We can only be mad at her for just so long. Not very long at that. Samantha has us all feeling zombie-like, if zombies go around biting their nails and hyperventillating. This is where Sam belongs, hogging our bed for her own purposes, not wandering the streets.
Another exhausting weekend come and gone. And LIFE IN HELL continues at the Shockey residence as Thanksgiving approaches and Mick has a whole week of Sam at home to look forward to. Has anyone seen my sense of humor? I seem to have misplaced it.
Sam has continued to express her displeasure at the total lack of outings, lack of money-spending entertainment that she is so partial to, in the only way she knows. She continues to bolt on us. So many times this weekend that we lost count. I know that wasn't a complete sentence. That child has damaged me so that I no longer talk, think, or write in complete sentence. I tend to drool a little, too. I have a vacant stare.
The first time she bolted was Saturday morning. Mick quickly got dressed and took off after her. About 45 minutes later I got a call from Subway to come pick them up and pay for her sandwich. The sandwich wasn't really Sam's fault, but she gladly accepted it. The problem was Mick's morning coffee hitting him so far from home.
Unfortunately, Sam's satisfaction didn't last. Being autistic, she doesn't understand the concept of money. She may by the time pay day arrives on the 1st. She has a great memory and can repeat verbatim what she hears. Pretty soon I expect her to walk around chirping, "Sorry, no money. Sorry, no money, no restaurant...No money...no money...no money..." This is at odds with the principle behind the Secret, but frankly, we're at wit's end around here. So we're trying to drill the concept into her head.
Sunday morning started late for us. We were allowed to sleep until nearly 7:00 a.m. So I should probably quit my whining. Except that I'm starting to get good at that and we didn't even get to sit down until 8:20, and that was just for a brief moment.
Because...7:10 a.m. what we hear is, "Front Door!" Which is the alarm system letting us know that SOMEONE opened the front door. Guess who? This is why I was driving around town in my pajamas and bathrobe first thing in the morning. And second thing, too.
Sam took off, Mick followed, and I decided I'd better get out of bed and find them. Driving in pajamas, peering up and down the side streets as I slowly cruised. It was too early even for the church-goers so I had the streets to myself. Found them easily the first time.
Got home, relaxed our guard for two seconds (YOU MUST NOT RELAX!), and she was gone again. No kidding. I wasn't dressed yet, but off I went again, cruising in my pajamas, and this time not finding them. I circled the neighborhoods twice, saw a double rainbow, decided against taking a picture in the driving rain, and slowly cruised home, still watchful, still not seeing them.
Sam was naked on the couch using Mick's laptop. Mick was making some breakfast. Miranda was up. It felt like it should be dinner time, but it wasn't even 9:00 a.m. yet. I thought I'd better get dressed. Someone was bound to call the police about a suspicious person cruising slowly through their neighborhood over and over again, and I didn't want to have to talk to the police and explain myself while dressed in purple pajamas and a big, white fuzzy bathrobe.
How many more times did she leave? Two? Three? I'm not sure, but the last time, Mick was livid because we only found out she was gone because a friend of Miranda's called from the middle school where she had a game of some sort. She happened to recognize Sam, who was walking, and gave us a call. Thank God for cell phones and all the teenagers who have them.
This Escape Act is a temporary thing, I'm sure. I have to believe that or I really will lose my mind. Autistic people generally don't accept change easily and concepts like needing money to do things are difficult for them to grasp. Sam has had to put up with a lot of change lately, changes at school, Miranda moving on to high school, and her mom going out into the work force. She'd always had me at home, and when the girls were younger they had both me and Mick RIGHT THERE all the time. Soon she'll have to deal with both parents working outside the home. Sam doesn't care that this is the reality for most families. She probably won't even care that much if she gets to go to restaurants once in awhile again. Because that is what is truly important to her.
We have kicked ourselves, mentally at least, for having indulged Sam to the extent that we have. The benefit to that is, Sam does really well in public situations, like eating in restaurants and going to stores, the zoo, etc. She can navigate social situations better than a lot of autistic people. The down-side is that she just wants to go, go, go. Sam would be happy being a world-traveler, globe hopping. She'd like to visit amusement parks around the world. And restaurants, of course.
And now our minds are gone, gone, gone. Send kind thoughts to Mick as he endures a week of Sam at home. I know I will. May this phase, please draw to a close SOON.
Posted by: |