Boiling the Peas - with a son with Autism

It was any other Saturday afternoon. I put a pot of frozen peas in water, onto the stove, ready for dinner on my return later in the day. Roy was gardening and Miles was on his regular railway jaunt. What could go wrong?

Next morning, we were having a rare breakfast together when I saw a piece of mustard coloured paper taped to the wall. It was attached with sticky tape, and was definitely out of place. It was at eye-level, near the switch for the overhead fan. Why was it stuck there?

As I walked towards the offending paper I said, ‘What’s this doing here?’

Suddenly I was aware of Miles’ face. His look of horror foretold that disaster might be in store, if I removed the paper. His fears held some foundation.

As I removed the paper a fist-sized hole was revealed in the plaster.

It was obvious who had performed this remodeling of the plaster, but why?

A forensic investigation was called for.

But first, my 32-year-old son with Autism had to learn (once more) that actions have consequences and that he would be responsible for paying for the wall to be repaired.

Keeping a straight face, the judgement was delivered and Miles retreated to his bedroom to tend his bruised ego and possibly comfort a sore hand.

A short time later, with an eye to detail and strategic questioning of my personal demolition subcontractor, I deduced the sequence of events that took place the previous day.

It appears that Miles returned elated from his day riding the rails and, for the first time in his life, decided to help get dinner ready. His effort in this respect was to turn on the stove under the peas. He then walked away. Pleased with his contribution to the smooth running of the household.

Sometime later, Miles returned to the kitchen to find the pot of peas boiling furiously and spilling over the stove. This was obviously not meant to happen.

Miles had the presence of mind to turn off the heat and remove the pot from the element. But this did not adequately remove the tension from the situation. Miles’ anxiety was now at the point of boiling over also.

To relieve the tension, Miles did something he rarely does. He hit something. That something was the wall. Usually walls are sturdy surfaces that can withstand a small pounding, but this wall collapsed under the force of his adult fist.

When Miles realised he had compounded his problem, he employed some problem solving skills we had not previously seen.

Miles went to his room and found a sheet of A4 paper that had nothing written or drawn on it. This, in itself, is a minor miracle. He then found a felt pen that he felt approximated the colour of the English mustard paint on the kitchen wall. He must have spent some time on this as he completely coloured that piece of paper with mustard ink.

The next step was simple. Attach the paper to the wall.

We always keep sticky tape around the house, so it was not difficult to locate the tape and use it to attach the paper to the wall.

Voila! Mum would never notice.

In fact his plan did work for about twelve hours.

Roy and I returned from our day’s activities.

I prepared dinner without noticing the peas had been pre-cooked.

The evening was spent in other areas of the house.

The next morning, when the evidence was revealed, the facts were so amazing that we saw humour in the incident.

The wall was patched, repaired and repainted.

Costs were covered.

Life goes on …

Lisbeth Wilks, 2011