Just Cuz I Felt Like It

I have a new source of inspiration for painting. It is a site I visit when I need to put things into perspective. It is the kick in the butt that helps me realize things are what you make of them. Rick Gunn Photography will blow you away with some amazing photographs taken along a breathtaking journey around the globe - on a bicycle!

Days-of-the-Week Underpants and the Solar System

From what I gather by talking with other parents, kids on the autism spectrum generally are later to toilet train than typical kids. With that in mind, I suspect that the siblings of autistic kids may also present more challenges in this area, if not in the general public, at least in my house.

Ainsley is four and is what I would call eighty percent potty trained. Most of the time she is successful in keeping her clothing dry all day with occasional accidents. Poops that hit the toilet first and leave no skid marks (or worse) on the underwear are cause for celebration. In fact, we give her a quarter every time she is accomplishes this amazing trick. I am so tired of rinsing dirty underwear in the toilet before putting them in the washing machine, that I decided to replace the really icky undies last week. As a special incentive to get her to "listen to her body", I bought Ainsley a set of days-of-the-week underpants.

Right away she recognized the word Saturday. When she saw that pair, she remembered that on Saturday she would be going to her friend Sebastian's birthday party at the fire station.

"I am going to wear my Saturday panties to Sebastian's party. He'll be so excited to see me in them!" she said in her most gleeful Dora the Explorer voice.

"Uh, Ainsley. . .I don't think it's appropriate for you to tell Sebastian about your special panties. Just say, 'Happy Birthday,' tell him you're happy to see him, and leave it at that," I said with one eyebrow raised.

"Mom, why can't I tell Sebastian about my Saturday panties?"

I stammered: "Uhhhh.....mmmmmm......well....he won't be able to see them, so why bring it up?"

"Yes, he will! I'll show them to him!" she proudly announced.

"Honey, it's not a good idea to show your friends your panties. That's why we wear them under our clothes and not on the outside."

"O. K." she said, kinda disappointed.

Every day after that she went to her underwear drawer to make sure the Saturday ones were still there. Last night after her bath, she finally got to put them on. By this time, she was referring to them as her "Sebastian party panties". I was beginning to wonder if I should put her on birth control now or wait until the Saturday panties are missing and turn up in the back seat of Sebastian's mother's minivan between the booster seats. I know kids are starting younger these days, but this is freaking ridiculous!

Honestly, my biggest fear was not that my daughter would show her undies to the birthday boy or any other child. I was terrified that she would show them to every fire fighter in the station and provide a lengthy explanation of the entire set that was back at our house. And she would. Believe me. Get a little pizza in her, some icing off the cake, and that girl goes wild with the talking.

This morning the tension was mounting as Ainsley dressed for the party and Steve and Ian began negotiating breakfast. Steve suggested cereal.

"Nrt nrt!" responded our son loudly. This is Pengu (the penguin on PBS Sprout) for "no, thanks", "no way", or "get out of my face before I pummel you", depending on the voice inflection. Both Ian and Ainsley think it's really cool to pretend to be Pengu, his sister Penga, and their friend Robby the Seal and communicate this way. It drives me bonkers, which they also think is hilarious.

"Nrt nrt!" echoed Ainsley from the balcony above.

Steve shot a look to both of them and continued making suggestions for Ian's breakfast, all of which were followed by "nrt nrt". Ian punched Steve lightly in the back side and below the belt with his final "nrt nrt". Steve turned around and asked,

"On what planet is is o.k. for you to punch me there?"

Very calmly Ian replied, "On the planet Uranus."

As Steve tried desperately not to laugh at Ian's joke, Ainsley went running for the bathroom. She had waited just a few seconds too long to make it to the potty, and the bright pink Saturday skivvies had, well. . .you know. There wasn't enough time to wash and dry them before the birthday party. Wearing nondescript undergarments, Ainsley approached the event with a little less enthusiasm and, fortunately, no discussion of what she was wearing under her shorts.

Later in the afternoon, I retrieved the mail. There was a brightly colored package for Ian. He always gets extremely excited when something comes addressed directly to him. We opened the outer envelope, and the inner envelope to find a lengthy note and a little tin box. Ian opened the box, unwrapped several pieces of tissue paper, and found in the middle a small black rock.

"It looks like a fossilized piece of poop," he observed candidly.

"Well, it could be," I remarked. "Shall we read the letter and see what we can learn about it?"

It was from my dear friend, Mary. The note said there was a treasure inside the box - a type of meteor called a tektite! It was found after an extensive search near the water tower on the outskirts of the city where Ian was born. His eyes grew bigger as I continued reading the letter.

"Maybe [someday] your parents will show you the water tower. The area is all grass-covered now, and there are houses all around what was once rugged terrain, but underneath all that there may still be undiscovered tektites. . .
I hope you'll enjoy learning about tektites, Ian. I'm happy knowing that you now have the very first one found by my family. There's no one else on this entire planet I'd rather give it to but you!"

Ian was feeling especially proud at this point. "Wow!" he said. "And I can keep it safe in this box, all to myself, and not let anyone else touch it!"

"I want to hold it! I want to hold it!" said Ainsley, jumping up and down.

"Ainsley, it has to stay in this box so it will be safe," Ian replied, holding the tiny nugget and it's tin house close to his chest.

I continued reading the letter:

"I also hope you'll let Ainsley hold it and examine it, too, whenever she wants to. I'm sure you'll keep it safe and maybe someday pass it along to a special friend. . .or not. That's up to you!"

"Ian some things are meant to be shared. Mary wants you to share this with Ainsley. I'm sure she will take good care of it while it's in her hands," I encouraged.

"O. K., Ainsley, but just for a minute. I don't want anything to happen to it."

Ainsley cupped the black stone in her hand as if it were a wounded baby bird. The two of them walked slowly, side-by-side, into the living room, sat down on the couch, and placed it gingerly back in the box.

Ian spent some time on the computer with Steve, researching tektites and learning more about his treasure. Later he told me it was really old - at least 5 years, maybe more. He seemed overwhelmed by the enormity of the cosmic forces that brought this hard black chunk to earth as he quietly contemplated the significance of the contents of the tin. Or maybe he was just being thankful that it wasn't a piece of fossilized poop. Either way, the space rock is currently tucked in bed with Ian, next to his pillow.

Is is Me. . .or Have My Children Lost Their Minds?

I don't know how to put this delicately, so I'll just say it outright. . .

My children have been acting as dumb as a bag of hammers!

The day before yesterday, they decided that my kitchen table, chairs, and floor are all appropriate media for finger painting. Then, they stripped and painted themselves. Then they ran through the house with painted feet. There is a trail of green and purple footprints (child sizes 10 and youth size 1) going from the kitchen through the living room across the foyer up the stairs through Ainsley's room to the bathroom. I gave each of them a mop and a bucket of water and sent them to clean the tile floor (professionals will most likely be doing the carpet).

Where did they get the idea that a mop is the appropriate cleaning tool for the table top? This is the same mop I use in the bathroom around the toilet; and no, I hadn't washed it since the last time it did that job. I have never appreciated Clorox wipes as much as I did then.

Yesterday, while I was on the phone, Ian found his school scissors. He looked at his sister and decided she needed a haircut. Apparently, she needed a hole in the back of her dress too - the one I had purchased exactly one week ago. Then Ainsley thought Ian's hair needed a touch up as well. They must have been playing a game of tag while the cutting took place, because long chunks were scattered throughout the first floor of the house. Between the two of them, they lost enough hair to make a decent comb-over toupee.

You might say my kids need better supervision. I agree. Does anyone know a baby sitter willing to come to my house every time I need to pee? That's how fast they are. They must have midnight conferences in the bathroom to plot the next day's activities. All I know is this:

Nobody warned me about this before I had children!!! Does anyone know the Return Policy on offspring?

Sometimes a Book Can Rescue You

New Children’s Book Gives Insight into an Alternative Reality


“When your world spins out of line, you’re always welcome back to mine.”

—Autistic Planet

For a long time I have been looking for a book that can help me explain to my children that Ian is different, and that's o.k. I want him to feel good about himself, and to know that he isn't the only kid in the world with Asperger's Syndrome. That book arrived on my porch last week.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have autism? What if everyone if the world was autistic? Welcome to Autistic Planet (June 2007; Jessica Kingsley Publishers; $16.95; paperback; 978-1-84310-842-9) a new book by Jennifer Elder.

Enter a magical world where all trains run exactly on time, where people working in offices have rocking chairs, and where all kids dream of winning the chess World Cup. Take a journey to this alternative reality, where being different is ordinary, and being “typical” is unheard of. Written as a dialogue between two young schoolmates, the storybook features child-friendly rhyme.

Ian first thought the book was silly. Then we read it again, pointing out the similarities between the autistic girl in the book and him. Although Ainsley is still a little young to understand that this is reality for Ian, her attention was held by the vibrant and textural illustrations by Marc Thomas and Jennifer Elder. Autistic Planet is a beautiful book for kids aged six to ten and can be read alone or with an adult. Education Otherwise declares, “this is a great confidence booster for children with a ‘high functioning’ Autistic Spectrum Disorder, an opportunity for them to show off, and an enjoyable read for everyone, to boot!”

Autistic Planet will bring comfort to children on the autism spectrum by helping them realize they are not alone. It will bring enlightenment to those who want to gain a better understanding of people with the disorder. The book gives a positive, heartfelt glimpse of a unique world and will undoubtedly be much loved by children, particularly those on the autism spectrum, their parents, teachers, caregivers and siblings.

Jennifer Elder is assistant editor in a book publishing company. She and her husband have two sons, one of whom has ASD. You can read more about their family in the memoirs Sixpence House and Not Even Wrong. Jennifer is the author of Different Like Me: My Book of Autism Heroes, also published by Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Further information about this book may be found on the Jessica Kingsley Publishers website.

Irony Comes in Small Packages

Asperger's is alive and well in my little boy. It seems the social graces I have tried to instill in him are being repelled like rain drops on an oil slick. On Thursday, he punched a 4 year-old in the face because she got in his way while he was trying to play the piano. Last night while we were at the swimming pool, a failed attempt to take a tennis ball from another girl resulted in him grabbing her by the neck and trying to push her under the water (at least, that's the version I heard). His apologies to both children were met with skepticism, which is completely understandable.

It seems Ian is under the impression that all things belong to him if he currently wants to use them. He also assumes it is o.k. to take whatever he wants without asking permission first and is terribly offended if the possessor is not willing to relinquish said item. We have gone over fair play tactics and how to win friends without beating them unconscious, but it's just not sinking in. It's one of the autism mysteries.

This afternoon, Steve and Ainsley were putting together a Strawberry Shortcake puzzle (not the dessert kind, the little red-headed girl kind). As they were about to put the last few pieces in, Ian decided he needed to participate. Like a stampeding herd of buffalo, Ian stomped over to them, grabbed the pieces from Ainsley, and attempted to put them together. Steve and I both tried to explain to him why this tactic was not going to work. It was rude. Ian insisted it was the rest of us who were rude. I even offered to do the puzzle with him after Steve and Ainsley were finished, but that was unacceptable.

I decided there was only one way out of this mess, and I sat behind Ian on the floor, trapped his arms and legs, and took the puzzle pieces away from him. During our wrestling match, I noticed the puzzle piece charm dangling from a bracelet I recently purchased. It is the symbol for autism. As I freed one piece from Ian's grasp, I tossed it at Steve and said, "Kinda ironic, don't you think?" He chuckled and smiled.

After biting me and attempting to punch me for a few minutes, Ian finally calmed down enough to rest his head in my lap. I stroked his hair while he talked about how rude and unfair the rest of the world is. Then I explained:

Ian, I know you wish the rest of the world thought the way you do. It's hard to understand why Mom, Dad, and Ainsley don't agree with you all the time. When it comes to playing fair and getting along with others, most people think you should be polite, you should share, and you should take turns. That is hard for you to do; but that's the way the world works, babe. You get to practice with your family. If you make mistakes with us, we'll still love you. But other people won't give you very many chances. Eventually, they just won't want to be friends with you if you force your way into a situation and then argue with everyone.

He was silent. Most likely, he was trying to figure out if having friends was worth the effort it would take for him to learn all this stuff. Honestly, as much as he's been pushing everyone's buttons lately, I think he is toying with the notion that the rest of the world can kiss his back side. I know he feels very alone a great deal of the time; what I don't know is if he thinks being alone is a bad thing.

The Greatness of Family

This is the face that breaks my heart. It is the face of sadness, fear, anxiety, and social withdrawal. It is the window to Ian's feelings of inadequacy, of being different, of being alone.

Ian's summer has been difficult. We've been using this time to try to determine which medication will treat his bi-polar disorder the best and have the least side-effects. We've seen plenty of those, from facial tics to stimming. Even he realizes things are different. He is scared.

There was a man in the first autism support group I attended 3 summers ago, whose son had severe bi-polar disorder in addition to his high functioning autism. When he would tell us about the monumental difficulties he and his wife had with their son, I felt so sorry for them all. The cabinet full of medication that must be administered precisely on time to prevent complete chaos from erupting was only one factor taking its toll on them. The father was exhausted, as was the mother, and the boy seemed to feel tortured within his own body and mind. At the time, I was grateful Ian only had Asperger's and sensory issues. I had no idea that my own family would one day face the same scenario. Strangely, I don't feel the same way about us.

When we first arrived in Denver on July 3, the kids were tired from the long drive, yet energized by the cool, dry air and soft backyard grass they had to run in at my aunt's house. They did pretty well for the most part. The next day, when we returned to the same spot after our family reunion at a park located close to Columbine High School (yes, the very one), Ian felt easily overwhelmed. The tic that caused his mouth and jaw to grind wreaked havoc on his sense of self-confidence, and he took refuge in a dark corner of the house to play with toys. At one point, he got into a scuffle with an older cousin over a nerf rocket. Steve had to physically restrain him from attacking the other boy. Ian started growling like a vicious wolf and scratched, kicked, and bit Steve. He was going over the deep end quickly.

I stepped in, slid my arm gently around Ian's waist, nodded for Steve to let go, and glided him slowly to the ground. After positioning him in my lap like a baby, I began stroking his hair and rocking him, until his body went limp. I wasn't about to let my son alienate a cousin over a piece of foam. The sooner he was calm, the less damage would be done. If there is one thing I have learned in 40 years, it is that cousins in my family will love you and accept you no matter what you do or how dorky you are - as long as you don't throw a punch. Ian needs to feel that kind of acceptance.

The rest of the evening went well for Ian. For the first time in his life, he stayed awake to watch the fireworks.

He sat in my lap on the cool grass, watching the colorful explosions, and thought they were the coolest things he had ever seen. Every once in a while he would squeeze my arm, partly out of surprise at the loud cracking and popping, and partly as a way of letting me know that moment was as special to him as it was to me.


Watercolor entitled: "Cool Canyon Morning"

Semi-annual Lose-It Day

The stresses of the year thus far have finally gotten to me. The new diagnoses, the constant monitoring of drugs and behavior, IEP's, car pools, meetings, laundry, discipline, planning, surviving. Day-to-day I think I have control of the things that cause most people to go postal, and then one day it hits me right in the face. Unfortunately, today it ricocheted back onto the kids.

A couple of days before we went on vacation, we spent an entire Saturday picking up and cleaning the house. For once, I wanted to come home from a trip to an uncluttered domicile. There is something really pleasant about that - and something really aggravating about coming home to a dirty one. The former makes for a relaxing return, the latter just pisses me off.

Well, in just 5 short days (less than that actually), this house has become a complete disaster. Toys are everywhere, which in my mind means there are too many toys. Boys Hanes underwear is in very strange locations because Captain Underpants has been sneaking into Ian's drawers and flinging the contents during battle. Cereal bowls are in places they shouldn't be (i.e., any place outside the kitchen) because my children pour themselves a bowl of Cheerios and then walk around the house with them, even though they have received instructions to the contrary. Listening skills seem to have hit an all-time low, and I am too tired to argue effectively for better communication and understanding amongst the four of us.

Monday I found out that I have sleep apnea. Go figure. The best I can tell, it has been going on since before I became pregnant with Ian. According to the report from the sleep lab, I stop breathing approximately 15 times an HOUR during the night. That means I stop breathing and then wake up about every 7 minutes. I HAVEN'T HAD A FULL NIGHT'S SLEEP IN OVER 10 YEARS!!! No wonder I am such a grump. And I thought my moods were affected by my challenging family and the moon, when all along it was lack of oxygen to my brain. Huh.

So, all of this, as well as having no chocolate in the house AND intermittent rain storms have caused me to lose my cool. Had I vented, ranted, and raved on Steve, he probably would have laughed, filled the tub with warm bubbly water, told me to get in and left with the kids for a couple of hours. He understands that with me the stress seems to hit all at once, really hard. And he forgives the stupid things I say and do.

But this time, the kids heard their mother go completely bonkers. Ainsley straightened up really quick and started complying with every command. She picked up her toys, made her bed, put clothes away, all in an effort to be allowed to keep her allowance for the week. Ian locked himself into the bathroom and refused to participate. I was stunned. Here I was, attempting to scream and bully my children into understanding that they must pick up after themselves, and Ian was smart enough to "just say no". He was testing me to see if I really would throw away the toys that were on the floor. This just made me even more furious. Insolence on top of blowzy care for the place in which we live! Intolerable!

The kids were spared the experience of seeing their beloved possessions hit the driveway in a Hefty bag, because my loving husband arrived home in time to help me see that I was exhausted, not angry. Our children are sloppy, but they are not criminally stupid. And every once in a while I am allowed to wish that our life was normal.

Almost immediately, I realized that this is normal.

After I put myself back together enough to face my children and apologize, they surprised me by seating me at the dinner table (Cafe Graham) and presenting me with a hand written menu (Crayola marker on craft paper), which listed several delicious choices that would be prepared to my own specifications (microwave-reheated leftovers). Steve served as Head Chef and Ian was Head Waiter and Sou Chef. He had an old cloth diaper draped over his arm, on which he proudly showed me the label on the new bottle of Heinze Ketchup. He even adopted a slight British accent, the elegance of which played well with his uniform of choice - underwear.

I guess what it all boils down to is this: even the person who keeps it together for the rest of the family is entitled to blow off a little steam now and then. Those who she spends 24/7 caring for and worrying about will still love her and let her stay, despite the mean things she has said in a monstrous rage, because that's what families do. And maybe, eventually, some of the lessons that were intended to make sense will start to sink in.

Vacation is not for Weenies

We went on vacation this week, and I'll fill you in on those juicy details another time. After 15 hours on the road yesterday and 4 more today, my brain is too fried to recall much of the last several days. Anyone who has ever driven I70 between Denver, Colorado and Salina, Kansas knows what I mean. On top of that, I have now heard every Thomas the Tank Engine DVD in our collection so many times that the voices inside my head echo the narratives of George Carlin and Alec Baldwin. Every time I start to dose off, Sir Topham Hatt scolds me, "Carla, you are causing confusion and delay! Only really useful engines get a washdown at the end of the day. Now, go to your shed and think about how you can improve." Then a fog horn sounds and awakens me.

You know, those stories would be so much funnier if they let George Carlin tell them in his own words.