Tag Archives: Nigelisms

Day of the Salsa

I do my grocery shopping on Mondays, usually by myself, unless the boys have just received their allowance and want to go with me so they can buy something. Today I was alone, feeling like I was fighting the mild cold that Nigel has, so I got everything we needed for the week and looked forward to getting home and resting on the couch with a cup of hot herbal tea.

Nigel is fascinated with dates and has a knack for remembering them, as I have mentioned before. But I had no idea what he was talking about when, as I was unpacking the groceries, he walked to the calendar on the wall and said, in his stoic voice, “Today is April 7, the Day of the Salsa.”

Were we supposed to bring salsa to a Boy Scout meeting? Was my sister’s cat, named Salsa, born on this day? Did it have something to do with salsa dancing? Mexican culture or history?

Then I realized what he was talking about. “Do you mean the expiration date on the salsa container?” Yes, he did. It was the first time I remember him even noticing an expiration date, let alone commenting on it. Why the salsa? He doesn’t eat salsa, so why would he have cared? What’s even stranger is that the date on the milk carton is two days ago, but he didn’t notice that, and he had cereal and milk for breakfast this morning. I guess that’s good, though. Otherwise we might be dealing with a new obsession, a new ritual that could make mealtimes around here more difficult than they already are.

I better make baked potatoes tonight. Tomorrow is the Day of the Sour Cream.

Nigel the Historian

Nigel has maintained for quite some time now that he wants to be an inventor when he grows up. Yet he has this fascination for history and a photographic memory when it comes to names, dates, and events that makes me think this passion needs to be encouraged. 

Today after homeschool we went to the library, where Nigel picked up some videos on horses, the human body, Secrets of the Mummy, and Thomas Edison. Then we went to our local grocery store where I picked up a few items while he went to the video section to try to find Disney’s Donald in Mathemagic Land. They didn’t have it, but they did have the old live-action Treasure Island, so he got that instead, saying, “I haven’t seen this in a while.”

We got home and got ourselves some lunch (he did his usual grazing approach: two pieces of bread, a pear, an apple, a cup of yogurt, and I put some tortilla chips in a pan and melted some cheese on top). Nigel took his lunch to eat in the living room while he started Treasure Island, and I sat at the kitchen counter reading WordPress for Dummies while I ate.

After about ten minutes, out of nowhere, Nigel called out from the living room, “Mom, you were born in a period of economic inflation.”

Me: Yes, I suppose I was.

That was all.  He often leaves me hanging like that. I suppose I could have asked him why he mentioned that at that moment, but I was too caught up in marveling at his sentence structure and didn’t want to stop his train of thought, wherever it was going. Sometimes I wonder if all of his musings might come out on paper some day, along with his analysis and theories about humanity. He strikes this amazing balance between attachment (to those he loves) and detachment (from social mores and historical events) that I really think he might possess an innate ability to look objectively at a situation (historical or otherwise) and see what’s really going on. I know, I’m making some assumptions here, maybe asserting my own biased observation, projecting that my son could be some amazing social analyst because of his autism.

But I was born in 1971, and I can’t remember when I had last mentioned that around him. He filed it away, along with whatever he had previously read about inflation, and somehow the two topics combined in his head while he was watching Treasure Island. His mind fascinates me.

The Bikeriding on a Busy Street Debate

It’s a gorgeous spring day here in southern Oregon, and, after we finished with homeschool, Nigel wanted to ride his bike, alone, to a store a mile and a half away on a busy street. I blanched at the thought.

As I have mentioned before, I feel semi-comfortable with him riding alone around the suburban neighborhood in which we live. I know, I know. He’s thirteen years old, for God’s sake. Let the kid ride his bike. But this particular thirteen-year-old kid, even though he can talk now, still has sensory issues which can compromise his safety (and possibly the safety of others). What happens if a commercial truck drives right next to him and the rumbling (roaring, to him) of it jars him enough to make him wobble, hit the curb, and fall into the path of the truck? Or, if he appears to not be paying attention, the driver of the truck, or any vehicle, could sound their loud horn to alert him, and it would startle him enough to make him lose control of his bike and veer into traffic.

Then there are the flying insects. At any time while walking, if any flying insect, from a tiny gnat to a huge moth, happens to come near Nigel, he immediately begins violently shaking his head, flinging his arms around, and running away. This cannot happen on a bike on a busy street.

So I talked to Nigel about my truck concerns, about holding his line so that he does not wobble too close to traffic (“I hold my line,” he said in his deadpan voice), and about insects flying in his face. That sobered him for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning. Then he said, “We just need to extinguish bees with stingers. Or make flightless bees.” Flightless bees. Time to do a homeschool unit on pollination.

In the end I realized that, safety concerns aside, I have to get him a bike lock before he can ride his bike to the store anyway. So I’ve successfully put off the bikeriding-on-a-busy-street milestone for another day.

The Responsibility Club

Nigel talks a lot now. Occasionally his syntax is a little off, but he rarely mixes up pronouns as he used to do regularly, and his sentences are now long and complex (often too complex for his peers, and some adults, too!). I love hearing what’s going on in that brain of his, even when he’s complaining about doing his chores, which happens on a daily basis. You have to imagine Nigel’s characteristic deadpan voice as you read this dialogue.

Me: Nigel, it’s your day to do the cat litter.

Nigel: Why can’t they learn to do it themselves?

Me: Why do you ask me that every time? You know that’s not possible.

Nigel: Well, cats should be genetically engineered to clean their own litter boxes.

Me: Well, until then, we all have responsibilities in this family, and today it’s your responsibility to do the cat litter. It’s on your responsibility chart that you look at every day. I shouldn’t have to ask you when it’s your turn to do it. It’s your responsibility.

Nigel: I didn’t join The Responsibility Club. Who invented responsibility? Was it Charlemagne or Aristotle?

Me (unable to respond momentarily due to stifled guffaw): Nigel, just do the cat litter now, please.

Nigel (exasperated, no longer deadpan): Aaaaahhhhh!!!! 

But, he finally did it. We go through this ritual of feet-dragging and complaining with every request for him to complete a simple household chore. I guess that’s normal for any thirteen-year-old. As for mentioning Charlemagne, Nigel read somewhere that education was Charlemagne’s idea, so he figured that the emperor must have also promoted the idea of children doing household chores. Unless it was that idea-spouting Aristotle . . .