Autism & Art

When I was a kid, I didn't understand adults.  My mother used cryptic phrases like "you little article" and "I'll put that smile on the other side of your face".  She said this while doing mad stuff like laundry and buying food.  

Adults were bananas.  And bought bananas.

I had no idea what their weird language meant.  It became my life's ambition to become one so I could understand them.

Then my dream came true.

Hate tha'

I just spent the day cleaning a house that resembled a crack den trashed by angry badgers.  

Now an enlightened adult, the smile is very much on the other side of my face.  

When you think about it, babies are  smart.  They very vocally protest the whole being-born business.  They barrel into this world screaming and covered in shit.  This is a really observant predictor of what's to come.

Being a grown-up kinda sucks. 

But, in between the whole birth and death thing, there IS fun to be had.

Finian was always averse to art.  It was way too messy and sensory for him.  In his final year at Abacas, though, an innovative art therapist helped coax out a hidden love he has for it.  This has become a really fun medium for him to express himself through (all the more valuable for someone who struggles with language processing). 

I also didn't believe I could paint until I was introduced/bullied into it by a dear friend (she's called Dani and I'll pm you her credit card details for a small fee).

I was right, btw.  

I can't paint.  

But I'm having so much fun can't-painting, and am creating weird messes on canvas that delight the bold child in me.

There's only one consonant separating 'autistic' from 'artistic'.  I suspect there's a bunch of gods somewhere having a great laugh about this.

Autism & Coping Uncomfortably

Pop quiz.

Is it ever OK to laugh at your kid's autism?

Finian does loads of hilarious stuff.  He wears three pairs of pyjamas at a time.  He steals his sister's (way too small) clothes and puts them on. He tries to sit on my knee even though he's 6ft 3.  He creases up at his own jokes (which usually revolve around purposely mixing up the words of songs).  He steals sweets and hides them somewhere really obvious.  He scripts cartoons in foreign languages (Albanian is today's favourite).  He says "x says fuck off" so that gets to swear without getting in trouble.

It's easy to find the humour in these.

Then he does annoying stuff.  

He asks the same questions a thousand times a day.  Right up in your face.  Tapping you repeatedly on the shoulder.  Usually when you're trying to watch tv, or read, or get housework done. "Can I go for a spin?".  Over and over and over.  And over.  And over.

He paces constantly.  

He plays dvds and online videos across five different platforms.  At the same time.  Its a constant, tiresome game of switch-on/switch-off.  He puts the volume up.  I put the volume down.  I close doors, turn things off, negotiate volume (hmmm.... I can see here that I need to stop negotiating and lay down some hardass rules.... damn, but writing shit down is helpful!).  I'm exhausted before I can turn my attention to other stuff I need to do.

The annoying stuff  eventually becomes insufferable.

Sometimes the only way to deal with the growing tension (other than exploding, which won't help anyone) is to poke fun at the behaviour.  Not in a cruel or demeaning way, but in a fun, silly way.  Sometimes I find myself feeling a bit uncomfortable about this, because it's not like he can defend himself.  He knows that we're having a laugh, but he's unable to retaliate.

When I was a nurse we often made VERY tasteless jokes about death.....made all the more tasteless as we were often surrounded by the dead and dying.  Sometimes we laughed til we cried.  In hindsight, we laughed at death to cope with the awfulness of losing patients we cared about.  Without using some kinda turbo-strength coping strategy, we'd have quickly been devoured by existential emptiness.  If we didn't laugh, we'd have run screaming from the horror of it.

Laughing at the absurdity of it made so much more sense.

So, poking fun at Finian's behaviour seems a better option than screaming.  And the fun is directed at his behaviour, not at him as a person.  Laughing is healthier than pouring vodka on my cornflakes, or sucking benzos like breath-mints.  Still, I wonder.

Not that I'm over-thinking.

Autism & Playfulness

It's been a tough two weeks for Finian and, by extension, us.

He spent a fortnight screaming, sensory seeking, barely sleeping, avoiding food and needing constant reassurance.  It didn't pass the tipping point of self-harm or a full on meltdown, but we were worn out by the time his mood leveled out.

It's often hard to pinpoint a trigger for a mood change.  This time, though, it seems that his return to school was the guilty party.  In addition, some hormonal gymnastics were going on as he had an acne outbreak that looked like a medieval plague had partied on his face. Oh, and he was madly anxious about this being his final year at school.  So altogether it created a perfect stew to nicely boil his racing emotions.

It really wasn't fun.

Finian was miserable, tired and cranky and it didn't take long for the entire family to catch up with him. 

Absence of fun and joy can make living with Autism unbearable. We actually need to foster our own playfulness so that we can tolerate the difficult spells a little easier.  My husband and I consciously create opportunities where we can be irresponsible, carefree and a bit giddy.  We go on lots of coffee dates, hikes and  kayaking trips.  We cuddle up on the sofa, drink wine and watch comedies.  We spend as much time with friends as we can.

This is not with the intention of portraying ourselves as Barbie and Ken (besides, my boobs aren't perky enough and James has too much body hair to qualify).  We need fun so that we're not arguing over who gets the china in a divorce court down the line.

Having fun is serious business.

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