Another way to approach my Full Spectrum household is
through a lens of boundaries: Z habitually smashes them, while G is often
unaware of them. Until recently, when he told me it hurts his feelings and
embarrasses him, I would publicly joke (say, when he hugged someone he’d never
met) that G’s superhero name was “No Boundaries Man.”
The issue of bathrooms is just one example of this
phenomenon. Now that G is older (and he’s very tall, so he seems even older
than he is) I can’t take him into the Women’s Room any more. This is
anxiety-provoking. I offer the following four justifications for why this is
so:
1. Because G is so friendly, he will strike up a
conversation with just about anyone. Anywhere. After a few too many overheard bathroom conversations, and
several attempts to gently explain how
inappropriate that was, and dangerous, I told him explicitly and in strong
terms not to talk to anyone in the bathroom. Period.
After taking Z to the bathroom the other day, we were
waiting for G outside the Men’s Room for a few minutes.
“G?” I called. No answer.
Increasingly frantic, I called him several more times.
Just as I was about to barge into the Men’s Room, G emerged.
“What’s the matter, Mama?” he asked. “You told me not to
talk to anyone in the bathroom.”
2. Same scenario, but this time G
gets out of the bathroom first.
From inside the Women’s Room I hear him striking up conversations with,
basically, any man who is coming out of the Men’s Room.
“Hello, my name is [full name]” he chirps, over and over.
“Please don’t talk to people outside of the bathroom either,” I say, having rushed Z’s
hand-washing to forestall the next greeting.
“But I made a friend,” he protests. “He seems like he might
have been a little weird when she was a kid. Maybe she was made fun of too. In
the past.”*
Score: one for making difference seem like a prestigious
club; zero for safety.
3. En route to Grandmother’s G
announces that we need to make an emergency stop. I manage to exit and pull
into a gas station in record time. Z is asleep. Since I have parked right in
front of the entrance, I allow him to run in by himself. Relieved over having
made it to a bathroom in time, it takes me a few minutes to notice that we are
in a really sketchy area. I watch a spectrum of shady characters entering and
exiting the building with mounting dread. I decide to wake up Z, but she is in
a deep sleep so I grab her and carry her inside. We make our way to the hallway
and to the bathroom door…which is wide open.
There sits G on the toilet, pants around his ankles, jacket
on the filthy floor, chin resting in his hand like a small, live, No Boundaries
Man “thinker.”
4. A few days before school ended,
the hallway bathroom lights, which are on an automatic timer, went off while G
was sitting on the toilet. He began screaming in terror and by the time someone
heard him and turned on the light he was in a full-on panic attack. He was
still red and on the constant verge of tears when I came to pick him up.
The two problems I was later able to glean from him were as
follows: First, he knew he was in a stall, but didn’t have a mental picture of
the space he was in or how to get out “in the pitch dark;” second, perhaps more
importantly, he “was not done wiping [his] butt.”
This, in fact, was a sign of progress: the wipe/flush/wash
hands trifecta has been a challenging one for G, with at least two out of three
typically forgotten.
And then we have Z. Unlike G, Z is exceedingly aware of
boundaries. She tends to see boundaries, however, as mere niceties that do not
apply to her. This, too, raises safety issues. And bathroom issues. For
example, we have to monitor Z’s bathroom visits at home after her consumption
of a few too many bottles of skin and hair products.
Outside of the bathroom, Z’s iconoclastic confidence is an
invaluable tool in achieving sovereignty. Once, she told her teacher she had to
go use the microwave, marched into the fourth grade classroom, placed her food
in the microwave and turned it on to fry her Tupperware and food to a melty,
smoking crisp. Curiously, no one
thought to question her actions once she’d assured them she “knew what she was
doing.”
She pushes boundaries with words as well. We were at a plant
show in a greenhouse with my extended family when I heard her tell her 4-year
old cousin, “It’s so f___kin’ hot!”
“What did you just say?” I gasped.
Z looked me right in the eyes, and said, “I said it’s so
freakin’ hot, Mama.”
And Z looooves her Papa (my Pardner)…Maybe a bit too much.
"I’m gonna marry Papa," she once informed me.
"No, honey, I am married to Papa," I said.
"You're his stepdaughter and that’s a different relationship that is just
as wonderful. You'll always be together like that."
She stared at me like I was a fool. "When you're
dead," was her nonchalant response.
Another time, Pardner was in the bathroom when Z began a
world-class tantrum in line at the basement food court in Grand Central
Station. Upon his return, Pardner thought Z had been injured and swept her up
into his arms and away from the others in line, asking with sincere concern,
“What happened, sugar dumplin’?” As he walked away, she paused in her screams
long enough to request -- from this apparent new ally -- “Could you poop on
Mama’s head?”
Z has such a deep, scurvy, belly-chuckle of a laugh that it
sometimes seems she understands just how funny her transgressions can be.
In short, both children represent a Full Spectrum of relentlessness when it comes to boundaries. Whether because of
willfulness or cluelessness, in both of their lives so far boundaries are
neither perceived nor approached/avoided as society expects.
By the way, speaking of toilets, and boundaries, when I
myself am on the toilet BOTH children often deem it a great time to talk to
me. I’m not talking about after
I’ve been lounging for ten minutes – I mean right away. They enjoy “keeping me company” and sharing
important information, such as keeping me abreast of all current cat locations.
Recent urgent, through-the-door inquiries – from both children at once --
include, “How do you spell my name backwards?” “How do you say my name
backwards?” “How do you say your name backwards?” and “How do you spell
your name backwards?”
Love,
Lluf Murtceps Amam
* Re: s/he: Yes, G does sometimes struggle with pronouns,
but in this case the individual in question was transgendered and the fact that
G was so casual about this gave me hope for the world!
Re: “In
the past:” I also am so glad that G believes me when I tell him that grownups are
less cruel than children and that many people who struggle with being accepted
in childhood and adolescence fit in fine as adults because stuff like being
cool no longer matters. Is this true? I hope so.
