Apparently, Aidan can do math. Go figure. We know he's a smart cookie, there's no doubt about that, but I don't think I was even doing math (okay I still don't do math), let's say my brother instead, I don't think he was doing math that quickly when he was 6.
So this morning while Aidan's getting ready for school, I asked him if he was spending time in the regular kindergarten class and what he's learning in there. He says he learns about toys, of course, because nothing else is as exciting as new and strange toys. I asked him if he was doing any math and he said yes. Well as you can imagine we started asking him math problems. At first they were simple. "If you have two bakugans and Miss Annie gives you another one, how many do you have?" "Three." No hesitation. "If you have three bakugans and one of them breaks how many do you have?" "One." Again, not a pause. "Alright... if you have five bakugan and you buy two more, how many do you have?" "Seven!" o.0
It was such a surprise. He got bored after that, so of course no more math problems today. But really? After all of this, he's a math whiz too? Gee, I got a kid genius on my hands guys!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
You'll Never Walk Alone
Every time I hear this song, I just want to grab Aidan and hold him and sing it to him. This song is on a commercial during the olympics at least once or twice an hour. And every time it brings tears to my eyes. If you haven't heard it, go find the Judy Garland version and listen. An autistic child should never walk alone (no child should), and I will always always always support Aidan's dreams. (This week the dream is ice skating)
When you walk through a storm
hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of a storm is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone,
You'll never, ever walk alone.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone,
You'll never, ever walk alone.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Seriously folks?
I have talked before about how much of a blessing Aidan is. Today I wanted to scream, and this was before he even got home. It wasn't anything he did though, rather something someone else said. If you hadn't heard: Bob Marshall, R-VA: disabled kids are God's punishment for abortions?! http://tinyurl.com/yalfvx7.
Seriously Bob? Wow, "conservative Christians" can really put their foot in their mouth sometimes. Did you even bother to think before you spoke Bob? Honestly, I'm not sure what he was thinking. According to Bob, "The number of children who are born subsequent to a first abortion with handicaps has increased dramatically. Why? Because when you abort the first born of any, nature takes its vengeance on the subsequent children," said Marshall, a Republican."In the Old Testament, the first born of every being, animal and man, was dedicated to the Lord. There's a special punishment Christians would suggest." Okay... so what about all those mothers who never had an abortion but our children were born with a disability? And what about all the women who had an abortion and their subsequent child wasn't disabled? The logic in that statement is SO far off it's beyond sad.
The biggest problem I have with Bob's statement is that he considers disabled children a punishment at all. This is such a prejudiced and hateful statement! Anyone who has a child with a disability knows that their child is not a punishment but a gift! No, it's not easy, but how lucky are we that we were good enough and strong enough to receive such a wonderful challenge?
Bob, do us a favor. Duct tape your mouth shut so you can't make any other stupid hateful comments. You make everyone look bad.
Seriously Bob? Wow, "conservative Christians" can really put their foot in their mouth sometimes. Did you even bother to think before you spoke Bob? Honestly, I'm not sure what he was thinking. According to Bob, "The number of children who are born subsequent to a first abortion with handicaps has increased dramatically. Why? Because when you abort the first born of any, nature takes its vengeance on the subsequent children," said Marshall, a Republican."In the Old Testament, the first born of every being, animal and man, was dedicated to the Lord. There's a special punishment Christians would suggest." Okay... so what about all those mothers who never had an abortion but our children were born with a disability? And what about all the women who had an abortion and their subsequent child wasn't disabled? The logic in that statement is SO far off it's beyond sad.
The biggest problem I have with Bob's statement is that he considers disabled children a punishment at all. This is such a prejudiced and hateful statement! Anyone who has a child with a disability knows that their child is not a punishment but a gift! No, it's not easy, but how lucky are we that we were good enough and strong enough to receive such a wonderful challenge?
Bob, do us a favor. Duct tape your mouth shut so you can't make any other stupid hateful comments. You make everyone look bad.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The glass half full
A diagnosis of autism often feels like a death sentence when it's first given. Your mind goes immediately to the fact that your life will never be the same, and there are so many things your child may never do. It becomes overwhelming to try to determine what services will help your child and when and how soon you can get them, not to mention how the heck you're supposed to pay for all of this since it's usually not covered by insurance. It would be so easy to be angry, to grieve and mourn what your child could have been, to be depressed over it all.
But take a different look at it.
You are blessed to have a child with such a unique way of seeing the world. He or she can teach you about things you never even knew you needed to learn. Only a child with a disorder such as autism can show you how differently the world appears to them. Only a parent with a child who may or may not ever speak can appreciate so strongly the importance and joy of hearing their little one say "Mommy" or "I love you". We learn patience, stubbornness, selflessness, hope, perseverance, and unconditional love.
If you can't look at those things as a blessing, then take this and chew on it for a while: your child has autism, which is pretty much never life threatening (unless your child has comorbid symptoms which prevent them from taking nutrition or something like that). Imagine that diagnosis of autism and how scared you were when you got it. Now imagine if that diagnosis were one of leukemia or some other deadly childhood illness. The likelihood of your child "coping" with or overcoming such a terrible disease is often slim. You must watch them suffer as they go through painful treatments, and are in and out of hospitals. Some parents even have to watch their child die. I can't imagine the helplessness I would feel if Aidan had been diagnosed with a childhood cancer. It's my job to protect him. I yell at principals and teachers who I don't feel are doing their best to help him. But what if the doctors ARE doing their best and it's still not enough? Who do you yell at then? At least with a diagnosis of autism, I know my child is healthy, and for now happy. I can help him to be happy by making sure he learns to overcome his diagnosis, learns to live above and around it rather than just live with it. I can teach him to not let it control his life and keep him from doing things he wants to do. I never have to be afraid of dreaming and hoping with him.
Take stock of your blessings... often times they are more significant than you realize. You were chosen to be part of an amazing miracle, and to be worthy of raising such a special child.
If you aren't the parent of a child with autism, I still encourage you to count your blessings. It's so easy to be cynical and to think about how crappy life is, especially now when the economy is bad and times are tough. But look at all you do have! Did you wake up this morning? Did you have a roof over your head? Did you have food to eat and clothes to get dressed? What else do you have that you take for granted? A loving and supportive relationship with your family? Great friends who would come get you if your car broke down at 4am? A job that may not be your favorite but at least pays your bills? Life changes drastically when you look at what you have instead of what you don't.
But take a different look at it.
You are blessed to have a child with such a unique way of seeing the world. He or she can teach you about things you never even knew you needed to learn. Only a child with a disorder such as autism can show you how differently the world appears to them. Only a parent with a child who may or may not ever speak can appreciate so strongly the importance and joy of hearing their little one say "Mommy" or "I love you". We learn patience, stubbornness, selflessness, hope, perseverance, and unconditional love.
If you can't look at those things as a blessing, then take this and chew on it for a while: your child has autism, which is pretty much never life threatening (unless your child has comorbid symptoms which prevent them from taking nutrition or something like that). Imagine that diagnosis of autism and how scared you were when you got it. Now imagine if that diagnosis were one of leukemia or some other deadly childhood illness. The likelihood of your child "coping" with or overcoming such a terrible disease is often slim. You must watch them suffer as they go through painful treatments, and are in and out of hospitals. Some parents even have to watch their child die. I can't imagine the helplessness I would feel if Aidan had been diagnosed with a childhood cancer. It's my job to protect him. I yell at principals and teachers who I don't feel are doing their best to help him. But what if the doctors ARE doing their best and it's still not enough? Who do you yell at then? At least with a diagnosis of autism, I know my child is healthy, and for now happy. I can help him to be happy by making sure he learns to overcome his diagnosis, learns to live above and around it rather than just live with it. I can teach him to not let it control his life and keep him from doing things he wants to do. I never have to be afraid of dreaming and hoping with him.
Take stock of your blessings... often times they are more significant than you realize. You were chosen to be part of an amazing miracle, and to be worthy of raising such a special child.
If you aren't the parent of a child with autism, I still encourage you to count your blessings. It's so easy to be cynical and to think about how crappy life is, especially now when the economy is bad and times are tough. But look at all you do have! Did you wake up this morning? Did you have a roof over your head? Did you have food to eat and clothes to get dressed? What else do you have that you take for granted? A loving and supportive relationship with your family? Great friends who would come get you if your car broke down at 4am? A job that may not be your favorite but at least pays your bills? Life changes drastically when you look at what you have instead of what you don't.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A Different Perspective
It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.
- Erma Bombeck
As the mother of a child who has autism, I have learned this better than I thought I could. I'm not saying that I don't sometimes still judge people, I'm not perfect. But one group that I've learned not to judge is my fellow parents. Most people, even some parents, when they see a parent whose child is misbehaving or being obnoxious or loud or throwing a tantrum, they glare at the parent as if they are the worst parent in the world. We're guilty of having done it at least once, even if we don't admit it. We see the child throwing a tantrum, or talking too loudly in the restaurant, or wearing a diaper even though they should be much too old to do so. And we automatically think, "oh, if I were that child's parent, what I would do is....". But you know absolutely nothing about that child or his parent in most cases. And sometimes, even if you do, your lack of perspective gives you a skewed judgment of what is really happening and how it should be handled.
Aidan has a hard time using the correct volume at the right time and place. Aidan is very sensitive to sound, light, and smell (and maybe other things he can't tell us). Aidan has a difficult time with transitions and needs extra warning that something is about to change, and what to expect. Aidan isn't always able to put into words what he wants or needs and it frustrates both of us. Aidan loves watching the same thing over and over and over and over. Aidan loves to sing, and will do so as often as he's permitted to do so, and sometimes when he isn't. Aidan can't always make eye contact, but he tries to.
But let's assume you didn't know any of those things about Aidan and you came across the two of us at the grocery store. He starts out talking or singing loudly, and you may not know it but I've given up trying to quiet him down because it isn't a library or the movie theater. Then, without much warning he puts his hands over his ears and starts acting rather brattishly - you don't pay attention but to him the combination of sounds has become overwhelming, perhaps the loudspeaker came on or more people were talking than before. He's also hungry and the lights are bothering his eyes, but you don't know this when he starts having his melt down, screaming and throwing a fit because he can't tell me what is making him so uncomfortable. I have to finish my grocery shopping and I don't have anyone who could have watched him because I'm a single mom and don't always have an immediately available babysitter, or a chance to do it while he's at school. I know that you're watching me and rolling your eyes and talking behind your hand to your friend about how terrible of a person and irresponsible of a mother I am because I can't control my child, and don't have the common courtesy to take him out of the store so people can shop in peace.
I've learned the hard way never to judge parents for the way their children act, because it requires me to make an assumption that everything else about their life is perfect and they are just choosing to let their child behave poorly. I can't stand the look I get when Aidan is having a bad day. I thank God that those days are fewer now than they used to be, but there was a time when I dreaded taking him anywhere in public. It made me want to carry around business cards so people would stop looking at me like I was a bad person, and looking at my child like he's the devil.
So, next time you're out at a restaurant or shopping, or wherever you may be, and you see a child who's acting like a handful and it annoys you, before you make a snarky comment about how you would handle it... stop. Think. Reserve judgment. Be compassionate. Smile at the mom who's struggling with her child that is screaming for apparently little reason (don't assume it's just because he didn't get his way), offer to carry something for the dad who needs to pick his little girl up because things are too loud for her and she's in a panic, laugh and join in when someone's child is singing along with the music. We're so quick to judge people, and it's a hard habit to break. I was blessed to be given a little boy who could force me to break that habit.
Honestly I think someone secretly prayed I would be given patience.
Thanks, whoever you are. My test has been awesome!
- Erma Bombeck
As the mother of a child who has autism, I have learned this better than I thought I could. I'm not saying that I don't sometimes still judge people, I'm not perfect. But one group that I've learned not to judge is my fellow parents. Most people, even some parents, when they see a parent whose child is misbehaving or being obnoxious or loud or throwing a tantrum, they glare at the parent as if they are the worst parent in the world. We're guilty of having done it at least once, even if we don't admit it. We see the child throwing a tantrum, or talking too loudly in the restaurant, or wearing a diaper even though they should be much too old to do so. And we automatically think, "oh, if I were that child's parent, what I would do is....". But you know absolutely nothing about that child or his parent in most cases. And sometimes, even if you do, your lack of perspective gives you a skewed judgment of what is really happening and how it should be handled.
Aidan has a hard time using the correct volume at the right time and place. Aidan is very sensitive to sound, light, and smell (and maybe other things he can't tell us). Aidan has a difficult time with transitions and needs extra warning that something is about to change, and what to expect. Aidan isn't always able to put into words what he wants or needs and it frustrates both of us. Aidan loves watching the same thing over and over and over and over. Aidan loves to sing, and will do so as often as he's permitted to do so, and sometimes when he isn't. Aidan can't always make eye contact, but he tries to.
But let's assume you didn't know any of those things about Aidan and you came across the two of us at the grocery store. He starts out talking or singing loudly, and you may not know it but I've given up trying to quiet him down because it isn't a library or the movie theater. Then, without much warning he puts his hands over his ears and starts acting rather brattishly - you don't pay attention but to him the combination of sounds has become overwhelming, perhaps the loudspeaker came on or more people were talking than before. He's also hungry and the lights are bothering his eyes, but you don't know this when he starts having his melt down, screaming and throwing a fit because he can't tell me what is making him so uncomfortable. I have to finish my grocery shopping and I don't have anyone who could have watched him because I'm a single mom and don't always have an immediately available babysitter, or a chance to do it while he's at school. I know that you're watching me and rolling your eyes and talking behind your hand to your friend about how terrible of a person and irresponsible of a mother I am because I can't control my child, and don't have the common courtesy to take him out of the store so people can shop in peace.
I've learned the hard way never to judge parents for the way their children act, because it requires me to make an assumption that everything else about their life is perfect and they are just choosing to let their child behave poorly. I can't stand the look I get when Aidan is having a bad day. I thank God that those days are fewer now than they used to be, but there was a time when I dreaded taking him anywhere in public. It made me want to carry around business cards so people would stop looking at me like I was a bad person, and looking at my child like he's the devil.
So, next time you're out at a restaurant or shopping, or wherever you may be, and you see a child who's acting like a handful and it annoys you, before you make a snarky comment about how you would handle it... stop. Think. Reserve judgment. Be compassionate. Smile at the mom who's struggling with her child that is screaming for apparently little reason (don't assume it's just because he didn't get his way), offer to carry something for the dad who needs to pick his little girl up because things are too loud for her and she's in a panic, laugh and join in when someone's child is singing along with the music. We're so quick to judge people, and it's a hard habit to break. I was blessed to be given a little boy who could force me to break that habit.
Honestly I think someone secretly prayed I would be given patience.
Thanks, whoever you are. My test has been awesome!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Oh noes! No circus this year.
We had planned on taking Aidan to the circus today. Sadly it seems the tickets are sold out. I honestly dreaded telling Aidan that we couldn't go, because we'd talked about it for a couple of days and he seemed to be really really excited. I was so proud of him though, when we told him we couldn't go he was upset for a few moments, but was willing to come up with an alternative to keep himself entertained. I asked him if there was something else he would rather do (I figured he'd ask to go to Sci-Quest or the toy store or something), and he decided he wanted to play with his tornado machine. That was seriously surprising to me. There was no melt-down, no whining, no begging to go somewhere else or anything. He was happy to play with his toy (THANKS MAWMAW!) instead of going to the circus. I feel horrible that he didn't get to go, and that I didn't keep my promise to him, but I didn't realize the circus would sell out!
It's great to see him make progress and learn to take control of his behaviour and his attitude. I'm so proud of him (even when he has bad days, which are fewer and further between)!
It's great to see him make progress and learn to take control of his behaviour and his attitude. I'm so proud of him (even when he has bad days, which are fewer and further between)!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
God Chooses Mom for a Disabled Child
(Also posted previously on Facebook)
God Chooses Mom for Disabled Child
written by Erma Bombeck,
Published in the Today Newspaper Sept. 4th, 1993,
Most women become mothers by choice, some by social pressures, and a couple by habit this year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen? Somehow I visualize God hovering over Earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he observes, he instructs his angels to make notes in a giant ledger. "Armstrong, Beth; son; patron saint, Matthew. "Forrest, Marjorie; daughter; patron saint, Cecelia. "Rudledge, Carrie; twins; patron saint.... give her Gerard. He's used to profanity." Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child." The angel is curious. "Why this one, God? She's so happy." "Exactly," smiles God. "Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel." "But has she patience?" asks the angel. "I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it." "I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independance. She'll have to teach the child to live in her world and that's not going to be easy." "But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you." God smiles. "No matter. I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough selfishness." The angel gasps, "Selfishness? Is that a virtue?" God nods. "If she can't seperate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, there is a woman I will bless with a child less then perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a `spoken word.' She will never consider a `step' ordinary. When her child says `Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle and know it! When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations." "I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice... and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side." "And what about her patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in midair. God smiles. "A mirror will suffice"
God Chooses Mom for Disabled Child
written by Erma Bombeck,
Published in the Today Newspaper Sept. 4th, 1993,
Most women become mothers by choice, some by social pressures, and a couple by habit this year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen? Somehow I visualize God hovering over Earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he observes, he instructs his angels to make notes in a giant ledger. "Armstrong, Beth; son; patron saint, Matthew. "Forrest, Marjorie; daughter; patron saint, Cecelia. "Rudledge, Carrie; twins; patron saint.... give her Gerard. He's used to profanity." Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child." The angel is curious. "Why this one, God? She's so happy." "Exactly," smiles God. "Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel." "But has she patience?" asks the angel. "I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it." "I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independance. She'll have to teach the child to live in her world and that's not going to be easy." "But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you." God smiles. "No matter. I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough selfishness." The angel gasps, "Selfishness? Is that a virtue?" God nods. "If she can't seperate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, there is a woman I will bless with a child less then perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a `spoken word.' She will never consider a `step' ordinary. When her child says `Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle and know it! When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations." "I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice... and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side." "And what about her patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in midair. God smiles. "A mirror will suffice"
10 Things Every Child With Autism Wishes You Knew
I've posted this before on my Facebook, but I feel like I should post it again because it is so very true and helpful:
Borrowed from a book I own and wish everyone who knew me or my child had an opportunity to read...
10 things children with autism wish you knew.
1. I am a child with autism. I am not "autistic." My autism is one aspect of my total character. It does not define me as a person. Are you a person with thoughts, feelings and many talents, or are you just fat (overweight), myopic (wear glasses) or klutzy (uncoordinated, not good at sports)?
2. My sensory perceptions are disordered. This means the ordinary sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches of everyday life that you may not even notice can be downright painful for me. The very environment in which I have to live often seems hostile. I may appear withdrawn or belligerent to you, but I am really just trying to defend myself. A "simple" trip to the grocery store may be hell for me. My hearing may be hyperacute. Dozens of people are talking at once. The loudspeaker booms today's special. Muzak whines from the sound system. Cash registers beep and cough. A coffee grinder is chugging. The meat cutter screeches, babies wail, carts creak, the fluorescent lighting hums. My brain can't filter all the input, and I'm in overload! My sense of smell may be highly sensitive. The fish at the meat counter isn't quite fresh, the guy standing next to us hasn't showered today, the deli is handing out sausage samples, the baby in line ahead of us has a poopy diaper, they're mopping up pickles on Aisle 3 with ammonia. ... I can't sort it all out, I'm too nauseous.
Because I am visually oriented, this may be my first sense to become overstimulated. The fluorescent light is too bright. It makes the room pulsate and hurts my eyes. Sometimes the pulsating light bounces off everything and distorts what I am seeing. The space seems to be constantly changing. There's glare from windows, moving fans on the ceiling, so many bodies in constant motion, too many items for me to be able to focus - and I may compensate with tunnel vision. All this affects my vestibular sense, and now I can't even tell where my body is in space. I may stumble, bump into things, or simply lay down to try and regroup.
3. Please remember to distinguish between won't (I choose not to) and can't (I'm not able to). Receptive and expressive language are both difficult for me. It isn't that I don't listen to instructions. It's that I can't understand you. When you call to me from across the room, this is what I hear: "*&^%$#@, Billy. #$%^*&^%$&*" Instead, come speak directly to me in plain words: "Please put your book in your desk, Billy. It's time to go to lunch." This tells me what you want me to do and what is going to happen next. Now it's much easier for me to comply.
4. I am a concrete thinker. I interpret language literally. It's very confusing for me when you say, "Hold your horses, cowboy!" when what you really mean is "Please stop running." Don't tell me something is a "piece of cake" when there is no dessert in sight and what you really mean is, "This will be easy for you to do." When you say, "It's pouring cats and dogs," I see pets coming out of a pitcher. Please just tell me, "It's raining very hard." Idioms, puns, nuances, double entendres and sarcasm are lost on me.
5. Be patient with my limited vocabulary. It's hard for me to tell you what I need when I don't know the words to describe my feelings. I may be hungry, frustrated, frightened or confused, but right now those words are beyond my ability to express. Be alert for body language, withdrawal, agitation, or other signs that something is wrong.
There's a flip side to this: I may sound like a little professor or a movie star, rattling off words or whole scripts well beyond my developmental age. These are messages I have memorized from the world around me to compensate for my language deficits, because I know I am expected to respond when spoken to. They may come from books, television or the speech of other people. It's called echolalia. I don't necessarily understand the context or the terminology I'm using, I just know it gets me off the hook for coming up with a reply.
6. Because language is so difficult for me, I am very visually oriented. Show me how to do something rather than just telling me. And please be prepared to show me many times. Lots of patient repetition helps me learn.
A visual schedule is extremely helpful as I move through my day. Like your day planner, it relieves me of the stress of having to remember what comes next, makes for smooth transitions between activities, and helps me manage my time and meet your expectations. Here's a great web site for learning more about visual schedules http://www.cesa7.k12.wi.us/newweb/content/rsn/autism.asp
7. Focus and build on what I can do rather than what I can't do. Like any other human, I can't learn in an environment where I'm constantly made to feel that I'm not good enough or that I need fixing. Trying anything new when I am almost sure to be met with criticism, however constructive, becomes something to be avoided. Look for my strengths and you'll find them. There's more than one right way to do most things.
8. Help me with social interactions. It may look like I don't want to play with the other kids on the playground, but sometimes it's just that I simply don't know how to start a conversation or enter a play situation. If you can encourage other children to invite me to join them at kickball or shooting baskets, I may be delighted to be included.
9. Try to identify what triggers my meltdowns. This is termed "the antecedent." Meltdowns, blowups, tantrums or whatever you want to call them are even more horrid for me than they are for you. They occur because one or more of my senses has gone into overload. If you can figure out why my meltdowns occur, they can be prevented.
10. If you are a family member, please LOVE ME UNCONDITIONALLY. Banish thoughts such as, "If he would just ..." and "Why can't she ... ?" You didn't fulfill every last expectation your parents had for you, and you wouldn't like being constantly reminded of it. I didn't choose to have autism. Remember that it's happening to me, not you. Without your support, my chances of successful, self-reliant adulthood are slim. With your support and guidance, the possibilities are broader than you might think. I promise you I'm worth it.
It all comes down to three words: Patience. Patience. Patience.
Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a disability. Look past what you may see as limitations and see the GIFTS autism has given me. I may not be good at eye contact or conversation, but have you noticed I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle on my classmates, or pass judgment on other people?
You are my foundation. Think through some of those societal rules, and if they don't make sense for me, let them go. Be my advocate, be my friend, and we'll see just how far I can go.
I probably won't be the next Michael Jordan, but with my attention to fine detail and capacity for extraordinary focus, I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh.
They had autism too.
Borrowed from a book I own and wish everyone who knew me or my child had an opportunity to read...
10 things children with autism wish you knew.
1. I am a child with autism. I am not "autistic." My autism is one aspect of my total character. It does not define me as a person. Are you a person with thoughts, feelings and many talents, or are you just fat (overweight), myopic (wear glasses) or klutzy (uncoordinated, not good at sports)?
2. My sensory perceptions are disordered. This means the ordinary sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches of everyday life that you may not even notice can be downright painful for me. The very environment in which I have to live often seems hostile. I may appear withdrawn or belligerent to you, but I am really just trying to defend myself. A "simple" trip to the grocery store may be hell for me. My hearing may be hyperacute. Dozens of people are talking at once. The loudspeaker booms today's special. Muzak whines from the sound system. Cash registers beep and cough. A coffee grinder is chugging. The meat cutter screeches, babies wail, carts creak, the fluorescent lighting hums. My brain can't filter all the input, and I'm in overload! My sense of smell may be highly sensitive. The fish at the meat counter isn't quite fresh, the guy standing next to us hasn't showered today, the deli is handing out sausage samples, the baby in line ahead of us has a poopy diaper, they're mopping up pickles on Aisle 3 with ammonia. ... I can't sort it all out, I'm too nauseous.
Because I am visually oriented, this may be my first sense to become overstimulated. The fluorescent light is too bright. It makes the room pulsate and hurts my eyes. Sometimes the pulsating light bounces off everything and distorts what I am seeing. The space seems to be constantly changing. There's glare from windows, moving fans on the ceiling, so many bodies in constant motion, too many items for me to be able to focus - and I may compensate with tunnel vision. All this affects my vestibular sense, and now I can't even tell where my body is in space. I may stumble, bump into things, or simply lay down to try and regroup.
3. Please remember to distinguish between won't (I choose not to) and can't (I'm not able to). Receptive and expressive language are both difficult for me. It isn't that I don't listen to instructions. It's that I can't understand you. When you call to me from across the room, this is what I hear: "*&^%$#@, Billy. #$%^*&^%$&*" Instead, come speak directly to me in plain words: "Please put your book in your desk, Billy. It's time to go to lunch." This tells me what you want me to do and what is going to happen next. Now it's much easier for me to comply.
4. I am a concrete thinker. I interpret language literally. It's very confusing for me when you say, "Hold your horses, cowboy!" when what you really mean is "Please stop running." Don't tell me something is a "piece of cake" when there is no dessert in sight and what you really mean is, "This will be easy for you to do." When you say, "It's pouring cats and dogs," I see pets coming out of a pitcher. Please just tell me, "It's raining very hard." Idioms, puns, nuances, double entendres and sarcasm are lost on me.
5. Be patient with my limited vocabulary. It's hard for me to tell you what I need when I don't know the words to describe my feelings. I may be hungry, frustrated, frightened or confused, but right now those words are beyond my ability to express. Be alert for body language, withdrawal, agitation, or other signs that something is wrong.
There's a flip side to this: I may sound like a little professor or a movie star, rattling off words or whole scripts well beyond my developmental age. These are messages I have memorized from the world around me to compensate for my language deficits, because I know I am expected to respond when spoken to. They may come from books, television or the speech of other people. It's called echolalia. I don't necessarily understand the context or the terminology I'm using, I just know it gets me off the hook for coming up with a reply.
6. Because language is so difficult for me, I am very visually oriented. Show me how to do something rather than just telling me. And please be prepared to show me many times. Lots of patient repetition helps me learn.
A visual schedule is extremely helpful as I move through my day. Like your day planner, it relieves me of the stress of having to remember what comes next, makes for smooth transitions between activities, and helps me manage my time and meet your expectations. Here's a great web site for learning more about visual schedules http://www.cesa7.k12.wi.us
7. Focus and build on what I can do rather than what I can't do. Like any other human, I can't learn in an environment where I'm constantly made to feel that I'm not good enough or that I need fixing. Trying anything new when I am almost sure to be met with criticism, however constructive, becomes something to be avoided. Look for my strengths and you'll find them. There's more than one right way to do most things.
8. Help me with social interactions. It may look like I don't want to play with the other kids on the playground, but sometimes it's just that I simply don't know how to start a conversation or enter a play situation. If you can encourage other children to invite me to join them at kickball or shooting baskets, I may be delighted to be included.
9. Try to identify what triggers my meltdowns. This is termed "the antecedent." Meltdowns, blowups, tantrums or whatever you want to call them are even more horrid for me than they are for you. They occur because one or more of my senses has gone into overload. If you can figure out why my meltdowns occur, they can be prevented.
10. If you are a family member, please LOVE ME UNCONDITIONALLY. Banish thoughts such as, "If he would just ..." and "Why can't she ... ?" You didn't fulfill every last expectation your parents had for you, and you wouldn't like being constantly reminded of it. I didn't choose to have autism. Remember that it's happening to me, not you. Without your support, my chances of successful, self-reliant adulthood are slim. With your support and guidance, the possibilities are broader than you might think. I promise you I'm worth it.
It all comes down to three words: Patience. Patience. Patience.
Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a disability. Look past what you may see as limitations and see the GIFTS autism has given me. I may not be good at eye contact or conversation, but have you noticed I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle on my classmates, or pass judgment on other people?
You are my foundation. Think through some of those societal rules, and if they don't make sense for me, let them go. Be my advocate, be my friend, and we'll see just how far I can go.
I probably won't be the next Michael Jordan, but with my attention to fine detail and capacity for extraordinary focus, I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh.
They had autism too.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Aidan moves to a new school... or, why first year kindergarten teachers shouldn't have autistic children in their classroom...r
It's been an excruciating and stressful process, which has taken nearly a month (maybe more) to straighten out, but Aidan is now happily ensconced at his new school. Let's hope this time is more successful.
Because I registered Aidan late at Creekside Elementary (here in Limestone County), he was placed in a classroom with a FIRST YEAR TEACHER. Okay, seriously, who is this fair to? Aidan did alright at first, he made lots of friends, and came home singing songs and did his work. He adored his special ed teacher, Ms. Matsos (thank God for her, or things would have been a million times worse!), but she could only spend so much time with him, since she's got a lot of other students to tend to.
Aidan has a lot of issues with sensory overload, and I made sure that his kindergarten teacher (Ms. Hayes), Ms. Matsos, and the principal (Mr. Scott) all knew about these issues. Sounds are really his weakness, and he has to put a lot of effort into ignoring all the little noises you and I are able to filter out with no issue. I know some smells bother him, and he hasn't really told me about whether certain lights bother him, but who knows. We send his iPod to school with him everyday in case he needs time out and some different sensory input, and you'd think Ms. Hayes would learn pretty quickly when Aidan needs a chance to escape.
A couple weeks into school, they started DIBELS testing. This is basic reading skills competency for kindergartners. Aidan had been doing fine up until this point, with really very few problems. As far as I can guess, this change of schedule and routine really threw him off and the problems started.
Now anyone who's been around Aidan a lot, knows that when he's trying to ignore the world around him and focus on the task at hand (school work, TV, playing with trains, Lego's, etc.), if you touch him or speak to him, he lashes out. He just has a hard time with the sensory input. At school there are even more noises to try to filter out, and even more to focus on. Of course, kindergartners aren't great at staying out of personal space, or leaving other kids alone, and they all sit at group tables together. What does this mean for Aidan? It means that he starts hitting kids or pulling their hair or whatever reaction he feels is necessary when they break his focus or he goes into sensory overload. He had been having problems with pickup in the afternoon because it was too loud, and we changed that situation, but you can't exactly pull a kid out of the classroom every time he gets overwhelmed.
At least twice a week I was being called by the principal, or having to go the Principal's office to pick Aidan up because he had hit another student, or worse had hit his teacher. Kindergarten children should not be spending the day in ISS (in school suspension). But Aidan realized that the office was quiet, and there weren't other students there to invade his space or make irritating noises. So he continued acting out, because for him that wasn't a punishment. And it felt wrong to punish him for reacting the only way he knew how to a highly uncomfortable situation - he just doesn't have the coping skills to deal with it any other way.
Finally, Mr. Scott (the principal at Creekside) recommended that we consider placing Aidan at a different school that could better provide for his needs as a child with autism. Johnson Elementary, which is about the same distance from our house, just in a different direction, has a self-contained autism unit, with several aides to help the children one-on-one, and one of the best autism teachers in the state.
What an opportunity!
We were hesitant at first. Aidan is super-smart (highest reading level in his kindergarten class!), and very high-functioning - would these kids who were much lower-functioning make it harder for him to progress? Would he be overwhelmed by their behavior? If we didn't move him, what could we do for him?
Fortunately, Limestone County spent the majority of their stimulus money on their autism programs. In fact, they have a nationally renowned behaviorist from Auburn on retainer for the year - Dr. Babcock. He's odd, but he's very intuitive and has been working with autistic children for a very long time. We had the chance to sit down with him, as well as two of the special ed coordinators from the school board, and the autism teacher at Johnson (Ms. Enloe, who is amazing). Dr. Babcock also went over and spoke to Ms. Matsos about Aidan, and also observed him for a little while to get an idea of Aidan's behavior. Apparently, it is very rare for Dr. Babcock to recommend for a child to go to the autism unit, but he told us without a doubt that this was where Aidan belonged (heck, we asked God for a clear direction, I guess he thought he'd better make it crystal clear!). He feared that if we didn't move Aidan, he would develop a school phobia - he didn't want Aidan to feel like he had to act out to escape the discomfort of the regular classroom.
So, I took Aidan the next day to visit the classroom, with the hopes that if he liked it, we could get him enrolled the following Monday. This was the plan, and I was told by the special ed coordinator that it was clear for us to do this. We were delayed by a week because Ms. Enloe was going to be out on training, but when she returned then we'd start Aidan there and have his IEP meeting on his first day.
This is where the tangled mess that had me so stressed out really got even messier. Jeremy and I showed up Monday morning with Aidan who they took to the classroom. Ms. Matsos, Ms. Enloe, Dr. Lewis (Johnson's principal - who I don't like), and Ms. Simmons (a kindergarten teacher at Johnson) met with us. Instead of coming up with an IEP, they (Dr. Lewis and Ms. Enloe, but mostly Dr. Lewis) started back-pedaling. Oh, we didn't know about any of this, we don't have enough info to do an IEP, we don't know enough about his behavior, we didn't know this decision was final, are we sure he should be at Johnson, I thought Dr. Babcock was supposed to make a behavior plan first, that meeting wasn't official, let's step back and think about this. I went into mama bear mode. I was ready to slash some throats and take some heads. We left that day without accomplishing anything. They said he could stay the rest of that day, but should return to Creekside until further notice. The principal would attempt to contact the special ed coordinator. We had to wait until Friday after next to hear from Dr. Babcock. Who cares if we're shoving an already miserable little boy back into an uncomfortable and unproductive environment? It's convenient for us.
Thank goodness Ms. Matsos told Mr. Scott. About an hour after the disastrous meeting, my cell phone rang and it was Ms. Baccus (the special ed coordinator). She said Mr. Scott had called her and said the meeting hadn't gone well. I told her what had happened, and she confirmed that it was not THEIR decision to make, and that the decision had already been made and emails had been sent two weeks before. She said not to get upset because it would be taken care of. She called me back again and said we could go ahead and transfer Aidan from Creekside to Johnson, that he would finish out the week at Johnson, and on Thursday we'd have the IEP meeting, and she would be there to ensure that things were done properly and Aidan wasn't shuffled to the side again for the sake of bureaucracy.
So Aidan started his second week at Johnson yesterday. They've been working on handwriting, and numbers, and when he behaves for a certain amount of time he gets to go the sensory integration room. He calls it the nursery room for some reason - he loves it. It has quiet music, and dim lighting, and all kinds of interesting toys like a ball pit and a tent, and eventually a swing. He seems so much happier.
Right now they're observing his behavior, and letting him acclimate to the new school and environment. He's getting used to the new schedule and people, and then once they've gotten to know him, he'll start spending time in the regular kindergarten classroom, with an aide. Eventually, he'll spend the majority of his day in there with an aide. The plan is that next year he'll be back at Creekside and we'll try the whole kindergarten thing again. Considering he's got the maturity of a 4 year old right now, then next year he should fit right in. And you can be sure, I won't allow them to place him with an inexperienced teacher again.
Because I registered Aidan late at Creekside Elementary (here in Limestone County), he was placed in a classroom with a FIRST YEAR TEACHER. Okay, seriously, who is this fair to? Aidan did alright at first, he made lots of friends, and came home singing songs and did his work. He adored his special ed teacher, Ms. Matsos (thank God for her, or things would have been a million times worse!), but she could only spend so much time with him, since she's got a lot of other students to tend to.
Aidan has a lot of issues with sensory overload, and I made sure that his kindergarten teacher (Ms. Hayes), Ms. Matsos, and the principal (Mr. Scott) all knew about these issues. Sounds are really his weakness, and he has to put a lot of effort into ignoring all the little noises you and I are able to filter out with no issue. I know some smells bother him, and he hasn't really told me about whether certain lights bother him, but who knows. We send his iPod to school with him everyday in case he needs time out and some different sensory input, and you'd think Ms. Hayes would learn pretty quickly when Aidan needs a chance to escape.
A couple weeks into school, they started DIBELS testing. This is basic reading skills competency for kindergartners. Aidan had been doing fine up until this point, with really very few problems. As far as I can guess, this change of schedule and routine really threw him off and the problems started.
Now anyone who's been around Aidan a lot, knows that when he's trying to ignore the world around him and focus on the task at hand (school work, TV, playing with trains, Lego's, etc.), if you touch him or speak to him, he lashes out. He just has a hard time with the sensory input. At school there are even more noises to try to filter out, and even more to focus on. Of course, kindergartners aren't great at staying out of personal space, or leaving other kids alone, and they all sit at group tables together. What does this mean for Aidan? It means that he starts hitting kids or pulling their hair or whatever reaction he feels is necessary when they break his focus or he goes into sensory overload. He had been having problems with pickup in the afternoon because it was too loud, and we changed that situation, but you can't exactly pull a kid out of the classroom every time he gets overwhelmed.
At least twice a week I was being called by the principal, or having to go the Principal's office to pick Aidan up because he had hit another student, or worse had hit his teacher. Kindergarten children should not be spending the day in ISS (in school suspension). But Aidan realized that the office was quiet, and there weren't other students there to invade his space or make irritating noises. So he continued acting out, because for him that wasn't a punishment. And it felt wrong to punish him for reacting the only way he knew how to a highly uncomfortable situation - he just doesn't have the coping skills to deal with it any other way.
Finally, Mr. Scott (the principal at Creekside) recommended that we consider placing Aidan at a different school that could better provide for his needs as a child with autism. Johnson Elementary, which is about the same distance from our house, just in a different direction, has a self-contained autism unit, with several aides to help the children one-on-one, and one of the best autism teachers in the state.
What an opportunity!
We were hesitant at first. Aidan is super-smart (highest reading level in his kindergarten class!), and very high-functioning - would these kids who were much lower-functioning make it harder for him to progress? Would he be overwhelmed by their behavior? If we didn't move him, what could we do for him?
Fortunately, Limestone County spent the majority of their stimulus money on their autism programs. In fact, they have a nationally renowned behaviorist from Auburn on retainer for the year - Dr. Babcock. He's odd, but he's very intuitive and has been working with autistic children for a very long time. We had the chance to sit down with him, as well as two of the special ed coordinators from the school board, and the autism teacher at Johnson (Ms. Enloe, who is amazing). Dr. Babcock also went over and spoke to Ms. Matsos about Aidan, and also observed him for a little while to get an idea of Aidan's behavior. Apparently, it is very rare for Dr. Babcock to recommend for a child to go to the autism unit, but he told us without a doubt that this was where Aidan belonged (heck, we asked God for a clear direction, I guess he thought he'd better make it crystal clear!). He feared that if we didn't move Aidan, he would develop a school phobia - he didn't want Aidan to feel like he had to act out to escape the discomfort of the regular classroom.
So, I took Aidan the next day to visit the classroom, with the hopes that if he liked it, we could get him enrolled the following Monday. This was the plan, and I was told by the special ed coordinator that it was clear for us to do this. We were delayed by a week because Ms. Enloe was going to be out on training, but when she returned then we'd start Aidan there and have his IEP meeting on his first day.
This is where the tangled mess that had me so stressed out really got even messier. Jeremy and I showed up Monday morning with Aidan who they took to the classroom. Ms. Matsos, Ms. Enloe, Dr. Lewis (Johnson's principal - who I don't like), and Ms. Simmons (a kindergarten teacher at Johnson) met with us. Instead of coming up with an IEP, they (Dr. Lewis and Ms. Enloe, but mostly Dr. Lewis) started back-pedaling. Oh, we didn't know about any of this, we don't have enough info to do an IEP, we don't know enough about his behavior, we didn't know this decision was final, are we sure he should be at Johnson, I thought Dr. Babcock was supposed to make a behavior plan first, that meeting wasn't official, let's step back and think about this. I went into mama bear mode. I was ready to slash some throats and take some heads. We left that day without accomplishing anything. They said he could stay the rest of that day, but should return to Creekside until further notice. The principal would attempt to contact the special ed coordinator. We had to wait until Friday after next to hear from Dr. Babcock. Who cares if we're shoving an already miserable little boy back into an uncomfortable and unproductive environment? It's convenient for us.
Thank goodness Ms. Matsos told Mr. Scott. About an hour after the disastrous meeting, my cell phone rang and it was Ms. Baccus (the special ed coordinator). She said Mr. Scott had called her and said the meeting hadn't gone well. I told her what had happened, and she confirmed that it was not THEIR decision to make, and that the decision had already been made and emails had been sent two weeks before. She said not to get upset because it would be taken care of. She called me back again and said we could go ahead and transfer Aidan from Creekside to Johnson, that he would finish out the week at Johnson, and on Thursday we'd have the IEP meeting, and she would be there to ensure that things were done properly and Aidan wasn't shuffled to the side again for the sake of bureaucracy.
So Aidan started his second week at Johnson yesterday. They've been working on handwriting, and numbers, and when he behaves for a certain amount of time he gets to go the sensory integration room. He calls it the nursery room for some reason - he loves it. It has quiet music, and dim lighting, and all kinds of interesting toys like a ball pit and a tent, and eventually a swing. He seems so much happier.
Right now they're observing his behavior, and letting him acclimate to the new school and environment. He's getting used to the new schedule and people, and then once they've gotten to know him, he'll start spending time in the regular kindergarten classroom, with an aide. Eventually, he'll spend the majority of his day in there with an aide. The plan is that next year he'll be back at Creekside and we'll try the whole kindergarten thing again. Considering he's got the maturity of a 4 year old right now, then next year he should fit right in. And you can be sure, I won't allow them to place him with an inexperienced teacher again.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
First Week of Kindergarten - Conquered!
Congratulations to Aidan - he made it through his first week of kindergarten. And thanks a million to his teachers for helping him through it. There were ups and downs and challenges, but in the end, I think we both survived with flying colors.
Of course he took his ipod with him per the recommendation of his special ed teacher, but surprisingly, he did not even have to use it once. At least not that I know of - and definitely not on the first day when you'd have thought he might have to. The reason we send the ipod is because when he gets frustrated, or goes into sensory overload he can put the earphones in and turn on the music and it allows him to calm down much more easily. That little ipod was a great investment!
This week he learned about red (he can spell it and sing a song about it), squares and circles ("a square is a shape with 4 equal sides" and "a circle is a shape that is round"), and how to write the number one. Of course he wouldn't talk about it at first. In fact, for the first 3-4 hours after he got home from school every day, he wouldn't talk at all - only pointing and grunting, and if I tried to get him to talk, he'd scream at me not to talk to him. But Friday night he was a little talking machine, so I guess he finally transitioned.
The only other issue we had, and I'm not sure this had anything to do with autism, was that he didn't eat his lunch the first day in the cafeteria --- the teachers let him only get chips and cookies and beans, and he didn't eat the beans. Genius, you have to tell a kindergartener what to eat. Sorry, but really? I made it clear to the teachers and Aidan that he had to have one food from each food group and eat some of everything. I guess the rest of the week went better - they didn't email me after the first day, and he wouldn't talk to me...
We'll see how next week goes!
Of course he took his ipod with him per the recommendation of his special ed teacher, but surprisingly, he did not even have to use it once. At least not that I know of - and definitely not on the first day when you'd have thought he might have to. The reason we send the ipod is because when he gets frustrated, or goes into sensory overload he can put the earphones in and turn on the music and it allows him to calm down much more easily. That little ipod was a great investment!
This week he learned about red (he can spell it and sing a song about it), squares and circles ("a square is a shape with 4 equal sides" and "a circle is a shape that is round"), and how to write the number one. Of course he wouldn't talk about it at first. In fact, for the first 3-4 hours after he got home from school every day, he wouldn't talk at all - only pointing and grunting, and if I tried to get him to talk, he'd scream at me not to talk to him. But Friday night he was a little talking machine, so I guess he finally transitioned.
The only other issue we had, and I'm not sure this had anything to do with autism, was that he didn't eat his lunch the first day in the cafeteria --- the teachers let him only get chips and cookies and beans, and he didn't eat the beans. Genius, you have to tell a kindergartener what to eat. Sorry, but really? I made it clear to the teachers and Aidan that he had to have one food from each food group and eat some of everything. I guess the rest of the week went better - they didn't email me after the first day, and he wouldn't talk to me...
We'll see how next week goes!
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