Or, maybe you’re a mom, just like me, that’s been raising an autistic or otherwise special needs child for quite some time and you realize that your child’s disability is not the difficulty you face, but actually all the assholes you encounter along the way. Maybe you’ll understand somehow that I am not an “asshole” myself, but just a person willing to publicly blurt out some truths about how it REALLY feels.

I like to be truthful, I prefer to be blunt, and I love to laugh at pretty much everything. This book is a combination of all of these.  If you can’t handle a blunt comment, take a joke, or laugh at yourself, you might want to put this book down and go back to your knitting or needle point so you are not needlessly upset and tempted to show up at my house with a pile of toilet paper and eggs.

I am not writing to offend, nor worry if I do offend.  I am not writing to criticize or harm.  I am just writing truths and opinions about my own life, my own experiences, and my own feelings concerning caring for my son.  There are a lot of feelings and thoughts as a mother of a disabled child that go un-expressed in the interest of preserving sanity, keeping family peace, maintaining friendships, being allowed back into department stores, or just plain staying out of jail!  The basis of this book, although some will undoubtedly believe it is to rant, is raw experience and feelings in real life for real people dealing with something most people just do not understand.  This is not an informative compilation about the challenges of a specific disease or disability. This, however the reader chooses to perceive it, is meant to unveil some truths about those challenges that do bog down, hurt and cause discomfort and hardship.

Assholes definitely qualify as the biggest challenge of them all! (giggle)  You may luck out reading this book and find you have nothing in common with anything I have said.  You may however find that you also have such “assholes” lurking in your midst; maybe even in your own family.

Can I change the face of autism or disabilities with this book?  No.  No again, and Hell no!  Can you leave this book lying around for the last ignorant person in your life to read after you’ve left the room in hopes that they might STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE?  Yes!  I believe so!

Perhaps all that will come from any of my words is the mere understanding that you are not alone.  Perhaps I am writing this text just to discover that fact myself!

Anyhow, enough with the disclaimers, explanations and attempts at law suit prevention.  I will not spend the duration of this book wasting my own thoughts and yours with polite innuendo and socially comfortable terms.  Right or wrong, rude or polite, I hope you get a good laugh, an understanding cry, or at the very least a good fart out of some of this!

The following is a true story, but the identities and names have been left out to protect all the assholes.


Autism And Assholes      by Marie Duke

 

Day 46 in Captivity

Day 46 in Captivity

"Woooohooo!  Summer vacation is here!"  said absolutely everyone in the school as my son and I walked out the door on the last day of school to load ourselves up in the truck and head home for the beginning of the summer break.  All I could think as I headed out the door was "God please let this summer be different".  Upon bidding us farewell until next year, one well meaning teacher asked "So what are your big plans for the summer?  Any big trips?  Anything exciting?".  The other "more well-meaning teacher" standing directly beside her quickly nudged her into silence as my son and I left the school contemplating her remarks.

My son is non-verbal, completely blind from birth, and severely autistic.  He may not have been able to tell me, but I know him and his facial expression said "what did she mean travel? exciting? big plans?.....what are you and Dad planning to do to me that I know I will already hate?"

I, on the other hand,  am very verbal, and unfortunately can see far too well to ignore all of the ignorance in the world so my thoughts were, "Who does this special needs teacher think she is rubbing my "non-adventurous / non-vacation" summer in my face?"

Sensitive much?  Yes............VERY!  You don't have to tell me that my emotional response to that comment was an over reaction.  You don't have to remind me that this was simply a staff member attempting to be supportive and communicative.  You also don't have to remind me that it is wrong to assault people for making innocent comments that tend to grate at your last nerve! 

So................let's go back to the story.  I walk out of the school with my son carefully navigating him through the congested last day of school parking lot passed all of the hollering children, excited staff, bells, whistles and other very noisy non autism friendly incidents, only to get about 1/4 of the way to my truck with a child that is now in a full blown meltdown from the chaos. 

Oh hey!  I should mention that the parking area reserved for children with needs like my son was full of staff member vehicles at the time and my son and I were given an opportunity for some extra exercise that day.  (and many other days that school year but that is another blog entirely)

Ok......here I am 1/4 of the way to the truck, on pavement, buses, cars and pedestrians coming and going noisily all around us........meltdown in full swing , trying to inch my way with my now punching himself in the face / noodle leg son.  Alright, that's it!  Time to just pick him up and get to the truck.  Did I mention my son out weighs me?  So in my perfect squat, shoulder press into the child's abdomen, dead lift into a fireman's carry stance........I make my way with my son draped butt in the air over my shoulder while carrying his bags and last day of school goodies in my other hand.

Next step........entering the vehicle!  NOT!  This is when my son's "draped over my shoulder" position turned into the straightest most perfect plank you've ever seen.  You know it's hard to bend a child at the waist and seat belt them when they are determined to remain stiff as a board.  Wrestle, coax, sing, hum, massage, and about one hundred other methods quickly were employed to sooth his irritation enough to 10 minutes later allow him to relax, bend himself into a seated position and be belted into the safety harness and seatbelt for the ride home. 

I live 20 minutes from the school my son attends.  Most days this is fine.  This particular day..........THE END OF SCHOOL CHAOS DAY.......was definitely not.  What this looked like was I'm sure a video recorded by some cell phone toting face book posting person as the dumbest driver ever!  I drove out of the school parking lot, made it exactly 1/2 mile before the banging the head on the passenger side window began.  Alright I thought "here we go" as I pulled the truck over, arranged the pillows in a head injury prevention array, back into my seat I went and off I drove again.  Another 2 miles down the road the pillows enter the drivers seat by way of air travel directed at my head.  Next came his shoes which made a perfect bull's-eye on the back of my head one right after another.  "This I can deal with" I thought as I tossed the pillows back over the seat still driving trying to get as far as I could before the next imminent emergency stop.  Six more miles pass and the head banging began again.  Round 2 of pulling over, rearranging pillows, securing seat belts again, moving hard objects and attempting to sooth a very distraught child.  Back in the drivers seat I went for an attempt at beating NASCAR records and just make it home.  Maybe if I got pulled over it would've been a relief.  "Officer, yes, I'll take the ticket if you ride in the back seat on the way to my house so this child will stop punching himself in the face".  Oh.........punching in the face........I shouldn't have said it now, nor thought it then because that was the next phase.  Yes, the "there's nothing you can do about this while you're driving" face punching began as well as about 10 more stops to make it the remainder of the 12 or so more miles home.  It equated to what must've looked like some weird Chinese fire drill at Mach 4. 

I pull in the driveway hoping that Publisher's Clearing house would be there with my winning check.......or at least a babysitter.........ok.......at this point I'd settle for a bath and a cocktail but that wasn't going to happen.  My son noticed the familiar turn into the driveway and the ever so comforting bumpy driveway he took the cues that we had indeed arrived at home and immediately calmed down.

His face turned into sort of a relaxed and at the same time triumphant peaceful expression and I made my way with him from the truck to the front door of our home.  This is fantastic I think to myself!  He's calm.  The meltdown is over!  On with my evening!  This time I was correct.  The rest of the evening went smoothly, my son was put to bed at his normal time and life was good!  That is right up until the next morning when school no longer existed.  Rather...........his ROUTINE no longer existed.  I had 2 choices at this point.  Get him ready for school drive to the parking lot and sit there to make him happy; or................begin the long grueling task of day after day after day soothing a child unable to cope with transitions into "enjoying" life at home for the summer. 

Here we are 46 days after my story begins.  No trips to the park have been taken, no sea world, no Disney land, no camping trip, not even a trip to the grocery store.  The most that can be said is that my son is beginning to adjust to normal days at home with out the Monday thru Friday classroom trip.  He is beginning to feel calm about the routine he through the school year only experienced on Saturdays and Sundays.  He is beginning to warm up to taking small jaunts in the truck for an occasional garage sale or trip to the post office.  That's it!  That's as far as 46 days can take him!  46 days later he is still in mental captivity unable to adjust to the change.  46 days later I am still in captivity watching him struggle to adjust.  This is the same countdown that we have done every summer for the last 13 years of attendance in school and will continue to do for the next 5 years until graduation.

There are about 35 days until school starts again.  By my calculations, he will be perfectly transitioned into summer time living about 5 days before school begins.  So?  My son's terrific "do fun things" summer vacation will consist of the last 5 days of trying to cram school shopping, doctors visits, paperwork and classroom prep and visitations.  So to the teacher that unknowingly asked my son and I about our great "plans for the summer"  I can only say "You're an asshole". 

See you next school year while we take the first 2 months just to get used to going to school again.


RANT if you must, Rave if you must, but most certainly..........smile, laugh, and turn it into a sarcastic remark for someone else to laugh at! 

See ya for the next round! 

From the author of "Autism and Assholes" amzn.com/B00EKRNW7W 

Babysitters

Let’s talk about babysitters for a minute.  Considering the fact that the going rate for babysitting one child with standard care needs is $10.00 an hour now, what the hell are families with disabled children supposed to do? Apparently there is an idea out there that if you give birth to a child with a disability, the money fairy visits the same day and blesses you with millions?  I guess I must have pissed her off because that chic never showed up!

I was lucky in the early years to have older children that could handle their little brother for breaks for work, volunteering and the occasional “date night”.  After my other children grew up and developed their own social lives, the need for babysitters rose considerably leaving me with two choices.  1.  Never go anywhere again as long as I live or,  2. Rob a bank to come up with the money I need to pay a babysitter capable of handling my son.  Don’t get me wrong here,  my son hasn’t maimed anyone yet!  His behavior is not violent towards other people; just himself. The problem is that he can make you kill yourself trying to protect him from himself!  How many people can really truly handle that sort of an emergency coming from a growing teenage boy?

This is what ends up happening in reality.  I have the sitter here waiting with my husband and I (all the while they are adding up that hourly rate) for my son to be still and asleep.  We leave the minute he is asleep safely tucked into his room and run out the door to the nearest “fun exciting place” I can find.   Usually we just settle for a good steak and quiet conversation and sometimes we can get through dinner or our errands before the babysitter calls to say they’ve heard a strange noise coming from my sons room or that he has become upset.  This ends the already hurried and stressful romantic night out and leaves us dashing home to check on what often times ends up being something only the two of us can handle and we send the sitter home with cash in hand for a job not even done.  Sound bitter?  Yup, I am when it comes to that part.   A decent hourly wage for watching TV and not cleaning up after themselves, yeah babysitters can end up as another asshole for the list!  Scenario #2 is worse and usually involves being called home for an episode that they were instructed on how to handle and could have easily handled.  I could go on but it might wreck the reputation of babysitters worldwide and get me banned from all babysitting service posting sites permanently.

When it comes to leaving my son with a babysitter, I go through the same range of emotions that any normal parent does “How fast can you get here? Hurry up I’ve got to get out of this place!”  Which is replaced soon by “You have how many tattoos? You’re from what twelve step program?”  And last but not least “Never mind I’ll just cancel my plans.”

 Now on top of that when looking for a sitter for my son, there is another list of crucial questions to ask:

1.             Can you put an Octopus in a sack?

 

2.             Do you have a sense of smell and can you remove it before you come?

3.             Can you curl eighty pounds of child with one arm while dialing the phone with the other?

4.             Can you thwart Ninja skills?

5.             Can you put faucet handles on and take them back off by yourself?

6.             Are you a digestive expert?

7.             Can you understand non-verbal Ninja communication?

8.             Can you do an “Abs of steel” video for six hours straight?

9.             Can you watch the front door, the back door, the side door, the fridge, the pantry, and the bathroom all at once?

10.         Do you already have a personal injury lawyer?

Well, there are a million more serious questions than that, but you get the idea.  Babysitters are few and far between and hard to come by around here.

The last adventure I had with babysitting went something like this:

I call the potential babysitter on the phone to see if they are available for the day in question.  Babysitter mulls it over and decides to get back to me later.  Much later.  This time I luck out and the babysitter calls back 2 days before the event and says “yes I can watch him”.  Now remember that statement “watch him” as it will come in handy later in this story.

Great!  I am thrilled that I get to go somewhere with my husband and the sitter is confirmed!  Hurray!

Two days pass and my excitement builds for a few long awaited hours of rest and fun!  The babysitter arrives right on time!  Super!  This is going awesome!  Dinner is ready for the sitter and I point out the plate of food on the table.  Now I do the rundown of vital information which doesn’t take very long because this sitter is familiar with the house and my son.  “Nothing should happen or require your attention at all because he is already in bed asleep and all you have to do is listen in case he wakes up”, I tell them.  No problem,  everything’s under control.

So I am out the door for the first social evening with my husband in a very, very, very long time. Out and about enjoying time with each other happens so rarely that every second of our few hours is an absolute treasure.  Every bit of it is soaked up and he and I are all smiles.  The food is great, the atmosphere is great and life feels really really good.  This is when one or the other of us looks at the time and realizes it’s time to head back home.  Ok, well, my son is asleep, there’s been no emergent call from the sitter, no reason the date can’t continue on after arriving home and sending the sitter on her way, right?  WRONG!  Never assume anything.   That is the rule to live by if you’re going to survive.  I walk in the door with my husband still on cloud nine from our time alone.  Giggling and laughing and holding hands soon gives way to an unsettling feeling as we don’t see the sitter in the family room area where the comfy couch and tv are.  Ok, so head down the hall a little faster now towards my son’s room.  This is where I find the sitter engaged in an all out debate with him.   The sitter is trying desperately to convince my blind son into dropping the “present” (we’ll call it that)  he made into a plastic bag that she is holding at the end of her outstretched arms in front of him and offering him some toy she found in trade.  At the same time I notice this, I also notice that the sitter is fighting back a distinct gag reflex.  My son is completely naked, he is laughing and refusing to comply with this strange request and his bedroom behind him is a work of art with every kind of toy and inflatable thing he owns strewn in beautiful abstract fashion all over the room.  The blankets for his bed are in the hall, the clothes he was wearing when I left are in the toy box, the legos are on the bed and the inflatable orca is somehow leaned up against the ceiling fan vertically resting on one tail fin.  To this the sitter stated “I’m having a bit of trouble here”.  Alright, no big deal, my husband and I quickly take over, all feelings of romance properly squelched, my son laughs hysterically some more, the “present “ is removed, he’s put in the tub, the room is put back together and scrubbed and the sitter is compensated way more than the hourly rate, offered a snack (which she declines) and sent happily on her way back home.  (I think there are still rubber tire squeal marks in the driveway from her rapid exit.)  Now my husband and I start my son’s day all over again knowing that it might end around 3 or 4 a.m. if we play our cards right.  I overheard a lady once complaining about how difficult it is to find a sitter that she’s happy with for her nine year old non-disabled daughter.  On the outside I smiled and said, “yes good sitters are hard to come by”, but on the inside I was thinking “oh you have no idea asshole”.

Author Interview

I was recently interviewed on Autism Family Center website blog regarding my book "Autism and Assholes".  You can see the interview at the link below.

Who knows?  Maybe it'll give insight into my twisted and warped sense of humor!

Thank you again to Autism Family Center!  You were a pleasure to work with and I am grateful for the inclusion! 



http://www.autismfamilycenter.com/1/post/2013/10/autism-and-assholes-interview-with-the-author-marie-duke.html