Whitterer on Autism

In England I find that the establishments we frequent do no provide napkins without some positive request on behalf of the patron. I feel exceptionally grumpy as my brain has been turned to mush by the latest mantras:- “Roger! Over and out!” with accompanying hand gestures and microphone voice, interspersed with “intruder alert! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” in perfect Dalek, every time someone comes too close.

I know I shall be a complete basket case by the end of the day or deaf.

We sit in the café by the beach in the rain, a picture of misery, although that's probably just me.

The first time my exceptionally clean son helps himself to a wad of paper, I lecture him on recycling, deforestation and scarce resources. “Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

As usual, no-one is listening. “Roger! Over and out!”

I stomp back to the counter in a huff to return them to the dispenser.

Back at our table I find my older son, the filthy one, wiping his mouth on his T-shirt with a fully exposed tummy. I immediately spout on the subject of unnecessary laundry, water and detergent usage with thinly disguised grumpiness. I plod back to the counter for one more leaf of napkin.

When I return the little one grins at me, “intruder alert! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” I expect a sense of humour failure very shortly, but I cannot see his brother, with his face hidden by a bowl as he licks the platter clean to the wrathful glances of other guests. I show him my best pouty expression with hands on hips for extra emphasis when he volunteers, “save trees use tongue!”

I shall resolve to try harder to avoid typecasting my children.

“Roger! Over and out!”

p.s. to newbies – it is important to note the following [ a few years ago]

a] I would not have been able to help anyone to go to the cafe in the first place

b] no food would have been acceptable

c] no conversation of any kind would have ensued [reciprocal exchange]

d] everyone, including me, would be unhappy about this ‘choice.’

e] no-one would have eaten anything

f] we would have been asked [politely] to leave

g] I could not have left them ‘alone’ at the table for a nano second

conclusion – things change in ways that you may never have anticipated

p.p.s jus luv em [feel free to admire my American accent!]

Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted that he feels able to express his viewpoint verbally. I'd just prefer it if he could be a little more circumspect, especially whilst we happen to be in England.  I'm sympathetic to many of his complaints, that the milkshakes are too small and that weather is too big, but loud mouthed Americans are just to much of a cliché, even for him.

Handy travel hint of the day – to ensure that your suitcases are fresh for next year, tuck a tumble drier sheet inside before storage.  Take care to assess whether or not tumble drier sheets should be eliminated from your life style, along with the tumble drier to reduce your carbon footprint on the planet.  Should you suffer the misfortune of someone vomiting in your suitcase, admit defeat and chuck away the suitcase, carbon footprint be damned. Be grateful that your brain torture has ceased and that the mysterious stench is no longer mysterious.  Don't forget to thank the thoughtful child that shut the suitcase after use.

Normal service shall be resumed as soon as humanly possible.

It's the same exchange that parents have all over the world, when it's dark and the kids are asleep.

Ours takes place in the wee small hours of the night, morning really, when he comes home from work. Together, we put the nocturnal child back into his bed, again, tuck him in and put the door to, ajar.

“Well at least he's really cheerful.”
“I'm glad someone is.”
“So how did it go?”
“He pulled down the shower curtain. I nearly brained myself trying to get it back up on the wall.”
“You should have left it. It helps if you're taller.”
“Couldn't. He was trampling all over it to get to the top shelf.”
“Ah the soap collection.”
“Indeed. He's going to break his neck clambouring up that wall. He uses the soap dish as a foot hold.”
“Well that's a positive thing.”
“Is it? Which bit? The climbing or the collection.”
“Er…..well…..both. I admit I wouldn't have expected a soap fetish from the filthiest child on the planet but that's all to the good surely?”
“I'll remind you of that the next time you want to wash your hands.”
“Hmm……..maybe it's a cunning plan to foil the hand washing campaign?”
“?”
“Well……..?”
“He's not that devious.”
“Are you sure? I certainly wouldn't bank on it.”
“So…..if he's graduated to 'devious' do we chastise or celebrate?”
“Passed with flying colours!”

One of my favourite childhood 'in the car games,' for long journeys from my own childhood of course, not my own children's. As I stand at the check out at Target, I stock up on essential supplies for the forthcoming holiday. I have a smug and self satisfied expression at my collection of purchases.

I have enough Play dough for several days because now I am the proud 'owner' of a seven and a half year old and a six year old who no longer consider playdough to be the substance from hell. They can touch it, they can squish it, tolerate the stench of it's perfume, permit their bodies and clothing to be contaminated by it. Ah yes, life is good.

A very smart woman behind me, [translation = nattily attired] surveys the conveyor belt and smiles at me in a friendly manner. The huge carton of pull-ups, 65 – 125 lbs catches her eye. Bit of a give away.

I have enough mouth wash to kill every bacterium from here to San Francisco and back again. Enough 'Ensure' to ensure that I will be able to refuel at high speed.

Otherwise I have three of everything. It is always a mistake to try and match gifts to the personality and preferences of an individual child. The net result is always the same, everyone likes one particular item and no-one likes the other two. If you wish to commence warring factions in the confines of your own home then this is the best place to start. Having said that, although each item is identical to it's fellow, due to the joys of mass production, someone will determine an identifying feature, flaw or anomaly, that will ensure that each is distinguishable, preferred or disowned.

I now have enough cleaning materials to make sure that the house remains sterile. This in turn will enable me to continue the on-going food campaign. In most households, food that falls to the floor is discarded as unsanitary and contaminated. In this household, that rule is reversed, because small intelligent people learn fast. Their solution to any food campaign is to deposit my nutritional choices on the ground. Parents need to acquire nerves of steel, so as to be able to endure the sight of their children licking the floorboards. This is not a job for the faint hearted.

My eye drifts over the contents of the trolly behind me. [translation = cart] I am a dry, old stick of a woman. I refuse to permit myself to make any disparaging assumptions, cast any aspersions or otherwise make judgments about her catering pack of multicoloured, flavoured conhttp://www2.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifdoms. I have it on good authority that they serve a wide variety of purposes. I determine to remain “open minded,” it would be dreadful if my

So come along now. Humour me for a moment. How many times do you change your clothes in any 24 hour period? Yes, I know that there might be a few variables in there. Depends upon which day you're talking about because Wednesday is gym day. [translation = attend 'work –out' place] On Thursdays you go to see a film. On Friday you might meet a few pals in the evening. Perhaps, if it's Winter, you forget your umbrella. You might experience a downpour. Life is full of little unexpecteds, as well as plans, that mean a change of clothes may be needed.

Laundry occupies more of my life than I anticipated. It’s hard not to notice, as it’s stacked in heaps all over the house. I have a tendency to complain about this job a good deal. I am very good at it, complaining that is, not laundry. When it comes to moaning, I have a head start on my contemporaries, because Brits are of a pessimistic nature. Where your American glass is half full, ours is definitely half empty. Indeed somebody probably stole the contents. Furthermore, when we find out who that somebody was, we'll remove their outer clothing, put itching powder in their underwear, and tie them to a lamppost. I suspect this kind of behaviour hasn't spread to America, due to a shortage of lampposts, as itching powder is freely available. I've checked. When it comes to prioritizing appropriate punishments, then public humiliation comes pretty high on the list. But I digress.

One average family can produce quite a lot of laundry. If you ignore the matter of wet beds, mop up towels, bath towels and the big stuff, you’re still left with considerable quantities of clothing. This is especially so, in Winter where more clothes are worn. Not only more clothes but they bigger ones, ones with a greater surface area due to long sleeves and legs. Socks become a necessity rather than an optional extra. Outer wear, in the form of jackets, coats, gloves and hats, also feature. All these items become dirty.

If they remained on people's bodies for longer than a nano second, it is just conceivable that they might become dirty on the inside. Fortunately for us, such an occurrence is rare. Instead they become dirty on the outside, often.

This is not because they are particularly naughty, they are only averagely naughty. Indeed it is quite often when they are trying especially hard to be 'good,' that they make the most dirt. We have reached the stage of development where occasionally, if I'm very lucky, someone might be persuaded to 'help.' Helping is a messy business, mainly due to the inefficiency of physically moving parts of the body, such as arms, legs and hands. On the whole these body parts refuse to act in concert, instead they prefer to work independently from one another, causing no end of chaos, angst and dirt.

Since teaching 'competence,' is also an ongoing campaign, the net result is of course, more laundry. This household is an ecological disaster area. If the environmentalists ever discover how much water and soap we use, we're likely to be deported to some remote island. There again, a remote island might not be too fussy about nudity. I could kill two birds with one cake of soap. Pass me a map somebody.