Keeping It Real In 34 Minutes

Sean is yelling at me.

I’m not rubbing him the right way.  I’m talking with Carissa while he is trying to watch tv.

He wants to know when the laptops for the 8^th graders will be handed out.

He’s not happy how I packed his backpack this morning.

He fails to see why I am so elated to be able to find his mathbook on-line so he and his sister won’t have to haul theirs home every day.

He is aggravated with me and his world.

And I am aggravated with him.

Sean’s butt wasn’t even fully situated on the kitchen chair this morning and the words “rub me” escaped from his mouth.

Are you serious?

Are you friggin’ serious?

I have breakfast to make.  Lunches to make.  I have to make sure you don’t forget your gym uniform and your school ID.

I have to take care of the dog.

And you want me to rub you?

Now?

Oh my freakin’ god…

Side note…. Good Morning America just said that we spend more time complaining on Mondays than on any other day…34 minutes versus only 22.

Ya think?

So back to Sean….

I know he’s autistic and it’s simply a part of him.  But can’t he see…just once… that I am hugely busy and can’t concentrate solely on his needs right when he wants me to?

Besides, if I stopped to rub him then he’d complain that I didn’t have his breakfast ready.

I can’t win.  I really can’t win.

As for the laptops at school… How many times can you tell him that they aren’t being issued until at least the 18^th?  All he does is come back with complaints on why it’s taking so long.

It’s complain, complain, complain.

Constant.

I tried multi-tasking last night while rubbing him.  I had my laptop next to me.  I had things to do.  He said he didn’t like how I was rubbing him… that I was stopping and not paying attention.

We’ve tried to get him to see, not so much how difficult it is to rub someone constantly, but more so on how you have to stop what you’re doing – whatever it may be – to do it.  We’ve implemented a “rub you, rub me” policy.

And you know what?  Sean lasts about 10 seconds, maybe 15 at the most before he walks away from his turn to rub you.

And he complains how I rub him??

Really.

I don’t know what to do.

Nothing I do for him is good enough.  Nothing I do is fast enough.  Nothing I answer satisfies him.

And now he doesn’t even want me talking while he’s watching tv.

As if he ever stops his monologue while I’m watching a program….

I know being a mom is a thankless job and you get the crap end of the stick all the time.

But gosh, sometimes you just want to scream, grab a soda, and go on strike.

Or, how about simply being able to go hide in the bathroom for a minute without someone calling your name?

Being a mom is tough.

Being a mom to a teenager is even tougher.

But being a mom to an autistic teenager?

Where’s my soda?  My 34 minutes are up.   I’m outta here!