Interesting Updates

Let's see. I survived my week of solo parenting. I had a meltdown (yes, me, not my three-year-old son or son with autism) Saturday night when Hutton woke up while I was attempting to give him his b12 shot. I'd stayed up too late, and then I really just wanted to go to bed, but had to wait for him to fall asleep. Definite Calgon moment.

Sunday morning, though, I had a breakthrough. I slept late (that's one definite plus to my boys - they actually let me sleep in on weekends, though Hutton will usually come in the room 5 or 6 times to ask what time we're going to have breakfast. Yeah, bad mommy!) and when I got downstairs, Old Fergus had peed on his dog bed. Instead of my normal reaction, cursing and yelling, I started humming an upbeat song as I cleaned up the dog bed, stuffed it in the washing machine (thank you front loader! Best appliance purchase ever!) and wiped pee of the floor. As I hummed, I thought, "I am not going to change the fact that Fergus is old and incontinent by yelling at him. He can't control it, and I slept late, so if I'm going to be mad at anyone, it's myself."

Just thinking that seemed to flip a switch in my head. I realized the obvious, but just saying it to myself made it seem so monumental. I can't control the actions of others, or change things like aging dogs with poor bladder control, or cure autism instantaneously, and my prayers to a god I don't really believe in have not been realized in miracle cures. So, that's life. But, I can control my own attitude. (Well, some of the time.) If I choose to get mad about the life I've been given, that won't change things. It won't make the autism disappear, or make Fergus young again. It will probably just shorten my life, as I swear I feel like my 34-year-old heart it going to give out when I get really angry. (Yes, I'm going to see a doctor and have him check my heart, because I'm paranoid. Well, it's on the list. I have a doctor appointment tomorrow, but it's with Hutton's DAN doctor, so that doesn't really count, I guess!) I've thought before that I should figure out how to control my anger, and learn to walk away, but I usually have to yell a bit first. And feel my heart race.

But Sunday, as I hummed a song that I just made up, I didn't feel my heart race. I didn't feel steam trying to escape from my ears. I just calmly cleaned up the dog pee and got on with life. Calm. No yelling. Not even any angry sighing. What a concept! Who would have thought that I, an adult, could control my own emotions? And, of course, it reminds me of my handy little travel mug my friend Jen gave me: the Don't Worry, Be Happy! cup. I have the perfect thing to hum the next time I end up staying up too late or have to clean up dog pee.


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Monday, the boys had "Tiny Tigers" class, their martial arts class. The first two classes, Hutton was not so good in the paying attention area, and anytime during stretches, his toes would end up in his mouth. The past two classes, however, he's done so well! He pays attention most of the time! He attempts the moves the instructor shows him! Last time he even answered when the instructor called roll! Wow!

Monday night, Hubby returned. Hallelujah! I let him give the boys their bath and put them to bed, after he prepared dinner. Aren't I nice to share like that?
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Tuesday was soccer day for all of us. First up: Lil' Kickers for Harrison. The Soccer Mom (the non-obnoxious one) I mentioned here told me she'd taken her son in for an evaluation at Kindering Center, the local early intervention center. She said they didn't have the results yet. I nodded, and felt nervous. I really don't want to hear her son has autism. It's possible his behavior is from being a normal, exuberant 3-year-old who hasn't learned enough English yet to follow directions. I hope that's the case. We'll see.

Hutton's soccer class was...eh. He was a bit better at listening this time (and he didn't put any cones on his head!) but was still quite spacey, and during the scrimmage at the end of the class, he didn't notice when the other team scored against him, twice, while he was standing in goal. Hmm. Maybe martial arts is more suited to him than team sports are.

My soccer game was short-playered, as usual. We had nine, but one player pulled a muscle soon after the game started, so we were down to our regular 8 on 11. The second half we forfeited in order to get the other team to loan us a player. That's fine -- we lose 3 - 0, but actually get to enjoy the second half. Our team motto is: We play for fun and exercise! It's a good motto to have when you win about one game a season. Of course, the games would be a lot more fun if we actually had a full team, but hey, with only eight players, you get a lot more exercise, as you can't sub out. Then again, I don't sprint as much, since I don't want to waste any precious energy. Eh.

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Wednesday's interesting update: While making dinner, Harrison and I were chatting with Hubby. (Hutton was playing upstairs.) I mentioned that Hutton had a doctor appointment today, and Hubby asked which doctor it was with. I told him our DAN! doc, and he asked if we should go to a neurologist. I just shrugged and said, "I don't think a neurologist has anything new to offer." Hubby then said something that made it all finally click. All the questions as to why he seems to have lost interest in helping with the big autism issues. He said....drum roll....
"I don't think Hutton has autism."

Well really, it went like this. He said first, "Doesn't he need another evaluation? He hasn't had a neurologist evaluate him in over three years."

I said, "Why does he need another evaluation? He still has autism." And that's why Hubby dropped the, "I don't think Hutton has autism," bomb.


Silence.... as I took in what he said. And thought, that explains so much. Then I asked the next big question. "What do you think he has then?"

"I think his problem is asphyxiation at birth. Being born blue."

"So, brain damage is Hutton's problem."

"Yes."

I nodded and thought about this. I think being born blue, with the cord around his neck, didn't do Hutton any favors. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have autism. I think the blue baby thing loaded the gun, and the Hep B shot he got less than 24 hours later, pulled the trigger and started the chain of reactions to follow that would further push him into the world of autism. The colic, the ear infections, the eczema, the food allergies we discovered that made sense of the colic, ear infections and eczema, and then, the big A. Was it the "well baby" checkup we went to, when Hutton had eczema on his face and an ear infection, yet he was still "well" enough to get all of his shots? I don't know. There was not a definite regression. It was just that Hutton did not gain any more words to the few he spoke, and preferred to sign "more" to learning more words.

Interesting. Hutton doesn't have autism, according to Hubby. And none of his teachers, or speech therapists, or ABA therapists have noticed this. Wouldn't people who deal with children with autism as their career notice something? No, sorry Hubby, but Hutton was diagnosed with autism at 2 1/2, and he still has it. Is there a difference in Hubby's mind between autism and say, mental retardation or developmental delays because of brain damage at birth? Does the label mean anything, really? Aren't we still going to try to do everything possible to help Hutton, whether he has brain damage or has autism?

I don't know. I did mention to Hubby if he thinks that Hutton's problems stem from his birth, we should look into HBOT (hyperbaric oxygen therapy). He didn't shake his head, at least. I'll have to see if my friend who has a hyperbaric chamber will let us try it out. You never know.

Off to get ready for the big doctor appointment! Anyone want to place bets on whether Hutton has yeast? 2 to 1 odds. Just kidding.

Uh Oh! It's a Soccer Mom!

Soccer Mom - n. a middle-class or upper middle-class white woman who drives her children to soccer practice in an SUV or minivan.

Hmm. I fit that description, right? Even better, I play soccer myself! I'm a soccer-playing soccer mom! Except I realized I'm not a real soccer mom. I mean, I now drive a station wagon instead of the SUV. And when I came across a real soccer mom, I hoped I didn't appear that way to others.

I came across the titular person the other day at Harrison's soccer practice. We walked in, and lo and behold, there was another boy standing on the field with Coach Mike. Yay! Harrison was excited, as he's been the only child in class this session, and he said he was sad about not having any of his "soccer friends" in class with him. Today there was another boy. This would be a great class!

Or so I thought. I walked over and sat down next to the other child's mother and said hi. I didn't introduce myself, as she had a small, hand-held video camera in hand, and I figured I didn't need to be caught on camera. She would yell out encouraging things to her child every so often. Ah. Cute. Or so I thought.

It wasn't so cute when the boys started doing warm-up drills, consisting of running to the wall and back. Soccer Mom called out encouragingly, "Run, Son of Mine, it's a race! Yay, you won!" I sat silently watching, just thinking, "Hmm. OK, lady. It's not really a race. They're doing warm-up drills." It continued while the boys did some side-skipping. "Go, Son, go! Yay! You won!" I wondered if the woman thought I should be yelling to Harrison, "Hurry up, slowpoke loser! You're LOSING THE RACE! You must win to ensure my love!" No, I didn't, but sitting next to her made me feel obligated to call out encouragement, too, when I would have preferred to sit quietly watching, you know, the THREE-YEAR-OLDS learning about soccer.

I took out my knitting, but was already thinking better of it when the Soccer Mom said, "Geez, I sound obnoxious, don't I?" I smiled politely, and replied, "Oh no! Not at all!" Then I quietly put my knitting back in my bag, stood up and walked over to a couch on the edge of the field where I could watch in peace, on a more comfortable surface, out of earshot of Soccer Mom. I called out encouragements to Harrison once in while about the over-the-head throw-in techniques they were working on, and when he kicked a very nice shot into the corner of the goal, and I didn't yell about Soccer Mom's little pig precious angel when he tried to wrestle with Harrison and was lying on top of him on the field. I mean, Harrison likes to wrestle, too, but he does it with Hutton at home, not during soccer practice. Did I mention my feelings of smug superiority whenever Soccer Mom's Precious Angel picked up and carried the ball and had to be reminded to use his feet, while Harrison dribbled the ball? Yeah, it looks like competitive soccer moms bring out the worst in me. I really, really, really hope that Soccer Mom and Precious Angel were only at practice because it's spring break, and that they won't be returning. We shall see.

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The soccer mom thing is interesting to me, because it reminds me of what I might have become had Hutton not regressed into Autism. If Hutton were neurotypical, would I be videotaping him in soccer practice, yelling out to him to go, to win that race? I really can't say. I mean, I'm not that way with Harrison, but I might have been, had I not realized that life isn't all about making it to the wall fastest in a soccer drill.

I actually signed Hutton up for a spring soccer class, his first foray into sports since his diagnosis. We'll see how it goes when class starts in a few weeks. See, I am a soccer mom!

Catch Up With the Greasy Headed Ho

I had the weirdest dream of the week last night. I was playing soccer on a snowy field with the cast of American Idol. I was pissed at Sanjaya - boy can't do a throw in to save his life! Told him to throw it UP FIELD not back towards our goal. Idiot! Then the team all got distracted and ran off to practice singing or something. I then slid over a snowy ramp and fell into a cold river, and had to go find some clothes to put on, because for some reason, I took my clothes of immediately. I realized I didn't really belong on AI -- I really didn't think there even was a Laura on the show -- and looked in all the rooms of the compound for anything that might reveal where I was staying so I could find something to wear. I saw a room where someone was getting her hair and makeup done, and thought maybe I could ask if there was an outfit I could wear, but since I was naked and all...

I woke up in a cold sweat soon after.
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That dream was on Sunday, but I saved it for "filler material". Weird, since last night I actually played soccer and American Idol was on. Guess those two have a pretty good subconscious half-life. I was late to soccer thanks to afternoon traffic making Hubby late, and further evening traffic making me late. Once I got on the field, it seemed I was in for a clutz fest. I was trying to beat an opposing player to a ball heading out of bounds and we collided, I landed hard on my hip, elbow and hand on the "all weather sand" they still use on half the fields around here, since grass gets trashed really quickly in the wet weather. The "sand" was the consistency of really crumbly concrete, and scraped my elbow skin off. Fortunately my ass was more padded and my hand was OK. And because I took one for the team, the ref even gave us the throw-in. Later, in the second half, I was chasing another opposing player who had the ball near our goal. As the ball went out of bounds, the player threw up her hands in despair and punched me in the eye and nose in the process. Fun. Actually I think I used another "F" word at the time. Hey, there weren't any kids around. Fortunately, my eye only watered for a minute, and I only have the one mark on my elbow from my game yesterday. And I must say, my team played a whole lot better than the American Idol team did in my dream, even though we still lost by one.

True confession time: Last night I peed in the bathtub. It's not as gross as it sounds, really. OK, it is. Well, I was taking a bath, sipping some hot tea and reading a book, and just had to finish the book. The water was growing cold, I'd finished my tea, and I needed to pee, but kept reading. I finally got up to dry off, and realized I wasn't going to make it downstairs to pee. (Our master bath toilet is still broken -- the replacement flapper ball didn't fit, and Hubby turned off the water to the toilet so it wouldn't run constantly.) The water was already draining down the tub, and the sound of it made it unbearable, but it's not like I peed in the water I was lying in. I just happened to "accidentally" pee while I was stepping out of the tub, and there was plenty of water left in the tub to dilute the pee. Plus, I cleaned the tub out afterwards. Sigh. Now I've become a gross person who sees any drain as a potential pee disposal area. I promise it won't happen again! I'm going to pee before I get in the tub next time, no have a big cup of tea while bathing, etc. I'll just blame it on the fact that Hubby hasn't fixed the toilet. Yep, anything involving plumbing falls under his domain. I can unstop a toilet or unclog a sink as well as the feisty housewife, but I don't do the big fixes.

Oh, and my title. Obviously a reference to the big Don Imus debacle, but also to the fact that I haven't washed my hair today, and now I'm already dressed and don't want to go back and take another shower so I can wash it. (I was in a rush to get dressed to take Hutton to the bus.) So, overall, this post is not presenting me in too flattering a light, is it? Oh well, I'm just being honest with my "audience."