Since the possibility that S has ASD was raised yesterday, it has been impossible to shut it out of my mind. I did some gardening yesterday evening to take a break. As I was finishing, I caught myself realising that I had in fact been successful and thought about dirt and water for a while; that was the beginning of the end. The worries slid back like a landslide and I found myself hurrying to the computer to look up the CARS questionnaire online. I did it, and got Q to do it, and we compared answers; both in the low 20s, having both picked the same items to give higher scores, and yet, in neither case did he even nudge the cut-off score for autism (30). We know that's not the end of the story, but we did take some comfort from the consistency of our viewpoints.
But I ended up writing yesterday where I do end up so often; my never-quenched thirst for reciprocity. I should have known that today would be a bad day. It was to be a warm day, and feeling a strong and apparently unrealistic desire to connect with my children, I decided to risk an early trip to the zoo. P has disliked the zoo for a long time, has never really seen the point of animals, but because it had been a while, I thought it time to try again. S does like it, but being the handful that he is, trips can still be hard work, and I was worried that the 2 of them would just go into clown mode and it would be a disaster.
It wasn't quite that bad, but I think with my yearnings heightened, I had little tolerance. With these new suspicions about S and ASD as my companions, I tried to guide the 3 of us around together, but instead was dismayed at P's aimless gait, something I recognise in other ASD kids, and S torn between following/imitating him and staying with me and whatever else was distracting him. A woman with a pram & kids in tow nearly mowed S down at one point. I was rather cross, but really, how could she avoid us? Slow moving yes, but sprawling and utterly unpredictable. Her own kids were bunched in a group like a school of fish by comparison.
And so I could not but notice that at every opportunity, my boys tried to opt out of the moment. They each tried to engage each other in acting out computer games. I put my foot down and tried to keep them present with me. We were in the dark underground seal-viewing area, and they ignored me. I was trying to rustle them towards the exit. S's head narrowly missed a display case; I put my hand out and felt a surprising sharp, hard point at the corner. I was just processing the shock at how close he'd come and wondered if it would have resulted in a trip to the hospital when P hit his head on the handrail and burst into tears. I got angry. I marched away as fast as I could. They opt out, turn every environment into something meaningful only to themselves, and it always ends badly, and I feel so incredibly alienated.
But I pressed on with the program, forced them to see the other animals we'd agreed on. P complained bitterly, but I couldn't just give in and let them "win". This was the zoo, they'd agreed to come, and this is what one did at the zoo. Surprisingly, P had some good moments. There is one gibbon that always comes up to the window for a good look at the humans. P was very taken with her, and wouldn't come away, as he found it "interesting". That's big stuff for him. But on the whole the rewards were thin on the ground. During the wait for hot chips at the cafe, S forfeited a substantial amount of his computer time by snorting like a pig (copying a TV show and thus heightening my anxieties about what we are now officially calling his echolalia) and generally falling into the dreaded clown mode. I don't like punishments like that, I usually try to reward good behaviour, but I think that whenever I feel their responsiveness slip to a low, it brings out a sternness in me. Perhaps one good thing resulted from it; many apologies from S in the car. I thanked him but said it would not bring back his computer time. He said "I know" and moved on. He seemed genuinely just to be sorry, to be showing empathy, and something more sophisticated; contrition. Those are the kinds of moments that I have seized on when I tell myself that he does not have autism. How realistic am I being?
The joys continued; P lapsing back into silliness & getting hysterical when he landed in bird poo, S's final tantrum for wanting to beat his brother out and then failing to get back through the one-way gate to leave with his brother as well. They both enjoyed the reptiles, they always do. And to my amazement, P said he'd had a good time. Too little too late; I was not very gracious, and let them both know that I had not.
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