Nervous level severe (red)

Monday afternoon found us in a strange place in a room full of strangers talking loud and fast.
Here we are three days later, and Anthony's anxiety has been raised to nervous level severe (red).
This is a small glimpse into a few moments of what that looks like at our house:


I walk into the school to get the kids.

Anthony (the first thing he says to me): Jeremy's eyes are brown.

I changed the name of his classmate.  

Eye color is one of Anthony's obsessions right now.

Me: Mmm-hmmm... 


Anthony (whining): Are Jeremy's eyes is brown?

Actually, his speech has improved significantly this year.  

He has come far.

Me: Tell what you know, Anthony.  Ask what you don't  know.  Whining is inappropriate.


Anthony (whining): Monty is whining, Mommy...  He is unappropriate!!!

 Monty is our cat.  

He is not in the van with us.

I am secretly gleeful Anthony used "un" to mean "not".

Me: ...

Anthony (trying another tactical move): What's tomorrow's lunchfortodayis?

Anthony still has some echolalia.  

This means he sometimes has trouble separating a phrase into its separate word components.  

He will use it as one "word" without really understanding the meaning.

We  are still in the van.  

Surprisingly, I do not have the school lunch menu memorized.

Me: I don't know, Anthy.  We are almost home.  I will help you find out then.

Anthony (not liking my answer): lunchfortodayis.............?

This is where I get payback for years of dropping the end of sentences as a ploy to get him to talk.

Sophie (under her breath): Just make something up.

I am not proud to admit that I often do just this when Anthony is at nervous level elevated (yellow) and  above.  

For some reason, me saying that I don't know generally drives him over the edge into screaming territory.

We pull into the driveway.  

At this point every day, we have a pretty complicated daily routine leaving the van.  

On a nervous level low (green) day, Anthony...

1) unbuckles as soon as we drive onto the driveway and stands beside my seat

2) puts his hand over mine to put the van in park

3) turns off the radio, cruise control, heat, in that order.  God have mercy on your soul if one of those is already turned off

4) puts away my sunglasses in the flip-down holder

5) puts his hand over mine to turn the key and take it out of the ignition

6) unlocks all doors

On a nervous level high (orange) and above day like today, he does this entire process with one hand on my face.

Today, during this benediction, we have a few more interchanges about 

people's eye colors 

possible lunchfortodayis menu combinations 

Monty whining

Just to make sure I understand his emotional state, he holds both of my cheeks and insists "GN*!"

*GN is a throat sound that Anthony uses as a "word" when he needs to express the inexpressible (comparable to "smurf").

A few minutes later Anthony and I come in the door.  I am carrying the mail, my purse, two grocery bags, both backpacks and...(yup)...Anthony.  Sophie is already in her room, and I am pretty jealous of her at this second.

Anthony gets down (after one more face touch) and runs from window to window singing a song that starts with "Mommy, watch this!" (x 3) and morphs into random bits of recognizable tunes which all have the words replaced with "GN".

A few minutes later.

Anthony (frantic): MOMMY! Where did you go!?!?

Me: I am in the bathroom, Anthony.

Anthony (standing 1 mm away from the bathroom door): Are you pooping?
Me: I will be out very soon.

Anthony (reverse psychology): I don't want cereal for snack.
Me (careful not to use sarcasm): No. No cereal after school.

Anthony: Can you give me nowyourchoicesare?
Me (still in the bathroom): Good job using a question.  You can have nuts, raisins, or fruit before supper.

Anthony: or..........
Me (washing my hands): Those are your choices.

Anthony: or..........ice.......

Anthony: or..........ice crrrrrr......

Me (sternly): Those are your choices.

Anthony (yelling): OR......!?!?
Me: No yelling.  If you yell again, you will go to your room.  Not appropriate.

Sophie turns on the TV and sneezes at the same time in the other room.

Anthony (startled, starts yelling): ATTTCHOOOO!  I sneezed!  Say "blushyoo", Mommy!
Me: OK.  Go to your room to calm down.

Anthony (as I am firmly marching him upstairs): Did I sneeze, Mommy?
Sophie (snaps and starts screaming as we walk past her): NO! NO, you DIDN'T!  I SNEEZED!  ME!!!  NOT you!!!
Me: OK.  Both of you.  Upstairs.  Now.  Calm down.


They are both yelling at me all the way to their rooms.  
Anthy's opinions are mainly GN-related, and Sophie gives a Shakespearean-worthy monologue on the unfairness of her Life.  

While they are upstairs, I take the opportunity to search the house for chocolate/wine/earplugs/sedatives/cookies/muzzles.  
There are none of these items in my cabinets...the cabinets I can reach anyway.

A few minutes later.

Anthony (yelling from the top of the stairs): I am calm now, Mommy!
Me: OK.  Come downstairs.  Speak nicely to me.

Anthony (sweetly): I don't want to play MarioKart.
Me (wishing I had hidden the Nintendo DS): You can play while I cook.  Calm words.  Walk away when you are mad.

Anthony (plays video game; grinds teeth at every curve.  The "You Lost" music is playing.): YAY!  I won, Mommy!  Mommy?  I won.  IwonMommy, IwonMommy.
Me (noncommittally): I am glad you are having fun playing

Anthony (crying hysterically): Did I win, Mommy?
Scene fades.



From that moment until bedtime, we saw:

• 26 more GNs
• 3 more trips to his bedroom
• 2 more complaints about the unfairness of Life
• 1 mostly Mom-sided conversation about how boring Life would be if "completely fair"
• 11 more face touchings
• 2.5 minutes of blessed quiet in the basement bathroom before they found me
• 5 eye color discussions
• many, many deep breaths
• 2 (infinitely healing) bedtime hugs, kisses, and I love you, Mommys