Missed Milestone

Last Saturday the country went to the polls, for all the good it’s done. I went and did my democratic duty at the local community centre; since my hero was at work I had to take boy genius with me. As we waited in a queue that I’m sure could’ve been seen from space, we were approached by the usual suspects handing out ‘how to vote’ cards. Each and every one of them attempted to give one to boy genius and that simple act made me a little sad.
Boy genius turned 18 earlier this year. He’s now old enough to vote. And he never will. Even though voting is compulsory here.
At least he got to vicariously enjoy his first non-voting experience. He got to line up for ages on a windy grey morning and listen to the bored conversation of strangers discussing the chances of rain. He got to stand beside me in a booth while I numbered squares. But best of all, he got to post my votes in the boxes, an activity that filled him with delight the likes of which I’m sure the scrutineer didn’t see again that day.
Voting complete we slipped into the shopping centre next door and rewarded his good behaviour with the morning-tea of his choice and a peep at the 2011 Melways on display at the newsagent.
I know some people find voting to be a pain (obviously not those people in some countries that risk grievous bodily harm or death and trek for days to reach a voting booth anyway) but just you try to take away their right to vote. Boy genius will never be able to exercise that right whether he wants to or not. He’s an adult but he’s a child, it’s a mixed blessing we live with, but the reminders occasionally make me wistful for what might have been

Bye-bye Baby

Yesterday Boy Genius turned 18.
There was no wild night at the pub with mates-just a small party at shcool, followed by a quiet night at home. Once my hero gets back from his current job we'll do something special to mark the occasion. His godmother baked him a cake-as she always has-and got a bit of a surprise when hearing her voice he wandering into the kitchen stark naked to say hello. After he was appropriately attired, candles were lit and blown out with almost as much joy as the chocolate mud cake was then eaten.
If I'm honest I must admit that when he was born I never really consisdered what his 18th would be like. But I would never have guessed it would be like this.
In some ways I feel a little sad about all the things he's missing but on the upside I never have to worry about him getting drunk or doing drugs, going halves in a teen pregnancy, getting into fights or a dozen other things 'normal' lads of his age get up to.
So I'm sad but not too sad-really.

I can't take much more of this

Tonight he punched the printer-twice.
He then reached out for a fistful of the jagged broken glass.
I screamed no.
For a second he stopped.
He looked me directly in the eye.
Then quick as a flash grabbed the glass and threw it.
There is no way anyone will convince me that in that moment he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
How he wasn’t cut I don’t know. (He was at this stage naked having removed all of his clothes and thrown them, he’d run out of other missiles and had already up-ended the bins.)

Happy New Year?

Ever been to the circus and seen a juggler balance a set of spinning plates on top of a row of staves? Each plate needs to be kept spinning at just the right speed to maintain its balance. The juggler runs back and forth twisting and twirling the staves to keep everything from crashing to the ground.
That’s pretty much been my life this last month with boy genius’s moods the plates and me a singularly inept juggler.
Since weaning boy genius from his medication all has been going well. At least it was for six or seven months but that’s all changed in a sudden and massive way. Every waking moment for the last month I’ve been haunted by a sense of dread while I wait for the inevitable crash. I don’t know when, I don’t know where and I don’t know how hard but I know for sure the crash is coming-boy genius is going to lose his temper at some point.
Picture a 2yr old in full tantrum mode then replace the child with a 16 yr old, 6ft tall man.
The triggers for the tantrums remain uncertain, as does the level and direction of their violence. His sisters have taken to spending their days at friends’ houses or shutting themselves away in their rooms. We’ve had to restrict ourselves to essential outings only (snatch and grab from Safeway) and remove any object small enough to be launched missile style during a blind rage. The worrying tendency to self harm is manifesting even in his calmer moments. He has begun to bite his fingers down until he exposes the nail beds. Keeping him constantly occupied or distracted as a means of circumventing the tantrums is no longer effective.
Presented with the events of December our GP has conceded that perhaps the neurologist was a bit premature in weaning boy genius from his medication. Faced with the spectacular failure of this drug-free trial he has given us a script and referral to an adult specialist.
We will hopefully see improvements in things soon.

A conversation with Boy Genius

He came running in from the school bus, giggling and waving his arms. It had obviously been a good day.
Hello, Boy Genius
Hello, mum
What did you do at school today?
Cooking.
What did you cook?
Sandwiches.
What did you put on the sandwiches?
Glad Wrap.
One of the good things about living with autism-it opens you up to seeing the simplest things in a different way.

A smashing time

Three days in a row of over 30°C without the benefit of a warm weather preamble and we’re all feeling a bit hot, tired and emotional. Some of us have words to express our discontent, others have only action.
The action boy genius chose to best exemplify his feelings was to slam his (empty) dinner plate onto the table.
Unfortunately this resulted in the surprise breaking of the plate (I mean really, who could have seen that coming) which is, apparently, best dealt with by standing up, screaming at the top of your voice and smashing your dining chair onto the floor as hard as you possibly can over and over again.
I had to assume by the lack of blood on boy genius and the vigour of his ongoing chair smashing that the only thing damaged was the plate. I managed to remove the offending fragments and made the, I think not unreasonable, suggestion that he take a deep breath and calm down. However he seemed to believe that a more efficient method of achieving a calmer state of mind would be to pour a glass of cordial over his own head then slam the glass onto the table. (The glass was fortunately made of sterner stuff than the plate and survived.)
This necessitated a quick trip to the bathroom where clothes were violently removed and forcefully put into the laundry basket, all to the mantra “don’t hurt yourself” (said while pinching his own arm). A shower and hair wash to remove the sticky cordial residue was then in order before he could storm off to his room from whence he appeared fifteen minutes later in his pyjamas to flop onto the couch and announce “feel better”.
The frustration of being unable to express himself verbally is obviously hard to cope with. The frustration of cleaning up after his frustration is also hard to cope with (I can assure you the last thing I felt like doing was moping sticky green cordial off the floor, table, chair and walls). And if this is any indication of what to expect this summer is going to be very hard to cope with indeed. I may need to buy some plastic plates.

Quiche: A guide by Boy Genius

To make:
Cut up steamed cauliflower and broccoli into small florets. Remove ALL traces of stalk. This is Very Important.
Fry finely chopped capsicum, onion and bacon until soft.
Grate cheese.
Crack five eggs into a big bowl. Remove shell.
Mix everything up together, pour into pastry case, bake in oven.
To eat:
Use brown fork (this goes without saying really. Brown fork has mystical properties that only Boy Genius is aware of. Nobody else may ever use brown fork for fear of erasing these properties. Boy Genius can not eat at home unless he uses brown fork.).
Separate ingredients from quiche using an esoteric system, possibly based on colour or perhaps texture. Eat one ingredient at a time. No ingredient may be eaten until the previous ingredient has been consumed. An electron microscope is helpful at this point to ensure no atom of previous ingredient remains rendering quiche unfinishable.
Sure it’s time consuming but the effort is worth it.
Quiche is good.

Don't Cut the Wires

It was the maniacal giggling that gave Boy Genius away. There is simply nothing in his bedroom that funny. I braced myself and went to discover the source of such unbound joy.
“Don’t cut the wires,” he said, handing me a fistful of black spaghetti that was, until very recently, the cables connecting the television to the vcr.
When an obsession involves potential electrocution and the costly replacement of household items you tend to discourage it (and install a top of the line electrical trip switch).
You’d think after more than a decade of chanting the mantra Don’t Cut The Wires some understanding would sink in. You would be wrong.
These wires were well and truly cut.
But how? We monitor scissors with a vigilance usually reserved for schedule 4 drugs.
“How did you cut the wires?”
“Clippers.” He opens up his fist to show me his nail clippers. I swear he looks proud.
It’s true, where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I’m torn between being worried and annoyed at his continued cutting of wires and admiring his ingenuity.

Fish Bottle is Yucky

It was the noise that brought me running.
The unmistakable crash and thud of a small object hitting the wall at great speed.
It took me a moment to recognize the orange and green confetti spread across the lounge room floor as fish food. But once that had registered it took me no time at all to identify the same flakes clinging to boy genius’s lips.
I swear I’d only left him for a moment. He was contentedly watching his Harry Potter DVD and I thought I would take the opportunity to go make the beds. How was I to know that a 15 year old would suddenly decide to try eating fish food? He’s never shown any inclination to taste things before.
Apparently it wasn’t the gourmet treat he’d expected-hence throwing the can at the wall, I suppose.
The forceful stomping on the way to the bathroom told me two things. Firstly, building on a slab was a wise choice and secondly, this wasn’t over yet.
Fortunately the tantrum held off until after he’d rinsed his mouth out. Then it was full-on, throw-yourself-on-the-floor and flail-your-limbs-around-while-screaming. I’d give it a 7/10. It loses points for being at home rather than in a public place, for having a recognisable trigger and not being too unreasonable in the circumstances (yes, we do have a fairly liberal interpretation of unreasonable).
After around 10 minutes he’d calmed down enough to stand up and tell me that “fish bottle is yucky”.
I’m willing to take his word for it.