Tantrums and destruction can occur out of the blue

On Friday a few hours after Meghan got home she started freaking out (a sloppy, but easy way of saying that she was out of control and I needed to get away from her, and fast). I was sitting next to her in my room, just hanging out with her on my bed, watching the news and enjoying a relaxing moment together, like we’ve done so many times before. But then, out of the blue, she started pulling her hair, contorting her face and making angry nonverbal noises. It was a horrifying sight. What was different from how she might have been before she went away to school, was that she was only hurting herself, not grabbing my hair and neck and pulling and pinching me in a similar fit of anger, as she so easily could have done at that particular time. As I walked away and down the hall, I could still hear her freaking out, yanking at her hair and biting her hand. It was awful to listen to and I was wondering if the room that she was in even had a chance against her wrath.

But, she soon left that room and starting running down the hall toward the kitchen, where I was standing. And then I knew.

I immediately left the kitchen and ran down the few steps to the front door. As I was making my way to the foyer, I felt an all too familiar feeling on my head: it was the remains of a cup of ice water and, I think, an apple, that came crashing down on top of me, and I knew from this—an all too familiar sign—that she was smashing-up the kitchen and “in the zone” of real anger. We have a contemporary-style home and the kitchen has a balcony that is open to a stairway and foyer below, and because of this, and when Meghan is having a temper tantrum, I am in the habit of protecting my head from any flying food or objects.

Just before I ran outside I looked at Nick, who was at the next level below (the family room), and told him to take cover, and he did. Now how terrible is that? Huh? I have to give my son a "codeword" that means Meghan is flipping out so barricade yourself in whatever room that has a door. Like a warning of a sudden tornado ripping through the house, so take cover!

I ran outside and cursed myself for not grabbing a phone. But at that time Meghan was standing at the doorway where she was pounding on the front glass door, swinging it violently against a plant urn, and getting angrier by the minute. I was thinking about getting into my car to protect myself, but then thought against the idea for fear that both my kids would think I might drive off; or that Meghan would pound on the glass window of the car and I would feel trapped.

Then I looked up and saw her standing at the doorway, yanking and pulling out clumps of her hair so brutally that it scared the hell out of me. It was one of the worst scenes I’ve ever witnessed with Meghan.

Don’t get me wrong, before she went away to her school she would come after me and go for my jugular. Literally. But then it would be over. But this scene of self-inflicting pain: pulling out her hair in clumps and biting her hand so hard that I could see blood on her hand, was so violent that it was hard to watch. I was standing outside in the pouring rain with no coat, no shoes and no phone, just trying my best to get her calm. If I had a phone, I was actually contemplating calling the police for the very first time. It was that scary.

Meghan was beckoning me to come to her and I wouldn’t for fear of being attacked. I mean, she was still “in the zone” of anger, so I managed to run around the back of the house, discarding sharp planting tools that were left out from earlier that day (sounds both disturbing and comical doesn’t it? but don’t get me wrong, I’m am not kidding.) I think I even joked to myself: Hey, lose the weaponry, get rid of the hoe; wouldn’t want Cujo extra armed!! I then ran inside from the back sliding doors and grabbed a phone to call my husband and said: "get home ASAP"--another codeword. ETA: 30 minutes.

Meghan went outside to the front, grabbed a glass that was on an Adirondack chair (one that I had out earlier) and threw it on the driveway to break it into shards of glass, thankful that she didn’t aim it at the house or car window. At that point I really felt like I had no choice but to lock the front door and lock her out.

She then started banging on the front door, hard at first, then harder; turning and wiggling the door handle so hard that I thought it would pop off. I knew that I had to try to encourage her to come inside from the back, that way she would have time (and a walk) to calm herself from her angry state because there was no way I was going to unlock the front door and have nowhere to run to get away.

Sounds like a violent intruder trying to get me, doesn’t it? Sometimes I think she is.

I was also hoping that by being locked out she might think it was punishment for her horrific acts and bullying. But at the same time I was worried that she might get even angrier, so I ran out the backdoor, running in the rain with bare feet and getting soaked along the way, while rechecking for more random weaponry (I think you would too) and finally persuaded Meghan to follow me to the back yard, which she did after a few minutes, but it took a few minutes. Once back in the house, she starting cleaning up her mess almost immediately-- a good sign of calm, and of atonement because she knew she did something wrong. But I was still standing outside, shivering and watching—just in case I needed to get away.

I know I sound like a wimpy mother to my 14 year old daughter, but I have had the experience of being pinched, bitten, bruised, and hair yanked out of my head to fear.

Just a late afternoon at our household! What’s yours like?!

Humor, humor is very important you know!

I also want to point out that these “episodes,” or her tantrums, can be very random. Sometimes I can almost predict when she is, or just about to become upset--usually a sensory issue: loud sounds, or an unpleasant feeling on her body. I think the antecedent of the previously mentioned temper tantrum was either from the rain (she was outside swinging on the swings when it started to rain), and her hair was wet and perhaps bothersome to her at that particular moment. So bothersome that she couldn’t handle the sensory overload, if this makes sense to you.

And please note that these tantrums are upsetting to both mother and child (and others within the household); they are violent and destructive in nature and not to be taken lightly. I exhibited bits of humor in this story because that is how I handle my life in these situations. Humor makes an upsetting life or situation a bit more manageable and “doable” in the moment.

Asperger's Syndrome and Hot Buttons

Oh, I was at the hair cutting place (Snip its) with Nick getting his hair cut today and the Hair Cut Lady (as Nick calls her) was going on and on about how he has gotten sooo tall … and I quickly interjected (quick but casual, as to not scare the poor woman) and said very politely, “Oh, he doesn’t like hearing that, he wants to be young and small” (so kindly shut the hell up—please). (You may want to read my "Dreams of Jail" post before this one to understand the horror that could ensue … but let’s just say it’s a real hot button.) And, as luck would have it, she didn’t get the hint, or the message, or the nature of autism. Instead she went on:

"What grade are you in now, Nick"
"8th"
"Oh, wow your getting so OLD and sooo tall for your age … I still can't believe how TALL you’re getting. " Then she turns to me:
"Mom how do you feel that he’s sooo much BIGGER than you?"

Did she see my snarl?

While I was calmly sipping my Starbucks coffee and thinking: oh, for the love of God, shut the f… up!! And enjoying my coffee like it was my last meal, because I knew all too well that I would be crucified during the car ride home.

And I was right …

He went on and on and on … my lovely car ride home was supposed to involve me sipping my yummy coffee; humming to the music of my favorite stations; while driving with my windows rolled down and enjoying the last of the summer's afternoon air…

Alas, that is not how it went, instead I did my best to keep him calm (sweating) while he started kicking and punching the dashboard and seat of the front seat of the car. And then realizing that all of his teachers must be calling him a "big boy" at school and “older” and “taller,” and doing this everyday, too. And being that he is in the 8th grade and among the oldest in middle school, that he must be the tallest kid in his class, or close to it, so they're (kindly) acknowledging his height and it’s becoming a theme. All I would need is for him to be awarded “Most Grown During Summer Vacation” for it to be his banner year!

I will have no choice but to send the teacher an e-mail titled: “Red Alert” on Monday—first thing.