Tag Archives: autism children

“I Am In Here” – Autism

Posted on October 4, 2011 by | Leave a comment

There’s a terrific new book entitled:  I am in here:  The Journey of a Child with Autism Who Cannot Speak But Finds Her Voice by Elizabeth M. Bonker and Virginia G. Breen.  The title is a line from the poem  Me written by Elizabeth when she was 9.   The story is yet another example of a nonverbal child with autism who was helped by Soma Mukhopadhyay’s Rapid Prompting Method.  Elizabeth’s mother, Virginia has tried any number of therapies with the hope that something, anything will help her daughter.  It is not a story about a cure, but rather a message of hope in the face of continual struggle and perseverance.

Virginia writes about using a three pronged approach in her battle with autism – Mind (academics), body (biomedical interventions and diets) and Spirit (the more difficult concept of something greater than ourselves, which Elizabeth seems to have a solid grasp of.)  The mind, body & spirit concept particularly resonated with me as it was this very idea which captured my grandfather, Walter Paepcke’s imagination when he envisioned a place of contemplation and learning in his creation of what came to be known as the “Aspen Idea” more than 60 years ago in Aspen, Colorado.

I can claim full allegiance to the mind and body portion of this, however I must admit the spiritual piece continues to allude me.  Though a close friend of mine said to me recently that for a person who professes not to believe, I certainly spend a great deal of time thinking, reading and discussing the subject.  She then said, “It’s kind of like the wife who’s husband everyone knows is having an affair.  She’s the last to know.”  When I answered her with a perplexed look, she said somewhat exasperated, “Come on, Ariane.  You’re the most spiritual non-spiritual person I’ve ever met.”

I’m pretty sure she meant that as a compliment.

For more on our journey with Emma through her childhood marked by autism, go to:   Emma’s Hope Book

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A Written Conversation – Autism

Posted on October 3, 2011 by | 3 comments

Yesterday afternoon, Emma said, “These kids do not want to eat bugs.”  Then she squinted her eyes and laughed, making her shoulders shake up and down.  It was a creative version of some of the work we’ve been doing during her literacy program.  We’ve been working on sentences such as – These are kids, they want to rest.  They are resting.  Or  This is a plane.  It can fly, but someone has to make it fly.

“That’s funny, Em.  Let’s type that.”  I pulled the computer forward and gestured toward it.

Em sat down and muttered, “Shift,” as she pressed the shift key with her right index finger while simultaneously pressing the “t” on the keyboard.  She then went on to type the sentence, only needing help with remembering to include the word “do”.  I then typed back a nonsense question – “Do they want to eat birds?”

Emma giggled and shook her head no.

I pushed the computer toward her.  “Type,” I said.

“No, they do not want to eat birds,” she wrote, being sure she made an upper case “n” for the start of the sentence.

“What do they want to eat?”  I typed.

Emma looked at me.  I shook my head, putting a finger to my lips and pushed the keyboard toward her.

Very slowly she typed, “They want to eat co”.  She smiled at me.  “Cookies,” she whispered.  “I need help.  Mommy hold hand.”

Cookies is not a word we’ve covered yet, so I held her hand and helped her type – cookies.

My typed conversation with Emma

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  Emma’s Hope Book.com

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Em’s Airplane

Posted on September 28, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Yesterday Eddie (UPS man) delivered a package.  Emma took the box and began decorating the inside with stickers.  She then drew circles around each sticker.

With a different colored marker she drew a larger circle in the middle of one end, just underneath the circled stickers.

When I got home last night Richard said, “Did you see what Emma did?”

“Yes,” I said, walking past the box without really looking at it.

“Do you know what it is?”  he asked.

I bent down to view the box more carefully.  “She’s made a pattern with the different colored stickers?”

“It’s her airplane.”

“Really?”  My mind began to tick off the greater implications – imaginative play, creative thinking, fine motor dexterity, perhaps an attempt at patterning…

“The stickers are the windows,” Richard told me.  “You should have seen her.  She got inside of it, put on her seat belt and flew.”

“Wow!  How great is that?” I said.

This morning when I went out to help Emma make her breakfast, I pointed to the box.  “Hey Em.  What’s that?”

“Emma’s airplane.”

Then she proceeded to sit inside of it, buckled her seat belt and pushed the purple colored “button” which evidently “starts” her airplane and began to fly.  “Push the button.  Go up, up, up and fly!”  Emma said.  She held onto the box and began shaking it.  “Uh-uh-uh!  It’s bumpy.  You have to be careful.  You have to hold on!”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Up in the sky,” she said, with a tone that seemed to hold a hint of sarcasm, as in – Duh, where do you think? or maybe she was just tired of having to state the obvious.

“Yes, but where will you land?”  I pressed.

“No.  Up in the sky,” she said.

Because clearly I was missing the point.  The destination wasn’t the goal.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   www.Emma’s Hope Book.com

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Yes, but… – Autism

Posted on September 27, 2011 by | Leave a comment

A blog follower recently contacted me saying how exciting it is to see how much Emma is progressing.   Whenever someone says this to me, my first reaction is surprise, followed by a shot of hopefulness and finally curiosity.  What exactly do they see?  How is she progressing in their opinion?  So I almost always ask, “In what ways do you see her progressing?”

I then listen intently, making a mental note of the various things.  And then, and I’ve noticed this happens almost every time, I think – Yes, but _________ .  Here is the current list of my “Yes, buts…”

Yes, but she still sucks her thumb and as a result the shape of her mouth has changed, resulting in her front top and bottom teeth no longer meeting because of her massive over bite.  (This thought usually leads to a whole laundry list of anticipated horrors about dentistry, orthodontistry, the worry of how we will have to have her hospitalized to have braces put on – this is what we had to do when she had a cavity) and the exorbitant cost of  all of this.  I become acutely aware of how fast my heart seems to be beating.  Suddenly I am nauseous, can’t eat and wander around feeling ill.  Which leads me to my next – Yes, but:

Yes, but she only eats a half dozen things, all of which are either dairy or wheat and though we put her on a wheat free/ dairy free diet when she was first diagnosed to zero effect, maybe we did it wrong.  A vegetable has not touched her lips in more than six years.  Maybe we missed something.  Maybe there’s something else here that we should be doing.  I then am led to Google and several hours later I emerge from the black hole that only Google can provide, having learned about the dozens of diets all with the ominous warning that early intervention is key.  Which, to my mind, means we’ve missed the boat as she is now at the ripe old age of nine and a half.  If I’m feeling really panicked – almost ten!

Last night I mentioned to Richard my current litany of – yes, buts.

“You’re spiraling off again,” he observed, after I’d finished.  Then he looked at me with an expression of concern.  He sighed and said, “I know, honey.”

I understand that my thoughts, shooting off to the next catastrophe, are my convoluted way of protecting myself.  However that “protection”, all those, “Yes, buts” are what block me from fully enjoying Emma’s amazing accomplishments.

Yes, but…

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.Emma’s Hope Book.com

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Biting and Other Self Injurious Behaviors – Autism

Posted on September 22, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Yesterday Emma came home from school with her forearm covered in bite marks.  I sat down next to Emma on her bed and gently touched her arm.

“You bit!”  She said sadly.

“I can see that,” I said, stroking her arm.

“I want to unlock it,” she said, twirling a scrap of what was once her blanket around and around her index finger.  “I want cokie,” she added.

I continued to stroke her arm.

“You cannot bite!  Emma!  No biting!”  She shouted.

When Emma is very upset, she begins to script.  In other words she mimics things others have said to her using the same tone of voice and if they have an accent, she’ll say the words with the same accent.  It’s a bizarre experience to listen to your upset child alternate between using someone else’s words, tone and inflections and her own voice, as though she were auditioning for all the roles in a play with an ensemble cast.  Sometimes she’ll throw me into the mix – “Oh sweetheart!”  and then severe and scolding – “You cannot bite!  That is not okay,” with her own pleading, “I want cokie, I don’t want to lock it up,” then the logical, calm tone of a teacher or therapist, “You can have cokie later.  First go to the roof, then you can have cokie.”  Her face crumples up while she fights back the tears, often losing the battle and collapsing into an anguished heap of heaving sobs and cries.

At a certain point, when her frustration, anger and upset become more than she can bear she turns it inward and becomes violent toward herself.  The emotions too great for her to contain, she bites herself, leaving the imprint of a full set of teeth upon her arm or finger or hand.  Once, when I held her arm to prevent her from hurting herself she jerked her other arm away and punched herself hard in the face.  The force with which she did this, took my breath away.

I mentioned on this blog, once before, when I was younger I struggled with bulimia.  A more accurate description would be less a struggle and more a complete and utter surrender to the eating disorder.  A therapist I was seeing at the time talked of the act of vomiting as self inflicted violence and I remember being furious with this description.  I wasn’t being violent toward myself, I was simply pursuing a thinner physique.  But after years and years of therapy and then recovery I came to recognize the violence in what I had done to myself for all those years.  When I see my own daughter hurting herself it is impossible for me not to reflect on those years of frustration and rage.

Emma’s acts of self injurious behavior are expressions of her rage, frustration and there is an added piece to this, I am convinced – the desire to control the pain, coupled with her many and varied sensory issues.  I think the combination is deadly.  But how to help her?

That is the question I have no solid answer to.  For now we are trying to explore other ways for her to get her sensory needs met without hurting herself.  However I know from having engaged in destructive behavior for more than two decades how entrenched and addictive that behavior can become.  There are no easy solutions, but then autism itself is like that.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Autism – Daughters (continued)

Posted on September 21, 2011 by | Leave a comment

I so wanted a little girl, I so looked forward to having a little girl who would feel safe enough to confide in me, the way I have always felt able to confide in my own mother.  (I feel a great deal of gratitude for that.)  I know how fortunate I am to have an amazing mom.  I have conversations with friends who audibly groan when the subject of their own mothers come up.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother,” is something I’ve heard on more than a few occasions, uttered by exasperated adult children.  The famously “bad mothers” occupy several shelves of literature, poetry, plays and movies.  We all know them by name and every few years a few more get tossed onto the pile.  Beyond enjoying the guilty deer-stuck-in-the-headlights-horror of those stories, I cannot relate to them, thankfully.

My mother taught me how to sew and macrame, (this was the 60’s & 70’s) embroider, quilt and knit.  She showed me how to bake bread, make baclava, beef wellington and a fifty layer Daubache Torte.  I think I can justifiably credit my mother for my love of design and current career.  She read stories to me at bedtime and sang songs.  I remember sitting on the vanity in her bathroom as she got dressed to go out to a party.  I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.  I watched her as her hair turned grey and her fingers became deformed by arthritis.  I spoke with her about the aches and pains that come with growing old.  I looked to her the way one consults a Michelin Guide in a foreign country, she has always shown me the way.

Perhaps it is the same for Emma, I cannot know.  I know she feels connected to me as I do her.  I know when she wants something and I can often understand what she’s trying to say, even when the words come out wrong.  Lately she has even run to me when she’s hurt, though more often than not, I will have to prompt her, much the way I still must remind her to – “wrap your arms around and squeeze” when she hugs.

“You have to go see the nurse!”  Emma will shout when she hurts herself.  Then she’ll hightail it into our bathroom where she knows we keep a large supply of bandaids.

“Hey, Em!  How about coming to see nurse mommy?” I’ll ask blocking her way.

“Ouch!  Emma has a boo-boo!”  Emma will tell me, wiping the tears from her eyes, but keeping her distance.  Unlike neuro-typical children who instinctively seek out the comfort of a parent when hurt, Emma will instead cry out for the school nurse or say nothing and just take care of things on her own.  Often this means returning with a half dozen bandaids applied to various parts of her body, making it difficult to know exactly which part was hurt.

I think the thing about all of this that’s perhaps most important, is, while I don’t have the relationship with Emma that I envisioned when I was pregnant with her, we do have a relationship.  It’s a different relationship than I have with my mother.  But it is a relationship and it continues to evolve.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Having a Daughter with Autism

Posted on September 20, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Someone asked me the other day – What’s it like having a daughter with autism?

The flippant response would be – I don’t know what it’s like to have a daughter without autism.  But the more thoughtful answer is a bit longer and more complicated.  My own experience of being a daughter to a mother with whom I feel deeply connected to, a connection that many, I have learned over the years, do not have certainly plays a role in my answer.  I have always felt my mother and I share something that goes beyond the usual feelings of responsibility and gratitude toward someone who gave so much in order that I might have a good life.  It is as though we share something much more than the history and past of living under the same roof for the first 17 years of my life, something I cannot adequately put into words.  We have a closeness, a bond and yes, a friendship that only a few of my female friends can relate to regarding their own mothers.  I have often said that if my mother were not my mother, I would wish she were.  I don’t actually know many people who can truthfully say that about their mothers.  I am lucky.  I get that.

So when I was pregnant with Emma, I fully expected to have a similar experience.  I knew right away she was a girl.  Don’t ask me how, I just knew it.  For one thing I began to wear pink, a color I never liked until Emma entered my being and for another I craved spinach and blue cheese during my first trimester, as opposed to steak and all things meat when pregnant with Nic.  Okay so I’m not being completely serious – though all of this is true – the pregnancy was different with Em, it just was.  Without meaning to or even consciously trying to, I visualized my soon to be daughter.  I knew she would have blonde hair, blue eyes and broad shoulders, as both Richard and I share these things, but beyond that I couldn’t know. I sang to her, just as I did when I was pregnant with Nic, I talked to her, read to her and dreamed about her.

While pregnant with Emma, I was walking on Fifth Avenue one afternoon, when I passed The American Girl store.  It reminded me of my first and favorite doll, Maribelle, a gift from my mother to me when I was little.  Maribelle came in a blue and grey striped trunk complete with shoes, gowns, dresses, she even had a fur coat!  (I still have Maribelle – she and her trunk reside upstairs in my mother’s house.) I saved her, intending to give her to my own daughter, were I fortunate enough to have one. Looking through the large windows of the store I fantasized of the day I would bring my daughter there and how she would choose a special doll.  A doll that would be like Maribelle was to me – a companion, a doll she would whisper secrets to and spend hours upon hours playing with.

Richard and I were not the kind of parents intent on placing our yet-to-be-born children on waiting lists of the most coveted New York City preschools, looking to the day we could sit listening to our child’s speech having graduated  from Harvard Summa Cum Laude.  Ours was a more unconventional approach – at one point we fantasized about putting all of our belongings in storage and traveling the world for a few years.  We spent many an evening discussing the places we wanted to travel to, which included Tanzania, Lebanon, Egypt, Brazil, Morocco and Laos.  We poured over guide books and vowed that once both children were out of diapers we would make our fantasies reality.  We had no way of knowing that Emma wouldn’t be out of diapers until she was eight and a half years old.  We couldn’t know that once she was out of diapers we would be scrambling to cover the staggering cost of her care, making any dreams of extensive travel abroad impossible to seriously contemplate, not to mention the sheer logistics of traveling to a foreign country with a child with special needs.

(To be continued.)

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Autism’s Murky Future

Posted on September 19, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Yesterday the New York Times ran a front page piece entitled – Autistic and Seeking a Place in an Adult World.  I am always so grateful when I see anything on autism, even when I am not told anything I don’t already know.  I am particularly grateful when I see something on autism on the front page of the New York Times.  For those of us who are parents of a child with autism, the looming question of what will happen when our child becomes an adult is something we do not have the luxury to ignore.  Yet, the answer is not readily available to us, either.  There is no road map by which we can look to.  The future of our children is very much up in the air.  It is a tricky balance keeping the fear at bay, while also being practical and realistic about ones child’s future and how we might ensure she is taken care of should she not be able to hold down a job and live independently.

My message of hope on The Hope Installation at the entrance to the High Line

The truth is we cannot know what Emma will be like in another eight years, all we can do is continue to work as intensely and extensively with her as we currently are.

So this evening when I come home from work, I will work on the word – does.  After we spend an hour or so going over the word, both using it in hand written sentences and as well as typing sentences with it, we will also use the word verbally as when I lay out a frog, a boy, a bus and a dog and say, “Hand me the one who does not eat.”  After we have done all of that we will play some games using the word “does” and finally we will go over a list of words she has already learned and review them.  Somewhere during all of this – dinner will be prepared, Nic’s homework will get done, stories will be read and everyone will eventually go to bed.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Gymnastics – Autism

Posted on September 16, 2011 by | 3 comments

Because Emma has a wide variety of sensory issues and because she is so active, we are always trying to find things she can do that might give her some of the sensory input she so craves as well as help her focus while doing something she enjoys – moving.  Finding someone willing and able to teach her is often challenging.  It requires a special person who can keep her focused without using a great deal of language, who also has the patience and desire to continue to work with her for more than one of two times.

When we finally found Brett, a gymnastics instructor, we leapt at the chance to make this into a weekly affair.  So on Sundays Emma and Nic have an hour of gymnastics – or they did until Brett hurt his ankle.  But now Brett is back and off they went last Sunday to their first gymnastics class in almost four months.  Emma was very excited and kept saying, “Oh, Brett’s ankle is broken.”  “Brett hurt his ankle.”  “Ankle all better now.”

To which we would answer, “Yes, Brett hurt his ankle, but now it’s much better!”

When we arrived and Brett came out to get Nic and Emma, Emma bent down and gently patted his ankle.  “You hurt your ankle,” she said, sadly.

“Yeah, but it’s better.  Thanks Emma.”

“Ouch!  Have to get a bandaid,”  Emma said.  Because to Emma, anything that hurts requires a bandaid and will feel better if a bandaid is applied.

Emma and Nic stretching with Brett

Since it’s been awhile since Emma had gymnastics, I was curious to see what if anything was different.  Would she be able to stay more focused?  Would she attend more?  Would she be able to follow instruction better?

During their stretching period, Emma managed to keep up.

And while her form wasn’t great, she did do all the various stretches as best she could.

Later she was able to do straddle jumps on the trampoline and forward and back rolls on the mat.  She became a bit distracted when a birthday party took place in another part of the gym, but for the most part she attended and tried to listen.

Waiting for her turn on the trampoline.

All in all she showed progress, slow but steady progress.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Emma’s Sense of Humor – Autism

Posted on September 15, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Emma’s sense of humor, much like everything else about her, is… quirky.  As a baby, Emma squealed with excitement when we popped out from behind things and yelled, “Boo!”  As Emma grew older she continued to delight in anything resembling silliness.  We were filled with hope when, during one of Emma’s many early intervention therapy sessions, she offered some play-doh to the therapist, only to pull it away just as the therapist reached for it.  Emma howled with laughter as the confused therapist realized Emma was playing a joke with her.

Afterward the therapist made a point of telling us how Emma’s sense of humor suggested tremendous potential, how she was expressing a desire to interact, how unusual this was for a child with autism to want to initiate in such a creative way.  Emma continues to display her silliness and creativity in surprising ways.

Emma with what’s left of her cokie  (this use to be a crib blanket filled with down).

When I came into her bedroom and saw her I said, “Em!  What are you doing with cokie?!”

To which she laughed, “Stick cokie up your nose.”

“That’s so gross, Em!”

“No not going to stick cokie up your nose, stick cokie in your ears,” she replied, still laughing.

“Ew!”

“That’s funny,” she then said.

It reminded me of when we took Nic out to eat at a Japanese restaurant.   “Look Mommy!”  He said as he unwrapped his chopsticks and stuck each into a corner of his mouth.    “I’m a walrus,” he managed to say.

My grandmother was known for, after a few drinks, rolling a napkin up, and placing it above her upper lip pretended it was a mustache – so maybe it’s genetic and not a display of extreme intelligence after all.  Not that she wasn’t extremely intelligent, she was…

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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A Work In Progress

Posted on September 14, 2011 by | Leave a comment

As we have added more work to Emma’s already busy schedule, I have had to adjust my own schedule to accommodate.  Since her new school year began this week, I am now doing her literacy session before the bus comes to take her to school in the morning, while Richard gets Nic ready.

This morning we worked on the word “boy”.  Emma wrote this in answer to my question – “Are these boys?”

“What are they?”

Wait for it…

Yes, they most certainly are!

The beauty of this is that all of it is done non-verbally.  Emma is able to concentrate fully on answering the questions posed by either writing or typing the sentences on the computer.  Today she learned how to use the shift key while hitting the appropriate letter to create an upper case letter to mark the beginning of a sentence.  The grin on her face when she wrote:  “Here are some boys.  They are sitting.” complete with punctuation and upper case letters for the “H” and the “T” was as close to euphoria as one can get.  She even giggled when she was finished and beamed at me with pride.

This is the dress Emma chose to wear to school today.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:   www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Tolerance, Despair and Hope – Autism

Posted on September 13, 2011 by | 5 comments

A follower of this blog emailed me this morning about a new app for the ipad called, Pop It.  It’s a “book” that when one shakes the ipad, the perspective of the story changes.  The creator, an artist named Raghava, gave a talk on Ted.com, which is terrific – about perspective and tolerance of others and the role of art and creativity.  Listening to Raghava made me think of a book I am currently reading by the extremely talented and insightful theologian, James H. Cone.  His book – The Cross and the Lynching Tree is a deeply touching and powerful investigation of suffering and hope.  James Cone writes at length about the nature of faith, how God “could make a way out of no way”, how “hope could remain alive in the world of Jim Crow segregation.”

I do not claim to know of the existence, nor can I claim to know of the non-existence of a god.  I cannot even define that word.  It is not a word that holds any meaning for me.  But I do know what it is to struggle with hope.  Hope for Emma, hope for all our children who will grow up to become adults, who many will fear, ignore or just wish would go away.  Our children with autism are often misunderstood, in their inability to fall into line with societal norms they are in turn rejected by society.  The continued negligence and worse, abuse, of people with disabilities is rampant.  Their abuse is done by people who have deemed them incompetent, imbeciles and without value.  This is the common thread that exists in the abuse of all groups of people throughout history.  It is our intolerance of those we believe to be “less than” that makes us believe we have the “right” to punish, shun, ignore, hurt, torture and kill.

James Cone writes:  “The cross is a paradoxical religious symbol because it inverts the world’s value system with the news that hope comes by way of defeat, that suffering and death do not have the last word, that the last shall be first and the first last.”

When I was in my late teens I began using food as a way to quell anxiety and emotions I felt incapable of dealing with.  My overeating turned to full blown bulimia and the bulimia became a way of life – for 22 years.  I remember when I finally stopped, the idea of “surrender” seemed antithetical to all I had, up to that point, believed.  I thought that if I just had more will power I would be able to stop the destructive behavior.  I believed that the bulimia was something I could control.  I believed that my lack of control simply proved how despicable I was, which only served to fuel more of the same behavior.  It wasn’t until I took a leap of faith – really took in that I was, in fact, out of control, that I received a respite from the behavior.  Early in my “recovery” from bulimia someone said to me, “don’t you think that if you could have controlled the bulimia, you would have by now?  Isn’t it true that in fact you have tried to control it all these years and this is where that control has gotten you?”  With a great deal of support from others who had eating disorders and had come out the other side, was I finally able to find a way out from under it.  In surrendering to the fact that I was unable to control it, was I finally able to find freedom from it.

I’m all over the map with this post, but perhaps some of these thoughts will prove helpful to someone else or if not at least encourage thought and conversation.

For more on Emma and our journey through her childhood of autism, go to:   www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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In the Playground – Autism

Posted on September 12, 2011 by | 2 comments

Yesterday while at the playground, Emma pushed a little boy off of a roundabout.  It wasn’t clear why she did this, though it reminded me of a game they played at camp where the little girls stood in line by the pool and then pushed the girl in front into the water.  (I can hear the defensiveness in this sentence, I know. But let me continue.)  The boy was seated on the edge of the spinning circle, like a giant saucer, filled with a dozen other children.  A few children were on the ground pushing, while running to make it go faster.  The children seated within the saucer were shrieking with laughter and then the little boy went flying off.  The child’s mother, understandably upset, was furious with Emma and yelled at her that this was unacceptable behavior.

I was seated with a friend of ours whose son was playing with Nic.  I noticed Nic staring at me with a horrified expression and making gestures with his hands for me to come.  When I reached him he told me what had happened.  “She just pushed that kid off, Mom.”

“Which kid?” I asked Nic.

“That one,” he pointed to a young child being led away by his mother.  “We were all just playing and this one kid was spinning the thing around really fast.  Emma was laughing and that boy was sitting pretty close to the edge and then Emma just pushed him and he went flying.  The mom got really mad and started yelling at Emma.”

“Okay.  Thanks Nic.”

I made Emma get off and had her sit on a bench next to her father.  I told her she was to sit still until I returned.  I then ran after the mother and her son, apologizing and explaining to her that Emma has autism.  I told her how very sorry I was and inquired after her son, who seemed frightened and confused.  I told him Emma hadn’t meant to hurt him.  The mother told me, with an apologetic look that Emma’s behavior wasn’t okay.  I nodded my head and agreed with her.  She then said, “Oh dear, I didn’t know.  I hope I didn’t scare her when I yelled at her, but I was so upset.”

I assured her that Emma was fine and again apologized for Emma’s behavior.  When I returned to where Emma was seated I said, “Emma.  You cannot push other children.  It is not okay to do that.  You could have hurt him.  Do you understand that, Emma?”

“You cannot push,” Emma said, nodding her head.

“That’s right.  You cannot push.”

“Go back?”  Emma asked, pointing to the spinning saucer.

“No.  You can sit here next to me.”

“One minute,” Emma said.

“Ten minutes.  You will sit next to me for ten minutes Emma.  And you may not play on that again.  You can run around and do other things.  And Em, if you push again, you will go home.  It’s not okay.  You could have hurt that little boy.”  Emma looked down at her hands.  “Do you understand, Em?  It’s not okay to push.”  I watched her for any sign of understanding.  She continued to stare down at her hands, which were in her lap.  “Em.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, mommy.  You cannot push.  It’s not okay.”

It is times like these that I feel at a loss.  We so rely on communicating through speech that these sorts of situations feel impossible with Emma.  She showed no sign of understanding, she wasn’t angry, she didn’t seem particularly upset, if anything she seemed completely baffled by the whole situation.  “Emma.  Why did you push him?”  I finally asked.

“You pushed.  It’s not okay to push,” was her response.

One hears about aggression in children with autism all the time.  Emma, when upset, frustrated or angry, usually hurts herself.  Biting her arm or hand is her most common reaction, but a few times she’s thrown something or punched herself in the face.  It is difficult to witness these acts of violence against herself.  It is even more difficult to make her understand why it’s not okay to hurt herself.

But this episode in the playground was different.  Emma wasn’t acting out in anger, evidently she’d had no interaction at all with the little boy she pushed.  What was going through her head?  Why did she push him?  It’s impossible to know.  But I do have a few ideas, none of which dismiss her behavior, but they do explain what may have happened.  Emma craves sensory input.  Often children who crave vestibular movement can be calmed by having ten minutes or so of it.  Emma appears to never be satisfied no matter how much she gets.  Richard and I have had countless conversations with her various therapists about this.  In our neuro-typical world we call people like this “thrill-seekers”.  In the world of autism it’s called sensory integration disorder –

Someone once explained to me that it’s a bit like having a body part fall asleep and the desire to stomp, pinch or hit that body part in the hope of “waking” it. Roller coasters, swings, trampolines, carousels, anything that moves quickly and erratically are Emma’s way of “waking”.  Pushing the boy was not an act or display of aggression as much as it was an unconscious response to her craving more movement.  It may be that he brushed against her by mistake or perhaps he was too close to her or she may not have been aware of him at all.  Unfortunately none of this helps the child who was pushed or his mother.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Asking – Autism

Posted on September 8, 2011 by | Leave a comment

I remember the first time Emma’s older brother, Nic asked permission to do something.  He was about 14 months old and he asked if it was okay to take a particular toy with him to the playground.  It was noteworthy for a number of reasons, but as his mom, I remember thinking how incredible it was that this tiny child understood that if you asked, rather than just did something, chances were you would be able to do whatever it was.  The whole “polite” thing wasn’t part of the equation yet, but it soon came to be, shortly thereafter.

With Emma it was different right from the beginning.  For one thing, she didn’t ask questions as much as demand that her basic needs were met.  Because her language was severely delayed, she would often drag one of us to the refrigerator and indicate what she wanted.  As she didn’t “want” our attention, toys or many of the things other neuro-typical children do, there was less motivation to ask for things.

As Nic grew older his questions became more complicated and interesting.  Suddenly we were discussing such topics as religion, questioning the existence of God and if there was a God, who made him.  Could there be a heaven without a “God”, why did people die, was there life beyond our planet earth, how did we come to be and what was our purpose, where did the earth come from, how is it possible that the universe is infinite and what does that mean, exactly.  Nic also became curious about Richard and my experiences.  He wanted to know if I’d ever felt scared (yes!), whether I was nervous when in front of new people (often), when did I know what I wanted to be when I grew up (that concept continues to evolve), when did Richard and I meet, and the questions have never stopped.

Emma does not ask questions about life and the world.  She has never asked me a personal question.  But she has learned to ask for things that she needs or wants.  Often the question is a demand with an upward lilt added, making the demand more palatable, as in  – “Go to the zoo?”  “See the snake bite boy?” “Apple juice?”  However lately her questions have changed slightly.  It’s a subtle difference, but I have noticed it a number of times in the last few days.  This morning she came into the study (this in and of itself is startlingly new as in the past she would simply ask from where ever she was and then when no one responded because no one heard her, she would begin to scream until someone appeared) but today she found me and said, “Mommy?”  Then she waited for me to respond.  When I looked up, she said, “Can I have a caramel yogurt?”  Again she waited for my response.  This too is different.  In the past she might have asked if I was standing nearby and then after uttering the words she would have raced off, not waiting for a response.  The question was rhetorical.

“Sure Em.  Go have a caramel yogurt,” I said.

To which she ran off, only to reappear a few minutes later saying, “Okay.  Last one caramel yogurt?  Eat one more and then it’s all done.”

“Yeah.  Okay, Em.  That sounds good.  Go have another one.”

“Okay!”  She yelled as she went back into the kitchen.

Last night she found me in the bathroom, where I was brushing my teeth.  “Mommy?”  She waited.

“Yes, Em?”

“Can I watch Winnie-the-Pooh?”  Again she stood looking at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.

“Sure Em.  But first put on your nightie and brush your teeth.  Okay?”

“Okay!”  she said tearing off to change.

I cannot describe my surprise at her actually waiting for me to respond.  This is new and a welcome change.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Siblings – Autism

Posted on September 6, 2011 by | 1 comment

Nic is Emma’s older, neuro-typical brother.   Nic is eleven, about to enter the sixth grade and an all around amazing kid.  Having Emma as his younger sister is often difficult for Nic, though he usually doesn’t complain.  The siblings of children with autism are often burdened with responsibilities far beyond their years.  Despite our attempts to encourage Nic not to take on the role of her personal body guard, supervisor and parent, he often does on his own accord.  He can’t help himself.  He worries about Emma.

Nic has witnessed horrific and violent melt downs.  He has seen Emma punch herself in the face, bite herself repeatedly on the hand or arm.  He has stood by helplessly as she screamed and shrieked her frustration at not being understood.  He has joined in countless searches for such bizarre and arbitrary items as a missing balloon string, a piece of packing tape, a scrap of paper, a specific photograph or a microscopic shred of what is left of her blanket.  He has panicked with us when one of us uttered the dreaded words:  “Where is Emma?”

Nic is older than Emma by 21 months, yet he is very much the adult to her childlike innocence.   In an effort to give Nic time to enjoy himself without the stresses that can come with Emma, Richard and I spend at least one day a week with Nic, alone.

So yesterday, instead of going into my studio I asked Nic if he wanted to hang out with me.

“I’d love that Mom,” he said, nodding his head.  “We’ll have some Mom and son time.”

We ended up going to Elephant and Castle (a place that’s been around for almost forty years and where I used to love going when I was in college because of their bowls of latte) for lunch.  We discussed the coming school year, who he hoped would be in his class and what teachers he hoped to have.

“What are the top five things you like best about yourself?” I asked.

“I like that I’m a good person, I’m kind, thoughtful, I care about people, I want to help people and I work really hard.”

“You do!  That’s all so true,” I said.

“I like that I’m an average skateboarder,” he added.

“You’re a really good skateboarder.  What do you mean by that?”

“I like that I’m okay, but not great yet, it gives me something to work toward.  Cause like if I was really great and already knew everything, that wouldn’t be as much fun,” he took a bite of his cheeseburger.  “Mom, you’ve got to try this.  It’s amazing!”  He offered me a bite of his burger.

“Okay, if you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?” I asked.

“I’d be a genius,” he answered without hesitation.  “What about you?”

“I’d be more patient and not so quick to anger,” I said.

“I think you’re perfect just the way you are, Mom.  I don’t think you have to change a thing,” he said, patting my arm.

“Wow, Nic.  That’s such an incredibly kind and lovely thing to say.”

“It’s okay Mom.  It’s true,” he said looking at me and smiling.

That’s Nic – kind, supportive, incredibly loving and thoughtful.

After we had lunch we went to the movies, then took a walk and talked some more.

“This was a great day, Mom.  Thanks for suggesting it,” Nic said as we made our way home.

“I loved it, Nic.  I loved spending today with you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We walked together in silence for awhile, then Nic said,  “Mom?”

“Yeah Nic?”

“Do you think we could get a dog?”

For more on our family’s journey through Emma’s childhood of autism, go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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