Yesterday was absolutely beautiful. The sun was shining brightly all day with a high temperature close to 80. It was a great day to play outside and enjoy spring. So, what did my kids want to do? Stay inside and watch t.v., of course.
Late in the afternoon, Jack and Georgia came over for a visit. Ian and Ainsley were thrilled. Georgia was only half-way up the stairs when Ainsley ran to her, threw her arms around Georgia, and squeezed. Adorable! All four of them headed to the play room. It was nice to hear happy chatter.
I went back to working on the laundry - sorting, folding, sighing at the number of loads left to do. Then I heard a strange clunking sound. At first I thought it was the kids upstairs, but then I realized it was coming from the kitchen. Upon investigation I found Ian attempting to prepare something to eat.
"Ian, what are you making?" I asked.
"I am making shredded apple salad. But the apples aren't shredding the right way, so I added some ketchup," he replied proudly.
Which cookbook this recipe came from remains a mystery, as does the preparation method. Ian had placed a Golden Delicious apple and a Granny Smith apple in the salad spinner, thinking this would shred them. The result was two badly battered apples smothered in nicely spun ketchup. The design on the bowl resembled a Rorschach Ink Blot. I think there may have been an image of my head with Einstein's hair hidden in red ripples. At least the mess was confined to the inside of the bowl and not the entire kitchen!
After I finished laughing silently, Ian and I washed the apples and sliced them. He shared the "salad" with the other kids while they played in the back yard. Neither one of us mentioned the ketchup to the others. Sometimes you have to keep secret ingredients to yourself.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
McDonald's, Madagascar, and Terrorism
Yesterday, Ainsley had a birthday party to attend for one of her school mates. It was at a kids' gym with lots of activity and noise - a fun experience for her, but a bad place for Ian to be hanging around. I knew she could handle being at this party on her own, so Ian and I gave her kisses and we went across the street to McDonald's.
It was late afternoon, and Ian was starving. After checking out the display of happy meal prizes (American Idol trash, which he knows nothing about), he marched up to the counter and proceeded to order a happy meal with chicken nuggets, french fries, apple slices, a chocolate chip cookie, and a chocolate milk shake. Yikes - the carbs!
Ian carried his tray to a booth and began eating. At least I was able to dissuade him from dipping the apple slices in the caramel sauce that comes with them. Geez - does everything on the planet have to be coated in something that is bad for us??? Ketchup may be the saving grace of french fries - at our house it sometimes counts as a vegetable. He finished every bit of his meal. I was astounded.
To pass time until the party was over, we brought along Madagascar Sorry. Ian is very good at reading the cards and following the directions. He played well, with no tantrums when one of his pawns was sent back to start or if he drew a card that didn't allow him to play. It was a delight to watch him participate in the one-on-one exchange of competitive play. For that hour he was a typical kid, and it was beautiful.
After completing the game, we went back to the birthday party a few minutes before it ended. We stayed in the lobby of the gym where it was quiet. After a few minutes, Ian began to get worried.
"What's wrong, honey?" I asked.
"Mom, what if Ainsley is gone?" Ian questioned.
"Why would she be gone, Ian?"
"She isn't out here with us. Maybe she has been shot," he said quietly.
"Shot? Ian. . .why do you think Ainsley has been shot?"
"Maybe she has been assassinated!" he said with a little fear in his voice.
Now, I'm wondering where in the world he could have come up with this idea. There has been so much talk about the shooting at Virginia Tech over the last couple of weeks; but Ian doesn't watch the news at our house. Maybe he heard something at school or read the front page of the newspaper. I have no idea. And he was not able to tell me where he got the idea that Ainsley might have fallen victim to such a terrible tragedy.
He began obsessing about it. He couldn't see Ainsley, so he assumed she must be dead. It was really getting out of hand. Finally, one of the gym employees came to the front and asked if we would like to come back to the party room to collect Ainsley. Once we were there and he saw that she was o.k., he ran over to her and hugged her. It was adorable and shocking all at the same time.
How do you protect a kid who suffers from anxiety from realities that are so far removed from his own world? It could happen anywhere, I know. But how can I teach him that he can't spend his life worrying about the terrible things that might - but probably will not - happen to him? It is important to think globally, but this is ridiculous! Perhaps I should teach him the Serenity Prayer.
It was late afternoon, and Ian was starving. After checking out the display of happy meal prizes (American Idol trash, which he knows nothing about), he marched up to the counter and proceeded to order a happy meal with chicken nuggets, french fries, apple slices, a chocolate chip cookie, and a chocolate milk shake. Yikes - the carbs!
Ian carried his tray to a booth and began eating. At least I was able to dissuade him from dipping the apple slices in the caramel sauce that comes with them. Geez - does everything on the planet have to be coated in something that is bad for us??? Ketchup may be the saving grace of french fries - at our house it sometimes counts as a vegetable. He finished every bit of his meal. I was astounded.
To pass time until the party was over, we brought along Madagascar Sorry. Ian is very good at reading the cards and following the directions. He played well, with no tantrums when one of his pawns was sent back to start or if he drew a card that didn't allow him to play. It was a delight to watch him participate in the one-on-one exchange of competitive play. For that hour he was a typical kid, and it was beautiful.
After completing the game, we went back to the birthday party a few minutes before it ended. We stayed in the lobby of the gym where it was quiet. After a few minutes, Ian began to get worried.
"What's wrong, honey?" I asked.
"Mom, what if Ainsley is gone?" Ian questioned.
"Why would she be gone, Ian?"
"She isn't out here with us. Maybe she has been shot," he said quietly.
"Shot? Ian. . .why do you think Ainsley has been shot?"
"Maybe she has been assassinated!" he said with a little fear in his voice.
Now, I'm wondering where in the world he could have come up with this idea. There has been so much talk about the shooting at Virginia Tech over the last couple of weeks; but Ian doesn't watch the news at our house. Maybe he heard something at school or read the front page of the newspaper. I have no idea. And he was not able to tell me where he got the idea that Ainsley might have fallen victim to such a terrible tragedy.
He began obsessing about it. He couldn't see Ainsley, so he assumed she must be dead. It was really getting out of hand. Finally, one of the gym employees came to the front and asked if we would like to come back to the party room to collect Ainsley. Once we were there and he saw that she was o.k., he ran over to her and hugged her. It was adorable and shocking all at the same time.
How do you protect a kid who suffers from anxiety from realities that are so far removed from his own world? It could happen anywhere, I know. But how can I teach him that he can't spend his life worrying about the terrible things that might - but probably will not - happen to him? It is important to think globally, but this is ridiculous! Perhaps I should teach him the Serenity Prayer.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
In the Headlights of Autism
Today I was privileged to be in the company of greatness.
I stood before the woman who first helped me understand Asperger's Syndrome and how it affects my son. I met Dr. Temple Grandin. She is real. She is down to earth. She cares deeply about making our world a better place by her impact on families of autism.
Only a few moments later, I met another amazing woman. Jennifer McIlwee Myers sat next to me as we listened to Sean Barron describe his life with autism. Jennifer may well be the funniest woman alive. Her humor speaks to me because she is able to laugh at her own challenges, and those of her family members. "Autism doesn't run in my family," she said, "it gallops!"
Listening to these three people speak helped me come to grips with a part of my world that has been kept hiding in the corner. I mentioned it months ago and then swept it away. But today, after hearing the strength in Temple's, Sean's, and Jennifer's voices, I am now willing to accept the truth: Ainsley has Asperger's too. She is not imitating her brother; she is like him. She is not pushing my buttons; she is trying to cope (most of the time). She is not afflicted as severely as Ian is; but she needs my help nonetheless.
Yes, I will finally have her tested so she can move ahead and begin to develop her strengths. I will stop holding her to a different standard than I have for Ian. I will try to be fair but firm. And, most importantly, I will try not to dwell on what should have been, rather on what can be.
I stood before the woman who first helped me understand Asperger's Syndrome and how it affects my son. I met Dr. Temple Grandin. She is real. She is down to earth. She cares deeply about making our world a better place by her impact on families of autism.
Only a few moments later, I met another amazing woman. Jennifer McIlwee Myers sat next to me as we listened to Sean Barron describe his life with autism. Jennifer may well be the funniest woman alive. Her humor speaks to me because she is able to laugh at her own challenges, and those of her family members. "Autism doesn't run in my family," she said, "it gallops!"
Listening to these three people speak helped me come to grips with a part of my world that has been kept hiding in the corner. I mentioned it months ago and then swept it away. But today, after hearing the strength in Temple's, Sean's, and Jennifer's voices, I am now willing to accept the truth: Ainsley has Asperger's too. She is not imitating her brother; she is like him. She is not pushing my buttons; she is trying to cope (most of the time). She is not afflicted as severely as Ian is; but she needs my help nonetheless.
Yes, I will finally have her tested so she can move ahead and begin to develop her strengths. I will stop holding her to a different standard than I have for Ian. I will try to be fair but firm. And, most importantly, I will try not to dwell on what should have been, rather on what can be.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Give That Kid a Pillow
It may be just another Sunday in many homes around the world today, but at our house it's a circus of gift-giving. Not only is it Easter here (at our home that means chocolate, jelly-beans, and anything else you can stuff into a basket), it is also Ainsley's 4th birthday. I will not go into my memory of the nearly 30 hours of labor or the epidural that didn't work as my body came close to exploding while giving birth to her in 2003 - that I'll save for another day. I also shall not elaborate in detail about how precious she looked at her birthday tea party. That, as you probably know, is a given.
This post is about Ian.
Ian spent the better part of last week anticipating his sister's birthday. He had no choice. It was often the topic of discussion as we made the final plans for her big day, which we celebrated on Saturday. He was a terrific sport about it too. With my mother's help, he got dressed in his new suit, put on his top hat, and said, "I look dapper!" And he did indeed.
Ian held it together under torturous circumstances. His cousins, Jamie and Regan, were here for the big event. The kids get along great. In fact, the entire neighborhood must have heard how much fun they were having all weekend, because the echoes of it are still ringing in the back of my head. Seven more girls arrived for the birthday party. Most big brothers would hide in their rooms and play video games with that many women in the house; but not Ian. He really wanted to be part of his sister's special day. Besides. . .he looked GOOD!
He made it through the first round of gifts at the party with sparkling enthusiasm. His excitement grew when the family gathered later in the day to shower Ainsley with more gifts. We gave her a pedal-powered race car and fully expected Ian to jump on it before she had a chance to catch her breath; but he didn't. He waited for his turn.
Today, the Easter excitement was overwhelming. The candy...the trinkets...the new spring clothing line...our living room looked remarkably like it did on Christmas morning, except there was no delicately adorned tree in the middle of it all. I admit it, my family goes crazy for every holiday. We even make up holidays just to have an excuse to give each other gifts. It is insanely fun and frivolous and should probably be stopped because of the chaos it causes before, during, and after; but it is difficult to break a family tradition.
After my parents and my sister's family left, it became eerily quiet in the house. Ian was taking it all in, letting it gel. He played with new toys, spent some time on the computer, went on a walk with the rest of us. He seemed perfectly fine. And that is why I knew that he wasn't. The bomb was going to drop, hopefully at some time today.
It hit as we were sitting down to dinner. Since I was expecting it, the damage was minimal this time. Ian was furious that we were having chicken-fried steak instead of fried chicken strips. [Let me state for the record that this is only the second time in my life that I have ever made chicken-fried steak and that I am not accustomed to consuming it on a regular basis, even though it may just be one of the yummiest comfort foods in the world.] Ian must have misunderstood when I announced the evening's menu, but it was enough to set off the fuse to the dynamite.
Very calmly and quietly, I said:
The rest of us continued to eat our meal, ignoring his rantings in the next room. Eventually, it seemed he was going to break something, so I decided to try to calm him down a bit. He attempted to punch my arm and shoulder, but I was able to deflect his throws and block him from further attempts. Again, very calmly and quietly, I explained that if he wanted to hit something, he had a number of options that did not include bruising a family member that he loves.
Steve decided to speed things along. After all, it is a school night and both of the kids needed baths. He got the Tempurpedic pillow from our bed - it weighs a TON! - and took it to Ian. He punched it a few times then grabbed it from Steve and started swinging it at him. I have no idea how many G's he had going on that spin, but the kid practically took of like a helicopter. The weight of the pillow pulling on his arms and the crashing sensation as it hit Steve were enough to relieve the frustration and overwhelming emotions and sensations that he kept in all weekend. Dad scored big points with this one.
So Ian returned to the kitchen. Steve heated up some microwaveable chicken nuggets, and Ian ate a decent dinner. As he sat at the table, he said to Steve:
I am not kidding.
He took a shower, had his bedtime snack, and is now asleep in bed without further incident. The only regret I have is that his really loose tooth didn't get knocked out during all the pillow bashing. We could have rid him of that anxiety as well. Sigh.
This post is about Ian.
Ian spent the better part of last week anticipating his sister's birthday. He had no choice. It was often the topic of discussion as we made the final plans for her big day, which we celebrated on Saturday. He was a terrific sport about it too. With my mother's help, he got dressed in his new suit, put on his top hat, and said, "I look dapper!" And he did indeed.
Ian held it together under torturous circumstances. His cousins, Jamie and Regan, were here for the big event. The kids get along great. In fact, the entire neighborhood must have heard how much fun they were having all weekend, because the echoes of it are still ringing in the back of my head. Seven more girls arrived for the birthday party. Most big brothers would hide in their rooms and play video games with that many women in the house; but not Ian. He really wanted to be part of his sister's special day. Besides. . .he looked GOOD!
He made it through the first round of gifts at the party with sparkling enthusiasm. His excitement grew when the family gathered later in the day to shower Ainsley with more gifts. We gave her a pedal-powered race car and fully expected Ian to jump on it before she had a chance to catch her breath; but he didn't. He waited for his turn.
Today, the Easter excitement was overwhelming. The candy...the trinkets...the new spring clothing line...our living room looked remarkably like it did on Christmas morning, except there was no delicately adorned tree in the middle of it all. I admit it, my family goes crazy for every holiday. We even make up holidays just to have an excuse to give each other gifts. It is insanely fun and frivolous and should probably be stopped because of the chaos it causes before, during, and after; but it is difficult to break a family tradition.
After my parents and my sister's family left, it became eerily quiet in the house. Ian was taking it all in, letting it gel. He played with new toys, spent some time on the computer, went on a walk with the rest of us. He seemed perfectly fine. And that is why I knew that he wasn't. The bomb was going to drop, hopefully at some time today.
It hit as we were sitting down to dinner. Since I was expecting it, the damage was minimal this time. Ian was furious that we were having chicken-fried steak instead of fried chicken strips. [Let me state for the record that this is only the second time in my life that I have ever made chicken-fried steak and that I am not accustomed to consuming it on a regular basis, even though it may just be one of the yummiest comfort foods in the world.] Ian must have misunderstood when I announced the evening's menu, but it was enough to set off the fuse to the dynamite.
Very calmly and quietly, I said:
Ian, I am sorry you are disappointed that we are not having what you were expecting. That must be very frustrating for you. But you have two choices. You can stop yelling, sit down at the table and try what we are having, OR you can go to your room and yell all you want to.He grumbled and stomped out of the room.
The rest of us continued to eat our meal, ignoring his rantings in the next room. Eventually, it seemed he was going to break something, so I decided to try to calm him down a bit. He attempted to punch my arm and shoulder, but I was able to deflect his throws and block him from further attempts. Again, very calmly and quietly, I explained that if he wanted to hit something, he had a number of options that did not include bruising a family member that he loves.
Hmph!. . .was his reply. So I walked back to the kitchen and continued eating my dinner.
Steve decided to speed things along. After all, it is a school night and both of the kids needed baths. He got the Tempurpedic pillow from our bed - it weighs a TON! - and took it to Ian. He punched it a few times then grabbed it from Steve and started swinging it at him. I have no idea how many G's he had going on that spin, but the kid practically took of like a helicopter. The weight of the pillow pulling on his arms and the crashing sensation as it hit Steve were enough to relieve the frustration and overwhelming emotions and sensations that he kept in all weekend. Dad scored big points with this one.
So Ian returned to the kitchen. Steve heated up some microwaveable chicken nuggets, and Ian ate a decent dinner. As he sat at the table, he said to Steve:
The big wild horse called 'Anger' is gone now.
I am not kidding.
He took a shower, had his bedtime snack, and is now asleep in bed without further incident. The only regret I have is that his really loose tooth didn't get knocked out during all the pillow bashing. We could have rid him of that anxiety as well. Sigh.
Friday, April 06, 2007
My Favorite Dinner of All Time
Yesterday I had an "a-HA!" moment. You know the ones: After struggling mercilessly to solve a problem, the answer hits you like a bag of frozen peas to the forehead. This particular "a-HA" was facilitated by the awesome autism team from our school district, with whom I met for most of the morning. We gathered to discuss Ian so the team of experts could determine his level of functioning in and out of the classroom and how his teachers can help him succeed. Fortunately for me, they had some wonderful tips to use at home too.
Getting Ian to eat dinner has been a challenge for the last 4 years. He completely zones out on us, as if he is too tired even to put a few bites of food into his mouth. We often put the food on the fork for him and assist him in getting it to his mouth. Rarely will he participate in family conversation. This has always been difficult for me to accept, because when I was a child, the best part of my day was spent at the dinner table with my family. We would each tell about our day, work through challenges together, laugh, and bond. Dinner time for this crew is rarely a time for bonding. It is a source of stress, frustration, and arguing (from the kids, not the adults).
The psychologist who evaluated Ian yesterday explained why this is such a difficult time - from Ian's perspective.
BIG A-HA!!!!
Now it makes sense! When he zones out, it is NOT a seizure, he is NOT ignoring us to be rude, he is NOT in a daze, he is NOT incapable of snapping out of it! He just needs help being pulled into a focal point. An answer - this is fabulous! I walked away from that meeting believing that anything was possible.
We implemented on of the team's suggestions at dinner. The food was served. I went around the table and asked each person what item they thought would be their favorite. Ainsley said, "pasta". Steve said, "chicken". I said, "chicken". Ian said, "all of it".
Then we started playing food games. I started with, "I am going to eat a twirly piece of pasta. Ainsley, what are you going to eat?", and continued around the table to Ian. It took him a while to get the glassy look out of his eyes, but he did it. Next we tried different ways to eat edamame beans. Then we held our forks in the air, speared with a piece of food, and did an "air cheers". Our kids are big on saying "cheers" and clinking glasses. "Air cheers" is when you just hold up your glass but don't clink, usually because you are too far away from the person to get the job done or your glass is so full it would spill if it made contact. This was our first ever air cheers with food. Pieces of our meal went everywhere.
Ian saved his chicken for last. He was slowing down. I really wanted to see if he could finish his dinner, so I tried something different. Ian speared a piece of chicken and then had to tell me how many pieces of pasta it would take to make a bite the same size. He and I continued that until he had almost finished everything.
Then we went around the table again to say what our favorite food of the night was. Honestly, I don't remember what everyone else said. I was so touched by Ian's response: "I loved everything, Mom!"
Boo-yah! High five! Yeah! Ka-chow! HOME RUN, BABY!!!
For the first time in I-don't-know-when, we had a fun family dinner, and Ian ate until he was truly full without being force fed. It was a beautiful thing.
And I have my school district's autism team to thank for it. Amazing.
Getting Ian to eat dinner has been a challenge for the last 4 years. He completely zones out on us, as if he is too tired even to put a few bites of food into his mouth. We often put the food on the fork for him and assist him in getting it to his mouth. Rarely will he participate in family conversation. This has always been difficult for me to accept, because when I was a child, the best part of my day was spent at the dinner table with my family. We would each tell about our day, work through challenges together, laugh, and bond. Dinner time for this crew is rarely a time for bonding. It is a source of stress, frustration, and arguing (from the kids, not the adults).
The psychologist who evaluated Ian yesterday explained why this is such a difficult time - from Ian's perspective.
At dinner time, Ian IS tired. But his lack of focus is really more of a pulling-back from too much stimuli than from being exhausted. There is a lot going on at that small table. Mom and Dad are talking to each other and to the kids, Ainsley is talking to everyone, including herself. There are serving dishes of food on the table. Ian's plate has at least 3 food choices on it. He has to decide which utensil to use, which food item to taste, and which piece of it to try. His mind is racing to decide where to start, and he just can't slow it down enough to make that happen.
BIG A-HA!!!!
Now it makes sense! When he zones out, it is NOT a seizure, he is NOT ignoring us to be rude, he is NOT in a daze, he is NOT incapable of snapping out of it! He just needs help being pulled into a focal point. An answer - this is fabulous! I walked away from that meeting believing that anything was possible.
We implemented on of the team's suggestions at dinner. The food was served. I went around the table and asked each person what item they thought would be their favorite. Ainsley said, "pasta". Steve said, "chicken". I said, "chicken". Ian said, "all of it".
Then we started playing food games. I started with, "I am going to eat a twirly piece of pasta. Ainsley, what are you going to eat?", and continued around the table to Ian. It took him a while to get the glassy look out of his eyes, but he did it. Next we tried different ways to eat edamame beans. Then we held our forks in the air, speared with a piece of food, and did an "air cheers". Our kids are big on saying "cheers" and clinking glasses. "Air cheers" is when you just hold up your glass but don't clink, usually because you are too far away from the person to get the job done or your glass is so full it would spill if it made contact. This was our first ever air cheers with food. Pieces of our meal went everywhere.
Ian saved his chicken for last. He was slowing down. I really wanted to see if he could finish his dinner, so I tried something different. Ian speared a piece of chicken and then had to tell me how many pieces of pasta it would take to make a bite the same size. He and I continued that until he had almost finished everything.
Then we went around the table again to say what our favorite food of the night was. Honestly, I don't remember what everyone else said. I was so touched by Ian's response: "I loved everything, Mom!"
Boo-yah! High five! Yeah! Ka-chow! HOME RUN, BABY!!!
For the first time in I-don't-know-when, we had a fun family dinner, and Ian ate until he was truly full without being force fed. It was a beautiful thing.
And I have my school district's autism team to thank for it. Amazing.
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