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My son spent his usual two days a week with me showing me that his impressive talent for screwing up is undiminished by physical maturity.
Screwup the first: His debit card number got stolen and used online. I learned that he didn't use a password manager with randomly generated passwords. In his defense I must say that I never taught him to do so; so much for the "digital native" generation being hip to all this stuff. The thieves naturally drained his bank account, but for better or worse there wasn't much in there.
Screwup the second: The Wendling is in the habit of taking a short walk to a branch of the supermarket where he works and buying breakfast or lunch because he doesn't like what I keep on hand. Well, with no cash and no card, he didn't have that option, so he made scrambled eggs. Of course I found all his dishes lying around dirty a couple of hours later.
Screwup the third: As I watched him wash the frying pan, he splorted out waaay too much dish soap. Washing and then rinsing all of every dirty item was a foreign concept to him. He didn't know when to use the scrubby side of a sponge and when not to. And in classic autistic fashion, he didn't apply reasonable pressure when needed; surely it's uncomfortable for him.
If he's ever bereft of his parents, he's screwed, isn't he? I've failed. So has Ex.
Screwup the first: His debit card number got stolen and used online. I learned that he didn't use a password manager with randomly generated passwords. In his defense I must say that I never taught him to do so; so much for the "digital native" generation being hip to all this stuff. The thieves naturally drained his bank account, but for better or worse there wasn't much in there.
Screwup the second: The Wendling is in the habit of taking a short walk to a branch of the supermarket where he works and buying breakfast or lunch because he doesn't like what I keep on hand. Well, with no cash and no card, he didn't have that option, so he made scrambled eggs. Of course I found all his dishes lying around dirty a couple of hours later.
Screwup the third: As I watched him wash the frying pan, he splorted out waaay too much dish soap. Washing and then rinsing all of every dirty item was a foreign concept to him. He didn't know when to use the scrubby side of a sponge and when not to. And in classic autistic fashion, he didn't apply reasonable pressure when needed; surely it's uncomfortable for him.
If he's ever bereft of his parents, he's screwed, isn't he? I've failed. So has Ex.
