Tag Archives: Autism

Autism & Emma’s Loose Tooth

Posted on May 10, 2011 by | 3 comments

I forgot to mention in yesterday’s post, Emma yanked her tooth out at some point in the movie theatre as we watched Hoodwinked Too this past Sunday.  I don’t know when, all I know is that when we proceeded out of the theatre into the light of early evening, I looked over at her and saw the gaping bloody hole in her gum once occupied by a tooth, her lower left incisor, to be exact.

“Oh my gosh, Em.  What happened to your tooth?”  I asked.

“Pulled out your tooth!” She said happily, bouncing up and down.

“I can see that.  But where is it?  Where did you put your tooth?”

“You threw it.  In the movie theatre, yeah,” Emma said, nodding her head up and down.

“God, Emma.  I can’t believe you just chucked it,” Nic said, no doubt thinking of the money she had essentially just tossed away, being well versed in the ways of the “tooth fairy.”

As a quick aside here, Nic caught on to the whole tooth fairy thing years ago.  “Mom, you can stop telling me about the tooth fairy.  I’m not stupid,” he said to me several years ago.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nic,” I said, feigning shock.

“I know you and dad sneak into my room at night,” he pantomimed tiptoeing like a cat burglar with an evil expression on his face as he said this,  “and leave money.”  He looked at me, but I kept my face blank.  Exasperated he said triumphantly, “You guys are the tooth fairy!”  He said this with the kind of flourish one might expect from Hercule Poirot or Columbo as they sum up a particularly tricky mystery.  Okay, I’m dating myself, but you get the picture.

“You threw it!”  Emma said, evidently pleased with herself.

I looked over at Richard who shrugged and kept walking.

“I think we have three of her teeth.  All the others are on the floor of various school buses and now the floor of the movie theatre,” I said.

“I think there’s one somewhere in the vicinity of the Central Park carousel,” Richard added, thoughtfully.

“She’s never really taken to the whole tooth fairy concept,” I said.

“Yeah, right,” Nic laughed and rolled his eyes.

In fairness to Emma, it is an odd concept, one we tried to explain to her when her first baby tooth looked as though it might come out soon.

“So Em, when your tooth comes out you have to save it, okay?” I said, kneeling down so I was eye level to her.

She ignored me.

“And you give it to Mommy, okay?  We’ll put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will come and take it and leave you money,” I said, realizing how bizarre this sounded to someone who takes things literally and has no concept of money, before I’d even finished.  “Okay, Em?”  I asked as she squirmed away from me.

Later that day the tooth was gone, where she put it we have no idea.  As with all of Emma’s teeth, there is a ruthless quality to her handling of her baby teeth.  They become loose and she will often say, “Pull it out!”  I’m never sure if that’s a direct request, though she did ask Joe once, about a year ago, but he refused.  The next time  I notice the tooth, it is inevitably gone.  How she manages to yank it out, without us knowing, without a sound or cry of pain, is one of the many mysteries of all things Emma.  The way she experiences pain is exemplified in all those missing teeth.  I can still remember the agony of loosing my baby teeth, the days of pain I would endure.  Emma, apparently feels none of this.

“Tooth missing!” she exclaimed  when she returned home from school yesterday.  She opened her mouth and pointed at the place her tooth once inhabited.  “You threw it!”  Then she laughed and jumped up and down.  “You threw it in the movie theatre!”  She laughed, whipping her plastic velcro strip around her head like a lasso.

Emma wielding her plastic strip

For more on Emma’s tolerance for pain and her continuing journey through a childhood of autism go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Our Family & Autism

Posted on May 9, 2011 by | 2 comments

Yesterday I slept in.  It was lovely.  When I woke Emma and Nic greeted me with a Happy Mother’s Day song (complete with pompoms and a loosely choreographed dance) that was so wonderful I wished I’d recorded it.  My thoughtful and doting husband made me a fabulous breakfast and then Emma and I went to her study room.  We are working on the concept of two or more as in – “Some frogs”, “What are these?”  “These are trucks.” etc.  After the study room we went swimming at the Y, something Emma has been requesting we do for weeks now.  It was completely empty and for the first half hour we had the entire pool to ourselves.  This is unheard of in New York City!  We then went to see Hoodwinked Too – a movie Nic has wanted to see since it came out, followed by dinner at a restaurant.  A little something for everyone.

For those of you who do not have an autistic family member this must seem like a perfectly normal way to spend a day.  But for those of you who are like us, you already know without me saying another word, how incredibly, gutsy and insane it is to even attempt the things I’ve just casually listed.  Let me explain.

Because of the issue of transitions, never easy for Emma, her very specific sensory issues coupled with her need for routine and sameness, a day as I’ve described can be a veritable minefield of upsets and cause untold anxiety for Emma. With this in mind we prepared Emma for the day by going over the key points with her – study room, lunch, swimming, movie in the movie theatre, dinner, cupcakes at home – and repeated this list throughout the day, often with Emma interjecting for clarification, “not movie at home, movie in movie theatre!”

The swimming was easy, it is something Emma absolutely loves to do and we try to arrange at least one day a week when she can go, though this isn’t always as simple in New York City as it may sound.  Needless to say we do not live in one of those coveted buildings in New York City with an indoor pool.  However, there are a number of excellent pools throughout Manhattan and so it is not impossible to arrange.  After we swam, (Emma was ecstatic and we all had a great time) we made our way to the movies.  This transition can be tough for Emma ending with protests, tears or worse.  Movies are not something she particularly enjoys and even though this was a kid friendly animated movie, Emma was just as likely to find it intolerable.  It is difficult for her to sit still through the trailers, she doesn’t like the 3-D glasses (I don’t either) and unless it has lots of music, the movie usually does not hold her interest for long.  Emma then will begin standing up in her chair, looking at the people sitting in back of us and saying in a very loud voice, “NO!  You have to be quiet!”  which they find utterly confusing as none of them have spoken.   Emma is just as likely to put her index finger to her lips and make a loud “SHHHHHHHH!” noise, followed by “You have to be quiet!”  Other movie goers find this equally baffling, as we do our best to quiet her.  We always come prepared knowing one of us may have to leave with her, taking her to a nearby playground until the movie is over.  But yesterday she sat through the entire movie, with very little squirming and no audible protest.

After the movie we walked to a restaurant, a little trendy upscale diner with loud rock and roll music (a plus for Emma & Nic who knew all the songs) and with fast service.  Even so, going out to eat is not something we do often as a family as it can end with drinks knocked over, loud utterances of “Time to go now!” from Emma or she will simply get up and leave with one of us racing after her.  This restaurant was one of those places that doesn’t really get crowded until after 8:00PM so we had no trouble securing one of their much sought after booths at 6:30PM.  Emma has such a limited number of foods she’ll eat, we came prepared with her favorites, which she happily ate when our food was served and then patiently waited for us to finish.

Nic and Emma sitting in a booth at the restaurant.

Richard, ever the thoughtful boy scout had bought cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery the day before, thinking Emma was more likely to get into the celebratory spirit if there were cupcakes for dessert waiting for us at home.  So after we ate our dinner we made a pit stop at a playground across the street before going home to eat cupcakes.

Except when we returned home and brought out the cupcakes Emma said, “No thank you,” and wandered off to her bedroom.

“Wow, that’s new!  She doesn’t want one?” I looked at Richard incredulous.

“Hey, everything changes,” Richard said with a shrug.

By 8:00PM both children were in their pj’s, teeth brushed and flossed and in bed.

It was a perfect Mother’s Day.

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

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Compulsions

Posted on May 6, 2011 by | 1 comment

I’ve been thinking a great deal about “stimming” which was the topic of yesterday’s post.  Stimming or self-stimulation is the word used for what many children and adults do who have been diagnosed with autism.  It is the repetitive behavior, often as varied as the personalities of the person engaged in it, used to self-regulate or calm oneself.  Many people with autism suffer from a wide range of sensory issues.  Emma may well experience light and sound differently than I do, for example.  I know she experiences physical pain differently.  A small, seemingly incidental scratch causes her to howl in pain, clutching the injured body part, scratching at it or rubbing it vigorously.  Yet a fall, that looks extremely painful, will be ignored.  Days later a large bruise might appear or swelling, which only makes one that much more aware of how it must have hurt and yet she didn’t seem to notice.

Sometimes Emma will plug her ears with her fingers when someone is speaking, often it is when one of us join her in singing a song.  I’ve noticed she does this when her air conditioner is on as well.  The low hum it makes is something she is unable to tolerate.  All of these examples are specific to Emma.  And it makes me wonder whether there are many other things I cannot know about;  does she see certain colors in a way that is painful?  Are some colors brighter to her, even garish and therefore hurt her eyes to look at?  I know certain sounds hurt her ears, sounds like that hum of her air conditioner, does it merely bother her or is it actually painful?  I can’t know.  What I do know is that if  one was bombarded with images, noise, sensations that I could not verbalize, would I not seek refuge in something I could control?  I don’t know, but I think I would.  Is Emma, when she twirls the plastic backing to the velcro strip around and around, soothing herself from an overload of external senses?  It seems likely.

Yet how is this so different from addictive behavior?  Is it not somewhat similar or in the same general ball park?  If someone engages in hours of video game playing or round after round of Solitaire on their computer or Spider (my particular favorite), how is this not also a kind of stimming?  At the very least it is certainly perseverative behavior.   If the game was just played once or for a few minutes that would be one thing, but what of the person(s) who plays endless games, one after the other?  A friend of mine said to me a few months ago, “Sometimes I ask myself – how many times do I have to win before I’ll stop and say that’s enough?  Because when I win there’s no real satisfaction or feeling that – okay now I’m won, it’s time to stop.  I mean how many hours have I wasted playing a really stupid game on the computer over and over again?”  I’m guessing many people can relate to this.  Even if they aren’t into computer generated games, there are other things many of us engage in, mindless “games” or habits we do that we wish we didn’t.  Consider all the games, video games, obsessive exercising, compulsive eating, compulsive dieting, any and all obsessions, compulsions or habits that get in the way of our lives or health, all the things we do while knowing they aren’t good for us and yet we can’t help ourselves from doing them anyway?

When I watch Emma twirling her strip of plastic, while jumping up and down and singing I am reminded of my own perseverative behaviors, the hours I’ve spent doing mindless activities, all to what end?  Am I too, calming myself?  Is this my own brand of self soothing?  I have harsher judgements about my activities, particularly computer games, than I do of Emma’s activities.  I have even, periodically deleted all games from my computer or mechanical device, only to reinstall at a later date.  Certainly there is a compulsiveness to my behavior and I would even go so far as to say an obsessiveness.  I do not mean to suggest my OCD tendencies are remotely the same as what Emma must go through on a daily basis, that would be insensitive and dismissive of her very serious sensory and neurological issues, but I throw this out as something I’ve noticed and can relate to in a very superficial way.  Of course I could be completely wrong about all of this and anyway I have to hurry so that I can finish today’s crossword before starting my day.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism and obsessive behavior go to:  www.Emmashopebook.com

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The Velcro Strip

Posted on May 5, 2011 by | 7 comments

Emma’s balloon string has been officially replaced.  She now carries a long plastic strip, the kind you peel off a self adhesive velcro strip.  How such a bizarre and unlikely item came into her possession is anyone’s guess.

Emma with her plastic velcro strip this morning before going to school.

Over the past year or more Emma has become attached to an assortment of long, thin objects.  The first was a stick she picked up on a playground near the Bronx Zoo.  One can never know when an object will become a coveted one.  But I remember that stick because she wouldn’t let go of it, even when she swung on the monkey bars at the playground.  It was an odd thing to watch her movements so clearly hindered by her refusal to let go of that long stick.  When we made our way to the subway for the long ride home, we told her she could not bring the stick with her.  She didn’t put up a fight and I thought nothing more of it until I saw her, upon our return home, reach down to pick up another stick from the planter outside our building’s front door.

” No Em.  The stick stays outside,” I told her and she complied.

But it became a habit, each and every time we left the house she would find a stick and carry it with her.  A few months later she found a long plastic strip used to bind packages and began carrying, twirling and waving that around while inside our home.

Emma’s assortment of “strings”.

There are a few thoughts on this sort of behavior with autistic children.  Some believe the items should be removed.  The idea being the child should not be allowed to have them as they increase “stimming”.  Stimming – shorthand for self-stimulation is a word, which is much used when speaking of autism.  It is the repetitive behavior the child/person uses to soothe, calm or regulate themselves.  The objects are varied and can be anything from spoons to things like running water.  But some children do not engage an object at all.  These children do things like  hand flapping, twirling, spinning, rocking and even head banging, while others stare at their own fingers that they wave in front of their eyes, others tap their fingers rapidly, hum or grunt, bite or twirl their hair, lick surfaces or smell things.  What marks their behavior from so called neuro-typical behavior such as pacing, doodling and thumb twirling is the child who is autistic may engage in these behavior for hours at a time, often getting in the way of daily living and learning.

Others believe the child should be allowed to stim and feel it is better to allow the child to self regulate.  They believe it is, in fact, cruel to remove the source of comfort for these children/adults who are autistic.  Many people believe learning can take place despite the stimming.

I don’t fall squarely into either camp.  Richard and I have done our best to give her the freedom to have some objects – balloon strings, velcro strips etc. while telling her she cannot bring sharp, pointed or objects we think might accidentally hurt her into the house.  We do not allow her to have her “Coqui” aka scraps of blanket outside her bedroom because she can sit for hours at a time sucking her thumb, which is doing untold damage to her teeth.  When I am working with Emma she may not have anything in her hands as I need her hands free to type, write etc.  But when she has gotten dressed, brushed her teeth, straightened her room, she can race around the house on her scooter, carrying whatever long piece of string/plastic/packaging tape she likes.  It’s difficult to know whether we are doing the right thing, but for the moment this middle ground seems to work or, at the very least, not cause too much damage.

Earlier this morning when I was trying to take a picture of Emma with her velcro strip, she wouldn’t look at the camera.

“Hey Em.  Can you look at the camera?” I asked.

“Say cheeeeese!”  Emma said scrunching her face up into a hapless and obviously forced “smile”.

“No not like that.  Think of something happy.  What makes you happy?” I asked, pointing the camera at her.

“Mommy makes me happy,” she whispered.

And that makes me happier than she can ever know.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism and arbitrary items that hold her interest go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Sliver Abilities in Autism

Posted on May 4, 2011 by | 1 comment

The other day while waiting for Emma’s bus we sat together.  Emma recounted, as she often does, what she planned to do that day and what she looked forward to in the days ahead.  “Get on school bus, Becky’s class, Joe, see Mommy, sleep, wake up, sleep, wake up, sleep wake up, sleep, wake up, Throwback Sports, sleep, wake up, make pancakes!”

Our neighbor took this photograph of me and Em waiting for her school bus.

I’m always astonished that Emma almost always gets the right number of “sleep, wake ups” before she can have pancakes on the weekend.  I have even seen her count on her fingers, making me wonder whether we shouldn’t start implementing a math program – if I can find one – as it’s clear she is counting and figuring out how many times she’ll sleep and then wake up before Saturday morning.

Much has been said about autism and “sliver” abilities, the sorts of things autistic children seem to be able to do at age level or above while most other things lag far behind.  I am not referring to the much publicized, but rare, savants.  I’m talking about the abilities many autistic children have that surprise us, their parents.  In Emma’s case it is her unbelievably accurate memory for people, places and things.  She will talk about a preschool teacher she had when she was three and she has an uncanny ability to know when a favored object or photograph is missing.  She seems to know immediately that not only a photograph is missing, but she knows which one with a glance at the pile of over 200 photographs.  I have no idea how this is even possible.

“Carousel photo?”  Emma will cry.

“But Em, here’s the photo.  Look!  There’s you and…”

“No!  Other one!” She’ll cry in frustration.

We no longer doubt her.  I cannot remember Emma ever being wrong about a missing photograph from her box of photos.  She keeps them in a box the size of a shoe box and there are over two hundred photographs.

I am constantly amazed with Emma’s mind.  It can retain massive amounts of information and yet I still must remind her that she needs to dry her body off when she gets out of the shower.
“Okay, Em.  Now get a towel.  You have to dry your arms and legs.  Now dry your stomach and back,” I will say.

What has become clear to me is that Emma’s mind is not something I can predict.  I cannot assume she will know how to do something – rinse her hair after she puts shampoo in it – while at the same time I cannot not assume anything either.

“Mona Lisa!”  Emma said, pointing to a book with the portrait of the Mona Lisa on the cover.

“Yeah, Em.  That’s right.  Who painted it?”

“Leonardo,” Emma answered happily.

“What’s his last name?” I asked.

“Vincy” She said.

“That’s right Em.  His name was Leonardo Da Vinci.”

When we were at MOMA a few years ago, Emma astonished all of us when she pointed to a painting and said, “Picasso!  Man with Guitar.”

Just around the time Emma was diagnosed I showed Emma a book on famous painters and their paintings.  Over six years later she still could remember them.

For more on Emma’s “splinter abilities” and her journey through a childhood of autism go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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How We Communicate

Posted on May 3, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Recently someone commented on the “I Believe” post.  She wrote:  “She is communicationg to you, she communicates to you ever day. With her body language, with her expression, with her unusual use of language.”

I loved receiving this comment (I love receiving all the comments people have sent over the past year, they are always informative, interesting and often provocative), which adds to the earlier discussion in the post “Embrace-ness-ness” regarding how we view intelligence in non-verbal people and what that means.

As I have mentioned before, my father spent the last 15 years of his life in a wheelchair and though he was cognitively unimpaired, he was treated differently, almost as though people thought his brain had somehow been damaged too.  His accident and disability profoundly altered my view of the world.  I came to see first hand the pain and suffering caused by people’s responses and misunderstandings of his disability.

When we are out in public with Emma, she is a free spirit.  I have never seen her look in judgement at another human being, no matter how deranged they may appear.  Emma will sit next to a homeless person on the subway without a second thought.  If someone smiles at her, she will smile back.  Emma is without malice.  She is utterly void of judgement.  And yet, I see the looks of fear and confusion on the faces of those who see her and do not understand what they are seeing.  I see how their eyes watch her and then move to us, trying to find a clue as to why this child is behaving so oddly.  Many times people assume she is behaving as she is because of our parenting or lack of parenting.  We have been given well meaning advice from countless strangers over the years, people who feel they are, no doubt, helping us.  Yet, if we tell them she is autistic, this explanation is rarely met with understanding.

Autism is an almost meaningless word, at this point.  It covers such a vast array of behaviors and issues, it is no wonder people feel confused.  Many people know someone who is autistic and assume all autistic people must share the characteristics of that person.  This could not be farther from the truth however.  There are people who are verbal, non-verbal, semi verbal, highly verbal, but echolaic, verbal with perseverative tendencies, etc.  Some people who have received the autism diagnosis are highly functional, go on to have successful careers, excel in their chosen fields, others maintain jobs, never missing a day of work, while others cannot hold a job and will need assistance for the rest of their lives.  Meeting one person with autism is like meeting one person anywhere.  If that person is not able to communicate in a language we know, it doesn’t mean they can’t communicate or do not want to.

We all want to communicate.  Perhaps the single most destructive belief about autism is that those who are diagnosed with it have little desire for human interaction.  Just because they may not be able to communicate their desires in ways we are used to, does not mean the desire doesn’t exist.  If I want to communicate with Emma I just have to spend time with her.  She communicates with me in a wide variety of ways constantly.

Emma with her beloved balloon string – recovered from the laundry hamper.

For more on Emma’s balloon string and her journey through a childhood of autism go to:  www.EmmasHopeBook.com

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Emma’s Handwriting

Posted on May 2, 2011 by | 5 comments

As those of you who follow this blog know, Joe (click on “Joe” to read an entire post devoted to him regarding his tireless efforts and hard work with our daughter, Emma) and I have been working diligently with Emma on her reading and writing skills and comprehension.  So when she requested Sunday morning to “go to the study room”, I wasn’t particularly surprised.  Just as she inquired however, Nic and his friend Max, who had spent the night, wandered into the kitchen asking for french toast.

“Hang on, Em.  Let me make the boys breakfast and then we’ll do study room,” I said.

“Study room now?”  Emma replied.

“Would you like to write something?” I asked pulling a pad of writing paper out.

“Yes.” Emma said, much to my surprise as handwriting is by far the most challenging aspect of the literacy program we’ve implemented for Emma.

“Okay.  Here.  Go ahead while I make breakfast.”  As I began the preparations for french toast I could see Emma at the dining room table writing.  I quelled the urge to go over and look.

After a few minutes Emma said, “Good job drawing hand!”

I went over to see and saw that above the drawing of her left hand she had written, “This a kid”.

What was remarkable about this was that she came up with this sentence on her own, did not copy it from anywhere, initiated the whole thing, used an upper case “T” to begin the sentence and other than the absence of the “is” and a period at the end, wrote a complete, grammatically correct sentence.  This is not a child who is learning their alphabet, this is a child who is reading and writing.  It was breathtakingly exciting.

“Good drawing hand!” Emma said when she saw me staring down at her work.

“Em!  You wrote – This a kid – that’s fantastic!” I answered.  “Look, you just forgot the is,” I said pointing to the space between this and a.  It’s fantastic!  And this has is in it, so it’s easy to forget.”

“Yeah!” Emma said, smiling broadly.

“I love how you wrote that, Em.  It’s so great!” I said staring at her handwriting and feeling tremendous pride.

“You writing,” Emma said.

“You have to say – I’m writing,” I told her.

“I’m writing,” she said.

“Hey, let’s write – This is a hand,” I said while writing the words to the right of her hand drawing.  “Now you write – hand,” I instructed.

Emma carefully took the marker and wrote – hand – underneath mine.

“That’s great.  And look, let’s write – Emma’s hand – here,” I said.

“Yeah.  That’s Emma’s hand!” she said, pointing.

“Wow, Em.  This is terrific,” I told her.

“Study room now?” Emma asked.

“Yes!  Let’s do your study room now,” I said.  “But first let’s write – This is a kid – again.”

Very methodically Emma took a separate piece of paper and wrote – This is a kid.  Then she reached over and made the toy kid sit on the edge of the page.

“Em, I’m so proud of you,” I told her.

“Emma’s writing!” Emma said, happily.

“I’m writing.  You say – I’m writing,” I said.

“I’m writing!”  Emma repeated.

Yes, she is.

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

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Clothing Autism

Posted on April 29, 2011 by | Leave a comment

This morning I asked Emma, “Do you want to wear pants or a dress to school today?”

“Pretty dress,” Emma said without hesitation.

“Okay.  Which one?” I pulled two dresses out for her to choose from.

“Other one?”  Emma said-asked.  “This one?”   She pulled at her red and white print skirt she’d worn just the day before.

“No.  How about picking a different one.  You just wore that one,” I said, wondering if I should let her wear it again.  After all I wear a uniform of sorts to my studio most days – a pair of jeans and t-shirt of some kind.  Her skirt had been washed and ironed, there was no reason why she couldn’t wear it twice in one week.  Nic wears a school uniform to school everyday and I must admit it makes life easy.

When Emma was first diagnosed I became aware of how I was dressing her with painstaking care each morning.  It was as though I were trying to cloak her autism in pretty dresses, making sure her hair was neatly braided with different colored ribbons.  As she grew older I became less fastidious about her clothing, but I am still aware of my complicated feelings when I see her wearing some bizarre outfit of her own choosing.  Often when a caregiver has let her choose what she wants with no editing.  Socks worn with crocs, leggings that are too small, now resembling capris, the two inch gap of skin between pant and sock, the t-shirt in some color, ill-matched with the rest of the outfit.  I inwardly cringe and I admonish myself for being so shallow.  I just want her to fit in and when she’s dressed in such a way that only seems to advertise loudly how different she is, it breaks my heart.  Still I do my best to temper those feelings.

“You rarely get the chance to be frivolous,” a friend of mine said the other day.

“But it’s ridiculous.  I know,” I answered.

Once when I brought the subject up to my husband, Richard, he replied, “But people do respond differently to her when she’s wearing a pretty dress.”

And he’s right they do.  They tell her how pretty she looks and she smiles and twirls around.  I know it really is absurd, but I want people to be kind to her.  I want people to smile at her and they do when she’s dressed nicely.  I know how silly all of this sounds.  I know this isn’t going to help her autism.  I know I’m talking about something as idiotic as how she appears and has nothing to do with substance, but I also know that people react to her in a more complimentary way.

“Please don’t ever let her wear a velour track suit,” I begged Richard before leaving on a trip a few months ago.

“I love velour!”  Richard said.

“Well of course you do, just don’t let her wear one, okay?”

“She doesn’t own a velour track suit,” he answered, seriously.

“Yeah, but you might feel compelled to buy one while I’m gone,” I said.

“It’s going to be okay, honey.  I think I can handle this,” he said.

And of course he did handle it all beautifully while I was away, just as he always does.

“Okay.  This one,” Emma said, patting at a pretty white, turquoise and orange skirt.

“Oh that’s perfect!” I said, pulling it out of the closet.

“It’s perfect!” Emma repeated, bouncing up and down on the bed.

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

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I Believe…

Posted on April 28, 2011 by | 3 comments

Every year we have a meeting with the Board of Education aka BOE.  Yesterday morning was our scheduled meeting time, but because Richard has been ill, I went alone.  I do not look forward to these yearly meetings.  And as yesterday morning got off to a bumpy start I was doing my best to bolster myself for what I knew was going to be an emotionally  difficult time.  They always are.  It is at these yearly meetings when we go over Emma’s IEP (Individualized Education Program).  Each year the BOE sends someone from their department into Emma’s classroom to observe her for a half an hour.  From that observation, a report is written, almost always a report we read with dread.  It’s not that they are unreasonable or unfair, though sometimes Emma is unrecognizable, it’s that they are stripped down to the basics.

A sample from one of these reports:  “Emma came down from the cabinet and lay down on a rug.  At 9:07, she remained lying on the rug.  At 9:08, she went out of the classroom and came back barefooted with a plastic box.  A teacher assistant showed her two bottles of paint.  She said, “no” loudly…”  The report goes on to depict a low functioning autistic child (Emma) who is somewhat responsive to the teacher’s assistant, at times non-compliant and with almost no verbal language.

This year Emma was also assessed by a psychologist sent from the BOE.  This report was even more troubling: “Emma is minimally verbal, spoke in single word utterances, or short, attenuated sentences for the most part, was able to repeat simple phrases heard, and was echolalic.”  The report goes on:  “Emma was able to hold a pencil somewhat awkwardly and make a scribble, or simple circular motion.  She was unable to copy simple vertical and horizontal lines, or any simple recognizable geometrical designs.”

As her mother it is difficult to read these reports.  I look at my daughter, my beautiful, funny, athletic Emma and I see her potential.  I choose to believe she is capable of so much.  I choose to believe she understands so much more than she appears to.  I choose to believe she will one day read and write.  I choose to believe one day she will communicate with us.  She will tell us what it’s like for her.   I choose to believe these things because to do otherwise is not a life I want to live.  But when I am confronted with reports such as the ones I’ve quoted from, it makes me question, even if for only a moment these choices, these so called beliefs of mine.  What if I’m wrong?  A question I always follow with – what does it matter if I’m wrong?  Because if I’m wrong, I won’t find out until I’m very old or will never know because I’ll be dead. I will always choose to believe I’m right about Emma.  I have to.  All the work we do with her every single day is because I believe in her abilities.  I believe she can do more.  I believe she is capable of so much.  When I tell her we have to do yet another reading exercise or writing exercise I am doing so because I believe she can.  When I read to her about Harriet Tubman or Helen Keller or Balto or the discovery of King Tut’s tomb,  I believe she is taking it all in.  When I ask her if I should keep reading and her answer is always – yes – I take that as confirmation of my beliefs.  I know I am making a choice.  I know my decision to believe these things are based on very little, but never-the-less I believe.

I believe in Emma.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism and my journey in parenting an autistic child, go to:  EmmasHopeBook.com

Emma waiting for her school bus this morning

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Some Mornings

Posted on April 27, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Some mornings are just not meant to be woken to.  This has been such a morning.  Emma lost her balloon string.  A yellow piece of string that was once attached to a balloon.  Emma doesn’t care that the balloon is no longer attached, in fact, she isn’t even remotely interested in the balloon.  It’s the string she cares about and this morning it went missing.  No amount of reassurance, no amount of talking to her about it, no substitutions would quell the storm that emanates from Emma when she is upset.  Emma was beyond upset.  Emma was heart broken, in a panic, utterly stressed out, screaming, snot pouring from her nose, shrieking “I need help!   Mommy!  Mommy!  I need help!” over and over and over again until the words become some sort of hysterical mantra.  It is at this point that she begins to script.  “I know baby.  You threw it!  You cannot throw it.  I need help.  Mommy!  I need help.  Baby, baby you can’t throw it!”  And on it goes, repeatedly, between tears and screams and stomping of feet and then when it all becomes too much she bites herself or hits herself in the face or punches herself in the leg or arm.  And we run around trying to find the damn balloon string or mutter under our breath that we should have thrown the stupid string away days ago, because this isn’t the first time she’s lost it and no substitution will do.

Last weekend when Richard offered her an identical balloon string she said, “Other one.”  And walked away.

No there will be no substitution and all that can be done is to barricade oneself mentally from the screams, try to keep ones patience and get her ready for the school bus because if we miss that, we have a whole new set of problems.  Once we were downstairs the tears and scripting continued.  But eventually, eventually she calmed down enough to play “bat” with me.  We talked about the bus and school and later Joe and study room and how it was going to be a good day.  It got off to a rocky start, but it would be okay.  And somehow, at some point Emma seemed convinced that this just might be true.

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

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An Easter Birthday Party

Posted on April 25, 2011 by | 3 comments

To Emma a party is a birthday party, no matter what we say to explain that this is not the case in every circumstance.  Yesterday was no different.  When Emma saw me pulling out the linen table cloth and setting the table for our Easter (or as we like to refer to it – Welcome to Spring) party she said, “It’s a birthday party!”

“No Em, it’s an easter party,” Richard said.

“Birthday party,” Emma insisted.

“Today is Easter.  We’re having a dinner party for Easter,” Richard explained.

“Easter birthday party!” Emma said, jumping up and down.

“Not a birthday party, just Easter,” Richard patiently corrected her.

Not easily swayed, Emma cheerfully said again, “Easter birthday party!”

“Whatever Dad,” Nic said, accompanied by the one-two punch that apparently afflicts all tweens – shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.

“Hey Em, sometimes we have a party and it’s not for anyone’s birthday…” I began.

“Christmas,” Richard interjected.

“Thanksgiving,” I added.

“Valentines Day, no wait that’s Daddy’s birthday,” I said, catching myself and realizing this was only going to confuse the situation.

“Birthday party,” Emma chimed in.

“Except no one is having a birthday tonight.  We’re having people over just because it’s fun.”

At this point Emma wandered off, probably feeling we’d exhausted the subject.  A little later she returned to survey the cooking and, since I’d made cupcakes for her and Nic and his friend, knowing they probably wouldn’t eat the meringue & apricot extravaganza I’d made for the rest of us, to lick the icing.

As though to prove her point she said, pointing to the purple, blue and green frosting, “Yum!  Birthday cake,” Emma said.

“Easter cupcakes,” I said.

“For Easter,” Emma said, nodding her head.

“Yes!  That’s right.  For Easter.”

“Easter!” Emma said.  And then as she was walking away she said very quickly and under her breath, “Easter birthday party!”

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism and an actual birthday party go to:  EmmasHopeBook

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Unlocking Emma’s Mind

Posted on April 22, 2011 by | Leave a comment

This morning Emma said, “Play musical chairs!”  Then proceeded to position several dining room chairs in the middle of the room so they had their backs to one another, fanning out in a kind of lopsided circle.  She turned on some music from her iPod and danced for a minute or two, then hit the pause button and yelled, “Freeze!”  She ran to the nearest chair and sat down, staying very still for a few seconds before leaping up and turning the music back on.

When I joined in she said, “Mommy dancing!”  Then she began to laugh uncontrollably.

After about twenty minutes I sat down and watched her continue to play by herself.  She looked up at me and smiled, then covered her eyes with one hand.  “Hi Mommy!”  she said, peeking out between two fingers.

“Hi Em.”

“Playing Freeze with Mommy.”

“Yeah do you want me to keep playing?”

“No.  Nicky hurt his toe in Aspen.”

This is typical of Emma to make a sudden leap in thinking or maybe we all do this, but she just verbalizes her train of thought.  Maybe he hurt his toe while they were listening to music, I can’t remember any more.  Maybe it was simply an errant thought.

A specialist said, while being interviewed about autism, that they thought autism was the disregulation of neural pathways.  They went on to speak of the idea that people with autism have trouble communicating and putting into words their thinking.  But that it was the communicating that is troublesome, not the thinking.  I have no way of knowing what Emma is thinking, obviously, unless she tells me and even then it can be difficult figuring out exactly what she is trying to tell me, but I know her mind is very busy.  I can see her processing information, I can watch her and see that she is thinking, I just don’t know about what.

When I work with her on her reading and writing I can see how she is very clearly understanding the words she sees.  She is learning to read.  Yet if I ask her to read the sentence – Here is a truck – it causes her tremendous difficulty.  I know she can read it because she knows each word when shown by itself.  Yet put it into a sentence and it confuses her.  It’s similar to when she works at the computer.  She seems to have an easier time typing words and identifying words when she’s on the computer than if she’s asked to write those same words by hand.

When I read about autistic children who suddenly begin to type out full comprehensive sentences, it seems like magic.  Usually these same children have displayed nothing to indicate to their caregivers that they can read, let alone spell.  Yet there are numerous cases of children communicating through typing who have never been able to communicate before.

The other night I dreamt about Emma.  In my dream she was talking to me, just as any neuro-typical nine-year old child would.  She was telling me “secrets” and in the dream I thought how profound this information was.  She was telling me about what it was like for her and answering all my questions.  When I woke up the next morning I tried to remember what she’d told me, but I couldn’t.  I kept thinking if I just relaxed I would remember, as though she really had told me, as though it hadn’t been a dream, as though for a brief moment I had the answers, the key to unlocking her mind.

Every time I work with her on the computer I have a tiny hope that she’ll suddenly write something on her own, something that we aren’t working on.  Like magic, she’ll write a sentence that let’s me in on her thinking and her mind.  And each session when she doesn’t do that, I think – it’s okay, maybe next time.

For now, I have a game of musical chairs waiting for me.

For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism and to hear her sing go to:  EmmasHopeBook

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Piggyback Rides and Bats

Posted on April 20, 2011 by | Leave a comment

The other day Emma said to me, “Give piggy back ride?”  Then she leapt from the couch where she was balancing herself into my arms.

“Em!  You’re heavy!”  I said.

“I feel your pain, Mom,” Nic said to me.

“You do?”

“Yeah, she did that to me the other day,” he said.

“You’re kidding?  How did you carry her?” I asked.

Nic laughed.  “It was tough, Mom.  It was tough,” he said, shaking his head as he left the room.

Later Geneva, one of our wonderful caregivers, confirmed that Nic had given Emma a piggy back ride.  Here are the photos she took documenting it.


Last night Emma said to me, “I’m going to fly and bite you!”  Then she ran over to me and bit my cheek.

“Ouch!  Em you just bit me!”  I said.

“A bat, fly and bite you!”  Emma said, laughing.

“Are you a bat?”

“Yes!  Don’t bite me!  Fly and bite you!” she said coming close again.

“No!  Don’t bite me!” I said.

“I’m going to bite you!”

“Ahhhh!!” I yelled running away from her.

It’s always difficult to know whether encouraging her to play a game that she might “play” with another child at school, who doesn’t understand that this is a game is a good idea.  And yet, to not encourage her to be playful seems wrong.  Is this an opportunity to discuss biting and how it’s not okay to hurt, how it’s important to be gentle, how this is a game only to be played with me?

With these thoughts in mind I approached Emma, “Hey Em, when you’re pretending to be a bat…” I began.

“You have to be gentle,” she interrupted me.

“Yes!  You have to be gentle.  And you can only play this game with me, okay?”

“Yes.  Just with Mommy,” she said, nodding her head.  Then she pointed to my cheek and said, “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“And you didn’t…” I started to say.

“You have to be gentle,” she added.

“That’s right Em.  You have to be so gentle and you can only play this game with me.  You know that, right?”

“Yes.  Just with Mommy,” she said pointing to me.   “Now play – Don’t say Mommy!”

“Okay.  One game of Don’t-say-Mommy,” I agreed.

With which she put her face up into mine and said, “Don’t…  say… Mommy!” and then ran out of the room with me following close behind.

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

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Nic’s Birthday

Posted on April 19, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Emma has very specific ideas about birthdays.  The best birthday, in Emma’s opinion, is one that takes place at one of the many kid’s gyms here in New York City and is followed by a birthday cake or cupcakes with candles and Happy Birthday sung loudly.

However, today is Nic’s birthday and it’s hard for Emma to understand that he did not choose to celebrate it at one of the gyms Emma so adores.

“Hey Em, it’s Nic’s birthday today,” I said early this morning.

“Birthday at Elite gymnastics!”  Emma replied.

“No, Nic isn’t going to celebrate his birthday there,” I told her.

“Birthday at other gymnastics!”  Emma said bouncing up and down.

“No.  Nic didn’t want to celebrate his birthday at a gym,” I said.

“Different gymnastics,” Emma said, trying to process this information.

“Well no.  Not any gymnastics.”

Emma was silent.

“Is there anything you want to know or say about Nic’s birthday today?” I asked.

“Yes,” Emma said.

“Okay.  What?”

“Happy Birthday Nicky!”

“Ah, that’s so nice of you, Em.  Let’s go tell him,” I held out my hand.  Emma took it and went over to Nic who was charging his new video game controller.

Emma leaned into his face and said, “Happy Birthday Nicky-Nic!”

“Hey, thanks Emma.  That’s really nice of you,” he said, putting his arm around her.

Then she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Happy Birthday Nic!

Emma looks on as Nic reads a birthday card and opens presents.

Merlin amidst wrapping paper

Nic shows off his birthday haul.

Happy Birthday Nic!

For more on Emma and her journey through a childhood of autism go to:  EmmasHopeBook

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Emma’s Dolls Get A Bath

Posted on April 18, 2011 by | Leave a comment

Two nights ago as Nic was helping me clean the dishes, I heard the sound of water running in Emma’s bathroom.  “Hey Nic, hang on a second.  I want to see what Emmy’s doing.”

Nic held out his hand for the scrub brush so that he could take over.

As I rounded the corner I could hear Emma singing.

“Hi Em.  What are you doing?”  I asked surveying the scene.

“Mommy go away!”  Emma said.

This is what Emma says when she thinks she may be doing something we might object to.

“Em!  You’re giving your dolls a bath!”  I said.

“Mommy go away, go away!”  Emma said while trying to close the bathroom door with her foot.

“Okay, don’t worry Em.  I’m gong to go finish the dishes with Nic.  But can I come back a little later?”

“Yes,” Emma said and closed the door on me.

“What’s she doing, Mom?” Nic asked me when I reappeared.

“She’s giving her dolls a bath,” I said.  “It’s so great!”  When I returned to the bathroom I said, “Em, that is so thoughtful of you to put the rubber ducks in the tub with your dolls!”

“And bubbles,” Nic added.

“Doing great job washing doll’s hair,”  Emma said, nodding her head and reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

“Yeah, you’re doing a great job!”  Nic said.

As Nic said this, Emma squirted an enormous amount of shampoo onto each of her doll’s heads.

“Okay, maybe that’s too much,” Nic commented, looking at me with concern.

Oblivious, Emma happily massaged the shampoo into each of her doll’s hair and then pulled one of them from the tub and sat her in the sink.  “Have to rinse hair,” she announced as water sprayed from the sink faucet out into the bathroom onto her and her brother.  “Uh-oh!”  Emma said, cheerfully as she struggled out of her now soaked nightgown.

“Oh boy,” Nic said, retreating from the spray.

Emma carefully gathered all the rubber ducks from the bathtub and sat them on the edge of the sink, then rinsed each of her dolls before putting them on a towel on the floor.

“Dolls all done!”  Emma said, as she wrapped her dolls in several towels.

“Awesome job drying off dolls!”  Emma said.  “Now time for bed,” she added.

I often find myself looking for little clues, the small details in what Emma does as reasons for hope. The washing of her dolls is such a great example, I think, of Emma’s continued development.  That she thought to include the rubber ducks was such a wonderful display of thoughtfulness and pretend play.  Emma still doesn’t cuddle her dolls the way I used to when I was a little girl, but in her own way she is caring for them, giving them a bath, washing their hair, rinsing them off and then drying them, wrapping them in towels before leaving them on the floor.  She has, in the past, put them in bed as well, though she seemed to lose interest before that thought occurred to her.

Emma even remembered to drain the water from the tub before shutting off the light and leaving the bathroom.  Sometimes I think I am clutching at straws, I mean, really what’s the big deal?  So she gave her dolls a bath.  But to me, it is a big deal.  Or I choose to make it one, because really what’s the alternative?  I can find the positive in the things she does, see them as hopeful examples of progress or I can shrug my shoulders and say – So what?

I’ve never been the “so what?” type, so I can’t imagine I’ll start now.

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

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