Contemplating her next diabolical plot.
Sam is having summer school for the first time since we moved to Dallas, Oregon. Not that she hadn't needed it for the past three summers, but it's one of those things that doesn't cross state lines. So, summer in Alaska, you're on your own. Sam doesn't go for "on your own". "On your own" to her means, "thanks, but no thanks" or "I'll just do my own thing". And she did.
For three summers I lugged around worksheets provided by the school: math, coins, time, spelling, address, reading, penmanship... Each sheet was greeted with an EMPHATIC, "OH WAY!" This favorite phrase, "oh way" has been translated as both "no way" and "go away". Take your pick. Often they are interchangeable. The gist of it was, she was not going to do them. Oh way! And like leading a horse to water...you can put a worksheet in front of an autistic student, but you're not going to make them do it. End of story.
Unless you're at school. Oh, yes, they have heard "Oh way" before. They have had Sam, and I'm sure many students (and not all of them in Special Ed. either) refuse to do the work. But most of the time Sam is a model student and completes each task asked of her. At school. This doesn't apply to home. Definite separation. However, she sometimes, no, in fact, often, will comply and do what I ask of her at home. As long as it isn't perceived as school work. Sam's attitude toward school is similar to the commercial advertising Las Vegas. You know the one: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well, Sam's version is: What is worked on at school stays at school.
So Monday was the first day of summer school. She goes from July 6 to August 6, Monday through Thursday for two hours a day. Transportation provided.
By July 3, I realized I had no idea what time the bus would pick her up. During the regular school year, Sam used to get picked up almost an hour before school started. Then the driver changed her route around and Sam got picked up about twenty minutes before school started. So there was no way for me to guess. I'd been told that her class would run from 10:00 to 12:00. When I called the Bus Barn on July 3, I guess they thought they were federal employees or something because all I got was the answering machine. Detailed message left, so no problem, right?
Yeah, right. July 6, the day of. No informative phone call. So at 8:45 I call and tell them that no one has told me when to expect the bus. Oh? Is the response I receive. Just a minute while I check...oh, the bus should be there any minute.
OMG! Panic ensues. Mine, no one else's. Miranda, of course, isn't even awake. I'm yelling and grabbing clothes for Sam to put on. She is cooperating, however, she dumps the clothes that I pick and runs to my mending basket and grabs her favorite, barely stitched-together outfit (courtesy of her own little nervous, picking fingers). And I don't have time to argue. Not that it would have done any good even if I'd had the time.
I stick her toothbrush in her mouth and start to work on her hair. Sam's hair is a project every morning. She gets that toddler-like bed-head. A big, red, flaming bush of tangles that require lots of de-tangler spray to be sprayed on and even more patience. And about a full two to three minutes. I'm about 15 seconds into this task when I hear Miranda screaming," MOM! THE BUS IS WAITING AND HONKING!"
I let out a wordless scream, throw my hands up in the air, and start chanting, "GO, GO, GO! Hurry up, Sam. Come on, the bus is waiting!"
Sam SLOWLY meanders through the living room, practicing walking while looking at the ceiling ( this does beat that phase she went through when she liked to walk around with her eyes closed). I'm jumping up and down and flapping my hands uselessly, looking like the autistic one who needs to get on the bus. My energy does NOT transfer to my daughter as she continues to walk VERY SLOWLY down the driveway to the waiting bus. Finally, she is on and I close the front door and slide down onto the floor like a pile of goo. Yes, goo, not poo. That would be another story. I am not dressed and therefore, I am not happy.
Obnoxious. Absolutely obnoxious. No, not Miranda screaming at me, or me screaming at Sam, or even Sam walking so slowly without a care in the world (ok. That is obnoxious, but kind of funny, too). No, I'm talking about the bus and the Bus Barn. I can forgive people making mistakes. So, ok, someone dropped the ball and forgot to call me AND someone doesn't bother to answer the messages left on the answering machine. But the little bus always came right up to our front door. Never had the bus driver sat out on the street HONKING the horn. I hate noise.
So, I figured Sam got picked up early on the route and would be home shortly after 12:00. But NO! At 11:20, there is the bus, sitting out on the street, HONKING that damned horn again! And again, once I opened the door and the driver could see that I was home and hadn't run off with the neighbor man or anything, he opened the bus door and Sam SLOWLY, very, very SLOWLY, with her eyes rolled back in her head,took a step, pause, took another step, pause, took another step...one foot on the ground, the other still on the bus, pause...and then both feet were finally on the ground. The bus door quickly slammed shut and Sam took her sweet time walking up our driveway.
I figured that school must actually be from 9:00 to 11:00 instead of 10:00 to 12:00. I called the school to confirm but no one there knew anything at all. Hmmmm. So I thought I'd be ready for them this morning. We'd be prepared. We'd be ready.
Damned bus shows up 10 minutes earlier than the day before. Sam was dressed, teeth and hair brushed. I, on the other hand, was a vision of loveliness in my ratty, mismatched, too-big pajamas,( hey, who cares? My husband isn't here and I can just look like crap--and be comfortable). Except I'm not all that comfortable standing in my driveway wearing that ensemble.
The score so far: bus driver- 2, Vicki- 0. Stay tuned.
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