Photo by Vlastula
We built the boy his own computer over the winter break. Cobbled together from pieces donated by friends, bought on sale, and all assembled with a fair bit of elbow grease, it’s a fairly beefy Minecraft machine, and it plays his new favorite game, BeamNG.drive.
He’s been getting up in the mornings and going straight to the computer. He can’t log in—I know the password, I am the gatekeeper—but I’m fine with him playing a little before school, so I’ll groggily unlock it for him, and then go make coffee, lunches, etc.Continue reading
Liam and his point sheet
A lot has happened over the past few weeks. We had a gorgeous family weekend in the mountains, where Liam toured the Biltmore Estate, his ear plastered to the audio tour device as he took in the Gilded Age in all its finery. We came home, settled back into the routine, and then I was laid off from my job.
“Why was today so rough, buddy?”
He’s sprawled out in bed, shirtless as usual. I scratch and rub his back and massage his scalp. It’s one of the few things he will almost always ask nicely for and not demand outright.
A lot of people don’t see past Liam’s tow-headed exterior. He throws a tantrum in a store or chatters on endlessly about cars. If it comes up and we mention his ASD diagnosis, they say, “But he’s so outgoing,” or, “He doesn’t act autistic.” Or they just stare when he’s screaming and crying and drooling, raving about some perceived injustice as we drag outside to the car.