Twitter? I hardly knew her...Until #YouMightBeAnAutismParentIf

Oh Twitter, how do we love thee? Let us count the ways.

I am a mild technology geek and early adapter. I often can troubleshoot a computer glitch one or two steps past "just reboot it". And I was "social networking" on Prodigy long before AOL sent you its first mail promo installation CD.

Despite all that, I really and truly didn't get Twitter. See, in 2011, Facebook updates were at an all-time low point (here's what I ate for breakfast; I'm standing in line at the post office; I'm getting a haircut), so the last thing I wanted to do was to expose myself to more inane updates, even more frequently.

Still, I had to know what all the fuss was about - especially when my own mother had 1,000 followers. As luck would have it, I started tooling around on Twitter at the same time the brilliant Jenny Herman (Many Hats Mommy) and Elise Ronan (Raising ASD Kids) conjured up the #youmightbeanautismparentif hashtag phenomena as a birthday gag. Here's the story.

Before you can say, "me too," I was hooked.

The hashtag, while not at its height where we were quipping ourselves ragged 24/7, remains sporadically active and forever connects us. It has, at times, mobilized, supported, infuriated and educated.

I know I'm late with this tribute - the tag is almost a year old now - but I still would bet that anytime an autism parent happens to stumble upon this hashtag for the first time on Twitter, they spend an hour or more searching the hashtag, reading an archive of awesomeness, and finding many new Friends. Not "friends" or "followers," but Friends. 


SO, because this hashtag feeds my soul and provides incomparable camaraderie (and because I'm under the delusion that I'm hilarious and poignant today), I am going to archive my #youmightbeanautismparentif brilliance on my blog. See, that's what cool about blogging; I can do that. I've also used my blogging dictatorship rights and just now decided to do it in a separate post RIGHT HERE...because this setup is getting kind of long and I don't want to steal my own thunder. 

Meanwhile, here are some links to other's related blog posts (and generally some great blogs you should check out anyway) showcasing and featuring #youmightbeanautismparentif. You can tell just how much I wanted this hash to live on and on and on if you've seen this post:  I Made A Feed. 

***Oh, and please chime in, because there's nothing more magically supportive and cathartic to those of us who play this game than either hearing or being able to respond: "me too!" in 140 characters or less. Enjoy!

• My list is here:  You Might Be An Autism Parent If... 
• Where it all began. Many Hats Mommy:  Click here. 
• The Bobbi Sheahan interview
• Autism Wonderland: Click right here.
• Spectrummy Mummy:  And right here.
• Our Adventures With Riley:  Oh, here too.
• Raising Asperger's Kids:  And another one.
• The Aspie Side of Life:  Again, just click.
• Mozart, Picasso & a Princess:  Clickity clickity.
• The birth of "All Kids Do That" series on Yeah. Good Times.: You know what to do: Click 
• Running for Autism:  C___.
• Pooping Red Guy:  It's a link right here!
• Unhandicapping the Disabled Life:  One more.
• LivinLife123:  Last one. Click away.

Wordless Wednesday: Pressure Vests - For DOGS!

Most of us already know about pressure vests, right? These vests - often weighted - provide proprioceptive feedback that (theoretically) calms and grounds kids with autism, ADHD, sensory processing disorder, and so on. Weighted blankets are a big thing, too.

Whenever an OT introduces this type of vest to my daughter, I can't help but wonder whether the benefits outweigh the fashion fail.

Well, never mind all that. Have you seen THIS? It's Thundershirt for your special needs pets, and I couldn't make this stuff up. For more information (and I assure you, I get nothing out of this click), check out www.thundershirt.com. Don't miss the free embroidery!

Screenshot from www.Thundershirt.com

And for cats too!

   

More from the site:

THUNDERSHIRTS ARE GREAT FOR:

» Fear of thunder/fireworks

» Separation anxiety

» Travel anxiety

» Crate training

» Problem barking

» Hyperactivity

» Leash pulling

» And more!

Wordless Wednesday: The Language Of Love

She tries to speak, but her body won't listen...so my daughter must fulfill her human drive to communicate in other ways. How would you do it?

Through sign language, grunting, pointing, screaming and "approximating" (sounding out words as best she can), she gets what she needs. The larger challenge, however, is understanding and expressing her feelings, motivations, abstract thoughts.

While we focused on teaching her to "look into our eyes" and "properly" play with dolls, she taught herself to read and write (with some help, of course, from phenomenal teachers and therapists). How lucky we are that we have access to technology that can serve as a surrogate voice for this expressive, nonverbal 7-year-old.

Often, it's still easier and more satisfying for her to stage a tantrum, but slowly we are uncaging our daughter's inner voice.

Perhaps the words never will readily flow from her mouth, and that's okay. That's not really where words come from anyway, is it?

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.