He couldn't stop talking!

So, it's been a while since I've been around these parts. I have missed you! Hopefully you have missed me, too. This year has been, well...a YEAR. Let's just leave it at that for now.

Titan and I were in a festive mood this weekend since the boys managed to make it through an entire day without attempting to kill each other. We called it a win. So, we decided to go celebrate the spirit of the season and visit a local Christmas lights display. We've been there several times before, but this year was different. 

It was different because of the way Monkey reacted. 

You all know by now that he is my quiet, scholarly type. He would rather play quietly in his room or sitting on the couch in a darkened room. Interacting with other people is either too much work or too boring for him most of the time. 

So, we waited in what seemed to be an endless line to get into the Christmas lights display, and as we began to go through it, Monkey's demeanor completely changed.

He started talking. Excitedly. And, he couldn't stop. The entire time. 

It was actually quite humorous. I looked over at Titan and he gave me a look of shared understanding of how unusual this moment was. 

Monkey was chattering our ears off and, he just did not stop. I loved it! After about 20 minutes of a play-by-play of every single thing he was seeing, where it was located, what color it was, and so much more, it got be a bit exhausting for Prince Charming and Titan. I was smiling and engaging with Monkey the whole time because moments where he is so excited that it just bubbles over are rare, and I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

This is similar to part of the light display we saw.
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When I asked him what his favorite part of the night was, he said he liked the arches of Christmas lights. He said it was like "an elevator to heaven." I love that!

On the way home, he was commenting about how much he had talked. He even said, "Mommy, you should tell your friends how much I talked tonight!" I told him I would, and here we are.

If I get too busy to write another post between now and the end of the year, I wanted to take a moment to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas! Take care and enjoy the time you spend with your family.      

Cousin It and the Bride of Frankenstein are in the car!

In my last post I told you that our family is dealing with a tremendous amount of stress right now. Since then my mom has been in and out of the hospital...and is currently back in.

When it rains it pours. In our case, it feels like a hurricane.

I feel like a raw nerve at this point.

However, something happened this morning that gave me a moment of humorous relief, and I thought I would share it with you. I find it important to focus on the good stuff to get me through the bad stuff. So, here is my attempt to do that.

Monkey is in orchestra. Orchestra practice happens twice a week before school starts, and in the case of Monkey's school, that time is 0-dark-thirty (a.k.a. butt crack of dawn).

Up until recently, we have driven to his school under cover of darkness because we were always up before the sun. It pains me to even type that. I would rather have been in my warm and comfy bed any of those days...

Well, I realized this morning that spring has sprung, and we no longer drive in darkness.

It was a typical Pacific Northwest morning: overcast, gray and misty. So, I did what I always do when I am stumbling around, bleary-eyed in the morning. I attempted to make Monkey's lunch and get him to eat breakfast, wake up Prince Charming to get his coat and slippers on, and then we headed off to orchestra. I put the defrost and heater on high so that I could see something through the windows of the car, and we got our trip underway.

Now, for the visual:  I am wearing some God-awful sweat pants that look like they've been through a war and have shrunk through repeated washings, which makes them unfashionably highwater. I have on my husband's old flannel shirt that he didn't want anymore but I thought it was too comfy to toss out. My slippers are fuzzy, but well-worn in that matted down, filthy fleece kind of way. And, the best part - I am sporting the most awesome naturally curly, long-haired bed head you have ever seen. I haven't even bothered to run a comb through my hair or even brush my teeth. Makeup? Ha! I laugh in your general direction. I am the antithesis of "put together."

So, we are driving along through the fog and the gray and I start to get a glimmer of light coming through the windshield. Could that be the sun? As we get closer to Monkey's school, the sun gets brighter and the fog gets thinner. It's actually quite a beautiful morning and I am silently reflecting on that.

We pull up in front of the school and I park in the line of cars with other parents waiting to let their children off for orchestra. The sun is brightly streaming through my sun roof and that's when I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror.

BIG MISTAKE!

To describe my hair as "finger-in-a-light-socket, sideways-mohawk, Bride-of-Frankenstein frizzy" does not even begin to touch what I saw. There I was in all of my backlit-by-the-sun glory, exposed by the sunlight to all of the cars around me. Those poor parents and kids that saw me must likely still be in shock.



I wasn't even this cute - she has makeup on!
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I averted my eyes from my own freak show to glimpse at Prince Charming in the back seat.

He likes to bring a throw blanket with him in the car when we take Monkey to orchestra. This habit originally started out as a "I'm sleepy and cold" thing and ended up being a sensory thing. He would throw the blanket over his head, much like you would if you wanted to pretend to be a ghost. It helped him block out the bright car lights that we would see in the dark mornings, and he liked the feeling of a warm and soft enclosure. It was a sensory tool he figured out on his own, so I have supported him continuing to use it in the mornings that we make the early drive.

As I looked at Prince Charming, the only thing I could think of was that he looked like Cousin It. He was covered up by a fuzzy blanket and it struck me as funny.



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Apparently the sunshine made me a little loopy or something.

Here I was, the Bride of Frankenstein with my raggedy clothes and wild hair, and Prince Charming was a more colorful version of Cousin It.

I felt bad for Monkey having to asssociate himself with us in light of our early morning, roll out of bed version of crazy. Had he been a neurotypical junior high schooler, he would likely have asked me to park down the street so he could walk to school so that we didn't embarrass him. Thankfully, that is not an issue we have to deal with (yet).

I think maybe next time I take him to orchestra I should at least comb my hair. Darn that sunshine!

Go Seahawks!

I'm not a big sports person. We don't have regular TV, so we can't watch any games, even if we wanted to. I know for some of you that is almost sacrilegious. I think I'm one of the few wives that is not a widow on Super Bowl Sunday. I count myself very lucky that it's just another day for our family.

Imagine my surprise when yesterday afternoon Prince Charming bounds off the bus with his fist in the air, yelling happily, "Goooooo Seahawks!" He had the biggest grin on his face, and he was even wearing a Seahawks hat that he made in school.

It was so cute to see him so excited and the bus driver cheered after him. I noticed she was wearing her Seahawks jersey, like most of the State of Washington. It was Blue Friday, after all.

For those of you not in the know, the Seahawks are really big deal, what with the playoffs and all. Blue Friday is the day that all of the "12th man" fans wear their jerseys and gear to show their support of the next playoff game.

Prince Charming told me that teachers and kids at his school were wearing jerseys and everyone was very excited.

I asked him, "Honey, do you know who the Seahawks are?"

He stopped wiggling and said, "The Seahawks."

"Well honey, what makes the Seahawks special? What do they do?"

In his very Prince Charming and utterly cute way, he said with a huge smile, "I have no idea!"

That's my boy. Go Seahawks!  

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A boy's first protective cup

Every boy has that moment. It’s a rite of passage. It’s that moment when they discover that their nether-regions are tender. Monkey recently had his moment.

First, a little back story. Over the summer Monkey began participating in karate. He cried at the idea of karate and we were truly doing it as an activity for Prince Charming, who had become obsessed with martial arts after watching the Avatar cartoon. Every day you could find him practicing his “bending” of the elements. It was fun to see him create awesome moves on the fly.

On the first day of karate class Prince Charming was excited and Monkey was practically kicking and screaming between the tears. My how things changed in one day. Monkey loved seeing Sensei do the moves and the kids follow along. He was motivated by what the other boys were doing.

Prince Charming quickly realized that he had trouble getting his body to copy the moves and positions. He has always struggled with motor planning and has difficulty of moving one hemisphere of his body at the same time as the other hemisphere. For him, he could focus only on manipulating his arms or his legs, but not both at the same time. It was extremely frustrating for him, and he ended up angrily shutting down and leaving the class in tears. 

Monkey enjoyed every class and has happily continued on without his little brother. One of the weekly activities is sparring. Sensei requires protective gear for the boys, including a mouth guard and a protective cup. Monkey didn’t like wearing the mouth guard, and would take it out of his mouth and lay it down on the sweaty mat. Ewww.

I didn’t even attempt getting him to wear the cup after I saw that his idea of sparring was running away from his opponent madly in circles until they captured his flags or scored points on him. He didn’t understand the concept of offensive maneuvering at all and there was really no need for us to try to cover him from head to toe in protective equipment.

Until last week. He learned the benefits of a cup from his brother.

He was harassing Prince Charming at home until the moment when the switch flipped and he became Grumpy Badger. Their interaction ended with Grumpy Badger yelling and punching Monkey…in the groin. Monkey was doubled-over, crying.

Holding himself gingerly, he hobbled and limped over to me and my husband. Screaming more than crying, he says, “He punched me in the penis! And it hurts!”

I had to bite my lip and then leave the room for a moment. I admit it. I silently chuckled behind the kitchen wall while I heard him cry to Titan about his injury. I did. I only came back into the room when I had composed myself and wiped the grin off my face.

It’s sad to say, but Monkey had it coming. He really did. He likes to push Prince Charming’s buttons and he knows exactly what to do to get a colossal reaction. We never want either of them to hit, but I think a point was made in that moment. Don’t mess with Grumpy Badger when you have pissed him off.

After that incident, I reintroduced the protective cup to Monkey. I figured it was the perfect moment, especially because his next karate class was the following afternoon. He seemed excited to try it out!

He got home from school the next day and I had him change into his karate gi. I took back out the cup and explained to him how to wear it. It looked humongous and I had no idea how he was even going to sit while wearing it. It struck me as comical.

It’s almost as if I somehow turned into a silly, giggling teenage boy in that moment. Everything just became funny. I know, I know. I may have potentially given him emotional scarring...but thankfully, I don’t think I did. He ended up catching my case of the giggles and he laughed right along with me.

He’s so skinny that the straps that go along the back of the cup just hung from his backside. He had saggy straps. Again with the laughter. Bad mommy!

Once it was on, he resembled Zohan. You remember that character that Adam Sandler played? Oh boy. Biting my lip didn’t help. More laughter. I am so bad.

Adam Sandler in You Don't Mess With the Zohan

Then, as we tried to get his pants on, the waistband wouldn’t budge over the mound of the cup. I was almost in tears with my laughter as I tried to untie his drawstring and loosen the pants up enough to get them on. Thankfully, Monkey was still laughing with me.

We got the pants on and started to tie up the gi and the belt when he decided he had to go to the bathroom. Of course. Of all the luck! I’m dying now at the absurdity of the whole thing. I helped him get out of his outfit and he waddled in to the bathroom. I gave him a moment of privacy to get back into his cup and his pants.

After a minute or so, I walked by his room to check on his progress. He was standing there naked except for his cup, actively punching himself in the groin. I mean, he’s wailing on himself. I opened the door, surprised at what I saw.

With a beaming smile he said, “I can’t feel the punches! It doesn’t hurt one bit!”

And, I lost it again. Between my peals of laughter, I redirected him to put his clothes on and stop punching himself.

He was so happy, he was literally bouncing around the house. He enjoyed wearing his cup to karate and the boys all had their moments of pretending to be hurt and rolling around the floor in fake groin pain. I was the only mom there that day, and the dads and I all had a good chuckle over our boys' antics. We even talked about that banner moment when a boy discovers the benefits of a protective cup.

Later that night as the boys got ready for bed, Titan saw Monkey running down the hall toward the bathroom, naked and in his protective gear. Thank God I didn’t see it, or I probably would have launched into another silly laughing fit. I know. Pathetic. But hilarious.

Titan told him he couldn’t wear his cup to bed, as he had hoped to do. Apparently the cup became his new favorite thing and he wanted to wear it all the time.

Monkey gave me a lot of laughter that day. It still makes me smile to think about it. I wonder when the novelty will wear off. In the meantime, I’ve learned that protective cups are fun for boys. And, funny for moms. Don’t judge me too harshly.     

Honorary Aspie: Amelia Bedelia

I wrote this post about 2 years ago for another site and thought I had already shared it with you here on Caffeinated Autism Mom. I was telling someone about my Amelia Bedelia post, and when I got home to try to find it, it wasn't here! So, I am very happy to share this post with you because I had intended to do so a long time ago! Better late than never, right? Have a wonderful weekend and enjoy what's left of summer!
-Angela

Amelia Bedelia: A fun perspective for daily life on the spectrum

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When I was young, I used to love reading Amelia Bedelia books! Peggy Parish created one of my favorite fictional characters, and the antics of Amelia Bedelia always made me smile. A housekeeper by trade, she humors the reader with her literal interpretation of instructions. Her employer begrudgingly tolerates her quirkiness, and after a series of mishaps, all is forgiven after the first bite of one of her culinary creations. Whenever she blunders, her amazing skill in the kitchen is her forever saving grace.

Last spring I introduced my oldest son to the Amelia Bedelia series of books. He immediately took to them, and loved the books almost as much as I did – although I don’t think he understood the humor to the same degree. In particular, he derived a lot of pleasure from quickly saying her name over and over again. I think he liked the way the words felt on his tongue and in his mouth as he quickly said, “Amelia Bedelia.”

After our visits to the library over the summer, I would listen as my son read the books aloud in the car on the way home. Recalling her various escapades from the recesses of my brain, I remembered how Amelia Bedelia blissfully marched to her own beat. She was always innocently ignorant of when she was committing a mix-up that created chaos for others. No matter how much trouble she got into, she was always forgiven and loved. Her amazing desserts also went a long way to soothing frayed nerves!

When asked to “dust the furniture,” Amelia Bedelia thinks that it’s strange to dust the furniture, as she would rather than “undust” it. So, she finds the “dusting powder” in the bathroom and proceeds to coat the furniture and floor with the powder so that she can cross “dusting” off her chore list. Or, when she is asked to “draw the drapes” she finds a sketchpad and tries her best to draw a picture of the drapes.

Amelia Bedelia’s daily journey of literal misinterpretations of common phrases and idioms, and the reactions they receive, are indeed humorous. However, there are some parallels between the experiences she has in her books, and the experiences some kids on the autism spectrum have as they navigate their way through the social waters of life.

Those of us with verbal kids on the autism spectrum, or with an Asperger’s diagnosis, are quite familiar with the lack of social tact or understanding of anything that is not fully definable or concrete. If only these real life misunderstandings were as funny as Amelia Bedelia’s! Most spectrum kids really don’t “get” the complex gray areas that abound as we go through each day. Their literal translations of life situations are easier and much more logical for them to process.

Amelia Bedelia also brings to light the importance of having a usable and desirable skill, like her ability to appease her employer with a lovely dessert after coming home to a disaster she created. I fully believe that finding a special talent in each of my boys will aid them in their social experiences in and around school. For socially quirky kids, honing a desirable skill that successfully sets them apart from others will also hopefully aid them as they become employed adults.

So, I guess that in an elementary way, Amelia Bedelia helps to give a glimpse into the mind of these complex kids…if only for a moment. I nominate Amelia Bedelia as an honorary Aspie! Do I hear a second nomination?

Moving on

As any autism parent can tell you, change is hard. Our kids have a hard time transitioning or doing something outside of the routine. I’m here to tell you that change is also hard for everyone else, too.

This past weekend I worked my tail off to help prepare my grandma’s house for sale. It’s been a long time coming. Grandma fell and injured herself a couple of years ago. After a stint in a rehab facility, it became clear that it was no longer a good idea for her to live by herself.  

My grandma is almost 95 and she is healthy as a horse. She is also stubborn as a mule! By God’s grace, she still has her wits about her. I can only hope and pray that I will be the same way when I am her age…if I ever get there!

Since she moved in with my aunt about 2 years ago her house has been sitting vacant. Recently she decided she was finally willing to let the house go. I imagine it was very difficult for her because there are a lot of memories there. Out of all the grandkids, I think I spent the most time there and it was like my second home when I was growing up.

Going through all of her things was exhausting. Like many people her age, she was hesitant to throw anything away that could be useful, and she surrounded herself with knickknacks and pictures. Every so often I would stop and reminisce as something jogged my memory. My cousin and I would exclaim to each other, “Do you remember this? Wow!” We would shake our heads in disbelief as we walked down memory lane. It was really cool to uncover things we had long forgotten about or never even knew existed.

The one thing that made the weekend easier was the fact that grandma is still with us. Had we been going through her things after her passing, it would have been much more difficult. I was grateful for the opportunity to clean and organize her house without grief. It was also very enjoyable to gather together a few family members and friends of the family that are scattered around and work toward a common goal.  

Since it was a sunny weekend, the house was warm and it was really stuffy from being unoccupied for so long. We opened up all the windows and doors, cranked up the music, and got our groove on well into the night. All of the neighbors must have loved our shake-your-booty-and-sing-your-heart-out renditions of songs by the Village People, Milli Vanilli, the Bangles, and others. Poor neighbors. They are probably traumatized for life. Over 2 nights, I think we got about 5 hours of sleep total. By the end, we were hobbling around covered in dust and grime and completely sore and tired.

Gram's house is the epitome of 70's chic! Don't you love the green shag and orange furniture? You should have seen this room before we stripped it clean. We removed a couple of pieces of furniture, all the pictures off the wall, the tons of dried and silk flowers, and the knickknacks from every corner and surface. By paring down the room, it's the largest we've ever seen it. Who knew there was this much space? 

My cousin, uncle and I were feeling emotional over certain things we came across and things we remembered, but we did our best to hold our emotions in check. I think we all knew that if we allowed the floodgates to open they just would not stop. I somehow managed to hold myself together while I was in the house.  

On my way back home, I crossed the bridge over the river from Portland into Vancouver and that’s when I lost it. I was a wreck off and on for the rest of that night and the next day. Lord help me when the house actually sells. She’s the only grandparent left between my husband and I, and I don’t even want to think about when she goes to be with the rest of our grandparents in heaven.   

One moment that really sticks out in my mind from that weekend is when I stopped by the neighbor’s house to chat. As it turns out, they also have 2 boys diagnosed on the autism spectrum. I found myself in their living room chatting with them about autism, educational advocacy, and other related topics. Even though my hubby was home with our boys, it was like I was right back in my element.  

Once my grandma’s house sells, I will no longer have relatives in my old hometown. But, I will have community. I will have autism family. And that makes the change a little bit easier.

 

You've been chopped!

Summer is a very interesting time of year for us. And by "interesting" I mean, "is it wine-thirty yet?" I might need to pull out my Pyramid of Crazy...

I have been working with the boys on a new reward schedule for our token economy system. They can earn treasure coins to pay for rewards by following a list of expected behaviors.

That's fancy talk for, "follow the rules and earn prizes!"

One of the things they can earn is time to watch a show of their choosing. If they don't want to pay coins for a show, then they are stuck watching whatever I pick. Or, they can go play elsewhere if they don't like the show I selected.

We don't watch all that much TV in our home because we can't afford cable. We rely on things like Hulu and Netflix and we have our PC hooked up to the big TV in our family room so that we can stream shows over the internet for free. Well, it's free except for the exorbitant cost of high-speed internet!

One of the shows I have recently rediscovered courtesy of the internet is Chopped, from the Food Network. I love this show! I figured it was somewhat educational for me in learning about ingredients and food preparation, and it didn't seem to have anything offensive that would be bad for the boys.

As it turns out, the boys love this show! They are glued to the TV when I turn it on. So much so, that they do something miraculous: They sit still. The entire time. I know. Miracle!  

If you've never seen the show, a group of 4 chefs come on the show to compete for $10,000. They have to go through 3 rounds - appetizer, entree, and dessert. With each round, their dishes are judged by an esteemed panel of chefs/culinary giants, and then one chef is "chopped" and does not move forward to the next round. Depending on the course, they have 20-30 minutes to create an amazing dish that must feature all of the ingredients revealed in a black mystery basket. The chefs open up the basket and the clock starts ticking away the few minutes they have to execute their brilliance.

Some of the ingredients the show comes up with, and the combinations of those ingredients, are truly insane. I mean it. I've seen things like candied fennel seeds (that look that sprinkles on steroids) for use in an entree. They come up with the most unlikely pairings of ingredients that have no relation to each other in any way.

One dish can include things like: chicken kidneys, sea beans, popcorn, and star fruit. I don't know. I'm trying to think of ingredients I have seen them use... Crazy stuff!

"Chefs, open your basket! Your time starts now!"

Really? And, what the heck are sea beans anyway? How exactly do you prepare chicken kidneys? Ewww...

So, my boys, the little script memorizers that they are, absorb everything about the show while it's on. Prince Charming can actually do a Ted Allen impression. It's the funniest thing ever to hear him interject things he's heard from the show when I'm cooking.

In fact, we were out having dinner at a restaurant and Prince Charming was reading the menu. Titan and I were ordering an appetizer and Prince Charming piped up and asked, "Is that an 'on ray'?" Puzzled, Titan and I looked at each other trying to figure out what he was talking about.

Then it hit me. Not "on ray." Enree. He's trying to say "entree!" He is figuring out that at a restaurant you can order an appetizer, entree and dessert. Just like Chopped!

Smart boy.

The next day, we were hanging out at home doing nothing in particular. The boys were playing in the same room. When this happens, it can spell trouble very quickly. Monkey did something that Prince Charming didn't like and he was getting agitated and escalating his behavior. All of a sudden, he angrily glares at Monkey and I hear him yell:

"You've been chopped! Grrrrr!"

Well, I guess Prince Charming figured out how to turn a Food Network show into a way he can fight with his brother. It was so priceless, I could barely stifle my laughter.

Now, that is scripting in all of its glory. And it was pretty awesome.       
 

Don't wake the sleeping Yoda

On Saturday morning, my hubby and I were woken up by Prince Charming. Before. Six. Yes, in an ungodly hour of a sacred and lazy please-God-let-us-sleep-in-until-at-least-7am Saturday morning.

“Daddy, I want to cuddle with you.”

“OK. Climb in,” my hubby slurred in his slumber.

Then our little wiggle worm got into bed between us. And didn’t stop moving. Or talking.

First he would wiggle, then he would sit up and check the clock. Then he would announce the time to us. Every few minutes. Then he would flip over. And, then there was the whispering. He would whisper some script he had memorized from cartoons.  

Make the hurting stop. Sleeeeeep.

“Honey, can you please go back into your room and play quietly with your new Bionicle in bed?”

“Nooooooooo, I want to stay here.”

Too tired to argue or force the issue, my hubby and I dropped it in our attempt to fall back asleep.

This continued on for over an hour.

Frustrated, we finally sent him packing back to his room. Not only did he leave our door wide open, he proceeded to walk through the house like a herd of elephants. The walls literally shook with every step.

Of course, this woke up Monkey. Great. He stumbled into our bedroom, ready to cuddle.

My hubby, who apparently had woken up enough to have some brain function, came up with a great idea.

“Boys, go make yourself a bowl of cereal and we’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Then he muttered under his breath, “in about a half hour…” I weakly giggled my agreement.

We started to hear the boys make noise and argue. Titan and I were definitely awake now, although I was a bit slower to rouse.

Then, my hubby did something regrettable. He poked his finger into my armpit in a playful attempt to wake me up. One thing he should know better by now is to never, ever poke me in the armpit.  

I swatted at his hand violently. He started laughing.

With my eyes closed I calmly growled, “Do not make me go Jedi on you.”

More laughter. This time, it was a deeper belly laugh. He tried to touch me again, but I had one eye open because my Spidey sense told me something was about to happen. (See, not only do I connect with the Force, I also have Spidey sense! Titan married SOME girl!)

As his finger came up into the air, I said, “If you wake this sleeping giant, I will turn into an angry Yoda in about 3 seconds.”

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He knew I would, too. I could sense he was thinking about the scene of Stars Wars when Yoda unleashes his mad skills on Count Dooku and is flying around the room like an other-worldly creature. Titan quickly retracted his finger and then more laughter ensued. Deep, loud laughter. I love his laugh. It’s so hearty and warm.

Now I was wide awake and didn’t want to be. I glared at him with a scowl on my face through one eye open, ready to attack without a moment’s hesitation. Yes hubby, this is the fair maiden you took as your bride. Hope I don’t scare you too much.

Yoda is super duper old, like 800+ and he's 2 feet tall. You'd never expect him to acrobatically fly through the air with his light saber. Watch him open up a can of whoop-ass right around 1:40!

Ahhhhhh, Saturday mornings! Aren’t they grand?

Needless to say, Titan got me out of bed and there was no bloodshed. As it turns out, under my don’t-mess-with-me shell is a big ball of goo. He knows how to expose the goo every single time. And in the process, he makes me laugh. Somehow, that’s all I need. 

Hope you had a great Father's Day weekend!

What are you like in the morning before your coffee?   


   

    

Guest Post: Daddy Confidential

We have a wonderful guest with us today! Jonathan, a.k.a. Daddy Confidential, contacted me a while ago and since that time I have become a fan of his blog. I absolutely love his sense of humor and really appreciate his witty perspective on parenting. And you know, it's nice to read a quality blog from a guy.

Jonathan is daddy to Fox and husband to Sarah. You will see from the picture below that Fox is a very cute 1-year old. Their family is in the process of a move from downtown Manhattan to the suburbs…which, according to Jonathan, his wife has been plotting since their second date!

Jonathan took some time to do an interview with me and I thought I should give you fair warning… You may laugh suddenly and often. God forbid you just took a sip of coffee, because you will probably spit it out of your mouth. Coffee is a precious natural resource, so we must try very hard not to waste it!!!

Below the interview is a post Jonathan wrote for his blog that talks about autism. He discusses being the parent of a neurotypical child and his own ignorance about autism. There are some great questions posed at the end of his post, so please take a moment to leave a comment and address those questions. Also, check out Daddy Confidential on Facebook and Twitter (@DadConfidential), and then swing by his blog.

Are we good? Are you ready? All right! Let’s get this show on the road.      

CAM:  There isn't usually much testosterone around here, so a male perspective is a nice change of pace! Please share with us your favorite thing and your least favorite thing about being a dad.

DC:  You’re asking about my favorite things? What am I – Julie Andrews? Jeez, you’re forcing me to talk about feelings. Fine. But it’s under duress.

Dads get to be goofballs. For some reason most moms don’t excel at being silly. Their whole repertoire is “tickle tickle!”

Jonathan practicing his monkey act with Fox.

Dads, by contrast, can really channel our natural inclination to be imbeciles. I will literally take off my shirt and act like a monkey because my kid thinks it’s hilarious. You would think I was rehearsing motion capture for Rise of Planet of the Apes. I’m method.

When kids need to be tossed in the air and caught, who do you turn to? Dads. Until my son is tall enough to get on the amusement park attractions, I am the ride. Roughhousing, horseplay, monkeying around… I will play the same repetitive game for as long my son is laughing and squealing. Or until he gets hurt.

As for my least favorite thing? I’m not sure if it’s gender specific, but I usually have to take on the role of Stern Parent. My wife is reluctant to deny our son anything, e.g. pacifier, TV, new toys, sweets. For some reason it always falls to me to be the bad cop.

CAM:  What is the one parenting task that you couldn't do (or, perhaps would never do) without your wife?

DC:  Oh that’s easy: buy our son clothes. Dads have no idea what size their kids are. Heaven help the dad who makes a solo mission to Old Navy. The shop clerk will ask, “What size is your child?” And dads will try and indicate the child’s height with a hand in the air, usually hovering around the beltline. If we spot another kid in the store – any kid – we’ll point to him and be like, “There! That kid! He’s about that size.”

CAM:  What inspired you to write a post about autism?

DC:  Ignorance. I knew so little about it. Plus my wife piqued my interest by obsessing over autism for months after our son was born.

(She still does. She’s a natural worrier. While pregnant, she’d fret about the neural tube test. When that came back clear, she moved onto things they can’t test for, like port wine stains.)

Also, I’m inextricably drawn to sensitive topics and tricky conversations. Autism is such a minefield – both within and outside the community. People untouched by it really tiptoe around the subject. And parents in autism circles can be hypersensitive to outsiders.

A recurring fascination is the well-meaning but grating comments made by parents of neurotypical kids. How often do you read on an autism blog a sentence that begins, “If I had a dime for every time I heard someone say…”?

But you can’t have constructive dialogue without the freedom to speak openly, honestly, and even offensively. This invariably leads to disagreements and disgust. But also empathy and enlightenment. Dolts like myself need the latitude to say stupid things – so long as it comes with a sincere invitation to correct and educate.

When I wrote about autism, I asked parents to vent about some rather nuanced frustrations and challenges. Their answers were among the most poignant, erudite, and profound accounts I’ve read anywhere. Months later I’m still both haunted and inspired.

I am not by nature an ass-kisser. And I am stingy with compliments. But parents of children with autism exhibit levels of tenacity and resourcefulness that are a unique testament to human potential. What distinguishes you is that unlike war veterans or Olympians or doctors performing triage, you didn’t choose to be heroes.

CAM:  I'm going to give you a lot of latitude with this last question... My readers are (well, there's a 99% chance that they are) sleep-deprived and chronically stressed-out moms of special needs children. As the token male on the blog today (tag, you're it!), is there anything else you'd like to share with all of us?

DC:  Wait, you mean it’s just me and a bunch of neglected women? Hi there. My name’s Jonathan. Um, what’re you wearing?

No, I jest. But speaking of token males and neglect: where are the fathers?!? Supporting a family comes with its own stress. But why is the blogosphere dominated by overextended moms? You should encourage your partners to guest blog (or at least leave comments) on a regular basis. Even if it’s just monthly.

Fathers have questions, opinions and insight, but it needs to be teased out a bit. And it could pay huge dividends in awareness and involvement.

The internet is an ideal format for this. If you write something that resonates, you can bask in the glory. And if you really screw the pooch, you can slink off in anonymity.

On that note, I’ll take that as my cue to scram. Nice chatting with you Angela!

Better You Than Me

When it comes to the spectrum, I’m maybe two degrees more enlightened than those who think all people with autism are savants that can count cards and toothpicks. (To be fair, Dustin did give a strong performance.)

My ignorance is no accident. People don’t gain specialized knowledge of hardship unless it’s necessary. Why would we?… to be well rounded? I mean, how much do you know about, say, Legionnaires’ disease?

As the father of a (neuro)typical 18 month-old boy, I am frequently astonished at how depleting and difficult parenting can be. And that’s with my wife doing most of the work. Maybe I’d be better equipped to handle parenthood if I were a 16 year-old Mormon fundamentalist prairie mom. But that comes with its own baggage.

So how do you cope when your child has autism? It’s not a rhetorical question. Parents untouched by autism are terrified yet preoccupied by its prevalence. It is perhaps unfair to show an academic interest when it’s not my kid flinging feces on the wall. But what do you want to me to say? “Better you than me”? (People with more tact than I will usually phrase this sentiment as “There but for the grace of God…”)

Basically, I stand in awe of the impossibly high hurdles that you must clear. Daily. Hourly. This minute. None of us can really fathom the patience and resolve required to raise a child with autism. We don’t know how to start the conversation, mostly owing to awkwardness, ignorance, or superstition. And frankly it’s hard to even tread here without sounding like an emotional tourist.

As you’ve read this far, I’m hoping you’ll address a few burning questions. They are compiled from near-complete ignorance. But there ought to be a way to gain perspective without fear of tripping over taboos.

Your answers will not herald an era of understanding. They will not put an end to people’s silent disapproval or blatant staring. But you’ve long since learned to ignore fools. These are just for me. Accordingly, I’m calling this brief questionnaire:

“Stop Staring and Finish Your F*cking Onion Blossom”

 1. What do your non-nuclear family members fail to understand about your child, despite repeated explanations?

2. If you could fire a magic bullet at anything related to autism, where would you aim? E.g. health insurance companies, educators, spouse, legislators, me (although technically I am unrelated). And don’t get too trigger happy, Rambo – you only get one magic bullet.

3. Is there a hierarchy among parents based on where along the spectrum your kids are?

4. What does your peer group commiserate about that you’d never share with outsiders (were it not for the relative anonymity of the internet)?

5. Which parents do you look at and think “Better You Than Me”? E.g. parents of a) paraplegics, b) Siamese twins, c) young republicans, d) albinos, e) kids with Down syndrome, etc. Hmmm… the question, while sincere, could be phrased more sensitively. But you’re an expert at handling inappropriateness.

Use the comments section to answer any or all of the above. Because y’know… you have so much free time on your hands.

The pyramid of crazy

If you are a parent of a child with autism, you quickly realize that there are new levels of crazy you have never experienced before. If you are a woman, this intensifies the situation. This topic came up the other day when I was in a mood. I had a headache that suddenly appeared and was escalating fast, my boys were driving me nuts, and, well, I was hormonal and felt like crap.

I had a full car as we headed off to therapy. In addition to my kids, I also had my husband and Miss C with me. Instead of the adults staying to participate in the therapy session, we dropped the boys off and got back in the car since I needed headache medicine in the form of a hot, caffeinated beverage. Miss C made an off-hand comment on our way to Starbucks. Sensing my mood before we left for the appointment, she chose not to say anything at the time because she knew I would likely maim her in some fashion. She was right. So, in the relative safety of the car (and the protection of my hubby) she shared her little quip about how she had been afraid to say something to me earlier that afternoon and instead chose to shut her trap for fear of the bodily harm I might have done to her.

My hubby laughed. Loudly. I whipped my head around to glare at him. He immediately changed his body posture and looked back at me timidly. I made some stern remark about how I was hormonal, I had cramps, I had a headache, I was in a pissy mood and you better not mess with me. (You should know that I’m really not as mean as I make myself sound…I had a humorous glint in my eye and a smile on my face while I was laying down the law.) Titan, sensing the mood was clearing a bit, replied with something to the effect of, “Yes, dear. Okay, dear. Anything you say, honey. I luuuuuv you.” With that we all broke into laughter.

Somehow this interchange started us in the direction of the different kinds of crazy we have observed. I got to talking about how you don’t want to mess with an autism mommy because she will cut you if you talk smack about her kids. We starting coming up with some hilarious anecdotes and we were all laughing very hard. Laughter is good medicine for headaches. And, coffee helps, too! I mentioned that all the talk about crazy would make a great topic for a blog post and I tucked it away in my brain for later.

Well, it does make a great topic for a blog post! I got to thinking about the conversation we had in the car and let my mind wander and funny stuff starting popping into my head. I actually cracked myself up and began laughing out loud while I was pondering what I would write about. I was imagining a diagram of crazy, much like you might see with the USDA’s Food Pyramid. Coming up with the names of the levels practically made me cry with laughter, so I knew I had to write about it. I crack myself up sometimes. And, here it is…the pyramid of crazy:

(It's kind of hard to read when it's so small... You can click on the image to make it larger.)

Would you like a little explanation?

Level 1: Tired, Hormonal, and/or Uncaffeinated crazy

This is the most common form of crazy and we’ve probably all been there quite often. Some autism moms can be afflicted by this form of crazy every day, to varying degrees. Lack of sleep, chronic stress, wacked out hormones and always being in need of caffeine is part of the job description. And yes, it does make you crazy one day at a time.  

Level 2: Gird your loins, I may cut you crazy

This is affectionately known as the Tonya Harding level of crazy. I can say that because I grew up in Oregon and worked at the mall where she practiced before she became all famous. I feel a little bit entitled to use her name for my gain, especially after her crazy unleashed itself at the Olympics and later in the wrestling ring. Anyway…this level is achieved when you have been at level 1 for too long, or if you have multiple forms of level 1 happening at the same time. Tired, hormonal AND uncaffeinated? That is a situation ripe with “I may cut you” potential! And, if your hubby is reason you are going crazy and you have the desire to whack him, you might warn him to gird his loins. They could become a target if he’s not careful!  

Level 3: Rubber room, reservation for 1 crazy

If after being at level 1 and possibly level 2 for an entire day (or an hour, depending on how predisposed to crazy you are), you may find yourself with the intense desire to go hide in your bedroom, lock the door, rock gently in the corner, and hum, “Soft Kitty” to yourself (thank you Sheldon Cooper for a song of comfort). You may feel the urge to escape your child with autism because they won’t stop scripting {insert the name of the cartoon you most loathe here}, stimming and/or melting down and you are about to snap or start the ugly sobbing that won’t stop without copious amounts of chocolate or alcohol.

Level 4: Batsh*t/Killer rabbit crazy

This level is known as Batsh*t crazy for most of you, but for the hardcore Monty Python fans (like we are at my house), the preferred name is Killer rabbit crazy. The Killer rabbit comes from the movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I love what Wikipedia says about this character: “The rabbit is now used as a metaphor for something ostensibly harmless which is, in fact, deadly.” I can tell you from personal experience that if I have worked up to the Rubber room level and my emotions are raw from a rough day (or several days in a row of full-blown autism at its finest), this level is unavoidable as you become like an exposed nerve that can turn into full, insane crazy at the drop of a hat.  

Level 5: Blue-faced warrior crazy 

Do you remember the scene at the end of the movie Braveheart when Mel Gibson’s character is standing at the top of a hill making his big speech about them never taking away his freedom, and then he proceeds to fight with his army to the bitter, bloody end? Now imagine that your child with autism is a target of some idiot that decided to judge you as a bad parent and your child as a snot-nosed brat because they are having a meltdown while standing in line at a store. You will move easily up to Blue-faced warrior as you defend your child with a savage verbal attack before you feel compelled to go cry in the car. Have you ever seen a mob of autism mommies form out of thin air to circle the wagons around a family that has been harmed in some way as a direct result of their child’s autism? We are a vicious bunch when we are angry and have climbed the levels of crazy. Let me tell you…we are a force to be reckoned with. I think the blue paint would be an added bonus, given that blue is often associated as the color of autism. Can you imagine us running down that hill in our warrior paint screaming at the top of our lungs as we attack the stupid people? It’s an awesome visual, isn’t it?

Level 6: Shotgun crazy

The best way to describe this level of crazy is the picture from my Shotgun Mama post. If you’ve had a particularly rough time recently with your child and you are at the end of your rope, you may do like I do and call your husband to warn him that if he doesn’t start heading home from work the kids may not survive. When you’ve reached the top level of the crazy pyramid you may feel like if one more crappy thing happens people are gonna die. You know that I say this in jest. Jail just doesn’t fit in with my boys’ therapy schedule! Some autism mommies I know will take a vacation day away from their kids. I’d say that’s a good plan if you can swing some time away from your precious angels. Before going postal, you might consider talking with a mental health professional. I’m just sayin’.  

One last thing about the pyramid of crazy:

You don’t have to move through each level in succession. It is possible to be in more than 1 level at a time or to skip levels as you work through your particular brand of crazy.

We all have some sort of crazy inside of us, and autism has a way of magnifying that. You are not alone in your crazy. We are all right there with you. Revel in it and claim your level!

Take a deep, cleansing breath. Happy thoughts. J   

Christmas Eve Schedule

I bet you didn't know that there needs to be a schedule for Christmas Eve, did you? Well, according to Monkey, he's got it all figured out. He wrote out a schedule for us on Monday, the first day of winter break, and he posted it on the fridge for all of us to look at. Every morning since then he has reminded me that there is a schedule for Christmas Eve and I need to read it so that we can be sure to follow it that day.

I have to admit, I got a bit of a chuckle out of it. It's a strange combo of his dream day melded in with parts of our typical routine. Some of the times are a bit interesting…like dinner! I think maybe he doesn't want the day to end considering it's a schedule he created and the fact that it’s Christmas Eve. I hope he’ll be flexible, because I guarantee things won’t go exactly how he planned.

Anyway, for your viewing pleasure, here is Monkey's Christmas Eve Schedule. I'll translate it for you below, in case you have a difficult time reading the pencil on white paper.  

Don't you love my fridge magnets? And, yes! Those ARE coffee beans!

Christmas Eve Schedule

8:25 – Wake up
8:30 – Breakfast
9:15 – Get Ready
9:35 – Put on clothes
9:45 – 11:00 – Play on computer
11:05 – 11:40 – Watch Charlie Brown Christmas
12:20 – Lunch
12:55 – Break (Do anything)
1:50 – Talk about what you think Santa’s going to put in your stocking in living room or family room
2:30 – Quiet time
5:00 – Break
6:10 – Do car site: (Me)
7:40 – Play Wii: Rec Room = ALLEYBALL
8:15 – Dinner

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone!

Halloween tater tots!

I don’t know why, but tater tots are hard to come by where I live. Well, at least the non-chemical laden ones. I was browsing in my local grocery store a few days ago when I happened to see a package I’d never seen before in the freezer case of the natural and organic section. They were sweet potato tater tots! No kidding! I picked up a bag to try and came home with my prize.

Titan couldn’t wait to try them out, so I made a dinner of convenience last night - Applegate GF chicken nuggets and Alexia sweet potato puffs. Here’s what happened:

Prince Charming: What’s for dinner?

Titan: Chicken nuggets and tater tots!

Monkey: Why are the tater tots orange?

Prince Charming: They’re carrots!

Me: Boys, they are very cool Halloween tater tots! That’s why they’re such a neat orange color!

I’m such a bad mama! But, it was clever, right? It is less than a week away from Halloween, after all!

Monkey is eyeing the tray of tater tots with a look of disapproval on his face and Prince Charming is wiggling in his chair with excitement. Titan eagerly stuffs one in his mouth and does the it’s-so-hot-it’s-melting-my-tongue-off dance. He gives his stamp of approval, although his tongue is a bit worse for wear. After a minute or two pass, the boys settle down in their seats and we serve their dinner.

Monkey: I don’t want any tater tots.

Prince Charming: I want 11!

Titan: Both of you need to try at least 1 tater tot. If you like them we’ll be happy to give you more.

Monkey tries one out and promptly says he doesn’t like it. I saw that one coming.

Prince Charming: Yum! I like these Halloween tater tots!

When Monkey grumbles some more about the new food, Prince Charming replies, The tater tots are really good! They kind of taste a little bit like chocolate.

Wow! Those must be some really special Halloween sweet potato chocolate tater tots!

Flashback Friday: Medicinal laughter

I have a great flashback for you today!

Prince Charming literally proved himself to be good medicine for me. Check it out here.

Hope you have a great Friday!

Changing Names?

Over the summer my little guy earned some new nicknames. Right now I refer to him almost exclusively as Prince Charming. He truly is a charmer and he’s so dang cute that your cheeks ache from smiling at him. Now, there is his other personality… I call him Grumpy Badger for a reason. He has earned that name, for sure! He can be hell on wheels when he wants to be. It’s hard to believe that such opposite personalities can exist in one small body.

I noticed sometime during the summer that a new habit was developing. At first I thought it was a comfort thing or just a way for him to have fun, but I think ultimately it was a sensory thing for him. He began to sit with his legs pulled up tight against his abdomen, and then he would pull out his shirt over his knees. Once he pulled his arms inside his shirt, his body was encapsulated into one little mass. I’m sure there was some nice compression on his body, which probably felt good to his overactive sensory system.

It took me a while to figure out what prompted this new behavior, but then it hit me one day as he was tucking his head inside his shirt while dialoging some semi-familiar sounds. His speech was slowing down as he was forming himself into a small bundle and burying his head in his shirt. I realized that he was acting out a scene from the movie Wall-E when Wall-E was losing power and had converted back into a cube as he shut down.

Prince Charming had been making little noises here and there for a few weeks at that point, including the famous electronic, “E-va-ah” from Wall-E as he was trying to wake up Eve from when she was protecting the plant. He nailed the inflection and tone perfectly every time. His constant rendition of Wall-E reminded me of last winter’s obsession with Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam.

As the summer continued, I would occasionally refer to him as Wall-E when I saw him tucking himself into a little ball. He always quickly objected and then Monkey would pipe up with some comment reminding me that his name was actually Badger and not Wall-E. We would laugh over the nicknames and then continue on with our day until it happened again.

Then, one day I saw him in a little heap on the chair. His legs and arms were all tucked inside his shirt and he was in the process of also trying to get his head inside the shirt to form a perfect Wall-E cube. The difference was that he was wearing a green shirt that day. I was watching him wiggle around to get inside his shirt, and all of a sudden it popped into my head. “You’re my little Turtle, aren’t you?”

His head jerked up and he exclaimed, “Turtle? I’m not a Turtle!” I told him that he looked like a Turtle because he appeared to be hiding inside his shell, which was green. He laughed and told me I was silly. But, the funny thing is that he immediately came out of the Wall-E fantasy and began acting like himself again.

I tested the theory the next time I saw him withdraw into his shirt. “There’s my little Turtle!” His arms and legs flew out of his shirt and he immediately sat up straight. He was Prince Charming again, but with a funny look on his face like he didn’t know what to make of me calling him by a new nickname. I have since called him Turtle several more times and each time it snaps him back to reality. Hmmm. We may be onto something here…

Turtle, Wall-E, Grumpy Badger, and Prince Charming. Each of these names definitely fits my little boy. I wonder what the next one will be?      

Have you entered the giveaway contest yet? It ends on Friday the 16th! Check it out here!

Pink Panther and the Fly Hunter

I wanted to extend a thank you to Pink Panther. You may remember me telling you about how my boys love to watch the show and I love that they don’t dialog the words (since there really aren’t any to memorize and endlessly script). Well, I just discovered that Pink Panther also helped Prince Charming to stop being afraid of flies.

He used to have a humongous fear of them. If a gnat flew into the room, the blood-curling screaming that ensued made you envision an axe-murder dismembering him bit by bit. I would come running into the room and find him petrified by a fruit fly. God forbid it was an actual house fly. Those creatures made the screaming intensify by at least ten-fold, if that was even humanly possible. I swear I have permanent hearing loss from this kid.

I used to encourage him to pick up a toy and use it as a swatter and take a swing at the flies in order to scare them away. I would tell him repeatedly that the flies were teeny tiny and that he was a big boy and that if anyone was scared, it was the flies who were scared of him. He always felt better when he had a toy in his hand (like a plastic bat) that he could swing around and scare the fly or try to “smash” it with. Invariably, the feeling of superiority to the fly would diminish and he would once again be scared and I would ultimately have to become the fly huntress and kill it.    

Recently I noticed that his fear had been lessening to some degree and I could not attribute it to anything other than maybe he was just getting older and it wasn’t quite so scary for him anymore. I was happy for the change and didn’t really think all that much about it.

It got pretty comical recently when we were out at Starbucks getting me a caffeinated afternoon delight (with my treat receipt, of course!). I watched him start jumping around while we were waiting in line to order my drink. I had no idea why he was doing that. I saw him do some moves that looked oddly similar to karate and I asked him what was going on. He told me he was trying to smash the fly. Since I didn’t see a fly, I assumed it was a little fruit fly. He started moving around in a jerky, fighting-with-the-air fashion, advancing more into the dining area where patrons were sitting and enjoying their coffee. I had him come back and stand with me, but the look on his face was that of a diligent hunter tracking its prey. It was pretty funny and I gave him a loving squeeze to tell him that I was proud that he wasn’t scared of the fly.

The fly hunter thing happened again a few days later (in a Starbucks…no comments about my coffee problem!). And, it happened again the next day (yes, it was in a Starbucks again…what is it with flies inside Starbucks anyway?). Each time it happened it was funny to me yet oddly distracting and I’m sure it garnered a few strange looks here and there. Oh well. My boy is not screaming in the Starbucks because he saw a fly. It’s all good, right?   

Cue Pink Panther. We were watching another episode of the show one evening and I noticed that Pink Panther was having an epic struggle with a fly. As the episode progressed, Pink decided to find a way to rid himself of the fly and began teaching himself karate. All of a sudden it clicked. Was Prince Charming’s newly-found bravery due to Pink Panther demonstrating that you could retaliate against a nuisance insect? It made total sense!

I asked him, “Honey, did you learn how to smack flies from Pink Panther?” He replied, “Yes.”

Well, there you have it. Go, Pink Panther! Not only do I like you for not having dialog in your funny cartoons, you have also turned my 6-year old into a brave fly hunter. I do not miss the screaming one bit. And for that, I thank you.