Wake up at 6:15 AM. Immediately undress and put on school clothes. To the kitchen for Aldi-brand mini-wheats, a fried egg with hot sauce, and a cup of milk. Brush teeth, shoes on, fill the backpack with the red folder and lunch box. Coat on, hat on, backpack on. Stand on the chair to see when the bus is coming followed by the announcement, “The bus is rolling,” when it makes it’s approach. A giggly sprint to the bus, two steps up, “Good Morning,” and taking the same window seat, off he goes.
Bus returns at about 3. “See you tomorrow,” two steps down and an immediate request for five animal crackers: not four, nor six, but five. A brief period of playing outside or reading Berenstain Bears. Half an hour of, “Daddy’s cooking chicken for dinner / You can have dinner in 10 minutes / I can wait patiently for chicken.” Dinner, then homework which is motivated by five chocolate chips - not four, nor six, but five.
Bedtime begins with a “pokey-poke,” the daily injection of HGH which he always assumes is going into his right belly. Go potty, change into pajamas, Flovent, brush teeth, a quick prayer, and then get tucked into bed.
Wake up at 6:15 AM and do it all over again. Same thing every day. This is what Evangeline calls Matthew’s excessive rigidity to routine. Matthew, like other kids with Autism, loves strict adherence to a routine; in fact, he thrives on it. Knowing what is coming next is the closest thing to a security blanket Matt-Man needs.
We all have a routine. Generally, my own day follows a typical pattern that starts with coffee and ends with a few strums on my Fender. But if my daily routine, no matter how structured, is somehow interrupted, there is a high degree of probability that I will be able to roll with the change. You may be the same way. A deviation from your routine may be annoying but won’t ruin your day. If Matthew’s routine gets interrupted, the hot sauce may literally hit the fan.
In general, Matthew likes to make his world smaller. He often has a hard time relating to and understanding the world around him. He does not intuitively interpret social cues. His sensory input is often times out of whack. To make matters worse, when he stims or perseverates or senselessly echoes what he hears, so much of the world doesn’t understand him, which multiplies the frustration. The number one coping mechanism for Matthew is to make his world very small and very predictable.
This is why he loves routine. There is comfort in knowing what is coming next. There is so much comfort that when he doesn’t know what is coming next, it makes him very anxious; perhaps a little violent.
Here is an example of how attached he is to his routine: Our two older boys have swimming lessons every Tuesday. One day, traffic was a little heavy on the ride home, so I took a different route down a side street. Since the new route was not part of his normal routine, Matthew had a complete meltdown that ruined the rest of his day.
This is also what makes snow days an absolute nightmare. Most kids pray for a huge blizzard that paralyzes the city. Those end up being lazy days full of cartoons, sledding, free play, and no homework. If Matthew is expecting the bus, and the bus doesn’t come, his marriage to his routine refuses to let him simply enjoy the impromptu day off, and the pancakes hit the fan.
We combat this by trying extremely hard to prepare him for what’s coming next. If we are going to take a family trip, we begin to tell him about at least a week in advance. If we know there will be an off day at school, we will tell him, “No bus on Friday, we’re staying home.” If there is any foreseeable deviation from his routine, we try to inform him as soon as possible and then try our best to give him a routine in it’s place. And if tomorrow is a snow day, you'll know why our kitchen is covered in pancakes and hot sauce!
