Everyone has his own way of coping with adversity. Some people stay and duke it out while others try to reason their way through it. Still others just turn tail and run when the situation gets rough. Of course, there are those who cannot seem to decide whether they want to stay and fight or flee.
Nathaniel has been having a really rough time in first grade. We're still trying to figure out if he is just too overwhelmed by the number of children or if there are other circumstances that are affecting his behavior. We want to be able to help him learn how to cope with the world in which he lives.
It appears that every phase has its ups and downs, just as with any typical child. Add in the Autism spectrum and more hurdles are set in place for the race. At first it was the sheer ability to communicate effectively with him. With hard work and two years of speech therapy, that has drastically improved. Now, he is having to learn how to deal with the information he does process from others, and it isn't always easy.
This year he has been put in a larger classroom for part of the day. Up to this point, he has been in the secluded class with 5 to 7 other students and two teachers. He had difficulties in those classes that he has slowly but surely learned to address, though not perfectly. Because of his great strides with communication, he is now in a partially integrated class. This is a good thing, we were told, a way to ease him into the regular classes eventually.
Every time he goes into a larger class, something happens and he explodes in one way or another. One of the most difficult times for him seems to be physical education. For some reason, the activities in that class really tend to bring out the fight and then flight tendency in Nathaniel. I'm not completely certain if it is because the teachers do not truly comprehend the fact that certain triggers are more forceful than others or if they just want to make Nathaniel face them.
Either way, I think it would be much more beneficial to introduce Nathaniel to some games slowly. Take flag football, for instance. Pardon me for saying this, but for a child who truly needs his own space and who feels violently upset about having his personal space invaded, flag football is not something to just thrust upon him with a couple sentences of instructions, at least not in a full size p.e. class. I have no qualms about Nathaniel learning to play this game, but because it involves taking something away from him, I personally believe it would be better to introduce him to the game with a small group of 4 to 6 children, describing in detail that the game does mean that someone is going to take a flag away from him. Once he gets accustomed to the game with a few people, then go ahead and let him play it on a larger scale. If I had known beforehand what game they would have him play, I could have told them to prepare for the kicking, the hitting, the fussing, and, eventually, the running past the teachers, into the hall, and out the exit door away from school.
Unfortunately, there have been numerous times this year in which my oldest son has attempted to run away from school. It's not the first time he's run away from home, either, nor from church. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he gave us another scare. Only this time, it wasn't just to us. I'm not glad it happened, but in a sense I am not sorry he ran. It allowed some of our acquaintances and close friends to understand the depth to which we mean when we say we have to keep an eye our children at all times. His actions that night also caused a greater support system in the sense that others are now aware of some dangers that arise with ASD children.
It was Wednesday evening and he had had a rough day at school. One of the boys in his math class was consistently touching him, invading his space, and he was having a hard time all around. His senses were in overload so I was not at all surprised when he was sent to sit with me in the choir for a little while to calm down . The second time seemed to do the trick, as he was able to gather control and go back to his classroom. I walked him down and he seemed to enjoy himself before I slipped back out to the music room.
When church was over, I went to pick up the kids to take them home. There was only one problem. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. He had managed to slip past the adults and out the door. I went to the car, but no Nathaniel. I went to the playground and called him, but did not find him. I walked over to the gym and nobody had seen him. Playground, sanctuary, woods nearby, children's wing, gym: all were void of my missing child. By this time, several adults were helping me look for my son and I was trying not to let panic set into my heart.
A good fifteen minutes later at least, I had the gut feeling to return to the playground. It was a last ditch effort, hoping beyond hope that maybe we missed him. By this time the lights were off and it was pitch black. I called out to him twice to no avail. I walked around the small fenced enclosure and called some more, making my eyes see what was near impossible. I had already been praying in my head, but at this point I spoke into the darkness, "God, please! Help me find him."
I called one more time and heard a catch of breath that did not belong to me. I stopped and called again. "Go away. Leave me alone," at last I had found him! "I want to stay here," then he hissed angrily at me and fought to get away as I felt out and reached his arm. Nathaniel continued to protest loudly as I held him and told him how much I missed him and that I felt bad when I couldn't find him. I led him from the playground toward the car as he initially attempted to escape my grasp and run back to the swings.
I called out to let the pastor and the choir director know that I had found him. They were, as was I, greatly relieved that I had recovered my son. As dark as it was and with as much time that had passed since the last time anyone had seen him, the situation could have ended much, much worse.
This particular incident served as a wake up call, not necessarily for myself, but for those around me. For my readers who also have children on the Autism Spectrum, you have gone through things similar to this on a regular basis as well. Perhaps you have friends and acquaintances who may technically be aware of things you go through with your children, but they don't feel the insistent, ever present eagle-eyed necessity that you know can be the difference between life and death for your children. It took my son disappearing, quite quickly, for a good while, for some in my circle to understand the vigil we constantly keep.
I suppose I have my moments of flight as well. Those days when my husband comes home and I am just tired of the vigilance probably happen more often than the typical mom. I am grateful for the respite he gives me occasionally to get away from the commotion so I can gather my wits about me, renew my strength, and stand ready to fight the next fight for the sake of my children.
I guess the real key is in striking the balance between fight or flight. That Wednesday, when Nathaniel struggled with me, I had to hold firmly. It was not easy to stand firm with him. He may be only 6 years old, but he's less than a foot shorter than I am. My foot will, albeit uncomfortably, fit in his shoe now. He is getting stronger as well. But if I had just let him run off, he could have gotten hit by a car, kidnapped, or been hurt by numerous other imaginable things. So I held, firmly but lovingly, until my son was ready to come of his own accord. I hope for the day when he no longer feels the need to run away but to be able to run towards us, toward safety, when he feels threatened beyond his ability to cope.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
It Smells Inky in Here
I have come to realize that the storms in this life are the norm. Life is an uphill mountain range, filled with a whole lot of climbing with occasional bouts of refreshing and rest. When it seems almost insurmountable, we are pushed to what we think is our limit and then just a little more. Then we are given a bit of release. we are granted just enough to be able to take the next climb and to be able to choose whether to be joyful or not.
Last week, I had terrible vertigo for several days. I had to go to the emergency room on Sunday. That made for an interesting week. My chiropractor worked wonders on Wednesday and the vertigo was completely gone by Friday morning.
I slept better last night than I have in over a week. This is very good, because I would need that respite and calm for the storm that was heading my way. I had been awakened a couple times by the children in the middle of the night, but overall it was peaceful.
"Let me out!" I awoke to the sounds of Nathaniel's screams and to banging on a door. Getting up quicker than Spiderman can scale a wall, I went into the hall to see his door open but Nyssa's door closed. The sound emanated from that direction. It was also locked. This was definitely the source of my rude awakening, as well as the unnerving sound of squeals of devilish delight.
I unlocked the door to find a frightened Nathaniel holding his hands to his ears and stripped completely naked. he looked like a Native American Indian covered in warpaint. Backtrack. Stop the film. What? Yes. He was covered in...not paint, but ink! So was the carpet, Nyssa's bed, and Gabriela's sheet. Benjamin (the squealing one) was gleefully coloring the wall. Nyssa was initially giggling, but gave me an opened gasp and said, "Oh!" At that point, her mouth clamped shut tightly, her eyes opend wide, and she attempted to stifle the laughter.
All of my precious inks for drawing and writing were emptied from their wells. Nyssa's carpeted floor had become their newest canvas. Carpet, curtain, sheets, beds, children, clothes, and books were all revealing the artwork of the likes of Jackson Pollack. Spatterings of black, navy, indigo, magenta, and yellow were covering a background of golden beige short shag carpet. Silver lined the top of my daughter's greying head where Nyssa had poured my silver ink over herself. Browns and greens canvassed the girls' sheets and pillows.
I would love to say that I was very rational, calm, cool, and collected when I saw the paintings. BUt there was no still life around me. The scribbling on the wall continued as I told Benjamin to stop. I would love to say that I slowly gathered myself together as I rustled them into the bathtub. It would be so wonderful to say that I kept my voice gentle, yet firm. But I cannot say so. I simply said, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
"RICHARD!" I shouted down the stairs, knowing my husband would hear me and bound up momentarily to the certain inflection in my voice, "Children, this is mommy's stuff! How did you get it? Who got into it?"
Sure enough, as I stared at the children in wonder and shook my head in disbelief, I heard the clomp of my beloved coming up the stairs on his white steed. Ok, so there was no horse, but he did round them up faster than a cowboy herding a steer back to its corral. He set them in the bathtub while I attempted to so something with the mess.
I gathered the items and separated the painted from the untouched and wiped as much off as I could from the wooden beds, the wall, and the books. I shoved the ruined clothes to the corner and stared at the floor. Richard, on the other hand, sat in the bathroom giving the kids the third degree and reading them the riot act. The blame game began.
Fortunately, we already knew we could rule out Nathaniel because he was absolutely horrified at what was going on. Gabriela was playing in it, of course, but she was not capable of getting the ink from its location. That left two children still in the frying pan. Eventually, Nyssa confessed that it was her initiation, though Benjamin gladly jumped on the bandwagon as soon as the can of worms was opened.
Furious, I started to rip questions at Nyssa when I realized it was no use. The questions I really wanted answered could not be solved by my little mischievous pixie fairy. No, I had to stop and walk away, because yelling at her and demanding some logical, rational explanation was foolhardy. There are some things we can do. We can get righteously angry over injustices, but cannot tear our children apart verbally in the process.
I simply stopped and looked at Richard. We got the kids cleaned off and dressed. He told me to go on and go to my Weight Watchers meeting and try to cool down. I nodded my head in assent. I walked to the girls' room and locked their door, both at the doorknob and at the chain lock up high, so nobody would go back into that mess. I then got my wallet and my keys and exited the house with Gabriela in tow as she was very reluctant to leave my sight. We drove away in the white 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan that we're renting because our Toyota Sienna's engine had been burnt to a crisp on Thursday.
It was a respite from the battlefield of Nyssa's room. It was encouraging news of me being 3 pounds lighter. It was an escape from the two current partners in crime who can't seem to get it through their thick skulls that they don't get into other people's things and destroy them. It was a breath of fresh air.
When I got back home, I was feeling much better, ready to tackle the room once again. Richard took Nathaniel with him on his errand run after we explained that Nyssa and Benjamin would have no videos and no computer for the next couple of weeks because of what they did. I first tackled the kitchen and the lunch dishes. Then I made my way upstairs for round one of carpet cleaning detail.
Three carpet shampoo sessions later, the floor is still covered in ink. It's there to stay, at least half of it. We're getting more out, but it's a slow process. The children are now all tucked into the boys' room, with closet locked, and all the other rooms locked up to avoid them getting into them.
I did it again. I lost my temper and yelled at them. I'm not proud of it. I could have handled it better, but that's the truth of the matter. I didn't think I could handle any more of it when my husband gave me a way out, a way to escape the temptation to keep berating them. I was given an escape route when I was about at my worst.
That happens in life. We think we can't handle it any longer. We are pushed to the limit, and then our child says something that pushes us further. But then something happens, an escape trip to Weight Watchers, a smile with the words, "I love you," from the little rugrat, or the sight of a little chipmunk scurrying across your lawn. And something breaks inside of us, the anger and frustration melts. We are frozen in time, sucked away, for an hour, or even just a few moments, and we have regrouped and are ready once again to face the smelly, inky mess in the carpet floor.
I have a challenge for all of us. Next time, why don't we try thinking of that little chipmunk, replay the vision in our mind, next time we feel we are about to go over the edge. Let's see if that helps us keep the temper at bay. I'll try it if you will. After all, if I cut loose, my life will look and smell just like that carpet, and believe me, it is a pill to clean up afterwards. It takes layers of shampoo and scalding water, several times, and sometimes the stain never completely comes out without a diligent cleansing scrub over, and over, and over again.
Last week, I had terrible vertigo for several days. I had to go to the emergency room on Sunday. That made for an interesting week. My chiropractor worked wonders on Wednesday and the vertigo was completely gone by Friday morning.
I slept better last night than I have in over a week. This is very good, because I would need that respite and calm for the storm that was heading my way. I had been awakened a couple times by the children in the middle of the night, but overall it was peaceful.
"Let me out!" I awoke to the sounds of Nathaniel's screams and to banging on a door. Getting up quicker than Spiderman can scale a wall, I went into the hall to see his door open but Nyssa's door closed. The sound emanated from that direction. It was also locked. This was definitely the source of my rude awakening, as well as the unnerving sound of squeals of devilish delight.
I unlocked the door to find a frightened Nathaniel holding his hands to his ears and stripped completely naked. he looked like a Native American Indian covered in warpaint. Backtrack. Stop the film. What? Yes. He was covered in...not paint, but ink! So was the carpet, Nyssa's bed, and Gabriela's sheet. Benjamin (the squealing one) was gleefully coloring the wall. Nyssa was initially giggling, but gave me an opened gasp and said, "Oh!" At that point, her mouth clamped shut tightly, her eyes opend wide, and she attempted to stifle the laughter.
All of my precious inks for drawing and writing were emptied from their wells. Nyssa's carpeted floor had become their newest canvas. Carpet, curtain, sheets, beds, children, clothes, and books were all revealing the artwork of the likes of Jackson Pollack. Spatterings of black, navy, indigo, magenta, and yellow were covering a background of golden beige short shag carpet. Silver lined the top of my daughter's greying head where Nyssa had poured my silver ink over herself. Browns and greens canvassed the girls' sheets and pillows.
I would love to say that I was very rational, calm, cool, and collected when I saw the paintings. BUt there was no still life around me. The scribbling on the wall continued as I told Benjamin to stop. I would love to say that I slowly gathered myself together as I rustled them into the bathtub. It would be so wonderful to say that I kept my voice gentle, yet firm. But I cannot say so. I simply said, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
"RICHARD!" I shouted down the stairs, knowing my husband would hear me and bound up momentarily to the certain inflection in my voice, "Children, this is mommy's stuff! How did you get it? Who got into it?"
Sure enough, as I stared at the children in wonder and shook my head in disbelief, I heard the clomp of my beloved coming up the stairs on his white steed. Ok, so there was no horse, but he did round them up faster than a cowboy herding a steer back to its corral. He set them in the bathtub while I attempted to so something with the mess.
I gathered the items and separated the painted from the untouched and wiped as much off as I could from the wooden beds, the wall, and the books. I shoved the ruined clothes to the corner and stared at the floor. Richard, on the other hand, sat in the bathroom giving the kids the third degree and reading them the riot act. The blame game began.
Fortunately, we already knew we could rule out Nathaniel because he was absolutely horrified at what was going on. Gabriela was playing in it, of course, but she was not capable of getting the ink from its location. That left two children still in the frying pan. Eventually, Nyssa confessed that it was her initiation, though Benjamin gladly jumped on the bandwagon as soon as the can of worms was opened.
Furious, I started to rip questions at Nyssa when I realized it was no use. The questions I really wanted answered could not be solved by my little mischievous pixie fairy. No, I had to stop and walk away, because yelling at her and demanding some logical, rational explanation was foolhardy. There are some things we can do. We can get righteously angry over injustices, but cannot tear our children apart verbally in the process.
I simply stopped and looked at Richard. We got the kids cleaned off and dressed. He told me to go on and go to my Weight Watchers meeting and try to cool down. I nodded my head in assent. I walked to the girls' room and locked their door, both at the doorknob and at the chain lock up high, so nobody would go back into that mess. I then got my wallet and my keys and exited the house with Gabriela in tow as she was very reluctant to leave my sight. We drove away in the white 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan that we're renting because our Toyota Sienna's engine had been burnt to a crisp on Thursday.
It was a respite from the battlefield of Nyssa's room. It was encouraging news of me being 3 pounds lighter. It was an escape from the two current partners in crime who can't seem to get it through their thick skulls that they don't get into other people's things and destroy them. It was a breath of fresh air.
When I got back home, I was feeling much better, ready to tackle the room once again. Richard took Nathaniel with him on his errand run after we explained that Nyssa and Benjamin would have no videos and no computer for the next couple of weeks because of what they did. I first tackled the kitchen and the lunch dishes. Then I made my way upstairs for round one of carpet cleaning detail.
Three carpet shampoo sessions later, the floor is still covered in ink. It's there to stay, at least half of it. We're getting more out, but it's a slow process. The children are now all tucked into the boys' room, with closet locked, and all the other rooms locked up to avoid them getting into them.
I did it again. I lost my temper and yelled at them. I'm not proud of it. I could have handled it better, but that's the truth of the matter. I didn't think I could handle any more of it when my husband gave me a way out, a way to escape the temptation to keep berating them. I was given an escape route when I was about at my worst.
That happens in life. We think we can't handle it any longer. We are pushed to the limit, and then our child says something that pushes us further. But then something happens, an escape trip to Weight Watchers, a smile with the words, "I love you," from the little rugrat, or the sight of a little chipmunk scurrying across your lawn. And something breaks inside of us, the anger and frustration melts. We are frozen in time, sucked away, for an hour, or even just a few moments, and we have regrouped and are ready once again to face the smelly, inky mess in the carpet floor.
I have a challenge for all of us. Next time, why don't we try thinking of that little chipmunk, replay the vision in our mind, next time we feel we are about to go over the edge. Let's see if that helps us keep the temper at bay. I'll try it if you will. After all, if I cut loose, my life will look and smell just like that carpet, and believe me, it is a pill to clean up afterwards. It takes layers of shampoo and scalding water, several times, and sometimes the stain never completely comes out without a diligent cleansing scrub over, and over, and over again.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Fighting the Fire
In a life surrounded by Autism Spectrum children, you never know what fires you will have to put out from day to day. All you can do is read up on the subject, prepare for emergencies, and hope you never have to put that practice to the test in the truest sense. In many ways, you are always alert, at the ready, with the proverbial fire hose in hand.
Thursday was so very peaceful. Anita had helped me clean up after my natural disasters while two of them, the boys, were at school. Gabriela followed her around while Nyssa and I went to Marcus for her checkup. All around, quite a bit was accomplished. I had been sick earlier in the week with a bad bout of vertigo and still hadn't fully recovered, but by 2 pm Thursday afternoon, it no longer showed in the house. Anita said her good-byes to the girls and I. We readied ourselves to get Benjamin from Pre-K.
Little did I know what havoc was about to incinerate most of the rest of our day. The girls were buckled up. Nyssa was in the back, in Nathaniel's booster seat. I considered telling Nyssa to get into her own car seat, but we were going to get her a booster seat this weekend anyway. Gabriela was buckled directly behind me in her car seat. I strapped myself in, closed the door, and put the key into the ignition. The car started and I heard the click of all the doors automatically lock as I put it into gear. The engine stalled. I tried again, thinking maybe the battery had drained again, but the minivan started normally. I put it in reverse, looked in the rear view mirror, released the break, stepped on the gas, and I fully expected to back out of the driveway. No dice.
I checked the lights, but no warning appeared. Once again, I turned the key to the off position. Puzzled, I put the vehicle back into park, turned on the ignition yet again, and checked the display panel on the dashboard. Everything looked and sounded fine. It was running. I put it in reverse for the third time and the minivan instantly died. This time, however, there was a remarkable difference.
I don't know if I smelled it or saw it first. The engine was smoking. Through the front window, I saw smoke rising above the hood and flames dancing underneath it. From this point, everything happened quickly and in slow motion at the same time.
I was grateful Nyssa was in Nathaniel's seat because she could unbuckle that on her own. She always has trouble with the bottom release on her own car seat. I instructed Nyssa in my "Mommy" voice to unbuckle quickly and get out of the car. She had already taken off her shoes and was confused. I told her the care was on fire and we had to get out.
She tried to open her door at the same time I climbed out and attempted to open Gabriela's door. Neither one budged. They wouldn't unlock because of the automatic override. They were both on child safety mode and could not be unlocked without turning on the car. The automatic functions were cut off due to the fire. I pushed my seat forward, climbed back, and unbuckled Gabriela. Nyssa climbed to the front into my seat and got out through my door. After getting Gabriela out of the car, I carried her and led Nyssa to the house.
I told them to stay put as I went back to assess the situation, telephone in hand. I momentarily considered opening the hood. I quickly dismissed that half-brained idea when I saw how big the flames were getting. At the same time, I dialed 9-1-1. While I was on the phone, Nyssa suddenly remembered her shoes.
"What is your address?" asked the dispatcher after I alerted her to the fire.
"My shoes!" Nyssa wailed.
I gave the dispatcher our address.
"I have to get them!"
"I'm sending the fire department to your house now."
"Nyssa, stay here."
"But they'll be gone forEver!"
I held my daughter's arm. Fortunately, she didn't put up a fight. "Thank you very much," I said to the dispatcher.
"Has the fire spread to the rest of the vehicle? How close is it to your house?"
"But they're my favorite high heels!"
"No, it's still contained in the engine compartment. It's about 7 feet from the house. Nyssa, if they go up in flames, I'll get yuou another pair."
Nyssa relented.
"A girl's priorities," the woman on the other end of the line couldn't refrain from saying.
"Tell me about it."
"My car," Gabriela added to the conversation.
"Make sure you stay far away from the car; and if the fire spreads, it could hit the house," the operator warned me.
"I need to move away from the house as well, then," I stated more than questioned.
"That would be a good idea."
"I hear the fire engine now," I stated as I heard the familiar siren.
"Ok. Good luck."
We said good-bye as I sat the girls on the little child-sized iron and wooden bench in the front yard. I called Richard's work and left a message for him. He was at a conference downtown but they would be able to contact him. Gabriela chattered off the names of the African animals embedded in the iron work on the back of her bench. I instructed Nyssa to keep Gabriela busy there while the firemen did their job.
We spoke for a moment as they got out the needed masks and necessary hose and started working on the fire. Nathaniel's bus drove up. The driver stopped behind the fire engine and I received Nathaniel, explaining the situation to the bewildered driver. At this point, as if on cue, the police officer pulled up next to the curb in front of our yard and parked his black and white.
Amy from Richard's work called and said she sent him an e-mail; she then asked what she could do, saying she could come right over. Thankfully, she was willing to assist in getting Benjamin from his school. I got off the phone with her and turned off the water hose Nathaniel held in his hands as he attempted to help the firemen. I had to explain to the officer that Nathaniel is on the spectrum and may not completely understand the danger, so we were both keeping an eye on him. Richard called back and said he was leaving right then as soon as I filled him in on the situation.
I saw big chunks of something from the car fall down onto the pavement below, burning away in flames. The police officer said I was lucky the fire didn't start late at night. He reiterated the dispatcher's assessment, stating himself that it could have burned down the house and the yard if the fire department hadn't been able to respond so quickly.
The firemen had to tear at the hood to open it in order to completely eradicate the flames. A safety measure under the hood caused the cable to burn so nobody could open it and get engulfed by the fire. The general consensus by the firemen and policeman was that some electrical wiring caused the mishap. The engine compartment did a great job at containing the fire. It did not spread to the rest of the minivan. They were able to move it back after putting out the fire and spray the burning plastic underneath on the driveway.
Everything behind the battery was melted or gone. The air filter was gone. Off to the left, a quarter of the engine casing had melted away. I always supposed it was metal. Not this one, I guess. The burnt plastic sent its odor wafting around us.
Amy drove up as I turned off Nathaniel's hose again. Amy was an absolute sweetheart! She let me borrow the car to get Benjamin while she watched the others. The police officer and the firemen left just before I did. As I was leaving, I saw Gabriela playing in the toy car in front.
"Fire in the car," she played excitedly, giggling.
Nyssa was glad her shoes did not burn away, Nathaniel contented himself with playing on the slide out back, and Richard arrived home shortly thereafter. Once she made sure we were all okay, Amy took her leave. I got on the horn with insurance and the rental car service.
You never know what your response will be in a specific situation until it confronts you. You never want to be caught in an inflamed vehicle with children who are strapped in and with doors that will not open. When life throws fireballs at you, you may not be able to put out the fire without assistance. Sometimes professionals are available to help, such as the firefighters, police officer, and Nyssa's doctors at Marcus.
We can, however, consider the options of what we can control. We can help the helpless who are also caught. We can let them use our door as a manner of escape. Sometimes the door we have is their only hope of escape. We can try to help them put the situation in correct perspective. I'm sorry, Fashionistas of this world, but no pair of shoes, not even Manolo Blancos or whatever his name is, are worth risking going back to that fire.
Our lives and the lies of others are what matter most, above all this fluff of materialism that surrounds us. Besides, when you do respond responsibly (see the word correlation there?), you may find in the end that everything is taken care of after all, like Nyssa's precious lack patent low heel shoes with the bows in front. But even if they had become ashes, they were just....shoes.
The minivan, yes, it is totaled. But we are all fine. So getting another vehicle, though it may not be easy financially, is not the worst thing that could happen. I'm just glad that fire got put out before it spread to the rest of the minivan, caused an explosion, and took out the yard and the house. Fortunately, we had some guardian angels watching over us, perhaps one even whispering to Nyssa, "Climb in Nathaniel's seat."
As for those things we can prepare for, Nyssa knows when I use a certain voice to obey without question. She may still want to move, but she does listen when I can give her distinct, one step directions. It payed off this week. As for practical, concrete preparations, I went out yesterday and picked up booster seats for Nyssa and Benjamin. They are both big enough, and they can unbuckle their own seat belts now. You never know when those precious seconds count.
Thursday was so very peaceful. Anita had helped me clean up after my natural disasters while two of them, the boys, were at school. Gabriela followed her around while Nyssa and I went to Marcus for her checkup. All around, quite a bit was accomplished. I had been sick earlier in the week with a bad bout of vertigo and still hadn't fully recovered, but by 2 pm Thursday afternoon, it no longer showed in the house. Anita said her good-byes to the girls and I. We readied ourselves to get Benjamin from Pre-K.
Little did I know what havoc was about to incinerate most of the rest of our day. The girls were buckled up. Nyssa was in the back, in Nathaniel's booster seat. I considered telling Nyssa to get into her own car seat, but we were going to get her a booster seat this weekend anyway. Gabriela was buckled directly behind me in her car seat. I strapped myself in, closed the door, and put the key into the ignition. The car started and I heard the click of all the doors automatically lock as I put it into gear. The engine stalled. I tried again, thinking maybe the battery had drained again, but the minivan started normally. I put it in reverse, looked in the rear view mirror, released the break, stepped on the gas, and I fully expected to back out of the driveway. No dice.
I checked the lights, but no warning appeared. Once again, I turned the key to the off position. Puzzled, I put the vehicle back into park, turned on the ignition yet again, and checked the display panel on the dashboard. Everything looked and sounded fine. It was running. I put it in reverse for the third time and the minivan instantly died. This time, however, there was a remarkable difference.
I don't know if I smelled it or saw it first. The engine was smoking. Through the front window, I saw smoke rising above the hood and flames dancing underneath it. From this point, everything happened quickly and in slow motion at the same time.
I was grateful Nyssa was in Nathaniel's seat because she could unbuckle that on her own. She always has trouble with the bottom release on her own car seat. I instructed Nyssa in my "Mommy" voice to unbuckle quickly and get out of the car. She had already taken off her shoes and was confused. I told her the care was on fire and we had to get out.
She tried to open her door at the same time I climbed out and attempted to open Gabriela's door. Neither one budged. They wouldn't unlock because of the automatic override. They were both on child safety mode and could not be unlocked without turning on the car. The automatic functions were cut off due to the fire. I pushed my seat forward, climbed back, and unbuckled Gabriela. Nyssa climbed to the front into my seat and got out through my door. After getting Gabriela out of the car, I carried her and led Nyssa to the house.
I told them to stay put as I went back to assess the situation, telephone in hand. I momentarily considered opening the hood. I quickly dismissed that half-brained idea when I saw how big the flames were getting. At the same time, I dialed 9-1-1. While I was on the phone, Nyssa suddenly remembered her shoes.
"What is your address?" asked the dispatcher after I alerted her to the fire.
"My shoes!" Nyssa wailed.
I gave the dispatcher our address.
"I have to get them!"
"I'm sending the fire department to your house now."
"Nyssa, stay here."
"But they'll be gone forEver!"
I held my daughter's arm. Fortunately, she didn't put up a fight. "Thank you very much," I said to the dispatcher.
"Has the fire spread to the rest of the vehicle? How close is it to your house?"
"But they're my favorite high heels!"
"No, it's still contained in the engine compartment. It's about 7 feet from the house. Nyssa, if they go up in flames, I'll get yuou another pair."
Nyssa relented.
"A girl's priorities," the woman on the other end of the line couldn't refrain from saying.
"Tell me about it."
"My car," Gabriela added to the conversation.
"Make sure you stay far away from the car; and if the fire spreads, it could hit the house," the operator warned me.
"I need to move away from the house as well, then," I stated more than questioned.
"That would be a good idea."
"I hear the fire engine now," I stated as I heard the familiar siren.
"Ok. Good luck."
We said good-bye as I sat the girls on the little child-sized iron and wooden bench in the front yard. I called Richard's work and left a message for him. He was at a conference downtown but they would be able to contact him. Gabriela chattered off the names of the African animals embedded in the iron work on the back of her bench. I instructed Nyssa to keep Gabriela busy there while the firemen did their job.
We spoke for a moment as they got out the needed masks and necessary hose and started working on the fire. Nathaniel's bus drove up. The driver stopped behind the fire engine and I received Nathaniel, explaining the situation to the bewildered driver. At this point, as if on cue, the police officer pulled up next to the curb in front of our yard and parked his black and white.
Amy from Richard's work called and said she sent him an e-mail; she then asked what she could do, saying she could come right over. Thankfully, she was willing to assist in getting Benjamin from his school. I got off the phone with her and turned off the water hose Nathaniel held in his hands as he attempted to help the firemen. I had to explain to the officer that Nathaniel is on the spectrum and may not completely understand the danger, so we were both keeping an eye on him. Richard called back and said he was leaving right then as soon as I filled him in on the situation.
I saw big chunks of something from the car fall down onto the pavement below, burning away in flames. The police officer said I was lucky the fire didn't start late at night. He reiterated the dispatcher's assessment, stating himself that it could have burned down the house and the yard if the fire department hadn't been able to respond so quickly.
The firemen had to tear at the hood to open it in order to completely eradicate the flames. A safety measure under the hood caused the cable to burn so nobody could open it and get engulfed by the fire. The general consensus by the firemen and policeman was that some electrical wiring caused the mishap. The engine compartment did a great job at containing the fire. It did not spread to the rest of the minivan. They were able to move it back after putting out the fire and spray the burning plastic underneath on the driveway.
Everything behind the battery was melted or gone. The air filter was gone. Off to the left, a quarter of the engine casing had melted away. I always supposed it was metal. Not this one, I guess. The burnt plastic sent its odor wafting around us.
Amy drove up as I turned off Nathaniel's hose again. Amy was an absolute sweetheart! She let me borrow the car to get Benjamin while she watched the others. The police officer and the firemen left just before I did. As I was leaving, I saw Gabriela playing in the toy car in front.
"Fire in the car," she played excitedly, giggling.
Nyssa was glad her shoes did not burn away, Nathaniel contented himself with playing on the slide out back, and Richard arrived home shortly thereafter. Once she made sure we were all okay, Amy took her leave. I got on the horn with insurance and the rental car service.
You never know what your response will be in a specific situation until it confronts you. You never want to be caught in an inflamed vehicle with children who are strapped in and with doors that will not open. When life throws fireballs at you, you may not be able to put out the fire without assistance. Sometimes professionals are available to help, such as the firefighters, police officer, and Nyssa's doctors at Marcus.
We can, however, consider the options of what we can control. We can help the helpless who are also caught. We can let them use our door as a manner of escape. Sometimes the door we have is their only hope of escape. We can try to help them put the situation in correct perspective. I'm sorry, Fashionistas of this world, but no pair of shoes, not even Manolo Blancos or whatever his name is, are worth risking going back to that fire.
Our lives and the lies of others are what matter most, above all this fluff of materialism that surrounds us. Besides, when you do respond responsibly (see the word correlation there?), you may find in the end that everything is taken care of after all, like Nyssa's precious lack patent low heel shoes with the bows in front. But even if they had become ashes, they were just....shoes.
The minivan, yes, it is totaled. But we are all fine. So getting another vehicle, though it may not be easy financially, is not the worst thing that could happen. I'm just glad that fire got put out before it spread to the rest of the minivan, caused an explosion, and took out the yard and the house. Fortunately, we had some guardian angels watching over us, perhaps one even whispering to Nyssa, "Climb in Nathaniel's seat."
As for those things we can prepare for, Nyssa knows when I use a certain voice to obey without question. She may still want to move, but she does listen when I can give her distinct, one step directions. It payed off this week. As for practical, concrete preparations, I went out yesterday and picked up booster seats for Nyssa and Benjamin. They are both big enough, and they can unbuckle their own seat belts now. You never know when those precious seconds count.
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