We Go With Him

Yes, House

 'Yes, house.' That's a new phrase Charlie's been saying when we're back in our house after the various walks of various lengths, bike rides, drives-here-and-there-in-New-Jersey. I'm taking it as a quite positive development as mentioning of being back home when we're out always gets one answer: "No home."

Though there's a difference of wording, as you may have noted: 

'Yes, house.' 

'No home.'

The 'yes, house' (the comma marking a little pause) is Charlie's own, self-initiated phrase. 'No home' is his response to us saying (generally while in the car) that we're going home, or at least considering the possibility of heading towards eventually. 

'House' refers to the actual, physical, building---a pale yellow 1920s-era 2-story---that has been ours since February of 2003 (though we didn't always actually lived in it from June 2006 till a couple of months ago, due to our search to find the right school for Charlie). 'Home' is rather a more abstract sort of term, as I see it, about the idea of inhabiting a place, a place that's more than shelter or storage, but a place where you feel comfort, secure, a refuge, as in a 'homebase.'

It also occurs to me that, over the years, we've rarely said something like 'let's go back to the house' to Charlie, but said, on autopilot, 'let's go home.' Perhaps Charlie's a bit more comfortable with talking about the actual place we're going to, rather than some fuzzy concept? Too, the phrase 'go home' comes with a host of associations and, all too often means, 'forget about that thing you wanted to do, that's it.''Home' connotes something disappointing. Not that we ever tried to foster any such associations about home. In the heat of the moment---say you've had a tough moment at a Target or in the car itself---getting back to home can seem a most longed-for thing, even if your child is in a decided state of Major Unhappiness. At least when you shut the door, you're back in your own space.

With our regular peregrinations and perambulations on foot and (for Jim and Charlie) on two wheels, we do spend a fair amount of time out of our house. Thursday started at 5am for all of us, with a walk that revealed the sun rising and a full moon still hanging in the sky. It was warmer than yesterday but still coolish and Charlie helped himself to a long hot shower once home. He got dressed and stood looking at his bed, and then shot me a glance.

I told him he could certainly go down and sit in the car till it was time for school, which he proceeded to do (while us two remaining inhabitants got to experience slightly colder showers) (such is a parents' happy lot!). He and Jim dropped me off early at the train station and I went to give my Latin students their Final Quiz (which was, I'll admit, a bit of a taste o' the final). 

Jim stayed up near the Big Autism Center which was holding an autism walk 'round the school grounds in honor of Autism Awareness Month. Charlie and his class all wore t-shirts tie-dyed to match (team spirit, you know) and did three laps around the school, for a total of a mile. There were cheerleaders from the high school and other festivities; Jim texted me that he was walking with some parents we've met from previous classrooms Charlie's been in (it is a rather long list) and, too, my blog. The sun was shining and there were banners and flags strewn from the lampposts. The school's located off a road that's mostly busy during commute times:  Always good to be out (of the building---it occurs to me, people must drive by and wonder, what's it like in 'there'), and aut. 

Charlie got tired and cried a little at the end, Jim told me, which we all agreed was more than understandable---it wasn't his first round of exercise, after all.

And it wasn't his last, of course. Charlie took a 1-hour nap around 5pm, to be awaken by the iPod touch and the Duke Ellington birthday tribute on WKCR. Jim had just come home when Charlie was getting up and calling for his bike helmet, and off they went. I headed out, too, to go see a senior student at my college perform a voice recital. Charlie and Jim were still out on a walk when I came back and it was after they returned, and after Charlie snacked and brushed his teeth, that he said, 

'Yes house.'

With his hands tucked under his chin and a little smile.

I think he's glad to be here.

Delaying Gratification

 Charlie and I neared the local state road that we cross to get home and he said,

"[Name of chain Mexican fast food restaurant where he's been getting his burritos]!"

In days of yore, I would have instantly thought, "we have to go there now, it's so great Charlie asked!" This would have been my response when Charlie was much younger---5 or so---and just starting (emphasize starting) to speak clearly enough, so that we could mostly recognize what he was saying.

When he was around 7, our jumping to respond to Charlie talking started to get a little more harried, as we noted him getting agitated when his words were not near-immediately matched to the thing asked for. I guess you could say, we started to be as conditioned to responding in a certain way---as fast as possible---to Charlie's words as he was to speak them.

Talking and, indeed, communicating have always been challenging for Charlie. It took so much effort---huge efforts on Charlie's part, most of all---to learn to talk that, years ago, it never really occurred to me that there might be a day when Charlie's speech could, besides helping him, create new problems. 

But that's the stage we appear to be at right now. Of course it's a daily wonder that Charlie can and does talk, and that he's so motivated to get his point across, to use words and phrases to make meaning. But the obsessive-compulsive tendencies we observe in Charlie's behavior also show up in how he uses language. Words and phrases for things he likes (sushi, burritos; the ocean; music) are used a lot: Who doesn't, after all, like to talk a lot about favorite things? But a growing difficulty for Charlie is how he uses, and perhaps over-uses, those favorite words, perhaps---

(I like to use a lot of perhaps's in writing about Charlie's language and speech as much of what I infer about it is just, that, inferences based on observations and reflections from my own study of a lot of languages, some linguistics, and a great deal of literature)

---perhaps to comfort himself? because those are tried and true words he knows have, at some point, brought him something he likes a lot and that has brought at least immediate comfort and pleasure? And, perhaps, because Charlie doesn't have a ton of phrases to talk himself out of feeling bad, he over-overuses those key phrases. And we, eager to comfort an upset boy, have regularly rushed to reinforce what Charlie says, and then---of late---wondered why he sometimes got five times more upset when we did (lots of banging, wailing, crying, general unhappiness). 

Having thought about all this for the past couple of months, and it being 3.40pm and Charlie having just had a snack, this was my answer to his request yesterday afternoon, after a pause as we crossed the state highway:

"We have to put away to your bookbag and Mom needs to do something."

I avoided saying "home" as that's a word with very specific meanings to Charlie, namely "we're not going to do what you want and we're most certainly not going to go where you want."

A glance in the rear view mirror showed a smiling Charlie, and I carefully drove over one pot-hole laden road (we got a flat tire on it a few weeks ago). Once home, he rummaged in the fridge, asked before eating some things, and (as yesterday), betook himself to his room for an extended rest. (Again giving me time to Get Some Work Work Done.)

He got up after awhile, put on his shoes, and looked at me. 

"I want. White car."

So into the car we went, and to the place Charlie had mentioned a number of hours before.

It's just my suspicion, but---based on Charlie's grin as he stood in line for his burrito to be made, the speed with which he devoured it in the car, and his general peaceful-easy-feelingness until he went to bed at a late-ish, but not outrageously late, time---that a little waiting made for a much more satisfying (not to mention delicious-er) meal.

And another fine day.

A (More or Less) Cool Breeze of an April Day

So we're making progress, and, as it usual around here, telling perfection it may cast its hoary head out the window.

I'm seriously doubtful that Charlie will return to some more agreeable (at least from a parental perspective) sleep schedule from, oh, 10pm - 7am or to regularly sleeping all the way through the night. After going to sleep around 8pm on Monday, we heard him getting out of bed at 3.51am Tuesday morning. 

Fortified by recent experience, we told him (fully dressed and standing besides his shoes in the living room) that we'd be hanging in the house till 5am, at the earliest. I proceeded, in auto-mom fashion, to boil a kettle of water and wash out a rice pot in the sink. I kept the dimmer switch for the kitchen light low.

"Bedtime." I heard Charlie. He was still standing in the living room with his hands over his ears, head pointed toward downward. He stood almost completely still for a minute and then went up the (creaky) stairs. 

And back to bed. I could hear him chattering for about an hour, but he was definitely back to sleep by 5am. 'Natural noise' plus the iPod timer woke him by 8am and we made it school at 5 minutes to 9.

After school, I picked up Charlie and we made a little McDonalds run at the location that is kind of our favorite (because it was renovated into a sparkling McCafe and because, for some reason, it charges less---ok, just by a few cents---than all the other locations we have patronized) (and believe you me, we have been in the drive-thru lane of many a Garden State Golden Arches). We went home, I got the mail, Charlie took off his shoes and betook himself straight to his bedroom, and was quite asleep by 5pm.

As you may know from the various posts I've written on this whole sleep topic, we've long considered naps next to anathema for Charlie. He stopped napping when he was a toddler; whenever he's napped, it's tended to mean a super-late bedtime and, consequently, a super-un-fun start to the school day due to having a rouse a super, super, super sleepy boy out of bed. But as noted, a late sleep most likely portends sleeping through the night, rather than a 1am wake-up which really does a number on the sleep, and therefore functioning, habits of all members of our small household.

Tuesday afternoon, I kept some music playing while Charlie napped. This had no effect at all as far as waking him so I set the iPod touch timer, placed it on Charlie's bed, and went to grade papers. Charlie started to wake up around 5.40pm and then was definitely awake by just after 6pm. 

And all set for a long walk, all 4 1/2 miles of it.

Charlie went sans winters, refusing my offer of a blue sweat jacket, but looking apiece with the other boys his age we passed running around with lacrosse sticks. He broke into a run several times and I concluded, he may well be thinking, when he gets too cold, just run. Fast.

Back home just as the sun was setting, we got in the car to make a trip, via a roundabout route, to the post office. Charlie issued lots of "I want" 's as we passed various groceries stores, but was nonchalant when I kept driving. I've been keeping the fridge fairly well-stocked with things he likes and we spent the rest of the evening in very peaceful style, with music and typing, and sushi. By a quarter after 9, Charlie wanted to go to bed and, after some tossing and turning, he was sleeping soon after 10pm.

If he wakes at 2.14am, what to do?----check.

If he's still in slumberland at 7.50am, what to do?---check.

If he wakes up right now as this post posts (just after midnight)---back to the drawing board?

Like I said, progress, not perfection.

Sounds and Sleep

 I got to my classroom for my 9am Elementary Latin class about 10 minutes early.  A couple of my students were already present, sitting quietly.

And quiet the classroom remained as the other students slowly came in, and took their seats. Usually there's a bit of talking and buzz but the room remained quiet until I started talking in a general way about our weekend, the sunny Saturday and the cool gray Sunday. One student did note that he'd spent most of Sunday sleeping and I mentioned that Charlie had done the same. As I looked out at the still-gray sky, it occurred to me, this just looks like sleeping weather.

That Sunday nap did lead to Charlie having a post-11pm bedtime Sunday night meaning that (1) other members of this household also got to sleep and (2) Charlie had a slow time of it waking up on Monday. 

Jim and I seem, at long last, to have gotten the tricks of Waking Up Soundly Sleeping Adolescent Boy With Minimal Language and Absolutely No Parental Threats or Ultimata About Being Late For School. I turned on the radio, set the iPod touch alarm and placed it by Charlie on his bed, and went about making what I like to call 'natural noise'---the inevitable sounds that arise when boiling water for coffee, putting the finishing touches on Charlie's lunch and packing his schoolbag, using various bathroom appliances, walking up and down the wooden stairs (ours, being as old as this 1920s house, creak). I sighted movement under the blanket at about a quarter to 8 as I left to catch the train, and Jim gave me a text-by-text update of their progress, ending with a note about dropping a very good boy off at school with five minutes to 9.

We just started all these texting exchanges a couple of months ago and they've become a preferred way to exchange information when Charlie's around. It was last year that we noticed him putting his hands over his ears on hearing us talking, especially when things got animated and opinionated. It didn't matter if the subject was various current events or '(extended) family business' or a bad day teaching---if the topic was anything but Charlie himself---we'd often see him getting agitated, from listening to what seemed simply to be too much talking. I confess, Jim and I are both quite capable of doing this on our own; together, it can be quite a lot of talking. 

Charlie's speech being limited, people tend to think that he's not paying attention (also because he often doesn't display the expected signs that show someone is listening, whether nodding or making eye contact, etc.). I rather just assume that he's always listening and very affected by everything that he hears. So at transition times (getting ready before school, for instance) we've cut down a lot on the chit chat. I'd say that Charlie has some sort of auditory processing disorder. It's described as 'little-known' in a recent New York Times post, but it's been a fact of life for a long time for Charlie and us. I do suspect that he doesn't (always) hear sounds and words as many do, and that hearing and processing and understanding and responding to auditory stimuli are all separate, and not necessarily well-connected, steps for him. Extra sounds (especially in the form of human voices) seem to interfere (short circuit?) the process of, well, processing.

And I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that a boy with an affinity for music should have hearing so sensitive that he sleeps with his hands over his ears?

For to sleep Charlie went on Monday night, by around 8pm. He'd taken himself up to bed an hour earlier and told me "good night" with a big smile, as if he were just darned pleased to get to go to bed and stretch out. He'd had a good school day with a trip to grocery shop. After Jim picked him up, they did a bike ride in drizzle that became rain. Charlie was all showered and in a quite peaceful mood when I came home and that's how he stayed till he went to sleep. 

With, yes (even though Jim and I crept around quietly downstairs) his hands over his ears.

Day of (Relative) Rest

Shocking development: Sunday was actually a day of rest around here. Charlie slept in past 9am and also took an afternoon snooze. It was as gray and rainy as Saturday had been bright and sunshine-y (good thing, or I think we would have skipped the Folk Festival), indeed the sort of day when curling up on the couch under a blanket is simply called for.

I took advantage of the situation to grade papers and vacuum the basement. (I don't vacuum as much as I'd like as the noise definitely doesn't appeal to Charlie and there are certainly other ways to keep the floor tidy.)

Usually Charlie taking a nap has been a portent of a really late bedtime and, consequently, a lot of trouble waking up in time for school. Recent experience has led me to conclude, maybe a later bedtime wouldn't be such a bad idea: Last Sunday, Charlie was asleep by 7pm and proceed to wake up at 4am on Monday, leading to a second week of incredibly early starts to the day leading me to turn this blog temporarily into one on autism and sleep issues. 

I suspect I'm going to be writing more on this particular topic in the not so distant future (you know, tomorrow most likely). I've been a/bemused to have discovered that the New York Times has a whole blog, All-Nighters, on insomnia, though the posts so far are written from a first-person perspective, and not by sleep-deprived parents of children with disabilities who have no problem with falling asleep, it's just that they can't until their child (who needs constant supervision) does. Since I work in a community--a college campus---where lack of sleep is something of the norm (for the student population, at any rate), I've been commenting to my classes that I've been on a schedule more similar to theirs of late, except that my wake-up-times (1, 2, 3, 4, and 5am) coincide more or less with the times they go to sleep. 

(As a result, I have been learning more than I've wanted to know about the efficacy of various energy drinks and 'shots' that make my black coffee look positively tame.)

Gray day or night, we, and Charlie, went out 'as per usual.' He wanted a long walk in the morning; I felt that sense of 'mom does know best sometimes' as I had brought along the blue fleece jacket he's been ignoring. I simply draped it, cape-like, over his shoulders as we started down the sidewalk and Charlie proceeded to slip in his arms without missing a step. He didn't bother with the hood: Not surprisingly for a boy who loves the ocean, Charlie doesn't seem to mind getting wet, or at least walking in rainstorms. 

After he got up, Jim took out the bikes and they went for an 8-mile ride, quite a bit 'shorter' than yesterday's. 

Speaking of which, I am dismayed to say that I incorrectly reported the length of Saturday's long ride as 12 miles. Sunday evening, Jim drove the route. Charlie looked around and grinned and I must say I was impressed, even before Jim read out the distance from the white car's odometer: 15.4 miles.

Which more than explains why a little rest is in order, if occasionally.

 

'Aut' At the Folk Festival

Being 'aut and about' with Charlie is a mantra of sorts for us, and not only with a view to keeping his days (especially weekend ones) activity-filled. It's never 100% for sure how Charlie might react in any community setting, where the careful control exercised in our house and its environs can't be assured. Any venture out has the potential to be an adventure, with a possibly not so happy ending. And, too, every trip is one more effort in a long process to teach Charlie to be in the world, with a view to the time when (at the risk of sounding a bit melodramatic, but such thoughts are constantly on my mind) Jim and I aren't here to take Charlie out and walk beside him.

Saturday---I know, big surprise---Charlie rode his bike and did his share of walking with Jim. It was a fine sunny day and just a bit cool; Jim and Charlie did one of their longer bike rides (12 miles, through 5 different towns) and I did a short and a long walk with Charlie, in the morning and in the evening.

Inbetween, we went to the New Jersey Folk Festival.

 

It's also 'Ag Field Day' and Rutgers Day (as it's held on the grounds of Rutgers University, the state university of New Jersey and Jim's alma mater twice over). 

 

Charlie once went on a field trip to the agriculture museum at the university and I wondered (based on the way he was looking around at the farm buildings and fences) if he hadn't been there before. He didn't want to get too close to see the horses or the pale pink pigs.

 

On the other hand, he couldn't avoid seeing dogs at every step and turn. They were all on leashes except for one who had a leash attached to his or her collar, but was chasing after a soccer ball in a big grassy field; Charlie made sure to run the other way. (I also saw a toddler girl on a 'leash' sort of thing and she appeared to be, shall we say, straining her father's arm a bit.)

   

Charlie fared well amid constant canine encounters. We walked all around the different areas and ended up where some stages were set up. Charlie turned down Jim's offer of a crabcake sandwich and dozed off in the car while Jim and I had a very nice conversation with an old friend of Jim's and her husband.

Afterwards we got Mexican food and actually ate in the restaurant. It's nothing fancy and we weren't there for more than 20 minutes, Charlie pausing from his eating to press his hands over his ears. We haven't eaten out anywhere with him in quite awhile and it was good to attempt this again, and successfully.

On the way home, Charlie let out a wail and grabbed at us, crying. (A delayed reaction to a lot of new things?) Jim kept driving and I turned the radio station from a saxophone playing New Orleans jazz---we were happily listening to the music, but it has a bit of a brassy, harsh edge that has been known to unsettle Charlie---to something much smoother, with some silent, minimalist stretches built in. Charlie still cried some but settled back into his seat and even started smiling after several minutes. 

Jim switched the station back to hear Phil Schaap talking about Sharkey Bonano. I've been getting quite an education in jazz history and jazz due to Charlie's current musical preferences---which makes me think of another sort of mantra: Being Charlie's mother, and father, has meant learning about much that we never thought we'd have to learn.

And are glad, very very glad, that we have.

 

Maybe Sleep Won't Be an Issue

 So Thursday night Charlie slept from around 9/9.30pm to 7.30am without waking up. 

Yes, it was a peaceful night in our household. 

Friday morning, Charlie was slow to get out of bed so I set the iPod touch timer, placed it beside him, and went about my morning business: making, and of course drinking, coffee; cleaning a little in the kitchen; reading over a website I planned to show my students. I didn't hear the timer go off but I did hear feet on the stairs. Charlie was fully dressed, asked to put on his socks, went out to get in the car.

He's been getting himself dressed for the past two-plus school years. I usually leave out his clothes, varying the location. He either finds them on his own or asks me, and I get a little chance to see how his receptive language and ability to follow directions is faring. Sometimes he chooses his own shirt and pants though he tends to choose the same colors of items, or even the same exact few shirts and pants, over and over. I know it's not the biggest of deals and that some people like to wear variations on the same few items of clothing every day, but helping Charlie see that, even in small ways, he doesn't have to do everything the same way all the time, is an important little lesson to practice daily. 

(He does, though, have a preference for wearing blue, green, and black, with an occasional orange t-shirt thrown in for good measure.)

In fact, aside from the waking up and getting out of bed business, Charlie pretty much gets himself ready for school. Granted, he doesn't have to worry about combing his hair (the efficiency of a buzz cut) or getting himself breakfast; Charlie never seems to be hungry when he first wakes up these days (though ready for a mid-morning snack around 10am). Now that I think of it, once he's actually out of bed, he pretty much takes care of himself, a small huge deal.

Having left at a reasonable time, Charlie and I drove up to the Big Autism Center just as a few more yellow buses were pulling in, and an aide appeared to take him inside before 8.45am. This left me particularly pleased as it's been awhile that I was able to get to my first class on Tuesday/Friday (those being the days when I drive Charlie to school) with enough time to sit down for a few minutes and review my notes.

The rest of Friday unrolled in a very peaceful way. As we neared home, Charlie said "I want, I want" and then the name of the local grocery store we're still taking a hiatus from. I made inconsequential vocal responses and we ended up back home. He got right out of the car and was in the house soon as I opened the door, and helped himself to soy ice cream and crackers and requested the computer. He went up to his room for a spell and then came down, and led me on a walk. He wanted a long one, and we got back just in time to meet Jim come home off the train, ready for a bike ride. 

As on Thursday, I gave Charlie some melatonin around 8pm, over an hour earlier than I had been giving it to him. He told us "bedtime" just around 9.30pm and he meant it---it wasn't a half hour later that I went in to check on a slumbering boy.

Not sure if this is the start of a more routine sleep pattern or a pleasant blip in the midst of the annals of the sleep-deprived. We'll see about Saturday. Third time's the charm, right?

Sleep Issues, Again, and Maybe a Strategy

I definitely wasn't kidding when I posted about sleep issues yesterday. Charlie woke around 1am Thursday morning. He got dressed and went downstairs and asked to put on his socks.

I had met with Charlie's teacher and a school behaviorist Tuesday and (among other things) we'd talked about his recent early wakings. We talked about teaching Charlie to stay in bed till a certain time and about ways to help him relax before going to bed. Needless to say, I was glad we had talked about all this when I heard Charlie's voice Thursday morning. 

I told him, he could go for a walk at 5am, in a couple of hours. (At the meeting, we had agreed that it might work better for Charlie to know that there's a specific time for doing certain things, rather than saying, for instance, he could go out when the sun rises). I mentioned the name of the behaviorist at school and Charlie put down his socks and went to sit on the couch, and asked to hear some music on the computer. He listened for about 20 minutes and then asked---very much to my surprise---for "bedtime," and went back up the stairs. 

I had been sitting on the other side of the room and had picked up a book, actually a book for my class on Women in Antiquity. I had assigned a chapter on the legal status of women in ancient Rome, which mostly contains selections from the Roman jurists. Personally, I find this very interesting stuff as what Roman jurists have to say about marriage, divorce, dowries, patria potestas, and the like reveals much about what the everyday of women's lives in the ancient Roman world. But I'm not going to fool myself: Selections from the Institutes of Gaius or by Ulpian are not 'fun' reading, and are dryer than 3-day-old toasted rusks. 

In other words, they're the sort of thing that, when you read them, you almost can't help getting a bit sleeping, by fiat.

In other words, they're something to read if you have insomnia and you're trying anything to get yourself to go to sleep.

Certainly, reading the various consequences of adultery in the Roman empire at 1.45am on Thursday morning led to my eyes drooping and I was certainly glad to hear Charlie clomp back up the stairs.

Once back in bed, he tossed and turned (though he wasn't unhappy, from the sounds he was making and the words he said here and there) for at least an hour before sleeping. As I listened to Charlie, I thought back to what I used to do when I'd wake up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep (something that doesn't happen anymore unless I'm woken by Charlie). I'd always have a book around. After reading a couple of pages I'd feel my eyes getting tired and then I'd be able to go back to sleep. It didn't have to be something by the Roman jurists, even.

Charlie's not a reader so him reading or being read to wouldn't work, but it all got me to think about some things to try to help him go back to sleep. As I've often been very groggy during his early wakings, I've tended to choose the easiest thing to do, to keep him occupied, such as kiddy videos he asks for. Thursday morning, besides him having to do some typing to hear some Disney songs, I also turned on a little jazz on WKCR. Perhaps something a little more challenging might better help Charlie to go back to bed, and to sleep, I thought; perhaps these did.

Charlie didn't wake up until almost 8am. I had to catch a train and Jim got Charlie up using the timer. En route, there was one instance of loud crying from the backseat; Jim kept the radio on with Charles Mingus music and they got to school without incident. Indeed, the rest of Thursday was without incident, with Charlie going on a morning bowling field trip, an afternoon bike ride (during which he persevered through dogs straining at the leash towards him and honking cars), a fun trip to get a burrito (with more Charles Mingus; yesterday was a daylong broadcast of his music, as April 22nd was his birthday), a long evening walk (on which I gave Charlie some melatonin, earlier than I've been giving it to him) after which---as he had in the early, early hours of the day---Charlie asked to hear music.

The internet was a little balky and kept stopping in mid-song. (It's proving best for Charlie to listen to songs streaming from the 'net as he gets really fixated on CDs and DVDs [= shiny colored circles].) After a bit, Charlie asked for one of those kid videos and I said that we should probably take a break from then as they're about 30 times more over-stimulating and fixation-inducing than the CDs and DVDs, for one thing.

Charlie remained kneeling on the couch for a minute. Then he said:

"All done" and got up. And then, "bedtime."

Words I most certainly couldn't object to.

Sleep Issues, Again

 Be careful what you wish for, the saying goes.

Charlie woke up just before 5am yesterday and as I heard him clomping into the shower I thought, well that's later than 3am.

For the past couple of years, one of my recurring complaints has been the difficulty of rousing Charlie in the morning and getting him out of bed in time for the school bus. Charlie being able to wake up earlier and get himself ready for school: How great that would be, I thought. 

For a time Charlie had been falling asleep around midnight. Melatonin and strict adherence to a structured bedtime routine seemed to solve the bedtime problem for a time, though we suspected the former played a role in rendering Charlie very groggy in the morning. A new problem became getting him out of bed and much energy was expended in devising ways to get him out of bed on his own. While carrying and gentle tugs had helped to get Charlie out of bed, these became not only ineffective, but really annoyed Charlie for reasons that seemed obvious enough to us: Who wants to be prodded and pulled at, especially while you're just coming to consciousness?

We tried alarm clocks, music (CDs and the radio), turning on the lights and opening all the blinds. These all provided occasional and middling success and too often the day began in yowling and tears as Charlie was rushed to the bus. It certainly didn't help that the year Charlie started middle school (and much earlier than he'd ever had to--school started at 7.45am) was the year he had the most unsympathetic bus driver ever (I know everyone has their problems and issues, but still). 

And now Charlie's sleep issues seems to be of the opposite sort now. School starts later and he no longer has to catch a bus as we're driving him; for a time, when he started at the Big Autism Center, he was going to bed around 9 or 10pm and waking around 7am. That was a pretty perfect schedule, I realize. But there were a few days with 4.51am and the like wake-ups. Sometimes before or during Spring Break he started going to sleep much later (11pm) or much earlier (7pm) most days and, as recently noted, waking at very early times (2, 3, 4 am) and ready to hop in the car and go to school. The switch to daylight's saving time might have something to do with it; Charlie's always had trouble adjusting to moving clock's numbers around. 

Usually, though, Charlie's been able to get back to a more regular schedule after a few days, and his disrupted sleep hasn't dragged on for days as it has been. There's plenty to speculate about why this new pattern: A growth spurt and the general physiological changes of adolescence? Difficulties in regulatingenergy levels, so somedays Charlie is exercise exercise exercise and other days, he crashes? 

The sun was starting to shine when Charlie put on his shoes at 5.30am and he and I went out for a walk. It was quite cool; Charlie still refusing to wear even a sweatshirt, I brought along a hooded one, just in case. He moved slowly and when I draped the sweatshirt over him, he didn't object. At home, he was happy to sit on the beat-up blue couch and listen to Disney songs on the laptop, and to eat the pack of sushi I had put into his lunchbox. (Resulting in me having to make him something else for lunch really, really fast.) 

He went swimming at school in the afternoon, dumping his swim bag into the trunk when Jim and I picked him up. We then had a different sort of afternoon (good thing, after so many have seemed to all be the same of late---personally, I was starting to feel that most blog entries were "we went for a walk and a ride and then another walk and then the computer and then a walk....."). 

We had first to drive in a westwardly direction to get some errands done and then Jim made haste to drive into Jersey City, as he needed to be in Manhattan to speak at a 6pm event. We were driving against commute traffic and got there quickly, dropping Jim off near Journal Square. Charlie asked for his longtime favorite---Vietnamese summer rolls---and I picked some up. He ate them in the car as we drove back over the Route 1 & 9 truck bridge (amid a lot of container trucks) and then---as the rain came down and we saw a lightning bolt---sat, sometimes talking ("Versha!" "Tara, Blake, Julie...": names of former therapists and other old friends) and other times just listening to the jazz on the radio, in bumper to bumper traffic. At home, after hearing some more music (more Disney---I'm starting to hear "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" and "Something There" buzzing in and out of my thoughts), Charlie asked for bed. He was asleep by 7pm.

Boding another 4am wake-up, at the latest. 

Not that I'm going to start wishing Charlie might having more "normal" hours. I'm going to be a little careful what I wish for this time around.

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Charlie having gone to sleep so early Wednesday night, I found myself sitting down to dinner and reading the news, and---talk about 'timely'---found this New York Times post on Sleeping (or not) by the Wrong Clock. Particularly interesting is a description of taking a "minute dose" (much, much smaller than Charlie has been taking) of "sustained release" melatonin about five hours before bedtime:

The mini-dose does not act like a sleeping pill, so you spend the evening awake and alert. Rather, it communicates with the circadian clock in the same way as morning light exposure, shifting internal night earlier.

I've thought that melatonin does not seem to be helping Charlie to sleep as it once did. I'm always leery of just giving larger and larger amounts of anything in the hope of increasing its effects. But there's something to, um, sleep on here.

A New Route For Walking

As Charlie and I crossed an intersection to drive onto the street that leads to the state highway we take en route to his school, we spied a non-moving line of cars. The line extended into the intersection and I made a fast decision to turn right. That brought us into a shorter line of non-moving cars, giving me time to think about whether or not we'd be able to get onto the westbound lanes of the state highway. 

The line of cars moved and I realized, we could only go east, and soon were driving in the opposite direction we needed to go. A couple of years ago I would have felt my anxiety go up, with no immediate way to go in the right direction. But years of driving around New Jersey, and of driving Charlie in New Jersey, have taught me that this is not a problem due to something called "jug handles."

"Jug handles" of the roadway kind bear only a metaphoric resemblance to anything having to do with receptacles for liquids. If you want to turn around on certain roads here, you don't  do what seems so obvious, just turn in that direction. You instead get into the right lane and turn into a jug handle, which takes you around for almost 360 degrees so that you're perpendicular to the highway; you then turn back onto the highway, in the opposite direction. 

And so on Tuesday I suspected that there'd be a way to turn around on the highway if I went a little further up. After a few miles I saw a sign that said simply "U turn"; we veered to the right, we turned around and were soon driving west, and Charlie was only about 15 minutes late for school.

Sometimes you need to go in the opposite direction to go in the right way, no? Or at least a different one.

That happened on a walk with Charlie yesterday afternoon.

We do tend to follow the same route on these walks. We go down our street and then right. But yesterday afternoon Charlie went straight down the sidewalk rather than crossing over. He looked back at me before continuing in a straight line. We passed a park where children much smaller than him were lined up to kick soccer balls. Twice Charlie broke into a sudden run and as I proceeded down the sidewalk I could see why: He'd sighted a dog in a front yard. We passed a trio of girls about his age; one bid her friends farewell. A little later we saw her on a skateboard, the hot pink and dayglo green laces on her shoes prominently visible.

Ahead of us hovered a parking lot and, to the right, the local grocery store that had been the site of the incident of the red brownie box.

Frankly, I had been wondering if Charlie might ever try to walk to this grocery store, and now here we were. I wasn't prepared with a shopping list and, anyways, I wanted to let more time pass before Charlie and I attempt our re-entry into the store. So I told Charlie that we had to go home first as we didn't have any money (which was completely true). Charlie shuffled his feet and then we started walking. 

About two blocks down Charlie paused and looked across the street. I turned my head and saw a very large sign advertising $5.95 SUSHI. I had seen this little restaurant before and not been sure if Charlie had.

He certainly noticed it Tuesday and looked at me to cross the street and go in. Again I noted that we had no money and had to come home to get some, and then we could go back. Charlie started walking, me after him and we were home in a matter of minutes. Once there, I noted that we'd be walking back to get sushi, now that we had the money, and he went out the door.

The walk back was pleasant, with one encounter with a different dog (on a leash). We went into the restaurant and found it a bright and simple space. A group of teenagers (two male, two female) were sharing a large plate of sushi and talking about how someone's brother was 5' 9" and 19 years old. I glanced at the menu and ordered something for Charlie (for a price less than what some packages of sushi in the supermarket cost). The woman behind the counter prepared it with Charlie peering at her intently. I paid and handed the bag with a big yellow smiley face over to Charlie and we were homeward bound.

Charlie sat right down to eat once we were home; I finished up the rice he'd left and some edamame a bit later. A new direction; a new restaurant; a new, shared, experience.

And, too, a shared meal.