If there’s one thing that gets me about living in a house with three boys, it’s that I seem to be the only male capable of actually placing bathroom tissues on a holder. I suppose I should be thankful that the boys actually get a new roll when the old one runs out, but it’s maddening to have to search the bathroom for the new one when the time arises.

I mean seriously, they’ll put the bloody thing anywhere. On top of the toilet tank, on the vanity, on the shelf near the lavatory, on the clothes hamper or even (shudder) on the floor next to the facilities. (If you don’t know why that’s enough to make a full grown man shudder, you’ve never cleaned a restroom used primarily by pre-teen boys.)

And while they are good enough to get a new roll when needed, they aren’t always as good about making sure that the used-up tube finds its way into the trash.  These formerly useful cardboard tubes can be found strewed across the floor, in the bathtub or (even more violens shudders) being used as a “helosope” or as a horn for our four year old son. (Ack! I don’t know where that thing has been. Get it away from your MOUTH!!!)

There are days when I wish a demonstration like the following would work:

But then, they are boys and Pre-teens. so I doubt that that demonstration would stick with them for long.  Their minds are in other places, like plans to burn down my kitchen roasting marshmallows over an open gas flame or bungee jumping from the second story window into a mud puddle.

Such is life.

Peace. I’m out.

Summer is winding down. The kids go back to school next week. The lazy days and late morning wake ups are over. While I look forward to the impending peaceful mid-mornings, I dread these final few hectic days.

Now comes the imminent meltdowns in clothing outlets. The absolute need to have the most expensive pair of shoes that humans have ever produced. Now comes the arguments over whether a teenage boy really does need a pair of jeans three sizes too small… In purple. Or whether or not it’s acceptable to send a 10 year-old to school in that pink shirt he’s holding.

It’s last minute runs for pencils, pens, paper… And wouldn’t you know it; that new backpack we just bought is already broken, so add a trip to replace it while we’re at it.  All while making sure shot records are up to date, contact information is current and registration meetings are made on time, all in four days, because for some reason we weren’t ready.  For some reason we’re never ready.

I know what the reason is.  It’s my kids.  I can’t buy them shoes before the very last second or they will beg, plead, steal, extort or whatever else it takes to get those brand new shoes on. Then they destroy them.  New pants? Nope. Even if I hide them I have the paranoid fear that they will dig them out and put holes in them before the first day of school. They’re boys, that’s what they do.

So with school just a few days away my wife and I embark on what I have come to call the Bat-Shit Crazy last days of summer.  We’ll avoid the mall, certainly. there are thousands of other last-minute shoppers out there. The mall will be chaos. We’ll stick with a large chain store about 20 miles away, as it should be a lot less busy.

Of course we’ve got to add in a company picnic right in the middle of the whole damned show.

I can’t wait for Tuesday!

Peace. I’m out.

Stop.  It’s a simple word with a simple meaning.  Most four year-old children can identify a stop sign.  Most can spell stop. (Or at least all of my kids could by the middle of their fourth year. This may be advanced or delayed, but it is my experience.)  I don’t know of many who find pleasure in writing the word.

Lil’ B, who we were told might never speak or learn to use a fork or spoon properly. (He can, and he does.)  Has discovered writing.

The thing is, nobody has ever taught him how to write.

I haven’t.  I’m sure his preschool hasn’t.  Mom is in Turkey finishing out the last of a 15 turned 16 month tour of duty in the Air Force.  He is usually not allowed pens, markers, pencils or crayons because I can’t afford to paint that often. But he’s learned to write the word stop.

(I just found out that my sister has worked with him on a few letters, but that’s as far as his learning goes.)

Imagine if you will, my surprise when my son stopped riding his bike on the patio yesterday and exclaimed “Oh no!  Where’s stop?”  Then proceeded to make his own stop sign, so he would know where to stop and turn.

Actually, you don’t have to imagine, I got it on video:

Good job little guy.  We’re proud of you.

Peace.  I’m out

These words were spoken in class last week by my oldest son when asked to write a report on a disease such as cancer, Parkinson’s, or autism.  He stood and firmly informed his teacher that autism is a disorder not a disease, and that his little brother is not diseased, he’s just different.

Insert proud parent moment here.

As a result, his teacher told him that autism is, in fact a disease.  My son continued to argue the point and is now writing a paper, not on a disease, but a disorder.

Works for me.

Unfortunately I see a lot of people who refer to autism as a disease.  It is not. Autism can’t be transmitted.  It cannot be “caught”.  Autism is not contracted due to any known environmental or biological agent.  It is not a disease, it’s a disorder.

Autism is classified by the national Institute of Mental health as:

Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD), also known as Pervasive Developmental Disorders (PDDs), cause severe and pervasive impairment in thinking, feeling, language, and the ability to relate to others. These disorders are usually first diagnosed in early childhood and range from a severe form, called autistic disorder, through pervasive development disorder not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS), to a much milder form, Asperger syndrome. They also include two rare disorders, Rett syndrome and childhood disintegrative disorder.

Notice that the word disease is not used. Problem solved, yes?

Unfortunately, no.  A lot of otherwise educated people want autism to be a disease.  a disease can be fought and cured.  A disorder has a much slower path, requiring therapies, sessions, and time.  Lots and lots of time.

But if you ask me, the kid below is worth all of that time.

His brother thinks so, too.  And that makes his Stepmother and I incredibly proud of him.  now if I can just get him to study harder…

Ah, well.  One battle at a time.

Peace, I’m out

It’s been a heck of a few weeks.  School shopping, getting back into the school routine and getting up early have all taken their toll on the family, as has homework, reading assignments and other assorted school time stresses.

On top of this, Lil’ B. was sent home from school on the first day of his second week with pain in his ear that turned out to be a massive ear infection.  He never complains about pain in his ear.  I had no idea that he was suffering.

So to the ER we went, got medicine and discovered he absolutely despises it.  so much so that he’ll walk around the house with it in his mouth for hours rather than swallow it.  Needless to say it’s been an interesting week for me.  Luckily he’ll be done with the medicine in a few days.

Then of course my laptop failed, so I’ve been working on that… (now that the parts have arrived.)  It’s been a while since I’ve had to do tech work.  I really was pretty out of practice with the whole thing, but it is now installing happily in the other room.

The real frustrations are coming from the military.  We are having serious difficulty getting everything we need in order.  It has come to needing legal representation so that my two older sons can move with us to Alaska.  If we can’t get it done, it will be many more months before I can see my wife.

It boils down to money in this case.  Luckily, we have it, but it is going to be very tight for a while around here.

I’m not complaining, really. (OK, a little, but I’m really not whining.)  I just want all of this behind us and to have my family back together, have a four year old who feels better and perhaps a morning to sleep in.

Yeah, that would be nice.

Peace.  I’m out.

My kids are in terror.  They are two weeks from starting school.  They are living every moment they have left of summer to its fullest.  Staying up late, begging to go enjoy the last of the local summertime activities, dreading the school-time schedule that starts next Monday.

(What?  You mean we have to go to bed by 10!)

I, on the other hand, am ecstatic.  for me school spells a tiny portion of my day that is nothing but peace.  A time when the house is quiet, thoughts come easily and distractions are limited to the ones that I create for myself.

Lil’ B. is blissfully unaware that school is pending, but he, like I, will enjoy that he is going back.  He loves school.  He loves learning, and this year he’s going to a mainstream school, so he should have a much better time with the other kids in class.

For me this means that the chaos of summer will be replaced by some semblance of order.  That I will have time to decompress a little.  That work will not be constantly sidelined by someone else’s needs, no matter how pressing.

In short, it means I get to go back to being myself for a few hours a day.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love, adore and cherish my kids.  Unfortunately, since Mom is over 7,000 miles away, I have very little time to hide away and just be… Well…

Me.

I’m Dad.  I am the defender of puppies and slayer of bugs.  Cleaner of dishes, toilets, sinks and countertops. disciplinarian and buyer of new, cool stuff.  But I never just get to be jerry in the summertime.  I’m Dad.  Full time, 100% of the time.

Until school starts again.

And thank all that is good and pure in the world that the date is upon us very soon.  I need to find “me” again.

Peace.  I’m out.

In my mind all my kids are created equally.  They are given the same amount of love, devotion and caring.  I spend time with them as often as possible, have sat countless hours dealing with nightmares, scrapes, broken bones, bruises and emotional pain.  None is above any other in the eyes of our family. Unfortunately in a house with three kids someone has to be the middle child and the kid in the middle doesn’t usually see things that way.

Meet Lil’ D.  He is the middle child in a home with a pre-teen and an autistic little brother.  I’s hard enough to be the middle child in any family, but add a small child with special needs to the mix and he issues become a little more pronounced.

Middle Child Syndrome

Middle child syndrome can be subtle or pronounced.  In lil’ D’s case, it’s something in between extremes.  The definition of middle child syndrome is as follows:

The effects of middle child syndrome are numerous. The child may feel as if he or she does not belong, given all the attention given to the oldest and youngest. The middle child may also feel as if he or she is loved less, have low self esteem and suffer from a lack of a sense of direction. However, these symptoms are not limited only to childhood. They can linger in a person throughout their entire adult lives as well, making middle child syndromesymptoms serious, lifelong conditions.

The good news is that middle child syndrome can be easily identified and is not physical in nature and very treatable, especially if noted early. Therefore, just a change in the parents’ attitudes often will go a long way toward alleviating the situation. Parents should always be mindful that the middle born child often receives the least amount of attention. This is not to say the parents are bad. This is simply a natural reaction and often done subconsciously.

It is always up to the parents to make sure every child feels loved and appreciated. This is especially true when trying to avoid the effects of the middle child syndrome. Each child is unique and special. While it may be very possible to overlook some children, a concerted effort should be made to include all children in activities, as well as give each their own amount of individual attention.

From WiseGeek.com

The definition above fits my son very well.  It’s an unfortunate situation, especially since he came into being a big brother three years after the fact.  It’s something we’re working on from our end.

Lil’ D. does not make friends easily.  This issue is compounded by the fact that most of the kids on our block are either considerably older or considerably younger than he is.  This leads to a great deal of hard feelings on his part.  This makes the issue even worse at school, where he has come to expect that his friends will abandon him.

His older brother doesn’t help the issue.  he has an absolutely normal 11 to 9 year old relationship with Lil’ D.  That is to say, he really doesn’t want him around unless there’s no one else to be around.

The unfortunate reality

The unfortunate reality of Lil’ D’s relationship with his little brother is that because he’s autistic he does get special treatment.  This isn’t because we care for him more, it’s because his needs are different, but when you’re 9 years old and used to being the baby of the family, this can be difficult to accept.

I have been doing my best to make sure he understands that life at most times is not fair.  That others will sometimes have what you don’t.  That big brothers are usually not nice. (Though Lil’ E tends to take the not nice part to extremes in the case of his middle brother, just as he does with his little brother.)

Both my wife and I work very hard to assure him that he is just as important as his other brothers and that they both have things that they very much want (text phone, “M” rated video games, ice cream, cookies!) that they don’t have.

We try to teach him that the perks that his big brother gets will come in time for him as well, and that Lil’ B will have to wait even longer, if he is ever capable of doing those things at all.  The 9 year old in him still has a hard time grasping this.

Perseverance is key

Finding my middle child a place in which he is comfortable with himself is not a battle I can win today.  It may not be a battle that I win this year.  It is a battle that I will not stop fighting, win or lose.  There is no giving up.

As parents there can be no ignoring the issue or writing the problem off as “something he’ll grow out of.”  We have to help him find comfort in himself and with himself.  These things make a strong person later in life and they need to be learned early.

Do you know of anyone that has these issues?  Were you the middle child?  Any experiences that you can share would help us transition this great little kid into a happier and more well-adjusted person.

Peace.  I’m out

This is Lil’ E.  To most people he’s an average 11 year old.  He plays video games, stays up too late and occasionally talks back.  He has an attitude problem as big as his personality and a smile that can almost make you forget about it.

More often than not he is self centered, more than a little into himself, somewhat greedy and a little image-challenged.  He is a walking contradiction, as are most pre-teens.  He is both an angel and a devil, sometimes within a five minute span.  He is moody, angry, challenged and challenging.

Despite all of these things, he is also the worlds best big brother for a certain three year old boy.  He is caring.  He is there to soothe owwies, to get his brother drinks, to give piggy-back rides, to patiently count the same four number cards for hours.

He is there to defend his little brother from any slight.  He tolerates no person treating his brother any differently from any other child.  He acts as interpreter when necessary.  He sneaks lollypops and chocolates for little hands that cannot reach them and shares sodas without being prompted.

He is hero, champion, knight and fool, all depending on what his brother needs him to be.  Lil’ E. didn’t have to be any of these things.  This is his half-brother we’re talking about.  He could have chosen to despise or distain.  Instead he nurtures and protects.

As an example.  For once this summer he woke up very early this morning.  Woke me a half-hour early, thinking we were running late.  He then woke his brother, gave him a bath and got him ready for school, then watched preschool T.V. with him until the bus arrived.

All without being asked.

To say he’s perfect would be a complete lie, both to myself and the world.  To say that he is the perfect big brother for one small child is nothing less than the absolute truth.  Lil’ B. idolizes his brother and I think he might just be lost without him.

I’m very proud of his shining moments, and there are many.  They make the difficulties of dealing with a spirited youth who just happens to be just as pig-headed and immoveable as his father far more bearable.

Now, if he’d just treat his other younger brother this well…

Well, I can dream, can’t I?

Until later.

Peace.  I’m out.

When most people find out that our son is Autistic they respond in a fairly positive manner. At times this is a difficult thing to do, since it doesn’t usually become apparent that he is autistic unless he’s having a particularly bad moment, but people manage to be kind.  Most tell me that he’s lucky for having such a supportive family or that we’re lucky to have caught it so early.

For the most part I’m told how brilliant he probably is (true), or that he’s well adjusted (mostly true). They accept that this moment of behavior is not the norm and that he’s just overstimulated.  Most people are great.

Then there are the others. The people who challenge my ability to be kind myself.  Those annoying self-righteous and inane people who get a look of shocked awe and say point blank:

“Oh, that must be so hard for you!”

I know that they probably don’t mean to be demeaning or to make me angry.  I’m sure that they didn’t mean to turn my son into an object, an anchor, a ball and chain that I am forced to carry with me through the world. I’m fairly sure that in their minds none of these thoughts even occur. But that’s what they’ve just done and nothing you can say or do can take back the pain it causes me or the rage it instills in me.

I get angry mostly for myself at the moment.  lil’ B. doesn’t understand that he’s been insulted or slighted.  Someday he will and I worry that I’ll be able to hold on to my carefully polished Ken-doll plastic smile at that point. It’s pretty hard to do now.

My son is not a burden that I bear in life.  He is an intelligent, sweet, loving, caring and spirited three year old who also just happens to be on the Autistic spectrum. He loves dogs, is not fond of cats, has a love affair with chicken nuggets and oranges and happily sings children’s songs until far too late in the evening.

He is a joy to have around for most of the time.  When he smiles the world smiles with him.  his laugh is magical and makes even the grumpiest people I’ve met chuckle.  He is as innocent as any three year old can be and more intelligent that many 10 year olds.  He just can’t talk very well.

My son is not an anchor.  He does not hold me down or hold me back.  He loves to travel and explore.  He is happy in a car and will happily ride for hours. No, I can’t take him to see a movie, but then you can’t take most three year olds to a theatre and expect them to sit still. It’s more fun to rent them and watch at home with popcorn anyway, that way WE don’t have to be quiet!

My son is not a ball and chain.  Neither is my wife or our other children.  We are a family.  We have a few difficulties, just like any other, but we’re happy when we’re together and secure when we’re apart.  We’re there when any of us need support, a shoulder of a hug.  We live by example and we smile and laugh a lot, even when things aren’t as easy as they could be.

The only way my son could be a burden to me would be if I thought of him as one.  Perhaps that’s the way these people would feel if they had an autistic child, but we do not.  Our son does not challenge my life.  He opens my eyes to things I never would have seen had I not met him.  He helps me to see the greatness in very small things and to understand that whatever challenges we face, we can face them together and come out ahead.

So, to all of you who feel that my life is somehow not as good as it was the day before I knew my son was autistic… Maybe you didn’t get the memo, but it isn’t. If anything it’s a far more wondrous place today than it was then. And I’m pretty sure tomorrow will be even better.

Lil’ B. is an escape artist.  He has, in his very short life, escaped cribs, playpens, car seats and homes.  He has mastered child-proof devices, can easily thwart deadbolts (from the inside) and can open the windows, though he hasn’t yet figured out that the screens come off.

He is also a runner.  He thinks nothing of taking his small three-year old self and walking a mile down the street with no supervision. He has no concept that what he is doing is dangerous, nor does he think it’s a bad thing to do. (No matter how many times we tell him that it is.)

Last week he managed to escape the house with no one noticing.  I was in the living room and heard nothing.  His brothers heard nothing.  W found him a mile down the road with a very nice grandmotherly type and her children, all of whom were very concerned (as was I), and trying to get him to show them where his house was.

Of course, as these were strangers, he wasn’t talking.  He rarely talks to strangers.  Even if he had, I don’t know that they would have understood him.  He is talking, but it’s still at the level of a two year old or less, and much of what he says is only understood by immediate family and close friends.

I have finally resorted to lock sat the top of all my doors.  I’ve also disconnected the inside switch for the garage door, since he’s figured out that he can get out that way, too.  The house is on full lockdown at any time that someone is not directly in contact with Lil’ B., because he can, and will, defeat even these measures someday.

We’re moving to Alaska, where running off could quite literally get him killed.  If anyone has dealt with and overcome this need to run that seems to be very common in autistic children, I’d love to know what you did.  I could use the help with this one