Today, I opened our son’s door to find a winter wonderland.
He’s been more impulsive of late; we aren’t sure yet what’s going on.
Last night at Boy Scouts, his sometimes-nemesis-sometimes-partner-in-crime asked for water. Our boy complied with the request by dumping water on the kid’s head.
When Hubby asked him why he thought it was a good idea, he shrugged.
I didn’t think it was a good idea. I just thought of it, so I did it.
Reasons for his choices remain elusive, apparently even to him.
“I wanted to do it at the time but now I see it was a bad choice,” or “I don’t know why I did it,” are frequent answers when we question him after the fact.
His befuddlement appears legitimate.
Since Dad passed away, wild swings of his behavior have become the norm. One moment, he’s explaining detailed reasons for the failure of a World War II campaign. The next, he’s walking from the kitchen to the living room to deposit orange peels behind the couch because the trash can (in the kitchen) was too far away.
After he gets in trouble, he’s almost perfect for hours and incredibly logical about accepting consequences for his behavior. He’ll work with diligent focus on math, chores, apology notes or other remedial requirements.
If only he’d act as though he’d been in trouble BEFORE getting in trouble, he’d almost never be in trouble.
Back to the beautiful snowy landscape.
In his room.
I opened the bedroom door to deposit some of his belongings and stopped, sniffing in amazement.
My young man’s bedroom actually smelled…not like his bedroom usually
Then I turned on the light.
The pictures don’t even begin to accurately portray the amount of powder on EVERY SURFACE of his room.
This summer, before Scout camp, I bought him a container of Anti Monkey Butt powder (yes, it’s really a thing) as recommended by the troop leaders. It resided in the top drawer of his dresser for almost an entire year.
This morning, it called his name.
He said he just wanted to see what everything would look like with powder all over it.
Thought it might be pretty.
Turns out, it definitely smelled pretty.
It was EVERYwhere.
I can imagine his delight as the plastic can puffed white flakes into the air. He probably danced through the clouds as they fell (a theory supported by the powder Hubby brushed off the kid’s shirt this morning).
As usual, he attempted no argument when I handed down the sentence: vacuum and wipe every surface, shake bedding over the porch rail, put all belongings in their proper places.
He even put the sheets back on his bed without asking me for help—and I didn’t even tell him to do that.
Tomorrow, his in-home counselor will help us try to work with him through his thought process. I’m just hoping we can find a solution, because right now it feels like every time we turn around it’s “something else.”
So far, most of his urges have led to largely harmless actions, but we just never know what he’s going to do next.
It’s like he’s suddenly five. Or maybe three.
He carries chunks of concrete into the bathroom, hides yogurt wrappers and banana peels in his room (doubly odd since we reinforce that he can have healthy food any time he wants it), climbs things, wanders off, misbehaves at school hoping for a suspension (because then he can come home) and basically does whatever pops into his head.
A friend told me that when his spectrum son edged into puberty, his Autism went from minor inconvenience to a full-blown life-alteration. We’re not sure if this regression is due to the Autism, due to the grief, due to a need for a change in medication, or…
We just don’t know. And it’s frustrating.
But, on the bright side—the side to which I cling in desperation—the pattern of the powder was very pretty.
And even better: his room no longer smells like a baboon’s derriere.