Sammy's Jammies

In many ways, the first encounter with a promising new babysitter is a lot like a first date: you put your best foot forward, pull out all the stops, and hope this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership. My routine is to make sure the house is clean, the kids have been appropriately threatened/bribed into submission, and the babysitter knows how to use the remote controls. This particular evening was no exception. Because I am a cool mom, I try to accommodate my sons’ preferences for “young and pretty”babysitters as much as possible and within reason, so when my friend recommended a responsible and attractive 14 year-old girl from down the street I knew we were in luck.

Fast forward about 2 or 3 hours and 2 or 3 cocktails- my husband and I were enjoying a wonderful going away party for some good friends who were moving to Florida. We were having a great time when I got a call from our new babysitter. The fact that it was a call and not a text was slightly alarming, and a bit of a buzz-kill in itself. Against my better judgment, I answered the phone. Here’s what happened next:

Me: “Hi Mallory. Is everything ok?”

Mallory’s MOM: “Hi Mrs. Swift, this is Mallory’s mom.”(Insert “Holy Sh!t – why are you at my house?” thoughts here.) “Everything is ok, but Sammy is stuck in his pajamas.”

Me: confused silence

Mallory’s mom: “Apparently, he wanted to look like a peg-legged pirate and put his pj’s on with his legs bent so he could walk around on his knees.”

Me: laughing

Mallory’s mom: “He’s been stuck like this for an hour and a half. I think he’s in a lot of pain. We have offered to cut him out of his pajamas, but he won’t let us, because he is not wearing underwear. I think you should come home.”

Alan and I hugged our friends goodbye and admitted that our new babysitter’s mother was at our house, and asked us to come home because our son was stuck in his pajamas and they couldn’t cut him out. This surprised no one.

Everything turned out ok once Alan was able to free Sam from his super-restrictive, paralysis-inducing pirate costume. Sam was pretty sore, embarrassed, and disappointed that we couldn’t salvage his favorite pair of pajamas. As a precautionary measure, we now let all new babysitters know that our house is bookended by an ER nurse on one side, and a medical resident on the other, in the event of an emergency that requires using a sharp object to free my children from self-inflicted pain.

And we always make sure Sam is wearing underwear.

Adventures in Asperger's

 

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching I am reminded of one of the most difficult homework assignments I have ever had the displeasure of working on with Luke. As I have mentioned before, my beautiful, smart, sweet son has Asperger’s Syndrome. This is an Autism Spectrum Disorder which includes symptoms such as: “significant trouble with social situations, lacking empathy, and very literal in speech and thought.” Loosely translated: “Your child will suck at writing thoughtful, personalized Valentine’s cards for every kid in his class because, among other things, he is incapable of lying.”

At the time of this assignment, Luke was in second grade in a class with 24 children. We were tasked with cutting 24 hearts out of construction paper and writing something nice for each child. We were off to a good start in the beginning as Luke breezed through with adoration for some of his favorite kids in the class. Most of the hearts would say something like: “You’re pretty. Love Luke.” “You’re tall. Love Luke.” “You’re good at the wii. Love Luke.” As we moved down the list and got into neutral territory they became more observational: “Your hair is red. Luke.” “You have glasses.  Luke.” “You’re new. Luke.” The real trouble did not start until the “dirty dozen” at the bottom of Luke’s list.   

Luke does not think it is ok to write something nice to someone who is not nice. In fact, I think he felt like that little red heart was his opportunity to tell everyone exactly what he thought of them – good, bad or indifferent. I offered scores of suitable suggestions but he was not going to budge. I thought about going behind his back, disguising my handwriting to look like his, and replacing the unacceptable ones. I would have done that if I thought I could get away with it. Finally, I considered truancy, or telling Luke he was sick, if it meant he (I) could avoid the Valentine’s Day party.

I don’t remember the exact deal I struck with my child to complete the assignment in a way that would not hurt anyone’s feelings, but it probably involved money. I pulled a few of my favorite hearts from the discard pile and still have them today. Here are a few highlights: “Learn and practice writing.” “You’re crazy a little.” “Stop please.” And my favorite “Get better”. I originally thought that was a sweet get-well note, and asked if she was sick. Luke said “No. She’s bad.”

We haven’t gotten the rules for this year’s Valentine’s party yet, but I am optimistic that the good ol’ mass-produced, perforated-edged, generic but inoffensive cards will do just fine. If not, Luke just might be sick that day.