Whitterer on Autism

In a household of “7″ filthy people, there tends to be a lot of laundry, my sole responsibility. Each step of the laundry process, and we all know that it is a many step process, is just fine with me, except the last step, the ‘putting away’ step. It is not uncommon to find all seven of my laundry hampers full to busting at the top of the stairs. For some unknown reason, probably mere inefficiency on my part, this is my perennial stumbling block. The very best thing to do with stumbling blocks is to blast them into outer space.

Personally, I’m sorely tempted to convert the garage into a holding pen, fill it full of racks and shelves, and house everyone’s clothing in one spot, right next to the washer and drier. This would streamline matters considerably. Since the average American already uses the garage for storage purposes, with cars parked out on the hard drive, we would just be that little bit ahead of the curve and start a whole new trend.

I think it would also foil burglars who would break and enter through the weakest safety point in the average house, the garage, and would then be distracted from the task at hand by a tempting display of clothing. It’s a trick used by most store keepers, put the most attractive items near the entrance to lure in the punters. By the time the burglars have picked out just the right size, style and colour, the police will have arrived and the game will be up.

But I digress.

Here is where the art of delegation comes into play. What is the point of having children that create work if you can’t tap into their ability to contribute towards the smooth running of the family unit? Call it child labour if you will, but if we ever hope to develop independence in our children, it’s a step that’s hard to resist.

Here I must confess my main objection to teaching my children independence, namely, that they do not meet my exacting standards when it comes to putting away the laundry. This is why a few little visual pointers can help them navigate the way and keep them on the right washing line. Labels my friends, labels. If your children can read, then all well and good. If not, then little icons or PEC’s help smooth out the bumps and indirectly save on ironing. Folding is well beyond our current skill set but hangers work well.

I’d like to don my environmental hat and cut down the laundry, wear clothes more than once or dab off stains like my mother used to do whilst the occupant is still inside. I’d like to curb the three or four changes of clothes whilst they attempt to approximate the costume of their favourite characters, but at the same time, I am also dumbstruck by this extension of pretend play. Suddenly they’re happy to attempt dressing. They’re motivated enough to overcome some of those fine and gross motor challenges. Do I really want to choke off and stifle such tender new growth?

Sadly, although we started this new campaign over 18 months ago, what with one thing and another, I have let matters slide. However, that’s no good reason why we shouldn’t start again, renew the campaign and continue to tackle our own particular mountain, or failing that, “regroup” and take “cover.”

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

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

I attend the primer.

A two hour lecture.

I did try very hard not to yawn.

• Consistency
• Persistence
• Always follow through
• Think like a dog
• Use logic
• Dogs have common dogginess principles
• Each dog has it’s own unique personality and character
• Keep language concise
• Use body language
• Use simple signs
• Generalize skills in different locations
• Reward with treats initially
• Don’t forget to fade rewards
• Pick your battles
• Schedules, routines and predictability
• Never punish natural doggy behaviour such as chewing, digging and barking
• Provide safe opportunities to chew, dig and bark
• Tone of voice
• Facial expression
• Repetition

On and on and on it goes……..

And do you know what? I can do all this standing on my head, whilst knitting and drinking Ensure. I tell you truly that if I had known it would be this easy, I would have found a dog years ago. Then again, years ago, I didn’t know, what I know now. Do I mean to imply that Autistic children learn similarly to dogs? No. I imply no such thing. On the contrary, children, both autistic and typical, need good teachers. It is easy to scoff, especially since I am so exceptionally good at scoffing:- why doesn’t everyone already know all this stuff? But we all have to start somewhere. This provides me with the perfect opportunity to thank those professional and vocational teachers who work tirelessly for my children, to help them reach their full potential. If I cannot learn to be a good teacher, then children are probably not a good career choice for me. Luckily, despite all the odds against me, it seems that old dogs like me really can learn new tricks. Other young pups master nauseous chalk when they have just the right motivation.

Woof!

Don’t forget to keep your eyes and ideas open to “Jessica.”

More magic, than marker

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

Just call me snap happy.

During the course of the holidays, my children discover how to parachute, or more accurately, test which toys can fly and those which cannot.

This is scientifically tested from the top of the stairs where the toys are hurled into the air, bounce off the ceiling and crash down on innocent victims below. It proves to be thoroughly hilarious entertainment for a good half hour. On conclusion of the half hour, they realize a serious flaw in the game plan, namely, the ten foot Christmas tree in the flight path. After a quick check, several items appear to be adrift, including a highly prized DS game, a one inch, thin, grey, plastic square. The meltdown that ensures is more or less inevitable. Whilst it would be perfectly possible to disassemble a 10 foot Christmas tree to hunt for the treasure, with my current responsibilities I am both unable and unwilling to compromise in this manner.

This more or less guarantees an hour of perseverating angst every day, first thing in the morning. The daily dose of angst almost persuades me to comply, but the time simply isn’t available. Arguably, an hour spent sequencing my son through the series of events that led up to this disaster would be better spent hunting through the needles, with hindsight, but I lack the energy.

Sadly, my efficiency levels are so low that we fail to take down the Christmas tree and other decorations on Twelfth Night. However, we are prompted into action with the dawning of the recycling visitation, which promises to arrive on Tuesday. With the children back at school on Monday, my elder daughter, Nonna and I take on the task in shifts. We each work independently in different parts of the house in an attempt to remove every trace prior to the end of the school day. Although the boys are generally oblivious to the décor, for some reason the strip down phase causes no end of grief and anxiety. Far better to remove all evidence in one fell swoop, the swift, slight of hand of magicians.

As I lift, roll and stash each decoration, my mind is free to reflect. Thatcher’s arrival has made several significant impacts upon my children. Thatcher is at the chewing stage of puppy-hood, which means that just about everything is fair game. It’s a daily game. Anything on the ground becomes fodder. Anything on the sofa or other surfaces above ground, is off limits. We have a mounting pile of evidence or our mistakes:- shoes, books and toys. None of these things are of value or worth protecting. A few prized items are worth the effort:- Webkinz, Pokemons and electronics paraphanalia. I foresee that before too long, the whole household itinerary will have been culled in this manner.

After lunch I haul out the tree into the roadway ready for collection, leaving a trail of green, prickly needles. The needle sweep up is also time consuming, several sack loads end up stacked next to the other debris and recycling materials. This leaves me just enough time to walk Thatcher before the school run.

Thatcher is keen to mark the dead tree. I am equally as keen that his offering should be elsewhere. Tree collection is hazardous enough an occupation without the added contributions of every household pet in the street. I distract and entertain as we lollop along the road with each house displaying still further green temptations.

As we reach the end of our circuit I see the huge recycling trucks approach the house. Thatcher is not keen on large noisy things. I hover, uncertain whether to continue his exposure or let him off the hook after 69 minutes of traffic? He cowers at my ankles, tail between his legs as we near the house. Suddenly, he makes a mad dash for the tree, his muzzle buried deep in the pines. I wonder if he has found a stray Christmas decoration, a choking hazard. On the command to drop, he does so without a qualm. There on the black rough tarmac is a small, thin, grey plastic square.

I wonder if plastic smells? I wonder if the plastic smells of my son?

I wait until completion of the school run, and the shock waves of despair at our denuded home to subside. I wait until the ebb tide, when spirits are low but even.
“Hey guys?” No-one has any interested in any more words, their daily allowance fully expended after a strenuous first day back at school.
“Guess what I found today?”
Floppy people display disinterest, their body language says it all.
“Guess what…..Thatcher found today?”
Bleary eyes blink with just the tiniest hint of something approximating interest.
“Look!” I hold up the tiny, grey, one inch square between thumb and forefinger with a white contrast wall behind. Gasps of genuine delight, amazement and joy chorus from every corner of the room.
“Did he really find it Mom? Where did he find it?”
“Fatcher found it?”
“Fatcher is being dah….………twuly……….. awesome one!”

As with most tips and tricks around here, this has been scientifically, nay, exhaustingly tested for your benefit. I can assure you that it is 100% effective for one typical and one atypical child. Conversely, it is completely ineffective for another typical and atypical child. Thusly, an overall 50% success rate is worth a bash in my book.

Follow the basic principles in “tissue box.” Choose the fabric with care to cause minimum offense, remain gender neutral and avoid tickly, scratchy, itchy textures. Fleeces usually fit the bill, are cheap and easy to work with since they don’t fray.

White is usually a poor choice when filthy snotty children are involved but the sheep-like woolly texture was a definite favourite.

Select a decorative trim that could resemble hair and stitch to the inside top seam so that when it falls open, the fringe appears on the outside.

Tie the ‘neck’ with chord or some easily un-doable yarn.

Sew googley eyes in place with a pompom for the nose.

Knit four tubes in stocking stitch and insert pipe-cleaners inside. Take care to fold over the top sharp edges so that it doesn’t poke through the knitting and hurt small fingers. Stitch one pompom to one end of each of the four tubes. Stitch the other end to the tissue box cover to form legs and arms, which should now be ‘poseable.’

Take a small piece of recycled stiff plastic and cut into a moon shape for the mouth. Glue fractionally larger pieces of felt to each side of the plastic form, black on one side and a contrasting colour on the other. Leave to dry.

Once fully dry roughen up a little patch in the centre of each side. Attach hook Velcro to the tissue box cover in the ‘mouth’ position. Make sure that there is enough space so that the ‘mouth’ can fit upside down and right way up to form a ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ face. Try to avoid putting Velcro on the mouth itself as this may mean it is untouchable for some children.

Broadly speaking this is only effective for the sniffly kind of hurt feelings or ruffled feathers. It is certainly ineffective where genuine pain and the Emergency Room is required.

Usage guidance:-

Await an attack of the sniffles. This usually doesn’t take very long. Ensure that the tissue box is in the ‘sad’ position, mouth and limbs turned downward. Take box to child. Cuddle sniffly child with box close to hand and within sight line of the child.

Listen carefully to the complainant’s woes. Offer solicitation, comfort and solace as needed. When sniffling is on the decline, suggest use of a tissue to mop up streaky cheeks and slimed nostrils. Encourage child to pull a tissue from the box. Encourage child to spread mucus over face with tissue. On completion remove offensive, germ filled tissue before it hits the floor.

Encourage child to verbally acknowledge that the storm has passed and that they have survived in tact. Positively reinforce recognition of wellness by encouraging the child to physically turn the mouth into a smile and the limbs into a horray! The kinesthetic or physical interaction, by moving the pieces, confirms success. This helps the child associate self care and self calming, motivates and promotes self awareness. This is why we bother to put a line through a completed ‘to do’ item. Even though strictly speaking it is unnecessary, the task is finished, but somehow, great satisfaction derives from this teeny tiny step.

Of course if your child has tactile defensive issues such that they find the texture of paper or tissues abhorrent, then forget it.

When it comes to gifts in these financially stricken times, we’re all struggling to hit the right note. America is a secular country, which means foreigners should proceed with caution not to cause offense.

One safe route is to choose a holiday ornament, bought or home-made.

Instructions:-

This is a simple Cinnamon stick as a trunk with ‘branches’ of faux greenery and the decorations of your choice, buttons, sequins, stick on gems and ribbons. We avoid the peel off stickers as that’s far too much of a challenge for the fine motor skills.

I particularly like this project for a number of practical reasons. First and foremost there is no paper to deal with for the tactile defensive amongst us. Although you can use a hot glue gun for a quick fix, ordinary tacky glue does just as well.

It’s a good idea to make up one in advance so that children have a visual cue for what they’re aiming at.

I am confident in this choice, as I have been schooled by three dis-interested, independent third parties, one American born and bred, one blow in and another naturalized American. Each of these people were in business, professionals. During the holidays it was their policy to give a holiday ornament to their visiting patients. I was the delighted recipient of holiday ornaments from Mrs. Cavity, Mr. Braces and Mr. Slice. Of course there is the remote possibility that this is a hybrid gift tradition for the dental profession?

Afterall it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been hoodwinked.

Yes we ‘practice’ hats for a few weeks and it’s almost generalized.

If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to“DJ Kirkby” over at “Chez Aspie” and test your brain power.

How long? Wordless Wednesday

How long does it take the average 8 year old to open four birthday presents do you suppose? I suspect that a thoughtful careful interested child may take some while to open and examine each one. I more impulsive child may rip them all open in seconds. I’m sure there are infinite variations on a theme to suit each little individual.

Around here, we set a new record, all over and done with within a half hour. The gifts were less than perfect but that turned out to be o.k. His presents were wrapped in paper which proved a challenge for the tactile defensive digits which are always super sensitive first thing in the morning. With lots of help, kitchen scissors in someone else’s hands, he managed to achieve unwrapped. Not so long back, his brother and sister had to help. He would stand at a safe three foot distance, within view but with ears protected from the outrageous ripping sounds.

I appreciate the credibility gap here. Can it be true that a child would refuse to open a present? Indeed it can and I have proof, since I am prone to exaggeration. Each and every year parcels would arrive from abroad from relatives. Each one had a little customs label to describe the contents:- plastic dinosaur, child’s toy, Thomas the Tank engine. How I loved those labels, they were my salvation. When the telephone calls came to check whether the gift had arrived, whether it was appreciated I was able to lie through my teeth, ‘yes it was perfect, how thoughtful, how delightful, so much fun.’ Meanwhile the package would remain unopened for days, weeks or a month after the event. I would cart those packages all over the house to where he sat, where he ate, on his bed, as a constant reminder and temptation. After a few weeks I would cut open the top so that he could see the wrapped present inside but nothing would induce him to insert a hand into the lion’s jaws. Even the taunt of Thomas, that most beloved, would fail to motivate contact with paper.

Sometimes a change of approach becomes inevitable. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes growth. But surely that’s just one of the many reasons why we celebrate that date, the birthday, the day that something new was born.

If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to“DJ Kirkby” over at “Chez Aspie” and test your brain power.

First and foremost I would like to point out that my idea of a kitchen angel is someone who visits the house, creates a delicious meal, does all the washing up and then disappears. If they would happen to include baby sitting services so that I am at least in with a fighting chance of eating a morsel, then that's all to the good. This cheerful craft by comparison, comes in at a very poor second.

Let me just say at the outset, that when I was first given one of these creations as a gift, I was severely miffed, or rather, less than thrilled. Whilst I try not to look a gift horse in the mouth, at the same time, kitchen equipment never rates highly on my list of desirable. Strangely, these items are quite common in America, however I doubt whether they exist in Europe, except perhaps in the kitsch aisle. They would fall into the same category as “these.”

Unlikely as it may seem, the foreigner who gave this to me, was unaware that it was made with tea towels, an oven glove and a face cloth. He was under the mis-apprehension that it was a traditional dollop of Americana, a Christmas decoration for the kitchen, but that's just husband's for you.

I have to admit I was tempted. How handy to have an emergency supply of such essentials for those days when the laundry is backed up and kitchen chaos reigns supreme. How fun to give my new American friends some traditional American gifts? How much better to demonstrate my assimilation into American culture?

I made half a dozen for my closest friends that they too would have an ally for their next domestic disaster. Would it surprise you to learn that my closest American pal packs up her kitchen angel with the rest of her Christmas decorations so that she can bring it out the next year? I suppose I should be grateful that she doesn't keep it in the kitchen. I'm thinking of reporting her to the Bureau of Un-American Activities as her maverick behaviour proves that she's really an alien.

However, I warmed to the idea of the kitchen angel because it indirectly provoked another gift, a little gem of an idea that has served me well for quite a few years. I noticed that my youngest son was quite partial to one red pot holder in particular. It has a fleecy red lining, soft and smooth. During my creative drive I would keep finding that this one pot holder kept disappearing. My son stole it to use as a hand protector and warming glove. At that time, he was still averse to the texture of paper.

One of the many difficulties that such people experience is an inability to open a paper wrapped gift, precisely because it is wrapped in paper which might as well be razor wire. Now I'll admit that he wasn't keen on presents either and was usually indifferent to the contents but that was nothing by comparison to the nightmare of tackling that paper barrier.

I can tell that you're a little doubtful, but I have proof. I think we are one of the few families I know,who still have a nearly full stocking five days into the New Year. Why? Because the gifts are wrapped in paper, that most hateful of substances ever created by modern or ancient man. Now I have yet to check out whether ancient man's papyrus or parchment paper has superior texture to our super smooth modern equivalent, but I'm open to ideas.

Meanwhile, the kitchen angel provoked another idea. Why not wrap all his presents in tea towels, preferably, old ratty soft tea towels only suitable for the rag bag? So that's exactly what I did, with miraculous results. Of course all the gifts were still inferior but at least we didn't have to wait until the New Year to make that discovery. So I would have to say, that when it comes to kitchen angels, maybe they do deserve a little soft cherished spot, in my psyche at least.

Since as there is no point in re-inventing the wheel, you can find sterling instructions for this project over “here,” at “my craft book.”

The only thing I would change is the note that’s attached to her neck, which reads as follows:-

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

Around this time of year, we make one of those 'thanksgiving trees.' For those unfamiliar with this American tradition, the children are given a tree with half a dozen leaves. They write on the leaves explaining what things, if any, they are thankful for. This simple, yet frightfully jolly good idea, appealed to my psyche. The reality however, was far from successful. One of my children had an aversion to the texture of paper. Both of them believed that all writing implements were tools of torture. I overcame the former objection by using foamies. The later was overcome but submitting myself to the role of scribe. All I needed then was to extricate suggestions. Most of the suggestions fell into the general category of 'nuffink.' When really pushed, or rather persuaded, they might manage 'Thomas' or Pachycephalosaurids, dependent upon which developmental stage they were at, by otherwise, it was an uphill struggle. I usually gave up after approximately seven minutes.

Every year they have managed more leaves. This year we made paper ones. This year they both wrote on the paper leaves themselves. We were still done in 7 minutes flat, but now they can tolerate 420 seconds of tedium. As I recap the glue I notice that my son has written an abbreviation on his leaf, an unfamiliar one.
“What does T P stand for dear?”
“Toilet paper.”
“You're thankful for toilet paper? But you only use flushable wipes, very expensive flushable wipes I might add!”
“Yes.”
“So……why then?”
“It's a joke stoopid!”
“!”
Ooo the irony.