So, Saturday morning he and I went out for breakfast before heading over to my favorite big-box hardware/home-improvement for new saw blades…and a new jig saw for Nanny. (Okay, so we eat beans for the rest of the month; there are just some things worth the sacrifice. A jig saw is one of those things. Oh, my gosh, there are so many other things in the tools department at Lowe’s that I would give up food for, even chocolate.)
We straightened up the workbench when we returned home, much to D’s consternation and frustration. He was ready to start work amid the clutter we didn’t get to the weekend before, but that was a disaster waiting to happen. So, while he tapped his feet and paced restlessly, I cleared the workbench, gathered the tools and other gadgets we’d need, and made sure everything was in good working order. Including the new jig saw…naturally.
“Nanny, can I start work on my car now?” he asked, barely concealing his frustration with me. He wanted to use my power tools so bad, his fingers were twitching when they passed over them.
Boys are a mystery to me (the way they think), and teenage boys more so. Add to that the fact that D is an Asperger’s kid, who focuses intently on his desires and his desires only, and why the heck can’t I just do what I want to do – RIGHT NOW! – and you might understand that our session in the workshop was a bit tense and frustrating for both of us.
He kept telling me he knew what he was doing and that he could handle all the tools, if I would just let him use them. When asked how each worked and what he needed to be careful of while handling them, he couldn’t tell me, so we – I – took the time necessary to explain and demonstrate what he was to do. Starting with transferring his design onto the blank that would become his car.
Oh. He hadn’t thought about that.He put on all his safety gear – vented dust mask, ear protectors, goggles.
“Sweetie,” I said, trying not to giggle, “you don’t need all that to draw your pattern on your block of wood.”
“Yeah, but I need to use the Dremel tool next and I just want to be ready.”
“Next we need to line up registration marks across the top of the block, then you use the coping saw, then you may use the Dremel.”
“How long will all this take, Nanny?”
“How long you got?”
He sighed and said, with great exasperation, “O-o-o-k-a-a-ay.”
Then I sighed.
“Yeah, but I need to use the Dremel tool next and I just want to be ready.”
“Next we need to line up registration marks across the top of the block, then you use the coping saw, then you may use the Dremel.”
“How long will all this take, Nanny?”
“How long you got?”
He sighed and said, with great exasperation, “O-o-o-k-a-a-ay.”
Then I sighed.
He allowed me to supervise rather well, all said and done. Honestly, though, once he saw how to use the tools and was told what to watch out for using them on his car, he did a fine job of rough-shaping his design.
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We stopped about half an hour into the work so that he could remove his goggles to let the steam inside dry off. 
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I went inside for some iced tea, with visions of returning to find grandboy with only a splinter left of his car or bloody stumps from picking up the jigsaw by the blade while pressing the start button.
(Continued in next post, Part Three)
(c) 2009 Martha McLemore
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