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 Camp Jeje. It’s probably that way with many things…the “newness” begins to wear off. I remember when I brought Jack home from the hospital. Somebody at the hospital said you really meet your baby on day 3. Well, I just knew something all those nurses at California Pacific didn’t: that MY baby was extra handsome, brilliant, and ready for a Gerber commercial, bec. he just slept and slept and barely cried at all. Funny enough, after 47 hr.s and 59 min., the Vicodan cocktail he had apparently been soaking up through my breast milk wore off, and Jack Biebel, enfante terrible, rang the door bell of my sleep-deprived, colicky hell.

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 California (Sacramento), when I ask you to please eat something besides ketchup. Do not scream, “I WANT TO GO TO A HOTEL IN MARYLAND” when it’s time to turn off Barney. Do not put your sneakers in the dirty laundry bag with your dirty clothes or we will be late to camp when Jeje can’t find your dirty sneakers. Do not reject the Life cereal Jeje brought in the car hoping you’d finally eat something, or she will (eat it) on the way home.

One funny thing I’ve noticed is that although he isn’t a normal kid when it comes to making a friend or dying to see “Toy Story 3”, he is ENTIRELY NORMAL when it comes to the stuff those normal kids hate. He cannot stand picking up clothes off the floor, eating vegetables or any other food he doesn’t fancy, and he is allergic to cleaning up a mess. Any request that he do so is met with “HELP ME, HELP ME!!!” as he runs out of the room like he’s on fire.

I should have known it was Day 3 when we were waiting in the drop-off line for camp. He didn’t seem terribly excited for starters. And then when they took him out of the car he wiggled loose, ran to a nearby school bus and tried to get on. I imagined him yelling to the driver, “The nearest HOTEL IN MARYLAND! Step on it!!!”

By the start of today, Day 4, I’ve gotten my head on straight and realized that it’s mainly my own expectations that are going to get in the way of Haye’s week here and basically his life. I am only getting sad, exhausted, and pissed because I’m doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out if he can ever be “normal”, instead of accepting that he’s simply got his own definition of it. He loves counting the steps to the second floor everyday, and if the fact that it’s still the same number of steps as yesterday doesn’t bother him, why does it need to bother me? Hayes is an entirely happy guy, and each time I see him for a visit his “normal” is more lively, funny, and inquisitive than the time before (and more lively, funny and inquisitive than that of many “normal” people, probably).

Other than that, I’m simply sad to announce that Sesame Street has definitely “ jumped the shark”, and I’m hoping to find him a hair cutter today that enjoys talking about Aunt Sibley’s Volvo state capitals.