Susan Senator

A friend asked me to write something about Nat’s hygiene practices. So, I’ll tell you straight out: they are not the best. He showers independently, has for years. He does it all independently and yet, he is not thorough. There is a certain degree of stink in all young men of a certain teen-age; my Natty is as typical as they come in this regard. Sweats like a man. But, come to think of it, even the Wild Beasts in the family, who are pre-pubescent, have their moments of funk. It’s just a guy thing. Hormones run free in my house.

So what do we do? One of us is usually nearby when Nat (and Ben) goes to shower, just to hassle them a little about scrubbing. We remind him about deodorant; often I just slather it under his arms for him, which makes him laugh. He is not averse to becoming clean; it is just not a priority of his. Of course, we make his shower time extra fun by buying a lot of 99 cent shampoo that he can squeeze out to his heart’s content. I hear the “thunk” of yet another empty bottle of Suave in the garbage, and I know that Nat is deep into his shower.

Nat was never opposed to being washed or combed, or any of that. He’s just not that into it, though, and I guess it is not a huge priority in our family, either. We are not dirty or anything; just kind of scruffy, is all. Except for me, of course. I am considerably well-groomed. I’m the girl, after all!

I don’t have any words of wisdom about hygiene and autism. Or hygiene and boys. I take it a shower at a time, and I try to remember that “it’s only a phase,” whatever it is.

I remember when Nat was a baby, the first time I ran a comb through his cottony platinum locks, he giggled and giggled. Oh, Sweet Boy. Now he loves getting his hair cut, but that could be because Erin, his stylist, is such an adorable young woman.

Just yesterday I was noticing pink marks all over the woodwork and my new shower curtain from Restoration Hardware, in the bathroom. Later on at dinner I saw that Beast had drawn a pinkish-red crescent-like symbol on the back of his hand; some kind of Beastly fantasy or something going on. Instead of feeling any annoyance at the ruin of my lovely white bathroom, a wistful wave rose through me. I said, halfheartedly, “You know, when you draw like that on yourself, I wonder if there’s a way we could keep it from getting all over the bathroom.” But the truth is, I didn’t really mean it. I will truly rue the days when my bathroom and my sons are all at last completely clean.