...knock, knock...

Morning comes early here.

(A few years ago I asked most of the other moms I know what time their days start and end, and was surprised to find that even among moms whose children attend the same school as mine,  my schedule  was exceptional...and not in a good way!  I had rather imagined that we were all running on the same basic timeline based on bus pickup time.  The varied responses I got were proof enough that there is no normal, even when it comes to "The Mom Morning".)

So as I was saying, morning comes early.  Earlier than I'm ever prepared for.  And far earlier than my non-existent bedtime ever takes into account.  Early enough, every weekday morning, that all those "big plans" I made the night before seem so very not-worth-getting-up-for.  Listen, cinnamon pecan gluten free waffles sound wholly delicious and worthwhile at 2am.  Round about 4am though?  "What the hell was I thinking?  Why the hell am I toasting pecans?  What are we, too good for cereal?!?  Where's my coffee?!?!?"  Good times, folks, good times.  

 

But rise I do, before the sun and the son.  Out of bed...coffee prep...first sip...

Jumpstart!

Every morning has its schedule.  Every morning the clock dictates where we're at, what we're doing, even what we're saying.

It might be 4am: Mami rises.

Or 5:30: entertainment choice.

6:15:breakfast over, dishes to sink.

7:10: feed the cats.

7:15: Mami "Don't forget your tea!" Mister Man "I know, I know, you don't have to remind me!", as he walks out without it once more.

Every weekday morning, right after the clock hits 6:30, I hear the same exact sentence.  "Mami, can you do the 2 minute knocks?"  "Mmmhmm", I sigh (or maybe groan), as I put down my mug and get up from the chair where I had just, finally, sat down.  Breakfast was over, dishes already cleaned and in the rack. Lunch cooked, portioned and packed.  Lunchtime note written.  Meds measured.  Homework checked.  Logs signed.   Bookbag jammed .  Clothes laid out.  Etc...

And Mami, still running on the first sip, just sat down to relax with her cup of coffee, freshly hot from it's 4th or 5th reheat in the microwave.  

"Mmmhmm."

2 minute knocks it is.  I've no one but myself to blame.  It's those schedules again, you see.  The ones we ASD households can't live without.  This one get us through showers...2 minutes to drench, 2 minutes to lather, 2 minutes to rinse, 2 minutes to scrub, 2 minutes to soak...and so on.

2 minute knocks = limits.

2 minute knocks = motor planning.

2 minute knocks = sensory processing regulation. 

2 minute knocks = functional independence .

"Mmmhmmm", it is, and I'm up again.  He heads in to the bathroom.  I hear the water turn on.  I listen closely, waiting for the sound of the shower curtain...first the swish of it pulling open, then the clink clink of the rings along the rod as he pulls it shut.  I look at the clock, noting the time, walk away.  The next time I look up from whatever busywork I've found, 4 minutes have gone by.  I jump up, inevitably bruising my hip on the corner of the table or stubbing my pinky toe on the chair leg.  Over to the door, knuckles rap out 'Knock Knock' and I hear an aggrieved "All riiiight" or maybe an "Okaaaay", or on occasion, a "What do you want?".  I go back to whatever it was that I was doing.  Take a sip of coffee.  Wince.  Pop it back in the microwave.  Then back to the door.  'Knock Knock'.  Better this time...closer to that 2 minute mark.  8 minutes in now...then 10...15...20...  My eyes roll.  By now the hot water must surely be used up.  I see the schedule on the fridge door.  Look up at the clock.  Anxiety creeps in.  Now here I am again, rushing through his chores because he's way behind schedule...merrily oblivious to the passage of time as he soaks up the last remaining warm water.  I head back to the door, aggrieved now, and raise my hand.  'Knock Knock', just as the water shuts off and the sponge formerly known as my child yells back "I'm already done!".  

Chair time!  I can see it, just out of reach.  I grab my coffee, scalding now, as I may have over-zealously hit reheat instead of open.  My arm chair beckons, the plush blanket draped over the back promising me a soft hug.  All I want to do is sit, and sip, and yawn, and stretch.  

The bathroom door opens, and I freeze.  Stopped in my tracks by the notion that I've forgotten something.  What does he need?  What didn't I remember to do?  Did I lay out socks?  Was I supposed to print out something?  What day is it?!?  

The door opens, and a cloud of damp rushes out, expelling a sodden imp.  He stands there, dripping on the tiles, having once again refused to dry himself while still in the shower.  He stands there, towel clutched round his waist and looks to the bedroom where his clothes are neatly laid out (yes, the socks too) next to his deodorant and lavender oil and brush.  I start to open my mouth, some reminder on the tip of my tongue.  

"I love you, Mami", he says and then disappears behind the door.  

I smile.  That warm cozy feeling filling me from toe to tip.  "Mmmhmmm", I sigh. 

"I love you more!"

~Leanna