Slap Happy

"Baseball Tournament"...what a melodious sound!  The only sound that could be better would be a buzzsaw knawing through the cartilage in my left knee cap. 

I have four kids and two of them are on the autism spectrum.  My 10 year old son who does not have a spectrum disorder is a little league pitcher and eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball.  I am a very proud mommy and I know that we do not have a dollhouse perfect life and try to accomodate his needs being that he is the PB&J of a neurotic household sandwich.  But, it damn near kills me to haul my two-year-old son with autism to that baseball field.

A baseball practice is enough to ruin a perfectly good routine, but these tournament games start an hour later than practice so this is really going to define disruption.  All day long I watched the clock in misery knowing that the big event was drawing near.  The hands on the clock appeared to wave at me as they ticked by...almost saying, "two more hours until your date with Hell."  To try to soften the blow I cooked supper an hour early to fill up my child's tummy hoping that a full stomach will hold off his usual exorcism.  I packed a huge totebag full of things to keep him occupied...five bags of gummy fruits, a sippy cup, a toy laptop, three different types of bubbles, oatmeal cookies, and his "child saftey harness" (aka...Leash).  Then I put on my warpaint, knee and elbow pads, and protective head gear and we were ready to go. 

We arrive at the field and set up camp which is usually close enough to the field to see my older son play ball and just close enough to the car to make an escape.  I settled my toddler in with his little chair and a bag of gummy fruit...so far so good.  I just might be able to take my helmet off tonight <insert sarcasm>.

My older son took the pitcher's mound as the other players took their places.  The game had begun...literally.  First pitch went out...Strike!!!!  Second pitch...Strike!!!  Strike!!!  One batter up and down.  My toddler was on his third bag of gummy fruits and I went ahead and lined up the next item of pacification from the intervention bag.  I handed him his toy laptop and he began to bang on the keys and the sound of "B says Buh...B says Buh" began to float through the air.  He is so happy. 

Heading into the third inning, bases loaded, and my two year old is still content with some oatmeal cookies and laughing and smiling as he tries to pop the bubbles that are floating by.  I was smiling and letting my guard down some by this point.  Then a pop fly was hit deep into center field...looks like a homerun.  The crowd stands and cheers...LOUDLY.  My little man jumped up out of his chair and began to cry and scream.  He wasn't expecting such a display and such loud clapping and yelling.  I tried to blow more bubbles but he was still very upset.  I offered him the last item of serenity from my dwindling bag of happiness...the toy train.  I watched in slow motion as it was tossed into the dirt.  His meltdown was beginning to escalate at this point.  He then took off in a sprint across the grassy parking area and my heart sank.  I had not put his safety harness on him.  I took off behind him screaming and yelling for him to stop.  No reaction.  I wasn't sure if he just wasn't responding or if he couldn't hear me over the sound of my thighs rubbing together and my muffin top flapping against my waistline.  I finally grabbed him and brought him back kicking and screaming.  My husband slid his harness on him and walked him away still wailing and crying.  I looked down and then looked around to scan the bleachers...several parents were staring at me and several were staring at my child.  The usual...but it still bothers me. 

It was now the bottom of the sixth inning and somehow my husband had managed to calm him and they were walking around and I saw my youngest son picking dandelions and smiling.  I felt a rush of relief.  We are almost through this game and so far only one meltdown.  I was feeling pretty good about things at this point.  "Lord, thank you for this evening", I thought. 

All of a sudden I heard piercing screams.  I felt my entire body tighten up.  "What has set him off this time?", I thought.  I turned to look in the direction of my child, but it wasn't him that was crying.  It was the little girl that he was slapping and physically attacking near the other set of bleachers.  I jumped up and ran as fast as I could.  I saw my husband trying to pry him away from the other child.  Just as I got there the little girls mother was stepping off the bottom bleacher.  Here is goes...it's time to play the famous Autism Card.  "Ma'am...I am so sorry.  He has autism and he just doesn't understand that hitting isn't appropriate.  I really am truly sorry.  Could I buy your daughter something from concessions to make up for this?"  I was expecting her to spit on me when she just wiped her daughters tears away and smiled at my son and then looked up at me and said, "It's fine.  I completely understand.  These things happen and she will be just fine.  No need to buy her a thing.".  I thanked her and apologized again. 

I was in absolute disbelief.  Who was this alien creature from an unparalleled universe?  No dirty looks?  No ridicule of my parenting skills?  No ugly comments muttered under someone's breath?  There are people in the world that understand...imagine that.

My son's team lost the game by six runs, but that night my family had won by a mile.