They Grow Up So Fast!

What happened to my sweet baby?  He
is growing up soooo fast!

We all say it, at some point, when we think about our kids... "They grow up so fast!" The first several years seem like someone had the fast forward button pushed on the remote.  I spent a wonderful day this past week at a conference about people with disabilities and how they are at an increased risk for being victims of a crime. One of the reasons this happens is the aggressor feels that a person who has an intellectual disability and can't speak are an easy target because they can't communicate and so the crime will go unreported.  Another reason is we often "infantilize"  a child or adult with a disability and don't share important information about sexuality and healthy relationships so they don't often know what is a crime.  This was very interesting information especially in my house now that James is turning 10 in a few months.

Astra is behind Abra

We have two black and white cow cats.  They are not related in any way but look almost identical. About a week ago, James collected both cats, put them on the dining room table and announced, "Okay, it is time for you to make out."  Interesting.... Yesterday as James and I were driving to school we were talking about his birthday party.  He was listing off the boys he wants to invite.  I asked if there were any girls on his list.  Every year he always has a list with girls on it so I felt it was a reasonable question.  I asked about a specific girl because his teacher tells me that she works well with him.  His response to the question..."Of course not mom... You know I am not dating her!" Again, interesting.  Okay... he is only 9 well soon to be 10, but I ask... when did he rocket into his teen years?  I guess I need to prep his daddy on how to handle the upcoming conversations.  Any suggestions?

Doing Private Things...

Just another conversation at the dinner table that turned into... well let's just say... a wee bit weird!!! I mentioned to James that after supper he would have to read his two chapters of his book.  He said okay but then he would have to do some "private things".  I asked what kind of private things thinking I could fool him into telling me like he used to.  Not tonight... he just punctuated it with "well if I tell you, you will call the police and I will have to go to jail!" Ah okay... you can't just leave us with that and not offer an explanation.   "Okay James, spill it." "Well, I am copying a book and that is a crime." "Ah, yes it is BUT... are you passing it in for a grade?" "No" "Are you going to sell it once you are finished?" "No, I want it." "Okay... so I am going to call the police and tell them that my son who HATES to write is actually copying words onto paper and no one told him to do it?" "Yes, because it is a rule not to copy books." "Well James, we could buy the book."
 "No we can't... the library doesn't sell their books!" Can't argue with that but bookstores might be able to give him one if we give them some money.  And then somehow the conversation turned into a JINX round with James and Charlotte.  Did you know that if you are JINXED and you get out the phrase "on the roof" before the word JINX is uttered, the JINXIE can't talk until someone says their name 3 times (just like Beetlejuice!).  Just another night at the supper table!!

The Consequences Bite . . . or Do They? (Another Guest-Post by Daddy)

On the morning of August 31st, as related in the posting under that date, James took unwarranted liberties with Daddy's bank card (trying to order a 3DS game he desperately coveted but hadn't earned) and promptly lost the same. The last he knew he was sitting on his bed and (he said) the card "fell in the direction of the TV." (Only it wasn't there.) In consequence of this chain of events, James lost something of value to him as well -- his treasured 3DS was confiscated.

The drama lasted all through the long holiday weekend. The various stages of grief were passed through: denial, defiance, deal-making, despair -- you know the drill. Initially, he simply denied he had taken the card. Didn't wash. Daddy's wallet had plainly been moved, the card was missing, its number had been entered in the device, and he had even had the chutzpah to go to Mommy seeking help in completing the abortive purchase.

As the evidence mounted against him he got mad: "Oh! How about I just ______!" The blank was filled in with whatever he truly thought would get the parental goat at that particular moment. This tactic was attempted several times.

Various efforts ensued to negotiate his way around the situation, play parent against parent, wheedle out of searching for the card, or otherwise subvert the final decree. "What do I have to do to get back my 3DS?" he finally pleaded. "You have it right now, James -- just give me back my card. As soon as I have my card, you can have your 3DS."

Black depression came upon him -- this was his "I'm just going to punch myself" mode. Thankfully, it didn't last long; one self-inflicted blow later, he realized it hurt.

Acceptance? I'm not certain. Desperation, certainly. He spent a good portion of Monday afternoon frantically turning his room and his sister's upside-down in quest for the lost card, which, alas, stubbornly persisted in its absence. This after having refused to search through nearly three days during which Daddy had turned the house upside-down in his stead. Other truant items had turned up. The key that winds our mantle clock, which James abstracts on a regular basis. An older model DS belonging to another member of the household. A favorite game for it, belonging to that same member of the household. All brought to light by Daddy, not James. I get that kid out of more trouble! But our boy was really suffering.

Meanwhile, I had not neglected the general chores -- feeding the cats, changing the cat box, watering the plants, cleaning the fish tank, washing the dishes, doing the laundry. The laundry tends to back up during the busy week, and catch-up can occupy much of the weekend. We generate a lot of it, our family having recently increased to five people. Anyway, Monday evening I was emptying the drier a final time. Clink! One plastic bank card dropped to the bottom of the bin. I picked it up. It was my card, all right. In all the hullabaloo, no one had thought to look in the pocket of Jamesie's pants!  (a side note from the "Laughter Mom... Just for the record... this is not true... James is "frisked" (have him turn his pockets inside out) more frequently then I like to admit!  I did it the morning of the incident and several times during the weekend. The card wasn't in the pockets of the pants he was wearing at the time the card disappeared.  He likely threw it in the laundry basket in the girls room and I know I told the search party to look in the laundry!)

Up to James's room, 3DS in hand. "What are you doing with that, Daddy?" he asked.

"Giving it to you." I displayed the card. "A deal's a deal."

Complete and utter joy. "So where was it?"

I explained.

"So I was innocent!"

A sidelong look. "Really?"

"Well . . ." (No, not really.)

I shook my head. "I hope, James, you've taken a lesson from all this."

"Yeah, I get it."

One can only hope!

A postscript: of course it remained to be determined whether the bank card still worked, having gone through both washer and drier. The test was made, and passed with flying colors. It seems financial institutions make their plastic tough, doubtless with greedy little boys in mind.

Nibbling and Jamesian Logic (a guest posting from Daddy)

Today has been a snacking day. We are having a stressful time, with a pending house sale and purchase, the sale of our old dead car, the boy lifting Daddy’s charge card and then losing it, the girls off on an overnight, and the cats engaged in a screaming predawn battle right next to Mommy’s bed. The natural human response is to nibble. That or go to a movie. Which Mommy, needing a little just-Mommy time, did -- leaving Daddy at the mercy of Jamesian reasoning most of the afternoon.

Jamesian reasoning consists mainly of contesting the punishment for losing Daddy’s charge card, rambling on about Pokemon statistics, and wheedling more “battle cards” (drawings of Pokemon, Sonic and Mario characters) out of Daddy. Jamesie thinks Daddy is the world’s greatest artist. Daddy knows better, but is not unsusceptible to flattery.

But mostly when faced with stress, we nibble. Mommy does it. Daddy does it. Jamesie does it. Jamesie is freaking good at it.

I can’t tell you how many times that boy has come to me today asking “Can I have--?”

Chicken strips. Pizza. Green chips (his descriptor for Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion). Swedish fish. And . . . green chips again.

“James, you just had green chips.”

“No I didn’t, I had sidditch fish.”

“Before that. You asked me for green chips and you finished a whole bag.”

“Just because it was mostly gone already.”

“James, why do you want more green chips?”

Weedling: “’Cause I’m really hungry.” Kicker: “And ’cause a boy’s got to eat.”

Can’t argue with logic like that. “Don’t have a huge number,” was my parting shot in surrender.

“Thanks, Dad!”