A Wish Granted

Since Ian was two, I have wanted to know what goes on inside his head. How does he experience the world? Why does he seem to ignore me when I am talking to him? Why does he often feel lost and alone? He can't explain these things to me, not yet. It has been my hope that if I could understand the way he feels, I could help him understand the things that don't make sense to him. We could be closer. Maybe he wouldn't feel so isolated.

Last night it happened. I had a dream that I was in high school with the same classmates I had back in 1984. Only this time, I had Asperger's.

It was odd from the second the dream began. The class room was not well-lit. Some places were completely dark and others were way too bright, making it difficult to concentrate. Looking around the room, the faces were familiar but the voices were garbled and their words made no sense. It was as if they were speaking English but they mixed the order of the words so the meaning was lost.

At first I thought I was crazy. Maybe I'd had a stroke. When I spoke, everything I said was clear and made sense, but only to me. The other people in the room gave me odd looks. Some yelled at me, as if louder commands would help me understand. Some teased, others laughed, and a few just ignored me altogether.

It was obvious we were working on some sort of group project. I had no idea what the purpose was or what my role was to be. No one thought my input was relevant. I held scissors in my left hand, which felt very strange, probably because I am right-handed. Several colors of construction paper were scattered over my desk. Assuming my job must involve cutting something with the scissors, I attempted to make shapes from the construction paper to no avail. My hand could not open and close the shears appropriately. The paper just tore in jagged lines.

Frustration set in. I wanted to cry. Tears welled, but I fought them back, not wanting the others to see I didn't know what to do. While the others conversed and made progress, the room seemed to flow away from me, as a river going through a blurry tunnel. I felt empty inside - completely alone.

The color of the paper I held began to fade to gray, except for brightly lit holes where my tears had dripped. The light coming through in brilliant rays stung my eyes and made my head hurt. I felt the urge to run, to get away from the confusion as fast as I could. Screaming, I dropped everything and began running clumsily through an unfamiliar place. My body refused to move the way I wanted it to, and I fell repeatedly. Finally, I just stopped trying to get up, stopped trying to do anything. I felt useless.

My body jolted awake. It must have been about 3:00 a.m. I looked around the bedroom, trying to find something familiar. I heard Toby, our Boston Terrier puppy, snoring loudly from his bed. Once I recognized my surroundings and began to breathe slowly, what became clear to me is that my wish had been granted. I finally had an idea of what it feels like to be Ian. I hope I never forget.

Sticviews Helps My Aspie Kids Be More Independent

Social stories are an exceptionally helpful way to assist autistic children learn complicated processes and social mores. In this case, Ian and Ainsley needed help with bathing. They couldn't remember what to do much less what order to do it in.

Now they have a Sticviews social story that gives them the information they need to do it all themselves. I created the social story on my laptop using photos of key elements of their bathroom.

Then I uploaded the social story to the Sticviews website, www.sticviews.com. It was printed out and shipped to my door (o.k., actually, Bryce from Sticviews delivered it in person - but don't expect that kind of special service if you live outside of ... oh, north Texas).

Both Ian and Ainsley are doing MUCH better not just at bathing independently, but they are washing themselves better too. It's amazing how an 8"x10" piece of waterproof vinyl can change your world!

Click here to see a great video about the shower stic!

I Forgot How Much They Like to Talk

Ian and Ainsley are talkers. They love to tell jokes and stories. We have been working on understanding the differences between jokes, comic strips, and funny stories. Otherwise, the two of them call everything a joke and assume that simply repeating the words will mean it is funny.

Ian is into Garfield comics almost as much as he likes Star Wars. Calvin and Hobbes takes a close second in the preferred reading contest. Ian understands sarcasm and is adept at using it appropriately and with excellent vocal representation. Whether that is a factor of how much sarcasm he reads or experiences at home is open for debate. He definitely gets a substantial daily dose.

For months now both kids have been eager to tell jokes at every opportunity. Sometimes I have to use joke-telling as an incentive to get them to eat their dinner or clean up a mess they have made. The much-coveted reward of getting to tell a joke at the dinner table is often enough to get them to eat vegetables they don't like. They are all about WIIFM - "What's In It For Me?".

Ainsley is usually the one who has difficulty turning off her voice to accomplish other tasks. Of the two, Ian can bring forth the control to concentrate on what needs to get done, usually with his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Lately, however, that is not the case. Ian just won't stop his mouth. It goes constantly.

Last night they both turned on their motor mouths at the dinner table and literally could not stop talking. It was a race to see who could say the most words and consume the least amount of food. Occasionally, they would stop to stick a piece of yellow corn onto a tooth and proclaim to have a lucky chomper. Since they do this every time we eat corn, it has become very difficult for me to see the humor.

Ian wanted to discuss what is in dog food. He believes the first ingredient is fart powder. I tried to explain to him why this was not an appropriate topic of discussion for the dinner table, but he insisted on carrying through with his prepared speech on the nutrients of canine chow.

Then I realized his nauseating performance is an excellent method of curbing my appetite. Perhaps he has stumbled upon a new diet plan. I should take him to Weight Watchers meetings. He could be the new "Hungry" mascot. Even this morning I had difficulty consuming my Fiber One, blueberries, and yogurt. Then again, Fiber One isn't exactly the tastiest concoction on the planet.

I promised the kids that after dinner we would have Family Wii Night. It has been ages since we have challenged each other to anything physically demanding. Tennis was the first sport Ian wanted to try. He loves to bounce around waiting for a serve.

The smack talk started immediately It was unbearable. The two of them were so busy one-upping each other verbally that they missed easy plays. Then Ian would be furious and walk of the "court" in a huff. He reminded me of John McEnroe at the height of his tennis career. Even when he was ahead, he would still complain about something being unfair. Oi!

I fell asleep later hearing both of their voices in my head, arguing, teasing, smacking, joking. My own personal hell. At midnight I heard my name being beckoned from a distance. Ian was still awake, still reliving the same freakish nightmare I was having about voices. I have no idea what time he finally fell asleep. All I know is today is a Starbucks day ... venti triple shot ... cause I'm gonna give it all back to them later when the tired hits them hard. Really hard.

But first, I'm going to go polish my "Mother of the Year" award.