Tag Archives: humor

Emma’s Presentation at The ICare4Autism Conference

Posted on July 3, 2014 by | 27 comments

Emma came up with the title of yesterday’s presentation – My Body Does Not Obey My Mind.  In preparation for our talk, Emma wrote, “how about discussing gleeful shouts and irreverent clapping as expressions of joy, but that many will see as indications of simple mindedness?”  I told her I thought this was a great idea.

During our presentation Emma found a number of people in the audience who happily engaged in making faces with her. One of her favorite faces is one she refers to as “fish lips”.   She proceeded to demonstrate “fish lips” and then, after successfully encouraging others to participate, she typed, “Doing fish lips to the audience is an expression of funny playfulness, but can be misinterpreted as simple mindedness.  Silliness is acceptable in those who are believed smart, but for those like me, it indicates stupidity.”  It was a powerful demonstration of yet another way in which someone like Emma is often misunderstood.

Before leaving to give our presentation yesterday,  Emma and I had the following conversation:

Ariane:  What other examples can you give that would demonstrate the body/mind disconnect, besides what you think and then what you might say out loud in contrast?
Emma:  Things like not being able to sit still and needing to jump up.   There are many examples like that.   In my mind I am graceful and move like a dancer and speak with passion and the articulation of an acting coach.
Ariane:  Aw… that’s really beautifully expressed, Emma.  Really, really powerful.
I need to be careful not to take control of our presentation, because you must take the lead.
Emma:  You will be very good.  Don’t worry, I will be charming and will have your back.
Ariane:  Oh, Emma, thank you for the encouragement, that means a lot to me.
Are you going to ask me questions if you think there’s something I’m missing or not talking about?
Emma:  Yes, thoughts of fear worry you, but I know what I want to say.

This morning, we again discussed our presentation, which began with me asking Emma how she thought it went:

Emma:  Spoken words cannot compete with typed power house wording of dramatic charm.
Ariane:  You were charming!  And, as always, so insightful!  I’m so proud of you.
Emma:  Teaching by real life demonstration, pleases all.
Ariane:  I agree!  What was the experience like for you, sitting in front of such a large audience?
Emma:  Happiness, overwhelming joy to be able to show off my inner eloquent and funny self.
Ariane:  You were eloquent and very funny!  I think you touched a great many people yesterday.  I think many will rethink what they have believed about autism and those they care for, who are autistic, because of you.
Emma:  Brave honesty opens minds and hearts.  I hope people will question what they have been told.
Ariane:  I do too.
Emma:  Horrible ideas about people cause many to do terrible things, and treat someone like me with repetitive demands for compliance.
Ariane:  Perhaps meeting you, will make them pause and reconsider their approach.
Emma:  Showing humor and compassion for them is my belief and way of prodding them to venture down different roads.
Ariane:  You are such a wonderful example of loving kindness put into action!
Emma:  Worry and fear are fueled by furious words spoken harshly, humor soothes, shining sunny rays spreading hope.
Ariane:  It’s a much needed hope.  I’m so proud of you.
Emma:  Knowing pride brightens, giving gifts of hope dulls years of lingering sadness for schooling gone awry.
Richard videotaped our presentation and we are hoping to have at least a few clips of it available on our YouTube channel this afternoon.  Emma ended our presentation by getting up on the stage with the microphone and belting out a rousing rendition of September’s You’ll Never See Me Again.  We have that on tape as well!  Stay tuned…
Emma chose this photograph, taken last week while in Cape Cod, until we can pull some photos from the videotape of the conference.

Emma chose this photograph, taken last week while in Cape Cod, until we can pull some photos from the videotape of the conference.

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Posted in Autism, icare4autism, Parenting

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“Just Being Funny”

Posted on February 6, 2014 by | 20 comments

Last week Soma and Emma discussed different proverbs.  Soma explained that one of the proverbs was about how a new person can be very enthusiastic upon getting a new job, eager to prove their worth they do a great deal, but as time goes on they lose some of their enthusiasm and do not do as much.  Emma then wrote, “It is like a new husband.”

When Soma asked her to say more, Emma wrote, “Just being funny.”

And she was.  Really funny.  In fact, I burst out laughing.   One of the great things about someone who says the unexpected is that it often is very funny, and that she also intended to be so, makes it all the more joyful.  (There is nothing more upsetting and hurtful to the other person than laughing at something that strikes you as funny, only to realize the person speaking did not intend or mean to be funny.)

I cannot anticipate what Emma will write.  The way she phrases ideas and thoughts, even questions are unexpected.  I am biased, I know, but I see her way with words as one of her many, many talents.  The beautiful and unexpected way in which she will phrase a thought or express a feeling fills me with emotion. I am in eager anticipation and gratitude for every word she writes.  I sit and watch her and am mesmerized.  There are few things I enjoy doing as much, truthfully.

At the moment Emma’s two favorite songs are Clint Eastwood by the group Gorillaz and Cage the Elephant’s Ain’t No Rest For the Wicked.  Like me, when Emma likes a song she will play it over and over and over.  When I was a teenager I wore out record albums (yup, that’s how old I am) from playing the same favored song repeatedly, causing the album to get scratched from my insistence that only the one or two songs be played and not the record in its entirety.  Dancing to those favorite songs is an added bonus.  Emma loves to dance and so do I, something my husband loves doing as well.  Listening to music requires no speech; no words need to be exchanged.  Given how hard Emma must work to write her thoughts, it is nice to do something we all love, that isn’t hard work.

Yesterday Emma and I were discussing death, something Emma speaks about regularly in repetitious utterances about various pets and people who have died.  We have talked about death before, but this time Emma wrote a sentence that I couldn’t make sense of.  It was at the end of a 40 minute session, so I figured she was tired and we’d come back to it later.  Since our time was up, I left the sheet of paper with Emma’s sentence on it, on the table.  This morning, just before I left for work, I reread the sentence.

“Hysterical rant on death is assuring story, but does nothing to understand reality of story.”

And I began to wonder whether her spoken phrases, “Bertie died, Bertie has to be careful.  Yeah, Bertie got old.  Bertie lay down and went to sleep.  Bertie died…” about my very old cat who was seventeen when he finally died, is a kind of calming self talk.  Perhaps a way to make the unknown less frightening and yet she still knows that even in trying to soothe her fears, the repetitive talk does nothing to help her understand.

So this afternoon, I will ask her and afterward we will listen to Gorillaz and Cage the Elephant and dance.

Dancing ~ 2012

Dancing ~ 2012

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Posted in Autism, communication, Parenting

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Traveling Without A GPS

Posted on September 24, 2013 by | 21 comments

I’m traveling with Em.  We’re doing a kind of mother/daughter trip together, though not, as Em would like, to a spa where we sit around getting our nails done, (Em has fallen in love with the joys of a good pedicure) go swimming in heated pools that are like massive bath tubs and doing nothing else… that trip will have to wait.

And I made the mistake of opting out of the GPS system for the car I’ve rented, which means every few minutes Emma can be heard saying from the back seat, “Oh no!  You’re going the wrong way!”  And because I have no sense of direction, am driving in a state I’ve never been before, let alone city, she is correct.  We have been here less than 24 hours and have gotten completely lost, despite thorough directions from google maps (which suck, by the way, I’m totally blaming google maps) FOUR times!  This is not an exaggeration.

It seems I cannot drive more than a few miles without taking a wrong turn, end up inexplicably going in the opposite direction from where I meant and wanted to go.  So I’m like one of those annoying drivers who’s leaning forward, peering out the window, both hands nervously gripping the steering wheel and driving so slowly I’ve got a line of cars in back of me, pissed off and trying to get around me. But I won’t pull over because I don’t know where the hell I am and… Yeah.  That’s me in that car you’re honking at.  And that GPS system that I turned down, because really, at an additional 20 bucks a day or whatever it was, who would think that was a good idea?  Um…  it’s looking like a bargain, right about now…

This was not always the case.  When I was in my late teens and all through my twenties I lived and drove all over the place.  I lived in LA for three years, a city where you spend more money on your car than you do on your home.  So yeah, I’ve driven a lot.  But as I have grown older and my eyes are not as they once were, requiring glasses, my sense of direction (not that I ever had one) has gotten worse, not sure how that’s actually possible…  but it has…  so a GPS system, it turns out, is less an “option” and more a necessity.

But last night when we arrived, I was still thinking of the me that I was thirty years ago.  The me that took on New York City traffic without a second thought, the me that spent hours a day navigating Southern California’s freeway system, the me that drove all over the place, every day without hesitation, yeah, that me.

Turns out?

She’s gone.

Image representing Google Maps as depicted in ...

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Posted in fear, mother/daughter, Parenting, travel

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“I Might Be You” – The Audio Version – Voice by Ariane Zurcher :)

Posted on March 22, 2013 by | 10 comments

Next week I will be in a recording studio taping the audio version of the wonderful book, I might be you by Barb Rentenbach and Lois Prislovsky.  *Doing a happy dance.  Barb asked me to be her voice a few months ago and without hesitation I agreed!  EEEEE!  Not only will I spend time with both Barb and Lois, but Barb will direct me to make sure I don’t mangle her beautiful words or trample on her often bawdy sense of humor.  It’s all in the delivery; I will do my best to make her proud.  Did I mention, Barb is funny?  She has a wonderful, edgy, R-rated sense of humor.  She avoids nothing and no topic is off-limits.  And while I’m not exactly a prude, I may get a little rosy-cheeked as I attempt to do her words justice, especially that chapter discussing masturbation, sex, or the lack of, and those hunky personal trainers who motivate her…  Taking a deep breath.  For those of you unfamiliar with the book, I wrote about it ‘here‘.  For those of you interested in purchasing a hard cover copy, and why wouldn’t you be (?) you can do so ‘here‘.  (I gain nothing from your purchase, other than the pleasure in knowing you will enjoy reading her book.)

I first met Barb and Lois at the AutCom Conference in the fall of 2012.  Their presentation was crowded, but I managed to secure myself a seat at one of the round tables.  I remember watching Barb type on a key board and being wonderfully surprised by both her self-deprecating sense of humor and how quickly she was able to type.  I admit, I couldn’t keep up as the letters whipped by while Lois read what she was typing.  Barb told of how it took her ten years to write the book because there were so many who simply did not believe she was actually writing the things that were being typed.  The assumption was that Lois or whoever was facilitating her was doing the writing.  But Barb being Barb, did not allow their doubts to stop her.  Now Barb is typing independently, her book has been published and the audio version is about to be recorded!  Woot!  Woot!

Do I need to say how excited I am?

Have I mentioned how honored I am to be Barb’s voice?

Stay tuned next week for ~ Adventures in the Recording Studio with Barb!

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Posted in Autism, facilitated communication, supported typing

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Emma Knows Best

Posted on February 13, 2013 by | 21 comments

This past Christmas I bought Em a snow fort.  Em loves bouncy castles and the snow fort looks a bit like a bouncy castle.  It seemed like an excellent idea at the time, except that it was missing a key component – it didn’t bounce.  It’s one of those gifts that looks good when you receive it, but once it’s been constructed it’s not so interesting.  Even I wondered, once we’d blown it up and put it out in the snow, now what?  What exactly does a kid do inside a snow fort?   Em was a trooper and sat inside it for a minute or two before extracting herself.

Em's Snow Fort

“No, it’s not a bouncy castle,” Emma said shaking her head as she wandered back into the house.

I stood there looking at it for a minute before following her.

“It doesn’t bounce,” I told Richard.

“Right.  It is without bounce,” Richard reiterated.

“And it’s not even a castle,” I added.

“It’s an inflated dome,” Richard said.

“It’s basically a piece of colored plastic,” I replied.

“What were you thinking?” Richard grinned at me.

I could interrupt this dialogue by going on at length about how Richard has the single best smile of any human being I’ve ever met, how when he grins these little dimples appear that take my breath away, how I can become so distracted I lose track of time, thought, words… I could do that, but I won’t.

Theatrical pause and winsome smile.  

Now where was I?  Oh yes, thinking… what was I thinking?  Well, the truth is I didn’t think it through.  I was thinking about her love of bouncy castles and how this looked sort of like one.  I remembered over the summer how we’d gone to our local YMCA to play on the bouncy castle they’d set up for a limited time and how the guy setting it up didn’t know how to operate it and finally Emma had to tell him.  At first he didn’t pay attention to her, probably assuming she didn’t know what she was talking about because of her non-fluency with language.

“What’s she trying to tell him?” another mom asked me as we watched from across the room.

“She’s telling him that he needs to tie the other end and that he has the air pump attached to the wrong tube, but he won’t listen to her,” I explained.

“Should we go over?” the mom asked.

“I already did.  I told him to listen to her, but he seems to believe he knows what he’s doing,” I said.  “I’m betting on my daughter.  She is rarely wrong about things like this,” I added.

“I’m betting on your daughter too,” the other mom said.  The guy fumbled some more with the defeated looking, semi-inflated bouncy castle as Emma looked on with an exasperated expression.

Finally he did as Emma instructed with a little help from me and the other mother, and the bouncy castle was, well, bouncy as it was meant to be.  Emma was ecstatic and soon joined by a dozen other kids all screaming and bouncing together.

That’s what I was “thinking”.

Moral to the story ~ A brightly colored inflatable plastic dome is not the same as a brightly colored inflatable plastic bouncy castle.

Feel free to add your own wisdom to this story or add your own story…

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Posted in Autism, mother/daughter, Parenting

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Confessions From a Literal Mind

Posted on January 9, 2013 by | 33 comments

My husband is funny.  Just had to say that.  He’s a funny guy and sometimes he’s funny without meaning to be, which throws him out of funny territory and plops him directly into the hilarious camp.  Some people are like that.  Thankfully, my two kids are also funny/hilarious so there’s a great deal of laughter in our home.  Until my husband or son tells a joke.  Me and Em don’t do the joke thing, mostly because Em is more into making faces and physical comedy and I don’t “get” most jokes (I’m told this is because I tend toward literal-mindedness) and even when I do, I usually do not think they’re funny, which makes others insist that I haven’t “gotten” the joke, because, the thinking goes, if I did, I’d laugh with everyone else.  I disagree and maintain that it’s a bad joke, but this argument never goes over well, particularly to the joke teller, who’s convinced the joke they’re telling is, by the very fact that they’re telling it, hilarious.  Even if it isn’t. And it isn’t.  Trust me.

Case in point, and this is one of Richard’s favorite jokes, whenever we travel.

Random person:  “How are you?”

Richard:  “We just flew in from New York…” Beat “and boy are my arms tired.”

Me:  expressionless face.  

Richard:  Looks over at me, sees expressionless face and says, “Ba-doom, boom!”

Random person:  Doubled over with laughter, “Oh boy I haven’t heard that one in a while.”

Me:  Look of confusion.  “Wait, what?”  Watches laughing husband and random person.  “What’s the punch line?”

Random person and husband:  As though choreographed, swivel their heads to face me, look at each other, then burst into peels of renewed laughter.

Me:  View of my back as I walk away…  Sometimes I’ll shake my head in an exaggerated display of my (feigned) contempt.

So I have a confession, because… well why not confess these things (?) I’ve nothing to hide…  I do “get” the joke, intellectually, I understand the play on words, I just don’t feel anything remotely like laughter surging through my body because of those words and truthfully, that joke, in my opinion, as well as most others like it are “made” funny with a straight man.  So I, being the thoughtful and generous soul that I am, feel obligated to provide this.

You’re welcome.  *Big grin*

Signed:  “Straight man” aka Ariane

Laura B., Barb P., Emma (ever the performer) and Me (trying hard to keep a straight face)

2GroupShot

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Posted in Autism, Marriage, Parenting

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Balancing Career, Family and Losing Things…

Posted on December 12, 2012 by | 19 comments

Balance.  Sometimes it’s impossible for me to balance family, career, marriage, kids, friends, writing, keeping up with emails, showering…  okay I do usually get the showering part in there somehow, but other things tend to fall through the cracks.  At the moment I’m consumed with work related things and so the showering part seems like kind of a pain.  Though the old “french bath” notion can be kind of awful if you are sensitive to perfumes and cologne, as I am.  The combination of body odor being masked by an aggressive dose of perfume, no matter how expensive, makes me a little nauseous just thinking about it.   So no, foregoing a shower isn’t an option, but other things fall by the way side or are delegated to others.  And while all this is going on I know I’m not alone.  I know others hold down full-time jobs, have kids, manage to get them fed and into fairly clean clothes and off to school without too many mishaps.

The basics do get taken care of, though Nic’s question of whats for dinner, and my answer, “Ummmm…. how about a bowl of Cheerios?” didn’t exactly gain me any parenting of the year points, Nic didn’t seem too traumatized and Em was thrilled.  In fact, she was already happily digging into her bowl of Cheerios, which is her second favorite meal falling only behind pancakes as her first choice.  I only learned a few months ago that Nic had begun wearing his school uniform to bed at night, “it’s easier, Mom” and I’m pleased to say I put a stop to that, though I was proud of his creative problem solving and told him so.   I am grateful for the small things…

Anne-Marie Slaughter wrote a piece for the Atlantic last summer entitled: Why Women Still Can’t Have it All .  That piece caused a stir, though I never was able to work out exactly why.  My only issue was with the word “still”, implying that we should be able to have it all or that someone else does, but women don’t.  The truth is, it seems to me, no one “has it all”.   I’m not even sure what that means really, but that’s probably not the point.  I did feel an uncontrollable urge to argue the definition of the word “all” and was only stopped by the lack of interest anyone I attempted to discuss this with showed.  The tricky balance of work, family, mother, wife, friend, while maintaining some semblance of sanity is one I continue to look for, but never seem to actually find.  Things just do get forgotten or lost in the shuffle.

I have mail that remains unopened, I know I received some emails that I now cannot find, which require answering.  I’ll try to find them later.  I know there are things I can’t remember that were on my to do list, if only I could remember where I put that list and it’s not a coincidence that the single most common question in my family is:  “have you seen my glasses?”  that or “anyone seen my keys/phone/wallet?”  And the predictable answer, “if I could find my glasses I’d help you look.”  Nic thinks all of this is hilarious and has taken to falling on the floor in feigned horror when either of us ask, our voices suggesting the panic we are already feeling, no matter how many times in a single day this occurs.  That both his parents seem so completely incapable of keeping track of these everyday items does not portend well for either of our children, but at the moment this thought hasn’t occurred to them and we aren’t planning to mention it.

Em (wearing her favorite hat) made it out of the house this morning in one piece…

*Panda

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Posted in careers, family, Parenting

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Awaiting the Storm

Posted on October 29, 2012 by | 18 comments

If you listen to the news, which I haven’t but Richard, in an uncharacteristic display of interest regarding the weather, has been keeping abreast of the latest news by reading updates on the NYTimes online, you already know Hurricane Sandy is heading inland and may or may not hit New York City at some unknown point…  it’s hard to say. Meanwhile, everything is shut. All the stores are closed, all public transportation has screeched to a halt, friends of ours who are in “Zone A” have had the boilers in their building shut off since yesterday evening, some others have been evacuated, and yet, other than the occasional breeze and light sprinkle, there is nothing to suggest anything is amiss.

On Saturday as Nic and I did our weekly grocery shopping run, Nic commented on the long lines. The typical four-hour window given for delivery of one’s groceries had been suspended and other than thinking it strange that so many more people were out getting groceries, it didn’t occur to me to be concerned.  It has to be said, we do not watch the news on television and my reading of the NYTimes online is topic specific.  When Nic asked why so many people were grocery shopping I said something about how it was always like this on Saturdays and then went into a lengthy explanation about typical Monday through Friday work weeks and how it made sense that Saturday was a good day for grocery shopping. By the glazed expression on my eldest child’s face, I’m pretty sure I lost him after the first 30 seconds. Looking back, the incredulous expression on the woman’s face directly behind us now makes sense and I feel a little saddened to realize it was not a look of awe at my brilliant analysis of the shopping habits of fellow New Yorkers.

Last night I explained to Emma that there was a big storm headed our way and because of it, school would be closed and that there might be heavy rain during the night, but that we were all going to be safe.  I was a bit more concerned that the changing air pressure might wake her in the night, causing her pain and upset.  When she woke this morning and came running into our room, I said, “Em, has it started raining yet?”  She said, “Rain, lightning and thunder!”

“Really?” I said, peering out into the darkness.  “I don’t hear any rain.”

“It’s raining.  No school,” Emma said, with the kind of unerring certainty that does not invite argument.   Then she pulled the bed sheets up over her head.

I asked Em if she wanted to go up on the roof to see first hand what the weather was like.  I grabbed my camera and rain gear .  “Oh honey,” Richard said as he watched me zip up my rain jacket, “you’re going to document the storm,” he wiggled his fingers to make quotation marks.  “I love that.”

“It hasn’t hit us yet,” I told him.  “It might.  Later.  You never know.  They’re saying 95 mile per hour winds and 10 foot waves.  Maybe I’ll take the kids to the river later,” I announced.

“I love that you’re going out to record the weather and not hunkering down into fear-bomb-shelter mode,” he looked at me with what I’m pretty sure can only be described as pure, unadulterated, adoration and admiration. (I am convinced I’m reading his look correctly and NOT the way I completely misinterpreted the look of the woman in the grocery store.  Of course, I have been wrong before…)

Em on the roof just now in appropriate, pre-Sandy, attire

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Posted in air pressure, New York City, Parenting

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The Art of Negotiating – Get Them to Beg

Posted on September 18, 2012 by | 12 comments

“Go to Natural History Museum with just Daddy,” Emma announced this morning.

Because of the Jewish New Year it’s a four-day weekend.  Richard took Em to the museum yesterday.  Today is my turn to hang out with Em, while Richard spends the day with Nic and his friend Masiah.

“I know you do love going to the Natural History Museum with Daddy,” Em said as I came over to her.

“But Em, I’m going to spend the day with you.  What do you want to do with me?”

“Emma loves Natural History Museum with Daddy.  But they wants Museum of Natural History with Mommy.  I love playing elevator game with Daddy.  Emma loves BioLife.  Emma loves…”

“Em, what do you want to do with me?  Daddy’s staying home today.  I can take you to the Natural History museum.  Is that what you want to do?”

“Go to Toys R Us with Mommy, then Natural History Museum with Daddy!”

“No Em.  It’s just you,” I pointed at her, “and me today,” I pointed to me.  “What should we do today?”

Emma whispered, “Go with Daddy!  Oh I know you want to go with Daddy.  Say bye-bye Mommy!”  Then Em made fish lips at me.  Meaning she puckered her lips together and pretended to be a fish.  This is what she does when she really, really wants us to acquiesce.

I began laughing.  “Em.  I will take you anywhere.  Anywhere you want to go.  I’ll ask Daddy to explain the elevator game so we can play it together.  Or you can show me how.”

“Go with Daddy,” Emma said very quickly and in a mischievous voice.  Then she whispered again, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, just Daddy!”

So I sidled up to her and whispered back, “Emmy.  Can I take you to the Natural History Museum?  Just you and me?  Please?”

Emma grinned and nodded her head.  “Okay, okay!”

When both the children were toddlers I took them to the Natural History Museum every single day, one memorable day we even went twice.  After a few years of this, I announced to Richard, “I hope never to set foot in that museum again.”

“Uh-huh,” Richard said.

“Ever.  Seriously.”

“Yeah.  Got it,” Richard answered.

“Never.  For the rest of my life.”

“OKAY!  I hear you,” Richard said with a touch of annoyance.

So for the last few years Richard has taken Em whenever she has asked to go.  I think I’ve gone once, maybe twice in the last several years.  That I now find myself  literally begging, BEGGING Emma to take her, is just another example of Emma’s brilliant negotiating skills.

If Emma ever loses interest in being a singer, I feel confident she will find any number of career options available to her… diplomat, anyone?

Emma – Autumnal Fairy

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An Identity Crisis and Other Ramblings

Posted on August 31, 2012 by | 37 comments

*Warning – This post is written with humor.  If it offends, stop reading immediately and find another post.  There are lots of posts on this blog that are humorless.  Seriously.  Stop.  I mean go.  I mean…

My friend, Ib, (thank god she has returned from her various travels as I have felt decidedly “off” while she’s been away) and I were joking yesterday about the identity crisis I am currently undergoing due to the result I was given from taking the Broader Autism Phenotype test.  I was told “You scored above the cutoff on all three scales. Clearly, you are either autistic or on the broader autistic phenotype.”   It also said something about having an “aloof personality” something I’ve been accused of my whole life.  So I did what any sane human being would do – I retook the test.  This time the results said I had scored above the cutoff on two scales and therefore it was no longer “clear” that I was either autistic or on the broader autistic phenotype, but rather “likely” that I was.

And no.  I do not intend to take it a third time.  However I have resisted (so far) the desire to do a more thorough research of this test, how they are scoring it, exactly who is taking it, etc.  I so want to share my conversation with Ib, but didn’t think to ask if it was okay, so I’ll just share some of the tidbits from me, which is a pity as Ib had the best lines and is hilarious.  Ib is truly one of the funniest people I know, which, given the current view of Autistics being unable to understand irony and sarcasm, makes her so rare, she should be concerned that some autism specialist doesn’t catch wind of this lest they cart her off and stick her in a cage for more thorough examination.  But then those specialists haven’t gone on twitter and read tweets from my friends CoyoteTooth, HardAspie, TwinsMa, or AspieChap, nor have they listened in on FaceBook conversations with Brigianna, Kassiane, Julia, Rachel and countless others, all of whom have the whole sarcasm, appreciation for irony thing down to a science.

But I digress…  So in response to a hilarious, dry comment by Ib about my newly found status/nonstatus/questionable status I wrote:  “Ib… I do love you so.  And you really, really make me laugh, because you have that (oddly nonAutistic) humor, which clearly, despite being saddled with autism, you have managed to hang on to.”

To which she wrote something I cannot repeat.  And then mentioned one of the other myths regarding Autistic children, (it’s always regarding children and not adults because the common perception is that there are no Autistic adults and evidently never will be) which is that they are all so “exceptionally beautiful.”  This is something many have written about in a great many books, memoirs and on every single one of Emma’s reports and evaluations.  Each is prefaced with – “Emma, a beautiful little girl, of 5 years and 2 months, bounded around the classroom, only stopping to pick up a chair, which she hurled against the wall.  She spoke in one or two-word utterances, refused to obey any of the rules….” and the report would continue with the evaluator’s “observations” of Emma’s various activities as one might write about an animal under observation in the zoo.

So I responded to Ibby with this:  “…but that whole “oh they’re angels sent to us from God is crap.  I’ve heard the whole “unusually good looking” thing and I, personally do not see this as the case.  Sure there are lots of cute Autistic kids, there are also lots of really “cute” non Autistic kids.  I mean isn’t this the puppy syndrome?  Most puppies are pretty damn cute.  I think it’s that NTs expect an Autistic kid to look “weird” and so when they don’t they say, “oh she’s an angel, sent to teach us lessons that we’ve still not learned and never will, but while we’re NOT learning them at least we can feel better that the kid is so damn cute.

 SOS – Need Ibby home NOW..  Losing all patience with humanity’s stupidity…..  eeeeeeeeeeee”

Ib then responded with a whole diatribe that was so funny I laughed out loud and she ended said diatribe with the word – “sarcasm.”

I responded:  “I know you identified that last bit with “sarcasm” because now with my newly found identity you are assuming I’ve lost all ability to understand that that was in fact sarcastic.  Richard only this morning pointed that out to me and I tell you, it was an enormous relief to me.  Because now that it seems I am (at the very least) precariously close to being near if not ON the spectrum I will be humorless, incapable of understanding nuances and suddenly, miraculously very good at math, plus my IQ will take a massive leap upwards, for which I am extremely grateful.”

*To all whom I’ve now offended, this was not meant as offensive, but was poking fun at just a few of the ridiculous generalities, assumptions, theories and labels that continue to plague anyone who is Autistic.  And anyway if you reached this far and are still offended you clearly did not read the warning label, which suggests you are not good at following rules, coupled with your inability to see the humor, I therefore encourage you to take the Broader Autism Phenotype test.

My two exceptionally beautiful children (sarcasm, sort of)

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It’s A Man’s World – The Cabin, Outhouses, Peeing & Bladders

Posted on August 10, 2012 by | 20 comments

I have the bladder of a camel.  Only now that I think of it, this may be factually incorrect as I’m not certain camels really do have exceptionally large bladders, for all I know, they just pee where ever they are because they can, and that I’m confusing this with the fact that they go for long periods of time without drinking water, but that first sentence has a certain power to it and it gets the point across.  Okay, moving right along here…

You may wonder why I bring this up.  You may be thinking, this is not the sort of post I am interested in reading.  You may be thinking I don’t care about camels or bladders in general and particularly not hers and anyway what has this got to do with autism?  Or you may be thinking – Oh DO get on with it.. or you may be heading over to google because now you want to know all about camels, or you may be..  okay, okay.

Allow me to explain.  Both my children have, it appears, inherited my ability to not pee for inordinately long periods of time.  I can also go for long periods of time not drinking any liquids, coupled with my excruciatingly slow metabolism I could basically out live anyone should I ever be stranded somewhere, like a broken elevator, where there was access to neither.  (Oh I know.  Welcome to my mind.)  This ability to go long periods without having to pee comes in handy: long car trips, aversions to using public restrooms, and sleepovers at our cabin.

I’ve mentioned our cabin before.  It’s a rustic, one room log cabin, which my family built (literally) in the late 70’s.  It has no electricity or running water.  There is a sink with cold water piped in from the creek that runs nearby, but I think we turned that off and since no one lives in the cabin, it’s not something we bother with.  My father dug and built an open sided outhouse just up the mountain.  The outhouse is far enough away that you definitely do not want to try to go there in the middle of the night or at any time of the day or night during the winter because of the snow drifts, unless you’re wearing neck high gators.  Trust me, post-holing up the mountain at 3AM, while trying to locate the outhouse because you forgot to bring a flashlight (and toilet paper) in below zero temperatures to pee is not a good idea.  I speak from experience.

Emma LOVES the cabin, as do I and Richard, who couldn’t quite figure out the allure the cabin held, was converted last summer when he had his first sleepover there.  Nic…  not so much.  Every time we come out here to stay with my mother, it’s a given that we will have a sleepover at the cabin.  Emma anticipates this event days in advance.  “Sleep, wake-up, sleep, wake-up, sleep, wake-up, sleep, wake-up, have sleep over at the cabin!” she will say upon our arrival and before we’ve even had a chance to unpack.  “Yes!” one of us will confirm, while Nic looks at us with a look of Please-tell-me-I-do-not-have-to-go-too on his face.  (That kid has way too much attitude for a twelve-year old.)

I think I look forward to sleepovers in the cabin as much as Emma does.  Last night was our designated sleepover night.  After unpacking our things, sweeping out mice droppings, cobwebs, dead wasps, opening the windows and airing the place out I realized I hadn’t peed before leaving my mother’s house.  “Hey Em, do you have to pee?” I asked, figuring I’d take her with me, since I was going to make the trek to the outhouse anyway.  “No!” Emma said emphatically.  So off I went while contemplating the positioning of the outhouse, its considerable distance from the cabin, how inconveniently located it was, how Richard AND Nic have never even used the outhouse, how only a man would build an outhouse this far away and while it was certainly positioned in such a way that one could appreciate the view as one sat in it, how many people were seriously going to do that when it was freezing cold or in the middle of the night?  No, I concluded, this was the sort of outhouse only a man would build and then never use.  And then I bushwhacked my way back to my family.

Which brings me back to my bladder and the ability I, and both my children, have  in not needing to relieve ourselves for hours on end.  It’s a gift, pure and simple.  One that I was particularly grateful for last night, knowing that not only would Emma not require me to accompany her up the mountain at some ungodly hour, but that I would not need to go either.

It’s important to contemplate these things.

Bucks – there were three of them, but I was only able to capture two, the third is just to the right.

View of our ranch

Emma heading up to the cabin

View of the Rockies from the cabin’s porch

Em heading home

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A Call To Action – “Wake Up The Boys And Grab The Plunger”

Posted on June 22, 2012 by | 28 comments

6:22AM –   “Honey, I’m hopping  into the shower.  And I mean that literally,” I announced.

“Time to wake up the boys and grab the plunger,”  Richard replied.

“You’re a funny man,”  I said, laughing.  “God I love our life.”

“It’s a good one,” Richard grinned.

A little back story:

Our bedroom is like Grand Central Station.  Allow me to explain and for the record – no, it is not because we’re running some sort of upscale brothel.   Our bedroom is the first place both the children want to be when entering our home.  Is anyone thinking, these people clearly need boundaries?  Well for those who are, you have a valid point.  I don’t agree with it, but it’s valid and for those who were not thinking it, I’ve probably planted that little seed into your minds and NOW you are at least considering the idea.  To you I say… whatever, eye roll and shrug before walking away.  But I digress…

Our children are drawn to our bedroom like bees to the hive.  It’s like some  kind of  vortex, a siren song calling to them.  A place that instills comfort, a feeling of safety and serenity, like a soft, sensual womb.  Or maybe it’s the really big TV screen that calls to Nic and our king sized bed with silky sheets that beckons to Emma, it’s hard to say and I haven’t done a scientific study (pause)  yet.  As a result our bed is in a constant state of unmade disarray, rumpled sheets, pillows abandoned on the floor, mattress askew.  Richard, who, it has to be said, is just a tad compulsive – cough, cough, totally OCD, cough – about the bed being made each morning, is driven to distraction by this state of affairs.  We make our bed at least four times throughout the day.  Richard is rolling his eyes and muttering – What’s she talking about “we”?  I’m the one who’s making it all the time, not her.   But why quibble about the details?  All of that is beside the point.

It is not just our bedroom that draws the occupants of our house, it is our bathroom as well.  We have three bathrooms and yet, the children prefer ours.  Again, I have no answers.  So it is not unusual for Richard and I, as happened last night, to come home from our “date night” to find our toilet clogged.  To be blunt, both our children are cloggers, ‘nuf said.   I’m German, or at least part German and could go on and on about this, but the Swiss part of me is calling for a little restraint, so I will.  Restrain.  Myself.

Because we are busy and somewhat disorganized, we have not gotten it together to purchase more than one plunger for the house.  And last night that one, coveted plunger was not in our bathroom.   Not wanting to risk waking either child to locate said plunger, we opted to leave the toilet seat down and figure it out in the morning.  I know, this is bordering on TMI (too much information).  What?  I’ve already entered into the TMI zone?  Okay, well again, whatever… All of this is in explanation for Richard’s call to action, “Wake up the boys and grab the plunger!”  Personally, I think it’s an excellent way to start the morning. I intend to repeat this, completely out of context, in the coming weeks and months, because, well that’s the way I roll.

As a quick aside,  Emma will be singing in her end of the year performance at her school this morning.  I cannot wait!

Emma took this photograph of our bedroom two days ago.  Can we all appreciate the symmetry, the angle, the lighting…

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Chest Hair, Zombies and Laughter

Posted on March 6, 2012 by | 8 comments

A friend of mine in describing a man we both knew who had a surprising amount of chest hair, so much that it resembled ivy growing up a trellis and a love of wearing white tank tops, exclaimed, “He looks like a chia pet in a wife beater!”  It was one of those moments when I laughed, the kind of laughter where you are actually doubled over, gasping for breath, that kind of laughter.  Those words were said to me over 15 years ago now, yet I still remember it as though it were yesterday.  I know, it’s not nice to make fun of people, but these are tough times, calling for tough measures.  I’m on the front lines here, so this morning I decided to pull out the big guns.

Can we all agree?  This is nothing short of hilarious.  I don’t know which is more troubling, the fact that Donald Trump has insisted on wearing his hair this way for decades or the fact that I felt the need to actually go on the internet and download this photograph.  Like I said, these are desperate times, requiring desperate measures.  And might I just add?  This man has done me a tremendous service.  I cannot look at this photograph and feel sad at the same time.  It simply is not possible.

Yesterday, while talking to Richard, I disagreed with him.  (It doesn’t matter about what, and anyway I can’t remember.)  He began to argue with me about why I was incorrect.  I then raised my voice and accused him of going “global” and that this was a specific comment, not a broader condemnation of everything he’d just said.  Richard looked at me with a look of annoyance mixed with amusement and then gave me the finger.  He held it there, about four inches from my nose.  “Get that thing out of my face or I’m going to bite it,” I said.  But he didn’t move his finger for a few seconds, just to get his point across.  I looked over at him and then we began laughing.  Because really, what else can one do?

I don’t pretend to know how Emma experiences the world.  I cannot speak for her.  I can barely speak for myself.  But I am grateful that she, too, finds arbitrary and seemingly random things funny – like zombies and Winnie the Pooh and her friends Charlie and Gabriel and Justus from her school.  I am thankful for those things and the people who make her laugh.

“Who’s the best girl in the whole world?” I asked her this morning when she came into our bed and snuggled up against me.

“I am!” she shouted.

Yes, she is.

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

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