Cute at home, not in the bank!
Running errands at the end of an already too-long day with two small boys is silly, I know. If one of those boys happens to be autistic, instinct should tell you to avoid errands at all costs. Yet here I was, in a bind, 5 minutes to 5 frantically pulling through the drive through at the bank to cash a check so I could continue my shopping.
Since I also needed to request a new check card (which I’ve needed to do for the last 3 months), I was informed I would have to go inside, “And you only have a few minutes before closing.”
Having lost all sense of rational thought, I pulled from the safety of the drive through and careened into a parking space nearest the door. Unbuckling one son and dragging my 13-month old from his carseat, I mentally willed my 3-year old autistic son to come to me. He flashed the smile that said, “Can’t catch me!” just before darting to the front seat. Shifting baby to the other hip with a sigh, and opening the front door, I snagged the little escapee before he could make his hasty retreat to the back again.
Make it a game, I thought to myself. “Hup two three four! Let’s run, run, run!” I gleefully chanted through clenched teeth, making it through the doors and into the lobby in record time. Three tellers, a manager, and clerk met my frantic glance around an otherwise empty lobby with the look that said, “We thought we were done for the day, until you walked in.”
It took Jack 5 seconds to decide to explore this new environment. There I was fumbling for id, trying to answer questions while keeping an eye on Jack who was jubilantly trotting back and forth between and the door. He quickly spotted the familiar button that mechanically opens the doors, just like the one at his school and was jabbing the button and jumping up and down in excited expectation. My concern that he might dart out the door moved me to leave everything at the counter and vainly try to captivate him. The quick-thinking teller offered a sucker to lure the little fella, and I quickly decided to employ the bribe.
The clerk had moved to the door to lock up by this time, and interrupted his game giving me precious seconds to finish my transaction. Jack went for the sucker, and I vainly tried to get a “thank you” out of him before we escaped. As we turned away from the counter to leave, Jack suddenly decided that he’d now rather stay. He promptly stretched himself out face down on the floor in the middle of the lobby with three tellers and a manager peering over the counter and the clerk standing by the door, key in hand, waiting to lock us outside. I could feel their gazes and the unasked question, “How is she going to handle this?”
After a few pointless, “Come on, Buddy, it’s time to go. Stand up” I resorted to grabbing him under the arms (remember I still had the baby on one hip) and dragging him toward the door. Just get outside I told my trembling muscles as I wanly smiled at the clerk who murmered, “You’re hardly big enough to carry both…” as we passed through the doors.
Once outside the closed doors I felt the need to tell my son, “Please don’t do that again.” I silently vowed to use the drive through from now on, no matter what, unless alone.