All The Damn Talking

I recently read the excellent book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, and learned that I probably am an ambivert - which means I have both introvertish (is so a word) and extrovertish tendencies.

I think this tends to be situationally dependent, but it most definitely also is mood dependent...and sometimes unpredictable - even to myself.

True, there are times when I am among the loudest at the party...and other times when I'd rather skip it altogether, preferring the company of a dependably silent and non-demanding book.

As with most personality extremes, the best way to cope and/or succeed is to know thyself. In modern therapy vernacular, this also is called a "Sensory Diet" (which can be confusing because it has nothing to do with food). We implement a sensory diet to help our children learn self-regulation and channel their sensory cravings and defenses safely and "appropriately."

Instinctively, we all do this to a degree. Aren't you fulfilling your own personal sensory needs each time you use light dimmers, volume controls, a certain pillow type or coffee? Think about how you feel when you can't alter the level of light, sound, or caffeine you seek? I relate my daughter's sensory experience to that ... to the zillionth power.

Now, what happens when our sensory needs are in direct conflict? I suppose I sacrificed my right to control my own sensory environment when I had children, but still sometimes I just need some quiet, you know?

My daughter is largely nonverbal (or a new term I recently heard: non-speaking) but superbly communicative. This is a wonderful blessing...albeit an exhausting one. Let me tell you something about nonverbal. It has absolutely no correlation with quiet. Nada!

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. 

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!

Mommy on the Run

I am super-excited to participate in my first Yeah Write. If you like my post, you are more than welcome to follow the "Yeah Write 55" button to the voting page, scroll down, and click on that little yellow star thingy below My Whac-A-Mole Life. Voting is now open closed. Wow - I got 6th place out of 50. Just wow! You also should check out the other Yeah Write entries. It's an honor to be among them.

My happy place is shamefully cliche, but perhaps simply because it's so universally divine. Resting peacefully on a comfy beach chair...white sand...waves crashing...breezy sunshine...Oprah-blessed book in one hand; fruity, umbrella-topped cocktail in the other. My family's with me, building sandcastles, riding the waves and playing backgammon.

The best part: we're contentedly "still." Not still in the physical sense, but more of a relaxing, peaceful stillness, where our minds are able to join our bodies on this vacation.

BRRRRRRING (that's the sound of a one-button, analog alarm clock - circa 1986 - jolting me awake)! This fantasy is as unrealistic as time travel. Or you reaching me on a land line. You see, I'm Mommy on the Run. And Mommy on the Run is never still.

In the scene above, mine's the family disturbing the peace. A child is throwing sand, or screaming in terror, or wandering haphazardly, knocking over your sunblock and water bottle without even realizing it. Someone is yelling. Someone is apologizing to a stranger. All adults are counting down the minutes until this "vacation" is over.

If my kids were toddlers, beach-goers would smile knowingly and say nostalgically, "enjoy it. They grow up so fast." However, these kids are long past the terrible/adorable twos, and (while they still are exceptionally cute), universal sentiment is more like, "I hope they're not staying on our floor."

Mommy on the Run doesn't care. She's more concerned with making sure nobody drowns, drinks from a moldy, half-buried Mountain Dew can, or swipes a shovel from your baby. She's got the reflexes, speed and alertness of an Olympic athlete (though sadly not the body to match). You see, long after most kids are Ferber-ized allowing their parents to sleep again, she's still more exhausted than you can possibly comprehend, but her kids keep growing bigger, stronger and faster. So she focuses every working neuron on real-time, all-the-time crisis prevention and management.

At gatherings, while others' children are able to play unsupervised in the basement, Mommy on the Run is the sole adult chasing ping-pong balls. She hears that drop-off parties are a great time to run errands. Not for her. She lingers, in strangers' homes, awkwardly offering to hand out forks because "drop-off" is not an option. At the pool, while most moms are gabbing and sunning with gal pals, Mommy on the Run is begrudgingly in the water or, if she's lucky, running up and down the poolside in a sarong shouting with great hope: "Great job keeping your bathing suit on!"

At a holiday lunch, Mommy on the Run is even more vigilant. Her "crazy eyes" are (probably) not medically induced, but a sign that she's scanning the environment for potential destruction, meltdowns and escapes. She genuinely might want to talk to you, but it's likely she'll disappear mid-sentence, having to save a family heirloom from crashing to the ground or a guest's modesty from her daughter's compulsion to have everything buttoned just so.

Mommy on the Run is prone to sudden, unexpected outbursts, ranging from random warnings to guests ("Hold on to that water cup!" "Guard your salad!") to leaping to her feet to block an exit. Inevitably, you'll think she's nuts when she screams across two rooms, "Don't even think about it!" (You see, she and her child simultaneously spotted someone nearby with an irresistibly, rip-offable bandage.) Another parent - probably the PTA president - will say with a slightly judgmental  tone: "It's okay. She hasn't even done anything wrong." Oh, but she will. She will.

On a Saturday afternoon "relaxing" at home, Mommy on the Run is always at the ready, playing autism whac-a-mole with expertise, but failing to complete one load of dishes (tellingly, this is another fantasy of hers). The minute-after-minute demands of her resident Tasmanian Devil are all-consuming ... and more important.

Mommy on the Run is a master of observation, mind-reading and focus - but only when it comes to her child. As an adult conversationalist or party guest, she sucks. She will not and can not be still.

Once upon a time, I was a skilled networker, able to discuss Wall Street Journal insights with Fortune 500 CEOs. These days, I'm Mommy on the Run, leaving you with no other choice - as you must have figured out based on my diminished number of party invitations - but to clear a path and guard your china.

***By the way, if this post seems scattered or disjointed, please be aware that I popped up 13 14 times while writing it to avert disaster. Actually, consider this a disclaimer for this entire blog site. Thank you in advance.