A Memo To Our New Puppy

Dear Puppy,

Blame it on the timing. 

A few weeks before we met you, after passing me our weary, 14-year-old dog on her leash, the vet handed me a paperback booklet with the title, A Final Act of Caring. No need to go into the details, but that pretty much translates into, “it’s time to make sure that all your doggy affairs are in order.”

The sepia tone is intended to
emulate an "in memoriam" effect
(and hopefully mask the amount of
excess fur on her Cowgirl Dora bed).

Not too long after that, late in the night, I hugged that dear, old dog to sleep for good. I know it sounds callous, but it was quick, painless (for her, at least) and I swear her eyes emitted gratitude. An inoperable bladder tumor is no fun, and she had been moping around looking – well – depressed. An ultrasound confirmed her bleak, unsustainable status. It wasn’t easy, but it was time.

The next morning we had to break the news to the kids, and hope that our gentle, prescient warnings and weeks of intentionally staged moments of bonding would help ease the shock (it didn't).

It should come as no surprise that page 23 of A Final Act of Caring wisely warns: “Although it may be tempting to quickly get another pet, this is generally not a good idea.”

So naturally, against all better judgment, we ignored that advice, and you bet we were the first ones in the door at our nearest Humane Society animal shelter THAT VERY SAME DAY!

You're Going To Love Me For This

I blog for all the right reasons (whatever those are)....usually. Today, however, I blog as a freebie whore.

Any blogger worth her salt gets weird stuff in her emailbox occasionally, including suggestions to "review" or write about some completely irrelevant product.

You see, companies - big and small - recognize the power, reach and influence of the social media platform...and presume "mommy bloggers" are frothing at the mouth to talk about how completely awesome that new laundry detergent is...and all you have to do is send her said laundry detergent for free (or even - wow - a half-price coupon for it). In turn, she presents her readership to them on a plate.

Now, some people apparently make big money doing this, and I salute them. In other news, I have yet to meet "some people."

But you know what? Today, I don't even care. Today, I get to reap the benefits of this blog with a product much more exciting than laundry detergent. I shamelessly CAMPAIGNED for this freebie because I wanted it so badly. And, dear readers, not only did Sensory Goods willingly agree to help me "sell out," but they upped the ante and offered to give one of you an amazing freebie too.

Behold! I give you a custom weighted blanket. These babies are not cheap. I've been wanting to try one on the kids for years, but never wanted to cough up the money on something that could be a big bust. (And make it myself? That's funny. Have we met?) Also, I was overwhelmed. What weight? What size? What color? Where's my coffee?

Sensory Goods gets us....they're one of us. This company, founded by a family with two children on the autism spectrum, has a mission to "meet autistic and sensory integration needs while meeting the financial need of those caring for people affected by these developmental disorders." Let's say it together: Aw. 

Sometimes I Can't Sleep

Sometimes I can't sleep.

I can't even blame it on the kids this time. It's not that I'm not tired; I'm beyond exhausted. I haven't slept properly consecutively since around 2000, despite my habit of leaping into the bed like a gold-medal gymnast by 8 pm.

When I do sleep, nothing - and I mean NOTHING - can wake me. I have slept through tornado watches; mysterious fire alarm battery chirps (come on, it happen to everyone); and malfunctioning burglar alarms. It's disconcerting actually. Lest you think I'm well rested, bear in mind that this only occurs in spurts...and I'm convinced I need many more hours of sleep than the average person. (Please do remember that there's nothing "average" about my whac-a-mole life!)

But nights like this one are different. A few hours ago, I battled to keep my eyes open just to make it through the afternoon, and now they won't close.

Instead, the Doppler Radar inside my brain - unfettered by mundane activities like making lunches and shuttling carpools - blips and twirls. I fret that my sweet baby girl sprawled out in bed next to me is almost my size - practically a third adult in the bed (yes, my bed because at least I know she's safe). I wonder if her nightly visits will ever cease...and whether she'll ever sleep under any roof but my own.

Birthday Shopping Spree

Our little Goldilocks recently turned 9. We opted not to stage a huge party, because that's the last thing she'd want. And her "friends?" They'd hate it too. So we focused on the important things: Cake (of course) and presents.

However, when a person's dream day involves a trip to the dentist followed by bloodwork (See Obsession Safety Checklist)....well, it can get tricky.

I previously wrote about this atypical parenting challenge here: What Does Little Suzie Want for Christmas?

So, here we go again. Of course we want to make the day special for her, but if we push our ideas of what she SHOULD want on her 9th birthday - even inadvertently - she'll only be frustrated and disappointed.

Do you remember your 9th birthday? Any of your childhood birthdays? The best ones were those where we felt special and celebrated. Sometimes that coincided with receiving a Barbie Dreamhouse. Or a Matchbox cars set. I posit that the warm memories remain not because we received an ephemeral gift, but because people listened to us, understood us, and cared enough to validate us with a gift that - at that age - meant the world to us.

So I dug around and was able to come up with a few toy-store sanctioned gifts that allowed us to advise doting grandparents and relatives, insistent on traditional gift items.

Mom and Dad thought we'd try something fun. We took her to Target (she loves it there - like the rest of us), and told her to pick something out for herself. Anything (well, almost anything.) She held my hand and led me around the store. The only somewhat typical choice - the red bouncy ball - came from the middle aisle as we brisked right past the toy section.

Sprinkle Once, Sprinkle Twice, Sprinkle (& Win) 'Chicken Soup For The Soul: Raising Kids on The Spectrum'

I'm a rabid reader. You're shocked, I'm sure, but it's true.

Growing up, weekly trips to the county library were a treat. And back then, we actually checked out books from the school library, too (something that all too quickly seems to be going the way of the Dewey Decimal card catalog system).

I have an indelible memory of actually crying in indignant shame when a school librarian wouldn't allow me to check out a book because "the reading level is too high for your grade." She wasn't censoring the (innocuous) content; it was the "reading level." (Oh, I'm sorry - are the big words going cause to an apocalypse in my young brain? Thanks to Mom and her indulging librarian intervention, the book came home with me the next day. Turns out, it wasn't very good, anyway.)

Like many readers, I go through genre frenzies and author binges. For example, I doubt I'll ever read a Danielle Steel again, but I greedily tore through her entire oeuvre available to date in my late teens. (My, she's prolific.)

So when my daughter was first diagnosed with autism, you bet I read everything on that parenting/special needs/autism shelf. Side Note: Have you noticed how that one, measly shelf has exploded into two bookcases these days? I don't have much patience/tolerance for those anymore. I live it and breathe it, and I've moved on to other Goodreads lists. Yet, there are a few exceptions and occasionally I crave a good autism cry (there a a few varieties ranging from the ugly cry to the battle cry.) Some of my favorite of those books are here.

And, if we're being honest, I am a sucker for an unopened, unread book of any kind - and I have way more of them hanging around my home than I have time to read them. I wish you were my neighbor and I could lend some to you and you could brew me a cup of coffee. Alas, we'll have to settle for a book giveaway. It's your lucky day, and I've rustled up a shiny, new book just for you. For keeps.




I had the wonderful opportunity to preview Chicken Soup for the Soul: Raising Kids on the Spectrum. I didn't even groan once when I heard about it because it's got some great stuff in there - whether you're newly diagnosed or old hat.


The book, just published in April, is straight up "Chicken Soup"y, so there's no need to officially review it for you, as far as I'm concerned. It's an amalgamation of advice, inspiration, self-help, sympathy, empathy and love packaged into 101 personal stories from a variety of writers (mostly very good writers - including some of my own very talented friends). Of course, like most "Chicken Soups", it should be read next to a box of Kleenex and chased with something tart. Still, I only skipped over a very, very few essays and loved the rest.

To showcase this fine book, I was going to hit up one of the contributors to guest post/host this giveaway.* I then was going to interview them with all sorts of journalistic-y, revealing questions. Oh, and I was going to create a fill-in-the-blank contest where you were going to blind me with your brilliance and win the book on merit. Oh yes I was!

Buuuuut, if you've read my last post, you'll know I Lost Time - and still haven't found it. So for now, I decided to go with the never-fail approach of flashing "FREE BOOK GIVEAWAY" at you in hopes that I can reclaim your attention - and just hit "publish" already. So go ahead and enter. I promise it's just perfect for your grade level - whatever that might be. Take that, Madam Librarian!

HOW TO ENTER
1. Comment below by midnight JUNE 21, 2013 - be sure to login or include your email address so I can contact you if you win.
2. Winner will be randomly selected using highly advanced, sophisticated (or rather free, low-tech) web tools and will be notified by JUNE 24, 2013. You'll then reply promptly with your mailing address.
3. Book will be sent from publisher representative directly to winner. You'll love it!

*I'm totally going to hit them up for guest posts another time, I promise.

xoxo Maurice Sendak

I Lost Time

I logged out for a few minutes...and then it was June. I try to remember something remarkable that's happened since then, but really, I don't know where I've been or what I've been doing.

Have you ever seen Primal Fear? It seems like your garden-variety legal thriller circa 1996, but it sticks. Ed Norton steals the movie playing Aaron, a naive altar boy, accused of the violent murder of the Archbishop, who claims to have no memory of the incident since he "lost time." But while Aaron checked out, Roy - one of Aaron's multiple personalities - apparently took over his body. We see that Roy is a violent sociopath who proudly admits to the murder. (If you haven't seen it, it's an excellent film and one of the original gotchas...but that's not really the point of this post.)

Image courtesy of deviantART.

Like Aaron, I feel like I lost time. No, I can't claim any alter egos - criminal or otherwise. I just mean it seems like time passed and I'm not quite sure where it all went. (NOTE TO SELF: If I ever do take on another personality, it would be nice if she would handle the laundry and cooking.) 

It's like when you plan to play "just one game" of Candy Crush and suddenly it's midnight. Or you open up Pinterest. Or when you blink and your kid is a teenager...and you're in your forties. 

As we age, we realize that while time seemed to pass uber-slowly when we were young (especially during Calculus class), it zooms right by once you're older. All those little, old ladies who smugly told us to "enjoy it; it goes by so fast" when they saw us balancing screaming toddlers, strollers and diaper bags while double-fisting coffees - well, turns out they were right. (I still stand by my sleep-deprived, indignant glares, though.)

So, I lost time. I can't really account for it or explain it by citing anything remarkable that's happened.

Checklists slowly got checked. Or re-prioritized. Or forgotten.

No photos have been printed and put in albums; the laundry pile remains life-sized; the paper stacks have not shrunk.

The Power of One Word

"When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain."

So said William Shakespeare....and channeled by many a hopeful job interviewer, when they ask: "If you had only one word to describe yourself, what would it be?"

Follow-up question: Do you hate that question as much as I do? I mean, how COULD any one word sum up the complexities of an individual? And yet, ABC News listed it as one of the top 25 "great" interview questions.

I think, on the contrary, that one-word descriptions often do the opposite of describing a person accurately - they represent a stereotype, or a preconceived picture of attributes associated with that word.

Autistic * Jewish * Gay * Blonde * Russian

Each of these words likely will conjure a set of characteristics in your mind...characteristics that may not apply to the next person you meet who self-identifies with one of these terms. Okay, I know, in a job interview you're supposed to pick words like "resilient," "innovative" or "diligent." But still, why just one word? WHERE ARE THE OTHER WORDS, DAMMIT?

The WHATIFs Grow Up

The whatifs  have a way of sneaking up on us, edging their way in through cracks in the veneer.

We ward them off with a smile on our face; with sleeping pills; with best-laid plans.

Some of us, vulnerable to anxiety's Machiavellian maneuvers, have learned to ignore the whatifs, or rather deny them. We stay busy to hide from them. We run. We play. Or we use exhaustion as a means of defense (they can't attack while we sleep).

Still, the whatifs  are patient - content to lie in wait, satisfied knowing they soon will have the chance to stretch their tentacles, regenerate and multiply.

A movie theater shooting. A marathon bombing. A child abused by a teacher. An autistic girl found face-down in a lake. A friend diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer.

Each of these tears down our defenses and allows the whatifs to burrow in...stronger, scarier, realer.

Shel Silverstein/Where The Sidewalk Ends

The night before a school camping trip, my son asks, "Whatif  I sleepwalk into the cave and get eaten by a bear or lost forever?" What an outlandish whatif,  I think, instantly realizing that MY whatifs once were outlandish, too. Are they still?

It's much harder to combat whatifs when they've become so real.

The whatifs  no longer are about my own mortality or suffering. They dance around the people I love. Whatif  something endangers them? Or prevents me from protecting them? How can I shield my nonverbal daughter from a predatory world? Whatif  my son doesn't make it to the hospital in time when his shunt fails? Whatif  I abandon them, or rather, WHEN I abandon them in death? What will happen then?

Flowers Are Pretty (Except When Scattered on My Floor in Shards of Glass)

WIN A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS - COMMENT BELOW TO ENTER

Some complicated, new disclosure laws have caused upheaval in the blogosphere, requiring all kinds of fancy language around sponsored posts. Well, of course! The good news here, though, is we don't have to worry about any of that today. Here's your disclaimer: The sponsor is giving me absolutely NOTHING. You get a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. Me? Nada. Except, hopefully, your adoration and gratitude, so give it generously!

As you can imagine, I hear from and turn down so many sponsors wanting to give you stuff (that's a lie), but when Teleflora contacted me, I jumped on it for two reasons  First, it allows me to give YOU something quite lovely. And second, I immediately remembered that I snapped this pic awhile ago and have been waiting for just the right moment to share it. Win and win. (Really, can you BELIEVE sponsors aren't beating down my door!)

Happy Valentine's Day, Sucka!

So, my husband brought me flowers on Valentine's Day. I tell him time and time again, I don't care about celebrating Valentine's Day, but I know he's not sure if I mean it.

I swear I honestly mean it, but he wasn't willing to take the risk...so he gave me this completely original bouquet of red roses (wherever did he come up with the idea?). In a vase. A glass vase. Oh they sure were pretty. And "pretty" always translates into "too pretty for our home."

She Talks Funny

My Child Is Not Your 'Teachable Moment'

We're perched at a rectangular, kid's-size table in the art room of an indoor play gym, and she is painting a collection of methodically selected picture print-outs. Embracing her focus and age-appropriate activity - ephemeral as it will be - I attentively respond to her endless, artistic demands like an attendant in an operating room. I don't want to break the spell.

Her word approximations erupt loudly, jumbly and jolty: "Wa du"..."On-ch"..."hep." Instinctively, I know to present water for her paintbrush; fresh, orange paint; and the help she wants un-sticking her painted papers - all the while, rewarding and validating my autistic, apraxic child's emerging language and articulation.

A younger boy enters, maybe around 4 or 5, his mom by his side. (I know this because be calls her "mom" with the startlingly perfect clarity and tone that sucker-punches me every time. It shouldn't surprise me to hear children half her age orating like rock stars, but somehow it still does.)

Party On, Dudes (And Be Excellent To Each Other)

There are some things IRL friends just don't understand. Generally, if you're not a blogger, online parties make absolutely no sense. Amiright?

And if I'm being honest - which OF COURSE I always am - they still confuse me a little bit too.

That said, I participated in the ULTIMATE (say it loudly with jazz hands, please) Blog Party in 2012 and discovered some fantastic blogs and new friends. Even better, I can stay safe and sound in my "special needs" category - my peeps - and not be intimidated by the likes of those beauty and style bloggers.

So, here we are again. I'm supposed to write a post telling you all about who I am and my little corner of the Internet. Instead, using my trademark methods of cheating  laziness my-child-is-screaming-in-my-ear-for-eleven-chicken-nuggets efficiency, I will share with you some posts that give the ugly, hairy, ridiculous picture of what you'll find here.

Awareness Galore: A Collection of Autism Awareness Month Posts

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Light This Way: Musings on Autism 'Awareness'

It's April - the annual 30 days where we commemorate, celebrate, showcase, discuss, debate and generally spread "awareness" for things like Jazz (appreciation); Poetry; Confederate History (observed only in the Southern United States, according to the source - um, duh...and um, really?); Mathematics (curiously dubbed Awareness not Appreciation); and the obligatory list of disorders/differences/diseases and such, including Diabetes, Parkinson, Asperger's* and Autism.

Get "lit" for autism: A collaborative piece
by the bloggers of My Whac-A-Mole-Life; Pancakes Gone Awry
Yeah. Good Times.; Disability and Representation;
and, of course Edvard Munch.

On top of that, Autism gets its very own worldwide DAY: April 2nd. But surely you know that because anyone with a pen, keyboard, quill or cave wall has told us that already. And in the volatile blogosphere, boy did they! Take your pick. You've got your serious, snarky or poignant. Perhaps you prefer your awareness flavored indignant, sanctimonious, or rose-colored? There are posts ranging from curmudgeonly to cheerleader-y...and many combinations thereof. Are you pro-blue? Are you pointedly not? There's a blog post for you.

So where am I planting my flag today? The honest truth is, I don't know what to think.

We diagnosed my little girl very early, due to her pushy, uber-"aware" mom (ahem). Autism Speaks has a large presence in these parts, and it was the go-to resource. Their messages, videos ("No, I can't go for a bagel"**), and community spoke to me.

Then I became immersed in behavioral and educational endeavors. I read Jenny McCarthy's books. I fell in love with Holly Robinson Peete. My autism identity crises progressed to Floortime vs. ABA; sensory fulfillment vs. academic goals; the pros and cons of eating bark.

The One With The Bad Metaphor (In Which I Compare Special Needs Parenting to Candy Crush)

Forrest Gump famously compared life to a box of chocolates. Well, less famously and with a much longer, convoluted explanation, I'm telling you that special needs parenting is like a game of Candy Crush.

Candy Crush Saga, for the uninitiated, is your basic "match three" game available on Facebook, the web, iDevices, Droids and probably outer space. It has a few twists, however, that have managed to capture the zeitgeist of low-tech gamers and harbored addiction in many circles (See Top 10 Signs You and Your Friends are Addicted to Candy Crush).

As I wait the requisite 30 minutes for a new "life," I pontificate on how the developers over at King.com captured special needs parenting in these colorful, little candy wrappers.

So you get these five lives and you are trying to complete levels with specific challenges and limited moves available. When you run out of moves before achieving your goal, you lose a life. You can wait for a new one; buy one (no way); or ask your friends to help.

It's damn hard doing this alone. While it can be hard to ask for help sometimes - you don't want to impose; they won't understand; you just asked yesterday - this stuff is nearly impossible without a village (see Meditation for an Autism Mom). The best of friends know you are struggling. They send "life" before you have to ask. Maybe it's in the form of a funny text, or a quick call, or a night out...but it's extremely re-energizing, especially if you've been having a particularly tough, level 65 kind of week.

Some people (I've noticed it's mostly men, incidentally) refuse to connect their game to Facebook. Are they ashamed? Do they prefer keeping things private? Perhaps they don't want to deal with any questions or public scrutiny. Regardless, they will not be able to ask anyone for help and they will, perhaps even unknowingly, face increased frustration as they run out of life (or end up spending lots of in-app purchase money). 

Either way, Candy Crush Saga requires lots of attention. Our other games miss us. Scramble With Friends actually resigned a few games on our account, abandoned.  "What happened to you," our friends ask? Well, I miss my old self too, but let's face it, the Candy owns me now. It's not better. It's not necessarily worse. It's just different.

It might be more demanding than some games (although have you ever had to take care of a digital fish tank it or pet shop? Just sayin'), but did you know that every seventh person in Hong Kong plays Candy Crush? Google it. If it's that prevalent, perhaps we should spend more energy on tolerance and inclusion, rather than trying to fight it.

The sweets get ugly sometimes, I know. Players tend to curse, gasp, misbehave and might even throw an iPad across the room. OF COURSE we know that's not appropriate behavior, but sometimes our frustrations get the better of us. Perhaps even more so when our candy has left us sleep-deprived, gluten-dependent and speechless.

On the game's level map, we see all our friends' avatars way, way, ahead of us. We notice this when we're stuck on a particularly irritating level. We wonder, how did they get so far? Was it easier for them? Did the Candy Crush gods give them more color bombs? We must catch up!

We must remember to control that jealousy and resentment. We can't ever know what's going on behind closed doors. Maybe it's because they are up all night with a reckless, child insomniac. Maybe they spent lots of money and are now bankrupt. Maybe they've been playing for a very long time. Our level can be just as fulfilling, even if it's not exactly what you expected. Holland has windmills...and tulips!

As you do master a level, the euphoria can be short-lived because there's always another level ahead! New, unexpected challenges come out of nowhere. Exploding chocolate? Barriers? I thought I had this all figured out!

Sad Heart. Send Lives!

Well, just like those futile times when you only have a few moves left and you know you're not going to make it, you still have to slide those candies around and ride it out. You'll get re-energized and try again. Maybe in 30 minutes. Maybe tomorrow. 

Don't fight it. Yes, there are plenty of people out there who have never discovered Candy Crush (gasp). Or they haven't been lured into its frustratingly satisfying lair. Maybe they're content with their non-dependent lives, and they tell us in superior tones, "I'll just stick with Bejeweled, thank you very much."

True, our Candy Crush existence might be grueling at times, but I like to think we're better for it. We have demonstrated strategy, perseverance, tolerance and good humor.

We appreciate the sweet stuff so much more when it's that harder to attain. We celebrate every small success - the jelly is gone! - and know that they truly can never, ever understand unless they're right there in the candy trenches with us.
Nom nom nom! 

***So, how many of you think I need a Candyvention right around now?

Wordless (As Possible) Wednesday (Or Thereabouts): Personalized Whac-A-Mole Game

Uh, guys? I'm rarely "Wordless" and it's the opposite of Wednesday. (I think it's Saturday - so we can pretend this is really early or really late. I think we all know the obvious answer.)

So this, THIS new product from Hammacher Schlemmer*:

And it gets better! Here's the description:

The Personalized Whac-A-Mole Game
This is the Whac-A-Mole game that can be personalized to replace the standard mole heads with molded caricatures using pictures of members of your family, past managers, boyfriends/girlfriends, or any desired combination of personalities. The game operates exactly like the ones found in amusement parks and carnivals--five mole heads pop up randomly while you attempt to bash each with a mallet for points--but this one comes in a walnut veneer cabinet (with hardwood inlays) that automatically opens and closes at the touch of a button from the included remote. When closed, the game assumes the form of a bookshelf, but when commanded to open, both halves swing open to reveal the game, complete with full-color artwork. A storage shelf for your preferred beverages sits above the game, so libation is always at an arm's reach.

I mean...Wow! Awesome, right? Just one itty bitty concern: It's $35,000! So yeah, if you're into this sort of thing, you might stick with the poor-man's version and just paste little color printouts of your nemeses on the critters in the Toys R Us version...maybe with a Pabst stored in a nearby milk carton for the full effect.

Or how about my "free" version: play it virtual reality style. Every Single Day. In Real Life. So where's my $35,000? 

* I am receiving no compensation, freebies, trades, publicity or even a note of thanks from this company in return for this post. Natch. (If you ask me, that's just wrong.)

Obsession Safety Checklist

When I say my child is obsessed with doctors, dentists and medical procedures, you probably think I'm overstating it. Perhaps you were the mom glaring at me in Target when I screamed at my daughter: "No, I will not take you to the doctor today!" If so, I refer you to this post: All Kids Do That: Obsessions from the fabulous "All Kids Do That" series over at Yeah. Good Times. (Update: the Expo obsession finally did run its course. However, healthcare appears to be a keeper.)

Got it? Now, obsessions tend to overtake every activity. Somehow, everything comes back to the obsession one way or another. (Isn't that kind of what makes it an obsession?)

So, therapeutic and behavioral interventions aside, here's a look at some safety steps one should take to protect a child, a family, and a budget from little obsessive junkies seeking a fix. For discussion purposes, we observe my 8-year-old daughter's inexplicable and precocious interest in all things medical....with an even sharper focus on dentistry.

Steve Martin as Dr. Orin Scrivello - Watch this clip!

• Lock phone. She will navigate to my contacts and call the dentist's office. She can't talk, so not much will happen, but it just doesn't seem like a good idea.
• Block YouTube. She probably can't spell monkey, but she correctly keys in phlebotomy (could you?). And you don't even want to know about the "related" videos that are recommended when one searches for "tooth surgery." Redirect to cutesy tooth fairy cartoons, perhaps? Don't insult her.
• Set iPad restrictions. Wow, there are lots of  bad apps out there. And they can be expensive.  She says, "Free Free" and hands me the iPad to type in my pass code for the purchase. Not so fast, little girl, but nice try. Critically important: Don't forget to turn off in-app purchases lest you inadvertently are the proud new owner of a pair of extra cartoon pliers to yank out cartoon dog teeth. (Pulling teeth out is a specialty of hers when playing Virtual Dentist.)
• Purge photo stream. The multitudes of doctor/dental practice logos she enjoys looking at on the Internet are harmless, but...graphic, diagnostic stills of various stages of dental disease? A kid would be better off watching The Walking Dead.
• Purchase more toner. Those logos I mentioned above? She loves those. Also fun: printing and copying. She likes to print the logos "big" and make 10 copies. (Why 10? Why not.) That's a lot of toner right there, my friend, but NOBODY wants to run out of toner. If you run out of toner, you can expect a tantrum from any number of family members. Including yourself.
• Lament the under-representation of age-appropriate books exploring what happens DURING medical procedures. We've stumped many a librarian...even those within the actual children's hospital.
• Trust your instincts. So, after weeks of her whining, complaining and tugging at her teeth, you cave and schedule an emergency appointment. How bad would you feel if she really was in pain? I mean, she is largely nonverbal, and she's been unrelentingly typing, approximating and signing "dentist," "pull teeth," and "hurt." Perhaps a visit to the dentist will quell the obsession beast, at the very least. You think to yourself, I doubt there's anything wrong, but what if...? Sucker! (While there, confirm that the tooth she keeps wiggling is indeed a baby tooth and not a permanent one.)
• Hide keys: Alas, no dentist appointment today...but why should that stop us from trying to go anyway?
• Scout out new locations and routes in advance: if there is a dentist's office nearby, proceed with caution. You know what looks awesome?     

THIS PLACE:

BUT IF THIS PLACE:

 is next door, you will spend your entire allotted hour trying to reason about why jumping is preferable to drilling. Well, to be clear, YOU'RE trying to reason; she's screaming.

• Avoid anyone with bandages, scabs, bruises, etc. She is overly curious and not afraid to explore hands-on.
• Master the art of waving. My best parenting moment? "No, sweetie, we can't go inside the children's hospital today, but we can wave at it." Since then, all trips out of the house involve passing and waving at some sort of medical establishment. I can't even explain this properly as it's so very weird. Just trust me when I tell you that as a meltdown avoidance technique, it's negotiation gold.
• Supervise On-Demand picks. Like many kids, she knows her way around a remote control. She searches for "teeth." Sure there's a tolerable episode of Bubble Guppies called A Tooth on the Looth! and you might even shamelessly pay the $1.99 to purchase it for 24 minutes(!) of peace. But that's not quite what she had in mind. Unfortunately for her, I conclude that watching Corbin Bernsen's fine work The Dentist could scar ME for life.

I know what you want to say, because I hear it all the time: "So maybe she'll be a doctor." I cringe... because we both know that, sadly, she won't. Still, if she somehow does become a healthcare professional (never say never), I imagine her mentor would be Dr. Orin Scrivello, So, thanks for your encouragement. I might even arrange for you to be her first patient. Good luck.

Wordless Wednesday: Lockdown

She is a stealthy, speedy scavenger, famous for her "snatch and go" move. Refrigerator locks? Child's play.
This improvised lock slows her down just enough for me to catch up and command a teachable moment. So many educational opportunities:

1. Using language
2. Communicating requests and feelings
3. Counting how many cups of juice we've already had
4. Telling time; sequencing that lunch comes AFTER breakfast
5. Flexibility and handling disappointment

It's always fun to pretend that I'm in charge. 

Liebster Love: Let Me Call You Sweetheart (In German)

You know how the movie industry likes to award itself lots of trophies and then create parties, TV specials and weeks of media coverage about it? The Liebsters are kind of the same, except without trophies, TV specials and media coverage because the winners must have under 200 subscribers...so nobody really cares except ourselves. Oh, and we're bloggers - not famous, glamorous, highly paid superstars with designer gowns.

That said, if I only had two readers - I'd want them to be you, and the brilliant blogster, Linda, of Autism and Oughtisms. Receiving this recognition from Linda must feel exactly like receiving an Academy Award (without the SWAG). I'm just guessing though.
So, let's review the rules and make sure I do this right. Would hate to have my Liebster retracted.

RULES

1) You must thank the person who gave you this award (Autism and Oughtisms, yo!)
2) You must display the Liebster heart on your blog. PROUDLY.
3) You should nominate 3 to 5 up-and-coming blogs (some rule variations say 11) with fewer than 200 subscribers. Just to be safe, I'm doing 11! That's right, 11.
4) Each person must post 11 things about themselves. Riiight. See section below.
5) Answer the questions given to you by the blogger who nominated you. Got it.
6) Create 11 questions for those you nominate to answer. Fun! Scroll way down.
7) Notify your nominees and provide a link back to your post (no tag backs because the point is to try and highlight new bloggers and spread the support). Sure, check my list at the end of this post, AND on my Facebook page and my Twitter stream (see what I did there?).

11 THINGS ABOUT ME

1. Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck. Some nights I call it a draw. Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle. Some nights I wish they'd just fall off.
2. I'm a bitch. I'm a lover. I'm a child. I'm a mother. I'm a sinner. I'm a saint. And I do not feel ashamed. I'm your hell. I'm your dream. I'm nothing in between. You know you wouldn't want it any other way.
3. I'm not aware of too many things. I know what I know if you know what I mean.
4. I'm sane, but I'm overwhelmed. I'm lost but I'm hopeful. What it all comes down to is that everything's gonna be fine, fine, fine.
5. I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way.
6. I'm a little bit country. I'm a little bit rock n roll.
7. I want to scream. And shout. And let it all out.
8. I sing the body electric. I celebrate the me yet to come.
9. I'm through accepting limits, 'cause someone says they're so. Some things I cannot change, but 'til I try I'll never know. 
10. I believe the children are the future.
11. I like to eat apples and bananas.

Um, I might have plagiarized a little there. Sorry about that, but why would you think I wanted to talk about myself, anyway? Sheesh.

QUESTIONS Asked By Autism and Oughtisms (and I'm leaving her kiwi spelling in because it's just so adorable):

1. Why did you start blogging? I've been a writer since I was seven years old (I'm sure my journal entries were compelling)...writing is cathartic. I don't have time to write a book, so blogging is the perfect venue for now. Through my blog, I can explore, learn, connect, commiserate and celebrate. I can barely draw a stick figure nor do I build things; writing is my outlet.
2. What’s your favourite piece of art? My pillow.
3. What’s your favourite scent? My pillow.
4. Who inspires you? My children, my husband, my parents, my siblings, you...and these people:
5. Name one major event that shaped who you are today. Skip. (Don't I get a skip? Fine, see any blog post.)
6. What one super-power would you choose and why? This one's easy. I want to be able to pause time, like that guy in Heroes. So many possibilities. I'd nap. Shower. Never be late to anything (just stop everyone else and weave through traffic). KILL at Scramble with Friends. Fit in all the kids' therapies. (Or check out this extensive list of My Superpowers.)
7. What pets do you have? An old, lazy dog. 
8. What’s your favourite plant? I can't really embrace plants; I already have enough creatures in my house to keep alive. Can I pick a tree? Weeping Willows. It just feels like they are full of stories, and they are so peaceful to watch swaying in the breeze.
9. What event in nature takes your breath away? I could stare at the ocean for hours.
10. What was your favourite subject at school? Literature, of course. In college, it was my Reporting class. It was required for my major, but also legendary for dropping GPAs. Sometimes, NOBODY in the entire course got an A. Oh, how I loved that A...and that class. It combined all the things that drive me: writing, learning about people and things, deadlines, storytelling and exploring issues from all angles.
11. What countries have you visited? Not enough. Tried to go to Holland once (bad autism joke...but I think I really would love to go to Holland someday.)

MY QUESTIONS for my award recipients...and may I suggest you take your assignment more seriously than I did:

1. Which of your own blog posts is your absolute favorite? Explain why and link please.

2. What song makes you perk up every time you hear it? 

3. What book are you reading now (or what's the last book you can remember reading)?

4. List three words that describe your life.

5. What's your favorite app?

6. What keeps you up at night?

7. What was your first job?

8. What's for dinner?

9. What would you love to learn if you had the time?

10. Which holiday do you love the most?

11. Are you sorry I tagged you?

PASS IT ON
SURPRISE!  There are so many amazing bloggers out there, so I've gone with the rule of 11. (Autism and Oughtisms also listed some of my besties, so check them out!)

I now bestow the Liebster Award to these blogs because: I love reading them and you will too; I believe they haven't been tagged recently; and I think they fit the criteria of under 200 subscribers (although they each deserve way more). If I'm wrong, sorry and congrats on your success!

• Living on the Spectrum: The Connor Chronicles
• Mostly True Stuff
• My So-Called High Functioning Life
• Military Special Needs Network
• Going Insane, Wanna Come
• The Third Glance
• Fractured Family Tales
• Mindful Meerkats
• Painting With Picasso
• Fasten Her Seatbelt
• Blowing Kisses and Making Wishes
• Punky Mama

Oops. Actually, I think that's 12, but I'm not bothering to recount. Or choose. So you get a bonus blog...you're welcome!
There. Nailed it! Next award, please. 

A Broken Keurig, Instant Grits & Other Travesties: A Morality Tale

At its heart, autism is a communications disorder. The DSM-IV checklist lists "qualitative impairments in communication" as a diagnostic criterion. 

My daughter? Check. Plus.

She also has - by anyone's diagnostic standards - a voracious appetite. I wouldn't call her a "picky eater" (tree bark, anyone?), but she can be fickle and demanding at times. Girlfriend knows what she wants.

So, chasing her into the kitchen yesterday, I found her ripping open a package of instant grits. (I didn't even know we had that!) Ever self-sufficient, she proceeded to dump it into a disposable, hot cup and pivoted around to, apparently, run hot water through the Keurig to complete her snack.

I know it sounds like she's an independent, little chef, but we do not allow her to operate anything in the kitchen alone. We know better. So does she!

What she didn't know was that our beloved Keurig didn't work anymore (boo hoo!), and I had removed it to try and return it. 

I wish I could have captured the look on her face. The Keurig might possibly be the most important, frequented appliance in the house. Poof! It was gone!

What would your 8-year-old do? I imagine, at this point, many would call for Mom (I was standing three feet away), ask where the machine went, demand help.

I watched with curiosity. Ever resourceful and independent, my daughter simply turned to the refrigerator and  filled the cup with water from the dispenser.

Of course, now her grits are ice cold (as well as completely over-saturated, but that's besides the point). 

Now, does she ask for help? Uh uh. Oh, she's very frustrated, yelling a little, but she just decides to move on to the microwave - where our story must end with an angry intervention. No, my autistic 8-year-old is not allowed to use the microwave.

The whole incident reminded me of my years-ago Floortime training...learning to create a "circle of communication," a reciprocal, back-and-forth interaction. 

Nope, not a single circle of communication going on here, but there were numerous opportunities to create them.

One Floortime strategy is to engage a hard-to-reach child using a "playful obstruction." Do something that will get their attention! Wear an unexpected, silly hat. Join the child while they are lining up cars, and then make the cars crash. Any resulting eye contact, interaction or response to the action counts toward your Circle.

No hot water? No coffee? You certainly have my attention! 

Yet, communicating with me to help her solve her problem didn't even occur to her. 

While she's come a long way, communication always will be hard for her. She's severely apraxic, so the actual act of speaking clearly is a huge obstacle for her. Sign language and augmentative communication devices like her iPad offer wonderful alternatives, and I am grateful every day for them. However, they only work when a person is motivated and interested in communicating. 

Wouldn't you agree that communicating and interacting with me to solve her devastating, instant-grits problem was the most likely, obvious and best course of action? 

Unfortunately, for her, it also was the hardest. 

Collateral Damage

When you see my daughter, I am rarely far behind.

I remain Mommy on the Run, following her unpredictable lead and trying to channel her enthusiastic energy safely and "appropriately." For example, while I respect and support her interest in teeth, I cannot allow her to put her hands in others' mouths. That's a social confine that - no matter how "neuro-diverse friendly" you are - simply will not bend. ***

I've noticed a shift, however. A pattern that - in my completely non-expert opinion - signals marked improvement in her understanding and engagement in our world.

In the past, an hour with my sweet, Tasmanian Devil might result in random acts of destruction aimed at furniture, kitchens, walls, cars and so on. Turn your head for a second, and you might be fishing her or her iPad out of the toilet. Theorists advise that every action really is a form of communication - especially since she's largely nonverbal - but translating some of these doozies was nearly impossible...except to acknowledge that she was frustrated (and so was I).

With appreciation for Sunday Stilwell
http://www.autismwashere.com

Moreover, I will not discount my daughter's proclivity for mischief. Even without the big A, she no doubt would be a charming rule-breaker. So, as you can imagine, my extreme-helicoptering was required simply to keep the house in one piece. 

Lately, while things are still getting broken and such, I can see some clear rationale to her actions. It's no longer me muttering to myself that she must be bored, frustrated or sensory-deprived.

See, we've loosened the metaphorical leash - just a bit. We recognize that she knows more than ever when she's doing something inappropriate. She'll probably still do it, but I have fair warning since she'll give me that sneaky smile before dashing off. So her actions are closer to the the "all kids do that" behaviors you might read about in "What to Expect" articles. So most days, while she requires infinitely more supervision and direction than your "average" eight year old, she's able to at least spend a few minutes independently - in the bathroom, reading something, watching something, or YouTubing (as long as I listen closely for sounds of bloody surgical segments, that usually are accompanied by her giggles and a gleeful, "ewwww").

Recently, during a moment of freedom, she raced upstairs and grabbed her father's electric razor. It occurred to me afterwards that we were talking about shaving (probably me wondering when I last shaved my legs). Another time, we instructed our son to go brush his teeth, and I soon found her in the bathroom, squeezing a tube of toothpaste all over my toothbrush.

My laptop's monitor is shattered because of her interest in using MY computer, rather than her very own iPad.

Here's a good one. She drew on our inside window curtains recently, something that might elicit shock from some parents (clearly not autism families). But that's not even the significant part. What's interesting is that it was not a childish drawing. She'd outlined her desired plans for the day in a simple list form ("doctor" included), much like on a whiteboard.

Then this happened. I've been spending a lot of time at the eye doctor lately...my aging eyes are rejecting my beloved gas-permeable lenses of 30 years and I'm trying to switch over to soft. "Putting my contacts in" has become a process instead of the usual pop in/pop out. Yesterday, when I went to put them in, I found one missing and one dried out from exposure. I'm not sure whether she was attempting to clean them, wear them, or "help" me, but I suspect it was soon after a mention of said lenses.

This new pattern of damage is of a different variety than her earlier destruction. She's listening! She's engaged! She's trying to be helpful! She's imitating mommy and daddy! 

Now I might have mentioned before that one of the best things ever taught to my daughter was mimicry (see Do Children With Autism Lack an Ability to Imitate?). I am not trying to make her into a robot; she simply must learn how to learn. It's critical that she knows how to copy vocal sounds (PROMPT has been so helpful), gestures (to nod yes or no), and actions (brushing teeth). There's a lot of research out there about mimicry as a communication foundation. 

So my epiphany here is that while I'm still Mommy on the Run (or Mommy with the Hoarse Voice from yelling and repeating myself), the destruction is different these days...encouraging even. She's interacting with our world...in the now! She's communicating by participating.

The is the kind of damage I completely welcome from her. The frustration, inconvenience, cost and toll of my daughter's destructive activities can be attributed to collateral damage: an unwanted but necessary byproduct of a greater strategy.

***Footnote:  Instead, of touching strangers' teeth, she spends hours on her iPad watching and playing dentistry and medical-related media. We "wave" at every dentist and orthodontist office that we pass. She loves to play on http://mydoctorgames.com. Hey, it's better than her phlebotomy phase, for sure!