Monday, October 1, 2012


     Sometimes I feel like I gave birth to the same kid twice.  When Aston was born Enzo said, "I like this baby.  It looks just like me!"   He begged us to name him Enzo.  When we shut that down he asked us to name him Pizza Boy.  Looking back, both were insanely appropriate suggestions.  Those boys were cut out of the same cloth.  A cloth, I might add, that tries to exist solely on pizza.
They look alike. They walk alike.  At times they even talk alike.
One could lose their mind...
     One day when Enzo was a little kindergarten lad he came home all excited and told me, "I haveded breakfast with the boss of all the teachers today".

     "Oh?" I asked, pleased to see my little boy all smiles, "What did you have?"

     "A cereal calleded Raisin Bran.  I don't like Raisin Bran very good".

     I turned my thoughts away from Enzo's darling grin and considered what he was saying to me.  "Enzo," I asked, "at any point did anyone call the boss of all the teachers 'principal'?"

     "Yeah!  That is it, Momma!  That is her name!"

     "Uh huh.  Uh, Enzo, why did you get sent to the principal's office today?"

     "To eat Raisin Bran".

     Fine.  Fast forward five years.  Aston is now a cutie patootie kindergartner.  Aston skips merrily from the bus to the kitchen where I show him that I've purchased his favorite cookies, the big fat sugar cookies with the cake frosting and sprinkles on them, at the store today.  I expected a huh-uge thank you and hug for my mothering success, and Aston was excited, but instead of thanking me he jumped up and down and said, "They gots them cookies at the printable's office.  Only they gots chocolate.  When I saw them I was like THIS".  Aston drops his arms to his sides, bulges his eyes out and starts hyperventilating.

     "Did you have a chocolate cookie while you were there?" I ask while thinking I've done this before.

     "Nope.  Nobody offered me one".

     "What did you do at the printable's office?"  I cross my fingers and hope he'll say Dropped of the attendance sheet or something like that.

     "I sat in a chair and stared out of the window".  He acts this sitting and staring out for me.  Hands in lap. More bulging eyes.  Just as happy as a pig in poop.

     If Aston continues to follow in Enzo's footsteps I can look forward to a call from the teacher next year telling me that there has been a slight mix up.  Aston will have used the word "explode" when trying to describe his anger to a playground supervisor and said supervisor will think he has made a bomb threat even though he is only six and can't tie his own shoes.  He will be tried as an adult until someone thinks to ask him what he said, "I'm so angry I feel like I could explode".

     The next year I will be at the mall and come home to find a sheriff car in the neighbors drive way.  I will laugh to my sister saying, "WOW!  I wonder what they did.  They seem so nice!"  I will stop laughing when I see the car in the rear view mirror following me up my driveway.  Aston will have told a friend that he hates his sister and would like to kill her.  This will lead to an investigation where he will be asked How do you plan to kill your sister?  He will come up with an answer.  He will say With my father's machine gun.  My home will be searched and my husband's old broken bb gun will be what he was talking about.  I will be put under a six month investigation with the local child protection services.  The agent will express her concern at how little emotion he showed when she spoke with him.  I will explain to her that he is autistic.  She will say, "I know.  Honestly I was surprised he could speak at all.  All I know about autism I learned from the movie Rain Man".  I will resist the urge to kill her.

     Third grade won't be so bad and neither will fourth.  The teachers will complain that he doesn't really do any work and I'll be like Tell me about it, Sister!, but really I'll be happy because being lazy isn't illegal.  

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