The Cat was sidetracked by a tall water fountain. “The Cat wants to look at the fountain just a hiddle-while, okay Mommy?” He hasn’t understood yet that most cats don’t like water. But such is the mind of a boy who can be a Cat one moment and a Duck the next. After about 10 seconds, I corralled him towards the shoe store. He was so excited to be getting new sandals! “Green sandals, right Mommy?”

But when we went in the store, I didn’t see any sandals. And certainly not green ones. Turns out there were a couple sandals left, but definitely not the type the Cat wanted.

He was already melting. He saw the Thomas the Train toys on the wall, and the green umbrellas by the checkout counter. “I get a special treat, right Mommy?” After telling him that he had to cooperate to get a special treat, he started not cooperating. Wouldn’t sit down on the bench. Wouldn’t look at the shoes to pick out which ones he wanted. Wouldn’t even stand upright (he is a Cat, remember?) He started shrieking. Screaming. The other moms gave me the look that has become all too familiar to me.

The salesman kept clearing his throat, mumbling a low, “Ummm… okay?” every time I addressed the Cat. Keeping my voice soft, low, and even, I would say, “You need new shoes so that you can run outside.” “Ummm… okay?” “If you don’t get new shoes, you can’t play with Grandpa outside, you can’t go to preschool, you can’t take walks with Daddy, and so you have to get new sandals to do all those things.” “Ummm… okay?” “You need to cooperate to get a special treat.” “Ummm… okay?”

“I can’t have these sandals”
“I want green”
“The Cat needs carried”
“My shoulder, my shoulder!” (when I directed him back to the bench)
“Those are too big shoes”
“Those are too tight” (to the same pair as above)
And finally, just shrieks and screams as he huddled face-down on the rug in the store’s entrance.

The salesman awkwardly pressed a box of stickers towards the Cat. “Ummm… you want a sticker?” he asked.

I paid for the shoes ($60!) not even sure if they fit well, but having to take a chance. Meanwhile, the Cat paused from his screaming long enough to say, “Where’s my special treat?”

As always, I fought back tears as I held the screaming Cat’s hand as I marched him to the parking lot. I didn’t use a tremendous amount of force, but the looks I was receiving indicated that most people thought I was stomping away, squeezing his hand unnecessarily. Did they know that if I let go, he would dash away completely out of my sight?

One time at the park, the Cat was far away at a water fountain. I had told him it was time to come home, and he bolted to the water. I yelled after him that it was time to leave. One perky mom said, “Oh, just start walking to the car, he’ll follow you!” But I knew he wouldn’t. I had tried that time and again. “You need to wait longer before turning back; he is waiting for you to give in,” said a mom once. But 15 minutes is a long time.

I’ve heard many other moms talk about being able to watch their kids from afar at the park: “They won’t go far; they always check to see if we are there.” Um, not my son! He has gotten completely lost at the zoo, but wasn’t fazed at all. Meanwhile, I was about ready to break down. He can run faster than I can, and if there are forks in the road, he won’t hesitate to just go whichever direction he pleases.

While I was pregnant with Spliggle, we went to In N Out Burger to celebrate that the Cat had been such a good boy all day. It was his special treat to have a “burgler” and fries. But he was impatient, and started to dart around the restaurant. I was big and slow, and couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t hold him in front of me over my big tummy, and my side was hurting. He wouldn’t get on my back. He wanted down. He wanted to run. He wanted his fries.

An elderly woman watched us disapprovingly. “What a brat,” she hissed to her lunchtime companion. “Brat, brat, brat.” She gave the “tut tut” tight-lipped look to me. What a horrible mother I was, and how dare I bring another child into this world!
The shoe store bit was therefore not unexpected. Dentists, hair stylists, doctors, grocery stores, and even things that are meant to be fun for him can elicit shrieks and screams.

Some of it is “normal” 4 year old behavior.
Some of it is out of frustration and fear.
Some of it is because he likes to challenge my authority.
Some of it is because he is “different.”

The local “Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) Clinic” diagnosed him with PDD-NOS, which essentially means, “Yeah, we want to medicate your kid, but his behavior and IQ don’t technically fit within the DSM parameters, so we’ll call it “NOS” (Not Otherwise Specified.)”

You want the whole story of that horrible day? It will come in due time. I also have plenty of stories of how our HMO isn’t helping matters at all. And how the Mercury People think we should do something totally different. Those stories are all to come.

But I wanted to introduce the Cat in the context of today.

Just to illustrate an important point about the Cat: He is now playing quietly with Spliggle. They are building trains together. (Well, Spliggle is eating the tracks, since he is only 13 months old.) The Cat is being polite, asking me for more milk. He is helping Spliggle when he falls (Spliggle toddles with his chest out, arms back, and then rushes into a crumpled heap several steps later, as is typical for new walkers.) “That’s okay, Spliggle. I will give you a kissy. You will be all better.” The Cat can be a very sweet little boy. He likes to snuggle (on his terms.) He cares if you cry (something which contributes to the “NOS” part of his “diagnosis” since a trait of autism is the inability to be sympathetic.)

I feel as though I have two four-year-old sons: The reasonable one, and the inconsolable one. The folks in favor of medication would like to medicate the inconsolable one, but tell me the reasonable one will be forever altered too. More thoughts about this debate later. And I will share my ideas about why even label his behavior as being “different” as though parenting style has absolutely no impact on behavior. (Yes, I am taking responsibility! I don’t assume that a poorly behaved kid is that way solely because of some diagnosis. But on the other hand, if I do everything “right” and things like today still happen, perhaps something else is going on, especially when this “abnormal behavior” is observed by other “professionals”)

So, lots more to come about the whole world of ASD.

Introducing: The Cat