Drama Queens

I have previously mentioned a drama workshop we tried. It was a little rough in the beginning, but if we're being honest, what isn't with Liam? The main challenge was that I spent half the time chasing him into the parking lot. During the week, when he asked about going back to drama class, I said, "Only if you stay in the room. When you leave, you are telling me you don't want to be in drama class."

Apparently, he enjoyed the class enough for my threat to work. Last week, he not only stayed in the room, he participated for about 80% of the class. During an exercise, where the kids were asked to address their peers as a group, he got up and did just that, gosh darn it! Then my son--my son--participated in a dance and a singing activity. I do not have any scientific data, but I can tentatively say this shit is working. To get him to mimic movements and follow along has always been a huge hurdle.

What's almost as exciting is that based on Liam's success, the director of the program wants to change the focus to specifically address the needs of kids on the spectrum. My friend Lisa and I are helping her. Lisa brought Landon for the first time on Saturday and he did really well. He was happy and Lisa was pleased. "You've stumbled onto a gold mine," she told me later. We are both so excited about how we can use dramatic play to improve our boys' social skills, spontaneous language and executive function. I always knew drama would be good for Bee, I just couldn't find an appropriate program. It looks like we are helping to create one.

One of Liam's current cringe-worthy behaviors is putting his hands in his pants. He pulled his penis out at drama class, but I think I caught him before anyone noticed. Penis playing does not fall under the category of "quirky behavior that doesn't hurt anyone". It falls under the category of "batshit-crazy-sends-people-running" behavior. I've been trying to keep it low key. I ignored it at first (unless we were in public, where I surreptitiously moved his hands) and then started saying, "You can do that in your own room by yourself."

Many years ago our friend Chris had a wonderful dog named Toby, who was like a big brother to our dog, Sammy. When Toby would lick his balls, like all male dogs tend to do, Chris would say, "You do that on your own time, Toby." That always struck me as so funny. Like Toby was on the clock. Anyway, it came to mind and now I find myself saying it to my son when he puts his hands in his pants.

R Rated Halloween

Zoe had been asking me for vampire fangs. The kids had behaved well all that week, so for a treat I took them to a Halloween store. It's one of those seasonal ones that sets up in a vacant store space. I didn't realize that by entering it, I might scar them in ways I couldn't have predicted.

When we entered the store to search for vampire fangs, we were immediately assaulted by some "adult" costumes. Nothing pornographic, just tasteless and tacky. I steered them away from that section, only to be confronted (at kid eye level) by a set of plastic boobs. "Oh!" Zoe exclaimed, followed by, "Oh, Mama. That is totally not cool." Liam then grabbed the boobs, one in each hand like a pro, gave them a good squeeze and we moved on.

The Littlest Pilot

Several months ago, I had the opportunity to sign Liam up for a program called Challenge Air. This group takes kids with disabilities up in small planes and allows them to fly! I was a little nervous about it and expected Rob to veto it. To my surprise, he was excited.

Up to two people can accompany the child in the plane, which presented a dilemma: who would it be? I wanted to do it. Rob wanted to do it. Zoe wanted to do it. Practically speaking, I had to think about the worst that could happen. Rob and I couldn't go and leave Zoe on the ground by herself in any event. If Zoe and one parent went up, the other parent could be left alone in the event of a disaster, which is unthinkable. Also unthinkable was sending the two kids up together.

I hit upon the idea of inviting my dear friend who is very sick with stomach cancer. When the big day arrived, however, he was too sick to go. I decided that my own stomach probably couldn't handle the turbulence and sent Rob.

Challenge Air makes the "fly day" into a big party with a bouncy house, a clown, face painting, music, food, etc. Dozens of committed volunteers make sure the day goes smoothly. We were lucky; Liam got called right before his scheduled time. Some kids had to wait two hours after their appointed times, due to a shortage of pilots.

Rob and Liam crawled into the small (and surprisingly ragged-looking) plane. Liam had to wear large headphones, which I knew could present a problem for him, but he kept them on until landing. Zoe and I waved until the plane was out of sight, then waited about 20 minutes for them to return. When I asked the pilot if Liam took control, he said, "Boy, did he! Some kids are afraid to touch the controls but your son had no problem." Apparently, the plane did a lot of bouncing around while Liam flew. We were all so excited for him, but like Liam often does, he took it all in stride. I've seen him much more worked up about seeing two poodles at the local shopping center.

I'm still glad we took him. "Do you think you might want to be a pilot?" I asked him later. "Could I be a pilot?" "Yes. You can be anything you want." "I will be a pilot then," he answered. He hasn't mentioned the experience since, unless we've brought it up. But maybe he will always remember the day he got to look down on the world far below him.

I Hate the Baby

Liam's second week of school contained some bumps, some revelations and some detective work. His teacher had told me that she was having some trouble getting Liam to do his work--nothing aggressive, or disruptive, she said, just good old noncompliance. I felt partially responsible for not making him stick to a schedule of schoolwork every day of summer's eight weeks.

I was not surprised by the few "warning days" that had come home in Liam's behavior report, but I was taken aback by one of the notes that accompanied them. "Liam hit me in the stomach today" his very pregnant teacher had written "and said, 'I hate the baby'." This was quite a change of tune from my son. He has been so interested in his beloved teacher's baby that you would think it was his own sibling. He says he thinks it's a girl and has suggested a name (Annie, from his favorite movie). Several times during the summer, when we'd talk about going back to school in the fall he'd say, "And the baby will be there!" clapping his little hands with glee and jumping up and down. He had told me at one point, "I'm going to be there right when the baby comes out!" When I relayed this prediction to his teacher we both had a good laugh, imagining just her husband and my eight-year-old son in the delivery room. I was certain he thought that his teacher would have the baby and come back the next day with her newborn in tow, ready to begin class as usual.

As I questioned him as to why he would do such a hurtful thing, I remembered that I had to ask the right way. Finally, he said, "Mrs. C. will leave when she has the baby. She will be in the hopsital [sic]for a week." I realized that Liam had figured out what we were all afraid to tell him, for fear he would obsess over it for the duration. "Yes, she will have to leave for awhile," I told him, "How do you feel about that?" "Sad," he answered, " I will miss her." "OK, " I said, "That's OK. That's normal to be sad and miss her. You need to tell her that. It's allright to say it; it's not allright to hit." I made him write her an apology note. We talked more about his feelings and how to express them.


The next morning Liam began to act out again at school, giggling inapproriately. His teacher used this as an opportunity to explain to the class that she would be leaving and how everything would work in her absence. Liam has had no further incidents.



The other night, as I was putting him to bed, I asked Liam what he was thinking about. "Mrs. C. is leaving," he said. "I will miss her." "I know, buddy," I said, holding him, "I know."