Category Archives: language

“The Signs Of Autism”

When my daughter was diagnosed I heard all the autism statistics.  I read a great deal and I learned a lot.  But what I learned was not so much about autism as it was about non-Autistic perceptions of autism and what that meant to those who are not Autistic.  Non Autistic people tend to view autism with tremendous fear.  There’s so much we don’t know.   Non Autistic parents are left trying to sift through the opposing opinions about a child they may have a difficult time understanding.  Most parents deeply love their children and want what they believe is best for their child.  So when they see literature describing the “signs of autism” it looks scary.  The various “signs of Autism” do not bring them any closer to understanding their child, rather they serve as a critique.  Right away parents are shown how to view their child as less than, as not good enough, as “wrong”.

From the Mayo Clinic the first sentence under the heading “Symptoms” reads, “Children with autism generally have problems in three crucial areas of development – social interaction, language and behavior.”

If I had read this sentence upon receiving my daughter’s diagnosis I would have thought, okay, so how do we fix these problems, because  problems are to be fixed, right?   And though I did not read this exact sentence in 2004 when my daughter was diagnosed, I read a great many just like it.  I never once thought about the sentence and who was writing it.  I never once questioned it’s validity or examined the words being used.  It never occurred to me to read this sentence with skepticism and doubt.  It didn’t occur to me to wonder how my two-year old daughter might feel growing up in a society that believes the ways in which she interacts, speaks and behaves are viewed as problematic.  But I think about all of this now.  Not because my daughter is reading a sentence like this or because we are discussing things of this nature, but because I see everything regarding autism and those who are Autistic differently.  I am hyper aware of the judgmental and critical tone in almost everything to do with autism because I now know a great many people who are Autistic and they explain it to me.  I now know how offensive this language is and I understand why.

So let me ask all of you who are not Autistic this – how would you feel if you were described from the moment you were born as problematic?  How would you feel if you were taken from one doctor to the next, examined and criticized?  How would it affect you if you were told, “Stop looking at me when I speak to you!”  And then when you found that impossible, the person physically reached down and turned your head away so that you could not make eye contact.   How would you feel if you were paying attention and suddenly two hands grabbed your wrists and shook them so that  your hands flapped rapidly on either side of your face.  When you tried to pull away, you were told, “Move your hands!”  How would you feel if you were happily playing with your dolls and your parent demanded, “What are doing? Why are you making them interact that way?  Why are you trying to feed it?   You understand this is a piece of plastic and not real, don’t you?”

The point I’m trying to make, (probably poorly) is that almost all the literature about Autism is written by NON Autistic people and negatively compares Autism to a different neurology.  Is it any wonder parents feel so confused?  How is this thinking helping our kids?  How is it helping parents?

Presents

Islands of Words

In Judy Endow’s book, Paper Wordsshe describes the process she went through to communicate.  She writes about the “bridge pieces” or information storage system she experienced, “Then world-people might see the little bridge pieces stuck onto the sides of all these stone islands.  

“Bridge pieces just hanging there serving no purpose (other than to underline the fact that a bridge was meant to be there, but isn’t) little bridge pieces going nowhere with gray -matter   g   a   p   s    where the bridges should be.

“Perhaps then the world-people might come to understand that even though she may know all the info that’s needed to answer their question or to produce a reciprocal response to keep up with her part of their conversation, sometimes it takes a lot of her time to jump in a boat and float around in that gray-matter space of her mind floating in the    g   a   p   s     trying to find all the right islands of stone that might hold any relevant data pertinent to the subject at hand.

“Sometimes it’s a cumbersome task to access information in this manner and at other times it is downright impossible.”

Judy’s book is incredible on so many levels and I hope she will forgive me for butchering the placement of her words, because my blog would not allow me to replicate what she does in her book.  However, I will try to explain.  She literally breaks the sentences apart in meaningful ways.  There are the words she’s writing, but there is another layer of meaning to be gleaned from her words, and that is how and where she places the words on the page.  As an example of the above quote, these words are placed in such a way as to create islands of words, separate from each other and yet the meaning overlaps, but the placement of the words (the islands) do not.  This requires the reader to visually leap from one island of words to the next, just as she describes her thought process must do.  It is a wild experience to read in this way and further illustrates her struggles with “bridge pieces” (information storage), “gaps” (information processing),  and canoe transportation (information retrieval).

In her chapter entitled,”People Are Not Interchangeable” Judy Endow writes, “…meaning that if PERSON ONE has a conversation with her today   …then tomorrow she can’t speak her response to PERSON TWO even if both persons belong to the very same group  sometimes when she knows what she’s talking about and the person to whom she is speaking acts like he doesn’t understand her the first thing she does is to repeat herself saying her exact words over but if the person still acts confused she begins to wonder… this may be one of those times when she needs to be talking to PERSON ONE but because both of them are in the same group it somehow makes perfect sense to her to be talking to PERSON TWO but this kind of mistake rarely works out so she must always remember the rule that she made for herself:  ”People are NOT interchangeable.”

Again I couldn’t duplicate the arrangement of these words on this blog, an arrangement that serves to visually recreate the issues she describes having.

As I read Judy’s powerful book it was impossible not to reflect on my daughter.  How often has she said something that I did not/ could not understand?  How many times has she spoken to me about something or someone who I didn’t understand the context of, but that she seemed to know and understood me to know as well.  Only I did not.  How many times did I think – what am I missing?  And now I wonder, was she speaking to me, assuming I was PERSON TWO, while PERSON ONE might well have known exactly what she was referring to?  How many times have I been PERSON ONE and then explained to PERSON TWO what I thought was meant?

It happens often.

Emma doing one of her favorite “finger mazes” – 2013

Emma mazes

That Wasn’t A Question

Last night.  I’m at my computer writing.  Emma walks past me.

Em:  Have cereal and toast?

Me:  Em, you just had dinner a little while ago.

Em:  Time for cereal and toast?

Richard:  What?  No Em.  You just ate.

Em:  Emma’s hungry.   Have cereal and toast.

It took three times, but then I understood.  This wasn’t a question, this was a statement.

And with that, Emma went into the kitchen and fixed herself dinner #2 – cereal and toast, while Richard and I looked at each other and laughed.  

Evening light – New York City, 2013

Light

Less Than A Year Ago…

If I don’t immediately take notes during and after my typing sessions with Emma, I would wonder whether the words she typed were a figment of my imagination. There is something almost magical seeing and reading the words typed from someone who does not, or does not easily, communicate with spoken language.  It reminds me of the time I went to a lecture given by Soma Mukhopadhyay with her autistic son, Tito who began answering questions from the audience.  Tito is non-speaking and has a great many stims, yet translates his beautifully eloquent, poetic  thoughts into words and has no problem answering any question posed.  It’s often a disconnect for the neurotypical person watching someone who isn’t able to verbally say what they are thinking, yet has no trouble writing their thoughts, which in no way match the presumptions we, NTs tend to make.  If you’ve never witnessed something like this, it can be pretty mind-blowing, which says more about the limitations of neurotypical thinking and the constraints we unintentionally place on others who seem different from us than anything else.

Last night I began Emma’s session with a question.  It’s the same question I always ask her.  ”Hey Em, how about after you sing this song we do a typing session together?”  And Emma answered, as she does every time I ask her this question, “Yeah!  Typing session with Mommy!”  Emma’s excitement, in and of itself, makes me incredibly happy.  That she’s interested and (I think) looks forward to our sessions as much as I do, makes me believe we are on the right track.  When we went into the room, now dubbed, “Emma’s office” I tried to think of a question it seemed likely Emma would know the answer to, but that if she typed it out, I would be surprised.  As we are leaving soon to visit her Granma for the holidays, I said, “When we fly to Granma’s we have to first take a taxi to an airport.  What’s the name of the airport we usually go to?”  Without hesitation, Emma typed, “La guardia”.  Wow!  Just wow!  I then asked, “There’s another airport near La Guardia, we don’t usually fly out of, but what’s the name of it?”  Emma, again, without hesitation, typed, “kennedy”.  Whoa!   Then I threw her, what I thought would be, a curve ball and asked, “When we fly out of La Guardia we always take the same airline to visit Granma.  What’s the name of the airline we always take?”  Emma wrote “United”.   EEEEEE!!!!!  Snoopy dance.  Give me a moment while I hyperventilate.  Whooooo, whooooo.

Emma went on to tell me what state and city we live in, the name of the state we were flying to and when I asked, “What’s another name for the city we live in?  It starts with an M?”  Em immediately typed “Manhattan” though she forgot the h and one of the ts.  I followed up with, “And what’s the neighborhood we live in?”  Emma, again without hesitation, typed, “Chelsea.”  Taking another deep breath.  For those of you who are doubting what I’m writing, I understand.  Really.  I do.  As I wrote above, I actually had to take notes during our session, because I knew I would come away as if in a dream.  (Ibby suggested I record our sessions together and I keep forgetting to do that, but I have to remember to from now on.)  That’s what it feels like, a dream.  I absolutely believe in my daughter’s competence.  I believe she is far more competent than most people who come into contact with her do.  I do not for a second doubt that she has a busy, complicated and fascinating mind, filled with thoughts, ideas and knowledge I can only guess at.  But to know this, to believe this, is different from being shown this.  I don’t mean to offend any of you reading this who are non-speaking and communicate by typing.  I don’t mean to offend, really I don’t.  I hope that were Emma to ever read this she will understand what I’m trying to say.  This is not about Emma’s limitations, either intellectual or otherwise, this is about my own.

For all you neurotypicals who can speak, humor me for a moment.  Think about how you would feel if you could not speak.  Think about all the things you know, but couldn’t say.  Now imagine if you were told something simple, like the city and state where you lived over and over, repeatedly, day after day.  Just think about this for a second.  Close your eyes and try to imagine what it would be like to not be able to speak.  Imagine that well-meaning people tried to help you speak through repetition and you were not allowed to move on until you were able to say these things being “taught” aloud.  Imagine how you would feel were you never able to say these things, so you weren’t allowed to move on.  It was assumed that because you couldn’t say them, you must not KNOW them. And yet, all this time…   all this time you really did know these things.  Not only did you know these things, but you knew so much more.  But no one believed that you did.  No one treated you as though you did.  Less than a year ago I assumed Emma did not know.  Less than a year ago I assumed Emma did not understand.

Less than a year ago…

Emma waiting for the school bus with her string

*Em

The Joys and Terror of Motorcycle Bubbles

When I went to get my Master’s degree in Creative Writing my favorite class was one in which we spent the entire semester dissecting two paragraphs from Virginia Woolf’s A Room Of One’s Own.   We spent two weeks on ONE sentence!  This was bliss as I’d never completely understood the word before.  Pure bliss.  Needless to say, I was the only student in a class of about 25, who felt this way.  Everyone else grumbled and complained, spoke of their excruciating boredom, many even transferred out of the class.  I couldn’t understand their feelings.  What was NOT to like?

I’m a big fan of the highlighter, so it was with some amusement that I read a note from Emma’s teacher last night, “She enjoys highlighting words at school and this will also help to increase her ability to read sight word vocabulary…”  Her teacher had thoughtfully included an enormous neon yellow highlighter in her binder!  Love that.    If I had a photo of a random page in Douglas Biklen’s book - Autism and the Myth of the Person Alone I would insert it here as almost every page has notations and sentences highlighted.  Such as this one from the chapter, Reflections on Language – Lucy Blackman:  ”Birthdays were happy, exciting, chaotic, and connectional with food – the ultimate source of pleasure – so excitement was a birthday party.   But excitement, terror and fury are very similar emotions, so I still scream “birthday party” when expectations are more than I can cope with.”

In Aspen, Colorado where we go several times a year, they have fireworks at the foot of Aspen Mountain on the Fourth of July and again on New Year’s Eve.  Emma both looks forward to the beautiful display and is terrified by the sound they make.  She calls the fireworks “motorcycle bubbles” which is such a wonderfully descriptive phrasing of what she is seeing and hearing.  This idea that “excitement, terror and fury are similar emotions” is not something I’d considered before.  While walking the dogs on the ranch road with Emma, who has then (seemingly) randomly said “motorcycle bubbles”, I’m left wondering why she would say this.  Now I question whether her fear of dogs is similar to the terror/excitement she experiences from the fire works display.   She loves sitting in our neighbor’s house protected from the loud booming sounds, while still being able to see the beautiful colors of light raining down on to the mountain and town below.

Could this also be why she links rain to “motorcycle bubbles”?  Is rain equated with an electrical storm or the “raining” of lights during a firework display?  I can, literally, become lost in this kind of thinking.  I find it fascinating and exciting.  Like Virginia Woolf, whose writing I happen to be a fan of, Emma uses such disparate and surprising words to describe things.  I am reminded of the German word for “skyscraper”, the literal translation, I believe, is “cloud scratcher”.  How fantastic is that?  It’s beautifully descriptive, even poetic.

One of my favorite Cloud Scratchers – The Chrysler Building 

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At What Point Do Our Actions Constitute Torture?

The New York Times published an OpEd piece yesterday by Bill Lichtenstein about the use of restraints and seclusion rooms for children with special needs in schools.  Please read by clicking ‘here‘.   Bill Lichtenstein writes, “According to national Department of Education data, most of the nearly 40,000 students who were restrained or isolated in seclusion rooms during the 2009-10 school year had learning, behavioral, physical or developmental needs, even though students with those issues represented just 12 percent of the student population.”

When we speak of a group of people as less than, when we view them through the lens of deficiency, we begin paving the way for the kind of abuse shown in this footage at the Judge Rotenberg Center.

The Judge Rotenberg Center is still operating despite lawsuits, protests and outrage.  The Judge Rotenberg Center, the systematic use of restraints and seclusion rooms in our schools as described in the NYTimes OpEd piece are but a few examples of what happens when we allow ourselves to think of people as “low functioning,” “severely Autistic” or any of the other words so readily used when speaking of Autism .  Those words make incorrect assumptions about a person’s intellect, capabilities and cognition.

When organizations like Autism Speaks and others like them fan the flames of fear by using words like epidemic, devastating, and use war terminology regarding Autism and Autistic people we are creating a toxic environment for those who are Autistic, an environment our children, who will one day grow up to become adults, will inherit.  There is a connection to the current words being used when talking about Autism and the abuse of Autistics.

All of us, each one of us must ask ourselves – if you were unable to speak in a language that those who had power over you understood, if you were spoken of as “broken,” “deficient,” “low functioning” and people treated you as though you were incapable of understanding because you could not make yourself understood, even though you continuously tried, if you were then punished, scolded, yelled at, drugged, restrained, shocked, put into a dark room because you expressed your frustration in the only way you knew how – by acting out, by becoming violent, by self harming –  what would you do?  How would YOU feel?  At what point do our actions constitute torture?

Countless articles have been written about the abuse of disabled children and yet the abuse continues.  Mother Jones published an article  about the Judge Rotenberg Center in 2007, recently updated entitled School of Shock.  

“The Rotenberg Center is the only facility in the country that disciplines students by shocking them, a form of punishment not inflicted on serial killers or child molesters or any of the 2.2 million inmates now incarcerated in U.S. jails and prisons.”

The words we use, the organizations we support, the way we speak to and about our Autistic children, as well as Autistic people, matters.  I have done so many things wrong in raising my daughter, I cannot fit it all into a single post.  I have so many regrets, I could fill several pages with the things I tried all in the name of “helping her.”  Emma could not tell me how she felt about the various treatments and remedies I tried and I never thought to ask.  I’ve written about all of this before, the DAN doctors, the specialists, the pediatricians, the stem cell treatments.  If I sit and contemplate what I’ve done to my daughter with the best of intentions, I can barely move.  I feel devastated.  I know I didn’t mean to hurt her.  I know I didn’t mean to harm her.  I know.  I did it because I thought that as her mother it was the right thing to do.  Now I know differently.  Now I know what I did was wrong.  And the only thing I can do moving forward is write about it honestly.  Talk about it.  I can make sure I do things differently now.  I can make sure I talk about these things openly, honestly, not because I am intent on beating myself up, nothing good comes of that, but because maybe, just maybe others may learn from my mistakes.

What we do, how we behave, what we say and how we say it matters.  This is the ripple effect.

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A Conversation in the Car

Because Em has just brought in the timer and set it for ten minutes, this will be quick!  Kind of like speed posting.  (Post on Markram interview will have to wait yet another day!)

I posted the following conversation on Emma’s Hope Book page on Facebook last night.

Driving home from the swimming pool. Nic and Em in the back seat. 

Nic: Em stop it.

Em: Cha, cha, cha

Nic: Mom! Make her stop. She’s doing that just because she knows how much it annoys me!

Em: Cha, Cha, Cha

Me: Turning around to monitor the situation  Okay, Em. What are you doing?

Nic: She’s trying to bug me!

Em: Grinning  Cha, cha, chocolate milk!

Me: Oh my god, that’s hilarious. Richard! Putting my hand on Richard’s shoulder.  Did you hear that?

Richard: What? What happened?  Looks in rearview mirror.

Em: Laughing  Cha, cha, cha, chocolate milk

Nic: She just changed it so you guys wouldn’t make her stop!

Em: Leaning toward Nic, gets right in his face  Cha, cha, cha, chocolate milk!

Nic & Em begin laughing hysterically.

Not only was the above conversation noteworthy because this type of interaction between Nic and Emma is not typical, but it was also worth mentioning because of Em’s increased interest in word play.  I see this in her desire to play Duck, Duck, Goose where she comes up with different word associations.  Sometimes, as in the case of “China boat, china boat, ocean!”  I’m not clear what the word association is, but I no longer doubt that there is one.

Emma eating her cake

Cloud cover over the Rockies

Walter and friends

Paul

Posting Under Pressure

I’m working on a post of my interview with Henry and Kamila Markram when I was in Jerusalem attending the ICare4Autism Conference.  Henry and Kamila Markram are the neuroscientist team who created The Intense World Theory For Autism.  I am trying to finish that for tomorrow’s post.  However, Em is up right now and insisting I made cake with her and that takes precedence over this post getting written.   Besides she has a timer which she’s just set for fifteen minutes.  She started with three minutes, but I’ve negotiated for the fifteen, so I’ve got just enough time to post these photos…

Say hello to Walter.  Yup, he’s one of three bucks who lives next to the barn.  And yes, my cousins named him…  Walter, after my grandfather.  Yeah, I know.  It is a specific sense of humor.  And yes it appears it is genetic.

The teepee that has been on the property since the 70′s or maybe even the 60′s, I can’t remember.  I just know it’s been here almost as long as I have been on this earth.

The dogs – Folgen & Gaia – who love nothing more than to have their frisbee thrown to them.  Emma likes it when I throw their frisbee too.  They just don’t like giving it back to me so that I can throw it again.  Which leads to lots of yelling, “Drop it!  Drop the frisbee!”  And then they do this…

And when they’ve had enough running after the frisbee they take it far away and guard it.  Like this.

We have been playing some massive games of Duck, duck, goose and even Granma has started to run when picked.  My brother and sister-in-law are here so  the game has become a nightly event with lots of laughter and shouting, “Hurry, hurry, SIT, SIT!”

Emma waits to be chosen…

Nic has mastered the art of driving the 4-Wheeler and now takes Em around the ranch.

Em takes the Alien swimming

Whew!  That’s it, I’ve got 42 seconds to hit the “Publish” button!

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Emma Takes Mom on An Awesome Adventure

Yesterday Em asked to go to Victoria Gardens, the amusement park, that each summer transforms the ice skating rink  in Central Park into a kid’s idea of heaven.  ”Sure, that’s a good idea,” I told her.
“Take the F train,” Emma announced and began to walk purposefully toward Sixth Avenue.  ”But the F doesn’t take us to Columbus Circle.  Why don’t we take the 1?”  ”Take the F train,” Emma said matter-of-factly and continued walking toward Sixth.   Once on the train Emma found a single vacant seat in the crowded car and said, “Oh no!  There’s no seat for Mommy!  Mommy has to stand.”  The man sitting next to her immediately got up with a guilty expression and offered me his seat.  ”Oh no, that’s alright.  It’s no problem,” I tried to assure him.  But he refused to sit back down, further humiliated, no doubt, by Emma’s interjection of “Oh Mommy cannot sit down next to Emma!”  (Clever girl, I thought to myself, and I’ll admit, with a tiny bit of pride.)  Even though that poor man who gave up his seat had no way of knowing that Emma actually prefers I stand and not sit next to her.  It’s become something of a game, with Em saying in a pretend sad voice, “Oh no!” but then when I sit next to her she pushes me or tries to get me to sit across from her.   (Making me all the more determined to get Emma some theatre training.)

When the train pulled up to Rockefeller Center Emma stood up and said, “Have to take the D train.”  I know enough not to argue with Emma because there are a number of things Emma knows better than anyone and one of them is how to navigate the labyrinthine maze that is the New York City subway system.  Except that when we arrived at Columbus Circle Emma stayed put.  ”Hey don’t you want to go to Victoria Gardens?” I asked.  Emma grinned at me and said, “Go fast!”  Then she shook her head and said, “Train goes fast, fast, fast?”

“You want to stay on the train?”

“Yes!”  Emma said.  So we did.  As we sped past each stop Emma shouted out, like the seasoned guide that she is, a specific playground or significant landmark.  ”Oh, there’s the American Museum of Natural History!  Oh there’s the tar playground! Oh there’s the …”  We raced along until 125th Street where Emma then led me off the train and walked over to the tracks heading back downtown.  ”Where to now Em?”  I asked, having decided after we left the house that Em was going to direct the day, I was very much the passenger along for the ride.  And what a ride it turned out to be.

We eventually made it to Victoria Gardens, but not before we stopped at another large playground and ran through various sprinklers, went through a tunnel, listened to a musician playing his Saxophone, past the artist who’d set up shop  face painting small children to look like fairies, goblins and ghouls.

After several hours at Victoria Gardens we took more trains downtown, transferring so many times I can no longer keep our route in my head, but ending at Seal Park where I ran into one of my close girlfriends and her son.  Another hour and then Em said, “Now go to Chelsea Market!”   Off we went, with Emma lacing her arm through mine and occasionally she’d press her soft cheek against my upper arm.  Emma talked about the new school she will be attending in the fall, she listed all her friends, teachers and therapists, “Justus is gone, Sol is gone, Charlie is gone, Lauren is gone, Miriam is gone.  Emma goes to new school!”  (I’ll write a separate post about that another day.)

Upon our arrival to Chelsea Market Emma raced to the water feature and began to point at various things that she wanted to know the name of.  We discussed how there were wooden planks on the floor and what was under those planks – maybe a hole, darkness, who knows?  She tested the plank by sliding her foot through the guard railing and pressing down on it.  She pointed to the water gushing from a large pipe overhead.  We discussed where the water might come from, “Ocean” was Emma’s guess, and it did have a briny smell, either that or the Lobster Place and Seafood Market just opposite was giving off the distinct scent of salt water and fish.  Emma pointed to the large pipe and we walked around to the other side, following the pipe.  A huge wheel hung from the pipe and Emma said, “I can’t reach!  Have to get a ladder to turn the water off.”

This conversation with Emma was revelatory for many reasons, but most importantly it was the first time I have had such a lengthy conversation with her about something that did not have to do with a want, desire or need.  She was curious and though she spoke cryptically throughout our conversation leaving me confused as to what she was saying or asking, it was fantastic.  ”Plank fall in,” she said at one point pointing to the water.”  And then again pointing up at the pipe, which I didn’t understand, making me wish I could put the pieces together.  I have been unable to find out any more about the water feature at Chelsea Market, having spent some time on google when we returned home.  I tried to find out the source of the water, does it ever get turned off, is it recycled, etc. so that I could tell Em more about it.   She was curious, engaged even mesmerized.

Eventually we headed back home, but not before we stopped at one last playground to run through the sprinklers!

When we arrived home, Em said, “We have to call Daddy!”  It was just one more first in a whole day filled with them!

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The Beauty in a Conversation

Emma and I are heading out to Fire Island this afternoon with my friend, Bobbie.  This has been cause for great excitement as Emma has counted the days until we leave.  Last night, Emma and I had the following conversation.

Emma:  Go to take Bobbie at the beach!

Me:  Yeah.  Are you excited?

Em:  Yeah!  So excited to see Bobbie and Mina and Luca.  Going to go in the ocean.

Me:  Yup, we can go swimming and…

Em:  (interrupting) Going to go play in the sand.

Me:  Yes.  We’re going to spend the night.  We’re going to spend two nights there.

Em:  (Holding up her fingers) Three minus one equals two!  Having a sleepover with Bobbie at the beach.  Going to bring Cokie!  (Cokie is a scrap of what was once a blanket, measuring about five by three inches and is constantly getting lost leading Emma to panic.  We live in dread of this last large scrap one day mysteriously disappearing into the great dark unknown along with the rest of her blanket.)

Me:  But Cokie has to stay in your bedroom.

Em:  Cokie get lost!  Ahhhhh!  Who took it?  Somebody threw it away.  They threw it.  You cannot throw Cokie.  (All of this was said very quickly in an animated voice, it’s a kind of scripting, but it’s within a context in that Emma is expressing her fears and anxiety that her blanket might get mislaid.)  No, not going to bring Cokie into the water.  You can’t bring Cokie onto the beach, that’s silly.  Cokie might get lost!  Cokie will get dirty.  Ick!  Cokie has to take a bath!

Me:  You’re funny.

Em:  (Laughing)   No.  Not going to put Cokie in the washing machine!  It’s too little.  No, not going to put Max in the washing machine, he’s too big.  Max can’t breath.  You have to pull him out.  That’s too small!

Me:  Do you think we should wash Cokie before we take it to the beach?

Em:  Nah.  Have to gotta go.  Max came to the book party.  You hit Max.  You pull Max’s hair.  No.  You cannot pull Max’s hair.  You have to stop.  You can’t do that.  Max is hurt!  (This is another script, but it’s one she made up and it’s really a spoken memory of Richard’s book party celebrating the publication of his novel a month ago.  Max is a great friend and someone Emma adores.  When Emma really likes someone she wants to pull their hair and hit them.  She is still trying to sort out how to resolve some of these impulses while also connecting and making physical contact with another human being without hurting them.  We are working on this.)

Me:  Yeah.  That’s really hard, isn’t it Em?

Em:  Makes me so frustrated! Grrrrr!

Me:  (Laughing)  Do you feel frustrated now?

Em:  Nah!  Emma’s happy!  Going to go with Bobbie to the beach.  Going to have so much fun!

Just before I had this conversation with Emma, I was talking with my friend Ib.  She said, “It is easy to picture Emma talking more.  She can still be her if she does.  She will talk oddly about odd things that she blisses out about while twirling string, and walk away mid sentence.”

And I wrote back, “Yeah, and I’ll (removed explicative) love that!  Seriously love that!  Because I want to walk away in mid sentence half the time…”  Ib then wrote back “And frankly, in your family, it won’t be that odd.  Hehe.”

Which made me laugh out loud and filled me with so much hope and happiness with the thought that Em and I could converse the way Ib and I do.  And then Emma came home and I told Ib I’d talk to her tomorrow and Emma and I proceeded to have the conversation I’ve transcribed above.

Yup, there are little miracles happening all the time!

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!  The journey continues…