This exchange took place in the car on the way home today:
JBean: Yay! When JBug goes off to college, can I redecorate the room just for me, all to myself?
JBug: No! I will be living at home, forever, in the basement.
Me: [to JBean:] JBug isn't going off to college, she is living at home for a while while she is IN college. Don't sell her off just yet...you two will still be sharing a room.
[to JBug;] You can't live in the basement; we don't have a basement. Besides, we have Basement Cats...there would be no room in the basement.
JBug: JBear will be living in the basement. Playing first-person shooter video games.
Me: Probably. You can live in the ceiling. We don't have a Ceiling Cat.
In this house, humor is not optional, it's a survival technique. You don't get very far unless you can learn to laugh at yourself and your circumstances. Life = humor. I cannot imagine not being able to giggle or snicker or guffaw and at times even belly laugh at the crazy things that happen in this family. Of the things I want to give to my children, an appreciation for humor (if not an outright sense of it) is very near the top of the list.
They say that kids with autism don't have much of a sense of humor. I think those that say it don't quite understand autism all that well. My daughter, the oldest one, is pretty funny. (not as funny as me, but give her some time and experience) My son isn't hilarious, but he understands jokes. Sometime around his 8th birthday, he started understanding sarcasm (which means he can actually live in this house, because…yeah.) and started making puns. (again, a staple in this family). It was a lot of fun to watch.
I had forgotten all of that until last night, when JBean cracked her first joke. She gets jokes, but hasn't really told her own. Tonight, she was lying next to the cat and she said, "Watch the cat's new trick. Then, to the cat: Play dead!" The cat, who was lounging in a way that only cats can, sans bones and macramaed into the carpet, didn't move. JBean giggled and said, "Isn't that the funniest thing, ever?"
Which tells me two things:
1) she is maturing and beginning to get sophisticated humor
2) Her Jane Austenesque speech patterns can be blamed on an older sister who is obsessed with Jane Austen and has dragged her younger sister along for the ride.
3) Life is about to get very interesting, with lots of "How many _____ does it take to change a lightbulb?" and knock-knock jokes. I suppose fart jokes and belching the alphabet can't be far behind.
I'm SO proud.
T, who says a funny thing happened while writing this blog post
The other morning, J. was out of the shower and rushing around, getting ready for work, just like he does every morning. And I was doing what I do every morning, sleeping. There, the secret is out: I am a night owl, and the earliest I go to bed is 1 a.m. That's early. Usually, I am closer to a three ay-am girl. Consequently, I sleep until at least 8:30 in the morning. So I was just waking up as J walked into the bedroom, announcing:
bye honey, I'm headed to work.
I rolled over and cat-stretched luxuriously:
"Whee! Work!
He glared at me, more mock-glare than anything else, and arched an eyebrow.
"Do you wanna go to work?
Thinking of blessed freedom, interaction with adults all day, not dealing with tantrums and cajoling little people to do things they don't want to do or running around picking up after them, I was probably a bit too enthusiastic.
"Uh huh, uh huh!"
J rolled his eyes.
"Ok then, you go to work, I'll stay home."
I shot back with:
"Works for me! ...I'm goin' to wo-oork, I'm goin' to wo-oork!" ...Wait, do I have to wear pants there?"
I could tell he was laughing at me, inside, where it counts.
"Yeah, they kind of frown on you if you don't wear pants."
Now I could gloat. After all, I was just getting up and he was headed an hour and a half away to work. (I know, right? Crazy, but that's his commute... )
"I don't have to wear pants at work. Just typee, typee, on the keyboard."
He grinned sardonically.
"Hmmm, I better leave that comment alone, it's too easy."
Me: busy realizing where this conversation has gone (where most of them go around here, the gutter)
"Apparently, so am I."
There went that eyebrow arch again.
"Oh really, then why am I going to work?"
I closed in the for the kill.
"So you can buy me things and I'll sleep with you. I'm good that way."
Flashed him my best come-hither stare, followed by a big, goofy grin...
He kind of choked a bit as I waggled my eyebrows at him.
"Annnnd I definitely need to leave that comment alone and walk out the door while I still can."
After almost twenty years, I still have that boy right where I want him, friends. This hot mama says so.
Asperger's, HFA, quirkiness, crazy-making behavior..whatever you want to call it...My son, the fruit of my loins, and paper in my birdcage, is not known for his patience. He wants everything now, now, now! This could be part of his Asperger's, or it could be that I am a crappy mom and have never taught him to delay gratification. I am going with the first one. I mean, I can delay my gratification all of.. let's see... I have not did just eat a molten chocolate lava cake while writing without sharing.. yeah, ok, I am a crappy mom. What' ya gonna do? Sue me?
Today I had to take my daughters to their aunt's house, about 25 minutes away. In rush hour traffic. Which, as anyone who lives in Orange County and drivescamps cusses in traffic knows, is really get stuck at every freakin' red light, then crawl for 15 feet at a time traffic. The only rush is to stand still. My son does not endure inactivity well. He gets bored. And, when he is bored, he has to let everyone around him know it. So, let me set the scene:
I am driving, JBug is riding up front, JBean is behind me and JBear is behind her. Complaining. A lot. About the stupid traffic. Ad nauseum. And I stop for another red light, probably the 457,823rd red light on the route. And from behind me comes:
"Red light, you'd better move it.
"
::pause::
"I mean it, I have a bazooka."
(and just where did you get that, young man??)
At this point, I am snickering, because, well, I just am. But I am trying not to call attention to it, so he will hopefully continue.
The light stays stubbornly red.
"I have a bazooka and a hand grenade. Those can do much more damage than you'd think."
I am now biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud....
The light still doesn't turn green.
"If you pulled the pin on a hand grenade and covered yourself, you'd still die, it's not like the movies."
At that point, the light got the message and turned green. Lucky for the light, because I would hate to see what would happen when JBear pulled the bazooka out.
(and maybe I would want to borrow it...)
He is the master of the non-sequitur, this kid. He keeps me in stitches. (when I don't want to kill him...)
So the other day we were driving (shuddap, yeah, I know, driving...big surprise huh? Why in the hell they call it "homeschooling" I have no idea...I am always, always in the car) ..We were driving and my daughter commented on the new building for Karl Karcher Enterprises. AKA Carl's Jr/Hardee's... makers of those absolutely porny commercials for their food, which I won't link...want to see, google them. Now, not only am I not observant, I didn't know they were building. I am the one who drives by a gas station and JBear will comment, "Oh they painted the bench red at the gas station. It used to be green." And I will think..."there's a gas station here??" And yeah, I have passed it twice a day for 7 years. So?
In any case, we are talking about this building, not important, just chatting, when from behind me (it's always behind me) I hear:
"If they cloned Yoda and made him evil, the Jedi wouldn't stand a chance."
Me: ::Doubletake:::
WHAT? Where did that come from? Yes, that's right, The Master of the Non-Sequitur (or as I like to call it, the "WTH Moment")... strikes again.
I am absolutely never bored with my on-board entertainment
T, who carries a pad of paper in her purse in order to write this crap down
awesome Far Side reenactment photo from The Rocketeer, used under creative commons
Having kids is not for the faint of heart. In fact, it can be downright surreal. Most of the time, it feels like your very own Truman Show. This was a movie, starring Jim Carrey, where the entire world watched his life unfold, because he was secretly being filmed as reality tv. Only, he didn't know. He was utterly clueless.
I am anything but clueless. I know my value. And I can't shake the feeling that someone, somewhere is getting a show. (and I want my royalties) I mean, this can't all be for my benefit right? There must be some point to it, otherwise, man, it's just really wasted entertainment.
I keep looking for the hidden camera, but I haven't found it yet. Someone has done a bang-up job at hiding it. Still, if the camera is in my bedroom, let me take the time to apologize now. When I change into my pajamas, pretty sure there won't be any titilation there. (sorry to disappoint, no glamour, just turquoise and white plaid flannel bottoms). I would like to say I float around in a flimsy peignoir set, but that ain't me. I don't even own a peignoir set, I read about it in a Jane Austen book, I think. If you are looking for smut, may I suggest corn? No, not porn, corn.
Still, back to the camera, and why I think it's there. Humor is present in my house. It's the way I survive, as you know. And I'm just certain some of the off-the-wall exchanges that occur in my house are making some Hollywood writer rich. I wish him death for stealing my material luck, because they sure aren't making me rich. Yet...
(After my son overhearing my activity in the bathroom, and commenting, loudly about it)
Me: Everybody makes bathroom noises, otherwise you're a robot.
JBug: Or you're a vampire.
JBear: I HATE THE CULLENS!
JBean: I poop, I make bathroom noises.
Me: I don't think we really need to talk about pooping. We'll be eating lunch soon...not very good for my appetite.
[silence. then:]
JBean: I'm not a robot. Tacos make me poop. Are we having tacos?
JBear: You could be a zombie. Zombies poop.
JBug: Zombies don't either! That's ridiculous. They're dead. Dead things don't go to the bathroom.
JBean: And quesadillas. Quesadillas make me poop. Are we having quesadillas?
JBug: This family is so weird.
JBean: Chicken makes me poop sometimes. Are we having chicken?
Me: [trying to find the nearest hard surface on which to bang my head...]
So who's gonna play me? She has to be sexy in a non-threatening MILF kinda way. It had better be someone cool, because? Really. Really? I am thinking Tina Fey.
My oldest daughter channels Sheldon, from Big Bang Theory. (pretty sure I have mentioned this...) She is at her happiest using 14 words when 3 would suffice. Suppose she got my genes, as we all know how I tend to rattle on (and on, and on). Yes, it's true, I am in desperate need of an editor some days.
Also, in keeping with the geek flava in this household, many conversations occur over the computer. J will tweet at me, and I to him. And JBug will IM us both, as we all sit in the same room at our computers. (yes, we also talk, shuddap) but sometimes it is just easier to IM.
See? Talk about needing that editor... it just took me two paragraphs to post a lousy IM, and now this post is longer than the entire conversational exchange between JBug and me. Ah well, so I already messed that up, here it is in any case, for your beamusement.
*for those who don't know, she was asking for a rabbit (lagomorph) shaped Easter marshmallow.. it's ok, it takes a while to learn JBug-speak
My children are always having these conversations right out of Clerks or Big Bang Theory. The kind that make you shake your head and wonder, "What the hell was that?" I can never, ever do them justice, but they surely make me laugh.
Overheard:
JBean: This car is more advanced than Star Trek. It has automatic door locks.
JBear: The door is more advanced than your brain. You can't compare a self-sustaining spacecraft to a car.
JBean: My brain is smarter than...Star Trek..
JBear: Technically, the Enterprise is artificial intelligence, it has a personality. The episode where the Enterprise was going to be destroyed, that's where it was revealed it had an artificial intelligence..blah blah blah Ginger
JBean; No, it doesn't, it's not alive! It doesn't breathe!
JBear: Right,but that's what artificial intelligence means. It's smart, but it's not alive.It's a machine. It's artificial..(launches into a ten minute technical explanation of Artificial Intelligence..blah blah)
[pause]
JBean: Your brain isn't alive.
circle back to first statement...
at that point...I turned the music up in the car...
T, who really likes loud music, I must since I listen a lot
Tonight we had a great time baking at a friend's house. JBug drizzled chocolate on cookies and noticed the patterns looked like chromosomes. (yeah, only she would notice that) She ate part of the chocolate and said:
"I just created a mutant!"
This explains much...why our genes are so crummy? Cosmic Baker is up there messing with the chocolate! Could he have drizzled just a bit more in certain places?
T, who likes cookies, especially the drizzled ones
as I start the car and the radio pops on today. I listen to talk radio often, and forget to turn it down. The voice on the radio says, "...to hold Bush accountable..."
JBear: [from the backseat] Bush is a cannibal??"
I corrected him on the blunder, because that's what good mommas do.
but then I thought to myself.."What?? No, Bush is...well...Hmm, blood is still running in D.C, our government is hemoraging money, no resources...yeah, son, that's about the size of it..."
Are you ever completely shocked at what comes out of your mouth? I mean, like some other person who isn't your mother is channeling their voice through you? And you stand there like "WTH did I just say??" Well, that happened to me today.
In my defense, my husband is out of town, and has been since forever last Saturday. I have no idea which way is up, I would not make a good single mother. I think I would eat my children. With a spork. wait, let me back up...
We were having lunch at Taco Bell. It had gone well, if you don't count the fact that no one wanted to sit next to anyone else and once they did, they kicked one another. But that wasn't the problem. I simply am setting the scene for you so you understand why I was feeling so stressed. Afterwards, we were headed to the optometrist for JBug to pick out new frames. Yes, I was bringing all the kids there. See the build-up of Had Enough here?
Which is why, as we were leaving, and JBean took a handful of sporks with her (something she has never done, mind you) I said:
"What are you doing? An animal had to die for those, you know!"
What, T? WHAT? Maybe I have spent too much time being snarky at twitter, or maybe I am just losing my mind. And the sad thing is, I didn't even realize it, until JBug said, "What? What animal? That's not true. Why do you tell her that, mama?? (Daughter, haven't you ever heard of the Spork? It lives in forests in Siberia and...)
Because, daughter, apparently I am not human thinking! WHO tells a kid with autism that she kills animals by wanting a spork?
Apparently, I do. Let the beatings commence. I'll be over in the corner, trying not to devour my children.
Talking to JBean tonight as I was tucking her in before bed:
JBean: "How come JBug and I don't have a volcano?"
Me: (really just trying to get her into bed and only half-brain engaged) er...I don't know, because lava would get everywhere and you have a hard enough time keeping your room clean, I guess.
JBean: What? Not VOLCANO. DOOR HANGER. Like JBear has on his door. Mama, that's just silly, lava would kill us!
Me: Oh! DOOR HANGER. I was wondering what was up with that, it was a weird question. We'll get you a door hanger this weekend, if you want one.
JBean: Yeah, we won't get a volcano!
"Life. slightly dark, cheaper than candy, and half as sweet."
Glad you're here! I'm a freelance writer, specializing in autism, special needs and education. I freelance for numerous national publications. This is where I let it all hang out, sans editor.
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