Minor but irritating Asperger traits #1: Magic tricks

For the last few weeks we’ve taken to having ‘Sunday night family time’ watching Britain’s Next Great Magician on TV. Everyone’s a winner. The kids love it, it’s actually, for the most part, quite entertaining and it requires far less effort at the end of a busy week than reading a bedtime story.

However, I do have one complaint: Ethan.

He either has to smugly claim that he knows how each trick is done (and thus take the magic out of magic trick for us all) or, if there’s a trick he can’t explain, he’ll rewind the programme, slow it right down (the wonders of modern technology for a person with Asperger’s) and carry out a detailed study. Needless to say, this is really annoying for everyone else watching the programme. I also find it sad (and infuriating) that he needs to know how everything works – fiercely practical always. Where’s the space for dreaming, wonder, make-believe? But anything he can’t explain, pin down to science and reason, seems to bother him. It’s part of him feeling in control of his world, I guess.

I think that being able to explain a magic trick, if only to himself, makes him feel good, self-assured, right. And being right boosts his self-esteem when so often in life and social situations, he is wrong.

The rest of us, weirdly, watch a magic show for the magic. So, this week, I’m keeping tight hold of the remote control!

Asperger's and making the most of our differences

I’m reading The Rosie Project at the moment (only on chapter 3 so far but I highly recommend it – it’s brilliant if you want to see the world (and the rest of us) from the perspective of someone with Asperger’s and be able to laugh about our differences – sometimes that’s our best weapon!) As I say, I’m only on chapter 3 but already it’s done a lot in my mind to redress the balance between us (NTs) being right and those with AS being wrong – we’re different: we see things differently, we react to things differently (if we react at all) and therein lies the challenge. We want our AS partners to connect with us, to see things our way. But, actually, by embracing our differences and working as a team to each other’s strengths and weaknesses, could we be the perfect partnership?

I don’t know. It’s a question I’m asking myself too. And I know there are all kinds of hurdles and misunderstandings and frustrations to work through. I also know that, sometimes, like when your AS partner ignores a question or someone’s greeting because he’s zoned out, that Asperger’s is at odds with the world and that, if an aspie wants to build relationships and function well in society, they need to adapt – even change, to a certain extent.

But, at least sometimes, can we combine our very different traits to get the best out of a situation? Take The Rosie Project.

It’s such a breath of fresh air after serious, factual, self-help books that I read some of it out to Ethan – the best part of a chapter. And somewhere, in the middle of the chapter, was a reference to a hot January evening.

I recall briefly (we’re talking a split second) wondering about this as I read that line and surmising that the author must be being sarcastic (as evenings clearly are not hot in January). I, even more briefly, recognised that the sarcasm didn’t really work and was out of character for the narrator of the book but didn’t dwell on it and was onto the next sentence without a second’s hesitation. I had to stop a couple of times during my reading to inform Ethan that ‘this was a funny bit and did he ‘get it’?’ since his face showed no understanding, connection or hint of a smile. He, somewhat exasperatedly, confirmed that ‘yes he did get it and yes it was funny and he was enjoying it, could I please carry on.’ When I reached the end of the section Ethan’s response was: 

‘Is it set in Australia?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, bemused. ‘How do you know that?’ (‘and why is that insignificant fact the one thing you’ve decided to pick up on?’ I thought but didn’t say)

‘Because he says about it being hot in January.’

‘Ohhhhhh,’ I said, the penny dropping, ‘I knew it was set in Australia and still didn’t realise that’s why it would be hot in January. I thought he was just being sarcastic.’

Ethan looked at me scathingly, ‘No. Why would he be?’

Why indeed? The bloke’s got AS for goodness sake! But maybe other details that wouldn’t have made sense to me through the course of the novel now will, thanks to Ethan and his penchant for seemingly unimportant details. We make a good team!

Aspergers and having two of everything!

Our house is full of money...

We have change everywhere – in pretty much every drawer of the house and in both cars. It can’t be touched or, heaven forbid, used. It’s our back-up money which, it seems, is destined to a life of sitting idly in a drawer doing nothing. Knowing it’s there – that each drawer in the house is fully stocked with loose change, somehow brings security for Ethan. Personally, I’d feel more secure if we gathered all of this change up and used it to pay off at least some of our overdraft. 

Still, that’s the way it is and, I must admit, the emergency stash of pound coins in the car have come in useful more than once (even if I do get told off by Ethan for actually using the money!) 

What’s rather more frustrating is his habit of having to have two of everything...

A toothbrush in both bathrooms (plus a spare in the bathroom drawer), deodorant in both bathrooms, his own special towels in each bathroom, two pairs of sunglasses – one for each car, boxes of tissues everywhere (in the car, on the kitchen side, in the front room, on the hall table, on his bedside table, in the bathroom), two cars, two microwaves, two sheds...

You get the idea. It’s a small matter but why he can’t pick his toothbrush up from one bathroom and take it into the other is beyond me, same goes for his sunglasses. He lost a pair recently. We had a couple of days of frustrated, moodiness when he couldn’t find them. I knew, from previous experience, that they would turn up. And they did – but not before he, unable to live in the knowledge that he only had one locatable pair of sunglasses, that things weren’t right – bought a new pair. The next day I found his old pair, without even looking. That pair has now become his ‘house sunglasses’...for those days when the sun coming through the windows in our north facing house is just too bright!

Aspergers and spending a night in their shoes

“Can I be really honest with you? I absolutely hated every minute of that party. I hated the awkward mingling in that room when we arrived with so many people crammed in. I didn’t recognise anyone and everyone was talking at once so I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. I hated being squashed onto that table and having to think of things to talk about with the same few people for two hours. And I hated when the music started. That was the end of the night for me. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, I got fed up of saying pardon, I didn’t want to dance. I just hated it.”

These were Ethan’s words the morning after a 40^th birthday party last weekend. I know such things aren’t his cup of tea. I knew he was unlikely to enjoy himself (although every now and then there are social engagements that he enjoys - but he has to be in the mood and ideally there should only be one or two other people that he is speaking to at any one time, no interruptions between speakers and minimal background noise). I felt slightly nervous in the run up to this 40^th birthday party. It was going to be full of friends from school whom I hadn’t seen for years and I really wanted to enjoy it. I was worried that he’d be rude, disengaged, a miserable presence or that, even if he wasn’t any of these things, I’d be on edge all night waiting for one of these behaviours to manifest itself.

The fact is, he was none of these things. He chatted to people, he smiled, he even danced briefly when backed into a corner. He didn’t even moan privately to me (not even when I took too long to say goodbye to everyone and we missed our taxi home!). No-one, not even me, would have guessed how much he was hating it.

Amidst my demands for him to tow the party line, come along to events he hates and to SMILE and converse his way through them (mostly for my sake but also for his – when he’s made the effort, it does boost his self-esteem, he does feel more a part of things and it does lift his spirits, as long as he knows he can sit down by himself in a dark room afterwards!) – but amidst all this effort from him, I wonder if I would – if I do – do the same for him. Would I give up one of my precious evenings to play computer games with him if it would make him happy? I switch off if he starts talking camera-angles and lighting effects in films and I’ve never been to a technology show with him.

To be honest with myself, I suspect that, rather than meeting him in the middle, we meet ¾ of the way along, in my favour. Maybe immersing myself in something he likes and I hate for an evening would give me a valuable glimpse into his world. After all, it’s us who are meant to be good at adapting isn’t it?!

Aspergers - and who needs to change?

Living well with Ethan's aspergers is as much about me changing as it is him.

I don't mean losing who I am or wearily giving into the way things are. But I do mean letting go of self-righteous anger and condescending rebuke - even when it feels justified. I mean nurturing a calm approach and actively reigning in my desire to react angrily when Ethan has let me down or is, frankly, being an idiot. I mean increasing my understanding and finding effective ways to handle disputes. I mean by accepting, sometimes, that I need to be the one to act like a grown-up, to take responsibility for not fuelling and heightening stress and, if needs be, sacrificing my right to 'be in a mood' so that he can be in his, come through the other side, and calm can be restored.

I don't mean to big myself up at all. It's all very well, in the tranquillity of this moment, to write all this. In reality, it's flipin' hard to do.

Take today for instance. I was going to be out during school pick-up time meaning Ethan needed to collect the kids. He was well briefed on the matter. I warned him the day before, told him again on the morning in question and made him sit down and focus whilst I went  through arrangements one last time before leaving the house. Ethan rolled his eyes at me.

A familiar sense of foreboding overcame me as I pulled up on the drive a couple of hours later to the sight of Ethan happily hacking at our front room wall (yes, the project lives on - it's good and bad. Good because it occupies him and bad because it occupies him...to the exclusion of everything else). School had finished fifteen minutes earlier and I couldn't see or, more to the point, hear the kids. As I walked through the door I knew my question was ridiculous but I hoped for the best.

"'Are you back from school already?"

 Ethan gasped, swore and scrambled for the car keys. This, my friends, is when my wise words and good intentions came tumbling down around me! A tiny part of me was desperately trying to hold onto that still, small voice telling me to be calm, not to shout, to employ understanding. But my carnal instincts won out.

"I don't believe it," I chastised, "I can't rely on you for anything."

"I know you can't," boomed Ethan as he stormed past me and slammed the front door.

For the next five minutes I battled inwardly between the desire to have a go at him and pity myself for having such a useless husband, or to make the conscious decision, despite the circumstances and my feelings (which are fickle companions) that I would try to understand, that I wouldn't overreact, that I wouldn't feel sorry for myself and that I wouldn't make everything  worse by attacking him any more than I already had.

It took huge resolve. Particularly as, when he got home with the kids, he snapped at Ava, shouted at me and then stomped into the front room, slamming the door closed. Everything in me wanted to burst into that room and tell him what a horrible person he was. To ask how he dare shout at all of us when he was in the wrong. But I'm learning through experience that such reactions just sink us both further into anger and resentment. By choosing to stay silent and keep away, I starved the furious feelings in us both of oxygen. I forced myself to chat with the kids, to engage in their days and to take my mind away from my frustration. The situation ceased to be so huge. And about half an hour later, having had time and space to 'come down', Ethan surfaced and apologised. I wasn't very gracious. I couldn't quite resist pointing out that he had acted like a s**t - not by forgetting to pick up the kids but by shouting at us all afterwards. But I said it calmly and packaged it in understanding ('I know you were absorbed in what you were doing') and, crucially, after the heat of the event itself. We listened to each other, hugged each other and started again - again.

As I wrote this blog entry, I'd just phoned Ethan to remind him to pick up Sam from karate at 6.30pm because, as well as learning  not to react angrily in the moment, I've also learnt that by micro-managing Ethan, I can avoid these situations arising. I need to tell him what to do, then remind him, then remind him again. There's no use getting frustrated, it's just the way it is. Some things, again I'm learning, I just need to accept and make the best of. 

Aspergers, communication and exasperation

Exasperated!!!

Perhaps it's just a male trait since Ethan's partner in the following situation played an equally bemusing role. Either way, I am sure if two women made an arrangement to go to the cinema one evening they would agree what time to meet. Surely, if one person had said to the other "I'll pick you up," the other person might have enquired as to what time.

Picture the situation. I'm trying to fly out of the door to take Ava and her friend to their first ever drama lesson (I'm hoping it will channel some of her excess dramatic flair!)The boys are both clambering at my legs, asking for drinks and whining that they don't want me to go - all the while Ethan is oblivious, on his iphone, doing whatever it is he still finds necessary to do, having been fiddling with it since he came in. As I'm peeling child number three off me and heading to the door, Ethan thinks to ask what time I'll be back. "About 7," I reply. "Well it better not be any later 'cos I'm going to the cinema," he informs me. The exasperation in me is building. "What time are you going? You need to tell me these things..."

"I don't know what time."

That cuts me short. The fact is that he didn't arrange the time with the person he's going with! All he knows is that the other person is doing the driving. For all we both knew, he could turn up to collect Ethan at any moment - perhaps when I was out with Ava at drama. And then what would he do? The uncertainty at least prompted action. Ethan looked up the cinema times and discovered that there wasn't a showing until 8.50pm. He'd been up since 4am. By the time he got home he would have been up for 20 hours and had to be up early again for work the next morning. Why didn't he think to look at the times at the time of arranging?!

We had a similar lack in communication/information-sharing the night before. Somebody was meant to be coming round to look at our front room with a view to plastering it for us. They said, by text, that they'd come 'tonight'. By 6.30pm they hadn't arrived and Ethan was getting stressed. Again, he'd been up since 4am and would be again the next day. After explaining to Ethan that tonight could mean any time up to around 9pm, I asked whether he'd informed the plasterer guy that he'd be going to bed at 8.30pm.

He hadn't, of course. Not only that but Ethan was adamant that he couldn't tell the guy that now at 6.30pm as 'it was too late.' Why? I just don't get it.

He seems to have a nervousness about informing people of things, about pinning details down, about communicating information - even the most basic - about himself. And he always texts. Never phones. That would be fine if his texts covered the information they need to - but they don't. It's frustrating when a quick phone call with proper information communicated fully would save a whole load of stress and uncertainty. Then again, I guess, for Ethan, that's cancelled out by the stress of actually having that necessary conversation in the first place - and getting it right.

So, for now, we continue muddling through and I remain exasperated!

Are you receiving me? Aspergers and information gaps

Ethan has this infuriating trait. I don't know whether it's to do with Aspergers or whether it's just Ethan - maybe one of you readers can enlighten me? I suspect it's the former.

When he's verbally relaying something, he misses out big chunks of information - often the most crucial parts - without which his sentence doesn't make sense. For example, he'll come in from work with two boxes of biscuits and, when quizzed about their origin, will tell me that 50 per cent of the staff are couples. To which I'll reply "Which staff and why have they given you biscuits?" He'll look at me, brow furrowed in incomprehension and tell me "the staff at the biscuit factory." When I point out that he didn't mention he'd been to a biscuit factory, he'll swear that he did. The more I beg to differ, the more irritated he'll become.

A couple of weeks ago, when we were chatting with friends, he bought up the ice-bucket challenge. As is Ethan's trademark, he was moaning: criticising how many people were doing it, why they were doing it (just for show, according to Ethan), that celebrities were using it as a way to bolster support, etc, etc. I interrupted his rant to ask what the challenge actually was. Ethan, seeming annoyed by my interruption, dismissively told me, "you're meant to donate to a charity to do it" before launching back into his tirade. I persisted: "But what actually is it? What do you do?" "It's a challenge. People nominate you to do it," replied Ethan. (I think that herein lies the source of Ethan's problem with it - no-one had nominated him and no-one is likely to). I screeched with frustration: "What do you get nominated to do????"  At this point, a friend stepped in before I shattered, through sheer stress and strain, into a million tiny pieces, and explained that you get ice cold water thrown all over you. Ethan looked as exasperated with me as I felt with him. "That's why it's called the ice-bucket challenge," he said.

I don't know what causes it. My theory is that he's so focused on the particular point he's wanting to make, that he bypasses all additional information - however vital. And that if you ask a question that doesn't relate to what his mind's focussing on, his mind will translate it into something that does require the response he wants to make! Either that or, to him, the basic information is so, well, basic that, subconsciously, it doesn't even warrant needing to be said. I think that sometimes he'll forget that you, as the listener, don't have the basic framework of information that he is beginning his sentence from. In his mind, his thoughts have moved beyond paddling in the shallows to, by the time he articulates verbally, swimming in the deep sea - meanwhile you are still sunbathing on the beach!

Aspergers and the change that diagnosis brought

Came across an old diary the other night. An excerpt:

One hour Ethan can be lovely - playing with the kids, cheerful with me, a pleasant human being. But all it takes is something to frustrate him, annoy him, not go the way he wants or even just take his attention and he'll turn into this miserable, irritable, snappy, aggressive presence who puts everyone on edge and spreads an atmosphere of gloom.

I wrote that in 2008. I remember mentally battling with the same concerns in the year 2000 when I married him. And still today the doubts I had all through the years we were dating and engaged about whether I'm really meant to have pledged my life to this man, rise to the surface.

The fact that all the same things that bother me now about Ethan bothered me then is both depressing and encouraging. Depressing because in the sixteen years I've known Ethan, the same issues remain (although I would say, on the whole, he's improved). But also encouraging in that I know, today, I'm handling the frustrations, disappointments and anger I sometimes feel so much better. The difference, I think, has been the diagnosis. Today when Ethan overreacts, shuts down, lets me down, has mood swings - I see it as a product of his Aspergers rather than a product of his just being a shi**y person or him not loving me very much. And that perspective helps me not to take it (too) personally, not to hold a grudge and, most importantly, to react to his outbursts or retreats inside himself in a way that will help him and hopefully encourage him out of that state rather than sink him further into it.

Yesterday was a case in point. It was the kids' school summer fair. Ethan was supposed to be helping on the inflatable slide (I'd signed him up, obviously!) but, a few minutes after telling him it was time for his slot and sending him off, I noticed he was standing on the outskirts of the activity looking very awkward whilst two very competent women were counting kids onto the ride and taking their money. After, hissing surreptitiously to Ethan I could sense he was already feeling stressed and completely out of his depth. 'I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing,' he snapped loudly at me. And, when I asked whether he'd spoken to the women in charge he responded forthrightly 'Yes,' then, a little less forthrightly 'I've told them I'm here.' To cut to the chase, it was clear that communication between these women and Ethan had not been very clear and, just as I would with a well-meaning but overwhelmed child, I needed to wade in and speak to these women myself.

A conversation later, Ethan was given the role of ensuring each child in a group of seven only had five goes on the slide. Things got rapidly worse. Imagine the context: a loud primary school summer fair, music blaring, kids everywhere, noise on every side, the sun glaring and Ethan, with no facial recognition skills, trying to work out how many times each kid had thrown themselves down an inflatable slide. It became pretty clear pretty quickly that I was going to have to take over, despite the fact I'd just finished a lengthy stint on the bric-a-brac stall! In the past I'd have been irritated, annoyed, exasperated and sorry for  myself with the 'hopeless' husband I'd lumbered myself with and no doubt have written it all down in my diary.

These days not only do I not have the time to write a diary (although I guess this is one, of sorts) but I understand. I know that (most of the time) Ethan does his best and I know that (most of the time) it's not his fault. I can recognise that, if he had a broken leg, I wouldn't be expecting him to run a marathon - and I try not to put more on him socially than he can bear.

I also see that we are each in the unique position of being able to compensate for the other's weaknesses. This is something I'm still - slowly and painfully - learning: that, where he falls down, rather than berate him for it, I'm in the privileged position of being able to help him up. And vice versa. We're still learning to do it. But maybe that's the reason we were meant to pledge our lives to each other.

The tricky co-existence of Apergers and children

We were treated to a delightful greeting from Ethan as he arrived home from the early shift at work today: 'What's going on?' he enquired in a slightly irritated manner as he walked through the door to find us all home. He was referring to the fact that we weren't at church as we 'should' have been - it being Sunday morning. 'I decided to give church a miss,' I replied airily - too much going on today, and we're all a bit tired...Have we messed up your plans to come home to a nice quiet house?!' This last bit said in jolly jest.

'Yeah, you have.' came the surly reply - his tone was far from jovial and he avoided eye contact with me. Sometimes, the aura Ethan gives off makes me feel that I and the kids irritate him simply by existing. Not conducive to happy family relations.

Speaking of which, the kids seem to annoy Ethan more and more - simply by being kids. The noise, chaos, mess and lack of control over them seem an almost impossible combination for an Aspergic, middle-aged man to handle.

A few nights ago, Sam didn't come the first time Ethan called him. A minute later, I came across Ethan pinning Sam down on the bed and, in a frighteningly angry, venomous whisper, spitting out the words 'If you ever ignore me again, you're going to be in really, really serious trouble.' Is it just me or is that a bit over-kill for a 6-year-old child who didn't jump instantly into obedient action at Ethan's command?

A couple of days later, Sam (again - poor thing, he seems to be on the receiving end of Ethan's short fuse quite a lot - probably because he's the most like Ethan - I think he may well be showing some signs of Aspergers himself). Anyway, Sam plonked himself down a little too exuberantly on Ethan's feet during a maypole dance at a fete. Ethan, instantly angry at having his personal space invaded, took the opportunity of giving Sam a slight kick up the bum as he slid his feet out from under him - making Sam whimper, and making me blow my top: in front of the gathered throng of happy maypole dance admirers.

He just can't cope with the kids being kids. He doesn't like being interrupted, noise and mess stress him out, he gets irritated when his body space is invaded and he really, really can't handle not being in control of them and what they do or how quickly they do it.

As teenage-dom approaches with our eldest, I feel the conflicts between Ethan and the kids, and between Ethan and I over the kids, are just going to intensify. Either that, or he'll just retreat completely from having  anything to do with them. I'm not sure what would be worse.

As a complete aside, I do so appreciate your comments and feedback. It's so nice to know there are lots of us all going through similar things. And I'm really sorry that I'm only able to post replies sporadically. Whilst I'm apologising, I'm sorry too that the blog itself is pretty uninspiring to look at. I just have so little time between work, the kids, Ethan and life in general to do anything more than write a few disjointed thoughts once a week.

Oliver starts school in September (woopee) and I'm hoping that one of the things I'll do with my extra time is become a more gripping, attentive blogger! Until then - thanks for sticking with me!

Lessons in Aspergers: What can change and what am I stuck with?

It's a crucial question to answer - otherwise I risk exploding with frustration and making mine and Ethan's life more miserable through nagging and whining and chipping away at things that will never change. Not through lack of trying on Ethan's part or lack of patience on mine but purely because there are aspects of Ethan - wiring in parts of his brain, if you like - that just can't be altered. It's like trying to change the colour of his eyes through wishful thinking or forcing a genuine love of literature purely by telling him he has to like reading, even if he is dyslexic.
Some things we can work on - things like mastering the art of small talk (lesson #1 look at the person speaking to you, Lesson #2 if you haven't heard what the other person has said, ask them to repeat themselves, don't guess or ignore them, etc).
Some things, I fear, won't change - at least not very often or for very long.
Things like his tone of voice which is such a source of antagonism in our family. He constantly sounds aggressive and attacking and accusatory-even when he's just asking what I want for breakfast or telling the kids to get their pyjamas on. The words are spat out, as if we're an annoyance to him just for existing. But when I confront him about it, he's no clue what I'm on about! In his mind, he's speaking perfectly normally. The one time I've seen a glimpse of recognition flitter across his consciousness was when he accidentally recorded himself shouting at a roomful of 8 and 9-year-olds to tell them to be quiet at Ava's birthday. It was scary stuff (although, admittedly, it had the desired effect!) and Ethan looked genuinely sheepish when he heard himself back.
The other thing I'm gradually realising won't change is Ethan's childlike disorganisation and dependence on me to sort everything out. Some guys at church have arranged a night out specifically around Ethan's availability because they know he works odd hours. They've checked and re-checked the dates with him and Ethan's confirmed that, yes, he can make that date. I've always known that Ethan's had an early (4am) start the next day but presumed, since he was looking at his rota when he texted back his confirmation, that he'd factored that in to his thinking. I was wrong.
Thankfully I brought it up today and asked him if he'd be having a sleep on Friday afternoon since he'd be out Friday night and up early on Saturday morning. He looked at me aghast and confused.
Somehow, although he was staring right at his rota when he'd said yes to Friday, he'd failed to see that he was working at 4am the next morning. And his text to the guy who'd organised the evening ('sorry, can't make this Friday. Next time.') really didn't do much to appease the situation. So I found myself: a) bearing the brunt of his frustration - somehow it was my fault, it can't ever be his b) having to text this guy and apologise properly on Ethan's behalf and c) realising, again, that any social, practical or time-management aspect of Ethan's life has to be micro-managed by me if we're to avert disaster, not offend anyone or, as an example, get the kids to school before lunchtime.
Accepting what won't change or, I suppose more to the point, where I have to change (my expectations & attitude) is hard. But knocking my head against a brick wall trying to bring about change which just won't come is even more frustrating for us all. So, if we're to stay together in this muddled, Aspergers/neuro-typical & three young kids relationship, he needs to change what he can and I need to accept what he can't. And, dare I say it, on some issues, it's got to be me doing the changing. After all, the world and I are constantly expecting Ethan to regulate himself and change who he is. It's only fair that I should meet him halfway. And I try to because I know he's trying, really hard, to do it too.
And because he doesn't give up on himself, me or our relationship, I don't either.

Must try harder: things my Aspergers husband needs

When Ethan was diagnosed with Aspergers just over a year ago, I was gripped by an urgency to read and absorb as much information as I could about the condition. But, only one and a half books in to my learning expedition, my hunger has been quashed by the busyness of life. Reading about how to live with a partner with Aspergers has been taken over by actually doing it. We're learning on the job.

I did, however, manage a quick flick through Alone Together by Katrin Bentley the other day, and discovered that there are certain key practices that could really help Ethan to get the best out of himself - and life. The challenge is how to build these practices in to every-day life. Here are some of them:

1) Get plenty of exercise and fresh air. Some studies have suggested that people with Aspergers have less serotonin in their bodies than neuro-typicals. Getting a daily dose of sunlight helps boost levels of this feel-good hormone. Ethan has just joined a gym. Mainly to try and regain his pre-marital physique! I'm hoping though that the exercise might also be a tonic for his mind. If only he could also walk around with a sun-lamp attached to his head. 

2) Building in downtime. This is so essential for Ethan - to be able to recharge and recuperate from life. I see the difference when he's had an hour hiding out in his cave (the office) with the computer. Even better would be if I could persuade him to go out for a walk - time out, exercise and daylight - a triple whammy. Creating this time for him means giving away more of mine. That's where the rubber hits the road. I feel stretched to capacity as it is. The upside is that more time out for him means a happier, calmer husband and dad when he is around.

3) He needs more sleep! People with Aspergers (again I've read) need more sleep than the average person. And yet Ethan is surviving on far less - a combination of shift work, three young kids and trying to grab kid-free time when we can (which tends to be evenings when we stay up too late). It's a sacrifice to lose some me/us time but I think it's a sacrifice that would bring more benefits than losses. With ear-plugs and renewed effort, I'm sure we could do better.

4) If we need to have difficult conversations, he needs to be calm. Having me shriek at him when he's already stressed and we're surrounded by noise and chaos, just makes matters worse and either makes him explode or switch off. If I want my words to be received and have an impact, I need to chose my moments wisely. I need to help him feel relaxed. I need to avoid being confrontational, intense or critical. In the past I've made Ethan look at me while I'm speaking about something important 'so that I know he's listening'. But it doesn't work. In fact I think that, most of the time, it has the opposite effect. It's too intense. His eyes might be looking at me but his mind has wandered off to somewhere less overwhelming. Where his skin doesn't crawl. If meeting all of these criteria for a conversation is too much to ask sometimes, perhaps I need to write down how I'm feeling and what's bothering me from time to time and let Ethan process the words quietly by himself.

5) This one's really pushing it but Ethan reckons that he feels calmer and happier when the house is tidy. As I write I'm surrounded by Lego, books, fuzzy felt, a half-eaten brioche, Spiderman gizmos, school letters and wet clothes hanging on the airer (oh, and three noisy, demanding kids spilling their tea on the table!). I feel like we'd be fighting a losing battle trying to keep the whole house tidy, or calm. But maybe we could do one room. It could be Ethan's haven from the chaos.

These are some of the things that would make life easier for Ethan (and there are many more). Of course, there are things that I, as his NT partner, need too. This Aspergers journey is about us both adapting, making allowances for each other where we can and spurring each other on in our very different realities. 

Maybe I'll have my turn and list the five things I really need as Ethan's NT wife next time...

My Asperger partner: top three gripes

The three top things that annoy me (this week) about living with a partner with Aspergers are:

1.  His complete unwillingness/inability to see that he is in the wrong. He owes a parking charge at the moment that he refuses to pay. By his own admission his car stayed twenty minutes longer than the ticket allowed. He’s been done fair and square: except that he can’t see it like that. He thinks the charge is unduly high – which, I agree it is (although it would have been a great deal less if he’d have paid it straight away), and his mistake was genuine – in his mind these two things means he shouldn’t have to pay. He just won’t/can’t admit to being in the wrong and accepting the consequences
2. His absolute necessity to have a half hour toilet/shower/ipad session every single morning – even if it means making us even later for something than we already are or, more often than not, leaving me to do everything and even forfeit having time for breakfast (let alone have a wash) so that we can be on time.
3. His absentness (if that’s a word) both in conversation and in practical terms. So I can go on and on about how important it is for Ethan to take Sam’s cheque into gym that evening as we’re already a week late paying it. I can get him to look at me while I speak and repeat back what he needs to do with the cheque. I can even put it in his hand as he leaves... and he’ll still come back holding it.

In the interests of fairness, I guess I should include the top three things that, I’m sure, annoy Ethan about me:

1. Being stressed all the time – and making a point of telling Ethan why I’m stressed - relaying my to-do list to him and generally off-loading the side effects of my stressed, rushed, busy life onto him as he lies on the sofa and watches film trailers.
2. Being flighty – changing my mind, changing my plans, changing my mood at a moment’s notice. Although I must say that the kids have a lot to answer for here. But for Ethan to keep up with confusing mood changes (even within the hour sometimes) and a family picnic in the park morphing into friends coming round to our house for lunch is challenging to say the least.
3. Talking too much – at him, to him, around him. Combine this with our eight-year-old daughter feeling the need to share every thought, sight, sound and smell she ever has with us, and Ethan has to put up with a lot of prattle!

The day my Aspergers husband surprised me with words!

Feel tempted to write about the blow-out Ethan and I had today over broccoli and carrots for tea – which resulted in him drinking a large tumbler full of Pimms and me crying.

But, I’m aware that this blog could quite easily slip into a ‘Isn’t Ethan awful and aren’t I badly done to?’ commentary and I am far from where I should be in terms of being a supportive, calm and positive partner to Ethan. So I’m going to talk about what went right this week instead...

...the most notable being the text that Ethan sent me last Friday when I was at work. It was notable for its length (it’s the most communication I’ve ever had in one go from Ethan), the fact it came completely out-of-the-blue, and its content – proof that Ethan can both identify and express his feelings. Here it is [with my two-pence worth inserted in square brackets]:

Ethan: ‘I’m sitting in Costa. Finished the job and, amazingly, no rain.’ [light-hearted opener – he’s learning the art of conversation, even by text] We’ve been OK the last couple of days but still not right. Our priorities are wrong. One of the biggest causes of marriage breakdown are arguing and not spending relaxed time together. We may be better not arguing as much [he’s right – we (me really) are learning to let things go more] but not good with spending quality time together. [At this point I really did get butterflies thinking that maybe he was calling time on our relationship...I couldn’t imagine why else he would be sending me such a, for him, epic length communication.] Being relaxed and laughing together is our next milestone we need to pass. Should have sent you an email. My longest text ever.  I Love You. [First time I’ve heard/read that in a while].

My reply: ‘Wow, that’s the longest text I’ve had from you ever. I know. We haven’t laughed together for a long time. We need to find more to celebrate and less to criticise. And you really need to stop trying to fill the gaps in your life with buying things. [We’ve had another issue lately with Ethan spending all our money on expensive items for himself.] Let’s use the money to go out instead.’

Ethan: ‘Agreed (back to normal 1 word texts).’ [First joke he’s made in ages too].

To me, that text conversation – not about the kids, not about jobs that need doing, not about (too much) what gripes we had with each other, not about his Aspergers; but a constructive, positive, feeling-based text, prompted by Ethan and written out of love, was a little taster of what we can have, if we keep working at it. And proof that there are feelings, and the means to express them, within Ethan. I need to find ways to extricate them more often without wearing him out in the process – it’s taken him ‘til now to recover from his texting marathon (both the RSI and the emotional drain!)