Sometimes I torture my son.
No, not like that!
It’s torture because he’s a teenager, and I’m his mom, and everything I do is automatically uncool and annoying.
The other day, he was wandering through the house, singing, “We can dance. We can dance.”
That same line, over and over and over.
So I chimed in.
“You can dance if we want to. You can leave your friends behind…”
He gave me a look that told me how much I could dance.
“’Cause your friends don’t dance, and if they don’t dance, well they’re no friends of mine.”
“We can dance, we can dance –“
“But it’s the safety dance!” I protested.
My singing – and dancing – were seriously rejected. He abandoned me in the kitchen and went back out into the living room.
I heard him singing, “We can dance,” but it was quieter, almost like he was trying to make sure I didn’t hear him and join in.
I am officially uncool and annoying.
But I can dance if I want to.
Simon came home from school happy about school, which is his normal status about school.
School is an amazing place, or at least he thinks that while he’s at home. (While he’s at school, it’s often a different matter and he can get mad at things not happening on schedule or teachers not being there.)
But today, it was happiness.
From the moment he got off the bus, he said school was fun.
I asked what he did at school. “Fun,” he said.
I asked again, emphasis on “what” he did…
“What did you learn about?”
Okay, maybe that’s actually a “where” response, but close enough that I’ll take it.
These feelings about school didn’t fade away. He ran through his usual “script” about going to school and when he goes back to school (tomorrow morning).
But that wasn’t enough today. He kept repeating himself and wanting me to repeat it back to him.
So I came up with a social story on the fly and told it to him.
“In the morning, you wake up, then you get dressed, then you eat breakfast, then you get on the bus, and then you get to school.” I held up a finger for each step, numbering them one through five.
He nodded along, so I went for the repetition.
“What do you do first?” [One finger held up]
“Then what?” [Two fingers held up]
“And then?” [Three fingers held up]
“And next?” [Four fingers held up]
“Take the bus.”
“And what’s the last step?” [All five fingers held up]
“Get to school.”
“Do you feel better now?”
“Great, so can you please get out of the bathroom? Because I kind of need some privacy now.”
Because it’s one of those days, I decided that I should go ahead and force myself out of bed and to school.
Because it’s one of those days, I left school early to get coffee and sushi.
Because it’s one of those days, I had forgotten to tell Simon’s teacher that I’d be picking him up early, and so I texted her and warned her.
Because it’s one of those days, Simon (who didn’t know he had a doctor’s appointment) had been telling his teacher that Mom was picking him up to take him to the rodeo.
Because it’s one of those days, I picked up Simon to take him to the doctor for his yearly check-up and his physical for Special Olympics, and he wanted his teacher to see Mom’s black car.
Because it’s one of those days, at the nurse part of the visit, I found out he is only two inches shorter and fifteen pounds lighter than me.
Because it’s one of those days, I didn’t realize that I was jinxing myself when I said, “Wow, he’s never done that before” when he let the nurse take his temperature orally.
Because it’s one of those days, it wasn’t until we went into the room to wait for the doctor that I realized the crotch of his pants had split and his blue underwear was showing through.
Because it’s one of those days, I didn’t have to feel like a bad mother for not noticing his pants had split because it was time for Simon to get changed into a gown.
Because it’s one of the days, the wait for the doctor had been going on for seemingly forever when Simon announced, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Because it’s one of those days, a second after Simon made the announcement, he began peeing…on the floor…through his underpants and the gown.
Because it’s one of those days, there was a lot of pee. A lot of it. Like the whole floor was covered in it.
Because it’s one of those days, even though I told him to stop peeing, he kept peeing. And peeing. And peeing. And peeing.
Because it’s one of those days, I quickly pulled off his soaked socks, threw some paper towels on the floor, and dragged him to the bathroom to finish peeing (assuming there was any left in him).
Because it’s one of those days, the doctor walked in as I was trying to toss paper towels all over the huge puddle of pee, and I had to warn her not to come into the room very far because in about two steps, she would have slipped and fallen, and that might have been a bad way to start the visit.
Because it’s one of those days, I had to repeatedly explain to the doctor that no, this wasn’t normal behavior, he doesn’t pee on floors everywhere we go, and, honestly, he is pretty well potty trained.
Because it’s one of those days, I had Simon show off by saying dog in four languages (well, five if you include English) to the doctor since I kind of felt I had to prove that he doesn’t just go around peeing on the floors.
Because it’s one of those days, after the doctor left the room to fill out his Special Olympics paperwork and he needed to put his clothes back on, it was full-on meltdown time because he did not, I repeat, did NOT want to go home without underwear.
Because it’s one of those days, it took me a minute to realize that he had to wear his pants WITH THE HOLE IN THE CROTCH without any underwear.
Because it’s one of those days, the whole of pediatrics got to listen to Simon scream, at the top of his lung capacity, that he wanted fresh underwear.
Because it’s one of those days, I considered taking him to Target and just buying some new underwear for him, but then I realized that would mean walking through Target with him in ripped pants and his balls hanging out (literally) while he screamed that he wanted fresh underwear.
Because it’s one of those days, I decided against taking him to Target because we would probably wind up being arrested for public indecency, and I convinced him that we could go straight home and then he would have fresh underwear.
Because it’s one of those days, since we’ve gotten home, I’ve had a hot bubble bath and some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
Because it’s one of those days, don’t you judge me.
Simon has begun re-watching episodes of “Oswald” on his iPad mini. He loves using Amazon’s streaming videos because he can watch so many cartoons and shows that he likes, and he is in complete control of it. He wanders around with it, watching them on the couch, on the floor, wherever he goes.
For those who are not familiar with “Oswald,” Oswald is an octopus that has a pet dog (Weenie) and a number of friends, including a penguin (Henry) and a flower (Daisy). [Fun Fact: Oswald is voiced by Fred Savage! Yes, that Fred Savage!]
Anyway, so Simon has gotten into the show again in a big way. He used to watch it a lot, but then stopped. Now he really loves it. Watches an episode a day, at least.
Well, in one of the episodes, Oswald’s dog get dirty and needs a bath. And, being a dog, does not want to take a bath. Oswald has to find him and force him to take a bath.
Nothing funny yet, right?
Now let’s remember echolalia.
I was gone to Tampa for the residency period of my MFA. My husband took Simon to the store. Simon walked around, repeating only certain lines from the show. Those lines?
“Weenie’s dirty. Weenie needs to take a bath.”
Now imagine how you would react to an 11-year-old boy walking around saying that. Repeatedly. Apparently there were a number of very strange looks.
My husband tried to mitigate the strangeness by filling in the blanks, “Yes, Oswald’s dog, Weenie, is dirty, and he does need to take a bath.”