Whitterer on Autism

Today you are hereby excused from all spousal and parental duties and obligations. There is only one thing you need to tackle and conquer. Try as you may the sole purpose of breathing today is to enable you to vote. By voting you will simultaneously fulfil all spousal and parental duties.

Cheers dears

The perfect post award is hosted by Lindsay at “Suburban Turmoil” and Kimberley at “Petroville.”

These days most people have at least heard of autism. The subject seems to be in the news media every day and there are always those stories of Autistic Savants with their staggeringly unique talents. Otherwise, the news tends to be of the ‘one off good time touchy feely’ type of story or the ‘gloom, doom and despondency’ woefulness that shoots fear into the hearts of the general public.

The every day kind of autism, doesn’t get quite as much attention as it is not considered ‘newsworthy.’ That said, there are any number of families all over the world who live with the day to day nature of special needs and autism. Most of these tales cover the tiny huge experiences that are of no great consequence to the world at large but are of pivotal significance to those in their orbit.

One such tiny huge tale was written by “NiksMom” over at “Maternal Instincts – Flying by the seat of my pants.” “NiksMom” isn’t whizzing around in her undies, but rather keeping it all together in her trousers, as illustrated by her posting called “Taking Root, Taking Wing,” for which she receives October’s Perfect Post award, in recognition of what most parents of special needs children attempt to achieve, hopeful growth and inspiration to others, I hope.

So don’t be shy. Maybe during November you’ll also read something that you might nominate for the Perfect Post Award =

The perfect post award is hosted by Lindsay at “Suburban Turmoil” and Kimberley at “Petroville.”

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Once a year, we take our children to the school fund raiser. For those unfamiliar with the American system of public education, the wealthiest Country of the Western civilized nations usually falls short of funds to the tune of many thousands of dollars. The fund raisers, several throughout the year, serve to finance several programmes for the children to enjoy. Some support fringe benefits such as science camps, others add enrichment projects such as arts, music and sports.

Hence our family trots out in support of this event. Each year it becomes easier. This year we go in two shifts to accommodate those who desire to walk from dawn to dusk, and those would prefer to take a step or two in the right direction.

When the boys and I arrive, the public address system is audible two blocks away. The crowds have died down and hundreds of people move around the playing field in laps.

We are able to register and take care of paperwork in the open play ground, well staffed by cheerful, helpful volunteers. The boys are each handed a Walkathon T-shirt for the event, our first hurdle. Since we are the last to arrive, the only shirts left are the small size. Although they are both quite happy to be without clothes for a far higher percentage of time that then average child, they are both suddenly attacked by a blast of unexpected social decorum,

….“but……I cant be take my shirt off!”
“Yes you can. I’ll help you. Then we can put the Walkathon T-shirt on instead, then you’ll be the same as everyone else.”
“But……everyone will be seeing my….my…..my bare…..bareness!”
I beat the word ‘irony’ to the back of my brain and wrestle with shirts as both boys twist themselves about like corkscrews, their arms and legs wrapped around like elastic. It is a feigned and yet uncannily realistic rendition of truly false modesty. The screwed up facial expressions are overkill. On completion neither is particularly bothered by the new skin tight garment with bare midriff.

I edge them up onto the sports field and peer around for their dad and sister. I yell into my cell phone in an attempt to make contact. A pal taps me on the arm to communicate something officious and important. Both boys adopt this as their cue for take off. As they scamper away in opposite directions, my eyes follow them until they’re forced to focus snap back to my chum. Lost in the crowd in seconds.

Even though I can’t decipher any apart from the public address system, it seems like the best way to attempt contact. As I press ‘end call’ on my phone, I remember that he’s networked all the phones into our home phone answering system. Typical.

I seek out the usual hidey holes, those furthest distance from the hub bub, the toilets, the edge of the play ground, the play centre on the far field. Although they wear a distinctive shade of day glow yellow shirts, on this particular occasion, so does every other child in the school. I spot my elder son walking laps backwards to face the current object of his affections, a charming and lively fifth grader. I assume, or rather hope, that her feminine wiles will entertain him for the remainder of the lap and continue my quest for the little one.

Where on earth could he be?

By chance I find my daughter and husband, neither have seen him.

We are running out of options. “I wonder if he’s dashed back to the car to escape?” I mutter over the din of the microphone announcements. My elder son appears after completing his lap, still walking backwards but mercifully vertical. I pounce on him before he veers off, “have you seen your brother?” He points in the vague direction of……….nothing in particular. “Where dear?” We all strain our eyes to decipher, search the sea of bodies, whittle out the rogue when I hear a familiar voice come bellowing out over the public address system, “America rules! England stinks!”

“What is that smell Maddy? Is it your perfume?”
“Yes. I put it on especially, as I knew you were coming.”
“Ah, no time for a shower then?”
“Hmm one of those days, you know me so well.”
“What’s it called?”
“I’m not sure. It’s some hooch my Mum gave me for Christmas.”
“Do you have the bottle?”
“Yes, but I’ve lost the cap and there isn’t a label.”
“Perhaps we could guess. I know it smells……..oddly familiar?”
“Nothing smells like the original on me. My mum used to wear Blue Grass. I loved it on her. She gave me some as a gift when I was a teenager. I thought I was sooo grown up, but after a few minutes there was this horrible stink. It’s didn’t agree with my body chemistry, smelled more like gnat’s piss.”
“Gnats piss, gnat’s piss, gnat’s piss.”
“Whoops!”
“Oh dear. He’s been so quiet I forgot he was there for a moment.”
“Likewise.”
“Not much gets past him does it! I know, how about we all think of a name for your Mummy’s perfume?’
“Hmm that’s a good idea? You guess first then?”
“Ooo let me think a moment Maddy….how about……. Maddy Mystique.”
“Ooo I like that. That one definitely gets my vote! Now lets see if I can think of anything better………Muck de Madeleine.”
“Not quite the essence we’re looking for.”
“What about you dear? Do you want to have a guess? Can you think of a name for my perfume?”
“Er……Hoochy Mamma.”
“!”

p.s. I learned today on the news, that the two most common Halloween costume choices in the US of A are ‘A Vampire’ and ‘A Pirate’ :- Horray! At last we are truly “commoners!”

p.p.s. Oopsie! Don’t forget to pop along and visit “4 Green and Speckled Frogs” for their Pumpkin Patch Parade!

We drive home from school in a whirlpool of words.
“A banana has two uses, food and entertainment!” he chortles.

I am immediately aware that someone has stolen my child and replaced him with someone with verbal diarrhea. I turn to my daughter for clarification, “he’s been like that all day, since first thing, since assembly.”
He hangs out the window to shout at the traffic guard, “hey give me yur lollipop and I’ll lick it fur you!” I hit the automatic window button and try not to amputate his arms in the exercise.
“What happened in assembly?”
“Popcorn, get yur popcorn here!”
“He won the award thing, you know, ‘caught in the act of doing something good.’”
“Gosh! Did he…….that’s …….wonderful…….isn’t it?”
“Well it would have been.” I hardly dare ask, but I have to know, “what happened?”
“Well he goes roaring up onto the stage, to the Principal…….she gives him a certificate for a pizza party…”
“Oh no…..he hates pizza….”
“The hardest thing in the world is John’s left over frozen pizza!” I swear he’s memorized every line in Garfield.
“Not a problem mom, he didn’t care…..”
“Didn’t care? He won a prize that he hated and he didn’t care?”
“No…..instead…..he starts doing like this victory dance thing, stomping all over the stage shouting ‘I’m the man, I’m the man, I’m the man,’ with all these hand movements like he’s some kinda rock star or something.”
“Gosh…..were you perhaps……a little embarrassed?”
“Nope. He was having a whale of a time, everyone was laughing……his teacher had to drag him off.”
“Oh dear…..”
“I’m fat and lazy and I’m proud of that!”
“Ever since……I saw him at recess…..and lunch recess……he’s been non-stop jokes….”
“Oh…..I wonder why……”
“It’s your fault mom.”
“It is?”
“He’s finally got the message.”
“Seafood diets man! I see food, I eat food!”
“What message?”
“The one you’ve been lecturing him about for months!”
“I’m gonna erase you! You are be gone forever!”
“Lecture? Me?”
“Yeah, you know the one.”
“Which one?”
“Cut out the potty talk, the name callin and the teasin.”
“Ah, well that really has been out of hand lately, hasn’t it. That constant barrage of raspberry noises, burps and f …..well…….completely inappropriate.”
“He did say excuse me straight after though.”
“Quite mind numbing.”
“I know, but you said he should be positive not negative, tell jokes instead. Jokes are friendly, tothers like bullyin.”
“Hmm…… I see……I think?”
“So that was the final straw!”
“What was?”
“You know what is a “diet” is, don’t you? It’s “die” with a “t,” that’s what it is!” I think he must have swallowed that Garfield book in the night.
“The movie you chose this week, coz you don’t want em watching too many cartoons, coz you want em to watch movies with real people in em……?”
“Ah…..I see what you mean.”
“What were you thinking mom?”
“I’m sure…..that…..well……”
“Dontcha see, he’s connected the dots! That ‘Dennis the Menace’ movie was the clincher, a serious error of judgment mom!”
“Mom?” I turn to the chortler.
“Yes dear?”
“You are being my favourite adult woman in the whole wide world.”
“Oh…..well thank you so much for telling me dear.” I wonder if he’s still in joke mode?
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“Sometimes life jus comes up and kisses you on the lips.”
“!”

Another direct quote from Garfield!

He was completely silent the next day of course!

Thirteen Things about how to pad your diet and save some pennies In these financially stricken times, it pays to revive some of those housewifely skills of yesteryear. Depending upon your weekly food budget, it may be that with a little resourcefulness, deception and cunning, you can stretch the pennies a little further, as well as indirectly stretch the diet. When we first arrived in the States we went to a chilli cookout. It was quite an extraordinary experience for the naïve and uninitiated. Whilst the variety was quite daunting, the main ingredients consisted of pure ground beef, chilli beans, [very few in number] and chilli in a variety of different forms. If you take a standard dish of chilli you might be surprised to find out just how much you can add to the recipe without reducing the flavour. Oddly enough, you may also find that you increase the nutritional benefits of the recipe. 1. A cupful of lentils will blend in without a trace, and add fibre surreptitiously. 2. Similarly, unlikely as it may seem, a cupful of rolled oats are barely noticeable, introduce a hithertofore unknown food substance to the wary and you may help reduce cholesterol a smidge. 3. Finely diced carrots are inoffensive to most. For the few who do find them offensive, try carrot puree instead. 4. If you usually add onions to your recipe, try doubling the amount, 5. Similarly with the chilli beans. If you have a bean counter in your family, then puree the additional quantity of beans that you plan to add, to foil their accuracy. 6. Consider adding side dishes to the main course such as baked potatoes, freshly baked bread or a bowl of brown rice. 7. These additions are filling in themselves, which may mean that you halve the consumption of the chilli itself, which can then be frozen for another meal at another time. 8. Add more liquid, water or tomato juice to make it more of a soupy consistency. 9. Add any left over vegetables from previous meals. A cupful here or there is hardly detectible, especially if it is mashed first. If you use a particularly distinctive flavoured vegetable such as parsnips, add a tablespoonful of pickle or chutney to further confuse the taste buds into co-operation. 10. Now is the time to break the mould if you have people who do not eat fruit. A cupful of apple puree or mashed bananas adds a tangy sweetness that masks the ingredients but may just get past the fruit bat sentries. 11. This would be a good time to introduce salad or other vegetables that your family hates, because with a bit of luck their taste buds will be numb from the chilli. 12. Of course if you double the amount of chilli you can be safe in the knowledge that no-one will eat what you have produced. This may appear to be a saving in the short term, but in the long term, hungry tummies have to be filled. 13. Do not on any account add a cupful of bran fibre. Although the health benefits are unchallenged, the fall out can be dire. Any pennies saved, will need to be expended upon further quantities of toilet paper, and that my fine friend is what is known in the trade as a ‘false economy.’

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A small snippet:-

“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“What letter is come after M?”
“N.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Er…..what letter is come after the letter M in………the word bom?”
“B.”
“Is it a centipede?”
“Er……yes, you’re right it is a silent B.”

Enough of these word games! If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to“DJ Kirkby” over at “Chez Aspie” and test your brain power.

I have adopted the American way. I will not whisper the word Christmas or the Holidays until after Thanksgiving, my new favourite holiday. However just this once I am breaking my self imposed silence in the hope of broadcasting peaceful sanity during the season of clamour. There are 57 days left until the Holidays. Here’s your chance to get ahead of the hunt.

Nip over to your library and borrow a book called “Unplug the Christmas Machine” by Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staeheli. This will give you more than enough time to speed read your way through, so that you can figure out what, if anything, is important to you, and “jettison” all the stressful rest.

I read this book about 5 years ago when my children were really small. It was a Christmas present from a jolly good American pal of mine. I read it during the post Christmas carnage where my home looked like a toy shop but no child played with the mountain of gifts that had descended. I decided to adopt a new rule. The new rule was that Father Christmas only brought 3 presents and a stocking for each child.

The Grinches amongst us would announce this new rule on Christmas Eve, but for everyone else, the gentle introduction, nay suggestion, that the Holidays are about to be scaled down to fairer family fit size, would do everyone a favour.

Initially, in my home, there was a certain amount of confusion and descent, but during the course of the following year I played the little drummer boy and forced everyone to accept my benign dictatorship. Hence 57 days seems like a reasonable period of time to ease this new mind set on reluctant small people.

Three may seem a somewhat paultry number, but when you take into account the generosity of family, relatives and friends there is more than enough to go around.

Another aspect of this book that I particularly warmed to was the role of the male/partner/father/husband in all the festivities. Broadly speaking it is the womenfolk who rule the roost, determine which traditions are followed and delegate a whole host to dull laborious chores to the man. Otherwise, his contribution is somewhat limited. The writers suggest that if their, paternal or familial traditions were incorporated, this would give the holiday more meaning to them.

Whilst I’m tempted to do a ‘bloggy giveaway’ to pass on my own copy to the lucky winner, I shall restrain myself since I am wicked mean with books. I cannot think of anyone who would welcome a spine split, dog eared, copiously annotated floppy back.

Cheers dears