I took the kids to the
museum yesterday. I had already prepared myself for the comments and “looks”. I
have four kids, two of them are hyperactive and one of them is a toddler who
thinks everything is a jungle gym. Even without Autism and OCD in the mix we
are kind of like a traveling circus. I expect the disapproving stares and
admonishments from staff. It is part of the territory when you have special
needs kids and I try to be understanding and explain things calmly.
When we burst
in the door (because that’s what we do, there’s no single file and no taking
turns, it’s a blob of kids trying to squeeze through the same space while
bickering ) The lady at the front desk already has “the look” on her face. Cole
shoots down the hall and Aiden runs towards the gift shop.
The lady at the desk wants to ask a bunch of
questions. I think she hopes we are not here to stay. I try my best to be
polite, but end up abruptly excusing myself to go run down a child. I hear her
comment as I am turning the corner, “They have a lot of energy! You have your
hands full!” which I am convinced is code for “Your kids are wild and you can’t
control them.”
I corral everyone and repeat what has
become my “public place mantra”, everyone needs to walk, talk quietly, do not
touch anything, stay together, and we are not buying anything. Consequences
range from losing game time to confiscation of My Little Ponies. Everyone nods
when I ask if these rules are understood.
Then Cole says “Mom, when we leave can we buy
something from the gift shop?”
I go over the whole thing again. Everyone nods
again.
And we’re off to explore the museum!
Aiden is so excited; he’s talking 90 miles
an hour and running from exhibit telling me everything he knows about the
different animals. Cole is asking me how they get the dead animals and Chloe
wants to know what “that cat-like-thing is.” They all talk at the same time and it’s so amazing because they all seem
oblivious to fact that other people are talking. We read a book called “My
Mouth is a Volcano” by Julia Cook; it’s all about interrupting or “erupting” as
the book calls it. I remind them that they are all being erupting volcanos.
Everyone giggles. The problem isn’t that they are rude; they are all so intensely
interested in these different things and are so curious that their mind is
spinning with questions. If one takes too long to ask a questions, the others
look like they are about to explode. Aiden in particular says “um” fifty times in-between
every word. “Mom, um, is um, um that um, an um, baby um, um, um bear? Cole’s
face is red from holding in his question by the time Aiden is done.
I head straight for the “hands
on” activities. By this time I am being followed by a few staff members. They
kind of nonchalantly arrange things that were not out of place as they shadow
us. Museum employees aren’t exactly as clever as the CIA.
Cole
sees a stuffed bear on display and begins to lightly rub its fur. I am actually
thinking he is doing really well, he is being gentle and he’s not trying to
ride the bear or anything. Then I hear
this voice from behind me
“You may touch the bear, but use the back of
your hand only please.”
I am thinking it, but Cole (bless his blunt
and honest little heart) just says it.
“That’s stupid. Why would I do that?”
The lady thinks he’s being sarcastic but he’s
not. He just gave an honest appraisal of her request and he expects an answer.
When she doesn’t answer him he asks again impatiently,
“What’s different about the back of my hand?”
I am not exactly on board
with following stupid and purposeless rules so I am inclined to sit back and
watch this exchange go a little longer.
The mom in me wins out and I intervene.
“Cole, it’s rude to argue with the museum
employees. We have to follow their rules.”
I have avoided triggering Cole’s OCD by
saying that he is rude and accusing him of doing something “bad”. Since he has
a fear that he will do something bad, wrong, or harmful either accidentally or
on purpose; actually telling him he did
something bad would cause a full-blown meltdown followed by a cascade of
rituals. The employee doesn’t think I reprimanded him enough, I guess, so she
chimes in.
“When you touch the fur that way it can damage
it and these things are very hard to fix.”
OCD activated. Begin
compulsions.
Cole freezes, his face
fixed in horror. He begins talking rapidly, his hand flapping wildly “I did
touch the bear that way!” he says that a few times. The employee now has a
puzzled look on her face. Then he starts.
“Did I mess it up? What if I messed it up? What
if it can’t be fixed?” he becomes more and more distressed.
The employee looks a little scared now. Cole begins to frantically apologize by
repeating “I’m sorry” over and over again. It’s not even directed at anyone in
particular. Then the lady begins to try to
reassure him.
“It’s okay. You didn’t
hurt it. Don’t get upset.”
I am pissed, but I can’t
very well expect random people to understand OCD. I motion for her to stop talking. Reassurance
makes it worse, he’ll only keep asking. Cole is still in panic-mode and the bewildered
woman looks like she is almost there too. I tell Cole
“You know this is OCD. It’s
over now; we need to be done with this.”
I walk away from the employee. I can only imagine
what she was thinking.
I am determined to brush off the incident and
continue without visit so I direct the kids to the “Naturalist Center” where
they can handle different rocks and preserved insects. I know Cole loves that
stuff.
When we step through the door a museum
employee is standing there. He looks at us and smiles and asks if he can show
us anything. Cole runs up to him, talking so fast that he’s almost inaudible “I
might have messed up the bear’s hair, I didn’t know and I think I may have
damaged it! I’m sorry! I’m sorry”
I grab his hand and gently
guide him away and apologize to the man.
Cole blurts out “I’m
sorry, I have OCD!”
The man chuckles and looks
at me and says “I do too. Everyone here does.”
Maybe it was meant to comfort me or reassure
Cole. I don’t know, but my blood began to boil.
I directed Cole to the rocks and returned to
that man, seething. I try to keep my voice low and calm.
“I understand you and your staff are trying
to be helpful, but my son has disabilities and among them is OCD. Forget what
you see on Monk or whatever other TV show you saw that makes you think you have
a clue what OCD is, it’s a serious disorder and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t
make light of it.”
He looks hurt and apologizes to me profusely.
I feel bad for unleashing
on the guy like I did, but every outing for me is a constant reminder that me
and my children are “different” and I begin to resent people stepping in and
making things worse.
Chloe sees all of this and absorbs it
quietly. Later she tells me “Thank you mom, for taking us to the museum. I wish
people understood. We could have more fun if they did.”
I agree.
