Tuesday, August 28, 2007
It's the country life for us
The property out there is a sort of a compound. There's a central single-wide mobile home and several additional trailers, greenhouses, and mysterious buildings. (Tornado shelters?) We slept in one of the RVs. I was mostly grateful that it was horizontal and free, but Derek adored the accomodations. He'd wake up in the morning and chatter on and on about the trailer - the curtain, his bed, the dog's spot, a sink, the light with no light bulb, the mirror, the windows, the doors, the local puppy coming to visit and going in and out and in and out and in and out, oh, oh!! There is not a snooty bone in my kid's body.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Yay for Speech Therapy
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Sometimes we're happy
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Don't make me pull this grocery cart over . . . .
The other night Derek had a complete meltdown in the middle of the grocery store because we couldn't go on checkout 7. And in one of my less proud parenting moments, I nearly joined him. For chrissake, what do you do in that situation? Stand there and unload the groceries at the closed checkstand? Ask a clerk to open it? Leave the groceries? Leave some money on the checkstand to cover it and walk out? Leave him at home to set the house on fire and go grocery shopping by myself? Yell at him to suck it up and go through the checkstand that's open and give anybody who wants to think about criticizing me the death stare? That last one will get the job done, but cleaning up the bodies, and the ensuing indictments and prosecution, is a little messy. Perhaps there is a solution that avoids the rigidity all together?
Other compulsions, so y'all know what I'm dealing with here:
Only wants to ride certain numbered buses at certain times.
Refuses certain types of transportations sometimes, but not others. (For instance, usually okay with the bike, but not always)
Won't go down some aisles in the store.
Refuses to ride yellow or blue line trains. Will only ride the red line.
Will not walk down the street when a light up ahead is green, only when the light is red. Actually getting better about this, but it's still a very slow process to get down a busy street. Downtown Portland is nearly impossible.
Sliding doors. He must be the one who controls them, so we have to wait for them to close completely before we can go, at busy times, that's five minutes or more.
Insists that stove dials be turned to a certain number (not always the number I want) until I yell at him that it's not his job and he runs away crying.
Must control what number of minutes the microwave is set for. Often too much or too little.
How do I convince him it DOESN'T MATTER which checkout we go through, just that we go through one? It DOESN'T MATTER which bus we take, only that we get to speech therapy on time? That the number on the stove dial or the microwave dial DEPENDS on what we're cooking, not on his whim? And how can I get my groceries delivered for free so I don't have to put up with this crap?
(That's lipstick in the picture, by the way)
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Autism Tai Chi

Today I made a connection with this principle of tai chi and dealing with autistic symptoms with this principle in mind. We had a family outing to Lowe's today to pick up a few things. Derek wanted to go through checkout number 10, but it wasn't open. He was leaning out of the cart and grabbing the racks to resist that checkout aisle. We could have fussed and yelled and forced him to go through the checkout he didn't want to and dealt with an epic meltdown. But instead Allen made a game out of Derek's resistance, rocking back as Derek pushed away, then rocking forward again, back and forth, back and forth. Derek actually started to think this game was kinda fun. But he still didn't want to go through checkout eleven. So we put our things on the counter and I pushed the cart through checkout ten, coming around to pick up the stuff at checkout eleven. That little bit of accommodation and "indulgence" saved us from a lot of misery.
The same principle applies to dealing with self-stimulatory behaviors. For Derek this is stuff like humming, pushing buttons, and flicking light switches. I've learned, slowly but well, that these things satisfy a need for him, not a want, and can't be forced into submission. They need to be recognized and worked through, not against. I try to make them into an opportunity for connection and social interaction. For instance, when he's humming, I hum along with him and then change something about it—hum higher or lower, faster or slower, change the tune, add words, put his hand on my lips to feel the vibration, etc. When he flicks light switches I'll pretend to be scared of the dark, or try to scare him with a playful "Boo!" when he switches on the light. And from there I try to move into an interaction, leveraging the "undesirable" behavior into desirable.
Patience, grasshopper.
Saturday, March 3, 2007

Wednesday, February 28, 2007
New keyboard, new conversation, new pictures, new sickness
Here's me and Derek's best conversation yet:
Derek: (hands me a pretend something)
Me: What's this?
Derek: Ladybugs!
Me: (pretend to eat ladybugs)
Derek: No!
Me: Okay. (Dumped ladybugs in his juice)
Derek: Oh! Swimming!
I thought of two solutions for the hitting and pushing at preschool. The first was some cards with pictures of the rules drawn in my own fine artistic hand. No hitting! No pushing! His preschool teacher told the kid he'd been bugging on Friday that when Derek started hitting or pushing him, he could tell Derek to stop and then go get these cards. For the second, I realized that a more socially appropriate way to get the same sensory input for Derek is a high-five game. Gimme five! On the other side! Through the hole! Break the stick! Up high! Down low! Too slow, Joe! Break the pickle! Little tickle! So I suggested that the other kids can try to engage Derek in a game like that. (Anybody watch that Family Guy episode where Peter pretends to be retarded and gets an aide at home who offer high fives all the time?) The tactics actually worked really well on Monday. The teacher has a fire truck tent set up in one of the rooms as part of community helpers week, and Derek and this kid played together in the tent for about twenty minutes. I think this is another personal Guinness record for Derek.
The hitting and pushing in crowded situations is a different animal, I believe, after some insight from Jennifer. She saw Derek do some pushing at a charter school information night. She thought it looked like a "get away from me now, I'm overwhelmed" sort of push. It was a loud, noisy, small room with lots of children and twice as many adults. Music Together is also overwhelming to his senses. I used to be able to prep him with the brushing technique that the Occupational Therapist taught us, but he hasn't let me do it to him at all for several weeks.
Unfortunately, the Bebe is sick again. It was only two weeks ago that he recovered from his last fever and now he has another. While Derek's laid out on the couch, I'm cleaning and cooking like mad. It's the only chance I'll have to do it, and if I get sick I don't want to be wallowing in my own filth with no supplies for a week again. I'm also getting very familiar with all the kid's TV theme songs and they are stuck in my head and come out at weird moments at work. I tried to explain this one show, apparently one of Jim Henson's last hallucinations to a co-worker the other day. See, there's this psychedelic bus with a engine that sings during transitions and these Hoobs have come to Earth to find out all about life here. They have their own hoobety-doop sayings and whenever they see each other they say "Hooble-doop, hooble-doop, gooooooo Hooble-doops." It's groovy, baby. Allen and I are looking for an herbal supplement or something to strengthen Derek's immune system so we don't have to be subjected to so many theme songs anymore.