Off And Away

Well last week was just awful. I managed to contract one of the worst flu viruses I’ve ever had. I literally couldn’t get out of bed for two days. The rest of the week I managed to pull myself around in order to do some bare bones mothering, but other than that I was in a serious, committed relationship with my bed.
And when I say one of the worst flus ever, I’m not exaggerating. I had fever hallucinations! For a short amount of time I came alive in the book I had been reading. It was horrifying! Thankfully that lasted only a few hours. I joyfully returned to my horrible state of illness to escape those terrible visions. The rest of the time I was simply miserable.
Neither Connor nor I would have survived without my mother and the fiance. Though Connor would have been happy enough to skip school all week, he would have been upset trying to feed himself for those days.
And then it was my birthday.
I was so sick all week that I forgot it was even my birthday a few times. I normally love my birthday and get very excited making plans. This year I barely mustered enough energy to go to dinner.  I appreciated everyone’s kind birthday wishes, as well as the gifts from family and friends. And then I happily slept for 12 hours. Best. gift. ever.
Now it’s the day after my birthday and I’m heading to Grenada in a few hours. So, yeah, I’m exhausted but excited. There is a ton of stuff to attend to that fell to the wayside this past week that will simply have to wait a little bit longer. I’m off to recuperate on a tropical island.
Maybe when I return it’ll actually feel like fall around here. I’ll rescue my super-mom cape from the bottom of the sewing pile and life will get back to normal, or at least as normal as we get.

Sickness

Nothing quite says back to school like getting sick.  For whatever reason, Connor seems especially susceptible to the various germs flying rapidly around the preschool.  I’ve been told that preschool is the worst because it’s their first time in school, surrounded by other children, essentially changing the classroom into a cesspool.

And I don’t know about any other mothers out there but I feel especially guilty (I saw especially because I seem to have a pretty consistent level of guilt running through me at all times) when the school nurse calls me to pick Connor up from school.  This has happened three or four times since he entered school last April.  The call always starts with whatever is wrong with Connor, which immediately terrifies me, and then manages to somehow imply that perhaps this illness/rash/horrible diarrhea was happening before I sent Connor to school that morning.  I am then racked by self-doubt.  WAS IT??  Did I simply miss the signs????  Or even worse, did I ignore them????  AM I THE WORLD’S WORST MOTHER?!?!

(Granted Connor’s autism makes it impossible for him to tell me if he’s feeling sick, but that never factors into my guilt level.)

I always end up driving like a bat out of hell to get to school, plagued by the belief that I purposefully sent my sick child to school and therefore imparted a miserable day on everyone involved with him.  I curse any red lights or pedestrians that get in my way! I silently stew over the injustice of traffic laws!  I wonder if the nurse is timing me in my trip to school…Am I being judged on the amount of time that passes between phone call and pick up?  And before you say anything, just because it’s paranoid, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

I usually jog across the parking lot, trying not to look like the hot mess that I feel.  Bursting into the office, the school secretary has to remind me every single time to sign Connor out of school.  Every time!  I’m sure this makes me look even crazier.  The signing in process is also time stamped, just one more reminder that it took me eons to get there.

By the time I get back to the nurses office, I’m frantic.  But every time I find him there, Connor is sitting placidly in a tiny blue chair, playing with trains, and waiting for me.  Sweeping him up into my arms, the nurse begins to tell me what is wrong, what happened, etc.  I usually only hear about a third of what she says as I’m too busy looking over my boy to pay attention.  I nod me head, mutter uh huh a couple of times, and make a bee line for the door.

My raging guilt provides Connor with whatever entertainment he desires.  My poor child is sick and I, his monstrous mother, forced him to go to school.  I’ll make it up to him with endless episodes of My Little Pony and popsicles.

The aftermath of these sick from school days is always a lingering self-doubt.  He seems fine, do I send him to school?  Am I capable of judging at this point?  To assuage my guilt-doubt combo and please my little boy, I keep him home.  Sure, he’s tired and cranky, and maybe there are some lingering symptoms, or maybe they’re all in my head.  I just don’t know.  I JUST DON’T KNOW!!!

At this point if the fiance hadn’t stepped in and announced that Connor needed to go back to school, I think I may have just kept him home indefinitely.  Finally someone with a clear head and an even emotional keel made a decision.  I was only too happy to abide by it.

And wouldn’t you know it, when I dropped Connor off at school this morning, there were no tears, no whining, no trembling lip.  He simply walked up to his classroom aid, took her hand, and waved goodbye.

I’m pretty sure that if motherhood doesn’t drive my crazy in the next few years, nothing ever will.

Bad Mommy/Resourceful Mommy

Connor is home sick again with what is now confirmed as a sinus infection. I’m pretty sure I have one too.

So when C asked to watch The Incredibles snuggled up to me on my big bed, I knew I was done for.

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, accompanied by a rising panic that I’d fall asleep while Connor was still awake. I’d fall asleep for a few seconds only to be jerked awake and slapped across the face by motherly instincts. Over and over this happened.

Finally I decided to shut my motherly instincts up! With Connor engrossed in the movie I figured I could safely take a 20 min nap. So I locked the door to my bedroom, barring his only means of escape. I put all available nail clippers, razors, scissors, etc out of little army’s reach. Lastly I slung an arm around Connor’s waist, ensuring I’d awaken with any sudden movement.

And with that I gave into sleep….for 15 blissful minutes.

During that time Connor did not die or become maimed in some way. The house did not burn down. The dogs suffered no permanent injuries. And I actually feel better.

So why can’t I decide if that was a bad mommy thing to do or a resourceful one?

Sick Children and the Art of Compromise

I feel like I spend a lot of my time teaching Connor life skills. Things like compromise, politeness, sharing, which are all vital to existing (perhaps even flourishing) in our social world.  Obviously some of these skills are harder to master than others.

Politeness, Connor has down pat.  He says please and thank you (though not 100% of the time, but he’s pretty darn close). Sometimes he even catches me unawares by saying thank you for something I didn’t even notice.

Sharing is a skill that has seen vast improvement over the last year.  He now allows children to play with his toys, in his own house or elsewhere (though there seems to be some invisible timer as to how long the sharing can go on).  He even offers other children (and sometimes adults) toys they could amuse themselves with while the plays near them.  Connor has nearly mastered turn taking, especially on the playground.  My heart swells with pride when I see him wait patiently in line at the slide, instead of pushing and shoving as he did a year ago.  Yay!

Compromise….is something that we are working on….every darn day.

Like most children, when Connor wants something, he wants it now!  Like many autistic children he has hard time understanding or controlling his impulses, so if he wants something now and doesn’t get it, the world may truly end.  Or at least for him it feels that way.  There is no later, there is only now! now! now!

To work on this pleasant little quirk of his (please ignore my eye twitching) I’ve been employing the “first…then” technique.  For example “First eat dinner, then you can watch UP for the 4th time.”  “First put your pants on, then we can go for a walk through the neighborhood.”  You get the idea… probably faster than Connor did.

It took him at least a week to understand what I was saying and how easily he could get what he wanted if he just compromised and did what was necessary first.  Ta da!  It was like a little light bulb went off in his head.  He gets it!  Unfortunately he’s not super happy about it.  Now when I ask him to do something horrendous like wash his hands or eat breakfast or clean up his toys, you know the usual mommy torture techniques, he cries through the whole exercise and sometimes after, despite willingly doing whatever it is I’ve asked of him.

It’s pretty pathetic to watch him quietly blubbering at the lunch table in between bites of hotdog.  Poor poor child to be mistreated so.

Of course this last week of whatever plague we’ve been suffering from was no fun.  When Connor gets sick, it’s like every ABA exercise, every therapy moment, every word he’s ever learned just flies right out of his head and I’m left with a crying, snotty mess.  Yuck!  Every demand placed on him is completely unfair and unreasonable!  Why should he have to take a bath?  Why should he be forced to eat?  Why does he even need sleep???

Lots of yelling, lots of hitting, lots of throwing toys.  The dogs and I tried to keep a good 6 feet out of his range whenever possible.  If we could, we simply left him to his own devices and hunkered down silently in the next room, lest we provoke the beast with some sudden movement.

Connor will be returning to school tomorrow and I might weep with joy.

Yet however bad Connor’s behavior got I realized that he’d return to normal and we’d start practicing these life skills again.  And every time I discuss this training with someone I realize there are a heck of a lot of adults out there who don’t practice the same skills I’m teaching my son.  How many people out there know someone who never shares? or says please or thank you? or absolutely refuses to compromise?  (I can think of a few just off the top of my head…)

So do me a favor this week and pick up the cosmic slack while Connor is still grumpy from being sick.  Say thank you to your checker at the grocery store.  Give the last bit of milk to your husband.  Meet your friend for happy hour at her favorite bar and agree to let you pick next week.

Set a good example for the Connors of the world!  And you just might feel better too.

Germ Factory

Cesspool

Incubators

Plague Carriers

There are many other labels I could think of for these preschoolers but they devolve rather quickly into name calling.

Though at this point they would all deserve it!

On Tuesday I picked up my child from preschool a few hours early because I received that dreaded call: the nurse’s call.  Connor had a runny nose, a low fever and was apparently choking on his own mucus.  Gross.  Despite the nurse’s disgusting description I decided to bring my little germ-infected guy home.

We spent the next two days in our softies watching movies, playing with stuffed animals in bed, eating goldfish.

Connor slowly improved whereas I slowly fell apart.  Every symptom that disappeared in my son, appeared in me.  By Thursday evening I was a completely sick, fighting to stay awake while my now recovered child bounced off the walls with energy.  Ugh.

Here he is on the “ride” he demanded we take yesterday afternoon, obviously feeling much better:

I spoke with Connor’s teacher yesterday letting her know that Connor was will and would be returning today.  She informed me that three other kids were out with the same symptoms as my child.  Oh really?

So it seems that these children conspired to make me ill just two days before Mother’s Day.  I’m sure some of the other parents are feeling the ill effects of this malevolent conspiracy.  I’m sure they all intended to remind us that even though it’s “Mother’s Day” on Sunday, it’s still all about them, every day, all the time.  They will never let us forget it.

In retaliation I’ve been thinking of ways to keep my child germ free (and keep in mind I’m a little punch from the cold medicine):

A full body layer of Purrell

Plastic Bubble

Rubber gloves

Gas masks and chemical baths (those are the boyfriend’s suggestions)

Alcohol swabs after recess, lunch, art, circle time, song time, play time…any time

 

Hmmm….well if anyone has any practical advice I’d be happy to listen.  Until then, I’m leaning towards the bubble.

 

Anatomy of a sick day

Sadly I didn’t post yesterday because my child was home sick.  And though he spent the majority of his day behaving as if he felt perfectly fine, Connor seemed to need me close at hand.

It all began Wednesday afternoon…

At the school to pick up Connor from his preschool class,  I heard a wailing sound.  I knew that sound! It was Connor, crying and screaming as his teacher tried to put  his backpack on him.  Usually Connor loves to go home! But this was an early day, so maybe he was thrown off schedule.  Ok, well, we’ll roll with it.

His wonderful teacher, Mrs. S, explained that he had seemed tired and restless towards the end of class.  Odd, I thought, he slept a good 11 hours the night before, plus he’d been eating everything in sight for the last 48 hours (granted that was only if his favorite foods were in sight).  Maybe he was growing, which can be a tiring and sometimes painful process.

Off we went to the house, where we were met by Connor’s new after-school therapist.  As part of his ABA therapy program, Connor gets 8 hours of ABA at school and 4 hours at home.  Wednesday was his first in-home therapy session, the first time he’d worked extensively with this particular therapist.  I was prepared for some tantrums, or at least a little whining.

Connor surprised me by being friendly! He immediately engaged in cooperative play, as well as verbalizing on demand.  I thought, great! I’ll just go do some dishes in the kitchen.

That was a mistake! When will I ever learn??????  If something is going WELL don’t do anything to change the formula!!! Duh!  Rookie mistake, Erin!

Of course Connor devolved into a crying, clinging mess when I tried to leave the room.  Even after I’d sat on the ground with his therapist and become his living tissue, it still took 20 minutes for Connor to fully calm down.  Though that’s not atypical for children with autism to tantrum for extended periods of time since they often lack the ability to regulate their emotions or to self-soothe, Connor had improved so much recently in his self-regulating that 20 minutes straight was a long time for him.  I simply took it as another sign he was tired.

After therapy we spent the rest of the afternoon just playing outside with the garden hose, watching Toy Story and playing matching games on the iPad.  6 o’clock rolled around quickly enough, and since it was Wednesday (my night to go out) the sitter arrived and took over with minimal upset.  Returning from our dinner and a movie night, my boyfriend (TS) and I found Connor fast asleep.  We followed suit and quickly went to sleep ourselves.

THANK GOD TS had stayed over!

Around 3 am I hear crying and the sound of running feet.  Connor jumped into bed and snuggled up to me, attempting to sleep but pitifully whimpering.  I did all my normal soothing actions: stroking his hair, pulling him close and rubbing his back, whispering softly to him.  Nothing was working.  I noticed a wetness on his waist band.  I hoped it was merely that the diaper was overly full with pee pee.  But as the crying continued, I knew better.

Ok, up we went, into Connor’s room to change his diaper.  He begins fighting me tooth and nail, flailing in my arms, attempting to grab on to anything to stop progress towards that torturous changing pad.  I call for TS to come help me.  He jogs into the room, groggy but willing to help.

This poor man! He meets me, falls in love, and then gets to help me with my sick child at 3 in the morning.  And when I say help what I really mean is that he holds him in a hog tie position while I peel the contaminated clothing off my son then fight to wipe off the watery bowl movement, effectively covering my hands with poop.  Connor is of course screaming his head off as if he is being physically tortured because since he voided while he was sleeping it left him with a very violently red rash.  All this TS has the privilege to assist with.  He truly is one lucky guy.

The only solution was to get Connor into the bath to finish cleaning him and to help leach some of the inflammation out of the rash.  And despite the fact that the bath would be soothing Connor refused to get in.  In fact he refused to take his pajama top off.  So he’s literally standing in the ankle-deep bath water pants-less screaming, hot tears rolling down his face, while I try to coax him to sit.

Finally I give up trying to use reason and force Connor to sit in the water, holding him there by leaning into the rapidly filling bath, soaking myself.  At last Connor recognizes that his poor bottom actually feels better in the water.  He gives up screaming, but still clings to me.  Connor releases me little by little until it is just my hand in his, which he strokes over and over as if the rhythm of pressing my hands between his is calming to him.

We sit like this for a long time.  occasionally I’ll stroke his hair or whisper some soothing phrase.  Tears fall down his cheeks from time to time.

My patient, saintly TS who had stood calmly by, assisting where he could, hands over some children’s Tylenol and sets up Toy Story 2 for Connor to watch in the big bed with us.

After I’m sure the Tylenol has kicked in, we move him out of the bath and his wet pj top, letting his sleep in just a fresh diaper.  Connor crawls into bed, arranging pillows how he likes them, leaving TS and me with just half of the bed to share.  At last, sometime around 5:30 we drift off to sleep.

When TS leaves for work at 7:45 I call the school to report Connor’s absence.

We awake naturally and slowly around 10 am.  I expect my sickly child to be sad, whiny and clingy as he wakes to the world.  Instead, he immediately begins chattering.  He literally jumps up and on to the bed, jumping up and down as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Though only noticeable difference was that Connor didn’t want to eat much and he wanted me near him at all times.

We spent the rest of the day playing, running around, engaging in general silliness!