The Boy is a only child, and as such, doesn’t have much experience with sharing. It’s a common problem for a neurotypical kid, and for one that lacks theory of mind (the ability to understand that others may have different thoughts and emotions of their own), it is even tougher.
This past weekend, The Boy got up earlier than us one day (!) and headed to the living room. He turned on the On Demand feature on our cable and found the Sonic cartoon he was looking for, pressed play, and promptly began recording it within some app on his iPad that records in black and white. This is a new twist on an old interest – making things look like the pre-color era, and has even permeated his drawings, making Sonic look like Steamboat Willy. Pretty cool, actually.
The problem came a little later when we returned from a family outing, and he promptly sat on the couch and started u the On Demand feature again. The Man’s intention, of course, was to come home and watch a little golf (and therefore I was going to take a nap). Because the living room TV is a shared TV, and The Boy was told he had to work out a schedule with others that want to use it, a meltdown ensued.
Time to pull out the board games and practice turn-taking, too.
What can you do? He just doesn’t have much experience with this? If he really had social skills class (like he’s supposed to), I’m sure this is something they would practice. He used to practice turn-taking when he was a little one in speech therapy. All of this has me wondering, what social instruction is he getting, anyway?
A new friend reminded me of those days, hauling him to speech and occupational therapy even before we had a diagnosis. And the speech therapy fell to the wayside when the school began to provide it. He had an awesome speech pathologist in Elementary who focused primarily on pragmatics, but here, his time with any speech (or social skill) instruction has dwindled to almost nothing. Maybe I need to see what insurance will cover and get The Boy back into a social skills group outside of school again… There’s clearly some skills that need practicing.
I took that worksheet and put it into a digestible format (PowerPoint), and added some possible answers for The Boy to choose. I didn’t send anything in on the “due date” which was Friday. Over the weekend, I sat down briefly with The Boy and the roughly 15 slides with questions about his future. “Hm,” he’d say. “Go to the next one,” and “I haven’t really thought about that before,” were common responses. To summarize, I got nothin’. Monday, I sent in my responses to the parent survey (it is now Tuesday morning, and they are still in his backpack, by the way), and emailed his special ed teacher to explain that he didn’t have much response to the student survey, and it was either because he really doesn’t have any idea, or he’s not comfortable sharing his ideas at this time. Her response was that she had a simpler survey format she could send home. No doubt copied from the same school district… I replied that I didn’t think it was the format, as I had modified that for him, but the content was the issue, and that he really has no response.
I wrote recently about how we need to 
We went in May last year, and The Boy had an absolute blast. But he was by himself, and after awhile, you realize it would be much more fun with friends. We talked about inviting his friend C and C’s brother and sister the next time we came, or possibly to celebrate their birthdays, as C and his brother are twins and have their birthday a month before The Boy’s. We talked about it several times with C’s mom, a friend of mine, because we would have to coordinate driving or possibly rent a vehicle big enough for all of us.
But to him, it was like watching a friend die, and that core piece of The Boy’s autism, attachment to things, reared its head again. He insisted he had damaged it by dropping it, which he hadn’t. He insisted that it couldn’t possibly be replaced. We kept focusing on the fact that he is getting a new computer – a delayed Christmas present to replace the brand new one that crapped out on us the day after Christmas. He didn’t want to hear any of it. His old friend, the Gateway, was toast, and his world was ending.
This type of lack of organization has to do with executive functioning skills, often a deficit for kiddos on the spectrum, and many with ADHD. Without assistance and support, and regular lessons and routines to help them get their stuff together, they continue to not bring things home-bring the wrong things home-not turn stuff in.
It’s almost the end of February, which means it’s almost spring, which means, it’s almost IEP season. And at our next IEP meeting, I have to let the school know what we’ve decided about The Boy’s future – 
He also will never tell me he is experiencing pain, which worries this mama. In fourteen years, The Boy has never once complained of a headache, but he’s probably had one. And he definitely will not tell me if his dad’s absence and lack of communication is causing him pain, either. I have always told The Boy that he can call his dad anytime he likes. He has never taken me up on the offer. He has difficulty talking to him on the phone on the rare occasions that his dad calls him because he has difficulty creating conversation, and his dad doesn’t understand the types of questions to ask.
A couple of years ago, in an attempt to get him to do some chores, I tried to teach him how to fold and put away laundry. I still have him put it away for me (sometimes), but I do most of the folding. The other day, he happened to come into the living room the evening I was folding, and for some reason, The Man had turned Spongebob on – a rare occurrence. The Boy plopped on the couch, and I started handing him socks to match up. He not only matched them up, but balled them up the way I had taught him to do it. No prompting, nothing. He just did it, and with no complaint.
But I am especially grateful for those that just do it, as if they were put on this planet for that express purpose. They do it with compassion and insight, with fortitude and humor. The one who, in the midst of a less than stellar day, emails me to let me know that even then, she notices improvement. The one who, after a string of days of heartbreaking behavior, simply says, “Tomorrow will be a better day,” and I know she believes it. The one who always texts me after the meltdown to let me know it’s all ok.
Simple. I Just Do. 