Sunday, November 21, 2010

Random Thoughts

Guardian angel
photo credit-moreno finotto
creative commons license

Did you know...

That if you run hot water in the sink and put enough toothpaste in it, it makes the bathroom "smell good"?

That if you put half of a (large) bottle of hair conditioner into the bathtub and stir it up enough, it makes a decent amount of bubbles (the residue is also VERY slippery during dad's shower the next morning)?


Buddy Boy has discovered that inserting scatological silly references into conversation and using them in a loaded question is very funny-to him-but perhaps not so funny to his teachers.

Last week he asked his teacher something to the effect of "Did you poop in your diaper this morning?", which earned him a trip to the principal's office, and an assignment for him to present something to the class this week on "Respect".

While bringing in the poster that he was going to use in the presentation this week, the principal said good morning to him. He responded "You know, Dr. P, I think I may have discovered that there are some negative things about being autistic. Do you want me to tell you about them?"


I was driving Sweet Pea to her speech therapist this morning (her "R's" might pass in Boston, but not here, and her inability to properly pronounce "L's" or to differentiate "S's" from "SH's" earns her a weekly Saturday morning at speech (after both she and Buddy Boy have ice skating classes), and her and I doing speech exercises about 3-4 nights/week.

The nice thing about this is we have a little father daughter time to ourselves in the car. Today we were driving along and out of the blue she says "You know, dad, times are hard." First I thought that perhaps my 8 year old had just had an economic revelation. Then I wondered whether she had a twinge of social consciousness, and that perhaps I could be really proud of my little girl. Just to be sure, I asked her "What do you mean?"

"You know, dad, doing times. 5 times 3, 5 times 4."


Buddy Boy goes to a social skills class every week. Perhaps it's starting to pay dividends. Today he asked Liz, "So, we should have a discussion (I think this was a "homework" assignment). But I don't know how to start."

"Well, what do you want to talk about, sweety?"

"How about machinery?"


Angels exist, and sometimes show up at the best times.

This last week we had the first 5th grade band concert. As you may recall, although Buddy Boy loves band, the teacher doesn't necessarily feel the same way about him. So although we're very happy that Buddy Boy loves band, we were also both very anxious going to this concert, and hoped to escape the night without Buddy Boy doing something that would give the band leader an excuse to discharge him. We dropped him off in the designated classroom, and went to the gymnasium to wait and fret.

As soon as the band started walking in, we saw his angel. Walking with him was his 3rd grade teacher (who we loved), Mrs. C. Mrs. C always went "above and beyond" when working with him that year. Both Liz and I dared to exhale, and palpably felt 1000 pounds (454 kg) of anxiety fall away from us. The band took their seats, and Mrs. C sat next to (and a little behind) him.

Mr. C (Mrs. C's husband) works with the band (the brass players, not the woodwinds). He was there that night, and though Mrs. C had called in sick that day, she showed up that evening to be with Buddy Boy (evidently she had become aware of Buddy Boy's "troubles" in band thru her husband). We didn't know that anyone was going to be with him on stage, much less Mrs. C.

The long and short of it, Buddy Boy did fine (even if he did talk a bit more than appropriate to Mrs. C during the concert). Buddy Boy even had a brief solo (about 2/3 of the band volunteered to do solos, including Buddy Boy). He played his solo about 3 times slower then we practiced at home, and it was so soft as to be barely audible, but he got thru it without any major mistakes, and did fine.

G-d bless Mrs. C.