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Just Let Me!

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Spouse and I took Big Man to campus last Thursday to move him into his dorm. It was a three-day process…one day to move him in, one day of orientation with a parent mixer, and then the last breakfast before we drove home, leaving that sweet child behind to begin his college adventure. Not gonna lie – I UGLY cried the first half hour of our six-hour drive home Saturday. It was so hard to drive away, and see him there in the side mirror, all by himself, walking back to his dorm. I haven’t felt that torn since NICU days when I left him each night to the care of machines, doctors, and nurses. Yes, he’s an adult now, taller than me, and fairly competent, but the feeling I was somehow abandoning him struck me as familiar. I was not there for it, at all. But I know this is where he needs to be, doing what he needs to be doing. He’s ready, and it’s time for this step, but as a momma, it hurts and it’s so damn hard.

Over those first two days, I really saw the difference between me and Spouse, or maybe it’s just a momma/daddy thing, or even just a female/male thing. Whatever it was, Spouse and I were approaching the moving-in and leaving-at-school of our oldest child quite differently. Spouse was all about, “What needs to be done? Okay, he can do that himself,” and I kept saying, “He can, but please just let me at least do it with him.” I needed desperately to know he could do it. I needed the comfort of having helped him through it. I needed to leave my touches behind (yes, I did make up his bed for him when we moved him in). I needed to see all the places and spaces he was going to be in. In helping him those couple of days, it helped me let go.

I’m a nurturer, a caretaker, a fixer. This is what I’ve done all my childrens’ lives. I handle stuff. It’s my job. Not that I enable – our kids have also been taught to be independent, been held accountable, have had chores and contributed to the household. I, however, am the manager. I needed  to be able to do things for him and with him over those two days. Spouse kept shaking his head in frustration, reiterating Big Man was perfectly capable and that part of being off on his own at school is learning how to adult. I would respond that I know he is fully capable, and he will need to be doing all these things for himself from now on. I just needed to do it now, the words, “Just let me” on repeat.

It’s been five days since we drove away, and Big Man has – with the exception of very nearly sleeping through his very first class (I may have called him repeatedly until I knew he was awake, but I didn’t start that until 45 minutes before class started and he hadn’t told us he was awake, hadn’t responded to any communication at all the entire morning) – been taking care of things. He set up his own Amazon account and ordered things he needed, he got his truck moved to the permitted lot, has been actually eating, has made his bed every day, and even cleaned the room. He’s figuring it out. I just needed those last two days of being who I’ve been for the last 19 years. He and Spouse did just let me, and I’m grateful.

 

How could I have forgotten?

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The Princess and I were just commenting the other day how well Little Man is doing, how stable he’s been. Honestly, I should know better than to even admit that thought, much less say it out loud. He had a masterful tantrum this morning due to his 3-D printer completely jacking the project he’d had printing overnight. Literally wasted a ton of filament. He went off the rails….banging the walls, slamming cabinets, and yelling. Trust me, you generally  know exactly how this kid is feeling at all times. I was telling my friend about it when she mentioned her ASD daughter is struggling as well – end of the school year and all that. I thought to myself, “Well, duh…how could I have forgotten?”

He has just over three weeks left of school. How could I have possibly forgotten his anxiety tends to rise at this point of the year? He knows the end is coming, that his routine is about to change, and then things will be different come the fall? Add the extra layer this year of his big brother graduating and heading off to college in  mid-August. It’s understandable he’s going to go a little sideways. It had just slipped off my radar, until this morning.

We have fun, exciting stuff coming up this summer. But  he has a push to get through before then.  And I do think he’s stressed with his all the changes coming. I’ve noticed he really wants time and attention from Big Man. He’s verbalized it, but then again, he hasn’t. He can’t verbalize all of it. He has said he wants to spend as much time with Big Man as he can before he leaves. The hard part about that is Big Man is 18, while Little Man is 15. Big Man has friends, a girlfriend, a social life, and he’s just more mature than Little Man. They aren’t always interested in the same things. They are definitely NOT in the same place.  But I see Little Man really trying so very  hard to connect, to take advantage of every last minute he can get before his big brother leaves. Our household is about to change drastically. I see that causing a bunch of anxiety for Little Man too.

I did send a message to Little Man’s spec ed director giving her a heads-up, once it dawned on me where we are in the year, and what we’re going to be dealing with. She asked if she could send my email along to his teachers. Uh, yeah, please do that. He has been relatively better with regard to this the last couple of years, but I’m not fooling myself he’s not going to have some struggles.

I really don’t know how I could have forgotten, other than life has been utterly chaotic between the paying job and the volunteer jobs. Those are calm now – for a bit anyways – and I can refocus on the herd – with the stark reminder we do still live on autism street, and we are nearing the end of another school year, with all the change, fun, and stress that brings.

Teaching Them

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So, April  is Autism Awareness Month. Tuesday, April 2nd, is Autism Awareness Day.  Now, autism is part of our life, our daily life. We don’t need a specific day to remind us. And it took me awhile, and other parents of autistic kids posting, before I could pull two thoughts together to post anything about it on social media. Then I forgot about it. But that night, and again yesterday, staff from our elementary school reached out to thank us. They thanked us for teaching them how to take care of children like our Little Man. I was stunned.

I never thought we were teaching anyone. We were just living it the best way we knew how. And we were learning ourselves. He was diagnosed relatively late -midway through second grade.  We were definitely NOT experts on autism. We were, however, experts on our sweet boy. But even that was a work in progress.

We’ve just done the best we could.  We always saw his teachers and the staff at school as part of the team he needed (needs) to achieve the education he deserves, to help him become a full, functional, successful person. We didn’t, and still don’t, think we’re doing anything extraordinary, anything any parent of a special needs child would do. Have I put us on blast by continually writing and sharing our journey? Maybe.

I’m so thankful for every teacher and staff-person who’s touched our child’s life, made school even one ounce easier for him, comforted him when he was going off the rails, kept him safe, kept him engaged, encouraged his brilliant mind, gave him room to grow. I’m thankful for each person who acknowledged our expertise on our child, even when we didn’t know all the technical terms, the specific things to ask for, nor how everything worked in the land of special education. I’m thankful for each person who helped me be the best advocate, best parent for him.  I think we all learned in the process.

In One Page

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I may have mentioned it’s a triennial IEP year for Little Man.  That means hours of evaluations and testing to be done at school. It also means we, as parents, have to fill out our own evaluation forms. Added bonus this year, since he’s in high school, Little Man gets to self-evaluate.

I finally brought myself to face the parent evaluation a couple of days ago. Damn but I hate those things. I feel like it just makes me focus on every hard part of him, all his deficiencies, all his struggles – basically everything that is socially, emotionally, developmentally delayed. Then there are those questions that point-blank ask if  he’s ever wanted to hurt himself, if he’s ever said he didn’t want to be alive anymore or wished he were dead. In short, it sucks. I’d use stronger language….seriously. I threw a few “f autisms” out there while completing the evaluations.

So, we basically get two evaluations to do…one of them is a Never/Sometimes/Often/Always, fill-in-the-bubbles evaluation form. Then there’s the second evaluation…..a mostly blank page with maybe four questions on it. I get one page – one piece of paper – to tell them what is amazing about my beautiful child, to tell them what is really hard for him, what we hope his IEP will do for him, what we hope his future holds for him. Legit – how do you describe and explain your very-complex child in one page? How do you describe and explain any child in one page? He is so many things. He is more than his strengths and deficiencies. He is more than his autism. He is more than his meltdowns, more than his tantrums, more than his tears, more than his wittiness, more than his brilliance, more than his creativity, than his ability to do complex math in his head, more than his ability to code, to put ideas together, more than his empathy, more than one page gives me a chance to say.

No matter how long an IEP meeting is, it never seems to cover everything. And that’s the thing…..I know we have to specifically address his needs as associated with the classroom and his learning – those are indeed the priorities – but he is so much more than that. There is so much more to his entire day than just that.

I guess I hearken back to my plea from years ago – I just pray every year that every one of his teachers, and anyone at school who touches his day can see beyond that one page, that list of delays and challenges, to the amazing person within. I hope they can understand who he is beyond that/those labels. I want them to know what I know about him, to see more than the tears that come all-too-frequently, more than the headphones on his head all day every day, more than the forgetfulness and lack of organization, more than the horrible handwriting, more than his hyper-focus on video gamers and YouTubers, more than his inability to retain a long list of instructions, more than his less-frequent prickliness.

He is more than one page gives us the chance to explain. And yet we do it – we write his strengths, his challenges, his deficiencies. We write down what we hope the IEP will help him achieve, what we want for his future. We tell them what that one page allows us to tell. And then we cross our fingers and pray they see what that one page doesn’t give us the chance to say – that he’s amazing, intelligent, witty, creative, beautiful. He matters. He has contributions to make. He is more than that one page.

IMG_6521.HEIC

When it rains again….

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The shine is off. It’s raining again here on our corner of autism street. I’m saying all the bad words, and just feeling so sad for my sweet boy. He’s hit the wall…much later than expected, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.

I got a call from school yesterday. He was in the front office saying he didn’t feel well.  Now normally I don’t let my high school kids come home from school because they have a bit of a headache and their stomach hurts. There’s just too much at stake at this level. Miss one class, and you’ve missed a lot. But I knew he’d had a rough night the night before, and he indicated a panic attack, so I had him picked up and brought home.  But then I got home, and he was perfectly fine, smiling, relaxed. I will admit – I was frustrated and a little angry.  He has shown us in the past he can be a master manipulator. I let him know I will no longer pick him up because he has a headache or hurting tummy (that’s the excuse he used every damn time he went to the nurse’s office last year, which was pretty much on the weekly). And then he endured multiple lectures over the next hour or so, losing his phone, his PC and his laptop. He didn’t cry. He threw a tantrum. There was much yelling and slamming of doors – on his part, not mine. Okay, so I might have yelled a tiny bit. I’m not proud of it. But we’ve been on him every single day about what work is due, reminding him to turn in his homework. It’s exhausting.

I dropped him off at school early this morning to look for his missing binder (that was part of the lecturing yesterday). Once I got home, I received an email from his biology teacher. He’d had a meltdown in her class yesterday, right before he went to the office saying he didn’t feel well and called me. He never told me about the meltdown, didn’t tell me the teacher had given him an extra day to take his open-notes quiz (not having his binder with his notes in it is what threw him over the edge yesterday). He never told me. And now I feel like a complete asshole mom.

He had another meltdown in biology today, which I found out earlier, but then just discovered he’d lost it in his first period class as well, ending up in the principal’s office so he could regather himself. If they weren’t aware before, they’re certainly aware now it’s not going to be all sunshine and roses with this kid. He’s amazing and brilliant, but there are going to be days it’s a total battle to get him through. Lord I pray they’re willing to join the fray. My boy is so worth it. But it isn’t easy.

I’m just sad. He has been doing so well, and all of the sudden, he isn’t. Autism has reared its ugly head again.  It’s raining all over us. The dark has descended.  There’s no sunshine in sight. I  knew it was coming. I knew we couldn’t possibly stay where we were. That’s not how this works. But it had been so good, I’d begun to let myself hope things were different, better. I’m reminded life with autism doesn’t work that way.

So here we are, in the rain once again. We’ve had no less than eight emails back and forth today with teachers, the spec ed director, and his principal. I’m feeling like I want to bang my head on the desk and cry a bit too. I forgot how bad it feels when the wheels come off,  how much I just want to hold him and make it all better, the driving need to huddle and hide from the world.

“But nobody told me!”

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Executive function – or rather the lack of – rears its ugly head, and we’ve hit a big speed bump in high school. I should have seen it coming when, after the first day, he told me he hadn’t known when Nutrition break started and ended, nor when lunch was because “Nobody told me.” While I still don’t regret the decision on where we sent him to middle school, I can see where it’s causing and will cause him difficulties in a traditional high school. It was more of an extended elementary school, with a lot more leeway than in a traditional middle school. And he didn’t have homework (mostly) for three years.

He now has homework every day, but because of the last three years, he has no idea how to use a planner on a regular basis, he’s not used to writing down much less doing, much less handing in his homework. This is essentially a new process for him. Add in his deficiencies in executive function and we have a perfect storm. Last night, when I found the flashcards he was supposed to turn into Spanish yesterday, well, let’s just say there was some lecturing and some crying. And he said again, “But nobody told me I had to turn them in!” Yep, nobody told him. I let him know this is high school – nobody is going to tell him. Nobody is going to hold his hand anymore. He has to learn how to do this process on his own. That thought alone gives me massive anxiety. Added to that anxiety is all the apologizing he’s done since last night, and him saying he’s dumb and a failure. Sigh…..There wasn’t much sleep last night.

I know he needs help. I know this is going to take a LOT of work, on all our parts. This morning I pulled out a red folder I had from something else. I told him we will go through his binder and backpack each night – everything that needs to be turned in will go into that folder. He also has to ask every teacher as he walks into each class what he needs to hand in. Do I think this is going to solve the problem immediately? Nope. No amount of planning, rehearsing, lecturing, or reminding will take away his autism and all the sucky parts that come with it. I will remind him every single morning for as long as it takes to ask every teacher in every class what he needs to hand in.  We will go through his binder and backpack with him every night for as long as it takes, finding what he needs to turn in and putting it in that red folder.

I go back and forth between being frustrated with him, and totally knowing this is part of his autism beast.  How can a kid who knows how to map and code games, who does intense math problems in his head, who knows lyrics to more songs than I can count, and can quote a million memes and YouTube videos be completely incapable of remembering to write down, finish, and hand in his homework? How can a child have the ability to take apart and put back together nearly every electronic device in the house but not remember to take snacks for the time between school and practice nor to use shampoo and soap in the shower nor to give his coach a signed permission form? When I see the look on his face, and hear his apologies again and again, I feel intensely guilty for getting frustrated, and I know I have to work harder to find ways to help him, for he does need help. This doesn’t, and won’t, come naturally to him.

Today, I’m raising that special finger to autism, and saying a few choice words. Yes, he does have work to do, but then so do we. It’s not going to be easy, learning new processes, new ways to help him navigate, but we will get there.

Again and again and again

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I have been trying to put my thoughts and emotions into words since the first news ping came up on my phone about the school shooting yesterday. I can’t….everything is just spiraling around my brain. I have cried every time I’ve seen any of the footage….as a parent, all I can think is, “That could be my children”.

I distinctly remember the first time I was on campus for a lockdown drill when Big Man was in Kindergarten. It was already standard operating procedure for the kids, but I came home that day and just bawled my eyes out, my heart broken that five and six year olds had to know what to do if and when an active shooter came onto their elementary school campus. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!!!!! Good God, but school should be one of the safest places for our babies, not one to be the most feared.

When Sandy Hook happened, I thought now, now something will be done. Twenty young children have been killed. Now the outrage will inspire action. Now common sense gun reform will take place. Our schools will be made safe. Those with mental illness will not be able to get guns. Assault rifles will be inaccessible by private citizens. Now, we will take action. But no…..And God help us if the deaths of twenty children at the hands of one man didn’t bring about any logical change.

I will admit, I’m  not a fan of guns. I don’t get the fascination. But I respect the right to own guns. I don’t, for one second, believe anyone but law enforcement or military should have automatic or assault weapons or bump stocks. Universal background checks with a national database just make sense. That’s not taking guns away, that’s just being sure the right people have the right guns for the right reasons.

I hate the argument guns don’t kill people, people kill people. You know what, people with guns kill people. People with assault rifles kill a lot of people. I’m tired of seeing flags at half-mast because more children have died at the hands of someone with a gun. If those children and teachers from yesterday’s tragedy BEGGING for change don’t move you, I don’t know what will. They aren’t telling us that today is not the time for a discussion on gun reform. They are telling us to fix this, They’re begging us to fix this. Yes, they need our thoughts and prayers (aren’t you tired of thinking and praying?), but they also need us to make something happen so no more children die in school shootings.

By the way, do you know what my kids learn now at school? They’ve learned what’s called “Run, hide, or fight.” They’ve learned to mentally have a weapon in each of their classrooms and to discuss that with their classmates. They’ve learned to run if they’re not near the sound of the gunshots. They’ve learned to have hiding places in mind in each of their classrooms, and in various places throughout campus. What in the ever-lovin hell? How is that even remotely okay?  I want my kids to be thinking about academics, friends, sports, the next dance, what the latest gossip is while they’re at school, not where to hide, what weapon they can use in each classroom to defend themselves, nor how to take down an active shooter. The thought of it is insanity to me. This is NOT normal. It should not be acceptable. It is not okay.

The tide needs to turn. Something needs to be done. We can’t let the deaths of these children – lives snuffed out entirely too early, hope smashed, parents crushed – be for naught.

IEP processed

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Little Man’s annual IEP meeting was almost two weeks ago. It’s taken me a bit to process, mostly because I had other things going on…work, a trip to see my parents, Thanksgiving….I had to process it all anyways. I had to go back through the details, not in-the-moment.

Someone asked me about it, what happens, how did LM handle being in the meeting. I explained, “You spend the first five minutes hearing the ways your kid is amazing and how he’s improved. You spend the next hour discussing all his deficiencies, and making plans to help him.” Truth. That’s what goes on. You know what? I almost hate those first five minutes more than the rest of the meeting. Look, I know all the way he’s amazing. I have to make myself focus on those amazing qualities in the moments he’s completely falling apart, or pushing me over the edge, or having the mother of all meltdowns on the sideline of  his soccer game. He is amazing, brilliant, beautiful, witty, funny, empathetic, entertaining, cuddly, loving, and just….amazing. I’m his mom. I know this. I know they know his abilities, his strengths. It just always makes me feel like I’m holding my breath waiting for the “but…..”

So yes, he’s doing better with his collaborative work, although he still needs work. Yes, he’s very creative. Yes, he’s gotten better at communicating his needs. Yes, he has become a mentor to kids in younger grades working with the 3-D printer. His writing has improved. Can we please get to the hard stuff? The stuff we really need to talk about? The things we need to work out?

I knew he’d avoided going to class for some time when he was dealing with some bullying and then his perception of everyone around him – and their actions – went sideways. I didn’t realize he’d hardly been in class for nearly a month. His grades suffered accordingly – but WTH? Nearly a month not going to class? This is a small school with a small campus. There isn’t really anywhere for him to hide. I do know we dealt with the headaches and stomach-aches for over a week. I know he spent a good amount of time in the nurse’s office. But really, nearly a month hardly being in class, because he wouldn’t go. He ended up with two F’s, three C’s, and one A on his report card. My kids have NEVER gotten an F, much less two, on a progress report much less a report card.

The adaptive PE teacher on consult for him told us she’d have to hunt him down most days when it was time for PE. Again, WTH? They shouldn’t have to go look for my kid. He’s 13  years old.  He’s an 8th grader. The school is small, the campus is small, but you had to go look for him? Then he wouldn’t cooperate nor participate much of the time. So our PE goals remain intact. Get to PE, and participate to a percentage level.  He has a new sheet he has to fill out in which he earns points for showing up, participating in the activity, or running.

Most of his goals remain the same…..working cooperatively and successfully in groups, getting his work done, staying in the classroom, self-management, responding appropriately, stating verbally his feelings and needs, and showing up for and participating in PE.

I do feel like it is a team. We all want what’s best for him, and to best prepare him for high school and beyond. Then we had to start talking about the transition to high school. No, we haven’t decided where he’s going. We have narrowed it down to a few schools, one of which is very difficult to get into, one of which is lottery, and one of which is down the street.  The rep from the traditional school down the street was there towards the end. We had to talk about what potential issues he might face at that school.  PE is a big issue. I get massively twitchy when I think about it. I can’t picture him having to dress-out, in a locker room with a bunch of other, neurotypical 13 and 14 year old boys, can’t picture him participating, or possibly even showing up. I worry about him showing up for any class after the way this Fall has gone.  We won’t even discuss homework, or him staying in class, or him even looking like a typical student.  I just can’t.

I wasn’t entirely impressed with the HS rep. Her responses to some of our requests, and some of his particular issues, almost made it sound like she’d never had to manage or process a kid like mine. Didn’t give me much confidence. I know she won’t be directly involved in his day-to-day if he does go to that school.  We asked about preferential period selection for PE. She’d never heard of that before. We asked about supervision or a different changing location, or only changing his shirt rather than his entire outfit (he wears sweatpants most days anyways), and she responded as if no one had ever presented those options before.

Here’s the deal – he WILL get a full high school diploma. He’s capable. We will not settle for a certificate. That’s going to stand no matter where he goes to high school. Maybe that’s a lofty goal that is going to take a ton of work, a lot of meetings, and a billion emails and phone calls. Whatever it takes, it is going to happen.

So, back to the IEP meeting…..I left kind of numb. There was too much to think about, too much to process. There are many good things he’s done, many great ways he’s improved. There are many things he needs to work on. There are things to be concerned about. My stress over the high school selection, and how he does in high school is straight up through the roof.

One day at a time right? Be where we are, deal with where we are. What’s next will happen when it happens. How do I feel about this IEP meeting? Well, I’m good with the goals we set. I’m not sure how much success he will have achieving those goals within the next seven months, but that’s not really the point, right? The point is that they’re goals for him to work on, for us to help him work on, goals to help make him successful in school, in life. Good did come of it in that it led to good discussion, and Spouse was involved. We have had multiple discussions with Little Man.  He is mostly staying in class. We’re working on the rest. He’s a brilliant boy, with a brilliant mind. Someday, the world will be built for him, he will find his people, his corner of success in his way.

We have things to think about, more meetings down the road, particularly once we decide where he’s going to high school. For now, I’m going to take a deep breath, and be happy I don’t have to think about IEP’s for a little bit.

Almost forgot….How did Little Man do, participating in his own IEP for the first time? He didn’t want to go, and he did push back all the way up to the point of walking into the conference room. He didn’t say much, and we did have to tell him a few times to sit up, get his head off the table, but he was there. He didn’t yell, he didn’t complain, he didn’t growl.  He was there until we started talking with the high school rep and released him to go hang out with his friends at the lunch tables. He did it.

Let the Research Begin

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Little Man is rumored to have done well on the high school tours field trip yesterday. I’ve had two good reports, and he was all smiles and conversation when I picked him up from school. So, yay for that. And now, the research begins.

He did like the Math & Science high school. He would like to put his name in the lottery for admission. I’ve reviewed their website and the paperwork they sent home. One thing caught my eye – Special Education support programs will be limited. I’m not exactly sure what that means. Do they not take IEP kids? How would my kid navigate their campus and curriculum if they don’t have the supports he needs? They have a few informational meeting dates coming up, so we’ll go to one of those and get some answers. While the school sounds fairly similar to where he is for middle school, I won’t give up the supports he needs. That one little line on the informational packet makes me say, “Hmmmmmm.” He also liked the school down the street that his siblings attend. He said they had the best presentation, and he got a flower from the agricultural department during their tour, which he was super happy about and proud of.

We do have a lot of options available in town. I just really haven’t wanted to think about this process. I’d love to stay in denial-land just a little bit longer. Unfortunately for me, the application periods are opening, and we don’t have forever. So let the research begin. Sigh…..

His Perception

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I had an impromptu meeting with Little Man’s principal yesterday afternoon during after-school pickup. It was positive – I know they have LM’s best interests at heart. As the principal put it, they’re “all hands on deck” for him, particularly now, given what’s gone on the last few weeks.

Little Man hasn’t been going to class. Lord knows what he has been doing, but he hasn’t been in his classrooms. We’re working to fix that. The problem is he’s sure anytime anyone laughs when he’s nearby, they’re laughing at him, making fun of him. His teachers, SAI, and the principal are trying to catch it in the moment so they can help him see it is his perception, not reality.

Little Man has always had this thing….if one “bad” thing happens during the day, then the entire day is the worst day ever. If something bad happens during a certain activity, then he’s sure it’s going to happen every single time he does that activity. If someone laughs at him once, then every time that person laughs, he’s laughing at him. That’s his perception, skewed as it may be. Our job is to help him see that’s not the case. It’s tough work.

We have to help him overcome his fears and worries. We have to help him understand his perception isn’t always the way it really is. We have to move him past this hurdle. But this is part of his autism. his reality. He perseverates, gets beyond anxious, then does everything he can to avoid whatever situation he’s worried about. In the meantime, his grades fall and he loses friends. It sucks.

He has to be ready for high school….moving between classes, staying in class the entire period, managing social situations that are unavoidable. We have to help get him ready for that, so we’re all utilizing some tough love to get him past this current hurdle. We’re back in a phase of being on high alert nearly every minute of every day.

As for Halloween, he had probably his best yet. He went out with his friend across the street. I was not with him. Normally, he taps out after about the fifth house. This year, he was out for over an hour, and made it all the way around the loop. Then he sat in the kitchen with Big Man and a bunch of high school boys, interacting and talking. At one point, he did get a bit overwhelmed. He just looked at me and said, “I’m getting anxious…it’s too much.” I got him to a quiet space for a few minutes, but he recovered quickly and then was right back, re-engaging, laughing and talking. Huge wins, all night long, for him.