Journal Excerpts - Week 3

Monday started out pretty well. Blake was happy. On the playground that afternoon he tried to take his pants and underwear off three times and succeeded once. He thinks it’s very funny when I scold him now. I’m not sure what to make of that. I made him go inside early again but I don’t even know if he understands why.

During PE he was fine for the first half. He watched the other kids play T-Ball or bounced on his big green ball giggling. Then he must’ve gotten really bored so he picked up a bat which I promptly took away from him so that no one would lose any teeth. Without a sound or a second thought he ran to a table against the wall and threw over a large box of whiffle balls which proceeded to cover the gym floor. After he picked up two and the rest of the kids picked up the others I marched him out of the gym and sat him on the bench and told him why we had to leave early and how sad that made me and how we couldn’t have fun if he did things like that. He started hitting the wall. I actually like that better than laughing at me. I’ve never seen any remorse from him. The only emotions he displays are happy (which can range from the beautiful watching a bird fly with the biggest smile and wide eyes to the infuriating laugh of “I’m gonna do this even though I know you don’t want me to”) and mad. If sorrow over what he’s done occurs in his head, it certainly never registers on his face or through his actions. Then he started hitting me and wwinging his arms almost uncontrollably. I only got whacked once before I was able to grab both arms. My elbow hit the bench pretty hard but it only hurts cause I’m a wimp.

Tuesday was boring. Uneventful. Except that I wouldn’t let Blake go onto the big playground at all today. He thought it was a game. Or he thought my stern face was funny. He didn’t get on it though. He also tried to climb over the gate to the water we like to look at so we had to leave the water as well.

Wednesday – today was a good day. Ahhh… it’s so nice to say that. The last two minutes were very bad and things went on the floor and I got my head bonked but I’m choosing to forget those two minutes and remember the good day we had! Blake was pretty good on the playground and didn’t even once try to remove his clothing. Unless you count shoes as clothing which he got in trouble for several times. The last time I decided to teach him a lesson after his shoes came tumbling down the slide before his body intended to. I picked them up in my right hand, waved “g’bye!” with my left hand and started walking away. He stopped giggling and laughing like he had every time I had told him to keep his shoes on. Some may have seen the way he was pitifully limping after me barefooted on the mulch and considered it cruel and unusual punishment. I’ll let them keep his shoes on him tomorrow.

We went back to the stage and he did some kind of strange circling Indian dance for me. It lasted until his speed could not keep up with his girth and he landed on his knee and elbow. He didn't cry, though it looked like a pretty good fall, he picked himself up and sat next to me on the bench rubbing his red knee and making the same noise he does when he’s playing computer games. I patted his back and signed “okay?” Apparently.

My most proud moments were in P.E. today. He ran with the kids laughing and squealing and looking around. Blake goes with the 2^nd graders to P.E. though he’s bigger and the age of 4^th or 5^th graders. The kids started playing this game called “Clean Your Room” or something that sounded altogether unappealing to me as a “game.” It consisted of trying to keep as many of the foamy balls on the other side of the cones by rolling or kicking them. As soon as they started playing Blake, who had been sitting contently next to me, jumped up and went squealing into the tornado of ponytails and tennis shoes. I almost ran after him but he immediately caught on to the gist of the game and even stayed on one side of the cones the whole time. When it was time for them to sit on the line so we could count the balls in each section and see who won, he sat very quietly and patiently and better than a lot of the “regular” kids.

This made me very smiley.

Highlight of Wednesday: Once –and only once- he put his shoes away without me asking.

And the angels rejoiced.

Thursday I got to work with Alex in the morning which he immediately decided was a bad idea because as he put it to the head teacher “she bosses me too much.” Her reaction was the same as mine: a jaw drop, a laugh of ridiculousness, and a head making circles wondering how he could hear that come out of his own mouth and not laugh at his own illogic. “Alex, she is your TEACHER. It is her JOB to tell you what to DO.” Eventually the assistant principle came down and had a conversation with him which involved him telling her that I had hit him which she fortunately did not entertain. Coming back into the room following this confrontation, he gave me one last nasty look and was fine for the rest of the day. I am constantly amazed at how much I truly do have this desire to help him and how often he returns that with disgusted disinterest. I’m not a trained teacher, I don’t know how kids with A.D.D. and hearing impairments and family problems and behavioral disorders learn best. I don’t know why some part of his brain can look at a clock and at the age of ten, have no idea what the hands and numbers mean and have no interest in why that might be important to him. Then I think of what he’ll probably “turn out to be…” and I hate my brain for thinking those thoughts and my heart for turning so cold. I’m reminded of the times the Savior has pursued me and the ways I have demonstrated disgusted disinterest or worse, apathetic indifference.

The upside of today is that Blake behaved wonderfully. He must have gotten up on the right side of the bed. Of course he’s autistic so there were things here and there that had to be corrected and picked up and chased. Overall, we had fun together, Blake and I.

I’ve been walking to and from school the past few days. It’s nice to have a walk before and after to think and step and breathe. The way there is cold, the way home is hot and I think and step and breathe.

Friday is the quietest most laid back day of the week. Somehow it worked out that Blake has three teachers all to himself on Friday mornings so I usually organize something or cut something out or read my book (which is now back to “Anne’s House of Dreams” because I finished “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” on Wednesday and I l-o-v-e-d it, mostly).

This morning in the cafeteria they served pancakes and syrup for breakfast. Blake loves syrup. The previous sentence sends my body into shivers and twitches which I am now trying to control. [I cannot imagine who decided it was a good idea to serve 5 – 11 year olds syrup in a shallow plastic dish which they must carry to their table by themselves (unless they are autistic). If that was your idea and you’re reading this (I believe in long shots) I would like for you to buy me a new pair of brown flip flops, mine are very squeaky now and it takes three times the energy to pull them off of the floor with each step.] Blake dips each mini pancake in the syrup with his fingers, pushing it down until it has sopped up as much syrup as a mini pancake is physically able. He then transfers the pancake from dish to mouth tracking a distinctly sticky trail over side of dish, down table, up shirt on tummy, up collar, up chin and into mouth. Next he makes this horrid sucking noise which you might hear from a nursing home lunch room on National No Dentures Day. When I am watching him and pointing to my throat he will swallow and repeat this process. When I am not watching because I’m cleaning up syrup, he will spit the chewed up pancake devoid of syrup into his hand and put it on the table. It’s now one of those things I’m happy to look back and laugh at; though at the time I’m afraid I was terribly disgusted. Needless to say I was very happy to leave the cafeteria Friday morning and retreat to being third on the list of “people responsible for Blake.”

Today was my favorite outside time we have had. We played on the “balance beam” of wood that borders the playground. We did silent plays for each other on the little stage (I attempted to recite Shakespeare for him and got through about line 3 of the “I left no ring with her, what means this lady?” speech before he was back on stage for his turn and pushing me towards the bench). We did some swinging. We went to the water and threw those round stickly things in and watched them float down the current. I leaped from bench to bench in the water observation area and then he held on to me while he did the same. He’s a big boy and almost smashed me. We went to the unfenced overhang and looked down into the water and I held on to him so he wouldn’t fall. We walked back up the trail with our arms around each other like we were buddies and had a fun day.

I’d like to finish it there. I just don’t even want to write the next part because outside was so nice today and I wish I could’ve just gone home after that. I’ve never taken Blake to lunch before but today it was my job. Nachos and cheese were served. We sat down and the way he acted with his pancakes and syrup this morning was pretty much the way he behaved towards his nachos and melted, processed cheese only sometimes he would just fork the cheese into his mouth forgoing the chips altogether. He was given plenty of cheese, two little cupfuls which he finished quickly and wanted more. Now here’s where I want to rewind my life. I want to relinquish my ideals of Annie Sullivanness. I want to remember that I only have a total of 21 school days with him. I want to ask the cafeteria ladies if he’s allowed to have just a little more cheese. Instead I’m thinking how horrible this child’s eating habits are, how he hasn’t touched the lettuce or the beans, how I don’t want to watch him do that to the cheese again. I sign “no more cheese.” He signs very clearly (unBELIEVable how precise he is when he really wants to be) “I want cheese”. “No more cheese.” He hits the table. Oh boy. My quick hands are ready to save a flying plate of unfinished chips and beans and lettuce. “NO” I sign with my v-e-r-y-d-e-l-i-b-e-r-a-t-e-h-a-n-d-s. I’m not sure if I looked away or sneezed or took a short nap but next thing I know he has bolted to the other side of the room where the exit to the cafeteria food line is, plate and fork in hand. I run in through the entrance and stop him mid way. He is laughing the excited, mad, I’m gonna get my way so you leave me alone laugh. I grab his plate, he throws his fork and runs back to the exit. I grab his arm half way out. He throws his shoe. I say “NO” again. He starts hitting the stacks of chairs against the wall and I know if I don’t hold his arms with both hands those chairs are going to make a Blake and Bethany sandwich. I don’t know where I put the food but I somehow managed to get him fairly locked down and he’s looking at me like he is mad, mad, mad. I pull him over to a table with nothing he can grab anywhere near it and make him put his shoes on. He is signing “cheese, cheese, cheese.” At this point what can I do? If he was most other children of course he couldn’t have any cheese after that behavior. But does he understand that? Does he know how to say please? I tell him it’s time to go clean up. We go back to the table and he is making whiny noises and picks up a napkin and throws it away. I start putting his plate and milk in the trash can because I’m afraid for him to do it.

At this moment I hear Mr. Eric, the supervisor of the cafeteria who Blake will usually listen to saying “No Blake! NO!” He’s running towards Blake who has gone for the two huge buckets at the back of the cafeteria. Blake knocks one off the table with all his might. It is empty and goes bouncing towards Mr. Eric which slows him down in getting to Blake. Before I take three steps towards him bucket number two has come crashing down to the floor launching soapy water everywhere… including all down the front of Mr. Eric’s shorts. My hands go over my mortified face. Just then (as if this were some kind of coincidental plot point in a film) the principle of the school appears out of nowhere giving me a raised eyebrow look and saying “Blake are you okay sweetie?” I marched over and took his hand “he’s fine,” came out of my lips which came out of my beet red face, “he’s just mad about the cheese.” By this point the cafeteria ladies are out of the kitchen looking at me like “mmm… we are going to cook you for lunch tomorrow.” Mr. Eric is looking at Blake like “there won’t be enough left of you to eat for lunch when I’m finished with you” and all the children in the cafeteria are laughing and laughing and laughing.

I saw a new emotion in Blake today, it was fear. He knew this wasn’t funny. We marched back to the room with my hand on his arm and he did not look at a single picture or piece of artwork on the wall like he usually does. He looked straight ahead and whimpered like a lost puppy. I too was looking straight ahead and holding my eyes very wide so he would know this was not a happy time. It was also to keep the tears from spilling out. When we got back to the room I told the teacher what happened as Blake sat himself in the middle of the room and rocked back and forth. I had never seen him affected by something for so long. She marched him down to apologize to Mr. Eric. Then she marched him back and he had to make a card for him about how sorry he was. I wanted to make one too but I didn’t. I wanted to receive one too but I didn’t.

Blake was back to his old self within twenty minutes and we didn’t have any more mishaps that quiet afternoon. I tickled him in the hallway on the way down to the bus. He was walking backwards and giggled. I couldn’t even look in the cafeteria when we passed by and I’m hoping I can talk Blake out of going to breakfast next week.