At the beginning of the summer, I fell.  I was running in my socks to answer the phone. When I got around the corner, I slipped, like I was on ice, and tore up my knee.  My son was the only one home and he comforted me.  He was wonderful.

Well, you know, what they say?  Like mother, like son.  The other night I was typing on the laptop after the little guy had his bath.  He was in his jammies and some adorable Target Snoopy Halloween socks.  He was in the next room, playing with one of his 50,000 cars.

Danger socks...

Tile.  Socks.  Running.  Fall.

I heard the slip and the smack that followed!  As I ran in there (yes, I didn’t learn my lesson either) there was that split second of silence and – scream!!!  Cry!!! Yell!!!  He was getting up from the corner of the doorway, with his hand up to his cheek.  I scooped him up and carried him into the bedroom.  He was already wailing at top volume in my ear, tears streaming down his little face.

I laid him on the bed and sure enough, there it was.  Dark, purple bruising on his cheek right under his left eye.  The hubs had come running in by now, and I barked orders to bring crushed ice and a towel while I grabbed some semi-cool baby wipes and held them on his face.  I was being alternatively kicked in the gut, and pushed away by the feet and arms, while being rendered deaf by the screams.  I held on anyway.

The ice came.  I shot some ibuprofen down his throat and held the ice on his face.  Have you held ice on the face of a five year old with autism?  Not an easy task.  It’s not like you can talk to him and get an account of how it happened.  I knew anyway.  There was no amount of scolding that will get through at these moments. So my best move at that point was to keep quiet and I did.

Son:   “TRAIN!!!  WANT A BLUE TRAIN!  ORANGE!! ORANGE TRAIN!  MOMMY TO GET YOU A TRAIN!  DRAW A TRAIN.  HERE’S THE WHEEL!  (yelled while drawing a wheel on the top of my head with his fingers).”

Me:  (thinking to myself but not speaking)  “OMG – I hope this is not too bad!  My poor baby!!  Yup, that’s definitely going to be purple.  Thank God it was just his cheek!  OUCH!  What a terrible mother I am.  Why did I put these eff’ing socks on him?

Then there would be a lull – maybe 20 seconds of silence, but when you’re at the rock concert of all meltdowns (and this one was justified because it must’ve hurt something awful), it seems like a long lull.  Then, he would pick up steam, and we’d be off to the races again with yelling:


Me:  “I’m so sorry, my little sweetness!  Mommy is right here.  It will be okay.  It’s not a bad boo-boo.  (thinking to myself immediately – “Oh s***!   Why did I say “boo-boo”?  Don’t I know the forbidden trigger words by now?)

Son:  “ WUBZY!!  WANNA WATCH WUBZY!!  WUBZY!! (and so on…)

Wubzy is a cartoon.  For some reason, which I don’t remember but I’m sure correlates with the show, he associates the word “boo-boo” with this strange yellow cartoon.   Saying “boo-boo” to him generates a mad frenzy to vomit-yell “Wubzy” like a gag reflex. This mistake on my part threw gas on his meltdown fire.

To top it off, the Daddy would come in, rile up the child, leave and return to check on him.  Each time he’d walk into the room, my son would amplify his tirade in a clever and successful attempt to garner further attention.  I couldn’t- not attend to his face.  I had to keep the ice pack on it to keep it from swelling.  So with the Daddy in the room, for the 10th time in 10 minutes, this is the turn that things took:

We do not have this in our house...


And so the Daddy left the room on orders to get some chocolate ice cream which, at the last minute was changed to “pink” (strawberry).  We have no blue ice cream, nor have I seen any.  As we are fully prepared parents, there is always a container of ice crystalized Neopolitan ice cream for ‘meltdown’ maintenance in our freezer.

Meanwhile, I’m still struggling to keep the ice pack on the kid’s face.  I, myself, cannot stand to have the ice in one location too long.  It’s just too cold.  So every now and then I would take it off, look and then re-apply it, getting pushed and shoved and kicked to leave him alone.  At the same time, the ice, which is in one of those freezer bags was not sealed So about a 1/2 cup of it spills onto the bed, generating this:


Now, really.

Everyone has their limits...

There is just so much even Mother Teresa can take.

And so the Daddy comes back in.  And, my very full cup of stress? Well, it exploded.  I chewed the Daddy raw about sealing the ice pack.  This silenced both of them.  The Daddy, knowing that I was on the battlefield while he had been on shore leave, did not really do anything to fuel both the melting down child and the PTSD mom at that moment.  My son quietly said, “Want your dad.”  The Daddy fed the child his ice cream and slowly, skulked away.

Very smart.  Very, very smart for the Daddy.  Because if we’re looking at the hill, the little guy was on top.  The manager, you might say. I was in the middle, and dad?  He was down at the bottom… And you know what they say about things running downhill, right?

I would call this the flow at my house after a bad meltdown but with less people...

About solodialogue

I'm a lawyer and the mom of a 6 year old boy with autism. I work part time and spend the rest driving here and there and everywhere for my son's various therapies. Instead of trying cases, I now play Pac-man and watch SpongeBob. I wear old sweaters and jeans and always, always flat shoes to run after my son. Yeah, it's different but I wouldn't change it for anything. The love of my child is the most powerful, beautiful and rewarding aspect of my life.
This entry was posted in Autism and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Shiner.

  1. That’s the flow at my house too. What a horrible accident. Hopefully he’s better today. That’s pretty “normal” for when accidents happen around here too. 😦

    Quite the battlefield we live in! lol 🙂

  2. Karla (Mom2MissK) says:

    Ouchie. All the way around. It’s amazing how much drama goes into soothing one small person who is unable to communicate.

    We have an ice pack that’s inside a fuzzy Hello Kitty wrapper… We call it the boo-boo buddy. While the naming convention may notnwork around your house, the boo-boo buddy is handy and less intense and a bag of ice. I think we got it at Target.

    We also have a local Cleveland ice cream shop that sells blue ice cream. It’s cotton candy flavored… And they ship anywhere in the U.S. Just say the words and it’ll be on its way 😉

    • solodialogue says:

      It is hard to soothe someone who has difficulty with communication! I have got to get one of those “Wubzy” buddies! Thanks for the kind offer on the ice cream- but I think that it’s best he knows nothing about that ice cream! I think if I really looked I could find something similar… but then what happens when I run out? I think we both know… 😉

  3. eof737 says:

    Oh boy… hope he is doing better. Sounds like a nasty little bruiser… as for blue ice cream, you could probably color vanilla ice cream and serve it up… Hugs to all of you… 😦

  4. I kind of know what you mean…. Taz has had his fair share of accidents that require ice, and oh boy, is it hard to keep that baby on!! He’ll be four in November, so he’s not too far behind, but he’s a whale of a boy (was born on 75th%ile and shot up to 91st%ile really quickly and has hovered between there and 95 since – his food issues have apparently not affected this too much and he is currently on the lower 90th – had to get him weighed recently because of the eating thing.) The nurse who used to see him as a baby (till he was about 6 months) would roar with laughter at my “chunky baby” she delighted in explaining to me that usually there’s a dip in the baby’s weight after birth, but not my little guy, my guy’s weight rocketed straight up **lol** We had NO idea what we were in for…. **sigh**

    I’m so sorry you guys had to go through that.

    And you barking orders, the baggie-fail, Mr Daddy getting chewed out and then skulking off dealing with the remainders of the meltdown seriously cracked me up. It’s so like that at our house. Or sometimes I hand him screaming baby so I can calm down screaming son. **lol** But actually, we had just this type of episode last night (chewing out of the Daddy, not Autie son in pain 😦 ). We were trying to get both to sleep and Taz was melting down cause he wanted to “GO DOWNSTAIRS! UPSTAIRS BROKEN! WATCH CINDERELLA!” etc (Don’t ask). Bubs was not handling things the “ABA” way, was taking forever to calm Taz, so I furiously stormed in with angry baby, dumped her in his arms, took over with Taz and “we” had both kids asleep in 5 minutes.

    Doesn’t it really wind you up when they (The Daddies) veer off the (very strategic) plan and decide to just wing it? “Cause that’s what men do”. **sigh**

    • Can I get an “Amen, Sister” ?! Seriously!

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks for saying that- it makes me feel so much better! My son also has always been in the 99th percentile for growth! The Daddies do veer and decide to wing it, don’t they? Haha! Then, they run away…

      • **lol** Big kids are cute. But my daughter’s tiny and so is she… 😛 I had a friend who’s baby was so huge he went right off the charts. I saw him when he was 3 months and he literally looked like he should have been walking by then!! My cousin was like that too, she looked like she was 5 or 6 when she was only 3 so people used to think she was the “slow” kid. **lol**

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s