When Cotton Candy is a Bad Idea

Ian's elementary school had their winter social on Saturday night. Games, cake walk, dancing, silent auction, raffle. . .the usual fund raiser stuff. Our PTA does a wonderful job making sure the kids have everything they need. It is unbelievable how many parents are involved at this school. Since it is difficult for me to put in much time volunteering, I donated a painting to the silent auction. I kept sneaking into the library to see what the bids were bringing. It was such a rush! My first painting to be sold for charity!

Ainsley wanted to do everything that Ian did. First they both bought a bag of popcorn. Then Ian had his hair spray painted orange and red. Ainsley went for purple and green. Then Ian had a lightning bolt painted on his cheek, just after he told the artist a Lightning McQueen joke from Cars. Then Ainsley did the same. Finally, we went to the gym for the dance. The kids each had cotton candy and bopped around a little. The music, of course, was loud with loads of people standing around.

Ian did very well for the next few minutes while we put our raffle entries in the baskets. He didn't quite understand the concept of the raffle. He thought he could just go up and claim any prize he wanted and we could buy it for him. As I was explaining the rules of the raffle, the cotton candy high hit him. He became completely irrational.

The more I tried to clarify the concept for him, the angrier he got. Steve and I quickly saw this was only going to spiral rapidly downward, so we left.

At home, he marched upstairs, stripping as he went, and mumbling something about tearing down our house and punching all of us. We knew the atmosphere had been too much for him, so it was very unlikely that he would really do much damage. Instead, he started crying. He was completely exhausted.

Since the behavior change had come on so quickly after the cotton candy, I assumed he needed some protein in his belly to help his metabolism level out. I brought him some peanut butter, and within a minute he was breathing normally, had calmed down, and seemed better able to focus outward instead of inward. He then asked for CHEESE! He never does that. After eating a couple of ounces of cheese, he was his old self again and was ready to put on pj's and go to bed.

So now we know. . .cotton candy and reactive hypoglycemia are a bad combination. DUH!

Things I Never Thought I Would Say

Never in a million years did I ever imagine I would say certain things to my children. These were just unfathomable. When I heard them come from my own mouth, or out of Steve's, I had to start keeping a list because I knew there would come a time when I needed a laugh, and this list would come in handy. Enjoy mine, then start your own list. You can always use it for blackmail when the time is right.

1. New rule: No peeing in the trashcan.

2. Don't lick the gum on the bottom of your shoe.

3. Please stop coughing on my butt.

4. Do not tape the dog.

5. Steve: "Your daughter just put chicken up her nose."
Carla: "Don't worry, it will come out eventually."
Ainsley: [sneezes]
Steve: "All clear!"

6. Don't drink from the elephant.

7. Do not stick your finger in the dog's ear/nose/butt.

8. No licking or eating your sibling.

9. The bathtub may be white, but it is not a salt lick.

10. Pajama tops are not toilet paper.

A Week of Firsts

My head is spinning. Ian has surprised me in so many little ways lately that I've hardly had time to keep track of them all. Perhaps the biggest one occurred on Friday, but it took some planning ahead on my part.

Ian has been taking his lunch to school every day for the last year and a half. We knew it was highly unlikely the cafeteria would ever serve something he wanted, and the complex process of getting a tray, choosing a milk (there is plain, chocolate, and strawberry), selecting an entree, picking a vegetable, selecting a fruit, paying with a PIN number (he has an account so he doesn't have to bring money to school), and remembering to pick up eating utensils was more choices than he could handle. And the situation is very fast-paced, which makes it even more difficult for him to make choices.

Every morning I have attempted to pack a healthy lunch of the things he is willing to eat: apple slices, peanut butter in a cup, pretzels, and bottled water or Pediasure. Lately, 99% of this has been returning home after school. We both seemed to be in a rut: Ian for not wanting to eat anything, and me for not being able to come up with something that would interest him.

Once in a great while, novelty is enough to get him interested in trying something new. I started wondering if an occasional purchased lunch would jump start his appetite. It would also give me a few extra minutes to help him with homework in the morning. On Tuesday I asked him, "Would you like to buy your lunch at school on Friday? They are having pizza!"

Ian thought about it for. . .oh, 1/100 of a second. . .and shouted, "Yeah! Cool!" He was just as excited about Ainsley and me joining him for lunch that day. While he brushed his teeth I ran to the computer and added funds to his school lunch account - not too much, just enough for him to try it a few times and maybe buy his milk every day for a few weeks. Sort of a trial period.

Friday got here terribly fast, but Ainsley and I made it to school at 10:15. A little early for lunch, don't you think? So do I, but the school sets the schedule, not me. Ian's classroom teacher and Special Ed teacher were wonderful to coordinate with each other and let me take Ian out of class a few minutes early. The Special Ed teacher walked with us to the cafeteria and explained how everything works, letting Ian make his choices and put them on his own tray. He had a blast.

By the time we were finished paying, the cafeteria was filling up quickly with the rest of his first grade classmates. We sat at the table reserved for visiting parents and their kids. Ainsley felt especially grown up, until she dropped her pizza down the front of her white t-shirt. She never really recovered after that. Ian, on the other hand, ate more than I have seen him consume at lunch in ages. He felt very special to have us there, and I think we both were proud of this victory.

When Ian was a baby and I held him in my arms, wondering what his future would be like, I did not imagine the difficulties we would be facing together. My rose-colored glasses only saw shining achievements far above what other children could accomplish. Now the exceptional academic successes seem far less important than his baby steps in everyday life and social skills most people take for granted. I wish I could take him to Staples and press the "easy" button to make all of the perplexing formalities make sense to him.
I swear, some days I feel like gluing a pad of Post-it notes to my forehead. I could put instructions for everything in life on those little pieces of paper and he could pull them off and stick them where he would remember them. But then Ainsley would take the Post-its because they are yellow (her favorite color) and move them, thus messing up the "system", and Ian would be left sitting on the floor pressing his fingers to his thumb and contemplating the sticky feeling left behind from the Post-its.

How the hell did I go from being proud that Ian bought his lunch in the cafeteria to talking about Post-its? It's time for a vacation...by myself.

New for Breakfast - High Fiber Cereal?

Like all Aspies, Ian is a creature of habit, especially when it comes to eating. I think it's fair to make that generalization. He prefers the same thing for breakfast most of the time - pancakes or waffles, turkey bacon, and chocolate milk. He has never been a big cereal fan, unless it's something like Cookie Crisp or Cocoa Puffs - you know, the really "nutritious" breakfast choices.

Yesterday he saw Steve's box of Wheat Chex and announced that was what he wanted for breakfast. He had no idea that I mix the Wheat Chex with Fiber One. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him. In fact, it may make him healthier.

So. . .he poured himself a bowl and asked for the milk. Then, in mid-pour, he screamed, "NO! I want chocolate milk."

Steve had a look on his face that said, "No freakin' way am I pouring chocolate milk on cereal."

And I was thinking, "Who cares if he pours WATER on it? He's eating HIGH FIBER CEREAL!" I walked over to the bar and poured Ian's cup of chocolate milk into the bowl.

Ian took a huge bite. With milk dripping down his chin and cereal falling out of his mouth, he said, "DELICIOUS!" At least, that's what I am pretty sure I heard since he finished the entire bowl and drank the chocolate milk that was left in the bottom (I taught him that trick).

Although I have no intention of logging his bowel movements in a spreadsheet to see if this has an effect on him, I am pretty sure it will. And even if it doesn't, at least it shows Ian is coming around to the idea of variety.

Maybe, someday, I'll wake up early on a Sunday morning to fix him Eggs Benedict. Who knows? It could happen.

Art for the Sake of Art

I have done very little writing lately because I have been busy painting my passion that is left after I spend the day with my children. Now that I am almost recovered from pneumonia, I seem to have a lot more energy for both.

Ian is extremely interested in what I am doing. He is probably my biggest fan. He has been wanting me to paint his portrait for several weeks now, as he has noticed that my true talent seems to lie in capturing the emotion in faces. So over the weekend I found one of my favorite photos of Ian and began to paint his beautiful face as it was at the age of three.


He was so excited about having his face painted that he begged to paint mine. So, with real watercolor paper and professional paints and brushes, Ian created my image.


Nothing that he has created has ever meant as much to me as this. He carefully selected each color to impart the truest image, made each eyelash with unparalleled precision, and delicately crafted those succulent red lips. And when he was finished, Noah could have floated the Ark in the lake of brown that has become my hair. Now THAT'S a passion for art!

In a way, he inspires every thing I paint. . .and makes me chuckle every time I think about his soggy - yet ever so lovely - version of me.

Painting: The art of protecting flat surfaces from the weather and exposing them to the critic.
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
US author & satirist (1842 - 1914)

This week I am donating one of my pieces to a charity auction as well as entering several paintings in local art shows. These will be the first opportunities for people outside my close circle of friends, family, and fellow painters to see my work and comment upon it. I thought I would be more nervous about it. Most people don't like to extend an open invitation for criticism, much less make themselves available to be publicly thrashed by strangers.

But why should I worry? It is still just one person's opinion about some colors on a piece of paper. The opinion that matters most is mine, and my biggest fan has already made me feel like everything I do is dazzling. The thing that worries me most is the possibility that I could actually win; and as I walk to the front of a room full of people much more talented than I am, my only hope is that there is not a toilet paper trail stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

Josh Groban, M & Ms, and the Paranormal

One of the things I find most compelling about Asperger's Syndrome is that people who have it often possess some truly miraculous talents. Take Daniel Tammet, for example. His ability to remember dates, calculate enormous sums in his head, relate prime numbers to dates or events, etc. is astounding. I wish I had just a fraction of that ability so I could use it to keep my check book balanced. I use a calculator and still manage to mess it up.

Ian is great at math and reads extremely well. If we helped him cultivate his ability to memorize and recall vast amounts of information, he could probably be the next Jeopardy Junior champion. Although, he might have difficulty standing still behind the podium for a great length of time. He would also press the answer button non-stop because it is a button and it must be pressed. That is what buttons are for. The producers of the show might frown on his mother standing next to him during Final Jeopardy to write his answer for him, even though he would be dictating it and I, of course, would write it exactly as he says it - EVEN IF HE FORGETS TO PHRASE IT IN THE FORM OF A QUESTION.

He is also musically gifted. Rather, music speaks to him in a way I have not seen in other young children. Since he was a baby, music has soothed him when he needed to calm down and pepped him up when his engine needed a little revving. He doesn't just listen to the notes; he INHALES them. The music wraps itself around his soul and gives him whatever he needs at the moment. If I could create it for you visually, it would be like strands of puffy clouds surrounding and encircling his body, entering him through his ears, his eyes, his nose - becoming part of him. He experiences the totality of the music.

The first song that I ever experienced the same sensation with him was "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" sung by Josh Groban. Ian asked me to play the song over and over and over...and for a long time he would ask to hear this song when he was troubled and needed to feel better about himself and the world around him. Josh's music still does something for him - for us both - four years later. He often tries to play "Josh music" on the piano, even though he doesn't read a note. Hopefully, I can teach him how to play so he can create beautiful music himself (anyone know a good piano tuner?).

Right now he is into the music from the soundtrack of the movie Cars. He especially likes "Get Your Kicks on Route 66", which is the song he awakens to in the morning. What can I say? The kid's got good taste.

Good taste buds are about as close to being uniquely gifted as I can claim. I have always been able to tell the color of an M&M candy by the way it feels in my mouth. Really. I'm not kidding. It's a fact, though it may seem on the verge of being paranormal.
I was very popular in high school when Spanish Club sold M&Ms as a fund raiser. I would get tackled in the hall by a group of kids who wanted to test me. Someone would blindfold me and make sure I couldn't see what color I was given. I had about a 99% accuracy rate. The 1% error rate occurred when the M&M was held in some one's hand too long and got warm. That's my claim to fame.

I think we all have some hidden talent. For Aspie's, these gifts of genius can be used to make the world a better, more beautiful place. Theirs will be the contributions that solve the world's health problems. And then there is the Aspie's mother who is destined to be the headliner in the freak show at the State Fair. You see? It all works out in the end.

C3PO and the Hair Clippie

Something I have always dreaded has happened. It is something every mother fears will one day manifest in her son, and now it has taken hold of mine. No, he has not come out of the closet. I could handle that. This is so bad it is almost unspeakable. He has become... a Star Wars fan.

It is partly my own fault. For a while, Steve and I suspected that Ian would enjoy this intergalactic saga because he has been so into Bionicles. For months we suggested having a movie night at home where he could watch Episode 1 in the lighted security of our living room, where snuggle buddies and pj's are allowed. But Ian thought the movie would be too scary. He has seen the Halloween costumes inspired by the evil characters, and they terrified him. One gloomy Sunday afternoon over winter break, we caught him in the right mood, and he sat through The Phantom Menace in its entirety. When it was over, he said it was the coolest movie he'd ever seen.

Since then, of course, he has become nothing short of a die-hard fan. Last weekend my dad and I took him to Barnes & Noble to get a book on maps. Dad is a geography buff, and Ian loves to read my Mapsco city directory in the car. Immediately upon entering, Ian was captivated by the Star Wars section. He picked up a copy of The New Essential Guide to Droids. He has memorized it.

[sigh]

Today my son was tired of being himself and decided that becoming C3PO would make life more to his liking. He borrowed my large hair clips and placed them around his forearms (yes, his arms are that skinny) and began shuffling around the house. He almost has the voice down too.

Then he asked a strange question. "Mom, what does it mean to suffer?"

"Well," I said, "animals suffer when they are out in the cold unprotected or when they are sick. People suffer when they don't have food or shelter, and sometimes when they are sick."

"Oh. But droids don't suffer because they are machines," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Right," I affirmed.

And I was wondering how we got on this topic. Perhaps he wondered if these human-like robots had feelings like his. With Ian, you never know where a conversation will lead.

It wasn't until bath time that Steve told me he and Ian had been discussing the prognosis of his fish, Red. Ian thinks Red is going to die, and he is probably correct. Red has dropsy, which amounts to a wicked case of edema that causes the fish to swim upside down. Red has been swimming belly-up since the middle of November. The question at this point is whether we have a mercy-flushing or we let nature take its course. Ian must have been wondering to himself if Red is suffering.

You know, Ian may not understand or express his emotions in a way that makes sense to me or to the rest of the world, but inside that wonderful brain of his is a method to getting there. It just takes time to learn what goes where. Now if I could get him to spend as much time working on social skills as he does learning the anatomy of the Ubrikkian Steamworks DD-13 Cybernetic Surgical Droid, we'd be off and running.

Oh, well. At least he's not a "Trekkie". I hear they have conventions where people wear pointy ears and walk around speaking Klingon. Talk about strange.

Snore. . .huh?

Codeine is a wonderful drug. I should know, because it's in the cough suppressant I've been taking for the last 3 days. The kids brought home some nasty germs from school last week. As a result, Ian is snorking, Ainsley has a double ear infection, and I have an elephant sitting on my chest. He is also making my eyelids very heavy, so I think I'll go back to bed. I've been up for 15 minutes. . .isn't that enough for one day?

The Perception Game

When you are new to the Asperger's World, there is so much to learn. The diagnosis itself catches many people off-guard and requires time to sink in. It is easy to feel confused by your child's behavior and overwhelmed by the inability to make your home a calm, sane place. The mountain before you is a snow-covered Everest, and you came to the hike wearing shorts and sneakers.

Take, for example, Ian's most recent tirade during which he managed to destroy two pairs of glasses. Steve and I handled the situation the best we could at the time. We tried to find out why he was so angry, but he couldn't put it into words, and we couldn't read his mind. We all went to bed exhausted and exasperated.

A couple of days later, I took Ian for his weekly visit to the psychologist. We spent considerable time delving into the "whys". Ian still was unable to put it into words. After 20 minutes of him zoning out on us, two books came to mind that really helped me.

Thinking in Pictures by Dr. Temple Grandin, and
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon

Each of these authors has helped me develop an idea of how my son thinks. It is not an easy technique to grasp because the process involves imagining feelings and sensations that neurotypical people usually block out. It also requires one to ignore social cues that are easily perceived and readily understood. Like a jury that is told to disregard something they have already heard, it is difficult to forget that the statement is out there and just look at the facts. So I tried to think like an Aspie, and this is what I came up with.

I am Ian, and I am standing on the edge of the carpet and the tile, feeling the bump between the two with my big toe. It feels odd for my heel to be on the soft carpet while my toe is on the cold, hard tile. My toe almost feels like it is not part of my body. I look up and see Dad racing straight at me on my red plasma car. He is laughing and has a really mean smile on his face. He isn't driving the car very well, and he runs over my toe. It hurts really, really bad. I scream at him and hit him because he did it on purpose. He thought it was funny because he laughed when it happened. My dad hates me! I am going to get away from him and lock myself in the bathroom so he can't hurt me again.

So, I asked him if this was the way he saw the situation. His voice seemed to smile in amazement that I had figured it out, that someone had looked at the world through his eyes. At that point we were finally able to help him understand that Steve was not being malicious, that it was an accident.

Perception is the key to understanding. Since his perception is clouded by an inability to read social cues, it is my job to help him slow down and assess people's actions based on the situation, not what he sees in his mind. He must learn to ask questions and clarify the intent of the person who has harmed or offended him. It's a lot to ask of a 7 year-old boy.

Ian and Ainsley have had a few tiffs since that night. Each time I have asked them both to put themselves in the other's place and see if the situation would turn out differently. Ainsley doesn't quite understand the game yet, but Ian does. He takes a deep breath and tries to be calm enough to try. In my book, making the effort is three-fourths of the way there.

My relationship with Ian has been different over the last week. Ian knows that I am trying to understand him, and he seems to appreciate that. There is a new connection between us. For me, it is a heightened intuitive sense. Now Ian is softer, a little less tense, a little more open. This is a good place.