The Joy of a One Dollar Toy

It was a nice Christmas for our family, full of little moments that I will remember for a long time. Hopefully, Ian and Ainsley have some favorite hours, or days, in this season of wackiness we call a holiday.

The week was not without its challenges and tears. Ainsley shed most of them, and I the rest. She has been going through an extremely difficult phase for quite some time, with little or no progress toward growing out of it.

She has become extremely rigid and must always have things done her way. At mealtime, foods must be arranged according to her specifications on her plate, and they must never touch each other. Naturally, if she wants to dip her steak in applesauce, it's o.k., but each must remain in its own section of the plate until she decides the combination is worth trying. Although she is highly skilled in the use of silverware, her fingers are still her main instrument for getting food - even ketchup - into her mouth.

Sensory issues are cropping up regularly and consistently. Appliance noises (you know, the high pitched blender-type ones) send her running from the room with her hands over her ears. She fights having her hair washed or brushed. Getting a toothbrush in her mouth without holding her down is a rare - she's going to have Grinch teeth before she turns 4. Most socks bother her feet. She prefers sandals year-round.

Ainsley is still afraid to go on play dates at other children's houses, especially if I will not be staying with her. And if I do, she is glued to me the entire time. Friends are always welcome to play at her house, where she is in control.

She has taken several steps back in potty training and can't seem to move forward again. She will start doing the pee-pee dance and squeal, "Mommy, I have to go potty!", run zig-zagging through furniture and taking an indirect route through Wisconsin before arriving at the bathroom 20 feet away, then declare that she doesn't need to go. Two hours later she'll repeat the ritual and perhaps have a small accident before she finally agrees to do something about it.

All day, she talks to herself, usually repeating dialog from one of her favorite television programs or movies. Lately, she is stuck on Robots. Our family is constantly being instructed that "we must save Bigweld!"

When she is around anyone other than immediate family, she adopts her Dora the Explorer personality - extremely outgoing and exuberant - to hide the fact that she is terrified. Strangers think she is absolutely adorable (which she is, of course) because they have no idea they are witnessing a performance.

At the dinner table she talks incessantly and is in her own little world, completely unable to stop talking or to acknowledge what the rest of us are saying to her. She rambles on, even while she is chewing, and seems to ignore everything going on around her.

In other words, she is as Ian was when she was born.

On the 23rd my mother suggested what I have been thinking all along, but didn't want to admit: Ainsley is showing strong signs of having Asperger's.

I am going to wait a couple of weeks to have her tested, just to see if having life back to normal around here makes a difference, but I really don't expect it will. I completed a screening tool for Asperger's, just like the one used for Ian several months ago to confirm his diagnosis, and she scored the same as he did. This is not a surprise, but it is still heart breaking.

Santa left each of the kids a gift in their stockings that has helped both of them focus, relax, and have a great time over the last couple of days - harmonicas! This evening, Ian and Ainsley regaled us with their version of the "Goin' to Bed Blues Ballet". For the first time in weeks, my heart swelled bigger than my sugar-cookie-stuffed belly.


Ainsley is a real in-your-face-Steven-Tyler-sort of musician. Ian is more soulful, preferring to tap his foot, close his eyes, and bob his head as he sings and plays.

How can these children exhaust and exasperate me every chance they get, yet in an instant charm me from head to toe simply by breathing through metal and plastic? I think we all took a deep breath tonight. We needed it so badly. If our fate is to ride the autism roller coaster with two children, we are really going to need to BREATH DEEPLY . . . and OFTEN! Maybe we will make harmonica ballet our new form of family therapy.

I keep hearing a beeping sound coming from the family room. The kids are lying side-by-side on the couch . . . talking to each other on walkie-talkies! Maybe tomorrow Steve can show them how to get more practical use out of their new gadgets, but right now they are too cute to disturb.