Surprise, surprise

All too often I am amazed by the boys. Considering that they have negligible social skills, it is surprising how they instinctively get some things perfectly right, all by themselves with absolutely no assistance from me or anyone else.

I have already mentioned, that on the whole, they don’t do too well with unique visitors. The more often someone visits, the more quickly they’ll adjust, but someone who just calls the once, usually comes off the worse for the experience. That said, there are always the exceptions. Not so long back some friends of ours came to visit. Usually we see them in the evening, all of us being child free having mortgaged our souls to a babysitter. Today they come with their youngest child, a sweet toddler of the female persuasion, whilst their older children are occupied with older children occupations elsewhere.

When the door bell rings, my children mob the front door to welcome guests in their own unique ways. The toddler hides behind the safe knees of her mother as by comparison, my children are fast moving and extremely loud. Both the boys spot the little girl. I clamp a discrete palm over my own youngest, whose current phrase is ‘girlz are stoopid! Girlz are stoopid! Girlz are stoopid!” which he repeats all to frequently regardless of company and generally without any reference to anything specific. He could just as easily say “nuts are round,” with the same tone of derision. His more socially adept, but oblivious older brother, notices my hand and connects the dots without assistance. He steps forward and crouches down to be on eye level with the toddler. How does he know that his bulk might be intimidating for a little one? “Hi, you are a girl?” he says it quietly, with a friendly soft tone and a gentle smile. The toddler grins, in silence. His head flicks back to his little brother, just to check, “oh no! You must not be saying that!” he hisses at him, a warning. I reassure.

“I can show you my room?” he offers. The toddler squirms, but still grins. “Maybe we can find some toys for you?” His brother chimes in, “you wanna play Pokemon wiv us?” His generous offer is quashed by his brother, “no dumbass, she just a little. We need to find er……small toys…….no……toys fur little kids.” Both boys hare off in unison, in a race to find the perfect toy for a small visitor.



Their exchanges are so swift that it’s hard to keep track of them as they’re on a roll, motivated. Each suggestion by the little one, is ridiculed by the older, “no, dumbass! Oopsie! Sorry. I dun mean to hurt yur feelings.”
“Das o.k. Wot about dis one?”
“No, dumbass! Oopsie! Sorry. I dun mean to hurt yur feelings. She could swallow dat, it’s too small for a little kid.”
“Das o.k. Wot about dis one?”
“No, dumbass! Oopsie! Sorry. I dun mean to hurt yur feelings. Dat’s a scarry fing for a little kid.”
“Das o.k. Wot about dis one?”
“No, dumbass! Oopsie! Sorry. I dun mean to hurt yur feelings. Dat’s a boy fing …..er…well…..I dunno maybe.” They continue this exchange whilst the toddler behind them wades through the growing pool of discarded substandard offerings. He sees her out of the corner of his eye and launches himself at her, “no, no, no” he cooes, “dat is too dangerous for you.” He whips the wooden toy hammer away like a pick pocket and slips back a flower with the slight of hand of a conjurer. His categories may be a bit off, but his intentions are pure.

I’m sure that there are a lot of boys around who have little brothers and sisters. They’re kind and gentle with them. There are other children without the benefits of modeling, who behave similarly. They’re comfortable being goofy and soppy with youngsters. My son has always been tender hearted when it comes to babies and toddlers, it could almost be part of the diagnoses. Such behaviour is so easily explained – he has a speech delay and poor social skills, it is easier for him to communicate with someone who is not a threat. It is not an explanation that I warm to.

When people connect autism with a lack of emotion and empathy, I am saddened. My children now have words, which they use and share with us. As often as not, even if these autistic children share the same humanity, they may not be able to express it in a way that we’re capable of understanding. Just because we can’t see it or hear it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Light the blue touch paper and retire to a safe distance

Experiences of our childhood colour our lives, little time bombs waiting to go off.

When I lived in South Africa as a child, a kindly neighbour noticed my interest in Chameleons. I was fascinated by their colour changes. [translation = because everything from my previous existence in England, was grey] I would park one of this leaf and watch patiently. I would remove it to an alternative venue and watch, patiently in my new technicolour world. The lady, and clearly she was one, leaned over the fence, white haired with a countenance of innocence to whisper, “you know, if you put them on something red, like a flower, they explode! You won’t ever do that though will you?” I nodded and then shook my head in agreement or possibly disagreement. I was aghast and mesmerized by the thought. Was she teasing? Do proper ladies tease? Could it possibly be true? Even at the tender age of 7, I was still too cowardly and guilt ridden, to give it a go, but the tantalizing thought has haunted me ever since.

These days, my concerns are much more down to earth.

I return from the shops. [translation = store] to find my children on self destruct. The chaos is overwhelming. [translation = never leave the house for more than 33 minutes at a time] I debate whether to unpack shopping or tidy first? Instead I consider dragging out the colouring materials, in an attempt at entertainment of children in a static manner, so that I can manovre around them.

My youngest son is already at the table, peering into the glass aquarium that houses the lizards. The aquarium is surrounded by many coloured pens, scraps of paper and scissors.

“Look! He is dah bomb! He is about to exploding!”
“Pardon! Say it again. What do you mean? Did you say explode?”
“Look at him!”
I look. I look more closely.
“He is going upsie downsie upsie downsie.”
I look. Isn’t that called breathing?
“Any minute now….boom!” he chuckles.
I yell at spouse, “did you let them watch cartoons whilst I was gone?”
“Lookie, lookie, lookie!” he continues, finger tips tapping the table.
“Did you feed him something?”
“No! He is waiting.”
“What is he waiting for?” Am I really having this conversation?
“Surprise!”


His nose is pinned to the pane. Little plumes of breath steam and disappear. I examine the lizard. He looks the picture of health to me. No signs of imminent combustion, but my knowledge of lizards is limited. Are lizards related to Chameleons? If they are related, are they first cousins or something more remote, like third cousins removed twice? Why do I not already know this?

I try again. I ask the expert. “What do you mean? What have you done to him? Why is he going to explode?”
“Lookie, lookie, lookie!” he giggles, with the hugest cheesy grin. What can he see that I can’t?

I increase volume, whilst keeping a watchful eye on the lizard and my son, “did you let them watch cartoons whilst I was gone?” I yell at spouse.

Spouse disengages himself from the computer that he is attached to, and pops his head around the door jam, “what?”
“Did you let them watch cartoons whilst I was gone?”
“Only a couple of minutes. Well, maybe half an hour or so. Perhaps a …..er……”
“What were they watching?”
“I don’t know. Cartoons. I think…that’s right……..educational cartoons.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes.”
“Anything about lizards perchance?”
“Er…….don’t thing so.”
“Chameleons?”
“Chameleons? Why Chameleons?”
“Any Animal Planet?”
“No, just cartoons, er educational ones.”
I can’t work out if it is better or worse that they haven’t been watching Animal Planet.
“What did they watch!” I squeak.
I return to the aquarium for another look. “What is that in there with him?”
“What?”
“Yes, what is in there with him, that piece of paper?”
“Dat piece of paper is a rainbow for him so he can be finding dah pot of gold.”
“It is a rainbow.”
“Yes, dat is what I am saying. A rainbow will be making him happy.”
“Do you want to make him happy or do you want to make him explode?” What happens to a Chameleon if you put them on a piece of paper coloured to look like a rainbow?
“He will be happy when he explodes.”
“He will? Why would anyone be happy to explode?”
“Because when he is exploding all his babies will be coming out of his body.”
“Why do you think he is having babies?”
“Because he is dah fat tummy. Dah fat tummy is explode.”



Clearly my lecture on the subject of the birds and the bees fell on deaf ears. [translation = the lizards weren’t listening]