Hayes ate one-half the freezer at Bradford Bath and Tennis Club today, carrying on the Leer girl tradition of only being famished in expensive restaurants. In 3 progressive trips to the snack bar, Hayes ate 1 personal pizza, his chicken tenders and half of Jack’s friends’ chicken tenders, a hearty order of french fries, and a popsicle. He was begging for more on his 4th trip, but I cut him off fearing I would be famous for the main pool being drained during the most popular day of the summer.
Apparently he was just gaining strength for the stunning tantrum he threw after arriving at the far end of the club grounds, stiffening his body horizontally like an ironing board in my arms when I picked him up, and screaming the whole way back to the front desk,
“OLD MAC DONALD! OLD MAC DONALD!
EEEEE-IIIIIIIII-EEEEEEEE-IIIIIII-OOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
OLD MAC DONALD! OLD MAC DONALD!!!” It was truly an E.F.Hutton moment at the main pool. He was so loud that I half expected the man serving on court #5 to call out his choice of a pig or a horse, but I remained strong (except for a strawberry popsicle) and made him go with me to make a phone call.
Old McDonald aside, I am struck at how he manages to get his point across with a limited vocabulary. I tried to pass off some slightly overdone pancakes on him yesterday at breakfast (Ok, fine…burned), and he pushed them away after pointing to the brown part, saying “bad chocolate.” He is also very good about screaming at the top of his lungs while he reports what he’d like to do to you when he’s angry: “HIT YOU!” or “BITING BAD!”, rather than actually partaking in the forbidden activity. A lot of people could learn from him.
Did I mention that Hayes went to Times Square on Day #5? We went in to ride the ferris wheel at Toys R Us, which turned out to be a bust, as he panicked at the last moment and couldn’t get on. The ticket taker saw him struggling and had opened a special gate to the front of the line for us, smiling at Hayes as she whispered that her 2 yr. old nephew just got diagnosed. I think there is a growing set of people like that in the world today, whose hearts have also been ripped open by this diagnosis, that will see Hayes as they see their own child. They will immediately “get it”, and they’ll open gates for him.
He could not stop blessing things last night at bedtime, and as we had blessed all the usual suspects, I was at a loss on how to wrap it up without making him upset, so we added song lyrics he likes, and I think we did Rodgers and Hammerstein proud:
God bless cream-colored ponies
God bless crisp apple struedel
God bless door bells and sleigh bells
God bless schnitzel with noodles
God bless silver white winters that melt into spring
God bless all of my favorite things.
Pg. 2
Our dance card is very full tomorrow, starting with our town parade and picnic, and on to pool games and possible fireworks, although we’re fine if it doesn’t work out noise-wise... Many people would have been devastated that they blew their chance to ride a three story ferris wheel in Times Square. Hayes can’t stop delighting that he got to wave to Jack riding it for him.
He told me tonight, “Fireworks fire is hot. Hurt you”. We cleared up that misconception, so I’m hoping this will be his his first real live fireworks show. It’s perfect for him: almost everyone has their ears plugged that night!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Day 7, 2009
It was just 5 minutes. I stepped out into my new garden to check on the tomatoes I hadn’t looked after at all this week and to weed just a little bit. I had told Madeline I’d pay her if she watched her cousin while I took a short nap, and I guess she didn’t count weeding as the start of her official watch. I came back inside, glad to have been in the sun for awhile, glad to be by myself, glad to not have minded for just five minutes that I had eight more hours of Hayes camp before bedtime.
In retrospect, we were done on day #6. Maybe Hayes sensed it, too, and that’s why he didn’t remember not to stick his hands in other people’s food, like the ice cream of the young man Hayes reached before I caught up with him at the town-wide picnic. Or that if the line for the Moon Bounce goes the length of Edgemont Park populated with other children who want to jump just as badly as you do, it doesn’t shorten the line length or lessen their desire if you flail on the ground screaming, “BOUNCE HAYES NOW!!!!” You get the picture. Maybe he was as ready to go home on Day #7 as we were to have him go, even though it had been a pretty great week. Seven days was enough. For us, and apparently for him. I’ll make a note of that.
Anyway, I mentioned casually to Madeline in the living room that our first cucumber had appeared. And then I heard a crackling sound in the kitchen that I only have heard once before when we first moved into this little house, and the bathtub overflowed upstairs giving my brand new kitchen a bubble bath downstairs. It’s kind of like my first earthquake I was in out in California – my brain didn’t know what to do with the bizarre, rumbling jolts and registered that a train was running over the house. Second earthquake, I was under the door jam before I bothered to register squat. So hearing this crackling sound for the second time ever, and without even turning the corner to investigate, I screamed for Jack to grab the trash cans from outside and bellowed, “WHERE’S HAYES?!??!?” to Madeline the newly unemployed babysitter, who bounded up the stairs to find our little plumber sitting cross-legged in an inch of water, mesmerized by the sink over-flowing full-force, and plugging his ears in case there was anything startling to come besides a two story Niagra Falls inside our house. Kerri had said they were working on the difference between hot and cold, but I didn’t realize he’d be studying up while on vacation in New Jersey.
The oddest part to the story was relaying it to my girlfriend just now, who mostly kept shaking her head and stating that it couldn’t have been just 5 minutes (rather than telling me what a saint I am, which is why I was explaining about all the towels drying on bushes in my front yard, anyway)…She just shook her head the whole story, saying “Not five minutes. No way”. Not if the water traveled down 2 stories to fill my brand new sparkly blue Kenmore front-load dryer in the basement to the brim with brownish-black water. “More bad chocolate”, Hayes probably would have evaluated. At least I can safely say that that the innards of my 1922 house are now fresh as a daisy. And it is not lost on me in retrospect that my girlfriend is a teacher of a school for special needs children, and probably has endured way too many stories from guilty parents on a Monday morning about the accident that happened on Saturday in “just 5 minutes”.
In retrospect, the problem wasn’t whether I let my guard down for 5 or 15 minutes, it was that I let it down, period. And all I could do, other than cry as I sopped up bad chocolate water, was go over and over in my mind how grateful I was that it wasn’t swallowed money instead, or a fall from climbing on the counter to get the Lucky Charms cereal I had protected on the top of the refrigerator that morning. I didn’t even want to consider and still don’t, what could have happened during “just 5 minutes” if he had been more interested in electricity rather than plumbing, while I dared to mulch in the garden, and Madeline lounged during a repeat episode of Hanna Montana. “Well yes I heard it, Mom, but I thought you were giving Hayes a shower!”.
This is my sister’s life…ears perked at all times for a strange noise or worse – no noise at all, eyes in the back of her head not daring to blink, chores on the other end of the house only taken care of after Daddy has come home. Checking, checking, listening hard, re-checking, only allowing the volume on low in her adult life that is happening as she puts it on hold until Hayes is a little better equipped for her to have one.
In case you were wondering, ShamWoWs do work “as seen on t.v.”
Even being in the same room doesn’t mean it’s all hunky dory with a boy like Hayes. Once Kerri glanced out the front window while talking with the babysitter, going over the day’s therapists and activities ...the usual babysitter low-down. I’m sure it was kind of Kerri’s“first earthquake moment”, not quite knowing how to register that the same Hayes playing with a toy at the kitchen table was now the Hayes walking towards the house with an unknown woman in a bathrobe. (?) And just so you can have a sort-of “first earthquake moment” yourself, I’m not going to help you make sense of it by explaining that the new neighbor a few houses away also happened to glance out her window while sleepily sipping her Folgers, only to see Hayes thankfully frozen on the double yellow line of their very busy road while crafty commuters avoided the highway in both directions.
The good news is that you build on this sort of experience: I had two chains installed high on my doors after I suggested my keeping Hayes for a week. Next summer I will have searched out every bit of loose change sleeping on a counter top before he arrives. And I have already found a special-needs horseback riding camp for him to attend half day, as I’d much rather pay Rocking Horse Rehab than the emergency mold remediation team that ripped out my kitchen ceiling last night and left giant dehumifiers to make noise instead of the fireworks neither they nor we got to see, exhausted by the day’s events.
It does have a very happy ending, though. When I met Kerri half way between our homes to return her little son and his 11 prized stuffed animals that my dog graciously did NOT rip up for seven whole days, Hayes actually bounded into her arms in the Applebee parking lot off Exit 5 of the New Jersey turnpike, squealing, “I missed you, Mommy!”
She has never known that before.
Although I haven’t looked up my home insurance deductible to see what the damages are for this week’s visit, I’d easily pay a thousand more tomorrow for him to understand another emotion that the rest of us take for granted. Kind of like his own “first earthquake moment”: he missed Mommy, his very own Mommy and my fabulous sister, whom I will gladly help again next summer, spending seven days with Hayes.
In retrospect, we were done on day #6. Maybe Hayes sensed it, too, and that’s why he didn’t remember not to stick his hands in other people’s food, like the ice cream of the young man Hayes reached before I caught up with him at the town-wide picnic. Or that if the line for the Moon Bounce goes the length of Edgemont Park populated with other children who want to jump just as badly as you do, it doesn’t shorten the line length or lessen their desire if you flail on the ground screaming, “BOUNCE HAYES NOW!!!!” You get the picture. Maybe he was as ready to go home on Day #7 as we were to have him go, even though it had been a pretty great week. Seven days was enough. For us, and apparently for him. I’ll make a note of that.
Anyway, I mentioned casually to Madeline in the living room that our first cucumber had appeared. And then I heard a crackling sound in the kitchen that I only have heard once before when we first moved into this little house, and the bathtub overflowed upstairs giving my brand new kitchen a bubble bath downstairs. It’s kind of like my first earthquake I was in out in California – my brain didn’t know what to do with the bizarre, rumbling jolts and registered that a train was running over the house. Second earthquake, I was under the door jam before I bothered to register squat. So hearing this crackling sound for the second time ever, and without even turning the corner to investigate, I screamed for Jack to grab the trash cans from outside and bellowed, “WHERE’S HAYES?!??!?” to Madeline the newly unemployed babysitter, who bounded up the stairs to find our little plumber sitting cross-legged in an inch of water, mesmerized by the sink over-flowing full-force, and plugging his ears in case there was anything startling to come besides a two story Niagra Falls inside our house. Kerri had said they were working on the difference between hot and cold, but I didn’t realize he’d be studying up while on vacation in New Jersey.
The oddest part to the story was relaying it to my girlfriend just now, who mostly kept shaking her head and stating that it couldn’t have been just 5 minutes (rather than telling me what a saint I am, which is why I was explaining about all the towels drying on bushes in my front yard, anyway)…She just shook her head the whole story, saying “Not five minutes. No way”. Not if the water traveled down 2 stories to fill my brand new sparkly blue Kenmore front-load dryer in the basement to the brim with brownish-black water. “More bad chocolate”, Hayes probably would have evaluated. At least I can safely say that that the innards of my 1922 house are now fresh as a daisy. And it is not lost on me in retrospect that my girlfriend is a teacher of a school for special needs children, and probably has endured way too many stories from guilty parents on a Monday morning about the accident that happened on Saturday in “just 5 minutes”.
In retrospect, the problem wasn’t whether I let my guard down for 5 or 15 minutes, it was that I let it down, period. And all I could do, other than cry as I sopped up bad chocolate water, was go over and over in my mind how grateful I was that it wasn’t swallowed money instead, or a fall from climbing on the counter to get the Lucky Charms cereal I had protected on the top of the refrigerator that morning. I didn’t even want to consider and still don’t, what could have happened during “just 5 minutes” if he had been more interested in electricity rather than plumbing, while I dared to mulch in the garden, and Madeline lounged during a repeat episode of Hanna Montana. “Well yes I heard it, Mom, but I thought you were giving Hayes a shower!”.
This is my sister’s life…ears perked at all times for a strange noise or worse – no noise at all, eyes in the back of her head not daring to blink, chores on the other end of the house only taken care of after Daddy has come home. Checking, checking, listening hard, re-checking, only allowing the volume on low in her adult life that is happening as she puts it on hold until Hayes is a little better equipped for her to have one.
In case you were wondering, ShamWoWs do work “as seen on t.v.”
Even being in the same room doesn’t mean it’s all hunky dory with a boy like Hayes. Once Kerri glanced out the front window while talking with the babysitter, going over the day’s therapists and activities ...the usual babysitter low-down. I’m sure it was kind of Kerri’s“first earthquake moment”, not quite knowing how to register that the same Hayes playing with a toy at the kitchen table was now the Hayes walking towards the house with an unknown woman in a bathrobe. (?) And just so you can have a sort-of “first earthquake moment” yourself, I’m not going to help you make sense of it by explaining that the new neighbor a few houses away also happened to glance out her window while sleepily sipping her Folgers, only to see Hayes thankfully frozen on the double yellow line of their very busy road while crafty commuters avoided the highway in both directions.
The good news is that you build on this sort of experience: I had two chains installed high on my doors after I suggested my keeping Hayes for a week. Next summer I will have searched out every bit of loose change sleeping on a counter top before he arrives. And I have already found a special-needs horseback riding camp for him to attend half day, as I’d much rather pay Rocking Horse Rehab than the emergency mold remediation team that ripped out my kitchen ceiling last night and left giant dehumifiers to make noise instead of the fireworks neither they nor we got to see, exhausted by the day’s events.
It does have a very happy ending, though. When I met Kerri half way between our homes to return her little son and his 11 prized stuffed animals that my dog graciously did NOT rip up for seven whole days, Hayes actually bounded into her arms in the Applebee parking lot off Exit 5 of the New Jersey turnpike, squealing, “I missed you, Mommy!”
She has never known that before.
Although I haven’t looked up my home insurance deductible to see what the damages are for this week’s visit, I’d easily pay a thousand more tomorrow for him to understand another emotion that the rest of us take for granted. Kind of like his own “first earthquake moment”: he missed Mommy, his very own Mommy and my fabulous sister, whom I will gladly help again next summer, spending seven days with Hayes.
Day 1
Today was the first day of our second annual “Camp Jeje”. My camper returned taller and more handsome, with more ideas (“North Carolina is near of South Carolina”), a larger selection of potential vegetables to be eaten, and less patience for my tricks (having also forgotten to buy milk (see forgotten cheese below), I tried to pass off soy milk with extra Ovaltine mixed in, only to have it sniffed and declared “yucky”, gluten-free chicken nuggets rejected by laser-beam eyes that can tell nuggets are minus white flour/hydrogenated fat elixir, and salt-free Del Monte green beans (bought apparently while not wearing glasses) laughed at even though I caught the mistake and sprinkled salt liberally).
Kerri and I drove Hayes to camp Harbor Haven this morning. Hayes seemed a little bit tense, going over and over Mommy coming back in two Fridays, Mommy not picking him up at camp, Jeje picking him up at camp, Hayes demanding to go back to the hotel that night (just because one is autistic doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate a good breakfast buffet). As we got closer to camp, he began worrying more loudly, and my heart started beating more quickly. I reflected that he has no choice but to trust the world: to trust the stranger opening the car door and taking him inside, trust what is inside the door, trust that Jeje is coming back like she says she is, trust she won’t be 10 mins. late (like she was today on the very first day of after camp pick-up).
Hayes was gently but firmly removed from the back seat, plugged his ears with his fingers (his version of nervous hands in pockets) and half chanted/half yelled, “Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! past the line of teenage counselors waiting to escort each nervous camper through that same door of trust. Camp Honey Bee was last week’s camp, where campers are encouraged to “BEE NICE, BEE FRIENDLY, BEE HAPPY!” Mel Gibson obviously didn’t know about it growing up. The counselors smiled sympathetically but looked non-plussed at us, as if they had already seen many a more dramatic entrance than that provided by Honey Bee alums. I think every time Hayes goes through a door, it must be a little like turning the corner in the Fun House at the State Fair of Texas. You just can’t possibly know what’s coming next.
I was also then gently but firmly encouraged to please keeping moving through the car-line by Miss Robin, the camp director who kindly let Hayes come for two weeks instead of the required three because she also keeps her nephew for a week each summer so her sister can get a break, and I had already raised her to two at our aunty poker table.
I drove around the corner and we sisters shed a few tears together, I guess just in case Hayes wasn’t (shedding any). Just in case he had dropped his Harbor Haven backpack containing (1) towel, (1) suit, (1) brown bag lunch marked “peanuts” optimally instructed by my sister to contain (1) cheese, (1) fruit, (2) cracker items, (1) pkg. of raisins, and the only pkg. of Scooby Snacks left after Jack and I polished off the rest of the box the night before camp. (They are like toddler cocaine. Just saying.)
In case you’re more anal retentive than me and are wondering about the “peanuts” labeling, I forgot to buy the (1) cheese item and so a small container of “Jiff to Go” went instead (and came home untouched. I hope he just didn’t want to sit quarantined with the other nut consumers and chose to forego his protein in favor of allergen-free seating in the sold-out section.)
I then went to NYC for my friend Jo’s 60th birthday lunch, and I drove home quickly to pick up Jack (when Hayes was upset that morning, I had promised Hayes that Jack would come). Since Jack is 15 and way busy for carpool detail, I have blown my ace card on the first day of camp, and that’s a little disconcerting. Thankfully Madeline, only 13, comes home from her own sleepover camp on Friday, and I still can boss her into riding with me (while she rolls her eyes and reminds me that I laugh too loud and have the nerve to hum and tap my fingers on the steering wheel while driving).
Hayes was delivered back out the Harbor Haven door and skipped to my car with his fingers back in his ears. He looked glassy-eyed and tired, but his head counselor Ali assured me while buckling him in that he had had a great first day, leading other campers in a hearty chorus of
“H---- B-------” to his new friend, Andrew. Wow. Nothing can normally send Hayes packing faster than someone singing that song which shall not be named (it’s like sharp nails on his slightly obsessive chalkboard), and today he was a tiny Lawrence Welk for his new pal Andrew.
He refused to answer any queer questions Jack and I pummeled him with…”Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Did you meet any new friends?” He ignored us entirely for the 15 minute ride home, looking right past us and sleepily smiling in that way that used me make Wendy and me say we thought he surely saw fairies. He giggled quietly every block or so, and only commented to himself, “Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….”
We came home, went swinging (and sweating) out front way too many times for this menopausal journaler (but I am ready for him this year with chains on my doors and the alarm set to chime every time the door opens, and I’ve warned the neighbors to please return any blonde haired/blue-eyed Hummel figurines they might find skipping through their back yards or entering through their front doors).
Hayes continued his winning day by pooping on the potty, ate a hearty puddle of ketchup using a fork for dinner (see above rejected dinner notes) , and took a bubble bath. Other than the small piece of free-lance poop found floating in the bathtub, I think it was a highly successful first day.
Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….
Kerri and I drove Hayes to camp Harbor Haven this morning. Hayes seemed a little bit tense, going over and over Mommy coming back in two Fridays, Mommy not picking him up at camp, Jeje picking him up at camp, Hayes demanding to go back to the hotel that night (just because one is autistic doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate a good breakfast buffet). As we got closer to camp, he began worrying more loudly, and my heart started beating more quickly. I reflected that he has no choice but to trust the world: to trust the stranger opening the car door and taking him inside, trust what is inside the door, trust that Jeje is coming back like she says she is, trust she won’t be 10 mins. late (like she was today on the very first day of after camp pick-up).
Hayes was gently but firmly removed from the back seat, plugged his ears with his fingers (his version of nervous hands in pockets) and half chanted/half yelled, “Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! past the line of teenage counselors waiting to escort each nervous camper through that same door of trust. Camp Honey Bee was last week’s camp, where campers are encouraged to “BEE NICE, BEE FRIENDLY, BEE HAPPY!” Mel Gibson obviously didn’t know about it growing up. The counselors smiled sympathetically but looked non-plussed at us, as if they had already seen many a more dramatic entrance than that provided by Honey Bee alums. I think every time Hayes goes through a door, it must be a little like turning the corner in the Fun House at the State Fair of Texas. You just can’t possibly know what’s coming next.
I was also then gently but firmly encouraged to please keeping moving through the car-line by Miss Robin, the camp director who kindly let Hayes come for two weeks instead of the required three because she also keeps her nephew for a week each summer so her sister can get a break, and I had already raised her to two at our aunty poker table.
I drove around the corner and we sisters shed a few tears together, I guess just in case Hayes wasn’t (shedding any). Just in case he had dropped his Harbor Haven backpack containing (1) towel, (1) suit, (1) brown bag lunch marked “peanuts” optimally instructed by my sister to contain (1) cheese, (1) fruit, (2) cracker items, (1) pkg. of raisins, and the only pkg. of Scooby Snacks left after Jack and I polished off the rest of the box the night before camp. (They are like toddler cocaine. Just saying.)
In case you’re more anal retentive than me and are wondering about the “peanuts” labeling, I forgot to buy the (1) cheese item and so a small container of “Jiff to Go” went instead (and came home untouched. I hope he just didn’t want to sit quarantined with the other nut consumers and chose to forego his protein in favor of allergen-free seating in the sold-out section.)
I then went to NYC for my friend Jo’s 60th birthday lunch, and I drove home quickly to pick up Jack (when Hayes was upset that morning, I had promised Hayes that Jack would come). Since Jack is 15 and way busy for carpool detail, I have blown my ace card on the first day of camp, and that’s a little disconcerting. Thankfully Madeline, only 13, comes home from her own sleepover camp on Friday, and I still can boss her into riding with me (while she rolls her eyes and reminds me that I laugh too loud and have the nerve to hum and tap my fingers on the steering wheel while driving).
Hayes was delivered back out the Harbor Haven door and skipped to my car with his fingers back in his ears. He looked glassy-eyed and tired, but his head counselor Ali assured me while buckling him in that he had had a great first day, leading other campers in a hearty chorus of
“H---- B-------” to his new friend, Andrew. Wow. Nothing can normally send Hayes packing faster than someone singing that song which shall not be named (it’s like sharp nails on his slightly obsessive chalkboard), and today he was a tiny Lawrence Welk for his new pal Andrew.
He refused to answer any queer questions Jack and I pummeled him with…”Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Did you meet any new friends?” He ignored us entirely for the 15 minute ride home, looking right past us and sleepily smiling in that way that used me make Wendy and me say we thought he surely saw fairies. He giggled quietly every block or so, and only commented to himself, “Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….”
We came home, went swinging (and sweating) out front way too many times for this menopausal journaler (but I am ready for him this year with chains on my doors and the alarm set to chime every time the door opens, and I’ve warned the neighbors to please return any blonde haired/blue-eyed Hummel figurines they might find skipping through their back yards or entering through their front doors).
Hayes continued his winning day by pooping on the potty, ate a hearty puddle of ketchup using a fork for dinner (see above rejected dinner notes) , and took a bubble bath. Other than the small piece of free-lance poop found floating in the bathtub, I think it was a highly successful first day.
Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….
Day 3
I did not have anything charming to write, nor did Hayes provide me with much charming material. Yesterday, I felt a little sad, a little exhausted, and a little pissed that Hayes has to have autism. I remember this from last year. Day 3. Day 3 must just be a tough day at
Day 3 was actually pretty ok this year, but it was still kind of along the same lines as houseguests and fish for both sides… I probably gave up my dreamy pre-school teacher tone when asking him not to run away down the street, and he probably took off running down it a little more than he had when he has on his best houseguest behavior. And I think was just full of more “don’ts” than days 1 or 2.
Don’t lick the remote control. Do not lick the knot in the monkey swing rope. Don’t open the cabinet and take out all the VHS tapes to get a closer look at the broken “Cats and Dogs” video. Don’t wipe (more) ketchup onto my new dining room chair. Do not lick the bedroom remote control, either. Do not scream at the top of your lungs if you accidentally sit on same remote control and Barney disappears off the screen, or you will wake your 15 yr. old cousin who will then be sleep-deprived and grumpy the rest of the day. Do not sniff a hot dog and refuse to eat it because it’s not exactly the same sniff as your mommy buys. Do not talk about Aunt Sibley’s Volvo instead of telling me what you did all day at camp. Do not ask me the capital of
Other than that, I’m simply sad to announce that
Days 5 and 6
Yesterday I went to “family time” from 10:00am – 11:00am at Camp Harbor Haven. Hayes and his fellow campers (8 or so boys his age) went from calisthenics to baseball to
drama, with about 12 eager family members in tow. I take that back. There was one Dad that stood off to the side and back a little, who mainly smirked and twirled his whistle key chain while the rest of us clapped and cheered. Normally I would hate a smirking, sneering Dad, but I think there was pain behind the twirling and smirking.
The main cheerleader was Hayes. Hayes didn’t care a whit about calisthenics, baseball, or drama. He was only interested in garnering a positive reaction from the crowd. (i.e. raising his bat to hit the ball off the tee, he looked at us and screamed, “SAY CONGRATULATIONS”. Like a bunch of parrots, we immediately did… and he was hooked. I really don’t blame him; I made a career out of that for 20 years.) He then refused to participate unless we all clapped or congratulated him or agreed when he screamed, “THAT’s AMAZING!!!!” whenever he or one of his cohorts, ran, batted, touched toes, or said lines from The Three Little Pigs.
I am eager to go back next Friday and see if he is more interested in the actual activities.
Maybe this is why campers are supposed to go for a minimum of three weeks. Miss Robin mentioned that he has had a week of “adjusting”, and that he is “impulsive” and needs constant physical reinforcement, as he has trouble responding to verbal instructions. That made me sad, as I secretly expected to hear that he almost didn’t need this darned camp, because he’s so very on the verge of not having this stupid ailment at all. If I had had a whistle key chain at that moment, I probably would have joined the twirling Dad in the “I really don’t want to be here or deal with this or accept that this is as good as camp might get for my kid” section. What I saw was that at this camp for kids with “high functioning autism”, Hayes fit in well. Hayes has “high-functioning autism”. Hayes: “SAY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!”
He loved Didi coming to get him from camp and screamed , “Are you going to give me a BIG PUSH???”(on the monkey swing) when he got in the car. He also pulled out his “Snake with As and Cs”, and said, “The Little Einsteins are going to love it!!” (They are a cartoon). He then took note of Didi’s braces for the first time, and immediately stuck his finger on her front teeth to examine them more closely.
“You’ve got BRACELETS on your TEETH!!!!!” He’s been examining them all day today, Saturday, as well, and I heard him sigh with concern tonight after the last examination and say, “Didi, you really need to see a dentist”. He also engaged in a bit of polling with his big cousin: “Didi, who do you want to take in Aunt Sibley’s Volvo?”
I am happy to report that Hayes is finally eating, and I’m sorry to report that I’ve given in to French fries and pizza in order to get him to do so. He is a typically sneaky kid, refusing his favorite brand of breakfast cereal the first four days…and then putting away two giant bowls of it when I finally placed some on the coffee table where he was watching t.v.
He also cracks me up when he tries to manipulate me. “I’m hungry. You go cook” means he wants me OUT of the living room so he can lick the remote control or poke the t.v. screen or something, and “I need to poop alone upstairs” as he runs upstairs means he wants to turn my bedroom t.v. back on for covert viewing.
Hayes has had visits from Baby Elizabeth (Jack and Didi’s 1 yr. old half-sister) and her mom, Andie, and Julie. And before I played tennis, I took him to Super Cuts for a haircut. He was a little nervous, but agreed to a “tiny cut, no buzzing”. The stylists let him come over for a thorough examination of their stations (a la Parker’s cast), and he pointed to the bald gentleman in his 60s in the chair and said, “That big boy already got his buzz!”
Other than 20 minutes in the park this afternoon, Hayes just stayed inside and watched (too much) t.v. It was at least 100 degrees, and I had to play in a tennis match for 2 ½ hrs. I came home all hot and sweaty and red, and I went on and on to Hayes about how close we were to winning, how hot it was, how tired I was. He sat back and said, “Well, Jeje. What do you think about that?”
Because of said sweating and tennis playing, I fell asleep putting him to bed. When I woke up the first time, he was looking at himself in a little purple mirror saying, “Yes, sweetie. I had a very busy day. How about you?” And the second time (at least one of us was cooperating) he was over looking at himself in my make-up mirror, saying “Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we have a mission. And we can all do it together!”
Yes, Hayzie, we can!
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