Last night at the grocery store...

Here is one from Papa Bear...

Last night in the grocery store, an employee stopped me. He said he didn't know if I remembered him, but when I was in the store with GL, last week, he'd said hi.

"Oh, yes, you're Colin. He's been talking all week about how his buddy said hi at the grocery store."

"Well, I didn't have time to stop and talk then, but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed working with GL when I volunteered in the Special Ed classroom. I'm leaving for college next week, majoring in business, but I almost changed my major to Special Ed because of him."

I told him that I'd been worried about sending GL to high school, wondering if he'd have any friends. "But he has so many friends, the best part of high school turned out to be that all over town, wherever he goes, he's always running into his buddies from school."

"Everybody likes GL." Colin said, "He's a lot of fun. He's such a neat guy."

It was nearly closing time, and the last few shoppers were making their final selections. We chatted another minute or two, I thanked him, and left with a full and happy heart.

A post from Lexi of "Mostly True Stuff"

This is a post from Lexi who blogs at "Mostly True Stuff"



Welcome to Walmart.

Okay, so when your child gets diagnosed with a disability, they give you some antidepressants and a copy of Emily Perl Kingsley's "Welcome to Holland." She's a mother of a child with Down syndrome who, by all accounts, is the shiznit. I'd go into detail, but then you'd compare me to her, and I'd hate for someone as well known for being awesome to be taken down a notch or two because of my own awesomeness. You understand.

Anyways. This little metaphor is PERFECT for when your child gets diagnosed with Down syndrome. PERFECT. It's short, so I'm going to paste it here:

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Okay, so cute right? But it doesn't quite work for children with autism. So I rewrote it (aaaand you're welcome):
Having a baby is going to Costco on a Tuesday morning with your executive membership. It's quiet and the isles are wide and clean. People smile at you and some even give you high fives. There's treats on the end of the isles for you to try. The cashiers talk to you and call you by name. If you're lucky, Pete on isle 5 will say your name in his breathy sultry voice (I have no idea what that part has to do with parenting, but I liked it). Now, getting through Costco isn't always easy. Sometimes you get stuck behind a silver-headed centenarian who still uses a check but doesn't have an ID because they took her drivers license long ago. If it's your first time to Costco, it could be overwhelming. There's a LOT of stuff in there. You get confused. You get lost. You ask people around you and they are happy to help you on your way. Because they've been there before. Costco is even more challenging when you have other kids to take with you. But you'll make it through- because it's worth it in the end.

So you think you're headed to Costco. Everything seems normal. You take the same roads. But when you get there BAM! It's a freaking Walmart. You don't want to go to Walmart. You've heard about it. More and more people around you have been having to go to Walmart. You don't want to be a part of that club. You have an executive membership to Costco, dammit! But in you go. The isles aren't wide enough for you to get around the meth head who's hotwired the motorized cart. It's loud. It's frustrating. People don't look you in the eyes. There are no treats on the end of the isles and no one gives you high fives. They mostly just keep away. Your anxiety seems to peak and you head to the nearest dark corner in the store hoping to lie down in the fetal position and rock a little. But you can't. Because the floor is always dirty. You can't take a break at Walmart. You've just got to endure.

You find your way around and realize it's not ALL bad. It has lots of perks. Inside, you meet other Mom's like you. Who found themselves stuck at Walmart. They are some of the greatest people you've ever met. Occasionally, a stranger will walk by and smile, and it means more BECAUSE you are at Walmart.

Your friends will call you from Costco and tell you all about how wonderful it is. You'll be sad that you can't be there with them, too. But you've realized that in many ways, Walmart is better than Costco, you just have to REALLY look hard to see. There's much more variety. There's more depth. You can buy 100 goldfish, everything you need to make pretty jewelry and milk in one place! You didn't know there could be so much good stuff in one store.

But Walmart still sucks a lot of the time. It'll always be loud. It'll always be claustrophobic. But in the end, you'll find that your a much stronger person from having to go to Walmart than if you had to go to Costco.
And now that you're there, you'll take some time to walk to the furthest back corner and find the mother who is looking for a place to lie down and rock back and forth. Help her.

Carolyn from neurotypical mom

This post is from Carolyn over at neurotypicalmom. Why don't you all go check out her blog! 

My seven year old has Aspergers and I need to become a Pediatrician.  It still feels very strange to say both of those things.  Perhaps because we have only had an official diagnosis for 5 months?  But that's not it, not really.  Getting the diagnosis was such a relief, after years of Z being thrown out of schools, acting oddly on play dates, destroying our house and making me curl up in a ball and cry weekly.  No, once we had the diagnosis I actually exhaled.  Consciously, I never even knew that I was holding my breath, but I must have been.  For five years at least, because once I heard Aspergers, my first thought was, 'finally, thank god!  Now we can actually help him!'  And help him we did.  A whole new world opened up to our sweet boy, he began to blossom in ways that I could never have imagined.  Our relationship flourished as it never has before.  We are close now, he comes to me when he's sad, just last week - he told me he felt sick!  Hence the need for the aforementioned medical degree.  

What a huge victory that was!  I can assure you that has never happened before in his entire existence.  I've spent most of his life feeling as if I were a perfect candidate for 'Worst Mother of the Year' award.  Especially when I would do things like take him on a plane and he would say, casually, mid-flight,  'huh, my ear just popped'.  Why - you might ask - does his ear pop?  Well, that would be because of the raging ear double ear infection that he had prior to getting on the plane.  The one that I never knew about - I swear!  

The doctors would always look at me with reproach, 'this looks like it's been going on for a while, Mom', they would say as I looked at them helplessly, a mix of guilt and anger churning in my gut.

'Do you think I knew and I kept it from you? That there is any part of me that would want him to suffer, EVER?  No folks, he didn't tell me.  He didn't act different in any way.  He was his normal self, running around the house, banging into walls, falling on the floor and laughing.  He was only BUSIER, MORE EXCITED and MORE FRUSTRATING - that's all!  That's the only clue I would ever have that all was not right in Z's world.  And, I'm sorry, sometimes I missed the signs.  I didn't do it on purpose, I would just get busy, in the way that parents do and suddenly it would occur to me that Z was acting like he was on a day pass from the loony bin and had been for the past 48 hours...

How much would be solved if I was a pediatrician.  Then, if Z started acting a little more hyper and I could break out the stethoscope and look in his ears.  Or pull out a throat swab and test for strep.  How I could avoid so much pain for Z (not to mention all of the judgement for me).  If I have one more doctor look down his or her nose at me and treat me like I'm a bad mother I think I will lose it.  I may actually scream the words throbbing in my head!  

'I'm not doing it on purpose!'  

'He didn't tell me!' 

And when he's really sick, the times that I actually do know how bad he feels because his behavior is soooo over the top,

'I want to help him too',  

'I want to hold him and make it better',

'I want him to stop screaming every time I touch him'

'I want some peace'

Most of all, I just want to know how to make my baby feel better, it must be hell to be in his mind sometimes. I can’t even imagine and if I try to, it hurts my heart.  Maybe if I was a pediatrician, this would all be better.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  Soooo, anyone know any good schools that take stay-at-home moms?  Or perhaps there is a way you can get that M.D. online?  Any thoughts?  Anyone? Bueller?

Progress..

This is a lovely post from Kitty Kay who blogs here..Why don't you stop by and say hi.




I had a talk with Roger's teacher recently. At the start of the year when ever they would conference about his writing he would have a complete meltdown. Calling himself stupid, trying to hurt himself, and the motion disorder that was a whole new story that would go into overdrive. These conferences are just when the teacher talks to the student one on one about what they wrote, what she liked what needs to be changed, and how they can change it. The last time she conference with him which can be stressful for her as well as she knows the normal reaction, she got the surprise of the year. Even though she had some things he needed to fix his response this last time was OK, no meltdown. She says the only thing that has changed was he is no longer doing pencil and paper writing she allows him to use a computer and has seen where she used to get a sentence out with handwriting she can get 2 whole paragraphs now. While his ideas are on the paper as he thinks them with no order, they are now out of his head and on paper. We can work on the organization later. Baby steps and he has a great teacher who we will miss when he moves on to middle school next year.

Kicking Kittens gets an award!!

  Isn't that nice?  Scott from "On The Spectrum"( A really unique, funny and positive webcomic/blog) nominated kicking kittens for this award. I am thrilled.  I started this blog a little over a year ago.  The idea was to have a place for people whether they were bloggers or not to tell a positive story about themselves or their kids. People with disabilities, like anyone else in the human race, have dreams, thoughts, ideas, accomplishments...and far too often that is forgotten. No one is "less then" because of disability. That is the point of this blog.  The people who have participated thus far whether it be in a post or a comment have made this the wonderful and positive place that it is. So this award is shared by everyone.

   Unfortunately, someone (who has never been here) took offense to the award because of the blog title. Not understanding the meaning behind it. They thought it awful that with so much violence in the world etc. a blog with the title "kicking kittens" was somehow horrid and disrespectful. I tried to explain the reasoning behind it-it is even posted very clearly on top for all to see. Sadly, they chose not to come over-and instead decided to lambaste me with criticism. I needed to "Act like an adult" "Put on my big girl panties" "Grow up" and even went as far as saying that the title was the same as calling it "Raping autistic children". Unfortunately, people believe what they want to believe-and sometimes nothing will change their mind-ever. I can't stop that.  What I can do however, is continue to find and share all the positive stories that I find and post them here. So I will.

  In order to accept this award-I need to share seven things about myself that you wouldn't know-and then nominate three blogs for this award.  So here goes...
                                                                            

1

1)  This is my cat "Joe" I have never kicked him.

2) I kicked the diaper habit and have been wearing "big girl" panties for about 43 years.  Now, 43 years is just a guesstimate-but I clearly remember being three years old and trying to pee standing up like my playmate, Billy-and wound up being mortified because I couldn't.

3)  I have kicked butt playing pool. Although I have mostly had my butt kicked. Before I had children, I played pool avidly. I also worked in a billiards hall- learning from and playing with professionals. (thus my butt getting kicked)  I still own my own cue.

4) I have three dogs.  Last year I inadvertently kicked one of them in bare feet.  The dog just looked at me-I however broke my toe.

5) I have never learned how to "kick back" and relax. I am constantly moving. I have a very difficult time sitting still. This makes me no fun to go to the movies with...or sit next to(I'm always squirming) I am most happy when I am busy.

6) I was never any good at soccer. I have trouble kicking and running at the same time. I was however given the "most valuable player award" for both basketball and softball my senior year of high school. 

7)  Before I had settled down-I was quite the carefree party girl. I didn't give much thought to my health or my safety. Then I got married and had kids.  There is nothing that makes you question your mortality more than having children does. I worry about "kicking the bucket" before they are ready to be on their own.

  So there you have it-seven kicking things about me that you never knew...Now on to the fun part. I have to nominate three blogs for this award. There are so many to choose from. Here goes..

1) Welcome to the roller coaster ride I think she is wonderful..

2) Floortime Lite Mama Her writing is like beautiful poetry.

3)Out of the Fog She is incredibly informative and personable AND she offered to take my Lima beans off my hands.

So there you have it.  Seven things and three blogs. As always, I would love submissions from anyone interested.  It can be an old blog post you liked..a new one..even if you don't blog but want to tell your story. As long as it is positive-you have a welcome place here. 

Hooray! Gl learned to use scissors today!!

Another really wonderful post from Goldilocks and the three Bears...






Goldilocks has many struggles with fine motor skills. We've been focusing on the most essential, but trying everything, and cheering and encouraging any success, however small. Scissors was one I'd just about given up on. He tends to hold the scissors backwards, with the blades pointing toward him, and even when we can get them turned around, he rotates his wrist so the blades are parallel to the surface he is trying to cut. Then the thing he wants to cut just slides between the blades, and he is once again convinced that the task is impossible: these scissor things just don't ever work! And since we're not doing a lot of kindergarten art projects, there are more urgent skills to work on.

He loves microwave popcorn. He can safely run the microwave (it has a popcorn button); he just needs to get the bag of popcorn out of its plastic outer wrapper first. Sometimes the end of the wrapper is two layers fused together, and relatively easy to separate. Sometimes there is a small notch to make it easier to tear open. Others are difficult or impossible to open without a knife or scissors. He was trying to open one of the latter packages this morning and asked for help (a good sign to begin with). I was about to do it for him, when I thought, "Let him try. What can it hurt? If it doesn't work, I can still open it for him."

So I handed him the scissors, and with verbal instructions and a little help with hand placement, he snipped a notch and tore open the package! Hooray! He may or may not be able to do this next week, tomorrow, or even later today, but at age 13, he successfully cut something with scissors for the first time!

How Rude!

This is a really funny post from the blog "Goldilocks and the three bears"  Take a minute to go check this blog out-it will be worth your while.

GL has a hard time telling when people are joking, so when he gets it, it's a big deal. When he responds with a joke of his own, it's a bigger deal. When his joke is actually funny, it's the biggest deal of all. Yesterday I was out in the yard, and he asked MB for the 500th time, "Where's Dad?" 

In exasperation she said, "I ATE him!"

"Mom, that was rude! You didn't leave any for me!"

Can Will Does

This is one of my older posts...I am hoping to have some new submissions soon! If you are interested, it can be an old blogpost that you are fond of..or a new piece..or a place for anyone who doesn't want the responsibility of a blog to tell their story...

"Veni, Vidi, Vici"

Julius Caesar



I didn't know just how determined he was. I should have suspected something seeing as how he was fully dressed when I came downstairs this morning. Sammy is a slow starter in the morning-a really slow starter. Frozen molasses runs faster than he does. So I should have noticed that he was up, dressed and ready to go...or at least commented on it. But, I had things to do. Sammy had a basketball game, and getting everyone dressed, fed, and out the door takes monumental effort-and at least two cups of coffee. Sometimes more..o.k. actually most times more.


Sammy plays on one of his school basketball teams. It is actually a nice set up. There are about six co-ed teams of third through fifth graders. The focus is primarily on teaching the game rather than on competition. They practice once a week and every Saturday there is a game. Today was the last game of the season. So I was pretty happy...alright, I admit it..I was thrilled. Monday through Friday I rush every morning to get them out the door and onto the bus. Do they have hats, jackets, snow pants, lunch, backpacks, clean faces... sigh..it's always rush rush rush...So the idea of getting back one of the mornings where I don't have to do anything.. well...it's thrilling.

This is Sammy's third year of playing for a team. Sadly, it will probably be his last. Next year, in sixth grade they hold try-outs...and I don't think he'll make a team. He has some large motor skills issues. Although he is a speed demon on his bicycle..running and dribbling a ball is very challenging to him. He doesn't life his feet off the ground when he runs..add a basketball and the results are..well, he struggles. Don't get me wrong-he has improved immensely since third grade. The first year he played, if he saw one of is friends on the opposing team, he would stop to hug them. The second year, anytime he got the ball, he would break down laughing in the middle of the court. This year though... this year he was different. He was focused. He concentrated on defending his basket, and in passing the ball. In fact the minute he got the ball, he would pass it- immediately. My Sammy is tough, but he isn't aggressive. For him, I think it was more about just playing and being part of a team, rather than scoring. Until today that is.



Today he was driven..like a dog with a bone. Come hell or high water, he was going to score. And nothing was going to get in his way. First quarter-Sammy gets the ball..there is no room to move..he is so focused, so set on shooting..he bounces the ball with both hands and walks three feet to the basket..and shoots! and misses..He looks at me-I give him a thumbs up. Second quarter, he gets the ball..he shoots! he misses..it rebounds off the backboard, he grabs the ball he shoots! he misses..He looks at me, I give him a thumbs up. Third quarter..he's fouled, goes to the line..he shoots! he misses...he gets fouled again he shoots! he misses..he gets passed the ball..he shoots! he misses..he gets passed the ball again..he shoots! he misses..My boy must have attempted to score at least twenty times..and every time, he looks at me, and every time I give him a thumbs up...by now everyone has noticed..and is rooting for him...his team mates..the opposite team..the audience..everyone wants him to score. His determination is contagious..The tension was palpable..(I was a wreck) I don't think that there was a person there that wasn't captivated. They can see how badly he wants this. How hard he is trying.. it is no longer about watching the game....or about disability...or the fact that my boy is autistic..it is about Sammy. It is about my boy wanting to make a basket. In the fourth quarter, with thirty seconds left in the game...his team mate gets the ball..he could have scored easily..gotten the glory..instead.. he passes it to Sammy..I hear him say in a matter of fact way.."You CAN do this Sammy"...as if it is no big deal...as if it is just a common every day thing..as if he expects no less. Sammy takes the ball..and shoots..in what felt like slow motion .. it goes up..up..and then ...Swish...nothing but net. Everyone cheers in excitement...and relief! My boy looks at me..he is shining.. I give him a thumbs up-(even though I wanted to rush down and grab him and hug him.-but a mother doesn't do that to an eleven year old boy, especially in public) he runs to finish the game with the rest of his team.


The cynical and jaded part of me could say "oh, how nice..yet another "autistic kid makes a basket..the crowd erupts" story. But that wasn't it at all. Sammy has been at this school since he was seven years old. He is an accepted part of his class. Those kids didn't pass him the ball because of his disabilities..but because he was part of the team. Sigh... Sometimes, I need to remove my sarcastic self from the picture. Because sometimes a game is just a game..and a kid is just a kid. Today my kid was determined. He came, he saw, he conquered because he can..he will and he does. How's that for awareness?

A beautiful little story from Missy...

My little 3 year old boy has autism. He is pretty much non-verbal. After getting on his school bus the other day, he turned and said to me... "a-bye" (aka "good bye") That little word put a huge smile on my face and my tears came gushing. What a little but huge thing to be so happy about! He sure is making strides with talking lately.

A new blog from and a post from Rob..

First, let me introduce myself. My name is Rob. I am a 27 year old Michigan male. I am not your average guy, as i am living with a dual diagnosis of ADHD and PDD-NOS. Life has not been easy. But, i manage :). I have made TREMENDOUS strides toward independence in the last few years. For example, i have my driver's liscence. And, believe it or not, i am 1 and a half weeks away from graduating from COLLEGE. Yes, that's right..when all is said and done, i will have a Bachelor's degree and an Associate's degree.. The Bachelor's being Sociology with a social services concentration, and an Associate's in Social Work.




That in itself is a tremendous accomplishment. But, it gets better. During my college career, in the summer of 2007, i got the opportunity to study abroad. In Shanghai, China, of all places. Yes, that's China, as in the other side of the world, as in the most populous nation in the world. I studied at Shanghi University for 4 weeks, taking courses in chinese religion, language, art, architecture, and literature. There was some languge instruction..but it wasnt lot of it..my formal introduction to the Chinese language itself came a year later, in the fall of 2008.



That brings me to my blog...i would be honored if you would list it along with the other blog links on your site, as you have done for Scott Lynn's comic. the address is http://ppd-nossocmajor.blogspot.com and the tite is "Soc Major with PDD-NOS."



If you did this favor for me, it would help increase traffic to my fairly new blog..and it could help others more by leading by example.. that it IS possible to live a somewhat normal life with autism specturum disorder

From Scott Lynn..You have to check out his blog!

This is just one example of the many wonderful cartoons found on Scott Lynn's blog. It is worth your while to go check it out-and enjoy. It is called "on the spectrum...find it at   WW W.otscomic.blogspot.com

From Sirenity at www.notragedyhere.blogspot.com

Its a typical day




"Muuuummmmmm!!!!!! Muuummmmm!!!! Guuuueessssss what I have!!!"



I look over and see my youngest child waving his arms at me, papers in one hand, Science Fair Medal in the other. He is bouncing on his toes in excitement.



Glancing around I see several other children doing simular versions of the 'Mommy look at me" dance.



As little man heads towards me several kids stop and talk to him. One child in particular walks him the rest of the way to the car. I try to smother a grin, Little Man is still not sure about this friend. This friend is a GIRL and she has informed him, myself and all that will listen that she fully intends to be Little Man's girlffirend if he would only LISTEN TO HER!



Little man gets to the car, tolerates a light hug from me then pushes me away with 'that look' that all boys seem to get at this age.



"Moom guesssss what!!!" He yells at me.

"Can I come over today" Interrupts his gal pal.

"I'm talking first!" Little man turns on her, very serious. "When having conversations you should let each person have their turn without interrupting."

"Mom guess what?!" He restarts.

Me, laughing, " What? Did you win the Nobel Prize?"

"Mom, I have not submitted anything for THAT contest. I have to make a bridge!"



(Turns out the excitement was not for the B he received for the FIRST story he has written without a scribe, or for the medal for his science fair project. Rather, he was excited because he found a science club. And this club has a contest. With 100 popsicle sticks you must build a bridge that spans 24 inches. Whoever builds the bridge that withstands the most weight wins a cash prize and an article in their magazine.



And let me tell you, Little Man can build things.)



Regardless, his gal pal comes over, they ride bikes with Big Sister going with them.

Its a day like any other, really-regardless of his disabilities, his labels of ADHD, PDD-NOS and Pragmatic disorder.



Yes there are bad days. Days when he can't focus, he is frustrated and angry. Days when he has struggled hard with social situations at school and is tearful and confused.



But my home is filled with love and laughter, all of my children are healthy and have warm and giving hearts. I would not trade away Little Man's autism, I am not willing to live wihtout bunny humour, bee events and the innovative thought process he has.

Just as I would not trade The Princess's artisitc ability or leadership (sometimes known as bullying) personality skills

looking for submissions...

Anyone who has a story, idea, anecdote, thought, opinion, adventure, point of view..I'm looking for submissions!

That which does not kill me makes me thankful

Here is another one from my blog. It is one of the first posts I ever wrote for www.autismherd.blogspot.com I hope some more people will write for this one!


That which does not kill me makes me thankful...



Girls! Leave the table cloth on the table...no it is NOT a cape!

put it on the table..THE TABLE not your HEAD!

It's for Thanksgiving....Why? because it makes the table pretty...

No it is not a sheet! It is a Table Cloth...FOR THE TABLE!

THAT'S IT! If you touch it again, you won't have cookies UNTIL YOU ARE 47! "


Thus begins our Thanksgiving celebration. Like most families, we gather around the table to feast on Turkey and all the sides. The only exception being that our holiday feast includes frozen pizza. Frozen pizza, because that is one of the five things that my boys will eat, and they had already met their quota of peanut butter and jelly for the week.


Thanksgiving is often a time for family traditions. One of my children's favorite traditions is arguing over where they will sit. Actually, they do this at most meals. It just seems more festive on Thanksgiving being that there is a table cloth involved. My tradition is to ask everyone what they hope the next year will bring, and what they are thankful for. The answers from my kids vary from "I hope the next year brings toys", "I am thankful for toys" to "why is this sheet on the table? " and "I am thankful for this sheet". I try and set a good example by saying that I am thankful for my family, for having this wonderful feast and that I hope that the next year is as wonderful as this one has been. I am also secretly thankful that the table cloth is still on the table.


This year we we did things differently. As per my oldest son Sammy's school assignment, we were to go around the table and give thanks for things we wouldn't normally be thankful about. For example, being thankful for a mortgage, because it meant we had a roof over our heads, or being thankful for homework because it meant that you were learning. Sammy turned to me and said "I'm thankful for you mama." and continued to eat his pizza. Now I could take that one of two ways...he either didn't understand the assignment or he equates me with the mortgage. My ego chose the former.


As I later pondered the idea of this assignment, I asked myself what am I truly thankful for? The obvious things of course, we have a house, a steady income, four unique children, two of which happen to have an asd. What would I normally not think to be thankful for? Should I be thankful for autism? It has shaped who we all are. How we behave, how we think. Wasn't it Nietzsche who said "That which does not kill you makes you stronger"?( Then again, Nietzsche wasn't a stay at home mom.) On one hand, how could I possibly be thankful for something that has at times caused my boys such angst, and on the other, that angst has in part made them the incredible people that they are. From their struggle, we have all grown. I know that I am a better parent-a better person. I take little for granted, and I have much joy. For that, I give thanks.

That night, while I was tucking Sammy in, he once again said that he was thankful for me. I asked him why? He said "Mama, you help me to learn so I can grow up to be a good adult."and I thought, right back at you Sammy, right back at you. He did understand the assignment-it was me who got it wrong. Yet another thing to be thankful for.
And so another Thanksgiving has passed. There was a wonderful turkey, thought provoking conversation....and the table cloth stayed on the table. All in all, a great success- AND I still have a few weeks to figure out how to keep the GIRLS OFF OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE!

Bodega Bay Bounce!

Here is another great story from Denise (dizedd) from California


Yesterday I decided to take the girls on a trip to our favorite beach-Dorin beach, on Bodega Bay. I try to take them every month, but I'm alright with myself if we make it four times a year-it is a hundred miles away. But it's the BEST beach, because hardly anyone ever goes there. And there's a bathroom. And NO CLIFFS-for a person who grew up in Southern California, the sheer number of beaches up here with dangerous high cliffs and rocky shores really astounds me. Also, the ocean up here sucks. It's cold, and the waves are puny. But Dorin beach at least has a nice flat stretch of sand, and a pretty view-it's the best that I can do for them up here.

I told the kids where we were headed as we got dressed. I also mentioned it several times in the car. Apparently they didn't believe me until we'd driven past the college town of Davis-which is about 15 miles outside the city. In the girls minds, if we drive that far west, it can mean only one possible destination-BODEGA BAY, YEAH!!!

Too bad for them, because there are lots of fun things on the way to Bodega Bay that I'd like to take them to. There's a six flags, and a discovery kingdom wild animal park, and another mini amusement park in Nut Tree, and the Jelly Belly factory has free tours......

If I stopped the car at any of these places, they'd have screaming fits, because we are 'supposed' to be going to the beach. Oh well.

Back to the main point-we drive past Davis, and the girls perk right up. Janet starts mumbling about pirates, and mermaids, and "treasure under the sea!" Scarlett starts 'singing', and bouncing up and down in her seat. I let it slide for a minute or two-it's nice to see them so happy. But the car itself is bouncing along with Scarlett, and I do need to stay in one lane when I drive.

"Ok Scarlett, that's enough. Stop bouncing in your seat, you're shaking the whole car."

[Must mention here- "the car" is a tiny little Ford Focus hatchback. Scarlett weighs 200lbs. And Janet is already 5'6", which means that she will eventually 'outgrow' the car-they have to sit in the backseat, because the gear shift and emergency brake are between the two bucket seats up front-I'm terrifed that they'd accidently kill us all by grabbing one of those while I drive! I'll have to get another SUV in a year or two]

She stops for a second, then starts again. I ask her to stop bouncing again, and she rocks back and fourth in her seat instead-which also makes the car itself jump around, so I ask her to stop rocking back and forth as well. So she bounces again. Then stops for a second. Then starts again, singing joyfully the entire time. I tell her to stop, again. And again she does sit still, for twenty seconds.

We go on like this for about twenty minutes, then hit a minor traffic jam. Sitting in a frequently still car, I can really feel how much Scarlett's bouncing is knocking the entire car around. I finally have to mute the radio, turn around, and raise my voice a bit.

"SCARLETT, KNOCK IT OFF! I'm glad that you're so damn happy, but you've got to stop bouncing up and down and rocking back and fourth in your seat. You're making the whole car shake! Just stop it now, I already asked you nicely fifty times, and I don't want to have to nag you all the way to the shore!"

She sings back to me, in her typical vocalisation that means, "Alright then, jeesh." I can't type this sound out in letters, but it's clearly recognizable. Most of Scarlett's vocalizations sound like the song of some beautiful tropical bird-but you get to recognize their specific meanings after a while.

She did manage to sit still after that, I only had to remind her twenty times or so during the remainder of the trip. Which took another hour and twenty minutes-so she was behaving pretty well!

When we finally got to the beach, we stopped at the restrooms, which are about a quarter of a mile away from where we actually park. There was only one other car in the parking lot, and that lady was roaming the beach near the bathroom with her little kids. As we were finished and getting back into the car, I saw the same mother 'disapear' behind a large boulder, not twenty yards away from the public restroom. So we pull out of the parking lot, and I look to my left, and see this same woman has dropped her pants and is now defecating behind the rock. What the heck?

I know that part has nothing to do with autism, or my kids, but seriously, it has stuck in my head. I manage to take my two special needs kids INTO the public restroom, which is clean, and well lit, etc. This ladies kids are clearly capable enough that she can let them wander around in front of the rock while she squats in clear view of the road and does her business-why didn't she just take them inside an actual STALL for a minute? And who thinks it's okay to leave human feces on a public beach? I don't care how much sand she covers it with, that beach is windy. Ugh. The parenting of people with NT children sometimes boggles my mind a bit-if I ever did that outside in front of my kids, I can guarentee you that they'd think it was acceptable to just drop trou and do their business ANYWHERE-the grocery store, the movies, our living room-you get the idea.

We park at 'our' favorite stretch, get out, and walk directly to the water. COLD! Too cold. Scarlett wants to swim, but Janet and I are having none of it. We convince her to walk along the waterline for a while instead. Stupidly, as we walk past a small patch of seaweed, I say outloud, "You know, you can eat seaweed for food in an emergency. It has a lot of nutrients in it, so it's really good for you."

Wow. We should list this as number four if someone ever decides to write a book titled 'Stupidest things Denise has ever said'. Sure enough, when our walk is over, and we decide to sit down for a bit, Scarlett picks the stretch of beach where the most seaweed is washing up. I allow her to play in the fridgid water up to her knees only, while Janet and I sit on the sand and create the largest mermaids tail made out of sand ever to encase Janet from waist to toe. The seaweed at Dorin beach is ground up somehow before it reaches the shore-you never find a piece larger than your hand, so there's no chance of Scarlett getting wrapped up in it. For the next hour and a half, I watch my oldest child laugh and splish and duck down in the water to grab delicious pieces of seaweed to eat. It's good for you! Mom said so.

She eats so much that even the gulls seem to notice. They stop their perusal of the seaweed on the sand between Scarlett and Janet and myself frequently just to stare at her.

So now Scarlett will have even more to be excited about when she next performs her Bodega Bay bounce. We are going to the ocean! We can play in the water and the sand, and watch the big birds, and sometimes the sea lions far out along the part where Mom never goes because she's too lazy to walk THAT far, and we can eat SEAWEED! Yeah!

The Importance of Classification

The Importance of Classification by Michael McKenna, a frequent contributor to Kicking Kittens


I often wonder how my youngest daughter would have made it as far as she has without the benefit of being classified as a student with special needs. Her accomplishments thus far are a marvel. While she certainly has goals and milestones to meet yet, she has much under her belt which will serve her well in the coming years as she progress towards adulthood. I don't know if she could claim as many victories without her having a classification in a special education program. When we noticed that our daughter was displaying characteristics and behaviors of an exceptional student we sought professional guidance, assessment, therapy, education, and support. We are lucky to have made this realization so early on. And, acted we did; much to our satisfaction. But, enough about her and our family; it is another student and family that did not seek the necessary services, and the outcome given the very special circumstances surrounding this student's life that makes the argument so strongly in favor of having your child classified as need be.

I was a teacher in the NYC school system, and while tenured I was subject to a very different, culturally closed society in that I taught in the single most economically depressed region of NYC....in other words, I taught in the ghetto. Of the many horror stories I have to tell, the following one is the most unusual as well as tragic:

Teaching as what is termed as a "cluster" teacher has its benefits and drawbacks. In Elementary Education you travel from class to class, teaching for a period of 45-50 minutes, then moving on to a different class and repeating. I was the writing cluster teacher. For some students it was a much deserved break from their regular classroom teacher, for others it was a chance to display poor behavior, for others it meant nothing. I would see as many as 700 students per week as opposed to 30-40 if I were a regular classroom teacher so I saw a huge cross section of young students on a recurring basis (remembering all their names was no easy trick either).

I began my third year of teaching at a new school where I met one student in particular; Charles (yup, named changed to protect his identity). Charles and I got off to a rough start that first year together. I had noticed the dynamic between him and the other students was different...perhaps it was because he was left back from the prior year. I didn't know, and it was not my priority; I was there to teach my students the fine art of writing so I began. Once, in passing, I commented and complimented him on his earrings; he had two huge, what looked like diamond studs in his ears. One student whispered to me that the earrings he wore were, in fact, made of real diamonds. I just couldn't believe it. So I called him on it that day. I asked him if they were real and he answered in the positive. I was stunned; they probably cost as much as my cars and my wardrobe, and I mentioned that to him. He asked me, point blank, if I thought he was lying to me. I replied I didn't think they were real as the cost would be prohibitive given the age of a third grader living in one of the most economically depressed areas in NYC so I said that I did, indeed, doubt his validity. Boy, was I wrong. They were real, and he didn't speak to me for many months thereafter...even after I apologized to him for doubting his claim. They were real, and given to him from his parents who had lots and lots of money. Money from less than honorable means and methods of acquisition as it would turn out.

Nonetheless he was different from the rest of his peers in many ways. He frequently nodded his head from front to back, ticked nervously around his left eye when one conversed with him, displayed speech delays and impediments, and was not social with his peers. He was a candidate for assessment. I had spoken to his regular classroom teacher about it and she said to drop the subject; that it was a waste of time to bother with him. She said no more, and did not satisfy my curiosity nor satiate my responsibility as it concerns Charles. I took it to higher sources within the school's hierarchy and received similar answers with little elaboration. I was taken quietly aside by another colleague some time thereafter my initial inquiries and was given the whole ugly truth about Charles.

Charles was the world's oldest third grader at....drum roll please....thirteen years old. I was astounded to hear that. Simply astounded. He looked just like a typical third grader, and especially so in height; he was the normal size of your average third grader, who was maybe eight years old. I had to exhibit a few double-takes when it was revealed to me that he was so old. It was the Goldfish Theory, but in human terms; put a goldfish in a small bowl and the goldfish doesn't grow much; put a goldfish in a big bowl and the goldfish grows much larger. He was the goldfish in a small bowl. After spending five full years as a third grader, and beginning a sixth year as such, I am witness to understanding the inhibiting physically detrimental effects on the human body.

His parents were not interested in Charles' education as they were never present during the school's earlier attempts at classifying him so he could receive the necessary services. His parents were members of a very powerful gang, and did "things" to acquire their economic living. Charles was connected not only by birth to this gang but I strongly suspect he was involved in some of their illicit and illegal activities as well. His parents refused to grant him assessment. They thought it was a badge of shame; something to be embarrassed about. They did not want him classified as a special education student. I never understood that line of thought.

His peers feared him. His teachers feared him. The school's administration turn a blind eye to him (and I secretly think they feared him too). The dreaded lunch ladies feared him. The custodians feared him. I think adults from the neighborhood feared him as well. My own feelings were mixed to be honest. I genuinely liked him as our relationship progressed and improved; he could exhibit a strange blend of intimacy in conversation with his experiences and observations playing the motivating decision-making process in his life. He couldn't’t write a paragraph to save his life but he could verbally spin a yarn that was funny, clever, and enticing. He was another child slipping and slipped through the cracks in the NYC school system. He was one of many goldfish in that small, crowded bowl.

He was too far gone for me to be of any real help...I could focus my energies elsewhere with positive results for future success but I didn’t give up on him completely. I was still his teacher for two periods a week, and I was going to see him progress as a writer as all my students were going to this, and every, year. I found him a seat in the reading resource room three times a week much to the dismay of that particular teacher (she gave me black looks even when Charles left the school for good) after I spent an inordinate amount of time bitching and moaning to the school's administration. I spent extra time with him as I could muster during our class time. His progress was not easy to gauge, but it was evident in some areas of language pathology that strides have been made. His vocabulary had improved as did his ability to spell the common sight words that we use daily in communication.

The next year coincided with a change in the City's top administrators. Our new leader, The Honorable Mayor Bloomturd (again, I changed the name to protect the identity of the offending official...and how he offends) decided to change what is termed the Educational Continuum. This impacted Charles' life in a most unusual way the next year. Instead of being left back again or being promoted to the fourth grade (I think he was going to be promoted) he was instructed under the new continuum to be promoted to the ninth grade; the chronologically correct grade he should attend under normal circumstances. I saw him one day in the fall of that new year loitering outside of the elementary school where I still taught. I asked him how he liked his new situation and new school. He smiled and said it was great, and laughed as he went on his merry way down the street. My last bit of information about him was that he was arrested as a minor for possession of illegal drugs with intent to sell and for possession of a deadly weapon. He was doing time in a local juvenile detention center. That was about five years ago when I heard that bit of information.

He is now ready to turn 19 or 20 years old. I haven't heard anything about him since the last bit of information. I can only imagine what he is up to....and my thoughts are not wholesome as it concerned his future prospects.

This is an extreme occurrence insofar as one person's life is concerned. I think it is also fair to say that the outcome of his life had many other factors involved; some very unusual ones, and that by receiving assessment and services from a specialized education program would have made a positive impact on his being. Whether or not that would have altered his life is pure conjecture, but I have seen the impact of services rendered where they are needed both as an educator and as a parent, and I am a huge proponent of Individualized Educational Programs for anyone in need of such. Do for your child the greatest service you can; if you have doubts or questions or concerns about your child's behavior or development you should consult with your spouse/family members/guardians about the situation, and then take it to a professional such as your family doctor for further inquiry. Get the proverbial ball rolling fast and advocate, advocate, advocate; it's up to you to guide and steer the development of your child.

An I.E.P. primer

Another post from Michael McKenna. Who has experience on both sides of the table-as an educator and as a parent.

An IEP Primer

There are some things that you, the parent, should be aware of when you go to an IEP meeting for your child. Since I have sat on three sides of the table; as a student with a speech disability, as a parent with a child with a Special Education classification, and as an Educator of children with Special Education classifications, I feel especially qualified to elaborate on this subject. There are a few Do's and Don't's to follow, and here are a few:

For Parents -
1. Show up on time for your meeting. If you know you're frequently late for appointments, make an effort to show up on time. If you have a legitimate circumstance that prevents your puncuality then that is fine. Showing up on time means you are putting your child first and foremost.
2. Do not bring your other children with you. Your focus is on the child in question to which the meeting is about; not your other children. Make arrangements to have someone watch your children, call the school to see if there is someone who can mind them, or cancel your appointment until you can find someone. If you must bring your children then you must, but please refrain from breast feeding your child during the meeting (yup, I've seen that).
3. Do bring an advocate if you need/want one. It's been my experience that the more knowledgeble individuals that attend, the better. There is nothing better than more insight as to your child's best interests. If you feel the need to bring an attorney that's fine too. Doctor? Nurse? Afterschool Special Education instructor? Yup, you bet; bring them all. Also, an IEP metting is not a social event - no eating, drinking, flirting, cellphone calls or texting messages, etc. You do not need to bring eight family members to advocate.
4. Do not use foul language. No cursing, expletives, swearing, oaths and threats (yup, heard them all, and sometimes in the same sentence). I, as an educator, am here to HELP. This is not to say that you need to kiss my ass ( I don't respond well to that method either to be quite frank) but you need to be civil and polite.
5. Do not threaten me or my family with bodily harm. Bottom line: get ready for a free ride in real-life police car because charges will be pressed against you (yup, I've seen one parent get hauled off....I wasn't in that meeting I would like to point out). It's really not going to help your child when they are wards of Child Protective Services and living under the foster care system because you flew off the handle and got yourself arrested.
6. If there is something you don't understand, ask; there is no such thing as a stupid question. If there is not enough time to satisfy your child's needs in one meeting, schedule another. If you think you're not getting treated fairly then say something. We, as teachers, do what we do because we feel the need to help...so we also have your child's best interests in mind. Re-schedule another meeting until you are satisfied but also be aware that there is only so much an educational institution can do given the infrastructure thereof. We are not miracle workers but we have been known to pull a few rabbits from top hats on occasion....be as flexible as you can and we'll appreciate your efforts.
7. Don’t look upon the teacher or educator "the enemy" because we're not. We don’t write policy or budgets; we work with them, and we do our level best to squeeze as much out of what we're given; oft times we're given very little to work with. I am reminded by the once familiar phrase spoken some 40+ years ago; "Either you're part of the problem or you're part of the solution," to which I add, "Or you're part of the landscape." Get involved with your school through the PTA, budget votes, different committees and meetings. Make sure you can back up your complaints and criticisms with action.
8. Educate yourself about your rights and responsibilities as a parent. There are multiple services available to you, the parent, about the in's and out's of yours and your child's rights. Learn them. Ask for help. Don’t be shy; this is your child's future at stake; both long and short term. When you are armed with knowledge it makes any meeting between educators and parents a more effective and efficient one.

Dancing at wits end

Here is one of mine...

It's 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning. My husbands alarm clock finally stopped going off at fifteen minute intervals , I am about to drift into a deep sleep, when MY alarm clock starts ringing. I drag myself out of bed, stumble down the stairs and pour a cup of coffee. Lukewarm coffee. Because my husband lovingly poured it from the coffee maker into the carafe in order to keep it hot for me. Only, he didn't screw the lid on correctly-so now it is closer to cold than warm. I glance out the window-and to my absolute horror, at least two feet of snow has fallen...and is still falling. For the love of god-it is going to be ANOTHER snow day-the kids WON'T have school. It is now 5:45 a.m. Monday morning and already the week has been too long.

I think about going back to bed...and just as I begin to make my way up the stairs, I hear the herd starting to wake up..Which is remarkable, for had this been a regular school day, I would need to prod, poke, pull and threaten them out of bed. It never fails...if it is the weekend, a holiday, or any other day in which there is no reason to wake up early-they are up at the crack of dawn. I wonder if there is some unwritten rule or code. A law that tells children "Thou shalt not let thy parents sleep late." If I do by chance, try and go back to sleep, they will tip toe (like a pack of elephants) into my room, stand next to my bed, and argue about whether or not I am awake...They think that they are whispering...but a whisper to them is one decibel below shouting. Sammy, will try and make everyone be quiet."Shh, mama is sleeping!!...Oscar, will get anxious saying"Oh no we are waking up mama!!"...Lily will tell Zoe that she is a baby and needs to go back to sleep...Zoe will scream(her face two inches from mine-she is checking whether or not my eyes are open)...I will pop up from the bed saying "Why are you all shouting?!!" to which they will reply.."Mama's awake!"Can we eat...I can't find my socks...Zoe pushed me...Sammy told me I had to go to bed...I did not!"...this will follow me to the bathroom..to my coffee..until I can actually quiet them with breakfast..

I get dressed and quickly walk the dogs. I am hoping to get a workout in. Working out with four kids at home is an adventure. If I ever meet Jillian Michael's, I will ask her how many extra calories this burns. In addition to following the workout routine, I chase my three year old who runs off with my weights, do push ups with a five year old (and various stuffed animals) on my back...have a ten year old who is all elbows and knees( with the coordination of a headless chicken) trying to mimic what I am doing and all the while I am asking my eight year old to "Please stop hopping up and down in front of the television". It takes roughly 2 hours to get through this 45 minute workout..by then it is lunch time..and my kids are hungry...they behave as though they hadn't been fed in months...I also notice that none of them have gotten dressed...with the exception of my three year old who is walking around in just one sock...this is her idea of a fashion statement.

I give them lunch and quickly walk the dogs(again). I make a pot of coffee and avidly watch the weather report-dear god let there be school tomorrow! As I try to drink a cup of hot coffee..my kids all clamor that they are bored and want to go outside and play in the snow. Four pairs of snow pants...boots, coats..hats, gloves and 30 minutes later they are outside..As I look longingly at my coffee pot my oldest comes to tell me that the snow plow guy has pushed all of the snow in front of the garage(I now look longingly at the wine bottle)...On go my own snow pants, hat, gloves and coat..I trudge towards the garage ready to do battle with the 5 feet of snow blocking the door...when my three year old has to go to the bathroom. Into the house we go..off come the hat,coat, mittens, snow pants and into the bathroom she goes...and out she comes...on go the snow pants, hat, coat and mittens...out the door we go when..."mama, I'm cold, I want to go in..." followed by a chorus of "me toos"..I plead- "Doesn't anyone want to help me shovel the snow?""Come on! It will be fun!"(I try to look enthusiastic) They look at me as if I have lost my mind. They do however agree to "help". Help consists of my ten year old shoveling the snow that I have moved- back to where it was, my eight year old rolling in the snow I am shoveling,my five year old lying in the snow complaining that her legs are tired, and my three year old repeatedly needing her mittens put back on. Three hours, two snack breaks, and one snowman later, it is done.

We go back into the house where I settle the herd in front of the t.v. with hot chocolate and even more snacks. I walk and feed the dogs. I clean up the kitchen and put a load of laundry in.Finally, I pour myself a big cup of coffee and think about sitting down with a book. When my oldest comes in and hugs me saying "I love you mama"..I hug him back saying "I love you too buddy."He pulls away, looks at me and says "whats for dinner? I'm starving."

I have a few options...I can cry...I can drink coffee and cry..or I can turn on music...I put on The Black Eyed Peas "Pump It" crank up the volume and watch as my kids start to dance..I see no other choice but to join them. It has stopped snowing, there will be school tomorrow. I dance all the way to the kitchen.

blues clues

This one is from www.Autismnostrum.blogspot.com


My son is four and obsessed with Blue's Clues. He loves to "skidoo" everywhere. He loves letters and numbers, and he loves computers so much that he can sight read the word "Google."

He's also picking things up from other areas. He sings with me more often. He gave me kisses today. He pointed at his Buzz Lightyear pajamas and labeled the face parts for me.
"Eyes"
"Nose"
..."Happy!"
Awwww

I'm so vain, I probably think this song is about me..

This one is from Denise (Dizedd) from California...


This morning, I went into Janet's room to wake her up, singing hula songs loudly[she just got new hula girl sheets on monday, and I have been torturing her with morning hula dances since then :)]

"No, Mom, stop. Shut up!", she said as she woke up, trying to pull the blanket back over her head.

"Janet, you can't tell me to shut up today. It's my birthday! I get to sing as loud as I want. ALOHA EEE, ALOHA III..."

"No, Mom.", she moaned.

"Then get up.", I said.

Next, I went into Scarlett's room. She was already awake, and grinning about her sister's loud annoyance with me.

"Guess what Scarlett? It's my Happy Birthday today!"
She nods her head-yes, she remembers. Grandma's coming over tonight, and we'll have cake. Annika's coming later too, and THAT means that she gets to stay up late and watch a movie while Annika and Mom visit on the back patio, yeah!

"Do I look older today?", I ask, teasing.

She nods her head again, most definately, yes-Mom DOES look older today.

Crap.

She doesn't lie, either. I must remember to never ask her this question ever again. I scoot over to the bathroom mirror to look for unusual 'puffiness' that might explain her percieving me as looking OLDER, but nope, it's no more puffy then usual-I just look older, appartently.

Happy Birthday to me :)

Kid's lucky she can't talk, or I'd be pestering her all day...

Do I look 33? Or do I look more like 29? Do I look older than 33? But I don't look older than 35, right? I'm ok with looking my age, I just don't want to look older than my age.... HOW OLD DO I LOOK SCARLETT?

The only person who would tell me the honest truth about this, and it will never pass her lips.

I'm gonna go stare in the mirror some more now...