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.

My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

This year I want to enjoy the holidays. No more fretting about gifts, sizes, food, lines, credit, or impressions. Here is how YOU can help me do it:

For every battery operated toy you put under our tree, please include long-lasting batteries if it is a fun/educational toy. If it sucks, put used batteries in that will last just long enough for the recipient to figure out that it sucks but not long enough to give me a headache. Better yet, leave all the toys requiring batteries at someone else's house. I want silence so I can slowly and peacefully sip my eggnog on Christmas morning, not gulp it down with 3 Advil like a New Year's hangover.

If you must put candy in the kids' stockings, please make it sugar-free. Ian has been on a hypoglycemic roller coaster ride these last few weeks because of all the parties and treats friends are giving him. And Ainsley thinks M&Ms are a breakfast food, so don't even go there.

Let's shoot for quality, not quantity, o.k.? This is a valuable lesson the kids need to learn now. Oh, and leave the price tags on everything. That will help. Gifts receipts would be nice, too, just in case.

For every Lego or Bionicle set you give to Ian, please include 2 sets of laminated and collated directions. One normal version for Ian, and the "Assembly Instructions for Parents Who Are Not And Never Will Be Engineers" for me. Steve, as you know, does not need instructions for anything.

Do not bring Ainsley any Barbie dolls. She hates them. I don't know why, but I am grateful there are no teeny-tiny floozy pumps scattered throughout my house. She'll learn to hate her body soon enough without Barbie's help.

Please wrap your presents in a different kind of paper than I use. Ian is smart enough to figure out our secret if he keeps seeing your presents in the same red stuff with gold stars that has appeared the last 3 years on both of our gifts. I can't hide that roll forever! Work with me here!

Well, that should about do it. Send me an email if you have any specific questions.

Oh, don't take it personally that my kids don't want to come see you at the mall. They saw "A Christmas Story", and quite frankly, they are terrified you'll push them down the slide with your foot like you did to Ralphie. Somebody must have forgotten to take his Prozac that day, hmmmmmm?

Love and hugs,
Ian and Ainsley's Mom


P. S. Could you ask the reindeer not to poop on our front lawn? Man, that stuff took forever to clean up last year. Can't they hold it till you get to New Jersey or someplace where no one will notice the smell? What on earth do you feed them, anyway?

How to Create a Snow Storm in Your Bathroom (In Case You Ever Need to Know)

I am writing today with a runny nose and a vicious cough. No, I don't have a cold. I am suffering from Johnson & Johnson talcuminhaleitis. It's a very rare and annoying reaction that occurs when one breathes too much baby powder.

Late last night I heard a thumping sound coming from upstairs in the direction of Ian's room. This is never a good sign. Steve went up to check on him. I heard him tell Ian very loudly to get back in bed and go to sleep. Quick footsteps down the stairs. I met him in the hall and asked what had happened.

Ian had decided his Rescue Heroes needed to save someone from a snow storm. Soooooooo, he emptied two baby powder containers onto the bathroom floor and began making dog sled tracks through it. Powder coated everything. The room was already white; now it glistens.

It was too much mess to try to clean up last night, so I waited until this morning and woke him up 15 minutes early with vacuum cleaner in hand. He was still very proud of his ingenuity. I was beginning to see the humor in it, but there was no way I was going to let him know. Together we vacuumed, swept, and wet-wiped. Still, the powdered sugar-like coating stayed. I wanted to call The Cat in the Hat to see if Little Cat Z could spare some VOOM.

On our way to school, I told Ian that I am no longer angry about the mess. However, if he ever does something like that again, he will be cleaning it solo. . .with his toothbrush. This was probably a mistake. The wheels in his head have surely been turning all day trying to come up with a new way to redecorate the bathroom with toothpaste. That's pretty much all that is left in there, since he used the entire 16-ounce bottle of lotion to finger paint on his mirror last week. I guess he could do something with shampoo or bath soap.

Does anyone know how to safety-proof a house from a 7 year-old?

Q & A: aka Quandaries and Advice

O.K., parents of Aspies...I need your help.

After years of food issues and constipation, Ian is finally expanding his diet and experiencing . . . shall we say . . . a lightening of the load. "Will he poop today?" is no longer the question. It has become a matter of "How many times will he poop today?"

This is good and bad. I don't think I need to tell you the good aspects of regularity. The bad? He is obsessed with it. Every time he goes to the bathroom he poops. He goes several times at home and at school. And he is extremely interested in it. The wallpaper in one of the bathrooms recently had some new aromatic finger paint impressions on it. (Why a kid chooses to use a wall to wipe his hands instead of the toilet paper, Kleenex, or wet wipes all within reach is COMPLETELY BEYOND ME!) Why would he want to touch poop? And why on Earth would it be something he would want to do more than once? Right now I am so grossified, I tremble whenever he walks in the direction of a bathroom.

Have any of your Aspie/autistic kids had this obsession? Any guesses, educated or otherwise, why this would happen?

(Maybe he has overheard me say, "shit" often enough that he thinks it's a command, rather an an expletive.)

O Christmas Tree

We put up the Christmas tree on Sunday. It took all afternoon to assemble, fluff, and decorate. Thank goodness it is pre-lit. The kids wrapped themselves in the pearl beads I string around it, and I am not certain they would have survived if they had done that with lights.

It was exciting for them both. Ian couldn't wait to get into the ornament boxes. For the first time, I pretty much let them explore the stuff and make a mess. Remembering the significance of each ornament as it is rediscovered in its yellowed wrapping is half the fun. It is one of my favorite parts about the holidays, and I hope Ian is starting to develop the same appreciation for family traditions.

Things started to get a little crazy as the kids hung everything on the lower level of branches. Meanwhile, Steve and I attempted to hang the pearls and candied fruit by standing on ladders. Realizing we would have to distract them if the job was ever going to get done, we put in The Polar Express DVD to occupy them during the hazardous work. Then I felt it was safe to finish unpacking all the Hallmark ornaments and cherished collectibles.

When the movie was over, the kids came back to discover their treasures. Ian found a train he received from my parents a couple of years ago, and it immediately became the Christmas toy of reverence. A fight immediately ensued which resulted in screaming, hitting, name calling, wrestling, time-outs, apologies, more arguing... ah, the holidays!

Ian really lost his cool. That was when we realized just how stressful this time of year is for little kids, especially for those who need a routine. Just the act of putting up a tree in the dining room can really rock his world. Here is this 9 foot tall plant, brightly lit and decorated with shiny things that are fun to stare at and play with. It's mesmerizing, and it's in the way! AND it is a constant reminder that if he isn't PERFECT the guy in the red suit might not bring him any toys. The pressure is excruciating.

After all that emotional turmoil just to put up a Christmas tree, I decided once the stockings were hung no more ornamentation would be bestowed upon our home this year. This is all the change Ian can handle, and I am not putting him through more than that just for the sake of decking the halls. The boughs of holly will just have to wait until next year, or maybe never.

I do hope to remember to take down my hot pink flower banner from the front of the house, even if I don't find my Christmas one to replace it. The neighbors are starting to give me funny looks when they see me. I'd like to hang a banner that says, "I choose simplicity so my autistic son can enjoy the holidays too", but then I'd have to put an * at the bottom to explain why this is so. By the time I was finished, the banner would look like a shroud around the house and everyone would think we were a couple of months behind in our holidays. Some things are better left unsaid.

So tonight, after the kids went to bed, I stopped to look at our glorious tree. It truly is beautiful. Hopefully, as each Christmas comes to pass, the kids will slowly feel less stress as they begin to understand that our tree is a symbol of our family's love, not a reminder of all the stuff we get from the rotund bearded guy.

It Never Hurts to Ask

In the battle over homework, no one wins. I know I said a few weeks ago that Ian would have to suffer the consequences of not finishing his homework. But there is also a valuable lesson to be learned in completing a task you aren't crazy about because you know ultimately there is a benefit. Ian doesn't buy that logic. Neither do most kids. But when he fails to complete his classroom work and it is sent home in addition to the regular homework assignment, then there is a problem.

He keeps saying, "I'm bored in school. I already know how to do this." He does master things easily. If his social skills were on target, I would have him tested to move ahead a grade. But being with older kids is not in his best interest. He has to learn to pay attention to what is going on in class, even if he doesn't find it to be particularly interesting.

He keeps saying, "I am having trouble concentrating in class". Now, that's a problem I can work with. Adjust medications, talk to the teachers about his schedule at school, put him to bed earlier - these are things I can do.

He keeps saying, "I'll do the reading, but I am NOT going to do the writing". Yes, writing is difficult for him. He can do it with much effort, but it really wears him out. Writing, it turns out, is always the source of homework frustration. So, yesterday I asked one of Ian's teachers if he could do his homework on the computer. She said because he has plenty of writing time at school, that would be fine.

COOL!!!

We tried it when Ian came home from school. He was thrilled at the chance to use the computer for something new. I got him started in a Word document. Then he proudly told me to go away and let him do it himself. Can't argue with that. An hour later he was still plugging away, one key at a time. And then. . .he exited. . .without saving. . .because I forgot to show him how :(

It was gone. The entire assignment. He had been so proud of his work, and it disappeared forever with one quick mouse click. Steve, Ian, and I all felt ourselves fall about 50 feet underground.

I offered to retype it for him in the morning during breakfast. As the crazy morning routine got underway, I realized that was not going to happen, so I wrote out the answers for him as he dictated them to me. For the first time all year, the writing assignment was completed with enthusiasm. It's amazing what a little maple syrup over waffles and homework will do for an attitude problem. I hope his teacher doesn't mind a sticky page.