Tag Archives: autism

The bath and the bell

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One of my birthday presents was a bell so I could ring for ‘service’ (wine, newspaper, clean towel, etc)  when in the bath. I know. It’s a laugh riot in our gaff. On Sunday, LB was about to get in the bath when I realised the full potential of the new, shiny bell. LB loves baths but has quite a way to go to mastering effective tap control (heat and quantity). We run it for him and leave him to soak. Trouble is, it’s tricky to decipher general chatter from a help request (or outright alarm). This means he doesn’t get much privacy.  Dinging the bell could resolve this.

“So LB, if you want anything ding the bell. Like this…” DING!
“Yes Mum.”
“Ok? If the water gets too cold or you need anything, just ding.”
“Yes Mum.”
“Ok, I’m going in the other room.”
“Yes Mum.”
DING!
“Wow. That was quick. What do you want?”
“I love Irish lorries Mum.”

ryan5-45

Football club

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“Hey LB! Did you go to football club after school?”
“Yes Mum.”
“What was it like?”
“Fine Mum.”
“Cool. Did you score any goals?”
“No Mum. I was the goalie Mum.”
“Very cool! Did you save lots of goals?”
“No Mum.”
“Oh, did you let many goals in?”
“Yes Mum.”
“Oh. How many did they score?”
“Hundreds Mum.”
“Oh. Never mind. Do you like playing football?”
“No Mum. Not really.”

The phone (2)

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If we ask LB to get the phone, he usually shouts at it “Whatdoyouwant???” until it stops ringing. Tonight was progress. With a big fat P.

“LB! Get the phone!”
“Who me Mum?”
“Yes, quick!”
“Do I have to Mum?”
“Yes, quick before it stops ringing.”
“BLOODY PHONE. I hate it.”
“Just do it.”
“HELLO! HELLO! WHAT.DO.YOU.WANT??”
“Who is it?”
“WHATEVER!”
“Who was it LB?”
“Recorded message Mum.”

Making puttanesca sauce

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“OK LB. I’m going to make some puttanesca sauce. You like that, don’t you? Very posh n’ Nigella.”
“Who looks after buses Mum?”
“Mechanics?”
“Mechanics Mum?”
“Yes..”
“And London buses Mum?”
“Yep, mechanics look after London buses.”
“Why Mum?”
“Because they have to stay roadworthy. Keep the passengers safe.”
“Yes Mum.”
“Now I need to find some olives…”
“Who looks after lorries Mum?”
“Mechanics.”
“Mechanics Mum?”
“Yes…”
“Mum? Who looks after coaches Mum?”
“Mechanics… Crap the olives have gone mouldy…”
“Mum?”
“YES?”
“Who looks after settattas Mum?”
“Settattas?”
“Settattas Mum. Who looks after settattas?”
“I can’t understand you LB. Say it clearly.”
“SET. TAT. TAS.”
“I don’t understand. Say it clearly. Mouldy.bloody.olives.”
“SETTICTANKS MUM.”
“Septic tanks???”
“Yes Mum. Who looks after settictanks?”
“Mechanics.”
“Mum?”
“Yes LB?”
“I wish I was a Londoner Mum.”

LB’s support plan

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So the dreaded visit from LB’s Care Manager passed off painlessly today.

LB sat very patiently while she gave information, apologised for using jargon and went through his support plan. Then she got to the big question:

“What three things are most important to you in your life?” [these can relate to any aspect of your life – aspirations, outcomes you wish to achieve or things you are keen to maintain or be able to do again.]
[silence]
“LB what things are important to you? …”
[silence]
“What is important to you? It can be anything at all… Have a think…Is it your mum and dad? Or your family?”
[silence]
“Can you think of one thing to start off with?”
“Bus spotting.”
“Ah. That’s good. Can you think of anything else that’s important to you?”
“Lorry spotting.”
“Brilliant. One more thing…”
“Coach spotting.”
“Fantastic.”

Scrap metal

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This week, LB shifted his attention to scrap metal. A break from Irish lorries but with worse sound effects on youtube. He also came back from his dad’s with a toolkit containing a hammer and screwdriver.

Last night, there was a terrible crashing noise upstairs. He’d put his die cast models (some limited edition) in a pile and was hammering the screwdriver into them.

“Whoa! Stoppit LB! What are you doing?????”
“Making scrap metal Mum.”
“Well you gotta stoppit matey. Now!”
“Why Mum?”
“Because I said so! You’ll ruin them!”

“Blimey,” I said to Rich, sitting back downstairs, “Model enthusiasts would be weeping if they saw that…”

Then I started wondering why he should stop bashing them.

LB and the coffee morning

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“Hey, you going to the coffee morning again tomorrow LB?”
“Yes Mum.”
“Where’s it held?”
“In the church Mum.”
“Wow. Do you meet people there?”
“Yes Mum.”
“Who do you meet there?”
“Old people Mum.”
“Oh. Do you know any of their names?”
“Barbara Mum. And the other old people.”
“That’s nice. Do you talk to them?”
“Yes Mum.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Old people stuff Mum.”
“What’s old people stuff? Tell me something you talk about?”
“Getting older Mum.”

LB and the school bully

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“LOCK HIM UP. LOCK HIM UP AND THROW AWAY THE KEY!
HE’S AGGRESSIVE.
HE’S A DANGER TO SOCIETY.
HE’S A BULLY.
HE’S CLINICALLY INSANE.
AND.. AND… AND…HE WATCHES TOO.MUCH.TV.”
“LB, what happened at school today?”
“Nothing Mum. Nothing.”

 

 

The foyer

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I randomly decided to pick LB up an hour and a half early from after school club yesterday. And found him sitting patiently on a chair in the foyer. Alone.

“WHADDAYADOINGSITTINGHERE LB???“
“Waiting Mum.”
“Waiting?!! WHY AREN”T YOU IN KIDS CLUB?”
“Dunno Mum.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“You Mum.”

I rang the kids club staff on the internal phone (you have to ring and speak to staff).

“Er, I have LB here. In the foyer on his own.”
“Ah, is he there? We’ll come down and get him.”
“GET HIM? I’ve got him! What’s he doing in the foyer on his own?!!!”
“We’ve been waiting for him to come from football. Usually he’s brought up to the hall after football by school staff…”

After this exchange on the phone (???) we left and the service provider running the kids club texted me disclaiming any responsibility ending with “..we are not at fault”. It was the school’s responsibility. Lovely.

This morning, the school liaison officer (SLO) rang, hugely apologetic. It will never happen again. LB had told a staff member that he wasn’t going to kids club that afternoon, I was picking him up. He had to wait in the foyer. Whoa. Cheeky monkey or what? (He doesn’t  like after school club and was pretty fixated on getting Eddie Stobart Series 3 in the post).

Or, as the SLO suggested, was the dude a bit psychic?

I asked LB what he thought about what had happened, at bedtime last night.

“I hate the foyer Mum.”

The why? question

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LB has become adept at answering most questions “Yes“, “No“, “Don’t know” or “All of them” in typical teenager fashion. We’ve been pushing him on this recently (not least because it’s pretty boring).

This morning (as with so, so many mornings);

“Mum? I love lorries Mum.”
“I know.”
“Mum? I love lorries Mum…”

Usually at this point I say “I know LB. Do you know how I know?”
And he answers “Because I’ve told you 25,000 times, Mum.”

This morning I mixed it up a bit;

“Mum? I love lorries Mum.”
“I know.”
“Mum? I love lorries Mum…”
“Why do you love them?”
“Dunno Mum.”
“No, think of why you love them.”
“Dunno Mum.”
“C’mon LB. Try to explain to me why you love lorries.”
“Because. Because…… Because of me, Mum.”

Love him.