“What will I put in as the reason for his absence?” The school administration assistant spoke gently.
I’d already told her that my son wasn’t in a great place this morning. He was still in bed. At 10.20. “Parent choice?”
I considered this for about two seconds. Parent choice? Not really. But what choice did I have? He wasn’t sick, had no appointments, wasn’t representing his school at the train spotting championships. There were no other options. No box to tick for “He can’t cope today”. But still, it wasn’t my choice.
It was one of those “choices” which was no choice at all. Like when the obstetrician told me that I’d need to deliver my first child by caesarean section. She was a breech baby, had low gestational weight and there were several other concerns that had cropped up during my pregnancy. And yet, this was called an “elective” caesar. What a misnomer! I didn’t “elect” to have it – I was told.
I wanted Train Wombat at school, doing something, interacting with someone, using his mind to buoy him up. Instead, I felt that he was hiding under his bedclothes from a combination of guilt, frustration and despair about a homework task he hadn’t completed. If he stayed in bed long enough, maybe the problem would disappear. His resilience is not great at times like this.
We’ve had these days before, when he’s simply refused to go to school. Thankfully, we hadn’t had one for a while. However, when he wasn’t up at the usual time, I was worried this was happening again. My suspicions were confirmed when I went to wake him. He frowned, grabbed the fallen pillow from the floor and burrowed more deeply under his doona.
“Shut the door.”
You know, don’t you. There’s a vibe. The “I can’t cope with the world so I’m just going to shut it out for a while” ostrich vibe. Which – I guess – is in itself a coping strategy.
His frustration last night at the kitchen table was evident. His stress levels were palpable. His resilience was low. As his parents, it’s frustrating too. Despite years of trying different strategies to help him manage his time better when it comes to school work and other undesirable tasks, he’s still “Last-Minute Larry”. On the other hand, when it’s train-related, he can’t start soon enough.
Great resilience
Barely a week ago, Train Wombat returned from a three-week exchange program in Paris with 11 other students from his school. It was a great success. We were extremely proud of how he handled the multiple challenges of being away, in situations where he had to rely on others, where change was constant and where he could barely understand the language being spoken around him. His resilience was brilliant. He demonstrated that he could cope.
Change can be confronting for anyone, but is even more so for those with ASD – like my son. On returning from a special family trip overseas last year, he had vowed never to leave the state again! However, he surpassed our expectations. A lovely email from his host parents said that in farewelling him, they felt as though they were losing one of their own sons. They praised his courtesy, his interest in things, his willingness to try new experiences. It was a touching testament to his achievements.
When they don’t cope
But… Yes – there is a “but”! The students also had to keep a journal of their experiences, guided by questions the teachers had written down. This would be submitted after they returned home. It was this which was troubling our son so much last night. I suspected it was also the reason for his not finding the wherewithal to front up to school this morning.
At moments of high stress, he seems to find that avoidance is the best strategy. To me, it seems at best a short-term option. It works with only limited success for me!
“I can’t do it. It’s stupid,” he said angrily last night. “How am I expected to remember all these things? I couldn’t do it while I was in France because I didn’t have the time to use Google Translate or keep looking up words in my dictionary. And now it’s so long ago, that I don’t remember. And I have to write something about this book” – he gestured to a book about the engineer who designed France’s TGV (trains de grand vitesse) – “and I don’t even understand a word it says.”
“Well, I can at least help you with that,” I offered. My French is reasonable. “What about the other things? Let’s have a look.”
He’d made a start. If he was willing to accept a bit of help, I was sure he’d remember more than he thought he would. Just starting the process would jog his memory, surely? The questions, in French, revolved around the food the students were eating, something different they might have learned that day, their favourite experience. Fairly standard questions any student might be asked on an excursion.
What seemed like an obvious question came to mind, but I bit it back. Why hadn’t he at least drafted answers in English along the way? He had over a week to translate and polish them after getting home.
Needing to generalise and develop your skills
It’s funny. Like many others with autism, my son has a gift for detail. He can instantly tell what brand of model railway track he’s looking at, or whether a model engine is an exact replica. He’s also a “big picture” man, with grand visions for model railway layouts and real railway projects.
Yet he sometimes lacks the ability to break big things down into their constituent details. And I wonder whether this is because it simply becomes overwhelming.
We are the product of our choices
We see it in how he keeps his room. You’ll know from previous blogs about our challenges in this department. By not taking the IKEA approach to life (modular construction, little by little in easy steps, using simple tools) he gets overwhelmed by the enormity of needing to create the finished product all at once.
He chose not to work on this task during the week. He chose to watch TV and movies on the computer, and spend time on Facebook and with his trains. He chose to have a friend overnight on Saturday (we didn’t even know he had this homework until Sunday). Then on Sunday afternoon, he chose again to do train-related things. He’d do his work later, he snapped. Warning bells.
Okay. So why didn’t we just make him do it? Confiscate his computer? Withhold his pocket money? Say “No sleepover”? Pick up the old carrot and stick? Ah yes – those.
Well, for starters, it’s tricky when you don’t even know what has to be done. Or when your child assures you that it’s all under control. Also we’ve had many occasions when the carrot has been given and the donkey has eaten it, but still not budged. What do you do?
A donkey is too heavy to lift and move to where you want it. A donkey has a foul temper if you try to make it do something it doesn’t want to do. Donkeys kick.
He’s growing up. We can’t make all his choices for him. He’d ignore them, anyway, if we did. And yet, in a way – like my “elective” caesar, I don’t think that all the procrastination is his choice. In the same way that a meltdown is not anyone’s choice. For some reason, he still finds it extremely difficult to break (usually) undesirable tasks into bite-sized, achievable pieces. So when he tries to tackle it all at once, he gets angry and upset because of course, it can’t be done.
Learning to cope – one step at a time
Surely, you might think, getting a homework task done is as easy as tidying a cupboard. You simply break the task into manageable pieces.
Consider, when you do try to clean out that overflowing cupboard, for instance, by dumping everything on the floor, it does seem overwhelming. So you make a cuppa, read the paper, check the mail, hang out the washing. Then you think, I’ll just go and do five minutes. So you go back to the pile. It’s still there, still full of the guilt and memories and perfectly logical reasons for the cupboard being so darn full in the first place. So, guess what? You get overwhelmed all over again! Stuff everything back inside, jam the door shut and leave it for another day! Hmm – still feeling guilty that you couldn’t get a relatively straightforward job done.
The key difference is that it doesn’t matter with a messy cupboard at home. But I worry that it does matter for someone with plans to be an engineer – regardless of the pathway he takes to get there. He’ll need to be organised, to be able to break tasks down, and be able to work to a deadline. Then if things go pear-shaped, he’ll also need the resilience to take a deep breath and keep going anyway.
I’ve learned now not to push him too much on days like this. It’s hard. I’m from a teaching family and education is in my blood. But I’m playing a long game. I know that while the ostrich can run, he can’t hide. And he can’t stay away from school forever.
So I’m looking towards tomorrow. Hopefully my son’s coping bucket will fill up during the course of the day.
Wish us luck!
Until next time,
Happy Wombatting!
