Yesterday I slept late. Ben came in and stood by the bed and said, “I asked my 8 Ball if I’m going to get breakfast this morning and my 8 Ball said, ‘Don’t count on it’.”
“Mommy I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I didn’t come to this planet to learn. I just came here to take a look at everything again.” Ben–age 6
Yesterday I attended a chick-hatching breakfast in Ben’s class. All of us moms brought muffins and juice and we looked at the baby chicks that had hatched a few weeks earlier and were chirping in a pen in the corner of the room. The kids took turns showing the moms and dads all the writing and journaling and picture-taking the class had done which chronicled the journey from eggs to the now full grown chicks that are to be taken to a farm on a field trip scheduled for Monday.
Ben is not the most physically demonstrative child, in fact sometimes when I hug him, he responds by telling me that he would like to get a “Do Not Disturb” sign taped to his forehead. Continue reading
You may have noticed that many of these posts are from when Ben was younger and that I skip around….it’s because I didn’t know how to blog when I was writing them but don’t want them to continue to sit in my drawer.
This is from when Ben was 4 and a half.
Ben had woken up sick in the middle of the night and was now recovering. I stayed home from work to be with him, and he had been sleeping all morning. I poked my head into his room and saw that his eyes were open, so I went over to his bed and sat down next to him. I put my hand on his head. He no longer had a fever, but he seemed weak and he was quiet.
“Are you feeling better, sweetie?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, but his eyes looked sad. “Why did I throw up?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe you ate something bad or you had a little virus.”
Just then Simon jumped on the bed and curled up our feet.
“I want Simon to be my kitty when I grow up,” Ben said.
“Well,” I said. “Kitties don’t live that long. And Simon is already really old.”
Ben stared at Simon. “You mean Simon is going to die?” he asked. Continue reading
Ben and I were walking home from the grocery store sometime in 2004 when I looked down and saw the most beautiful moth lying perfectly flat in the street. It was like a bug under glass in the museum—it had been run over by a car with its huge furry wings spread out and it was in perfect condition. Ben had been walking a little ahead of me. I thought he hadn’t noticed it.
“Ben!” I said. “Come look at this bug.”
The way he acted, it seemed as though he had seen it but didn’t want to acknowledge it. He stood planted to his spot and ignored me.
“Ben, come and see this beautiful bug!”
Reluctantly he came over and looked down at it. Then he looked up and away.
“I don’t want to see it,” he said. Continue reading
“How does a foghorn work? Does it scare the fog away?”
I’ve asked Ben a few times what he wants to be when he grows up.
“I don’t know,” he finally responded.
“Well, what do you like to do?” I asked.
“I like to open doors.”
“What if a comet hits the moon and it cracks into a million pieces? We’ll have to get glue and stick it back together. But we’ll have to be careful not to use too much glue or it might spill over to where the sun is and then the sun might stick down below the Earth and never come up again.”
One Saturday morning, when Ben was six years old, he climbed next to me in bed as I was sleeping.
“Mommy,” he whispered. “do I have autism?”
I was jarred awake. It was one of those crucial moments; I realized I had to address this perfectly or he could be traumatized. We have never kept the word autism a secret. We have never whispered it, and we have talked openly about it all of his life.
“Well, sweetie, “ I said carefully. “Some of the experts say that you have a little bit of autism, yes.” Good, I thought. That was a good answer. But I wasn’t prepared for what he asked next. Continue reading
Ben was about three, sitting on the couch looking at a book. We were getting ready to go to a farm to see some animals. I had told Ben about the trip, thinking he would be excited, but there was not much of a reaction.
“Ben. Ben. Ben,” I called. “Ben! Be—en, can you hear me? We have to go.”
Sigh. “Yes, okay. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.”
“Ben, we’re going to go do something as a family today. We’re going to a farm to see animals.”
“I don’t want to go see animals.” Continue reading