Surprise, Surprise... He CAN Be Quiet for 5 Minutes

So we were halfway through this lovely weekend.

Since Wednesday evening, we've been traveling around central and north Florida. We have done the Disney thing (surprising how old-fashioned some of the Magic Kingdom rides seemed).

We've done the room service thing. (Have you noticed they ALL add an automatic tip of 20% now? How generous of them!)

We've been cavorting about St. Augustine on the coast, where the weather has been perfect. Breezy, 70s, no humidity. Just lovely for laying out by the ocean, looking up at the passing cirrus and listening to the waves crash against the rocks.

During this bit of heavenly sidetripping, NJ has gotten some nutty idea in his head that none of the regular rules apply.

And indeed, we've been staying up a little late. We've had more sugar than usual.

We've indulged the boy quite a bit. That's largely because his birthday - and his mother's - were the reasons for the trip to begin with.

But the birthday boy has gotten his thinking stuck in a rut a few times.

He wants to be back at the hotel. He wants to be playing video games.

He's bored. He wants to run around. He wants to do this and that.

He's also been very handsy lately. He's been grabbing and touching and climbing everything - statues, fences, piles of cannonballs, his mother...

Today, his negative monologue droned on as we promenaded down a wonderful seaside boardwalk on Anastasia Island.

Sometimes, I am willing to put up with this or that quirky behavior. Because I never want to punish NJ for something that might be a symptom of Asperger's.

That fear, coupled with the vaco mindset, probably broke down the normal behavior barriers we set for him. And this weekend, he's lost the ability to determine when "please stop" doesn't mean "if you want to."

Sometimes "please stop" means "you betting stop right now or get a freakin' massive timeout."

So finally, after chaffing under his monologue for about an hour straight, I had had enough.

I literally made him park it for five minutes without saying a word. He had been going on for hours, on and off, complaining, leading to low-grade anxiety for both of the adults. And frankly, wasting whatever time and money we were spending on the vacation! (I would have been less stressed out at the office.)

So that was it. I was done. I didn't care, at the moment, if I was pleasing the ghost of T. Berry Brazelton. (If he's still alive, my sincere apologies.)

And finally, he realized I was serious. Every peep he made - "But I..." Boom, I tacked another minute on there.

Sure enough, he managed to remain quiet for five minutes. We sat there. He stuck his lower lip out. We watched the ocean. We gazed at the seagulls wheeling overhead.

His mother got some headspace of her own.

And we breathed. We just sat there and didn't say anything at all.

It broke his negative monologue - including the one in his head. It was like shotgun meditation.

When the time was up, I hugged him and told him I loved him, and without any more discussion, we began walking up the boardwalk.

"Dad, I love water parks," he said as we walked toward the little water park where his mother was reading the paper.

"I'm glad, NJ. That's great. Let's go have some fun."

And we did.

And he didn't complain anymore. He played happily in the water and sand. His attitude changed. And I learned that his obnoxious diatribes were not some inevitable force of Asperger's - only to be abided bitterly to the end.

They were a kid with a little too much sugar... given a little too much latitude while on vacation... with probably not quite enough sleep... who needed to have his "reset button" pushed by some forced quiet time.

It worked. And that taught me something important. When it's time to be quiet, he can be quiet.

And that can wind up being a big favor to the adults around him... and to him, too.

As a wise friend once told me: "I can start my day over at any time."

For an Aspie kid, sometimes I believe they can use our help in starting their days over... And this, while not delicate, is perhaps one way of doing that for them.