Autism Rocks!
(and flaps and spins and
squeals and licks and sniffs)
Made by Professional Concepts
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Where the Wild Things Are
Tonight was unbelievable. Ian was convinced he could not take a bath in his own tub because there were monsters in it. Neither Steve nor I could convince him that his imagination had gotten the best of him.
First he was afraid and didn't know why. Then he said there was a tarantula in the tub. Then all different monsters. We offered to sit next to the tub, we offered to get in the tub, we offered to put the dog in the tub with him (Sugar wasn't thrilled with that idea at all).
Steve: Ian, I'll be right here with you. No monsters can bother you.
Ian: Daaaad, that won't work because the monsters will just ignore you and bite me instead.
At this point we had been negotiating the bath for over 30 minutes. Way too long. The time for understanding had past and it was time to put an end to the ridiculous. Ian was unwilling to compromise, and our well of creative solutions had gone dry. So, Steve helped Ian brush his teeth and put him to bed.
I went in a while later to check on him. I explained how we try to understand about his fears, but when we can't see what is bothering him, it makes it difficult for us to help. Would it help him, I asked, if he had someone other than us to talk with about the things that scare him?
Ian: "I think that would work," he said quietly, somewhat hopefully.
Relief. Maybe this will work after all.
Now if I can only find someone I trust with my baby, who he trusts with his innermost thoughts and fears. That's a mother's job, and it's hard to admit that I am not able to help him with some of the really difficult stuff.
When I received my degree in psychology, undergrads did not learn about Asperger's Syndrome because it had not been formally identified and named yet. Autism itself was not well understood and, therefore, was not dealt with in the classroom.
His fear of monsters at night is typical for a 6 year-old. Being worried about them most of the day is not. How do you help a kid battle something he cannot see when he truly believes it exists? Although some days are better than others, Ian usually will not look for me if he needs me and I am not in the same room with him. He puts his fingers in his ears and yells for me to come to him. He is fine once I am there; he just doesn't like to be alone.
When does fear become so irrational that one needs a professional monster-stomper to deal with it? I don't want him to think I am ignoring his problem, but is he to that point yet? Probably. Oi!
First he was afraid and didn't know why. Then he said there was a tarantula in the tub. Then all different monsters. We offered to sit next to the tub, we offered to get in the tub, we offered to put the dog in the tub with him (Sugar wasn't thrilled with that idea at all).
Steve: Ian, I'll be right here with you. No monsters can bother you.
Ian: Daaaad, that won't work because the monsters will just ignore you and bite me instead.
At this point we had been negotiating the bath for over 30 minutes. Way too long. The time for understanding had past and it was time to put an end to the ridiculous. Ian was unwilling to compromise, and our well of creative solutions had gone dry. So, Steve helped Ian brush his teeth and put him to bed.
I went in a while later to check on him. I explained how we try to understand about his fears, but when we can't see what is bothering him, it makes it difficult for us to help. Would it help him, I asked, if he had someone other than us to talk with about the things that scare him?
Ian: "I think that would work," he said quietly, somewhat hopefully.
Relief. Maybe this will work after all.
Now if I can only find someone I trust with my baby, who he trusts with his innermost thoughts and fears. That's a mother's job, and it's hard to admit that I am not able to help him with some of the really difficult stuff.
When I received my degree in psychology, undergrads did not learn about Asperger's Syndrome because it had not been formally identified and named yet. Autism itself was not well understood and, therefore, was not dealt with in the classroom.
His fear of monsters at night is typical for a 6 year-old. Being worried about them most of the day is not. How do you help a kid battle something he cannot see when he truly believes it exists? Although some days are better than others, Ian usually will not look for me if he needs me and I am not in the same room with him. He puts his fingers in his ears and yells for me to come to him. He is fine once I am there; he just doesn't like to be alone.
When does fear become so irrational that one needs a professional monster-stomper to deal with it? I don't want him to think I am ignoring his problem, but is he to that point yet? Probably. Oi!
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Kung Fu
Ian has wanted to learn some type of martial art for a couple of years. I have no idea why, except that maybe it's a cool thing to do. Thinking this could serve many purposes (i.e., teach him a form of self-defense for when the bullies decide he is an easy target, boost his confidence, give him an outlet for his aggression), Steve and I enrolled him in Kung Fu San Soo last fall.
Ian was thrilled. He came home from each class wanting to show me what he had learned. Steve also attended and took notes from his seat so he could help Ian practice at home. Seeing them work together on the living room floor was the greatest. Even Ainsley got into the picture when she could.
After the first session ended, Steve decided to take the class too. Ian was soon promoted to yellow belt and was extremely proud of this achievement. I was amazed at his ability to concentrate on something so complex late in the day when he is usually at his worst (o.k., I admit it: we gave him Ritalin to control his ADHD during the class, and I am not ashamed of that. Tom Cruise can go #@$% himself. If one of his kids had ADHD, he'd hire somebody else to deal with it and go make a movie. He's a complete ass.) But I digress.
Father and son continued to attend classes twice a week, and began to bond in a way that made my heart melt. We bought mats to place in our unfurnished formal living room. The two practiced the Base Eight and Battle Form 34 (which I affectionately call "Battlestar Galactica"), with Ainsley standing nearby doing kicks and shouting "hi-yah!"
When Ian was promoted to Green Belt, it was a solemn moment for him. He realized it was a tremendous achievement, yet he didn't want to tell anyone. It was as if sharing the news would break the magic spell and it would no longer be true.
Ainsley and I attended the ceremony. She was as thrilled for him as I was. She also felt that his promotion gave her the opportunity to steal his old uniform and join the class. In fact, ever since then she has tried desperately to sneak her way onto the mats to work out with the big kids. Although emulating her brother in this endeavor is something I don't mind at all, I would prefer that she wait a couple more years before she learns how to kick ass.
Last week Ainsley decided she had waited long enough. As Ian was getting ready to put on his uniform for class, she grabbed it from him and took off running. She hid in my bedroom. When she emerged, she was wearing the pants with the legs dragging under her feet. The jacket was on upside down, although her arms were where they belonged. The green sash was draped over her head. She came bounding out to the living room and announced:
Over the last few weeks, as I have sat along the sidelines watching my son and trying to keep his wiggly sister quiet, it has become clear that Ian is often lost. His form seems weak to me, and he does not appear as confident as the other kids his age who battle around him. He often has difficulty paying attention, and I am scared to death he is going to get hurt.
But when he watches the older students demonstrate their skills, he sees himself as he hopes to one day be.
When people ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he always says he wants to be a Kung Fu teacher. With that kind of vision, how can I let my own perceptions derail his plan? He believes this is his future, at least for now.
Maybe with a little one-on-one coaching he can get there. The class is large enough that it would be easy for him to get lost in the sensory stimuli around him. Eliminate that distraction, and we may have a master before us.
Steve has felt such a connection to this art form, that he had the Chinese symbols for its name tattooed on his right arm. Now, Ian wants one too, but that doesn't surprise me in the least. I free-handed the characters on his arm a couple of days ago. Then he wanted a dragon on the other arm.
Mentally, he is really into this. Who knows? Maybe when he seems to be daydreaming, he is actually visualizing himself doing the forms perfectly. If the mind is in the right place, the body will follow.
Ian was thrilled. He came home from each class wanting to show me what he had learned. Steve also attended and took notes from his seat so he could help Ian practice at home. Seeing them work together on the living room floor was the greatest. Even Ainsley got into the picture when she could.
After the first session ended, Steve decided to take the class too. Ian was soon promoted to yellow belt and was extremely proud of this achievement. I was amazed at his ability to concentrate on something so complex late in the day when he is usually at his worst (o.k., I admit it: we gave him Ritalin to control his ADHD during the class, and I am not ashamed of that. Tom Cruise can go #@$% himself. If one of his kids had ADHD, he'd hire somebody else to deal with it and go make a movie. He's a complete ass.) But I digress.
Father and son continued to attend classes twice a week, and began to bond in a way that made my heart melt. We bought mats to place in our unfurnished formal living room. The two practiced the Base Eight and Battle Form 34 (which I affectionately call "Battlestar Galactica"), with Ainsley standing nearby doing kicks and shouting "hi-yah!"
When Ian was promoted to Green Belt, it was a solemn moment for him. He realized it was a tremendous achievement, yet he didn't want to tell anyone. It was as if sharing the news would break the magic spell and it would no longer be true.
Ainsley and I attended the ceremony. She was as thrilled for him as I was. She also felt that his promotion gave her the opportunity to steal his old uniform and join the class. In fact, ever since then she has tried desperately to sneak her way onto the mats to work out with the big kids. Although emulating her brother in this endeavor is something I don't mind at all, I would prefer that she wait a couple more years before she learns how to kick ass.Last week Ainsley decided she had waited long enough. As Ian was getting ready to put on his uniform for class, she grabbed it from him and took off running. She hid in my bedroom. When she emerged, she was wearing the pants with the legs dragging under her feet. The jacket was on upside down, although her arms were where they belonged. The green sash was draped over her head. She came bounding out to the living room and announced:
Ta da! I have a uniform. Now Sifu will let me take Kung Fu!And given his absolute adoration of her cutitude, I'm sure he would let her in the class - if she weren't such a disruption.
Over the last few weeks, as I have sat along the sidelines watching my son and trying to keep his wiggly sister quiet, it has become clear that Ian is often lost. His form seems weak to me, and he does not appear as confident as the other kids his age who battle around him. He often has difficulty paying attention, and I am scared to death he is going to get hurt.
But when he watches the older students demonstrate their skills, he sees himself as he hopes to one day be.
Mom, I want to earn my brown belt.He told me after wearing his new greenbelt uniform for the first time. My heart broke just a little, because, at the moment, I didn't see that happening.
Honey, Daddy and I will help you get there, if that is what you want.I replied. And we will.
When people ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he always says he wants to be a Kung Fu teacher. With that kind of vision, how can I let my own perceptions derail his plan? He believes this is his future, at least for now.
Maybe with a little one-on-one coaching he can get there. The class is large enough that it would be easy for him to get lost in the sensory stimuli around him. Eliminate that distraction, and we may have a master before us.
Steve has felt such a connection to this art form, that he had the Chinese symbols for its name tattooed on his right arm. Now, Ian wants one too, but that doesn't surprise me in the least. I free-handed the characters on his arm a couple of days ago. Then he wanted a dragon on the other arm.
Mentally, he is really into this. Who knows? Maybe when he seems to be daydreaming, he is actually visualizing himself doing the forms perfectly. If the mind is in the right place, the body will follow.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I Got One Nerve Left, And You're On It!
Some days I have all the patience in the world to help my children resolve their arguments, fix their broken toys (or computers), and face the injustices of the world. Yesterday was not one of those days.
In fact, I was so on edge the slightest whine from either of them turned me into Tyrant Mommy. We are undergoing some unplanned construction/repairs in our master suite because of a plumbing mishap that occurred two months ago. The mess is driving me crazy, and the uncertainty of when contractors will show up puts major obstacles in our normally smooth-running schedule. Top that off with Ian's recent noon-time disconnection from reality and you have chaos, at least in my mind.
The keyboard for the kids' computer wouldn't work, and Ian was really ticked off about it. Never mind that he throws it when he gets angry. Never mind that he and Ainsley play tug-o-war with it when they can't agree on whose turn it is to use it. Never mind the thousands of hours he has logged playing video games with it. To make it worse, I was working on my computer, and he felt I was extremely unreasonable not to let him use it.
We must have gone thirty rounds of this. He just refused to accept that computer time was not an option and he would have to play with one of his toys, or read a book, or play a game. The arguing escalated, and so did the volume. Finally, when he knew he was about to be threatened with a "time out", he said:
I went upstairs for a few minutes to assist Ainsley with her poopy undies. When I returned to the living room, Ian was hanging upside down from the couch with his head next to the dog's butt (what is it with this kid and Sugar's back side???)
I sat next to his skinny legs, then dropped my head to the floor next to his. Slowly and carefully, I took his hand in mine and placed it on Sugar's back leg. Ian gently stroked her fur. Then he took a deep breath and said,
There we were, hanging upside down, with tears rolling up our foreheads. He hugged me and asked me to stay with him. Then Sugar put in her two-cents and licked our faces.
Inside, I chuckled and asked myself: How could any mother in her right mind want anything more than this?
In fact, I was so on edge the slightest whine from either of them turned me into Tyrant Mommy. We are undergoing some unplanned construction/repairs in our master suite because of a plumbing mishap that occurred two months ago. The mess is driving me crazy, and the uncertainty of when contractors will show up puts major obstacles in our normally smooth-running schedule. Top that off with Ian's recent noon-time disconnection from reality and you have chaos, at least in my mind.
The keyboard for the kids' computer wouldn't work, and Ian was really ticked off about it. Never mind that he throws it when he gets angry. Never mind that he and Ainsley play tug-o-war with it when they can't agree on whose turn it is to use it. Never mind the thousands of hours he has logged playing video games with it. To make it worse, I was working on my computer, and he felt I was extremely unreasonable not to let him use it.
But MOM, I NEED to use the computer. I HAVE to play Exoforce. You have to get OFF your computer so I can play, he ordered.The stress in his voice when he gets this way hurts my chest. He was on the brink of an explosion, and I was not sure if I could turn it around. Regardless, I felt compelled to make him understand that my computer is not his toy.
No, that's not how it works. When your computer gets fixed, you can play on it again. You'll just have to wait, I countered.
We must have gone thirty rounds of this. He just refused to accept that computer time was not an option and he would have to play with one of his toys, or read a book, or play a game. The arguing escalated, and so did the volume. Finally, when he knew he was about to be threatened with a "time out", he said:
Mom, you're going to get a time out. I am sending you to NEW YORK!!!
New York, huh? O.K., that sounds really cool. I'll do it.I said calmly, touching my chin as I contemplated how much more peaceful it would be there than it is here.
No! You can't have fun. You have to work! And you can't come back from time out until I say so!
That works for me. I said. You stay here and run the place while I go to New York for a vacation from cooking, doing laundry, going to the pool with you guys, driving you fun places, and snuggling with you when you're scared. Call my cell phone when you're ready for me to come back. I think I'll go pack.
I went upstairs for a few minutes to assist Ainsley with her poopy undies. When I returned to the living room, Ian was hanging upside down from the couch with his head next to the dog's butt (what is it with this kid and Sugar's back side???)
I sat next to his skinny legs, then dropped my head to the floor next to his. Slowly and carefully, I took his hand in mine and placed it on Sugar's back leg. Ian gently stroked her fur. Then he took a deep breath and said,
Mom, I've been talking to Sugar.
Oh, what about? I inquired.
About New York. I've decided you shouldn't go.
There we were, hanging upside down, with tears rolling up our foreheads. He hugged me and asked me to stay with him. Then Sugar put in her two-cents and licked our faces.
Inside, I chuckled and asked myself: How could any mother in her right mind want anything more than this?
Monday, June 19, 2006
The Dream Police
Steve and I had a date Saturday night. We don't go out very often, because it is difficult to find sitters who we feel comfortable leaving the kids with. There is one girl, who the kids love; but she was unavailable. Fortunately, at the very last minute, we were able to get a friend of our neighbor - a very nice, reliable, well-mannered, 13 year-old boy who calls me "ma'am". He called Steve "sir", which sent shivers up his spine; so Steve said he preferred to be called "dude".
Ainsley thought Keith was great from the moment she saw him. She is such a flirt. Ian was quiet and shy at first, not unusual for him. But he was in a negotiating mood - no, Ian wanted to be the Commander in Chief. He was testing Keith to see how far he could push. Fortunately, I forewarned Keith that he would have to be firm with Ian about everything. As long as he stood his ground, Ian would eventually back off.
Things went smoothly when we left. Quick good-bye kisses, everyone in a good mood, and we were out the door without incident. A couple of hours later I thought I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse. Sure enough, I had just missed a call from home. Quickly dialing the number, I got Keith on the phone but couldn't hear him because of the noise in the restaurant.
Steve took the phone to a quieter area to find out what was wrong. Ian had informed Keith that he was scared of the monsters in his room and ordered him to call us because we would know what to do.
Steve offered Keith three suggestions:
Thanks to Ian's love of Junie B. Jones books, that third one works like a charm. Junie B. has dream police, and she is hysterically funny, so Ian loves to emulate her. She is also extremely sassy, which he also thinks is cool. Ian's Dream Police are Bionicles and other Lego men he has created. He stations them at key points around his bedroom when he anticipates a scary night. If a bad dream develops, the Dream Police are there to knock out the bad guys.
When we returned home a couple of hours later, everything was quiet. Ian was cocooned in his sheet (he likes to sleep tightly wound so he can emerge like a butterfly in the morning), his face inches from the dog's butt. Both boy and dog were sound asleep.
Ainsley thought Keith was great from the moment she saw him. She is such a flirt. Ian was quiet and shy at first, not unusual for him. But he was in a negotiating mood - no, Ian wanted to be the Commander in Chief. He was testing Keith to see how far he could push. Fortunately, I forewarned Keith that he would have to be firm with Ian about everything. As long as he stood his ground, Ian would eventually back off.
Things went smoothly when we left. Quick good-bye kisses, everyone in a good mood, and we were out the door without incident. A couple of hours later I thought I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse. Sure enough, I had just missed a call from home. Quickly dialing the number, I got Keith on the phone but couldn't hear him because of the noise in the restaurant.
Steve took the phone to a quieter area to find out what was wrong. Ian had informed Keith that he was scared of the monsters in his room and ordered him to call us because we would know what to do.
Steve offered Keith three suggestions:
1. Tell Ian you are there to protect him, and you aren't going to let anything get him.
2. Take the dog with you, and let her sleep with him.
3. Remind Ian that his Dream Police are standing guard on his dresser to make sure nothing happens during the night.
Thanks to Ian's love of Junie B. Jones books, that third one works like a charm. Junie B. has dream police, and she is hysterically funny, so Ian loves to emulate her. She is also extremely sassy, which he also thinks is cool. Ian's Dream Police are Bionicles and other Lego men he has created. He stations them at key points around his bedroom when he anticipates a scary night. If a bad dream develops, the Dream Police are there to knock out the bad guys.
When we returned home a couple of hours later, everything was quiet. Ian was cocooned in his sheet (he likes to sleep tightly wound so he can emerge like a butterfly in the morning), his face inches from the dog's butt. Both boy and dog were sound asleep.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
A Cool and Calm Moment
It is Saturday. The kids are playing upstairs. They are being creative...together!!! They are mixing pieces from Ainsley's Dora the Explorer Talking House and Ian's Bionicles to create some evil creature stomping machine. Ian's dialogue is mature, and Ainsley mimics him. It is great to hear them getting along so well.
Wait just a second . . . I hear the rumbling of an argument . . . could it be? Yes, the peace is over because someone decided to play on the computer. Now they are arguing over who gets to use the mouse. Aaaaaaauuuuggggg!!!
I walk upstairs to assist in settling the argument. Since Ian likes to negotiate, I offer him a deal. Whoever goes potty and gets dressed first plays on the computer first. Ian does not like that deal at all, because, he argues:
Meanwhile, Ainsley is heading for the bathroom. While the "unfairness" discussion continues with Ian, Ainsley manages to wet her pants while standing right next to the toilet.
It has been fifteen minutes since the deal was put on the table, and Ian is still sulking at the computer, waiting for a grown-up to log in for him. Running footsteps over my head. Giggles of the naked three year-old kind. Sounds like Ainsley may have taken the bait. A door slams on Ian's side of the hall. Wait a second . . . right on cue, Ian says:
Ahh, things are back to normal.
Wait just a second . . . I hear the rumbling of an argument . . . could it be? Yes, the peace is over because someone decided to play on the computer. Now they are arguing over who gets to use the mouse. Aaaaaaauuuuggggg!!!
I walk upstairs to assist in settling the argument. Since Ian likes to negotiate, I offer him a deal. Whoever goes potty and gets dressed first plays on the computer first. Ian does not like that deal at all, because, he argues:
I do NOT go potty on days when I play on the computer! And I don't WANT to get dressed! Quit making deals! That's not fair!
Meanwhile, Ainsley is heading for the bathroom. While the "unfairness" discussion continues with Ian, Ainsley manages to wet her pants while standing right next to the toilet.
It has been fifteen minutes since the deal was put on the table, and Ian is still sulking at the computer, waiting for a grown-up to log in for him. Running footsteps over my head. Giggles of the naked three year-old kind. Sounds like Ainsley may have taken the bait. A door slams on Ian's side of the hall. Wait a second . . . right on cue, Ian says:
Be QUIET in there!
Ahh, things are back to normal.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Tag Along Mom
Today I had the privilege of chaperoning my first field trip for Ian's science class. We went to a nature preserve, where the kids learned about insects, plants, animals, and their ecosystems. I learned that five and six year-olds will touch just about anything and think it's cool.
Several of the children were specially gifted, like my son. Each of them was accepted by the others, regardless of their challenges. Each was considered a friend because of his or her strengths and the brilliance of their personalities. Why isn't the rest of society like this?
All of the kids were enthusiastic about learning and wanted to absorb as much as they could in a short amount of time. They proudly touted their knowledge and spouted words such as "nocturnal", "camouflage", "amphibian", and "carnivore" - proof that children can learn just about anything if presented with the challenge.
For me, the best part of the trip was when a boy asked my son if he would sit with him on the bus ride. Ian said, "Thanks, but I'm sitting with my mom." Then he wrapped his little arms around my leg, put his cheek on my hip, and hugged me. I'll have to remember that moment ten years from now when he'll be walking ten steps behind me at the mall so none of his friends will know he is shopping for underwear with his mother. Or, perhaps, he will still think I am the greatest and walk proudly beside me as he did today. One can hope.
Several of the children were specially gifted, like my son. Each of them was accepted by the others, regardless of their challenges. Each was considered a friend because of his or her strengths and the brilliance of their personalities. Why isn't the rest of society like this?
All of the kids were enthusiastic about learning and wanted to absorb as much as they could in a short amount of time. They proudly touted their knowledge and spouted words such as "nocturnal", "camouflage", "amphibian", and "carnivore" - proof that children can learn just about anything if presented with the challenge.
For me, the best part of the trip was when a boy asked my son if he would sit with him on the bus ride. Ian said, "Thanks, but I'm sitting with my mom." Then he wrapped his little arms around my leg, put his cheek on my hip, and hugged me. I'll have to remember that moment ten years from now when he'll be walking ten steps behind me at the mall so none of his friends will know he is shopping for underwear with his mother. Or, perhaps, he will still think I am the greatest and walk proudly beside me as he did today. One can hope.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Chocolate Soup
Since we discovered Ian's food allergies, he has been a pretty good sport about the restrictions that have been placed on him. To help him get over the initial shock, I agreed to follow the same dietary guidelines so he wouldn't feel alone in his suffering. (I only did it for a few weeks until he got used to it.) It worked well, and he surprised me with a great attitude and rapid improvements in his attention, calmness, and willingness to try new foods.
I, on the other hand, had to choke the stuff down with a convincing smile on my face. Rice milk is just plain awful, and ice cream made from rice milk is just about the nastiest thing you could put in your mouth, other than rice cheese, which does not deserve to be called "cheese" at all. Ian LOVES the stuff. Occasionally, he gets upset that he can't have a traditional goodie, but that doesn't happen very often.
One night during dinner, however, Ian decided he was missing the richness of real chocolate. So, he came up with a recipe for chocolate soup. He began listing all the ingredients he would put in it: chocolate pudding, chocolate ice cream, chocolate milk, chocolate candy, oreos, chocolate syrup, etc. We all took turns adding our favorite chocolate temptations.
"And the secret ingredient is....." he announced, as he got up from his chair and walked over to my side to whisper it in my ear. My heart pounded as I expected to hear something sweet, like "mommy's kisses". In typical 6 year-old boy fashion, he said, very delicately . . .
I wonder if Martha Stewart would be interested in the recipe for this delicacy for her next cookbook.
I, on the other hand, had to choke the stuff down with a convincing smile on my face. Rice milk is just plain awful, and ice cream made from rice milk is just about the nastiest thing you could put in your mouth, other than rice cheese, which does not deserve to be called "cheese" at all. Ian LOVES the stuff. Occasionally, he gets upset that he can't have a traditional goodie, but that doesn't happen very often.
One night during dinner, however, Ian decided he was missing the richness of real chocolate. So, he came up with a recipe for chocolate soup. He began listing all the ingredients he would put in it: chocolate pudding, chocolate ice cream, chocolate milk, chocolate candy, oreos, chocolate syrup, etc. We all took turns adding our favorite chocolate temptations.
"And the secret ingredient is....." he announced, as he got up from his chair and walked over to my side to whisper it in my ear. My heart pounded as I expected to hear something sweet, like "mommy's kisses". In typical 6 year-old boy fashion, he said, very delicately . . .
chocolate farts!
I wonder if Martha Stewart would be interested in the recipe for this delicacy for her next cookbook.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Learning Self Control
Last Friday my parents brought my two nieces down for a weekend of kid-filled chaos. Four children, all under the age of seven, three of them girls. The bitchiness was unbelievable!
Ian made me so proud. When play time escalated to loud arguments over a toy, he calmly took his LeapPad and headphones to another room and did his own thing. He did not participate in many arguments or get caught up in the doldrums of competitive attention-seeking. He regulated his emotions and his sensory needs extremely well. An outsider would call his escapist behavior rude; my husband and I wanted to stand up and cheer.
On Sunday, after my family departed, he asked to play on the computer. On one hand, I wanted to let him as a reward for doing so well with a house full of guests. On the other hand, he needed to spend some quality time with our wonderful new Boxer who was adopted into our family on Saturday. I suggested he take her for a walk. To my surprise, he jumped at the chance and completely forgot about the computer for the rest of the day.
On Monday, I waited for the explosion. We had friends over to play in the afternoon, went to the pool for an hour, then rushed to eat dinner and head to Kung Fu. He was exhausted when we finally got home and went to bed with great delight, as the dog climbed in bed with him.
This morning, I walked gingerly to his room to awaken him, only to be surprised with another great mood. He hesitated to go to school, wanting instead to stay home and watch t.v. After I probed a little, he admitted that he really wanted to spend some time with me. Awwwwww.
As a special treat I am picking him up from school for a lunch date at his favorite restaurant. Then, at his request, we will spend the afternoon playing checkers.
Have we passed the meltdown stage? Has he really learned how to monitor his feelings well enough to avoid becoming overwhelmed? Time will tell, but all of my fingers are crossed, whjmic is uhy i annm hvg trbl tyypppinng!
Bedtime: I'm glad I wasn't holding my breath, too. The meltdown has occurred, only this time it was not nearly as bad as expected. It's still progress. He says he doesn't want to live with us any longer because Steve made him end his bath early. Except for the growling while curled in a fetal position under a towel, I'd say it was more of a typical 6 year-old throwing a tantrum for not getting his way. Not bad.
Ian made me so proud. When play time escalated to loud arguments over a toy, he calmly took his LeapPad and headphones to another room and did his own thing. He did not participate in many arguments or get caught up in the doldrums of competitive attention-seeking. He regulated his emotions and his sensory needs extremely well. An outsider would call his escapist behavior rude; my husband and I wanted to stand up and cheer.
On Sunday, after my family departed, he asked to play on the computer. On one hand, I wanted to let him as a reward for doing so well with a house full of guests. On the other hand, he needed to spend some quality time with our wonderful new Boxer who was adopted into our family on Saturday. I suggested he take her for a walk. To my surprise, he jumped at the chance and completely forgot about the computer for the rest of the day.
On Monday, I waited for the explosion. We had friends over to play in the afternoon, went to the pool for an hour, then rushed to eat dinner and head to Kung Fu. He was exhausted when we finally got home and went to bed with great delight, as the dog climbed in bed with him.
This morning, I walked gingerly to his room to awaken him, only to be surprised with another great mood. He hesitated to go to school, wanting instead to stay home and watch t.v. After I probed a little, he admitted that he really wanted to spend some time with me. Awwwwww.
As a special treat I am picking him up from school for a lunch date at his favorite restaurant. Then, at his request, we will spend the afternoon playing checkers.
Have we passed the meltdown stage? Has he really learned how to monitor his feelings well enough to avoid becoming overwhelmed? Time will tell, but all of my fingers are crossed, whjmic is uhy i annm hvg trbl tyypppinng!
Bedtime: I'm glad I wasn't holding my breath, too. The meltdown has occurred, only this time it was not nearly as bad as expected. It's still progress. He says he doesn't want to live with us any longer because Steve made him end his bath early. Except for the growling while curled in a fetal position under a towel, I'd say it was more of a typical 6 year-old throwing a tantrum for not getting his way. Not bad.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Potty Training and My "George Carlin" Moment
When Ainsley decided a couple of months ago that she was ready for big girl panties, I was thrilled. No longer would I have to carry a huge purse with Pullups and wipes stashed inside, which always had to be removed in order to locate my wallet. (This is especially impressive when you are at the liquor store buying tequila.) And, even more important, my baby girl would be accomplishing this milestone 2 years sooner than her brother did, ending my 6 year butt-wiping gig. Well, not an end to it exactly, but at least a significant enough decrease that I could justify having my nails done professionally again.
I believed whole-heartedly that my brilliant daughter would master her newly acquired skill in about 7 days. M&Ms make anything possible, and when they don't do the trick for her, I get her share. At least then, I feel good. Potty training is taking a little longer than expected. For the first few weeks she made consistent progress. Lately, though, as she often seems to become trapped in her fantasy world, I am cleaning up more accidents (and eating more M&Ms) than I should be at this point.
Today was a doozy. I swear that kid pooped every time my back was turned for more than 3 seconds. Even Ian had an accident, which he left in the bathroom floor.
"Honey, did you make that mess in the bathroom?" I asked Ian.
"Um, yeah," he replied as he turned a page in his book. Did I mention he was naked from the waist down? Must be a guy thing.
"Well, then, you need to go clean it up."
"Actually, Mom. That's YOUR job," he defied.
Oh-no-you-di'n't! HE cleaned it up.
Ainsley's last accident, which occured 5 minutes later, really drained my sense of humor. In the bathroom, I had her stand on the toilet seat so I could carefully roll the poop out of her Dora the Explorer panties and into the toilet without getting it all over her.
Here is where George Carlin entered the plot. He has a bit in which he states that ONLY when you are using a disgusting public toilet, with all of its nasty germs just waiting to attack, will this happen: When the poop hits the water, it will splash icky water right up into your you-know-what the second that it remains open after the poop takes the plunge, then it will snap shut fast so the icky drop cannot escape.
Here is my version: I was holding Ainsley by the waist with my left arm, shaking the poop out of her underwear with my right hand, and my head was behind her behind, making sure everything went to its proper place. The poop hit the water and . . . that disgusting water droplet sailed through the air and hit me right in the eye!
"EW!!!!!!!" I said.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" my little darling asked.
"Well, the toilet water spashed in my eye."
"It's o.k., Mommy, I'll wipe it. That's MY job."
Tell, me please, if her brain can understand her brother's earlier comment and apply it appropriately to this very similar (albeit, notably more disgusting) situation, then WHY CAN'T SHE HIT THE TOILET ONCE IN A WHILE??
George, if you read this, please give me the good humor to survive potty training kids on the autism spectrum and the wisdom to know when it is time to say "Enough already, I'm heading to happy hour!"
I believed whole-heartedly that my brilliant daughter would master her newly acquired skill in about 7 days. M&Ms make anything possible, and when they don't do the trick for her, I get her share. At least then, I feel good. Potty training is taking a little longer than expected. For the first few weeks she made consistent progress. Lately, though, as she often seems to become trapped in her fantasy world, I am cleaning up more accidents (and eating more M&Ms) than I should be at this point.
Today was a doozy. I swear that kid pooped every time my back was turned for more than 3 seconds. Even Ian had an accident, which he left in the bathroom floor.
"Honey, did you make that mess in the bathroom?" I asked Ian.
"Um, yeah," he replied as he turned a page in his book. Did I mention he was naked from the waist down? Must be a guy thing.
"Well, then, you need to go clean it up."
"Actually, Mom. That's YOUR job," he defied.
Oh-no-you-di'n't! HE cleaned it up.
Ainsley's last accident, which occured 5 minutes later, really drained my sense of humor. In the bathroom, I had her stand on the toilet seat so I could carefully roll the poop out of her Dora the Explorer panties and into the toilet without getting it all over her.
Here is where George Carlin entered the plot. He has a bit in which he states that ONLY when you are using a disgusting public toilet, with all of its nasty germs just waiting to attack, will this happen: When the poop hits the water, it will splash icky water right up into your you-know-what the second that it remains open after the poop takes the plunge, then it will snap shut fast so the icky drop cannot escape.
Here is my version: I was holding Ainsley by the waist with my left arm, shaking the poop out of her underwear with my right hand, and my head was behind her behind, making sure everything went to its proper place. The poop hit the water and . . . that disgusting water droplet sailed through the air and hit me right in the eye!
"EW!!!!!!!" I said.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" my little darling asked.
"Well, the toilet water spashed in my eye."
"It's o.k., Mommy, I'll wipe it. That's MY job."
Tell, me please, if her brain can understand her brother's earlier comment and apply it appropriately to this very similar (albeit, notably more disgusting) situation, then WHY CAN'T SHE HIT THE TOILET ONCE IN A WHILE??
George, if you read this, please give me the good humor to survive potty training kids on the autism spectrum and the wisdom to know when it is time to say "Enough already, I'm heading to happy hour!"
Friday, June 02, 2006
He Hears EVERYTHING!!!
We like to kid ourselves and think children don't hear or understand everything we say. While they may not know the actual definitions of words, they seem to comprehend the context with amazing accuracy. That is where we get into trouble.
Last night Steve was helping Ian wash his hair. When he turned on the water to rinse, it was very cold. Steve muttered the f-word under his breath in exasperation.
Ian: Daddy, why do you always say that word when something goes wrong?
Steve: Uhhhh......
Last night Steve was helping Ian wash his hair. When he turned on the water to rinse, it was very cold. Steve muttered the f-word under his breath in exasperation.
Ian: Daddy, why do you always say that word when something goes wrong?
Steve: Uhhhh......
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