Ian, like all Aspies, is a creature of habit. He thrives on his routine. Changing it in the slightest is at the very least cause for "the look of death" - a squinty, angry stare that means he is really ticked off and you'd better watch out. I have seen it many times and know that I am walking on thin ice when he scrunches his face that way.

His lunch requirements are very specific and must be met exactly, or he does not eat. When he skips lunch, his afternoon - specifically Math class - suffers. As a mother, I hate the guilty feeling I get when he has had a bad day because of the lunch I fixed. In the morning when I make his lunch, I don't even have to ask what to put in it. In fact, he acts annoyed if I do. That's when I get the "Well, duh!" look.

This does not mean he never changes what he wants for lunch. He does. About three times a year. It's a huge event when he tires of what he has been taking. We go through hours, sometimes days of discussions, trying to find something he finds appealing. Last week, he decided he no longer wanted to take cheese burritos. He didn't like them any more. After scientific testing to determine if it was a cheese issue, we concluded it was a combination of boredom and dislike of the brand of cheese I had purchased.

Ahhhh .... but those burritos were pieces of art and very nutritious! I used a very high fiber flat bread called Flat Outs. Each piece has about 7g, or maybe it's 12g .... possible 140g of fiber. A mother's dream for her child who needs help with regularity. Of course, that was counteracted slightly by the cheese, but what can you do? Each piece of flat bread was spread with a very even layer of heart healthy margarine substitute and sprinkled with shredded colby-jack cheese, then rolled into a tight burrito and wrapped in aluminum foil. Precision and beauty all-in-one.

The cheese was a serious issue. It could not be Monterrey Jack cheese and Colby cheese from separate blocks. It had to be the marbled combination and above all, it had to be a certain brand. He could sense the subtle taste differences among brands and would refuse to eat them. Eventually, I found a version of the one he liked, made with 2% milk. Combining that with a small amount of the regular fat version was acceptable to him for a while.

It was NEVER o.k., however, to slice the cheese and place it inside the flat bread. If I was in a hurry or the cheese shredder was dirty and I sliced the cheese, I was scolded after school that his burrito was unacceptable. That's when he would get the "rolled eyes" look and a "Sorry 'bout that sweetie" from me.

Last week he decided it was time for a change. Burritos were out. He thought it would be o.k. to have Spaghetti Os every day. I nixed that. Occasionally, yes, but not every day. Not just from a nutritional standpoint but also from a labor perspective. WAY too much prep time for me. I have my limits.

He didn't want to go back to peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches. Fluffernutter sandwiches were out too. He refuses to buy his lunch because the offerings are not consistent (in his mind).

Finally, he decided on butter sandwiches. I agreed, as long as the bread was whole wheat and the "butter" was heart healthy. Settled.

My mom even bought him a cool sandwich container that will hold a sandwich and two side items and keeps them all separate from each other. He really liked that. Keeping things separate is a big thing for him. I am told by other moms of Aspies and kids with sensory processing disorder, that keeping different foods from touching is crucial to getting food inside our kids. So this container from my mom was a huge help.

All week he brought his lunch bag home with nothing, not even a crumb, left behind. Until yesterday.

I looked at the container that held his uneaten sandwich and asked if there was something wrong with it.

"You put it in the wrong container," he said.

This was true. I had used a plain, red, Tupperware, sandwich -sized container. He didn't seem to mind when it held peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. But the new container from Grandma was "obviously" intended for butter sandwiches.

"Well, sweetie," I said, "your favorite container was dirty. I had to use something else. Shall I save your sandwich for later?"

"Yes," he replied.

This morning when I began assembling his lunch, the sandwich was still in the refrigerator in the inadequate plastic box. I switched it to the new, clean one, filled the two remaining compartments with Baked Cheetos and apple slices, and sent it to school with him. I can't wait to see what comes home this afternoon.

Cross-posted on Asper. . .What?

It may be nearly 9:00 a.m., but it is Sunday. I enjoy quiet Sunday mornings. For most of my life I have risen before the rest of the family in order to enjoy the peace that is bestowed upon my home in the early morning. The calm, soundlessness makes the rest of the day more enjoyable for me, no matter what it brings.

Yesterday, my daughter climbed into bed with us at 6:15. She was giggly and cute, as any six year-old can be. She was also LOUD. Her excitement for the weekend escaped in squeals and shouts that rip through my cerebral cortex like lightning and thunder. The first explosion is my reminder to give her ADHD medicine promptly.

Today she slept a while longer, giving me time to catch up on some email while I savored my only cup of coffee. She greeted me at 8:00 with a terrific smile. Her hugs are exceptionally sweet on cold mornings because she likes to cuddle in my lap. The joy and enthusiasm that burst from her are contagious, and as always, exiting her body at full volume. It takes only a few minutes for her older brother to awaken and add to the symphony of squeaks, screams, and similar sounds. Prescription #2 is quickly administered to my son.

The next thirty minutes echo. Sometimes it sounds like exploding artillery. Occasionally, it is as if a playful parrot is squawking. To an outside observer, it would seem my energetic kids are just welcoming the day with excitement. But I have asked them during serious conversations about their Asperger's and ADHD if they feel the medicine helps them. Both have said without hesitation, "I don't like it when I don't have my medicine. I don't feel good."

For the next fifteen minutes or so, the activity in my kitchen will be wild and the sound will be annoying. Deep breaths help me to hear to the words, not the volume. A Bionicle story is being developed at the bar while warm toast and hot chocolate feed the creative brains that are gearing up for a wonderful day. The sound is getting softer as complex plots develop. My coffee is gone now, and the day has begun. I really love Sundays.