Good Attendance

I recently thought about a "perfect attendance" plaque that was awarded to my mother, many years ago when she was employed at Picatinny Arsenal, in New Jersey. I believe she had a perfect attendance for just over one year. However, she never bragged to me about her achievement. My guess is that she just didn't think about it. She just woke up each day and went to work.

I'm also thinking about her today because today marks 27 years to the day she passed. I've been quite open with both Bubs 1 and Bubs 2 about their "Grandma Kathy." In fact, we're at a point now where both bubs offer me their undivided attention whenever I decide to share a story about my mom.

Grandma Kathy circa late 1970's

As Bubs 1's mom and I continue to teach him how to approach social situations so to appropriately respond to them, I find that my sharing about my mom to be an effective teaching tool. Bubs 1 does recognize the feelings that accompany a "sad story" and offers proper social responses... even if it just means to simply listen with good eye contact. I find this to be a win-win situation, because, well, I enjoy talking about my mom for both bubs 1 and 2.

I don't want to scare both bubs with horror stories about how she passed from cancer, but I do want to share the humanity. I share with them about the times that I held my mom's hand when she asked me to while she suffered the effects of her chemotherapy treatments, but I don't lament on the "day in and day out" suffering she experienced. I also share the happy times with my mom - before her cancer diagnosis. For example, like when my mom and I would drive long distances back-n-forth between my grandmother's house and our home. After my father moved out of our house my mom and I made many trips to grandma's house. For my mom, she was trying to deal with her divorce from my dad. For me, it was the construction of memories that evidenced strength and determination in the face of utter fear... some would call this "survival." Throughout all of our travels, my mom and I had many conversations and I share some of her stories with Bubs 1 and Bubs 2. They love to hear them.

Near the end of my mom's life, she ended up taking too many "sick days" due to the toll that cancer took on her. She told me that her co-workers were offering up their accumulated sick days so that she could still get paid while dealing with her disease. I remember her expression when she told me about this. It was both embarrassing and thankful at the same time.

Through the stories that I share about Grandma Kathy with both bubs 1 and 2, I am noticing its effect. They are learning about the person my mother was even though they've never had the opportunity to meet her. 

"Good attendance is important," I tell them. "Remember the story I told you about Grandma Kathy attendance award," I add.

One Kid. One Task. One Strategy.

"Dad," Bubs 2 hung his head over me as I woke up the other morning. "For lunch, I want a pickle. Oh yeah, I want more chips too." He informed of his lunch menu before I even had a chance to yawn and stretch after a night's sleep.

I got up and prepared both bubs lunches for the day. I added a pickle and "more chips" to Bubs 2's lunch, because I had his little voice in my head telling me to do so.

He loves pickles and so does Bubs 1. I do too. Bubs 1 told me to get some pickles a few days earlier. I did. We did actually. On our way home from picking up Bubs 2 at his preschool, both bubs' and I discussed pickles.

We pick up Bubs 2 and strap him into the car. We head back home. "(Bubs 2)," his brother said, " Dad is bringing us to buy pickles."

 "Yeah. Yeah! That's a good idea!" exclaimed Bubs 2. "Dad, let's buy three jars of pickles," Bubs 1 told me. "Yeah! That's a gweat idea!" Bubs 2 chimed in again.

It was an uneventful car ride, which is always a good thing. Sadly, we only bought two jars of pickles.


I have said this before and I'll keep saying it again and again. Bubs 2 is a piece of cake. He has his terrible three moments, but I know that I can rein him in. Like other neurotypical kids, Bubs 2 can challenge his mom and I all day sometimes, but nothing to the extremes that his big brother goes to. 

I had a "Bubs 1 epiphany" today. Or, I should say another Bubs 1 epiphany. I have to start numbering these epiphanies, because they are almost weekly now. I also need to write them down (like on this blog), because it's hard to remember them all.

I am programmed to use the same method to solve a problem. A pretty straight forward approach. It's like following a recipe or using the old-school payphones. For the latter, just drop in a quarter and it works every time.There's no need to guess or try another way.

Bubs 1 doesn't operate like that. In staying with the payphone  metaphor, Bubs 1 sometimes takes quarters. Sometimes he only take dimes. Sometimes he only takes nickels. And sometimes he only takes pennies. He just never tells us which coin he accepting on any given task requested of him.

I recently told Bubs 1 that I'm giving him 40 seconds to get dressed. This is on the heels of multiple other failed strategies for him to get dressed. Most of the latter were met with Bubs 1 doing everything else but getting dressed. I thought of this idea from a past article, which encouraged allowing Autistic children additional time to engage a task. The article didn't say to count out loud, but I did.  I walked away from his bedroom counting so not to micromanage (although I was). 

It worked!

Although this strategy doesn't work for other tasks I want Bubs 1 to complete, it does, at least for now, seem to work for getting dressed/changed in his bedroom. I attempted to apply this same strategy so to get him started on his homework (which has always been a monumental challenge), but it backfired. Instead of jumping to his homework, he just screamed to the top of his lungs. "Dad! Stop counting me! I won't do this if you count me!"

Note to self: to get Bubs 1 dressed/changed count to 40. To get Bubs 1 to complete his homework, don't count to 40.

Well, I just ate the last pickle from the last pickle jar in the fridge. It's a quiet victory, but I will take it.

"This is cozy, dad," says Bubs 2 as he sinks himself deeper into the blankets and pillows around and on top of him. "You're a good boy," I tell him. "You're a good dad," he unsolicitedly responds.

That's hard to measure, because I doubt my skills all too much. It's part of my growing up in an alcoholic home. I continually need to be reaffirmed that I'm doing "ok" on my off days, but quickly recognize this dysfunctional thought process on my good ones.

How do I explain to the bubs about "what happened" to my side of the family? Do I tell them their pop pop (my father) is a "dry drunk" who decided to halt all communication with us because he is unwilling to take ownership of his past life which severely impacts his current one? What about their nonnie's (my step mother) refusal to get honest about a tense family issue she quietly shared and then denied ever saying, and in doing so, has turned the table on who is "being honest" towards me and barring my family from her home? I struggled to reestablish communication between they and the bubs. No luck. The bub's paternal grandparents have simply given up on being functional family members. This is no surprise for individuals suffering from alcoholism. This is what alcoholic families do best.

I feel much healthier as I continue to distance myself from these people. I only think of them when my thinking falls off course, which doesn't last long nowadays. For example, at dinner last night, mom and I watched Bubs 2 acting a bit like a spaz. Background: Bubs 2 is now wearing undies and doing well making his way to the "pottie" throughout the day. However, that's with #1. He struggles with the feelings involved with #2 (that's my assumption). Anyway, he's running back and forth, to and from the bathroom. Mom and I continue to watch. He wines and yelps as he frantically runs back and forth while both of his hands are clenching his butt cheeks. Finally, Bubs 1 steps into the picture and yells, "(Bubs 2) run to the pottie! Quick!"

And he does. He listens to his big brother. With hands on butt cheeks, running full speed through the kitchen towards the bathroom, Bubs 2 lets out a rebel yell the entire way. In the bathroom finally. It's quiet. Then a cheer. He's pooped his fifth consecutive poop (outside of the diaper and not in his new undies).

We're all high-fiving and giving Bubs 2 congrats. He's turned the corner on this pottie training thing. Finally.

But is it if the family is dysfunctional?

Good Day for Running

 Going out for a hike was not on my agenda yesterday morning, but the bubs' mom suggested it. I'm glad that she did, because it was a beautiful day. Although it was a little chilly for just short sleeves, I survived.

They ventured out first while I hung back in the parking lot, inside the car. My blood sugar was low and I was waiting for the ham and cheese sandwich and chocolate chip cookie to ''kick in.'' I sat there in the car and watched my continuing-blood-glucose monitoring system send data to my insulin pump. Slowly, but surely, my blood sugar was rising... 61... five minutes later it was 67... another five minutes later it was 73. I wanted to wait until my blood sugar was at a safe level before exercising, since exercising lowers it. To help raise it, I didn't deliver a new bolus (insulin that you take to cover the food that you eat) so that time wouldn't be an issue. I knew that we weren't planning on hiking too long. I also knew that I would be running, as well as walking, so I wasn't concerned about it spiking on me.

I fell asleep and soon woke myself up from my own snoring. I glanced down at my pump and saw that it had climbed to 100. I decided to get going, because I calculated that I must have been snoozing for at least 20 minutes and I didn't want the family to get too far ahead of me. Plus, I didn't want to fall back asleep and miss the whole hike.

Bubs 1 in March '12

Bubs 2 in May '13

I started running down the path and eventually caught up with them about 15 minutes later. They were almost to our favorite spot, but mom was waiting for Bubs 1' break to finish. Apparently, he decided that he was tired and took a seat on a nearby rock.

The run warmed me up so I didn't feel the chilly breeze as much. I put Bubs 1 on my shoulders and continued down the path. We all arrived to our favorite spot and I realized that Bubs 2 was now big enough to walk/run the boardwalk, which is this narrow strip of wooden walkway as you enter a rocky beach front. I had been clicking pictures of Bubs 1 running on this boardwalk for over the past couple of years.

It's become tradition to click some pics of the little guy running on it. Now it's time to get Bubs 2 running on it. He did and I captured his initiation to our somehow-constructed
tradition.

Here are a few of my collection. Enjoy.

First Karate Lesson

PDD-NOS certainly is a pervasive developmental disorder.  I sometimes forget that Bubs 1 has this diagnosis, but it's there. He is a typical four-year old most of the time and that fools his mom and me into thinking that - just maybe - all those professionals made an error on his high-functioning ASD diagnosis. I sometimes wish that they had made an error. Although, we also love the bubs just the way he is.

Bubs 1 recently had his first karate lesson, which didn't quite play out as well as his mom and I had hoped it would. Bubs 1's mom and I hoped that karate would be an activity that he instantly liked. We had read a blurb on how karate helped kids with high-functioning autism participate successfully with neurotypical kids their age. Here it is: http://www.autismkey.com/martial-arts-proven-beneficial-for-individuals-with-autism/

As Bubs 1's parents, his mom and I were likely looking for a seemless transition, but perhaps our expectations were too high. In order to 'warm him up' to the idea of taking karate lessons, we began planting the seeds a couple of days before hand. It seemed to work. The bubs soon adopted our idea that he try karate. He even began demonstrating some quasi-karate moves and kicks. Where did he learn this? We don't know, but he did show interest and this was all that we needed to see.


I wasn't at the karate lesson, because I was at work. His mom took him. I just heard about it after. When his mom explained "how it went" she likened her experience to our experience when Bubs 1 took gymnastics, about a year ago. That painted a clear picture in my mind. Bubs 1's mom shared more.

She said that he was doing well in some areas, but struggling in others. For example, he excitedly  and willingly performed many of the running exercises, but when the karate instructors wanted the bubs to simply make a fist and punch, he had trouble following their request. His mom said that this is when Bubs 1 started to get frustrated. She and I know that when he gets frustrated that he sometimes turns to "odd" behavior. He also becomes rigid. I put the term odd in quotes, because it is obvious and typically goes against the grain. Then the mind games begin when we begin assuming that we know why the other parents are staring, when the reality is that we do not. Other people's stares could be simply empathy and not harsh judgement. However, we sometimes move with the indoctrination of our assumptions and associate their stares with the latter. So when the bub's mom was informing me of some of his odd behavior, i.e. making spitting noises and hitting his head with his new Gi belt, it led me to thinking about the negative thoughts.

The karate instructors were warm, understanding and patient with the bubs. Bubs 1's mom even told me how the other kids, the bub's peers, were even helpful to him. They would help verbally guide him through some of the exercises and simply shrug when he didn't follow their directions. It just seems like a good place for the bubs to be as he learns about the world around him. It is also hard to watch and hear about, because I wish he didn't have to experience struggle (but that's a worry that all parents deal with). The karate instructors convinced Bubs 1's mom that they wanted the bubs back for a second lesson. They said that they're even willing to work with him one-on-one.

We don't want to give in to our fears and allow the bubs to give up. However, we also don't want to scar(e) the bubs. If I've learned anything from my own life thus far, it is knowing that the many bridges in our lives may allow us to cross them for free on one side, but will also likely tax us traveling the other side.

Bubs 2 and his Food

Bubs 2 eats with the appetite of three bubs.

He'll eat anything. He'll even demand some of my food if it is different than what he is already snacking on.

He owns the kitchen. He acts like he knows where all the food is located in the kitchen too. Although his words are garbled (usually because he has a mouth full of food), I inherently understand what he trying to say as he spits fire at me, with his hand pointing. He just points to the counter top assuming that there is something good there. It doesn't matter what it is.

He just wants to eat it.

Today, he screamed at me as he tried to reach for some uncooked potatoes. I was dicing them up for dinner. I knew he wouldn't like them, but I gave him a piece anyway. I felt like a serving wench at Medieval Times restaurant. He ate the raw potato after I tossed it onto his high chair table. He gave me a look and then he smiled. I couldn't believe it. I was also dicing up some raw onion, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to put him through the agony, because I knew that he'd eat the onion too. When he just about 10 months old, he ate an entire meatball sub at his cousin's marching band performance. This kid's going to be an animal.

In saying this, I should also say that I completely understand. I have always had a big appetite myself. I remember eating two Burger King Whoppers when I was over my aunt and uncle's house. I was ten years old. My aunt exclaimed, "Wow, that's some appetite." I then proceeded to down my large fries too.


I still have a big appetite. My wife has to hide her favorite foods around the kitchen so that I won't devour it all. Bubs 2 must be watching me eat. I'm his role model right now. Luckily I'm eating smarter than I did when I was a kid. I haven't had two Whoppers, in one sitting, since that time. However, I did continue to eat a whole lot of other junk. I'm into salads now, but haven't thought to give Bubs 2 any. I'm not sure why, I guess I am assuming that he won't like lettuce. Maybe I'm thinking that it is too much of a choking hazard for him? I've already had to pull food from his mouth on a few occasions, because he packs it until his cheeks bulge.

All this writing about food has gotten me hungry. I think I'll see what's in the fridge. The bubs is asleep now. That means the coast is clear.

The kitchen is mine again.

Good Questions. Keep Them Coming.

Bubs 1 asked, ''Does the sun sleep in the clouds?'' That's a good question.

I am always wondering what the bubs is thinking. He doesn't share his thoughts all that often, but when he does, he asks some damn good questions. I do my best to be an active listener, because there was a period of his life when he wasn't saying a thing. As I look back, especially now that Bubs 2 is here, I'm beginning to realize that Bubs 1 was also quiet in other areas of his life. Bubs 1 didn't have the bounce, that his little brother has, when he was Bubs 2's age. Their mom and I understand that siblings can be different, but this isn't that.

It was at his second-year checkup, when his pediatrician asked his mom and me, ''How many words is he saying?'' Bubs 1's mom and I starred at each other. We wanted to quickly say that he knows over 60 words in sign language, but that wasn't the question. Bubs 1 was only saying two or three words at that stage, but the bench mark called from many more.

His pediatrician offered us the phone number to Birth to Three so that we could have the bubs assessed for developmental issues. A week later we learned that he had a speech delay, which can be an indicator of autism. Sure enough, one year later there was a diagnosis of borderline PDD-NOS.

His mom dived in and called everybody. She accessed, and continues to access, all the resources available for Bubs 1. Not too long after working with him, Bubs 1's ''talking'' began to increase leaps and bounds. My guess is that he was struggling to get the words out, but couldn't. We had to push him to do it. The help we found taught the bubs, and his mom and me, how to encourage his talking - even demand it.

I've likely said the phrase, ''Use your words'' to Bubs 1 a hundred billion times, over the past two years.  He finally did. I feel lucky. Bubs 1 is filling his gaps successfully and gaining ground on his peers. He impresses his pre-school teachers with his clever vocabulary. He is expanding on his imagination. He will pretend too.

I remember watching Bubs 1 on a local playground. He must have been two and a half. He was standing with other kids on the play scape. I watched him struggle to communicate with the other kids. He didn't have the words. Instead, he yelled. The other kids just starred at him. Bubs 1 was acting "different." That's why his mom and I didn't question his ASD diagnosis that, which we learned a few months later.

A few weekends ago, and nearly two years later, we found ourselves on another playground. I clicked a picture, which captured me. It holds all the words written on this blog post. It's one of my favorites, because it shows how well Bubs 1 is progressing. He gives Bubs 2 all the attention that his little brother demands, including pushing him on the swing. It helps Bubs 1 to have Bubs 2 around. Bubs 1 is currently teaching his little brother about "sight words" and colors, on the Amazon Kindle. What better way is there to understand something than to simply apply what you've learned? Their mom wanted to have Bubs 2, because she wanted Bubs 1 to have a best friend.

I think it worked.

Chowder and Friends

 Bubs 1, mom and I returned to the chowder festival this year. We missed last year, because Bubs 2 was too little to subject to the harsh outside winter temps. So this year marks his first chowder fest... and he darn near slept through it all.

I am unsure if this was Bubs 1's second or third time back. We have been living in the area for a total of four chowder fests, or otherwise measured in years and that would make us living here for four years now. I remember the last festival we attended, I think Bubs 1 was 28 or 29 months old. He was able to walk, but not stable enough to simply walk with us yet. He was this year.

Clam chowders and chicken corn chowders seemed to be the dominant chowders out there this year. Both mom and I couldn't eat any more. We had to give away our last three tickets. We had met our chowder limit. Bubs 1 had reached his limit too. He didn't want to sample any of the chowder, but he did enjoy the social interactions. He found a friendly cat, a couple of guys on stilts and his favorite spot - the duck pond. We had duck food from a previous visit to the village (mom saves everything) and Bubs 1 couldn't wait to feed it all to his webbed-foot buddies. He met some new friends, who asked to feed the ducks with his duck food. With mom's encouragement, Bubs 1 agreed. We also encouraged the bubs to ask for the names of his new friends. He then identified himself as Luke Skywalker (again). We've been living as the cast for Star Wars for over a month now. I've apparently been demoted (in my opinion) to C3PO, from once being Han Solo. It was Bubs 1 idea. He also renamed Bubs 2 R2D2, who was once Chewbacca. Mom has always stayed Princess Laya. All of this Star Wars stuff made the parents (or maybe they were grandparents), of Bubs 1's new friends, laugh.

In attempting to make a connection to my past, as most of my blog posts do, I can only remember the Sussex County Farm and Horse Show. There is a picture of me riding a pony in some small corral, with a local volunteer guiding the animal in circles as kids took their turns riding it. It was held at the Sussex County Fairgrounds, which may have been an annual event. Click this, or the previous sentence, for more on this event.

Sussex County, NJ region is known more for it's farming, than it's chowder. I only say this because I ate Cambells New England Clam Chowder as a kid. I used to prefer the Manhattan style, but soon realized what I've been missing - the fat. I'm taking a statin pill now, so at least my cholesterol is safe.

There wasn't a chowder festival where I grew up. The big draw was Vernon Valley Action Park. I remember when that park opened. It was a popular ski mountain during the winters and now a water ride park during the summers. My brother worked there when it opened. I think he worked with the kayak water ride. I never skied, and only went to the summer park a couple of times before moving from that area. I remember my last trip to Action Park. It was my 13th birthday, the Summer of 1983. My mom brought me and my friends down there. She also brought this guy named Fred. I think that Fred was one of the first guys she dated after my father left the house the year before. That last summer's memories in the area used to haunt me. Now is just lurks around in my mind. It no longer increases the adrenalin levels in my blood stream when I happen upon a memory. That summer was more than just memories of a broken home, it was also the time when I entered my teenage years. Good memories too. I remember my friends and I got drunk for the first time (on white wine) at Mike Passante's house. We befriended some girls from around the area and music videos were very popular. I even remember the Eurythmics, Sweet Dreams are Made of These, video. We watched it all the time. It was a great place to be a teenager. It was a mountain lake community and we hung out at the beach each day and down at the lake club house each night.


 To this day, whenever I hear that Eurythmics song, I think of that summer in my life. It sounded like a fun summer, and it was. But it also had a lot of pain. I was slowly losing my friends. My behavior was changing. I my own boss at that time, because my mom worked two jobs and my brother was living elsewhere. I heated up my own frozen dinners for supper and basically ran the       household. My mother would share her anger of my father. She'd also share her anger about his family with me. My mother felt that everyone had turned on her once my dad left. She was scared. She'd make me sleep on the floor, next to the couch in the living room, where she slept each night. She wouldn't sleep in her bed much anymore. I'd have to lay there and listen to her cry herself to sleep. Sometimes she's ask me to ''pray that your father comes home.'' The latter never happened. It was also at that time when I learned that she was planning to leave the area and move us to Roselle, NJ. She told me that the bank was taking our house. I didn't want to move to Roselle. So I decided to move in with my dad. My father lived with my aunt, uncle and cousins. They had a big house and it seemed like a nicer place to live than with my grandmother, in Roselle. I mentioned the ill feelings that I harbored about that almost-Roselle move in a previous blog. Not wanting to live in that town really the core reason why I moved in with my dad and cousins. I even agreed to attend a Catholic school, which is a big indication of how much I didn't want to live in with my mom in my grandmother's house, in... yes, Roselle, NJ.

So I gradually became more removed from my friends, because I guess it is easier to leave people when they aren't that close to you. I didn't consciously think that at the time, but it seems to sound good in hindsight. Another factor that made it easier for me to leave was that an old friend/neighbor returned to the area, that last summer. His name was Kevin Carmody. He turned out to be my nemesis. I beat him in one-on-one basketball games and he hated me for it. He eventually capitalized on my negative behavior, that summer, and increased my distance from my other friends. I soon realized that Kevin was running the show and had a lot of power over me. It really did make leaving much easier.

It wasn't until after 20-some-odd years that I later found out, from those same friends, that Kevin even turned on them. I had already left, but it was validating to hear that Kevin eventually showed his true colors to the others.

I still keep in touch with some of those friends. Time heals all wounds. In fact, one of those friends lives nearby and has a daughter the same age as Bubs 1. We periodically get the kids together and keep updated on each others' lives. I want both Bubs 1 and Bubs 2 to have good friends like this too. I would like to see them enjoy lifetime friends, without the pain. There is a lot of healing from that time in my life whenever I hang out with those friends today. It's powerful to have good friends.

In fact, one of the reasons why the bubs' mom wanted to have Bubs 2 was to create a lifelong friend for Bubs 1. She also has a few of these lifelong friends. Now I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with new friends, we both have many. However, keeping those lifelong friends around is simply a good idea.

Oh, and I'd like for both bubs to enjoy some good chow-da too.

Blizzard of 2013

The Duck

The bathtub duck's day may have finally arrived. No longer is it being used as a bathtub, for either bubs (especially not for Bubs 1 any longer). It used to be gold to both the bubs' mom and me. We loved the air cushion protecting from the cold, hard porcelain, which is typical of most washing areas.  Before the duck, both bubs made their way through the typical progression of bathing basins, including: a newborn tub, a few bathroom and kitchen sinks and even a large plastic bow.

The duck was the final watering hole before graduation to the final washing cauldron - the bathtub. This duck was even lent out to friends for their child, who's  age falls between Bubs 1 and 2. We weren't expecting it back, but after the arrival of Bubs 2, the duck made it's way back to our home. We were glad to see it too.

I remember my mother giving me baths in our bathroom sink. It was an abnormally large, rectangular sink. I remember a picture of me in this sink. I was likely 3 or 4 years old and I seemed to still have had plenty of leg room. I graduated to a shower stall, since we had no bathtub. My memory of this shower stall is scary. It had mildew riddled throughout the walls and floor. The step between the shower and the bathroom floor was an unfinished concrete step. Actually, I couldn't step on it since the top was not smooth. It was an edgy, unfinished top that would have hurt my foot if I did step onto it. My brother tells me that he remembers worms on the floor of our shower. I may have blocked this memory, because that would have freaked me out. My childhood bathroom was a strange one. The door, to the bathroom itself, had glass panes, from top to bottom. It was a bathroom door that you could see through. We had a white curtain that stretched from top to bottom, but not all that private.

I remember, in 2nd grade, drawing a picture in class. I may have written about this picture in a previous blog post. The class gathered around me and started laughing. I didn't know why. Then my teacher, Miss Karnas, walked over to see what the commotion was about. I remember her face expression. It was a hesitant smile. She asked if she could have it. I didn't mind, so I gave it to her. She walked away and that was it. Some time later (maybe even a few years later), when I was older, my mother told me about this picture. In fact, I remember seeing it again at home. Apparently, Miss Karnas called my mother in to talk to her about it. I remember my mother telling me how she had to explain my picture, which happened to be of a person with both female breasts and male genitalia... wearing a cape. My mother said that she had to think of something and told me, that she that Miss Karnas, that the picture may be a result of her and my father exiting the bathroom, individually after their showers, while tying together their bathrobes... and therefore explaining the cape thing. My mother was always quick to explain things.

Thinking back now, I'm wondering how you say something like that to your child's teacher without laughing. Couldn't she have just said that our bathroom door had glass panes? Maybe she did explain that too. My memory is fading. This was about 35 years ago.

Anyway, that bathroom door eventually have two sheets of quarter-inch plywood nailed to both sides of it. As for that duck, it now serves as a toy seat for the bubs. Both bubs are too big to wash in it, but they've apparently made room to play in it.

I'm Luke Skywalker

 Bubs 1 has lately been requesting to be addressed as "Luke Skywalker." He hasn't yet seen any of the Star Wars movies, but he knows all of the movie's characters. He plays Angry Birds Star Wars as part of his potty training reward system. His mom has been helping him learn about the movie's characters, i.e. Darth Vader, Chewbacca, etc.

On this topic, I recently found the bub's bubble wand in the trunk of the car. To me, this wand looked just like the Jedi vs Empire intergalactic weapon of choice -  the lightsaber. I showed it to the bubs. I should say, that I sold it to the Bubs. What do I mean by that? Well, instead of saying, "Hey Bubs! This bubble wand looks like Luke Skywalker's lightsaber," I sold it as, "Bubs! A lightsaber!" He bought it, and good thing too. He sometimes has a hard time grasping the concept that one item can represent two meanings. In fact, sometimes he gets downright argumentative and digs in his heels. His mom and I see him progressing in this area too. There are many variables operating here as he moves from a simply concrete-meaning world towards an abstract one. How does his ASD inhibit this? If at all? We'll likely never know, and frankly don't care as much either. We're seeing progress and that's all that matters. We're learning to see the bubs through the spectrum disorder, rather than the spectrum disorder through the bubs. 

As a kid, I wasn't big into Star Wars or science fiction. The culture I grew up in defined this area of interest as "uncool" and I was indoctrinated into this belief system. I gravitated towards sports, because that is what held social value. I was scared of being different, or considered less than.

I remember a childhood, neighbor couple. They were a geeky couple. They were science fiction fanatics. They were also adults, so they operated within another social paradigm. I remember that they had this really cool projector television unit, which made watching t.v. like sitting in a movie theater. I remember watching Star Wars on their projector/television. This had to be around 1979, or 1980. They had no children of their own, but they had two dogs. These two dogs, Captain and Brandy, were this couple's children. My parents hung out with over there house and they hung out over at ours. Their names were John and Joyce Mier, or Meyer. John was an auto mechanic. His hands were always stained in oil and grease. My father got John to help rebuild a car engine. My father knew very little about cars, and had even less money, so John's help was so very valuable due to the fact that we couldn't simply purchase another vehicle. I always remember my parents having car issues. It was rare that we ever had both cars operating at the same time. I remember my dad and John working on that engine for months. I'm sure that it wasn't fun for John to have to work all day and then come home to work on another car, but he was a nice guy. Joyce was too. However, a year or so after my father left the house, I had decided to move to where he lived. Joyce was upset about this decision, which I wasn't aware of until the day I was to move.

I remember answering a strange phone call that day. "Hello," I said as I answered the phone. "You're a fool and you're making a big mistake," I was told by somebody on the other end of the line. The person then hung up. I stood there for a second, unsure if I had just heard what I thought I heard. Then, about 10 minutes later, there was a knock at the door of my house. I answered the door and it was Joyce. She handed me a book. She was crying. The book was about how to take care of your dog. My mother got me a puppy after our family dog died. Our family dog, Pierre, was a French Poodle and lived to be 14 years old. Apparently, Joyce wanted me to have a reliable resource when raising the new one.

Joyce walked into the house and told me that she was the person who had called. She told me that my father was not a very nice person and that my decision to move in with him was breaking my mother's heart. This was a lot for me to take in, and I somehow quickly developed a way to "store" poignant information like this until I was better able to process it... if I ever did at all. I had already lived through a year of my mother informing me of every negative act my father did towards her. I learned about his tax problems, which stemmed from him not paying them and how these legal issues began to impact her financial needs. She told me all about his extra marital affairs and of his recent decision to stop paying her alimony. She even disclosed family secrets about my aunt and uncle, who had provided a new job and space in their home for my father to begin anew, after he left us. There was a lot of negativity that I was steeping in. So what Joyce was telling me was nothing new. I just knew that my mother was moving too, and I didn't want to live in Roselle, NJ. My mother had already registered me in Abraham Clark High School (it had an eighth grade attached). I didn't want to go there. It looked like hell to me. So I had no other option, because the bank was taking our house. Therefore I abandoned my mom too. I moved to a new state and lived in the home of my aunt and uncle, cousins and father. My world had changed. I even had temporarily moved up a social class, because my aunt and uncle were relatively wealthy. It caused enough distraction in my life for me not to think about my other life. However, time always catches up. I regret leaving my mom in that situation.

I sometimes wonder where John and Joyce are today. I would enjoy re-connecting with them after all these years. They cared about my mother. They likely don't know that she passed away. I bet that they would love to meet my family. I also bet that they have a pretty cool television set-up, where ever they are.

So as this blog is designed, that's a little bit more of my upbringing weaved into both bubs' soon-to-be past memories too. To end this post in the positive spirit of The Force, I'm going to cut-n-paste a post that my wife wrote on her facebook page today, "Well I'll be. My 4-yr old, whom experts claim to be autistic, made a joke, based on his imagination, in front of a small crowd of people last night. When the starbucks guy asked my son what his name was, he paused for a good while (usually takes him a while to formulate his words), and then shyly yet clearly said with a smile: "My name is Luke Skywalker."

Humor

Bubs 2 is officially walking. His balance is suspect, but he is choosing to walk, over crawl. He's even picking stuff up while working on his balance. It's amazing the see the differences between the two bubs. Bubs 1 waited until he was good and ready and simply got up and started walking around. Let's see, I found a note in Bubs 1's baby journal that says he didn't start walking until January 2010. Bubs 2 is just a few months ahead of him, but he also had more resources to learn from... like his older brother. Bubs 2 would have started even earlier, but he dabbled in his crawl-to-walk transition. He didn't wait until the task was nearly perfected (like his older bro), Bubs 2 took his time. Just about 10 days ago, he was cobbling together a few steps here and a few steps there. He's now putting many more steps together. He still has that old-man shake, but he's determined. This video was taken about one week ago (from the date of this post) and not only was I glad to see Bubs 2's progress, but I was also glad to see Bubs 1's cameo appearance. I saw humor. He is showing more and more humor. This particular humor, the more slap-stick kind with the towel on the head, etc., is still encouraging. I come from a family that loves humor. 

My grandfather, his great grandfather, left behind his "grandpop isms," which I've been teaching both Bubs 1 and 2 (check out embedded video in next sentence).

Perhaps Bubs 1 is carrying the humor torch? Time will tell. One thing is for sure, if he learns how to wield some witty banter, he'll have the ability to create bridges and cross any social gaps he encounters. His mom and I have been working with him on his interaction skills whenever he's with friends, larger groups especially. We essentially give him positive responses with whatever he says in his interactions. Sometimes his friends look at him as if they notice that he's not acting within a norm. It depends on the situation. We may say, "hey, that's cool bubs!" (so to always encourage his spirit... and confidence). Other times, we'll help him by directing his conversation. Maybe we'll tell him, "Ok bubs, that's interesting. How about you ask (so and so) about..." This last example implies that he can get a little self absorbed about things he likes and keep on talking about them... looooong after anybody is still interested. haha. His rigidness comes and goes, but his mom and I are consistent. For example, he'll tell us that the colors white and red make pink. However, we have to be ready for some flack whenever we use standard, social responses (that he'll experience out in the real world), like "smart boy!" or "you're a smarty pants!" He'll get upset with those comments, because he considers himself either a "good boy" or a "big boy." We can't allow him to limit our responses, because then we're simply perpetuating the problem. It's a battle sometimes. This is where his mom and I try to use more humor when breaking his bullheaded-ness. 

One of my first introductions to understanding the power that humor holds was when I entered the 8th grade, at Lounseberry Hollow Middle School. I was only there for a few days, before I moved out of state, but it was there that I realized the social benefits of "being funny." I have only a couple of memories of those few days and one was when I was sitting in a history class and the teacher was taking attendance. Mr Schmoltz. When he came across my name on the roster, he stopped. "Is your brother (brother's name here)?" he asked me, in front of the class. "Yes," I replied. My brother is seven years my elder, so I was impressed that this teacher made that connection. Although, perhaps not for good reason. "Now class," boomed Mr Schmoltz as he turned towards my classmates, "you have to understand my concerns here. His (while pointing his finger over at me) brother used to sit in the back of my classroom and quietly roar "Yaaaaa" whenever one of his classmates answered a question correctly. It was like being in a stadium." My fellow classmates laughed and I sat there feeling like I just had my social status increased among my peers.

I'm hoping that Bubs 1 can experience the same.

Making Cookies with Mom

 Ginger-bread-man shaped, sugar cookies. A rolling pin too. I haven't seen a scene like this since, well, since never. Neither Bubs 1's mom nor I have any past experience baking cookies with our moms. I should say that his mom and I don't remember baking cookies with our moms. One of the multiple childhood past times that we both are seeking to re live? Or, at least, imagine what the experience must be like from the bub's eyes.

He was interested. His interest lasted about 15 minutes and that's not all that bad for a four-year-old. In fact, that's pretty good. The bubs is pretty good at keeping on task. When he is interested in something, he'll absorb himself in it. This is especially true of his Angry Birds video game. His mom and I noticed this immediately the first time he played it. He didn't put the game down. Since we're focused on helping him fill his social gaps, we didn't want him to dive too deep into the video game world. There is a happy medium here. The bub's mom and I decided to use this game as a learning tool for other lessons. We moved this video game to the potty. This way he had stay on the potty in the company of a game where heckling birds are slingshot into a house of green, grunting pigs. Of course, it worked. We just wanted him to stay on the potty long enough to poop. However, this soon became too much. He was spending too much time on the potty. We then instituted a timer and set up a 10-minute potty time. We then had to teach him how to surrender the Kindle when the timer sounded, without a battle. That took a little time to learn. After a few weeks, he learned  this too. Unknowingly, we taught him to poop in ten minutes while focusing on teaching him to willingly hand over his Angry Birds when the time came. "Going poop" was the lost lesson here, but nonetheless, still the goal.

When I was the bub's age, video games weren't so personal yet. They were housed inside something called an arcade. I never had much interest. I do remember getting Intelevision for xmas one year, well it was for the family. I remember it had a handgun where you could shoot the bouncing dot, on the screen. There was also a tennis-like game, where you used a dial to chase the "ball" from the top to the bottom of the screen (in order to bounce it back to the other side). This system came out around the same time Atari did, but certainly didn't become as popular. I ended up losing interest in video games pretty quick anyway. I was never one that sought out a trip to an arcade. I just always followed my friends into one and didn't mind leaving when the time came.

I didn't have much interest in any one thing as a kid.

I never made cookies with my mom either. The kitchen in the house where I grew up was a hallway. It literally was a hallway. The dry foods closet shared room with the garbage can. My mother used to yell, "Get out of my kitchen!" whenever too many people congregated in there. Interestingly, I recently had a dream about this kitchen. My mother was showing me some improvements made to her hallway-kitchen, as if she were still living there today. I couldn't see her or hear her voice, but I knew it was her. One of the improvements was a bay window put in over the stove. However, everything else was eerily the same as when I lived there in the 70's. It was a dream that had a coming-home-good feeling combined with remorse for not still living there. There is a lot to analyze in this dream, but I'll just leave it at that. Who wants to hear about how a kid was pulled from his childhood before it was time. 

Am I beginning to sound like that old person who trumpets how they had to walk 12 blocks, in shoes stuffed with newspaper, just to catch their school bus as a kid?

No. I only had to walk a quarter mile to catch my school bus.