My wife, daughter, and younger son will be flying overseas in a few weeks to see my wife's parents. My wife's father developed a degenerative disease a couple of years ago, and there has naturally been an increased emphasis on meeting her parents since then. We did so twice at a geographic middle ground for both sides, but his condition is now such that we need to travel to their home to meet them.

As implied above, however, Anthony and I will be not be going. Earlier airplane flights with him led us to realize that, even with medication, he will not make it very long without becoming disruptive or at least making his presence unwelcome to other passengers. Anthony is also far too much trouble to ask relatives to watch for more than a few hours, and none have the time available to deal with him for several days regardless. We considered looking for a group home for him so that I could join my wife and other children. If we successfully placed him, though, we would not be in the position to return quickly to address potential issues such as Anthony seriously hurting other people or himself. Perhaps more importantly, a normal child would not be happy being handed over for a period to people he doesn't know. Maybe Anthony's cognitive ability is sufficient that he would not be happy, either.

My wife and I occasionally browse a local thrift store in hopes of finding the odd gem. We particularly favor shopping there for Anthony since he is hard on his clothing, and does not express preferences about what he wears. Because he is also considerably more corpulent than he should be, we were grateful recently to have the idea of women's jeans with elastic waistbands recommended to us. They fit him well where we otherwise have trouble finding suitable men's pants, and they have the added bonus of costing less.

On one of our trips to this store not long ago, I found a sweatshirt that I particularly fancied for myself. The color was right, the fit was right, it clearly had not been worn much, and it felt good. I wore it a few times, and each time had that singular feeling of satisfaction that comes with paying $3.00 for something I would not have considered buying at retail price.

It now belongs to Anthony. This sweatshirt was of sufficient quality that my wife matched it with a turtleneck for him when we were going out for a formal event with extended family. We went for pizza afterward, and Anthony used his shirt as his napkin as he customarily does. The result is about what it would be if I had worn it while changing an oil filter. Easy come, easy go. I went to the thrift store a couple of days ago with the hope of striking gold again, with no luck. I did, however, find several more inexpensive sweatshirts for Anthony.

I was home alone for a while with Anthony today and went outside with the intent of, among other tasks, planting some radish and spinach seeds, hoping that is was not too early in the year to do so. I was addressing some other matters first, then realized that Anthony was traipsing around in the small area I had intended for planting, apparently enjoying the moist soil sticking to his shoes. I shooed him out and proceeded to painstakingly plant my seeds. Satisfied with the job done, I moved on to work with my compost pile. When I finished there, I went to put away my shovel and--naturally, I suppose--saw Anthony returning to his "stomping" grounds, where I had planted my seeds.


******

Our 12-year-old daughter saw Disney's "Pinocchio" being shown on a television at a discount department store recently, and wailed, "Not Pinocchio!". She told me that, despite the volume being turned down, she knew exactly what the characters were saying. Later at home, she displayed for my wife and me a knowledge of script and scene that might not be matched by the original screenplay writer. She proceeded to duplicate that performance with dialogue from "101 Dalmatians". I ribbed her about the pathetic nature of her existence.

She has been subjected to viewings of certain movies to the point that she has memorized them because Anthony has watched videotapes of them at the exclusion of anything else. He rarely wants to sit down and watch movies anymore, but he was recently loitering in our family room near the TV, so my wife opened a drawer of DVD's for him. He specifically chose "101 Dalmatians".

Anthony sneezes more often than the rest of our family. Now that I take the time to think about it, I realize that the cause may be our inability to teach him to blow his nose. Whatever the reason, we try to take precautions to keep him from spraying us, food on the counter, or our meals at the dining table, including when we do go out as a family to eat.

My wife created what we, for lack of imagination, refer to as the "sneeze blocker" for use when we eat. She bought a cardboard tri-fold and covered it with fabric. The inside material is a pattern of ladybugs, butterflies, bees and daisies originally meant to be used for a dress for our daughter when she was younger. The outside has caricatures of all the states with their capitals, chosen for the benefit of our other two children. Unfortunately, despite the inside material having no "up" or "down" that we can discern, Anthony invariably turns it upside down, diluting the educational value to his siblings.

We put the "sneeze blocker" in front of Anthony's place setting and hope that he will not be leaning around it when he does sneeze. He is also large enough now physically that we do have concerns about him sneezing over the top, although that has yet to happen. Because he doesn't care for having his view obstructed, however, he bends down the corners of the tri-fold, reducing its potential effectiveness. Having it in front of him also makes it difficult to know what he wants when he sticks his hand around the side toward us, since we can't see his plate or cup.

We went to a church dinner function a few months back, expecting to find a section of seating we could stake as our own to ensure that Anthony would not sneeze on us or anyone else. The event was apparently a hit, to the extent that nothing was available in that regard. My wife found a little table that was holding a display of some sort, and Anthony and I sat there. At a subsequent church dinner, we actually took the "sneeze blocker" with us to be safe.

If only we could teach him to cover his mouth when he sneezes. We tried some years back, and he actually did it--once. We were quite happy to see that, and were hopeful of more to come, but that has not materialized. Following the recent IEP wherein the school staff said they could see greater intelligence than we knew, I have put more effort into dealing with Anthony as though he really understands what I tell him. Without getting upset at him (because that approach hasn't worked in the past), I am telling him that he MUST cover his mouth when he sneezes. He seems to be developing a rudimentary understanding of the concept. He isn't yet covering his mouth, but he does sometimes put his hand over his mouth AFTER he sneezes and we look at him. Perhaps perseverance on our part will improve his timing.

We have stopped giving Anthony the medication that might promote aggressive behavior. Yet . . . .

Anthony attacked his teacher last week without warning, and continued to try to hurt her even after he had knocked her down. Another teacher had to help to restrain him. I was told that his teacher's shoulder was rather sore after the incident.

A couple of days ago, the same teacher was outside with another aide and Anthony, and noticed behavior that signaled he might again be about to become upset. She warned the aide to move away from Anthony, but the aide apparently did not recognize the imminent danger. Anthony bit her on the back of her upper arm. The school nurse said she had never seen a bite doing as much damage. We have to take him very soon for blood work to ensure that he has not transmitted any serious diseases. We took him once previously for the same issue, but it has been more than a year so new data is necessary.

Between these two incidents, my wife met with the teachers and principal at his school for an "IEP", which stands for Individualized Education Program--I think; everyone refers to it by the acronym--required periodically for students with disabilities. Interestingly, and curiously, to me, his teachers said they could see proof of intelligence above that of others in his class. Among other indications was the ability to arrange visually words in a sentence they gave him verbally. The level of complexity that he achieved each and every time was such that they were certain of real cognitive abilities. They feel that his violent outbursts are probably due to some tactile trigger(s) that we do not yet understand.

I do not know what to think of this. It is frankly rare for me to see evidence of cognition in him above the level of a small child, and I think we treat him that way. But perhaps that is a very small part of the problem: if he does have some abilities to think like a normal person, I can understand that he would not want to be spoken to as though he were very young. I also find myself regretting the way I have reacted to him at times. I have, for the most part, dealt with Anthony in ways that I have thought were suited to his behavior, as I have done with my other two children. I am now beginning to wonder if I have been far off base and, in fact, been contributing to our difficulties all this time.

Earlier this week, Anthony hit the door to our younger son's bedroom hard enough to rip the lower hinge off the frame. I was upstairs and could hear Anthony getting upset downstairs, but was not aware that he had hit anything until our younger son came to inform me. I am still unsure how one pulls off the lower door hinge while leaving the upper hinge intact, but at least it is a little less to fix.

A couple of days after this incident, we were told that Anthony had grabbed a chair at school, the type with the molded plastic seat and aluminum(?) leg frame, and slammed it on the floor with sufficient force to render it unusable.

One of the side effects of the medication Anthony has been taking is increased appetite and, naturally, weight gain. We dealt with this issue to an even greater extent with a previous medication a few years ago. A heftier Anthony is not a more welcome Anthony. There is the obvious issue of clothing becoming too small and necessitating time and money spent looking for larger sizes. Of more concern, though, is the increased severity of injury when he attacks someone. An analogy comes to mind with boxing: a match between a heavyweight boxer and a lightweight boxer would generally be a mismatch in favor of the former.

Thus, the doctor has recommended another medication in combination with the one he has been taking to lower his appetite. However, a potential side effect is. . . increased aggression. If we continue to see this, I imagine we will not be using the new medication for long.

I came very close this evening to responding to a friend of my sister on Facebook. I am probably too tired, too stressed, too sick of being sick, or a combination of those conditions to think reasonably. Nevertheless, I do not know the person who responded to my sister, and realized that my opinion would likely offend her, so I refrained from acting on my impulse.

My sister posted something supporting donations for a charity related to autism--a worthy cause, to be sure. Her friend commented, "Glad to see this. [Name withheld] works almost every day with autistic children, they are so very special!"

I have heard the word "special" applied to autistic children many times by people who are peripherally familiar with them. On the other hand, I have never met a parent of an autistic child that would refer to that child as "special", at least if the term is meant to have a positive connotation. Of course, autism covers a wide range of disorders, so perhaps there are those I have not met who would prove me wrong.

Certainly, being parents of Anthony has taught my wife and me empathy for others that we may not have gained for many years otherwise. We do indeed feel, correctly or not, that we are better people for the experience. However, I cannot describe what it would mean to me to have a period of time, even a short one, wherein we could have a "normal" existence. As with most who have issues significantly outside the standard realm, we did not expect to become "other people" as in the phrase, "that only happens to other people". I may still be in denial after all these years.

A severe cold virus has slowed our household considerably the last two weeks; I have reluctantly used two(!) of my seven annual sick days this week. I mention this only because Anthony gives me, almost without fail, two or three topics a week that would be worthy of posting, yet I haven't been able to attend to my regular obligations since New Year's Day, let alone feel like writing. But, before a couple of them fade from memory completely. . . .

Anthony turned the temperature control in the refrigerator/freezer to zero several times in the last week or so, thawing the frozen items each time. I ultimately resorted to pulling off the control knob. It will be much more difficult to determine if he has been able to reach in to twist the actual metal control inside, but he probably will not be able--or have the inclination--to do so.

******

My wife went out to shovel snow recently and wanted Anthony to go outside with her so he could not wreak havoc on whatever he might get his hands on inside the house. Getting him to put on his coat is normally a matter of course, but this time he was adamant in his resistance. My wife finally realized that he had not changed out of his sweatshirt and sweatpants worn to bed. Although that would be acceptable attire around the house, Anthony apparently knew he had not changed into his "real" clothes for the day, and could not reconcile the two ideas.

Anthony's teacher found that she could keep him somewhat occupied by listening to music on a portable player, but only with the older style of headphones that fit up against the ears rather than in them. We will gladly take any suggestion that helps to manage him, so we bought him his own inexpensive MP3 player. We have loaded onto it a variety of songs, not knowing what he might like. I am guessing that he simply enjoys the sound in his ears. Nevertheless, it seems odd to see a low-functioning autistic boy listening to David Bowie's "Blue Jean".

***************

We received a new hair clipper set for Christmas, one with a vacuum feature that makes for easy disposal of the clippings. Today's attempt at cutting Anthony's hair was far more successful than my previous one, although I suspect my wife will succumb shortly to the urge to use scissors to trim the uneven spots.

Anthony is now consistently pulling every sheet and cover off his bed, sleeping nightly on a bare mattress with the bedding in a heap next to him. I have reverted to tucking in his top sheet and instead removed the plastic protective sheet, hoping that was the source of irritation. I am also waiting to put him to bed to allow his twice-daily medication, which supposedly has a calming effect, to take effect. Nothing works yet.

I dress him warmly enough to do without covers, I suppose, if he insists on that. I nevertheless find it unsettling to see him sleeping on an uncovered mattress. Additionally, I am guessing he must be at least a little cold, because I still hear him making noise when he should otherwise have gone to sleep.

A final concern I have regards the mattress itself. I suspect sleeping without covers damages the mattress to an extent, yet I don't know how long I will continue to put sheets back on each night if the effort is in vain.

*************

My wife makes various goodies to take to friends at this time of year. Anthony has become her nemesis in this regard (as though he weren't already). If we are not vigilant in keeping him out of our small kitchen, he mashes cookies under plastic wrap. Or he eats entire plates of them. Or, as is the case with iced sugar cookies, he scrapes off the tops to render them worthless as gifts. Even with us in or around the kitchen, Anthony looks to commit these atrocities with the single-minded obsessiveness he shows in other pursuits. As I write this, I have been forced to drag him away from the kitchen to our basement family room to try to keep him out of trouble.