Tell the truth

"The only honest people in the world are small children and drunk people."

I would also like to add those with Autism. It is one of the things I like most about individuals on the spectrum. They tell the truth. Lying is a pet peeve of mine. I've heard some tall tales over the years. Like when my son made up some story about signing the OOPS pad at school so he wouldn't have to go the next day to accept his punishment on the no fun fence at recess. Or when he cut his hair and blamed it on fake scissors. Now Emily on the other hand never makes up such stories. She is just not capable. She ate her brothers special snack one day while he wasn't looking and caused great strife with him. He asked her if she ate it and she said matter of fact, "Yes". She just always "tells the truth". Which ironically is one of her favorite Eric Clapton songs. Mine too.

However, knowing that she is honest, I still sometimes second guess her. Like yesterday when I went into the bedroom downstairs and was nearly knocked out by a smell so fierce it made my eyes water. I asked her if she pooped and she said no. She will at times attempt to clean herself up so I thought maybe she had gone into the bathroom, where the smell was even more pungent, and pooped. I even asked her if she was telling the truth. We went to dinner and she said her tummy hurt the entire time. We got home and she had the loudest, smelliest gas that no 10 year old girl should ever have. She did poop a short while later. It was at that point that I realized she was telling the truth earlier.

So it can be said that the only honest people in the world are small children, drunk people and those with autism.

1800 I need a miracle

This post is about the desperation we as Autism parents feel when we can't help our children. Emily did not sleep the first six years of her life. I would have done anything if I could have gotten her to sleep longer than 2-3 hours every night. This story by my friend, Angie, is a humorous tale of one such night of desperation.

*As a side note she says "please know that calling for a miracle is not my standard practice. This was a desperate act-----I do believe God grants these "miracles" in the form of therapist, teachers, many "angels" - Learning Tree/Woodys Song".

I'd like to thank my fan

No really I'd like to thank the portable space heater that nearly burned the house down before Christmas, but Emily calls it a fan. I plug it up on cold mornings to keep the kids toasty while they get ready for school. I can hear Emily talking to herself as she comes downstairs, "Good morning. Oooohhhh there's the fan". She says the same thing every morning before she plops down in front of it. I'm not so sure she likes it for the warmth as much as for the relaxing light and sound. I put the beloved "fan" away when temperatures reached the 70's recently. The morning she came downstairs to no fan was not pretty. There was crying, hitting, refusal to go to school and I was frazzled before 7 am. The "fan" is now a permanent fixture in the living room. It might be 90 degrees but I will have it turned on daily for her relaxation before school and to prevent meltdowns of epic proportions. I'd like to thank my "fan" for that little break.

If I'm really lucky I might get to thank my "fan" for losing a few pounds while I'm running around every morning trying to get 3 kids ready for school sweating profusely from the heat of that little magic maker.

Thanks for reading~
Jessica

I'm sexy and I know it

Those who are closest to me know that those words would never be spoken by me. My struggles with low self esteem prevent thoughts like that. However those 6 words play through my mind like a broken record every day. For hours. Here's why...

Car rides create severe anxiety for Emily. Music is one of only a handful of things that soothes her. She has a wide variety of songs on her iPad that she uses in the car. The one song she plays is "I'm sexy and I know it". But not the whole song, just backing it up to replay those 6 words. Over and over. One hour in the morning and one hour in the afternoon. Every day. Sometimes if she's feeling bored with it, she will somehow speed it up to sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks. All while I'm driving with my eye twitching from this noise. Now if she only played this then it might not be so bad but...that's just background music for her. She likes listening to the car radio as well. She is quite bossy from the third row. "Turn it up. Turn it down. Change it. Go back." She will have me flip until I find a song that she likes. If that's not enough to add a head jerk along with the eye twitching, she also likes to ask me questions. Constant questions that leave no room in my head for anything else. Yet the only thing my mind can focus on is those 6 horrendous words that NO 39 year old mother of 3 feels after 2 hours of the above...

"I'm sexy and I know it".

Pictures of Autism

I just wanted a picture of us in blue for Autism Awareness Day. However anyone who has a child on the spectrum knows how hard it is to get them to A) Stand still B) look at the camera and C) smile.

Today's Autism funny was the distraction that my new deodorant brought to our little photo session. The distraction came shortly after the first picture. She smelled something different on me and pinpointed it to my armpit. Her request to smell it made me laugh. She liked the smell so much that in her excitement she nearly took me down.

Splish Splash

I'm just going to say it. The Easter Bunny is a bi$ch. Every year she puts the same thing in Emily's Easter basket knowing it will cause her to have many meltdowns that day. The Easter Bunny is also very practical and frugal though, and likes to give things that will last longer than a chocolate bunny or a basket full of junk. Several years ago she started putting bathing suits in the baskets. It's been chaos and crying every Easter since.

This Easter was no exception. The wide-eyed surprise of finding the bathing suit brought squeals of joy that would make any bunny proud. However the joy was fleeting as the association between bathing suit and swimming crossed her mind. I could see it like a movie scene. The smile. The glance at the bathing suit. The look outside the window. I knew it was coming although she never said a word. After three intense rounds of crying throughout the day I finally succumbed to the stress and did what I knew would make her happy.

Lovey

My youngest will be six years old on February 2.  Having a child after a confirmed diagnosis of autism in an older sibling is scary. So many questions go through your mind. Was there something I did in pregnancy the time before that caused it?  Did I not pay enough attention when they were an infant?  Is there something I can do this time to change it?  It makes you assess every little thing you do.  I know there is nothing I could have done differently in any of my pregnancies to have prevented two premature births and another child born with an autism spectrum disorder.  I believe that all of my children were perfectly made.  Just the way they are.

The story of "Lovey" is a tale of hope, security, love and laziness.  Not necessarily in that order.  My oldest daughter had a pink Precious Moments doll as a baby.  We actually had about 10 at one time because "Pinky" became her security blanket and heaven forbid one went missing.  Thirteen years later the original Pinky is still an integral part of her life. When Emily was born she did not form an attachment to any one thing.  There was no comfort item or security blanket.  The pacifier wasn't even that much of a help.  When my son was born I had the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, that was part of Emily's anxiety.  She didn't have a comfort item except for me.  I bought a supply of different lovies for my son to use in hopes that he might find security in one. 

He really did not show an intense interest in any of them.  However, I always made sure they were available.  Then one day when he was an infant it was time to eat.  Actually it was past time to eat.  Preparing the bottle I realized that I didn't have a burp rag.  I certainly didn't have the minute it would take for me to run upstairs to get one so I did what any desperate mom would do.  I grabbed a shirt off of the ever constant pile of laundry that was always on the couch thinking it was one of my husbands.  It was mine and by the time I realized it, there was no turning back.  It was a simple white cotton shirt that I had bought at Target, but one of the few "nicer" post pregnancy shirts I had.  Well since I had already used it, I just decided to use it as the burp rag of the day.  I washed it that night and low and behold bottle time the next day landed me in the same predicament.  And that white t shirt had ended up in the pile on the couch once again so I grabbed it. It ended up in the bed with him a few times that day and I noticed that he really liked holding it while he slept.  He also held on to it while I fed him.  I again washed the shirt at the end of the day and at this point decided the formula stains weren't worth getting out so it became one of the burp rags.  I am not sure at what point it became more of a lovey than a burp rag, but he loved it.  He needed it.  He wanted it.  Six years later, "Lovey" is full of holes.  He(so decided by my son on the gender) is always there at bedtime.  He is sometimes worn as a shirt because he is so comfortable. But most importantly he has given my son a feeling of security. 

 

Thanks for reading~

Jessica