Evening Walks

We have LOVED lockdown living!

I don’t know about you – but it’s everything my family enjoys.

Being encouraged, nay, FORCED to stay at home, relying on deliveries for sustenance? God yes.

As a stay at home mum, I am fully aware of how lucky I am. I know and appreciate how hard it is and has been for people, these have been very strange times.

But for my family of hermits, we have truly been living the summer of dreams.

I have, however, slipped in my parenting.

When Robbie is good, I tend to let things slide.

More time on the PC? Yeah, you’ve been good, why not? More Pringles? Yeah, why not. Want to make a fire with twigs? How holistic! Just don’t try it in the car again, darling.

This is starting to cause problems, as he has become overly dependent on the PC. Monday and Tuesday, he has had absolutely VILE meltdowns, over PC related issues (one of which culminated in a strategic fart from him through the bannister) and so it has been culled for a week.

Today, the first PC free day, Robbie has been an absolute DREAM.

We had to get a cab to go and get the car from the garage, and Robbie went into his little cash wallet (I asked to borrow a fiver – yes, I am cashless trash) and he handled the transaction with the driver. He refused to let me pay him back!

I will accept this. He owes me.

Tonight, we had the chance to go to the shops, just the two of us. We took the scooter and went to the local meadow, where we discussed how long dogs live and Robbie graciously saved me the backwash from his water bottle “to keep you hydrated Mummy.”

However, in the Co-op, things took a turn for the weird.

In an aisle, an unsuspecting patron, around my age, shops alone. Unaware of the embarrassment about to unfurl in her direction.

Robbie, my ex non-verbal child, clear as a flute played by a chorus of angels on a glorious spring day, says –

“Is that girl infected?”

I laugh in shock and say to the lady “at least he called you a girl”

Now, I meant that in the context of “he’s called me a lot worse,” but obviously she doesn’t know that, does she? So Robbie has implied she is diseased, and I have implied she is old.

She is good natured and laughs along, and we go our separate ways.

Robbie has found this whole interaction utterly gleeful, and we have a laugh over the names of cereals (I know, we’re weird).

Unsuspecting Patron re-enters his line of vision.

Again, the choir pipes up from its celestial rest –

“Is that that infected individual again?”

I react in horror, although this time worryingly, worryingly, not shock.

“Robbie!”

I see the lady go round the corner, but luckily, she has a big grin on her face. Grin, grimace? Let’s say grin, shall we?

To the busy, static queue, full of sweaty, potential Covid-carriers. With nothing to do, but listen.

Robbie is very interested in other countries at the moment.

He sees some German beer, and starts to question which countries make beer.

I volunteer that France is known for making wine.

He laughingly goes along with this, getting louder and louder.

People around us smile at the sweet appearing child, borderline interrogating his sweaty mother.

“Does Spain make wine?”

“Does Russia make wine?”

“Does Kazakstan make wine?”

Then, this

“Does Bangladesh make bombs?”

…

It becomes a bit of a blur at this point. I think I said “oh God”, and mentally scanned what YouTube videos he’s been watching lately.

How do I answer this? But more importantly as a parent…

How do I answer this in front on an audience?

Distraction, friends.

“Would you like to scan the shopping, Robbie?”

That cuts through the evil little git’s laugh. He knows. He knows something. He can see the panic in my eyes…

Half an hour later, home, eating a well-earned (note – earned, not deserved) lolly, all thoughts of foreign alcohol importation forgotten, all is well again.

Until tomorrow.

Driving

Incase any of you weren’t aware … Robbie likes to control things.

Apparently it’s a typically autistic trait. Where the world around an autistic person can seem chaotic, having the control helps your autistic to feel secure.

I’d like to put this down to the autism, but to be fair, I think Robbie can see how scatty I am and he tries to keep me in check.

In the car, sitting in traffic, I momentarily removed my hand from the wheel to itch my face.

Robbie, from his seat next to me, (yes, of course he sits in the front) says in a deadpan voice: “You need to take the wheel more.”

“Robbie, I’m scratching my face. While we’re not moving. It’s fine.”

We start moving.

Silence.

“Why are you going at 33 miles per hour then?”

“What’s the speed limit on this road? I can’t see a sign.” (Re-reading this before I post, I saw that this could be taken as myself asking this. No, it’s the 7 year old.)

I take this moment to teach Robbie that if it is a residential road with streetlights, we can safely assume that it’s 30 miles per hour.

“Why are you going 33 miles per hour then?”

Yes, I got defensive.

“I’m not! It’s the angle you’re sitting at!”

Robbie cranes his neck, positively brimming with suspicion. I slightly brake, so as not to be caught. By him.

“No, you’re breaking the speed limit of 30 miles per hour. Daddy says you drive too fast because you always break the speed limit.”

I’m not proud of this next bit.

“Yeah? Well Daddy got actually CAUGHT speeding years ago! He got TOLD OFF BY THE POLICE! Mummy hasn’t!”

Robbie chews this over.

“Please don’t ever tell me that, ever, ever, again.”

We approach a roundabout. Robbie knows where we are going.

He leans over and puts my indicator on.

Absences

Evening all

These past few weeks have been pretty stressful, hence the cyber silence.

In short, Faye has been the easy kid… Which should suggest how stressful it’s been in here.

We’ve had A LOT of school avoidance from Robbie.

Tears, anger, refusal, laying in bed looking depressed… It’s been strange and challenging.

Then we had a breakthrough.

His dad and I met with one of his teachers, and she gave us some new visuals to use with Robbie. These allow him to make a choice and feel more “in control” of his feelings. Thankfully, they seem to be having a positive effect. Small steps… Early days.

I have had it suggested to me many times before, in different scenarios, “why don’t you just make him?” Or a favourite – “if it was my kid, I’d just force him in.”

Let me tell you why I cannot do this.

If I force Robbie to do something against his will, I escalate an already fraught situation. He then can become a danger to himself and others. He can run, lash out, or become so emotionally distressed that I won’t be able to bring him down for a long time.

Sometimes, parenting Robbie can be a daily version of “talking him off the ledge.”

I think we’re getting back on an even keel now – luckily it’s half term, so hopefully we can hit the reset button.

The heart of it

Oh my boy.

I managed to make some inroads into Robbie’s school aversion.

Robbie has loved school since he started in Reception. He did start a bit late due to the fight we had getting him in, but after his misery at nursery, he was entranced by the structure and environment of his school. Every day was exciting for him.

Since he’s gone back in September, we’ve had a lot of refusal. Not aggressive… More depressed and lethargic.

Tonight, Robbie laid on his front and sobbed into his pillow whilst telling me how he missed all his teachers from last year.

When your child goes to school – particularly primary – there is always an element of you ‘handing over emotionally’ to the teachers. You want them to care specifically for your child. You want them to see the vibrant little person that they are, and nurture that spark. You want them to care for your child like you would.

When your child attends a special needs school, that feeling intensifies. When your child has vulnerabilities, or are a proficient escapologist, or are lonely… You come to rely on those staff, probably much more than you should.

They are truly there for every milestone your child achieves. I couldn’t walk Robbie along the street safely until his school worked with us both. I owe them so much. I’m not surprised he’s grieving for them.

He put himself to bed on the couch. He may well have done this so that he was in my evening space, forcing a confrontation. There’s always an element of guesswork with him. He is a deeply complex character, with overtones of frightening intelligence, drenched in a sauce of Titanic facts.

He also told me twice yesterday that I couldn’t “keep” him and that he was going to move in with Nathan… I’ve sounded out Nathan’s mum and she’s confident that she has enough children. Sorry Robbie.

Wish me luck

Killing Darren

Let’s turn the clock back, to 2016. We were living in a small, 2 bed Victorian house, on the most cramped street you could imagine.

The street itself was incredibly narrow, with cars parked on either side. Quite frequently, you couldn’t park anywhere near your own house (I’m talking a 10 minute walk away here – yes, I know, first-world problems) and at this time, Robbie was a traffic-diver. He would try to escape as soon as we left the house, walking along the street with him was out of the question. It was stressful and dangerous. We will talk more about his escapology career soon.

The whole road was full of residents who would look out of their windows periodically to see if someone had moved their car, so that they could move their own closer. You could see the tension along the street, along with the litter.

It was a horrible place to live.

The house itself was cramped and in a poor state of repair, so we frequently had a handy-man round to try and make it more habitable. Enter, Darren.

Darren was a nice man, who would always take the time to say hello to Robbie and engage with him if Robbie chose to. He would always give warning if he was going to use a drill, to enable me time to put on Robbie’s ear defenders. He was quiet, unobtrusive and a good handyman.

However, as it later transpired, unfortunately, Darren also was tall, with dark brown hair and around the same age as Robbie’s daddy.

One day, he knocked at the door. I had forgotten to warn Robbie, so he ran up, distractedly, and cuddled Darren, saying “Daddy!” Darren put his hand down to ruffle Robbie’s hair and said “ahh mate!”

I’m going to pause here to prepare you. I am giving YOU the preparation we sorely needed, as we had no idea of the bomb that had just detonated in our lives.

Robbie looked up and I saw the expression of happiness on his darling little face, die. He went blank. He visibly drew his emotions inside himself, turned and ran up the (incredibly steep and narrow – yes, it still rankles) stairs.

I reassured Darren that he hadn’t done anything wrong and followed Robbie up.

Let’s just say, I have a good idea of what witnessing an exorcism is like.

As my sister in law said to me afterwards, embarrassment is a horrible emotion, for both adults and children. Let alone an autistic child who had only been on this earth for 4 years and who hadn’t experienced it before.

Robbie started making scarily detailed death threats against Darren. Darren never knew of these – sorry Darren, you have no idea how close you were to being “ended” by a four year old – and some of the more descriptive ones include –

“I want to spin him around like crazy until he dies”

“I want to push him in a train door and cut him in half”

“I want to cut his hands off” – the hand one was particularly horrible, because it was Darren’s hand that touched him as he ruffled his hair. An eye for an eye? Mafia-esque retribution? Had Robbie been watching The Godfather? Darren had no idea of how close he came to losing his livelihood. And hands.

These threats would keep coming up in discussion, first thing in the morning, last thing at night, every quiet moment in between. He would be playing, look up at me with those big, seemingly innocent blue eyes, and ask, “can I have an axe for my birthday?”

“Erm, why Robbie?”

“So I can chop Darren’s head off.”

We tried so hard to move him past this. Of course, it should go without saying that 99% of it was for Robbie’s emotional health and well-being, but, well, let’s be honest here.

The house was a hole and I still needed the jobs done.

I would speak to Robbie beforehand to prepare him for Darren’s visits, and ensure that he was suitably distracted with technology to minimise the interaction between them. Over time, (a year!) the embarrassment faded, and we started to move on from the incident.

This was a lesson for us all, in terms of predicting possible scenarios for Robbie. Over time, both his dad and I have become proficient at completing mental risk-assessments when we are planning something. Some of these we have committed to paper. Unfortunately, this couldn’t have been foreseen. It was a strange and complex one.

Just know, that if you do happen to cross Robbie, he can plan your demise brutally and efficiently.

Other than that, he’s a charming little boy.