Don't do this. Thanks.

The other day at the playground, while I was standing guard at the gate, because the New Kid likes to full steam ahead his way through it, where he stops laughing hysterically at the sidewalk, a grandmother told me that Baduka had came to her, and said, "I want monkey bars, please!" He held his arms up, and smiled at her one of his best smiles. He has just recently figured out the joy of the monkey bars, and obviously doesn't care who he asks for help. I apologized, because he grabbed her hand and all that. It then turned into a conversation about him being autistic. She had lots of questions, and seemed truly interested, but something she said hit me weird, and I can't stop thinking about it.

She said, "it's good that he didn't get the severe kind, you know? He doesn't seem too afflicted. He's very social."

Like I said, she was nice, and old, and I didn't know how to say that she had no idea what life with him is like. So I didn't. I just answered her questions about school, and therapy, and hoped she would leave soon.

Because yes, he's social, but that means he'll ask any stranger at the park for help. He will also sit on random laps, and try playing with your phone. It's terrifying.

We were at the park, and usually only go to the park, because we have run out of every other thing to do that interests him. We have yet to figure out his favorite thing, besides the Nabi, which he broke by smacking it across the room, not 15 minutes before this park trip, because I didn't give him enough time to prepare for a park trip.

So days like today, no school, but with ABA later in the day, we have had nothing to keep him happy. My not too afflicted son has been up, down, around, and crazy since 7:30 this morning. We've finally had a bit of quiet while watching the Pixar short The Blue Umbrella on repeat, at least 13 times in an hour. Poor Dizzy keeps turning the tv off, and he finally on his own came to the kitchen to play PlayDoh, but Baduka followed him, stole the PlayDoh, licked it, and left Dizzy crying.

These are the kinds of days autism gives him. Restless. He can't answer what he wants to do, so he searches for it himself. It's exhausting.

I guess the point of all this, and if you got this far, is unless you live it, don't be that grandmother at the park. Ask questions if you want to know, but don't say it's probably not that bad. Because it makes us hate you.