6. I'm Singing... in My Bed...

An added layer of protection, just in case it decides to rain.

(yes... I'm a horrible mother... there's a sippy cup in his bed).

5. Yay!

This morning, I am in my bedroom, waking up, getting dressed, the usual. My bathroom light is on.

Robert comes in and says, "I wanna turn off."

I'm a little confused. Does he want to turn off the light or the television? He LOVES to turn off the TV.

Not expecting an answer to my "what" question (he only answers to 'yes' or 'no' questions), I asked Robert a fairly complex question, "What do you want to turn off?"

Pause...

I could see he was thinking.

I asked again, "What do you want to turn off honey?"

He looks at me and says, "The light."

YAY!!! YAY!!! YAY!!!

4. Backseat Driver

At his tender age of 4, almost 5, Robert has become a back seat driver.
Yes, you read correctly; a back seat driver.

I am in traffic, stopped at a red light. I hear a small voice behind me, "Mom?"
I turn to Robert, "Yes, honey."
"GO!" he says emphatically.
I laugh, "I can't go, it's a red light."
Clearly that was not a good excuse, "GO! GO!"

I thought I'd see this when he turns about 12 or so.
Nope! Not me!

Robert

3. Progress at ACI

Robert has been having great days at autism school. Nancy, the owner, worked with him on voice volume.
He really responds to her, which is amazing.

It was so great to hear him scream out loud, "My name is Robert.
He was so happy when Nancy, Suzanne, and I approved.

2. Robert's Dx

My husband and I never believed that children should be put on ADHD/ADD medication.

A couple of months ago, Robert was diagnosed with ADHD as well. We decided to finally put him on ADHD medication to see if it might help him.

He has only been on it for a few weeks. We began seeing improvement after a few days, especially in Robert's speech.
He medicine comes in a patch that is worn on his hip for 8 to 9 hours a day. It is called Daytrana; it is Ritalin.

After about three days on the medication Robert would not fall asleep. The medicine made him this way.
I walked into his room, hoping to calm him down.
I was softly talking to him.
He is ignoring me. I usually get a 'yes' or 'no' answer.
Finally, after about 30 seconds, he puts his hand over my mouth and says, "Quiet mouth."
I am stunned because he rarely expresses displeasure with words. Robert usually turns away from us and screams.
I am so happy that I reach for him to rub his back.
He pushes my hand away.
I reach for his hand to kiss it.
He pushes me away.
I reach to kiss his cheek.
He pushes my hand away and stays steadily, "Keep. Your. Hands. To. Yourself."

Yay!

1. Bruisie and Spudnik

Out of twenty-two girls in my family full of cousins, and sisters, I wanted my children to be boys. 

I had anything against girls; nothing at all. I just thought it would be fun to have two boys.

Now that I have them, I am not sure I should have wished for what I wanted and clearly got.

After a bout of rare cancer, following two children, I got “fixed.” No more children for me.

I suppose there is adoption, and surrogates, should I really want another child, but I am pretty sure at thirty-eight years old, my patience has decided to take a vacation and there is a very good chance it is not coming back.

I still find it fascinating when I visit a doctor, even though I tell them the only way I could possibly be pregnant is through Immaculate Conception, they still make me pee in a cup. Doctors, an untrusting bunch.

Perhaps they have a good reason for doing it, but I do not like to have my honesty questioned. But, maybe that’s just me.

Michael (aka Bruisie) and Robert (aka Spudnik) were born thirteen months apart. We wanted them to be as close in age as possible, short of having twins, which I had hoped for.

They were both born with autism.

Michael is higher functioning than Robert.

Robert, at four years old is developmentally delayed and barely speaks. Academically however, he tested at kindergarten level. Please do not ask me how that is possible. I often wonder myself.

Before the boys were born, I began a journal for each.

I wanted to memorialize the things they did, the things they said, and their milestones.

I did not care whether this seemed a little nuts. I have never really felt “normal” anyway.

As they say, I am unique, just like everyone else in the world.

Little by little, we began writing in the journals, hoping that one day they will enjoy reading about their childhood adventures, as much as we enjoyed writing about them.

Anyone who had a story to tell, or observed unconscionable, immature, juvenile, or funny acts of innocent, or not so innocent, accomplishments was welcome to write about them. We have parents, grandparents, and aunts writing in the journals.

Everyone’s perspective is recorded and nothing is made up.

The stories are funny, sad, precious, and silly.

I do not know if the things my children do or say are “normal.” I do not have anyone to compare them to.

As an individual, I have a warped sense of humor. It certainly does not help that I married someone whose sense of humor is even more twisted than mine.

Reading my children’s journals however, I wonder if a sense of humor is genetic.

I certainly hope not, otherwise as a parent, I am in a great deal of trouble.