Sydney's lopsided conversations

I tried to document a lot of Sydney’s morning before school today. I haven’t done it in a while and it is always interesting. This was mostly before the medications would have begun to help her slow down and focus. I couldn’t get it all because she talks way faster than I type, but I tried to jot down the highlights. You’ll notice that I do not always respond. I would if she would pause long enough but she does not usually even wait for an answer to a question. She just jumps right to another topic.

In between a lot of these lopsided conversations she was running in circles, opening doors, counting by fives, clapping rhythms with her hands, turning on noisy toys, running in and out of her room, looking in the refrigerator, knocking on the window at the dogs, eating her breakfast, and pestering Tate.

Sydney, first thing this morning: “Mom, Does your jaw hurt?” Me: “Umm, no.” (I have not had any jaw problems…) Sydney: “Well, my shoulder hurts. Do you know why it hurts?” Me: “No.” Sydney: “I know why it hurts. Do you want to know why it hurts? It hurts with a throb.” Me: “Did you sleep on it wrong?” Sydney: “No. I think it is the bone inside of it or the stuff around it.”

Sydney: “Did you take a shower?” Me: “Yes.” Sydney: “I believe you.” My thought bubble: Oh, I’m so glad you think I am credible. Sydney: “I hollered for you and then I hollered, ‘Dad? Dad?’ and all I heard was Levi. Did Levi go to work with Dad?” Me: “Yes.”

Steve and Sydney

Sydney: “I’m so HUNGRY! Can you cut me up an apple and put peanut butter on it? CRUNCHY peanut butter.” Me: “Sure.” Sydney: “Can I feed the dogs?” Me: “Levi already did.” Sydney: “I need to see Steve.” Me: “After breakfast.” Sydney: “I’m not hungry.” Me, handing her the plate with her apple on it: “EAT THIS!” Sydney (like I’m ridiculous and she is patronizing me): “Okay. Okay.”

Sydney: “Did you want me to get up this morning or lay in my bed? ‘Cause I was awake. I checked and Dad’s clock said 7:51 [7:15 actually] but that was running too fast for me.”

Sydney (following me into the laundry room): “Can I push start on the dryer?” Me (throwing clothes into the dryer): “In a minute.” Sydney: “It sounded like there was something clinky in there. Like a penny or something.” Me: “I didn’t hear it.” Sydney: “Maybe I made it up.”

Sydney: “Why did you get me a drink of water with my pills? Now I need to potty!” Sydney from the bathroom: “Mooooooo Moooooooo Mooooooo” Me: “Sydney, please stop mooing from the bathroom.”  Sydney: “Okay Mom! I’m hurrying!” Me: “Take your time. Just stop mooing!” Sydney: “Okay!” There was silence for one minute. Then….. Sydney: “Mooooooo. Moooooo” Moooooooooooo!” My thought bubble: Why couldn’t she have liked turtles best? They are so quiet.

Sydney: “Do you know how humming birds peck at windows? Well I dreamed about humming birds and there was this woodpecker who came to my window and woke me up. I let him in and you got mad at me. You said, ‘I don’t think that is a woodpecker. It is a blah blah blah bird.’ I said, ‘it is a friendly woodpecker’ and you said, ‘it is just an ordinary woodpecker.’” My thought bubble: Even in her dreams I suck all the fun right out of everything. But I’m so confused. Was this story about a humming bird, a woodpecker, or a blah blah blah bird?

Sydney settled on black and white and it turned out great. 

Sydney (picking up a wooden cow): “I really need to paint this cow. He looks naked. I’ll paint him today after math camp. Do you know why I hate going to math camp? It is because of going to my group. ____ is in my group. He looks at me like he is mad at me.” My thought bubble: I cannot imagine why. Sydney: “Should I paint this cow brown like a Brown Swiss or should it maybe be a Holstein?”  Me: “Whatever color you want.” Sydney: “Can I use your paints or my paint?” Me: “You can’t use watercolors. You’ll have to use my paint.” Sydney: “What colors do you have?” Me: “Too many to remember.” Sydney: “I want to make it really colorful. But…. What color is an udder?”

Sydney has had swimmers ear so we’ve got drops from the doctor. I told her we needed to get the drops in her ear before school and she said: “How long do I leave my ear drops in?” Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So, until Nine O Ten?” Me: “No.” Sydney: “Then how long?” Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So when it is Nine O Ten can I get up?” Me: “There is no such thing as Nine O Ten.” Sydney: “What time is it?” Me: “Sydney I don’t know what time it is right now but ten minutes after nine is called Nine Ten, not Nine O Ten.” Sydney: “So how long do I leave the ear drops in?”  Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So until Nine O Ten!” My thought bubble: Where are those eardrops? I think the directions said something about leaving them in ‘til Nine O Ten. Wait….

Sydney: “When you are gone to camp I will miss you.” Me: “I will miss you too. Regan and Dad will take good care of you.” Sydney: “Why does Regan have a headache today? What is a mind-grain anyway? I have too many mosquito bites. Oh Mom! There is a wasp nest out in the chicken house. I forgot to tell you yesterday. I don’t know if it is a wasp nest or a mud dauber’s nest. Dad needs to bring that spray out there. What color are wasp nests and mud dauber nests?” Me: “I’ll show you a picture later.” Sydney: “How about now?..... Hey! What are you typing? Is that about me?” Me: “It’s time to go to school.” My thought bubble: Heaven help her teachers today.  

Want to read about other mornings we've had? Here's one: Saturday Morning With Sydney

You can stop talking now.

My husband is a heating and air conditioning contractor who runs his own business. But, more importantly, he is a Church of Christ minister and has been preaching at our small congregation for 25 years with the exception of about eighteen months that coincided with Sydney’s adoption and the beginning of Tate’s intensive early intervention. So, our kids have all grown up as preacher’s kids. I say that to set up the stories I have to tell you today.

"Scram. Beat it."

When our oldest son was just a toddler, one Sunday he was standing at the back of the building with me as everyone was exiting. We were usually the last to leave, making sure to speak to every member. I guess this particular day our little guy had been tickled, teased, and patted on the head all he could stand. He’d had enough. As the last of the crowd thinned, and it became very quiet in the back, an elderly lady bent down to speak to our sweet, angelic, precious, little guy and he responded with a growling, “Scram. Beat it.” She was shocked; and she straightened up giving me a polite smile and a nervous laugh. I was horrified and apologized to her while probably turning every shade of red a human can turn. We, of course, lectured our little guy on the way home and his daddy spanked him for being so rude. I knew exactly where the offensive phrase had come from, as Oscar the Grouch was our child’s favorite Sesame Street character.  As awful as that seemed to me on the day it happened, I have come to love telling this story and have shared it with lots of people over the years. “Scram, beat it” has become sort of a term of endearment to me and as the kids get out of the car for school, I often say, “Have a good day. Now, scram, beat it.”

Fast-forward 24 years and several children later. Wednesday evening I was walking down the stairs of the same church building to teach Bible class. I heard Sydney several feet ahead of me, in her best teacher voice, say, “Tate! Don’t be so rude!” I also heard a laugh from an adult in the same vicinity at the same time; not the kind of laugh that comes from hearing a good joke, mind you, but the kind of laugh that comes from someone when they don’t know what to say or how to respond. Let me insert here that our church family is so very understanding of Tate’s lack of social skills. They do not make him feel badly (or his family feel badly) when he is less than friendly, ever. On top of that they go out of their way to help us watch out for him (and Sydney too) always trying to speak to him so they help him practice his social skills. Now, back to the story: I caught up to my two “angels” in our classroom I was barraged with Sydney’s NEED to tattle and Tate’s desire to keep me in the dark. They each got louder and louder trying to drown out the other one. I stopped them both by speaking quietly. It is an amazing thing I have learned. When kids are yelling, they get quiet a whole lot faster if you speak softly than if you holler back. I asked Tate if he would like to tell me what he had said that was rude. He said he would not. So I asked Sydney to go ahead and tell me. This resulted in both talking loudly at the same time again. I wish I could film this sometime because it really is quite comical and is becoming a frequent part of our lives now. Sydney began talking and could only get out one or two words at a time while Tate was interrupting the whole time with, “No. No. No. We don’t want to hear. No. Hey! Hey! No! Stop talking! Quit. Be quiet. No! Our mom does not want to hear this.” Somehow, I was able to decipher. I think. As they were going down to class a grown up had asked Tate a question, trying to strike up a conversation. Instead of answering politely, Tate had a “scram, beat it,” moment. He told the grown up who had tried to speak to him, “You can stop talking now.” Was I horrified? Yes. Yes, I was, but knowing that we were amongst Christian friends who understood made it much less horrifying. I used the first part of our Bible class to discuss manners and hope it did some good. Hope is the key word. I keep trying but autism is so much bigger and stronger than my lessons on courtesy and social skills sometimes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these two instances since Wednesday evening. They were 25 years apart, one with a toddler and one with a young man taller than myself. If I allowed myself to, I could become quite depressed that I am still trying to teach lessons to my 12 year old that he should have learned as a preschooler. Instead I will choose to find the humor, be glad that we have understanding friends, and keep hammering away at the rude behaviors.

Tate and Sydney

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Motor Mouth

Once in a while, my quiet boy with autism disappears for a little while and a chatterbox takes his place. It is usually when he is very excited about something. When we went to pick out our Xmas tree this past December, Tate talked more than I had ever heard before and it lasted for hours. We have repeatedly noticed when Tate runs a fever he turns into a motor mouth too. Tate was very eager because we were going to see “Pirates, Band of Misfits” at the theater. He told anyone who would listen about his plans to see the movie after school. He told most people more than once I think.

Tate, third grade

On the way to school this morning Tate pointed down the road, in the opposite way we were turning, and said, “So, what is down that road, the zoo and the camera store?” Of all the things he could ask me about he picked “the zoo and the camera store.”  It cracked me up. I told him that we could get to either a zoo or a store to buy a camera, by going in the direction he pointed. Questions beginning with where, what, why, when, or how, are a big deal around here. Most toddlers ask “why” dozens of times a day, and wear their parents out with questions. Tate did not. Now, he does occasionally ask questions. When he does, it takes me by surprise because I seldom hear him do it. The autism is never more “real” to me than when Tate does the things that he should have been doing all along.  It is like: I don’t know what I am missing until I have it and then lose it again.  When Tate becomes a chatterbox for a few hours, or even a few minutes, it just reinforces for me, all the things he (and I) missed out on. 

Tate was pretty talkative this morning at school. They had a “fun day” today and there were stations with activities outside and in. Tate initiated a conversation with one of the parent-volunteers, which is a pretty big step. He asked her, “So, did you go to college?” She said she had and then Tate asked her another question about college. It was not the most appropriate thing he could have started a conversation with. It was pretty random, but I’ll take it. We have been working hard and practicing conversation skills with lots of coaching, and it is paying off. Tate’s team at school has been coaching him and they practice with staff members every day. They have spent time talking with Tate about appropriate questions to ask and “weird” questions people would not ask each other. This all has to be taught because Tate will not pick it up from his environment like his peers have. 

We were standing in line to buy our movie tickets this afternoon when twin boys, a little younger than Tate, came in with a young lady, probably a sitter. The boys both had autism and caused quite a ruckus while waiting in line. It was very tough for the adult to buy tickets and keep the boys both with her. They were everywhere at once, touching anything they could reach. I did not pity the boys or the caregiver but I did admire the caregiver for bringing the boys to the theater. Watching those boys reinforced for me how blessed I am. Tate has so many skills that many with autism do not. I have three boys and three girls that do NOT have autism. I can only imagine how much more challenging things would be for me if two of my children had autism. The Center for Disease Control released a new statistic last month: 1 in 88 children have autism now and it is 1 in 54 for boys. If autism does not directly affect you now, it is probably just a matter of time. It is important to educate yourself about autism, more than ever before. 

Another post you might like to read: A Sack of Potatoes

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