Tag Archives: laughing boy

LB and Stan

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Well this is a biggy. And will make all you dog lovers feel warm and fluffy.  Stan hasn’t featured much in this blog so far (though his paws play a starring role).  Stan is the treasured member of our family.  He is a little bit of a chunky, doting, loyal Jack Russell who likes nothing more than hanging out with us.

After a shaky start – he was Richy’s 40th birthday pressie without us realising how much Richy did not like JR dogs, but lets not dwell on that – he has become a central character. Everyone loves Stan.  Not least, LB.

LB has an unusual relationship with Stan. Though maybe typical for dudes like LB.  LB will confide in Stan, discuss his day with Stan and seek Stan out more than anyone else. If we ask LB about his day at school, or elsewhere, he will disclose nothing. If we say that “Stan wants to know…..”, LB settles down with him and retells his day in detail. Using the voice he always uses when interacting with Stan.  LB’s ‘Stan’s voice’ is a bit of a mystery given how good he is generally at impersonating people. It’s a sort of high pitched, slightly sing song voice, that has stayed the same for many years.

LB loves Stan without question. Stan, on his part, is remarkably tolerant of  LB. Patiently listening to his chatter, sitting with him when he plays with his football guys (with his carefully arranged Playmobile crowd), putting up with some awkward handling.  Funnily enough, LB doesn’t engage with Bess at all. He has got a ‘Bess voice’ when pushed (much squeakier and higher) but he has no real engagement with her. He is a one dog dude.

There are some (schmulzy) books written about how autistic kids’ lives have been transformed through their relationships with their pet dog.  I don’t subscribe to a rescue/cure discourse at all, but there is definitely something remarkable about LB’s relationship with Stan, and the window it offers us into his life.

His literal (intolerant?) side remains constant though. His two most consistent Stan related questions are;

“Mum, is Stan fat, Mum?”
“Has Stan got a small head, Mum?”

I’m ain’t saying anything.

LB and the reversing lorries

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LB was in his favourite place this morning. Sitting at the kitchen table, watching lorries rolling on and off cross channel ferries on youtube.  A cacophony of relentless grinding metal, reverse beeping lights, blaring horns and revving engines.

“Christ LB. That’s just noise,” said Richy, making a cup of tea.
“IT’S NOT JUST NOISE RICHY!!!,” shouted LB, angrily. “It is NOT.JUST.NOISE.”

Richy left the kitchen, leaving LB mournfully talking to himself, and shaking his head.

“It is not just noise. It is not just noise. It is not just noise.”

“Mum, it is not just noise, Mum,” he said, looking at me sadly.
“Well it is really,” I said, as another lorry started to slowly reverse.
beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep….
“It.is.not.JUST.NOISE, Mum.”
“Well what it is then?”
“It’s a way of life, Mum.”

A slice of breakfast life

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Last Christmas I gave you my heart…
“And the man was sectioned. He was ….”
“Your mum was a big Wham fan, Tom.”
“WHAT? No I wasn’t!”
“… a PAEDOPHILE.”
“Shhh LB and eat your porridge. I was not a Wham fan.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Stop making it up. So irritating.”
“Me irritating? Living with you is…”
“Dad, I’ve lived with Mum for 12 years now and it’s been pretty good.”
“Aww..thanks Tom. How many years have you lived with me, LB?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“Think about it LB. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, Mum.”
“So how many years have you lived with me?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“If you are seventeen years old, how many years have you lived with me?”
“Three, Mum.”

LB and the Christmas market

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LB came back from his trip to the Christmas market today in fab spirits. He’d seen a girl he liked. An American girl wearing a baseball cap, gloves and an apron.

“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“Mum, she fancied me, Mum.”
“Cool.”
“Mum, she fancied me, Mum.”
“That’s super cool. How do you know she fancied you?”
“She looked at me, Mum.”
“Ah. Did you talk to her?”
“No, I was too shy Mum. Can I go to the Christmas market again, Mum?”
“Yeah, course you can. We’ll go again next year.”
“Thank you, Mum.”
“TO FANCY OR NOT TO FANCY? THAT IS THE QUESTION,” he shouted triumphantly, walking up the stairs.

The farm and the alpacas

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On Saturday we decided to go and visit the farm/cafe/campsite that LB works at with his sixth form, two days a week. It was near a local village.  We set off, got to the village and there was a sign to the farm. Easy peasy.

“What animals has the farm got, LB?” asked Tom, sitting in the back of the car with him.
“Alpacas”, replied LB.
“Alpacas???” we spluttered.
“Yes.”
“Has it got any sheep?” asked Richy.
“Yes.”

We kept driving along the narrow lane and reached another village. Weird.

“Are we going the right way, LB?” I asked.
“Yes.”

We carried on driving till we reached a crossroads.

“Which way now, LB?”
“This way,” he said, vaguely pointing to the left.

Five minutes later we crossed back over the dual carriageway.

“This can’t be right…” Richy said, “We’re nearly back to Homecity”.
“Is this the right way, LB?” I asked, beginning to chuckle.
“Yes, Mum.”
“Are we near it, LB?” asked Richy, getting exasperated.
“Dunno,” said LB.
“I can’t believe we can’t find it”, I said, “there was a sign way back..”
“I can’t believe we can’t find it when we’ve got the bloke who works there in the car with us,” growled Richy.
“Which bloke?” asked LB.

Alpacas at the farm

The family forum

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Some years ago, we decided to hold a family forum. I don’t know why really. I think we had some romanticised notion (bit like the latest John Lewis Christmas ad offering) that it would be an opportunity to democratically discuss activities, mealtimes, different ways of spending time together.

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Prick or prank?

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“Ok, LB. I’m going to get the washing in and then we’re off.”

“Prick.”

“Wha? Whatdidyousay????”

“Per…prank Mum. I said prank. Not prick. I’m sorry Mum. I won’t say it again Mum.”

Pussy Parlour and the evening raid

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A year or so after we moved into our gaffe, a delivery man knocked on the door. I signed for the parcel while he looked wistfully at the house across the street.

“Ah, those were the days…,” he said, shaking his head. “Pussy Parlour. I used to deliver there every few weeks.”

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LB and Steve Wright

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“Where was Steve Wright born, Mum?”
“Southend.”
“Why, Mum?”
“I don’t know. It’s just where he was born.”
“Where was Steve Wright born, Mum?”
“Southend.”
“Where does Steve Wright live now, Mum?”
“Central London I think.”
“Central London, Mum?”
“Yep.”
“Does Steve Wright wear glasses, Mum?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Has Steve Wright got a moustache, Mum?”
“Yep, I think so.”
“How long has Steve Wright been a DJ, Mum?”
“Wow. About 30 years now. He used to be on Radio One.”
“What’s Steve Wright got, Mum?”
“What?”
“What’s Steve Wright got, Mum?”
“Erm… DJitis?”
“Yes Mum.”

 

LB, Bollo and the voices

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Had a bit of a scare a couple of years ago.  LB’s teacher wrote home in the diary that LB was hearing voices in his head. We just dismissed this as ‘that’s just the kinda guy he is’, but the teacher and school nurse were worried it could be evidence of underlying psychotic tendencies. They organised an urgent referral to the local psychiatric hospital. Oh yeah, it ain’t a dull ride having a dude like LB.

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