Whitterer on Autism

Let’s face it–socks are a curse.

They’ve always been a problem around here although we’ve absorbed the American way and refer to the issue as ‘a challenge.’

Fighting about footwear is pointless and flinging the offending foot-covering may be viewed as a bid for freedom, bucking the trend, but it only gets us so far.

Seamless socks are a boon, but expensive, especially for four feet, five times a week. I’ve lost count of the number of hand-made socks I’ve created over the years, but there’s only so much help a young man can accept.

So we stick with the cheapies with those distinctive grey toes and heels.

Dull, but functional when flat, which is fine until you pick it up:-

And then it’s less obvious which bit is which, very uncooperative.  You put it on and the grey bits are scrunched.  So how can we remember the uncomfortable importance of getting this right, to avoid irritation throughout the day?

The alternative perspective is so much better to keep the elephants at bay.

Well, it will work for this week at least.

I foresee the future–a generation of men free from brogues and trainers, bounding about barefoot with their hairy twinkle toes and un-clipped nails–but I’ve been wrong before:-

Generally, clothing of any kind has been largely superfluous to our lifestyle. Originally, the only thing that mattered was texture.  Anything else was immaterial. But recently, priorities have changed.

“I can’t wear that one–it makes me look fat.”

“This one’s jolly don’t you think?”

“I can’t wear that one– it makes me look ugly.”

“This one’s nice and soft, here, feel it.”

“That one makes me look like a dork.  I want this one.”

“No dear. You can’t wear that one–it’s ripped.”

“Perfect.”

You will need;-
A 12 inch square of felt
Another scrap of felt for the shawl
A scrap of thick yarn for the tail [knot both ends]
stuffing
Two small buttons for eyes [optional]
Sewing thread and needle
Scrap of fabric for the skirt
Scissors

Cut out the shapes in felt from the template
Sew up the back [curved] seam
Insert the stuffing
Stitch the circle on the base inserting the yarn as a tail and check that the mouse stands upright

[Understuffed will produce a concave base which is much more likely to remain standing]

Sew on the buttons [or stitch eyes in place so that it would be safe for a baby]
Stitch the whiskers and ears [folded]
Hem, join and stitch a drawstring runner through the top of the strip
Gather the strip and attach to the middle of the mouse
Cut the scrap of felt into a triangle and snip the edge to make a fringe, stitch in place

Voila!

A Tale of Foolishness:-
The why? Why bother to make your own mouse when you can buy a dozen from Petco at $3.99?

Well as you may recall, currently my son is still at the ‘part cat’ stage of development but loathes the smell of catnip. Anyway whilst we were at Longleat in England he fell in love with a very similar mouse, a mouse manufactured for the princely sum of many pounds sterling. I resisted the purchase and a great pall of gloom descended upon us. The only reason I managed to extract him from Longleat at all, was the faithful promise that I would indeed, given time, produce a mouse. It was so tempting to indulge him especially as he mewed so pitifully but apart from anything else, Longleat’s version was a doorstop and hence it was weighted down with a hefty rock inside, not ideal for international travelers with a weight limit!

In addition, we endure a daily craft during the summer holidays. In this instance we were able to introduce the concept that a sewing needle is not necessarily an instrument of torture but may indeed be the means of achieving the current motivational goal, a mouse. Fine motor skills limitations meant that he was an observer rather than a sewer, but he managed to remain within the same room and peek through his fingers at the scene. Clearly most crafts can be adapted to suit the individual needs of any particular child, but if we achieve joint attention then we’re on a winner, which indeed we did. He was quite happy to stuff the mouse so we did have a little hands on experience.

Of course, if I had been more sensible I would have saved myself a whole heap of bother by not going into the shop in the first place. This is one of the reasons why so many parents of autistic children become hermits, it’s just easier that way. However, we continue to venture forth as the easy option is not always available.

Lastly, I know that this kind of parental indulgence frequently evokes criticism, maybe you have been on the receiving end yourself? All I would say is that people who criticize, [usually 'Anon'] generally do not have first hand experience, long term with autistic people. If you actually live with an autistic person who has no interest in anything, or maybe only one or two things, to the exclusion of all other things, then part of a parent’s job is to help expand those interests, gently and gradually. Our job is not to eliminate the one or two special interests, that would certainly be a mistake, unkind and probably cruel. No, instead we offer all and everything that we can think of to tempt them into other things. Given time and encouragement there may just be a tiny little spark and it is those little sparks that ignite us into action, no matter how trivial or obscure. I tell you truly, it’s worth every effort.

This design is available in an out of print book called “My Learn to Sew Book.” It is a bit dated but has easy to follow instructions.

When faced with fresh, lightly chilled, extremely juicy and sweet, seedless watermelon:- one of my sons, the “former neophobic,” has very low facial muscle tone which makes eating a strenuous business, my other son, who eats more or less anything [except bananas] displays a remarkable dislike for this most innocent of fruits.

“I am called it an ‘aqua jaw breaker’ coz of dah watery and hard to biting.”

Or……..how to eat watermelon without using your hands.

On the other hand……his brother:-

“IZ DISGUSTIN LIKE EATIN A SPONGE!”

For yet another alternative view of watermelons, zip over to my pal “Melody” for a quick “slurp” and spit out the pips.

In a last note, it may be that you too are enjoying a thoroughly delightful life, but others, sadly, are not so blessed.

Maybe you could help out a smidge, or visit to see the devastation for yourself so that we can all thank our lucky stars.

Best wishes

Devil’s Ivy is an attractive plant with dark green leaves with yellow streaks and marbling. It’s real name is Pothos [Epipremnum aureum] but commonly known as Devil’s Ivy or Golden hunter’s robe or Ceylon creeper.

Whilst it hales from the Solomon Isles, it is also the most common houseplant around. I am reliably informed that it is only toxic if eaten in very large quantities.

Most people cultivate it by allowing it to cascade down from a high point but since it is really a climber it will really thrive given some support in the form of a moss stick.

As it turns out, moss sticks are unheard of in my local Home Depot, so that made for another very curious conversation for another time.

All you need for this tackle, apart from the plant is a bag of moss and an interesting stick, freely available from most wind blown beaches, string and elastic bands. It’s a good idea to check the source of your moss to make sure it hasn’t been raped from your local rainforest.

Wrap the moss around the stick and secure in place with string in the same way that you would truss a joint of meat.

As some people may already know, string is one of the many tools of torture around here and hence this task can easily be modified for those averse to string, knots and tying anything, by using elastic bands. Elastic bands are also hideous, but slightly less hideous, just slightly less hideous enough to allow tentative digits to come in contact with moss.

Lastly, do not permit a moss stick to have house room if you share your accommodations with a dog. A stick, even if covered in moss, is still a stick. It’s like a present: a tantalizingly wrapped stick.

There is no end to the variety of food that you can pop onto a popsicle stick. Many may ask….. ‘why would you want to put a snack on a stick?’ to which I would reply, ‘why wouldn’t everyone want to put their snack on a stick?’

A snack on a stick is the perfect solution to two major issues:- people who need to keep their fingers clean on pain of death and people who like to cook things to eat. It’s the neophobic OCD equivalent of ‘physician heal thyself,’ or so I like to think.

I would go as far as to predict that sometime in the not so distant future, a certain young man will come into his own as an entrepreneur. He’ll set up as a sole trader in these unique snacks, unless someone else pinches his idea first. Even if someone else gets there before him, this will still be all well and good, as millions of people who currently suffer from digitalis will be relieved and set free.

[Double click on the flower for a reality check]

I need to do a little research here, as thus far most snacks on sticks seem to be made of venison for some bizarre reason that I can’t quite fathom. Thereafter there are lollies [UK] and corn dogs [US] but otherwise there appears to a vast gaping hole in the market. We don’t plan to exploit this gap, rather we hope to plug all the little bleeding hearts and open mouths with delicious yumminess without risking dirt and damage to digits.

A while back we investigated snacks in cones, the cones that you usually use for ice-cream, which seemed like a cunning plan. However the texture of the average cone is not conducive to those who suffer from tactile defensiveness.

Another underlying issue is the difficulty some people have with physically holding either a stick or a cone. Some people cannot manage the pincher grip or if they can, do not have the physical strength to maintain the grip for very long. Other people have a grip that finds it hard to discriminate, such that the cone crumbles due to over-grasp. Either of these conditions can spell disaster to the potential snacker, although practice may help improve the situation.

I detect a certain level of incredulity creeping in here, so I shall repeat a tale of yesteryear for demonstration purposes.
[mainly because I cannot find that particular posting]

Not so long back we had a young visitor for a play date. When it came to snack time I put out chocolate chip cookies for four children and a bowl of goldfish crackers for my son. The visitor was horrified that my youngest child was being discriminated against. I explained that he did not care for chocolate chip cookies, without any further details. At that time he could only eat ‘single’ foods, Goldfish crackers, raisins, Cheerios [with a spoon so that there would be no physical tactile contact, due to the dusty crusty nature of the average Cheerio, and no milk]

Our young friend knew that I was a liar, that all children, indeed, probably all people, love chocolate chip cookies. He took matters into his own hands, on the sly, and sacrificed one of his own cookies to offer it to my son. His subterfuge failed due to the ear splitting scream of horror that thundered from him as he ran from the room at top speed.

I can still remember the expression on that little boy’s sweet face, a combination of disbelief and supreme surprise. That kind of mystification has haunted many a child who has witnessed similar behaviour on occasions too numerous to mention. An early introduction to cognitive dissonance, where two accepted facts vie for the same ground. Now if that cookie had been mounted on a stick, who knows how much faster we might have arrived where we are now?

This is quite a coup for the tactile defensive amongst us, to say nothing of the fine motor skills and the good old indefinable ‘motivation.’

I’m told that you can buy them “here” at S&S Worldwide, although I couldn’t spot them myself, or at “Oriental Trading” on “this page.”

I have spent a fortune at that shop over the years. I used to be annoyed that everything came in multiples, however as whatever it was used annoy my boys intensely, it usually took several or many tries before we were even in with a chance.

In this particular instance I have his Occupational Therapist to thank. Now there’s a woman with spectacular powers of persuasion!

And if you have a free mo, try out this test or better still persuade your small people to try it out. You can’t be too careful.

Test Your Eye Color Blindness Test – Click here for more blooper videos

Or you can check it out over here on “Metacafe” which I accidentally read as ‘metcalf’ but sadly I’ve not come across a similar dyslexia test!

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

And this Animoto feature, was pinched from “Susan” at “5 Minutes.” Thank you!

How to make paper flower pots from newspaper and then further exploit the enterprise.

This idea was originally from my chum “DJ Kirkby” on her post over “here” but I decided to steal it from her to provide her with the opportunity to sue me for copyright infringement. They’re a litigious lot those Brits.

1. You will need a PVC pipe of the right diameter [small, medium, large] a cutting tool and some newspaper.

2. Chop the pipe to the desired height that you want your pot to be.

3. Turn the newspaper diagonally and fold in half for extra strength.

4. Fold over again to the same height as the pipe.

5. turn over the paper and roll the length of the strip around the pipe.

6. several time until you have a couple of inches of tail left.

7. fold upwards.
8. Tuck in the other end, squish it, to form the bottom.

9. tuck in the top tail between one of the folds.

10. Voila! Pots for free.

11. Make loads in advance ready to fill whenever you come across an errant seeding.

This was, necessarily, a joint family enterprise to take account of different people’s skills and limitations. Those who were paper averse in the tactile defensiveness department relied upon the fine motor skills of their sister to help fashion the pots.

Then is was the boys’ turn to identify the seedlings in the garden. It’s easy enough to spot different coloured flowers but it’s far more taxing to identify teeny tiny little green plants and to differentiate between them. However with a handy aide memoire clutched in their hot little puds, this too turned out to be easy peasy. Laminate both sides because you know it’s going to get muddy and soggy.

N.B. make one for each child to avoid hic-cups.

Then all you have to do is wait a couple of weeks for the seedlings or cuttings to settle in.

After that teach the basic principles of capitalism to your socialists who pocket money is apparently deficient.

Then sit back and watch the competition clean up with baubles for the magpies amongst us.

“Works for Me Wednesdays” the “Frugal” Edition.

Yes I know it’s only Tuesday, but I’m a bit previous today.

N.B.B. This post is brought to you via the ability to enjoy outside play.

Clearly it’s an exaggeration, but it’s the nearest I can get to convey the abject panic in the kitchen. Kitchen’s are fraught with dangers for the unwary and the ever so slightly paranoid. The motivation is clear and present, the desire to create something yummy but the overwhelming amount of angst that swirls around the kitchen soon have us both heading up the vortex.

This is primarily due to my own ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and feed the OCD beast within.

Throughout this exercise there is the underlying ghost of tactile defensiveness, the abhorrence of dirty hands. I think there may well be a smidge of this phenomenon in many of us. It’s the reaction we feel when the unexpected happens. We stroll along on our own sweet way, when out of nowhere we find something deeply offensive on our skin. The sensation is so vile that it shocks the conscience, enough to see your own hand in 3-D, ten times it’s normal size, pulsating and alien. It’s the same as being in a concrete car park with no leaf to act as a wipe, no grass to scrape it off, where your only option is to sacrifice your top or your trousers and remain half clad. It’s the preferable option. Slightly preferable to the temptation to chop off the appendage and run away because you forgot to pack your machete. Or at least that’s my interpretation of what I witness daily.

***

The oven farts as the temperature rises, “what is dat sound is being?”
“Oh it’s just the stove coming up to 325. It sounds like it’s about to explode but it won’t.”
“Itz gonna explode? Agh!”
“No, no , no, it’s just a figure of speech. Lets go and crack the eggs, your favourite bit. Stand on the step but don’t wobble or fall off.”
“I am fall off and be hurted myself?”
“No, no, no. Here, concentrate on the eggs. Crack them on the post in the middle of the Cuisinart as it’s less messy but be careful you don’t cut yourself on the blade.”
“I am gonna cut my fingers off?”
“No, no, no. Here lets grease the pan shall we?”
“Grease is dah disgustin. I don wan dah disgustin on my bread!”
It may be only 72 degrees in my Californian kitchen but the beads of stress make it feel like a tinder box. At each and every step we meet with the unexpected or rather the ‘not thoroughly researched and prepared in advance.’ His progress in the art of chefdom is hampered greatly but the adult sized disposable gloves that hang like condoms from each finger. I am now deeply uncertain if this compromise really is an improvement on the alternative two minute hand washing ritual?
As we spoon the mixture into the pan the whole kitchen looks like a war zone but his excitement is palpable. He smacks his lips with exaggerated anticipation and an air of mischief as a centimeter of tongue protrudes.
“You’re not supposed to lick the spoons with the raw cake mixture these days or you might get Salmonella poisoning.” I look at his little furrowed brow. A child who has only eaten real food for about 6 months of his little life, and maybe a baker’s dozen of eggs. Do I really want to wipe out his digestive system with raw eggs?
“I am gonna be poison?”
His eyes are on stalks having navigated the total nightmare of his mother’s death trap clangers. “Tell you what?”
“What?”
“Let’s lick the spoon and see if you get ill?” He looks at the smeared spoon just beneath his nostrils with the captivating combination of cinnamon, vanilla and sugar as fortunately zuchinni appear to have been overwhelmed by the other ingredients. “Do you think it’s worth the risk?” I watch as he squirms and racks his taut and tangled insides, both brain and body. “The hospital’s only a hop, skip and a jump away if anything goes wrong……” After much dog panting, eye squeezing and hand wringing he pounces, envelops the spoon with his mouth as little shivers, fire cracker through his elastic spine. I count, silently, although I’m not quite sure what I’m expecting. “Dat is dah greatest Chef’s triumph….even better dan Elephant Ears.”
“That good indeed!”
“Yes my chocolate chip zucchini bread is being manners from heaven!”

It’s cake actually, but that’s Americans for you.

Someone might be wondering where the other two were during this 30 minute marathon? That’s right! Electronics time was sacrificed in favour of cookery, although to be fair that probably added quite considerably to his angst.

My angst? Well I left out the fact that during this same period, with a cacophony of ‘electronic’s time’ musak, Mr. B was very kindly washing up in our very narrow galley kitchen. Mr. B, a Portuguese speaking Brazilian, had numerous questions regarding the English present tense imperfect. Thatcher had two accidents which needed attention, as puppy training can never be neglected. My daughter arrived home from work, hungry and determined to make cheese rolls in the very same kitchen. All conversational exchanges were fraught due to her waterlogged ears, a mild improvement upon water on the brain. It’s a miracle we all survived. And if that was you who kept phoning and leaving messages, then forgive me as I had the volume turned off.

p.s. I wrote that a week ago. I just thought you might be interested to know that he can now cook without using up a whole box of disposable gloves. I hope Mother Earth takes pity on environmental whores like me?

Here’s a “link” to the recipe we used for “Zucchini Bread” or rather Courgette Cake. We added a cup[ish] of chopped up mangled Walnuts and half a cup of chocolate chips. It’s very, very sweet.

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

If you look very carefully at the cow you’ll be able to see the State of Montana!

Someone else is thinking of opening a Tattoo Parlour.

Yes is Science Project time of year.

I made my own mark…….

……and gave it the school auction. Gotta support our schools in their endeavours if we can’t go physically.

Lastly, occasionally you too may find yourself doing odd things at odd times, because sometimes an opportunity is too good to miss. The trick is to know when on earth that time might be? Give it a “try.”

Warning! Use hair conditioner not hair gel or you could get yourself into all kinds of additional difficulties.