Sweet and Sour

As a single Mom with two kids, going out to eat (only once in a bit because I cannot afford it most days) seems like a welcome relief from just a few of the days' chores. The tease is; I won't have to wash dishes or wipe the table OR sweep the floor. I won't have to load the dishwasher or put away any leftovers. Ugh! just the thought of it makes me want to run screaming. I love the cooking. I absolutely HATE the clean up part.

But because I love the cooking part, I also love the 'surprise' aspect of trying new restaurants. Those I had heard of by a friend or those that I had read about in the latest local "Best Places In . . ." column. Who doesn't love to try new foods? What cook worth her salt doesn't admire and respect another cook's interpretation? It's fun! However, not everyone believes that unknown can ever be equated with 'fun.'

My son intensely dislikes 'unknown' Food is one area where he is least likely to be adventurous.
Feeding Jackson as an infant was easy. He ate pretty much the same thing almost every day. All babies begin this way. As new parents I was instructed to introduce foods into their immature constitutions gradually never veering too far from the bland and familiar. But Jackson seemed to accept quite a few foods - well . . . until around the age of three. At that point, with a younger brother who was just beginning his introduction to solid foods, Jackson found renewed comfort in those foods that he knew. My foods. My cooking - EXACTLY the way I made it. No funny stuff, no variations, no creative ideas, please.

When Jackson was younger, going out to eat was not an option because unless you have been to a restaurant before and you know without any doubt that items are available that will not cause stress, meal time just isn't the stress-free experience that it really needs to be as a parent.
As an adult, meal time is the one place where you want just 20 to 30 minutes to relax, enjoy your children and admire your work and your day. For Jackson, meal time could be nothing short of a culinary mine field.
To this day, both my children have peculiar tastes. Neither really enjoys uncertain gastronamy. They like what they know - which means, what I cook.

They don't like Pop-Tarts. "They're crap!" They would prefer a steaming (and home made) plate of French Toast.
They have never finished even the smallest glass of chocolate milk. (Why ruin it?)
They don't consider Jell-O edible. (It's like plastic, isn't it?)
They have never had Lasagna. (Too many textures all in one mouthful - boycott!)
And their reaction the first time I made them a casserole . . . eye rolling and "When did you come up with this bright idea?!"

As a toddler, Jackson didn't even like fast food. At McDonald's he would tear the ends off the french fries because the texture on the ends was different from that in the middle and it made his mouth feel funny. At some restaurants, chefs had the audacity to put garnishes of food items that could irreparably tarnish meals and make certain that there was no way in hell he was eating what was presented. And what is the point of writing out an entree description for the menu if it is not meant to be followed?!?! (I cannot tell you how many times I tried picking out parsley.) Why are there still surprises?
Just because Jackson liked broccoli, cheese, rice and chicken did NOT mean that he liked or yet likes Broccoli/chicken/cheese casserole. He still won't touch it, regardless that he enjoys all the ingredients separately and if they are cooked the way his Mother makes them. Broccoli on his dinner plate at home is not the same as the broccoli that the Italian restaurant prepares. They put 'stuff' on it. To you and I 'stuff' is seasoning. To Jackson 'stuff' is a contaminant.

This weekend we learned for the five hundredth time that the Sweet and Sour Chicken from First Chinese BBQ is not the same as the Sweet and Sour Chicken prepared at Jade Palace. Jade Palace is the one he likes.
We went out to dinner last weekend. Jackson likes Chinese food so we chose a place in the town we were visiting. Jackson ordered Sweet and Sour Chicken. This dish is typically his favorite and only choice at the Jade Palace. The chefs make it for him the same way every single time he orders it. The preparation never varies. He can count on it. Figuring it would be a safe bet, he ordered it again, using the same words and descriptors when placing his order.

Before his plate even arrived at the table - in fact, as it left the kitchen and I watched it's inevitable arrival at his side - I knew there was no way he was ever going to eat it just as surely as I knew that asking him to be flexible, sit quietly and eat it would get me no where. What does pineapple and or corn have to do with chicken anyway?

There was no way he was going to eat that dish - ever.

The waiter hadn't listened. He wasn't familiar with my son. The sauce was not on the side. The vegetables were mised in - touching the chicken. The menu description in Chinese characters didn't reveal that it would be made with dark meat - at least not to someone who doesn't read Mandarin. Jackson "doesn't prefer" dark meat.

He is not going to eat it in a box.
He is not going to eat it with a fox.
He is not going to eat it in a ship.
He is not going to eat it on a trip.
He is not going to eat it - anyplace.
He is Jackson.
He is.

Except in Jackson's story, he did try it. As he held back his gag at the tenuous texture of the dark meat and the sweet, sticky sauce - he tried so hard to behave politely, to sit at the dinner table with other and consume a food item that he really, really just did not like in any way, shape or form.

As I sat there watching my son struggle with an entree that he didn't care for I had to wonder; would most non-Aspergians try so hard to be polite? Would they try to consume something they didn't care for or would they send it back, order a different dish or stop at a fast food place on the way home after pushing their food around on their plate for 30 minutes?

What would they do?

Why did Jackson (and the rest of the family for that matter) assume that the problem with the food was laid solely and singularly at his feet and not with the dish? Who is to say what accounts for individual taste? And why is does he consider it bad it he doesn't care for something? I don't particularly care for oysters. That doesn't mean that chefs prepare them poorly - but that also doesn't mean they didn't.
I like sandwiches and I hate the way my Mother makes them. That's okay!!

I did not make Jackson eat his dinner that evening. How could I? Why would anyone want to eat something that tasted 'ugly.'?

He tried so hard. He was so polite. He took a few bites grimacing all the while beforehand; Like someone who is about to eat rotten fish heads, or boneless duck feet (yes ,that was on the menu) but knowing he should at minimum try one bite before he is allowed to abstain - he did.
He held is breath, held his gag in and swallowed. The politely said, "I don't care for this dish the way they make it here." He had rice for dinner that night.

And I did not order the boneless duck feet. I ordered pork with eggplant. The dish was salty and mushy. I did not care for it, but I ate it  - some of it. Just enough so that I wasn't hungry.

My son knows his limits and  I have accepted them as hard limits. I have been raised to ignore mine. My 'limit's have always been 'preferences' as opposed to limits. The waste or monitary loss was always the hard limit - not my preference. An inanimate cost was far more important than I ever could dream of becoming. Who's the honest, healthy one in this picture?

Check out some of my son's website links

 Hi, I am Jackson Cymerman, Beth's son; these are the website's that I administer and am active with daily::

www.facebook.com/StormWatchDallas
www.facebook.com/WeatherCrew
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hurricane-Hunters/383880451664048
www.stormwatchdallas.com (My Website)(Jackson)
weathercrew.weebly.com (Run by me and a team of 5)
And Finally, https://www.facebook.com/pages/DFW-Stormwatch/171745422880570

If you have time, please check them out and let me know what you think.

Thanks.

Brotherly Love

It must be hard to be the younger brother.

I know only a very little about occupying this position; the younger. I was a younger sister - but I had a younger brother too which meant that I almost literally got lost amid the oldest child and the boy child who also happened to be the baby. Despite that I was virtually invisible between my siblings and life was sometimes, painful and lonely, I am still willing to bet that life must be especially difficult if you happen to be the younger brother of a boy with Asperger's - or any form of Autism.

There are so many special rules for a child with Asperger's. How is a toddler or small child without Asperger's supposed to tell which are for the sibling and which are for him? In addition, not all children with Autism Spectrum Disorder's require the same rules. In a house where Autism lives all rules are child-specific. This is very different from what both brothers will discover for themselves in the real world.

As a parents, we know to well that constructing and consistently enforcing rules is difficult. Finding the stamina to enforce one set is hard - let alone two. Two is takes a mind-numbing amount of concentration and is completely exhausting. Because there are multiple sets of rules there are at least two sets of expectations; one for the child with Asperger's and one for the child without. The only condition that binds both is a moral foundation to do what's best, kindest, and thoughtful, to behave well and respectfully. As adults most of us struggle with identifying firm, stable moral ground. As kids, the fact that we expect them to grapple, learn and apply these guidelines borders on insanity.

As a society we believe we have learned what or how much to expect and in turn demand two sets of behavioral expectations as opposed to one moral expectation where children with Asperger's interact with others who are not affected. As educator's we cope with two sets of expectations and attempt to make both simultaneously saleable yet mutually exclusive and independent. These parameters are practically and widely necessary and at the same time they are socially cruel at the smallest level. Yet, we expect that the youngest among us, the younger siblings, those with the least experience, or with the fewest behavioral tools and least developed intellect should learn, understand, support and actively participate in this required and duplicitous system of behaviors. If the child without Asperger's happens to be the younger, it must be like trying to separate the seas. Trying to grasp that there are two sets of rules at the tender age of two or three and be mindful that this situation exists not because of parental preference, but out of necessity for the older child's handicap is ridiculous. At such a young age these very small children must accept that the rules for them are different, less lenient, more demanding and it's not because they are not the older (favorite) child.

I had a younger brother. However, I am not a boy so my relationship with my brother was completely different than that between my sons. Most important, the fact that we were different genders made most competition irrelevant. For the most part we got along. We could talk or play or at least pretend that we shared some common interests because we could communicate. What it we couldn't? Worse, what if we were talking and communicating - at least technically - but we had no idea what the other was thinking or didn't really care very much? What if we didn't understand that we should be interested in normal play? What if we had a younger brother who looked up to us who was constantly shut out through no fault of amyone's and that small boy was simply too young to understand why?

Can you image how all the appearances of privilege and preference that naturally and always accompany the role of 'oldest' are magnified when the oldest has clear and definable needs for another set of special rules? Can you imagine trying to identify those rules and properly compartmentalize them while you are in the midst of attempting to grow up and understand social order and the world in general yourself?

It must be very hard to be the younger brother of someone with Asperger's. The rest of the playing field is even enough - but for the brother of an Aspergian, that same playing field must seem at times a very lonely place.

It's true. Not only the child with Asperger's is affected when this disorder appears. We all are, in ways that we cannot possibly understand yet must somehow learn to cope with.

Storms

Panic. . . . Anxiety. . . . Uncertainty. . . . Hurricane Season. It's all the same.

Storms make my son nervous. He doesn't delight in the strength of nature - in the absoluteness of weather the way I do. He doesn't like drama. I don't either, but I do like definitive; statements of clarity. To me, storms are like nature's most definitive behavior. For my son, they represent potential chaos, destruction and personal harm. He's right. I'm probably the one who should be more wary than I am.
He's right to be nervous about storms that boil up in the middle of the night fueled by the build-up of heat throughout the day and the clash of cooler air that the evening brings.

listverse.com

His way to deal with this type of uncertainty is to gather all the information he can and make his own determination. He needs to know; to find certainty where there isn't going to be any. This aspect of his personality hasn't changed since he was a toddler. He has always realized the extreme subjectiveness of opinion as well as the muddy disguise of opinion testified as facts within most media avenues.
Unfortunately, storms are simply not something that will ever be 100% predictable; and he really needs them to be.

Hurricane Season is a dated time of the year. In other words, it has a specific term. There is a time when it's over and it's on a calendar. That's definitive. When storms erupt outside of these quoted dates, he needs to know why.This is what he respects about this time of the year.

"The Gulf has been pretty quiet this year" is all he will say so far. He knows the water temperatures in the Gulf are up but there's no moist cool air this year to fuel a storm. He's waiting in his quiet, pensive yet very alert sort of way.

Now that the cooler weather has arrived, he is less provoked by anxiety concerning storms. Where he once would close all the curtains in an "If I can't see it - it's less there" attempt, put his earphones on and surf weather channels, and bombard the local meteorologist with email questions concerning weather patterns, storm tracks and "upper-level lows," he now consoles himself by posting weather updates on Face Book for all his North Texas "Friends."

We had a storm last night. His last FB post was at 1:32am (complete with radar links and volatility forecasts). While I'm not crazy about him staying up well past midnight on Facebook - I have to admire is ingenuity in dealing with his anxiety in a way that is both helpful to himself as well as potentially to others. And by posting these storm warnings, he is able to gain an immediate barometric reading of how others are feeling about an impending storm. If he gets quite a few comments, he knows that it's not only he who is watching, waiting, maybe even concerned just a bit. If nobody else really cares (comments), then it might be okay if he didn't become quite so anxious either. In a way, his posts are a self-designed method of calibrating his anxiety level in accordance with a much larger population without actually asking everyone he knows why they aren't more worried about the storm heading our way.

I am amazed that he is trying to hard to define 'normal' and fit himself into it. I am amazed that he is so inwardly conscious of the fact that he doesn't fit 'normal' in such absolutely subtle ways. I'm sad that he feels he needs to change to be better accepted by his Facebook generation.
Never in a million years would I have come up with this strategy.

But I am so much more confined by my personality than he is.

10 to 143: I lose (big).

I don't typically see activities as contests. In fact, I don't ever see anything from that perspective- even when it certainly is, is pointed out or I am told of it. Perhaps because I usually and flatly refuse to participate in comparisons and contests or be measured in such a way. I am the only one who can measure my adequacy (or failure).

I have not written on this page for months and every day over the those past months I have felt guilty about not writing, not having anything interesting to say and not wanting to talk to anyone. Granted, the previous year has been horrible beyond what I have words to describe. Not entirely and or thoroughly but in a very significant way that is completely unrelated to my familly, my writing or much of anything else. Yet it's effect has been the equivalent of a tectonic shift in my habits, disposition and free time.

Writing is an odd hobby. As well, I do not know it as one that I can force to occur. Either I have something to say - or not. When I don't, then writing is torture. Since I have not wanted to add another awful task to my plate, I have not written much of anything. For that I am sorry. But the anticipation of writing again was always with me. Silent, dormant hope.

Yesterday something happened that instantly made me understand without a doubt that I would be writing again very soon. My son said, 'Let me check my stats." It was that simple.
I have been writing this and another blog for literally years. I do not write them for notoriety or for consequence. I write them because I like to write. Never the less, I do (once in a while) look at my 'stats' to see how many people view what I have written; offer some sort of comment or simply stop by and read for a while. People come from all over the globe! For this I am eternally grateful and gleefully happy. Typically only a few people stop or 'click' on my blog page and I am so thrilled that someone other than my immediate family member and myself read these paragraphs that I do not mind that the number is almost always pretty low. (Let's put it this way; ten would be a big day.)
Still, I love writing my blogs.

A few days ago, my oldest son sent me a link . . . to his own blog page. He was spending Spring Break at his Dad's; busy texting me that he was bored. Amid the texts was his link and there opened a brand new page. Newly formed. Hours old. Only three short days old when I first saw it. My son loves the weather so I was not surprised at all to find that it had to do with weather or that it was organized, clear, easy to read or that locating specific information was elegantly simple.
What did surprise me was the complexity and sophistication that existed within his blog - immediately. His blog was just three days old yet light years ahead of me with respect to his ability to connect it to those readers who would be most interested. His posts are supported by both the local television station as well as the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Yes, that NOAA!!
His stats for yesterday: 143 views!!! Three days old and he's getting 143 clicks!!!
This! From my Autistic son who it has been said, " . . . lacks the ability to communicate well"!!
How? How is he lacking - exactly. Because I don't see the problem.

I cannot say that I am surprised. Yet, I am stunned and even more perplexed as to why this is my reaction. How could I not have expected this or any less from him? When it comes to technology and the weather, my son simply cannot be beat. These are his two best skills as well as his favorite activities and interests. Combine them and I am sure that the sky is not even close to his limit.

Yesterday when my son said, "Let me check my stats" in the middle of a conversation about something entirely unrelated, I was not prepared to lose in such a big way and by such an overwhelming margin. I was completely blindsided by his effortless success. Once again, I should have known better. If he just weren't so darn nonchalant about the whole thing it would be easier to take. I feel as though I put actual work into my blog pages and his simply flow from his as easily as a quiet exhale amid an entire night's sleep after a long and boring day.

If you live in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area and need to know what the day's weather will bring, please visit his blog page at the following address www.stormwatchdallas.com Or, you can like him on Facebook at Storm Watch Dallas. Either way - it's great. I am very impressed. I hope you will be too.

It's SO cool!!! And I am so proud of him.

. . . Girls! . . . .

Some days I wish that I had a magic wand so that I could skip by all the unpleasantness life offers and only experience the times that provide joy, bring happiness and leave me feeling fulfilled, cherished and satisfied. If only!

Oddly enough, this is how my son behaves all the time. He always has. He always manages to arrange his life so that this is exactly what he gets. Logically, it makes sense. Why would you want the bad parts if they are at all avoidable? He skips by the part that is essentially unnecessary and unpleasant as if by choice and moves straight to the part where there is potential only for reward. He did it when he started to walk; went directly from sitting on the floor to walking all over the house on his own. He didn't spend time stumbling, falling, bruised or clumsy. And he's behaving in the same manner again - now.

The other night he came in my room to ask me if I would be available one night next week. Tentatively, I said that I would be. Not wanting to push too much for what I instinctively recognized and the potentially excruciatingly embarrassing teenage divulgence of a secret social plan, extremely privileged, highly private and deeply personal information, I waited for the rest of the question (and story) to unfold.
Fundamentally, what he was asking me was if I would be able to give him a ride to a football game. What he was really asking me concerned the finer points of behavior when meeting a girl at a location other than school.
My son has never been one to have friends his own age. Despite that he knows his peers and (I hope) he interacts with them regularly during his day - he has never once invited a friend over or been invited (not that he's told me about anyway) to a friend's house. And now it seems as though he has decided that he's going to move from 'no friends' to 'hopeful girlfriend' with no in between.

When the day came, I took him to the stadium where the game was being played and dropped him off with very little discussion other than to ask him to text me when he was ready to come home and how to find me amid the streams of school buses and other parents picking up kids. I was worried, but tried very hard to trust in his judgment and his own self-confidence.
Historically, being left somewhere in the dark and without concrete verification that he had a way home and alone would leave him practically paralyzed with panic. In short, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the fun of the outing because he would be so worried about how he's going to fare without all his familiar structures.

None of that happened.

He sent me a text when the game was over. I picked him up from a basically abandoned and darkened parking lot where he was patiently waiting - alone. He texted me once and called me twice while I was on my way. Only twice!! Not sixteen . . . . or twenty. For my son, this is tantamount to a tectonic shift in his behavior. I was afraid that something was very wrong. I worried the entire way there that I would find him a stressed out wreck and promising to never go out alone again. Instead, he was calm, relaxed, thirsty and hungry. -All perfectly normal. There was no sweating, no panic, no jitters, no need for constant verification of stability and or trust. I was amazed. I'm still amazed.

I am so proud of him!! He made plans with someone - a friend - and went out on his own.

Steak dinner

My son and I were on our own a few nights ago. My youngest was at a Friday Night Football game with his fellow band members and would be busy most of the evening. That left my oldest and I at home together. I love spending time with both my boys, but as a single parent, I rarely have more than a few minutes with just one of them so I was really looking forward to it.

In addition, my oldest has been working on a project for the previous two and a half weeks that he finally figured out and achieved. He desperately wanted to share his success with me and I'd been so busy - not to mention exhausted - all week. He was frustrated with me, but tried very hard to accept my limitations not as disinterest, but simple exhaustion. Friday was our night to examine his work - just the two of us.

I have to say that he did a fabulous job. His task was to take my ten year old laptop and my fifteen year old desk top and merge the content of both onto a new (his old) laptop with an updated operating system; iTunes, music, software, drivers and everything. He did it - flawlessly. It's perfect and everything is here . . . a seamless transition. There is no way in the world that I could have done it on my own. I just don't speak 'IT.' He does - fluently and it shows.

I got so carried away in his ability and he was so excited to show me all the new bells and whistles that he had employed (not that I understand how) that before we knew it, it was almost 8pm. We were both starving, well past 'crabby' and quickly approaching 'hornery' on the hungry meter so we decided we needed to go out to eat.
Normally, when we go out to eat we stop for Chinese food. He's familiar with it and the people who work there. It's extremely consistent which makes it a safe bet. The also have items that he enjoys like Egg Drop Soup, Sweet and Sour Chicken and steamed rice.
The other place he enjoys is an Italian place. They will make Pasta Alfredo for him and leave off all the leaves, garnishes and other food items that most people find attractive. As well, he likes to sit at the 'bar' and watch the cooks in the kitchen. This way he can actually watch them make his food to be sure they don't put anything 'extra' in it. It's a perfect environment - if he can't be at home where he can be relatively certain that I won't throw him a curve where his dinner is concerned.

So this is why I was so surprised when he said that he was so hungry, but also tired of Chinese.
What?! Really? Hmmm . . .. Now what was I going to do? I hadn't even considered going to any other place to eat. I don't usually have the option, but here it was practically handed to me. Normally, this would be fun because we get to go find a new place. But I'm sure it didn't equate to 'fun' for Jackson. Trying a new restaurant when he's already hungry and the possibility of him being disappointed in what arrives in front of him is pure stress.
Personally, I love trying new places and I'm okay with being let down, surprised or happily content with what another cook's version of the food I order. I expect one of these outcomes. however, when my son goes out to eat nothing changes. He wants the same certainty that he gets at home and that's a rarity. So when he finds it - we stick with it.

Cautiously, I suggested a Tex-Mex place I'd heard was good and just as cautiously he agreed to try it. But when we arrived, there was a line out the door of this tiny restaurant wedged in between the Indian grocery store and the used video game shop.
Nervously, I drove on desperately hoping we wouldn't end up at some grease-infused, fast food oasis.

Where we ended up is definitely not on my list preferred eating establishments, but it's a safe place for my son - in a pinch. Since there are so few of them, I gladly took it. The alternative (the new Lebanese restaurant that I've been wanting to try) was entirely out of the question because he doesn't know what Lebanese is. I'm not sure I do either, but I'd be willing to find out. My son . . . not so much.

Dinner is different with an Aspergian because there are rules that must be followed regardless the environment. Despite that my son knows there are several different types of protein on our menu at home, All meat is labeled, "chicken." As well, there must be cheese. It's not negotiable. Vegetables cannot be consumed unless they're cooked to a point where they balance precariously on a fine line between mushy and not quite done. There can be no crunchy broccoli and only the tops are consumable. He hates all onions, doesn't like sauces, will shave the charcoal-grilled marks off everything before it's consumed and anything that resembles a casserole or a compilation of flavors is summarily rejected.
No lumps or specks, no matter how indiscernible their flavor, no 'mixed up' foods, no textural deviance's. Think 'vanilla ice cream' and then apply those parameters those parameters to all foods. Okay so now you get it. It's difficult to find foods he will eat. Pizza is okay, but not all pizza. If it's some Artisan - style fancy pants, pizza with whole, fresh basil leaves and thin slices of tomato - it may as well be Tuna Casserole and is immediately relegated to the very bottom rungs on the "Acceptability Scale."

It's true. My son had rules about food. But don't we all? What is the difference between his dislike of parsley and another's complete horror at the thought of coming within five feet of Wasabi or a Cucumber? Is there a good reason why I should try to force my son to change his distaste for sweet potatoes when my other son would not eat a mushroom to save his life? What is the real difference here?

Nothing.

There is no difference beyond that for some unexplained reason we try to change those with Asperger's because they have Asperger's instead of accepting that they just might not like sweet potatoes because they're human and have a right to opinions and the ability to decide what they just don't care for.

My son would be happy with a fillet Mignon, fettuccine Alfredo and steamed broccoli for dinner three nights a week within a repertoire of five meals that were placed on rotation this way he would know what we're having for dinner in advance.
Actually, it's all everyone cares about. We just don't say it. He's not so different from any of us. His difference is that he talks about it and insists that we acknowledge his likes and dislikes as opposed to selfishly overlooking them because it's a lot less work.