Let's just get this over with. I have been agonizing over it, panicking and just generally freaking the hell out to even admit this, but here I go. She can't read. There, I said it. Call Social Services now. She is 9 years old, on the autism spectrum, home schooled and she can't read.
Ok, she can read a little bit. Like C-V-C words. Three letters, four. Not difficult combinations. So what the heck do I do all day, right? Since my kid can't read? And I am responsible? And I sit on the Internet all day? Whoah. Let's back the truck up, Jack. I have been homeschooling my children for 6 years now, and I am good at it. My eldest daughter is amazing, and gifted. My son has great spatial relations and comes up with some of the most interesting questions. And then? There is my youngest daughter.
If you have been reading very long, you know she is a complex enigma. She is smart. There is no getting around that. When she sits to do school work, I have to pry her away from it. She works really hard. She also has amazing imaginary skills. I would say she often lives in her imaginary world. Most of the time it works. We don't forbid her from doing what she likes, like playing with Playmobil and small figures.
But, she can't read. I used to think it was me...I was doing something wrong. I teach her the same way I taught my son. And teaching him was a challenge, because not only is he on the autism spectrum, he is also dyslexic. I had to learn a completely different way to teach. But it has paid off, for the most part. I was doing computer programs with my youngest, sitting together to read, doing a multi-sensory tile-based phonics program, and she still was not progressing. And that's when she told me.
"Mama, when I read, the words and letters move all over the page." Aha! I had long suspected dyslexia, now I had some idea that was part of the problem. I took her to her speech teacher (What? you didn't know she took speech?) and told her the problem. I told her I was thinking of eye therapy, and that we were headed in for an evaluation. She agreed that was a good idea.
The eye evaluation simply confirmed what I already knew. Her eyes have a difficult time tracking together, and her depth perception is off. Luckily, this can be corrected. It isn't that she cannot read because she can't...she can't read because her eyes aren't working together.
She sees her eye therapist every week. She sees her speech teacher every week. And with luck, and a A LOT of hard work (we have 20 minutes of eye exercises every day) her eyes will improve. When that happens, she will be able to read. I hope. Of course, there is a nagging fear that she will never know what it is like to pick up a book with ease and while away the afternoon. That maybe, though we are all good readers in this house, she will continually struggle and never really take off. That fear makes me want to curl into a fetal position and never move. But you know that's just not the way I roll. I will make this latest hurdle my bitch, the way I always do. And you'd best believe that I (along with her speech/reading teacher) will make sure she catches up. You will be one of the first to know when that happens.
I have had a life-long fear of the dentist since I was a teenager, I think. I would break out in a cold sweat at the thought of visiting a dental office. Which is kind of ironic, because my mother is more fearful than I am. She wanted to be sure that her children wouldn't end up with the same phobia, so she worked hard to find a good dentist. And she did. Dr. Howard was an avuncular boisterous man, and I liked him. No worries, so far. My mother insists that I refused to get braces, but I don't remember it that way. Still, it was a good experience. I didn't mind having my teeth cleaned, and didn't have much fear. The problem came when I had to have my wisdom teeth out at 18. With a different dentist. I developed an allergy to the pain medication and wound up so sick I lost 14 lbs. in a week. I had a dry socket, which means the blood didn't clot and the nerve was exposed to air. I popped Tylenol like candy for a while. Until my dentist introduced me to clove oil, and instantaneous pain relief.
I did really well for a long time, going to the dentist when I needed to, maybe not getting regular cleanings, but does anyone? After my second child was born, I had to have a root canal. And the experience was as bad as I had imagined. The sensory nightmare of the shots, the drill, the cement, all of it, was enough to put me off dentists for a long time.
A few years back, I broke a tooth, and had to have another root canal. I didn't have a regular dentist at that point, so I went to what I term a "chop shop." I had a very intense panic attack outside the office that day. Still, I went through with it, mainly because I had incredible pain from an abscess and it had to be dealt with or I was going to jump off of a bridge. I ended up with an ill-fitting crown, that they redid twice. It was still never right.
Soon after that, we found an amazing dentist. His office is decorated in Craftsman style, warm woods, cool lights and just an aura of relaxation. Entering, I was still terrified, but intent on making sure my children have good dental care. I eased them into it, and would sit in the room with them as they received their treatments, constantly It served to help me be less skittish. had to have two teeth pulled by an oral surgeon, which was awful, and did nothing for my dental phobia. But I was convinced I needed to get over my fears, and I pushed myself to do so.
I needed a lot of work, but over time, it was all done. Now, I am in my last phase, and wearing Invisilign to straighten out my overbite and stop me from grinding my teeth at night. And I see the dentist monthly. My phobia is completely gone. I still don't like dental procedures, but I no longer cry. I am quite proud of my courage and sticktuitiveness.
My kids love the dentist, and see him regularly. This is a feat accomplished with kids who have autism. Dental fears are right up there as far as fears go. But the process of spending time with our dentist (who also goes to our church and works in the childrens' department with my kids) My youngest, JBean, went from terror to looking forward to seeing him. That's a testimony to a great dentist.
My dentist is worth his weight in gold. And that's about how much I pay him. I wouldn't have it any other way.
"Mama, I don't LIKE it!" My JBean wasn't happy. Although this is not that uncommon, it was still a concern. The Nutcracker was coming up, and she is due to perform.
Last year, she was a flower. "I liked being a flower mama. Flowers are graceful, and princess-y. It was a pretty dance." This year, they are lambs. She is less-than-thrilled.
"I hate the Lamb Dance! It's stupid. The costume is silly, I look like a little kid." I figured reminding her that is indeed what she is? Not so helpful.
Early on, I told her she didn't have to dance if she didn't want to. The Stage Mother? I am the furthest thing from that person. You won't see me pushing my children against their will. I have a theory about extra-curricular activities: if it isn't fun, what's the point? This may be because I was, if not born with two left feet, in possession of them now. Dancing well is hard for me, and I don't have autism. Still, if I were to try to dance, with actual choreography, you would think I was having a seizure of some sort.
I have given her every opportunity to bow out gracefully. She won't be a prima ballerina; she is still in the first-level class. All of her friends have pretty much moved up a level. She just isn't ready. As a parent, my heart hurts just a little bit for her. I worry as she gets older, girls will make fun of her. But she won't quit. She assures me that she wants to dance. And she does. She just doesn't love this dance. Still, she is trying, and that's all we can ask. To me, that in itself is a victory.
Now I am looking for a triumph over the fear I have for her. The great, white-hot worry that wakes me at night. I think of the time that is coming, soon, or not-so-soon, when the girls look at her and laugh. When they look at her, whispering behind their hands. When it hits her just how behind she is, and that without 10,000 hours, she just isn't going to get those dance solos that she may be wanting. She will be tried, and found less than adequate. And though we cannot keep our children from pain, it is still a very difficult thing to watch. A lump in my throat and tears pricking my eyes, I wait.
Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand woooooords. Poor kid. Yes, I snapped this after hour #6 of her being sick, I am so mean. But I am not that mean, because it's after 2 a.m. and I am sitting here with her on the couch next to me, in case she needs me. She hasn't thrown up in over an hour, we may have turned the corner, thank God. Needless to say, I have been a bit preoccupied the last few days, as this crud makes its way through my house.
Tomorrow, I will tell you how JNerd (who rocks our socks) explained throwing up to a scared child with autism who hasn't thrown up since she was TWO. Think: Spongebob Squarepants. He is amazing. That is all.
eta: guess I spoke too soon..she was just sick again. :o/
T, who likes to stay up late, but by choice, not when I have to
Hey everyone! Today I am appearing on Special Needs Kids Talk Radio, so come check it out! 10 a.m. PST and 1 p.m. EST (noon, CST). We are going to talk about autism, homeschooling and what it's like being the "odd one out" in my family. You can listen by clicking on the link, and then the little special needs square takes you to the show. If you register, you can also chat and ask questions for me to answer on air. Come and listen!
From the website:
We are talking to Tina Cruz today about homeschooling her 3 kids and being the only "normal" person in her household, which makes her the strange one. Tina has a great sense of humor, despite her trials and tribulations
This is the first time I have done this, so let me know you are listening. I am terrifiedbewildered nervous!
T, who hopes I don't stutter and say "uhm..." a lot
Erin has stirred up quite the storm over at Queen of Spain, and I agree with her wholeheartedly. The timing is a bit awkward, because we are talking about giveaways and transparency and writing. My comments can be read over there, if you so choose, I won't beat a dead horse. The crazy thing is, though, I am doing a giveaway!
But here's the thing:: It isn't for some sponsored product, like bathroom cleaner or foot fungus soap, it's for autism awareness bracelets. And here's why: I bought three bracelets from Jularie Jewels at eBay at the beginning of April. They were very inexpensive, and despite being handmade, I didn't have high hopes. When they arrived I loved them sooo much that I contacted the seller and asked for 10 more to give away on my blog. I paid for them. Out of my own pocket, because it is a cause near and dear to my heart. And I wanted you to have one.
I purposely waited until almost the end of "Autism Awareness Month" because I wanted the bracelets to go to those who are intimately familiar with autism and would continue to wear them. For us, autism awareness occurs every day, when we interact with our children. So here is what I am asking:
While traffic is nice, please only enter the contest if you are intimately familiar with autism as in, have a child or family member close to you who has it.
To enter:
Please comment in comments with the thing that makes you the most aware of autism, or a story about how autism affects you and leave me your email so I can let you know if you win! (I promise I won't send you any fake British lottery notices or anything)
Everyone gets one entry. I would love it if you tweet the giveway, or if you wanted to sub to my blog because you think my writing is the bomb or if you wrote about the giveaway on your own blog because you believe in it, but I am not going to manipulate you into doing any of those things simply to raise mySEO or rank. And I don't think you should do any of those things just to get extra entries on anyone's blog. But...that's just me. You can disagree with me and I will still love you.
I only have EIGHT bracelets. (I bought 10, but my daughter whined and I had to give her two of them). I WISH I had one for everyone, because I wish all moms who desired a bracelet could have one. I really do think these are nice bracelets, as I said, I have three of my own, one for each of my children. I don't get anything special for giving these away, except satisfaction of knowing EIGHT more women have a bracelet.
GOOD LUCK! I will choose the winners by random number generator (because how can I judge the quality of comments??) the second week of May. Love you all!
I hope you love your bracelet as much as I love mine!
T, who hopes you enjoy the bracelets as my gift to you
I entered this contest and I am supposed to write a post about my Mom Logic. Thing is, I can't say for sure that I actually have any! I took Logic in college, and barely passed with a C. Sure, I can argue. But when it comes to actual cogent argumentation? I was clueless. Turns out, God was just preparing me for living with my family! (either that or he was just beyond bored one day and decided to mess with me) What logic lives in a house with autism? What is logical about fear of a flushing toilet? Going into conniptions at the sight of a spider? Refusing to leave the house for fear a small dog may maul you? Arguing to wear the same dress, again, or not going out? This is just a smidgen of what I face as a mama in this house.
To be fair, it's not all me. You cannot reasonably discuss fears with someone who is afraid. And you can't convince someone (especially if that someone is 7 years old and has autism) to do what you want them to do, just because it is the logical choice. Little beings are not reasonable. and autism is even less so. Talk until you are blue in the face and what you will have left is...a blue face! (and maybe some interesting pictures for your blog...no, I don't actually have any pictures of me, blue in the face, but if I did, they would be interesting..)
I think I still have the potential to be a very logical person in there somewhere. Before I had kids, I had a brain, and as such, I had logic. But with each child, my brain, it shrunk. And now, not only can I not remember things my husband tells me we discussed (I think he may be trying to Gaslight me, send help!) I can't wage word war on my children and come out on top. I know the logic is still there: when I am away from my children for any length of time, my brain bounces back and I can have coherent conversations. The numbness that is my brain's self-defense mechanism against the crazy wears off.
At my worst moments, with my children I have been known to be very illogical. If the Father of All Logic (no, not Socrates, Mr. Spock) lived in this house, he would cock his eyebrow at me, with the sardonic look he was known for on Star Trek and tell whomever would listen how "highly illogical" I was. And then I would probably get pissed off and get all up in his grill, tell him to take it back because I would be so high strung with him watching my every move and all, and he would end up havin to use that Vulcan nerve pinch that he does, the one that makes everyones' eyes roll back in their head, knees buckle and pass out? And well, that would suck thank you very much!
If Spock was in my house, my son would be so thrilled, there would be no living with him. As I write this, there are no less than 10 Star Trek episodes on the DVR. And that is after I have pared them down!) Also, my oldest daughter would be thrilled to hang out with Spock, I think he would "get" her in a way that no one else does. She isn't that much into the emotions as much as the cold, hard facts of life. Some days I think I am the weird one, and everyone else in my family is the norm. And technically, by the definition of "norm" they would be normal, the majority of my house. So, I am the crazy one. Yeah, I can't believe it either.
Case in point: Exhibit A, Bring On Da Crazy! I don't think that screaming as though I am throwing a tantrum (which I kind of really wasn't, just wanted my daughter to get what she looked and sounded like..I swear. WHAT?) is a very logical approach to an out-of-control child. But there are times that nothing else works. I come up empty and throw a Hail Mary pass. Just like almost every other Hail Mary in sports history mine doesn't work either. I was hoping she would laugh, instead she just gave me the weirdest look, the one where I have no idea what is going through her head. Then she threw herself on the ground and amped up the volume. As if to say, "HA! I win this one, woman!" I backed off, because, Yeah. The ground is hard! I guess I just wasn't committed enough.
Need more "evidence"? I have blogged the interactions that I have with my children as well. How logical is discussing pooping robots, zombies and quesadillas in the same conversation? (certainly hope hands were washed before eating!) Or the non-sequitur that is my son's idea of social exchange. How do I maintain any semblance of sanity and logic in the face of the comments he makes? There is no rhyme or reason to my motherhood, some days.
I mean, logical thought when your son has just mooned an entire construction crew in line at McDonalds (who thought it was incredibly funny and egged it on)...I challenge you to find some! I know I certainly couldn't. I wanted to find a deserted island and a margarita! (Jimmy Buffett, where were you when I needed you? Probably on some boat somewhere..where it was 5 o' clock, dammit...) I wanted to fall through the floor. Instead, I calmly took our food to the table and we ate. Now that's not logical. I could have gotten the food to go so that prying eyes wouldn't bore holes in the back of my head, as they wondered what the HELL kinda mother was I, that I let my son show his butt crack to the world? (in my defense, he was 4 then, hadn't been diagnosed with high-functioning autism then, and hasn't done it since. He is 10 now).
My family defies logic. (except for my oldest daughter, JBug who is very logical, at least on her end). But that presents its own set of problems. She is also a teenager, and they have a brand of logic that someone over 30 just can't comprehend...mainly, you are wrong. If you question this, read the last sentence again! Period, that's the end of that. With her reasoning and lack of emotion sometimes, if I didn't know better, I would think she was a Vulcan.
And all of this is why having Spock over would just never work. JBug and he would be like Mendel's pea experments...alike, but normal people wouldn't be able to understand them! And of course, they would gang up against me, on some issue or other. So I am sure I would get all emotional and they would cooly tell me how illogical I was being, and my daughter would inform me the argument I am using for her to load the dishwasher is a fallacy and I would pull my hair out and threaten to jump off a bridge. (Just kidding on those last two). Just an aside, I DO NOT recommend allowing your teen to take formal Logic, unless you just like feeling stupid a lot... I mean, I can argue with the best of them, but how do you argue LOGIC? She thought she was so smart, calling me on my "invalid" arguments... then I wised up.
I just reminded her..I am Mama. I invented arguments before she was born, thank you very much. And, Mama wins in the face of, kicks butt on, trumps any logic that is in that book she is studying. Yup. When she gets to be a mama, then she can use the same ace in the hole. Until then, suffer baby!
So, going back to the beginning, my non-logic works for me. You can't learn my brand of logic from a classroom. Socrates didn't teach it, and if he did I am sure he would have gone mad. To outsiders, it would appear my methods may not work. I can live with that. I reserve the right to do whatever the hell I think works. Cause I'm the Mama. And Mama Logic is whatever I say it is. Today, I think it's about pooping. And robots.
This was a post I wrote for the Mother of All Bloggers Contest, and when if I make the Top 10, I am going to need you all to vote for me! So cross fingers, toes and let me know you're out there!
There's a new post on my homeschool blog about Learning Styles. It's short, sweet and you want to read it. Now go. It's ok, we'll wait...
One of the hallmarks of autism is an extremely acute sense of smell. This can be a problem at times, because it makes food unpalatable and causes embarrassing situations. My 7 year old has a keen sense of the olfactory. She cannot stand to have me close to her before I brush my teeth in the morning, or after drinking coffee. (as you might imagine, since I run on coffee, this makes mornings challenging) She wants cuddles but doesn't want me to breathe. Have you ever tried to keep from breathing? It's not good for your health! 100% of the people who stop breathing? DIE.
Some other quirks: The garbage has to be taken out often, or she has to stay out of the kitchen. Cat food and vienna sausage (aren't those pretty much the same thing??) make her gag. The smell of body, clean or dirty, can make her antsy and complaining.
If she is around an offending smell, she cannot shut it off, and will often proclaim loudly how icky it is. Embarrassment, thy name is JBean. Yes. It is. She doesn't like perfume, and smells that you may consider pleasant make her highly agitated. And, she is going to let you know about it. A lot. (we are working on this, I assure you...but she is only 7.
an aside...because autism is a developmental delay, my chid may appear to be 7, but acts more like 5. Think of a dog being 3, and in Dog Years, that's 21 or so. Autism Years are similar...except backwards. Confused? That's ok, now you are in the state I live in. Wait, you say, I thought you lived in California...? Yeah. Shut up and let me get back to my story. Geez.
Proving there is no rhyme or reason when it comes to autism, my son is exactly the opposite of my daughter. Smells that most reasonable people would find repellent, such as gasoline, tar, sulphur, rubber tires...he finds soothing and stimulating. While one is trying to keep her lunch down while refusing to inhale, the other is breathing deeply.
I am what is known as a "super-taster." I have an overdeveloped sense of smell and taste. I don't wear perfume (have only ever found two that I can tolerate without an instant headache) and highly perfumed anything is something I avoid. Being trapped in an elevator with a woman wearing perfume is a horror of mine. But there are scents I like: lavender, vanilla, chocolate. Most candles from Illuminations, at least the food scents, I love. And citrus anything is ok, too. I am not keen on the smell of flowers, unless they are actually naturally growing. Body wash in florals make me sick.
All that to say, I have no idea where my children got their sense of smell. Probably off the turnip truck they fell from, I would imagine. No wonder the kids don't like turnips.
When I try to explain what autism is like, 70% of the time, I come up with, "Like your life, only a little bit louder." meaning, like in Spinal Tap, the amp went to 11, which was one more than 10.
My kids are just...more. And that probably makes me sound like some sort of egotistical "beep." as my 7 yr old daughter says, meaning, "bitch." (yes, my 10 yr old son taught her that...wasn't that kind of him?) She only says, "beep," though, for censoring. But I don't mean it that way. Here's the deal: Somehow, my kids are more than others' kids. But I truly don't know how else to explain it. I am not competitive, I don't want to be the worst or the best. But they really are... They are harder, more challenging, more colorful, more off-the-wall and more frustrating than neurotypical kids, I believe. They make me cry, want to pull out my hair, crawl into a hole. And that's often just the first two hours of the day.
But you know what? I wouldn't trade them. They are funny, they make me laugh in great big guffawing waves. They surprise me daily. And...I am never bored...they keep me young.
Don't believe me?
Who else do you know that:
talks for stuffed animals regularly, including for my son's stuffed raccoon, every night before bed. Of course, each animal has a different voice.
Regularly makes up silly walks and quotes Python
enjoys taking goofy pictures more than the real portraits
has a karaoke machine in her house, and uses it
makes faces as a general rule (still hoping one day it really will "stick like that")
bursts into song and/or dance at inopportune times. Haven't I told you, I am the star of my very own musical!
makes terrible, terrible puns
quotes movies often, depending upon the circumstances
makes fart jokes, complete with noises
races shopping carts
sings LOUDLY, some random bit of song
comes up with nonsense words..we have an entire vocabulary of spendomous marattels.
can burp louder than anyone
beeps noses, tickles tummies, wet willies
gleefully embarrasses my teenager (oh wait, most parents do that, never mind)
makes submarine noises while driving
Why?
I like to make my children laugh. Laughing keeps things less stressful, so in a sense, I guess it is a defense mechanism. It is also a whole lot of fun. And really, isn't life too short to take seriously, all the time?
T, who figures we only get one chance, why waste it moping or lamenting what it might have been
Tomorrow, I am a panelist at the Gluten FreeTwitter Party. I run at 7:30. Look for the hashtag #gfree. To organize the tweets, you can use TweetChat, or TweetGrid. These services will pick on the the #gfree tweets so you can keep them straight. To enter, log on to the site, and enter room, type #gfree. And, you're there.
So, anything you wanted to know about the gluten-free, casein-free diet...ask me. My son has been on the diet since he was 5 years old. He is 10 now. So a bit over 5 years, he has been diet-compliant. Over the years, I have found what works and what doesn't. I would LOVE to share my knowledge, and hope it helps you.
If you have any specific questions, ask in comments...I will make sure to get you the information. There are also many giveways, which may entice you to attend.. free stuff is always fun.
As for GFCF... I am currently working on a list of GFCF fast food, just clearing a few items with the companies to make sure they are compliant. Be on the look out for that post soon.
Today is World Autism Awareness Day and I have no earthly idea what to write. What more do I say about a neurological disorder that has taken my family captive, that has changed the way we do nearly everything? The fact that I often walk on eggshells around my children is due almost wholly to autism. But I write enough about that, you are probably sick of it. In fact, I don't know why you keep returning. Must be my ascerbic wit.
This week I took this picture. I like it very much. Why? Because it reminds me of my children. Of autism. Ok so now you think I'm crazy, right? How can a Gerbera daisy remind me of my children? .
I am not one who has a green thumb. In fact, I am really good at killing plants. If you want a lush garden, find someone else. But if you want a cactus destroyed, or the wrong plant pulled as a weed, I'm your gal. I should have a sign around my neck:
Plant Murderer
Yet sometimes, despite odds, things work. I suppose it's the law of averages, or maybe it's God, at work in the Universe. My daughter has a term for when she thinks God is talking to her. She calls it, "sending roses." Little things, that are too coincidental to be a coincidence...that's God, speaking. In this house, His words don't fall on deaf ears.
Two years ago, I planted annuals. Annuals are supposed to bloom for a season, then die off. If you want more flowers, you replant them. They are a burst of color, in an otherwise drab landscape. They are more or less here today, gone tomorrow. A bit of easy pleasure in the world, but transient, like chocolate cake. (What? Don't tell me that chocolate cake lasts longer than a week at your house?) Flowers provide a comfort for me, they remind me that the world is beautiful. It can be made up of some ugly stuff, but the parts together create beauty.
Take the dirt the flowers are in...it's...dry. A bit rocky. But with a bit of water, it supports life. Small green shoots thrust against the fetid soil until they break the surface, bend toward the sun, and grow. Can you help the fragile plants become stronger? Soil can be fortified with minerals (and fertilizer!). Rocks can be removed. Regularly pulling plants that are threatening to overtake the flowers, rob them of their nutrients, can give the flowers a fighting chance.
How is this like autism? (Be patient, I'm almost to my point) It isn't easy to grow and flourish in autism, but against all odds, some kids do. And providing supports and tools for children who have autism has the same effect. I pull the weeds of confusing messages. I fertilize with social stories. I water copiously, with love. I prop with understanding. And my children bloom, where they are planted, even if sometimes that place is chock full of crap. And, in its own way, it's beautiful.
Now about my flowers? They survive. Not only do they survive, they are flourishing. I have an entire bed full of impatiens and a few Gerberas, too. And week after week, they continue to grow, and multiply. And despite the obstacles, they thrive. I don't do everything right, but still, there they are.
Lately my son has been experimenting with creative truth-telling. Yes, it's a nice way to say he is lying his butt off. And it isn't like the things are that important. These exchanges are taking place with increasing frequency:
Me: Did you clean the cat box?
JBear: Yes, I cleaned the cat box, both the office and the bathroom. [earnest look on his face, not meeting my eyes, but then, with autism, he rarely meets my eyes]
[I check the box, it has not been cleaned]. Son, why did you tell me that you cleaned the litterbox when clearly you had not?
JBear: But I did. I cleaned it!
Me: JBear, I need the truth.
JBear: [scowling defiantly] I didn't clean it. I don't want to.
And then he goes and does whatever he was told to do in the first place. This can be anything from putting his clothes away, brushing his teeth, reading a book vs. playing Nintendo...
Now I know as a mother of a child with autism, I could be pleased by this latest development. Some idiots experts will tell you that a child with autism cannot lie. I present, exhibit #1: my son. And besides, being lied to is damned annoying. I want it to stop.
So I had a Come To Jesus talk with him today, and laid out some ground rules for him.
You must try not to lie. A man/woman/person is only as good as his word, his honor is all he has. If he cannot be trusted, he will not have friends. (yes, some people hang out with other people who lie to them, but how do you ever know if they are telling you the truth?)
Honor, meaning whether someone sees you as a person who is good and has integrity (can be trustworthy) will follow you the rest of your life.
Character is who you are when no one is looking...do you take that cookie? Do you return that wallet?
Your actions become your habits. If you continue to lie, it will become second-nature and you may not be able to stop.
There are such things as "social lies," and these can be complicated. But some situations are:
If someone asks you if you like their haircut, I don't care if you think they look worse than a dog with it's butt shaved walking backwards. You do not get to say that to the person. It hurts feelings.
You are not allowed to call your mother,"Old Lady," even if you do think 42 is old. There is a certain amount of respect that someone gets just for being older than you. Just because you think it doesn't mean you need to say it out loud. Engage your mouth filter.
There are times you do not have to tell the whole truth to everyone, always. A bit is sufficient. People who call on the phone do not need to know your mother is in the bathroom, pooping.
Sometimes it is kinder not to share the entire truth. You do not have the right to rub your intellect into others' faces, or make them feel small. Even if you really do know more about medieval weaponry than they do.
If you think someone is an idiot, keep it to yourself. Fighting words can get you into a fight. Yes, there are many idiots out there, but believe it or not, few actually know they are idiots. That's why they are idiots. Do not believe you are doing anyone a favor by removing the blinders from their eyes. They won't believe you anyway.
There are times it is easier to go along with what someone says, rather than argue them into the ground. Exceptions to this are when your values are compromised, laws are broken or you feel uncomfortable in any way. (refer back to when people are idiots)
We have a long way to go in the area of truth-telling, but I believe we have a start now. Now comes the repetition. Did I forget any social lies that he needs to know?
What's the craziest white lie you know of...either your own, or someone else's?
T, who is getting really frustrated with the lying
Lately we have been struggling with the 7 year old's growing list of phobias.
Bugs, especially creepy-crawly bugs have her terrified. If she sees one, she runs in the house like a screaming banshee (well she is always a screaming banshee, but she becomes a screaming banshee with one purpose: Escape). Currently, one of the targets of her fear are crane flies. Now, you know they are a bit scary looking, but crane flies are harmless. Only she can't get that. Big bug, long dangly legs. Dangerous.
In autism, it doesn't matter how irrational a fear is, once a child makes up her mind, it is very difficult to change. Theory of Mind, which means that she sees ALL situations with only her point of view, doesn't allow for anything but black and white. There is very little gray in autism. We work at helping her broaden her viewpoint, but it's very hard, and it can be really frustrating. Sometimes, I can actually convince her that the bug isn't going to eat her. She believes me. Just for that moment. Because, you see, once that bug is gone (because I never kill bugs, I catch them in a large plastic cup and carry them outside...a product of my soft-hearted son's insistence that all of God's creatures deserve to live) she won't remember that all of that type of bug is harmless. Apparently, the Harmless Bug has evil cousins that are Evil Bugs and even though Harmless Bug is, in fact, harmless, Evil Bugs are bent on eating my daughter for lunch. I can explain until I am blue in the face, and she cannot generalize the specific situation. So every time she sees a bug, either inside or outside, there is screaming and cowering, and sometimes running into the house.
Another phobia lately is of dogs, particularly our neighbor's rat-dog nasty-ass chihuahua. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. BIG dogs. Tiny little yip-yip dogs are like rodents, with great big eyes and little teeny teeth....the better to bite your ankles when you aren't looking. The problem isn't the dog, it's the owner. People don't realize that dogs are not human and don't need to be treated like babies. There is a pack order that they respond to. Possessive little dogs may seem cute, but if that dog was large, it would be dangerous. Teaching a dog, any dog, to be over a human by allowing ill-mannered behavior is just asking for trouble. And with little dogs, people don't see this.
I am not in the least afraid of dogs; I haven't met a dog I couldn't figure out or let's be honest, control if I had to. The Dog Whisperer has improved my skills, but I was already pretty good. The secret is...you have to show a dog who 's boss. You can certainly treat them well, but in the end, you are the alpha.
My son was also afraid of the dog, because it chased him into our house. That's right, the neighbor's let this dog run free and it ran my son into his own damn house! I then taught him how to stand up to the little booger, with body language and eye contact. ("Remember son, I am not at all suggesting this, but remember, that dog can be a football if worst comes to worst") Now the dog stays away from JBear, since he isn't a target anymore. But my little daughter, JBean is still afraid of the obnoxious thing. It has gone so far that she refuses to go outside, for fear it is running loose. Makes me so angry. I have talked to the neighbors, and they did bring the dog inside. But he gets out so frequently, there isn't much point. We have a leash law, but it's only in public. Still, by law, you cannot let your mutt run over other peoples' private property. So keep the dog out of my yard, off my driveway and away from my kids.
This is JBean's interpretation of the Evil Chihuahua...click on the picture to embiggen...
You know I homeschool, so my kids often spread a blanket in the yard and spread out their schoolwork. This dog is really cramping our style. When I went up to the neighbor's door, the dog tried to go after my ankles, but I let it know I wasn't afraid of it. I just wish I could teach JBean that she has nothing to fear. If nothing else, mama is there. And she knows I will protect her, no matter what. That's what Mama does. I will kick ass and ask questions later. And if that dog bites one of my children, it's War baby.
* I realize I need to say that I haven't hurt this dog, nor would I. I like all dogs...small ones for other people. I wouldn't have a small dog, but you can if you want to. Just don't let it chase my kids and bark at them. Ok? Ok!
T, who wants a big dog but doesn't want to have to walk it every day
"It has WHAT?" I recoiled in horror. My son had just said the Irish steel-cut oats that my daughter made for breakfast, the ones we all love, made in honor of St. Patrick's Day- had bugs in it. "You're crazy, kiddo, I checked it myself."
"No, mama they're really small, you can barely see them." I told him to bring me the container, and I put it close to my eye, squinting carefully. Sure enough, tiny little crawly bugs, almost invisible to the eye were crawling around inside the container. On the oats. That she had just cooked. I felt my bile rise. Apparently we added a little extra protein to our breakfast this morning. That's when my littlest daughter started screaming. I understood, but this was over the top. You have to love autism.
You need to understand, JBean at seven, is pretty much bug-phobic. She doesn't like any of them, no matter how cute or interesting they might be. As you can imagine, this makes going outside a challenge. She just found out that the oatmeal she had eaten, and my leftovers that she had scarfed had contained hideous bugs the thing she hates most in life. She was on the verge of a panic attack.
Meanwhile, my eldest daughter, who had cooked the oats, was ashen. She had tears running down her face, and her mouth was frozen into a mask of horror. Surely, this could not be happening.
And my son, JBear, the fruit of my loins, the one who has no idea when to stop talking, continued to tell us all how we had eaten bugs, and they were there, in the container, and could you believe it? Trying to shut him up and deal with the now-death-grip on my arm from my youngest and console my oldest who of course, was blaming herself, because you know if anything goes wrong when she is doing something it is automatically her fault. Just ask her. And I was trying to control my roiling stomach. Amidst the screams of them all. Why is it when all hell breaks loose, I feel the insane urge to laugh? I guess I see the comedy in the situation...
My youngest decided then she needed to go to the bathroom. But, since she was absolutely freaked out about the possibility of bugs, she decided she wasn't going into the bathroom, because what if there were bugs in there? She declared she was just going to wet her pants, she didn't care. (niiiice, don't you want MY life? Sometimes, neither do I).
JBear, who was trying to help said, "If you pee your pants it will attract bugs!" Alrighty, then. Thanks for that kid. The screaming intensified:
"I have to go to the bathroom! No, I am going to pee my pants! I won't go! Ah, I will bring bugs if I peeeeee..." Completely out of control. I cupped her face with my hands, something she doesn't like, but that brings her back into focus and told her to listen to the sound of my voice. She needed to calm down. "We are going to do birthday candles to help you calm down, now." I told her. And I lead her through some deep breathing to slow her heart and her fears. It worked, and she did go to the bathroom. But then she was worried that maybe she peed just a little in her undies, and that it would attract bugs! I explained that doesn't happen, she was fine, and she could just go change her underwear if she was worried. So she did. With some cajoling and I walked her through it.
No sooner did she get done, my son started again about the bugs in the oatmeal. He hadn't eaten any of it (he is gluten-free) and so lacking empathy with autism, was fascinated by our predicament. He just wouldn't stop talking! How festive! Once I got him quiet, I convinced the girls that the bugs got in after we opened the container and we didn't eat anything except oats. Turned out when my son said, "bug" my littlest daughter heard, "Bug" and here that's code for the C Word, because I am terrified of them. (other bugs are fine, but the big black/brown ones send me to the moon. I suppose in a way it is funny. Unless you are me.) So the kids know not to say that word, that rhymes with the second word in "stagecoach." That kind of bug is what my JBean thought was in the can of oats...no wonder she freaked out at the possibility of eating it! Ugh. I explained that the bugs we were talking about were too small to see, and that they are called weevils. (not that it helped me, but she started to calm down.)
So of course, I had to tweet our gross discovery, because well, duh. And someone tweeted back not to share the recipe with her for something, in spanish. I didn't recognize the word. I clicked the link, not really thinking. LIttle daughter was sitting right there, next to the computer. The link was a picture of a frying pan full of grasshoppers. Nice crunchy ones, with garlic and chiles. And yes, it looked like a pan full of bugs. Crap. I blew that one. The hysterics started again. It took a half-hour to calm her down, but I finally distracted her with a book. (later my twitter friend apologized, but it really was not her fault, at all. Also, I found it interesting that in Mexico they eat grasshoppers. Don't the legs get stuck in your teeth??) Yes, I know in many countries they eat insects, but culturally, I can't get past my bias...
Anyway...it made such great blog fodder, so I owe her.
Once everyone is settled down, we spoke no more of it. But I would imagine it will be a long time before any of us eat oatmeal again. And you better believe I will be using a magnifying glass to check grains from now on!
"Life. slightly dark, cheaper than candy, and half as sweet."
Glad you're here! I'm a freelance writer, specializing in autism, special needs and education. I freelance for numerous national publications. This is where I let it all hang out, sans editor.
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