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… that I am looking forward to is Sarah starting preschool next week. I believe that Charlotte needs some quality mommy time, and that Sarah needs some quality non-Mommy time.
… that I am extremely relieved about is that Charlotte is handling Kindergarten very well. Notes from both the general ed and special ed teachers say that she is adjusting fine, following directions, and having fun.
… that I am frustrated with is my apparently inability to teach my children appropriate expressions of anger. And by appropriate, I mean just about anything that doesn’t involve screaming, hitting, etc.
… that I wonder about is when do sisters stop fighting over their toys.
… that I found amusing was when Sarah asked me to read a book about Thanksgiving, but she called it the Happy Pie Giving book.
… that I find challenging is coming up with a variety of meals that are free of gluten and casein. Seriously, our repertoire of meals is boring.
… that I am hopeful about is that the regular, busy routine we will start next week will provide some much needed structure.
… that I find really adorable is that Sarah named her baby “Ick.” Ick. Really. It kinda grows on you after awhile.
… that I am pondering is new and different sensory diet activities for Charlotte. She seems to need something lately, although I’m not sure exactly what. The standbys just aren’t cutting it anymore.
… that I am thankful for is a network of good friends in the blogosphere. It really helps to have people who just get it.
The forecast called for thunderstorms today and boy was I worried. The first thing out of Charlotte’s mouth this morning was asking if we can go swimming.
After lunch if it’s not raining, my dear.
About an hour after breakfast she asked if she can have her lunch now.
Doesn’t quite work that way, my dear.
By the time tumbling was over, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining.
Off we went for our first swim club outing.
We only stayed about an hour and half because Charlotte has piano lesson on Wednesday afternoons.
There was much excitement. After many fake-outs, Sarah finally got in the water and splashed around. She waved her arms in circles and shouted, “I’m swimming! I’m swimming!”
She retrieved a ball that a “widdle baby” repeatedly tossed into the pool. A fun game they had going.
Charlotte showed off her whole-head- under-water skill that she’s practiced in the bathtub time and again. And she jumped into the pool from the edge (no amount of encouragement could inspire that bravery last year). There was no encouragement needed – I looked up and she was doing it.
What happened to the scared little girl from last summer?
I briefly chatted with a mom who has an Autistic son the same age as Charlotte.
I watched as her son played games back and forth with another little boy – much as I hope to see Charlotte doing some time.
Actually she did make a friend. She was about 3, maybe, and she and Charlotte went to play on the playground toys. Later Charlotte came up to me, “Did you see me talking to that little girl, Mommy? I was talking to her. She’s my friend.”
My sister and niece are visiting so we had a special ice cream outing afterwards. Of course I think I told Charlotte a thousand times that we will not be getting ice cream every time we leave the pool. I just wouldn’t want her to get that idea stuck in her head, if you know what I mean (and I think some of you do). Ahem.
All in all a good outing for the Goodfountains. We’ll be going back tomorrow!
It is often noted that children with Autism like to line up their toys. Along with lacking eye contact and displaying little affection, it’s become one of the red flag traits that can sound the alarm for parents.
Most of us know that absence or appearance of one particular trait does not an Autistic or NT make.
Chee was never prone to lining up toys when she was younger. She definitely lacked varied and imaginative play, but her preferred MO was repeatedly pressing buttons on toys to make sound or lights. No big surprise when by the time she was 18 months we had become a battery-free toy house. Oh sweet silence!
Lately, however, I have been seeing more and more of this:
When what I’m used to seeing is this:
And it doesn’t end there.
A few days ago there was a line of puzzle pieces stretching across her room.
She also likes to line up her crayons. And all of the headbands in the “hair box.”
The Princesses can be seen spanning the length of the playroom.
My favorite was when she lined up a bunch of small plastic things and told me she was making a bridge.
I think it’s kinda cute.
Because it’s Ess.
That’s right. Ess, my little NT girl who is full of pretend play skills, has a great sense of humor, is advanced by about a year in her language skills, and kicks ass in the imagination department, loves to line up toys.
The two pictures up there are a perfect illustration of how Chee plays compared to how Ess plays. Ess has all of the stuffed animals and dolls sitting upright in two neat rows.
Chee’s dolls and animals are tossed willy-nilly in a giant upheaval. Side by side they sat, playing with these toys a few weeks ago, and this is how they left them.
Ironic.
What it illustrates to me is that the traits that have been deemed Autism traits are actually just human traits.
Ess lines up toys. My husband processes slowly. Sometimes I’m a social buffoon.
Human traits.
There was a time, not too long ago, when I looked at Chee’s ASD traits as things that needed to be fixed. We don’t want her to flap her hands when she’s excited. Got to overcome the scripting. Cure those social skill deficits.
Human traits. She happens to have a collection of traits that, when grouped together, present challenges in learning and communication. More severe for some than others. I know that.
Slowly I’m making my way to a place, however, that says these are human traits, not deficits that need to be therapied away. Not that we’re going to stop therapies (heck no!), but more like I’m stopping the worry and the overanalysis.
Keeping moving toward acceptance of differences. Of all human traits.
Piano lessons have been going very well for little Miss Chee. Very well!
It has been interesting to participate in the lessons with her because I am getting a chance to see how she learns. I don’t know what it’s like for other parents, but I’m not always certain what it is that makes things “click” for Chee in terms of learning what I will loosely term “academics.”
With things like learning numbers and the ABCs, that was just memorization. With counting, it seemed to come naturally after all the modeling that I did. Letters and numbers were just part of our daily life. Other academics, like shapes and colors, all memorization.
Chee has, if nothing else, one hell of a memory.
Over time, I’ve realized she’s a visual learner and I know she’s motivated by letters. I remember trying to teach her the “same/different” concept last summer. I had a workbook and, truthfully, the experience was beyond frustrating. (It doesn’t help that have I little patience.)
Frustrating, that is, until we got to a page where the same/different examples were letters. Suddenly, she got it. She quickly identified which “P” was not like the other “Ps.” And so forth.
The letters. Always the letters. They are the dot connectors in her mind.
And so it goes with learning to play the piano.
Early on Chee learned that her fingers are numbered 1-5. Until recently most of the songs she has learned by playing the numbers. Here’s what I mean.
The top left shows which black keys she should play and which fingers to use. And then the notes themselves are numbered, indicating which finger she should play.
Chee has learned all of the “number” songs (as we call them now) by listening and watching me play and then memorizing.
She was not connecting that she should read the numbered notes and then play them on the keys.
A few weeks ago, Chee learned (fairly quickly I might add) to find the C, D and E keys on the piano. Once she could do that, rather than playing by the numbers, the notes had their corresponding letter on them. Like this:
The notes (as well as the keys) are labeled C, D or E.
Click.
Chee got it. Almost immediately she started reading the notes and looking down at her hands while playing, and then glancing back up at the page to see what comes next.
This was HUGE.
Oh, and see the red arrow pointing to the sticker? The sticker says, “Good Work.” The promise of a Good Work sticker has been uber motivating. She WANTS to earn the “words” sticker and she practices so she can make Miss J “sooo happy” and to get that sticker. First time I’ve ever seen her motivated by a reward. Ever.
We figured something else out, too. When Chee’s teacher first was showing Chee how to play this, she pointed at each individual note and wanted Chee to play them as she read along.
This didn’t work. I suggested that Chee read the line of music first and then play it.
That worked. She read it one time, then played it perfectly.
I think that goes back to that Gestalt style of learning. Much like her echolalic speech where she memorized whole parts of language before breaking it down, the same may very well be true of how she learns music. Or anything for that matter.
She needed to see the line of music, read it, and then she was able to play it.
To me, these are two HUGE things to understand about how her brain works. Exactly what that means for future academics, I’m uncertain.
My plan is to talk with her kindergarten teacher at the beginning of the school year and share this. And offer suggestions (if I can come up with any) on how to incorporate this learning style and her love of letters into her instruction.
On a funny note (ha!), I asked her teacher today how Chee is doing in learning compared to other students she has that are the same age. She said she’s doing very well (ok, I’ll brag, her exact words were, “really, really, really, really good!”). The funny part is that she said that Chee learns the opposite of all her other students. Usually they have no trouble playing the number songs, but they have a hard time reading the notes.
Does that surprise anybody?
That’s my Chee. Definitely doing her own thing.
About 8 or 9 years ago I participated in a self-help weekend seminar. The vast majority of the weekend is a blur. I remember a lot of meditating and listening to thoughtful, meaningful songs (titles of which escape me). There were small group activities that I don’t remember, and I cannot recall the name or face of a single person in my small group.
For the last activity of the last night, all of the participants played a game. I won’t go in to too much information about the game (although I remember every last detail of it) because we promised not to reveal how it works, but what I will share is my reaction to it.
The facilitators led us through this game, which we played in teams, and then afterward we received a tongue-lashing stern lecture on the outcome of the game.
The lead facilitator then went on to tell us that how we played the game is exactly how we live our life. We were to go home, not speak to anyone, and start writing down our thoughts based on how we played the game, and thus how we live our life.
During the game you are given something like 10 chances to make a choice. To me, it was always obvious what the right choice was. And 9 of the 10 times, I made that choice. One time, however, I thought, “Well, maybe these other people know something I don’t…” and, against my own better judgment, I made a different choice.
Immediately, I knew it was the wrong choice, and for the remaining turns I again listened to my gut and made my own decision.
As I was driving home, I couldn’t even think about what the facilitator wanted us to do. This game was how I lived my life? I didn’t see it at all. I couldn’t.
All I could think about was what a complete and utter loser I was for that one choice I made. I was distraught. I deeply, deeply regretted not listening to my gut, regretted following the crowd. I had failed at the game. What would people think of me, what were people thinking of me for my choice?
Distraught, I tell you. I could not let go of my failure.
I tried to put it out of my mind. I refused to think about it anymore.
As such my mind began to wander to the idea of the game as how you live your life. And it clicked for me.
What I was doing, just then, was exactly how I live my life.
90% of my decisions were good. I was happy with 90% of my choices. By my own standards, I did the “right thing” 9 out of 10 times.
One bad decision, though, and I did nothing but berate myself for it. I was obsessing over what I did wrong. I declared myself a failure in the eyes of my peers (the fellow seminar participants), my family (who weren’t even there), God and the universe. No one could be as stupid as me.
You want to talk about a life changing moment? That was it if ever there was one. In that instant I saw a lifelong pattern of focusing only on my mistakes, my (so-called) failures. Not just focusing on them, but berating and torturing myself far, far beyond the severity of the supposed failure.
It became clear to me how I rarely, if ever, gave myself a pat on the back for what I did right. I saw how I worried unreasonably so about what other people (often strangers or mere acquaintances) think of me.
It was, perhaps, my truest moment of clarity ever.
I don’t think I’ll ever be free from this pattern. I still struggle. But I can almost instantly recognize it’s happening and talk myself down off the ledge of verbal self-abuse.
Remember the mulch moments from last year? That was one of those times. I alluded to it in my post about how I agonized over my “bad” decision. A huge part of the self-flagellation came from my obsessive worry about what friends and neighbors were thinking of ME for putting all that mulch in our backyard.
I still struggle, but I am so much better than I used to be. The frequency is less.
When I find myself beginning to berate or tear myself down because of a mistake or bad decision, I can stop. I will switch to focusing on what I have recently done well. I will congratulate myself for my successes, my good decisions. I work hard to put the decision in perspective.
I still find myself worrying about the opinions of people who’s opinions don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, but I have learned to disregard that worry. To put it out of my mind. I verbally tell myself, “I don’t care what so and so might think, I barely even know her.” It helps.
I write about this now, today, because I am full of anxiety and uncertainty about Chee and Kindergarten. I need to get my head in a place that allows me to make decisions about her education with confidence, and know that if it doesn’t work out, it’s okay. We just change our plans.
My friend Kate at One More Thing chose for her six-word memoir (remember those?) a turn of phrase that has stuck with me ever since she wrote it. I am stealing her six words and turning it into my motto for the education of Chee.
Make plans, then make new plans.
I want to blog. I do.
I have so many thoughts swirling mumbo jumbo through my head. I noodle them around as I scurry from Valentine party to piano lesson to tumbling class.
Between that and trying to keep up on American Idol (now that the dreadful audition weeks are over I’ll tune in) I’m not finding time to sit and sort my mumbos from my jumbos.
Oh and let’s not forget the dreadful tax fiasco where I somehow lost 3 hours worth of tax preparation work I had done. That ruined an entire night for me.
Since I’m not coherent enough to put together anything decent for you, I’ll let my kids do the talking for me.
(If you read my personal blog, this will be a repeat. There are very few who read both, though.)
My mom was over and having lunch with us.
Chee: “Mommy, can I eat some soup, like Grandma, when I’m a grown up?”
Me: “Yeah, sure. But do you want to try some soup now? I’ll get you a bowl.”
Chee: “No, I’ll just wait till I’m a grown up.”
Ess can be rather bossy from time to time. Recently she was curled up next to me as I was trying to help her back to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. She wanted talk.
“Ess,” I said, “It’s time to go to sleep now. Not time for talking.”
“No!” she shouts. “I don’t want to sweep wif you, Mommy. You go downstairs!” And she points toward the door.
Nice. I’m getting kicked out of my own bed.
I hope to find some time this weekend to put together a post. Most especially the review of a documentary about autism that I was able to see this week.
Stay tuned.
That title could have many meanings. I could probably title a dozen posts that way and write about a dozen different things.
But today, just a short post, on a couple of games we do actually play. Chee and I, that is.
She recently started doing this and it has been a lot of fun.
The first we’ll call the Initials Game. Chee and I will speak in initials. She started doing this when we’re in the car driving back home.
“Will we go in the G or the B?” It took me a minute, but the G is garage and the B is Blue Door (our front door is blue). Even though she’s okay with the garage now, I think she’d still prefer not to go in there.
I respond: “We’ll go in the G, through L[aundry room] into the K[itchen] then we’ll hang up our C[oat]s and have an S[nack].”
Long pause while she mentally decodes.
She ups the ante. “Ok. Then after the S[nack], we can watch an S-H[ow].”
We do this many times a day. It’s fun to trip her up [evil laugh].
The second game, well, I have no cutesy name for it. Or even a boring name. I guess we could give it a literal name. How about “Count the letters.”
It goes like this. Chee runs over and turns the TV on when it’s definitely not a time for TV.
“Chee, turn the TV off.”
“Is it a yes for TV or a no for TV? Is it 3 or 2? It’s 3, it’s 3, it’s 3.”
“No, it’s 2 for TV. NO TV.”
“Not 2, not 2. Say yes, say 3.” And she waves 3 fingers at me.
I wave 2 fingers back. “It’s a 2 for TV.”
She will continue this for awhile, or divert to On/Off.
“Is it time for the TV to be on or off? 2 or 3?”
“Definitely 3.” I respond.
“Yes, 3!” She’s ecstatic. She thinks she’s got me.
“No, it’s a 2 and a 3. No and off.” One hand waves 2 fingers, the other 3.
(Meanwhile the TV was turned off ages ago and is totally forgotten by the time the conversation ends in laughter.)
We do variations of the letter counting and initials game nearly every day. Recently I wondered, do all kids play games like these?
What kind of unusual games do you play with your kid(s)?
Leave a C and let me know.
Be careful if you find yourself thinking that your kid has overcome her sensory processing issues.
For the last few weeks I’ve been saying that Chee doesn’t seem to have any sensory challenges anymore. No major wig outs, no apparent “dysregulation” to speak of.
Monday when her occupational therapist asked how things were, I mentioned how Chee goes immediately to meltdown when Ess takes one of her Cinderellas. I also described how odd it was that sometimes it really bothers Chee, and how other times she’s all “whatever, no big deal.” She’ll even go so far as to offer up alternative toys to Ess (“here, you can play with the Dwarfs”) on occasion.
Her OT asked how her Sensory Diet had been lately. Um, what sensory diet? Haven’t really been doing much of it because she just seems to be handling stuff pretty okay.
Interestingly, Chee has spent a lot of time in the snow the last two days (I believe cold is a sensory need for her and works the same as deep pressure or crashing), and for the last two days she has been the picture of chill and mellow when Ess does her famous grab-n-run. Could there be a connection? Time will tell.
In other news, I have a friend who has started a new blog that she is co-writing with her 10 year old daughter. Her daughter was recently diagnosed with ADHD and they are on the journey of figuring out how to help her. I just love the unique format of hearing from both Mom and Daughter. Check out Mommy and Me … and ADHD.
And, finally, Chee has taken adherence to routine to a new level. A comical one. Every night, for the longest time, when Daddy tells Chee it’s time to brush teeth, she will protest. Lots of whining (her and us) and discussion about whether to do it upstairs or downstairs. Just get them brushed already!
But that has changed lately. And not just with teeth brushing, but with many things. Here’s how it went tonight.
Daddy: “Chee, it’s time to brush your teeth.”
Chee: “Wait! I’ll go in the playroom and cry, and then you tell me, ‘Chee, it’s time to brush your teeth.’”
And she goes to the playroom, buries her face in the carpet, and whimpers. It’s hysterical.
Where does she come up with this stuff?
And, of course, when one kid is fake whimpering and getting lots of attention, shortly thereafter will come another one.
Yeah, yeah, we know: Ess, just say no to crack, honey.
Chee has been in rare form lately. Both with the funnies popping out of her mouth and the eye-popping meltdowns when it comes to sharing.
The funny first. I’ll just share one. Chee likes to announce people’s gender. If she meets someone new, she’ll say, “You’re a girl!” (Or boy as the case may be.) She also likes to play around with pronouns, asking me questions using different pronouns. I think, truly, she just likes to play with words. So we’re at the library yesterday and there’s a tall, fashionably dressed black woman with a close-cropped hairdo. There was absolutely no mistaking that she is a woman.
Chee says, “Are you a he or a she?” (My eyes grow wide in disbelief.)
The woman, smiling, says, “I’m a she. I like to wear my hair very short.”
Chee circles her, all the while looking up (she was quite tall) at her hair. Then says, “Is that a he-haircut or a she-haircut?” (My eyeballs pop right out of my head.)
The woman was quite nice about it and even smiled and waved when we passed in the parking lot. I didn’t have time to gather my wits and say something appropriate. I really wasn’t sure what to say. I thought perhaps I should have a conversation with Chee about it, but what would I say? “Umm, Chee, it’s not appropriate to ask people the gender of their haircut…” She wasn’t being critical, she wasn’t mocking. She was inquiring.
Next time, I’m sure, I’ll be more prepared. I’m already prepared for if she ever comments on someone with a disability. But, I admit, commenting on a haircut (an attractive, stylish one at that), left me stuttering. And giggling to myself (albeit a somewhat embarrassed giggle). Out of the mouths of babes (or something like that, right?).
I wish I could say she’s funny all the time. Lately we’ve been dealing with a severe case of the “It’s mine! It’s mine!” which is co-existing with the “Does it belong to me, or does it belong to Ess? Me! Me! Me!”
When this first started, it was definitely on the mild side. Symptoms included a little whining and crying. The symptoms have escalated, turning this into a full-fledged severe case. Symptoms now include hitting, pushing down, and laying on the floor flailing and screaming. It’s not pretty, friends.
For her part, Ess has an affliction too. It’s called, “It’s funny to watch Chee cry, so I’ll grab her Cinderella and run far, far away.”
How I first dealt with this was to make Ess give back the Cinderella (it’s only with the $@!$%& Polly Pocket Cinderellas). I ask Ess if she took it away, she says yes (giggle, giggle), I tell her to give it back, and she does. Everything is fine.
But now, for whatever reason, Chee goes straight to huuuuuuuuge meltdown the minute Ess takes one. She will push her down or hit her (if she’s close enough), but usually she’ll just throw herself down and flail around screaming, “Is it my Cinderella, or Ess’? Is it mine? Is it hers? CanIhavemyCinderellacanIhavemyCinderellacanIhavemyCinderella? Give it to me. Give it to me! Give. It. To. Me!!!”
I have tried a few things to get her to calm down first. Like teaching her to take deep breaths. That worked a few times, but now she says, “I don’t want to take deep breaths, I wannnnnnnt myyyyyy Cinnnnnnderrrrrrelllllllaaaaaa!!!” OK.
I have told her I won’t get it back for her till she quits crying. That kind of works, but not really. What bugs me is I feel like I’m rewarding her tantrum by giving her back her Cinderella, but at the same time, it’s not right for Ess to grab something Chee is playing with and run off.
We need to take a step back, I told my husband, and figure out what are we really wanting to accomplish here. What do we want Chee to learn?
I don’t know.
Control her emotions better? Perhaps. I know she’s totally and 100% capable of being calmer about someone taking her toys. We had a couple of kids over on Monday and she started to get upset about one of them playing with her Cinderellas (what else?), but when I talked to her about sharing with her friends, she was fine. No tears and she played with them with the Cinderellas and let them play with them alone.
I am not necessarily expecting her to share with Ess. At least not these Cinderellas at this point. If Ess deliberately grabs something and runs off with it just to tick her sister off, of course it’s going to upset Chee. All I really want here, I think, is for Chee to maintain some composure till either Ess brings it back to her or till I do.
Is that expecting too much? Am I asking for the wrong thing?
Chee gets credit for trying to head off the Ess “grab-n-run.” If Ess comes near her she will jump up and grab another toy and say, “Here, Ess, you can play with this.” Sometimes it works, sometimes not.
This only happens with these 4 particular Cinderellas. Each one is wearing a different Cinderella dress, and they are named: Work, Garden, Step-into-the-Coach, and Wedding (could she be any more literal?). The problem is that she plays with these Cinderellas a lot and Ess attempts the grab-n-run multiple times per day.
What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of tantruming here lately, and I’m about to join the party. It seems to be working for Chee.
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