Chatty

Let me begin this post by stating that nothing written here is intended to make fun of Martin. This is a post about language, oral stimming, perseveration, and behaviors that, for the most part, are not within Martin’s control. Although some of the verbal stream I’m conveying may, in retrospect, come across as amusing, when this is happening—when Martin is saying these things, nonstop—nothing sounds funny. When Martin is saying these things, nonstop, I could never laugh because I am too busy trying to keep my head from exploding.

Martin has been talking a blue streak this week. I’ve written about this phenomenon before, when Martin starts speaking and cannot stop. It happens most in the morning. It used to be that Martin would repeat one statement, or one statement and several variations on that statement. As his language and other skills have improved, he’s broadened the repertoire. Now when he can’t stop talking, he cycles through many familiar topics.

During breakfast one morning this week, when Martin and I were alone in the kitchen, I tried to capture his monologue. (I call it a monologue because I seldom interjected. I struggle with deciding to what I should respond, especially when Martin wants attention more than an answer.) Through a combination of recording, scribbling, and recalling after-the-fact, I was able to transcribe the following. This is not verbatim, I’m sure, but it’s close:

When I grow up I am going to live by myself. I don’t want to have any roommates. I am going to be a man who has horns. I am going to have long hair. Mommy, when I grow up I am going to eat peanut butter Lära bars. Do they still play concerts in Central Park? Can we go there? I want to go there. I’m not going to school today. Is it your birthday? Mommy, whose birthday is it? Your brother Rudy and your niece Mandy have the same birthday. How old did Uncle Rudy turn on his birthday? Mommy, Uncle Rudy turned 47 and my cousin Mandy turned six. Mommy, how old are you? You are 42 years old. Do all kids have middle names? Do you have to practice to be a crucifer? I’m going to be a crucifer when I’m in middle school. I’m never going to be a crucifer. I’m never going to school again. You should move out. Go! I’m going to live alone. I want you to be my mommy forever. Is Daddy going to keep going to work? When you were with Miss Cara and Miss Eileen and Miss Tomomi during my play date, what did you do? I want your family to have another baby. Are many of my friends only children? Are all of them? In the eighth picture about the fireplace, are you holding me when I’m a baby? When you were a child, was it allowed for children to ride in the passenger seat? You married your husband in 2005.

Martin said all this, almost without pause, as he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking (or, as it were, not drinking) his bone broth. I’m never quite sure what sets Martin to nonstop talking, or whether a monologue like this is oral stimming, perseveration, attention-seeking behavior, anxiety, or some combination thereof. I’m frustrated when this happens, to be sure. I survive by focusing on Martin’s language skills. Do you remember when I was overjoyed that he managed to say, “I want you to do that again”? Compare that with the perfect sentences structures Martin rattled off this week. Those sentences were perseveration, and he could not slow down, but at least he had the words.

At least he had the words.

Preferences

Martin has three rain jackets. The first raincoat he acquired when he was two years old. It is a yellow hand-me-down, big enough for a nine- or ten-year-old, from our then-neighbors. The second and third rain jackets are blue and red, and sized much more appropriately for a kindergartner. Samara bought them for Martin a couple years ago.

For a long time, Martin preferred the yellow raincoat, even refusing to wear the blue or the red. He didn’t seem to care that the yellow raincoat was so big that it bunched around his knees, got tangled between his legs, sometimes tripped him. Yellow is Martin’s favorite color. At the first sight of a raindrop, he wanted that yellow rain jacket.

We’ve had a lot of rain lately. To my surprise, Martin selected the blue rain jacket to wear, twice in a row, and then the red rain jacket.

This week it rained again. Five minutes before the school bus was due, Martin and I had the following conversation:

“Which rain jacket would you like to wear—the yellow one, the red one, or the blue one?”

“The red one.”

“The red one?”

“Yes. No! No, the blue one!”

“You want to wear the blue one?”

“Yes.”

“Martin, why don’t you like to wear the yellow rain jacket anymore?”

“But because the yellow one is too long.”

“You don’t like the yellow one because it’s too long? Thanks for letting me know that, Martin.”

Two biggies in that convo: First, Martin told me a plausible reason for his preference. And even though he made his “but because” mistake, he stated his reason plainly and appropriately. Second, Martin rationally chose not to select the yellow item. Kids on the spectrum like repetition. They like sameness. So does Martin, but perhaps his “stuck in a rut” mentality is beginning to loosen.

What’s next? Actually accepting an orange subway seat, if the yellow ones are all occupied?

I dare to dream.

Taking advantage of one of the sunny days. Learning to slide down a pole---to put both hands on, leap from the platform, and wrap his legs---has been a big achievement for Martin.

Taking advantage of one of the sunny days. Learning to slide down a pole—to put both hands on, leap from the platform, and wrap his legs—has been a big achievement for Martin.