"Chitty Chitty Bang Bang has forty scenes."

 

Benjamin mentioned this. He assumed that I'd like to know. He does. 

 

"Monsters Inc. has 32, and so does Cars. And Finding Nemo. And the Incredibles, and Wall-e." 

 

"Which movie has the most scenes?"

 

"The Wizard of Oz has 49!" His smile was enormous. 

 

I believe him, by the way. Although I am unclear how one arrives at such details, Ben apparently understands. And he remembers. Me, not so much, which is why I wrote it down. 

 

Like others on the spectrum, he relies on certainty. It provides a counterweight to the unpredictable forces in his life. Like feelings, and interruptions to his routine. 

 

There was a time when Ben would express his frustration by denying facts. 

 

"The square root of 64 is NOT 8!" When he had calmed down he would let us know. 

 

"Eight squared is 64." What a relief.

 

Even those who qualify as normal like to know what to expect. We soothe ourselves with clocks and calendars, "Save the Date"s and books about child development. Or apps. 

 

Yet even those who pair and fold their socks in the top drawer, and alphabetize their spices often welcome surprises in small doses. Maybe not a surprise party with friends popping out of the closet, but trying a new entree at their favorite restaurant. 

 

Sometimes when John and I stepped into unforeseeable changes, I steadied myself with sureties.  When I couldn't predict what direction his job would take, I took comfort in the fact that we would be together. The confusion around Ben's diagnosis knocked the wind out of me, but there was no ambiguity about my love. When my mother moved in with us there were no guarantees around her mental state, but I was rock certain that it was the right thing to do.