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Posts Tagged ‘tantrum’

“They say Jonah was swallowed by a whale
But I say there’s no truth to that tale
I know Jonah
Was swallowed by a song…”

~ Jonah by Paul Simon

Jonah has a broken finger incurred sometime during this morning’s tantrum/attack/aggression, on the bus that takes the kids up to the school building.  They took him to the hospital, x-rayed his hand, splinted his finger, brought him back to the house.  Not an enormous deal but one that caused me some concern.

His regular nurse was so kind when she called to tell me.  “Jonah is fine,” they always start out by saying.  Sometimes he isn’t – not really, but at schools like this everything is relative.  And he is fine.  He is safe and he is fixed up and it is over.

But I asked her to please contact Andy first next time.  Andy lives 5 minutes away.  I live an hour and a half a way.  I have a full time job, and I can’t be at my desk crying, like I nearly always end up doing.   I’m a crybaby, they need to understand, “strong mother” or no, and you can’t make me lose it at work because then nobody wins.  I need my job.  Let Andy call me at 5:30 when I get home from work and then tell me what happened, unless it’s an “he’s not okay” emergency.  Andy’s willing to do this and we’re going to try this new “leave mom out of the loop for a few hours” plan.

I’m tired of the merry go round.  I want off.  After a while it makes you sick to your stomach.  Your horse or your ostrich or your donkey goes up and it goes down, over and over, while the merry go round itself circles round and round, all with the bad-stereo strains of carousel music playing too loud and endlessly, no way off, no one to stop it all.

I just don’t have the fortitude.

for·ti·tude

[fawr-ti-tood, -tyood] Show IPA

noun

mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously: Never once did her fortitude waver during that long illness.
They ain’t talking about me, folks.
Ah, but wouldn’t you rather see some new pictures instead?

Our dog Jack has the United States of America on his nose.  Look closely.

Jonah loving Guardian Gus

Beautiful rosebushes

Thus ends a long Thursday.  Across the miles I am holding my son in my arms, so close, smelling his hair, breathing him in, and he is calm, and we have snuggle time, and we are both swallowed by a song…a lullaby…

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It’s just 9:30am and Jonah’s already on a long stretch of quiet time, earned by throwing a heavy laptop toy (and his juice) at me as we were getting in the car to go see train.  And yesterday he launched himself, kicking and scratching, at our awesome babysitter; luckily she had been taught a “hold” to keep them both safe.  Andy knows these holds too, having worked for more than a decade as a teacher at a small school for emotionally disturbed kids.  I don’t know the holds and need to learn them.

It is Monday, the first day of my week-long vacation from work; tomorrow morning we leave for Cape Cod, back on Friday.  I am frightened and tired and numb – oh myand feeling like the only good thing is Jonah’s in his room safely and I can write a little bit to ease myself out of this state of mind where nothing about this feels like vacation.

But I don’t want to talk about these things – not here, not today.  I believe what you focus on expands and so I will focus on something else; I will tell you about Jonah’s adventures yesterday, pre-flip-out-on-the-babysitter.

He asked for Russro Park, which has trails and woods behind it.  I knew he wanted to run into the woods and toward a big mound of dirt where he likes to play.  Andy and I both took him, which is kind of rare – usually only one of us takes him out, so the other one can have a break.  As I predicted, Jonah wanted the forest.  While he played on and around his dirt mound, Andy and I fashioned spears from small branches and played javelin-throw into a sandy area.  We goofed off, Andy channeling Thundarr the Barbarian, shaking two branch-spears and grunting cave-man style.  Me teach you, woman, how to kill bear. My wussily-thrown spears clunked horizontally to the ground, killing only my ego and maybe an ant or two.

Jonah, in the meantime, had discovered a small embankment where he could slide down the dirt to a level of forest maybe 5 feet lower.  This dirt-slide became his own personal woodland playground for the next half hour or so.  He tossed great handfuls of sappy pine cones and moss-covered sticks about, laughing the whole time.  He rolled in the dirt; bathed in the dirt; became one with the dirt – until he was completely layered in it, brown flour coating the baking-sheet of his body.  “Okay, boo, 5 minutes!” I called over to him.

“More stay here!”  he shouted back, panic in his voice.  Andy shrugged.  We stayed a while longer.  Jonah came over to where I was playing with sticks and stones in the dirt and asked for my bottle of water, which I let him take to his play-spot.  Minutes later I realized my mistake.  He’d taken the top off and poured the water over himself and the ground, making a big, fat, muddy mess of himself.  Now it was really time to leave…do not pass go…directly to the bathtub.  “More stay here!” he protested again…but even he must have known it was time to get cleaned up, for he capitulated nicely and we returned home for a marathon bath session.

When he was dry he came to me, asking “camwa?  camwa?”  I thought he wanted to see this train video I’d taken – so I set it up, started the video, and handed the camera to him.  But he handed it back to me and said “say cheese!”  Maybe he wants to take a picture or two.

I grossly underestimated his interest.  He took probably 200 pictures, in rapid succession, giggling “say cheese!” to me, to the dresser, to the mirror, to the bed, to the ceiling.  Here are my favorites:

Jonah took this picture himself

Jonah's new hobby

So maybe his new thing is photography.  I’ll be damned if I’ll let him break my camera, though, so I’ll set him up with the Fisher-Price digital camera my mom gave him a year or two ago.

I am continually frustrated by my inability to photograph anything with success, but I like taking pictures too.   If you really want to see some kick-ass photography, just check out my cousin’s photo blog.  (She’s got some pics of Jonah there too).

So maybe we’ll have lots of beach pictures taken by Jonah when I post next, probably on Friday.  And maybe I’ll have good news to report – maybe we had fun, maybe the weather was perfect, maybe the beaches were open for business — and maybe Jonah got through it all without attacking anybody or screaming penis! to the sunbathing beauties and leather-tanned fishermen and screeching seagulls.

Maybe.

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a decade later

Today Andy and I have been married ten years.  We ate our annual delicious dinner at Lombardo’s when the respite sitter came.

But Jonah was awful, and it eclipsed everything.

He had an appointment at the eye doctor, and Andy and Jonah waited for 50 minutes before they were able to see her.  Shit, kids with autism can’t even wait for amusement park rides, let alone doctor appointments.  Why do they have those “move to the front of the line” passes for kids with autism at Disneyworld, but not at the doctor’s?   Jonah flopped on the floor and rolled back and forth.  He whined and he kicked.  He was loud.  People in the waiting room stared.   It was embarrassingly frustrating, and when the doctor finally examined him, it was hard for her to get a good look in his eye because he kept turning and twisting and crying.  There is too much pressure in his eye, she said, so she wants to see him again in a month.

Next week Andy is taking him to the hospital where he’ll be given anesthesia, simply to get his teeth cleaned and to fill a cavity.  Pretty soon they’ll have to put him to sleep just to look at his damn eye.

When Andy got him home, Jonah was still whiny and upset.  He does this thing lately when he is “emo” (emotional), where he wraps his arms around you in the tightest possible hug and smushes his face into yours, hard.   So Andy tried to just pry him off gently, but Jonah suddenly launched into an all-out tantrum and attacked, scratching him and screaming.  He snatched at Andy’s glasses, popping the lens out and twisting the frame, then, for an encore, he threw them across the room.   They’re broken now.  Andy fished out an old pair and, even though the respite sitter arrived, banished Jonah to his room until we returned home from dinner.

Needless to say, we did not linger, and there was no dessert.

Happy anniversary.

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