My Quirky Boy

*sigh*

The adjustment window is in full tilt. On the first day when asked to tell us one thing about his day he said:

“Miss M wore a new purple shirt, but the same shoes as last year”.

When was asked for him to tell us one other thing he said,

“A boy in the bus line threw up, he had Thomas the Train sneakers on”.

I am beginning to think Fin looks at the ground a lot, or has a shoe fetish. Neither is good, but I hope it is the former. He continues to tell us daily he hates school, asks every day why he has to go. I tried the old fashion argument, explaining school is like his job, Mumma and Dodah go to work and Fin goes to school. The response,

“I’m FOUR, I am not SUPPOSED to WORK!”

How exactly do you argue with that? This is all in the same week where his new favorite words are “absurd”. and “refreshing”. As in, “Mama, I am hot and I want you to get me a refreshing drink. A cold drink, with ice in it.” I of course respond, “Yessss, Master”. (kidding).

The tantrums that disappeared with the summer have returned with a vengeance. With hubbys current job he is facing a 2 hours commute each way. The aftermath of retaining all the garbage inside from his day is released full force on me alone. He had a gigantic melt down while pooping on the potty, I had no idea that was even possible. He could not get up, so there he sat, screaming, and writhing because I was freeing his sister from the highchair. He does remind me though that it is so easy to cave, to just let him move forward with the rituals, especially these days with the exhaustion level we are all experiencing. For example, I never realized before this week but it is a total ritual for him to go up the stairs first and reach the top first when we go up to go to bed. He was screaming at me one night this week as he was picking up his toys and I headed towards the stairs with Baby G. He was screaming at me, “DON’T GO UPSTAIRS! DON’T, DON’T! WAIT FOR ME!” I wait at the bottom, assuring him I was, as his anxiety about it is escalating very quickly. When he gets to the bottom he is near panicked, crying, carrying on that he HAS to be FIRST! I tell him, not today, and oh my goodness, the fury comes flying out. He is trying to claw away from me, screaming over and over, ” I HAVE TO BE FIRST!” I hold his arm, tell Baby G to go, and he tries to push, kick, hit me in his frantic efforts to get to the stairs, and to make it to the top first. Oh boy. He got over it, but it made me remember how some simple, subtle things become rituals for him that run his life.

His building is becoming more, and more intricate, controlled, and beautiful. How many autistic architects are there out there?